not what you think

xvi: n-5 [4]

Warning: use of derogatory term.

"Oh Joonki, how did I manage to fall for a boy?"

"To fall for a boy? What do you mean?"

The sheer tonality of their usually amiable voice sends goosebumps unmatched to any of which the boys have perceived in their lifetime. Not even when they were nearly caught red handed huddled in mud on a rainy day, much to their mother's reprimand. When they fumbled with their father's concrete love poems, stowed away in a queer looking drawer, or when they made use a banana peel to instigate a slip in one of Yeosang's classmate's step because he deemed Joonki 'eccentric' upon first glance.

Way too unmatched. Way too divergent. Way too unlooked for.

This is a course of action none of have accustomed themselves for. They were ready to be whisked away by the rationale of higher education, city life, career, future. To bathe in the grandeur of neon lights, busking, buzzing crossroads, the splendor of their place of education and being each other's safe haven.

The unannounced amidst it all is being far from an unrealized unacceptance of who they are.

Once, a poet said one might lose themself if they lose their individualism. However, they were made of, are made of and will be made of, it's all an amalgamation to it.

Yeosang and Joonki would go to a place where anyone could be their unapologetic self, far from being shrouded due to the instigation of crudely leering eyes around them. The preconceived notion of being subjected to subhumans. Being reduced to ashes to the laser light burn of not being the copybook version, gravely thought in their dear ones' supposedly idealistic psyche.

It's far from it, but they grasp onto the last bit of thread which might lever them to the utopia they wish for.

"You two are still silent. I asked you a question."

The impending stormy voice audibly strikes them with more apprehensiveness.

"Appa, it's not what you think," Joonki decides on speaking up, without viewing his father. He rather leers at the water, ebbed into inertia. A few swans in pairs are afloat and astray to their destination, creating a riptide through their webbed feet.

"Then tell me what it is," The oldest man says, "Because I know you lie when you can't look at my eyes."

Joonki swallows, translucent to their parent, the goosebumps' tenacity causally raising the mane in his hands.

He views Yeosang from his peripheral vision, being as equally perturbed by the gatecrashing serenade.

He perceives his hyung conjuring a telepathy with his mind, requesting him to let the older take it on.

Joonki, in a split moment, weighs on every facet of his brothers' life. He would be coerced away from his amenities he's permissibly acquiring from their parents. The volatility of their parents' temperament towards him. The abashment his brother would feel if the state of affairs went south.

He would rather face it than stowing him to such a predicament.

His mouth utters without any more musings about repercussions which strand their father and Yeosang astounding in their stature.

"I like boys. I actually like one from my school. Hyung was surprised I told him that."

The circumference befalls into a non-immersive genre of soundlessness. The stupefaction on the other two males' faces is sheer, magnified. One out of repressiveness, one out of bafflement.

"You- you like boys," The oldest murmurs under his breath, yet its magnitude replicates until it's clamorous enough to both the boys' ears.

"I do. I'm sorry you had to find out that way," Joonki says, a somber countenance viewing his father.