there’s no way for him to think straight.

kim junmyeon is all tight limbs and labored breathing. teeth sinking unto skin, nails digging unto hips. they’ve been through this before and a countless times more. lips pressed against each other, lips searching for the hollows of bones, the insides of elbows and the undersides of wrists. compulsion, desire, thirst. they could call it what they want, and these phrases flash through their minds as clothes are discarded and thrown on the floor, as dawn gives way to night through the windows of junmyeon’s flat.

after a series of s, junmyeon lets himself go.

together, they collapse to the thick mattress, catching their breaths.

the air is thick with sweat and musky cologne. junmyeon reaches out to tuck them under the sheets and gently pats his partner’s shoulder. the dark-haired man stirs, burying himself deeper into the pillows. his eyes are closed. his limbs are slack.

kim junmyeon whispers get some rest and he only receives a grunt in return. he doesn’t care. this is his favorite part. when he’s wide awake and has all the time in the world to study the geography of this person’s body: the tiny valleys on his back, the steeps on his shoulder, the crevices on his hips. 

it’s so quiet that junmyeon could hear the song on his record player.

his favorite song is on repeat.

this ain’t lust

i know this is love

but if I tell the world

i'll never say enough

'cause it was not said to you

and that's exactly what I need to do

if I end up with you

kim junmyeon takes a deep breath and keeps his eyes wide open because their relationship is a house of cards, ready to fall the moment he keeps his guard down. this isn’t even a relationship, and junmyeon isn’t trying to turn this into one of those fairytales he has always admired, but it’s becoming harder lately.

with each meeting, each eye contact, each sentence exchanged, it’s becoming harder to bite his tongue from saying things like, i know so many things about you, i care for you, i know what scares you the most, i have records of your favorite artists lined up on my wall so you could listen to them anytime, i want you to be mine, it must have been tough on you, i’m here now.

it’s going to end them. it’s going to end them.

selfishly wanting someone so much he can almost taste it in his mouth, junmyeon leans in against his shoulder and inhales.

one more minute, one more hour please.

“i have to go,” he says and junmyeon nods casually as if his heart didn’t clench at those words. the aging round wall clock ticks eleven minutes past midnight.

he already has his clothes on, starched long sleeves and sleek black slacks. his hair is impeccable, as always. he doesn’t look like someone who has junmyeon’s heart in his teeth. in a minute, he’ll be downstairs. he’ll walk to where his car would be inconspicuously parked, gun the engine and leave without a second thought.

junmyeon wants to reach out, pin him down against the walls and their peeling brown paint, and kneel on the thick carpet.  

“yeah,” junmyeon sits up, white blanket clinging to his hips. “careful on the way out.”

“i can manage myself.”

of course. junmyeon doesn’t know what to say next. they never really spoke the same language.

“yeah,” junmyeon repeats, pretending not to see the pulsing neon lights from outside his window falling on do kyungsoo’s retreating back, pretending not to see the color and what they meant.

should i give up or should i just keep chasing pavements

even if it leads nowhere?

even after the echoes of kyungsoo’s footsteps have died down, the record kept playing, taunting him well into midnight’s cold embrace.

///

you can count the number of cars passing on the street each minute in one hand, the number of people walking in two. there are parts in seoul that are beautiful during certain hours. this twenty-four hour convenience store behind kyungsoo is one of them.

after all, any place that has soju and cigarettes is beautiful to him.

kyungsoo sits on a plastic chair and lights his cigarette.

he would run out of fingers and toes if he tried to count the number of people who told him that smoking was bad for his health, even on occasion. kyungsoo takes a long drag, mentally telling those people to go to hell.

kyungsoo rubs his hands over his face, trying to remove traces of junmyeon off his skin. kyungsoo could feel it in his muscles and back. he’s tired. there must be somewhere i could crash on. can’t make it home in this state.

staring at the wisps of smoke with half-asleep eyes, he nearly jumps out of his skin at the mention of his name.

“professor do?”

///

one of hospitality’s unspoken rule is that you never, under any circumstances, tell a guest off for one of their vices, even when it’s causing your nose to itch and turn red. so when professor do crashed on his mouldy leather couch with the scent of tobacco still on him, kim jongin chooses to sneeze on his bathroom as silently as he can.

his hyper-sensitive nose had always been one of his problems. it’s turning red now, soon enough his sinuses would be blocked and he would have to breathe through his mouth, but of course, he can’t let professor do find out about this. after all, this is a one-time event. the professor wouldn’t want to know about his medical history in exchange for having a place to stay in for the night. it doesn’t seem like a fair bargain.

jongin examines his face in the mirror after washing it.

he seems like a decent guy. that’s probably the reason why the professor asked him immediately if he lived alone and if his place was somewhere close by, and since he was such a decent guy, jongin answered as truthfully as he could.

back in his living room, jongin approaches the slumped professor and does the weirdest thing he could think of doing at two thirty in the morning—he gently takes off professor do’s shoes and throws a blanket over his shoulders.

this isn’t an every day thing.

“good night,” he whispers to darkness, and makes himself comfortable in beside the couch.