(for dyohtoro) We could have lived
For: dyohtoro
Title: We could have lived
Pairings: Kai/D.O
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~3,120
Summary: Kyungsoo and Jongin grew up together, but when Jongin becomes famous, their relationship suffers.
Author’s Note: Thank you so much to L for helping me think out the prompt and reading my final draft, and to everyone for being so encouraging in regards to all my writing! I'd also like to thank my recipient for the lovely prompt. The lyrics quoted in the story are from the song Without You by Lana Del Rey.
He opens his eyes. There's a mobile hanging from the ceiling, shadows of birds flickering against the white walls in the light breeze. The soft curtains framing the open window flap gently.
He waits exactly ten seconds then leans over towards the nightstand to tap the top of his old-fashioned chrome alarm clock as it goes silent, taking in a deep breath before splitting the morning calm open with its fearsome ring.
###
"Bzzzzzzzzzzzz!"
There was the shrill obnoxious sound of Kyungsoo's alarm clock going off. Jongin growled, struggling out of his tangle of sheets to crawl over his classmate and flail wildly at the old-fashioned alarm clock. Finally Kyungsoo rolled over, impatient, and turned the sound off with a single gentle tap.
"Would you stop it with that alarm clock already!" Jongin was half asleep still but already annoyed.
Kyungsoo looked over at his cute squinted eyes and pout.
"No," he said playfully, and pretended to give Jongin a light punch on the arm, but Jongin picked that exact moment to sit up and Kyungsoo's arm met his with a resounding thump.
"Ouch!" Jongin exclaimed, tears actually budding in the corners of his eyes.
Kyungsoo felt a little bad but it hadn't been intentional-
"Fine, you can punch me back," he sighed, bracing himself. But he wasn't at all surprised when Jongin darted in for a kiss instead.
"You're so cliché," he laughed, his arms tangling in the sheets, Jongin's around his shoulders.
"Shut up," Jongin mumbled, mouth full, the sweet smell of jasmine sticky on his skin.
###
No matter what he does, the bed always feels empty with only one person in it. The sheets are cold and clammy and he'd like to lie in bed and enjoy the morning but he can't. Gingerly placing a foot on the parquet to test the temperature, like dipping a toe into the ocean to test the mood of the sea, Kyungsoo determines that it will be the kind of day that warms up as it goes along.
Hopping along to the kitchen, Kyungsoo stubs his toe on the edge of the chair he'd forgotten to tuck back into the table the night before and stumbles over to counter. Pulling out a bowl, he pours in some cereal and goes to the refrigerator to get some milk but there isn't any.
If he were Jongin he'd probably slam his forehead against the metal door in frustration but - he stops the thought in its tracks.
###
"Mom! We don't have any milk!" Kyungsoo looked over at Jongin, who was entirely too disappointed at the news in his opinion.
"We can just have toast or something," he said reassuringly, but Jongin's eyes were still downcast and he looked like he was about to hit something any minute - or burst into tears. Well, he was only five years old. Kyungsoo tried again.
"I can make you pancakes if you want?" Jongin didn't raise his head from where it was inspecting his lucky charms in minute detail, but Kyungsoo could see his ears perk. "With smarties...."
Jongin abandoned his cereal bowl and leapt out of his chair jumping up and down excitedly.
"Smartie pancakes are my favourite!" he exclaimed, milk and cereal forgotten.
Kyungsoo smiled as he got out the big blue mixing bowl.
###
Kyungsoo looks consideringly at the flour bin before discarding the idea in favour of a cup of fresh coffee. Throwing on a merino sweater - the morning air is still a little crisp despite the summery season - he slips on a pair of boat shoes, takes his keys from the key rack hanging beside the door and walks down all four flights of steps out into the fresh morning chill, waving hello to Mrs. Martin as he passes her watering the roses.
The birds are tweeting merrily as he walks under the trees, drops from a pre-dawn shower lightly dusting his head. The little bakery on the corner has the best fresh chocolate-filled croissants, still warm from the oven, and the smell fills him with nostalgia.
###
"Hey! Hey!" Jongin was shouting at him excitedly from across the high school hallway. Kyungsoo almost dropped his armful of books but thankfully the wall was there to catch him. Jongin didn't even notice, pushing other students aside in his excitement.
"I got the part! I got the part!" His usually shyer school demeanour was entirely cast aside as he enfolded Kyungsoo in a huge hug, the scent of jasmine tickling his nose. Kyungsoo extricated himself gently, ignoring the reactions of the other students whom he could see out of the corners of his eyes.
"Of course you did," he grinned, pulling his knapsack off one arm and rustling about among the papers to take out a large foil box with a creamy velvet ribbon.
"Congratulations!"
Jongin's eyes were two huge dinner plates as he carefully untied the ribbon and pulled off the lid. The thick, sweet smell of chocolate emerged to infuse the air surrounding them.
"You made these?"
"No, I bought them," Kyungsoo deadpanned. He grinned, punching Jongin playfully on the arm. Jongin winced but beamed.
"But how did you know I would get it?" Jongin looked at Kyungsoo in awe. Kyungsoo merely gave him a disbelieving glare.
###
Savouring the silky chocolate on his tongue, Kyungsoo nods to the salesgirl as he pushes open the door, bell tinkling happily overhead. In the few moments that he was in the shop it has started to rain, the umbrellas of the pedestrians bobbing along both sides of the street.
Taking a deep breath he dashes out into the wet, feet lightly splashing drops that displace upwards while the soft summer rain trickles down his neck to run a cold finger down his spine. He shivers.
There's a couple sharing a umbrella, probably on their way to work or school but they've stopped under large oak to share a sweet kiss, oblivious to the passersby who grin in approval before continuing on their way.
There's a funny feeling in his chest as he stops to look longingly a moment before his feet get too wet and he moves on.
###
"I can't believe you didn't bring an umbrella!" Kyungsoo had spent the entire day at the university library. Jongin stopped by on his way home from a shoot - he was miraculously out early for once - and they'd been planning on going to see the flowers blooming but now it was raining and Jongin didn't have an umbrella as usual and Kyungsoo was disappointed. He hadn't seen Jongin in weeks.
"Well I guess there's nothing we can do," Kyungsoo sighed, gathering up his books and papers and arranging them neatly in his knapsack. He was tired and frustrated and trying not to be affected by Jongin's upset expression at his dark mood.
They ended up borrowing some book bags from the basket by the door to shield themselves from the rain as best as they could, but Kyungsoo's tennis shoes were soaked through almost right away and his arms hurt. He tripped, falling into a puddle, and scraped his palms. Over the faint hum of Jongin's worried exclamations, he watched the tiny trails of red from his palms swirl into the agitated water. Two tear drops fell, their ripples radiating outwards to join the fray.
"Are you okay?" Jongin's voice came back into focus. Kyungsoo nodded, climbing back onto his feet, but Jongin must have noticed his thinly-veiled wince or the two narrow tear tracks because when Kyungsoo made to go on, he was stopped by a surprisingly firm grasp on his arm.
"Wait," Jongin said. He looked Kyungsoo directly in the eyes, and Kyungsoo wanted to look away. It was uncomfortable being the interrogated one for once.
"I know that something's wrong, but if you don't tell me what, I can't do anything about it."
Kyungsoo tried to laughingly shrug him off, but Jongin wouldn't have any of it. Kyungsoo looked for a moment into Jongin's serious expression, and gave in. It felt good, for a change, not to be the strong one.
"I miss you," he said simply, and he hadn't wanted his voice to crack over the verb but it did.
Jongin looked sad, but also confused.
"I'm sorry I'm so busy shooting," he said in a subdued tone. "But I do try to text you and meet whoever I can..." His voice trailed off helplessly.
Kyungsoo knew that Jongin was trying his best to juggle his growing acting career along with family and friends, but knowing wasn't the same as accepting. Turning away from Jongin, he looked out over the river, flowing by so quickly; time speeding past.
"What am I to you anyway?" he whispered to the water falling on his face. He felt a tentative hand on his shoulder.
"You're my best friend," he heard Jongin murmur in his ear. There was a crash of waves against the bank; the sound of Kyungsoo's heart finally giving way.
He couldn't help but wince slightly. Hopefully Jongin hadn't noticed anything.
Still facing across to the other shore, so close and yet so unreachable from where he stood, Kyungsoo took a deep breath and steeled his shoulders. They'd been friends since their prams had rolled side-by-side through the park. Things would work out.
The rain was beginning to really soak into his shirt and he was about to turn and suggest to Jongin that they continue on their way when he felt warm arms enfold him from behind, jasmine heavy in the air, and Jongin snuggled his face into the crook of his neck for a moment.
"Kyungsoo?" Jongin asked, voice hesitant.
Kyungsoo froze.
"You know I love you, right?" His heart skipped a beat before he stuffed it back into his quiet chest.
"Yes," he nodded. "Best friends, right?"
Jongin laughed nervously.
"Well, actually, more like this," Jongin said shyly, before gently cupping Kyungsoo's chin in one hand to tip his head back.
Their eyes locked, and Kyungsoo only had time for the split-second realization that Jongin was actually pretty tall, before their mouths met.
And suddenly it didn't matter that Jongin had forgotten the umbrella.
###
His favourite bookstore is on the corner; a small quant building fronted with dusty red brick and ornate metal curlicues outlining the windows. He ducks in to escape from the summer shower, a tiny bell tinkling overhead as the owner looks up and smiles.
Kyungsoo thinks back to all the times he'd sought refuge in the comforting smell of books and golden dust motes dancing in the light streaming through the tall windows; the shopkeeper knows his story here.
He smiles back.
"He's in the city shooting for his new film," she says, concern nestled in the furrows between her eyes.
Kyungsoo only nods in agreement before moving off to browse the magazine racks. There are a couple of covers featuring Jongin of course; his awards and new film, how he likes Europe, his fashion choices. His relationship status.
###
It was a cold, rainy day in autumn, the drops of water hitting the window in a persistently melancholy fugue when Jongin came in the door to find Kyungsoo sitting on the sofa, wineglass full and hands empty. There was a single magazine lying on the table.
"Hi," Jongin said, his voice falling flatly on the parquet floor and glass-topped furniture.
Kyungsoo didn't say anything. He continued to look anywhere but the magazine on the table.
Jongin swallowed; it was a choking kind of sound that exploded into the silence.
"It's not what it sounds like," he finally said, looking at Kyungsoo beseechingly, but Kyungsoo didn't meet his gaze.
"It's just that - well - the management said -"
Kyungsoo was tired of this. He was tired of the secrets and the lies and the clandestine meetings in the dark. He deserved better. Even Jongin deserved better.
"If we can't be public about it," he said, voice not even a bit shaky but only because he had practised it in front of his bedroom mirror until all his tears had leaked down his face to stain his shirt, "if we can't be public about it then we need to stop." He sat, trembling a bit from the adrenaline of finally doing something, but his chin was steady.
Jongin drew in a deep breath that was almost a sob. But he didn't say anything, and Kyungsoo knew.
Everything had already been said.
The smell of jasmine faded as Jongin left the room.
###
Kyungsoo lets his fingers trail over the glossy covers for an indulgent moment before making his way towards the back to look at the new fiction. He needs to brush up on his Spanish.
Gabriel García Márquez' last novella makes him smile and he picks up a copy even though he knows he has another copy tucked somewhere in his bookshelves. This one is to share.
He waves goodbye to the shopkeeper and the bell tinkles merrily overhead as he ventures outside.
The rain has stopped and the sky is painted a clean watery cerulean as he walks back to his flat, feet dancing a small tiptoe sonatina around the many puddles which dot the sidewalks.
Even the sight of two cute boys kissing in the alley can't ruin his affectionate mood towards the world.
###
It had been too long. When Kyungsoo got the message from Jongin he was into his shoes and tripping over the trailing shoelaces as he stumbled down the stairs, fighting with his arms in his sleeves and practically bowling a startled Jongin over who was waiting at the foot of the building steps.
One look at Jongin and Kyungsoo was dragging him back into the alley: pushing him up against the wall and eating his mouth out and the small sounds Jongin was making and the sweet jasmine of his skin were driving Kyungsoo crazy as he dipped his fingers under his shirt to trace his ribs and tapped out a staccato beat to punctuate their breathing -
click.
They froze, spines crawling with goosebumps, Kyungsoo's hands up under Jongin's shirt and Jongin with his mouth on Kyungsoo's neck, blinded by the flash that had just gone off.
The next days were a whirlwind of telephone messages and press conferences and denials and photoshop and explanations and Kyungsoo didn't leave his flat for a month.
It wasn't like he didn't work from home anyway.
But Jongin didn't call either and Kyungsoo was less and less sure if it was because he wasn't allowed to or because he didn't want to.
So it was with shaking fingers that he reached out to open up the magazine sitting innocently on the rack in his favourite bookstore.
The shopkeeper found him in the corner at the back at closing time, a crumpled copy of the magazine crushed against his chest, and that was when they became friends.
###
Whistling Satie's Gymnopédie No.1 under his breath, Kyungsoo waves happily at Mrs. Martin before taking the steps by threes, arriving at his flat out of breath and entirely happy.
He hangs up his keys, slips out of his shoes and sets the book, wrapped in brown paper, on the end table before going to pull off his sweater, laughing to find that he's still in his pajamas.
Stepping lightly around the flat he picks out some clothes to wear before slipping into the bath for a quick soak. Afterwards, towel-drying his hair, he swings by the kitchen to open a bottle of Schiava to breathe and arranges the books over the mantelpiece for the umpteenth time.
One glance at the clock tells him it's moving on towards afternoon - he pulls out the ingredients he'd purchased yesterday at the biweekly farmer's market only three stops away and absentmindedly flicks on the radio.
They all think I have it all
I've nothing without you
All my dreams and all the lights mean
Nothing without you
The sultry voice swirls around the room and his hands pause for a moment before he resumes de-choking the artichokes.
###
Kyungsoo was watching television, a rare event in a life that was filled with work and books and friendly waves to neighbours and stopping by the flower stand on the way back from the subway stop.
He was absentmindedly rearranging the Albert Bartholomé miniature reproductions on the side table when he heard a familiar voice.
His hand froze on the Crying Girl.
"I've made a lot of mistakes in my life but there's nothing I regret more than letting other people control what I really wanted for myself."
Kyungsoo slipped his hand into his lap to cradle his knees that were pulled up to his chest.
Jongin looked good. He looked healthy and prosperous and successful and proud and there was a tight knot in Kyungsoo's chest that he was having trouble breathing around but Jongin was nodding at the interviewer and he'd missed the question.
Jongin didn't say anything else; instead a song started playing - it seemed to be a segue-way to the next part of the program or something, Kyungsoo didn't know, but the lyrics stabbed into the soft pink flesh of his heart like arrows.
But burned into my brain are these stolen images
Stolen images, baby, stolen images
Can you picture it
Babe the life we could've lived?
Kyungsoo hugged his knees closer while all the wet broken pieces of his heart slid down his cheeks to dot the fabric of his chinos with heartbreak.
The Jongin on the television screen was still smiling, but his eyes were shiny and he excused himself to the interviewer before slipping off camera.
All my dreams and all the lights mean
Nothing if I can't have you
###
The chicken has been well-trussed and is browning beautifully in the oven under a generous coating of butter and fleur de sel, the Viognier is chilling on ice and the russet potatoes are forming delicate skins on the stove top. Kyungsoo is just layering the artichokes and tomato wedges artfully on his favourite Meissen platter when the doorbell rings.
He sets down the bowl of vinaigrette and wipes his hands on the torchon hanging at his waist before making his way to the door, only pausing to straighten the arrangement of yesterday's flowers on the mantelpiece.
Kyungsoo opens the deadbolt and the door swings open with a soft rush of air, fragrant with the scent of jasmine.
"Hello."
Kyungsoo smiles.
Title: We could have lived
Pairings: Kai/D.O
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~3,120
Summary: Kyungsoo and Jongin grew up together, but when Jongin becomes famous, their relationship suffers.
Author’s Note: Thank you so much to L for helping me think out the prompt and reading my final draft, and to everyone for being so encouraging in regards to all my writing! I'd also like to thank my recipient for the lovely prompt. The lyrics quoted in the story are from the song Without You by Lana Del Rey.
He opens his eyes. There's a mobile hanging from the ceiling, shadows of birds flickering against the white walls in the light breeze. The soft curtains framing the open window flap gently.
He waits exactly ten seconds then leans over towards the nightstand to tap the top of his old-fashioned chrome alarm clock as it goes silent, taking in a deep breath before splitting the morning calm open with its fearsome ring.
###
"Bzzzzzzzzzzzz!"
There was the shrill obnoxious sound of Kyungsoo's alarm clock going off. Jongin growled, struggling out of his tangle of sheets to crawl over his classmate and flail wildly at the old-fashioned alarm clock. Finally Kyungsoo rolled over, impatient, and turned the sound off with a single gentle tap.
"Would you stop it with that alarm clock already!" Jongin was half asleep still but already annoyed.
Kyungsoo looked over at his cute squinted eyes and pout.
"No," he said playfully, and pretended to give Jongin a light punch on the arm, but Jongin picked that exact moment to sit up and Kyungsoo's arm met his with a resounding thump.
"Ouch!" Jongin exclaimed, tears actually budding in the corners of his eyes.
Kyungsoo felt a little bad but it hadn't been intentional-
"Fine, you can punch me back," he sighed, bracing himself. But he wasn't at all surprised when Jongin darted in for a kiss instead.
"You're so cliché," he laughed, his arms tangling in the sheets, Jongin's around his shoulders.
"Shut up," Jongin mumbled, mouth full, the sweet smell of jasmine sticky on his skin.
###
No matter what he does, the bed always feels empty with only one person in it. The sheets are cold and clammy and he'd like to lie in bed and enjoy the morning but he can't. Gingerly placing a foot on the parquet to test the temperature, like dipping a toe into the ocean to test the mood of the sea, Kyungsoo determines that it will be the kind of day that warms up as it goes along.
Hopping along to the kitchen, Kyungsoo stubs his toe on the edge of the chair he'd forgotten to tuck back into the table the night before and stumbles over to counter. Pulling out a bowl, he pours in some cereal and goes to the refrigerator to get some milk but there isn't any.
If he were Jongin he'd probably slam his forehead against the metal door in frustration but - he stops the thought in its tracks.
###
"Mom! We don't have any milk!" Kyungsoo looked over at Jongin, who was entirely too disappointed at the news in his opinion.
"We can just have toast or something," he said reassuringly, but Jongin's eyes were still downcast and he looked like he was about to hit something any minute - or burst into tears. Well, he was only five years old. Kyungsoo tried again.
"I can make you pancakes if you want?" Jongin didn't raise his head from where it was inspecting his lucky charms in minute detail, but Kyungsoo could see his ears perk. "With smarties...."
Jongin abandoned his cereal bowl and leapt out of his chair jumping up and down excitedly.
"Smartie pancakes are my favourite!" he exclaimed, milk and cereal forgotten.
Kyungsoo smiled as he got out the big blue mixing bowl.
###
Kyungsoo looks consideringly at the flour bin before discarding the idea in favour of a cup of fresh coffee. Throwing on a merino sweater - the morning air is still a little crisp despite the summery season - he slips on a pair of boat shoes, takes his keys from the key rack hanging beside the door and walks down all four flights of steps out into the fresh morning chill, waving hello to Mrs. Martin as he passes her watering the roses.
The birds are tweeting merrily as he walks under the trees, drops from a pre-dawn shower lightly dusting his head. The little bakery on the corner has the best fresh chocolate-filled croissants, still warm from the oven, and the smell fills him with nostalgia.
###
"Hey! Hey!" Jongin was shouting at him excitedly from across the high school hallway. Kyungsoo almost dropped his armful of books but thankfully the wall was there to catch him. Jongin didn't even notice, pushing other students aside in his excitement.
"I got the part! I got the part!" His usually shyer school demeanour was entirely cast aside as he enfolded Kyungsoo in a huge hug, the scent of jasmine tickling his nose. Kyungsoo extricated himself gently, ignoring the reactions of the other students whom he could see out of the corners of his eyes.
"Of course you did," he grinned, pulling his knapsack off one arm and rustling about among the papers to take out a large foil box with a creamy velvet ribbon.
"Congratulations!"
Jongin's eyes were two huge dinner plates as he carefully untied the ribbon and pulled off the lid. The thick, sweet smell of chocolate emerged to infuse the air surrounding them.
"You made these?"
"No, I bought them," Kyungsoo deadpanned. He grinned, punching Jongin playfully on the arm. Jongin winced but beamed.
"But how did you know I would get it?" Jongin looked at Kyungsoo in awe. Kyungsoo merely gave him a disbelieving glare.
###
Savouring the silky chocolate on his tongue, Kyungsoo nods to the salesgirl as he pushes open the door, bell tinkling happily overhead. In the few moments that he was in the shop it has started to rain, the umbrellas of the pedestrians bobbing along both sides of the street.
Taking a deep breath he dashes out into the wet, feet lightly splashing drops that displace upwards while the soft summer rain trickles down his neck to run a cold finger down his spine. He shivers.
There's a couple sharing a umbrella, probably on their way to work or school but they've stopped under large oak to share a sweet kiss, oblivious to the passersby who grin in approval before continuing on their way.
There's a funny feeling in his chest as he stops to look longingly a moment before his feet get too wet and he moves on.
###
"I can't believe you didn't bring an umbrella!" Kyungsoo had spent the entire day at the university library. Jongin stopped by on his way home from a shoot - he was miraculously out early for once - and they'd been planning on going to see the flowers blooming but now it was raining and Jongin didn't have an umbrella as usual and Kyungsoo was disappointed. He hadn't seen Jongin in weeks.
"Well I guess there's nothing we can do," Kyungsoo sighed, gathering up his books and papers and arranging them neatly in his knapsack. He was tired and frustrated and trying not to be affected by Jongin's upset expression at his dark mood.
They ended up borrowing some book bags from the basket by the door to shield themselves from the rain as best as they could, but Kyungsoo's tennis shoes were soaked through almost right away and his arms hurt. He tripped, falling into a puddle, and scraped his palms. Over the faint hum of Jongin's worried exclamations, he watched the tiny trails of red from his palms swirl into the agitated water. Two tear drops fell, their ripples radiating outwards to join the fray.
"Are you okay?" Jongin's voice came back into focus. Kyungsoo nodded, climbing back onto his feet, but Jongin must have noticed his thinly-veiled wince or the two narrow tear tracks because when Kyungsoo made to go on, he was stopped by a surprisingly firm grasp on his arm.
"Wait," Jongin said. He looked Kyungsoo directly in the eyes, and Kyungsoo wanted to look away. It was uncomfortable being the interrogated one for once.
"I know that something's wrong, but if you don't tell me what, I can't do anything about it."
Kyungsoo tried to laughingly shrug him off, but Jongin wouldn't have any of it. Kyungsoo looked for a moment into Jongin's serious expression, and gave in. It felt good, for a change, not to be the strong one.
"I miss you," he said simply, and he hadn't wanted his voice to crack over the verb but it did.
Jongin looked sad, but also confused.
"I'm sorry I'm so busy shooting," he said in a subdued tone. "But I do try to text you and meet whoever I can..." His voice trailed off helplessly.
Kyungsoo knew that Jongin was trying his best to juggle his growing acting career along with family and friends, but knowing wasn't the same as accepting. Turning away from Jongin, he looked out over the river, flowing by so quickly; time speeding past.
"What am I to you anyway?" he whispered to the water falling on his face. He felt a tentative hand on his shoulder.
"You're my best friend," he heard Jongin murmur in his ear. There was a crash of waves against the bank; the sound of Kyungsoo's heart finally giving way.
He couldn't help but wince slightly. Hopefully Jongin hadn't noticed anything.
Still facing across to the other shore, so close and yet so unreachable from where he stood, Kyungsoo took a deep breath and steeled his shoulders. They'd been friends since their prams had rolled side-by-side through the park. Things would work out.
The rain was beginning to really soak into his shirt and he was about to turn and suggest to Jongin that they continue on their way when he felt warm arms enfold him from behind, jasmine heavy in the air, and Jongin snuggled his face into the crook of his neck for a moment.
"Kyungsoo?" Jongin asked, voice hesitant.
Kyungsoo froze.
"You know I love you, right?" His heart skipped a beat before he stuffed it back into his quiet chest.
"Yes," he nodded. "Best friends, right?"
Jongin laughed nervously.
"Well, actually, more like this," Jongin said shyly, before gently cupping Kyungsoo's chin in one hand to tip his head back.
Their eyes locked, and Kyungsoo only had time for the split-second realization that Jongin was actually pretty tall, before their mouths met.
And suddenly it didn't matter that Jongin had forgotten the umbrella.
###
His favourite bookstore is on the corner; a small quant building fronted with dusty red brick and ornate metal curlicues outlining the windows. He ducks in to escape from the summer shower, a tiny bell tinkling overhead as the owner looks up and smiles.
Kyungsoo thinks back to all the times he'd sought refuge in the comforting smell of books and golden dust motes dancing in the light streaming through the tall windows; the shopkeeper knows his story here.
He smiles back.
"He's in the city shooting for his new film," she says, concern nestled in the furrows between her eyes.
Kyungsoo only nods in agreement before moving off to browse the magazine racks. There are a couple of covers featuring Jongin of course; his awards and new film, how he likes Europe, his fashion choices. His relationship status.
###
It was a cold, rainy day in autumn, the drops of water hitting the window in a persistently melancholy fugue when Jongin came in the door to find Kyungsoo sitting on the sofa, wineglass full and hands empty. There was a single magazine lying on the table.
"Hi," Jongin said, his voice falling flatly on the parquet floor and glass-topped furniture.
Kyungsoo didn't say anything. He continued to look anywhere but the magazine on the table.
Jongin swallowed; it was a choking kind of sound that exploded into the silence.
"It's not what it sounds like," he finally said, looking at Kyungsoo beseechingly, but Kyungsoo didn't meet his gaze.
"It's just that - well - the management said -"
Kyungsoo was tired of this. He was tired of the secrets and the lies and the clandestine meetings in the dark. He deserved better. Even Jongin deserved better.
"If we can't be public about it," he said, voice not even a bit shaky but only because he had practised it in front of his bedroom mirror until all his tears had leaked down his face to stain his shirt, "if we can't be public about it then we need to stop." He sat, trembling a bit from the adrenaline of finally doing something, but his chin was steady.
Jongin drew in a deep breath that was almost a sob. But he didn't say anything, and Kyungsoo knew.
Everything had already been said.
The smell of jasmine faded as Jongin left the room.
###
Kyungsoo lets his fingers trail over the glossy covers for an indulgent moment before making his way towards the back to look at the new fiction. He needs to brush up on his Spanish.
Gabriel García Márquez' last novella makes him smile and he picks up a copy even though he knows he has another copy tucked somewhere in his bookshelves. This one is to share.
He waves goodbye to the shopkeeper and the bell tinkles merrily overhead as he ventures outside.
The rain has stopped and the sky is painted a clean watery cerulean as he walks back to his flat, feet dancing a small tiptoe sonatina around the many puddles which dot the sidewalks.
Even the sight of two cute boys kissing in the alley can't ruin his affectionate mood towards the world.
###
It had been too long. When Kyungsoo got the message from Jongin he was into his shoes and tripping over the trailing shoelaces as he stumbled down the stairs, fighting with his arms in his sleeves and practically bowling a startled Jongin over who was waiting at the foot of the building steps.
One look at Jongin and Kyungsoo was dragging him back into the alley: pushing him up against the wall and eating his mouth out and the small sounds Jongin was making and the sweet jasmine of his skin were driving Kyungsoo crazy as he dipped his fingers under his shirt to trace his ribs and tapped out a staccato beat to punctuate their breathing -
click.
They froze, spines crawling with goosebumps, Kyungsoo's hands up under Jongin's shirt and Jongin with his mouth on Kyungsoo's neck, blinded by the flash that had just gone off.
The next days were a whirlwind of telephone messages and press conferences and denials and photoshop and explanations and Kyungsoo didn't leave his flat for a month.
It wasn't like he didn't work from home anyway.
But Jongin didn't call either and Kyungsoo was less and less sure if it was because he wasn't allowed to or because he didn't want to.
So it was with shaking fingers that he reached out to open up the magazine sitting innocently on the rack in his favourite bookstore.
The shopkeeper found him in the corner at the back at closing time, a crumpled copy of the magazine crushed against his chest, and that was when they became friends.
###
Whistling Satie's Gymnopédie No.1 under his breath, Kyungsoo waves happily at Mrs. Martin before taking the steps by threes, arriving at his flat out of breath and entirely happy.
He hangs up his keys, slips out of his shoes and sets the book, wrapped in brown paper, on the end table before going to pull off his sweater, laughing to find that he's still in his pajamas.
Stepping lightly around the flat he picks out some clothes to wear before slipping into the bath for a quick soak. Afterwards, towel-drying his hair, he swings by the kitchen to open a bottle of Schiava to breathe and arranges the books over the mantelpiece for the umpteenth time.
One glance at the clock tells him it's moving on towards afternoon - he pulls out the ingredients he'd purchased yesterday at the biweekly farmer's market only three stops away and absentmindedly flicks on the radio.
They all think I have it all
I've nothing without you
All my dreams and all the lights mean
Nothing without you
The sultry voice swirls around the room and his hands pause for a moment before he resumes de-choking the artichokes.
###
Kyungsoo was watching television, a rare event in a life that was filled with work and books and friendly waves to neighbours and stopping by the flower stand on the way back from the subway stop.
He was absentmindedly rearranging the Albert Bartholomé miniature reproductions on the side table when he heard a familiar voice.
His hand froze on the Crying Girl.
"I've made a lot of mistakes in my life but there's nothing I regret more than letting other people control what I really wanted for myself."
Kyungsoo slipped his hand into his lap to cradle his knees that were pulled up to his chest.
Jongin looked good. He looked healthy and prosperous and successful and proud and there was a tight knot in Kyungsoo's chest that he was having trouble breathing around but Jongin was nodding at the interviewer and he'd missed the question.
Jongin didn't say anything else; instead a song started playing - it seemed to be a segue-way to the next part of the program or something, Kyungsoo didn't know, but the lyrics stabbed into the soft pink flesh of his heart like arrows.
But burned into my brain are these stolen images
Stolen images, baby, stolen images
Can you picture it
Babe the life we could've lived?
Kyungsoo hugged his knees closer while all the wet broken pieces of his heart slid down his cheeks to dot the fabric of his chinos with heartbreak.
The Jongin on the television screen was still smiling, but his eyes were shiny and he excused himself to the interviewer before slipping off camera.
All my dreams and all the lights mean
Nothing if I can't have you
###
The chicken has been well-trussed and is browning beautifully in the oven under a generous coating of butter and fleur de sel, the Viognier is chilling on ice and the russet potatoes are forming delicate skins on the stove top. Kyungsoo is just layering the artichokes and tomato wedges artfully on his favourite Meissen platter when the doorbell rings.
He sets down the bowl of vinaigrette and wipes his hands on the torchon hanging at his waist before making his way to the door, only pausing to straighten the arrangement of yesterday's flowers on the mantelpiece.
Kyungsoo opens the deadbolt and the door swings open with a soft rush of air, fragrant with the scent of jasmine.
"Hello."
Kyungsoo smiles.