Part Two

"You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will leave in torment if you don't trust enough." - Frank Cane

     It was another week before Kyungsoo was actually ready to move in with Jongin.  Two days organizing, two days packing, one day fighting with Baekhyun about who owned what (Kyungsoo won on the kitchenware front, for the record), one day reserved entirely for arguing with himself about his decision to move in with a near-stranger, and a final day spent delaying the inevitable.  This left Kyungsoo in the middle of his soon-to-be old bedroom, with miscellaneous cardboard boxes littering the space around him while his laptop sat open on the otherwise cleared surface of the desk.  Here, he had spent the better part of the morning with a fresh pot of coffee, his word processor, and a few dozen external references, only to find that he had absolutely nothing to keep himself distracted with.  Kyungsoo supposed that it was probably his fault that he didn’t have anything to do.  He was a creature of both habit and responsibility, utilizing a precise daily schedule that kept him up to date on all of his work projects.  It was normally a fantastic thing.  He never had too much stress when it came to deadlines, and his boss certainly couldn’t complain, either.  But now, Kyungsoo had several hours to himself, alone with the boxes and his own mind that always seemed to wander back to the topic of Kim Jongin and the apartment across the city.

     He wasn’t sure when exactly he had become okay with moving out of his apartment.  Baekhyun was right when he said that Jongin wouldn’t care either way.  That was made clear enough by Jongin, himself, in their meeting.  But Kyungsoo was ultimately a victim of logic.  He didn’t have to leave the apartment to go to work.  He didn’t really have to leave the apartment at all, aside from the brief one hour - two hours, at most - excursions where he could pretend that the outside world was made for the likes of him, or at the very least, was adaptable to the likes of him.  Jongin though, he had to leave his home nearly every day to go to work, often at times on the weekends, too.  And when it wasn't his work schedule keeping him out, it was his classes, or dance practices, or other obligations that perhaps Kyungsoo would never be able to understand because even though he was quiet, maybe too much of a pushover, he knew how to say no.  He would never be as unnecessarily kind as Jongin was.

     And Jongin actually worked fairly close to the complex where he had been living with Chanyeol, his older sister living only a few streets up in her own humble abode on the East side, as well.  It wouldn’t be fair for Jongin to switch apartments when Jongin was the only one that location technically affected.  And if that all wasn’t enough logic for Kyungsoo, there was also the simple fact that his apartment was smaller than Jongin’s.  Two modest sized bedrooms, a minimal three-piece bathroom, and a rather simplistic kitchen that was really only big enough for a couple of spare eating utensils, maybe.  It was comfortable enough for Kyungsoo and Baekhyun and their once college influenced budget, but it was hardly suitable for two grown men that hardly knew each other and valued a sense of personal space.  If Baekhyun hadn’t already been attached to Kyungsoo at the hip since they were children, the size of their home might have bothered him before.  

  “Yo, soo.  Your moving crew has arrived.”  Chanyeol, the self-proclaimed moving crew, stood in the doorway of Kyungsoo's bedroom.  His large build took up a majority of it as he leaned against the wooden frame, an oversized grin characteristic to his demeanor overtaking his considerably handsome features.  He wore a pair of black skinny jeans torn stylishly at the knees and a plain white t-shirt, red plaid draped loosely around his waist and tied off at the sleeves.  There was a small trace of gel in his chocolate brown hair, and Kyungsoo knew that he had spent extra time messing with it just for Baekhyun.  He always did, even after so many years together, in a way that was both perfectly domestic and just them, really.

     Kyungsoo smiled softly at the thought.  “You know, you really didn’t have to take the day off to help with this.  Not that I don’t appreciate it.  I do.”  He made his way back over towards the open laptop, closing out the various windows of documents and emails he had running in the background, subtly reminding him that he didn't have anything more to do for the day.  He shut it down and carefully stored the device in a backpack at the foot of his bed.  "I just know you should be at work, is all."

  “It’s no problem.  I had a day to spare.  Couldn’t leave you two to this kind of thing alone, anyways.  Nothing would actually get done.”  Chanyeol waved a sizeable hand towards the boxes.  “Someone would end up getting injured and blame the other.  Then, after a few hours of passive aggressive fighting, you two would call some kind of brother-bond truce and bail out all together to go get dukbokki from that ahjumma down the street.  I’d eventually be doing the work either way, don't you think?”  He smiled easily.  The same laid-back kind of smile he used in high school, joking around with fellow students and teachers alike.  He was really the most personable of the three of them.  It suited him.

  “You’re not exactly known for your muscles either,” Chanyeol continued, “and Baekhyun,” paused for a moment, evaluating.  “Well, what Baek’s known for won’t exactly help you here.”

  “And what is it, exactly, that I’m known for, Yeol?”  Baekhyun questioned haughtily, coming up behind his boyfriend with a beguiled, predatory gaze.  His lips were pressed tight in what Kyungsoo could only assume was his interpretation of a sinister smirk, though unfortunately appearing more intent on ual advances than merely violent ones.

     Chanyeol stiffened as Baekhyun sauntered closer.  A dainty hand crawled up his spine, trimmed nails digging into the back of his neck as Baekhyun continued to grin evilly.  

  “Kindness,” he coughed, eyes unnaturally wide.  He looked as if he would attempt to inch away from the man's manicured talons, but thought better of it.  “Of course.  My Baekie is known for his kindness.”

  “Uh huh,” Baekhyun deadpanned, raking those same nails through Chanyeol’s hair a few times before dropping them back to his side again.

     Chanyeol now felt safe enough to scoot away discreetly as he laughed, uneasy, and coughed again.  “Now, aside from my obvious burning desire to help a friend in need, I was also lured here with the promise of good food.”  He glanced pointedly at Kyungsoo.  He happened to be equally afraid of Baekhyun’s fiery personality and his questionable skills in the kitchen.  The most recent bout of food poisoning during university was certainly the very last, twenty-three-year-old Chanyeol had vowed, and Baekhyun couldn’t find it in himself to disagree, either.  Not when he could barely make edible instant ramen with any determinable rate of consistency.

  “You’re lucky that Kyungsoo’s kindness is on an entirely different level than mine,” Baekhyun replied, defiantly petty.  “He left a bowl of kimchi stew for you on the stove.”

     Chanyeol grinned and kissed the other’s cheek with an exaggerated smacking noise.  “Thanks, Soo,” he added, flashing the shorter a cheesy heart sign with his thumb and index finger before moving towards the kitchen with the enthusiasm of a labrador.  

     Baekhyun snorted when he was out of sight.  “ing nerd.”  He shook his head fondly as he said so, listening to the telltale signs of his boyfriend's indiscriminate rummaging through the cabinets.  Kyungsoo grinned shortly, then plopped down on the edge of his bed with a gentle sigh.  

     He took in the state of the room, the utter emptiness, the lack of furnishings and literature and pictures on his stark white walls.  All of his belongings had been packed, all evidence of his adult life conveniently tucked away in the depths of cardboard boxes.  It was as if they were freshman again.  But it wasn’t the same thing.  They weren’t the same.  Their college days were long gone, and Kyungsoo was leaving behind the only real comfort he had known since childhood, the man he considered to be both his best friend and his sibling.

  “Things aren’t going to change, you know.”  Baekhyun gazed mildly at Kyungsoo, taking a seat right beside him and tucking his head into the junction of Kyungsoo's neck and shoulder.  “You’re my family.  Nothing’s going to change that.”

     He stared thoughtfully ahead at the white wall, relishing the warmth of Baekhyun against him.  “Yeah.  I know, Baek.”  

     He didn't.

     It didn’t take the three nearly as long as Kyungsoo would have assumed to move everything he owned.  Two hours and seven minutes, by his watch.  He didn’t have that much, aside from his extensive collection of books, to which he personally edited a large number of.  Those were the heaviest boxes and consequently the ones that both Kyungsoo and Baekhyun decided to leave for Chanyeol to carry upstairs.  He did, begrudgingly, muttering his new favorite pet name of rat bastards under his breath.  Chanyeol also assured that had Jongin been able to take the day off of work, he would never have subjected him to such torture.  Baekhyun said that it was a load of and even Jongin would have left Chanyeol alone with the manual labor.  

     The apartment had been cleaned sometime in the last week, with Chanyeol’s stuff lazily piled into boxes and duffel bags and stacked in the living room behind the couch.  Soft rays of sunlight streamed through the high, paneled windows and the sliding glass doors on the balcony.  The planks of blonde wood beneath their feet had been shined, the backsplash of subway tile in the kitchen scrubbed, and all of the surfaces left dust free and pristine.  Similar to Kyungsoo’s apartment - his old apartment - the common space was completely open, the kitchen flowing effortlessly into the living room, while the soft blue paint gave a comforting feel to the space.  His grandmother’s house had been painted almost entirely in the exact same shade when he was a child.  In the kitchen where she taught him to make japchae, in the parlor where she would sit for hours with him on her lap, reading aloud and combing through his hair with a gentle hand.  He felt a storm of emotions crash over him suddenly, but it didn’t feel the same as it usually would have.  It wasn’t anxiety or sadness or anything bad at all.  It was just calming, a sense of belonging senselessly tied to a color and Kyungsoo just stood there, taking it all in.  He forgot for a moment that his arms were trembling, shaking under the weight of the too heavy box in his hands as his eyes drifted around curiously.

  “Soo,” Baekhyun prodded into the back of his leg with the toe of his sneaker, nodding in the general direction of Chanyeol’s bedroom.  Eyes wide, Kyungsoo stuttered out an incoherent apology.  His feet did, in fact, maintain their functionality, and so he started off down the short hallway, trying desperately not to drop the box.  What in the hell was even inside that made it so heavy, Kyungsoo had no clue.  He struggled initially with the knob before figuring out a sort of balancing act with his knee and the wall and the solid block of lead in his hands, which he very nearly almost dropped.

  “Smooth move,” Chanyeol mumbled from the back with a snort.  

  “Like you could’ve done any better,” he grumbled right back.  Baekhyun snickered.  Chanyeol returned a purely affronted look, punctuated with a fair amount of betrayal.

     Kyungsoo pushed into the mostly clear room, sans a few stray composition papers and a suspicious pair of underwear dangling from the curtain rod.  A pair of shark printed boxers that Baekhyun often wore around their apartment, specifically.  He grunted.

  “I see your decorating skills haven’t improved since college.”

  “I quite like them,” Chanyeol replied, gazing affectionately at the article of clothing.  “Gives the room a nice pop of color.”

     Kyungsoo’s lips thinned.  “Remind me to never ask what you two did in this room.”

     Chanyeol grinned.  “We’ll see."  

     The couple left him to his own devices a whole two hours later, after an additional trip back to the apartment.  Kyungsoo needed his bed and bookshelves, agreeing to switch Chanyeol desks since they were basically the same model of Ikea anyways, and he was damn lucky that the giant was practically the only person living in the city with an old, yet surprisingly reliable truck on hand.  He refused to get rid of the gas-guzzler, actually.  It was his first car back in high school, characterized by other firsts that Kyungsoo really didn’t care to hear about.  He was grateful though, because it meant that he neither had to spend the money on a van or the hours to move and reorganize his belongings completely alone.  He didn’t know how he felt about being left on his own in a home that was barely his, but Chanyeol reassured him that Jongin didn’t mind in the least.  So Kyungsoo vowed to it up and released the couple to go house hunting while they still had time.  

     It was around five in the afternoon, when Kyungsoo was nearly finished with everything, that he heard the distinct clicking sound of the front door opening, followed closely by another click as it closed and the soft but sure steps down the hall.  The figure approached his shut door hesitantly.  Three and a half seconds, then a hymn of knocks.  Kyungsoo’s heart stopped for a moment, because this was really it.  He couldn’t delay it.  He couldn’t change his decision.  This was just… it.  Whatever first impression Kyungsoo hoped to make as official roommates, it would be made at this moment.  

     He cleared his throat nervously.  “Come in,” Kyungsoo managed a moment later, his voice perhaps cracking midway through.  He cringed, and the door creaked open.  

     A pair of dark, delicate eyes met Kyungsoo’s own.  The gaze was warm and noticeably shy, the male fighting to maintain eye contact if only for that brief moment.  He looked down at his converse clad feet not even a second later, gracefully shuffling a hair past the doorway.  Jongin wore a long-sleeved shirt, navy blue cotton with buttons going only a few inches down from the collar and a small pocket over the left side of his toned chest, the cuffs pushed up around his elbows.  He shifted uneasily on his feet, the dark denim jeans tight around his thighs but loose enough around his calves and ankles for him to move.

  “I’m glad you’re here.”  His smile was genuine.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you move.  Dr. Zhang didn’t have anyone else to help him at the clinic today.  I couldn’t leave him all alone.”  All of his expressions were genuine, Kyungsoo had learned over their brief encounters, whether his lips were upturned in a beautiful beam or his brows were furrowed in interest.  His lips were pressed together now, tight and remorseful.  Most people wouldn’t feel especially bad about not being able to help someone unnecessarily, but Jongin clearly did.  

  “Ah, don’t worry about it!”  Kyungsoo held up his hands, eyes wide at the realization.  “It wasn’t any big deal.  Most of it’s actually done now.”  He shifted a hardback novel in his grasp, fingers skimming the spine almost lovingly.  He slid it onto a shelf near the door, at the end of a stack designated to science fiction works.  Jongin’s eyes followed his hands, brightening as they reached the collection.  He moved forward, just slightly, before catching himself with an expression of uncertainty.  

     He met Kyungsoo’s eyes again.  “Do you, um, do you mind?”  Jongin flicked his eyes towards the shelf.  “I mean, uh-”

  “Oh, go ahead,” Kyungsoo squeaked, a tiny smile twitching on his lips that probably looked a hell of a lot creepier than he intended.  

     Jongin still looked unsure but stepped closer anyways, his lips tilting in a gentle grin as he offered mumbled thanks.  His fingers traced the back of the novels, caressing in a way that only an avid reader like Kyungsoo could understand.  His hand drifted to the top stack.  Classics.  Old and worn, but extremely precious to Kyungsoo.  They were a memorial to the childhood spent in his grandmother’s lap, an antique lamp illuminating the pages as he was lulled to sleep by her tender voice.  Jongin’s index finger tapped softly against a book, one of Kyungsoo’s personal favorites, the edges frayed from constant contact over the years.  

  “Never to suffer would never to have been blessed,” Jongin quoted in perfectly articulated English, smiling demurely as he thumbed over another one of Edgar Allan Poe’s pieces.  “One of my favorite lines.”  The piece had been translated into Korean for convenience, but Kyungsoo knew the quote, anyway.  Of course he would.

     Kyungsoo let out a breath of air, unintentional, astonished.  “Mine too,” he said quietly.  Poe was dark to most, depressing and narcissistic to some, but Kyungsoo had always appreciated his stories in a way.  He enjoyed the ominous settings, the foreboding suspense.  Romances never suited his personality or his own love life, and if given an option of what to edit or what to read in his spare time, he would always choose something sardonically pessimistic.  When you struggle to even get out of bed on some mornings, you don’t want to read about perfect coincidences and happy endings.  You want something you can understand, something you can relate to.  That’s the point of literature, after all.  

     Jongin looked at him, for only a moment, with eyes that told more than his mouth was willing to.  Kyungsoo wanted to know, wanted to ask him about it, but then Jongin stared back down at his fidgety hands and mumbled in a vague tone of voice, “I brought home some food that my sister sent over.  She figured that you would be hungry after all of the moving.”  

     Jongin’s lips looked just as soft as the rest of his skin, even softer, if possible.  Kyungsoo wanted desperately to feel it, but he knew better than anyone that he couldn’t.

  “Of course,” he replied instead, his voice light, but still anxious.  “That was nice of her.”

     Jongin’s sister was a good cook.  The small, circular table outside of the kitchen area had been set in the two minutes and thirteen seconds that it took Kyungsoo to scrub his hands in the bathroom sink.  An oversized plate adorned with glass noodles and a variety of sautéed vegetables sat perfectly centered with traditional side dishes around it.  A smaller plate of mouthwateringly well-seasoned bulgogi was pushed closer to Kyungsoo’s own empty dish.  Jongin never even let his chopsticks hover over the meat.  

     The two made affable conversation over the food, the younger spending a majority of the time with his eyes skirting over Kyungsoo’s face and practically any other object around him.  The topics never drifted too far out of the realm of ordinary almost-strangers, but he somehow still found it pleasant.  When they were finished, they brought their plates to the kitchen and washed them side by side.

  “I'll have to find a way to make it up to your sister.  I don't remember the last time I had anything that good."  Kyungsoo said, sliding the last of the leftovers into a container and handing Jongin the empty dish to clean.  When it was rinsed, he took it back, dried it with a towel.

  "I'm sure she'll be happy to hear that, but I think she just enjoys poking food into other people."  He chuckled quietly to himself.  Even his laughter was beautiful, which only made Kyungsoo realize how dangerous it was, becoming so enamored, so drawn in and fixated so quickly.

     While Jongin rinsed off the glasses they had used, Kyungsoo attempted to shake the thought from his head.  He couldn't afford to think that way, not after everything he had been through, to be repeating the same actions over again, expecting something different to happen.  It was the textbook definition of insanity.  

  "You and your sister," he managed, "seem really close.  It must be nice."

     Jongin's body and actions tensed with the comment, his broad shoulders tightening and his lips setting in a stiff line.  It seemed like a safe enough topic, but Kyungsoo hadn't factored in why they were so close, even if he knew.  The fact that it didn't had guilt weighing down like lead on his stomach.  But just when he was about to say anything else, to apologize or offer the younger some way out of broaching such a sensitive topic, Jongin was smiling again.  Taught and tired, but real, anyways.  

  "I know Chanyeol hyung probably told you that my parents passed when I was younger."  He handed the last dish off to Kyungsoo to dry.  "The only family we had left after that was an aunt, but she was already trying to raise two kids on her own.  We were old enough.  We managed to get by, but Sun-young noona was the one that really took care of us, made sure I had what I needed and got an education.  We really only ever had each other."  He paused and glanced over at Kyungsoo with obvious embarrassment.  After all of that, he still couldn't look Kyungsoo in the eyes.  

  "I, uh, don't know why I just told you that.  You just asked - never mind."  He brushed his hands off on his jeans.  Whether this was a nervous habit or if his hands were just damp from the sink, Kyungsoo didn't know.  "Sorry, just forget it."

     Kyungsoo shook his head.  He didn't want Jongin to regret opening up to him.  If anything, Kyungsoo felt like he should be thanking Jongin because if anyone knew how difficult it was to talk about things like that, it was him, and the fact that Jongin was willing to speak to him about it - even if Kyungsoo had already worked the information out for himself - was promising.

  "Don't apologize.  I'm glad you told me," he chided softly.  Jongin barely nodded.  Kyungsoo could feel traces of awkwardness slipping back between them, ebbing away at what little familiarity they had managed to construct over dinner.  He didn't want Jongin pulling away now, not because he thought he had revealed something too personal about himself, or maybe just because he didn't know how Kyungsoo might react to hearing it.

  "When I was a teenager, my grandmother passed away."  Kyungsoo moved to the coffee maker while he talked.  He needed something to occupy his hands.  "I was the closest to her of anyone.  She practically raised me."  He poured a few spoonfuls of fresh grounds in.  "My parents didn't really know what to do, so they just pretended that nothing happened, in a way.  And when it was suddenly just us, it's like they were there, but they really weren't.  My grandmother had always been everything.  I didn't know my parents any more than I knew anyone else."  Started the machine.  "I was so angry at them and I had never felt more alone, but I had Baekhyun.  He was there.  He understood, and as soon as we graduated, well.  We're here now."  He stared at the device as it spit out the scorching hot liquid.  "So, even though it's not the same thing, I understand, Jongin."

     When he finally turned around, Jongin was staring at him, piercing him with beautiful, dark eyes.  They met his, entirely entranced.  Now, though, it was Kyungsoo's turn to be embarrassed.  Jongin knew why he did it.  Kyungsoo knew that he knew.  But that hadn't made it much easier.  It was something that few people were ever privileged to hear.

  "I didn't know," his voice was airy, even lighter than it had been before.  "When Chanyeol hyung introduced you, he said you were Baekhyun hyung's brother, so I always just thought, a step-brother maybe," he trailed off, watching as Kyungsoo filled a mug to the brim with black coffee.  Kyungsoo gestured at another cup sitting out on the counter, filling it up too when Jongin nodded mutely.  He passed it into the younger's extended hands.

  "We are brothers where it counts.  We've always been together, ever since we were kids."  Jongin nodded understandingly and discreetly made his way to the fridge.  He filled the rest of the cup up with milk and, reaching over to the cupboard closest, took out three or four individual sugar packets.  Kyungsoo snickered under his breath.  

  "Is it really still coffee by the time you're through with it?" he mused out loud.

     Jongin smiled sheepishly in return, lifting the drink to his mouth.  "I'm really more of a tea drinker, for the most part.  Dr. Zhang is always bringing in natural herbal stuff to the clinic.  He's big on that kind of thing, but sometimes I like something sweeter."  He cast his eyes downward while he nursed the sugar saturated beverage.  There was nothing Kyungsoo could do but watch as Jongin's full, pink lips formed around the ceramic edge, as his bronzed throat bobbed smoothly with each swallow.

     His cellphone rang suddenly in his pocket, disturbing him away from the only slightly less than provocative thoughts.  Kyungsoo didn't need to check caller ID to know who it was.  Few people ever called him, and the ones that did each had their own individual default ringtone.  He swiped across the screen and pressed it to his ear.

  "Kyungsoo!" the voice came automatically, velvety and charismatic on the other side of the line.  Kyungsoo nearly smiled.

  "Junmyeon," he replied just as amiably.  He had always had a rather unique kind of relationship with the man.  He was his boss, yes, but he was by no means an average boss, and Kyungsoo was no average employee, either.  Perhaps that was the benefit of working for such a small publishing company, the personal aspect of it all.  It wasn't that well known.  It probably never would be, but Kyungsoo wouldn't choose to have it any other way.

  "Hey, kid.  How's the moving going?"  He heard the rustling of papers on the other end and knew that Junmyeon had likely called while he was working.  Junmyeon was always working.

  "It's fine.  I have just about everything done, anyway."  Jongin moved back to the clean dishes in his peripheral and began to put them away in the overhead cabinets.  Though the man was polite about it, Kyungsoo knew that he was listening to the conversation while he busied himself.  

  "And you ate already?" Junmyeon prompted.  Glancing over at the clock beside the door, which read eight o'five, Kyungsoo snorted.

  "Yes, I did.  You're getting as bad as Baekhyun lately."

     He could hear the smile in Junmyeon's voice.  "Hey!  No one can be that bad.  I was just checking."  There was a pause, more rustling.  "Anyway, I have a small favor to ask."

     Kyungsoo offered a noncommittal hum as he propped his hip up against the counter.  

  "I know it's your day off," the man added after a moment, "but Kim Jongdae decided to edit a chunk of his new book this morning."

  "But the deadline's next week."

  "It is, but he and his publicist decided last minute that a portion may have been more risqué than necessary given his fan base."

     Kyungsoo growled lowly under his breath in frustration.  It wasn't the first time they had seen something like this.  In fact, he'd venture to say that it happened all too often. Kim Jongdae was a young guy - not much older than Kyungsoo, actually - and he had been with their company from the beginning of his writing career.  He had done well for himself in that period of time.  He was one of the city's up and coming authors, something that naturally came with a significant and quite loyal audience of readers.  But sales could always be better and then this publicist came along - per Junmyeon's unfortunate suggestion - and, of course, it was wonderful for Jongdae.  She got him the opportunities that their company never could alone, which was just fantastic for everyone, really, but publicists in general were a notorious pain in the for everyone else involved.  The fact that they were cutting the scenes that Jongdae had perhaps been most proud of was evidence enough.  It was provocative material, but Jongdae was older now, more mature than he had been when he began the series.  There was no reason that it couldn't mature with him, if that's what he so wanted.  But Kyungsoo wasn't the guy's publicist.  His opinion on the subject hardly mattered either way.

  "And what did the publicist have to say about the deadline?" he questioned, conveniently ignoring what all of the editing entailed for Jongdae.

  "It still stands.  The tour is already planned.  The books have to be finished and printed before the preset release date."  Junmyeon sounded about as tired as Kyungsoo felt.  It was fair, he supposed.  If something went wrong with the book, the responsibility wouldn't fall on Kyungsoo.  It would be on Junmyeon.

  "Alright.  How's Sehun doing with the job?"  Oh Sehun was one of their only other full time proofs, and also the only other employee Kyungsoo had personally or extensively worked with.  He was sometimes a bit slow on the job, but he was surprisingly detailed and always got the work done by deadline.

  "He could use some help since he has to redo that entire section now.  Think you'd be up for it?"  Junmyeon sounded hopeful.  He hardly ever asked for favors, and Kyungsoo didn't have the heart to deny him.

  "Yeah, go ahead and send over what you have.  I'll call Sehun later tonight and talk about how we'll divide it."

     There was a relieved sigh on the other end.  "Thanks, Soo.  I'm sorry to do this to you with everything else you have going on."

  "Don't worry about it.  I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"  With that, the two hung up, and Kyungsoo was again left alone with Jongin.  He cleared his throat slightly, and Jongin glanced at him from where he had been putting away the last of the silverware.

  "Sorry, it looks like some work came up."  As if that wasn't clear enough already.  He fiddled with the phone in his hand.  Why was he feeling so damn awkward now?

     Jongin nodded softly, his gaze warm.  "It's okay.  Chanyeol hyung said your work kept you pretty busy most of the time."

     Kyungsoo hummed.  "I don't usually get calls like this at night, but there was a problem with one of our clients."  He moved to refill his coffee cup.  "Anyway, thank you for dinner.  Or, thank your sister for me, please."

     Jongin nodded again, and it wasn't until Kyungsoo had already turned and was nearing the hall that he called out.

  "Hey, Kyungsoo."  He stopped and fully met Jongin's eyes for what felt like the very first time.

  "Thank you," he murmured.  "For earlier, for not making it weird or thinking it was stupid, I guess.  A lot of people would."  Kyungsoo knew what Jongin was referring to, and for a moment, his heart reached out to him.  He couldn't understand how so many people could be so indifferent to a person's suffering.  How they could so blatantly disregard pain.  Here was a man that had suffered, who had lost his parents at such a young age and survived it and worked hard every day of his life to make them proud.  And no one cared.  But Kyungsoo cared.  Kyungsoo thought that Jongin was amazing.

  "They'd have to be idiots," he said instead, each word laced with the admiration he felt for the young man.  He gave a small smile and retreated to his bedroom.

     When Kyungsoo finally left his room later that night, it was twenty-two minutes past twelve.  The apartment was quiet and the walls stood washed in pale moonlight from where they had forgotten to draw the blinds closed.  It was enough light to guide him in the direction of the kitchen, where the coffee pot was so inconveniently located, but his orientation wasn't great in the daytime, let alone in the dark.  He made careful steps down the hallway, mindfully placing one foot before the other again and again until he reached the corner, but stopped when he heard noise coming from the living room.  Jongin should have been in bed already.  He had to work in the morning, so he most certainly shouldn't have been sitting on the floor by the entryway, but that's where Kyungsoo found him when he peered around the wall.

     There was a small lamp by the door that had been left on, glowing soft and yellow on Jongin's already golden cheeks.  His feet were tucked up under him in a crossed leg sort of fashion, and the doors of the small, black lacquered cabinet that was normally shut was now open.  The framed pictures inside glinted pointedly.  Jongin wasn't praying, though Kyungsoo could smell incense burning, leading him to believe that he had already likely done so.  He was just sitting, folded in on himself, talking to the pictures, to his parents.

     It reminded Kyungsoo of the cabinet he had paid respects before as a teenager.  His was red, and there was only one picture inside, but he remembered staying up after everyone else had gone to bed and just sitting in front of it, like Jongin was doing now.  It had been a while since he last thought about it.  Ever since his grandmother had died, Kyungsoo and Baekhyun would both take the time before school to kneel and light incense.  He had even had the picture copied before they left for college, but when they first moved into the apartment, they were barely scraping by.  There was no extra money for a new butsudan, and they had left the other at his parents' home. Whether they used it or not, Kyungsoo never knew.  He framed the picture and hung it on the wall, but at some point, Kyungsoo just hadn't wanted to think about it anymore.  He still prayed, still spoke to her late at night sometimes, but he couldn't deal with the physical reminder.  If he really thought about it, the guilt might have consumed him for his weakness.

     Jongin's voice was too low for Kyungsoo to really make out any words, and he knew that he didn't want to, anyways.  It was a private moment, should have been, at least, and so Kyungsoo crept as quietly as he possibly could back to his room, even though that meant forgoing coffee, and laid awake for a better part of the night thinking about what he had just witnessed.