London, Saturday, December 7th 2019

Snow falls in gentle flurries on the ground just beyond the window, Jongin feeling like a child with his face pressed up against the glass. The sound of other people fumbling with their carry-ons buzzes in the background, but Jongin doesn’t pay them any mind. Instead, his eyes follow a particular flake as it hits the glass just above his nose, watches as it melts into a trail and disappears from sight.

He can’t believe he’s really here.

“Sir,” says a voice, cool and tinged with tired professionalism, “Sir, we’re going to need to clear the aircraft for maintenance before the next flight. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” The stewardess looks at Jongin with a blank smile on red lips, and Jongin nods.

“Sorry,” he says, voice smoothly sounding foreign words. “I’ll get going now,” he says, silently thanking (and apologising to) his mother for insisting he take extra English classes when he was younger. God knows he’d thrown more tantrums than he would care to admit, but now he’s thankful for his proficiency.

He’s going to need it, now.

His shoes click against the floor once he’s in the arrivals hall of the airport. A quick look around shows him things that make him feel extremely lonely - an old mother holding frail arms out to a daughter with more baggage than she can carry, a little girl squealing and running towards her exhausted father, a pair of lovers embracing - and his fingers immediately reach for his phone.

He exits the airport and steps out into cold winter air, ice biting at his nose, threatening to chew off his fingertips. He glances around briefly before he spots it - a large sign that saysArrivals, and quickly takes a photo before scurrying back into the warmth of the building. He scrolls through his contacts, finger touching the words Do Kyungsoo before he attaches the photo and hesitates over the message he wants to send with it.

Wish you were here, his fingers itch to type, but he can’t write that. His thumbs tremble over the keyboard, poised to type, mind unready to instruct.

I miss you, no, A hug would be nice right about now, no, I wish I could hold your hand now, my fingers are freezing, no -

Jongin sighs, taking a deep breath before he types. I’ve arrived!, he writes, hastily sending the message off before he can change his mind. He goes outside to find a cab, tells the driver the name of his hotel and loads his luggage in the back. He hasn’t brought much - everything he needs for the next month or so, he’d stuffed in one large bag and the backpack he’d used as his carry-on - but the travelling and the load has exhaustion seeping under his skin, and he’s grateful when he’s allowed to sink into the heated back seat of the cab.

The driver doesn’t initiate a conversation, and Jongin’s thankful for the silence. His hand reaches into his pocket almost of its own accord, a dull ache blooming in his chest when he sees Message: Do Kyungsoo glaring at him from his screen.

His fingers deftly unlock the phone anyway, and Jongin clicks through to the message automatically.

Kyungsoo’s sent him a photo of a take away bento box that Jongin recognises from Heiwa, the Japanese restaurant down the street from Kyungsoo’s workplace. Just having dinner, Jongin reads, glad you got there safe.

Jongin’s about to click the phone off when he sees Kyungsoo start typing, and, despite his surroundings, his palms begin to sweat.

I miss you, appears in a new bubble on the screen, and Jongin can feel spikes shooting straight into his chest, a hundred sharp stings for every time he rereads the words.

“We’re here,” says the cab driver, pulling up the hand brake and Jongin clicks the phone off before he slips it into his pocket, the words in the message glowing faintly in the back of his mind. He pays the cabbie, gets himself checked in and makes his way to his room, throwing himself on his bed.

He switches his phone on again, stares at those three words on his screen.

“I miss you,” he reads aloud, pressing his lips together when the words make his tongue burn, when they trail fiery and silent to the middle of his chest, scorching his heart.

Well. What did he expect, he supposes.

He flops onto his front, tosses his phone on the bedside table and decides to get some rest.

He doesn’t let Kyungsoo know that he misses him, too.



 

Seoul, Wednesday, December 4th, 2019

The decision comes to Jongin unremarkably, as softly as a barely-there dream. He wakes before dawn, the sun still sleeping as he makes his way to his laptop. His fingers fly nimbly over his keyboard, an email requesting unpaid leave for a month and a half practically writing itself before he hits the send button.

He books a flight for Saturday morning, unblinking as his bank balance reduces, fingers moving automatically to save all the important information.

Jongin lets his body move of its own accord. He gets one of the larger suitcases he owns out of the storeroom and begins flinging clothes into it, not really caring to match them properly, mind still numb when he sees there’s enough in there to last him. He’s just about to pick out a backpack when there’s movement under the sheets on the bed, and Kyungsoo’s head pops up, hair mussed and eyes bleary.

“Jongin?” Kyungsoo rasps, squinting at his boyfriend. “What are you doing?”

“Packing,” says Jongin calmly. He doesn’t know where this reservoir of serenity has come from, is surprised that his tone comes out smooth and even, but doesn’t let his own shock stop him. He pulls out the backpack he used in college, a large hand coming down to beat the dust off of it.

“But… Where are you going?” asks Kyungsoo. This time his voice escapes him in a shaky question, quaking just enough for Jongin to stop himself and look at Kyungsoo. Previously narrowed eyes are now staring widely at him, confusion forming a veil Kyungsoo can’t see through.

Jongin presses his lips together. “Remember what we talked about yesterday?” he asks, voice coming out in a bit of a sigh. Kyungsoo nods, the hair on his head bobbing as he does. “Well - I mean, we’ve been together for a long time, Kyungsoo. A really long time and - ”

“And you’re leaving me?” Kyungsoo asks, now sitting upright with the covers pooled around him. Jongin can see how measured his expression is - he’s been with Kyungsoo long enough to be able to tell that the elder is just barely holding himself together, can spot the way his fingers dig into the pillow by his side.

Jongin sighs. He drops his backpack and joins Kyungsoo on the bed.

“I’m not leaving you,” he says, so gently his voice is crystal chiming softly in Kyungsoo’s ears.

“Then why are you packing? Where are you going?” asks Kyungsoo, brows knitting together in confusion. He manages to keep his voice steady, this time. His nails leave crescent indents in his pillowcase.

“Away. Just… For a while.” Jongin answers, kicking himself inwardly when he realises he should have planned this out a little better. He’s been with Kyungsoo for so long, his boyfriend deserves a better explanation. He his lips. “To breathe.”

Kyungsoo’s eyebrows disappear into his hair. “To breathe?” he repeats, and Jongin can hear a foreboding note in his voice, and he’s quick to quash it.

“It’s just - Kyungsoo, we’ve been together for a really long time now. We spend whatever free time we have with each other. I’ve seen more of you by now than I have of all my old friends put together,” Jongin clarifies.

“So what you’re saying is you don’t want to see me anymore?” Kyungsoo’s voice is hollow, and Jongin wills himself not to look away from those eyes. “You’re sick of me.”

“It’s not that. I still - you know how I feel for you.” Jongin says. He pries Kyungsoo’s hands away from his pillow, and holds them in his own. “It’s just - lately I don’t know anymore, if I’m drowning in love for you, or if I’m just… Drowning.”

Kyungsoo drops his gaze to where their fingers sit between each other. He remains still and silent for seconds, minutes, hours maybe. Jongin can’t really tell. He can barely hear his own thoughts over the sound of his heart pounding in his chest, ribcage fighting to contain the storm within.

Kyungsoo clears his throat.

“You need a break,” he says slowly.

Jongin nods.

“Where are you going?”

Jongin clears his throat. “I booked a flight to London while you were asleep,” he says. “It leaves Saturday morning.”

“That was quick,” Kyungsoo mutters under his breath. His lips press together in a flat line, gaze steady against Jongin’s own. There’s no use trying to make Jongin stay, he thinks. His boyfriend is right - he needs a break. They need a break.

“You’re going to be okay, right? I mean - it’s just temporary, after all. I’ll come back sooner than you know.” Jongin says. He tries to guide the notes of his voice in a direction that sounds a little more comforting, but Kyungsoo doesn’t crack a smile. Jongin falls silent.

It takes the elder a while to gather the courage to say what he says next, and when he finally does, his voice cracks, along with the reluctant smile he gives Jongin.

“Just remember to come home.”



 

London, Monday, December 9th 2019

Jongin keeps his hands balled up in fists in his pockets, boots pressing careful steps against the ice that coats the pavement. He’d been so jet lagged his first day here - he’d slept all through lunch and teatime after he’d first arrived, only just waking up in time to get himself some supper - but he was starting to get used to it. The hotel he was staying in didn’t have much to offer by way of a good breakfast, and Jongin thinks he might as well have checked in at a bed and breakfast instead.

He’d spent the whole of yesterday alternately setting his sleep schedule straight and getting used to the silence that followed him around like a steadily darkening cloud, every closing door and swallow and breath sounding just that much louder now that he was alone.

It’s just temporary, he’d had to remind himself. Just until I figure things out, he thinks.

His mind has no problem rationalising his thoughts, but his heart grapples with his feelings. He isn’t used to being alone anymore, isn’t used to being so far away from Kyungsoo, and the previous couple of times he’d woken up alone, he’d felt loneliness slap him right across the face, hitting him just as cold air wraps around his fingers when he’d reached for the sheets on the other side of the bed.

I miss waking up to you danced dangerously on the tips of his thumbs as they hovered over his phone screen, but he’d managed to hold back before the deed was done. Instead, he had managed to propel his body out of bed and in the shower to get ready, and now he was out taking in the scenery, the message a faint memory in the back of his mind.

“The London Eye,” he murmurs to himself, reading aloud from a sign he spots some way away from him. “Wouldn’t hurt,” he thinks, and he makes his way towards it.

He ends up in line behind a couple who makes him want to roll his eyes, arms slung around each other, the (only slightly) taller one leaning his head comfortably against the shorter’s. Jongin is so thankful that they had their backs to him.

His luck runs out, though, when he realises that Monday afternoons aren’t really peak hours for the London Eye, and it’s just his luck that he finds himself bundled into a capsule alone with the overly-affectionate couple in front of him. The shorter man (boy?) gives the taller a little, shy smile - one that Jongin tries his hardest not to liken to other affectionate, small smiles he’s seen before - and puts his hands on his shoulders, tiptoeing just a bit to give the taller a kiss.

Jongin almost groans, rolling his eyes as he pointedly looks away, begins to turn his back.

“Hey,” says a voice, and Jongin’s surprised when he sees the taller man addressing him. He’s even more surprised when the man switches gears completely, his tongue curling around a string of words that sound vaguely familiar to Jongin, but that he can’t make out.

“Um - sorry?” he tries, in Korean. The man stops and raises his eyebrows, smiling slightly at Jongin. Jongin briefly wonders if there was a slight possibility that he’d just gotten into a suspended capsule with a serial killer and his partner.

He hopes not.

The man takes a step back and slings his arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, his partner leaning against him on reflex. “He’s one of yours, Min,” comments the man.

“I’m so sorry,” says the shorter man, in fluent Korean. He disentangles himself from his boyfriend and steps forward to bow a little towards Jongin. “Luhan’s never been very good with approaching people, he didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, worry painting little lines across his forehead.

“It’s no problem,” murmurs Jongin, still glancing at the other man - Luhan - rather dubiously. Luhan just grins back at him. It’s unsettling.

“I’m Minseok, by the way. Kim Minseok,” says the man, reaching out to take Jongin’s hand in a handshake. “And the idiot that i’ve got me, that’s Luhan.” Minseok pulls Luhan forward and winces when Luhan takes Jongin’s hand in a rather firm grip, that same wide grin still stretched across his face.

“I’m Jongin,” he says dumbly, wrenching his hand out from Luhan’s grip. “This - um - hyung has a really… Firm hold…”

“Oh, don’t bother with those, Jongin. We’re only friends in passing, here. Call us by name, we won’t be offended,” says Minseok. Luhan nods encouragingly. “So what brings you here? We’ve been staying around here these past few days and I must say, you’re one of the first people we’ve seen come here alone.”

Jongin’s mind scrambles in search of words. “Oh, um - nothing, really, I’ve just never been here before - ”

“Are you checking the place out? Scouting it for when you bring someone special here with you?” asks Luhan, words blurting out without control, catching Jongin off guard. “Come on, good looking guy like you, you must have someone waiting for you to go home.”

Jongin’s mind fills with images of large, deep brown eyes, and lips that curve into a heart when they smile. He pushes the images aside, opts instead to try a different tactic. “Not really,” he lies, thankful that he’s learned to hide his emotions. “What about you two? You’re a long way from home, yourselves.”

“Well, it’s been three years since I’ve given Minseok this thing,” Luhan replies, hand pulling Minseok’s up to show Jongin a band of gold around his ring finger. Jongin barely manages an insincere smile. “So I thought I’d bring him here to celebrate.”

“He’s so cheesy about these things,” says Minseok, a steady flush growing on his cheeks.

“It’s cute,” says Jongin. “You’re both really cute together,” he says, clearly at a loss for words. Minseok just takes it as his cue to leave Jongin alone, and he tugs Luhan along behind him to the other end of the capsule. Jongin turns his back on them.

The view that greets him, he has to admit, is nothing short of breathtaking. They’re at the peak of the Eye, right at the top, and Jongin can’t believe the beauty that’s laid out in front of him now. The city stretches out for miles and miles below him, above him, clear sky. Everything is covered in layers of ice and snow, white and grey and blue coming together to paint the most marvellous masterpiece Jongin’s seen in a while.

Kyungsoo would love to see this.

He takes a quick photo before the Eye moves again, and his capsule begins its slow descent to the ground. He snaps picture after picture before he decides on the best one and attaches it to a message to Kyungsoo, along with the words view from the London Eye today. So beautiful.He sends the message off and before he knows it, they’re back on the ground again, and the attendant is pulling the door open.

He’s about to make off somewhere to get some late lunch, but a hand around his upper arm stops him. His first reflex is to fight the person off, but the urge dies down when he sees it’s just Luhan. “Oh,” he says. “You scared me.”

“Didn’t mean to,” says Luhan nonchalantly. “I just thought you should know, whatever -whoever you’ve got on your mind right now, they must be really special. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a stranger look so obviously forlorn before in my life,” he continues.

Jongin’s jaw drops. “How did you - ”

“Minseok likes to think I’m hopeless, but the truth is, I’m great at reading people. We’re all just books waiting to be read. All it takes is some effort. And your book - it kind of reads like heartbreak right now.” Luhan replies, dropping Jongin’s arm to grasp his shoulder. “I don’t know much about you, Jongin, but I know love when I see it. Minseok would say it isn’t my place to tell you how to live your life, but I like seeing people happy.”

Jongin blinks at him.

“Even when I probably won’t ever see them again.” smiles Luhan. He lets go of Jongin and steps back, slowly walking backwards to where Minseok is standing. “Be happy, Jongin! Love is great, most of the time!” he calls, before he turns around and leaves with Minseok.

Jongin stares after them, confusion knitting his brows together as they disappear into the crowd. His phone buzzes in his pocket and it pulls him out of his reverie.

It looks beautiful, Jongin. Feeling kind of jealous, all I have to look at is that dumpster they put in the back alley, writes Kyungsoo, words pulling a subconscious smile from Jongin’s lips. I’m going to go to bed now. Have a good day, Jongin. PS: that view really is something.

Jongin clicks out a quick reply, wishing Kyungsoo goodnight before he puts his phone back in his pocket and takes a look around. On the ground, it looks less majestic - the snow is tinged a slight grey, now that Jongin really looks at it - but it had all looked so beautiful from up in the sky. Such an abundance of beauty hiding in plain sight, Jongin thinks.

He makes a mental note to bring Kyungsoo here with him, someday.




 

Seoul, Friday, October 11th 2019

It happened in stages.

Slowly but surely, Jongin felt his passion give way to a dull burn, the sparks that scorched his fingertips every time he touched Kyungsoo fading away, until there was nothing left but the faint nip of static on his skin every time it met Kyungsoo’s. He’d chalked it up to exhaustion - age was making his heart grow tired, he didn’t have the energy to feel things as intensely as he used to when he was younger, when they’d first got together - but he can’t ignore the nagging doubt in the back of his mind.

He can’t help but feel as though he’d fallen into an endless cycle, the routine of every day digging into his bones, dulling all his senses.

Before he knows it, they are a shadow of what they used to be, each I love you thrown at each other carelessly, meaningless syllables pressed together to forge words of affection.

“It’s just the seven-year itch, Jongin, you’ll work through it,” Taemin says. There is nothing but sympathy in the elder's eyes, a kind of concern masked thinly by the comforting tone of his voice. Jongin nods, dismisses all further advances towards bringing up the topic of his relationship with Kyungsoo, and carries on with his meal.

He heads home that night a little after the clock strikes 12, and is greeted by nothing but a darkened apartment, and he knows Kyungsoo is probably already fast asleep in bed. He pours himself a glass of water and lets the sound trickle through the silence of his apartment, prolonging his entrance to his bedroom.

The quiet creak of the bedroom door does nothing to alert Kyungsoo, and Jongin doesn't bother being quiet himself. The room is dark and chilly, Kyungsoo lying asleep amongst navy blue bedspreads with the blankets up to his chin. Jongin undresses and begins to crawl into bed beside him, and the movement makes Kyungsoo stir.

“Jongin? Is that you?” he asks sleepily, words a little muffled, voice a coming out scratched.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Go back to sleep.”

Kyungsoo mumbles a quiet okay before turning on his side, his back to Jongin. In the past he’d have snuggled down to tuck his head under Jongin’s chin, but time has a peculiar way of changing people, of pulling at habits until they come undone, unravelled, and although Jongin’s complained before about how small their bed is for the two of them, he can’t help but succumb to the loneliness that floods the gap between them, drowning him in uncertainty and filling his lungs with a despair so deep he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to breathe again.

Jongin stares at the clothed expanse of Kyungsoo’s back for an hour, two, he doesn’t really know. Kyungsoo never used to sleep with his back to Jongin.

Jongin himself turns on his side, facing the wall.

He wonders when things changed.



 

Paris, Friday, December 20th, 2019

Frost clings to every ledge Jongin sees, mini stalactites of ice hanging from window sills, on the undersides of balconies powdered with white snow. Jongin stares out the window of a coffee shop echoing with foreign tongues and senseless chatter, and he loves that everything just blends into white noise in the background for him, so that he can fully take in the view before him.

It’s stunning.

“Sorry, but she’s asked to take your order for like, the fourth time now,” says a voice, tongue twisting slightly awkwardly around English words. Jongin looks behind him to see a man not much older than him, a few inches just shy of his own height, smiling somewhat stiffly up at him. “I wouldn’t normally intrude, but I’m kind of in a hurry. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” says Jongin, stepping up to the counter to take a proper look at the menu. French words curl together perfectly in cursive writing on the board, but Jongin can’t, for the life of him, figure out what any of them mean. He’s about to give up and just point at something that sounds relatively harmless when the man behind him pipes up again.

“Sorry, but at this rate I’m going to be unforgivably late. Do you not know French? I’ll help you,” says the man, stepping forward to stand beside Jongin. “What do you feel like? Chocolate? Apple pastry?”

“I - um,” Jongin begins, still somewhat surprised at the man’s insistence. “I’m… An apple pastry sounds good, I guess?” he tries, and the man nods, as if to say it’s settled, and orders him something by the name of tarte tatin and some fancily named coffee, both of which Jongin pays for in silence.

The girl rushes off to get Jongin’s order for him, leaving him with an impatient, unlikely companion at the counter.

“Um… I guess I should thank you,” says Jongin, offering up a handshake. “I’m Jongin, by the way. Thank you for helping me, I was so lost. All these words don’t make sense.”

The man takes his hand and shakes it briefly, before dropping it and painting a genuine smile on thin lips. “I’m Baekhyun,” he says, smile making his eyes twinkle. “And no problem, don’t worry about it. I was lost too, when I first came here.”

A customer leaves the shop, bell jingling and a muffled thank you resounding somewhere in the background. Jongin lets out a little chuckle. “I don’t plan on staying that long,” he says, and silence falls between them as the coffee machine whirs to life. There aren’t too many other people in the cafe and Jongin can tell that Baekhyun’s counting every second as it waltzes by.

“Um - why are you in such a hurry, if you don’t mind my asking?” asks Jongin, nervously eyeing the way Baekhyun is watching the girl’s (admittedly slow) movements like a hawk. He looks about ready to climb over the counter and get the food done for him.

“About to meet my girlfriend’s parents,” says Baekhyun briefly, hand flying down to bury itself in his pocket. Jongin can see the faint outline of a box underneath the fabric, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what Baekhyun was off to do. Still, Jongin puts on a smile of surprise when Baekhyun looks up at him with a different kind of shine in his eyes this time, joy evident in the way his irritation so easily escapes him.

“I’m going to ask her to marry me,” he announces, just as the girl returns to the cash register with Jongin’s tray of food. She goes unnoticed though, and they begin to hold up the line a little again, because love, when it’s right, makes the seconds tick by even slower, regardless of whether you are with the person you love, or if you’re just talking about them - as long as the love is right.

“In front of her parents?” asks Jongin, somewhat dubiously. “No offence, but we’re in Paris. This place is overflowing with romance.”

“I know, I know,” says Baekhyun, finally placing his order and fumbling with his wallet to pay for it. “Everyone’s been telling me that it would be way more romantic to do it just the both of us, but… She’s different. You know?” Baekhyun reaches for the packed pastries and Jongin trails a little way after him, moving out of the line.

“Different?” prompts Jongin, letting Baekhyun lead him to an empty table. It’s got a perfect view of the surroundings outside, but Jongin’s too focused on what Baekhyun has to say to notice.

“I want to be with this girl forever,” says Baekhyun. He doesn’t sit when Jongin does, just smiles with a kind of peace Jongin can’t help but envy. “And I want to make sure her family is okay with that. I’ve always thought that once you marry someone, you marry their whole family. Like it’s part of the promise to commit. Kind of. You know?”

Jongin presses his lips together, fiddles with the little fork his pastry came with. “I guess so,” he says, mind already adrift on old thoughts, guilt coming at him in waves. Baekhyun pulls up his sleeve a little and gasps when he looks at the time, bids Jongin farewell (to which Jongin replies with a Good luck) and disappears through the door, the bell above it tinkling as it slams closed.

Jongin’s fingers absentmindedly swirl his stirrer around, messing up the design as he stares out the window. “Oh, ,” he says softly, when he remembers he hasn’t sent Kyungsoo a photo of his food yet. The foam snowflake that had sat atop his coffee has been all but destroyed already, intricate white patterns decimated, turned into streaks that Jongin can’t really fathom into a proper shape.

Oh well.

He takes his phone out anyway, arranges his meal on the table and snaps a photo of it, tapping through to Kyungsoo’s message thread. Look at the fancy food I’m eating! he types, smiling mischievously as he adds, guess who isn’t too bad at French?

He sends the message and digs in, wrinkling his nose at how some sort of liquid leaks out and floods his mouth every time he takes a bite. He finishes his coffee before he’s three quarters of the way through, and is ready to admit defeat when he’s faced with the last bite.

Don’t waste food, rings clear in his head, Kyungsoo’s voice resonating against the bone of his skull as if it’s been engrained into it. Come on. Are you going to make me feed you? Because that’s exceedingly cliche, deadpans the phantom-voice.

Jongin’s fingers curl around the spindly fork once again, sweetness off his lips when he presses them together. He holds his breath and practically swallows the last bite without chewing, face scrunched up in displeasure.

Grimace still firmly on his face, he reaches to pull his phone out again and isn’t surprised to see a reply from Kyungsoo, opens it without much thought.

That thing you’re eating, writes Kyungsoo, and Jongin can just hear his boyfriend’s voice saying those words.

It makes him smile.

You’re going to hate it.



 

Seoul, Friday, January 12th, 2018

Jongin sighs heavily as he stands on his step ladder, hands reaching for the box that holds his best leather shoes. It’s a little dusty, only so many occasions requiring them arising in a year, and he blows away the coat of dust on top of it, nose wrinkling when his fingers come away cloaked in grey.

Another sigh.

“Stop sighing,” snaps Kyungsoo, lost in another section of their shared walk-in closet, flicking through tie after tie. “It’s only a couple of hours. It won’t kill you,” he says, extracting a couple of ties he thinks his father will approve of.

“Time won’t kill me, but your parents might.” Jongin murmurs under his breath, giving his shoes a wipe down. He places them at the foot of his bed, on top of which the clothes he’d steamed earlier on for both him and Kyungsoo were laid out. “They hate me.”

“They don’t hate you,” mumbles Kyungsoo, coming over to pull Jongin to his feet. He makes his boyfriend hold his dress shirt to his chest. “You just think they do because they don’t constantly tell you they love you.” He dangles the tie in front of Jongin’s body, nods when he sees how well the deep purple complements the pure black of Jongin’s clothes.

“Come on, Soo, you know they can’t stand me,” grumbles Jongin, carefully laying his clothes back on the bed. He sits and watches Kyungsoo in front of the mirror, his boyfriend’s eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

“You’ll be fine,” says Kyungsoo, holding up an obnoxiously bright red tie that makes him grimace. Jongin gets up and slowly makes his way to his boyfriend.

“We could cancel,” he says, arms reaching out to curl around Kyungsoo’s waist. “We could celebrate here, just the two of us,” he presses his lips to the juncture of Kyungsoo’s neck and shoulder, pulling the elder back against him. “Give you a good birthday present, specially from me.”

Jongin doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t Kyungsoo wrenching himself away from him, practically clawing his way out of Jongin’s hold. Kyungsoo glares at him with barely bridled anger, poorly disguised under deep breaths and his struggle not to frown.

“Look, Jongin,” he begins, dropping his gaze and moving to put the tie back. “My parents want to have dinner together, the whole family, for my birthday. They don’t ask to see me much, just a few nights out of a year.” He pulls out the most mundane tie he finds, and lays it down next to his clothes. When he’s done he looks up at Jongin almost imploringly, and Jongin immediately feels guilt burn right from the middle of his chest to his fingertips.

“I… Jongin,” says Kyungsoo, voice almost shaking with emotion. “I’m only asking you to come because they specifically invited me to bring you along. I wouldn’t ask you if they hadn’t.” Kyungsoo presses his lips together, and Jongin barely stops himself from reaching out and caressing the elder’s cheek.

Now is not the time.

“I’ll go,” he says, voice coming out hollow. He hates that he’s done this on his boyfriend’s birthday. It always makes him feel unworthy.

“Thank you,” says Kyungsoo, trying his best to let his expression brighten.

It doesn’t work.

“You can have the first shower,” mumbles Jongin, averting his gaze so he doesn’t have to look at Kyungsoo. He already feels too guilty.

They get dressed and go to dinner at the hotel without ceremony, Jongin playing the part of perfect boyfriend without a hitch. He manages to talk politics with Kyungsoo’s father and brother, compliments his mother and sister-in-law, and even volunteers to watch his nephew so that the rest of the family can eat in peace.

Sungjae is loud but comfortable in Jongin’s arms, and Kyungsoo watches fondly as his boyfriend exits the restaurant, lets himself get yanked into the hotel lobby by an overly lively three-year-old. Jongin returns fifteen minutes later with his hair mussed and his necktie loosened and off-center, Sungjae wearing his coat like a hooded robe. When dinner is done Jongin drives them home and doesn’t ask for anything more than Kyungsoo’s arms around him as he falls asleep, exhaustion (and satisfaction at a job well done) finally catching up to him.

Kyungsoo watches as Jongin sleeps, chest rising slowly before sinking back down, eyes sealed in peaceful slumber. He tilts up a little to kiss each of Jongin’s eyelids in turn, gently, each press of his lips a delicate whisper against Jongin’s skin. He smiles to himself when Jongin stirs a little, but doesn’t wake up.

He burrows down into Jongin’s warmth, lets himself get wrapped up in it, get buried in it until it’s all he knows.

“I love you,” he whispers, so quietly Jongin wouldn’t have been able to hear him even if he’d been awake. He drifts off into sleep with the shadow of a smile on his lips.

He’ll never know.



 

Granada, Thursday, December 24th, 2019

Columns of intricately carved gravel and clay rise from the ground to fan out above him majestically, light seeping into the room and flooding it, the warmth of the sun embracing what little skin Jongin has on display in Spanish winter.

“Wow,” he breathes, shamelessly letting his jaw drop to the floor as he stares all around him. He isn’t going to pretend he knows a thing about architecture, in fact, only knows that it’s about ‘how buildings look’, but Alhambra Palace - that’s a whole other story. The detail that has gone into each carving leaves him in awe, each carefully-designed column fashioned with as much care as the one before, and Jongin is left speechless.

He wastes no time taking photos, several of the gardens, a few of the palace itself. They’re all saturated with other tourists, but he doesn’t let it deter him. The palace looks beautiful even with all these people in it, and Jongin wants Kyungsoo to see it.

He turns a corner to a particular corridor with barely any people in it, eyebrows raising at the pleasant (and unexpected) surprise. He’s about to take a photo of the way light pours itself in through the arches when he sees a person standing alone, a solitary figure that screams of loneliness, and something in Jongin falters. He puts his phone back in his pocket and takes a few tentative steps toward the man, before he decides to just go to stand directly next to him.

“Oh,” says the man softly, moving a little further to the side. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and resumes staring at the same patch of wall he’d been looking at before. Jongin clears his throat.

“Beautiful place, isn’t it?” comments Jongin, trying his luck when he lets his tongue curl around familiar Korean words. The other man looks at him with surprise, a reluctant smile beginning to bloom on his lips.

“Very beautiful,” he says, smiling at the wall.

Jongin presses his lips together. “In a place filled with such beauty, one would think one would also be filled with joy,” says Jongin, wincing a little at how much he sounds like his father. His companion turns to look at him, tilts his head at an angle.

“Such an old soul, for a young body,” says the man, before he lets his eyes fall on the wall again. Jongin grimaces as silence snakes its way between them. Well. He did try.

“I have a lot on my mind, uncle,” says the man, voice teasing though his eyes seem forlorn. Jongin traces the perfectly sculpted contours of the man’s face with his eyes, stops when he notices they’re all carved by a blade laced with grief. “Human beings are such complicated creatures, sometimes.”

Jongin doesn’t know what to say. He nods in agreement, eyes tracing along the upper border of the wall. Words in Arabic curl together in intricate patterns, and he tries his best to follow their .

“How does one choose the lesser between two evils?” asks the man minutes later, finally breaking the silence. Jongin crooks his head questioningly, and the man takes it as a cue to carry on. “On one side, I am faced with a boulder I have no hope of getting over, or under, or through. On the other I have a hand reaching out to help me, but it belongs to the devil.”

The words are suspended in the air between them, the weight of them congealing in the space between Jongin and the man. He doesn’t really know how to respond, so he clears his throat. “It’s difficult,” he begins, cautiously picking through the field of words in his brain. “On the one hand, you die innocent. On the other, you get immortality, but at the price of your soul.”

The man turns Jongin’s words over in his head. “It would be a trade off, I suppose. It all comes down to the compromise,” he says. “Ideally, you could get the devil to break the boulder for you, and run before he catches you. But that isn’t how things would work in the real world, would it? He’d still catch up to you, somehow. He is the devil, after all.” The man folds his arms, pondering his thoughts.

Jongin gets increasingly more confused with every passing second, the direction of the conversation becoming unclear. He lets their exchange stew a little in silence, until the man seems to break out of his daze and turn, properly facing Jongin with his whole body.

“Sorry about that,” says the man, somewhat brighter now, but Jongin can still see how a shadow of sadness still clings to him. “I’m not usually such a downer, and you’re here on holiday, I shouldn’t have said such saddening things to you,” he finishes.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Jongin. He his lips. “But… I know I’m only a stranger, and you don’t have to tell me about things if you don’t want to, but… Is anything the matter? A burden halved,” he says, the last words coming out in English.

The man smiles. “It’s fine. I owe you an explanation, anyway,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets. He takes a deep breath. Jongin waits.

“Have you ever been afraid of being in love?” asks the man, and Jongin’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair. “I mean - not necessarily the feeling of being in love, per se, but… The things that come with it. The commitment, the promises. The knowledge that if you take that final plunge, there’s still no guarantee it’s going to last forever. Doesn’t the thought of that scare you?”

Jongin takes his time absorbing the man’s words, each syllable burning itself into the soft tissue of his brain. “Well,” he reasons, words coming to him out of nowhere, “I guess if it’s really love, it’s worth the risk. Better to have loved at all, and all that.” he says.

The man considers Jongin for a minute, eyes trained on his. Jongin fidgets, adjusts the collar of his shirt as he waits for the man to speak. “Do you really think humans are capable of being that selfless? Of putting themselves out there, entirely at another person’s disposal?” he questions, squinting a little at Jongin.

“That’s subjective, I suppose,” says Jongin. He folds his arms, tilts his head in thought. “If you look at it from another perspective, you could say that wanting to be loved is the most selfish thing a person can do. You want someone else’s devotion, their attention, undivided affection. That’s why you give up so much of yourself: so that, ultimately, you feel wanted, and you get more of yourself back.”

“That isn’t the point of being in love, though, is it?” questions the man, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Isn’t the point of love valuing the other person, making them feel like they’re worth every last penny you have in the bank, every last ounce of life you have in your veins? Isn’t that what it’s about? The other person?”

“That’s also true, I suppose,” Jongin concedes, his mind leafing through thought after thought, trying to ignore how each page he flips through is covered in Kyungsoo’s fingerprints. “You can’t choose who you love,” he says, his words slipping out slowly, the way Kyungsoo’s lips used to curl into smiles in the mornings when they woke up. He misses that smile terribly. “There’s something about them that makes you want to keep them around you for the rest of your life, the person you love.”

“Exactly.” The man takes a deep breath, his smile dimming, despondence tracing insincerity on the corners of his lips. “My boyfriend and I have been together for a long, long time. At this point, our relationship can go one of two ways: either I leave him, and break my own heart in the process, or…” here, his voice trails off, reluctance stealing the syllables from his lips.

“Or?” prompts Jongin, leaning in a little towards the man.

“Or we get married. Simple as that.” finishes the man. His next words come out dripping with honesty, and Jongin feels himself hurt for the man. “I’m not sure I’d be able to deal with it; if he wakes up one morning, and decides, ‘Hey, you know what? I’m not in love with you anymore.’ And leaves me. I’m not okay with that possibility.”

Jongin lifts his hand, gingerly puts it on the other man’s shoulder. It isn’t a habit of his, touching people he’d only just met for the first time, but he’d shared so much with this stranger in the past half hour than he usually would even with his closest friends. “If you think he loves you, if you know he loves you - then do right by him, friend. That’s all the advice I can offer - not that you were asking, I’m aware, but human to human - loving and being loved is a beautiful, beautiful thing. You shouldn’t waste it.”

The man lifts his own hand, clasps it over where Jongin’s sits on his shoulder, and smiles. “Thank you,” he says, so softly Jongin wouldn’t have been able to hear had he not been paying close attention. “I’ll keep those words in mind. Farewell for now, friend. There are things I have to do.”

The man gives Jongin a warm, firm handshake and turns to leave, before the question that dances in the back of Jongin’s throat bursts out, tickles his tongue until he knows he has to ask.

“What’s your name, by the way? I’m Jongin.” calls Jongin, stopping the man in his tracks.

“I’m Jongdae.” he says.

One more question wouldn’t hurt, Jongin thinks. After all, he’s never going to see Jongdae again. “Your analogy, from before… Is your boyfriend the boulder?” Jongin asks, receiving a nod in response. He his lips before he asks again.

“And the devil?”

Jongdae smiles sadly at Jongin, hollowness echoing in his eyes. “My own heart,” comes the reply, dry words leaving a tired throat. “My own emotions, my own feelings. Me.” he says, before he bids Jongin a final goodbye, and heads off in the other direction, leaving the younger by himself.

Jongin leaves the palace with his ribcage threatening to fall open and spill all its contents, his heart so ready to leave even though he’d been captivated by the place just minutes before.

His feet pick up in a run, skin on his face protesting as cold wind cuts across it.

Not too long ago, he was just like Jongdae. 





 

Seoul, Thursday, June 2nd, 2016

Jongin is laid out on his bed, phone in one hand, his other arm across his forehead. A few minutes go by and then the silence that shrouds his parents’ house is broken by the sound of his sister arriving home, the front door slamming shut as an announcement.

He doesn’t holler back a reply, though, just keeps his eyes trained on the clock on his home screen. The white 5:20 blinks back at him silently, telling him it’s been a whole twenty minutes since he’d last checked. He taps through to his email inbox, drags the screen down to refresh it, when his phone vibrates and a call comes in.

The number on the screen isn’t one he recognises, and his heart leaps into his throat.

This might be it.

“Hello?” he starts, trying his best not to let his voice shake too much. Keep it cool, Jongin. Professional. He tells himself.

“Hello, may I please speak to Mr Kim Jongin?” asks the person on the other end of the line, tone clipped and precise.

“Yes, this is he,” says Jongin, pulling himself up into a seating position. He grips his comforter in his other hand, tries to calm the rapid beating of his heart. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“Hi, I’m Park Chanyeol, from Seoul Beat magazine. I’m calling to let you know that your interview went well, and we’d like to offer you the job.” says the man. Jongin’s jaw drops, disbelief growing with every word Chanyeol says. “Are you still interested?”

“Yes!” says Jongin, a little too enthusiastically as he springs to his feet. He catches himself, though, and clears his throat. “Um - I mean, yes, I’m still very much interested.”

“Great,” says Chanyeol, his amusement well hidden. “See you next Monday, then.” he says, and hangs up.

Jongin doesn’t really recall the events that followed him clicking his phone off, but he remembers rushing out the door and straight to Kyungsoo’s workplace, barely sparing enough time for him to put his shoes on properly, his tank top starting to stain with sweat.

He ends up right in front of the building Kyungsoo works in, people filing out in batches as the work day comes to an end. It doesn’t take him long to spot his boyfriend in the sea of unfamiliar faces, and he grins, his face breaking out into an expression of joy as he makes his way to Kyungsoo.

He doesn’t say anything when Kyungsoo finally spots him, eyes growing wide, just spreads his arms out and envelops his boyfriend in a hug that steals his breath and crushes him to his chest.

“Jongin - what - let go,” growls Kyungsoo, pushing at his boyfriend’s arms until he’s released. He takes a step back and takes in the way Jongin’s face is flushed, the grin that’s etched on his lips, and he feels joy spark somewhere in the middle of his chest. “Did you - ”

“I got the job!” exclaims Jongin, grin spreading even wider if it were possible, catching Kyungsoo when the elder hurls himself into Jongin’s arms. “I start next Monday,” says Jongin, mumbling the words in Kyungsoo’s ear.

The elder lets go of his boyfriend, stands back to look at him with an emotion Jongin hasn’t seen before lurking in his eyes. “I’m so proud of you,” murmurs Kyungsoo, his own lips mimicking Jongin’s. He tilts his head up a little to push a kiss onto his boyfriend’s lips, loves that he can feel the smile that Jongin hasn’t dropped.

“We should celebrate,” says Kyungsoo, tugging on Jongin’s arm in the direction of one of the fancier barbeque places, much to the younger’s delight. “I’m buying.”

“Thanks, Soo.” sighs Jongin, wrapping his fingers around Kyungsoo’s. When they stop to wait for it to be safe to cross the road, he pulls Kyungsoo’s hand up to his lips, kisses the back of it with a smile. “I love you,” he says, looking at Kyungsoo as if he’s the only person left in the world.

Kyungsoo turns their joined hands, brings Jongin’s up to his lips and does the same.

“I love you too.”




 

Athens, Thursday, January 9th, 2020

The Greek club scene, Jongin decides, is an absolutely marvellous experience. Strobe lights dance in the minimal spaces between sweaty bodies on the dance floor, and everything looks as if it’s been dusted with a sheen of magic.

“That’s the last drink for you, I think,” says a voice just over Jongin’s shoulder, thin fingers reaching out to take his glass away. “Having a bit too much fun isn’t fun at all,” says the voice.

Okay, so maybe the awe Jongin feels in his gut has a lot more to do with the alcohol that’s sitting in his body now than it does with the actual scene unfolding in front of him, but still. It’s a nice feeling.

“Give,” demands Jongin, pouting when the bartender slaps his hands away. “I paid for that.” Jongin narrows his eyes a little, squinting to see the name engraved on the bartender’s name tag. “Sehun,” he says the name like a dirty word, nose wrinkling when it slides off his tongue.

“Yeah, and I only get paid if this bar doesn’t go out of business. If you get killed, buddy, it will.” he says, reaching to mix another drink.

Jongin pouts at Sehun and decides to join the crowd on the dance floor, mesmerised as he is by how the lights on the floor change colour every few seconds. The beat reverberates in his bones and his body moves to it automatically, as if it were just an extension of the music. His hips roll and his shoulders sway and pretty soon he’s gotten the attention of a good chunk of the crowd, all of them gathering round to cheer him on. He’s getting lost in the music now, coupled with the sounds of the crowd cheering for him, and he doesn’t even notice when another man joins him.

“Hey,” says the stranger, leaning in a little too close for comfort. “I like your moves. What’s say you and I head back to my place and I can show you mine.”

“No thanks,” Jongin says, inching away from his unwanted companion. “I’d rather stay.”

“Alright then,” the stranger says. “I’ll stay with you.” He puts his hands on Jongin’s hips, and Jongin all but jumps away in surprise, frowning at the other man.

“I can’t,” he says, words a little slurred. “I have a boyfriend.” He says this with an air of finality, leaving the dance floor and sauntering off back to the bar. He sits in the stool right in front of Sehun, a rather fantastic frown growing on his face.

“Can you believe the nerve of him?” asks Jongin, still frowning as he looks up at Sehun. “As if I’d want to go anywhere with a douchebag like that guy.” he complains.

Sehun just smiles at him. “I think it’s time you head home, big guy.” he says, putting his dish towel down. Jongin opens his mouth to protest, to tell Sehun that he isn’t done having fun yet, but the bartender just holds up a hand to stop him.

“You’ve got someone there waiting for you.”





 

Seoul, Tuesday, July 24th, 2012

The Han River, Jongin thinks, looks beautiful at night. Lights from the bridge paint the waters a multitude of neon hues, the buildings on the other side reflected beautifully, even with the sun down.

Still, he thinks, nothing looks quite as good as the man whose hand he’s holding - nothing looks quite as good as Kyungsoo.

“What are you staring at?” asks Kyungsoo, somewhat uncomfortable with the fact that Jongin hasn’t taken his eyes off him ever since they sat down to enjoy the view. They’ve been together for a couple of months now, and Kyungsoo wonders when the younger will tire of staring at him as if he’s a shiny new toy that’s just been brought home.

“You,” says Jongin without hesitation, a smile growing on his lips as pink begins to tint the apples of Kyungsoo’s cheeks. “You’re blushing,” he observes, and he earns a slight punch to his arm.

“I’m embarrassed for you,” says Kyungsoo, refusing to look Jongin in the eye. “You’re saying embarrassing things and I can’t stand being around you. I want to go home now. Bye.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” laughs Jongin, pulling Kyungsoo against him. “We’re on a date, and dates don’t end before curfew. It’s a rule.”

“One you made up just now, isn’t it?” Kyungsoo asks with a knowing smile. “Alright, I’ll stay. But only if you stop saying such embarrassing things. It’s gross.”

“That’s going to be a bit of a problem,” says Jongin, grimacing. His heartbeat picks up a little, pulse quickening when he thinks about the reason why he’d taken Kyungsoo out tonight, on aschool night, no less, in the first place. There’s something he needs to get off his chest, and now, with the Han River glistening before them, is as good a time as ever, he thinks.

“Why is that?” asks Kyungsoo, turning to face Jongin.

Inhale. Exhale. It’s going to be alright.

“Because I’m in love with you,” he admits, face heating up when he realises he’s just thrown his feelings out there without warning, said I love you to Kyungsoo for the first time. “So I’m going to always want to say gross things to you, but I mean, if it really grosses you out, I guess I could - ”

“What did you just say?” asks Kyungsoo, eyes wide. Jongin swallows.

“I’m in love with you?”

The next thing he knows, he has his arms full of Kyungsoo, thick lips pressing against his own, tasting him and swallowing up any sounds he’d hoped to make. Kyungsoo kisses him hungrily, passionately, and Jongin doesn’t know what else to do but enjoy it, wrap his arms around his boyfriend to pull their bodies closer.

Kyungsoo pulls away so they can break for air, but his next words leave Jongin breathless, still, anyway.

“I love you too.”




 

Seoul, Sunday, January 12th, 2020

Seoul looks a lot like a winter wonderland, ice clinging to any surface that allows, snow settling in a blanket over buildings and gardens. Jongin sits in the back seat of his cab and watches as familiar streets whizz by, shops and houses and apartments blurring together into globs of grey and white as he makes his way back to his apartment.

“Had a good trip?” asks the cab driver, indicating a right turn as he switches lanes.

“Yes,” answers Jongin politely, trying his best to calm himself down before he bursts. His emotions are a maelstrom in the middle of his chest, and he tries to distract himself by concentrating on steadying his breathing. He can do this.

The cab pulls up in front of his apartment complex and he pays the driver and thanks him, takes his time to fumble with his luggage before finally entering the elevator. The doors slide shut and then he is alone, his finger hovering above the button with the black 8 on it.

It’ll be fine.

He pushes the button and the elevator whirs to life, the familiar fluttery feeling in his stomach intensifying with every level he ascends. Deep breathing is all he can do now, fingers curled around the handle of his luggage, other hand gripping firmly on the strap of his backpack.

When he reaches his floor he takes a few minutes to really calm himself before he makes his way down the hallway, stopping in front of apartment 804. Everything still looks the same, he notes, not that he’d expected anything to change, really. He reaches out to unlock the door and it swings open, admitting him into the apartment he hasn’t been in for the past month.

He steps inside and locks the door behind him, taking in the surroundings he’d missed so much. The apartment always looked so nice in the afternoon.

His eyes stop on the figure that’s lying on the living room sofa, Kyungsoo’s chest rising and falling in a way that tells Jongin that he’d had a long morning, and was just taking a well-deserved nap.

Jongin takes a deep breath and steps forward, coming down to kneel on the floor next to his boyfriend. His eyes take in the way Kyungsoo’s sleeping so peacefully, eyes sealed shut, the curve of his nose, the plush of his lips. Jongin feels affection and longing and nothing but purelove flood his insides before he pushes forward, presses a kiss against Kyungsoo’s forehead.

His boyfriend’s eyes flutter open, sleep still dusted on his lids.

Jongin holds his breath.

Slowly, Kyungsoo smiles.

“Welcome home, Jongin.”




Author’s note: HAHAHAHA I TRICKED YOU FOR LIKE A GOOD THREE WEEKS HAHAHEHEHAHAHO

Firstly I need to thank Bel for all the great prompts *_* tbh I started with your mafia prompt, and then your drinking prompt, and then this prompt, and went around flurrying up fic for all three until I settled on this one u_u I wrote it in a rush. I’m sorry. Please know I love you. hehe.

(Also yes I don't know if you noticed, but I picked the first i love you date on purpose. Hahaha)

Secondly I need to thank!!! The mods for putting up with me asking for extension after extension after… Extension… You guys were great and I’m sorry for any inconveniences I may have caused u_u

Lastly I want to say thank you to all the lovely people who talked about my fic and even rec’d it… To me… It was rly hard to sit tight and pretend it wasn’t my fic hahaha just know you all made my day!!!!

And also to the people who guessed me - DINGDINGDING WE HAVE A WINNER!!!! HOW DID YOU GUYS KNOW OH MY GOD I’m so touched tbh haha thank you for taking the time to guess me I didn’t really think anyone would bother so thank you <3

This was fun to write and stuff I mean I actually put a lot of thought into this and hiuhiuhiu and yeah and okay that’s really it for now tata!!!

twitter | ask.fm