“What are you doing?” Junkyu asks,  pulls back,  blinks at the hand Gunwoo hovers over his face.

Gunwoo looks back at him, eyes confused, but mouth smiling, his fingers go on, press gently to the corners of Junkyu’s eyes.

“Your eyes are pretty,” he says quietly, “when you smile.”

He can’t help the smile that etches on his lips, but he pulls back, taking a hold of Gunwoo’s wrist.

“So they’re not pretty if I’m not smiling?” he bites down a smile.

The splatter of rain hitting the window pane starts to pick up, the smell of it seeping past the cracks of the window.

Gunwoo turns to look back, face barely turned before Junkyu pulls him by the wrist, falls over the thin mattress.  His hands reach down for Junkyu’s shoulders, fingers curling around his shirt.

“Well?” Junkyu asks, eyes bright, smile finally breaking through.

“Well what?” Gunwoo asks, wiggling to get comfortable, skinny knees digging painfully into Junkyu.

“Am I pretty when I don’t smile?” Junkyu draws out, fingers trailing up Gunwoo’s neck, curling over his jaw.

The sound of thunder rolls loudly outside, dark and threatening, followed by the sound of wind gusting, rain falling harder.

“Yeah,” Gunwoo breathes, warm and awed and Junkyu loses his words for a second, “you’re beautiful.”

Gunwoo’s eyelashes curl up, gentle curved lines that Junkyu has a hard time getting out of his head, his eyes look at him, soft and searching and warm.

The humidity of the room curls his hair, around his ears, plastered on his forehead, Junkyu reaches up to push it back, makes a face at the way sweat clings to his fingertips.

“You’re stupid,” he laughs, sits up, watches Gunwoo fall off him.  

Gunwoo rolls on his stomach, legs kicking up, face buried in the bed sheets, “you asked.”

Junkyu leans over, the palm of his hand resting at the curve of his spine, gently pressing at the warmth bleeding through the thin shirt.

The silence over them is thick, wrapped in the high humidity, dotted with the falling rain.

“What do you want to eat?” Junkyu finally asks.

“You,” Gunwoo answers, “please.”

-

Junkyu sits on the porch, bare feet a mistake, the wooden boards splintering, dangerous.

The mosquitoes over head are too loud, buzzing, bumping against Junkyu when they get too low.  The sun sits high up, the sky cloudless, and no relief of a summer breeze.

Gunwoo walks outside, slippers worn out, thin and dirty.

“Junkyu,” he says, “come inside, it’s too hot out here.”

He turns to look at him, smiling, eyes closing, “sit with me instead,” Junkyu offers, “the grass is growing, let’s watch together.”

Gunwoo laughs, quiet and in sporadic patterns, earning surprised eyes from Gunwoo, pinking cheeks.

Gunwoo’s hand finds his own, pulls him up, pulling him towards the door, “come on,” he says, “I want to sleep.”

Junkyu nods, shivering when the cold air of the house engulfs him, stumbling when he misses a step and Gunwoo insists on pulling him along.

Their room is dark, Junkyu’s eyes droop, watching the ceiling, arm curled around Gunwoo, wincing when their skin stick together.  Gunwoo buries his nose against Junkyu’s chest, arms wrapping him close and falls asleep, breathing hotly against Junkyu’s shirt.

Junkyu’s hand goes to Gunwoo’s hair, letting them curl in the tufts of it, feeling the rough texture of too many dye jobs, the clumps from too much humidity.  He doesn’t dare move, never wants Gunwoo to get up from him.  His arms hold on tighter, he closes his eyes and wonders if sleep will come soon.

-

The small window from their bathroom never closes, the sides are stuck shut.

Junkyu turns the stove burner on, sticks a cigarette against the flame, watches it catch fire.  The house is empty, Gunwoo gone to work.  Junkyu had been asleep when he left, now he has to figure out how to kill time alone.

The toilet seat is cold against the back of his thighs, Junkyu barely bats an eye, purses his mouth and watches the way the smoke curls up the ceiling, trails to the opened window. 
 
The sun outside is kinder, hiding behind rolling clouds, offering moments of cool summer breezes.  Junkyu closes his eyes, rests his head against the crumbling wall.

“I’ve told you not to smoke while you sleep,” Gunwoo whispers.

Junkyu’s eye have a hard time opening, his neck feels stiff, body aching from the bad angle.  
“Gunwoo…” he says, mouth ashy, throat dry.

His eyes wander to Gunwoo, sitting on the edge of the bath, eyes serious slits.

“You’re lucky it landed in the sink,” Gunwoo sighs, “it’s honestly too hot for fires today.”

Junkyu can still see it, past the joke, the tight jaw, the inkling of fear in Gunwoo’s eyes.  So Junkyu smiles, eyes taking a second to look at the burnt out, soggy cigarette .

“Are you gonna take a shower?” he asks, his knees crack when he rises up, but he ignores the popping of his joints, pulls his shirt over his head, “I’m all sweaty.”

Despite the heat, they end up under the spray of warm water.  Gunwoo stares open eyed at the shower head, blinking hard when drops land in his eyes.  Junkyu laughs, hands going up to his face, fingers reaching up, wiping gently against Gunwoo’s closed eyes.

“At least you didn’t get soap into them,” Junkyu smiles, leans forward to press a kiss to the soft eyelids, tasting leftover soap on his lips.

-

The grass under his feet is slippery, squelching with the fallen rain.  His hair flops with oversaturation, the rain catching on his eyelashes.  Gunwoo runs ahead of him, shirt sticking to his back, soles of his bare feet covered in ripped grass.

The rain is relentless, pouring out of the rip in the clouds, flooding, flushing away the sticky summer heat.  Junkyu presses his palms to his jeans, grimaces at the rough feeling of wet denim.

“Junkyu,” Gunwoo turns to call, mouth curving into a big smile, blond hair sticking with rain, the rain runs down his face, alongside his neck.

He walks slowly, just to see Gunwoo look at him, keep his gaze at him.  Junkyu shivers, folds his arms around himself, runs his hand against them.

Gunwoo smiles when he’s close enough, toothy grin, followed by a laugh, soft, fading with the rush of rain.

“Your eyes are pretty,” Gunwoo says, finger tracing the shape of them, trying to count the number of eyelashes, steal all the raindrops they’ve gathered. 
 
Junkyu leans forward, feeling their shirts stick together, arms going to rest on the jut of Gunwoo’s hip, stepping closer, closing his eyes.

It’s slick with rain, Junkyu’s lips slot with Gunwoo’s letting out a small rush of air at how hot Gunwoo’s mouth is, how his teeth bite down, try to pull him closer.  It takes awhile before the taste of summer rain is gone, replaced with the warm taste of Gunwoo, the early morning use of toothpaste.

Thunder rumbles faraway, barely audible and the wind picks up a little, giving them a chill.

“It’s raining,” Gunwoo murmurs against his mouth.

Junkyu laughs, forces their kiss to break.  His hands hold on tighter to Gunwoo’s hips, holding him close, doesn’t want to be alone.

“It’s storming,” he says.