Dedication (3/4)
Do Kyungsoo and Byun Baekhyun had been Chanyeol's best friends from middle school to high school.
Chanyeol had met Kyungsoo first, in seventh grade, at music club. He'd taken an instant liking to this small, passive boy, all baby eyes and butter voice. The moment he heard Kyungsoo sing, he'd decided for them both--they were going to be buddies.
Every time Chanyeol draped himself over the shorter kid's back ("What're you doing? What're you eating? Who're you texting?"), Kyungsoo had shrugged him off ("Chanyeol. Sit down."). But for the most part, he'd gone along with it. Sometimes, he'd even place his hand on Chanyeol's elbow while they walked home from school. A victorious Chanyeol would grin the whole way, but he'd refrain from making any sudden movements, lest Kyungsoo realize what he was doing.
Baekhyun had transferred in from Gyeonggi-do in the eighth grade. Chanyeol had liked him right away, too. Baekhyun was funny and charming and could out-talk anyone who poked fun of his accent--and the way he sang led every girl in their class to ask for his cellphone number. The best part? Baekhyun had barnacle tendencies, too. He'd clung to Chanyeol and clung to Kyungsoo, sometimes both at once. In no time at all, the three of them were thick as thieves.
Chansoobaek. That's what Baekhyun'd dubbed them.
In eleventh grade, Chanyeol'd dropped all his baby weight and hit his growth spurt with a vengeance. Kyungsoo and Baekhyun'd done the same--except they'd plateaued at five-foot-eight, five-foot-nine, while Chanyeol towered over them both at six-foot-one.
"You're so tall," Kyungsoo had remarked in the library one day, as Chanyeol stretched to his full height to grab a book from the top shelf.
"Thanks," had been Chanyeol's cheeky response. He'd shot love bullets at Kyungsoo with both hands, winking over his shoulder for added insult.
He'd expected Kyungsoo to grimace. Pitch a wad of paper between his brows. Squeeze in a barb or two. Chanyeol'd loved riling him up, because stoic, surly Kyungsoo would always take the bait.
This time, the shorter boy had looked straight into his face, quiet and still, his huge eyes almost fond.
"Don't worry, Soo," Baekhyun had quipped in his seat. He'd stroked a knuckle across Kyungsoo's cheekbone. "You're still the most handsome."
"Shut up, Baek," Kyungsoo had retorted without delay.
And Baekhyun cackled so boisterously, the librarian had rounded a corner to give him a scolding, shaking her stumpy finger at him. Chanyeol had laughed, too, with more reserve. It came hand in hand with the knowledge that no matter what, he'd always like Kyungsoo a tiny bit more than anybody else.
Chanyeol can't say no to Jongin. And it's not because Jongin is a cute, crafty dongsaeng who knows how to finagle whatever he wants from whomever he wants. Or because Jongin keeps Chanyeol sane with his texts and their trips to Café Matisse when the writer's brain stalls from sheer exhaustion. It's not even because Jongin has developed this uncanny knack for knowing exactly what Chanyeol needs to do or hear or see or taste whenever he's bored or stressed or procrastinating or stumped, the words for the next chapter of his book knotted up in his subconscious like the threads of a dreamcatcher.
All that helps, of course, the way warm tea calms a spoilt stomach. But the real reason, Chanyeol realizes, with lead in his gut, is a different one altogether.
Jongin, the manboy with the floppy hair and fuzzy smile and fluid movements that steal Chanyeol's breath from his lungs, is his new muse.
It could be anybody, Chanyeol assures himself, biting his lip raw. He's the ideal subject, and you need him for the book, and he's a really cool kid beyond that, so you like him even more. The writer taps a nail against his backspace key, deleting the last sentence he's written. That's all it means. But it could be anybody.
Like Kyungsoo.
The last thought washes over him like a returning tide. Chanyeol spits out his gum and rubs his eyes and cracks his neck, keeping it at bay.
They go for fried chicken lunches more often than Chanyeol can count. Jongin loves chicken even more than he loves tempura--in any marinade. Soy garlic. Sweet and spicy. Salt and pepper. Cheese. He even likes it plain. When, with gusto, he sinks his teeth into a thigh, the golden-brown crunch of the breading gets all over his mouth.
Instinctively, Chanyeol wipes it away. "I thought you were on a diet?" Soft skin meets his calloused typing fingertips.
"It's not a diet--"
"It's maintenance." Chanyeol draws his hand back, brushing off crumbs and a telling, tingling sensation. "Is this much fried food okay?"
"Yeah," Jongin replies. He hands Chanyeol a wet wipe. "We're training hard nowadays, so I can barely keep any fat on me as it is."
Jongin has been looking more slender lately. The length of his collarbones presses against his thin shirt. Jongin only wears thin ones, all the time, with his worn-in joggers, so he doesn't have to change whenever he gets to the practice studio. Dancer uniform, he calls it, patting the pair of pointe shoes he stashes in his rucksack. This "uniform" makes him look longer and leaner, his build chameleonic. Chanyeol has watched him from the windows of chimaek restaurants many times, crossing the street at a busy intersection, easily passing for an athlete or a model or an artist. Always an enigma.
"You should eat more if that's the case." Chanyeol plops a chicken leg onto the dancer's plate. He's been staring again, and he knows Jongin has noticed, because Jongin has that curious expression in his eyes that Chanyeol has spied one too many times. He pretends it isn't there. "Have some of the radishes. They're good."
Later, Jongin will tell him he was right--that the radishes were sweet and refreshing, and that Chanyeol should try the sweet potato fries. He makes no mention of the pregnant pause Chanyeol let swell in the interim.
They aren't always on their own.
"I was thinking of going to Rome in the fall," Jongdae says on one such occasion. His arm is slung over the back of Sunyoung's chair. "What do you think? Roman holiday for us and the girls."
Chanyeol's arm is draped similarly over the back of Jongin's chair. He doesn't know how it got there--or how it looks. "Sounds amazing," he replies, placing his arm on the table.
Jongin slumps down comfortably, dropping his head against the back of his chair. His neck is smooth bamboo, marked only by the knot of his Adam's apple. "Am I invited?"
"Of course," Jongdae and Chanyeol chime in at once. The latter colors at the sound of his own enthusiasm, bleeding bright into his voice.
Jongin's face is turned Jongdae's way. It keeps his expression cloaked, but Chanyeol can hear the traces of a smile in it. "Sounds amazing, then."
"Great!" Sunyoung's got a mischievous look on her face. "So you two can help oppa here plan the whole thing." She pops a cube of radish into her mouth with a wink.
"No way!" Jongdae declares. "I'm doing this solo. If Chanyeol even dabbles in the itinerary, all we'll be doing is sitting around in cafes, drinking bitter coffee and people-watching."
Chanyeol snorts. "That's what you're supposed to do on holiday. Have an actual holiday."
Jongin's head lolls in his direction. "Amen."
Chanyeol can see the slice of his grin in peripheral vision. "See," he says to Jongdae, trying not to dwell on the hair's breadth between his arm and the one Jongin has just lain on the table. "The kid knows."
"Ugh," Jongdae grunts at the exact same moment Chanyeol hears the sigh. "I regret introducing you two. You've somehow turned my darling little cousin into an enabler."
Chanyeol's eyes dart Jongin's way. He seems frustrated, somewhat--and it troubles Chanyeol, like a splinter in his finger, because he feels he might have something to do with it.
Jongdae chatters on and on about how he's going to take everybody to the Colosseum and St. Peter's Basilica and the Roman Forum, and how Yixing will help him do it. Yixing, after all, is cultured. Sunyoung feeds him bits of radish as he gabs away, her fingertips an encouragement at his nape.
Chanyeol nods here and there; even gets in a laugh at the appropriate moment. But it's all white noise to him. What he's really paying attention to is the side of Jongin's face, the half-expression he can make out from this angle perfectly still, eyes trained on a point nowhere near Chanyeol and mouth stripped completely of its previous mirth.
Chanyeol hits fifty thousand words.
His protagonist has spent countless nights dreaming of the nurse, his soulmate. He's already in love with her, even though he's never met her. She feels real to him, like the floor of the practice studio beneath his pointe shoes and the tension in his thighs when he leaps into a brisé.
Every waking hour away from her is spent in the studio, training relentlessly. The dancer is a soloist now, a face to watch in the ballet company he belongs to. When the season begins, he will be dancing Puck in A Midsummer Night's Dream. It's the role--the very one that will make him a star. In a way, he's in love with it, too.
So here he is, Chanyeol's ballerino, faced with a dilemma that dooms him to a half-lived life. Will he choose the life of love without dance, or the life of dance without love?
The night he crosses the fifty thousand mark, right at the end of a chapter, Chanyeol climbs into his bed and sleeps for twelve hours straight.
When he reaches for his phone upon waking, there's a message sitting pretty in his inbox. There always is, nowadays. Chanyeol rubs the crust from his eyes and taps the message icon, expecting a laundry list of things Jongin wants him to watch and read and react to.
The name that greets him instead makes Chanyeol bolt up from bed.
Jung Soojung.
Hi oppa. Can I see you?
That's all she's sent. No further explanation, no emoji to signal tone. The ball is completely in Chanyeol's court. His thumb hovers over his screen--pulling back, pressing closer, twitching but not touching. Blood is pumping at his temples, where it will blossom, later on, into a headache.
Chanyeol pulls up his Line thread with Jongin.
Hey, he keys in without hesitation. Do you want to eat chicken today?
And in the blink of an eye, Jongin is typing, almost as though he was waiting by his phone. (But that could just be Chanyeol's narcissism acting up.)
Not feeling chicken today
Maybe sushi
Come over
If you want
^_^
It's always so easy with Jongin. Exactly what Chanyeol needs the day his dreaded ex decides to reach out after half a year of radio silence. So he tells Jongin to order the sushi, and that he'll be by shortly for his share.
Jongin's apartment is just off Ewha University. Chanyeol finds the building quickly enough. Yura-noona lives in this area, too. He realizes, belatedly, that he's walked by Jongin's place every time he's come to see her.
When Chanyeol relays this information, Jongin's smile is as lazy and amused as ever.
"Are you serious?" the dancer murmurs, stepping back to let Chanyeol into his foyer. "I should look out my window more often. I just might get to see you more."
The flirtation in that hangs in the air like a faint scent. Jongin is still smiling at him, affection glazing over his baby browns. So Chanyeol just...smiles back. Inhales. Feels the moth wings at his sternum. Looks away.
Jongin's flat reminds him of the dance studio in Seocho. Lots of light, pale walls, buffed floors with a little give in them. Chanyeol enjoys the warmth of the wood against the soles of his bare feet. Jongin is barefoot, too, and hasn't offered Chanyeol any house slippers. It suits him somehow.
The sushi's already on the dining table. Jongin won't let Chanyeol pay, not even for his share. "I've got it," the dancer informs him, with a little wrinkle in his brow that tells Chanyeol to let it go.
They eat quickly but in silence--unable, for some reason, to fall into their worn and comfortable groove. Chanyeol reckons it's the same string of awkwardness from the last time they'd seen each other (at Ho Chicken, three days prior, with Jongdae and Sunyoung). Jongin had folded up suddenly like a piece of origami and refused to say why, cheerfulness graying with fatigue.
Today, Chanyeol decides to be a twenty-eight-year-old adult and just ask.
"Jonginnie." It feels like he hasn't said the name in forever. "Is something bothering you?"
Maybe it's a testament to the three-year lead he has on Jongin; emotional maturity, or whatever. Or maybe Jongin is just changeable--like Chanyeol, like all artists--his sentiments shifting as quickly as shadow and light. "What makes you say that?" the dancer asks, his face shimmering with something Chanyeol almost recognizes.
"I don't know." The writer licks his lips. They taste of soy sauce and the avocado in the California rolls. "You seem like you have something to say sometimes. But you never say it."
Jongin uses a voice that belongs to someone more seasoned. "I won't say things you can't handle."
The look on his face is soft, but there's a challenge in the words that takes Chanyeol aback. He feels the tension of it on the back of his neck. "What do you mean?"
When Jongin blinks, slow and measured, Chanyeol can make out every single one of his eyelashes. "Do you want me to tell you?"
And in a second, that familiar burn is back--in the pit of Chanyeol's stomach, the cavity of his chest. He can hear his pulse in his ears as it slows down, down, down, that way it had during the 3D musical. The way it had when Soojung had caught him staring at her, that very first time, and given him half a smile in return.
Chanyeol nods a yes.
"I'm attracted to you," Jongin says, not once breaking eye contact. "But I think you already know that."
The burn travels upwards, scaling Chanyeol's neck, swirling in his cheeks.
"I asked Jongdae-hyung about your ex," the dancer perseveres. Chanyeol sees his softness now as something else--hesitance. "He said she was beautiful."
"She was," Chanyeol croaks out, blood pounding in his temples like an old, dizzying refrain. "She is."
"He said you weren't interested in men." Jongin's smile is a brittle one. "I asked him last time, after you left. He said I would just get hurt."
All Chanyeol can think of right now is the last time he'd seen Kyungsoo and Baekhyun, and how history always seems to repeat itself.
Jongin has hardly touched his food. Chanyeol hadn't noticed earlier, but there's only one piece of sushi missing from his tray, while Chanyeol's only has one left.
"I told him I knew." Jongin's sigh rings hollow, like a shell pressed against an ear. "I tried to stop myself. See you as an older brother. Lord knows you treat me like a toddler." When Jongin swallows, it makes a pinched sound. "But hyung..."
"What?" Chanyeol murmurs, his heartbeat light and quick.
Jongin leans across the table and presses a kiss against his lips. It doesn't last more than a couple seconds. Jongin's lips are full and smooth. Cool, too, from the ice water he's been drinking. His eyes are shut, while Chanyeol's are open.
Jongin pulls back before he can.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, but his face is still an inch away from Chanyeol's, like he's waiting for a sign. To stop. To talk about things. To kiss Chanyeol again, maybe.
It's not the first time this has happened.
Chanyeol slides his phone off the table and clenches his hand around it. Warning bells have replaced the drumbeat of his heart, clanging cruelly in his ears.
"I should go," he mutters. "Eat, Jongin."
Then he's pushing away from the table and into his shoes and out the door of Jongin's well-lit flat. He doesn't see the dancer's face before he goes.
Chanyeol replies to Soojung's text when he's back in his own apartment, lying in his bed at two in the afternoon.
Hi. I'm free all week. Let me know the place and time.
He drops his phone into the drawer of his bedside table and attempts, unsuccessfully, to take a nap.
Chanyeol's very first confession had come a few weeks before high school graduation.
They'd been in the music club after class one day, messing around with the instruments. Well, Chanyeol had been messing around. Kyungsoo had simply settled himself on the piano bench, his schoolbag slung across his body. He'd watched Chanyeol flit from drums to guitar to whatever else, until Chanyeol finally plonked down next to him behind the upright.
Baekhyun had left right at the bell to attend his brother's birthday party. "Goodbye," he'd called out to them in English, because it was their last class of the day. "I love you!"
In the quiet of the empty music club, Chanyeol'd placed his head on Kyungsoo's shoulder, because once in a while, Kyungsoo let him. "It's quiet without Baek, isn't it?" the taller boy had remarked. "I can't believe we spent a whole year together without him."
Never one to waste words, Kyungsoo had offered him a flat hum in response.
"I wonder what he was like before he met us." Chanyeol had snuggled into Kyungsoo's shoulder. His friend always smelled like fresh laundry, regardless of how much sweat he'd produced at gym class that day, or how long they'd spent kicking around a football under the sun during recess. "He must have been lonely."
On paper, Kyungsoo's words would have read with derision. "You think your absence makes people lonely?" They'd still come out fond, though.
By this time, Chanyeol was already used to his friend's surly brand of sweetness. "You felt lonely when I was in Tokyo with my family, didn't you?" He'd nudged Kyungsoo hard with his shoulder, and the smaller boy had had to clutch the back of Chanyeol's jacket to keep from sliding down the bench.
"No, I didn't."
"Yeah, you did. You even hugged me when I got back."
"I don't remember that."
"Of course you do. You just don't want to admit it." Chanyeol had been pushing his luck, but he could never resist annoying Kyungsoo. Not when his friend took every piece of bait straight off the hook. "And you thought I didn't hear you when you mumbled 'Missed you.'" He'd slurred his words, lowering his voice to match Kyungsoo's velvet tone.
Kyungsoo's inhale-exhale had been sharp, like he was trying to expel something from his body. "Shut up."
"Not until you admit you missed me."
"Chanyeol..."
"Admit it~"
"All right." Kyungsoo had practically growled the words. "I missed you, okay? Happy now?"
All eighty of Chanyeol's teeth had flashed in the late afternoon light. "Yup."
Gently, Kyungsoo'd shoved him off, putting space between them on the bench. "Why is this stuff so important to you? Baek was all over you when you got back from Japan. I don't see you teasing him."
"Because you're different," Chanyeol had replied, without skipping a beat. "It's special when it's you."
He'd anticipated Kyungsoo's immediate mockery--a sequence of scoffing and eye-rolling, perhaps a jagged joke at Chanyeol's expense. So it surprised him when he'd met Kyungsoo's eyes and found them round and mellow and somewhat hopeful.
"What?" Chanyeol had said, torn between affection and apprehension. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Kyungsoo had brought his hand up, carefully, to hold on to the elbow of Chanyeol's jacket. "Why is it special when it's me?"
Chanyeol had been so weirded out, because Kyungsoo had yet to put him down. "Because I like you best?"
Kyungsoo's face had flickered, as though someone had held a lighter up to it in a dark room. Chanyeol watched in complete confusion as his friend's entire countenance thawed, trepidation seeping out like melted ice.
"I like you best, too," Kyungsoo'd confessed. Then he'd craned forward to peck Chanyeol on the lips.
For a second, Chanyeol had experienced the moistness of Kyungsoo's plush mouth as it enveloped his bottom lip. He'd blinked once, and it was over.
Kyungsoo had looked so vulnerable then--shoulders narrow, cheeks aflame, one hand still clutching Chanyeol's elbow patch. He'd stared Chanyeol down, willing him to speak first. He wasn't smiling, but Chanyeol had seen the thrill quivering in Kyungsoo's pretty mouth.
It scared him stiff.
"Soo," Chanyeol had whispered, pain and guilt and terror surging through his veins, "I don't like you like that."
He wasn't sure what tormented him more--the fact that he'd just rejected his beloved friend, or that he wasn't sure he wanted to.
Kyungsoo had gone white as a sheet. He'd let go of Chanyeol's jacket, flinching, as though the fabric had caught fire.
"I..."
Chanyeol had just wanted to make everything better. "It's okay," he'd said, in his most reassuring tone. "It's okay, Soo." And he'd reached for the other boy with both hands.
But Kyungsoo'd already jumped to his feet. He'd backed away, too, fists clenched into the strap of his schoolbag. "I thought you meant something else," Kyungsoo had muttered, eyes trained on his shoes. "I'm sorry, I, I didn't mean to...didn't mean to take advantage of you."
His stammering made Chanyeol uneasy. "You didn't," he'd insisted, voice breaking. The anxiety mingled with another sick, swollen sensation in his chest. "Don't do that to yourself. I'm okay. Everything's okay."
"No, it's not," Kyungsoo'd snapped at him without warning. The sound of it was closer to a sob than a jab. "You'll never understand, because we'll never be the same."
"Soo..."
"I'm sorry," Kyungsoo had whispered. He'd rubbed his mouth with his fingertips, and Chanyeol had noticed the wetness in his eyes. "I just like you so much."
The moment Chanyeol sprang up to hug him, Kyungsoo'd spun on his heel and fled the scene.
They'd stopped talking in the weeks leading up to graduation. Chanyeol's calls and texts had all gone unanswered. They'd still see one another at school, with Baekhyun as a welcome buffer. Chanyeol suspected that either Kyungsoo had told Baekhyun all that had transpired, or Baekhyun had known all along--because in those strange days, he accepted Kyungsoo's silence and Chanyeol's searching, pleading looks without question.
Only a crystal ball could have prepared Chanyeol for what he would discover on commencement day.
Because sometime before the ceremony, he'd walked into the men's bathroom to take a leak and found Baekhyun caging Kyungsoo against the full-length mirror, their lips locked. He'd watched, unnoticed, as Baekhyun trailed his hand down Kyungsoo's arm and fastened their fingers together, tight as a knot. His eyes had soaked in the sight of Baekhyun pulling away, muttering, "Give me a chance," against Kyungsoo's lips, their foreheads kissing. And just before Chanyeol had slipped away, no longer feeling the urge to relieve himself, he'd heard Kyungsoo whisper back, "Make me forget."
That, right there, was the moment Chanyeol realized he'd let go of someone he really, really liked--and not as a friend.
The regret had smashed into him like a ten ton truck.
It's been seven days since Chanyeol has spoken to Jongin.
He'd called the younger man the day after the kiss. A night of fitful slumber had knocked some sense back into him. He'd felt childish; regretted the impulse that had sent him running from Jongin's apartment like a spooked animal.
It took twelve rings for the pre-recorded female operator to come on. Jongin's phone was unattended, she'd informed Chanyeol in her serene, robotic voice. Try again later.
Chanyeol had sent a message then. An SMS, not a Line, to make sure Jongin wouldn't miss it due to spotty WiFi or a glitch in the app or whatever.
Hey Jonginnie, trying to call you. I'm sorry I left the way I did.
He'd sent two messages, actually.
Are you angry with me?
Chanyeol has yet to receive Jongin's reply. To either one.
To say he feels bad about it would be the understatement of the century. His week without Jongin has been marked by a palpable emptiness--the hollow, haunting echo of an abandoned place. At the same time, there's been panic. Lots of panic, at unpredictable moments. It hits Chanyeol like a spasm--a complete shock--as though he'd rounded a corner and found nineteen-year-old Kyungsoo there, pink mouth open for Baekhyun's determined kiss.
Soojung asks to meet at a CoffeeBay in Shinsadong. It is neutral territory. No memories attached.
Chanyeol gets there ten minutes early and orders her a French vanilla, because that's what she used to drink when they would meet in their old coffee place. Back then, he would take sips from her mug and let her do the same to his (cappuccino). Today, he sticks to the house brew. He declines the barista's offer to throw in a cake slice to go with the coffees ("Couple package," the girl explains, gesturing at the chalkboard announcement with a kindly look).
Soojung arrives just as Chanyeol places their tray on a table for two.
"Oppa," she greets him--and there's that tiny flip in Chanyeol's chest again, right before he turns around.
Soojung is smiling at him. It's an odd, penitent expression that kind of makes him ache. She looks gorgeous, for the most part, in her peach-colored dress and low heels. She's pushed her hair into a careless bun. There's a coat of nude lipstick painted over her mouth.
"Hey," Chanyeol replies. He almost calls her baby, but stops just in time. "Is this table okay with you?"
Soojung slides the strap of her bag off her shoulder. "It's perfect." She takes a seat, and her purse goes on top of her lap.
Chanyeol sits across from her. The seating in this café is a legion of black armchairs, each one designed to lean back into. Perhaps this is a sign, Chanyeol thinks, that he shouldn't place his elbows on the table, clasp his hands around his cup, and make himself seem completely available to the girl who broke his heart.
"What did you want to see me about?" he asks, pressing his back into the cushions of his chair.
"I'm..." Soojung's voice is so guarded. "How've you been, oppa?"
"Fine." Chanyeol takes his coffee off the table. "Busy." He sips. "Is everything okay?"
She deflects. "Sunyoung says you're writing a new book."
"That's right."
"That makes me happy." Soojung's eyes shine, just a touch, and the rest of her face goes all tender. "Will you tell me what it's about?"
Chanyeol resents it--this complete ease she has around him, when he's forcing himself to walk on eggshells for her. "It's about a dancer," is his quiet answer. "Not you."
He regrets it, of course, the moment pain replaces the sparkle in her eyes.
"Sorry," Chanyeol mutters, tightening his grip around his cup. "I'm being a jerk."
"It's okay." Soojung mutters back. They both sound equally miserable. "I was the jerk who broke up with you."
The way she words it seems like a cue. Chanyeol quits staring at the lid of his coffee to steal a glance across the table.
Soojung's struggling not to cry.
The old boyfriend in him rails against the sight. "Baby--"
A plump, crystalline tear leaves a track down her cheek. "What if I told you someone asked me to marry him?"
It's like a punch to the gut. "What?"
Soojung wipes the tear away hastily. "The man I'm seeing asked me to marry him," she shakes out. "But the moment he said it, all I could think about was you."
Chanyeol hadn't even known she was dating someone. His blood feels too hot, too thick in his veins. The walls of his throat are sticking together. "What the hell, Soojung."
Her lips quake. She rubs them together. Her wet lashes have clumped into tiny triangular shapes. "Will you forgive me?"
Chanyeol doesn't have any fight left in him. Just silence.
She lets out a ragged breath. "I know I hurt you," she whispers. "I know you're still angry with me but..." The base of her throat hollows out. "Can we...can we go back to how it was before?"
He's not exactly sure what she's asking. Doesn't trust himself enough to misunderstand. It must read so on his face, because Soojung inhales again, deeply--and she's still upset, so her breath skips like a stone over water. She reaches across the table, palm flat against its surface. Chanyeol's hands are still curved around his coffee.
"Oppa," Soojung appeals to him, her voice a warm, cozy blanket. "Can we get back together?"
Chanyeol didn't know it was possible for her to look any prettier, even with her mascara staining the skin under her eyes and red blotches on the tops of her cheeks from the crying. Some of her lipstick has rubbed off from the way she's folding in her lips.
"Why?" Chanyeol mumbles. His voice is cracked and dusty, like a just-opened cave. "Some guy just proposed to you."
Soojung's eyes are glassy from the rebuke. "I made a huge mistake."
Chanyeol places his coffee on the table but doesn't let go of it. "It's only been seven months since we broke up," he says. The barb in his tone has dulled. "I didn't even--I wasn't aware that--"
Soojung lifts her palm off the table and presses it against the back of one of his hands. "I knew him before you," she tells Chanyeol tentatively. "We saw each other all throughout university."
Chanyeol's hand tenses, relaxes, tenses again. "Did you break up with him then, too?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't know." Soojung is chewing the inside of her cheek. The writer can tell from the purse in her lips, and the depression underneath her cheekbone. Details. "I had so many ambitions then. I didn't think he had enough. We were so young...the love kind of just fizzled out."
Chanyeol wants to smirk. It's an ugly feeling. "Like us."
"No." The word is urgent, skating over a breath. "Not like us." Soojung tries to squeeze the back of his hand. Her nails dig into his knuckles. "I...I still love you."
The female barista calls out an order in the background. Steam hisses and burbles. Metal clacks against metal. Her partner, a skinny guy with dark-framed glasses, is making coffee for a customer. Chanyeol could use another right about now--or maybe some of that Glenlivet 18 Yixing had brought over, months ago, when Soojung left him.
"Did you hear what I said?" she whispers. "I still love you, oppa."
These are words Chanyeol has been waiting to hear for months. Words that in November, December, January, when the breakup was still fresh, would've made him scoop her off the ground in a grateful embrace. Words that could have healed everything, even the deepest cuts that remained after the pain had gone stale and all that was left of their separation was a scab.
But today, Chanyeol feels...undecided.
The thing that scares him most is that despite the resentment in his heart and the bitter taste in his mouth and the way he won't reciprocate Soojung's touch, her confession has ignited no violence of emotion in him. No finally. No thank god. Not even a why now, or a do you realize what you've put me through.
There is no tiny, painful flip--nothing--and that's how Chanyeol realizes this might not be indecision, after all.
He recognizes the symptoms. He's described them innumerable times--from back when he was a magazine journalist chronicling the heartaches of actors, to now, when he writes fulltime about the magic of love.
Is this it? Chanyeol wonders, astounded. Is this how it feels to finally move on?
(After graduation, when he and Kyungsoo and Baekhyun stopped talking, he'd jumped straight into a new set of college friends. Chanyeol had always been popular. But it still stings, to this day, when he sees a crew of high school kids in their uniforms, joshing around, carefree and happy. Perhaps he'd never really mourned the end of Chansoobaek like he should have.)
Soojung has slackened her grip. The spots where she's pressed her fingernails throb. "Say something."
The cup between Chanyeol's palms gets pushed aside. It's replaced with Soojung's hand, which he holds gently, as if to warm it. Just the way he used to. She looks up immediately, mouth parted, eyes hopeful. But it's only an act of mercy.
"I loved you," Chanyeol says. "I really, really did."
Soojung's eyes cloud. "Loved?"
"You're still important to me." Chanyeol keeps his hands steady. Her skin is so fine, almost translucent. "I don't want to lose you."
"You haven't," Soojung vows, quiet yet fraught. "I'm still that girl on the rollercoaster with you. Remember?"
"You were my first muse." One final squeeze, and Chanyeol lets go. "But we can't get back together, Soojung." No endearment this time. It doesn't even cross his mind. "Things are...different now."
The pull in her mouth says anguish. The slope of her brows spells defeat. Chanyeol wants to smooth both emotions away, but he knows better than to send her mixed signals.
"Is there somebody else?" Soojung asks, voice torn at the seams.
Chanyeol stares at her. "No." He drops his gaze to his lap abruptly, fidgeting at the lie. "I don't know." The admission slides out on its own. "Maybe."
Soojung presses the back of her hand against her mouth. Her exhale is short and sweet, but it takes all the hope lingering in her expression with it.
"Yes," she murmurs, "yes, there is."
No, hyung
That's what Jongin replies, deep into the night, as Chanyeol burrows sideways into his couch and attempts to process what happened to him today.
Just those two words--No, hyung--in response to Chanyeol's second text asking if Jongin was angry. The writer has plunged into his response, thumbs flying over the keypad, when more words file in.
I'm sorry, too
Come to practice tomorrow
At the studio
I want to show you something
If you have time
The relief is physical, immediate. A hot shower after a long, terrible day.
Yes, Chanyeol types back. Sure.
It's almost three in the morning. It'll look like he was waiting for Jongin's message all day.
Chanyeol hopes that part, at least, is transparent.
I always have time for you, Jongin.
Jongdae doesn't know how to express himself right now. Chanyeol can tell, as they take the elevator to the top floor of this building, because he can count the number of words Jongdae has uttered since they met at the ground.
Chanyeol hadn't realized that Jongin invited someone else.
The elevator doors slide open with a ding. There's piano music carrying over from the KNB's practice studio, and the blunted sound of pointe shoes striking the wooden floor.
"Jongdae," Chanyeol starts, "is there something you want to say?"
His best friend clears his throat. "I just don't want him hurt, that's all."
"Jongin?"
"Yeah, Jongin." The brass is missing from Jongdae's tone. "I used to think it was hero worship or something. Thought it was kind of cute." The voice he uses is simple and somber, with a whiff of defensiveness. "Just...don't lead him on, man."
Chanyeol knows Jongdae better than to take that statement as an accusation. But it chastens him anyway, and he clams up after a low, "Okay."
Practice has started earlier today. When they enter the studio, the corps is dancing en masse. It's a sinew of black leotards and leggings, flashes of white T-shirts and twirling tulle. Chanyeol's eyes strain to spot Jongin--and there he is, in the thick of the dance, dressed just like everybody else today.
"Beautiful!" Boa calls out, as Jongin, Sehun, and six others execute a seamless entrechat. They'd looked like they were floating for a second. Boa shoots a proud look towards Chanyeol and Jongdae, waving them over.
They watch the rest of the dance next to her, cross-legged on the floor. Joonmyun's here, too. Chanyeol's guessing he comes as often as he can, for Sehun. Joonmyun beams at them both.
"Hyung told you," Jongdae says into Chanyeol's ear, the words all but drowned out by the music.
Chanyeol doesn't have to ask what. "Yeah. Right here, actually."
Something in Jongdae's feline eyes lies in wait. A test.
Chanyeol shrugs. "No big deal."
That gets him a quick, conciliatory grin, a spike of the brow, and a sporty little thumbs-up--all of which Chanyeol reciprocates. Jongdae's easy, too, just like his cousin.
He wonders if Jongdae would still be easy he ever found out about Kyungsoo and Baekhyun, and why his best friend of almost a decade has never mentioned either name.
After practice, Sehun ambles over to Joonmyun, bowing hello to Chanyeol and greeting Jongdae with a dongsaeng's warmth (they've already been introduced, apparently). Unlike the last time he was here, it is Chanyeol who crosses the room to where Jongin stands, wiping himself down with a towel.
"That was great," is Chanyeol's opening. He searches Jongin's face for signs of animosity, but is unable to decipher the younger man's expression.
"Thanks, hyung," is Jongin's reply. Friendly words, soft eyes, no smile. He nods in the direction of the doorway. "Let's talk out in the hall."
The moment they're alone, and Jongin has closed the door of the studio behind him, Chanyeol clears his throat. "I'm sorry I bolted." He blinks a mile a minute, wired with nerves. "It was a stupid thing to do. You deserved more than that."
"You don't owe me anything," Jongin murmurs. His weight is balanced equally on both feet, and the heels of his hands rest just behind his hips. "I kissed you without your permission. Some guys would have punched me in the face."
Just the idea of it makes Chanyeol's stomach turn. "I would never--"
"I know," Jongin cuts in gently. "I know you wouldn't."
Chanyeol sees the sliver of weakness that flashes, blade-like, over Jongin's countenance. "Has that happened to you before?"
Jongin's eyes shift away, casual but evasive. His perfect white teeth scrape over his bottom lip.
"Who?" A flame laps at the center of Chanyeol's forehead. He has to modulate his tone, because the anger has spread into his vocal chords like a tumor. "Who hit you?"
"It was back in school," Jongin says quietly, trying to placate him. "It didn't scar."
"Does Jongdae know?"
"Yes." Jongin's smile is wan. "It was a friend of his, whom he doesn't speak to anymore."
Chanyeol's known Jongdae since they were nineteen going on twenty. He's never heard that story before.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that," he mutters. He's grinding his teeth unconsciously. "I wish I'd known you back then."
Jongin's smile stretches ever-so-slightly. "I knew you weren't that kind of person." The tips of his bangs are still soaked with sweat. "I trusted you so much--I still do, hyung. And I just," his throat bobs, "I just fell in love with you. I couldn't help it."
It's grueling, this shift in Chanyeol's emotions. The rage he'd felt on Jongin's behalf has been replaced by an irrepressible, almost gravitational pull of attraction. The flames travel down to Chanyeol's chest, burning him between the ribs.
Jongin barrels on before Chanyeol can even formulate a response. "I owe you something." He tries to laugh, pulling odd shapes with his mouth. "The difference--"
"Between a pirouette and a fouette." Chanyeol finishes the sentence for him.
"Yeah." Jongin observes him closely, subdued. "Can I show you now?"
Chanyeol's not really sure where this is going. He nods his assent, anyway, if it means Jongin will stay with him a little longer in this empty hallway.
The dancer puts space between them. "This is a pirouette," he says, and he launches into this elegant spin on the tips of his toes, strong and sure, four times. Chanyeol could watch it all day, this mesmerizing vortex of flesh and bone. Then Jongin says, "This is a fouette." And he spins again, but this time his leg extends at an angle and propels him into each turn. One-whip, two-whip, three-whip, four. He closes his eyes for the fouettes, and Chanyeol watches his face instead of the movement.
"There." Jongin's got both feet planted back on the ground. A flush of color has crept into his face. His loose tee is hanging off his shoulder. "Now you know."
"Why was it so important?" Chanyeol's heart hammers punishingly loud and so, so fast. He can feel his blood insisting at each and every pulse point.
Jongin's lips part, defenseless. "In case you didn't want to see me anymore after today," he admits. "I didn't want to leave any loose ends."
It's such a wistful, endearing sentiment, expressed with a downcast look that goes straight to Chanyeol's heart.
"Come on," the writer mumbles, striding forward. He pulls Jongin into his embrace by the nape. "Why would I do something silly like that?"
"I have feelings for you." The words vibrate against Chanyeol's collarbones. "Doesn't that repel you?"
Chanyeol settles for, "You're one of my favorite people." It's safe territory, but not the whole truth. He's not ready to cop to that just yet, nor equipped to bear its staggering implications. So Chanyeol simply says, "There's nothing repelling about you, Jongin," and hopes it's enough to keep him.
He feels the pressure between Jongin's back muscles ease underneath his hands. "You shouldn't say things like that," the dancer mutters. "I'm trying to get over you."
Don't, Chanyeol's inner voice rebels. His actual voice declares, "Don't shut me out like you did last week." He scrapes his fingernails over Jongin's crown. "I missed you."
With a groan, the dancer pushes him off. "Stop." It's playful. "Not helping." He tries to do it in stealth, but Chanyeol still catches him rubbing the moisture from his eyes with the back of one hand.
It melts him inside, like a cube of ice dropped into a cup of tea. "Are you hungry?" he asks. "Do you want to come eat with me?"
Chanyeol knows exactly what he's doing right now. Going back to where they started. Hospital gowns, tempura in a takeout bag. It's like redoing a chapter in one of his books after Minseok's marked it up with constructive criticism. Frightening. Heartrending. But ultimately worth the effort.
So he smiles and ducks his chin, encouraging Jongin to answer the way they both want him to.
"Yeah." There's a whole new world spinning across Jongin's bright face. "I could eat, hyung."
"Perfect." This world has done Chanyeol right. "So could I."
Part 4