The Other Side
jongin/kyungsoo | romance, angst | PG | so this was originally written as uponinfinity's birthday fic last June, but I'm just now finishing it. This is also dedicated to all the fuckboys out there. nice. based off of dark paradise by lana del rey.
I'm lying in the ocean, singing your song.
The moonlight sifts easily through the open window, the smell of the ocean suffusing over the entire bedroom and the ebb of the ocean drifting to open ears. Jongin’s side is pressed against the mattress, one hand propping his head up and the other thrown over Kyungsoo’s waist, fingers twisted in the material of his shirt.
The collar of Kyungsoo’s pajamas falls over his small shoulder, and Jongin traces the bends of his skin with half-lidded eyes and a languid smile that spreads wider when Kyungsoo hits him lightly. “Stop staring,” he whispers, and Jongin’s sure his lips are pouted. Jongin watches as nuanced shades of pink spread over his cheeks slowly, crawling all the way down to his neck. “You hardly even blink, creep.”
Kyungsoo’s fingers play with the buttons on his shirt, and Jongin knows he’s embarrassed- that’s always been an unconscious habit of his. He remembers the day he proposed, when Kyungsoo reached forward and fussed with the buttons on his dress shirt while muttering out a pathetic yes with flaming cheeks that he’ll never forget. “I don’t want to blink,” he murmurs in response, watching the lights caress Kyungsoo’s face, “because then I won’t be able to see you.”
Through the years, their faces have wrinkled; their bodies ache with the passing days and their bones creak at sunset and dawn, minds withering slowly but surely. Kyungsoo is still as beautiful as the first day they met, Jongin thinks, and he reaches forward to run his fingers through his husband’s greying hair.
“You’re always going to be here, right?” he croaks, gathering Kyungsoo into his arms. He presses Kyungsoo’s face into his chest, his heart unfurling with warmth as Kyungsoo’s arms wind around his waist, whispering words of comfort into his skin.
Kyungsoo’s reply is a stoic expression, lips pressed straight in truthfulness, and it hurts Jongin that much more.
“Let’s go to sleep, alright?” Kyungsoo’s words are soft, spilled into thin strands of hair, and Jongin nods his head shakily.
As hard as it is, Jongin closes his eyes, and he wanders off into a dark paradise.
//
The marketplace is loud and bustling, teeming with lives too busy to apologize when they bump into someone. Jongin grins despite the busy stalls- after all, he has Kyungsoo’s balmy hand wrapped in his, subtly squeezing every now and then to let him know he’s there.
They used to do this every weekend: walk to the market in their old running shoes and window-shop. It was fun back then and it’s fun today, but Jongin can’t go that often due to the pain that resonates in his hips. His husband goes much more often, the only days he stays at home being when his knees ache or his hands are sore from gardening. Kyungsoo pushes him to go at least once a month though, and they always head off down the road together at the crack of dawn.
Jongin can feel the sweat that’s sticky between their palms, and quickly maneuvers them around a group of high school students and towards a lemonade shack. The woman standing at the small plywood counter is hand-pressing a fresh lemon over a juicer, and Jongin’s mouth waters at the sight.
“Can I get a large drink?” he asks the woman, voice raised to flit over the roar of the crowd. The woman nods back at him wordlessly, her face listless, and continues pressing the lemon.
“Do you want to share, Soo?” Jongin yells back, looking over his shoulder just a second too late. It’s the first time he notices the absence in his hand, the wake of a presence behind him. His fingers curl into his sweaty palm, his mouth slightly agape with leftover words, and his skin burns as a few people around him stare, and stare, and stare.
He turns around quickly, ignoring their eyes, but finds the old woman looking at him unabashedly. “He disappeared to another stall.” Jongin smiles at her, clenching his fists tighter.
He doesn’t know if it’s the truth.
The woman doesn’t smile back.
The people around him don’t stop staring.
//
The knocks on the door are in time with the beats of his heart, and Jongin beams as he gets up to answer it. The wood of the door is thick, heavy in the palm of his hand, and it scrapes against the tiled entrance as he swings it open. Jongin smiles even wider when he sees his best friend on the other side of the threshold.
“Baekhyun.” Jongin hauls his guest in with a hand on his arm, immediately bringing him into a hug. “How’ve you been, buddy?”
Baekhyun’s face has aged gracefully. His laugh lines are set lightly around his mouth and his hair falls onto his forehead in the same elegant way that it did thirty years ago. Wrinkles are bunched around his eyes like bundles of stems, his irises the flower petals. Streaks of his hair have turned grey, but Jongin knows he dyes it regularly, unlike himself. He’s aged much more nicely than Jongin.
“Pretty good,” Baekhyun replies breathily, pulling out of the hug to clap his hands over Jongin’s shoulders. Jongin ushers him in quietly, taking off Baekhyun’s jacket with no resistance and hanging it on the small coat rack by the hall closet. “And how have you been?” Baekhyun asks after his coat is hung . There’s a soft light cradling his face, and Jongin thinks he sees pity dotting the bends of his pupils.
“I’ve been fine?” he answers, but it comes out as more of a question. He doesn’t know why Baekhyun is looking at him like that- like he needs some form of sympathy.
“Are you sure?” Baekhyun grins, and Jongin can tell it’s fake by the way it doesn’t reach his eyes. Baekhyun’s hand drifts up to Jongin’s shoulder again, close to his neck, like he’s trying to feel for his heartbeat- to make sure that it’s still there, beating through his veins, pumping blood.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Jongin says with exasperation lacing his words. It’s rare for any of their friends to come visit them considering they live a few hours away from where they all worked together in Seoul but, when they do, they all have that look in their eyes: that glassy, sorrowful, mourning look. Jongin doesn’t understand it. “Anyway, sorry Kyungsoo couldn’t be here to see you as well. He’s had to go into town to buy some things.”
“It’s okay, Jongin,” Baekhyun murmurs softly, his hand slowly sliding off Jongin’s broad shoulder until it’s hanging limply by his side. He looks towards the floor, shuffling past Jongin and further into the house until he can properly look out the French windows. “Worked on any new paintings lately?”
Jongin grins at the question, a sudden excitement lighting up his eyes. “Promise not to tell Kyungsoo?”
Baekhyun doesn’t turn to face him when he answers, but the tilt of his head eases towards the floor again. “Sure, Jongin.”
Jongin’s hands tremble when he reaches for Baekhyun’s arm to lead him into his work room, partly from elation and partly from old age. The space he paints in is really a screened-in porch. Jongin built it with Kyungsoo when they first bought this house ten years ago as a way to watch the beach leisurely during meals, but it quickly turned into Jongin’s work room, and Kyungsoo never protested. The view of the ocean is absolutely breathtaking, the scene easily stealing anyone’s gaze and the salty air potent in every corner of the room.
Jongin leads Baekhyun to a large canvas sitting on a wooden easel. A long white cover spills over the edges of the canvas, splattered with paint and covering the majority of the painting, but some of the masterpiece still peeks out. He is quick to unveil it.
Kyungsoo’s face is colorful and large against the white backdrop. The painting is just of his face, his eyes partially shut, gazing at the floor, with his hair slicked back and his lips almost smirking. Every line is a mix of fuchsia, indigo, and violet; every wrinkle, every hair, every contour of his face is drawn with such perfect detail that it almost looks like a photo of him. Baekhyun is especially drawn to the lips- thick, sloped, and just the slightest bit agape. They have the most color pressed into them. The background is of the sea. The pastel blue makes Kyungsoo’s face pop out even more.
“I’m giving it to him on our next anniversary,” Jongin murmurs, still staring at his painting. For once, he’s proud of his work, and he hopes Kyungsoo will be too. He spent the last six months working on it. “It’s on the thirteenth. How many years has it been? Let’s see, since 2011, that’d be-”
Jongin stops quickly when the sound of Baekhyun’s sob rips through his sentence. His cry stands still in the air, stealing the oxygen from Jongin’s lungs and furrowing his brow. “Why…” Jongin trails off, watching as Baekhyun turns on his heel and walks out of the room. “Hyung! Where are you going?”
“I’m sorry, Jongin,” Baekhyun weeps, the words dripping off his back, and he’s already putting on his shoes by the time Jongin makes it to the entrance. “I’m so sorry, Jongin.”
“Hyung, what-”
“I’m sorry, Jongin.”
“Stop saying sorry!” Jongin explodes, bending down to take Beakhyun’s sneaker from his hand before he can get it on his foot. His spine aches and his chest hurts and his temples throb with anguish. “Why are you crying, hyung?” he asks softly this time, crouching down completely to sit beside his best friend. “And why are you leaving? You just got here. I haven’t seen you in such a long time.”
Time hangs between them like a swinging pendulum.
Jongin’s words shatter and fall to the ground.
Baekhyun takes his shoe gently from Jongin’s hands, not looking him in the eye when he does, then slides it on. He stands up while Jongin stays on floor, looking up at him with imploring eyes. “Hyung…” he murmurs, and it feels like one last attempt at breaking the surface of the water to get oxygen.
“I’m sorry, Jongin,” Baekhyun whispers, and Jongin catches one last glimpse of his back before the door slams shut behind him.
He sits on the floor for a long time after that, his hands moving up and down the length of his thighs, trying to go over everything that happened. It hadn't even been five minutes since Baekhyun had arrived before he decided to leave- vanished behind the metal of the door, not a whisper of his presence left behind.
Now he sits, waiting for him to come back, without a knock ever blowing against the door.
//
The room is dark and the windows are bright when Jongin wakes up. He’d taken a nap after he was able to move from his spot in the entryway, the curve of his spine fracturing into pieces, his skull splitting open. The world around him slowly falls into focus, second by second, breath by breath, the darkness settled onto the furniture snuggly, making them look like cushioned holes in the universe.
The sound of the waves can be heard through the cracked window, and Jongin sighs out the salt in the air. Kyungsoo must have opened it when he got home from the market, careful not to wake him up, balanced on his tip-toes with his breath held. Jongin can imagine it now, and the thought makes him smile.
The house is devoid of Kyungsoo when Jongin searches it. Only silence sits in his place.
It’s too late for him to have gone out without leaving a note, so there’s only one place left for Jongin to check.
On his way to the back porch, Jongin’s pinky toe catches on something flimsy stuck in the middle of two floorboards. His bones creak as he picks it up, his fingers shaking slightly as they curl around the edges of the small, stiff paper.
It’s a picture, the date on the back detailing it to be about thirty-three years old.
Jongin remembers this picture.
It was the first time Jongin ever took Kyungsoo to the beach. It was the elder’s very first time there, and the moment he stepped foot in the sand, he fell in love with it. Jongin sometimes worried that he loved the beach more than him, but every time he voiced his thoughts Kyungsoo would press their lips together and murmur that the water could never compare to his arms. That was always the end of that discussion.
They had asked a stranger to take the photo- handed off their polaroid camera without a care in the world, only smiles on their faces and love in their hearts.
They sat side-by-side, their silhouettes against the sunset, the sea, the sand, and their hair dancing in the summer breeze. If he looks hard enough, he can almost see their intertwined hands. Kyungsoo was pressed against him tightly, and Jongin will never forget the heat.
Jongin grins as he heads out to the beach, deciding to show Kyungsoo what he had found. The picture is heavy in his hand, the edges cutting through his skin, just enough to draw imaginary blood, but he carries it regardless.
As he draws closer to the waves, Jongin sees a shadow glowing against the sand in the shape of Kyungsoo. The shadow is completely still, their back towards Jongin, arms leaned back into the ground.
It doesn’t take long for Jongin to reach him, and when he does, he sits down next to Kyungsoo carefully, the ruffle of his clothes mute under the sound of the ocean. Kyungsoo doesn’t look at him when he’s seated, just scoots closer and rests his head on Jongin’s clothed shoulder.
They sit like that for a long time, without words, only heartbeats and slow breaths between them. The sun quickly retreats behind the horizon and takes with it the only light left from the day.
It’s when the last sliver of the sun is gone that Jongin finally glances over at Kyungsoo to see him staring at the picture in his hand. He’d almost forgotten it was there, sitting idle between his thumb and index finger.
Kyungsoo looks up at him when he feels the weight of his stare. “You have to stop this, Jongin.”
The ocean licks at the shore and Jongin looks down at his lap.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Jongin-”
“I said it’s not that easy, Soo,” Jongin spits angrily, but he still doesn’t pull away from the man sitting beside him. “Love doesn’t die the way you did.”
The silence sits between them uncomfortably, and Kyungsoo pushes himself tightly against Jongin, wrapping his arms around his bicep.
He knows that he should stop this, but he can’t bring himself to admit that to Kyungsoo.
“Baekhyun came by today,” Jongin says, just to fill in the blank space.
“And how was that?”
“He left after five minutes. He pities me too, you know.”
“I know,” Kyungsoo whispers, his voice pathetically low. “I’m sorry, Jongin.”
“No, I’m sorry.” The words well up in Jongin’s chest, pushing up onto his tongue, speaking without permission. Jongin glances to his right, squeezing onto the photo a little tighter, and his chest blooms with all the thoughts he’s ever had. “Soo-”
Empty space greets him. Cold air blows against the flesh where Kyungsoo’s skin once met his. The ocean speaks for him, covering him with salt and sand and darkness. The peacefulness rings in his ears. Kyungsoo’s name lays flat on his tongue, regret perched under his chin, and unspoken words fragment over the ground to join the sand.
“I’m sorry, Soo.”
Because Kyungsoo’s not here.
Kyungsoo never was.
I'm lying in the ocean, singing your song.
The moonlight sifts easily through the open window, the smell of the ocean suffusing over the entire bedroom and the ebb of the ocean drifting to open ears. Jongin’s side is pressed against the mattress, one hand propping his head up and the other thrown over Kyungsoo’s waist, fingers twisted in the material of his shirt.
The collar of Kyungsoo’s pajamas falls over his small shoulder, and Jongin traces the bends of his skin with half-lidded eyes and a languid smile that spreads wider when Kyungsoo hits him lightly. “Stop staring,” he whispers, and Jongin’s sure his lips are pouted. Jongin watches as nuanced shades of pink spread over his cheeks slowly, crawling all the way down to his neck. “You hardly even blink, creep.”
Kyungsoo’s fingers play with the buttons on his shirt, and Jongin knows he’s embarrassed- that’s always been an unconscious habit of his. He remembers the day he proposed, when Kyungsoo reached forward and fussed with the buttons on his dress shirt while muttering out a pathetic yes with flaming cheeks that he’ll never forget. “I don’t want to blink,” he murmurs in response, watching the lights caress Kyungsoo’s face, “because then I won’t be able to see you.”
Through the years, their faces have wrinkled; their bodies ache with the passing days and their bones creak at sunset and dawn, minds withering slowly but surely. Kyungsoo is still as beautiful as the first day they met, Jongin thinks, and he reaches forward to run his fingers through his husband’s greying hair.
“You’re always going to be here, right?” he croaks, gathering Kyungsoo into his arms. He presses Kyungsoo’s face into his chest, his heart unfurling with warmth as Kyungsoo’s arms wind around his waist, whispering words of comfort into his skin.
Kyungsoo’s reply is a stoic expression, lips pressed straight in truthfulness, and it hurts Jongin that much more.
“Let’s go to sleep, alright?” Kyungsoo’s words are soft, spilled into thin strands of hair, and Jongin nods his head shakily.
As hard as it is, Jongin closes his eyes, and he wanders off into a dark paradise.
//
The marketplace is loud and bustling, teeming with lives too busy to apologize when they bump into someone. Jongin grins despite the busy stalls- after all, he has Kyungsoo’s balmy hand wrapped in his, subtly squeezing every now and then to let him know he’s there.
They used to do this every weekend: walk to the market in their old running shoes and window-shop. It was fun back then and it’s fun today, but Jongin can’t go that often due to the pain that resonates in his hips. His husband goes much more often, the only days he stays at home being when his knees ache or his hands are sore from gardening. Kyungsoo pushes him to go at least once a month though, and they always head off down the road together at the crack of dawn.
Jongin can feel the sweat that’s sticky between their palms, and quickly maneuvers them around a group of high school students and towards a lemonade shack. The woman standing at the small plywood counter is hand-pressing a fresh lemon over a juicer, and Jongin’s mouth waters at the sight.
“Can I get a large drink?” he asks the woman, voice raised to flit over the roar of the crowd. The woman nods back at him wordlessly, her face listless, and continues pressing the lemon.
“Do you want to share, Soo?” Jongin yells back, looking over his shoulder just a second too late. It’s the first time he notices the absence in his hand, the wake of a presence behind him. His fingers curl into his sweaty palm, his mouth slightly agape with leftover words, and his skin burns as a few people around him stare, and stare, and stare.
He turns around quickly, ignoring their eyes, but finds the old woman looking at him unabashedly. “He disappeared to another stall.” Jongin smiles at her, clenching his fists tighter.
He doesn’t know if it’s the truth.
The woman doesn’t smile back.
The people around him don’t stop staring.
//
The knocks on the door are in time with the beats of his heart, and Jongin beams as he gets up to answer it. The wood of the door is thick, heavy in the palm of his hand, and it scrapes against the tiled entrance as he swings it open. Jongin smiles even wider when he sees his best friend on the other side of the threshold.
“Baekhyun.” Jongin hauls his guest in with a hand on his arm, immediately bringing him into a hug. “How’ve you been, buddy?”
Baekhyun’s face has aged gracefully. His laugh lines are set lightly around his mouth and his hair falls onto his forehead in the same elegant way that it did thirty years ago. Wrinkles are bunched around his eyes like bundles of stems, his irises the flower petals. Streaks of his hair have turned grey, but Jongin knows he dyes it regularly, unlike himself. He’s aged much more nicely than Jongin.
“Pretty good,” Baekhyun replies breathily, pulling out of the hug to clap his hands over Jongin’s shoulders. Jongin ushers him in quietly, taking off Baekhyun’s jacket with no resistance and hanging it on the small coat rack by the hall closet. “And how have you been?” Baekhyun asks after his coat is hung . There’s a soft light cradling his face, and Jongin thinks he sees pity dotting the bends of his pupils.
“I’ve been fine?” he answers, but it comes out as more of a question. He doesn’t know why Baekhyun is looking at him like that- like he needs some form of sympathy.
“Are you sure?” Baekhyun grins, and Jongin can tell it’s fake by the way it doesn’t reach his eyes. Baekhyun’s hand drifts up to Jongin’s shoulder again, close to his neck, like he’s trying to feel for his heartbeat- to make sure that it’s still there, beating through his veins, pumping blood.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Jongin says with exasperation lacing his words. It’s rare for any of their friends to come visit them considering they live a few hours away from where they all worked together in Seoul but, when they do, they all have that look in their eyes: that glassy, sorrowful, mourning look. Jongin doesn’t understand it. “Anyway, sorry Kyungsoo couldn’t be here to see you as well. He’s had to go into town to buy some things.”
“It’s okay, Jongin,” Baekhyun murmurs softly, his hand slowly sliding off Jongin’s broad shoulder until it’s hanging limply by his side. He looks towards the floor, shuffling past Jongin and further into the house until he can properly look out the French windows. “Worked on any new paintings lately?”
Jongin grins at the question, a sudden excitement lighting up his eyes. “Promise not to tell Kyungsoo?”
Baekhyun doesn’t turn to face him when he answers, but the tilt of his head eases towards the floor again. “Sure, Jongin.”
Jongin’s hands tremble when he reaches for Baekhyun’s arm to lead him into his work room, partly from elation and partly from old age. The space he paints in is really a screened-in porch. Jongin built it with Kyungsoo when they first bought this house ten years ago as a way to watch the beach leisurely during meals, but it quickly turned into Jongin’s work room, and Kyungsoo never protested. The view of the ocean is absolutely breathtaking, the scene easily stealing anyone’s gaze and the salty air potent in every corner of the room.
Jongin leads Baekhyun to a large canvas sitting on a wooden easel. A long white cover spills over the edges of the canvas, splattered with paint and covering the majority of the painting, but some of the masterpiece still peeks out. He is quick to unveil it.
Kyungsoo’s face is colorful and large against the white backdrop. The painting is just of his face, his eyes partially shut, gazing at the floor, with his hair slicked back and his lips almost smirking. Every line is a mix of fuchsia, indigo, and violet; every wrinkle, every hair, every contour of his face is drawn with such perfect detail that it almost looks like a photo of him. Baekhyun is especially drawn to the lips- thick, sloped, and just the slightest bit agape. They have the most color pressed into them. The background is of the sea. The pastel blue makes Kyungsoo’s face pop out even more.
“I’m giving it to him on our next anniversary,” Jongin murmurs, still staring at his painting. For once, he’s proud of his work, and he hopes Kyungsoo will be too. He spent the last six months working on it. “It’s on the thirteenth. How many years has it been? Let’s see, since 2011, that’d be-”
Jongin stops quickly when the sound of Baekhyun’s sob rips through his sentence. His cry stands still in the air, stealing the oxygen from Jongin’s lungs and furrowing his brow. “Why…” Jongin trails off, watching as Baekhyun turns on his heel and walks out of the room. “Hyung! Where are you going?”
“I’m sorry, Jongin,” Baekhyun weeps, the words dripping off his back, and he’s already putting on his shoes by the time Jongin makes it to the entrance. “I’m so sorry, Jongin.”
“Hyung, what-”
“I’m sorry, Jongin.”
“Stop saying sorry!” Jongin explodes, bending down to take Beakhyun’s sneaker from his hand before he can get it on his foot. His spine aches and his chest hurts and his temples throb with anguish. “Why are you crying, hyung?” he asks softly this time, crouching down completely to sit beside his best friend. “And why are you leaving? You just got here. I haven’t seen you in such a long time.”
Time hangs between them like a swinging pendulum.
Jongin’s words shatter and fall to the ground.
Baekhyun takes his shoe gently from Jongin’s hands, not looking him in the eye when he does, then slides it on. He stands up while Jongin stays on floor, looking up at him with imploring eyes. “Hyung…” he murmurs, and it feels like one last attempt at breaking the surface of the water to get oxygen.
“I’m sorry, Jongin,” Baekhyun whispers, and Jongin catches one last glimpse of his back before the door slams shut behind him.
He sits on the floor for a long time after that, his hands moving up and down the length of his thighs, trying to go over everything that happened. It hadn't even been five minutes since Baekhyun had arrived before he decided to leave- vanished behind the metal of the door, not a whisper of his presence left behind.
Now he sits, waiting for him to come back, without a knock ever blowing against the door.
//
The room is dark and the windows are bright when Jongin wakes up. He’d taken a nap after he was able to move from his spot in the entryway, the curve of his spine fracturing into pieces, his skull splitting open. The world around him slowly falls into focus, second by second, breath by breath, the darkness settled onto the furniture snuggly, making them look like cushioned holes in the universe.
The sound of the waves can be heard through the cracked window, and Jongin sighs out the salt in the air. Kyungsoo must have opened it when he got home from the market, careful not to wake him up, balanced on his tip-toes with his breath held. Jongin can imagine it now, and the thought makes him smile.
The house is devoid of Kyungsoo when Jongin searches it. Only silence sits in his place.
It’s too late for him to have gone out without leaving a note, so there’s only one place left for Jongin to check.
On his way to the back porch, Jongin’s pinky toe catches on something flimsy stuck in the middle of two floorboards. His bones creak as he picks it up, his fingers shaking slightly as they curl around the edges of the small, stiff paper.
It’s a picture, the date on the back detailing it to be about thirty-three years old.
Jongin remembers this picture.
It was the first time Jongin ever took Kyungsoo to the beach. It was the elder’s very first time there, and the moment he stepped foot in the sand, he fell in love with it. Jongin sometimes worried that he loved the beach more than him, but every time he voiced his thoughts Kyungsoo would press their lips together and murmur that the water could never compare to his arms. That was always the end of that discussion.
They had asked a stranger to take the photo- handed off their polaroid camera without a care in the world, only smiles on their faces and love in their hearts.
They sat side-by-side, their silhouettes against the sunset, the sea, the sand, and their hair dancing in the summer breeze. If he looks hard enough, he can almost see their intertwined hands. Kyungsoo was pressed against him tightly, and Jongin will never forget the heat.
Jongin grins as he heads out to the beach, deciding to show Kyungsoo what he had found. The picture is heavy in his hand, the edges cutting through his skin, just enough to draw imaginary blood, but he carries it regardless.
As he draws closer to the waves, Jongin sees a shadow glowing against the sand in the shape of Kyungsoo. The shadow is completely still, their back towards Jongin, arms leaned back into the ground.
It doesn’t take long for Jongin to reach him, and when he does, he sits down next to Kyungsoo carefully, the ruffle of his clothes mute under the sound of the ocean. Kyungsoo doesn’t look at him when he’s seated, just scoots closer and rests his head on Jongin’s clothed shoulder.
They sit like that for a long time, without words, only heartbeats and slow breaths between them. The sun quickly retreats behind the horizon and takes with it the only light left from the day.
It’s when the last sliver of the sun is gone that Jongin finally glances over at Kyungsoo to see him staring at the picture in his hand. He’d almost forgotten it was there, sitting idle between his thumb and index finger.
Kyungsoo looks up at him when he feels the weight of his stare. “You have to stop this, Jongin.”
The ocean licks at the shore and Jongin looks down at his lap.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Jongin-”
“I said it’s not that easy, Soo,” Jongin spits angrily, but he still doesn’t pull away from the man sitting beside him. “Love doesn’t die the way you did.”
The silence sits between them uncomfortably, and Kyungsoo pushes himself tightly against Jongin, wrapping his arms around his bicep.
He knows that he should stop this, but he can’t bring himself to admit that to Kyungsoo.
“Baekhyun came by today,” Jongin says, just to fill in the blank space.
“And how was that?”
“He left after five minutes. He pities me too, you know.”
“I know,” Kyungsoo whispers, his voice pathetically low. “I’m sorry, Jongin.”
“No, I’m sorry.” The words well up in Jongin’s chest, pushing up onto his tongue, speaking without permission. Jongin glances to his right, squeezing onto the photo a little tighter, and his chest blooms with all the thoughts he’s ever had. “Soo-”
Empty space greets him. Cold air blows against the flesh where Kyungsoo’s skin once met his. The ocean speaks for him, covering him with salt and sand and darkness. The peacefulness rings in his ears. Kyungsoo’s name lays flat on his tongue, regret perched under his chin, and unspoken words fragment over the ground to join the sand.
“I’m sorry, Soo.”
Because Kyungsoo’s not here.
Kyungsoo never was.