part one; the servant 

 

The sky is an azure blue, lumps of white clouds with dances over the limitless heavens. If you look up, you could see nature untouched by any form of machinery, spewing dangerous fumes for the atmosphere to soak in. Men have yet to unleash countless miracles from their hands.

 

This is the seventh century. 

 

Silla, being one of the greatest of Korea's Kingdom and longest dynasty, nurses novelties and scholars, weary travelers and refreshed rulers who wave their hands while waiting for servants to fulfill their wishes. Somewhere between the palace gate where armored guards stand, and run-down shops bartering for change, there wrestles two men; one a servant, the other a crown prince. 

 

Their rascal yells are muted by the thick walls, the crown prince cursed with a permanent sneer on his face, the servant burdened by his family's debt to the King. 

 

"No! I'm the one that's gonna go and fight! This is my kingdom we're talking about! Mine!" Oh Sehun cries, his beloved jade necklace shaking on his chest. "You're one of the caretakers here, you have no right to wear my armor!"

 

Kim Jongin fastens the strap of the bag holding his sharp arrows. He looks at Sehun, lazy eyes and lazy lips. Tension and worry poisons the air between them, and somehow, it clings to Sehun's undergarments and Jongin's riding boots. "Don't worry about me. I'll do this for you." 

 

"That's the problem, can't you see? This is my battle. I should have the honor of assassinating that be-damned Chinese ruler. Why can't you understand that?"

 

Lips are pressed tight against each other, preventing a confession from flooding out. Kim Jongin turns, squares his shoulders, never sparing a glance at Sehun's face. One look at the prince, and Jongin knows he won't be able to stop himself from baring his true reason; it's not the prince's shooting accuracy he's worried about, but the prince himself who could make Jongin's heart feel like a house (made out of wood) on fire.

 

Sehun is just too precious; worth more to Jongin than all of the kingdom's golds and pearls, nobles and peasants combined. 

 

"I'll be back," Jongin says and even to their ears, it sounded like a lie.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He should have remembered how stubborn the caramel-haired prince was. 

 

In the middle of instructing three men about how they'll conduct the killing from the rooftop, Jongin catches a figure moving on the grounds. The way the intruder walks with that lean physique causes Jongin to drop the conversation and search for him again. Sehun is the only person who walks as if a broomstick is glued against his back.

 

They assumed that the King and his escorts would arrive in less than three minutes now, and Jongin can't afford Sehun ruining everything by being here. With trembling hands, Jongin slides down the rooftop's protection and into the paved grounds, dashing around to find Sehun who probably has his own weapon and plans. 

 

Damn it, damn it. I told you I'll do this for you, Jongin's need to find Sehun arises as he hears the rush of an incoming chariot; some horses neighs, the ground subtly shakes. They can't be seen out in the open. Jongin looks up at the three men he left behind, knowing they're more than just capable of taking down the King's company. 

 

Now all Jongin has to worry about is getting Sehun. Jongin hides behind the shadow of some post. The moonlight is his enemy, too. Almost half a minute of his eyes skimming through the clean, stone grounds, and some arrows begin to slice the velvet skies. Cries of agony follow suit. Jongin assumes that targets had been hit, but some arrows fly back, too. Others with flames glowing at the end, burning other men in hiding. 

 

Still, Jongin searches for Sehun in the middle of this chaos. He finds the prince wheezing near the gate, grasping for air while clutching the arrow perched on his chest. And in the blink of an eye, nothing else mattered. Not the assassination or fallen men. Not the King or his warriors. 

 

What mattered was the moon shining gloriously from the inky-black sky. What mattered was the blood soiled on the ground. What mattered was the way Sehun's hair was damp and knotted, lips chapped, eyes set too faraway, and his cheeks littered with spiderweb cracks where Jongin thinks his soul leaked out. Sehun is everything Jongin shouldn't have touched, but then he did and oh god, he fell in love.

 

Now look at where Jongin's unrequited love got Sehun; death.

 

Jongin leans down to kiss Sehun with finality, ignoring the weapon enclosed in Sehun's heart. Sehun's lips tastes like death, and he was gone just as easily as the ground beneath Jongin.

 

 

 

✖✖✖ 

 

When Kim Jongin wakes up, his body seems refreshed. As if someone dipped him in a pool off the Antarctic coast. His memory's been tampered; there are things he remembers, but can't imagine himself doing. His bedroom door opens, and Sehun comes inside with his shirt wrinkled, and face clear of any emotions. 

 

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Jongin asks, and swears those words made more sense in his mind.

 

Sehun chuckles, pleasant bells in his throat warming Jongin more than the sheets he's toasted in. "Do you really want to get rid of me that badly? Is that why you pushed me off the waterfall yesterday?"

 

"Yesterday?" Jongin tries to remember, then there's a flash of green and rushing water, a memory that isn't his but his at the same time. 

 

"But, prince! Why would I push you off a waterfall?"

 

"Prince? Wow, that's a good improvement from the vile nickname you called me yesterday. Maybe you should sleep more and more. It's making you kinder," Sehun's informal way of speaking gets him off guard, too. Like everything else right now, Jongin is still trying to adjust to the changes leaping from every corner. 

 

What happened to the clothes? To the prince's robes and his humble attire? What about the prince's hair and his? Why are they so unholy and short? Where is this place?

 

The questions dampening Jongin's mind evaporates in the heat of Sehun's smile. Never witnessing Sehun grin so carelessly before, a familiar warmth springs forth the gap between his ribs, sneaking up to the edges of Jongin's heart. He stands up, walks to Sehun, and takes his soft hand in his, holding it so tightly their flesh must have begun to mold into each other. 

 

"In this moment, you make sense when everything else doesn't," Jongin whispers and Sehun hides a blush behind a series of 'Man, you're so cheesy, this isn't some sort of novel!', 'I don't swing that way!', 'Go to hell, Jongin'.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The 38th Parallel is the dividing line between North and South Korea, and this is the year 1950. 

 

Jongin barely remembers and Sehun knows on their good days with good weather and good food churning on their stomachs, they jog over to this border, place a limb over to the other side before laughing at how they're in two places at the same time.

 

Sehun is reckless and sixteen, dragging Jongin by the hem of his loose shirt. Jongin is seventeen in this life and burdened by the memories Sehun can't remember. There had been a time when it was Jongin who towed the reluctant crown prince secretly out of the palace. There had been a time when they could remember the same things.

 

"Please, Jongin? Don't be so damn difficult now. I'm getting tired," It's halfway between a whine and a command and Jongin finally settles to walking side-by side Sehun. The boundary's a few feet away. Sehun stares at the birds flapping their wings overhead. Jongin kicks small pebbles and looks at Sehun the same way a collector admires his most-prized possession. 

 

"Why do birds make that annoying sound when they fly?" Sehun inquires, ignorant of Jongin's longing looks. 

 

"Why do we swing our arms when we walk? I think it's because it seems more natural that way." 

 

"What else is natural for you, Jongin?" 

 

"Talking, walking, breathing, but even that gets tiring, too. You? And don't copy my answers," Jongin warns, and again Sehun's smile outshines the golden sunlight peeking through the branches of summer's trees. 

 

"This," Sehun uses his ring finger to mark the distance between him and Jongin, a jade ring adorning it. "Being with you like this is natural. Sometimes, I believe that I was born just so I could waste days like these with you. Cheesy, right?" 

 

Before Jongin could murmur something about dying for every second spent with Sehun, dark and large trucks grumbled behind them. Jongin guides Sehun to the side of the road, both watching how men flit through the green flaps cradling heavy weapons. From dirty handguns to the latest rifles, their ammunition sparked alertness to the unsuspecting Jongin and Sehun. This is the time of peace; where no one stirs war again.

 

"Why are they here? What are they doing closer to the. . . ." The rest of Sehun's sentence is being drowned out by the bang of exchanged gunshots, men as they scream orders at each other. Jongin doesn't hesitate to drag Sehun this time, away from the violent bloodbath. 

 

"Let's go, let's go," Jongin's voice is barely audible because of the loudness of his thudding heart. His right hand is encircled around Sehun's bony wrist, hurried footsteps sharp against the ground carpeted with stones. Unable to lose Sehun again. Lost him once and it was unbearable. Lose Sehun twice and sanity might as well depart from Kim Jongin. 

 

"Stay with me, prince." Jongin pleads, looking straight ahead as he feels the strength of Sehun's arm scoop to level zero. When he turns, Sehun's knees give out beneath him, pupils dilated and mouth parted open in surprise as he falls to the ground. Shot. 

 

 

 

✖✖✖ 

 

 

After a few more replays in different settings, Kim Jongin wakes up. He knows who he is and what he is and who it is that he loves, but the weight of his tragedy anchors his limbs downwards. To the tired bathroom floor he slept and woke up. Flashes of plastic cups filled with alcohol, raised for a toast and unfamiliar bodies grinding in a dark room visits his mind. This the 1990's and being wasted is considered cool. 

 

Jongin takes a deep breath, ignoring the pounding on his head, demanding for attention. He thinks instead of Sehun, because Sehun is the only thing that's constant in a universe that keeps on changing its course; rattling Jongin to be a soldier, or a poor sixteen-year-old caught up in war. 

 

Everything's been moving so fast; Jongin is in an express train he had no intention of getting on. Different things happen. Different Reasons. Different Roles. Different Personalities. But the same feelings and endings. When Sehun dies, things go on a different track. 

 

Without thinking, Jongin bangs his head against the bathroom wall (he has idea where this place is, just that the bathroom is neat enough). His hand reaches for a handful of his hair, wanting to tear them out in frustration. 

 

The truth is, he isn't the love-struck Jongin who pines for the dead Sehun. He isn't even that soldier who lost his best friend while on a mission. He is Kim Jongin, son of a humble palace servant who somehow found favor in the King's eyes. He is Kim Jongin; raised to question every little thing he can't understand, to delve deeper into philosophy in order to grasp how individuals think. He's been trained to be able to go arm-in-arm with the crown prince, Sehun in battle. Jongin's been nagged at to know how much sugar Sehun secretly adds to his herb tea.

 

Kim Jongin should have protected Sehun, should have lived on to badger Sehun about his diet and studies, problems and plausible solutions. 

 

They shouldn't have left and set off this grenade bursting with an avalanche of worlds and alternate endings. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Go on and jump," Jongin encourages Sehun, leaning close to the edge of the school's roof. Two hours of looking around and talking to people, and Jongin gathers he and Sehun are supposed to be enemies in this time. The soccer and basketball captain who can never get along with each other, biting the other's leg off at every ball game. Trading insults behind rusted gym lockers and leaving nasty one-week-old food on each other's desks. Currently, Jongin thinks they're getting more interesting. 

 

Sehun turns, tears racing down his cheeks and Jongin knows he isn't supposed to, but he rushes to Sehun anyway. Out of rekindled love and affection than rivalry. Sehun shuffles closer to the open air, gentle breeze caressing his blonde hair, and Jongin imagines that if he's a photographer in this lifetime, this would have been the perfect shot of Sehun. A single captured moment in an ocean of moments.

 

"Of course you'd want that, wouldn't you? We've always been fighting, Kim ing Jongin. If I jump here, I bet you'd throw a party and invite the whole class," Sehun chokes out. Jongin attempts to separate the emotions in Sehun's syllables. 

 

"You're wrong," Jongin leans to the side of the railing, an arm's length away from where Sehun's stands. "I would have invited the whole city, no. I would have invited the whole city along with some nearby villages, and then I'd have some really famous DJ and some popular actors there, too. And you'd be in hell because where else can you be? You'd be giving Lucifer a headache as I party like there's no tomorrow."

 

"What a good way of convincing someone not to jump," Sehun smiles and this one is different, along with his smiles from the previous lifetimes. Jongin concludes that Sehun's smiles are snowflakes; not one of them perfectly identical to the other. He's been through lifetimes, and he'll probably be on more lifetimes, but Sehun's smile will forever be a galaxy of peculiar. Sometimes, they're quick smiles, other menacing, rarely, it's heart-warming. But despite the appearance, they all do the trick and ensnare Jongin's heart and soul, reminding him why Sehun is worth the repetitive catastrophes. 

 

"I wasn't trying to stop you from jumping. I was being polite and making small, casual talk, prince." Jongin steps on what's left of Sehun's crushed pride, because really, the way Sehun furrows his eyebrows when agitated is kind of, sort of, okay it's really cute. 

 

"When I die, I'm going to haunt your soul and choke you to death with a banana. That prince thing is annoying!" Sehun's famous last words before turning and diving headfirst. His favorite bracelet tinged with jade sparkles underneath the sunlight, catching Jongin's attention. 

 

Jongin only smiles when he hears a resonating thud. See you later. 

 

 

 

✖✖✖ 

 

 

"Hello, good morning! I'm Luhan, and this is my partner, Sehun! We're the couple living next door. I hope we'll be good, and happy neigh—" The wooden door slams loudly against Luhan's glowing face. The welcoming smile is replaced by a puzzled expression; wide eyes looking for answers about their new neighbor's rudeness on Sehun's lips.

 

"I don't know, love. Maybe he's just shy, or he's not in a good mood. People have reasons," Sehun responds with the familiarity one can only acquire by being with someone for a long time. 

 

Luhan stares at Sehun, softly, shyly, as if the years they've spent together didn't cast their shadows on their first meeting. Heart-warming stares like these transports Sehun back to their initial encounter; two book-lovers glancing around the library, finding each other instead, and leaving with strings of digits scribbled hastily on the back of borrowed books.

 

"I'm so glad I found you," Luhan murmurs. Jongin peeks through the crack in his door, discovering a new level of agony when Sehun stares at Luhan the same way Jongin looks at Sehun in all of their lifetimes. Sehun is happy.

 

 

 

✖✖✖ 

 

Next time Jongin meets Sehun, Sehun has pink hair and looks like the grunge version of Hello Kitty. Hello Kitty gone high, wrong, and castrated, that is. Jongin had been walking down a park with autumn's burning leaves falling behind him when he spotted Sehun. By far, this is the worst he's seen Sehun look, but there's a certain light behind Sehun's pupils, grace in the way he tilts his neck to observe his surroundings.

 

Jongin can sit down and watch Sehun underneath the tree's shade forever. 

 

Instead he makes himself comfortable beside Sehun, close enough to touch and see the 'free listen' sign lying beside him. "What does that mean?"

 

"It means that you talk and I shut up and listen and keep it with me," Sehun explains, speaking slowly. He takes his time with each word, as if he's got all the hours in the world and not even a drop of 'care'. The pink hair suggests that.

 

"Okay, maybe I should give this a try, right? This talking thing. You're a weird stranger," 

 

"Huh-uh, tell me more," 

 

"Are you being sarcastic or are you being a sarcastic prick?" 

 

"I'm a little bit of both," 

 

"I could tell," Jongin shakes his head, glad to have this kind of conversation with Sehun. After examining Sehun's pale hands and clean fingernails, Jongin lies. "I'm a writer."

 

"Cool, continue." The leaves rustle overhead, faint footsteps serving as a backdrop for Jongin's narration. Peaceful and serene afternoons like these are what drives Jongin into wishing that somehow, he'll be able to prevent the reoccurring tragedies, and maybe he can even brew Sehun tea every single morning (and allow him to put as much sugar in it as he wants), then they'd talk about menial things like this girl from work who never cuts her nails, or about paying for the electric bills, or whose turn it is to clean this car this week. 

 

Normalcy is a luxury seven billion people overlook. But then again, none of them are Kim Jongin and Oh Sehun. None of them live over and over again, with a hat on their heads. A hat decorated with thorns and loaded with the questions; Is it really him? Is this the last time? Will Sehun die? Would you be happier without me? 

 

So they go on with their normal lives, unaware that some where, some time, there are two lovers struggling to untangle their fates, trying to tie up loose ends.

 

"I have this idea, this might seem cliche, but I do believe that given the right writing style and elements, this can really be good." Jongin begins, shifting in his place until it's the right angle that he can see Sehun react to each 'idea'. "It's about this palace servant, and this dates back to the seventh century. A servant in love with the crown prince, whom he happened to be assigned to look after. Now this prince is stubborn, willful and smart, but oblivious when it comes to feelings. Naturally, he doesn't notice the meaningful looks this servant's giving him. Your classic case of a one-sided love. Unrequited love. Call it what you want." 

 

"Is this all historical?" "No, this gets better. It has fantasy and psychology." 

 

"Psychology?" "As in the servant went cuckoo. Bonkers. Mad as a woman on her period." Jongin basks in the sphere of Sehun's laughter. Hearty laughter that Jongin joins into because Sehun's laughter is as contagious as a yawn. 

 

Oh Sehun stops when the rays of the sun illuminates Jongin's eyes; then creating a fading halo atop his head. Sehun feels like this all happened before. A deja vu; except that this one brings with it a surge of emotion close to longing and desire, but not really that synonymous. Sehun mentally nags himself for being so imaginative. Like, hello? Who the hell longs to lock fingers with a stranger? A stranger-writer-extraordinaire to be precise. 

 

"The prince was killed because he was stupid enough to get killed, and just when the servant wanted to pull a sleeping-beauty on the prince, they both vanished." Jongin then tells Sehun about the servant's adventures through time, how he traveled with a suitcase of his original memories, hand-carrying a bag of the little things he loved about the alternative versions of the prince. 

 

"But which one did the servant like? Which version? If he kept seeing different counterparts of this prince, the servant should at least have a favorite," This is Sehun's first time interrupting someone who came to him in the hopes of borrowing an ear. The writer-stranger with toffee skin allures Sehun. In more ways than one.

 

"Let me tell you something about the servant first," Jongin leans in closer, reeking of expensive cologne. "He's completely mad and smitten! He thinks that whatever this prince touches turns into gold. While there are some lifetimes where he doesn't like the prince, he's yet to come across one where hearing the prince's laugh or talk wouldn't have him tumbling down head-first. That's the thing about the servant and his feelings."

 

"What's the thing about the servant and his feelings?" Sehun asks after a whole minute of silence. Sehun wasn't aware a smile, a wink, and a look can catch him off-guard and had his heart beating wildly until the man before him does them.

 

Jongin whispers and his voice calms down the tide that is Sehun's emotions. "Reasons, situation, era, whether or not the prince remembers the servant, all these things are just a dot compared to the magnitude of the servant's love for his prince." 

 

"Wow. That is a beautiful kind of love," Sehun murmurs, eyes curtained by strands of pink hair. "I pity the servant, though." 

 

"How so?" "Because he's been alone all this time. He's been so strong and patient. He must be so tired." The compassion braided in Sehun's voice is what does Jongin in. 

 

There are instances when Jongin thinks he knows exactly what love is (what with the repeated lifetimes and parallel worlds), but sometimes Sehun just blinks so beautifully and Jongin forgets to look away and it dawns on him that it's impossible to reinvent love with every time they meet. Take it from Jongin; you can never love someone perfectly, despite the chances handed out to you. He blinks back tears and gulps down adoration. 

 

"He'll be alright. This is my story, remember? He'll be alright." It isn't until the writer-stranger leaves Sehun, and a whiff of citrus and some musky scent invades his senses, when he finally remembers. The writer-stranger smells like a memory; a moonlit night with burning arrows, a gun being firing in the middle of a sunny day, the soft wind as it ruffles Sehun's hair.

 

And Sehun stands up and runs to follow the writer-stranger, clueless about who he is and how they're related. But rest assured in the familiarity his scent and smiles bring. Sehun sprints forward, fiddling with his good luck charm; a jade brooch on his pocket. 

 

The writer-stranger is already across the road and Sehun runs, yelling without any care in the world. "I remember, you idiot! I remember you! I don't know you, but I know that I love you somehow!" When Jongin turns back, he sees Sehun in the middle of the road, red-faced and panting. 

 

Jongin turns two seconds before a fast truck, out of control, runs Sehun over. 

 

 

✖✖✖

 

 

In their next encounter, Jongin isn't Jongin, but Kai onstage. Kai is baptized with oil and sweat and dull glamour attracting his audience for the whole night. This Kai pretends to be happier inside bedrooms he can't recognize, waking up to the scent of some women's expensive perfume, or an old chap's cheep aftershave. The hired entertainer who never stays for more than just one evening. Most of the time, Kai leaves without any trace before the sun graces the earth for the day.

 

And Kai stands on the corner of the club he's working at, looking for something he doesn't know. His eyes skim past the barely-covered dancers onstage. They keep on searching until they encounter a familiar slouched figure. 

 

Sitting in one of the bar stools, this Sehun is all lazy eyes and wrinkled clothing; nursing a cigarette stick between dry lips and blowing smoke into Kai's direction when the latter sits beside him. 

 

"Work here?" Sehun asks, both knowing that Kai does, based on the sequined attire and oiled skin. 

 

Kai entertains the young man with tousled hair, speaking as if it's their first meeting instead of the thousandth. "I do, and I kind of mean to brag, but I'm the best one out here."

 

"You look like you are," Sehun winks and Kai suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands. He fidgets in his stool, wondering if this is Sehun's way of flirting or he's thinking much into it.

 

Sehun moves closer, whiskey-stained breath clutching onto Kai's exposed flesh. "Let's get out of here." Jongin and Sehun left side by side, both knowing that this is right and wrong. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"What if I've seen you and fallen in love with you in a lot of parallel worlds?" His eyes are trained on Sehun's face. Jongin can eternally drown in the sea of Sehun's features. Scratch that; Sehun lips are Atlantis.

 

 

Sehun's neat room is slowly being filled in by sprinkles of sunlight, indicating the morning after their first love-making. Golden light splayed out over discarded clothes on the floor, over dirty-white sheets warming their tired bodies. Jongin had made sure to remember each detail; from the way Sehun looks under the lamp's light, to the way Sehun feels in his arms. It wasn't everything Jongin imagined it would be like--it was way better than that. After the intimate encounter, they slept soundly; contentment and love settling down on Jongin's lungs like dust.

 

"Theoretically?"

 

"Theoretically," Jongin confirms, admiring the slur of Sehun's tongue. 

 

"Say that we've seen each other before and you're the only one that can remember all those meetings, and I'm the clueless one," Sehun laughs, ignorant of the truth resting on his statement. "Then uh, I probably should feel guilty. Man! Just thinking of it makes me feel guilty. I don't know, I just hope that I love you better each time, to make up for those moments when I didn't."

 

It isn't until Jongin wraps an arm around Sehun's waist when he realizes how badly he's shaking. "Let's say that you didn't always love me."

 

"This is a weird conversation to have with someone like you," The mirth on Sehun's eyes diminishes everything else around them. Jongin shuts Sehun up with a kiss, making sure the next thing that leaves Sehun's mouth is a groan. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By each day that Sehun spends alive, the more Jongin fidgets in his room. He counts every ticking of the clock, waiting for the seconds when Sehun's own heart would refuse motion. It's not like Jongin has a lot of time spent to worry. As mild nights give way to halcyon mornings and serene afternoons, Jongin or rather, 'Kai', grows unbelievably attached to this Oh Sehun. 

 

Sehun's body is Kai's instrument; he strums Sehun like a guitar, plucked music from those needy lips and fed him kisses in the dark to keep them both contented. Without notice, Sehun fitted himself behind Kai's sternum. When Kai inhales, Sehun exhales with him.

 

 

"I like to paint," Sehun informed him with a firm tone. They'd been walking back to Sehun's flat after one of Kai's nightly shifts. They never went well. Kai's sensuous movements turns more ual underneath Sehun's gaze. And they're both too aware, and being too aware isn't a good thing when it comes to damaged bed mattresses and headboards.

 

Kai is everywhere in Sehun's house; he's the sticky coffee stain on Sehun's kitchen table, the checkered boxer lying beneath Sehun's bed, even the dog-eared pages between Sehun's favorite books. They're the things Sehun leaves alone while cleaning, they keep him company when the real Kai can't. 

 

"I like the way you do this and that," Sehun's favorite words (but it's only because Kai utters them when Sehun is unaware). And that's what Kai is saying now, as Sehun finds it difficult to swallow down his cereal. Using firm fingers, he creates soothing circles against Sehun's adam's apple until the latter feels relaxed.

 

"Thank you." 

 

"Just be careful next time." Kai says, more to himself than to Sehun. More to his nervous heartbeat than Sehun's reassuring smile back. Even food serves as a lethal poison in a world where Kai is determined to save both himself and Sehun. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That night, Kai sneaks out of Sehun's house, goes back to his own to shatter the windows with vases, mirrors with plates. Things that break with things that hurt. The earsplitting sound of glass shattering is comfort to him. He isn't the only one getting destroyed by each powerful impact and the only one who sees the person whom they love die before their eyes.

 

Big to medium to microscopic shards of glass decorate the marble floor Kai walks on. They create a satisfying sound when he runs outside of his house. Starlit skies, whispering branches, invisible crickets, the heavens deaf to everything under the clouds; all these things Kai addresses when he shouts, "I'm going to save the both of us! This is a ing sick game and this has to stop. I won't let you have Sehun again. I won't, just you watch!"

 

And Kai yells and yells until Sehun asks about his hoarse voice the next day and he has to lie as to why. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The thing about being with someone long enough to fall in love with them for the eighth time, is that you can't help the onslaught of other emotions that comes along with love. Kai loves Sehun, but he gets mad at him, too. Also annoyed when Sehun traces the outlines of his lips whenever Kai mentions something about being extra careful, we never know what might happen. Ticked off when Sehun gets mad and shows him his 'indifferent facial expression'. 

 

"What are you working on?" He asks groggily, a toothbrush balanced between bubbled lips. This is also one of the things that irks Kai about Sehun; the secrecy when it comes to his artworks. As an avid fan of what Sehun can do with his fingers, Kai is b with curiosity as to what Sehun's been busy on. 

 

"It's a secret," Sehun says before retreating to his studio and shutting it behind him. Keys turning doors locked causes Kai's eyes to roll to the ceiling, down to the floor, and back to the closed studio, wondering what sort of spell Sehun's been casting using acrylics and bristles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I love you," The three words glides out of Sehun's mouth as fluidly as the river flowing in front of them. A picnic, as what people these days call it. A banquet, as what Sehun dubbed it upon seeing the baskets and baskets of food Kai explained he prepared overnight.

 

Kai's body reacted before his mind could; his heart hammering against its cage, veins surging with delight and excitement, his chest trembling with the magnitude of those three words. Three words that had been made special by the number of lifetimes he has to endure before hearing them. Kai replies with an 'I love you, too' that's insufficient when it comes to translating his feelings. 

 

It's Sehun who's responsible for their kiss under the tree's thick shade and their lips as they find their way into the other's. More than just oxygen spirals between them: electricity, drive, desire, things that not even Kai's clenched fingers can't grasp. Love, and the syllables composing their names slips on the third kiss and the seventh.

 

In their kiss, Kai mentally lists down the most captivating sounds he's ever heard: their heavy breathing before they lock lips again, the wild grass supporting their rolling bodies, fingertips tapping against jawlines, how Sehun pants 'Kai' like they're made of stardust instead of three letters, the 'I love you's Sehun scattered like seeds on Kai's collarbones and earlobes. 

 

"Please don't ever leave me," says Sehun weighed down by the mix of food he devoured within thirty minutes. 

 

"The universe needs to do more than kill us both again and again for me to finally leave you," 

 

"Has the universe tried?" 

 

"Yes, but it didn't succeed yet." Kai stretches his limbs as far as they could go on the ground. He turns to his side, and envelopes Sehun in a loose hug and they both stay still, as if somewhere, some time, there's a sculptor taking in the way their bodies fold in on each other and imitate their limbs on marble.

 

Sehun bites the inside of his cheek. "Parallel worlds, this and that. Lifetimes, reincarnations, versions. Why are you fascinated with these things? Far as I know, you're not into sci-fi or the likes. You worry me." 

 

"Really? Worry?" 

 

"Yes, worry." Sehun confirms with a nod. Jongin replies with a lazy grin, one that could mean a lot of things ranging from 'I really don't care about what you feel' to 'Your wish is my command.' Jongin stands up and offers his hand to Sehun before the younger can decode the meaning behind Jongin's smiles.

 

Cool, autumn breeze grazes the edge of Jongin's shirt and moves strands of his hair to the side."I know something that would make us both less-worried for the rest of our lives. Come with me, there's this place just for us." 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This place turns out to be a lonely, unlit dirt-road a few miles outside the city. Twisting, maneuvering a rented midnight-blue BMW through the dust covered path, Jongin's grip is steady around the wheel, his free hand driving its way into the spaces between Sehun's warn fingers. Dim lights and the scenery snaking past them are reflected in Jongin's eyes.

 

"Where is this place?" Sehun finally lets go of the burden two hours of not-speaking-to-each-other laid on his head. 

 

Engines groan beneath them, Jongin's knuckles turning pale from hanging onto the wheel serve as Sehun's reply. 190 mph. Neon orange stands out in the dark for Sehun to take in like fire alarms at two in the morning. There are certain times in your life when you could gather how stupid you are, and to Oh Sehun, this is one of those unforgettable moments. 

 

The car's headlights are flicked off, its interior as cold as the inside of a refrigerator. Jongin is speeding with a devil-may-care smile, courage on his right foot, and Sehun's heart wrapped around his wrist bone. It's like the whole galaxy slits through the crack in the window just to warn Sehun to get the off this car at this very instant, but Sehun still hangs on to Jongin with the trust of a five year old.

 

"This is for the best," Jongin says and he has already pushed the gas pedal as hard as it can go.

 

"Just remember that I, Kim Jongin, love you and it doesn't matter if you forget everything else," Jongin says, voice as unstable as the car diving through the dark. 

 

"I'll be back for you, always." Jongin, the servant, says and tightens his hold on his prince's hand; the only thing that remained steady as the ground vanished and they tumbled and tumbled down to kiss the pit of death waiting for them.

 

✖✖✖

 

[note; i'll post the second part sometime this week.

i hope.

used some twists / parts / words from fics

i have no intention of continuing~

comments would be really appreciated! :)]