(for absentthoughts) yesteryear ✸ part 6 of 6
❊ for: absentthoughts
❊ title: yesteryear
~O~
The cardboard boxes Jongin has just stacked in the garage suddenly topple over, losing their center of gravity, and all of the things Jongin had meticulously packed spills all over the floor like sour milk. After the crash comes an awful wailing in the living room, and Jongin stops dead in his tracks - it’s Cheolsa.
He runs to the kitchen to find Cheolsa sobbing miserably.
“Kyungsoo oppa,” Cheolsa cries. She looks younger than Jongin remembers, perhaps around six or seven. “Mom and Dad won’t be back for my birthday.”
Kyungsoo oppa? Jongin thinks, but then he watches in horror as his hand launches to rub soothing circles against Cheolsa’s back. In fact, it’s not his hand. The fingers are too short, and the nails are bitten down to the bed.
“They’ll probably be back next year, just wait,” Jongin says, but it’s not his voice. It’s Kyungsoo’s.
Cheolsa doesn’t take this as well as he hopes and continues crying. Jongin, feeling lost, hides back in the garage. He dials all of his Cheolsa’s friends’ numbers and tells them that the party is cancelled. Lastly, he hesitates over Joohyun’s number, his thumb hovering over the green button before finally giving in.
“Hello?” a female voice says.
“Joohyun-” Jongin starts. His voice cracks in the middle. He clears his throat. “Joohyun, it’s me.”
“Oh. Kyungsoo…”
Jongin waits, but nothing comes. Maybe this Joohyun person is waiting. A thought suddenly flashes through Jongin’s mind’s eye, and he sees a beautiful girl with silky black hair and a heart-shaped face crying herself to sleep in his arms.
"The party’s cancelled,” Jongin finally says after a long moment. He picks up the heavy practical gear design book that had fallen from the box and slots it back to the shelves.
There’s a slight pause before Joohyun answers, “I wasn’t planning on going.” There’s no malice in her tone. “But tell Cheolsa I wish her a happy birthday.”
“Alright,” Jongin says. “Joohyun?”
“Yes?”
Jongin bites his bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.
The silence is longer this time. It seems that Joohyun is measuring everything she’s going to say, up to very last breath.
Joohyun exhales, and the line cackles. “You’re still going to sing with Chanyeol-ssi at the club?”
“Yeah.” Jongin rubs his face with his palm. He doesn’t know why his eyes are starting to burn. “Will I see you there?”
“Don’t worry, Kyungsoo,” Joohyun says, and her voice sounds sad. “You won’t.”
…
Jongin’s eyes snap open, red-rimmed and sore, like he’s been crying in his sleep the whole time. He sits up straight, and notices that his pillows are wet.
He turns on the nightlight and inspects his hand under the lamp. It looks the same now. He yawns, and it’s his voice that comes out from his mouth. But the bile that rises up to his throat doesn’t belong to him, and the ancient ache in his chest isn’t meant for him at all.
Jongin finally knows how it feels like to break someone else’s heart.
~O~
Every night, Jongin gets a new dream. He anticipates them now, and they come in faster progression and gets even more vivid as Jongin dives into the ocean of memories. When it’s time to sleep, he closes his eyes, and when he opens them, he sees everything the way Kyungsoo saw them. Sometimes he hears Kyungsoo’s thoughts, and they can get pretty amusing, like the way he refers to calling Chanyeol an “obnoxious dickhead” with varying degrees of fondness. They make Jongin laugh when he remembers them in the morning, a cup of jasmine tea in hand.
There are moments too, when Jongin wakes up crying silently in his sleep, like that first night. Like that time he dreamt he was Jinsung, and felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. And there was that time he dreamt he was Halmeoni, dying alone.
The dams are opening as Jongin gets transported from one lifetime to the next. He gets to know Kyungsoo and Jinsung and Halmeoni, night by night. It’s almost enough.
The memories are here, but Kyungsoo is gone. Jongin doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do without the both of them.
~O~
It’s Christmas Eve. Jongin styles his hair just for the occasion, since Chanyeol and Jongdae promised to bring him to the best parts of the city after Zombie Mayhem, and there would be lots of bright lights and people dressed all fancy.
He’s made himself mac n’ cheese and crispy baked chicken with peas on the side. He gets to eat only half of the portion for each, so he places them on separate Tupperwares and lays them on the table.
Jangga and Jjangu circle the couch, and Jongin leaps towards them and smothers them with kisses. “Merry Christmas, you two. Now, keep this place safe while I’m gone.” He chuckles and looks around. “Where’s Monggu?”
Jongin eventually finds Monggu whinnying longingly at the leashes by the door, and he laughs. “Sorry, kiddo. It’s too cold out so I can’t take you with me.” He ruffles the toy poodle’s russet hair. “Tell you what, what if I bring you a large steak bone, huh? Would you like that?”
Monggu barks and licks the side of Jongin’s jaw. Jongin ruffles his hair again and pets his nose.
He’s reaching out for his coat when he starts feeling funny, his muscles coiling up. And then the doorbell rings.
When Jongin opens the door, he finds Kyungsoo’s standing in front of him, shoulders dusted with freckles of snow and nose pressed deep against the fleece of his aviator jacket.
He eyes Jongin up and down. “You’re going somewhere?” Kyungsoo says, lips and cheeks pink. His voice is extra hoarse, like he hasn’t talked for months.
“Jongdae hyung and Chanyeol hyung wanted us to watch zombies together,” Jongin says. He’s shivering all over, even with his coat on.
Kyungsoo sinks his front teeth on his lower lip, thinking. “Sorry. I thought you were staying in for- anyway.” He steps aside, and Jongin watches as he buries half of his face back again in his jacket. “I’ll just…”
“I’m not that really into zombies, hyung. I could cancel.” Jongin takes Kyungsoo’s hand and pulls him in. He closes the door once he gets Kyungsoo inside.
He lets himself drink Kyungsoo in for a moment. “You’re here,” he says.
Kyungsoo turns to look at him. “Yeah.” He looks like he’s drinking in Jongin too.
The link in Jongin’s gut is tugging, insisting, so Jongin steps closer and vows to follow wherever it leads him.
Kyungsoo is looking up at him now, with only a thin slice of air separating them from each other. The bright yellow lights start fluttering at the edges of Jongin’s vision, and a soft, pinkish hue creeps over the link.
Kyungsoo blinks rapidly, like he’s seeing the same things Jongin does. “We’re… we’re not crazy, are we?” he asks.
Jongin laughs out loud, all high and garbled and choked up. “If we are, would you care, hyung?” He sniffles.
Kyungsoo’s lips curl into a smile. “Not that much, I guess,” he says. He places his palm flat on Jongin’s chest, and the link explodes into dozens of colors.
“Are you sure?” Jongin asks, but Kyungsoo doesn’t respond. Instead, he wraps his arms around Jongin as tightly as he can, one hand snaking into Jongin’s hair while the other presses Jongin flush to his chest.
Something inside Jongin ignites, and then he’s clutching back to Kyungsoo hard enough to leave bruises. They’re hugging each other tighter and tighter, and Jongin doesn’t want any of this to stop.
“I saw you, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says. His shoulders are trembling hard. “In my sleep. You were always there, in my head, ever since we…” He swallows loudly.
“I hope you weren’t dreaming about me in a weird way,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo leans back to shoot him a furious look.
“I can’t believe you went through all that,” Kyungsoo says, voice strangled. “You shouldn’t have kept your memories- the chances were so low.” He pinches the younger man by the shoulder. “You idiot. I can’t believe I’m in love with an utter idiot.”
Jongin presses his nose to Kyungsoo’s cheek and smiles the widest he’s ever had. “We’re supposed to be together,” he says. “Since there’s no such thing as fate, I had to try.” He wants to go on hugging Kyungsoo the same way he feels his heart is being squeezed out of his chest right now.
The living room is a rainbow of bursting color, as Jongin cups his hand over the raging pulse on Kyungsoo’s neck. He kisses it, and waits for it to quiet. “I missed you so, so much,” he whispers. “You have no idea.”
Kyungsoo breathes in heavily. “We’re kind of bonded now, Jongin. I think I might have a clue.” He then laughs, dizzy, as the sparks charge in again and trickle down from their fingertips.
The link lights up white, and gold, and Jongin relaxes to the sensation of Kyungsoo’s sure fingers over the small of his back. “And you missed me, too,” Jongin says with delight. It sparks again with flashes of quiet pink. “A lot, apparently.”
Kyungsoo hiccups. “God, I still can’t believe we’re…”
“You should say it, hyung,” Jongin says, and he loosens his grip a little so he can slide his lips over Kyungsoo’s. “Come on. Final challenge. We had five lifetimes to get it right.” After five lifetimes, they’ve finally connected the dots.
Kyungsoo hums and closes his eyes. “Soulmates,” he says, for the very first time, and Jongin tilts his head sideways to mesh their smiling lips together.
~O~
“There,” Kyungsoo says. He hoists himself up, wipes the sweat off his forehead and puts on his black cap again. “That good enough for you?”
Jongin pauses, considering, and Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “More to the left?” Kyungsoo says, pulling out the thought directly from Jongin’s head.
“Yeah,” Jongin says, and together, they lift up the bed to the far end of the wall, just behind the couple more cardboard boxes that they haven’t unpacked yet.
Is it okay now? Kyungsoo thinks, too tired to speak, and Jongin yells back, It’s perfect!, before launching himself towards the bouncy mattress.
“I have to hand it to you, hyung. You really got us a perfect view of the river,” Jongin says as he plops his elbows on the ledges of the window. “Now we can yell at the river goddess all day long.”
We’re in a complex, Kyungsoo tells him. We’ll get jailed for public disturbance. He then smirks. But feel free to reenact that one time you confessed your extreme loathing for corned beef anytime.
You’re a joker, Jongin thinks back. He leans onto the newly refurbished wall and slides right next to Kyungsoo. You think Cheolsa will like her new room if we paint it purple?
“She’s changed her favorite color three times ever since she started middle school.” Kyungsoo shrugs. “It’s okay. She’s never been really the type to mind as long as the people she loves is with her.”
Jongin grins. “And whose fault is that?” he says, winking.
“You were in on this too,” Kyungsoo says, quietly, and they both just stare at each other some more, their thoughts and feelings cascading back and forth as they go.
Kyungsoo’s firm and warm beside Jongin’s shoulder, and Jongin’s hand lists to cup Kyungsoo’s face, and he presses a kiss to his temple.
Kyungsoo smiles, soft and sincere, and perhaps a bit tired from all the baggage lifting, and Jongin lowers his head to kiss him full on the lips. Their hands tangle over themselves, searching, as Kyungsoo angles his head and kisses deeper.
Jongin sucks on Kyungsoo’s bottom lip, and the other man lets out a strangled whimper. He bites down on it again, and Kyungsoo retaliates with a fierce press of his tongue at the roof of Jongin’s mouth. Hyung, Jongin whines in his head, and Kyungsoo lets out a breathy chuckle of triumph in response.
It goes on for another full minute, and it’s a chorus of Jongin’s and Kyungsoo’s and please’s until Kyungsoo’s straddling Jongin, aligning his weight just above where their crotches meet. They kiss relentlessly, their mouths never parting, and then Jongin’s hand slides down from the curve of Kyungsoo’s neck to the his navel-
“Have strength, Jongin-ssi. Tonight will be a long battle.”
“Thank you, sir. I -I’ll do my best.”
The bond lurches, and they both pull away, gasping.
“You remember?” Jongin says, breathing hard.
Kyungsoo nods in a daze. His eyelids flutter slowly, blinking back the fireflies away to clear his vision. “I was- I was a staff sergeant,” he says. “I was supposed to lead the troops back to safety, but I was shot, and…”
Jongin doesn’t let him continue from there. He reaches up to weave his fingers into Kyungsoo’s hair and slides their lips back together again. He feels Kyungsoo slowly unwind and melt into him, as the tightness in his gut begins to loosen too.
“It’s alright. We’re already through it, and now we’re here,” Jongin says when they pull away for air. A thought occurs, and he says, “I never did learn your name, though. I always called you Handsome Staff Sergeant in my head.” He laughs.
I know. I can hear you, Kyungsoo tells him. “Yoon Jihae, at your service.” He breaks into a smile again, and Jongin is glad that he’s kept his promise.
…
[Epilogue]
…
The world is in flames when Kyungsoo opens his eyes.
For some reason, his clothes don’t catch on fire, and there’s no smoke to suffocate him and make his eyes water. Except for the blaze, everything is absolutely still.
He passes through the wall of fire just fine, and follows the only path without knowing where it leads. Kyungsoo’s head pounds, and he can’t make himself think clearly. The winding of the path seems eerily familiar, however, and so is the sound of wailing voices all around.
After a while, the path right where a huge table extends like in courtroom dramas. At the swiveling leather chairs, there are three people looking at him expectantly. They have folders in front of them, all labeled with Yoon Jihae at the cover.
Kyungsoo can’t turn back since the path behind him has disappeared; he approaches them with caution.
“Ahh, he’s here! Always the first one to show, eh?” a man with a great white beard says- Marco, Kyungsoo recalls suddenly, and then his brain starts drumming against his skull again. He rubs his temples, and Marco waves at him. “Don’t worry about the headaches, Jihae. It will pass. The way the memories come back in the afterlife can be very unsettling at first.”
“Jihae,” Kyungsoo tests the name, his tongue curling. Right. His name’s Jihae.
“Yes, yes, that’s you,” Marco looks very impatient. “Or would you rather us call you by your last life’s birth name? You seem to like it better.”
Kyungsoo is, for some unknown reason. “Umm, Jihae’s fine, I guess,” he says.
“So, Kyungsoo. You had a pretty good run,” another guy wearing thin ribbons on his white hair- Thomas Jefferson, Kyungsoo’s brain helpfully supplies-comments as he leafs over the stack of papers in his folder. “To be quite honest, we’re kind of impressed.”
“Really?”
“You were Lee Jungeun, who unfortunately died a painful death at age forty-two. You were brought to life again as Lee Jinsung, son of an alcoholic father and a sickly mother and had too many siblings. And then you were Han Eunchae, a penniless photographer who had a long life, but no family or friends. And lastly, you were Do Kyungsoo,” a woman in a simple but elegant white dress says, and then smiles. Kyungsoo thinks hard… and remembers. Margaret Fuller. “Who had a rambunctious sister fifteen years his senior to take care of while their parents took their whirlwind romance a tour around the world.”
“Basically people who you’d probably most likely see in a tragedy movie,” Thomas says. “Remarkably, all four of them are promising enough for Oasis alone. That usually doesn’t happen for reincarnates.”
Reincarnates, Kyungsoo thinks, and an unfathomable feeling overtakes him and rids him of breath. The wide smiles the judges give him tell him that he won’t be coming back to Earth for the sixth time around. He’s at his end.
His vision suddenly gets hazy and he staggers a few steps back -
I like your music it’s nice my mom’s allergic to strawberries I’ll see you next week Halmeoni I like calling you hyung better do you want to go out sometime you can always sing me to sleep I love you -
Kyungsoo’s whole world spins.
“I wasn’t alone, was I?” Kyungsoo muses out loud. Dark brown hair, warm, tawny skin, pouty lips, and a cheerful, blinding smile. His stomach sparks up. “I… I had someone,” he mutters. Kyungsoo had someone very, very important.
Marco bursts into a laugh, pleased. “Alright! Now we’re talking!” he cheers.
Margaret smiles. “Close your eyes, Kyungsoo, and let yourself breathe. You’ll remember him better.”
Kyungsoo inhales and does what he’s asked.
…
When Kim Jongin had crawled out of the fire, a path of jagged rocks formed. But now, he’s here where the path has lead him-with Margaret, Thomas and Marco behind the massive mahogany table-and there’s no other way to go but forward.
Jongin feels nausea creep up at him as he takes three steps closer to where he’s supposed to stand, and waits for their judgment.
“So,” Margaret says. She doesn’t say anything more.
“Hello.” Jongin gulps. “And um, thank you. For everything.”
Margaret smiles eerily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.
“You had a really good life this time, I presume,” Thomas says. “Everyone was really excited to hear about your arrival.”
Jongin grows confused. “Does everyone here wish me to die early?” he asks, and earns a couple of chortles from Marco.
“You were definitely one of the main headlines for the higher-ups, and some of the guys down there,” Marco says. “You could also say that some of us got a little invested and watched over you very carefully.” He throws Margaret a teasing look.
The last one was a little creepy, but Jongin decides not to dwell on it. His head is hurting so much. “Am I getting punished?” Jongin says. This is the worst migraine he’s ever had in his entire lives.
Thomas laughs. “No, of course not. Your head is just catching up to the wonders of afterlife,” he says. “You had a rough two hundred years, Jongin. I’m sure you can handle it for a little longer.”
“I want to throw up,” Jongin says. “But something tells me that I can’t.”
“Ahh, Death.” Marco sighs dreamily. “Now you won’t ever have to run to the toilet ever again! Isn’t it marvelous?”
“Very,” Jongin agrees. He looks at the folders at the table with his name on them, all untouched. “So umm, what’s the verdict?”
Marco looks over at his fellow Gateway judges before turning to face Jongin again. “Well, we’ve already decided a long time ago.” He nods at Jongin solemnly. “You have more than proved your worth, Kim Jongin, four times. It’s time for you to rest.”
Jongin then stills, like he’s been doused with icy water all over, and his eyes dart everywhere nervously. “I think-I think I’m missing something-” Oh. He jumps a little on his spot when his thoughts suddenly race. “Where is he? Is he here?”
Margaret shakes her head. “He’s at the Isles already,” she says. “He’s waiting for you.”
~O~
They tell him that it never rains in the Isles, and that there’re always sun rays and clear skies and plenty of fresh air. Jongin likes the rain, though. The soft pitter-pattering against the roof and windows has always lulled him to sleep best, and the dreams he gets are smooth and comforting, leaving fuzzy imprints of happiness every time he wakes up.
And oh- Jongin remembers again, his voice. Jongin’s always liked it best at the foreground of summer drizzles, whenever he sang under his breath in the bedroom and thought that Jongin wasn’t listening to him.
He roams around the Isles and picks up on the fragmented memories as he forges in deeper. Jongin chuckles when he sees an apple tree by the river, and recalls Saturday nights Jongin spent slicing apples and peeling the skin to form rabbit ears while he went over the movies they could watch.
“Is there something funny, stranger?” a voice asks, hauntingly familiar.
Jongin turns at his heels quickly and gets dizzy in an instant. “Yeah,” he replies.
And there it is, the heart-shaped smile. It’s not tired, like Jongin had expected, but happy. Hopelessly and utterly happy. “Mind sharing it to me?” he says.
Jongin definitely wants to. He has lots to tell him, and eternity is a really long time to talk about things. He takes the man’s hand, squeezes it, and the fireflies come alive.
~Fin~
Disclaimer: The first four news clips in this fic are excerpts from real articles. They belong to their respective authors and publishers, and they were used solely to frame the chronology of Jongin and Kyungsoo’s lives. Links to the articles can be found here: 1, 2, 3, 4
❊ title: yesteryear
~O~
The cardboard boxes Jongin has just stacked in the garage suddenly topple over, losing their center of gravity, and all of the things Jongin had meticulously packed spills all over the floor like sour milk. After the crash comes an awful wailing in the living room, and Jongin stops dead in his tracks - it’s Cheolsa.
He runs to the kitchen to find Cheolsa sobbing miserably.
“Kyungsoo oppa,” Cheolsa cries. She looks younger than Jongin remembers, perhaps around six or seven. “Mom and Dad won’t be back for my birthday.”
Kyungsoo oppa? Jongin thinks, but then he watches in horror as his hand launches to rub soothing circles against Cheolsa’s back. In fact, it’s not his hand. The fingers are too short, and the nails are bitten down to the bed.
“They’ll probably be back next year, just wait,” Jongin says, but it’s not his voice. It’s Kyungsoo’s.
Cheolsa doesn’t take this as well as he hopes and continues crying. Jongin, feeling lost, hides back in the garage. He dials all of his Cheolsa’s friends’ numbers and tells them that the party is cancelled. Lastly, he hesitates over Joohyun’s number, his thumb hovering over the green button before finally giving in.
“Hello?” a female voice says.
“Joohyun-” Jongin starts. His voice cracks in the middle. He clears his throat. “Joohyun, it’s me.”
“Oh. Kyungsoo…”
Jongin waits, but nothing comes. Maybe this Joohyun person is waiting. A thought suddenly flashes through Jongin’s mind’s eye, and he sees a beautiful girl with silky black hair and a heart-shaped face crying herself to sleep in his arms.
"The party’s cancelled,” Jongin finally says after a long moment. He picks up the heavy practical gear design book that had fallen from the box and slots it back to the shelves.
There’s a slight pause before Joohyun answers, “I wasn’t planning on going.” There’s no malice in her tone. “But tell Cheolsa I wish her a happy birthday.”
“Alright,” Jongin says. “Joohyun?”
“Yes?”
Jongin bites his bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.
The silence is longer this time. It seems that Joohyun is measuring everything she’s going to say, up to very last breath.
Joohyun exhales, and the line cackles. “You’re still going to sing with Chanyeol-ssi at the club?”
“Yeah.” Jongin rubs his face with his palm. He doesn’t know why his eyes are starting to burn. “Will I see you there?”
“Don’t worry, Kyungsoo,” Joohyun says, and her voice sounds sad. “You won’t.”
…
Jongin’s eyes snap open, red-rimmed and sore, like he’s been crying in his sleep the whole time. He sits up straight, and notices that his pillows are wet.
He turns on the nightlight and inspects his hand under the lamp. It looks the same now. He yawns, and it’s his voice that comes out from his mouth. But the bile that rises up to his throat doesn’t belong to him, and the ancient ache in his chest isn’t meant for him at all.
Jongin finally knows how it feels like to break someone else’s heart.
~O~
Every night, Jongin gets a new dream. He anticipates them now, and they come in faster progression and gets even more vivid as Jongin dives into the ocean of memories. When it’s time to sleep, he closes his eyes, and when he opens them, he sees everything the way Kyungsoo saw them. Sometimes he hears Kyungsoo’s thoughts, and they can get pretty amusing, like the way he refers to calling Chanyeol an “obnoxious dickhead” with varying degrees of fondness. They make Jongin laugh when he remembers them in the morning, a cup of jasmine tea in hand.
There are moments too, when Jongin wakes up crying silently in his sleep, like that first night. Like that time he dreamt he was Jinsung, and felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. And there was that time he dreamt he was Halmeoni, dying alone.
The dams are opening as Jongin gets transported from one lifetime to the next. He gets to know Kyungsoo and Jinsung and Halmeoni, night by night. It’s almost enough.
The memories are here, but Kyungsoo is gone. Jongin doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do without the both of them.
~O~
It’s Christmas Eve. Jongin styles his hair just for the occasion, since Chanyeol and Jongdae promised to bring him to the best parts of the city after Zombie Mayhem, and there would be lots of bright lights and people dressed all fancy.
He’s made himself mac n’ cheese and crispy baked chicken with peas on the side. He gets to eat only half of the portion for each, so he places them on separate Tupperwares and lays them on the table.
Jangga and Jjangu circle the couch, and Jongin leaps towards them and smothers them with kisses. “Merry Christmas, you two. Now, keep this place safe while I’m gone.” He chuckles and looks around. “Where’s Monggu?”
Jongin eventually finds Monggu whinnying longingly at the leashes by the door, and he laughs. “Sorry, kiddo. It’s too cold out so I can’t take you with me.” He ruffles the toy poodle’s russet hair. “Tell you what, what if I bring you a large steak bone, huh? Would you like that?”
Monggu barks and licks the side of Jongin’s jaw. Jongin ruffles his hair again and pets his nose.
He’s reaching out for his coat when he starts feeling funny, his muscles coiling up. And then the doorbell rings.
When Jongin opens the door, he finds Kyungsoo’s standing in front of him, shoulders dusted with freckles of snow and nose pressed deep against the fleece of his aviator jacket.
He eyes Jongin up and down. “You’re going somewhere?” Kyungsoo says, lips and cheeks pink. His voice is extra hoarse, like he hasn’t talked for months.
“Jongdae hyung and Chanyeol hyung wanted us to watch zombies together,” Jongin says. He’s shivering all over, even with his coat on.
Kyungsoo sinks his front teeth on his lower lip, thinking. “Sorry. I thought you were staying in for- anyway.” He steps aside, and Jongin watches as he buries half of his face back again in his jacket. “I’ll just…”
“I’m not that really into zombies, hyung. I could cancel.” Jongin takes Kyungsoo’s hand and pulls him in. He closes the door once he gets Kyungsoo inside.
He lets himself drink Kyungsoo in for a moment. “You’re here,” he says.
Kyungsoo turns to look at him. “Yeah.” He looks like he’s drinking in Jongin too.
The link in Jongin’s gut is tugging, insisting, so Jongin steps closer and vows to follow wherever it leads him.
Kyungsoo is looking up at him now, with only a thin slice of air separating them from each other. The bright yellow lights start fluttering at the edges of Jongin’s vision, and a soft, pinkish hue creeps over the link.
Kyungsoo blinks rapidly, like he’s seeing the same things Jongin does. “We’re… we’re not crazy, are we?” he asks.
Jongin laughs out loud, all high and garbled and choked up. “If we are, would you care, hyung?” He sniffles.
Kyungsoo’s lips curl into a smile. “Not that much, I guess,” he says. He places his palm flat on Jongin’s chest, and the link explodes into dozens of colors.
“Are you sure?” Jongin asks, but Kyungsoo doesn’t respond. Instead, he wraps his arms around Jongin as tightly as he can, one hand snaking into Jongin’s hair while the other presses Jongin flush to his chest.
Something inside Jongin ignites, and then he’s clutching back to Kyungsoo hard enough to leave bruises. They’re hugging each other tighter and tighter, and Jongin doesn’t want any of this to stop.
“I saw you, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says. His shoulders are trembling hard. “In my sleep. You were always there, in my head, ever since we…” He swallows loudly.
“I hope you weren’t dreaming about me in a weird way,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo leans back to shoot him a furious look.
“I can’t believe you went through all that,” Kyungsoo says, voice strangled. “You shouldn’t have kept your memories- the chances were so low.” He pinches the younger man by the shoulder. “You idiot. I can’t believe I’m in love with an utter idiot.”
Jongin presses his nose to Kyungsoo’s cheek and smiles the widest he’s ever had. “We’re supposed to be together,” he says. “Since there’s no such thing as fate, I had to try.” He wants to go on hugging Kyungsoo the same way he feels his heart is being squeezed out of his chest right now.
The living room is a rainbow of bursting color, as Jongin cups his hand over the raging pulse on Kyungsoo’s neck. He kisses it, and waits for it to quiet. “I missed you so, so much,” he whispers. “You have no idea.”
Kyungsoo breathes in heavily. “We’re kind of bonded now, Jongin. I think I might have a clue.” He then laughs, dizzy, as the sparks charge in again and trickle down from their fingertips.
The link lights up white, and gold, and Jongin relaxes to the sensation of Kyungsoo’s sure fingers over the small of his back. “And you missed me, too,” Jongin says with delight. It sparks again with flashes of quiet pink. “A lot, apparently.”
Kyungsoo hiccups. “God, I still can’t believe we’re…”
“You should say it, hyung,” Jongin says, and he loosens his grip a little so he can slide his lips over Kyungsoo’s. “Come on. Final challenge. We had five lifetimes to get it right.” After five lifetimes, they’ve finally connected the dots.
Kyungsoo hums and closes his eyes. “Soulmates,” he says, for the very first time, and Jongin tilts his head sideways to mesh their smiling lips together.
~O~
“There,” Kyungsoo says. He hoists himself up, wipes the sweat off his forehead and puts on his black cap again. “That good enough for you?”
Jongin pauses, considering, and Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “More to the left?” Kyungsoo says, pulling out the thought directly from Jongin’s head.
“Yeah,” Jongin says, and together, they lift up the bed to the far end of the wall, just behind the couple more cardboard boxes that they haven’t unpacked yet.
Is it okay now? Kyungsoo thinks, too tired to speak, and Jongin yells back, It’s perfect!, before launching himself towards the bouncy mattress.
“I have to hand it to you, hyung. You really got us a perfect view of the river,” Jongin says as he plops his elbows on the ledges of the window. “Now we can yell at the river goddess all day long.”
We’re in a complex, Kyungsoo tells him. We’ll get jailed for public disturbance. He then smirks. But feel free to reenact that one time you confessed your extreme loathing for corned beef anytime.
You’re a joker, Jongin thinks back. He leans onto the newly refurbished wall and slides right next to Kyungsoo. You think Cheolsa will like her new room if we paint it purple?
“She’s changed her favorite color three times ever since she started middle school.” Kyungsoo shrugs. “It’s okay. She’s never been really the type to mind as long as the people she loves is with her.”
Jongin grins. “And whose fault is that?” he says, winking.
“You were in on this too,” Kyungsoo says, quietly, and they both just stare at each other some more, their thoughts and feelings cascading back and forth as they go.
Kyungsoo’s firm and warm beside Jongin’s shoulder, and Jongin’s hand lists to cup Kyungsoo’s face, and he presses a kiss to his temple.
Kyungsoo smiles, soft and sincere, and perhaps a bit tired from all the baggage lifting, and Jongin lowers his head to kiss him full on the lips. Their hands tangle over themselves, searching, as Kyungsoo angles his head and kisses deeper.
Jongin sucks on Kyungsoo’s bottom lip, and the other man lets out a strangled whimper. He bites down on it again, and Kyungsoo retaliates with a fierce press of his tongue at the roof of Jongin’s mouth. Hyung, Jongin whines in his head, and Kyungsoo lets out a breathy chuckle of triumph in response.
It goes on for another full minute, and it’s a chorus of Jongin’s and Kyungsoo’s and please’s until Kyungsoo’s straddling Jongin, aligning his weight just above where their crotches meet. They kiss relentlessly, their mouths never parting, and then Jongin’s hand slides down from the curve of Kyungsoo’s neck to the his navel-
“Have strength, Jongin-ssi. Tonight will be a long battle.”
“Thank you, sir. I -I’ll do my best.”
The bond lurches, and they both pull away, gasping.
“You remember?” Jongin says, breathing hard.
Kyungsoo nods in a daze. His eyelids flutter slowly, blinking back the fireflies away to clear his vision. “I was- I was a staff sergeant,” he says. “I was supposed to lead the troops back to safety, but I was shot, and…”
Jongin doesn’t let him continue from there. He reaches up to weave his fingers into Kyungsoo’s hair and slides their lips back together again. He feels Kyungsoo slowly unwind and melt into him, as the tightness in his gut begins to loosen too.
“It’s alright. We’re already through it, and now we’re here,” Jongin says when they pull away for air. A thought occurs, and he says, “I never did learn your name, though. I always called you Handsome Staff Sergeant in my head.” He laughs.
I know. I can hear you, Kyungsoo tells him. “Yoon Jihae, at your service.” He breaks into a smile again, and Jongin is glad that he’s kept his promise.
…
[Epilogue]
…
The world is in flames when Kyungsoo opens his eyes.
For some reason, his clothes don’t catch on fire, and there’s no smoke to suffocate him and make his eyes water. Except for the blaze, everything is absolutely still.
He passes through the wall of fire just fine, and follows the only path without knowing where it leads. Kyungsoo’s head pounds, and he can’t make himself think clearly. The winding of the path seems eerily familiar, however, and so is the sound of wailing voices all around.
After a while, the path right where a huge table extends like in courtroom dramas. At the swiveling leather chairs, there are three people looking at him expectantly. They have folders in front of them, all labeled with Yoon Jihae at the cover.
Kyungsoo can’t turn back since the path behind him has disappeared; he approaches them with caution.
“Ahh, he’s here! Always the first one to show, eh?” a man with a great white beard says- Marco, Kyungsoo recalls suddenly, and then his brain starts drumming against his skull again. He rubs his temples, and Marco waves at him. “Don’t worry about the headaches, Jihae. It will pass. The way the memories come back in the afterlife can be very unsettling at first.”
“Jihae,” Kyungsoo tests the name, his tongue curling. Right. His name’s Jihae.
“Yes, yes, that’s you,” Marco looks very impatient. “Or would you rather us call you by your last life’s birth name? You seem to like it better.”
Kyungsoo is, for some unknown reason. “Umm, Jihae’s fine, I guess,” he says.
“So, Kyungsoo. You had a pretty good run,” another guy wearing thin ribbons on his white hair- Thomas Jefferson, Kyungsoo’s brain helpfully supplies-comments as he leafs over the stack of papers in his folder. “To be quite honest, we’re kind of impressed.”
“Really?”
“You were Lee Jungeun, who unfortunately died a painful death at age forty-two. You were brought to life again as Lee Jinsung, son of an alcoholic father and a sickly mother and had too many siblings. And then you were Han Eunchae, a penniless photographer who had a long life, but no family or friends. And lastly, you were Do Kyungsoo,” a woman in a simple but elegant white dress says, and then smiles. Kyungsoo thinks hard… and remembers. Margaret Fuller. “Who had a rambunctious sister fifteen years his senior to take care of while their parents took their whirlwind romance a tour around the world.”
“Basically people who you’d probably most likely see in a tragedy movie,” Thomas says. “Remarkably, all four of them are promising enough for Oasis alone. That usually doesn’t happen for reincarnates.”
Reincarnates, Kyungsoo thinks, and an unfathomable feeling overtakes him and rids him of breath. The wide smiles the judges give him tell him that he won’t be coming back to Earth for the sixth time around. He’s at his end.
His vision suddenly gets hazy and he staggers a few steps back -
I like your music it’s nice my mom’s allergic to strawberries I’ll see you next week Halmeoni I like calling you hyung better do you want to go out sometime you can always sing me to sleep I love you -
Kyungsoo’s whole world spins.
“I wasn’t alone, was I?” Kyungsoo muses out loud. Dark brown hair, warm, tawny skin, pouty lips, and a cheerful, blinding smile. His stomach sparks up. “I… I had someone,” he mutters. Kyungsoo had someone very, very important.
Marco bursts into a laugh, pleased. “Alright! Now we’re talking!” he cheers.
Margaret smiles. “Close your eyes, Kyungsoo, and let yourself breathe. You’ll remember him better.”
Kyungsoo inhales and does what he’s asked.
…
When Kim Jongin had crawled out of the fire, a path of jagged rocks formed. But now, he’s here where the path has lead him-with Margaret, Thomas and Marco behind the massive mahogany table-and there’s no other way to go but forward.
Jongin feels nausea creep up at him as he takes three steps closer to where he’s supposed to stand, and waits for their judgment.
“So,” Margaret says. She doesn’t say anything more.
“Hello.” Jongin gulps. “And um, thank you. For everything.”
Margaret smiles eerily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.
“You had a really good life this time, I presume,” Thomas says. “Everyone was really excited to hear about your arrival.”
Jongin grows confused. “Does everyone here wish me to die early?” he asks, and earns a couple of chortles from Marco.
“You were definitely one of the main headlines for the higher-ups, and some of the guys down there,” Marco says. “You could also say that some of us got a little invested and watched over you very carefully.” He throws Margaret a teasing look.
The last one was a little creepy, but Jongin decides not to dwell on it. His head is hurting so much. “Am I getting punished?” Jongin says. This is the worst migraine he’s ever had in his entire lives.
Thomas laughs. “No, of course not. Your head is just catching up to the wonders of afterlife,” he says. “You had a rough two hundred years, Jongin. I’m sure you can handle it for a little longer.”
“I want to throw up,” Jongin says. “But something tells me that I can’t.”
“Ahh, Death.” Marco sighs dreamily. “Now you won’t ever have to run to the toilet ever again! Isn’t it marvelous?”
“Very,” Jongin agrees. He looks at the folders at the table with his name on them, all untouched. “So umm, what’s the verdict?”
Marco looks over at his fellow Gateway judges before turning to face Jongin again. “Well, we’ve already decided a long time ago.” He nods at Jongin solemnly. “You have more than proved your worth, Kim Jongin, four times. It’s time for you to rest.”
Jongin then stills, like he’s been doused with icy water all over, and his eyes dart everywhere nervously. “I think-I think I’m missing something-” Oh. He jumps a little on his spot when his thoughts suddenly race. “Where is he? Is he here?”
Margaret shakes her head. “He’s at the Isles already,” she says. “He’s waiting for you.”
~O~
They tell him that it never rains in the Isles, and that there’re always sun rays and clear skies and plenty of fresh air. Jongin likes the rain, though. The soft pitter-pattering against the roof and windows has always lulled him to sleep best, and the dreams he gets are smooth and comforting, leaving fuzzy imprints of happiness every time he wakes up.
And oh- Jongin remembers again, his voice. Jongin’s always liked it best at the foreground of summer drizzles, whenever he sang under his breath in the bedroom and thought that Jongin wasn’t listening to him.
He roams around the Isles and picks up on the fragmented memories as he forges in deeper. Jongin chuckles when he sees an apple tree by the river, and recalls Saturday nights Jongin spent slicing apples and peeling the skin to form rabbit ears while he went over the movies they could watch.
“Is there something funny, stranger?” a voice asks, hauntingly familiar.
Jongin turns at his heels quickly and gets dizzy in an instant. “Yeah,” he replies.
And there it is, the heart-shaped smile. It’s not tired, like Jongin had expected, but happy. Hopelessly and utterly happy. “Mind sharing it to me?” he says.
Jongin definitely wants to. He has lots to tell him, and eternity is a really long time to talk about things. He takes the man’s hand, squeezes it, and the fireflies come alive.
~Fin~
Disclaimer: The first four news clips in this fic are excerpts from real articles. They belong to their respective authors and publishers, and they were used solely to frame the chronology of Jongin and Kyungsoo’s lives. Links to the articles can be found here: 1, 2, 3, 4