It was quarter to 3 in the morning when Seungsoo had driven his car up their street.

The dim house lights and street lamps created a background bokeh against the pouring rain. Inside the car it was quiet, nothing but the muffled sound of water droplets hitting hard against the windows resounding across the small cramped space. A sound that only became louder the minute Seungsoo had shut down the engine, remaining still on his seat to take in the heavy air of drowse the night seemed to bring.

His gaze drifted to one of the second floor windows, specifically the one that hid Kyungsoo’s room behind loosely shut blinds. He thought of the younger boy and how he was probably fast asleep underneath the navy blue covers of his bed, lightly snoring the way he would always deny he did. If there was anything that could lull the boy to sleep other than their mother’s voice, it would be the rain, and if there was anyone who knew this more than their mother it would be Seungsoo.

He grabbed his keys and barged in through the front door with his routinely call. I’m home. He hadn’t expected a response, the silence that had greeted him nothing out of the ordinary (at least, the recent ordinary).

It wasn’t until he had come across Kyungsoo toppled down onto the floor of his bedroom, right next to his bed with the blankets still half-wrapped around his waist and half hanging onto the mattress in a complete state of disarray that a red alarm went of in his head. “” he remembered muttering before running to the younger’s side, said boy letting out a barely audible whimper when Seungsoo grabs him by the shoulders and wastes no time heaving him up and laying him back on the bed.

The first thing that he registers is the burning temperature, followed by the shallow breaths, and then the dews of sweat. It doesn’t take long for the dots to connect, the older’s mind and body shifting into autopilot. Pills, fresh clothes, towels and a basin are quickly taken out of storage.

He doesn’t remember the last time either of them had gotten sick. It’s probably been a while back, maybe that one winter when they had been out in the snow just a little longer than supposed, or maybe that summer they went night swimming. The memory is vague, though somehow one thing remains clear in Seungsoo’s mind.

It’s the protocol, the practice of dabbing a cool towel over the sick person’s head while waiting for the porridge to heat up in the kitchen, checking his temperature, wrapping him in blankets, changing him, making sure he eats and so on and so forth. It’s the familiar routine they’ve lived by that he remembers, the what-to-do-s and how-to-do-it-s.

When Kyungsoo got sick for the first time after they’ve been released from the custody of their foster home, for some reason Seungsoo knew exactly what to do. His hands and body had moved to their own accord, following the memory of caring arms that used to carry both them to bed every night, hands that wiped the sweat and dirt off of their forehead after having spent their afternoons playing in their backyard, lips that smiled a smile that gave them a first glimpse of what true love was, even back when they were so young, and fragile, and happy. Mom.

“What are you doing to yourself honestly…”

Seungsoo stares at the way Kyungsoo’s chest rises and falls in a steady pace, his lips parted slightly as he tries to breathe through his mouth. The older had dressed him in a simple shirt and a pair of sweatpants before helping him down some medicine and finally laying him down to rest.

30 minutes later he sits on the same bed with his back against the headboard, dark circles beginning to form underneath his eyes as he fights to stay awake, carding his fingers through his little brother’s hair in a soothing manner. Kyungsoo remains still all the while and Seungsoo is nearly tricked into believing that he’s fallen asleep, until he looks down to find that the younger’s eyes are open, blearily staring at the ceiling above.

When he sits up straight Kyungsoo follows suit, the towel that had been placed over his forehead sliding down onto his lap drenching a spot on the duvet. A few seconds of silence stretch by with neither of them showing any signs of breaking it. The older presses a hand against the other’s forehead, a simple gesture of care as he checks up on his temperature. Kyungsoo allows him to do as much, even going as far as leaning into the touch and closing his eyes, wanting nothing but for someone to take care of him, someone who won’t leave. And as if sensing the need, his brother’s hand slides down over his cheek, rubbing over the spot where it’s still sticky from the tears that have dried up.

“You okay?” Seungsoo asks, voice hushed as though he were afraid that Kyungsoo would break if he raised it any louder.

The younger’s gaze fixates on his own hands as they slowly clench and unclench themselves before him. He seems to be contemplating something thoroughly and Seungsoo patiently waits for a response, drawing his hand back and picking up the wet towel.  

“Really how’d you manage to get yourself sick…You barely go any other place than work and home.” The older of the two stands, pulling the curtains closed before picking up the pillows that have fallen to the ground from moments ago. “You’re worrying me, Kyungsoo.” He pauses, making sure to look the boy straight in the eye when he says this, before placing the pillows on some chair already occupied by a pile of neatly folded clothing.

Kyungsoo remains silent, eyes unfocused and aloof. The only sounds he makes are the light sniffles from his runny nose.

“Listen,” Seungsoo begins again after a while, busying himself with whatever he can tinker with if only to find a reason to avoid looking Kyungsoo straight in the eye “…I’m…I’m really sorry I never told you, about Tao, about him being back, about everything. I just- Kyungsoo you were doing so well. So well with Jongin, and your new circle of friends, you know that? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you happy without limits…And I didn’t want to open old wounds. I knew how much you loved tao, I knew how devastated you were when he left too suddenly and- He’s just- he’s got his own life now and I wasn’t sure how things would have gone if you two saw each other again.”

He’s now hovering by the door, hand poised gingerly over the knob as though he were both ready to leave and waiting to be called back. His apology speech isn’t anything new, something he’s been bringing up in times he thinks the younger is listening. It’s the most he could do to try and salvage their relationship or whatever is left of it. But for each time Kyungsoo would reply with a nod, a shrug, or nothing at all, Seungsoo takes a step closer to believing that it’s going to be mission impossible.

He waits though, he waits for three long minutes silence, of empty stares and dead air, he waits for the troubled young adult in front of him to somehow transform back into his naïve little brother, waddling towards him with his little legs, arms outstretched, mumbling slurred Hyung!-s over and over again.  

But it’s the fourth minute and nothing’s happening, Kyungsoo is still troubled, Kyungsoo is still all grown up.

So with a defeated sigh he mumbles a half-hearted take care before moving to exit the room and close the door behind him, mentally and physically exhausted.

But when the door is all but an inch away from closing, he hears a faint voice mutter something that surprises him enough to make him freeze on his spot, gripping the knob tighter in his hand as he inclines back a little bit, unsure whether he’s heard right.

Kyungsoo’s wide eyes are trained on him as thick tension suddenly fills the air.

“Would you believe me if I said I killed mom?” The youngest repeats, louder this time.

Seungsoo hadn’t expected such a question to be thrown at him out of the blue, at least not in this kind of situation. He had no answers prepared.

“…Why would you ask such a thing?” he makes sure to compose himself, makes sure to be careful with each word.

There’s a change in Kyungsoo’s aura and suddenly the boy is pursing his lips in a thin line, gritting his teeth and clenching the duvet with a vice-like grip.  “Would you?” he tries once more, a tone lower.

“I-“

“I killed mom.” Kyungsoo cuts him off. “I killed mom.”

By now the door’s been fully opened again, Seungsoo’s grip slipping off the knob as he stares quite shocked, but apparently not as shocked as Kyungsoo wants him to be.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I killed mom.”

No response.

“Hyung, Seungsoo, I killed m-!”

“I heard you the first time.”

The interruption only heightens the already tense atmosphere.

Suddenly Kyungsoo is rigid, his shoulders squared, back straightened, brows furrowed and eyes fierce.

Seungsoo, on the other hand, is alarmingly calm when he closes the door, a faint click replacing expectations of a loud slam to resound in the room. He sighs, he sighs a lot tonight.

It takes an agonizingly long minute for the older to get to where Kyungsoo sits. He’s careful with his steps, pausing each time to see whether Kyungsoo would flinch or run or scream or cry. The younger’s eyes are wide and frightful as it flickers down to his feet then back to meet his gaze, the closer he gets the more Kyungsoo’s expression contorts into something akin to anger. Or fear? He looks…angry-scared, for lack of a better term.

Seungsoo stops once he’s right next to the boy. Carefully he reaches his hand out and places it gently, so gently, over Kyungsoo’s shoulder.

“Kyungsoo…what are you saying?” He says, slowly.

The younger glares piercingly at the hand that weighs down on his shoulder before shrugging it away with force and kneeling up on the bed so that he’s right on eye’s level with his brother.

“I. Killed. Mom.” He repeats for the nth time. “I. Killed. Mom!!”

Seungsoo remains unmoving. There’s a twinkle of something in his eyes, pity? Sadness? Worry? It’s hard to tell, but the only thing Kyungsoo can tell is that he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the way he’s silent, he doesn’t like the way he doesn’t fight back, even when he promptly shoves the older  with a grunt, inching closer to the edge of the bed if only to shove him harder. Through it all Seungsoo remains stoic and unresponsive. Kyungsoo doesn’t like it.

“I- ing- killed- both- our parents!“ He shouts, each time louder, each time accompanied by a stronger push.

“GET MAD AT ME!!” Hands fight against hands, grip against grip, one trying to break free, the other trying to restrain. “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO ING GET MAD AT ME!!!”

Kyungsoo’s voice becomes muffled against Seungsoo’s shoulder as the older does all he can to pacify him in his arms despite his constant struggling.

Fragments of his thoughts just keep spilling out of his lips, one after another, Mom and dad are dead because of me, I touched them, I wake the dead, Jongin left, I’m a ing freak, I touched Krystal, I’m nothing but bad luck. Some sentences Seungsoo manages to comprehend, others leave him quite shocked, but for now he simply purses his lips and puts his questions on hold and focuses on appeasing the fragile boy in front of him right now.

The veins on his arms are protruding as Kyungsoo jostles even harder while emitting grunts of frustration once he can no longer form coherent sentences. It would seem that his emotions have finally welled up, Jongin’s disappearing act a while ago having been the final drop of water to his overflowing cup.  Right now his temperature is burning and there are droplets of sweat on his back and forehead but for some reason he feels the heat emanate most from his chest, where it hurts.

It takes five whole minutes for his frantic flailing to cease, mostly because he gradually loses the energy, panting as he slumps against his brother’s hold with his arms limply dangling to his sides and his hands loosely placed over the older’s waist. In the middle of it all Seungsoo had managed to lower himself onto the bed, sitting with his back straight, tight embrace keeping Kyungsoo from falling completely.

When it becomes quiet, apart from the huffs and puffs of air, Seungsoo whispers the words he’s been wishing to say for so long.

“I know.” He says, rendering Kyungsoo still, almost making it seem as if he had stopped breathing.  

“I knew.”

The younger’s eyes are as wide as saucers. He’s still, fingers twitching as though his body were attempting to register what he had just heard. His breath hitches when the strangled noise that escapes his lips is muffled against the fabric of Seungsoo’s shirt.

“Maybe you blocked me off your memory somehow, but I was there playing ball with you, you know.”

The older continues.

“We played catch. You threw the ball too far and ran to get it. Mom saw a car coming so she followed you, and the rest…well it’s is as you remember it…”

Kyungsoo remains silent. How could he not have remembered?

In his mind it had always been him and his mother and the sound of tires screeching against cemented asphalt. How could he have not remembered the blurry figure of someone standing by in the background, a boy two heads taller than him running back inside the house?

“I was scared. Of course I was scared, I was only a child no older than 13...But I couldn’t imagine how scared you must have been. In the end someone had to call an ambulance, in the end it was me.”

“We shared a room.” The younger whispers as though it had just dawned on him, realization coming several years too late. “Didn’t we? We…shared a room?”

“Yeah…Yeah, We shared a room.” Seungsoo’s voice goes even softer, “And mom kissed me goodnight too.”    

Oh, was all Kyungsoo could think. Oh.

He had avoided the memory too much to actually recall anything other than himself and his mother. When he had relapsed into depression his memory seemed to cloud over, becoming a mere broken tape of the same scenario over and over again, ignoring all the little elements like their old house in the background, their garden full of lilies, his little stripped ball, and the neighbors who came a bit too late.  

“I wondered why you couldn’t remember…you never brought it up, and when I tried to bring it up you would keep it from me. So I respected your decision, if it were your way of keeping some things normal in your life, then I wouldn’t want to ruin it.” At that moment the older pulls back until Kyungsoo is fully in view. He takes the time to look at how much his little brother has grown, see how strong he’s become. It’s okay now, he thinks to himself, it’s okay for him to know.

“Tao never left Anyang.” Seungsoo finally blurts out. He says it carefully, as though it had been kept secret far too long for him to be sure of it anymore.  

“He was a stage four patient, Kyungsoo. He would never have survived. All the numbers and tests had said so…”

Kyungsoo furrows his brows, deeply confused.

“But he’s fine. He’s healthy.” Based on the last he’s seen his former friend, Tao’s full height and lean body showed no signs of the sickly lifestyle he had lived as a teenager.  

“He’s not supposed to be. He wasn’t healthy, at least not before you held his hand to sleep in the hospital.

You had gone to school the next morning when I came in to pay a visit myself. Tao had seemed…beyond confused when he woke up. He shared something to me…how he was absolutely positive he was going to die the night before, but for some reason he woke up feeling good as new.”

“…Tao did die…Tao did die. Didn’t he?”

Seungsoo responds with a solemn nod

“I told him all I knew about you, and I was hopeful he would understand. But I guess different people take things differently. He requested to be discharged, and the doctors- suddenly seeing no problems with his records- saw no reason to keep him confined any longer. It was definitely a suspicious, rare case for a stage four survivor to be within their midst and Tao was sure they were going request his presence back for some tests… But he had no plans becoming some sort of human guinea pig, and he neither had any plans of dying a second time over…so in the two weeks it took you to pay another visit, he had managed to contact his relatives from Anyang and move in.”

“What about his travels? He’s practically been around the world.”

“None of those were true, Kyungsoo. Tao was only afraid you’d come looking for him if you knew he were within reach…”

The younger’s expression contorts into something akin to confusion and hurt and betrayal all mixed together.

“I’m sorry.” Seungsoo sighs, trying his best to smooth out the creases on his brother’s forehead “But the only country he’s truly stepped foot onto was Japan. He’s found a permanent residence there.”

“So he’s moving?”

Kyungsoo’s voice cracks at the end and he couldn’t hide disappointment evident in his tone. He’s disappointed in many people, but mostly he’s disappointed in himself. To think that, at one point in his life, someone had actually ran away from him, heck could still be running away from him, for the plain fact that he feared for his own life. Is he really that much of a beast?

“His flight took off about a week ago.”

Kyungsoo takes a moment to digest all the information, not that it’s any help to his current state of misery. It’s been yet another one of those nights filled with a roller coaster of emotions, the ones he’s been getting a lot more often lately. He begins to feel the onslaught of a headache pounding against his skull as the fever finally catches up on him, making his eyes droopy and his limbs feel cold. But he thinks this is a much better pain to feel than the current prickles in his heart. As the saying goes, the truth hurts. It ing hurts.

He’s about to say more when he opens his mouth but instead a plethora of coughs are what come out. Seungsoo is quick to pat his back, eventually urging him to lie down when the coughing doesn’t cease. Just when the older is about to stand however, Kyungsoo’s hand darts forward, wrapping around his wrist lightly. Seungsoo turns at the gesture, tracing his gaze up the thin arm until it lands on the other’s weary expression.

 “Can you sleep here?”

A look of surprise crosses the elder’s face. Something about Kyungsoo’s words strikes as both familiar and different to him.

“Please?” The younger begs, and suddenly two voices overlap in Seungsoo’s head.

He easily recognizes the other one; it belongs to a child, a young boy with bushy eyebrows and eyes too wide for his little face. Upon hearing it, he’s immediately taken back to a night several years back, a night when he had been awakened by the exact same voice, a small hand tugging over his shirt and urging him with the same request. A smile graces his lips upon recalling the memory.

And when he opens his mouth, he utters the same words he had several years ago, to the little naïve boy whom he loved with all his heart.

“Sure…why not.”  

***

A week into post-confession period and Kyungsoo’s abandoned all hope.

Jongin hasn’t shown up ever since, and when the clock striked 12 on the third day after, the baker found himself whispering congratulations into the thin, heavy air of his room. Subconsciously he had hoped that the soft breeze blowing in from his window was enough to carry his voice out into the night, up into the skies and back down to a certain dormitory, where a girl smiled victoriously at her digital clock as her slender fingers carded through her bestfriend’s hair in mock comfort.

Kyungsoo’s fever hadn’t gone down for the first five days, and it was only on the 6^th that he had managed to convince himself (and Seungsoo) that he was well enough to get back to work. They didn’t have many pastries to last another week’s worth of absence and he very well knew that Luhan was only capable of the basics, while Sehun…Sehun couldn’t bake for .

As much as he preferred staying in bed all day, allowing his brother the small favor of snuggling next to him every night just like they used to when they were kids, he had a job to manage. He had plenty of time to bask in the joys of his rekindled relationship with Seungsoo but he was yet to tell him about Jongin, lest the older break his lover’s (or former lover…he didn’t want to ponder on it) neck himself.

Now he stands in the backroom of his bakery, a sniffling mess as he tries not to get snot all over his eclairs. He made sure to put on a pair of gloves and a mask before he left the house, but so far they’ve only proven to be a great annoyance, with Kyungsoo having to pull down his mask every now and then for a test taste.

From an etic perspective he looks perfectly fine, a little sick, but fine. Nothing to see here but a baker in his element.

But then sometimes he stops whatever he’s doing and takes a tentative glance outside the glass window, like he’s searching for something, or someone, but not quite. Sometimes he sticks his ear against the door once the chime of the store bells ring, listening in on the voices that he does not recognize, much to his disappointment. He subconsciously does this for nearly half the day, and the disappointment only builds up every time a customer comes in and it’s not Jongin, everytime a stranger glances through their windows and, again, it’s not Jongin. Slowly he realizes that the person he’s waiting for may never come through those doors, may never warm up the place with his bright smile or his ridiculously loud laugh.

It’s been a week and Jongin hasn’t shown up at all. A week that is well past two days, leaving Kyungsoo wondering to himself why he even waits.

“You seem calm for someone who’s just lost the sunshine of his life.” Luhan’s voice is soft and comforting as he walks through the doors to the backroom a few moments later. Kyungsoo spares him a glance, realizing that he had been staring out the window for the nth time. 

“It was bound to happen” there’s no emotion in his reply, not a sigh nor a crack in his voice. He merely averts his gaze to the floor, absent-mindedly fiddling with the hem of his glove. It’s quite obvious how he’s already accepted defeat and it slightly saddens the elder standing by the doorway, how he appears to be so used to people leaving his life just like that.  

He had told his two bestfriends about the incident a few days after it happened. It was the only time he had broken down into tears again after the said occurrence, his slurred words and hiccups causing the two on the other line of the phone to furrow their brows in worry. Sehun had offered to come over but he quickly refused. He wasn’t looking for a pity party.

“Kyungsoo, you’re so hard on yourself.” Luhan is by his side now, placing a hand over his lower back. “Won’t you let us talk to him?”

“NO-“ The smaller answers immediately, surprising both himself and his friend. “No…I just. You can’t. I don’t want anyone to convince him. If he’s coming back I need him to do it on his own accord, not because someone told him to, or threatened him to.”

“Noble.” Luhan all but whispers, shaking his head. “A little too noble.”

“If he’s coming he’s coming okay? Just- let’s just leave it at that.”

“And if he doesn’t? You’re just going to let him go?”

“He’s better off with someone who doesn’t complicate things the way I do.”

“What about you? Kyungsoo he makes you so happy, won’t you give in to what you want at least this once? Chase him? Give it one more try? Maybe he’ll take it better the second time around- maybe he’ll-“

There’s a slam that resounds through the room as Kyungsoo drops his icing pouch onto the counter with force and turns to his friend with a stone cold expression “It’s been a week. It means he doesn’t want anything to do with me and my ing freakshow “powers”. I don’t need to hear it with my own ears, nor see the disgust in his expression with my own eyes. Hyung I don’t think I can try again. I can barely think of that night without my chest burning how am I supposed to do it again?”

There’s a minute that goes by in silence, several expressions crossing the elder’s face at once, from frustration to concern and ultimately to sorrow. He searches Kyungsoo’s eyes for something, any light, any spark, any sign of hope. But he finds that it’s dull. “What if-“

The baker is quick to cut him off, picking up the icing pouch and returning his attention to work. Always to work. “No more what if-s. I’ve made the mistake of thinking I could let people in, I’ve learned my lesson. We’re done here.”

Luhan remains still on his spot, examining Kyungsoo for a minute longer before finally heaving out a sigh. He wishes he could help, he really does. If only the younger would let him. “Sehun and I have some deliveries to make.” He says, finally steering off topic much to Kyungsoo’s relief. “We’ll be back 30 minutes tops. Make sure you don’t kill yourself or something while we’re gone. All those pent up emotions…”

The last sentence comes out mumbled and soon Luhan is back out front. A hushed conversation with Sehun muffled behind the doors before Kyungsoo hears the store bells chime signaling their leave. Once he’s alone he finally lets out a sigh, not quite a sob, not quite a whimper, but just a simple sigh as he runs a hand down his face. When his eyes flicker towards the window out of habit he curses under his breath, quickly looking away as though he had been caught mid-crime. He might as well have been, is it a crime to hope? He thinks to himself.

If he were to be completely honest, he knows that a part of him is still holding on to the fact that Jongin could still be mulling this through, that any minute now he could come through those doors, say hi, sit by his favorite spot by the window and open his book for a quick afternoon study session. But a bigger part of him has already accepted this as impossible, especially since he knows, at the very back of his mind he knows, that somewhere on the other side is a rival waiting, just waiting to get her hands on Jongin and steer him away. More so now that two days have long gone past, he’s pretty sure Krystal has already begun taking him under her wing.  It would be about time that she tell him of her little suicide story and Jongin will probably only resent him even more. He’d rather not check. He’d really rather not.

Learning about the entire Tao ordeal hadn’t helped his crumbling ego either. To find out, several years later, that your only friend back in elementary had fled his home and lied to you solely because he feared for his own life, because he believed that being away meant being safe, is like pouring an entire bottle of alcohol on your very open wound.  

Maybe Jongin should do the same, flee while he still can, build the wall, keep “safe” from the baker down Hongdae street. Maybe it should be the same for everyone. Kyungsoo is better off as his old self, his old quiet, reserved, and distant self. That way no one gets hurt, not even his own, poor aching heart.

Sounds like a plan, he thinks.

Just then the store bells chime and the baker fights the urge to run up to the door and eavesdrop. Step one into recovering: do not expect Jongin. Do not expect anything.

When it opens, however, he finds himself stumbling back a bit as it pushes right against the side of his face.

“…What were you doing?” pipes a familiar voice. Kyungsoo looks and sees a face he hasn’t see in quite a while now.

“Jongdae.” He mutters, “Hi, I was…” hoping you were someone else “…just heading out for a break.”

“Where are the two devil’s advocates?”

“They went out for deliveries.”

Jongdae lets out a knowing sound and nods his head before inviting himself inside the baker’s quarters. He’s quiet at first and Kyungsoo steps aside as he watches the other walk around with his hands stuffed in his rain jacket. Occasionally the older would throw him a friendly smile from across the room and he makes sure he smiles back, though the gesture is giving him an ugly feeling that this is going somewhere he really doesn’t want it to.  

“So, is there something you want to buy?” he inquires, carefully walking back to his work station where he gets to getting. “or are you here for the juicy break up story too.”

Jongdae slowly raises his eyebrows at that, making it obvious that he had no such intentions.

“You can ask Chanyeol and Baekhyun about that.”

It’s true. Not even two days after the Jongin incident, the inseparable duo had begun bombarding his phone with text messages asking why the sun-kiss skinned boy was acting all odd and standoffish. It didn’t take much ignoring from his side for them to make this hasty assumption that they had broken up, something the baker didn’t know how to deny because, had they? Things were in a very ambiguous state.

“Uhm. Interesting, but no.” Jongdae supplies, driving him away from his own musings, “I came here to ask how you’re doing? And by you I mean you and not your relationship status.”

“Oh.” Kyungsoo stops pretending to be busy at that, placing down the icing pouch. “I’m…okay.”

“You sure? All those things going on on your face seem to say otherwise.”

“My face?”

“The rim of your eyes are a little red, I’d ask why your nose is probably a little red too but I can’t comment on your other features when there’s a doctor’s mask covering my view.”

Kyungsoo offers a light chuckle, his first in days. “oh this thing, It’s nothing, I’ve just been feeling a little ill lately.”

“How so? You’re not stressing yourself out are you?”

“I don’t know I’m just, I’m just tired a lot of times. My nose gets runny a lot and when my fever was at it’s highest it got a bit hard to breathe…I’m better now, but it was kind of a fluctuating condition for the past week, it came and went.”

“Have you gone to see the doctor?”

That would imply going to the closest hospital in town, the one affiliated with the college of medicine in the hongdae university so “No. Not yet, but I might have to soon.” Kyungsoo scratches the back of his neck timidly. Jongdae furrows his brows.

“There’s a bruise on your arm.”

“What? Where?” Quickly the baker stretches his arm in front of himself as Jongdae’s finger comes up to point at a spot right above his elbow.

“Right there…it’s pretty small though. Did you hit yourself somewhere?”

A look of confusion crosses his expression because yes, indeed, there was a small bruise forming right above his elbow and no, he doesn’t exactly remember how he got it. He presses his thumb over it lightly. “No, I don’t remember…”

“I didn’t take you for a clumsy one.”

“I’m not-”

“But then again you do have this look-“

“I told you I don’t know how I got this!”

“-like you’re about to yourself half the time-“

“Jongdae!”

It’s then that something comes flying in Kyungsoo’s direction, hitting him on the face and dropping to the floor too quickly for him to comprehend. It’s a handkerchief, spread open, staring back up at the baker in mockery as Jongdae’s laugh rings loud and annoying in the background. Kyungsoo promptly glares at him, picking the piece of cloth up and scrunching it in a ball before throwing it back with as much force as he could muster. “What the was that for?!” He shouts, and the way his voice cracks upon raising it tells us just how rarely he speaks in such a volume. He doesn’t exactly get an answer, instead he gets a finger pointed to his face accompanied by a guffaw.

“There it is! That look!”

Subconsciously Kyungsoo’s hand hovers over his face, a furious blush spreading across his cheeks.

Jongdae is really absurd, Jongdae is really really absurd. He thinks he’s never met a person so ridiculous in his life.

But at the same time Jongdae’s smile is contagious, his intentions are harmless, and his eyes are kind. So Kyungsoo quite understands why he feels his lips stretch into a grin, why his hands playfully reach out for a clump of flour which he chucks forward, caking the older’s face with whiteness and urging him to do the same.  He quite understands why Jongdae is just one of those people who easily manages to find a crack in the gigantic wall he builds in every relationship and he quite likes it, he likes how Jongdae is Jongdae, quirky, down-to-earth, realist Jongdae.

They make a mess but neither of them seem to care, chunks of flour are scattered on the floor and some even stain the walls as the two boys skitter around the room looking like children attempting to be ghosts on Halloween.

It’s a nice break to the baker’s patterned days of constant brooding and he’s somehow glad to find out that he hasn’t lost his wits entirely just yet. He’s still capable of a smile and a laugh, which makes him internally sigh in relief because oh good, I’m still human somehow.  

But of course, this optimistic turn of thought backfires on him rather quickly the moment he hears himself utter a name that doesn’t fairly sound right.

“Stop! We’re making a mess! I swear to god Jongin-“

Jongin. Jongin?

At that very minute the world hits pause and not a grain of flour is thrown at him.

But for some reason, it feels like a sack is shoved right against his chest instead, a hard and heavy sack that the wind right out of his lungs and causes his mood to take a 360 degree turn. He opens his mouth to speak, but when no sound comes out he closes it once more and makes sure to purse his lips together extra tightly, just in case his words betray him a second time around.

Jongdae, on the other hand, keeps his smile.

The name that was called certainly wasn’t his and it had startled him enough to stop, his hand suspended midair, threatening to throw yet another clump of flour at the poor baker. However, shock quickly turns into concern as he spends each second observing the way Kyungsoo’s lip begins to wobble and the way his eyes slightly glisten. His expression softens as he lowers his hand and empties his grip. He dusts off the flour, releasing a sigh and looking out the window.

“There are strange rumors going around the university, the last I’ve been there this week.”

The tone of his voice is unusual, something too gentle, too un-Jongdae-like. He squints his eyes in the brief silence that he spends in thought.

“Some people are saying that campus crushes Krystal and Jongin have been looking extra close recently.”

The older breaks his gaze away from the window and finally looks Kyungsoo in the eye.

“…I guess now would be a good time to inquire about that relationship status?”

It’s blurry all of a sudden. Kyungsoo’s surroundings are blurry, his cheeks are damp, and his heart is aching. It’s finally crumbling, this facade he’s been putting up of a strong, independent man is crumbling, only to reveal someone crushed, heartbroken. Flashes of Jongin’s back fill his mind,

his back leaving,

his back walking further down the sidewalk,

his back rigid and tense,

his back and only his back,

not a single glance nor wave, not even the softest of goodbyes. Thoughts and memories mix together and suddenly flood Kyungsoo with an overwhelming amount of pain in his chest that drives him to stutter out an honest answer.

“I don’t think there is one.”

Jongdae contemplates on this, his smile never leaving his face even as Kyungsoo furiously wipes his cheeks and begins reprimanding himself for such a breakdown. When the gears in his head manage to click into place, he walks over to envelop the baker in a rather tight hug, exchanging no words and merely ruffling his hair fondly, before walking swiftly out the backroom, nearly slamming the doors open.

He gets quite a few stares as he trudges down the streets of Hongdae, his handkerchief doing little to help wipe the cakes of white across his face. However it’s the least of his concerns for now. He lets his feet carry him across the familiar curbs and turns of the city.

***

Jongin is reading when Jongdae barges into his dorm room by sunset.

He’s sporting a pair of reading glasses; it’s thick and black-rimmed with some masking tape placed around the hinge. Admittedly, it’s not very attractive, definitely something he wouldn’t want to be seen wearing outside of the four confines of his room.

When the door swings open to reveal a frazzled looking Jongdae however, he suddenly cares less about the ugly contraption perched on the bridge of his nose and more about the other’s troubled expression. Slowly he closes his book, furrowing his brows and leaning back on his seat with a look that wordlessly urges the other to spill.  

And spill Jongdae does.

“You’re the most rational guy I know.” He says in the midst of trying to catch his breath, behind him the door swings closed. “So tell me right now why the are you doing this.”

Jongin stares, hard enough to seem completely clueless about the subject matter raised.  He pushes his chair back and swivels it so that he’s now completely facing his friend, raking a hand through his hair before finally taking off those god forsaken glasses and setting them on his desk while rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Enlighten me.”

Jongdae scoffs, in an unusually serious manner, the tanned boy notes “You know very well who I’m talking about.”

“Look, can we talk about this another day? I really have some studying to catch up on.”

“Unless you’re a literature major, which we all know you aren’t, I don’t see how reading a bloody novel is studying.”

Jongin subtly eyes the mystery novel lying closed on his desk and mentally curses himself for making up such a lame excuse. He sighs, standing up and shutting off his desk light before crossing his arms over his chest and standing right in front of Jongdae. Both hold each other’s cold and hard gazes, there being a glint of challenge in each.

“If this is because of those stupid rumors then you should know better, I’m not dating Krystal.”

Jongin doesn’t know when exactly it’s gotten this tense between him and Jongdae, they’ve always managed to piss each other off on a certain level but never to a point of being unbearable. Some things change, he thinks, some things change too quickly.     

“I’m not asking about Krystal. I’m asking about Kyungsoo.”

The tanned boy flinches upon hearing the name he’s too scared to admit he misses. “What about him?”

“What about him he says” Jongdae imitates lowly, rolling his eyes and throwing his hands in the air in disbelief “He’s miserable you ing idiot!”

Jongin’s calm demeanor completely flies out the window the minute Jongdae shoves him backwards. It wasn’t even lightly, he nearly stumbled to the floor if it weren’t for his advantage in height. Finally his stoic expression breaks into one of shock and restrained anger, all teeth gritting and jaw clenching and everything.

“Why don’t you mind your own business for once?!” He shouts, eyes briefly darting towards the door in hopes that no one is anywhere close enough to hear the commotion that’s probably going to ensue.

“I look out for the people I care for and maybe you’re forgetting you are not his only friend.”

“Yeah?” the tanned boy takes a step closer, nearly towering over the other as he squints his eyes. His tone quickly changes, his shouts turn into whispers, soft, but so full of venom. “well I’m his boyfriend. And as a friend you need to stop meddling with other people’s affairs.”

“Oh- Oh You’re his boyfriend?” Jongdae says, lowering his tone as well. He places a hand to his chest and feigns an expression of shock, causing the throbbing vein on Jongin’s forehead to go visible “Oh I’m sorry, maybe if you started acting like it I’d have been more aware of the fact.”

“What the is your problem!”

“Do your ing job right you .”

“What do you even know?”

“Please Jongin you really think none of your friends would notice that something’s going on between the two of you?”

“What’s it to you Jongdae?!”

“Jesus ing Christ grow up and talk to him would you.”

“Like you’d be doing any better in my place-“

“Is that a ing offer because I’ll god damn take it”

“You can’t be serious that would mean-“

“Kim Jongin, Yes.”

The taller shuts up at this, not quite registering the implications of his statement until Jongdae spells it out himself. And when he does Jongin’s jaws nearly unhinge and his eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. “What?” He repeats, too shell shocked to have heard it the first time over.

“That would mean I like Kyungsoo?”

Jongdae lifts his chin, not ashamed, not one bit.  

“Yes. As a matter of fact I do.”

The fact that Jongdae neither bursts out laughing nor cracks a ridiculous joke right after is evidence enough that he’s serious. He’s dead serious. It’s in his eyes, his stance, his voice, his everything, written in big bold letters above his forehead: Kim Jongdae is in love with the peculiar Do Kyungsoo.

And Jongin is quite appalled at the fact that he hadn’t noticed any sooner, because of course, of course he is. Maybe he is as dense as people tell him to be.

Now he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, what to do with the heat that’s suddenly burning in his chest and the feeling of wanting to throw a punch or two. He knew that avoiding the problem would have lead him to a deeper hole sooner or later and now here he was, right where he had predicted to be.

Turning around he takes a few deep breaths, though they do little to calm his nerves.

His eyes skim over his room. It’s neat, save for his bed, clear evidence of how he’s been spending the past days moping about and confining himself. He spots a little pink bunny pouch next to his lava lamp and notes that Krystal had probably left it there the last time she came over, which really was not more than a few hours ago. When his eyes look up and land on his ceiling, he finds himself wishing that he could find the same glow in the dark stars that he had back home, twinkling down at him, waiting for him to make a wish. Unfortunately it remains the same, plain old cerulean colored ceiling it had always been.

He hadn’t realized that his eyes had fallen closed until Jongdae’s voice breaks through his thoughts.

Breaks through, interrupts, disturbs, the other’s tone and voice just doesn’t sit well with him anymore, and he finds that he’s quite annoyed of it.

But the next few words that he hears seem to strike a nerve in him, and Jongin couldn’t stop his own body from moving at its own accord, couldn’t stop from spinning around in lightning speed, couldn’t stop his feet from taking big strides closer to his newfound rival, couldn’t stop the fist that comes smashing against said rival’s cheek.

It begins raining punches thereafter, one after another.

Colors of black and blue scatter over flesh, papers fly, pencils fall,tables move,chairs knock over, and hearts thump louder, louder than their backs hitting the walls.  

I’d take him from you anyday.

was what Jongdae had said.

These past days Jongin hasn’t been sure about many things.

He’s a student of medicine for crying out loud, he’s grown up learning about cells and atoms and human body parts and how they function, he knows of sicknesses and of death, how the organs slowly fail you and how by the natural cycle of things you die of old age, not by a baker boy’s touch no. It doesn’t go that way.

But apparently it does, it goes that way for his boyfriend, of all people. As a future doctor he’s been constantly reminded about the value of life for years now, and to find out that someone holds the ability to take and return it with just one touch is slightly hard for him to comprehend.

But despite all these uncertainties, Jongin is quite sure about one thing, and it’s that Kyungsoo is still his.

Despite his feelings being a complete mess at the moment, despite the endless confusions going on in his head, and despite the internal debates that are constantly ongoing in his mind, Jongin seems to be sure of the fact that he couldn’t come to accept the image of Kyungsoo happy with someone else. Much less the image of Kyungsoo being happy with Jongdae, Jongdae who is his good friend, Jongdae who is kind, and hard-working, and thoughtful, and definitely someone hard to challenge.  

And so the first time the possibility is raised he impulsively does what his instincts tell him to do.

Fight.

Fight for what’s his.

So you Jongdae. he thinks, as he makes another blow to the face. 

A/N: IM ALIVE. And i'm sorry ;; I know i've been gone long and it's practically a crime with the cliff hangers i leave as endings. school has been unbelievable istg theyre out to kill me...but anyway i have little to say, i'm sorry if this chapter wasn't pieced together very well, even i'm affected by how long this took me to write pmsl i kind of lost momentum. Anyway ;;;;;;;;;;;; anyway...ANYWAY. ANYWAY. 

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