Opposites

It's raining for the first time in months; the kind of rain that makes the cold air smell like dirt and drenched soil.

The sound of feet digging into pebbles fills the silence, only to be broken by a loud blaring. The noise echoes through the gray sky, sending crows above the ground and away from the fields.

“That's enough work for today, Jongin!”

Jongin almost misses Yixing's voice, but he's known the voice for too long that he thinks it would be possible for him to recognize it amidst a riot. He can even picture the old man smiling at him with the remnant of what used to be a dimple on his right cheek and a bowl of warm soup in his hands.

“Yeah, sure, Pa!” Jongin says, loud enough for the aged man to hear over the blaring that forewarned the end of working hours. Soon, all the daylights would be turned off, and it would be dark again.

Jongin hooks fingers onto the belt loops of his worn-out navy blue overalls, stretching his neck upwards before wiping the cold sweat off his forehead and looking down disapprovingly at his own work. He's spent the last few days carving out a new wooden mirror frame. What it's used for, Jongin doesn't exactly know. Aside from being delivered into the depths of Central city, where the lights shone a hundred times brighter, Yixing has never told him where the frames actually go after they're polished with transparent varnish. What he does know is that making them is where he gets enough money to repay the old man for practically adopting him when his grandfather, Jongdae, left.

It's not that Jongin doesn't know what mirrors are. In fact, he's read a few pages about them from the only history textbook he owns, has sit through lectures concerning them, and has listened to Yixing's stories. Even Chanyeol, his best friend, knew about them, probably more than he did.

He knows that it serves as, somehow, a passage to Dextro; that it's what connects their world—Sinistro—to the people of Dextro by means of a portal. That's as far as the book, Chanyeol, and everybody else had told him.

And if there was anything else that Jongin learned, it was that the world he lives in lacked reflections.

“Come inside. You wouldn't want to catch a cold now, would you?” Yixing calls once more.

Humming his reply, Jongin picks up the black cloth that he'd left lying abandoned on the floor since morning and pulls it over to cover his work table. He takes off his gloves and turns off the light bulb before rushing inside the house and into the kitchen, welcoming the sudden change of temperature after having spent long hours at his working shack with a huge grin.

“What are you cooking, Pa?” Jongin asks as if he didn't already know the answer. Even when he was outside, he had already recognized the smell of Yixing's cooking from the sudden wafts of air that entered his cramped working shack. Maybe it was because Yixing rarely cooked for their meals. The old man only did so if there was a special holiday or something worth celebrating, and as far as Jongin knows, it was like that in other households too. Food was rationed: milk and eggs for the morning, moldy bread and aged meat in the afternoon, and peas and mashed potato for supper. Anyone who could afford to cook anything out of the menu for themselves everyday were considered fortunate.

Jongin takes the seat across the fireplace, lightly scraping the chair against the wooden floor. He's always taken a liking for watching Yixing cook.

“Chicken noodle soup, my child,” Yixing says.

Jongin rolls his eyes at this, “I am not a child anymore, Pa. You know that, and what's it for anyway? It's not like there's a special occasion—”

“You not being a child anymore is exactly what we're celebrating. Happy birthday.” Yixing smiles, placing a secured paper bag in front of Jongin.

It takes a moment, a few seconds, a light thud of ceramic plate against the wooden table, before Jongin completely comprehends what Yixing had just said. He hastily rolls up the sleeve of his left arm, stealing a glance at the numbers imprinted on his forearm before directing his gaze to the calendar beside the cupboard. His eyes focus on a date circled with red ink. January 13th.

“Tomorrow you'll be taken to work at central town, Jongin,” Yixing says. There's a melancholic lilt in his voice and it makes Jongin look away from the two digit number. “That's why we're celebrating your birthday today.”

“I could try and ask for another year, Pa. I won't turn twenty till the fourteenth. I'm sure they could spare me another year.”

“You know the system doesn't work that way,” Yixing sighs. “I know why you don't want to go but, Jongin, I can manage on my own. You don't have to worry about me.” He pushes a steaming bowl of soup in front of the other. “Besides, life within the city is better for youngsters like you.”

“I don't care. I'm not leaving you alone here.”

“As much as I want for you to stay, they will still come and take you away from me.”

“No,” Jongin mutters through gritted teeth. He knows he shouldn't be angry, knows that there's no point in being so because he wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

Ever since he was a kid, he has been taught that people are born and raised for the sole purpose of being deployed to work at Central city once they reach the age the government deemed old enough to work. He's known it and has been prepared for it ever since he stepped inside one of Sinistro's preparatory facilities, but he doesn't want to leave Yixing alone.

“Don't worry. Time flies fast, and before we even know it you'd be on a train ride towards home,” Yixing says, to which Jongin doesn't answer.

“It won't in the city, Pa.”

“Don't jump into conclusions, Jongin. Remember what your grandfather said.”

“I don't even remember him well, and why should I when he disappeared on us?”

“Jongin!” Yixing raises his voice. He calms himself, clears his throat, when he sees the startled look on Jongin's face. “Your grandfather... he had his reasons.”

Jongin stays silent after that, lips pressed into a thin line, fingers curled up into tight fists. He doesn't speak even after he and Yixing finish eating.

He's already inside his own room when Yixing calls for him outside the door. The said man comes inside even before Jongin could make up an excuse to keep him out.

“I have another gift for you,” Yixing starts, one arm reaching for something behind him. He hands Jongin another wrapped box, something similar to the one he gave the younger earlier save from the dust that had clung to it like a second layer of wrapping paper. “It's from your grandfather. Jongdae told me to give it to you once you turn the right age.”

A myriad of countless memories, ones he had with his grandfather, instantly hits Jongin as he takes the wrapped box away from Yixing's hands with caution. And Yixing doesn't miss the way Jongin dips his head down.

“I don't really know what's inside it, Jongdae never told me, but I'll leave that to you.”

Yixing leaves Jongin alone and even then, Jongin doesn't open his grandfather's present. He leaves the box on the corner of his study table, opting to open Yixing's instead and, as expected, he finds used art materials inside the paper bag. A couple of spent charcoal pens, half-finished erasers, and a fountain pen roll out before him as he turns the paper bag over.

He brings out the rest of his art supplies, picks the darkest shade of charcoal, and starts working. His fingers become smudged as he tries to emulate the night outside his wooden window, pressing crooked lines and noise onto the canvas. He doesn't stop until the picture looks exactly like the grimy landscape of Central city, all tall black buildings etched to fit against white smoke and gray clouds.

And Jongin draws, and draws, and draws, until the buildings look more like the vertical lines on his forearm, under them a series of numbers that still don't make sense to him even though he's had them for almost twenty years.

Maybe it's his date of birth. No it couldn't be, since his birthdate clearly doesn't match the numbers on his skin. Maybe it's an expiration date, the date of his death, Jongin thinks, comparing the mark on his hand to the barcodes he's seen on the milk that gets delivered at their doorstep every morning.

Sighing, Jongin puts the charcoal pen down. He reclines on his chair, stares at his forearm once again, before directing his gaze towards the wooden window by his bedside. The night has gotten cold, its harsh wind blowing against green curtains.

Jongin stands to turn the light off, allowing the full moon to illuminate half of his room. Its light embeds harsh shadows onto the wooden floor and Jongin thinks that this is one of the things he'll surely miss once he starts living in the city. He'll miss the way the floorboard creaks with his every step, the way his bed dips as he lies unto it, and the way music fills his ears as he closes his eyes—

Music. Jongin sits up. The sound doesn't die down even after a minute, so he stands up to look out of the window, but he doesn't find anyone or anything responsible for the muffled sound that's echoing against the dirty, white-washed walls of his room.

Jongin checks the outside of his door, only to be greeted by the low humming of the TV downstairs. He's about to give up when he passes by his study table, where the sound grows noticeably louder, as if it's ringing just behind his ears. It's coming from his grandfather's gift, Jongin thinks.

He rips a small portion of the wrapping, pinches and pulls paper in between his fingers, lifts the box, and—the music stops. Puzzled, Jongin completely unwraps and opens his grandfather's gift and what he sees is something he didn't expect to receive, especially from his grandfather.

It glistens under the moonlight; it reflects light and sticks to his sweaty palms as Jongin carefully turns it around his hands. He vaguely remembers having seen something like it in his history book and also from the documentaries about Dextro. 

And it's only when Jongin sees skin, his face, on the surface of the thing once he brings it up against the moonlight does he realize that his grandfather had given him a mirror.

----

“A 'reflection' is the return of light or sound waves from a surface that produces an image or a representation. By now, my students, I trust you all know that,” Jongin remembers his class' teacher say one rainy day, so suddenly, so out of the blue. “And it would also be good to know that in our world, a 'reflection' directly correlates to a counterpart.” 

Jongin remembers wanting to raise a hand and ask questions.

“There's a reason why all of Sinistro is only made up of either rock, marble, or wood. That is because we, the people of Sinistro, simply don't want to meddle with our reflections.”

Back then, Jongin didn't understand.

---

Jongin puts the mirror back down onto his study table, pushing it slightly each time in an attempt to locate where it had stood earlier. It had some kind of bars attached to its sides which was also a part of its stand, allowing it to remain upright. Jongin remembers seeing something similar from Yixing's own collection of mirror frames, except this one didn't have the actual frame; it only had the stand. It was also smaller compared to what he and Yixing usually carve, only about as big as Jongin's history textbook.

Jongin continues trying to find the mirror's previous spot and it's on the fifth push that he hears the sound again, sonorous and clear, resounding against the corners of his room, no longer muffled. And when Jongin looks into the glass, he's greeted by the face of a male with closed eyes and parted lips.

The boy doesn't seem to notice his presence, Jongin realizes as he continues to stare into the glass. And with a limited view, it's not hard for Jongin to take in the other male's delicate features.

There's snow white hair covering the tips of the boy's eyebrows, each strand seamless against his pale skin. His lips are plump, parted, and mouthing words of encouragement: 'you can do this', 'you've practiced this', 'you won't disappoint them'.

“Hello?” Jongin starts, and it makes the other boy's eyes flutter wide open. There's a momentary shock, a pause where Jongin's eyes meet with dark ones, before the face before him disappears and the music stops once again.

The boy reappears shortly after, with eyes wider than before and lips no longer mouthing silent words.

Jongin doesn't know what had pushed him to try and initiate a conversation with a person from Dextro. Maybe it was because he wanted to see what the other boy's eye looked like when opened, he's not entirely sure, but whatever the reason was, he couldn't possibly stop now. “You're from Dextro,” he continues and it sounds more of a thought to himself than a decent start of a conversation.

The boy blinks, and Jongin tunes everything out when he spots the boy opening his mouth to speak. “And you're from... the other side.”

Jongin arches an eyebrow. The other side?

“Sinistro,” the boy bites his lips, eyes looking to his right as if to recall a distant memory, some learned information, “a place full of workers who live their lives to serve the people of Dextro. It is a place ultimately different from Dextro for it lacks in class, discipline, and the arts.”

“And to think that my people actually thought the ones of your kind were polite.” Jongin scoffs, taken aback.

The boy's eyes widen into something akin to panic. He doesn't blink. “It's what I learned from school. I am terribly sorry if I offended you.”

“It's okay.” Jongin smiles wryly, admiring how the other's black eyes complimented his eyes and his skin. “I'm Kim Jongin.”

“I'm Kyungsoo, Do Kyungsoo.”

“Seems like there's quite a party going on in there.”

“Yes.” The boy—Kyungsoo—nods, moving aside to let Jongin see the view behind him. “There's an orchestra playing right now, outside this powder room. I'm actually about to perform a piano piece later, since it's my birthday and all.”

And Jongin finally understands what the muted encouragements from earlier were for. “Happy birthday, then, and good luck! I'm sure you'd do well. After all, you're from Dextro.”

The remark makes Kyungsoo smile, lips stretching out into a heart and eyes folding into crescents. Jongin thinks he'd like to see Kyungsoo smile more often if he were to see the other boy again.

“Kyungsoo!” Jongin hears a voice call, and he watches as Kyungsoo turns his head and scrambles to get to the door.

“I have to go. It was nice meeting you!” Kyungsoo says frantically.

And just like that, the portal disappears again.

---

The following day arrives shortly, with Jongin still awake and just in time to witness the view outside his window change as the daylights turn on one after another. It's already five, the certain hour where people usually decide that they've had enough of the dark. The whole thing had always felt and sounded like being under stadium lights to Jongin as he'd normally wake up to this hour of the day, but it's because of what happened the night before that he was unable to sleep. 

He's been lying awake for hours trying to make himself believe that what happened was just a dream, but the mirror on his bedside and the memory of Kyungsoo's smile made it hard for him to do so.

A knock on the door tears Jongin away from his thoughts, and it's not until he opens the door and sees the sad look on Yixing's face does he remember that today is January 13th.

“Have you packed your things?” Yixing asks.

Jongin sees how Yixing's hand is wrapped tightly over the doorknob. “No. Not yet, Pa.”

“Then you better start packing! And take a shower while you're at it!” Yixing exclaims as he playfully hits Jongin's arm. His smile doesn't quite reach his face, and Jongin knows that it's because of him leaving. “I'll be at the kitchen preparing breakfast and you'd better be down after thirty minutes, young man.”

“Okay, Pa.” Jongin smiles, mentally adding Yixing's scoldings as one of the things he's certainly going to miss while he's away.

Right after showering, Jongin fits everything he deems important into a burlap sack: clothes, his toothbrush, and a few art materials. Just when he's sure everything's set, his eyes wander towards his study table.

He places the mirror back inside its box, reassures himself that it's just because his grandfather gave it, and takes it with him.

They eat silently, with only the occasional sound of silverware clanging against ceramic to accentuate the growing silence between them. Jongin stares at the eggs on his plate. Yixing chose to poach them today, and Jongin thinks their yolks resemble the prying eyes of a night owl. Jongin pokes them with a fork, watches in amusement as the yolks bleed together, turning his plate into some sort of yellow sea with white islands. He eats them all after, drinks his milk, and grimaces at the flavor it brings to the back of his mouth.

Jongin steals a glance at Yixing who's staring distantly at the arrangement of family photos on the shelf beside their television set. Jongin follows his gaze and he finds that Yixing is looking at the photos of Jongdae, again.

Yixing decides to turn on the TV just in time for the local news to greet them a practiced 'Good Morning'.

“There has been a reported power shortage due to the addition of new daylights outside the wall and at the north of Central City. The Ministry of Supply have said that they are working on the issue and that citizens need not to worry about problems concerning electricity. Meanwhile, crime rates...” the monotonous voice of the reporter squeezes through the silence, and Jongin watches with doubt as Yixing flips through different channels, as if he didn't knew that there was no other channel but the local news.

The TV is turned off later when a faint blowing of a horn is heard from outside the house. Yixing peeps through the curtains, and Jongin instantly knew what it was once Yixing's eyes meet his own.

A deep sigh leaves Yixing's mouth as he walks Jongin towards the front door, “Ready?”

Jongin nods, dipping his chin.

And Yixing pulls him into a tight hug. “I'm going to miss you. So much.”

Jongin attempts to hug back, wrapping his arms around the Yixing and placing his chin on Yixing's shoulder.

He wonders if he'll ever get to feel this kind of warmth in the city.

Jongin walks out of the door, putting his burlap bag over his shoulder as he bids Yixing goodbye. The air outside their house is cold, and Jongin pulls the sack closer to his head. He walks through the field, using his other arm to keep blades of wheat away from his face. If he squints, he can see a swarm of people boarding a bus, and one by one the crowd decreases until the only thing Jongin sees is the closing of the bus' door.

He runs, sending crows flying over his head. He's only a mile away from concrete pavement, and he gets in front of the bus' doors just before the vehicle moves.

The rusty bus door makes a hissing sound, like smoke was to come out from it, as it folds and opens for Jongin. Behind it is a set of equally rusty steps and a man whose face seemed to surpass the vehicle's age.

“Come on now. We haven't got all day!” the man grumbles.

The bus was gray like the skin of a kicked tin can, and with the chains over its headlights, it looked hostile. If Jongin didn't know better, he was sure he'd mistake it for a prison bus or a ride towards an asylum.

Jongin hops in, and the first thing that greets him is a fit of laughter coming from back of the bus. The lights flicker as the door closes behind him and the bus' engine starts. He barely gets to the middle of the vehicle when it starts moving again. Indifferent glares meet Jongin's face as he walks down the aisle; it was as if everyone was telling him that he wasn't the only who disliked the idea of working in the city.

An arm lands roughly around Jongin's neck, making his head lurch forwards unceremoniously. He turns his head around, and sees a familiar face. One that belonged to his former classmate, Oh Sehun.

“Hey man, you gotta hear this. Chanyeol's talking nonsense again.”

Jongin coaxes the other guy's arm off his nape as he searches for the familiar bowl of hair among the crowd of people before him. He finds Chanyeol near the back of the bus, where the laughter from earlier had come from, and he watches as said guy chatters with great enthusiasm in his eyes.

“So the real reason why we only experience dark here at Sinistro is because we are actually Dextro's opposite! If artificial lighting is needed here at Sinistro, then our opposite needs artificial darkness!” Chanyeol says, rather too eagerly.

“And how do you know about this?” one of the guys beside Chanyeol asks.

To which Chanyeol responds proudly, “From my dad. He used to work at The Ministry of Knowledge.”

“Wasn't your dad only a janitor there?” another guy pipes in, causing another burst of laughter from the circle of people that had gathered around Chanyeol.

Even Sehun was chuckling beside Jongin.

“I can't believe this dork actually had the guts to act smart just because his father worked at The Ministry of Knowledge.” The guy opposite from Chanyeol stands up, walking towards the latter who had his head down. “Tell you what, weirdo, your dad was only a janitor!”

“Hey, hey, cut it out. What's your problem, man?” Sehun comes to Chanyeol's side, just in time to elbow the guy away. The guy backs away, fortunately, but not until he spares Sehun a look that made the bags under his eyes look a bit more frightening.

Jongin grabs Chanyeol by the arm and hauls him from the back of the bus, earning him more glares, except this time, they weren't the least bit disinterested. They take the unoccupied row by the middle of the bus. Jongin claims the seat by the window frame, leaving Chanyeol no option but to take the seat beside him.

“So your father's a janitor, huh?” Jongin scoffs, earning him a light punch on the shoulder from Chanyeol.

“Like you didn't know.”

Chanyeol was right, Jongin did know. He knew a lot about the other male, like how he's lactose-intolerant and therefore had to save moldy bread from the night before for breakfast, or how he practically grew up hearing stories about Dextro from both his father and grandfather. Chanyeol was his best friend, after all.

Chanyeol shoves something in front of Jongin's face, and Jongin turns when he feels it touch his cheek. “Want some of my bread?”

“No. No, thank you—just—” Jongin shakes Chanyeol off with a hand. “Just stop creeping and stay away from the others. They won't understand you.”

“Okay, sure.” Chanyeol munches on his bread, pursing his lips. “They're true, though. The things about Dextro.”

Jongin wakes up to the usual seventeen o'clock alarm, with his cheek plastered against the metallic sides of the window frame, wind blowing against his hair, and Chanyeol's weight on his left arm. He looks out of the window and finds that they've just arrived inside Central City.

Up close, Central City feels entirely like a whole different place; the lights shone brigther, the smoke thicker, and the people were busier. Their bus passes through a bustling street of vendors, and Jongin inches away from the window frame as people with baskets shout their products into the bus' every opening. He doesn't escape the hand that grabs him by collar, though; one that belonged to a woman with gold teeth.

“Your palm tells me something big is awaiting you, boy. A choice—”

Jongin manages to free himself from the woman's grip and for the first time during the day, he's thankful that the bus was moving.

They reach the inner part of the city in no time. Chanyeol had already woke up and was now pushing against Jongin in an attempt to get a glimpse of the numerous skyscrapers towering up above them.

“Wow. It surely looks more alive in person,” Chanyeol says with the tone of an amazed gradeschooler.

And Jongin doesn't really agree with him. The city was pretty much the opposite in his eyes for it looked like the product of an amateur artist who had a thing for grunge, but he had to admit, its infrastructures was worth the attention they're getting.

Their bus halts in front of a particularly high one squeezed in between two buildings with the same height and exterior.

“Okay, I want you all to split into three equal groups. Take your bags and line up outside,” the bus' crackly speakers boom, shaking the vehicle's walls and waking up all of those who were still asleep. Jongin barely even recalls noting that the bus had speakers, but he doesn't need to confirm the fact once he hears military music floating from the said speakers. The music reaches the outside of the bus as both Jongin and Chanyeol step out of the vehicle, following the others who got off before them.

They end up being part of the second group, and were shortly escorted into the middle building by a woman who was wearing an army green blazer and a pencil skirt. She was holding a pen, lightly clicking it to the clipboard in her other hand.

“I would like to welcome everyone to Unit 23. Starting from today, this building will serve as your home.”

--

“This doesn't seem so bad, does it?” Chanyeol says, breathing in comically with arms spread wide as he drops his bags onto the floor.

Jongin had ended up being roommates with Chanyeol, much to his luck, and they were given a room on the building's topmost floor.

“The wind sure feels nice here,” Chanyeol continues. 

Jongin had expected that, considering that they were thirty storeys above ground. A particularly strong gust of wind enters through the window frames, blowing hard over the room's walls and making its peeling wallpaper break into some kind of paper applause. The walls stood on cement, which stretched enough to fit basic furniture inside the room.

“Yeah, it could be worse,” Jongin mutters as he glances over the bunk bed where Chanyeol was currently sitting on.

Beside the bunk bed was a dresser, and the next thing Jongin sees is a cheap TV set in the middle of the room. Situated in front of it was a low table that had a vase with fake tulips, a complimentary centerpiece. There was no kitchen, and only a small bathroom stood on the place Jongin thinks is where it should be.

Jongin takes the lower part of the bunk bed as soon as he sees Chanyeol struggling to climb the ladder to the upper bed. Chanyeol wasn't going to like having the lower part anyway. He was too tall, which meant he'd have to wake up and live daily with a new bump on his head.

“Know what yours mean?” Chanyeol asks upon lying down with a thud, causing the bed to give out a creak.

Jongin looks out of the window frame in front of them, to the cityscape. “Know the meaning of what?”

“The numbers on your forearm.”

“No,” Jongin answers, briefly recalling what had happened earlier as they were being sorted into groups and rooms. “But didn't the lady call them as our 'working numbers'?”

“Yes, she did, but I just... I don't think it's enough, you know? Considering that we were born with it already inked on our skin. I just think it couldn't be just that.”

Jongin nods, knowing where this was heading. “So what do you think it means then?”

There's a pause and a heavy sigh before Jongin hears Chanyeol's answer.

“My grandfather told me that the numbers would glow once we meet our other half for the first time, but we'd have to be over twenty to see it happen. He told me it had happened to him once. Sounds cheesy right?”

Jongin only lets out a small laugh.

“I thought so too. But after hearing about our world being the exact opposite of Dextro, it suddenly sounded quite logical to me.”

Jongin spares a look at his forearm, and he suddenly thinks about the other night.

“You probably think I'm talking nonsense again.” Chanyeol laughs. “Well, we better get some rest. We're going to be assigned to our workstations tomorrow.”

Jongin nods, and he falls asleep wondering if he'll ever get to see the boy from Dextro again.

A strong nudge to the stomach sends Jongin jolting awake and hitting his head against the bed frame above him. Jongin curses upon hearing Chanyeol's irritating laughter. He attempts to throw a pillow at Chanyeol, but the latter only catches it with his hands. He threw it too weakly.

Chanyeol calms down to giggling as he throws the pillow back at Jongin. “Wake up! Breakfast is here.”

“We're currently here outside The Ministry of Supply as yet another power shortage was reported to have happened just before seventeen o'clock yesterday,” the Local News reports as soon as Chanyeol turns the TV on.

“It'd be bad luck if we were to be assigned under The Ministry of Supply. It must be hectic out there nowadays,” Chanyeol says as he fiddles with the remote and changes the channel.

The TV was smaller than the one Jongin and Yixing had back at home, but it still had the same grainy screen, still showed images of only black-and-white. Aside from the size, the only difference was the fact that it had an additional channel which, Jongin learned, was exclusively for people living inside the city: the shopping channel.

Jongin manages a nod as he staggers to get in front the coffee table and eat breakfast. There had been a knock on their door at exactly five thirty. Chanyeol was the one who opened the door and found out that this was how they're meals were going to be distributed, already cooked and packed. Today, it was scrambled eggs.

“So where do you want to work?” Jongin asks as Chanyeol hands him his own bottle of milk.

Chanyeol barely got to chewing his food when he points at a building outside their window frame. “There.”

It was a sleek black tower in the middle of the city. Jongin recognized the building right away, as it was the first thing one would notice when looking at the cityscape: the central tower.

“Are you serious? It looks scary,” Jongin asks in disbelief upon noticing that the tower had no window frames. Its black exterior contrasted sharply against Central City's squalid architectural backdrop, as if its height wasn't enough to make it noticeable. It was the highest among all the skyscrapers, soaring up terrace after terrace, effortlessly dwarfing every other building that surrounded it.

He was sure that the building and whatever jobs it had to offer wouldn't suit Chanyeol.

Jongin has never been so wrong.

He rolls his eyes at Chanyeol's smug face, placing his meal on top of a vacant table before dropping his weight on one of its chairs. Chanyeol follows suit, and he takes the seat in front of Jongin.

“Will you stop smiling?” Jongin mock-hisses, “You're creeping out the others.”

They're currently at central tower's only canteen and it's only because they were told to do so—to take a break after the short briefing. It turns out Jongin was going to work with Chanyeol at the same building. It was unsurprising, really, as he'd somehow expected it after they were appointed as roommates.

But it surely wasn't the reason why Chanyeol was grinning so widely, successfully establishing himself as an odd one the first day at work. Jongin thinks it has to do with the job the other was assigned to since when he asked Chanyeol, the latter only smiled and told him that it was 'confidential'.

Jongin chooses to ignore Chanyeol in the end, opting to focus on his meal instead. They were given metal trays as they lined up by the counter earlier, and on it were food Jongin had only tasted once or twice a year back at home. He remembers the man, who toured them around the tower, say that this was the government's way of keeping their workers healthy.

Sooner than expected, a bell rings and both Chanyeol and Jongin watch as all the others stand up, march away from their seats, and towards their respective floors. Jongin only wishes he wouldn't have to do that in the future.

“Those who've only just arrived this morning can now return to their home units,” the man from earlier says, holding out a finger as if to point at someone. His hand stops at some guy, and then to Chanyeol. “except you two.”

Jongin steals a glance at Chanyeol, searching for any signs of panic that may tell him what's going on, but he doesn't find any.

Chanyeol nods without glancing over at Jongin. He walks promptly out of the cafeteria, following the commander's steps as Jongin gets escorted out of the building.

---

It's out of boredom that Jongin decides to pull out the mirror and place it on the coffee table. He stares at it, deciding that it's the best way to kill time since there wasn't really anything interesting to do. 

After half an hour, he moves it to another place. And he does this relentlessly for three hours, already half-thinking that it's silly.

After another hour, just when the daylights were switched off, the mirror turns into a portal. Jongin looks at it from across the room; he's been walking around aimlessly while waiting for something to happen. On top of the dresser, the mirror almost looks like a torn part of a painting about Dextro, a smudge of color inside the room's monochrome interior.

Jongin rushes towards it, holding its stand to keep it from shaking from to his steps. He looks into the mirror, with his breath held against his chest, and the first thing he hears is a little gasp.

“It's you.”

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin breathes out. The said guy was in front of him, again, with his white hair stuck to one side of his face. “It's me, Jongin. From the other night, remember?”

There was no music this time, only the silence between them as Jongin waits for the other to response.

Kyungsoo slowly nods. “Yes.”

“How—How have you been?”

“I'm sorry,” Kyungsoo starts, eyes meeting Jongin's gaze. “but this was a mistake. I... thought I was only going to meet you once.”

Jongin stares back. “What do you mean?”

“You're from the other side. I'm not allowed to talk to you.”

The words sounded brutal, instantly creating an invisible barrier between the two worlds, but they were not enough to faze Jongin.

“But you already did,” he quips, and it makes Kyungsoo blink. “So what if I'm from Sinistro anyway?”

Jongin feels himself shrink as Kyungsoo tilts his head to the side, looking as if he was scrutinizing every inch of his being. “Well, you don't look like you're one of the guys from my history book. You hardly look like a criminal.”

“Why does it seem like all of your history books make my world sound like some sort of a prison ward?” Jongin asks indignantly.

“Isn't it? They say there's never a day without crime at Sinistro.”

Jongin notices how the string of words rolled off of Kyungsoo's tongue. It was as if the other was trained to say the words exactly like how it sounded—with disgust. “Only if you let yourself see them,” Jongin says.

They don't speak for a while. Jongin is keeping his head down, so he doesn't see the male before him. Kyungsoo's lips are pressed into a thin line and he only opens it when he finally catches Jongin looking at him.

“I don't believe them,” Kyungsoo starts, combing his fingers through his white hair. “I mean, I bet my teachers haven't met someone from Sinistro. I've had, and so far, I don't think you're a bad person.”

This makes Jongin smile, rather too tightly, and he looks up to show it to Kyungsoo.

“You're the only one who greeted me a happy birthday,” Kyungsoo continues.

“Return the favor by greeting me today, then.”

And Kyungsoo does, smiling up at Jongin with his heart-shaped lips. They end the conversation after that, with Kyungsoo excusing himself, saying that he had to take a shower to be in time for breakfast.

Jongin knows it's unlikely, but the air before Kyungsoo left felt like a promise to talk again.

With Kyungsoo leaving early, Jongin is given enough time to put the mirror away just before Chanyeol bursts through the door, holding two metal trays in his hand, his bag hanging loosely off one shoulder.

“You didn't bring the food in?”

Jongin shakes his head, saying that he didn't hear a knock on the door. He places the food on the coffee table and waits for Chanyeol to change from their gray work outfits into their thin gray 'comfort' outfits.

“So, how do portals work?” Jongin asks as soon as Chanyeol plops down in front of him.

Chanyeol was still wearing the grin he had on his face, albeit smaller than earlier.

They've long turned down the TV as an option for entertainment, and Jongin sees this as an opportunity to know more about the world Chanyeol has always been fascinated with.

There's a flicker of eagerness in Chanyeol's eyes and he takes a mouthful of beans before speaking. “They simply let you cross the other world—”

“No, I didn't mean that. Like, what does one need to create a portal?”

“It'd have to do with mirrors or anything that can reflect images, of course.” Chanyeol picks up the cup from his right and drinks, as if to push the beans down his throat and to his stomach. “There has to be two mirrors standing on the same spot of the two worlds. And those mirrors shouldn't have mirror frames.”

Jongin points at the dresser. “You mean to say that if I had a mirror there, there has to be a mirror on the same spot of the other world?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, you said portals can be opened by anything that can hold reflections. Does it mean it can work with water?"

“I don't think so, since water molecules are too unstable. Like this... cup of water.” Chanyeol points at the cup beside Jongin. “Even if there's a cup of water placed on the same spot as this one's at Dextro, it'd be quite impossible for all their molecules to be at the same position at the same time.”

Chanyeol sighs as he watches Jongin blink. “If we could see the worlds together it'd probably look like mirrored images. It makes the 'opposite worlds' theory seem plausible, don't you think?”

“I didn't know it was a theory.”

Jongin sees the way Chanyeol visibly swallows, but he doesn't say anything.

Chanyeol clears his throat, putting his utensils on top of his metal tray and wiping his hands on his shirt. “Why the sudden interest, though?”

Jongin places his utensils down too. He grabs Chanyeol's metal tray and stacks it on top of his. “I was just curious.”

Chanyeol takes the dishes and puts it outside their door, heading to get something from his bag as soon as he gets back inside. “If you're so curious, then I might as well let you have this.”

A book lands squarely on top of Jongin's lap. He turns the book over to read its title; it's a book about Dextro.

“Are you sure you don't need this?” Jongin asks.

“I've already read it before,” Chanyeol says, smiling, “Consider it as my birthday gift to you. You didn't think I forgot, did you?”

“Almost.” Jongin smiles back.

---

Carving wooden mirror frames has never been a chore to Jongin, but working at central tower makes it one. He feels as if he'd become one of the few machines around the twenty-fifth floor. With the number of workers around, Jongin was given a repetitive job: slicing through wood with a specialized knife in his hand. It was a job, a routine, Jongin could do without the need to think much. 

He'd cut and cut and cut through wood like a mindless drone, static ringing incessantly inside his head. But the day ends faster this way, Jongin thinks. On the brighter side, the daylights would be turned off soon and the alarm would be rung. On the brighter side, he'd be home soon to talk to Kyungsoo.

Jongin meets Chanyeol by the hallway after the seventeen o' clock alarm goes off. Chanyeol looks breathless as he runs towards Jongin; there's sweat sticking to his forehead. He tells Jongin that he came from the topmost floor and had to run down ten floors because the elevators ended at the thirtieth floor. He tells Jongin to go home first because his work shift doesn't end for another hour.

Jongin does go home first, completely giving up on finding out Chanyeol's job.

He puts the mirror back on top of the dresser, and after a few minutes, like promised, Kyungsoo's face comes into view.

“Hello, good morning—it's morning here at Dextro. How are you?” Kyungsoo greets.

Jongin smiles fondly at the formality of it. “Hey.”

He takes a moment to take in Kyungsoo's face. Kyungsoo's hair is messy again, beautifully mussed up in more ways that it should. There's a light coming from Kyungsoo's left side, and it casts shadows down on his face. Whether it's warm or not inside Kyungsoo's room, Jongin doesn't exactly know; he can't feel something from the other world.

“I'm fine. I just got home from work,” Jongin says.

“You work? What do you do?” Kyungsoo then asks, almost incredulously.

“I work as a wood carver at central tower. I carve wooden frames.”

“Oh, we also have a building called central tower here at Dextro, but I don't really know what happens in there. They say it's for importing materials from your world,” Kyungsoo says. “But aren't you too young to work?”

“Not really, I just turned twenty yesterday, and it has been a tradition for people to start working at the age of twenty here at Sinistro,” Jongin elaborates, watching as Kyungsoo nods. “How about you? What do you do?”

“I am learning to be a good pianist. My father has always wanted a son who was good with instruments, with the piano.”

“But you like it, right? Playing the piano.”

There's silence, a knock on Kyungsoo's door, before Jongin receives Kyungsoo's answer.

“Yes.”

It's what their meetings are made of. Jongin comes home straight from work every day, and Kyungsoo would always be there with his bed hair and smiling face. Each day they would learn more about each other, theirs and their world's differences. And each day would always end after Jongin asks Kyungsoo if 'he's happy' and with Kyungsoo answering 'yes' before excusing himself for a shower, breakfast, piano lessons, or family matters. But Jongin doesn't mind.

Jongin tells Kyungsoo about Yixing, about his grandfather Jongdae and how he managed to acquire a mirror. He finds out that Kyungsoo talks to him through a mirror of his own, one that he decided to take out of its frame during his birthday. He was restless that day, Kyungsoo had said. Jongin also learned that their first meeting was at an opera house, and that since the incident Kyungsoo decided to take the mirror to home with him.

One day, Kyungsoo asks Jongin if he ever had an aspiration or if people at Sinistro were even allowed to dream of other things than working in the city. Jongin answers him with a smile.

“Yes. And no, the government has no control over our minds, thankfully.”

Kyungsoo laughs at that. “So what do you want to be?”

“I've always wanted to be an artist,” Jongin says without hesitation, as if the words have always been waiting to come out of his mouth.

“You do art?”

“Yeah, with charcoal. But sometimes whenever Pa finds me tubes of acrylic, I paint too.”

Kyungsoo hums, and Jongin clears his throat.

“What about you? Do you have dreams other than becoming Dextro's greatest pianist?”

“Actually... what I really want to be is a singer.” Kyungsoo heaves a heavy sigh, averting his eyes from Jongin's questioning ones. “But I don't think that's possible now, right?”

Jongin shakes his head. “My grandfather always told me to never jump into conclusions. I think you should learn from him too.”

Kyungsoo ends up singing for Jongin that day.

They would always talk, face to face, and sometimes upside down because Jongin would choose to lie on his back while talking and leave Kyungsoo with no choice to do so too. Neither of them ever dares to pass through the portal, not until one day when Jongin ends up laughing after Kyungsoo tells him an old folktale from his world.

“Pardon me, but is something funny? Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing,” Jongin breathes out. “I just thought you sounded like an old man.”

Kyungsoo doesn't look a bit offended. “Haven't I've been like this from the start?”

“Yeah, but I've just noticed it now.” Jongin watches pink rise over Kyungsoo's cheeks. It makes him want to make it a shade deeper. “And your hair is covering your eyes.”

Jongin doesn't really know why but he reaches his hand out, towards Kyungsoo. He watches as his hand disappears slowly, reappearing only as a reflection from the other side. Every skin that meets the mirror makes it feel as if he's dipping his hand into a bucket of ice cold water and then pulling it out to let the warm air thaw away the chill. He continues reaching out, aimlessly, until his whole forearm has gone into the portal, until he can feel Kyungsoo's hair against his skin.

Jongin brushes away the fringe that's covering Kyungsoo's eyes. His hand hovers over Kyungsoo's head and he lets it rest there gently, almost hesitantly.

“Can I?” Jongin asks. And when Kyungsoo nods, Jongin moves to card his fingers through the other's white hair, just to see if it was as soft as he'd imagined.

Jongin feels something stir in his stomach as he watches Kyungsoo lean against his touch with his eyes closed. Kyungsoo puts his hand over Jongin's, and Jongin lets his hand linger for a while before pulling it out, making Kyungsoo open his eyes.

But they close again as soon as Jongin pushes his lips against Kyungsoo's, mouths meeting in a chaste kiss. Jongin tilts his chin to slot his lips against Kyungsoo's, and he can feel Kyungsoo smile against his mouth. And it all happens fast, like the drumming against Jongin's chest and the warmth rushing to his cheeks.

Jongin pulls away when he hears the usual knock on Kyungsoo's door.

“Are you happy?” Jongin asks like he always does.

“Yes,” Kyungsoo answers, putting a hand to cover his face as if to hide his reddening skin. It's the first time Kyungsoo answered without having to think twice.