Any Other Way — Those Flowers Bloom In Winter
warnings & tags: sex work, drug addiction mention, murder & abuse mention, inherent power imbalance ( tho it is not toxic here ), angst with a happy end, male sex worker/male client, period-typical homophobia & racism, implied-to-be-arranged marriage ( tho it hasn't happened yet ), parental expectations; 1980s New York, dreams & passions, wanting to belong, wanting to be loved, facing the reality of things
summary: some night in some part of New York, and two men who love each other but have not admitted to that yet, weighed down by societal expectations and their own fears of what is going to happen if their dreams turn out to be realistic enough to maybe, just so work out.
"Jae?" Sleep is threatening to drag him under, exhaustion making a compelling argument for him to not react when Won-shik, cuddled up to him from behind, says his name with this clearly audible question mark. It's been a long day for him and coming here isn't always the vacation he pretends it's promised to be. Against better judgement, he hears himself hum his attention. Won-shik sounds torn and lost saying this one syllable already, and he can't bring himself to leave him staying awake like this while he's slipping into unconsciousness, despite knowing better than to entertain the melancholic, privilege-dripping thoughts of his— of men, really.
Won-shik has always been special to him, however, far more special than he'd ever like to admit.
"Do you...have a dream?" It settles heavily between them, nearly crushing Jae's resolve to stay awake for Won-shik's sake with one single blow. "Something you wanna do, in life?" What a loaded fucking question.
Slowly, he rubs his eyes. "Why are you asking?" The hoarseness of his voice excuses the grumpiness oozing out of his words, at least for now, which is good enough for Jae.
"There has to be something you wanna do, right?" As if the mere thought he doesn't, in fact, have a goal is shaking Won-shik to his very core. "Don't you have something that gets you through the day?" he pushes, despair a distant but growing note in his inquiry.
It's the amount of hours he's been awake already, probably, and the tiredness pulling at his lungs, and the ache sitting in his veins familiar and intimate and uncomfortable but quiet right now and allowing him to fall asleep, but Jae can't pour any effort into filtering his words anymore. "Pretending it's my last."
Silence. It almost makes him feel guilty the longer it goes on. "You're lying." Won-shik is pressing tiny kisses against the back of his neck. "You're just saying that, you don't mean that." His shoulders. The tip of his ear. As if he's trying to nudge him to give up the joke. As if he's just being sarcastic. It makes sense. Won-shik always goes for sarcasm.
"I don't have any dreams, Won-shik." He sharpens the edge a bit, tries to get him to back off. Jae loves Won-shik, he is sure of that, but his continuously-resurrected attempt to plant this dream of freedom in the back of Jae's mind always ends with them arguing and Jae is tired, physically and mentally, he can't do this. Not tonight. Not right now.
Won-shik stays silent for another moment, and it makes relief start to trickle into Jae's veins, and yet that trickle ceases but a blink later.
"Why not?" As if he doesn't know. As if this is the first time they're talking about it. At least he has the decency to sound slightly upset instead of surprised.
Jae sighs, yet he still doesn't turn around in Won-shik's arms. "Because having dreams sets you up for failure. For disappointment. And I have enough of those already." The bitterness is nothing new, it can't be. Won-shik's known him for a while now and this isn't the first time they—
"But it doesn't have to be like that." Jae knows his company isn't upset with him specifically but with everything around them, and yet it hurts enough when he says it. As if all of this is Jae's fault. As if he's the one keeping not only himself but also Won-shik from happiness. "We could get away from here, Jae. Live in a small apartment. I work and you.. you could be free to do whatever you like."
It sounds so good. Too good. For the second Jae allows himself to imagine it — a mistake he immediately regrets — it sounds like the best fucking thing he could imagine doing, especially with Won-shik at his side. They could have a cat or two, a nice little balcony with a few plants on it, maybe an actually functional kitchen where every piece matched the others, hell, a dishwasher if they really wanted to.
It sounds too good, and it upsets Jae immensely. Because none of that is ever going to happen, and for Won-shik to even bring it up is just cruel, really.
When Won-shik continues, mumbling something about growing old together, Jae cuts him off sharply, finally turning around in his lover's arms but pulling himself half out of them while he does: "That would imply I have a future at all, you know?"
His lover's eyes are wide, he sees them now right in front of his own, and something inside of them is attempting to will him into understanding, into agreement, he thinks. "Of course you have a—"
"Don't be ridiculous, Won-shik," and he reaches deep into the box of things he knows will hurt the other, "I know you have this idea running rampant inside your head that you can save me, and that we can grow old together, no matter what I am and where we met and all of that fucking bullshit, but you can't."
Jae hates treating Won-shik like this, he hates hissing at him and over and over again tearing holes into that tapestry Won-shik puts up to flesh out this dream of what they could be, but what other choice does he have? If he allows any of these fantasies to fester, if he allows Won-shik to order furniture from that mental catalogue of his to fill the rooms he's wallpapered, he's going to have to deal with the aftermath of there not being enough money to pay for all of them, or worse, of the foundation turning out to be made from nothing but sand.
He wouldn't survive that, he knows.
And usually the other would give in now, would let Jae 'win', and Jae likes that about Won-shik, because it implies respect, letting him speak and decide when their argument is over, even when it's him who pays and not Jae — but not so this time. This time he doesn't row back and apologize. He seems unable to let this stand, unable to simply move on and pretend they never argued in the first place, a fierceness in his eyes that Jae assumes is drenched in the sleep-tainted despair of the hour.
"I can. And I know you want me to, too. Deep down you want all of this, every tiny bit of it: the bathtub big enough to hold us both, the cat tower that reaches to the ceiling, the cinema visits and the dinner dates in cozy little restaurants—"
"If you don't shut up right now, you'll wake up alone tomorrow and blacklisted, too," Jae bites back, feeling like a cornered animal, his face scrunched up in pain and his eyes teary.
Yet Won-shik continues, sounding more determined than ever before to convince Jae of this, of them, "And you want the darkroom, too, don't you? Take all those pictures and develop them, and maybe hang them up in a gallery at some point, right?"
Something cracks inside of him, and he hits Won-shik against the chest, "Shut up!" and he rolls away and jumps to his feet, scrambling to find his clothes in the barely illuminated bedroom, "Just shut the fuck up!" How dare he? How fucking dare he?! He never should've given in when they were drifting in the afterglow and told Won-shik about his hobby, the camera he managed to buy after more months than he had sanity for, and about the opportunity to escape it gives him, how fascinated he is with the mundane moments and the smiles people don't even notice otherwise. How in another life he'd probably be a photographer and maybe he'd be famous, too, have his artworks hanging in people's living rooms and in galleries.
"Jae?" It's the second time within the last ten minutes he calls him by his name, and it sounds awfully similar to the first time. "Jae, where are you going?" The fear in those words shouldn't feel as satisfying to hear as it does. He drags the leather pants over his boxers, buttons them around his slender hips and curses under his breath when he doesn't immediately spot the striped long-sleeve that he loves solely for how well it accentuates the contrast between his narrow hips and his broad shoulders.
There is commotion behind him and to his side, and he hurries to find the last piece of clothing. He doesn't want to give Won-shik another chance to hurt him.
To ignite hope in his lungs, not caring what it does to him.
"Jae, stop." Ah! By the dresser. He finally pulls the long-sleeve on and steps to grab his shoulder bag and get into his half-boots with the small heel that makes him look taller than he is, and maybe that isn't really necessary, especially when his customers like to pretend he is their little barbie doll, their baby girl, their exotic dream; the substitute for when all the Asian girls have been picked up already from the street he works on — but maybe he needs those heels, those few centimeters, to feel better, to not entirely believe the voices calling him some white guy's cum dumpster, which he evidently is, must be, since that's apparently all that he's got going for him whenever it's not Won-shik allowing him to take a break every couple of days.
To still feel like a human being despite it all.
Won-shik steps into the doorframe in front of him, and Jae is forced to pause his march into the hallway to glare at him. "Jae, please." His eyes are begging him to stay and listen, but all he wants to do is leave this room, this apartment, this part of town, and never look back. Because if he stays any longer Won-shik is gonna manage to convince him all those fantasies they have could become truth and reality — and that would positively break him when soon after they'd realize there was no way in hell they ever would.
His teary glare isn't enough to stop Won-shik. Clearly, Jae's pushed him too far. Or maybe he's allowed him to get too close to him, too comfortable in dreaming of an us.
"I know you want this," he is softer now, but still so determined to make him agree. "We both do." Jae hates that he is right, and he hates even more that with every word he feels his resolve crumble more. As if Won-shik has any right to say such things. "Please stop pretending you don't. I can give you all these things — I want to give you all these things, you just—"
Jae cuts him off, all sharp edges and sharp teeth: "You know what I want? What I actually want you to do?" He pauses for effect but not long enough to allow him to speak back up. "To stop pretending we're some normal fucking couple who met at work or at the café down the street or in Central Park during our morning jogs, and thus can just move in together and have a tiny apartment in the suburbs with three cats and a west-side balcony we can watch the sunset on!" He inhales and it sounds strained, dragging across his throat that is still hoarse from earlier. "We didn't have this fucking meet-cute you keep pretending we had." He probably imagines the fear of what he is about to remind Won-shik of in the man's eyes, but all the guilt he feels at it he pushes away. This is Won-shik's fault. He didn't want to shut the hell up. He was the one to bring up this non-existing and never-to-be-existing future they could have for the umpteenth time as if Jae hasn't told him over and over again he doesn't want to hear it.
"Jae, please," he tries, voice incredibly quiet and tiny now, and it feels way too good to finally have him listen.
"No, you are no fucking better than all the other men who've picked me up and payed me for a night! You were looking for someone to sate your hunger with and then you saw me and didn't care for anyone else there anymore. And you keep picking me up to fulfill your little fantasy of a life in freedom, away from your family who wants you to marry that woman they picked out because she's so kind and doesn't speak up a lot and would listen to you no matter what you ask of her, and then have the most perfect fucking children with her, so coming here twenty years ago wasn't for nothing" — he is yelling now, and pointing his finger; Won-shik's fists are clenched tight, but even if Jae didn't know that he wouldn't ever hit him, he wouldn't stop now — "no, instead you come to me and take me home for a night and ignore all my flaws so you can pretend for a little while longer that you have a choice in the matter and that there's a world where you don't have to hide that you like dick, and that you hate your office job and your university classes your father forced you take." It's so ugly and he knows — he can see — how much every single one of his accusations hurts Won-shik, but the alternative Jae can't take.
If there really is a world where all of what he and Won-shik both keep dreaming up is true? If Jae is wrong about the likelihood of it all? No, no, that might even be worse than the possibility of it all crumbling apart the moment he dares to take a chance.
Because it would mean he could've had all of that so much earlier. He didn't have to live day to day, night to night, scared every single time that this would be the time he'd end up dead, vanished under mysterious circumstances and pulled out of the Hudson next week, impossible to be identified and brought to justice if the police even cares about him that much.
If all of that can be a reality, why has he been forced to sell himself for more years than he hasn't?
He takes a deep breath to steel himself for the last thing he wants to say, a thing he usually doesn't like admitting to at all: "I'm an addict and a prostitute, and you're delusional if you think none of that matters, Won-shik. If you think none of my past has any bearing on the future." His jaw set, he's staring at his lover, convinced he's shut him down for good. This must've hurt immensely, which in turn has to have managed to win this argument for Jae. It doesn't matter if that's fair, he keeps telling himself, because Won-shik wasn't fair either when he brought up the photography dreams of his.
It seems to take incredible effort to say what he says next, but Won-shik closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose; Jae can see the tight line of his shoulders and he only just so holds himself back from reaching out to massage away the tension, despite himself.
"You know why I picked you up that night?" It's quiet, utterly defeated; a sort of last attempt, even if Won-shik doesn't seem to want spill that secret at all. He blinks his eyes open and Jae realizes he should stop him, because whatever he's about to say is going to— "I wasn't on the search for... I didn't want to pick anyone up. I was just driving around, trying to clear my head after that argument with my mother. I didn't know you- worked there. You or anyone, really." Jae feels frozen to the spot, as if he has been locked into some sort of barrel heading towards a waterfall and there's nothing he can do to escape the fall. "I wanted to get away from there as fast as I could, it was like I was seeing, witnessing something I wasn't meant to. But then..." The breath he takes sounds just as strained, but not full of anger and instead full of utter vulnerability. He shakes his head, looks away for a second before meeting Jae's eyes again. The barrel is dancing on the very edge.
"But then I saw you, and I- I knew I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to get you away from there. I wanted you safe. I just knew you were the one, Jae, I know I can't explain it sufficiently enough." It knocks the air right out of him, wood splinters and digs into his back. "And since the only way to even just talk to you was to... you know? Yeah, well, that's what I did." He pauses, forcing Jae to take a shallow breath. "Yeah, maybe all of what you said is true: that I want to save you like some knight in shining armour, that I hate my job and my studies, that I don't want to marry Yoon-ah and that the idea of raising kids with her feel like accepting being shoved into a way-too-tight cage and throwing away the key." His hand reaches to grasp Jae's. It feels impossible to pull it away. "But you're not just some fantasy fulfillment doll I'm going to throw away when I finally get away from here, or when I meet someone else that is somehow 'easier' to deal with, or when my mother manages to get my phone number and orders me to come back home." The space between them is erased by a step on bare feet and Jae still can't look away from those eyes he knows he's fallen for.
He whispers: "I want you, Jae. I want us. I-" A shaky breath. Jae knows exactly what's about to come and he wishes he had any power left to shut Won-shik up. He doesn't. "I love you."
Jae is crying. He is shaking his head and pressing his eyes shut as if that helps, as if not seeing Won-shik would make him and all those 'problems' disappear. "No," he mumbles, "no, no, no, please, Won-shik," he chokes on a sob, "Don't do this to me, please, you can't- you can't do this to me, you- you can't say this to me, you're going to break me, if you—"
He is pulled against Won-shik's bare frame, arms wrapping tightly around his shaking shoulders, and his own fingers desperately dig into the naked skin of Won-shik's back while his face buries itself into the crook of his neck. "You can't, Shi, you can't," he pleads again, pressing closer as another sob shakes him.
Yet there is only Won-shik's careful, gentle hands petting his short hair and the small of his back, and his low voice whispering reassurances into his ear; he holds him through his breakdown, and Jae knows two things: one, Won-shik will later pretend he didn't have to hold him for minutes and tell him to breathe and calm down, because he's polite enough to not bring these moments up again later, and two, by the end of it, when his breath finally starts evening out, he will be too deep in. He's now tasted the sweet hope of a future so blindingly bright it's illuminating the entire dark box he's called home and his life up until then, and whatever happens next he won't be able to back out of it anymore.
"You know what my friends say about you?" he gives after a while, quietly, his head turned to the side far enough for Won-shik to actually understand what he's saying.
"What do they say?" Jae thinks to hear resignation in his voice, but maybe it's just the tiredness finally taking a hold of him.
He can't help smiling despite of how not funny this is. "That you're the most dangerous one." A beat. "There's men who pick us up and murder us after a couple of times of fun, or if we do something 'wrong' once." Too many ghosts, too many memories, too many names Jae hasn't dared to say in months and years. "But men like you? They're worse. You give us hope and you can take it away at any given moment and leave us a shell of our former self, a wreck, a cautious tale of why none of you can ever be trusted."
Won-shik is silent now, only running his hand up and down Jae's back still. He sighs and nuzzles against Jae's neck. Hugs him a bit tighter. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense." The defeat in his voice draws cracks over Jae's heart. "I'm sorry." Jae isn't quite entirely sure what Won-shik is truly apologizing for, but he hums, because it makes sense regardless. Because it feels like this is the only way Won-shik can give him a choice without letting even just a single ounce of doubt settle about how he doesn't want to go back on his word anymore.
So, either Jae agrees now, accepts the apology and they leave this city as soon as possible — or he can't bring himself to trust Won-shik because of what he is. What they are. He doubts they will see each other again, if so, or only whenever Won-shik can't hold himself back from not-so-subtly checking in on him during the day, or when Jae can't bear another second at work and needs a night of escape from it.
The power he holds is unbearably heavy, and yet he is beyond grateful that Won-shik has given it to him.
The night is still, as if it's holding its breath now, too, having realized the weight of the situation. Somewhere in the background Won-shik's alarm clock is ticking away in spite of it, though, never having quite been able to express sympathy.
"I love you, too," Jae confesses into the silence, "And I'll name one of our cats Mr or Mrs Snuffles."
Won-shik groans in response, but the sheer relief overshadows his annoyance by a longshot. "You will absolutely not."
"Maybe even Snuffleskin." A small smile sneaks onto his lips, more than content with them both pretending they haven't just confessed their love to each other, and what that means for their foreseeable future. The future Jae never thought he'd ever have.
