Sixteen
Cherry Blossom // Alt Title: What Comes AroundA/N sorry for the wait :/ thank you for sticking around <3
•••
Jinki awoke to the scent of pancakes.
Glancing over at the small alarm clock beside him, he saw that it was just past seven. The mornings were darker now, given that the depths of winter were beginning to unfurl their hooked claws, and so he had no blissful sunlight to serenade him. He had the simple half-gloom of a Tuesday morning, and so he sat up tiredly, reached an arm over and clicked on the bedside lamp, flooding the small room in a comfortable orange glow.
He perched like this for a minute, staring absent-mindedly into space, until he remembered why he'd woken up.
Pancakes.
It hadn’t taken Jonghyun long to uncover Jinki’s affinity for the use-all-in-your-larder treats, and nor had it taken him long to devise the perfect recipe, preferring to abandon the cookbook in search of his own. Though Jinki had been sceptical of Jonghyun’s first attempts at the sugary spectacles, he'd soon been won over when the musician had brandished a lemon to accompany the dish, and every morning he'd spent with Jonghyun since he'd been eating pancakes – not that Jinki minded.
Rolling out of bed (quite literally) Jinki reached out for his dressing gown, bare arms prickling at the morning’s tight chill. He pulled it on as he perched on the edge of his bed, knees bent and posture slack. Though Jonghyun had began to nag about how the cold wasn’t healthy for Yoogeun, Jinki had dismissed the younger’s criticisms – Yoogeun had a surplus of fluffy blankets and was sweltered as it was. Wasting his sparse funds on the heating was a remarkably silly idea. Yoogeun would be fine, of course he'd be fine.
Jinki sighed momentarily, pausing as he rubbed his eyes with the palms of two calloused hands. His skin was rough from blisters forming at his constant necessity to paint, and he wasn’t a luxurious man, he didn’t indulge in the varieties of scented hand creams that Jonghyun had suggested. If his hands were calloused, they would remain so, until they softened with age and with nature. His neck also hurt slightly, but for entirely different reasons. Small marks were already forming from where Jonghyun had sneakily nibbled his neck the night before, pesky and seductive, though his prowling for attention was met with little reward. Jinki still refused to do anything whilst Yoogeun slept underneath the same roof – it made him uncomfortable, made Jonghyun aggravated, and left the couple always pining for more than they could gain. Jonghyun understood, however, and would bide his time until Yoogeun was sent to nursery before advancing upon the artist.
A head popped around the door, startling Jinki.
"How long have you been sitting there? Don’t you have to wake Yoogeun up? Isn't it almost school-time?”
Jinki blinked at Jonghyun with bleary eyes.
"Lee Jinki, answer me this moment or I swear I will throw your pancakes out. “
"Jonghyun, you asked me three questions.”
Jonghyun paused, and Jinki smiled, finally able to glimpse at the form of his lover. A dust of flour was flaked across Jonghyun’s soft cheek, and the maroon hoodie of Jinki’s he'd ‘borrowed’ was likewise coated in the white powder. Given the state of the chef, Jinki didn’t even want to contemplate the state of his kitchen.
“Come here,” Jinki beckoned quietly, hoping their exchange wouldn’t prematurely wake his son.
Jonghyun stepped in hesitantly, eyes squinted in suspicion, and approached Jinki’s still-sitting form. Jonghyun held a refreshing scent and a smile awash in polite cheeriness, knowing he was still, inevitably, a guest in Jinki’s home. When he approached Jinki, he knelt down before him, pink hair forever-fluffy under the orange glow of the lamplight, smile forever crooked along the edge of his soft lips.
"Good morning,” Jinki addressed calmly, reaching down and pecking a kiss on Jonghyun’s nose.
Jonghyun shivered, and reached out for the hand of his lover, clenching it tightly and murmuring, “Yeah, it certainly is.”
When he stood, he used Jinki’s hand to tug the artist with him, forcing him to his feet gently. Though shaky as he'd merely woken, Jonghyun was so ginger in action that Jinki barely felt the slight click in his bones as he struggled to re-embrace the daily activity of a man so young.
"Pancakes for breakfast?” Jinki asked, as they stumbled from the room like two school children. The landing was brightly lit by the overhead lights, and Jinki had to rub vigorously at his eyes to accustom them as soon as Jonghyun dropped his hand.
"Well, um, pancake batter, currently,” Jonghyun admitted. “And I thought since, like, it's almost Christmas, I'd give them a, y’know, Christmassy twist.”
"Oh God, don’t tell me you raided my cupboards again,” Jinki sighed jokingly, as Jonghyun began to pad downstairs.
"Just cinnamon!” he called up. “I swear!”
Jinki rolled his eyes, and went to wake Yoogeun.
After dressing his son and dragging him downstairs – for he was beginning to grow quite inclined to his pirate-themed bed – Yoogeun launched himself at Jonghyun with a ferocity most unparalleled. The musician was taken aback as the tiny figure clutched onto the leg of his pyjama trousers, but he didn’t mind, for Yoogeun was one of the most uplifting things in Jonghyun’s life – Yoogeun and his overly-anxious father.
"Careful, Yoogeun,” was all Jinki offered as Jonghyun cautiously peeled him off, trying his best to avoid smearing the remainders of the batter over Yoogeun’s clothes for school (a top with a pirate on it and a pair of dusty blue dungarees, for Yoogeun really did love pirates). The kitchen and subsequently the living area were filled with the delicious aroma of the stack of delicate pancakes Jonghyun had created, the saccharine kiss of the lemon juice and sugar a delectable fancy as Jinki lifted his son. They still hadn’t told the menace about their relationship, and in Yoogeun’s innocent eyes, Jonghyun was still a friendly Superhero, and Jinki his haphazard friend.
"You should open a pancake place,” Jinki mused, as he held his son with one strong arm, Yoogeun’s fist becoming entangled with his unkempt brunette hair. Jinki staggered towards Jonghyun, protectively holding his son as the musician busied himself with stacking the dishes in the dishwasher. As Jonghyun inspected a spoon nonchalantly, Jinki set Yoogeun down again, wincing at the slight pain that shot through his back as soon as he went to stand. The muscles in his arms were tense as he straightened himself, and when he did so, he found Jonghyun staring at him with a mischievous smirk on his face.
"Old man,” he jibed playfully, causing Jinki to swat at him as his son tore away into the living room. “I swear, if this affects us having -“
"Hey!” Jinki exclaimed, twisting his head around to ensure Yoogeun wasn’t in earshot. “Save that talk for the bedroom.”
"Oh, I intend to,” Jonghyun smirked, storing away the last of the dishes and closing the dishwasher for Jinki to start up later. Jinki observed Jonghyun quietly for a moment, as the younger clutched his sleeves and buried his face in his hands, depleted even though having only woken up an hour earlier. He was tired, worn out from his workload that had been steadily increasing, and Jinki saw that no clearer than when they decided to spend a night together – not to make love, but to cuddle in the dead of night for the sanctuary their relationship provided. Jonghyun was so content on these nights, so peaceful, any sorrow spirit reprimanded before it could consume him. Jinki would lie by his side, hold him in those strong – albeit over-wrought – arms, and gently hum into his ear, or plant kisses on his head, or massage his abdomen carefully, not to arouse, but to ensure Jonghyun knew that Jinki was there, and planned to be, for a very, very long time.
It had been almost four weeks since the graveyard confession. The days had rocked by on distant rowboats and time had blurred so quickly that Jinki hadn't deemed it as fit to notice. His birthday was soon, another year to score off his brief timeline, and then would be Christmas, and then the start of another year that could bring countless surprises, and he was ready to spend that year with Jonghyun. Although the confession had brought them closer, Jinki was still yet to open up about his past, and he knew Jonghyun was curious, but Jinki was biding his time. He would tell – when he was ready.
"I love you,” Jinki muttered, causing Jonghyun to whip his hands from his head and laugh. “God,” reiterated Jinki, “I really love you.”
"Hey,” Jonghyun smiled, his heartbeat never ceasing from that constant fluttering Jinki inflicted, “what's gotten into you all of a sudden? Normally it's 'Oh, Jonghyun, you're such an idiot', not 'Oh, Jonghyun, my undying love."
"I don’t know,” Jinki shrugged, leaning the small of his back against the kitchen counter, “I just felt like I had to say it.”
"Ha, sure, sure. You're just angling for something after Yoogeun heads off to nursery.”
"I've no idea what you're talking about,” Jinki murmured, ignoring the slight butterflies within him at Jonghyun’s accusation.
"Believable,” Jonghyun nodded sarcastically, strolling to the plate of pancakes and tearing the corner from the top one. As he chewed on it slowly, a thought came to mind that he departed as soon as he swallowed.
"Hey, we need to talk later,” he mumbled, blinking the remnants of sleep from his eyes hesitantly.
"That sounds serious,” Jinki answered, concerned. From the living area, the sounds of a revving engine emanated from Yoogeun as he began to play with his swathe of toys.
"No, it's not, it's just- I'll tell you later, now isn’t the time.”
Though consoled, Jinki still felt nervous, the debate of what Jonghyun could mean already whittling away at his thoughts.
"But anyway,” Jonghyun directed, clapping his hands enthusiastically, “I think it's about time we ate these pancakes.”
•••
Jonghyun’s body was warm.
As he lay tucked against Jinki, beneath the crinkled duvet of the elder’s unmade bed, the sun had only just risen, but left with it a slate of grey clouds broken by next-to-no light, a blank state outside of the bedroom. Jinki’s fingers Jonghyun’s arm, a subconscious movement that sent trembles down the musician’s bare skin, the shivers dissipating at his toes as he managed to regain himself. His entire body shook, but he didn’t mind, for against his shoulder he could feel Jinki’s heartbeat as he pressed into the artist’s chest, leaning against his upright form as they sat, silent.
"Please,” Jonghyun finally managed, “say something.”
Jinki was undoubtedly hesitant as he stared at the window, at the all-too-familiar view outside. His body still distantly pulsed, and he knew he should have been cold given all that separated his body from the winter chill of his house was a light duvet, but with Jonghyun so closely to him, coldness was the last thing he felt. As the younger sighed wearily against Jinki’s chest, fingers tracing circles across his abdomen, the artist finally answered.
"I don’t know, Jjong’… He hasn't spoken to me for weeks and you think now is a good time to tell him and the others about us?”
Jonghyun shrugged, intoxicated by the familiar scent of Jinki, his friendly cologne and perspiration, his soft hair and fragrant skin. They could have been anywhere and he would have felt the same - blissful.
"It's just... we haven't told a soul yet, Jinki, and-and I know you're scared of the outcome, I am too, but I love you and I just don’t see why I have to hide that, why we can't celebrate it like any other couple.”
"Because we aren’t ‘any other couple,’” Jinki spoke tersely, words almost grated against his throat. “We're… Well, us.”
They lay in silence for a moment more, relaxed by the sound of each other’s quiet breathing. Jonghyun nuzzled his head so closely to Jinki’s chest that his voice became muffled when he next spoke.
"He really hasn't spoken to you in that long?”
Jinki nodded, his of Jonghyun’s arm becoming more stressed as he cleared his throat, not wanting to think of something so upsetting in the aftermath of something so beautiful.
"Not weeks, Jjong’. I'm really worried about him. Really worried.”
"Have you tried talking to his parents?” Jonghyun asked carefully, splaying the palm of his hand flat across Jinki’s defined chest. His exhalations were sending the tiniest of reverberations across Jinki as they prickled his exposed flesh.
"Yeah, but they didn't act like anything was wrong, and I thought it would be… I don’t know, immature, I guess, to bring it up. He's a grown man, after all, and I'm sure he's fine, it's just – we're normally inseparable, Jonghyun. I feel like I haven't seen him in months.”
"Maybe it's the basketball,” Jonghyun suggested, propping himself up slightly so he could look Jinki directly in the eye. The elder appeared worn, a piece of clothing one would discard in the emptiest of charity shops. “The season might have hit hard or something.”
"It usually isn’t bad around this time,” Jinki debated, shrugging a shoulder. “In fact, he's normally excited, because the matches give him an opportunity to play. He always would tell me about them, but not this time – and it's not like I haven’t tried contacting him, you've seen the amount of messages I keep sending, right?”
"Right.” Jonghyun sighed, flopping back atop the white cushion beside him, until he was sitting as his partner, back firm against the headboard of the old bed, duvet only reaching the bottom of his torso.
"I just don’t know,” Jinki frowned, eyebrows creasing momentarily so that he aged a millennia. Everything about him was stiff, uncoordinated, as if he'd lost part of the sheen that gave him his identity. “It wouldn’t be as bad if Yoogeun didn’t miss him so much, but, I mean, he practically worships him.”
Jinki chuckled sadly.
"Maybe he's just having a rough patch, relationship problems or something… Look, Jinki, if his parents haven't said anything then I'm sure whatever has happened will only affect him temporarily, y’know?”
"I hope you're right,” Jinki murmured, “because I really miss him.”
Time passed as it did with all its whispered secrets, and Jinki let it pass for he was content to with Jonghyun by his side. For some reason the elder could not detail, when once his life had been rushed, been hectic, been flashing by too quickly, now it was slow, comfortable and held the feelings of love he'd unknowingly been pining for. Jinki knew this was down to Jonghyun. It had been several weeks since the younger’s graveyard confession, several weeks for the pair to come to terms with Jonghyun’s past. He wasn’t the man he had once been, and never would he be that man again, but Jinki didn't mind, for Jonghyun was the man he loved.
"Have you tried visiting?” Jonghyun finally asked, tilting his head at Jinki. Beneath the duvet, he felt for Jinki’s hand, and curled his clammy fingers around it. Jinki didn't know why, but he didn’t flinch, as Jonghyun began to massage his palm carefully.
"I don’t normally just visit,” Jinki mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “And if I called to tell him I was coming around, he wouldn’t pick up anyway.”
"A spontaneous visit then,” Jonghyun offered, eyebrows raised. “I mean, my shift doesn’t start to later, and we've still a few hours before Yoogeun is finished in nursery, and it would be a good time to-“
"Jonghyun."
The musician stopped in his tracks, halting his motions with Jinki’s hand and biting his bottom lip.
"We have to tell them, Jinki, they deserve to know and- and I really don’t like the fact that we have to keep this hidden. I love you, Jinki. And I want them to see that.”
"Now just isn't a good time,” Jinki stressed, “once I find out what's wrong with Minho, maybe then, Jjong’, but I- I can't tell him if he doesn't want to hear it.”
"Jinki,” Jonghyun spoke quietly, body stoic, “he might never want to hear it.”
Jinki lowered his head.
He knew the risks, they both did. To love one-another was to set off a chain of events no ordinary couple would face. There'd be those who over-compensated for their homouality, creating a protective bubble in fear they could breach it, and then there'd be those who failed to understand, those who judged and mocked and sneered in detest. Few people would look at them as they would normal folk, would treat their relationship with the same complacency as everyone's around them. Despite this, they had to tell. They simply had to.
"We can at least visit to see if he's okay,” Jonghyun tried, tone less confident now. “That’s worth a shot.”
"Wouldn’t it be, I don’t know, weird, if we both went together?” Jinki asked, playing the devil’s advocate as Jonghyun shuffled slightly.
Jonghyun pursed his lips and crinkled his nose, clearly throwing what Jinki had stated around in his mind. Though his look of dejection was apparent, Jonghyun’s ability to seem endlessly calm wouldn’t falter. He knew why Jinki was saying this, and it wasn’t to get at him, it couldn't have been.
"We're friends,” Jonghyun argued, “and friends can visit friends. It'll be fine, Jinki. They won't just… Automatically assume we're going on dates and having and-“
Jinki jabbed Jonghyun lightly with his elbow.
"What?!” Jonghyun exclaimed comically, rubbing melodramatically at his own ribs, where Jinki’s elbow had made contact.
"Is that all I am to you?” Jinki pouted miserably, his joke reinvigorating the room. “Dates and ?”
"Ah, be quiet,” Jonghyun giggled, reaching over and ruffling Jinki’s hair. “You buy me lunch, too.”
Jinki rolled his eyes as Jonghyun’s laugh faded away, the brief interlude to their conversation as short as it was sweet.
"So, are we visiting or not?” Jonghyun pondered, eyeing Jinki sceptically. The elder his lower lip in thought.
"Yeah,” he nodded, “yeah. We'll go.”
•••
Kibum’s smile was plastic and Jinki’s effort to comprehend it was falser. Never before had he seen a man so dazed yet drenched in normality, never before had he seen a man so fake and so wholesome at once. There was something wrong, and Jinki figured – albeit that he was no detective – that his friend’s shocked expression had something to do with the artist and musician that greeted him.
"Hi,” smiled Jonghyun, almost shyly, waving a small hand whilst clutching onto the sleeves of an over-sized grey jumper. His expression was amiable and his manner polite and Jinki wondered how Kibum could stare at someone so innocent with a look of such confusion, the two men before him barely registering on his mind as he flicked his head between them both.
"Kibum?” Jinki prompted softly, as Kibum held onto the door-frame with a strong hand, hair swept messily from his face and cheeks glowing with the faintest traces of whatever skin cream he'd indulged in. His complexion was almost too rosy as he nodded, the wide, over-bearing smile never leaving his lips.
"J-Jonghyun,” he acknowledged, “Jinki, come-come in!” He stood aside to let them enter his chic apartment, and Jinki led the way, already nervous as to what he'd find there. Kibum was a working man, and Jinki had already become perplexed as to why he was swaddled away at home on a working day, dressed in casual attire and flaunting a manic glint in his feline eyes. Minho was normally the one to answer the door at a call, the one whose working hours were not the conventional nine-to-five type, and so doubt lingered within the artist over whether the basketballer was home or not.
Minho and Kibum’s living premises had in the past felt very homely to Jinki, despite not being somewhere he was often, however on this occasion it was the opposite; he supposed it was the fact that, through every little detail, the apartment had so fundamentally been them, but it seemed every trace of their former selves had been wiped from the slate. Minho’s charms, once reflected in the plethora of old videogames that were stacked beneath the television, and the half read books that were left to loiter on anything from fixing a car to baking the perfect loaf, had all but vanished. Similarly, Kibum’s charms, that were once presented in the form of the miscellaneous clothing items, such as scarves or shoes, appearing inconspicuously stuffed under tables or draped over chairs, and the finished Sudoku puzzles that lay open across the shelves, were now too gone. Their personalities were cleansed from everywhere, and it concerned Jinki, a reminder that some things had changed in the past few weeks – he just didn't know what those things were.
"Sorry about the mess,” Kibum apologised, rushing to the coffee table and lifting an empty take-away carton, hurriedly dashing to the bin whilst Jonghyun clicked the door shut behind him. As Kibum disposed of the rubbish, Jinki felt his nose twitch at the slightest scent of alcohol and fast-food, that seemed somewhat ingrained in the apartment, as if etched into the beige carpet.
"Don't worry about it,” Jinki murmured kindly, as Jonghyun approached him. They seemed out of place in the dim apartment, their presence so rarely seen that they didn’t know how to place themselves. Kibum busied himself by kicking a pair of expensive shoes beneath the sofa, before resuming to that all-too-sweet smile, wringing his wrists in his hands as he observed the two older men. “Would you like a drink, tea, or-or coffee?”
Jinki glimpsed at Jonghyun and gauged by the wary look on his face that he was neither thirsty nor hungry, and so answered for them both with a kind declination. Kibum pursed his lips, scratched his head, and then directed them to the oak table with a, “Here, at least have a seat, how have you been?”
Kibum’s words were clipped and his manner shrift, so unlike the composed and sophisticated secretary. His lips, often soft, were chapped, and his nails, often polished, were short, and these slight details were causing a frown to uncontrollably lace Jinki’s features as he sat at the table, unsure of himself and of the warm, humid apartment. Jonghyun sat beside him, shoulder brushing the artist’s as he did so, and Kibum sat opposite them both, folding his arms atop the table and awaiting an answer.
"I'm, yeah, good,” Jonghyun nodded. Jinki took no time in picking up the fact that Jonghyun talked of himself in the singular form – there was no we, not yet. “I'm working more shifts so I'm more tired, but, like, c’est la vie, I guess. I need money and to earn it takes time.”
"And you, hyung?” Kibum asked formally, tilting his head quizzically at Jinki. Jinki cleared his throat, unused to such a formal address from Kibum. Something was wrong. Badly wrong.
"I'm fine, just painting,” Jinki smiled, trying his best to seem complacent, to seem as if he didn’t have a plethora of worries prodding at his skin. “How are you, and-and Minho?”
Kibum stiffened at the name.
For a moment there was silence, and Kibum’s eyes drifted to the floor behind Jinki, giving the artist long enough to exchange a fretting glance with his lover, whose brow was also crippled in concern. Kibum’s eyes were glossed over and his lower lip hung open and it was as if his entire body had snapped out of being. However, just as easily as it had shunted from place, Kibum drew himself back in.
"I'm great,” he laughed, attempting to diffuse the awkward aura. “Minho is just-he just… He just went out, for a while, to shop for new trainers, I think.”
Kibum smiled, eyes flickering between the pair.
Jinki swallowed thickly, nervously. Though his main priority was his curiosity as to how Minho was, doubts were propping up his bones with match-stick suspension that Kibum was putting all the clues together over his and Jonghyun’s relationship.
"Trainers are important for sportsmen,” Jonghyun commented, in a bid to say just about anything to challenge the upset atmosphere of the room. “Like paintbrushes to an artist, wouldn’t you say, Jinki?”
"Yeah,” Jinki agreed, quite the enthusiast at Jonghyun’s meagre attempt at small talk. “I know they say a bad workman blames his tools, but bad tools do hinder the workman.”
"Exactly!” Jonghyun exclaimed. “Wouldn't you agree, Kibum?”
Jinki inhaled heavily, Jonghyun’s brash conversation doing little to alleviate the growing intrigue across the table.
"Yeah,” Kibum smiled, wiping his forehead with the back of his palm. He looked sickly, skin ashen and face swollen.
"You-You don't look so good,” Jonghyun muttered a second later, thoughts as in-line with Jinki’s as ever, the only difference being Jinki held a penchant for silence. “Are you okay, Kibum?”
Kibum blinked, startled at the question, and pressed his cheeks with the backs of his cool hands. He looked so nauseous it were as if at any moment he could collapse, and this was putting Jinki on edge, making him feel apprehensive. An illness would explain why Kibum was off-work, but it would only add further complications to the questions within him that struggled for air.
“Yeah, I guess,” Kibum shrugged, “I'm a bit under-the-weather. I had to take a few days off work, but it's nothing serious, I'll-I'll be back on my feet in no time.” He smiled weakly and Jonghyun returned that smile.
"But you're here alone?” Jonghyun continued, tone velvety and caring. “Really, Kibum, you should have told us, we could have came and kept you company today. Can I get you anything?”
Kibum shook his head quickly, waving his hands in the air as Jinki sighed, endeared by Jonghyun’s care for Kibum. The musician was always this way, never afraid to put himself out if it comforted another.
"I'm fine, really,” Kibum dismissed, “just a silly cold, or something. It'll pass.”
"I suppose Minho has been helpful,” Jinki observed slyly, hoping the mention of the basketballer would force Kibum into giving him some answers into the youngest of the four’s condition.
"Yeah,” was all Kibum managed.
A few seconds drifted by, Jonghyun rampantly drumming his fingers on the table and trying desperately to find anything to say.
"So what are you two doing here together?” Kibum finally pondered, squinting to ensure his vision remained coherent. “It seems almost staged, a divine intervention, or something.”
Jonghyun chuckled mannerly at Kibum’s joke. Jinki didn’t.
"We, uh, we just… Became good friends recently,” Jonghyun lied, regretfully playing in waters safe to their bond, “and Jinki mentioned how he hadn’t visited in a while and I asked if I could, y’know, tag along. We thought maybe the more the merrier, but we-we didn't know you were sick.”
"You came to see Minho, didn’t you?” Kibum queried, and Jonghyun paused. Though the younger’s tone wasn’t overtly offended, there was still a slight snip in his voice. If they hadn’t known he was sick, they would’ve assumed him to be working, and therefore the only one home would have been the basketballer.
"No, we, uh-“ Jonghyun looked at Jinki for assistance.
"It was a spontaneous thing,” Jinki decided. “We were just passing through, so-“
"You were both passing through?” Kibum interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “Together?”
Jonghyun opened his lips to speak, and then Jinki’s phone rang.
Both sets of eyes darted at Jinki as he blushed slightly, embarrassed at the interjection to the exchange though relieved it would give Jonghyun time to think before digging their own grave. Jinki dug his hands into his pocket with every intention at fishing out his phone and ignoring the chime of the shrill ringtone as soon as he saw the caller ID. But this very thing made him halt that train of thought.
"I-I'm sorry,” Jinki murmured, “I should probably take this.”
Kibum nodded and Jonghyun shot Jinki a look that rang out with the cry of help me, but Jinki simply stood and exited via the front door, to the quiet, empty hallway outside, wanting to escape the rigid aura of the apartment and also knowing it rude to discuss with others in front of him.
Shutting the door behind him, he quickly answered the call, and sceptically spoke down the receiver the name of the man he had least expected to hear from.
"Taemin?”
There was a shuffle on the end of the line as Jinki adjusted his position, leaning against the wall beside the door and focussing his gaze on a crack in the skirting board opposite him. It had been months since he'd heard from the younger – it seemed that today everyone was relinking their old ties.
"H-Hi, hyung,” Taemin finally answered, sounding rather breathless down the line as the odd shuffling stopped.
"Is… everything okay?” Jinki asked, Taemin’s voice dropped in the alarming sense of insecurity. Already Jinki’s mind was in over-drive, a cynic at heart with the backbone of a pessimist.
"Yeah, yeah,” Taemin muttered calmly, voice more mature, more raspy, than Jinki had remembered it being. Jinki folded an arm across his torso, awaiting a further explanation.
"It's just,” Taemin continued, “hyung, is this-is this a bad time? I just- I could really use your help with something right now.”
Jinki sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose.
Out of every time Taemin could have required his help (which he rarely, if ever, had required before), it was a time where the conversations he'd been having mattered, a time where what he was doing seemed to hang his relationships in the balance.
"Is it urgent?” Jinki asked, wanting to understand what Taemin needed before he committed to helping.
"Yeah, well, yeah,” Taemin answered. “Look, hyung, if it's a bad time, I understand- I don’t even know why I'm calling you, I just don’t know who else to ask and I can't really explain it over the phone, but I just need your help and-“
"Okay, Taemin,” Jinki calmed, though he felt heavy in doing so. The younger seemed frantic, nervous, and Jinki knew he couldn't deny him. “I'm on my way, I'll see you shortly.”
"Thank you so much, Jinki,” Taemin answered sincerely, hanging up before the artist could change his mind.
Jinki groaned loudly and hid behind his hands for a second.
Jonghyun would never forgive him.
•••
Jonghyun had sworn to never forgive him.
As soon as he'd left Jonghyun and Kibum to themselves after (partially) explaining the predicament, that a person had called and they needed his help, Jinki had received a rather explicit text from Jonghyun that had raged over being left with Kibum who would no-doubt interrogate him over his friendship with the artist. Though Jinki had given Jonghyun the benefit of further information through these messages – that a person was synonymous with Taemin and that the dancer seemed quite perplexed – the musician was still somewhat discontent, and merely accepted Jinki’s departure, with a You better help me out next time.
Jinki had arrived at Taemin’s rundown flat quite quickly, unable to help the detest that seeded within him as he ascended the staircases that reeked of urine and cigarette smoke. The elevator had been broken – not that Jinki had planned on using it anyway – and little had changed in the flat block since Jinki had last visited, many months ago, except, maybe, the once green potted plant was now withered and grey. Jinki had passed a few tenants on his way towards Taemin’s accommodation, the most memorable being a tattooed man with a bulging beer-belly and thinning hair. He'd ignored all those he saw. Jinki wasn't a prejudiced man, though something about the dingy flat-block unnerved him, so much so that he had practically jogged the length of corridor to find Taemin’s flat.
Hoping the number was correct, Jinki raised a hand to the door and knocked.
He didn’t anticipate the appearance of the man who answered.
Taemin was emaciated. There was little other word for it. His cheeks were near-hollow and his frame was almost non-existent behind the over-sized, pastel-pink jumper he wore. A segment of his collarbone was on sight, and it jutted from his skin so remarkably that Jinki wondered whether it was trying to break free. Though his full lips were contorted into a smile, his spindly wrists spoke only of malnourishment and hunger as he awaited Jinki to say something, to say anything.
"H-Hi,” Jinki choked, almost tearing up at the sight of his friend. The artist felt as if he'd been pulled from the world, had left it for a year, and had been back into it in ill-preparation – firstly due to Minho’s disappearance, secondly to Kibum’s illness, and thirdly to just how frail and sickly Taemin had become. His skin was so white it was the pallor of bone.
"Hyung,” smiled Taemin, flicking his ever-platinum hair from his eyes. “I, um, it's-“ Taemin glanced behind him, revealing how elegant his long neck was, before bringing his smooth face back to capture Jinki’s gaze. “It's hard to explain.”
"Can I-Can I come in?” Jinki asked, squinting in case he was imagining things. Taemin had always been skinny, had always been fragile, but this wasn't just skinny, this was unhealthy, upsetting, wrong. Taemin nodded and retreated into his flat, clutching at his jumper and giving Jinki the opportunity to follow. By the time Jinki closed the door behind him, his eyes only just left the dancer, and what he found beyond the view of the slight man was even more difficult to comprehend.
Taemin’s flat was a state. The few pictures that were on the walls had been shattered, broken glass littering the floor and deflecting any light that clung in the soulless room. The stuffing of several cushions had been torn out and the coffee table was splintered into various pieces, still standing, though doing so in fragility. The lightbulb above them was smashed to tiny shards and the drawers were spat from the kitchenette like accusative tongues, cutlery populating the flooring and old letters creating a river of paper and pen. Whatever food had been in the flat was now smattered against the walls or the floor, as if viciously thrown, and several of Taemin’s possessions seemed charred, burnt, including a pair of expensive dance shoes.
"Taemin…” Jinki breathed, taking a step forward and crunching on broken glass. “What the hell happened?”
Taemin smiled sadly and shrugged, too casual to fit the notion that his home had been undeniably destroyed, and answered, “I think someone maybe broke in and, y’know, messed the place.”
"Was anything stolen?” Jinki asked, touching the arm of the sofa, that seemed to have been hacked at by something sharp.
"No,” Taemin denied objectively, “everything was just destroyed.”
Jinki couldn’t believe what he was seeing, or what his day was bringing. He observed Taemin’s flat like a museum-held exhibit.
"Have you told the police? Why the hell would someone do this?”
“I don’t know,” Taemin mumbled, looking down as Jinki made mental note of his surroundings. “And-and no, there is- there's little point.”
"What do you mean?” Jinki queried, still in awe.
Suddenly, his fears swapped from his cluelessness at Minho’s whereabouts to a great need to ensure Taemin’s safety.
"Well, what can the police do?” Taemin murmured, kicking at his burnt shoe. “They can't bring this stuff back, and-and they'll never be able to catch who did it. You know that as well as I do.”
"Taemin,” Jinki stressed, already urgent as he turned to face the dancer, “whoever did this, they could come back. Who else knows? This-this isn’t safe.”
"You're the only one who knows,” Taemin departed, rather curtly, “and I want to keep it that way. Please, Jinki. You can't tell anyone else.”
Jinki nodded, mouth dry, already knowing his promise was one he would have to breach. Even if he told nobody else, he simply was inclined to tell Kim Jonghyun.
"I just need your help to clear things up,” Taemin admitted, hanging his head shamefully. “I would have done it myself, only-only my dad is visiting soon, and if he saw this place he'd… I don't know. Please, Jinki? I'm sorry to ask, but… I wouldn’t if I wasn’t desperate. Please.”
"Yeah, no, sure,” Jinki agreed frantically, “I'll help, of course. But Yoogeun, I'll have to leave and pick him up soon, though I should be able to help for an hour, or two, yeah.”
"Thank you,” Taemin breathed sincerely, “thank you so much. If I can ever repay you, Jinki, please, let me know how.”
"You aren’t indebted to me,” Jinki responded, “really. Let's just… let's just try get this place sorted.”
It felt they were cleaning for days. At times, Jinki had raised his head in the hope the room was almost immaculate, to see that there was barely a dent in the carnage. He'd removed everything from his pockets – phone, wallet, keys – to help carry small items of Taemin’s he didn’t want to lose in the polishing process, rings and charms, quaint items that represented the dancer well. Though cutting himself on a shard of glass and stubbing his toe against the sofa, the task was mostly painless, for Taemin provided entertaining, though downbeat, small talk. The only thing remotely harrowing was the idea of Taemin living another day in such an untrustworthy environment, and the fact that the younger had become irreversibly skeletal.
“Damn,” Taemin cursed, as he struggled to haul the most incriminating shards of glass into a bin bag he'd found in the cupboard beneath the sink. Due to his unfortunate financial stunt, Taemin had few products to help lessen the stress of cleaning. He was by no means a domestic God and instead used a small, damp rag to clean everything he found. Jinki nervously peered over at Taemin to find the dancer the small pinprick of blood that had formed on his index finger.
“You okay?” Jinki asked. Taemin nodded.
They continued to clean arduously until Jinki took realisation of the time. It was forty minutes until Yoogeun finished nursery – just enough time for him to drive to collect his easily-excitable son. Though it had been a haphazard day, Jinki knew it was long from over; he'd spent the morning in complete ignorance to his increasing workload, and so would subsequently have to juggle caring for Yoogeun and painting all at once. He hated evenings like those.
“Taemin,” he interrupted coolly, as Taemin entered the living area from his bedroom. Though horrendously thin, Taemin was still beautiful. His skin was clear and his eyes were wide and his handsomeness could not be depleted even in such poor condition. Though not a superficial man, Taemin’s other-worldly visuals saddened Jinki, for he didn’t understand how something so beautiful could be so badly broken. “I better go, to lift Yoogeun from nursery.”
Taemin nodded, the few occasions he'd met Jinki’s son proliferating throughout his mind. Yoogeun was a good kid, good like his father.
“Thank you, Jinki,” Taemin spoke sincerely, as he guided the elder towards the door. The flat wasn’t yet spotless, but it was a lot better than it had been upon Jinki’s arrival. The cutlery had been restored and the glass shards were gone, the cushions re-stuffed and now only sporting gaping holes in the fabric, gaps that Taemin figured he could stitch up later.
“It's no hassle,” Jinki smiled kindly, spontaneously unsure at the idea of leaving Taemin alone. “Oh, and Taemin, one more thing-“ Jinki began as they reached the doorway. Taemin opened the door and Jinki stood in the frame, the dancer tilting his head quizzically.
“You haven't been speaking to Minho recently, have you? I-I know you two are really close, so I just…”
Taemin furrowed his brows, eyelids flickering, before asking, “Why? Has-Has something happened?”
“No, I just… I haven’t heard from him in a while,” Jinki confessed. The younger held the scent of peaches. It was a sweet scent.
“I'm sorry,” Taemin answered quickly, “but nor have I.”
Jinki nodded.
“Be safe, then,” he commanded, and then he was struck with shock as Taemin wrapped his arms around him, embracing his friend. Jinki staggered backwards at the impact, Taemin’s head buried into his shoulder. Though blushing, Jinki knew Taemin meant nothing other than brother-ship by the hug, and so reached forward to hug him back. He recoiled as soon as his fingers scraped along Taemin’s shoulder blades.
Hugging the dancer was somewhat similar to hugging Jonghyun, but the difference in Taemin was that he was lighter, much lighter, than the musician. His frame was just wrong. His spine protruded from his back and his arms were but thin branches and Jinki genuinely wondered when Taemin had last eaten, but had no time now to provoke such answers. When Taemin broke away from Jinki, there was a sad smile on his face, and Jinki would have been concerned had the younger not spoken.
“Now go, get Yoogeun, and I'll see you around, Lee Jinki.”
Jinki smiled and Taemin shut the door.
As Jinki walked the stretch of corridor and staircases to the exit, he bit his lip at the menagerie of ill-fitting thoughts that chewed upon his flesh. Minho was missing, Kibum was sick, Taemin was Taemin and there was something fundamentally cracked within the group – Jinki just couldn’t work out what it was, couldn't work out what could jar three grown men so significantly. Whilst walking quickly, Jinki passed a middle-aged man, who must have been in his mid-fifties and seemed rather too smartly dressed to be a resident of the flat-block. His nose was hooked and his frame was somewhat bulging and he walked determinedly, shirtsleeves rolled up and shoes polished. He cast Jinki a wayward stare, and Jinki caught the faintest hint of recognition, but he was too absorbed in the man to pay him any heed.
Jinki felt like a crustacean freed from a net as he reached the carpark.
Strolling to his car and listening to the general jeering of a group of over-confident teenagers lingering by the walls around the carpark’s exit, Jinki approached his old, blue Volvo and began to dig in his pockets for his keys. He dug, frowned, and tried his back-pockets, then his jacket pockets, before realising, as one did, he'd left them at Taemin’s.
Jinki cursed his own incompetence and turned back to visit the younger.
For whatever reason, one he could not place, he walked slower on the journey back. Though having just seen the dancer, he felt nauseous at the idea of greeting him again. In Jinki’s mind, Taemin was still round-faced and buzzing with joy, as he had been at the night-club all those months earlier. He wasn’t a hollow shell, an empty reminder, a callous kiss at the stresses such a career pathway provided. Jinki clenched his fists and dragged a hand through his hair, climbing the staircases silently, heart thundering in his chest as he did so.
Jinki was a friendly man, and having visited Taemin only moments before saw no requirement in greeting the dancer as he once had, with a knock on the door and a patience most exemplary. Instead, he balled his fists, shook his arms, and gave the door a brief tap, before opening it instantly and peering his head around.
“Taemin, I think I left m-“
Jinki stopped dead in his tracks.
The man he'd passed in the corridor – the out-of-place man, who'd smelt of coffee and perspiration – was standing in Taemin’s living room, eyes locked on Jinki’s imposing form. The wrinkled man blinked, and Jinki dropped his hands from the door frame, breath hitching as soon as he saw Taemin.
The younger lay by the kitchenette, covering his face with his hand. Blood streamed through his thin fingers, creating a pool on the recently-cleaned floor, and he trembled erratically, in obvious pain. Jinki suspected a broken nose, but couldn’t even speak as Taemin looked up at him, the tip of his platinum hair becoming stained in the blood that slipped to the floor.
“Oh my, Taemin,” gushed the man instantly, kneeling down and attempting to help the younger stand. “You're so clumsy, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
As the man crouched down, Taemin flinched at his touch, noticeably upset. Jinki rushed forwards, forgetting his keys, his wallet, his son, and dashed to Taemin’s side, fear already pounding him over the damage the dancer had just had inflicted upon him. Tenderly, he removed his palm from his face as Jinki hunched at his other side, resting a hand calmly on his shoulder. Taemin didn’t flinch at Jinki.
When he removed his hand, Jinki’s insides convulsed at the sight of all the blood, dripping from two places – a bust lip and a smashed nose. He was breathing in shudders, and shot his eyes at Jinki, and they said something, but Jinki couldn’t read it.
“What happened?” Jinki asked, holding Taemin’s arm so that he could easily stand. The man Jinki had passed helped Taemin stand also, and ushered him towards the sink, turning on the tap as Taemin leant over it, the thick red blood dripping into the basin now instead of over the floor.
“I walked in,” explained the man, as Taemin hastily the tap, “and next thing, he's fallen on the ground. I can't believe I raised such a clumsy son! But you'll be okay, Taemin, won't you?”
The man was Taemin’s father, of course. Jinki regarded him cautiously, his voice almost too wholesome, and walked towards Taemin, standing by his side as his father passed the dancer a cloth to dampen his face with.
“Really?” Jinki asked. The question wasn’t directed at Taemin’s father.
Taemin looked up, pressing the cloth against his nose. There was red in his hair and crimson on his jumper and his face was so pale and his body so shaky. He sniffed loudly, and held Jinki’s eyes in his own, and for the longest second he didn’t answer.
He nodded.
Jinki lowered his head, breaking the gaze.
“Your keys are on the table,” Taemin whispered, and Jinki bowed his head slightly in thanks, passing Taemin’s father slowly. There was something about him that didn’t seem entirely right, as if he was an imposter in the dancer's life. Jinki lifted his keys and wallet, and buried them in his pocket. He had to go.
“I should… I should leave,” Jinki muttered, trembling. Something was wrong. He knew something was wrong. Taemin’s eyes had spoke no less.
“Oh, shame, shame,” sighed the dancer’s father, clamping a hand on the younger’s back. Taemin rocked forward slightly at the impact, but managed to stay upright.
“Taemin, are you sure you're okay?” Jinki’s question was about more than his current state and the dancer knew it.
“Yes.”
Jinki clenched his fists and shot his own false smile, learning from his friends as one often did.
“Get better, Taemin,” he wished, and then left, despite every part of him urging him to turn back. He couldn't stay though, he knew that, lest he neglect his son.
Despite this, for some reason, Jinki couldn’t shake the feeling that this departure would be one he'd regret.
hey guys... Just wanted you to know that hopefully I'll be able to update tomorrow
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