(for everyone) 'til death do us part ✸ part 1 of 2
❊ for: everyone
❊ title: 'til death do us part
❊ pairings: kai/d.o, slight!chanyeol/baekhyun
❊ rating: nc17
❊ warnings: gun use, slightly graphic death
❊ word count: ~11k
❊ summary: do kyungsoo is boring. luckily for him, kim jongin is not.
Wind laced with inklings of teeth clings to the patch of Kyungsoo’s cheekbones that aren’t covered by the creamy yellow scarf wound thick around his neck, feet crunching above a mixture of half melted snow and dead leaves. Another breeze. He lifts his head and squints through the flurry of white, checks to make sure that he’s still walking in the right direction and carries on forward, shivering in the process.
The streets of Seoul in early January, after all the New Year’s celebrations, were always a swirling blizzard of ice and desolation. Usually most of the snow would fall overnight or in the early morning leaving the city a milky canvas, with mounds of white that either formed thick piles on the ground or collected in the tops of trees and rooftops. However on a day like this where the cold was the type of cold that made no jumper or scarf feel enough, many stayed within the comfort of their own homes or for the ones who did bother to go out, found temporary shelter inside small stores along sidewalks which always left the owners ‘tsk’-ing in irritation.
He’s almost reached his destination. Kyungsoo eventually walks through automatic doors, sighs in relief as the heated air practically defrosts his body upon reaching the lobby of his apartment. Reluctantly, his hand reaches out from the comfort of his warm coat pocket to fumble for his keys. Metal clashes against metal, followed by the hollow creak of a door.
A pair of worn, slightly damp red Converse shoes lay messily scattered across the entrance mat. His roommate had already beaten him home, that’s why Kyungsoo was not surprised to see the man slung across the couch in a way that makes one question whether or not he was still alive, with the side of his face slowly becoming one with a maroon cushion. Photogenic.
Ah yes. Byun Baekhyun.
Baekhyun, the type of guy you wouldn’t invite out to parities because he’d drink so much that seeing him dance to “Bubble Pop” on a tabletop makes the embarrassment of accidentally snorting water out of your nose seem like nothing. Baekhyun, the type of guy who would still spend hours watching cat Vines on his desk clattered with days-old instant noodles and Mountain Dew even when he had an alarming amount of papers due.
When Kyungsoo first met Baekhyun, he was sixteen. A blow to his nose by a misdirected soccer ball and a trip to first-aid later, the two had no choice but to make small talk (half of it was Baekhyun apologising) because coincidentally, like some clichéd movie, the nurse wasn’t in her office. He had only prayed that their first encounter would also be their last - that he wouldn’t be back during lunch at his desk to ask Kyungsoo ‘if he could sit with him because all his other friends went to different high schools’. He prayed that Baekhyun wouldn’t end up making him one of his ‘friends’.
Guess what didn’t happen.
But Do Kyungsoo is kind as he is tolerate, and honestly at that time the type of people he associated himself with really didn’t matter to him at all - he just wanted the marks to secure his place in a somewhat decent university. Having known Baekhyun at the time did have its perks though in the form of free ice cream after heavy exam periods because he’d pay for him in gratitude for helping him study. He wouldn’t call it indifference, not hatred, or even teenage angst that never quite faded, but friends simply never took priority over the things that other people might not care as much about. They were like the rain that came accompanied with the clouds, you never ask for it but it just happens anyway. You meet them for the first time, exchange greetings, and you don’t really know what to call it after that, but you’re certainly not strangers anymore. People could come and go as they liked, as long as they didn’t affect his goals or objectives, and he never really felt bad when they did leave - to put it bluntly, he didn’t really care. As long as he was polite, his actions resulted in no intentional harm being done to those around him - a sign that there was nothing wrong with the way he was currently living,. which was how he wanted to keep it.
A half empty packet of sour cola bottles lay strewn across Baekhyun’s abdomen on top of a grey blanket. Reruns of what Kyungsoo identifies to be some cheesy high school drama starring Lee Min Ho blares obnoxiously from the television.
Kyungsoo sighs.
He spots a nearby magazine and considers rolling it up putting it to good use, and honestly, sometimes Kyungsoo wonders why he still puts up with the latter. His hand hovers over the cover of some photoshopped female model in a crop top and hesitates, because he remembers the two main reasons for why Baekhyun isn’t living out on the streets yet. One: The rent is expensive. Two: Kyungsoo may seem like he has the emotional capacity of a rock, but after hearing Baekhyun’s endless droning on how he didn’t find girls attractive and seeing him turn up one night with a duffle bag and the left side of his cheek blooming with red which most definitely wasn’t from the heat, Kyungsoo didn’t have to guess to know what had happened and decided that no, he wasn’t heartless.
And so, one month turned into two, turned into eight, and here they were today.
--
Somewhere in the room a radio is playing, the woman’s voice muffled by static is just enough to subdue the silence of the secluded bar amongst the occasional scuffle of chairs. It’s barely late afternoon, yet the city sky had worn a permanent grey the entire day so what was morning felt miserably like night. A moth dances across the ceiling but the show is short lived as it flutters almost innocently into the zapper. Someone coughs.
Lean legs clad in tight but fitting leather are draped lazily either side a stool. The owner has one hand slowly swishing around a cup of something he doesn’t know. His eyes follow, absentmindedly, the liquid spinning idly inside the glass. The other hand comes around to his coat pocket to slide out a smartphone, flicking it on to check for the time. It’s five twenty-three.
Thick lips twitch.
He’s becoming more conscious of the bartender hovering near the opposite corner of the counter, face a blooming swirl of adolescence and maturity, huffs out a breath and hands releasing a pristine glass from the cloth between his hands.
The man eventually lifts the glass of yellow-brown to his lips, draws in a sip. Disgusting.
He lifts his arms slightly just to check that he doesn’t smell of smoke and burning asphalt, readjusts his coat and slides his torso into his folded forearms.
“Can I get another, please?”
It’s enough to peel his attention away from the wet mugs, and for a second timid eyes meet those bleeding confidence.
“Sure.”
And he’s stepping forward, making a grab for the glass that the man had already kindly placed on top of the counter. The refill comes faster than he’d thought.
He lifts the glass, twirls it slowly once and drains the contents, wincing. This earns him some surprise.
“Rough day?”
“Call it that,” he lowers the glass, “could be better, could be worse.”
It’s still quiet, and the lady in a pencil skirt and fitted blazer makes a move for the exit, heels clicking.
“You know,” the man starts, into the air, whether it’s to Bartender or himself he doesn’t even know, “sometimes I don’t understand people.” He straightens his back, allows his hands to fall to his lap. “They’re too complicated.”
“Would I be arrogant to assume you were dumped?”
He looks up, not expecting a reply. He wants to laugh. The aftertaste is starting to turn bitter in his mouth.
“That’s half the story. The other half’s just been a clusterfuck of me trying to figure out at what exact point did things start going wrong. To why everything thing before that ended. But I couldn’t. So I grew irritated.” he wants to add something else but he doesn’t, decides to leave it out.
Bartender is silent, visibly choosing his next words.
“Maybe that’s just how we’re meant to be. To just appear in other people’s lives, to take what we want without having to give a reason.” His arm comes to sweep the wooden surface out of habit.
The man doesn’t respond, only lifts his eyes, intrigued, clasps his hands and fixates his mouth into a smirk. Maybe he can test this theory out. The boy didn’t look too bad either, dyed brown hair falling above his eyes and borderline skinny, thin wrists and tall enough to have an arm curled around his waist. Pretty eyes, he thinks.
“What time do you finish tonight?”
The implication of his question doesn’t sink in until a blend of mild shock and disbelief registers on his face. His hesitation makes it more than obvious that he’s torn between need and conscience, but then he swallows and marginally relaxes his face, parts his lips.
“I haven’t got a night shift so I’ll be done at six.”
So he checks the time again. Five fifty-seven. Considering that he’s slightly sad, he supposes he has a little time.
--
“Oi, Kyungsoo.”
Baekhyun comes home one day after an afternoon lecture and Kyungsoo’s reluctantly peeling his attention away from where an unfinished senior thesis sits on his laptop screen.
“What.”
He’s met with a sheepish grin, the same sight you’d see as if a student were asking for money from their parent. Kyungsoo knows this isn’t a good sign.
“Just hear me out first.” His face must’ve given him away.
“I’m listening.”
“So I was talking to Chanyeol last night, and he told me that he had a friend who was looking for….I guess you could call it a partner. Been searching for months but still no luck.”
So it was Chanyeol’s idea. The only way Kyungsoo could describe him in relation to Baekhyun would be ‘birds of a feather flock together’. The six foot giant who wore hoodies like a second skin often wandered into their dorm in search for Baekhyun’s company, so Kyungsoo had no choice but to get to know him. He didn’t know how they met, only that one day Baekhyun showed up through the door with someone else other than himself. Kyungsoo was pretty sure the two were dating. They laughed loud enough at each other’s jokes to seem like they were.
“And what’s this got to do with me?”
His only response was a stare that lasted more than ten seconds, somewhat deemed enough for an answer. He blinked. Kyungsoo realised.
“No.”
“C’mon, Kyungsoo, please! He likes singing, you like singing. He can’t dance to save his life and neither can you. It’s a match made in heaven.”
Baekhyun narrowly dodges a missile in the form of a pen, which misses his temple by an inch.
“Pleasepleaseplease. It’ll only be one date and all you have to do is sit, eat and talk. The restaurant isn’t even some half assed Italian place that only serves pasta.”
A sigh escapes Kyungsoo’s lips and he rests his temples between his fingers.
“Baekhyun, I can’t. I’m already running tight on time on this essay - ”
“- you have three weeks -”
“- considering that I have two exams in the upcoming week and I still need to revise my notes for the one upcoming tomorrow.”
The clock ticks, fills the silence like a metronome whilst the muffled sound of car tires running along concrete could be heard from outside. Baekhyun simply sits on the sofa arm his mouth clamped shut and eyes unfocused, and Kyungsoo who thinks that he’s dodged a bullet, returns his focus to the bright screen.
“When was the last time you lived, Kyungsoo. You’re such a boring person.”
Kyungsoo pauses, throwing back an unoriginal response, “I’m not a boring person!”
All he gets in return is a raised eyebrow.
“Go to hell.”
--
The concrete is damp with a distant trickling that always accompanies the streets after an onslaught of heavy rain. It’s only quarter-to-seven, but Kyungsoo is Kyungsoo and even though he’s already counting down the minutes ‘till when the date is finished, he still has to make a good impression. The sign that sticks out at a ninety-degree angle from the restaurant door comes into focus and Kyungsoo returns his gaze to the glistening footpath, huffs a breathe of smoke as he approaches it.
This is it, he thinks, you’re gonna set it straight that a relationship is the last thing you need right now and that this idea was all because your dumbass roommate couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
The bell on top of the door chimes quietly after him.
It’s not bad, is the first thought he has. Kyungsoo contemplates, takes in the opulent yet modest interior with satisfaction, small circular tabletops covered in cream coloured fabric that doesn’t quite make it to the ground. There are origami napkins taking on the form of swans balancing on pristine china. One of Debussy’s suites paints the background.
“Good evening sir, do you have a reservation?”
Kyungsoo barely noticed the receptionist who had popped up beside him. He pauses, scans the handful of people inside as discreetly as possible to look for the guy that he was supposed to be meeting with.
There’s an old couple chatting to themselves in the far corner, a family of three with a small child by the window, and two middle aged ladies who were waiting for their food to arrive. There’s only one person left, a man who’s face is blocked and obstructed by the massive lily petals peeking from the vase on the edge of the table. At a glance, he looked to be near Kyungsoo’s age.
Must be him.
“Yes. Reservation under Mr. Kim Jong- um..” Shit, what was his name again. “Jong-“
Luckily the lady saves him from the agony and scans the table on her clipboard.
“Kim Jong In?”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Something like that.
The waiter lets out a slight chuckle and Kyungsoo thanks the lady briskly, steadily follows the direction she points to with a gesture she makes towards the table. It’s the same one as the man sitting behind the flowers.
Time slows when Kyungsoo rounds the corner of the table and the stranger’s face is finally within his view. He still appears to have his head tilted down towards the menu, unaware of the other man’s presence.
Kyungsoo’s breath almost stops.
He doesn’t know why, but perhaps it’s the angled cheekbones, chiselled jawline and pillowed lips that makes Kyungsoo more than one hundred-percent sure that if he leaves tonight with the same mindset that he came with, he may possibly regret it for the rest of his life. His shoulders are broad, outlined nicely by the black shirt draped across his torso.
Kyungsoo is still awkwardly standing beside the table and doesn’t really know what he should do to get the other male’s attention, but sliding into the chair across him seems to make his head snap up.
There’s a momentary pause and look of surprise is almost etched across his face, though washed away as quickly as it came. He’s greeted with a small smile whilst the other man stares with slightly widened eyes as he takes in Kyungsoo’s appearance, which broadens and fits across his face in a warm manner.
“Hi.”
It takes Kyungsoo more than a few seconds to realise he’s been spoken to.
“Hello, I’m Do Kyungsoo. You’re uh, Chanyeol’s friend, right?”
The man in front of him blinks.
“Yeah.” Another wave of silence has washed between them, but then he opens his mouth again. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Jongin.”
For a second Kyungsoo thinks he has the wrong guy, that there’s no way that Chanyeol would have someone like him within his friend circles, but then he’s clicking his fingers to get the waiter’s attention asking quietly for another menu, turns his head back around and the smile is back.
Kyungsoo knows he’s in trouble.
“What do you do?” he starts, unconsciously tangling and untangling his fingers together underneath the table.
“Me?” Jongin takes a quick sip out of a glass of water, “I’m working for a publishing house. Nothing fancy.” He places the glass back down. “You?”
“Not any better,“ Kyungsoo lets out a dry laugh, “I’m looking more into the medicine field. Third year.”
He’s barely noticed that the waiter has already come by with the menu until the corner of his elbow collides with thin cardboard.
“That’s nice. Chanyeol mentioned it once. Should we order?”
--
The atmosphere is nice. It’s not extravagant or filled with forced laughter but surprisingly comfortable and Kyungsoo likes it. Brief self introductions filled the first half hour that the two spent together, but it was harder to get words our after the food had arrived.
Kyungsoo learns a lot of things about Jongin. One, is that his tanned skin suites him more than well in contrast to when the latter said he didn’t like it. And the second, is when Jongin laughs, it’s soft, drawn out and there’s a slight hitch in his breath whilst his eyes crinkle in amusement. He’s full of smiles and quick reactions, almost a child stuck in the body of an adult. He finds that his character oozes spontaneity, reeks of carefree days spent running without shoes along the beach, yet strangely part of him doesn’t mind this.
But there’s more. Whatever canvas that this ‘Jongin’ was showcased on made his blood pump but there was something else about this man that left Kyungsoo searching for the answer, like a blue that didn’t quite border on indigo nor iris.
Jongin’s voice snaps him back into reality, apparently on the topic of three dogs he had kept during high school. Apparently now was the time that his mind had picked to cruelly remind him of the endeavours that awaited him back at home. He gives a side-glance to his wristwatch. Eight o’clock.
Kyungsoo shifts slightly in his chair, but Jongin is quick to notice.
“Do you have to go?” and Kyungsoo feels like he’s being shredded apart because disappointment is laced thick in his tone.
“Yeah, sorry. Tests and assignments are due next week, means that I’ve got a lot on my plate. I’m really sorry, Jongin.”
Jongin’s thinking, scrutinizes Kyungsoo under his gaze, which makes him slightly nervous. Does he think he’s boring? Maybe he thinks it’s lame.
“Ah, that’s fine. I understand.” Jongin’s face is gentle, and it reminds Kyungsoo of the way the sun combed through the grass in spring. “The bill’s on me.”
The blast of icy wind awaiting the two outside was to be expected, but both males still instinctively winced at Mother Nature’s unforgiving wrath. The sky was now just a slate of pure charcoal, depraved of stars. As for Kyungsoo, he pulled on the sleeves of his outer coat so that the edges of the fabric covered most of his palm, digs his neck further into his collar. Jongin seemed to have noticed this, and reaches for his pockets. “Here, take these.”
Kyungsoo looks down. What lay in front of him and sitting on Jongin’s hands were a pair of grey gloves, the knitted type that fit comfortably around your fingers and didn’t leave your palms drenched in sweat after only minutes.
“No, I couldn’t possibly - ” but Jongin was already sliding them one by one onto his hands, fingers gentle and making his hands twitch every time their skin accidentally brushed. He pretended it was from the cold. Jongin clasped his hands within his own, tanned skin lingering, rubbed them as one would in front of a fireplace before letting them go with a final chuckle.
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to take these?” Kyungsoo asks, still unsure.
“Positive. Shall I walk you home?” The gloves are warm.
“No, it’s fine. I know my way from here.”
“Okay, then.” Jongin’s sliding his hands into his pockets, and Kyungsoo can’t help but notice how good the sight looks.
“Bye Jongin.”
“See you again, Kyungsoo.” A final wave, and he’s gone.
--
Baekhyun’s not home by the time Kyungsoo’s reached the apartment, and he’s almost relieved. The tranquillity of the silence is barely keeping the frantic flood of thoughts inside his head from spilling over the edge. Kyungsoo doesn’t know what to think, doesn’t know what to do, and so he turns his laptop on, opens his most recent word doc in hopes that oncovirinae will take his mind off it, off of Kim Jongin. He’d be telling an outright lie if he said he didn’t regret not having asked for his number or contact details, but alas he berates the desire seeking side of him.
He realises that the gloves are still on whilst waiting for the machine to start up, and makes a move to take them off.
Something suspiciously reminiscent of a white slip of paper falls out just as the wool leaves his fingertips. There’s something scrawled in blue pen on one side of it.
The torrent splashes and overflows, and maybe it’s because it’s been a while but Kyungsoo hasn’t felt his heart swell to this extent in a very long time.
--
The next morning comes into view at just below two degrees, which isn’t too bad judging from the way that the clouds decided to part and allow some sunlight to peek through. The gleaming rays coat the snow with a thin layer of condensation as it starts to melt, glittering under the light. A day like this in winter is rare, but definitely not unwelcomed. It gives the city a chance to breathe and recover before sombre skies plague the streets again.
Kyungsoo finds himself in the cafeteria at ten in the morning, soothing warmth emanating from the cup of coffee clasped between his fingers. He still has time before his next lecture so there’s an open binder book of notes from said class in front of him, which he is slowly reading over.
He still hasn’t called the number scrawled on the tiny slip of paper. The thought is tossed in-between rationalisation and desire, resulting in a smokescreen of blurred anxiety.
As he’s taking a sip of the warm (find replacement word) caffeinated liquid, the device inside his pocket decides to vibrate. With a slight frown he takes the phone from its confines, clicks the button along the edge to turn it on.
There’s one unread message.
[Sent, 10:08am, 04/01/15] dude where were you last night????
It’s from Baekhyun, and Kyungsoo’s frown deepens because his friend should have known best of all of his whereabouts the previous night.
[Sent, 10:09am, 04/01/15] Dinner? With Chanyeol’s friend?
Minutes pass before he receives his next reply.
[Sent, 10:11am, 04/01/15] what? but jongdae said you didn’t show up????? he waited for ages
The coffee almost goes down the wrong pipe and Kyungsoo has to read the message twice because the wheels in his head don’t turn fast enough to process what’s just been sent to him. His blood runs cold, stomach upturning in circles, hands frozen in place and unable to tap out a reply. This isn’t happening. There was no way.
The fact that he could’ve had the wrong guy doesn’t bother him nearly as much as knowing that Jongin had known, known that Kyungsoo had made a mistake and showed up unexpected as a complete stranger to a night he planned probably for only himself, yet he simply smiled and played along. Kyungsoo’s laugh to himself is painted in the bitter wreckage of humiliation and awe.
Yet he wonders whether or not Jongin had really meant all the tender glances and heartfelt smiles upon supple lips. Meant it when he made Kyungsoo splutter in between conversation by calling his wide eyes ‘cute, like Pororo’, meant it when he said he’ll “see him again”.
Kyungsoo’s entire being is trembling slightly as he hastily crams his books into his bag, downs the rest of the coffee which had gone cold. Legs trying to sprint the apprehension away, he’s out of his chair and abandoning his reply to Baekhyun’s text in search for his lanky friend.
--
Kyungsoo finds Chanyeol in between a mass people sliding in and out of the courtyard, shouts his name and grabs him by the elbow in desperation and shocks him in the process. Chanyeol turns in confusion but that soon melts into recognition. There are students all around them and he tries his best to avoid bumping against their shoulders.
“Hey, Kyungsoo!” Chanyeol’s trying to remain friendly but it’s obvious that there is a strain to his voice. “What happened last night?”
“Chanyeol, look I’m really sorry, but I think I’ve made a mistake. You’re friend, what was his name again?” Chanyeol seems taken aback by how frantic Kyungsoo appears, eyes searching and words rushed with frenzy.
“Jongdae, Kim Jongdae. Why?”
Fucking shit.
“I -it’s,” his mind and mouth are universes apart, “it’s nothing. I’ll explain it all to Baekhyun, but please tell your friend that I’m so incredibly sorry. It wasn’t intentional.”
Maybe it’s because of how distraught Kyungsoo looks that Chanyeol’s expression softens at its edges, mouth relaxing and slowly growing back its warmth.
“Hey, it’s fine. He’s a little upset but not as much as if it were a real date, not a blind one.”
Kyungsoo sighs. It’s unexpectedly relieved.
“Thanks. Once again, I’m really sorry.” Kyungsoo knows that although he’s cleaned up one of his messes, there was something else in store that wasn’t just going to require an apology and nice words. He checks his watch and his breath hitches. He’s going to be late.
“Hey, sorry Chanyeol, but I’ve got a class coming up right now. I gotta go.”
Chanyeol sends him off with a wave. “Sure, see you.”
--
Baekhyun’s reaction is everything he expects it to be.
“Kyungsoo are you fucking kidding me.”
He manages to find the time one night to tell him over a dinner of home cooked bulgogi and cheap wine. It’s Kyungsoo who breaks the silence and brings the topic up amidst the clatter of chopsticks and spoons. Then, Baekhyun’s eyes are widening and jaw slowly lowering.
“No, I’m not.”
A barely suppressed chortle works it’s way through his throat, and he’s laughing, the type of laugh that makes his eyes squint and teeth show, throws his head back and continues for longer than necessary. Kyungsoo was considering being a good friend and telling him that there was onion stuck in between his teeth, but stops short with a glare.
“It’s not my fault their names were so close.”
Baekhyun dabs at the corner of his eyes. “But what manages to astonish me is that this ‘Jongin’ actually Baekhyun dabs at the corner of his eyes. “But what manages to astonish me is that this ‘Jongin’ didn’t even call you out.”
“And that’s why I’m freaking out.”
Baekhyun’s restrained amusement is what fills the silence, Kyungsoo at a sudden loss for what to say. The static and monotone voice of a female reporter is what reminds them that they’ve left the television running. The news is a good enough excuse for Kyungsoo to divert his attention, off of the chaos of reality for just a few short minutes.
“-and today I’m joined by police to report yet another murder in the city’s east. A body was found inside a large, black waterproof bag by a lady who was jogging along the Han River, Yangpyeong -”
“Must’ve been a shock for the woman.” Muses Baekhyun distractedly.
Kyungsoo remains staring at the screen, half paying attention and the other half still wandering aimlessly through the events of the past few days.
“-found this early morning, though investigators believe that the body may have been disposed of at least three days prior to its death. The young man appearing to be in his mid twenties was believed to have worked at a bar near the intersection of (insert street names). This timing of this murder ties in closely with another reported just last week, and-”
He spares the screen one final glance, looks away and turns his head. Everyone knows by now that there’s no such thing as a ‘perfect crime’, so why bother? He thinks. People only feel the regret rushing in once they’re caged behind metal bars and fed oatmeal every day in replacement of a regular meal. Yet once they’re out, they go ahead and do it all again. It’s stupid.
“You know,” Baekhyun starts as he stands up with his empty bowl and makes for the sink, “I think the entirety of all this good for you. Jongin, I mean.” The tap turns on and he’s filling it with water. “Maybe he’ll finally give Mr. Med School a proper taste of life.”
“I don’t even know if he thought of everything as a complete joke.”
“You’ll know,” the beginnings of a smirk are starting to tug on his lips, “when you call him. Just do it, Kyungsoo.” He strolls through the kitchen, grabs a banana from the fruit bowl on his way to his room. “Thanks, by the way!”
For what? He thinks, mind heavy. He regrets not having already thrown the slip of paper into the trash, yet something tells him that he’d regret it even more if he actually did. Screw Kim Jongin. Screw him for acting along, nice and borderline seductive, and for turning Kyungsoo’s brain into shambles. Screw him for the gloves; screw him for looking so good in a plain button up and jeans. Screw him.
He almost forgets that next week is hell week and he has two exams to revise for, pushes against the table to stand up along with his cutlery. Oh.
Baekhyun’s left the dishes for him to do, and Kyungsoo wishes he was smart enough to figure out what the “thanks” from earlier was for.
--
Kyungsoo doesn’t call Jongin for a week. He blames it all on the tests, pushes down the uneasiness inside his chest with excuses that gradually grow more legitimate the more he reasons with himself. He decides after his second exam, dishevelled and eyes ready to soak up a torrent of sleep the minute they shut close, that he was going to forget. Forget about everything. Forget about Kim Jongin. His productivity the entire week had crumpled, dove and crashed into a plateau of nights spent awake being eaten alive by his own thoughts. The hours he spent fighting his own conscience trickled through his fingers like water, and when he wasn’t finishing off his notes he was at his day job at the pharmacy.
It was a weekly occurrence, rare for the past few days as he’s been so busy, but Kyungsoo finds himself at the local supermarket picking out the better between two carrots. There’s a modest amount of food inside the small trolley beside Kyungsoo’s hip, mostly composed of things that Kyungsoo likes to eat because if he entrusted Baekhyun with the shopping he’s more than positive they’d end up eating Shin Ramen all week.
“You never called me back.”
Kyungsoo’s barely has time to stop himself from jolting his shoulders towards the ceiling. It can’t be.
He turns, twisting his head around slowly, sees the source of all his anguish leaning lazily against one leg and eyes focused curiously onto him.
“Y-you -”
“So you found out.” There’s no mistaking the smirk he wears, a reaction almost out of habit and conditioned only for when Kyungsoo’s making a fool of himself.
The entire speech inside Kyungsoo’s head disappears pathetically into ashes, and he’s reduced to nothing more than a flushed mess. Of all the things that could happen.
“You didn’t tell me.” Is the only counter argument that he can manage. “You didn’t tell me that I had the wrong guy. It was meant to be a blind date.”
There’s something about Jongin’s expression that almost makes him look like he’s sulking. He looks like he’s about to protest, and he does.
“It still counts though! You didn’t know me, I didn’t know you. We had dinner, we talked.”
“No, it doesn’t, Jongin.” And he really doesn’t know what else to say. “Why didn’t you tell me?” It comes out almost as a whisper, hushed by force because he knows that if he gets any more emotional then people will start to stare. “Were you just waiting so you could laugh at my face after it happened?”
Jongin is silent. Kyungsoo can feel his eyes on him and wonders if he’s ever looked like this, been this hot-blooded in and vivid in front of anyone other than his own parents. Jongin appears frustratingly unfazed, much to Kyungsoo’s annoyance.
“I’m going to be honest”, he treads on his words carefully, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t shocked when you turned up. I thought it was a prank.” He thumbs the denim of his jeans near the waistline gently. “But then your face clearly told me you were more than serious. I had originally booked the table just for myself anyway, but you came along and so I thought, why not? I was lonely, sitting all by myself.”
Kyungsoo huffs unconsciously, and wonders why the uneasy barrier that’s been holding him down for the past few days finally feel like it’s disappearing.
“But once you started talking I knew that I didn’t want to back out. Which is also why I gave you my number.” He finishes. “And besides,” he adds in a voice laced with a sly undertone, “how could I refuse someone so cute, narrow shouldered, wearing a light blue turtleneck and skin the colour of moonlight?”
And that’s all it takes for the lucid side of Kyungsoo to return, except this time his chest feels so much lighter and doesn’t mean it when he swats his arms at the smirking man in front of him. His chest feels warm and the redness in his cheeks betray his desire to look calm.
Eventually when Kyungsoo’s heart evens out, he’s splashed in the face by reality and the words that he was supposed to say, if he ever saw him again. He hesitates, wants to leave with a piece of Jongin still attached to his heart, but ultimately decides against it and that what he was about to do was for the greater good.
“If you’re about to tell me that you don’t have the time for a romance right now, there’s no need.” So he knew.
“Look, Jongin, I - ” Kyungsoo licks his lips in nervousness, “I really can’t. I’ve barely made it through half my degree, and it’s taking more than my all to balance med school as well as my day job.” Kyungsoo wants to take back his words, wants to disappear, because although he was the Do Kyungsoo who cared more about his personal success than the lives of other people, he’d be lying if the attitude didn’t affect him in negatively at certain times. This was probably one of them.
Jongin doesn’t reply and for a moment Kyungsoo thinks with an alleviated yet heavy heart, that this was all over. He could get over this, just give him a few weeks. He’ll be fine.
“If that’s what you really want, I can’t stop you.” Jongin is suddenly taking Kyungsoo’s hand, and he flinches. “But just let me take you out one more time. No surprises, I promise.” Before Kyungsoo has the chance to open his mouth, Jongin squeezes his hands tighter. It reminds him of the fist night that they’d met. “Please Kyungsoo, just this once. You can leave if you still don’t want this afterwards. But just give me one night.” There’s something off about Jongin’s tone, ragged and slightly pulled apart at the edges by desperation, like a child clinging onto the sleeve of their parent before they leave for work. Kyungsoo figures that it’s useless to attempt freeing his hands from Jongin’s grasp until he gives a proper answer, so he gives the pleading set of eyes one last glance and sighs.
“Alright, fine. Once.”
Jongin’s beam erases every trace of the doubt that lingers inside of Kyungsoo’s mind.
“Great. Text me your address, I’ll come pick you up. This Sunday, seven o’clock?” He makes the ending seem more like a statement then a question, so Kyungsoo has no choice but to agree.
“Okay.”
( part 2 )
❊ title: 'til death do us part
❊ pairings: kai/d.o, slight!chanyeol/baekhyun
❊ rating: nc17
❊ warnings: gun use, slightly graphic death
❊ word count: ~11k
❊ summary: do kyungsoo is boring. luckily for him, kim jongin is not.
Wind laced with inklings of teeth clings to the patch of Kyungsoo’s cheekbones that aren’t covered by the creamy yellow scarf wound thick around his neck, feet crunching above a mixture of half melted snow and dead leaves. Another breeze. He lifts his head and squints through the flurry of white, checks to make sure that he’s still walking in the right direction and carries on forward, shivering in the process.
The streets of Seoul in early January, after all the New Year’s celebrations, were always a swirling blizzard of ice and desolation. Usually most of the snow would fall overnight or in the early morning leaving the city a milky canvas, with mounds of white that either formed thick piles on the ground or collected in the tops of trees and rooftops. However on a day like this where the cold was the type of cold that made no jumper or scarf feel enough, many stayed within the comfort of their own homes or for the ones who did bother to go out, found temporary shelter inside small stores along sidewalks which always left the owners ‘tsk’-ing in irritation.
He’s almost reached his destination. Kyungsoo eventually walks through automatic doors, sighs in relief as the heated air practically defrosts his body upon reaching the lobby of his apartment. Reluctantly, his hand reaches out from the comfort of his warm coat pocket to fumble for his keys. Metal clashes against metal, followed by the hollow creak of a door.
A pair of worn, slightly damp red Converse shoes lay messily scattered across the entrance mat. His roommate had already beaten him home, that’s why Kyungsoo was not surprised to see the man slung across the couch in a way that makes one question whether or not he was still alive, with the side of his face slowly becoming one with a maroon cushion. Photogenic.
Ah yes. Byun Baekhyun.
Baekhyun, the type of guy you wouldn’t invite out to parities because he’d drink so much that seeing him dance to “Bubble Pop” on a tabletop makes the embarrassment of accidentally snorting water out of your nose seem like nothing. Baekhyun, the type of guy who would still spend hours watching cat Vines on his desk clattered with days-old instant noodles and Mountain Dew even when he had an alarming amount of papers due.
When Kyungsoo first met Baekhyun, he was sixteen. A blow to his nose by a misdirected soccer ball and a trip to first-aid later, the two had no choice but to make small talk (half of it was Baekhyun apologising) because coincidentally, like some clichéd movie, the nurse wasn’t in her office. He had only prayed that their first encounter would also be their last - that he wouldn’t be back during lunch at his desk to ask Kyungsoo ‘if he could sit with him because all his other friends went to different high schools’. He prayed that Baekhyun wouldn’t end up making him one of his ‘friends’.
Guess what didn’t happen.
But Do Kyungsoo is kind as he is tolerate, and honestly at that time the type of people he associated himself with really didn’t matter to him at all - he just wanted the marks to secure his place in a somewhat decent university. Having known Baekhyun at the time did have its perks though in the form of free ice cream after heavy exam periods because he’d pay for him in gratitude for helping him study. He wouldn’t call it indifference, not hatred, or even teenage angst that never quite faded, but friends simply never took priority over the things that other people might not care as much about. They were like the rain that came accompanied with the clouds, you never ask for it but it just happens anyway. You meet them for the first time, exchange greetings, and you don’t really know what to call it after that, but you’re certainly not strangers anymore. People could come and go as they liked, as long as they didn’t affect his goals or objectives, and he never really felt bad when they did leave - to put it bluntly, he didn’t really care. As long as he was polite, his actions resulted in no intentional harm being done to those around him - a sign that there was nothing wrong with the way he was currently living,. which was how he wanted to keep it.
A half empty packet of sour cola bottles lay strewn across Baekhyun’s abdomen on top of a grey blanket. Reruns of what Kyungsoo identifies to be some cheesy high school drama starring Lee Min Ho blares obnoxiously from the television.
Kyungsoo sighs.
He spots a nearby magazine and considers rolling it up putting it to good use, and honestly, sometimes Kyungsoo wonders why he still puts up with the latter. His hand hovers over the cover of some photoshopped female model in a crop top and hesitates, because he remembers the two main reasons for why Baekhyun isn’t living out on the streets yet. One: The rent is expensive. Two: Kyungsoo may seem like he has the emotional capacity of a rock, but after hearing Baekhyun’s endless droning on how he didn’t find girls attractive and seeing him turn up one night with a duffle bag and the left side of his cheek blooming with red which most definitely wasn’t from the heat, Kyungsoo didn’t have to guess to know what had happened and decided that no, he wasn’t heartless.
And so, one month turned into two, turned into eight, and here they were today.
--
Somewhere in the room a radio is playing, the woman’s voice muffled by static is just enough to subdue the silence of the secluded bar amongst the occasional scuffle of chairs. It’s barely late afternoon, yet the city sky had worn a permanent grey the entire day so what was morning felt miserably like night. A moth dances across the ceiling but the show is short lived as it flutters almost innocently into the zapper. Someone coughs.
Lean legs clad in tight but fitting leather are draped lazily either side a stool. The owner has one hand slowly swishing around a cup of something he doesn’t know. His eyes follow, absentmindedly, the liquid spinning idly inside the glass. The other hand comes around to his coat pocket to slide out a smartphone, flicking it on to check for the time. It’s five twenty-three.
Thick lips twitch.
He’s becoming more conscious of the bartender hovering near the opposite corner of the counter, face a blooming swirl of adolescence and maturity, huffs out a breath and hands releasing a pristine glass from the cloth between his hands.
The man eventually lifts the glass of yellow-brown to his lips, draws in a sip. Disgusting.
He lifts his arms slightly just to check that he doesn’t smell of smoke and burning asphalt, readjusts his coat and slides his torso into his folded forearms.
“Can I get another, please?”
It’s enough to peel his attention away from the wet mugs, and for a second timid eyes meet those bleeding confidence.
“Sure.”
And he’s stepping forward, making a grab for the glass that the man had already kindly placed on top of the counter. The refill comes faster than he’d thought.
He lifts the glass, twirls it slowly once and drains the contents, wincing. This earns him some surprise.
“Rough day?”
“Call it that,” he lowers the glass, “could be better, could be worse.”
It’s still quiet, and the lady in a pencil skirt and fitted blazer makes a move for the exit, heels clicking.
“You know,” the man starts, into the air, whether it’s to Bartender or himself he doesn’t even know, “sometimes I don’t understand people.” He straightens his back, allows his hands to fall to his lap. “They’re too complicated.”
“Would I be arrogant to assume you were dumped?”
He looks up, not expecting a reply. He wants to laugh. The aftertaste is starting to turn bitter in his mouth.
“That’s half the story. The other half’s just been a clusterfuck of me trying to figure out at what exact point did things start going wrong. To why everything thing before that ended. But I couldn’t. So I grew irritated.” he wants to add something else but he doesn’t, decides to leave it out.
Bartender is silent, visibly choosing his next words.
“Maybe that’s just how we’re meant to be. To just appear in other people’s lives, to take what we want without having to give a reason.” His arm comes to sweep the wooden surface out of habit.
The man doesn’t respond, only lifts his eyes, intrigued, clasps his hands and fixates his mouth into a smirk. Maybe he can test this theory out. The boy didn’t look too bad either, dyed brown hair falling above his eyes and borderline skinny, thin wrists and tall enough to have an arm curled around his waist. Pretty eyes, he thinks.
“What time do you finish tonight?”
The implication of his question doesn’t sink in until a blend of mild shock and disbelief registers on his face. His hesitation makes it more than obvious that he’s torn between need and conscience, but then he swallows and marginally relaxes his face, parts his lips.
“I haven’t got a night shift so I’ll be done at six.”
So he checks the time again. Five fifty-seven. Considering that he’s slightly sad, he supposes he has a little time.
--
“Oi, Kyungsoo.”
Baekhyun comes home one day after an afternoon lecture and Kyungsoo’s reluctantly peeling his attention away from where an unfinished senior thesis sits on his laptop screen.
“What.”
He’s met with a sheepish grin, the same sight you’d see as if a student were asking for money from their parent. Kyungsoo knows this isn’t a good sign.
“Just hear me out first.” His face must’ve given him away.
“I’m listening.”
“So I was talking to Chanyeol last night, and he told me that he had a friend who was looking for….I guess you could call it a partner. Been searching for months but still no luck.”
So it was Chanyeol’s idea. The only way Kyungsoo could describe him in relation to Baekhyun would be ‘birds of a feather flock together’. The six foot giant who wore hoodies like a second skin often wandered into their dorm in search for Baekhyun’s company, so Kyungsoo had no choice but to get to know him. He didn’t know how they met, only that one day Baekhyun showed up through the door with someone else other than himself. Kyungsoo was pretty sure the two were dating. They laughed loud enough at each other’s jokes to seem like they were.
“And what’s this got to do with me?”
His only response was a stare that lasted more than ten seconds, somewhat deemed enough for an answer. He blinked. Kyungsoo realised.
“No.”
“C’mon, Kyungsoo, please! He likes singing, you like singing. He can’t dance to save his life and neither can you. It’s a match made in heaven.”
Baekhyun narrowly dodges a missile in the form of a pen, which misses his temple by an inch.
“Pleasepleaseplease. It’ll only be one date and all you have to do is sit, eat and talk. The restaurant isn’t even some half assed Italian place that only serves pasta.”
A sigh escapes Kyungsoo’s lips and he rests his temples between his fingers.
“Baekhyun, I can’t. I’m already running tight on time on this essay - ”
“- you have three weeks -”
“- considering that I have two exams in the upcoming week and I still need to revise my notes for the one upcoming tomorrow.”
The clock ticks, fills the silence like a metronome whilst the muffled sound of car tires running along concrete could be heard from outside. Baekhyun simply sits on the sofa arm his mouth clamped shut and eyes unfocused, and Kyungsoo who thinks that he’s dodged a bullet, returns his focus to the bright screen.
“When was the last time you lived, Kyungsoo. You’re such a boring person.”
Kyungsoo pauses, throwing back an unoriginal response, “I’m not a boring person!”
All he gets in return is a raised eyebrow.
“Go to hell.”
--
The concrete is damp with a distant trickling that always accompanies the streets after an onslaught of heavy rain. It’s only quarter-to-seven, but Kyungsoo is Kyungsoo and even though he’s already counting down the minutes ‘till when the date is finished, he still has to make a good impression. The sign that sticks out at a ninety-degree angle from the restaurant door comes into focus and Kyungsoo returns his gaze to the glistening footpath, huffs a breathe of smoke as he approaches it.
This is it, he thinks, you’re gonna set it straight that a relationship is the last thing you need right now and that this idea was all because your dumbass roommate couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
The bell on top of the door chimes quietly after him.
It’s not bad, is the first thought he has. Kyungsoo contemplates, takes in the opulent yet modest interior with satisfaction, small circular tabletops covered in cream coloured fabric that doesn’t quite make it to the ground. There are origami napkins taking on the form of swans balancing on pristine china. One of Debussy’s suites paints the background.
“Good evening sir, do you have a reservation?”
Kyungsoo barely noticed the receptionist who had popped up beside him. He pauses, scans the handful of people inside as discreetly as possible to look for the guy that he was supposed to be meeting with.
There’s an old couple chatting to themselves in the far corner, a family of three with a small child by the window, and two middle aged ladies who were waiting for their food to arrive. There’s only one person left, a man who’s face is blocked and obstructed by the massive lily petals peeking from the vase on the edge of the table. At a glance, he looked to be near Kyungsoo’s age.
Must be him.
“Yes. Reservation under Mr. Kim Jong- um..” Shit, what was his name again. “Jong-“
Luckily the lady saves him from the agony and scans the table on her clipboard.
“Kim Jong In?”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Something like that.
The waiter lets out a slight chuckle and Kyungsoo thanks the lady briskly, steadily follows the direction she points to with a gesture she makes towards the table. It’s the same one as the man sitting behind the flowers.
Time slows when Kyungsoo rounds the corner of the table and the stranger’s face is finally within his view. He still appears to have his head tilted down towards the menu, unaware of the other man’s presence.
Kyungsoo’s breath almost stops.
He doesn’t know why, but perhaps it’s the angled cheekbones, chiselled jawline and pillowed lips that makes Kyungsoo more than one hundred-percent sure that if he leaves tonight with the same mindset that he came with, he may possibly regret it for the rest of his life. His shoulders are broad, outlined nicely by the black shirt draped across his torso.
Kyungsoo is still awkwardly standing beside the table and doesn’t really know what he should do to get the other male’s attention, but sliding into the chair across him seems to make his head snap up.
There’s a momentary pause and look of surprise is almost etched across his face, though washed away as quickly as it came. He’s greeted with a small smile whilst the other man stares with slightly widened eyes as he takes in Kyungsoo’s appearance, which broadens and fits across his face in a warm manner.
“Hi.”
It takes Kyungsoo more than a few seconds to realise he’s been spoken to.
“Hello, I’m Do Kyungsoo. You’re uh, Chanyeol’s friend, right?”
The man in front of him blinks.
“Yeah.” Another wave of silence has washed between them, but then he opens his mouth again. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Jongin.”
For a second Kyungsoo thinks he has the wrong guy, that there’s no way that Chanyeol would have someone like him within his friend circles, but then he’s clicking his fingers to get the waiter’s attention asking quietly for another menu, turns his head back around and the smile is back.
Kyungsoo knows he’s in trouble.
“What do you do?” he starts, unconsciously tangling and untangling his fingers together underneath the table.
“Me?” Jongin takes a quick sip out of a glass of water, “I’m working for a publishing house. Nothing fancy.” He places the glass back down. “You?”
“Not any better,“ Kyungsoo lets out a dry laugh, “I’m looking more into the medicine field. Third year.”
He’s barely noticed that the waiter has already come by with the menu until the corner of his elbow collides with thin cardboard.
“That’s nice. Chanyeol mentioned it once. Should we order?”
--
The atmosphere is nice. It’s not extravagant or filled with forced laughter but surprisingly comfortable and Kyungsoo likes it. Brief self introductions filled the first half hour that the two spent together, but it was harder to get words our after the food had arrived.
Kyungsoo learns a lot of things about Jongin. One, is that his tanned skin suites him more than well in contrast to when the latter said he didn’t like it. And the second, is when Jongin laughs, it’s soft, drawn out and there’s a slight hitch in his breath whilst his eyes crinkle in amusement. He’s full of smiles and quick reactions, almost a child stuck in the body of an adult. He finds that his character oozes spontaneity, reeks of carefree days spent running without shoes along the beach, yet strangely part of him doesn’t mind this.
But there’s more. Whatever canvas that this ‘Jongin’ was showcased on made his blood pump but there was something else about this man that left Kyungsoo searching for the answer, like a blue that didn’t quite border on indigo nor iris.
Jongin’s voice snaps him back into reality, apparently on the topic of three dogs he had kept during high school. Apparently now was the time that his mind had picked to cruelly remind him of the endeavours that awaited him back at home. He gives a side-glance to his wristwatch. Eight o’clock.
Kyungsoo shifts slightly in his chair, but Jongin is quick to notice.
“Do you have to go?” and Kyungsoo feels like he’s being shredded apart because disappointment is laced thick in his tone.
“Yeah, sorry. Tests and assignments are due next week, means that I’ve got a lot on my plate. I’m really sorry, Jongin.”
Jongin’s thinking, scrutinizes Kyungsoo under his gaze, which makes him slightly nervous. Does he think he’s boring? Maybe he thinks it’s lame.
“Ah, that’s fine. I understand.” Jongin’s face is gentle, and it reminds Kyungsoo of the way the sun combed through the grass in spring. “The bill’s on me.”
The blast of icy wind awaiting the two outside was to be expected, but both males still instinctively winced at Mother Nature’s unforgiving wrath. The sky was now just a slate of pure charcoal, depraved of stars. As for Kyungsoo, he pulled on the sleeves of his outer coat so that the edges of the fabric covered most of his palm, digs his neck further into his collar. Jongin seemed to have noticed this, and reaches for his pockets. “Here, take these.”
Kyungsoo looks down. What lay in front of him and sitting on Jongin’s hands were a pair of grey gloves, the knitted type that fit comfortably around your fingers and didn’t leave your palms drenched in sweat after only minutes.
“No, I couldn’t possibly - ” but Jongin was already sliding them one by one onto his hands, fingers gentle and making his hands twitch every time their skin accidentally brushed. He pretended it was from the cold. Jongin clasped his hands within his own, tanned skin lingering, rubbed them as one would in front of a fireplace before letting them go with a final chuckle.
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to take these?” Kyungsoo asks, still unsure.
“Positive. Shall I walk you home?” The gloves are warm.
“No, it’s fine. I know my way from here.”
“Okay, then.” Jongin’s sliding his hands into his pockets, and Kyungsoo can’t help but notice how good the sight looks.
“Bye Jongin.”
“See you again, Kyungsoo.” A final wave, and he’s gone.
--
Baekhyun’s not home by the time Kyungsoo’s reached the apartment, and he’s almost relieved. The tranquillity of the silence is barely keeping the frantic flood of thoughts inside his head from spilling over the edge. Kyungsoo doesn’t know what to think, doesn’t know what to do, and so he turns his laptop on, opens his most recent word doc in hopes that oncovirinae will take his mind off it, off of Kim Jongin. He’d be telling an outright lie if he said he didn’t regret not having asked for his number or contact details, but alas he berates the desire seeking side of him.
He realises that the gloves are still on whilst waiting for the machine to start up, and makes a move to take them off.
Something suspiciously reminiscent of a white slip of paper falls out just as the wool leaves his fingertips. There’s something scrawled in blue pen on one side of it.
The torrent splashes and overflows, and maybe it’s because it’s been a while but Kyungsoo hasn’t felt his heart swell to this extent in a very long time.
--
The next morning comes into view at just below two degrees, which isn’t too bad judging from the way that the clouds decided to part and allow some sunlight to peek through. The gleaming rays coat the snow with a thin layer of condensation as it starts to melt, glittering under the light. A day like this in winter is rare, but definitely not unwelcomed. It gives the city a chance to breathe and recover before sombre skies plague the streets again.
Kyungsoo finds himself in the cafeteria at ten in the morning, soothing warmth emanating from the cup of coffee clasped between his fingers. He still has time before his next lecture so there’s an open binder book of notes from said class in front of him, which he is slowly reading over.
He still hasn’t called the number scrawled on the tiny slip of paper. The thought is tossed in-between rationalisation and desire, resulting in a smokescreen of blurred anxiety.
As he’s taking a sip of the warm (find replacement word) caffeinated liquid, the device inside his pocket decides to vibrate. With a slight frown he takes the phone from its confines, clicks the button along the edge to turn it on.
There’s one unread message.
[Sent, 10:08am, 04/01/15] dude where were you last night????
It’s from Baekhyun, and Kyungsoo’s frown deepens because his friend should have known best of all of his whereabouts the previous night.
[Sent, 10:09am, 04/01/15] Dinner? With Chanyeol’s friend?
Minutes pass before he receives his next reply.
[Sent, 10:11am, 04/01/15] what? but jongdae said you didn’t show up????? he waited for ages
The coffee almost goes down the wrong pipe and Kyungsoo has to read the message twice because the wheels in his head don’t turn fast enough to process what’s just been sent to him. His blood runs cold, stomach upturning in circles, hands frozen in place and unable to tap out a reply. This isn’t happening. There was no way.
The fact that he could’ve had the wrong guy doesn’t bother him nearly as much as knowing that Jongin had known, known that Kyungsoo had made a mistake and showed up unexpected as a complete stranger to a night he planned probably for only himself, yet he simply smiled and played along. Kyungsoo’s laugh to himself is painted in the bitter wreckage of humiliation and awe.
Yet he wonders whether or not Jongin had really meant all the tender glances and heartfelt smiles upon supple lips. Meant it when he made Kyungsoo splutter in between conversation by calling his wide eyes ‘cute, like Pororo’, meant it when he said he’ll “see him again”.
Kyungsoo’s entire being is trembling slightly as he hastily crams his books into his bag, downs the rest of the coffee which had gone cold. Legs trying to sprint the apprehension away, he’s out of his chair and abandoning his reply to Baekhyun’s text in search for his lanky friend.
--
Kyungsoo finds Chanyeol in between a mass people sliding in and out of the courtyard, shouts his name and grabs him by the elbow in desperation and shocks him in the process. Chanyeol turns in confusion but that soon melts into recognition. There are students all around them and he tries his best to avoid bumping against their shoulders.
“Hey, Kyungsoo!” Chanyeol’s trying to remain friendly but it’s obvious that there is a strain to his voice. “What happened last night?”
“Chanyeol, look I’m really sorry, but I think I’ve made a mistake. You’re friend, what was his name again?” Chanyeol seems taken aback by how frantic Kyungsoo appears, eyes searching and words rushed with frenzy.
“Jongdae, Kim Jongdae. Why?”
Fucking shit.
“I -it’s,” his mind and mouth are universes apart, “it’s nothing. I’ll explain it all to Baekhyun, but please tell your friend that I’m so incredibly sorry. It wasn’t intentional.”
Maybe it’s because of how distraught Kyungsoo looks that Chanyeol’s expression softens at its edges, mouth relaxing and slowly growing back its warmth.
“Hey, it’s fine. He’s a little upset but not as much as if it were a real date, not a blind one.”
Kyungsoo sighs. It’s unexpectedly relieved.
“Thanks. Once again, I’m really sorry.” Kyungsoo knows that although he’s cleaned up one of his messes, there was something else in store that wasn’t just going to require an apology and nice words. He checks his watch and his breath hitches. He’s going to be late.
“Hey, sorry Chanyeol, but I’ve got a class coming up right now. I gotta go.”
Chanyeol sends him off with a wave. “Sure, see you.”
--
Baekhyun’s reaction is everything he expects it to be.
“Kyungsoo are you fucking kidding me.”
He manages to find the time one night to tell him over a dinner of home cooked bulgogi and cheap wine. It’s Kyungsoo who breaks the silence and brings the topic up amidst the clatter of chopsticks and spoons. Then, Baekhyun’s eyes are widening and jaw slowly lowering.
“No, I’m not.”
A barely suppressed chortle works it’s way through his throat, and he’s laughing, the type of laugh that makes his eyes squint and teeth show, throws his head back and continues for longer than necessary. Kyungsoo was considering being a good friend and telling him that there was onion stuck in between his teeth, but stops short with a glare.
“It’s not my fault their names were so close.”
Baekhyun dabs at the corner of his eyes. “But what manages to astonish me is that this ‘Jongin’ actually Baekhyun dabs at the corner of his eyes. “But what manages to astonish me is that this ‘Jongin’ didn’t even call you out.”
“And that’s why I’m freaking out.”
Baekhyun’s restrained amusement is what fills the silence, Kyungsoo at a sudden loss for what to say. The static and monotone voice of a female reporter is what reminds them that they’ve left the television running. The news is a good enough excuse for Kyungsoo to divert his attention, off of the chaos of reality for just a few short minutes.
“-and today I’m joined by police to report yet another murder in the city’s east. A body was found inside a large, black waterproof bag by a lady who was jogging along the Han River, Yangpyeong -”
“Must’ve been a shock for the woman.” Muses Baekhyun distractedly.
Kyungsoo remains staring at the screen, half paying attention and the other half still wandering aimlessly through the events of the past few days.
“-found this early morning, though investigators believe that the body may have been disposed of at least three days prior to its death. The young man appearing to be in his mid twenties was believed to have worked at a bar near the intersection of (insert street names). This timing of this murder ties in closely with another reported just last week, and-”
He spares the screen one final glance, looks away and turns his head. Everyone knows by now that there’s no such thing as a ‘perfect crime’, so why bother? He thinks. People only feel the regret rushing in once they’re caged behind metal bars and fed oatmeal every day in replacement of a regular meal. Yet once they’re out, they go ahead and do it all again. It’s stupid.
“You know,” Baekhyun starts as he stands up with his empty bowl and makes for the sink, “I think the entirety of all this good for you. Jongin, I mean.” The tap turns on and he’s filling it with water. “Maybe he’ll finally give Mr. Med School a proper taste of life.”
“I don’t even know if he thought of everything as a complete joke.”
“You’ll know,” the beginnings of a smirk are starting to tug on his lips, “when you call him. Just do it, Kyungsoo.” He strolls through the kitchen, grabs a banana from the fruit bowl on his way to his room. “Thanks, by the way!”
For what? He thinks, mind heavy. He regrets not having already thrown the slip of paper into the trash, yet something tells him that he’d regret it even more if he actually did. Screw Kim Jongin. Screw him for acting along, nice and borderline seductive, and for turning Kyungsoo’s brain into shambles. Screw him for the gloves; screw him for looking so good in a plain button up and jeans. Screw him.
He almost forgets that next week is hell week and he has two exams to revise for, pushes against the table to stand up along with his cutlery. Oh.
Baekhyun’s left the dishes for him to do, and Kyungsoo wishes he was smart enough to figure out what the “thanks” from earlier was for.
--
Kyungsoo doesn’t call Jongin for a week. He blames it all on the tests, pushes down the uneasiness inside his chest with excuses that gradually grow more legitimate the more he reasons with himself. He decides after his second exam, dishevelled and eyes ready to soak up a torrent of sleep the minute they shut close, that he was going to forget. Forget about everything. Forget about Kim Jongin. His productivity the entire week had crumpled, dove and crashed into a plateau of nights spent awake being eaten alive by his own thoughts. The hours he spent fighting his own conscience trickled through his fingers like water, and when he wasn’t finishing off his notes he was at his day job at the pharmacy.
It was a weekly occurrence, rare for the past few days as he’s been so busy, but Kyungsoo finds himself at the local supermarket picking out the better between two carrots. There’s a modest amount of food inside the small trolley beside Kyungsoo’s hip, mostly composed of things that Kyungsoo likes to eat because if he entrusted Baekhyun with the shopping he’s more than positive they’d end up eating Shin Ramen all week.
“You never called me back.”
Kyungsoo’s barely has time to stop himself from jolting his shoulders towards the ceiling. It can’t be.
He turns, twisting his head around slowly, sees the source of all his anguish leaning lazily against one leg and eyes focused curiously onto him.
“Y-you -”
“So you found out.” There’s no mistaking the smirk he wears, a reaction almost out of habit and conditioned only for when Kyungsoo’s making a fool of himself.
The entire speech inside Kyungsoo’s head disappears pathetically into ashes, and he’s reduced to nothing more than a flushed mess. Of all the things that could happen.
“You didn’t tell me.” Is the only counter argument that he can manage. “You didn’t tell me that I had the wrong guy. It was meant to be a blind date.”
There’s something about Jongin’s expression that almost makes him look like he’s sulking. He looks like he’s about to protest, and he does.
“It still counts though! You didn’t know me, I didn’t know you. We had dinner, we talked.”
“No, it doesn’t, Jongin.” And he really doesn’t know what else to say. “Why didn’t you tell me?” It comes out almost as a whisper, hushed by force because he knows that if he gets any more emotional then people will start to stare. “Were you just waiting so you could laugh at my face after it happened?”
Jongin is silent. Kyungsoo can feel his eyes on him and wonders if he’s ever looked like this, been this hot-blooded in and vivid in front of anyone other than his own parents. Jongin appears frustratingly unfazed, much to Kyungsoo’s annoyance.
“I’m going to be honest”, he treads on his words carefully, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t shocked when you turned up. I thought it was a prank.” He thumbs the denim of his jeans near the waistline gently. “But then your face clearly told me you were more than serious. I had originally booked the table just for myself anyway, but you came along and so I thought, why not? I was lonely, sitting all by myself.”
Kyungsoo huffs unconsciously, and wonders why the uneasy barrier that’s been holding him down for the past few days finally feel like it’s disappearing.
“But once you started talking I knew that I didn’t want to back out. Which is also why I gave you my number.” He finishes. “And besides,” he adds in a voice laced with a sly undertone, “how could I refuse someone so cute, narrow shouldered, wearing a light blue turtleneck and skin the colour of moonlight?”
And that’s all it takes for the lucid side of Kyungsoo to return, except this time his chest feels so much lighter and doesn’t mean it when he swats his arms at the smirking man in front of him. His chest feels warm and the redness in his cheeks betray his desire to look calm.
Eventually when Kyungsoo’s heart evens out, he’s splashed in the face by reality and the words that he was supposed to say, if he ever saw him again. He hesitates, wants to leave with a piece of Jongin still attached to his heart, but ultimately decides against it and that what he was about to do was for the greater good.
“If you’re about to tell me that you don’t have the time for a romance right now, there’s no need.” So he knew.
“Look, Jongin, I - ” Kyungsoo licks his lips in nervousness, “I really can’t. I’ve barely made it through half my degree, and it’s taking more than my all to balance med school as well as my day job.” Kyungsoo wants to take back his words, wants to disappear, because although he was the Do Kyungsoo who cared more about his personal success than the lives of other people, he’d be lying if the attitude didn’t affect him in negatively at certain times. This was probably one of them.
Jongin doesn’t reply and for a moment Kyungsoo thinks with an alleviated yet heavy heart, that this was all over. He could get over this, just give him a few weeks. He’ll be fine.
“If that’s what you really want, I can’t stop you.” Jongin is suddenly taking Kyungsoo’s hand, and he flinches. “But just let me take you out one more time. No surprises, I promise.” Before Kyungsoo has the chance to open his mouth, Jongin squeezes his hands tighter. It reminds him of the fist night that they’d met. “Please Kyungsoo, just this once. You can leave if you still don’t want this afterwards. But just give me one night.” There’s something off about Jongin’s tone, ragged and slightly pulled apart at the edges by desperation, like a child clinging onto the sleeve of their parent before they leave for work. Kyungsoo figures that it’s useless to attempt freeing his hands from Jongin’s grasp until he gives a proper answer, so he gives the pleading set of eyes one last glance and sighs.
“Alright, fine. Once.”
Jongin’s beam erases every trace of the doubt that lingers inside of Kyungsoo’s mind.
“Great. Text me your address, I’ll come pick you up. This Sunday, seven o’clock?” He makes the ending seem more like a statement then a question, so Kyungsoo has no choice but to agree.
“Okay.”
( part 2 )