(for luhands) Future Island
For: luhands
Title: Future Island
Pairing: Jongin/Sungjong (Infinite)
Word Count: ~8,500 words
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: some accident/explosion imagery, implied smut
Summary: Jongin travels endlessly with Dante the hedgehog until his silver Boxster breaks down outside a strange town where everything seems familiar and yet...?
Author's Note: Thanks so much to Emmi for being so patient and kind and understanding and not getting frustrated with all my health struggles. I'm really really sorry and I hope I didn't cause you too much pain. Thank you to my lovely recipient for having such interesting prompts and especially thank you for giving me the option of writing so many rare pairings - I jumped at the opportunity to write this one so I hope it's something you can like, even a little. I also want to apologize for asking so many questions and still somehow managing to get things wrong - I hope you can forgive the inclusion of Sehun as a very small side character and the fact that Dante the hedgehog is in all actuality an original character who plays a fairly large part in the story. I'm very sorry for completely overlooking this fact. Thank you to EVERYONE on tlist for getting me through this - your encouragement and support was frankly overwhelming and I'm very sorry if I burdened anybody. I wish I could treat you all to supper. An enormous thank you to A for beta-ing on extreme lack of sleep and your own deadlines and I'm so sorry that I always seem to be one of your problems. One day I will again manage to write a story and finish it in time for the second check-in. I promise. And last but never least, thank you to my precious squishy kangaroo who always keeps me going and even tweetfics angst with me. We shall meet one day.
The title of this story is taken from the artist name Future Islands. Dante is named after the main character from Divina Commedia by Dante Alighieri. He is inspired in part by Marutaro the hedgehog of @hedgehogdays (here with a hairbrush)
Dante is a simple hedgehog. He likes to sit in the sun, musing on the reality of his existence. A butterfly drifts past the window as the car rolls down the highway. "Am I a hedgehog dreaming I'm a butterfly, or am I am butterfly dreaming of being a hedgehog?" The dust from the side of the road rises, disturbed by the tires, but none gets in his eyes. The windows are shut, the way he likes it.
Jongin liked to drift. He moved with the wind, idle and then stormy, this way and that, winding through the seasons. His silver Boxster, his hedgehog Dante, and he. They'd been together for a long time.
Future Island
Another green town sign, another strip of houses to watch stream past through the windows. Jongin didn't see anything wrong with driving a convertible with the top always up. After a few years, eternally windswept ceased to be exciting, especially when there was no one to see it.
That's a strange name for a town...
The thought wound its way idly through his head, sky blue and ground red sand on the way to the eternal somewhere else. Dante peered over the dashboard at the road before them, as the silver nose of the car devoured the black asphalt and sent it streaming out behind them. Even the sky shimmered, a flash of eyes and brown hair - what was that?
And then the dreamy quality of the day was interrupted by a metallic groan, as the car shuddered to a stop, not five metres past the town sign. Jongin sighed, resting his head on the steering wheel. Why now, when I'm in the middle of nowhere?
Dante looked at him severely from the dashboard, as if to say You're always in the middle of nowhere.
He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, surprised to see full service. Well we are in the 21st century after all... But it wasn't very helpful when he had no idea whom to call. He slippped on his shoes with a sigh, generally preferring to be barefoot, and started trekking into town, Dante riding on his shoulder.
Dante enjoys the ride for the first score steps, but after that the difference between the under-chassis of a car and a person becomes all too apparent. He wants to be sitting in the car again, watching over people's lives speed by, not have dust blow in his face. He blinks. Real life is best lived behind glass.
The walk into town was short but strange; Jongin kept hearing the soft shifting of sand like slow footsteps, seeing glimpses of brown out of the corner of one eye; but when he turned to look, nothing was there. Must be my imagination.
He shrugged, just as the wind whipped up a small funnel of swirling sand - he blinked I thought? He shook the sand out of his eyelashes, reaching a hand up to brush the sand from Dante's needles, and kept walking.
The road segued slowly from black asphalt into grey cobbled stone, worn almost flat by use. The town must have been really old. It was strange, to think of people building a road so long ago that the stones had been worn down flat. Like the story about a bird, flying across the universe to tap its beak against the mountain at the end of time, and when at long last the mountain was worn down to sand, only a second of forever would have elapsed.
Seconds of forever twirled through the wind to brush against his face, get caught in his hair, creep into his mouth. I feel like I'm living over and over again; a strange déjà-vu.
The first house came into view, a white house with a wraparound porch, chrysanthemums in pots hanging from the rafters. More houses followed, all with porches and flowers and no one in sight. What's wrong with this town? All he could hear was the wind.
The sand was starting to get into his shoes, rubbing the tops of his feet unpleasantly, and the sun was getting a bit too warm for someone used to air conditioning. Dante touched his neck with a tiny nose.
"Yes, yes."
He was getting discouraged, thinking about turning back and walking out the the highway, when a strange sound drew his attention. Bells.
He stopped to look around more carefully and finally spotted a small sign: Café, sighing in relief. The steps didn't creak as he walked up them; it was strange but he chalked it up to age. They must be tired of protesting and they're saving it all for their dying scream as they crack to drop an unsuspecting pedestrian. He shivered at the thought.
A bell tinkled overhead as he peered into the dimness of a room that seemed to stretch on into the shadows and smelled overwhelmingly of the orchids that sat in small blue pots arranged on little tables standing in the light of the windows. He bent to examine one of the flowers -
"That's a doritaenopsis orchid," a voice from behind him said. Jongin spun in surprise, almost unseating Dante who poked him with his nose.
A man stood in the light streaming through the open windows - wait, wasn't it dark just a moment ago? - the sun hitting his red-tinged brown hair and setting it ablaze. He had the most delightful freckles dusted across his cheeks - Jongin blinked and they were gone. For some reason it smelled like lemons.
"Hello?" he said, the word slipping out of his mouth like a question. Are you real?
The man looked at him for a moment, as though memorizing a face he had known once and then forgotten.
"I'm Sungjong," he said, hand falling out of one pocket, fingers tracing the fabric of his black trousers.
Jongin rifled through his memory but - too many names, too many faces - everything was a blur. "I'm Jongin," he said. Sungjong nodded, as though the answer was somehow what he was expecting, but he'd had to ask anyway for politeness' sake.
"I'd ask if you like coffee but that would be a waste of time," he said, his pink mouth a distraction that Jongin couldn't seem to pry his eyes away from. There are more fine lines in your lips than stars in the sky.
"Mmm," Jongin mumbled, not listening at all. The white curtains drifted in the breeze; he could hear water falling in the distance. Water? In the desert?
Dante poked him and he shook his head to clear his mind. Lines in lips, lines in the sand.
"My car broke down," he said. Sungjong looked thoughtful.
"It's probably a sign," he said, reaching a hand out into the air to flick away the imaginary seconds.
"I'm sorry?" Jongin was confused. The light bounced off the blades of the fan whirling overhead, and flickered across the stranger's face.
"You'll want the mechanic shop down the street," Sungjong said briskly, as though the past conversation had been a dream. He smoothed a non-existent wrinkle out of his white tee and disappeared into the garden, barely visible through the light flooding the room from the open french doors at the other end. There was a cheerful rustling and clinking of cups; Jongin turned to see a tall curly-haired young man standing behind the counter, polishing coffee cups.
"Do you have hot chocolate?" he asked, bemused. The tall man grinned - Chanyeol, Jongin nodded to himself, reading the tag on his black apron - and reached for a mug.
"I haven't see you around," he said cheerfully, an undercurrent of laughter in his voice, before noticing the hedgehog on Jongin's shoulder and almost dropping the mug in his delighted squeal. "That's the sweetest hedgehog I've ever seen!"
As soon as the new person starts talking, Dante perks up his ears. This person is different. He's seen him before. He's about to poke Jongin into remembering, what an absent-minded human, but a most delicious smell of mealworms drifts into his nose and he wrinkles it in delight. He had forgotten that he's hungry, but something definitely needs to be done about it. He surveys the customers in the café and the barista behind the counter, but no one looks too promising. The latter's squealing is slightly annoying, truth be told. He hides his ears and glares.
The hot chocolate having slipped smoothly down his throat, along with the barista's smile, Jongin made his way to the mechanic shop by means of Chanyeol's friendly directions. There are trees at the side of the road. I don't remember them being here before, or did I just miss them? He wasn't sure; all of the places he'd been were swimming together behind his eyelids as he blinked away the glare of the sun.
The mechanic, Jongdae, was friendly, chatting non-stop to Jongin as he sent his assistant - "Sehun, can you do me a favour?" - to collect the sad Boxster, which was probably melting into a sad puddle of silver in the noon heat. Jongin's mind wandered over the backdrop of words bursting into the air and fading between the molecules of water drifting in wait. It smells like rain.
Sehun came back, hair dripping distractingly onto the white cotton of his t-shirt; he shook the blond tendrils and a fine spray fills the air. On his shoulder, Dante shook his quills in displeasure.
"Is it raining?" Jongdae asked, surprised. Sehun only nodded, uninterested in the entire concept of weather, the universe, today. Jongin could tell by the twitch in his fingers that he had a certain silver vehicle in mind. A Porsche will do that to you.
"You can take it for a spin when it's fixed," he grinned, "if you want."
Sehun rewarded him with a smile so bright it was actually shocking; he could tell by the muted intake of breath from the man sitting across from him that he had just been inducted into a privileged club of people.
Still slightly blinded, he noticed only in passing the whispered conference held between Jongdae and Sehun's bent figure, until Jongdae coughed politely.
"I'm very sorry," Jongdae began, and Jongin's heart sank, "but since you have a somewhat specialized vehicle, the necessary part won't arrive until next week."
Jongin was stunned. A week? He hadn't been in a single place for that long since … well actually, he couldn't remember anything but the road and the sky and the comforting texture of a leather steering wheel beneath his fingers. On his shoulder, Dante was equally displeased, digging his nose into the tender skin of his neck. I guess I'll have to find a place to stay.
He meant to ask Jongdae - he seemed friendly enough and would probably have been happy to point him in the right direction, but his feet seemed to have a mind of their own, propelling him up from his seat and out the door, down the rain-slick steps and out under a sky that was watery blue with afterthoughts of rain. His feet splashed up the water from the puddles between the cobbles; vibrant green blades of grass crumpled underfoot. Wait...grass? He was looking around in bewilderment at the vibrant colours and lushness of trees after rain. There was a tiny white sprig of lily of the valley which he bent to admire - there was a flash of brown hair in his peripheral vision. Who?
There was no one there but a thickening of the air; it felt like the even the oxygen molecules were holding their breath. On his shoulder, Dante touched his neck with his nose. Jongin followed the feeling down the street and swinging left under an archway of roses, white and pink and red and lavender and blue? But blue roses don't exist?
The air settled and he found himself in a courtyard, a tiny garden gnome perched above a small waterfall where koi swam in ever widening circles that spiraled back to the start. The shōji slid open with a silky sigh and a tall slender man with back hair stepped out. His feet were bare, lightly skimming the wood of the genkan.
"Welcome," he said. "I suppose you're here for the guesthouse?" Jongin nodded, distracted. His eyes are blue.
"I'm Zitao," the man said, waving Jongin in. "Please follow me."
He doesn't like the smelly building with its strong harsh smells of oil and metal and chemicals - he'd kept his nose wrinkled shut the entire time and wormed his nose into the fabric of Jongin's shirt. But this place is nice, the tall man with black hair is quiet and smooth in motion. Dante eyes Jongin and mentally shakes his head. His human really needs to learn to appreciate his surroundings, not get lost in superficial distractions like the weather, when it's obvious that there are more things going on here.
The room was simple but calm, a plain oak bedframe with white sheets, a low table with a zabuton waiting underneath, a single orchid perched on the window sill, translucent curtains waving softly with the wind. It was sunny, the light streaming in honey-like to dye the room gold; everything as it had always been. Had always been?
Jongin lifted Dante off his shoulder to sit on the window ledge, the air thickening and then thinning again like beads of time pooling on a string; he swayed, falling back to sit on the bed, white knuckles grasping the bedframe.
"Am I dreaming?" Dante didn't answer.
Jongin looked at his hand resting on his knee. It was strange for the fingers to lie straight, not curled around the leather steering wheel. He wiggled his toes and the feeling of déjà vu subsided.
He sits on the window ledge, surveying the room - all in all, not bad, and the aesthetic is very nice - and then he sees it. The beauty, the texture, the colour. Oh, hairbrush. To you may I dedicate my entire being. Dante approaches, slowly, respectfully, and nudges a polite and reverent hello. There's no response but he remains undaunted. Love at first sight.
Jongin sat in the dining room; shōji slid back so that one wall framed an open air view of the garden. Zitao was perched on a rock, gently tending a delicate bonsai, the small tree somehow ancient in its miniature beauty, time folding in on itself. He looked down at his hands, the faint tracing of veins underneath his skin weaving a pattern of roots without an anchor.
"It's very quiet here ..." Jongin looked up, startled; the sun had somehow sunk further down to hide behind the wall and the garden was bathed in gold and red. Wait? Zitao had just finished retracing the flowing pattern of the sand garden, tiny grains of stone still clinging to the tines of the rake as he slid out of his shoes before entering the room. "There's a library, if you would like?"
Jongin thought back to the last book he had read. There was a garden like this one, and a wife, and a body... He shrugged non-commitally, Dante on his shoulder nosing him in protest. "That might be interesting."
Jongin has dragged him away from his new acquaintance - Dante shakes his head in disgust. Humans. Just when he was making headway. And then he's settled down for a nice nap, contemplating his next plan of attack and tracing the patterns in the sand that the calm man is drawing - why can't Jongin be more like this - and then his human has to go and shrug and jar him awake again; rattling his thoughts around his brain. It's frankly infuriating, some days.
Jongin ended up spending a lot of time at the coffee shop, white curtains blowing in the smell of spring. This is the strangest summer I've ever had. It's strange not being behind the wheel of his Boxster, back resting against leather, bare feet leaning into the gas pedal at a steady 110 km/h or faster if I dare. Without the steady rhythm of the road, second by second, hour by hour, rubber on cement, his grasp on time was fleeting.
"Hello again." Sungjong with a tray, hot chocolate and coffee sending up spirals of steam that intertwined before dissipating into the shadows of the ceiling. Jongin looked up from his book, his finger slipping; the pages cascaded back to the beginning and he lost his place. "The Summer of the Ubume," Sungjong nodded absentmindedly, it wasn't a compliment or a rebuke but rather more - when you're placing something in your memory.
Jongin sipped the hot chocolate; the day was suddenly cool and a veil of water hid the outside from view. The richness of the milk pooled between his tastebuds. He could feel Sungjong's gaze resting heavy on his eyelids but when he looked up, the brown hair was bobbing in happy conversation with Chanyeol, flickers of red reflecting the sun from the side window because the rain had stopped.
For a split second his mouth tasted like lemons.
Oh hairbrush. Please allow me to compliment your splendour. It still hasn't answered yet but by now Dante is used to it. Some things are best taken slowly. They sleep next to each other now, warm in pools of sunlight. Dante has mostly taken to ignoring Jongin, especially since even when he's not around he can sense him close. You really are thinking about me, human. Dante sniffs and snuggles in closer, his quills meshing with the bristles of the brush. Jongin can take care of himself. He's cycling around that man that he remembers, anyway.
Jongin left Dante with his hairbrush and wandered over to the mechanic shop; Jongdae waved but he was busy working on something and when Sehun slid out from beneath a black Fiat there was black grease smeared across the arch of his nose.
"Just a couple more days," Jongdae reassured him cheerfully. Jongin felt his foot twitch. And I really don't like wearing shoes.
"You really do have the itch," Sungjong said, eying Jongin's legs. He sucked on a candy, the faintest trace of lemon hovering in the air. Jongin shrugged, flipping through the book he had just finished. What was it about again?
There was the soft slide of paper on wood and Jongin looked up only to see a book sliding across the table.
What I talk about when I talk about running.
"What are you running away from?" Sungjong asked, eyes piercing.
Jongin shrugged. "I'm not." He took a sip of his tea but the peppermint was now decidedly lemongrass. Yuck. He glared up at the chair across from his which was empty; the beads hanging over the back entrance still clacking quietly to themselves as though in the aftermath of a hurricane. He opened the book.
what are you running to?
He pulled his hand back, the cover falling shut with a quiet sigh.
Dante dreams about the hairbrush. In the dream it finally opens its eyes, finally stirs its wooden limbs and wraps him in a strange, mind-contorting embrace. I love you, it whispers in his ear. Dante wakes, uneasy, reassured to see that the hairbrush is still inanimate. Some things are too much of a good thing. Sometimes it's good to be patient.
Jongin woke, cool fingers of air exploring his face. It smelled like citrus and sugar. After stretching, legs extending deliciously to explore the fresh pockets of cool sheet at the foot of the bed, he sighed and padded over on bare feet to sit at the desk, legs folded under him.
He usually wrote in his journal when he was on the road, the gentle routine of it an anchor to keep him in the present. He hadn't for a few days because of the strangeness of staying in one place, but the days were starting to blur together in his head and the thought made him dizzy.
Flipping open the leather-covered book, he looked at the white space in front of him before setting his pen to the creamy paper with a strange kind of relief. Rule number one of my journal: don't look back
The sound of leaves rustling in the wind harmonized the smooth flow of pen nib on paper; he didn't think but just let the words come out. It had been too long and his hand was cramping by the time the river slowed to a trickle. He set down the pen with a sigh and was about to close the journal when his eye caught a familiar word.
Sungjong
He stopped, barely debating with himself before rule one was tossed aside.
Sungjong is everywhere. He's the reason for everything and I see him when I'm sleeping and when I'm awake, he materializes and pokes himself into my thoughts and then dissolves in a burst of lemon to drift across my dreams, only flickers of brown hair shining in my peripheral vision as I wake.
He closed the book.
"Dante?" Jongin looked up at the hedgehog on the wide window ledge, snuggled happily alongside his hairbrush. Never mind. The hedgehog looked at him with thoughtful eyes but didn't reply.
Jongin looks more and more thoughtful these days; more confused. More intelligent. He's starting to figure things out. Soon it will become clear, and his fractured parts will become whole. Dante snuggles into his hairbrush, sorry for poor humans who want so much, who yearn and dream and cry. Oh hairbrush, please stay this way forever. The hairbrush does not protest. Dante sighs in contentment and watches thoughts flicker across his human's face.
He couldn't fall asleep that night and when morning came, gray, water-spotted like silk scarves forgotten on the lawn after a party, his eyes were puffy. Dante looked at him judgingly from the window, pale sunlight leaking through the curtains.
"I'm glad you could sleep," Jongin puffed out his bottom lip at the hedgehog, who only looked away. Traitor.
When he emerged from the bath, water dripping down the nape of his neck to soak the collar of his shirt, Zitao had left him a yunomi of sencha tea and a note.
The part will be ready tomorrow.
The tea didn't taste like lemon. It felt empty on his tongue.
Jongin hadn't been planning on doing anything more than sitting in the garden, maybe writing a little more, or snapping a photograph or two, but his feet were wrapped into shoes and he was walking down the dry dusty lane before he knew it. Sand blew into his mouth.
"Where are you going?" He turned, poised in the doorway of the coffee shop, the cool interior beckoning.
It was Sungjong, not a hair out of place, eyes more green than blue in the thick sunlight. There was a shadow pooling in his collar bones, threatening to drip down and overflow onto the smooth planes of his chest - Jongin's little finger twitched before he could help himself -
"I wanted some lemon tea..." Sungjong smirked before sweeping in front of him into the shop, fingers lightly grazing the skin of Jongin's arm.
The lemon tea, when it came, was too bitter, and the book he was reading mentioned squeezed lemons three times before he shut it in disgust. I'd rather have hot chocolate.
He was browsing through the shelves, looking for something else to read, but everything mentioned lemons, Harry Potter and sherbet lemon, Jennifer Paterson and lemons for elbows, Douglas Adams turning into a lemon...I give up.
"You never stick it out," a voice said behind him, brown hair flickering red in the shadows as Jongin whipped his head around.
"Sungjong?" For some reason his voice cracked, and he blushed. Only because I'm not a teenager anymore.
"You need to try harder," the lithe brunet said, mouth hovering just above and to the left of Jongin's lips, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed instinctually, Sungjong's cool breath ghosting over his mouth.
Lemons and sugar.
A book fell into his hands. Orpheus and Eurydice.
...the very ghosts shed tears.
He looked up but the shadows were already empty.
His human is uneasy and it's getting frankly tiresome. Cycling around and around and all the useless thoughts - he rolls over onto his back and suns his stomach. Sometimes it's important to step back and let time do its thing. And sometimes it's important to take the leap. Dante sighs. He knows Jongin tries, he really does. He's just so young, so scattered. He looks at the hairbrush, his one true love. We understand each other perfectly.
He had already stopped by the mechanic shop; Jongdae said his "precious Boxster" - a direct quote from Sehun who only frowned at a particularly large grease stain on his pants in the shape of a leafless tree - would be ready after lunch. Dante had only looked at him with utter disdain when he offered his shoulder and he hadn't seen Zitao at all. There were leaves falling off the maple tree in the garden isn't it too soon for autumn? and the impeccable lawn was spotted with red.
His fingers were cold. I feel like I'm saying goodbye. He didn't want to write anything and there was a twitch in his hands again; the road was so close. The weights falling away. His gaze touched on an instamax why do I have it anyway? and he usually didn't take pictures - a long line of names and faces he'd passed by and left behind, streaming along the sides of the highway - for some reason he picked it up.
The wind ruffled cold fingers through his hair, flipping it up to reveal his forehead. The road was dust. He took a photograph of the archway of roses, waiting expectantly for the colours to swim up out of the dark, but the picture, when it materialized, was blurred. Eleven photos left. For some reason it became a challenge, Jongin against the camera, but after three more blurry messes of dim colour he stopped trying, simply pointing at any random object and pressing the shutter.
click
The air was dry and insubstantial; his legs moved too quickly and there was nothing holding him back. He hadn't seen Sungjong all day.
It was warm in the cafe; Chanyeol made him a cup of lemon tea and it wasn't the same but it was alright. Jongin looked at the orchids arranged in their little blue pots, imagined them falling off the table to land on the ground, pottery smashed, stems broken, dirt spilling out across the floor in ripples of gravity. He could almost smell the crushed blossoms, the white curtains rustled their disapproval and the sun drifted in, spilling over the ground.
Someone was standing in the doorway but it wasn't Sungjong.
"It's ready?"
Sehun nodded and disappeared back into the thick sunshine of summer.
Dante has a feeling before Jongin even comes to take him away. The bag has been packed since morning and the air is cold, speaking of endings. In one way it's good, no more cycling around the issue, finally things will come together. Poor Jongin is so clueless. The way he yearns after the man that Dante remembers is frankly embarrassing, and Dante is hardly even there. But Jongin's been spending too much time away and forgetting the necessity of Dante's presence. You need to pace yourself. Dante clings to the hairbrush as they're both nestled into Jongin's front pocket.
Dante refused to leave his hairbrush so Jongin had the both of them tucked into his shirt pocket. The sun was beating down and there was sand in his shoes. He slid into the car, feet slipping out of his shoes and he sighed to feel the pedal with the bare sole of his foot, toes curling over.
No one said goodbye as he drove out of town.
The cobbles on the road were levelled by the sand, a single bougainvillea stark against the sun-bleached day. It smells empty.
The sign appeared, blank from the back, as though no one ever left. Jongin's foot twitched on the brake pedal and the car slowed to a whispering stop. Dante looked up at him as though to say, "I am always right."
The hairbrush was poking through the fabric of his shirt and he wanted to put Dante and his inanimate companion on the dashboard but instead he opened the car door, stepping out barefoot into the heat of the sun as the cold interior air of the car escaped in a single cool exhalation.
His finger trailed over the leather and caught the woven loop of the instamax strap as he set one bare foot on the hot sand, tiny grains swimming up to engulf his toes - "don't leave us" -
future island
There was one shot left in the camera. He snapped it, for no reason he could explain, dust spiralling into his eyes and probably blurring the letters. While he was waiting for the darkness of the photograph to lighten, his long fingers flipped idly through the other photos. He froze -
that can't be...
There was something strange about the photos. A flash of brown hair shining red. Pale fingers; a smudging in the corner...he looked at the photo he had just taken, yellow sand, green sign with white letters, Sungjong standing there -
Jongin's eyes snapped up and he dropped the photos which landed face down littered in the sand, photographic shrapnel the evidence of -
"You went up in flames," Sungjong whispered in Jongin's ear, face centimetres away from his neck, warm breath tickling his skin and sending trickles of flame up and down his back and then there was -
driving along the highway one second and then red and sharp and fire and pain and metal and glass flying, furrows carved in skin, heat breathing down lungs and scorching eyes and he screams but only swallows pain and then there's nothing
Jongin stood, gasping, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead as he gripped Sungjong's arm with his fingers, clinging onto him like an anchor because -
"What was that?" Sungjong asked the question that Jongin couldn't get his mouth to shape yet, lips fluttering as he sucked air into his lungs and then coughed at the phantom smoke, tears trickling down his cheeks as he finally gave in and rested his head on Sungjong's shoulder, nodding into the smooth lines of collarbone. We're touching. And all of a sudden that was all that Jongin could think about. Sungjong's skin smelled sweet, like lemons and sugar. Jongin took a deep grounding breath.
"You die," Sungjong said, seemingly ignoring the fact that Jongin had his face nested in his neck. "That was a past with a future where you die." It sounded so strange that Jongin wouldn't have believed it at all except he knew, bones still on fire. It's true.
He took a deep breath. "How can I fix it?"
"Like this," Sungjong said, and kissed him. And as everything twisted and spun and went to stars and darkness, Jongin still tasted lemon on his tongue.
He can tell that something bad is happening to Jongin when he suddenly goes weak and floppy and - oh, your memories. Jongin has a memory like a sieve and being forced to remember things is unpleasant. He doesn't appreciate being crushed into the fabric of the remembered one's sweater, but Dante is nothing if not conscientious. Jongin is pretty shaky. He thinks about losing his hairbrush, or worse yet, never meeting it. Oh hairbrush, please never leave me.
It smelled like dead orchids. Crushed orchids. His feet on hot asphalt. Everything was a confusing mess but his mind was clear. He kissed me. He touched his mouth with his fingers. Lemon.
"You can jump through time and space." A voice whispered in his ear. He spun but there was nothing. And that's when he noticed that Dante was gone. His hand clutched at the empty pocket above his heart but before he had time to react he heard the engine. His engine. He would recognize that sound anywhere. He shrank down behind a low bush and watched as the boxster pulled to the side of the road and -
He got out. I'm here but -
Jongin's head spun for a moment and then he took a deep breath and planted his bare feet in the sand. "You can jump through space and time."
He watched himself wander away from the silver vehicle, stretching out his legs and extending arms to the sky. It was strange, watching himself like that - I look like that? but the hot sun baking into his skin reminded him fire, red, sharp, pain he needed to fix this.
He crept down to the car and opened the hood, peeking around the metal to check on himself. Still stretching. Nothing looked familiar but he felt sure he was going to feel his eyes digging holes in his back any second so he grabbed a random piece of metal and grease and yanked. Ouch. His fingers came up red but at least he had it. Closing the hood as quietly as he could - he was startled to see Dante staring at him knowingly from the dashboard and squeaked in surprise, dropping the metal in the sand where grains of crushed rock billowed up to engulf it. I hope I didn't hear that - he could see himself turning and thought frantically of the bush he needed to hide behind -
Orchids blooming. He was standing behind the bush, toes in the sand, fingers sticky, watching as he climbed into the car and drove away.
Did it work?
He thought about the sign Future Island the place where everything seemed to begin, except it was earlier than that he knew now -
He was distracted and missed, locking eyes with himself for a split second before flinging himself back through space I can feel the orchids between my fingers and then he was one hundred metres away, deep in the sand, watching the boxster shudder to a halt; himself climb out and look at the sky.
"Sungjong, what do I do now?" He waited for the smell of lemons and sugar to assault his senses but there was nothing.
Jongin ended up shadowing his walk to town, flickering in and out of view and he was sure that he caught sight of himself a couple of times why do I remember this? why was everything so difficult. Dante kept staring at him and I know you know.
The town was just as empty and hot the second time around, but Jongin could see flickers of movement; signs of lives below the surface. I could live in this town forever and still not understand. He was shocked to realize he meant it.
He could see himself getting more and more frustrated, wanted to go and shake himself keep going! you have to! Seeing himself walk right by the café was the last straw.
He materialized by the bell and gave it a rough shake so that it exploded into angry ringing. Chanyeol caught his eye from the door and smiled, mouthing the words "he's in the garden" - Jongin left himself to meander through the shadows of the cafe and exploded into the spring of the courtyard, orchids slipping between his fingers.
Sungjong was there, in the sun, the sky unmarred by clouds as water trickled out of the sky. He turned to Jongin and smiled, aloof.
"A fox's wedding."
Jongin was not amused. "You sent me there alone!" He twisted his hands in the white fabric of his shirt, the water drops sticking to his neck and running down his back. Sungjong's smile turned into a smirk.
"I can only jump through space and see the different threads." He shrugged, blinking back water droplets on his eyelashes. "You needed a push - after I found your and set you straight."
driving along the highway one second and then - red and sharp and fire and pain and metal and glass flying, furrows carved in skin, heat breathing down lungs and scorching eyes and he screams but only swallows pain and then there's nothing...except he opens his eyes and sees a face, eyes that are more blue than brown -
Frustrated, Jongin pushed aside a memory that hadn't existed yet, that never would exist now. He reached out, fingertips grazing Sungjong's arm -
"Sorry dear but I have to go attend to past you now," Sungjong winked and slipped out of reach. Lemons. Jongin frowned and glared at the sky.
Dante can tell from the beginning that there are two Jongins but to be honest this isn't a new experience. Sometimes Jongin dreams and fades, the smell of orchids filling the room before he reappears moments later, or sometimes Jongin is sleeping and all of a sudden there are two, nested close. Dante prefers the nights when Jongin is too tired to dream.
He lurked around the garden, smelling the flowers and throwing mental daggers at his past self until he could tell he was gone. Now. But when he slipped back into the café, sunlight streaming through the windows, Sungjong was nowhere to be seen. There was a blur of white to his right and he spun but -
Chanyeol grinned sympathetically. "Here," he said, passing Jongin a fragrant cup of lemon balm tea. Jongin wrinkled his nose at the minty-ness. "He said to remember what you're here for, first." I'm here for you. Jongin frowned into his cup and watched the liquid swirl; there was no end and no beginning here either. The rain outside seemed to agree.
After sulking over his tea he reluctantly went to trace himself, only to find himself wandering around in search of the guest house - so useless he muttered to himself before giving himself a metaphorical shove in the right direction. He watched himself disappear through the archway in a kind of daze okay I do feel sorry for you because you don't know anything and yet everything feels so familiar before he stood back and then realized.
What am I supposed to do now? He leaned back against a tree and then jumped up because the bark was wet, his white shirt more and more water-logged.
The smell of lemons and sugar - he had his arm up and reaching forward to snag fabric before his mind had caught up with his body.
Laughter, like bells. "You're getting better at this." Sungjong grinned at Jongin's frustration, trying to shrug himself out of his grasp, but Jongin was determined.
"Now what am I supposed to do?" It felt strange, clinging onto something for the first time in his life. He looked down. His feet were still bare and a mess of grass stains and sand. Yuck. Sungjong quirked one eyebrow.
"You could stay with me, I guess?" He smirked again as Jongin's hand dropped in surprise. I want to wipe that smirk off your face with my mouth - he blinked at his own thoughts, shocked. I...what?
Sungjong seemed to know exactly what he was thinking as he wrapped his long fingers around Jongin's wrist to pull him along, Jongin just stumbling along in a daze because - He's touching me! He didn't notice the small smile hovering above his mouth, or the softening in Sungjong's expression.
The sweetness of citrus over the bitterness of lemon.
Dante can anchor the Jongin he's close to but he has trouble with two, especially since the close Jongin is so distracted and bored; he doesn't know yet all that this town will mean to him. This town and certain people. Dante nestles up to his hairbrush and sighs in contentment. Never make me leave.
The smile dropped off his face to smash onto the floor though when Sungjong showed him his place. It was beautiful, a loft in what looked like a former textile factory, broad arched windows letting in the white sunlight diffused by thick industrial glass, scarred by time and secrets - time was almost tangible in the dips in the vaulted ceiling and the hushed secrets clinging to the shadowed corners between roof struts - but there was only one bed. Jongin curled his fingers. I miss Dante.
"I hope you don't mind sharing a bed?" Sungjong had released Jongin's wrist to open the door, asynchronous notes in a kind of hopscotch melody that made him think of memories he didn't share. A lifetime.
Jongin only nodded; he didn't trust his voice. Does this mean? He didn't know how to read Sungjong at all, while his mysterious saviour seemed to read him like a book.
Sungjong smirked on cue, his eyes heavy with something that he didn't deliver. I hate you. Jongin didn't mean it.
"If I can jump through time and space then can I jump forwards?" It was strange, getting used to the idea, but Sungjong was so annoying that his mind skipped around in frustration.
Sungjong looked at him, brow furrowed lightly in concentration. The light fell across his face, hair shining red in the muted sun.
DÉJÀ VU
The words on his shirt jumped out at Jongin; black typography on glowing white.
"It's better not to jump forward," Sungjong finally said, long eyelashes brushing open. His eyes were warm honey brown with sparks of blue. Jongin blinked.
"Why?" I jumped back... He thought about the sign, the sun beating down, sand between his toes - the sweet smell of orchids began to fill the room -
"Stop!" There was an undercurrent of panic in Sungjong's voice and that, even more than the hand suddenly grasping the bones of his shoulder to the point of pain, grounded him, but the orchids were crushing between his fingers and he could smell their dying scent -
Soft lips folded around his and warm breath touched his cheek. The perfume of sweet lemons filled the room in a burst of aureolin and Jongin closed his eyes.
"Stay here," Sungjong whispered into his mouth. "You jump through space and time; it's too hard for me to see."
Jongin thought, for the first time, that he might be able to do just that.
The far Jongin is learning to want, and Dante approves. Close Jongin is lost as usual, bumbling around with books and tea, but far Jongin is learning how to live. The hedgehog sighs sadly. We can't all have our perfect hairbrushes. He prides himself on his perfect relationship. The hairbrush is always quiet, thoughtful, pensive. He wonders what secrets it knows and isn't sharing.
It was maddening though, sitting in the window and watching the weather, sitting in the café and jumping away to avoid himself I can't move fast enough to dodge the steaming tea I spill. He watched Sungjong flirting with himself and for the first time he felt jealous. Of myself! But it was strange wanting something; he'd never wanted anything before. The taste of the revelation was almost sour, too much lemon and not enough sugar. I want to taste your mouth again.
They lay in bed, skin barely out of contact, the hours flying by as Jongin counted breaths. Until he fell asleep.
driving along the highway one second and then - red and sharp and fire and pain and metal and glass flying, furrows carved in skin, heat breathing down lungs and scorching eyes and he screams but only swallows pain and then there's nothing...except he opens his eyes and sees a face, eyes that are more blue than brown - his mouth opens in confused panic - "Everything is going
"...to be okay," Sungjong's voice murmured in his ear; Jongin could hear his own ragged dreaming, fingers knotted in the sheets because it felt like he was slipping through time, phantom orchids trampled underfoot -
"What if it happens by accident?" he whispered into Sungjong's neck. "I'm scared I'll end up in that car anyway." His mind started to slip in that terrifying direction, orchids filling his mouth and choking off his breath - his mouth unconsciously searched for Sungjong's lips and the reassuring taste of lemons and sugar as Sungjong rolled over to pin him comfortingly to the bed, the weight and the twist of the sheets and warm tongue in his mouth grounding him in the now. And as this mysterious person, in whom he was so confusingly invested, slowly explored his body in the dark, illuminated only by the dim glow of the moon, Jongin fell apart and came back together again and as he lay there, afterwards, stars shining behind his eyelids, he felt the glowing trace of Sungjong on every surface of his skin and thought, for the first time, please let me stay here forever.
When he woke, the room flooded with light, Sungjong was gone. A sharp thrill of fear climbed up his back and wrapped itself around his throat as he rolled over to sit up in bed and then winced ouch as very real pain caused him to gasp softly - lemons
He heard a muffled chuckle from somewhere behind him and turned sharply, squeaking at the burn. Sungjong was perched on the edge of the bed, a steaming cup of tea in his hand. Jongin narrowed his eyes.
"How do you manage to jump while carrying that?" he asked, his former fear turning into a disgruntled pout. Sungjong only laughed, threatening to spill the liquid all over his hand - that would serve you right.
"Practice," he shrugged, and Jongin scowled at him as he set the cup on the nightstand and crawled over the white sheets to give Jongin a sweet kiss, his eyes fluttering shut as he melted against the headboard.
"Tomorrow," Sungjong whispered in his ear. And all of a sudden Jongin was so terrified that he reached out a hand to fist in Sungjong's black and blue sweater, the soft wool sliding through his fingers as he desperately searched for a handhold, seconds slipping away into the void.
Sungjong only laughed, shaking Jongin's hand off his back and resting his forehead on Jongin's so he could stare into his eyes. Your eyes are so blue when there's no distance at all.
"Stop freaking out okay?" He dipped to give Jongin a quick brush on the mouth with his lips, the flap of a monarch's wings against skin another anchorless memory - Jongin blinked and let the useless chaos drain away.
Dante watches Jongin so restless, so uneasy. Stop pacing, it's not not helpful and it's disturbing. Jongin just moves in circles when he should be making straight lines. Straight and fair like the bristles of his hairbrush. Dante settles beside his hairbrush for a nap once again, eying his human sadly. You need to make the jump.
Now that it was so close he couldn't stop thinking about himself. You're so confused. Sungjong let him go with a laugh, Jongin popping in and out of the shadows, watching his confused face and drifting fingers snap picture after picture. Those pictures turn out terribly, you know. But there was something soothing about watching himself do something he'd already done, watching himself shiver in the cold.
DÉJÀ VU
The words on Sungjong's shirt had been so right; he couldn't believe he had missed them. But you had to see it again, right?
He couldn't bear to see himself drive away somehow.
Sungjong came to him in the garden, amidst the crimson leaves. "What are you doing?" he asked, running his fingers through Jongin's hair in an uncharacteristic gesture of unprompted affection. Jongin lifted one hand to gently rest on the other's slender wrist.
"Is everything going to change now?" he asked, voice less steady than he would have liked. Of course he missed Dante and wanted him back but he also didn't want to lose this -
"What is this, anyway?" He gestured limply, hand slipping back to rest beside his bare feet tucked onto the bench, wood grains like maps of secret times for his toes to trace.
"This?" Sungjong asked innocently, but Jongin could tell by the twinkle in his eye that he knew exactly what Jongin was talking about.
"Shut up," Jongin scowled, the moment lost but not the anxiety still coiling in his stomach. He unfolded himself to set feet back down on solid ground -
Sungjong crouched in front of him on the bench, eyes suddenly serious. "I didn't save your life only to throw you away," he said, eyes bright blue, breath almost misting in the strangely autumn air.
Jongin couldn't help himself, he leaned forward, not to kiss him, though he wanted to, but rather just to rest his face in the warm nook of Sungjong's collarbones. After a skipped breath he felt a warm hand reach up to rest comfortingly on the back of his neck.
"I have you now," Sungjong whispered in his ear. The sun brightened around them, there in the garden.
Dante doesn't want to leave the room, it's not that he thinks they'll be there forever but rather more that it seems so futile. Packing up to come home again. Jumping back to live your life over. His hairbrush is solid and made of wood and boar bristles. Good things know where they come from and aren't afraid to stay home if that's where their lives are. If every bird picked up and flew south, then what would the owls do in the jungle? Jongin has always left. Now it's time to stay.
Sungjong was out, fraternizing with himself one last time.
"I'll come later," Jongin said. Sungjong gave him a calculating look but didn't say anything, melting into the rays of the sun. Lemons. By now the the smell was comforting, a fragrant blanket he could wrap around himself.
He stood up a few moments later and faded, the smell of orchids filling the air.
He was standing there, beside the sign. Jongin locked eyes with Dante, who looked entirely unimpressed by the proceedings. He couldn't see Sungjong anywhere. He popped up beside the sign - just to see - there was a click and he stumbled back through the dark too far out of the way, cursing his bad timing. I hope I didn't ruin everything. He heard a faint chuckle on the breeze that drifted in, scattering the photos that he had dropped on the ground. Back at the beginning. Sungjong was standing there.
Beside himself. He watched himself rest his face in Sungjong's shoulder, watched the kiss. His lips tingled as he disappeared. Sungjong looked up and smiled.
Jongin had stepped through the intervening distance in one stride before he even realized it, not even the flickering dark breaking his pace as he took Dante and the hairbrush from Sungjong's outstretched hands, tucking them in his pocket, the warmth once again resistant over his heart.
Then he looked at Sungjong, waiting. What now?
"Stay with me," Sungjong said, entwining his fingers with Jongin's.
Jongin thought, for the first time, that there was nothing more that he wanted to do.
The wind ruffled through the photographs, flipping one over. It was the green sign; the last one. He watched as another figure swam into view, across from Sungjong. Me.
Future Island
Title: Future Island
Pairing: Jongin/Sungjong (Infinite)
Word Count: ~8,500 words
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: some accident/explosion imagery, implied smut
Summary: Jongin travels endlessly with Dante the hedgehog until his silver Boxster breaks down outside a strange town where everything seems familiar and yet...?
Author's Note: Thanks so much to Emmi for being so patient and kind and understanding and not getting frustrated with all my health struggles. I'm really really sorry and I hope I didn't cause you too much pain. Thank you to my lovely recipient for having such interesting prompts and especially thank you for giving me the option of writing so many rare pairings - I jumped at the opportunity to write this one so I hope it's something you can like, even a little. I also want to apologize for asking so many questions and still somehow managing to get things wrong - I hope you can forgive the inclusion of Sehun as a very small side character and the fact that Dante the hedgehog is in all actuality an original character who plays a fairly large part in the story. I'm very sorry for completely overlooking this fact. Thank you to EVERYONE on tlist for getting me through this - your encouragement and support was frankly overwhelming and I'm very sorry if I burdened anybody. I wish I could treat you all to supper. An enormous thank you to A for beta-ing on extreme lack of sleep and your own deadlines and I'm so sorry that I always seem to be one of your problems. One day I will again manage to write a story and finish it in time for the second check-in. I promise. And last but never least, thank you to my precious squishy kangaroo who always keeps me going and even tweetfics angst with me. We shall meet one day.
The title of this story is taken from the artist name Future Islands. Dante is named after the main character from Divina Commedia by Dante Alighieri. He is inspired in part by Marutaro the hedgehog of @hedgehogdays (here with a hairbrush)
Dante is a simple hedgehog. He likes to sit in the sun, musing on the reality of his existence. A butterfly drifts past the window as the car rolls down the highway. "Am I a hedgehog dreaming I'm a butterfly, or am I am butterfly dreaming of being a hedgehog?" The dust from the side of the road rises, disturbed by the tires, but none gets in his eyes. The windows are shut, the way he likes it.
Jongin liked to drift. He moved with the wind, idle and then stormy, this way and that, winding through the seasons. His silver Boxster, his hedgehog Dante, and he. They'd been together for a long time.
Future Island
Another green town sign, another strip of houses to watch stream past through the windows. Jongin didn't see anything wrong with driving a convertible with the top always up. After a few years, eternally windswept ceased to be exciting, especially when there was no one to see it.
That's a strange name for a town...
The thought wound its way idly through his head, sky blue and ground red sand on the way to the eternal somewhere else. Dante peered over the dashboard at the road before them, as the silver nose of the car devoured the black asphalt and sent it streaming out behind them. Even the sky shimmered, a flash of eyes and brown hair - what was that?
And then the dreamy quality of the day was interrupted by a metallic groan, as the car shuddered to a stop, not five metres past the town sign. Jongin sighed, resting his head on the steering wheel. Why now, when I'm in the middle of nowhere?
Dante looked at him severely from the dashboard, as if to say You're always in the middle of nowhere.
He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, surprised to see full service. Well we are in the 21st century after all... But it wasn't very helpful when he had no idea whom to call. He slippped on his shoes with a sigh, generally preferring to be barefoot, and started trekking into town, Dante riding on his shoulder.
Dante enjoys the ride for the first score steps, but after that the difference between the under-chassis of a car and a person becomes all too apparent. He wants to be sitting in the car again, watching over people's lives speed by, not have dust blow in his face. He blinks. Real life is best lived behind glass.
The walk into town was short but strange; Jongin kept hearing the soft shifting of sand like slow footsteps, seeing glimpses of brown out of the corner of one eye; but when he turned to look, nothing was there. Must be my imagination.
He shrugged, just as the wind whipped up a small funnel of swirling sand - he blinked I thought? He shook the sand out of his eyelashes, reaching a hand up to brush the sand from Dante's needles, and kept walking.
The road segued slowly from black asphalt into grey cobbled stone, worn almost flat by use. The town must have been really old. It was strange, to think of people building a road so long ago that the stones had been worn down flat. Like the story about a bird, flying across the universe to tap its beak against the mountain at the end of time, and when at long last the mountain was worn down to sand, only a second of forever would have elapsed.
Seconds of forever twirled through the wind to brush against his face, get caught in his hair, creep into his mouth. I feel like I'm living over and over again; a strange déjà-vu.
The first house came into view, a white house with a wraparound porch, chrysanthemums in pots hanging from the rafters. More houses followed, all with porches and flowers and no one in sight. What's wrong with this town? All he could hear was the wind.
The sand was starting to get into his shoes, rubbing the tops of his feet unpleasantly, and the sun was getting a bit too warm for someone used to air conditioning. Dante touched his neck with a tiny nose.
"Yes, yes."
He was getting discouraged, thinking about turning back and walking out the the highway, when a strange sound drew his attention. Bells.
He stopped to look around more carefully and finally spotted a small sign: Café, sighing in relief. The steps didn't creak as he walked up them; it was strange but he chalked it up to age. They must be tired of protesting and they're saving it all for their dying scream as they crack to drop an unsuspecting pedestrian. He shivered at the thought.
A bell tinkled overhead as he peered into the dimness of a room that seemed to stretch on into the shadows and smelled overwhelmingly of the orchids that sat in small blue pots arranged on little tables standing in the light of the windows. He bent to examine one of the flowers -
"That's a doritaenopsis orchid," a voice from behind him said. Jongin spun in surprise, almost unseating Dante who poked him with his nose.
A man stood in the light streaming through the open windows - wait, wasn't it dark just a moment ago? - the sun hitting his red-tinged brown hair and setting it ablaze. He had the most delightful freckles dusted across his cheeks - Jongin blinked and they were gone. For some reason it smelled like lemons.
"Hello?" he said, the word slipping out of his mouth like a question. Are you real?
The man looked at him for a moment, as though memorizing a face he had known once and then forgotten.
"I'm Sungjong," he said, hand falling out of one pocket, fingers tracing the fabric of his black trousers.
Jongin rifled through his memory but - too many names, too many faces - everything was a blur. "I'm Jongin," he said. Sungjong nodded, as though the answer was somehow what he was expecting, but he'd had to ask anyway for politeness' sake.
"I'd ask if you like coffee but that would be a waste of time," he said, his pink mouth a distraction that Jongin couldn't seem to pry his eyes away from. There are more fine lines in your lips than stars in the sky.
"Mmm," Jongin mumbled, not listening at all. The white curtains drifted in the breeze; he could hear water falling in the distance. Water? In the desert?
Dante poked him and he shook his head to clear his mind. Lines in lips, lines in the sand.
"My car broke down," he said. Sungjong looked thoughtful.
"It's probably a sign," he said, reaching a hand out into the air to flick away the imaginary seconds.
"I'm sorry?" Jongin was confused. The light bounced off the blades of the fan whirling overhead, and flickered across the stranger's face.
"You'll want the mechanic shop down the street," Sungjong said briskly, as though the past conversation had been a dream. He smoothed a non-existent wrinkle out of his white tee and disappeared into the garden, barely visible through the light flooding the room from the open french doors at the other end. There was a cheerful rustling and clinking of cups; Jongin turned to see a tall curly-haired young man standing behind the counter, polishing coffee cups.
"Do you have hot chocolate?" he asked, bemused. The tall man grinned - Chanyeol, Jongin nodded to himself, reading the tag on his black apron - and reached for a mug.
"I haven't see you around," he said cheerfully, an undercurrent of laughter in his voice, before noticing the hedgehog on Jongin's shoulder and almost dropping the mug in his delighted squeal. "That's the sweetest hedgehog I've ever seen!"
As soon as the new person starts talking, Dante perks up his ears. This person is different. He's seen him before. He's about to poke Jongin into remembering, what an absent-minded human, but a most delicious smell of mealworms drifts into his nose and he wrinkles it in delight. He had forgotten that he's hungry, but something definitely needs to be done about it. He surveys the customers in the café and the barista behind the counter, but no one looks too promising. The latter's squealing is slightly annoying, truth be told. He hides his ears and glares.
The hot chocolate having slipped smoothly down his throat, along with the barista's smile, Jongin made his way to the mechanic shop by means of Chanyeol's friendly directions. There are trees at the side of the road. I don't remember them being here before, or did I just miss them? He wasn't sure; all of the places he'd been were swimming together behind his eyelids as he blinked away the glare of the sun.
The mechanic, Jongdae, was friendly, chatting non-stop to Jongin as he sent his assistant - "Sehun, can you do me a favour?" - to collect the sad Boxster, which was probably melting into a sad puddle of silver in the noon heat. Jongin's mind wandered over the backdrop of words bursting into the air and fading between the molecules of water drifting in wait. It smells like rain.
Sehun came back, hair dripping distractingly onto the white cotton of his t-shirt; he shook the blond tendrils and a fine spray fills the air. On his shoulder, Dante shook his quills in displeasure.
"Is it raining?" Jongdae asked, surprised. Sehun only nodded, uninterested in the entire concept of weather, the universe, today. Jongin could tell by the twitch in his fingers that he had a certain silver vehicle in mind. A Porsche will do that to you.
"You can take it for a spin when it's fixed," he grinned, "if you want."
Sehun rewarded him with a smile so bright it was actually shocking; he could tell by the muted intake of breath from the man sitting across from him that he had just been inducted into a privileged club of people.
Still slightly blinded, he noticed only in passing the whispered conference held between Jongdae and Sehun's bent figure, until Jongdae coughed politely.
"I'm very sorry," Jongdae began, and Jongin's heart sank, "but since you have a somewhat specialized vehicle, the necessary part won't arrive until next week."
Jongin was stunned. A week? He hadn't been in a single place for that long since … well actually, he couldn't remember anything but the road and the sky and the comforting texture of a leather steering wheel beneath his fingers. On his shoulder, Dante was equally displeased, digging his nose into the tender skin of his neck. I guess I'll have to find a place to stay.
He meant to ask Jongdae - he seemed friendly enough and would probably have been happy to point him in the right direction, but his feet seemed to have a mind of their own, propelling him up from his seat and out the door, down the rain-slick steps and out under a sky that was watery blue with afterthoughts of rain. His feet splashed up the water from the puddles between the cobbles; vibrant green blades of grass crumpled underfoot. Wait...grass? He was looking around in bewilderment at the vibrant colours and lushness of trees after rain. There was a tiny white sprig of lily of the valley which he bent to admire - there was a flash of brown hair in his peripheral vision. Who?
There was no one there but a thickening of the air; it felt like the even the oxygen molecules were holding their breath. On his shoulder, Dante touched his neck with his nose. Jongin followed the feeling down the street and swinging left under an archway of roses, white and pink and red and lavender and blue? But blue roses don't exist?
The air settled and he found himself in a courtyard, a tiny garden gnome perched above a small waterfall where koi swam in ever widening circles that spiraled back to the start. The shōji slid open with a silky sigh and a tall slender man with back hair stepped out. His feet were bare, lightly skimming the wood of the genkan.
"Welcome," he said. "I suppose you're here for the guesthouse?" Jongin nodded, distracted. His eyes are blue.
"I'm Zitao," the man said, waving Jongin in. "Please follow me."
He doesn't like the smelly building with its strong harsh smells of oil and metal and chemicals - he'd kept his nose wrinkled shut the entire time and wormed his nose into the fabric of Jongin's shirt. But this place is nice, the tall man with black hair is quiet and smooth in motion. Dante eyes Jongin and mentally shakes his head. His human really needs to learn to appreciate his surroundings, not get lost in superficial distractions like the weather, when it's obvious that there are more things going on here.
The room was simple but calm, a plain oak bedframe with white sheets, a low table with a zabuton waiting underneath, a single orchid perched on the window sill, translucent curtains waving softly with the wind. It was sunny, the light streaming in honey-like to dye the room gold; everything as it had always been. Had always been?
Jongin lifted Dante off his shoulder to sit on the window ledge, the air thickening and then thinning again like beads of time pooling on a string; he swayed, falling back to sit on the bed, white knuckles grasping the bedframe.
"Am I dreaming?" Dante didn't answer.
Jongin looked at his hand resting on his knee. It was strange for the fingers to lie straight, not curled around the leather steering wheel. He wiggled his toes and the feeling of déjà vu subsided.
He sits on the window ledge, surveying the room - all in all, not bad, and the aesthetic is very nice - and then he sees it. The beauty, the texture, the colour. Oh, hairbrush. To you may I dedicate my entire being. Dante approaches, slowly, respectfully, and nudges a polite and reverent hello. There's no response but he remains undaunted. Love at first sight.
Jongin sat in the dining room; shōji slid back so that one wall framed an open air view of the garden. Zitao was perched on a rock, gently tending a delicate bonsai, the small tree somehow ancient in its miniature beauty, time folding in on itself. He looked down at his hands, the faint tracing of veins underneath his skin weaving a pattern of roots without an anchor.
"It's very quiet here ..." Jongin looked up, startled; the sun had somehow sunk further down to hide behind the wall and the garden was bathed in gold and red. Wait? Zitao had just finished retracing the flowing pattern of the sand garden, tiny grains of stone still clinging to the tines of the rake as he slid out of his shoes before entering the room. "There's a library, if you would like?"
Jongin thought back to the last book he had read. There was a garden like this one, and a wife, and a body... He shrugged non-commitally, Dante on his shoulder nosing him in protest. "That might be interesting."
Jongin has dragged him away from his new acquaintance - Dante shakes his head in disgust. Humans. Just when he was making headway. And then he's settled down for a nice nap, contemplating his next plan of attack and tracing the patterns in the sand that the calm man is drawing - why can't Jongin be more like this - and then his human has to go and shrug and jar him awake again; rattling his thoughts around his brain. It's frankly infuriating, some days.
Jongin ended up spending a lot of time at the coffee shop, white curtains blowing in the smell of spring. This is the strangest summer I've ever had. It's strange not being behind the wheel of his Boxster, back resting against leather, bare feet leaning into the gas pedal at a steady 110 km/h or faster if I dare. Without the steady rhythm of the road, second by second, hour by hour, rubber on cement, his grasp on time was fleeting.
"Hello again." Sungjong with a tray, hot chocolate and coffee sending up spirals of steam that intertwined before dissipating into the shadows of the ceiling. Jongin looked up from his book, his finger slipping; the pages cascaded back to the beginning and he lost his place. "The Summer of the Ubume," Sungjong nodded absentmindedly, it wasn't a compliment or a rebuke but rather more - when you're placing something in your memory.
Jongin sipped the hot chocolate; the day was suddenly cool and a veil of water hid the outside from view. The richness of the milk pooled between his tastebuds. He could feel Sungjong's gaze resting heavy on his eyelids but when he looked up, the brown hair was bobbing in happy conversation with Chanyeol, flickers of red reflecting the sun from the side window because the rain had stopped.
For a split second his mouth tasted like lemons.
Oh hairbrush. Please allow me to compliment your splendour. It still hasn't answered yet but by now Dante is used to it. Some things are best taken slowly. They sleep next to each other now, warm in pools of sunlight. Dante has mostly taken to ignoring Jongin, especially since even when he's not around he can sense him close. You really are thinking about me, human. Dante sniffs and snuggles in closer, his quills meshing with the bristles of the brush. Jongin can take care of himself. He's cycling around that man that he remembers, anyway.
Jongin left Dante with his hairbrush and wandered over to the mechanic shop; Jongdae waved but he was busy working on something and when Sehun slid out from beneath a black Fiat there was black grease smeared across the arch of his nose.
"Just a couple more days," Jongdae reassured him cheerfully. Jongin felt his foot twitch. And I really don't like wearing shoes.
"You really do have the itch," Sungjong said, eying Jongin's legs. He sucked on a candy, the faintest trace of lemon hovering in the air. Jongin shrugged, flipping through the book he had just finished. What was it about again?
There was the soft slide of paper on wood and Jongin looked up only to see a book sliding across the table.
What I talk about when I talk about running.
"What are you running away from?" Sungjong asked, eyes piercing.
Jongin shrugged. "I'm not." He took a sip of his tea but the peppermint was now decidedly lemongrass. Yuck. He glared up at the chair across from his which was empty; the beads hanging over the back entrance still clacking quietly to themselves as though in the aftermath of a hurricane. He opened the book.
what are you running to?
He pulled his hand back, the cover falling shut with a quiet sigh.
Dante dreams about the hairbrush. In the dream it finally opens its eyes, finally stirs its wooden limbs and wraps him in a strange, mind-contorting embrace. I love you, it whispers in his ear. Dante wakes, uneasy, reassured to see that the hairbrush is still inanimate. Some things are too much of a good thing. Sometimes it's good to be patient.
Jongin woke, cool fingers of air exploring his face. It smelled like citrus and sugar. After stretching, legs extending deliciously to explore the fresh pockets of cool sheet at the foot of the bed, he sighed and padded over on bare feet to sit at the desk, legs folded under him.
He usually wrote in his journal when he was on the road, the gentle routine of it an anchor to keep him in the present. He hadn't for a few days because of the strangeness of staying in one place, but the days were starting to blur together in his head and the thought made him dizzy.
Flipping open the leather-covered book, he looked at the white space in front of him before setting his pen to the creamy paper with a strange kind of relief. Rule number one of my journal: don't look back
The sound of leaves rustling in the wind harmonized the smooth flow of pen nib on paper; he didn't think but just let the words come out. It had been too long and his hand was cramping by the time the river slowed to a trickle. He set down the pen with a sigh and was about to close the journal when his eye caught a familiar word.
Sungjong
He stopped, barely debating with himself before rule one was tossed aside.
Sungjong is everywhere. He's the reason for everything and I see him when I'm sleeping and when I'm awake, he materializes and pokes himself into my thoughts and then dissolves in a burst of lemon to drift across my dreams, only flickers of brown hair shining in my peripheral vision as I wake.
He closed the book.
"Dante?" Jongin looked up at the hedgehog on the wide window ledge, snuggled happily alongside his hairbrush. Never mind. The hedgehog looked at him with thoughtful eyes but didn't reply.
Jongin looks more and more thoughtful these days; more confused. More intelligent. He's starting to figure things out. Soon it will become clear, and his fractured parts will become whole. Dante snuggles into his hairbrush, sorry for poor humans who want so much, who yearn and dream and cry. Oh hairbrush, please stay this way forever. The hairbrush does not protest. Dante sighs in contentment and watches thoughts flicker across his human's face.
He couldn't fall asleep that night and when morning came, gray, water-spotted like silk scarves forgotten on the lawn after a party, his eyes were puffy. Dante looked at him judgingly from the window, pale sunlight leaking through the curtains.
"I'm glad you could sleep," Jongin puffed out his bottom lip at the hedgehog, who only looked away. Traitor.
When he emerged from the bath, water dripping down the nape of his neck to soak the collar of his shirt, Zitao had left him a yunomi of sencha tea and a note.
The part will be ready tomorrow.
The tea didn't taste like lemon. It felt empty on his tongue.
Jongin hadn't been planning on doing anything more than sitting in the garden, maybe writing a little more, or snapping a photograph or two, but his feet were wrapped into shoes and he was walking down the dry dusty lane before he knew it. Sand blew into his mouth.
"Where are you going?" He turned, poised in the doorway of the coffee shop, the cool interior beckoning.
It was Sungjong, not a hair out of place, eyes more green than blue in the thick sunlight. There was a shadow pooling in his collar bones, threatening to drip down and overflow onto the smooth planes of his chest - Jongin's little finger twitched before he could help himself -
"I wanted some lemon tea..." Sungjong smirked before sweeping in front of him into the shop, fingers lightly grazing the skin of Jongin's arm.
The lemon tea, when it came, was too bitter, and the book he was reading mentioned squeezed lemons three times before he shut it in disgust. I'd rather have hot chocolate.
He was browsing through the shelves, looking for something else to read, but everything mentioned lemons, Harry Potter and sherbet lemon, Jennifer Paterson and lemons for elbows, Douglas Adams turning into a lemon...I give up.
"You never stick it out," a voice said behind him, brown hair flickering red in the shadows as Jongin whipped his head around.
"Sungjong?" For some reason his voice cracked, and he blushed. Only because I'm not a teenager anymore.
"You need to try harder," the lithe brunet said, mouth hovering just above and to the left of Jongin's lips, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed instinctually, Sungjong's cool breath ghosting over his mouth.
Lemons and sugar.
A book fell into his hands. Orpheus and Eurydice.
...the very ghosts shed tears.
He looked up but the shadows were already empty.
His human is uneasy and it's getting frankly tiresome. Cycling around and around and all the useless thoughts - he rolls over onto his back and suns his stomach. Sometimes it's important to step back and let time do its thing. And sometimes it's important to take the leap. Dante sighs. He knows Jongin tries, he really does. He's just so young, so scattered. He looks at the hairbrush, his one true love. We understand each other perfectly.
He had already stopped by the mechanic shop; Jongdae said his "precious Boxster" - a direct quote from Sehun who only frowned at a particularly large grease stain on his pants in the shape of a leafless tree - would be ready after lunch. Dante had only looked at him with utter disdain when he offered his shoulder and he hadn't seen Zitao at all. There were leaves falling off the maple tree in the garden isn't it too soon for autumn? and the impeccable lawn was spotted with red.
His fingers were cold. I feel like I'm saying goodbye. He didn't want to write anything and there was a twitch in his hands again; the road was so close. The weights falling away. His gaze touched on an instamax why do I have it anyway? and he usually didn't take pictures - a long line of names and faces he'd passed by and left behind, streaming along the sides of the highway - for some reason he picked it up.
The wind ruffled cold fingers through his hair, flipping it up to reveal his forehead. The road was dust. He took a photograph of the archway of roses, waiting expectantly for the colours to swim up out of the dark, but the picture, when it materialized, was blurred. Eleven photos left. For some reason it became a challenge, Jongin against the camera, but after three more blurry messes of dim colour he stopped trying, simply pointing at any random object and pressing the shutter.
click
The air was dry and insubstantial; his legs moved too quickly and there was nothing holding him back. He hadn't seen Sungjong all day.
It was warm in the cafe; Chanyeol made him a cup of lemon tea and it wasn't the same but it was alright. Jongin looked at the orchids arranged in their little blue pots, imagined them falling off the table to land on the ground, pottery smashed, stems broken, dirt spilling out across the floor in ripples of gravity. He could almost smell the crushed blossoms, the white curtains rustled their disapproval and the sun drifted in, spilling over the ground.
Someone was standing in the doorway but it wasn't Sungjong.
"It's ready?"
Sehun nodded and disappeared back into the thick sunshine of summer.
Dante has a feeling before Jongin even comes to take him away. The bag has been packed since morning and the air is cold, speaking of endings. In one way it's good, no more cycling around the issue, finally things will come together. Poor Jongin is so clueless. The way he yearns after the man that Dante remembers is frankly embarrassing, and Dante is hardly even there. But Jongin's been spending too much time away and forgetting the necessity of Dante's presence. You need to pace yourself. Dante clings to the hairbrush as they're both nestled into Jongin's front pocket.
Dante refused to leave his hairbrush so Jongin had the both of them tucked into his shirt pocket. The sun was beating down and there was sand in his shoes. He slid into the car, feet slipping out of his shoes and he sighed to feel the pedal with the bare sole of his foot, toes curling over.
No one said goodbye as he drove out of town.
The cobbles on the road were levelled by the sand, a single bougainvillea stark against the sun-bleached day. It smells empty.
The sign appeared, blank from the back, as though no one ever left. Jongin's foot twitched on the brake pedal and the car slowed to a whispering stop. Dante looked up at him as though to say, "I am always right."
The hairbrush was poking through the fabric of his shirt and he wanted to put Dante and his inanimate companion on the dashboard but instead he opened the car door, stepping out barefoot into the heat of the sun as the cold interior air of the car escaped in a single cool exhalation.
His finger trailed over the leather and caught the woven loop of the instamax strap as he set one bare foot on the hot sand, tiny grains swimming up to engulf his toes - "don't leave us" -
future island
There was one shot left in the camera. He snapped it, for no reason he could explain, dust spiralling into his eyes and probably blurring the letters. While he was waiting for the darkness of the photograph to lighten, his long fingers flipped idly through the other photos. He froze -
that can't be...
There was something strange about the photos. A flash of brown hair shining red. Pale fingers; a smudging in the corner...he looked at the photo he had just taken, yellow sand, green sign with white letters, Sungjong standing there -
Jongin's eyes snapped up and he dropped the photos which landed face down littered in the sand, photographic shrapnel the evidence of -
"You went up in flames," Sungjong whispered in Jongin's ear, face centimetres away from his neck, warm breath tickling his skin and sending trickles of flame up and down his back and then there was -
driving along the highway one second and then red and sharp and fire and pain and metal and glass flying, furrows carved in skin, heat breathing down lungs and scorching eyes and he screams but only swallows pain and then there's nothing
Jongin stood, gasping, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead as he gripped Sungjong's arm with his fingers, clinging onto him like an anchor because -
"What was that?" Sungjong asked the question that Jongin couldn't get his mouth to shape yet, lips fluttering as he sucked air into his lungs and then coughed at the phantom smoke, tears trickling down his cheeks as he finally gave in and rested his head on Sungjong's shoulder, nodding into the smooth lines of collarbone. We're touching. And all of a sudden that was all that Jongin could think about. Sungjong's skin smelled sweet, like lemons and sugar. Jongin took a deep grounding breath.
"You die," Sungjong said, seemingly ignoring the fact that Jongin had his face nested in his neck. "That was a past with a future where you die." It sounded so strange that Jongin wouldn't have believed it at all except he knew, bones still on fire. It's true.
He took a deep breath. "How can I fix it?"
"Like this," Sungjong said, and kissed him. And as everything twisted and spun and went to stars and darkness, Jongin still tasted lemon on his tongue.
He can tell that something bad is happening to Jongin when he suddenly goes weak and floppy and - oh, your memories. Jongin has a memory like a sieve and being forced to remember things is unpleasant. He doesn't appreciate being crushed into the fabric of the remembered one's sweater, but Dante is nothing if not conscientious. Jongin is pretty shaky. He thinks about losing his hairbrush, or worse yet, never meeting it. Oh hairbrush, please never leave me.
It smelled like dead orchids. Crushed orchids. His feet on hot asphalt. Everything was a confusing mess but his mind was clear. He kissed me. He touched his mouth with his fingers. Lemon.
"You can jump through time and space." A voice whispered in his ear. He spun but there was nothing. And that's when he noticed that Dante was gone. His hand clutched at the empty pocket above his heart but before he had time to react he heard the engine. His engine. He would recognize that sound anywhere. He shrank down behind a low bush and watched as the boxster pulled to the side of the road and -
He got out. I'm here but -
Jongin's head spun for a moment and then he took a deep breath and planted his bare feet in the sand. "You can jump through space and time."
He watched himself wander away from the silver vehicle, stretching out his legs and extending arms to the sky. It was strange, watching himself like that - I look like that? but the hot sun baking into his skin reminded him fire, red, sharp, pain he needed to fix this.
He crept down to the car and opened the hood, peeking around the metal to check on himself. Still stretching. Nothing looked familiar but he felt sure he was going to feel his eyes digging holes in his back any second so he grabbed a random piece of metal and grease and yanked. Ouch. His fingers came up red but at least he had it. Closing the hood as quietly as he could - he was startled to see Dante staring at him knowingly from the dashboard and squeaked in surprise, dropping the metal in the sand where grains of crushed rock billowed up to engulf it. I hope I didn't hear that - he could see himself turning and thought frantically of the bush he needed to hide behind -
Orchids blooming. He was standing behind the bush, toes in the sand, fingers sticky, watching as he climbed into the car and drove away.
Did it work?
He thought about the sign Future Island the place where everything seemed to begin, except it was earlier than that he knew now -
He was distracted and missed, locking eyes with himself for a split second before flinging himself back through space I can feel the orchids between my fingers and then he was one hundred metres away, deep in the sand, watching the boxster shudder to a halt; himself climb out and look at the sky.
"Sungjong, what do I do now?" He waited for the smell of lemons and sugar to assault his senses but there was nothing.
Jongin ended up shadowing his walk to town, flickering in and out of view and he was sure that he caught sight of himself a couple of times why do I remember this? why was everything so difficult. Dante kept staring at him and I know you know.
The town was just as empty and hot the second time around, but Jongin could see flickers of movement; signs of lives below the surface. I could live in this town forever and still not understand. He was shocked to realize he meant it.
He could see himself getting more and more frustrated, wanted to go and shake himself keep going! you have to! Seeing himself walk right by the café was the last straw.
He materialized by the bell and gave it a rough shake so that it exploded into angry ringing. Chanyeol caught his eye from the door and smiled, mouthing the words "he's in the garden" - Jongin left himself to meander through the shadows of the cafe and exploded into the spring of the courtyard, orchids slipping between his fingers.
Sungjong was there, in the sun, the sky unmarred by clouds as water trickled out of the sky. He turned to Jongin and smiled, aloof.
"A fox's wedding."
Jongin was not amused. "You sent me there alone!" He twisted his hands in the white fabric of his shirt, the water drops sticking to his neck and running down his back. Sungjong's smile turned into a smirk.
"I can only jump through space and see the different threads." He shrugged, blinking back water droplets on his eyelashes. "You needed a push - after I found your and set you straight."
driving along the highway one second and then - red and sharp and fire and pain and metal and glass flying, furrows carved in skin, heat breathing down lungs and scorching eyes and he screams but only swallows pain and then there's nothing...except he opens his eyes and sees a face, eyes that are more blue than brown -
Frustrated, Jongin pushed aside a memory that hadn't existed yet, that never would exist now. He reached out, fingertips grazing Sungjong's arm -
"Sorry dear but I have to go attend to past you now," Sungjong winked and slipped out of reach. Lemons. Jongin frowned and glared at the sky.
Dante can tell from the beginning that there are two Jongins but to be honest this isn't a new experience. Sometimes Jongin dreams and fades, the smell of orchids filling the room before he reappears moments later, or sometimes Jongin is sleeping and all of a sudden there are two, nested close. Dante prefers the nights when Jongin is too tired to dream.
He lurked around the garden, smelling the flowers and throwing mental daggers at his past self until he could tell he was gone. Now. But when he slipped back into the café, sunlight streaming through the windows, Sungjong was nowhere to be seen. There was a blur of white to his right and he spun but -
Chanyeol grinned sympathetically. "Here," he said, passing Jongin a fragrant cup of lemon balm tea. Jongin wrinkled his nose at the minty-ness. "He said to remember what you're here for, first." I'm here for you. Jongin frowned into his cup and watched the liquid swirl; there was no end and no beginning here either. The rain outside seemed to agree.
After sulking over his tea he reluctantly went to trace himself, only to find himself wandering around in search of the guest house - so useless he muttered to himself before giving himself a metaphorical shove in the right direction. He watched himself disappear through the archway in a kind of daze okay I do feel sorry for you because you don't know anything and yet everything feels so familiar before he stood back and then realized.
What am I supposed to do now? He leaned back against a tree and then jumped up because the bark was wet, his white shirt more and more water-logged.
The smell of lemons and sugar - he had his arm up and reaching forward to snag fabric before his mind had caught up with his body.
Laughter, like bells. "You're getting better at this." Sungjong grinned at Jongin's frustration, trying to shrug himself out of his grasp, but Jongin was determined.
"Now what am I supposed to do?" It felt strange, clinging onto something for the first time in his life. He looked down. His feet were still bare and a mess of grass stains and sand. Yuck. Sungjong quirked one eyebrow.
"You could stay with me, I guess?" He smirked again as Jongin's hand dropped in surprise. I want to wipe that smirk off your face with my mouth - he blinked at his own thoughts, shocked. I...what?
Sungjong seemed to know exactly what he was thinking as he wrapped his long fingers around Jongin's wrist to pull him along, Jongin just stumbling along in a daze because - He's touching me! He didn't notice the small smile hovering above his mouth, or the softening in Sungjong's expression.
The sweetness of citrus over the bitterness of lemon.
Dante can anchor the Jongin he's close to but he has trouble with two, especially since the close Jongin is so distracted and bored; he doesn't know yet all that this town will mean to him. This town and certain people. Dante nestles up to his hairbrush and sighs in contentment. Never make me leave.
The smile dropped off his face to smash onto the floor though when Sungjong showed him his place. It was beautiful, a loft in what looked like a former textile factory, broad arched windows letting in the white sunlight diffused by thick industrial glass, scarred by time and secrets - time was almost tangible in the dips in the vaulted ceiling and the hushed secrets clinging to the shadowed corners between roof struts - but there was only one bed. Jongin curled his fingers. I miss Dante.
"I hope you don't mind sharing a bed?" Sungjong had released Jongin's wrist to open the door, asynchronous notes in a kind of hopscotch melody that made him think of memories he didn't share. A lifetime.
Jongin only nodded; he didn't trust his voice. Does this mean? He didn't know how to read Sungjong at all, while his mysterious saviour seemed to read him like a book.
Sungjong smirked on cue, his eyes heavy with something that he didn't deliver. I hate you. Jongin didn't mean it.
"If I can jump through time and space then can I jump forwards?" It was strange, getting used to the idea, but Sungjong was so annoying that his mind skipped around in frustration.
Sungjong looked at him, brow furrowed lightly in concentration. The light fell across his face, hair shining red in the muted sun.
DÉJÀ VU
The words on his shirt jumped out at Jongin; black typography on glowing white.
"It's better not to jump forward," Sungjong finally said, long eyelashes brushing open. His eyes were warm honey brown with sparks of blue. Jongin blinked.
"Why?" I jumped back... He thought about the sign, the sun beating down, sand between his toes - the sweet smell of orchids began to fill the room -
"Stop!" There was an undercurrent of panic in Sungjong's voice and that, even more than the hand suddenly grasping the bones of his shoulder to the point of pain, grounded him, but the orchids were crushing between his fingers and he could smell their dying scent -
Soft lips folded around his and warm breath touched his cheek. The perfume of sweet lemons filled the room in a burst of aureolin and Jongin closed his eyes.
"Stay here," Sungjong whispered into his mouth. "You jump through space and time; it's too hard for me to see."
Jongin thought, for the first time, that he might be able to do just that.
The far Jongin is learning to want, and Dante approves. Close Jongin is lost as usual, bumbling around with books and tea, but far Jongin is learning how to live. The hedgehog sighs sadly. We can't all have our perfect hairbrushes. He prides himself on his perfect relationship. The hairbrush is always quiet, thoughtful, pensive. He wonders what secrets it knows and isn't sharing.
It was maddening though, sitting in the window and watching the weather, sitting in the café and jumping away to avoid himself I can't move fast enough to dodge the steaming tea I spill. He watched Sungjong flirting with himself and for the first time he felt jealous. Of myself! But it was strange wanting something; he'd never wanted anything before. The taste of the revelation was almost sour, too much lemon and not enough sugar. I want to taste your mouth again.
They lay in bed, skin barely out of contact, the hours flying by as Jongin counted breaths. Until he fell asleep.
driving along the highway one second and then - red and sharp and fire and pain and metal and glass flying, furrows carved in skin, heat breathing down lungs and scorching eyes and he screams but only swallows pain and then there's nothing...except he opens his eyes and sees a face, eyes that are more blue than brown - his mouth opens in confused panic - "Everything is going
"...to be okay," Sungjong's voice murmured in his ear; Jongin could hear his own ragged dreaming, fingers knotted in the sheets because it felt like he was slipping through time, phantom orchids trampled underfoot -
"What if it happens by accident?" he whispered into Sungjong's neck. "I'm scared I'll end up in that car anyway." His mind started to slip in that terrifying direction, orchids filling his mouth and choking off his breath - his mouth unconsciously searched for Sungjong's lips and the reassuring taste of lemons and sugar as Sungjong rolled over to pin him comfortingly to the bed, the weight and the twist of the sheets and warm tongue in his mouth grounding him in the now. And as this mysterious person, in whom he was so confusingly invested, slowly explored his body in the dark, illuminated only by the dim glow of the moon, Jongin fell apart and came back together again and as he lay there, afterwards, stars shining behind his eyelids, he felt the glowing trace of Sungjong on every surface of his skin and thought, for the first time, please let me stay here forever.
When he woke, the room flooded with light, Sungjong was gone. A sharp thrill of fear climbed up his back and wrapped itself around his throat as he rolled over to sit up in bed and then winced ouch as very real pain caused him to gasp softly - lemons
He heard a muffled chuckle from somewhere behind him and turned sharply, squeaking at the burn. Sungjong was perched on the edge of the bed, a steaming cup of tea in his hand. Jongin narrowed his eyes.
"How do you manage to jump while carrying that?" he asked, his former fear turning into a disgruntled pout. Sungjong only laughed, threatening to spill the liquid all over his hand - that would serve you right.
"Practice," he shrugged, and Jongin scowled at him as he set the cup on the nightstand and crawled over the white sheets to give Jongin a sweet kiss, his eyes fluttering shut as he melted against the headboard.
"Tomorrow," Sungjong whispered in his ear. And all of a sudden Jongin was so terrified that he reached out a hand to fist in Sungjong's black and blue sweater, the soft wool sliding through his fingers as he desperately searched for a handhold, seconds slipping away into the void.
Sungjong only laughed, shaking Jongin's hand off his back and resting his forehead on Jongin's so he could stare into his eyes. Your eyes are so blue when there's no distance at all.
"Stop freaking out okay?" He dipped to give Jongin a quick brush on the mouth with his lips, the flap of a monarch's wings against skin another anchorless memory - Jongin blinked and let the useless chaos drain away.
Dante watches Jongin so restless, so uneasy. Stop pacing, it's not not helpful and it's disturbing. Jongin just moves in circles when he should be making straight lines. Straight and fair like the bristles of his hairbrush. Dante settles beside his hairbrush for a nap once again, eying his human sadly. You need to make the jump.
Now that it was so close he couldn't stop thinking about himself. You're so confused. Sungjong let him go with a laugh, Jongin popping in and out of the shadows, watching his confused face and drifting fingers snap picture after picture. Those pictures turn out terribly, you know. But there was something soothing about watching himself do something he'd already done, watching himself shiver in the cold.
DÉJÀ VU
The words on Sungjong's shirt had been so right; he couldn't believe he had missed them. But you had to see it again, right?
He couldn't bear to see himself drive away somehow.
Sungjong came to him in the garden, amidst the crimson leaves. "What are you doing?" he asked, running his fingers through Jongin's hair in an uncharacteristic gesture of unprompted affection. Jongin lifted one hand to gently rest on the other's slender wrist.
"Is everything going to change now?" he asked, voice less steady than he would have liked. Of course he missed Dante and wanted him back but he also didn't want to lose this -
"What is this, anyway?" He gestured limply, hand slipping back to rest beside his bare feet tucked onto the bench, wood grains like maps of secret times for his toes to trace.
"This?" Sungjong asked innocently, but Jongin could tell by the twinkle in his eye that he knew exactly what Jongin was talking about.
"Shut up," Jongin scowled, the moment lost but not the anxiety still coiling in his stomach. He unfolded himself to set feet back down on solid ground -
Sungjong crouched in front of him on the bench, eyes suddenly serious. "I didn't save your life only to throw you away," he said, eyes bright blue, breath almost misting in the strangely autumn air.
Jongin couldn't help himself, he leaned forward, not to kiss him, though he wanted to, but rather just to rest his face in the warm nook of Sungjong's collarbones. After a skipped breath he felt a warm hand reach up to rest comfortingly on the back of his neck.
"I have you now," Sungjong whispered in his ear. The sun brightened around them, there in the garden.
Dante doesn't want to leave the room, it's not that he thinks they'll be there forever but rather more that it seems so futile. Packing up to come home again. Jumping back to live your life over. His hairbrush is solid and made of wood and boar bristles. Good things know where they come from and aren't afraid to stay home if that's where their lives are. If every bird picked up and flew south, then what would the owls do in the jungle? Jongin has always left. Now it's time to stay.
Sungjong was out, fraternizing with himself one last time.
"I'll come later," Jongin said. Sungjong gave him a calculating look but didn't say anything, melting into the rays of the sun. Lemons. By now the the smell was comforting, a fragrant blanket he could wrap around himself.
He stood up a few moments later and faded, the smell of orchids filling the air.
He was standing there, beside the sign. Jongin locked eyes with Dante, who looked entirely unimpressed by the proceedings. He couldn't see Sungjong anywhere. He popped up beside the sign - just to see - there was a click and he stumbled back through the dark too far out of the way, cursing his bad timing. I hope I didn't ruin everything. He heard a faint chuckle on the breeze that drifted in, scattering the photos that he had dropped on the ground. Back at the beginning. Sungjong was standing there.
Beside himself. He watched himself rest his face in Sungjong's shoulder, watched the kiss. His lips tingled as he disappeared. Sungjong looked up and smiled.
Jongin had stepped through the intervening distance in one stride before he even realized it, not even the flickering dark breaking his pace as he took Dante and the hairbrush from Sungjong's outstretched hands, tucking them in his pocket, the warmth once again resistant over his heart.
Then he looked at Sungjong, waiting. What now?
"Stay with me," Sungjong said, entwining his fingers with Jongin's.
Jongin thought, for the first time, that there was nothing more that he wanted to do.
The wind ruffled through the photographs, flipping one over. It was the green sign; the last one. He watched as another figure swam into view, across from Sungjong. Me.
Future Island