homesick (for your arms) [1/2]
kai/kyungsoo, side!sehun/baekhyun | romance, kitty!au | pg | 15k
I could look into your eyes until the sun comes up and we're wrapped in the love built between our embrace.
Note: Originally written for lattelotus in kittyexo12's exchange.
The strokes of pen against paper spell the symphony of Jongin’s life; of a world constructed of words and nothing more.
He fills the corners of his home with descriptions of the children playing down the street, scribbles fragments of sentences into the margins of any paper he can find. He lets the words seep from his brain and down the drain when he’s in the shower with only descriptions rolling around in his head of how the eyes of the grocer he met last week curve like the bends of the moon. Adjectives live on his tongue, verbs on his fingers, and nouns at the very tip of midnight eyelashes.
He builds his view of the world with carefully crafted sentences that hang from his mouth like a person falling off the side of a bridge.
Jongin doesn’t mind when the words cave in on him and the only thing left is the black ink stained into tan fingertips, vision too blurred to see anything outside the layers of opacity. He doesn’t mind because he’s in love with words and stories and the way eyes can be written into faces a thousand different ways.
There has never been an anomaly in which Jongin couldn’t put down on paper or fathom into coherent thoughts. He prides himself on that, because as a writer, it is his job to scrawl down the truths he finds about everything: life, love, and the pursuit of happiness.
But maybe they’re all the same thing.
Jongin will write it down when he finds out.
//
The sunlight that drifts into the room maps constellations of phosphenes on the backs of Jongin’s eyelids, eliciting a groan that tumbles over the thick coat of sleep in his throat. There is a crick pounding into the back of his neck like a wedge between the vertebrates of his spine and his hands feel oddly numb, like they’ve been dipped in dry ice.
He fell asleep at his desk again, he realizes when he sits up groggily to the feeling of his back splitting into two and his computer stirring to life as his face lifts off of the keys. The last thing he remembers is 3am when the loneliness consumed him yet did not destroy him. And so he sat in this chair with the moonlight shrouding the side of his face and his spine slumped into melancholy.
The first thing he does is scour his cupboard for coffee and, when he doesn’t find any behind the sugar or hidden under bags of popcorn, Jongin slips out of his sweatpants and into a pair of jeans that he isn’t sure are clean or not. As much as he dislikes running errands, because on most days even smiling to a vendor takes too much out of him, he can’t live without his coffee.
Coffee is life.
He’s pretty sure it’s Winter still-- changing into Spring, now-- so he wraps a scarf around his neck after shrugging a sweatshirt over his wifebeater and tugging his tennis shoes over barren feet. The overhead lights in the kitchen make the tiles in front of his door shine, white morphing into brown before seeping into the plaster between them. Jongin could sit there for hours, tracing the swirls of patterns of light with the tip of his finger; there is something beautiful in the intrinsic patterns lining the world.
The hallway leading to the elevator is covered in a lethargic light that dips into the velvet carpet, highlighting the room’s worst features and draw creatures from the shadows. The air wraps around his legs, pressed against his chest uncomfortably, the ends of his hair dipping into hues of horrid. The sound of his door slamming shut on creaky hinges is drowned out by another one right beside him, pulling a flinch from him from the loud noise.
Jongin glances up discreetly through his thick brown fringe, watching his neighbor lock his door at the same time he does. The man is muscular, like a dancer would be, with a dimple etched into the side of his face even though Jongin doesn’t see anything worth smiling about. Their apartment building isn’t the best, with a devil’s light flickering in one corner of the corridor and cracking wood, and one of the numbers on the man’s door is barely holding on by a screw.
He doesn’t realize he’s zoned out until that smile is directed towards him, and Jongin does his best to match it, even if it doesn’t reach his eyes. Jongin stands up straight as his neighbor walks towards him, a sudden bout of anxiety ripping at his stomach in the prospect of social contact.
“Hi!” the man says, and his eyes are gentle and kind and it quells the flow of his tension into a slow rock of unfamiliarity.
“Hi,” Jongin replies. Then a thought pops into his head, and he glances at the door the stranger came from. “What, uh, what happened to Mrs. Jung?”
His neighbor looks confused for a second, not expecting the question, but then the smile is slipping from his face and something heavy settles into Jongin’s gut. “She passed away,” the stranger laments. “About three months ago, actually. That’s when I moved in.”
Has it been that long since he left his apartment? He can’t remember.
“Oh,” Jongin deadpans. The image of her sons coming to carry her things away weaves its way into the folds of his brain, digging out wells of contrition. Mrs. Jung had been nice to him, baking him pies occasionally. He should have been there for her funeral.
As if reading his thoughts, trying to pull him away from all of the bad things that pile in his head, the stranger adds, “my name is Yixing. What’s yours?”
“Jongin,” he nods mournfully, and he thinks that the droop in his lips will be there long after this day has ended. “Nice to meet you, Yixing.”
“It’s nice to meet you too!” the stranger-- Yixing-- smiles widely, the arch of his eyes curving just right behind the curl of his lashes. “I have to go now,” he says after shaking Jongin’s hand. “There’s work to be done and hybrid food to be bought.” Yixing laughs, and after he’s already lost behind grey elevator doors, Jongin realizes it was a joke.
//
The sidewalk is littered with chunks of chewed gum and plastic cups tumbling with every blow of the winter breeze that cuts into Jongin’s skin, puddles filling in dips of concrete from piles of melted snow. The store he’s walking to sits at the corner of lonely and seemingly-deserted, its white walls stained with dirt and the ice box outside is missing a door, but as Jongin nears the establishment, his heart elates, swelling in his chest with the contentment of comfort and home.
He grew up coming to this store with his best friend, Baekhyun, whose father owned the store. During Winter they would pour cup after cup of hot chocolate, drinking it too soon-- his father always scolded them for it-- and burnt their tongues. Summer was made for stealing ice creams from the ice box, sneaking out the door with them stuffed under their shirts, and Baekhyun’s father pretending not to notice with a smile on his face. Looking back at it now, he can’t believe they were so foolish, and it brings a smile to his face.
The metal of the door under his palm is freezing, serrading into the wrinkles of his hand, but Jongin grins with nostalgia as he pushes it open. “So he lives!” Baekhyun’s sonorous voice is heard over the chime of the convenience store bell, the underlying smell of gasoline flitting up his nose, and the line of customers in front of the counter all turning towards Jongin at once. The attention pricks into his skin uncomfortably.
Jongin really hates Baekhyun sometimes.
“I didn’t think you could do it, but you beat your previous record,” he continues, following Jongin with his eyes as he walks around the store. His hands and eyes keep busy scanning items, the numbers on the cash register increasing each time. “Almost two months, Jongin! Two fucking months.”
Jongin frowns when he reaches the coffee machine at the back of the store. “Should you be swearing like that in front of customers?” he asks in a shout, grabbing one of the styrofoam cups from the holder and setting it on the counter. It doesn’t seem like he’ll be getting free coffee today.
The store goes quiet for a second; only the snap of fingers, then some footsteps padding against brown tile until they die out once again into silence. “We were all worried about you, Jongin.” That voice is suddenly a lot closer than before, then Baekhyun’s body heat sears against the back of his neck and he jumps.
“Jesus Christ,” Jongin mumbles under his breath, and the sway of his shaky hand knocks over his cup. He catches it before it hits the ground. “What are you doing back here, Baek? Who’s even watching the register?”
“Sehun,” Baekhyun answers sharply, and Jongin avoids looking him in the eyes by watching the drips of coffee land in his cup. “Two months,” he whispers in a hiss, pressing himself into Jongin’s arm. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”
“I know,” Jongin sighs. He snaps a lid on his cup before turning to face Baekhyun, finally looking down into Baekhyun’s puppy-dog eyes. “It’s just I’ve been working on a new novel and it isn’t turning out the way I wanted to and--”
“Excuses, excuses,” Baekhyun sighs, but now his irises are softer, malleable copper that bends around the black of his pupils, and Jongin knows he’s forgiven.
“It won’t happen again. I promise.”
Baekhyun just raises an eyebrow. “But you still have to make it up to us this time,” he puffs out his chest, and Jongin would roll his eyes if he didn’t want to save the two dollars in his pocket. “We’re all going out to dinner on the last Friday of the month. If you don’t show up I will take it as a personal insult and I am not afraid to come to your house and drag you off that god-forsaken computer, got it?”
That’s when Sehun bounds around the aisles of snack food, his tail flicking through a box of lollipops and ears flicking back distastefully. Baekhyun glances towards him, asking, “why aren’t you at the counter?” while Jongin watches the specks of gold in his eyes reflect stray beams of light. His hair is coffee-colored with thin highlights around the end of his tail, his fringe long and dancing over his eyebrows as the heater blows directly on him.
He’s a beautiful breed, pure-bred and expensive, and there have been many times where Baekhyun has suggested for Jongin to get a cat himself. Maybe they could help keep him grounded in reality. But he’s never been interested in having to take care of someone other than himself.
“There are no more customers,” Sehun answers lazily, draping himself across the smaller man. “And nobody has seen Jonginnie in two months, nearly. It’s practically a holiday.”
“I get it, I get it,” Jongin whines, throwing his hands up in the air in surrender. Baekhyun cocks his head in glory, like he’s proved something Jongin didn’t already know. “I disappeared. I won’t do it again.”
“Damn right you won’t,” Sehun yawns, and Jongin watches the way his fingers drift across Baekhyun’s chest, his nails dragging the material of his shirt. “I had to listen to this guy complain every other week about not hearing from you. I could only shut him up by--”
“That’s enough, Sehun,” Baekhyun cuts in, elbowing the younger boy to get off of him.
Jongin snorts unattractively, finally remembering his coffee. He wraps nimble fingers around the styrofoam, the warmth of the drink seeping into his skin and the smell wafting up, sending his senses into a crazed frenzy. “Yeah,” he says after a slow sip of his drink, “I don’t particularly feel like hear about you two’s sex life.”
Baekhyun promptly gapes, jaw falling open and lidded eyes widening until Jongin is sure his eyeballs are going to fall right out of his head. “How did you--” he chokes out, and Jongin laughs harder, trying not to spit out his coffee.
“You should see the way he looks at you,” he whispers to his best friend as Sehun struts his way back to the counter with surreptitious glances over his shoulder. “It’s like he wants to soak in your face until you’re engraved in his retinas.” Baekhyun’s cheeks morph red with embarrassment at his words, turning to watch Sehun like it could prove what he said is the truth, like he can find Sehun’s declaration of love in the way his hair tosses and how the muscles of his back move with each step.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Baekhyun demands, but Jongin know’s it’s more of a beg. It isn’t exactly taboo for someone to have something more with their pet, but it isn’t common, either. The elders of the community, the ones who lived in times before the cat hybrids, look down upon those who love their pets, but Jongin sees just as much love between Baekhyun and Sehun as he would two humans.
“I wouldn’t dare,” he says, knocking his shoulder into Baekhyun’s, because that’s what best friends are for, even if he hasn’t been much of one the past few weeks. “But I have to get going, Baek. I’m on a deadline.”
“Don’t forget about dinner,” Baekhyun calls after him, walking back around to the register at the same time Jongin flings open the door.
“I won’t,” he yells back, and he wonders with a smirk if Baekhyun noticed that he got away with another free coffee.
Jongin leaves the store feeling drained, like his bones are hollow, devoid of marrow, and his heartbeats are shallow against his ribs. His tongue is heavy in his mouth from talking so much, his throat dry and skin burning in all the places he touched people. He hangs his head as he walks home, dragging his feet and keeping his eyes pried open even when the exhaustion drags him down.
But most of all he feels an emptiness in his heart and a vacancy ghosting the palms of his hands where he longs to feel the pulse underneath someone else’s flesh and the way they twitch with each breath that hits their neck.
He wants the weight of someone’s eyes on him like Sehun’s on Baekhyun.
Jongin wants someone to look at him like he is the world and not just a string of words scrawled on stationary.
//
Jongin passes out as soon as he gets home. The weight of reality sets in on his shoulders, so he crawls into his bed for the first time in who knows how long and drifts off into dreams where there is a muse behind the depthless words he writes in his books.
He dreams that his head isn’t lost in the clouds and that his feet have a permanent place on the ground, somewhere they belong. He dreams that his toes dig into fresh soil instead of tasting a cloud on the tip of his tongue, and the sun that shines on his skin is comforting instead of blinding.
He dreams that he is not a dreamer.
//
Jongin groans as soon as he wakes, his mind groggy and eyes glued shut by fatigue. He’s either been asleep for an hour or fourteen-- there is no in-between by the way his muscles ache and his head throbs.
It isn’t until he pushes himself off his bed that he registers the knocking; someone’s fist rasping against his door and the noise echoes throughout his apartment like a nuisance. Jongin groans louder. His eyes are still closed, and he almost trips over his laundry basket on the way out of his room.
“I’m coming,” he murmurs when the knocks don’t stop. It isn’t that often that someone comes to visit him-- Baekhyun says regular packages from FedEx don’t count. He doesn’t look through his peephole before swinging the door open, rubbing at the sleep still in his eyes. Through bleary vision he sees his neighbor with a smile on his face; Yixing, was it? “Um, can I help you?”
“Hi,” Yixing says, waving an awkward hand in the air. He cuts right to the point. “I know we just met a couple days ago, and it’s rude of me to ask anything from you so soon, but I’m really desperate.”
Jongin nods once, not really understanding, his mind still muddled. Yixing’s face is sweaty, his cheeks a bright shade of red and hair disheveled for some reason. Jongin furrows his eyebrows at his appearance, glancing at the loose sweatpants and sweater he has on, and that’s when he sees the pair of eyes and dark mop of hair by his door frame.
Those eyes strike him. Seas of brown irises that are infused with specks of green, pupils cut thin with light. Jongin can see innocence and timidity curving his lashes, only hidden beneath a thick fringe, and anyone could miss the perfect arch of his lids or the way his eyebrows sit thickly over them. Anyone but Jongin.
“You see,” Yixing continues, and Jongin looks up at him with even more confusion, “I’m pet-sitting for my friend, Junmyeon. But my grandmother-- she lives in China-- is really sick, and I have to be there soon or else I’m afraid--” He cuts off there, his throat tightening with grief and Jongin’s heart sinks. He stands there awkwardly while Yixing finds his voice again, eyes glassy and coughing the lump from his throat. “Anyway,” he practically whispers, “I won’t be able to bring my friend’s cat along, and I can’t find anyone else to watch him. Could you watch over him, just for a few days?”
“Cat-sit?” Jongin gapes back, looking back down to see long ears sticking from the pile of hair. He’d been so engrossed with watching the swirl of beautiful eyes to notice that he’s a cat hybrid. “But I’ve never even had a cat before.”
Yixing’s face twists harder into desperation, his grin morphing into a frown. “His name is Kyungsoo, he’s really sweet,” he pleads. “I have cat food; everything you need. I only need you to watch him for a few days so I can go see my grandmother.”
Jongin takes one more look at Kyungsoo, who is still shyly peeking at him from around his doorframe, then back at Yixing. “Are you sure there’s no one else?” he asks, although he finds himself more concerned over the fact that he’s never taken care of anyone other than himself rather than the fact that Yixing is a complete stranger.
“I swear, or else I wouldn’t come to you with such a big favor. So will you do it?” Yixing’s eyes are beseeching, hands clasping together imploringly and Jongin feels sorry for the guy.
He takes one deep breath before answering, wondering if he’s going to regret this in the future. But by the twitch of Kyungsoo’s ears, Jongin has a feeling that he won’t. “Fine. I’ll keep him.”
“Really?!” Yixing’s face lights up, and Jongin nods his head hesitantly. “Thank you so much! I’ll be back by Sunday, I promise!” His smile is bright and Jongin can’t help but grin back at him nervously.
The thought of caring for Kyungsoo terrifies Jongin.
“Here are all his things.” Yixing picks up a duffle bag from the floor and hands it to him along with a ripped piece of paper with some numbers scrawled on it, then crouches beside the cat at his door. “You’re going to have to stay with Jongin for a while, okay? He’ll take good care of you, I swear, and I’ll be back on Sunday.” His voice is extremely gentle, like the way he talked to Jongin on the first day they met.
Kyungsoo nods in reply, and then Yixing is off, walking to the elevator with a suitcase in his hand and not a glance back. Jongin waves at Kyungsoo to come inside, and it takes a few long seconds of Kyungsoo staring at him with large eyes, but eventually he stands up and inches inside the door.
Kyungsoo is short but his body is lean, plush thighs covered by skinny jeans with a hole that lets his tail through, which is long and the same color as his hair, only with highlights of blonde in them. His tail is curled around his waist protectively, and Jongin moves out of the way as he enters, watching his wide eyes dart around the room.
“Um, make yourself at home?” Jongin says with a tremble in his voice, fingers moving to scratch his nape. “I don’t really know how this is supposed to go, so…”
“It’s fine,” Kyungsoo speaks for the first time. His voice is soft and deep and Jongin thinks he could drown in it. “By the way, your house is very nice.”
Jongin furrows his eyebrows, taking a look around the room and his cheeks color with embarrassment. There are papers scattered all over his desk, pens and pencils littered on the floor and he is pretty sure that is a drool stain on his laptop. The dishes in the sink haven’t been washed and the carpet hasn’t been vacuumed, but Kyungsoo looks so genuine in his compliment that Jongin can’t help but believe it.
“I, uh, I haven’t had any guests in a while,” he explains while trying to tidy up some of the papers laying around.
Most of them are brainstorming gone wrong-- ideas that formed themselves in the folds of his brain and manifested into cancerous lumps of words that could never be written. Jongin shudders just glancing over them.
“You’re a writer?” Kyungsoo looks towards him, fingering the papers before Jongin swoops in and snatches them from his hand, crumpling them up with haste. Kyungsoo coils into himself. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, it’s just…” Jongin trails off for a second, a tinge of guilt sitting on the end of his tongue, “nobody has really seen what happens before the novel.”
Jongin can feel Kyungsoo’s body heat against his arm, and it pricks goosebumps on his skin. It is simultaneously comforting and terrifying. “It’s nice,” he murmurs, and a tiny smile flits over his lips.
Jongin clears his throat and looks away. “I’ll clean so that you can have somewhere to rest.”
“I’ll help.”
Jongin nods timorously, bowing his head to start picking up papers. He watches Kyungsoo through the thick hang of his fringe, discreetly observing the way his tail curls around paper balls and pens and how his fingers flit over the floor like they’re dancing. Each swipe of his hand is graceful and Jongin can’t keep his eyes off. “Thanks,” he eventually whispers, languidly reaching for more trash.
Kyungsoo’s ears perk slightly, and he flashes Jongin a smile that shines brighter than all the stars bundled up in the sky.
//
The day melts into night sooner than Jongin can soak in the fact that he is taking care of a pet that isn’t his. It isn’t like it’s hard to forget the fact-- Kyungsoo lays on the couch most of the day to nap or read books, not bothering his typing, and he’s silent except for when he asks for food.
Jongin doesn’t really mind his presence. In fact, it’s nice having someone there that could listen to him ramble about the missing piece of his main character and the way the plot has come to a dead end. Even if Kyungsoo never replied, it would be enough to know that he heard him.
That someone heard him.
The sky now is a blend of reds and yellows that bleed sunlight into his apartment through his open windows, courtesy of Kyungsoo. The cat is napping on his couch, curled into a ball with his tail laid out against the expanse of his thigh and the sun hitting him in a way that lights a halo around his head.
A light grin dusts across Jongin’s lips as he watches Kyungsoo. One of his hands is grasping his coffee cup, and he uses the other to scratch behind Kyungsoo’s ear. His dark hair is soft and moves easily between Jongin’s fingers. He takes pride in the purr that resonates around Kyungsoo’s chest, and he can’t help but want to listen to it for a few more minutes before he realizes he needs to start writing again and that the sun has dropped completely below the horizon now.
Inspiration comes in many different forms, but they are all like tendrils that slither into the recesses of his mind and string together sentences from nothing. For the first time in a long time, Jongin extracts inspiration from warm skin and the long curve of eyelids that hardly conceal mocha irises and he feels excited about writing.
The words don’t flow like he’d hoped, though. There is something missing from the pages; a word, a sentence, a character? He doesn’t know, and it’s driving him crazy. He can’t publish anything in the shape of himself when there are parts missing.
Like a human, novels have to have a heart too.
Jongin sighs after a while, rubbing out the kinks from his neck and rubbing his sore eyes. He can feel pieces of himself disappearing as the book goes along, and there’s a gaping hole in his chest that should be filled with the words he can’t find.
“Hey.”
The sudden voice hits Jongin like a train and he jumps, a yelp jumping from his throat and embarrassment immediately floods his cheeks. “Hey,” he coughs out, pulling at the hem of his shirt and trying to regain his composure.
Kyungsoo is standing beside his chair with a meek smile and bedhead, his ears laid back and a sleepy smile on his face. Jongin had been so consumed with writing that he almost forgot he was here, his presence silent against the air.
“What are you doing?” The cat hops into the chair next to him, drawing his legs up to his chest and letting his tail curl around his ankles. His ears are sitting flat on his head and Jongin sees a sigh on the edge of his puffy lips.
“I’m writing,” he answers, pointing to his computer.
“But it’s three a.m.”
“Is it?” Jongin looks at the clock, and the numbers scream fatigue at him. “I didn’t notice.”
Kyungsoo stares at him, but Jongin can’t bring himself to stare back. Kyungsoo’s eyes are so wide and deep; he is sure he would drown. “Why do you stay up so late writing?” Kyungsoo inquires, turning his head so that his cheeks lay against his knees.
Jongin gulps. He has never known how to explain this when people ask. “I just-- I can’t sleep, and writing is the only thing I have to do.”
Kyungsoo stares hard at him for a few seconds before he mutters, “We both know that’s not the truth.”
And Jongin doesn’t think he could lie when midnight pupils are consuming him and soft brown hair is eating away at his thoughts.
“It’s like I have all these thoughts and they clog my chest and my brain and I have to get them out--”
“I get it,” Kyungsoo interrupts him, and Jongin watches the way the words crumble under his mouth. “You can’t breathe-- so you write.”
Jongin’s chest deflates.
//
Jongin can’t remember falling asleep, yet his head is cushioned under arms that are numb and cold from lack of oxygen and his spine aches from the bend it’s set in. There is a sharp pain in his side, coming and going with the shallow beats of his heart, but his eyes are glued shut and he just wants to go back to sleep.
“Jongin.”
The voice comes from right beside him, just a whisper against his thoughts. Jongin ignores it.
“Jongin.”
The voice is closer to him, hot breath hitting his ear and the frequency of his name on a stranger’s tongue reverberating against his skin.
“Jongin!”
He finally opens his eyes at that, groaning when the sunlight immediately hits his eyes. He must have forgotten to close the curtains last night, and there is a strip of light running across his back and searing his skin through his shirt. “What?” he spits out through a jagged throat, not bothering to hide his irritation.
When he manages to clear his vision, after rubbing his sore eyes with the heel of his hand, he sees Kyungsoo shrunken back in his seat. His ears are flat on his head, tail hidden between his legs, and Jongin feels guilty-- Kyungsoo is so sweet, so quiet, he’s probably never been talked to maliciously.
“Sorry.” He swallows, watching Kyungsoo’s irises that shine through the shadow of his bangs. “I didn’t sleep that well.”
“I know,” Kyungsoo murmurs. He finally unfurls from himself, just the tiniest bit, and Jongin grins at him. “You were frowning in your sleep.”
“Sorry,” Jongin apologizes again, even though he doesn’t know why.
There are a few moments that pass in silence, the afternoon sitting heavy on Jongin’s shoulders and sleep still threading through his messy hair, before Kyungsoo mutters, “I’m hungry.”
“Oh!” Jongin gasps, and for the first time he notices the growls coming from both his and Kyungsoo’s stomachs. “I’ll get you some food.” It is past noon already, which means that Kyungsoo hasn’t eaten all morning. Guilt sinks further into Jongin’s gut.
“Don’t forget to make yourself some,” Kyungsoo calls after him as he walks into the kitchen.
Jongin fixes Kyungsoo’s food before his, setting it on the table in front of him when he’s done then going back to make himself some eggs and toast. He has never been that great of a cook, but he has managed to survive by himself for years now with simple recipes. That, and what Baekhyun’s mom sends him when she comes into town.
When he gets back to the table, sitting down with a long scrape of his chair, Kyungsoo hasn’t moved an inch, and his spoon sits in the same spot it was previously.
“Is it not good? Did I make it wrong?” Jongin asks. There is an underlying tone of panic, and Kyungsoo quickly shakes his head.
“No,” he says, ducking his head to let his fringe cover his eyes, “I was just waiting for you.” Jongin can see a nuance of pink crossing Kyungsoo’s cheeks, spreading to the insides of his large ears and over the back of his neck.
They eat in mostly silence, with the sun high in the sky and the tranquility of his apartment building strings across them like a gossamer web. The smell of both hybrid and human food has suffused over the apartment, and the dust particles shine as they dance through the air, and Jongin likes this definition of home much more than what it used to be.
For the first time in a long time, Jongin doesn’t feel like keeping his mind and body dormant. “Are there any hybrid parks around here?” Jongin stuffs the last bite of egg into his mouth. He looks up and locks gazes with Kyungsoo, his plate empty and sitting on the table in front of him. The latter glances away quickly.
Despite the number of years he has been living here, Jongin doesn’t know much about the neighborhood. He doesn’t know his neighbors, and he has never spoken to the butcher he buys his meat from, nor has he spoken to the librarian that works the night shift when he wants to get away from bright screens and virtual worlds.
Kyungsoo lays his fork on his plate with a clank, and Jongin pulls himself from his thoughts. “There’s one a couple blocks from here,” the cat answers, drawing his knees up to his chest.
“Would you like to go with me?” he asks next; there is a shy smile curling into his lips and his heart beats against his chest loudly. He really doesn’t want Kyungsoo to say no for some reason.
Kyungsoo’s ears stand straight on his head, his face lifting into rays of sunshine as he answers, “I’d love to!”
“Just let me get dressed then.”
Kyungsoo’s ears bob cutely as he nods, and Jongin definitely doesn’t want to pet him.
It doesn’t take long for Jongin to get ready, and soon they’re out the door with elated hearts and Kyungsoo’s tail swinging all over the place. They step into the elevator and Jongin takes a moment to look at Kyungsoo-- takes a moment to look at the way his thin jacket hangs off his body and the way his face is buried in his scarf so that it makes his cheeks chubby and red. Kyungsoo makes eye contact with him, catching him with a meek smile on his face, and Jongin couldn’t be more thankful for the dinging of the elevator doors.
The walk to the park isn’t a long one, and the weather is cold but the sun is warm and Jongin inhales the crisp air of Spring. The Winter snow has melted and people move in and out like the tides of the sea, washing back and forth with quick steps and apathetic skims of the scenery. Jongin can’t remember the last time he breathed in the scent of the sea.
“So,” he sighs, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. The weather is unusually chilly for April. “Where is your owner at?”
“He’s on holiday with his fiancee.” His words are saturated with passiveness but Jongin can hear laces of woebegone in the mix.
“You miss him?”
“Yes,” Kyungsoo answers promptly. “He won’t be back until June.”
“I’m sorry. That’s a long time to be gone.”
Kyungsoo shrugs, copying Jongin’s movements and sliding his hands into his pockets. “Yixing is pretty nice, anyway. He reminds me a lot of my owner. His name is Junmyeon, by the way.”
“Junmyeon.” Jongin doesn’t like the taste of the name in his mouth. “He sounds important.”
“He runs a chain of businesses or something. I never cared enough to ask,” Kyungsoo tells him, and Jongin watches him from the corner of his eye.
“Why did he leave you here instead of taking you with him?”
“The same reason Yixing couldn’t bring me along. Hybrids over fifty pounds require a special license to fly.” Kyungsoo tries to smile at Jongin, tries to reassure him that he doesn’t mind being left behind, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Jongin can only smile sadly at him in return. He has never known how to comfort people, not even himself, but Kyungsoo makes him want to try. He is about to say something, something that would erase the strain sketched into Kyungsoo’s shoulders, when the cat takes off running down the sidewalk with a quick swoosh of wind.
“The park!” he screams, only stopping long enough to look back at Jongin. The smile on his face is genuine, the sun pouring into his eyes and highlighting the browns and greens of his irises, making him shine against the dark backdrop of the park’s playground.
“Be careful!” Jongin jogs to catch up with him, and he watches as Kyungsoo climbs up the stairs to the longest slide. He doesn’t think Yixing or Junmyeon would appreciate Kyungsoo being returned with scrapes and bruises.
Jongin breathes in a long sigh as the soles of his shoes glide over auburn mulch. He takes a seat on the closest bench he can find, the Spring air settling heavy into his lungs. The flowers are starting to bloom despite the crisp air, curling towards the sun and displaying their petals proudly. Jongin runs the pad of his finger over violet and lavender petals, careful not to rustle them too much. After all, they say that if you love a flower, don’t pick it up. Because without roots, flowers die, and they cease to be the thing he loved.
So Jongin does not possess.
He appreciates.
Kyungsoo has a joyous time by himself at the playground, with the weather still too set into the Winter months for mothers and fathers to take their children and pets out. There is only one other person at the park: a gangly dog hybrid with ears so massive that they slap him in the face every time he turns his head. He is loud and barks at the cars driving by, running towards them occasionally before he makes a turn for the playground.
The gangly hybrid meets Kyungsoo by the monkey bars, intercepting his journey with a wide smile of too many teeth and Jongin doesn’t like him. At all. Jongin sits back, though, watching them with furrowed eyebrows as they swing and laugh together until the sun drops back down to the horizon.
Kyungsoo bounds up to him some time between the start of the night’s breeze and the end of the sun’s rein. “I’m tired,” he says promptly, plopping down into the space beside Jongin. His ears are drooping tiredly with eyes crinkled from mirth.
“Where’s your friend?” He hadn’t even noticed when he left.
“You mean Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo leans against the back of the bench, peering at Jongin, and the latter nods. “He went home.”
“Oh.” Jongin nods once more. He meets Kyungsoo’s stare, leaning against the bench in the same position. “We should get home too.”
Kyungsoo’s face is solemn, cheeks pink from the cold and hair matted with dried sweat, and he his lips are stained content as he breathes, “Let’s stay here for a while.”
Jongin doesn’t look away from the green embedded in Kyungsoo’s eyes; from the sentience planted in his soul that took root around his heart. He really wants to pull Kyungsoo into his lap and stroke him until his purrs resonate within the marrow of Jongin’s bones-- but he doesn’t, and his hands lay stagnant against the wood of the bench.
The night sky is still neon shades of azure blanketed by clouds of wine that cover the full moon, the playground dusted in a coat of reticence and a choir of crickets singing amongst the blades of grass. There is movement beside Jongin before he feels something leaden on his thighs, and he looks down to see sleep-lidded eyes still sky-gazing and an embarrassed simper gracing red lips.
Kyungsoo’s exhale fits perfectly into the spaces of Jongin’s inhale, and Jongin slots his fingers through soft tendrils of hair despite telling himself not to. He pinches flat ears between his thumb and forefinger, running them up and down until Kyungsoo’s entire body racks with purrs and it blends into the sounds of night that aggregate into something euphonious.
And suddenly, Jongin doesn’t think he needs four walls to build a home.
//
The night is shimmering with city lights, but the stars shine brighter through the blankets of man-made fog. Sometimes Jongin forgets how beautiful the world looks from his balcony: flashing lights of radio towers, the convoluted streets packed with night-life, steel buildings tall enough to knock on Heaven’s gates, and planes flying in low from all over the world. He regrets having forgotten about the way things look from afield-- and even that he has a balcony in the first place.
The honks of cars and the buzz of patrons all drift in the wind up to Jongin’s ears, but it doesn’t drown out the sound of the door behind him opening and closing. Light footsteps pad against the metal flooring, coming to a stop once they reach Jongin and then there’s a body sitting next to him on the floor of the balcony, legs hanging over the edge of the world. He never did have time to go furniture shopping.
Kyungsoo’s hair is still damp from his bath. “You’ll catch a cold,” Jongin mutters as he rubs a towel over his ears.
“It’s not that chilly out here, Jongin,” Kyungsoo replies softly, looking out over the landscape.
In the night, everything becomes jaded, lagging behind a few seconds that turn into minutes and then hours have past and the sky is bright. Kyungsoo’s face is hazy, the bend of his eyes malleable, movements prolonged under the spell of the dark.
“Do you like to come out here at night?”
Jongin rolls the question in his mind for a long moment, long enough that he’s not sure if it was Kyungsoo or the wind that asked-- but he answers anyway.
“I used to come out here all the time to watch the sunset. I’d sit right here in this spot and stare at the horizon until it got dark.”
Kyungsoo leans forward, his forehead pressed against the railing and mocha ears propped in curiosity.
“Do you know what I love about the sun?” Jongin continues, and Kyungsoo shakes his head, turning to watch Jongin speak. “No matter how many times he leaves the horizon to sit on his throne in the sky, he always returns to her, despite everything. No matter how long the day is, or how hot it burns, they will always meet when it is time.”
“That’s beautiful,” Kyungsoo comments under his breath.
Jongin catches the moonlight on Kyungsoo’s lips and the stars in his eyes, and Jongin thinks he is beautiful too. He doesn’t say that, though, and instead musters a “we should go to sleep. It’s late.”
“Okay,” Kyungsoo smiles. He gets off and dusts off his pajama pants, walking inside without waiting for Jongin.
Jongin sits outside for a few minutes longer, palms against the cool balcony floor, before going back inside and locking the door. Kyungsoo is already curled up on the couch when he turns around, his ears twitching now and again. The urge to drag the hybrid into his lap and pet him hits Jongin once again, but he only carries himself into his own bed and buries his head in his pillow. He can still hear Kyungsoo’s breathing from here, and Jongin listens to the sounds until they finally lull him to sleep.
//
The piece of paper that Yixing wrote his number on weighs heavily in Jongin’s hand, but the cellphone in his other is twice that. There is worry embedded in the bottom of his gut, because it’s been more than a few days and he still hasn’t heard any news from his neighbor. Then again, he never gave Yixing his number in return. He could be on a flight back to Korea right now for all he knows.
With a huff, Jongin types in the number. He woke up early this morning with the thought of Yixing on his mind and he won’t be settled until he knows what’s going on. He presses call with a twist in his stomach and waits for someone to pick up.
Yixing answers on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi,” he swallows, gripping onto the edge of the counter. He has never been good at phone calls. “It’s Jongin. Your neighbor.”
“Jongin!” Yixing chimes, and it sounds something like relief. “I’m so glad you called. When I got to China I realized I had no way to contact you!”
“Yeah, I noticed that too, actually.” Jongin steels up his nerves to speak again and not let his thoughts rest formant on his tongue. “And you’ve been gone quite a while, too. So.”
There are a few seconds of static passing over the line that makes Jongin wait, the counter still digging into his skin. “About that,” he deadpans, and that sounds an awful lot like regret. “My grandmother, she, uh, she passed away, actually.”
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“But the funeral isn’t until next Saturday, so that the rest of my family can fly in and the preparations can be made.”
“Oh.”
“But I swear, I’ll take the first flight Monday morning, Jongin. I just--” Jongin can hear the tremble in his voice from thousands of miles away-- “I need to be here. Is that okay?”
Keeping Kyungsoo means almost another full week of taking care of him. The Jongin from a month ago would find himself profusely refusing, but the Jongin from now actually likes the sound of it. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”
“Are you sure?” Yixing sounds surprised.
“Yeah,” Jongin assures him, an easy smile on his face, “I like taking care of Kyungsoo.”
“You do?”
Jongin almost jumps out of his seat when he hears words whispered into his head that aren’t Yixing’s. “Kyungsoo!” he scolds, holding his chest. Over the phone, he can hear Yixing screaming at him to let him talk to Kyungsoo, but there is a giggle playing on Kyungsoo’s lips and Jongin can’t look away.
Only at a particularly loud, excited yell does Jongin pull the phone away from his ear and hand it to Kyungsoo. The hybrid stares at it a moment before grabbing it and holding it to his ear. Jongin simply stares on as they talk, counting the number of times that Kyungsoo hums. When they hang up, it’s an even thirty-two.
Kyungsoo crawls into the chair beside him after handing him back his cellphone, his hair unkempt and his pajama shirt falling off of one of his shoulders. It’s still early in the morning, much earlier than Kyungsoo usually awakes. “So I’m staying with you another week, huh?” He looks up to Jongin, and Jongin wonders if all cats have such beautiful eyes or if it’s just Kyungsoo.
“Yeah, looks like it.”
“You don’t mind, do you?” Kyungsoo looks away from Jongin and watches his finger draw shapes into the dining room table, tail ebbing back and forth behind him.
Jongin cocks his head. “Why would I mind?”
“Because,” he starts off slowly, “I disturb your writing and I always drag you places with me. And I unrolled all the toilet paper, so you had to clean it all up.”
Jongin grins at the pout on Kyungsoo’s face, then leans forward to ruffle already messy hair. “I don’t mind any of that. My life was pretty boring, anyway.”
“Really?” He looks up at Jongin with imploringly wide eyes and he knows that Junmyeon is so lucky to have Kyungsoo to unroll the toilet paper for him and drag him to the park and love him.
“Really.”
He doesn’t think about what’s going to happen after their week is up.
[ part 2]
I could look into your eyes until the sun comes up and we're wrapped in the love built between our embrace.
Note: Originally written for lattelotus in kittyexo12's exchange.
The strokes of pen against paper spell the symphony of Jongin’s life; of a world constructed of words and nothing more.
He fills the corners of his home with descriptions of the children playing down the street, scribbles fragments of sentences into the margins of any paper he can find. He lets the words seep from his brain and down the drain when he’s in the shower with only descriptions rolling around in his head of how the eyes of the grocer he met last week curve like the bends of the moon. Adjectives live on his tongue, verbs on his fingers, and nouns at the very tip of midnight eyelashes.
He builds his view of the world with carefully crafted sentences that hang from his mouth like a person falling off the side of a bridge.
Jongin doesn’t mind when the words cave in on him and the only thing left is the black ink stained into tan fingertips, vision too blurred to see anything outside the layers of opacity. He doesn’t mind because he’s in love with words and stories and the way eyes can be written into faces a thousand different ways.
There has never been an anomaly in which Jongin couldn’t put down on paper or fathom into coherent thoughts. He prides himself on that, because as a writer, it is his job to scrawl down the truths he finds about everything: life, love, and the pursuit of happiness.
But maybe they’re all the same thing.
Jongin will write it down when he finds out.
//
The sunlight that drifts into the room maps constellations of phosphenes on the backs of Jongin’s eyelids, eliciting a groan that tumbles over the thick coat of sleep in his throat. There is a crick pounding into the back of his neck like a wedge between the vertebrates of his spine and his hands feel oddly numb, like they’ve been dipped in dry ice.
He fell asleep at his desk again, he realizes when he sits up groggily to the feeling of his back splitting into two and his computer stirring to life as his face lifts off of the keys. The last thing he remembers is 3am when the loneliness consumed him yet did not destroy him. And so he sat in this chair with the moonlight shrouding the side of his face and his spine slumped into melancholy.
The first thing he does is scour his cupboard for coffee and, when he doesn’t find any behind the sugar or hidden under bags of popcorn, Jongin slips out of his sweatpants and into a pair of jeans that he isn’t sure are clean or not. As much as he dislikes running errands, because on most days even smiling to a vendor takes too much out of him, he can’t live without his coffee.
Coffee is life.
He’s pretty sure it’s Winter still-- changing into Spring, now-- so he wraps a scarf around his neck after shrugging a sweatshirt over his wifebeater and tugging his tennis shoes over barren feet. The overhead lights in the kitchen make the tiles in front of his door shine, white morphing into brown before seeping into the plaster between them. Jongin could sit there for hours, tracing the swirls of patterns of light with the tip of his finger; there is something beautiful in the intrinsic patterns lining the world.
The hallway leading to the elevator is covered in a lethargic light that dips into the velvet carpet, highlighting the room’s worst features and draw creatures from the shadows. The air wraps around his legs, pressed against his chest uncomfortably, the ends of his hair dipping into hues of horrid. The sound of his door slamming shut on creaky hinges is drowned out by another one right beside him, pulling a flinch from him from the loud noise.
Jongin glances up discreetly through his thick brown fringe, watching his neighbor lock his door at the same time he does. The man is muscular, like a dancer would be, with a dimple etched into the side of his face even though Jongin doesn’t see anything worth smiling about. Their apartment building isn’t the best, with a devil’s light flickering in one corner of the corridor and cracking wood, and one of the numbers on the man’s door is barely holding on by a screw.
He doesn’t realize he’s zoned out until that smile is directed towards him, and Jongin does his best to match it, even if it doesn’t reach his eyes. Jongin stands up straight as his neighbor walks towards him, a sudden bout of anxiety ripping at his stomach in the prospect of social contact.
“Hi!” the man says, and his eyes are gentle and kind and it quells the flow of his tension into a slow rock of unfamiliarity.
“Hi,” Jongin replies. Then a thought pops into his head, and he glances at the door the stranger came from. “What, uh, what happened to Mrs. Jung?”
His neighbor looks confused for a second, not expecting the question, but then the smile is slipping from his face and something heavy settles into Jongin’s gut. “She passed away,” the stranger laments. “About three months ago, actually. That’s when I moved in.”
Has it been that long since he left his apartment? He can’t remember.
“Oh,” Jongin deadpans. The image of her sons coming to carry her things away weaves its way into the folds of his brain, digging out wells of contrition. Mrs. Jung had been nice to him, baking him pies occasionally. He should have been there for her funeral.
As if reading his thoughts, trying to pull him away from all of the bad things that pile in his head, the stranger adds, “my name is Yixing. What’s yours?”
“Jongin,” he nods mournfully, and he thinks that the droop in his lips will be there long after this day has ended. “Nice to meet you, Yixing.”
“It’s nice to meet you too!” the stranger-- Yixing-- smiles widely, the arch of his eyes curving just right behind the curl of his lashes. “I have to go now,” he says after shaking Jongin’s hand. “There’s work to be done and hybrid food to be bought.” Yixing laughs, and after he’s already lost behind grey elevator doors, Jongin realizes it was a joke.
//
The sidewalk is littered with chunks of chewed gum and plastic cups tumbling with every blow of the winter breeze that cuts into Jongin’s skin, puddles filling in dips of concrete from piles of melted snow. The store he’s walking to sits at the corner of lonely and seemingly-deserted, its white walls stained with dirt and the ice box outside is missing a door, but as Jongin nears the establishment, his heart elates, swelling in his chest with the contentment of comfort and home.
He grew up coming to this store with his best friend, Baekhyun, whose father owned the store. During Winter they would pour cup after cup of hot chocolate, drinking it too soon-- his father always scolded them for it-- and burnt their tongues. Summer was made for stealing ice creams from the ice box, sneaking out the door with them stuffed under their shirts, and Baekhyun’s father pretending not to notice with a smile on his face. Looking back at it now, he can’t believe they were so foolish, and it brings a smile to his face.
The metal of the door under his palm is freezing, serrading into the wrinkles of his hand, but Jongin grins with nostalgia as he pushes it open. “So he lives!” Baekhyun’s sonorous voice is heard over the chime of the convenience store bell, the underlying smell of gasoline flitting up his nose, and the line of customers in front of the counter all turning towards Jongin at once. The attention pricks into his skin uncomfortably.
Jongin really hates Baekhyun sometimes.
“I didn’t think you could do it, but you beat your previous record,” he continues, following Jongin with his eyes as he walks around the store. His hands and eyes keep busy scanning items, the numbers on the cash register increasing each time. “Almost two months, Jongin! Two fucking months.”
Jongin frowns when he reaches the coffee machine at the back of the store. “Should you be swearing like that in front of customers?” he asks in a shout, grabbing one of the styrofoam cups from the holder and setting it on the counter. It doesn’t seem like he’ll be getting free coffee today.
The store goes quiet for a second; only the snap of fingers, then some footsteps padding against brown tile until they die out once again into silence. “We were all worried about you, Jongin.” That voice is suddenly a lot closer than before, then Baekhyun’s body heat sears against the back of his neck and he jumps.
“Jesus Christ,” Jongin mumbles under his breath, and the sway of his shaky hand knocks over his cup. He catches it before it hits the ground. “What are you doing back here, Baek? Who’s even watching the register?”
“Sehun,” Baekhyun answers sharply, and Jongin avoids looking him in the eyes by watching the drips of coffee land in his cup. “Two months,” he whispers in a hiss, pressing himself into Jongin’s arm. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”
“I know,” Jongin sighs. He snaps a lid on his cup before turning to face Baekhyun, finally looking down into Baekhyun’s puppy-dog eyes. “It’s just I’ve been working on a new novel and it isn’t turning out the way I wanted to and--”
“Excuses, excuses,” Baekhyun sighs, but now his irises are softer, malleable copper that bends around the black of his pupils, and Jongin knows he’s forgiven.
“It won’t happen again. I promise.”
Baekhyun just raises an eyebrow. “But you still have to make it up to us this time,” he puffs out his chest, and Jongin would roll his eyes if he didn’t want to save the two dollars in his pocket. “We’re all going out to dinner on the last Friday of the month. If you don’t show up I will take it as a personal insult and I am not afraid to come to your house and drag you off that god-forsaken computer, got it?”
That’s when Sehun bounds around the aisles of snack food, his tail flicking through a box of lollipops and ears flicking back distastefully. Baekhyun glances towards him, asking, “why aren’t you at the counter?” while Jongin watches the specks of gold in his eyes reflect stray beams of light. His hair is coffee-colored with thin highlights around the end of his tail, his fringe long and dancing over his eyebrows as the heater blows directly on him.
He’s a beautiful breed, pure-bred and expensive, and there have been many times where Baekhyun has suggested for Jongin to get a cat himself. Maybe they could help keep him grounded in reality. But he’s never been interested in having to take care of someone other than himself.
“There are no more customers,” Sehun answers lazily, draping himself across the smaller man. “And nobody has seen Jonginnie in two months, nearly. It’s practically a holiday.”
“I get it, I get it,” Jongin whines, throwing his hands up in the air in surrender. Baekhyun cocks his head in glory, like he’s proved something Jongin didn’t already know. “I disappeared. I won’t do it again.”
“Damn right you won’t,” Sehun yawns, and Jongin watches the way his fingers drift across Baekhyun’s chest, his nails dragging the material of his shirt. “I had to listen to this guy complain every other week about not hearing from you. I could only shut him up by--”
“That’s enough, Sehun,” Baekhyun cuts in, elbowing the younger boy to get off of him.
Jongin snorts unattractively, finally remembering his coffee. He wraps nimble fingers around the styrofoam, the warmth of the drink seeping into his skin and the smell wafting up, sending his senses into a crazed frenzy. “Yeah,” he says after a slow sip of his drink, “I don’t particularly feel like hear about you two’s sex life.”
Baekhyun promptly gapes, jaw falling open and lidded eyes widening until Jongin is sure his eyeballs are going to fall right out of his head. “How did you--” he chokes out, and Jongin laughs harder, trying not to spit out his coffee.
“You should see the way he looks at you,” he whispers to his best friend as Sehun struts his way back to the counter with surreptitious glances over his shoulder. “It’s like he wants to soak in your face until you’re engraved in his retinas.” Baekhyun’s cheeks morph red with embarrassment at his words, turning to watch Sehun like it could prove what he said is the truth, like he can find Sehun’s declaration of love in the way his hair tosses and how the muscles of his back move with each step.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Baekhyun demands, but Jongin know’s it’s more of a beg. It isn’t exactly taboo for someone to have something more with their pet, but it isn’t common, either. The elders of the community, the ones who lived in times before the cat hybrids, look down upon those who love their pets, but Jongin sees just as much love between Baekhyun and Sehun as he would two humans.
“I wouldn’t dare,” he says, knocking his shoulder into Baekhyun’s, because that’s what best friends are for, even if he hasn’t been much of one the past few weeks. “But I have to get going, Baek. I’m on a deadline.”
“Don’t forget about dinner,” Baekhyun calls after him, walking back around to the register at the same time Jongin flings open the door.
“I won’t,” he yells back, and he wonders with a smirk if Baekhyun noticed that he got away with another free coffee.
Jongin leaves the store feeling drained, like his bones are hollow, devoid of marrow, and his heartbeats are shallow against his ribs. His tongue is heavy in his mouth from talking so much, his throat dry and skin burning in all the places he touched people. He hangs his head as he walks home, dragging his feet and keeping his eyes pried open even when the exhaustion drags him down.
But most of all he feels an emptiness in his heart and a vacancy ghosting the palms of his hands where he longs to feel the pulse underneath someone else’s flesh and the way they twitch with each breath that hits their neck.
He wants the weight of someone’s eyes on him like Sehun’s on Baekhyun.
Jongin wants someone to look at him like he is the world and not just a string of words scrawled on stationary.
//
Jongin passes out as soon as he gets home. The weight of reality sets in on his shoulders, so he crawls into his bed for the first time in who knows how long and drifts off into dreams where there is a muse behind the depthless words he writes in his books.
He dreams that his head isn’t lost in the clouds and that his feet have a permanent place on the ground, somewhere they belong. He dreams that his toes dig into fresh soil instead of tasting a cloud on the tip of his tongue, and the sun that shines on his skin is comforting instead of blinding.
He dreams that he is not a dreamer.
//
Jongin groans as soon as he wakes, his mind groggy and eyes glued shut by fatigue. He’s either been asleep for an hour or fourteen-- there is no in-between by the way his muscles ache and his head throbs.
It isn’t until he pushes himself off his bed that he registers the knocking; someone’s fist rasping against his door and the noise echoes throughout his apartment like a nuisance. Jongin groans louder. His eyes are still closed, and he almost trips over his laundry basket on the way out of his room.
“I’m coming,” he murmurs when the knocks don’t stop. It isn’t that often that someone comes to visit him-- Baekhyun says regular packages from FedEx don’t count. He doesn’t look through his peephole before swinging the door open, rubbing at the sleep still in his eyes. Through bleary vision he sees his neighbor with a smile on his face; Yixing, was it? “Um, can I help you?”
“Hi,” Yixing says, waving an awkward hand in the air. He cuts right to the point. “I know we just met a couple days ago, and it’s rude of me to ask anything from you so soon, but I’m really desperate.”
Jongin nods once, not really understanding, his mind still muddled. Yixing’s face is sweaty, his cheeks a bright shade of red and hair disheveled for some reason. Jongin furrows his eyebrows at his appearance, glancing at the loose sweatpants and sweater he has on, and that’s when he sees the pair of eyes and dark mop of hair by his door frame.
Those eyes strike him. Seas of brown irises that are infused with specks of green, pupils cut thin with light. Jongin can see innocence and timidity curving his lashes, only hidden beneath a thick fringe, and anyone could miss the perfect arch of his lids or the way his eyebrows sit thickly over them. Anyone but Jongin.
“You see,” Yixing continues, and Jongin looks up at him with even more confusion, “I’m pet-sitting for my friend, Junmyeon. But my grandmother-- she lives in China-- is really sick, and I have to be there soon or else I’m afraid--” He cuts off there, his throat tightening with grief and Jongin’s heart sinks. He stands there awkwardly while Yixing finds his voice again, eyes glassy and coughing the lump from his throat. “Anyway,” he practically whispers, “I won’t be able to bring my friend’s cat along, and I can’t find anyone else to watch him. Could you watch over him, just for a few days?”
“Cat-sit?” Jongin gapes back, looking back down to see long ears sticking from the pile of hair. He’d been so engrossed with watching the swirl of beautiful eyes to notice that he’s a cat hybrid. “But I’ve never even had a cat before.”
Yixing’s face twists harder into desperation, his grin morphing into a frown. “His name is Kyungsoo, he’s really sweet,” he pleads. “I have cat food; everything you need. I only need you to watch him for a few days so I can go see my grandmother.”
Jongin takes one more look at Kyungsoo, who is still shyly peeking at him from around his doorframe, then back at Yixing. “Are you sure there’s no one else?” he asks, although he finds himself more concerned over the fact that he’s never taken care of anyone other than himself rather than the fact that Yixing is a complete stranger.
“I swear, or else I wouldn’t come to you with such a big favor. So will you do it?” Yixing’s eyes are beseeching, hands clasping together imploringly and Jongin feels sorry for the guy.
He takes one deep breath before answering, wondering if he’s going to regret this in the future. But by the twitch of Kyungsoo’s ears, Jongin has a feeling that he won’t. “Fine. I’ll keep him.”
“Really?!” Yixing’s face lights up, and Jongin nods his head hesitantly. “Thank you so much! I’ll be back by Sunday, I promise!” His smile is bright and Jongin can’t help but grin back at him nervously.
The thought of caring for Kyungsoo terrifies Jongin.
“Here are all his things.” Yixing picks up a duffle bag from the floor and hands it to him along with a ripped piece of paper with some numbers scrawled on it, then crouches beside the cat at his door. “You’re going to have to stay with Jongin for a while, okay? He’ll take good care of you, I swear, and I’ll be back on Sunday.” His voice is extremely gentle, like the way he talked to Jongin on the first day they met.
Kyungsoo nods in reply, and then Yixing is off, walking to the elevator with a suitcase in his hand and not a glance back. Jongin waves at Kyungsoo to come inside, and it takes a few long seconds of Kyungsoo staring at him with large eyes, but eventually he stands up and inches inside the door.
Kyungsoo is short but his body is lean, plush thighs covered by skinny jeans with a hole that lets his tail through, which is long and the same color as his hair, only with highlights of blonde in them. His tail is curled around his waist protectively, and Jongin moves out of the way as he enters, watching his wide eyes dart around the room.
“Um, make yourself at home?” Jongin says with a tremble in his voice, fingers moving to scratch his nape. “I don’t really know how this is supposed to go, so…”
“It’s fine,” Kyungsoo speaks for the first time. His voice is soft and deep and Jongin thinks he could drown in it. “By the way, your house is very nice.”
Jongin furrows his eyebrows, taking a look around the room and his cheeks color with embarrassment. There are papers scattered all over his desk, pens and pencils littered on the floor and he is pretty sure that is a drool stain on his laptop. The dishes in the sink haven’t been washed and the carpet hasn’t been vacuumed, but Kyungsoo looks so genuine in his compliment that Jongin can’t help but believe it.
“I, uh, I haven’t had any guests in a while,” he explains while trying to tidy up some of the papers laying around.
Most of them are brainstorming gone wrong-- ideas that formed themselves in the folds of his brain and manifested into cancerous lumps of words that could never be written. Jongin shudders just glancing over them.
“You’re a writer?” Kyungsoo looks towards him, fingering the papers before Jongin swoops in and snatches them from his hand, crumpling them up with haste. Kyungsoo coils into himself. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, it’s just…” Jongin trails off for a second, a tinge of guilt sitting on the end of his tongue, “nobody has really seen what happens before the novel.”
Jongin can feel Kyungsoo’s body heat against his arm, and it pricks goosebumps on his skin. It is simultaneously comforting and terrifying. “It’s nice,” he murmurs, and a tiny smile flits over his lips.
Jongin clears his throat and looks away. “I’ll clean so that you can have somewhere to rest.”
“I’ll help.”
Jongin nods timorously, bowing his head to start picking up papers. He watches Kyungsoo through the thick hang of his fringe, discreetly observing the way his tail curls around paper balls and pens and how his fingers flit over the floor like they’re dancing. Each swipe of his hand is graceful and Jongin can’t keep his eyes off. “Thanks,” he eventually whispers, languidly reaching for more trash.
Kyungsoo’s ears perk slightly, and he flashes Jongin a smile that shines brighter than all the stars bundled up in the sky.
//
The day melts into night sooner than Jongin can soak in the fact that he is taking care of a pet that isn’t his. It isn’t like it’s hard to forget the fact-- Kyungsoo lays on the couch most of the day to nap or read books, not bothering his typing, and he’s silent except for when he asks for food.
Jongin doesn’t really mind his presence. In fact, it’s nice having someone there that could listen to him ramble about the missing piece of his main character and the way the plot has come to a dead end. Even if Kyungsoo never replied, it would be enough to know that he heard him.
That someone heard him.
The sky now is a blend of reds and yellows that bleed sunlight into his apartment through his open windows, courtesy of Kyungsoo. The cat is napping on his couch, curled into a ball with his tail laid out against the expanse of his thigh and the sun hitting him in a way that lights a halo around his head.
A light grin dusts across Jongin’s lips as he watches Kyungsoo. One of his hands is grasping his coffee cup, and he uses the other to scratch behind Kyungsoo’s ear. His dark hair is soft and moves easily between Jongin’s fingers. He takes pride in the purr that resonates around Kyungsoo’s chest, and he can’t help but want to listen to it for a few more minutes before he realizes he needs to start writing again and that the sun has dropped completely below the horizon now.
Inspiration comes in many different forms, but they are all like tendrils that slither into the recesses of his mind and string together sentences from nothing. For the first time in a long time, Jongin extracts inspiration from warm skin and the long curve of eyelids that hardly conceal mocha irises and he feels excited about writing.
The words don’t flow like he’d hoped, though. There is something missing from the pages; a word, a sentence, a character? He doesn’t know, and it’s driving him crazy. He can’t publish anything in the shape of himself when there are parts missing.
Like a human, novels have to have a heart too.
Jongin sighs after a while, rubbing out the kinks from his neck and rubbing his sore eyes. He can feel pieces of himself disappearing as the book goes along, and there’s a gaping hole in his chest that should be filled with the words he can’t find.
“Hey.”
The sudden voice hits Jongin like a train and he jumps, a yelp jumping from his throat and embarrassment immediately floods his cheeks. “Hey,” he coughs out, pulling at the hem of his shirt and trying to regain his composure.
Kyungsoo is standing beside his chair with a meek smile and bedhead, his ears laid back and a sleepy smile on his face. Jongin had been so consumed with writing that he almost forgot he was here, his presence silent against the air.
“What are you doing?” The cat hops into the chair next to him, drawing his legs up to his chest and letting his tail curl around his ankles. His ears are sitting flat on his head and Jongin sees a sigh on the edge of his puffy lips.
“I’m writing,” he answers, pointing to his computer.
“But it’s three a.m.”
“Is it?” Jongin looks at the clock, and the numbers scream fatigue at him. “I didn’t notice.”
Kyungsoo stares at him, but Jongin can’t bring himself to stare back. Kyungsoo’s eyes are so wide and deep; he is sure he would drown. “Why do you stay up so late writing?” Kyungsoo inquires, turning his head so that his cheeks lay against his knees.
Jongin gulps. He has never known how to explain this when people ask. “I just-- I can’t sleep, and writing is the only thing I have to do.”
Kyungsoo stares hard at him for a few seconds before he mutters, “We both know that’s not the truth.”
And Jongin doesn’t think he could lie when midnight pupils are consuming him and soft brown hair is eating away at his thoughts.
“It’s like I have all these thoughts and they clog my chest and my brain and I have to get them out--”
“I get it,” Kyungsoo interrupts him, and Jongin watches the way the words crumble under his mouth. “You can’t breathe-- so you write.”
Jongin’s chest deflates.
//
Jongin can’t remember falling asleep, yet his head is cushioned under arms that are numb and cold from lack of oxygen and his spine aches from the bend it’s set in. There is a sharp pain in his side, coming and going with the shallow beats of his heart, but his eyes are glued shut and he just wants to go back to sleep.
“Jongin.”
The voice comes from right beside him, just a whisper against his thoughts. Jongin ignores it.
“Jongin.”
The voice is closer to him, hot breath hitting his ear and the frequency of his name on a stranger’s tongue reverberating against his skin.
“Jongin!”
He finally opens his eyes at that, groaning when the sunlight immediately hits his eyes. He must have forgotten to close the curtains last night, and there is a strip of light running across his back and searing his skin through his shirt. “What?” he spits out through a jagged throat, not bothering to hide his irritation.
When he manages to clear his vision, after rubbing his sore eyes with the heel of his hand, he sees Kyungsoo shrunken back in his seat. His ears are flat on his head, tail hidden between his legs, and Jongin feels guilty-- Kyungsoo is so sweet, so quiet, he’s probably never been talked to maliciously.
“Sorry.” He swallows, watching Kyungsoo’s irises that shine through the shadow of his bangs. “I didn’t sleep that well.”
“I know,” Kyungsoo murmurs. He finally unfurls from himself, just the tiniest bit, and Jongin grins at him. “You were frowning in your sleep.”
“Sorry,” Jongin apologizes again, even though he doesn’t know why.
There are a few moments that pass in silence, the afternoon sitting heavy on Jongin’s shoulders and sleep still threading through his messy hair, before Kyungsoo mutters, “I’m hungry.”
“Oh!” Jongin gasps, and for the first time he notices the growls coming from both his and Kyungsoo’s stomachs. “I’ll get you some food.” It is past noon already, which means that Kyungsoo hasn’t eaten all morning. Guilt sinks further into Jongin’s gut.
“Don’t forget to make yourself some,” Kyungsoo calls after him as he walks into the kitchen.
Jongin fixes Kyungsoo’s food before his, setting it on the table in front of him when he’s done then going back to make himself some eggs and toast. He has never been that great of a cook, but he has managed to survive by himself for years now with simple recipes. That, and what Baekhyun’s mom sends him when she comes into town.
When he gets back to the table, sitting down with a long scrape of his chair, Kyungsoo hasn’t moved an inch, and his spoon sits in the same spot it was previously.
“Is it not good? Did I make it wrong?” Jongin asks. There is an underlying tone of panic, and Kyungsoo quickly shakes his head.
“No,” he says, ducking his head to let his fringe cover his eyes, “I was just waiting for you.” Jongin can see a nuance of pink crossing Kyungsoo’s cheeks, spreading to the insides of his large ears and over the back of his neck.
They eat in mostly silence, with the sun high in the sky and the tranquility of his apartment building strings across them like a gossamer web. The smell of both hybrid and human food has suffused over the apartment, and the dust particles shine as they dance through the air, and Jongin likes this definition of home much more than what it used to be.
For the first time in a long time, Jongin doesn’t feel like keeping his mind and body dormant. “Are there any hybrid parks around here?” Jongin stuffs the last bite of egg into his mouth. He looks up and locks gazes with Kyungsoo, his plate empty and sitting on the table in front of him. The latter glances away quickly.
Despite the number of years he has been living here, Jongin doesn’t know much about the neighborhood. He doesn’t know his neighbors, and he has never spoken to the butcher he buys his meat from, nor has he spoken to the librarian that works the night shift when he wants to get away from bright screens and virtual worlds.
Kyungsoo lays his fork on his plate with a clank, and Jongin pulls himself from his thoughts. “There’s one a couple blocks from here,” the cat answers, drawing his knees up to his chest.
“Would you like to go with me?” he asks next; there is a shy smile curling into his lips and his heart beats against his chest loudly. He really doesn’t want Kyungsoo to say no for some reason.
Kyungsoo’s ears stand straight on his head, his face lifting into rays of sunshine as he answers, “I’d love to!”
“Just let me get dressed then.”
Kyungsoo’s ears bob cutely as he nods, and Jongin definitely doesn’t want to pet him.
It doesn’t take long for Jongin to get ready, and soon they’re out the door with elated hearts and Kyungsoo’s tail swinging all over the place. They step into the elevator and Jongin takes a moment to look at Kyungsoo-- takes a moment to look at the way his thin jacket hangs off his body and the way his face is buried in his scarf so that it makes his cheeks chubby and red. Kyungsoo makes eye contact with him, catching him with a meek smile on his face, and Jongin couldn’t be more thankful for the dinging of the elevator doors.
The walk to the park isn’t a long one, and the weather is cold but the sun is warm and Jongin inhales the crisp air of Spring. The Winter snow has melted and people move in and out like the tides of the sea, washing back and forth with quick steps and apathetic skims of the scenery. Jongin can’t remember the last time he breathed in the scent of the sea.
“So,” he sighs, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. The weather is unusually chilly for April. “Where is your owner at?”
“He’s on holiday with his fiancee.” His words are saturated with passiveness but Jongin can hear laces of woebegone in the mix.
“You miss him?”
“Yes,” Kyungsoo answers promptly. “He won’t be back until June.”
“I’m sorry. That’s a long time to be gone.”
Kyungsoo shrugs, copying Jongin’s movements and sliding his hands into his pockets. “Yixing is pretty nice, anyway. He reminds me a lot of my owner. His name is Junmyeon, by the way.”
“Junmyeon.” Jongin doesn’t like the taste of the name in his mouth. “He sounds important.”
“He runs a chain of businesses or something. I never cared enough to ask,” Kyungsoo tells him, and Jongin watches him from the corner of his eye.
“Why did he leave you here instead of taking you with him?”
“The same reason Yixing couldn’t bring me along. Hybrids over fifty pounds require a special license to fly.” Kyungsoo tries to smile at Jongin, tries to reassure him that he doesn’t mind being left behind, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Jongin can only smile sadly at him in return. He has never known how to comfort people, not even himself, but Kyungsoo makes him want to try. He is about to say something, something that would erase the strain sketched into Kyungsoo’s shoulders, when the cat takes off running down the sidewalk with a quick swoosh of wind.
“The park!” he screams, only stopping long enough to look back at Jongin. The smile on his face is genuine, the sun pouring into his eyes and highlighting the browns and greens of his irises, making him shine against the dark backdrop of the park’s playground.
“Be careful!” Jongin jogs to catch up with him, and he watches as Kyungsoo climbs up the stairs to the longest slide. He doesn’t think Yixing or Junmyeon would appreciate Kyungsoo being returned with scrapes and bruises.
Jongin breathes in a long sigh as the soles of his shoes glide over auburn mulch. He takes a seat on the closest bench he can find, the Spring air settling heavy into his lungs. The flowers are starting to bloom despite the crisp air, curling towards the sun and displaying their petals proudly. Jongin runs the pad of his finger over violet and lavender petals, careful not to rustle them too much. After all, they say that if you love a flower, don’t pick it up. Because without roots, flowers die, and they cease to be the thing he loved.
So Jongin does not possess.
He appreciates.
Kyungsoo has a joyous time by himself at the playground, with the weather still too set into the Winter months for mothers and fathers to take their children and pets out. There is only one other person at the park: a gangly dog hybrid with ears so massive that they slap him in the face every time he turns his head. He is loud and barks at the cars driving by, running towards them occasionally before he makes a turn for the playground.
The gangly hybrid meets Kyungsoo by the monkey bars, intercepting his journey with a wide smile of too many teeth and Jongin doesn’t like him. At all. Jongin sits back, though, watching them with furrowed eyebrows as they swing and laugh together until the sun drops back down to the horizon.
Kyungsoo bounds up to him some time between the start of the night’s breeze and the end of the sun’s rein. “I’m tired,” he says promptly, plopping down into the space beside Jongin. His ears are drooping tiredly with eyes crinkled from mirth.
“Where’s your friend?” He hadn’t even noticed when he left.
“You mean Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo leans against the back of the bench, peering at Jongin, and the latter nods. “He went home.”
“Oh.” Jongin nods once more. He meets Kyungsoo’s stare, leaning against the bench in the same position. “We should get home too.”
Kyungsoo’s face is solemn, cheeks pink from the cold and hair matted with dried sweat, and he his lips are stained content as he breathes, “Let’s stay here for a while.”
Jongin doesn’t look away from the green embedded in Kyungsoo’s eyes; from the sentience planted in his soul that took root around his heart. He really wants to pull Kyungsoo into his lap and stroke him until his purrs resonate within the marrow of Jongin’s bones-- but he doesn’t, and his hands lay stagnant against the wood of the bench.
The night sky is still neon shades of azure blanketed by clouds of wine that cover the full moon, the playground dusted in a coat of reticence and a choir of crickets singing amongst the blades of grass. There is movement beside Jongin before he feels something leaden on his thighs, and he looks down to see sleep-lidded eyes still sky-gazing and an embarrassed simper gracing red lips.
Kyungsoo’s exhale fits perfectly into the spaces of Jongin’s inhale, and Jongin slots his fingers through soft tendrils of hair despite telling himself not to. He pinches flat ears between his thumb and forefinger, running them up and down until Kyungsoo’s entire body racks with purrs and it blends into the sounds of night that aggregate into something euphonious.
And suddenly, Jongin doesn’t think he needs four walls to build a home.
//
The night is shimmering with city lights, but the stars shine brighter through the blankets of man-made fog. Sometimes Jongin forgets how beautiful the world looks from his balcony: flashing lights of radio towers, the convoluted streets packed with night-life, steel buildings tall enough to knock on Heaven’s gates, and planes flying in low from all over the world. He regrets having forgotten about the way things look from afield-- and even that he has a balcony in the first place.
The honks of cars and the buzz of patrons all drift in the wind up to Jongin’s ears, but it doesn’t drown out the sound of the door behind him opening and closing. Light footsteps pad against the metal flooring, coming to a stop once they reach Jongin and then there’s a body sitting next to him on the floor of the balcony, legs hanging over the edge of the world. He never did have time to go furniture shopping.
Kyungsoo’s hair is still damp from his bath. “You’ll catch a cold,” Jongin mutters as he rubs a towel over his ears.
“It’s not that chilly out here, Jongin,” Kyungsoo replies softly, looking out over the landscape.
In the night, everything becomes jaded, lagging behind a few seconds that turn into minutes and then hours have past and the sky is bright. Kyungsoo’s face is hazy, the bend of his eyes malleable, movements prolonged under the spell of the dark.
“Do you like to come out here at night?”
Jongin rolls the question in his mind for a long moment, long enough that he’s not sure if it was Kyungsoo or the wind that asked-- but he answers anyway.
“I used to come out here all the time to watch the sunset. I’d sit right here in this spot and stare at the horizon until it got dark.”
Kyungsoo leans forward, his forehead pressed against the railing and mocha ears propped in curiosity.
“Do you know what I love about the sun?” Jongin continues, and Kyungsoo shakes his head, turning to watch Jongin speak. “No matter how many times he leaves the horizon to sit on his throne in the sky, he always returns to her, despite everything. No matter how long the day is, or how hot it burns, they will always meet when it is time.”
“That’s beautiful,” Kyungsoo comments under his breath.
Jongin catches the moonlight on Kyungsoo’s lips and the stars in his eyes, and Jongin thinks he is beautiful too. He doesn’t say that, though, and instead musters a “we should go to sleep. It’s late.”
“Okay,” Kyungsoo smiles. He gets off and dusts off his pajama pants, walking inside without waiting for Jongin.
Jongin sits outside for a few minutes longer, palms against the cool balcony floor, before going back inside and locking the door. Kyungsoo is already curled up on the couch when he turns around, his ears twitching now and again. The urge to drag the hybrid into his lap and pet him hits Jongin once again, but he only carries himself into his own bed and buries his head in his pillow. He can still hear Kyungsoo’s breathing from here, and Jongin listens to the sounds until they finally lull him to sleep.
//
The piece of paper that Yixing wrote his number on weighs heavily in Jongin’s hand, but the cellphone in his other is twice that. There is worry embedded in the bottom of his gut, because it’s been more than a few days and he still hasn’t heard any news from his neighbor. Then again, he never gave Yixing his number in return. He could be on a flight back to Korea right now for all he knows.
With a huff, Jongin types in the number. He woke up early this morning with the thought of Yixing on his mind and he won’t be settled until he knows what’s going on. He presses call with a twist in his stomach and waits for someone to pick up.
Yixing answers on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi,” he swallows, gripping onto the edge of the counter. He has never been good at phone calls. “It’s Jongin. Your neighbor.”
“Jongin!” Yixing chimes, and it sounds something like relief. “I’m so glad you called. When I got to China I realized I had no way to contact you!”
“Yeah, I noticed that too, actually.” Jongin steels up his nerves to speak again and not let his thoughts rest formant on his tongue. “And you’ve been gone quite a while, too. So.”
There are a few seconds of static passing over the line that makes Jongin wait, the counter still digging into his skin. “About that,” he deadpans, and that sounds an awful lot like regret. “My grandmother, she, uh, she passed away, actually.”
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“But the funeral isn’t until next Saturday, so that the rest of my family can fly in and the preparations can be made.”
“Oh.”
“But I swear, I’ll take the first flight Monday morning, Jongin. I just--” Jongin can hear the tremble in his voice from thousands of miles away-- “I need to be here. Is that okay?”
Keeping Kyungsoo means almost another full week of taking care of him. The Jongin from a month ago would find himself profusely refusing, but the Jongin from now actually likes the sound of it. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”
“Are you sure?” Yixing sounds surprised.
“Yeah,” Jongin assures him, an easy smile on his face, “I like taking care of Kyungsoo.”
“You do?”
Jongin almost jumps out of his seat when he hears words whispered into his head that aren’t Yixing’s. “Kyungsoo!” he scolds, holding his chest. Over the phone, he can hear Yixing screaming at him to let him talk to Kyungsoo, but there is a giggle playing on Kyungsoo’s lips and Jongin can’t look away.
Only at a particularly loud, excited yell does Jongin pull the phone away from his ear and hand it to Kyungsoo. The hybrid stares at it a moment before grabbing it and holding it to his ear. Jongin simply stares on as they talk, counting the number of times that Kyungsoo hums. When they hang up, it’s an even thirty-two.
Kyungsoo crawls into the chair beside him after handing him back his cellphone, his hair unkempt and his pajama shirt falling off of one of his shoulders. It’s still early in the morning, much earlier than Kyungsoo usually awakes. “So I’m staying with you another week, huh?” He looks up to Jongin, and Jongin wonders if all cats have such beautiful eyes or if it’s just Kyungsoo.
“Yeah, looks like it.”
“You don’t mind, do you?” Kyungsoo looks away from Jongin and watches his finger draw shapes into the dining room table, tail ebbing back and forth behind him.
Jongin cocks his head. “Why would I mind?”
“Because,” he starts off slowly, “I disturb your writing and I always drag you places with me. And I unrolled all the toilet paper, so you had to clean it all up.”
Jongin grins at the pout on Kyungsoo’s face, then leans forward to ruffle already messy hair. “I don’t mind any of that. My life was pretty boring, anyway.”
“Really?” He looks up at Jongin with imploringly wide eyes and he knows that Junmyeon is so lucky to have Kyungsoo to unroll the toilet paper for him and drag him to the park and love him.
“Really.”
He doesn’t think about what’s going to happen after their week is up.
[ part 2]