Kyungsoo knows there's something wrong when he wakes up the following morning. A drowsiness that feels a lot like anguish consumes him, trips him and rips him apart until he's sitting at his bedside, hands clutching onto bedsheets and head dipping into a painful stoop. He knows it's sadness and remembers it's madness because his eyes are still hot and they feel heavy against his skull. His head thrums, sways, does a little too many dances as he wakes up and showers. His metal hands gently sift through his hair, but no matter the miniscule pressure he uses, strands always managed to get caught in the bolts and screws. He expects the sting, doesn't really feel it because he's use to ignoring it, but today he feels every snap and break as if they're trying to tell him something.

He imagines that they're relaying a message, but doesn't get an answer like he does from the moon, but a wave of confusion the longer he stares at his artificial limb. It shines in the sunlight, gleams like teeth in tulip lips, and before he realizes that there's something wrong in the metaphor, his alarm rings his thoughts away.

The earth feels unleveled today. His mind wanders like clouds, blinks in and out of subconsciousness like stars, and feels as if he's revolved around the moon for far too long.  He thinks twenty-seven years is sufficient enough of a travel, laughs at his own sarcasm, and navigates pass the broken dominos of beer cans and wine bottles.

He sees his couch and squints, expecting but not seeing what he wanted to see. What was it? light rays dance across his vision, veers his gaze towards curtains and glass. The pane turns into pain, and then he realizes that yes, something is missing, and that no, he was sure it would never come back. His mind cries a bit, familiar by the action witnessed by a lonely moon last night, and he drags his feet towards an equally lonely kitchen.

"I don't want to talk about it." 

He doesn't hear the words, doesn't speak the language like Jongin does with his angry throes and his cold lips, but he knows he should have repeated those words last night. Should have asked politely instead of being angry, because that is Jongin, and he is the reserved one. He feels slightly bitter, knowing that the other can demand privacy yet he cannot, but he's not defiant like the Jongin is, doesn't storm around refusing explanation and help. He thinks maybe being angry isn't all that bad. Angry... just being was hard enough.

A ring from overhead informs him that there's someone at the door. He doesn't know who it could possibly be, but maybe he does because he feels his lips lift into a hopeful curve. He smiles not because he feels happy but because tears never were as welcomed as a smile was. 

A twist of a doorknob shows a nervous Jongin rocking from one leg to another. It's like a scene out of a movie. Jongin smiles crooked tulip smiles and Kyungsoo suddenly realizes just why his metaphors seem too crazy, realizes that crazy doesn't even begin to describe the other man because once again they're hanging in his livingroom. Jongin's once again pestering to hold hands and Kyungsoo is still steadfast in his decisions. There's a nice tune to how they interact, but he knows that despite the huffs and pouts and disimissiveness on his end, there's a piece of lead that's tied around his shoulders.

It tugs and tugs and tugs too hard, and coincidentally Jongin is probably thinking the same thing, because the other doesn't continue his pestering like he usually does. Kyungsoo knows it's unhealthy to act as such. Knows that too much lead can only lead to one thing.

Poisoning.

What Jongin doesn't quite realizes about life, Kyungsoo realizes one day, is that it doesn't always want to you over. The boy has all the dark thoughts in all the bad places, seeks solace in a false hallucination in which expecting the worse will bring you no pain. Kyungsoo doesn't really hate the other for that line of thought because he sometimes catches himself think that way too, but it's the persistent nagging on Jongin's mind that really irks Kyungsoo.  Jongin acknowledges his pain and disregards another's. He can sometimes understand why people avoid Jongin, because this spontaneous relationship wasn't exactly mural to begin with. Jongin has a tide that washes everything away, and Kyungsoo is a beach trying to keep his sand from slipping. Jongin doesn't help, not with his prodding and digging up fresh insecurities. He masters the art of annoying Kyungsoo, does it so well that sometimes Kyungsoo forgives the Jongin and he doesn't even know why. He sings an insult then smoothes it over with melodies. Jongin does the hurting. Kyungsoo just accepts.

He knows Jongin hurts as well. Nights of stargazing and tears on his balcony says a lot--does a lot to try and make Kyungsoo understand his situation. And he might be dumb for not knowing, but Jongin's predicament is way beyond him. So he just listens and sings whatever drunk song Jongin sings. Sometimes they are rock songs, most of the time they are hurt songs. The kind that goes slow with sadness and builds into a frenzy as anger controls and morphs into hate. For Jongin, the lyrics morph into sobs.

For Kyungsoo, worry.

"You know, I'm a bad driver," Jongin says one day when they are breathing stars and gold dust. He's clinging onto two rails, legs circling around a supporting bar and feet dangling down. He's not drunk, but he seems years too far.  Kyungsoo stands behind him, looking out into the city lights until he finds it too distressing and comes down to settle Jongin in the curve of his caress. "I've been in a lot of accidents," the younger continues, breathes in pixel air like smokers, and completely ignores Kyungsoo's hold around his waist. "And my psychoanalyst told me to revisit my sins," he continues. 

Almost like a snap of twig against a window, Jongin's hands circle around Kyungsoo's own. It holds on tight, almost too tight, almost way too tight, before he swings around and stares into Kyungsoo's eyes. The oldest feels something shift inside him. Something unpleasant and suddenly he notices night skies, city lights, and day dreams. He doesn't recognize the fearful glint in Jongin's eyes. Doesn't notice the tear that slips and traverse down, following a familiar trail freshly paved. He doesn't realizes this Jongin, and so he jokes about it. It's the only way he knows how to parry.

"You aren't doing much revisiting," he smiles. And then he gulps as Jongin looks down at his hands.

His cold metal hands.

But maybe... maybe yes, he has.

Format is off because I'm posting on my phone. I will reformat it whenever I can get to the desktop version. Enjoy :)

Word Count: 1,148

9/20/2014