Through the Midnight Streets (1/3)
Title: Through the Midnight Streets
Pairing: Kaisoo, side!Sukai
Genre: fosterfamily!au, slice of life
Rating: R
Length: 21,910 words
Summary: The trouble with first love is that it always feels like the last.
Warning: Minor non-Exo character death
Notes: Title taken from Lorde's "Ribs"--give it a listen when you read this, and you'll understand why. Special thanks to mapofwords, who always holds my hand through every one of these things, and to little typewriter98, who cheered me on, and who needs a lot of cheering up.
PS. I hope everyone is doing okay xx
Paris, present day
The air in the park is crisp; a change from the warm, pre-summer waft that fills Jongin's flat every afternoon. The wind rifles through his bangs as he walks through the Tuileries. He pushes the hair off his forehead and puts his cap on backwards, the way he always does. Joonmyun says it makes him look like a kid ("Not that twenty-two doesn't count as a kid," the older man tacks on with a grin).
There he is, Joonmyun, in their usual spot by the Grand Bassin Octagonal. All business in a silk suit, two small coffees in hand. At Jongin's approach, he flashes a set of square white teeth. It comforts Jongin in a way, knowing that some things, like the shape of his friend's smile, never change.
"Hey, you," Joonmyun says, raising both coffees in greeting. He jerks his head towards the unoccupied lawn chair beside him. "Saved you a spot."
Jongin takes a cup and plops right down. "Thanks, hyung. Nice day, huh?" He gazes out into the Grand Bassin, enjoying the sound of the fountain spray hitting the placid surface of the water, and the soft warmth of the sun on the backs of his hands.
"You said it." Joonmyun takes a sip. "All done with finals?"
"All done." Jongin grins as he looks over, and Joonmyun is beaming. "I'm graduating in a week! Can you believe it?"
"Of course," his companion says automatically. His free hand comes to rest between Jongin's shoulder blades; a reassurance. "You've worked so hard these past four years. I'm really proud of you."
Jongin leans in so their arms bump. "Such a dad. But thanks."
He doesn't need to say anything else--Joonmyun is well-aware of how he expresses affection through proximity. They've known each other a long time, before Paris, all the way back to the tree-lined neighborhood in Seoul where they first met. Jongin would even hazard to say that Joonmyun is his closest confidante, the person he likes best in the entire world, were it not for...
"Is the whole family coming to see you graduate?" Joonmyun leans back into his chair. A cluster of children flit past behind them, babbling in high-pitched, rapid-fire French.
"Yes," Jongin murmurs. He chuckles when Joonmyun makes a confused old-man face, like he can't hear over the ruckus. "Yes, hyung, they're coming."
"Parents, the girls, Seungsoo, and..."
"Yes," Jongin licks his lips. "Ahjussi and Ahjumma are coming. So are Ji-noona and Mi-noona and Seungsoo-hyung. And..."
There it is. Right on schedule. The twinge.
"Kyungsoo, too."
Jongin ends it there. He nibbles on the rim of his cup to keep his mouth occupied.
"Ah," Joonmyun says in a voice laden with meaning. "So it is everybody."
"You're coming, too, aren't you?" Jongin shifts gears, bumping their shoulders again and knowing full well that Joonmyun can see right through him.
"If you've got space for me in your fan club," Joonmyun quips easily, "then I'll be there." He smiles. "Before I know it, you'll be a principal in some world-famous dance company, and you won't have time to spare for your aging neighbor-hyung."
"Quit it." Jongin smiles back. He's glad Joonmyun isn't pushing--but really, he never does. "You're only twenty-eight."
Joonmyun snorts, shaking his head. "And you're twenty-two. It's still strange for me, to think you're of legal drinking age."
"I was twelve when you met me," Jongin muses, and he remembers the wide, smooth driveway of Joonymun's house, where he and Joonymun and Kyungsoo used to sit on Sundays. "I think you'll always see me as a kid."
The fountain splashes placidly in Jongin's ears. In the periphery, he sees bright green leaves rustling in their branches, marble sculptures of nymphs and deities soaking in light. It's the halfway point between spring and summer, and this, he thinks, is when Paris is most beautiful. Jongin's been coming to sit here, in the middle of this park, since he enrolled at the Conservatoire. Now, five days to his commencement ceremony, he realizes this is going to be one of his last visits before heading home. It's already got him in the throes of nostalgia. He takes an extra-long sip of coffee to swallow the sensation down.
"Not always."
Jongin blinks hazily, watching a woman in a linen dress walking her glossy black lab. "Hmm, hyung?"
"Not always," Joonmyun murmurs again, smiling briefly before he shrugs and looks back out at the grand fountain. "I know you're not a kid anymore, Jongin."
There is a delicate shift in the air, and Jongin flinches imperceptibly. Oh, no, he thinks to himself. Not this again. He glances at Joonmyun to gauge his expression--unreadable, as usual, when he lets things like that slip. Hesitantly, Jongin hums in response, debating on whether or not he should say something witty or just laugh it off. In the end, he settles for silence.
They observe the people shuttling back and forth, draining their coffees to the last lukewarm drop. Jongin tries not to exacerbate his discomfort by wondering what Joonmyun is thinking and not saying.
"You hungry?" the elder asks in time. His tone is less caressing than it was before, more conversational, and therefore, relatively harmless. He elbows Jongin in the side. "You want steak for lunch?"
Inwardly, Jongin breathes a sigh of relief. "Yeah, okay," is what he says. Then he pulls off his cap and places it over Joonmyun's perfectly-styled hair in a gesture of brotherhood. It's backwards, of course, and sticks out like a sore thumb against the sleekness of Joonmyun's expensive business attire.
The latter doesn't seem to mind. He tugs the bill of the snapback down firmly and smooths the edge of his fringe where it peeks out in the front. "Does this make me look cool?"
"Sure," Jongin acquiesces.
Joonmyun stands, brushing off his jacket before taking Jongin's empty cup. "I bet if we asked Kyungsoo, he'd have something different to say." His voice is light, but his smile astute.
"He always does," Jongin replies breezily. That's enough talk of Kyungsoo for today. It's more than they've had in the past two months. He gets up, too, raking a hand through his hair to scrunch the flatness out of it. "Shall we?"
Joonmyun nods. "Yes, sir."
"Lunch is on me, by the way."
"No, Jongin--"
"Yes, hyung!"
And Jongin breaks into a run, free as a colt. He looks over his shoulder and takes in the sight of Joonmyun attempting to keep up, one hand on his crown to fix Jongin's hat in place. Amusement and incredulity dance across his face; still so boyish, and so familiar.
"Jongin-ah!" he calls. "Wait for me!"
It would be endearing, really, were it not for the memory of Kyungsoo doing the same, so many years ago, when they were young boys without a care in the world, and Jongin knew nothing of heartache.
He looks ahead and away, and runs a little faster.
Seoul, once upon a time
Jongin's mother is the live-in housekeeper of a wealthy family. She starts working for the Dos soon after she gives birth to a healthy baby boy. Jongin's father was never in the picture, and his grandparents were long-dead before he was born. Ever since he can remember, Jongin has lived in the manicured estate behind the great brass gates in the quietest part of Gangnam, with his mother and Butler Song and Chauffeur Lee and Chef Park and the two maid-noonas and the six members of the Do family.
Do Ahjussi is formidable in height but benevolent at heart, with deep creases in the corners of his eyes that Jongin likes. Do Ahjumma is petite and elegant, her hands like silk when she strokes Jongin on the cheek. They have four children. Seungsoo-hyung is the eldest, a perfect gentleman groomed to take over their publishing company. Soo Ji and Soo Mi, the twin sisters, look exactly like their mother, except Ji-noona dyes her hair red, and Mi-noona dyes hers blond. Kyungsoo, the youngest, is Jongin's age. From the get-go, they are lumped together as playmates.
The Dos are nothing like the rich people on television, with their bone-chilling condescension, underhanded dealings, and high fashion housewear. They are kind, honest, hard-working people, who have raised loyal, open-minded children. At home, they wear regular house clothes--faded, with holes in the armpits.
Jongin, his mother, and the rest of the staff reside in a sizeable annex to the mansion. Ahjumma comes knocking in the afternoons, when Kyungsoo is back from his private elementary school. Jongin gets home an hour earlier from a much less expensive institution, paid for in full and with pride by his mother. Ahjumma always asks if Jongin would like to do their homework together, in the main house. Because, in her words, Jongin is so very sweet and patient, and taciturn Kyungsoo could use the company.
Growing up, Jongin has always known Kyungsoo to be the least warm of the Do children. Not because he is mean-spirited in any way, but because he is withdrawn, and at times, aloof. Seungsoo-hyung always hoists Jongin onto his shoulders, and the noonas pull him into their laps to pepper him with kisses. But perhaps, since he and Kyungsoo are the same age, Kyungsoo doesn't show him the same kind of affection.
He does let Jongin sit next to him when he's practicing his piano drills, because Jongin loves music, and Kyungsoo knows this. He also permits Jongin to borrow his crayons, and gives him the bigger part of the cookie when there's only one left on their snack platter to halve. Sometimes, when Jongin is reading a book (the best kind, with illustrations), Kyungsoo will sidle up to him without warning and read silently over his shoulder.
Jongin thinks they're great friends.
When Jongin is nine, his mother is hit by a speeding taxi as she crosses the street from the supermarket to the sidewalk where Chauffeur Lee is waiting for her. She is killed on impact.
It is Seungsoo who breaks the news to Jongin, in the south lawn, where he and Kyungsoo are picking the weeds out of Chef Park's tomato garden.
Jongin's entire body goes rigid, as if it's been injected with shards of ice. He feels cold all over, but he doesn't cry, not even when Seungsoo envelops him in a hug and tells him how sorry he is. The twins aren't home from music class yet, but Jongin can hear the sound of women crying in the house. It's Chef Park and the two young maids, shocked into instant grief.
Ahjussi and Ahjumma take care of all the arrangements. They purchase a plot for Jongin's mother in a cemetery for wealthy, well-loved people, and they cover the entire mound in white lilies after the ceremony.
Ahjumma cries like she's lost a precious friend.
Ahjussi tells Jongin he is going live with them in the main house from now on, and that they're going to take care of him.
The older children whisper words of encouragement, and Jongin lets himself be held.
Kyungsoo doesn't say a word. Not one. He only slips his little hand into Jongin's and squeezes hard, as though he will never let go. That is when Jongin cries.
Ahjussi and Ahjumma sue the taxi company. Months later, the hefty sum they are awarded in court is placed into a trust for Jongin.
"This is for when you grow up," Ahjussi explains in his deep, storybook voice. "It will never replace your dear mother, who served us so well--but we believe it will give her peace, knowing you have this for yourself."
"Oh," Jongin says, feeling stiff and afraid. "This is for when you can't take care of me anymore?"
"No, my darling," Ahjumma assures him. "We will always take care of you. Even when you're all grown up and don't need taking care of. That's what parents do."
"We're your family now," Ahjussi says, and he places his broad hand on one of Jongin's small shoulders. "Remember?"
"Thank you, Ahjussi," Jongin murmurs, minding his manners like his mother always taught him to. "Thank you, Ahjumma."
In a gentle tone, Ahjumma says, "You can call me mom, if you like." She smooths back Jongin's hair, the way she has every night since his mother died, before tucking him into bed.
His reply is so meek. "But I already have a mom..."
And Ahjumma wraps him up in her soft, pale arms so he can hide his tears in her neck.
Ballet comes into Jongin's life not long after, and completely by accident.
One day, Ahjumma takes him and Kyungsoo to pick up the twins from music school, so they can all go out for dinner with Ahjussi afterwards.
"Have a look around when we get there," Ahjumma says to Jongin, leaning forward to pat his little knee. "You can have music lessons, too, if you like."
They've got Kyungsoo sitting between them in the backseat of the car. He regards Jongin with interest.
"I like piano," Jongin answers shyly, encouraged by Ahjumma's kind expression. "But mostly I just like listening to it when Kyungsoo plays."
"Ah," she says, and her face is full of affection. "Then you just let me know."
The car stops at a red light. Jongin lets his eyes drift, focusing on nothing in particular.
There is a small dance studio at street-level, with a large glass window. He sees a man lift a woman into the air, her limbs extended in a way that makes Jongin hold his breath. Fluidly, like she weighs no more than an armful of satin, the man places the woman back on the ground. Their hands lace, and their necks bow, and the top few notches of their spines become visible in the convex curves of their backs. Then the man draws away, and he leaps into the air. It's an impeccable grand jeté that seems to last forever--and Jongin sees it twice at once, because of the wall-to-wall mirror in the studio. That's when he knows.
"How about that?" he whispers, shaking Kyungsoo's thigh with an urgent hand. "Do you think I could do that?"
Kyungsoo perches his chin on Jongin's shoulder to see. "Of course," he whispers back. "You're Jongin. You can do anything you want."
They watch the couple dance together in silence, until the car starts moving again, and Ahjumma asks them what they're so preoccupied with.
Paris, present day
Jongin has just polished off a juicy rib-eye when Joonmyun asks if he'd like dessert.
"Definitely, hyung," he replies through a sip of lemon water. "I'm paying, remember?"
Clearly, Joonmyun hadn't been taking him seriously earlier. "Jongin-ah," the elder says. "What makes you think--"
"Just let me treat you this once," Jongin interjects. "You pay for me all the time. I can't mooch off your kindness forever." He wipes his mouth with a white table napkin. Joonmyun takes him to places like this every week--beautiful china, spotless cutlery, Beethoven playing in the background.
"Of course you can," Joonmyun shoots back affectionately. He waves over a passing server and asks her, in French, to bring them the dessert menu. "It's not kindness. It's my pleasure."
Jongin's been to this restaurant twice before, courtesy of his older friend. They'd taken a fifteen-minute cab ride from the Tuileries to get to La Défense, the business district, where Joonymun works in a gleaming high-rise. The restaurant is a block away from his office. Its prices are through the roof--but Jongin doesn't spend his pocket money on much, anyway.
"You're not going to win this time," he says, mild and matter-of-fact. "I'm leaving Paris in a week, so you can't say no to me."
Joonmyun's smile flickers, and he casts his eyes down to his near-empty plate. "Is that right?" he murmurs, prodding at a cherry tomato with his fork. "All right, then. I can never say no to you, anyway."
It's crept up again, the quiet lilt in Joonmyun's tone that Jongin has come to recognize as longing. They've never talked about it, but Jongin isn't dumb. He knows Joonmyun is...interested in him. He just can't pinpoint when it started.
After all, it was Kyungsoo who'd first brought it to his attention.
"It's settled, then," Jongin concludes in a voice meant to be casual. "Everything's on me today."
Joonmyun looks up and offers him a flimsy smile, just as Jongin's phone buzzes on the table.
Jongin can't catch himself fast enough. "Hyung," he ventures without thinking, heart pounding. "I think we should--"
"Aren't you going to get that?" Joonmyun asks. There is a shadow of a plea in his words, like he isn't ready to have this talk just yet, and he wants Jongin to change the subject so they can move on. Jongin picks up on a lot of things even when Joonymun doesn't say them.
"I--"
His phone buzzes a second time as the server comes back with the menu. Joonmyun thanks her, looks over the courses of sweets and pastries, and proceeds to ask for her recommendations.
"You want crème brulee, Jongin?" he tosses out, breezy as can be. "Your usual?"
Jongin's phone buzzes again.
He makes up his mind.
"All right, hyung," he says, eyes gone soft with understanding. Next time.
Joonmyun appears relieved as he orders the custard for Jongin and a pain au chocolat for himself. The server whisks away to the kitchen, and Jongin finally picks up his phone.
He quails at the name on the caller ID.
"I'm just gonna take this," he informs Joonmyun, rising from his seat and gesturing in the direction of the entrance.
"School?" Joonmyun assumes hesitantly. Jongin tries to make his nod a convincing one.
His sneakers pad softly over the polished wooden floorboards as he makes his way out of the restaurant. He only swipes his thumb across the screen to answer the call when he's pushed his way out the door and into the sidewalk, where a pair of brunettes are clacking past in Louboutins.
"Hello?" Jongin says into the phone, a touch breathless.
"Jongin," Kyungsoo's low, velvet tone responds. He sounds cautious, in a way Jongin has never known him to be. "Hey...it's me."
That voice had read out The Little Prince when they were younger, sharing beds in the big house in Gangnam. Had told Jongin, I'm sorry, I don't, when they were older, keeping secrets in their separate rooms.
"Soo," Jongin says. "It's been a while."
Seoul, 10 years ago
Jongin is twelve when he realizes he is different from the other boys.
After his mother's passing, Ahjussi and Ahjumma have him transferred to Kyungsoo's school. The tail-end of elementary is all right, because Jongin is smart and quiet and keeps to himself, and because he and Kyungsoo are placed in all the same classes.
Neither of them have much interest in sports, so they spend recess in the library, reading together on the carpet and clandestinely gnawing on beef jerky. The librarian catches them almost every time.
If the savory treat is in Jongin's hands at her approach, Kyungsoo will grab it and take the biggest, most rubbery bite, saying, "It's my snack, not his." They both get hell for it, anyway.
It's a peaceful time, which Jongin remembers with warmth--and just a touch of bittersweetness.
When they get to middle school, Jongin is assigned to a separate class for the first time in three years. The teacher seats him in the front row, because of his stellar academic record. The moment she leaves the room, there's trouble.
"So you're the charity case," snarks a rotund thirteen-year-old, braces glinting. "The orphan who lives with Do."
Jongin bites his tongue, keeping his eyes on his textbook.
"Your mom was the housekeeper, right?" says another bully--skinny, with cutting eyes. "They had to take you in after she kicked the bucket?"
Jongin's hand slowly clenches into a fist.
The chubby kid notices. "What, you're gonna hit me?" He sweeps Jongin's book, pad, and pencils off his desk. "Go on. Make your dead mom proud."
"Shut up, Mong," Jongin's seatmate, Soojung, pipes up. She's a slender girl with fine brown hair, who'd let Jongin borrow her sharpener when he'd asked. "Leave him alone."
The chubby kid laughs scornfully and reaches for Jongin's collar to haul him out of his chair. "I'll do whatever I want." He wrests Jongin closer, sizing him up. "Pathetic. Won't even fight back."
"Stop it," Soojung grits out between her teeth, rising in place.
The skinny kid pushes her back down. He slams his hands on her desk. Then, still staring her down, he smacks Jongin on the back of his head. Just for show.
The blood boils hot and fast in Jongin's veins. His whole body tenses, launching into attack mode. Forcefully, he shoves Mong away, the bully's grip on his shirt taking a few buttons with him. Mong reels back, colliding with the skinny kid, Ryu. They tumble into a heap on the floor. The classroom wallops with laughter.
Soojung slides over an approving smile. But Jongin knows this isn't over yet.
"You little shit!" Mong bellows, struggling to get up.
Ryu is on his feet more quickly. "Think that's funny, punk?" He advances in Jongin's direction, predatory, his fist already lifted. Jongin's own tightens in defense. He doesn't like fighting, but he won't back down now.
Ryu's lip curls. "You're dead." He draws back his arm to deliver the blow.
Soojung gasps. Jongin doesn't flinch.
"If you touch him, you'll regret it."
In the doorway, holding his lunchbox, looking as grave as ever, is Kyungsoo.
Jongin feels a smile threatening at the corner of his mouth.
"Butt out," Mong starts to say. "You've got nothing to do with this--"
"You have the ugliest face I've ever seen," Kyungsoo cuts in calmly. "Makes sense how you act like such a monster."
Mong casts about for words, but Kyungsoo is already brushing past him. He's shorter and much slighter, but Mong shuffles out of his way, regardless. The Dos are untouchable in these upper crust circles. They're one of the most powerful families in society.
"You all right?" Kyungsoo murmurs when he passes Soojung's desk. She nods, dimpling. Their parents are old friends.
He keeps his eyes straight ahead, not looking at Jongin. He only places his lunch on Jongin's empty desk, steps over the clutter of things on the floor, and casually stands in front of his friend. Protective.
There isn't too much space between them. Jongin can feel the warmth coming off Kyungsoo's back, half an inch from his chest.
"Back off," Kyungsoo tells Ryu, cool as a cucumber.
"He's an impostor," the skinny kid insists, eyes still as mean, but voice jittery. "Everyone knows he isn't your brother, Do."
"No one said he was my brother," Kyungsoo answers drily. "He's my best friend, and he lives with us, and he always keeps a cool head. My real brother will beat you to a pulp when I tell him what you've been saying to Jongin." His mouth quirks, and his voice lowers to a deceptively soothing timbre. "Should I tell him now?"
Ryu's fist, still suspended in the air, quakes. Kyungsoo blows on it. The fist falls to Ryu's side.
"You act so tough," the bully mutters. "But you can't even fight me yourself--have to call Seungsoo-sunbae to do it."
"I have a piano recital over the weekend," Kyungsoo tells him matter-of-factly, like he's discussing a math assignment. "I need to protect my hands."
The classroom sparks with laughter once more, the sound of it bouncing off the walls. Kyungsoo's eyes widen in surprise. He looks around him, a puzzled smile playing on his lips. He wasn't saying it to be droll--he was just being honest.
A strange thing happens when he looks over his shoulder and makes eye contact with Jongin for the first time. Kyungsoo's eyes are large and brown, like a baby animal's, and his plump mouth is pulled into a quizzical shape. Without warning, a soft, warm feeling fizzes up in Jongin's chest, like soda in a shaken can. It travels upwards, through his throat, into his cheeks, then his temples, until it feels like he's bubbling over.
"What did I say?" Kyungsoo asks. He's gone from passive-aggressive to plain naive in two seconds flat. Behind him, Ryu is backing away, defeated.
"The thing about your recital," Jongin says, pushing his hands into his pockets because he doesn't know what to do with them. Otherwise, he would give in to temptation and place a palm over his chest to feel how fast his heart is beating.
"That was funny?" Kyungsoo chuckles, shrugging. "Okay then."
"Thanks for..." Jongin trails off. He licks his lips. "Just, thanks."
"You're my best friend," Kyungsoo says simply. "You'd do it for me."
"I would." The words are solemn in Jongin's mouth.
Kyungsoo beams, one of his flash-in-the-pan smiles, before his expression fades back down to its usual unreadableness. "I came to eat with you," he admits. "Do you want to get tteokbokki from the cart by the gate?"
"But you have a packed lunch," Jongin says. "And so do I."
"Yeah," Kyungsoo agrees, and he reaches out to arrange Jongin's ruined shirt. "But I know you like that tteokbokki best, so we should go get it."
The fizzy feeling coats Jongin's ribs, surrounds his lungs, and branches out into his fingertips. This, he realizes, is a crush.
It only strikes him later, when he and Kyungsoo are standing by the cart, toothpicking their way through paper trays of spicy rice cake, that most boys have crushes on girls.
Jongin meets Kim Joonmyun the day his family moves in next door. Kyungsoo meets him at the same time, since he and Jongin are both standing in the street. They're supposed to be testing out a pair of remote-controlled toy cars that Seungsoo got for them, but all the commotion distracts them from the race.
A teenager comes strolling out onto the driveway. He's holding two ice cream cones. He licks one, then glances to the left and right of the sidewalk. When he spots Jongin and Kyungsoo in front of their gate, he lifts his chin.
"Hey!" he calls out. "Have either of you seen my sister?"
They shake their heads.
"No?" The teenager sucks a little cream off the back of his hand, where it's managed to drip. "She's about your age--tiny, with short hair?"
They shake their heads again.
"Hmm." The older boy quirks his mouth. "Her ice cream is melting."
Jongin blinks. It's hot out today, and his lips are dry, so he inadvertently licks them. Their new neighbor catches him in the act.
"You want her cone, kid?" He holds out the untouched ice cream, smiling kindly. "You can have it, if you like. I'd hate to see it go to waste."
When Jongin stays mum, the teenager turns to Kyungsoo. "How about you?"
"No, thank you," is Kyungsoo's prompt response. It's put across in the clear, polite voice he uses with strangers, particularly when he's uncomfortable.
The other's smile deepens. "Okay." He turns back to Jongin, eyes amused, lips sealed shut, still holding out the ice cream cone.
"I'll take it, please," Jongin pipes up. The teenager seems harmless, nothing like the strangers Ahjumma has warned them to avoid. Besides, Jongin loves ice cream.
The boy meets him halfway. "Here you go, kid," he says, handing Jongin the sweet. "I'm Joonmyun, by the way."
The twelve-year-old dips his head. "I'm Jongin." Then he presses his lips against the swirl of soft vanilla and slurps. A bit of the ice cream catches on the tip of his nose, cold and sticky.
Joonmyun laughs, and suddenly there's a finger coiling into the back loop of Jongin's jeans. It's Kyungsoo, come to join them.
"Are you two brothers?" Joonmyun asks, lapping at his own treat.
"No," Jongin replies. Kyungsoo reaches up to wipe the ice cream off his face. When Jongin looks over at him, Kyungsoo's got the tip of his thumb in his mouth. It comes out clean.
"Didn't think so," Joonmyun says. "You don't look alike."
"This is Kyungsoo," Jongin shares, and he angles the ice cream cone so Kyungsoo can have some more, if he wants. "We're best friends."
Kyungsoo bows slightly.
Joonmyun nods, sliding his free hand into the pocket of his shorts. He has a patient face, like Jongin's favorite teacher at ballet school. "Nice to meet you. You can call me hyung when we see each other around."
"Okay," Jongin says pleasantly. He takes another lick of his ice cream, the cone still suspended between him and Kyungsoo. Just in case.
"Okay," Kyungsoo echoes, and he leans forward for a taste. He gets the melted stuff all over his upper lip. Jongin wipes it clean with his forefinger, returning the favor.
When Kyungsoo glances at him, it's with approval. It's almost...triumphant. Jongin's stomach churns, the way it's done the past few times his friend has shown him any semblance of special treatment.
It's just a crush, Jongin tells himself, his face heating up as Joonymun looks on curiously. It'll be over before I know it.
Paris, present day
The halls and studios of the Conservatoire have been Jongin's home away from home for what feels like a long time--but also, the blink of an eye. Today, he spends the morning visiting his favorite professors, reminiscing about old times and saying goodbye in advance. He doubts he'll get to catch them in the aftermath of commencement weekend. Not long after the festivities, he'll be on an airbus bound for Seoul with his family.
"I'm not sure if Mom told you," Kyungsoo had said over the phone the day before, "but I'm coming to Paris with everyone." He'd called from New York--probably from inside his Manhattan apartment that Jongin has never seen. "I'm on break from school."
"I know." Jongin had scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the sidewalk. "She said."
The pause had been brief, but weighted. Scrape, scrape.
"I can come, can't I?" Kyungsoo's tone had been steeped with uncertainty. "You want me to come?"
"Of course." This had been mumbled. "Don't be silly. You don't have to ask."
"I wasn't sure." Then, in a rush, "About last time--"
"It's fine," Jongin had cut in before he could say any more. "I want you there, Soo." His sigh had been muted; the gentlest of exhales. "You're like my brother."
Another pause, and then a weak chuckle had crackled through the line. "You, too, Jongin-ah."
He'd shut his eyes.
"I'll see you in a few days," was the promise Kyungsoo'd left him with before they'd ended the call.
A few days, Jongin repeats to himself, standing in front of his final practice room, camera in hand. The finish line.
He snaps a quick photo of the bright, airy space. He doesn't check it. He wonders if this week is to be the beginning of so many ends, just like the end of childhood had marked the last of so many firsts.
The director, Monsieur Deneuve, catches him in the corridor. "Kim Jongin," he calls. "Just the dancer I wanted to see."
"Good morning, sir," Jongin replies, mirroring the man's choice of language--English. He resists the urge to bow, only dipping his chin slightly in deference. Even after years in a European culture, he still finds it difficult to break his habits.
"I'm glad you're here this morning," Deneuve says. "I've just gotten some very exciting news, and I was going to call you in to tell you."
Jongin rests his hands on the strap of his leather messenger bag. "What news?"
"The Ballet called about you," the director says with a meaningful smile.
Jongin feels the entire cavity of his chest constrict. The Ballet means the Paris Opera Ballet--only the most respected (and exclusive) ballet company in France. Worldwide, it ranks in the top five.
"They did?"
"Yes, my dear boy," Deneuve goes on. "They want you to dance with them next season."
"Me?" Jongin gasps. The Ballet siphons most of its talent from its alma mater, the Paris Opera Ballet School. The Conservatoire de Paris is nothing to scoff at--but Jongin can't think of anyone, off the top of his head, who's been invited to the company without training at POBS first. "Why me?"
"You're exceptional," Deneuve pronounces, amused. "Someone saw you in La Bayader last semester at your showcase. They'd like you to fill in a demi-soloist vacancy--if you're interested."
"Wow." Jongin is at a loss for words. It doesn't even matter that it's a secondary position. It's The Ballet. "Wow. I'm interested."
Deneuve beams. "I'll get them in touch with you." He claps Jongin on the shoulder, twice, the look on his face fatherly. "I know you have your heart set on principal, but you'll get there. The good ones always do."
"Even if they tossed me into the corps," Jongin drawls, "I wouldn't miss this for the world."
"That's the spirit." Deneuve pats the side of his face. "Fortunately, you're too talented to be a backup dancer." He leans in to whisper, "But don't tell anyone I said that!"
Before he leaves, Jongin has the director turn to the light, so he can take a photo of him. And then they squeeze into one together, Jongin's smile quivering in shock and excitement.
On the metro headed to Boulevard Haussman, where he plans to pick up a few trinkets for Ahjumma and the twins, Jongin whips out his phone. It is without thinking that he keys in a text.
Paris Opera Ballet wants me next season...
The reply beeps almost instantly.
That's amazing, Jongin! Kyungsoo has written. I always knew you could do it. Ever since we were kids ^_^
Jongin types, I still can't believe it. Of all the dancers in this city, they wanted ME?
The response doesn't come as quickly this time. In the interim, he rereads Kyungsoo's message. It's kind of sweet, the way Kyungsoo has always been kind of sweet to him. That's the most dangerous thing about the youngest Do--the rareness of his affection, and the addictive sensation it leaves when generously bestowed.
Jongin has just cracked the smallest of smiles, the twinge ghosting over his nerves, when Kyungsoo's next message arrives.
Why wouldn't they? There is no emoji. Everybody wants you, Jongin-ah.
Seoul, six years ago
Jongin gets his first kiss at sixteen.
By the time he gets to high school, the fleeting whispers of "orphan" and "charity case" that trailed after him with decreasing frequency cease altogether. Kyungsoo, Seungsoo, and the noonas have made sure of that.
In high school, he and Kyungsoo are put in all the same classes again. At lunch, they eat at a large table with their close-knit circle of friends. (They were Kyungsoo's first, back when they were kids, but at his behest, they took Jongin in, too.)
Almost overnight, Jongin finds himself very popular.
"I heard Choi Jinri talking about you just now," Sehun mentions during PE. It's basketball today, which Sehun is amazing at, and Jongin is not. Sehun's only sitting with him on the bench because he fouled out (but not before singlehandedly scoring sixteen points for their team).
"Oh?" Jongin says, watching Tao make a slam dunk. As Chanyeol ruffles his hair, Tao points straight into the bleachers, where Song Qian is sitting. She giggles; he winks.
Jongin and Sehun gag quietly.
"Yeah," Sehun says, exchanging the disbelieving look on his face for a more confiding one. "She was talking to Soojung, and she goes, 'Have you seen Jongin lately? He's gotten so hot.'" Sehun wiggles his eyebrows, his mouth forming a tiny O-shape.
Jongin laughs and waves him off.
"Listen, there's more," Sehun insists. "Jinri goes, 'Are you into him? Because if you aren't, you should be. Someone's going to snap him up.'" His eyes widen with glee. "And then Soojung says, 'I know. Dibs.'"
A crease forms between Jongin's eyebrows. He wasn't anticipating that. He's known Soojung for a large part of his academic life, and they're very friendly. They even attend the same ballet school after class and on weekends. But he's never thought of her as more than a chum.
He already has someone he likes.
Sehun prods his temple with two stiff fingers. "Did you hear me? Choi Jinri thinks you're hot, and Jung Soojung wants you! They're only the prettiest girls we know!"
"Ow," Jongin replies, rubbing lightly over the skin. "Calm down."
"What's this?" a voice asks, as a body slides in next to Jongin's on the bench. Immediately, he's on high alert.
"Kyungsoo," Sehun whines, "tell Jongin that Jinri and Soojung are the prettiest girls we know."
"They are," Kyungsoo murmurs, picking lint off Jongin's sleeve and smoothing down the fabric afterwards. His fingers are cool. "Minah, too."
Jongin presses his lips together.
"Yes, yes," Sehun says dismissively. "But see, Jongin? Even the prince acknowledges it."
"Stop calling me that," Kyungsoo says. He flicks the lint in Sehun's direction. "Why are we talking about this, anyway?"
Jongin opens his mouth, hoping to filter out the gossip, but an excited Sehun beats him to the punch, relaying the story in its entirety.
"Our Jongin is a hot commodity these days," he concludes, pinching Jongin on the cheek. His hand is promptly swatted away.
"It's not a big deal," Jongin mumbles, feeling embarrassed and torn. It's not as if Kyungsoo even cares if someone likes him. Scratch that--he probably does, but it's just not the way Jongin wants him to.
"That's our boy," Kyungsoo says, resting his hand on the back of Jongin's neck and squeezing lightly. "He's the handsome one in the group."
"Shut up," Jongin groans, but he lets Kyungsoo keep his hand where it is, because he likes it when Kyungsoo touches him.
It comes as no surprise when Soojung invites all the guys to her birthday party at her house. She delivers Jongin's invitation by hand, with a self-conscious smile he's never seen before. Sehun mouths an I-told-you-so, which Jongin pretends to miss.
The real surprise? That Jongin winds up with his head in her lap, drunk off the beer her older sister had snuck in for the party.
For the past two hours, Jongin has been watching Kyungsoo speak with Minah, Joonmyun's little sister. The same one who'd been missing when they first moved in, and whose ice cream cone Jongin had devoured on the sidewalk.
Minah is pert and petite, with curved feline eyes that drive all the boys crazy. She giggles as Kyungsoo says something amusing, leaning against a wall with his ankles crossed. He sips from his red party cup, and Minah takes it out of his hand to do the same.
She's made no secret of how much she likes him. She's been coming over to their house unannounced to watch Kyungsoo play the piano. Visiting their classroom during breaks to drill him on the books/albums/films he likes, then asking to borrow his copies. Tagging along when Kyungsoo sometimes goes to fetch Jongin from dance practice, and meeting the latter's surprise with a cheerful "Hi, Jongin-ah."
What Jongin doesn't understand is why Kyungsoo lets it go on. He's never really lost the aloofness of his boyhood, only letting his guard down around Jongin and their family. But with Minah, he is uncharacteristically tolerant. Not quite encouraging, but not quite discouraging, either.
Once, he'd called her cute. Jongin had ducked his head and made no comment, save for a vague hum.
Every time she touches Kyungsoo's arm or playfully hits his chest in the course of their conversation, Jongin takes a swig. He finishes three bottles this way. Now the room is soft and spongy and spinning so, so fast.
"Jongin?"
He pries his eyelids open, trying to clear them of the haze. "Yeah."
"It's Soojung." The breath on his face is warm and smells like candy.
"Hi," he says, woozy as can be. "Happy birthday."
"You're so drunk," Soojung says. She presses her palm over his forehead, clucking her tongue. Her hair curtains his face. The tips tickle his skin.
"That's nice," Jongin tells her. "So nice."
"Should I ask Kyungsoo to bring you home now?" She pulls her mouth. "You're going to have a huge headache in the morning, by the looks of it."
"No," Jongin slurs. "Not Kyungsoo. He's busy."
"What're we going to do with you, then?" Soojung asks, smoothing Jongin's damp bangs away from his face.
"Nothing," Jongin replies. "I'm good." Then he closes his eyes.
He doesn't know if he blacks out or just loses track of time because of how wasted he is. But the next time Jongin's lashes flutter, and his bleary eyes focus on the nearest point, Soojung's face is much closer than it was before.
She startles when she sees him awake, but she doesn't draw back. Jongin gazes at her under eyelids of molasses, blinking sticky-slow. He isn't really sure what's happening, but his head is still in her lap, and his whole body feels like lead.
It only takes a beat, and then Soojung is planting the softest kiss on his closed mouth.
"My birthday gift," she whispers.
Jongin shuts his eyes again. The room is a top losing its momentum, spinning and spinning and spinning, slower and slower and slower, until he is fast asleep.
He and Kyungsoo start walking home at midnight.
"We are so dead when we get home," Jongin mutters. The beginning of a hangover pulses at his temples.
"I'll handle it," Kyungsoo says, calm and confident. He hasn't had as much to drink. "I'll tell Mom we didn't bother calling Chauffeur Lee because it was late and he needed the shuteye. We've walked home before."
"Right," Jongin says. "Except I meant she's going to smell the beer on us before we even get through the gate."
"Oh." Kyungsoo's brow furrows. "In that case, yes, we are so dead."
They share a laugh, and Jongin stumbles over his feet. Kyungsoo catches him by the elbow. He keeps his fingers there as they trudge through the lamp-lit streets.
By and by, his hand fits completely into the groove of Jongin's arm.
"I saw you with Soojung, by the way."
Jongin shrugs. "I don't even know how I got to the couch." He only remembers the why.
"She kissed you." Kyungsoo's eyes are on the street ahead of them, and his tone is curious. "Do you remember?"
Soojung's lip balm had been colorless and smooth, with a faint bubblegum scent. Of course Jongin remembers. When Kyungsoo turns to him, he blushes.
"I was awake."
He can't evade that gaze. "I always thought something might happen between you two," Kyungsoo says evenly.
"Why?" Jongin feels so uncomfortable. "We're just friends."
"Not anymore." Kyungsoo's smile is a confusing one. "Congrats."
This is all wrong.
"I don't like her that way," Jongin says, not sure where he's going with this, but sensing a newfound boldness unfurling in his chest.
"Why not?" It's a red light for the pedestrian walk, so Kyungsoo pulls them both to a stop. His arm is still linked with Jongin's. "Sehun's right, you know. She's really pretty."
"I have someone I like," Jongin says, "so I don't notice anyone else."
It's only half of his big secret, no names, but it makes his blood pump a little harder, anyway.
The light turns green. Jongin makes to cross, but Kyungsoo's arm holds him in place.
"I never knew that," the other boy murmurs. "I thought you told me everything."
Not everything, Jongin intones. "I haven't told anybody."
"Who is it?" Kyungsoo asks, finally drawing his hand away. "You'll tell me now, won't you?"
"Nope," Jongin replies. He starts walking again, knowing Kyungsoo will follow.
They've barely taken two steps when Kyungsoo next speaks. Cajoling. Persuasive. "Tell me who you like, Jongin-ah."
The word is the same, but it takes a little more effort this time. "Nope." Jongin's temples are throbbing from the alcohol, and his heart is throbbing from the sweetness of Kyungsoo's voice. He knows this doesn't count as a crush anymore. It's grown up alongside them.
"Tell me," Kyungsoo insists, and his lips are suddenly at the level of Jongin's ear. "Tell me or I'll tickle you." His arm circles Jongin's waist, fingertips skating treacherously over Jongin's ribs.
"Nope!" Jongin yelps, and he wriggles free. His feet propel him forward into a run. His mind tells him faster, before this gets any more awkward! A shiver runs up and down his arms when he recalls the dry brush of Kyungsoo's lips against his lobe. He wants to feel it again.
"Hey!" Kyungsoo starts running behind him. "Jongin!"
Jongin bursts out in an incredulous laugh--a cackle, really. He feels much too exposed, and equal parts reckless, and just a tiny bit freer. When he looks over his shoulder, Kyungsoo's hair is flopping into his face, his teeth flashing beneath an open smile.
"Jongin-ah!" Kyungsoo protests. He's laughing, too. "Wait for me!"
It takes two months after that for Kyungsoo to get his first kiss.
He comes to fetch Jongin from ballet school with Chauffeur Lee on a particularly rainy Saturday. Jongin gets a text that reads, We're downstairs. Come out when you're ready.
He's expecting another encounter with Minah, but when he gets outside, hood already propped up, it's just Kyungsoo waiting with a big green umbrella.
"I thought you were at Joonmyun-hyung's?" Jongin says, ducking under the shade.
He knows it's petty, but he's never called it "Minah's house."
"I was," Kyungsoo replies, reaching for the car handle. "Get in. We'll be drenched in a minute."
Into the backseat they clamber. Jongin whips off his hood to bow hello to Chauffeur Lee. The man smiles at him through the rear view mirror, and then the car rolls into motion.
"What did you guys do today?" Jongin asks, even though he really doesn't want to know. He palms his hair, still damp with sweat, to arrange it.
Kyungsoo's face flickers. He rubs the pinky on his left hand between the thumb and forefinger of his right. "I kissed Minah," he admits. Then he swivels his entire body over the leather upholstered seat to get a good look at Jongin's face.
"Ah," Jongin says in a pleasant voice. He meets Kyungsoo's gaze. "Finally, huh?"
He's not sure what Kyungsoo sees in his eyes. But the blip in the other boy's expression does not resurface.
"Yeah." Kyungsoo offers up the small curl of his grin. "She's my girlfriend now."
"That's great," Jongin says.
"You like her, right? She's cool?" Kyungsoo places his hand on the cushioned leather between them, like it's Jongin's shoulder or knee or something. He waits.
"Sure." Jongin pats the back of his hand, then crosses his arms over his chest, like he's getting comfortable in his seat. "I like her just fine."
Minah calls just then--of course she does--and Kyungsoo props up his hand, hold on, before answering.
"Hey, kid."
The nickname falls from his lips the way it had from Joonmyun's long ago, when he'd offered Jongin that vanilla soft serve. Endeared, and with potential for a next time.
Jongin watches the blossoming of Kyungsoo's rarest smile, and the way his eyes peel away to look out into the wet street, chuckling under his breath at whatever Minah is saying over the line.
When he's sure Kyungsoo is fully preoccupied, Jongin leans his head against the window on his side. The glass is lashed with rain. Running through a catalogue of soft looks and featherlight touches and years of foolish, faithful, one-sided love, Jongin feels his heart break.
Part 2
Pairing: Kaisoo, side!Sukai
Genre: fosterfamily!au, slice of life
Rating: R
Length: 21,910 words
Summary: The trouble with first love is that it always feels like the last.
Warning: Minor non-Exo character death
Notes: Title taken from Lorde's "Ribs"--give it a listen when you read this, and you'll understand why. Special thanks to mapofwords, who always holds my hand through every one of these things, and to little typewriter98, who cheered me on, and who needs a lot of cheering up.
PS. I hope everyone is doing okay xx
Paris, present day
The air in the park is crisp; a change from the warm, pre-summer waft that fills Jongin's flat every afternoon. The wind rifles through his bangs as he walks through the Tuileries. He pushes the hair off his forehead and puts his cap on backwards, the way he always does. Joonmyun says it makes him look like a kid ("Not that twenty-two doesn't count as a kid," the older man tacks on with a grin).
There he is, Joonmyun, in their usual spot by the Grand Bassin Octagonal. All business in a silk suit, two small coffees in hand. At Jongin's approach, he flashes a set of square white teeth. It comforts Jongin in a way, knowing that some things, like the shape of his friend's smile, never change.
"Hey, you," Joonmyun says, raising both coffees in greeting. He jerks his head towards the unoccupied lawn chair beside him. "Saved you a spot."
Jongin takes a cup and plops right down. "Thanks, hyung. Nice day, huh?" He gazes out into the Grand Bassin, enjoying the sound of the fountain spray hitting the placid surface of the water, and the soft warmth of the sun on the backs of his hands.
"You said it." Joonmyun takes a sip. "All done with finals?"
"All done." Jongin grins as he looks over, and Joonmyun is beaming. "I'm graduating in a week! Can you believe it?"
"Of course," his companion says automatically. His free hand comes to rest between Jongin's shoulder blades; a reassurance. "You've worked so hard these past four years. I'm really proud of you."
Jongin leans in so their arms bump. "Such a dad. But thanks."
He doesn't need to say anything else--Joonmyun is well-aware of how he expresses affection through proximity. They've known each other a long time, before Paris, all the way back to the tree-lined neighborhood in Seoul where they first met. Jongin would even hazard to say that Joonmyun is his closest confidante, the person he likes best in the entire world, were it not for...
"Is the whole family coming to see you graduate?" Joonmyun leans back into his chair. A cluster of children flit past behind them, babbling in high-pitched, rapid-fire French.
"Yes," Jongin murmurs. He chuckles when Joonmyun makes a confused old-man face, like he can't hear over the ruckus. "Yes, hyung, they're coming."
"Parents, the girls, Seungsoo, and..."
"Yes," Jongin licks his lips. "Ahjussi and Ahjumma are coming. So are Ji-noona and Mi-noona and Seungsoo-hyung. And..."
There it is. Right on schedule. The twinge.
"Kyungsoo, too."
Jongin ends it there. He nibbles on the rim of his cup to keep his mouth occupied.
"Ah," Joonmyun says in a voice laden with meaning. "So it is everybody."
"You're coming, too, aren't you?" Jongin shifts gears, bumping their shoulders again and knowing full well that Joonmyun can see right through him.
"If you've got space for me in your fan club," Joonmyun quips easily, "then I'll be there." He smiles. "Before I know it, you'll be a principal in some world-famous dance company, and you won't have time to spare for your aging neighbor-hyung."
"Quit it." Jongin smiles back. He's glad Joonmyun isn't pushing--but really, he never does. "You're only twenty-eight."
Joonmyun snorts, shaking his head. "And you're twenty-two. It's still strange for me, to think you're of legal drinking age."
"I was twelve when you met me," Jongin muses, and he remembers the wide, smooth driveway of Joonymun's house, where he and Joonymun and Kyungsoo used to sit on Sundays. "I think you'll always see me as a kid."
The fountain splashes placidly in Jongin's ears. In the periphery, he sees bright green leaves rustling in their branches, marble sculptures of nymphs and deities soaking in light. It's the halfway point between spring and summer, and this, he thinks, is when Paris is most beautiful. Jongin's been coming to sit here, in the middle of this park, since he enrolled at the Conservatoire. Now, five days to his commencement ceremony, he realizes this is going to be one of his last visits before heading home. It's already got him in the throes of nostalgia. He takes an extra-long sip of coffee to swallow the sensation down.
"Not always."
Jongin blinks hazily, watching a woman in a linen dress walking her glossy black lab. "Hmm, hyung?"
"Not always," Joonmyun murmurs again, smiling briefly before he shrugs and looks back out at the grand fountain. "I know you're not a kid anymore, Jongin."
There is a delicate shift in the air, and Jongin flinches imperceptibly. Oh, no, he thinks to himself. Not this again. He glances at Joonmyun to gauge his expression--unreadable, as usual, when he lets things like that slip. Hesitantly, Jongin hums in response, debating on whether or not he should say something witty or just laugh it off. In the end, he settles for silence.
They observe the people shuttling back and forth, draining their coffees to the last lukewarm drop. Jongin tries not to exacerbate his discomfort by wondering what Joonmyun is thinking and not saying.
"You hungry?" the elder asks in time. His tone is less caressing than it was before, more conversational, and therefore, relatively harmless. He elbows Jongin in the side. "You want steak for lunch?"
Inwardly, Jongin breathes a sigh of relief. "Yeah, okay," is what he says. Then he pulls off his cap and places it over Joonmyun's perfectly-styled hair in a gesture of brotherhood. It's backwards, of course, and sticks out like a sore thumb against the sleekness of Joonmyun's expensive business attire.
The latter doesn't seem to mind. He tugs the bill of the snapback down firmly and smooths the edge of his fringe where it peeks out in the front. "Does this make me look cool?"
"Sure," Jongin acquiesces.
Joonmyun stands, brushing off his jacket before taking Jongin's empty cup. "I bet if we asked Kyungsoo, he'd have something different to say." His voice is light, but his smile astute.
"He always does," Jongin replies breezily. That's enough talk of Kyungsoo for today. It's more than they've had in the past two months. He gets up, too, raking a hand through his hair to scrunch the flatness out of it. "Shall we?"
Joonmyun nods. "Yes, sir."
"Lunch is on me, by the way."
"No, Jongin--"
"Yes, hyung!"
And Jongin breaks into a run, free as a colt. He looks over his shoulder and takes in the sight of Joonmyun attempting to keep up, one hand on his crown to fix Jongin's hat in place. Amusement and incredulity dance across his face; still so boyish, and so familiar.
"Jongin-ah!" he calls. "Wait for me!"
It would be endearing, really, were it not for the memory of Kyungsoo doing the same, so many years ago, when they were young boys without a care in the world, and Jongin knew nothing of heartache.
He looks ahead and away, and runs a little faster.
Seoul, once upon a time
Jongin's mother is the live-in housekeeper of a wealthy family. She starts working for the Dos soon after she gives birth to a healthy baby boy. Jongin's father was never in the picture, and his grandparents were long-dead before he was born. Ever since he can remember, Jongin has lived in the manicured estate behind the great brass gates in the quietest part of Gangnam, with his mother and Butler Song and Chauffeur Lee and Chef Park and the two maid-noonas and the six members of the Do family.
Do Ahjussi is formidable in height but benevolent at heart, with deep creases in the corners of his eyes that Jongin likes. Do Ahjumma is petite and elegant, her hands like silk when she strokes Jongin on the cheek. They have four children. Seungsoo-hyung is the eldest, a perfect gentleman groomed to take over their publishing company. Soo Ji and Soo Mi, the twin sisters, look exactly like their mother, except Ji-noona dyes her hair red, and Mi-noona dyes hers blond. Kyungsoo, the youngest, is Jongin's age. From the get-go, they are lumped together as playmates.
The Dos are nothing like the rich people on television, with their bone-chilling condescension, underhanded dealings, and high fashion housewear. They are kind, honest, hard-working people, who have raised loyal, open-minded children. At home, they wear regular house clothes--faded, with holes in the armpits.
Jongin, his mother, and the rest of the staff reside in a sizeable annex to the mansion. Ahjumma comes knocking in the afternoons, when Kyungsoo is back from his private elementary school. Jongin gets home an hour earlier from a much less expensive institution, paid for in full and with pride by his mother. Ahjumma always asks if Jongin would like to do their homework together, in the main house. Because, in her words, Jongin is so very sweet and patient, and taciturn Kyungsoo could use the company.
Growing up, Jongin has always known Kyungsoo to be the least warm of the Do children. Not because he is mean-spirited in any way, but because he is withdrawn, and at times, aloof. Seungsoo-hyung always hoists Jongin onto his shoulders, and the noonas pull him into their laps to pepper him with kisses. But perhaps, since he and Kyungsoo are the same age, Kyungsoo doesn't show him the same kind of affection.
He does let Jongin sit next to him when he's practicing his piano drills, because Jongin loves music, and Kyungsoo knows this. He also permits Jongin to borrow his crayons, and gives him the bigger part of the cookie when there's only one left on their snack platter to halve. Sometimes, when Jongin is reading a book (the best kind, with illustrations), Kyungsoo will sidle up to him without warning and read silently over his shoulder.
Jongin thinks they're great friends.
When Jongin is nine, his mother is hit by a speeding taxi as she crosses the street from the supermarket to the sidewalk where Chauffeur Lee is waiting for her. She is killed on impact.
It is Seungsoo who breaks the news to Jongin, in the south lawn, where he and Kyungsoo are picking the weeds out of Chef Park's tomato garden.
Jongin's entire body goes rigid, as if it's been injected with shards of ice. He feels cold all over, but he doesn't cry, not even when Seungsoo envelops him in a hug and tells him how sorry he is. The twins aren't home from music class yet, but Jongin can hear the sound of women crying in the house. It's Chef Park and the two young maids, shocked into instant grief.
Ahjussi and Ahjumma take care of all the arrangements. They purchase a plot for Jongin's mother in a cemetery for wealthy, well-loved people, and they cover the entire mound in white lilies after the ceremony.
Ahjumma cries like she's lost a precious friend.
Ahjussi tells Jongin he is going live with them in the main house from now on, and that they're going to take care of him.
The older children whisper words of encouragement, and Jongin lets himself be held.
Kyungsoo doesn't say a word. Not one. He only slips his little hand into Jongin's and squeezes hard, as though he will never let go. That is when Jongin cries.
Ahjussi and Ahjumma sue the taxi company. Months later, the hefty sum they are awarded in court is placed into a trust for Jongin.
"This is for when you grow up," Ahjussi explains in his deep, storybook voice. "It will never replace your dear mother, who served us so well--but we believe it will give her peace, knowing you have this for yourself."
"Oh," Jongin says, feeling stiff and afraid. "This is for when you can't take care of me anymore?"
"No, my darling," Ahjumma assures him. "We will always take care of you. Even when you're all grown up and don't need taking care of. That's what parents do."
"We're your family now," Ahjussi says, and he places his broad hand on one of Jongin's small shoulders. "Remember?"
"Thank you, Ahjussi," Jongin murmurs, minding his manners like his mother always taught him to. "Thank you, Ahjumma."
In a gentle tone, Ahjumma says, "You can call me mom, if you like." She smooths back Jongin's hair, the way she has every night since his mother died, before tucking him into bed.
His reply is so meek. "But I already have a mom..."
And Ahjumma wraps him up in her soft, pale arms so he can hide his tears in her neck.
Ballet comes into Jongin's life not long after, and completely by accident.
One day, Ahjumma takes him and Kyungsoo to pick up the twins from music school, so they can all go out for dinner with Ahjussi afterwards.
"Have a look around when we get there," Ahjumma says to Jongin, leaning forward to pat his little knee. "You can have music lessons, too, if you like."
They've got Kyungsoo sitting between them in the backseat of the car. He regards Jongin with interest.
"I like piano," Jongin answers shyly, encouraged by Ahjumma's kind expression. "But mostly I just like listening to it when Kyungsoo plays."
"Ah," she says, and her face is full of affection. "Then you just let me know."
The car stops at a red light. Jongin lets his eyes drift, focusing on nothing in particular.
There is a small dance studio at street-level, with a large glass window. He sees a man lift a woman into the air, her limbs extended in a way that makes Jongin hold his breath. Fluidly, like she weighs no more than an armful of satin, the man places the woman back on the ground. Their hands lace, and their necks bow, and the top few notches of their spines become visible in the convex curves of their backs. Then the man draws away, and he leaps into the air. It's an impeccable grand jeté that seems to last forever--and Jongin sees it twice at once, because of the wall-to-wall mirror in the studio. That's when he knows.
"How about that?" he whispers, shaking Kyungsoo's thigh with an urgent hand. "Do you think I could do that?"
Kyungsoo perches his chin on Jongin's shoulder to see. "Of course," he whispers back. "You're Jongin. You can do anything you want."
They watch the couple dance together in silence, until the car starts moving again, and Ahjumma asks them what they're so preoccupied with.
Paris, present day
Jongin has just polished off a juicy rib-eye when Joonmyun asks if he'd like dessert.
"Definitely, hyung," he replies through a sip of lemon water. "I'm paying, remember?"
Clearly, Joonmyun hadn't been taking him seriously earlier. "Jongin-ah," the elder says. "What makes you think--"
"Just let me treat you this once," Jongin interjects. "You pay for me all the time. I can't mooch off your kindness forever." He wipes his mouth with a white table napkin. Joonmyun takes him to places like this every week--beautiful china, spotless cutlery, Beethoven playing in the background.
"Of course you can," Joonmyun shoots back affectionately. He waves over a passing server and asks her, in French, to bring them the dessert menu. "It's not kindness. It's my pleasure."
Jongin's been to this restaurant twice before, courtesy of his older friend. They'd taken a fifteen-minute cab ride from the Tuileries to get to La Défense, the business district, where Joonymun works in a gleaming high-rise. The restaurant is a block away from his office. Its prices are through the roof--but Jongin doesn't spend his pocket money on much, anyway.
"You're not going to win this time," he says, mild and matter-of-fact. "I'm leaving Paris in a week, so you can't say no to me."
Joonmyun's smile flickers, and he casts his eyes down to his near-empty plate. "Is that right?" he murmurs, prodding at a cherry tomato with his fork. "All right, then. I can never say no to you, anyway."
It's crept up again, the quiet lilt in Joonmyun's tone that Jongin has come to recognize as longing. They've never talked about it, but Jongin isn't dumb. He knows Joonmyun is...interested in him. He just can't pinpoint when it started.
After all, it was Kyungsoo who'd first brought it to his attention.
"It's settled, then," Jongin concludes in a voice meant to be casual. "Everything's on me today."
Joonmyun looks up and offers him a flimsy smile, just as Jongin's phone buzzes on the table.
Jongin can't catch himself fast enough. "Hyung," he ventures without thinking, heart pounding. "I think we should--"
"Aren't you going to get that?" Joonmyun asks. There is a shadow of a plea in his words, like he isn't ready to have this talk just yet, and he wants Jongin to change the subject so they can move on. Jongin picks up on a lot of things even when Joonymun doesn't say them.
"I--"
His phone buzzes a second time as the server comes back with the menu. Joonmyun thanks her, looks over the courses of sweets and pastries, and proceeds to ask for her recommendations.
"You want crème brulee, Jongin?" he tosses out, breezy as can be. "Your usual?"
Jongin's phone buzzes again.
He makes up his mind.
"All right, hyung," he says, eyes gone soft with understanding. Next time.
Joonmyun appears relieved as he orders the custard for Jongin and a pain au chocolat for himself. The server whisks away to the kitchen, and Jongin finally picks up his phone.
He quails at the name on the caller ID.
"I'm just gonna take this," he informs Joonmyun, rising from his seat and gesturing in the direction of the entrance.
"School?" Joonmyun assumes hesitantly. Jongin tries to make his nod a convincing one.
His sneakers pad softly over the polished wooden floorboards as he makes his way out of the restaurant. He only swipes his thumb across the screen to answer the call when he's pushed his way out the door and into the sidewalk, where a pair of brunettes are clacking past in Louboutins.
"Hello?" Jongin says into the phone, a touch breathless.
"Jongin," Kyungsoo's low, velvet tone responds. He sounds cautious, in a way Jongin has never known him to be. "Hey...it's me."
That voice had read out The Little Prince when they were younger, sharing beds in the big house in Gangnam. Had told Jongin, I'm sorry, I don't, when they were older, keeping secrets in their separate rooms.
"Soo," Jongin says. "It's been a while."
Seoul, 10 years ago
Jongin is twelve when he realizes he is different from the other boys.
After his mother's passing, Ahjussi and Ahjumma have him transferred to Kyungsoo's school. The tail-end of elementary is all right, because Jongin is smart and quiet and keeps to himself, and because he and Kyungsoo are placed in all the same classes.
Neither of them have much interest in sports, so they spend recess in the library, reading together on the carpet and clandestinely gnawing on beef jerky. The librarian catches them almost every time.
If the savory treat is in Jongin's hands at her approach, Kyungsoo will grab it and take the biggest, most rubbery bite, saying, "It's my snack, not his." They both get hell for it, anyway.
It's a peaceful time, which Jongin remembers with warmth--and just a touch of bittersweetness.
When they get to middle school, Jongin is assigned to a separate class for the first time in three years. The teacher seats him in the front row, because of his stellar academic record. The moment she leaves the room, there's trouble.
"So you're the charity case," snarks a rotund thirteen-year-old, braces glinting. "The orphan who lives with Do."
Jongin bites his tongue, keeping his eyes on his textbook.
"Your mom was the housekeeper, right?" says another bully--skinny, with cutting eyes. "They had to take you in after she kicked the bucket?"
Jongin's hand slowly clenches into a fist.
The chubby kid notices. "What, you're gonna hit me?" He sweeps Jongin's book, pad, and pencils off his desk. "Go on. Make your dead mom proud."
"Shut up, Mong," Jongin's seatmate, Soojung, pipes up. She's a slender girl with fine brown hair, who'd let Jongin borrow her sharpener when he'd asked. "Leave him alone."
The chubby kid laughs scornfully and reaches for Jongin's collar to haul him out of his chair. "I'll do whatever I want." He wrests Jongin closer, sizing him up. "Pathetic. Won't even fight back."
"Stop it," Soojung grits out between her teeth, rising in place.
The skinny kid pushes her back down. He slams his hands on her desk. Then, still staring her down, he smacks Jongin on the back of his head. Just for show.
The blood boils hot and fast in Jongin's veins. His whole body tenses, launching into attack mode. Forcefully, he shoves Mong away, the bully's grip on his shirt taking a few buttons with him. Mong reels back, colliding with the skinny kid, Ryu. They tumble into a heap on the floor. The classroom wallops with laughter.
Soojung slides over an approving smile. But Jongin knows this isn't over yet.
"You little shit!" Mong bellows, struggling to get up.
Ryu is on his feet more quickly. "Think that's funny, punk?" He advances in Jongin's direction, predatory, his fist already lifted. Jongin's own tightens in defense. He doesn't like fighting, but he won't back down now.
Ryu's lip curls. "You're dead." He draws back his arm to deliver the blow.
Soojung gasps. Jongin doesn't flinch.
"If you touch him, you'll regret it."
In the doorway, holding his lunchbox, looking as grave as ever, is Kyungsoo.
Jongin feels a smile threatening at the corner of his mouth.
"Butt out," Mong starts to say. "You've got nothing to do with this--"
"You have the ugliest face I've ever seen," Kyungsoo cuts in calmly. "Makes sense how you act like such a monster."
Mong casts about for words, but Kyungsoo is already brushing past him. He's shorter and much slighter, but Mong shuffles out of his way, regardless. The Dos are untouchable in these upper crust circles. They're one of the most powerful families in society.
"You all right?" Kyungsoo murmurs when he passes Soojung's desk. She nods, dimpling. Their parents are old friends.
He keeps his eyes straight ahead, not looking at Jongin. He only places his lunch on Jongin's empty desk, steps over the clutter of things on the floor, and casually stands in front of his friend. Protective.
There isn't too much space between them. Jongin can feel the warmth coming off Kyungsoo's back, half an inch from his chest.
"Back off," Kyungsoo tells Ryu, cool as a cucumber.
"He's an impostor," the skinny kid insists, eyes still as mean, but voice jittery. "Everyone knows he isn't your brother, Do."
"No one said he was my brother," Kyungsoo answers drily. "He's my best friend, and he lives with us, and he always keeps a cool head. My real brother will beat you to a pulp when I tell him what you've been saying to Jongin." His mouth quirks, and his voice lowers to a deceptively soothing timbre. "Should I tell him now?"
Ryu's fist, still suspended in the air, quakes. Kyungsoo blows on it. The fist falls to Ryu's side.
"You act so tough," the bully mutters. "But you can't even fight me yourself--have to call Seungsoo-sunbae to do it."
"I have a piano recital over the weekend," Kyungsoo tells him matter-of-factly, like he's discussing a math assignment. "I need to protect my hands."
The classroom sparks with laughter once more, the sound of it bouncing off the walls. Kyungsoo's eyes widen in surprise. He looks around him, a puzzled smile playing on his lips. He wasn't saying it to be droll--he was just being honest.
A strange thing happens when he looks over his shoulder and makes eye contact with Jongin for the first time. Kyungsoo's eyes are large and brown, like a baby animal's, and his plump mouth is pulled into a quizzical shape. Without warning, a soft, warm feeling fizzes up in Jongin's chest, like soda in a shaken can. It travels upwards, through his throat, into his cheeks, then his temples, until it feels like he's bubbling over.
"What did I say?" Kyungsoo asks. He's gone from passive-aggressive to plain naive in two seconds flat. Behind him, Ryu is backing away, defeated.
"The thing about your recital," Jongin says, pushing his hands into his pockets because he doesn't know what to do with them. Otherwise, he would give in to temptation and place a palm over his chest to feel how fast his heart is beating.
"That was funny?" Kyungsoo chuckles, shrugging. "Okay then."
"Thanks for..." Jongin trails off. He licks his lips. "Just, thanks."
"You're my best friend," Kyungsoo says simply. "You'd do it for me."
"I would." The words are solemn in Jongin's mouth.
Kyungsoo beams, one of his flash-in-the-pan smiles, before his expression fades back down to its usual unreadableness. "I came to eat with you," he admits. "Do you want to get tteokbokki from the cart by the gate?"
"But you have a packed lunch," Jongin says. "And so do I."
"Yeah," Kyungsoo agrees, and he reaches out to arrange Jongin's ruined shirt. "But I know you like that tteokbokki best, so we should go get it."
The fizzy feeling coats Jongin's ribs, surrounds his lungs, and branches out into his fingertips. This, he realizes, is a crush.
It only strikes him later, when he and Kyungsoo are standing by the cart, toothpicking their way through paper trays of spicy rice cake, that most boys have crushes on girls.
Jongin meets Kim Joonmyun the day his family moves in next door. Kyungsoo meets him at the same time, since he and Jongin are both standing in the street. They're supposed to be testing out a pair of remote-controlled toy cars that Seungsoo got for them, but all the commotion distracts them from the race.
A teenager comes strolling out onto the driveway. He's holding two ice cream cones. He licks one, then glances to the left and right of the sidewalk. When he spots Jongin and Kyungsoo in front of their gate, he lifts his chin.
"Hey!" he calls out. "Have either of you seen my sister?"
They shake their heads.
"No?" The teenager sucks a little cream off the back of his hand, where it's managed to drip. "She's about your age--tiny, with short hair?"
They shake their heads again.
"Hmm." The older boy quirks his mouth. "Her ice cream is melting."
Jongin blinks. It's hot out today, and his lips are dry, so he inadvertently licks them. Their new neighbor catches him in the act.
"You want her cone, kid?" He holds out the untouched ice cream, smiling kindly. "You can have it, if you like. I'd hate to see it go to waste."
When Jongin stays mum, the teenager turns to Kyungsoo. "How about you?"
"No, thank you," is Kyungsoo's prompt response. It's put across in the clear, polite voice he uses with strangers, particularly when he's uncomfortable.
The other's smile deepens. "Okay." He turns back to Jongin, eyes amused, lips sealed shut, still holding out the ice cream cone.
"I'll take it, please," Jongin pipes up. The teenager seems harmless, nothing like the strangers Ahjumma has warned them to avoid. Besides, Jongin loves ice cream.
The boy meets him halfway. "Here you go, kid," he says, handing Jongin the sweet. "I'm Joonmyun, by the way."
The twelve-year-old dips his head. "I'm Jongin." Then he presses his lips against the swirl of soft vanilla and slurps. A bit of the ice cream catches on the tip of his nose, cold and sticky.
Joonmyun laughs, and suddenly there's a finger coiling into the back loop of Jongin's jeans. It's Kyungsoo, come to join them.
"Are you two brothers?" Joonmyun asks, lapping at his own treat.
"No," Jongin replies. Kyungsoo reaches up to wipe the ice cream off his face. When Jongin looks over at him, Kyungsoo's got the tip of his thumb in his mouth. It comes out clean.
"Didn't think so," Joonmyun says. "You don't look alike."
"This is Kyungsoo," Jongin shares, and he angles the ice cream cone so Kyungsoo can have some more, if he wants. "We're best friends."
Kyungsoo bows slightly.
Joonmyun nods, sliding his free hand into the pocket of his shorts. He has a patient face, like Jongin's favorite teacher at ballet school. "Nice to meet you. You can call me hyung when we see each other around."
"Okay," Jongin says pleasantly. He takes another lick of his ice cream, the cone still suspended between him and Kyungsoo. Just in case.
"Okay," Kyungsoo echoes, and he leans forward for a taste. He gets the melted stuff all over his upper lip. Jongin wipes it clean with his forefinger, returning the favor.
When Kyungsoo glances at him, it's with approval. It's almost...triumphant. Jongin's stomach churns, the way it's done the past few times his friend has shown him any semblance of special treatment.
It's just a crush, Jongin tells himself, his face heating up as Joonymun looks on curiously. It'll be over before I know it.
Paris, present day
The halls and studios of the Conservatoire have been Jongin's home away from home for what feels like a long time--but also, the blink of an eye. Today, he spends the morning visiting his favorite professors, reminiscing about old times and saying goodbye in advance. He doubts he'll get to catch them in the aftermath of commencement weekend. Not long after the festivities, he'll be on an airbus bound for Seoul with his family.
"I'm not sure if Mom told you," Kyungsoo had said over the phone the day before, "but I'm coming to Paris with everyone." He'd called from New York--probably from inside his Manhattan apartment that Jongin has never seen. "I'm on break from school."
"I know." Jongin had scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the sidewalk. "She said."
The pause had been brief, but weighted. Scrape, scrape.
"I can come, can't I?" Kyungsoo's tone had been steeped with uncertainty. "You want me to come?"
"Of course." This had been mumbled. "Don't be silly. You don't have to ask."
"I wasn't sure." Then, in a rush, "About last time--"
"It's fine," Jongin had cut in before he could say any more. "I want you there, Soo." His sigh had been muted; the gentlest of exhales. "You're like my brother."
Another pause, and then a weak chuckle had crackled through the line. "You, too, Jongin-ah."
He'd shut his eyes.
"I'll see you in a few days," was the promise Kyungsoo'd left him with before they'd ended the call.
A few days, Jongin repeats to himself, standing in front of his final practice room, camera in hand. The finish line.
He snaps a quick photo of the bright, airy space. He doesn't check it. He wonders if this week is to be the beginning of so many ends, just like the end of childhood had marked the last of so many firsts.
The director, Monsieur Deneuve, catches him in the corridor. "Kim Jongin," he calls. "Just the dancer I wanted to see."
"Good morning, sir," Jongin replies, mirroring the man's choice of language--English. He resists the urge to bow, only dipping his chin slightly in deference. Even after years in a European culture, he still finds it difficult to break his habits.
"I'm glad you're here this morning," Deneuve says. "I've just gotten some very exciting news, and I was going to call you in to tell you."
Jongin rests his hands on the strap of his leather messenger bag. "What news?"
"The Ballet called about you," the director says with a meaningful smile.
Jongin feels the entire cavity of his chest constrict. The Ballet means the Paris Opera Ballet--only the most respected (and exclusive) ballet company in France. Worldwide, it ranks in the top five.
"They did?"
"Yes, my dear boy," Deneuve goes on. "They want you to dance with them next season."
"Me?" Jongin gasps. The Ballet siphons most of its talent from its alma mater, the Paris Opera Ballet School. The Conservatoire de Paris is nothing to scoff at--but Jongin can't think of anyone, off the top of his head, who's been invited to the company without training at POBS first. "Why me?"
"You're exceptional," Deneuve pronounces, amused. "Someone saw you in La Bayader last semester at your showcase. They'd like you to fill in a demi-soloist vacancy--if you're interested."
"Wow." Jongin is at a loss for words. It doesn't even matter that it's a secondary position. It's The Ballet. "Wow. I'm interested."
Deneuve beams. "I'll get them in touch with you." He claps Jongin on the shoulder, twice, the look on his face fatherly. "I know you have your heart set on principal, but you'll get there. The good ones always do."
"Even if they tossed me into the corps," Jongin drawls, "I wouldn't miss this for the world."
"That's the spirit." Deneuve pats the side of his face. "Fortunately, you're too talented to be a backup dancer." He leans in to whisper, "But don't tell anyone I said that!"
Before he leaves, Jongin has the director turn to the light, so he can take a photo of him. And then they squeeze into one together, Jongin's smile quivering in shock and excitement.
On the metro headed to Boulevard Haussman, where he plans to pick up a few trinkets for Ahjumma and the twins, Jongin whips out his phone. It is without thinking that he keys in a text.
Paris Opera Ballet wants me next season...
The reply beeps almost instantly.
That's amazing, Jongin! Kyungsoo has written. I always knew you could do it. Ever since we were kids ^_^
Jongin types, I still can't believe it. Of all the dancers in this city, they wanted ME?
The response doesn't come as quickly this time. In the interim, he rereads Kyungsoo's message. It's kind of sweet, the way Kyungsoo has always been kind of sweet to him. That's the most dangerous thing about the youngest Do--the rareness of his affection, and the addictive sensation it leaves when generously bestowed.
Jongin has just cracked the smallest of smiles, the twinge ghosting over his nerves, when Kyungsoo's next message arrives.
Why wouldn't they? There is no emoji. Everybody wants you, Jongin-ah.
Seoul, six years ago
Jongin gets his first kiss at sixteen.
By the time he gets to high school, the fleeting whispers of "orphan" and "charity case" that trailed after him with decreasing frequency cease altogether. Kyungsoo, Seungsoo, and the noonas have made sure of that.
In high school, he and Kyungsoo are put in all the same classes again. At lunch, they eat at a large table with their close-knit circle of friends. (They were Kyungsoo's first, back when they were kids, but at his behest, they took Jongin in, too.)
Almost overnight, Jongin finds himself very popular.
"I heard Choi Jinri talking about you just now," Sehun mentions during PE. It's basketball today, which Sehun is amazing at, and Jongin is not. Sehun's only sitting with him on the bench because he fouled out (but not before singlehandedly scoring sixteen points for their team).
"Oh?" Jongin says, watching Tao make a slam dunk. As Chanyeol ruffles his hair, Tao points straight into the bleachers, where Song Qian is sitting. She giggles; he winks.
Jongin and Sehun gag quietly.
"Yeah," Sehun says, exchanging the disbelieving look on his face for a more confiding one. "She was talking to Soojung, and she goes, 'Have you seen Jongin lately? He's gotten so hot.'" Sehun wiggles his eyebrows, his mouth forming a tiny O-shape.
Jongin laughs and waves him off.
"Listen, there's more," Sehun insists. "Jinri goes, 'Are you into him? Because if you aren't, you should be. Someone's going to snap him up.'" His eyes widen with glee. "And then Soojung says, 'I know. Dibs.'"
A crease forms between Jongin's eyebrows. He wasn't anticipating that. He's known Soojung for a large part of his academic life, and they're very friendly. They even attend the same ballet school after class and on weekends. But he's never thought of her as more than a chum.
He already has someone he likes.
Sehun prods his temple with two stiff fingers. "Did you hear me? Choi Jinri thinks you're hot, and Jung Soojung wants you! They're only the prettiest girls we know!"
"Ow," Jongin replies, rubbing lightly over the skin. "Calm down."
"What's this?" a voice asks, as a body slides in next to Jongin's on the bench. Immediately, he's on high alert.
"Kyungsoo," Sehun whines, "tell Jongin that Jinri and Soojung are the prettiest girls we know."
"They are," Kyungsoo murmurs, picking lint off Jongin's sleeve and smoothing down the fabric afterwards. His fingers are cool. "Minah, too."
Jongin presses his lips together.
"Yes, yes," Sehun says dismissively. "But see, Jongin? Even the prince acknowledges it."
"Stop calling me that," Kyungsoo says. He flicks the lint in Sehun's direction. "Why are we talking about this, anyway?"
Jongin opens his mouth, hoping to filter out the gossip, but an excited Sehun beats him to the punch, relaying the story in its entirety.
"Our Jongin is a hot commodity these days," he concludes, pinching Jongin on the cheek. His hand is promptly swatted away.
"It's not a big deal," Jongin mumbles, feeling embarrassed and torn. It's not as if Kyungsoo even cares if someone likes him. Scratch that--he probably does, but it's just not the way Jongin wants him to.
"That's our boy," Kyungsoo says, resting his hand on the back of Jongin's neck and squeezing lightly. "He's the handsome one in the group."
"Shut up," Jongin groans, but he lets Kyungsoo keep his hand where it is, because he likes it when Kyungsoo touches him.
It comes as no surprise when Soojung invites all the guys to her birthday party at her house. She delivers Jongin's invitation by hand, with a self-conscious smile he's never seen before. Sehun mouths an I-told-you-so, which Jongin pretends to miss.
The real surprise? That Jongin winds up with his head in her lap, drunk off the beer her older sister had snuck in for the party.
For the past two hours, Jongin has been watching Kyungsoo speak with Minah, Joonmyun's little sister. The same one who'd been missing when they first moved in, and whose ice cream cone Jongin had devoured on the sidewalk.
Minah is pert and petite, with curved feline eyes that drive all the boys crazy. She giggles as Kyungsoo says something amusing, leaning against a wall with his ankles crossed. He sips from his red party cup, and Minah takes it out of his hand to do the same.
She's made no secret of how much she likes him. She's been coming over to their house unannounced to watch Kyungsoo play the piano. Visiting their classroom during breaks to drill him on the books/albums/films he likes, then asking to borrow his copies. Tagging along when Kyungsoo sometimes goes to fetch Jongin from dance practice, and meeting the latter's surprise with a cheerful "Hi, Jongin-ah."
What Jongin doesn't understand is why Kyungsoo lets it go on. He's never really lost the aloofness of his boyhood, only letting his guard down around Jongin and their family. But with Minah, he is uncharacteristically tolerant. Not quite encouraging, but not quite discouraging, either.
Once, he'd called her cute. Jongin had ducked his head and made no comment, save for a vague hum.
Every time she touches Kyungsoo's arm or playfully hits his chest in the course of their conversation, Jongin takes a swig. He finishes three bottles this way. Now the room is soft and spongy and spinning so, so fast.
"Jongin?"
He pries his eyelids open, trying to clear them of the haze. "Yeah."
"It's Soojung." The breath on his face is warm and smells like candy.
"Hi," he says, woozy as can be. "Happy birthday."
"You're so drunk," Soojung says. She presses her palm over his forehead, clucking her tongue. Her hair curtains his face. The tips tickle his skin.
"That's nice," Jongin tells her. "So nice."
"Should I ask Kyungsoo to bring you home now?" She pulls her mouth. "You're going to have a huge headache in the morning, by the looks of it."
"No," Jongin slurs. "Not Kyungsoo. He's busy."
"What're we going to do with you, then?" Soojung asks, smoothing Jongin's damp bangs away from his face.
"Nothing," Jongin replies. "I'm good." Then he closes his eyes.
He doesn't know if he blacks out or just loses track of time because of how wasted he is. But the next time Jongin's lashes flutter, and his bleary eyes focus on the nearest point, Soojung's face is much closer than it was before.
She startles when she sees him awake, but she doesn't draw back. Jongin gazes at her under eyelids of molasses, blinking sticky-slow. He isn't really sure what's happening, but his head is still in her lap, and his whole body feels like lead.
It only takes a beat, and then Soojung is planting the softest kiss on his closed mouth.
"My birthday gift," she whispers.
Jongin shuts his eyes again. The room is a top losing its momentum, spinning and spinning and spinning, slower and slower and slower, until he is fast asleep.
He and Kyungsoo start walking home at midnight.
"We are so dead when we get home," Jongin mutters. The beginning of a hangover pulses at his temples.
"I'll handle it," Kyungsoo says, calm and confident. He hasn't had as much to drink. "I'll tell Mom we didn't bother calling Chauffeur Lee because it was late and he needed the shuteye. We've walked home before."
"Right," Jongin says. "Except I meant she's going to smell the beer on us before we even get through the gate."
"Oh." Kyungsoo's brow furrows. "In that case, yes, we are so dead."
They share a laugh, and Jongin stumbles over his feet. Kyungsoo catches him by the elbow. He keeps his fingers there as they trudge through the lamp-lit streets.
By and by, his hand fits completely into the groove of Jongin's arm.
"I saw you with Soojung, by the way."
Jongin shrugs. "I don't even know how I got to the couch." He only remembers the why.
"She kissed you." Kyungsoo's eyes are on the street ahead of them, and his tone is curious. "Do you remember?"
Soojung's lip balm had been colorless and smooth, with a faint bubblegum scent. Of course Jongin remembers. When Kyungsoo turns to him, he blushes.
"I was awake."
He can't evade that gaze. "I always thought something might happen between you two," Kyungsoo says evenly.
"Why?" Jongin feels so uncomfortable. "We're just friends."
"Not anymore." Kyungsoo's smile is a confusing one. "Congrats."
This is all wrong.
"I don't like her that way," Jongin says, not sure where he's going with this, but sensing a newfound boldness unfurling in his chest.
"Why not?" It's a red light for the pedestrian walk, so Kyungsoo pulls them both to a stop. His arm is still linked with Jongin's. "Sehun's right, you know. She's really pretty."
"I have someone I like," Jongin says, "so I don't notice anyone else."
It's only half of his big secret, no names, but it makes his blood pump a little harder, anyway.
The light turns green. Jongin makes to cross, but Kyungsoo's arm holds him in place.
"I never knew that," the other boy murmurs. "I thought you told me everything."
Not everything, Jongin intones. "I haven't told anybody."
"Who is it?" Kyungsoo asks, finally drawing his hand away. "You'll tell me now, won't you?"
"Nope," Jongin replies. He starts walking again, knowing Kyungsoo will follow.
They've barely taken two steps when Kyungsoo next speaks. Cajoling. Persuasive. "Tell me who you like, Jongin-ah."
The word is the same, but it takes a little more effort this time. "Nope." Jongin's temples are throbbing from the alcohol, and his heart is throbbing from the sweetness of Kyungsoo's voice. He knows this doesn't count as a crush anymore. It's grown up alongside them.
"Tell me," Kyungsoo insists, and his lips are suddenly at the level of Jongin's ear. "Tell me or I'll tickle you." His arm circles Jongin's waist, fingertips skating treacherously over Jongin's ribs.
"Nope!" Jongin yelps, and he wriggles free. His feet propel him forward into a run. His mind tells him faster, before this gets any more awkward! A shiver runs up and down his arms when he recalls the dry brush of Kyungsoo's lips against his lobe. He wants to feel it again.
"Hey!" Kyungsoo starts running behind him. "Jongin!"
Jongin bursts out in an incredulous laugh--a cackle, really. He feels much too exposed, and equal parts reckless, and just a tiny bit freer. When he looks over his shoulder, Kyungsoo's hair is flopping into his face, his teeth flashing beneath an open smile.
"Jongin-ah!" Kyungsoo protests. He's laughing, too. "Wait for me!"
It takes two months after that for Kyungsoo to get his first kiss.
He comes to fetch Jongin from ballet school with Chauffeur Lee on a particularly rainy Saturday. Jongin gets a text that reads, We're downstairs. Come out when you're ready.
He's expecting another encounter with Minah, but when he gets outside, hood already propped up, it's just Kyungsoo waiting with a big green umbrella.
"I thought you were at Joonmyun-hyung's?" Jongin says, ducking under the shade.
He knows it's petty, but he's never called it "Minah's house."
"I was," Kyungsoo replies, reaching for the car handle. "Get in. We'll be drenched in a minute."
Into the backseat they clamber. Jongin whips off his hood to bow hello to Chauffeur Lee. The man smiles at him through the rear view mirror, and then the car rolls into motion.
"What did you guys do today?" Jongin asks, even though he really doesn't want to know. He palms his hair, still damp with sweat, to arrange it.
Kyungsoo's face flickers. He rubs the pinky on his left hand between the thumb and forefinger of his right. "I kissed Minah," he admits. Then he swivels his entire body over the leather upholstered seat to get a good look at Jongin's face.
"Ah," Jongin says in a pleasant voice. He meets Kyungsoo's gaze. "Finally, huh?"
He's not sure what Kyungsoo sees in his eyes. But the blip in the other boy's expression does not resurface.
"Yeah." Kyungsoo offers up the small curl of his grin. "She's my girlfriend now."
"That's great," Jongin says.
"You like her, right? She's cool?" Kyungsoo places his hand on the cushioned leather between them, like it's Jongin's shoulder or knee or something. He waits.
"Sure." Jongin pats the back of his hand, then crosses his arms over his chest, like he's getting comfortable in his seat. "I like her just fine."
Minah calls just then--of course she does--and Kyungsoo props up his hand, hold on, before answering.
"Hey, kid."
The nickname falls from his lips the way it had from Joonmyun's long ago, when he'd offered Jongin that vanilla soft serve. Endeared, and with potential for a next time.
Jongin watches the blossoming of Kyungsoo's rarest smile, and the way his eyes peel away to look out into the wet street, chuckling under his breath at whatever Minah is saying over the line.
When he's sure Kyungsoo is fully preoccupied, Jongin leans his head against the window on his side. The glass is lashed with rain. Running through a catalogue of soft looks and featherlight touches and years of foolish, faithful, one-sided love, Jongin feels his heart break.
Part 2