Twelve
Cherry Blossom // Alt Title: What Comes AroundA/N chapter two of a double update :3
•••
Jinki had initially been shocked when Jonghyun had agreed to letting him hear his compositions. Though a few months had passed in their relationship, and though Jinki had grown increasingly reminiscent of Jonghyun’s voice, the musician had never been keen to share his compositions, stating only that he would when he was ready. Jinki understood this sentiment, not only as a patient soul, but as a fellow artist – it was the most degrading feeling to present work that wasn't finished to any form of finesse. Even if the eye may not notice the slight flaw of the colour saturation in one of his paintings, he most certainly would, and it would aggravate him so deeply that he'd be viciously disappointed in himself, ashamed to present something so untidy.
That was why, after weeks of requesting and throwing the cutest of tones in doing so, despite his reputation, Jinki was surprised to hear Jonghyun accept the request. He didn’t know if it was because of the atmosphere of the day – if maybe the serendipitous nature of the park they'd strolled in and the exaggerated pestering of Jinki had aided his decision – but either way, Jinki had not planned to waste his opportunity. Music was an insight to the mind, and he greatly wanted an insight to Jonghyun’s.
"These aren't-these aren’t strictly polished yet,” Jonghyun confessed, typing a few things into his keyboard to find a specific song. Jinki nodded distantly, too impressed by the room he sat in to do anything more. It was only upon his second visit to Jonghyun’s flat – the visit he was currently consumed by now – that Jinki’s curiosity had piqued at what lay behind the mysterious fourth door of Jonghyun’s apartment. Jinki had assumed it to be a storing cupboard or another bedroom, unbeknownst that Jonghyun’s main hide-out to make music was in the flat itself.
The room was a small box, four-walls all adorned with the images and posters of old, classic indie groups with names that faded as soon as Jinki tried to recall them. The walls were so plastered in the dog-eared band posters and track-lists that the walls themselves were practically hidden. All but one wall, the left wall to Jinki, was smattered in the relics of these artists' prime days. The fourth wall was much more intriguing to Jinki, and was what he currently observed. Pages upon pages were tacked to the wall, torn from notebooks of all ilk and scribbled on with a multitude of chord progressions or lyrics, frantic thoughts all strung together on one haphazard canvas. At times, Jonghyun’s writing was near illegible on these pages, Jinki having to really squint to decipher what was scrawled there.
There were two desk chairs in the room – though Jinki wondered why for there was only one of Jonghyun, he didn’t press it – and in front of them sat the most complicated mass of sound systems, keyboards and wires that Jinki had ever seen, expensive equipment intersected by Jonghyun's large-screen laptop. Jinki almost felt he understood why the musician’s living accommodations were so plain – the entirety of his fortunes had been invested in his equipment.
A guitar also lay against the wall, and the remnants of old, battered keyboards were stacked beside it, coated in a thin sheet of dust. As Jonghyun rested an elbow on the table in front of him, eyes narrowed so they were practically invisible, Jinki awaited his finding of the song.
"I-I won't play you something old,” Jonghyun rambled, eyes never leaving the screen, “but my new stuff is, well, it's- I started composing it around the time I met you, I-“ He stopped, breathed, and ruffled his hair.
"Sorry,” he apologised, turning around to address Jinki, “I'm just nervous. It's been… it's been a long time since anyone's heard my work.” Jonghyun’s words trailed off and his eyes cast over momentarily, gaze struck to the corner illuminated by the low-lighting of the window-less room.
"Don’t worry about it,” Jinki soothed, trying to rupture Jonghyun’s zoned-out demeanour. “I'm sure it will sound wonderful anyway.”
"Yeah…”
Finally, Jonghyun seemed to find the song he wanted, and so smiled weakly, leaning back in his chair as he clicked play.
Jinki wasn't expecting what he heard.
The song started with a low, eclectic mix of electronic sounds, nothing acoustic like a broken guitar symphony as Jinki had wrongly expected. The low synthetic noises soon teamed with the blissful tone of Jonghyun’s voice, and then, in English, a sensual question, “How are you going to dress up tonight?"
Jinki glimpsed over at Jonghyun, eyes widened as the song began to intensify. The lyrics intertwined with the soft moans from Jonghyun’s voice, until dropping in an electronic discord. Though not the type of music Jinki normally listened to, it struck him speechless. All he could do was listen as the sound infected the entire room, Jonghyun awkwardly fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, attempting to gauge Jinki’s silent reaction. Jinki was wondering many things, how Jonghyun wasn't yet a recognised musician and how his talent was going unnoticed, but the grandest thought on his mind was the most poignant one: Who was the song about?
Jinki found himself not wanting the song to end. It scored adrenaline through him and sent his heart into a stuttering frenzy. The sly releases of breath from Jonghyun in the song were beginning to peck at Jinki’s imagination, and he couldn't help but clench his jaw and close his eyes to the ual nature of the song, the rhythm hollowing through him and striking him blankly. As it faded away, his haze still hasn't stopped, and he simply stared at the screen as if Jonghyun had invented the most useful item known to man.
"So, um, I-“ Jonghyun took the mouse again, turning off the software as he glanced over at Jinki, who seemed to be deeply enraptured in thought. The elder had sunk back into his chair and was playing with a loose thread on the arm of the seat.
"Jinki?” Jonghyun prompted.
Jinki glanced up, eyes ablaze. His body coursed with a sense of longing as the lyrics reiterated through him, and the beat rang within despite the song having ended. The silence felt empty without Jonghyun’s music now, as Jinki tried to comprehend what he'd just heard.
"J-Jonghyun,” he stuttered, mind beginning to toy.
He didn’t know why and he couldn’t refrain and didn't want to when the only suggestion he could think of came to mind.
"Jonghyun, I think we should have now.”
•••
Taemin limped absent-mindedly down the dank alleyway, hands sheathed by the pockets of his leather jacket. His dancing bag was slung over his shoulder, but seemed heavier today, as if he'd packed ten pairs of trainers instead of just one light pair of dancing shoes and his clothes. Beneath his jacket he wore a dark jumper, and he had the hood raised, head down as he walked – no, stumbled – in the direction of his apartment.
Anger coursed through him, resentment fuelling any sane thought that gravitated towards him, fuelling it so much it became blinded with rage instantly. He gritted his teeth as he took a left, veering into the narrowest alleyway he'd have to traverse to exact his shortcut. Though threatening at night when drenched in darkness, during the daytime the remnants of sunlight were partially thrown atop the cracked pavement lazily, as if it were a laundry basket for the sun's dirty clothing. Alongside the foul gutters and back-exits to various rundown business came the scent of urine and rubbish, several plastic bags eloping with the breeze. Taemin detested it down here, detested how it was a business centre for drug-dealers and es, for the alcoholics and the addicts. Though his flat was a few alleyways further yet, it was from this narrowed side-street that Taemin could hear the warbled cries as he attempted to sleep, and the shatter of glass as another fight was ended or created.
Dodging an empty aluminium can, Taemin hissed as a pain lanced up his ankle, stiffening his entire leg. He gritted his teeth and tugged on his bag-strap to lessen its burden on his shoulder, staggering when he did so. His ankle throbbed viciously, and he was almost about to cease walking when he heard a deep voice holler down the alleyway.
Taemin kept walking.
"Hey! !”
Taemin buried his hands deeper into his pockets and hastened his step to emerge onto another side-street, to reach his home before subject to any unnecessary confrontation with the prematurely drunk of Seoul.
"Wait up!”
Taemin didn’t want to wait, but he couldn’t prevent the beholder of the voice from catching up with him quickly. Given the twisted nature of Taemin’s injury, his walking was greatly hindered, and so he was almost envious of the free footsteps that casually approached him from behind.
"Ey!” jeered the man.
Taemin felt a strong grip on his arm, and turned slowly, fearfully, already knowing who he was going to be greeted by.
The infamous side-streets around his flat were occupied by many breeds of sorry scum – the ist, the ageist, the racist, the bigoted, the selfish and the downright wrong. Taemin knew this for a fact, for every so often, police tape would cordon off another alley as an investigation was pursued over another beating or mugging or violation of rights. He'd never been questioned before, a clean-record kid with the attitude to keep it that way, and had never fallen victim. Well, except to the homophobic.
"Eunkyo!” shouted the drunken man that Taemin faced warily, hand coiling tighter around his backpack. “It's the little -er I told you about! Eunkyo!”
Another man rounded the alleyway from the same direction Taemin had entered, clearly highly intoxicated. He lolloped against a wall, tall and uncompromising, but Taemin could see no detail by the silhouette he created.
Taemin held his breath as the man in front of him analysed him crudely. His teeth were a mixture of brown and gold, and his skin was spotted, rugged, like parchment. Despite this, he didn’t seem much older than Taemin, flaunting senseless eyes to highlight this fact. His clothes were grubby and his stomach rounded, arms stumps on either side of his bulging figure. He stank pungently of liquor and cigarette smoke.
"L-Leave me alone,” Taemin stuttered, turning away and trying to appear decisive in his attempt to distance himself from the young men. In truth, his body quaked and he could feel his fingers clench tightly in fear, heart stammering. He had to ignore them. They couldn’t try anything in the daylight anyway, not if they were sober enough.
"No, no, no,” muttered the man in the large hoodie, tugging Taemin’s arm tightly and flinging him around again. Taemin stifled a curse as he landed awkwardly on his ankle during the turn, only barely remaining upright as he winced. Perspiration began to form on his brow as the man with the bulbous nose and bushy eyebrows analysed him.
"Eunkyo!” he reiterated, eyes not leaving Taemin, breath hot and disgustingly wretched. “I told you a little ’ lived ‘ere. Look at his eyes!”
Taemin curled inwards on himself as the man began to laugh, clutching his stomach heartily. Attempting a third time to leave, Taemin was unsurprised as the fingertips were found digging harshly into his wrist again, and this time not letting go.
"I-I'll call the police,” Taemin threatened, panic beginning to settle within him. He tugged at his arm but was held in place easily, his own feeble strength no match for the arrogant man’s. They were alone down the alleyway, three acquaintances, the distant rumble of the city silenced as they made their exchanges.
"That's what the last one said,” grinned the man, reaching out and flicking Taemin’s hood. Taemin flushed in anger and embarrassment as his platinum hair was finally revealed, face sculpted with his messy attempt at make-up earlier in the morning. He bit his bottom lip, resisting the urge to cry, as the man in front of him laughed.
“Oh ,” muttered the man’s friend, Eunkyo, finally stumbling into sight, “looks like a little girl. I swear to God if I was high enough and he didn’t have a -“
Taemin stiffened as the chuckles of the near-strangers emanated around him, raucous and uncaring about the hurt they caused. Eunkyo was much taller than his friend, lankier with a more middle-class style. His hair was a bed-headed mess and his nose was thin and hooked, the direct contradiction to the cold-handed threat who gripped Taemin’s wrist menacingly.
"Don’t be a freak,” the nameless villain snapped, before leaning in and peering at Taemin curiously. He dropped the dancer’s thin wrist, nothing separating their faces but for a ruler’s length.
"Nah,” he decided, sour breath brushing by Taemin’s heightened senses as he began to tremble, scared. “What makes you gay?”
"Isn't it obvious?” Eunkyo spat, voice an overdrawn slur whilst he rubbed a hand on his sweatshirt, using the building beside him for support. “He likes it up the .”
Taemin shuddered at their vulgar speech, tears beginning to prick at the corner of his eyes. People had warned him for years about traversing alleyways alone, but had warned him of the circumstance of night. He'd been living for so long in his flat that he was desensitised to the phobia of being caught, but the stranger who observed him had sent everything into a downward spiral, pouncing upon him to provide vocal abuse when he least expected it. Taemin curled in on himself, pining for protection he knew he wouldn’t get.
"Shut the up,” the nameless but recognisable perpetrator scolded, as his friend tittered gleefully, like a child who'd won the lottery. “Why are you a little ?” he asked Taemin.
Taemin blushed, ashamed, and tried, “I-I'm not gay.”
The flimsy nature of his speech caused Eunkyo to laugh and point at the make-up Taemin was wearing, as if it were the pinnacle of the dancer’s personality
"You dress like one,” the nameless stranger mused.
Taemin’s eyes became misted as another laugh permeated through the increasingly cold and gloomy alleyway.
"Oh, look,” cooed Eunkyo, the more drunken of the two. “You're makin’ him cry.”
"Oh my God!” exclaimed this nameless one, seams about to burst with giddy laughter. “I can't- kid, what's the matter, eh?”
He reached out and touched Taemin’s arm as if to comfort him, the dancer flinching backwards immediately. A tight knot became constricted in his gut – a knot of nervousness, fear, and the unshakable idea that maybe, just maybe, he deserved such mockery.
"We aren't going to hurt you,” consoled the man, eyes attempting a hand at soft-play. “We just want to understand what makes a freak like you tick, isn't that right, Eunkyo?”
"Well, we sor’ of know a’ready,” Eunkyo drawled. “Don't even know why we're talking to a filthy ert.”
"I-I'm not a ert,” Taemin tried helplessly, wrenching his arm backwards, panic beginning to riddle his voice. “Now-now leave me alone!"
"Hey, Hojeon,” Eunkyo interrupted, taking another step closer. Though the now-named Hojeon was at least a few inches taller than Taemin, Eunkyo towered over them both. Taemin hadn’t remembered seeing anyone so tall, the tallest person he was used to seeing being-
Being Minho.
"Hojeon, what's in the bag?” Eunkyo pondered, as the image of a handsome, caring basketballer became augmented alongside the other desperate thoughts in Taemin’s mind. He would have given anything to be with Minho at this time, for the basketballer was strong, supportive, oblivious to danger and, most importantly, despite everything, he still cared. Taemin shivered, eyes welling up. He needed to feel Minho’s strong arms around him, needed to feel his comfort, to break through the tight malevolence of the alleyway.
"This bag?” retorted Hojeon, reaching forward and tugging on Taemin’s bag strap. Taemin instantly wrenched away, twisting his entire body to protect the bag, blinking through the pain that riddled his ankle.
"Oh, it’s a precious one,” Hojeon observed, as Taemin shot a trembling glare his way, holding the bag tightly to his body. “Come on, we just want one little peek.”
Taemin almost snarled as Hojeon grabbed out to only miss the strap. Taemin couldn’t tell if it was a simple error or Hojeon’s own drunkenness hindering his perception.
"Give me the ing bag,” Hojeon demanded, angry now. Taemin could only yelp as he felt a strong fist grip his silky strands of hair and wrench his head back, forcing him to lift his arms in pain. Using his other hand, Hojeon hauled at the strap until Taemin relented and allowed it to slide down his arm, body screaming, for the pressure Hojeon applied made it feel as if he could easily tear Taemin’s scalp off.
Taemin was crying now, unable to stop the large, yet silent, teardrops that slid salt-trails down his cheeks. He was intimidated, scared and helpless, inwardly pleading for just about anyone to save him from the encounter.
"Now, let's see,” Hojeon murmured, as Taemin whimpered quietly, stunned into quietness. Whilst Hojeon fumbled with the zip, Taemin contemplated running, to protect himself and to protect his life – but there was no point. His life was practically worthless without the items in his bag, and he couldn’t afford replacements. He needed them back.
"Please,” Taemin breathed, “be careful.”
Hojeon wrenched open the bag nastily, the zip immediately breaking and a few of the contents tumbling out instantly, including his mobile. The screen shattered upon impact with the ground and Taemin winced.
"The hell…” Hojeon breathed, joined now by Eunkyo, who peered into the bag mercilessly.
Run, Taemin. Run.
“You have got to be kidding me,” he continued, lips slowly twitching upwards as he revealed one of Taemin’s dancing shoes. “Are you… are you a dancer?”
Taemin lowered his head, ashamed, and tried, “Be-be careful, they're expensive, please-“
"Oh my God,” Eunkyo tittered, ignoring Taemin and allowing his clothes to flutter to the ground, “this is too good.”
Taemin, go. It doesn't matter. Go.
As Taemin watched on in shocked horror, his heart became increasingly rampant, for there was one last thing in the bag he knew he would never see again if they were to find it. He didn’t know why he always carried it – it was stupid and immature and childish and silly – but as his bag became further emptied, he couldn’t help but worry for it, eyes practically shivering in their sockets as he paled.
"What's- is this-“ Hojeon rummaged around in the bag and revealed the last item carelessly, tossing the bag to the floor as he did so. Taemin froze, not wanting to meet their gaze and not able to trespass the cowardice that enveloped him. All he wanted to do was curl up and accept their jaded hatred, succumb to the abuse he knew he'd receive, but he also wanted to flee, to scamper into the arms of the only one he'd ever trusted, and the one who'd let him down, the basketballer with the handsome smile and the uplifting spirit.
"Aw,” Hojeon expelled, as he examined the small item in his hand, showing it to Eunkyo as he did so. The hush was deadly as Taemin bit his bottom lip, another fat teardrop scoring into his ashen skin.
"Is this your boyfriend?” questioned Hojeon mockingly, flashing the picture so that Taemin could see. Taemin stared blankly, too scared to know how to respond adequately.
"Y’ did well,” mused Eunkyo, words laced in something indescribable, “very well.” He his bottom lip as he examined the picture, and Taemin suddenly felt the chapped lips of rage kiss his flesh.
"He's-He's not my boyfriend,” Taemin mumbled, like a child denied a gift. “Give-give it back. Please.”
"Not your boyfriend?” laughed Hojeon. “Then who is he? Doesn’t look like a brother.”
As Eunkyo continued to study the picture, eyes beady as if conducting a mystery, Taemin reached out a hand to snatch it back. Hojeon whipped it away quickly and dangled it out of Taemin’s reach, the dancer becoming increasingly desperate.
"Who is it then?” Hojeon pondered mockingly, grin embroiled with malice as the breeze picked up down the alleyway, and that same aluminium can Taemin had recently tried to avoid skittered by his feet.
"It's just a friend,” Taemin clarified, words a flustered mess as he tried to string them together. “Please, I-“
“A friend,” nodded Eunkyo, the words limpid on his tongue. “Where does he live, eh? Can we visit him and make sure you both see the relationship the same? Wouldn’t want him getting hurt, would we?”
Taemin took a step backwards, emotions too pent up to form a coherent response. His breathing began to quicken, just as the passing of time.
"I'm sure he wouldn’t like his little princess hurt either,” Hojeon decided, reaching out and touching Taemin’s cheek. Taemin jerked his head away, cheeks burning as Eunkyo laughed.
",” he breathed to his friend, and Hojeon elbowed him, not keen to be denoted as such a distasteful thing.
"I've never ed a man before,” Eunkyo departed.
Taemin stiffened.
"Oh,” Hojeon nodded, his eyes beginning to graze over Taemin in an analytical manner, that left little to the imagination. Taemin swallowed thickly, nausea tampering with his raw terror.
"How does it work?" Eunkyo asked, cocking his head curiously. “Maybe we should try it, Hojeon, see what the craze is all about.”
Taemin’s mouth suddenly felt very dry, and his palms suddenly very sweaty.
"Shut up,” Hojeon jabbed, “you ert. If you're curious, try it out on this one, but don’t turn into a on me, please.”
Eunkyo frowned, as if actually contemplating the offer. Taemin had to go, he had to run, he had to move, but his legs were frozen to the spot and his mind frozen to his fright. He wanted to pray to God, to get them to stop, but his mind was too stunted to deliver this wish.
“If I kissed him, would you tell anyone?”
Taemin turned and tried to run. He could return for his things later, or for what were still of any use. He had to go, he had to-
Taemin was slammed against the wall. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, didn’t know why he'd even had the glimmer of hope that he could outrun the healthy men with his damaged ankle. He barely fluttered an eyelash at the pain across his leg now, any fight within him dissolving. Eunkyo had him pinned against the wall, their bodies so close that Taemin could practically feel Eunkyo’s heartbeat. The scent of alcohol on his breath was as poignant as the spark in his tired eyes, and he had Taemin pinned in such a way that it was painful to even attempt to move. The dancer strained his arm, grimacing, but eventually elapsed back against the cold wall, an elastic band stretched beyond its limit. He couldn’t fight them, no matter how hard he tried. Maybe if he let them do what they wanted without hassle, they'd leave him alone sooner. Fear fringed on Taemin’s mind as Eunkyo’s harsh words insulted him.
"You're a pretty boy,” Eunkyo hissed in a whispered tone, right by Taemin’s ear so the younger could feel the hot, damp breath against his skin. He shivered, mind starting to dwell in an abstract delirium.
It's okay, Taemin. Just close your eyes. It's okay. It's okay.
Taemin screwed his eyes shut, preventing the onslaught of tears. By now, his make-up had probably created streaks of a gritty black down his cheeks, like the ligaments of spiders.
"Very, very pretty,” Eunkyo continued, dragging a finger down Taemin’s cheek. Taemin shuddered, slender frame completely drowned by the tall mass of Eunkyo pressed tightly against him.
"Eun-“ tried Hojeon, only to be silence by a harsh, “Shh.”
Impertinently, Hojeon stamped his foot.
When Eunkyo finally leant down and forced his lips onto Taemin’s, the dancer was writhing in his arms, so scared he wanted to scream. He understood now how insects died of fear, how their little bodies crumpled under the gaze of predators, for he felt he would too. Eunkyo’s lips were like sandpaper as he attempted to get Taemin to comply to his advance, but the younger stayed resolute, trying to break away despite his confinements, and letting out winces to show his displeasure. Tearing away and cursing, Eunkyo dug his knee into the dancer and pinched Taemin’s side so roughly it caused him to cry out in pain. Taking advantage, Eunkyo attached his mouth to Taemin’s again and this time gained purchase. His tongue roughly explored the dancer’s mouth as he groaned – not in pleasure, in pain and in fear – but his movements were futile as he struggled to break free.
Eunkyo was enjoying himself all too much at the dancer’s expense. He moaned and bucked his hips forward into the dancer, and Taemin wanted to cry, wanted to run, but couldn’t. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t ing move.
"Eunkyo,” tried a distant voice, “come on, leave him, he's a ing kid. Come on.”
Eunkyo pulled away, lips red, breathing heavily. Taemin’s lower lip was cut from where he'd chewed it, and his eyes were swollen with tears. He looked so helpless, so pathetic, so vulnerable. Eunkyo wanted him.
"Please, Hojeon,” Eunkyo attempted, not leaving Taemin for a second. “Let me finish, I'll only be a few minutes, I swe-“
Hojeon grabbed his friend's shoulder and hauled him off of Taemin. It was as if he'd been dragged from water when Eunkyo was no longer against him, but in his state of despair, all Taemin could do was crumple to his knees.
"Come on,” Hojeon urged, “don’t lower yourself to their filthy level. He's nothing but a erted bastard.”
Hojeon snarled at Taemin and spat at the ground to show his contempt for such a lifestyle, but did no more. Eunkyo seemed conflicted, but decided to follow his friend, knowing he wouldn’t get the peace he desired with the dancer. Knowing when to abandon things, he followed Hojeon in kicking Taemin’s belongings, and leaving him stranded in the alleyway.
•••
“That wasn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting.”
Jinki and Jonghyun lay side-by-side, panting heavily. For some reason unbeknownst to Jinki, their hands were clasped as they both lay staring at the ceiling, unable to fully comprehend what had just happened. Jonghyun’s words had been the first to crack the verging-on-unbearable silence, fingertips light against Jinki’s palm. They were both , covered only slightly by the duvet that was curled awkwardly around them, and their senses were depleted by the scent of lust and perspiration.
Though his eyes were clung to the ceiling, Jinki was struggling to not allow his gaze to drift to Jonghyun’s expanse of bronzed skin. He simply lay there, breathing, trying to realign his thoughts.
"It was a good song,” Jinki departed.
Jonghyun laughed.
Softly, the musician let out a small purr and curled into Jinki, resting his head on the artist’s up-and-down chest. His frail hand fell just where Jinki’s heart would be, fingers clammy against the warm skin. Jinki tensed as Jonghyun nuzzled the side of his face atop his body, legs grazing his own as they coiled together. Absent-mindedly, Jinki began to Jonghyun’s back, the younger mewling in contentment as he balled his fist and relaxed.
They lay like this for a while, in silence and in understanding. Jinki felt relieved that his weeks of pent up emotion and exhaustion and want for Jonghyun had finally unravelled, his lusting satiated in the most wonderful of ways. Tenderly, he began to play with the strands of Jonghyun’s soft hair, body still wracked in shivers from the feeling of having his lover inside him only moments earlier. His entire being stiffened at the thoughts that riddled him, the recent sounds of the creaking bed and his own uncontrollable moans. It'd been electrifying, dissociating him from reality as he'd urgently reached his . He breathed out, tired.
"Hey, Jinki,” Jonghyun murmured, voice muffled by the body of the man he addressed. Jonghyun paused, shifted slightly out of a distant awkwardness, accidentally rubbing his small nose against Jinki’s chest as he did so. The older grinned, overwhelmed with affection.
"Jinki, I think, next time, we should, y’know, we should change things up, sort of.”
Jinki frowned, and tilted his head, fingers gently falling so that they dashed along Jonghyun’s spine.
"What do you mean?” he asked, voice thick in the small room, that was dusted with the light of the early afternoon so serendipitously.
"I mean, I just-“ Jonghyun struggled with his words, attempting to find a suitable way to unveil his thoughts. “I think maybe, like, next time, if you want, you could y'know me, for a change.”
"Y'know you?” Jinki returned, confusion knitting his brows together as his lover struggled with his words.
"Yeah, y’know,” Jonghyun nodded, “y'know."
“No,” Jinki admitted, a smile tugging on his lips. “I don't know.”
"Goddammit, Lee Jinki,” Jonghyun exclaimed playfully, “do I have to spell it out!”
"Yes,” Jinki grinned coyly, though, deep down, he gathered the roots of Jonghyun’s request. The younger didn’t know this, of course, and so Jinki was finding it irreversibly adorable to tease.
“I think you should, y’know, like, me for a change.”
Jonghyun buried his head into Jinki’s chest in stubborn embarrassment, cheeks burning red. He didn’t move for a second.
“Well, I mean,” Jinki began, but Jonghyun thumped him.
"No, don’t spoil it, just think about it,” his lover decided. “Surprise me next time we have .”
"Fine,” Jinki nodded, body burning from Jonghyun’s touch.
Another second passed.
"No, but, really though,” Jonghyun interjected, finally sitting up and staring down into Jinki’s eyes expectantly. “Did you actually enjoy my song or did you just come here to, y’know, do stuff?"
Jinki raised an eyebrow, but leaned up also when he realised that Jonghyun was serious. He rested on his elbows, the duvet exposing his torso, as Jonghyun rolled sideways to lie on his arm, cheek resting in his own hand as he awaited Jinki’s answer.
"Your song was seriously good,” Jinki complimented, gazing down at Jonghyun confidently. “Really, seriously, it was amazing. You need more recognition, Jonghyun. I can't believe your talent is going unnoticed, seriously.”
"Oh,” Jonghyun blushed suddenly, eyelids fluttering as he read the sincerity in Jinki’s voice. “Oh.”
"Come here,” Jinki beckoned, and Jonghyun obliged, leaning forward so that Jinki could wrap his narrow frame in his small arms. As Jinki kissed the top of Jonghyun’s head protectively, Jonghyun reached up and nibbled at Jinki’s ear with the softest of touches, Jinki swatting him as he did so.
"Ah,” Jonghyun sighed, leaving one last kiss on the corner of Jinki’s jaw, “I'm going to go shower. I won't be long, but-but help yourself to, like, tea or coffee or anything, really. Or you can lie here also. Or-or whatever.”
Jonghyun sat up, candyfloss hair a bed-headed mess and eyes glazed with uncertainty. He was about to throw the duvet off of himself when he realised he was still stark . He tensed, suddenly awkward, and glimpsed over at Jinki.
"Look away,” he commanded Jinki, hands on the duvet precariously.
"Why? It's not like I've never seen you before.”
"Because-“ Jonghyun exhaled impertinently and scrunched up his facial expression like crumpled paper. “Because being when having is different than, like, just seeing me standing there. You don’t pay attention at other times. It's-it's different, okay. So look away!”
"No.”
Jonghyun shot him a narrow-eyed gaze, but a childish one at that. Despite having lost to many arguments over the years given his under-confident personality and lack of authority, this argument was one Jonghyun was most certainly not going to lose.
"Lee Jinki, I am warning you, if I catch you staring at me when I get out of this bed, I will make your life a misery.”
Jinki smiled.
"You sound like a school teacher,” Jinki confessed, hiding behind his hand as he stifled a laugh.
"Oh, God, what, no, God, that's,” Jonghyun paused. “Lee Jinki you are a piece of work, I swear.”
Jinki just grinned.
"I'm going to get out of the bed now,” Jonghyun warned, bracing himself for either searching eyes or for his request to be granted (though he sincerely doubted that would overthrow the latter).
"Okay,” Jinki nodded, smiling that God-awfully adorable smile with those God-awfully adorable cheeks of his. As much as Jonghyun detested his boyfriend when he was like this, he also loved it.
"Getting out now,” Jonghyun nodded slowly, revealing the corner of his toe from beneath the duvet.
Jinki nodded.
"Oh God, I'm dating a creep,” Jonghyun mumbled, fretting over what to do, until Jinki finally relented. He firmly clamped his hands over his eyes and smiled, before muttering, “See? I'm great.”
"Idiot,” Jonghyun insulted, but nevertheless dragged himself out of bed, body cold in the unkempt room.
As he did so, Jinki couldn’t resist peeking out from a gap between his fingers.
•••
Taemin fumbled with his keys awkwardly, unable to hold his fingers still for long enough to find the right one to insert into the lock. He was a mess – he stank of second-hand alcoholism and his eyes were blotchy, cheeks stained in makeup – but he'd managed to hide himself from passers-by with a lowered head and raised hood. He'd practically sprinted home despite his injury, and now his ankle clawed at him viciously. His dance instructor had sent him home early because of his ankle, had said that Taemin couldn't even perform a simple move and had forced him out before he injured it further.
Taemin shouldn’t even have been down the alleyway. It was all the fault of his ankle. All the fault of his ing ankle.
He dropped the keys and cursed, bending down to pick them up. His bag was broken, slung uselessly over his arm, contents peering out of the zip that was opened like a hungered mouth. In the compact corridor where the scent of urine lingered and the unpredictability of safety rang true, it was just another setback to the dancer’s terrorised mind.
"Taemin?”
Taemin froze, the key finally sliding into the lock. Though he knew the owner of the voice, he couldn’t turn around, couldn't let them see. If they did, he didn’t know how they'd react. He couldn’t imagine it would be with concern, though the thought still confused him.
"Taemin?” spoke the voice, louder now.
"Hi,” Taemin muttered, unlocking his flat and entering. He didn’t want the visitor to follow for his living premises were so squalid they embarrassed him, but he supposed it mattered little – Kibum had been in his flat before, after all.
Taemin scanned his flat quickly before Kibum could enter, trying to regain the image of normality as he clocked the room. He allowed the bag to slide off his shoulder for he didn’t care where it landed, and leaned a shoulder against the wall, physically and mentally exhausted.
The flat was small. So small, Taemin doubted there to be tinier residencies available to him. It only had two rooms (the block of flats shared communal showers and toilets, for to install such facilities in each individual flat would have been absurd) and the kitchen area was clumped together with the living area. There was a kitchenette, a sofa, room to breathe and little else. The corners of the wallpaper were dog-eared and mould was beginning to fester on the ceiling. The bulb that hung had no lamp-shade and a few empty coffee cups sat on the lowly coffee table, Taemin never energised enough to wash them. Sometimes, given the landlord’s lack of care, he didn’t even have running water anyway.
He heard Kibum enter behind him. The elder was perceptive, and instantly knew there was something wrong. He didn’t wrinkle his nose up at the flat as he usually did, didn’t comment on how it was miles from his own apartment. He simply stood, waited for Taemin to invite him in properly.
"Why are you here?” Taemin asked shakily, finally managing to retain the strength he needed to make sense of his visitor and surroundings. He could still feel Eunkyo against him, could taste the tar of cigarette on his lips, could feel the pinch in his side where Eunkyo had nipped him.
"You weren’t answering my calls,” Kibum explained, “and I haven’t seen you in ages, Taemin.”
Taemin nodded and stalked forward, still not lowering his hood, still not acknowledging his no-doubt pristine guest with sight. Instead, he walked to the kitchen counter and gripped it, arms coursing with weakness. He just wanted to elapse, to be held by the arms of the one he wanted to hold him, but that wouldn’t happen, and it never would, and instead he'd been held by a stranger down a dark alleyway with the penchant for devastating Taemin’s slowly depleting self-assurance.
"Taemin, what's wrong?”
There was something unprecedented in Kibum’s voice. His cockiness had subsided, his over-confidence now gone, and in its plainest of tones it was almost eerie.
"Just tired,” Taemin answered.
"I didn’t think I'd find you here,” Kibum muttered, “but I couldn’t not check. I thought you'd be out dancing, or whatever it is you do.”
Taemin wiped his cheeks, trying to clear the smudged eyeliner. Kibum couldn’t see him like this. He couldn’t.
"Shouldn’t you be at work?” Taemin deflected, not bothering to address Kibum’s clear curiosity. He rubbed an eye, the traces of make-up staining his hand. He still hadn’t looked at the elder, not once.
"It's my lunch break,” Kibum answered. “I have to be back in-“ a brief pause as he checked his watch, “-in thirty minutes.”
"Oh.”
The silence was uncomfortable.
"So how's it going, your dancing and everything?” Kibum asked, leaning around to try and gain a glimpse at Taemin’s face. The younger was still content in hiding it, however.
"Fine,” Taemin bit back, surprisingly sharp. He inwardly cursed himself, feeling pathetic at the fact he'd addressed one of his only friends so harshly. Dampening his tone, he continued, “It's going fine.”
"And your ankle?” Kibum pressed, knowing when his presence wasn’t wanted but not accepting it. “How's your ankle?”
"Better,” Taemin lied.
Kibum nodded slowly. He'd seen Taemin limping. He knew, deep down, he was being fed bull.
"Well, that’s-that’s good,” he murmured, casting his eyes around the flat gingerly. There were no traces of personality, as if it was inhabited by an empty spirit.
"I'll-I'll go,” Kibum concluded, words uncharacteristically flustered. “I'll see you later, right?”
"Right,” Taemin breathed, on the verge of tears, again. Taemin waited until he heard the door click shut.
His own company was the darkest and lightest; a cacophonic emersion of two aethers, one where he was in power and one where he was weak. Two halves that didn’t click together, yet they made a whole, they made him. Taemin pushed himself from the counter, and blinked emptily.
Unsure why he did it, he walked to the broken bag and rooted through it. The walls were very dull around him, the prying eyes they once were no longer energised enough to care. With dainty fingers he lifted the item he'd been mocked most for, and stood, staring at it.
He didn’t know why he always carried it – it was stupid and immature and childish and silly – but he couldn’t help it. Taemin held the picture and stared at it with leaden eyes. It was a few years old, stained in the corners and of little value to any but him, but it reminded him of a happier time, a clearer time, of a time where he wasn't so different. In the picture, he stood with his arms playfully wrapped around a taller man, a man who saw the gesture as nothing more than friendship, a man as oblivious to Taemin’s affection as he was to the dancer’s clear uality.
Holding tightly to the old picture of himself and Minho, Taemin began to cry.
hey guys... Just wanted you to know that hopefully I'll be able to update tomorrow
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