(for yeo_ubi) All Roads, They Lead Me Here part ii

[kais]

Sehun finally agrees to street dance with Jongin on Tuesday afternoon, not a full solid dancing session but Jongin will take anything he can get - even just one song - to perform with as a duo again.

It turns into a large hangout with the gang plus Baekhyun and Jongdae, a guy from Sehun’s class who is hella rad and owns the noraebang scene. They congregate at Hongdae by a Starbucks, and the rest sit off to the side with cold drinks all around as Sehun and Jongin set up.

The songs they dance to are favorites, throwback to those Thursday dance sessions in cold rooms moving with their own sweaty reflections. Sehun slips into the choreography like he never quit in the first place, and Jongin is the one forgetting the steps and losing focus in the song. Their friends cheer their heads off with each song ending.

Jongin looks into the crowd when Sehun takes over a little solo, and he scans the crowd only to see the fleeting glance of a pressed suit and wide eyes. He swears it’s Kyungsoo, or maybe he’s a bit delusional and he just really wants Kyungsoo to see him dance.

He spends too long mulling over this that he misses his queue and Sehun shouts, “Jogging Shoes! Get your head in the game!” to which their cheer squad to the side begins chanting Get your! Get your! Get your head in the game! These dumbasses. He slips back into the song like second skin and by the time the song ends he’s completely forgotten about that receding figure, a grey smudge in the distance.

Jongin develops the habit of texting Kyungsoo weird stuff whenever. At the library (when he’s crying over school with the gang) he’ll pass by a photography book of corgis and quickly snap a pic for Kyungsoo, captioning it with :D or maybe an emoji of a fruit. Sehun would say a dumb pun and Jongin will die laughing all over the carpet, shaking as he types it out in the text message box, typo riddled. Or sometimes he will see an owl figurine in shops and he’ll send a pic to Kyungsoo saying ‘it u’.

You can say this obsession sprouted from him being immature as fuck, but really Jongin does it for the reaction he receives. Kyungsoo would text him back with a plain ‘stop’ or ‘don’t’ and it amuses Jongin to no end imagining Kyungsoo, serious face in his serious suit doing his serious job, getting a picture of a cute owl and getting frustrated, in the process looking exactly like the owl and typing out a death threat before deleting it and simply settling with a one word reply.

To: Kyungsoo-hyung
From: Jongin
[picture of baby owl]
​hyung!!! looks like u kkkkkk

To: Baby Jongin
From: Kyungsoo
​Stop.

To: Kyungsoo-hyung
From: Jongin
[picture of owl stepping on puppy Labrador]
​:’(((

To: Baby Jongin
From: Kyungsoo
​Next time I see you you’re losing a finger.

And it gets really out of hand because one day Sehun would wear a shirt with an owl on it and Jongin would snicker to hell and back and earn a what the fuck is wrong with you. Or they’d be zoning out on the couch with a wildlife documentary on TV and a scene with an owl swooping down to catch a prey would come on and Jongin would lose his shit.

“Dude, what the hell?” Sehun would kick him in the shins for ruining his nap.

“Sorry, inside joke.”

Except it would sound super lame and Sehun would laugh and call him a loser.

Over dinner one night, they are eating a nice hearty meal in courtesy of Chanyeol and Jongin would get a text from Kyungsoo about a storm brewing and warning him not to go outside, and Jongin doesn’t realize it but he’s smiling a little.

“Is it your girlfriend?” Sehun says, nonchalantly.

“He wishes he’d have a girlfriend,” Chanyeol says to that, and they high five, nodding in approval.

Jongin shakes his head, not really paying attention, typing a reply. “It’s a guy.”

And he’s too accomplished and sexually ambiguous to be Jongin’s boyfriend.

Wait, what?

“Wait, what?” they all say in unison. It’s quiet, all staring each other down until Jongin whispers hesitantly, very confused internally, psyche.

Everyone bursts out laughing, and all is forgotten but Jongin is stuck, half a text typed on his phone, a dizzy lightness in his chest.

Does he like Kyungsoo? Does he like like Kyungsoo? Has he been gay this entire time? No, what was the term again… bisexual. Did Kyungsoo awaken some desire in Jongin for the same sex? Or is it because in some angles Kyungsoo looks pretty enough to be a girl?
Well, to be honest, Kyungsoo’s adult seriousness and endearing rejection to the notion that he himself could be the slightest bit cute could probably turn anyone gay for him-
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

Jongin is at Hongdae, resting with a drink bottle in his grip from an eight song streak when Kyungsoo cozies up to his side.

“Found you,” Kyungsoo says cheerfully, and actually Kyungsoo isn’t by Jongin’s side rather a few away in front of him, a good reasonable distance but Jongin feels like he’s way too close. He swallows hard, a blush creeping up his neck.

“Hey,” he answers quietly, not able to look at Kyungsoo’s eyes. They’re so big they’d probably be able to see right through him.

Kyungsoo hums in question. “Are you sick again? You don’t seem like yourself today.”

Jongin’s stomach somersaults. He snaps his head at Kyungsoo, heartbeat deep in his ears, “what do you mean?”

Kyungsoo’s forehead wrinkles, hand reaching up to touch Jongin’s temples. “I mean, you’re quiet, and very pale.

Immediately Jongin flinches from the touch, hastily wiping his hands on his shirt. No, this isn’t fair, this is utter madness. He’s already halfway in love before he’s even realized it began.
Kyungsoo pulls his hand back looking hurt, and Jongin wants to hug it better but no, he can’t, Kyungsoo’s way too professional and serious for Jongin’s dumb little crush. Yeah, that’s it, a crush. It’ll go away, Jongin’s just confused.

“Sorry,” Jongin says quickly, wanting Kyungsoo to not look like a wounded critter, “didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all.” Not much of a lie.

“Oh,” Kyungsoo replies softly, features returning back to their normal, unimpressed stare, “that’s no good. Sleep deprivation leads to poorer memory and lack of concentration. You need your good nine and a quarter hours.”

Jongin nods, appreciating Kyungsoo’s face up close. He’s never looked so handsome before, the sunlight sliding gently down the slope of his nose.

“Yeah,” Jongin says, eyes dropping to Kyungsoo’s lips, how has he never noticed them before? God if he’d been basing his feelings on Kyungsoo’s lips he would have fallen in love ages ago.

“Are you going to keep dancing? Or are you going home soon?” Kyungsoo bites his bottom lip. Fuck.

“I don’t know, what should I do?” Jongin mumbles.

Kyungsoo twitches his mouth from side to side, and Jongin is on the brink of dying from a heart attack, when he says, “one dance, and I’ll walk you to the station.”

Jongin says by instinct, “I’ll give you two dances if you can drive me home.” He should get his head out of his ass, Kyungsoo was his friend first before anything else, and he should at least try to treat him as such. Lock up that boner of yours Kim Jongin.

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes but smiles softly, nodding, and Jongin falls a little bit more in love.

--

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN.”

“What the hell do you mean? Can you please not shout-“

“I MEAN,” Chanyeol takes a step forward, a party hat lopsided on his head, hair newly dyed wine red, “YOU MISSED BAEKHYUN’S PARTY. YOU MISSED BAEKHYUN’S BIRTHDAY PARTY HOW COULD YOU DICKHEAD-“

“Yeah man! Not cool,” Sehun yells from his room.

“What?” Jongin shakes his head, “I thought it was next week! Why didn’t you call me?”

“WE DID.”

“Chanyeol please shhh. You never called I had my phone the entire day,” Jongin pats the pockets of his jeans, then his back pockets, then rummages through his bag, “oh.”

“Yeah oh.” Sehun steps out of his room, a cold breeze following him before he shuts it away.
“Look, I’ll just, um, call him and apologize and buy him something expensive.”

Chanyeol and Sehun both shake their heads in disturbing unison, “not good enough, bro,” Sehun says.

“Well what do you want me to do?” Jongin shrugs, slowly backing to the kitchen so he can be within stroking distance of the fridge.

“FIRST,” Chanyeol booms before being slapped on the shoulder by Sehun, “first: apologize, big time. Second: groceries are on you for the next two weeks, and third: tell us who’s got you all whipped.”

Jongin is digging through the fridge by the end of Chanyeol’s speech, “yes, yes, no. Is this food from the party?”

“Yeah it is, and there are no exceptions to these requests. What you committed was first degree ditching which according to South Korean law is punishable by death,” Chanyeol says. Sehun goes up to the fridge and manoeuvres a Tupperware of kimbap around Jongin’s body. Jongin whips around to grab for it but Sehun had already disappeared into his room, a cold draft left behind.

“Why do you wanna know so much anyway? It’s not like I haven’t dated before,” Jongin turns his attention back to the fridge, “there’s like nothing to eat, man.”

“I was gonna make ramen, I’ll make enough for two. And it’s exactly that, you’ve dated before, and you never shut up about it. Seeing you quiet about it makes me think you’re dating a murderer or some celebrity that forces you to be silent about it lest there be a scandal.”

“Nothing like that,” Jongin sighs, fingers weaving through his clammy hair, “it’s just someone, and he’s pretty cool.”

Chanyeol, who was looking very happy setting up the pots and tearing open the ramen packets, freezes, smile still plastered on his face. “He?”

Jongin frowns, “that’s not a problem, right?”

“Nah nah, it’s cool. Except, you’ve never shown the least bit of interest in the male genitalia before.”

“Okay, to begin to with, that’s foul. And I’m not interested in his dick, it’s more like…”

“His heart? That’s cute.”

“No.”

“Or is it his wallet? I always knew your destiny was to become a boytoy. Or a lap dancer.”

“Stop, please.”

Chanyeol laughs, breaking apart the noodles with different length chopsticks. “He’s legal right?”

“Older, actually. Your age, graduated early.”

“Already he sounds way out of your league.”

Jongin shoves him hard, “that’s because he is.”

“Knew it. What’s his name?”

He can’t help the smile when he answers, “Kyungsoo.”

Chanyeol furrows his eyebrows, “I knew a Kyungsoo way back in the day.”

Jongin opens the fridge for some lettuce, half distracted, “cool.”

“He was a little bit of a weirdo. Also a super nerd, left me behind in high school to chase his parents’ expectation and,” Chanyeol pauses, changing the temperature of the stove, “graduate early…”

They share a look, something fracturing in the air then clicking into place. Chanyeol breathes out, a glimmer of crazy in his eyes, “Do Kyungsoo, short, baby eyes, perpetually serious and angry?”

Jongin grins, “No fucking way.”

“Duuude,” Chanyeol drawls out, leaning against the counter in awe of this little epiphany, “you got into little Kyungsoo’s pants?”

Jongin snorts, shaking his head, “not yet, man.”

“Still can’t believe your man crush is my Kyungsoo. The world just keeps shrinking.”

A possessive streak cuts through Jongin’s vision at my Kyungsoo. It passes without harm, because this is Chanyeol, bro for life. Bros before hoes.

“How is he now?” Chanyeol asks after a pause for breath.

“He’s always looking high-class as shit, and he drives around in this fancy car and he’s loaded, man. Like no lie, he wears like a different Rolex watch each day and he smells like money.”

“That’s my boy,” Chanyeol nods, stirring the noodles, “when did you guys meet?”

“Remember when I fell into that fever way back?” and Chanyeol mutters a yeah, “the day before that. That’s when I met him. He gave me a lift back, bless his cold heart.”

“He gave you a lift the first time you guys met? Sounds like he’s got a little thing for you too.”

“Nah, apparently he’s seen me dance heaps around the city. So kind of like, fan meets idol except fan is cooler than idol.”

Chanyeol laughs a short, loud laugh. “Hey, your street performing thing is actually somewhat productive.”

Without hesitating, Jongin pinches him on his side, “shut your mouth, Chan ParkYeol. It’s a large revenue for me and this dorm’s wellbeing in general as well.”

“I got it, I got it.” Chanyeol picks up the pot and adds the flavouring, not even bothering to get plates. “What are you planning to do with the cash anyway? You get like, what, hundred bucks a day? And you’ve been doing this since your fetus days so I’m guessing your piggy bank must be loaded.”

Jongin grabs some chopsticks and begins heading to the dining table. “I don’t know, man. Kinda wanna go overseas, travel.”

“And street perform there as well,” Chanyeol adds jokingly, but Jongin gasps, ramen halfway into his mouth.

“Dude, that would be so cool.”

A sigh, “I stand by what I said about you years back. You are obsessed.”

“Like street dancing, all across the world. I wanna do that so badly now.” That’s something he could do with dancing, if not to join a company and debut in a boy band, he could dance just how he likes it; raw, on every street corner on Earth.

“Sure. Maybe we can invite Kyungsoo along as well.”

“This is the best idea you’ve ever come up it Chanyeoja, best goddamn thing that ever came out of your mouth,” Jongin says, zoning out with starry eyes imagining himself in Japan, America, Hong Kong, dancing for an international audience.

Chanyeol shakes his head and slurps his noodles. “Shut up, Kim Jongin. Shut up and just eat your fucking ramen.”

--

In the middle of Jongin’s routine, he spots Kyungsoo immediately amongst the crowd formed around him. He’d like to think it’s because their relationship transcends that of mortal limitations, that they are connected on a spiritual level forged in the beginning of time. That their souls are so intertwined that the concept of distance and separation dissolve into illusion.

But really, Kyungsoo’s the only one amongst his spectators under the age of fifty, and he’s in his stunning business attire, today marble grey and absolutely beautiful. A god among men, Kyungsoo is.

He finishes up his dance with his focus solely on Kyungsoo, grinning when he tosses a 10,000 won bill into the snapback up front. The song comes to a slow, quiet end, Jongin gently falling into a kneeling position with one hand to his chest and the other reaching up to the sky, reaching for something, eyes closed, and his audience breaks into applause.

The older folks, after tossing generous change for Jongin, appraise him quietly to each other then continue on their Sunday stroll. It’s uncomfortably hot, but every now and then a breeze cools everything down, and it’s been a while since the sky had been this clear. The river is calm and weaving.

Jongin bows in thanks, pants from the exercise in this sort of temperature. He chugs down half his drink bottle with water spilling out the sides onto his black wife-beater (he was wearing a loose cotton blouse on top but it got way too hot by midday to be even wearing clothes). Kyungsoo strolls up to him prim and proper, and they must look like a strange juxtaposition together.

“You-” Jongin struggles to find breath, “how are- you- wearing that- and not- b-be dead?”

Kyungsoo smirks, goddamn, “it can never be too hot to look on point.”

“Seriously?” he wipes his forehead, wiping that on his pants.

Kyungsoo looks at Jongin, dead serious, “I’m joking.”

Jongin laughs nervously, “of course you are.”

“Are you doing one more dance?”

Hell no, it’s like fourteen billion fucking degrees up in here. “If you’re gonna watch, maybe.”

Kyungsoo does this adorable thing where his eyes get bigger whenever he contemplates something, looking up at the heavens and lips twitching into a smile, small and sweet like a daisy. Jongin’s seen Kyungsoo wander into this expression only three times, and each time his heart squeezes and violently explodes into a gay rainbow. It’s a wonder how Jongin keeps his face straight throughout the ordeal.

“Can I request a song?” Kyungsoo wonders, biting his lip. Fuck don’t do that.

“Sure,” Jongin nods, casual. Inside: yes yes yes yes yes anything for my beloved Kyungsoo hyung.

“Hmmm, how about,” Kyungsoo plucks his phone out from inside his blazer and checks through it, expression changing from cute pondering hyung to (sexy) professional businessman. He must get a work email every half a second if his job requires him to work on Sundays.

The pause gets a bit long so Jongin timidly says, “uh. Hyung?”

Kyungsoo ignores him for whatever’s on the phone screen, hurting his pride and undying affection. Unbelievable, Jongin is worth a whole lot more than stupid work affairs. He fiddles around with his drink bottle, juggles the idea of taking out his own phone to level the playing field when-

“Sorry,” Kyungsoo says, voice flat and a little bit tired, “anyway, I’ve got this song in mind that would be fitting. You do freestyle, right?”

“Yeah,” Jongin says too enthusiastically, like a puppy perking up when its owner returns home.

“Amazing,” Kyungsoo’s finally showing some emotion, grinning. His smile has the capacity to raise a thousand wilting flowers back to full bloom, to part the stormy clouds and allow sunshine onto this Earth. Kyungsoo should smile more, for the sake of humanity.

Jongin ends up dancing to a slow indie ballad he doesn’t recognise, but surprisingly Korean. He mixes in a familiar routine he learnt an age ago, the rhythm and expression similar to the song, and adds some moves from performances he’s seen whenever it feels right. The music thankfully has no surprises in terms of tempo, or else that would be hell to clean up with his choreography. The melody is simple. The words are intensely sad.

He gets lost in the music, chasing the cello base line and then circling back to follow the piano melody, ending with a whisper of a drum beat. When he finally looks up[ at] Kyungsoo, nestled in a new group spectators, he’s looking at Jongin in wonder, hint of a smile.

The crowd cheers. Jongin bows gratefully, the sun burning his back.

Kyungsoo takes him out for lunch, in which Jongin jokingly called a date but internally cried in pure joy. They had a mild argument over where to go, because Jongin was totally fine with fast food (in fact way more than fine) but Kyungsoo insisted on this Italian restaurant on the North side of the river. A scuffle in the car, but really it was Kyungsoo’s win from the beginning because a) he’s driving, b) he’s paying, and c) Jongin is powerless against Kyungsoo’s existence as a whole so he succumbs.

Kyungsoo’s victorious simper is satisfaction enough.

They’re waved to a table, offered wine (to which Jongin agrees to, Kyungsoo clicking his tongue.

“Aren’t you a bit young for alcohol?”

“Only a year younger than you, grandpa.”)

Jongin’s wearing his cotton top now that he’s in the face of powerful air-conditioners, fidgeting because he’s pretty sure he smells like locker room. Kyungsoo is continuously checking his phone.

“I know you work a lot,” Jongin says once Kyungsoo has his attention back on him, “but every time I see you you’re always free for a lengthy lunch break.

Kyungsoo chuckles, fingering the rim of his wineglass, “Only on the weekends. Mostly I read over plans and designs of software, so I can do that wherever. I can do it, as you say, over lunch. But Monday through to Friday, I’m in the office, coding and looking into machines and the sorts.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.”

“Fun,” Kyungsoo echoes. “When you kids arrive into the real world, fun can be found in anything as long as you believe it.”

“So you think it’s possible for even someone like me to find mechatronic engineering fun?”

Kyungsoo leans back and assesses Jongin like how psychopaths asses their target, “no, you’re a hopeless one.”

“I’m hurt,” Jongin places his hand on his chest, “truly.”

The waiter arrives to take their order. Kyungsoo coolly says his meal in smooth Italian, Jongin saying me as well because he simply cannot with fancy foreign meals. A thought strikes him.

“I just remembered, do you know a guy named Park Chanyeol?”

Kyungsoo stares at him, deer in headlights, “It was a long time ago, but yes. Park Chanyeol, as in quite tall, crazy smile, elf ears?”

Jongin laughs, “Yup. You know, when I told him that I was hanging out with a Kyungsoo, he asked about you in the same way.”

Kyungsoo scrunches his nose, “Hopefully he hasn’t spread rumours about me.”

“He described you exactly as you are present day. And it’s so weird,” Jongin shakes his head, “you two are like, complete opposites. How did you two become best friends for so long?”

Kyungsoo is staring through the table, or maybe not looking at anything at all, “I don’t even know. It’s been so long.”

A silence settles over the table, Kyungsoo’s head up in the clouds and Jongin is suddenly a stranger. He’s become a third wheel despite just the two of them having lunch. Chanyeol, he curses, you’re so goddamn big even the idea of you is cockblocking me and my soulmate. Screw you to the seventh circle of hell.

Their food comes and Kyungsoo’s on his phone again, expression distressed and it sends Jongin into knight in shining armour mode.

“Is everything okay, hyung?”

“Yeah. It’s just. Work. As Usual.”

“Hope they’re not overworking you.”

“It’s not that,” Kyungsoo sighs in frustration, rubbing his jaw, “It’s…”

Jongin waits patiently, and Kyungsoo finally gives in with a defeated hunch.

“I’m leaving for Tokyo on Monday. They want me to look over a few things there and because EXO’s in the wait of releasing this new product. I’m required to visit most of the other big branches as well. I’ll be travelling again, all across the world, and the planning for it has to be perfect because along with product maintenance and updating I have to attend launching parties and-” Kyungsoo buries his head in his hand, flipping his phone face up and then face down over and over.

Jongin mellows over this, then slowly asks, “What do you mean travelling again?”

Kyungsoo looks so small and tired. “I’m a specialized technician, so for some aspects of the design of the software or device or whatever, it’s my sole responsibility. There’s a team of us, sure, but we’ve got a lot of branches across the world, and EXO’s got many clients wanting very different things.”

“So,” Jongin says, trying to piece the information together, “you’re going to Japan on Monday, and then what?”

“And then heading off to Paris Sunday night, and then China on Tuesday for two weeks. And then California for another two weeks, and then I can’t even remember anymore.”

“So,” Jongin feels so dumb, “when are you coming back?”

Kyungsoo groans, placing his phone face down, “not for at least five months. It’ll probably be longer, because it’s been in talks for a while that I be moved temporarily to another branch as the company goes through some change overs.”

“Moved temporarily? Like, half a year?”

“No,” Kyungsoo exhales. Their food is completely forgotten. “Two years, eighteen months if I’m lucky.”

Jongin has his hands clenched on his thighs, and he musters as calmly as he can, “but I don’t want you to be gone for that long, hyung.”

Kyungsoo finally looks up at Jongin, and something in that gaze gives Jongin a glimmer of hope, of maybe. “I don’t want to be gone for that long either.”

Kyungsoo’s looking at him in the oddest of ways, like he’s waiting for Jongin to do something so the sadness would go away. It’s so open, so vulnerable, and Jongin hopes.

He’s dropped off at the dorm door, in which Kyungsoo’s asks if he can walk Jongin to the door. He feels like a blushing school girl at the end of her first date, and it hurts his manly pride because dammit Kyungsoo’s the little pretty one and Jongin wants to sweep him off his feet and carry him into the sunset bridal style.

The atmosphere between them is melancholic and sour on the tongue. Whenever he takes a side glance at Kyungsoo the man’s looking up ahead with a far-off expression. It makes Jongin’s heart ache, but he is also eternally confused because if Kyungsoo keeps acting like this move is a personal vendetta from the higher ups against his and Jongin’s relationship then Jongin would soon drive himself insane.

Chanyeol answers the door, and all hell breaks loose.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, eyes like saucers staring at Kyungsoo. Their height difference is comical, and Jongin thought he was tall next to Kyungsoo.

“Oh shit,” Kyungsoo is slowly backing away from Chanyeol’s frenzied stare. That giant keeps whispering oh my god oh my god oh my god and it starts to sound like the jaws theme. The tension keeps building and building.

“DO KYUNGSOO,” Chanyeol finally shouts, throwing his long legs out front and within a one and a half steps, engulfed the little man in a bone-crushing hug. Jongin laughs and leans against the doorframe, watching the way Kyungsoo’s arms flail helplessly and deliver sharp punches to Chanyeol’s shoulder.

“YOU BASTARD, JUST LOOK AT YOU. JUST LOOK! AT! YOU!” The neighbouring dorm rooms and probably the neighbouring floors could hear Chanyeol shouting, and if it weren’t for them being used to his ruckus the security would be hauling him out for disturbing the peace.

It takes a while but Jongin finally realizes the low buzzing noise is Kyungsoo’s muffled voice against Chanyeol’s chest. A hard punch to Chanyeol’s pelvis has the tall man flying back, howling with pain and laughter. “What the hell, Park Chanyeol.”

There are tears in Chanyeol’s eyes. “DO KYUNGSOO, YOU STILL REMEMBER MY NAME. I’M CRYING.”

Kyungsoo snorts, fixing his hair that had been frazzled in the hug. “Never in a million years would I forget someone as pathetic as you, you fucking giraffe.”

This sends Chanyeol to his knees. “YOU STILL CALL ME THAT,” he sobs.

The moment is broken by a default ringtone coming from Kyungsoo’s pocket. His laid-back expression changes to annoyed then to professional. He looks to have aged ten extra years.

“I’m sorry, I need to head back to the office. It was seeing you again, Jongin,” then, like a well-rehearsed joke, “not you, Park Dumbyeol.”

Chanyeol is full on sobbing, clutching his chest and reaching out to Kyungsoo’s retreating figure down the hallway, phone to his ear and talking in monotone.

Someone peeks over Jongin’s shoulder. It’s Sehun, looking like a frightened child. “Is he gone?”

“Yes,” Chanyeol whispers dramatically, bending over in agony, “my true love. Come back home.”

Jongin shakes his head and hauls them both inside before Chanyeol begins shouting again. “Both of you are so lame. And back off Park, I’ve claimed him.”

“Please please please please,” Chanyeol whines into Jongin’s shoulder, “can you bring him over again? I wanna see that beautiful face and be hit by that beautiful arm once more.”

“Yeah, that’s like the best feeling ever,” Jongin sighs. “Have you ever gotten slapped by him? That’s my favourite, and his face when he does it. It’s soooo cute.”

“I know right,” Chanyeol nods, sliding an arm around Jongin’s neck. “And when he tells you to shut up, he’s voice is beautiful.”

Sehun calls out from the kitchen, “Fucking masochists. I hope I don’t see his face here for the rest of my life.”

A shadow falls over Jongin’s face, spirits deflated. Kyungsoo’s leaving in two days, off to see the world and make it better with his little hands, and he might not come back for a long time. It’s so sudden, too fast for Jongin. He met Kyungsoo the start of this summer break, fallen half in love with him, and just when he thinks Kyungsoo and the gang can hang out and be a loving family, he’s gone. In a flash. Kyungsoo comes and goes with the rain.

He’s never realized how lonely it is over the holidays without Kyungsoo to text, Kyungsoo to annoy, Kyungsoo to remind him to wear socks. The days are only going to get longer from here as Jongin begins the process of moving on. And he’s not even completely moved in yet.

“Kyungsoo’s…” his chest feels so empty, “he’s going away on a really long business trip. He might not come back for a few years.”

“Fuck yes!” shouts Sehun.

Chanyeol looks devastated. “But I just met him. After nine years I just had him back for a minute and he’s leaving again?”

A streak of crazy flashes through Jongin’s mind. It might work, it might not, but this is absolutely crazy. “Hey, how long until the holidays end?” his voice is extremely careful, and the weight of it has Chanyeol perking up in anticipation.

“Two-ish weeks, why?” the suspense in the air is building. Chanyeol is hooked. Sehun pops his head around the corner to see why the atmosphere changed so drastically.

“This might be crazy-”

“OHH this is what every protagonist says before they say something awesome-”

“Shoosh, Park Chanyeol, I’m already doubting my self-control. Remember last week when I missed Baek’s party, and we were eating ramen and talking?”

Chanyeol mutters an excited yeah, Sehun glowers a no.

“And you asked me what I should do with the street dancing I cash I have? Well, how about this. Let’s go travelling. Now. We can follow Kyungsoo until the holidays end and it’ll be like a getaway.”

Sehun inhales sharply, exhales very slowly, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s a bit more complicated than it sounds, Jongin. We have to book flights, book accommodations, travelling insurance, and think that’s mildly stalking-“

“Yes,” Chanyeol cuts in, hands clenched into fists. “Yes. Yes. Let’s do it. If not for Kyungsoo then for the hell of it. We’ve got plenty of time, and start of semesters are always so slow. Let’s do it.”

Sehun crosses his arms and cocks his hips, “guys, be reasonable.”

“Booking the tickets and rooms are easy. And we can wing it like those backpackers. And Kyungsoo won’t mind if we tag along, we are after all, like, his best friends,” Chanyeol says. But he’s ignored, because he’s the resident maniac.

“Jongin, think about it. What are our parents gonna say?” What are my parents gonna say?

“God, Sehun. You’re at the top of your class. Your grades are perfect. Your criminal record is clean. Don’t worry about what they say. You’re an adult now, and you’re not hurting anyone. It’s just a little break overseas, to broaden our perspective on the world,” Jongin stares at a sheepish Sehun. He’s rubbing his hands together nervously.

And Jongin quickly adds, “We’re going to Tokyo first, if that makes it any better.”

Sehun slams his hands onto the coffee table, determination blazing on his face. “Goddamit Jongin, one day I’m gonna die a horrendous death and it’ll be because of you. But you’re not going to Japan without me, and I sure as hell won’t be letting you to go an adventure and leaving me behind. I’m in.”

--

Saturday sees Tokyo trying to drown Jongin into its screaming colour. Movement everywhere, knocking into Jongin’s sides and the foreign language licking into his ear, merry-go-round dizzy. The giant LED screens flash ads and entertainment as clear as it would in night time, every store and street vendor blasting a different pop song to blend into this cacophony vomit. If they were to describe a modern-day sound it would be this -overwhelming noise. It’s catnip for the dance under Jongin’s skin.

He’s trembling with anxiety; never has Jongin performed anywhere but the streets of South Korea. Here, where he’s missing the solidity of home ground advantage, a swirling sense of homesickness dries him of all confidence he never knew he had.

With nervous footsteps Jongin begins setting up by a water fountain. The playlist he has for the day is a mix of contemporary and jazz, jarring to the loud pressing into him from all sides of the city but Jongin’s sure that if he had chosen dubstep it would blend seamlessly with the billion other pop songs floating in and out of his ear. Sitting on the fountain edge is an old man eating a pork bun.

It takes a while for him to really get into the rhythm of things, forcefully moving into a routine like how he hated back in his high school days. He recycles his favourite moves more than once one songs and it’s slightly embarrassing to himself. Sehun would flip.

People stroll by and spare him glances and double takes here and there, but they don’t stop. It doesn’t really mean much to Jongin (he’s had bad days before), but he feels like he’s grappling with some natural flow that should have come as second nature. It’s frustrating beyond belief.
Three songs in and he’s got a grip on the music and his body. Fourth song, fifth song, and then the next one shakes him from his focus.

It’s the song Kyungsoo had Jongin dance to by the Han River on that sweltering Saturday, the soft indie-ballad with the cello base line. His thumb must’ve accidentally clicked as Jongin was arranging the playlist. Surprisingly, he slips into the song like he’s been dancing it for years. The slow tempo feels like a heartbeat.

A flash of grey in the corner of his eyes has him glancing into the crowd, flicking hair out of his face in hopes that Kyungsoo would be at the other end of his gaze, suit and tie with a small smile on his face because he’s found him again, mid-dance, like he always has but the grey belongs to the cardigan of a girl, watching Jongin dance with her mouth agape. They make eye contact for a second and the next time Jongin turns to face the front her cheeks are tinted a soft pink.

Jongin takes a break after the ninth song, head leaning against the ledge of the fountain and gulping down water like he hasn’t drank any in days. The old man previously eating the bun is still there, and he smiles at Jongin all grandpa like and offers Jongin some sugar crackers. He gratefully accepts, instinctively saying thanks in Korean and then quickly switching to Japanese. He doesn’t know much Japanese, only simple greetings and badly accented phrases, and he hopes he never has to use anything more.

Soon enough the day has come to half-past three, and though the streets only seem to get busier Jongin huddles his things together and begin his trek back to the hotel, panting and legs like jelly. On the way back he spots a few knick-knacks he’s sure Chanyeol and Sehun would like and buys them with all the new yen coins he has jingling in his bag.

Although Chanyeol, Sehun, and Jongin had just touchdown in Tokyo yesterday morning they all had been quick on the shoot about spending their holiday time. Chanyeol had collected quite the few brochures about Zen gardens and Mt. Kyoto, and immediately took off out the door with a salute, decked in his hiking gear and a bag chocked full of who-knows-what. Sehun followed his weeaboo heart and journeyed out into the city planning to visit anything and everything related to animet. Jongin, once seeing the pristine white sheets of the hotel room, collapsed into bed and accidentally took a six-hour nap. He then ventured out for some chicken, got lost for another hour, came back to the hotel, and after a long chill out in the bath took another nap. Such is the life of Kim Jongin.

For Chanyeol and Sehun, this trip was maybe mainly for them to dick around but some part of Jongin had hoped that he’d meet Kyungsoo coincidentally- actually more in the idea of fate. After all, Seoul is a city in the millions, and still they keep running into each other even when they’re not seeking each other out, so how should Tokyo be any different?

Sunday, hot. Prior to leaving the hotel wifi, Jongin has web searched Kyungsoo’s company’s Japan branch, garnering an address. It’s a struggle getting there what with everything in Japanese and Jongin not being Japanese, but the locals are kind and they direct him to his destination.

The building is much like every other skyscraper in the neighbourhood; tall, dark, ambiguously intimidating. There aren’t many street performers in this side of town, just business men and women going about their schedule making money and all. This time the chance of finding Kyungsoo should be through the roof, so he puts a little distance between the building and him, setting up nearer to some cafés attracting crowds like moths to light. He wants to appear natural, like this stroke of fate is simply that, and not Jongin purposely stalking him across the ocean and hunting him down via google maps.

Today his music is slower and more polite. There isn’t any other competition of sound but the drone of conversation and traffic, feeling almost like the riverside if Jongin closes his eyes, and paints a body of water behind him. The people by the cafes look confused at first, not used to seeing street performances this side of town, but they don’t kick him to the curb, which is a good sign.

This time he’s purposefully added Kyungsoo’s song in.

Somewhere between the twentieth song and the twenty-fifth, lunch rush barrels into the corner of shops like a stampede. Suddenly swirling all around him are variations of grey and black and it’s hard for him to concentrate in his dance when his head is pounding with Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo.

But then he reaches song number twenty-nine and no one familiar has stopped by. He takes a quick break, bowing to the few people watching and grabs a drink, inspecting each face and getting disappointed when Kyungsoo isn’t any of them. Jongin huffs and leans against a store front window, wondering of all the Sunday lunches Kyungsoo goes to, he coincidentally misses this one. Or maybe he’s out dining in a fancy place some streets over, or maybe he’s still working. Could this be fate, like Jongin missing Kyungsoo by a second when they’re both looking the wrong way or one enters the store while the other one leaves? Could his fate and Kyungsoo’s fate cancel each other out to make this sad mess?

Jongin returns to dancing with a heavy heart, and halfway through a routine he realizes he must look so melodramatic: dancing ballet to sad music looking heartbroken. Whatever, he pouts, it adds to the effect.

And then, a beacon of light shines down on him - on his knees with his back arched, arm reaching out to the sky.

“Oh my god,” a familiar voice exclaims in Korean. Jongin knows that voice, could recognize that voice in his sleep. He stands up and turns until he’s facing him, Do Kyungsoo, detailed pinstripe blazer folded over his arm and white dress shirt pushed up the elbows. He looks much the same, though his neck and ears are flushed beet red.

“Jongin,” he says, looking shaken, “what on earth are you doing in Tokyo?”

Jongin’s nervous all of a sudden. “Um, I’m just visiting. And, uh, dancing?”

Kyungsoo looks around and faces the ground. His hair isn’t styled which is rare. It looks so soft and shiny. “In Tokyo, right after I told you I would be here, coincidentally right next to my company building?”

“I really am just visiting, but seeing you is just a little part of it,” Jongin says, fighting the urge to touch Kyungsoo’s hair. He isn’t sure how the other would feel about PDA.

“You,” Kyungsoo seethes. Jongin gulps, he might be screwed. “Are the most frustrating boy I’ve ever met. How can you just-“

Kyungsoo exhales sharply, eyes going dark like a pair of onyx.

“Hey,” Jongin tries, half-used to Kyungsoo’s black aura. “I’m not getting in your way of anything, right? Just think of it as like, a tag-along. I’ll keep my distance.”

“A tag-along?” Kyungsoo’s eyes are the size of saucers now. Flustered owl mode to the max. “You mean you’re planning on following me through my entire trip?”

“No no no no, well. Only until the end of semester break.”

“Kim Jongin,” Kyungsoo looks like he might cry, “do you not have responsibilities? Are you really going to waste your time following me around like a child?”

“Hey, Chanyeol and Sehun are with me too. It was a collective agreement.”

“That you stalk me all over the world?”

“That we have fun travelling whilst maybe catching up with you on the sidelines.”

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo buries his face in his palms.

“Hyung,” Jongin replies, only because he really has nothing to say. Really he saw Kyungsoo getting mad coming, but Kyungsoo in general makes him so happy it’s really okay if Kyungsoo wants him tried and executed.

Kyungsoo’s eyes flash and Jongin thinks he’s about to get socked in the head when all the other does is just huff and say, “okay, you found me. Now what?”

He comes up at a blank. “Uh…”

“God. You are hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.” Kyungsoo rubs circles into his face. “Go home, Jongin. If you know what’s good for you.”

“Jongin, I swear to god! Go home. Leave me alone.”

“But-”

Kyungsoo turns around and weaves out of the crowd. Any moment now the ground might open up and swallow Jongin whole. This isn’t how he planned it at all.

Back in the hotel room. Chanyeol and Sehun are taking turns nursing Jongin’s broken heart.
“It’s just how he is,” Chanyeol pats his head. “Don’t take it to heart.”

“He’s the fucking devil,” Sehun whispers, sitting on the edge of Jongin’s bed.

Jongin sobs into his pillow.

“C’mon, forget about him. Let’s do this trip without him-“

Jongin shoots up, shouting no! He whips his head around and stares off in the space between Chanyeol and Sehun. “I’m gonna make him fall in love with me.”

Sehun face palms, “No baka. This isn’t some shoujo fantasy.” Japan’s really getting to him.

But Jongin just cradles himself and mumbles to it himself. I’m gonna make you love me, Do Kyungsoo. I swear, the next time you see me dance you’ll get so hard you’d be begging for me to even touch you. Just you wait.

(Chanyeol and Sehun back out of the room slowly, turning of the lights and shutting the door without a single sound.)

--

Paris is eight hours behind Tokyo and at first Jongin thinks he can handle it but when they touchdown at mid-afternoon the world feels like it’s barely pushed two in the morning, and coupled with how he was squirming in his seat the whole eleven hours of the flight instead of sleeping, he knows his sleeping pattern is screwed.

It’s Jongin’s turn to have his own room and he stumbles into it after Chanyeol handles the front desk with subpar English. The accommodation is much fancier than the little box in Tokyo, and though the price is a little higher it is nice to splurge on a good bed. A comfortable sleep is priceless, after all.

But when Jongin’s head hits the pillow and that instant vortex of falling into sleep doesn’t come for half an hour, two hours, four hours, he starts to doubt whether or not the money was put to good use.

Insomnia is a problem Jongin never has. Sleep is a part of his identity; synonyms with Kim Jongin, dance, and chicken. He tosses and turns in the empty room, listening to the sounds of the city a few floors down, fingers pulling at his t-shirt and he decides to take that off, and then when it still feels so uncomfortable he strips bare.

His mind has come to terms with not falling asleep and loops the songs he had been listening to on the plane. Songs he’s danced to, songs Chanyeol had given to him to see if he could choreograph moves to. Kyungsoo’s song comes into the mix, and then it sticks in his head until Jongin’s so frustrated he pulls out his phone to listen to it for real, and then before he knows it he’s on the carpet, dancing, throat tightening with each step, a figure of grey teasing at the end of his fingertips.

Jongin is walking around the barely-lit streets of early morning Paris when he spots Kyungsoo by the Seine, a wash of orange sunrise on the nape of his neck. He’s in different variations of don’t-notice-me black, spine slightly curved forward by some unbeknownst burden Jongin is eager to shoo away, and a breeze plays with his fringe.

Jongin walks a curve so he won’t be seen, not really understanding what this would achieve because it’s not like Kyungsoo would be all that pleased if he sees him either sooner or later, but insomnia makes him jitter with invincibility. There standing before him is Kyungsoo, once again found coincidentally amongst millions, and something in this foreign air makes it seem like he’s waiting for Jongin.

He does a run up and back-hugs Kyungsoo with such a force that sends them toppling onto the pavement. Kyungsoo swears, elbowing Jongin square in the jaw.

“What the fuck,” they both say. Jongin is laughing; slap happy. They’re sprawled on the ground with Jongin still hugging Kyungsoo tight to his chest, the latter still smelling of fancy cologne.

Kyungsoo seethes, eyes impossibly wide, “Kim Jongin, are you serious.” He rips Jongin’s arms off stomach and kicks him away, getting up and rubbing his rides.

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin whines, still smiling and now impossibly tired and warm. How does Kyungsoo manage to always smell so expensive? Does he shower in Armani?

“Why are you following me? Do you not have parents?” then he mumbles, “and that’s hyung to you.”
That last mumble has Jongin struggling to catch it, mind already half asleep despite the dirty ground and wow this is pretty low even for him. “Help me, I’m about to…”

“What?” Kyungsoo says, maybe, Jongin can’t hear anymore. It’s so hard to speak right now with how heavy he’s breathing.

“About to… fall…”

And when he gets the willpower to force his eyes open everything’s warm and soft and leather. Gentle jazz in the background, Kyungsoo’s hazy side profile in the foreground, driving. Kyungsoo’s lips are moving but no sound comes out.

Jongin groans, still no energy to speak. How badly he wants to touch Kyungsoo’s cheeks right now.
“I’m sending you to your hotel, guessing Chanyeol is here with you as well?”

Groan.

“Okay, sure. Just let me reach a stoplight to call him. Bless how you don’t have a lock on your phone.”

Quieter groan, oh no he’s slipping off again. He’s wavering on line of consciousness like a spinning coin on its side, but something keeps pulling him back - this tiny, soft sound, muffled by the car engine and Coltrane. It’s been too long since he had a kind sleep.

Kyungsoo says something, a buzz to Jongin’s ear. He tries groaning coloured with infliction.

“You’re an actual baby, you know that? And this stalking gig needs to stop ‘cause it’s starting to piss me off,” Kyungsoo speaks over the white noise, “also it’s illegal.”

The car too wafts a subtle, musky fragrant - it must be something to do Europe, or perhaps Europe (or maybe anything remotely foreign to Jongin’s homebound disposition) smells the same as Kyungsoo. It wouldn’t be surprising, they’re both so cold and pale, so undeniably intriguing.

“Hmm… dance…”

Kyungsoo sighs, “Sorry?”

Jongin shifts in his seat, hissing at the seatbelt cutting over his arms, “I’m here… to… dance.”

The song playing ends, the car engulfed in a foggy silence that hugs Jongin like a warm blanket, and another starts. Jongin drifts, squinting at the streetlights blurring by.

“That’s ridicu-“Kyungsoo puffs, turrets dilating with frustrated grey smoke, “I don’t understand. You can dance back home, you can audition for those entertainment companies, hell you’ve been scouted by almost all of them. If you wanted to dance, you could. You could do it just fine without following me around.”

It’s hard for Jongin to catch all that. He tosses it around in his head, smiling because it’s more than that, it’s so much bigger yet simpler than that. All those years he spent dancing in a room full of mirrors with reflections of people just like him, all those times he’s gone to bed with swollen calves and throbbing ankles, it’s all been to condition his body for this world stage. Like Michael Jackson, scratching the universe’s floor with his dancing shoes, he wants to live in the music, the tempo and bass and dance, only dance, every street corner on Earth. It’s always been about dancing.

“You see,” Jongin opens his eyes a bit bigger, tilting his head to look at Kyungsoo’s side profile, “Chanyeol wants to graduate uni and become a marketing director. Sehun wants to graduate uni and become a general practitioner or whatever. Every weekend they’re holed up in their rooms, textbooks and PowerPoint handouts everywhere, and sometimes they forget to eat, sometimes they forget about the outside world.” Sometimes they forget about me.

Jongin continues, voice fading into whispers and then returning into its usual sleepy grogginess, “but I’m out on the streets, brunch to early evening, street dancing. It used to be for practice and a cash revenue, but now it’s not. Now it’s,” he pauses, head turning and chest slightly queasy from exhaustion, “about connecting, smack dab in the middle. I’m really, really happy when I’m street dancing.”

Jongin trails off, everywhere suddenly so bright now because apparently the sun doesn’t work the same here in France than it does in South Korea. The ancient architecture of the streets has a fresh glow to them, doused in the morning sunrise. He’s still looking at Kyungsoo, who still is lovely as a peach even with his eye bags and gentle down-turned lips.

“You look very pretty,” Jongin breathes, eyes shutting hopefully for real this time. Sehun told him once that people dream about the thoughts they have just as they are about to fall asleep.

“Don’t fall asleep now, we’re like twenty seconds away.”

Sorry dear Kyungsoo, sleep beckons your handsome prince to a faraway place where he’s unable to protect you. Jongin is decked out in silver armour, a longsword sheathed onto his hip as he gallops away on his white stallion, a greater force pulling him away from his beloved Kyungsoo (who’s fitted into a satin pink dress, bodice tight and weaved with ribbons). Sehun the Terrible has cast a curse on Jongin, whom now can no longer rest peacefully until he has slain the dragon that protects the magical lands. Kyungsoo cries as he watches Jongin ride into the sunset, off to kill the guardian dragon, tears like diamonds on his pale skin-

Jongin is falling. He snaps awake before he hits the ground.

Daze. A dream.

Someone is talking in a low murmur. Another person replies in a hearty laugh, jarring Jongin from his semi-consciousness into a more alert state.

“...third time here. The seaside is much more spectacular, but I only ever get sent there for holidays.”

“You get sent on holidays? That’s the life.”

“It’s only because of my boss. We’re pretty close, and he insists that I get exotic breaks because I work way too often or whatever. It makes zero sense, really. I’m travelling all over the world and he thinks more travelling would calm my nerves.”

Chanyeol chuckles, “oh I wish I had your problems.”

Pause for a mug to gently tap a table. Kyungsoo says, “Parents still hard on you?”
“Per usual. The sky is blue. The world keeps spinning.

Jongin keeps still (on the couch he presumes, his back is against something plush and his right arm hangs over empty space, a thin blanket draped over his hips that misses the peak of his foot), feeling obtrusive in this rare moment of intimacy between Chanyeol and Kyungsoo. A gulf spreads between their past and Jongin’s present, bittersweet and uninviting.

“Eventually they let you go, after university and getting a white-collar job,” Kyungsoo hums, amused, amused, “but coming from me…”

What? What is it, Kyungsoo? Breach this gulf, invite someone else into your memory.

“I understand. But look at you know! Rolling in the dough, classy as hell,” Chanyeol says. Jongin’s throat tightens with sallow melancholy.

“The best perk.” It’s laced with a smile. How does someone dumb like Park Chanyeol manage to make someone as amazing and intimidating as Do Kyungsoo smile? How deep was, is, their friendship?

Suddenly Jongin feels a sneeze coming through, and he clenches all the muscles in his body and prays that they don’t find him awake and eavesdropping. But of course life is never kind, and he sneezes loudly with two others in succinct.

“Ah, young master is awake,” Chanyeol laughs.

“You’ve been asleep for over ten hours, Jongin. I thought you died,” Kyungsoo’s deadpan.

Jongin whines, turning over and burying his face into the couch.

“You are such a baby. Get up, you must be hungry. You missed both breakfast and lunch,” Kyungsoo says, a chair scrapping across the ground and footsteps getting closer and closer to Jongin’s couch. No go away, he wants to wallow in heartbreak.

His Kyungsoo isn’t his anymore. He was never his to begin with.

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo’s voice right by his ear, husky and smooth.

Jongin shakes his head, trying to be one with the couch.

“Jongin, get up. Chanyeol and I went out for lunch. Hope you didn’t mind, and there’s food for you in the fridge. Chanyeol was insistent that we take away chicken.”

“You had a date without me?” Jongin mumbles into the couch.

“Don’t get jealous. The relationship between Chanyeol and I is strictly platonic and anything more would be unrequited on his part.”

Chanyeol scoffs from the kitchen “Hey now.”

Jongin’s spirits lift at this a bit, and the prospect of food wakes him right up. Kyungsoo is sitting on the carpet with his arms wrapped around his knees and he looks so adorable Jongin can’t help but ruffle his head. And then he bolts to the fridge because he knows Kyungsoo is going to kill him for doing that.

They send Kyungsoo off after he’s made sure Jongin is eating and functioning properly as a human being. When the front door closes Sehun finally comes out of his room, face pale and head snapping around to make sure no remnants of Kyungsoo have been left behind. Jongin is positively bristling.

“I miss him already,” Chanyeol whines, and Jongin wants to kick him in the balls. This is absurd, Chanyeol and Kyungsoo are just childhood friends. But still.

“Take a hint, Yeol,” Sehun sniggers, slapping Chanyeol on the back, “Jogging Shoes is gonna kill you if you keep talking about his baby.”

“Am not,” Jongin bites out. He is.

“Hey, now. What did I say? I don’t like him in that way. And Kyungsoo would sooner swallow his own tongue than even think a single romantic thought about me,” Chanyeol reassures with his hands in the air.

The thing is he knows this. But something primitive inside him still bares its teeth at anyone even a metre radius around his Kyungsoo. “I know. Just. Give me an hour. It’ll wear off.”

Except it doesn’t, because two meals and three hours later he’s still seeing green, and Chanyeol’s just so goddamn tall. Is Kyungsoo into tall guys? Jongin’s not that short, he can still be a candidate right?

“Dude,” Sehun is amused. “Chill.”

“I’m trying but it’s so hard.”

“Chanyeol,” Sehun calls, “it’s not working. We need a plan B.”

Chanyeol is in their shared room doing who-know-what. “Well, we can go out into town? Kyungsoo’s going to a party so maybe-”

“Kyungsoo’s going to a party?” Jongin perks up at the name.

“Yeah… But I don’t think we’re invited.”

“Jongin,” Sehun crosses his arms, “I don’t like that look on your face.”

“I know I’ve said it before,” Jongin says slowly. It’s official, he’s lost it. “This might be crazy but…”

part i | part iii | part iv