CRAIGSLIST THERAPIST | hyunho ✔

.30

Asbestos still pokes from Minho's hair as he sips espresso from the paper cup. "So you want to stop therapy," he says.

A busy businessman bumps shoulders with Hyunjin, regardless of his attempt not to become an obstacle for pedestrians. Moving closer to the food truck only earns him glares from the owner. (You only stay, the food truck guy warned, if you pay, and nodded at the overpriced street food menu behind what looked like a coat hanger for pretzels.)

"No," Hyunjin splutters. "I mean, yes."

"You're cured?" Minho arches a brow over the cup.

"No."

"Then there's no use." He looks in the distance, the always-busy street.

How come no one slams past Minho? Busy street as it is, Hyunjin gets all the pushes and shoves. It would be too catastrophic to have Minho's elbow knocked and espresso splash over his always-stained shirt, but it never happens. People efficiently dodge his presence as though Minho were a furious crab with claws out to pinch.

"I want us." Hyunjin blinks back tears. "I want us to be together, hyung."

Minho opens his mouth to talk. Before he does, a woman with supermodel height drops a coin in his espresso cup. Black liquid splashes over Minho's shirt. Minho purses his lips. Smirks. Grabs a hanging pretzel from the food truck counter and Hyunjin's hand to drag him off through the street, the road.

The grumpy owner shouts behind them, but his insults gradually die as they arrive at a park.

Minho releases his hand and, with the pretzel lodged between his teeth, folds over a bench. The hostile architecture digs at his lower back as he suspends his legs on the backrest. Over the pretzel, he muffles: "This is how I sleep some nights, Hyunjin. You want to live like this?"

"You can sleep on my bed, at my place."

"Honey, you live in a nine-square-meter apartment," Minho insists. "With no windows."

"It's better than the streets," Hyunjin says.

"That's not what I mean. There's no space for me there. You already have Kkami."

"I'll install a ladder." Hyunjin's suddenly eager. Full of ideas. "We can craft a suspended bed."

"With what money?"

"I'll find a job." Hyunjin will stop hunting for casting calls. He'll stop relenting to staff who say, Who cares about an intimacy coordinator? Don't you know you'll earn more with a full-body shot? He'll stop trusting directors who say, You remind me of my younger self, kid. You're going places, and one of those places is their marital bed. He'll stop allowing Felix to feed him and Kkami in the guise of hanging out. "A real job."

Minho seems to have a sigh trapped in his chest.

"You need someone to help you achieve your dreams," he says. He sits on one side of the bench, leaving the other side for Hyunjin. They sit there, separated by a prodding armrest. "Someone rich, handsome, that'll pay all the bills while you focus on auditioning."

"I don't want that."

"You need that."

"I want you," Hyunjin insists. "Didn't you ask me that? That day at the park, you asked me what I needed. That's what I need, hyung. I need you."