✧ nothing's gonna change (my love for you) ✧ 1/3 ✧
✖ nothing's gonna change (my love for you)
✖ kyungsoo/jongin; pg-13
✖ for jongin, getting through life is hard enough without the constant threat of kyungsoo turning his world upside down. 21924w.
✖ originally written for forjongin ♡
✖ my immense gratitude to marshmallow for all her handholding and alpha reading. this fic wouldn't exist without you. also, thank you to baby seal for betaing this for me and cheering me on! you are the very best ♡
The walls seem to be shrinking in, or perhaps Jongin’s simply growing bigger and bigger, but the path is no less endless, the small pinprick of light ahead of him still about the size of his fist. Jongin can’t tell where the floor ends and the walls begin, murky browns and distilled greys surrounding him, infusing into one endless backdrop. His lungs are burning, as if set on fire, and Jongin’s breathing out black smoke, eyes watering, choking, choking, running.
There’s something behind him, and Jongin isn’t afraid of it so much as he is burdened by it. He wants to get away, be free, and somehow the light at the end of the tunnel is escaping. Jongin is stumbling, legs turning into jelly; Jongin’s skin is melting off, he’s falling.
He crawls, drags himself forward, the Thing behind him following leisurely, sure of itself. Jongin doesn’t dare look back, just pushes liquified muscles to keep pulling the weight of his body, the weight of whatever was behind him forward. The light is suddenly so close, Jongin can see people, laughing, a heart-shaped smile, big eyes, rounded jaw.
“Kyungsoo,” he gasps, jolting awake, and if he doesn’t fall off the couch completely, it’s because he’s lucky. His heart is hammering in his chest, t-shirt sticky against his back. His apartment blinks in the dark, flickers against the backdrop of night, television broadcasting some old rerun. Jongin’s eyes can’t quite adjust, his hands are trembling as if he’s been struck like a gong, reverberations running down his spine. He is sound.
The clock on his phone tells him it’s three am. Last summer, he’d spent nearly every day of his life up until three am, doing absolutely nothing some nights except staring at his ceiling and expecting it to change into something else. A portal, perhaps. Something to engulf him.
He stares at his phone screen, a picture of Monggu from the day he’d left him with his sister. Monggu would have found him by now, come to comfort him. Instead, his hands are still shaking. The vague image of Kyungsoo’s face flashes behind his eyes and really, he doesn’t want to think about this. He’s tired. He has an eight hour shift at work in the morning, and class in the afternoon but he finds himself staring at Kyungsoo’s contact card, hitting dial.
Jongin listens to the ring, wonders why he's doing this, why he didn't just ignore the impulse. He's about to hit the end call button, mind wandering to how he hasn't actually spoken to Kyungsoo in some two weeks now, when Kyungsoo picks up, voice groggy with sleep. "Hello?"
Jongin lets out a shaky breath, shoulders sagging, and this was pretty dumb, pretty selfish, but somehow the exhaustion coursing through him doesn't matter so much now. "Kyungsoo, hyung, it's...Sorry, I shouldn't have...sorry."
"Wait, Jongin? Are you okay? Jongin?” Kyungsoo’s rambling, voice slurred, and under different circumstances maybe Jongin would find this cute, but his heart’s settled in his throat, made itself a home.
He doesn’t know what to say, never has been good with words, but what Jongin’s always liked about Kyungsoo is that he’s never needed them. His hands have stopped shaking, the unease in his gut nearly gone. Jongin sinks back into the couch, imagines Kyungsoo’s face, the knit of concern in his thick eyebrows, eyes big and wide and impossibly beautiful, mouth curled downwards, upset. Jongin’s chest aches.
“Jongin, its three in the morning,” Kyungsoo tells him. Jongin stares at his television screen, absorbing nothing. He’s going to be exhausted for his shift at work; maybe he’d be able to convince Baekhyun to switch departments. Jongin is better suited for dishwashing than making awkward conversation with customers as he takes their orders. “Is everything okay? You, I mean, we haven’t spoken in…”
Two weeks, Jongin wants to say. We never talk anymore, he wants to add but instead he gathers up the last of his wits, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “I’m sorry, hyung. I had a weird nightmare...I’m fine, I promise. Goodnight.”
Jongin ends the call before Kyungsoo can say anything and sits in the dim, flickering light of his television, rolling his neck around to work out the kink on the left side.
☼
“You look like shit,” Baekhyun greets, cheery smile plastered over his obnoxious face. Jongin kind of hates that he’s good looking, despite being such a twat, but his eyes are burning from lack of sleep and he doesn’t have the energy to snap back. He just wants two cups of coffee and an excessive amount of silence. The former he’ll get, but Baekhyun wasn’t about to shut up.
“Good morning to you, too,” Jongin grumbles, shuffling into the kitchen, past Baekhyun. He slips on an apron over his uniform, dumping his bag next to Baekhyun’s. Jongdae and Sunyoung wouldn’t be in for another hour, when the restaurant would actually open. In the meantime, Jongin could help the cooks prep.
“You’re on the floor today,” Baekhyun reminds him, eyeing the apron Jongin’s slung on.
“You like it more than I do, hyung.” Jongin bows to the head chef, taking the bowl of peppers from her hands and getting started on chopping them. Menial kitchen work was almost relaxing, had a certain lull to it. “I’m good at washing dishes.”
“People aren’t going to eat you,” Baekhyun says with a roll of his eyes. He grabs a knife and starts helping Jongin, hands quicker than Jongin’s, fingers deft. Jongin’s envious, little pinpricks of jealousy wounding his heart.
“I’m pretty sure you’d eat people if it wasn’t considered cannibalistic,” Jongin retorts, lifting his cutting board to slide the mixture of green and red and yellow diced peppers into an empty bowl. At least he was one pepper ahead. The remnants of the pepper, little seeds and the stem, lie next to the board, kind of like Jongin. Rather useless, tasteless.
“I was blessed with razor sharp incisors,” Baekhyun agrees, bobbing his head up and down. He looks a little funny, and Jongin can’t help the snort of disbelief. “It’s a waste not to use them.”
“I’ve seen the bruises on Jongdae-hyung,” Jongin alludes, smiling slyly, but really he should have known better. Baekhyun isn’t ashamed of anything. He leers in Jongin’s direction, smug and content with himself, all while continuing to chop. Jongin feels clumsy next to him.
“I could give you some, too," Baekhyun grins, eyebrows waggling, and Jongin makes a gagging sound, leaving Baekhyun with the peppers to go and grab a sack of onions. When he gets back, Baekhyun is half way done and, really, Jongin should attribute his quickness to the four years he’s spent working at the restaurant and not how much better Jongin thinks Baekhyun is at everything.
“Are you not going to switch with me?” Jongin asks, trashing the unusable parts of the peppers.
“You owe me,” Baekhyun sings, smiling. He ruffles Jongin’s hair before he’s gone. For a moment, Jongin watches him take down chairs and flicker on the lights, heading to start the coffee machine. Working in a diner wasn’t so bad, but Jongin had never really taken to people.
Sighing, Jongin focuses on his task, mentally going over his to-do list for the day. If he was lucky, Lu Han would be in class and time wouldn’t feel like black smoke slowly turning him to ash.
☼
Lu Han sleeps through the entire lecture, using Jongin’s shoulder like a cushion. Jongin doodles in the margins of his notebook, not particularly interested in whatever the professor was going on about. He’d taken this class as a breadth requirement, as if being a well-rounded person had anything to do with surviving in the real world. Jongin didn’t know shit about The Dwarf, hadn’t even bothered to open and read it. Jongin didn’t have time to read, not between work and trying to motivate himself to get out of his apartment to actually make it to class.
Jongin sinks a little lower in his seat, staring at the veins of Lu Han’s hands, disappearing under Lu Han’s sleeves. They’d met in Communication Theory, Lu Han stumbling into class late, claiming he’d gotten lost finding the room. Their professor hadn’t looked pleased, but the seat next to Jongin had been empty, as it tended to be. He was almost always the only guy in the class, and something about that both made him the focus of giggles and cold shouldering. It was well enough, because meeting Lu Han had been the upside of his first year.
“This is boring,” Lu Han mumbles, startling Jongin out of his thoughts. Jongin passes a glance at Lu Han, eyes still shut, dark circles collecting underneath. Jongin doesn’’t look any better, the smattering of pimples around his jaw only taking more away. He is almost always stressed, next month’s rent looming over him like an axe ready to sever his head off. Even making tuition this year had been a nightmare, the two jobs Jongin had worked over the summer effectively ending any chance for Jongin to keep up with Sehun, to not lose his oldest friend. Two years at different universities had done most of the damage, even if Jongin had been hell bent on salvaging what was left. Life had taught him that failure looked good on Jongin; he couldn’t change his colours now.
“We can leave during break,” Jongin answers, ignoring the hand Lu Han’s curled around Jongin’s arm. He’s warm, comforting. “Did you wanna get some ramyun?”
“Isn’t that always the plan?” Lu Han smiles, peeping open an eye to glance at Jongin. He looks kind of battered up, and Jongin really just wants to take him home and tuck him into bed, tell him to sleep.
“You look like shit,” Jongin comments, taking a line from Baekhyun. “Have you been sleeping?”
Lu Han shakes his head, truthful for once. It’s not like Jongin didn’t know about the insomnia; Lu Han had once drunkenly confessed about it all, Jongin’s bed like a therapist’s chair. But like most things between them, talking about personal shit didn’t happen unless they were inebriated and the possibility that no one would remember anything the next day hung in the air.
“Sleep, we’ll leave when class ends.” Jongin slants his shoulder to give Lu Han a more comfortable angle, the mumbled thank you not escaping his ears. Jongin’s pretty tired himself, the dream keeping him awake the rest of the night.
He replays Kyungsoo’s voice in his head, thinks about the way worry laced his voice. The last time they’d met, Kyungsoo had shown up at Peter Pan with his friends and Jongin had awkwardly served them, wishing they’d sat in Jongdae’s section of the restaurant instead. Kyungsoo hung out with people that intimidated Jongin, left him feeling incompetent.
It was strange, considering that Kyungsoo himself always settled the storm brewing around Jongin easily, hand combing through Jongin’s hair, soothing his nerves. Jongin wondered how he hung out with people as loud as Chanyeol, who seemed to bring out the same in everyone around him.
Sometimes, only sometimes, Jongin wishes he were back in high school, when asking for Kyungsoo’s attention had been easier, something offered to him freely. Jongin knows he is a little stuck on this, but he tells himself that indifference is difficult to glaze over everything when Jongin’s name alone from Kyungsoo’s mouth can melt everything away.
The professor tells them to take a break and Jongin watches students slip out of the room, cigarette packs squeezed tightly between their fingers. Jongin had only ever smoked in Sehun’s company, never had the money to spend on addictions.
Sighing, Jongin digs out his phone from his pocket, careful not to rouse Lu Han, who appears like he’s actually sleeping. Jongin’s heart booms in his ears for a split-second, Kyungsoo’s name on his screen terrifying and pleasing. Maybe he still mattered.
Opening the messages, Jongin reads through them with a sick joy, nervous that Kyungsoo would be angry. Instead, there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
that was weird, this morning
i hope you’re okay and...well, i’m still your hyung, don’t forget.
i miss you.
☼
There’s too much garlic in his bowl of ramyun, no thanks to Lu Han’s insistence that he should add more, it tasted better. Jongin wonders when he got so picky, chopsticks stirring his noodles around in the broth. The hard boiled egg bobs on the outskirts, some stringy bean sprouts keeping it company.
“How’s work?” Lu Han asks, slurping his noodles obnoxiously loud. Jongin can’t even hold it against him, knows it’s probably the only food Lu Han’s had all day. Between the two of them, Jongin’s sure they’ve had at least one full meal. They’re a sad couple.
“Same old,” Jongin says with shrug, giving up on his food and placing his chopsticks on the napkin next to his bowl. He glances at Lu Han, head resting on the palm of his hand as he sticks his elbow up on the bar. There is, at the very least, something comforting about Lu Han’s face, the way he stuffs too much food into his tiny mouth, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk’s. Jongin knows why he’d had the fleeting thing for him, knows that even now he lets Lu Han get away with a lot more than he tolerates from other people.
“You?” he asks, finally, waving over the waiter. He needs water.
“I broke another mug today,” Lu Han answers, leaning back, licking broth from his lips. Jongin smiles thankfully at the waiter, chugging down the contents of the glass. Lu Han looks like he could mix in with the background, almost the same shade of drab grey that surrounds them. Jongin’s no better, dressed in nothing but black save the bright red of his snapback. They blend in.
“In other words, your boss threatened to fire you again,” Jongin sighs, amazed by Lu Han’s inability to hold down a job. In the black and white scene unfolding before his eyes, Lu Han is drained of colour, the soft brown seeping out of his hair, skin sallow, crisp white edge of his sneakers stark against the dark shades around him.
“How’re you going to pay rent?” Jongin asks when Lu Han’s only response is to drain his bowl of the broth, motion like flickering on a light as Jongin’s vision adjusts, the pink in Lu Han’s cheeks returning vividly. Jongin blinks, pushes his bowl of unfinished ramyun to Lu Han, a grateful smile thanking him in return. He has some leftovers; he could make himself some bibimbap when he got home.
“I’ll have to figure something out,” Lu Han responds. “Stop worrying about me so much. You sound like you’re my mom.”
“Just move in with me,” Jongin insists, and god knows they’ve had this argument a thousand times. Lu Han’s stubborn though, but Jongin’s no better, and he’s definitely not losing.
“Don’t make me feel like a loser,” Lu Han whines, shoving at Jongin with more spirit than Jongin’s sure he feels.
“Hyung, there’s enough space, and it would cut back on your rent and mine,” Jongin reasons, glancing around the ramyun shop. The place is packed with other college students, all in for a quick, cheap meal. Jongin has an eight page response paper due for his psychiatric mental health nursing class, and the looming dread of applying for a practicum position at the hospital to deal with when he gets home. If Jongin had learned anything from his seniors, the ER sounded terrifying. Jongin had a tendency to lean toward mental health courses and a practicum in the same area eased his heart.
“I’ll think about it, alright?” Lu Han sighs, digging through his wallet to pull up the few won he had. Jongin hands him back the money he’s put down for Jongin, paying for his own bowl himself. When Lu Han makes to argue, Jongin gives him a pointed look. He grabs his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder.
Pulling Lu Han up from the table, Jongin settles an arm around his shoulders as they make it out of the shop. “I can still get you that job at the studio, you know. I know you think being a secretary would be unmanly or something, but it’s a pretty cushy job.”
“Why don’t you take it?” Lu Han grumbles, but he hasn’t pulled away from Jongin yet. Despite the hold Jongin has over him, Lu Han’s guiding him toward the bus stop, his phone in his hand as he scrolls through text messages.
“I already have a job,” Jongin reminds him. “I kinda like it.”
“You mean you just like hiding in the backroom,” Lu Han teases, flashing Jongin a smile as he piles into the bus that leads to Jongin’s place and takes twice as long to get to his own apartment.
“I don’t like people,” Jongin mumbles with a shrug, tapping his T-card and shuffling behind Lu Han until they make it to the back of the bus, flopping into two empty seats. It’s past ten, and lucky for Jongin he doesn’t have work in the morning. Just a two hour seminar and dance class in the evening. Jongin likes Thursdays.
“What do you like Kim Jongin?” Lu Han hums, arm looping through Jongin’s as they settle into their seats. Jongin, yawning, lets his head sit on Lu Han’s shoulder. “Have you even caught up on Shingeki no Kyojin yet?”
“We’ve had assignments due every week, when was I supposed to catch up?” Jongin watches street lights flash by him, Lu Han’s reflection in the window watching him. Lu Han shakes his head, little disappointed tuts escaping him.
“Sleep is for the weak,” Lu Han declares, fingers tapping along the window frame as he stares out at endless blackness. Jongin’s stop is another ten minutes away. He wonders if Lu Han will wake him up in time, he has so much to do...
“You’re a loser,” Jongin informs Lu Han, mumbling, eyes already closed as the bus jostles forward, little bumps along the way only lulling Jongin closer to sleep.
☼
Lu Han crashes at Jongin’s, sprawled out over Jongin’s bed, snoring as Jongin finishes his response paper and tries to steadfastly ignore the Facebook event he’s been invited to. Chanyeol had sent it, a mass invitation to Jongin’s entire group of high school friends. Jongin isn’t even sure he can call all of them friends. He really just hung around with Sehun back then, and when he wasn’t with Sehun, he was with Kyungsoo.
The awkward stage that everyone kept anticipating him to grow out of had stuck, and in all honesty, back then Jongin had been in a pretty long-term relationship with the dance studio. Getting into K-arts had been everything. Dreams, however, were fragile things.
He sighs, head resting on his arm as he stares at the event. Jongin glances at Lu Han behind him, as if expecting him to be awake when he’d pretty much collapsed the second he’d gotten within range of Jongin’s bed. He pushes his bottom lip between his teeth, finger pressing to his mouth as he checks the list of invitees. Jongin knows he’s not fooling anyone, let alone himself. He’s really only checking for one name.
When he finds it, he wastes another fifteen minutes staring at Do Kyungsoo’s profile picture and imagining what it would be like to taste his mouth.
☼
Jongin’s finishing his stretches when Yixing fumbles into the room, the hood of his oversized and absurdly bright yellow sweater tugged up and over, nearly covering his eyes. The sad little downturn of his mouth picks up as he spots Jongin bent in half, trying to press his hands flat against the floor, the burn along his calves more soothing than painful. His back had other opinions, but Jongin had stopped caring about those a while ago.
Lu Han liked to tell Jongin that he slept too much, but he hadn’t met Yixing yet, whose eyes seemed to be stuck at half mast, dopey grin stretching across his lips. “Ah, there’s my little Jonginnie.”
“Hyung, stop calling me that,” Jongin whines, even if he doesn’t really mean it. “I’m taller than you, you know.”
“And yet, you still can’t tie your shoelaces,” Yixing laughs, his bag tossed into the corner along with Jongin’s. His left shoe’s laces are untied, but Jongin usually just tucks those in anyway. They’re teaching the beginner's hip-hop class today, the majority of the students in middle school.
“Did you want to add the next part of the choreography today?” Jongin asks, ignoring the joke at his expense. Jongin really likes Yixing, and maybe kind of looks up to him. Yixing’s family had come to Korea recently, opened up a restaurant, and Yixing had poured everything into it. Jongin didn’t understand that kind of selflessness, how Yixing could just be satisfied with teaching dance, but he never complained.
“Let’s go over everything they know so far and see how they’re doing first,” Yixing replies, joining Jongin on the floor to start his own stretches. They go through the motions in relative silence, watching as their students pile in slowly, greeting them both before joining in the stretches.
Slipping into dance instructor mode is easy for Jongin; it’s the highlight of his week, getting to let go and feel like for once he’s in control of something. It’s even more satisfying when his students do well, picking up the new choreography with more ease than Jongin had expected. The hour passes by quickly, quicker than Jongin would like, but just as their last student disappears, Yixing puts the music back on, eyebrow quirked at Jongin expectantly. They blend in smoothly to the sound of Keep Your Head Down. It’s a remix Yixing’s worked on himself, bass pulsing through Jongin’s body, like a second heartbeat pulsing through him, Jongin’s blood rushing hot and quick through his veins.
When Yixing’s playlist finally comes to an end, Jongin’s drenched in sweat, throat parched. Yixing’s steps are slower as he meanders toward the stereo, grabbing his iPod. Jongin has to remind him to take it home, lest he forget it at the studio again.
Jongin manages to make it over to his bag, digging his phone out of his backpack, eyes flickering between the time and Yixing as he collapses onto the floor, arms and legs spread out around him. There’s four text messages, and Jongin assumes they’re all from Lu Han, but when he unlocks his phone, he finds one from Kyungsoo. He doesn’t bother tapping over the thread, Kyungsoo’s text already visible.
you coming to the meetup?
Jongin’s throat closes up as he rereads the single line, over-thinking why Kyungsoo would want him there, why he even bothered asking. He doesn’t like big social gatherings, steering clear of the parties Lu Han frequented, and he especially isn’t a fan of seeing people from high school. Jongin kinda wanted to leave that all behind.
He doesn’t bother responding, shoving his phone back into his backpack and wandering over to Yixing. The water bottle he was supposed to grab is left forgotten by his bag, but Jongin can ignore his thirst for a little longer.
“Something up?”
“It’s nothing,” Jongin says with a shake of his head, lying comatose next to Yixing, chest heaving as his heartbeat attempts to steady itself. He feels slightly light-headed, his skin scorching, and it’s doing nothing for his ability to concentrate on something other than Kyungsoo’s groggy voice laced with concern at three am.
“It’s definitely something,” Yixing breathes, turning his head to stare at Jongin. He’s still spread out like a starfish and they need to leave the studio soon; the cleaners would be here soon. “You have that sad schoolboy lovestruck look all over your face.”
“I have a lovestruck look?” Jongin mumbles, too exhausted to be embarrassed, eyes slipping shut as he tries to figure out what exactly is going on. Jongin’s not sure if he’s just steadfastly holding onto a crush because he’s lived in it so long that letting go seems impossible, the lingering feelings like a current dragging him out to sea and back.
“It’s the way your eyes get all, how do you say, all soft and cute. You smile all stupidly, too. I’ve seen you do it before, and then you always wander over to me, sighing very dramatically. Just like in Master’s Sun,” Yixing explains, attempting to look wise. Jongin only snorts, shaking his head.
“You sound like an ahjumma,” he laughs, more like a wheeze as he tries valiantly not to cough and splutter everywhere.
“My grandma likes watching dramas, she usually drags me into it,” Yixing says with a shrug, glancing back up at the ceiling. “Follow your heart Jonginnie.”
“It’s just a meetup with old high school…friends.” Jongin really regrets not grabbing his water bottle, tongue heavy in his mouth, throat drier than before.
“And your long lost love is going to be there?”
“My life isn’t a drama, hyung,” Jongin huffs, swatting at Yixing but he’s too tired to do any actual damage. He needs to get home, to shower, but the floor doesn’t seem like a bad place to go to sleep right now.
“It certainly sounds like one. Maybe we can pitch your life to one of the broadcasting channels. What do you think?” Yixing grins, pushing himself up. He runs a hand through his hair, glancing in the mirror for a brief second. The hood goes back up, masking Yixing’s sweat-drenched hair. Jongin didn’t look any better himself, fringe sticking to his forehead, the back of his t-shirt drenched.
“I don’t think Korea’s ready for a big gay romance,” Jongin mumbles, following suit. He only falls back once in his attempt to sit up, groaning as he sits up properly, doing a few half-assed stretches to alleviate the dull ache starting in his lower back.
“I, for one, think it would be even more exciting. Forbidden love, and all that,” Yixing says, pulling Jongin up to his feet. He swings an arm around Jongin’s shoulders, smiling even as his eyes disappear behind his bangs and the edge of his hood.
“You’re ahead of your time,” Jongin sighs, grabbing his water bottle and chugging down the contents in one go. Yixing pokes at Jongin’s too full cheeks when he shoves the empty water bottle into his backpack, laughing when a little squirts out. Jongin shoves him away, glaring as he uses his t-shirt to clean up the water dribbling down his chin. It’s gross.
Yixing’s laughing, his bag a bright, obnoxious purple. Jongin thinks it fits a little too well, considering what a horrible person Yixing was.
“You should go to the meetup.”
“I’ll think about it,” Jongin waves off. People drift apart, it’s natural. Jongin had new friends now anyway.
“If I could go back and see my friends, I’d do it. You have nothing to lose,” Yixing advises, trailing after Jongin as they leave the studio. The cleaners are already mopping one of the other practise rooms and Jongin glances at Yixing’s hands to spot the iPod in them. Looks like he wasn’t that clueless.
Jongin doesn’t know how to tell Yixing that he’d already lost so much, he didn’t know how to take chances anymore. He didn’t really want to.
“Come on. The text was from him, right? Whoever the lucky guy is,” Yixing pries. Jongin’s not sure why he isn’t annoyed by all this, but Yixing is sweet and kind all over; Jongin would only feel like a jerk getting mad at him.
“His name’s Kyungsoo,” Jongin says, watching the way Yixing’s eyes twinkle. Like he’s won. Jongin thinks maybe he has.
☼
When Jongin had told Lu Han about the whole ordeal, he’d expected some support in Jongin’s efforts to be a lonely hermit, but instead Lu Han had dug through Jongin’s closet until he found the perfect dress shirt. Jongin finds himself standing in front of the bar’s door in said dress shirt, a pair of black slacks, and Lu Han’s grey peacoat. Jongin doesn’t own anything so fancy. He feels overly done up, the sinking feeling that everyone inside would probably be in jeans and t-shirts feeding his wracked up his nerves.
You can still go back, Jongin tells himself, turning away from the door to take two steps in the opposite direction -- except he’s rooted to the spot when he finds Chanyeol walking his way, flattening out his tie, still unaware of Jongin’s existence. There’s nowhere to hide to Jongin’s dismay, so he silently hopes Chanyeol won’t look up, but he does and Jongin’s not sure why he keeps hoping for impossible things.
Chanyeol’s hair is curlier than Jongin remembers it, dyed almond brown. He’s wearing something similar to Jongin save for the dark red tie, dress shirt crisp and white and probably pricier than Jongin’s whole ensemble.
“Chanyeol-hyung,” Jongin greets, bowing on instinct.
“Hey!” Chanyeol exclaims, reaching to pull Jongin into a hug, and Jongin’s forgotten the way Chanyeol had a tendency to squeeze the life out of people when he hugged them. This feels overly friendly, spikes of anxiety shooting up his spine.
“Don’t kill the kid, Chanyeol,” someone says from behind Chanyeol. Jongin only just manages to see them from where he’s being suffocated against Chanyeol’s shoulder. It’s Junmyeon, looking as perfectly put together as always. Once upon a time, Jongin had really looked up to him, but Jongin didn’t miss his kind smiles the way he missed leaning into Kyungsoo at lunch, taking naps against his hyung’s shoulder.
“He never comes to see us anymore,” Chanyeol whines, finally letting go of Jongin, who sucks in a deep breath, smile shaky as he greets Junmyeon.
“Because you have so much time on your hands,” Junmyeon points out, pulling Jongin in toward himself as he guides everyone into the bar. Thankfully it’s already full, familiar faces bustling around, and before Jongin knows it, Junmyeon and Chanyeol have both been pulled away in opposite directions, leaving Jongin alone. He glances around, an empty seat near the television free. Jongin beelines for it, ordering a beer as he stares purposefully at the football match between Real Madrid and Villareal. Jongin used to spend an excessive amount of time keeping up with the Premier League, but there wasn’t time to waste on hobbies now. He had a 3.4 GPA to uphold, bills and rent to pay for. Nothing came easy.
The night moves on around him in a blend of reds, the colour of wine and cherries, and bright orange flames, flickering past Jongin’s eyes. The lighting is pretty dim, shrouding everything in a layer of darkness, the colour of Chanyeol’s hair.
Real Madrid scores it’s third goal, and Jongin’s beer is nearly empty. He thinks about texting Lu Han, asking him what his loser ass is doing, but before he can grab his phone, there’s an arm wrapping around his bicep, yanking him back. Jongin yelps, eyes widening as he imagines crashing to the floor, but Chanyeol’s hysterical laughter is the only collision Jongin makes.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack, you asshole,” Jongin breathes, fingers clutching at the bar table as he steadies himself. Jongin’s patience was always lowest for Park Chanyeol, human clown.
“But you were sitting here all by yourself, I came to keep you company,” Chanyeol grins, leaning against the bar as he bats his eyelashes at Jongin. There’s no way that’s ever worked on anyone. Jongin rolls his eyes, wondering how he managed two years of high school in Chanyeol’s presence. “So, where’ve you been hiding?”
“I’m busy, hyung,” Jongin huffs, attempting to not just dismiss Chanyeol. He needed to work on being less irritable.
“You’re always so busy,” Chanyeol tuts. “We barely saw you in high school, you were always off dancing.”
It stings, and Jongin knows Chanyeol didn’t mean it like that, but he tells himself that at least it’s not as bad as it was two years ago, when he’d received his rejection letter. Jongin doesn’t remember crying so much at anything.
“How’s KU?” Jongin asks, attempting to change the subject. He glances around the room, smiling weakening when Soojung catches his eye, flashing him a smile.
“Amazing,” Chanyeol smiles. “It’d probably be better if I went to class, but sleeping in is a difficult thing to give up.”
Jongin laughs, something genuine as he shakes his head. “I thought business students had to be on top of their shit.”
“Hey, I never said I was failing.”
“And how’re your musical endeavours?” Jongin asks, always more comfortable with conversational topics that didn’t focus on him. He plays with the coaster for his empty beer, a little surprised when Chanyeol gets him another.
“Sehun got me this sweet in at a club, so I’ve been DJing for about a year,” Chanyeol chatters away, taking a swig of his own beer, the curls in his hair bouncing as he practically vibrates standing next to Jongin. Jongin didn’t understand where people like Chanyeol got the energy for large group gatherings, especially when it seemed like he thrived on them.
“Oh, Sehun, did he come?” Jongin tries to sound disinterested but his heart’s already picked up, the muscles in his shoulders tensing.
“He’s doing a year abroad,” Chanyeol answers slowly, staring at Jongin intently. Jongin has to sit very still to keep himself from squirming, from letting embarrassment colour his cheeks red. The last time Jongin had spoken to Sehun, they’d both just finished their second year. Sehun never mentioned anything about going abroad.
“Oh, yeah, sorry, I completely blanked out,” Jongin laughs, and Chanyeol seems to buy it, grinning along with Jongin like this were anything more than life playing jokes on Jongin.
Thankfully, someone comes to his rescue when they call out Chanyeol’s name loud enough to be heard over the thrum of the crowd. Chanyeol gives Jongin’s hair a quick ruffle before excusing himself, leaving Jongin alone with his misery. He downs his second beer in a matter of seconds, waving for another. Villareal’s scored their first goal on Real Madrid, and Jongin had missed it. The second half is nearly over though, their efforts a little too late.
Jongin thinks he might be drunk, tipsy enough that he can scan the room, until he catches sight of Kyungsoo. His breath catches in the back of his throat, the sight of dark hair pushed back, full lips, sleeves rolled up his forearms. Jongin can’t remember the last time he’s seen Kyungsoo quite like this, if he’s ever seen him like this, and for some reason it only splinters across his chest, leaves Jongin feeling worse than when he hadn’t seen Kyungsoo. Jongin shouldn’t have come, he should have listened to his gut. There was always something to lose.
He leaves money for his beers on the bar counter, slipping past people, who are all absorbed in catching up and showing off that Jongin may as well be a shadow passing over them. Kyungsoo hadn’t come over to say hi, Kyungsoo hadn’t even noticed him. Not that Jongin had done anything about it and god, he can’t start crying over something this stupid.
It’s cooler outside than before, and Jongin buttons up Lu Han’s coat with shaking fingers, digging his hands into the pockets when he finished. He stands still for a few moments, trying to calm his heart, steadying himself for the journey home. Jongin thinks about just calling a taxi, but there’s the niggling feeling that he doesn’t deserve it.
Sighing, Jongin sets out for the subway, planning out his route in his head. The streets of Seoul are busy around him, cars zipping past, flashing lights breathing life in the darkness of night. Jongin thinks about the six pack he has in his fridge and whether or not showing up to work in the morning with a hangover is worth it or not.
“Jongin!” He slows down in his steps, unsure if he’s actually heard his name or not. Glancing back, he finds Kyungsoo running up to him, a little flushed in the cheeks. Jongin’s barely made it away from the bar. Something flutters in the pit of his belly, chest suddenly feeling like it’s been pumped full of excess air.
“H-hyung,” Jongin stutters when Kyungsoo’s stopped in front of him, some of his bangs falling out of his styled hair. Jongin fists his hands in his pockets, quelling the urge to brush them back. Kyungsoo smiles at him, sweeping a hand through his hair easily. Jongin can’t stop thinking about how snugly his grey slacks fit across his thighs, or how his deep blue dress shirt stretches across his chest.
“Where’re you going? It’s barely past ten, and you didn’t even say hello,” Kyungsoo scolds, tiny shivers running down Jongin’s arms as he takes in the furrow in Kyungsoo’s brow, lips pursed in displeasure.
“I, early shift in the morning, hyung. And I didn’t wanna bother you,” Jongin licks his lips, avoiding Kyungsoo’s eyes. “You looked busy.”
“Assuming I was busy isn’t the same as me telling you I am,” Kyungsoo sighs, surprising Jongin when he reaches up to fix the collar on Jongin’s coat. Jongin tries very hard not to breathe too loud, or at all really, until Kyungsoo pulls away. “I don’t remember you being so rude in high school.”
Jongin flushes, already embarrassed enough that he’d been caught, and by the worst possible person at that. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, staring at the loafers his father had bought him for his high school graduation. Jongin had worn them maybe five times.
Kyungsoo only gives him a quiet smile, entirely too soft around the edges, and Jongin’s heart trembles at the sight of it. He wonders if Yixing was right, if maybe he did get a lovestruck look on his face at the mere mention of Kyungsoo’s name. “You’re lucky I like you so much. Were you going to walk home?”
Jongin only manages to shake his head, quite stupidly at that, barely able to swallow. Kyungsoo is nearly half a head shorter than him, but somehow it’s Jongin who feels small. “The subway, it’s too far to walk.”
“I’ll walk you over,” Kyungsoo hums, smiling as he lets his hand slide over Jongin’s arm, a gentle nudge in the right direction. Jongin turns into it, falling into step with Kyungsoo, head ducked down. He watches Kyungsoo’s coat flap in the wind, wishing he had a scarf or something to burrow his face into.
“Aren’t you cold?” Jongin mumbles, fingers squeezing around his phone.
“I’m fine, it was pretty stuffy in there. Besides, you’re always more prone to the cold than me,” Kyungsoo reminds, a knowing glint in his eyes. Jongin hates how his cheeks warm up, how it’s so unfair that Kyungsoo can just say all these things with so much ease. Jongin sounds like a waste disposal unit when he tries to talk around Kyungsoo.
“I am not,” Jongin mutters, a rather poor attempt at a defense. How fucking far was this subway station, anyway? Jongin lets his gaze linger around him, people bustling past him, couples with fingers laced together, and mothers with cute little kids shuffling past.
“You used to steal my scarf all the time to wear inside the school because you were cold,” Kyungsoo mentions, arm brushing against Jongin’s, lingering longer than Jongin thinks is normal. He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to acknowledge the way his heart is impossibly loud in his ears, a sick feeling in his gut. Possibilities scared Jongin.
“The school was always freezing,” Jongin whines, nevermind that he liked how Kyungsoo’s scarf had always smelled distinctly of mint and Kyungsoo. Jongin’s two favourite scents.
“Then you concede?” Kyungsoo inquires, eyebrow raised in Jongin’s direction.
“You sound like a nerd, hyung.” Jongin grins, the smell of simmering brown sugar wafting in the air. Jongin follows his nose, catching sight of the hotteok stand. He hasn’t had hotteok in ages, not since...
“Hyung! Hyung, let’s get hotteok,” Jongin exclaims, grabbing Kyungsoo’s arm and tugging him toward the street vendor, mouth already watering as he imagines hot, melted sugar washing over his tongue.
There’s a small line-up, but Jongin doesn’t mind, eyeing the lady flattening down little balls of batter with her press. In all his excitement, Jongin doesn’t realise he’s still got a grip on Kyungsoo’s arm, only realising when Kyungsoo shifts next to him, a small chuckle escaping him. “I haven’t had hotteok since your graduation.”
Nostalgia crashes into excitement, Jongin quietly pulling his hand away from Kyungsoo’s arm, thankful that the evening’s dimness would hide the blush blooming across his cheeks. “I’ll treat you this time, hyung. Just so its fair.”
“Are you going to buy me hundreds of them?” Kyungsoo smirks, knuckles knocking against Jongin’s chest, amused. “If I recall correctly, a certain someone was always getting his hyung to buy him hotteok after school.”
“I didn’t know you were keeping an account,” Jongin grumbles, and this feels too easy, slipping into conversation with Kyungsoo like nothing’s wrong, like Jongin’s not constantly on the edge of feeling too much and too little.
“Try that pout on someone else.” Kyungsoo’s smiling though, nudging Jongin toward the stand. Jongin doesn’t let his mind linger on Kyungsoo’s hand pressed into the small of his back, focusing on placing their order, but just as he pulls out his wallet, Kyungsoo’s handing the lady the money. Jongin flushes, ready to repay Kyungsoo, but his hands are full of two styrofoam cups, Kyungsoo shuffling them away from the stand.
“I said I would pay,” Jongin puffs, hands warm from the hotteok.
Kyungsoo shrugs, pulling Jongin over to the entrance of a closed bookshop. “I didn’t want to break tradition. Besides, you can pay me back somehow.”
Jongin heart skitters at the suggestion, Kyungsoo’s eyes wide and knowing as he takes one of the cups from Jongin. Everything feels a little unfair, Jongin bringing hot hotteok to his mouth and biting carefully. Warmth washes over him, the sweetness of the dough matching the pleasant curve of Kyungsoo’s lips. Jongin thinks very carefully about why leaning in and tasting brown sugar from Kyungsoo’s mouth wouldn’t be a good idea no matter how much his body sings with desire.
In all his focus, Jongin hisses as hot sugar lands in the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing the burned skin to his mouth to suck the sugar off. He inspects the injury, milder than the initial sting, skin bruised red.
“Are you okay?” Kyungsoo gasps, grabbing Jongin’s hand, fingers cold against Jongin’s burnt skin.
“I’m fine, hyung,” Jongin mumbles, blushing as he tries to tug his hand out of Kyungsoo’s grip. “It’s no -- ”
But Kyungsoo’s not listening, blowing cool air onto the small wound, and Jongin would be lying if he said it didn’t feel good, for more reasons than just pain alleviation. His stomach seems to fly upwards, pushing at the tightness in his chest, up his throat as he watches Kyungsoo’s cheeks puff up, concern knit between his brows.
“You still haven’t learned to be careful, then,” Kyungsoo admonishes with a sigh, glancing up at Jongin. His face feels like it’s on fire, lip caught between his teeth as he finally tugs his hand away from Kyungsoo.
“It’s, it doesn’t hurt... that much,” Jongin argues weakly, Kyungsoo’s eyes sharp, Jongin wilts under the gaze, eating quietly, if with a lot more care. Kyungsoo still manages to finish before him, taking Jongin’s empty cup from him, inspecting Jongin’s hand a second time. He doesn’t bother putting up a fight, not with Kyungsoo’s no-nonsense stare fixed on him.
“Do you like worrying me?" Kyungsoo asks, but he doesn't sound angry, possibly a little endearing. Jongin's not sure; his mind gets a little fuddled every time Kyungsoo touches him.
"Of course not." Jongin tries not to think about three am phone calls and disappearing into the depths of his room for a month after swallowing down the biggest heartbreak of his life.
"Then why do I always find myself fretting over you?" Kyungsoo lets his hand go, fingers lingering over Jongin's wrist distractedly. They feel nice, warm, like Jongin wishes they could belong there.
"Because you like me so much?" Jongin laughs nervously, throat dry as anticipation and fear bubble up his abdomen.
"And how much do you like me?" Kyungsoo asks, tone low, smooth, the heavy lidded look he gives Jongin inspiring something akin to the trepidation at the very tip of a roller coaster, like Jongin's life is about to flash before his eyes. He shudders, back pressing into the brick wall of a bookstore Jongin's never seen before in his life. "Tomorrow, after your shift, have coffee with me, alright? We can catch up."
"Uh, y-yeah," Jongin nods, suddenly so fucking terrified that his heartbeat seems to calm down, biting the urge to run after his heart as it seems to get ready to swan dive off a cliff with Kyungsoo.
"Come on, I promised to get you to the subway," Kyungsoo smiles, tugging on Jongin's wrist to kickstart him into motion. The rest of the night goes by in a quiet blur, Kyungsoo's fingers running through Jongin's hair as he waves him goodbye.
»
✖ kyungsoo/jongin; pg-13
✖ for jongin, getting through life is hard enough without the constant threat of kyungsoo turning his world upside down. 21924w.
✖ originally written for forjongin ♡
✖ my immense gratitude to marshmallow for all her handholding and alpha reading. this fic wouldn't exist without you. also, thank you to baby seal for betaing this for me and cheering me on! you are the very best ♡
The walls seem to be shrinking in, or perhaps Jongin’s simply growing bigger and bigger, but the path is no less endless, the small pinprick of light ahead of him still about the size of his fist. Jongin can’t tell where the floor ends and the walls begin, murky browns and distilled greys surrounding him, infusing into one endless backdrop. His lungs are burning, as if set on fire, and Jongin’s breathing out black smoke, eyes watering, choking, choking, running.
There’s something behind him, and Jongin isn’t afraid of it so much as he is burdened by it. He wants to get away, be free, and somehow the light at the end of the tunnel is escaping. Jongin is stumbling, legs turning into jelly; Jongin’s skin is melting off, he’s falling.
He crawls, drags himself forward, the Thing behind him following leisurely, sure of itself. Jongin doesn’t dare look back, just pushes liquified muscles to keep pulling the weight of his body, the weight of whatever was behind him forward. The light is suddenly so close, Jongin can see people, laughing, a heart-shaped smile, big eyes, rounded jaw.
“Kyungsoo,” he gasps, jolting awake, and if he doesn’t fall off the couch completely, it’s because he’s lucky. His heart is hammering in his chest, t-shirt sticky against his back. His apartment blinks in the dark, flickers against the backdrop of night, television broadcasting some old rerun. Jongin’s eyes can’t quite adjust, his hands are trembling as if he’s been struck like a gong, reverberations running down his spine. He is sound.
The clock on his phone tells him it’s three am. Last summer, he’d spent nearly every day of his life up until three am, doing absolutely nothing some nights except staring at his ceiling and expecting it to change into something else. A portal, perhaps. Something to engulf him.
He stares at his phone screen, a picture of Monggu from the day he’d left him with his sister. Monggu would have found him by now, come to comfort him. Instead, his hands are still shaking. The vague image of Kyungsoo’s face flashes behind his eyes and really, he doesn’t want to think about this. He’s tired. He has an eight hour shift at work in the morning, and class in the afternoon but he finds himself staring at Kyungsoo’s contact card, hitting dial.
Jongin listens to the ring, wonders why he's doing this, why he didn't just ignore the impulse. He's about to hit the end call button, mind wandering to how he hasn't actually spoken to Kyungsoo in some two weeks now, when Kyungsoo picks up, voice groggy with sleep. "Hello?"
Jongin lets out a shaky breath, shoulders sagging, and this was pretty dumb, pretty selfish, but somehow the exhaustion coursing through him doesn't matter so much now. "Kyungsoo, hyung, it's...Sorry, I shouldn't have...sorry."
"Wait, Jongin? Are you okay? Jongin?” Kyungsoo’s rambling, voice slurred, and under different circumstances maybe Jongin would find this cute, but his heart’s settled in his throat, made itself a home.
He doesn’t know what to say, never has been good with words, but what Jongin’s always liked about Kyungsoo is that he’s never needed them. His hands have stopped shaking, the unease in his gut nearly gone. Jongin sinks back into the couch, imagines Kyungsoo’s face, the knit of concern in his thick eyebrows, eyes big and wide and impossibly beautiful, mouth curled downwards, upset. Jongin’s chest aches.
“Jongin, its three in the morning,” Kyungsoo tells him. Jongin stares at his television screen, absorbing nothing. He’s going to be exhausted for his shift at work; maybe he’d be able to convince Baekhyun to switch departments. Jongin is better suited for dishwashing than making awkward conversation with customers as he takes their orders. “Is everything okay? You, I mean, we haven’t spoken in…”
Two weeks, Jongin wants to say. We never talk anymore, he wants to add but instead he gathers up the last of his wits, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “I’m sorry, hyung. I had a weird nightmare...I’m fine, I promise. Goodnight.”
Jongin ends the call before Kyungsoo can say anything and sits in the dim, flickering light of his television, rolling his neck around to work out the kink on the left side.
☼
“You look like shit,” Baekhyun greets, cheery smile plastered over his obnoxious face. Jongin kind of hates that he’s good looking, despite being such a twat, but his eyes are burning from lack of sleep and he doesn’t have the energy to snap back. He just wants two cups of coffee and an excessive amount of silence. The former he’ll get, but Baekhyun wasn’t about to shut up.
“Good morning to you, too,” Jongin grumbles, shuffling into the kitchen, past Baekhyun. He slips on an apron over his uniform, dumping his bag next to Baekhyun’s. Jongdae and Sunyoung wouldn’t be in for another hour, when the restaurant would actually open. In the meantime, Jongin could help the cooks prep.
“You’re on the floor today,” Baekhyun reminds him, eyeing the apron Jongin’s slung on.
“You like it more than I do, hyung.” Jongin bows to the head chef, taking the bowl of peppers from her hands and getting started on chopping them. Menial kitchen work was almost relaxing, had a certain lull to it. “I’m good at washing dishes.”
“People aren’t going to eat you,” Baekhyun says with a roll of his eyes. He grabs a knife and starts helping Jongin, hands quicker than Jongin’s, fingers deft. Jongin’s envious, little pinpricks of jealousy wounding his heart.
“I’m pretty sure you’d eat people if it wasn’t considered cannibalistic,” Jongin retorts, lifting his cutting board to slide the mixture of green and red and yellow diced peppers into an empty bowl. At least he was one pepper ahead. The remnants of the pepper, little seeds and the stem, lie next to the board, kind of like Jongin. Rather useless, tasteless.
“I was blessed with razor sharp incisors,” Baekhyun agrees, bobbing his head up and down. He looks a little funny, and Jongin can’t help the snort of disbelief. “It’s a waste not to use them.”
“I’ve seen the bruises on Jongdae-hyung,” Jongin alludes, smiling slyly, but really he should have known better. Baekhyun isn’t ashamed of anything. He leers in Jongin’s direction, smug and content with himself, all while continuing to chop. Jongin feels clumsy next to him.
“I could give you some, too," Baekhyun grins, eyebrows waggling, and Jongin makes a gagging sound, leaving Baekhyun with the peppers to go and grab a sack of onions. When he gets back, Baekhyun is half way done and, really, Jongin should attribute his quickness to the four years he’s spent working at the restaurant and not how much better Jongin thinks Baekhyun is at everything.
“Are you not going to switch with me?” Jongin asks, trashing the unusable parts of the peppers.
“You owe me,” Baekhyun sings, smiling. He ruffles Jongin’s hair before he’s gone. For a moment, Jongin watches him take down chairs and flicker on the lights, heading to start the coffee machine. Working in a diner wasn’t so bad, but Jongin had never really taken to people.
Sighing, Jongin focuses on his task, mentally going over his to-do list for the day. If he was lucky, Lu Han would be in class and time wouldn’t feel like black smoke slowly turning him to ash.
☼
Lu Han sleeps through the entire lecture, using Jongin’s shoulder like a cushion. Jongin doodles in the margins of his notebook, not particularly interested in whatever the professor was going on about. He’d taken this class as a breadth requirement, as if being a well-rounded person had anything to do with surviving in the real world. Jongin didn’t know shit about The Dwarf, hadn’t even bothered to open and read it. Jongin didn’t have time to read, not between work and trying to motivate himself to get out of his apartment to actually make it to class.
Jongin sinks a little lower in his seat, staring at the veins of Lu Han’s hands, disappearing under Lu Han’s sleeves. They’d met in Communication Theory, Lu Han stumbling into class late, claiming he’d gotten lost finding the room. Their professor hadn’t looked pleased, but the seat next to Jongin had been empty, as it tended to be. He was almost always the only guy in the class, and something about that both made him the focus of giggles and cold shouldering. It was well enough, because meeting Lu Han had been the upside of his first year.
“This is boring,” Lu Han mumbles, startling Jongin out of his thoughts. Jongin passes a glance at Lu Han, eyes still shut, dark circles collecting underneath. Jongin doesn’’t look any better, the smattering of pimples around his jaw only taking more away. He is almost always stressed, next month’s rent looming over him like an axe ready to sever his head off. Even making tuition this year had been a nightmare, the two jobs Jongin had worked over the summer effectively ending any chance for Jongin to keep up with Sehun, to not lose his oldest friend. Two years at different universities had done most of the damage, even if Jongin had been hell bent on salvaging what was left. Life had taught him that failure looked good on Jongin; he couldn’t change his colours now.
“We can leave during break,” Jongin answers, ignoring the hand Lu Han’s curled around Jongin’s arm. He’s warm, comforting. “Did you wanna get some ramyun?”
“Isn’t that always the plan?” Lu Han smiles, peeping open an eye to glance at Jongin. He looks kind of battered up, and Jongin really just wants to take him home and tuck him into bed, tell him to sleep.
“You look like shit,” Jongin comments, taking a line from Baekhyun. “Have you been sleeping?”
Lu Han shakes his head, truthful for once. It’s not like Jongin didn’t know about the insomnia; Lu Han had once drunkenly confessed about it all, Jongin’s bed like a therapist’s chair. But like most things between them, talking about personal shit didn’t happen unless they were inebriated and the possibility that no one would remember anything the next day hung in the air.
“Sleep, we’ll leave when class ends.” Jongin slants his shoulder to give Lu Han a more comfortable angle, the mumbled thank you not escaping his ears. Jongin’s pretty tired himself, the dream keeping him awake the rest of the night.
He replays Kyungsoo’s voice in his head, thinks about the way worry laced his voice. The last time they’d met, Kyungsoo had shown up at Peter Pan with his friends and Jongin had awkwardly served them, wishing they’d sat in Jongdae’s section of the restaurant instead. Kyungsoo hung out with people that intimidated Jongin, left him feeling incompetent.
It was strange, considering that Kyungsoo himself always settled the storm brewing around Jongin easily, hand combing through Jongin’s hair, soothing his nerves. Jongin wondered how he hung out with people as loud as Chanyeol, who seemed to bring out the same in everyone around him.
Sometimes, only sometimes, Jongin wishes he were back in high school, when asking for Kyungsoo’s attention had been easier, something offered to him freely. Jongin knows he is a little stuck on this, but he tells himself that indifference is difficult to glaze over everything when Jongin’s name alone from Kyungsoo’s mouth can melt everything away.
The professor tells them to take a break and Jongin watches students slip out of the room, cigarette packs squeezed tightly between their fingers. Jongin had only ever smoked in Sehun’s company, never had the money to spend on addictions.
Sighing, Jongin digs out his phone from his pocket, careful not to rouse Lu Han, who appears like he’s actually sleeping. Jongin’s heart booms in his ears for a split-second, Kyungsoo’s name on his screen terrifying and pleasing. Maybe he still mattered.
Opening the messages, Jongin reads through them with a sick joy, nervous that Kyungsoo would be angry. Instead, there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
that was weird, this morning
i hope you’re okay and...well, i’m still your hyung, don’t forget.
i miss you.
☼
There’s too much garlic in his bowl of ramyun, no thanks to Lu Han’s insistence that he should add more, it tasted better. Jongin wonders when he got so picky, chopsticks stirring his noodles around in the broth. The hard boiled egg bobs on the outskirts, some stringy bean sprouts keeping it company.
“How’s work?” Lu Han asks, slurping his noodles obnoxiously loud. Jongin can’t even hold it against him, knows it’s probably the only food Lu Han’s had all day. Between the two of them, Jongin’s sure they’ve had at least one full meal. They’re a sad couple.
“Same old,” Jongin says with shrug, giving up on his food and placing his chopsticks on the napkin next to his bowl. He glances at Lu Han, head resting on the palm of his hand as he sticks his elbow up on the bar. There is, at the very least, something comforting about Lu Han’s face, the way he stuffs too much food into his tiny mouth, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk’s. Jongin knows why he’d had the fleeting thing for him, knows that even now he lets Lu Han get away with a lot more than he tolerates from other people.
“You?” he asks, finally, waving over the waiter. He needs water.
“I broke another mug today,” Lu Han answers, leaning back, licking broth from his lips. Jongin smiles thankfully at the waiter, chugging down the contents of the glass. Lu Han looks like he could mix in with the background, almost the same shade of drab grey that surrounds them. Jongin’s no better, dressed in nothing but black save the bright red of his snapback. They blend in.
“In other words, your boss threatened to fire you again,” Jongin sighs, amazed by Lu Han’s inability to hold down a job. In the black and white scene unfolding before his eyes, Lu Han is drained of colour, the soft brown seeping out of his hair, skin sallow, crisp white edge of his sneakers stark against the dark shades around him.
“How’re you going to pay rent?” Jongin asks when Lu Han’s only response is to drain his bowl of the broth, motion like flickering on a light as Jongin’s vision adjusts, the pink in Lu Han’s cheeks returning vividly. Jongin blinks, pushes his bowl of unfinished ramyun to Lu Han, a grateful smile thanking him in return. He has some leftovers; he could make himself some bibimbap when he got home.
“I’ll have to figure something out,” Lu Han responds. “Stop worrying about me so much. You sound like you’re my mom.”
“Just move in with me,” Jongin insists, and god knows they’ve had this argument a thousand times. Lu Han’s stubborn though, but Jongin’s no better, and he’s definitely not losing.
“Don’t make me feel like a loser,” Lu Han whines, shoving at Jongin with more spirit than Jongin’s sure he feels.
“Hyung, there’s enough space, and it would cut back on your rent and mine,” Jongin reasons, glancing around the ramyun shop. The place is packed with other college students, all in for a quick, cheap meal. Jongin has an eight page response paper due for his psychiatric mental health nursing class, and the looming dread of applying for a practicum position at the hospital to deal with when he gets home. If Jongin had learned anything from his seniors, the ER sounded terrifying. Jongin had a tendency to lean toward mental health courses and a practicum in the same area eased his heart.
“I’ll think about it, alright?” Lu Han sighs, digging through his wallet to pull up the few won he had. Jongin hands him back the money he’s put down for Jongin, paying for his own bowl himself. When Lu Han makes to argue, Jongin gives him a pointed look. He grabs his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder.
Pulling Lu Han up from the table, Jongin settles an arm around his shoulders as they make it out of the shop. “I can still get you that job at the studio, you know. I know you think being a secretary would be unmanly or something, but it’s a pretty cushy job.”
“Why don’t you take it?” Lu Han grumbles, but he hasn’t pulled away from Jongin yet. Despite the hold Jongin has over him, Lu Han’s guiding him toward the bus stop, his phone in his hand as he scrolls through text messages.
“I already have a job,” Jongin reminds him. “I kinda like it.”
“You mean you just like hiding in the backroom,” Lu Han teases, flashing Jongin a smile as he piles into the bus that leads to Jongin’s place and takes twice as long to get to his own apartment.
“I don’t like people,” Jongin mumbles with a shrug, tapping his T-card and shuffling behind Lu Han until they make it to the back of the bus, flopping into two empty seats. It’s past ten, and lucky for Jongin he doesn’t have work in the morning. Just a two hour seminar and dance class in the evening. Jongin likes Thursdays.
“What do you like Kim Jongin?” Lu Han hums, arm looping through Jongin’s as they settle into their seats. Jongin, yawning, lets his head sit on Lu Han’s shoulder. “Have you even caught up on Shingeki no Kyojin yet?”
“We’ve had assignments due every week, when was I supposed to catch up?” Jongin watches street lights flash by him, Lu Han’s reflection in the window watching him. Lu Han shakes his head, little disappointed tuts escaping him.
“Sleep is for the weak,” Lu Han declares, fingers tapping along the window frame as he stares out at endless blackness. Jongin’s stop is another ten minutes away. He wonders if Lu Han will wake him up in time, he has so much to do...
“You’re a loser,” Jongin informs Lu Han, mumbling, eyes already closed as the bus jostles forward, little bumps along the way only lulling Jongin closer to sleep.
☼
Lu Han crashes at Jongin’s, sprawled out over Jongin’s bed, snoring as Jongin finishes his response paper and tries to steadfastly ignore the Facebook event he’s been invited to. Chanyeol had sent it, a mass invitation to Jongin’s entire group of high school friends. Jongin isn’t even sure he can call all of them friends. He really just hung around with Sehun back then, and when he wasn’t with Sehun, he was with Kyungsoo.
The awkward stage that everyone kept anticipating him to grow out of had stuck, and in all honesty, back then Jongin had been in a pretty long-term relationship with the dance studio. Getting into K-arts had been everything. Dreams, however, were fragile things.
He sighs, head resting on his arm as he stares at the event. Jongin glances at Lu Han behind him, as if expecting him to be awake when he’d pretty much collapsed the second he’d gotten within range of Jongin’s bed. He pushes his bottom lip between his teeth, finger pressing to his mouth as he checks the list of invitees. Jongin knows he’s not fooling anyone, let alone himself. He’s really only checking for one name.
When he finds it, he wastes another fifteen minutes staring at Do Kyungsoo’s profile picture and imagining what it would be like to taste his mouth.
☼
Jongin’s finishing his stretches when Yixing fumbles into the room, the hood of his oversized and absurdly bright yellow sweater tugged up and over, nearly covering his eyes. The sad little downturn of his mouth picks up as he spots Jongin bent in half, trying to press his hands flat against the floor, the burn along his calves more soothing than painful. His back had other opinions, but Jongin had stopped caring about those a while ago.
Lu Han liked to tell Jongin that he slept too much, but he hadn’t met Yixing yet, whose eyes seemed to be stuck at half mast, dopey grin stretching across his lips. “Ah, there’s my little Jonginnie.”
“Hyung, stop calling me that,” Jongin whines, even if he doesn’t really mean it. “I’m taller than you, you know.”
“And yet, you still can’t tie your shoelaces,” Yixing laughs, his bag tossed into the corner along with Jongin’s. His left shoe’s laces are untied, but Jongin usually just tucks those in anyway. They’re teaching the beginner's hip-hop class today, the majority of the students in middle school.
“Did you want to add the next part of the choreography today?” Jongin asks, ignoring the joke at his expense. Jongin really likes Yixing, and maybe kind of looks up to him. Yixing’s family had come to Korea recently, opened up a restaurant, and Yixing had poured everything into it. Jongin didn’t understand that kind of selflessness, how Yixing could just be satisfied with teaching dance, but he never complained.
“Let’s go over everything they know so far and see how they’re doing first,” Yixing replies, joining Jongin on the floor to start his own stretches. They go through the motions in relative silence, watching as their students pile in slowly, greeting them both before joining in the stretches.
Slipping into dance instructor mode is easy for Jongin; it’s the highlight of his week, getting to let go and feel like for once he’s in control of something. It’s even more satisfying when his students do well, picking up the new choreography with more ease than Jongin had expected. The hour passes by quickly, quicker than Jongin would like, but just as their last student disappears, Yixing puts the music back on, eyebrow quirked at Jongin expectantly. They blend in smoothly to the sound of Keep Your Head Down. It’s a remix Yixing’s worked on himself, bass pulsing through Jongin’s body, like a second heartbeat pulsing through him, Jongin’s blood rushing hot and quick through his veins.
When Yixing’s playlist finally comes to an end, Jongin’s drenched in sweat, throat parched. Yixing’s steps are slower as he meanders toward the stereo, grabbing his iPod. Jongin has to remind him to take it home, lest he forget it at the studio again.
Jongin manages to make it over to his bag, digging his phone out of his backpack, eyes flickering between the time and Yixing as he collapses onto the floor, arms and legs spread out around him. There’s four text messages, and Jongin assumes they’re all from Lu Han, but when he unlocks his phone, he finds one from Kyungsoo. He doesn’t bother tapping over the thread, Kyungsoo’s text already visible.
you coming to the meetup?
Jongin’s throat closes up as he rereads the single line, over-thinking why Kyungsoo would want him there, why he even bothered asking. He doesn’t like big social gatherings, steering clear of the parties Lu Han frequented, and he especially isn’t a fan of seeing people from high school. Jongin kinda wanted to leave that all behind.
He doesn’t bother responding, shoving his phone back into his backpack and wandering over to Yixing. The water bottle he was supposed to grab is left forgotten by his bag, but Jongin can ignore his thirst for a little longer.
“Something up?”
“It’s nothing,” Jongin says with a shake of his head, lying comatose next to Yixing, chest heaving as his heartbeat attempts to steady itself. He feels slightly light-headed, his skin scorching, and it’s doing nothing for his ability to concentrate on something other than Kyungsoo’s groggy voice laced with concern at three am.
“It’s definitely something,” Yixing breathes, turning his head to stare at Jongin. He’s still spread out like a starfish and they need to leave the studio soon; the cleaners would be here soon. “You have that sad schoolboy lovestruck look all over your face.”
“I have a lovestruck look?” Jongin mumbles, too exhausted to be embarrassed, eyes slipping shut as he tries to figure out what exactly is going on. Jongin’s not sure if he’s just steadfastly holding onto a crush because he’s lived in it so long that letting go seems impossible, the lingering feelings like a current dragging him out to sea and back.
“It’s the way your eyes get all, how do you say, all soft and cute. You smile all stupidly, too. I’ve seen you do it before, and then you always wander over to me, sighing very dramatically. Just like in Master’s Sun,” Yixing explains, attempting to look wise. Jongin only snorts, shaking his head.
“You sound like an ahjumma,” he laughs, more like a wheeze as he tries valiantly not to cough and splutter everywhere.
“My grandma likes watching dramas, she usually drags me into it,” Yixing says with a shrug, glancing back up at the ceiling. “Follow your heart Jonginnie.”
“It’s just a meetup with old high school…friends.” Jongin really regrets not grabbing his water bottle, tongue heavy in his mouth, throat drier than before.
“And your long lost love is going to be there?”
“My life isn’t a drama, hyung,” Jongin huffs, swatting at Yixing but he’s too tired to do any actual damage. He needs to get home, to shower, but the floor doesn’t seem like a bad place to go to sleep right now.
“It certainly sounds like one. Maybe we can pitch your life to one of the broadcasting channels. What do you think?” Yixing grins, pushing himself up. He runs a hand through his hair, glancing in the mirror for a brief second. The hood goes back up, masking Yixing’s sweat-drenched hair. Jongin didn’t look any better himself, fringe sticking to his forehead, the back of his t-shirt drenched.
“I don’t think Korea’s ready for a big gay romance,” Jongin mumbles, following suit. He only falls back once in his attempt to sit up, groaning as he sits up properly, doing a few half-assed stretches to alleviate the dull ache starting in his lower back.
“I, for one, think it would be even more exciting. Forbidden love, and all that,” Yixing says, pulling Jongin up to his feet. He swings an arm around Jongin’s shoulders, smiling even as his eyes disappear behind his bangs and the edge of his hood.
“You’re ahead of your time,” Jongin sighs, grabbing his water bottle and chugging down the contents in one go. Yixing pokes at Jongin’s too full cheeks when he shoves the empty water bottle into his backpack, laughing when a little squirts out. Jongin shoves him away, glaring as he uses his t-shirt to clean up the water dribbling down his chin. It’s gross.
Yixing’s laughing, his bag a bright, obnoxious purple. Jongin thinks it fits a little too well, considering what a horrible person Yixing was.
“You should go to the meetup.”
“I’ll think about it,” Jongin waves off. People drift apart, it’s natural. Jongin had new friends now anyway.
“If I could go back and see my friends, I’d do it. You have nothing to lose,” Yixing advises, trailing after Jongin as they leave the studio. The cleaners are already mopping one of the other practise rooms and Jongin glances at Yixing’s hands to spot the iPod in them. Looks like he wasn’t that clueless.
Jongin doesn’t know how to tell Yixing that he’d already lost so much, he didn’t know how to take chances anymore. He didn’t really want to.
“Come on. The text was from him, right? Whoever the lucky guy is,” Yixing pries. Jongin’s not sure why he isn’t annoyed by all this, but Yixing is sweet and kind all over; Jongin would only feel like a jerk getting mad at him.
“His name’s Kyungsoo,” Jongin says, watching the way Yixing’s eyes twinkle. Like he’s won. Jongin thinks maybe he has.
☼
When Jongin had told Lu Han about the whole ordeal, he’d expected some support in Jongin’s efforts to be a lonely hermit, but instead Lu Han had dug through Jongin’s closet until he found the perfect dress shirt. Jongin finds himself standing in front of the bar’s door in said dress shirt, a pair of black slacks, and Lu Han’s grey peacoat. Jongin doesn’t own anything so fancy. He feels overly done up, the sinking feeling that everyone inside would probably be in jeans and t-shirts feeding his wracked up his nerves.
You can still go back, Jongin tells himself, turning away from the door to take two steps in the opposite direction -- except he’s rooted to the spot when he finds Chanyeol walking his way, flattening out his tie, still unaware of Jongin’s existence. There’s nowhere to hide to Jongin’s dismay, so he silently hopes Chanyeol won’t look up, but he does and Jongin’s not sure why he keeps hoping for impossible things.
Chanyeol’s hair is curlier than Jongin remembers it, dyed almond brown. He’s wearing something similar to Jongin save for the dark red tie, dress shirt crisp and white and probably pricier than Jongin’s whole ensemble.
“Chanyeol-hyung,” Jongin greets, bowing on instinct.
“Hey!” Chanyeol exclaims, reaching to pull Jongin into a hug, and Jongin’s forgotten the way Chanyeol had a tendency to squeeze the life out of people when he hugged them. This feels overly friendly, spikes of anxiety shooting up his spine.
“Don’t kill the kid, Chanyeol,” someone says from behind Chanyeol. Jongin only just manages to see them from where he’s being suffocated against Chanyeol’s shoulder. It’s Junmyeon, looking as perfectly put together as always. Once upon a time, Jongin had really looked up to him, but Jongin didn’t miss his kind smiles the way he missed leaning into Kyungsoo at lunch, taking naps against his hyung’s shoulder.
“He never comes to see us anymore,” Chanyeol whines, finally letting go of Jongin, who sucks in a deep breath, smile shaky as he greets Junmyeon.
“Because you have so much time on your hands,” Junmyeon points out, pulling Jongin in toward himself as he guides everyone into the bar. Thankfully it’s already full, familiar faces bustling around, and before Jongin knows it, Junmyeon and Chanyeol have both been pulled away in opposite directions, leaving Jongin alone. He glances around, an empty seat near the television free. Jongin beelines for it, ordering a beer as he stares purposefully at the football match between Real Madrid and Villareal. Jongin used to spend an excessive amount of time keeping up with the Premier League, but there wasn’t time to waste on hobbies now. He had a 3.4 GPA to uphold, bills and rent to pay for. Nothing came easy.
The night moves on around him in a blend of reds, the colour of wine and cherries, and bright orange flames, flickering past Jongin’s eyes. The lighting is pretty dim, shrouding everything in a layer of darkness, the colour of Chanyeol’s hair.
Real Madrid scores it’s third goal, and Jongin’s beer is nearly empty. He thinks about texting Lu Han, asking him what his loser ass is doing, but before he can grab his phone, there’s an arm wrapping around his bicep, yanking him back. Jongin yelps, eyes widening as he imagines crashing to the floor, but Chanyeol’s hysterical laughter is the only collision Jongin makes.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack, you asshole,” Jongin breathes, fingers clutching at the bar table as he steadies himself. Jongin’s patience was always lowest for Park Chanyeol, human clown.
“But you were sitting here all by yourself, I came to keep you company,” Chanyeol grins, leaning against the bar as he bats his eyelashes at Jongin. There’s no way that’s ever worked on anyone. Jongin rolls his eyes, wondering how he managed two years of high school in Chanyeol’s presence. “So, where’ve you been hiding?”
“I’m busy, hyung,” Jongin huffs, attempting to not just dismiss Chanyeol. He needed to work on being less irritable.
“You’re always so busy,” Chanyeol tuts. “We barely saw you in high school, you were always off dancing.”
It stings, and Jongin knows Chanyeol didn’t mean it like that, but he tells himself that at least it’s not as bad as it was two years ago, when he’d received his rejection letter. Jongin doesn’t remember crying so much at anything.
“How’s KU?” Jongin asks, attempting to change the subject. He glances around the room, smiling weakening when Soojung catches his eye, flashing him a smile.
“Amazing,” Chanyeol smiles. “It’d probably be better if I went to class, but sleeping in is a difficult thing to give up.”
Jongin laughs, something genuine as he shakes his head. “I thought business students had to be on top of their shit.”
“Hey, I never said I was failing.”
“And how’re your musical endeavours?” Jongin asks, always more comfortable with conversational topics that didn’t focus on him. He plays with the coaster for his empty beer, a little surprised when Chanyeol gets him another.
“Sehun got me this sweet in at a club, so I’ve been DJing for about a year,” Chanyeol chatters away, taking a swig of his own beer, the curls in his hair bouncing as he practically vibrates standing next to Jongin. Jongin didn’t understand where people like Chanyeol got the energy for large group gatherings, especially when it seemed like he thrived on them.
“Oh, Sehun, did he come?” Jongin tries to sound disinterested but his heart’s already picked up, the muscles in his shoulders tensing.
“He’s doing a year abroad,” Chanyeol answers slowly, staring at Jongin intently. Jongin has to sit very still to keep himself from squirming, from letting embarrassment colour his cheeks red. The last time Jongin had spoken to Sehun, they’d both just finished their second year. Sehun never mentioned anything about going abroad.
“Oh, yeah, sorry, I completely blanked out,” Jongin laughs, and Chanyeol seems to buy it, grinning along with Jongin like this were anything more than life playing jokes on Jongin.
Thankfully, someone comes to his rescue when they call out Chanyeol’s name loud enough to be heard over the thrum of the crowd. Chanyeol gives Jongin’s hair a quick ruffle before excusing himself, leaving Jongin alone with his misery. He downs his second beer in a matter of seconds, waving for another. Villareal’s scored their first goal on Real Madrid, and Jongin had missed it. The second half is nearly over though, their efforts a little too late.
Jongin thinks he might be drunk, tipsy enough that he can scan the room, until he catches sight of Kyungsoo. His breath catches in the back of his throat, the sight of dark hair pushed back, full lips, sleeves rolled up his forearms. Jongin can’t remember the last time he’s seen Kyungsoo quite like this, if he’s ever seen him like this, and for some reason it only splinters across his chest, leaves Jongin feeling worse than when he hadn’t seen Kyungsoo. Jongin shouldn’t have come, he should have listened to his gut. There was always something to lose.
He leaves money for his beers on the bar counter, slipping past people, who are all absorbed in catching up and showing off that Jongin may as well be a shadow passing over them. Kyungsoo hadn’t come over to say hi, Kyungsoo hadn’t even noticed him. Not that Jongin had done anything about it and god, he can’t start crying over something this stupid.
It’s cooler outside than before, and Jongin buttons up Lu Han’s coat with shaking fingers, digging his hands into the pockets when he finished. He stands still for a few moments, trying to calm his heart, steadying himself for the journey home. Jongin thinks about just calling a taxi, but there’s the niggling feeling that he doesn’t deserve it.
Sighing, Jongin sets out for the subway, planning out his route in his head. The streets of Seoul are busy around him, cars zipping past, flashing lights breathing life in the darkness of night. Jongin thinks about the six pack he has in his fridge and whether or not showing up to work in the morning with a hangover is worth it or not.
“Jongin!” He slows down in his steps, unsure if he’s actually heard his name or not. Glancing back, he finds Kyungsoo running up to him, a little flushed in the cheeks. Jongin’s barely made it away from the bar. Something flutters in the pit of his belly, chest suddenly feeling like it’s been pumped full of excess air.
“H-hyung,” Jongin stutters when Kyungsoo’s stopped in front of him, some of his bangs falling out of his styled hair. Jongin fists his hands in his pockets, quelling the urge to brush them back. Kyungsoo smiles at him, sweeping a hand through his hair easily. Jongin can’t stop thinking about how snugly his grey slacks fit across his thighs, or how his deep blue dress shirt stretches across his chest.
“Where’re you going? It’s barely past ten, and you didn’t even say hello,” Kyungsoo scolds, tiny shivers running down Jongin’s arms as he takes in the furrow in Kyungsoo’s brow, lips pursed in displeasure.
“I, early shift in the morning, hyung. And I didn’t wanna bother you,” Jongin licks his lips, avoiding Kyungsoo’s eyes. “You looked busy.”
“Assuming I was busy isn’t the same as me telling you I am,” Kyungsoo sighs, surprising Jongin when he reaches up to fix the collar on Jongin’s coat. Jongin tries very hard not to breathe too loud, or at all really, until Kyungsoo pulls away. “I don’t remember you being so rude in high school.”
Jongin flushes, already embarrassed enough that he’d been caught, and by the worst possible person at that. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, staring at the loafers his father had bought him for his high school graduation. Jongin had worn them maybe five times.
Kyungsoo only gives him a quiet smile, entirely too soft around the edges, and Jongin’s heart trembles at the sight of it. He wonders if Yixing was right, if maybe he did get a lovestruck look on his face at the mere mention of Kyungsoo’s name. “You’re lucky I like you so much. Were you going to walk home?”
Jongin only manages to shake his head, quite stupidly at that, barely able to swallow. Kyungsoo is nearly half a head shorter than him, but somehow it’s Jongin who feels small. “The subway, it’s too far to walk.”
“I’ll walk you over,” Kyungsoo hums, smiling as he lets his hand slide over Jongin’s arm, a gentle nudge in the right direction. Jongin turns into it, falling into step with Kyungsoo, head ducked down. He watches Kyungsoo’s coat flap in the wind, wishing he had a scarf or something to burrow his face into.
“Aren’t you cold?” Jongin mumbles, fingers squeezing around his phone.
“I’m fine, it was pretty stuffy in there. Besides, you’re always more prone to the cold than me,” Kyungsoo reminds, a knowing glint in his eyes. Jongin hates how his cheeks warm up, how it’s so unfair that Kyungsoo can just say all these things with so much ease. Jongin sounds like a waste disposal unit when he tries to talk around Kyungsoo.
“I am not,” Jongin mutters, a rather poor attempt at a defense. How fucking far was this subway station, anyway? Jongin lets his gaze linger around him, people bustling past him, couples with fingers laced together, and mothers with cute little kids shuffling past.
“You used to steal my scarf all the time to wear inside the school because you were cold,” Kyungsoo mentions, arm brushing against Jongin’s, lingering longer than Jongin thinks is normal. He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to acknowledge the way his heart is impossibly loud in his ears, a sick feeling in his gut. Possibilities scared Jongin.
“The school was always freezing,” Jongin whines, nevermind that he liked how Kyungsoo’s scarf had always smelled distinctly of mint and Kyungsoo. Jongin’s two favourite scents.
“Then you concede?” Kyungsoo inquires, eyebrow raised in Jongin’s direction.
“You sound like a nerd, hyung.” Jongin grins, the smell of simmering brown sugar wafting in the air. Jongin follows his nose, catching sight of the hotteok stand. He hasn’t had hotteok in ages, not since...
“Hyung! Hyung, let’s get hotteok,” Jongin exclaims, grabbing Kyungsoo’s arm and tugging him toward the street vendor, mouth already watering as he imagines hot, melted sugar washing over his tongue.
There’s a small line-up, but Jongin doesn’t mind, eyeing the lady flattening down little balls of batter with her press. In all his excitement, Jongin doesn’t realise he’s still got a grip on Kyungsoo’s arm, only realising when Kyungsoo shifts next to him, a small chuckle escaping him. “I haven’t had hotteok since your graduation.”
Nostalgia crashes into excitement, Jongin quietly pulling his hand away from Kyungsoo’s arm, thankful that the evening’s dimness would hide the blush blooming across his cheeks. “I’ll treat you this time, hyung. Just so its fair.”
“Are you going to buy me hundreds of them?” Kyungsoo smirks, knuckles knocking against Jongin’s chest, amused. “If I recall correctly, a certain someone was always getting his hyung to buy him hotteok after school.”
“I didn’t know you were keeping an account,” Jongin grumbles, and this feels too easy, slipping into conversation with Kyungsoo like nothing’s wrong, like Jongin’s not constantly on the edge of feeling too much and too little.
“Try that pout on someone else.” Kyungsoo’s smiling though, nudging Jongin toward the stand. Jongin doesn’t let his mind linger on Kyungsoo’s hand pressed into the small of his back, focusing on placing their order, but just as he pulls out his wallet, Kyungsoo’s handing the lady the money. Jongin flushes, ready to repay Kyungsoo, but his hands are full of two styrofoam cups, Kyungsoo shuffling them away from the stand.
“I said I would pay,” Jongin puffs, hands warm from the hotteok.
Kyungsoo shrugs, pulling Jongin over to the entrance of a closed bookshop. “I didn’t want to break tradition. Besides, you can pay me back somehow.”
Jongin heart skitters at the suggestion, Kyungsoo’s eyes wide and knowing as he takes one of the cups from Jongin. Everything feels a little unfair, Jongin bringing hot hotteok to his mouth and biting carefully. Warmth washes over him, the sweetness of the dough matching the pleasant curve of Kyungsoo’s lips. Jongin thinks very carefully about why leaning in and tasting brown sugar from Kyungsoo’s mouth wouldn’t be a good idea no matter how much his body sings with desire.
In all his focus, Jongin hisses as hot sugar lands in the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing the burned skin to his mouth to suck the sugar off. He inspects the injury, milder than the initial sting, skin bruised red.
“Are you okay?” Kyungsoo gasps, grabbing Jongin’s hand, fingers cold against Jongin’s burnt skin.
“I’m fine, hyung,” Jongin mumbles, blushing as he tries to tug his hand out of Kyungsoo’s grip. “It’s no -- ”
But Kyungsoo’s not listening, blowing cool air onto the small wound, and Jongin would be lying if he said it didn’t feel good, for more reasons than just pain alleviation. His stomach seems to fly upwards, pushing at the tightness in his chest, up his throat as he watches Kyungsoo’s cheeks puff up, concern knit between his brows.
“You still haven’t learned to be careful, then,” Kyungsoo admonishes with a sigh, glancing up at Jongin. His face feels like it’s on fire, lip caught between his teeth as he finally tugs his hand away from Kyungsoo.
“It’s, it doesn’t hurt... that much,” Jongin argues weakly, Kyungsoo’s eyes sharp, Jongin wilts under the gaze, eating quietly, if with a lot more care. Kyungsoo still manages to finish before him, taking Jongin’s empty cup from him, inspecting Jongin’s hand a second time. He doesn’t bother putting up a fight, not with Kyungsoo’s no-nonsense stare fixed on him.
“Do you like worrying me?" Kyungsoo asks, but he doesn't sound angry, possibly a little endearing. Jongin's not sure; his mind gets a little fuddled every time Kyungsoo touches him.
"Of course not." Jongin tries not to think about three am phone calls and disappearing into the depths of his room for a month after swallowing down the biggest heartbreak of his life.
"Then why do I always find myself fretting over you?" Kyungsoo lets his hand go, fingers lingering over Jongin's wrist distractedly. They feel nice, warm, like Jongin wishes they could belong there.
"Because you like me so much?" Jongin laughs nervously, throat dry as anticipation and fear bubble up his abdomen.
"And how much do you like me?" Kyungsoo asks, tone low, smooth, the heavy lidded look he gives Jongin inspiring something akin to the trepidation at the very tip of a roller coaster, like Jongin's life is about to flash before his eyes. He shudders, back pressing into the brick wall of a bookstore Jongin's never seen before in his life. "Tomorrow, after your shift, have coffee with me, alright? We can catch up."
"Uh, y-yeah," Jongin nods, suddenly so fucking terrified that his heartbeat seems to calm down, biting the urge to run after his heart as it seems to get ready to swan dive off a cliff with Kyungsoo.
"Come on, I promised to get you to the subway," Kyungsoo smiles, tugging on Jongin's wrist to kickstart him into motion. The rest of the night goes by in a quiet blur, Kyungsoo's fingers running through Jongin's hair as he waves him goodbye.
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