whoever brought me here will have to take me home; minsoo; 1/2
title: whoever brought me here will have to take me home
rating: nc-17
pairing(s): kyungsoo/minseok, broken kyungsoo/jungah
warnings: description of a panic attack, language
word count: 18403
a/n: title taken from rumi’s poem who says words with my mouth?, summary from his poem my life is not mine. written for kyungsooperior round two! unbeta'd
What he will remember most later, he thinks as he leans in the doorway, is the careful game of Tetris they always end up playing with their bodies. Each shape on ground level, fitting perfectly against each other if not for the space between them.
~
The sunlight slides through the blinds in slant lines, painting him over striped, light and dark by turns. His lashes turn golden every time they dip down to blink in one bright strip, and his eyes glint in the hush of the next. Nose scrunched, mouth pursed, blankets pulled up on either side to his chin. He's probably checking photos on the camera under there; a muted blue glow is casted up on his face.
"Think you can just hog up my space?" Kyungsoo breaks the silence. A rare occurrence.
Minseok looks up, expression blank for a second before he blinks and really sees him. "Yeah?" he grins, then clears his throat. "I mean. Yeah. Definitely. I can."
"It's my bed," Kyungsoo insists, letting his bag drop to the floor and stepping closer. His hands shake a little, so he hides them in his pockets.
"I'm older than you," Minseok shrugs again, turning back to his camera. "Come here, look at the pictures."
"Not interested," Kyungsoo pulls out a hand to trail it over his desk. Minseok hasn't added any clutter to it. The pile of mystery novels tottering on the edge, the geography textbook splayed open on Dialects of the South and a picture of mountains opposite, for some reason. His glasses case, empty, his CD collection, a CD player from 8th grade. Notebooks, a pen. Jesus, he needs to clean up. Then again, he always tells himself that.
"Come on, Kyungsoo," Minseok says. "Get on this damned bed."
Well, if he puts it that way. Carefully, as always, Kyungsoo clambers onto the sheets, and if his wrist bumps against Minseok's hip, there is no reaction on either side.
"So," Minseok says brightly, once they're settled. "Here we are."
(They're all pictures with Kyungsoo in the frame somewhere. It's not hard to notice - Minseok's photos are always quiet, with a sense of space, not especially fond of people, but not aiming to avoid them altogether either. Kyungsoo doesn't comment, but he breaks a rule as Minseok self-consciously wraps up and leaves the bed - he lets his fingers brush Minseok's shoulder in passing. The smile Minseok throws him is quiet and blinding.)
~
Photography hadn't been a constant in Minseok's life - not that Kyungsoo minds. He's just curious. Minseok's never been one for phases either; he likes something, he keeps sticking to it. Kyungsoo just wants to know why a camera lens. Why facing the world head on.
They'd been at the mall, helping Minseok's mother with her shopping, when Minseok had lingered at an electronics store. "Hang on a sec," he'd muttered, and Kyungsoo stood near the entrance, awkward, as Minseok went through the displays, talking to a salesgirl.
Ten minutes, and Minseok's already gotten what he came for. The camera's tucked safely in its box, bag fresh and uncreased with its expensive weight.
"What were you talking about?" Kyungsoo asks. When Minseok looks confused, he adds, "With the girl." He jogs a little to catch up with Minseok's pace as they head to where Mrs. Kim is still poring over a cocktail dress.
Minseok raises his brows. "I can't talk to girls now?"
"No," Kyungsoo says, flushing. "I mean. You went in there with your mind already made up about the company, the model, the make... wait, why're you grinning?"
Minseok's smiling at his shoes. It’s a slow, wide smile that looks delighted and thoroughly pleased.
"Because you're right," Minseok says, and Kyungsoo's thrown off by that so much that he can't think of anything to reply.
-
But he does try again, on a slightly different tack. It's a few weeks later.
Minseok's struggling with calculus, and Kyungsoo's dozing off into his Modern History.
"I hate this," Minseok says, with feeling. He's twisting his pen so hard, that Kyungsoo's sure it'll break soon.
"Pre-calculus is okay," Kyungsoo offers, helpfully.
The look Minseok sends him is withering. "Take the pre out and see how prepared you are."
Kyungsoo shrugs. He picks his battles, and they both know math comes to Kyungsoo like breathing.
"Why don't you not-hate photographs?" he asks instead. He gives up on history and tries twirling a pencil between his fingers instead. Out of the corner of his eye, sees Minseok's death grip on the pen relax.
"That came out of nowhere." But he doesn't like he minds, or that he's surprised. Just amused.
"It's been cooking," Kyungsoo admits, carelessness careful. He can feel sweat begin to prickle around the label of his shirt, at the back of his neck.
"It's just," Minseok sighs, pushing his chair back a little so it screeches. "Sometimes you see the truth. You really see it."
The pen gets put down gently, and Minseok's hands start tracing the variables on his book instead. dy, dx. "And I saw it over the shoulder of some guy. In the park, and he was taking a picture of the tree. You know that big oak in the middle?"
Kyungsoo hums, noncommittal. He can't quite recall it, but Minseok doesn't talk like this much; like he's excited, absorbed. Kyungsoo wouldn't stop that for anything.
"And, I mean, I always see that tree. No big deal. But this guy looks at it, and he wants to capture it. Forever. Keep it around with him. That's what you do." The book gets shoved away, and the pen's picked up again. Minseok twirls it expertly between his fingers. Kyungsoo's almost distracted enough to forego what he's saying to concentrate on how that thing just flies in a circle. Almost distracted enough.
"That's what happens with the truth. It sticks with you, and. It gets around, under your nails, on your skin. Your memory. Eyeballs. Whatever."
"Everything," Kyungsoo supplies, quietly.
"Everything," Minseok nods. "The truth is everything. But - here's my favorite part - "
Kyungsoo looks up, lets himself smile a little in wonder at this enthusiasm, his enthusiasm. Eyes bright and hands animated, Minseok's almost a different person from his usual, quiet self.
" - It's that everyone looks at everything differently. I can take a picture, and a cat can be in the background. Someone else in my place would put the cat into the foreground. Someone else would focus on just the paws, just the tail or leave it altogether and take a picture of the sky, even. There's an..." Minseok searches for around, glance darting around the room, before it lands on his calculus book and lights up. "Infinite. An infinite number of truths."
Kyungsoo doesn't say anything right away, and Minseok immediately looks embarrassed.
"Hey," Kyungsoo says, hand reaching out and covering Minseok's. "No. That was amazing." It comes out sounding thicker than he meant it to, like there's a lump in his throat - and there is. Something about it all is making him feel funny.
Minseok looks up at him, shy.
Good funny. His stomach flips, and Kyungsoo smiles. "Plus," he adds. "I saw you. The calculus helped."
"Oh, stop it," Minseok scoffs, lighthearted. "Bet you still have no idea who the second emperor of Hangul was."
"Alas," Kyungsoo pulls his hand back and stares regretfully at the desk. "Right about that."
~
"Hey, check it out," Minseok says on the phone. "I got a present! Remember, I ended up on the Dean's list?"
Kyungsoo shifts the phone from one hand to the other, and tries to stuff everything into the washing machine in one go singlehandedly.
"Yeah," Minseok continues, as though Kyungsoo had said anything, "So my dad got me this thing, and you're gonna be ready in five, and I'm gonna come over and show you how to take photos like a pro."
All his clothes slither onto the floor, except for one pair of briefs with sloths printed on them.
"Dude. Seriously?" he mutters.
"Excuse me?" Minseok laughs, confused. "Where's the respect?"
"I'm sorry, hyung," Kyungsoo rushes to say. "It's just --"
"What? Won't you be able to make it?"
Kyungsoo frowns at the briefs, then at the rest of his laundry.
"Huh? Oh, no! I'll definitely make it! I was just talking about, um, something else. To, uh, Mom," Kyungsoo lies. He can't find it in himself to discuss the fact that was actually going to tell Minseok about his laundry. That stuff is private.
"Five minutes," Minseok repeats, trying to sound stern but sounding deliriously excited.
-
Minseok shows up in a car, as opposed to his usual bicycle. Kyungsoo's jaw drops.
It's a tired Toyota Cressida, most likely made ten years before either of them were born, but still. A life size car. A real one. Kyungsoo's jaw drops to the ground, burrows under and hits an oil well five miles down.
Minseok laughs at the look on his face. "This was my uncle's, apparently. Totally beat, I spent hours last week fixing it. But come on! I've got to show you!"
Kyungsoo retracts his jaw immediately, although still stunned, and sits in the passenger seat. "Whoa," he breathes. The dashboard's peeling, btu he looks at with a reverence more suited to a subject in front of his queen.
"What're you're going to call her?" Kyungsoo asks, after he's been silent for a considerable while. He realizes too late that Minseok had actually been talking, and he hadn't been paying attention. He feels guilty and mortified, about to beat himself up for it, when Minseok just laughs again, not minding it at all.
"Really like her, do you?"
"Without a doubt," Kyungsoo replies, subdued.
"I think I'll name her," Minseok pauses. "Myungsoo."
It's Kyungsoo's turn to laugh. "That's crazy! That's a guy's name!"
"It's like my name and yours smashed together," Minseok explains. "Besides, it's my car. Guy names for a girl are okay. Vice versa."
"You're crazy," Kyungsoo shakes his head.
Minseok tuts about respect again, smiling quietly as he drums his fingers on the wheel. Then he says, "Hey. When did I get my first camera again?"
Kyungsoo takes a moment to recall, blinking at the trees speeding by. Green brown green brown blur. "Um. Last year? I was in tenth grade, remember."
The engine wallops and coughs as the car climbs up a hill, and when they reach the top, Minseok has to fight with the clutch until he sweats, and manages to brake to a standstill.
Minseok's surprise wasn't the car, as it turns out. It's the shiny new tripod stand that Minseok's crouching next to.
"You gonna show me the infinite truth?" Kyungsoo jokes.
"More than you can handle," Minseok quips back, easily.
Kyungsoo takes it as a challenge.
Although Minseok's wearing shorts and a wifebeater, so Kyungsoo's having trouble focusing on Minseok's excited how to set up a tripod tutorial.
"Here," Minseok stands up, thigh muscles rippling the slightest bit. Kyungsoo finds himself seized with the sudden want to maintain an extremely respectable distance, but Minseok is holding his hand out expectantly, and Kyungsoo automatically steps closer and holds it.
Minseok tugs lightly, and Kyungsoo's flush against his side, Minseok's bare arm pressing against his shoulder, their thighs and knees almost at the same height. Minseok seems to have noticed that too, because he says, "Don't grow much taller than this, okay? No need to get ambitious." Before Kyungsoo has a chance to retort, he ploughs on. "First thing we do is spread the legs," he says, and Kyungsoo goes red hot all over.
Kyungsoo is in denial that this is happening, but both of Minseok's are pressed on his before he knows it, and they're bending down together. "Have to adjust the spreaders down here," Minseok's saying, tapping them, and Kyungsoo succeeds in somehow, miraculously doing as he's told.
They release the tensioners, Minseok tells him to extend the leg height, and then both of them get to work on the mid-level spreaders.
They stand up, Minseok behind Kyungsoo, close like a shadow, like breath, like wind. Kyungsoo lets his gaze slide over to Minseok's face, tucked over Kyungsoo's shoulder comfortably.
"This is the pan," he's pointing out. "We need to tilt it, so the camera gets a level shot." Kyungsoo isn't listening, because he's staring at the shape of his mouth.
Quit acting like a teenager, something in him says.
I am one, and I've only got two years left, something else says. So shut it.
If you don't stop, the first something warns, You'll be on a wet bed the next time you wake up. First time in years.
Minseok's arm surges forward, the shoulder flexing and looking Goddamn shiny in the sun. Kyungsoo bites down on his cheek with enough force to make his eyes water.
"Right hand for the handle, left hand to --"
Don't think it, Kyungsoo thinks. Do not think. At all.
"Adjust the camera. The focus and all, y'know."
Minseok steps back, and immediately Kyungsoo is struck by how cold it is, and how he very much wants Minseok back right where he was, perhaps closer, perhaps extremely close and -
"Because it's very important to experiment, see," Minseok stresses, and Kyungsoo swallows and forces himself to look Minseok in the eye with a level gaze and a socially acceptable smile. But Minseok keeps going, "Get to know all the different angles, figure what's best for you."
Don't think at all ever again.
The rest of the setting up is just as terrible (who knew it takes at least twenty minutes to get a tripod up, for God's sake?), because apparently there is a biscuit and things that need screwing. A head plate exists, and all Kyungsoo zones in on is head. Minseok mentions a 'quick release mechanism' into Kyungsoo's hair and Kyungsoo hates himself, and there are apparently different levels of tension.
"No tension, to heavy tension," Minseok nods, seriously, and Kyungsoo needs to rethink his don't think agenda because he blurts, without thinking, "Yeah? I'm feeling super heavy tension right now."
Scratch thinking, Kyungsoo probably needs to never speak again. Thoughts stay inside, but words can never be taken back. Confucius, he thinks dimly, probably said something on that.
Minseok pauses, worried. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"Um." There is a momentary silence filled with Kyungsoo's eternal regret. "It's just. So much to keep in, you know? I'm kind of stressed." It isn't like he's lying.
Minseok's expression softens. "Shucks, it's okay. Look, I'll just take a few more minutes to finish this up myself, and then you can come in and I'll show you the controls."
Kyungsoo's torn, but he decides to be obedient for now, and shuffles quietly away. The wind's blowing, so of course it messes up Minseok's hair and flaps Minseok's shirt up and -
"Read to take your first professional picture?" Minseok waves him over. "Here we go!"
Kyungsoo braces himself and walks forward.
This time is different. There's nothing left for Minseok to point out, but he's still right there, his presence carving out a homestead into Kyungsoo's skin.
When Minseok had said it'd be more than Kyungsoo could handle, he'd taken it up as a challenge. But Goddammit, Minseok had been right.
Throat dry and brain feeling distinctly heavy and on fire, he rasps, "Hyung."
Minseok leans away immediately.
"That posture should be better," he says, voice brisk and professional. But his hands are trembling; tiny oscillations, the period impossibly fast. Kyungsoo would take a picture if he could, but he can't, so he settles for guessing the frequency of the miniscule movement. The focus of the lens is on the skyline in the distance, so that's where he should be looking, but against his better judgement Kyungsoo risks another glance back at Minseok's hands.
Still shaking. But Minseok's face is flushed, his smile honest, so it can't be a bad shake. It feels like a small victory to have affected him somehow. Kyungsoo swivels the tripod around dangerously, presses the button in Minseok's direction.
It's a squawking face. Kyungsoo doesn't let go of the camera. "Just captured the truth," Kyungsoo laughs, breathless, and Minseok just fakes a scoff and frown-grins away from him. Another victory. Kyungsoo keeps them both close, and hands the camera over. "Don't delete it," he warns. "That's my first step to becoming a pro." And that - that does the trick. Minseok lets him have his way.
~
Kyungsoo sits behind Minseok on the bike, arms wrapped tight around Minseok's waist.
"Relax," Minseok laughs. "It's just Dad's old bicycle. No high speeds."
Kyungsoo smiles into Minseok's back. "Yeah," he says. "I know."
-
The park's empty by the time they arrive. It's around a quarter past four, but Kyungsoo can't be sure of the exact time because his watch is a few minutes off, and he always forgets if it's ahead or behind.
They head for the swings immediately, Minseok insisting on pushing him off before getting into his own seat and joining him.
Probably half an hour passes with them breathlessly launching themselves higher and higher, straining to stay as close to the sky as possible.
"Kyungsoo!" Minseok calls, when they get out of sync; he's riding back and Kyungsoo's pitched forward.
"Yeah?" Kyungsoo yells back, and he turns his head to see Minseok waving goofily at him as they pass each other, feet right above the ground.
"I had a question!"
"Fire away!"
"Why'd you like math!"
Kyungsoo stops dead. Or at least he tries to, but inertia does its thing. "I'm going to blab," Kyungsoo warns.
Minseok smiles up at the clouds. "I don't mind," he says. "It's nice to hear you talk."
"Well," Kyungsoo starts, toeing patterns in the sand with his shoe. "I guess it's because languages are different everywhere, but no matter where you go, math is always the same."
Minseok splutters. "Mean Girls? Seriously?"
"Always," Kyungsoo grins, and has a good laugh at Minseok's shock. "But seriously," he says, resuming all seriousness. "The numbers have lives of their own - at least, the way we classify them. Sure, I love what we do in math, but I mean, for starters, just look at how everything's named. It's fucking nomenclature! Natural, real, happy, sad, imaginary, rational, irrational. Those are aren't people I was talking about, hyung, those are numbers."
He's never really had a chance to talk about this before, to talk about why, and this is so freeing, all the words fighting and tumbling to get out as fast as possible. "And then there's an entire world out there, of fractions, decimals, sequences - have I talked about Fibonacci?" He doesn't give Minseok a chance to answer, just barrels on. "I have to tell you about it. And prime number theory! Prime ideals, the way they changed algebra - think about it." He squirms in his seat and almost falls out of the swing. "A number that can't be divided by anything but itself - and one. This whole class of numbers fleshing out their own community the more we find out about them, their own landscape - and because everything's interconnected, they change other landscapes, by extension. Just like it happens physically, in the real world!"
He falls silent, catching his breath, and their feet kick the sand, swings swaying crazily as they spin in circles. Kyungsoo tilts back, staring at the sky. Minseok twirls in his seat before slowing to a stop.
"You like infinite truths, hyung. And I love the concept of that, the idea of that. But in a mathematical system, there's only the absolute truth. And that constant is. I just. It's so reassuring."
"Hey," Minseok says, twirling again, sneakers scraping the sand. He looks up, grins. "I get it."
~
He doesn't know how he'd said yes to her. Had he even said yes? He feels like she takes everything as a yes. He might have said he was suffering from hemorrhage and she would've eagerly come to pick him up for a date anyway.
The problem is, he doesn't know how to say no, so it's not like he can really blame her for anything. She's probably good at taking rejections - not that he means it like that, but she's probably. Mature. Or thinks she is. Nobody in their right mind would actually, actively seek him out.
Nobody, that is, except - Kyungsoo frowns. There are some thoughts one shouldn't have. He draws a line in his mind, delicately, as if afraid to upset things inside it, and retreats from himself. Nothing else left to do, he pays attention to her. Really pays attention.
Her hair are curly; he'd known that before. He hadn't noticed that they're in ringlets near her shoulders and wavier close to her head. Or that everything she wore was underlined in black. Neon pink T-shirt: sleeves hemmed black. White shorts: black pockets. Red sneakers: black straps. He wonders what that says about her, if it says anything at all. She's staring, rapt, at the screen. Something about aliens in space. Usually he's into documentaries, or the X-Files, whichever's on first, but it's more comfortable on his bed. With Minseok huddled next to him, blankets around each of them separately and then around them both, and the A/C turned on full. Maybe KFC or Chinese takeout.
This isn't any of that. He remembers the line and steps behind it. His mother's voice resounds, like some kind of nerve wracking gong. New experiences. He can't remember her next words. Probably for the best, except now new experiences is going to be playing in his head for the next few hours.
"That was awesome!" She smiles up at him expectantly, waiting for a response. He blinks at the screen, then at her, then at their joined hands. When had that happened?
"I," he says, then clears his throat. "I thought was pretty awesome, too."
"Yeah?" She's got a dimple when she smiles wide. Just the one, on her right cheek. It's distracting.
"You've got a dimple," he says, raising their joined hands halfway to her cheek, then dropping them awkwardly. "I just noticed."
She blushes prettily, and he's amazed that he somehow managed to say the right thing, at the right time.
-
"Dude, you scored a date?"
Kyungsoo winces. "I didn't score it. She did."
Minseok laughs, claps him on the back before slinging an arm around his neck. "Damn right she did. Pretty sure you're the best upgrade around."
Kyungsoo blushes at that. He can feel the warmth creeping around his neck and down to his chest, fights valiantly at trying to look nonchalant. But it goes up to his cheeks soon enough. Minseok leans in, oblivious, head against his as always. Kyungsoo lets himself grin because nobody's looking, so wide it hurts.
"I meant," he says, once he catches his breath and he's stopped smiling. "She asked me out. I don't remember what I said, exactly, but in the end we had a date."
Minseok's laugh seems a little strained. Kyungsoo can feel him through ribs as they walk, flush against each other, and it's as if he's holding back. But Minseok's hand keeps drumming mindlessly from where it's lying, casual, against his chest. Kyungsoo won't push it. Minseok always unwinds in his own time. Kyungsoo just needs to stick around.
"What'd you do?"
"Cinema." Then he adds, abruptly, "She held my hand. It was okay."
"Just okay?" Minseok smiles, and now Kyungsoo can hear a small catch in his voice.
"Just."
They fall into a lull, ambling aimlessly through the streets. The autumn leaves fall, crunching, nestling in their hair. "Look at the colors," Minseok murmurs. "Scarlet and gold."
"Red and yellow," Kyungsoo puts in, and gets nudged painfully for his efforts.
"Nobody asked you, realist," Minseok teases. "Like I said, scarlet and gold. Think about a spectrum of experience."
"Where is this going, exactly?" Kyungsoo twists his head around to look at Minseok properly, but Minseok's looking straight up, profile sharp against the brightness all around them, and Kyungsoo doesn't remember what he'd been about to say.
"To a place," Minseok's replying, laugh starting up again. "I swear I have a point. So, imagine a spectrum of experience, okay?"
"'kay," Kyungsoo finds himself whispering. "A spectrum."
"Right. And then, picture the kind of things you'd feel that make you see brilliant colors." Minseok's fingers go back to drumming a rhythm, and it's slightly calming for a nanosecond, before Kyungsoo begins to feel overly warm where the fingertips meet his shirt.
"Scarlet and gold?" Kyungsoo guesses.
"Mhm." The index finger taps straight down. Kyungsoo suppresses a shiver. "What d'you think?"
Kyungsoo thinks sex and decides against saying it out loud. "Um. You tell me."
Minseok turns to look at him again, something close to critical in his expression, but then it washes off completely and all Kyungsoo can see is familiarity. Affection - maybe, almost, perhaps. These things, always in probability. Probability's better than possibility, he tells himself, it's surer. Minseok's face breaks into a smile. Kyungsoo can tell himself other things too: he can tell himself it's a fond smile, he can lie to himself and think that it's only for him, for Kyungsoo, he can feel better at the sight of it. So he does.
"You're doing that thing," Minseok says, going off on a tangent. "Thinking too hard."
"Never mind me," Kyungsoo says, hasty. "What about the spectrum?"
Another lull, and they stare at each other for a heartbeat; it resonates through Minseok's fingertips and adjusts to Kyungsoo's pulse and drums dimly in Kyungsoo's ears. A leaf falls onto Minseok's nose and the moment breaks off. They laugh.
"Never mind me," Minseok repeats.
But his hand taps something shaky and frantic before sliding off Kyungsoo's shoulder. He'd said never mind me but then his arm loops through Kyungsoo's and their fingers intertwine and it's more of don't forget, please, don't forget and Kyungsoo squeezes their hands together into a we're here and an I won't. Their shoulders bump occasionally, Minseok's thumb rubbing over Kyungsoo's knuckle, dragging slow over his skin, and Kyungsoo thinks, scarlet.
When they reach home and Minseok lingers, almost as if regretful that it's over, when he leans in slightly to ruffle Kyungsoo's hair and say goodbye, Kyungsoo closes his eyes for a moment and thinks, gold.
-
The next time he and Jungah hold hands, it's on the way to the park. There's some performing event going on today, and she wants to show him a pair of buskers. "I'm sure you'll like them," she says, fingers tight over his. He wants to say please let my hand breathe but he's not sure if that sounds entirely normal, so he just wiggles their hands a little and nods. "I like buskers, generally," he says, and that's all the input he needs to provide for her to be satisfied and move onto talking about something else.
They're interesting, the things she talks about, but there's no real fire behind her words, no extra light in her eyes - she's always enthusiastic, always bright-eyed. It's hard to figure out what's special and what's especially special when she's excited about everything.
But probably he's just being a downer, and lazy besides. He laughs at her jokes, really laughs, and she pauses for a moment, looking pleased.
"What?" he asks, once he catches his breath.
"Nothing," she says. "You're cute when you laugh."
And he blushes, from his ears to his neck to his back. It's her turn to laugh, wild and dimpled. "Cute," she repeats, their hands so, so tight together that he's sure he'll lose feeling in his soon.
From somewhere close by come the strains of a guitar, and then a deep baritone singing something sweet.
"That's them!" Hurriedly, she leads him through the fast-gathering crowd.
Under the oak tree, at the center of the park, sits a very gangly somebody, about his age or younger. Kyungsoo can't be sure - that face is crazy. Big eyes, big ears, small mouth. And then the voice comes out again - thick and rich, and it does not suit the face.
"His partner's not here today," Jungah whispers. "They usually do duets."
Kyungsoo nods, focusing more on the voice, the lyrics.
It's English, that song that was really popular last year. He thinks it's All of Me, but isn't really sure until the singer reaches the chorus. Kyungsoo tries to go back to the translation he remembers reading, ages ago, about perfect imperfections and... he can't remember much else that isn't the chorus.
When the singer approaches the high notes near the end, eyes closed and smiling soft, a small weight against his shoulder startles Kyungsoo out of his reverie. He looks down to see Jungah leaning her head against him. She heaves a sigh and shuffles closer.
Kyungsoo swallows, and, as unawkwardly as possible, rests his head against her. He has to bend his knees a little, and it's uncomfortable to hold the position, but he feels her smile into his jacket. He wonders at how happy she seems with him, how he really does seem to be doing the right things around her.
And yet, when the crowd asks for an encore and the starts the song again - everyone's demand - Kyungsoo can't focus on her. The lyrics float in the air, and Kyungsoo sees broad shoulders and a short mop of messy curls, almond eyes that are always startling to look at - really look at - Kyungsoo snaps to the present.
He tries to recreate the emotional spectrum - no, no, the spectrum of experience - tries to think of the colors. Here, standing with Jungah, he's almost surprised at his lack of surprise that the lone color he feels is a dull grey. The only splash of brightness in the picture is the turquoise, from the busker. Jostles of orange from the crowd, if he really put his mind to it.
The song comes to a second end, and changes to something else. She tugs at his hand again, talking to him as she goes. It takes him a second to catch what she's saying.
"Come on." A huff of effort as she tugs harder. "I don't really like that other song. And there's more people coming! I think I see my friend. Come on!" She drags him away, and Kyungsoo tries to do what Minseok had done: rub his thumb slowly over Jungah's knuckles. He looks at the stretch of her neck and the line of her arm, thinks about capturing truth, about how he could look at one thing, see another, and someone else would perceive it all differently.
Jungah's friend is a terrific dancer. This time Kyungsoo shrinks closer to her.
Later, when he's walking her home, he asks her a question.
"If you could put today down as a color, what would it be?"
She likes that question, he can tell. She thinks about it, plays with his fingers and hums a little.
"Probably," she says, "If I mix all the colors... I get. Fuchsia? Lilac?" She laughs at her own answer, and takes the last few steps to her door alone.
Kyungsoo wants to say he's sorry, say I wanted it to be fireworks, scarlet and gold, I'm sorry I didn't try hard enough, but she's waving and bidding him goodbye.
The door closes behind her with a creaky finality, and he's left staring at it, a little shocked. "See you tomorrow!" she calls, muffled.
He smiles uncertainly to no one. "Sure!" he raises his voice, which cracks immediately. He thinks he hears a giggle, but he can't be sure. "See you."
-
He doesn't know what goes awry after that.
"How've you been?" she asks, pretty in her white dress. The sun hat's cute on her, too, and she purses her lips to suck juice up her straw. For some reason the shade of her lipstick jars him.
It's a bright, warm day for fall. Kyungsoo leans back against his chair. He'd canceled plans - nothing too important, of course, who was he kidding, but still - because she'd asked last minute to go to a party with him. It was a lot of people, and nobody bothered about anyone else, so it wasn't too invasive. It might as well just be him and her alone, in a crowd of occupied tables and chairs.
He wants to be defiant and rude anyway, considers saying, "With Minseok," in reply, before thinking better of it. He goes with a safe, "Okay," and a shrug.
When he comes home and finds Minseok curled up on his bed, almost asleep but still awake enough to ask how it went, he finds he has nothing to say. He honestly can't remember a thing.
"It's only the fifth date," Minseok yawns so hard his eyes water. The little happening wrenches a smile out of Kyungsoo, and all he can do is stare at Minseok. Minseok, tousel-haired and a six 'o clock shadow over his jaw, bleary but concerned. Something tugs in Kyungsoo's chest, like a heavy rope with a heavier weight at the end. He feels helpless, and Minseok reads it on his face and misunderstands.
"Hey," Minseok croaks. "None of that. It'll be better next time." And he pulls Kyungsoo next to him. They sit, words unnecessary, until Minseok's snores punctuate the hum of the A/C.
-
It ends, slightly anticlimactic, on the eighth date. Kyungsoo's glad he doesn't have any particular partiality to the number eight, or it might have felt worse.
She cheats on him, really. There's no other way to put it. She's grinding against some tall, slick-haired guy with a shiny jacket and ripped jeans on - everything, Kyungsoo concludes in a second, that he himself isn't, and cannot offer, because he doesn't know how, and wouldn't be interested in even if he did.
He calls her name, because it would be impolite to not show up to a date, even if he hates clubs, even if she forgot about him and has gotten with someone else, even if anything. It's what he likes about caution. Maybe even what he likes about himself - it's always there. A constant. Never taken out of the equation.
He smiles hard. Really grits his teeth and clenches his jaw and sets to it, and her own expression falters. She comes towards him, part alarmed, part resigned - and that last bit is what gets to him. Pity, he registers, familiar with that look from the tens and hundreds of people he's managed to avoid after a short while of facing them, and raises his hands when she opens her mouth.
"I don't need to know," he says, cutting her off. "It's okay. It's good that you're doing..." he trails off, looking at the guy who's still standing there and seeming, to his credit, uncomfortable, "Whoever you want." He shrugs at her heated blush, and leans over to ruffle her hair.
"Keep safe," he says as a parting shot, surprised to find that he means it.
He makes his way out. And winter, cliched and too frigid to care what he thinks of it, hits him fucking hard. He swallows, and the streetlights and street signs get way too spiky and then way too shiny, bleeding across his vision.
He fumbles for his phone and calls speed dial 1.
"What's in the refrigerator, alligator," Minseok greets, and it has Kyungsoo huffing a reluctant laugh.
"Seriously? Um, nothing but bile, crocodile."
"Ooh, ominous." Minseok sounds so bright and chipper. Kyungsoo aches to have him around, physically, and he can't do anything about that so he laughs again. Kind of shakily, because this was supposed to be bigger. He didn't dream of castles but maybe just bigger, maybe more meaningful, maybe -
"Hey," Kyungsoo says, leaning against the wall opposite. He'll get dust and brick mites in his hair, but whatever. "Can you come get me?"
-
Minseok doesn't ask him any questions when Kyungsoo slides into shotgun wordlessly. All he says is, "Well, you definitely look worse than you sounded on the phone." And when Kyungsoo doesn't say anything to that, he adds, "I mean. Not that you look awful. You look good. Just... well, upset."
Kyungsoo bows his head in acknowledgement, and Minseok doesn't drive him home. Instead, he gets Kyungsoo an ice cream cone from a McDonald's drive-through, and rolls down all the windows so the wind shrieks on the highways, gnaws in the underpasses.
The car clock says 8.32 p.m. and they're in the middle of the city, the clock says 9.41 p.m. and they're winding through narrow lanes, moving steadily out, and 10.55 p.m. sees them at the city limits. Minseok pulls off the road and fiddles with the back of his seat. Its hinges scream in protest, and it drops all the way.
"Sorry," Minseok jumps a little, but Kyungsoo does the same with his own seat.
"C'mon," Kyungsoo says, and lies down.
Minseok stares at him for a minute. Mindlessly, Kyungsoo stares back.
"Okay," Minseok replies, eventually, and lies down next to him, on his own seat.
11.08 p.m., and they're staring out the windshield, hands folded over their chests, waiting for a miracle, a meteor, a shower of sparks, a sign. Who knows what.
Waiting.
or maybe waiting for nothing. Maybe nothing was something only God knew. Not that Kyungsoo would know that much about God. He's not religious, hasn't thought about God in a while.
They're both sprawled across Kyungsoo's bed at 2.31 a.m. Kyungsoo says his first words in three hours, thick and garbled with exhaustion. The TV's on, that movie he'd first watched with Jungah playing.
"I dunno," he mumbles. "I feel so displaced. Like. I knew we probably had a stop point. Who doesn't? V equals zero because the..." he yawns, and feels sad. "Because you decelerate. Friction. It's inevitable. Newton's First Law, the wording's stupid." He shifts, still as careful as always not to tangle with Minseok.
Speaking of, Minseok's looking at him with an unfathomable expression on his face. Kyungsoo's too tired to even want to try and decipher it. But he moves his hand further up on the bed, so their wrists are barely a centimeter apart.
"Completely displaced," Kyungsoo starts again, closing his eyes. "No idea where I am."
"Hey," Minseok whispers. "No, Kyungsoo. Shh."
"Yeah?" Kyungsoo asks, and maybe he sounds a little desperate, for reassurance, for someone to shut him up. Kyungsoo doesn't care.
"Yeah. Shh."
He's not too awake, but he's aware of Minseok sitting up, Minseok moving away for a while, Minseok sitting back on the bed. Getting wrapped up in a blanket, and then draped over in another one and pulled close. The movie's still on, some explosions and banging about, and Minseok tuts, very close to his ear, and the TV hums for a second and turns off. Something clatters - probably the remote, set down on the side table - and then Minseok wriggles a little, to get comfortable.
"Hey," Kyungsoo manages, half asleep already, and he sounds miserable even to himself.
"Hey, Soo," Minseok whispers back, but Kyungsoo's fast falling somewhere away, and he can't be sure.
~
Kyungsoo isn't a fan of clubbing, but pubs can be nice. On occasion. And this is one of those times where it really has been enjoyable - people milling around, sitting in a corner with Minseok and not really talking that much, listening in on snatches of conversation, toying with the idea trying to do a proof on the shy side of tipsy, Minseok's arm next to his, Minseok's voice filling their silence occasionally. Not for the first time, Kyungsoo wonders what it is that brings them together. Technically, they're not supposed to work. Technically, Minseok gets bored of broken records, and Kyungsoo is sure that what they have is exactly that. Technically, Kyungsoo shouldn't even be thinking about this. Minseok's head leans on his shoulder, soft hair brushing against Kyungsoo's cheek. There's wafts of apple shampoo now, and beer. Lots of beer.
"Stop it," Minseok yawns, and even that gust of breath manages to make its way to Kyungsoo's face and warm him further. "Your brain's all haywire and finnicky."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Mmm. Hell if I know. But you feel so tense, and we came here to... not."
"Not?"
"Not."
"Not be tense?"
"Bingo."
They get comfortable, knees knocking not unpleasantly (where do their rules go when they're not alone with each other? It hurts to think that they have to be careful when it's just them, as if there's something to be afraid of. It just hurts at all right now) and Minseok decides to catch Kyungsoo up on what's up with him these days.
He tells Kyungsoo about the new photography class he's thinking of attending, and the part time cashier job he might be applying to, to save up for a new camera. It's a good kind of chatter, the kind where Kyungsoo feels absolutely trusted and safe and secure, with Minseok's voice washing over him, with only confirmations and interest required from Kyungsoo to keep it going. Kyungsoo can do that. Kyungsoo's always interested, when it comes to Minseok.
But then Minseok falls asleep mid-sentence; Kyungsoo's feeling hazier by the minute but has enough mukh to realize ke they have to get out of here.
He manages to get them out, but only just. It's freezing cold outside. The sky has barely darkened, still the dusky purple it was when they entered the pub, and their breath unfurls like so many flags of dust. Kyungsoo shivers and makes an angry noises, rubbing his hands over his arms.
"I thought you were having a good time." Minseok's voice comes from very, very close behind, his breath clouding over Kyungsoo's ear. It's startlingly warm and therefore extremely welcome.
Kyungsoo leans back, head knocking into Minseok's cheek. "I was," he mumbles. "Inside. Now we're becoming cryonicized."
Minseok laughs, and it's a delightful little rumble that Kyungsoo feels against his spine. "C'mere, grumpy," he whispers, although they're already as close as they can get to each other. His arms wrap around Kyungsoo's waist, and he nudges Kyungsoo's shin with his shoe. "Let's get you walking."
The alcohol's getting to Kyungsoo, though. After heroically trying to lead the way ahead and also cling to Minseok behind him at the same time for five whole minutes, he gives up, frowns, and grows rooted to the pavement. "Not going anywhere," he says. "You're too warm for anything else to matter." He doesn't remember ever being a talker - at least, not a sappy talker - after a few glasses, but there's probably a first time for everything. Besides, Minseok always used to try to get him to talk about things, before he gave up.
He hears Minseok's slightly stuttered chuckle, the small gasp before it and the almost-sob after. He can't compute how it means anything, but he's sure it's important. So he does the only thing he can think of: curls around Minseok's body with all his waning strength. "Don't move," he rasps, into the leathery shoulder. He winces at the taste of it. "And wear wool next time."
"Okay," Minseok whispers, arms tightening around him. "I will."
~
"Hmm. Triple chocolate, or chocolate and mint, and then strawberry? What about vanilla?"
"God. I don't know. It's New Year's, we're going to die of pneumonia."
"Don't be a wuss," Minseok scolds, sternly.
They're standing a foot away from a Baskin Robbins outlet, and Minseok's trying to decide what he'll have. Kyungsoo's just scuffing his shoes on the pavement and sulking.
Minseok turns to squint at the promotion board propped up. "Buy two and get one free..." he sighs.
Kyungsoo can see his pockets shaking. It's getting on his nerves a little. "Stop slapping your thighs," he says, finally.
Minseok actually does stop, in surprise. "Huh? Oh!" He looks down, at his hands in his pockets, then up at Kyungsoo again, grinning. "Oho," he says, and starts jiggling his hands in his pockets again.
Kyungsoo scowls. "Seriously? Stop it. Buy the damn cones."
"Nope," Minseok says, sounding entirely too smug. "I need to buy two to get one free. If I want two cones, you'll have to eat the third." Slap slap slap. The sound's literally crawling under Kyungsoo's skin. He sticks it out for two, three entire minutes, thinking now he'll stop, now he has to stop, now he'll definitely stop. But Minseok doesn't. Minseok is a champion. Minseok gets his way.
"Okay," Kyungsoo groans, hands to his ears, eyes squeezed shut. "Okay, okay, I'll get an ice cream."
Minseok stops at once, glee screaming all over his face.
"You stopped," Kyungsoo remarks in a daze, as they wait for their order. The girl hands the cones over, two in one hand, the third in the other.
"Of course I stopped," Minseok says, smartly. "Thanks," he adds to the girl. They turn around and walk homewards, the afternoon bright and sunless. "I'm an honorable gentleman."
Then he lifts a cone up to his mouth and takes a bite. The action itself is innocent enough, and the ice cream mustache would also be, except Minseok looks up at him as he licks it off. Pretty slowly. Or prettily and slowly. Or whatever. If that makes sense. Nothing is suddenly making sense, suddenly nothing makes sense. His brain goes through permutations in a hurry, unable to filter out and use the better sounding sentences.
"What're you staring at? I know there's stuff on my face, you don't have to tell me."
"Right," Kyungsoo mutters, ducking his head and licking at his own cone. "Yes." Except he glances up again, right when Minseok's tongue darts out and flicks over his upper lip. Kyungsoo swallows, mouth curiously dry. Minseok doesn't take a bite after that for a few moments, just stares at the pavement and chews his cheek thoughtfully. It makes his mouth purse. This is not Minseok done with him yet, this is Minseok just beginning. And if he's being completely honest with himself, Kyungsoo could keep watching.
Kyungsoo does, in fact, keep watching. For some reason the universe is on his side for the moment, and Minseok doesn't seem to notice. Then there's something cold and unpleasant - besides the weather - on his arm, and Kyungsoo's brought out of his stupor by ice cream melting in the wind and dribbling down his hand. "Shit."
"Hm?" Minseok looks up, then tsks. "You never eat fast enough." There's a little on his chin, something his mouth won't reach, and did he have to start with the vanilla when there was strawberry chocolate right there in his other hand? It looks almost-- Kyungsoo stamps on the thought. Minseok, an honorable gentleman. A delightful joke. If Kyungsoo wasn't feel suspiciously feverish, he might be able to laugh. As it is, Minseok's lips part again as if to say something, but instead he leans forward, and then Minseok is licking the ice cream right off Kyungsoo's wrist, going back down over his arm, and then up his hand again. Hot puffs breath over the cold liquid, tongue so quick and slippery Kyungsoo can't even process anything about it. Except that it exists. And is wet. Maybe. Kyungsoo doesn't know for sure.
"Holy shit," Kyungsoo breathes, way more reverently than he'd intended, and Minseok straightens up. Kyungsoo doesn't remember having stopped walking, but apparently here they are, standing still. It must have happened because having Minseok lick his hand without warning is kind of shocking. And provocative. Minseok's grinning at him again, the same expression he'd had when he was flapping his pockets - faintly, a voice in the back of Kyungsoo's head protests weakly, who even flaps their pockets? - as if he's egging Kyungsoo onto something.
"You're staring again," Minseok notes, voice carefully level. Oh, but he's dying to laugh; Kyungsoo knows him. Minseok's having a great time right now. "Staring at my mouth," Minseok adds, pronouncing each word slowly. Kyungsoo is indeed staring. He had supposed that if someone were to talk slowly, the motions of their mouth would be exaggerated, but Minseok's looks just fine. Absolutely spiffing, bright pink, kissable-- and, again, Kyungsoo forces that down. What's wrong with him today? He can usually keep this stuff filtered out.
"What's up?" Minseok takes a step closer, and Kyungsoo takes a step back. Minseok ends up closer anyway. Thankfully, Kyungsoo's brain fires up, circumstances and consequences finally appropriately analyzed, and lists out options to get out of everything in one second flat. Kyungsoo's always been somewhat good at staying away from danger.
I want, he thinks. He smiles back and grabs Minseok's vanilla cone to get away from completing that sentence, even if it's just in his head. "Revenge," he calls over his shoulder, already running, feet pounding against the pavement, heart thudding in his ears.
Safety, a small voice says, somewhere, after Minseok's mock-rage yells start fading. But that wasn't what he'd been thinking back there, so close that Minseok's breath had fanned over his face. He knows it.
~
Minseok drives. Sometimes Kyungsoo does allow himself to call - on the days he really needs it, days that aren't Saturday - can form coherent sentences in conversation is able to ask for help.
Minseok drives them out into the night, stars always welcoming the farther they travel from the buildings. Sometimes the music plays from the radio, sometimes Minseok puts something on. Kyungsoo smiles to himself when he does.
(There's a new girl Kyungsoo is seeing on-again, off-again - they don't talk about this. It doesn't hang in the air with heavy silence and awkward tension when they're in the car, but it fills the space between their shoulders when they sit next to each other in the campus cafe for lunch, when they pass each other in an auditorium, when Minseok's mother invites Kyungsoo in for a short chat and they're side by side on the tired old sofa.
It's decisive and calm and painful, until one day Minseok grabs Kyungsoo's hand under the table and stares straight at him.
They've taken seats right in front of the aircon; Kyungsoo had gotten used to the temperature, but the sudden warmth from the contact upsets the balance and he starts to shiver. Kyungsoo holds his gaze until Minseok's eyes drop to his plate and turns his head away. His hand doesn't move from Kyungsoo's. Kyungsoo takes another bite of his burger, then sets it down completely.
"You cold?" Minseok says, quietly, still not looking at him.
"Um," Kyungsoo blinks. "Kind of."
Minseok angles towards him, their knees knocking together, his shoulder bracing Kyungsoo's. Another rush of warmth, and Kyungsoo leans into it. Minseok's focused on his own hotdog, eating with his left hand, chewing slowly. His eyes flicker everywhere, not settling at any one place. Kyungsoo turns his head, tucking his chin over his own shoulder, and watches him openly.
The crappy lighting manages to do wonders to Minseok's profile - or maybe Minseok manages to look so good and inviting no matter where he is - and Kyungsoo ignores the shooting pain in his neck with the odd position, in favor of studying his face. Eyelashes sweeping down and curling just the slightest at the tips, ear half-hidden in his long hair, eyebrows heavy and slightly raised (what're you thinking right now? why this, now? Kyungsoo wonders), and Kyungsoo wants to - dammit, but he's tired of stopping his thoughts. He stops himself all the time, he deserves a little indulgence. Minseok's holding his hand and something in his heartbeat is shaky and unsure. Kyungsoo wants to kiss the rise of his cheekbone and the dip between his lower lip and his chin, the spot between his eyebrows, his ear - every inch of his little ears - and his eyelids, and his mouth, his mouth, all the time--
Minseok shifts away slightly, and it takes Kyungsoo's entire brain screaming him to a halt to not follow the movement and lean into his space and get just as close again, to finish off the space between them completely, to touch more.
Nobody's looking at them, Kyungsoo realizes. Nobody cares. And there's a thrill to that, along with a sadness.
The A/C is blows through the thin fabric of his shirt, and Kyungsoo resolutely chomps into his burger again.)
But after, there is nothing that hurts, not between themselves.
And the wind through his hair - that's the best feeling Kyungsoo will ever remember of his first year of college.
-
"You know," Minseok sounds amused, as he reverses out of the parking lot. "You've graduated from school and everything, don't you think it's high time you got a driver's license?"
Kyungsoo shrugs, looking out the window. "It's scary." You'll always come get me, anyway. But then, his mind says, won't you?, and he feels his back stiffen, straightening. A car honks as it whizzes by, the sound much louder in his head.
"What happened to us buying a car together?" There's a smile in his voice, though Kyungsoo is resolutely not looking. "We can still buy it," he says, easily. "Just. You'll be driving."
"And if I want to get driven sometime?"
Kyungsoo knows it shouldn't seem as needling as it does, and uncurls his hands, fingers brushing over the rough denim of his jeans. He takes comfort in the texture. It's easy to take comfort in these things. Maybe he'll get a formula for the stitches and bumps in the cloth. Maybe Minseok will leave one day. Maybe Kyungsoo should learn to drive.
Outwardly, all he can come up with is, "Oh well."
"Let's take a picture," Minseok says at the same time, and the following silence that stretches between them creaks and sways dangerously in the wind whipping through the windows. Kyungsoo wants to apologize. "Of the sunset," Minseok adds. "I know you don't like being in photos like that."
"No," Kyungsoo exhales. "I don't mind today." Kyungsoo wants to apologize. All his words are always wrong. But Minseok looks over at him then, something like happiness in his eyes, and a weight on Kyungsoo floats free. Maybe almost always. Maybe he can be good enough. Maybe the answer to won't you? is yes.
"Sunset," Minseok insists, but he's smiling, and jerks his thumb to the backseat. "Cam's in the middle pocket, the blue bag."
"Of course the blue bag," Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, smiling back. "The red one's mine," he croaks, twisting around in his seat to lean in the backseat. He fiddles around with the zips before managing to get to the middle pocket. "And I don't exactly," he exhales, hands around the camera, "Carry these things around," he finishes, finally sitting back. "I should do yoga," he adds, passing it over to Minseok.
Minseok chokes back on a laugh. "What?"
"Improves flexibility," Kyungsoo says, as if confiding a secret, and Minseok chokes again, turning vaguely pink.
"Picture," he mumbles, and the next few minutes Kyungsoo stares at the steering wheel in terror as Minseok drives hands free, busy clicking photographs.
"What if there's another car," Kyungsoo whispers, horrified, but Minseok just grins.
"What if," he repeats, "Except there isn't. Relax, Kyungsoo."
Relax, Kyungsoo. Now there's something he doesn't hear everyday. He's surprised enough by it to get distracted, staring out the window as usual, and only starts when Minseok laughs delightedly out of nowhere. "There," he's saying, sounding proud, "Got it."
Minseok succeeds in stowing the camera away from Kyungsoo, and only shows him on the laptop when they reach home.
It's a shot of the sun setting, through the window on Kyungsoo's side, dark yellow orb hovering between the rush of outstretched trees. It throws orange light over everything, dark, dark orange. As always, there's something of Kyungsoo in the picture: the curve of his cheek, his brow, a tuft of hair. It's all turned dull gold and bronze, and Kyungsoo - real, live Kyungsoo looking at the picture - releases a breath in a little awe.
"Remember when I said I'd show you my favorite part of the day?"
Kyungsoo makes a noise of surprise. That had been almost two years ago. It makes him feel... like he’s collapsing, suddenly. And lit up all over.
"So that's me falling asleep?" he hazards, jokingly, but his breath catches when Minseok turns a little pink again. Don't think, Kyungsoo tells himself desperately. Don't think don't think don't th--
"Dude," Minseok shakes his head, still embarrassed, "Jesus. It's the sunset. It's literally right there."
Good, Kyungsoo thinks, vehemently, and blinks when Minseok looks at him strangely.
"Good?" Minseok says, and oh, Kyungsoo had said it out loud.
"Good picture," Kyungsoo nods, hurried. "I really like it." And then, just to seal it all safely away, he adds, "Especially the part with me in it."
Minseok snorts. "Glad you like yourself so much."
part ii
rating: nc-17
pairing(s): kyungsoo/minseok, broken kyungsoo/jungah
warnings: description of a panic attack, language
word count: 18403
a/n: title taken from rumi’s poem who says words with my mouth?, summary from his poem my life is not mine. written for kyungsooperior round two! unbeta'd
What he will remember most later, he thinks as he leans in the doorway, is the careful game of Tetris they always end up playing with their bodies. Each shape on ground level, fitting perfectly against each other if not for the space between them.
~
The sunlight slides through the blinds in slant lines, painting him over striped, light and dark by turns. His lashes turn golden every time they dip down to blink in one bright strip, and his eyes glint in the hush of the next. Nose scrunched, mouth pursed, blankets pulled up on either side to his chin. He's probably checking photos on the camera under there; a muted blue glow is casted up on his face.
"Think you can just hog up my space?" Kyungsoo breaks the silence. A rare occurrence.
Minseok looks up, expression blank for a second before he blinks and really sees him. "Yeah?" he grins, then clears his throat. "I mean. Yeah. Definitely. I can."
"It's my bed," Kyungsoo insists, letting his bag drop to the floor and stepping closer. His hands shake a little, so he hides them in his pockets.
"I'm older than you," Minseok shrugs again, turning back to his camera. "Come here, look at the pictures."
"Not interested," Kyungsoo pulls out a hand to trail it over his desk. Minseok hasn't added any clutter to it. The pile of mystery novels tottering on the edge, the geography textbook splayed open on Dialects of the South and a picture of mountains opposite, for some reason. His glasses case, empty, his CD collection, a CD player from 8th grade. Notebooks, a pen. Jesus, he needs to clean up. Then again, he always tells himself that.
"Come on, Kyungsoo," Minseok says. "Get on this damned bed."
Well, if he puts it that way. Carefully, as always, Kyungsoo clambers onto the sheets, and if his wrist bumps against Minseok's hip, there is no reaction on either side.
"So," Minseok says brightly, once they're settled. "Here we are."
(They're all pictures with Kyungsoo in the frame somewhere. It's not hard to notice - Minseok's photos are always quiet, with a sense of space, not especially fond of people, but not aiming to avoid them altogether either. Kyungsoo doesn't comment, but he breaks a rule as Minseok self-consciously wraps up and leaves the bed - he lets his fingers brush Minseok's shoulder in passing. The smile Minseok throws him is quiet and blinding.)
~
Photography hadn't been a constant in Minseok's life - not that Kyungsoo minds. He's just curious. Minseok's never been one for phases either; he likes something, he keeps sticking to it. Kyungsoo just wants to know why a camera lens. Why facing the world head on.
They'd been at the mall, helping Minseok's mother with her shopping, when Minseok had lingered at an electronics store. "Hang on a sec," he'd muttered, and Kyungsoo stood near the entrance, awkward, as Minseok went through the displays, talking to a salesgirl.
Ten minutes, and Minseok's already gotten what he came for. The camera's tucked safely in its box, bag fresh and uncreased with its expensive weight.
"What were you talking about?" Kyungsoo asks. When Minseok looks confused, he adds, "With the girl." He jogs a little to catch up with Minseok's pace as they head to where Mrs. Kim is still poring over a cocktail dress.
Minseok raises his brows. "I can't talk to girls now?"
"No," Kyungsoo says, flushing. "I mean. You went in there with your mind already made up about the company, the model, the make... wait, why're you grinning?"
Minseok's smiling at his shoes. It’s a slow, wide smile that looks delighted and thoroughly pleased.
"Because you're right," Minseok says, and Kyungsoo's thrown off by that so much that he can't think of anything to reply.
-
But he does try again, on a slightly different tack. It's a few weeks later.
Minseok's struggling with calculus, and Kyungsoo's dozing off into his Modern History.
"I hate this," Minseok says, with feeling. He's twisting his pen so hard, that Kyungsoo's sure it'll break soon.
"Pre-calculus is okay," Kyungsoo offers, helpfully.
The look Minseok sends him is withering. "Take the pre out and see how prepared you are."
Kyungsoo shrugs. He picks his battles, and they both know math comes to Kyungsoo like breathing.
"Why don't you not-hate photographs?" he asks instead. He gives up on history and tries twirling a pencil between his fingers instead. Out of the corner of his eye, sees Minseok's death grip on the pen relax.
"That came out of nowhere." But he doesn't like he minds, or that he's surprised. Just amused.
"It's been cooking," Kyungsoo admits, carelessness careful. He can feel sweat begin to prickle around the label of his shirt, at the back of his neck.
"It's just," Minseok sighs, pushing his chair back a little so it screeches. "Sometimes you see the truth. You really see it."
The pen gets put down gently, and Minseok's hands start tracing the variables on his book instead. dy, dx. "And I saw it over the shoulder of some guy. In the park, and he was taking a picture of the tree. You know that big oak in the middle?"
Kyungsoo hums, noncommittal. He can't quite recall it, but Minseok doesn't talk like this much; like he's excited, absorbed. Kyungsoo wouldn't stop that for anything.
"And, I mean, I always see that tree. No big deal. But this guy looks at it, and he wants to capture it. Forever. Keep it around with him. That's what you do." The book gets shoved away, and the pen's picked up again. Minseok twirls it expertly between his fingers. Kyungsoo's almost distracted enough to forego what he's saying to concentrate on how that thing just flies in a circle. Almost distracted enough.
"That's what happens with the truth. It sticks with you, and. It gets around, under your nails, on your skin. Your memory. Eyeballs. Whatever."
"Everything," Kyungsoo supplies, quietly.
"Everything," Minseok nods. "The truth is everything. But - here's my favorite part - "
Kyungsoo looks up, lets himself smile a little in wonder at this enthusiasm, his enthusiasm. Eyes bright and hands animated, Minseok's almost a different person from his usual, quiet self.
" - It's that everyone looks at everything differently. I can take a picture, and a cat can be in the background. Someone else in my place would put the cat into the foreground. Someone else would focus on just the paws, just the tail or leave it altogether and take a picture of the sky, even. There's an..." Minseok searches for around, glance darting around the room, before it lands on his calculus book and lights up. "Infinite. An infinite number of truths."
Kyungsoo doesn't say anything right away, and Minseok immediately looks embarrassed.
"Hey," Kyungsoo says, hand reaching out and covering Minseok's. "No. That was amazing." It comes out sounding thicker than he meant it to, like there's a lump in his throat - and there is. Something about it all is making him feel funny.
Minseok looks up at him, shy.
Good funny. His stomach flips, and Kyungsoo smiles. "Plus," he adds. "I saw you. The calculus helped."
"Oh, stop it," Minseok scoffs, lighthearted. "Bet you still have no idea who the second emperor of Hangul was."
"Alas," Kyungsoo pulls his hand back and stares regretfully at the desk. "Right about that."
~
"Hey, check it out," Minseok says on the phone. "I got a present! Remember, I ended up on the Dean's list?"
Kyungsoo shifts the phone from one hand to the other, and tries to stuff everything into the washing machine in one go singlehandedly.
"Yeah," Minseok continues, as though Kyungsoo had said anything, "So my dad got me this thing, and you're gonna be ready in five, and I'm gonna come over and show you how to take photos like a pro."
All his clothes slither onto the floor, except for one pair of briefs with sloths printed on them.
"Dude. Seriously?" he mutters.
"Excuse me?" Minseok laughs, confused. "Where's the respect?"
"I'm sorry, hyung," Kyungsoo rushes to say. "It's just --"
"What? Won't you be able to make it?"
Kyungsoo frowns at the briefs, then at the rest of his laundry.
"Huh? Oh, no! I'll definitely make it! I was just talking about, um, something else. To, uh, Mom," Kyungsoo lies. He can't find it in himself to discuss the fact that was actually going to tell Minseok about his laundry. That stuff is private.
"Five minutes," Minseok repeats, trying to sound stern but sounding deliriously excited.
-
Minseok shows up in a car, as opposed to his usual bicycle. Kyungsoo's jaw drops.
It's a tired Toyota Cressida, most likely made ten years before either of them were born, but still. A life size car. A real one. Kyungsoo's jaw drops to the ground, burrows under and hits an oil well five miles down.
Minseok laughs at the look on his face. "This was my uncle's, apparently. Totally beat, I spent hours last week fixing it. But come on! I've got to show you!"
Kyungsoo retracts his jaw immediately, although still stunned, and sits in the passenger seat. "Whoa," he breathes. The dashboard's peeling, btu he looks at with a reverence more suited to a subject in front of his queen.
"What're you're going to call her?" Kyungsoo asks, after he's been silent for a considerable while. He realizes too late that Minseok had actually been talking, and he hadn't been paying attention. He feels guilty and mortified, about to beat himself up for it, when Minseok just laughs again, not minding it at all.
"Really like her, do you?"
"Without a doubt," Kyungsoo replies, subdued.
"I think I'll name her," Minseok pauses. "Myungsoo."
It's Kyungsoo's turn to laugh. "That's crazy! That's a guy's name!"
"It's like my name and yours smashed together," Minseok explains. "Besides, it's my car. Guy names for a girl are okay. Vice versa."
"You're crazy," Kyungsoo shakes his head.
Minseok tuts about respect again, smiling quietly as he drums his fingers on the wheel. Then he says, "Hey. When did I get my first camera again?"
Kyungsoo takes a moment to recall, blinking at the trees speeding by. Green brown green brown blur. "Um. Last year? I was in tenth grade, remember."
The engine wallops and coughs as the car climbs up a hill, and when they reach the top, Minseok has to fight with the clutch until he sweats, and manages to brake to a standstill.
Minseok's surprise wasn't the car, as it turns out. It's the shiny new tripod stand that Minseok's crouching next to.
"You gonna show me the infinite truth?" Kyungsoo jokes.
"More than you can handle," Minseok quips back, easily.
Kyungsoo takes it as a challenge.
Although Minseok's wearing shorts and a wifebeater, so Kyungsoo's having trouble focusing on Minseok's excited how to set up a tripod tutorial.
"Here," Minseok stands up, thigh muscles rippling the slightest bit. Kyungsoo finds himself seized with the sudden want to maintain an extremely respectable distance, but Minseok is holding his hand out expectantly, and Kyungsoo automatically steps closer and holds it.
Minseok tugs lightly, and Kyungsoo's flush against his side, Minseok's bare arm pressing against his shoulder, their thighs and knees almost at the same height. Minseok seems to have noticed that too, because he says, "Don't grow much taller than this, okay? No need to get ambitious." Before Kyungsoo has a chance to retort, he ploughs on. "First thing we do is spread the legs," he says, and Kyungsoo goes red hot all over.
Kyungsoo is in denial that this is happening, but both of Minseok's are pressed on his before he knows it, and they're bending down together. "Have to adjust the spreaders down here," Minseok's saying, tapping them, and Kyungsoo succeeds in somehow, miraculously doing as he's told.
They release the tensioners, Minseok tells him to extend the leg height, and then both of them get to work on the mid-level spreaders.
They stand up, Minseok behind Kyungsoo, close like a shadow, like breath, like wind. Kyungsoo lets his gaze slide over to Minseok's face, tucked over Kyungsoo's shoulder comfortably.
"This is the pan," he's pointing out. "We need to tilt it, so the camera gets a level shot." Kyungsoo isn't listening, because he's staring at the shape of his mouth.
Quit acting like a teenager, something in him says.
I am one, and I've only got two years left, something else says. So shut it.
If you don't stop, the first something warns, You'll be on a wet bed the next time you wake up. First time in years.
Minseok's arm surges forward, the shoulder flexing and looking Goddamn shiny in the sun. Kyungsoo bites down on his cheek with enough force to make his eyes water.
"Right hand for the handle, left hand to --"
Don't think it, Kyungsoo thinks. Do not think. At all.
"Adjust the camera. The focus and all, y'know."
Minseok steps back, and immediately Kyungsoo is struck by how cold it is, and how he very much wants Minseok back right where he was, perhaps closer, perhaps extremely close and -
"Because it's very important to experiment, see," Minseok stresses, and Kyungsoo swallows and forces himself to look Minseok in the eye with a level gaze and a socially acceptable smile. But Minseok keeps going, "Get to know all the different angles, figure what's best for you."
Don't think at all ever again.
The rest of the setting up is just as terrible (who knew it takes at least twenty minutes to get a tripod up, for God's sake?), because apparently there is a biscuit and things that need screwing. A head plate exists, and all Kyungsoo zones in on is head. Minseok mentions a 'quick release mechanism' into Kyungsoo's hair and Kyungsoo hates himself, and there are apparently different levels of tension.
"No tension, to heavy tension," Minseok nods, seriously, and Kyungsoo needs to rethink his don't think agenda because he blurts, without thinking, "Yeah? I'm feeling super heavy tension right now."
Scratch thinking, Kyungsoo probably needs to never speak again. Thoughts stay inside, but words can never be taken back. Confucius, he thinks dimly, probably said something on that.
Minseok pauses, worried. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"Um." There is a momentary silence filled with Kyungsoo's eternal regret. "It's just. So much to keep in, you know? I'm kind of stressed." It isn't like he's lying.
Minseok's expression softens. "Shucks, it's okay. Look, I'll just take a few more minutes to finish this up myself, and then you can come in and I'll show you the controls."
Kyungsoo's torn, but he decides to be obedient for now, and shuffles quietly away. The wind's blowing, so of course it messes up Minseok's hair and flaps Minseok's shirt up and -
"Read to take your first professional picture?" Minseok waves him over. "Here we go!"
Kyungsoo braces himself and walks forward.
This time is different. There's nothing left for Minseok to point out, but he's still right there, his presence carving out a homestead into Kyungsoo's skin.
When Minseok had said it'd be more than Kyungsoo could handle, he'd taken it up as a challenge. But Goddammit, Minseok had been right.
Throat dry and brain feeling distinctly heavy and on fire, he rasps, "Hyung."
Minseok leans away immediately.
"That posture should be better," he says, voice brisk and professional. But his hands are trembling; tiny oscillations, the period impossibly fast. Kyungsoo would take a picture if he could, but he can't, so he settles for guessing the frequency of the miniscule movement. The focus of the lens is on the skyline in the distance, so that's where he should be looking, but against his better judgement Kyungsoo risks another glance back at Minseok's hands.
Still shaking. But Minseok's face is flushed, his smile honest, so it can't be a bad shake. It feels like a small victory to have affected him somehow. Kyungsoo swivels the tripod around dangerously, presses the button in Minseok's direction.
It's a squawking face. Kyungsoo doesn't let go of the camera. "Just captured the truth," Kyungsoo laughs, breathless, and Minseok just fakes a scoff and frown-grins away from him. Another victory. Kyungsoo keeps them both close, and hands the camera over. "Don't delete it," he warns. "That's my first step to becoming a pro." And that - that does the trick. Minseok lets him have his way.
~
Kyungsoo sits behind Minseok on the bike, arms wrapped tight around Minseok's waist.
"Relax," Minseok laughs. "It's just Dad's old bicycle. No high speeds."
Kyungsoo smiles into Minseok's back. "Yeah," he says. "I know."
-
The park's empty by the time they arrive. It's around a quarter past four, but Kyungsoo can't be sure of the exact time because his watch is a few minutes off, and he always forgets if it's ahead or behind.
They head for the swings immediately, Minseok insisting on pushing him off before getting into his own seat and joining him.
Probably half an hour passes with them breathlessly launching themselves higher and higher, straining to stay as close to the sky as possible.
"Kyungsoo!" Minseok calls, when they get out of sync; he's riding back and Kyungsoo's pitched forward.
"Yeah?" Kyungsoo yells back, and he turns his head to see Minseok waving goofily at him as they pass each other, feet right above the ground.
"I had a question!"
"Fire away!"
"Why'd you like math!"
Kyungsoo stops dead. Or at least he tries to, but inertia does its thing. "I'm going to blab," Kyungsoo warns.
Minseok smiles up at the clouds. "I don't mind," he says. "It's nice to hear you talk."
"Well," Kyungsoo starts, toeing patterns in the sand with his shoe. "I guess it's because languages are different everywhere, but no matter where you go, math is always the same."
Minseok splutters. "Mean Girls? Seriously?"
"Always," Kyungsoo grins, and has a good laugh at Minseok's shock. "But seriously," he says, resuming all seriousness. "The numbers have lives of their own - at least, the way we classify them. Sure, I love what we do in math, but I mean, for starters, just look at how everything's named. It's fucking nomenclature! Natural, real, happy, sad, imaginary, rational, irrational. Those are aren't people I was talking about, hyung, those are numbers."
He's never really had a chance to talk about this before, to talk about why, and this is so freeing, all the words fighting and tumbling to get out as fast as possible. "And then there's an entire world out there, of fractions, decimals, sequences - have I talked about Fibonacci?" He doesn't give Minseok a chance to answer, just barrels on. "I have to tell you about it. And prime number theory! Prime ideals, the way they changed algebra - think about it." He squirms in his seat and almost falls out of the swing. "A number that can't be divided by anything but itself - and one. This whole class of numbers fleshing out their own community the more we find out about them, their own landscape - and because everything's interconnected, they change other landscapes, by extension. Just like it happens physically, in the real world!"
He falls silent, catching his breath, and their feet kick the sand, swings swaying crazily as they spin in circles. Kyungsoo tilts back, staring at the sky. Minseok twirls in his seat before slowing to a stop.
"You like infinite truths, hyung. And I love the concept of that, the idea of that. But in a mathematical system, there's only the absolute truth. And that constant is. I just. It's so reassuring."
"Hey," Minseok says, twirling again, sneakers scraping the sand. He looks up, grins. "I get it."
~
He doesn't know how he'd said yes to her. Had he even said yes? He feels like she takes everything as a yes. He might have said he was suffering from hemorrhage and she would've eagerly come to pick him up for a date anyway.
The problem is, he doesn't know how to say no, so it's not like he can really blame her for anything. She's probably good at taking rejections - not that he means it like that, but she's probably. Mature. Or thinks she is. Nobody in their right mind would actually, actively seek him out.
Nobody, that is, except - Kyungsoo frowns. There are some thoughts one shouldn't have. He draws a line in his mind, delicately, as if afraid to upset things inside it, and retreats from himself. Nothing else left to do, he pays attention to her. Really pays attention.
Her hair are curly; he'd known that before. He hadn't noticed that they're in ringlets near her shoulders and wavier close to her head. Or that everything she wore was underlined in black. Neon pink T-shirt: sleeves hemmed black. White shorts: black pockets. Red sneakers: black straps. He wonders what that says about her, if it says anything at all. She's staring, rapt, at the screen. Something about aliens in space. Usually he's into documentaries, or the X-Files, whichever's on first, but it's more comfortable on his bed. With Minseok huddled next to him, blankets around each of them separately and then around them both, and the A/C turned on full. Maybe KFC or Chinese takeout.
This isn't any of that. He remembers the line and steps behind it. His mother's voice resounds, like some kind of nerve wracking gong. New experiences. He can't remember her next words. Probably for the best, except now new experiences is going to be playing in his head for the next few hours.
"That was awesome!" She smiles up at him expectantly, waiting for a response. He blinks at the screen, then at her, then at their joined hands. When had that happened?
"I," he says, then clears his throat. "I thought was pretty awesome, too."
"Yeah?" She's got a dimple when she smiles wide. Just the one, on her right cheek. It's distracting.
"You've got a dimple," he says, raising their joined hands halfway to her cheek, then dropping them awkwardly. "I just noticed."
She blushes prettily, and he's amazed that he somehow managed to say the right thing, at the right time.
-
"Dude, you scored a date?"
Kyungsoo winces. "I didn't score it. She did."
Minseok laughs, claps him on the back before slinging an arm around his neck. "Damn right she did. Pretty sure you're the best upgrade around."
Kyungsoo blushes at that. He can feel the warmth creeping around his neck and down to his chest, fights valiantly at trying to look nonchalant. But it goes up to his cheeks soon enough. Minseok leans in, oblivious, head against his as always. Kyungsoo lets himself grin because nobody's looking, so wide it hurts.
"I meant," he says, once he catches his breath and he's stopped smiling. "She asked me out. I don't remember what I said, exactly, but in the end we had a date."
Minseok's laugh seems a little strained. Kyungsoo can feel him through ribs as they walk, flush against each other, and it's as if he's holding back. But Minseok's hand keeps drumming mindlessly from where it's lying, casual, against his chest. Kyungsoo won't push it. Minseok always unwinds in his own time. Kyungsoo just needs to stick around.
"What'd you do?"
"Cinema." Then he adds, abruptly, "She held my hand. It was okay."
"Just okay?" Minseok smiles, and now Kyungsoo can hear a small catch in his voice.
"Just."
They fall into a lull, ambling aimlessly through the streets. The autumn leaves fall, crunching, nestling in their hair. "Look at the colors," Minseok murmurs. "Scarlet and gold."
"Red and yellow," Kyungsoo puts in, and gets nudged painfully for his efforts.
"Nobody asked you, realist," Minseok teases. "Like I said, scarlet and gold. Think about a spectrum of experience."
"Where is this going, exactly?" Kyungsoo twists his head around to look at Minseok properly, but Minseok's looking straight up, profile sharp against the brightness all around them, and Kyungsoo doesn't remember what he'd been about to say.
"To a place," Minseok's replying, laugh starting up again. "I swear I have a point. So, imagine a spectrum of experience, okay?"
"'kay," Kyungsoo finds himself whispering. "A spectrum."
"Right. And then, picture the kind of things you'd feel that make you see brilliant colors." Minseok's fingers go back to drumming a rhythm, and it's slightly calming for a nanosecond, before Kyungsoo begins to feel overly warm where the fingertips meet his shirt.
"Scarlet and gold?" Kyungsoo guesses.
"Mhm." The index finger taps straight down. Kyungsoo suppresses a shiver. "What d'you think?"
Kyungsoo thinks sex and decides against saying it out loud. "Um. You tell me."
Minseok turns to look at him again, something close to critical in his expression, but then it washes off completely and all Kyungsoo can see is familiarity. Affection - maybe, almost, perhaps. These things, always in probability. Probability's better than possibility, he tells himself, it's surer. Minseok's face breaks into a smile. Kyungsoo can tell himself other things too: he can tell himself it's a fond smile, he can lie to himself and think that it's only for him, for Kyungsoo, he can feel better at the sight of it. So he does.
"You're doing that thing," Minseok says, going off on a tangent. "Thinking too hard."
"Never mind me," Kyungsoo says, hasty. "What about the spectrum?"
Another lull, and they stare at each other for a heartbeat; it resonates through Minseok's fingertips and adjusts to Kyungsoo's pulse and drums dimly in Kyungsoo's ears. A leaf falls onto Minseok's nose and the moment breaks off. They laugh.
"Never mind me," Minseok repeats.
But his hand taps something shaky and frantic before sliding off Kyungsoo's shoulder. He'd said never mind me but then his arm loops through Kyungsoo's and their fingers intertwine and it's more of don't forget, please, don't forget and Kyungsoo squeezes their hands together into a we're here and an I won't. Their shoulders bump occasionally, Minseok's thumb rubbing over Kyungsoo's knuckle, dragging slow over his skin, and Kyungsoo thinks, scarlet.
When they reach home and Minseok lingers, almost as if regretful that it's over, when he leans in slightly to ruffle Kyungsoo's hair and say goodbye, Kyungsoo closes his eyes for a moment and thinks, gold.
-
The next time he and Jungah hold hands, it's on the way to the park. There's some performing event going on today, and she wants to show him a pair of buskers. "I'm sure you'll like them," she says, fingers tight over his. He wants to say please let my hand breathe but he's not sure if that sounds entirely normal, so he just wiggles their hands a little and nods. "I like buskers, generally," he says, and that's all the input he needs to provide for her to be satisfied and move onto talking about something else.
They're interesting, the things she talks about, but there's no real fire behind her words, no extra light in her eyes - she's always enthusiastic, always bright-eyed. It's hard to figure out what's special and what's especially special when she's excited about everything.
But probably he's just being a downer, and lazy besides. He laughs at her jokes, really laughs, and she pauses for a moment, looking pleased.
"What?" he asks, once he catches his breath.
"Nothing," she says. "You're cute when you laugh."
And he blushes, from his ears to his neck to his back. It's her turn to laugh, wild and dimpled. "Cute," she repeats, their hands so, so tight together that he's sure he'll lose feeling in his soon.
From somewhere close by come the strains of a guitar, and then a deep baritone singing something sweet.
"That's them!" Hurriedly, she leads him through the fast-gathering crowd.
Under the oak tree, at the center of the park, sits a very gangly somebody, about his age or younger. Kyungsoo can't be sure - that face is crazy. Big eyes, big ears, small mouth. And then the voice comes out again - thick and rich, and it does not suit the face.
"His partner's not here today," Jungah whispers. "They usually do duets."
Kyungsoo nods, focusing more on the voice, the lyrics.
It's English, that song that was really popular last year. He thinks it's All of Me, but isn't really sure until the singer reaches the chorus. Kyungsoo tries to go back to the translation he remembers reading, ages ago, about perfect imperfections and... he can't remember much else that isn't the chorus.
When the singer approaches the high notes near the end, eyes closed and smiling soft, a small weight against his shoulder startles Kyungsoo out of his reverie. He looks down to see Jungah leaning her head against him. She heaves a sigh and shuffles closer.
Kyungsoo swallows, and, as unawkwardly as possible, rests his head against her. He has to bend his knees a little, and it's uncomfortable to hold the position, but he feels her smile into his jacket. He wonders at how happy she seems with him, how he really does seem to be doing the right things around her.
And yet, when the crowd asks for an encore and the starts the song again - everyone's demand - Kyungsoo can't focus on her. The lyrics float in the air, and Kyungsoo sees broad shoulders and a short mop of messy curls, almond eyes that are always startling to look at - really look at - Kyungsoo snaps to the present.
He tries to recreate the emotional spectrum - no, no, the spectrum of experience - tries to think of the colors. Here, standing with Jungah, he's almost surprised at his lack of surprise that the lone color he feels is a dull grey. The only splash of brightness in the picture is the turquoise, from the busker. Jostles of orange from the crowd, if he really put his mind to it.
The song comes to a second end, and changes to something else. She tugs at his hand again, talking to him as she goes. It takes him a second to catch what she's saying.
"Come on." A huff of effort as she tugs harder. "I don't really like that other song. And there's more people coming! I think I see my friend. Come on!" She drags him away, and Kyungsoo tries to do what Minseok had done: rub his thumb slowly over Jungah's knuckles. He looks at the stretch of her neck and the line of her arm, thinks about capturing truth, about how he could look at one thing, see another, and someone else would perceive it all differently.
Jungah's friend is a terrific dancer. This time Kyungsoo shrinks closer to her.
Later, when he's walking her home, he asks her a question.
"If you could put today down as a color, what would it be?"
She likes that question, he can tell. She thinks about it, plays with his fingers and hums a little.
"Probably," she says, "If I mix all the colors... I get. Fuchsia? Lilac?" She laughs at her own answer, and takes the last few steps to her door alone.
Kyungsoo wants to say he's sorry, say I wanted it to be fireworks, scarlet and gold, I'm sorry I didn't try hard enough, but she's waving and bidding him goodbye.
The door closes behind her with a creaky finality, and he's left staring at it, a little shocked. "See you tomorrow!" she calls, muffled.
He smiles uncertainly to no one. "Sure!" he raises his voice, which cracks immediately. He thinks he hears a giggle, but he can't be sure. "See you."
-
He doesn't know what goes awry after that.
"How've you been?" she asks, pretty in her white dress. The sun hat's cute on her, too, and she purses her lips to suck juice up her straw. For some reason the shade of her lipstick jars him.
It's a bright, warm day for fall. Kyungsoo leans back against his chair. He'd canceled plans - nothing too important, of course, who was he kidding, but still - because she'd asked last minute to go to a party with him. It was a lot of people, and nobody bothered about anyone else, so it wasn't too invasive. It might as well just be him and her alone, in a crowd of occupied tables and chairs.
He wants to be defiant and rude anyway, considers saying, "With Minseok," in reply, before thinking better of it. He goes with a safe, "Okay," and a shrug.
When he comes home and finds Minseok curled up on his bed, almost asleep but still awake enough to ask how it went, he finds he has nothing to say. He honestly can't remember a thing.
"It's only the fifth date," Minseok yawns so hard his eyes water. The little happening wrenches a smile out of Kyungsoo, and all he can do is stare at Minseok. Minseok, tousel-haired and a six 'o clock shadow over his jaw, bleary but concerned. Something tugs in Kyungsoo's chest, like a heavy rope with a heavier weight at the end. He feels helpless, and Minseok reads it on his face and misunderstands.
"Hey," Minseok croaks. "None of that. It'll be better next time." And he pulls Kyungsoo next to him. They sit, words unnecessary, until Minseok's snores punctuate the hum of the A/C.
-
It ends, slightly anticlimactic, on the eighth date. Kyungsoo's glad he doesn't have any particular partiality to the number eight, or it might have felt worse.
She cheats on him, really. There's no other way to put it. She's grinding against some tall, slick-haired guy with a shiny jacket and ripped jeans on - everything, Kyungsoo concludes in a second, that he himself isn't, and cannot offer, because he doesn't know how, and wouldn't be interested in even if he did.
He calls her name, because it would be impolite to not show up to a date, even if he hates clubs, even if she forgot about him and has gotten with someone else, even if anything. It's what he likes about caution. Maybe even what he likes about himself - it's always there. A constant. Never taken out of the equation.
He smiles hard. Really grits his teeth and clenches his jaw and sets to it, and her own expression falters. She comes towards him, part alarmed, part resigned - and that last bit is what gets to him. Pity, he registers, familiar with that look from the tens and hundreds of people he's managed to avoid after a short while of facing them, and raises his hands when she opens her mouth.
"I don't need to know," he says, cutting her off. "It's okay. It's good that you're doing..." he trails off, looking at the guy who's still standing there and seeming, to his credit, uncomfortable, "Whoever you want." He shrugs at her heated blush, and leans over to ruffle her hair.
"Keep safe," he says as a parting shot, surprised to find that he means it.
He makes his way out. And winter, cliched and too frigid to care what he thinks of it, hits him fucking hard. He swallows, and the streetlights and street signs get way too spiky and then way too shiny, bleeding across his vision.
He fumbles for his phone and calls speed dial 1.
"What's in the refrigerator, alligator," Minseok greets, and it has Kyungsoo huffing a reluctant laugh.
"Seriously? Um, nothing but bile, crocodile."
"Ooh, ominous." Minseok sounds so bright and chipper. Kyungsoo aches to have him around, physically, and he can't do anything about that so he laughs again. Kind of shakily, because this was supposed to be bigger. He didn't dream of castles but maybe just bigger, maybe more meaningful, maybe -
"Hey," Kyungsoo says, leaning against the wall opposite. He'll get dust and brick mites in his hair, but whatever. "Can you come get me?"
-
Minseok doesn't ask him any questions when Kyungsoo slides into shotgun wordlessly. All he says is, "Well, you definitely look worse than you sounded on the phone." And when Kyungsoo doesn't say anything to that, he adds, "I mean. Not that you look awful. You look good. Just... well, upset."
Kyungsoo bows his head in acknowledgement, and Minseok doesn't drive him home. Instead, he gets Kyungsoo an ice cream cone from a McDonald's drive-through, and rolls down all the windows so the wind shrieks on the highways, gnaws in the underpasses.
The car clock says 8.32 p.m. and they're in the middle of the city, the clock says 9.41 p.m. and they're winding through narrow lanes, moving steadily out, and 10.55 p.m. sees them at the city limits. Minseok pulls off the road and fiddles with the back of his seat. Its hinges scream in protest, and it drops all the way.
"Sorry," Minseok jumps a little, but Kyungsoo does the same with his own seat.
"C'mon," Kyungsoo says, and lies down.
Minseok stares at him for a minute. Mindlessly, Kyungsoo stares back.
"Okay," Minseok replies, eventually, and lies down next to him, on his own seat.
11.08 p.m., and they're staring out the windshield, hands folded over their chests, waiting for a miracle, a meteor, a shower of sparks, a sign. Who knows what.
Waiting.
or maybe waiting for nothing. Maybe nothing was something only God knew. Not that Kyungsoo would know that much about God. He's not religious, hasn't thought about God in a while.
They're both sprawled across Kyungsoo's bed at 2.31 a.m. Kyungsoo says his first words in three hours, thick and garbled with exhaustion. The TV's on, that movie he'd first watched with Jungah playing.
"I dunno," he mumbles. "I feel so displaced. Like. I knew we probably had a stop point. Who doesn't? V equals zero because the..." he yawns, and feels sad. "Because you decelerate. Friction. It's inevitable. Newton's First Law, the wording's stupid." He shifts, still as careful as always not to tangle with Minseok.
Speaking of, Minseok's looking at him with an unfathomable expression on his face. Kyungsoo's too tired to even want to try and decipher it. But he moves his hand further up on the bed, so their wrists are barely a centimeter apart.
"Completely displaced," Kyungsoo starts again, closing his eyes. "No idea where I am."
"Hey," Minseok whispers. "No, Kyungsoo. Shh."
"Yeah?" Kyungsoo asks, and maybe he sounds a little desperate, for reassurance, for someone to shut him up. Kyungsoo doesn't care.
"Yeah. Shh."
He's not too awake, but he's aware of Minseok sitting up, Minseok moving away for a while, Minseok sitting back on the bed. Getting wrapped up in a blanket, and then draped over in another one and pulled close. The movie's still on, some explosions and banging about, and Minseok tuts, very close to his ear, and the TV hums for a second and turns off. Something clatters - probably the remote, set down on the side table - and then Minseok wriggles a little, to get comfortable.
"Hey," Kyungsoo manages, half asleep already, and he sounds miserable even to himself.
"Hey, Soo," Minseok whispers back, but Kyungsoo's fast falling somewhere away, and he can't be sure.
~
Kyungsoo isn't a fan of clubbing, but pubs can be nice. On occasion. And this is one of those times where it really has been enjoyable - people milling around, sitting in a corner with Minseok and not really talking that much, listening in on snatches of conversation, toying with the idea trying to do a proof on the shy side of tipsy, Minseok's arm next to his, Minseok's voice filling their silence occasionally. Not for the first time, Kyungsoo wonders what it is that brings them together. Technically, they're not supposed to work. Technically, Minseok gets bored of broken records, and Kyungsoo is sure that what they have is exactly that. Technically, Kyungsoo shouldn't even be thinking about this. Minseok's head leans on his shoulder, soft hair brushing against Kyungsoo's cheek. There's wafts of apple shampoo now, and beer. Lots of beer.
"Stop it," Minseok yawns, and even that gust of breath manages to make its way to Kyungsoo's face and warm him further. "Your brain's all haywire and finnicky."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Mmm. Hell if I know. But you feel so tense, and we came here to... not."
"Not?"
"Not."
"Not be tense?"
"Bingo."
They get comfortable, knees knocking not unpleasantly (where do their rules go when they're not alone with each other? It hurts to think that they have to be careful when it's just them, as if there's something to be afraid of. It just hurts at all right now) and Minseok decides to catch Kyungsoo up on what's up with him these days.
He tells Kyungsoo about the new photography class he's thinking of attending, and the part time cashier job he might be applying to, to save up for a new camera. It's a good kind of chatter, the kind where Kyungsoo feels absolutely trusted and safe and secure, with Minseok's voice washing over him, with only confirmations and interest required from Kyungsoo to keep it going. Kyungsoo can do that. Kyungsoo's always interested, when it comes to Minseok.
But then Minseok falls asleep mid-sentence; Kyungsoo's feeling hazier by the minute but has enough mukh to realize ke they have to get out of here.
He manages to get them out, but only just. It's freezing cold outside. The sky has barely darkened, still the dusky purple it was when they entered the pub, and their breath unfurls like so many flags of dust. Kyungsoo shivers and makes an angry noises, rubbing his hands over his arms.
"I thought you were having a good time." Minseok's voice comes from very, very close behind, his breath clouding over Kyungsoo's ear. It's startlingly warm and therefore extremely welcome.
Kyungsoo leans back, head knocking into Minseok's cheek. "I was," he mumbles. "Inside. Now we're becoming cryonicized."
Minseok laughs, and it's a delightful little rumble that Kyungsoo feels against his spine. "C'mere, grumpy," he whispers, although they're already as close as they can get to each other. His arms wrap around Kyungsoo's waist, and he nudges Kyungsoo's shin with his shoe. "Let's get you walking."
The alcohol's getting to Kyungsoo, though. After heroically trying to lead the way ahead and also cling to Minseok behind him at the same time for five whole minutes, he gives up, frowns, and grows rooted to the pavement. "Not going anywhere," he says. "You're too warm for anything else to matter." He doesn't remember ever being a talker - at least, not a sappy talker - after a few glasses, but there's probably a first time for everything. Besides, Minseok always used to try to get him to talk about things, before he gave up.
He hears Minseok's slightly stuttered chuckle, the small gasp before it and the almost-sob after. He can't compute how it means anything, but he's sure it's important. So he does the only thing he can think of: curls around Minseok's body with all his waning strength. "Don't move," he rasps, into the leathery shoulder. He winces at the taste of it. "And wear wool next time."
"Okay," Minseok whispers, arms tightening around him. "I will."
~
"Hmm. Triple chocolate, or chocolate and mint, and then strawberry? What about vanilla?"
"God. I don't know. It's New Year's, we're going to die of pneumonia."
"Don't be a wuss," Minseok scolds, sternly.
They're standing a foot away from a Baskin Robbins outlet, and Minseok's trying to decide what he'll have. Kyungsoo's just scuffing his shoes on the pavement and sulking.
Minseok turns to squint at the promotion board propped up. "Buy two and get one free..." he sighs.
Kyungsoo can see his pockets shaking. It's getting on his nerves a little. "Stop slapping your thighs," he says, finally.
Minseok actually does stop, in surprise. "Huh? Oh!" He looks down, at his hands in his pockets, then up at Kyungsoo again, grinning. "Oho," he says, and starts jiggling his hands in his pockets again.
Kyungsoo scowls. "Seriously? Stop it. Buy the damn cones."
"Nope," Minseok says, sounding entirely too smug. "I need to buy two to get one free. If I want two cones, you'll have to eat the third." Slap slap slap. The sound's literally crawling under Kyungsoo's skin. He sticks it out for two, three entire minutes, thinking now he'll stop, now he has to stop, now he'll definitely stop. But Minseok doesn't. Minseok is a champion. Minseok gets his way.
"Okay," Kyungsoo groans, hands to his ears, eyes squeezed shut. "Okay, okay, I'll get an ice cream."
Minseok stops at once, glee screaming all over his face.
"You stopped," Kyungsoo remarks in a daze, as they wait for their order. The girl hands the cones over, two in one hand, the third in the other.
"Of course I stopped," Minseok says, smartly. "Thanks," he adds to the girl. They turn around and walk homewards, the afternoon bright and sunless. "I'm an honorable gentleman."
Then he lifts a cone up to his mouth and takes a bite. The action itself is innocent enough, and the ice cream mustache would also be, except Minseok looks up at him as he licks it off. Pretty slowly. Or prettily and slowly. Or whatever. If that makes sense. Nothing is suddenly making sense, suddenly nothing makes sense. His brain goes through permutations in a hurry, unable to filter out and use the better sounding sentences.
"What're you staring at? I know there's stuff on my face, you don't have to tell me."
"Right," Kyungsoo mutters, ducking his head and licking at his own cone. "Yes." Except he glances up again, right when Minseok's tongue darts out and flicks over his upper lip. Kyungsoo swallows, mouth curiously dry. Minseok doesn't take a bite after that for a few moments, just stares at the pavement and chews his cheek thoughtfully. It makes his mouth purse. This is not Minseok done with him yet, this is Minseok just beginning. And if he's being completely honest with himself, Kyungsoo could keep watching.
Kyungsoo does, in fact, keep watching. For some reason the universe is on his side for the moment, and Minseok doesn't seem to notice. Then there's something cold and unpleasant - besides the weather - on his arm, and Kyungsoo's brought out of his stupor by ice cream melting in the wind and dribbling down his hand. "Shit."
"Hm?" Minseok looks up, then tsks. "You never eat fast enough." There's a little on his chin, something his mouth won't reach, and did he have to start with the vanilla when there was strawberry chocolate right there in his other hand? It looks almost-- Kyungsoo stamps on the thought. Minseok, an honorable gentleman. A delightful joke. If Kyungsoo wasn't feel suspiciously feverish, he might be able to laugh. As it is, Minseok's lips part again as if to say something, but instead he leans forward, and then Minseok is licking the ice cream right off Kyungsoo's wrist, going back down over his arm, and then up his hand again. Hot puffs breath over the cold liquid, tongue so quick and slippery Kyungsoo can't even process anything about it. Except that it exists. And is wet. Maybe. Kyungsoo doesn't know for sure.
"Holy shit," Kyungsoo breathes, way more reverently than he'd intended, and Minseok straightens up. Kyungsoo doesn't remember having stopped walking, but apparently here they are, standing still. It must have happened because having Minseok lick his hand without warning is kind of shocking. And provocative. Minseok's grinning at him again, the same expression he'd had when he was flapping his pockets - faintly, a voice in the back of Kyungsoo's head protests weakly, who even flaps their pockets? - as if he's egging Kyungsoo onto something.
"You're staring again," Minseok notes, voice carefully level. Oh, but he's dying to laugh; Kyungsoo knows him. Minseok's having a great time right now. "Staring at my mouth," Minseok adds, pronouncing each word slowly. Kyungsoo is indeed staring. He had supposed that if someone were to talk slowly, the motions of their mouth would be exaggerated, but Minseok's looks just fine. Absolutely spiffing, bright pink, kissable-- and, again, Kyungsoo forces that down. What's wrong with him today? He can usually keep this stuff filtered out.
"What's up?" Minseok takes a step closer, and Kyungsoo takes a step back. Minseok ends up closer anyway. Thankfully, Kyungsoo's brain fires up, circumstances and consequences finally appropriately analyzed, and lists out options to get out of everything in one second flat. Kyungsoo's always been somewhat good at staying away from danger.
I want, he thinks. He smiles back and grabs Minseok's vanilla cone to get away from completing that sentence, even if it's just in his head. "Revenge," he calls over his shoulder, already running, feet pounding against the pavement, heart thudding in his ears.
Safety, a small voice says, somewhere, after Minseok's mock-rage yells start fading. But that wasn't what he'd been thinking back there, so close that Minseok's breath had fanned over his face. He knows it.
~
Minseok drives. Sometimes Kyungsoo does allow himself to call - on the days he really needs it, days that aren't Saturday - can form coherent sentences in conversation is able to ask for help.
Minseok drives them out into the night, stars always welcoming the farther they travel from the buildings. Sometimes the music plays from the radio, sometimes Minseok puts something on. Kyungsoo smiles to himself when he does.
(There's a new girl Kyungsoo is seeing on-again, off-again - they don't talk about this. It doesn't hang in the air with heavy silence and awkward tension when they're in the car, but it fills the space between their shoulders when they sit next to each other in the campus cafe for lunch, when they pass each other in an auditorium, when Minseok's mother invites Kyungsoo in for a short chat and they're side by side on the tired old sofa.
It's decisive and calm and painful, until one day Minseok grabs Kyungsoo's hand under the table and stares straight at him.
They've taken seats right in front of the aircon; Kyungsoo had gotten used to the temperature, but the sudden warmth from the contact upsets the balance and he starts to shiver. Kyungsoo holds his gaze until Minseok's eyes drop to his plate and turns his head away. His hand doesn't move from Kyungsoo's. Kyungsoo takes another bite of his burger, then sets it down completely.
"You cold?" Minseok says, quietly, still not looking at him.
"Um," Kyungsoo blinks. "Kind of."
Minseok angles towards him, their knees knocking together, his shoulder bracing Kyungsoo's. Another rush of warmth, and Kyungsoo leans into it. Minseok's focused on his own hotdog, eating with his left hand, chewing slowly. His eyes flicker everywhere, not settling at any one place. Kyungsoo turns his head, tucking his chin over his own shoulder, and watches him openly.
The crappy lighting manages to do wonders to Minseok's profile - or maybe Minseok manages to look so good and inviting no matter where he is - and Kyungsoo ignores the shooting pain in his neck with the odd position, in favor of studying his face. Eyelashes sweeping down and curling just the slightest at the tips, ear half-hidden in his long hair, eyebrows heavy and slightly raised (what're you thinking right now? why this, now? Kyungsoo wonders), and Kyungsoo wants to - dammit, but he's tired of stopping his thoughts. He stops himself all the time, he deserves a little indulgence. Minseok's holding his hand and something in his heartbeat is shaky and unsure. Kyungsoo wants to kiss the rise of his cheekbone and the dip between his lower lip and his chin, the spot between his eyebrows, his ear - every inch of his little ears - and his eyelids, and his mouth, his mouth, all the time--
Minseok shifts away slightly, and it takes Kyungsoo's entire brain screaming him to a halt to not follow the movement and lean into his space and get just as close again, to finish off the space between them completely, to touch more.
Nobody's looking at them, Kyungsoo realizes. Nobody cares. And there's a thrill to that, along with a sadness.
The A/C is blows through the thin fabric of his shirt, and Kyungsoo resolutely chomps into his burger again.)
But after, there is nothing that hurts, not between themselves.
And the wind through his hair - that's the best feeling Kyungsoo will ever remember of his first year of college.
-
"You know," Minseok sounds amused, as he reverses out of the parking lot. "You've graduated from school and everything, don't you think it's high time you got a driver's license?"
Kyungsoo shrugs, looking out the window. "It's scary." You'll always come get me, anyway. But then, his mind says, won't you?, and he feels his back stiffen, straightening. A car honks as it whizzes by, the sound much louder in his head.
"What happened to us buying a car together?" There's a smile in his voice, though Kyungsoo is resolutely not looking. "We can still buy it," he says, easily. "Just. You'll be driving."
"And if I want to get driven sometime?"
Kyungsoo knows it shouldn't seem as needling as it does, and uncurls his hands, fingers brushing over the rough denim of his jeans. He takes comfort in the texture. It's easy to take comfort in these things. Maybe he'll get a formula for the stitches and bumps in the cloth. Maybe Minseok will leave one day. Maybe Kyungsoo should learn to drive.
Outwardly, all he can come up with is, "Oh well."
"Let's take a picture," Minseok says at the same time, and the following silence that stretches between them creaks and sways dangerously in the wind whipping through the windows. Kyungsoo wants to apologize. "Of the sunset," Minseok adds. "I know you don't like being in photos like that."
"No," Kyungsoo exhales. "I don't mind today." Kyungsoo wants to apologize. All his words are always wrong. But Minseok looks over at him then, something like happiness in his eyes, and a weight on Kyungsoo floats free. Maybe almost always. Maybe he can be good enough. Maybe the answer to won't you? is yes.
"Sunset," Minseok insists, but he's smiling, and jerks his thumb to the backseat. "Cam's in the middle pocket, the blue bag."
"Of course the blue bag," Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, smiling back. "The red one's mine," he croaks, twisting around in his seat to lean in the backseat. He fiddles around with the zips before managing to get to the middle pocket. "And I don't exactly," he exhales, hands around the camera, "Carry these things around," he finishes, finally sitting back. "I should do yoga," he adds, passing it over to Minseok.
Minseok chokes back on a laugh. "What?"
"Improves flexibility," Kyungsoo says, as if confiding a secret, and Minseok chokes again, turning vaguely pink.
"Picture," he mumbles, and the next few minutes Kyungsoo stares at the steering wheel in terror as Minseok drives hands free, busy clicking photographs.
"What if there's another car," Kyungsoo whispers, horrified, but Minseok just grins.
"What if," he repeats, "Except there isn't. Relax, Kyungsoo."
Relax, Kyungsoo. Now there's something he doesn't hear everyday. He's surprised enough by it to get distracted, staring out the window as usual, and only starts when Minseok laughs delightedly out of nowhere. "There," he's saying, sounding proud, "Got it."
Minseok succeeds in stowing the camera away from Kyungsoo, and only shows him on the laptop when they reach home.
It's a shot of the sun setting, through the window on Kyungsoo's side, dark yellow orb hovering between the rush of outstretched trees. It throws orange light over everything, dark, dark orange. As always, there's something of Kyungsoo in the picture: the curve of his cheek, his brow, a tuft of hair. It's all turned dull gold and bronze, and Kyungsoo - real, live Kyungsoo looking at the picture - releases a breath in a little awe.
"Remember when I said I'd show you my favorite part of the day?"
Kyungsoo makes a noise of surprise. That had been almost two years ago. It makes him feel... like he’s collapsing, suddenly. And lit up all over.
"So that's me falling asleep?" he hazards, jokingly, but his breath catches when Minseok turns a little pink again. Don't think, Kyungsoo tells himself desperately. Don't think don't think don't th--
"Dude," Minseok shakes his head, still embarrassed, "Jesus. It's the sunset. It's literally right there."
Good, Kyungsoo thinks, vehemently, and blinks when Minseok looks at him strangely.
"Good?" Minseok says, and oh, Kyungsoo had said it out loud.
"Good picture," Kyungsoo nods, hurried. "I really like it." And then, just to seal it all safely away, he adds, "Especially the part with me in it."
Minseok snorts. "Glad you like yourself so much."
part ii