The gurgling echo of the toilet flushing poked its way through Jongin’s bubble of sleep. The noise was vicious and unrelenting, and covering his ears with the pillow wasn't helping. He could still hear the water churning and filling up no matter how hard he burrowed under the bedding. Blinking in slow motion, Jongin spread his palm and fingers out, sliding his hand over still-warm sheets. Traces of his warmth, but no Kyungsoo. He had to be next door then, using the toilet.

Lying back and stretching his arms out lazily, Jongin waited for the door to open so he could entice Kyungsoo back into the warm bed. It had to be ing freezing outside and Kyungsoo had no choir practice today because he had to rest his voice for the concert. That meant they could actually cuddle up in bed all morning if they wanted. Well. . .he would try to convince Kyungsoo anyway, but Jongin had a feeling he would be way too keyed up about tonight to agree to spooning the morning away.

Did I just use the word spooning?

Jongin groaned. If anyone had told him a month ago that he would ever use the word spooning, let alone actually want to spend hours engaging in the act with someone, he would have asked them to off. Yet, here he was making plans to persuade his boyfriend to spend his Saturday morning cuddling in bed with him—cuddling and not having . Yet another thing he never used to do. . .before Kyungsoo.

How had things changed so much for him? How had he changed so much? What had happened to him, for 's sake? His mind asked the questions even though it already knew the answers—and really, there was only one answer.

Do Kyungsoo happened.

Jongin waited for the remnants of regret to surface, waited for some piece of his former self to warn him that he was better off on his own—just worrying about the next beer, the next cigarette, the next . And there was a sudden flash of nostalgia for a time when he worried about no one but himself. Because here he was, worrying about Kyungsoo. He didn’t like worrying about him, didn’t like the fact that Kyungsoo was unhappy. But at the same time, he didn't want things to go back to the way they'd been, in that time before he'd seen the boy who sang in the stained glass room. Jongin despised dealing with messy emotions and would do just about anything to avoid them. But if that was what it took to keep Kyungsoo beside him, he would swallow all the discomfort and take the emotions head-on, even if he choked on them.

A minute passed. Two. But still, there was no sign of Kyungsoo. Would he be able to hold things together at the concert? He could only hope that Kyungsoo wouldn't be overwhelmed on the stage, could only hope that the angel-wings he'd drawn on Kyungsoo's pale skin would do its job and distract him just enough. , maybe it would even give him some strength. And maybe Jongin being in the audience would somehow centre Kyungsoo enough to keep his fears at bay.

Jongin lay there, staring up at the pale ceiling, worrying about Kyungsoo and how much he was going through, and he could no longer recognize himself. When had he ever worried about anyone other than himself? When had he ever been there for anyone? When had anyone been there for him the way he hoped to be there for Kyungsoo, and the way Kyungsoo had been there for him?

He'd. . .never had someone in the audience when he had his "things". Tao and Kris hadn't counted; they’d been part of the same art exhibitions and shows in high school so it wasn't quite the same as "having someone" in the audience. It wasn't like they'd had to do anything special or give up any time to attend the event.

He'd never had that kind of "someone" in the audience. Would Kyungsoo be that "someone" at his coming exhibition? But Jongin already knew the answer to that question. He couldn't imagine Kyungsoo not wanting to be there for him. Maybe Kyungsoo's Umma might make it there too? It was a lot to hope for though. He shouldn't allow himself to be so naive—or complacent.

Never hope for anything

He'd learned that a long, long time ago. Turning his back on hope had allowed him to survive the past decade, and it would get him through the next few. How ironic that someone like him had ended up dating a guy who tried to pick threads of hope out of every bad situation.

Dating.

Yet another thing Kim Jongin hadn’t done before Kyungsoo.

Dude, who the are you, even?

Jongin waited, yet again, for regret to wash over him. But instead, he saw. . .Kyungsoo and him raising their palms up to the sky to catch sleet. Kyungsoo and him riding through the streets with the wind whipping at their hair and bodies—the other boy's arms solid and sure around his waist. Finally, he saw Kyungsoo watching him, eyes glimmering with unshed tears as Jongin hung the chain with the angel wings around his neck. A heavy kind of ache formed, deep in his chest. He wasn't sure what emotion was twisting through him, but Jongin knew one thing for sure—it was not regret.

When Jongin and his friends had ended up in different courses at Garnier, things weren't like they were in high school—they weren’t part of the same art exhibits anymore. So they’d stopped telling each other when they had exhibits because. . .well, they’d just stopped. But the way Kris and Tao had been with each other lately? Jongin suspected they’d attended each other's shows all through college. They just hadn’t told him. Not that he could blame them; he’d never taken much interest in what anyone else did. But in the same way, he hadn’t expected them to be interested in his .

It was only his parents he’d ever invited, and he’d always regretted it. Every single time. Because his parents had just never—never anything. And that was just fine with him, he thought as he covered his eyes with a carelessly placed forearm.

There were times his mother had hesitated just a little before telling him, with a practiced smile, "no, I'm sorry we can’t make it. There's a [insert lame excuse] we can't get out of." Business dinner.  Conference. Cocktail party. After-hours meeting with clients.  It didn't matter what the events were, Jongin knew they were nothing but lame excuses. The sentiment was the same—

I'm sorry we don’t have time for you.

At least his mother had made some effort to offer an excuse for missing his art shows, he supposed. His father was a blunt man who usually just told him in that flat, cold voice of his that Jongin knew his parents did not attend such functions. He wasn't sure which pissed him off more—his mother's lies or his father's callousness.

Mother, Jongin thought as he moved his arm so it no longer covered his eyes. As his arm dropped onto his chest, artificial darkness was replaced by the dim light in Kyungsoo's room. She was confusing him, his mother. Light and shadows. Who was the real Jang Soora? He just couldn't figure it out. He couldn't figure her out. Jongin didn't like change, and he liked uncertainty even less. He preferred it when people stuck to the patterns they knew. Didn't he?

Abruptly, Jongin's thoughts scattered as he heard the sounds of someone vomiting. Dammit, Jongin swore under his breath as he got out of bed and headed for the door. It had to be Kyungsoo and his anxiety about the concert, and Jongin didn't know the first thing about dealing with someone else's anxiety. He knew nothing about it at all, he thought, as he turned the doorknob.

Pushing the door inwards, Jongin found Kyungsoo getting into standing position. Listlessly, the other boy bent over the small sink, bringing some water to his mouth with a cupped hand, which he then gargled and spat out. Water droplets clung to his lips, chin and jaw as Kyungsoo soaped his hands.  

"Soo?" Jongin stopped beside him, his fingers combing wet, black hair off Kyungsoo’s pale, clammy forehead. "Hey. . . Are you sick?"

"Not sick. Just. . .stressed. About tonight." Kyungsoo's lips formed a weak smile, "I've been throwing up all week. It's like I have morning sickness or something. I have so much respect now for pregnant women and the they have to put up with, man."

“All week? I thought it was only yesterday morning it happened. You should have told me,” Jongin said, his heart heavy with worry as his palm Kyungsoo's back. He hoped it helped Kyungsoo the same way Kyungsoo's touch centered him—healed him even. Kyungsoo's cool fingertips on his skin made him forget most of the bad things, and he wanted to do the same for him now.

“It seemed…stupid. And I was hoping today would be different since you were with me, y’know?” He smiled at him—a wan smile that was so unlike his usual open ones. “But yeah. . .I just can't catch a break,” he said just before Jongin drew him into a hug. With an exhausted sigh, Kyungsoo let his head drop onto his shoulder. Jongin didn't know what to say so he just held him close for a while, smoothing his back over and over.

What do I say? I so bad at this. Jongin grimaced. Why couldn't he think of something to say? Biting his bottom lip in frustration, he tried to find the words.

"I know. . .I know this sounds like BS now, but you will stand on that stage tonight and forget where you are. They'll play the music and you'll remember the words and you'll sing them—" Jongin's palm cupped his cheek, "the same way you've sung them for weeks."

"Of course I won't! My mind will go blank and I'll stand there while two hundred people watch me choke," Kyungsoo snorted. And it broke Jongin’s heart to see how much he believed his own words. What was he supposed to say to make him feel better? Jongin wished he was better at this kind of thing.

“Are you saying I drew this for nothing? I wasted my ing time?” Jongin asked finally, his eyes narrowed in mock disapproval as his fingers drew slow lazy loops and lines over Kyungsoo’s tattoo-embellished skin. As gently as he could, Jongin caressed it.

“That’s not fair!” Kyungsoo protested, lifting his head up to face him. He looked so tired. Drained, even, with dark shadows under his eyes.

“I. used. a. Sharpie. for. you.” Jongin complained, even as he linked his fingers with Kyungsoo’s. “A ing Sharpie, Do Kyungsoo.” He tried to inject as much contempt into the word as he could, and thank , Kyungsoo began to grin.   

“I never saw anyone look  so offended,” Kyungsoo admitted, chuckling.

“I might never recover from the trauma, not gonna lie,” Jongin said, his lips pressing lightly against Kyungsoo’s forehead. “A goddamn Sharpie, Soo.”

“You seem just fine to me.” Kyungsoo’s voice sounded muffled, almost lost in Jongin’s shirt. Jongin didn’t know how to answer so he just hugged him instead, and to his relief, Kyungsoo seemed okay with that.

They just stood there for a while, and feeling like he should do be doing more, Jongin scrolled through his mental playlist to find the right song. A few seconds later, he began humming the tune from My Chemical Romance’s Disenchanted. Kyungsoo wouldn’t know the song but he reckoned it didn't matter. It was the melody that counted and this was a pretty one. He’d only been humming for over a minute when they were interrupted by sharp, impatient knocking.

“Not that I wanna break up your romantic interlude, guys, but I need to take a dump. Can you like get the hell outta there before I sic Umma on you?” Jongin had to stop himself from laughing out loud. It sounded like Hyewon. It had to be Hyewon because Kyungsoo’s oldest noona didn’t really seem like the in-your-face type. This noona, though, would be a litigator for sure.

“There’s no need for ing death threats!” Kyungsoo lifted his head to yell animatedly at Hyewon. Jongin reckoned Kyungsoo would rise up from the grave if it meant he could have just one last chance to outargue his noona. But it made him so happy just to hear the fire at the edges of Kyungsoo’s words. Maybe his boyfriend would be okay after all.

For now, anyway.

Jongin’s soft, not-quite-snore gave Kyungsoo almost as much comfort as the weight of his arms around him. And Jongin’s elegant collarbones were pressing into his back in a way that felt possessive, even in sleep. They’d ended up back in bed after Hyewon (the troll) threw them out of the bathroom. But he’d made it a point to brush his teeth and make her wait before vacating the bathroom. He'd been completely blasé as he'd brushed his teeth to the symphony of Hyewon’s enraged yelling—

“How dare you brush your teeth when I'm dying here?! You little !” She was probably waving her fist, he grinned, before deliberately slowing down his brushing movements.

“You can always use the downstairs bathroom if you can’t wait!” Kyungsoo had retorted.

“Soo, do you really need this kind of stress today, of all days?” Jongin had placed a hand on his right shoulder, his features infused with wariness. Kyungsoo had explained, with a mouth full of toothpaste, that puke was nasty and they could all sit the hell down and let him do what he had to do. After that, Jongin had just leaned against the wall and waited.

Meanwhile, beyond the bathroom door, Hyewon had continued to hiss a prolific and creative configuration of curses. When Kyungsoo finally emerged from the bathroom smelling of strongly of peppermint, his noona had given him a decisive punch on the arm and shoved him out of the way. Jongin only just managed to slip out in time before she slammed the door on them.

“You really like living on the edge, huh?” Jongin shook his head, with a crooked half smile on his face.

“Don’t let my noona fool you. She’d be bored stiff with life if everyone let her have her way. I try to give her a blood rush to the head every now and then,” Kyungsoo had said in a deadpan manner, making Jongin laugh. It was that deep, rich sound that Kyungsoo loved and he clung hard to it now that he was feeling like actual . But Jongin didn't need to know that.

When they'd first entered the bedroom, Kyungsoo had gone right for his MP3 player so he could listen to Gravity on repeat—to burn the lyrics further into his memory or whatever. Like that was even possible with the number of hours he’d already poured into memorizing the words.

He had to save his voice for the full-dress rehearsal and tonight’s performance, so he couldn't rehearse now. He had to do SOMETHING though, and since singing was out of the question, listening seemed like the next best thing. Gritting his teeth, he had tucked the buds into his ears.

“Later,” Jongin had whispered, his fingers plucking out the earbuds. "You're exhausted and that's not gonna help anything. Just one hour? You can listen and whatever when you get up.”

“I'm too anxious. I can't sleep now!” Kyungsoo said, covering his face with his hands.

Jongin was quiet for a few seconds before saying, in a slightly strangled voice, "let's just. . .spoon then."

"Did you say spoon?" For a moment, Kyungsoo forgot his fears and just focused on how sheepish Jongin looked. And his heart felt lighter than it had all week. “Jongin? Did you say—?”

"Just shut up and get under the damn blanket," Jongin grumbled, looking very disgruntled. He was so endearing in his grumpiness that Kyungsoo snuck under the covers with him right away, and tumbled happily into his warmth. It had taken him a while to fall asleep but just being in Jongin's arms went a long way to making him forget he'd been puking his guts out earlier, and that he'd probably want to do the same when he went on stage twelve hours later.       

For two hours, Kyungsoo drifted in and out of a semi-dream state, and he just happened to be half-awake when his phone flashed and buzzed on the bedside table. Kyungsoo peered at the blinking screen, made out the word Seoktator, and groaned. It was way too ing early on a Saturday morning to deal with Kim Minseok.

"It’s only 8.45am, what the hell?”       

“I’ve been up for two hours,” Minseok pointed out.

“It’s a Saturday morning and we don’t have choir practice today. WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? You couldn’t wait till ten?”

"I have a massive to-do list! I’m on the organizing committee, in case you forgot. But anyway, whatever. I just wanted to check on you. Are you okay? You're not throwing up like that time in high school when we had to audition for Garnier, are you?" For what it was worth, there was no hint of mockery in his best friend's words, only worry and concern. "It kinda came back to me last night that you puked for three days straight before you auditioned for Garner. You're not. . .is that happening again?"

"You could say that," Kyungsoo answered, sighing. He felt so wrung out he couldn't even dredge up enough energy to lay a guilt trip on his best friend.

"Back then. . .I thought you were just, y'know, stressed out about not being selected for Garnier," Minseok said in a strained voice. Kyungsoo knew it was petty of him, but he derived a small sense of satisfaction from the fact that Minseok was doing such a good job of sounding guilty without any help from him.

"But I was," he said tiredly. "I was scared I wouldn't make it. But more than anything. . .I was stressed out about having to sing on a stage, on my own, in front of a bunch of strangers."

"You do know that there'll be um. . .a considerably larger bunch of strangers tonight?"

"THAT IS NOT HELPING me to manage my stress levels, Seok," Kyungsoo pointed out in acidic tones.

"Look, I feel bad about getting you into this situation but well, it’s too late to get you out of it, and you need to ING IT UP, DO KYUNGSOO.” Just like that, all traces of guilt were gone—leached out of Minseok’s voice—as he switched to his customary take-charge mode. “Yes, you have stage fright. Yes, you will have to perform in more or less ten hours' time. And yes, there will be two hundred strangers watching you sing tonight. We can't change any of these three things right now, so you'll just have to deal. I'll help you however I can but you know I have my own solo to prep for.”

Kyungsoo was too stunned to say anything but okay, and then Minseok was instructing him to be at Winthrop Auditorium at 2pm for the full-dress rehearsal, and 6pm for the actual thing, and asking him if he needed a lift, etcetera, etcetera. At last, Minseok ended the call with a gruff good luck, Soo. You got this; then there was silence and  it was just Jongin and him again.

The noise of the phone conversation must have disturbed Jongin; he’d shifted in his sleep so his arms weren’t wound as tightly around him anymore. All it took was a little bit of wiggling before Kyungsoo was lying on his side, facing him. He was about to shake him awake when he stopped himself. Jongin looked so ethereal—but no, ethereal wasn't the right word. There was a weight to Jongin’s physical beauty, a less than perfect realness to him, that was worth so much more to Kyungsoo than angelic perfection he could never touch. Jongin’s chest rose and fell with the rhythms of sleep, and Kyungsoo just couldn’t bring himself to break the spell.

Quietly, he watched as Jongin slept. Eyes closed and lush mouth pouting slightly, Jongin was just beautiful. . .So beautiful. And some days, Kyungsoo couldn’t believe that Jongin was his. The logical part of him kept warning him to be careful with his heart, that bad boys like Jongin were bad bets that never stuck around. But his heart. . .his heart knew Jongin’s, and Kyungsoo knew. He just knew that Jongin would never leave him. They’d only known each other for, what. . .four weeks? Five? Hardly any time at all, and yet they seemed bound together by invisible, unbreakable strings.

One after another, Kyungsoo's fingertips landed on Jongin's painted skin—gliding slowly, slowly, over angel wings and other things. All of a sudden, he remembered the fear clamping down on him that first time at the bus-stop. He'd been so terrified of the tattoos then, and even more terrified of the boy who wore them. Who knew life would lead him to Saturday spooning with that very same boy.

The fine skin on Jongin’s neck rippled slightly, his muscles reacting to Kyungsoo's touch. But to Kyungsoo's relief, there was no corresponding change in his breathing patterns. Such a sound sleeper, Kyungsoo smiled as he traced the edges of his mouth. . .his lips plush and soft in repose.

There was a dramatic difference in texture as his fingertip went over the cold, hard metal of the titanium barbell. It had felt colder still the first time they'd kissed, Kyungsoo thought, smiling. The memory of that night was still so vivid, like bold splashes of color in his mind. Kyungsoo could still recall the moment he'd told himself everything, and decided that even if he never saw Jongin again, he would at least have a kiss to remember him by.

To this day, he couldn’t explain how he’d had the balls to kiss Jongin but he was so thankful he’d found the courage. He watched as Jongin lay beside him, sleeping. Then, remembering his tattoo, he wondered if it had survived the night intact. He’d felt too nauseous earlier to think of anything but how ty he felt and how badly he wanted this thing to be over. Holding his breath, he lifted his left arm and pulled down the sleep-wrinkled sleeve of his sweater. Fine black lines and curlicues stood out, bold and proud against his skin.

Angel wings and things. Pieces of Jongin imprinted on my skin, imprinted on my soul. The words resounded in his mind, and his eyes traced the lines curling onto his palm. Then he was staring at Jongin again, admiring the curve of the sleeping boy’s eyelids, and the thick lashes resting on the tops of his cheeks.

“Hey,” Jongin said all of a sudden, his voice a deep rumble that startled Kyungsoo. His eyes were still shut but his hand was rubbing small circles into the small of Kyungsoo's back.

“Hey.”

“Sorry if I woke you,” Kyungsoo whispered.

“Actually, it was your pitbull BFF who woke me,” Jongin snorted—eyes still closed.

“Wait, you heard us? And you were awake the whole time I was—” Kyungsoo gaped.

“I liked it. . .the way you touched me when you thought I was asleep. I didn't want you to stop.” Jongin threaded his fingers through Kyungsoo’s, his grip firm and warm.

"Is it possible to die of embarrassment because oh my God."

Jongin's lazy, sensual smile almost made Kyungsoo forget how mortified he was. That is, right up until he said, "I especially liked it when you were touching my mouth."

"Now I know you're just laughing at me," Kyungsoo grumbled as he aimed a fierce glare in Jongin's direction.

"No, I'm flirting with you, duh," Jongin said just before he half lifted, half manoeuvred Kyungsoo so he ended up lying on top of him. "Why don't you do that thing with my mouth again. With your finger?"

"You’re a brat, Kim Jongin!" Kyungsoo punched his shoulder with feeling.

“You can call me anything you want, Do Kyungsoo, as long as you kiss me.” Jongin’s voice was husky as his hand cupped Kyungsoo’s neck and pulled him close. Kyungsoo’s eyes closed as they bumped noses, and Jongin’s lips fit over his—soft and undemanding. Healing. “I love you, Soo,” Jongin whispered, his mouth leaving kisses on his neck, his arms holding him tight. “You’re going to be great tonight. You’ll see.”

And as he kissed Jongin back, Kyungsoo let himself believe his words. Just for a little while.

The samgaetang bubbled away aggressively in the small black claypot as Jongin ladled the clear broth out into steel bowls. They’d driven out to the small, family-owned restaurant fifteen minutes earlier and managed to snag a table for two in the back of the shop. Shallow frown lines were marring the smooth expanse of Kyungsoo’s forehead, but he forced a smile as Jongin placed the bowl of soup in front of him.

“Eat. You need to eat or you're just going to feel like puking for the rest of the day.”

“I know. . .but the thought of putting anything into my mouth right now is just. . .I don't know if I can, Jongin.” He shook his head, looking tired and strung out.

“I'll do it for you then,” Jongin warned as he scooped some of the steaming liquid from Kyungsoo's bowl.

“Don't you dare, Kim Jongin.” Kyungsoo was scowling openly at him now. It made him even more attractive and Jongin didn't even know how this was even possible.

“I will if you don't take the spoon,” Jongin said, grinning. The situation wasn't even remotely funny, but he needed to divert Kyungsoo’s attention from more stressful things.

“That's blackmail, ugh,” Kyungsoo complained, but at least he was taking the steel spoon from Jongin. Cautiously, he sipped the samgaetang, letting the flavors cling to his tongue before declaring that Umma’s was much better. Jongin shook his head in disbelief because at breakfast, Umma had asked Kyungsoo if he wanted anything special for lunch, to which he'd mumbled, “Jongin’s taking me for samgaetang.” It was the first Jongin had heard of this but he knew better than to say anything as Kyungsoo’s hand had squeezed his thigh, clearly warning him to play along.  

“You know my samgaetang is better than any samgaetang you’ll find in in Koreatown, Do Kyungsoo,” she had scoffed, eyebrows raised, as she gave her son a critical look.

“Umma, that’s not the point,” Kyungsoo said, sighing.

“Then what is the point? I can make perfectly delicious samgaetang for you, and we can have a nice lunch to wish you well for your concert tonight. What’s wrong with that? Can’t a mother cook a nice meal for her son?” Kyungsoo’s umma didn’t sound offended. Not exactly. But even Jongin could tell that she was a little hurt by her son’s rejection of her offer.  

“That’s not what—” Kyungsoo tried to explain before making a noise of utter frustration. As mother and son eyed each other from opposite ends of the table, Kyungsoo’s fingers pressing hard into his thigh. Jongin knew he had to help; he had no ing idea what he’d do but he knew he had to try.

“Umma, can I say something?” Jongin said finally—breaking the eight-second long impasse between Kyungsoo and his umma.

“Of course you can, dear,” she answered distractedly, her gaze never leaving her son’s troubled face.

“I think. . .I think Soo just needs to get out of the house and do stuff so he won’t think about tonight so much. That’s all it is. It’s really not about the food, Umma.”

“It really isn’t, Umma. Everyone knows your samgaetang is the best in town,” Kyungsoo chimed in.

“Don’t patronize me, Soo,” she said, shooting him a glare. “I would rather cook for you, but fine, I get what you boys are saying.” Then she turned to face Jongin,  “Make sure he doesn’t eat anything spicy, Jongin. Luhan and I will never hear the end of it if Soo screws up his voice.” She stopped to give a drawn out sigh, before adding, “Minseok can really flog a dead topic and Soo having kimchi throat is just that kind of topic. That boy can go on for months, so just keep Soo off the kimchi.”

“Yes, Umma.”

“I’m right here,” Kyungsoo pointed out, his voice full of disdain. “And I'm not a complete fool. I know better than to mess up my voice on the day of the concert.”

“Dumber things have happened,” she said, rolling her eyes.  Then she leant forward to place her palm over Kyungsoo’s hand. “Go. Do what you have to. Clear your head. Distract yourself. Tonight, you’ll go up on that stage and you’ll be magnificent. . .and you know what?  Even if you’re not, I wouldn’t be any less proud of you. Do you understand, son?”

“Yes, Umma,” Kyungsoo gripped her tiny hand in his. Everyone had just sat there in awkward silence until Umma began talking about Seungchae’s latest milestone. And just like that, they were talking again—about everything but Kyungsoo’s concert jitters. Now, three hours after the scene at breakfast, Kyungsoo was naturally regretting his decision to eat out.

“You should just have eaten at home. You're such an !” Jongin laughed.

“But I'm an with the voice of an angel,” Kyungsoo said, with a grin that was aiming at confident but didn’t quite make it. Kyungsoo had lost so much of his spunk in the past few weeks and it pulled at Jongin’s heart, weighing it down.

“And an ego so big it could flatten the entire downtown area,” Jongin teased.

“ off, Kim Jongin.”

“Eat your soup, Do Kyungsoo.”

“I want Umma’s,” he grumbled—almost, but not quite pouting. Jongin felt something twist in his chest, like he'd never get enough of that pout. Like he'd never even want to get enough of it.

“You're an idiot. Next time just let Umma cook for you.”

“THERE WILL BE NO NEXT TIME, ARE YOU MAD? No more solo performances for me!” Kyungsoo's eyebrows had shot up in indignation and Jongin couldn't help smiling.

“Just—” Jongin bumped Kyungsoo’s knee with his own, and to his relief, Kyungsoo pushed back. “Just eat your soup, okay?”

“I'm so done with samgaetang that isn't Umma’s.” Kyungsoo seemed to crumple into himself and Jongin knew, instinctively, that this had nothing to do with the ing soup. But before he could figure out how to make Kyungsoo feel better, his phone rang.

“Mother?” he said warily. What was this about?

“Hi Jongin,” she greeted in a voice that was subdued and hesitant. She sounded like she was expecting him to hang up on her, and for whatever reason, this idea disturbed him. Then she was speaking again, “You haven’t been home yet have you? I didn’t miss you?”

“I—” Groaning inside, Jongin remembered the text message from the night before, the one where Mother had asked: will I see you tomorrow?.  He’d meant it when he’d told her he would see her at home; but that was before he’d found Kyungsoo bent over a sink, his body still reeling from the aftershocks of anxious vomiting. Jongin couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t leave Kyungsoo.

He was curious about his mother and why she was taking a sudden interest in his life. But as far as he was concerned, he didn't owe her anything—no matter what Ahjumma had to say about it. She didn’t own any piece of Jongin’s soul and he would hang on to the pieces that remained for as long as he could. Kyungsoo though. . .Jongin would give Kyungsoo every single piece of his soul if he asked.

I owe you nothing, Jang Soora.

The words echoed in Jongin’s head, making it hurt. Kyungsoo was watching him with the beginnings of a worried look, his knee and ankle pressing into Jongin’s.

“Jongin? Are you okay? Why aren't you saying anything?” There was concern in his mother’s voice, and Jongin realized that it was more emotion than she’d expressed in years. He hadn’t heard her sound this rattled since that time he'd gotten lost at camp.

“I'm fine. I just—”

“Yes?”

“I can't go home right now,” he said, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead. Kyungsoo's face was suffused with worry by now and Jongin gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

He could hear the disappointment hovering at the edges of her voice as she asked if he would be home that night.

“I can't promise, Mother.”

“I—okay. I hope there's nothing wrong? You're okay?”

“I'm fine,” Jongin said before biting his bottom lip.

“I'm glad,” Mother said but she sounded more anxious than anything.

“I'll—” Jongin closed his eyes as Kyungsoo's hand took hold of his in the crowded restaurant. As Kyungsoo squeezed his hand, Jongin decided that maybe it was time. Maybe it was time to take a leap of faith. “Mother?”

“Yes?” Had a note of hope wrapped itself around her yes?

“I'll be home tomorrow. . .Maybe we can, I dunno, maybe we can go out for lunch or something. I mean, since we couldn't do dinner that night you asked.”

“I'd love that!”

“I might bring Kyungsoo,” Jongin said in his usual detached way. But this time, his default indifference felt wrong. Unfair. Like he needed to soften the blow. “Is that okay with you? If I bring Kyungsoo?”

“Anything you like, Jongin. I just—as long as I get to see you. That's all that matters.” Hope and relief laced her voice and Jongin was happy he'd given her something.

“Tomorrow then,” he said.

“Tomorrow, Jongin,” she said.

Then he was saying bye and ending the call.

“Are you bringing me?” Kyungsoo asked, point blank—a curious expression on his face.

“I don't know, Soo. I don't know anything when it comes to Jang Soora.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Today isn't the day for talking about my ed up relationship with my mom.”

It was only when Kyungsoo's eyebrows shot up that Jongin realized he'd said mom instead of mother.

A/N: Hi everyone! First of all, I want to apologize for keeping all of you waiting for more than 11 months. Secondly, I want to thank you for being such patient and wonderful readers. It’s taken me so long to update because I’ve been busy with writing other things and life. But mostly, it’s taken all this time because I’ve been struggling with writer’s block when it comes to this fic. And the longer I left it, the more pressure I felt because I’d kept everyone waiting so long. Like, I felt like it had to be really good to make up for the long wait but no matter how hard I tried, I felt like it was never going to be good enough? I worked on this chapter for three months and I honestly feel like I can’t do anything more with it, so I hope you’ll accept it anyway, huge flaws and all  :/

Thank you for staying with this story. Y’all are the best!

Love and hugs, Adele