Through the Midnight Streets (3/3)
Two months ago
The fight is about Joonmyun, and it's a terrible one.
This time, Kyungsoo is only in town for a night. He's been in London for the past few days, attending a seminar with some other Columbia undergrads. Half of today has been reserved for a tour of the main sites, before they all fly back to the States--but Kyungsoo decides to take the train to Paris instead.
"Did Jongin ever tell you we went to London one weekend?" Joonmyun asks over dinner.
"Yes, hyung," Kyungsoo replies. He spears a fusilli noodle with his fork and carefully places it into his mouth. "I heard it rained."
"We're gonna go together next time," Jongin explains, pouring himself some water from a decanter. He refills Kyungsoo's glass, too, and the visitor murmurs his thanks.
"I see." Joonmyun's tone is observational. "That should be something." When Jongin places the decanter back on its woven doily, he catches Joonmyun looking at him.
They'd been running errands together when Kyungsoo called, already outside the flat in Le Marais. Another surprise. Jongin had been disconcerted, ready to drop everything and rush home. But Joonmyun had taken the phone out of his hand and calmly given Kyungsoo directions to a bistro in the same arondissement, where they would meet him.
It makes Jongin skittish, having the two of them in such close quarters. He's not sure why this quaint Italian restaurant feels booby-trapped.
"I told Soo about our trips to the countryside, too," he adds, not sure if he's helping or not.
"Oh, yes." Joonmyun turns his attention to Kyungsoo. "We might squeeze in a visit to Cannes before this guy graduates." He cocks his head in Jongin's direction, maintaining eye contact with their guest. "Wanna come?"
"I don't think I can." Kyungsoo sips his water. There's a slice of lemon floating in it. "I'll be studying for finals by then, hyung."
Ah, Joonmyun mouths, shrugging his acceptance. It can't be helped. He looks to Jongin for support, and while the expression on his face is guileless, it also puts forth the question, What next?
Jongin chews on the inside of his cheek. He doesn't recall the conversation being this stilted back when they all lived next door to one other. Then again, he's starting to doubt if any of them remember things the same way. It's the unreliable nature of shared memory--each person absorbing minute details, chancing upon stolen moments, and coming away with unspoken truths the others simply did not.
Kyungsoo wipes his mouth on his napkin. "Besides," he says, letting the square of linen fall back into his lap, "I wouldn't want to intrude."
The tightness in his face eases somewhat when both Jongin and Joonmyun dispute him. But his grin remains flat and devoid of humor, and it soon disappears behind a long draught of merlot.
The meal winds down too slowly for Jongin, who only wants to usher Kyungsoo back to Le Marais, into the hush of his flat. But Joonmyun keeps ordering things off the menu--delicacies with foreign names for all three of them to share, a different red to pair with each rich plate. And while Jongin is grateful (and stuffed, and a little hot under the collar), Joonmyun's only prolonging the most uncomfortable dinner they've ever had.
"Do you eat like this all the time?" Kyungsoo asks in the middle of the dessert course. His lips are darker in the center, where they've come in contact (repeatedly) with his wine glass.
"Not quite this much," Jongin replies, carefully drawing the alcohol away and replacing it with water.
"You said you dine out with hyung a couple times a week," Kyungsoo asserts, as though it's just the two of them in the restaurant and Joonymun isn't seated right across the table. "You guys still do that?" His voice is peculiar--a little too high, a touch too casual.
"Um, yeah?" Jongin's eyes dart in the older man's direction, then back to Kyungsoo. "We need to eat." His laugh sounds feeble, even to him.
"I think hyung likes to eat with you specifically," Kyungsoo says. He takes his fingers off the sweating water glass and swipes them across his lips. "Take you out. Wine and dine you." His cheeks and forehead are a pale crimson when he finally addresses Joonmyun. "Isn't that right, hyung?
The look Joonmyun levels at him is probing. "Pretty much," he replies, his age showing in his composure. "Jongin's a good dongsaeng, and very good company." He punctuates this with a confident smile, which is meant to loop Jongin into the conversation, and which the dancer can't seem to reciprocate.
"Dongsaeng," Kyungsoo repeats. There's something scornful about it, and it immediately puts Jongin on edge. "I've never heard you use that word, hyung."
He's bringing his wine back to his lips when Jongin stops him. "Soo," he says, "you've had enough."
"I'm fine, Jongin."
"You're drunk," the other replies. But Kyungsoo's not even looking at him anymore.
"I should've called before I took the train from London." He barks out a laugh, and it's brittle, breathy. His words are starting to bleed into each other. "I feel like you two were--are--on some sort of date."
"You're drunk, Soo," Jongin says again. He tamps down a flare of frustration and sends a loaded glance Joonmyun's way. "Let's get the bill, please, hyung?"
Joonmyun's already on it, dependable to a fault. "I'll take care of this," the elder says, putting up a hand when his words meet with resistance. "You should take Kyungsoo home. Let him sleep it off. He still has a flight to catch in the morning."
"I can hear you," Kyungsoo says, much too loud, glassy eyes glued to the stem of his glass, "and I'm not drunk."
Under the table, Jongin places a hand on his knee to shush him. He dips his head low, so as to catch Kyungsoo's eye.
But the latter fixates on the dregs of wine pooling ruby in his glass. He refuses to give in. The muscles in his jaw work, clenching and unclenching under the skin. When Jongin tells Joonmyun thank you, taking leave for them both and promising to text when they're back at the apartment, Kyungsoo pushes back his chair and wobbles to his feet. He doesn't bother with a goodbye.
"Slow down," Jongin warns. "You'll hurt yourself."
Kyungsoo is brisk-walking ahead, leaving Jongin to tail him. It's clear just how much he's had to drink by the sway in his gait. A streetlamp catches him on the shoulder as he rounds a corner. He grunts in pain, bringing up one arm to half-hug the other, rubbing at the sore spot. But he doesn't stop moving, and he pays Jongin no mind.
"Soo," Jongin perseveres. "Slow down." He strides forth, hauling Kyungsoo to a stop by the sleeve of his shirt. "The streets in this district are really run down. You're going to trip over one of these things." He kicks at the edge of a brick protruding from the street. "See?"
Soundlessly, Kyungsoo stumbles forward, the fabric of his shirt slipping out of Jongin's grasp.
There is a pinch in Jongin's gut. His lips twitch. "Kyungsoo. Come on." And he curls his fingers into the same long sleeve.
This time, Kyungsoo wrenches his arm away. "Let me be, Jongin," he snaps, to the other's complete surprise. "I don't need you to take care of me."
He's glaring now, but it isn't just annoyance Jongin sees in those wide eyes. It's resentment and frustration, and a bewildered sort of fear.
"What's your problem?" Jongin shoots back, running out of patience himself. "Why are you being so difficult?"
Kyungsoo laughs in his face. It cracks like a whip, and his eyes harden into points. "You're one to talk."
"Me?" Jongin's eyebrows shoot up defensively. "I'm being difficult?" The slow, deliberate exhale is meant to regulate his tone. "You're the one who was sullen all throughout dinner, and who left the table without so much as a glance in hyung's direction."
"And you're the one leading him on," Kyungsoo retorts, lips stained red, like his bloodshot eyes. "It's disgusting to watch."
He might as well have taken a baseball bat to Jongin's stomach--once, twice, ten times--because the force with which that hits him is debilitating. Jongin's mouth parts, the sudden pain sitting heavy on his tongue, in his throat. He can feel his heart bleeding.
"You expect me to believe you don't notice? Please," Kyungsoo scoffs, leaning against a lamppost to stay upright. His bangs have begun to plaster against his sweaty forehead. "I've known you all my life. Know you inside out."
Redness seeps through his pale skin from neck to hairline, and his breathing comes out labored. He's wasted. But even as Kyungsoo slurs his words, they manage to hit their target, again and again.
"The way he looks at you, Jongin." His mouth sets in a drunken sneer. "Must be hard to resist."
The last molecule of air leaves Jongin's lungs. This is not his Kyungsoo. This Kyungsoo is relentless, vengeful, and bitter, spitting out his words like a jealous lover.
"Guess I know your type now," Kyungsoo says. "Successful golden boy." His careless tone is so far-removed from the grave child Jongin first fell in love with. "But hyung's pushing thirty now, so it's...what? Rich older guy?"
The air between them reeks of alcohol. Jongin feels something inside him give.
"Fuck you." His voice is deathly quiet, fingernails digging shallow graves into his tender palms. "You don't know anything about me."
And it's like a switch has been turned off. Kyungsoo freezes in place, expression stricken.
"What do you care if he looks at me a certain way? Talks to me a certain way? Likes me a certain way?" Jongin barrels on. "So what if he does? That has nothing to do with you."
Anger is a trap with sharp teeth, snapping closed over his heart. "I don't have to explain myself to you," Jongin mutters. "But hyung's never told me he loves me, and he's never made me feel uncomfortable or pressured or obligated--and until he does, if he ever does, I'm going to keep acting the way I always have around him, because I care about him like he was my own family."
"Jongin," Kyungsoo says quickly, Adam's apple bobbing, "Jongin, I didn't mean it--"
But Jongin's had enough for one night. He shakes his head forcefully, fighting the wetness threatening at the corners of his eyes. "How could you even say that to me?" It hurts when he swallows, his throat completely dry. "I know that, that we're different--"
"I didn't mean it," Kyungsoo whispers, taking a shaky step forward. "We're not different, we're the same. We're exactly the same, Jongin. Please," he begs. "I'm drunk and talking stupid, and I'm out of mind because--"
Jongin cuts him off. "You only notice the way people look at me," he mutters, lowering his eyes. "You never notice the way people look at you."
"What people?" Kyungsoo asks, coiling his fingers around Jongin's wrist. "Jongin, listen..."
There's a rumble on the street--a cab approaching. It slows down solicitously. The driver raises his eyebrows at Jongin through the windshield. Jongin knows how rare that is at midnight, on a Monday, in Paris.
He pulls his arm away. "I'm going home." He reaches for the handle of the passenger door. "Find your own way back. You know where I keep my spare key."
He leaves Kyungsoo standing in the street, the color draining from his face. The cab pulls away from the sidewalk, and Jongin slumps down in the backseat, feeling battered and bruised.
He's still awake when the door to his bedroom creaks open. The mattress dips under his side. The breath that fans over his cheek smells like toothpaste, not wine.
Jongin's still smarting from earlier, but he's glad Kyungsoo's made it home in one piece.
"Soo?"
"I messed up," a chastened voice responds.
"It was the wine talking," Jongin mumbles. "I forgive you." It's true. He has. Hours ago, in the cab ride back to Le Marais, as he watched the lights of the city shimmer on the surface of the Seine.
"You shouldn't," Kyungsoo says. "I said awful things. You'll remember now, every time you see me."
"I forgive you," Jongin says again, putting conviction in his tone, because he doesn't want to turn over and have to look Kyungsoo in the eye. "I'll forget all about it by morning."
"Do you promise, Jongin?" The earnestness has returned to Kyungsoo's voice, just the way Jongin remembers it.
It's not naiveté, but a weary sort of loyalty, that makes him say, "I promise."
They stay like that--Jongin curled on his side, Kyungsoo mirroring his position, a space between one's back and the other's chest.
Jongin shuts his eyes, letting sleep take him.
"I'm sorry," Kyungsoo whispers, finally, the guilt in his voice rooted miles deep.
He says it again, in the morning, in a little note Jongin finds on his nightstand under a glass of water. Kyungsoo's gone by then, having left for the airport before he woke up.
I'm sorry, the slip of paper reads, front to back.
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry
The call comes two months later, when Jongin is at lunch with Joonmyun.
"Hello?" he says into the receiver, his heart beating a mile a minute.
The girls who pass him on the street look over their shoulders, curiosity piqued by the foreign language (and the beautiful boy speaking it). Jongin doesn't notice, because he's waited so long to hear this voice again.
"Jongin," Kyungsoo murmurs, gentle and unsure. "Hey...it's me."
Present day
The coffee in both their cups has gone cold. There's an unusually strong wind today that sifts through Jongin's hair and cools the warm pink suffusing his cheeks.
"Are you mad, hyung?" he asks quietly.
Joonmyun isn't as quick to smile as he usually is. He tugs at his earlobe, measuring his words. "No, Jongin-ah," he replies after some time. His mouth is small and round, like a rosebud. "Just disappointed."
"I'm really sorry." Jongin reaches across the table to squeeze the back of his hand. He wants to shield Joonmyun from this, even though he knows it's impossible. "I wish I could feel the same way."
Joonmyun flips his palm, and Jongin lets him hold his hand. "But there's no one else."
The younger stays tight-lipped. His slow nod says it all.
"Even if he never comes around?" Joonmyun's eyes are soft under the canopy of his lashes.
Jongin sighs. It's been ten years. "Even then."
The smile Joonmyun permits him is sweet, albeit more subdued than Jongin is used to. He looks eighteen again, like the day Jongin met him. "All right, kid."
He slips his hand out of Jongin's grasp and beckons to a server for their bill.
"On second thought, Jongin-ah," the older man says, "would you mind giving me those songs before you leave for Seoul?" Joonmyun's lips curl into the faintest grin. "God, I'm going to be so bored by the time you get back to Paris. Pray I don't die of old age." Here, he lets out a melodious laugh, and he leans over to muss Jongin's hair. "This better be an upbeat playlist, kid."
"I'll make sure of it, hyung," Jongin replies, feeling warm and whole. A sense of relief floods his insides. When the cheque arrives, he reaches for it immediately. "It's on me again, okay?"
"You bet it is," Joonmyun quips, settling back into his chair. "I think it's a small price to pay, don't you?" Then he winks, and something tells Jongin they're going to be okay.
The whole family flies in the night before commencement. It's late in the evening by the time they settle into their hotel. Ahjumma calls Jongin to say they'll see him at the ceremony.
"Oh, and Kyungsoo wants to talk to you, darling," she tacks on at the end of their brief exchange. "Let me put him on."
Jongin doesn't even get to give her a reply.
"You're still up?" a familiar voice asks. Hiii, Jonginnie, the noonas coo in the background. The initial voice remains levelled. "It's late."
"Hi, Soo." Jongin toys with the cord of his landline phone. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Definitely. Looking worse for wear." Jongin hears the sound of a door closing, and the other end grows quiet. "How've you been?"
It's a toss-up between small talk and the truth, so Jongin chooses what he's always been better at. "I've missed you."
Kyungsoo's breath is a caress against the receiver. "Me, too," he admits. No hesitation. "I'm so sorry about what I said, and how I acted, and everything else. I..." His voice breaks. "I hate that we left things that way. But I was too ashamed to call, or even write. I dunno," and Jongin imagines him gnawing on his lip, "I dunno why I'm just bringing this up now, when I should've addressed it in our last conversation."
"We're fine, Soo," Jongin assures him. "We were fine two months ago, just like I told you. And I was really happy you called this week."
It's cautious, verging on coy, the way Kyungsoo says, "I was afraid you'd hang up on me."
"Nah." Jongin smirks. It's getting easier to talk to him again. "You were calling long distance. That would've been rude."
The chuckle is more polite than anything, but it breaks the ice. Kyungsoo spends the next half-hour telling him about the flight from New York to Paris and updating him on the things they didn't get to discuss last time. How he's decided to do another year at Columbia to turn that music minor into a second major. How Tao and Song Qian have broken up (which Jongin knew about) and how Sehun has finally convinced Soojung to move in with him after graduation (which makes Jongin smile).
It's just a half-hour, and then they say goodnight. But it's in the span of those thirty minutes that Jongin makes his first adult decision--because he is an adult now, as scary as it seems.
This thing with Kyungsoo, he decides, whatever it is--and even if this is all it's going to be, for the rest of his life--this is enough for him. He'll take it any day over no Kyungsoo at all.
It goes by so fast. One day, Jongin is a wide-eyed teenager, fresh off the boat from South Korea, trying to navigate his way around the campus in loose-fitting dance clothes without speaking a word of French. The next thing he knows, he's standing in the confettied aftermath of his commencement ceremony; his teachers are kissing him on both cheeks, European-style; he's taking obligatory portraits with Ahjumma and Ahjussi and selfies with the older kids and big family photos with Kyungsoo by his side, and everybody is saying congratulations, Jongin-ah, congratulations, you did it!
Somewhere in the chaos, he spots Joonmyun, who hands him a plump, innocuous bouquet of sunflowers. Joonmyun says congratulations, too, as Jongin pulls him into a bear hug.
"Thank you, hyung!" he yells above the din. "I'm glad you came."
He catches Kyungsoo staring at them, over Joonmyun's shoulder. He ducks his head immediately when he realizes Jongin has noticed.
Then Seungsoo-hyung is clapping his old schoolmate Joonmyun on the back and drawing him away to catch up. That clears a straight path from where Jongin is standing to where Kyungsoo is waiting. Pressed grown-up suit, floppy boyish hair.
"I'm sorry I didn't bring you flowers," Kyungsoo says when Jongin sidles up to him. "There wasn't enough time this morning, and I didn't know where the nearest florist was, or that Mom and Dad had ordered theirs in advance..."
"They're just flowers," Jongin tells him plainly. His parents' bouquet is with Ji-noona, somewhere. "And anyway, you're here." The noon sun hits the tops of Kyungsoo's cheeks just right, so his skin glows champagne. Jongin can see his reflection in the other's black wayfarers. "That's all that matters."
The whole family goes out to lunch--fancy place along the Champs-Élysées, private room, bellinis. The twins can't stop fussing over Jongin, how grown up "their baby" looks, and how handsome. Seungsoo has him pledge season tickets to the Paris Opera Ballet, because his new girlfriend is wild about dance. Ahjussi says, "I'm proud of you, son," as Ahjumma looks on radiantly from the other end of the table.
And all the while, under the table, Kyungsoo's thigh presses gently against Jongin's, as he smiles and sips his sparkling water and laughs at whatever makes Jongin laugh, saying as little as possible.
Jongin decides to spend his last few nights in the flat in Le Marais, despite Ahjumma's insistence that he crash with them at the hotel. He tells her he isn't quite packed up yet, but it's more a childish case of separation anxiety. He'll be coming back, of course, after a long, glorious summer in Seoul. But Jongin has always been a creature of habit.
When the moon rises on his commencement day, he takes his leave. He promises his family tours upon tours of the city for the remainder of their visit. Tomorrow, they'll start with the Eiffel Tower.
Kyungsoo is waiting for him in the lobby.
"Are you coming with me?" Jongin asks, picking at the knot of his tie and offering a smile like he would a handshake.
"Yes," is the succinct reply. Kyungsoo adjusts the strap of his weekend bag, where it's twisted on his shoulder. "Let's go."
Kyungsoo fits into his apartment like Jongin fits into his spot in the Tuileries. He leaves his shoes by the umbrella stand near the door, his suit jacket over the back of the sofa, and his toothbrush in the extra glass on Jongin's bathroom counter. He unlocks the door to the terrace with the tricky push-and-jiggle that Jongin taught him two years ago, when he first showed up. He uses the blue mugs to steep their tea in, because the white ones are chipped on the rims. He remembers to pull the tea bag out of Jongin's quickly, because Jongin doesn't like it too dark.
They stay out on the terrace for a while, soaking in the skyline like stars on land. They talk of easy, unimportant things, and later on, of dreams.
It doesn't matter if they don't love you, Jongin internalizes, watching Kyungsoo's lips curve over vowels and consonants. When you see Paris with someone you love, it's twice as beautiful.
At some point, he ventures back inside to replenish their teas. Kyungsoo follows him as far as the portal to the terrace.
The water that remains in Jongin's stainless steel kettle is still hot. Steam escapes when he lifts the lid to check. He portions it out between their two mugs, careful not to scald himself.
"I like this," Kyungsoo says from his post.
Jongin tosses a grin over his shoulder. "It's nice, being at home. We spent so much time out of the apartment every time you came to visit."
"I like it when it's just us two," Kyungsoo tells him. "It's like before, when we were younger. Remember how we used to pick all the grass in the garden, because we thought they were weeds?"
Jongin frees a pair of tea bags from their paper sheaths. He drops one into each mug. "Oh, god. I do remember that." He lets the bag in Kyungsoo's mug rest, but bounces the one in his. "We were so dumb."
"And how about that time," Kyungsoo says, "when I taught you to how play 'Chopsticks' on the piano?"
"Of course." Jongin deposits his tea bag in the sink. "It's the only thing I can play to this day."
"And do you remember what you told me," Kyungsoo presses on, voice gone suddenly soft, "the night before you left for Paris?"
The whole world stops.
A shiver steals up Jongin's spine, setting his nerves on fire. He blinks at the water in their mugs--amber in Kyungsoo's, pale yellow in his. He doesn't let himself breathe.
"You told me you loved me."
Jongin can only hear the quiet, ragged sound of his own breathing. "Yes," he murmurs, "I did."
"I didn't get it then," Kyungsoo says, no louder than a whisper. "Maybe I didn't want to. But I worked it out soon enough."
Feet as heavy as clay, chest as full as a lake, Jongin turns around.
Kyungsoo's face is pale, and he's holding himself rigid. He looks terrified. But there's no turning back now. "Don't you love me anymore, Jongin?"
The dancer's exhale leaves him in a whimper.
"I know you love me," Kyungsoo says, desperately, adamantly. "I know you do. There's no way," he shakes his head, "no way, that you can love hyung more than you love me." His eyes seem even larger now than they were when he was a boy, shining with hope and fear. "I don't know what I'll do if you--"
"You're so stubborn," Jongin cuts in, and he's crossing the room in mere strides. "You never listen."
In a moment, his arms close around Kyungsoo's slim body. He pulls Kyungsoo against him--so, so tightly--curving the other's back from the force of his embrace. Arms snake around his neck, locking them even closer together. Kyungsoo hooks his chin over Jongin's shoulder, and the dancer catches his fresh soap smell as he leans in to empty his heart.
"I love you." He tattoos the words against Kyungsoo's neck. A reminder, and a promise. "There's no one else for me."
It feels natural when Kyungsoo's fingers thread into his hair, because Jongin has imagined it just like this. It feels natural when Kyungsoo tightens his grip, using it as leverage to bring Jongin's face down to his. And when Kyungsoo tilts up his chin, and brushes the tip of his nose against Jongin's, and parts his lips, so they can press together in a long, slow, memory-wiping kiss, it feels more than natural.
It's like coming home.
The night seems to stretch on forever, like the smooth, fair skin of Kyungsoo's body when Jongin finally gets him naked.
"Take off your clothes," Kyungsoo appeals, slipping his hand down the back of Jongin's slacks to rest over his ass.
Jongin kisses him in response. "Open your mouth," he says, and Kyungsoo lets their tongues slide against each other, warm and moist. "Have you ever kissed a guy before?"
"No," Kyungsoo murmurs into his mouth. "I've only ever wanted you."
There is a spike of pleasure in Jongin's gut. "I've been waiting for you to come to me," he admits shakily. "Never thought you would." He bites his tongue, embarrassed by his own candor, and Kyungsoo pecks his lips, like he understands perfectly.
Then he flips them both over, so he's straddling Jongin's thighs. He runs his hands underneath Jongin's shirt, pulling the fabric with him, palms skating hot over Jongin's abs. The dancer props up his arms obediently, so Kyungsoo can get the shirt off him. Then his fingers are tugging Jongin's jeans open and sliding them down along with his underwear. The pit of Jongin's stomach coils with arousal when he thinks of the state they're in right now--nude and kissing frantically in his bed.
Kyungsoo lays right on top of him. "How many lovers have you had?" Their hips align. "You're always so secretive with me." He shifts his weight, clearly a novice, trying to get comfortable. It's completely by accident when he grinds against Jongin, and the gasps they let out are simultaneous.
"Jongin," Kyungsoo breathes, and his cheeks are so pink, "how many?"
"We haven't even gotten started," Jongin teases, "and already you're jealous?" Kyungsoo kisses him hard to shut him up.
He gets lost in it, a little bit, like he's forgotten his own question. When Jongin breaks away--his hands on Kyungsoo's ass, and Kyungsoo's lips dropping to his throat--he's panting.
"None," Jongin admits, and Kyungsoo bites the dip of his neck. "But I can show you what I do when I think about you."
He flips them over a second time, so he's on top once again. Kyungsoo laughs openly, because it's starting to feel like a competition.
The joke is short-lived, if anything. All the mirth seeps out of Kyungsoo's expression, mellowing into tenderness and desire, the moment Jongin tells him, "I want to make you feel good."
The bright green swathe of the Champs de Mars and the city beyond it is almost dizzying from this height. Jongin wishes he'd come to see the view sooner, instead of being such a snob about the Eiffel Tower's endless lines.
"You mean to say you've never been here before?" Kyungsoo asks in disbelief.
Behind him, Seungsoo is taking a photo of their parents. Ahjumma's got a silk scarf knotted at her throat, and Ahjussi's wearing a jaunty panama hat--but their striped couple tees are unmistakeable.
"I mean..." Jongin casts about for an excuse. "I've seen it countless times, Soo. Picnics down there on the grass, the best background shots from Trocadéro--"
"But you've never gone up here." Kyungsoo's smirk is playful. "You've lived here four years, Jongin-ah, and you never gave in to your inner tourist."
"I know, right?" Jongin relents cutely. Kyungsoo pokes his cheek. "Who knew I was missing the best view in town?"
The sudden click of a camera sounds much too close for comfort. The pair of them turn to look. Seungsoo snaps another candid right before he escapes, his cheerful face marked by a sage kind of knowing.
It's just innocent flirting, but Kyungsoo colors like they've been caught in bed, right after Jongin's made him come.
Jongin hesitates for a second, drawing away so there's more space between them. Instantly, Kyungsoo tugs him back. He laces their fingers together.
"Don't do that," he says lightly, and Jongin smiles again. "It's just me. I'm not used to...this."
"This?" Jongin strokes his thumb against Kyungsoo's knuckle.
"Being in love with you," the other explains, "and not having to hide it."
"I can hardly believe you are," Jongin murmurs. Now he's blushing, too.
"Will you come visit me in New York?" Kyungsoo asks, squeezing Jongin's hand. "Or will you make me work for it?"
"I don't know," Jongin jests, eyes curving happily. "It took you ten years to notice me. Isn't it payback time?"
Kyungsoo sneaks a kiss onto his cheek, right next to his ear. It so simple, but it makes Jongin feel so loved.
"We'll work it out, won't we?" Kyungsoo gazes at their linked hands. He shuffles his feet like a nervous child. "We'll have the summer together, in Seoul, and then after, when I go back to school, and you start with The Ballet..." He looks to Jongin for reassurance.
"We'll be okay," is the answer he gets. Jongin brings up their hands so he can plant a kiss on the back of Kyungsoo's. "We love each other."
Seoul, eight years later
It is considered a mystery in the dance world--a minor scandal--when Kim Jongin, principal at the Paris Opera Ballet and the first Asian to ever hold the title, decides not to renew his contract at the tender age of twenty-nine.
But when, a year later, Jongin debuts his own company, it is received with rapt attention and almost universal acclaim. This select troupe, based in Seoul, and accepting dancers from all over the world, is poised to change the face of modern ballet.
They explode onto the scene with The Black Swan, a scintillating adaptation of Swan Lake. It's set to an original score by the elusive Korean composer, D.O.--seen regularly in the company of ballet star Kim Jongin, and rumored to be a chaebol (or so the entertainment shows say).
The savvy refer to the company as the "ABA," short for Areum Ballet Academy. Areum, after Jongin's mother.
Ahjumma and Ahjussi are among his primary investors. Upon his request, the money they'd put away long ago, on behalf of his late mother, is funnelled into a scholarship fund for talented candidates of lesser means. Jongin sees to the selection process himself, because he'd once been a lost child with so much potential and only so far to go.
It's late on a Friday afternoon when Jongin informs his first choice--an achingly fluid dancer named Taemin--that he has a future with the ABA. The look of shining delight that beams off the teenager's face is enough to make his day.
Jongin's in high spirits when he walks out of the building (his building, and he still can't wrap his head around the fact sometimes). The kid, Taemin, has just sent him a text message.
Thank you so much for meeting with me and accepting me into the company, he gushes. I promise I won't ever let you down. You won't regret it! ^^
Jongin can feel just how wide his smile is. The pleasure of making someone deserving happy prickles over his skin, warm as the sun. Jongin's still got a lot of dance left in him--ten years' worth, maybe, if his legs hold out. But it satisfies him, knowing that when he finally decides to bow out, he has something to pass on.
There's a midnight blue Mercedes parked by the curb. Its windows are tinted a sophisticated oyster, but Jongin doesn't need to see in to know who owns it. One of the windows rolls down when he pulls up to the passenger seat.
"Surprise," Kyungsoo murmurs, his smile petal-soft. He looks handsome in the dark sunglasses that sheath his eyes--but then again, he always looks handsome to Jongin. "Thought you might need a ride."
"Hi," Jongin replies, already melting inside. The years have not diminished his feelings for this man. "How'd you know what time I was getting off?"
"I asked Chauffeur Lee." Kyungsoo reaches over to open the door for him. "In you go."
Jongin climbs into the front seat with a chuckle. He fastens his seatbelt, and Kyungsoo pecks him on the mouth while he's doing it. Jongin presses in eagerly, and they kiss each other hello a few more times before Kyungsoo draws back.
He sighs. "You have to stop letting Mom talk you into these once-a-week family sleepovers."
Jongin thumbs at the corner of his mouth, where it's still a little damp, and Kyungsoo playfully bites the tip. "Why?" the dancer asks, as he runs his thumb over Kyungsoo lips. "I love hanging out with the family."
"I do, too," Kyungsoo says, "but it's so much harder to get you alone when we stay over there."
Jongin laughs. "As compared to?"
"Our apartment?" Kyungsoo slides his shades down his nose, bugging out his eyes. "Or your old flat in Paris, or hotel rooms when we travel, or that men's room in New York--"
"That was one time," Jongin interjects, heat swiftly spreading across his cheeks.
"Still easier to have you to myself in a public restroom than in my parents' house," Kyungsoo grumbles. "They all want a piece of you--Ji-Noona, Mi-Noona, even Seungsoo-hyung--and you just end up ignoring me."
In the midst of being mortified, Jongin manages to find him adorable.
"Soo." He cups Kyungsoo's nape. "You do realize how lucky we are."
There's no mistaking his meaning. When they'd told the family they were together, the reaction had been one of love and acceptance--and relief, if Jongin had read his foster parents' expressions right. They were probably as worried about Kyungsoo as he was, back in those days.
"Fine, you win," Kyungsoo acquiesces. He leans into Jongin's touch, and then a little further in. "But just so you know..."
He whispers darkly into Jongin's ear, and everything spins for a second, because Jongin is as in love with him as ever.
"I missed you today." Kyungsoo's voice is low and grave. "Meet me in my room later?" Jongin's lashes flutter. "Please, Jongin-ah."
The dancer turns his face to slot their lips together.
"I will." They can barely keep their hands off each other when they're alone. This kind of kissing is Jongin's favorite--languid and deep, like a slow dance. "Just wait for me."
The brassy clang of a phone inside the quiet car comes off rude--almost deliberate. They both groan when they hear it (too loud, too fast, too soon). A final, lingering brush of lips, and they break apart reluctantly.
Kyungsoo slides his phone out of his jacket pocket. He takes one look at the caller ID before handing the device to Jongin. His smile is resigned, but also affectionate.
"Love you," he sighs. He puts the car into drive. "Let's do this."
Jongin strokes a knuckle along his jawline. "Love you, too." His voice cuts clear through the persistent ringtone.
Kyungsoo keeps his eyes on the road, but Jongin doesn't miss their telltale upward curve underneath those sunglasses.
He picks up the call.
"Hello? Hi, it's Jongin. Yup, we're on the way. See you in a bit, Omoni."
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