April Wings (And Dreams of Things) [ 2 of 2 ]
Title: April Wings (And Dreams of Things)
Pairing: Jongin//Taemin
Rating: PG-13
Warnings:[Spoiler (click to open)]language, slight teenage angst, one-sided Soojung/Jongin, mention of dance related injuries, brief mention of Jongdae/Seulgi
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, written just for fun.
Summary: Jongin is four and a half when he meets the two greatest loves of his life. He will never be able to walk away from dance or Lee Taemin, no matter how much they break him, because it is only when Jongin is lost in the music that he feels alive.
***11***
“Soojung.” Jongin pulls the bottle from her hands. The glass is cold against his fingers. It’s getting too cold to be outside after dark but the wind is silent tonight.
“Jongin.” Her voice is cross, like she’s scolding a small child and Jongin wonders if that’s how she still sees him, a lame and awkward...kid. He hadn’t kissed her back that night, and Jongin had been terrified that that was it, that Soojung would hate him from then on or at least ignore him. He hadn’t needed to worry, though. It’s kind of hard to ignore your pas de deux partner, after all, and she’d gone back to treating him like an annoying boy.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
“Give it here.” Her nails dig into his arm until he releases his hold on the bottle. She holds the base of it to her chest and fits the spoon under the lip of the cap.
Pop. The top comes off too easily. Soojung tips the bottle back, glass to her teeth. Jongin watches her swallow down the beer and he knows enough about drinking to know that she’s done this before. She must be used to it, to stand the burn. Jongin’s eyes water just thinking about it, remembering his one and only taste from a lukewarm bottle his father had left out overnight on the counter. He takes the bottle anyway, when she passes it to him, and fits the mouth to his lips.
“Go on, try it.” Her fingers gouge his skin through his jacket, urging him with her eyes.
Jongin swallows and the hot trickle burns down his throat, but he doesn’t choke this time. He keeps swallowing until her grip relaxes and she’s reaching for the bottle again.
“So?” Her eyes are curious, carefully assessing his own.
Jongin can feel his face heating and he twists his face into a smile as if that might drain the rush of blood from his cheeks. “Not bad.”
Soojung’s smile is wary, but she leans back against the brick. The heating vent beneath their shoes breathes a slow trickle of steam into the night, the wispy dreams of a sleeping dragon. They’re not old enough to be drinking yet, though Jongin’s sister warned him there will be a lot of alcohol in college once he joins a circle. Jongin doesn’t really want to be here in the damp air with a heavy glass bottle chill between his thighs but Soojung had insisted. They both finished finals on Friday and she’s leaving next week for LA.
“Are you sad you’re missing graduation?” Jongin asks, and his tongue already feels thick between his teeth.
Soojung snorts and the hiss across the bottle opening is almost musical. “Are you kidding? I’m ready to get out of here.”
“Yeah…” Jongin’s excited to start university in March, mostly because he’d passed the audition for the same program Taemin had applied to. But right now he’s looking forward to two months of break-nothing on his schedule but sleep and dance. His favorite things, besides Taemin.
“No one needs me here.” Her voice cuts to his core, as if she’s turned on him with the spoon to dismember his joints now.
“Not true,” Jongin frowns, and grabs the bottle back from her. The more he swallows the smoother it tastes on his tongue. The tingle is fading to a pleasant warmth now. “You know I’ll miss you. I have to get used to a new partner after this.”
“Hmph.” Her huff is hot against his throat as she leans into his chest to steal the bottle away from his lips. “Glad to know what I’m valued for. And good luck, because you’ll need it. You suck.”
Jongin chuckles and his hand finds her hair. It’s rough like Taemin’s used to feel against his palm, dyed a faded cranberry but with less give to the strands. Soojung’s long hair is as straight as her posture and her rigid standards.
“Thanks,” Jongin says, because he knows she doesn’t mean it. Even if she hates him a little, if she truly thought he sucked she wouldn’t have put up with him this long. “Are you gonna text me when you’re in America? Send me pics of all your boyfriends?”
“Why, so you can drool over them?”
Jongin stiffens, the bottle dropping to his knee, and Soojung’s hand clambers to steady it against him.
“Sorry, Jongie, I didn’t--”
“It’s ok,” he murmurs into her stiff red hair, and Soojung relaxes against him. “You can try me, but I’ll be busy drooling over my own classmates you know.”
Soojung scoffs, the sound wet in her throat as she manages another messy swallow. “Come on, Jongin. I know your eyes will only be on one person.”
“We’re...it’s not like that.” Jongin sighs and a wish or two escape into damp air and hang there in front of him like exhaust vapor. Soojung’s head rolls against his shoulder and his jeans are uncomfortably tight where his knees bend to his chest.
She lets the empty bottle roll onto the yellowed grass and fumbles for the next one in the bag between his thighs. Her fingers are clumsy this time, though her grip is just as strong. “It’s ok if you want it to be like that, though. You’re his special person too, you know.”
“Ok,” Jongin nods, and he’s not quite sure what he’s agreeing to. “Ok.”
“Come on,” Soojung says, and shoves the next liter into his hands. “I won’t be home for at least a year so let’s make tonight count.”
Jongin drains the neck before helping her balance it at her lips. He’s not sure what they’re supposed to be counting, but maybe she means dreams. They’ve got an awful lot of dreams spread between the three of them, the web that widened across Korea now spreading across the ocean. His life is expanding faster than he can keep up with it but as long as Jongin has the oxygen in his lungs to keep moving, he thinks he can be happy.
“When you kiss him,” she says, “I’m the first to know, ok. I have to send you flowers.”
“What?” Jongin’s giggle blocks up his throat ‘til he’s choking, but Soojung pounds her fist against his chest ‘til all the tension is knocked loose.
“Deal?” Her fingers find his free hand and Jongin accepts her limp shake, though he’s not sure if they’re even using their right hands. All of his directions are mixed up right now so he just snuggles closer into the gravitational pull of Soojung’s warmth.
“If anything happens, I’m sure you’ll be the first to know.” Even if he didn’t want to tell her Soojung would find out, he has no doubt. Jongin only wishes the thing actually happening were as inevitable.
***12***
Jongin’s limbs are heavy with an unpleasant buzz, too much caffeine and not enough sleep sapping the tolerance from his blood ‘til he feels irrationally angry about everything. The slant of light from the harsh fluorescents stings his eyes and even the uneven wood grain of the scarred door in front of him irks him. He wants to punch something, but the softest thing in sight is a padded bulletin board and even that could potentially fracture a finger or two. Sometimes he hates how conditioned he is to worry about his physical condition at all times, above all else. He doesn't even play soccer these days for fear a small injury could cost him his career.
Jongin holds in the impatient fury and tries to run through choreo in his head. He counts through the score of the Stravinsky piece they’re working on in variations class, flexing his fingers against his thigh to mark each crescendo and lull in the music. He’s memorized the recording as thoroughly as he can, absorbing the chords into the fiber of his muscles as he dozes off on the subway or in front of his computer as he types essays. Not much has changed about his schedule since high school. It's still rehearsals and company classes all day with homework packed into the hours between extra rehearsals and breakfast. On Sundays he tries to catch up on sleep, if he can.
This week there isn't time to breathe. Even as he's falling asleep at night Jongin's mind is looping through snatches of choreography chasing around and around in his head like a fouette pirouette spiraling out of control. As much as he prepares, though, he knows it will be a completely different experience performing with a live orchestra, which is why stage week and dress rehearsal are so important.
The same notes sound like another universe when split from the speakers to the open air. Jongin's not worried though, not exactly. He knows he should do fine if everything goes as planned but the pressure of time constraints and the lack of sleep as they hurtle towards midterms solidify his worry into a concrete mass weighing down the pit of his stomach. He was too anxious to eat properly this morning, and now he’s feeling the burn of lactic acid and lack of protein in his limbs.
Taemin leaning against the wall beside him looks just as exhausted, with deep bruises under his eyes not even concealer and bb cream can completely hide. There's no tension in his face at all though. His jaw is slack against the cut of his earphone wires and his closed eyelids are as smooth as marble in the dim lighting of the narrow hall.
Whoever is running the audition today is late and Jongin can't stand to wait any longer. He's angry that there is a pile of assignments and exam reviews obliterating the surface of his coffee table and he can't get to them right now, not even to organize them on his priority list. He's angry that he's trapped in a crowded hallway with nowhere to expend the energy that is feeding on his nerve endings with a crackling burn. There's not even enough space to stretch or warm up until someone shows up to unlock the studio.
Mostly, Jongin is angry that Taemin is taking this so coolly. It's the spring semester of junior year, and parts they get slotted into at this audition won't just reflect on their end of term grades. The roles they're assigned based on their performance today affect their eligibility for internships over the summer, for opportunities as TAs in the MFA program, for the resumes they'll have to start submitting at professional auditions soon.
That's a lot of stress and impact riding on one hour of exercises and across-the-floor work, and Jongin is angry that Taemin isn't letting the pressure get to him. He's also angry at the universe for pitting him against his favorite person. One thing that has changed since high school is the level of competition. His ranking and progress and versatility color every decision Jongin makes these days, from how he prepares his breakfast eggs to which classmates he trusts enough to refill his water bottle.
He'd never dreamed he'd have to compete against Taemin for a secure future, but it's his fault for not considering the possibility. He'd jumped at the chance to attend the same program as his friend and once he knew Taemin had accepted the offer that was it--he hadn't even let his mother drive him to visit another campus on his list. Because Jongin was worried about college and his future but he knew he could make, he could do anything, as long as Taemin was catching his eye in the mirror between combinations to crack a sweaty smile at him.
"I hope you all came warmed up ahead of time," one of the graduate assistants calls as he elbows his way down the corridor. His key ring jingles as he inserts a steel comb into the studio door. "We have to start right away. Pick up your numbers and then get out the barres!"
There's a surge of limbs bottlenecking through the dented double doors and Jongin squeezes onto a tile of space next to Taemin to the side of the dance floor to dump his stuff. Coat, extra sweater, gloves and hat all go on top of his converse and he shifts his leg warmers up his calves to pull his dance slippers on over his stocking feet. A light jersey and a thin cotton scarf he leaves on for a quick barre warm up, though he'll have to strip down to his leotard before the real audition starts.
He's in his best black set of practice clothes today, new tights, and his hair is slicked back from his forehead. Jongin bends to retrieve his water bottle from his bag and stuffs back in the handful of bandaids and extra aspirin that are overflowing from the side pocket. When he stands he's already lost Taemin in the crowd of bodies popping their hip joints and rolling their ankles against the edge of the marley.
"Hey, your number." Taemin's waving a fat white square of paper with a safety pin stuck through the top. It flaps like a flag of surrender through the sea of bodies, but he's got his game face on. His jaw is set and his eyes are dark beneath the stretched elastic of his headband holding back the blonde waves from his face. "I got us ones near the top."
"Thanks." Jongin takes the number and Taemin smiles, the challenge in his eyes softening into affection. They are near the top, Jongin is number 11 and Taemin is 12. It's best to go at the beginning of the queue, Ms. Choi always reminded them before an audition. You get to display your skill and charisma before the rest of the dancers start to blur together for the judging panel.
"Hey, are you ok?" Taemin's palm soothes down the length of Jongin's spine and Jongin feels a layer of his pent up tension slough away. "You look a little shaky."
The rest of the room is just as chaotic and noisy as it always is before a big evaluation but with the soft smile tugging at the corners of Taemin's eyes and his lips, Jongin has found his center of balance again. The loud rush of the room fades to the periphery and Jongin takes a mental gulp of focus, of sanctuary from the peace in Taemin's eyes.
"I'm ok. Just a little edgy." Jongin shrugs, trying to pop a kink in his neck back into place. He got more sleep than usual last night, but nowhere near enough to balance out his recent sleep deficit. "It'll burn off during warm ups."
"Ok." Taemin is smiling, his palm light on Jongin's elbow as he guides them to find a place at the barre. "Good luck," he leans in to whisper, "just do your best, ok, Jonginnie? You can do it!"
Jongin pulls back with a grin, already spreading his feet into a perfect 180 degrees to start plies. "Fighting!" he mouths back as he begins his slow descent into the first stretch. He knows they'll be okay, both of them.
***13***
After his last talk with Soojung before she left, Jongin had almost allowed himself to hope that maybe, maybe since they would be together again Taemin would want to start things over. Jongin was, still is, hoping for the second chance on the first try that hadn't even been an option before. It is nice having Taemin back, especially now that they're seniors and have finally moved out of the claustrophobic dorms into a tiny apartment two stations away from school.
The place is a closet, hardly bigger than student housing, but at least they have a plug-in burner and an electric kettle, and no one cares what time they come home at night. Jongin has a pallet on the floor under the window, thick blankets folded around the thin mattress to increase the padding. Taemin has a narrow cot pushed against the opposite wall, hidden behind the row of their clothes hanging from a wire that runs parallel to the ceiling. It's not much, but as decent as they can afford between Jongin's weekend shift at a Chinese delivery place and Taemin's string of part time jobs.
They've been living here for almost eight months but neither of them has bothered with any kind of a decorating scheme, unless you count Taemin's colorful scarves that seem to spew themselves across the piles of laundry and junk mail and homework. One of his sunbaes from high school who Taemin calls Key hyung is touring with an acrobatic dance troupe and keeps sending him silk scarves and shawls from places as exotic as Thailand and Paraguay.
Not that it bothers Jongin. Neither of them has time to do much around the apartment and no one comes over to poke around at their mess. Everything about Jongin's life is a mess right now it feels like, from his overgrown hair to his clean laundry that's in a rumpled heap on the floor still waiting to be folded, to the rainbow of overlapping memos that covers the pages of his day planner.
The only thing holding his sanity together right now is coffee, syrupy with too much sugar, and a whole lot of chewing gum. Caffeine aches. It sticks to his veins like greasy plaque and throbs there, simmers like hot grease under his skin. The sick feeling in his gut makes him want to burrow into his comforter and dive into sleep, but a nap would mess his hair up worse than it is and he’s almost out of gum again. He’ll probably have to run to the mart for more xylitol and soju before dinner time. Alcohol is the only thing that helps him sleep these days, alone in the empty apartment.
Sometimes Taemin doesn't come home for days. He'll squeeze Jongin's shoulder across the barre in class, but there is no time for words before the music starts. When there is silence again, the quiet sighs of lungs all wrung from exertion limping back into sweats, it's time for Taemin to rush off to work. He works at some sort of hotline center, the overnight shift. He leaves with his pillow and sleeps on the desk if no one calls after 10 pm. Jongin doesn't know more exactly than that what it is he does.
That's how distant they are these days, orbiting different schedules. Their paths eclipse in the gray light of early morning a few times a week, halfhearted smiles and sweaty clothes shed as they pass. Perhaps a wave and a "good morning", but nothing has felt particularly good to Jongin for a while now. Nothing between him and Taemin, anyway.
Jongin starts when the door handle rattles, a thick key twisting in the heavy lock. Their building is decades too old to have a keypad code or finger swipe access. "Taemin?" There's no one else who has a key besides Jongin's oldest sister, and she's visiting their aunt for the weekend.
"Hey." Taemin's smile is stiff around the edges, cracked skin dry like the crust of stale bread. "Class was just canceled, don't worry."
Jongin nods and settles back to lean against the kitchen counter. Taemin must have heard the alarm in his voice. "I was just about to go out. Pick up some stuff, maybe dinner."
"Ok."
"Come with me?" Jongin's palm slides up Taemin's flannel shirt sleeve as he pauses next to the fridge to dump his bag on the counter. He shuffles his bare feet on the sticky linoleum, and Jongin's hand stills between his shoulder blades.
"I think I need a nap." He shakes his head, wispy strands of his hair flopping almost to his chin as he yawns.
"You should at least eat something." Jongin frowns, conflicted between sending Taemin off to get the sleep he obviously needs and insisting that Taemin pay him some attention. It's been days, nearly two weeks since they spent time together. Taemin had let Jongin cuddle up with him on the loveseat, their only proper piece of furniture in the whole apartment, for a movie. Even then Taemin had fallen asleep almost immediately, snoring softly into the hood of Jongin's sweatshirt.
"Hey, hey," Taemin whispers, his exhale faint against Jongin's neck as he leans in to pull him closer. "Why are you getting upset, why don't you just get some rest too?" His lips find the indent of Jongin's temple and linger there, the press of them softer than the dry skin appears.
"No." Jongin shoves him away, turning to hunch his shoulders towards the corner of the counter. He's trembling, from lack of sleep and the strain of too much to do and no beside him while he struggles through it. He's angry that Taemin thinks he can touch him after ignoring him for a week. It shouldn't be that easy, but Taemin always makes it out to be so simple if Jongin brings it up, when he tries to talk with him about it. Jongin isn't sure what they are anymore, what Taemin’s obliging smiles mean these days. Jongin isn't sure about a lot of things.
They're not dating, because they never go out. Jongin hasn't met any of Taemin's friends, other than a vague acquaintanceship with the fringes of Taemin's circle that happen to overlap with the dance department. They're not even sleeping together because Taemin doesn't have the time to sleep at home, to sleep in general. Jongin's not sure there would be anything more between them even if the circumstances allowed. It feels like nothing more than casual cohabitation between them, until Taemin starts to get all in his face like this.
"Jonginnie, what's wrong?" Long fingers stroke along the edge of Jongin's hairline before Taemin darts forward to plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth.
"What the fuck!" Jongin hisses, swiping at his mouth. "What the hell was that for!" The words start to squirm between his lips but he keeps talking. He has to spit them out, wriggling like slimy grubs under his tongue. They taste like panic and lukewarm soju and the film of grease that sticks to the back of his throat after a long day at work behind the fryer.
"Why do you think you can treat me like..like I'm invisible, then come home and expect me to be all welcoming when you keep blowing me off!"
"Jongin?" Taemin's eyes flash with surprise but Jongin doesn't want to hear the protest already forming on his tongue. He's tired of the excuses that are building up between them like some callous hull of barnacles, something he's incapable of ripping off himself with only his bare fingers.
"Fine, you know what, just--just go to bed, Taemin. I'll go shopping by myself." He doesn't mean for it to sound as hard as it does, but he doesn't want to apologize, either. Jongin turns to reach for his jacket, already slipping into the sleeves as he strides to the door.
He bangs the door open without a backward glance. He doesn't want to remember Taemin's shoulders drooping in the shadow of the refrigerator, all alone in the cluttered, empty apartment. "I'll see you later."
***14***
"You're not mad, are you?" Jongin's facing out the window, facing away. The sun is bright today. It's almost spring.
"No." Jongin's laugh feels sticky between his lips, like taffy left too long in the sun. "We talked about this, remember, this is the best decision for--" you "--us." He squeezes Taemin's shoulder as he turns closer to the window. "I'd come if I could, but..."
"Yeah," Taemin says, and Jongin almost chokes on the understanding invading his ears. He hates goodbyes. That's why dogs make so much sense to him, the way they slink off quietly to breathe their last in peace. No one enjoys a goodbye ripped from their lips, a loved one torn from a last embrace.
Just don't go.
He's brave enough to say it, but he's too selfish. He doesn't want the imbalance of having Taemin sacrifice one of his loves for Jongin caught between them. Jongin understands. He loves dancing more than life, too.
"Family is important, yeah." They've talked about that, too. After his father had a stroke in the fall they as a family decided Jongin could do as he liked, it was up to him whether or not to join the company he and Taemin had auditioned for together--and passed.
Taemin reaches for Jongin's hand, but Jongin's fingers are curled into his palm, cemented in place with a cold sweat. This isn't fair to him, having to say goodbye to Taemin and his own dancing dreams at the same airport.
Just go already.
Taemin is leaving, along with the members of his new crew, and Jongin's in a suit and polished shoes. His hair is slicked back for the sales pitch he's scheduled to deliver at 10:00 AM.
It was his choice, and he knows he's doing the right thing for the family but, it’s also the right thing for him. He's never done well away from home with unfamiliar surroundings and he wouldn't be able to dance his best when his father is halfway around the world with a ticking thermometer wired into his chest. He doesn't want to leave his mom alone with the stress and the heartache.
"Say hey to my sister for me, if you see her in London. I told her the dates for your run."
"Sure," Taemin says, and the blink of his eyes is a caress across Jongin's forehead, the kiss they don't dare steal in public.
Knowing it's the right choice doesn't make it easy.
The PA pings on, announcing the boarding gates, and Taemin rises to join his company mates in line at the security check point.
"Hey," Taemin says, "later, Jonginnie. Take care of yourself, ok?"
Jongin nods, blinking against the burn of tears as he lifts his hand to wave. His father's cufflinks flash in the fluorescents at his wrist and the light slides along the flash of Taemin's silver earring, the golden curve of his smile as he turns.
I love you.
***15***
“Why don’t you just break up with him?” Kyungsoo sucks and his straw is noisy against the bottom of his empty drink. The café today is a small one. It’s not the best lighting unless you sit near the windows, but it’s conveniently halfway between Jongin’s workplace and the studio where he teaches evening classes. “If you’re not happy, you should call it quits.”
Today it’s empty enough for Kyungsoo’s mellow voice to echo in the atrium, and despite the open spaces between the vacated tables Jongin feels closed in. If it were spring he could open the window and let in the fresh air but today there is snow on the ground, a few icy traces outlining the sidewalks from the roots of trees.
“Do you seriously think that will feel better?” Jongin pouts at the clock behind Kyungsoo on the wall. There’s a thick layer of dust settled over the upper curve of the face and it makes Jongin itch to wipe it clean.
Kyungsoo shrugs, as honest as ever. “It would hurt at first. But then you might feel better if you weren’t investing in a relationship with low emotional returns.”
Jongin wants to laugh at his friend, the musical actor turned accountant, because nothing is ever as easy as an equation. He doesn’t like equations anyway, the limits on them. “Is Taemin an investment?”
“The time and energy you spend aching for him could be spent on someone else.” Kyungsoo shrugs again, the tailored peaks at the shoulder seams of his suit settling over his collar. “That’s all I’m saying. But I’m sure you’ve thought through all of this.”
Jongin doesn’t nod, but it’s true. What ifs have been creeping into his thoughts at night as he tosses on the mattress and waits for his sleeping aid to kick in. He still hasn’t learned to sleep alone, in all the months adding up into years that Taemin’s been on the road. He doesn’t want to admit it aloud but Jongin’s already decided inside himself, come to the same bottom line in conclusion.
“Whatever you decide,” Kyungsoo says softly, and sweeps up their trash onto the brown plastic tray. “I’ve got dinner with a client tonight so I’d better run. See you next month?”
Jongin nods and takes the tray from him to sort into the receptacles. He still has another hour to kill before it’s time to change before jazz class. “Thanks, hyung. See you.”
His phone rings while he’s waiting for the train. Jongin nods an apology to the tired businessman he startled out of a cat nap, and answers as quietly as he can while still making sure he can be heard over the tenuous connection.
“Hey.” It’s Taemin, and his voice has an echo like the miles of distance between them. “I just got back to the hotel.”
“Did the performance go well tonight?” The company’s in Europe this month, Berlin if Jongin remembers correctly. The names of the places get jumbled in his head these days, Taemin’s been to so many places now.
“Yeah, it did!” He sounds tired, but Jongin can hear the joy in Taemin’s voice, the thrill of the stage Jongin misses nearly as much as his boyfriend. “Closing night at the theater, tomorrow we head to Dansk.”
“That’s…that’s good, I hope you travel safe.”
“How have you been? You didn’t answer my call this weekend. Did you have to work overtime again at the office?” He doesn’t sound annoyed, just sympathetic. Maybe concerned. Jongin hates how all it takes is the sound of Taemin’s voice and he’s thawing all over again into the melt of spring.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“It’s fine. I know we’re both busy.”
Jongin laughs, because that’s not the half of it. Busy was them in college, always crossing paths and regretting each time they locked the door on their sleeping roommate and headed off to their schedules. Now they’re just…distant. Taemin feels far away, even when he’s wrapped in Jongin’s arms under Jongin’s blankets when he’s home between tours.
“Tae,” Jongin says, and the wind is bright pain against his wet eyes. “I think we need a break.”
“Ok.”
Taemin’s voice is disturbingly calm, the eerie quiet before the thunder breaks loose. Jongin wants to break his fingers on something hard. Maybe a brick wall or a-
“Ok Jonginnie, as long as you’re ok.”
Jongin doesn’t cry til he’s under his covers and the dog is safely asleep on his chest.
***16***
"Thanks for picking me up." It's not sunny today, the rain is streaming down the glass in gray streaks, but Taemin has dark sunglasses shoved all the way up the bridge of his nose. His face looks pale in contrast, pinched into sharp angles.
"Well who else would?" Jongin asks, fiddling with the stereo knobs but not actually turning up the volume. Taemin turns to him, mouth open but no question coming out. "I mean--" Jongin didn't mean Taemin's been away so long he has no friends left, he just meant-- "I mean I'd kill you if you called someone else first!"
Taemin chuckles softly, his head knocking against the seat rest as the laugh turns into a sharp cough. Jongin reaches for the thermos of hot tea in the cup holder between them, but Taemin raises a hand to wave him off. "I'm ok."
"But--" He's in even worse shape than Jongin had feared, a heavy splint binding the surgery seams at his knee. He's shaky and flushed with a fever the painkillers can only lower, not erase.
Jongin hisses in dismay as they hit yet another red light and drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. They're only a few blocks away from his apartment, but it will probably take another fifteen minutes to park and make it into the building.
Jongin finds a spot at the end of the street to park the car his father's too sick to drive anymore. He and his sister share the keys, but the upholstery still smells vaguely new because neither of them drives it much.
The rain hasn't slowed at all and Jongin fumbles with a spare umbrella as he gets out of the car to unlock the trunk. A muffled curse from Taemin has him whirling around in panic.
"Are you trying to hurt yourself worse?" Jongin lunges to grab the heavy suitcase away from Taemin where he was attempting to pull it from the backseat.
The luggage crashes to the pavement and they both skid on the wet sidewalk, Taemin in a flimsy slipper and Jongin in his dress shoes. He didn't have time to change after work.
"I'm fine," Taemin hisses, jerking his jacket sleeve free from Jongin's steadying hold. He insists on dragging his suitcase across the polished lobby floor to the elevator.
"Which floor?" It's a different building than the apartment they shared before. Jongin moved out almost a year and a half ago to somewhere more spacious, once he could afford it.
"Seven," Jongin says, "so don't you even think about--"
"Does an apartment this shiny even have stairs?" Taemin laughs at his own joke, but his smile is so forced beneath the black barrier of his sunglasses that Jongin can't help but wince.
"It's company housing," Jongin says, "so I get a discount." He lets Taemin push the button and watches the doors close. Their faces are tiny, round distortions in the polished steel.
"You don't have to explain anything." Taemin's voice is quiet, almost wistful, like maybe he wishes there were no gaps between them to bridge, that they were as inseparable as they were fifteen years ago when the scariest shadow on the horizon was passing high school entrance exams.
Jongin misses those days, but not the tender, pink newness of his insecurities that had kept them ever at the back of his mind. These days he's just as wary as ever, but it's so familiar the feelings have absorbed to become a part of him now, a universal drone that echoes in his bones. Nothing to be afraid of; life is all change, anyway.
"You've done good for yourself," Taemin comments, nodding as he hobbles into the living room. His sunglasses are still on, though Jongin himself can barely see in the dark apartment. Only the flat screen TV mounted on his wall glows with the sliver of gray light peeking through the drawn drapes.
Jongin opens them, then makes a space on his leather sofa that's crowded with half folded laundry. "Sorry, I haven't really had time to straighten up."
Taemin just shakes his head. "It's fine, Jonginnie. This the bathroom?" His hand is already on the door knob.
"Yeah," Jongin nods, and Taemin props his crutches against the doorpost before pushing inside.
Jongin jogs down the narrow hall to his bedroom, tossing pajamas and socks towards the hamper as he goes. He shuffles a stack of paperback novels and half-finished sudoku puzzles torn from the newspaper onto his nightstand. His sister keeps telling him he needs to clean up the place, but Jongin's too lazy and stubborn. Besides, it's not like anyone ever comes in here but him.
Jongin jolts as the bathroom lock clicks open, emerging into the hall just as Taemin does. His sunglasses are clipped onto the neckline of his sweater now, and even his lips are trembling, pressed tightly into a thin line. He glances up and down the hallway, blinking and squinting like he’s disoriented, through a looking glass of his remembered reality.
“Could I…”
Jongin jumps at the echo of Taemin’s voice, his hand still on the knob jerking his bedroom door shut.
Taemin’s shoulders sag as he edges towards the cracked open door of the guest room opposite the hall. “Hey,” he says, “could I lie down for a bit first? Sorry, the luggage…” His voice trails off in a hoarse rasp as he waves limply towards the living room.
“Oh, ok! Sure! It’s no problem, but-“ Jongin glances over his shoulder at the seam of light peeking through the cracks of his own doorway, eyes boring through the wood to outline the big double bed he’d assumed they’d be sharing but-of course not, what was he thinking, he was the one who-
“Hm?” Taemin tilts on his feet and Jongin lunges forward to steady him before he careens into the wall of photographs, framed studio portraits and snapshots of Jongin’s sisters and parents, but mostly of his niece.
“I’m not imposing if I stay here, right?” Taemin sits down hard on the edge of the bed. “I’m not…displacing someone else if I-“
“No, no!” Jongin hurries forward to shove the stiff throw pillows off the bed so Taemin can lie back comfortably. “You’re never a bother, Tae. You should know that by now.” His fingers brush Taemin’s sweaty hair away from his eyes as he collapses against the down pillows tucked under the edge of the comforter.
His eyes start open and Jongin freezes, unsure if he’s crossed a line. He kicks himself internally. He’s got to start thinking things through more, stop acting on instinct. Jongin’s impulses are all calibrated to-
“Should I?” Taemin’s lips are all cracked. They look painfully dry.
“I-we-we can talk later, ok?” Jongin bites his lip to keep his fingers from retracing the arch of Taemin’s brow. “Just rest.”
Taemin nods against the pillow, his eyelids already falling closed. Jongin lets himself out of the room and tiptoes to the kitchen to set some water on to boil for tea.
He smears a palm down the planes of his face as he waits for the kettle in the dark kitchen. Today didn’t go as smoothly as he hoped it might, but they can figure things out once they’re more comfortable again. He hopes.
***17***
"Taemin?"
"Hey, did I wake you?"
Jongin blinks and the figure in front of him wavers. He's in a fresh change of clothes, his hair wet from the shower. "What time did you get in?"
Taemin shrugs, wrings his towel into a bundle that doesn’t drip on the kitchen floor. He’s too polite for that. Even the guest bedroom, his bedroom, stays in perfect order like he doesn’t feel at ease to relax into old habits. “Late.”
“Ok, well…breakfast?” It’s six in the morning, and Jongin doesn’t usually get up for another hour unless he was too lazy to shower the night before.
“Sure.” Taemin slumps against the kitchen counter as Jongin opens the fridge to rifle through the contents, hoping to scrounge enough vegetables and leftover ham or something to top their omelets. Taemin usually comes home starved from his shift bartending, the fatigue bruising the delicate skin under his eyes a deep purple casting a haggard shade over his whole complexion.
“What are you up to this weekend?” Jongin rinses half a carrot under the stream from the kitchen faucet, biting back a curse at the shock of freezing cold water splashing up his wrists.
“Ah, I might pick up an extra shift, I’m not sure though.”
Jongin glances over his shoulder to find Taemin with his back arched, his face pillowed in the angle of his elbow bent on the edge of the counter. He must be exhausted.
“Why? What’s up?”
Jongin doesn’t turn again, keeping his attention focused on the carrot as he slides the blade of a peeler down the length. Even after years of living alone, or semi-alone, his cooking skills are still shaky enough that multitasking with a sharp implement usually lands him in the ER for a few stitches and a stiff scolding from a sister or two.
“Mm, nothing.” Jongin has both Saturday and Sunday off this weekend, after submitting an exhausting round of reports on Thursday night, and he was hoping to go out clubbing this weekend. Maybe with Kyungsoo or Jongdae. Preferrably with Taemin, but no sense in making him guilty with an invitation he has to decline if he has to work.
Taemin doesn’t answer, and Jongin refrains from pestering him with more questions as he heats a skillet and waits for the beaten eggs to brown in the bottom. He knows how hard it is to stay awake after a long week at work, squeezing in a few hours at the studio to let the music drain the pressure and the numbers from his head at the expense of his sleep.
Taemin’s been coming out to the studio sometimes now, much to Jongin’s delight though he still worries about the fading scar across Taemin’s kneecap when he throws himself into risky aerials and lands them hard. Jongin never says anything to discourage him, though, because it must be hard to continue his passion less than able bodied, and Jongin knows well enough the need to lose himself to the music of movement, without restriction and logic restraining his wings.
Sometimes Jongin wonders if they can call themselves friends, the way they slip in and out of the apartment with a few words scattered between them like stale birdseed on a winter sidewalk. It’s not much to sustain them, but Jongin’s loyalty doesn’t need much to survive on, it seems. He’s grateful for every sleepy smile that blesses him on the way out the door in the mornings, as Taemin waves goodbye to him from the hallway in the doorway to his bedroom.
“Hey, food’s ready.” Jongin taps the end of the spatula on the counter near Taemin’s head to rouse him as he switches off the stove. Their breakfast didn’t turn out spectacular in shape or form, but it should taste decent. Jongin sprinkled on plenty of cheese just in case he got the spice mixture wrong.
Taemin’s grin of appreciation just grows as he chews the first bite, stabbing his fork into their shared plate Jongin slid between them on the counter.
“Good?”
“As always,” Taemin confirms, stretching out the long strings of melted cheese with a graceful arc of his strong arm.
Jongin helps sever them with the tines of his greasy fork. He shoves in a large bite, gasping as a chunk of tomato bursts hot across his tongue. He smiles as he chews, his breakfast warming him from the pit of his stomach and radiating out to his limbs along with the satisfaction of Taemin’s hungry approval. Half the plate is gone already, and Jongin’s only gotten two bites in, but he doesn’t mind. He’d rather make sure Taemin goes to bed full and sated, anyway.
Taemin takes one more heaping bite, bits of pepper and onion tumbling to the plate as his mouth stretches wide, and thanks Jongin with one last smile before wandering down the hall to collapse into bed.
Jongin slides the empty plate into the sink and runs a pool of water over it, already slipping out of his pajama top on the way to his own room to change. He hesitates at the threshold to sneak a quick glance through Taemin’s open doorway. Taemin is spread eagle on top of the bed covers, his back a gentle slope that rises and falls with the steady rhythm of his breathing.
Jongin pulls the door to before he turns to search for a clean undershirt. They don’t have much time for words, but the fact that they work so well together, coexisting in a comfortable plane of familiar patterns, means they must understand each other. That’s what Jongin tries to convince himself of as he faces his mirror to knot a tie around his collar, the early morning light filtering though his blinds to illuminate his eyes in the age spotted glass before him.
There are just some things even time and distance can’t erase, and childhood bonds are supposed to be one of them.
***18***
Jongin squirms on his chair. You’d think red velvet padding would feel more luxurious, but the high backed chairs shoved up to the round tables in the echoing banquet hall are about as miserable as they can get. Or maybe it’s the rental tux he’s squeezed into, the seams too tight through the shoulders.
Taemin in the seat beside him looks as cool and collected as ever in a navy suit over a plaid designer shirt he must have picked up somewhere in Europe. He hasn’t said much tonight, but neither has Jongin, and Taemin must feel awkward surrounded by Kim family relatives. Jongin hasn’t even met all of them himself, or at least not since he was old enough to really remember.
Some elderly uncle stands to make another toast to the bride and groom and Jongin sighs, fingering the stem of his empty wine glass. His cousin lifts the nearest bottle, offering them a refill, but Jongin declines with a wave. He could use the distraction from how good Taemin looks tonight, his hair styled into tousled waves with a bit of wax, but he really shouldn’t. He still has to drive them home tonight.
The speech, just like the last three and a half they’ve had to sit through, is rambling and repetitive, more well wishes slurred between sips from a glass of something harder than the champagne flowing at Jongin’s table. Jongin’s sister looks happy though, blushing and smiling at the front beside her new husband.
Jongin’s cousins aren’t looking too bored either. They’re getting cozy with their dates across the table from Jongin, one of them practically straddling her boyfriend’s lap.
Jongin winces in embarrassment as they lean forward to brush noses, cooing incessantly as they tug on each other’s hair. Taemin is turned away, his eyes rolling in nervous disdain every so often. When Sohui tips forward onto her boyfriend’s chest for a sloppy kiss Taemin jerks upright, shoving back his chair and striding for the exit with a muttered, “excuse me.”
Jongin echoes the apology to his cousins who pay him no heed, and darts out the door after him. “Tae!” he calls after the figure retreating into the shadows down the empty hall. “Hey, wait!”
Jongin hasn’t sprinted far, just a few hundred meters across the tile floor of the lobby, but his heart is racing with a desperation that scares him with its intensity, the adrenaline spurring him forward. Please don’t walk out the door, please don’t walk out on me, his heart is crying with each footfall, and he feels that if he lets Taemin walk away from him tonight it will mean something final.
Taemin turns, his heels squeaking on the polished floor. His limbs are heavy in the half light, like the movement takes monumental effort, although he’s been fully mobile without crutches for a few months now.
“Worried I’d get lost on my way to the bathroom?” His smile is faint, a beam of moonlight washed out by the city glare. His features look strained in the green glow from the emergency exit signs, but it’s the most familiar thing in Jongin’s heart now.
Jongin shrugs and jogs across the atrium. Taemin waits for him to fall into step before resuming his way to the bathroom.
“Are you feeling ok?”
Taemin just shrugs as they push into the empty men’s room, the square of his shoulders casting velvet shadows as the automatic light snaps on at the entrance. He leans his weight against the frame of the sink, the bleached tips of his ombre hair brushing the dull chrome of the faucet.
He doesn’t say anything, and a chill of fear has Jongin reaching for his phone. Taemin still takes pills sometimes, for the pain, but that’s usually just before bed so he can sleep but-Jongin thinks of the alcohol they swallowed down with dinner, and the bottle of pills Taemin keeps handy in the glove box of the car. What if-
“Can you just leave me be for a moment?” Taemin’s voice is small, but the echo of it against the tiles ricochets to lodge deep in Jongin’s ear canals. “I’m promise I’m ok, I just…need a minute.”
He doesn’t sound sick tonight, he sounds broken and Jongin’s hands are reaching out to bridge the gap he’s carefully maintained between them before he can stop himself.
“Stupid.” Jongin’s hands brush the length of Taemin’s back, smoothing up his spine and digging in to brace his shoulders. “You think I’d leave you alone in here when you’re so…” smashed up, like the scattered springs and cogs of a broken wristwatch, is kind of how Jongin feels right now.
“So fucked up?” Taemin’s laugh is just as soft as his smile, the peal of it a beautiful echo against the tile acoustics and Jongin just hugs him tighter to his chest, securing his arms around Taemin’s waist and shoulders from behind.
“Seriously, Tae, what’s going on?”
Taemin trembles, and Jongin trembles with him, caught against the expanse of his strong back.
“I’m just-I don’t understand you.”
“Huh?” Jongin doesn’t understand either.
“Bringing me here, to watch--!” Taemin’s dry-sobbing into his sleeve, his cufflinks pressing painful points into the curve of his cheek as his mouth darkens a widening circle into his jacket.
“I’m sorry!” Jongin huffs through his nose and rests his forehead between Taemin’s heaving shoulders. He might as well, since he’s apparently breaking all the rules now. “My cousins are obnoxious. Sorry you had to sit through that if they were making you uncomfortable, or-“
“That’s not what-! Jongin,” Taemin pleads. He slowly lifts his head til he’s staring into the mirror. Jongin raises his eyes to meet his gaze when Taemin shrugs him off. He peeks over Taemin’s shoulder to face his reflection.
“Jongin, I need to know. Why did you ask me as your date to your sister’s wedding?”
Jongin’s chin hit’s Taemin’s shoulder as his mouth falls open in surprise. He was expecting something a little more dramatic, earth shaking, worthy of the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Like…a confession, or-
“Please, I need you to answer me.” Taemin lifts a hand to swipe at the drool sliding through his chapped lips as he fights to catch his breath, but his eyes hold onto Jongin’s gaze. “We’ve put off talking about this too long, Jonginnie.”
He looks so sad, his eyes damp in the stained mirror. Jongin wants-
“Taemin, because, well, who else would I ask?” Jongin’s laugh is soft, just a hint of bitterness coating the edges to keep it from fading to silence before it can escape from his lips. “There is literally no one else-“
“Did you ask me because you had no other options?” Taemin’s teeth cut deep into his lip and the flesh blooms red against the washed out white of his skin in the too-bright lights reflecting off the mirror.
Jongin is frozen in place, mouth still hanging open, but Taemin shakes him off.
“Both, you idiot!” Jongin is reeling and his shoulder hits the hand dryer when Tae shoves him back, catches him again. “I have no other options because that’s how much I love you.”
“Jongin, you-“ Taemin is reaching for him, outlining the angles of his face with careful fingers where Jongin’s head is rolling against the cold tile of the wall. “Why didn’t you-!”
Do something. Say anything.
“Because we’re both--!” Jongin breaks off, but he’s not sure if it’s laughter or a sob because his eyes feel wet too, now. He lifts a hand to scrub them dry but it gets knocked away because Taemin is leaning in to kiss him, hard, their teeth clashing with all the frustration and disappointment of the past nine years.
Taemin’s hands cradle the sides of Jongin’s face with a crushing warmth and Jongin’s hands are tight at his waist. The heat burning him up from the inside is flaming through Taemin’s shirt into his fingertips and Jongin wants so much more.
Their mouths open and meet, seal into completion with all the longing and sweetness of the past 23 years. Jongin yanks Taemin’s shirt tails up and out of the bind of his leather belt and slides eagers palms up the rungs of the ribs he’s memorized perfectly from changing in the same dressing room together since they were four.
“Hey, hey!” Taemin pants for breath against Jongin’s lips and Jongin is desperate to drink in every sigh.
“Hm?” Jongin is impatient. His fingers fumble where their belt buckles slide up and catch against the other, the tight fit of their dress slacks already growing tighter with-
“Jongin, not here, ok? Don’t you think-“
“Why the hell not?” Jongin’s mouth is already busy sucking a sloppy trail down the column of Taemin’s neck. “My cousin,” he pants out, before giving up on words. His tongue traces the bob of Taemin’s throat as he swallows, then he smiles, a wicked shiver of delight running through him at the vibration of Taemin’s moan against his lips.
“Good-good point,” Taemin pants, “your cousins-“
Jongin shuts him up with another hard kiss. His tongue really is talented, just not so much with words. Good thing they’ve finally gotten the talking part out of the way-for now.
Jongin closes his eyes as Taemin releases his mouth to leave a trail of kisses across his collar bones, fingers yanking Jongin’s ivory bowtie to the floor. Jongin presses them closer and wishes on all the stars flashing across the backs of his dark eyelids that they have a long, long time ahead of them, enough for more misunderstandings and tears, sure, but mostly for more figuring things out.
Like discovering the exact places to dig his teeth into Taemin’s sweet skin to elicit a moan, Jongin thinks with another laugh, this one the freest he’s felt in a long, long time.
***19***
It’s cold today. January always is in Seoul, but Jongin feels warm to the tips of his ears with his hand snuggled tight in Taemin’s. Tomorrow is his birthday, and they’re going out for an early celebration.
Jongin’s turning 29 but he doesn’t feel old despite Kyungsoo’s ruthless teasing the last few times they’ve met up for coffee. He still feels young on the inside, energy pulsing in and out through his nerve endings to merge his soul with the music whenever he steps onto the dance floor. Maybe Taemin brings out his mischievous side, or maybe he really is just a brat, like Soojung likes to comment on every facebook update regardless of what it’s actually about.
Jongin does feel more settled now, though. Not to say he doesn’t sometimes awake with a thrill of uncertainty aching along his spine when he opens his eyes to an empty bedroom, a cold gray rain sliding down the pane of the window. The future is still a wide expanse of unreadable sky, a swirl of blue patches mixed in with the streaks of gray clouds and the sudden storms of fate, but Jongin feels surer of his place in the world now, and definitely sure of place in Taemin’s world.
Taemin’s back to travelling domestically with his crew since he is the head choreographer, but it’s only a few weeks out of the year. Jongin has to travel for business on occasion himself, but they keep the studio they opened together running with help from Taemin’s friend Yixing.
They don’t always overlap, two distinctly individual personalities and schedules bound conflict at some point, but Jongin’s learned to find peace and order in the routine of their orbits. They work out somehow, space and intersections, the intervals of a chord in harmony. Jongin knows that no matter how far they travel, the comforting peace of Taemin’s laughter is only a phone call away, and his mouth just tastes sweeter after a week apart.
He’s humming right now, a soft smile quirking his lips. His fingers tap the rhythm into the wool of Jongin’s mitten as they wait on the corner for the streetlight to change. The light turns yellow, then transitions into green. The walk sign blinks on and Taemin steps down from the curb, his palm secure against the small of Jongin’s back as he guides them forward.
The light glows red just as they make it across and Jongin smiles to himself at the completion of another familiar cycle, just as precise and sure as the time-refined calibration of their love, his and Taemin’s.
I love you.
Jongin doesn’t need to say it, but he leans into Taemin’s side to steal a kiss from behind his ear just to see Taemin’s smile widen into a grin.
“Love you too!” Taemin squeezes their hands together. “Happy Birthday, Jonginnie!”
***fin***
(part one here)
Pairing: Jongin//Taemin
Rating: PG-13
Warnings:[Spoiler (click to open)]language, slight teenage angst, one-sided Soojung/Jongin, mention of dance related injuries, brief mention of Jongdae/Seulgi
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, written just for fun.
Summary: Jongin is four and a half when he meets the two greatest loves of his life. He will never be able to walk away from dance or Lee Taemin, no matter how much they break him, because it is only when Jongin is lost in the music that he feels alive.
***11***
“Soojung.” Jongin pulls the bottle from her hands. The glass is cold against his fingers. It’s getting too cold to be outside after dark but the wind is silent tonight.
“Jongin.” Her voice is cross, like she’s scolding a small child and Jongin wonders if that’s how she still sees him, a lame and awkward...kid. He hadn’t kissed her back that night, and Jongin had been terrified that that was it, that Soojung would hate him from then on or at least ignore him. He hadn’t needed to worry, though. It’s kind of hard to ignore your pas de deux partner, after all, and she’d gone back to treating him like an annoying boy.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
“Give it here.” Her nails dig into his arm until he releases his hold on the bottle. She holds the base of it to her chest and fits the spoon under the lip of the cap.
Pop. The top comes off too easily. Soojung tips the bottle back, glass to her teeth. Jongin watches her swallow down the beer and he knows enough about drinking to know that she’s done this before. She must be used to it, to stand the burn. Jongin’s eyes water just thinking about it, remembering his one and only taste from a lukewarm bottle his father had left out overnight on the counter. He takes the bottle anyway, when she passes it to him, and fits the mouth to his lips.
“Go on, try it.” Her fingers gouge his skin through his jacket, urging him with her eyes.
Jongin swallows and the hot trickle burns down his throat, but he doesn’t choke this time. He keeps swallowing until her grip relaxes and she’s reaching for the bottle again.
“So?” Her eyes are curious, carefully assessing his own.
Jongin can feel his face heating and he twists his face into a smile as if that might drain the rush of blood from his cheeks. “Not bad.”
Soojung’s smile is wary, but she leans back against the brick. The heating vent beneath their shoes breathes a slow trickle of steam into the night, the wispy dreams of a sleeping dragon. They’re not old enough to be drinking yet, though Jongin’s sister warned him there will be a lot of alcohol in college once he joins a circle. Jongin doesn’t really want to be here in the damp air with a heavy glass bottle chill between his thighs but Soojung had insisted. They both finished finals on Friday and she’s leaving next week for LA.
“Are you sad you’re missing graduation?” Jongin asks, and his tongue already feels thick between his teeth.
Soojung snorts and the hiss across the bottle opening is almost musical. “Are you kidding? I’m ready to get out of here.”
“Yeah…” Jongin’s excited to start university in March, mostly because he’d passed the audition for the same program Taemin had applied to. But right now he’s looking forward to two months of break-nothing on his schedule but sleep and dance. His favorite things, besides Taemin.
“No one needs me here.” Her voice cuts to his core, as if she’s turned on him with the spoon to dismember his joints now.
“Not true,” Jongin frowns, and grabs the bottle back from her. The more he swallows the smoother it tastes on his tongue. The tingle is fading to a pleasant warmth now. “You know I’ll miss you. I have to get used to a new partner after this.”
“Hmph.” Her huff is hot against his throat as she leans into his chest to steal the bottle away from his lips. “Glad to know what I’m valued for. And good luck, because you’ll need it. You suck.”
Jongin chuckles and his hand finds her hair. It’s rough like Taemin’s used to feel against his palm, dyed a faded cranberry but with less give to the strands. Soojung’s long hair is as straight as her posture and her rigid standards.
“Thanks,” Jongin says, because he knows she doesn’t mean it. Even if she hates him a little, if she truly thought he sucked she wouldn’t have put up with him this long. “Are you gonna text me when you’re in America? Send me pics of all your boyfriends?”
“Why, so you can drool over them?”
Jongin stiffens, the bottle dropping to his knee, and Soojung’s hand clambers to steady it against him.
“Sorry, Jongie, I didn’t--”
“It’s ok,” he murmurs into her stiff red hair, and Soojung relaxes against him. “You can try me, but I’ll be busy drooling over my own classmates you know.”
Soojung scoffs, the sound wet in her throat as she manages another messy swallow. “Come on, Jongin. I know your eyes will only be on one person.”
“We’re...it’s not like that.” Jongin sighs and a wish or two escape into damp air and hang there in front of him like exhaust vapor. Soojung’s head rolls against his shoulder and his jeans are uncomfortably tight where his knees bend to his chest.
She lets the empty bottle roll onto the yellowed grass and fumbles for the next one in the bag between his thighs. Her fingers are clumsy this time, though her grip is just as strong. “It’s ok if you want it to be like that, though. You’re his special person too, you know.”
“Ok,” Jongin nods, and he’s not quite sure what he’s agreeing to. “Ok.”
“Come on,” Soojung says, and shoves the next liter into his hands. “I won’t be home for at least a year so let’s make tonight count.”
Jongin drains the neck before helping her balance it at her lips. He’s not sure what they’re supposed to be counting, but maybe she means dreams. They’ve got an awful lot of dreams spread between the three of them, the web that widened across Korea now spreading across the ocean. His life is expanding faster than he can keep up with it but as long as Jongin has the oxygen in his lungs to keep moving, he thinks he can be happy.
“When you kiss him,” she says, “I’m the first to know, ok. I have to send you flowers.”
“What?” Jongin’s giggle blocks up his throat ‘til he’s choking, but Soojung pounds her fist against his chest ‘til all the tension is knocked loose.
“Deal?” Her fingers find his free hand and Jongin accepts her limp shake, though he’s not sure if they’re even using their right hands. All of his directions are mixed up right now so he just snuggles closer into the gravitational pull of Soojung’s warmth.
“If anything happens, I’m sure you’ll be the first to know.” Even if he didn’t want to tell her Soojung would find out, he has no doubt. Jongin only wishes the thing actually happening were as inevitable.
***12***
Jongin’s limbs are heavy with an unpleasant buzz, too much caffeine and not enough sleep sapping the tolerance from his blood ‘til he feels irrationally angry about everything. The slant of light from the harsh fluorescents stings his eyes and even the uneven wood grain of the scarred door in front of him irks him. He wants to punch something, but the softest thing in sight is a padded bulletin board and even that could potentially fracture a finger or two. Sometimes he hates how conditioned he is to worry about his physical condition at all times, above all else. He doesn't even play soccer these days for fear a small injury could cost him his career.
Jongin holds in the impatient fury and tries to run through choreo in his head. He counts through the score of the Stravinsky piece they’re working on in variations class, flexing his fingers against his thigh to mark each crescendo and lull in the music. He’s memorized the recording as thoroughly as he can, absorbing the chords into the fiber of his muscles as he dozes off on the subway or in front of his computer as he types essays. Not much has changed about his schedule since high school. It's still rehearsals and company classes all day with homework packed into the hours between extra rehearsals and breakfast. On Sundays he tries to catch up on sleep, if he can.
This week there isn't time to breathe. Even as he's falling asleep at night Jongin's mind is looping through snatches of choreography chasing around and around in his head like a fouette pirouette spiraling out of control. As much as he prepares, though, he knows it will be a completely different experience performing with a live orchestra, which is why stage week and dress rehearsal are so important.
The same notes sound like another universe when split from the speakers to the open air. Jongin's not worried though, not exactly. He knows he should do fine if everything goes as planned but the pressure of time constraints and the lack of sleep as they hurtle towards midterms solidify his worry into a concrete mass weighing down the pit of his stomach. He was too anxious to eat properly this morning, and now he’s feeling the burn of lactic acid and lack of protein in his limbs.
Taemin leaning against the wall beside him looks just as exhausted, with deep bruises under his eyes not even concealer and bb cream can completely hide. There's no tension in his face at all though. His jaw is slack against the cut of his earphone wires and his closed eyelids are as smooth as marble in the dim lighting of the narrow hall.
Whoever is running the audition today is late and Jongin can't stand to wait any longer. He's angry that there is a pile of assignments and exam reviews obliterating the surface of his coffee table and he can't get to them right now, not even to organize them on his priority list. He's angry that he's trapped in a crowded hallway with nowhere to expend the energy that is feeding on his nerve endings with a crackling burn. There's not even enough space to stretch or warm up until someone shows up to unlock the studio.
Mostly, Jongin is angry that Taemin is taking this so coolly. It's the spring semester of junior year, and parts they get slotted into at this audition won't just reflect on their end of term grades. The roles they're assigned based on their performance today affect their eligibility for internships over the summer, for opportunities as TAs in the MFA program, for the resumes they'll have to start submitting at professional auditions soon.
That's a lot of stress and impact riding on one hour of exercises and across-the-floor work, and Jongin is angry that Taemin isn't letting the pressure get to him. He's also angry at the universe for pitting him against his favorite person. One thing that has changed since high school is the level of competition. His ranking and progress and versatility color every decision Jongin makes these days, from how he prepares his breakfast eggs to which classmates he trusts enough to refill his water bottle.
He'd never dreamed he'd have to compete against Taemin for a secure future, but it's his fault for not considering the possibility. He'd jumped at the chance to attend the same program as his friend and once he knew Taemin had accepted the offer that was it--he hadn't even let his mother drive him to visit another campus on his list. Because Jongin was worried about college and his future but he knew he could make, he could do anything, as long as Taemin was catching his eye in the mirror between combinations to crack a sweaty smile at him.
"I hope you all came warmed up ahead of time," one of the graduate assistants calls as he elbows his way down the corridor. His key ring jingles as he inserts a steel comb into the studio door. "We have to start right away. Pick up your numbers and then get out the barres!"
There's a surge of limbs bottlenecking through the dented double doors and Jongin squeezes onto a tile of space next to Taemin to the side of the dance floor to dump his stuff. Coat, extra sweater, gloves and hat all go on top of his converse and he shifts his leg warmers up his calves to pull his dance slippers on over his stocking feet. A light jersey and a thin cotton scarf he leaves on for a quick barre warm up, though he'll have to strip down to his leotard before the real audition starts.
He's in his best black set of practice clothes today, new tights, and his hair is slicked back from his forehead. Jongin bends to retrieve his water bottle from his bag and stuffs back in the handful of bandaids and extra aspirin that are overflowing from the side pocket. When he stands he's already lost Taemin in the crowd of bodies popping their hip joints and rolling their ankles against the edge of the marley.
"Hey, your number." Taemin's waving a fat white square of paper with a safety pin stuck through the top. It flaps like a flag of surrender through the sea of bodies, but he's got his game face on. His jaw is set and his eyes are dark beneath the stretched elastic of his headband holding back the blonde waves from his face. "I got us ones near the top."
"Thanks." Jongin takes the number and Taemin smiles, the challenge in his eyes softening into affection. They are near the top, Jongin is number 11 and Taemin is 12. It's best to go at the beginning of the queue, Ms. Choi always reminded them before an audition. You get to display your skill and charisma before the rest of the dancers start to blur together for the judging panel.
"Hey, are you ok?" Taemin's palm soothes down the length of Jongin's spine and Jongin feels a layer of his pent up tension slough away. "You look a little shaky."
The rest of the room is just as chaotic and noisy as it always is before a big evaluation but with the soft smile tugging at the corners of Taemin's eyes and his lips, Jongin has found his center of balance again. The loud rush of the room fades to the periphery and Jongin takes a mental gulp of focus, of sanctuary from the peace in Taemin's eyes.
"I'm ok. Just a little edgy." Jongin shrugs, trying to pop a kink in his neck back into place. He got more sleep than usual last night, but nowhere near enough to balance out his recent sleep deficit. "It'll burn off during warm ups."
"Ok." Taemin is smiling, his palm light on Jongin's elbow as he guides them to find a place at the barre. "Good luck," he leans in to whisper, "just do your best, ok, Jonginnie? You can do it!"
Jongin pulls back with a grin, already spreading his feet into a perfect 180 degrees to start plies. "Fighting!" he mouths back as he begins his slow descent into the first stretch. He knows they'll be okay, both of them.
***13***
After his last talk with Soojung before she left, Jongin had almost allowed himself to hope that maybe, maybe since they would be together again Taemin would want to start things over. Jongin was, still is, hoping for the second chance on the first try that hadn't even been an option before. It is nice having Taemin back, especially now that they're seniors and have finally moved out of the claustrophobic dorms into a tiny apartment two stations away from school.
The place is a closet, hardly bigger than student housing, but at least they have a plug-in burner and an electric kettle, and no one cares what time they come home at night. Jongin has a pallet on the floor under the window, thick blankets folded around the thin mattress to increase the padding. Taemin has a narrow cot pushed against the opposite wall, hidden behind the row of their clothes hanging from a wire that runs parallel to the ceiling. It's not much, but as decent as they can afford between Jongin's weekend shift at a Chinese delivery place and Taemin's string of part time jobs.
They've been living here for almost eight months but neither of them has bothered with any kind of a decorating scheme, unless you count Taemin's colorful scarves that seem to spew themselves across the piles of laundry and junk mail and homework. One of his sunbaes from high school who Taemin calls Key hyung is touring with an acrobatic dance troupe and keeps sending him silk scarves and shawls from places as exotic as Thailand and Paraguay.
Not that it bothers Jongin. Neither of them has time to do much around the apartment and no one comes over to poke around at their mess. Everything about Jongin's life is a mess right now it feels like, from his overgrown hair to his clean laundry that's in a rumpled heap on the floor still waiting to be folded, to the rainbow of overlapping memos that covers the pages of his day planner.
The only thing holding his sanity together right now is coffee, syrupy with too much sugar, and a whole lot of chewing gum. Caffeine aches. It sticks to his veins like greasy plaque and throbs there, simmers like hot grease under his skin. The sick feeling in his gut makes him want to burrow into his comforter and dive into sleep, but a nap would mess his hair up worse than it is and he’s almost out of gum again. He’ll probably have to run to the mart for more xylitol and soju before dinner time. Alcohol is the only thing that helps him sleep these days, alone in the empty apartment.
Sometimes Taemin doesn't come home for days. He'll squeeze Jongin's shoulder across the barre in class, but there is no time for words before the music starts. When there is silence again, the quiet sighs of lungs all wrung from exertion limping back into sweats, it's time for Taemin to rush off to work. He works at some sort of hotline center, the overnight shift. He leaves with his pillow and sleeps on the desk if no one calls after 10 pm. Jongin doesn't know more exactly than that what it is he does.
That's how distant they are these days, orbiting different schedules. Their paths eclipse in the gray light of early morning a few times a week, halfhearted smiles and sweaty clothes shed as they pass. Perhaps a wave and a "good morning", but nothing has felt particularly good to Jongin for a while now. Nothing between him and Taemin, anyway.
Jongin starts when the door handle rattles, a thick key twisting in the heavy lock. Their building is decades too old to have a keypad code or finger swipe access. "Taemin?" There's no one else who has a key besides Jongin's oldest sister, and she's visiting their aunt for the weekend.
"Hey." Taemin's smile is stiff around the edges, cracked skin dry like the crust of stale bread. "Class was just canceled, don't worry."
Jongin nods and settles back to lean against the kitchen counter. Taemin must have heard the alarm in his voice. "I was just about to go out. Pick up some stuff, maybe dinner."
"Ok."
"Come with me?" Jongin's palm slides up Taemin's flannel shirt sleeve as he pauses next to the fridge to dump his bag on the counter. He shuffles his bare feet on the sticky linoleum, and Jongin's hand stills between his shoulder blades.
"I think I need a nap." He shakes his head, wispy strands of his hair flopping almost to his chin as he yawns.
"You should at least eat something." Jongin frowns, conflicted between sending Taemin off to get the sleep he obviously needs and insisting that Taemin pay him some attention. It's been days, nearly two weeks since they spent time together. Taemin had let Jongin cuddle up with him on the loveseat, their only proper piece of furniture in the whole apartment, for a movie. Even then Taemin had fallen asleep almost immediately, snoring softly into the hood of Jongin's sweatshirt.
"Hey, hey," Taemin whispers, his exhale faint against Jongin's neck as he leans in to pull him closer. "Why are you getting upset, why don't you just get some rest too?" His lips find the indent of Jongin's temple and linger there, the press of them softer than the dry skin appears.
"No." Jongin shoves him away, turning to hunch his shoulders towards the corner of the counter. He's trembling, from lack of sleep and the strain of too much to do and no beside him while he struggles through it. He's angry that Taemin thinks he can touch him after ignoring him for a week. It shouldn't be that easy, but Taemin always makes it out to be so simple if Jongin brings it up, when he tries to talk with him about it. Jongin isn't sure what they are anymore, what Taemin’s obliging smiles mean these days. Jongin isn't sure about a lot of things.
They're not dating, because they never go out. Jongin hasn't met any of Taemin's friends, other than a vague acquaintanceship with the fringes of Taemin's circle that happen to overlap with the dance department. They're not even sleeping together because Taemin doesn't have the time to sleep at home, to sleep in general. Jongin's not sure there would be anything more between them even if the circumstances allowed. It feels like nothing more than casual cohabitation between them, until Taemin starts to get all in his face like this.
"Jonginnie, what's wrong?" Long fingers stroke along the edge of Jongin's hairline before Taemin darts forward to plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth.
"What the fuck!" Jongin hisses, swiping at his mouth. "What the hell was that for!" The words start to squirm between his lips but he keeps talking. He has to spit them out, wriggling like slimy grubs under his tongue. They taste like panic and lukewarm soju and the film of grease that sticks to the back of his throat after a long day at work behind the fryer.
"Why do you think you can treat me like..like I'm invisible, then come home and expect me to be all welcoming when you keep blowing me off!"
"Jongin?" Taemin's eyes flash with surprise but Jongin doesn't want to hear the protest already forming on his tongue. He's tired of the excuses that are building up between them like some callous hull of barnacles, something he's incapable of ripping off himself with only his bare fingers.
"Fine, you know what, just--just go to bed, Taemin. I'll go shopping by myself." He doesn't mean for it to sound as hard as it does, but he doesn't want to apologize, either. Jongin turns to reach for his jacket, already slipping into the sleeves as he strides to the door.
He bangs the door open without a backward glance. He doesn't want to remember Taemin's shoulders drooping in the shadow of the refrigerator, all alone in the cluttered, empty apartment. "I'll see you later."
***14***
"You're not mad, are you?" Jongin's facing out the window, facing away. The sun is bright today. It's almost spring.
"No." Jongin's laugh feels sticky between his lips, like taffy left too long in the sun. "We talked about this, remember, this is the best decision for--" you "--us." He squeezes Taemin's shoulder as he turns closer to the window. "I'd come if I could, but..."
"Yeah," Taemin says, and Jongin almost chokes on the understanding invading his ears. He hates goodbyes. That's why dogs make so much sense to him, the way they slink off quietly to breathe their last in peace. No one enjoys a goodbye ripped from their lips, a loved one torn from a last embrace.
Just don't go.
He's brave enough to say it, but he's too selfish. He doesn't want the imbalance of having Taemin sacrifice one of his loves for Jongin caught between them. Jongin understands. He loves dancing more than life, too.
"Family is important, yeah." They've talked about that, too. After his father had a stroke in the fall they as a family decided Jongin could do as he liked, it was up to him whether or not to join the company he and Taemin had auditioned for together--and passed.
Taemin reaches for Jongin's hand, but Jongin's fingers are curled into his palm, cemented in place with a cold sweat. This isn't fair to him, having to say goodbye to Taemin and his own dancing dreams at the same airport.
Just go already.
Taemin is leaving, along with the members of his new crew, and Jongin's in a suit and polished shoes. His hair is slicked back for the sales pitch he's scheduled to deliver at 10:00 AM.
It was his choice, and he knows he's doing the right thing for the family but, it’s also the right thing for him. He's never done well away from home with unfamiliar surroundings and he wouldn't be able to dance his best when his father is halfway around the world with a ticking thermometer wired into his chest. He doesn't want to leave his mom alone with the stress and the heartache.
"Say hey to my sister for me, if you see her in London. I told her the dates for your run."
"Sure," Taemin says, and the blink of his eyes is a caress across Jongin's forehead, the kiss they don't dare steal in public.
Knowing it's the right choice doesn't make it easy.
The PA pings on, announcing the boarding gates, and Taemin rises to join his company mates in line at the security check point.
"Hey," Taemin says, "later, Jonginnie. Take care of yourself, ok?"
Jongin nods, blinking against the burn of tears as he lifts his hand to wave. His father's cufflinks flash in the fluorescents at his wrist and the light slides along the flash of Taemin's silver earring, the golden curve of his smile as he turns.
I love you.
***15***
“Why don’t you just break up with him?” Kyungsoo sucks and his straw is noisy against the bottom of his empty drink. The café today is a small one. It’s not the best lighting unless you sit near the windows, but it’s conveniently halfway between Jongin’s workplace and the studio where he teaches evening classes. “If you’re not happy, you should call it quits.”
Today it’s empty enough for Kyungsoo’s mellow voice to echo in the atrium, and despite the open spaces between the vacated tables Jongin feels closed in. If it were spring he could open the window and let in the fresh air but today there is snow on the ground, a few icy traces outlining the sidewalks from the roots of trees.
“Do you seriously think that will feel better?” Jongin pouts at the clock behind Kyungsoo on the wall. There’s a thick layer of dust settled over the upper curve of the face and it makes Jongin itch to wipe it clean.
Kyungsoo shrugs, as honest as ever. “It would hurt at first. But then you might feel better if you weren’t investing in a relationship with low emotional returns.”
Jongin wants to laugh at his friend, the musical actor turned accountant, because nothing is ever as easy as an equation. He doesn’t like equations anyway, the limits on them. “Is Taemin an investment?”
“The time and energy you spend aching for him could be spent on someone else.” Kyungsoo shrugs again, the tailored peaks at the shoulder seams of his suit settling over his collar. “That’s all I’m saying. But I’m sure you’ve thought through all of this.”
Jongin doesn’t nod, but it’s true. What ifs have been creeping into his thoughts at night as he tosses on the mattress and waits for his sleeping aid to kick in. He still hasn’t learned to sleep alone, in all the months adding up into years that Taemin’s been on the road. He doesn’t want to admit it aloud but Jongin’s already decided inside himself, come to the same bottom line in conclusion.
“Whatever you decide,” Kyungsoo says softly, and sweeps up their trash onto the brown plastic tray. “I’ve got dinner with a client tonight so I’d better run. See you next month?”
Jongin nods and takes the tray from him to sort into the receptacles. He still has another hour to kill before it’s time to change before jazz class. “Thanks, hyung. See you.”
His phone rings while he’s waiting for the train. Jongin nods an apology to the tired businessman he startled out of a cat nap, and answers as quietly as he can while still making sure he can be heard over the tenuous connection.
“Hey.” It’s Taemin, and his voice has an echo like the miles of distance between them. “I just got back to the hotel.”
“Did the performance go well tonight?” The company’s in Europe this month, Berlin if Jongin remembers correctly. The names of the places get jumbled in his head these days, Taemin’s been to so many places now.
“Yeah, it did!” He sounds tired, but Jongin can hear the joy in Taemin’s voice, the thrill of the stage Jongin misses nearly as much as his boyfriend. “Closing night at the theater, tomorrow we head to Dansk.”
“That’s…that’s good, I hope you travel safe.”
“How have you been? You didn’t answer my call this weekend. Did you have to work overtime again at the office?” He doesn’t sound annoyed, just sympathetic. Maybe concerned. Jongin hates how all it takes is the sound of Taemin’s voice and he’s thawing all over again into the melt of spring.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“It’s fine. I know we’re both busy.”
Jongin laughs, because that’s not the half of it. Busy was them in college, always crossing paths and regretting each time they locked the door on their sleeping roommate and headed off to their schedules. Now they’re just…distant. Taemin feels far away, even when he’s wrapped in Jongin’s arms under Jongin’s blankets when he’s home between tours.
“Tae,” Jongin says, and the wind is bright pain against his wet eyes. “I think we need a break.”
“Ok.”
Taemin’s voice is disturbingly calm, the eerie quiet before the thunder breaks loose. Jongin wants to break his fingers on something hard. Maybe a brick wall or a-
“Ok Jonginnie, as long as you’re ok.”
Jongin doesn’t cry til he’s under his covers and the dog is safely asleep on his chest.
***16***
"Thanks for picking me up." It's not sunny today, the rain is streaming down the glass in gray streaks, but Taemin has dark sunglasses shoved all the way up the bridge of his nose. His face looks pale in contrast, pinched into sharp angles.
"Well who else would?" Jongin asks, fiddling with the stereo knobs but not actually turning up the volume. Taemin turns to him, mouth open but no question coming out. "I mean--" Jongin didn't mean Taemin's been away so long he has no friends left, he just meant-- "I mean I'd kill you if you called someone else first!"
Taemin chuckles softly, his head knocking against the seat rest as the laugh turns into a sharp cough. Jongin reaches for the thermos of hot tea in the cup holder between them, but Taemin raises a hand to wave him off. "I'm ok."
"But--" He's in even worse shape than Jongin had feared, a heavy splint binding the surgery seams at his knee. He's shaky and flushed with a fever the painkillers can only lower, not erase.
Jongin hisses in dismay as they hit yet another red light and drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. They're only a few blocks away from his apartment, but it will probably take another fifteen minutes to park and make it into the building.
Jongin finds a spot at the end of the street to park the car his father's too sick to drive anymore. He and his sister share the keys, but the upholstery still smells vaguely new because neither of them drives it much.
The rain hasn't slowed at all and Jongin fumbles with a spare umbrella as he gets out of the car to unlock the trunk. A muffled curse from Taemin has him whirling around in panic.
"Are you trying to hurt yourself worse?" Jongin lunges to grab the heavy suitcase away from Taemin where he was attempting to pull it from the backseat.
The luggage crashes to the pavement and they both skid on the wet sidewalk, Taemin in a flimsy slipper and Jongin in his dress shoes. He didn't have time to change after work.
"I'm fine," Taemin hisses, jerking his jacket sleeve free from Jongin's steadying hold. He insists on dragging his suitcase across the polished lobby floor to the elevator.
"Which floor?" It's a different building than the apartment they shared before. Jongin moved out almost a year and a half ago to somewhere more spacious, once he could afford it.
"Seven," Jongin says, "so don't you even think about--"
"Does an apartment this shiny even have stairs?" Taemin laughs at his own joke, but his smile is so forced beneath the black barrier of his sunglasses that Jongin can't help but wince.
"It's company housing," Jongin says, "so I get a discount." He lets Taemin push the button and watches the doors close. Their faces are tiny, round distortions in the polished steel.
"You don't have to explain anything." Taemin's voice is quiet, almost wistful, like maybe he wishes there were no gaps between them to bridge, that they were as inseparable as they were fifteen years ago when the scariest shadow on the horizon was passing high school entrance exams.
Jongin misses those days, but not the tender, pink newness of his insecurities that had kept them ever at the back of his mind. These days he's just as wary as ever, but it's so familiar the feelings have absorbed to become a part of him now, a universal drone that echoes in his bones. Nothing to be afraid of; life is all change, anyway.
"You've done good for yourself," Taemin comments, nodding as he hobbles into the living room. His sunglasses are still on, though Jongin himself can barely see in the dark apartment. Only the flat screen TV mounted on his wall glows with the sliver of gray light peeking through the drawn drapes.
Jongin opens them, then makes a space on his leather sofa that's crowded with half folded laundry. "Sorry, I haven't really had time to straighten up."
Taemin just shakes his head. "It's fine, Jonginnie. This the bathroom?" His hand is already on the door knob.
"Yeah," Jongin nods, and Taemin props his crutches against the doorpost before pushing inside.
Jongin jogs down the narrow hall to his bedroom, tossing pajamas and socks towards the hamper as he goes. He shuffles a stack of paperback novels and half-finished sudoku puzzles torn from the newspaper onto his nightstand. His sister keeps telling him he needs to clean up the place, but Jongin's too lazy and stubborn. Besides, it's not like anyone ever comes in here but him.
Jongin jolts as the bathroom lock clicks open, emerging into the hall just as Taemin does. His sunglasses are clipped onto the neckline of his sweater now, and even his lips are trembling, pressed tightly into a thin line. He glances up and down the hallway, blinking and squinting like he’s disoriented, through a looking glass of his remembered reality.
“Could I…”
Jongin jumps at the echo of Taemin’s voice, his hand still on the knob jerking his bedroom door shut.
Taemin’s shoulders sag as he edges towards the cracked open door of the guest room opposite the hall. “Hey,” he says, “could I lie down for a bit first? Sorry, the luggage…” His voice trails off in a hoarse rasp as he waves limply towards the living room.
“Oh, ok! Sure! It’s no problem, but-“ Jongin glances over his shoulder at the seam of light peeking through the cracks of his own doorway, eyes boring through the wood to outline the big double bed he’d assumed they’d be sharing but-of course not, what was he thinking, he was the one who-
“Hm?” Taemin tilts on his feet and Jongin lunges forward to steady him before he careens into the wall of photographs, framed studio portraits and snapshots of Jongin’s sisters and parents, but mostly of his niece.
“I’m not imposing if I stay here, right?” Taemin sits down hard on the edge of the bed. “I’m not…displacing someone else if I-“
“No, no!” Jongin hurries forward to shove the stiff throw pillows off the bed so Taemin can lie back comfortably. “You’re never a bother, Tae. You should know that by now.” His fingers brush Taemin’s sweaty hair away from his eyes as he collapses against the down pillows tucked under the edge of the comforter.
His eyes start open and Jongin freezes, unsure if he’s crossed a line. He kicks himself internally. He’s got to start thinking things through more, stop acting on instinct. Jongin’s impulses are all calibrated to-
“Should I?” Taemin’s lips are all cracked. They look painfully dry.
“I-we-we can talk later, ok?” Jongin bites his lip to keep his fingers from retracing the arch of Taemin’s brow. “Just rest.”
Taemin nods against the pillow, his eyelids already falling closed. Jongin lets himself out of the room and tiptoes to the kitchen to set some water on to boil for tea.
He smears a palm down the planes of his face as he waits for the kettle in the dark kitchen. Today didn’t go as smoothly as he hoped it might, but they can figure things out once they’re more comfortable again. He hopes.
***17***
"Taemin?"
"Hey, did I wake you?"
Jongin blinks and the figure in front of him wavers. He's in a fresh change of clothes, his hair wet from the shower. "What time did you get in?"
Taemin shrugs, wrings his towel into a bundle that doesn’t drip on the kitchen floor. He’s too polite for that. Even the guest bedroom, his bedroom, stays in perfect order like he doesn’t feel at ease to relax into old habits. “Late.”
“Ok, well…breakfast?” It’s six in the morning, and Jongin doesn’t usually get up for another hour unless he was too lazy to shower the night before.
“Sure.” Taemin slumps against the kitchen counter as Jongin opens the fridge to rifle through the contents, hoping to scrounge enough vegetables and leftover ham or something to top their omelets. Taemin usually comes home starved from his shift bartending, the fatigue bruising the delicate skin under his eyes a deep purple casting a haggard shade over his whole complexion.
“What are you up to this weekend?” Jongin rinses half a carrot under the stream from the kitchen faucet, biting back a curse at the shock of freezing cold water splashing up his wrists.
“Ah, I might pick up an extra shift, I’m not sure though.”
Jongin glances over his shoulder to find Taemin with his back arched, his face pillowed in the angle of his elbow bent on the edge of the counter. He must be exhausted.
“Why? What’s up?”
Jongin doesn’t turn again, keeping his attention focused on the carrot as he slides the blade of a peeler down the length. Even after years of living alone, or semi-alone, his cooking skills are still shaky enough that multitasking with a sharp implement usually lands him in the ER for a few stitches and a stiff scolding from a sister or two.
“Mm, nothing.” Jongin has both Saturday and Sunday off this weekend, after submitting an exhausting round of reports on Thursday night, and he was hoping to go out clubbing this weekend. Maybe with Kyungsoo or Jongdae. Preferrably with Taemin, but no sense in making him guilty with an invitation he has to decline if he has to work.
Taemin doesn’t answer, and Jongin refrains from pestering him with more questions as he heats a skillet and waits for the beaten eggs to brown in the bottom. He knows how hard it is to stay awake after a long week at work, squeezing in a few hours at the studio to let the music drain the pressure and the numbers from his head at the expense of his sleep.
Taemin’s been coming out to the studio sometimes now, much to Jongin’s delight though he still worries about the fading scar across Taemin’s kneecap when he throws himself into risky aerials and lands them hard. Jongin never says anything to discourage him, though, because it must be hard to continue his passion less than able bodied, and Jongin knows well enough the need to lose himself to the music of movement, without restriction and logic restraining his wings.
Sometimes Jongin wonders if they can call themselves friends, the way they slip in and out of the apartment with a few words scattered between them like stale birdseed on a winter sidewalk. It’s not much to sustain them, but Jongin’s loyalty doesn’t need much to survive on, it seems. He’s grateful for every sleepy smile that blesses him on the way out the door in the mornings, as Taemin waves goodbye to him from the hallway in the doorway to his bedroom.
“Hey, food’s ready.” Jongin taps the end of the spatula on the counter near Taemin’s head to rouse him as he switches off the stove. Their breakfast didn’t turn out spectacular in shape or form, but it should taste decent. Jongin sprinkled on plenty of cheese just in case he got the spice mixture wrong.
Taemin’s grin of appreciation just grows as he chews the first bite, stabbing his fork into their shared plate Jongin slid between them on the counter.
“Good?”
“As always,” Taemin confirms, stretching out the long strings of melted cheese with a graceful arc of his strong arm.
Jongin helps sever them with the tines of his greasy fork. He shoves in a large bite, gasping as a chunk of tomato bursts hot across his tongue. He smiles as he chews, his breakfast warming him from the pit of his stomach and radiating out to his limbs along with the satisfaction of Taemin’s hungry approval. Half the plate is gone already, and Jongin’s only gotten two bites in, but he doesn’t mind. He’d rather make sure Taemin goes to bed full and sated, anyway.
Taemin takes one more heaping bite, bits of pepper and onion tumbling to the plate as his mouth stretches wide, and thanks Jongin with one last smile before wandering down the hall to collapse into bed.
Jongin slides the empty plate into the sink and runs a pool of water over it, already slipping out of his pajama top on the way to his own room to change. He hesitates at the threshold to sneak a quick glance through Taemin’s open doorway. Taemin is spread eagle on top of the bed covers, his back a gentle slope that rises and falls with the steady rhythm of his breathing.
Jongin pulls the door to before he turns to search for a clean undershirt. They don’t have much time for words, but the fact that they work so well together, coexisting in a comfortable plane of familiar patterns, means they must understand each other. That’s what Jongin tries to convince himself of as he faces his mirror to knot a tie around his collar, the early morning light filtering though his blinds to illuminate his eyes in the age spotted glass before him.
There are just some things even time and distance can’t erase, and childhood bonds are supposed to be one of them.
***18***
Jongin squirms on his chair. You’d think red velvet padding would feel more luxurious, but the high backed chairs shoved up to the round tables in the echoing banquet hall are about as miserable as they can get. Or maybe it’s the rental tux he’s squeezed into, the seams too tight through the shoulders.
Taemin in the seat beside him looks as cool and collected as ever in a navy suit over a plaid designer shirt he must have picked up somewhere in Europe. He hasn’t said much tonight, but neither has Jongin, and Taemin must feel awkward surrounded by Kim family relatives. Jongin hasn’t even met all of them himself, or at least not since he was old enough to really remember.
Some elderly uncle stands to make another toast to the bride and groom and Jongin sighs, fingering the stem of his empty wine glass. His cousin lifts the nearest bottle, offering them a refill, but Jongin declines with a wave. He could use the distraction from how good Taemin looks tonight, his hair styled into tousled waves with a bit of wax, but he really shouldn’t. He still has to drive them home tonight.
The speech, just like the last three and a half they’ve had to sit through, is rambling and repetitive, more well wishes slurred between sips from a glass of something harder than the champagne flowing at Jongin’s table. Jongin’s sister looks happy though, blushing and smiling at the front beside her new husband.
Jongin’s cousins aren’t looking too bored either. They’re getting cozy with their dates across the table from Jongin, one of them practically straddling her boyfriend’s lap.
Jongin winces in embarrassment as they lean forward to brush noses, cooing incessantly as they tug on each other’s hair. Taemin is turned away, his eyes rolling in nervous disdain every so often. When Sohui tips forward onto her boyfriend’s chest for a sloppy kiss Taemin jerks upright, shoving back his chair and striding for the exit with a muttered, “excuse me.”
Jongin echoes the apology to his cousins who pay him no heed, and darts out the door after him. “Tae!” he calls after the figure retreating into the shadows down the empty hall. “Hey, wait!”
Jongin hasn’t sprinted far, just a few hundred meters across the tile floor of the lobby, but his heart is racing with a desperation that scares him with its intensity, the adrenaline spurring him forward. Please don’t walk out the door, please don’t walk out on me, his heart is crying with each footfall, and he feels that if he lets Taemin walk away from him tonight it will mean something final.
Taemin turns, his heels squeaking on the polished floor. His limbs are heavy in the half light, like the movement takes monumental effort, although he’s been fully mobile without crutches for a few months now.
“Worried I’d get lost on my way to the bathroom?” His smile is faint, a beam of moonlight washed out by the city glare. His features look strained in the green glow from the emergency exit signs, but it’s the most familiar thing in Jongin’s heart now.
Jongin shrugs and jogs across the atrium. Taemin waits for him to fall into step before resuming his way to the bathroom.
“Are you feeling ok?”
Taemin just shrugs as they push into the empty men’s room, the square of his shoulders casting velvet shadows as the automatic light snaps on at the entrance. He leans his weight against the frame of the sink, the bleached tips of his ombre hair brushing the dull chrome of the faucet.
He doesn’t say anything, and a chill of fear has Jongin reaching for his phone. Taemin still takes pills sometimes, for the pain, but that’s usually just before bed so he can sleep but-Jongin thinks of the alcohol they swallowed down with dinner, and the bottle of pills Taemin keeps handy in the glove box of the car. What if-
“Can you just leave me be for a moment?” Taemin’s voice is small, but the echo of it against the tiles ricochets to lodge deep in Jongin’s ear canals. “I’m promise I’m ok, I just…need a minute.”
He doesn’t sound sick tonight, he sounds broken and Jongin’s hands are reaching out to bridge the gap he’s carefully maintained between them before he can stop himself.
“Stupid.” Jongin’s hands brush the length of Taemin’s back, smoothing up his spine and digging in to brace his shoulders. “You think I’d leave you alone in here when you’re so…” smashed up, like the scattered springs and cogs of a broken wristwatch, is kind of how Jongin feels right now.
“So fucked up?” Taemin’s laugh is just as soft as his smile, the peal of it a beautiful echo against the tile acoustics and Jongin just hugs him tighter to his chest, securing his arms around Taemin’s waist and shoulders from behind.
“Seriously, Tae, what’s going on?”
Taemin trembles, and Jongin trembles with him, caught against the expanse of his strong back.
“I’m just-I don’t understand you.”
“Huh?” Jongin doesn’t understand either.
“Bringing me here, to watch--!” Taemin’s dry-sobbing into his sleeve, his cufflinks pressing painful points into the curve of his cheek as his mouth darkens a widening circle into his jacket.
“I’m sorry!” Jongin huffs through his nose and rests his forehead between Taemin’s heaving shoulders. He might as well, since he’s apparently breaking all the rules now. “My cousins are obnoxious. Sorry you had to sit through that if they were making you uncomfortable, or-“
“That’s not what-! Jongin,” Taemin pleads. He slowly lifts his head til he’s staring into the mirror. Jongin raises his eyes to meet his gaze when Taemin shrugs him off. He peeks over Taemin’s shoulder to face his reflection.
“Jongin, I need to know. Why did you ask me as your date to your sister’s wedding?”
Jongin’s chin hit’s Taemin’s shoulder as his mouth falls open in surprise. He was expecting something a little more dramatic, earth shaking, worthy of the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Like…a confession, or-
“Please, I need you to answer me.” Taemin lifts a hand to swipe at the drool sliding through his chapped lips as he fights to catch his breath, but his eyes hold onto Jongin’s gaze. “We’ve put off talking about this too long, Jonginnie.”
He looks so sad, his eyes damp in the stained mirror. Jongin wants-
“Taemin, because, well, who else would I ask?” Jongin’s laugh is soft, just a hint of bitterness coating the edges to keep it from fading to silence before it can escape from his lips. “There is literally no one else-“
“Did you ask me because you had no other options?” Taemin’s teeth cut deep into his lip and the flesh blooms red against the washed out white of his skin in the too-bright lights reflecting off the mirror.
Jongin is frozen in place, mouth still hanging open, but Taemin shakes him off.
“Both, you idiot!” Jongin is reeling and his shoulder hits the hand dryer when Tae shoves him back, catches him again. “I have no other options because that’s how much I love you.”
“Jongin, you-“ Taemin is reaching for him, outlining the angles of his face with careful fingers where Jongin’s head is rolling against the cold tile of the wall. “Why didn’t you-!”
Do something. Say anything.
“Because we’re both--!” Jongin breaks off, but he’s not sure if it’s laughter or a sob because his eyes feel wet too, now. He lifts a hand to scrub them dry but it gets knocked away because Taemin is leaning in to kiss him, hard, their teeth clashing with all the frustration and disappointment of the past nine years.
Taemin’s hands cradle the sides of Jongin’s face with a crushing warmth and Jongin’s hands are tight at his waist. The heat burning him up from the inside is flaming through Taemin’s shirt into his fingertips and Jongin wants so much more.
Their mouths open and meet, seal into completion with all the longing and sweetness of the past 23 years. Jongin yanks Taemin’s shirt tails up and out of the bind of his leather belt and slides eagers palms up the rungs of the ribs he’s memorized perfectly from changing in the same dressing room together since they were four.
“Hey, hey!” Taemin pants for breath against Jongin’s lips and Jongin is desperate to drink in every sigh.
“Hm?” Jongin is impatient. His fingers fumble where their belt buckles slide up and catch against the other, the tight fit of their dress slacks already growing tighter with-
“Jongin, not here, ok? Don’t you think-“
“Why the hell not?” Jongin’s mouth is already busy sucking a sloppy trail down the column of Taemin’s neck. “My cousin,” he pants out, before giving up on words. His tongue traces the bob of Taemin’s throat as he swallows, then he smiles, a wicked shiver of delight running through him at the vibration of Taemin’s moan against his lips.
“Good-good point,” Taemin pants, “your cousins-“
Jongin shuts him up with another hard kiss. His tongue really is talented, just not so much with words. Good thing they’ve finally gotten the talking part out of the way-for now.
Jongin closes his eyes as Taemin releases his mouth to leave a trail of kisses across his collar bones, fingers yanking Jongin’s ivory bowtie to the floor. Jongin presses them closer and wishes on all the stars flashing across the backs of his dark eyelids that they have a long, long time ahead of them, enough for more misunderstandings and tears, sure, but mostly for more figuring things out.
Like discovering the exact places to dig his teeth into Taemin’s sweet skin to elicit a moan, Jongin thinks with another laugh, this one the freest he’s felt in a long, long time.
***19***
It’s cold today. January always is in Seoul, but Jongin feels warm to the tips of his ears with his hand snuggled tight in Taemin’s. Tomorrow is his birthday, and they’re going out for an early celebration.
Jongin’s turning 29 but he doesn’t feel old despite Kyungsoo’s ruthless teasing the last few times they’ve met up for coffee. He still feels young on the inside, energy pulsing in and out through his nerve endings to merge his soul with the music whenever he steps onto the dance floor. Maybe Taemin brings out his mischievous side, or maybe he really is just a brat, like Soojung likes to comment on every facebook update regardless of what it’s actually about.
Jongin does feel more settled now, though. Not to say he doesn’t sometimes awake with a thrill of uncertainty aching along his spine when he opens his eyes to an empty bedroom, a cold gray rain sliding down the pane of the window. The future is still a wide expanse of unreadable sky, a swirl of blue patches mixed in with the streaks of gray clouds and the sudden storms of fate, but Jongin feels surer of his place in the world now, and definitely sure of place in Taemin’s world.
Taemin’s back to travelling domestically with his crew since he is the head choreographer, but it’s only a few weeks out of the year. Jongin has to travel for business on occasion himself, but they keep the studio they opened together running with help from Taemin’s friend Yixing.
They don’t always overlap, two distinctly individual personalities and schedules bound conflict at some point, but Jongin’s learned to find peace and order in the routine of their orbits. They work out somehow, space and intersections, the intervals of a chord in harmony. Jongin knows that no matter how far they travel, the comforting peace of Taemin’s laughter is only a phone call away, and his mouth just tastes sweeter after a week apart.
He’s humming right now, a soft smile quirking his lips. His fingers tap the rhythm into the wool of Jongin’s mitten as they wait on the corner for the streetlight to change. The light turns yellow, then transitions into green. The walk sign blinks on and Taemin steps down from the curb, his palm secure against the small of Jongin’s back as he guides them forward.
The light glows red just as they make it across and Jongin smiles to himself at the completion of another familiar cycle, just as precise and sure as the time-refined calibration of their love, his and Taemin’s.
I love you.
Jongin doesn’t need to say it, but he leans into Taemin’s side to steal a kiss from behind his ear just to see Taemin’s smile widen into a grin.
“Love you too!” Taemin squeezes their hands together. “Happy Birthday, Jonginnie!”
***fin***
(part one here)