Two
Cherry Blossom // Alt Title: What Comes AroundJinki bit his lower lip and studied the paintbrushes carefully, eyeing the brush and brand just as much as the price marked on the label. The set he currently regarded contained three horse-hair brushes, each of different widths, that were perfect for his painting style. His older brushes were beginning to wear out, the hairs loosening from the metallic fastener, and he'd been meaning to purchase a new set, of decent quality. They were just so bloody expensive.
As the owner of the quaint art shop talked oil pastels with who seemed to be a frequent customer, Jinki glanced down at his son – who'd managed to somehow convince Jinki to abandon the pram and let him walk around on their short shopping trip. He was gently poking a transparent bottle of red, acrylic paint, eyes wider than two moons and lips parted expectantly.
"Careful, Yoogeun,” Jinki warned quietly, despite knowing his son could do no real damage in the idyllic shop, a shop that held the scent of canvas and lavender. The hush of the store unnerved Jinki when his son was around – alone, it was a blessing, the jingle of the doorbell and the splay of golden light from the wide windows almost ethereal in quality – but Yoogeun had the penchant for becoming loud spontaneously, like a jack-in-a-box ready to unwind.
Yoogeun ignored Jinki and bent down slightly on his little legs to survey the spectacle of paint colours, ranging from an autumnal russet to a heavenly silver. His eyes widened in awe, having told Jinki many times that there were a lot more colours here than in his crayon set.
Jinki finally decided to buy the brushes, a brash decision to get his son out of the shop before he protested about his crayons again. Besides, one couldn’t paint if they had nothing to paint with, and given that Jinki’s livelihood revolved around painting, it'd be rather absurd to think his financial cycle would continue to tick over if he couldn't complete the paintings his clients commissioned.
Jinki gently gripped Yoogeun by his tiny hand, ushering him to the till as the previous customer left with a polite wave to the owner of the vintage establishment.
“Hello,” the shopkeeper smiled, recognising Jinki (for he was an artist who often frequented the whimsical store) and shooting a pleasant grin at Yoogeun, who gazed up obliviously. The man was tall, beyond six foot, and held a very narrow face, cheekbones gaunt and eyes rounded slats on either side of a thin nose. He was older than Jinki – mid-forties – the edges of his hair just beginning to grey, and his skin was sun-spotted, though mostly concealed by the pinstriped shirt he wore. He bowed slightly to Jinki as he set the brushes on the counter, reaching into his pocket to remove his wallet. Jinki knew he should’ve said something, should’ve asked how the man was or commented on the weather, but his timidity had grown over the years, blocking any desire for small talk.
“Is that all?” the shopkeeper asked, tone cheery, yet voice deep.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Jinki confirmed, handing the money to the shopkeeper before he could audibly charge him. Jinki shivered slightly, the drifting months beginning to chill him further. Even though he wore a soft beige jacket, he still felt the candid nip in the air.
The owner accepted the money kindly with an amiable, “Very well,” before placing the brushes in a brown paper bag and handing it to Jinki. “Would you like a receipt?” he asked as he passed Jinki the almost worthless amount of change, but Jinki declined, bowing his head and thanking the man before herding Yoogeun through the double doors.
Outside, the busy street was cold, puddles having formed in the cracks between the pavements, like miniature potholes. The pedestrian area wasn’t busy – unsurprisingly for a Wednesday afternoon, where most people were either at work or school – and the menagerie of cosmopolitan shops advertised 'special offers' and 'amazing prices' with an unashamed lunacy. The sky above was grey and the pavement below was dull, but it didn’t bother Jinki much, as he allowed Yoogeun to wrap his warm hand around his finger and tug him in the direction of the shop they were inevitably going to end up in, despite Jinki’s protestations.
The toy shop.
“Ca’ I get a spida’-man?” Yoogeun asked excitedly, as he tugged Jinki further, little footsteps practically running as he coaxed his dad down the pavement. A few passers-by watched on with mild smiles, even strangers able to cherish the charming interaction as Jinki jokingly teased his son with, “We'll see.”
As they reached the shop, Jinki’s head almost pulsed just by looking at the multi-coloured signage. The lettering for Funland was an offensively bright blue on a yellow background, which was in turn surrounded by red, and then by green. The large windows showcased various gender-stereotyped toys – pink dolls, army soldiers – but also the aimless areas of footballs and teddy bears. It was the type of chain store that boasted more than just the quality of its products - it boasted the kindness of its staff and the cleanliness of its premises also. Jinki despised it.
Yoogeun’s eyes lit up incredibly by simply peering at the entrance, and Jinki knew he couldn’t deny his son the opportunity of making his life a misery by once again throwing at tantrum at the fact he couldn't get a menagerie of different toys.
Once they entered, the energetic music that softly mingled with the stacks of bright shelves and smooth counters was instantly drowned out by Yoogeun going, “Woah!” and tearing his hand from Jinki’s to launch himself in the direction of the superhero toys, a few isles from the till. The woman behind the till smiled at Jinki cheerily as he glanced around, a pretty, young girl, obviously a student trying to make her way. Jinki nodded politely before scuttling after his son, to ensure he didn’t make the worker’s life ten times more difficult by trashing the shop. As he passed the isles, he only caught the sight of one other customer in his peripheral, and so was rather casual and held a moderate tone as he approached the rambling toddler.
“Look! Look!” Yoogeun yelled excitedly, pointing up to a row of toy superheroes. “I wan' that one!” he commanded, standing on his tip-toes and stretching up, though unable to reach due to his limited height.
“Hmm,” Jinki contemplated, lifting the Spiderman figurine in its well-designed box and staring at the price tag. In terms of toys, it wasn't overly expensive, but, lately, everything seemed expensive to Jinki. “If you want it, what do you have to say?”
Yoogeun stamped his foot and clenched his fists, Jinki becoming aware of the other customer emerging into the isle at the opposite end, surveying the shelves. He paid the customer no heed, and instead focused solely on his son.
“Yoogeun?” Jinki prompted, trying to instil a sense of manner into his child. He'd found it important to teach Yoogeun of courtesy and manner from a young age, knowing that, if he learned now, the habits would hopefully stick.
“Please?” Yoogeun asked innocently, jutting out his bottom lip and widening his eyes. It was almost unfair at how his son was already so manipulative.
"It looks like you'll have to give in,” commented a friendly voice from beside Jinki. Jinki almost jumped, startled, as he and Yoogeun both turned in sync to look at the shop’s only other customer.
Jinki froze as Yoogeun gaped, and murmured indiscreetly, “Dad, it's superman!”
The stranger laughed, almost shy, as Jinki tried to compose his thoughts, studying the man before him as if someone he had erased from his memory, someone coming back to haunt him. The cherry-blossom haired man looked more awake this afternoon, wearing a white hoodie and black jeans, with a smile as comfortable as the fabric of his clothes. He seemed somewhat awkward, clutching a football in his hands and averting his gaze from Jinki to the ground, Jinki to the ground, and never once attempting to sustain eye contact. He appeared so shy that Jinki was surprised he'd even spoken in the first place.
“I suppose so,” Jinki nodded, handing his son the toy, causing him to squeal excitedly, despite the fact he'd had similar toys at home anyway.
“Kids are cool,” the stranger commented, a grin playing on his lips as he watched Yoogeun’s infatuation flick from the toy to his pink hair in a cyclic pattern.
“Do you have any?” Jinki asked, not intrusively, rather openly.
“No,” the stranger replied, shaking his head quickly, “this is for my nephew, it's his birthday tomorrow and... And he loves football.” The stranger nodded awkwardly, drumming the ball with his fingertips.
“What's your superpower?” Yoogeun asked suddenly, face akin to the expression of a fish as he sheepishly studied the small, oddly introverted man.
Jinki was about to interject again, before the young man answered, “I appear in many shops, all over the world, to buy the best products and use them to create whacky inventions.” For some reason, he seemed highly comfortable speaking to Yoogeun as opposed to Jinki, dramatizing his words and leaning in playfully. Jinki wondered if there was something about his own personality that deterred the young man.
"Wha' do you make?” Yoogeun pressed, completely absorbed by the man’s false characterization. The stranger simply tapped the side of his nose, indicating that it was a secret, and in response, Yoogeun placed his finger on his lips and nodded in understanding, a rather mature action from the most immature of people.
"Come on, Yoogeun,” Jinki prompted, “let's leave Superman to get on with his ‘whacky inventions’.” Jinki caught eyes with the stranger again and shot a knowing look, to which the stranger responded with another slight blush and a curt nod. He acted strangely for a man of his age, almost like someone who'd never quite left the adolescent stage of awkward staring and honing a perpetual phobia of people.
"Have a nice day,” the pink-haired man offered, signing off just as he had in the grocery store. His voice was soft and his tone velvety as he spoke. Then, as an afterthought, he muttered to Jinki, “Have fun painting also. I'm sure you do it well.”
Jinki was about to impose a question before the man slid away, becoming concealed by the next isle over. He must have seen Jinki’s bag of brushes – that, or he really was a superhero. Either way, the brief encounter had startled Jinki, but had also left a smile on his face that he just couldn’t seem to shake.
•••
"Look, Mrs Choi, I will be back latest at eleven, and I'm so sorry for-“
Minho’s mother scoffed and rolled her eyes, almost pushing Jinki out into the homely hallway as Yoogeun darted by her to the sitting room, where Minho’s father had been sat, flicking through a newspaper, studying it pensively with his bushy eyebrows and bulbous nose.
"Lee Jinki, I know how these parties work, and I know you will most certainly not be back by eleven. Yoogeun can stay overnight, it's fine – just do not be coming in here in the morning with a hangover or I will boot you into the next world. Oh, and Minho?”
Minho glimpsed at his mother, raising an eyebrow as he leant against the front-door frame.
"Yes, mum?” he asked, realising his silence would bequeath him no answer
"Only respectable young women, please, and, God forbid, do not let Jinki get too drunk, he hasn’t been out in months and I do not want him losing himself.”
"Yes, mum,” Jinki and Minho both droned in unison, eliciting a smile from Minho’s mother, alongside a slight sigh. She was only in her mid-fifties, and seemed to perpetually smell of chamomile, but simultaneously seemed much younger and much older. She boasted attitudes far too liberal than what Jinki had seen in most women her age, yet still bossed her son (who was inches taller than her, and one of the tallest people Jinki knew) around like he was five, much to the amusement of the two friends. Jinki was also familiar with this treatment, having practically spent most of his time as a young boy at Minho’s house and becoming subsequently close to his parents, to the extent where they now acted as the substitute of grandparents for Yoogeun, despite being of no blood relation.
"Son, adopted son, have a good evening,” Mrs Choi spoke earnestly. She flattened her floral dress and patted her shoulder-length hair before muttering, “Now, scram! I have a toddler to entertain.”
"Thank you so, so much,” Jinki bowed, in complete debt to Minho’s mother as she stalked to the front door, brushing Minho away and opening it for the two men.
"It's a pleasure, really, I love having him around,” Mrs Choi admitted. “He reminds me of this one when he was a toddler, although Yoogeun is less of a handful.”
Minho rolled his eyes and kissed his mother’s forehead, before stepping out into the darkening night, the sky already a murky, dismal grey, the moon the only source of light as it cut a wide halo through the deep clouds.
"Thank you anyway,” Jinki persisted. “Oh, and it's bedtime at eight, and I'll be around first thing tomorrow, I swear, thank you, thank you-“
Mrs Choi laughed, pushed him out the front door, and slammed it in his face.
Jinki blinked as Minho hovered by his side.
"She hates it when you start thanking her like she's some kind of hero,” Minho commented, “makes her feel all warm inside, all valued, she doesn’t like that.”
"She's odd.”
“Hey, don’t insult my mother.”
"I'm not, but-“
"I know.”
"Should we go?”
"Yeah, let's.”
•••
The music thumped invariably and emphatically as Jinki clutched his drink, heart racing just at the sight of all the flashing lights, reds and greens and blues illuminating the club that would’ve been completely darkened were it not for the laser beams and spotlights.
"Yah!” Kibum shouted, sinking into the space in the soft booth beside Jinki with an exaggerated exhalation, almost panting from the exertion of dancing, perspiration beginning to form on his brow. “Hyung, come dance with me!”
He gripped Jinki’s arm, sharp nails burrowing deeply, but Jinki shook him off immediately, having forgotten how outrageous Kibum could be in his drunken state, eyes wide and wavy black hair a frenzied mess. Kibum was, with no need for a better word, completely unique. He stood out amongst the crowd for many reasons, most notably his handsomeness that caused many women to swoon, for reasons nobody could quite define. He wasn’t conventionally handsome like Minho, rather intriguingly so, with feline eyes and a slender frame. He often wore tops that highlighted his milky skin and defined collarbone, and his hair framed his high cheekbones perfectly. He seemed more akin to a model than anyone Jinki had ever come across, though that illusion was instantly shattered by his penchant for getting drunk quickly and his laugh that many had deemed as being obnoxiously loud.
"Maybe later,” Jinki dismissed, as Minho raised an eyebrow at Kibum, who seemed to be having the time of his life. Neither Minho nor Jinki had ventured to the enigmatic hive of the dance-floor yet, instead talking freely, minds opened by the small amounts of alcohol they'd consumed. Kibum had, in fairness, stayed to talk for a while, but after his forth drink had decided it was time to make and break some tightly-clad hearts.
"Hey, hyung,” Minho directed at Kibum, “how's being twenty-four?”
Kibum shrugged, rubbing his neck, and answering, “No different,” before he was interrupted by a loud, kind, all-too familiar, “Hey, hey, guys?”
Minho and Jinki couldn’t help but contain their smiles as Taemin finally arrived at their booth, looking slightly flustered with his platinum blond hair and beautifully wide smile. It'd been weeks – months, even – since Jinki had seen the talented young dancer, his life becoming consumed by the entertainment company he'd signed to. Taemin lived with the aspiration of wanting to show the world the extent of what he could do - and Jinki had to admit that Taemin certainly had a talent. He figured the younger had probably started dancing before he'd stared walking.
Taemin slid in beside Minho, the open-box booth becoming full then, his wiry frame comically small beside the muscular build of the basketballer.
"Sorry I'm late,” he admitted, “I was trying to, y’know, use a shortcut, but...”
Taemin’s hyungs nodded, requiring no further explanation.
"Do you want something to drink?” Minho asked, but Taemin waved his hand, practically having to shout over the relentless house music to be heard. The rhythmic thump of the beat was almost all that existed in the club, past their own conversations.
"I'll get one myself, don’t worry!” He stood to approach the bar area that was positioned purposely by the booths, but Minho rose to interrupt, following Taemin out in a determination to buy for him. Minho knew as well as any of them that Taemin’s financial situation was weaker than watered down vodka, the company he was with practically leeching on him and anything he owned.
"Minho, get me whatever he's having!” Kibum called, shamelessly taking advantage of his friend. Although Minho agreed, Jinki knew the only thing Kibum would be getting in the warm, sticky club – a club that held the scent of thick cologne and perfume - was a glass of water. He'd probably be too intoxicated to notice anyway.
"Well, I'm going to dance,” Kibum shrugged, sliding out of the booth before Jinki could protest and leaving the man sitting awkwardly alone, with no more company than the bottle of beer between his fingers.
He glanced around the club anxiously, normally too unsure of himself to do anything but hide behind his friends. A few young women occasionally shot him charming smiles, tops cut lower than their standards and skirts so short they were practically wearing belts, but Jinki would have been lying if he'd said he was interested. They may have been young, attractive and flirtatious, but he forgot them in a second, their excitement lost to the jumping crowd of men and women as the night’s festivities continued.
Jinki took a sip of his beer, becoming increasingly awkward, before a hand grasped his shoulder and practically hauled him from his seat.
“Right!” Kibum yelled, swishing a strand of his hair from his face as Jinki upwards, the breath knocked out of him in nervousness and despair. “You are not sitting in there all night, come on, come meet the rest of my friends. Let's dance!”
About to protest but inexplicably halted as he was dragged into the swarm of bodies, Jinki felt elbows bustle against him and heard the raucous laughter from the partying carefree as if they were projecting their voices directly into his ears. He almost tripped over a few of the unnoticing dancers as they swayed to the music, some attached so closely to each other Jinki feared they may suffocate. He'd forgotten the lifestyle he'd left behind with his son, with her, the lifestyle where kisses were paltry and touches meant little, where alcohol flowed innocently and was downed as rapidly as the feet that pounded against the dance-floor. The tepid cluster of the dancers was almost overwhelming to the artist, as he attempted to make sense of it all.
Once Kibum gripped his sleeve, Jinki ducked the flailing hand of a wiry young man who was being seemingly choked by a larger woman, her lips crashing down on his as he struggled to break away, before eventually succumbing to her lustful fancies. Scenes like this were breaking out across the club, a pandemic that only proliferated as the night deepened and the thumping music sped up.
"Here!” Kibum shouted, pulling Jinki into the smallest oasis in the floor, enough so that he wasn't facing a stampede of the intoxicated. A few people turned and laughed at Kibum, obvious friends of his, and glanced curiously at Jinki, smiles tugging the corners of their lips, men and women alike.
"Hey!” Kibum addressed one of the few in the tiny gap. Jinki squinted slightly, head beginning to mildly pulse from the repetitive music. It was louder here, a medley of perspiration, half-yelled conversations and arrogant advances.
The woman Kibum had addressed was short and rather pretty, with long, shining hair and large, mystifying eyes. She wore a tight pink dressed that seemed to hug her frame and accentuate it in all the right places, her make up thick, yet tastefully so.
She smiled at Jinki flirtatiously, before replying to Kibum with a hastened, “What?!” as the rest of his friends continued to jump around her.
"Where's Jonghyun?” Kibum asked, eyes scanning the club as Jinki awkwardly rolled a shoulder, Kibum still clutching his sleeve loosely.
The woman shrugged and then turned to Jinki, offering an introduction he only barely heard. Despite her best efforts, Jinki wasn't interested. Something wouldn’t allow him to view her as having the potential to be anymore than an acquaintance – he just couldn’t tell what that something was.
As Jinki glanced around the club, disco lights flashing as Kibum finally dropped his sleeve and began bouncing to the music again, almost forgetting his sheepish friend, he thought he saw a glimpse of something amidst the crowd; he knew it was the lights, and that he was probably just being irreversibly irrational, but he could have wagered on seeing the faintest dash of pink hair, disappearing from the dancers to find a safe retreat. Just before Jinki could pursue what he'd seen, another hand wrapped itself around his wrist. Though he couldn’t find the owner, the touch was lighter, gentler, and guided him through the throng of people carefully. He emerged from the dance floor like a fish from water as Taemin tugged him back to the booth, where Minho was now cradling a glass of water and an abject smile.
"I got him,” Taemin sighed, almost sounding relieved as he sank back into place beside Minho, hair a charming nest and eyes boldly smiling.
"We figured Kibum had dragged you out there,” Minho explained, noting Jinki’s confused expression, “and we assumed that you probably hadn’t consented to it. Before one of his friends could start feeling you up we decided to intervene, for your sake.”
Jinki stared at them, blinking, before rubbing an eye. He was tired, having not ventured up so late with the company of others in months, yet he had to stay. Something was forcing him to stay, tying him down, because he couldn’t leave, not yet, not when he'd an unopened question left to answer.
"Did you meet Kibum’s ‘friends’?” Minho asked from his slouched position, sipping his water as Taemin took his first alcoholic drink of the evening.
"Seriously though,” Taemin interjected, “I'm pretty sure Kibum literally met, like, ninety percent of those people tonight – except Jonghyun, because even I know him, but I haven't seen him yet.”
“I don't know him,” Jinki offered, “but I’m pretty sure he's here. Kibum asked for him.”
"He's probably in the bathrooms staring at his weird hair,” Taemin commented, rolling his eyes, the alcohol already working to make him more giddy. “Seriously, it's so ing... Weird.”
"It's not that weird,” Minho defended, “it's just not something you see everyday. And it suits him, so-“
"Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Taemin laughed, “but all I’m saying is... Like, do people even dig that? Like, the colour is-“
“-says the one with platinum blonde hair,” Minho interrupted, raising an eyebrow at Taemin.
"Point taken,” Taemin smiled, before sipping his drink. Jinki watched his friends happily before realising he was still standing, the exchanges between the two making him forget about sitting beside them. Relaxing his shoulders, Jinki turned to assume his seat beside Minho, but as his eyes flickered across the club, he froze in place, Minho and Taemin’s voices lost in the background haze that emerged in that very moment.
Kibum had broken from the crowd again, eyes widened with a beautiful clarity seen only when he was at his happiest. It warmed Jinki’s heart to think his friend was enjoying himself so much, but it was a blessing he could only focus on momentarily as his eyes finally fell on the man Kibum was talking to.
"Seriously,” Kibum murmured, as they both approached the booth, deeply engaged in their own conversation, “why do you always appear and vanish like that? It's, like... Like you're trying to scare me or something.”
"I don’t know,” answered the man, his velvety voice barely audible, “maybe I am.”
And then they reached the booth and Minho and Taemin and Kibum were grinning at each other, but the man’s gaze started and stopped where Jinki stood, eyes slightly widened and lips slightly parted.
"Hey, Jinki!” Kibum shouted, grabbing his shoulders and shaking them slightly. “This is Jonghyun.”
"We've met,” Jinki admitted, lips threatening to turn upwards as the pink-haired superhero awkwardly caught his eyes on Jinki’s shoes, then lifted his head with the most endearing of smiles and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, we have.”
Kibum shrugged and practically shoved Jonghyun beside Taemin, who almost jumped out of the seat as the older male apologised for Kibum’s ridiculous enthusiasm. Kibum himself stole Jinki’s spot beside Minho, leaving Jinki to sit beside his drunkenness in the booth that was now claustrophobically full.
"So,” Taemin pondered, tilting his head at Jonghyun, “why's your hair pink?”
•••
Jinki lay atop the sofa in Minho and Kibum’s apartment drowsily, cold hand pressed against his forehead as he softly exhaled. The lights in the kitchenette beside him blared as Kibum downed another glass of water, Minho attempting to shepherd the elder to his bedroom as he complained miserably. He hadn’t thrown up, thankfully, but the alcohol was already causing him to display a side to him as unpleasant as the dog-eared corner of the tattered rug beneath the couch.
"Come on, Kibum,” Minho soothed, gingerly rubbing the elder's back.. Kibum slurred something verging on vicious at Minho and slapped his hand away crudely, before trudging past Jinki to his bedroom with a waver as he walked, skin ghostly pale and hair a frazzled mess. As he clicked the door shut, Minho finally sighed, slumping against the counters in the well-kept kitchenette and massaging his temples.
"Remind me why I live with him again,” Minho requested, voice tinted with tiredness. The bright lights above him were almost searing blindness into his vision, achingly vibrant against the homely interior of his shared apartment. As Jinki lay sprawled across the brown leather sofa, his foot dangled warily from the edge, shoes already kicked off by his feet. His right hand resting on his forehead, his left seemed to trail over the oak coffee table without even looking at it, fingers glancing over Kibum’s fashion magazines or the empty mugs that were crusted with the remnants of coffee. In the comfortable room, Jinki’s skin shone, cheeks a fading pink. Minho could tell he was exhausted.
"I'll get you a blanket, hyung,” Minho offered, causing Jinki to open his eyes and slowly push himself to a sitting position, regarding the room with the look of someone who'd very little idea where he was. He blinked heavily three times, before stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, and squinting up at Minho to indicate that he'd appreciate that. As Minho disappeared into his own room, Jinki battled down his lethargy and noted the time from the modern clock above the small, yet stylish, flat-screen television. It was past 4AM. He cursed, rubbed his bare arms and began to stare at the bookcase in the corner of the room, the bookcase that matched the coffee table in both its make and untidiness.
Jinki hadn't even heard Minho return, but certainly felt the weight of the duvet Minho chucked gently at his upright form.
"Thanks,” Jinki muttered sleepily, not bothering to ask Minho where the cream duvet was from.
"No bother,” Minho mumbled. “I'll switch out the light. See you in the morning, hyung.”
"Bye,” Jinki murmured, as Minho retreated into his room, flicking off the overhead light and leaving Jinki consumed in absolute darkness as he did so.
Jinki didn’t even attempt to try and make himself more comfortable as his eyes adjusted to the unfamiliar gloom, and instead simply dragged the duvet over himself, lying horizontally on the couch so that his feet just touched the edges of the arm, and his head was propped up by one of the chic cushions. He was so tired that his heart felt it was beginning to slow in his chest, and his limbs seemed like the salt left when sea water evaporated, dry and incomplete. He cleared his throat and snuggled further beneath the duvet, willing himself to sleep, but already knowing it was a battle he would lose, because his mind had been invaded and the perpetrator wasn't backing down.
Jinki shifted onto his side and frowned, opening his eyes and gazing across what the moonlight that cracked through the slit in the window’s curtains exposed. Minho and Kibum’s living premises felt very homely to Jinki, despite not being somewhere he was often; he supposed it was the fact that, through every little detail, the apartment was so fundamentally them. Minho’s charms were 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. On the other hand, Kibum’s charms were 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. Their personalities were imprinted everywhere, and it comforted Jinki, a reminder that some things had never changed from their childhood – Minho’s odd fixations and Kibum’s fashionable intelligence.
Jinki clenched and unclenched his fists, a feeling of fear rashly pecking at his conscience as he tried to shake the intruder from his mind. He couldn't. It must have been because he was so exhausted, that he was being irrational, that his mind was playing up and his thoughts were seamlessly malfunctioning. It had to be.
Yet Jinki wasn't so sure.
He massaged his palm with his own fingers as he allowed his thoughts to reminisce over the evening, now that he was alone and in his own solitude. Kibum had, inevitably, become so drunk that he could barely stand by the time Minho had managed to pull him (literally) to the doors of the club’s neon entrance. Taemin had left earlier, unkeen to stay out too late due to the new, improved lifestyle he was supposedly trying to lead, enforced on him from his career choice’s stringent expectations.
And then there'd been Jonghyun.
Jinki supposed Jonghyun would have been interesting, had he stayed any longer than another half an hour after he'd met Jinki, claiming he'd some business he had to oversee in the morning and that he had to leave early. Throughout, he'd remained mostly silent, laughing when required and only speaking when prompted, but had been everything Jinki had expected in his brief words. He'd been kind, funny, smart and innocently curious, very unsure of himself, yet not embarrassingly so. The only thing that had struck Jinki as somewhat odd was the fact that he consistently seemed to make eye contact with the younger man, until he'd had to purposely try and stop looking at him altogether, in fear of intimidating him. But, then, Jinki supposed that possibly he was overreacting – Jonghyun probably hadn’t even looked at him that often, if purposely at all, leaving Jinki himself to be the awkward one, the strange one, the uncomfortable one.
But with each fleeting eye contact, an ethereal bond had been created like it had been that first day at the store, a snapshot world shared only between Jonghyun and Jinki, before melting back into the hum-drum of the night again as it was cut short. It unnerved Jinki, it frightened Jinki, but, most of all, it confused Jinki. He didn’t know what such moments meant, and figured he didn’t want to either.
Turning to lie on his back, Jinki felt that familiar pang in his stomach that he'd felt those few days ago, that familiar emptiness that lingered as naturally as the urge to breathe. His skin prickled coldly, eyes glossed over – not with tears, it couldn’t be tears – with his eyelashes fluttering at every thought. Mouthing a curse restlessly, Jinki chewed for a second on his bottom lip, before giving his mind the freedom to wander, too tired to protest any further. He stiffened at the thoughts he explored, blamed it on the small amounts of alcohol he'd consumed, and instead tried to distract himself from the image of a cherry-blossom haired man boasting a sweet smile, to thinking about the lighting that hung from the apartment ceiling. Needless to say, it wasn't working.
Jinki turned into the pillow and hid his face behind his hands, aggravated. He couldn’t rest with that man on his mind, he just didn’t know what he was doing there, or why he was so persistent.
He had to take control of his emotions before they overwhelmed him, but, as ever, Jinki had truly no idea how.
hey guys... Just wanted you to know that hopefully I'll be able to update tomorrow
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