2. True beauty is not a formula.

Jaejoong is tired of the word pretty. Jaejoong is tired of cameras and too-bright lights, tired of the knowledge that his face is his greatest asset. He flips through a pile of music magazines and watches the parade of glossed, airbrushed Jaejoongs with a casual apathy. Who are you, Jaejoong muses as his perfected self stares back.

His stylist stands closely behind him, and admires each page of photos (the soft curves of his jaw, his perfectly smooth skin, his attractively large eyes) with a thinly veiled envy. “Our pretty Jaejoong should have been born as a woman,” she says. “Even his waist is slimmer than mine.”

Jaejoong smiles politely; inside, he feels something prickle. He is intensely aware of how Yunho’s eyes are lingering on him for too long a while, as if the other man were worried he would disappear if he tore away his gaze. When Jaejoong dares to peer in his direction, Yunho blinks, startled, then shyly looks down and thoroughly preoccupies himself with his half-finished meal. He grips his bowl and drinks the remaining broth in big, strong gulps.

Our brave, manly leader even eats soup in a masculine way, Jaejoong thinks, and at first, it is maddening.

But Yunho cares too much, understands him too well; when Yunho later corners him in their apartment, he uses the word ‘beautiful’ and means it.

I wish you weren’t so kind, Jaejoong thinks, as strong arms embrace him.