1/2
Circuit Dreams
Kyungsoo sighs when the beat of the music plays in a staccato rhythm over the harsh white lights of the room. The place is an embodiment of manufactured industrial chic—an excessively large place in Gangnam’s pricey area code trying to emulate the warehouse aesthetics of art studios straight out of dreams. Stick thin women with gaunt faces thunder past in their sky-high heels and blue and yellow eye makeup.
“We should try having our faces done like that,” Baekhyun whispers to him, covering his face with his hands out of habit. Kyungsoo returns his statement with a glare hoping to convey a reprimand. Baekhyun knows better than to talk during stuffy events like this.
“Shut up.” Kyungsoo barely moves his mouth, a talent honed by almost six years of being under the scrutiny of the public. Baekhyun grins salaciously and straightens in his seat, eyeing one model with most of her chest hanging out of a structured black top. Kyungsoo suppresses a yawn. On his other side, Yixing adjusts himself for what must have been the fifteenth time since the first model has walked past.
The fashion house has organized a special show in time for their flagship’s first anniversary. Anyone who’s someone in South Korea has to sit on the uncomfortable chair that is more for visual than for comfort. All eight of EXO has a place on the front row, being the label’s most profitable ambassadors in Asia.
Knobby knees pass in front of Kyungsoo, dressed in a thin mini skirt that’s too little for the coldness of the room. He has been trying so hard to pay attention to the clothes toddling in front of him in time with the thumping bass but he’s never one to pay much attention to trivial things such as coordinated outfits. He won’t be able to pull off thigh-high suede boots anyway.
Kyungsoo’s eyes stray over the other guests across from him. The lag time between one model and the next provides a good opportunity for him to stare at other impeccably dressed strangers. The way a person holds himself says a lot about how the person is held—figuratively and literally.
The man sitting diagonally across from him catches his eye. The gold of his skin and the classic strength of his features scream 1950s show business. With a jawline sharper than Jongdae’s, Kyungsoo thinks he must have been a model—someone who’s famous. A face like that is frequently featured on televisions or magazine covers.
There’s a distinct weight addled to a person’s gaze and the man with the sharp jawline must have felt Kyungsoo’s. He turns his head a little bit to his direction and, in between a baby pink ruffled dress and a bright yellow pantsuit, their eyes meet.
The man’s spine is pin-straight and his right leg is crossed over the left. His lips lift a little at the side and his sleepy-looking eyes squint slightly before he breaks out in a beautiful grin. Kyungsoo prays he’s not red in the face from the other man’s smile and stare.
He blinks twice, thrice, in rapid succession, gulping before turning away from the man. Kyungsoo feels the heavy gaze boring on the side of his face. He resolutely keeps his head towards the models. A woman in loose pants and an even looser jacket without anything underneath struts by. He wonders if it’s just his imagination—the man running his eyes all over his seated figure.
Kyungsoo doesn’t look at him to check.
The afterparty is all flashing lights in reds and blues and greens. The music blaring from the speakers is very Eastern European. Kyungsoo doesn’t know what that means but the one DJ-ing has insisted about that description. He has the beginnings of a buzzing headache and the constant chatter between Baekhyun and Jongdae doesn’t help it one bit.
Afterparties are nothing but a show of wealth and fancy networking. Champagne flows freely like liquid gold, spilling over designer clothes and fat wallets and snazzy CVs. Kyungsoo sees an old man in a nicely pressed suit. He thinks he’s probably the CEO of something or another. He doesn’t pay much attention to society—that’s usually Chanyeol’s nosy ’ job.
“Hello,” someone whispers on Kyungsoo’s right ear. The puff of warm air surprises him and the raspy voice drawls the greeting in english. He turns around, startled, and his words get caught in his throat in a vice.
The man from before stands tall and confident in front of him. The long line of his embroidered jacket accentuates his height and the breadth of his shoulders. Kyungsoo thinks his hair is some shade of brown but the lights make it harder to confirm. There’s a boyish grin playing on his face and it’s a nice contrast to the conceit of his posture.
“Hi,” Kyungsoo replies softly. He extends his hand and the man returns it with a firm shake. His hands are calloused compared to the softness of Kyungsoo’s palm.
The boyish smile on the man’s face turns into a small smirk, one corner of his lips quirking upwards. “Kim Jongin. Call me Jongin, please,” he says. From his tone, Kyungsoo feels like Kim Jongin expects him to know who he is. It’s nothing new in these kinds of events. People love it when they get recognized.
Kyungsoo raises one meticulously plucked eyebrow, imitating the other’s tone and smiling a little, he leans closer, “Do Kyungsoo. Nice to meet you.”
“May I call you Kyungsoo?”
There’s a strange lilt to Jongin’s Korean that Kyungsoo can’t place. Instead of off-putting, Kyungoo finds it charming that he involuntarily nods. The smirk on Jongin’s face blooms into a wide smile and the shorter male finds himself smiling back.
Jongin leads him away from where he’s standing and Kyungsoo vaguely thinks of his manager and the rest of EXO mingling. This is not something Kyungsoo’s good at despite years of being an idol but something about the disarming droop of Jongin’s eyes makes him comfortable enough. A waiter passes by and Jongin plucks two flutes of champagne, handing one to Kyungsoo.
“Thanks,” he mutters, sipping the alcohol lightly. He prefers beer and wine over the bitter taste of bubbly but the gold of the drink looks enticing when it’s Jongin who’s holding the glass.
“It’s no problem. I’m trying to get you drunk.”
Kyungsoo almost chokes on the champagne and his eyes widen as his neck snaps upwards to Jongin’s direction. A playful grin graces his features, illuminating his face better than the strobe lights can. There’s a joke hinting on the corners of Jongin’s lips but the way his body carefully leans inwards towards Kyungsoo speaks of one the most blatant come-ons the singer has ever encountered.
He can’t say he minds it, not one bit.
Kyungsoo looks at Jongin under his lashes, something he’s been taught as attractive and appealing. The headache he’s feeling a while ago is nothing but a dream now and he’s feeling bold for once despite the lack of liquid courage.
“It takes a lot to get me drunk,” he says. He watches as Jongin’s eyes go big in pleasant surprise and the taller man takes a sip of his champagne. The smile on his plump lips is noticeable even behind the thin rim of the flute.
After a weighted pause, Jongin says, “You’re interesting.”
Kyungsoo beams at the compliment. It’s not something he’s heard often. First meetings tend to put him under the boring category. He’s not like Baekhyun or Jongdae or Chanyeol, whose natural extrovert qualities draw people in; not like Yixing or Junmyeon or Minseok, who are smart and witty; not like Sehun, who can be intentionally funny without making fun of himself.
Kyungsoo is just Kyungsoo—a little weird and awkward—but there’s an attractive guy openly flirting with him and he can’t help but be flattered.
“Thank you.” He hopes his sincerity does not come off as too eager. “I could say the same thing to you. You seem like an intriguing man, Jongin.”
Jongin doesn’t bother hiding his chuckle. “That’s a first.”
“You don’t normally get called intriguing?” Kyungsoo raises both his eyebrows in incredulity.
“My profession doesn’t really make me that much of an intrigue,” Jongin shrugs. “At least, not the kind of intrigue that you meant.”
“Are you a model?” Kyungsoo blurts out. Jongin double-takes at that and the shorter man is ready to apologize in case he has offended the other.
“Kind of,” Jongin rubs his left hand on his nape and Kyungsoo wants to coo at the shy gesture. Jongin looks like he’s unsure of what he’s saying. It’s strangely more appealing than the show of self-surety.
Kyungsoo says as much and Jongin blinks in surprise before beaming at him.
“It’s part of my job—being confident,” Jongin admits. He steps half a foot closer to Kyungsoo but Kyungsoo doesn’t mind the minimal distance. Jongin is not like the others who have easily slipped their skin against his, assuming just because he’s an idol that he’s fine with contact. There’s a beat of silence when the loud music thumps underneath Kyungsoo’s skin and then, sheepishly, Jongin adds, “I’m trying to impress you.”
Kyungsoo stills and then, unbidden, laughs out loud. The lights throw the stark relief of Jongin’s bone structure with glowing blue but the red of his cheeks is not from the flashes but from embarrassment. Jongin turns his head away from Kyungsoo’s direction and downs his champagne in one go.
“No, sorry,” Kyungsoo breathes out. He reaches a hand on Jongin’s bicep, finding hard muscle under his fingertips. The other man turns to look at him, ears a little bit red and his cheeks a healthy pink. “I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just—You know.”
Kyungsoo gestures to Jongin’s general direction, flapping his hands repeatedly. “I don’t think you need to do much to impress me.”
Jongin steps closer again but he’s still not touching Kyungsoo. One of his hands is loosely gripping the glass flute and the other is stuffed inside the pocket of his trousers. He bends down so his lips are a hair breadth’s away from Kyungsoo’s ear.
“You deserved to be impressed.” Jongin’s voice is purposefully lowered by an octave. The pounding of the bass is incessant but it’s no match to Kyungsoo’s erratic heart inside his chest. Jongin enunciates each syllable slowly, and his breath is warm and then hot on Kyungsoo’s earlobe. The turtleneck he’s wearing feels like it’s choking him.
Kyungsoo takes a step back. The smile on Jongin’s face falls a little.
Kyungsoo’s feels annoyance thrum in his veins when yet another man has approached him, smile lascivious and hands wandering over the sleeves of his tailored suit. Rich men act like they’re entitled to beautiful playthings who’ll never talk. Kyungsoo, as an idol, is one of the shiny objects they always try to pocket.
There are men who date celebrities to date celebrities.
He, along with Junmyeon and Sehun, is invited to represent EXO in a party organized by SAMSUNG. The other five have managed to bail out faster than he has. He downs another glass of champagne, grimacing at the burn that has become familiar after the third or the seventh time. Kyungsoo has lost count. Alcohol is alcohol in one’s stomach. His senses are dulled slightly but his tolerance is high and he’s bordering only on the side of tipsy.
The seat is cushioned, at the very least. But there are less people sitting like he does inside the hotel ballroom. Most are standing up and mingling with the crowd, talking about this and that, about everything and nothing at all. Kyungsoo has yet to master the art of small talk. A couple of meters away, Junmyeon and Sehun are talking to someone highly important, judging by the anxious way their manager is hovering a few distance from where they are. Kyungsoo’s left alone, thankfully.
“It’s nice to run into you again, hyung.” Someone says from Kyungsoo’s right. Someone familiar. Someone he has met a week ago.
“Hello, Kim Jongin,” Kyungsoo greets, turning to face the newcomer who has so impolitely sat down on the seat designated for their manager. The table is empty besides the two of them. “I didn’t realize I’m older than you are.”
“By a year and two days. I was born on the 14th of January, 1994.”
“You don’t look that young to me,” Kyungsoo notes.
“I get that a lot,” Jongin replies, twisting his body slightly so he’s looking at Kyungsoo directly in the eyes.
“It’s been a week,” Kyungsoo says, apropos of nothing.
“Eight days,” Jongin corrects with a smile. He crosses his legs and turns his body completely towards the other male. His knees graze the side of Kyungsoo’s thigh but the shorter man makes no move to put distance between the fabric of their designer suits. “I thought I would never see you again.”
“South Korea is not that large when we move in the same circle,” Kyungsoo notes, turning towards Jongin too. Jongin smiles softly. There’s something adoring and sweet about his stare, something so painfully obvious to the oblivious Kyungsoo. Or, maybe Kyungsoo’s projecting, hoping, wishing.
“True,” he replies. Kyungsoo is distracted as he watches Jongin’s index finger that’s lazily tracing the thin stem of the champagne, up and down, up and down. The soft smile turns into a smirk when his eyes drift to where Kyungsoo has been staring.
Kyungsoo feels dizzy and it’s not from the alcohol.
“I miss you,” Jongin says, breaking the silence that has befallen them.
“You’ve met me once,” Kyungsoo points out. He tears his gaze off of Jongin’s finger and he forces himself to look at the eyes of the smug man.
“Yes.” Jongin stops playing with the cold glass. Both his hands are now on top of his lap, carefully folded in an illusion of primness betrayed by the casual way the top buttons of his shirt are undone. There’s a silver watch peeking from the cuff of his left sleeve. Seemingly pouting, he adds, “You didn’t give me your phone number.”
Kyungsoo looks Kim Jongin straight in the eye. There’s a small twist on one corner of his lips. “I don’t just give out my number to anyone.”
“But I’m not just anyone, right, D.O?” Jongin stresses Kyungsoo’s stage name in an attractive cadence. Kyungsoo feels his cheeks warm up despite the chilly room.
“My birthday and my stage name? I see you know who I am.”
“And I see you still don’t know who I am.” Jongin chuckles a little bit at that but he doesn’t sound insulted. “It’s refreshing.”
One of Jongin’s hands creep on Kyungsoo’s knees. It settles laxly on top of the knobby bone, nothing firm, a reminder that the other man can push it away if he wants. Kyungsoo knows he should bat it away, knows he should reject all forms of advances from a man he has met twice. Especially, a model like Jongin. If he really is one.
Relationships complicate everything in the entertainment industry. Anonymity is non-existent next to fame and discreetness can only go so far in the name of secrecy.
The hand on his knees stay and Jongin’s eyes crinkle in tiny crescent moons, his smile bright.
Jongin supposes it’s apt that everything ends where it has begun.
Three days after the SAMSUNG event and he’s stuffed inside a club catering towards VIPs in the middle of ing nowhere Gangnam. He’s meeting an old friend who has brought an entourage and Jongin’s not one to decline a hard drink so he doesn’t mind the extra hangers-on.
Women swim across the sea of pulsating bodies on top of their stilettos. Blood red lipstick is intimidating when curled into a predatory smile. Men are dressed in tight pants and leather shoes, expensive jacket carelessly thrown over the shoulders. There’s a method to everything; VIP clubs keep everything that happens inside, inside.
Jongin finishes his first martini fast. A girl in a tight red dress with an even tighter skin wraps her cold hands all around his forearm, pulling him to the direction of the dance floor. He complies for lack of nothing to do.
The electronic synth reminds Jongin of that one event when he has first met Do Kyungsoo, the lead vocalist of famous Kpop group EXO. The very-much-Korean DJ has called it Eastern European chic but Jongin’s been to clubs in Budapest and Moscow and Prague and some other more in latitudes he can’t even remember and he’s sure it’s not Eastern European. If anything, it’s closer to Ibiza trash music and whatever the hell DJs play in the French Riviera.
The girl is swaying unsteadily from too much gin and fruit juice. Her breath is hot from where she’s pressed on Jongin’s front. He thinks it should be a turn on, but his dance partner is too busy trying to multitask staying upright and gyrating her hips than focusing on him. The mass of the bodies move in time with the reverberations coming from the speakers. The DJ screams something that has the girl on Jongin’s arms screaming back before running off. Her lips are already attached to another woman’s.
Jongin sighs and shakes his head a little. The night is young, two hours before midnight. He’s about to walk off when he’s accosted by a small man.
“Hi,” Do Kyungsoo murmurs. He’s looking up at Jongin, big eyes twinkling with mirth and a little bit of excitement.
“Hi.” Jongin feels a little stupid standing slightly on the edge of the dance floor. “We should stop meeting at these kinds of settings.”
“So,” a slight pout, “you don’t want to meet me anymore?”
Jongin smiles a bit before invading Kyungsoo’s space. His feet are in between Kyungsoo’s but the man does nothing to step back—unlike the first time. There’s a vague sense of victory from the way the older man leans closer.
“Maybe not in a noisy club,” Jongin whispers. “Somewhere quiet.”
Kyungsoo takes the initiative, wrapping his arms and linking them on Jongin’s nape. He plays with the short tendrils of hair, Jongin can feel the ghost of Kyungsoo’s fingertips on his skin. He gulps when the singer smirks at him.
“And,” Kyungsoo’s voice drops a bit and Jongin’s hands rest on the soft flesh of the other man’s hips. There’s a slight hitch on Kyungsoo’s breathy tone when he continues, “Where do you think that somewhere is?”
“I brought a car.” Jongin’s face easily slips into a seductive smirk. “I can drive us to the apartment where I’m staying.”
Kyungsoo turns stock-still in his embrace and Jongin watches as the man bites the bottom half of his plush lips in between perfect teeth. Jongin is prepared to apologize but Kyungsoo’s hands unlinked themselves from his nape before they press gently on the material of his shirt. The hands travel downwards, from Jongin’s shoulders to his biceps to his wrists, like a phantom caress. Kyungsoo holds Jongin’s right hand in his, tugging him to the direction of the exit.
Jongin complies and before long, they’re making their way to the basement parking. The club provides a parking space for its paranoid patrons. Jongin pulls Kyungsoo to the direction of his car. He’s tempted to stop and kiss the man behind one of the cement pillars but the longer they stay in the dingy garage, the longer they’ll be away from a king-sized bed.
He pulls the keys from his pocket and Kyungso whistles in appreciation. The bright red Ferrari 488 glimmers in the ugly lighting. It doesn’t feel much of a betrayal when he’s cruising along empty roads.
“That’s a nice ride,” Kyungsoo comments.
“I borrowed it from a friend,” Jongin says. He doesn’t keep a car in Korea, not when he barely lives in the country. He tells as much even if the other man doesn’t really respond.
Jongin opens the passenger side for Kyungsoo and the older deftly slips inside before he closes the door himself. He goes around and settles in the leather seat, turning on the ignition swiftly. The engine purrs to life a tune that is familiar but before Jongin can pull out of the garage, Kyungsoo’s pale hand reaches to cover one of his.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Both his eyebrows are knitted together in concern. “Maybe you shouldn’t drive a fast car when you just drank.”
Jongin rests his free hand on top of Kyungsoo’s hand. There’s warmth pooling low on his gut that’s not from the lust and the alcohol. “I’m a good driver; don’t worry. And I’m not even tipsy.”
Kyungsoo looks unsure so Jongin twists his body sideways. His face is an inch or so away from Kyungsoo’s. The older man closes his eyes and, hearing no protests, Jongin closes the distance between their lips. There’s nothing lewd about the kiss but it’s hot and open-mouthed. Jongin cups Kyungsoo’s small face in his hand, rubbing one of the high cheekbones in what he hopes as reassurance.
Kyungsoo pulls away first and Jongin grins at him before reminding him to fasten his seatbelt. He gets out of the basement parking and the Ferrari streaks across the road smoothly. Jongin chances a glance towards Kyungsoo’s direction, finding the man tapping a finger on his thigh. Kyungsoo happens to see him and the man’s eyes go wide.
“Watch the road!” Kyungsoo looks deathly worried. Jongin just laughs.
“I told you not to worry,” Jongin soothes the older man. There are barely any cars on the road and Jongin wants to push close to the speed limit. He presses the gas pedal a tad and the Ferrari feels like it’s finally moving.
He takes one of his hands off of the wheel, blindly reaching to the passenger side. Kyungsoo catches his wandering hand and he intertwines their hand over his lap. Jongin feels hot despite the perfect air-conditioning system of the car.
Jongin’s a model citizen in South Korea so he brakes when they hit a red light. He crosses over the gear expertly and he’s half-way over Kyungsoo before he’s pressing another heated kiss on the other man’s plump lips. Kyungsoo opens his mouth readily and Jongin slips his tongue inside, prodding and warmth.
Kyungsoo tastes a little bit of whiskey and Jongin hopes the older man likes vodka and dry vermouth with a hint of green olive. He breaks the kiss with a bite on Kyungsoo’s lower lip, yanking it a bit before letting go. He lets the soft skin graze his teeth and Kyungsoo’s already flushed red from a simple kiss.
“How fast can you get us to your place?” Kyungsoo inquires, breathing unstable. He’s fiddling with the edge of the seatbelt and his thighs are pressed together.
“Well,” Jongin smirks. “It depends on how many traffic laws you want me to break.”
The door to Jongin’s apartment closes with a thud. He pushes Kyungsoo towards the wall near the entryway with bruising force. An apology sticks on the back of his tongue ready to be said but Kyungsoo sticks his lips on his and everything is forgotten.
Jongin rests his hands on Kyungsoo’s small waist, marveling at the soft curvature of the other man. Kyungsoo links his hands on his nape again, just like what he has done in the club, and pulls him downwards. Jongin opens his mouth and lets Kyungsoo control the kiss, the older man’s tongue the inside of his mouth. Kyungsoo tilts his head to gain better access and the wet sound of their lips is loud in the silence of the empty place.
Jongin feels a crick on his neck and his hands roam down towards Kyungsoo’s before squeezing the firm muscle through the material of his skinny jeans. Kyungsoo moans in the kiss, abruptly breaking it off to look at Jongin with his wide eyes now half-lidded. The taller man smiles before he bends his head low, capturing Kyungsoo’s lips in another searing kiss.
The younger pushes Kyungsoo upwards, lifting Kyungsoo off of his feet. The other’s legs wrap securely on Jongin’s hips and Jongin holds Kyungsoo securely. He’s lower than Kyungsoo this way so when the man breaks their kiss, he attacks Jongin’s neck with vigor. He places an open kiss on the outside of Jongin’s neck before his lips move their way upwards. He nips on Jongin’s jawline and the skin, moving towards Jongin’s ear.
“Bedroom,” Kyungsoo whispers. Jongin moans when the older man bites on his earlobe playfully.
Jongin carries Kyungsoo to the master bedroom, opening the door slowly without letting go. Kyungsoo laughs a little when Jongin fumbles with the doorknob but Jongin shushes him with a press of his lips on Kyungsoo’s.
Clothes off. Skin on skin. Their ness press together. Wild heartbeats threatening to burst out of sweaty chests, Jongin relishes Kyungsoo on his tongue. His is heavy on Kyungsoo’s soft thighs and his mouth is occupied by the need to taste and to devour. His tongue flicks on the older man’s s and his fingers trace the smooth expanse of Kyungsoo and the infinity that stretches along the numerous scattered moles.
There’s nothing but the sound of labored breathing and wet noises coming from the two of them. Kyungsoo’s hand reaches to palm Jongin’s , and before long, their moans and groans echo all over the empty walls of the desolate apartment. Goosebumps rising from searing hot skin, open-mouthed kisses on inner thighs, Jongin takes Kyungsoo apart like a scientist and an artist—clinical precision with the finesse of a virtuoso.
Jongin pushes himself in and bites on available skin, marking and tattooing himself on Kyungsoo’s entire being with the power and the heat of his mouth and gaze. Kyungsoo reaches and winds his arms on Jongin, legs wrapped around the taller man’s waist. Jongin wants to be closer, closer, closer, closer—
Nothing is ever enough.
Spent, Kyungsoo sluggishly slides Jongin’s flaccid out of him, holding the base to make sure the doesn’t slip off. Jongin watches as Kyungsoo rolls away before he takes the off. He ties it expertly before throwing it on the wastebasket a couple of feet away. He mentally fist-bumps himself when the sails inside.
Jongin turns to Kyungsoo, who’s still getting his breathing back to normal. He raises himself on his side, cradling the side of his head with his hand, completely uncaring of their ness. He scoots closer the singer and he leaves a sweet peck on the other’s sweaty temple.
“You can stay the night,” Jongin offers. The king-sized bed is too big for one person and Jongin won’t be complaining if he’ll have Kyungsoo’s soft body pressed against his through the night.
Suddenly, Kyungsoo bolts upright. “.”
Jongin sits up straight too, asking, “Is everything okay?” Mental images of Kyungsoo telling him that this is a mistake runs on his mind—maybe Kyungsoo’s taken, with a pretty girlfriend or a handsome boyfriend. Just because he’s some preppy idol does not mean Kyungsoo’s not the type to sleep around. It won’t be the first time Jongin will have encountered something like this.
“Kyungsoo?” he asks. This time, his voice is sharper and a little colder. Jongin puts on a façade of stoicism born out of being in the public scrutiny. Media vultures feed themselves from the bull Jongin subjects himself into.
Kyungsoo puts his underwear and his jeans on before he faces Jongin. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t really tell my manager about—well—doing this,” he explains. Something inside Jongin loosens at that and all the things he has imagined flew out the window with the sheepish smile on Kyungsoo’s heart-shaped lips.
Kyungsoo putters around the room trying to find his shirt. Jongin smiles when the other man releases an aha before pushing his shirt down his head.
“I can give you a lift,” Jongin suggests. Kyungsoo stares at him, nodding after a short moment of thinking.
“Thanks,” he says once Jongin has led them both outside the apartment.
“It’s no problem.” Jongin grins at Kyungsoo. In a fit of courage, he grabs Kyungsoo’s hand and entwines them together. Kyungsoo stiffens a tad before he squeezes Jongin’s bigger hand. Jongin’s grin is so wide it threatens to split his face in half.
The first few minutes of the car ride is spent in silence. Kyungsoo keys in their dorm’s address on the GPS and Jongin speeds through the almost empty streets feeling like the car is barely moving. He can hear Kyungsoo fiddling with the seatbelt and then—
“So you’re not a model?”
Jongin laughs, a little startled. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t think a model would own this nice of a car and that nice of an apartment,” Kyungsoo answers in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I told you I borrowed this car from a friend.”
“Yeah,” Kyungsoo replies. “But you’re very at ease for someone who’s just driving a lent vehicle around.”
“You’re very observant,” Jongin notes. “But I really do model. I’m just not officially one. Modeling is—I suppose—a side effect of my job.”
Jongin swiftly hits the brakes at a red light, turning to Kyungsoo and seeing the other man biting his bottom lip has Jongin wanting to kiss the man silly. Looking at Kyungsoo makes him feel like a teenager again, even if he’s not that much older than one.
“If I search you on Google—” Kyungsoo nips on his lip, distracting Jongin. “—what results will I get?”
Jongin, incredulous, raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never tried searching me online?”
“No!” Kyungsoo replies indignantly. “That’s kinda creepy, don’t you think?”
Jongin laughs again. He thinks he’s been doing that a lot when he’s with Kyungsoo. He playfully smirks, teases, “I watched all your music videos from 2012 to the most recent one. And then all the interviews and variety shows I can find. I bought all your albums and DVDs.”
The taller man watches as the apples of Kyungsoo’s cheeks turn red. He twiddles with his fingers and Jongin thanks the small space inside the car when he can easily place a kiss on one of Kyungsoo’s warm cheeks.
“The light is green,” Kyungsoo mumbles.
Jongin smiles and lets the purr of the Ferrari speak for the both of them.
Kyungsoo gives Jongin his phone number and a chaste kiss on the lips before he runs towards the direction of his dorm.
Once Kyungsoo is safely inside the building, Jongin gives an exuberant yell before driving off, humming EXO’s Love Me Right under his breath.
Kyungsoo wakes up with a delicious ache on his back, a scolding from Junymeon, and an I hope they don’t get mad at you :( - Jongin displayed on his phone notification. He smiles and saves the number on his contact list, shooting a quick good morning text and an I’ll live to the younger man, before heading out for a late breakfast.
They have to leave and be in the airport to fly out to Jakarta for The Exo’luxion in Indonesia. None of them have enough energy to prepare a decent meal so Kyungsoo’s seated at the dining table with a bowl of cereal in front of him. Baekhyun, seated across, has his phone in his hands while cramming a peanut butter sandwich inside his mouth.
He likes early morning silences when none of the members are awake enough to cause unnecessary trouble. They’re all tired and wound tight with the impending end of their second concert tour. Comeback concepts are being discussed and pitched among the members and EXO’s creative team. Kyungsoo’s about to shove another spoonful of chocolate cereal inside his mouth when Baekhyun suddenly chokes on his food.
“Here.” Kyungsoo pushed his glass of water to Baekhyun. “You okay?”
Baekhyun downs half of Kyungsoo’s drink, thumping his chest in the process. “Kai Kim just followed me on instagram.”
“Who?” Kyungsoo asks. Baekhyun says Kai Kim like he’s someone worth knowing. Suddenly, Chanyeol and Sehun barrels inside, clutching both their phones and waving it around. The two of them are shrieking.
Minseok, who likes to pretend that none of this is happening, sighs and gives up, asking, “What’s wrong?”
“Kai Kim followed me on instagram,” Chanyeol rushes out. Sehun nods wildly, barely managing a ‘me too’ before he goes back to staring starry-eyed at his phone. “And also Yixing-hyung but he doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation.”
“Again,” Kyungsoo interrupts. “Who?”
“Kai Kim,” Baekhyun starts, cheeks pink from his near-death experience. “He’s, like, the youngest Formula One champion when he’s 21, two years ago. He finished third last season but he’s still the favorite this coming Grands Prix.”
“Since when do you know anything about Formula One?” Minseok asks.
“What’s a Formula One?” Kyungsoo, at the same time, also inquires, head tilted to the side in confusion.
There’s a halt among the four others in the dining room and Kyungsoo feels severely judged when they turn their eyes to him.
Sighing, Baekhyun explains, “It’s a bunch of dudes racing on death traps. It’s fun to watch but a little confusing if you ask me. And—“ He turns his stare to Minseok. “—I wasn’t really into it until the middle of last year. I got hooked into a game and it just went from there. Chanyeol and Sehun were the same.”
“So what if Kai Kim followed you three?” Kyungsoo munches on his cereal.
Sehun walks over to him, draping long limbs all over Kyungsoo’s figure. He says, “Because he’s hot, famous, and rich.”
Kyungsoo regards Sehun carefully, “You’re also hot, famous, and rich.”
Chanyeol plops himself completely on the table, not even bothering with a chair. “Yeah. But he’s, like, on a different level.” He scrolls and taps a few on his iPhone before leveling the screen in front of Kyungsoo.
The singer squints a bit—wait—
“Kim Jongin?”
Airport codes feel more familiar than the certainty of a home when Kyungsoo’s always moving from one place to another. The plane is the same as a hotel in a way that it’s transit and transient. Baekhyun sits beside him, claiming he’d help Kyungsoo with his research. Junmyeon eyes them a bit from where he’s seated across but almost four years in their career and everyone has learned to tune out Junmyeon’s judgmental stare.
Before the plane takes off, he sends a quick text to Jongin, attaching a screen shot of the man’s Wikipedia page and a string of interrobangs. Kyungsoo opens multiple tabs before a flight attendant asks him to keep his phone. Once the plane is up, he diligently reads through various news and Wikipedia articles in an attempt to reconcile Kim Jongin (Jongin Kim, the man is born and raised in England, explaining the accent and the sometimes awkward Korean) to the pro-athlete Kai Kim.
“Your boy is rich as hell, Kyungsoo,” Baekhyun says. He’s scrolling lazily on his phone where he, too, has opened anything and everything that can be traced back to Jongin—in particular, the man’s net worth. “He’s going to be such a sugar daddy on you—us, hopefully. He can spare us some of his money.”
Kyungsoo slaps Baekhyun’s hand, warning, “He’s not.” He doesn’t say anything about Baekhyun calling Jongin his, doesn’t exactly know what to say about that.
The older singer scoffs, “He’s been in Formula One since he’s 19. Everyone calls him a genius with his 110-million Euro contract with Mercedes—which I’m not sure how much in won but I’m sure it’s a ton. And he owns a private jet.”
“That’s a rumor,” Chanyeol pipes up from where he has been sitting behind them, apparently listening to the conversation. “He does charter planes more often than not though. And he owns, like, a fleet of cars. And a yacht.”
“See,” Baekhyun huffs again. “No one spends three billion Won on cars alone unless they’re super rich. And here—” Baekhyun hands Kyungsoo his iPad, practically shoving the screen in front of Kyungsoo’s eyes. “—Here’s what his flat in Monaco looks like. And he’s got more—a large estate in Switzerland, a loft in New York, and properties in South Korea. His parents went back when he’s, like, successful enough. Retirement and all that.”
Kyungsoo stares, a little in amazement, a little in disbelief, at the beautiful place displayed on the iPad, all windows and glittering view of the ocean. It’s clean-looking, minimalist without being boring, and his eyes bug out of their sockets when he sees its estimated value.
“Scroll more,” Baekhyun whispers.
Kyungsoo does what he’s told and there’s a slideshow of the cars Jongin owns—McLaren, Mercedes, Ferrari, Lamborghini, in multiples, in different colors.
“Don’t you think this is a little absurd,” he says. There’s a small paragraph approximating Jongin’s net worth and his salary, like an afterthought, like it’s a given. Jongin makes more in one season than what Kyungsoo has made in his entire career.
“Yeah,” Baekhyun shakes his head.
“You’d think we’re not getting paid enough,” Junmyeon mutters, resigned.
Indonesia croons a different song than South Korea or Japan or China or any other country Kyungsoo’s been in to for a schedule. Timezones provide a unique DNA to the makeup of coordinates and Jakarta gives a different thrill than Manila or Taipei. There’s a sense of non-belonging—Kyungsoo’s always going to be tourist without a home.
The members are all wrung tired from the flight. On the way to the hotel, Kyungsoo remembers to finally turn the flight mode off of his phone. It pings diligently—seven messages from Jongin.
finally! i thought you’ll never google me.
sorry, my korean is awkward. i’ve never really used the keyboard before.
are you still in the plane? have a nice flight :D
text me once you landed so i know you’re safe okay?
i miss you already :( is that possible? i want to see you again.
i want to watch your concert. i’m an exo-l already!!
kyungsoo TTTT i have to go back to europe in four days :( the season’s about to start in a month. i’ve extended my break already……
Minseok eyes his phone like it’s going to explode any minute and Kyungsoo almost jumps from his seat when it pings again. Sehun looks half-way between smug and annoyed.
did you get there safely? twitter says you’ve landed already. i have a surprise for you.
Kyungsoo allows himself to smile at the message, typing a yeah before sending it. He taps the message box again, sending a photo of himself with Chanyeol, Baekhyun, and Yixing photobombing in the background, and asks what the surprise is.
Jongin replies with a bunch of heart emojis and a selca of himself making a secret gesture, forefinger pressed on his lips and his right eye in a wink. It looks funny. Jongin cannot wink properly.
Kyungsoo feels light and weightless, heart beating fast and cheeks warming up.
Hotel rooms are notorious for being drab and lifeless. Kyungsoo’s been used to the white walls and the white sheets and the white carpet since 2012. The thing about hotel rooms is that they look the same whether in Beijing or Tokyo or, in this case, Jakarta. He stumbles inside, followed by his designated roommate, Jongdae. The older man bumps into Kyungsoo.
“What’s wrong?” Jongdae yawns, peeking from behind the motionless man. His eyes widen in awe. “Wow. That’s—wow.”
There’s a large bouquet of red roses resting on the foot of the bed. The diameter spans almost the width of the mattress. Jongdae crows in delight before rushing out of the room. Kyungsoo distantly hears him calling for the members and their staff.
There are easily a hundred roses. Kyungsoo sees red and only red before he notices a white something nestled in between the roses. He plucks it and turns it around.
Twelve dozen for the number you always use and the number of days that had passed since your eyes met mine in between a pink dress and a yellow pantsuit. I’m not sure how much you like roses but hotel rooms are almost always white in color—I hope you like red?
Kyungsoo traces the Jongin signed on the bottom of the unscented card and he smiles wide at the doodle of an F1 car beside the younger man’s name. Vaguely, Kyungsoo hears gasps from the staff and s but he cannot bring himself to care when he brushes his lips on the message.
The red of the flowers looks beautiful against the monochrome of the standard room. Kyungsoo knows his lips are pulled into a smile. He reads the note again—Jongin has ugly handwriting.
Kyungsoo has a lull between one concert and the next. There’s a week of almost nothing between Jakarta and Dalian and Jongin quickly takes the opportunity to ask Kyungsoo on a date.
A day after the singer has gone back to Korea, Kyungsoo says he’s free around the evening. Jongin asks if he’s fine with a dinner and a movie at home and he’s relieved when the older man replies with three thumbs up emoji and a see you. The heart he has added sends a pleasant warmth to the butterflies in Jongin’s stomach.
Jongin has offered to pick the other man up but Kyungsoo has declined, saying it’s easier to keep everything low when they don’t use Jongin’s red hot Ferrari. He feels nervous, it’s been so long since he has asked someone out on a date. Jongin is by no means the typical pro-athlete playboy stereotype but his job has proven to be difficult in terms of keeping personal relationships.
Men and women are a quick study in clandestine meetings in crowded dance floors or celebratory parties. Models come and go with their soft kisses and promises of I’ll call even if they never do. Jongin doesn’t bother.
But, somehow, he wants to please Kyungsoo. He wants to impress Kyungsoo. He wants to bring him to his races, wants to wake up with the older man on his soft bed while the Monte Carlo sun throws rainbow on Kyungsoo’s pale skin—or maybe in Switzerland, Kyungsoo seems to like comfortable silence. He wants Kyungsoo on the passenger side of whatever car he feels like driving, wants to let Kyungsoo drive him around and drive him insane.
Jongin knows two weeks is a little too fast but he’s never been one for slowing down.
The chef he has hired places the meal inside the oven before leaving him with instructions. He can’t cook that much but he’s sure he won’t be able to screw up taking the food out once it’s done. He’s already dressed in black slacks and a designer button down. Jongin hopes Kyungsoo likes Armani as much as he does.
His phone vibrates with a text from Kyungsoo saying he’s already near. Jongin smoothes his clothes down on instinct, telling Kyungsoo to get himself dropped off on one of the floors reserved for parking, the security of the building already informed of his arrival.
Jongin goes down after Kyungsoo replies an affirmative. His hands are clammy where he’s waiting in front of the elevator. Jongin feels thirty minutes have passed when, in reality, it’s only been ten. A black van stops a few feet away, Kyungsoo getting out quickly and exchanging words with someone inside that Jongin cannot hear. There’s loud pounding in his ears.
“Hi,” Kyungsoo greets him. He’s carrying a bouquet of flowers in darker shade of pink like Kyungsoo’s heart lips. Jongin wants to kiss Kyungsoo when the man hands him the arrangement.
“Can I kiss you?”
Kyungsoo pauses. Jongin wants to slap himself for making it awkward but then the older man breaks into a fit of giggles before it turns into full-blown laughter. Kyungsoo throws his head back in happiness and Jongin thinks maybe his lack of filter and his Kyungsoo-related stupidity is worth it if it means the other man gets chest-heaving guffaws every time.
The older man’s hand rests on one of Jongin’s bicep. Jongin thinks Kyungsoo gets clingy when he’s truly having fun and the man looks up at him with a heart-shaped smile and crescent eyes.
Jongin playfully pouts. “Can I get a kiss now?”
Kyungsoo shakes his head in amusement before slightly rising on his feet. Soft lips meet Jongin’s own. It’s short and sweet and innocent—everything a first date kiss should be.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to kiss before the date,” Kyungsoo comments once they’re both inside the elevator going up to Jongin’s floor.
Jongin winds the arm that’s not holding the bouquet around Kyungsoo’s waist, pinching the slight fat there and relishing on Kyungsoo’s yelp and glare.
“It’s because you got me flowers,” Jongin nuzzles his lips on the side of Kyungsoo’s head when the smaller male has calmed down. Kyungsoo makes him feel like he’s about to melt anytime. “It’s the first time I got one.”
Kyungso snakes one of his hands so it’s also resting on Jongin’s waist. Jongin’s not sure if the position is romantic but he likes the press of Kyungsoo’s body against his.
The singer turns his head to press a soft kiss on Jongin’s jaw, etching the words with his whisper on Jongin’s tan skin, “You deserve all the flowers in the world.”
Kyungsoo is a great storyteller.
He has been steadily talking to Jongin about his career and Jongin admires how Kyungsoo seems so passionate about his job just as much as Jongin is to being a race car driver. He hears about Kyungsoo relaying stories of his travels and concerts abroad, his own members’ antics, their fans, their staff—everything and anything really.
Kyungsoo looks so beautiful underneath the lights of his dining room, even if he has not done anything particularly special to his looks.
“You’re gorgeous,” Jongin breathes out. Kyungsoo halts his story about Junmyeon, Suho, wearing a wig.
“You don’t have much filter, do you?” Kyungsoo says with a small grin. Jongin shakes his head childishly and Kyungsoo chuckles before taking a sip of the full-bodied red Jongin has picked for the night. He places the glass down, noting, “I think I’ve been talking a lot.”
“I like hearing you talk,” Jongin replies honestly. “You have a nice voice and your stories are fascinating.”
Kyungsoo grins, “Thanks. But I do want to hear more about you. You can find a lot of things about me online but I can’t seem to make sense of what you do.” There’s a shy smile on Kyungsoo’s face before he adds, a little ruefully, “I don’t think I’m into sports that much. I hate sweating.”
Jongin laughs lightly, “Formula One can be a little confusing. Though, for the record, we’re just a bunch of dudes driving around in deathtraps.”
“That’s what Baekhyun said too,” Kyungsoo points out. As if remembering something, he adds, “And I can’t believe you followed them on instagram.”
“I have to!” Jongin defends. “You don’t have one and I have to win their hearts too, you know.”
“You’ve won it already,” Kyungsoo grumbles.
There’s a bit of comfortable silence punctuated only by the sounds of the silverware clinking against expensive porcelain. Jongin sees Kyungsoo stealing glances at him with a small smile playing on his plump lips. He’s sure he’s doing the same, aware of the warmth on his cheeks. He prays he’s not blushing that much but it seems to be a lost cause.
“I have to fly back to Europe tomorrow night,” Jongin says, breaking the serenity of the dinner. Kyungsoo looks up from where he’s slicing his steak, eyes wide and curious. A little guarded. “The season’s about to start in three weeks. March 20. It’s the same day as the last day of Exo’luxion Dot, right?”
“Your an EXO-L,” Kyungsoo teases and then his face turns serious. “Um—We’re going to be both busy and—I don’t know—but what do you want to do? About us? This?”
Kyungsoo gestures his hand in between them and Jongin catches the man’s swinging hands in the cradle of his palm. He brings it on his lips. There isn’t really much doubt to the answer to Kyungsoo’s question.
“I’d like to try,” he murmurs against Kyungsoo’s knuckles before placing the hand on the table, gripping it firmly. “I want to get to know you better. I know I’ve met you only two weeks ago but—Kyungsoo, please give me a chance. We’ll have Skype dates and I’d fly to Korea or wherever you are as much as I can.”
Jongin feels the earth gets taken under him when Kyungsoo withdraws his hand. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth and Jongin’s heart beats fast in fright and anxiety. Kyungsoo is looking down at his plate and Jongin waits with bated breath until, finally, Kyungsoo nods.
“Really?” Jongin shouts in excitement.
Kyungsoo’s lips are in a heart with the length of his smile. “Yes.”
Jongin stands up and rounds the table, pulling a surprised Kyungsoo into a big hug before kissing his forehead.
“I’d do my best,” Jongin promises.
Kyungsoo stays the night.
Nothing happens. They trade kisses on top of Jongin’s bed. Kyungsoo’s wearing one of Jongin’s shirts and the taller man’s boxer shorts are tight on Kyungsoo’s thighs. Kyungsoo’s a little embarrassed when they settle down on the bed but he quickly spoons Jongin, running his short fingers on the other man’s hair. Jongin pats Kyungsoo’s soft tummy, glad that the older man is not protesting. They fall asleep like that, Jongin’s head pillowed on Kyungsoo’s chest and Kyungsoo hugging Jongin like he’s something precious.
Jongin’s fine. They’re fine.
Jongin wakes up to the feeling of Kyungsoo’s hands on his head. The singer is playing with Jongin’s dyed hair.
“Good morning,” he greets. He peels himself away from Kyungsoo, rising up so he’s pressing a kiss on the other man’s cheek.
“Your hair is brown,” Kyungsoo says. “When I first met you I wondered what color it was. I couldn’t tell because of the flashing lights.”
Jongin shakes his head in amusement. “We’re not all celebrities here with changing hair colors,” he pauses and then, smirking, “Though I can’t say much about you. You’re always brunette.”
“it’s ‘cause of me acting,” Kyungsoo responds, rolling off of the bed and walking away. Jongin follows after him, their hands finding one another. Kyungsoo adds, “Besides, I don’t think I’ll look good with blue hair.”
“I personally think you’ll look good in any hair color,” Jongin provides solemnly. He might have been a little biased but Kyungsoo can dye his hair rainbow like one of his bandmates has done and he’ll still cheer him on.
“Nah,” Kyungsoo shakes his head. “I’m not ready for anything too wild.”
Jongin motions for Kyungsoo to sit down, preparing the both of them cereals. “I like you wild.”
Jongin hears Kyungsoo choke on nothing but air and he mouths a sorry when he sets down their cereal bowls.
“Fancy,” Kyungsoo teases. His cheeks are a little pink from his earlier fit but he doesn’t look like he’s going to punch Jongin for the comment. “Where’s the person who prepared the dinner and dessert last night?”
“I only hired him for a day,” Jongin blurts out before he slaps his hand on his mouth. “I didn’t say that.”
Kyungsoo smirks, “You got someone to cook for you last night? Is that why you’re not answering my questions about meal preparations?”
“Kyungsoo,” Jongin whines. He takes a spoonful of cereal and chews mutinously. He swallows and then mumbles, a little ashamed, “I don’t really know how to cook anything fancy.”
Kyungsoo shakes his head in what Jongin hopes is fond exasperation, “I’ll cook for the both of us next time.”
Jongin cannot help the big grin stretching from one ear to the other with the mention of a next time.
El Prat bustles with activity the moment Jongin has landed in Barcelona for the test drive. Mercedes does have people for that, but Jongin’s known if not for his driving then for his methodical routine of hands-on preparation. March rolls around like a looming death sentence, the beginning of the season has always been the most hectic.
He checks his phone and smiles at the simple fighting, jongin message from Kyungsoo. The older man has sent a selfie to go with that, a soft smile and a raised fist. Jongin snaps a picture of himself sticking his tongue out, sending that one to the singer, unmindful of the time difference. Kyungsoo will see it when he sees it. Spamming each other with random messages even without replies is something that’s beginning to form into a habit.
Mercedes has gone all out with this one, Jongin muses as he adoringly gazes at the machine. The F1 W07 Hybrid is a sleek beauty. Jongin takes a picture before sending it to Kyungsoo. The other man is still a little confused about the mechanics of Formula One racing but he has promised to study as much as he can. Jongin’s heart bursts in happiness at the thought of Kyungsoo immersing himself in something that he has loved since he’s seven or eight years old.
He greets his team familiarly. The english slides off of his tongue better than Korean and the track feels like another kind of home even when everything moves in unbelievable speed. Jongin sends one last text to Kyungsoo, telling the man about driving the new F1, before lightly brushing his lips on the screen of his phone where an HD photo of Kyungsoo is displayed as his home screen. It’s from one of his fansites—Kyungsoo’s head is thrown back mid-laughter, his eyes have disappeared in curved slits and his lips a big heart.
Jongin’s heart races.
“Kyungsoo,” Junmyeon sidles up to him. It’s the first day to their three-day encore concert. “Did you know that Kim Jongin sends food support to fans attending encore?”
Kyungsoo barely twitches in his seat. The makeup artist sprays something on his face before she pats his back gently. The younger turns to Junmyeon, eyes wide, “Uh—What?”
The leader sighs, “Fans are talking about this amazing food truck and no one knows who this certain #88. That’s Jongin’s number, right?”
Kyungsoo snatches his phone from the table, pulling up his conversation with Jongin. The younger man has not said anything about giving food support. He types a question and, before long, he’s getting a FaceTime video call from the younger man. Junmyeon’s eyebrows pinch together but he doesn’t say anything, opting to turn away.
“Hi, Kyungsoo,” Jongin grins. “You’re just in time. I just finished practice.”
“How’s it?” Kyungsoo asks.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Jongin says, running his hand to muss his hair where his helmet has flattened it down. Kyungsoo helplessly smiles when Jongin moves his camera around, trying to find a better angle. Behind him, Kyungsoo sees a lot of people moving this way and that. “And, uh, yeah. I sent a food truck for your fans.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Kyungsoo sighs in half-reprimand. The Australian Grand Prix is in three days and, while Kyungsoo is thankful for the support, he doesn’t really want Jongin getting distracted.
“But I want to,” Jongin insists. Kyungsoo watches as the younger sits down and someone out of the camera hands him a water bottle. Kyungsoo hears a male voice telling Jongin congratulations. “And I looked up ways that fans can show their support and sending food seems to be the most popular.”
“Yeah,” Kyungsoo answers. He rests his phone on the mirror in front of him before he leans closer to the camera. “But it’s the start of your season.”
Jongin looks at him sharply, as if scolding, says, “And it’s your encore. I don’t think mine is more important that what you’re doing, Kyungsoo.”
Kyungsoo’s heart clenches inside his chest. Jongin’s right. Their jobs are not competing against each other. He nods and smiles softly at Jongin at that, the other man returning it with a bright grin of his own.
“Now—” Jongin sinks more comfortably on his seat. “Tell me about how nervous you are.”
Kyungsoo does.
On the last day of the encore, Jongin fills EXO’s dressing room with clear buckets heaping with long-stemmed lilies. The red of Cartier stands out among the white petals on the largest arrangement. Kyungsoo opens the box to find a simple bracelet made of gold. He picks up the card nestled in between the velvet, smiling at the message.
Congratulations on finishing Exo’luxion. I hope I can attend your next tour but, for now, this will have to do. We can both have something gold this day.
Love,
Jongin
SM is kind enough to afford EXO eight days of rest after their first world tour. The higher-ups in the agency have personally expressed their approval after the success of Exo’luxion. Jongin has less than two weeks before he has to fly to Sakhir for the Bahrain Grand Prix.
Kyungsoo packs light and hops on a flight to the French Riviera. He doesn’t have a manager but he can’t exactly go alone. Sehun gets the honor of tagging along among all of the members. The hours bleed through each other the way they always do when time differences start blurring and disappearing.
They land in Côte d’Azur Airport in Nice and they’re hustled immediately to the helicopter service to Monaco. Kyungsoo feels a little groggy but Sehun assures him that the man leading the two of them on the chopper is carrying a sign with Kyungsoo’s name in Korean and a doodle of an F1 car.
Sehun passes the time taking pictures and selfies inside the chopper. This is both their first time and Kyungsoo watches Sehun’s face light up at the VIP treatment they’re getting.
“Hyung,” Sehun whispers on the older’s ear. “Your boyfriend is really something, huh?”
Kyungsoo shakes his head. Jongin doesn’t know how to cook and he can barely park his car. He might have been one of the highest paid athletes in the world but he’s also the same man who takes photos of dogs he passes by. He’s not sure if he says that to Sehun but the younger pats Kyungsoo’s head indulgently with a small smile, closing his eyes.
He’s rudely awaken by Sehun’s shaking and his excited exclamations of “We’re here! We’re here!” The moment they get down from the helicopter, Kyungsoo is swaddled by strong arms wrapping around his frame.
“I miss you!” Jongin half-screams. His eyes are curving upwards with the intensity of his smile. Kyungsoo feels Jongin’s energy steal the sleepiness induced by flight miles. “I thought you’ll never get here.”
Kyungsoo feels like he’s still underwater so he presses a kiss on Jongin’s lips. The other man eagerly returns it with enthusiastic fervor and they only break because Sehun coughs on his palm.
Jongin smiles, extending his hand, “Kim Jongin. Nice to meet you.”
“Oh Sehun,” Kyungsoo’s bandmate offers. Kyungsoo looks at Sehun imploringly, the younger man has put on a straight face. He appears nonchalant and unfazed. Kyungsoo snorts.
“Stop pretending you’re not excited, Sehun,” he admonishes. Sehun colors bright red and he grumbles, stomping his feet on the ground like the child that he sometimes still is. Jongin just laughs, leading them to where his Mercedes SUV is parked.
Jongin’s flat in Monte Carlo is as fancy as the photos online. Sehun gets the guest bedroom and Kyungsoo hits the younger’s bicep when Jongin leads the singer inside the masters’ suite. Kyungsoo bonelessly dives on the soft mattress and he hears Jongin laughing slightly before the man pulls Kyungsoo’s shoes off.
He vaguely feels Jongin changing him out of clothes that smell like the inside of the plane. Jongin leaves him in his boxers but the man slips on a fresh shirt on Kyungsoo before he settles down beside the smaller man. Kyungsoo snuggles on Jongin’s chest. Jongin’s carding his long fingers in on Kyungsoo’s hair, humming something under his breath. Kyungsoo feels like giggling when he realizes it’s Growl. Jongin’s been listening to their discography in his endeavor of being “Kyungsoo’s biggest fan”.
Time catches up to the exhaustion in his veins. The pressure of the concert and the toll the tour has taken on his mental and physical state come crashing down like the waves he can hear from a distance. Kyungsoo falls asleep like that but he doesn’t mind—he’ll fly half-way across the world if he gets to be in Jongin’s arms.
Kyungsoo wakes up to Jongin’s fingers still moving through his hair, the tips slightly massaging his scalp in a relaxing manner. He feels like a drowning man trying to come out of the water. Sleep chases after him but the thought of sleeping away the limited time he has with Jongin is enough of a motivation to open his eyes.
“What time is it?” He asks.
Jongin stops his ministrations, twisting to look at the clock on the bedside table. “Around three in the afternoon. You’ve been asleep for four hours.”
Kyungsoo groans, “I’m hungry.”
Jongin smiles down at him indulgently, “We both missed lunch. Do you want to go out?”
“Yeah,” Kyungsoo replies. “I want to sightsee.”
“Go take a shower then. I’ll tell Sehun.”
Jongin stands and pulls Kyungsoo up, hands coming to pat the older’s before ushering him to the shower. Kyungsoo disappears inside the spacious bathroom but he doesn’t have the time to marvel at interior design when he’s buzzing with excitement about finally spending time with Jongin.
He takes a thorough shower, smiling at the idea of using the younger’s bath products. The scent is not something he’ll choose out of a selection but it’s pleasant nonetheless—expensive, fragrant. He gets out of the warm spray and brushes his teeth; there’s a spare still inside its box resting on the counter. Kyungsoo knows Jongin has prepared everything the moment Kyungsoo says he’s going to visit Jongin in Monte Carlo.
He’s toweling himself when Jongin enters the bedroom again.
“Sehun’s already eaten and he says he’ll sleep a bit more.” Kyungsoo hums in acknowledgement, walking around the room searching for his luggage.
Finding none, he asks, “Where are my clothes?”
Jongin comes up to him, wrapping his arms around Kyungsoo’s waist. He’s playing with the belt of the fluffy bathrobe Kyungsoo has slipped himself into. Kyungsoo swats Jongin’s hand and wiggles, turning to give a playful glare to the teasing man.
Jongin pushes him to the direction of the white French doors, explaining, “Already unpacked them for you.” The younger man gestures towards a corner of his walk-in-closet where, sure enough, Kyungsoo’s clothes are hung and neatly folded.
“Thanks.” Kyungsoo pecks Jongin on the lips before dressing up in comfortable shorts and a thin shirt.
“Let’s go?”
“Hold up. I want to check on Sehun.”
Jongin smiles before he pushes Kyungsoo out of the masters’ suite, leading the shorter man into the guest bedroom where Sehun’s sleeping, sprawled on the bed wearing his bright pink underwear.
Kyungsoo turns to Jongin in mortification, “I swear he’s the same age as you.”
Jongin laughs, pulling Kyungsoo out. They make their way to where some of Jongin’s cars are parked and Kyungsoo’s eyes are wide with surprise at the number of choices.
“Take your pick,” Jongin offers. The last time Kyungsoo has seen something like this is for the Call Me Baby filming.
“These are all yours?”
“Yup!” Jongin pops the p a little. “We can take whatever car you want out.”
Kyungsoo turns to Jongin and, feeling courageous, asks the question that’s been plaguing his mind since learning the number of car Jongin owns. “Why do you have these many cars when you can only drive one at a time?”
Kyungsoo watches as Jongin turns still, mouth opening and closing, before the younger man snorts and then he’s off into loud chortles.
“Oh God—Kyungsoo,” Jongin struggles to get out. “That’s—Oh God.”
“It’s not that funny,” Kyungsoo protests. “It’s a valid question.”
Jongin tries to control his breathing. “I actually don’t know. I like cars and I like driving—I never really thought about that.”
Kyungsoo huffs a little, crossing his chest in mock irritation. The glare he’s trying to shoot towards Jongin is ineffective when he feel the corners of his lips trembling, threatening to stretch into a wild smile.
Jongin supports his own body weight on Kyungsoo’s shoulder, still grinning, he asks, “So, which car, Kyungsoo? I’m trying to impress you here.”
Kyungsoo remembers their first date when Jongin has admitted that he wants to impress him, when the younger promises to do his best to know Kyungsoo. He grins, “Which one is the convertible then?”
The answering grin on Jongin’s face, Kyungsoo decides, is the best thing in all of Monaco.
Kyungsoo’s on the passenger side of Jongin’s Lamborghini Aventador something—the fancy name eludes Kyungsoo’s uneducated tongue. The roof of the vehicle is down and Jongin will steal a glance at him every time there’s a lax in traffic or pedestrian. Kyungsoo never takes his eyes off of the younger man.
The sunlight reflects off of the silver of the chrome plates. The tires glide with purpose on the cement roads and wealth spills on the rubber and the carbon fibre of the machine. Kyungsoo has one of Jongin’s hands in his.
“What do you want to eat?” Jongin twists the wheel with one hand so they turn left in a quiet road. Kyungsoo wonders if it’s an unusual time for tourists to visit Monaco or if Jongin’s purposefully trying to use the quieter streets.
“Ice cream,” Kyungsoo automatically answers.
Jongin cranks his neck sideways, “For lunch, Kyungsoo.”
He sticks his tongue out in disagreement. “But I want ice cream. I haven’t eaten a lot of sweets lately since I need to watch my weight.”
Jongin cracks at that. If anything, Jongin also knows the additional stress of maintaining a certain physicality. The taller man sighs, “Okay. We’ll go get ice cream for lunch.”
Kyungsoo wiggles in his seat happily and he sees Jongin’s lips quirk upwards.
“You’re lucky you’re you.”
“But I’m luckier to have you,” Kyungsoo counters, cheekily smiling at Jongin even if the other man won’t see.
The car lurches to a stop.
“Wait. Wh—”
Jongin presses his lips on Kyungsoo, one hand on the back of his head to be closer, closer, closer.
Kyungsoo pays for the largest cup of ice cream—gelato, really. Jongin hangs around the back of the shop, unable to get something because his in-season diet. Kyungsoo feels bad so he pulls Jongin in a short kiss when there are no people around.
He eats his €7 dessert while sitting down on Jongin’s €470, 000 car. The younger doesn’t seem to mind, telling Kyungsoo to get comfortable on the seat while he drives them around the scenery of Monaco.
The country is small; it’s not even a country at all. Jongin parks them somewhere and Kyungsoo can make out the clean straight line of the horizon. They get out of the vehicle and Jongin stuffs Kyungsoo’s head underneath his Mercedes cap just in case. The younger pushes Kyungsoo down so he’s sitting on the hood, Jongin plopping himself beside him.
The taste of the gelato is smooth and cold on his tongue. The blue of the sea is clear and beautiful, like a jewel. Kyungsoo shares that to Jongin and the man smiles indulgently.
“I guess it’s not new to you,” Kyungsoo remarks, scooping some more of his cool treat. “You live here, after all.” The younger man hums in a non-answer.
Jongin rests his head down on Kyungsoo’s shoulder, one of his arms going around Kyungsoo’s torso. He places small kisses on Kyungsoo’s neck and the exposed skin of his shoulders. Kyungsoo scrapes some of the gelato before pushing the dessert in Jongin’s lips. The driver obediently opens his lips, relishing on cheating a bit.
They stay like that in silence. Kyungsoo watches the color of the sky shift. His empty dessert cup is on top of the Lamborghini and there’s something ridiculous about Kyungsoo putting his trash on top of a car that’s probably one of 500.
Kyungsoo shivers when one of the Jongin’s hands is on his right knee, crawling upwards to where his shorts have ridden up. Something opens up within him when Jongin, mapping his words on his skin, murmurs against the back of his ear.
“Monaco is not this beautiful when you’re not here.”
Kyungsoo returns to Korea and is met with a flurry of activities. Time seems to move again after the trip they took to Monaco. Jongin has taken him and Sehun yachting in the Mediterranean and they have spent a day in Saint Tropez before they have to fly back.
Sehun’s constantly showing off the pictures he has taken—absolutely infuriating and making Chanyeol jealous when he pulls out the ones where he gets to drive some of Jongin’s cars. There’s a video of him most likely illegally cruising on the streets of Monte Carlo, hair dancing in the wind and sunglasses perched on the bridge on his nose.
“So,” Baekhyun drawls. “How’s the vacation with your sugar daddy?”
Kyungsoo glowers, “Not my sugar daddy.”
Baekhyun deadpans, “He flew you in to Monaco, took you out in his 500 million won car, brought you yachting—what is he then? A saint?”
The younger scowls but he doesn’t say anything. Jongdae inches closer to them, holding his own phone and looking extra gleeful.
“Kyungsoo,” Jongdae coos, making grabby hands at the younger. “Look what the netizens are telling about your little vacation with Kai Kim.”
Baekhyun and Kyungsoo cram themselves in front of Jongdae’s phone and Baekhyun erupts into a round of giggles at the comments from people online.
“They’re applauding you for your choice of friends!” Baekhyun enthuses. He clutches his stomach with his hand when another fresh fit of giggle bursts out. “They’re wondering which one between you and Sehun Kai Kim is ing!”
Kyungsoo reads the comments with a budding headache. Jongin is infamously biual. While there isn’t any official confirmation of his uality, the photos of him with men in various states of intimacy is enough proof that he’s not straight.
Junmyeon eyes the three of them with worry, his eyes trained to Kyungsoo in particular. “Be careful, okay?” The leader mouths.
Jongin loses the first five Grands Prix to his teammate. There’s a sense of pride to the Mercedes they’re both driving but Formula One, and sports in general, is still a battle ground for individual brilliance. He feels like he’s been wrung through, exhausted with creaking bones and aching joints.
It’s a Wednesday and his hot tub just finished filling itself up. Jongin grabs a mug of tea and his phone before getting and going inside. He taps a few keys, pulling out FaceTime and dialing the one person he wants to talk to right now.
Kyungsoo’s name and photo flashes on the screen.
Jongin wonders how someone he’s met three months before, in the middle of February, has managed to worm his way into the mundane of Jongin’s everyday. Kyungsoo has become a constant in such a short time. A novelty for someone like Jongin who breathes to win by defying consistencies.
“Hey, Jongin,” Kyungsoo sleepily greets. He’s already in bed, lying sideways, and his glasses are crooked from where it is nestled on the pillow. “You have practice tomorrow, right? For Monaco Grand Prix?”
Jongin nods a bit, sinking deeper on the tub. The warm water starts soothing his tired muscles but Kyungsoo’s hazy voice, distorted by the distance and by static, does a better job in making him feel better.
There’s silence and Jongin watches Kyungsoo as the older man peers at him from where Jongin’s phone is perched on top of the side table near the tub.
He sighs, “Sorry. I’m not that good of a talker right now.”
Kyungsoo smiles and shakes his head slightly. He says softly, “It’s okay. Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
Jongin takes a deep breath, twisting on the tub a little. The water jostles from his movements. Jongin reaches his arms outwards, to his phone. He traces the screen with his forefinger. Water droplets paint longing on Jongin’s iPhone and Kyungsoo, who’s not unused to this routine, closes his eyes for a while. They stay in tranquility like that, Jongin caressing Kyungsoo’s skin like they’re not on different parts of the world.
“I’m worried about the race,” he admits. Kyungsoo opens his eyes. They’re partly lidded and Jongin wants to tell Kyungsoo to go to sleep.
“Why?” Kyungsoo mumbles.
Jongin lets out a harsh puff of air, “I’ve lost the first five, Kyungsoo.”
“And so?” Kyungsoo’s stare is unnerving despite the difference in timezones. The sleep momentarily gone with the way his eyes have gone sharp. “You have sixteen more. You have Monaco. You know the track in Monte Carlo like an old family.”
“I know. It’s just—”
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo interrupts. The younger watches as the other man exhales, sleep creeps on the slight droop of his lids again. “You’re good. You’re one of the best. Your Wikipedia page says you’ve been driving since eight but you told me you’ve been doing this since you’re seven. Your father worked three jobs so you can kart. You’d sneak behind your mother’s back ‘cause you both know she doesn’t like seeing her baby on the race tracks.”
Kyungsoo’s voice turns a notch lower, just a little bit on the side of drowsy, “Five out of twenty-one races isn’t bad. You have sixteen other chances to prove to yourself you’re a winner. Remember when you said you’d do your best for me? That’s who you are, Jongin. You do your best and leave everything all to the wind. You get inside your Mercedes and you leave everything all to the wind, okay?”
Jongin nods dumbly at Kyungsoo’s groggy speech. He’s not even sure if he understands all of it. The older man’s breath starts evening out and Jongin knows it’s one of those nights with him watching Kyungsoo sleep on the screen of his phone until he too goes to bed or the phone is jostled out of Kyungsoo.
Jongin’s about to sink deeper inside the water when Kyungsoo’s sleepy mumbling knocks the wind out of his lungs faster than a hurtling Mercedes has ever done at maximum speed. He thinks it’s an I love you.
He hopes.
Jongin sweeps the circuits of Monte Carlo and Montreal and Baku. The streak extends to Silverstone in Northamptonshire before he drops third on both Budapest and Hockenheim. He climbs to second in Stavelot and first again in the racing streets of Monza.
Kyungsoo congratulates him each time—on the first, on the third, on the second places. Jongin wants to kiss the smug smile off of Kyungsoo’s face.
Before long, the season’s almost over. It’s September and there are a little over two months left. Jongin’s packing his things to fly to Singapore and he smiles when he takes out the thing he’s been waiting for for close to two months already.
The seller says it’s called Dyolamb.
It’s a doll that eerily resembles Kyungsoo and Jongin gets his agent to have someone sew a driving suit similar to his that will fit his new toy. His agent shakes his head in disbelief but complies. Jongin’s planning on surprising Kyungsoo. He’ll fly to South Korea and stay in the country for two days after the Singapore Grand Prix. Kyungsoo’s next concert will be on the 30th.
He’s already on a chartered helicopter that will take him out of Monaco when Kyungsoo sends him his customary daily selfie. Jongin has tried asking for two a day but Kyungsoo insists he can only send one. He only sends two, sometimes three, on the days that Jongin has a race. The driver respects his decision and his fear of front cameras, figuring he sends enough for the both of them.
That, and Kyungsoo’s members provide quality candid shots of the short vocalist.
On the evening before Jongin’s last practice day. his phone vibrates with a weird message from Kyungsoo asking if he’s free. Jongin gleefully says yes, teasing the older if he needs a good round of phone .
It’s better.
Kyungsoo needs a driver to pick him up. From the airport. Because he’s in Singapore. To see Jongin race.
The younger man dashes in his sweatpants and hoodie, his sneakers not properly tied. The SUV he’s been provided for cannot go fast enough. Jongin jokingly thinks of sneaking the W07, anything to reach Kyungsoo faster.
Jongin has lived his life trying to go faster and faster. Tonight, nothing will ever be fast enough.
He stops on one of the terminals and Jongin makes an outline of a small man waiting away from where the crowds are. He mentally thanks the fact that he’s driving a plain black SUV—supercars attract too many attention—when Kyungsoo, dressed in all black and a medical mask, slips inside the car.
Jongin rips the mask away from Kyungsoo’s face, latching his lips on the older man’s chapped pair. Jongin Kyungsoo’s bottom lip and the other is pliant under the taller man’s tongue and teeth. Kyungsoo’s hands are threatening to tug the hair off of Jongin’s scalp with they way he’s pulling at the tendrils.
Someone honks behind them. They break off with a surprised laugh.
“How fast can you get us to your place?”
“Well,” Jongin smirks, remembering the first time they had done this. It seems like too many dreams ago when he’s met Kyungsoo in a fashion show then in posh party and then in a VIP club. The smirk turns into a genuine smile. “It depends on how many traffic laws you want me to break.”
Jongin wins the Singapore Grand Prix. The Marina Bay Street Circuit zooms by in a flash in front of Jongin’s bright red helmet. The W07 is in top condition. Jongin sets a world record.
Kyungsoo’s on the bed inside Jongin’s hotel bedroom, cuddling with the Dyolamb he’s given Jongin so much for.
Jongin gets them a private plane to South Korea. He kisses the protest off of Kyungsoo’s lips, murmuring about the perks of a bigger bathroom and being alone in the cabin. The older man blushes and bats Jongin away but he doesn’t look as reticent when they’re up in the air and Jongin is stealing Kyungsoo’s breath.
They land sometime before lunch and Jongin, with explicit permission, posts a picture of the two of them in the jet. There’s a foot between them on the photo and Jongin snickers like a child when he captions it good friend. The foot of space between them on the instagram post has been non-existent when Kyungsoo has spent most of the flight on Jongin’s lap.
He drops Kyungsoo off at his dorm. The older man has a schedule to attend to before three in the afternoon. Jongin gets the private car to drive him to a Mercedes dealership. There are gasps when he strolls in and someone entertains him in a heartbeat.
Jongin picks a nondescript car that’s a compromise between performance and secrecy. He keeps Kyungsoo’s words in mind—nothing too flashy, tinted black windows, black chrome body, undistinguishable. The man praises his purchase and Jongin hands one of his cards and signs the necessary documents. The person attending his account turns a blind eye on the picture of Kyungsoo tucked neatly inside the confines of Jongin’s designer wallet.
He’s surprised to learn that he gets a free parking space with his Gangnam apartment. This is the first time he’s ever needed a car in the monotony of Seoul—the first time he has ever wanted one. He spends the time unpacking and spamming Kyungsoo with dog videos. Dyolamb gets an honorary place on one of the armchairs.
Jongin forgets about Monte Carlo or Switzerland or New York or London. In that moment, with Kyungsoo replying with a video of Jongdae and Yixing wrestling each other, South Korea is the only home where he wants to be.
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