Do Kyungsoo wakes up and realizes that he's alive. His body feels tired, down to his bones and marrows, and he knows it's the unnatural type of tired that welcomes him, not the kind that's felt after a long hard day toiling against misshapen roads and unpaved highways. It's the kind of tired that one feels before death. He knows the feeling, because he remembers getting hit by a car, remembers being pulled and yanked before he feels the pain.  And then in comes the tired, out goes the consciousness. 

Now he's here, the hospital he supposes, but it seems too surreal. It's the drumming in the air, a restless vibe that circles his head and lands on random objects only to blur over and focus on something else, that keeps him from noticing the hospital garbs. Washed out green with dark stains mar his chest and he takes a moment to wonder if the droplets resemble blood before he's pulled to reality by the clacking of heels. Faint thuds, then hectic and piercing clock-like ticks resounded against his ears until he hears a door slide open. His body feels numb, almost dissipated, and it's only in the anguish of his mind that he realizes that his arm feels weightless. 

He attempts to lift the appendage, resulting in a low groan that sounds too hoarse to be his own.  The wires sticking out from beneath his skin makes him feel mechanic, a bit like the gears at his factory job.  He doesn't have time to remember anymore when he hears a voice speak from the doorway.  The smell reaches him before the words do and he stifles a cough, igniting heat throughout his body like a furnace. 

"Do Kyungsoo?" the lady says, shifting and causing a new onslaught of fumes to waft his way. He sees pearls before he sees the smile, and he knows whatever hides behind the gentle curve of lips and teeth would only hurt him. The perfume's too strong though, and he doesn't stall on the suspicion, only on the fact that he's suffocating.  Just a little.  He's reminded of the boss' wife.  The smell of expensive slid under his nose.  It was a smell he was never accustomed to. 

He nodded, trying to push back his sweaty bangs with his fingers. 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he hears her say.  He doesn't know what's happening.  Why does his arm feel so light? 

It only takes seconds before he realizes that wouldn't wasn't an option as he stares at his hands. Or whatever was left of his hands.

 Wouldn't? He physically couldn't. 

He shifts in his seat, a peculiar mess of a thing as he shuffles through the pile of work.  Eyes drifting his way from corners of the room, looking at his face, surveying his habits, and paying particular attention to his mechanic hands.  He knows he would never get use to the metal contraption, and his justification came in the form of falling papers.  The sheets fall from his hands like water silks down a stream, smoothly but all at once, and he stands there staring at the pile on the floor. He stares down at the mess.  His metal hands feel ten times heavier than they ever did. 

Kyungsoo hears a stifled laughter.  He wonders if they're directed at him.  He answers his own question and tries his best to suppress the hot onslaught of shame as he bends over to pick up the scattered paper.  His vision swims of badly inked writing and red angry checks until he's met with the sight of black boots stomping onto his files and never lifting up.  His eyes wanders up, startled, hurt, scared just a bit until he comes face to face with a sinister grin. 

Kyungsoo feels rather than sees the amusement. 

"Let's shake hands," the owner offers, the same sinister leer that drifts up more when Kyungsoo blanches and shuffles back.  The question itself startles him more that the abrupt asking of it, and he can only retreat back until he's decipher the meaning.  He doesn't shake hands.  He is use to bowing or mumbling a polite greeting, but never was he bold enough to offer his mechanical hand to be shaken by live fleshy ones. 

"No thank you," he says politely, still bent over and crouching over a pile of vanilla folders and white paper sheets held down by a defiant foot.  He glances up and gasps.  The look he's met with looks more than a little displeased, almost angry and dark in all its small creases and dipped curves.  He watches as distaste riles blessed features and he notes the little flick of the ankle that sends all his papers flying into a small frenzy.  The gesture is small, almost dismissible, but the malice and intention was like chain of metal, formidable and loud as it echoed under alluded movement. 

He thinks the other will leave, hopes the he will under the strained glances of passerbys and audiences.  The other doesn't though, just stands there and looks as Kyungsoo tries to collect the sheets on the floor.  He waits, baits, and hooks as he crouches down and begins shuffling through the pieces of paper.  Kyungsoo thinks he's trying to help, but the other doesn't do much, just shuffles sheets here and there into a messier pile, then stops entirely and Kyungsoo feels the piercing gaze shift towards him. 

"Hi, I'm Jongin." The reply is short. Abrupt.  It resembles a candlelight in the storm.  It diminishes into a frenzy of smoke and heat, burning a fire against Kyungsoo's skin.  "I am Jongin, and you are?" the person continues.  Kyungsoo stalls, waits, baits his time 
because it's precious and god's grace, yet he felt little blessed when Jongin insists on rooting his ground. 

"Kyungsoo?" he asks.  He doesn't know why, he just isn't quite sure what to say. 

The words increases the blank stare from Jongin.  He sees agitation followed by a gulp of air that reminds him of water over an open flame.  "You don't sound quite so sure about your name," he says, flashing a set of teeth that held the autumn leaves and burly wind.  It shines with prosthetic grace, yet contains little mirth.  He thinks maybe ice has human form, but he keeps the musings in his head. 

"I didn't know how to respond," he answers truthfully.  He stands up once the papers are in his grasp and looks down at the crouching Jongin. He wonders what the other thinks, maybe he hears a thought or two, but he isn't quite sure.  He sees confusion and then amusement mar Jongin's face, slowly, then all together as he tilts his head up and looks at Kyungsoo like he's just found his new favorite toy. 

Jongin smiles and Kyungsoo sees happiness this time—but it's a crazy kind of happiness. The one that's riddle with dark schemes and troubled thoughts but conceals itself in red tulips and friendly curves.  Kyungsoo knows it's that kind of smile that hurts the most, but he doesn't know what to do—had he ever?—and just smiles a small one back.  

Maybe his smile will hurt too. 

"Hi," Jongin says from behind him and Kyungsoo startles.  He doesn't expect a greeting, maybe a glance or two and then indifference, but a greeting seems too coincidental to happen.  A second time always meant free will, and Jongin has all his free will trained on Kyungsoo so it seems. 

He doesn't know hellos, not as well as he does goodbyes, so he sits, stares, wonders why before he answers. 

"Hello," he speaks softly, flipping through the pages like Jongin's a fly that buzzes and buzzes and never goes splat.  Jongin reads his thoughts; doesn't read them like he reads a book, but feels them like he feels the wind, and Kyungsoo thinks he sees a sly smile.  He thinks that Jongin should go splat. 

"Shake hands?" he's asks, and he hears the soft thump of body against the chair next to him.  The whispering of wind through pages of books and bodies of shelves greets him just as peacefully as the soft piano music does floating from the overhead stereos, and it's complimented with the quiet breathing of staccato breath that makes him sigh.  Jongin still remains, patiently waiting, hands ghosting up and down as if he isn't sure Kyungsoo will accept or decline. Kyungsoo refuses to answer; Jongin puts his hands back on his lap. 

He doesn't bother Kyungsoo for the rest of the forever in the library, but does efficiently well on breathing next to him and making him count the seconds of inhale and exhale and he's sure seven seconds of exhale is considered sighing.  It rubs him the wrong way, and it's a struggle to contain his curiosity. 

"Why are you sighing?" he snaps, though it comes out soft and gentle and Jongin doesn't really hear the annoyance.  Kyungsoo's not sure he's annoyed at all, but it's the pricking in his sides and the hum of air through tulip lips that irks him. 

"Are you usually this boring?" Jongin says, sprawling his body onto the table and accomplishing in pushing all of Kyungsoo's things into disarray. "Classes are out, so I am out, and I want to do something," Jongin huffs, picking up Kyungsoo's eraser and flicking it a few centimeters.  He does it again, this time to some innocent pencils, and Kyungsoo just doesn't really understand the guy. 

"I don't know who you are, but you are creepy," he says bluntly.  Jongin hums, whispers something, dives deeper into his cocoon and further in his daydreams of freedom and fun; Kyungsoo continues to read. 

Somewhere between the war of something and the throning of a new era, he gives up because he's successfully distracted and what was he reading again?  He sighs and pushes the books away from him. He tilts his head and looks at Jongin's face that's been gazing at him, and he watches that smile—that dangerous one that he knows will hurt him one day—skim across resting face and lazy blinking.  "Finally," Jongin says, slowly rising his frame upwards and getting up from his chair.  He slings his bag around shoulders like warriors do with their swords, and Kyungsoo thinks that among history books and badly mad samurai movies, he's been too obsessed.  

The other walks away, and Kyungsoo does a double-take because what about him?  He scrambles with his books, grabs the objects Jongin's been using as projectiles, and half-runs half-zips at his bag towards the retreating figure. It's not until he's striding next to Jongin, his body following a course that streams and stems and stops at each step Jongin takes that makes him realize what he's done.  Jongin seems to know too, because he smiles that dangerous smile that makes Kyungsoo think that now he's just being plain stupid, because being hurt is a choice. 

And he's willingly walking along with it. 

He sees Jongin walk across his parking lot and does a double-take. He's not sure if his one time escapade to the arcade with Jongin has convinced the boy that they're buddies, but he's not too sure what to think when the other spots him and waves.  The dim lighting of his apartment does little to hide the other's features, and glints of fire and mischief shines his direction as its owner runs towards him. 

"Hyung!" Jongin says, slowing as he nears and Kyungsoo's just a bit rattled as he stands.  He just stands and Jongin just hangs in front of him, hands in pockets and eyes looking back and forth between Kyungsoo's door and the cement floor. "Won't you shake my hand?" he's asks. There's a boyish grin, a telltale lift of the eyebrows that tells Kyungsoo that Jongin's just a bit crazy, and he might be just a bit loony too because he's inviting the other in and Jongin prances around like he's at an amusement park. The moon shines a message on them both as they settle, and before long they're drinking a beer and sitting on Kyungsoo's fire escape, legs dangling over the side and alcohol lightly held between pinkies and thumbs. 

They don't talk as they sip, surround themselves in polluted air and dead stars, before the silence is broken by Jongin's laugh.  "I didn't think you'd let me in," he says, hiccups, swigs from the glass bottle and plays with the rim.  "I thought you would shut the door in my face and I'd have to walk back home," he laughs again. Jongin smiles, sad, drunk, maybe just a bit too honest because of the alcohol, but Kyungsoo doesn't much mind because he's admittedly a bit tipsy himself and his metal hands hurt. 

Pain, pain, go away he hums as he gulps down burning liquid before he too finds himself laughing.  "I-door yeah," he manages out, agreeing that yes he would have done exactly that if he were sane, but he's feeling lonely, and words never come out right after a drink or two.  They sing a song, two, maybe a dozen before they realize that they're just garbling out words and he faintly sees Jongin's lyrics turn into a sob before they're toasting to their loneliness and falling onto their backs, all the while howling about their hurt and pain and there's that smile again that Jongin does so well. 

Kyungsoo doesn't feel the hurt; he doesn't feel the hesitant voice that warns him that Jongin is badbadbad. 

He feels lonely though.  So lonely. But he's slipping into unconsciousness before he realizes that Jongin's feeling the same way too. 

"I don't want to talk about it," is the first thing Jongin says when he sits down next to Kyungsoo the next morning. He looks upset, a bit infuriated as he slinks into his chair and crosses his arms.  Maybe it's the tears from last night that makes Jongin mad.  Maybe he's mad at himself.  Maybe he's just mad.  No reason, just anger. Kyungsoo doesn't blame him, he sympathizes, and he knows he's feeling a bit ty himself. 

"I wasn't going to mention it," he answers, eyes never leaving his book as he stirred the simmering pot. Jongin groans as he grips his head, squints his eyes, scrunches his brows, then peeps through an eyelid and catches Kyungsoo's gaze because Kyungsoo wasn't really paying attention to the book. They hold the gaze, the message transfers, and then Kyungsoo's back to stirring and Jongin's screaming bloody murder at hangovers. 

This time he makes sure he closes the door in Jongin's face when the younger shows up at his doorsteps. He stays there, ears pressed against the door and lips hanging open because he hears movement, but it isn't quite as near as it should be.  He sighs, shrugs, then decides that Jongin's gone before he goes and takes out leftovers for his dinner.  He finishes the sweet chicken, but he feels bitter.  Maybe he shouldn't be so mean?  

Shaking his head, he cleared the plates and went to take a shower.  His guilt only grows as he washes his hair, and he leaves the bathroom clean, but feels dirty. Going to his fridge he takes out a bottle of beer before he makes towards his balcony. He sees the figure shadowed from his mesh curtains. The person sitting facing away from him, staring into the night sky and city lights and further into daydreams and Kyungsoo knows it's Jongin. He shifts the mesh, sees the little shudder of shoulders and the trembling of hands as they come up to wipe at tears. 

Kyungsoo knows he's not the cause of it. He can tell that whatever Jongin needed, for now it wasn't him.  It was just comfort that someone was close, even if they did ignore you, and he let Jongin hold onto that comfort without wounding his pride. 

He shuts off the lights and sits down on his couch.  He sits, stares into the darkness, sees the twinkling of the stars from the moonlight beams, reads the message the moon sent him tonight, and it told him that people were smiling that smile somewhere. And somewhere in the world a person—Kyungsoo knows someone just a glass door away from him—is hurt because of that smile. 

He waits for several minutes, waits just over half an hour before he opens his balcony door and Jongin slinks in, eyes not meeting his, body collasps on the couch, and Kyungsoo feels sad. 

Night skies, city lights, and daydreams never got you far. 

"I don't want to talk about it, hyung." 

"I wasn't going to mention it." 

"Hyung, won't you shake my hand?" Jongin whines.  He's lying on Kyungsoo's couch, flipping through ancient textbooks and kicking duck flaps into the air with his feet.  He flips another page before he pushes the book onto the floor and rests his chin on the armrest.  He says ouch when he gets flicked in the head by Kyungsoo, but his question still hangs in the air.  

Jongin's not in one of his angry moods. Kyungsoo isn't sure why the boy even gets angry. It's like a spontaneous mood that struggles to grasp the situation and before long it's holding Jongin and he's being rough towards Kyungsoo. He finds it annoying.  Jongin isn't angry now, rarely is nowadays, but he's still annoying.  Kyungsoo thinks the question is being asked too much. He knows the other is aware of the metal hands that imitate real ones.  

He refuses to say he's ashamed of his nonexistent limbs. Jongin refuses to leave it the alone, and then there's now where Jongin's curious and Kyungsoo's just tired.  And yet there is no "then there's now", because this is the first time Kyungsoo feels like cursing and crying and he swears he hasn't been drinking. 

"I won't feel anything," he answers, his words a blank against his thoughts.  It's not what he wants to say; it's not his experience, his sadness, his pain, but it's enough. He lifts his hands, the breeze from the open balcony ghosting through his makeshift fingers and there's nothing that he feels. He chuckles, hears Jongin shift his body and makes to grab at his forlorn hands before he moves them away from being captured. 

"What are you doing," he fumes, mad that his answer wasn't enough. "I won't feel anything," he spits out again, venom and anger and maybe he's smiling that smile again because Jongin's the one who looks hurt. 

"You might not feel anything, but I will," Jongin says after he hides the hurt with steel, and they're glaring at each other because Jongin's in his angry mood now and Kyungsoo's just mad. He wants to argue that metal doesn't feel like baby cheeks, or fluffy kitten fur because it's metal and it's supposed to be cold. He doesn't want to say it, but Jongin reads it in his eyes, feels it in his soul, and he only manages one more curse before he's grabbing Jongin by the collar and dragging him out of his apartment. 

He hears the other kick at his door, curse him colorfully with strained vocals. He hears footsteps retreating and he feels tears. His? Jongin's? He doesn't know. 

Maybe they're both smiling—

—because right now they're both hurt.