Off to the Races (3/3)

[ceruleanlight]

Kyungsoo knows who it is before he opens the door. Two weeks isn’t nearly enough time to forget the sound of that knock, knuckles rapping hesitantly against the wood as if afraid of getting cut on broken glass.

This is why Kyungsoo doesn’t bother standing at the door after he opens it, instead turning on his heel and walking back to the kitchen table, sitting heavily down in a chair.

“Did you miss me?” Jongin slurs, dropping into Kyungsoo’s lap and kissing him hard. Kyungsoo can taste Sehun on his tongue-all alcohol and sugar and lilac.

“You were with Sehun,” Kyungsoo says flatly, shoving at Jongin’s shoulders, but Jongin just winds his arms around Kyungsoo’s neck and grins blearily.

“I was busy paying Luhan back, that’s why I left,” Jongin purrs, shifting slightly in Kyungsoo’s lap. “And Sehun has amazing lips, god he’s so good.”

“What did he give you?” Kyungsoo hisses, yanking Jongin’s head back so he can check the way his eyes are dilated. “Jongin, what did you take?”

“I’m not sure,” Jongin giggles. “But I don’t think it worked all that well, I still feel totally normal.”

He leans forward to try to kiss Kyungsoo again but Kyungsoo shifts his head to the side and Jongin settles for burying his face in Kyungsoo’s shoulder.

“I think you should go,” Kyungsoo says, not making any move to push Jongin away.

“Fuck me,” Jongin whispers harshly in his ear, not paying any attention to Kyungsoo’s words. “Kyungsoo, I need you to fuck me. You’re so much better than Sehun, you make me feel so good, I want to feel good, Kyungsoo please, I’m already wide open and ready for you, please, I’ll do anything you want, please, Kyungsoo-”

The words are tumbling from Jongin’s mouth so fast they start to slip out of Kyungsoo’s ear, falling noiselessly against his shirt, and Jongin is so warm against his chest and he’s so beautiful and Kyungsoo just wants but he can’t.

He stands and Jongin clings to him, wrapping his legs around Kyungsoo’s waist. Kyungsoo takes a deep, shuddering breath, reminding himself that this is wrong, that he’s going to hate himself if he does this. So he walks to the door, opens it, and pushes Jongin’s legs off his waist, hissing when Jongin’s hips brush his growing erection. Jongin surges forward, claiming Kyungsoo’s mouth, and this time he doesn’t taste like Sehun-just like Jongin, sweet and bitter and warm all at the same time. Kyungsoo takes advantage of his distraction to unwind Jongin’s arms from his neck, groaning softly as Jongin licks into his mouth, tongue hot and frantic against Kyungsoo’s own.

“Goodbye, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says, breaking the kiss and stepping backwards, shutting the door firmly. Everything is quiet, almost like Jongin had never come.

“I just wanted to thank you,” Minseok says, blushing endearingly as he stands in the doorway of Kyungsoo’s office. “For introducing me to Luhan. He’s such a great guy.”

“I know,” Kyungsoo says with a smile, because anyone who can put up with Jongin for as long as Luhan has must be a fucking saint. “It’s nice seeing you so happy.”

“You should try it sometime,” Minseok grins, taking in Kyungsoo’s skeptical expression. “Relationships. Most people seem to enjoy them. Come on, when was the last time you got laid? I bet Seohyun would say yes if you asked her out.”

So Luhan hadn’t told Minseok about Jongin. Kyungsoo really should thank him sometime. For everything.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t you have patients to check up on instead of worrying about my love life?” Kyungsoo asks, and Minseok gives him one last smile before ducking out the door.

The minute he’s gone Kyungsoo slams his hand down against his desk just because he can, because it’s the only way to express the frustration and the anger that have been building inside him all day. He hates that the second after he’d locked Jongin out of his apartment he’d immediately been tempted to pull the door open again, dying to drag him back inside and fuck him so hard he’d see stars. Kyungsoo has never been strong but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite so weak.

Even now he feels like he can’t focus, leg jittering up and down, fingers tapping restlessly against the sheets of paper he’s supposed to be reading, pen cap clicking up and down and up again. The only way he’d been able to stop himself from opening the door had been to lock himself in the bathroom, yanking down his pants and trying to pretend it was Jongin’s hands wrapped around his cock, Jongin’s hands swiping Kyungsoo’s out of the way, that satisfied smirk never looking better than when it was stretched around his erection. Kyungsoo’s never been in love before, but he’s not sure why people like it if it’s something like this endless wanting, this hunger for more to taste, to touch, to hear, to say. He just doesn’t understand.

Kyungsoo always likes watching Jongin in the bathroom. Sometimes, if Kyungsoo manages to wake up and see Jongin wiggling back into his clothes, pulling his pants and underwear up over his long, thin legs, Jongin will let him follow him into the bathroom, as long as he sits obediently on the toilet seat as Jongin goes through his little ritual. Kyungsoo sometimes wonders why Jongin is so careful about his face, always washing it several times before he pulls out his thin eyeliner pencil, pearls of water still dripping down his face as he scrapes black lines along the edges of his eyelids.

Kyungsoo can never tell what kind of cologne Jongin uses-he always carries it in a small, unmarked bottle-but it’s intoxicating, somewhere between expensive liquor and lilies and wet leaves, and Kyungsoo can never get enough of it.

“You like the way I smell,” Jongin said once, meeting Kyungsoo’s heavy gaze in the mirror and smiling softly. Kyungsoo didn’t see any reason to respond to the question, since Jongin already knew the answer. Jongin reached up, delicate fingers teasing his hair into messy curls and waves that reminded Kyungsoo of the way he looked lying against the white sheets of Kyungsoo’s bed, skin flushed, chest heaving.

“Tell me I look good,” Jongin whispered breathily, and Kyungsoo was only too happy to comply.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured into the pale early-morning silence, words echoing off the eggshell tiles under Jongin’s feet.

“I didn’t ask you to say that,” Jongin said, lips pulling down into a frown as he swiveled around and surveyed Kyungsoo, hands on his hips. “Don’t say that.”

“You look good,” Kyungsoo quickly replied, lowering his eyes and wondering at the way he can’t stop himself from wanting to make Jongin happy, from wanting to make him smile. And smile he does.

“I know,” Jongin had laughed, teeth glimmering in the buttery light seeping in through the open window. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

And Kyungsoo likes this part of Jongin’s ritual best, when Jongin spins around and tips Kyungsoo’s head back, licking deep into his mouth so Kyungsoo can taste the waxy gloss he spreads across his lips to keep them from cracking, can gaze deep into Jongin’s dark-rimmed eyes, heart catching at the way the color makes them seem so fearless and so innocent at the same time.

But Jongin always leaves at the end of it, always slips out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and Kyungsoo wonders what he could ever do to get Jongin to stay.

“Hey, Kyungsoo,” Luhan says, almost shyly, when Kyungsoo approaches him at the bar, for once glad that Yixing isn’t around. He doesn’t want to have to explain himself.

“I need your help,” Kyungsoo says quickly, and when Luhan catches his eyes he sees that he already knows.

“Jongin doesn’t want to see you,” he says, almost apologetically, like it’s his fault Jongin is an idiot. A beautiful fucking idiot.

“I really don’t care,” Kyungsoo says harshly, and he knows Luhan can hear the desperation in his voice because he drops his gaze to the countertop, thin fingers reaching into his pocket and pulling out a single key.

“Walk two blocks that way, take a left, the apartment building second on the right-hand side of the street, 304,” Luhan whispers, dropping the key into Kyungsoo’s palm. “But I don’t think you’ll like what you find.”

“It’s Jongin,” Kyungsoo sighs. “It doesn’t matter.”

He turns and is almost at the door when he hears Luhan calling to him. Confused, he turns to see that Luhan’s left the bar and is walking quickly towards him. When he’s standing directly in front of him Luhan stops, gazing at Kyungsoo with a strange look, something like sadness mixed with flutterings of hope.

“He loves you,” Luhan says simply, reaching up to grip Kyungsoo’s hand tightly. Kyungsoo doesn’t pull away. “And that’s when Jongin starts having problems.”

Kyungsoo squeezes the small fingers clutched in his own once before letting go, sweeping out the door before Luhan can say anything more, say anything else to squeeze Kyungsoo’s heart like a crumpled soda can. Because he’s not sure how Jongin feels about him, but he’s fairly certain no one would categorize it as love. He’s pretty sure Jongin doesn’t know what love is.

He’s a little surprised to find the door to Jongin’s apartment unlocked and hanging slightly open, but his surprise turns to weary amusement when he pushes slightly against the hinges, stepping into a dark living room, and sees Jongin backed up against the wall, a dark-haired boy’s lips pressed against his own and the boy’s hands down Jongin’s pants. When Jongin sees Kyungsoo standing in the lighted doorway he stills, untangling his hands from the other boy’s hair and letting them drop to his sides. Annoyed, the boy detaches their mouths and turns to stare at Kyungsoo as well.

“Well, hello,” he says, seemingly unfazed by having someone walk in on them. “You look vaguely familiar. Have I fucked you before?”

“This is Jongdae,” Jongin says huskily, sliding a tongue over his puffy lips, and Kyungsoo shudders involuntarily, the motion reminding him just how addicted he is to that mouth.

“Pleased to meet you,” Jongdae grins, baring his teeth, and when Jongin gasps helplessly Kyungsoo realizes with a start that Jongdae still has his hands in Jongin’s underwear.

“I think you should go,” Kyungsoo says harshly, and Jongdae simply shrugs, withdrawing his hands and wiping them obviously on Jongin’s shirt.

“You know where to find me,” he hisses in Jongin’s ear, loud enough for Kyungsoo to hear, before fisting a hand in Jongin’s hair and yanking his head back until it hits the wall, pressing a line of kisses down the column of his throat. It seems like a tiny eternity passes before he finally pulls away, and he’s careful to press his hip against Kyungsoo’s as he leaves, smirking at the way Kyungsoo jumps backwards in surprise.

It’s then that Kyungsoo turns his attention to Jongin, who’s still pressed against the wall as if tied in place, hair mussed, eyes wide, lips full and glossy. Kyungsoo can see Jongin’s erection tenting his low-hanging sweatpants and he fights the urge to submit and give Jongin exactly what he wants.

“Why did you leave?” Kyungsoo asks roughly, moving farther into the room so he can slam the door shut behind him. Jongin crosses his arms over his chest and huffs out a hot breath, but Kyungsoo can see something almost like nervousness sparkling in his eyes. “Were you really that upset that I didn’t want to fuck you when you were drugged out of your mind?”

“They always leave,” Jongin murmurs raggedly. “Why would you be any different? I figured this time I’d be the one to do the leaving.”

“I wasn’t going to leave,” Kyungsoo says, confused. “I would never leave.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jongin laughs, and the sound grates painfully on Kyungsoo’s ears. “I’ve heard that one before too. Just go, Kyungsoo. Make this easy for both of us. This was never going to work.”

“You can fuck every single person in this entire city,” Kyungsoo spits, eyes darkening at the way Jongin flinches. “And I would still come looking for you.”

“Why won’t you just fucking leave?” Jongin hisses, reaching a hand down into his own pants, but before he can do anything more Kyungsoo is moving across the room, slamming his arms against the wall, pinning them in place. And it doesn’t matter that Jongin is taller than he is-that Jongin is more shameless and more reckless than Kyungsoo will ever be-because Kyungsoo knows that inside, Jongin is a bird, and brittle air-light bones are all that hold up his feathered soul.

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo mutters, and when Jongin gazes down at him his eyes are wet.

“When I’m not with you I feel like I’m drowning,” Jongin whispers, voice thick with emotions Kyungsoo can’t quite identify. “Who else would put up with me like you do?”

And Kyungsoo says nothing, simply wrapping his arms around Jongin and pulling him in close, letting Jongin rest his head on Kyungsoo’s shoulder, hot tears soaking into his shirt.

*

“You did everything you could,” Junmyeon murmurs, and when Kyungsoo looks at him he sees that his eyes are heavy with borrowed sympathy. “We just don’t get any miracles today.”

“No,” Kyungsoo gasps harshly, tears blurring the scene in front of him almost beyond recognition, hand shooting out and gripping the side of the bed for support.

Jongin’s face is smooth, empty, painfully blank and beautiful, and Kyungsoo wonders if he was afraid, at the end. He wonders if he felt the collision, if he finally knew what it felt like to fly, even terribly briefly. He hopes that, for a few seconds, Jongin knew what it felt like to be a bird.

*

“Kyungsoo?” Minseok asks hesitantly, and Kyungsoo jerks upright so quickly he nearly falls off his barstool. Jongin looks around, fingers still twisted in Kyungsoo’s own, and smiles darkly when he sees Minseok standing there, gazing curiously at the two of them. Kyungsoo inwardly curses himself for being so careless-of course, if Luhan’s here Minseok couldn’t be far away.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Kyungsoo manages to stutter, trying to yank his fingers out of Jongin’s vice-like grip. Jongin frowns at him before turning and fixing Minseok with his most sensual smile, all hooded eyes and lifted eyebrows.

“I’m just here to pick up Luhan,” Minseok says quickly with a slight frown, eyes fixed on Jongin’s. “And this is…”

Kyungsoo bursts out laughing, unable to believe that Minseok can’t recognize Jongin. Though Kyungsoo supposes he can’t blame him-this Jongin, with his eyeliner and his dark leather jacket and his confident glances is so different from the Jongin he had met in the hospital, slightly snarky but mostly oh, so young.

“Kai,” Jongin says smoothly, reaching out a hand that Minseok gingerly takes, pumping it only once before stepping backwards, as if mesmerized by Jongin’s stare.

“Kai,” Minseok repeats, that same frown of near-recognition wrinkling his forehead. “I should go. It was good seeing you, Kyungsoo. I’m glad you…See you.”

And then Minseok is hurrying away, Luhan appearing seemingly out of nowhere to slip his arm around Minseok’s shoulders, turning to glance anxiously at Jongin and Kyungsoo over by the bar before they disappear out the door.

“Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, is he?” Jongin snickers, and Kyungsoo flicks him hard on the arm.

“Don’t make me regret bringing you here,” he quips, ignoring the way Jongin has started staring pointedly at his lips. He’s not falling for that. “Minseok is one of my really good friends. And I think he’s good for Luhan.”

“Okay, well that I have to agree with,” Jongin says, pouting when Kyungsoo refuses to kiss him. “Luhan’s been looking so happy lately he’s almost impossible to be around. He hasn’t had a one-night stand in months.”

“And how many have you had, Kai,” Kyungsoo asks, cocking an eyebrow inquisitively.

“I’m not one to kiss and tell, so long as people actually kiss me,” Jongin giggles, and this time Kyungsoo gives in, letting Jongin press kisses against his eyelids, his cheek, his neck, before pulling away and standing up.

“We should go,” he says. “And you should know, I don’t plan on coming back here after this. I’m done.”

“Wow, the last performance, huh?” Jongin asks, shoving Kyungsoo playfully as they walk out into the alleyway, but Kyungsoo can feel Jongin’s heartbeat speeding up as he absorbs the adrenaline of the crowd, sensing starting to go on overdrive.

Zitao hurries over as soon as he sees them, clapping a hand on Kyungsoo’s shoulder.

“The prodigal son returns!” he yells happily, and Kyungsoo thinks he might have to come back, if only as a spectator, because he’s missed this. He’s missed Zitao’s enthusiasm, his easy friendship.

“Just the one match, Tao,” Kyungsoo warns him, laughing when Zitao merely rolls his eyes. “Then I’m getting out. I’m done with all this.”

“Well, it’ll be a shame to see you go,” Zitao sighs, suddenly pulling Kyungsoo in for a far-too-affectionate hug. Though Kyungsoo can’t say he minds when he sees that the embrace makes Jongin’s eyes narrow and his mouth flatten into a thin line. “But you won’t believe this new guy who showed up last week, his name is Kyunhyun and he’s just brutal-”

Zitao has a hand on Kyungsoo’s wrist and is starting to drag him through the crowd, Jongin following close behind, when suddenly a shout rings out and Jongin’s being dragged away from them, hands grasping thin air as he tries to grab onto Kyungsoo’s arm.

“You’re the kid from the club the other night,” the man grunts, breath reeking of cheap beer, and within seconds Kyungsoo is fighting his way over to them, Jongin wriggling wildly as he tries to free his arm from the man’s grasp. “Where’s that pretty boy you were kissing up there onstage, huh? All the girls, they like that, but they wouldn’t be able to fuck you, would they? I bet that’s what you want, you little slut.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t even think before he’s swinging his arm back, slamming his fist against the man’s temple so hard he drops like a sack of potatoes, out cold.

“Shit,” Kyungsoo gasps, rubbing his aching knuckles and hoping none of them are broken. He’s scheduled for three different surgeries tomorrow. He turns to look for Jongin but he’s nowhere to be seen, and Kyungsoo begins to panic, jamming his body sideways through the crowd, yelling Jongin’s name, ignoring Zitao’s confused shouts from behind him. It’s not until he reaches the outer edge of the crowd that he sees a dark shadow racing down the alleyway, disappearing around a corner before Kyungsoo can gather enough breath to scream after him. Sighing angrily, Kyungsoo starts running as well, heading towards the slightly run-down apartment building he’s been visiting a bit too often recently.

His heart jumps a little when he sees that Jongin’s left the door unlocked for him, but he quickly squashes it down.

“So you’re a singer,” Kyungsoo says quietly into the darkness of the living room, gently closing the door behind him. Jongin is sitting, slumped over, at the kitchen table and he doesn’t look up when he hears the click of the lock.

“More of a dancer, really, Sehun is the singer,” Jongin replies, voice muffled by his sleeve. “But yes, a performer. I hate it, Kyungsoo. I hate how much I love it. I hate the way I never want to leave the spotlight, the way I can’t feel anything when I’m up there, everything is just numb and bright.”

“I’ve always thought you moved like a dancer,” Kyungsoo says thoughtfully, not quite able to grasp what Jongin is telling him. Moonlight is shining through the skylight between them, painting a thick square of white onto the carpet, and it makes Kyungsoo feel like he’s looking down a well. He can see hundreds of dust motes suspended in the wavering beams.

“And after my shows,” Jongin continues, voice harsh. “If Luhan’s not there to take me home I let them get me drunk, I let them do whatever they want with me, I beg them for it, Kyungsoo, do you understand? I hate how much I want it. I just want…”

“You want to be wanted,” Kyungsoo murmurs, still standing perfectly still in the middle of the room, staring intently at Jongin collapsed bonelessly against the table. Jongin’s breath hitches almost like he’s crying. “That’s perfectly natural.”

The first time Kyungsoo had stumbled into Yixing’s bar he’d nearly started a brawl and that was when Yixing had shoved him outside, telling him he had a great roundhouse punch, he should consider putting it to good use.

“It’s not, Kyungsoo,” Jongin spits, finally looking up. His eyes are dark, glimmering dangerously in the pale white light. “It’s not natural. I let them buy me drinks and I let them tell me to kiss Sehun and I do it, I keep doing it even though I broke his heart and he’s never forgiven me but I don’t care. I don’t care about him.”

The first time Kyungsoo’s fist collided with someone else’s flesh he was terrified, terrified of the elation bubbling in his chest, the way the blood dribbling down his knuckles felt like honey on his skin-sticky, tantalizing.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says, and the words come out a bit more coldly than he’d meant them to. “I told you, I don’t care who else you’re fucking.”

“Care!” Jongin suddenly screams, the sound ripping jaggedly through Kyungsoo’s chest. “I want you to fucking care, Kyungsoo! I need you to care.”

The first time Kyungsoo won a fight, gazing down at the twisted body in front of him before his opponent angrily picked himself up and slunk away, he felt a savage joy blazing through him, more fiercely than anything he’d ever felt before. He wondered how he could spend every day patching up broken bodies when he felt such pleasure at smashing them apart. Sometimes, Kyungsoo would sit at his kitchen table and tell himself he was a good person, writing a list in shaky scribbles of everything he’d done that week that had made him feel like a human being, had made him feel like he wasn’t just a chunk of flesh and bones, empty on the inside. He always burned the lists after writing them, ashes floating gently down into the sink like dying moths.

“What do you want me to say?” Kyungsoo asks angrily, taking a step towards Jongin before freezing in place, hands balled into fists. “Do you want me to say that the first time I met Sehun I wanted to break his jaw so he’d stop kissing you? Do you want me to tell you that every time I see you and Luhan together I feel jealous because he’s known you for twelve years-twelve fucking years!”

“I need you to tell me to stop,” Jongin whispers, voice shattered and uneven, and when he looks up at Kyungsoo the room suddenly feels like it’s spinning. “I need you to tell me that you don’t want me kissing other people. Tell me you own me. Tell me I can’t let anyone else touch me because I’m yours.”

“Mine,” Kyungsoo hisses, trying out the word, and Jongin shivers violently, reaching out his arms like a helpless child. “You’re mine.”

But before Kyungsoo can say anything else Jongin is jerking forward, easy grace so obvious now that Kyungsoo knows what to look for, and throwing his arms around Kyungsoo’s neck, crashing their mouths together. Kyungsoo can taste salt on his tongue and Jongin smells like wet leaves and moonlight and desire, and the fire in his stomach roars into a thunderous blaze that licks up his chest and neck until Kyungsoo is sure Jongin can see flames reflected in his eyes. He loves that Jongin wants to kiss him anyway.

“Am I going to die?” the small boy asks excitedly, cradling his arm in its light blue sling against his chest. Kyungsoo smiles sadly at him, handing his mother a bottle of pills along with a paper full of reassurances that he’ll be just fine, the cast will come off in a few weeks.

Kyungsoo just barely manages to stop himself from saying yes, from saying that they’re all going to die. He wonders when he started being so afraid of falling asleep.

Seeing Jongin onstage is a revelation, and Kyungsoo just can’t tear his eyes away. He hadn’t thought there would be such a difference between moving with a dancer’s grace and actually dancing but it’s like the difference between an injection of insulin and one of adrenaline. Glorious.

Jongin’s voice is sweet and husky through the microphone, and Kyungsoo wonders if this was why he wanted Kyungsoo to sing to him in the hospital. Jongin is made for the stage. From this far away, tucked in the back row of the teeming, writhing crowd, Kyungsoo can’t see Jongin’s carefully applied eyeliner, can’t see the hollows between his ribs, can’t see the lazy way he blinks like just raising his eyelids is a struggle. All he can see is that Jongin’s eyes are dark and hungry and demanding, and his leather pants are tight around his hips, and Kyungsoo wonders how he can possibly dance in those but he doesn’t really care because they just look so good.

“He loves this,” Luhan says, slipping up next to Kyungsoo, two bottles of beer clutched in his hand. Kyungsoo wonders where Minseok is. “He’s always loved this, ever since we were kids. His parents didn’t want him to keep singing, they wanted him to be a doctor. They kicked him out the minute he turned eighteen when he said he wasn’t going to go to college.”

Kyungsoo tries to imagine Jongin as a doctor, tries to imagine those hooded eyes examining a body lying still on the operating table, tries to imagine those delicate hands giving a little girl a heart-shaped sticker since she’s been so obedient during her appointment. It makes him laugh so hard he starts coughing, Luhan dutifully slapping him on the back as he struggles to draw breath.

“Did I look good?” Jongin gasps when he finally comes down from the stage, smiling widely at the few remaining fans that haven’t dissipated into the crowd. Throwing himself into the seat beside Kyungsoo, he slings an arm around his shoulders and breathes heavily against Kyungsoo’s neck.

“You looked good,” Kyungsoo says carefully, because complimenting Jongin never seems to go the way he hopes. But this time Jongin seems too high on the drinks people keep pressing on him and the excitement of being onstage, hearing hundreds of people yelling his name, to worry about what Kyungsoo says.

“Yeah, except you messed up the harmonies on that last song,” Sehun grumbles, slapping Jongin’s ass affectionately. Kyungsoo stares hard at him just as he has every time he’s seen Sehun around Jongin recently, trying to find cracks opening in his façade. But Sehun is obviously an expert, and nothing shows on his face as Jongin presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek before turning around and kissing Kyungsoo full on the mouth. Kyungsoo lets him, and this time he sees Sehun’s eyes go dark but maybe it’s just his imagination.

“Come with me,” Jongin whispers roughly in Kyungsoo’s ear, grabbing his wrist and dragging him away from the bar, away from Sehun, towards the back of the club. And Kyungsoo lets him, lets Jongin slam him up against the wall of the tiny, dirty bathroom, lets him press kisses against his throat, his chest, his mouth. Because he knows that Jongin is quickly getting dizzy, mind still whirling, thoughts smudging like the lines drawn along his eyelids. And soon he’ll let take Kyungsoo take over, let Kyungsoo shove a hand down his pants and pull at his cock with long strokes that will leave Jongin breathless, gasping for air that doesn’t seem to come as Kyungsoo seals their lips together, loving the way Jongin looks when he’s lightheaded, teetering on the edge of consciousness but too afraid to jump.

“There is no way I’m letting you fuck me here,” Kyungsoo groans as Jongin yanks ineffectively as his pants, unwilling to break the endless stream of kisses for anything. Kyungsoo knows Jongin likes to press him up against hard surfaces, likes to fuck him when Kyungsoo has no source of friction, when he can’t do anything but take it. Usually Kyungsoo is happy to oblige, but he does have some standards.

“I want to see you,” Jongin whispers between kisses, yanking this time at Kyungsoo’s shirt.

“What are you talking about?” Kyungsoo asks, confused. “You’ve seen me plenty of times.”

“Not…like that,” Jongin hisses, sliding his hands up under Kyungsoo’s shirt, pressing his long fingers into the hollows between Kyungsoo’s ribs. “I want to see you.”

Intrigued, Kyungsoo lets Jongin strip him of his shirt, helping him with the more difficult belt buckle, sliding his tight jeans down his legs. He’s surprised how strange it feels to just stand there, skin pale under the dim lights, cock curving prettily against his stomach, watching Jongin watch him.

“You look like a butterfly,” Jongin murmurs, and Kyungsoo laughs, sound loud in the small space. “I’m serious. So fragile. Kyungsoo, tell me what it feels like to fly. I want to know what it feels like.”

“It feels bright,” Kyungsoo says, shivering as a whisper of cold air twists past his body. “It feels so bright, Jongin.”

Because Kyungsoo’s spent a lot of time thinking about just how fragile human beings are, about just how determined people’s bodies are to betray them, to let them down at the most inopportune moments, shattering when they should hold steady, breaking when they ought to bend. The only person he’s never seen let down is Jongin-Jongin who never gives his body the chance to destroy him because he does it himself. And suddenly it feels like Jongin is the one standing naked in the grimy bathroom, because Kyungsoo can see through him, right through his bones, and it’s like Jongin is a whirlwind, a tropical storm forming over the Pacific because Kyungsoo had the audacity to flap his wings, to try to sew a bird into the gold-green fabric of the ground.

“What’s your favorite color?” Kyungsoo asks, because it’s the only thing he can do.

“Blue,” Jongin replies, still gazing at Kyungsoo like he wants to swallow him whole, like he wants to stick a pin through his chest and attach him to a thick piece of paper, a study in dark and light. “It’s always been blue.”

“And how’s my favorite matchmaker today?” Yixing hums, sliding over to where Kyungsoo is sitting and handing him a tumbler full of amber liquid. Kyungsoo curls his fingers around the glass, peeling back the misty layer of condensation, but doesn’t drink it.

“Luhan still doing well?” he asks with a smile, and Yixing laughs, running a hand through his hair.

“I can barely get him in here,” Yixing sighs happily. He’s always been a romantic. Kyungsoo always laughed at him for that, for thinking that love was something humans could do. Kyungsoo knows what love is-elevated heart rate, dilated pupils-and he knows it’s ridiculous to think anyone could understand the emotions behind it all. Love isn’t wanting someone to hold your hand or remember your birthday. Love isn’t patient, and it certainly isn’t kind.

“Oh, don’t act like you’re not happy to see him happy,” Kyungsoo snorts, as Yixing shoots him a dreamy look.

“What can I say?” Yixing says. “He just doesn’t look as tired anymore. You did a good job with the two of them.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Kyungsoo says quickly, because he doesn’t want to be saddled with anyone else’s happiness. “And sometimes I wish Minseok was a little less infatuated, it makes him forgetful, which makes my life harder.”

“That sounds frustrating,” Yixing says with a sympathetic look and Kyungsoo grins widely.

“Still not telling you what I do for a living.”

“Damn,” Yixing mutters good-naturedly. “Well, it was worth a try. And where’s your little friend today?”

“I have no idea,” Kyungsoo says honestly, because he doesn’t. He and Jongin have few rules-as long as Jongin doesn’t disappear or show up high on something Kyungsoo can’t identify, Kyungsoo promises not to break anything. Or anyone.

“Doesn’t that make you crazy?” Yixing asks, shooting Kyungsoo a sidelong glance. “Not knowing what he does all day?”

“No,” Kyungsoo says thoughtfully. “It’s one of the things I like about him, actually. He’s so flighty, never staying in one place. I admire that.”

“Some people wouldn’t agree with you,” Yixing says with a smile that Kyungsoo returns.

“Some people don’t have Jongin,” he says simply.

Jongin is the very picture of cockiness as he struts across the pool deck, sitting down on the arm of Kyungsoo’s lawn chair so that when Kyungsoo looks up from his book he’s met with an expanse of warm golden skin much more welcome than the bright summer sunshine. Jongin’s bathing suit is white and pale blue, the colors an elegant contrast to his skin, a childish counterpoint to his smirk as he runs his fingers through Kyungsoo’s hair, asking him why he still has a shirt on.

“Because I don’t want to get skin cancer,” Kyungsoo sniffs, tearing his eyes away from Jongin’s chest so he can pretend he’s reading again. He takes a sip of the drink in his hand, cold beads of condensation sliding down his fingers and across his wrist, fruity sweetness concealing the harsh bite of alcohol.

“Come on,” Jongin whines, yanking at the fabric of Kyungsoo’s t-shirt, but Kyungsoo simply places his drink back on the table at his side and presses his freezing palm flat against Jongin’s chest, shoving him backwards and laughing when Jongin yelps at the sudden cold.

“Fine,” Jongin huffs as he picks himself up and walks back across the pool deck, wincing slightly at the burn of hot concrete against the soles of his bare feet. “Watch me?”

And Kyungsoo does, letting his eyes drift up from the pages of his book as Jongin raises his arms gracefully over his head, turning back once like an eager child to make sure Kyungsoo is looking. Then Jongin is diving, smooth form flying halfway across the pool before he resurfaces, shaking glittering drops of water out of his hair, smiling so widely Kyungsoo thinks his heart might break.

But then Jongin’s heaving himself up out of the pool, wet feet slapping on the ground leaving a trail of soft, dark footprints behind as he runs over to where Kyungsoo is sitting and throws himself into his lap, upsetting his drink and splashing water all over the book Kyungsoo hasn’t read of a word of in hours.

“Jongin!” Kyungsoo gasps in annoyance, but he can tell Jongin knows he isn’t really angry because Jongin is twisting his arms around Kyungsoo’s neck and pulling him in for a deep kiss. Jongin tastes like sunshine and Kyungsoo’s fruity drink and chemicals and Kyungsoo likes the way his wet hair feels beneath his fingertips, he likes the way Jongin’s skin is so warm against his own.

“Now will you get in?” Jongin asks, pulling back and staring at Kyungsoo with eyes so wide they seem to mirror the blue water rippling behind him. “You’re already all wet.”

“Fine,” Kyungsoo grumbles, patiently letting Jongin peel off his shirt and drag him over to the pool deck. They jump at the same time, landing in the water with an enormous splash that sends aftershocks rippling all the way to the opposite wall.

“See?” Jongin laughs, as Kyungsoo resurfaces coughing and snorting, trying to wipe the water out of his eyes. “This isn’t so bad.”

And it really isn’t, Kyungsoo thinks, but only because Jongin is here with him, because Jongin is grabbing his shoulders and pulling Kyungsoo tight against his chest. Floating like this, skin against skin separated only by a thin layer of lukewarm water, Kyungsoo feels like he’s being rocked in the empty space between stars, hot light shining down on them from a supernova burning far, far away. Kyungsoo doesn’t think he’s ever felt so safe. It frightens him. Jongin pulls Kyungsoo even closer, resting his chin on the top of Kyungsoo’s head, but after a few silent moments Kyungsoo wriggles away, slippery body sliding out of Jongin’s grasp to flail against the water a little ways away, hoping that the chlorine burning his eyes will stop Jongin from seeing that he’s crying.

“You’re not dying, are you?” Jongin asks, morning sunshine sliding through his rumpled hair, and Kyungsoo laughs croakily, throat fuzzy with sleep.

“Aren’t you the one who says we’re all dying?” he asks, turning his head to move the pillow into a more comfortable position.

“We are,” Jongin laughs, wrapping an arm around Kyungsoo’s waist and pulling him close. “But if you died, that process might speed up unexpectedly for me.”

“What, are you saying you’d die without me?” Kyungsoo snorts, but something inside of him starts to burn.

“I need you,” Jongin breathes against his neck, and the words sound so naked and vulnerable that Kyungsoo suddenly can’t breathe.

“I thought you didn’t need anyone,” Kyungsoo says quickly, but his voice is shaking and he knows Jongin can hear it. “I thought you just needed to be needed.”

“I don’t need anyone,” Jongin huffs, and the words are warm in Kyungsoo’s ear. “Just you.”

And Kyungsoo thinks that this is closer to what love is-the blatant possessiveness he hears in Jongin’s voice, the way his own heart jerks shamelessly in response, the way Jongin’s scorching skin pressed against his own makes him feel like he’s drowning in a pit of liquid fire and he doesn’t even feel the pain as the skin is seared off his bones.

“You were right,” Kyungsoo says. “I’m not afraid of dying.”

“I know,” Jongin says. “And that’s what I’m afraid of.”

It’s only later, when Jongin is sliding into his sweatpants and slouching into the kitchen in search of breakfast that Kyungsoo realizes it’s nearly nine in the morning. And Jongin is still here. He didn’t leave.

“Kyungsoo, where do you keep your rice?” Jongin calls, and Kyungsoo can’t answer, words sticking in his throat as he realizes that Jongin didn’t leave. And Kyungsoo isn’t sure why that suddenly makes him so scared.

Instead of answering he walks into the kitchen himself, eyes drawn immediately to the band of skin that appears between Jongin’s low-hanging sweatpants and his t-shirt as he reaches up to open a cabinet door.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Jongin says, frowning as he opens one cabinet after another. “I thought you doctor types were obsessive organizers, how come everything isn’t labeled or something-”

But Kyungsoo doesn’t let him finish, trapping him against the counter and yanking his head down, licking into Jongin’s mouth and grinding against him so hard it only takes a few seconds before Jongin is whimpering and gasping, arms coming up to press against the countertop and stop himself from bending too far backwards. Just when Jongin’s moans start becoming something deeper and more desperate Kyungsoo backs away, untangling his fingers from Jongin’s hair, admiring the way he looks flushed and eager, lips slick with Kyungsoo’s saliva.

“What was that for?” Jongin gasps, sucking in long breaths as his cheeks start to dim to their normal color, rosy blush fading quickly now that they’re not touching.

“Promise me you’re not going to leave,” Kyungsoo says harshly, and Jongin gives him a worried look, stepping forward as if to pull him into a comforting hug. Kyungsoo steps backwards, evading his arms. “Say it.”

“I’m not leaving,” Jongin says with an easy smile and Kyungsoo feels like he’s melting, can feel the wax holding on his gossamer wings dripping hotly down his arms. “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

“The rice is in the drawer under the stove,” is all Kyungsoo says in reply, turning and heading to the bathroom where he locks the door and splashes cold water over his face, over and over again until he feels like he’s drowning. He looks up at himself in the mirror, frowning at the way the crystalline droplets collect in the hollows beneath his eyes, the way they cling to his bangs, his eyebrows, the edges of his mouth. And Kyungsoo can see himself slowly dying as the seconds tick by, can see the way the light in his eyes flickers like a candle in a hurricane, and he wonders how people like Jongin can look in the mirror for so long without having to see their own mortality staring back at them. Kyungsoo’s never been able to avoid it.

The worst is when he’s assigned to a shift in the emergency room. Every motorcycle accident, every overdosed addict, everyone with a back or waist injury-all of them send his heart leaping forward, accelerating faster than a racecar until it’s beating so hard he can feel it in his toes. Sometimes it gets so bad-when Minseok mentions a surgery he did that Kyungsoo didn’t know about, or someone comes in with a similar name-that Kyungsoo races over to his office, yanking the door shut and calling Jongin over and over again, leaving angry voicemails, deflating like a balloon when Jongin, or sometimes Luhan or Sehun, finally picks up and reassures him that everything’s just fine, Jongin’s not lying on a white bed somewhere.

“Look, you need to calm down,” Jongin finally says, irritation creeping into his voice. “I’m going to stop answering when you call if you’re going to keep being so hysterical.”

“Sorry,” Kyungsoo breathes before slamming down the phone, slapping both hands over his mouth, staring hard at the ceiling until the world stops spinning quite so dangerously. It gets easier-mostly he just types Jongin’s number into his phone but never calls, letting the number sit there on the screen, glowing reassuringly. As if Jongin’s death would cause his number to suddenly be erased from the face of the earth, as if the gleaming letters spelling out Jongin’s name that sit there so resolutely are proof that Jongin is still alive.

“You’ve been a little jumpy lately, everything all right?” Minseok asks one day as they’re doing their rounds, Kyungsoo trying to simultaneously remember if Jongin ate all the leftovers he was planning to have for dinner tonight and decide what pain medication he should prescribe to the next patient given their medical history.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Kyungsoo says, because it really is, or at least as close to “all right” as Kyungsoo thinks he’s ever been. “All right” is knowing that Jongin is going to be there when he wakes up. “All right” is knowing that Junmyeon is still confused about their filing system and Chanyeol is still incredibly tactless, continuing to ask prying questions about Kyungsoo’s sex life, and Minseok is still asking him how he’s doing and not what exactly he thinks he’s doing.

“All right,” Minseok says hesitantly, like he wants to say more, so Kyungsoo glances up at him, waiting. “It’s just…Luhan said that he thinks you should be careful. He says he’s never seen Kai like this before and he’s not sure what it means.”

Kyungsoo laughs harshly, both because it sounds so strange hearing Jongin’s stage name coming out of Minseok’s mouth and because Luhan decided he didn’t want to talk to Kyungsoo directly.

“Thanks, Minseok,” Kyungsoo says, clapping a hand on Minseok’s shoulder. “But I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t take care of yourself,” Minseok says, and Kyungsoo narrows his eyes at the emphasis. But he can’t be mad at Minseok, not really. Not when Minseok is one of the few stable things in his life, when Minseok is one of the things Kyungsoo thinks about when he thinks about time, memories, what kinds of things tend to slip through the cracks and what kind of things block the holes in the sieve of his mind.

“I’m glad to see you’ve trained Minseok to deliver messages for you now,” Kyungsoo spits, as he leans against the bar and dares Luhan to look at him. Luhan doesn’t rise to the bait, continuing to polish the glasses in front of him.

“I didn’t think he’d say anything to you,” Luhan sighs. “But I guess I underestimated his idiotic sense of loyalty.“

“I’ll say,” Kyungsoo says in annoyance, pulling himself onto one of the barstools and resting his elbows on the counter. “Like I can’t take care of myself. Like I’m the one making mistakes.”

“For what it’s worth, I wasn’t lying,” Luhan says, finally putting down the glasses and looking Kyungsoo right in the eye. “I’ve never seen Jongin like this before, and it worries me.”

“Like what?” Kyungsoo asks desperately, and Luhan gives him a concerned look.

“Jongin has made an art out of not caring, of letting himself be swept along by anything and everything, because at least then he feels something.” Luhan murmurs, and Kyungsoo thinks he knows exactly what he means. “Sometimes I think he’s forgotten what it feels like to really care. And then I wonder if he even wants to remember.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kyungsoo says harshly, dropping his eyes to his lap. “I’ve always cared too much. It will be enough for the both of us.”

Kyungsoo is a little surprised to hear the knock at his door as he’s standing in front of the mirror, brushing black lines along the edges of his eyelids with an eyeliner pencil he stole from Jongin and wondering if maybe he should change into something a little warmer than the black tank top he just threw on. He’s going to meet Jongin at the bar, and he can’t think of anyone else who’d be visiting at this hour. So he’s very surprised when he pulls open the door only to have Jongin fall heavily into his arms, eyes wide and breath reeking of alcohol.

“You’re drunk,” Kyungsoo mutters a bit accusatorily, though he’s not sure why that suddenly annoys him. He and Jongin have probably made out drunk more often than not.

“Jus a little,” Jongin slurs, not making any move to hold himself up-instead, he wraps his arms tightly around Kyungsoo’s neck and hitches his legs up around Kyungsoo’s waist. Kyungsoo nearly topples over at the sudden weight, but manages to haul them both over to the sofa where he collapses, Jongin basically sitting in his lap.

“They want to take me away, Kyungsoo,” Jongin mumbles, and the words send a sudden icy shiver shooting through Kyungsoo’s body. All the annoyance he felt at Jongin showing up out of the blue is transformed into an inexplicable terror.

“Who, Jongin?” he asks, urgently, pulling the other boy’s chin so they’re staring right at each other. Jongin is just barely sober enough to be able to look Kyungsoo in the eye without going cross-eyed. “Who wants to take you where? What happened, did you do something? I know people, I can get you a lawyer, we won’t let this happen.”

“They came to the bar,” Jongin says dreamily, reaching up a hand to caress Kyungsoo’s cheek. Kyungsoo nearly jerks away in surprise before deciding to let Jongin do it. The pressure feels so comforting. “They came to the bar and they saw Sehun and I and afterwards they were talking to us and they said…they want us to record? An album? Or something?”

“Oh,” Kyungsoo laughs, a loud, too-bright sound that echoes around the dim apartment. “That’s all. I was really scared for a minute there.”

“They want me to go with them, Kyungsoo,” Jongin says, hand still on Kyungsoo’s cheek. “They want me to leave here and go with them to whatever city their headquarters are in. I’d have to stay there for months and months. Maybe even years.”

“Wow, they must really want you guys, huh?” Kyungsoo laughs, but the sound is weak and he knows Jongin can tell he doesn’t feel it.

“Come with me,” Jongin says, earnestly, and then he’s slipping his hand off Kyungsoo’s cheek and using it to grab his hand, twisting it so he can press a soft kiss to the inside of Kyungsoo’s wrist. This time Kyungsoo does jerk away, the intense intimacy of the motion frightening him. But at the look of hurt in Jongin’s eyes he’s quick to move forward again, gripping both of Jongin’s hands in his own.

“I can’t, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says, hating that the way his voice cracks miserably contradicts the firmness of his words. “My whole life is here-my apartment, my job, my friends. I can’t leave.”

“Then I’m not going,” Jongin says resolutely, pulling Kyungsoo closer and pressing air-light kisses to his neck, his shoulders, his forehead. And Kyungsoo lets him, gathering his thoughts and wondering why he suddenly feels like he’s on fire, skin burning everywhere it touches Jongin. He wonders why Jongin can’t feel it.

“I can’t let you do that,” Kyungsoo finally says, and Jongin looks up, surprised at the coldness of the words. “This is your dream, Jongin, if you stayed because of me I would hate myself. I’d always feel guilty for holding you back. I never let anyone hold me back from my dream. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“I don’t dream about dancing,” Jongin says earnestly, eyes wide and wet and close and Kyungsoo feels like he’s drowning in them but instead of putting out the fire they simply make the flames roar higher, until he thinks he can feel his ethereal wings crumpling into ash. “I only dream about you. Always you. Ever since we first met.”

And Kyungsoo wonders where Luhan ever got the idea that Jongin didn’t know how to care because the way Jongin is looking at him right now makes Kyungsoo feel like he’s the only person in the entire world, and the rush of possessiveness suddenly shooting through him is dizzying. He never wants Jongin to look at anyone else like this. Just him.

“Then we can’t do this anymore,” Kyungsoo says harshly, making a decision, and he sees Jongin gazing desperately at him, as if trying to pretend to himself that he can’t hear what Kyungsoo is saying. “I’m not going to be the one who holds you back, Jongin. And if you’re not strong enough to do it, I’ll do it for you.”

“What are you saying?” Jongin whispers, and Kyungsoo pretends not to hear the way his voice is thick, his eyes glittering dangerously in the dim white light.

“I’m saying get out of my house,” Kyungsoo bites back, tearing his hands out of Jongin’s. The skin of his fingers feels blistered and raw. “Get out. Leave. Be happy.”

“And how am I supposed to fucking be happy without you?” Jongin growls, and the words fill Kyungsoo with a desperate confusion, an aching sadness.

“You’re not supposed to need me,” Kyungsoo hisses, standing up from the couch and crossing the living room in a few long strides, folding his arms protectively over his chest. “That wasn’t what this was about, Jongin. You and I…it only works because we don’t need each other. Not like that.”

“Then say it,” Jongin spits, and now his eyes are hard. “Tell me that’s all this ever was. Tell me you’d be perfectly happy if you never saw me again.”

“Get out,” Kyungsoo says roughly, and when he sees Jongin stand he almost expects him to refuse to leave, to step forward and pull Kyungsoo in close and refuse to let go. But Jongin simply turns and heads for the door, slamming it behind him so hard the whole frame shakes.

Kyungsoo tries to reassure himself, tries to tell himself that he is completely fine with this, completely fine with never seeing Jongin again, never seeing that smile, those lips, never hearing that voice early in the morning. But he can’t hear his own thoughts over the noise of a motorcycle engine coming to life, breaking the dark, early-morning silence, and suddenly all Kyungsoo can think is that Jongin shouldn’t fucking be driving he’s fucking drunk and he’s racing down the stairs, determined to do…something. But by the time he reaches the first floor of his apartment building, racing out into the blue-grey light coating the grimy street, Jongin is gone.

Sehun picks up on the fifth ring, and Kyungsoo’s halfway through his breathless barrage of questions before he has time to remember how much he hates talking to Sehun. Sehun, of course, is quick to remedy that.

“What, you manage to scare off your trophy fuck again?” Sehun wheezes, laugh much too loud through the phone and Kyungsoo can tell he’s high on something because that’s what Sehun fucking does and Kyungsoo hates it. He hates how much Sehun wants to touch Jongin because Jongin isn’t his.

“Shut up. Or actually don’t, just tell me if you know where he is,” Kyungsoo barks, but Sehun just keeps laughing, and if Kyungsoo could he would reach through the phone and punch him right in the face.

“You’ll have to look somewhere else for your wandering boytoy,” Sehun finally snorts, and Kyungsoo recoils from the sound. “He’s not here.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t even bother with a goodbye before ending the call, dialing Luhan’s number in seconds. Luhan picks up on the second ring, and hearing his soothing voice sends a wash of calm through Kyungsoo. His heart stops feeling like it’s trying to take flight and beat its way out of his chest.

“Is everything all right?” Luhan asks, immediately alert when he hears Kyungsoo’s harsh breathing on the other end of the line.

“Do you know where Jongin is?” Kyungsoo asks, screwing up his face to contain whatever emotions are clawing at his throat. “I made a mistake. A really bad one. And he left and he was drunk and he had his motorcycle and I’m so scared, Luhan. He’s not answering his phone, where is he?”

“Kyungsoo, it’ll be okay,” Luhan says reassuringly, but his voice sounds tighter, more worn. “Jongin likes to find empty places, places where he can be by himself. He’s probably just sitting in some park somewhere. Don’t panic.”

“Okay,” Kyungsoo breathes, pressing a palm against his chest as if to smooth out his stuttering heartbeat. “Okay, okay, okay. Don’t panic. Got it.”

“Just keep trying to call him every few hours,” Luhan says quickly, efficiently, and Kyungsoo’s always admired people who can be efficient in a crisis. “I’ll try too, and I’ll go check some of his favorite spots. We’ll figure this out.”

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo sighs, grateful for even this tenuous thread of hope. He can feel the words swirling around in his head like an angry cloud of bees, all need and want and get out and stop and come back. He’s sweating, and it’s cold against his skin, dripping slow like blood into his eyes, smearing across the backs of his hands as he wipes them angrily against his forehead. What’s the best way to catch a bird?

He decides he’s waited long enough, but he’s so shocked when Jongin actually picks up that his knees give out and he lands hard in a chair.

“Kyungsoo?” Jongin asks, and he sounds strangely confused, strangely pensive. “Is that you?”

“Jongin, Jongin, look I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of it,” Kyungsoo gasps, trying to keep himself grounded, trying to keep himself from floating up into the sound of Jongin’s voice in his ear, muffled a bit by a rush of background noise. “I’m so, so, sorry, please come back, I can’t stand thinking of you with anyone else besides me, you’re mine, Jongin. I need you.”

“I’m yours,” Jongin says, as if awestruck by the words, and Kyungsoo nods vigorously, even though he knows Jongin can’t see him. He angrily swipes at the crystalline tears that have snuck past his defenses and started to trail down his cheeks. “You need me.”

“I need you, Jongin,” Kyungsoo repeats, and he can feel that same familiar fire burning in his veins and he thinks he’s never wanted anything so badly in his entire life. Jongin is passion, and Kyungsoo can’t lose him, can’t lose the way Jongin makes him feel.

“I need you, too,” Jongin whispers, words soft and sweet, but suddenly Kyungsoo begins to wonder why Jongin’s voice is so hard to hear, what that strange rushing sound is.

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo says slowly, feeling a strange, dangerous fear blooming in his chest. “Where are you?”

“It’s so beautiful here, Kyungsoo,” Jongin says with a small glittering laugh. “There are so many lights and so much wind and I feel like I can fly. Is this how you feel all the time?”

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo says, desperately this time. “Are you standing next to a road? Are those cars going past you? Fuck, Jongin, what are you doing?”

“Don’t worry,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo can hear a smile in his voice and it slips past the dark clot of fear growing in Kyungsoo’s throat to land, warm and golden, in his stomach. “You need me. You’re the only one who really knows me, Kyungsoo. I’ll be there. I-”

But Jongin’s words are suddenly lost in a tremendous shattering and the line goes dead.

*

Kyungsoo surveys the boy’s still body as if in a trance. He doesn’t even realize tears are tracing silently down his cheeks until Seohyun comes over to him and reaches up a gentle hand to brush them away. Kyungsoo jumps, pushing her fingers away, and tries to get ahold of himself. For some reason this boy, this beautiful boy lying in front of him, seems to remind him of everything he’s missing in his life. Everything he’s always wanted for himself but never been able to achieve. His heart feels like it’s burning and he doesn’t know why. He’s never believed in love at first sight, never believed that love was a thing he could do. Now he’s not so sure.

“Kyungsoo, this boy was a total stranger. You didn’t even know him,” Minseok says quietly, putting his hand gently on Kyungsoo’s shoulder.

“Now I never will,” Kyungsoo spits, staring down at the name on the papers in front of him, large, unfamiliar letters blurred by involuntary tears.

Kim Jongin.

It sounds like a name Kyungsoo could love.