promise you won't forget me (because if I thought you would, I'd never leave) ; platonic baekchen
Title: Promise you won't forget me (because if I thought you would I'd never leave)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: platonic soulmates!Baekhyun/Jongdae, side!Jongdae/Junmyeon
Wordcount: 15,340
Disclaimer: EXO belongs to themselves and SME
Warning: Unbetaed
Notes: Title taken from Winnie the Pooh.
Written for aprilclaws. Remember when we used to joke about a French fry twin!au? It's actually not quite that, but it's still full of love, and I hope you won't be disappointed. Thank you for being the Baekhyun to my Jongdae.
Summary: I promise I'll always love you, I promise it'll always stay the same. We're not walking towards our doom, and it won't change a thing between us. I'll never let you go.
Incheon is full of life, full of hurry, sobbing goodbyes and cheerful welcome backs, and it all rubs off on Jongdae. His heart is beating so fast in his chest that he fears it might crack his ribs open and rip his skin apart, and he walks with tiny steps, body swaying from right to left as if he wasn't sure where to go. He is though, he's never been more sure, and what feels like pressure in his veins is actually burning anticipation and heady excitation. This day has been marked on his calendar for several months already, and Jongdae has waited for it as much as he feared it, but now that it has finally come, Jongdae finds himself standing proudly on positivity's side. This is the beginning, not the end.
“Are you sure you didn't forget anything?” Junmyeon asks, worry laced all over his voice.
Jongdae nods. “Pretty sure. We made a list, remember?.You helped me packing, twice, because I had to unpack to prove you I had everything.”
Junmyeon smiles, in a nervous tense kind of way, and Jongdae chuckles. He adjusts his bag's strap on his shoulder and leans into Junmyeon, nuzzling his shoulder with a contented smile. He breathes in Junmyeon's expensive cologne and breathes out a sigh. He's usually the one staying behind while Junmyeon flies away to important business meetings, but now that he's holding his own passeport, he finds out that leaving is as hard as staying. It's a heavy mix of feelings in his chest, but not heavy enough to slow him down. They reach the departure lounge and Junmyeon's arm tightens around his waist.
“Promise me you'll be safe,” he asks, stopping Jongdae.
“Of course I will.”
Junmyeon slowly nods, but his fingers remain pressed against Jongdae's hips, curled in the fabric of his shirt. They stare at each other, drowing the airport's noises in silence, and Junmyeon finally sighs. Jongdae can read in his eyes the exact moment Junmyeon gives in, and it just makes him love the elder male even more. When the pale fingers finally let go of his shirt, Jongdae follows them and leans in to kiss Junmyeon on the cheek. Junmyeon presses his palm against the small of Jongdae's back and kisses him on the lips. It's a simple peck, far from the heated kisses they exchanged almost angrily the night before, but with Junmyeon's hand comfortably nested against his back, Jongdae doesn't miss the affection and the love radiating from his boyfriend. Junmyeon cares for the appearences, he's always had, but being in love with Jongdae has made him really creative with the ways he shows his love in public. It's one of the things Jongade likes the most about their relationship. They have their own language.
“Okay,” Junmyeon finally says. He's slightly frowning, eyes going back and forth between Jongdae's face and the departure lounge. “I guess it's time?”
Jongdae nods with a smile. “I'll call you.”
The creases on Junmyeon's forehead soften as he chuckles. “No you won't,” he says. “But that's okay. Have fun. I love you, and I'll miss you.”
Jongdae beams at him, and finally pulls away. He grabs Junmyeon's hand and kisses his fingers lightly before steping back. Junmyeon waves at him with a tiny smile and dark, dark eyes, and Jongdae scrunches up his face in an attempt to make him laugh. It works, it always does, and the last picture of Junmyeon Jongdae takes with him is one of a chuckling Junmyeon, professionalism gone in favor of white teeth flashing out. It's his favorite Junmyeon, and Jongdae makes sure to frame it in the back of his mind as he walks straight into the departure lounge without looking back. He'll miss him, of course he will. But this trip isn't about him, it's never been, and Junmyeon understands it.
Jongdae's eyes scan the people in the departure lounge, but he doesn't have to search long. His gaze is immediately drawned to one particuliar silhouette that has all the worry and the sadness in his heart fading away almost instantly. He walks through the room with a big smile on his face, and when he stops next to the te sligthly taller male, it's another blinding grim that echoes his.
“Ready?” Jongdae asks.
Slender fingers seize the space between his and press softly against his knuckles. Baekhyun flashes him another dazzling smile.
“Ready.”
Tokyo is different from Seoul, but Jongdae figures it might have to do with the fact that everything tastes like freedom since they boarded the plane. The heat sticks to their skins, glues their shirts to their chests and nests in their hair, but Jongdae mostly notices the beautiful shade of silver in the sky, and how well it matches with Tokyo's skyscrapers. They probably didn't choose the best time to leave for Japan, because umbrellas flash everywhere around them, ready to open up with the first raindrop, but Jongdae doesn't really care, and he knows Baekhyun doesn't too. Japan's rainy season or not (“It's called the tsuyu in Japanese”, Baekhyun said in the plane) Tokyo is theirs for five days, and they both intend to enjoy the ride.
Baekhyun's bangs are damp and too long, but Jongdae can still see the look of pure excitation in his eyes. It echoes within him, vibrates in his own heart until Jongdae feels twice happier than before. They probably look weird with their Starbucks drinks in their hands, and standing at the edge of the Shibuya crosswalk without crossing it, but they couldn't care less.
“This is so freaking cool,” Baekhyun sighs as the tenth wave of people spreads around them.
Jongdae frantically nods. “We only have a chance,” he says. “We have to make it right. This will always be the story of how we walked across the Hachiko crossing for the very first time.”
Baekhyun smiles and takes a long sip of his caramel macchiato latte, the rush of sugar widening his smile.
“We could cross it walking on our hands?”
“Yeah,” Jongdae chuckles. “Or we could roly poly our way to the other side.”
Baekhyun laughs, but the sound gets drowned in the cheerful chatting all around them. They couldn't have picked a better spot to give the starting signal for their adventure together, but despite the excitation and mutliple smiles exchanged, Jongdae knows Baekhyun is aware that there's no turning back. Standing on the sidewalk is like freezing time, because if there's no beginning, there's no ending. Once the first step taken, there'll only be moving forward, no matter what they're leaving behind.
Jongdae exhales a heavy sigh. His fingers start to feel numb around his cup, his muscles tensed by the invisible pressure they both feel. It's a countdown waiting for them on the white-strapped concrete, an hourglass they'll never be able to turn around, and eventually, they'll be out of firsts and left with only lasts.
“I know how we're gonna do it,” Baekhyun says, pulling Jongdae out of his reverie.
He turns around to face his best friend and throws him a confused look when Baekhyun hands him his drink. Jongdae can't help but think that Tokyo suits Baekhyun a lot, from the faint stains of colors the huge advertising boards and screens throw on his face to the noise all around them, perfect background for Baekhyun's cheerful intonations. There are days, back in Seoul, when Baekhyun looks like he doesn't belong, dull rainy Sundays that strongly clash with Baekhyun's presence, but it's different here. Even with the latent threat of rain pourring down on them every minute now, Baekhyun shines, Baekhyun fits in the most perfect way. Jongdae thinks Shibuya looks way larger in his best friend's eyes.
Baekhyun gestures towards his own back with a tilt of his head, and Jongdae laughs. He jumps and Baekhyun catches him.
When the traffic lights change to green, they walk through the crowd, and fatality doesn't crush them like they thought it would, because they're too busy laughing at the confused looks they get. Jongdae thinks he'll definitely like telling the story of how he crossed Hachiko crossing, of the colors and the sweetness of the Starbucks coffee lingering on the tip of his tongue, and how he did it piggyback riding Baekhyun.
It's one hell of a story, really. And it also starts the countdown.
Thirty nine days before
“It's kind of sad.”
“Kind of?” Baekhyun chokes. “Where is your heart, Kim Jongdae? This is totally heartbreaking.”
Baekhyun heavily sighs as he clenches his fingers on his heart and slightly tilts his head with a dramatic pout. Jongdae laughs as he wraps his arm around Baekhyun's waist and presses his temple against Baekhyun's shoulder.
“Do you think she really waited for her master everyday?”
Jongdae shrugs.
That's what the story -written in ten different languages in the guide book Jongdae's holding- says, after all. Hachiko was a dog who loved her master very much and used to wait for him at Shibuya's train station until, well, said master died. Then began the sad story of the most famous dog in Japan, and for then years, every single day, Hachiko came and sat down at the gare station's entrance, and she waited, waited, and waited, until waiting lead her to her death. Baekhyun is right, it's a sad story, but it has something almost magical in it that lingers in the ten years between Hachiko's master death and the dog's death, something that Jongdae would like to call destiny, or fate, or whatever people call it. It's a nice thing to witness, he thinks, a love so strong that it even defeats time, the only thing that's supposed to win over everything, and he understands why people would make statues out of it.
"I'm glad she got reunited with her master," Jongdae finally says.
They've been watching the statue for almost forty five minutes now, frozen silhouettes in the middle of the crowd of tourists coming and going, but neither of them feel like moving. Jongdae remembers reading that the statue of Hachiko reunited with her master is only a couple of month old, and on any other day, he would have called it a coincidence, and the statue would have become a blurry memory. Except that he's on a trip with Baekhyun, and everything is different, and they both know it. Baekhyun is biting his lips at the expression of pure joy on Hachiko's face. It was supposed to be easy, running away from the future and the fears, but it's only the first day, and they're both calculating the time they have left, both wondering about a love so strong it defies time.
"Don't tell me you're comparing them to us," Jongdae finally asks, more for the sake of throwing a joke, his mischievous tone breaking the silence out of habit, than actually feeling like laughing.
"I'm not," Baekhyun snorts. "Because it would mean I'm the dog. I can't be the dog. I'm obviously too beautiful as a human."
Jongdae laughs. "Damn right you are."
Baekhyun smiles, and despite everything, it reaches his eyes and blooms all over his face in tiny wrinkles and sparkles of happiness. Jongdae can't help but beam at him in response. That's the thing about Baekhyun, he has that tendency to make the cheesiest love song's lyrics pop into Jongdae's head whenever he's with him, and Jongdae has a thing for cheesy love songs. He writes them for a living, after all, and he always makes sure each one of them would fit Baekhyun's eye smile, because when Baekhyun smiles, the sun shines.
"We should go, or it'll just make us sad. You and I both know that's not the point, right?"
Jongdae nods with a little smile, and Baekhyun grabs his hand. They look at Hachiko one last time, both basking in the possibility of a certain somewhere where a cheerful Hachiko is jumping around her master, and they leave the statue behind. It's that very same idea that follows them all day long, and when they leave the hotel room later that night and step into Shinjuki, Jongdae still thinks about destiny, and red strings of fate. He can't help but think that if there is a love that can defy time, it must come from Baekhyun's easiness to befriend complete strangers, or the delicate fluttering of his lashes against his cheekbones, and it has to end somewhere between his palm pressed against Jongdae's, and the knowing looks they share.
He'll make sure to leave a little of that certainty in the next cheesy love song he'll write, and it'll be another piece of them that will travel through decades. At this rate, they'll probably make it to the end of time.
Thirty seven days before
Tokyo is huge, and everytime Jongdae glances through the floor-to-ceiling windows in their suite (Junmyeon has probably booked one of the most expensive rooms in one of the most expensive hotels in Tokyo for them), he feels like Tokyo is still growing, slowly chewing on the horizon lines and taking over the space left between the sky and the earth. They're standing on the edge of the world on the top of their fancy building, and the world turns out to be nothing more than vivid colors and fainted traffic sounds. Tokyo is slowly becoming a mystical city in Jongdae's head, one of those who float on clouds, and he feels like reality is slipping through his fingers with each minute passing by. They're drifting away, losing all traces of time passing by, losing their grips on what they should be doing, and the reason they're here. It's a sweet confusion, bubbling in their chests like ecstasy, and when they finally fall on the bed with the first rays of sunshine around 4am, Jongdae tries to remember how long it's been since they arrived in Tokyo, how many hours they've spent wandering in the streets. It always drowns in the heat sticking to his skin though, and in the rain crashing against the windows. Whatever would want to hurt them now, reality or what's waiting for them at the end of the trip, it's always too late, because when it's comes back crawling on their bedroom's floor, all of its claws out, Jongdae is already fast asleep against Baekhyun, and Baekhyun is clinging to Jongdae in his sleep. Here, they're out of reach.
They miss a lot of daytime, because Shinjuku by night looks like a maze that only unlocks when the sun comes out, so they get lost between glasses of sake and street food snacks. They leave their watches at the hotel too, choosing to flick their wrists only to make sure that no space can slip between their palms pressed together, or to point at whatever could make the other one smile. It's been so long since Jongdae has lived like that, taking the day as it comes, going to bed laughing with Baekhyun and waking up with his arm around his own waist, and his slight snoring buzzing in his ear, but it's so easy to fall back into old patterns that he doesn't even think about it. It feels like only yesterday they were still roommates, and suddenly, Jongdae is twenty again.
“Will you write a song about this trip?” Baekhyun asks him in Tokyo Skytree's elevator.
They're sharing it with a bunch of Indian girls, and Jongdae can't help but think that they fit in the city, with their long colorful dresses and their excited chatting. He smiles at them and they flash him thousand watt grins.
“Maybe,” Jongdae finally answers. “Will you talk about it to your kids?”
Baekhyun chuckles. “Why would I? They're six, I'm pretty sure they don't care.”
“I don't know,” Jongdae shrugs. “You could add a nice moral, like how important it is to go see the world and meet new people?”
“They're six, Jongdae. Even if they wanted, they couldn't go to Tokyo, not until a long a time anyway.”
“I know! But imagine this. In like fifteen years, one of your ancient students comes back to thank you about that speech because it gave him a dream, and he actually did the trip and he found love, or I don't know, something cool like that.”
Baekhyun stares, dumbfounded. He rolls his eyes, but Jongdae doesn't miss the amused twitch of his lips. He waits for the snarky comeback, the biting jokes about how cheesy he is and how it's really not surprising that you only sell love songs really, waits for how Baekhyun's mocking tone would clash with the soft pressure of his palm against his, but the elevator's doors open and they're asked to step out. The Indian girls wave them goodbye, and Jongdae and Baekhyun both bow down, smiling. Their excited chattering get drowned in the multitude of accents echoing through the place, and their colorful dresses fade away in the crowd of tourists.
Baekhyun pulls at his arm.
“Come on, let's get closer.”
Jongdae lets his best friend take the lead, Baekhyun's small figure easily making its way between bodies while Jongdae flashes apologetic smiles at the mumbling tourists. The tower will close in a couple of hours, but the place is still packed. Jongdae can't blame them, though, because the sight is probably tenth times better at night, and it's not like they were expecting to have the tower only for them anyway. Jongdae doesn't mind the crowd, he never has, but he's hit by a fleeting thought about Junmyeon and how uncomfortable he is standing in a sea of people, and it makes him smile. It's so much easier to feel like the world doesn't exist past the curves of their bodies when he's with Baekhyun, and Jongdae couldn't be happier to get back to this, at least for a while. He's missed having the sky in his head, and the end of the world at his toes.
Baekhyun stops when he reaches the large windows, and Jongdae hears him gasp. He lets go of his hand and steps up next to him. He's immediately meet by a sea of colors and multiple shapes, and there's too many things to see, to notice. He's being overwhelmed, but in the nicest way, and it shoots sparks of electricity and adrenaline through his whole body.
“Okay,” Baekhyun murmurs. “Maybe I'll tell them. They can't miss that.”
Jongdae smiles at Baekhyun's amazed expression, his lips open on a silent 'o' that never leaves the back of his throat, and dark bangs covering his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Jongdae probably doesn't look any better though, because he finds himself whispering a litany of fainted wows and aaaahs as he leans in, pressing his forehead against the glass.
It's raining but the dark and cloudy vibe suits Tokyo. The city has turned into a beautiful game of reflections, purple and blue dancing on the water when they're usually frozen on huge advertising boards. The tiny droplets running down the windows zoom on multiple places, skyscrapers, buildings and large streets, and they catch every color that hits them so well that Jongdae feels like he's watching the city through a kaleidoscope. It's breathtaking, not in a way that has him struggling to breathe, but in a way that turns the oxygen in his lungs into sparkles of raw emotions that crack his skin. Jongdae's fingers tighten on the barrier, his throat constricting around his total lack of words to describe what lays down before him, and he blinks one too many times to appear only amazed at the sight.
“I can't write about that,” he whispers. “I'll never find the words.”
It feels like a death sentence on the tip of his tongue, but no matter how heavy the words are, Jongdae still says them, out of breath. He wants to stay there, he wants that picture to remain forever in his mind, from the way the stormy clouds drown the horizon line to the few quirky umbrellas standing out against a sea of black ones.
“Okay,” Baekhyun whispers, with a small smile ringing through his voice.
Jongdae bites his lips as Baekhyun raises his hand and presses it against the window. He watches his best friend's fingers run on the clean glass, so clean that it's almost translucent, and smiles at Baekhyun's fingertips pocking the highest skyscraper. His index finger stops at the top before plunging and following the city's skyline as if he was drawing it, giving shape to the buildings and the streets. Jongdae chuckles when Baekhyun's slender fingers stop on the Asahi Beer Hall tower, replacing its fainted golden glare with his fingernail.
“Then maybe you could write about us,” Baekhyun finally says.
He turns his head towards Jongdae, and their eyes meet, Baekhyun's sparkling with fondness and mischief, and Jongdae's marvelling at the kaleidoscope now printing on Baekhyun's cheek.
“I could do that,” he nods, grinning.
He's done it before, after all.
Thirty five days before
“Oh man, Tokyo killed me,” Baekhyun sighs as he plops down on his seat.
Jongdae would agree, but he's way too tired to open his mouth and form coherent sentences, so he just nods, and his muscles beg him to let them sleep. He whines and lets the back of his head bounce against his own seat. He gets to sit next to the window this time, but he's pretty sure that he'll be asleep for most of the thirteen hour long flight anyway. He could probably order ten cups of coffee without having the stewardess raise her perfectly plucked eyebrows at him -because they're siting in the first class compartment of the plane (courtesy of his beloved boyfriend)- and hold on to the caffeine to enjoy the view, but their journey is far from being over, and Jongdae doesn't want to carry around the lack of sleep.
Baekhyun streches his legs with a content sigh. They both agreed to stay awake until the plane takes off, but the seats are so comfortable, and they have five days of endless wandering across Tokyo's streets weighing on their legs. Jongdae finds himself daydreaming about the hotel room waiting for them in Rome, until daydreaming borders dangerously on actually dreaming. He grips the armchairs and blinks, trying to chase the sleep from his eyes. Baekhyun's gaze is lazily following the stewardess and the last passengers.
“It's gonna be a fucking suite again, isn't it?” Baekhyun mumbles, the words coming out muffled and barely articulated between two yawns.
Jongdae smiles, eyes closed, because Baekhyun's words are answering to his own thoughts. Even if it's happened so many times before he can't really be surprised anymore, it still appears almost magical to him. They're both really chatty people, but they actually don't need words when they're together, so when they do talk, it feels different. Words that break the silence because they're wanted, and not only needed, don't leave the same feeling on the tip of your tongue. It's one of the many perks at having Baekhyun as his best friend, because Baekhyun always listens, even when there's just silence around them.
“Of course it's going to be a suite,” Baekhyun groans. “It's Kim Junmoney.”
Jongdae opens his eyes and turns his face towards Baekhyun, silent. There's a bit of resentment darkening Baekhyun's tired eyes, anger in the way his fingers fidget against the armchair, and sad resignation when his eyes finally meet Jongdae's. It's not that Baekhyun doesn't like Junmyeon, because he and Jongdae are pratically the same person, and Jongdae loves Junmyeon way too much for Baekhyun to see a single flaw in Junmyeon's personality. Junmyeon made the whole trip possible, the first class plane tickets and the fancy suites, the champagne and the souvenirs filling both their suitcases, but Junmyeon also made other things possible. Things that, maybe, Jongdae and Baekhyun once wished wouldn't happen.
Baekhyun's features soften, and Jongdae knows it's because of the guilt in his own eyes, laced with fear and regret, but he can't help himself, not when he's so used to share everything with Baekhyun.
“I hope we'll get to have, I don't know, spectacular view of the Colosseum or something like that.”
Jongdae smiles softly at Baekhyun's words, following his best friend's playful tone to leave behind the silence and everything that comes with it.
“It's a five star hotel,” he explains. “Called the Palazzo Manfredi, and--”
“Wait, wait,” Baekhyun interrupts him.
He straightens on his seat and rotates so he can face Jongdae. He crosses his legs, the tip of his shoes brushing against Jongdae's shins, and his eyes flash a mischievous sparkle at Jongdae as his long fingers graciously land on the armchair between them.
“Drum roll,” he clarifies.
Jongdae snorts, but goes with it nonetheless. He waits an appropriate amount of time to build up the suspense. He does not measure it with how many times Baekhyun's fingers tap on the armchair though, but with his best friend's smile. When it grows so wide it reaches Baekhyun's ears and reduces his eyes into tiny slits, Jongdae knows it's the perfect moment.
“It has a spectacular view of the Colosseum!”
Baekhyun cheers loudly, claps and stomps his feet on the ground, until a stewardess comes to them, and politely asks them to lower the volume. Baekhyun makes her blush with his sorry smile, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, and Jongdae cackles when she almost loses her balance, her heels suddenly too high for her as he turns around.
They both sigh with contented smiles as they let their heads go against the back of their seats, and Jongdae only realizes that Baekhyun is holding his hand, fingers tightly intertwined, when he holds out his own hand to grab Baekhyun's with the very same intention. Baekhyun winks at him, and Jongdae chuckles, just like he did the first time Baekhyun took his hand. They were three, tiny and chubby, but Baekhyun's hand felt so right against his, and more than twenty years later, it still does. At this point, they both know it'll aways do.
Jongdae's fingers tigthen their hold as he thinks about the start of their friendship, the silent pull that forced him to talk to the brightest boy in his class, and the myriad of things he's experienced thanks to Baekhyun. Jongdae got so lucky, because he found his place in the world when he was only three, and he never had to worry about the universe's pettiness, but now, he feels like he finally got caught by the fears and the questions without answers. He knows he can't possibly ask for more, because he already got everything at such a young age, but as sleep slides behind his closed eyelids, he still sends a mutted prayer to the universe. If there's someone up there pulling the strings, Jongdae wants them to know how serious he is about Baekhyun. He doesn't ask for the impossible, he just prays that their friendship, the intense game of pull and Baekhyun's comforting palm against his, will never cease to be, no matter what. He wants their story to keep taking him to the most unexpected places, figuratively or not, and he wants to lose the ferrous taste of lead in his mouth and the fatality knotting his stomach, because this can't be their last journey together.
Thirty four to thirty two days before
Tokyo was for the eyes, Rome is for the mind.
Baekhyun and Jongdae feel small in the Sistine Chapel, heads thrown back and neck muscles begging for mercy. Jongdae has to fight off the urge to scream, feeling like the walls would send him back the most beautiful echo of his voice, and it results in Baekhyun violently pinching his arms everytime he opens his mouth. They laugh a lot, take picture, and the jet lag fades from their faces everytime they smile for them, v-poses and aegyo invading the ones they send to Junmyeon. Jongdae feels like some golden dust fell from the walls, the paintings and the sculptures, directly into his eyes. Whenever he blinks, his eyelids light up and he gets drowned in the amount of details again.
They feel even smaller when their tired feet take them to the Colosseum, but they still wander through it. There's an heavy silence on their shoulders, heavier than the excited and amazed tourists's whimpers, and both Baekhyun and Jongdae pull out the earphones stating mutliple historic facts in their ears. There's so much stone, so much dust and even more memories, and they crawl on the ground under their feet, curl around their ankles and vibrate in their chests. Out of the corner of his eyes, Jongdae catches Baekhyun wiping his eyes with his ring finger, and he instinctively reaches out, handing his wrist to his best friend. Baekhyun smiles fondly and dries his finger against the soft skin on the inside of Jongdae's wrist. It's one of Baekhyun's weird habits, just like his faint whimpers when he falls asleep, but Jongdae's been around for too long to still be aware of them. They link their fingers, and keep quiet until the visit is over. Baekhyun's eyes keep tearing up, but Jongdae doesn't ask, nor does he worry. Baekhyun has always been too small, silhouette too delicate and fragile, for the big things he likes to have nesting in his chest. His heart is probably larger than his rib cage, and it sometimes overflows. He's probably thinking about centuries and millenniums, billions of lions and tigers growling and the crowd's howling; even giving life to the fear that used to linger in this place, hand in hand with a dreadful excitation, and writing a backstory for every tear of blood that graced the dusty floor. Jongdae has always been in love with the way Baekhyun would write stories with his eyes only, how he takes in the most surreal plots and makes them sound so epic and too big to be forgotten, so when they both reach the exit of the Colosseum, it's no surprise that he's crying too.
It only takes one cup of panacotta each, and a slice of pomegranate tiramisu for them to finally break the silence, and come back to reality. But just to be sure, they both order a slice of a cake called zuppa inglese, and it has them expressing their pleasure in loud onomatopeias, their mouth full of creme patissiere.
Rome is probably for their stomachs, just as much as it is for their minds.
Thirty nights before
“Junmyeon put it in his list, and he wrote 'go there early if you want to have a chance to actually put your hand into the mouth' next,” Jongdae explains, eyes sparkling. They're dark, darker than ever because there's no sunlight to catch the slightly lighter brown splinters.
Baekhyun raises an eyebrow at the streetlights, taking in the darkness around them before turning to face Jongdae. Jongdae flashes him a sly smile, the corners of his lips turning into a feline smirk, and when Baekhyun's mischievous grin echoes his, he knows his best friend has read between the lines.
“Midnight is pretty early,” Baekhyun states, and Jongdae vigorously nods. “So we can play with it all night long.”
Jongdae opens his mouth, ready to burst, to finally let out the peals of laughter he's been holding back until then, but he stops and shrugs.
“At least until someone asks us to leave. I'm pretty sure there are night-watchmen, but yeah.”
Baekhyun chuckles, excitation glowing brighter in his eyes than the streetlights. If anything, the possibility of being caught makes it all even more tempting, and it's enough to have them walking towards the old sculpture without a look over their shoulders. Jongdae remembers past adventures, like their nightly break-ins into the library back when they were still in college, or that week-end they decided to spend in the moutains with nothing more than a couple of blankets. This is just one of them, and it's refreshing to fall back into old patterns, to experience the shots of adrenaline again. It's nothing like the time they didn't show up for their finals, choosing to go to Jeju Island instead because they couldn't cope with the fact that college would be over soon, but it still burns in Jongdae's veins. He's always had the tendency to draw conclusions from the tiniest signs, and Baekhyun has always laughed at him for that, but even Baekhyun can't argue with the heavy meaning lingering in the sound of their footsteps. It feels like they're back at ancient times, when Baekhyun and Jongdae were pretty different, but always running around together.
“What's the legend again?” Baekhyun asks as they stop before the sculpture.
Jongdae throws a suspicious look at the sculpture, not daring to speak at first. It looks creepy in the night, erased lines jutting out sharply against shadows. The face is hazy, partially eaten by the centuries, but the mouth and the eyes are still perfectly defined, deep abysses that stand out in the night as if darkness itself crawled out of them. It looks like it's wailing, or chanting some dark incantation, and Jongdae is suddenly not so sure about coming here in the middle of the night.
“Jongdae?” Baekhyun enquires.
“Wait a second, this is fucking creepy, I'm trying really hard not to scream.”
Baekhyun snorts, and before Jongdae can say anything, Baekhyun shoves his hand into the sculpture's mouth. Jongdae gasps when darkness engulfs his best friend's long and pale fingers, and his shoulders tense. Baekhyun throws a very judging look at him.
“Kim Jongdae is such a fucking coward,” he states.
They both stare at the sculpture, and wait for the magic that doesn't happen during the day to come to life now that it's so dark around them, their hearts bumping loudly against their eardrums. Five whole minutes fly by, and the tension in Jongdae's muscles lessen until all is left is a heavy feeling of discomfort at the dark eyes staring back at him.
“Mouth of truth indeed,” Baekhyun chuckles as he pulls his hand out.
“Fuck you very much,” Jongdae groans. “Plus, it's Bocca della Verità.”
Baekhyun's grin only gets wider. “Your accent is terrible.”
“You're terrible,” Jongdae emphasizes, but his voice ends in a high pitched sound that clashes against the walls of his throat as Baekhyun suddenly grabs him. When he realizes what his best friend is aiming to do, it's already too late. He gives up on the mere idea of struggling, and settles for a weak whimper when Baekhyun shoves his hand into the mouth.
It's cold, wet, and he can't see his fingers anymore, which makes him really nervous. He doesn't move them though, too afraid of what they might brush against in the darkness of the hole.
“Now,” Baekhyun jubilates. “Dare tell me you've never had a crush on my brother.”
Jongdae groans, but Baekhyun's hold on his wrist tightens.
“It's been years, I can't believe you still haven't let go.”
“Go on, Jongdae-yah.” Jongdae glares at the suffix, aka Baekhyun's favorite weapon when he wants to act all smug and annoying. “You know the legend. The mouth will cut your hand off if you don't say the truth.”
“That's fucking stupid,” Jongdae grumbles, but Baekhyun keeps smiling, soft fingertips pressing against the inside of Jongdae's wrist.
Jongdae bites his lower lip, eyes going back and forth between the mouth of the sculpture and its eyes, and the more he looks, the darker it gets.
“Okay, I did have a crush on your brother!” he whines, stomping his feet. Not too much though, he wouldn't want the gesture to make his fingers crash against the walls of the mouth. “I thought it could be convenient if I'd marry Baekbeom. We'd end up as a real family, or whatever.”
Baekhyun chuckles as he finally lets go of Jongdae's hand. The latter nearly jumps as he steps back, not even bothering to hide the relief washing over his face as he examines his hand.
“Baekbeom is straighter than a broomstick, though.”
Jongdae beams at him. “I have good arguments,” he snickers.
“Yeah, that's what you think.”
Jongdae ignores Baekhyun's comment and gestures toward the sculpture with a tilt of his head.
“Your turn. Say you never kissed Taeyeon.”
Baekhyun grins, rows of white teeth flashing in the night, and he shoves his hand into the mouth without even flinching. Jongdae can't help but wince at the darkness chewing Baekhyun's wrist.
“I've never kissed Taeyeon,” Baekhyun singsongs. He raises his other hand when Jongdae starts to protest, laughter hung up at the corner of his lips, ready to break the silence. “She kissed me,” he concludes with a smirk.
Jongdae grabs his own neck and pretends to throw up as Baekhyun cackles evily.
“Okay, okay, next one!” Baekhyun exclaims, excited. “Your first impression of Junmyeon?”
When Jongdae hesitates, Baekhyun grabs his hand again and shoves it into the mouth, ignoring Jongdae's shriek of protest. He watches with delight as Jongdae fights off the disgust, or at least tries to, and cackles when Jongdae finally admits with a pout that he didn't like Junmyeon at first, because he kind of talked like a pretentious ass. Jongdae takes back his hand glaring at Baekhyun, but his lips quickly turn into a smirk.
“Okay,” he singsongs. “Wanna play? Let's play. Tell me the truth about Taehyung.”
Baekhyun gulps, and Jongdae's smile grows wider as he tilts his head towards the mouth, wiggling his eyebrows. It keeps going for what feels like hours, both of them finding more and more inappropriate questions to throw at the other, and enjoying the other's look of despair when they drop the truth. It's more for the sake of playing, of laughing and breaking the silence with screams of protest and high-pitched whinning, because they both know the answers anyway. There's no space between Jongdae and Baekhyun, even when they stand several feet from each other, and Jongdae can help but think, in the back of his mind, that Baekhyun's peals of laughter didn't reach yet, that they both needed to remember it. They'll be leaving Rome soon, but Jongdae hopes it will stay with them for what's left of their trip. And for what will happen at the end.
There's a slight change in Baekhyun's posture, but Jongdae doesn't notice it right away. It hits him when Baekhyun's fingers wrap around his wrist to put his hand into the mouth. They linger on his skin, sliding up his forearm and stay there, fingertips pressing against Jongdae's elbow, as if to make sure Jongdae won't pull out his hand. Their eyes meet, and the silence of the night comes back, heavy, almost fantastic. Rome is such a living city, Italian conversations bursting everywhere and loud laughters playing with the music on the streets, but right now, it's just Jongdae and Baekhyun.
Jongdae knows what's about to come even before it goes past Baekhyun's slightly wet lips, and for the first time tonight, he's not afraid of the darkness engulfing his hand. He keeps it steady in the hole, fist clenched and nails scrapping against the old surface.
“Promise me,” Baekhyun says, voice lower than ever, and eyes darker than the night. “Promise me you won't forget me.”
Baekhyun pauses, and Jongdae reads the silence easily. Promise you'll always love me, promise it'll always be the same. Promise me we're not walking towards our doom, promise that it won't change a thing between us. Promise me I'll never lose you.
Jongdae reaches with his free hand, fingers finding their way between Baekhyun's, and he presses them between his softly before taking Baekhyun's hand to the mouth of the sculpture. He opens his fist and flicks his wrist, welcoming Baekhyun's palm against his inside of the hole. Baekhyun's hands are delicate, soft and warm when Jongdae's are smaller, fingers thicker and calloused by the guitar's chords, but they still fit in the best way, like pieces of the same puzzle.
“I promise,” Jongdae finally whispers, because talking feels like a blasphemy in the atmosphere currently drowning them. He pauses, and Baekhyun can easily reads the silence. I promise I'll always love you, I promise it'll always stay the same. We're not walking towards our doom, and it won't change a thing between us. I'll never let you go. But there's no relief cascading from Baekhyun's eyes, and Jongdae doesn't feel his heart getting lighter. There are things they can't control, and they both know it.
“I promise too,” Baekhyun murmurs, pressing his thumb against Jongdae's wrist.
It feels better, although still insignificant against the universe and what they have no power over, but it feels better, stronger now that Baekhyun has said it too. They're used to things coming in two, it's always been like that, and at least now, it feels complete.
They keep silent, mouth closed and eyes locked over a few inches of space that don't mean anything, because Jongdae and Baekhyun have always been glued to each other, no matter what. They don't hug like Jongdae and Junmyeon do when they need reassurance, they don't listen their hearts beating next to each other, but it's how it supposed to be. Love is different when it comes to Baekhyun, it comes from a place with not many words, and a lot of feelings.
Twenty seven days before
Paris rains on them with a myriad of monuments, and guide books too thick and too heavy in their bags. They watch the Arc de Triomphe from a fancy coffee terrace, crepes decorated with thin lines of dark chocolate, finesse obvious even in the delicate constructions of red berries on top, in front of them. They take in the heavy lines and the sculptures on the front of the monument with a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream and cocoa powder on top. The Eiffel Tower happens with a cornet full of churros in their hands. They walk through the huge garden, marveling at the taste of the snack and the size of everything, and gasp when the Eiffel Tower shows itself. When they tilt their heads back, eyes squinting because of the sun, trying to see the top of the tower, it feels like the sky itself is inclining, falling on the side, pushed back by the the monument. It's not that beautiful actually, iron clashing violently against the green of the grass and the peacefulness of the Seine, but it still holds something greater in its shape, in the way it goes up and up and up until it's poking the sky and gives you the feeling of falling, even when gravity is still holding onto you.
They don't pay for tickets to visit the tower, choosing to lie in the grass, tiny dots on the Champs de Mars, instead. The Eiffel Tower plays with their perceptions, and the solid ground under their backs starts to undulate as if they were on a boat. Baekhyun gasps, and Jongdae grabs his hand, and they laugh. The sound gets drowned in the conversations all around them as colorful picnic blankets pop up on the grass like spring flowers. Jongdae thinks French sounds weird, but kind of smooth, and the urge to learn La vie en rose takes his breath away. Exactly seven minutes later, Baekhyun hums the chorus, Korean heavy in the words that would probably make no sense to a native speaker, but Jongdae thinks it sounds amazing. He likes having the idea of a thought, and witnessing the said thought bloom in Baekhyun's mind.
Next step is the Bridge of love, le Pont des amoureux in French (”Your accent is still terrible,” Baekhyun snickers). There are thousands of padlocks where there should be barriers, names scribled on the colorful surfaces, sometimes joined with tiny little hearts.
“The story says that couples have to write their names on the padlocks and lock them together on the bridge,” Jongdae explains, looking up from his book. The explosion of colors and iron before him makes him squint his eyes. “Then, they're supposed to throw the keys into the Seine river,” he adds.
Baekhyun glances at the water.
“It's kind of like Namsan Tower.”
Jongdae nods.
“A lots of padlocks have been cut off the... hmm... Pont des Arts,” -Baekhyun cackles-, “shut up,” Jongdae hisses.
“Please, go on.”
“They were getting too heavy for the bridge and people feared that it would eventually break, so they had to cut some of them off.”
Jongdae glances at the concrete under his feet, suddenly unsure, but Baekhyun is still marvelling at the sight before him, and it eases him.
“The story says that if you want to write the name of your lover, you have to hang the padlock on that bridge, but if you want to write the name of the one you desire but don't have, it's the...”
Baekhyun looks away from the padlocks and grins at Jongdae, full of expectation. Jongdae hesitates.
“Another bridge,” he finally concludes, French words remaining silent on the page.
Baekhyun laughs, and Jongdae hits his arm with the guide book. Baekhyun doesn't stop chuckling, even as he drags Jongdae to the nearest hawker, who probably earns its money out of tourists's sudden passion for Paris, and they buy a padlock together. It's a plain one, but it reflects the sunlight in sparkles that blind them, and they both like it.
“We're in Paris,” Baekhyun interrupts Jongdae as the latter is about to write his name on the front of the padlock. “No hangeul.”
“Our names are long though.”
Baekhyun shrugs, and Jongdae sighs. He grumbles, but still applies himself as he writes tiny letters, the tip of his tongue darting out of his mouth. He hands the pen to Baekhyun, and they lock the padlock together. One padlock is enough for them, they're not here to ask whatever god of fate has reading Paris's bridges as a hobby to keep them together forever, they're just telling him to rest assured, the red string of fate is still tight around their wrist.
Baekhyun throws the key into the Seine river, and Jongdae smiles at the fact that Paris is now keeping a little piece of them, just like Rome and Tokyo are. He snaps a picture of the padlock and sends it to Junmyeon, who answers with two red hearts.
kjd&bbh were there
Twenty four days before
When they realize that not two weeks ago, they were still in Seoul, there's a sense of dread that washes over them. Jongdae thinks about the distance, about the fact that they are on the other side of the world, and how easy it was to travel that far. The end of their trip suddenly seems dangerously close. Baekhyun, Jongdae knows it, thinks about time. He counts the days and he realizes how fast they went by, and it feels like they're running out of time even before the end.
They both wake up with swollen eyes, from the heavy nightmares, and numb fingers still tightly intertwined. Paris is still beautiful when they glance at their window, old and new mixed up in the most delicate way, but it also suddenly feels too big. The streets look sharp and ferocious, ready to swallow them whole, and the monuments crack, trying to break free from their roots deep under the concrete to step on them, crumble on their heads. Baekhyun is sitting straight on the edge of the bed, his left shoe still in his hand, and Jongdae easily understands why Baekhyun glances at the door every two second with fear in his eyes. He feels as nervous as his best friend, skin crackling with the tension, and heart ready to explode in his chest. Junmyeon's writing, as messy as Junmyeon looks neat, is overwhelming on the sheet of paper, words scribbled down hastily about French pastries, and things to see. Jongdae doesn't feel like running after wonders today. He puts Junmyeon's guide back into his suitcase.
Baekhyun looks vulnerable and small. It's time he gets a haircut, Jongdae thinks as his eyes follow the long strands of silky hair falling over his best friend's face. He's so skinny, features so soft and delicate that he looks fragile, but Jongdae knows better. Baekhyun is everything but fragile. He's strong enough to make Jongdae's life works, especially when Jongdae forgets how to do it on his own. The helplessness in his best friend's eyes hurts, but it echoes in Jongdae's body as well. He knows what to do, he's always known what to do when it comes to Byun Baekhyun.
Jongdae's fingers press softly against Baekhyun's neck, and his other hand goes for the shoe.
"Change of plans," Jongdae says. Baekhyun answers to his smile with a smaller one, but its instinctive. Jongdae also finds himself smiling whenever Baekhyun's voice curls in his ears. He kneels down before Baekhyun and puts his foot into the shoe.
"We're not going to be tourists today. We're gonna be lazy, really lazy French people."
"What do you mean?" Baekhyun asks while Jongdae ties his shoelace.
Jongdae doesn't answer, and Baekhyun doesn't ask anymore. He lets Jongdae take him by the hand and drag him out of their hotel room. The next smile that pulls up at his lips isn't instinctive, but sincerely amused, and also relieved, when he takes in the building they're now standing before. It makes Jongdae smile too, seeing how Baekhyun breathes more easily suddenly, because he knows how it tastes. Sometimes, he's the one with a weight on his chest and clouds in his mind, and Baekhyun always knows how to chase it all away. They've spent enough time together to have it all figured out by now, and it's hard to be surprised by things they've been feeling for almost all their lives, but the fondness in Baekhyun's eyes is as strong as it was on the very first day. There is no getting used when it comes to their bound, and Jongdae loves that it borders on fairy tales sometimes, with magic that never dies
"We won't understand a thing," Baekhyun protests as Jongdae drags him inside the cinema.
"I know," he answers, grinning. He knows better than to take Baekhyun's pouty lips seriously, especially when his eyes are sparkling with barely contained delight. "But we'll have pop corn."
Baekhyun snorts, but doesn't add anything. Jongdae makes sure to speak with the most accented English possible, feeling secretly sorry for the poor girl trying to understand him, but not so discreetly relishing Baekhyun's mocking chuckles behind his back. His French pops out when he tries to say the movie title, and it's all it takes to take Baekhyun back to his usual state. He shines the brightest when he laughs, and Jongdae basks in the light, feeling very accomplished despite the embarrassment. When they enter the movie room, both the candy girl and the ticket seller are still laughing, but Jongdae couldn't care less about their eyes following him. Baekhyun is clinging to him, cheek pressed against his shoulder, and fingers wrapped around his wrist, and it's everything Jongdae has ever wanted. They're not living in one of those fantasy books they both love so much, and despite the magic lingering between them, there's no fairies in this world, no dangerous and epic quest, but when Baekhyun seizes the air around him like that, Jongdae feels like he could fight dragons and take down evil dark wizards.
They watch the movie, and rewrite the dialogues with low whispers left directly into each other's ear. They end up spending the whole day in the cinema, watching movies that don't make sense, and eating pop corn and candies for lunch and then dinner. Outside of those walls, Jongdae knows it, Paris is getting beautiful again, full of mystery and beautiful things hidden at every street corners, but Junmyeon's notes remain buried in his suitcase, and Baekhyun's laugh keeps echoing through the room.
part 2 >>
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: platonic soulmates!Baekhyun/Jongdae, side!Jongdae/Junmyeon
Wordcount: 15,340
Disclaimer: EXO belongs to themselves and SME
Warning: Unbetaed
Notes: Title taken from Winnie the Pooh.
Written for aprilclaws. Remember when we used to joke about a French fry twin!au? It's actually not quite that, but it's still full of love, and I hope you won't be disappointed. Thank you for being the Baekhyun to my Jongdae.
Summary: I promise I'll always love you, I promise it'll always stay the same. We're not walking towards our doom, and it won't change a thing between us. I'll never let you go.
Incheon is full of life, full of hurry, sobbing goodbyes and cheerful welcome backs, and it all rubs off on Jongdae. His heart is beating so fast in his chest that he fears it might crack his ribs open and rip his skin apart, and he walks with tiny steps, body swaying from right to left as if he wasn't sure where to go. He is though, he's never been more sure, and what feels like pressure in his veins is actually burning anticipation and heady excitation. This day has been marked on his calendar for several months already, and Jongdae has waited for it as much as he feared it, but now that it has finally come, Jongdae finds himself standing proudly on positivity's side. This is the beginning, not the end.
“Are you sure you didn't forget anything?” Junmyeon asks, worry laced all over his voice.
Jongdae nods. “Pretty sure. We made a list, remember?.You helped me packing, twice, because I had to unpack to prove you I had everything.”
Junmyeon smiles, in a nervous tense kind of way, and Jongdae chuckles. He adjusts his bag's strap on his shoulder and leans into Junmyeon, nuzzling his shoulder with a contented smile. He breathes in Junmyeon's expensive cologne and breathes out a sigh. He's usually the one staying behind while Junmyeon flies away to important business meetings, but now that he's holding his own passeport, he finds out that leaving is as hard as staying. It's a heavy mix of feelings in his chest, but not heavy enough to slow him down. They reach the departure lounge and Junmyeon's arm tightens around his waist.
“Promise me you'll be safe,” he asks, stopping Jongdae.
“Of course I will.”
Junmyeon slowly nods, but his fingers remain pressed against Jongdae's hips, curled in the fabric of his shirt. They stare at each other, drowing the airport's noises in silence, and Junmyeon finally sighs. Jongdae can read in his eyes the exact moment Junmyeon gives in, and it just makes him love the elder male even more. When the pale fingers finally let go of his shirt, Jongdae follows them and leans in to kiss Junmyeon on the cheek. Junmyeon presses his palm against the small of Jongdae's back and kisses him on the lips. It's a simple peck, far from the heated kisses they exchanged almost angrily the night before, but with Junmyeon's hand comfortably nested against his back, Jongdae doesn't miss the affection and the love radiating from his boyfriend. Junmyeon cares for the appearences, he's always had, but being in love with Jongdae has made him really creative with the ways he shows his love in public. It's one of the things Jongade likes the most about their relationship. They have their own language.
“Okay,” Junmyeon finally says. He's slightly frowning, eyes going back and forth between Jongdae's face and the departure lounge. “I guess it's time?”
Jongdae nods with a smile. “I'll call you.”
The creases on Junmyeon's forehead soften as he chuckles. “No you won't,” he says. “But that's okay. Have fun. I love you, and I'll miss you.”
Jongdae beams at him, and finally pulls away. He grabs Junmyeon's hand and kisses his fingers lightly before steping back. Junmyeon waves at him with a tiny smile and dark, dark eyes, and Jongdae scrunches up his face in an attempt to make him laugh. It works, it always does, and the last picture of Junmyeon Jongdae takes with him is one of a chuckling Junmyeon, professionalism gone in favor of white teeth flashing out. It's his favorite Junmyeon, and Jongdae makes sure to frame it in the back of his mind as he walks straight into the departure lounge without looking back. He'll miss him, of course he will. But this trip isn't about him, it's never been, and Junmyeon understands it.
Jongdae's eyes scan the people in the departure lounge, but he doesn't have to search long. His gaze is immediately drawned to one particuliar silhouette that has all the worry and the sadness in his heart fading away almost instantly. He walks through the room with a big smile on his face, and when he stops next to the te sligthly taller male, it's another blinding grim that echoes his.
“Ready?” Jongdae asks.
Slender fingers seize the space between his and press softly against his knuckles. Baekhyun flashes him another dazzling smile.
“Ready.”
Tokyo is different from Seoul, but Jongdae figures it might have to do with the fact that everything tastes like freedom since they boarded the plane. The heat sticks to their skins, glues their shirts to their chests and nests in their hair, but Jongdae mostly notices the beautiful shade of silver in the sky, and how well it matches with Tokyo's skyscrapers. They probably didn't choose the best time to leave for Japan, because umbrellas flash everywhere around them, ready to open up with the first raindrop, but Jongdae doesn't really care, and he knows Baekhyun doesn't too. Japan's rainy season or not (“It's called the tsuyu in Japanese”, Baekhyun said in the plane) Tokyo is theirs for five days, and they both intend to enjoy the ride.
Baekhyun's bangs are damp and too long, but Jongdae can still see the look of pure excitation in his eyes. It echoes within him, vibrates in his own heart until Jongdae feels twice happier than before. They probably look weird with their Starbucks drinks in their hands, and standing at the edge of the Shibuya crosswalk without crossing it, but they couldn't care less.
“This is so freaking cool,” Baekhyun sighs as the tenth wave of people spreads around them.
Jongdae frantically nods. “We only have a chance,” he says. “We have to make it right. This will always be the story of how we walked across the Hachiko crossing for the very first time.”
Baekhyun smiles and takes a long sip of his caramel macchiato latte, the rush of sugar widening his smile.
“We could cross it walking on our hands?”
“Yeah,” Jongdae chuckles. “Or we could roly poly our way to the other side.”
Baekhyun laughs, but the sound gets drowned in the cheerful chatting all around them. They couldn't have picked a better spot to give the starting signal for their adventure together, but despite the excitation and mutliple smiles exchanged, Jongdae knows Baekhyun is aware that there's no turning back. Standing on the sidewalk is like freezing time, because if there's no beginning, there's no ending. Once the first step taken, there'll only be moving forward, no matter what they're leaving behind.
Jongdae exhales a heavy sigh. His fingers start to feel numb around his cup, his muscles tensed by the invisible pressure they both feel. It's a countdown waiting for them on the white-strapped concrete, an hourglass they'll never be able to turn around, and eventually, they'll be out of firsts and left with only lasts.
“I know how we're gonna do it,” Baekhyun says, pulling Jongdae out of his reverie.
He turns around to face his best friend and throws him a confused look when Baekhyun hands him his drink. Jongdae can't help but think that Tokyo suits Baekhyun a lot, from the faint stains of colors the huge advertising boards and screens throw on his face to the noise all around them, perfect background for Baekhyun's cheerful intonations. There are days, back in Seoul, when Baekhyun looks like he doesn't belong, dull rainy Sundays that strongly clash with Baekhyun's presence, but it's different here. Even with the latent threat of rain pourring down on them every minute now, Baekhyun shines, Baekhyun fits in the most perfect way. Jongdae thinks Shibuya looks way larger in his best friend's eyes.
Baekhyun gestures towards his own back with a tilt of his head, and Jongdae laughs. He jumps and Baekhyun catches him.
When the traffic lights change to green, they walk through the crowd, and fatality doesn't crush them like they thought it would, because they're too busy laughing at the confused looks they get. Jongdae thinks he'll definitely like telling the story of how he crossed Hachiko crossing, of the colors and the sweetness of the Starbucks coffee lingering on the tip of his tongue, and how he did it piggyback riding Baekhyun.
It's one hell of a story, really. And it also starts the countdown.
Thirty nine days before
“It's kind of sad.”
“Kind of?” Baekhyun chokes. “Where is your heart, Kim Jongdae? This is totally heartbreaking.”
Baekhyun heavily sighs as he clenches his fingers on his heart and slightly tilts his head with a dramatic pout. Jongdae laughs as he wraps his arm around Baekhyun's waist and presses his temple against Baekhyun's shoulder.
“Do you think she really waited for her master everyday?”
Jongdae shrugs.
That's what the story -written in ten different languages in the guide book Jongdae's holding- says, after all. Hachiko was a dog who loved her master very much and used to wait for him at Shibuya's train station until, well, said master died. Then began the sad story of the most famous dog in Japan, and for then years, every single day, Hachiko came and sat down at the gare station's entrance, and she waited, waited, and waited, until waiting lead her to her death. Baekhyun is right, it's a sad story, but it has something almost magical in it that lingers in the ten years between Hachiko's master death and the dog's death, something that Jongdae would like to call destiny, or fate, or whatever people call it. It's a nice thing to witness, he thinks, a love so strong that it even defeats time, the only thing that's supposed to win over everything, and he understands why people would make statues out of it.
"I'm glad she got reunited with her master," Jongdae finally says.
They've been watching the statue for almost forty five minutes now, frozen silhouettes in the middle of the crowd of tourists coming and going, but neither of them feel like moving. Jongdae remembers reading that the statue of Hachiko reunited with her master is only a couple of month old, and on any other day, he would have called it a coincidence, and the statue would have become a blurry memory. Except that he's on a trip with Baekhyun, and everything is different, and they both know it. Baekhyun is biting his lips at the expression of pure joy on Hachiko's face. It was supposed to be easy, running away from the future and the fears, but it's only the first day, and they're both calculating the time they have left, both wondering about a love so strong it defies time.
"Don't tell me you're comparing them to us," Jongdae finally asks, more for the sake of throwing a joke, his mischievous tone breaking the silence out of habit, than actually feeling like laughing.
"I'm not," Baekhyun snorts. "Because it would mean I'm the dog. I can't be the dog. I'm obviously too beautiful as a human."
Jongdae laughs. "Damn right you are."
Baekhyun smiles, and despite everything, it reaches his eyes and blooms all over his face in tiny wrinkles and sparkles of happiness. Jongdae can't help but beam at him in response. That's the thing about Baekhyun, he has that tendency to make the cheesiest love song's lyrics pop into Jongdae's head whenever he's with him, and Jongdae has a thing for cheesy love songs. He writes them for a living, after all, and he always makes sure each one of them would fit Baekhyun's eye smile, because when Baekhyun smiles, the sun shines.
"We should go, or it'll just make us sad. You and I both know that's not the point, right?"
Jongdae nods with a little smile, and Baekhyun grabs his hand. They look at Hachiko one last time, both basking in the possibility of a certain somewhere where a cheerful Hachiko is jumping around her master, and they leave the statue behind. It's that very same idea that follows them all day long, and when they leave the hotel room later that night and step into Shinjuki, Jongdae still thinks about destiny, and red strings of fate. He can't help but think that if there is a love that can defy time, it must come from Baekhyun's easiness to befriend complete strangers, or the delicate fluttering of his lashes against his cheekbones, and it has to end somewhere between his palm pressed against Jongdae's, and the knowing looks they share.
He'll make sure to leave a little of that certainty in the next cheesy love song he'll write, and it'll be another piece of them that will travel through decades. At this rate, they'll probably make it to the end of time.
Thirty seven days before
Tokyo is huge, and everytime Jongdae glances through the floor-to-ceiling windows in their suite (Junmyeon has probably booked one of the most expensive rooms in one of the most expensive hotels in Tokyo for them), he feels like Tokyo is still growing, slowly chewing on the horizon lines and taking over the space left between the sky and the earth. They're standing on the edge of the world on the top of their fancy building, and the world turns out to be nothing more than vivid colors and fainted traffic sounds. Tokyo is slowly becoming a mystical city in Jongdae's head, one of those who float on clouds, and he feels like reality is slipping through his fingers with each minute passing by. They're drifting away, losing all traces of time passing by, losing their grips on what they should be doing, and the reason they're here. It's a sweet confusion, bubbling in their chests like ecstasy, and when they finally fall on the bed with the first rays of sunshine around 4am, Jongdae tries to remember how long it's been since they arrived in Tokyo, how many hours they've spent wandering in the streets. It always drowns in the heat sticking to his skin though, and in the rain crashing against the windows. Whatever would want to hurt them now, reality or what's waiting for them at the end of the trip, it's always too late, because when it's comes back crawling on their bedroom's floor, all of its claws out, Jongdae is already fast asleep against Baekhyun, and Baekhyun is clinging to Jongdae in his sleep. Here, they're out of reach.
They miss a lot of daytime, because Shinjuku by night looks like a maze that only unlocks when the sun comes out, so they get lost between glasses of sake and street food snacks. They leave their watches at the hotel too, choosing to flick their wrists only to make sure that no space can slip between their palms pressed together, or to point at whatever could make the other one smile. It's been so long since Jongdae has lived like that, taking the day as it comes, going to bed laughing with Baekhyun and waking up with his arm around his own waist, and his slight snoring buzzing in his ear, but it's so easy to fall back into old patterns that he doesn't even think about it. It feels like only yesterday they were still roommates, and suddenly, Jongdae is twenty again.
“Will you write a song about this trip?” Baekhyun asks him in Tokyo Skytree's elevator.
They're sharing it with a bunch of Indian girls, and Jongdae can't help but think that they fit in the city, with their long colorful dresses and their excited chatting. He smiles at them and they flash him thousand watt grins.
“Maybe,” Jongdae finally answers. “Will you talk about it to your kids?”
Baekhyun chuckles. “Why would I? They're six, I'm pretty sure they don't care.”
“I don't know,” Jongdae shrugs. “You could add a nice moral, like how important it is to go see the world and meet new people?”
“They're six, Jongdae. Even if they wanted, they couldn't go to Tokyo, not until a long a time anyway.”
“I know! But imagine this. In like fifteen years, one of your ancient students comes back to thank you about that speech because it gave him a dream, and he actually did the trip and he found love, or I don't know, something cool like that.”
Baekhyun stares, dumbfounded. He rolls his eyes, but Jongdae doesn't miss the amused twitch of his lips. He waits for the snarky comeback, the biting jokes about how cheesy he is and how it's really not surprising that you only sell love songs really, waits for how Baekhyun's mocking tone would clash with the soft pressure of his palm against his, but the elevator's doors open and they're asked to step out. The Indian girls wave them goodbye, and Jongdae and Baekhyun both bow down, smiling. Their excited chattering get drowned in the multitude of accents echoing through the place, and their colorful dresses fade away in the crowd of tourists.
Baekhyun pulls at his arm.
“Come on, let's get closer.”
Jongdae lets his best friend take the lead, Baekhyun's small figure easily making its way between bodies while Jongdae flashes apologetic smiles at the mumbling tourists. The tower will close in a couple of hours, but the place is still packed. Jongdae can't blame them, though, because the sight is probably tenth times better at night, and it's not like they were expecting to have the tower only for them anyway. Jongdae doesn't mind the crowd, he never has, but he's hit by a fleeting thought about Junmyeon and how uncomfortable he is standing in a sea of people, and it makes him smile. It's so much easier to feel like the world doesn't exist past the curves of their bodies when he's with Baekhyun, and Jongdae couldn't be happier to get back to this, at least for a while. He's missed having the sky in his head, and the end of the world at his toes.
Baekhyun stops when he reaches the large windows, and Jongdae hears him gasp. He lets go of his hand and steps up next to him. He's immediately meet by a sea of colors and multiple shapes, and there's too many things to see, to notice. He's being overwhelmed, but in the nicest way, and it shoots sparks of electricity and adrenaline through his whole body.
“Okay,” Baekhyun murmurs. “Maybe I'll tell them. They can't miss that.”
Jongdae smiles at Baekhyun's amazed expression, his lips open on a silent 'o' that never leaves the back of his throat, and dark bangs covering his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Jongdae probably doesn't look any better though, because he finds himself whispering a litany of fainted wows and aaaahs as he leans in, pressing his forehead against the glass.
It's raining but the dark and cloudy vibe suits Tokyo. The city has turned into a beautiful game of reflections, purple and blue dancing on the water when they're usually frozen on huge advertising boards. The tiny droplets running down the windows zoom on multiple places, skyscrapers, buildings and large streets, and they catch every color that hits them so well that Jongdae feels like he's watching the city through a kaleidoscope. It's breathtaking, not in a way that has him struggling to breathe, but in a way that turns the oxygen in his lungs into sparkles of raw emotions that crack his skin. Jongdae's fingers tighten on the barrier, his throat constricting around his total lack of words to describe what lays down before him, and he blinks one too many times to appear only amazed at the sight.
“I can't write about that,” he whispers. “I'll never find the words.”
It feels like a death sentence on the tip of his tongue, but no matter how heavy the words are, Jongdae still says them, out of breath. He wants to stay there, he wants that picture to remain forever in his mind, from the way the stormy clouds drown the horizon line to the few quirky umbrellas standing out against a sea of black ones.
“Okay,” Baekhyun whispers, with a small smile ringing through his voice.
Jongdae bites his lips as Baekhyun raises his hand and presses it against the window. He watches his best friend's fingers run on the clean glass, so clean that it's almost translucent, and smiles at Baekhyun's fingertips pocking the highest skyscraper. His index finger stops at the top before plunging and following the city's skyline as if he was drawing it, giving shape to the buildings and the streets. Jongdae chuckles when Baekhyun's slender fingers stop on the Asahi Beer Hall tower, replacing its fainted golden glare with his fingernail.
“Then maybe you could write about us,” Baekhyun finally says.
He turns his head towards Jongdae, and their eyes meet, Baekhyun's sparkling with fondness and mischief, and Jongdae's marvelling at the kaleidoscope now printing on Baekhyun's cheek.
“I could do that,” he nods, grinning.
He's done it before, after all.
Thirty five days before
“Oh man, Tokyo killed me,” Baekhyun sighs as he plops down on his seat.
Jongdae would agree, but he's way too tired to open his mouth and form coherent sentences, so he just nods, and his muscles beg him to let them sleep. He whines and lets the back of his head bounce against his own seat. He gets to sit next to the window this time, but he's pretty sure that he'll be asleep for most of the thirteen hour long flight anyway. He could probably order ten cups of coffee without having the stewardess raise her perfectly plucked eyebrows at him -because they're siting in the first class compartment of the plane (courtesy of his beloved boyfriend)- and hold on to the caffeine to enjoy the view, but their journey is far from being over, and Jongdae doesn't want to carry around the lack of sleep.
Baekhyun streches his legs with a content sigh. They both agreed to stay awake until the plane takes off, but the seats are so comfortable, and they have five days of endless wandering across Tokyo's streets weighing on their legs. Jongdae finds himself daydreaming about the hotel room waiting for them in Rome, until daydreaming borders dangerously on actually dreaming. He grips the armchairs and blinks, trying to chase the sleep from his eyes. Baekhyun's gaze is lazily following the stewardess and the last passengers.
“It's gonna be a fucking suite again, isn't it?” Baekhyun mumbles, the words coming out muffled and barely articulated between two yawns.
Jongdae smiles, eyes closed, because Baekhyun's words are answering to his own thoughts. Even if it's happened so many times before he can't really be surprised anymore, it still appears almost magical to him. They're both really chatty people, but they actually don't need words when they're together, so when they do talk, it feels different. Words that break the silence because they're wanted, and not only needed, don't leave the same feeling on the tip of your tongue. It's one of the many perks at having Baekhyun as his best friend, because Baekhyun always listens, even when there's just silence around them.
“Of course it's going to be a suite,” Baekhyun groans. “It's Kim Junmoney.”
Jongdae opens his eyes and turns his face towards Baekhyun, silent. There's a bit of resentment darkening Baekhyun's tired eyes, anger in the way his fingers fidget against the armchair, and sad resignation when his eyes finally meet Jongdae's. It's not that Baekhyun doesn't like Junmyeon, because he and Jongdae are pratically the same person, and Jongdae loves Junmyeon way too much for Baekhyun to see a single flaw in Junmyeon's personality. Junmyeon made the whole trip possible, the first class plane tickets and the fancy suites, the champagne and the souvenirs filling both their suitcases, but Junmyeon also made other things possible. Things that, maybe, Jongdae and Baekhyun once wished wouldn't happen.
Baekhyun's features soften, and Jongdae knows it's because of the guilt in his own eyes, laced with fear and regret, but he can't help himself, not when he's so used to share everything with Baekhyun.
“I hope we'll get to have, I don't know, spectacular view of the Colosseum or something like that.”
Jongdae smiles softly at Baekhyun's words, following his best friend's playful tone to leave behind the silence and everything that comes with it.
“It's a five star hotel,” he explains. “Called the Palazzo Manfredi, and--”
“Wait, wait,” Baekhyun interrupts him.
He straightens on his seat and rotates so he can face Jongdae. He crosses his legs, the tip of his shoes brushing against Jongdae's shins, and his eyes flash a mischievous sparkle at Jongdae as his long fingers graciously land on the armchair between them.
“Drum roll,” he clarifies.
Jongdae snorts, but goes with it nonetheless. He waits an appropriate amount of time to build up the suspense. He does not measure it with how many times Baekhyun's fingers tap on the armchair though, but with his best friend's smile. When it grows so wide it reaches Baekhyun's ears and reduces his eyes into tiny slits, Jongdae knows it's the perfect moment.
“It has a spectacular view of the Colosseum!”
Baekhyun cheers loudly, claps and stomps his feet on the ground, until a stewardess comes to them, and politely asks them to lower the volume. Baekhyun makes her blush with his sorry smile, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, and Jongdae cackles when she almost loses her balance, her heels suddenly too high for her as he turns around.
They both sigh with contented smiles as they let their heads go against the back of their seats, and Jongdae only realizes that Baekhyun is holding his hand, fingers tightly intertwined, when he holds out his own hand to grab Baekhyun's with the very same intention. Baekhyun winks at him, and Jongdae chuckles, just like he did the first time Baekhyun took his hand. They were three, tiny and chubby, but Baekhyun's hand felt so right against his, and more than twenty years later, it still does. At this point, they both know it'll aways do.
Jongdae's fingers tigthen their hold as he thinks about the start of their friendship, the silent pull that forced him to talk to the brightest boy in his class, and the myriad of things he's experienced thanks to Baekhyun. Jongdae got so lucky, because he found his place in the world when he was only three, and he never had to worry about the universe's pettiness, but now, he feels like he finally got caught by the fears and the questions without answers. He knows he can't possibly ask for more, because he already got everything at such a young age, but as sleep slides behind his closed eyelids, he still sends a mutted prayer to the universe. If there's someone up there pulling the strings, Jongdae wants them to know how serious he is about Baekhyun. He doesn't ask for the impossible, he just prays that their friendship, the intense game of pull and Baekhyun's comforting palm against his, will never cease to be, no matter what. He wants their story to keep taking him to the most unexpected places, figuratively or not, and he wants to lose the ferrous taste of lead in his mouth and the fatality knotting his stomach, because this can't be their last journey together.
Thirty four to thirty two days before
Tokyo was for the eyes, Rome is for the mind.
Baekhyun and Jongdae feel small in the Sistine Chapel, heads thrown back and neck muscles begging for mercy. Jongdae has to fight off the urge to scream, feeling like the walls would send him back the most beautiful echo of his voice, and it results in Baekhyun violently pinching his arms everytime he opens his mouth. They laugh a lot, take picture, and the jet lag fades from their faces everytime they smile for them, v-poses and aegyo invading the ones they send to Junmyeon. Jongdae feels like some golden dust fell from the walls, the paintings and the sculptures, directly into his eyes. Whenever he blinks, his eyelids light up and he gets drowned in the amount of details again.
They feel even smaller when their tired feet take them to the Colosseum, but they still wander through it. There's an heavy silence on their shoulders, heavier than the excited and amazed tourists's whimpers, and both Baekhyun and Jongdae pull out the earphones stating mutliple historic facts in their ears. There's so much stone, so much dust and even more memories, and they crawl on the ground under their feet, curl around their ankles and vibrate in their chests. Out of the corner of his eyes, Jongdae catches Baekhyun wiping his eyes with his ring finger, and he instinctively reaches out, handing his wrist to his best friend. Baekhyun smiles fondly and dries his finger against the soft skin on the inside of Jongdae's wrist. It's one of Baekhyun's weird habits, just like his faint whimpers when he falls asleep, but Jongdae's been around for too long to still be aware of them. They link their fingers, and keep quiet until the visit is over. Baekhyun's eyes keep tearing up, but Jongdae doesn't ask, nor does he worry. Baekhyun has always been too small, silhouette too delicate and fragile, for the big things he likes to have nesting in his chest. His heart is probably larger than his rib cage, and it sometimes overflows. He's probably thinking about centuries and millenniums, billions of lions and tigers growling and the crowd's howling; even giving life to the fear that used to linger in this place, hand in hand with a dreadful excitation, and writing a backstory for every tear of blood that graced the dusty floor. Jongdae has always been in love with the way Baekhyun would write stories with his eyes only, how he takes in the most surreal plots and makes them sound so epic and too big to be forgotten, so when they both reach the exit of the Colosseum, it's no surprise that he's crying too.
It only takes one cup of panacotta each, and a slice of pomegranate tiramisu for them to finally break the silence, and come back to reality. But just to be sure, they both order a slice of a cake called zuppa inglese, and it has them expressing their pleasure in loud onomatopeias, their mouth full of creme patissiere.
Rome is probably for their stomachs, just as much as it is for their minds.
Thirty nights before
“Junmyeon put it in his list, and he wrote 'go there early if you want to have a chance to actually put your hand into the mouth' next,” Jongdae explains, eyes sparkling. They're dark, darker than ever because there's no sunlight to catch the slightly lighter brown splinters.
Baekhyun raises an eyebrow at the streetlights, taking in the darkness around them before turning to face Jongdae. Jongdae flashes him a sly smile, the corners of his lips turning into a feline smirk, and when Baekhyun's mischievous grin echoes his, he knows his best friend has read between the lines.
“Midnight is pretty early,” Baekhyun states, and Jongdae vigorously nods. “So we can play with it all night long.”
Jongdae opens his mouth, ready to burst, to finally let out the peals of laughter he's been holding back until then, but he stops and shrugs.
“At least until someone asks us to leave. I'm pretty sure there are night-watchmen, but yeah.”
Baekhyun chuckles, excitation glowing brighter in his eyes than the streetlights. If anything, the possibility of being caught makes it all even more tempting, and it's enough to have them walking towards the old sculpture without a look over their shoulders. Jongdae remembers past adventures, like their nightly break-ins into the library back when they were still in college, or that week-end they decided to spend in the moutains with nothing more than a couple of blankets. This is just one of them, and it's refreshing to fall back into old patterns, to experience the shots of adrenaline again. It's nothing like the time they didn't show up for their finals, choosing to go to Jeju Island instead because they couldn't cope with the fact that college would be over soon, but it still burns in Jongdae's veins. He's always had the tendency to draw conclusions from the tiniest signs, and Baekhyun has always laughed at him for that, but even Baekhyun can't argue with the heavy meaning lingering in the sound of their footsteps. It feels like they're back at ancient times, when Baekhyun and Jongdae were pretty different, but always running around together.
“What's the legend again?” Baekhyun asks as they stop before the sculpture.
Jongdae throws a suspicious look at the sculpture, not daring to speak at first. It looks creepy in the night, erased lines jutting out sharply against shadows. The face is hazy, partially eaten by the centuries, but the mouth and the eyes are still perfectly defined, deep abysses that stand out in the night as if darkness itself crawled out of them. It looks like it's wailing, or chanting some dark incantation, and Jongdae is suddenly not so sure about coming here in the middle of the night.
“Jongdae?” Baekhyun enquires.
“Wait a second, this is fucking creepy, I'm trying really hard not to scream.”
Baekhyun snorts, and before Jongdae can say anything, Baekhyun shoves his hand into the sculpture's mouth. Jongdae gasps when darkness engulfs his best friend's long and pale fingers, and his shoulders tense. Baekhyun throws a very judging look at him.
“Kim Jongdae is such a fucking coward,” he states.
They both stare at the sculpture, and wait for the magic that doesn't happen during the day to come to life now that it's so dark around them, their hearts bumping loudly against their eardrums. Five whole minutes fly by, and the tension in Jongdae's muscles lessen until all is left is a heavy feeling of discomfort at the dark eyes staring back at him.
“Mouth of truth indeed,” Baekhyun chuckles as he pulls his hand out.
“Fuck you very much,” Jongdae groans. “Plus, it's Bocca della Verità.”
Baekhyun's grin only gets wider. “Your accent is terrible.”
“You're terrible,” Jongdae emphasizes, but his voice ends in a high pitched sound that clashes against the walls of his throat as Baekhyun suddenly grabs him. When he realizes what his best friend is aiming to do, it's already too late. He gives up on the mere idea of struggling, and settles for a weak whimper when Baekhyun shoves his hand into the mouth.
It's cold, wet, and he can't see his fingers anymore, which makes him really nervous. He doesn't move them though, too afraid of what they might brush against in the darkness of the hole.
“Now,” Baekhyun jubilates. “Dare tell me you've never had a crush on my brother.”
Jongdae groans, but Baekhyun's hold on his wrist tightens.
“It's been years, I can't believe you still haven't let go.”
“Go on, Jongdae-yah.” Jongdae glares at the suffix, aka Baekhyun's favorite weapon when he wants to act all smug and annoying. “You know the legend. The mouth will cut your hand off if you don't say the truth.”
“That's fucking stupid,” Jongdae grumbles, but Baekhyun keeps smiling, soft fingertips pressing against the inside of Jongdae's wrist.
Jongdae bites his lower lip, eyes going back and forth between the mouth of the sculpture and its eyes, and the more he looks, the darker it gets.
“Okay, I did have a crush on your brother!” he whines, stomping his feet. Not too much though, he wouldn't want the gesture to make his fingers crash against the walls of the mouth. “I thought it could be convenient if I'd marry Baekbeom. We'd end up as a real family, or whatever.”
Baekhyun chuckles as he finally lets go of Jongdae's hand. The latter nearly jumps as he steps back, not even bothering to hide the relief washing over his face as he examines his hand.
“Baekbeom is straighter than a broomstick, though.”
Jongdae beams at him. “I have good arguments,” he snickers.
“Yeah, that's what you think.”
Jongdae ignores Baekhyun's comment and gestures toward the sculpture with a tilt of his head.
“Your turn. Say you never kissed Taeyeon.”
Baekhyun grins, rows of white teeth flashing in the night, and he shoves his hand into the mouth without even flinching. Jongdae can't help but wince at the darkness chewing Baekhyun's wrist.
“I've never kissed Taeyeon,” Baekhyun singsongs. He raises his other hand when Jongdae starts to protest, laughter hung up at the corner of his lips, ready to break the silence. “She kissed me,” he concludes with a smirk.
Jongdae grabs his own neck and pretends to throw up as Baekhyun cackles evily.
“Okay, okay, next one!” Baekhyun exclaims, excited. “Your first impression of Junmyeon?”
When Jongdae hesitates, Baekhyun grabs his hand again and shoves it into the mouth, ignoring Jongdae's shriek of protest. He watches with delight as Jongdae fights off the disgust, or at least tries to, and cackles when Jongdae finally admits with a pout that he didn't like Junmyeon at first, because he kind of talked like a pretentious ass. Jongdae takes back his hand glaring at Baekhyun, but his lips quickly turn into a smirk.
“Okay,” he singsongs. “Wanna play? Let's play. Tell me the truth about Taehyung.”
Baekhyun gulps, and Jongdae's smile grows wider as he tilts his head towards the mouth, wiggling his eyebrows. It keeps going for what feels like hours, both of them finding more and more inappropriate questions to throw at the other, and enjoying the other's look of despair when they drop the truth. It's more for the sake of playing, of laughing and breaking the silence with screams of protest and high-pitched whinning, because they both know the answers anyway. There's no space between Jongdae and Baekhyun, even when they stand several feet from each other, and Jongdae can help but think, in the back of his mind, that Baekhyun's peals of laughter didn't reach yet, that they both needed to remember it. They'll be leaving Rome soon, but Jongdae hopes it will stay with them for what's left of their trip. And for what will happen at the end.
There's a slight change in Baekhyun's posture, but Jongdae doesn't notice it right away. It hits him when Baekhyun's fingers wrap around his wrist to put his hand into the mouth. They linger on his skin, sliding up his forearm and stay there, fingertips pressing against Jongdae's elbow, as if to make sure Jongdae won't pull out his hand. Their eyes meet, and the silence of the night comes back, heavy, almost fantastic. Rome is such a living city, Italian conversations bursting everywhere and loud laughters playing with the music on the streets, but right now, it's just Jongdae and Baekhyun.
Jongdae knows what's about to come even before it goes past Baekhyun's slightly wet lips, and for the first time tonight, he's not afraid of the darkness engulfing his hand. He keeps it steady in the hole, fist clenched and nails scrapping against the old surface.
“Promise me,” Baekhyun says, voice lower than ever, and eyes darker than the night. “Promise me you won't forget me.”
Baekhyun pauses, and Jongdae reads the silence easily. Promise you'll always love me, promise it'll always be the same. Promise me we're not walking towards our doom, promise that it won't change a thing between us. Promise me I'll never lose you.
Jongdae reaches with his free hand, fingers finding their way between Baekhyun's, and he presses them between his softly before taking Baekhyun's hand to the mouth of the sculpture. He opens his fist and flicks his wrist, welcoming Baekhyun's palm against his inside of the hole. Baekhyun's hands are delicate, soft and warm when Jongdae's are smaller, fingers thicker and calloused by the guitar's chords, but they still fit in the best way, like pieces of the same puzzle.
“I promise,” Jongdae finally whispers, because talking feels like a blasphemy in the atmosphere currently drowning them. He pauses, and Baekhyun can easily reads the silence. I promise I'll always love you, I promise it'll always stay the same. We're not walking towards our doom, and it won't change a thing between us. I'll never let you go. But there's no relief cascading from Baekhyun's eyes, and Jongdae doesn't feel his heart getting lighter. There are things they can't control, and they both know it.
“I promise too,” Baekhyun murmurs, pressing his thumb against Jongdae's wrist.
It feels better, although still insignificant against the universe and what they have no power over, but it feels better, stronger now that Baekhyun has said it too. They're used to things coming in two, it's always been like that, and at least now, it feels complete.
They keep silent, mouth closed and eyes locked over a few inches of space that don't mean anything, because Jongdae and Baekhyun have always been glued to each other, no matter what. They don't hug like Jongdae and Junmyeon do when they need reassurance, they don't listen their hearts beating next to each other, but it's how it supposed to be. Love is different when it comes to Baekhyun, it comes from a place with not many words, and a lot of feelings.
Twenty seven days before
Paris rains on them with a myriad of monuments, and guide books too thick and too heavy in their bags. They watch the Arc de Triomphe from a fancy coffee terrace, crepes decorated with thin lines of dark chocolate, finesse obvious even in the delicate constructions of red berries on top, in front of them. They take in the heavy lines and the sculptures on the front of the monument with a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream and cocoa powder on top. The Eiffel Tower happens with a cornet full of churros in their hands. They walk through the huge garden, marveling at the taste of the snack and the size of everything, and gasp when the Eiffel Tower shows itself. When they tilt their heads back, eyes squinting because of the sun, trying to see the top of the tower, it feels like the sky itself is inclining, falling on the side, pushed back by the the monument. It's not that beautiful actually, iron clashing violently against the green of the grass and the peacefulness of the Seine, but it still holds something greater in its shape, in the way it goes up and up and up until it's poking the sky and gives you the feeling of falling, even when gravity is still holding onto you.
They don't pay for tickets to visit the tower, choosing to lie in the grass, tiny dots on the Champs de Mars, instead. The Eiffel Tower plays with their perceptions, and the solid ground under their backs starts to undulate as if they were on a boat. Baekhyun gasps, and Jongdae grabs his hand, and they laugh. The sound gets drowned in the conversations all around them as colorful picnic blankets pop up on the grass like spring flowers. Jongdae thinks French sounds weird, but kind of smooth, and the urge to learn La vie en rose takes his breath away. Exactly seven minutes later, Baekhyun hums the chorus, Korean heavy in the words that would probably make no sense to a native speaker, but Jongdae thinks it sounds amazing. He likes having the idea of a thought, and witnessing the said thought bloom in Baekhyun's mind.
Next step is the Bridge of love, le Pont des amoureux in French (”Your accent is still terrible,” Baekhyun snickers). There are thousands of padlocks where there should be barriers, names scribled on the colorful surfaces, sometimes joined with tiny little hearts.
“The story says that couples have to write their names on the padlocks and lock them together on the bridge,” Jongdae explains, looking up from his book. The explosion of colors and iron before him makes him squint his eyes. “Then, they're supposed to throw the keys into the Seine river,” he adds.
Baekhyun glances at the water.
“It's kind of like Namsan Tower.”
Jongdae nods.
“A lots of padlocks have been cut off the... hmm... Pont des Arts,” -Baekhyun cackles-, “shut up,” Jongdae hisses.
“Please, go on.”
“They were getting too heavy for the bridge and people feared that it would eventually break, so they had to cut some of them off.”
Jongdae glances at the concrete under his feet, suddenly unsure, but Baekhyun is still marvelling at the sight before him, and it eases him.
“The story says that if you want to write the name of your lover, you have to hang the padlock on that bridge, but if you want to write the name of the one you desire but don't have, it's the...”
Baekhyun looks away from the padlocks and grins at Jongdae, full of expectation. Jongdae hesitates.
“Another bridge,” he finally concludes, French words remaining silent on the page.
Baekhyun laughs, and Jongdae hits his arm with the guide book. Baekhyun doesn't stop chuckling, even as he drags Jongdae to the nearest hawker, who probably earns its money out of tourists's sudden passion for Paris, and they buy a padlock together. It's a plain one, but it reflects the sunlight in sparkles that blind them, and they both like it.
“We're in Paris,” Baekhyun interrupts Jongdae as the latter is about to write his name on the front of the padlock. “No hangeul.”
“Our names are long though.”
Baekhyun shrugs, and Jongdae sighs. He grumbles, but still applies himself as he writes tiny letters, the tip of his tongue darting out of his mouth. He hands the pen to Baekhyun, and they lock the padlock together. One padlock is enough for them, they're not here to ask whatever god of fate has reading Paris's bridges as a hobby to keep them together forever, they're just telling him to rest assured, the red string of fate is still tight around their wrist.
Baekhyun throws the key into the Seine river, and Jongdae smiles at the fact that Paris is now keeping a little piece of them, just like Rome and Tokyo are. He snaps a picture of the padlock and sends it to Junmyeon, who answers with two red hearts.
kjd&bbh were there
Twenty four days before
When they realize that not two weeks ago, they were still in Seoul, there's a sense of dread that washes over them. Jongdae thinks about the distance, about the fact that they are on the other side of the world, and how easy it was to travel that far. The end of their trip suddenly seems dangerously close. Baekhyun, Jongdae knows it, thinks about time. He counts the days and he realizes how fast they went by, and it feels like they're running out of time even before the end.
They both wake up with swollen eyes, from the heavy nightmares, and numb fingers still tightly intertwined. Paris is still beautiful when they glance at their window, old and new mixed up in the most delicate way, but it also suddenly feels too big. The streets look sharp and ferocious, ready to swallow them whole, and the monuments crack, trying to break free from their roots deep under the concrete to step on them, crumble on their heads. Baekhyun is sitting straight on the edge of the bed, his left shoe still in his hand, and Jongdae easily understands why Baekhyun glances at the door every two second with fear in his eyes. He feels as nervous as his best friend, skin crackling with the tension, and heart ready to explode in his chest. Junmyeon's writing, as messy as Junmyeon looks neat, is overwhelming on the sheet of paper, words scribbled down hastily about French pastries, and things to see. Jongdae doesn't feel like running after wonders today. He puts Junmyeon's guide back into his suitcase.
Baekhyun looks vulnerable and small. It's time he gets a haircut, Jongdae thinks as his eyes follow the long strands of silky hair falling over his best friend's face. He's so skinny, features so soft and delicate that he looks fragile, but Jongdae knows better. Baekhyun is everything but fragile. He's strong enough to make Jongdae's life works, especially when Jongdae forgets how to do it on his own. The helplessness in his best friend's eyes hurts, but it echoes in Jongdae's body as well. He knows what to do, he's always known what to do when it comes to Byun Baekhyun.
Jongdae's fingers press softly against Baekhyun's neck, and his other hand goes for the shoe.
"Change of plans," Jongdae says. Baekhyun answers to his smile with a smaller one, but its instinctive. Jongdae also finds himself smiling whenever Baekhyun's voice curls in his ears. He kneels down before Baekhyun and puts his foot into the shoe.
"We're not going to be tourists today. We're gonna be lazy, really lazy French people."
"What do you mean?" Baekhyun asks while Jongdae ties his shoelace.
Jongdae doesn't answer, and Baekhyun doesn't ask anymore. He lets Jongdae take him by the hand and drag him out of their hotel room. The next smile that pulls up at his lips isn't instinctive, but sincerely amused, and also relieved, when he takes in the building they're now standing before. It makes Jongdae smile too, seeing how Baekhyun breathes more easily suddenly, because he knows how it tastes. Sometimes, he's the one with a weight on his chest and clouds in his mind, and Baekhyun always knows how to chase it all away. They've spent enough time together to have it all figured out by now, and it's hard to be surprised by things they've been feeling for almost all their lives, but the fondness in Baekhyun's eyes is as strong as it was on the very first day. There is no getting used when it comes to their bound, and Jongdae loves that it borders on fairy tales sometimes, with magic that never dies
"We won't understand a thing," Baekhyun protests as Jongdae drags him inside the cinema.
"I know," he answers, grinning. He knows better than to take Baekhyun's pouty lips seriously, especially when his eyes are sparkling with barely contained delight. "But we'll have pop corn."
Baekhyun snorts, but doesn't add anything. Jongdae makes sure to speak with the most accented English possible, feeling secretly sorry for the poor girl trying to understand him, but not so discreetly relishing Baekhyun's mocking chuckles behind his back. His French pops out when he tries to say the movie title, and it's all it takes to take Baekhyun back to his usual state. He shines the brightest when he laughs, and Jongdae basks in the light, feeling very accomplished despite the embarrassment. When they enter the movie room, both the candy girl and the ticket seller are still laughing, but Jongdae couldn't care less about their eyes following him. Baekhyun is clinging to him, cheek pressed against his shoulder, and fingers wrapped around his wrist, and it's everything Jongdae has ever wanted. They're not living in one of those fantasy books they both love so much, and despite the magic lingering between them, there's no fairies in this world, no dangerous and epic quest, but when Baekhyun seizes the air around him like that, Jongdae feels like he could fight dragons and take down evil dark wizards.
They watch the movie, and rewrite the dialogues with low whispers left directly into each other's ear. They end up spending the whole day in the cinema, watching movies that don't make sense, and eating pop corn and candies for lunch and then dinner. Outside of those walls, Jongdae knows it, Paris is getting beautiful again, full of mystery and beautiful things hidden at every street corners, but Junmyeon's notes remain buried in his suitcase, and Baekhyun's laugh keeps echoing through the room.
part 2 >>