vixx: take the time
Title: take the time
Pairing: Ken/Leo
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5.3k
Summary: He was everything -- is everything -- and Taekwoon knows the lack of distinction must be obvious to everyone but perhaps the one who matters most.
a/n: this spiraled a bit from the original prompt [sweating, nervous]. for the lovely jeodoboleo~ this was a great excuse to write magic boys taekhwn, also /sad/ boys taekhwn but don't let this part fool you. if i get the chance to write more of this au then the following parts will be considerably more light-hearted♡
Taekwoon doesn’t know what Hakyeon’ll do with him. Cat eyes are staring at him, the elongated pupils, and Hakyeon’s not having it tonight, will not have it. “Taekwoon,” he says, voice ringing with a clear cut of seriousness. “I’m not sponsoring anymore drinks until you start paying back the tab. You’re gonna get my ass fired.”
The air is thick, outside’s thunderstorm seeping into the low-lit bar. Hakyeon is almost a shadow with only parts of him highlighted by pink fluorescents. The sparkles dusted onto his cheekbones glitter like his eyes, the eyes staring Taekwoon down.
The heat is going to his head -- foggy. Taekwoon rubs a finger on the polished wood of the bar. “I’m getting to that.” His voice is hushed by the rest of the nightlife: music, people, the rain.
Hakyeon curls his lip. He studies Taekwoon for a moment and reaches out to tug on Taekwoon’s wet, stringy hair. “What’s wrong?” He says it on a sigh, like he’s asking a child.
It would be appropriate, Taekwoon feels, shrouded in his coat that practically swallows him whole. The coat is wet from the rain, as wet as his hair, and he’s dripping around this bar stool. He’s not a child, but Taekwoon can’t shake the childishness that harbors inside him, antagonized by Hakyeon’s questioning.
He should be home. Drying off.
Taekwoon shrugs for Hakyeon’s answer, smoothing the tip of his finger on the counter. Picking at a nick in the polished wood. Hakyeon’s leaning forward on his two hands. “Is it him,” he asks. There’s a slight accusation in his voice, like Taekwoon, we’ve been over this, Taekwoon, not again , but yes, again.
Taekwoon starts bouncing his knee, feeling too hot under his drippy exterior. His cheeks burn. He can’t look at Hakyeon. “He knocked on my door last night.”
“Doesn’t mean you had to let him in.”
“He was crying.” Taekwoon says it with difficulty. Like this concept is foreign and, like all foreign things, not understandable. And when there is no comprehension, when something is but the reasons are unknown or they can’t seem to be found (not in his runny eyes or sloppy words, after he’s come through the front door like that, practically tripping over his own two feet into Taekwoon -- no, no), this can cause anger. Anger of the unknown.
Taekwoon’s brow bends, pulled down low at heavy thoughts, and he says again staring at Hakyeon’s forehead, not his eyes, “He was crying.”
“And what did you do?”
“I let him in.”
Taekwoon comes home in a swirl of steaming pavement and muggy night air. The rain is gone and in its place has come the humidity, the damp cloth in Taekwoon’s lungs. The sweat has just started to collect underneath his collar when he reaches his house. It’s a modest home: two-stories, painted an odd tan shade, but Taekwoon’s favorite are the shutters on the windows, red in color. There’s a bend in the bottom-most porch step, an accompanying hardly used mailbox, and the front door doesn’t function properly, but it’s a sturdy house. Taekwoon’s keys jingle in the latch.
Waiting just inside the door: “Hi.”
If this was the first time, Taekwoon would have jumped out of his skin, cursed, slapped a hand across Jaehwan’s chest and probably have let his magic drown him in blue energy. But this isn’t the first time.
Jaehwan’s hair is curled like it was set with rollers. It’s curled like Jaehwan’s been pulling his fingers through it, loosening them up from such a tight wind. His hair didn’t look like that last night; Jaehwan must have fixed it up wherever he went today. He was gone when Taekwoon woke up. There are no lights turned on in the house, just the outside light coming through the windows, and Jaehwan’s features are muddled. Taekwoon holds up a glowing finger to his cheek and touches him there. “You didn’t think to turn on the lights?”
This seems like a parody of the times Jaehwan used to wait and try to scare him, not turning the lights on. It’s different because Jaehwan isn’t laughing. Different because it doesn’t feel like a joke. Jaehwan seems to know too.
Taekwoon flicks the switch by Jaehwan’s shoulder to face the mess he’s been living in. Spell-books across the coffee table, the kitchen table; old cups of coffee stuck to these places as well and almost but not quite in the kitchen sink; blankets tossed about the couch where Jaehwan slept last night. Hongbin will fuss at him.
Taekwoon looks back over at Jaehwan to see him bouncing a small ball of yellow light between his hands. It’s recognized as a nervous quirk of his. Jaehwan’s eyes are blown wide, enhanced by the liner they draw across his lids and how they darken his brows, bring out the color in his lips.
“You smell like--” Jaehwan leans in, eyes not on Taekwoon’s face, “--I don’t know. Something alcoholic. What’d you have?”
Taekwoon doesn’t answer. He shuts the door behind him and shucks his coat off in a heap by the door. Guess any amount of years and rewind the time, and Jaehwan would have nudged it aside with his foot and a giggle, trailing right behind him. Jaehwan’s feet are worn across this threshold.
He moves to the couch to tidy up -- rearranging the shape of the blankets so they’re not where he wants to sit -- and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. He’s still wet, and the weight of his head is almost too much to keep him upright, but Taekwoon stays sitting. Jaehwan’s watching him. And Taekwoon’s waiting. He’s waiting for it; it’s coming.
Jaehwan’s got an unlit roll of powder tucked behind his ear. He holds it out now, into the space where Taekwoon is not. “I went by the little witchy store by the park. The counter lady didn’t mind me buying this.”
Taekwoon feels like saying, “Because most people put that in their cauldron, not in their mouth,” but he doesn’t. He says nothing. Since Jaehwan’s offering he probably put in exactly the kind of powders Taekwoon likes. He can barely see the tremor in Jaehwan’s hands.
“Why were you crying last night?
“We don’t have to talk about it.” Jaehwan stuffs his hands in coat pockets, roll of powder as well. He’s standing by the door. His shoes are on. He’s bouncing on his heels.
Taekwoon stares at the curved shape of Jaehwan’s lips. The high slopes and the small dip of his cupid’s bow, full lower lip. It’s enhanced by the red, sticky gloss he wears, what they have him wear for big stage nights.
“Only if you want to.” Taekwoon props his feet on a stack of books, something called 102 Ways to Transform Your Potion Cabinet, something of Hongbin’s, something he’s never read. “It’s humid outside right now,” he comments, looking at Jaehwan’s coat, “but it’ll cool off later, close to morning.”
“Oh.” Jaehwan peers around at the window as if he could see the state of the air just from looking through the curtain sheers. He nods at Taekwoon; his fists are balled in his pockets. “Thanks.”
It’s coming, Taekwoon can tell. It’s coming.
Jaehwan nods once more, doesn’t say a goodbye, and slides out the door. And, for once, Taekwoon is wrong.
Hongbin doesn’t have much to add about the subject, shrugging when Taekwoon asks. “He hasn’t told me anything.” Hongbin is fussing with the state of the book pile on the dining room table, dusting off what turns out to be his copy of 102 Ways to Transform Your Potion Cabinet. (Taekwoon knew it couldn’t be his own.)
“You talk to him.”
Hongbin, soft pink hair in his eyes, gives Taekwoon a look. One that is completely serious and knowing and is asking Taekwoon to be just as serious and knowing. “He didn’t come to me crying.” There’s a pause. “Are you sure he was crying.”
“I think I’d know.” And Taekwoon can feel his brows dip. This again. Jaehwan tumbled through the door and into Taekwoon, and he kind of stuck there, right in Taekwoon’s arms, and Taekwoon’s arms came up far too fast to feign his indifference. Fingers twisting in Jaehwan’s coat, he kept him there.
Jaehwan doesn’t cry. Aside from that night, Taekwoon’s only seen him do it twice after they put childhood behind, and each time it’s always been a few tears slipping here and there, his sleeves swiping them away before Taekwoon could watch them fall.
Hongbin pushes Taekwoon’s foot off the stack he’s trying to organize. “You two are ridiculous.”
Taekwoon folds his arms. “Not my fault.”
They stare at each other, and Hongbin shrugs. They haven’t been over it in the most exact terms, but Hongbin never seems satisfied when the conversation comes up, like this is a huge injustice to him -- Jaehwan and Taekwoon, duo for so long, now almost strangers. Taekwoon’s not satisfied with this either.
“Listen,” Hongbin says, “I’m not taking sides -- I can’t take sides between you two -- but I’m sure he had his reasons.” He pokes Taekwoon’s knee. “Maybe he needed to try stuff for himself, you know? He was always with you; maybe it’s an independence thing.”
Taekwoon purses his lips. “Everything was fine when he was here; I don’t know what he needed to find.”
“You didn’t always react the best to, uh, the things he tried.”
“He was playing with chaos magic, Hongbin. I found the summoning books in his room. It’s not my fault he’s,” Taekwoon licks his lips, leaning his head against his hand on the armrest, “he’s keen on ruining himself.”
“It’s been years since that, and I don’t think ‘ruin’ is the right word. He’s lonely.”
“Can’t imagine why.” Too far. He doesn’t have to look at Hongbin to know; he bites his lip. The half-empty coffee cup squeals as the bottom is dragged across the table, brought to his mouth.
Hongbin curls his lip, puts his hands back into his lap with a long sigh. There’s not enough understanding in the world for anyone to absorb both sides of the hurt -- Taekwoon’s solitary confinement and Jaehwan’s roaming. The house has become Taekwoon’s fortress, will let very few in.
Hongbin sits on the couch knowing he’s an exception. “Try to put yourself in his shoes.” Hongbin’s not reaching for Taekwoon, but his eyes are. “Everyone has fights, Taekwoon; you two just….”
“It’s been over a year.” And softer, “Jaehwan has plenty of people to run to.”
“Right, and you’re still one of them.” Hongbin heaves himself off the couch. “He doesn’t want to talk, but you should. You really should. You two are still friends even if he doesn’t live here anymore.”
Hongbin leaves, leaves his spell-book behind, and Taekwoon stares at the door for a long while. The house is thick with memories that replay in the quiet moments; he sits all alone with them. He puts his face into the couch, mouthing Hongbin’s ending sentiment with consistency.
For awhile, in the first few weeks without him, Taekwoon would sleep on this couch -- wait for him. Jaehwan was nowhere, not in the streets with Taekwoon’s guitar and not with Taekwoon. Not here. Not anywhere. Taekwoon was left to boil potions in his cauldron and make draughts for old, leathered ladies, and….
And he was angry.
Hakyeon’s staring at him from behind the counter, but Taekwoon’s not asking for a drink this time. His cat eyes are slightly unnerving; Taekwoon thinks, however, they’d be just as piercing if Hakyeon was fully human -- that it might just be in his nature to stare through people, read them so well.
“You’re so sad.”
Taekwoon is swathed in music. The bar is loud and raucous, but he watches Hakyeon’s lips move, tell him about himself. “I’m fine.”
Hakyeon wrinkles his nose. “You can’t keep letting yourself fall into this, you know that?”
If it was that easy, Taekwoon wouldn’t be here to cop drinks off Hakyeon along with his advice. Taekwoon drags his hands over his face. It comes in phases. Just when he thinks he’s over it, some sort of something will propel him back full-force into his side-line watching. Watching Jaehwan come and go -- he doesn’t have to do it anymore but he does.
He looks at Hakyeon. “I know.”
Hakyeon offers him a sympathetic look, leaning in a little closer. Tonight there’s blue sparkles dusting his eyelids, tops of his cheeks. “He just wants your attention.”
“He gets plenty of it. Mine and others.” Taekwoon can feel his dreary mood climb back into irritated. “He’s only really been to see me a few times since…he first left. Besides, he’s got some guy to mess around with.”
Hakyeon’s quiet. He’s had to hear all about this guy in varying shades of passive-aggressive character questioning to outright dislike. Taekwoon hasn’t been secretive or choosy with his complaints.
“I don’t know -- he told me about it before; he’s another singing-actor. Probably one of those stage snobs.” Taekwoon’s chewing on his thumb, but he doesn’t realize until Hakyeon reaches over to disengage it from his mouth.
“You need to talk to him. Say something. This is the boy you’ve been agonizing over for, what, a year?”
Taekwoon says it under his breath: “A little longer than that.”
Hakyeon’s not necessarily anti-Jaehwan. He’s anti-lack-of-communication. He sighs now. “You can’t let this keep going on. I know you must like him a lot, but all you’re doing now is treading water, Taekwoon. Get out or go under -- those are your options.”
Or do nothing. Keep treading. Taekwoon doesn’t say that, though.
“He keeps coming back to you,” Hakyeon tells him, poking Taekwoon’s outstretched hand, “so figure out what he wants.”
Not like he hasn’t thought of that. He’s tried talking to Jaehwan, but Jaehwan brushes him off, leaves, or switches the subject. They’ve been (were) together for so long that Taekwoon didn’t expect Jaehwan’s initial departure to cause this grand schism, that he would come back. But he didn’t. And now Taekwoon doesn’t even know how to talk to him.
He left Taekwoon’s guitar on his porch along with the necklace -- also Taekwoon’s -- that he’d been wearing since they even moved into the damn house. Taekwoon remembers watching them, their friendship, disintegrate in the matter of days. Jaehwan made himself scarce and for a solid three months, Taekwoon couldn’t have told anyone where he was. He got desperate, tried a locator spell, and received thick fog instead. Blocked signal.
Even Hongbin was clueless to Jaehwan’s whereabouts. Jaehwan left him out of it too. All his friends who could have known something pretended they didn’t. Taekwoon was persistent, and in truth, he never stopped asking for him.
He lost himself in real work. Making spells and brewing potions and selling his work to old people who needed healing poultices and that ghost extricated from their attic and doing his best to think of anything that wasn’t Jaehwan in relation. He didn’t pick up his guitar. He didn’t go to the street corner and sing.
Then: “I got a job at the theatre. I sing. You’re not it anymore.” Those weren’t Jaehwan’s explicit words, but when he showed up on Taekwoon’s doorstep, hair styled and lips red, nice clothes, it wasn’t to come home. It wasn’t to explain himself.
Taekwoon felt the words on his tongue then. He’s not sure what he did to drive Jaehwan out, but he would fix it if it meant he would come home, and they could surely fix it, and Taekwoon would make sure not to hurt him again.
But Jaehwan wasn’t there for that.
Taekwoon’s anger has long-since burned out into something that throbs weakly, painfully, in his chest. It makes him ache after Jaehwan’s sporadic visits; it makes him keep waiting until the next one -- if there is one. Hongbin always says to talk to him, in less urgent terms than Hakyeon, but Jaehwan doesn’t want to, and Taekwoon isn’t one to push but hates the way that they are now.
Jaehwan’s been there with him through so much and now…. Now there’s nothing.
Taekwoon walks into his house to find him on his kitchen counter, open bottle of liquor resting on his knee. His lipgloss is smeared around his mouth, eyes red, front of his white shirt unbuttoned to near his naval. His second hand is playing with yellow sparks, spinning them in circles in the palm of his hand, and they cast flashes of warm light against his watery expression.
The rain came down in torrents, comes down in torrents -- it’s been playing this game of start and stop for weeks now -- and soaked Taekwoon to the bone on his way home, chased him inside, but here Jaehwan sits, dry as he’s perched on the counter. Taekwoon drops his satchel by the door, walks into the kitchen. Before Taekwoon can come to a stop before Jaehwan, the latter’s sparks fizz into the air.
“It’s nothing -- n- nothing,” he hiccups, voice thick and glass bottle shaking. His bottom lip is trembling, and he hides his face in his shirt sleeve.
“What’s wrong?”
Jaehwan rubs his face against the sleeve.
“Jaehwan, what’s wrong?” Taekwoon’s hands itch to tuck the curl of hair away from his forehead. “It’s okay; Jaehwan, you can tell me.” Taekwoon looks at the sticky, shimmer of gloss around his mouth, wonders how it got smeared like that -- there’s no traces on the backs of his hands.
Teeth dug into his bottom lip, Jaehwan looks a mess. There are bruises on his chest; someone sucked kisses into his skin, but those are fading. Eyes red. Shirt sloppy. Jaehwan is wearing some sort of aftermath, and Taekwoon can’t discern when it’s from -- it’s from someone -- and he wants to take his hands and put them on him. Comfort him.
Jaehwan shrugs, a small lift of his shoulders and the parting of his lips. His eyes meet Taekwoon’s for a long moment, and he asks, “Would you get revenge on someone?”
He nods as the cold shiver runs through him. “Yeah. I would.”
“Like if someone hurt you, would you make them pay?” The bottle is bouncing with the wiggle of Jaehwan’s knee. His eyes keep darting around, slipping out of Taekwoon’s gaze and ignoring him although he stands in a majority of Jaehwan’s range of vision.
Taekwoon blinks. Jaehwan’s initial question of revenge was not whether Taekwoon would or would not exact it for Jaehwan’s sake but for himself. “Depends, but yeah.” Taekwoon looks at the bottle in Jaehwan’s hand. It looks as if only a few sips have been taken from it.
“I, uh,” Jaehwan swallows. “The guy I was seeing -- we broke it off.” He still can’t look at Taekwoon. “Or, I did. I mean -- I walked out.”
“Are you alright?”
Jaehwan shrugs again. The movement sends two drips of tears to roll down his face, and it pales in comparison to the amount of water Taekwoon is leaving on the kitchen floor, but these are much more profound. Jaehwan ducks his head, tears dripping onto his pants, like he’s hiding away.
“Why?” Taekwoon’s voice is soft, softer than he feels. “Why’d you leave?”
Jaehwan’s shoulders are moving in small shakes inside his loose shirt, and he sniffs deeply. “He was cheating on me. Had some sort of backstage boy.”
“Is that what the other night was about?”
“…yeah.”
“Jaehwan, you can tell me.”
Jaehwan puts the bottle of liquor aside on the counter. “I didn’t like him a whole lot, but still…. He’s an asshole.” Jaehwan shifts his knees, opening them, and Taekwoon watches, wondering.
“We got into a fight,” he says on a swallow. He’s willing the tears away. “Just now. I’m not--”
“Did he touch you?” Stomach tight, magic already welling at his fingertips. “Jaehwan, are you alright?”
“Just-- just tried to kiss me.” Stumbling over words, Jaehwan is clumsy with the subject, probably concerned about his audience. His eyes keep flickering to Taekwoon’s hands. “It’s okay, Taekwoon.”
“And this?” Taekwoon fingers the material of Jaehwan’s open shirt, not meaning the marks on his chest. Those are old, he's sure. "Why'd you unbutton it?"
“I did that after I got here.”
“Why?”
“I- I was looking at myself….”
Taekwoon remembers the long bouts of Jaehwan and the mirror. He swallows a breath and wills himself to forgo the anger. He pauses as he collects himself, looking at Jaehwan hard. He shouldn’t but he reaches a finger out to sweep that curl of hair away from Jaehwan’s forehead, out of his eye. “Oh, yeah?”
A nod. “You know how I am.”
“You look fine, Jaehwan.”
“Do you really think so?” There’s something off in his tone, and Taekwoon’s fingers pull away. “Taekwoon, do you miss me?”
“What’s this about?”
“I miss you.”
Taekwoon pauses. “You come over whenever you want to see me.”
“It’s not like how it was before.”
“I didn’t turn you out; you left; you could’ve come home.” The two of them made their way together; this is their home; from the orphanage to their short-lived apprenticeship to this house, they’ve been together so long that Taekwoon can’t remember what it was like before him.
There are periods of time where Jaehwan was not around, like the patch of months where Jaehwan was “finding himself” through midnight company in the backs of bars, the chaos magic, the hands of older men. That was at seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, but he always came home -- no matter how worried Taekwoon was. It’s been a few years since then.
Taekwoon hasn’t dared to ask of Jaehwan’s reasons for leaving; he didn’t want to upset whatever fragile thing they did have, with Jaehwan coming in and out at his free will. Gone for most of the year then suddenly in the house like nothing’s the matter. There are things happening in his life that Taekwoon has no idea of. He doesn’t know what Jaehwan faces, and he’s missed so much, and he doesn’t know why.
But he could venture a question now. Hakyeon’s words come back to him. Jaehwan’s eyelashes are clumped together, wet little things, and he seems to be spilling himself over, might spill all his reasons. Taekwoon doesn’t touch him when he asks. He leaves out the very telling, very pitiful, “me” at the end of his question.
Jaehwan swipes at his eyes.
With the chorus of the rain against house, echoing in the dark kitchen, Taekwoon repeats himself. “Why’d you leave?”
“Are you mad?”
“You never explained yourself.”
“You never asked.”
Taekwoon settles beside Jaehwan, back to the counter instead of sitting on it. He rifles his hands through his wet hair. “You could’ve told me if I did something to- to hurt you, Jaehwan.”
Jaehwan laughs, knocking his head against the cabinet. His hand bumps against the bottle, now between them, as he shifts. “Wasn’t you. More of a personal thing.”
Taekwoon’s not sure how to digest that information. His brain only semi-wraps around it. “This whole time,” he starts, looking side-long at the knees of Jaehwan’s pants, “I thought it was something I did….”
“Sounds self-centered of you.” It’s meant to be playful, but what ruins it are the tears in his voice and the fact that it’s been fourteen months, near fifteen, that Taekwoon’s been waiting for something like this.
“Jaehwan, it’s not like we haven’t-- I would’ve understood if you told me you wanted some space. We aren’t kids anymore.”
“You’re soaking wet.” Jaehwan’s fingers are at the back of Taekwoon’s neck, twirling long pieces of hair around his dry fingers. He takes his second hand to rub at his eyes again. “You should get changed.”
Taekwoon’s arms are folded against himself, but his insides are in a fusion of liquidation and twisting tighter together. He’s cared for Jaehwan for so long that he wasn’t surprised that this was his next logical step. It’s been so long since the feelings blurred and melted into each other.
“I’m sorry if I ever made it hard for you.”
Jaehwan’s fingers slow but don’t stop. “That’s what I’m trying to say; don’t steal my words.”
Taekwoon looks up into Jaehwan’s face. “What’s wrong, Jaehwan?”
“Just trying to say sorry.”
Taekwoon finds himself leaning back into Jaehwan’s fingers. He misses his friend; the house is too big and quiet without him. He misses their duets on the street. He misses Jaehwan’s inexplicable explosions after hovering over Taekwoon’s cauldron for mere seconds, ruining whatever he’d been working on. The little moments of theirs are nonexistent, and Taekwoon very much misses him.
“I’ve missed you, too.” Taekwoon breathes out. The fingers don’t stop. “It’s much too quiet without anyone over. With just me here.”
“Hongbin comes over.”
“Hongbin’s your friend, though.”
“Maybe at first, but he talks about you a lot.” Jaehwan’s voice is starting to sound better, but his eyes remain red. “And…there’s that guy at the bar.”
“Did Hongbin tell you that?”
“He did. He tells me you go there a lot. Is he nice?”
“Yeah, I guess. He lets me get away with not paying my tab.”
“Have you slept with him?”
“He doesn’t like that. Besides, I wouldn’t anyway.”
Jaehwan’s fingers grip tighter, but Taekwoon’s not sure if Jaehwan’s even aware of it. “You slept with that girl. You remember? The vampire.”
Taekwoon doesn’t take the time to correct Jaehwan. She wasn’t a real vampire, was faking it to make herself seem interesting. But, because he doesn’t like being reminded: “I didn’t think you would bring up relationship history.”
“S- sorry, Taekwoon, I just….” Jaehwan drops off. “That’s why I left. You wanted to know.”
Taekwoon doesn’t like the way it sounds. He unfolds and refolds his arms, not quite understanding how the two correlate. “I slept with someone, and that’s what made you leave? You’ve slept with plenty of people; I didn’t move out because of it.”
“You brought her home, though, Taekwoon; I never brought anyone home.”
“I didn’t think you were coming home that night.” Taekwoon scoffs. “You were out so much; I really didn’t think you’d have such a problem with it.”
Jaehwan shrugs and lets his fingers slip away from Taekwoon. “Doesn’t matter now. I was stupid; I told you it wasn’t because of you. I just…I was in a rough spot with myself.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“It doesn’t matter, Taekwoon. It wasn’t your fault.” He bites his lower lip. The streetlight from outside, coming through the window over the sink, has Jaehwan’s silhouette in a beautiful sort of illumination with shadow cast over his front. He looks like a cathedral’s angel that was denied their spotlight. “So,” Jaehwan looks away, “would you get revenge on him? If you were me. Would you?”
“Depends,” Taekwoon repeats. Feels like a lie.
“He deserves it.” Jaehwan rubs at his nose but then focuses on something above Taekwoon’s head. It draws a small chuckle out of him. “You still haven’t fixed that?”
Taekwoon tilts his head upward although he knows Jaehwan means the hole in the ceiling. It’s really just severely dented plaster, but a slight touch would probably truly ruin it. Jaehwan used to say it was Taekwoon’s personal crater.
“No. Haven’t fixed it.” Taekwoon chooses his words. “You’re the one who did it, so I was thinking you should fix it.”
A small smile brings Jaehwan’s face out of its dreary shade. Like routine clockwork, the gears slowly turn. “Sure, but you were the one who told me to try out my levitation spell.”
“You didn’t have to shoot me into the ceiling.”
“I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“You almost knocked me out.”
“I should’ve.” Jaehwan looks around the kitchen, and Taekwoon watches him drag his eyes over the damage they’ve given this place.
The burn in the rug underneath the living room’s coffee table (exactly why the coffee table is there now), which was decided as neither’s fault. The broken porch step -- Jaehwan’s fault. Taekwoon’s window in his room doesn’t open correctly thanks to past rough-housing -- entirely and unforgivingly Jaehwan’s fault no matter what he claims. Even the front door locks precariously thanks to Taekwoon’s spell gone wrong; Jaehwan claims responsibility for that.
Jaehwan’s fingers. Back in Taekwoon’s hair. “Would- would you let me back? Like, back in the house?”
“You don’t have to ask, Jaehwan.”
“Really, I’m so sorry for it all. And, it’s not just because I’m upset that I’m telling you now,” Jaehwan confesses, sniffing for good measure. “I’ve been thinking about it for awhile.”
Taekwoon reaches around to grab Jaehwan’s hand. He disentangles it from his hair, holding it steady in his grip. “Next time--” Don’t let there be a next time, “--can you promise to tell me if something’s wrong? We can talk.” Taekwoon pauses for a breath. “I don’t want you to leave again. Not like that.”
Jaehwan nods -- nods profusely, like his head is only loosely hinged. “No, yeah, I’m sorry.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” His smile peeks through, and Taekwoon grits his back teeth together to keep from smiling as well. “I bet you’ve turned my room into your own library.”
“I may have.” (He hasn’t. The room looks just the same in an untouched, preserved sort of way. Jaehwan will have to see for himself because Taekwoon won’t tell him.)
Jaehwan’s laugh -- not so compressed, stronger. And very suddenly, Taekwoon realizes he’s back. Like that. He’s sitting on the counter, looking at Taekwoon, and the wall is still there but now they can start tearing it down. Because losing Jaehwan isn’t an option.
And, somehow, Jaehwan still looks tense. Withholding. Taekwoon hasn’t let go of his hand yet, so he gives Jaehwan a squeeze. “What else is wrong?”
Jaehwan licks his lips. “You’re probably not gonna like it.”
Rain pounds into the silence. Taekwoon forces out, “Tell me anyway.”
Squirming. Still holding Taekwoon’s hand. Squeezing tight. “What if I summoned a demon? What would you say to that?”
Taekwoon exorcises ghosts. Not demons. He can feel his brain stutter and nearly fall over the thought. “Jaehwan. Demon? You called up a demon.”
“I expected a bit more of this.” He pushes on Taekwoon’s eyebrows to scrunch them. This, more of this. But Taekwoon can only stare at him. Jaehwan sucks in a breath. “I’m not the brightest; everyone knows.”
“That’s not it. Jaehwan. Of all things you--”
“I, yeah. I have to, uh, put it back.”
Taekwoon rubs his lips together as he comprehends what the hell Jaehwan was doing with a demon. He’s never been the best at spells, and Taekwoon’s sure that applies to summonings -- he summoned a demon. “A summoning circle? You drew a summoning circle.”
“And called up a demon; that is typically how you do it. Look, Taekwoon, don’t tell anyone because I’m this close to getting fired at the theatre, and this will really just make it worse.” Jaehwan looks close to ducking back into his sleeves.
“Okay, yeah.” Taekwoon’s vaguely aware of how hard their hands are gripping each other. “You’re alright, though?”
Jaehwan blinks. “I’m fine. You’re not angry?”
“Not angry.” And he isn’t. Just wondering how this all happened. Thankful that Jaehwan’s okay. Very thankful that he’s back. “It’s late. Can’t do anything about it tonight. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”
Jaehwan mutters, “You don’t have to help, Taekwoon. I know a pair who specialize in the sort of thing.”
“It’s alright. We’ll figure it out.”
Jaehwan falls silent but his hand doesn’t leave Taekwoon’s, and this is too real, he thinks. Shivers trickle down his spine. A warm thrum of blue envelops his hand and yellow follows soon after, the two colors swirling about their joined hands, and the soft bubble of Jaehwan’s laugh feels just right. It all feels right.
Reunited.
+if there is a next part: more magic way more magic, more kewl characters, 89% less sad boys and 122% more happy boys --> i promise
Pairing: Ken/Leo
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5.3k
Summary: He was everything -- is everything -- and Taekwoon knows the lack of distinction must be obvious to everyone but perhaps the one who matters most.
a/n: this spiraled a bit from the original prompt [sweating, nervous]. for the lovely jeodoboleo~ this was a great excuse to write magic boys taekhwn, also /sad/ boys taekhwn but don't let this part fool you. if i get the chance to write more of this au then the following parts will be considerably more light-hearted♡
Taekwoon doesn’t know what Hakyeon’ll do with him. Cat eyes are staring at him, the elongated pupils, and Hakyeon’s not having it tonight, will not have it. “Taekwoon,” he says, voice ringing with a clear cut of seriousness. “I’m not sponsoring anymore drinks until you start paying back the tab. You’re gonna get my ass fired.”
The air is thick, outside’s thunderstorm seeping into the low-lit bar. Hakyeon is almost a shadow with only parts of him highlighted by pink fluorescents. The sparkles dusted onto his cheekbones glitter like his eyes, the eyes staring Taekwoon down.
The heat is going to his head -- foggy. Taekwoon rubs a finger on the polished wood of the bar. “I’m getting to that.” His voice is hushed by the rest of the nightlife: music, people, the rain.
Hakyeon curls his lip. He studies Taekwoon for a moment and reaches out to tug on Taekwoon’s wet, stringy hair. “What’s wrong?” He says it on a sigh, like he’s asking a child.
It would be appropriate, Taekwoon feels, shrouded in his coat that practically swallows him whole. The coat is wet from the rain, as wet as his hair, and he’s dripping around this bar stool. He’s not a child, but Taekwoon can’t shake the childishness that harbors inside him, antagonized by Hakyeon’s questioning.
He should be home. Drying off.
Taekwoon shrugs for Hakyeon’s answer, smoothing the tip of his finger on the counter. Picking at a nick in the polished wood. Hakyeon’s leaning forward on his two hands. “Is it him,” he asks. There’s a slight accusation in his voice, like Taekwoon, we’ve been over this, Taekwoon, not again , but yes, again.
Taekwoon starts bouncing his knee, feeling too hot under his drippy exterior. His cheeks burn. He can’t look at Hakyeon. “He knocked on my door last night.”
“Doesn’t mean you had to let him in.”
“He was crying.” Taekwoon says it with difficulty. Like this concept is foreign and, like all foreign things, not understandable. And when there is no comprehension, when something is but the reasons are unknown or they can’t seem to be found (not in his runny eyes or sloppy words, after he’s come through the front door like that, practically tripping over his own two feet into Taekwoon -- no, no), this can cause anger. Anger of the unknown.
Taekwoon’s brow bends, pulled down low at heavy thoughts, and he says again staring at Hakyeon’s forehead, not his eyes, “He was crying.”
“And what did you do?”
“I let him in.”
Taekwoon comes home in a swirl of steaming pavement and muggy night air. The rain is gone and in its place has come the humidity, the damp cloth in Taekwoon’s lungs. The sweat has just started to collect underneath his collar when he reaches his house. It’s a modest home: two-stories, painted an odd tan shade, but Taekwoon’s favorite are the shutters on the windows, red in color. There’s a bend in the bottom-most porch step, an accompanying hardly used mailbox, and the front door doesn’t function properly, but it’s a sturdy house. Taekwoon’s keys jingle in the latch.
Waiting just inside the door: “Hi.”
If this was the first time, Taekwoon would have jumped out of his skin, cursed, slapped a hand across Jaehwan’s chest and probably have let his magic drown him in blue energy. But this isn’t the first time.
Jaehwan’s hair is curled like it was set with rollers. It’s curled like Jaehwan’s been pulling his fingers through it, loosening them up from such a tight wind. His hair didn’t look like that last night; Jaehwan must have fixed it up wherever he went today. He was gone when Taekwoon woke up. There are no lights turned on in the house, just the outside light coming through the windows, and Jaehwan’s features are muddled. Taekwoon holds up a glowing finger to his cheek and touches him there. “You didn’t think to turn on the lights?”
This seems like a parody of the times Jaehwan used to wait and try to scare him, not turning the lights on. It’s different because Jaehwan isn’t laughing. Different because it doesn’t feel like a joke. Jaehwan seems to know too.
Taekwoon flicks the switch by Jaehwan’s shoulder to face the mess he’s been living in. Spell-books across the coffee table, the kitchen table; old cups of coffee stuck to these places as well and almost but not quite in the kitchen sink; blankets tossed about the couch where Jaehwan slept last night. Hongbin will fuss at him.
Taekwoon looks back over at Jaehwan to see him bouncing a small ball of yellow light between his hands. It’s recognized as a nervous quirk of his. Jaehwan’s eyes are blown wide, enhanced by the liner they draw across his lids and how they darken his brows, bring out the color in his lips.
“You smell like--” Jaehwan leans in, eyes not on Taekwoon’s face, “--I don’t know. Something alcoholic. What’d you have?”
Taekwoon doesn’t answer. He shuts the door behind him and shucks his coat off in a heap by the door. Guess any amount of years and rewind the time, and Jaehwan would have nudged it aside with his foot and a giggle, trailing right behind him. Jaehwan’s feet are worn across this threshold.
He moves to the couch to tidy up -- rearranging the shape of the blankets so they’re not where he wants to sit -- and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. He’s still wet, and the weight of his head is almost too much to keep him upright, but Taekwoon stays sitting. Jaehwan’s watching him. And Taekwoon’s waiting. He’s waiting for it; it’s coming.
Jaehwan’s got an unlit roll of powder tucked behind his ear. He holds it out now, into the space where Taekwoon is not. “I went by the little witchy store by the park. The counter lady didn’t mind me buying this.”
Taekwoon feels like saying, “Because most people put that in their cauldron, not in their mouth,” but he doesn’t. He says nothing. Since Jaehwan’s offering he probably put in exactly the kind of powders Taekwoon likes. He can barely see the tremor in Jaehwan’s hands.
“Why were you crying last night?
“We don’t have to talk about it.” Jaehwan stuffs his hands in coat pockets, roll of powder as well. He’s standing by the door. His shoes are on. He’s bouncing on his heels.
Taekwoon stares at the curved shape of Jaehwan’s lips. The high slopes and the small dip of his cupid’s bow, full lower lip. It’s enhanced by the red, sticky gloss he wears, what they have him wear for big stage nights.
“Only if you want to.” Taekwoon props his feet on a stack of books, something called 102 Ways to Transform Your Potion Cabinet, something of Hongbin’s, something he’s never read. “It’s humid outside right now,” he comments, looking at Jaehwan’s coat, “but it’ll cool off later, close to morning.”
“Oh.” Jaehwan peers around at the window as if he could see the state of the air just from looking through the curtain sheers. He nods at Taekwoon; his fists are balled in his pockets. “Thanks.”
It’s coming, Taekwoon can tell. It’s coming.
Jaehwan nods once more, doesn’t say a goodbye, and slides out the door. And, for once, Taekwoon is wrong.
Hongbin doesn’t have much to add about the subject, shrugging when Taekwoon asks. “He hasn’t told me anything.” Hongbin is fussing with the state of the book pile on the dining room table, dusting off what turns out to be his copy of 102 Ways to Transform Your Potion Cabinet. (Taekwoon knew it couldn’t be his own.)
“You talk to him.”
Hongbin, soft pink hair in his eyes, gives Taekwoon a look. One that is completely serious and knowing and is asking Taekwoon to be just as serious and knowing. “He didn’t come to me crying.” There’s a pause. “Are you sure he was crying.”
“I think I’d know.” And Taekwoon can feel his brows dip. This again. Jaehwan tumbled through the door and into Taekwoon, and he kind of stuck there, right in Taekwoon’s arms, and Taekwoon’s arms came up far too fast to feign his indifference. Fingers twisting in Jaehwan’s coat, he kept him there.
Jaehwan doesn’t cry. Aside from that night, Taekwoon’s only seen him do it twice after they put childhood behind, and each time it’s always been a few tears slipping here and there, his sleeves swiping them away before Taekwoon could watch them fall.
Hongbin pushes Taekwoon’s foot off the stack he’s trying to organize. “You two are ridiculous.”
Taekwoon folds his arms. “Not my fault.”
They stare at each other, and Hongbin shrugs. They haven’t been over it in the most exact terms, but Hongbin never seems satisfied when the conversation comes up, like this is a huge injustice to him -- Jaehwan and Taekwoon, duo for so long, now almost strangers. Taekwoon’s not satisfied with this either.
“Listen,” Hongbin says, “I’m not taking sides -- I can’t take sides between you two -- but I’m sure he had his reasons.” He pokes Taekwoon’s knee. “Maybe he needed to try stuff for himself, you know? He was always with you; maybe it’s an independence thing.”
Taekwoon purses his lips. “Everything was fine when he was here; I don’t know what he needed to find.”
“You didn’t always react the best to, uh, the things he tried.”
“He was playing with chaos magic, Hongbin. I found the summoning books in his room. It’s not my fault he’s,” Taekwoon licks his lips, leaning his head against his hand on the armrest, “he’s keen on ruining himself.”
“It’s been years since that, and I don’t think ‘ruin’ is the right word. He’s lonely.”
“Can’t imagine why.” Too far. He doesn’t have to look at Hongbin to know; he bites his lip. The half-empty coffee cup squeals as the bottom is dragged across the table, brought to his mouth.
Hongbin curls his lip, puts his hands back into his lap with a long sigh. There’s not enough understanding in the world for anyone to absorb both sides of the hurt -- Taekwoon’s solitary confinement and Jaehwan’s roaming. The house has become Taekwoon’s fortress, will let very few in.
Hongbin sits on the couch knowing he’s an exception. “Try to put yourself in his shoes.” Hongbin’s not reaching for Taekwoon, but his eyes are. “Everyone has fights, Taekwoon; you two just….”
“It’s been over a year.” And softer, “Jaehwan has plenty of people to run to.”
“Right, and you’re still one of them.” Hongbin heaves himself off the couch. “He doesn’t want to talk, but you should. You really should. You two are still friends even if he doesn’t live here anymore.”
Hongbin leaves, leaves his spell-book behind, and Taekwoon stares at the door for a long while. The house is thick with memories that replay in the quiet moments; he sits all alone with them. He puts his face into the couch, mouthing Hongbin’s ending sentiment with consistency.
For awhile, in the first few weeks without him, Taekwoon would sleep on this couch -- wait for him. Jaehwan was nowhere, not in the streets with Taekwoon’s guitar and not with Taekwoon. Not here. Not anywhere. Taekwoon was left to boil potions in his cauldron and make draughts for old, leathered ladies, and….
And he was angry.
Hakyeon’s staring at him from behind the counter, but Taekwoon’s not asking for a drink this time. His cat eyes are slightly unnerving; Taekwoon thinks, however, they’d be just as piercing if Hakyeon was fully human -- that it might just be in his nature to stare through people, read them so well.
“You’re so sad.”
Taekwoon is swathed in music. The bar is loud and raucous, but he watches Hakyeon’s lips move, tell him about himself. “I’m fine.”
Hakyeon wrinkles his nose. “You can’t keep letting yourself fall into this, you know that?”
If it was that easy, Taekwoon wouldn’t be here to cop drinks off Hakyeon along with his advice. Taekwoon drags his hands over his face. It comes in phases. Just when he thinks he’s over it, some sort of something will propel him back full-force into his side-line watching. Watching Jaehwan come and go -- he doesn’t have to do it anymore but he does.
He looks at Hakyeon. “I know.”
Hakyeon offers him a sympathetic look, leaning in a little closer. Tonight there’s blue sparkles dusting his eyelids, tops of his cheeks. “He just wants your attention.”
“He gets plenty of it. Mine and others.” Taekwoon can feel his dreary mood climb back into irritated. “He’s only really been to see me a few times since…he first left. Besides, he’s got some guy to mess around with.”
Hakyeon’s quiet. He’s had to hear all about this guy in varying shades of passive-aggressive character questioning to outright dislike. Taekwoon hasn’t been secretive or choosy with his complaints.
“I don’t know -- he told me about it before; he’s another singing-actor. Probably one of those stage snobs.” Taekwoon’s chewing on his thumb, but he doesn’t realize until Hakyeon reaches over to disengage it from his mouth.
“You need to talk to him. Say something. This is the boy you’ve been agonizing over for, what, a year?”
Taekwoon says it under his breath: “A little longer than that.”
Hakyeon’s not necessarily anti-Jaehwan. He’s anti-lack-of-communication. He sighs now. “You can’t let this keep going on. I know you must like him a lot, but all you’re doing now is treading water, Taekwoon. Get out or go under -- those are your options.”
Or do nothing. Keep treading. Taekwoon doesn’t say that, though.
“He keeps coming back to you,” Hakyeon tells him, poking Taekwoon’s outstretched hand, “so figure out what he wants.”
Not like he hasn’t thought of that. He’s tried talking to Jaehwan, but Jaehwan brushes him off, leaves, or switches the subject. They’ve been (were) together for so long that Taekwoon didn’t expect Jaehwan’s initial departure to cause this grand schism, that he would come back. But he didn’t. And now Taekwoon doesn’t even know how to talk to him.
He left Taekwoon’s guitar on his porch along with the necklace -- also Taekwoon’s -- that he’d been wearing since they even moved into the damn house. Taekwoon remembers watching them, their friendship, disintegrate in the matter of days. Jaehwan made himself scarce and for a solid three months, Taekwoon couldn’t have told anyone where he was. He got desperate, tried a locator spell, and received thick fog instead. Blocked signal.
Even Hongbin was clueless to Jaehwan’s whereabouts. Jaehwan left him out of it too. All his friends who could have known something pretended they didn’t. Taekwoon was persistent, and in truth, he never stopped asking for him.
He lost himself in real work. Making spells and brewing potions and selling his work to old people who needed healing poultices and that ghost extricated from their attic and doing his best to think of anything that wasn’t Jaehwan in relation. He didn’t pick up his guitar. He didn’t go to the street corner and sing.
Then: “I got a job at the theatre. I sing. You’re not it anymore.” Those weren’t Jaehwan’s explicit words, but when he showed up on Taekwoon’s doorstep, hair styled and lips red, nice clothes, it wasn’t to come home. It wasn’t to explain himself.
Taekwoon felt the words on his tongue then. He’s not sure what he did to drive Jaehwan out, but he would fix it if it meant he would come home, and they could surely fix it, and Taekwoon would make sure not to hurt him again.
But Jaehwan wasn’t there for that.
Taekwoon’s anger has long-since burned out into something that throbs weakly, painfully, in his chest. It makes him ache after Jaehwan’s sporadic visits; it makes him keep waiting until the next one -- if there is one. Hongbin always says to talk to him, in less urgent terms than Hakyeon, but Jaehwan doesn’t want to, and Taekwoon isn’t one to push but hates the way that they are now.
Jaehwan’s been there with him through so much and now…. Now there’s nothing.
Taekwoon walks into his house to find him on his kitchen counter, open bottle of liquor resting on his knee. His lipgloss is smeared around his mouth, eyes red, front of his white shirt unbuttoned to near his naval. His second hand is playing with yellow sparks, spinning them in circles in the palm of his hand, and they cast flashes of warm light against his watery expression.
The rain came down in torrents, comes down in torrents -- it’s been playing this game of start and stop for weeks now -- and soaked Taekwoon to the bone on his way home, chased him inside, but here Jaehwan sits, dry as he’s perched on the counter. Taekwoon drops his satchel by the door, walks into the kitchen. Before Taekwoon can come to a stop before Jaehwan, the latter’s sparks fizz into the air.
“It’s nothing -- n- nothing,” he hiccups, voice thick and glass bottle shaking. His bottom lip is trembling, and he hides his face in his shirt sleeve.
“What’s wrong?”
Jaehwan rubs his face against the sleeve.
“Jaehwan, what’s wrong?” Taekwoon’s hands itch to tuck the curl of hair away from his forehead. “It’s okay; Jaehwan, you can tell me.” Taekwoon looks at the sticky, shimmer of gloss around his mouth, wonders how it got smeared like that -- there’s no traces on the backs of his hands.
Teeth dug into his bottom lip, Jaehwan looks a mess. There are bruises on his chest; someone sucked kisses into his skin, but those are fading. Eyes red. Shirt sloppy. Jaehwan is wearing some sort of aftermath, and Taekwoon can’t discern when it’s from -- it’s from someone -- and he wants to take his hands and put them on him. Comfort him.
Jaehwan shrugs, a small lift of his shoulders and the parting of his lips. His eyes meet Taekwoon’s for a long moment, and he asks, “Would you get revenge on someone?”
He nods as the cold shiver runs through him. “Yeah. I would.”
“Like if someone hurt you, would you make them pay?” The bottle is bouncing with the wiggle of Jaehwan’s knee. His eyes keep darting around, slipping out of Taekwoon’s gaze and ignoring him although he stands in a majority of Jaehwan’s range of vision.
Taekwoon blinks. Jaehwan’s initial question of revenge was not whether Taekwoon would or would not exact it for Jaehwan’s sake but for himself. “Depends, but yeah.” Taekwoon looks at the bottle in Jaehwan’s hand. It looks as if only a few sips have been taken from it.
“I, uh,” Jaehwan swallows. “The guy I was seeing -- we broke it off.” He still can’t look at Taekwoon. “Or, I did. I mean -- I walked out.”
“Are you alright?”
Jaehwan shrugs again. The movement sends two drips of tears to roll down his face, and it pales in comparison to the amount of water Taekwoon is leaving on the kitchen floor, but these are much more profound. Jaehwan ducks his head, tears dripping onto his pants, like he’s hiding away.
“Why?” Taekwoon’s voice is soft, softer than he feels. “Why’d you leave?”
Jaehwan’s shoulders are moving in small shakes inside his loose shirt, and he sniffs deeply. “He was cheating on me. Had some sort of backstage boy.”
“Is that what the other night was about?”
“…yeah.”
“Jaehwan, you can tell me.”
Jaehwan puts the bottle of liquor aside on the counter. “I didn’t like him a whole lot, but still…. He’s an asshole.” Jaehwan shifts his knees, opening them, and Taekwoon watches, wondering.
“We got into a fight,” he says on a swallow. He’s willing the tears away. “Just now. I’m not--”
“Did he touch you?” Stomach tight, magic already welling at his fingertips. “Jaehwan, are you alright?”
“Just-- just tried to kiss me.” Stumbling over words, Jaehwan is clumsy with the subject, probably concerned about his audience. His eyes keep flickering to Taekwoon’s hands. “It’s okay, Taekwoon.”
“And this?” Taekwoon fingers the material of Jaehwan’s open shirt, not meaning the marks on his chest. Those are old, he's sure. "Why'd you unbutton it?"
“I did that after I got here.”
“Why?”
“I- I was looking at myself….”
Taekwoon remembers the long bouts of Jaehwan and the mirror. He swallows a breath and wills himself to forgo the anger. He pauses as he collects himself, looking at Jaehwan hard. He shouldn’t but he reaches a finger out to sweep that curl of hair away from Jaehwan’s forehead, out of his eye. “Oh, yeah?”
A nod. “You know how I am.”
“You look fine, Jaehwan.”
“Do you really think so?” There’s something off in his tone, and Taekwoon’s fingers pull away. “Taekwoon, do you miss me?”
“What’s this about?”
“I miss you.”
Taekwoon pauses. “You come over whenever you want to see me.”
“It’s not like how it was before.”
“I didn’t turn you out; you left; you could’ve come home.” The two of them made their way together; this is their home; from the orphanage to their short-lived apprenticeship to this house, they’ve been together so long that Taekwoon can’t remember what it was like before him.
There are periods of time where Jaehwan was not around, like the patch of months where Jaehwan was “finding himself” through midnight company in the backs of bars, the chaos magic, the hands of older men. That was at seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, but he always came home -- no matter how worried Taekwoon was. It’s been a few years since then.
Taekwoon hasn’t dared to ask of Jaehwan’s reasons for leaving; he didn’t want to upset whatever fragile thing they did have, with Jaehwan coming in and out at his free will. Gone for most of the year then suddenly in the house like nothing’s the matter. There are things happening in his life that Taekwoon has no idea of. He doesn’t know what Jaehwan faces, and he’s missed so much, and he doesn’t know why.
But he could venture a question now. Hakyeon’s words come back to him. Jaehwan’s eyelashes are clumped together, wet little things, and he seems to be spilling himself over, might spill all his reasons. Taekwoon doesn’t touch him when he asks. He leaves out the very telling, very pitiful, “me” at the end of his question.
Jaehwan swipes at his eyes.
With the chorus of the rain against house, echoing in the dark kitchen, Taekwoon repeats himself. “Why’d you leave?”
“Are you mad?”
“You never explained yourself.”
“You never asked.”
Taekwoon settles beside Jaehwan, back to the counter instead of sitting on it. He rifles his hands through his wet hair. “You could’ve told me if I did something to- to hurt you, Jaehwan.”
Jaehwan laughs, knocking his head against the cabinet. His hand bumps against the bottle, now between them, as he shifts. “Wasn’t you. More of a personal thing.”
Taekwoon’s not sure how to digest that information. His brain only semi-wraps around it. “This whole time,” he starts, looking side-long at the knees of Jaehwan’s pants, “I thought it was something I did….”
“Sounds self-centered of you.” It’s meant to be playful, but what ruins it are the tears in his voice and the fact that it’s been fourteen months, near fifteen, that Taekwoon’s been waiting for something like this.
“Jaehwan, it’s not like we haven’t-- I would’ve understood if you told me you wanted some space. We aren’t kids anymore.”
“You’re soaking wet.” Jaehwan’s fingers are at the back of Taekwoon’s neck, twirling long pieces of hair around his dry fingers. He takes his second hand to rub at his eyes again. “You should get changed.”
Taekwoon’s arms are folded against himself, but his insides are in a fusion of liquidation and twisting tighter together. He’s cared for Jaehwan for so long that he wasn’t surprised that this was his next logical step. It’s been so long since the feelings blurred and melted into each other.
“I’m sorry if I ever made it hard for you.”
Jaehwan’s fingers slow but don’t stop. “That’s what I’m trying to say; don’t steal my words.”
Taekwoon looks up into Jaehwan’s face. “What’s wrong, Jaehwan?”
“Just trying to say sorry.”
Taekwoon finds himself leaning back into Jaehwan’s fingers. He misses his friend; the house is too big and quiet without him. He misses their duets on the street. He misses Jaehwan’s inexplicable explosions after hovering over Taekwoon’s cauldron for mere seconds, ruining whatever he’d been working on. The little moments of theirs are nonexistent, and Taekwoon very much misses him.
“I’ve missed you, too.” Taekwoon breathes out. The fingers don’t stop. “It’s much too quiet without anyone over. With just me here.”
“Hongbin comes over.”
“Hongbin’s your friend, though.”
“Maybe at first, but he talks about you a lot.” Jaehwan’s voice is starting to sound better, but his eyes remain red. “And…there’s that guy at the bar.”
“Did Hongbin tell you that?”
“He did. He tells me you go there a lot. Is he nice?”
“Yeah, I guess. He lets me get away with not paying my tab.”
“Have you slept with him?”
“He doesn’t like that. Besides, I wouldn’t anyway.”
Jaehwan’s fingers grip tighter, but Taekwoon’s not sure if Jaehwan’s even aware of it. “You slept with that girl. You remember? The vampire.”
Taekwoon doesn’t take the time to correct Jaehwan. She wasn’t a real vampire, was faking it to make herself seem interesting. But, because he doesn’t like being reminded: “I didn’t think you would bring up relationship history.”
“S- sorry, Taekwoon, I just….” Jaehwan drops off. “That’s why I left. You wanted to know.”
Taekwoon doesn’t like the way it sounds. He unfolds and refolds his arms, not quite understanding how the two correlate. “I slept with someone, and that’s what made you leave? You’ve slept with plenty of people; I didn’t move out because of it.”
“You brought her home, though, Taekwoon; I never brought anyone home.”
“I didn’t think you were coming home that night.” Taekwoon scoffs. “You were out so much; I really didn’t think you’d have such a problem with it.”
Jaehwan shrugs and lets his fingers slip away from Taekwoon. “Doesn’t matter now. I was stupid; I told you it wasn’t because of you. I just…I was in a rough spot with myself.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“It doesn’t matter, Taekwoon. It wasn’t your fault.” He bites his lower lip. The streetlight from outside, coming through the window over the sink, has Jaehwan’s silhouette in a beautiful sort of illumination with shadow cast over his front. He looks like a cathedral’s angel that was denied their spotlight. “So,” Jaehwan looks away, “would you get revenge on him? If you were me. Would you?”
“Depends,” Taekwoon repeats. Feels like a lie.
“He deserves it.” Jaehwan rubs at his nose but then focuses on something above Taekwoon’s head. It draws a small chuckle out of him. “You still haven’t fixed that?”
Taekwoon tilts his head upward although he knows Jaehwan means the hole in the ceiling. It’s really just severely dented plaster, but a slight touch would probably truly ruin it. Jaehwan used to say it was Taekwoon’s personal crater.
“No. Haven’t fixed it.” Taekwoon chooses his words. “You’re the one who did it, so I was thinking you should fix it.”
A small smile brings Jaehwan’s face out of its dreary shade. Like routine clockwork, the gears slowly turn. “Sure, but you were the one who told me to try out my levitation spell.”
“You didn’t have to shoot me into the ceiling.”
“I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“You almost knocked me out.”
“I should’ve.” Jaehwan looks around the kitchen, and Taekwoon watches him drag his eyes over the damage they’ve given this place.
The burn in the rug underneath the living room’s coffee table (exactly why the coffee table is there now), which was decided as neither’s fault. The broken porch step -- Jaehwan’s fault. Taekwoon’s window in his room doesn’t open correctly thanks to past rough-housing -- entirely and unforgivingly Jaehwan’s fault no matter what he claims. Even the front door locks precariously thanks to Taekwoon’s spell gone wrong; Jaehwan claims responsibility for that.
Jaehwan’s fingers. Back in Taekwoon’s hair. “Would- would you let me back? Like, back in the house?”
“You don’t have to ask, Jaehwan.”
“Really, I’m so sorry for it all. And, it’s not just because I’m upset that I’m telling you now,” Jaehwan confesses, sniffing for good measure. “I’ve been thinking about it for awhile.”
Taekwoon reaches around to grab Jaehwan’s hand. He disentangles it from his hair, holding it steady in his grip. “Next time--” Don’t let there be a next time, “--can you promise to tell me if something’s wrong? We can talk.” Taekwoon pauses for a breath. “I don’t want you to leave again. Not like that.”
Jaehwan nods -- nods profusely, like his head is only loosely hinged. “No, yeah, I’m sorry.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” His smile peeks through, and Taekwoon grits his back teeth together to keep from smiling as well. “I bet you’ve turned my room into your own library.”
“I may have.” (He hasn’t. The room looks just the same in an untouched, preserved sort of way. Jaehwan will have to see for himself because Taekwoon won’t tell him.)
Jaehwan’s laugh -- not so compressed, stronger. And very suddenly, Taekwoon realizes he’s back. Like that. He’s sitting on the counter, looking at Taekwoon, and the wall is still there but now they can start tearing it down. Because losing Jaehwan isn’t an option.
And, somehow, Jaehwan still looks tense. Withholding. Taekwoon hasn’t let go of his hand yet, so he gives Jaehwan a squeeze. “What else is wrong?”
Jaehwan licks his lips. “You’re probably not gonna like it.”
Rain pounds into the silence. Taekwoon forces out, “Tell me anyway.”
Squirming. Still holding Taekwoon’s hand. Squeezing tight. “What if I summoned a demon? What would you say to that?”
Taekwoon exorcises ghosts. Not demons. He can feel his brain stutter and nearly fall over the thought. “Jaehwan. Demon? You called up a demon.”
“I expected a bit more of this.” He pushes on Taekwoon’s eyebrows to scrunch them. This, more of this. But Taekwoon can only stare at him. Jaehwan sucks in a breath. “I’m not the brightest; everyone knows.”
“That’s not it. Jaehwan. Of all things you--”
“I, yeah. I have to, uh, put it back.”
Taekwoon rubs his lips together as he comprehends what the hell Jaehwan was doing with a demon. He’s never been the best at spells, and Taekwoon’s sure that applies to summonings -- he summoned a demon. “A summoning circle? You drew a summoning circle.”
“And called up a demon; that is typically how you do it. Look, Taekwoon, don’t tell anyone because I’m this close to getting fired at the theatre, and this will really just make it worse.” Jaehwan looks close to ducking back into his sleeves.
“Okay, yeah.” Taekwoon’s vaguely aware of how hard their hands are gripping each other. “You’re alright, though?”
Jaehwan blinks. “I’m fine. You’re not angry?”
“Not angry.” And he isn’t. Just wondering how this all happened. Thankful that Jaehwan’s okay. Very thankful that he’s back. “It’s late. Can’t do anything about it tonight. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”
Jaehwan mutters, “You don’t have to help, Taekwoon. I know a pair who specialize in the sort of thing.”
“It’s alright. We’ll figure it out.”
Jaehwan falls silent but his hand doesn’t leave Taekwoon’s, and this is too real, he thinks. Shivers trickle down his spine. A warm thrum of blue envelops his hand and yellow follows soon after, the two colors swirling about their joined hands, and the soft bubble of Jaehwan’s laugh feels just right. It all feels right.
Reunited.
+if there is a next part: more magic way more magic, more kewl characters, 89% less sad boys and 122% more happy boys --> i promise