lightning bolts on wrists in the dark of night and low whispers in tones of honey. traced ink on highways of veins that intersect at bony joints, small satisfaction at intervals of midnight and thirty minutes in between. they kiss and nip and shove their tongues down each other’s mouths in between alleyways and broken windows of a city.

                he could pay in bills and coins and tricks of the sleeve but the other refuses any payment other than his lips on white knuckles.

                “how do you like it?” he asks, turning off the lights in the shop of abandoned needles.

                “i feel electrified,” jongdae traces zitao’s jaw with his fingers, satisfied at his choice of words. he ghosts along the shell of zitao’s ear, and locks the door behind them as they climb the stairs to the apartment above.

                zitao is on top of him when the rain starts to fall.

                “,” he hisses, “that’s thunder.”

                “don’t mind it,” is all jongdae says.

                the world is being swallowed up behind them and all it sounds like is white noise. zitao knows he should ignore how numb everything feels but through all the adrenaline he has to admit he’s easily startled, because he knocks his forehead into jongdae’s when the thunder starts up again.

                “ow,” jongdae makes a noise between a pant and laugh.

                “sorry,” zitao mumbles, and he draws the curtain closed. jongdae just laughs and blends in with the hum of outside the window, and zitao’s ears might be bleeding because everything is so loud and everything is spinning because it’s almost one and he hasn’t slept in two days.

                “you ok?” jongdae asks, burying his chin into zitao’s hair and it’s strangely domestic when all they’ve done is at midnights every time jongdae wants to stain his skin with more ink.

               zitao hums in response, because now he is only a tiny voice in seoul weather, a mere whisper in the wind. he thumbs at the stray strands of bandage wound around jongdae’s wrist. “you still have like, two hours until you can take that off, you know.”

                “i know,” jongdae says, like he always does, and for some reason it pisses the zitao off when it’s one in the morning and they can’t make it past small talk and hands down each other’s pants. “…hey, are you sure you’re alright?”

                zitao can’t tell whether he really cares and sighs because he really does, . “i want to sleep.”

                jongdae nods and moves the pillow closer to zitao.

                the storm is over when he wakes up.

                it might be dawn or it might be noon but the ringing in his ears is gone. he half-expects jongdae to have left already, but the other is putting on his shoes that have their own place beside the door on a midnight every now and then.

                “don’t go,” zitao says, pillow tucked under his arm.

                jongdae doesn’t look up, just pauses, one shoe on and one shoe off.

                “if you want me to stay, then i’ll stay,” he promises.

                zitao traces yesterday’s eyeliner with his finger in the mirror while jongdae unwraps the bandage. lightning marks his wrist, in the same dark color as usual. “i like it,” jongdae smiles, and zitao smiles back and it makes him annoyed that he likes smiling at his favorite customer this much. “thanks.”

                “glad to hear it,” zitao’s mouth is splitting at the seams like poorly done patchwork.

                jongdae pats the skin dry and reaches for the lotion at zitao’s sink. he looks oddly comfortable, posture relaxed and hair messy. an undone jongdae is one he’s accustomed to, but this one is different and kind of nice.

                “help yourself,” zitao tries to lighten the mood more, trying to keep conversation. jongdae nods and stares blankly at the edges of the electricity on his skin.

                zitao asks jongdae if he wants to walk around for a bit, and jongdae shrugs. “i don’t have a jacket,” he puts on his shoes again.

                “take one of mine, “ and jongdae has leather down his arms as they crowd out the doorway of the small apartment. the look is unusually cute on him, and jongdae seems to like wearing clothes a size too big.

                in the outlines of seoul they walk to anywhere with a silence reserved for two.

                “why did you ask me to stay?” jongdae looks out with eyes behind glass, cigarette trapped in between his fingers. zitao doesn’t smoke, and coughs into his gloved hand.

                “i don’t know,” zitao focuses on the litter beneath his feet. he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to talk or if he’s supposed to live for midnights for the rest of his life, and he’s sort of upset with the whole ordeal. “i just really like midnights. with you.”

                “uh huh,” jongdae takes a long drag of his cigarette.

                “and i want midnight to be more often, i guess.”

                jongdae isn’t looking at the rubble of the world beneath his feet or the smoke of his marlboro.

                “and i don’t know if that’s what you want and if it is start talking and stop polluting your damn lungs,” zitao ends, and he’s looking at the crumbled paper of the world next to his toes and the clouds of jongdae’s cigarette.

                “i’m sure we can make more appointments.”

                zitao feels static in his touch when jongdae kisses him, tongue and teeth, thunder and lightning.