THIRD UPDATE WITHIN A WEEK: Ch 30 last Wed, Ch 31 last Fri, and now this one (Tues). Make sure you're all caught up before proceeding ^^

Ch 27(ii) - continuation of the previous ch (A/N at end explains it)

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Kyungsoo wakes up in his bed with a dry throat and a pulsing headache. Grumbling and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he sits up to check the clock. 5:00 AM – earlier than usual. ‘Probably because I actually SLEPT for once,’ he muses, stretching his limbs. A shiver runs down his spine, though, as he searches through his memory for what time he went to bed. Blank. There’s nothing but an inscrutable blank there.

He turns on his lamp and squints as he adjusts to the light. His eyes scan his room and settle on a note resting next to a bottle of water and two aspirins on his night stand. He reaches for them but moves too quickly, suffering from a brief dizzy spell. Oh. That’s right. He drank last night with Chanyeol and Sehun. He pops the pills in his mouth and takes a long drag of water from the bottle before turning his attention to the note.

“Hyung,

Be sure to take the aspirin and hydrate. You had a lot to drink last night, but you were always safe with Sehun, Yeol, or myself – I brought you home. I don’t know how much you’re going to remember when you wake up, but whether it’s a lot or a little, please don’t be worried. Let’s talk, the sooner the better, okay?

Jongin”

‘Oh .’ The younger explicitly tells him not to worry, as if he could anticipate the anxiety bubbling up inside, but it’s not as simple as willing the panic away. Kyungsoo squeezes his eyes shut, desparately trying to pull back something, ANYTHING, from last night. He remembers singing at the noreabang, Chanyeol challenging him to play a drinking game with Sehun, singing Fiction and Gone Not Around Any Longer… but Jongin isn’t in the room in any of these memories.

“… please don’t be worried.” Kyungsoo re-reads it and snickers to himself at Jongin’s sweet naiveté: telling someone NOT to worry is just as bad as telling them TO worry. Climbing out of bed carefully to avoid sparking a wave of hangover nausea, he dresses himself and packs a bag. He’d already been planning to spend some of the upcoming free time at his parents’ home – now, he’s just in a bigger hurry to get there.

‘Why are you running?’ an inner voice questions him as he’s stuffing the last of his clothes into the black duffel bag.

‘I’m not running, I just… need to sort things out in my own mind first,’ he defends.

‘Sure, slinking out of the house before dawn so that you can leave undetected, that’s not running at all,’ comes the sarcastic response.

Kyungsoo sighs, eyeing the note again. What if he – no. Surely not. He heads to the bathroom, just for a routine morning stop, he tells himself… but ends up staring in the mirror, looking for any marks on his body as hints to what transpired hours before. He experiences a quick vision of pressing his body down against Jongin and running his lips over the boy’s smooth, tanned neck. The image is one he’s daydreamed about so often that he can’t distinguish if the sudden flash is fantasy or reality. Stretching his lower back and rolling his shoulders, he finds no signs of… excessive exertion and breathes a sigh of relief. Must be just fantasy again, a particularly vivid one as he can almost taste Jongin on his tongue. Kyungsoo hesitates. In the off chance he maybe did cross the line last night, disappearing without a word would be unacceptable. He can’t risk hurting Jongin like that. But he’s not ready to talk. He just needs some time, time to think and hopefully recover his memories.

Searching for a pen and pad of paper, Kyungsoo finds the materials in the common room and quickly scribbles down a message. Because anyone could find this, he makes sure it’s vague, but leaves it in his bedroom on the nightstand where he retrieved Jongin’s note in hopes that the younger will know it’s for him regardless who runs across it first.

“Went to my parents’ place: They’ve been expecting me. Will probably be gone the whole break. Talk to you on my return.

Kyungsoo”

.

.

.

The first two days at his parents’ house pass peacefully. On the third, though, Jongin starts texting. And then calling. Kyungsoo doesn’t answer and is surprised at the voicemail notification shortly thereafter. Curiosity getting the better of him, he checks the message.

“Hyung, please. We need to talk. In person, not over text or the phone. I’d come to you except… except you’re at the one place where I don’t think it’d be okay for me to show up…” Kyungsoo swallows thickly at the truth behind that sentiment, eyeing his father reading the newspaper on the couch across the room. He’s both touched at Jongin’s sensitive precaution and terrified about what exactly that implies. “Just… let me know you’re okay. And in case you were wondering, I’m fine. I’ll just be better once we talk.”

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” His mom places a hand on his shoulder, having wandered in from the kitchen.

Kyungsoo clears his throat. “Yes, umma. I’m fine. Do you need help with dinner?”

“Sure. You know I love your company in the kitchen,” she smiles at him sweetly. “But first, I need to get some fresh herbs from out back. As a matter of fact, the garden needs some tending to in general. Mind doing some digging with me?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“No, that sounds good. Let me just get changed.” Inside his old bedroom, he searches through some of his old clothes still kept in the closet. He finds a favorite pair of faded jeans from years ago, comfortably worn in with small holes from actual wear as opposed to manufactured cuts in the name of fashion. They smell nostalgic, reminding him of a simpler time when he was just Do Kyungsoo, a regular high schooler with nothing remarkable about his personal life other than having an especially strong bond with his mom, which his friends about good-naturedly. He smiles as he slips on the jeans, stripping down to just a plain white undershirt on top.

When he heads out to the backyard, his mother is waiting for him with garden gloves and various handheld tools. She greets him with a small smile. “Ready to get in here and do the tough, dirty work?” He nods and they set out tilling the soil and pulling weeds.

In typical fashion, Kyungsoo’s mom starts singing softly as they labor. He smiles, enjoying her melodic voice singing an old trot tune from the 80s. It’s no secret in the family that he got his vocal talents from his mother who often kept their house alive with music, singing to him throughout the day, whether in the car on the way to the market, while cleaning the house, or when getting her sons settled into bed. She’s always loved to whistle while she works.

“Your turn,” she prods him with a gentle elbow after finishing her song. Kyungsoo begins to hum a tune as he pulls at a particularly stubborn weed. “I don’t know that one,” his mother comments after he gets through a verse and chorus. “Sing the words for me.”

“It’s an American song, umma. Just one that’s been on my mind lately. The words won’t make any difference for you – it’s all in English,” he says with mild embarrassment at the idea of singing them aloud.

She scoffs. “Everyone else in the world gets to hear my Soo-ah’s beautiful voice, but I can’t? Aigoo, life is so unfair sometimes,” she complains lightly in that way mothers do to guilt their children into doing their bidding. She gives a dramatic shake of her head, her wide brimmed hat flopping around a bit, and then meets his eyes, flashing a smirk to make sure he knows she’s mostly teasing.

With a light