(for bluedreaming) Wherever My Heart Touches (Wherever That Is), I Will Go [2/4]

[seulpeo]

Title: Wherever My Heart Touches (Wherever That Is), I Will Go

part one

Jongin wasn’t expecting to be absolved of guilt for confessing to Minseok what he had done, but he couldn’t keep it inside him either. Minseok is the only person that he tells everything to, the only person that listens. But it wasn’t because of the position of confidant and closest friend that Minseok holds - it was because Jongin couldn’t pretend, couldn’t hide it the moment he saw Minseok.

He thinks that this makes him a supremely selfish person for not hiding it, for hurting Minseok so brazenly. Not only for kissing someone else, but for telling Minseok about it as well.

But in the morning - when Jongin gets up, bleary eyed, having barely slept at all - there’s a pitcher of orange juice on the table, and coffee in the pot. The kitchen smells like bacon, and Jongin lifts the cover off a plate to find a neatly arranged Eggs Benedict waiting for him - English muffin, hollandaise sauce, the works.

I waited for you, but I guess you were too tired last night, the note from Minseok reads. Jongin wonders if there was a subtle dig between the lines. Tao, my friend the photographer, will be coming back with me tonight. I cleaned up most of the mess, but I’m counting on you to do the rest. Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll have Kyungsoo cook something for him at the restaurant. See you later!

Jongin breathes in and out, then chokes down the breakfast that Minseok has prepared.

He doesn’t have work today, so he vacuums, dusts, mops. He doesn’t think so much if he keeps moving, so he doesn’t stop, either. He doesn’t really know what Minseok did to neaten up, so he goes through the whole house, paying special attention to the guest room.

By the time Jongin is done with the house, he can see the floor of the laundry room and the surface of the coffee table in the living room, which is a miracle. The dining room looks lived in, not dusty with disuse. His nails feel brittle from the rubbing alcohol, and he’s tired of bending. But their house looks like a home, a couple’s home, and the charade can go on, just for a little while longer.

Jongin wonders if the two of them will remain the same as they always have. He hopes that their guest will not notice anything.

At last, when there’s nothing left for Jongin to do, he turns on the laptop and checks his email. There are some short messages from his parents, who have mostly given up on ever talking with Jongin on the phone. They always call when he’s not home, or get Minseok instead. They like Minseok, obviously, but their irritation at their inability to ever reach Jongin is a reflection of their much larger disappointment in him as their only son.

Jongin finds relief in not hearing that disapproval in their voices firsthand, but only dimly recognizing it like a shadow out of the corner of his eye. There’s a certain kind of ambiguity in typed words on a page, that lets him pretend that things are okay.

He types a short, painfully cheerful reply. He tells them that Minseok is healthy and well, that Minseok’s friend is in town and staying with them, that Minseok’s friend is a photographer and Minseok is showing his pieces in the gallery. He refrains from speaking about himself, only mentioning that he is content with his job.

They know that he uses his power to make deliveries. He also knows what they think of that, though they never outright say it.

He checks his inbox again after he sends the email to his parents. Lo and behold, there’s a message from Sehun. It lacks capitalization and has questionable punctuation - of course it’s Sehun.

Sehun is gregarious as always. He starts off the email politely enquiring about Jongin and, as an extension, Minseok. But then quickly he starts sharing bits and pieces of his own life.

At some point, Sehun figured out algebra, trigonmetry and calculus. He applied to colleges while Jongin - didn’t, and they drifted apart as a result. Now, Sehun is a salaryman, an engineer in a firm, in the city. He has projects and clients.

Sehun also divulges that he has a noona girlfriend, to lavish on him all the money he doesn’t have to spend on himself. Sehun is quite proud of this.

Jongin laughs. Something’s never change, and Sehun is one of them. He’s the only person his age Jongin still talks to from their hometown, though admittedly most of them were scared off by the incident.

Reading on, Sehun recounts some victories at work, the hints of a promotion, and fondly complains a little about his girlfriend. At the end of the email, Sehun suggests that Jongin come into the city, so they can meet, sometime soon.

The last time Jongin saw Sehun was during a visit home that Minseok forced him to make. Jongin had gotten tired of the talk at the dining room table, leaving Minseok to sit with their parents to go outside and watch the sunset over the suburbs he still knew as well as the back of his hand.

He had heard a shout, and there was Sehun, waving furiously. Jongin had been awkward at first, as he always was, but Sehun pushed through. A light wind wrapped around them as it always did, for Sehun had never had the patience to learn to control his own power. But Jongin didn’t mind, amusedly watching the way Sehun used the breeze to play tricks on the passerby. Soon they were laughing together, just like they had as children.

“Jongin? I thought I heard you -” Minseok opened the door behind them, looking puzzled. Jongin felt his smile freeze, as Minseok looked at Sehun and a strange expression crossed his face. If Jongin didn’t know better, he could have given it a name.

But he did, and Jongin realized he was waiting or Minseok to remember someone Jongin had never even introduced to him. He felt ridiculous at that.

“Minseok,” he said. “This is Sehun, my old friend.”

In saying that, though, he remembered the fight he had with Sehun, when Sehun came back from college during that first fall. Sehun’s mother must have told him the news over the phone, because he was waiting for Jongin after Jongin’s shift at the local convenience store.

They had gone upstairs to Jongin’s childhood bedroom. Sehun had come over on the pretense of helping Jongin pack, but he was now sitting in the rolling chair in front of Jongin’s desk, staring at the valise on the bed.

Sehun had said, “I know you like him, but isn’t it a little - much?”

He continued packing. Sehun tried again, but stopped, understanding that Jongin wasn’t listening. “Jongin, I think you hear everything everyone is saying to you, but you don’t understand what we really mean. I think you’re twisting it in your head, searching for some deeper meaning that isn’t there.”

Jongin turned, barked at his best friend. “I love him! It’s that enough?”

There was a slight pause. “Well, no,” Sehun said. “Not really.” He stood up. “I think you’re making a mistake.”

Jongin fell silent again.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Sehun had asked, frustrated when Jongin didn’t say anything after Sehun had carefully explained his concerns. “I know you’ve always depended on Minseok, but it seems kind of fast, you know?”

Jongin had stepped back, feeling like he had been slapped. If it was apparent to Sehun, who was mostly oblivious, did everyone know? Did Minseok know, and take pity on him?

“Well,” he said. “I’m not like you.” It didn’t make sense at all to say that, but then it did when Sehun looked at him.

“No, no, you’re not,” Sehun said bitterly, and promptly left. Jongin watched him walk down the edge of the street.

But there with Minseok, Sehun appeared not to remember that particular confrontation. He laughed and smiled, and so did Minseok, so Jongin had to as well. And with time, Jongin got better at forgetting as well.

Jongin emails back a short reply: Sometime soon, yes.

Minseok calls late in the evening, when Jongin is juggling the phone in his hands, wondering if he should call. Jongin drops the phone on the floor in fright, then actually answers. Minseok is the same as always, only requesting that Jongin make some coffee for their guest, promising to be home in twenty minutes.

Jongin can hear voices in the background, but he doesn’t ask. When they hang up brusquely, Jongin takes the saucepan out, fills it water. He crushes the ginger and honey in the mortar, and waits.

The whole house smells like coffee infused with ginger and honey when the front door opens. “How does even your house smell good?” he hears, and his stomach drops violently.

Minseok laughs. “That’s Jongin. He doesn’t cook much, but he makes great coffee, if he can be bothered. Jongin?” he calls.

The voices grow louder as they draw closer, Minseok inviting his guest to take off his coat, put down his suitcase, sit down. Jongin balances two cups on a tray, narrowly remembering to stir in just a little sugar, in case the honey was not enough.

But instead he turns, and Minseok is there, taking the tray from him. “Hey,” Minseok says, smiling. “How was your day?”

“It was good,” Jongin says. “Yours?” He wrings his empty hands, unconsciously.

“Is this your husband-?” Jongin hears, and the two of them turn to face the guest in the doorway of the kitchen. He’s so tall that the frame seems to be too small for him, but he’s just the same as yesterday when Jongin saw him for the first time.

He stares at Jongin, and Jongin looks back, remembering phantom lips on his, rough hands sliding down the front of his jeans-

“Tao,” Minseok laughs. “I thought I told you to stay in the living room.”

“I’m too curious for my own good, you know that,” Tao replies. He looks around at the kitchen, at the pots and pans stacked all over the counters because they don’t have enough room in the cupboards to store them, at the little houseplants thriving on the windowsill. “Here is fine,” he says, pulling a chair out to sit at the table.

Minseok glances at Jongin. “I already drank my cup,” Jongin says, but in reality he didn’t make one for himself.

“Sit down, sit down,” Tao says. “I’ve been talking to Minseok all day, you know how boring that is?” Jongin sees his eyes glint, but doesn’t want to read anything more than what is there.

“Come on, Jongin,” Minseok says, but he’s grinning wider than Jongin has ever seen. “I’ve been dying to introduce Tao to you all day.”

They sit, and Jongin mostly listens as Minseok first embarrasses him by telling Tao how much Jongin liked his photographs, and then begins to reminisce on their university days. They had one class together, since Minseok studied art history and Tao was a performance major, actually. But Tao had stuck to him, like a clam, using Minseok to get out of all the situations he managed to get himself into, pretending that he didn’t know the language to force Minseok to help.

Tao retaliates as good as he gets. He talks about a sturdy Minseok who all the teachers depended on. The pranks Minseok played on his roommates, each more annoying than the first. Tao describes a flirtatious Minseok, who all the girls liked.

Jongin watches Minseok, feeling even more estranged than before. The coffee cups are dry in the wash rack when Minseok finds some wine, pouring it for the three of them.

Tao holds his alcohol, and Jongin sips slowly, but Minseok’s cheeks blush quickly. His words don’t slur, but they don’t quite make sense.

“This exhibit will be the best that the gallery has seen,” he says, pointing at Tao. “I don’t know how he survived on all that ramen during our university days, but at least he’s here with us now.”

Jongin snorts, pulling Minseok up by the arm. “He doesn’t usually get drunk like this,” he says, apologetically.

“He never did this in school,” Tao says, playing with his wineglass.

Jongin walks Minseok to his bedroom, pulling his socks off and pulling the covers over him. Minseok is still awake as he leaves, but Tao is outside when he closes the door behind him.

“Ah, Minseok didn’t show you the guest room, did he?” Jongin says. He walks down the hallway and opens the door for Tao to enter. “Here it is. There are some towels in the cabinet-”

The first touch on his wrist makes Jongin fall quiet. “You didn’t forget so quickly, did you?” Tao says, and the amusement in his voice makes Jongin bristle.

“I don’t want to remember,” Jongin says. “I’m - I’m Minseok’s husband.”

He washes up in the kitchen, then goes to sleep in his own room, closing the door firmly. He doesn’t want to talk about it with Tao, he doesn’t want to pursue it further even if Tao does. He wants to forget, and quickly.

The real difficulty when Sehun was writing his applications for college - when the rest of their peers were - was that Jongin didn’t know where he wanted to go, what he wanted to do.

The counselor had called Jongin’s parents into school, expressing concern. “His grades are enough to enter some kind of school, if he wishes,” he said. “But he wrote employment on his future plans, and he will not discuss what he is considering.”

His parents tried to reason him, but Jongin knew that in his current state of ennui any further schooling would be a waste of time. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to study, but he didn’t know what he wanted to study. He shadowed a couple of family friends: Minseok’s father, a nurse in the local hospital; Sehun’s mother, a lawyer. But he didn’t come to a conclusion.

Sehun didn’t say much, but soon they didn’t talk. Sehun was excited to leave home and learn about different things - and Jongin wasn’t. It was difficult, when they no longer had the same frame of mind, to be friends.

That didn’t mean that Jongin wasn’t bitter at being left behind.

There was nothing anyone could actually do, since no one could actually write the applications for him. But then Minseok had returned from university. His parents must have told him to speak to Jongin, but Jongin found it easy to tell him everything, easier even to go along with what Minseok suggested.

It’s not so easy, now. Minseok is making breakfast when Jongin wakes up, but the bathroom is occupied when he sleepily pads down the hallway. For a moment he just stares at the light underneath the door in confusion, but then the door swings open.

“Sorry,” Tao says. “Did I take too long?” He has a towel slung over his shoulders and a bit of shaving cream on the side of his mouth.

Jongin shakes his head, hurrying inside.

They walk together, Jongin pushing his bike on the street while Tao and Minseok stroll along the sidewalk.

“He surprised me, you know,” Minseok says to Jongin, who looks up from the handlebars. “He actually came the day before, but stayed in a hostel because he didn’t want to burden us.”

“You should have come to our house,” Jongin says. The words are bidden, polite, but Jongin feels like he is miles away, disconnected from what he is saying. “We wouldn’t have minded at all.”

“I just wanted,” Tao says, “to check things out.” His eyes are dark and heavy. Jongin is uncomfortable.

They part at the gallery, where Jongin lingers, watching them jostle and push at each other as the two of them enter. They clearly know each other well.

Jongin has always wondered about those four years when Minseok left home. He had promised to come back, but he never had, and Jongin was too awkward to ask for his address to even write.

He wonders about those four years, and wonders about the person Minseok was. He watches the way that Tao looks at Minseok, and wonders if Tao looks at everyone like that.

Jongin knows what this feeling is, that rises up in his chest. But he knows he has no right to feel anything, since what he has done.

Junmyeon is always praising Jongin, telling him he’s getting better and better at the job as time goes on. Jongin blushes at the praise, but he doesn’t completely stutter and protest like he would when he first started. Jongin can tell that Junmyeon notices, and is amused by that.

But still, when Jongin steps into the current, it feels dizzying, like falling into the arms of an old friend. Jongin wouldn’t mind staying, as he feels the current calling out to him.

But he knows that he has a place at which to be, and so he drops out of the stream, finding himself in front of a small house in a suburban area, a lot like his parents’ house to be honest. It’s green and brown, with faded shutters on the second floor where no one has painted. The grass is a little overgrown, but there are cheerful, hardy sunflowers out front. It’s nice.

Jongin knocks on the door, and waits. After a few beats, the door swings open to reveal a man his age, maybe a little older. He looks like he’s just come home from work, his suit slightly wrinkled from the day. He pulls at his tie with one hand as he looks at Jongin for a moment, then says to someone in the house, “Did you call for pizza?”

Jongin wants to roll his eyes. “Delivery,” he says, hefting the box in his arms.

“Delivered yourself to this house, didn’t you?” the man coos, and Jongin takes a step back.

“Er,” is his eloquent response.

“Did you call for pizza?” a woman answers, within the home.

“No, but you should take a look at the deliveryman,” the man says, leering at Jongin. “He’s delicious.”

The woman sighs, and Jongin can hear her trip her way to the door. “Jongdae, you say that about all the delivery boys,” she whines. “And the last one was wearing a fez, that’s not attractive at all - oh.”

Jongin isn’t sure if he can blush any harder than he is right now. The woman, short and with an open mouth, stares at him unabashedly. “Delivery for Kim Taeyeon.”

The woman takes the box, while Jongdae leans closer. “Why don’t you come in and take a break? We’ve just come home ourselves - and we’d love to have someone join us - while we relax.”

Jongin doesn’t know how to remove himself from this situation while keeping a straight face. “I’ve just started my delivery route, actually,” he says.

Taeyeon interrupts. “Jongdae, I think this is that thing I ordered.”

“What thing, honey?” Jongdae asks, staring at Jongin’s lips. Jongin fidgets.

“You know, that thing that I said I was going to get?” Taeyeon says, wiggling her eyebrows, then Jongdae actually looks at her. “That toy?” She backs away from the doorway, holding up the box.

Jongdae appears to be confused, but then something clicks, and a truly terrifying grin spreads across his face. “Oh, that.”

He looks back at Jongin. “Well, it looks that my wife and I have already found a third member to our evening, so we won’t trouble you any longer.” Taeyeon is already laughing. Jongin can hear her rushing up stairs. “Now, if you’d excuse us-”

The door shuts in his face, and Jongin is left alone on the doorstep, hearing the diminishing giggles of the couple as they go farther into the house. He didn’t get a signature, but maybe Junmyeon will let it go if he explains.

Jongin’s face crumples. How is he going to explain without embarrassing himself?

The rest of the day is less questionable. He goes back to the shop for a quick lunch with Junmyeon, who forgives him for the one missing signature.

“They sound like an interesting couple,” Junmyeon says, with a quivering mouth. “I’m glad that you were able to complete the delivery, at least.”

Jongin has a sneaking suspicion that Junmyeon is laughing, but Jongin is sure that Junmyeon would never laugh at him.

He runs a few more deliveries, and then returns to the shop, where Junmyeon is doing inventory. While Jongin does most of the actual deliveries, Junmyeon runs the store side during the day, selling packing materials and other odds and ends.

“It looks like we’re good for the month,” Junmyeon says, checking his clipboard. “Nothing for me to order, and we’re actually making a profit.” He clicks his pen and turns around. “I’m going to check the other storage room, make sure that the packages there are all in the system and on schedule to be sent by the requested date. But otherwise, I think I’ll let you go home early, tonight.”

Most nights, Jongin would be happy about this, but tonight he just feels apprehensive. “Don’t work too hard, hyung,” he says. “Seohyun gets angry when you come home late.”

“No,” Junmyeon says, bending down to get his keys that he dropped on the floor. Jongin hears the smile in his voice. “Seohyun doesn’t get mad when I come home late. She gets mad when I don’t tell I’m coming home late. Communication is important in a relationship.” He stuffs them in the pocket. “But you know that.”

Jongin flounders a little from that, unsure how to segue into a goodbye. It really is quite early, so he figures that it would be best to try again and catch Minseok at the gallery. He hopes that Minseok would be pleased to see Jongin interested in the exhibit, his work.

Jongin tries to convince himself that he’s not going to see Tao - or to examine the way that Tao looks at Minseok.

Kyungsoo is wiping down tables in the front of the restaurant when Jongin rolls by. “Jongin!” he calls, poking his head out the window. “Come in and grab a few bowls of pasta for Minseok and Tao. I don’t think they took a break for lunch.”

Jongin wheels his bike in and props it up behind the bar, nodding at Sunyoung. The hostess winks as she rushes past, carrying a platter, her free hand on her hip. Her bob barely moves.

The restaurant is busy, which is good. There’s a few free tables here and there, but there’s also a line at the door. Kyungsoo is humming, in his element as he bursts past the swinging doors into the kitchen.

He quickly returns with a platter for Jongin, who notices not two, but three bowls. He narrows his eyes at Kyungsoo, who returns to wiping the tables with a carefully neutral expression. Jongin taps his foot, and Kyungsoo looks up. “What?” Kyungsoo asks.

Jongin laughs. “Hyung, if you give me free food all the time, won’t you run out of business?” he teases.

“I know Junmyeon,” Kyungsoo says scornfully. “Probably doesn’t even give you a ten minute break.” If there’s one thing that Kyungsoo loves more than feeding people, it’s disparaging Junmyeon.

Kyungsoo hates being called cute, but Jongin doesn’t know another word for it. Smiling, he goes into the gallery.

He stops. The carpet has been covered with a sheet, and Tao lays in the center of the room, staring up at the freshly painted ceiling. He turns and looks at Jongin, quickly sitting up. “You brought food?”

“Where’s Minseok?”

“He’s always going out, buying something,” Tao says. “He’s really forgetful, that hyung. He was like this in school, but never this bad.” His eyes are intense when they lock onto Jongin’s. “But you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

It’s a question that sounds like a test, and that annoys Jongin. But Minseok has always been careful at home, with Jongin - so actually, he doesn’t know. “Sure,” Jongin says. “He forgets stuff all the time.”

“But not the important things,” Tao says, blowing on his steaming bowl, and Jongin feels like he played right into Tao’s hands.

At this moment, Jongin feels confident in saying that he hates Tao. But then Tao leans down to take a mouthful, and the temporary fluorescent light shines almost surgically off the piercings in his ear, and Jongin’s heart stutters. Traitor.

“Did you do a lot of work today?” Jongin asks, looking around at the gallery.

Tao shrugs. “Just what Minseok asks me to do.” His sleeves are rolled over his shoulders, and Jongin can see the swirls of a few intricate tattoos, but not enough to fully understand the form of any. “You had work? Minseok said you work for a friend of his.”

“Yeah, I deliver stuff for Junmyeon. He has a store in town, a few blocks away,” Jongin says.

Tao snorts derisively. The pasta turns to chalk in Jongin’s mouth.

They sit in silence for a few moments. “Why didn’t you visit Minseok sooner?” Jongin asks, really asking What kind of friend are you to Minseok? What does he see in you, that he invited you into our home?

“He got married to some boy from his hometown,” Tao says. “I figured he was a little busy, settling down. And I wanted to make a name for myself, with my art.”

Jongin’s head flies up. Minseok is an art history major, but Jongin has seen the sculptures that he can make with his own hands, his power. He used to make little swans out of ice for Jongin, each of their feathers detailed and coming to a cold, razor-sharp tip. “You danced when you were a kid,” Minseok had explained. “They said you liked ballet in elementary school, but you stopped after a while. Swan Lake, you know?”

He had always liked them, hiding them in the freezer until Minseok found them, sighing. “They aren’t good enough to keep,” he told Jongin, when Jongin returned home to find a bowl full of water sitting in the hot sun. “You don’t have to keep them.”

There were other little animals and objects as well, made out of ice for anniversaries and birthdays. Jongin knew that Minseok could keep them from melting forever, if he chose, but he always let Jongin admire for a little while before letting time run its course.

The sheer detail and beauty of the pieces were always apparent, just as much the fact that Minseok was sorely underusing the talent he had. But the suggestion that Jongin had prevented Minseok from being an artist of his own merit - that Minseok had worked in the museum, and then the gallery, to support Jongin, who at the time and even now probably doesn’t support his fair share of the household -

He feels quite insecure. If it were the case, Jongin thinks, wouldn’t Minseok have said something? But it had been Minseok who offered, in the first place -

Jongin grows angry with the way Tao can so easily tear apart the little faith Jongin has remaining in his relationship, with just a few blandly-said words.

“Why do you take those kinds of pictures?” Jongin asks. He winces when it comes out. Minseok always indulges his blunt questions, responding just a little slowly to hint that such a question could have be asked in a more graceful manner. But Jongin always makes the same mistakes, and this time he convinces himself not to care.

Tao seems like a dick, to be honest.

Tao blinks. “I’m pretty famous,” he replies. “Haven’t you read any interviews of mine, in the magazines?” He names a couple that Jongin recognizes, national magazines that make him realize that Minseok really did call in a favor. “They ask me that question all the time.”

Jongin frowns. “I don’t read magazines that often.”

“Yeah, right,” Tao says. “Every guy reads a certain kind of magazine.”

Jongin’s cheeks turn bright red. “Well, you’re not in those kinds of magazines, are you?” he shoots back.

“You wouldn’t mind, judging by yesterday,” Tao replies blankly, and Jongin bites his own tongue in frustration. Tao seems to sense his aggravation and backtracks. “I do those kinds of stunts because it sets me apart. There’s not many time travelers, you know. Most of them go a little crazy from wanting to fix history. I just observe through my lens - the separation helps.”

That seems a little more reasonable. “But you’re a little crazy, aren’t you?” Jongin asks. “That picture yesterday, you could have been badly hurt if you had waited a moment longer before going to a different time.” The bullets would have torn your body apart, he wants to add, and all you would have gotten would have been a horrible, unprintable photo.

“I’d have been killed,” Tao says. “But I didn’t say that the separation helps me not be a little crazy. It just keeps me from getting put in a mental hospital.” He cracks a strange smile, but somehow Jongin gets it.

“Anyway, people eat it up,” Tao continues. Jongin’s bowl is empty, his spoon licked clean. “The professors at school loved it, loved the incorporation of my power. All the students hated me, of course, but I couldn’t help what I was born with.”

There’s a flirtatious flicker in his expression. I also couldn’t help being born pretty, Jongin hears Tao say in his head, and struggles not to groan in secondhand embarrassment.

“Minseok was the only one I took with me to take these kinds of pictures,” Tao says. “Those sculptures of his, they’re very traditionalist. He didn’t really get what I was doing, not the way I wanted him to. But he said he liked them.”

“He showed me the others you were planning to show,” Jongin says, thinking back to the huge photos splayed over the table, Kyungsoo excited as Minseok was earnest. “They’re all in different places - you must do a lot of traveling.”

“Yeah,” Tao said. “I’ve been to a lot of places. You’ve probably haven’t seen much, right? Minseok said you decided to put off school for a couple of years, lived with him instead.”

Jongin is vindictively pleased. “No, I’ve done my fair share of traveling. Australia, India, Mexico, Russia, China,” he says, listing the places he’s delivered to in the last couple of days. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t tell Tao about his teleportation ability.

Probably because it isn’t Tao’s business.

Tao looks impressed. “Minseok paid for that?” he asks, looking up and down Jongin’s body as if Jongin must have paid Minseok somehow in return.

“No!” But Tao’s lips are on his, and Jongin forgets to pull away at the sweetness of them, even covered in the savory sauce that is Kyungsoo’s top secret recipe. He feels lightheaded and giddy at Tao’s warmth, the sparks that fly between them at each point of contact.

His stomach sinks when Tao pulls away, sighing. “I’ve been in a lot of places,” he says, and Jongin can barely hear him over the buzzing in his ears. “but when I go back in time and experience the history of the place - I can’t bear it. It’s always awful, and I move on.”

“Living in a place,” Jongin says, stilted, surprised to hear himself speak, “you’d make your own memories. You could make good memories.”

“I’m a little crazy,” Tao replies. “I don’t think I’d trust myself to change the course of history.” He stares at Jongin’s lips again, and moves in.

It’s a few moments of delicious tension, push and pull between them. Tao leans into him, his weight on Jongin, and Jongin likes it. It feels like an anchor, pinning him to the spot. He thinks of wrapping his arms around Tao’s neck, pulling him closer.

But the thought is immediately met by a knee-jerk feeling of repulsion, and Jongin finds himself pushing Tao away, again.

Tao looks at him, wiping at the corner of mouth. Jongin’s mouth feels wet and tender. “Stop,” Jongin says. “Stop it.”

Tao laughs hoarsely. “You stop first,” he says.

“What are you, a preschooler?” Jongin retorts. A heartier sound bursts out of Tao, until he’s leaning against the wall, a hand over his stomach as he shakes with mirth.

Jongin sits on the other side of the room, feeling entirely irritated with himself, with Tao - with the way that he feels that maybe, maybe he doesn’t know Minseok as well as he should, if it’s true what Tao suggests.

The bell above the gallery door rings, and Jongin and Tao both jump farther apart. Jongin is relieved to see that at least Tao has the same response. Minseok enters, a white plastic bag in hand, and pauses when he notices Jongin and the tray of food.

“Getting to know each other better?” he asks. “I’m glad. Two of my favorite people, becoming friends. It’s nice to see it.” He seems to be saying to Jongin directly, It’s nice to see you coming out of your shell.

“Hyung, Kyungsoo had me bring some food to the gallery for you and Tao because you didn’t eat lunch,” Jongin says hurriedly. But there’s nothing on the tray. He looks at Tao, who appears to be hiding something behind his back. “Are you eating his food?”

Minseok laughs. “Tao’s always been a pig about food,” he informs Jongin. “There’s nothing we can do about it. We’ll have to lock the fridge tonight so he doesn’t eat us out of house and home.”

“Hyung,” Tao says, “stop, you’re making me blush.” Minseok looks at Jongin this time, and Jongin forces himself to smile a little, mirroring the expression on Minseok’s face.

There’s only two weeks or so before the gallery will open with Tao’s exhibit. Minseok and Tao work hard. The foyer still shows the previous artist’s works, but the canvases dwindle over time.

Jongin is lacing on his canvas shoes in the morning when Tao enters the house, his thin tank top sticking, sweaty, to his chest. “Sunny out,” Tao says. Jongin supposes.

He stands up. The mudroom is small and constrained, and he brushes against Tao’s chest. Tao is only a little taller; it’s different than standing with Minseok.

Tao catches him about the waist and draws him in, kisses the side of his mouth, his nose, his cheeks until Jongin is crazy for Tao’s mouth, chasing it despite Tao’s giggling. He reaches up and holds Tao’s face still with his hands, pressing a kiss firmly on his lips.

Then his forehead. He grins vindictively when Tao grumbles.

“Jongin!” Minseok calls from the kitchen. The two of them startle apart. “Don’t leave just yet, you’ve forgotten your lunch!”

With Tao in their lives, Minseok looks a little less strained. Jongin feels bad for not noticing that Minseok has been stressed, until now, when he seems happier - the tension dwindling - working and joking with Tao.

There’s one night when Minseok makes a lemon meringue pie, explaining that Tao likes that particular dessert. Despite that, Jongin eats the most of it.

Tao complains. “I don’t understand why you called me a pig when he’s eating all of my dessert.” Jongin is too concentrated on shoveling forkfuls of heaven into his mouth to allow his cheeks to burn.

“I would have made it if I had known that you liked it, Jongin,” Minseok says softly. Jongin knocks his knee against Minseok’s under the table, except Tao looks at him instead.

But Tao laughs when he finds Jongin eating another slice at one in the morning. “Can’t get enough, little piggy?” he teases, sitting down at the table to watch.

“Shut up,” Jongin says. It’s been a long while since he’s had an appetite. Kyungsoo’s complained that Jongin’s been losing weight, and Minseok was concerned, but Jongin managed to brush them off. He’s not sure what lemon meringue pie has awakened in him, but he’s famished and he wants more.

“You were a little skinny,” Tao says, as if he can read Jongin’s mind, and reaches out to wipe the crumbs from Jongin’s mouth. Jongin parts his lips, and Tao holds his breath as Jongin sucks on his finger.

Tastes better than Minseok’s pie, to be truthful.

Jongin doesn’t quite understand, until one day he finds Minseok and Tao out back, cutting wood with Minseok’s equipment. Instead of joining them, his eye rests on a pile of books spread out on a table in the corner. He’s not good with money or balancing a checkbook, things that Minseok does regularly, but it’s easy to see the gallery is in trouble, more than usual.

It’s getting hotter and hotter out. Jongin’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he rolls up to the gallery. Tao presses him to the door as soon as he gets inside, to lick the salt off Jongin’s collarbones.

Jongin doesn’t even ask where Minseok is - he’s always forgetting something.

Suddenly the investors - and Tao - make sense.

Tao uses glasses for reading. He hides them from Jongin and Minseok for a couple of days, but they noticing him squinting quickly enough.

“Have you gotten your eyes checked recently, Taozi?” Minseok ribs. Jongin feels a twist in his stomach at the nickname.

“I have glasses,” Tao mutters.

Minseok cups a hand over his ear. “What was that?”

“I HAVE GLASSES!” Tao shouts, stomping from the living room.

“That escalated quickly,” Jongin says.

But in the morning Jongin finds Tao reading the newspaper, with gold-framed spectacles. His gut coils, but it’s a different feeling than before. “Minseok’s gone out to water his plants,” Tao says, not even looking up.

Jongin makes him look up, when he kisses the breath out of Tao’s mouth, pulling the glasses safely out of the way so Tao doesn’t complain when their noses collide, the casualty of their haste.

Jongin wonders how long the gallery must have been in the red, that Jongin has stopped noticing Minseok’s pinched eyebrows until Tao disappeared them away. He wonders what calling in this favor with Tao means, now that he knows what a big shot Tao is.

Jongin wakes up, a familiar pressure underneath his stomach, but a light is on in the bathroom. “Hyung, hyung, I really need to go to bathroom,” he calls. “I’m really sorry, but I need to go.”

He pushes open the door to find Tao instead, staring at him almost comically, a foamy beard of shaving cream adorning his jaw.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jongin squeaks, not the least because Tao is shirtless. But Tao crowds him against the door so he can’t open it, then pushes him up on the counter, presses the razor into his hand.

Tao’s eyes are steady on his face. Jongin trembles from the trust within them, that he won’t make a mistake and cut a thin red line across Tao’s skin.

Jongin taps the last bit of foam into the basin before Tao grabs his hand and squeezes to make him release the razor into the sink, then his jaw to kiss him into the mirror.

“Jongin,” Minseok says, outside the bathroom, “did you call me?”

He wonders if Minseok has missed Tao this much, that his presence can fix the problems that Jongin doesn’t even see.

“Jongin? Are you paying attention?” Junmyeon asks.

Tao’s skin in the morning is blotchy and red. He walks around the house in boxers, and always waits for Minseok or Jongin to make breakfast for him, even if that means pouring milk on cereal. His hair is messy, sticking straight up in tufts that defy gravity. The sunlight always finds him, illuminates him.

He always looks the prettiest before Jongin straddles him, takes his face into his hands and kisses the living daylights out of him.

Jongin wants him, but he doesn’t understand how he can want Tao just as much as he wants Minseok.

Junmyeon tries again. “Jongin, this isn’t like you,” rapping the counter in front of Jongin.

Kyungsoo is less delicate. “Jongin, stop fucking daydreaming and eat the food I made you!”

Kyungsoo doesn’t show investors around in the coming week; even he seems to be confident that Tao’s artwork will pull in the crowd that the gallery needs. Jongin visits the gallery, but he’s largely unneeded. He offers to help in the restaurant, not wanting to be home alone while Minseok and Tao work in the gallery together, but Kyungsoo waves him off.

“Sunyoung can handle it,” he says. Sunyoung rolls her eyes, but blows Jongin a kiss. He blushes sheepishly.

“Hey,” Sunyoung says. The restaurant is closed for the night, but Seohyun came by with Junmyeon when Kyungsoo was closing up shop, and Krystal came to see what happened to Kyungsoo, and eventually even Minseok and Tao came next door.

It’s an impromptu party, with not enough alcohol - “because Kyungsoo is stingy,” Tao whines.

Minseok cuffs him upside the head. “That’s my business partner making a wise decision, thank you,” he says. Seohyun looks fascinated by the friendly violence. Junmyeon dozes off at her side.

Krystal sits in Kyungsoo’s lap, just to watch him squirm.

“Hey,” Jongin hears, and he turns to look at Sunyoung, tearing his eyes away from Tao. “Hey,” she says again, her eyes languid and filled with a strange emotion, and Jongin realizes she knows.

At home, Jongin thinks too much on his own. He feels the panic sometimes, not as bad as it used to be, but still it presses in on all sides when he lies on his bed, and Jongin doesn’t know what he’s doing. Three years, and Tao makes him realizes that he hasn’t figured a single thing out.

Jongin is in his room, reading any magazine interview of Tao he can find, staring at all the pictures taken of him. The camera really does love him, whether he’s behind it or not, and Tao knows how to present himself in a flattering fashion as well.

He rouses himself from staring at a particular line that Tao is quoted to have said - “It’s invisible to the eyes, but anything essential is seen by the heart” - when he hears a crash from the living room.

The first thing he notices is that the bookcase has toppled over. The second is that Tao and Minseok are standing closer together, but far enough apart to suggest that they sprang away from each other before he entered the room.

“What did you do?” Jongin asks. The answer comes after a beat.

Sehun emails him back swiftly, sharing some more anecdotes about his noona girlfriend. Sehun is funny again, but Jongin can tell that Sehun is really into her, even if he doesn’t say it outright.

Maybe because three-fourths of the email is about her, he thinks wryly.

But at the end of the email, Sehun asks, Are you and Minseok okay? You never wanted to be separated from him before. Not that I wouldn’t want you to visit, because I mean, I have been asking. But you seemed a little different in your last email.

Jongin doesn’t reply, instead clicking out of the window. He doesn’t know what to write.

Jongin wakes late to find that Minseok and Tao are hanging up the laundry on the clothesline in the yard. He watches them together, the way they laugh and smile. The clench of jealousy is still there, but he ignores it and it’s almost like it isn’t there.

But then Minseok ducks behind one large wet bed sheet - one of Jongin’s, his favorite. Jongin can see his shadow through the wet material. Tao follows him.

Seconds later, the sheet falls onto the grass, but neither of them reach out to catch it, too busy kissing each other. And they don’t stop, the kissing doesn’t stop.

Jongin chokes for air.

part three