buzz feelings; joondae; 2/2
day: thirteenth
setting: karaoke
antagonist: kim jongdae
“sing with me! drink with me!” he pleads, offering him an empty glass, but joonmyun shoves him a bottle of soju in reply.
“someone’s got to be sober.”
“i am sober!”
but joonmyun is firm. “i don’t drink and drive.”
hiccuping, jongdae pouts. “even when it’s just bikes?”
“especially when it’s bikes.”
sighing, jongdae turns to the screen, picks up the remote and mike, almost drops both, and somehow manages to pick a song. within minutes, joonmyun experiences the spectacle of math major bespectacled kim jongdae, twenty five, intoxicated with soju (and perhaps the excitement of life and karaoke), belting out ne-yo songs, accented, like nobody’s business. jongdae croons i hate that i love you so, draws himself up and proclaims i want it that way by the backstreet boys, wholeheartedly dances to snsd’s i got a boy (just dances, doesn’t bother singing) and happily points out to joonmyun that the bar has ss501 songs, too.
“what about shinee?” stretched out across the couch, joonmyun pokes jongdae’s butt, idly.
jongdae twists around to give him an alcohol-ified but effective Look. “who’s going to do minho’s raps?” he speaks into the mike, voice booming through the room. (the lyrics on the screen blink, double-s-five-oh-one.)
joonmyun doesn’t exactly understand jongdae’s answer, but he feels that he almost does, so he goes with it. “ah,” he replies. “never mind then.”
it’s very late at night and joonmyun suspects he’s somehow subconsciously drunk at least two bottles himself, because jongdae is singing halo perfectly (beyonce’s, not block b’s) and joonmyun feels vaguely like crying.
“i’m drunk,” he whispers, to jongdae’s swaying behind, and rubs his eyes ferociously with the his knuckles. the disco ball on the ceiling flickers merrily, lights dancing across his vision and drenching jongdae in neon yellows and pinks. he feels like he’s looking at a beautiful, psychedelic migraine. then he passes out for a full minute.
when he comes to, jongdae is jerking his limbs passionately to 2pm’s heartbeat which signifies to joonmyun that it is time to go. “SUMMERTIME SADNESS,” jongdae shrieks, as if on cue, which throws joonmyun off for a bit, because aren’t those lana del ray lines? what had happened to 2pm?
jongdae holds on impossibly tight on the ride home, mumbling, “beating for you,” at random intervals. it makes joonmyun feel inexplicably sad in his stomach, like some kind of mushroom cloud’s stuck in there, climbing up to his ribs.
-
joonmyun wakes up on the sofa, feeling inexplicably moody. had he sleepwalked? he isn’t sure. it's seven a.m., give or take a few minutes, and he speaks up just as jongdae hurries on his way out.
"i don't understand," he says, plaintively. jongdae pauses, looks over his shoulder as he readjusts his beanie. "understand what?"
joonmyun isn't too sure. "i don't know," he mumbles, finally. "have a good day at school."
"hyung," jongdae turns around, looking worried.
"i just woke up," joonmyun confesses, and feels rather pathetic. "so i don't understand."
"oh." jongdae looks a bit taken aback. "did you... not want to wake up just yet?"
"i don't know," joonmyun blinks at jongdae's knees, snug inside skinny jeans. that almost rhymed. "i want to eat ice cream."
after some confusion, jongdae promises he'll get him a raspberry flavored tub at lunch. joonmyun is slightly cheered up by this prospect. not that he actually expects jongdae to get it for him because -- well, just because. minseok's the only person he knows who does stuff like that, and minseok and joonmyun go back, he thinks, emphatically, since kindergarten. here, he's only known jongdae for a bare total of sixteen days. karaoke and bike rides may have erased a certain amount of awkwardness, sure, but still… joonmyun lapses into brooding.
jongdae brings home baskin robbin's raspberry flavored ice cream tub at exactly fifteen minutes past one. he's pink and panting from what was probably a long, meandering dash. "got the," he gasps. "got the stuff."
joonmyun, reaching for his remote control which had fallen under the side table, his face squeezed between sofas and his embarrassing-underwear clad ass ungracefully high in the air, is speechless. when jongdae catches his breath and takes the situation in, he raises his eyebrows and lets out a loud, obnoxious laugh. he looks obscenely cute. joonmyun doesn't have time for cute people. he glares at jongdae with such concentration that he loses control of his limbs, falling face first onto the floor.
well, at least there’s always more awful things constantly occurring to erase more awkwardness. jongdae knows his favorite pair of underwear, now.
and joonmyun listens, far into the night, when jongdae tells him about his love for the winter wind, the angry rains, and above all, the first storm.
-
joonmyun cheerfully splashes water into jongdae’s serene, dozing face as he leaves, and is rewarded with a belated cry of, “WHAT’S GOING ON?” by the time he’s reached the door.
today is an important day. he is going to buy jongdae a nice present. it’s going to be very nice, and jongdae is going to like it. joonmyun doesn’t exactly know what it is, yet, but he will find it.
he doesn’t tell minseok this, though, just drags him along because minseok’s got good taste, and joonmyun’s taste is… well, comparing minseok’s taste to joonmyun’s is like comparing platinum cuff links to mustard brown man bras. still, joonmyun is a man of integrity and likes worrying mustard brown things even though he accepts that they’re ugly.
but back to jongdae’s present; minseok wanders around after joonmyun, lost but intrigued. “what’s it for?” he keeps asking. “is it for your mom?” he’d asked, first, but when joonmyun had dragged him to the men’s underwear section he’d taken it back and apologized.
“chanyeol’s chinese cousin gave him spongebob boxers, right?” joonmyun murmurs, staring at a pair of patrick star ones.
minseok stares at joonmyun instead. “why are you even considering being as lame as yifan? i mean, that’s okay, he’s got a heart of gold--”
“shut up,” joonmyun sighs, and moves away to the shoes.
“high heels,” minseok points out, giggling. joonmyun patiently endures these antics with the wisdom of a man who knows he’s stuck with a useless goldfish attached to his hip and labeled ‘best friend’ for life.
joonmyun has decided, after two hours, on a dark blue beanie with a fuzzy ball attachment on the top. it had little silver threads woven in, and joonmyun was somehow very sure that this was The Present. he almost pictures jongdae wearing it, before he banishes the thought from his head and concentrated on paying for it instead.
in line of the cashier, joonmyun finally confides in minseok. “jongdae says the first storm of the year is a really big thing, for him. i wanted to get him a present -- the first storm is coming sometime next week, the forecast says.”
joonmyun is blissfully oblivious and doesn’t look at minseok until a few minutes later, when he finally says, “oh.”
the smile drops off joonmyun’s face at once. “oh, what?”
they’re six turns away from the cashier. minseok chews his lip. “nothing.”
“quit it.”
four turns away, minseok mumbles, “don’t you think this is a bit sudden?”
joonmyun freezes.
a bit sudden. a bit much.
of course. it’s more than a bit sudden.
three turns to go. it’s uncalled for. joonmyun is either assuming or hoping too much. why is he hoping? there’s no logical reason. minseok is asking him something.
it’s a bit much. he looks at the beanie in his hands, then presses it into minseok’s.
“you’re right,” joonmyun says, finally. “of course you are.” really, where would he be without minseok? reading too much into everything and making a fool of himself.
“joon,” minseok starts, and joonmyun doesn’t like that tone of voice, doesn’t want to know what words are going to come next. “i’m still buying it,” joonmyun interrupts, strained. “guess i’ll put it away for later.”
minseok knows when to stop talking. “okay.”
when he comes back, jongdae is sprawled on the couch, nose buried in a revoltingly thick textbook filled with variables and symbols, as far as joonmyun can see.
“hey,” jongdae calls, without looking up.
“hey.”
joonmyun fingers the outline of the beanie, rolled into his pocket, before he makes a dash for the bedroom and plops moodily on the bed.
he lifts the lid of his laptop, types in his password and in journal.doc, writes,
day 19: i was being a bit sudden.
then he closes the window. his downloads folder had been open, and frozen looks at him, almost-temptingly, but he’s not in the mood for ice queens and happy little sisters, so he shuts it down and goes to sleep.
when he wakes up, jongdae’s in the room, too, still with his textbooks. he’s lying on his stomach, glasses sliding off his nose, legs kicking the air.
joonmyun stares at him for a long time before deciding to backtrack his journal. but something stops him. he's not sure if it's ego, or pride, or if ego and pride are the same thing, or interchangeable (that would make them almost the same thing), or if it's something else that's stopping him, but whatever it is, he pauses while turning the laptop on again.
something tells him that if he scrolls back up the pages, he'll just read observation on observation about jongdae, or anecdotes of jongdae, or songs that jongdae hums under his breath as he makes tea in the morning and coffee in the afternoon. and although something else in him is fully aware that there will be no such records, because he’s been typing extremely short entries since jongdae came, yet another thing inside him knows he'll recall all those things as soon as he begins reading. maybe that’s why he tries to condense what he puts in, so he remembers as less as possible. anyway, in the end he doesn't backtrack, and instead shoves the laptop away with a huff.
jongdae looks up from his books, surprised, but joonmyun ignores him.
-
as joonmyun will, honestly speaking, not write in his journal, the twentieth day is very fateful.
jongdae forgets to lock the bathroom, joonmyun walks in and gets a full view of a very naked jongdae looking decidedly pretty in a shower of water and sunlight pouring down from the window overhead. jongdae doesn't notice anything, continues studying his elbows as he soaps his arms. joonmyun dies, is unable to stop himself from admiring the curve of jongdae’s back, experiences death, notes how smooth and glowing jongdae’s skin is in general, expires, almost gains macro camera mode slash microscopic slash telescopic powers and zooms in on single water droplets sliding down his eyelashes, ceases to exist. jongdae doesn't notice, yawns and raises his arms over his head, stretching luxuriously. joonmyun swallows, stepping back, leaving. jongdae doesn't notice anything. joonmyun has nowhere to go, jongdae doesn't notice, joonmyun can't will away his boner, jongdae doesn't notice, joonmyun locks the bedroom door and has to jack off, jongdae doesn't notice (--unsurprisingly, joonmyun's grateful about this).
later, joonmyun changes his underwear and remembers it's a sunday, meaning that jongdae has the day off. this is going to be awkward, he thinks, and tries willing away his boner before it approaches him at thirty five thousand miles an hour first. this partially works.
at breakfast, joonmyun mindlessly spoons cereal down his shirt until jongdae clears his throat. this causes joonmyun to drop his spoon altogether. jongdae is noticing now, very much. he frowns and asks joonmyun is ill today, and joonmyun shakes his head, successfully shuts any inappropriate pick up lines from slipping out his mouth.
jongdae wisely does not pursue his silence. instead, he reminds joonmyun that it is a sunday.
“it’s sunday,” he spoons cereal into his mouth. “want to do anything?”
joonmyun immediately blocks the extremely graphic images pertaining to exactly what he would like to do, that flood his mind.
“i dunno,” he manages, normally enough.
“maybe you should treat me to something,” jongdae’s eyes curve up prettily, and joonmyun inhales heavily as he tries and succeeds not to respond to that with an embarrassingly lewd comment. luckily, jongdae only takes it as a dramatic sigh and drags him out of the house.
“cafe?” joonmyun says, wearily, when they reach. “really?”
“you don’t seem to understand,” jongdae replies, seriously, “that i really like this place.” he pushes his glasses up for effect, and joonmyun sighs and blunders into the counter. minseok is there, again.
“sup.”
“jongdae really like this place,” joonmyun explains.
“and you, of course,” jongdae adds, polite and cheery.
joonmyun’s mouth goes into a straight line. and minseok, huh. he gets out his wallet and makes ready to pay for jongdae’s treat without demurring, though. “i want a taste of everything,” he declares, eagerly, and joonmyun’s hand hesitates, trembling for a nanosecond, before he slides it over next to the card machine. “you heard what he said,” joonmyun raises his eyebrows at minseok’s slightly amazed expression.
they take a seat closest to the counter, on minseok’s insistence, so he can butt into the conversation and slander joonmyun whenever he wants. “let’s not,” joonmyun says, trying puppy eyes, but jongdae is unphased.
it takes a good fifteen minutes to get jongdae thirty two small cups, each with a different drink, and two large trays with all their different snacks assorted in. “great service,” jongdae beams at taecyeon, who awkwardly smiles back. joonmyun heroically attempts to not seethe silently in his seat. he’s not sure how well that goes.
“iced coffee with strawberries?” jongdae’s voice goes low with amazement, and Things happen to joonmyun as he hears it. then jongdae begins sucking vigorously at the straw and closing his eyes as he is transported to brain freeze town and, apparently, “seventh heaven!” mention of the word ‘heaven’ undoes the hormonal effects of everything else, and joonmyun is thankful for this but is also duly ashamed.
as jongdae travels from various iced coffee to an assortment of iced tea and stuffs his face with cinnabons in between, he manages to ask joonmyun about how he’s ended up doing the strange things he does on his laptop. “you know,” he adds, mouth full of caramel and carbohydrates, “with the percents and the algorithms.”
“tell me your whole life story,” he says, as joonmyun opens his mouth.
“life story,” minseok whispers, in the background. “such a tragic, tragic life story. tragic backstory with a trademark sign at the end.”
joonmyun twists around in his seat to glare at him. minseok makes a face. “what? every good sidekick needs one.”
jongdae chokes on his frappuccino, and joonmyun splutters.
“sidekick?”
“protagonist being, of course, myself.”
jongdae takes another frantic sip of frap to clear his windpipe, which somehow works, and then laughs until he cries. figurative (or was it metaphorical? joonmyun’s not too good with creative writing, either) feathers considerably ruffled, joonmyun turns back to jongdae and begins to drone about his life:
he had befriended minseok within ten minutes of entering his kindergarten class. his life was quite uneventful but for his many disastrous attempts to join extracurricular activities, or sports teams. (“not a good sportsman,” minseok shakes his head. “limbs are rubber, and hates losing.”) the only interesting thing worth mentioning was his rapid, ever changing career choices. at five, he was going to be a firefighter. at seven, a beach lifeguard. at ten, a chef -- this whim had taken a particularly short time to shake off, when he found he couldn’t even break an egg without dropping the yolk on his feet.
wanting to be a chef was followed by wanting to be a matchstick boy, which the teacher overruled because a) matchsticks weren’t needed, b) ten year old joonmyun just wanted a tragic and heroic death alone in the winter, which was against the law in those days. in eleventh grade, minseok had wanted to be a barista, taught himself on coffee as much as he could. joonmyun caught on this fascination (“impressionable, yet ever the loyal sidekick,” minseok comments). still, he was more interested in computer graphics and the branch of artificial intelligence, so he’d gone and majored in computer graphics for his bachelors degree. now, joonmyun’s in the middle of a combined masters and PhD program; the masters part is finished, and he’s currently working on a thesis on human (facial, anatomical and voice recognition) body tracking.
“that’s pretty much it,” joonmyun shrugs, leaving out hongbin and jongin. he woefully eyes jongdae wolfing down bread sticks coated in apple fudge. “that’s fascinating,” jongdae mumbles, mouth full (again).
joonmyun is going to ask jongdae about himself, when he interrupts (again), “and then how did you get the cafe?”
well, that takes the story back to eleventh grade, again, and it had taken a lot of convincing on joonmyun’s and minseok’s parts; joonmyun’s parents were about to sell a deceased great-aunt’s patisserie, its oven dysfunctional and floorboards cracked, when the two had jumped on the idea to renovate the place and reopen it as a cafe.
the swiss roll falls out of jongdae’s mouth. “how is that possible.”
joonmyun looks modest but minseok divulges, “hella chaebol homosexual. that’s how.” joonmyun visibly deflates, but jongdae grins. “cool,” he says, picking up the swiss roll. “i like it.”
alright alright alright alright alright! strange flirty compliment aside, joonmyun clears his throat and continues his tale. except he stutters in the beginning and his ears are probably tomato red.
his parents having reluctantly agreed to this strange new plan, joonmyun and minseok work full time and invest sweat, tears and blood into the damned place. this pays off, literally, and when joonmyun is in second year of undergrad, they shift ownership of the shop over to him.
“the end,” joonmyun sighs. his resolve snaps, and he snatches a leftover piece of donut from one of jongdae’s many abandoned containers. it’s got chocolate with frosting on it, and joonmyun wants to drown in the beautiful taste. “here, have some of this,” jongdae offers, handing him a piece of cake, and joonmyun takes that, too, grateful.
jongdae asks to know about brewing. “i want to do that. that pose,” he says, as minseok switches the sign to ‘closed’ and hands joonmyun a mop. “which pose?” minseok grins, clearly amused. but jongdae is undaunted. “when the barista does the thing. lean forward with one hand behind his back? so elegant,” he leans back in his seat, overwhelmed by the image he’s created for himself.
“tell you what,” minseok speaks up, “i’m enrolled in a barista class. finally. you can join, too. you want to?”
jongdae agrees at once, turns to ask joonmyun to come, too, but they cut him off.
“no,” joonmyun and minseok reply, at the same time, and jongdae looks a bit put out, but mostly surprised.
“why?”
joonmyun’s grip on the mop tightens, and, sure enough, minseok takes it on his traitorous self to explain. “we already tried.”
joonmyun hastens to try and make it sound better than however awful minseok’s going to paint the picture. “not as bad as it sounds,” he says, loudly, over the inevitable, shining truth of, “he spilled the entire contents of the class’ coffee and burnt everyone in a three mile radius.”
going home, jongdae throws an arm around his shoulders, heads knocking together. “thanks for today,” he says, cheerfully, and his lips brush close against joonmyun’s ear. joonmyun blinks rapidly. “sure,” he cracks a laugh, throat dry. “anytime.”
-
when jongdae comes back from the class on monday, joonmyun is immediately bombarded with the highlights of the day. headlines first, and then, as joonmyun warms their chinese takeout, jongdae sits on the living room floor, cross-legged, and plunges into the details. “you have no idea what happened next,” he keeps saying, eyes wide and hands flapping. joonmyun agrees; he’s pretty sure the coffee class hadn’t been this animated and alive when he’d visited.
then again, he thinks as he takes jongdae’s plate out of the microwave, he probably hadn’t looked hard enough. for all his sonorousness, jongdae is always careful, picking up bits of people’s skins, tracing their thoughts out on his private canvas, storing their flotsam in his pocket to ponder over from time to time.
“when my turn came,” he’s telling joonmyun, now. “the teacher took such a long time to come up with an evaluation, you have no idea how stressed i felt. like, seriously. but he said it was interesting.” jongdae is quiet for a few seconds, nodding to himself in satisfaction. “he said i should try creating flavors intuitively, test limits.” he breaks off, looks at joonmyun. his expression is almost unreadable -- joonmyun thinks it looks like he’s asking joonmyun for approval, but that’s absolutely ridiculous and probably four fifths wishful thinking (who, now, joonmyun reprimands himself), so joonmyun just laughs and pats him on the back.
“did you bring any for me to taste?”
jongdae squirms. “no, i finished it.” he sounds a bit… let down. joonmyun doesn’t know what he’s said wrong.
“make it again,” he flounders, trying to make amends. “make it for me. please?”
that seems to do it, because jongdae laughs loudly, shoulders hunched. “i guess,” he says. “i might.”
and as he goes on to talk about how one of the girls was unfortunate enough to make the teacher choke on her coffee, joonmyun feels something warm and circular settle comfortingly in his stomach, like a heartshape. (except heartshapes aren’t circular, they’re heartshaped, so joonmyun throws cold water on this feeling in an attempt to squash it. he is unsuccessful.)
day 23:
why does he keep making my toes curl? my cheeks are tired of smiling, but i’m not.
-
jongdae wants to see how well joonmyun can draw. “please,” he says, and joonmyun obeys, because that is what joonmyun does when jongdae says ‘please’. unfortunately for the great and grand world of visual art, joonmyun can’t do a thing with actual paper and pencil. he’s only good with graphics and ideas.
joonmyun frowns in frustration, and jongdae laughs a little; it’s a friendly sound. “here, you’re holding it with a bit too much pressure. you’re bound to break the lead in a sec-- and there you go.”
the lead in the pencil had, in fact, broken. “now what do i do?” joonmyun huffs, staring at it. it is day twenty three, he recalls, irrelevantly.
“you could use a sharpener, but let’s just take a new one,” jongdae half-stands from his seat to get another pencil, “and then we can,” he moves over to sit next to joonmyun, arm going around his waist, “figure it out together.” jongdae’s hand closes softly over joonmyun’s.
his touch is feather-light and joonmyun is dangerously heady already. jongdae leans closer, fingers angling over joonmyun’s just a fraction of an angle more, breath on joonmyun’s cheek. “here we go,” he says, quietly, and the way he is, right now, hushed and cautious but hooked over joonmyun’s frame, it makes joonmyun feel like glass, melting and shimmering uncertainly in jongdae’s fire-trailed wake.
joonmyun’s skin is burning, and he follows jongdae’s movements on paper, touch for touch.
-
joonmyun is just dropping off to sleep when he feels a weight drop onto the foot of his bed, then crawl up under the blanket. jongdae settles his chin on joonmyun’s shoulder. “hello,” he whispers, sleepily, and joonmyun’s heart is beating in his throat, fit to bursting.
“go to sleep,” joonmyun whispers back.
jongdae has other plans. “my favorite movie,” he drawls, and joonmyun guesses he’s having one of those lack of sleep fits that people tend to have from time to time. “my favorite movie is the vow.”
the vow... joonmyun racks his brains. why does it sound familiar? he’s sure it had the bully from mean girls in the lead. it had been nice. wait, hadn’t there been memory loss?
“and my favorite thing about the vow is,” jongdae puffs into joonmyun’s ear, and this situation is not sexy in the least, but he’s still feeling weirdly turned on. “that the guy loves the girl more than she can imagine.”
“that’s sweet,” joonmyun replies, quietly.
“hmmm,” jongdae drones. “and my favorite line is -- wait, you wanna know my favorite line? say you wanna know.”
joonmyun smiles into his blanket. “i really want to know your favorite line.”
jongdae sits up and clears his throat.
“she said, ‘i love you.’ that was two weeks after i met her.”
jongdae falls back onto the bed, arm hitting joonmyun in the face. neither of them do anything about it.
eventually, jongdae asks, “how are you feeling?”
“well,” joonmyun starts. “i think i feel warm. maybe a bit tingly, like pins and needles.”
jongdae rolls over, hand coming in joonmyun’s hair. “i feel tingly, too. like bees. buzz buzz, bee bee. buzzy bee. buzz feelings.”
hardly daring to breathe, joonmyun reaches up to put his own hand over jongdae’s.
jongdae doesn’t move away. “how many days has it been since we’ve met?”
“twenty four.”
he can feel jongdae’s eyes on his face. “have you been counting?”
“i just keep track of numbers,” joonmyun half-chokes out, staring hard into the darkness before resolutely closing his eyes.
jongdae wriggles closer to him, breath floating over the back of joonmyun’s neck. “it makes me feel special,” jongdae mumbles, pulling back his arm to throw it over joonmyun’s waist, looping a leg over joonmyun’s knees. joonmyun swallows, stays awake until long after jongdae’s breathing evens.
the clock blinks 00.42.
day twenty four, joonmyun’s brows knit as he thinks, fiercely, kim jongdae is special.
-
the next night, there is thunder. the first storm of the year.
"you want to go up to the roof?" jongdae asks. "i want to," he answers his own question, nose pressed against the cold glass of the window, breathtaken.
"the roof," joonmyun repeats, and his withering glare bores through jongdae's shoulders unnoticed. "you know what you're closer to, on the roof?"
they speak at the same time.
"lightning," jongdae sighs, lovingly.
"electrocution," joonmyun warns.
there is a pause.
jongdae turns around with a puzzled frown. "wait, what?"
joonmyun frowns back, and jongdae pouts.
kim jongdae, who probably graduated high school with some lame-ass title like Prettiest Smile of the Year, or Very Cute Kitten Human, has the audacity to pout. he has a very nice pout. joonmyun is fighting a losing battle.
"what i mean to say is--" he starts, struggling to recall his responsible and scientific reasons as to why they shouldn't go out on the roof in the middle of a raging storm with thunder and lightning and perhaps rain and sleet and hail or whatnot, but jongdae takes a step forward and joonmyun, on his bed, automatically leans a bit backward. no. he can't do this. jongdae whines a little. "hyung, please." and he pouts some more and joonmyun is no longer fighting a losing battle, he is waving a fucking white flag. goddammit.
"insulation," he waves a hand, vaguely. "we can only go out once we're dressed like eskimos. firefighters. astronauts." wait, did he say something wrong? why is jongdae frowning--
"you sure?" jongdae replies, and joonmyun is glad he trains his facial expressions so well that he looks like he's crying no matter what emotion he experiences. (joonmyun is currently experiencing relief.)
"insulation," he repeats, gruff, and finds himself in the elevator, ten minutes later, moving towards the top floor, clad in all the winter things he's ever owned. he looks like a bison's body with a small human head on top. at least, joonmyun notes, gloomy and not too comforted, jongdae doesn't fare much better. he vaguely resembles a baby seal's, head buried in a red scarf. all the gloom vanishes as joonmyun feels a momentary spark of triumph and possessiveness, because that's his scarf, yes, sir, kim jongdae is wearing kim joonmyun’s very own scarf to the very first storm of the year. then he stamps this spark out and glares at the floor.
the elevator keeps moving up.
"excited, excited," jongdae sing-songs quietly, wiggling a little. joonmyun laughs at him and wiggles, too.
22, the green numbers blink, and the doors slide open. they hear thunder boom again, overhead.
they argue pettily as they approach the railings, clouds dark and furious, mottled grey and purple. the air is icy. “no rain,” joonmyun says, aloud.
“well, thunder doesn’t need rain.” jongdae inches a little closer to him as they stand and stare, first at the streets below, then the sky above.
“yeah, i guess.” joonmyun thinks about inching closer to jongdae, too. “do you think it’ll rain, eventually?” he decides against moving closer, decides to look at the moon, instead. “i don’t.”
joonmyun remembers how his mother had told him stars were little windows of heaven, so the angels there could see through. there aren’t any stars, tonight. but there is -- joonmyun stops right there. he stops right there. he stops right there. he stops. right there.
there’s another bout of thunder, just a few seconds long.
jongdae opens his mouth in the following silence, and joonmyun can hear him swallow before replying. “it will. rain always comes, at the right moment.”
the air is icy, and joonmyun needs the rain. he needs to close his eyes, let something douse out the sleepy fire that’s wakening. “what about lightning?”
jongdae chuckles at that. “well. there was zeus.”
joonmyun doesn’t like zeus much; he prefers poseidon. “all zeus did,” he scoffs, ”was complicate everything with extramarital sex.”
jongdae’s chuckle turns into a snort and a laugh. “he always had his way, didn’t he, though?”
“i guess.”
“so the lightning,” jongdae flings an arm out to the sky, enthusiastic. “the lightning will have its way.”
jongdae is so pretty that it hurts to look, and joonmyun knows this, knows that if he looks from the sky and the little tip of jongdae’s hand and down to his side, at jongdae, he won't be able to look away, and he doesn't want that, and he wants that, and he doesn't need to look to imagine -- to know -- how jongdae’s lashes are curling just the slightest bit at the ends, right now, dark against his slightly flushed cheeks, cheekbones sharp as ever, smile at its widest. joonmyun hears jongdae he takes deep breaths, knows his eyes are closed. he knows that when jongdae opens them, they will be shining bright, shining with something heavy, something painfully precious.
their breath comes out in milky puff as they stand and shiver. and joonmyun looks down, steps away, but jongdae holds his gloved fingers with his mittened hand. joonmyun keeps his gaze on the ground, until jongdae tilts his head up. 'hyung. look at me.'
and there is promise, there is promise in his voice and his hand and in the way he's shuffling closer, but joonmyun is so small and so unworthy, and isn't this why he's stepping away? why he wants nothing more than to bolt back and leave jongdae on the roof? but he doesn't want to leave jongdae on the roof. but he wants to run. "hyung," jongdae says, again, softer, and joonmyun takes a deep breath, looks up.
jongdae is smiling, and as lightning flashes overhead, he manages to looks so ethereal, even with the red scarf and the huge jacket. and joonmyun tries to focus on the red scarf and the huge jacket, tries not to think about how jongdae is standing in front of him, heart bleeding out stoutly from behind his eyes and his happy, happy cat-smile. heart bleeding out through jongdae's mittens and rushing up to meet joonmyun's cheek, where jongdae's resting his hand.
"hyung," is all jongdae says, keeps saying, and joonmyun tries to step away again, but jongdae tugs at his collar and stills him. "it's okay."
except it isn't. except jongdae deserves better. except jongdae's moles are like little, scattered stars over the universe that's packed inside his body -- and there are no angels to see, no angel but jongdae himself -- except jongdae's eyes have a special, outward crinkle that makes joonmyun's stomach drop, except that jongdae's voice is the headiest violin and joonmyun can only stand from a distance and stare, and stare, and listen. except joonmyun has no idea what he's doing here.
"it'll rain," jongdae says, and mittens fall down to hold joonmyun's elbows, keep him close. "i need it to."
joonmyun blinks quickly. "the lightning," he manages to mumble, irrelevantly.
"it'll have its way," jongdae whispers, going up on tiptoe, and joonmyun's heart is beating unbelievably fast, so fast, so so fast so--
the first few drops of rain patter unceremoniously onto their noses and wet their hair (why hadn't joonmyun thought of wearing hats? why is he so stupid why --) as jongdae kisses him. joonmyun stands still, eyes closed, desperately trying to think of how they need hats, or an umbrella, or something, but jongdae is kissing him and then jongdae falls back on the balls of his feet. he's chewing his bottom lip and he's stepping away now, and joonmyun doesn't understand why jongdae looks so downcast and disappointed, isn't this what jongdae wanted, hadn't he-- joonmyun's eyes widen and he rushes up to jongdae, clumsily bungling into his body space, hands coming up to hold jongdae's neck as he leans in and kisses back, uncertain but -- but -- but eager.
---
also, joonmyun muses, it probably has a lot to do with jongdae's smile, too. the one he shines every blasted day, first thing in the sunshine that joonmyun opens his eyes to, last thing he sees before he falls asleep at ass o clock in the morning.
(minseok doesn't call at those time anymore. chanyeol's apparently trying gentler ways now.)
1. this is unbeta'd and super rushed so i hope i haven't made any miserable mistakes!
2. bukchon hanok village is a traditional village in seoul! aka the place where kris memorably flirted w/ d.o on showtime. more info here.
3. when i'd started out on this exchange, i'd hoped to make my entry pretty and eloquent, inspired by ★ this ★
obviously this fic didn't exactly work out that way, but ta-ku is still really nice to listen to!
4. cookies to ted and rina for cheering me on!!! hearteu hearteu