Somewhere Only We Know (2/3)
Half of Band called in sick with the flu today--one of those viruses that caught on like a forest fire. They were supposed to be wrapping up Chanyeol's score for the new Park Chan-Wook thriller. Chanyeol had flown to Seoul six months prior for a meeting with the director, just to get the sound right. Slow and saturnine, with a strong brass element.
Now, Chanyeol is facedown on Sooyoung's desk.
"Babe," he groans in monotone. "I'm finished."
Sooyoung smooths his bangs to one side. "Relax." She leans against her elbow. "When is this one due?"
"Friday," Jongin and Sehun chime in on Chanyeol's behalf.
They're in Sooyoung's office, where they'd promptly taken Chanyeol following his mini breakdown at the studio. There's more privacy here, because her office is one of the only ones with a door (Sooyoung is Head of Human Resources and cannot function in the creatives' open floor plan). Plus, she's got a huge beanbag that Jongin and Sehun like to tangle up in when they're feeling lazy. Like right now.
"Friday! Then you've got three whole days left," Sooyoung tells her husband. "That's a lot of time, Chan."
"No, it's not," Chanyeol mumbles dejectedly. "It usually takes me three days to fine-tune the full recording--and we've only done half of it so far." He taps his forehead against the glass top table. One, two, three. "I should've worked overtime last Friday and gotten the whole thing wrapped."
"We had that double date with Toma and Michiko last Friday," Sooyoung reminds him. "Remember how much fun you had at karaoke?"
"Noooo," Chanyeol wails. "I don't remember at all."
Sooyoung wants to laugh--Jongin spies the quirk in her lips. But she manages to tamp down the urge like a supportive wife.
Sehun's arm shoots into the air. "I'll help you, hyung." Chanyeol's head whips in his direction like a ship to a beacon. "I turned over my soundtrack to Wong Kar Wai's camp. They're good with it," Sehun explains. "So I've got some free time before my next curation."
"Lucky bastard." Jongin blows his bangs out of his eyes. "My indie emailed back revisions to five scenes."
Sehun grimaces. "That seems excessive." He crooks a dark brow. "Did they like 'Rest,' at least?"
That makes Jongin smile. "They did. That's pretty much the only thing they were enthusiastic about."
Chanyeol has miraculously pried his face off of Sooyoung's desk. "Sehunnie, can you really manage it?" He screws up his mouth, pokes it to one side. "I was hoping to have the score completely recorded in two days' time. And then we'll need to work, like, twenty hours, to review the whole thing. Make all the necessary adjustments." Nervously, Chanyeol rakes his bottom teeth over his top lip. "Maybe twenty-four hours."
"Don't worry about it, hyung," Sehun replies. He's confident in himself--Jongin can tell from that clear-eyed gaze, and the way Sehun's shoulders stay relaxed. "Besides, the entire sound editing crew will be staying on with us, right?"
Chanyeol's ensuing nod is robust. "Right. All hands on deck."
Sehun slaps his hands over Sooyoung's wooden floorboards. "Then we can do it," he declares with conviction. His grin is amused--maybe even patronizing--but the look in his eyes is determined.
Chanyeol actually walks over to give him a hug. Sehun thumps him soundly on the back ("We got this, hyung"). Then Chanyeol walks back over to Sooyoung so she can give him a hug.
"You big baby," she coos, and the tall man in her arms burrows deep into the side of her neck. "Let me take you out to lunch before you go back to work."
"M'kay."
"How about us?" Jongin sets his lashes to work. "Will you take me and Sehunnie out to lunch, too?"
Sooyoung scoops up her purse. "Nope," she ripostes, one arm still around her man. "You've got five scenes worth of revisions to get to, Twenty-Nine. Chop-chop."
"Aw, come on." Jongin attempts to get up from the beanbag, but it's like quicksand under his butt.
Sooyoung laughs at him openly as Chanyeol helps her with her coat.
Jongin's laughing at himself, too. "Please, noona?" Sehun slings an arm across his shoulders, and Jongin deliberately knocks their heads together--for the cute.
Sooyoung sticks out her tongue. "I won't let you crash our date. But I will bring back food for Sehun, who is a darling." She looks Sehun's way when she says this, and the younger man makes crescent-shaped eyes at her. "Maybe he'll share."
Jongin knows she's joking. Sooyoung stuffs him silly whenever their mealtimes coincide. But he plays along anyway, because banter is their thing. "Deal!"
He extracts another promise from her as Chanyeol tugs her along: gyudon if they're going to Matsuya, black pepper gyoza if they wind up in Osaka Ohsho. Pretty please.
"And you, Hun?" Chanyeol asks from the doorway. He looks (and sounds) much calmer now. "Anything in particular?"
"What this one said." Sehun taps the center of Jongin's forehead. "He must've read my mind, hyung."
Forty minutes later, they're cupping gyudon takeout bowls in the MixTape pantry. Jongin sighs in contentment.
"This is brain food," he tells Sehun, chewing on a strip of salty-sweet beef. "After this, it's back to the drawing board for me." Then Jongin sighs again, and this time, it's a little wearier.
Sehun is picking out all of Jongin's green onions and putting them aside. Jongin hates green onions. "You mean us."
Jongin feeds Sehun meat from his own bowl. The air between them smells of soy sauce and mirin. "Thanks. Us what?"
"It's back to the drawing board for us," Sehun explains through a mouthful of food. "So this is my brain food, too."
Jongin fixes him with a stare. "You mean..."
"Of course I'm going to help you." And Sehun smiles at him, with teeth, so his sharp canines show. He looks like a twelve-year-old. "You didn't think I was going to use up my favor quota on hyung and leave you hanging, did you?"
The sensation that floods Jongin's chest is sweet and strangely poignant--the comfort of a hot drink one hasn't had since childhood.
"Hey." Jongin balances his chopsticks over his bowl. "You shouldn't feel obligated to help me, okay? You've got enough on your plate as it is, especially with the volunteer work."
"Who said anything about feeling obligated?" Sehun's cute teeth are back under his lips. He's looking Jongin in the eye, fond and familiar. "I just don't hate doing stuff with you."
It takes only a beat to form the quip and forget the fleeting emotion. "Why, Sehun," Jongin ventures, coy as can be. "Are you trying to tell me you love me?"
Sehun huffs into his water tumbler. He tilts it all the way up to take a draught, swallowing audibly.
"Who knows," he manages to say, just before Jongin tackles him to the wall with a bear hug.
The message comes at the end of the week.
Jongin's indie soundtrack has been signed, sealed, and delivered with Sehun's input. A little Lorde, a little Nina Simone, and the difficult director was finally satisfied. Tonight, Sehun is slaving away on Chanyeol's score at the MixTape studio, and Jongin is home alone.
He's toweling off his hair, fresh from a shower, when his phone blinks.
Hi Jonginnie, Joonmyun writes. Can I take you up on that city tour?
A wave of pleasure swells behind Jongin's ribs. He punches in his reply immediately. Sure, sunbae, how's next weekend for you?
(He'd say this weekend, but all the late, late work nights have given him a bad case of adult acne. Even Sehun had noticed the other day as they took their customary shared shower.)
Perfect, Joonmyun types back. And thanks ^_^
There's that damned emoticon. Jongin puts a hand on his face. He's going to be alone with Joonmyun again--his newly-single unrequited love, who apparently (still) enjoys spending time with him. The thought of it puts knots in his stomach and pink in his cheeks.
He pulls up another chat to tell Sehun.
Sunbae wants me to take him around Osaka, Jongin types, following this with a flurry of nervous-looking stickers. One of them is a teddy bear with hearts in its eyes.
He ambles over to the fridge to grab a beer. The bottle opener is right where Sehun left it last night--second drawer to the left, under the chopping knives. The bottle yields, and Jongin takes two swigs in a row.
He checks his phone. No new messages.
That has him feeling a little restless, but he knows Sehun won't reply during an all-nighter. So Jongin flops into his bed, hair still damp; stuffs his phone under his pillow, right by his head; and falls asleep watching the live action of Ao Haru Ride, because Higashide Masahiro has always been his type.
In the morning, after nine hours of blessed rest, Jongin feels the sun on his face. He'd forgotten to draw the shades again. Oh, well. Like clockwork, he reaches for his phone. It's blinking. Yay.
That's good, is all Sehun has written. The timestamp reads 3:40AM.
Jongin checks the alarm clock on his bedside table. It's ten, on a Saturday. Sehun said he would be working all through the night, but he should be back by now.
Jongin stretches his arms over his head until his joints crick. Then he pushes off the mattress and saunters across the hall to Sehun's bedroom. He knocks. There is no answer. When he opens the door, he sees the bed hasn't been slept in.
His phone is still in his hand. He presses 1. That's Sehun on speed dial.
The line rings and rings and rings.
"Hello?" Sehun finally croaks out.
"Hey." Jongin rubs his eyes. "Are you still at the office?"
"No," Sehun mumbles. "Chanyeol-hyung's. We drank. After."
"After you finished the score?"
"Mmm."
"Did you get wasted?"
There is no response. Only a sound that's half-groan, half-snore.
Jongin clicks his tongue. "You should've called me to come get you, dummy."
"Didn't wanna wake you," Sehun explains, his voice like gravel. "You get so grumpy."
Jongin's chortle is laced with lethargy. "Are you coming home any time soon or should I invite myself over for breakfast?"
"Breakfast. Hold on." There is rustling on the other end of the line. Sehun's voice is muffled when he next speaks: "Hyung. You up? Jongin's coming." Then there's a grunt.
"I'll help with breakfast," Jongin says, wedging his phone between his cheek and shoulder. He's pouring himself a glass of water in their kitchen. "Hey, Hun?"
"Mmm."
"You saw my message about Joonmyun-sunbae, right?"
Sehun's shallow, hungover breathing crackles against the receiver. "Yeah, did you get my reply?"
"That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about." Jongin leans against the counter, his warm fingers curled around the ice-cold glass. "I know you find this kind of stuff lame, but could you help me dry-run this tour for sunbae?"
The idea had occurred to him late last night while watching Higashide Masahiro walk Honda Tsubasa through a Nagasaki neighborhood. The music for that scene, in Jongin's opinion, had been perfect.
Sehun clears his throat. "Dry-run?" He's not mumbling anymore. "You've lived in Osaka the same length of time I have. You don't have to dry-run it. Just take him to all the good spots."
Jongin knew he was going to resist. After all, Sehun'd put up a valiant fight the last time Jongin asked him to wingman with Joonmyun.
So he goes on full persuasive puppy mode. "Please, Sehunnie? We can make a day of it, you and me." A light bulb flashes bright in the back of his mind. "Besides, neither of us has taken the really touristy route in Osaka. We were set on being too cool from the beginning." He laughs, thinking about their four-year-younger selves. "Don't you think it'll be fun the first time around?"
The laugh on the other end is feeble at best. And then it's just the same strain of quiet breathing. "I don't know, Jongin. I'm pretty exhausted..."
"Come on," Jongin coaxes him. He drains his water and places the glass in the sink. "You said it yourself, remember? You don't hate doing stuff with me."
Sehun inhales and exhales; lung-deep, both times. "What touristy route?"
That's how Jongin knows he's in.
Sundays in Osaka are spent indoors, watching animé reruns, eating some sort of sweet, and keeping warm or cool, depending on the season. At least, that's the norm in the Oh Sehun-Kim Jongin household.
Today is a complete departure from that.
"Really?" Sehun's laughing, but the sound of it is incredulous; the kind of laughter that follows a bad joke. "A river cruise, Jongin?"
"Hush." Jongin is completely unrepentant. "The Naniwa Tanken Cruise comes highly recommended. The local tourism board says Osaka is the Venice of Asia, you know."
"Uh, the river cruise is for tourists, though." Sehun sticks out his neck, lifting his brows. The shape of his mouth is less a smile, more a grimace of disbelief. "We live here."
"Oh, don't be snobbish," Jongin shoots back, not to be fazed. "I bet you've never been on a cruise like this in your life. Brat."
"I'll have you know," Sehun says, smugly pushing his hair back, "that my brother took me on the bateaux mouches while he was studying at the Sorbonne. Twice." His smile sharpens into one of mischief. "So--" up goes the middle finger, "--ta gueule, Jongin."
He'd forgotten that Sehun could speak a little French. The guy had visited Paris every spring break and even lived there the summer after graduation. When he'd come back to Seoul, so he and Jongin could join the job hunt together, Sehun had wasted no time teaching his friend how to curse à la Française.
(Sehun'd taught him how to curse in Japanese, too.)
Jongin translates quickly in his head, sticking out his tongue. "You shut the fuck up." He loops an arm around Sehun's waist and drags him toward the ticket booth by all the boats. "Just humor me, will you?"
The ticket booth is right on the water, across the stairs leading to the Namba Hatch. Jongin and Sehun had come here to watch Zion.T last fall, and Loveholic last spring, and The Killers two springs before that. There were a few other shows in between, too--but Jongin only has the vague memory of eating octopus fritters along that wide stone staircase ("It's like the Spanish Steps in Rome," Sehun'd quipped their first year in Osaka, "except Japanese.") They'd gathered there with all the other concert-goers, watching the boats swaying to and fro, eating and drinking and popping their ears after a long, loud night.
"I didn't even know this was here," Sehun is saying, peering curiously at the tiny booth.
"Me either," Jongin tells him, taking out some cash. He hands the ticket lady enough money for two boat passes. She gives him the tickets and a pair of brochures in return, then informs him of something in speedy Nihongo.
"She says we can line up by the port already," Sehun explains, smiling gently at the woman. "The 11:00AM cruiser leaves in five minutes sharp."
"Oh, great!" Jongin bows his thanks, all teeth, and the woman beams at him. She has that unmissable mom face that makes Jongin a little homesick.
"Korean?" the woman asks in stilted Hangul, getting two nodding heads in response. "Very handsome," she continues in Japanese. She sticks both thumbs in the air. The three of them share a laugh.
Jongin decides to test out what little he knows of her native tongue. "Who's more handsome, ma'am?"
"Flirt," Sehun notes in sotto voce, which Jongin completely ignores.
The woman makes a show of scrutinizing them both, leaning back into her chair. The men laugh again. After a beat, she answers, "This one, for me--" and she points straight at Sehun, who puffs up like a soufflé. She points at Jongin, too, before he can protest: "When I was younger, it would have been you, with all that sex appeal." Her eyes turn cheeky. "You must be a heartbreaker."
Sehun won't let him hear the end of it. Not even when they're forty minutes into the river cruise, and they've floated under thirty-two of the forty-nine bridges in the course. The movable roof has opened and closed a dozen times, depending on the threat of spray. Sehun says it's the boat palpitating, because Jongin's ~sex appeal~ extends to inanimate objects now. Jongin elbows him in the side. The staccato of Jongin's stifled giggling has spurred the day-drinkers on the boat join in, too. The onboard guide is beginning to send them iffy looks.
"Even the ahjummas here know you're trouble," Sehun stage-whispers, a merciless tease. "Spare the ahjummas, Jongin. They're innocent."
Jongin grits his teeth, smiling apologetically at the poor guide. "Sehun, shut up."
They're by the Nakanoshima District now, about to turn back around. The roof is open. It's freezing cold. The guide explains that these banks on either side of them overflow with flowers come spring. An explosion of pastel, she says. But since it's only February, everything is just...gray. The tourists whip out their cameras to shoot the winter-weary foliage, anyway.
Sehun zips up his leather jacket. His breath is visible in the air, and his voice is perfectly modulated. No more teasing. "Are you enjoying it, Jongin?"
"This?" Jongin gestures to the steel-colored water, the monotone scenery. A lonely bird squawks past. "It's glorious, Hun."
Sehun burrows into his scarf, so only his eyes are seen. There's an I-told-you-so dancing in them. "Maybe if it were the right season..."
"It would be brighter," Jongin carries on, placidly, "and just as boring."
It is Sehun who bursts out giggling this time. Jongin would be more insulted if Sehun hadn't kicked his feet up to the rhythm of his laughter like a gleeful little kid. He really is endearing sometimes.
"So this was a total bust," Jongin continues, grinning at him. "You never know until you try, right?" He reaches behind his neck to pull up his hood. The temperature is bone-chilling, and the fact that they're on a boat is so sad, it's comical. "At least I know not to take sunbae on this tourist trap next weekend."
Sehun's ankles cross and uncross. "That's right," he agrees, with an ambiguous lilt to his voice that makes it seem like he wants to say more. Jongin turns to hear it.
All of a sudden, the guide hoists them both to their feet. "Thank you for volunteering to be our team captains!" she proclaims with flourish. The synthetic fabric of her tour kimono catches the light as she leads the rest of the passengers in a round of applause.
The guide has had enough of them, it seems, because in retaliation for the distraction they've posed, she's pulled Jongin and Sehun straight into an in-cruise game.
Sehun shoves his hands into his pockets, his small, stern mouth straighter than straight. Jongin hooks their arms, plastering himself to his friend's side. Their body language reads Nope, Totally Not Interested, to anyone else outside their tandem.
"Oh, no, no, no," the guide declares in singsong Japanese, peeling them apart like the two skins of an edamame. "You can't be together."
She recites a theatrical spiel of instructions, and Sehun--resigned to their fate--translates discreetly for Jongin. The latter makes faces at his linguist pal, trying to get his voice to crack (Sehun's voice always squawks when he's trying to suppress merriment).
It's all in vain, though. Sehun only rests tender, tired eyes on Jongin's face before turning back to listen to the guide.
He must still be fatigued from the hell of a week he's had. Jongin experiences the faint brush of guilt, like spider legs over his sternum. He makes a mental note to go somewhere posh and quiet to eat after they get off this boat, so Sehun doesn't have to brave the crush of the lunch crowd.
The guide is still blathering on about the rules of the game. Jongin slinks behind her, intent on standing next to Sehun again; rub shoulders with him, in case he feels cold.
He doesn't quite make it across. The guide catches him shuffling past and slaps an arm across his back to keep him in place. But Sehun sees and smiles, and Jongin feels a tiny bit better. Then it's game on.
Whatever Sehun meant to tell him in the middle of this thawing river--if there was anything at all--is forgotten for the time being in a rousing bout of Bring Me.
Lunch is the swanky kaiseki menu at the Ritz Carlton. Jongin's treat. Sehun had been puzzled when they hopped into a cab outside Namba Station instead of heading back down to the subway. But the moment Jongin gave the cabbie directions--"To the Ritzu, in Umeda, please"--his friend had regarded him in wonder.
The restaurant is furnished like an ancient emperor's dining room--lavish and stark and serene, all at once. Half the people in here are foreigners on business. They chat quietly with their companions or read off handheld tablets, sipping hot tea. The Sunday calm hangs in the air like a scent, and it almost, almost feels like they're home.
The chef brings them Kobe beef on a hot plate, medium-rare. "I love this place," Sehun murmurs.
"I remember," Jongin says, picking up a slice. "You couldn't stop talking about it after we had that company dinner here. It was right after you did the curation for that Taiwanese romcom--what was the title again?" He pops the meat into his mouth. "Can't pronounce it. Anyway, if I recall correctly, the soundtrack sold so many copies that they let us have your victory meal here."
Sehun doesn't look particularly affected, but the satisfaction in his voice is palpable. "You remember everything, don't you?"
Jongin's grin is a hyperbole, stretching from cheek to cheek. "I've been told it's one of my most irresistible traits." Then he wiggles his brows.
Sehun shifts his gaze away. "Funny you brought up Taiwan. I'll be headed there in a few days." He scratches his temple absently; a fallen hair is clinging to the skin. "Need to be in the Taipei office for my next curation."
Jongin reaches across the table to pluck it off. "You haven't told me about that. How long will you be gone?"
Sehun makes as though to smooth over the spot, then thinks better of it. His hand returns to his lap. "A month."
"Wait, what?" That's a shock. All of Jongin's frown lines are now on full display; the deepest groove surfacing between his brows. "Hun, you haven't told me about that either."
"They want me to immerse myself in old school Tai-pop," Sehun expounds. "Their archive in Taipei is mostly analog, and much more comprehensive than the one here." Strangely enough, his ears and forehead are rosier than before. "Sorry, Jongin, I just found out on Friday."
"That you were leaving or that you were going to be gone that long?"
"Both."
He realizes it's juvenile, but Jongin feels a little abandoned, nonetheless. "Oh, man." He gnaws on the tips of his chopsticks, willing himself not to pout. "That's gonna be a lot of fun for you, huh?"
Sehun looks at him like he's an angel-faced infant, sucking on a pacifier. "I guess." His voice is completely nonchalant, but his smile is somewhat rueful. "Maybe next time we could go...get assigned together."
"Maybe." Jongin pillows his cheeks in his palms, at odds with it all. Since they moved to Osaka, they've been joined at the hip. Concerts, doctor's appointments, gym sessions--they even plan their quarterly returns to Seoul at the same time, entrusting the puppies to Chanyeol and Sooyoung, so they don't have to separate. At least, that's the way Jongin plans his vacations. "What am I going to do while you're away?"
"You'll survive," Sehun guarantees, and he's so offhand about it, too. But the corners of his mouth twitch, like they can't decide if they're going to turn down or buck up.
"I can barely order food on my own without tripping over all those hard R's and K's." Jongin's huff is a forlorn little sound. "The apartment will feel so empty without you."
The rosiness spreads like a stain across sharp features. "Don't be dramatic, Jongin."
"First of all," Jongin says, clasping his hands over his plate, "you started it by keeping this information from me for, like, twenty-four hours. Thirty-six? I don't even know. And second," he holds up two fingers, partly to keep Sehun from speaking, "don't act like you won't miss me, Hun."
Sehun sits up a little straighter. "Well, I won't." A certain melting quality in his expression hardens, then disappears. It is replaced by sarcasm. "I need a break from you and your whiny butt, anyway."
"Psh." Jongin swats at the air. "For a month? Please. You'll be blowing up my phone within the first two hours."
It's Sehun's turn to press his cheeks between his palms. "You're delusional." When he drops his hands, his whole face is red.
"You're blushing," Jongin informs him with renewed enthusiasm. "And you calling me delusional is the pot calling the kettle black." He smirks, because he knows exactly what it takes to annoy his friend into submission: "Just tell me you love me, Sehunnie, and we can move on."
Without warning, that look of intent returns, shimmering in Sehun's gaze like a bottle on the shoreline. His lips part by a sliver. The hollow at the base of his throat goes concave, like he's taking a deep breath...or something like that.
"What?" Jongin asks, smile drooping.
The answer comes in the form of a starched table napkin, flung directly into his face. Jongin's laughter is a muffled, tinkling octave.
"Will you just eat?" Sehun mumbles, and he stuffs his cheeks with the remainder of the Kobe beef. He hunkers over his exquisite kaiseki platters, picking next at a slab of gindara. "You're so dumb."
Jongin rests his hands against the railing. "I wanted to go to Osaka Castle," he says, the winter breeze in his face and the city sprawling at his feet. "But you're not wearing the right shoes. Or any socks."
Sehun pshaws. "These shoes are fine." His foot kicks out, and Jongin dodges it, snickering. Sehun's slim, bare ankle peeks out between his Italian loafer and the hem of his jeans. "And I am wearing socks--you just can't see them."
Jongin, in contrast, is wearing good ol' Converse. He pulls up his own pant leg to reveal a long, wool sock; puppy-printed, with a burgundy background. "Your ballerina socks ain't got nothin' on these babies."
They're from Sehun. A spontaneous gift he'd picked up after a client meeting in one of the shopping streets in Namba Parks. ("From Comme des Garçons," he'd name-dropped to Jongin, using his accent to pronounce the label. "It means 'like boys,' in French.")
The way Sehun scans Jongin's ankle is the same way he would a solid soundtrack: with unconcealed approval. "You're wearing them?"
Jongin tugs his pant leg back down--brisk, so it doesn't crease. "Course. Wear 'em all the time." Then he drapes his arm over Sehun's neck and looks back out at the view. "We should have come here sooner, Hun. You can see the whole city."
On the fortieth floor of the Umeda Sky Building is the biggest tourist trap of all: the Floating Garden Observatory. It's a strange name, considering this open-air viewing deck boasts of no trees, no flowers, and no grass; only a glow-in-the-dark floor that mimics the universe of stars above. But it is breathtaking up here. Jongin will give the Umeda Sky builders that.
Sehun leans against the plexiglass barricade. "For once, I agree."
It's a sultry dusk for winter; romantic rose lashed with that unrelenting gray. The lights in the skyline are soft embers, glowing brighter as the firmament darkens.
Jongin remembers that scene in Life of Pi, where the protagonist witnesses a religious ceremony by a river. There had been thousands and thousands and thousands of candles floating in dark, still water, extravagant and fragile at once. The hypnotic song of a flute had echoed through the crowd. Magical, just like this moment.
"I'm freezing," Sehun murmurs. Jongin leans into him on cue. "But I'm glad you brought me here."
"You wanna walk around? Get the full effect?" Jongin'd read all the literature beforehand. This observatory is shaped like a donut (go figure) and doubles as a bridge between the two towers of the building. It also commands a 360-degree view of Osaka--which is what draws all the tourists with their selfie sticks and squabbling children. "We could take photos, show hyung and noona at the office tomorrow."
Sehun shakes his head. The collar of his jacket squeaks, leather against leather. "I'm fine right here." He turns pertly in Jongin's direction. "But we should definitely take a photo."
They use Jongin's phone. It's hard to zero in on the right angle, because the daylight is fading so quickly behind them. In the first few shots, they show up as silhouettes against the endless stretch of buildings.
"Hold on," Sehun tuts, and then he's tinkering with the settings on Jongin's camera until he finds the correct shooting mode. "Okay, ready."
He takes a couple with Jongin slightly behind him, chin resting on his shoulder as always. And then they switch places, and Sehun throws up two V signs behind Jongin's head. Just before Jongin presses the button one final time, Sehun tickles him with tap-dancing fingertips. The camera catches them both in mid-laugh; twilight diffusing mauve across the city in the backdrop.
That's the shot they both like best as they review the photo reel.
"Will you send these all to me?" Sehun hands the phone back. "We rarely have such good photos together."
Jongin makes a sound of acquiescence, already transferring the images to their chat thread on Line. "Not bad for a day as touristy folk, wouldn't you say?"
Sehun's mouth twists. He looks like he wants to lay down a reality check--that river cruise, though. But he nods benevolently, turning insult into compliment. "Good job, Twenty-Nine."
Jongin's starting to look forward to every mention of that nickname. Sehun says it like it's an inside joke. And even though, technically, the inside joke is between Jongin and Sooyoung, he likes this one better--whatever it is.
His phone pings. There are two notifications blinking back at him. The first is a status report from Line saying all the images he'd sent to their chat have uploaded successfully. The second is a Facebook update: something new about Oh Sehun. Jongin checks that one--and then he grins like a Cheshire cat.
"That was fast, Hun." The pleasure curling in his tone is unmistakable. "You changed your profile pic to the one of us laughing?"
Sehun fusses with his jacket. "I like it," he replies, so blasé. "The lighting behind us--I like it."
Jongin knows that's not what he really means. It's so cute, because even after all the years they've known each other, Sehun refuses to be cheesy about their friendship. Not to his face.
So Jongin cuts him a break and changes the course of the conversation. "I just hope the lighting's this good next weekend." He grabs the railing with both hands, tipping his head back to seek out the first stars. "Sunbae will love it."
Softly, Sehun blows his bangs out of his eyes. "I'm sure he will."
Jongin hums contentedly, releasing his hold on the railing so he can lean over it again. The wind is getting way too nippy, and he isn't wearing gloves.
Luckily, when he sneaks his hand into Sehun's jacket pocket to press it against a warm palm, Sehun doesn't resist. He even holds Jongin's hand to keep it nice and toasty.
It's just like him.
Sehun leaves for Taipei on Thursday morning.
He gets up at five to make his eight o'clock flight. Jongin hears him puttering around in their shared bathroom, packing up his toiletries.
When he hears Sehun's suitcase rolling against the floorboards, Jongin trudges out of his room. The puppies slept in Sehun's bed the night before, and he's scooping up each one of them to kiss their furry little heads.
"Do you want me to take the train with you to KIX?" Jongin rasps, early morning voice riddled with holes. "You might fall asleep."
Sehun shakes his head. "I'll grab a coffee from a vendo at the station." He snags Jongin into a one-armed hug. "Go back to bed."
The puppies are weaving around and in between their legs. They're restless, because they can sense Sehun's impending departure.
"Switch on your roaming," Jongin drones into his neck. Sehun smells like after-shave and mouthwash and the detergent he'd used to launder his snuggly padded coat.
Sehun nods, unlatching from the embrace so he can pick up Jjanggah one last time. She whines at him reprovingly, and Sehun pecks her on the nose. "I'll be back, little one," he swears, with enough earnestness to deserve a lick.
It dawns on Jongin that this isn't another overnight stay at the office. No--he won't be seeing his favorite person for an entire month. That's thirty days, possibly more, depending on how Sehun fares with his work in Taipei.
The pang in his chest strikes lightning-quick, and unexpectedly achy.
Jongin shuffles his feet. "Call me when you get there, Hun." He feels so unsettled.
Sehun casts a long, weighted look his way. It's both grave and searching, and it doesn't make Jongin feel any better.
"Okay," Sehun replies in the end. "I gotta go now."
He hands Jjanggah back. Jongin coos over her, chest to chest, and she licks the tip of his nose. He folds her into his arms, turning his attention back to Sehun.
They latch eyes. Sehun blinks at him languidly. Three, two, one. Then he reaches up and brushes Jongin's cheek with the back of his hand.
For no good reason, except that his body has pushed him do it, fueled completely by instinct, Jongin holds his breath.
Then Sehun claps him on the shoulder, and it's as if nothing happened.
"I'll miss you," Sehun admits, just before he leaves the apartment.
The average flight from KIX to TPE takes three hours and ten minutes. Jongin expects his phone to ring a little over that time--four hours, maybe, depending on the immigration queues at Taoyuan Airport.
But it doesn't.
He sends Sehun a few messages at noon, asking if he's landed, if he's eaten already, if it's cold or warm in the Taiwanese capital.
The replies come at dinnertime. Jongin misses them when they pop up on Line, because he's gone out drinking with Chanyeol, and the bar is noisy.
He only gets to read them later on, when he's homeward bound in an empty subway car.
Landed a while ago, Sehun has typed. Signal sucks. And it's colder than Osaka! He's sent a sticker of a bunny bundled up in a blanket, and another of a teddy bear wearing a striped muffler. I'll call you when I can, Jongin.
Jongin is somewhat mollified--somewhat, because the unsettled feeling from this morning lingers like a bruise. You better, he punches in. Good night, Sehunnie~
Joonmyun lives in a two-bedroom in Tezukayama, one of the most expensive districts in the city. Google must pay ~really~ well, Jongin muses, watching buildings and parks and pretty lanes zip by him from the back of a taxi. Not like it would matter if Google paid in peanuts. Joonmyun's family is wealthier than Jongin's and Chanyeol's and maybe even Sehun's combined.
Joonmyun had offered to meet him halfway today. "I live so far from your place," he'd fussed over the phone, sounding more like an aunt than an old school friend. And it's true: Jongin's cab ride from Shinsaibashi has taken half an hour (it would have been double that if he'd opted for the train). But he didn't want Joonmyun to get lost. Besides, secretly, Jongin thinks it's more like a date this way.
The cab pulls up to the apartment complex (mansion is the misleading word they use for it in Japan). Joonmyun is waiting outside, on his third-floor balcony. Jongin sticks his head out of the cab, and the older man waves at him merrily.
"Sunbae!" Jongin waves back.
In no time at all, Joonmyun has joined him in the backseat of the cab.
"Good morning, Jonginnie," he says, all smiley eyes and sunny disposition. "Where to?"
Jongin feels small and shy and seventeen all over again, but he tries to project confidence. "I wanted to start with Osaka Castle--but have you eaten, sunbae?"
"I actually haven't," Joonmyun informs him with the kind of grin that makes Jongin's tummy clench. "How about we grab brunch first?"
Joonmyun's breath is toothpaste-fresh. His bangs are pushed back from his forehead with what Jongin imagines is some kind of styling product. He's wearing a deep green sweater, almost identical to the one Jongin had worn the last time they'd met. And he's just so handsome...
"I love brunch," Jongin replies dumbly, on autopilot.
Joonmyun ruffles his hair, still grinning, and gives the cab driver directions to a little place he knows. So much for this sunbae getting lost.
Jongin cracks his knuckles self-consciously until Joonmyun turns back to him.
"So, what've you been up to?" Joonmyun has such a kind face. "Any new projects I can look forward to?"
"Oh, um..." Jongin licks the corner of his mouth. "I just wrapped a soundtrack for the Japanese indie market. And this week I started working on a Korean melo that's slated for release in the fall."
Interest flickers across Joonmyun's features. "What's it about?"
"Well..." Jongin tries to crack his knuckles again, but they're all spent. "It's about two people who grow up thinking they're siblings, only to find out they aren't related at all--and that they're each deeply in love with the other. Very dramatic." Joonmyun laughs. That allays the nervous energy in Jongin's idle hands. "We're just in the preliminary stages, though. So it's mostly been meetings and more meetings with the director and producer. Boring stuff. No actual music yet."
"It still sounds fascinating to me, to be honest." Joonmyun angles his body so he's facing Jongin full-on. "What do you discuss in those meetings? The scenes and characters?"
Jongin nods. "That's right. The backstory--including the motivations of the people in the film and how they express emotion. And then we talk about the music in terms of the director's vision--whether the tracks should be complementary or ironic, subtle or jarring, maybe even share a specific decade as a theme. If there should be repetition, or if every transition from scene to scene should be unique." He screws up his mouth. "That's not the boring stuff, actually. I enjoy that part a lot. The real bore is when the suits start talking about which artists 'should' be on the soundtrack because they're hot right now, or because their labels are sister companies and this would be a good opportunity to show solidarity, yada-yada. Politics."
Joonmyun makes a sound of understanding at the back of his throat. "Like I said, fascinating."
That brings Jongin the tiniest sense of accomplishment. He plays it off, because he doesn't want Joonmyun to think (know) he's that shallow. "You're the one changing the world," he says modestly. "Google glass and Google self-driving cars and, like, Google's cure for cancer, for all I know."
The older man laughs again, brighter and more melodic this time. Score two for Jongin. "We're still working on that last one." Joonmyun nestles deeper into the backseat, getting comfortable. "So, when you finally get past all those meetings, how do you start selecting songs?"
"The cool thing is that they let us watch the movie before anyone else." Jongin grins inwardly; he's got Joonmyun's rapt attention. "It's pretty raw and sluggish, since it hasn't been edited yet, and obviously there's no music. But it helps us get the gist of things." This part is less impressive. "After that, sunbae, there's nothing high-tech about my job. I just listen to lots and lots of music, and make really, really long lists of options. And then I shorten those lists and cross-reference what I'm left with until I have twelve to sixteen tracks that match the brief."
Joonmyun's small mouth is making an even smaller o shape. "That sounds pretty complicated."
"It can be." Cute, Jongin thinks to himself. So cute. "And that's just for the preliminary curation. If the director is a stickler with his own ideas, I do this two, three times."
The o shape emits a low whistle. "Tough." A lip disappears into that small mouth. "Have you thought of any songs you might want to put in this new movie of yours? Or is it too early to tell?"
Jongin doesn't usually reveal these things before his final curation has been approved. Especially not in piecemeal fashion. He hasn't even started listing down songs yet.
But he does have ideas.
"There's this scene in the movie," he tells Joonmyun, "where the man and the woman are sitting on the swing set outside their childhood home. They're well into their thirties now, and they've been in love with each other for years. The man has known for months that they aren't related to each other--they were both adopted. Typical melo, you know."
Joonmyun's smile amplifies by a hundred watts.
"He doesn't want to tell her--about the adoption, his feelings, any of it--because he thinks it'll freak her out." Jongin shrugs. "Scare her, in some way. Or scar her."
"So he's the quintessential noble idiot," Joonmyun puts in helpfully.
"Right." Jongin flips his bangs out of his eyes. "But then the woman does this thing--she did it once before when they were teenagers on that same swing set, confused about their attraction to each other." Jongin mimics the action with one hand: "She puts an earbud in his ear, and one in hers, and she plays a song that's almost...I dunno, confessional?"
"Ah. So she does know."
"That's left up to the audience to decide," Jongin says. "But I think I know what that song should be, if the director lets me have my way. " He scratches behind his ear. He feels self-conscious again, for goodness' sake. "Do you listen to, um, Coldplay?"
Joonmyun hums. There is a pause between that sound and this sentence: "I used to, when I was younger."
Good, good, good. "I was thinking of using 'Sparks,'" Jongin goes on. "Because of the lyrics, mainly. And also because the director kind of wanted it to be a throwback to their coming-of-age years in the early 2000s, so it's from the perfect time period." Jongin peers at him tentatively. "Do you know that song?"
(My heart is yours, Chris Martin sings, in that high, lamenting pitch of his. It's you that I hold on to. That's what I do.)
"Sure," Joonmyun tells him, his expression brimming with unspoken things. "That was the song Soojung and I danced to at our wedding."
Jongin's stomach lurches hard, as though their cab driver has screeched to an abrupt stop. But their ride is cruising smoothly over the paved streets of Osaka. It is Joonmyun's countenance, at this moment, that is rougher than the road.
"Sunbae," Jongin forces out. "I'm sorry." He bites the inside of his cheek and clenches the hand that Joonmyun can't see into a fist. "I didn't know."
"Of course you didn't." Joonmyun manages to veil the misery on his face, placing a hand on Jongin's arm. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's me." When he exhales, it sounds like the breath has been siphoned from the soles of his feet. Perhaps even the ground beneath them. "I just really miss her, Jongin."
The confession is simple and unadorned. Even a preschooler could understand it without needing further explanation.
But it takes Jongin a moment to grasp it--the illusion, the delusion, he's subjected himself to. The words topple into his ears, syllable by syllable, pinging against his eardrums like taut, plucked strings. He doesn't realize his breath has caught in his throat until he exhales, and it all comes rushing out, and his chest twinges like a sore muscle.
Joonmyun's jaw is as sharp as cut stone, and his neck is strong and thick. He's a grown man now. But the bob of his Adam's apple makes him look like a lost boy. "I know this is a really personal question," he mumbles. "But have you ever been in love?"
A long time ago, Jongin answers in his head, the space between his ribs squeezing painfully. With you.
He feels so tired all of a sudden; weather-beaten, like the old shearling jacket Sehun uses in the winter to protect himself from the wind and snow. Jongin wishes he could slip into that jacket right now, pull it tight around him, to protect the rest of his body from this jagged, broken heart.
"Oh, sunbae." There is a python in Jongin's body, coiling and constricting around his insides. "You still love her."
"I can't help it," Joonmyun tells him. And even though the late morning light behind Joonmyun's head gets into Jongin's eyes, and Jongin has to squint because he left his sunglasses back at the apartment, he can still make out the sorrow on his first love's face. Joonmyun's heart is broken, too.
"She was the one who served me the papers," this handsome, ageless man admits. The taxi feels much too cramped, and much too cold. "I never wanted to get divorced."
That's how Jongin knows he's out.
Brunch spirals into lunch, which spirals into coffee. The tour of Osaka is postponed. Indefinitely.
Over crumby plates and half-empty glasses, they speak of Jung Soojung. The sweet girl in Jongin's class whom Joonmyun had fallen for at first sight. The beautiful. The brilliant. The passionate. The perfect.
And then they order more things--palate cleansers, nerve soothers--and Joonmyun talks about the grown-up Jung Soojung. The adoring wife with an amazing TV job, who had, without Joonmyun asking, put her career on hold to start a family. That was the twenty-four-year-old version of her. The determined. The unflappable. The endlessly patient.
The coffee has gone cold when Joonmyun brings up the first miscarriage.
"We tried again after that," he says stoically, swirling a teaspoon in his cappuccino. "But it just kept happening, over and over and over. And Soojung..." The teaspoon is abandoned on its saucer. "It brought her so low. Turned her bitter. Eventually, it hurt her to look at me--like I was a reminder of everything that was just within her grasp, but not quite."
Jongin's heart bleeds for this man. He keeps his fingers resting over his mouth, so he can school his emotions. "That must have been so hard on you, sunbae."
Joonmyun shrugs, scratching at the shoulder of his sweater. "Imagine what she was going through."
Six months ago, as they were putting away their dry cleaning in their Apgujeong penthouse, Soojung had quietly asked Joonmyun for a divorce. They'd just celebrated six years of marriage (minus the celebration).
"She told me she loved me." Joonmyun's throat works. "But she hated the person she'd turned into. The baby thing had put such a strain on our marriage--we'd been fighting over everything and nothing, you see--and she said the old her would have never treated me this way."
Jongin can only shake his head, because he doesn't know what else to say.
"She said she wanted to start over. I told her we could do that together." Joonmyun's voice is subdued, and it's beginning to waver. "But she wanted to go back, way back, way before she met me. Back to that person, with all those hopes and dreams." There is a telltale glisten in the whites of his eyes. "She said that's why she needed me to let her go. So she could have a real fresh start."
Jongin reaches across the table to cover Joonmyun's hand with his own. This is a heavy revelation, and it's difficult to hear. Jongin knows this is selfish; knows that Joonmyun's pain is much greater than anything he's ever known. But in spite of that, he wishes Sehun were here to pet his hair and hug his shoulders and hold his hand. Cheer him up with one of those rude, signature Sehun jokes: Suck it up, Twenty-Nine. We gotta be manly.
"She cried when I said I would do it." Joonmyun's gaze is slick, like gasoline. "I said I would do it for her, and she called me a good man."
He turns his face away after that. His hand slips out slowly, apologetically, from underneath Jongin's palm. Once, maybe twice, Joonmyun passes the same hand over his eyes, jaw bolted into a clench. He stares out the window by their table for a long time.
Jongin watches him silently. He orders Joonmyun another cup of coffee, piping hot, so the man can have something to occupy himself with.
Their conversation from the cab earlier--the very one that had snuffed out Jongin's small hopes for big love--seems like a distant memory.
Sehun hasn't called in six days. And yes, yes, Jongin knows how busy he is. Combing through an archive in a foreign language is no joke, even with all the help Sehun's getting at the Taipei office. But the absence of his friend makes Jongin so lonely--and Sehun's silence makes it even worse.
After days of waffling and wondering will I be bothering him, will he call me tomorrow, will he be able to get through on his sucky signal, Jongin decides to ring Sehun himself.
He'd been ready to ramble on all night. About Chanyeol tripping face first into Sooyoung's beanbag and bursting its seams from the force of his six-footer frame. About the barista at the cafe by the office who'd jotted her number down on the sleeve of Jongin's Earl Grey, only to balk at Jongin's, "Sorry, miss, I like men." About the way he'd found their kids sleeping in an adorable, heart-shaped pile after breakfast the other day. (Jongin posted it on Instagram, tagging Sehun in the photo. But the eighty-three likes it's garnered since then don't include one from @oohsehun.)
About Joonmyun.
How it had hurt at first when Jongin had returned from their botched outing, and sat down on the couch with only the puppies for comfort, and longed for Sehun to come home to him.
How, against his own expectations, that first day of heartbreak had also been the last. How swiftly Jongin had recovered from it--the indirect, unwitting dismissal of his one-sided love.
I guess I'm older now, he'd thought to himself when he realized he felt nothing. Twelve years older, and made of stronger stuff.
He'd had so much to share with his best friend across the ocean--but Sehun'd ended the call almost as soon as he'd picked it up.
"Sorry, Jongin," he'd said in a modulated tone, his hand cupped over the receiver. "I'm at a dinner meeting right now and can't talk long." The words had been laced with regret, but also urgency. "Everything okay?"
"Oh," had been Jongin's initial reaction. This had been followed by a wave of disappointment, unpleasantly dense and prickly around the edges. "Oh, okay. Yeah, everything's fine, don't worry. I'm sorry I caught you at a bad time."
"You sure?" There'd been a gunfire burst of Cantonese in the background. Sehun had brought the receiver even closer to his lips. His quiet voice in Jongin's ear had made it feel, for a second, like they were in the same room. "How're the puppies?"
Jongin's smile had been positively parental. "Running around in circles, wagging up a storm. They're great, Hun."
"How 'bout you?" Sehun had asked a little louder. The people he'd been meeting with had just erupted into cacophonous laughter. "Everything great?"
"Yup." Jongin had pushed a hand through his hair. Twice. "I just miss having you around, that's all."
Sehun hadn't reciprocated the sentiment. He'd only chuckled into the phone. "Three weeks left, Jongin."
And maybe Jongin had just been imagining things, but the inflection in Sehun's voice seemed to echo, just a little bit, with yearning.
"Less than that." Jongin hadn't wanted to seem needy, but he'd known it was too late for take-backs. "Nineteen days."
"You're actually...counting down?"
"I don't care if you make fun of me," Jongin had mumbled. "Call me later."
Sehun rings at one in the morning. Midnight in Taipei. He's a little hoarse. Jongin kind of likes the way his voice scrapes through the airwaves; rough palm sliding over buffed wood.
They talk until half past three, about everything and more. It's easy and comforting and so, so fun--just the way it was when they'd first sparked up a friendship in college. Jongin feels this tiny little knot in the pit of his belly, twisting and tightening with every laugh that Sehun pulls out of him. He knows Sehun won't be in the apartment when he gets up later for work, and the knot is reminding him not to get too attached to the idea.
When Jongin finally mentions Joonmyun and Soojung and the story behind their divorce, Sehun's compassion is surprisingly vocal.
"That's awful," he whispers, and Jongin can see the exact expression on his face. Clouded eyes, pressed lips, brows meeting in the middle. "I feel sorry for them both."
"Me, too," Jongin whispers back.
Sehun lets out a stream of breath. "Shit." His voice is like sandpaper. "So. Um."
"What?"
"Are you all right, Jongin?" Sehun asks, quick enough to sound nervous. His tone is colored by what sounds--bizarrely--like hope.
Maybe even courage.
But both seem silly in context.
"Are you all right?" Jongin turns to his side in his soft, warm bed. "You sound weird, Hun."
Sehun keeps silent. Alone in his bedroom, Jongin cranes forward to catch whatever his friend is going to say, like Sehun is right in front of him.
"I'm just worried about you," Sehun finally utters, a little strained. "Because I know how much you care about your sunbae, and hearing about his love life--his unfinished business--that must have been a blow, Jongin."
He is facing the wall in almost complete darkness, with his covers pulled up to his chest. His phone is pressed against his ear, heating up from battery loss. The puppies are all asleep on Sehun's side of the bed (in Sehun's room, the empty space belongs to Jongin, too). It's just another Friday night in their Osaka apartment. Except tonight, with Sehun's caring words lingering in his ears, Jongin feels every drop of blood that isn't preoccupied with keeping him alive rush, rush, rush straight to his face.
Sehun clears his throat. "You okay?"
I'm...blushing, Jongin internalizes, slowly, his heart throbbing from blood loss. The last time that had happened was when Chanyeol brought up Joonmyun on his birthday. Why the hell am I blushing?
"Hello?" Sehun asks.
Jongin rubs his face aggressively. "Yeah, sorry, I'm here." He pats (slaps) the cheek that isn't cradled by his pillow, hoping the brute force gets him back into form. "And I'm fine, Hun...about sunbae." Those last two words are muttered, like a secret. "I feel like I might've finally gotten over him."
"Really," Sehun says, and it's more a statement than a question.
"Yeah. Really."
For a long, protracted minute, Sehun doesn't say anything else.
"Hello?" Jongin eventually asks, the déjà vu washing over him like a night wind. His face is still hot, but his eyes are starting to droop. "Did I lose you, Hun?"
The young man on Taipei time hums in disagreement. "No," he replies, and two eyes in the heart of Osaka flutter closed. "I'm still here, Jongin."
Part 3