romaniranch fic dump 2 [how to fall in love part 2/2]
How To Fall In Love In Ten Photographs Or Less [2/2]
The next day, driving to the next town over after another sleepless night in a motel, Chanyeol notices Jongin is significantly more quiet and subdued. He feels a little guilty, or perhaps maybe just responsible. Jongin’s happy had begun to affect him, and he dragged them both down pretty quick. It’s not like the boy is miserable, just a little held back. Still huddled in that ragged hoodie, the weather now getting colder by the day.
“You okay?” Chanyeol asks quietly, glancing over to Jongin just in time to catch him nod silently. “I’m sorry if I offended you yesterday.”
“You didn’t,” Jongin says, though it’s not entirely convincing.
Chanyeol frowns at the boy, before suddenly leaning back, twisting his body awkwardly enough to reach for a small plastic bag tossed into the back seat. He rights himself after a moment, holding what’s left of his bag of candy over the center console of the car; a peace offering.
“Do you want what’s left of my candy?”
Jongin smiles slowly, and takes the bag. He chews on a few pieces in silence, and then quietly says, “It’s my parents.”
Chanyeol glances at him. “Your parents?”
“Yeah, they want me to go back to school. They said ‘playtime is over now’,” Jongin says, with a self deprecating laugh.
“Why don’t you go to school for photography?” Chanyeol suggests. “Call it a happy medium.”
“Because they don’t see photography as something worth going to school for. You go to school to become a lawyer, or a doctor. Anything requiring any ounce of creativity is meaningless to them, it’s considered a waste of time.”
“Huh,” Chanyeol says, settling back into his seat. The road in front of them is so long, he can’t see the end of it. “I guess they really aren’t hippies, then.”
“No, they’re not,” Jongin says, and then Chanyeol catches him fumbling with the disposable camera, those distinct tinny clicks of the rolling wheel being the only warning before he takes a picture of the bag of candy in his lap. Number twelve.
Chanyeol smiles at him, probably a little bit fond. “You really like sweet shit, huh?”
Jongin shrugs, but he’s smiling this time. He looks a lot less defeated. “It cheered me up. Plus, it was yours. You didn’t have to give it to me.”
The scary part is, Chanyeol would probably give a lot more just to keep him smiling, and that feeling is as painfully familiar as it is terrifying, so he ignores it.
--
The next town they end up in is more like a small city. There’s a lot of larger buildings and establishments, more than simple two laned roads, and plenty of street lights that make the city feel alive at night. They arrive late, opting to check into a motel later, and Chanyeol decides they need to unwind first. They end up at a small little dive bar, the lighting dark and moody, but the people seem happy enough.
Jongin settles into one of the smaller booths near the back of the bar and Chanyeol follows suit. The boy orders a beer, and gets carded, which Chanyeol laughs at, but then scowls when the woman cards him too, before he can even order. When he orders a glass of orange juice, she at least looks a little apologetic.
“Orange juice, at a bar?” Jongin asks, leaning over the table once the waitress leaves. “Are you an alcoholic or something?”
“I was,” Chanyeol nods slowly, “Once.”
Jongin gasps, “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t... fuck.”
Chanyeol tries not to laugh - it’s the most he’s heard Jongin swear in one sitting, and then he nearly topples over his bottle of lite beer, trying to hide it from plain view. The waitress comes back, deposits Chanyeol’s orange juice on the table, and then Chanyeol actually does laugh. Jongin looks like he’s in pain, poor thing.
“It’s okay, you know. I’m not one of those people who can’t be around alcohol.” Chanyeol leans over, flicking the peeling label of his beer. “Drink your girly beer, go on.”
Jongin snatches the bottle away from his reach, glaring at him. “Why would you take me to a bar if you’re a recovering alcoholic?”
“Recovered,” Chanyeol corrects, and then leans over the table, elbows resting on the surface. “And maybe because it’s a normal, social thing to do that doesn’t involve going to fucking diners and ordering milkshakes, okay? I’m sick of sugary drinks and fatty foods.”
Jongin pauses for a moment, tracing the lip of his bottle with his finger, before reaching into his pocket suddenly, pulling out his camera. Chanyeol holds an instinctive hand in front of his face, but Jongin doesn’t take a shot of him, not this time. This time, he turns in his seat, and takes his thirteenth shot while slowly moving the camera to the side, a panoramic view of the bar.
Chanyeol drops his hand. “Why?”
“Well, the bar is a pivotal point in our journey now. Our first step out of diners and restaurants,” Jongin says.
Chanyeol smirks. “I would congratulate you for taking the training wheels off, and putting on your big boy pants by going to big scary adult places like bars, but I’m not sure I’m ready to give you your camera back.”
Jongin turns back in his seat, facing Chanyeol.
“Take a picture with me,” he requests softly.
“Why?”
“This is important for you, therefore it’s important for me.”
Chanyeol narrows his eyes, noting the slight heavy pull of Jongin’s eyelids. He’s starting to get tipsy off of one goddamn beer. A lite one, at that. Chanyeol finds himself wondering if the kid’s ever even drank before.
“Since when are things being important to me translating into them being important for you?” Chanyeol asks. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Alright,” Jongin says, slapping his open palm down on the table. “Tell me then, what’s your pastel beach town, huh? Have you ever been in love?”
Chanyeol isn’t anywhere close to being drunk, but he feels like he’s losing his mind a little. Like if he were standing, the ground wouldn’t feel so steady.
“I loved something, once.”
“Who?” Jongin asks.
Chanyeol is tempted to tell the waitress ‘no’ when she plops down another beer, right next to Jongin’s empty bottle, but he doesn’t catch her in time.
“How did you know it was a ‘who’?” Chanyeol asks, aiming for casual.
“I can see it in your eyes,” Jongin says. “You don’t long for objects, or places like that.”
Chanyeol blinks self-consciously, looking down at the table. “Well, it fits into your cliche five-year-whatever, okay, he was married. I was in love with a married man,” he blurts, shame creeping into the edges of his countenance.
“A man?” Jongin asks, slurring slightly. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Chanyeol replies tightly. He suddenly craves about ninety percent more vodka in this orange juice. It’s too fucking sweet on it’s own.
“What happened?” Jongin asks quietly.
“He was fucking married, Jongin,” Chanyeol bites. He feels a little bit bad about it when he sees how his tone makes Jongin flinch.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t change how you feel,” Jongin says quietly, slurring a little. “We went over that.”
Chanyeol sighs, running both hands down the length of his face and then resting his chin in his palms. “I met his wife and saw how happy she made him, and I just... couldn’t.”
Jongin nods slowly. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
“Nope,” Chanyeol replies. “Never will.”
Jongin is still a little too tipsy for barely two beers, and he leans in a little too close, hovering over the small table between them, and says “Look, I know it sucks to not have your feelings returned, trust me I know. But it doesn’t make you weak, or a fool, or stupid, or anything bad. You’re not bad, you’re... really, really good. And you’re an amazing writer, I read your pieces before I took the job. I actually kind of asked to work with you specifically.”
Chanyeol stares at Jongin, mouth agape, mind stunned blank. Chanyeol is still totally sober, which makes the realization that is he absolutely fucked all the more poignant.
He decides to steer the conversation, grab the spinning wheel and be the designated driver of this now, and asks, “Why did you move the camera when you took the shot of the bar earlier? You know those things don’t have panoramic mode, right?”
Jongin leans back into his chair, shaking the booth with his lack of grace as he does, and then shrugs. “We’re not gonna stay here long, it’s a picture in motion. This is only a junction, a point in the road we have to turn at.”
Chanyeol smirks, laughing softly. “Alright Confucius.”
Jongin stands suddenly, startling Chanyeol, and then plops down on his side of the booth, right next to him. Chanyeol looks over to glare at him, but it softens when he realizes their faces are so close together. He must looked puzzled though, because Jongin feels the need to clarify his actions by saying, “I still want to take a picture with you.”
Jongin lifts the camera, out on an extended arm in front of them, and then right as he takes the fourteenth shot, he leans up and plants a wet, drunken kiss on Chanyeol’s cheek. Chanyeol isn’t sure, but he thinks he might be smiling. He definitely is by the time they decide to leave, when Jongin accidentally takes a picture of the table as his fifteenth shot, and then declares he’s too drunk to drive, as if he’s ever even offered to once on this whole trip.
Back at the motel, once they finally check in, Chanyeol realizes that Jongin is one of those people who feels alcohol more when he’s standing. He’s stumbling now, all pink in the cheeks, and wobbly. He barely had three, maybe four, beers, and Chanyeol wonders if Jongin will ever not be endlessly amusing to him.
Chanyeol says goodnight, handing Jongin his key, and then turns to walk towards his own room for the night, one door over. Jongin grabs his wrist before he can, though, and even when Chanyeol stops and turns, Jongin doesn’t let go.
“I’m gay too. I know how lonely it can be, falling for people that will never be right for you,” he mumbles.
Chanyeol frowns. “That’s the most pessimistic thing I’ve ever heard you say. I think I’m starting to rub off on you.”
Jongin hiccups and then laughs, and then mumbles something that sounds oddly like “I wouldn’t have a problem with that.”
“Wait, what did you say?” Chanyeol asks, dipping down to catch Jongin’s gaze as he stands there, swaying slightly.
Jongin looks up at him, smiling almost serenely as he lets go of his wrist. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Chanyeol still feels blearily confused, and it’s only amplified by the flash of Jongin’s camera going off on the sixteenth picture.
“What...”
“You just looked cute,” Jongin says, and then turns without saying anything else on the matter, missing his key card slot a few times, before eventually stumbling into his room.
Chanyeol feels like he stumbles into his own room, his heart pounding loud and heavy in his chest. The things Jongin has said seem to have a profound affect on him, not unlike being drunk. He seems entirely unable to shake the image of Jongin, literally a few inches of drywall away from him, walking around tipsy and flushed, and completely naked.
Chanyeol tries to open his laptop, forces himself to focus on that and to ignore the mental images flooding his mind, but he can’t. Every formulation of an idea morphs into Jongin’s grin, and how it grows when he realizes you’re just as pleased with him as he is with himself. Every potential first word gets lost in the maze of Jongin stumbling out of that bar, Jongin’s hand on his wrist, Jongin’s blush when he called him cute.
His ideas to distract himself are only working to make him lose his focus, so he gives it up for now. Angrily closing the laptop, Chanyeol decides to blame it all on writers block, and not at all on Jongin, and forces himself to go to sleep.
--
The next town they end up in is like a ghost town, only less than an hour away from the miniature city from the night previous. Half the buildings are boarded up and abandoned, and Jongin says the place creeps him out.
“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says, getting out of the car and eyeing an overgrown walkway that seems to snake between a few of the larger decaying buildings. “I kinda like it.”
He starts to walk down the path, and figures Jongin will eventually follow, which he does. It looks like an old walking path, the cracks in the old cement overgrown with weeds and grass. The buildings at either side of it look almost industrial, though on a smaller scale. Everything is concrete, but it looks like things were one painted brighter colors. Jongin just looks disgusted, or horrified, or some combination of the two.
“God, even the paint on the buildings looks diseased,” he says, eyeing what’s left of some peeling stained color on the corner of one of the buildings they pass, “It’s all bubbling off the concrete in boils.”
Chanyeol suddenly grabs Jongin’s shoulders, turning on him and scaring him into a shriek, bursting out into laughter when he sees Jongin’s angry eyes still stuck wide with fear. “Maybe it is diseased.”
“How can you like this?” Jongin asks, significantly freaked out now, wrapping his hoodie around him like a blanket. “It’s depressing.”
“Pfft, no it’s not,” Chanyeol waves him off. “I actually think it’s kind of beautiful, in a way. People lived here once, just because they’re gone now doesn’t mean it’s dead in their wake.”
Jongin doesn’t say anything to that, only obediently follows to the end of the path, towards an old hollowed out concrete tunnel that seems to have a small eroded creek running through it. Chanyeol starts to walk, fully aware of the way Jongin hesitates, and bites back a grin when Jongin immediately latches himself to Chanyeol’s arm once they’re covered in the darkness of the tunnel.
“This is seriously the perfect place to take pictures, and you’ve taken none,” Chanyeol comments.
“None of this means anything to me, it’s just freaking me out.”
“We’re working on this piece together, you know,” Chanyeol comments absently, “What if this place means something to me?”
Jongin stops them both, tugging on Chanyeol’s arm, and with the small amount of light from either side of the tunnel, he can see Jongin is peering up at him curiously, like he doesn’t quite believe that he likes it here. Jongin eventually lets loose a sigh, fumbles around in his pocket for his camera, and takes his seventeenth shot - the end of the tunnel, facing out towards the light, the flash momentarily blinding in the darkness.
“Jesus,” Chanyeol squints, “Why’d you do that? I meant the buildings, not this tunnel.”
“The light at the end of the tunnel,” Jongin says, huddling back into Chanyeol’s arm once he’s stuffed the camera back into his pocket. “There is hope for us yet.”
Chanyeol laughs.
--
When they get back to the motel in this town, Jongin is still shivering from their walk, and claiming he doesn’t want to stay here tonight - even offering to drive to find somewhere else. He’s shivering, still wrapped up in his hoodie, his eyes wide and afraid.
Chanyeol acts impulsively, reaching into his pocket, grabbing the camera and snapping the eighteenth shot - Jongin, huddled in the cold in front of a creepy old motel.
“Why the hell?” Jongin asks.
Chanyeol leans in suddenly, his voice dropping, and his eyes shining, and says, “You just looked cute.”
He then slides the camera back into Jongin’s pocket, patting the space, before pulling away.
“Share a room with me,” Jongin blurts, voice half-yelling.
Chanyeol rolls his eyes, hiking his pack further up his shoulder, cramping from standing here trying to convince Jongin to move. “I don’t put out on the first date, princess.”
“They make rooms with two beds, you asshole,” Jongin snaps. “And technically, this would be like our... tenth date, or something. I’ve been with you for over a week now.”
Chanyeol grins, tilting his head coyly, “Nice try, I know I’m attractive, but that doesn’t mean I’m easy.”
“Chanyeol, please,” Jongin pleads, entirely seriously.
“You’re seriously freaked out, aren’t you?” Chanyeol asks curiously.
Jongin nods, complete with soft, full lipped pout. Damnit.
“Alright, fine,” he relents, and has a momentary lapse of judgment where he almost tells Jongin no walking around naked. He ends up ignoring that impulse, for a couple different reasons.
--
The nineteenth picture taken is one of the lamp on Jongin’s nightstand, in their shared motel room, the one which he has made very clear he will refuse to turn off, claiming it makes him feel safer.
Chanyeol is on his own bed, laptop resting on his stomach, trying to force himself to write something, anything, but he can literally feel Jongin’s freaked out vibes from the opposite bed.
“You’re stressing me out, you know,” Chanyeol comments, not looking up from his screen.
“I’m sorry,” Jongin says. “Can we just. Like, watch TV or something? It’s so quiet.”
Chanyeol sighs, his mind ready to shut down from stretching it thin, sifting through the mess of muddled thoughts for any kind of inspiration. He ends up slamming his laptop shut, saying, “Sure, why not.”
Chanyeol shifts the laptop off his stomach, and then stands to grab the remote, over by the TV. He turns the TV on, and then begins to head back to his bed, but Jongin’s voice stops him.
“Sit with me,” he requests quietly.
Taking a steadying breath, Chanyeol says, “Jongin, you realize this place isn’t actually a ghost town, right? It’s just a name people give it, because it’s old.”
“Please just shut up and sit with me,” Jongin snaps.
“Alright, alright,” Chanyeol laughs softly, holding his hands up in defeat.
He props himself against Jongin’s headboard, and Jongin immediately ends up huddling into his shoulder, similar to how he’d latched himself to his arm earlier in the tunnel. Chanyeol’s heart begins to race at the closeness, at the feel of Jongin’s breath against his neck and his shoulder, the warmth of him pressed up close. Jongin seems intent on the TV, but Chanyeol’s mind is running wild, apparently trying to keep up the pace with his pulse.
“How did you get over him?” Jongin asks suddenly, and apparently he hadn’t been watching the TV as intently as Chanyeol thought.
“Who?”
“Your married man.”
“Oh,” Chanyeol says, and he tilts his head and looks down, just enough to look at the top of Jongin’s head. “I’m not sure if I ever did.”
Jongin hums thoughtfully, still gazing at the TV as if he weren’t asking such serious questions, and more just making casual conversation about the content of the show.
“Do you think it would ever go away, if you found someone else?” he asks.
Chanyeol pauses long enough to think about this, that Jongin ends up lifting his head from it’s resting place on Chanyeol’s shoulder, looking at him now, and their faces are what would normally be considered uncomfortably close. For some reason, with Jongin, it’s not.
“If I found the right person, yeah.”
“What would the right person be?” Jongin asks, and he looks so intently curious, like he’s asking this question with every ounce of sincerity. It takes a lot of willpower not to reach out to touch him, to brush the soft, straw colored hair from his eyes, to trail his fingers down his face, maybe trace the outline of his confused pout.
“They’d probably be someone completely different from me.”
“So, someone that isn’t completely miserable?” Jongin asks, a smart-ass tilt to his brow, before it softens into an amused smile. “What a weak requirement. You should heighten your standards.”
Chanyeol shoves his shoulder for being a brat, and expects Jongin to fall away and leave it, but he huddles right back against Chanyeol’s side, sending a dizzying shiver down the back of his spine when he does.
“It's not just that,” Chanyeol begins shakily, and then clears his throat. “I always thought the best couples were made up of people who complemented each other. It’s like they were better as a unit because they improved where their partner lacked.”
“Are you talking about his wife right now?” Jongin asks quietly.
“Maybe,” Chanyeol smiles down at Jongin, a little sadly. “Or maybe I’m just being hopeful.”
“Hopeful, huh?” Jongin grins. “Maybe I’m finally rubbing off on you.”
Chanyeol, an echo from the other night, seriously has to resist the urge to say ‘god yes, please do’ and instead says, “We should take another picture together.”
Jongin visibly perks up at the suggestion, reaching over to grab his camera, and then comes back and rests his head cutely on Chanyeol’s shoulder. He extends his arm, and takes the twentieth picture.
Jongin looks up at Chanyeol right as he does, and scowls and says, “Smile, you idiot, you’re supposed to smile for pictures. Even if you don’t mean it.”
“Oh, okay mister living-in-the-moment,” Chanyeol bites, and then takes the camera from Jongin to take another one.
He grins wide and crazy on purpose this time, snapping the twenty-first shot, and laughs when sees Jongin scowling to the side.
“I was trying to be like you,” Jongin says in response to the laughter.
They settle back into watching TV, and Jongin must be the kind of person that thrives off of physical contact, because he falls asleep rather easily on Chanyeol’s shoulder. Chanyeol switches the TV off first, before letting Jongin down gently as he stands.
He positions Jongin on his bed until he looks comfortable, and then leans over and allows himself the liberty of kissing the boy’s forehead as he sleeps. Chanyeol still feels it on his lips by the time he falls asleep in his own bed.
--
It’s been nearly a week and a half now, all points on Chanyeol’s map having been visited, and it’s time for them to head home, a hefty half day drive ahead of them.
Jongin spins the dial on the back of his camera, charging the flash, and then takes his final, twenty-second picture, which happens to be the back of Chanyeol’s hand, resting on the gear stick of his car.
“Why that one?” Chanyeol asks.
“You’ve commandeered this ship to, almost literally, hell and back,” Jongin says, matter-of-factly. Cutely, even, Chanyeol begrudgingly admits. “Also, I just really like hands.”
“Hands?” Chanyeol asks. “Why hands?”
“It’s a sort of emblem of yourself, I guess. A part of your body you almost always willingly show to the world,” Jongin says, and then he traces the veins on Chanyeol’s hand, from knuckle to wrist, with the soft pads of his fingers, “And you have nice hands.”
Chanyeol shivers at the touch, instinctively gripping the gearstick and hoping Jongin doesn’t see. He realizes, then, that it doesn’t really matter if he does. Jongin’s already said all he needs to say, in a way. Chanyeol lets loose his grip of the gearstick, and then slowly turns his hand, palm facing upwards, sliding his fingers through the slots in Jongin’s.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever told me that before,” Chanyeol says, squeezing Jongin’s hand as a substitute, heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his stomach, and in his throat.
“Hm, well you do,” Jongin hums, and Chanyeol’s breath hitches when the boy starts to stroke the side of his hand with his thumb. “You should be proud of your hands. They’re strong, and clean, and you literally feel your way through the world with them. They tell your story.”
Chanyeol squeezes Jongin’s hand again, this time significantly harder, and is suddenly hit with a wave of dizzying nerves that tells him he shouldn’t be driving. He slows down the car, sudden enough that he startles Jongin when he’s jolted forward, bracing his free hand on the dash while Chanyeol refuses to let go of his other.
Using his one free hand, Chanyeol ends up pulling over to the side of the road, a cloud of dust billowing around them from the skid to a halt.
When he stops, and the noise of the tires screeching against gravel dies down, Chanyeol can hear Jongin panting in the deafening silence of the car.
“What the fuck Chanyeol?”
Chanyeol doesn’t turn to look at him yet, not quite ready to see the expression on his face, but he doesn’t let go of his hand either.
“You said you could say you were in love with me and no one could say you were wrong, right?” he asks.
Jongin sputters, still trying to catch his breath. “Yes... what does that have to do with hands?”
“Do you?” Chanyeol asks, still facing the road, and then decides to finally turn to Jongin when he clarifies his question by saying, “Love me, I mean.”
Jongin isn’t trying to pull his hand away, which tells Chanyeol he hasn’t completely scared him into running out of the car, though he is pulling backwards, towards his door, leaning up against it.
“Maybe...”
Chanyeol leans over the center console of the car, using his grip on Jongin’s hand to pull him in, jerking him forward, until theres almost no space between them. Jongin, at least, lets him.
“Why are you suddenly so afraid of admitting it?” he asks, his voice low.
“Because I’m human? I already told you I was afraid of not being loved back.”
“What if you are?”
“What if I am what?” Jongin asks.
“Loved back,” Chanyeol says quietly.
Jongin exhales, and it’s like all the tension in his body leaves with his breath. His eyes are wide and shining when he looks up at Chanyeol, and quietly, timidly says, “What are you saying?”
Chanyeol answers this by letting go of Jongin, sliding his own hand up around the curve of his jaw, tilting the boy’s face up to meet his eyes. His thumb strokes the edge of his jaw, allowing himself the slightest pull of course, barely brushing the corner of his mouth as he does.
“I’m saying I’m miserable and you’re not. I’m saying you like sweets and I prefer my coffee black, I’m saying that I like darkness and you will probably always prefer the light.”
“Chanyeol-”
Chanyeol closes the space between them then, the final piece. His lips press softly into Jongin’s, and he kisses away all the excuses he knows they’ve both been hiding behind. Jongin gasps, and Chanyeol allows himself the small indulgence of tasting Jongin’s tongue with his own, flicking it into his mouth, tasting beneath his lips.
When Chanyeol pulls away, Jongin is panting again, but then so is Chanyeol. And this is a whole new type of fear, one that doesn’t stem from cars or brakes, or anything all that physical.
“Don’t try and tell me you weren’t hoping you could be that other person,” Chanyeol practically whispers, voice hoarse, a teasingly self conscious smirk on his lips.
It’s Jongin that surges forward this time, kissing the breath right out of him, coming at him like a punch to the gut, dangerously pulling the ground out from beneath their feet. Jongin whimpers when Chanyeol’s tongue dips into his mouth again, and by this time he’s got fingers curled in his hair, and he’s practically climbing over the center console of the car, body twisted awkwardly.
They’re both tangled up in each other the best they can be in their positions, Chanyeol kissing down Jongin’s jaw, nuzzling his neck. He murmurs things like, “You make me feel like a better person, just being around you,” and Jongin makes a choked little sound in response, his fingers rhythmically massaging the back of Chanyeol’s neck.
A car drives by, at maximum speed, and startles them both backwards from each other, shaking their car in the wake of its passing. Chanyeol is more than happy to write it off and lean back in for more, craving the taste of Jongin’s mouth like the kid craves his candy, but Jongin pulls away.
“I have to go back to school,” Jongin says firmly.
He’s so determined when he says it, mouth red and a little swollen, hair a ruffled mess, his shirt twisted, frowning. It startles a laugh out of Chanyeol, but he stops when Jongin doesn’t smile.
“Okay...”
“I can’t do this job, Chanyeol. I can’t do this piece with you,” he clarifies.
Chanyeol blinks, jaw tightening. “What?”
“I don’t have a story to tell, I just make all this shit up as I go,” Jongin says, with an exaggerated shrug.
“You have as much of a story to tell as I do,” Chanyeol practically shouts, frustrated.
Jongin laughs, but it’s not because of anything funny. “It’s all bullshit though, right?”
Chanyeol shakes his head, and says, “Don’t do this. Don’t be like me.”
“I’m not miserable,” Jongin says, pushing half-heartedly at Chanyeol’s shoulder, driving that wedge further between them with a forcefully playful smile. “And believe me, I still like sweets. But I can’t finish this.”
Jongin reaches into his pocket, takes out his disposable camera and places it in Chanyeol’s hand, closing his fingers around it.
Chanyeol looks down at the camera in his hands a few times, and then watches as Jongin re situates himself in the front seat, facing forward, adjusting his shirt and his hoodie so that it isn’t twisted anymore.
Leaning back, Chanyeol tosses the flimsy camera in the back, turning back out onto the road, suddenly wishing he could somehow trade the two cameras he has now mystically acquired for the boy in his passenger seat.
--
Chanyeol hasn’t seen Jongin since they returned from their trip and Jongin walked out on the job the minute they got back at the office. Jongin didn’t wait for Chanyeol, stormed right up into their department, and confessed to lying on his resume.
He wasn’t there for it, Chanyeol could never climb those stairs that quickly, but his boss told him all he could remember. That Jongin said that Chanyeol was the real, truly creative person, and he felt like he was only dragging him down, that he didn’t want to steal his credit, or put any kind of damper on his work, hindering his overall performance. Chanyeol is perhaps a little relieved to have missed it, because he thinks he might have just slapped Jongin if he heard all that. Probably not slapped, maybe just said some things really loudly, and possibly angrily too.
They were given three weeks for this assignment. Then spent a week and a half on their little road trip, which gave them a week and a half to finish the assignment. Or rather, now Chanyeol has a week and a half to create something from nothing. Less than that, actually, barely a week. He spent a few days moping about it.
It takes a lot of time being spent in front of a blank page for Chanyeol to even remember the two cameras still in the back seat of his car. Chanyeol doesn’t even bother with the expensive one, and only fishes through the mess in his car for the disposable one.
Finding a 24 hour photo place in this day and age was a stretch, but he did. Only a day wasted, and he has all of the photographs, and they currently sit spread out on his desk, covering the entire area of the surface.
The pictures of them are the hardest to look at. Not just all the stupid, flabbergasted ones of himself, but the ones of Jongin, or worse - of both of them. He can’t put these in an article, so he sections them off to the side, leaving out the one with just his hand as the closest to being personal.
This leaves Chanyeol with ten seemingly meaningless pictures. Not meaningless to him, and probably not meaningless to Jongin. How can he convey that meaning without telling the full story? How is it even possible to explain to someone how you fall for them in such a short amount of time, with nothing but pictures and vague memories to assist your case?
Perhaps Jongin was right, maybe it’s not something you can explain. Maybe sometimes love happens over the course of years, building through the strength of friendship and becoming equally as damaging as it was once uplifting when you realize it’s something you can never have.
Or maybe it’s impulsive. Maybe it’s feeling something new and letting yourself be happy, and then chasing that. If it feels good, feels like love, why should anyone tell you it’s wrong?
Chanyeol gathers the more personal photos, including the one Jongin accidentally took of the table and leaves the remaining ten out on his desk. It takes a moment to sort through his thoughts, but he has something now. And it really doesn’t have all that much to do with travel, though it was a part of the journey.
--
Deadline day, Chanyeol waltzes into his boss’ office with renewed confidence, slapping down a folder’s worth of drafts and mock-ups. His boss sends him an odd look, to which Chanyeol merely smirks at, before turning to leave the room, job complete.
“Wait a minute,” the man bellows, right before Chanyeol can escape.
“What?” he asks innocently.
“What the shit is this? These are all pictures, our magazine relies on articles and you are a writer.”
“There is writing,” Chanyeol says, pointing towards the folder, “It’s just at the end.”
Chanyeol stands in the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot, taut with anxiety as his boss flicks through the papers to get to the back.
“Chanyeol, all this is is a paragraph and a quote,” he deadpans.
“Yeah, so?”
“So are you really that cocky you think a fucking paragraph will win you this slot? Chanyeol, be realistic. I know your photographer screwed you over at the last minute, but I figured you’d at least try to make it up to me by writing something worth reading,” his boss bites out harshly.
Chanyeol sighs, and then simply asks, “Have you read it yet?”
“Chanyeol, please-”
Chanyeol turns again to leave, about to shut the door, but first pokes his head back through, one last time.
“Make sure, when you do, you look at the pictures first. They’re in order for a reason,” he says, and then is sure to slam the door just this side of obnoxiously on his way out.
--
How To Fall In Love In Ten Photographs Or Less
--written by Park Chanyeol, photographs by Kim Jongin
If I told you these ten photographs helped me fall in love with someone over the span of a week and a half, some of you might call me insane. Others may call me impulsive, or claim I am too naive to understand the true meaning of love, but if I told you to describe what love was to you, what it felt like, could you? And if I told you to compare that feeling with someone else’s, would it even match up? These pictures mean something to me. They tell a story that I feel is important, but one that I think nobody other than myself, and perhaps one other person, would ever truly understand. This is your adventure. Love someone when the urgency strikes you, because you might regret it if you don’t.
“Whatever love is should only matter to yourself. You can love someone in your own way, and the other person might not love you back, but that doesn’t make what you feel any less valid”
-- anonymous
--
Chanyeol weaves his way through stalls and displays, the polished floor squeaking beneath his sneakers, avoiding gaggles of women juggling shopping and wrangling children. He’s tall enough that he can see over most of the store’s mass in size, and he curses Bernie’s apparent preference towards towering mid-store display cases, the one’s Chanyeol can’t see through, or around.
It takes a few minutes, but he spots the head of sandy colored almost-blond hair, and makes a beeline for him. He doesn’t say hello, or announce his presence, so when Jongin turns and jumps backwards into the shelves behind him, Chanyeol doesn’t let up.
“I thought you might want a copy of this” he says, holding out the latest edition of the magazine, before it’s hit the shelves for the winter edition. This is actually his own pre-printing copy, but he wants Jongin to have it. “Our article made front slot, we won.”
Jongin frowns. “It’s not my article, it’s yours.”
Chanyeol rolls his eyes, shoving the rolled up magazine further into the kid’s stomach until he’s forced to take it. Jongin looks down at the pages unravelling in his hands, and then back up at Chanyeol, an almost stunned shock hazing over the usual clarity in his eyes.
“How did you know to find me here?”
“Lucky guess,” Chanyeol smirks.
Jongin keeps frowning, and Chanyeol is half tempted to do something stupid, like tickle him or ruffle his hair, just to get it to go away, but he refrains from doing so.
“If you’re here to make me feel like shit for abandoning you, don’t bother. I already feel awful,” Jongin mumbles.
“Good, you should feel awful. Not for abandoning the piece, because you kinda already finished your part in that before you left, but for abandoning me. But no, I actually didn’t come here for that,” Chanyeol states.
“Oh?” Jongin perks up a little, like an animal that’s heard a sound he’s intrigued by. This animal seems decidedly less trained, a little more wild around the edges. “Why are you here then?”
“I came to give you the magazine,” Chanyeol says, and then lifts the strap of the black bag off his shoulders, “And also to give you your camera back.”
Jongin deflates a little, taking the bag with extra tender care from Chanyeol’s hand, and Chanyeol smirks because he knows for a fact that little brush of fingers was deliberate. Jongin still looks a little bit like a kicked puppy though, and only says, “Oh, of course. Thanks, even though I don’t know how to use it.”
“You can learn. You should learn. You have enough passion to make up for any inherent lack of talent, which by the way you don’t have. Your pictures turned out great, you’ll see,” Chanyeol smiles, in a way he hopes is encouraging, and Jongin just peers up at him like he’s a puzzle he can’t figure out the solution to.
Chanyeol uses his height to his advantage, standing up on his tiptoes momentarily to glance around the floor of the store, at least the immediate area, and then grins when he catches Jongin watching with a tightly confused expression.
Chanyeol smirks, lifting a half a brow, and says, “Don’t want you losing another job,” before leaning in and grabbing Jongin by the jaw, tilting his head up, and kissing him.
Jongin drops the magazine with a wince-worthy flutter of glossy paper, and then immediately pulls Chanyeol in by the waist, kissing him back, his lips yielding and so, so desperate - Chanyeol is half tempted to tell him not to worry, he plans on doing that again. A lot, actually.
Instead, Chanyeol pulls back, their foreheads pressed together, and murmurs quietly, “But what I’m really here for is to ask you out for coffee.”
He lets that sink in for a minute, leaning back in to kiss Jongin once more, softer this time, lingering, savoring the plushness of his lips. When he pulls back again, Jongin doesn’t look any less stunned, so Chanyeol leans down to pick up the magazine for him, which seems to snap him out of it.
“Okay,” Jongin says slowly, and Chanyeol watches his face morph into a smile, watching it grow until he’s baring white teeth and probably one of the most vulnerable parts of his soul, until just the sight of it makes even Chanyeol’s stomach feel fuzzy and light. “Or maybe we could go for a milkshake instead.”
Chanyeol dips down, aiming for Jongin’s nose and missing, kissing just the edge of it, above his lips.
“You read my mind,” Chanyeol says, his voice hoarse for some reason, and he slips one of his business cards into Jongin’s palm. He’d scribbled his personal number on the back, adorned with far too many hearts and pictures of candy wrappers and perhaps a floating ghost or two. Little morsels of meaning. Chanyeol’s ready to add more to the repertoire, so before he leaves, he’s sure to say, “Oh, and bring your camera.”