Letter #8

Jinki.

Today, I'm writing to tell you that I'm fine. The pills are kicking in, and they make me too numb to feel the anger inside most of the time. I don't talk to people much.

Dr. Lee's words are like water passing through my ears. When she talks, I'm not sure if she's talking to me or a plant in the room. It's hard to connect to places, they all look the same to me. Maybe it's the pills. It's fine.

Every time I think of everything that happened, I feel like a black hole opens up inside my head and I fall into it. It makes me mad, but then again, I'm numb most of the time. It's also fine.

Last night I met a man and let him flog me with his leather belt for half an hour – because the shape of his nose and mouth reminded me of you. He was well over thirty and his cologne smelled good. He didn't take his ring off, wanted me to beg him to stop. He thought I was a e and paid me after – I didn't need the money, but took it anyway because I thought it ridiculous. He was obviously new to the game, and very awkward outside of the bedroom. He didn't know what he was supposed to do after the deed, so he took me to Taco Bell across the road from the motel and tried to make dialogue.

I glimpsed the picture of his wife on his lock screen: she is pretty and soft, her hair is brown, long and wavy.

I pitied him somewhat, but at the same time despised him. I don't even know why, since I couldn't care less about his dysfunctional marriage. Maybe it was the fact that he gave me money. Somehow it put him in a position of a beggar, a patient who came to see the doctor at night because he is embarrassed of his disease. Somebody inferior. Lonely.

Couldn't help wondering if that's what you felt. For others. For me. There's nothing more pathetic than the flickering eyes of a man paying for company, so I wouldn't be surprised if you had.

When I got into the shower at home and the hot water touched my back, a searing, scalding pain burnt every inch of my skin. It broke through the numbness in my head, and I had a moment of exquisite pleasure, ecstasy of a true joy. I gasped and moaned, never wanting it to end.

That feeling reminded me of you and the things you did to me.

I asked the therapist again what was the point of writing these letters without sending them. Such a waste of time, I thought. Something between an upgraded way of talking to the wall and your own hand when you're hungry.

She says it's for release, but in an ‘organizational’ way. Says it doesn't equal throwing stuff away. Basically it's picking a crumpled shirt off the floor and folding it before putting it neatly on the shelf, so that your demons and grudges are sorted and you know where is what.

I'm all for throwing my clothes on the floor and leaving them there, because things material are such a ing bother. Dealing with them takes too long, the result can be easily undone, and in general it's a pain in the . I'm used to living among my demons, taking them to bed and letting them claim me.

But it's becoming a habit, and I guess it's better than putting cigarettes out on my skin, albeit more time-consuming. And somehow when I write, I don't sound like a ing idiot.

Till next time.

T.

Jinki was lounging on the couch with his phone in hand, his head resting on Kibum's lap. His fingers were busy tapping on the screen and earning points in the bubble game he was playing.

Kibum looked at the window: it was sunny outside, and normally he would be taking a walk or sitting in a coffee shop with his laptop. But he wasn't alone anymore, so he didn't really mind.

He called Jinki's name, playing with his hair.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think you'll take the room we saw yesterday?”

“Yeah, why?”

Kibum pouted.

“I think you should see a couple more. To have options to choose from.”

“I liked it, though. The location is good and it has all I need.”

“Yeah, but...”

“What?”

Jinki was cracking level after level like there was no tomorrow.

“It's gonna reek of the samgyeopsal from the restaurant downstairs, you'll have to get a new fridge, and...”

“And?”

“And it's too far from here.”

Jinki laughed.

“What?”

“You saved the main reason for last.”

“Just let's see another room tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Kibum leaned closer.

“You're not wearing your new lenses, are you?”

Jinki looked up at him for a second.

“No. I don't really like the feeling of touching my eye.”

“Do you prefer the feeling of brushing your teeth with the anti-pimple gel instead of toothpaste because you can't tell them apart?”

“It only happened two and a half times.”

“And it would've happened again if I hadn't replaced it.”

Jinki shrugged.

“I don't know, I guess I'm more of a glasses person.”

“Ah, c'mon, no one really is a glasses person.” Kibum began counting on his fingers: “First, when it rains, drops get behind them. They are uncomfortable when you lie down – two. Any old can punch them off your face – that's three.”

“All of these problems are fixable, though,” Jinki argued.

“How?”

“By not going outside, not lying down and not dealing with people.”

Kibum thought a little.

“I thought you'd say ‘by using an umbrella, lying on your back and not dealing with bad old people’.”

“Come on, let's be realistic.”

“Nothing can fix the fact that you look better without glasses, however.”

Jinki chuckled.

“Again, the main point at the end!... Do you think he went to the police?”

“Donkkaseu? Nah, I don't think so... I mean, I can just imagine him walking into the police station and going…”  Kibum assumed a lower voice: “‘So I was stalking this male hooker…’”

Jinki laughed.

“‘He didn't want to take it in the that night, so I punched his boyfriend and was knocked out by a two-thousand-won zucchini... Also, officer, treat yourself to some crack, I always have it in my glove compartment.’”

“Yeah, I guess you'll be fine.”

Kibum watched the other play the game for a minute, mildly frustrated. The ‘boyfriend’ part had not been a mere slip of the tongue: he wanted a reaction – which exactly, he didn't know. But either Jinki had mastered the art of hiding his reactions perfectly, or hadn't noticed anything at all... Or maybe he had noticed, and didn't mind being called the b-word at all?

‘Why do I always hurry so much, though?’ Kibum thought, combing Jinki's bangs back to see how he would look with bare forehead. He liked the result. ‘Am I clingy or not? Am I self-sufficient or do I just pretend that I am and in reality I'm scared of being alone?’ Their relationship had barely started, yet he already needed a name for it. Jesus, I really need to calm down and give him some space.

Jinki put his phone on his chest and sighed.

“Tired of your game?”

“No, the phone is out of charge.”

Kibum's lips puckered up.

“That's too bad. You'll actually have to notice me now.”

Jinki sat up and grinned at him.

“Do I have any other choice?”

His friend wanted to keep a straight face when he replied with: “There is always choice”, but it was hard when the guy he was in love with was giving him that mischievous look.

“I know a fun activity that would involve your body and my hands,” Jinki said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Kibum bit his lip.

“I would've said it sounds promising, but since it's coming from you...” He cautiously edged away from Jinki as the other slowly raised his hands. “It must be something... NO!!! Stop it!”

Of course, Jinki subjected him to a tickling attack and it didn't take Kibum's voice long to jump a couple octaves higher, until the only sounds leaving his mouth were ear-splitting shrieks. He was doing his best to defend himself from the assault, but the enemy was stronger.

Finally, Kibum dropped his back on the couch in exhaustion. Jinki was panting, too, but not tickling him anymore. However, he was looking the other straight in the eye with an expression indicating that there was still more mischief left in him, and Kibum kept his stomach covered just in case.

Jinki moved closer and Kibum flinched instinctively, but it was a false alarm.

“Don't even think about it.”

“About what?” the attacker asked innocently, leaning forwards slowly.

“You freaking know what!”

“Oh, you mean this?”

And surely, the area under his ribs which Kibum hadn't protected well enough, became a target for more tickling.

“NO!!!!!”

“‘No’? Then this?”

Kibum cowered and wriggled, his stomach hurting from laughter. When he realized that struggling for freedom was ineffective, he launched an attack himself, and it was Jinki who protested now.

“No, no, no, don't do it, I'm ticklish!”

“Who said I'm not?! Get it back now, get it!”

It was Jinki's turn to fall on his back, laughing hysterically.

“How do you like it now, huh?”

“I don't like it at all!” Jinki shrieked, imitating Kibum earlier. “Stop it!”

“You!!!”

Suddenly the ceiling and the floor switched, and they somehow ended up on the carpet, Kibum lying on top of his laughing opponent.

“Ah, it hurt a bit,” Jinki admitted.

“You should be careful!” Kibum cried, slapping his shoulder. “And such things should come with a warning!”

“Where's excitement in that, though?” Jinki argued, raising an eyebrow. “There should be an element of surprise, no?”

Kibum's lips curved upwards as he took a mental snapshot of that single moment: it was Sunday, they had nowhere to go, Jinki's dark hair was all messy and his eyes were crinkling in a warm, relaxed smile. It seemed that his mind was indeed here and not wondering in some dark places, and Kibum felt – or hoped – that a part of his soul belonged to him, too, if only for that moment alone.

Who cares about the stupid b-word, really?

 “You're right.”

He gave Jinki a peck on the mouth, which was followed by a soft, full-blown kiss.

“You know, sometimes when I see couples playing with each other, I roll my eyes and kinda wanna give them a kick in the pants,” Kibum confessed, smoothing the collar of Jinki's shirt (with a cartoon penguin in a cowboy hat on it). “But, even though it looks sickening from the outside, I like doing it myself.”

“Welcome to the dark side.”

Kibum rolled off and lay beside him. He took the other young man's hand in his.

“Can we just stay like this forever? Just lying on the floor and doing nothing.”

Jinki laughed.

“I think that you of all people wouldn't want to stay like this forever.”

“Why?”

“Because you always need to go places, do things... Which is what we're supposed to do anyway, because time passes and money runs out.”

Kibum sighed.

“True. I'm almost out of money now.”

“I told you to stop buying clothes for me online.”

“It's not my fault that you have no taste and need to be helped!”

“You can't afford to be my sugar daddy yet, though.”

“I guess I'll have to get back to work soon,” Kibum said, throwing a little sideways glance at the other.

Jinki said nothing.

“Do you mind if I continue... doing what we were doing?”

“Why would I mind? It's your life, I understand that you need cash.”

Kibum chewed on his bottom lip. Something in Jinki's laid-back answer pissed him off, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what.

“Will you continue doing what we were doing?”

“Not now, I don't think so.”

Don't ask what you're about to ask, really don't. You don't even want to kno-

But the question jumped out of Kibum's bow-shaped mouth before he even realized:

“Is it because of Taemin?”

Jinki didn't look upset because of that question, though. Or maybe he was hiding it well. Or maybe I have paranoia... Seriously, I should stop.

“It's because of a number of reasons,” he answered. And he looked fine. Calm.

He must've forgotten him.

The intercom let out a low, nasal sound announcing a guest. Kibum cussed and scrambled to his feet.

“Who's that? Minho?”

“No, it's Jjong. I guess I was supposed to order pizza, but-” Kibum pushed the button to open the front door while checking the messages on his phone simultaneously.

Kibaem, get the extra cheese this time. Omw

Arrived twenty minutes ago.

“.”

When the door opened and Jonghyun appeared, holding two 2 litre Coca-Cola bottles in his arms as if they were some heavy, sugar-filled babies, Kibum was making a call in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he said as his eyes fell on Jinki.

“Hey,” the other answered with a half-hearted wave.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“Because I fell.”

“How did you fall?”

“Spontaneously,” Jinki replied.

That answer must have satisfied Jjong, because he finished the interrogation and began shuffling out of his shoes.

He put the bottles on the table and flopped on the couch.

“He forgot about the pizza, did he?”

Jinki nodded.

“Extra cheese!!!” Jjong yelled, because he was too exhausted after the twenty-minute walk from his house to drag himself to the kitchen.

The other young man was sitting quietly on the carpet, hugging his knees. His face didn't express much – he was in his head. Jonghyun looked at him, that resulted in an accidental, slightly awkward eye contact and now something needed to be said.

Jinki saved the situation.

“So, you're like an artist now?”

“Kinda. No big deal,” Jjong replied with that languid, nonchalant attitude which actually meant that he did think it to be a big deal. “Just a small story inspired by the cafe. Kibum told you that you're in it, right?”

“Yeah, it's fine. Why didn't you tell me yourself, though? I mean, it's pretty cool news.”

Jjong's eyes shifted from his phone to Jinki and back to his phone.

“Kibum needed a reason to contact you.”

“Really?”

“Yep... He's very kind, you know.”

Jinki looked up at his friend.

“I know,” he said earnestly.

“Doesn't always know what he's doing, however...”

Jonghyun's fingers were tapping his knee softly.

“I think he can take good care of himself,” Jinki argued, getting up.

“Can you?”

His plump lips parted, but he hesitated to answer. The question was simple enough, and of course he could take care of himself, but he was still somehow confused by it. Why had it even been asked?

“Are you guys done discussing me?” Kibum asked, bringing his colorful presence back into the room.

“Who said we were discussing you?” Jonghyun parried quickly, and the frown on his face made the other click his tongue.

“Jesus, guys, I'm just joking, what's up with those faces?”

Jinki cleared his throat.

“It's because you know our secret now.”

“I don't see how it's a secret, since I'm the only topic worth discussing.”

Kibum pecked him on the mouth before planking himself next to Jjong and turning the TV on.

“Did you ask for the cheese?”

His eyes flickered and Jinki smiled, sitting down next to him. Of course, he'd forgotten.

“I can't remember everything, you know!” Kibum cried, throwing up his hands in a defensive manner.

“I asked you twice,” Jjong reminded him patiently.

Kibum copied him in a voice that sounded nothing like Jonghyun, taking his phone in his hand to correct his order. Jinki put his palm on his friend's knee. There was a quiet fondness in his eyes, and Kibum was lost in them for a moment or two while the woman on the phone repeatedly asked what he wanted.

They watched Train to Busan, Kibum and Jonghyun, who had been calling Gong Yoo their ‘daddy’ since the beginning of the film, cried openly, and Jinki tried not to be very obvious by bringing his shirt to his eyes a couple of times. However, he could not fool anyone. After all, Train to Busan was that kind of movie.

When they were out of pizza and Cola, they headed outside to have a drink. Jonghyun was not really a fan of alcohol, but Kibum was glad to have him around: it was easier to drag Jinki outside when there was some social pressure.

Kibum had nowhere to go the next day, so he got drunk alright. When they were coming back near midnight, he was swaying and twirling and being childish.

“I can safely say that I wholeheartedly recommend ion to every young person beginning their life in a big city!” he cried cheerfully, wrapping each arm around his friends walking by his sides.

“And I can safely say that you don't need to shout about it,” Jjong muttered, throwing a discreet glance over his shoulder.

There was some old guy smoking by the doors of a closed restaurant, but he didn't seem to care much.

“Do you know why?!”

Nobody asked.

“Because you can find wonderful friends in unlikely places!”

“Like your bottom,” Jinki joked, and Kibum tripped on his feet because he was laughing too hard.

“‘Like your bottom’,” the drunken guy repeated, hitting the other's shoulder. “Oh, god... Wait, where's my clutch?”

“Got it,” Jonghyun answered, waving the black faux leather accessory. He stretched out his arm to return it to its owner, but the latter ignored him because he was suddenly distracted by something – namely, a poster of Gong Yoo advertising ‘The Body Shop’ cosmetics behind the glass.

“Daddy!” he cried, dashing towards the poster. He pressed his face against the glass. “My daddyyyyy... How could they do that to you?! Ah, oh, waaahh...”

Jonghyun watched his dramatic meltdown for a minute and handed the clutch to Jinki.

“I think I've got a Kibum overdose.” With that confession, he headed home.

Jinki was not going to spend that night with Kibum.

“Why, do you also have the case of ‘me’ overdose?” the latter asked, wrapping his arms around his neck.

Jinki had brought him all the way to his house and they were now standing by the staircase leading up to the front door. The side-street was empty and faintly illuminated by the orange light of the street lamps lining the main road.

Jinki smoothed down Kibum's ruffled hair.

“No, I'm socially tired in general.”

The other pouted.

“Can I change your mind?”

Jinki shook his head.

“Nope. Not tonight.”

They stared deep into each other's tired eyes.

Kibum was one of those people who always smelled fine, dressed fine and generally carried the atmosphere of effortless perfection wherever they went, no matter how much money they had and whether life was easy on them or not. He carried his heart on his sleeve and couldn't really hide his vulnerability, but it never made him look weak. He cried his tears, chased his guys and failed at his relationships as if it was a fashion. He had his together even when he didn't.

Did Jinki secretly want to be like him or did he simply admire those qualities? No, he could never be like him. You just can't fake it.

The whispers of the spring could already be heard in the midnight wind, very faintly, and he felt like something was slipping away.

“I'm very-very-very-very much in love with you right now,” Kibum murmured, his dilated pupils echoing his words.

Jinki put a gentle kiss on his lips. Kibum returned it, pressing himself tighter against the other's body.

“Have you ever told anybody you love them?” he asked, his fingers caressing the back of Jinki's head.

“I don't think so.”

“No one at all?”

“I guess not.”

“So, technically… you could be in love with someone and not telling them that?”

“Maybe.”

Kibum laughed.

“That's good enough for me, then.”

They kissed each other goodnight, and Jinki went to his old place where misery lived, walking slowly.

The lights and other people were nothing but blurry spots moving past him.

Letter #11

I told you before that I wanted to be alone. Because being alone meant being sane, and I wasn't sane with my mom, you and any other people. Especially you...

But I have found out that sanity is a fleeting thing – so hard to sustain, so easy to lose.

Being insane was fun when you were around, though. You took part in my madness, even though you pretended that you didn't like it, you bathed in the lust you felt for my body, and didn't play the nurse who would try to force me to realize that I'm being a stupid who should go back to his medications and away from his illusions. I loved it. But, perhaps, it was the last thing I needed.

The first few days in my new room were good. I could eat, and sleep, and watch TV and not be in a constant fear that someone would walk in and tell me that I should be doing something else, where I should go and whom I should meet. Sometimes I just stared at the blocks of light crawling across the wall as minutes and hours passed by, and found some sort of intoxicating bliss in it. Or maybe it was the pills. I lost track of time early on.

Last night I took another nap at an odd time of day and woke up at about three in the morning with my stomach growling. I ran out of the salads and ‘healthy’ snacks that mom had brought from home. I opened the fridge, saw all the fruits and vegetables, and other stuff that only needed to be taken out and washed, and I just couldn't handle it. Finding something to eat should be a simple task, right? Especially when your fridge is full of crap. But I was looking at those shelves and it was like I forgot how to work my brain. How objects were connected to each other. What I was supposed to do with them.

So, I went downstairs and to the CU market across the road. I bought some basic ramen and ate it at home. The taste of it seemed artificial to me: I'm used to other kinds of food, mostly organic and always approved by my mother. But I filled myself up with it to kill the hunger. Then I curled up in my bed and cried for no particular reason. Maybe I was tired of my own company.

I called my mother – the only person who still cares about my existence and whom I couldn't surprise anymore. She must have consulted a doctor of some sort, because, unlike she had done in the past, she spoke to me in that low therapeutic voice that could work wonders on wackos standing on rooftops' edges and threatening to jump. I knew what she was doing, asking me ‘safe’ questions like what I had seen on TV and whether I'd like to take a walk next day because she heard the weather was going to be nice, and telling me to take a nice shower and go to sleep in my nice bed. She was distracting me, and it worked at the moment. By the time I hung up, my breathing was slow and I didn't feel like screaming at walls anymore. I missed my box, though. Someone disposed of it while I was in hospital.

I tried to fall asleep again, but the darkness was watching me and showing me pictures of everything I had done wrong. Your face and your confusing words began torturing me again. I needed to run away.

I threw my coat on top of my pajamas and took the elevator to the highest floor. It was disturbing to be standing there in the middle of the night, the cold corridor light buzzing over my head like an omen of something terrible. But no one was going to hurt me apart from my own mind: I was alone.

I got up to the roof. The sunrise was coming near at the time, and everything below was blue and gray, and it felt like the world was ending, and I was the only one who knew about it.

Why didn't you get attached to me? Why did you deny me that one last meeting when you knew how bad my state was?

Was it because I smiled to you that night?

Was it because I tried to appear confident?

To drown out the questions, I put my headphones on and played some Grieg. I love his music. It's sweeping, melancholic and so much like the ocean. It entered my body and moved it, and in a minute I was dancing on that roof, alone, either like a child or a complete lunatic. My movements were flowing, and I put all of my anger and my resentment into each step, twist and turn, and it felt purifying. I was suddenly an open vessel into which clean, cool water poured, unobstructed and fresh. I forgot what a damned fool I am and even found some beauty within myself for a second or two.

When I came back to my room, I slept soundly and had no dreams at all.

Maybe I should return to the academy? Or have they expelled me by now? … I guess that can be fixed. As Mother says, ‘We're rich’...

I wish I could pay to someone to wipe my memories. You'd have to go first, my love.

T.

“So, are you taking the room or not?” the guy asked with some tension in his voice. He was standing on the floor barefoot, wearing crumpled boxers and a T-shirt, and had obviously been sleeping when the potential tenants rang the door. It was clear that he wanted to return to his messy bed as soon as possible.

Jinki looked at Kibum and opened his mouth to give his answer, but his friend, who was doing something on his phone, raised his index finger as if he'd read his mind and told him to hold it.

The boxers guy crossed his arms on his chest and puffed.

“You know, I've got other appointments today, so...” he began, but was stopped by the same silent finger.

Indeed, that one gesture shut him up, even though he didn't know himself why this slim guy with pink bangs and a ridiculous, huge phone case (Micky Mouse? Seriously?) would have such power over him. He gave his friend a look of surly confusion, to which Jinki responded with an apologetic little smile.

“Aaaand... the Wi-Fi works fine,” Kibum concluded, showing the others the video tutorial on how to comb a poodle puppy as evidence. He turned to Jinki and gave him a nod of approval.

“Um, yeah, I guess I'll take the room,” Jinki said, finally, and the guy breathed out in relief.

“Okay, come to sign the papers tomorrow, I'll message you the time,” he muttered while basically pushing them towards the door.

“Can you leave the bed?” Kibum asked, unperturbed.

“No, I'm taking the furniture with me.”

“What about that little table?”

“I'm taking it, too.”

Jinki was tying his shoelaces and looking like he wasn't part of the situation. He didn't feel that Kibum's last-minute haggling was necessary, but knew that it couldn't be stopped.

“Oh, but it's so nice. Albeit old, I mean, I saw some scratches there on the top…  What do you even need an old table for?”

The guy in boxers glared at Kibum, whose expression was in between innocent and shameless, but couldn't give a quick answer.

“See? You don't even need it! While my friend here…” Jinki quickly looked away. “…has to use a cardboard box as a desk! My heart aches when I see him sitting by that box and writing beautiful presentations with awfully long words that I don't understand, with a pen he stole from a bank! Can you imagine the humiliation of walking into a bank and tearing a pen off the cord because you can't afford buying it?” Kibum gave the guy a plaintive look.

“Duh... Fine, I'll leave the table. Now get out.”

“What about that folding chair? I mean, how many chairs does one man need?”

“I'll think about it. ”

“And the cleaning tools?” Kibum added in a more business-like manner as he slipped his shoes on.

“No, because I need them myself!”

“And the drapes?”

“Get out!!!”

Kibum gave the owner of the room a disarming smile before being tugged away by his embarrassed friend.

“I don't use a cardboard box as a desk!” Jinki protested when they were waiting for the elevator, but Kibum shushed him.

“It's not a lie if it's for the greater good.”

The doors opened and they walked in.

“Are you happy now?” Jinki asked.

The other bit his lip, but couldn't quite hide a satisfied grin.

“We're just a block away from each other, a CGV theater is around the corner and I've just haggled you a baby table – what's there to be happy about? Oh, and did I mention that you're wearing a proper jacket for a change?”

Jinki smiled, too.

“Thanks for upgrading my life,” he said, squeezing Kibum's hand. He worded his answer like a joke, but there was gratitude in his voice.

“Wait 'till I find you the best deals for furniture. You won't believe what a treasure I really am.”

“Are you, though?”

“Are you skeptical?”

Jinki puckered his lip.

“It's true that sometimes you're not completely annoying, but I wouldn't go that far.”

They walked outside and Kibum shook his head.

“,” he muttered, putting his sunglasses on, and Jinki laughed.

A half-gasp, half-moan left Kibum's mouth, and he fell back, letting his head hang over the edge of the bed. He was out of breath and his body, especially the hips, was sore and exhausted. Yet, in that hot, sticky mess, pleasure was the biggest sensation – rough, full and unsparing.

A few more movements, and they were both done.

Jinki's cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dim, disoriented. Kibum raised himself and looked at him, smiling. He took his lover's hand and pressed it to his chest, lacing their fingers together.

The other smiled, too.

It was already dark outside, and the rain drops pitter-pattered on the window. But Kibum was not going to stay. They both knew it would be for the better.

He went to the shower first, and Jinki the air-con: he was still feeling hot. He the television, too, and switched channels listlessly, not really thinking of what he was seeing.

When his friend came back into the room, he had settled on a shopping channel. With the sound muted, he was watching a footage of a miraculous onion chopper.

“Suddenly interested in cooking utensils?” Kibum asked, putting his jeans on.

Jinki shook his head absently.

“When are you going to apply the KonMari method to your stuff?”

“Kalamari method?”

Kibum clicked his tongue.

“KonMari method!” He corrected. “Seriously, you don't need so many books, and old copybooks, and stolen pens, and just looking inside your closet gives me headaches!”

“Don't look inside it, then.”

“You need to fold your stuff, Jinki. Fold, and not roll and stick it everywhere, so that when you want to wear it, it doesn't look like it's been pulled out of your !”

Jinki was biting his bottom lip and saying nothing.

The other sighed and sat down on the bed to put on his socks, but stopped midway to confess, in a calmer voice:

“You know, I like it when you bang my brains out. And you know that I'm the one who asks to be choked ually, and if you want a bit of Friday-night , I'm just your guy, but...” he turned around to face the other. His eyes were glued to the screen. “Maybe you could try to actually make love to me in the future? Like, be more gentle and not try to snap my spine in two? Not that I'm complaining, I mean, we have a lot of fun, you're capable of being soft outside of the bed, and I'm just trying to understand.”

“Nice use of the compliment sandwich,” Jinki said pensively, pushing buttons on the remote again. Kibum took it away from him and turned the TV off.

“We need to talk about it.”

“I can't do it now... sorry.”

“Maybe you need a therapist or something?”

“I have no time or money for that right now. I'll try to be gentler,” Jinki added, seeing Kibum's concerned expression.

His words sounded final, for now. He closed the topic.

“Yeah, money... I'm close to being broke myself.”

“We need to work, what else can we do.”

“Right, I guess I'll go some random dude for cash,” Kibum said, not knowing why he was saying it all of a sudden.

“If that's what you feel like doing.”

He slipped his socks on and started buttoning up his shirt somewhat aggressively.

“Do I feel like doing it? Well, I feel like having some money, that's all. Not that you care about what I do.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Jinki asked, furrowing his brow.

Kibum was back on his feet now, his arms crossed on his chest.

“Do you see us as a couple? Or am I just a filler or something?”

“Why- why are asking that now?”

“I do get that is not really important for us, especially considering our past, but maybe there's a line between being chill about a relationship and, like, not giving a whatsoever? I kinda wanna know where we stand.”

“Why can't we just... be?” Jinki asked with a shrug. He sounded weary.

Kibum felt like he was shouting at him from behind soundproof glass. He was not really there.

“I can ‘just be’. Just not sure for how much longer. Goodnight.”

With those words, he threw his coat on and left.

The last thing he saw before he shut the door behind him were Jinki's sad, glistening eyes.

“I'll text you!” Jinki promised, perhaps, too late. He didn't know if Kibum heard him or not.

He rubbed his face, feeling sleepy, and stared off into space. The room was getting cold now, and there was no need for the air-con anymore. He switched it off and approached the window. Kibum was walking away, shielded from the rain by his see-through umbrella. Some kind of determination filled each of his steps: he was really hurrying to leave.

But Jinki was numb to that sight. He cared, but there was something else in his mind. Something that, at that moment, was bigger, and deeper, and that could be felt in his very muscles.

He turned around.

Taemin was lying on his messy bed, dressed in black, his hair black, too. He was playing with his rings, and the light coming from the street was reflected on his calm face.

“Why are you in my head?” Jinki whispered.

“Because you won't let me out,” the vision answered simply.

“Why won't I let you out?”

“I don't think you know how to.”

Jinki walked back to the bed and sat down on the edge.

“Why did I hurt you?”

“Because you couldn't understand me. Because I was near. Because you couldn't resist. Who knows?”

“I should just move on, right?”

Taemin smiled.

“If you're still asking yourself that, you're a fool.”

Jinki's phone vibrated on the table.

‘I don't know why I acted like that. I'm sorry.’

‘I'm sorry, too. Let's talk tomorrow.’

‘Okay. You need rest.’

‘Goodnight’

‘I love you’

‘Goodnight, Bummie’

He forgot about the vision. He was alone in his room, again.