“Wake up.”

Bright sunlight suddenly cut through the previously pitch-black room as the heavy beige curtains were unceremoniously thrown to the side to reveal the large square windows that faced Jongin’s bed.

The artist groaned loudly as he burrowed under his thick blanket even more, trying to hide from the unwanted light. He had a splitting headache at the moment and there was nothing more that he wanted than to continue sleeping deeply. He was even willing to brave the suffocating tendrils of black, since that was the lesser of two evils right now.

“Wake up, Jongin.”

“Go away,” was his response, muffled by the blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon.

“No, it’s already two in the afternoon. You are getting up right now, whether you like it or not.”

“Don’t wanna.”

And without warning, the manager grabbed the blanket and mercilessly pulled it off of Jongin, who tried his best to hold on but was too worn out to do more than lifelessly tug at the corner he had managed to catch before it slipped out of his grasp and was promptly whisked away. “Get dressed and brush your teeth. Your breath still reeks of alcohol and puke.”

“Shut up.” Jongin curled his body into a ball, tucking his knees into his chest and burying his face against his pillow to avoid the radiant sun rays. “I’m sleeping.”

“No, you’re not. You’re running errands with me today.”

“Do it yourself, Yixing. That’s your job. My head hurts and I’m tired. Leave me alone to sleep.”

The manager clucked his tongue as he riffled through Jongin’s closet for an outfit. “You’re not wasting away in here. I don’t care if you have a hangover; you should’ve thought about that before drinking as much as you did last night.” An indigo-colored long-sleeved shirt and a pair of blue-gray jeans flew across the room and landed on Jongin’s face, causing the artist to groan again in pain. “Hurry up and change. I already let you sleep in more than I should have. Food is on the table and I don’t want to heat it up again for you. And if you’re not downstairs in ten minutes, I’m dragging you out of the house like this. So do yourself a favor and make yourself decent.”

With that, Yixing marched out of the room and promptly shut the door behind him.

Jongin grunted as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, shielding his barely open eyes with the pair of jeans. He then cradled his head as bits and pieces of memories from the previous night flashed through his mind in disjointed succession.

Glasses of red wine surrounding him, the empty ones tipped carelessly on their side and scattered around on a snow white tablecloth. Stains of carmine from spilled liquid dotting the otherwise pristine tablecloth. Cracker crumbs and sauce covering the plates that were also littered around him on the table. A waiter staring at him with his mouth wide open in utter disbelief.

Arguing with Yixing. Hating him. Hating Sehun.

Hating the world.

Hating himself.

The unsavory, sour phantom taste of vomit then coated his tongue as the artist shuddered upon recalling the nasty sensation of throwing up everything he had consumed that night. He couldn’t remember if anyone else had been there to witness the unsightly display and the haze in his mind only thickened when he tried to think harder.

Why had he been so negative last night? For the most part, Jongin was able to recall the rush of intense loathing that had clouded his conscience during the after-party and that memory caused his stomach to churn uncomfortably. It was terrifying to know that he was capable of despising the people closest to him, the people who had only showered him with love and care.

What kind of horrible friend was he?

Jongin’s ears burned with shame.

Even though his body was screaming at him to lay back down and fall asleep, the artist knew Yixing would berate him if he did—for good reason—and Jongin didn’t think it was fair to continue placing more stress on his friend, especially after the artist’s ghastly conduct at the after-party last night.

But his joints ached and his head swam in agony as Jongin slowly changed into the outfit that his manager had chosen for him, and it took every ounce of willpower to not give up and fall back onto his soft, inviting bed. This was his punishment.

God, he wished he hadn’t been such an idiot.

--

When the artist finally clambered down the stairs and entered the dining room, both Yixing and Jongdae were sitting at the dining table and talking to each other. Their conversation stopped when the manager turned and said to Jongin while pointing at a large bowl on the table, “Good, you’re here. I made some hangover soup for you and there’s some leftover toast in the kitchen if you want that as well.”

Jongin hummed in response as he walked to the refrigerator and opened the door, grabbing a carton of fat-free milk. He took his time pouring the white liquid into a clean cup while his eyes flickered around in search of the toast. A slice was sitting in the toaster that was next to Jongdae’s coffee maker and the artist groaned when the strong smell of fresh coffee only worsened his migraine. As fast as he could without spilling or knocking anything down, Jongin recapped the milk carton and placed it back in the refrigerator before taking a block of butter to spread on his slice of toast.

By the time he returned from the kitchen, Yixing and Jongdae had resumed their conversation, so Jongin quietly grabbed a napkin to place his buttered toast on while he began sipping the steaming hangover soup that his manager had prepared for him. Every so often, Yixing would gaze sideways at the artist, who was oblivious to the glances and was wholly focused on the soup instead.

The rich, hearty beef flavor combined with the complementary flavors brought out by the cabbage, scallions, and sesame seeds warmed his stomach nicely and Jongin's headache slowly dissipated with every gulp he swallowed. This was just the type of comfort food he needed after such a disastrous night. If there were still some soup left, he’d take the rest to the living room to drink as he watched a television show while snugly wrapped up in quilts.

That sounded like the perfect way to spend his day.

But while the artist was slurping the last of his hangover soup, Yixing suddenly told him, “As soon as you’ve finished your breakfast, we’re all going furniture shopping together. Jongdae needs a new desk for his office, so we’re going to help him choose one.”

“I’m not going,” Jongin immediately answered after placing the empty bowl on the dining table. “You and Jongdae can go by yourselves. I don’t care one bit about what his new desk looks like. I’m staying at home to rest.” He then picked up his slice of buttered toast and took a large bite out of it. At the very least, he didn’t owe Jongdae anything. If Yixing needed to buy a new desk, then Jongin was fine with going shopping with his manager. But his older brother could take care of himself.

“It’s not like we want you to come with us either,” Jongdae shot back. “But from what I saw last night, when Yixing carried you in like a log, you’re too much of an irresponsible kid to be left alone, especially when there’s alcohol in the house. So now we have to babysit you for the day.”

The artist callously retorted, “At least I’m not addicted to coffee and can’t function if I don’t drink even the smallest drop every single freaking day.”

“Well, I don’t get drunk and throw up at a formal after-party that’s attended by the hottest fashion icons in the country.”

“Okay, that’s enough bickering from you two,” Yixing quickly cut in before Jongin could retaliate. “We’re all adults here, so we’re going to be mature and shop for Jongdae’s new desk together while being civil.” He looked at them in admonishment, silently warning them to behave if they knew what was good for them.

The two brothers glared at each other before Jongdae stood up and brusquely said, “I’ll be waiting in the living room.”

Once his older brother left the dining room, Jongin aggressively stuffed the rest of his buttered toast into his mouth while glowering at the entrance to the living room. He then chugged down his glass of milk before slamming the cup on the dining table. “I’m ready to leave,” he announced before groaning yet again as he pressed his palms against his temples when another wave of nausea hit him.

“Let me get you some aspirin,” Yixing said worriedly. Despite being so harsh with Jongin earlier, the manager still cared about his friend’s wellbeing. It was clear the artist was still feeling the painful effects of his excessive drinking from the night before and Yixing didn’t want Jongin to collapse while they shopped.

The artist barely nodded his head in response as he waited for the worst of the headache to pass.

This was going to be a long day.

--

After parking in the underground parking garage, the three males made their way to the ground floor of the plaza. The sun was shining as brightly as it had when Jongin had been forced from slumber and he grimaced while placing his black aviator sunglasses on his face.

“Too bright for you?”

“None of your business, Jongdae.”

His older brother snorted before saying, “It’s not even that bright outside right now. But then again, you’re always holed up in your little art dungeon, so it’s no wonder you can’t handle a little sunlight.”

“Jongdae!” Yixing elbowed his friend’s side and shot him a reproachful look.

Jongin kept his lips pursed and decided it wasn’t worth arguing with his older brother in public. The artist’s head hurt too much for him to even care about Jongdae’s lame attempts to rile him up and he just wanted to buy the stupid desk as soon as possible, so he could return home and pass out on his bed.

On their way to the furniture store, a small music store caught the artist’s eye. The store front was relatively simple with black and white liquid chalk drawings of various instruments decorating the glass windows. Liquid chalk wasn’t a medium he used very often; he had drawn with liquid chalk for several design classes that he had taken while he was in university, but Jongin preferred working with more traditional art mediums for his personal projects.

Nevertheless, the drawings, while not extraordinary, were still…nice. Nothing of a professional’s caliber, but slightly better than an amateur’s work.

Taking off his sunglasses, he walked closer to the window for a better look at the drawings, but his attention was soon captured by the brilliant sheen of a violin sitting in the display case. Jongin knew nothing about stringed instruments, except for the basics, but this well-crafted violin looked as if it had a halo surrounding it. The light refracting through the glass window seemed to catch onto the four ebony tuning pegs and the silver violin strings glistened against the ebony fingerboard.

Farther in, there was a black grand piano displayed in all of its glory. Both the lid and fall board were propped up, displaying the polished cast iron plate bolted over the strings and the black-and-white keyboard, respectively. Each ivory and ebony key was gleaming, untouched and beckoning anyone to press their fingers against the lightweight blocks. The grand piano sat proudly in the center of the store, looking as if it belonged on the massive stage of Carnegie Hall.

Jongin was completely entranced.

“Come on, Jongin. You can stare at that store another time,” Jongdae called. He and Yixing were standing in front of the furniture store, waiting for the artist who had fallen behind.

With great reluctance, Jongin peeled himself from the store window, making sure not to disturb the liquid chalk drawings on the glass, and hurried to catch up to the other two.

The inside of the furniture store was brightly lit, so Jongin placed his sunglasses back on his face, not caring that it looked weird for him to be wearing sunglasses while indoors. A tall, chipper young man bounded up to them while cheerfully saying, “Welcome! My name is Lee Hongbin! How may I help you wonderful folks today?”

Jongin stayed several paces behind while the other two relayed to the store employee how Jongdae was looking for a new office desk.

Hongbin clapped his hands excitedly as he plunged into an enthusiastic, well-practiced spiel on the dozens of options available in the store. “If you’ll follow me this way, I can show you every desk that we have for sale. And if you have a picture of the room that the desk will be placed in, I can give you my informed opinion on what you might want to consider!”

The group of four headed to the desk section of the store without further ado and when they arrived, Hongbin immediately launched into giving detailed descriptions of every desk that was there. Jongin waited by a nearby wall, leaning against a black leather sofa, and observed his older brother listening attentively to the eager salesman.

There was a wide grin on Jongdae’s face as he nodded along whenever Hongbin pointed to a new desk and Jongin realized this was the first time he had seen his older brother's smile since coming back to Seoul. It had been just over two months since arriving back home and the artist hadn’t seen Jongdae smile at all after that first day. While he didn’t doubt that his older brother probably smiled to other people, it seemed like an awful long time for the artist to not see this familiar grin himself.

When had he and Jongdae become so estranged?

When had their relationship become completely defined by the amount of pain they could inflict on each other?

It…didn’t sit right with Jongin when he thought—really thought—about it.

Hongbin was now showing a smooth ebony desk to Jongdae and Yixing. Jongdae was beaming with satisfaction as he traced a finger along the edge of the desk.

Seeing his older brother like this made Jongin…miss Jongdae, even though they were only a few feet away from each other.

But there might as well have been an ocean between them, because when his older brother looked up and saw the artist, Jongdae’s expression neutralized and there was none of that happiness radiating off of him anymore.

That impassive look imprinted itself in Jongin’s mind for the rest of the trip and after excusing himself to his bedroom, the artist fell asleep wondering when it had all gone wrong.

--

He woke up feeling very refreshed after his nap; his headache had disappeared and his body was feeling much lighter. It was nine in the evening, so Jongin decided to find Yixing, knowing that his manager was still awake. Although the hallway outside of his bedroom was dark, the artist could see slivers of light peeking from underneath the doors to Yixing’s bedroom and Jongdae’s bedroom.

Jongin was tempted to see what his older brother was up to, but figured Jongdae would most likely not take kindly to being interrupted. Maybe he’d talk to him another time. It was more important to see Yixing at the moment anyway. So he walked over to the guest room and knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

“Hey, Yixing.”

The manager spun around in his chair to see who had entered his room and a look of surprise appeared on his face upon seeing Jongin. “I thought you were napping,” Yixing said while standing up and crossing the room to where the artist was.

“Yeah, I was.” Jongin scratched the back of his neck while smiling sheepishly. “I just woke up.”

“Oh, okay. Let’s sit.” Yixing led the artist to his bed, since there was only one chair in the small room, and they both sat on the edge of the mattress. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, getting straight to the point. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t visit me to make small talk. You hate small talk.”

“I just… I want to apologize for how troublesome I was last night,” Jongin muttered with his head bowed down in embarrassment. “I don’t remember if I did, but in case I said anything rude to you, I didn’t mean it. I was…having a hard time yesterday and drinking alcohol was an easy escape. I know I promised not to give in to the urges, so I’m sorry for that as well. It was very careless of me and it won’t happen again.”

There was a soft smile on Yixing’s serene face as he nodded and replied quietly, “I get that life is rough, especially for you, and I guess I should have been more supportive yesterday instead of making you feel even worse about yourself. I should have noticed you were having a tough time and I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend for you to rely on.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jongin quickly said, snapping his head up to look at his manager. “I should have exerted more self-control, and I started blaming you and Sehun for my problems when neither of you are at fault. I… I know I’m not the easiest person to be around,” he continued, his voice slightly faltering, “but it really means a lot that you’ve been supporting me from the very beginning.” A lopsided smile then appeared on the artist’s face. “I don’t say it enough, but I really do appreciate you as a friend. So thanks a lot for being around. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Yixing reached over to wrap his arms around Jongin and envelop him in a warm hug. “We’ve been friends for so many years now and I’m not planning on going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

“Okay, now I’m starting to rethink being nice to you. I don’t know if I want you stuck to me. I still need my personal space, y’know?”

“Very funny,” the manager deadpanned, although his wide smile indicated how glad he was that Jongin was joking around with him, especially since it was such a rarity. Yixing’s expression then turned more somber as he asked, his voice slightly tinged with hesitance, “Are you ever going to stop quarreling with Jongdae? The insults and arguments are starting to get out of hand.”

Jongin’s smile also slid off of his face as he sighed and stared off into the distance, ruminating over his less than amicable relationship with his older brother. “I’m not actively trying to fight with him,” he began after several seconds of silence.

The manager raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical upon hearing Jongin’s statement.

“Seriously! I don’t hate Jongdae, despite what he thinks.”

“Then why do you two egg each other on so much?” Yixing asked in confusion. “I understand little kids and angsty adolescents doing that, but you two are adults now. You both should be supporting each other instead of constantly being at each other’s throats.”

Jongin grimaced, even though he knew the lecture was well-warranted. “Yeah, I know. Well, I mean, I don’t know why we’re still like this, but I know we shouldn’t be.” He sighed deeply. “Snippy remarks just slip out whenever I talk to him. And then he’ll say something and since I hate losing to him, I’ll strike back and every conversation we have just snowballs into a gigantic mess.”

“Staying quiet doesn’t mean you lose,” Yixing softly pointed out.

“I know, but still. It feels like I’m losing to him,” the artist answered petulantly, his eyes downcast once again.

There was a pause as Yixing waited patiently for his friend to continue speaking. But when Jongin stayed silent, the manager said, “You two should talk. You can’t do this forever. Sooner or later, you and Jongdae will have to set aside your differences. If you two keep lashing out at each other, it’ll only get worse and then it might be too late.”

The petty part of the artist wanted to retort that Jongdae was usually the instigator nowadays so his older brother should be the one on his knees, begging for Jongin’s forgiveness and cooperation.

But Yixing was looking at him so earnestly that the artist couldn’t find it in him to do so.

“Okay, fine,” Jongin relented with a heavy sigh, “but not tonight. I’m still tired and I don’t feel like seeing him right now.”

Yixing nodded in understanding. “Jongdae has also been pretty busy with work lately, so now is probably not the best time for him either. But don’t put this off for too long, okay?” he sternly added.

“I won’t.” The artist then spied the old chess set that he and Yixing used to play with when they were in university, and he asked with a small smile, “Are you free for a round of chess?”

The manager faced the direction Jongin was looking in and immediately beamed upon seeing the wooden box. “I’m always free for chess. Who won when we last played?” he asked as he stood up to grab the chess set.

“I don’t remember, but I’m taking the first win tonight.”

“As if,” Yixing scoffed. He placed the wooden box on his bed and unclasped it to take out the chess pieces. “I’m playing white.”

“Whatever. I always play black anyway,” Jongin reminded the manager while fishing out the ebony pieces. “Even though you’re going first, I’ll still kick your .”

“Wanna bet?”

“You’re on.”

Jongin didn’t know how long they played for, but tonight, he was content with the small steps he had made in fixing his mistakes. Tonight, he was an ordinary pawn, moving one step forward each turn.

And eventually, with some luck and determination, he’d safely reach the other end of the board to become whatever he wanted.

♈♈♈