snapshots
kyungsoo/jongdae | pg | 3539 words
a picture is worth a thousand words. twenty photographs over the years.
written for the kyungsoo/jongdae pairing over at kyungsooperior, a little fic challenge between a few members of tlist! also this is trans!kyungsoo/jongdae. basically just romance, because let's face it. enough of angsty, dealing-with-trans/homophobia, everyone-hates-me-except-you fic. something happy for once. so this happened. sort of. more or less.
for mmdgz and godlokong, because i sure as hell have whined enough about this fic that they deserve a huge thanks for bearing with it over the past couple of days, weeks, months.
photograph one:
no caption. taken by no one. a memory.
2019
His smile. Her laugh. The light jokes, the teasing, the good-natured chaff. The scarf that she wears, tucked around her neck, despite the weather and the occasion and the wind that blows too strong on the promenade deck. His camera, sitting light in her palms. His voice, when he whispers her name like it’s a psalm. The way her hair smells after a long shower; her favourite shampoo, the flavour he tastes on her lips, too. When she leans back into him, slow motions in slow motion, repeat. Stop motion. His smile. Her laugh. Their fingers, entwined. The way her eyes seem to say, you’re mine.
This book, and every single page of it, every single photo in it.
Memories, and how they fit.
photograph two:
caption: first date! taken by jongdae. cellphone.
2014
The coffee place, from down the road. Her scarf, blue-green, like the colour of the sea when the tides are quiet, and the water glows. She says it’s called cerulean. Her scarf, cerulean, tucked tightly around her neck, despite the warm weather. Her fingers, absently playing with one end.
Two cups in front of them. The French vanilla latte that Jongdae swears is the greatest thing to ever grace this planet. An Americano. A plate with assorted bread-things. Tissues, a standee-menu.
His smile. Her smile. The polite space between them. His hair is still flyaway, from the wind that had beleagured them, earlier. Their matching poses, the typical peace symbol of their generation. Kyungsoo had been amenable to the idea of a photo, even though she hasn’t had the greatest of experiences with them in the past. Her smile. His smile.
The background is bustling. A waiter serves water to a man in the back. Someone waves an order. There is a large potted plant, occupying one corner of the photo.
Selfie culture, Kyungsoo says, right before Jongdae raises his phone to take the photo. I can’t believe I’m falling prey to this movement.
It’s for a good cause, Jongdae says.
photograph three:
caption: ice cream date! second date! woohoo! taken by jongdae. cellphone.
2014
Vanilla ice cream on her cheek. Chocolate ice cream on his chin. Despite the mess, their smiles match, still. A single bowl of ice cream sits in front of them, half-eaten. No matter what, Kyungsoo will always blame Jongdae for it.
A stain on Kyungsoo’s scarf. It’s red, today. The colour of the flowers in the park near Jongdae’s apartment. They remind Jongdae of Kyungsoo. Fiery, ferocious, stunning. They are ixoras, but they are still worth all of those words, and more. She says it’s called scarlet.
Scarlet, like the colour on Jongdae’s cheeks, when he apologises profusely, and says he’ll get her a new scarf in return. She says it’s fine. He says, it’s to make up for all the birthdays and the Christmases I spent, not knowing you.
Kyungsoo never takes off her scarf. But it’s okay.
photograph three:
no caption. at baekhyun’s party. taken by chanyeol. chanyeol’s facebook.
2014
His arm around her waist. His nose, pressed to her cheek.
A couple of girls, standing nearby, on the fringes of the photograph. Expressions displeased. Glances constant. Cups in their hands. Mouths in motion, as if conversing about the two in the focus of the shot, or maybe just one of them.
Her smile, uneasy. His smile, as if trying to convey, it’s alright. It’ll be alright.
Her scarf is green, today. Like the artificial grass outside, in Baekhyun’s garden. Bright green and never fading. She says it’s called chartreuse.
Chartreuse is also the colour of the walls in the restaurant they go to later that night, two in the morning. Kyungsoo looks at him wearily, over noodles, and says, I’m sorry.
Jongdae places his hand over hers, and says, don’t be sorry for who you are.
Kyungsoo tucks her hair behind her ear, smiles a little less tiredly, and curls their fingers together, grateful. They forget about the girls, and the words they’d said.
Chanyeol doesn’t tag them in the photo, on request.
photograph four:
caption: third date. post-movie. taken by kyungsoo. cellphone.
2014
The local cinema, that’s closer to Kyungsoo’s place. An empty popcorn box in his hand. A cup, half-full, in hers. Their smiles are the only things constant about their photos together. Those, and the scarf tucked around Kyungsoo’s neck. It’s a pale orange, today. A shade of orange, like the colour of the card Jongdae had tacked onto the gift he’d gotten for her It had been a new scarf, for the mishap of their second date. She says it’s called summer squash.
That was a terrible movie, she says, on their way back. Jongdae always walks Kyungsoo home, in case anything happens. It has, before. What a waste of two hours.
We should have picked Homefront instead, muses Jongdae, dropping their Frozen tickets into his pocket anyway. Jason Statham is one badass motherfucker.
Amen to that, she says. Hey, play CS:GO with me tomorrow?
This is probably the night Jongdae falls in love without realising it.
photograph five:
no caption. taken by no one. a memory.
2014
Her laugh. His expression of mock-despair. They sit together, side by side at Kyungsoo’s study desk. They’re at Kyungsoo’s place. Her flatmates are out, probably studying, probably partying. Kyungsoo is beating him at CS:GO. Jongdae concedes, defeated after more rounds than he can even count. He then suggests they play Minecraft, instead.
Kyungsoo kisses him on the cheek. You’re only suggesting we play my favourite game because you don’t suck at it, she says. How sweet of you.
I do try, replies Jongdae.
Her scarf is blue, today. It’s the one Jongdae got her. Just blue.
photograph six:
no caption. taken by jongdae. camera.
2017
Kyungsoo, smiling.
photograph seven:
caption: rockstars in the making!!! w/ friends n supporters of one slipper one shoe xoxo. at chanyeol and yixing’s gig. taken by zitao. zitao’s instagram.
2014
Her scarf is blue. Just blue.
It’s a group photo. First row, from left to right: Chanyeol, Jongdae, Kyungsoo, Jongin. Second row, from left to right: Lu Han, Yixing, a guitar, two amplifiers, Chanyeol’s hat, Sehun. They all smile wide for the camera, or rather, Zitao’s phone.
Get into the photo, says Sehun.
Zitao says he will, on the next one. Should have brought a selfie stick, adds Zitao, regretfully.
Jongin snorts. I can’t believe you even bought one.
What’s that supposed to mean? says Jongdae, amused. I have one too.
Exactly, says Kyungsoo. Jongin goes, oooooooh, and hi-fives her. Jongdae shakes his head.
It’s the first night some of them meet Kyungsoo. Jongdae doesn’t tell them beforehand. He just says that he’s bringing his girlfriend. And really, that’s all there is to it. Kyungsoo pats her hair down a little nervously, tucks her scarf around her neck tighter, and fiddles with the cuffs of her jacket. Jongdae asks her why she’s so jittery, when she usually isn’t. Kyungsoo replies, because they’re your friends. They’re important.
So are you, says Jongdae. Don’t worry. They’ll love you. Trust me. (I love you)
They do. They only ask one or two polite questions, and nothing more. They are charmed by her one-liners, and the dry humour she presents as her default front to everything. Kyungsoo’s smiles get progressively warmer through the night. Jongdae’s smile shines even brighter than the spotlight that’s trained on Chanyeol and Yixing when they get on stage.
See, whispers Jongdae, when he drives her home, later. Everything was good.
Yeah, she says, relieved. Almost disbelieving. A little amazed. Yeah, it was.
Jongdae walks her to her door. Kyungsoo kisses him.
photograph eight:
caption: study date [winky face emoji]. taken by jongdae. cellphone.
2015
The same coffeeshop they’d gone to on their first date. One Americano. One pumpkin spice latte. Well then, comments Kyungsoo, thought I was dating someone with standards.
Says the K-pop fan, replies Jongdae, haughtily taking a sip of his latte. Under the table, Kyungsoo casually steps on his foot. The face he makes as he snaps the photo of the both of them is pained. Kyungsoo cheerfully saves the photo to her own phone.
There are books strewn across the table. They’re in the same university, now. Different courses. Kyungsoo’s math books are set up neatly on the table. Jongdae’s literature texts sit under his croissant. They swap pens unknowingly, and attempt to make space for their laptops by having a race to see who can finish their food faster. Kyungsoo wins.
Her scarf is blue. Just blue.
photograph nine:
no caption. taken by no one. a memory.
2018
Sitting at her desk, by the window. The curve of her chin, resting lightly in the dip of her palm. Her eyes, almost shut. The earphones that trail downwards. The way she taps her fingertips against the desk, matching the rhythm of the song that’s playing in her ears. Her lower lip, moving slightly, as she almost-mouths along to the words of the song as well.
She isn’t wearing a scarf, today. Her hair isn’t long. She wears only a t-shirt, and sweatpants.
Jongdae loves her all the same.
photograph ten:
caption: meeting the parents! [three smiley face emojis in a row]. taken by jongdae’s brother. jongdae’s cellphone.
2016
They sit around a dinner table. Jongdae and Kyungsoo. Jongdae’s parents. Plates, bowls, dining utensils. Rice, vegetables, doenjang jigae. Chopsticks, folded neatly. Chopsticks, in hands. Jongdae holds his up in parody of his usual pose in photographs.
Her scarf is a rich green today. Something like the colour of fresh pickled toads. Kyungsoo laughs, and says, there’s no way she’s wearing her Slytherin scarf to meet his parents. And, she says it’s called dartmouth green.
Jongdae says, she should have. They’re huge fans. But then again, better to have not. They’re Hufflepuffs.
They take the news better than Jongdae expected. Much better than some of Jongdae’s friends have, much better than people around them generally do, on a day to day basis. Jongdae has never been so glad.
Kyungsoo’s hand sneaks into his, under the table.
Jongdae glances over at her, in between conversation, and every moment is like seeing her for the first time all over again. Them, in the library, shooting looks at each other from their tables, across the room. Bumping into each other between the shelves, in the photography section. Their mutual friend, the librarian, beaming at them from the counter as they walked out to get coffee.
She’s great, says his mother, a little while later as she comes to stand beside him as he’s washing the dishes. I’m really happy for you, Jongdae.
I’m really happy too, replies Jongdae. And the words are sincere, more so than anything he’s ever said in his life.
(Other than the words, I love you.)
photograph eleven:
no caption. taken by no one. a memory.
2014
Hands, trembling.
And it doesn’t matter to you?
No. It will never matter, to Jongdae. Maybe it will matter to other people, why she looks the way she does, why she sounds the way she does. Why she seems to be someone else, when really, that someone else isn’t her at all. No, it doesn’t matter.
You know what matters? asks Jongdae, curling their fingers together. They stand, leaning against the railing of Jongdae’s balcony. The cityscape is loud and sprawling. Nothing matters, except you being here, and being who you really are. That’s all. You don’t have to conform to anything, or anyone, yeah?
Yeah. Kyungsoo’s eyes follow the horizon. Her voice is smaller than usual. Thanks, Jongdae.
And, hey. Jongdae nudges her in the side lightly, playfully. If anyone ever messes with you again, just tell me. I don’t have a blue belt in wushu for nothing.
Kyungsoo laughs. I could probably beat your ass to the ground.
Please refrain, replies Jongdae. I value my ass dearly.
A half-cough, hidden behind a palm. Nonexistent.
Jongdae glares. Kyungsoo laughs even more.
The memory floats away into the night.
photograph twelve:
no caption. taken by kyungsoo. camera.
2017
Jongdae, smiling.
photograph thirteen:
no caption. taken by chanyeol. chanyeol’s facebook.
2019
One arm around her waist. She leans back into him, smiling widely. He holds up a glass of champagne in the other hand. She has her own champagne flute in her hands. Their faces are blindingly illuminated by the flash of the camera in the dark of the night. Behind them, indistinguishable bodies move.
Her scarf is blue. Just blue.
Cute, remarks Chanyeol, holding up his camera, you both match. Smile!
Jongdae kisses her when the clock strikes twelve.
photograph fourteen:
caption: happy birthday, jongdae. taken by kyungsoo. camera.
2016
Jongdae holds up his present from Kyungsoo. His eyes crinkle at the corners. There’s a little bit of cake, still on his collar.
It’s a blue tie. Just blue, says Kyungsoo, smiling.
photograph fifteen:
no caption. taken by no one. a memory.
2017
Their knees bump together as they slide onto the piano bench with practiced ease. Jongdae takes the left side and Kyungsoo the right. Kyungsoo has never been able to will her fingers in the imitation of the past greats, so she lets the tinkling of the keys sound under Jongdae’s hands instead.
Tonight, Kyungsoo lets her voice match Jongdae’s in a smooth harmony that echoes through the practice room, and resonates through the air. Tonight, Kyungsoo allows herself a generous little two hours of forgetting, and shuts her eyes to the soft sound of the softly played keys.
Kyungsoo used to sing. She doesn’t sing as much, these days. Maybe it is because she doesn’t quite know how to control her voice the way it needs to be. Maybe it is because she just cannot stand the sound of her own voice, sometimes. Maybe it just hurts a little too much.
She is quite content, hearing Jongdae sing, though.
I’ll sing to you every single night, says Jongdae, as long as you’re there, every single night.
Kyungsoo presses her palm to Jongdae’s cheek, and kisses him.
Sing me this song, she tells him, and Jongdae does.
photograph sixteen:
caption: look at this!!!!! i’m amazed. taken by jongdae. jongdae’s instagram.
2018
Kyungsoo, attempting to block the camera. Behind her is her collection of sixty-two scarves.
Jongdae laughs, and attempts to take another one. I really shouldn’t encourage your addiction.
photograph seventeen:
caption: you’re one to talk, kim jongdae. - kyungsoo. taken by kyungsoo. jongdae’s instagram.
2018
Jongdae’s collection of forty-three pairs of shoes.
photograph eighteen:
caption: happy couple [kissy face emoji]. taken by chanyeol. chanyeol’s facebook.
2017
Her head on his shoulder.
Neither of them are facing the camera.
A park bench. The dim glow of lights down low. A swing-set, in the background. Part of a play-set: a slide, monkey bars, a fireman’s pole. The movement of figures behind and around.
His lips against her temple.
It’s a yellow scarf that’s wrapped around her neck, today, trailing down past her shoulders. Yellow like the sun that sets at dusk, yellow like the colour of the chain Jongdae had gotten her for her birthday this year, yellow like the colour of the rose Kyungsoo had tucked into his pocket for Valentine’s Day, when he’d picked her up after class. She says, it’s called gold.
Gold, like the cover of the scrapbook they save every single memory in.
photograph twenty:
no caption. taken by no one. a memory, clearer.
2014
He always sees her in the library. He doesn’t know her name.
Jongdae’s favourite table is his favourite table for the single reason that it seats him directly across the table that seems to be her favourite. Different corners of the library, but the distance doesn’t make a difference. He pretends not to look at her, behind stacks of literature books piled up in front of him, and only sneaks glances through the little gaps in between.
She looks back at him, sometimes. Jongdae wants to know if those gazes mean something. If they mean the same things his gazes mean. And really, all they mean is, I’d like to know you.
He does. He’d really like to get to know her.
She always comes in around four on Tuesdays, around the same time that Jongdae does. She’s always got a scarf wrapped around her neck, different shades of the rainbow on different days, sometimes checkered, sometimes striped. She sits down with a stack of books and goes back for another. They’re always about numbers and figures.
Jongdae doesn’t believe in love at first sight. This isn’t love at first sight. This is simply attraction, commonplace, the kind that slams into everyone’s faces at a certain age, when confronted with certain people. This is the feeling that yearns to grow into something else. Maybe proper friendship. Jongdae would like that, maybe.
Talk to her, says Juhyun, the resident librarian, every time he comes up to borrow a book. She’s a kindly woman, always smiling. A kindred spirit, thinks Jongdae. Believe me. Things will go well.
Jongdae’s always been an optimist, anyway.
The meeting is accidental, much easier than any other way Jongdae would have planned it. They bump into each other between the shelves, in the photography section. Jongdae picks up her books for her. She dusts off his bag, and hands it back to him. Their eyes catch.
Hi, says Jongdae, sorry about that.
No, it’s, uhm, she starts, looking mildly disoriented, fine. It’s alright. Thanks. Sorry too, for that.
No, no, it’s all good. Jongdae shifts a little, before making a little motion with his free hand. You like photography?
It’s interesting, she says, absently tugging at the scarf around her neck. Do you?
Sure, says Jongdae enthusiastically. I have a thing for scrapbooking. Totally not just an old lady hobby, alright, before you say anything.
There’s a little hint of a smile. Wasn’t going to say anything, she says, and Jongdae smiles back easily. This is going better than he thought it’d go.
I’m Jongdae, by the way.
I- she says, a little hesitant, holding her books a little closer. My name is, uhm. Kyungsoo.
Oh? Jongdae blinks. That’s... unconventional. I don’t think I’ve heard that name for a girl before.
There’s a tight smile. Yeah, well. Sorry to disappoint.
Oh, repeats Jongdae, a little more knowing, and a little less loud. Oh, hey, he says, when he sees her on the verge of turning away, of leaving, I still think that’s a great name.
Kyungsoo glances up. You-
Let’s start over, says Jongdae, determinedly, and he holds out his hand, smiling again. I’m Kim Jongdae. It’s nice to meet you.
A pause, a breath. Maybe disbelief, that hangs in the balance. A little bit of hesitance that melts away. My name is Do Kyungsoo, she says, tucking her books under one arm, and shaking his hand with the other. Her smile is warmer, just a little warmer, now.
Jongdae doesn’t believe in love at first sight. But this might be close.
There’s this really great coffee place down the road, says Jongdae, and he watches Kyungsoo tug at her scarf a last time, tucking it tighter around her throat. I swear, the French vanilla latte will win you over so hard.
I’m an Americano kind-of person, replies Kyungsoo, but she follows him to the counter anyway. But if you insist.
Juhyun beams at them as she’s stamping down their books, for record-keeping. See, she says to Jongdae, not even bothering to acknowledge his mortification about having this conversation right in front of Kyungsoo, I told you.
Juhyun, whines Jongdae, at the very same time Kyungsoo says, amused, Juhyun.
Perfect, says Juhyun, pressing their books into their hands, off you go, kids. She waves as they exit, smiling wider than Jongdae himself could ever, even. Have fun!
The wind sweeps cold and burning against their skin; winter is rolling in, slow and steady, building up through autumn over the last couple of weeks, finally settling in with the slightest hint of snow that floats down upon the streets, and the last leaves that leave the branches.
So, says Kyungsoo, as they’re walking, hands in their pockets, you’ve been planning this?
Well, says Jongdae, sort of? Not that I was, y’know, trying to be creepy or anything! I’m not a stalker. I promise. Seriously.
Kyungsoo laughs. It’s the first time Jongdae’s ever heard her do so, in all these weeks of vaguely observing her go about her work in the library. Of course, it’s not like loud noises are allowed in the library, so that makes sense. I believe you. Don’t worry.
Jongdae smiles, relieved. Good, he says, and Kyungsoo peers at him, almost curiously. What?
You smile a lot, she says, as if pondering something.
Is that a bad thing? asks Jongdae.
Not neccessarily. Kyungsoo smiles back. Keeps the eye occupied.
That a roundabout way of admitting you’ve been watching me too? Jongdae holds the door open for her, when they reach the coffee place, and she just snorts at his words. Totally is, isn’t it?
Don’t hold your breath, she answers, but there’s something tugging at the corners of her lips, anyway.
Jongdae thinks they're going to get along just great.
back page:
a neat scribble: buy a new book!!! this one doesn't have enough pages.
a picture is worth a thousand words. twenty photographs over the years.
written for the kyungsoo/jongdae pairing over at kyungsooperior, a little fic challenge between a few members of tlist! also this is trans!kyungsoo/jongdae. basically just romance, because let's face it. enough of angsty, dealing-with-trans/homophobia, everyone-hates-me-except-you fic. something happy for once. so this happened. sort of. more or less.
for mmdgz and godlokong, because i sure as hell have whined enough about this fic that they deserve a huge thanks for bearing with it over the past couple of days, weeks, months.
photograph one:
no caption. taken by no one. a memory.
2019
His smile. Her laugh. The light jokes, the teasing, the good-natured chaff. The scarf that she wears, tucked around her neck, despite the weather and the occasion and the wind that blows too strong on the promenade deck. His camera, sitting light in her palms. His voice, when he whispers her name like it’s a psalm. The way her hair smells after a long shower; her favourite shampoo, the flavour he tastes on her lips, too. When she leans back into him, slow motions in slow motion, repeat. Stop motion. His smile. Her laugh. Their fingers, entwined. The way her eyes seem to say, you’re mine.
This book, and every single page of it, every single photo in it.
Memories, and how they fit.
photograph two:
caption: first date! taken by jongdae. cellphone.
2014
The coffee place, from down the road. Her scarf, blue-green, like the colour of the sea when the tides are quiet, and the water glows. She says it’s called cerulean. Her scarf, cerulean, tucked tightly around her neck, despite the warm weather. Her fingers, absently playing with one end.
Two cups in front of them. The French vanilla latte that Jongdae swears is the greatest thing to ever grace this planet. An Americano. A plate with assorted bread-things. Tissues, a standee-menu.
His smile. Her smile. The polite space between them. His hair is still flyaway, from the wind that had beleagured them, earlier. Their matching poses, the typical peace symbol of their generation. Kyungsoo had been amenable to the idea of a photo, even though she hasn’t had the greatest of experiences with them in the past. Her smile. His smile.
The background is bustling. A waiter serves water to a man in the back. Someone waves an order. There is a large potted plant, occupying one corner of the photo.
Selfie culture, Kyungsoo says, right before Jongdae raises his phone to take the photo. I can’t believe I’m falling prey to this movement.
It’s for a good cause, Jongdae says.
photograph three:
caption: ice cream date! second date! woohoo! taken by jongdae. cellphone.
2014
Vanilla ice cream on her cheek. Chocolate ice cream on his chin. Despite the mess, their smiles match, still. A single bowl of ice cream sits in front of them, half-eaten. No matter what, Kyungsoo will always blame Jongdae for it.
A stain on Kyungsoo’s scarf. It’s red, today. The colour of the flowers in the park near Jongdae’s apartment. They remind Jongdae of Kyungsoo. Fiery, ferocious, stunning. They are ixoras, but they are still worth all of those words, and more. She says it’s called scarlet.
Scarlet, like the colour on Jongdae’s cheeks, when he apologises profusely, and says he’ll get her a new scarf in return. She says it’s fine. He says, it’s to make up for all the birthdays and the Christmases I spent, not knowing you.
Kyungsoo never takes off her scarf. But it’s okay.
photograph three:
no caption. at baekhyun’s party. taken by chanyeol. chanyeol’s facebook.
2014
His arm around her waist. His nose, pressed to her cheek.
A couple of girls, standing nearby, on the fringes of the photograph. Expressions displeased. Glances constant. Cups in their hands. Mouths in motion, as if conversing about the two in the focus of the shot, or maybe just one of them.
Her smile, uneasy. His smile, as if trying to convey, it’s alright. It’ll be alright.
Her scarf is green, today. Like the artificial grass outside, in Baekhyun’s garden. Bright green and never fading. She says it’s called chartreuse.
Chartreuse is also the colour of the walls in the restaurant they go to later that night, two in the morning. Kyungsoo looks at him wearily, over noodles, and says, I’m sorry.
Jongdae places his hand over hers, and says, don’t be sorry for who you are.
Kyungsoo tucks her hair behind her ear, smiles a little less tiredly, and curls their fingers together, grateful. They forget about the girls, and the words they’d said.
Chanyeol doesn’t tag them in the photo, on request.
photograph four:
caption: third date. post-movie. taken by kyungsoo. cellphone.
2014
The local cinema, that’s closer to Kyungsoo’s place. An empty popcorn box in his hand. A cup, half-full, in hers. Their smiles are the only things constant about their photos together. Those, and the scarf tucked around Kyungsoo’s neck. It’s a pale orange, today. A shade of orange, like the colour of the card Jongdae had tacked onto the gift he’d gotten for her It had been a new scarf, for the mishap of their second date. She says it’s called summer squash.
That was a terrible movie, she says, on their way back. Jongdae always walks Kyungsoo home, in case anything happens. It has, before. What a waste of two hours.
We should have picked Homefront instead, muses Jongdae, dropping their Frozen tickets into his pocket anyway. Jason Statham is one badass motherfucker.
Amen to that, she says. Hey, play CS:GO with me tomorrow?
This is probably the night Jongdae falls in love without realising it.
photograph five:
no caption. taken by no one. a memory.
2014
Her laugh. His expression of mock-despair. They sit together, side by side at Kyungsoo’s study desk. They’re at Kyungsoo’s place. Her flatmates are out, probably studying, probably partying. Kyungsoo is beating him at CS:GO. Jongdae concedes, defeated after more rounds than he can even count. He then suggests they play Minecraft, instead.
Kyungsoo kisses him on the cheek. You’re only suggesting we play my favourite game because you don’t suck at it, she says. How sweet of you.
I do try, replies Jongdae.
Her scarf is blue, today. It’s the one Jongdae got her. Just blue.
photograph six:
no caption. taken by jongdae. camera.
2017
Kyungsoo, smiling.
photograph seven:
caption: rockstars in the making!!! w/ friends n supporters of one slipper one shoe xoxo. at chanyeol and yixing’s gig. taken by zitao. zitao’s instagram.
2014
Her scarf is blue. Just blue.
It’s a group photo. First row, from left to right: Chanyeol, Jongdae, Kyungsoo, Jongin. Second row, from left to right: Lu Han, Yixing, a guitar, two amplifiers, Chanyeol’s hat, Sehun. They all smile wide for the camera, or rather, Zitao’s phone.
Get into the photo, says Sehun.
Zitao says he will, on the next one. Should have brought a selfie stick, adds Zitao, regretfully.
Jongin snorts. I can’t believe you even bought one.
What’s that supposed to mean? says Jongdae, amused. I have one too.
Exactly, says Kyungsoo. Jongin goes, oooooooh, and hi-fives her. Jongdae shakes his head.
It’s the first night some of them meet Kyungsoo. Jongdae doesn’t tell them beforehand. He just says that he’s bringing his girlfriend. And really, that’s all there is to it. Kyungsoo pats her hair down a little nervously, tucks her scarf around her neck tighter, and fiddles with the cuffs of her jacket. Jongdae asks her why she’s so jittery, when she usually isn’t. Kyungsoo replies, because they’re your friends. They’re important.
So are you, says Jongdae. Don’t worry. They’ll love you. Trust me. (I love you)
They do. They only ask one or two polite questions, and nothing more. They are charmed by her one-liners, and the dry humour she presents as her default front to everything. Kyungsoo’s smiles get progressively warmer through the night. Jongdae’s smile shines even brighter than the spotlight that’s trained on Chanyeol and Yixing when they get on stage.
See, whispers Jongdae, when he drives her home, later. Everything was good.
Yeah, she says, relieved. Almost disbelieving. A little amazed. Yeah, it was.
Jongdae walks her to her door. Kyungsoo kisses him.
photograph eight:
caption: study date [winky face emoji]. taken by jongdae. cellphone.
2015
The same coffeeshop they’d gone to on their first date. One Americano. One pumpkin spice latte. Well then, comments Kyungsoo, thought I was dating someone with standards.
Says the K-pop fan, replies Jongdae, haughtily taking a sip of his latte. Under the table, Kyungsoo casually steps on his foot. The face he makes as he snaps the photo of the both of them is pained. Kyungsoo cheerfully saves the photo to her own phone.
There are books strewn across the table. They’re in the same university, now. Different courses. Kyungsoo’s math books are set up neatly on the table. Jongdae’s literature texts sit under his croissant. They swap pens unknowingly, and attempt to make space for their laptops by having a race to see who can finish their food faster. Kyungsoo wins.
Her scarf is blue. Just blue.
photograph nine:
no caption. taken by no one. a memory.
2018
Sitting at her desk, by the window. The curve of her chin, resting lightly in the dip of her palm. Her eyes, almost shut. The earphones that trail downwards. The way she taps her fingertips against the desk, matching the rhythm of the song that’s playing in her ears. Her lower lip, moving slightly, as she almost-mouths along to the words of the song as well.
She isn’t wearing a scarf, today. Her hair isn’t long. She wears only a t-shirt, and sweatpants.
Jongdae loves her all the same.
photograph ten:
caption: meeting the parents! [three smiley face emojis in a row]. taken by jongdae’s brother. jongdae’s cellphone.
2016
They sit around a dinner table. Jongdae and Kyungsoo. Jongdae’s parents. Plates, bowls, dining utensils. Rice, vegetables, doenjang jigae. Chopsticks, folded neatly. Chopsticks, in hands. Jongdae holds his up in parody of his usual pose in photographs.
Her scarf is a rich green today. Something like the colour of fresh pickled toads. Kyungsoo laughs, and says, there’s no way she’s wearing her Slytherin scarf to meet his parents. And, she says it’s called dartmouth green.
Jongdae says, she should have. They’re huge fans. But then again, better to have not. They’re Hufflepuffs.
They take the news better than Jongdae expected. Much better than some of Jongdae’s friends have, much better than people around them generally do, on a day to day basis. Jongdae has never been so glad.
Kyungsoo’s hand sneaks into his, under the table.
Jongdae glances over at her, in between conversation, and every moment is like seeing her for the first time all over again. Them, in the library, shooting looks at each other from their tables, across the room. Bumping into each other between the shelves, in the photography section. Their mutual friend, the librarian, beaming at them from the counter as they walked out to get coffee.
She’s great, says his mother, a little while later as she comes to stand beside him as he’s washing the dishes. I’m really happy for you, Jongdae.
I’m really happy too, replies Jongdae. And the words are sincere, more so than anything he’s ever said in his life.
(Other than the words, I love you.)
photograph eleven:
no caption. taken by no one. a memory.
2014
Hands, trembling.
And it doesn’t matter to you?
No. It will never matter, to Jongdae. Maybe it will matter to other people, why she looks the way she does, why she sounds the way she does. Why she seems to be someone else, when really, that someone else isn’t her at all. No, it doesn’t matter.
You know what matters? asks Jongdae, curling their fingers together. They stand, leaning against the railing of Jongdae’s balcony. The cityscape is loud and sprawling. Nothing matters, except you being here, and being who you really are. That’s all. You don’t have to conform to anything, or anyone, yeah?
Yeah. Kyungsoo’s eyes follow the horizon. Her voice is smaller than usual. Thanks, Jongdae.
And, hey. Jongdae nudges her in the side lightly, playfully. If anyone ever messes with you again, just tell me. I don’t have a blue belt in wushu for nothing.
Kyungsoo laughs. I could probably beat your ass to the ground.
Please refrain, replies Jongdae. I value my ass dearly.
A half-cough, hidden behind a palm. Nonexistent.
Jongdae glares. Kyungsoo laughs even more.
The memory floats away into the night.
photograph twelve:
no caption. taken by kyungsoo. camera.
2017
Jongdae, smiling.
photograph thirteen:
no caption. taken by chanyeol. chanyeol’s facebook.
2019
One arm around her waist. She leans back into him, smiling widely. He holds up a glass of champagne in the other hand. She has her own champagne flute in her hands. Their faces are blindingly illuminated by the flash of the camera in the dark of the night. Behind them, indistinguishable bodies move.
Her scarf is blue. Just blue.
Cute, remarks Chanyeol, holding up his camera, you both match. Smile!
Jongdae kisses her when the clock strikes twelve.
photograph fourteen:
caption: happy birthday, jongdae. taken by kyungsoo. camera.
2016
Jongdae holds up his present from Kyungsoo. His eyes crinkle at the corners. There’s a little bit of cake, still on his collar.
It’s a blue tie. Just blue, says Kyungsoo, smiling.
photograph fifteen:
no caption. taken by no one. a memory.
2017
Their knees bump together as they slide onto the piano bench with practiced ease. Jongdae takes the left side and Kyungsoo the right. Kyungsoo has never been able to will her fingers in the imitation of the past greats, so she lets the tinkling of the keys sound under Jongdae’s hands instead.
Tonight, Kyungsoo lets her voice match Jongdae’s in a smooth harmony that echoes through the practice room, and resonates through the air. Tonight, Kyungsoo allows herself a generous little two hours of forgetting, and shuts her eyes to the soft sound of the softly played keys.
Kyungsoo used to sing. She doesn’t sing as much, these days. Maybe it is because she doesn’t quite know how to control her voice the way it needs to be. Maybe it is because she just cannot stand the sound of her own voice, sometimes. Maybe it just hurts a little too much.
She is quite content, hearing Jongdae sing, though.
I’ll sing to you every single night, says Jongdae, as long as you’re there, every single night.
Kyungsoo presses her palm to Jongdae’s cheek, and kisses him.
Sing me this song, she tells him, and Jongdae does.
photograph sixteen:
caption: look at this!!!!! i’m amazed. taken by jongdae. jongdae’s instagram.
2018
Kyungsoo, attempting to block the camera. Behind her is her collection of sixty-two scarves.
Jongdae laughs, and attempts to take another one. I really shouldn’t encourage your addiction.
photograph seventeen:
caption: you’re one to talk, kim jongdae. - kyungsoo. taken by kyungsoo. jongdae’s instagram.
2018
Jongdae’s collection of forty-three pairs of shoes.
photograph eighteen:
caption: happy couple [kissy face emoji]. taken by chanyeol. chanyeol’s facebook.
2017
Her head on his shoulder.
Neither of them are facing the camera.
A park bench. The dim glow of lights down low. A swing-set, in the background. Part of a play-set: a slide, monkey bars, a fireman’s pole. The movement of figures behind and around.
His lips against her temple.
It’s a yellow scarf that’s wrapped around her neck, today, trailing down past her shoulders. Yellow like the sun that sets at dusk, yellow like the colour of the chain Jongdae had gotten her for her birthday this year, yellow like the colour of the rose Kyungsoo had tucked into his pocket for Valentine’s Day, when he’d picked her up after class. She says, it’s called gold.
Gold, like the cover of the scrapbook they save every single memory in.
photograph twenty:
no caption. taken by no one. a memory, clearer.
2014
He always sees her in the library. He doesn’t know her name.
Jongdae’s favourite table is his favourite table for the single reason that it seats him directly across the table that seems to be her favourite. Different corners of the library, but the distance doesn’t make a difference. He pretends not to look at her, behind stacks of literature books piled up in front of him, and only sneaks glances through the little gaps in between.
She looks back at him, sometimes. Jongdae wants to know if those gazes mean something. If they mean the same things his gazes mean. And really, all they mean is, I’d like to know you.
He does. He’d really like to get to know her.
She always comes in around four on Tuesdays, around the same time that Jongdae does. She’s always got a scarf wrapped around her neck, different shades of the rainbow on different days, sometimes checkered, sometimes striped. She sits down with a stack of books and goes back for another. They’re always about numbers and figures.
Jongdae doesn’t believe in love at first sight. This isn’t love at first sight. This is simply attraction, commonplace, the kind that slams into everyone’s faces at a certain age, when confronted with certain people. This is the feeling that yearns to grow into something else. Maybe proper friendship. Jongdae would like that, maybe.
Talk to her, says Juhyun, the resident librarian, every time he comes up to borrow a book. She’s a kindly woman, always smiling. A kindred spirit, thinks Jongdae. Believe me. Things will go well.
Jongdae’s always been an optimist, anyway.
The meeting is accidental, much easier than any other way Jongdae would have planned it. They bump into each other between the shelves, in the photography section. Jongdae picks up her books for her. She dusts off his bag, and hands it back to him. Their eyes catch.
Hi, says Jongdae, sorry about that.
No, it’s, uhm, she starts, looking mildly disoriented, fine. It’s alright. Thanks. Sorry too, for that.
No, no, it’s all good. Jongdae shifts a little, before making a little motion with his free hand. You like photography?
It’s interesting, she says, absently tugging at the scarf around her neck. Do you?
Sure, says Jongdae enthusiastically. I have a thing for scrapbooking. Totally not just an old lady hobby, alright, before you say anything.
There’s a little hint of a smile. Wasn’t going to say anything, she says, and Jongdae smiles back easily. This is going better than he thought it’d go.
I’m Jongdae, by the way.
I- she says, a little hesitant, holding her books a little closer. My name is, uhm. Kyungsoo.
Oh? Jongdae blinks. That’s... unconventional. I don’t think I’ve heard that name for a girl before.
There’s a tight smile. Yeah, well. Sorry to disappoint.
Oh, repeats Jongdae, a little more knowing, and a little less loud. Oh, hey, he says, when he sees her on the verge of turning away, of leaving, I still think that’s a great name.
Kyungsoo glances up. You-
Let’s start over, says Jongdae, determinedly, and he holds out his hand, smiling again. I’m Kim Jongdae. It’s nice to meet you.
A pause, a breath. Maybe disbelief, that hangs in the balance. A little bit of hesitance that melts away. My name is Do Kyungsoo, she says, tucking her books under one arm, and shaking his hand with the other. Her smile is warmer, just a little warmer, now.
Jongdae doesn’t believe in love at first sight. But this might be close.
There’s this really great coffee place down the road, says Jongdae, and he watches Kyungsoo tug at her scarf a last time, tucking it tighter around her throat. I swear, the French vanilla latte will win you over so hard.
I’m an Americano kind-of person, replies Kyungsoo, but she follows him to the counter anyway. But if you insist.
Juhyun beams at them as she’s stamping down their books, for record-keeping. See, she says to Jongdae, not even bothering to acknowledge his mortification about having this conversation right in front of Kyungsoo, I told you.
Juhyun, whines Jongdae, at the very same time Kyungsoo says, amused, Juhyun.
Perfect, says Juhyun, pressing their books into their hands, off you go, kids. She waves as they exit, smiling wider than Jongdae himself could ever, even. Have fun!
The wind sweeps cold and burning against their skin; winter is rolling in, slow and steady, building up through autumn over the last couple of weeks, finally settling in with the slightest hint of snow that floats down upon the streets, and the last leaves that leave the branches.
So, says Kyungsoo, as they’re walking, hands in their pockets, you’ve been planning this?
Well, says Jongdae, sort of? Not that I was, y’know, trying to be creepy or anything! I’m not a stalker. I promise. Seriously.
Kyungsoo laughs. It’s the first time Jongdae’s ever heard her do so, in all these weeks of vaguely observing her go about her work in the library. Of course, it’s not like loud noises are allowed in the library, so that makes sense. I believe you. Don’t worry.
Jongdae smiles, relieved. Good, he says, and Kyungsoo peers at him, almost curiously. What?
You smile a lot, she says, as if pondering something.
Is that a bad thing? asks Jongdae.
Not neccessarily. Kyungsoo smiles back. Keeps the eye occupied.
That a roundabout way of admitting you’ve been watching me too? Jongdae holds the door open for her, when they reach the coffee place, and she just snorts at his words. Totally is, isn’t it?
Don’t hold your breath, she answers, but there’s something tugging at the corners of her lips, anyway.
Jongdae thinks they're going to get along just great.
back page:
a neat scribble: buy a new book!!! this one doesn't have enough pages.