17. BEAUTIFUL

---

 

"Kyungsoo."

A call; a snap from his thoughts. Gushing night air wakes him like the sudden presence which utters his name - a wispy, bare breath infiltrating his sleep. The source of sound comes from his left, like he had on that day - promising smile and a radiant, trustable shine to his eyes. Kyungsoo had been so entranced by the sight - head crooked in his direction and lips parted like he couldn't comprehend the existence of such a person - that he hadn't really looked at all. His thoughts had been so dominated by such dramatic, weightless questions - how is he real? Does he even breathe? - that he'd not stopped to wonder why, if you looked closely, his eyes (which were, in actual fact, cold and unforgiving) never strayed too far from Kyungsoo.

When he turns that way today though, he sees nothing. And he wishes that he had seen nothing before too, wishes he had not turned his head, and fallen so instantly in love with a boy he didn't know - deceptively sweet smile and his seemingly incorrigible geniality nothing less or more than a wicked con artist's skin deep concoction.

What if I had looked right? Kyungsoo thinks, and when he does now, he sees the true caller, stood in the shadows with the moon as a barely functional source of light.

"Kyungsoo," the voice repeats, and Kyungsoo realises that it belongs to Jongin, even if Jongin shouldn't be here at such a late time on such a cold, biting night in the middle of nowhere and the middle of everywhere. 

"Why are you here?" Kyungsoo asks, at least he thinks he does, for the figure shrouded in darkness does not make any move to show that they have heard, an eerie dimension against a greyscale night time landscape.

"Kyungsoo." Is all the voice says, still in that same, monotonous manner, loud and strong as the wind suddenly stills to a dim, unmoving force. 

"Jongin?" Kyungsoo asks, even if the voice cannot be confused for any other - that crisp, succinct honey tone that warms his heart, his cheeks, his blood on the rarer occasions. 

A silence follows, dragging, purposeful, and then-

"Kyungsoo, wake up."

---

When Kyungsoo opens his eyes, the night sky still hangs heavy above him, a dark, encompassing blanket over his head. He's crouched back against the gate of Mrs Kim's house still, a residual chill in his nose and ears as he livens up and looks about himself. He doesn't know how he'd fallen asleep here, but a quick glance at the still-dark overhang above reassures him that the doze must have been less than half an hour. 

Not wanting his sister to come out looking for him, and not even questioning for a moment that she is still keeping herself awake to await his return, Kyungsoo rises - sighing at the ache in his limps and the icy jolt in his nose - and it's only as he does so, that he finally notices the blanket that had been strewn over his form, a bundle of fabric now laid sullen on the ground by his feet. A long, clattering shiver wracks him as he stares intently at the cloth, raising his hands to press against his frozen cheeks and sighing at the warming touch. 

Not one blanket, he realises. Two.

He crouches to the ground, mind catching up as he scoops both pieces of cloth into his arms and away from the dirty gravel, huddling into them for momentary warmth. 

Mrs Kim must have put them on me, he realises, turning back to stare at the house behind him with soft, speculating eyes. It's almost uncanny - how still and quiet the place seems. Kyungsoo's fingers tighten imperceptibly around the blankets in his clutch, and, as he keeps looking, he sees a catch of fabric in the upstairs window, as if someone had pulled the curtain back in place to hide. 

With a monochrome palette surrounding him, and his heart warmer than it's been all evening, Kyungsoo huddles back into the woollen cloth on his shoulders, an astute smile playing into the curve of his heart-shaped lips and crinkles by his eyes.

---

Eun-Seo is awake when he gets back in, rushing forward to open the door for him before he even has the chance to grasp a hold of the handle. 

"Where were you - you took so long! What happened?" She whisper-yells in a rush, eyes wild and potent with straining, earnest worry. 

A sharp, unanticipated pang twists in Kyungsoo's heart, rooting and hard. This should be mum, he thinks before he can stop himself, but he forces that firmly away, reaching out to rest a hand on Eun-Seo's shoulder.

"Eun-Seo, don't worry so much," he assures, granting an easy, genuine smile, and that startles him. His hand falls, curling back around the folded blankets in his grasp and the movement makes Eun-Seo notice them.

"Don't ask," Kyungsoo says before she can, a small laugh slipping past his lips as he stares down at the armful. Now that he's in a light place, he can clearly see the design on them, and it's the first time he's found humour in this, but the owls dotted around on the patterned cloth are so wonderfully, ironically fitting, and they make him smile a huge, unrestrained smile.

"Go to sleep Eun-Seo," Kyungsoo says, thumb tracing the feathers on an owl's head, "I'll be in bed soon, okay?"

When she doesn't immediately leave, Kyungsoo looks up at her, at the fear instilled in her creased forehead, the reluctance in the way she bites furious red into her lips. Kyungsoo's smile falters, and he blinks his gaze away, looking to the ground and back up to her in a sharp couple of seconds as he tries to find the right words to say.

"I won't do anything, Eun-seo," he settles for eventually, voice barely a whisper in the quiet dim of their living room. There isn't a sound from up above, not even a stir or a thought from his parents about what has happened in the last few hours, and what Eun-seo alone is so afraid of happening again. 

"It was- I was being stupid," he offers, face scrunching with the difficulty of bringing such a topic to light. "I- I'm-"

But the pad of a finger guides his face up by his chin - just slightly, just enough for his eyes to meet those of Eun-seo at the level of her smaller form - and there's abruptly nowhere left to hide.

"Kyungsoo," Eun-seo says, tone a sombre, chilling soothe, "that wasn't stupid. Don't-don't think of it like that. You- a weaker person would've done something worse, done something earlier. But you..."

Her other hand raises, the dulled grey of the blade resting acutely between her thumb and forefinger, and she guides Kyungsoo's head back when he tries to move away again, waiting for his eyes, which had darted away as if stung, to meet the object once more. And when they do-

"This is a symbol of your strength, Kyungsoo," she says.

His heart is pounding at over a hundred beats per minute, he's sure it can't be any less, and when Eun-seo gently manoeuvres one of his hands out - hands which had been curled vice-like around the fuzzy blanket for desperate, needed grounding - and peels his hand open, Kyungsoo can only watch: can only watch as she flattens his fingers out; only watch as she brings her other hand down and gingerly rests the blade in the centre of his palm; only watch as she takes each of his fingers, one-by-one, and moves them to wrap around the weapon - as if it can't hurt a thing, as if it's harmless and simple and Kyungsoo shouldn't ever fear it because Kyungsoo would never use it wrongly. 

"I trust you," Eun-seo whispers, her voice cracking in between and oh, she's crying too, sharp silent streams of tears down her cheek and over her chin like a scene from a movie. "You're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for." She stares up at him, shining orbs for eyes and an almost imperceptible tremble to her lips. Kyungsoo is too shocked by her words to formulate a response and, God, why does that hurt? Why does being strong hurt?

Kyungsoo doesn't let himself cry; his eyes, in any case, have probably reached their tear limit for today, the streaks dry over his cheeks and eyes void of wetness. And Eun-seo must see that he can't respond, because in the end she steps away and up the stairs without looking back, the gentle close of her bedroom door blinking Kyungsoo out of his stupor. 

---

Kyungsoo realises pretty quickly that he won't be able to sleep tonight, and that's always been a postmark for his hardest, most disparaging moments. It's the red in his eyes after realising how hard a crush could be, the ashen colouration of his skin and sullen droop to his next-day movements. It's an untameable Raven nest of hair when his parents forget his birthday, and a terrible, chaotic wonder of thoughts over what he didn't do and how easily it was to become a low priority. 

And, in every scenario, it's all his fault - his punishment.

No sleep for you, a voice chastises, cooing and cruel. Today's a day of suffering. 

So it's strange now as he stands here tonight, not doubting for a moment that slumber will be scarce and mischievous, but not feeling even a slight morsel of sadness or causal pain. Or maybe it's exactly that - that he's feeling true, raw pain, but that it's a different a kind of hurt, an exhilarating, hopeful thing that has his sister's words spiralling through his mind and his heart soaring with the possibility that strength still exists within him, that something can still truly be utilised to battle all he has ahead of himself. A suggestion of control when Kyungsoo fears his own weakness - it is one of the most powerful motives he can think of for continuation. 

So the blade in his hand - a sign of strength, and of the endless inter cranial thoughts that force such negative, dissonant feelings to the surface - stays where it is. It stays exactly in place, the grasping palm of his hand, as Kyungsoo steps heavy steps towards the backroom and, like it’s second nature, relays motor motions and puts both blankets in the washing machine, detergent lids and softener caps a blur to forget for darker thoughts. 

He stays up, settled on the tattered settee with his earphones blasting music that can get you lost, and staring transfixed at the whirling two blankets behind glass doors, a gruelling, twisting war of dominance - as if it isn't three in the morning, and as if the darkness in the sky isn't starting to dissipate with coloured sunrise tones. 

He stays, still, after switching the cloths between machines, dryer and freshener seats and early morning tea as the sky turns a heated, unnameable shade of orange-red from beyond his window viewpoint. 

And he stays still until his sister wakes him the next morning, opening his eyes to morning's chaotic buzz and darting his head toward the stilled cloths in the machine like it's reflexive - suddenly, abruptly, sure of how he wants to spend the rest of his morning. 

 

---

 

When Kyungsoo leaves his house half an hour earlier than usual that morning, school is not the route in mind. Instead, he turns back the way he'd walked the night before, two meticulously folded blankets cuddled to his chest as he stills to a stop before Mrs Kim's house. 

Now he's here, he dithers where he is stood, fingers wearing nervously against the blanket seams. He stares at the house like before, a light sky displaying it's simple, modest beauty, and no signs of movement show-through. 

It hadn't struck him that they may not be awake. He's fairly certain that both Kim's have a job, or, at the very least, both Kim's are constantly busy, and it's as he wracks his brain for any sign of movement from any of the household members that it hits him that he's never actually seen their son. 

Does he not live here? Kyungsoo wonders to himself. It would make sense - the Kim's are old enough to have a son old enough to live alone. Or maybe it's just that Kyungsoo doesn't look well enough. And given how little attention Kyungsoo pays to the people in his neighbourhood, that might be the case.

Kyungsoo had a friend from his neighbourhood once. It was a blooming, sporadically innocent thing, swift conversation exchanges and mutual acknowledgement that the other was nice to talk to. He was one year younger than Kyungsoo, and this had been in the nine months where the bullying had started to worsen. Kyungsoo had clung onto the possibility of friendship after losing so much of it like a lifeline, cautious and exhilarated by social interaction with someone closer to his age.

And then Kyungsoo's mother had started a fight with his neighbour's parents (Kyungsoo won't sugar-coat or defend - it was, and it always is, his mother) and they had, without speaking, without instruction, drifted apart. Though to Kyungsoo it felt more like being ripped apart. 

He's moved away now, that possible friendship. All the way to Japan, a month or so after Kyungsoo started getting better with Eun-seo by his side. He hadn't even said goodbye, and Kyungsoo doesn't look at the houses around his own anymore. 

So he can't really say for sure who lives around him, or even whether he's seen them. His neighbours aren't people he wants to know, wants to get close to. Minimal exchange and then a face to forget; that's all he ever wants from them now.

This is dangerous, he realises suddenly, prolonging interactions which, at any given moment, could disappear. Kyungsoo's learnt to see things as temporary, just as he'd done with Jongin. The fact that Jongin had been different doesn't mean Kyungsoo is so easily going to let his guard down.

But before he can even think of leaving like is stirring his thoughts, he hears a loud, distinctive click, and watches, frozen, as the front door to the Kims' house is pushed open from within. 

And isn't that a sign.

She looks as prim and organised as usual: hair twisted into a secure bun; donning the smart, sensible business dress like the rich mothers in those TV dramas. She would fit that character to the very last detail if the house she left wasn't middle-class and the red in her eyes wasn't from tears, but from late night paperwork and dedicated overtime. 

Her weakness is something rare, Kyungsoo realises, now that he's taken the time to look at her in her prime. If she's anything like he is, Mrs Kim won't want to see him.

And it seems a line of similarity does connect between them when Mrs Kim finally notices his presence and her whole countenance straightens, lips twisted tight in a purse and eyes shrewdly vacant from the situation.

Before she can speak, for she does open to do so, Kyungsoo holds the blankets out from his chest and her focus darts. "These are yours?" Kyungsoo asks, even though he has no doubt; it's more for her sake than for his. Mrs Kim does not seem to be the type of woman who likes to be understood, so Kyungsoo will pretend he doesn't. "I washed and dried them for you so they're clean now."

These words make Mrs Kim react. Her sternness dissipates, her disconnected gaze boring into him like a laser in the form of a warm, earnest worry.

"Did you even sleep last night?" She queries aloud, stepping forward to meet Kyungsoo and relieve him of the two folded blankets.

Kyungsoo laughs at that, though it sounds like a poison to his personal system. It is so easy to tell that she is a mother. Kyungsoo wonders if his own would be so immediately recognised for something so seemingly simple, but the answer is obviously one way, and that stings in a different place to the usual.

"Did you?" Kyungsoo asks back, and the way her lips twitch just slightly at the question has Kyungsoo smiling soft and heart-shaped. 

"Shouldn't you be at school?" Mrs Kim suggests, her tone light and softly chiding, only Kyungsoo sees right through it. He sees the age still shining in her eyes, as potent and fierce as last night (though she has tried to hide it behind smart clothes and sleek hair) and he sees the redness in them from her fast tears and her moment of weakness just hours earlier. 

It makes his chest ache, to know that his elder is suffering so much, and he realises, with a start, that he'd much rather it was him taking on such torment and crude lines of gossip. 

It probably will be, he realises then. When I come out. God, that would be a field day for the ladies in his neighbourhood.

"I still have time before first bell," Kyungsoo assures. "Sorry- do you have to go?"

She looks honestly apologetic when she nods her head yes, frail and kind. "I'm going to see my-"

But she stops, eyes growing vacant and distance as if she'd been about to say something wrong. Kyungsoo, seeing the action, feels his stomach swoop uncomfortably.

"Your son?" He guesses, though it's not really a guess, and the way her face changes at the word, like she's scared of being cooed at and mocked, makes Kyungsoo wish that gossip was illegal. 

Her initial response to the word deflates, a timid, purposeful calm falling over her countenance, like she's just remembered what Kyungsoo had done for her last night. 

“Sorry," she says, "I should be able to say that more proudly, shouldn't I?"

She straightens up, forces a smile, hands clutching a tighter hold around the fabric in her grasp like they're a lifeline.

"I'll just pop these back inside," she says, moving to turn away, and something screams at Kyungsoo to stop her, to pinch the force from her smile and alight within her a fresh, genuine countenance that she can be proud of, but no words leave his mouth. 

"No," he calls in his head. "Smile." And that thought makes him stop and wonder how many times someone has thought the same about him - searched for something as easy to falsify as an upward twitch of the lips like it's a sign of happiness, a sign of being okay, if only as a way of satisfying that uncomfortable responsibility that comes when stumbling across someone in tears or in obvious sadness. 

So Kyungsoo watches her walk away, not making any move, heart heavy, body stiff and eyes wide and curious, struck with the realisation that being in his company must be far more straining than it first seems, and wondering silently if that's why everyone seems to leave him in the end. 

 

---

 

For the entirety of the school day he is distracted by thoughts of Mrs Kim. He can't remember the last time someone else's problems have plagued his mind quite so much. The past few years have just been general variations of issues that only he has openly had to face; worrying about them, and how he can handle them, has taken up far more time than he has ever before realised.

You take my peace, you steal my time, Kyungsoo thinks. Why do I never notice how much I have lost because of you until it's gone?

At lunch, Jongin and Taemin are nowhere to be seen. There's a slick anticipation running like rainwater over the student body; the annual Christmas dance showcase is fast-approaching, and the early practices from the majority of the school's finest dancers is spiking excitement. Kyungsoo is sat at a table alone in the canteen when he first hears talk about it.

"Have you noticed?" A girl asks around to her friends, excitement laced in her tone. She doesn't give anyone the chance to respond before she barrels on, "the dance students have already begun practice!"

Which picks Kyungsoo's attention enough. He raises his head, darting a sharp, fleeting look towards the empty canteen table several feet away and finally comprehending why the canteen has lost a fair contribution of boisterous noise and loud chatter. 

"I bet this year's dances are going to be amazing!", the same girl gushes, voice high and sporadic with glee. "I really hope Jongin does another solo, his dance last year was just... just-"

"Hot as ," another girl finishes, sending the rest of the group into a fit of giggles. For some reason, the comment makes Kyungsoo twitch uncomfortably, turning his inclined head away and trying to focus back on his food, but their voices are far too loud to ignore, and he can't help to hear what they say next.

"Jongin or Kai - I'd be more than happy with either," they chatter, nodding and laughing from Kyungsoo's peripheral vision like they're saying the most scandalous of things.

"Or both," the same girl finishes, sparking a torrent of 'YOU would!'s which Kyungsoo barely hears over the blood pounding in his ears.

He doesn't know this feeling - this peculiar twist to his stomach. There's something in those words he doesn't like, and he refuses to acknowledge what his mind is suggesting it may be - the ugly, green little-

Nope. Kyungsoo refuses to even think it. 

Must just be hungry, he thinks to himself, stuffing a huge spoonful of the canteen noodles into his mouth and chomping furiously around the food, sauce on his lips.

"Kyungsoo?" A voice calls, and speak of the devil.

Kyungsoo whips his head up, mouth still full and focus instantly intent on spewing complaints at the lack of first-hand information he ever seems to receive from the taller boy, but, both his words, and his cutting gestures, halt as he does too, eyes turning wide and heart beat soaring.

Jongin is stood leaning over his table, looming and tall in a hoodie which would devour Kyungsoo and a pair of sweatpants hugging his dancer hips, a thin sheen of sweat pasted over the curves and crevices of his face and forcing hairs to his forehead and a little in his eyes. He's clearly just come straight from dance practice, and he shouldn't look good - this sweaty, untamed statement and shaggy mess of hair. 

But oh god, he is just so effortlessly, so unexpectedly attractive like this, that Kyungsoo can't even believe it, has to actually suppress himself from visibly shivering at the look of the boy before him and dig nails into his clenching thighs.

Okay.

He concedes.

Perhaps he had been a little jealous.

(God ing dammit.)

"Jongin," he says, or he tries to say, but it comes out as a garbled call through the food in his mouth, and his brows furrow in frustration. Jongin laughs openly at his state, little sympathy in his gaze, and gives a dragging, contemplative hum, and Kyungsoo pretends not to notice how the table of girls behind him have gone deadly silent at the other boy's presence, and their interaction. He realises that they must be watching, intent and on edge, when Jongin suddenly leans even closer, barely a hairs-width from Kyungsoo's ear, and, (Kyungsoo realises belatedly) taking advantage of Kyungsoo's voiceless state, whispers,:

"You're really cute," nonchalant and serious, and Kyungsoo splutters instantly around his mouthful, trying to speak and failing to chomp, missing the amused glint in Jongin's eyes as his cheeks turn a soft shade of pink and his eyes widen at Jongin, confused and dazed.

"Your lips are especially cute," Jongin continues, darting his gaze to said feature, even if they're covered in sauce and stretched wide in what must be an unattractive way. One of the girl's behind him gasps, and Kyungsoo's cheeks turn crimson in embarrassment, missing how Jongin swallows after the statement, and goes on with, "they're nice and heart-shaped. It's probably my favourite feature of yours."

Jongin, shut up, Kyungsoo tries to say, feeling eyes on the back of his head, but Jongin continues-

"I bet they feel really nice," Jongin says, dazed and thoughtful, softer than all the others, a whisper for only Kyungsoo to hear, and the statement only makes Kyungsoo choke harder and Jongin sober up so fast it's almost like a switch has been pressed - his own cheeks suddenly shading red, like he's just realised what's come out of his mouth. 

Kyungsoo's not even chomping anymore, mouth agape and movement paused as Jongin abruptly and nervously presses up, a small, uncertain smile on his face and a vaguely terrified glow behind his eyes.

"I'llseeyouaround," he says hurriedly, like he hasn't just dropped a ing bombshell in Kyungsoo's mind, and before Kyungsoo can even think enough to stop him, Jongin has left back through the canteen doors with a sandwich in his hand that Kyungsoo hadn't noticed he'd had, leaving Kyungsoo as a blushing, highly-confused mess, the spoken words spiralling in his head like a taunt.

God ing dammit, he thinks again, heart pounding so fast he's almost dizzy. 

 

---

 

When he goes to the group today, he knows he's late. One of his more unforgiving teachers had set an essay due for the next day, and he had powered through it at the school library, only checking the time once he'd finished.

His walk there is hurried, music blaring in his ears as always, and by the time he reaches the centre the session has already started 5 minutes ago.

A low grumble sounds in his throat as he approaches the support group doors, expecting the hallway to be empty and the chairs to be already set in dozen-wide circle, but he's startled to find that all of the members who have arrived are still stood outside, seemingly waiting around. Kyungsoo, breath slightly heavier than usual, frowns hugely, finding Tao directly before the clear doors which aren't so clear anymore - sheets of black matte paper taped over all gaps which could be peeked through. 

"Why is everyone out here?" Kyungsoo asks Tao as he approaches, eyes tracing warily over the blocked out panels of glass. The corridor is almost ominously dark with only weak synthetic glows to light it, the natural grey-tinted yellow glare of the afternoon sun sheathed and hidden away.

"He isn't letting us in yet," Tao explains, staring at the covered door with ill-disguised curiosity. "I don't really know what's going on, this has never happened before."

"Maybe Yixing has really lost his mind this time," Jongdae suggests from the ground where his legs are sprawled out, Minseok and Luhan in mirrored, lazy positions. "Do you remember that time he set up a trust exercise course for us-"

"Oh no," Chanyeol pipes up, eyes comically wide and voice throaty and quiet. "I'm so bad at those," he sighs, hands reaching up to wrap around his arms as if reminiscing about past bruises (with such gangly limbs, Kyungsoo wouldn't be surprised if this were true).

"I don't mind them," Tao says, shrugging his shoulders in easy nonchalance.

Luhan snorts, loud and garish. "That's because you and Kris are like one ing person." 

A round of agreeing chuckles ripple through the group at the comment, Tao's lips falling into a pout and cheeks turning red. He opens his mouth to speak, but Kris pipes in instead.

"Of course. I trust Tao with my life," he says seriously, bluntly. Tao's lips press together, eyes blinking in furious, embarrassed (but pleasant) surprise. 

"We know," Jongdae agrees, flapping a weak hand around to wave his words away. 

"Maybe it has something to do with the photos we took?" Baekhyun suggests as quiet and timid as always, big droopy eyes staring between all the present members in turn. "He said he was getting them developed..."

"Makes sense," Minseok agrees with a thoughtful hum, fingers playing with the strap of his backpack. His head turns, eyes on the door they're all gathered outside. 

"I wonder what Yixing's up to," he adds, almost as an afterthought. 

"Don't we all," Jongdae mutters, but his tone is fond and he smiles when he says it, making Kyungsoo do the same. 

He loves how much the group respects Yixing. In his opinion, there is no one more worthy of it. For Yixing to have started such a group, in the heart of a country that hasn't really even begun to accept such a concept as homouality - there is no act more selfless nor more brave that Kyungsoo has ever heard of.

"Hey - your lips are shaped like a heart," Jongdae announces suddenly, making all eyes fix to Kyungsoo. A heat of embarrassment flushes through his system, smile faltering and hands wringing together awkwardly. He suddenly remembers Jongin's words from a few hours earlier, replaying like a tape rewound.

"Your lips are especially cute," he hears, a staccato confession circulating in his mind, upping the beat of his heart. 

"I bet they feel really nice." 

Stop it, he thinks, taking a moment to inhale through his nose, exhale, stop blushing. 

"Errr, y-yeah..." Kyungsoo agrees, nibbling sheepishly at his lower lip, unsure of how to react.

"No, no," Jongdae reassures, flapping his arms as if to dispel Kyungsoo's thoughts away, "it's a good thing. They're cool."

The compliment makes Kyungsoo blush a profuse shade of red, eyes falling to the ground and feet shuffling where he's stood. 

"Not that I'm saying I like them!" Jongdae reassures. "I mean, not that I don't like them of course, it's just- I'm not saying I want to kiss you or anything-"

Kyungsoo's eyes widen

-"WAIT, I mean, I'm jealous of them but I don't want to kiss them because I don't like you like that and-"

Minseok elbows Jongdae's side, emitting a loud grunt of pain from the other and not-so-quietly chastising him for making Kyungsoo feel awkward.

"What did Jongdae do this time?" A new voice pipes in, and Kyungsoo does an actual double take when he sees Jongin rounding the corner, uniform dishevelled and hair a ruffled mess that looks far too good for someone after a full school day's routine.

"You're here?" Kyungsoo voices aloud before anyone can respond. "Don't you have to practice?"

For a short, momentary second, something strange passes between them. 

Their eyes meet, Jongin's as openly nervous as they'd looked when he'd left the canteen just hours before. It reminds Kyungsoo anew of the exchange which had occurred, skin tinting pink and heart stopping in his chest and he swears he can feel his lips tingling. 

But then Jongin's face turns normal, and he stops by Kyungsoo's side with ease, leaning back against the wall beside him and smiling in a sly, devious manner so vastly different to the look he had held just a moment before. "You're keeping tabs on me now?" He teases, the smirk on his face making Kyungsoo's cheeks heat once more. 

"N-n-no, I just heard!" He defends, and then- "shut up!" When Jongin continues to shake in pleasant, rumbling laughter.

"What's happening, anyway?" Jongin questions eventually, eyes drawing curiously over the covered panels in the door.

"Yixing set free?" Luhan suggests.

"You're lucky you're the oldest, brat," Kris grumbles, sending Luhan a sharp look and ignoring the way he gasps dramatically.

"UM, excuse me, is that any way to talk to your elder?" Luhan tries, but Kris doesn't even grant that a response, eyes rolling back with disinterest. 

His mouth falls into a pout, small but grossly exaggerated. "Min," he whines, sending puppy eyes to Minseok by his side. "Tell Kris to apologise."

"Ew. I think I just threw up a little," Jongdae jokes, feigning a sickly expression and false-gagging.

"S-samehere!" Sehun says (read: exclaims) from Jongin's right (wow, he moves fast, Kyungsoo thinks, internally freezing when he hears the bitterness in his tone).

"You see this mistreatment," Luhan sighs, collapsing dramatically on Jongdae and earning sharp protests from the latter that rattle through the silent corridor. 

The squabbling between the two is abruptly interrupted though when the doors finally push open, just enough for Yixing's head to pop out, and for all attention to turn to him.

"Sorry for the wait," Yixing apologises, smiling so widely it's almost unfitting. Whatever's behind those doors is making Yixing infectiously giddy, and Kyungsoo's curiosity picks. "You can come in now."

They all gather themselves, filing in through the open door one-by-one, and the reason for Yixing's excitement is abundantly clear from just one look straight ahead, a collective and rare dim in conversation falling upon the group.

It's easily one of the most spectacular sights Kyungsoo has ever laid his eyes on. Pictures, tens of hundreds of pictures, are scattered face up in the centre of their circle of chairs - all angles, views and qualities captured in ink and paper, signed by twelve different perspectives. As they approach, Kyungsoo stares down at the faces of s, a plethora of colour, shape and detail in an array of mismatched but crisply unified photos - beauty in a dozen different, viable forms laid before their eyes. Everyone around him feels it too - Kyungsoo can see it in the stillness which has settled over the hall, the slow trailing of gazes: a heady sense of captivation; inability to look away. 

Kyungsoo settles into his seat, fingers trembling just so as he stares around himself, at the pictures and at the people captured within them. Yixing glances from the ground and up to the group arriving from his seat, pride and a flush of success in his cheeks and his dimpled smile. Junmyeon sat, as always, by his side, stares fondly at him, though his eyes look tired and strained as if he hasn't slept at all last night. (If Yixing's excitement is truly as insatiable as it seems now, that may just be the case.)

"These are..." Yixing starts once everyone has seated and their gazes have begun to trail over the minute details of the pictures before them. "Our 12 views of beauty," he finishes, extravagant and beaming.

No one in the group responds - not Jongdae, not Luhan - no one. The loud subsides - stilted and open temperaments indistinguishable. The light atmosphere from before has been replaced by something heavy, something markedly wise and resonating. 

"You can look closer, if you'd like?" Yixing suggests, a twitch to his lips like he knows the answer already. 

There is silence - strong, potent - and then, of all people, Chanyeol creeps forward, braced on his lower legs as he leans down and stares wide-eyed at a particular photo just before him, and the movement is electrifying.

In the space of three seconds all ten of the arrivals have fallen to their knees and crouched on their feet to inspect the pictures more closely, chatter scarce and few - a silence yet to be pierced. Kyungsoo stares, breathless, at all the images laid before him, until he simply... stops. He sits on the ground cross-legged, seeing from his peripheral vision how others walk behind him and hands stretch out to pluck gems from the crowd, but Kyungsoo's gaze is transfixed upon a picture in the very middle of the layout, unable to tear his eyes away. 

From what he can see, it's a picture of himself.

And that's something extraordinary all by itself - that someone in this group has found him beautiful enough to capture alone.

Only the reason Kyungsoo is so stricken by that single square of ink, is not for his solitary presence, but instead for his pose within it- no, no, not right. His lack of a pose. 

He's not smiling, not wide and heart-shaped like people seem to find so pretty, not looking at the camera, not focused, not fazed - no.

This person has found him beautiful at a moment where he has been doing nothing: expressionless, but for a minor twitch to his lips; unspectacular, overlook-able, but for the fact that someone sees something special in it. Someone has taken a picture of him when he's been lost in his thoughts, a state that so often befalls Kyungsoo that he has never once thought another person in any corner of any country would ever find him beautiful in such moments.

And yet, he is captured.

"Kris," he says when he feels the other knelt beside him. Chatter has started up in the group again, people comparing photos and asking questions that fall to deft ears. Kyungsoo thinks he might be shaking. "Kris, can you get me that photo." Kyungsoo points, the taller following his line of sight and stretching himself to pluck the picture between his forefingers.

"You look good here," Kris comments, slotting the photograph between trembling hands, and looking up at Kyungsoo's face. "I wonder who took- Kyungsoo?"

For Kyungsoo has turned glassy-eyed, orbs wet and vision blurring at the picture from up-close and breath caught harshly in his throat, unable to form words because wow-

Someone finds him beautiful.

"I-I didn't think-" he tries, but even speaking is a difficulty with how strongly he is shaking, head moving from side-to-side, dull and disbelieving. A terrible memory appears swiftly in his thoughts, a memory from years back, from that one day he wishes he could forget, that one day that never fails to torment him in his happiest moments.

"Are you serious?" The boy had said, the act dropped and the mask unveiled.

No, no, stop, Kyungsoo thinks, eyes filling with tears. I don't want to remember, I don't want to think of-

Kyungsoo had halted, hesitated, gaze fixed on such harshness on a person who has never before been anything but soft. 

"I don't-I don't understand-" he had stuttered, eyes wide and vacant, and then-

"Come on. How stupid can you be?" A snide, cutting remark, spat like poison. 

He'd raised a hand, lifted the handwritten letter between Kyungsoo's fingers and held up words that lied.

"For one," he'd sneered, "I can't believe you thought I'd find you beautiful."

Kyungsoo shakes his head. No. No, no, no. 

He blinks his tears away, takes a deep steadying breath, and it's here he realises that Kris is still staring at him, worry in his thick brows and the subtle inquisition in his eyes. 

Kyungsoo smiles - or, at least, he strains his muscles to do so. "I'm fine," he assures, responding to the unasked question. He raises the picture, darts his gaze and then looks away with a sharp, twitching flinch. "Thank you," he says, even if he sees how Kris' worry doesn't let, remaining impassively unimpressed. 

He's saved from further questioning though when Yixing speaks up once more, calling for everyone's attention.

"Now you've seen all the pictures," Yixing starts, standing whilst everyone else is sat, "I want you all to pick three of your personal favourites, for whatever reasons you may have, and sit back down."

Three? Kyungsoo thinks, clutching the one in his hand and staring around at all the others. He sees around him how much of the group move swiftly forward to pluck pictures from the array presented, as he remains frozen, eyes darting and teeth gauging into his lower lip.

He almost falls back in shock when someone taps lightly at his shoulder, huge eyes fixing to Jongin with wiry, uneven breath passing his lips.

"Here," Jongin says, an unreadable smile stretching across his face. Kyungsoo blinks up at him, only noticing the picture between Jongin's fingers when he shakes his wrist, bringing it to attention.

"Oh..." Kyungsoo breathes, reaching out to take the photograph and flipping it around.

Immediately, a huge smile splits over Kyungsoo's face.

It's a picture of Jongin, alone like Kyungsoo was, only where Kyungsoo had been snapped with a casual, absent-minded vacancy shrouding his features, Jongin looks alive with expression. He's been captured mid-laugh, or, at the very least, mid-smile, mouth wide and teeth beaming white within curving laugh-lines, and eyes pinched into black crescents that shine with the whites within them - wrinkled and uncaringly curled in a boundless cast. 

One time, when Kyungsoo was very young, he remembers asking his father what the biggest and prettiest word there was out there that he could use to call someone else. And his father had answered-

"Lovable. If you call someone lovable, and you really mean it, no one in the world would ever not like it," an unquestionable firmness in his tone of voice. "It's like saying, you deserve every piece of love anyone ever gives you in your life. And what's bigger and prettier than that?"

And Kyungsoo has kept that in his mind for years, treating the description as something sacred and special and rarely, if ever, dishing it out.

He thinks the way his sister cares for him lovable. He thinks Yixing and Junmyeon as lovable in each other's eyes, together, as any two others could be, their relationship so easeful that Kyungsoo can't understand how anyone who sees them would ever be able to question the existence of soulmates. But he hasn't ever found a single person, by such a mere and temporary thing as appearance, lovable. It has never been a feeling he's ever felt; his heart has never soared in such a way so as to warrant the use of such a powerful word in someone else's vicinity, never had it catching on the edge of his teeth-

Except from today.

Because Kyungsoo can honestly say that he has never found anyone more easy to love than he finds Jongin to be in that moment as he looks up and sees him smiling down at him in the exact way he is in that picture, tangible crescent eyes and enchanting beaming smile in the flesh.

And that is terrifying.

Kyungsoo turns away sharply, a chuckle, stilted and harsh even to his own ears, passing from his lips. He does the only thing he can think of - shoving at Jongin's arm and rolling his eyes in an act of nonchalance. 

"God, you're cocky," Kyungsoo jokes, startling a laugh from Jongin that rattles pleasantly in his ears. 

And you have every reason to be, he thinks, staring, memorising the sound, look, feel of Jongin's laugh. 

Kyungsoo turns away to look for a final picture to add to his three (there was no way he would drop the one from Jongin - not even to save face) and he hesitates at one captured of Yixing and Tao an arm’s length away. In it, Tao is turned away mid-clamorous-laugh and Yixing stares after him with such fond warmth that Kyungsoo smiles just looking at it. He reaches forward for it, smiling widening even further at the eternal moment, and he twists his head back to Jongin-

Startled when he sees the taller dart his gaze away, like he's been struck, and squabbles where he's stood. Kyungsoo opens his mouth to speak, but his words dissipate when he sees the dusty suggestion of a blush across the apples of Jongin's cheeks, a flush down his neck and a nervy strip of red over his lips like he's holding himself back.

"I-I'm just gonna-" Jongin stutters, garbled and slow like he's been put on the spot. Kyungsoo gets it anyway, and watches Jongin leave to settle back into his seat with sharp, glimmering eyes, visible wonder on his face and in the of his neck.

He shakes his thoughts away, erratic and frenzied as they may be, and works to stand, holding the pictures close and trying not to act too awkwardly when he realises he's the last to sit down once more to re-join the circle. 

"Right," Yixing enthuses, clapping his hands against his knees and sitting up even straighter in his seat. "Now that we've done that, I thought we could talk about why you think I set this challenge for you all to begin with." He poses, staring around at each of them in turn, a jovial smile on his lips. "How, in any way, shape or form, does this relate to self-confidence?"

Kyungsoo knows immediately - he's seen it already, felt it. It's not an idea anymore, it's been certified, but Kyungsoo still hesitates to speak up, and no one else around the circle opens their mouths either. 

"Anyone?" Yixing prods.

Come on, Kyungsoo thinks, move your lips. His fingers clench at the bottom of his chair, feet turning in and teeth chewing marks into his gums. Speak, just speak.

Soundlessly, Kyungsoo clears his throat.

"Because, for once, we're seeing ourselves from other people's perspectives," he provides, the words coming out high-pitched and cracked, and heart wrenching angrily in his chest. "We... what we think about ourselves- that's not what these pictures are. It's like-because it's anonymous, what we see is the truth. An unbiased, honest view of beauty." He finishes, letting out a shaky breath. His nerves pick at the way all eyes turn to him, all thoughts and assessments, but-but-

But it's okay, because the way Yixing's eyes light up in that moment, be it for the answer or the fact that it's his, Kyungsoo's, answer, that he's the one speaking up, for the first time in all the sessions he's been here.

"Bingo," Yixing smiles, dimple shining Kyungsoo's way before his head turns to address the rest of the group.

"How many of you have seen a picture of yourself among the ones before you now?" He asks, knowing the answer - knowing everyone else does too. 

Everyone raises their hand, and isn't that something entirely readable in itself? So much can be taken from a raised hand. There are a few who show assurance, confidence, a coveted lack of timidity as they gesture their opinion with an untimely lack of hesitation. There are also, conversely, those who raise a hand on the level of their faces, fingers curled down like a wilting plant and form small and unassuming. 

Kyungsoo knows, immediately, who has combatted such a thing as self-confidence, and all it took was a small, simple motion of the hand. And Kyungsoo has no doubt that Yixing sees it too, but he lets people think they aren't so easy to read. 

"How many of you didn't think you would?" Yixing questions, a formality more than anything else. This isn't a question that Yixing's wants the right answer too; this is a question where Yixing wants to see what everyone thinks the right answer should be.

I'm figuring you out, Doctor Zhang, Kyungsoo realises as all hands, including his own, raise almost in complete tandem with one another, a sharp, unifying motion and easel of shared opinions.

Yixing hums at their response - a knowing, contemplative sound that resonates across all corners of the hall. There's something poignant about the movement - like someone with the right words could rouse him into action. Instead he lingers in a state which feels private - soundless to the group, but loud in his mind, ticking and connecting and being extraordinary. 

"How many of you, just then, didn't want to admit that you find yourself beautiful?" Yixing asks eventually, only this time he gives just a short, weighted moment for the question to settle before he continues on.

"I don't think everyone here struggles with self-confidence," he says, "but I do think that everyone here has, like any member of a minority group does." 

There's something unreadable in Yixing's eyes as he looks at each of them again, a slow, pensive look that makes Kyungsoo know he has something to say. 

"Insecurity, when you're part of a minority, is almost inevitable. When you're in an environment where there is such a negative stigma around any aspect of your life, it is very easy to doubt yourself. And I'm sorry that life is like that," he pauses, lips tugging down and mood turning sombre.

"I'm sorry that you've been born into a time where the idea of acceptance is only just being considered. I'm sorry that people even doubted the normality of this to begin with. I'm also sorry about the fact that everyone here, if you haven't already, is going to face many harsh, negative things that you wouldn't have to face if you liked who the media told you to like, and fit into the majority group like you're 'supposed to'." He says. And even if he shouldn't be the one apologising, it feels so, inexplicably good to hear it, to know that, even in a make-believe, no one in this group is doing something wrong by liking the same , that they aren't the bad guys.

And yeah. That's a pretty amazing feeling.

It must show on more than Kyungsoo's face, the emotion that builds in his chest at that moment, because Yixing's eyes suddenly change, turning harder and firm.

"But," he continues, authority in his tone, "I'm not sorry about the fact that you are here.” He says, honest and blunt, shaking his head as if he can’t stress enough how much he means what he’s saying.

“I'm not sorry that you haven't lied to yourself,” his eyes meet Kyungsoo’s, “and I’m not sorry that you've chosen happiness, over a life of incompletion and regret.”

The silence in the group right now is more than just tangible. There are no words, nor a description strong enough, to convey how quiet every single member, in that second, becomes.

“If someone tries to make you feel inferior,” Yixing continues, owning the stillness, setting the pace, “if they try to make you insecure, just remember that you didn't choose to like men, and you didn’t choose to not like women. The only thing you chose is happiness.

And that is nothing to feel insecure about.” He finishes, voice barely above a whisper, a private, emotive thing that makes Kyungsoo wonder, suddenly, about the struggles Yixing has faced in his own past, and what those meant for him. It’s a strange concept – that Yixing has ever felt weakness, when he spends his whole life combatting it for others.

“Self-confidence is a personal battle,” Yixing says now, louder and edging closer to the end. “I can't help you on this - at least, not as much as I can with other things. Which is why, if it's not going to be an issue for anyone here, - which, by the way, if it is, you have every right to tell me about without any worry - I'm letting all of you take home whatever pictures you want from the lot that you’ve captured.” He announces, gesturing vaguely to all the photos still on the ground. “And I hope that, in times of insecurity, you'll be able to look at your photo and think, 'hey.'" Yixing stares around at them all, earnest, gentle; tone slow and lulling.

"'Someone finds me beautiful.'" 

He raises a picture Kyungsoo hadn't noticed he had in his hands, smiling at it sweetly. When he looks up, Junmyeon's eyes are transfixed on him, unwavering and intent, more alive than he's looked this whole session.

He tucks the picture into the cuff of his sleeves, making a show of hiding it from sight, and reaches out to squeeze Junmyeon's hand, their eyes meeting, speaking silent words. 

"Until the day you no longer need reminding."

---

When the session ends, Kyungsoo has only a solitary photo in his front blazer pocket: the one of himself, being quietly unspectacular.

The group is chattering around him, together filing out into the centre’s parking lot to make their respective ways home. Kyungsoo had hesitated over Jongin’s photo as they left, wanting so desperately to take it home for reasons he cares not to admit to himself, but embarrassment had won the battle.

It’s only now, as he is leaving, that his hesitation is growing strong, steps slow and purposefully halted as he gives himself the opportunity to turn back.

It isn’t weird, he tells himself. Chanyeol got a picture of Baekhyun, he thinks, and then immediately takes it back when he remembers that Chanyeol most probably has a crush on the droopy-eyed boy.

It’s just because he looks nice in it, he reminds himself, growing more and more convinced. And, in any case, he gave it to me…

Kyungsoo stops at last, sudden and abrupt, at the very back of the group.

"Kyungsoo?" Tao calls, pausing his steps and twisting around to face the elder, Jongin doing the same from a few paces further ahead.

Seeing Jongin makes Kyungsoo’s cheeks heat an obscene amount, swallowing down a large lump in his throat and not looking him in the eye. 

"S-sorry, go ahead, I'm just going to talk to Yixing about something!" Kyungsoo says, flapping his hands in dismissal to them both and hoping profusely that his blush isn't too visible when he turns back the way he came from.

He breathes a long, grateful sigh of relief when he hears no steps behind him from either party, short nails digging into the fabric of his school backpack.

How do I even explain this to Yixing? Kyungsoo wonders, teeth grinding down against his lower lip in a short release of nervy energy, and he’s so stressed over such a prospect that he doesn’t at first realise the atmosphere within the hall he’s just left until the moment he’s directly outside, the door strung wide open from their departure mere minutes ago.

All the photos remain in the exact place they were before, chairs laid out and the setting almost completely unchanged but for how Yixing and Junmyeon are stood, facing one another but not looking each other’s way, touching, the items around them forgotten and ignored.

Something about the scene makes Kyungsoo hesitate to enter. It feels private, personal - the way Yixing's hands rest on either side of Junmyeon's neck, and the way he ducks his head to meet the other's lowered, avoiding eyes.

"Suho- hey, hey. Look at me, come on, look," Kyungsoo hears Yixing say, voice a gently vague soothe. Junmyeon does, almost like he's unable to do otherwise, and Kyungsoo knows he should leave the very moment the man raises his head, and his eyes gleam from afar with the wetness of unshed tears.

"Is this about..?" Yixing trails off, something in Junmyeon's expression telling him all he needs to know.

Kyungsoo wills himself to move, yells at his feet to listen, but he is still rooted in place when Junmyeon opens his mouth to speak, and the words he says- no, the way he says them, makes Kyungsoo freeze.

"I-I don't know how to help, Xing," Junmyeon replies finally, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. "When I saw her today, I could see that she'd been crying, and I didn't know what to do." And it's sudden, but natural - the way he just ducks down and presses Yixing's palm against his cheek, eyes falling shut in a soft, disparaging motion. A long, broken sigh slips past his lips, and Kyungsoo watches a single, solitary tear spill down and over his cheek.

"I'm scared that she'll act like she did before," Junmyeon says eventually, this one so quiet that Kyungsoo can tell that it was the hardest admittance. "I-I don't know if I could go through that all over again, Xing-" his voice cuts off, inhaling sharply and swallowing to calm himself. 

Yixing raises his other hand to mirror the first, wiping away the one fallen tear and pressing closer forward, eyes tender and abundant with care. "Don't fear something like that," Yixing instructs, voice firm and unwavering. "You know just as much as I that your mother would never do such a thing."

Junmyeon doesn't reply to this, but his face scrunches up in response, like he's forcing himself not to cry - which, Kyungsoo thinks, he probably is. If there is one impression Kyungsoo has got of Junmyeon since starting the group, it is his strength.

And it's just as these thoughts enter Kyungsoo's head that Junmyeon's whole countenance changes. He pulls back from Yixing, turning around and reaching up to dig fingers through his hair, frustration in his tensing arms and the low, exasperated sound that passes between his lips.

"God, those neighbour ladies really are something, huh?" Junmyeon chuckles, a harsh, spiteful sound that makes Kyungsoo shrink. "Making an old lady cry so much."

Yixing follows the other with fast steps, reaching out to curl a hand over Junmyeon's shoulder and releasing a long, low sigh. He doesn't speak this time, only stands there, silent and still, and Kyungsoo actually sees the visible way that Yixing is able to calm others with just his presence alone, serene and overwhelmingly placating. They wait and wait in this quiet, without pressure or expectancy, but Yixing's hand on Junmyeon's shoulder keeps open a timeless chance for Junmyeon to speak, to respond, like he knows the other will eventually do.

And, of course, Junmyeon does turn back, both hands clutching to Yixing's like a lifeline, and whispers to him words so soft that Kyungsoo very nearly misses them.

"I hate the idea that my being in love with a man is causing her so much distress," Junmyeon starts, gazing earnestly into Yixing's eyes, "whilst all I am is happy."

Which makes Kyungsoo stop.

Cold. Icy tendrils of cold slice through his system, routing him, frozen, in place. 

No, he thinks, heart stopped, tears filling his eyes so quickly it's almost laughable, a spectacle to behold. His breath stops, lips parted and eyes twitching, darting, as his mind makes connections which spur terror in his very core.

"Suho's parents live in this neighbourhood," Yixing's words reiterate, "your houses are laid out in the same way."

Junmyeon, Kyungsoo thinks, and he's never known the elder man's family name, but he can bet almost without doubt what it will be.

Kim, he answers. Kim Junmyeon. The Kims.

No, he repeats, aloud this time if the way Yixing and Junmyeon both turn his way is any inclination. 

"Ky-Kyungsoo..." Yixing starts, confusion laced in his tone, "what are you still-"

But he stops mid-question, when Kyungsoo really starts to cry seeing Junmyeon's face head on - the hurt, the sad, the muted anger marring his kind, kind features and plaguing his thoughts. His heart jolts again, eyes locked to his elder, and mind set on the thought that his mum has contributed to that, his blood, his parent, his supposed-role model, and Kyungsoo has never felt shame course so fiercely through his system before-

And has never wanted to fight so hard to change his mother's mind, never wanted to shun away a feeling as strongly as the terrible one which currently grips him in place.

Yixing and Junmyeon have both since approached him, trying to calm him down, halt his tears enough for an explanation, but seeing the way Junmyeon's expression switches from livid upset to honest, pure worry just makes Kyungsoo cry harder, feeling abruptly unworthy, undeserving of such a treatment when his own family has made the man so sad just moments before.

Kyungsoo doesn't calm down, and there are tears running harsh and hard down his face when he turns to Junmyeon now, and forces out a garbled apology, insistent and incessant, over and over, "sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry," until Junmyeon's worry laces with confusion, and the two men before him are stunned into perplexed silence, abruptly unsure of what to do. 

"I'm so sorry," Kyungsoo repeats, almost a wail with how his tearful state affects his speech, messes his audibility, halts his point from being put across. He feels tears clinging in pearls across his lower lash line, marring his vision, and it makes him cry harder, thinking of how much of a mess he is right now. "I'm sorry, ple-please forgive me, I'm so sorry. I-"

"Kyungsoo!" 

Yixing yells the word, the first time he's raised his voice in such a manner before, and the shock of that makes Kyungsoo's words cut off, lips parted in a gasp and tears halting as he turns droopy eyes towards the doctor stood before him with still-trembling lips and tears streaking continuous marks down his cheeks. He doesn't know what to say, and Yixing, snatching the opportune silence, speaks instead. 

"Kyungsoo," he says, as soft as ever, grossly far from his shout from before. "Why are you apologising?"

And it's funny really, how as soon as Kyungsoo's given the chance to answer, and to apologise to Junmyeon properly, he's suddenly too ashamed to do so, to admit what his mother has done. 

Be strong, Kyungsoo, he thinks to himself - except, no, no it isn't him saying it, not his voice soothing in his mind, but it's the voice of Jongin, encouraging and sincere, so painfully assured, unquestioning in tone as he, without permission, enters Kyungsoo's thoughts. "You're so strong, Kyungsoo," Jongin says- faux Jongin, the voice of Jongin-

No, the memory of Jongin, Kyungsoo corrects, remembering the exchange from when he had broken down in the group, Jongin's words whispering him back to the present.

Jongin thinks I'm strong, Kyungsoo remembers. I need to be strong, he says. Jongin believes in me.

So Kyungsoo closes his eyes. He breathes in deep, exhales just as deeply, and from every crevice within him, every corner of himself, his shadows and centres, Kyungsoo summons a strength he hasn't tried to summon in years, and thinks of a boy he's terrified of falling for, but who he can't seem to stay away from.

You're strong, Kyungsoo thinks.

"My mother," Kyungsoo says.

They stare at him, confused by his words, by the certainty in his eyes, and Kyungsoo continues, even if he still cries, and he still trembles as he speaks, even if it's still difficult and he fears so, so much-

"My mother is one of those women," Kyungsoo says, eyes snapping open, admittance in a shaky, quiet exhalation. He sees how Junmyeon grows very still at the words, a statue of shock, and he keeps speaking before he can stop.

"The Kims, with the nice lawn, and the son. Kim... Kim Junmyeon?" He stutters, gaze averting when the man still stays deadly still. "You..." Voice crack, breath out, in, try again Kyungsoo. 

"Y-Your parents live in my neighbourhood, I think." Strength. "No, I- I'm pretty sure," he corrects, swiping the fast tears from his cheeks and sniffing loudly. "And I'm sorry... I know she is one of those women, I don't even doubt that for a second. But your parents, you - don't deserve that. No one should ever be made to cry so much, so sadly, especially not when they're alone and they're outside and it's so cold." He raises his eyes, tears pooling harshly in them and blurring his vision. "I'm- I'm really sorry."

And he breaks down. He breaks down with images of Mrs Kim doing the same, haunting behind his eyes. He breaks down with Junmyeon's saddened, angered words reverberating in his head as a mantra. He breaks down when he thinks of his mother, and how much it hurts, for the first time ever, to call her that, and he breaks down when he thinks of the way Junmyeon will look at him, the way Yixing will look at him and-

"You- you're the boy, aren't you?" 

Kyungsoo's head darts up, confusion washing through his system when he sees Junmyeon's eyes, and doesn't see hate or anger, but sees a pure wash of gratitude and care.

"Wha-" Kyungsoo starts to ask, thick brows furrowed and questioning, but his words cut off when Junmyeon abruptly scoops him into his arms, burying his face into his shoulder. Before Kyungsoo can react to the abrupt action, Junmyeon starts to shake, instantly, almost imperceptibly, in fast, silent tears, and the shock of the action makes him freeze in place.

"Oh god, Kyungsoo," the man whispers, a broken, croak of a sound so unlike Junmyeon that Kyungsoo’s breath hitches in shock.

"Th-thank you.” The elder breathes, a shaky exhale into Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “I can't- I just- thank you so much.”

And Kyungsoo does what he thinks anyone else would do in such a situation.

He pulls up his arms, wraps them gently around Junmyeon’s firm but trembling back, and makes sure he doesn’t cry alone.

 

---

 

A/N

Wow this is a monster – 10.8K bby!

I’m sorry it’s late, but it’s kind of like a double update so plz forgive meh? *puppy eyes*

SOOOOOOO many hints to Kyungsoo’s past in this. Anyone got any ideas about it? *wiggly brows*

Hope you liked it. ^^ Please comment opinions below <3