He (2/2)
“I just don’t know what to do,” Kyungsoo groans, letting his head fall dramatically onto Jongin’s shoulder.
They’re sitting on a bench outside a small shopping center. The theater they’d just left is a little ways away across an ocean of dark pavement. The single yellow streetlight standing resolutely beside them is the only source of light in the dim spring evening. Nobody is passing by.
It’s so peaceful, Jongin thinks, just the heavy smell of hot concrete and the constant chirping of crickets and the distant woosh of cars passing by on the road that runs along the far side of the enormous parking lot.
“Just stop talking to her,” Jongin sighs, putting a gentle, comforting hand on Kyungsoo’s knee. “She’s not good for you, Kyungsoo.”
“But I…I really, really like her, Jongin,” Kyungsoo huffs, before turning frustratedly to gaze out at the street. Jongin wishes he could help, wishes he could give Kyungsoo a better answer. But he knows exactly how helpless love leaves you, knows exactly how easy it is to get addicted to loving someone. How hard it is to break away.
“Kyungsoo, she was your first, but the fact that she basically just called you pathetic and said you should ‘play harder to get’ with the next girl or no ‘respectable’ girl will ever want to date you…” Jongin says uneasily, because he can’t stop his fists from clenching when he remembers getting the texts from Kyungsoo.
We’re breaking up.
Received 12:15am
I’m not good enough for her. She could get any guy she wants, so why should she settle for me, who’s obviously just desperate for anyone who will let me fuck them.
Received 12:30am
That’s what she told me.
Received 12:31am
Jongin, what do I do now.
Received 12:40am
Jongin, what do I DO.
Received 12:41am
I think I need to call you. Can I call you?
Received 1:00am
Call me.
Sent 1:01am
Jongin still wants to punch her in the face sometimes, though he knows that would probably hurt Kyungsoo just as much as it would hurt her. Love is so fucking ridiculous. So fucking painful.
“You know, you never tell me anything about yourself,” Kyungsoo says abruptly, and Jongin shifts sideways, startled.
“What do you mean? You know a lot about me!” Jongin protests, because if Kyungsoo thinks he doesn’t know Jongin, Kyungsoo who Jongin trusts more than anyone in the world, than who really does know Jongin after all? Does he even know himself?
“Then tell me who you like,” Kyungsoo says firmly, looking directly into Jongin’s eyes. “I know you like someone. I just feel so…cut out of your life. I tell you everything. Everything, Jongin. And you won’t tell me anything.”
“I just-I can’t-“ Jongin lets out a long, shuddering breath. “What if I tell you and then you don’t-”
“Okay, look, how about I guess and you tell me if I’m right or wrong,” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin can see his eyes sparkling with excitement, can feel his heart spreading out wide as he gives in, he’s going to give in.
“Okay,” Jongin mumbles, and it’s so hard to breath he feels like he’s sitting in the bottom of a giant fishbowl, looking out at the warm, wet world and trying to inhale water instead of air. “Okay.”
“Krystal,” Kyungsoo starts immediately, eyes fixed on Jongin’s face to watch for his reactions. “Taeyeon. Sojin. Is the person you like in band?”
“No,” Jongin says with a slight smile. Kyungsoo hums in dissatisfaction.
“Dara,” Kyungsoo continues. “Lizzy. Jieun. Suzy. Amber. Dasom. Seulgi. Okay, come on, give me a hint!”
“It might-“ Jongin starts, before taking a deep breath and deciding. He decides. “It might help if…I told you that I…wasn’t. Into girls. Like that.”
“Oh,” Kyungsoo breathes, and for a second it’s so sickeningly silent that Jongin feels like he might throw up, like he wants to get up and run and run and run until Kyungsoo is gone and the warm night air wraps around his body like a second skin, pulling him into a cocoon where there is no fear, no anger, no love.
“Oh,” Jongin repeats, already moving to stand before he feels Kyungsoo hand on his arm yanking him back down.
“Why did you think I would care?” Kyungsoo asks, and he sounds almost annoyed. Jongin turns to look at him in amusement, but he’s pretty sure the effect is spoiled by the traitorous tears that have started collecting in his eyes.
“I just…you know. I didn’t know,” Jongin says, sniffs, rubs his eyes angrily as the tears start to fall because he’s just so relieved. Kyungsoo doesn’t hate him. Kyungsoo doesn’t mind. Kyungsoo doesn’t care. Instead, he cares so, so much. Cares about Jongin.
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo says, and this time his voice sounds a bit resigned, a bit sad. “It’s Chanyeol. Isn’t it.”
“Chanyeol,” Jongin hiccups, and tries to ignore the dizzying jolt of pleasure that always accompanies saying Chanyeol’s name. As if, just by saying the name, Jongin could make Chanyeol just a little bit more his.
“Is he…you know,” Kyungsoo shifts uncomfortably, though Jongin isn’t sure what’s bothering him exactly. “Is he into boys?”
“I don’t know,” Jongin says truthfully, because he really doesn’t. But he also thinks he kind of does. “But I don’t think so.”
“Jongin, I’m so sorry,” Kyungsoo whispers, and this time it’s Jongin leaning his head on Kyungsoo’s shoulder, Kyungsoo wrapping his arms around Jongin because it’s dark and it’s late and Jongin is in love with the complete wrong person and he’s spent a lifetime reading about unrequited love but he never thought the real thing would hurt this much.
“It’s fine, it’s fine, I’ll get over it, it’s just a stupid crush,” Jongin lies. Because it’s not just a crush. Jongin loves.
“Maybe you should tell him,” Kyungsoo says, but he immediately drops the subject when he sees the look on Jongin’s face.
They sit there in silence for a few moments, Jongin shifting upright so they’re propped up next to each other on the bench. The crickets are loud. The moon is bright overhead. Someone walks past them through the parking lot, a dark shape slipping in and out of shadow.
“Thank you,” Kyungsoo says, and when Jongin turns to look at him he sees that Kyungsoo is giving him a real smile, a genuine smile, a grateful smile. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me that.”
“You’re my best friend,” Jongin says jokingly, though inside he feels like he’s finally dropped a load of bricks he’s been carrying for the past year. Now there’s just a few bricks left, all with Chanyeol’s name engraved onto them in harsh, unforgiving letters. All ready to smash through the windows of Jongin’s heart.
But, as Jongin watches Kyungsoo walk off towards his car, he suddenly feels like everything isn’t terrible after all.
He suddenly feels a little happier. A little less wounded. A little more peaceful.
The end of the school year is so close they can taste it-energy running high all the time as they count down their last remaining days with a mix of nostalgia and excitement. For Jongin, it’s mostly excitement.
“Where are you going to college?” Krystal asks good-naturedly from her spot next to Jongin. Their English teacher’s gone off on another tangent about the play they’re reading and no one’s really paying attention, instead chatting quietly with each other or amusing themselves by doodling or making paper airplanes out of their worksheets.
“Only one of the best schools in the country!” Chanyeol crows proudly, much too loud for a classroom, before Jongin has a chance to answer. And when Jongin shushes him Chanyeol just smiles wider. “Jongin is really smart. Who knew, right?”
“Everyone but you,” Jongin smirks, as Krystal laughs and Chanyeol gasps, pressing a hand dramatically to his heart.
“I never thought I’d see the day my own friend would turn on me,” Chanyeol sighs sadly, wiping away an imaginary tear as he gazes off into the distance. “Just don’t become one of those snobs when you go off to school, okay? I still expect the same Jongin back when you visit me during the summer.”
“Aww, Jongin’s not the snobbish type,” Krystal smiles, poking Jongin playfully in the side. “Right?”
“Definitely not,” Jongin replies, but he can’t stop a wide grin from spreading across his face as he glances back at his desk, eyes sliding over the empty sheet of paper he’s supposed to be taking notes on. When he looks up, he sees Chanyeol staring hard at him. “What?”
“You’ve been oddly cheerful lately,” Chanyeol says, and Jongin snorts, flicking a paperclip at Chanyeol’s desk. He misses, but it’s the thought that counts.
And maybe he has been cheerful lately. Maybe it has something to do with the lovely spring weather. With the fact that he’s so close to getting out of high school once and for all. That he’d gotten into such a good college despite not having the best grades in his class. With the bone-crushing hug Chanyeol had given him after Jongin had proof-read his essay for English and given him a few suggestions. “You’re a fucking genius, Jongin!” Chanyeol had crowed, waving his graded paper in Jongin’s face. “This is the first A I’ve gotten all year on an essay!”
“Cheerful? Me? Never,” Jongin teases, but he suddenly gets suspicious when he sees the calculating look on Chanyeol’s face.
“Jongin,” Chanyeol says seriously, bending forward so their faces are horribly close together. “Are you in looooooove?”
Jongin freezes. He can’t help it. It’s just much too close to the mark, and he knows Chanyeol’s probably joking, he knows, but there’s a terrible, terrible second when Jongin thinks about answering “yes.” About saying yes and then dragging Chanyeol out of the classroom and kissing him right there, shoving him back against the lockers and kissing him where everyone can see, so everyone knows that Chanyeol belongs to him. And Chanyeol would kiss him back, would twine his fingers in Jongin’s hair and yank him forward and lick hotly into his mouth and-
“Oh my god, are you?” Chanyeol breathes, looking like Christmas has come early. Fuck. “Is Jonginnie in love with someone? Tell me. Tell me!”
“No, I’m not, shut up,” Jongin hisses as Chanyeol starts to pound excitedly on his desk, demanding to know the object of Jonginnie’s affections. “Shut up, what are you even talking about?”
If there’s one thing to be said for Chanyeol, he’s determined, Jongin thinks with a muffled groan as Chanyeol keeps pestering him, leaning farther and farther forward as he smacks Jongin’s arm over and over again.
“Look, I know you’re just doing this to bother me, and I refuse to be bothered,” Jongin says pompously, turning back to the front of the room.
That, at least, has Chanyeol withdrawing to his own seat with a huff of annoyance. Jongin almost misses the closeness before he remembers the questioning that had come with it.
At this point, Jongin thinks wryly, pain and happiness are so intertwined he can’t remember a time when he felt them separately.
“I like your shoes,” Jongin says off-handedly, as they’re standing in the quad waiting for Baekhyun and Yifan to walk over to them. The shoes are new, that much is obvious, probably a present to start senior year, and from the way Chanyeol’s been strutting around all day he’s dying to have someone notice them.
“I like you,” Chanyeol replies, with a blinding smile, and before Jongin has the chance to do anything more than feel completely overwhelmed Baekhyun’s run over whooping about doing well on some test and Chanyeol’s attention is completely diverted.
I like you. No sarcastic emphasis like Kyungsoo always does. Just plain. Simple. Jongin sometimes wonders how one person can be shattered over and over again and still stay standing.
Graduation is unexpected. It comes in a sudden rush of diplomas and relatives and parties and by the end of it Jongin is positively disoriented, still can’t quite believe he’s leaving high school behind.
Kyungsoo cries, although he swears to kill anyone who ever brings it up again, and he and Jongin promise to visit, since they’ll be going to schools only a few hours away from each other. But it’s not until Jongin sees Chanyeol that the whole thing feels desperately real.
“WHOO!” Chanyeol whoops, running up to Jongin and sweeping him up into that signature bear hug that leaves Jongin lightheaded and gasping because he just can’t quite handle so much Chanyeol all at once. “WE GRADUATED! HELL YES!”
“You’ll bother all the parents trying to take pictures of their little babies,” Jongin protests, but he knows it’s not that effective when he’s grinning ear-to-ear, letting Chanyeol drag him towards where Chanyeol’s parents are standing.
“Mom, mom!” he calls, yanking Jongin’s arm until they’re standing side by side, so close, so fucking close. “Take a picture of us!”
“So, you must be Jongin,” Yura says, as Jongin leans back against a pillar, watching Chanyeol rush over to get a photograph with Baekhyun, who looks like he would be bawling right now if he didn’t think that would mess up his meticulously applied eyeliner. Jongin remembers suddenly that Baekhyun’s going to be going to the same school as him next year. He can’t quite pin down why the idea bothers him.
“That’s me,” Jongin smiles at her. Yura’s actually quite pretty. Good genes in that family, Jongin thinks wryly.
“You know, Chanyeol talks about you all the time at home,” Yura continues, and Jongin’s chest tightens painfully. “You seem like a pretty cool person. I think you’ve been a good influence on him.”
“Uh…thanks,” Jongin says uncomfortably, because he doesn’t like the way her words are causing a little trickle of pleasure to melt down into his throat, his chest, his arms.
“Here, come here, come here!” Chanyeol calls from where he’s standing with Baekhyun on one arm and Yifan on the other, Sehun standing nearby looking teary-eyed but stoic.
Jongin joins them, wraps his arm around Yifan’s broad shoulders, grins brightly for the camera.
“My best friends in the whole world!” Chanyeol yells exuberantly into the hot summer morning, and Jongin gives up, lets the warmth engulf him even as his heart clatters painfully in his chest like a wind chime in a hurricane.
“My best friends.”
“Where even are you?” Chanyeol laughs, the sound staticky and rough as his grainy face grins out at Jongin from his laptop.
“A classroom,” Jongin replies, because he is. He’d managed to sneak into the building after hours by following some grad students, knowing no one would be in the classrooms this late in the evening. “What? It’s quiet in here! And there’s no roommate to bother me.”
“How is your roommate?” Chanyeol asks interestedly, features washed out by the poor lighting in his dorm room and the iffy internet connection. “You like him?”
“He’s…nice,” Jongin replies, because Yixing really is. He’s sweet and nice and quiet and not a bother at all. “We’re just…different. We’re not really friends.”
“Oh, come on!” Chanyeol protests, as Jongin knew he would. “You live with the guy and you’re telling me you two aren’t friends? You have to see each other every day!”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Jongin sniffs, smiling himself just because seeing Chanyeol is so soothing. So familiar. And Jongin’s missed this more than he can say. “I mean, he’s a great roommate. We’re just not friends.”
“Well, you wait,” Chanyeol says firmly, shaking a finger at Jongin’s face. “You’re awesome, so I guarantee before the end of the year he’s going to realize what he’s missing out on and you guys are gonna be great friends. Even better than you and I.”
“Well, that’s not hard to do,” Jongin smirks as Chanyeol gasps dramatically.
It still hurts, Jongin realizes. Fuck.
Class is boring.
Received 3:12pm
oh, so you expect me to entertain you?
Sent 3:12pm
duh
Received 3:14pm
what if I’m busy or something?
Sent 3:14pm
um, obviously youre not bc youre responding to my texts as soonas you get them
Received 3:16pm
touché
Sent 3:20pm
hey, don’t ignore me cause im smarter than u!
Received 3:40pm
fine i dont need you anyways. I’ll go find some real friends to talk to
Received 4:00pm
Sorry!!! Someone asked me to help them with hw and I got distracted.
Sent 4:20pm
AHAHAHAHAHAHA o i c /homework/ is what you were doing SURE JONGIN SURE
Received 5:00pm
wat are you even talking about?
Sent 5:01pm
you sent me that text @ 4:20. dnt lie to me kid
Received 5:02pm
Are you sure you’re in college? Because I’m pretty sure your 10 years old.
Sent 5:02pm
B)
Received 5:05pm
You love me
Received 5:05pm
Admit it
Received 5:05pm
Hello?
Received 5:20pm
Jongin likes college. He likes it a lot.
He likes doing things by himself, he likes not having to wake up early, he likes getting to take the classes he wants to take. He likes being able to write whenever he wants, whenever some stray phrases filter into his mind.
If he’s being honest, a lot of those phrases are about Chanyeol.
But time heals all wounds-Jongin’s read those words hundreds of times-and he realizes how true they are when he starts going hours, days, weeks, without thinking about Chanyeol at all.
When the boys on his floor flop all over the hallway at 2am and talk about which girls they think are hot, Jongin sits quietly, smiling at the easy conversation, carefully saying that he thinks this girl or other seems nice, seems pretty, seems funny.
He doesn’t know why he’s so careful. He knows that there are other…gay…people. Here. There’s even a club on campus, a club Jongin hasn’t quite worked up the courage to join, a club whose booth he studiously avoids at all the activities fairs, whose e-mails he deletes without reading even though he put himself on the e-mail list the first day of school.
And Jongin starts to wonder at the boy he was senior year.
The boy who thought there wasn’t even enough of him to make a whole person.
Because there’s so much of Jongin now, and Jongin loves it, he loves this person he’s become, this person he’s discovered he’s always been.
Jongin’s a dancer and he’s a writer and he’s quiet and thoughtful and a good listener and loud and funny and nice to talk to when you’re feeling down. He has his classes and he has his dreams and he has his friends-never mind if he isn’t totally comfortable with any of them, not as comfortable as he is with Kyungsoo, not as comfortable as he was with Chanyeol.
And it’s good. Jongin is good.
Time heals all wounds-Jongin’s read those words hundreds of times-and he realizes just how wrong they are the first time he sees Chanyeol again.
It’s a small, out-of-the-way kind of restaurant, set into a dark little shopping center close to Jongin’s school. Chanyeol had driven up the first day of his spring break and offered to take Jongin out and Jongin had agreed, had expected everything to be fine. Had expected to be over Chanyeol.
But the instant he sees him, everything comes crashing back and it’s like Chanyeol had never left at all. Jongin feels dizzy, feels sick, feels overwhelmed as his heart lurches in his chest, old wounds reopening. And he actually presses a hand to his chest to make sure he’s not bleeding through his shirt because everything suddenly feels much too hot and wet and close and Chanyeol.
It’s all Chanyeol’s fault.
“God, it’s so good to see you!” Chanyeol exclaims as Jongin climbs into the passenger seat of his car, leans back against the cushions, and lets himself adjust again to Chanyeol’s bright smile, the way he cocks his head to the side as he waits for a response. “How are you?”
“I’m doing great!” Jongin replies, managing a smile of his own even though he feels like his skin is on fire-the urge to touch, to caress, to claim so much stronger after its brief absence. “Really great.”
“Of course you are,” Chanyeol smirks, reaching out a hand to awkwardly ruffle Jongin’s hair. “I taught you well, young grasshopper.”
“Yeah, yeah, both hands on the wheel,” Jongin laughs, batting Chanyeol’s hand away. Fighting the urge to grab onto it, lace their fingers together.
And it feels so natural, being with Chanyeol. It’s something Jongin’s done for so long that being with Chanyeol feels like coming home. He knows just how to respond to all of Chanyeol’s questions, knows how to navigate the minefield of replies and jokes and feelings so well he can practically hop across it on one foot, blindfolded. Chanyeol is part of Jongin now.
And, somehow, that helps.
And, somehow, that makes everything worse.
Because Jongin knows just what to say to Chanyeol, knows just which jokes and stories to tell to make him laugh, mouth open, eyes bright. Jongin knows just when to reach out and punch Chanyeol good-naturedly on the arm, when to turn his attention back to his plate, blinking slyly up at Chanyeol through his lashes.
And Jongin knows what it’s like to repeat a routine so many times it become a memory. He knows how hard it is to change that routine if anything goes wrong. Because once it’s become a memory, there’s no overwrite key, no backspace. There’s no way out.
“Damn it, I forgot to stop and get cash,” Chanyeol moans when they’re standing at the front waiting to pay the bill.
“Oh, don’t worry, I got it,” Jongin says quickly, already handing the money over to the cashier.
“No-don’t-Jongin,” Chanyeol grumbles, giving Jongin an annoyed look. “I can pay for things myself, you know.”
“Just pay me back later,” Jongin sighs, smiles, ushers Chanyeol out the door. “It’s not a big deal.”
And it’s not, it’s not a big deal, it shouldn’t be. But Jongin can’t stop the warmth that suffuses his entire body at being able to do this, at being able to do these little things for Chanyeol. Anything to be able to pretend to himself that they’re not just friends. That Chanyeol paid for that ice cream and Jongin paid for this dinner and later, in the car, Jongin will let his hand slip higher and higher on Chanyeol’s thigh until Chanyeol pulls the car roughly over to the side of the road and hauls Jongin into his lap, kisses him hard in the endless darkness.
It’s not until they’re almost back at Jongin’s dorm that Jongin breaks.
“So, you’ll never believe what happened the other day, just before vacation,” Chanyeol says, and Jongin nods though he knows Chanyeol can’t see him, lamplight flashing intermittently over his face. “I was walking to the bathroom, and I could hear someone singing.”
“In the bathroom?” Jongin asks playfully, making a face. “Not very classy.”
“No, no, they were on the staircase,” Chanyeol laughs, and the sound is just so familiar it makes Jongin’s stomach curl contentedly. “So I walked over there to see who was singing. And it was this girl.”
This is when Jongin starts to bend. Starts to fall.
“She was this really pretty girl, Jongin. And she had this absolutely gorgeous voice!” Chanyeol continues happily, so fucking happily, and Jongin knows every single tone of voice Chanyeol uses and this is one he reserves for things like school holidays and top test grades and perfectly-executed pranks. Satisfied, excited, so, so happy.
“Did you ask her out?” Jongin asks, because he’s supposed to. Because he knew this was coming, he knew this was coming but he didn’t realize just how little being prepared for this would help ease the crushing pain.
“Not yet,” Chanyeol admits, but the grin on his face tells Jongin everything he needs to know. They’ve pulled up next to Jongin’s dorm, are sitting in the dark car staring together at the streetlamps lining the road. “But I will. She’s so pretty, Jongin. And so sweet, when I opened the door to the staircase she got all embarrassed and asked if she was bothering me and if I wanted her to stop. She was practicing for an a capella concert-isn’t that so fucking adorable, she sings a capella-and she said the stairway had the best acoustics in the building.”
“Good luck,” Jongin manages to say, manages to spit past the steadily growing lump in his throat. “But I’m actually not feeling too well, I should probably go.”
“Are you okay, do you need me to come with you?” Chanyeol asks worriedly, leaning over to try to get a good look at Jongin’s face. Jongin avoids his gaze, because he’s pretty sure want is written all over his face right now and he doesn’t want Chanyeol to see it, doesn’t want to be so weak.
“It’s fine, see you later, we should definitely do this again,” Jongin croaks, practically throwing himself out of the car and taking the steps two at a time up to his room. He throws himself down onto his bed-so, so glad that Yixing’s off somewhere, probably at a party, and he doesn’t have to explain why he’s suddenly howling into his pillow.
He doesn’t cry. He’s done crying over Chanyeol, he decided that a long time ago. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still want to rip open his chest and yank out his heart and throw it out the window.
Because Jongin is tired. He’s so tired.
The next time he gets an e-mail, Jongin reads it instead of deleting it.
(Hey, why have you been ignoring me?
Received 11:46pm
Jongin?
Received 12:30am
Is everything all right?
Received 12:34am
Did I do something wrong?
Received 1:01am)
The next time he gets an e-mail, he reads it and he goes.
It takes every single ounce of his courage to duck in the door. To walk into the dim room crowded with people talking, laughing, dancing, and sidle up to where someone’s handing out cups of lukewarm beer with a broad smile.
It’s not until several minutes later, as he’s pressed flat against the back wall of the room, watching the rest of the people milling around with heavy eyes, that Jongin wonders what the hell he’s doing here.
“Having a rough day?” a familiar voice says from beside him, and Jongin jerks around to see Baekhyun looking up at him with knowing eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Jongin gasps, before he realizes that it’s perfectly reasonable for Baekhyun to be here. Baekhyun can go to whatever parties he wants. Even if he’s not…even if he’s not like Jongin. “I mean. Never mind. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Baekhyun laughs darkly, taking a long pull from his plastic cup and making a face. “I’m just here because my roommate was too nervous to go by himself and I’m getting sick of him whining about how he’s never going to get a boyfriend.”
“Roommate?” Jongin asks quizzically, because even though he knows Baekhyun lives near him, they’ve never actually talked, much less gone into each other’s rooms.
“Luhan,” Baekhyun replies, gesturing towards a lithe, brown-haired boy stepping onto the dance floor, gracefully slipping in front of a tall, dark boy with a perfect smirk.
“He doesn’t look like he needs much help,” Jongin comments wryly, but when he turns to Baekhyun he’s surprised to see Baekhyun looking serious rather than amused.
“Chanyeol doesn’t know, does he?” Baekhyun says quietly, so quietly Jongin almost can’t hear him over the general buzz of conversation and music. So quietly Jongin can almost pretend he didn’t hear, that the words don’t make him choke on thin air.
“No,” Jongin says, clearing his throat loudly as if that will dislodge the wad of guilt and shame and love that’s slowly but surely smothering him. “No, he doesn’t know.”
“Well, don’t worry, I won’t tell him,” Baekhyun reassures him, as Jongin notices Luhan peeling away from the boy he’s been dancing with and heading in their direction. “Though I really think you should. He won’t care.”
“I know,” Jongin says, almost to himself. Mostly to himself. Because he knows Chanyeol won’t care. And that’s exactly the problem.
“Hey, who’s this?” an unfamiliar voice says from Jongin’s right, and he’s taken aback when Luhan suddenly drapes an arm around his neck, reaching up a hand to cup Jongin’s chin and pull his face around so Luhan can get a better look at him.
“Could you try not being creepy for two seconds?” Baekhyun groans, as Jongin jerks out of Luhan’s grasp, but Jongin can see that he’s grinning. “See, this is why no one wants to date you.”
“I asked who this lovely gentleman is,” Luhan repeats, giving Baekhyun a sweet smile and completely ignoring what he’s saying.
“I’m Jongin, Baekhyun and I know each other from high school,” Jongin says quickly, holding out a hand and immediately regretting it when Luhan sweeps it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to Jongin’s knuckles. “Um. Can you. Not?”
“I thought you said your friend Jongin from high school was gay?” Luhan drawls, turning to glare at Baekhyun.
“He is!” Baekhyun insists, as Jongin gapes. Had he really been that obvious?
“Ah, so Baekhyun is your straight high school friend,” Luhan says to Jongin, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, though Jongin has absolutely no idea what he’s trying to convey.
“Um. Yes?” Jongin tries tentatively, but he knows he’s said the wrong thing when Baekhyun laughs, waving his hands and shaking his head.
“I’m not that straight best friend,” Baekhyun snorts, slapping Luhan on the back of the head. “Get your shit together, Luhan.”
“Uh…what are you guys talking about?” Jongin asks in confusion, feeling even more defensive when the two of them burst out laughing.
“You know,” Luhan chuckles. “The straight best friend you’re secretly in love with even though you know they’ll never love you back. It’s kind of a rite of passage.”
“See, I’m Luhan’s straight best friend,” Baekhyun explains slowly, like he’s up at the board solving a simple math problem as Jongin looks dully on. “But I’m not his straight best friend. Get it?”
“I…don’t know,” Jongin sighs, though he’s pretty sure he does.
“See you around, Jongin,” Luhan says, brushing a hand along Jongin’s side before Jongin can duck out of the way. “And a word of advice-it’s not worth it.”
Jongin’s just not sure how many more times he can tell himself that before the words lose any meaning all together. Before they blend together into the general rush of feelings that’s always threatening to swamp him.
Because what words can describe the way Jongin feels when Chanyeol smiles at him? The way Jongin’s heart races when he sees Chanyeol’s name pop up on his phone? The way Chanyeol has done nothing but be Chanyeol and he made Jongin fall in love with him anyway?
Sometimes Jongin hates Chanyeol.
But most of the time he hates himself.
“Jongin,” Chanyeol says suddenly, and it’s this suddenness that makes Jongin really pay attention, leaning against his locker door and watching the way Chanyeol’s eyes glimmer in the fading evening sun.
“What?” Jongin asks, when Chanyeol doesn’t seem to be making any moves to continue speaking.
“I…” Chanyeol gulps, breathes in deeply, steadies himself. Jongin waits, not sure what Chanyeol’s working himself up to say.
“I like you,” Chanyeol says. Simple. Clean. Neat.
“I like you too, Chanyeol,” Jongin sighs, almost groans, because Chanyeol says that so much, says that to everyone and sometimes Jongin just wants to tell him so Chanyeol will stop fucking playing with him.
“No, Jongin, you don’t-” Chanyeol huffs in frustration, and this is what makes Jongin pause, makes him turn slowly as he watches Chanyeol step closer, close the distance between them. “You don’t-I don’t-I really like you.”
“I…really like you too,” Jongin replies, unable to hold back the hiss that slips from between his teeth when Chanyeol steps closer still, so close Jongin can feel hot breath curling across his cheek.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Chanyeol says matter-of-factly, and then he does.
Jongin’s brain short-circuits.
It short-circuits so completely Chanyeol actually has time to register Jongin’s lack of response, start to become self-conscious, start to step backwards as a look of horror spreads across his face.
“Oh my god, Jongin-if you didn’t-I’m so sorry,” Chanyeol breathes, but that’s when Jongin’s brain kicks back into action and before he can stop himself he’s reaching out, grabbing Chanyeol’s broad shoulders, and slamming him back against the lockers.
“Shut up and kiss me,” Jongin mutters, pressing close and just barely managing to swallow a moan at how perfect Chanyeol’s lips feel, slick against his own. How perfect Chanyeol smells, Chanyeol sounds, Chanyeol tastes when Jongin slips his tongue into Chanyeol’s mouth, teasing around his teeth, tangling with Chanyeol’s tongue.
And Jongin can’t stop himself from moaning when Chanyeol slips a knee between Jongin’s legs, presses gently upwards.
“Fuck, Chanyeol,” Jongin groans, unconsciously jerking his hips forward to chase the friction Chanyeol’s teasingly promising him.
“It’s so hot when you say my name like that,” Chanyeol grins, pressing his lips to Jongin’s wet, open mouth, the curve of his jaw, the column of his neck. “So fucking hot, Jongin.”
“Chanyeol,” Jongin moans loud this time, not caring that they’re in public, that a janitor or a student could come across them any minute. And he’s gratified to feel Chanyeol shudder beneath him, hands clenching tight around Jongin’s waist as Jongin feels him hardening against his thigh.
“Jongin,” Yixing says, hands warm against Jongin’s shoulder. “Jongin, hey, I’m really sorry.”
“Hmm?” Jongin mutters, though inside he’s breaking, hands clenching tight into fists like that will let him hold onto the shadowy ashes of Chanyeol, disappearing as quickly as they had come.
“You were being…kind of loud,” Yixing hums apologetically, and Jongin wants to die. “I’m sorry. I just…had to wake you up.”
“I’m sorry,” Jongin replies, mortified, and squeezes his eyes shut before he can do something stupid like start crying. He’d promised he was done crying over Chanyeol. “I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Yixing says kindly, retreating back to his own side of the room. “It sounds like Chanyeol’s the one who should be sorry.”
But you don’t understand, Jongin wants to tell him, wants to shake Yixing until he understands that this is all Jongin’s fault, that all Chanyeol’s done is be the greatest friend Jongin could have asked for, all Chanyeol’s done is be fucking irresistible. Chanyeol should never be sorry for who he is.
And Jongin doesn’t want to be either.
“So, your thing for Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo asks slowly, hand clutching Jongin’s forearm desperately as they make another circuit of the ice-skating rink. “Is it still…you know…”
“Ridiculously pathetic and one-sided?” Jongin replies, chuckling darkly when Kyungsoo nearly trips and instead flails wildly for a few moments before regaining his balance. “Yup.”
“Hey, at least you have good taste,” Kyungsoo grins, determinedly moving away from the wall. Jongin’s not sure why Kyungsoo likes going ice-skating so much-he spends half the time falling and the other half complaining about how much he hates skating. But Jongin has never been one to refuse his best friend his little eccentricities. “At least you fall for decent people.”
“I guess,” Jongin grumbles, enjoying the shuffling sound his skates make across the slightly slushy ice. “Though that just makes it harder to forget about him.”
“Promise me you’ll tell him,” Kyungsoo huffs, and Jongin can’t tell if he’s holding Jongin’s arm much too tightly because he’s afraid of falling or because he wants Jongin to know how serious he is. “I’m sick of getting texts from him asking me to talk to you and ask you why you’ve suddenly stopped responding to him.”
“Look, it’s kind of hard to talk to someone when everything they say reminds you of their lips, which reminds you how much you want to kiss their lips, which reminds you how much you want to kiss other parts of them, which reminds you of the type of people they actually want kissing those parts of them, and how those people definitely aren’t you,” Jongin explains in a rush, purposefully avoiding Kyungsoo’s gaze.
“I know it’s going to be hard,” Kyungsoo sighs heavily, letting go of Jongin’s arm and tentatively sliding forwards. “But everything’s hard, everything in the world, especially when it comes to love. Just do it. You can’t just pine over him forever.”
Jongin takes a deep, shuddering breath, takes another step, glides, pauses, waits for Kyungsoo to catch up. It’s all automatic, it’s all done without thinking. Jongin does so much without thinking.
“Okay,” he whispers, when Kyungsoo finally reaches his side. “Okay.”
When Jongin falls, he falls hard.
The minute he sees Chanyeol, the minute he sees Chanyeol’s face twisting into a brilliant smile, his large hand raising to wave at Jongin from across the street, every promise he’d made himself flies out the window at warp speed.
He’d promised he wouldn’t let himself be distracted. Distracted by that warm bubble in his chest that’s memorized and catalogued all of Chanyeol’s facial expressions, that’s stored away the way his voice sounds when he’s tired, when he’s happy, when he’s upset, that’s kept a running tally of things Chanyeol has told Jongin that he’s never told anyone else. That sharp part of himself that scrapes against his heart every time Chanyeol’s around. That part of himself that’s possessive, and jealous, and just wants, wants, needs.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let himself be distracted. He’d told Chanyeol they needed to talk, and he was going to do just that. He wasn’t going to let Chanyeol start in on one of his funny stories, one of his thoughtful realizations, one of his kind inquires into Jongin’s life. He was going to jump right in, tell Chanyeol exactly how he felt and how much it was killing him.
He doesn’t do any of those things.
Chanyeol runs over, pulls Jongin into a tight hug, and Jongin just relaxes into his arms, breathes in Chanyeol’s scent-spices and fresh air and warmth, fights back a strange rush of tears as he realizes this might be the last time Chanyeol holds him like this, trusts him like this, wants him like this.
“How are you?” Chanyeol asks excitedly, withdrawing from Jongin’s arms and if Jongin’s eyes are wet it’s hard to tell in the fading evening light. “I got so worried when you didn’t respond to my messages but Kyungsoo told me you just needed some time to yourself, so how’s it going? Is everything okay now?”
“Everything’s fine,” Jongin says firmly, and he hates himself and he hates how Chanyeol is the only one with the power to make him hate himself. He hates how much power Chanyeol has over him and how Chanyeol doesn’t even know it, wouldn’t want that kind of power even if he did know. “Just fine. Now.”
“I’m glad!” Chanyeol crows, linking arms with Jongin and dragging him down the empty sidewalk towards a nearby bench, set back a bit among some trees. It’s quiet, secluded, and the gathering darkness means no one is passing by to hear them. Jongin doesn’t know whether to scream or laugh.
“Chanyeol,” he says, and he’s just so tired. He’s tried and tried and he’s just so tired and no one should ever have to be so tired. No one.
“You know, the other day I really wanted to tell you about this guy I saw outside the dining hall,” Chanyeol laughs, already talking, still so vibrant even as the sun sets and Jongin can barely see his familiar eyes crinkling in amusement.
“Chanyeol,” Jongin tries again, gritting his teeth, clenching his fists, bracing against the storm. “Chanyeol, I-”
“He had these bongos-don’t ask me where he got them-but he just started playing and-what?” Chanyeol breaks off, suddenly noticing the way Jongin’s staring at him. Hungry, confused, desperate, scared, loving-Jongin doesn’t know what Chanyeol can see reflected in his eyes. He’s never known what Chanyeol’s seen in him. He’s never known if Chanyeol’s seen what he wants him to see.
“Tell me-” and Jongin hates himself, hates the way he feels so much. “Tell me about that girl.”
“Oh, her,” Chanyeol smiles slowly, nudging Jongin’s ribs with his elbow. “Well, she’s kind of short, but really cute, and we’ve only been on two dates but I think I really-”
“Like her?” Jongin spits, trying to soften the words but not succeeding in the slightest. “Do you really like her, Chanyeol?”
“I do,” Chanyeol replies, unconcerned, before he seems to feel a spark of inspiration, sits up straighter. “Why, is there someone you want to tell me about? Has the mysterious Kim Jongin, master of never letting people know his emotions, finally fallen for someone? Come on, tell your Chanyeollie about it.”
This time Jongin grins, too many teeth, because he’s finally reached the point where there’s not enough of him left to break, not enough left to shatter, only enough to grind to dust. And grinding is a dull sort of pain that hurts less, hurts dully, hurts longer.
Your Chanyeollie.
“I like somebody,” Jongin says firmly, and Chanyeol actually looks surprised before he jumps on the words like a cat playing with a mouse before killing it.
“Do I know them?” Chanyeol asks interestedly, and Jongin can already see him flicking through all of their mutual friends in his head, skipping to particular events, specific days, trying to figure out who it might be, who might be enough for Jongin to love.
Chanyeol’s always been enough. But he can’t be now, not anymore.
“You know them,” Jongin affirms, and Chanyeol looks even more excited.
“So you’ve liked them since high school?” Chanyeol mutters, almost to himself, breath huffing out in those small puffs Jongin’s always wanted to feel against his neck, against his chest, against his stomach.
“I’ve liked them since high school,” Jongin replies, and he doesn’t know why he’s doing this, why he’s telling Chanyeol and throwing away any chance he has of keeping his friend, this person who makes Jongin feel so special and at the same time so empty, this person who knows Jongin so well but doesn’t know him at all. The contradiction is addictive.
“Okay, I need more information,” Chanyeol sighs, slapping Jongin’s thigh affectionately, and Jongin wants to explode, burst apart into a thousand glittering pieces. Less poetic than it sounds. More pain. Can pain be poetic too? “What classes did you guys have together?”
“English, senior year,” Jongin replies easily. “History, junior year. Freshman year biology.”
“I can’t think of anyone who was…” Chanyeol muses, brow wrinkling, and Jongin’s heart is beating so fast he thinks it might wrench itself out of his chest and flop wetly out onto the hard ground. “Was it Krystal?”
“They were on newspaper staff, too, an editor,” Jongin barrels ahead, no longer caring, just feeling so exhausted, rubbing sweaty palms against his jeans. “And they’re great at public speaking. And they used to dye their hair this gorgeous light brown. And their smile lights up the entire room. And they don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss them.”
“I don’t know who-” Chanyeol grimaces in frustration, before he freezes and Jongin stops breathing. They sit like that for several long seconds.
Several.
Long.
Seconds.
“Jongin-” Chanyeol says gently, and Jongin knows every tone of voice Chanyeol uses. He knows exactly what Chanyeol’s going to say.
“I have to go,” Jongin says flatly, chest constricting and he can’t see and he can’t breath and he just knows he needs to run, needs to escape. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
“No, Jongin,” Chanyeol gasps, grabbing Jongin’s arm as he starts to jump off the table.
And Jongin doesn’t think, just reacts. Slams his forearm down on Chanyeol’s hand, only freezes when he hears Chanyeol’s hiss of pain as he quickly jerks his arm back, staring at Jongin with something like disbelief, something like pain, in his eyes.
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” Chanyeol says quietly, the night breeze ruffling his hair, swallowing his words the way Jongin wishes the ground would swallow him whole. “I wish-Jongin, I wish I could-but I’m not…you know I’m not-”
“I know,” Jongin hisses, and he wishes he could make his voice sound less accusatory, less angry, less heartbroken. But his throat is clogged and it’s hard to speak around the blockage, hard to try to convince Chanyeol that it’s fine, Jongin is fine. “I never-I know, Chanyeol. I didn’t expect-I just wanted you to know. Okay?”
“Jongin,” Chanyeol tries again, and this time his voice sounds more familiar, rings with notes of Jongin’s own desperation twisted, mutated, changed. He reaches out tentatively to tug on Jongin’s sleeve and this time Jongin lets him. “Jongin, you know I’m fine with you wanting to-with you liking-but I can’t.”
And Chanyeol is so close, eyes red in the stark white moonlight, and Jongin can’t help himself. He’s already destroyed everything, he might as well give himself this. Might as well.
So Jongin leans forward.
He leans forward and he kisses Chanyeol.
And Chanyeol’s lips are soft.
Chanyeol’s lips are soft, not chapped like Jongin’s are, and he doesn’t try to pull away-just lets Jongin kiss him. Chanyeol lets Jongin twist his fingers harshly into his hair, lets Jongin mold his lips against his own, lets Jongin swipe his tongue across Chanyeol’s teeth. But when Jongin jerks backwards, hands falling uselessly to his sides, tongue poking out to wet his spit-slick lips, he sees Chanyeol just staring at him. Softly, sadly, silently.
“Jongin, I’m so, so, sorry,” Chanyeol croaks, and Jongin can see that his lips are wet with Jongin’s spit, hair messy from Jongin’s fingers and this time Jongin does run.
He runs out from the cluster of trees, down the empty street, sneakers pounding against the dark asphalt. He doesn’t stop when his breath starts to burn his lungs, when his head starts to spin and his vision darkens around the edges, when his legs start to ache. He doesn’t stop until he reaches a bend in the road as it slopes through moonlit fields, a place where it widens and thickens, a place where he can drop to his knees and scream without anyone hearing him.
And Jongin had expected to feel some sort of relief, some sort of closure, some sort of welcome calm. But he doesn’t feel anything like that.
Instead, he feels like he’s burning.
He feels like he’s drowning, drowning in memories and feelings and desires he never wanted to have, never wanted to carry, never wanted to fear.
It’s a long time before he slowly stands and starts the long walk home.
They’re sitting on the swings at an empty park, rocking back and forth in the hazy sunlight.
Jongin thinks it’s too hot, right in the sunlight, but Chanyeol wanted to sit on the swings so here they are. The smell of rubber, grass, metal makes Jongin feel a lurch of nostalgia for childhood. He wonders if Chanyeol’s feeling the same thing.
It’s so strange thinking that, in just a few weeks, they’re going to be starting a whole new chapter of their life. Sitting here, on the swings in this tiny park, somehow makes everything feel more open, more empty than it had at graduation a month ago.
Chanyeol sighs, leans back, kicks his long legs out like he’s a little kid, and Jongin smiles at the way the sunlight glitters in Chanyeol’s eyes, drapes itself across his pale skin.
“Promise me?” Chanyeol says, and Jongin looks over to see him staring determinedly at the ground.
“Promise what?” Jongin asks, pushing himself back and forth slowly, soaking up the misty sunshine, the creak of the swings, the crackle of a squirrel running up the trunk of a nearby tree.
“Promise that you’ll stay in touch, that we’ll meet up every summer, that you won’t just…leave,” Chanyeol mutters, almost like he’s embarrassed, almost like he doesn’t want Jongin to hear him. “I really like talking to you, Jongin. You’re one of my best friends.”
“I like talking to you too,” Jongin smiles, but it’s a little smaller this time, a little sadder, because Chanyeol is leaving and how will Jongin survive without seeing him smile every day, hearing him laugh every day, knowing every day that Chanyeol is happy, content, thoughtful, bright and vibrant and Chanyeol. “I promise, okay? I promise.”
“Good,” Chanyeol says firmly, finally looking up to meet Jongin’s eyes. “Wow, that was so serious I feel like we should be signing a piece of parchment in blood or something.”
“You find the parchment, I’ll get us a needle,” Jongin replies, laughing when Chanyeol throws his head back and swings higher, feet brushing against the ground on every downwards plunge.
And, as Chanyeol laughs, and Jongin smiles, both their faces warmed by the summer sun, Jongin feels so complete.
He feels like maybe this could be enough.
Maybe.
a/n: So, it should be obvious by now that I have a really very fluffy heart. Happy endings are my jam. I just want everyone to kiss and drive off into the sunset in expensive cars. And after this, we’ll be returning to our regularly scheduled programming.
But this had to be written first.