Blue is Concentric Motion

[ceruleanlight]

Title: Blue Is Concentric Motion
Pairing: Kai/Sehun
Rating: R
Genre: romance, angst, au
Length: 14,336
Summary: Jongin only loves two things: the ocean and Oh Sehun. And he's still not sure how one of those ended up happening.



Sometimes Jongin counts the bubbles that float towards the surface with every exhale and imagines that each one represents a year he has yet to live.

Sometimes the stream is thick and constant, and Jongin wonders what it would be like to live for so long you forget that other people don’t know your name. But other times a mere handful of bubbles float up from his open mouth, and Jongin wonders if he would mind never seeing more of the world, never knowing what it feels like to grow old, to live in a real house, to fall in love with someone who loves him back. Some days he thinks he wouldn’t mind at all.

“That’s kind of a strange hobby,” Jongdae says to him one day when they’re sitting in cold, plastic, too-small office chairs and chatting mildly about their weekends. “Isn’t that kind of expensive?”

“I suppose, at the beginning,” Jongin murmurs thoughtfully, taking a long sip of his quickly cooling coffee. “But then once you have everything you need it’s just about you and the ocean. It’s very calming.”

“Maybe for you,” Jongdae laughs, running his fingers through his hair tiredly. “I’d be terrified! All that water everywhere, not even knowing which way was up. I think I’d have a heart attack.”

Jongin just smiles, leaning back in his chair, slurping up the dregs of tasteless office coffee as he tries to draw out the moments before he has to go back to his desk. Jongdae gets up with a little wave, tossing his plastic cup in the trashcan on the way out, and Jongin waves back. As he stands himself and heads for the door, he imagines that he’s floating rather than walking, cool translucent water supporting him like it does the tiny darting fish.

“Jongin. This report was due two days ago,” Chanyeol says, leaning against the doorframe and giving Jongin an incredibly insincere smile. “Did you have any intention of completing it soon?”

“And do you have any intention of continuing to bother me?” Jongin asks snippily, tearing his eyes away from his computer screen, which is currently showing a live feed from the local aquarium. “Because I’m pretty sure the two things are related.”

“Oh, come on,” Chanyeol whines, dropping all pretenses of being a stern superior and giving Jongin his best puppy dog eyes. “You wouldn’t make me go to Wu Fan at the end of this week and tell him that it’s not done, would you? I’m pretty sure he’d kill me and then make me into a rug as a warning to all the other impressionable young salespeople audacious enough to try to work for him!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jongin says with a grudging smile, because Chanyeol somehow annoyingly always manages to make him feel better. “Don’t pretend like you two don’t spend all your meetings wallowing in sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.”

“It’s not my fault Wu Fan’s eyebrows and lips and hands and smile are so devastatingly beautiful,” Chanyeol sniffs. “I’m just waiting for the moment when he goes through a horrible break-up and I can be his shoulder to cry on. That’s all I ask.”

“Is he even dating anyone?” Jongin asks in surprise. It’s hard to imagine Wu Fan expressing any emotions, least of all attraction.

“I’m not sure,” Chanyeol muses, crossing his arms across his chest. “If he is, it isn’t Facebook official so I take that as a good sign.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Jongin snorts. “Get out of my office, you amateur stalker.”

“I’m not a stalker!” Chanyeol says huffily before sliding out the door. Jongin waits until he hears it click closed before sighing deeply. He knows Chanyeol’s right, he should really have completed that report by now. He just…it’s been so hard to work recently. Every time he tries to sit down and focus on something like pricing reports or manufacturing costs or customer reviews he keeps getting distracted by the way the light slanting through the window seems to warp like a pencil in a glass of water or the way a breeze floating through the room ruffles his hair teasingly like a glassy current.

With another sigh, Jongin looks up at the clock and realizes that he’s technically done for the day. Not that he usually leaves right on time-he often finds it easier to work in his small office than his empty apartment-but since he’s obviously not going to get much more done today, he may as well go home and try to get a good night’s sleep for once. Grabbing his shoulder bag, Jongin shoves his stack of Important Papers inside and heads for the elevators. He’s not surprised when he hears heavy footsteps coming down the hall and someone slams their hand between the doors right before they close-no one besides Minseok takes the stairs to and from their floor, and that’s only because Minseok is currently on some sort of exercise kick. What does surprise Jongin is that the person stepping awkwardly into the elevator, adjusting their tie to make it look like they didn’t just sprint all the way down the hallway, isn’t someone he recognizes.

“You’re going down to the lobby, right?” the man says a bit breathlessly, running a hand sheepishly through his bleached-blond hair. Jongin usually hates when people dye their hair but for some reason he doesn’t mind it on this guy. It looks good.

Jongin nods and the man sighs, leaning against the back wall of the elevator. They stand in silence for a few moments, Jongin desperately wishing the elevator would drop faster because he’s not exactly the best at making small talk and he’s never sure what the social conventions are in regards to talking to strangers in elevators. Goodness knows the little lecture he got from Jongdae and Chanyeol that one time he made the mistake of mentioning his general awkwardness didn’t help at all, besides giving him a pretty good idea of what not to do.

“I’m Oh Sehun,” the man says, sticking out a hand, and Jongin jumps embarrassingly. Sehun snickers, and Jongin suddenly wants the elevator cables to snap because at least if both of them die no one will ever have to know about this moment.

“Kim Jongin,” Jongin says, awkwardly shaking Sehun’s hand and resisting the urge to pull away at the touch of Sehun’s cold skin against his own. Sehun’s hand is pink and white and smooth, and it reminds Jongin more of the inside of a seashell than human skin. It’s unsettling.

“I’m a lawyer,” Sehun says, and Jongin wonders why on earth Sehun has suddenly decided to give Jongin his life story. “An environmental lawyer, you know, not one of those Wall Street sharks everyone thinks when they hear the word ‘lawyer.’”

“That’s not what I think of,” Jongin says, and Sehun gives him a disbelieving glance but Jongin’s telling the truth. Whenever anyone says “lawyer” he thinks of Kyungsoo who is definitely a Wall Street shark but who is also much too soft and kind to Jongin for him to warrant such a title when he’s not at work.

“Well, anyway,” Sehun says, turning his gaze back to the dull grey elevator ceiling. “What do you do?”

“Oh, I’m a project manager for a skin care and cosmetics company,” Jongin says, trying his best not to stumble over the words. “Not as glamorous as what you do. You know. Saving the world and all.”

“Wait, you work for SM Products?” Sehun asks, and Jongin swallows hard, wondering where this conversation is going. Sehun suddenly looks a little too interested and he’s edged a little too far into Jongin’s admittedly quite large personal bubble for this to be comfortable small talk anymore.

“Um…yes?” Jongin says, and he’s a bit unsettled by the way Sehun’s dark eyes are lighting up.

“Would you be open to talking to me a little?” Sehun asks slyly, already pulling a bright pink Post-It out of who knows where and scribbling down what Jongin supposes is his phone number. “Call me. I’d love to have coffee sometime and talk to someone who knows about the company’s inner workings.”

But thank god that’s when the elevator doors open with a cheery ding and Jongin pretends not to hear Sehun, rushing past him before he can do anything more and practically sprinting to his car the second he clears the building. As he slides into the driver’s seat with a relieved sigh, he congratulates himself on a narrow escape. Who knows what Sehun had wanted to talk to him about, but Jongin’s pretty sure it wasn’t anything he wanted to be mixed up in. Sehun’s face, darkly glowing with excitement, flashes through his mind, and Jongin shivers. He may not work on Wall Street, but Sehun definitely reminds Jongin of a shark.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Kyungsoo asks for the millionth time that evening, shooting a significant glance towards Jongin’s still-mostly-full plate. “You’ve barely touched your food. And it’s your favorite!”

“I’m fine, and thank you once again for proving to me how inept I am at surviving by myself, Mr. Lawyer,” Jongin says with a wan smile that only seems to make Kyungsoo more agitated.

“Jongin,” he says seriously, trying to look Jongin right in the eyes. Jongin retaliates by dropping his eyes towards his plate. The food does smell delicious, but he just doesn’t feel hungry. “If something’s going on at work, if you were going through anything…you’d let me know, wouldn’t you?”

“Sure, sure,” Jongin says, lifting his tired eyes to Kyungsoo’s wide ones just long enough to reassure him. “I’d tell you.”

“Good,” Kyungsoo says, reaching across the small table to brush Jongin’s bangs out of his eyes, and Jongin remembers the way he once fell in love with those hands. “Because that’s what friends are for.”

“Yeah, yeah, now get out of here so I can get some sleep,” Jongin laughs, and he doesn’t protest when Kyungsoo pulls him into a tight hug on his way out the door. Kyungsoo’s always been touchy, always depended on physical contact more than words to communicate. Jongin’s not good with words, but he’s also no good with touch. He hugs people when they want to be left alone and give sympathetic looks when he should be wrapping a comforting arm around their shoulders.

Jongin throws himself down onto his soft white sheets and marvels at the way the city lights filtering through his blinds bathe the room in a cool blue light. If he lets his eyes slide halfway closed, he can almost pretend he’s underwater, gazing up into endless blueness, feeling nothing but the weightless touch of water against his skin. As he drifts off, hypnotized by the way the dim beams of light reflecting along his ceiling sway and glitter, he hopes that tonight he won’t dream of drowning.

His alarm goes off early, a sharp, blaring noise that has Jongin shooting up, slapping a hand wildly around on his desk until he finally manages to shut off the offensive noise. Groaning, Jongin buries his face in his pillow and seriously considers just sleeping for the rest of the day. But it’s Saturday, which means if he doesn’t get up now he won’t get to dive again for another whole week. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to deal with that.

Rubbing his eyes, Jongin stumbles towards the bathroom, cursing the part of him that decided not to change out of his work clothes last night before falling asleep. As he brushes his teeth, he tries to unbutton his shirt with one hand, only succeeding in spilling toothpaste onto himself and nearly ripping off the topmost button. When he does finally manage to get his shirt off, he sees that the indentation of every wrinkle and fold is imprinted on his skin. Smiling amusedly, Jongin runs his fingers over the creased skin, marveling at the way it feels like a piece of kelp, all smooth ripples.

It takes him about ten minutes to get dressed, grab his gear bag, and decide that he’s better off bringing breakfast with him to eat later than trying to shove food down his throat right now. And then he’s out the door, cold morning air hitting him harshly the second he steps outside. Shivering uncontrollably, Jongin makes his way over to his car and fumbles for a few moments with his keys before managing to unlock the door, not wasting any time in turning on the engine and cranking up the heat. If the air is this cold, he can only imagine what the water will be like. Thank goodness he decided to invest in that high-quality wetsuit.

The drive to the beach is a short one-one of the reasons Jongin couldn’t bring himself to move out of this city by the sea after college, even if it meant taking a less-than-exciting job-and it’s not long before he’s dumping his gear bag in a small metal motorboat tied to its assigned spot at the dock, bobbing gently up and down in the gradually brightening air. The sun is just coming over the horizon as Jongin yanks his wetsuit up over his swim trunks and springs into the boat-his baby, his pride and joy even if Kyungsoo calls it a polluting death trap-and quickly motors out of the silent harbor.

A seagull squawks at him from a nearby pylon as if in greeting, and Jongin grins, greedily inhaling the scent of diesel fumes and salt air and early morning sunshine. His head feels clearer than it has all week, all the heavy tiredness gone, and he can finally breathe properly, sucking in large gulps of crisp air, reveling in the way it tastes like algae and salt rather than dust and paper. There’s no one else out on the water this morning, except for a few small fishing boats in the distance, and Jongin chest aches as he tries in inhale the entire world-the sparkling waves, the whirling birds, the red-gold sun glowing on the horizon.

Then he’s floating above his favorite reef-the one where ambitious corals and flamboyant seaweeds swarmed over a sunken ship until they formed a thicket so colorful and impenetrable the tourists who visit this place in droves during the summer never know that the fish they’re exclaiming over were drawn here by the scent of death and destruction. Stuffing his regulator into his mouth, heart thumping loudly in his ears, Jongin slips himself in the water and slowly begins to descend.

It’s like his heart has suddenly disappeared. Not only is it no longer pumping blood so hard through his veins that he can feel echoes of the motion in his toes, it’s as if its heavy weight in his chest has completely disappeared, replaced by the smooth, clear water surrounding him. Here, floating amongst shimmering fish and trailing kelp, Jongin feels transparent. He’s so full of ocean that his skin has taken on the same colors and patterns of light, his thoughts are reduced to a gentle thrum of white noise, sloshing back and forth with the currents that tease the waving fronds of sea fans below him. Here, Jongin can fly.

“Hello again, Kim Jongin,” a voice says pleasantly from behind him, and Jongin starts, his carefully-organized folder of Important Papers slipping from his grasp and splattering all over the ground like water from a broken fish tank.

“Uh, hello, Sehun,” he says quickly, bending down to pick up the pile of papers. He sighs in defeat when smooth, white hands clamp down over his own, forcing him upright and away from the spilled papers.

“You never did take my number the other day,” Sehun says, shoving a now-crumpled Post-It into Jongin’s reluctant grasp. “I really think we should talk sometime.”

“So, what, you waited here outside my office building until I showed up? That’s vaguely disturbing, should I call the police?” Jongin asks harshly, unaccustomed to having to deal with someone so unpleasant. Sure, Wu Fan can get annoying but everyone knows he’s a big softie on the inside. Sehun, in his sleek black business suit and almost-white hair, sort of reminds Jongin of an orca-and they’re called killer whales for a reason.

“Well, I, I mean,” Sehun says, and Jongin smiles to see him thrown off for a second. “I’m not forcing you to talk to me. But I could make it worth your while if you did.”

“And how exactly would you do that?” Jongin asks skeptically. “Go on, tell me how you could make it worth my while to give you information about my company that will definitely get me fired if it gets published.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, it’s not like you would be named,” Sehun snorts, and Jongin resists the urge to punch his condescending lawyer face. “You would just be ‘someone who works for the company but prefers not to be named.’ And I’m authorized to provide compensation to anyone who helps me win this case.”

“Right,” Jongin says shortly, before stepping around Sehun and sweeping up all the papers covering the floor back into a file folder. “No thanks.”

“Oh, come on,” Sehun whines, and the sound is so very Chanyeol-like that Jongin is momentarily taken aback, placing the last of the papers back in the folder and standing up to give Sehun a strange look.

“Are you really that desperate for an interview?” Jongin asks, stepping into the waiting elevator and only sighing a little when Sehun gets in with him.

“Kind of,” Sehun admits. “I mean, we have a solid case, no one’s denying that SM puts polyethylene in their face washes-for heaven’s sake, they even put it on the list of active ingredients! But having a statement from you about why they continue to do so despite the fact that those pieces of plastic go directly down the drain and into the ocean could go a long way towards swaying public opinion in our favor.”

“Maybe because we don’t care about the ocean?” Jongin says snippily, wishing that Sehun would stop talking about the ocean because it’s making him feel weird-almost homesick and almost seasick.

“Oh, come on,” Sehun says. “You can’t honestly believe that.”

“What I do believe,” Jongin says, thinking that he should really ask Wu Fan about getting this elevator looked at, “is that there’s no way your little case against SM is going to get the government to impose stricter pollution sanctions on big multinational companies like ours. No way.”

“I know,” Sehun says, and for a moment he sounds so defeated that Jongin almost feels sorry for him. But then Sehun smiles and it’s all teeth and gums and Jongin’s senses are screaming danger! just the way they do when a curious hammerhead gets a little too close during one of his explorations of the sunken ship. “But I can always hope, can’t I?”

“I suppose,” Jongin says, incredibly grateful when the elevator doors slide open because he’s so full of adrenaline right now he might have to do some jumping jacks in his office or something if he wants to get any work done today. “Bye now.”

“See ya,” Sehun says, watching Jongin leave. “Call me!”

“Yeah,” Jongin whispers vaguely as the elevator doors close behind him, staring at the pink piece of paper he’s still holding crumpled in his fist.

“Who was that?” Minseok asks through wheezing gasps as he closes the door to the stairwell and jogs over to where Jongin in standing.

“No one,” Jongin says quickly, not quite sure why he doesn’t want anyone to know about Sehun. “Just some guy taking the elevator.”

He doesn’t mean to call.

In fact, he doesn’t mean to call so much that he throws out the pink Post-It the day after Sehun accosts him at work, tossing it into his trash can right before the night janitor arrives so he won’t be tempted to fish it out again. But after spending an entire day with the small square of paper sitting off to the side of his desk, lurid color drawing his eye every time he looked up from his computer, he’s memorized the numbers, dark letters printed on the inside of his eyelids in Sehun’s steady handwriting. Jongin can’t remember if it’s lawyers or doctors who are supposed to have bad handwriting, but Sehun’s handwriting is very nice, almost soothing to look at compared to Jongin’s dizzy scrawl. If he had a nickel for every time someone knocked on the door of his office with the words, “Sorry, Jongin, I just wanted to ask you what this note you wrote me says…”

And even though he remembers the number he still doesn’t mean to call until all of a sudden he finds himself picking up the phone and dialing and then it’s ringing and he still doesn’t quite understand what he’s doing until he hears Sehun’s voice on the other end.

“You’ve reached Oh Sehun, how can I help you?”

And then Jongin is slamming the phone back into its cradle, recoiling from the black plastic handset like it’s a prickly sea urchin he’s almost stepped on. Chanyeol, probably drawn to the noise like a fish to the shiny glimmering of a watch, pokes his head in the door, briefcase strap slung across his shoulder.

“Are you all right in here?” he asks, eyeing Jongin hesitantly.

“Who, me? Yup, just fine,” Jongin says with a wide, false smile, reaching over to adjust some papers sitting on the side of his desk.

“Right, fake smile, moving papers for no reason, sudden loud crashes, those are all the signs of someone who’s ‘just fine,’” Chanyeol remarks sarcastically, but Jongin just rolls his eyes.

“Go on, get out of here,” he says good-naturedly, this time with a smile he actually feels. “We all know you’re going to be late for your date if you don’t hurry.”

“What we are doing is not a date,” Chanyeol sniffs, but Jongin can see a blush spreading across his cheeks. “It’s a friendly business dinner so Wu Fan can talk to me about this month’s sales pitch ideas.”

“Right, right,” Jongin says. “Make sure you tell him that you think best when his tongue is in your mouth.”

“Shut up,” Chanyeol hisses, sticking his head out into the hallway as if to check for anyone listening. “But I am going. And you should too! It’s nearly seven, don’t you want to get home and relax?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jongin says, but as Chanyeol waves goodbye and walks off towards the elevator he’s not so sure that he does. It’s not like the dim, off-white walls of his apartment are any more relaxing than the dim, off-white walls of his office. Maybe he should see how much paint costs.

Slowly, he starts to gather his things, listening to the harsh ticking of the clock as another second, another minute, another hour threatens to slip away unnoticed. He’s just slinging the strap of his bag over his head when he suddenly notices the phone. It’s just sitting there, silently, at the side of his desk. Like it’s waiting for him. Testing him.

So he calls.

“Hello, you’ve reached Oh Sehun, how can I help you?”

“Why are you still at work?” Jongin asks, and he can nearly hear Sehun frown over the phone.

“Who is this?” he asks confusedly, though Jongin has a sneaking suspicion he knows exactly who it is.

“Oh, just the person you’ve been stalking,” he says, and Sehun laughs, the tinny sound making Jongin smile.

“I was beginning to think you really weren’t going to call,” Sehun admits.

“Were you going to be sad?”

“Of course!” Sehun says with another loud laugh. “I bet Luhan $20 that you would call.”

“And that sounds like my cue to hang up and never call again,” Jongin says sarcastically, but Sehun unleashes a storm of protests, assuring him that he’s just joking, that he didn’t mean it, that he really would like to meet up with him.

“How about Café EXO, tomorrow, 4pm?” Sehun asks. “I’ve heard it’s a nice place, just opened down by the waterfront.”

“I’ll be there,” Jongin says with a tone of firm finality, and after exchanging quick goodbyes he gently places the phone back on its base. That’s when his knees give out and he collapses back into his office chair, unable to believe that he just called Oh Sehun, that he is going to have coffee with Oh Sehun, why oh why did he do this to himself?

Because Sehun is sharp and rough, like a shark, and sometimes Jongin feels soft and porous like a sea sponge, and he doesn’t think the two are meant to go together but there’s something about Sehun’s smile when he’s caught off guard that makes Jongin think maybe there’s a bit of a sea sponge in him too. Jongin just has to find it.

“Oh, did you just come from the gym?” Sehun asks, giving Jongin’s damp hair and casual clothing an interested look.

“Oh, no,” Jongin laughs, shaking his head to try to dry it a bit faster. The only thing he succeeds in doing is getting water in Sehun’s eyes, and he laughs as Sehun hisses and tries to rub it away. “I was diving. I always go diving on the weekends.”

“Wow, that’s quite the hobby,” Sehun says with something almost like admiration in his voice. “When did you start?”

“Well, I first got certified when I was thirteen,” Jongin says, sitting down and glancing appraisingly at Sehun’s faded jeans, his green t-shirt, his bleached hair shining in the sun. It’s strange not seeing him in a suit, but Jongin thinks he likes it. “But I wasn’t able to start diving regularly until I moved here for college.”

“Oh, you came here for college?” Sehun asks, and Jongin’s not used to talking about himself this much but he decides that he might as well if it’ll keep them from falling into awkward silence.

“Yeah,” he says with a sheepish grin. “And then I just never left. I could have. I had a great job offer back home, and my parents would have been thrilled to have me close by. But I just couldn’t leave…this place.”

“I can see why,” Sehun says, turning his gaze out to the sun-washed beach, filled with sunbathers and small children building sandcastles, navy blue water lapping at their tiny feet. The air tastes like salt and sunshine, just the way Jongin likes it, and he’s glad Sehun suggested this place rather than one closer to the city center. It makes Jongin feel more comfortable, more at home. “I can’t believe after this case is over I have to fly back across the country. It’s so beautiful here.”

“And how about you?” Jongin asks, noting the way Sehun’s eyes slant a bit sadly at the question. “What do you do for fun in that big city of yours?”

“Not much,” he says with a slightly wrung-out laugh. “I’m nearly always at work, and when I’m not I’m too tired to do much more than eat and sleep and watch TV.”

“There must be something,” Jongin presses, because he wants to see Sehun smile. He doesn’t like this look of sadness clouding his face like sand thrown up in the backwash of a wave. “There must be something you like to do.”

“Well,” Sehun says, turning his gaze out to sea again, and Jongin wonders how he can stand the sun shining so brightly in his eyes. “I used to do photography. But I don’t anymore.”

“What, like white balance and photo composition and shutter speed and all that?” Jongin asks, allowing himself a small smile when he sees Sehun grin.

“Yeah, something like that,” he says. “But eventually I couldn’t find things to photograph anymore so I gave it up.”

“Oh, come on,” Jongin snorts. “You can’t have possibly photographed everything there is to photograph.”

“Well, I thought I had,” Sehun says softly. “But then I came here and now I’m not so sure.”

“We should get you a camera,” Jongin says. “And then you can teach me what all those fancy photography terms Yixing’s always spouting actually mean.”

“Is Yixing one of your friends?” Sehun asks, and Jongin laughs lightly at the way his eyes look so eager, so excited.

“I suppose you could call him that,” Jongin says, “though it’s hard for Yixing to have friends since he’s always locked up in his developing room.”

“I’d like to meet him someday,” Sehun says thoughtfully, and Jongin is a little taken aback. Why would Sehun want to meet his friends? “We can talk photography.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jongin says smoothly, though inside he’s suddenly wary. He tries to remember that all Sehun wants from him are a few soundbites, something he can use for his case, not a relationship. Which is something Jongin definitely doesn’t want either. At all.

“So you leave work late too,” Sehun says, and Jongin can’t help but smile as he remembers the way his heart had raced when he picked up the phone.

“I guess I do,” he says. “My co-workers are always getting on my case about it, but they don’t seem to get that it’s the same whether I’m at home or at work, you know?”

“Now that,” Sehun says with a sigh. “I can understand. I think-”

But the rest of Sehun’s sentence is swallowed up in the ringing of Jongin’s phone, bright pop song loudly cutting off his words.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jongin mutters, pulling the phone out of his pocket and glancing at the number displayed across the front. “I need to take this.”

Sehun motions for him to go ahead, so Jongin gives him a quick smile before standing up and moving over to the railing at the edge of the café’s deck, a few meters away.

“Jongin?” Kyungsoo’s teary voice grates harshly against his ears, and Jongin suddenly can’t breathe. “I need help.”

“Anything, I’m there, what’s wrong, where are you?” Jongin asks, words crashing against each other as he tries to ask every question at once.

“It’s just, it’s Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo whispers, voice thick with moisture. “I think I need to get him to the hospital but he won’t let me near him and I don’t want to call an ambulance because he hates those but I know he trusts you and maybe you can help please?”

“I’ll be right there,” Jongin says, quickly hanging up before rushing back to the table where Sehun is waiting, looking at him with worried eyes.

“Everything all right?” Sehun asks, and Jongin doesn’t like the ways his eyes are wide with concern. It makes him look too young, too vulnerable, and Sehun is not someone Jongin ever wants to see vulnerable.

“No,” Jongin says shortly. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. It’s an emergency.”

And before Sehun can do more than incline his head and narrow his eyes, Jongin is hurrying away, hoping against hope he hasn’t forgotten anything in his rush to get away from the table. The last thing he needs is Sehun running after him, calling out his name, Jongin’s jacket or phone or wallet clutched in his fist. But Sehun doesn’t follow him, and soon Jongin’s speeding towards Kyungsoo’s apartment as quickly as the crowded roads will allow, growling at every camera-toting tourist strolling leisurely across the street.

It takes him exactly eight minutes and twenty-five seconds to make it from the waterfront to Kyungsoo’s apartment, two and a half minutes more than it takes from Jongin’s apartment and five minutes less than it takes from Jongin’s work. When Jongin knocks quickly on the door, Kyungsoo answers it, eyes red and swollen, and nearly drags him inside, fingers gripping Jongin’s wrist hard enough to bruise. He gestures towards the closed bedroom door, and when Jongin steps forward to try the handle, it’s locked.

“Go away!” he hears Baekhyun yell from inside, and Jongin sighs.

“It’s me, Baekhyun,” he says, and he hears Baekhyun’s breath catch.

“Jongin?” he asks hesitantly.

“Yup, that’s me,” Jongin says carefully. “Care to let me in?”

He’s not sure whether Baekhyun is actually going to do it, but then the lock clicks backwards and the door opens a crack. Behind Jongin, Kyungsoo barely manages to stifle a sob by shoving his sweater sleeve into his mouth.

“Why don’t you make him some soup?” Jongin suggests softly, because he knows Kyungsoo will go crazy otherwise, and Kyungsoo nods rapidly before rushing off towards the kitchen. Pushing open the door, Jongin steps into the room and has to stifle a gasp of his own.

Baekhyun looks terrible. His shirt is lying on the floor by the mirror where he’s currently standing to survey the damage, and his waist is a mass of deep purple bruises. Baekhyun turns when he sees Jongin reflected in the mirror, and gives him a wry smile.

“Don’t I look pretty?” he says, but his voice catches on the last word and it comes out sounding more like a sob.

“Baekhyun,” Jongin says quietly, and when Baekhyun drags his eyes up to meet Jongin’s they’re full of tears. “This isn’t helping him.”

“I just…I don’t want him to know,” Baekhyun says, collapsing on the bed and wincing at the pain. “You know how he is. If he knew how bad it was, he’d tell me to stop, he’d tell me to just quit. But I can’t do that, Jongin. Singing means too much to me.”

And Jongin does know Kyungsoo, knows him probably better than anyone, but he also knows exactly how Baekhyun feels, knows what it’s like to have someone tell you that you can’t do what you love, knows how much you don’t want to stop, even if it kills you.

“Kyungsoo needs to take care of people,” Jongin says, sitting down gently beside Baekhyun on the bed. Baekhyun’s knees are skinned and bleeding and he hisses when Jongin grabs the bottle of rubbing alcohol and paper towels sitting on the bedside table, pressing the damp paper against the wounds. “Pretending like you don’t want his help is just making things worse.”

“I guess,” Baekhyun says. “But I also don’t want him to spend every second worrying about me. I don’t want him thinking that maybe one day one of my shows will end with me crippled from taking a fall too hard or messing up a landing. Performing is my life, Jongin. I love Kyungsoo but if he can’t accept that this is my job, my passion, without breaking down every time I get injured, I just don’t know what to do.”

“You can start by letting him take you to the hospital,” Jongin says with a small smile that Baekhyun tiredly returns. “You really need to get your waist looked at. And just sit down with Kyungsoo. Talk to him about this. I promise he’ll understand and yes, he’s going to worry, but he’ll worry even more if you pretend this has nothing to do with him. He loves you, Baekhyun. And he can’t understand why you’re cutting him out of this part of your life.”

“Can you ask him…to come in here?” Baekhyun asks softly, and Jongin smiles, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder before standing up and heading for the door. When he walks into the kitchen he sees Kyungsoo standing silently in front of a pot of soup, water boiling so hard it’s splashing over the edges, hissing as it hits the hot stovetop. Jongin quickly turns off the heat, then grabs Kyungsoo’s shoulders and turns him so Kyungsoo’s empty stare is directed at Jongin’s chest.

“He wants to talk to you,” Jongin says, heart fluttering out of habit as Kyungsoo looks at him with round, glassy eyes.

“He does?” Kyungsoo asks, almost like he can’t believe it.

“Yeah,” Jongin says. “And just be understanding with him, okay? He really loves you.”

“I-thank you,” Kyungsoo hiccups, wrapping his arms around Jongin’s waist and pulling Jongin so tightly against him all the air is forced out of his lungs. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” Jongin wheezes, rubbing a hand soothingly across Kyungsoo’s back until Kyungsoo lets go, turning away from Jongin with a watery smile before rushing towards the bedroom door. Jongin watches him go, and then heads for the door himself. His steps are loud in the cold greyness of the stairwell, and the tapping of his shoes against the concrete reminds Jongin of the small crunching sounds of fish nibbling away at coral, an underwater chorus of crackling and scraping. Jongin lets the grey waters close over his head and wonders why they’re so cold even in the summer.

“I really think you’re going to like these,” Junmyeon says excitedly, leading him towards the back wall of the shop. “We just got them in, the power and efficiency they give you are unbelievable, I swear. I tried them out a few days ago and I felt like a fucking dolphin or something.”

“I can’t believe how excited you are about a new brand of fins,” Jongin laughs, following Junmyeon through brightly-colored aisles smelling of plastic.

“They’re absolutely awesome,” Junmyeon says fervently, reaching up and plucking them off their rack halfway up the wall. “Here, just look at them.”

The bell at the door rings, and Junmyeon starts, shoving the fins into Jongin’s hands. “Be right back,” he smiles, leaving Jongin to admire the admittedly very impressive shape and weight of the fins in his hands. Jongin’s just drifting over towards the display of diving knives when he hears Junmyeon’s voice raised in a fairly uncharacteristic expression of annoyance.

“Oh. You again.”

“Yes, me,” a vaguely familiar voice says, and Jongin wonders where he’s heard it before. “I’m so sorry if my patronage bothers you.”

“Ha! Some patronage,” Junmyeon laughs sarcastically. “You never buy anything, you just loiter in the store scaring off real customers with your hair and your suit and your shoes.”

“What’s wrong with my shoes?” the voice says in disbelief and suddenly Jongin realizes why it sounds familiar and he groans. Walking over so he’s standing in the center of the aisle leading to the cash register, Jongin sighs when he sees who’s standing there.

“Hello, Sehun,” he says tiredly and Sehun and Junmyeon both jump.

“Oh, hello, Jongin!” Sehun says brightly, shooting Junmyeon a poisonous glare and mouthing what looks suspiciously like the words ‘this isn’t over.’ “How nice to see you here!”

“Yeah, can we cut to the part where you tell me what the hell you’re doing here?” Jongin asks as Sehun turns his back on Junmyeon’s astonished gaze and saunters down the aisle towards him.

“Well, I never did get to ask you any questions about your work,” Sehun says, idly picking up a snorkeling mask and setting it back down. He looks ridiculously out of place in his dark suit, surrounded by masks and fins and wetsuits. “But if you’re asking how I found this place, it really wasn’t that hard. You told me you liked diving and this is one of the closest dive shops to your work with fairly good reviews, it made sense you’d come here at some point.”

“Okay, you do know that you now sound even more like a stalker than before,” Jongin points out helpfully, pretending he can’t hear Junmyeon snickering from the front of the store. Sehun does the same, but Jongin can see him gritting his teeth.

“Well, you weren’t calling me and you never gave me your number so what was I supposed to do?” Sehun asks, mouth contorting as he tries to simultaneously smile reassuringly at Jongin and grimace at Junmyeon’s increasingly unsubtle laughter.

“Um…give up?” Jongin asks sarcastically, reaching behind the glass barrier and pulling out one of the knives on display. Sehun involuntarily jerks backwards and Jongin smirks.

“Uh, why are there knives in this store?” Sehun asks. “If I offended you this much the last time we met I’d like to apologize before you try to kill me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jongin laughs, putting the knife back in place. “They’re for cutting things that can get caught around you on dives, like old fishing nets or pieces of seaweed.”

“Right,” Sehun says, but he doesn’t look all that convinced. “So I suppose that means I can’t use one to threaten your friend over there?”

“Hey, this is my shop,” Junmyeon protests, leaning across the counter to glare at them. “I have every right to kick you out.”

“Don’t bother,” Sehun sniffs, grabbing Jongin’s arm. “We were just leaving anyway.

“I’ll be back for the fins!” Jongin says, giving Junmyeon a thumbs-up as Sehun drags him towards the door. The last thing he sees before the door closes is a look of dawning suspicion and glee spreading across Junmyeon’s face. Oh no.

“Thank goodness we got out of that place,” Sehun sighs, finally releasing Jongin’s wrist when they’re a fair ways down the street. Jongin rubs his arm a bit childishly, as if trying to restore feeling even though Sehun hadn’t been gripping all that hard. “I don’t know how you stand that guy. This entire week he’s been nothing but rude to me. How he has any customers I’ll never know.”

“Junmyeon’s generally a really sweet guy,” Jongin says, smiling when Sehun rolls his eyes. “You two must have just gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Sehun huffs, staring out at the beach opening up to their left as they stroll along the sand-strewn sidewalk. After several moments of silence, Jongin realizes Sehun’s not going to say anything else and decides to take matters into his own hands.

“So…you want to tell me what was so important that you had to bother Junmyeon for an entire week waiting for me to show up?”

“Oh, yeah!” Sehun says, his face lighting up as he grins with just a bit too much teeth. Jongin suppresses a shiver. “This.”

And then Sehun’s grabbing Jongin’s wrist, spinning him around until they’re facing each other, and pressing his lips hard against Jongin’s. Jongin is completely taken aback, jumping backwards and yanking his hand out of Sehun’s grip before his brain manages to process the fact that Sehun has just kissed him. And it wasn’t bad at all.

“Oh, okay,” Sehun says, turning quickly away so he’s looking out at the ocean instead of at Jongin. “I’m really, really sorry I just thought-you know what, never mind, I’m just going to go.”

But he doesn’t have time to do more than turn before Jongin is grabbing the sleeve of his suit jacket, holding him in place.

“So is this how you do romance?” Jongin asks, enjoying the way Sehun’s cheeks are suddenly stained red. “You just go around kissing people without even asking if they’re into you, or if they’re already in relationships?”

“Honestly, it’s worked pretty well in the past,” Sehun says matter-of-factly, and Jongin kind of wants to slap him and kiss him all at the same time. “Wait. Are you in a relationship? Was that who called you the other day? Shit.”

“I’m not in a relationship, lucky for you,” Jongin laughs, seeing Sehun relax noticeably at the words. “The person who called me was just my friend Kyungsoo.”

“Friend as in ex-boyfriend?” Sehun asks suspiciously, narrowing his eyes in a way Jongin can’t help but laugh at. “Because I don’t do well with those.”

“Ex-nothing, just my friend,” Jongin laughs, surprised at how easy it finally is to say those words. It barely hurts anymore. “And besides, he called me to ask me for help with his fiancé. So you have nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, good,” Sehun says happily, before unexpectedly yanking Jongin closer and crashing their lips together again. This time, Jongin doesn’t jerk away, tongue licking deep in Sehun’s hot mouth, and he can’t bring himself to care that they’re in public, probably scaring all the young children playing on the sand nearby, because Sehun is warm and real beneath his hands and, for some unfathomable reason, he wants to kiss Jongin back.

When they finally pull apart, gasping for breath, Sehun smiles with hooded eyes that scream to Jongin’s senses of danger and excitement and the risk of losing himself-basically, everything that got him hooked on diving as a desperate teenager tired of feeling everything too strongly, tired of the world rubbing his skin raw.

“You should really give me your phone number,” Sehun says, and the fabric of his jacket feels rough as it rubs against Jongin’s palms. So Jongin does, and as Sehun strides away, black coat strikingly out of place against the warm golden-blue background, Jongin wonders what on earth he’s going to do now.

“So.”

Jongin looks up resignedly, giving Chanyeol his best uncaring face. Chanyeol pretends he doesn’t notice and chuckles happily to himself, rubbing his hands together like some kind of comic book villain.

“I have heard some news,” Chanyeol continues, scanning Jongin’s face for any signs of recognition. Jongin doesn’t give him any, though in his head he’s adding Chanyeol’s name to the list of people he hopes get abducted first during an alien invasion, right after that traitor Junmyeon. “Some news regarding the introduction of Jongin Jr. to someone who is not your own hand.”

“You are disgusting,” Jongin sniffs primly, “and I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So the name Oh Sehun, Lawyer Man, means nothing to you,” Chanyeol snickers, reveling in the way Jongin’s eyes widen. “Junmyeon was kind enough to provide me with the name of the guy he says, and I quote, ‘is probably at this minute shoving his tongue down Jongin’s throat, the pretentious bastard.’ Apparently you’ve been going out for nearly a month now? And you never told me!”

“Go away,” Jongin says, but Chanyeol ignores him.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself? Besides that you obviously have a thing for lawyers.”

“Yes,” Jongin says, giving Chanyeol a bright smile. “If you don’t stop talking in the next five seconds, I’m going to kill you myself instead of waiting for the aliens to get here.”

“Aliens?” Chanyeol asks in confusion, and he looks like he’s about to say more when suddenly Wu Fan’s voice echoes around the office, bellowing Chanyeol’s name.

“Better go,” Jongin says sweetly, treasuring the look of fear and annoyance on Chanyeol’s face. Thank goodness he had the presence of mind to put Chanyeol’s report in the wrong order before he handed it in to Wu Fan. Chanyeol can thank him later for the opportunity to have some one-on-one time with the object of his affections. Jongin just hopes that by the time “later” rolls around, Chanyeol will have forgotten about Sehun.

Because Jongin’s not quite sure what they are. Friends with benefits? Boyfriends? It’s strange, because Jongin’s never really dated anyone before, so he’s not sure if most dates are supposed to end with Sehun’s mouth around his cock or Sehun’s fingers up his ass. And Jongin can’t say he particularly minds those parts of the date, nor does he mind the beginning parts, where they sit in coffee shops or restaurants and Sehun slides his foot up the inside of Jongin’s leg and his eyes catch the light just right and it feels like Jongin’s underwater because suddenly he can’t breathe. Jongin’s not used to anyone except Kyungsoo being able to make his toes curl with just a touch and he’s definitely not used to someone actually wanting to hold his hand, to kiss him in public, to push him into bathroom stalls and shove a hand down his pants.

But every time he almost works up the courage to ask Sehun what he wants, to ask Sehun what they are, the words get lost somewhere in his throat and instead he pulls Sehun in for another kiss, or shoves another piece of chicken into his mouth, laughing when Sehun pretends to choke, and decides to forget the whole thing.

When he gets home that night, wearily dropping his briefcase on the sofa, he’s startled to see Sehun standing in the kitchen, Jongin’s favorite and very embarrassing blue apron tied around his waist.

“Sehun?” Jongin asks in amazement, surprised not only to see Sehun in his house, but also to see Sehun cooking. It’s not like Sehun hasn’t surprised him after work before, but usually they end up being too busy to eat anything. The whole scene is strangely…domestic. And Jongin’s not sure how he feels about the sharp twinge of pleasure in his stomach as he thinks about seeing Sehun in his kitchen every day, about coming home knowing that Sehun will be there waiting for him. He usually tries not to let himself think about things like that.

“Welcome home,” Sehun says with that smile that makes Jongin feel naked even if he’s fully clothed. “I tried to make sure this turned out well, but we’ll have to see.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Jongin murmurs, stepping into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around Sehun’s waist, pressing kisses to the base of his neck. He’s surprised, and a little amused, when Sehun shivers and swats him aside, pushing him out of the kitchen with oven-mitt-covered hands.

“Stop that!” Sehun whines, turning back to the stove. “If you keep distracting me, this is all going to burn.”

So Jongin sits at the table offering Sehun incredibly unhelpful comments about how long the chicken should spend in the oven and how much water to add to the rice, and he likes the way Sehun blushes every time Jongin says his name, likes the way Sehun’s hair is swept up and out of his eyes, likes the way Sehun’s thin fingers curl around the spoon he’s holding. And Jongin’s spent enough time agonizing about love to know that “love” is probably the only way to describe the feeling curling up in his chest, heavy and slightly terrifying, every time Sehun catches his eyes.

And maybe the rice is a tiny bit undercooked, and Jongin doesn’t know how all the chicken disappears quite so quickly and the dishes are still sitting unwashed in the sink, but none of that matters when Sehun’s suddenly pressing him up against the wall, swallowing all of Jongin’s shallow moans, stealthily pressing a thigh against Jongin’s groin until he’s breathless, begging for Sehun’s hands, for Sehun’s mouth, and Jongin wonders if the look he sees in Sehun’s eyes is love or something else entirely, but he’s too dazed to tell.

When his alarm goes off early, Jongin tries to reach out and shut it off only to realize that his arm is trapped beneath Sehun’s warm, heavy body. And Jongin is seriously considering just letting the alarm run if it means he gets to stay in this position, cradling Sehun against his chest, gazing at the delicate way his eyelids flutter and the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. But then Sehun begins to stir, grumbling at the unwelcome noise, and Jongin slides his arm out from underneath his shoulder, shaking it a bit to get rid of the pins and needles.

“Why is your alarm,” Sehun mumbles with a loud yawn, “set so early? It’s Saturday.”

“If you want to get in a few good dives a day, you need to start early,” Jongin whispers back, using his newly freed hand to push a few wisps of hair out of Sehun’s eyes. And Jongin realizes with a start that Sehun’s never actually slept over on a Friday before, always meeting Jongin after his dives at a restaurant or café.

“Take me with you,” Sehun says, and his voice is still a little sleepy but his eyes are bright, staring earnestly up into Jongin’s. “I want to go with you.”

“It won’t be very exciting,” Jongin says hesitantly, because he’s never brought anyone with him before, not even Kyungsoo-though that was mostly because Kyungsoo had never asked because if he had Jongin would have given in without a moment’s thought. But Kyungsoo was a long time ago and now Sehun is the one looking at him like he’s trying to read Jongin’s thoughts rather than listen for his voice, and Jongin thinks he looks so beautiful like this, as delicate and fragile as a sand dollar. “You’ll just have to sit in the boat for hours.”

“I don’t mind,” Sehun says. “I just want to…I don’t know. Understand? I mean, you talk about the ocean so much and I’d never even gone to the beach before I came here…”

“Okay,” Jongin says, grinning at the way Sehun’s eyes light up. “I’ll take you. Just hurry up.”

He’s barely finished his sentence before Sehun is jumping out of bed, yanking on a pair of Jongin’s jeans, searching around for one of the t-shirts he’s started leaving at Jongin’s apartment after Jongin complained about the ridiculous number of buttons on his work shirts. The drive to the dock seems much brighter today, full of anticipation and excitement, and Jongin can’t tell whether that’s because they’re reaching the peak of summer and the sun is coming up earlier, or because Sehun is sitting beside him in the passenger seat, resting his head on Jongin’s shoulder.

Sehun hums in appreciation when he sees Jongin’s boat, and Jongin smiles. He knows it’s not much when compared to the shiny white yachts and sleek catamarans tied up in the surrounding berths. But it’s his, and Sehun seems to recognize this without having to be told.

“Concentric motion?” Sehun asks, reading the words painted in white on the side.

“Yeah, it’s a quote from Kandinsky,” Jongin says, offering a hand to help Sehun into the boat. He takes it, squealing endearingly as the floor rocks beneath his feet. “He writes a lot about colors, and how blue is profound meaning. Blue is concentric motion.”

“Wow,” Sehun says, and Jongin can’t help but laugh at the way his mouth falls slightly open when he’s thinking. “That’s pretty interesting. I can see it.”

“I’m glad you’re not too cold-hearted to appreciate a bit of literature, lawyer man,” Jongin says, slapping Sehun on the back a little too hard, so he stumbles and falls hard onto the slightly damp floor of the boat.

“Ow!” Sehun whines, but Jongin knows he’s entranced as the boat pulls out of the dock, motoring slowly towards the outer pylons. And Jongin may not know much about love, or care about much besides the ocean and Sehun, but he thinks maybe this could be enough-just the sputtering motor of the boat and the swiftly rising sun and the deep blue water echoing layers of meaning far too complex for any human to understand.

When they reach the reef, Sehun leans over the edge of the boat to look into the water-a little too far over for Jongin’s liking, as he grabs his collar and pulls him backwards.

“What was that for?” Sehun asks huffily, trying to readjust the stretched-out fabric.

“I just don’t want you getting a little too well acquainted with the water,” Jongin says, laughing at the affronted look at Sehun’s face. He’s a little taken aback when the frown suddenly turns into a sly grin.

“I want to,” Sehun says, and Jongin gives him a confused look.

“Want to what?” he asks, as he pulls on his wetsuit and sets about strapping his fins to his feet.

“I want to get in the water,” Sehun says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You have plenty of equipment! I’d just need a mask and a snorkel. I just…I want to see it.”

“Your dick might freeze off,” Jongin warns. “I don’t have another wetsuit. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“It will be your loss if it does,” Sehun says coolly. “And, fine, I promise to get out if I start feeling like I’m coming down with hypothermia. But come on, it’s the middle of summer, it can’t be that cold!”

“You’ll see,” Jongin says, reaching under the seat and tossing Sehun a spare mask he keeps for days when he’s feeling too tired or too scared to go through the effort of diving. And then Jongin’s sliding over the side, letting the dark water swallow him, and as he slowly descends he watches the bubbles rise up, wondering if each one really does represent a year he has left to live.

With an enormous splash, he sees Sehun’s pale body hit the water, hair flowing out like sea grass, skin a stark contrast to the blue-green background. Jongin can see the colors mirrored in the bubbles floating skyward, and suddenly it’s like he’s surrounded by Sehun, skin, hands, feet reflected back as fragments of light. He sees Sehun shivering and sputtering as he tries to clear the water out of his snorkel. Jongin should have told him not to put it on until after he’d gotten in the water.

But then Sehun looks down, and his whole body goes still. Jongin looks with him, and lets out another rush of carbonated amazement as he takes in the reds and greens and purples of the reef glittering dully below him. Knowing that Sehun is watching him, Jongin kicks down towards the bottom, careful to avoid the bright blue fish twining in and out of his arms and legs. He slides slickly through a garden of eelgrass, stopping to watch a small pink shrimp crawl along the spines of a purple-black sea urchin. A wide grey fish wobbles past, giving Jongin a disgruntled glance, and Jongin smiles, reveling in the way his dark neoprene skin absorbs the light, leaving him nothing but a shadow flitting about the reef, weightless, thoughtless.

Jongin looks up to see where Sehun’s gone, and sees that Sehun is swimming down towards him, cheeks puffed out with stores of salty air, and Jongin thinks that if Sehun were drowned he’d be the handsomest drowned man in the world. The light catches in Sehun’s hair as he reaches the topmost part of the reef, balanced on the prow of the sunken ship, and it glows so brightly Jongin forgets to breathe.

And then suddenly he can’t.

Suddenly the water is pressing too hard on his chest and Jongin is lost in blue, struggling for air against the plastic intrusion blocking his mouth. As he writhes, he sees the light above him wink out and suddenly there is a stream of bubbles bursting out of his open mouth as he tries to gasp in lungfuls of ocean, kicking upwards towards the bubbles for reasons he can’t quite explain, he just knows that they’re bits of his life and he needs to get them back. But the bubbles pop, one by one, and then Jongin is trapped in the liminal space between light and dark, and he doesn’t know how to get out and everything is so blue and then so black.

Part 2