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Gyuvin didn’t know much about himself, so he liked that at age 14, Ricky seemed to know everything. His attitude towards life was rather unforgiving and he seemed to have mastered the art of ignorance before he even got his first voice crack.
He was 14 when he sat beside Ricky at the back of their freshman history class. He was 15 when he went to his first concert and managed to drag Ricky along with him. He was 16 when he got his driver's license and proudly took the both of them out for ice cream to show off his newly acquired freedom. He was 17 when he kissed Ricky in that very car.
He was 17 when the kiss was reciprocated with nothing more than the need to fulfil some kind of repressed sexual desire.
That same day, he saw Ricky’s room for the first time. The ceiling of it, at least. Gyuvin left quickly, shamefully holding his flannel closed with one hand and regret in the other as he drove home.
The only thing he can remember now is the fact that Ricky had kissed him everywhere except his lips.
Gyuvin’s 18 and nothing’s changed—he desires more only to be given less or oftentimes, nothing at all. People can walk all over him because as far as he’s concerned, he’s just a shortcut to reaching something brighter and more beautiful than him.
When Ricky gives him the keys to his back door so his hands are free to curl around Gyuvin’s waist, mouth pressed to the side of his neck, Gyuvin says nothing. He unlocks the door and walks in with another body still attached to him.
Ricky frowns and pulls back, leaning to the side a bit so he can Gyuvin’s face. “What’s wrong with you?”
Gyuvin slips out of his sneakers, arranging them carefully on the rack. “Nothing, why?”
“If you’re not into it, you can go home.”
“No, what?” Gyuvin turns his head to look at him briefly, acutely aware of the slackened grip on his hips. “I’m fine, let’s go.”
“You’re not even paying attention to me,” Ricky whines. It’s high pitched and frankly pathetic but he’s pouting and Gyuvin has to consciously tear his eyes away.
“Sorry.” He has no clue why he’s apologizing.
Ricky sighs, letting go and pushing him away towards his bedroom. “You can go in, I’m gonna use the bathroom.”
Gyuvin complies, only because he knows it’s a lost cause to try and convince Ricky of his enthusiasm when he’s already decided to be sulky.
Ricky’s room is a reflection of his character, or rather an extension of it. The sheets are white and the walls are bare, giving away nothing in regards to what he might like. The most extravagant thing is probably his vanity, shiny and carefully organized in the corner of his room.
Gyuvin walks closer, tugging on the handle of a mini storage drawer and revealing makeup products he has no idea how to use. He uncaps something, giving the tip an experimental poke. It stains the pad of his finger black.
“Looking for something?”
He tries hastily to put it away but Ricky’s already walking towards him and hooking his chin over Gyuvin’s shoulder, watching amusedly as he fumbles with the cap.
“Going through my stuff now? You’re getting brave.”
“You were taking forever,” Gyuvin retorts. He opens the drawer to put the product back in but Ricky grabs it from his hand before he can.
“You wanna try?”
“What?”
“Eyeliner.” Ricky walks back until he’s sitting on his bed and Gyuvin follows him with his eyes. “I’ll do it for you.”
Ricky’s looking at him expectantly and he can only stare blankly. “I dunno.”
“Why not? You’d look good with it.”
He hesitates, watching Ricky spin the tube between his fingers, before walking closer. “Okay.”
A smile pulls at Ricky’s mouth and he pats the pillow. “Lay down.”
He does, only to get the wind knocked out of him when Ricky crawls up his body and settles near the waistband of his jeans. The weight presses down harder and he lets out an oof unconsciously. “Is this necessary?”
Ricky leans forward, brushing Gyuvin’s bangs to the side to uncover his eyes. “What are you getting all shy for?”
He can only sigh in response as Ricky pulls the cap off and leans onto his elbows to steady himself. Gyuvin winces at the pressure on his shoulders.
“Open your eyes if you don’t want me to fuck this up.”
“Shouldn’t I close them?
Ricky twists his elbow in deeper and Gyuvin hits his thigh in retaliation. He holds his breath and is doing well but pulls away just as Ricky is about to draw the first mark.
“Don’t make it too thick or else it’ll look weird. Do it like yours.”
“Gyuvin, shut the fuck up and stop moving.”
He stops talking after the second warning, trying to lay completely still as Ricky focuses, his non-drawing hand holding Gyuvin’s cheek in order to remain steady.
Keeping his eyes open means the only thing he can really look at is Ricky, whose face is close enough that if Gyuvin were to pout, their lips would probably meet. Well, maybe. He’s trying not to entertain the imagination due to the vulnerable position he’s currently in.
Have Ricky’s eyes always been this shade of brown? And oh, why are they so sparkly? He takes a deep breath in, as inconspicuous as possible, watching Ricky’s bottom lip push out in concentration. It’s kind of cute.
“Can we take a break?” He whispers it because he’s sure that talking any louder will ruin the entire moment.
Ricky huffs but moves his hand back. “I’m only done with one eye. You’re such a baby.”
“Give me a break,” Gyuvin grumbles, stretching his legs out, which have since gone numb from Ricky sitting on them.
He holds his breath again when Ricky starts on the other eye and by this point, he’s run out of things to notice on the boy’s face. Gyuvin tries to look at the ceiling but his eyes naturally gravitate back to the pretty slope of Ricky’s nose, the raised corners of his lips, and the way he can see his tattoo with how his head is tilted.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
He tries not to move too much, raising his eyes slowly to look at Ricky’s even though he’s too focused to meet his gaze.
“Like what?”
“Like you wanna eat me.” Ricky sits up a little, holding Gyuvin’s chin as he inspects his work. “I’m done. Stay here, I’ll get a mirror.”
Gyuvin doesn’t make a move to get up when Ricky brings a little pocket mirror back and when he sees his reflection, it feels different. It’s him, he knows that, but it’s like he’s meeting himself for the first time. He can’t stop staring.
“It’s good, right?”
He turns his head from one side to the other, assessing himself carefully. “It’s not bad.”
“I did such a good job and that’s all you have to say?”
“It’s not you, I just—this isn’t really my style.”
“Really?”
The mirror is taken away from him and quickly replaced with a hand, fingers interlocking naturally as Ricky swings his leg to straddle Gyuvin again. He pouts and Gyuvin swallows.
“This is totally your style.” Ricky ducks his head down, lips grazing right where Gyuvin’s jaw ends. “You look sexy.”
“Yeah?”
Gyuvin waits, hot breath against his neck, but nothing comes. Instead, Ricky lifts his head to meet his eyes and he’s grinning.
“What do you think about lipstick?”
It’s enough to make him want to push Ricky off, press him against the bed, and kiss him stupid. He doesn’t do any of that though, instead nodding in agreement just to see Ricky’s eyes light up with excitement before he’s clambering off to find more products.
Gyuvin lets Ricky push him against the wall and sit on his lap so he has the perfect angle to line his lips and put mascara on him and explain why blush with orange undertones suits his skin better than pink. He doesn’t understand a single word but he’s okay to still and let Ricky do what he wants. He can’t remember the last time they’ve hung out like this, even if it came to be from slightly different intentions.
“You look good,” Ricky comments. He’s moved on from makeup and is now trying to tie little braids in Gyuvin’s hair. He didn’t want to move, however, so Gyuvin is stuck staring at Ricky’s lap for easy access to the top of his head. His neck is starting to ache.
“You’re only saying that because you spent an hour doing all of this.” Gyuvin toys with one of the buttons on Ricky’s black flannel.
“I mean in general. You look good, generally.”
“You’re not too bad yourself.”
Ricky tugs extra hard on a strand and Gyuvin has to hold back from pummelling him in the stomach.
“What would you give me out of ten?”
“Out of ten?” Gyuvin hums, a teasing smile on his face since he knows Ricky can’t see it. “Like, a solid six.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’ll give your dick a seven, though.”
“Only a seven?”
“Seven and a half?” Gyuvin lifts his head even though Ricky hasn’t given him permission yet, leaning back against the wall and looking at the boy on his lap through lidded eyes. “On a good day.”
There’s a low hum and then Ricky’s hands are under his shirt, not doing anything but warming his stomach. It’s the kind of comfort Gyuvin wants to drown in, even though he knows that it’d be impossible to ever get that close.
His hands find Ricky’s hips and he pulls until their chests are nearly touching, faces so close that Gyuvin can see where mascara has rubbed off on Ricky’s eyelid. When he brings a thumb up to his mouth to wet it, the fingers on his abs press down a little harder but he holds his ground, cleaning up the smudge until Ricky bats his hand away.
“I did good.” Ricky’s voice is a whisper.
Gyuvin tightens his grip. “For what?”
“Your makeup. I did a good job.”
“Hm.” Gyuvin searches Ricky’s eyes for something more. He so desperately wants there to be more. “Ricky.”
“Yeah?”
“Let me kiss you.”
He realizes belatedly that it sounds hurried and embarrassingly desperate but he can’t find it in him to care.
The pressure on his stomach eases and it’s suddenly cold when Ricky slides his hands out completely. He blinks but Ricky’s face gives away nothing as he climbs off Gyuvin's lap and then the bed completely, walking to the other side of the room to return the makeup products to his vanity, back towards the bed.
“Go home, Gyuvin.”
A beat. “I don’t want to.”
“You weren’t feeling it and now you’re being weird. Seriously, we can do this another day.”
“Being weird?” Gyuvin sits up and Ricky turns, arms crossed. “You knew what you wanted when you invited me over and then you spent an hour doing my makeup. You’re the one being weird.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known you’d be like this.”
“Like what, Ricky?”
“I dunno,” Ricky says exasperatedly. “Acting like I’m your fucking boyfriend or something.”
It’s so ridiculous that Gyuvin has to laugh. He slides to the edge of the bed so he can lean down to adjust where his socks have slid off. “Because that would be disgusting, wouldn’t it?”
“You’re my friend, Gyuvin.”
“Only in bed though, right?”
“We’ve been doing this for months.” Ricky walks closer and he towers over Gyuvin who’s still sitting on the bed. “If you hated it so much, we could’ve ended this a long time ago.”
Gyuvin looks up at the boy in front of him and the fight in him dies. Ricky’s right—somehow, in some unconventional way, they work. It’s stupid and painful, but they work. Why is he trying to fix something that isn’t broken?
“I don’t hate it.” When he stands, they’re nearly chest to chest. “Let’s do this some other day, yeah?”
Ricky stares at him, clearly confused at the sudden switch in tone. “What, you’re going home?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Gyuvin smiles teasingly and tries to stop his heart from slipping through his fingers. “I’m tired, anyway. My stamina’s probably low.”
He pinches Ricky’s waist and slips past him towards the door. When he turns, Ricky’s expression is unreadable so he forces a smile to compensate.
“Text me when you’re free.”
There’s a beat of silence and he watches Ricky hesitate with his words. “I will.”
He squeezes his heart until it hurts.
“Thank you for making me look pretty.”