Knock knock knock. Kyungsoo is roused from his dream by loud tapping on the front door. At first, he thinks nothing of the sound, cuddling deeper into the sanctuary of his bed covers. Tranquil and still. ‘Mm.’ He groans in irritation as the sound continues.

Wide eyes and sudden alertness, he leaps out of his bed, the name “Baekhyun,” falling from his lips as he hurries toward the front door in nothing but his boxer shorts.

‘Sorry!’ He blurts, flinging the door open with no regard to his clothing – or more lack of – until the gust of winter hits him in the chest.

‘Nice outfit,’ Baekhyun quips, smirking as he shoulders past Kyungsoo into the house. Minseok, stood a little way behind him, rolls his eyes, ‘Ignore Baek. Sorry for waking you.’

‘Oh, it’s okay.’ Kyungsoo is suddenly hyperaware of his near ness.

Winter is soon to roll around in Seoul, and the day outside is crisp and cold, biting air and a pure blue sky to remind of the last shreds of autumn. Baekhyun and Kyungsoo shed their layers, coats and scarves and woollen beanie hats, to hang them on the coat hooks by the door. Kyungsoo scratches at the back of his neck in hopes of escaping the awkward tension, ‘I need to change. Obviously. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.’ And with that he treads away.      

Kyungsoo regrets not waking up earlier, leaving him with a bare minimum of time to select his clothes. For some reason, he feels pressured to make the decision today, as if it holds some importance to the way he looks. In the end, he opts for a casual shirt and skinny jeans. Fixes his hair until it’s perfect, and redoes it once more just to check.

'‘Kyungsoo, you have to try Minseok’s coffee.’ Baekhyun enthuses, passing him the mug as he enters the kitchen.

A tentative sip in case it is scalding hot, and Kyungsoo makes a noise in the back of his throat, ‘It’s delicious.’

Modestly, Minseok’s cheeks bunch up into his smile, ‘Oh, it’s nothing. I’ve been practising for years.’

‘You should really consider opening up that coffee shop,’ Kyungsoo encourages.

‘We don’t have the money.’

‘I might.’

Both pairs of eyes turn in surprise, ‘No, Kyungsoo,’ Baekhyun says gently, ‘You’re going through a rough time and it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for you to–’

‘No,’ he interrupts stubbornly, eyes like an owl’s in their roundness, ‘I have some spare money in my account that my parents left to me. I won’t do anything useful with it, so you should have it.’

Expression firm and unwavering, Baekhyun and Minseok share a look but refuse to argue with Kyungsoo. The look between them suggests that they will not be accepting the money any time soon, but that is best not to retort at this time, concerned that they will trigger his fragility. Baekhyun has already come to realise that Kyungsoo is truly altruistic in the way he behaves, selflessly giving himself to others. His problem, however, is that he tends to expect others to do the same in return, and that is where the root of his sadness lies.

‘Shall we get started then?’ Kyungsoo asks, draining the coffee that Minseok made and leading the two others toward the bedroom. It feels strange to him, allowing two other men into the bedroom he shared with Jongin. It would feel like a horrendous invasion of privacy, if it weren’t for Minseok’s genuine eyes and Baekhyun’s friendly personality. Kyungsoo has nobody else, and although he is slightly uneasy at allowing someone else into his bedroom, he feels slightly settled by the easiness of the other two.

Briefly, Kyungsoo explains that there are bin bags and boxes in the bottom of the wardrobe, and that their task is to organise Jongin’s clothes properly – some to be thrown away, some to go to charity stores, and if Minseok or Baekhyun want to keep anything, then they can. Following his instructions, he opens the wardrobe doors and stoops to pull out a bottom drawer containing rows of shoes.

With his stooped position, the shirt folds around his form and highlights the firmness of his back muscles. Smiling very slightly, Baekhyun his head, eyes wandering attentively over every crease in the material, every line of Kyungsoo’s body. Like a sketch, delicate line art with pencil marks etched faintly into canvas, elegant curves and rugged lines stretching off to infinity. Minseok nudges him harshly and creases his eyebrows, a look between best friends that signifies some form of private telepathy.

Baekhyun grins, knowing exactly what is friend was suggesting.

Sensing some tension, Kyungsoo turns questioningly, and still grinning, Baekhyun responds, ‘Minseok is uncomfortable being in a room with two gay men.’

‘No I’m not!’ Minseok argues, shaking his head as he dives forward to help Kyungsoo pack the shoes into bags.

Small talk has never been Kyungsoo’s forte, much better at writing words down than actually communicating, much better at understanding empathy rather than conveying emotion during speech. But he knows that idle chat is a part of making new friends, and so he pushes himself out an extra stretch. ‘So, Minseok, do you have a girlfriend?’

‘Nah.’

‘Liar!’ Baekhyun yaps, taking a box from the wardrobe and starting on the clothes. Kyungsoo smiles very briefly, waiting for an explanation from either one or the other.

‘Well,’ Minseok starts rather shyly, ‘There is a girl. We met in a coffee shop during university and have been friends since. She’s sort of like you, Kyungsoo. Loved to write. She always quotes literature and has a cat called Hemmingway, that sort of thing. She’s very pretty, too.’

Baekhyun interrupts eagerly, ‘He has had a crush on her for years but has always been too afraid to tell her. As someone attracted to males, I can honestly say that you are attractive, Minseok. Just. Ask. Her. Out.’

‘Well….’

Baekhyun hits him before he can continue with more protests, ‘Shut up. One day you will ask her out, and it will be fantastic.’

An eye roll and Minseok turns to Kyungsoo to swiftly change the subject, ‘So we know that my interests lie in coffee and that Baekhyun’s interest lies in being a prick. What about you?’

Kyungsoo shrugs, ‘Writing. Literature. People.’

‘People?’

‘Yes. That’s why I right, really. I get obsessed with psychology and romanticism and I like the philosophical wonderings of how the world works. Probably the most appropriate word to describe it would be pulchritudinous, because it’s beautiful but it doesn’t sound that way at all. I like to wonder why things are the way they are and what makes the cogs turn and I am absolutely fascinated by complications and the more painful side of things.’

‘Damn,’ Baekhyun muses, ‘If your book is anything like that, then it’s going to be well worth the read.’

Kyungsoo gives a tiny punch of shy laughter, though he is smiling inside and out at the compliments. ‘I’ll let you read it, then.’

Their morning continues much the same, discussing literature and art and exploring deeper topics, prying into their pasts and their first loves; how Kyungsoo met Jongin and Baekhyun met Chanyeol, why relationships end. And by the time they have finished cleaning out the wardrobe, they are emotionally drained and exhausted. Minseok suggests that they take a break before continuing with Jongin’s other possessions, and immediately he goes to make them more cups of coffee.

Baekhyun and Kyungsoo are left alone, lying face-up on Kyungsoo’s bed. The latter stares at the ceiling, specifically at the lamp in the centre, feeling a strange mixture of emotions. On one hand, he is content, having confessed a lot during the past hour and feeling the metaphorical sigh of relief seeping from his skin. Baekhyun’s presence beside him also allows him to settle, with his amiable smile and uncomplicated emotion – straightforward and open. On the other hand, he feels a little ill when he remembers that Baekhyun is lying in Jongin’s spot. He wants to avoid rolling over to look, because perhaps some part of him hopes he will blink and wake up from this dream, and the weight dinting the mattress beside him will be formed of tanned skin a little shrouded in illness and fatigue, with eyes of the deepest brown and jet black hair tousled up into a bird’s nest. Eventually, he stirs up the courage to turn. The face beside him is much paler, more caramel than chocolate, and the eyes are a lighter colour, more of a sunset showing the onslaught of the moon than an evening punctuated with stars, and the hair is lighter too, more golden and much straighter. Once again, an puzzling injection of emotional overdose is delivered to Kyungsoo’s heart. Is he relieved to see this face? Or disappointed?

'Are you okay?’ Baekhyun inquired, noting Kyungsoo’s lingering stare on the side of his face.

‘Yeah,’ Kyungsoo responds with a lack of eloquence, lack of elaboration and lack of effort.

‘Are you sure?’ Baekhyun turns his head to face him, sunset eyes b with concern.

‘I think so.’ Still reluctant to expand on his comments out of fear that he will choke.

Minseok calls them in from the kitchen, and they heave themselves off the bed, Baekhyun walking a little way behind Kyungsoo. With his frailty, Baekhyun worries that a small stumble can and will destroy him, and that he will crumble into dust. Gathered around the table, the three of them sip Minseok’s specialty coffee in silence.

Outside, the blue sky has been obscured by dreary greyness. The wispy clouds hang in the air like phantoms looming over Kyungsoo’s house, spouting fine rain that drenches the sidewalks. Kyungsoo doesn’t want to look at the drops pattering the window pane; it reminds him of a couple of nights ago when Jongin’s car slid off the road. He looks down at the coffee cup, tendrils of steam twirling from its rim, and wraps his hands around the ceramic. He knows that this afternoon will be more difficult than the morning, less the scent of his cologne lingering on fabric and more hard-hitting memories. He is unsure whether he is ready for the nostalgia to come.

Minseok is cleaning the pots in Kyungsoo’s sink, and Baekhyun is leaning on the counter beside him. ‘Go talk to him,’ Minseok prompts, voice lowered to a whisper that won’t intrude on Kyungsoo’s absent-mindedness.

‘I think he wants to be alone.’ Baekhyun’s eyes do not wander from Kyungsoo’s hunched figure over the table.

‘Of course he doesn’t, you idiot. The love of his life just died.’

‘But I don’t know what to say anymore.’

Memories of Jongin’s seductive half-lidded stare burn into Kyungsoo’s brain as he stares into the mug’s coffee abyss. Only Baekhyun interrupts, sliding into the seat beside him and drawing his eyes up until they are looking at each other. Silence between them, the dislocation of Kyungsoo’s furrowed brows and Luhan’s quick blinks, the disconnect between instinct and rationality. ‘What’s on the agenda for this afternoon?’ Baek finally ventures.

‘Step three.’ Comes the dejected response, soft enough that Kyungsoo’s voice would be an embrace to Baekhyun’s ears if it weren’t for the inaudible sigh that cracked the syllables.

‘Step three?’ He echoes.

A nod, ‘Cleaning out the rest of his stuff. I might keep some of it, though.’

Realising that it will be hard for Kyungsoo this afternoon, Baekhyun grimaces. As does Minseok, watching from behind. An exchange of glances that says, “will he be okay?” But neither knows the answer and both know that Kyungsoo will likely struggle, and perhaps break at some point during the day.

**

Nine p.m. approaches, the sky already dark and unforgiving. The rain has let up, giving way to a few tiny stars visible in the dark, yet the moon is covered by cloud.

Minseok and Baekhyun are still in Kyungsoo’s house, all three of them slumped in the living room. Minseok is the only one on a chair, sunk back into the sofa with a blank expression, if only a little concern showing through. Baekhyun is laid on his stomach, strewn over the floor with his head in his hands, brow furrowed intently and muscles limp. Kyungsoo is unravelled into an upright position on the floor, back leaning against the couch where Minseok sits, head tipped back as he stares up. He imagines that, if the ceiling were gone, he would be able to see the stars, galaxies upon galaxies spanning out and out beyond the milky way.

At his feet is a box. A single cardboard box packed with various items ranging from a pair of dancing shoes to a Polaroid photograph with frayed edges. January 13^th. Our day. Is scrawled at the bottom in Jongin’s messy manuscript. It portrays two young men with messy hair and genuine, teeth-baring smiles, eyes crinkled into crescent moons and fingers arranged into “V” signs. January 13^th is their day, because Kyungsoo’s birthday is on the 12^th and Jongin’s is on the 14^th. It was their halfway point, the day when they celebrated parties and ate cake and possibly indulged in birthday .

‘Have you ever considered how you want to die?’ Kyungsoo asks the others, interrupting the silence only to darken the mood. Darker than the sky outside.

‘No.’ Minseok quips, ‘Kyungsoo you’re a writer.’

‘What’s your point?’

‘Shouldn’t you be appreciating it?’

‘Appreciating what? This hole? Death? The absolute misery of a life where we’re poisoned by the very oxygen we breathe and told what we can and can’t do until we’re wishing to die anyway?’

‘Yes, actually,’ Minseok seems exasperated, ‘Surely, as awful as it is, you can appreciate where that is punctuated by the good parts. Like, how you’re better looking than Baekhyun.’

‘HEY!’ Comes the protest, where Baekhyun’s former limpness stirs into life.

Minseok snorts with laughter and continues, ‘In all seriousness, appreciate how that one star out of the window shines brighter than the rest. And how you still get to go to your favourite places and enjoy actually living; enjoy feeling things and enjoy the experience of seeing things from a first person perspective. You should appreciate everything down to the last millisecond. If you get shot, then your last thought should be contemplating the beauty of the smoke exploding from the barrel of the gun.’

Kyungsoo speculates as the letters sink into his brain, scrambling into anagrams and unscrambling into monologues, award-winning speeches, and perhaps, a novel.

‘Screw coffee, Minseok. Become a writer.’ Baekhyun waves his hand emphatically, feigning heartfelt emotion. A pillow collides with his temple and Baekhyun just laughs.

‘Maybe,’ Kyungsoo offers, almost too quiet to hear, ‘Maybe you’re right.’ He nudges the box away from him, eyes burning like lasers into the cardboard. ‘Hmm.’ He hums contemplatively, lolling his head forward, and then back again.

**

That night, just before midnight, Kyungsoo opens the door to his office. He is still wide awake, as though he has accumulated jet lag without actually going anywhere. Two post-it notes torn from the wall – “Step two: clean out Jongin’s clothes” “Step three: compile memory box” – crumpled and tossed in the bin. Three down, five to go.

He takes himself to bed, then, weighted down by a thousand emotions as he unravels between the sheets, eyes open as the light glares off the moisture of his lenses. A sniffle escapes his throat and he bites his lip to prevent a wave of tears as thoughts of Jongin plague his memory. Perhaps he shouldn’t keep the box.

Seeking desperate comfort, Baekhyun rolls over to face the centre of the bed. It’s different this time. Jongin’s scent is nowhere to be found. Instead, the aroma of Baekhyun’s cologne has scrubbed over it, worn onto the sheets from when he was laid here hours before. A single inhalation and his muscles relax. No memories. No pain. Relaxation, and Kyungsoo drifts into sleep.

And he feels like he’s in a movie right now, all technicolored pixels on the screen, bringing forth a thousand conflicting emotions that somehow complement each other, a million destinations waiting for fate to guide him, a billion sparks electrocuting his spine and making his heart beat again. His whole body is warm now, not cold like death, and the only icy place are the fingertips that once touched Jongin’s cheeks. Kyungsoo feels different now. Warm, burning. Kyungsoo isn’t dead inside. He has a beating heart and working organs and a whirring brain. Kyungsoo isn’t dead, because he’s only just begun living.

a/n that update was short I'm sorry! It was just kind of to continue the story's events, but the next chapter will have more going on. I hope you still enjoy reading. I love reading comments, so please tell me what you think!