26. I DON’T CARE, I DON’T CARE- I DO CARE.

The leader- Chin Ho.

It feels strange - Kyungsoo has never really thought of the leader’s name aloud, at least not for a long, long time. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment he’d stopped using it, nor what had first compelled him to do so, only that the leader had always felt like a more suiting name for such a long time of Kyungsoo’s school life.

Yet, now that he’s heard it - Chin Ho -, now that it’s been spoken aloud around him, the spell is well and truly broken. Kyungsoo feels inexplicably as if the name is suddenly more human, and thus more fitting - at least for the Chin Ho he knows today. Taking away his name had been, at the time, an act of need, a way to justify Kyungsoo’s weakness through such a personal and soundless dehumanisation. No one had to know, no one had to get hurt, and it would help him; somehow, inexplicably, it made things easier.

But today, this afternoon as Kyungsoo traipses slowly toward home (not the support group, which he’s been avoiding, and justifying his avoiding for through crappy, senseless excuses no one can hear him concoct, fully knowing that it’s just to avoid the possibility of watching Jongin ignore him for an hour and a half straight) he doesn’t feel weak. In fact, he doesn’t feel like the leader even suits his nickname anymore. For the first time since Chin Ho had targeted a violent jeer Kyungsoo’s way, Kyungsoo thinks the boy deserves his name.

It takes a few minutes after Chin Ho and his father has left for Kyungsoo to get moving again, his steps slow and mind buzzing. He can’t help it; his curiosity is piqued, and in more ways than he can even fully comprehend. He’s always thought that there is something else to Chin Ho, something hidden that he can’t alone figure out. If Chin Ho is a puzzle, Kyungsoo has just laid down some pieces he hadn’t known he’d had until they’d fallen onto the board. But the rest of the box is empty, or at least jumbled beyond help. Kyungsoo doesn’t know how to even begin finishing this puzzle.

He halts suddenly, soles of his school shoes scraping over the cool gravel pavement at the abruptness of his action. It’s a windy day, and his hair must be wild in the air, the skies above greyed but without rain or snow. In a few days, there’s supposed to be a storm, the kind of storm that throws down rivulets of waters for hours without falter, painting black shines into the ground and white glowing droplets between strands of muddy grass. The type of storm that invites a new season.

Kyungsoo uses gentle fingers, tugs his phone from his pocket and holds it loosely, gingerly, like it’s a block of sharpened glass pressing teasingly to his skin. With his other hand, he pulls up his messages, and scrolls down, down, down, until he sees one he’s not reread in weeks.

Don’t snitch, .

The words don’t have quite the same effect as they did the first time, but there’s still something there - something brief and muted, but, distinctly, there. But Kyungsoo doesn’t give himself time to change his mind, doesn’t allow that feeling to take a hold of him.

Instead, he unblocks the number in a short but swift second, and saves the contact anew.

Park Chin Ho.

Slowly, softly, Kyungsoo locks his phone.

The wind around him suddenly stills.

There is only a few days left of school now before Christmas break, and Kyungsoo is glad for it - since speaking to Eun-Seo and seeing Ryeowook, the idea of not having to see Jongin for a while seems like a good one to him; missing someone who doesn’t seem to be missing you back is physically and mentally exhausting. He still doesn’t dare go to the support group sessions, though he’s sure that Jongin wouldn’t be there what with the showcase now fast-approaching, but for the thin possibility that he may be wrong, he uses his afternoons instead to revise and lose himself in school work.

As with any ‘last weeks’ at his school, there is an ever-present buzz as he walks through the hallways between lessons, the prospect of a showcase in the forefront of everyone’s minds. The end of the half-year terms always gives light to this sort of static excitement, people conversing and theorising about the acts of the coming show and the most coveted performers among them. It’s this idle gossip that helps wear away at the stress of past mock exams and particularly frivolous assessments that the student body faces, but for Kyungsoo this year it also renders it almost impossible to not think about Jongin, his name passed around the most (or, at the very least, the most audibly) as Kyungsoo walks in his five-minute changeovers. Talks of the showcase too have forced Kyungsoo to accept that it’s happening, and happening very soon, and to think over whether or not he wants to attend this year’s.

It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy them - it’s always a grand show, and a generally entertaining night -, it’s more that he doesn’t know if he will be able to. Even if he’s been avoiding seeing Jongin’s face in school, trekking paths where there is no risk of even glimpsing the taller boy among his peers, Kyungsoo still wishes to see him. What he aches for really is to see Jongin when Jongin can’t see him back, to look his way without having to prepare himself for a fallen face or one that’s blank, and the showcase is the perfect opportunity for that. In it, he could lose himself in the crowd of his peers, hidden in the darkness of the audience chairs as Jongin performs in all the lights. It seems easy - or, at least, like it might be cathartic.

But Kyungsoo is also scared, horribly so - afraid that if he sees the other’s face as it normally is, even for a moment, even for the most split of seconds, it will be too hard. That the idea of Jongin being okay, that seeing that for himself - how little the other is affected by their situation - might only break him just that little bit more.

Kyungsoo doesn’t know - can’t know. But on that Tuesday lunchtime just two days before the scheduled event, when someone approaches him in uniform and offers to sell him a showcase ticket, he finds himself paying the labelled price without even a single second’s hesitation, the whole exchange so swift and so simple that Kyungsoo spends the rest of the day wondering if Jongin, in the same circumstances, would’ve missed Kyungsoo enough to do the same.

“Hey.”

Kyungsoo looks up from his work, glasses perched at the end of his nose to see Eun-Seo stood just inside his open doorway, coat on and car keys dangling from one of her fingers. It’s Thursday evening, and Kyungsoo’s been avidly trying all he can to distract himself from the significance of the day - or rather, what’s happening today. The minute the school bell had rung to signify the end of final period, he had rushed home from school, laid out all and every textbook he owns, and begun reading through the most random but most difficult of passages so as to keep himself as busy and as distracted as possible.

The fact that he’d also been unconsciously waiting for Eun-Seo to find him, ears perking at the sounds of her getting ready to - presumably - drop him off at school, is just one show of how very unsuccessful his attempts have proven.

“Hey, yourself.” He ripostes with faux ease, looking back down at his textbook questions in as casual an action as he can muster.

Eun-Seo, of course, is not stupid. “What are you doing? The showcase is at 7, right?” She questions, voice curious but unforgiving.

Kyungsoo flinches, but he doesn’t look up. He forces his eyes to scan what’s before him, though none of the words are making much of any sense, as he tries to fix his tone enough to respond. Eventually-

“I’m not going.” He says idly but with firm decision, taking a deep, steadying breath through his nose as he forces his head up to meet her gaze.

Kyungsoo can’t read her. For a long moment after this declaration, Eun-Seo doesn’t even say anything, only looks his way with eyes a little speculative and brow just ever so slightly raised. There’s so much in there, in those eyes, that makes Kyungsoo want to hide away, but his room is too barren, too open-spaced, and with his books splayed out all around him there is nowhere he can really go.

“Well...” She starts slowly, tone neutral and even like she’s attempting to soothe a fire-breathing dragon - unaware of its ability to harm - as opposed to her younger brother. “Your ticket is out.” She reasons, eyes darting towards Kyungsoo’s desk where, sure enough, his ticket is laying plainly just beneath his glaring lamp light on full, unapologetic display. “And you’re dressed.” She stares at Kyungsoo’s attire, not sleepwear but jeans and a loose-fitting cosy jumper for the cold weather. “You even put socks on.”

At the last comment Kyungsoo’s legs, swaying in the air above him, drop sharply back down to his bed, almost by reflex, and Eun-Seo’s lips visibly twitch in something that looks a lot like victory.

Kyungsoo swallows. “I’m not going, though.” He repeats mindlessly, unable to provide anything more, and even to his own ears it sounds weak. But there must be something in them that makes Eun-Seo take pity, or, at least, understand what it is he is futilely attempting to do, for her face softens tenfold and when she speaks next she sounds a lot more like herself than she has since the conversation started.

“Okay.” She agrees. “But, even though I’m not taking you, I’ll be in my car for the next five minutes with the key in the ignition - just in case you wanted to know.” To which she can’t even keep her face straight if she were paid, the corners of twitching up beyond control in a way that is both infuriating and endearing at the same time.

In the end, Kyungsoo doesn’t even last two; he’s out the door and knocking on the passenger side window of Eun-Seo’s car door mere moments after, before he even realises what that fully means.

Eun-Seo gives him very strict instructions to phone him the very moment he wants to be picked up, no matter what the time.

“You won’t come in with me?” Kyungsoo asks with his hand poised on the door handle, head twisted back in question.

Eun-Seo only fixes him with a soft, deliberate look. “Little brother, I think we both know this is something you want to do alone.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t know how to deny that.

When he walks through the school’s entrance door, the foyer is bustling with students and parents alike chattering amongst themselves as they wait in a rough line to get in. The seats for this showcase are not allocated, unlike the end of year ones, and the first-come-first-serve policy has always meant on onslaught of early arrivals on occasions like this, with the odd student staff members and teachers trying to keep some semblance of order. Among them, Kyungsoo spots Ryeowook having a conversation with a very haggard-looking parent, and he grants the elder a quick smile which is briefly returned before he’s lost in the crowd of waiting people all over again.

When the doors finally open, Kyungsoo is swept in so quickly that he couldn’t have turned back in that moment even if he’d wanted to. Instead, he takes a moment as he walks down the aisle to be directed to the general seating areas to look about himself.

It’s the usual layout of a school event, only more slick and definitely more professional; the very essence of the dance hall screams performing arts, the specialisation showy and proud in a way that is painfully unapologetic: strobe lights glaring in stage-white, wood panels polished and laid afresh upon the bare stage fixtures, programmes bound and laid out on that thick, good quality printer paper that keeps the colours from turning scratchy and the HD distinctly HD in the photos of the featuring students. Kyungsoo’s been to his fair share by now, but it always, unfailingly stops him short to think that this is his school.

He finds a seat closer to the back than the front, one in the very corner and by himself in case he wants to leave, but for now he waits in place (programme open on Jongin’s face in his lap) and tries to sort out his thoughts.

For the most part, he feels okay - more than he thought he would anyway. Kyungsoo believes inexplicably that he can do this, that it’ll be fine, just like any other event he’s been to, and he holds onto that idea - that this will be easy - like it’s a lifeline. He’s here to watch the performances, he tells himself, not just to see Jongin, and he wants to try to enjoy this evening as much as he possibly can.

What Kyungsoo isn’t prepared for is Jongin being the opening act.

Maybe something, somewhere, got jumbled in Kyungsoo’s head for him to believe for even a moment that Jongin’s and Taemin’s duo dance would be their only performances of the night, for when he thinks of the supposition now he marvels at how he had truly believed such a notion - of course, of course the school’s best dancers would have solos. It is a fact that is indubitable, one that he knows, has even witnessed in the past few years with his own two eyes.

But still, when Jongin’s name is called out on the crisp intercom, his age and other statistics just following for the possible scouts among the audience, Kyungsoo is still in the middle of psyching himself up, of calming himself down. It unhinges him then when the boy he’s been hurting over and thinking about for the past however many days traipses confidently out to centre stage and- and-

He looks breath-taking. Kyungsoo’s seen him like this before in past performances -the all black get up with sporadic, thin lines of excess fabric hanging over and around him, tight pants and dangerous, red-rimmed eyes that glitter down at the crowd in soundless challenge, effortlessly mussed hair mixed with chalky white like someone’s just run their fingers through it, the whole look beautiful and potent and otherworldly in a way that screams watch me, see what I can do - but it still makes his heart pound faster than it’s done in days.

The track starts up, the crowd around Kyungsoo coming alive with a cheer stupendous in its volume, and then the voices taper out and Jongin moves fluidly from his starting position to his first move like he’s done it a thousand times over (which he probably has) and- and-

He is magnificent. Jongin always has and maybe always will shine brightest when he’s dancing, and it will forever astound Kyungsoo, even in their current circumstances - the amount of talent the other boy has. The dance itself is beautiful, all swift, flowing motions paired with jagged twists of his limbs at faster beats, the track smooth but exciting and a perfect match to showcase Jongin’s skill. His whole performance tells a story in the most magical, enchanting of ways, and Kyungsoo, who’s never been all that good at reading dance, stares instead at Jongin’s expressions as the dance progresses. At the thin sneer of his lips with the beginning sequence, the scorching, coal-black eyes he stares down the audience with, then the way they close almost in pain but reverently so with the sway of his form. How after, when they open brighter than before, more alive than Kyungsoo has witnessed them to be for weeks, his whole body speeds up with that brightness, an intensity that only increases and increases as the dance continues on and on and it’s- it’s unbearable.

That’s probably why, without help, right in the middle of the routine, Kyungsoo feels it - the way his throat pinches in warning. He’s teetering on the edge of something, toes curling over a precipice, and it’s something that’s been simmering ever since Jongin first walked away from him. That moment, in particular, is one Kyungsoo has been playing and replaying over and over in his mind - in the end it is that and that alone that Kyungsoo thinks about, the way Jongin had looked just then and how significant it had felt, how much it had torn away at Kyungsoo’s heart.

He’s glad about the stage lights glaring Jongin’s way, masking the individual faces of the spectators in a blur of black silhouette, but he also can’t help but to hope for Jongin to see him anyway; somehow, impossibly. His heart pangs, and his fingers curl around the sides of his chair, clutching there like the harder he does so, the faster the feeling will go away. It’s just that Jongin is so stupidly, stupidly beautiful, and it feels like life’s attempt at a ty metaphor to have him in the spotlight, shining, whilst Kyungsoo watches soundlessly in a crowd where Jongin can never really see him.

Kyungsoo was wrong - this is not easy, he doesn’t know why he thought even for a second that it would be. It hurts, everything hurts, the hurt so big that Kyungsoo doesn’t even know where it comes from anymore. But in the crowd, with hundreds of peers surrounding him, eyes enraptured by the performance on stage, and the hall sheathed in almost complete darkness, there is almost no better place in the world for that to be okay.

Slowly, quietly, Kyungsoo begins to cry - not heaving, bellowing cries that are noticeable enough to demand a crowd of spectators, but through a steady stream of tears pouring from both of his eyes and running rivulets down his cheeks and chin. He doesn’t wipe his face - he doesn’t even dare to sniffle loud enough, nose turning runny within seconds, but there is something liberating, invigorating, in the action, such an open yet hidden outburst of emotion finally releasing from weeks of being kept pent up. It’s odd then, the way time passes for him, like something higher is messing with it, with him. More acts come on, perform, show off their skills, but Kyungsoo barely registers them; he only weeps silently to himself, gaze lost far, far away, and throat turning hoarser and hoarser as each performance starts and ends. It’s the only way he can keep up an idea of passed time, each new call a hint as to how far on the showcase they’ve come.

He only refocuses himself when he hears Jongin’s name once more, maybe five performances passed in, and his faraway eyes fix to the stage.

Taemin’s there too this time; this dance must be their main one, the one which has stolen so many of their hours for practicing. Somehow, the other boy’s presence makes it easier. Kyungsoo finds himself able to marvel once more at their effortless syncing, the match in their motions, even their expressions - almost flirtatious and teasing in the way they pair their faces together. On stage, as opposed to in the practice room, it is, impossibly, even more impressive. Kyungsoo tries to focus on that, on his enjoying it, but what he ends up dwelling on, impossibly, is how suited the two would be if they ever became a couple. On stage, they both shine - iridescent in their own ways but together, in sync, in a way Kyungsoo has never seen two people work before. Both, indubitably, beautiful. This, Kyungsoo thinks as he looks out at them and the way they move together, makes sense. Thismatches. Not Kyungsoo and Jongin- not Kyungsoo. Not even close.

How did he ever think he was even close?

He leaves just before the final act of the night (Taemin’s solo dance) is called on stage, so that the school corridors are like a desert plane - each clatter of his footsteps reverberating loudly in its absolute silence. It’s only when he finds himself in the toilets (thankfully, empty) that he lets his cries from before gain in volume - a swift and instant change, one second plain and the next a stream of tears pouring from his eyes, like a switch flicked. His hands claw into the open sinks, lids scrunching at the sight of his reflection in the mirror.

He looks like a mess: his alabaster skin is clustered with splotches of red over his cheeks and the point of his nose; his eyes are wet, lashes white and dewy from the moisture; even his hair, styled before he’d left, is rumpled now, though he can’t recall the exact moment he’d run disgruntled fingers through them nor what exact thought had propelled him to do so.

He’s sure just looking at himself that he’s never cried quite like this before, and, somehow, he feels a wave of shame flush over him: that he’s so affected, that he is hurting so bad for something so small. It’s scary - this type of crying. Kyungsoo feels inexplicably as if his body is no longer in his control. In fact, he has no idea how to even begin calming himself down, and this vulnerability is terrifying.

What he does know is that he just can’t be here anymore, not for a second longer, and even though his face is red and blotchy and he risks Eun-Seo noticing exactly just how severely he’s been weeping this evening, he doesn’t give himself enough time to recover. Instead, he wipes haphazardly at his face, ensuring that the past tears have been erased, gives himself a shaky glance back at a torn-looking shadow of himself in the mirror, and steps back outside.

When he leaves, the show must be over, for the halls are bustling with students and parents-alike in the direction of the hall’s main entrance. Kyungsoo keeps his head down and, not wanting to brace the crowd, not in bright light anyway, turns quickly the other way, down the deserted paths of the school corridors.

It’s too hard - not speaking to the elder. This is what Kyungsoo thinks as he walks those halls, still holding back tears. Even if it’s pathetic, even if Kyungsoo feels so weak - and not in the way he’s used to -, so vulnerable for being so affected, he can’t help it. If he could have anything tonight, any one thing, it would be to be able to speak to the elder - even if only a second, even if he risks another glance away, another brusque shutdown. Just to hear Jongin’s voice-

Kyungsoo can’t put a name to the state he’s in right now: his mind is mess, a jumble, his steps uneven as if physically manifesting his thoughts. Kyungsoo hates it - the way he’s feeling, the confusion, the questioning, the desperate grappling for an answer.

It’s only when he suddenly, and quite without instruction, stops in his steps, that he looks about to see where exactly it is that he’s found himself, and what he sees makes his chest heave.

Maybe he’d been subconsciously thinking about it - the offer Jongin had made him before their fight - for he’s stood directly outside the backstage doors, and it has Jongin’s words from before repaying in his mind with impeccable, excruciating accuracy.

“You can come see me backstage. Maybe. If you, um, wanted.”

That same nervy tone, the way his eyes had lowered to the ground and darted in bashfulness, how it had been one of the few moments Kyungsoo thought maybe- just maybe - Jongin might like him too. It all comes rushing back, the force of the memory like a harsh whirlwind.

He’s tempted. He’s so tempted, so wanting, so aching. But Kyungsoo doesn’t know that he could handle it if he gets sent away, if Jongin has quietly rescinded the invitation since their ‘fight’ and it becomes a real, irrefutable thing - that they can’t and won’t get past this, that whatever damage was done cannot be undone and that Jongin is well and truly out of Kyungsoo’s life.

Even the thought is paralysing, terrifying in ways that Kyungsoo has never been more afraid of losing someone before.

His eyes fall shut, fists clenching and unclenching by his side. He wishes he knew what to do, what is best. Everything is so hard, so complicated – Kyungsoo doesn’t even know how this all happened to begin. The only thing he does know, more than anything else in this moment, is that he needs to get out.

Numbly, Kyungsoo reaches for his phone, and - through eyes which are barely seeing - he sends a text Eun-Seo’s way asking to be picked up, forcing the possibility of waiting for Jongin out of his thoughts. It vibrates a split second later in confirmation, but he hasn’t the energy nor the will to check what her response is. Instead, he turns on the spot and starts to walk slowly but firmly away, the linoleum of the corridor flooring echoing his every step forward. He has not got very far though when three pairs of shoes suddenly appear in his direct vision, blocking his way in a show that is clearly to get his attention.

Kyungsoo’s still barely standing, thinking forlornly of his bed and how much he wants to be in it, of how much strength he’s using just by walking away from that door and the person behind it, but he uses his last dregs of energy to look up and face the people before him anyway, like the inevitability it is.

He recognises them immediately - they are the girls from the canteen, the ones who had been gushing over Jongin and had fixed him with that harsh, unwarranted look at their lunchtime exchange. Their faces are open, impossibly readable to the point where Kyungsoo knows they aren’t trying to hide what it is their expressions are saying, that the abundant and potent harshness within all three of their forms is something they want him to see. It’s an expression Kyungsoo has seen in the Chin Ho and his cronies, back in the day, and it has his whole form turning rigid in preparation for what is to come - like a sick, sick form of motor memory. Sure enough-

“Jesus, do you have to be such a ?” One says, and he gets it immediately when the girl who has spoken is the same one who had fawned over Jongin in the conversation he’d overheard, the same too whose look had been the most biting, the most unforgivably angered when Kyungsoo had noticed them staring. His stomach curls uneasily, a gross, sickly sort of sensation washing over his body at the unexpected confrontation, and he’s so tired, so, so tired.

“Oh, has the baby been crying.” Another girl coos in a saccharine voice, and he can’t help but to flinch - he knew the signs weren’t hidden, the tear tracks still fresh, but it’s call to attention is strangely humiliating in ways he can’t explain.

But the girls are far from done, and the main one doesn’t even give him time to recover from that blow- “What, did Jongin finally reject you then?” She laughs, but it’s a cruel, sniping kind absent of any real amusement, and it steals through Kyungsoo like a bitingly cold wind.

He says nothing, unsure how he can even respond to such a snipe - mostly for the need to protect Jongin, to hide the truths they don’t know from being uncovered, but also because of that small part of Kyungsoo that wonders over the truth to the girl’s guess. Maybe what Jongin had done, though inexplicit and with far less words, was a rejection. It would make sense, but Kyungsoo, before now, hadn’t even considered it. The possibility hits him like a slap to the face.

“You really should’ve known, little Kyungsoo.” He barely hears the words - in fact, these ones wash over him, the last still plaguing his mind and making his heart pound. “Just because a guy’s nice to you doesn’t mean he likes you. And the same goes for Taemin, of course. All these people protecting you...”

The words go on, drone on, but Kyungsoo is trembling as he tries to think back, wonders when Jongin had first found him out. Had it been the way Kyungsoo had hugged him after the book discovery, fallen foolishly into his arms to be held? Was it the walk to school, the way he’d been blatantly flirting? Or was it earlier, much earlier, when Jongin first took Kyungsoo to medical all those weeks ago now and he’d marvelled quietly at how attractive the boy was, even before they’d really gotten to know one another the way they do now?

Kyungsoo doesn’t know, can’t possibly know, but the idea that Jongin has already noticed and known about Kyungsoo’s feelings for him is one of the most nerve-wracking suggestions in the world.

“What, did you just around the dancers?” He hears, but he’s so beyond comprehending the spoken words, way past that stage.

He can’t help it -it just - it isn’t fair. Not just about Jongin, he realises - even though the thought of the other boy rips at something within Kyungsoo a bit - but at the fact that everyone seems to know. That this thing, this personal, private thing, a thing that should only be between himself and between Jongin, regardless of where Jongin’s heart lies, seems to be everyone else’s goddamn business. It just doesn’t make sense. What’s so different about a guy liking a guy for people to pounce on the situation so openly? Why does something like gender mean that people lose their shame, that they are so unapologetically willing to cause others pain?

More than Jongin, more than the hurt of that situation, Kyungsoo stares before him at the three, still-talking forms, and he is hit with a fresh strike of pain. Just as Kyungsoo was beginning to feel as if he’s getting somewhere with Chin Ho, as if he’s moving past a terrible four-years-strong routine, these people pop up, as biting and jeering as hehad been at the beginning, and that comparison, more than anything else, jars Kyungsoo. He knows what it looks like when people start tirades, from four years back now - it’s the type of expression that he can’t forget. And each of these girls wears it just as Chin Ho and his cronies had all those years ago, the same but on different, newer faces, and Kyungsoo is so, so tired of it.

They’re still talking, faces twisting and warping for each ugly word they spit his way, but he can’t even hear them. All he does is look blankly at the girls before him, wondering vaguely if this is how his life will be from now on, if he’ll have to go through this over and over, fight battle after battle with bare variations, just to live the life he wants to live and be the person he’s supposed to be.

In the current moment, Kyungsoo doesn’t know how he’d do it - he’s already so tired from these past four years, more exhausted than he’s ever truly admitted to himself before, and the idea of going through that again makes Kyungsoo want to breakdown in tears.

And then the central girl says words that he could never have expected to leave , words that make him stop breathing.

“Is it just like what you did to Jun-Ho?”

Kyungsoo can’t help it; his gaze raises, blood pounding in his ears as fear - harsh, gripping – peels over him at that name, a name he’s been trying to shun and forget for years. The girl doesn’t dwell on her attack, nor mention anything again, hasn’t noticed the effect even just its utterance has on Kyungsoo, but the rest of her words go to deft ears as Kyungsoo is once more reminded of that conversation-

“For one, I can’t believe you thought I’d find you beautiful.”

And the face of the boy who had spoken them – Jun Ho– circles, accursed, in his head. The girls are still speaking, still attacking, but Kyungsoo is paralysed by the idea of this boy, the idea that people from school still remember, still recall all that happened four years ago - even whilst Kyungsoo has spent all this time trying to forget. It seems so unfair, the situation insurmountable, and - more than any attack the leader and his cronies have ever shot his way - it is this, thisone - the direct reminder to his terrible public outing and the pain that boyhad caused – that truly makes Kyungsoo want to give up.

“-the idea of you being around Jongin disgusts me-“

Why is life like this?

“-It’s like you’re taking advantage of him, like you’re ing on him, stalking him. It’s psycho-“

What has Kyungsoo done wrong, why does he deserve this pain?

“Can’t you just accept that he doesn’t like men-“

Why is he always alone when he needs people most?

“Accept that he doesn’t like y-“

“Shut up!”

For a brief, minutiae second, Kyungsoo believes that he has spoken, that the words have left him without him consciously telling them to and from a slim shot of strength he hadn’t realised he still has. But, when he looks to the three girls faces and sees them twisting at something, someone, stood behind them, he realises he is wrong, and more than the meaning of the words, the idea of someone uttering them, it’s the way that they’d been spoken - the steely, pitiless tone - that replays suddenly enough in Kyungsoo’s head to make him twist curiously around, following the position of the speaker.

Jongin.

He is approaching fast, clearly just changed and leaving if his lazed, casual attire is anything to go by, and it seems he’s left a small crowd of spectating dancers behind if the few straggling forms outside the backstage door are anything to go by - each face twisted in a type of anger that matches Jongin’s own and that Kyungsoo rarely sees his spectators hold. Seeing the taller boy is like a punch to the gut, and a damn bursting all at once - after the surprise, momentary and swift, the image of the boy just metres before him but actually, genuinely, recognising him, forces impossible tears, tears which shouldn’t even be able to form, to fall in fast streams down his face.

Jongin reaches his side, his side - inconceivable, dream-like - and he stops to stare the three girls down with an expression so full of fury that Kyungsoo’s vision gets blurred from it all - overwhelmed, disbelieving, foolishly, foolishly happy that he’s here, he’s here, he’s here.

“Jongin, are you serious?” One girl says, Kyungsoo isn’t sure which for his inability to look away from Jongin’s face. “You’re protecting the now-“

“I said shut up.” It’s not a yell, just steady and controlled, but somehow that’s worse, even more dangerous, and Kyungsoo’s scared that if he even blinks it might just be a make-believe, that he’ll still be sat on one of the showcase chairs having fallen asleep mid-performance and that Jongin won’t be here, won’t be so near to him, and will instead be shining on stage - out of his reach.

“Jongin, come on-“

“I don’t want to hit a girl,” Jongin’s voice is pure rage, and Kyungsoo marvels at how he only realises the other boy is shaking for how close they’re stood together, his arm trembling tangibly against Kyungsoo’s own. “But you’re testing me right now. You have to leave.”

“But-“

“Leave.”

That word, the way it leaves his lips almost as a hiss as opposed to a real, comprehend-able form of language, seems to be what makes the girls snap from their defensive stances. The main girl, the girl in the centre, seems like she wants to say something, hanging awkwardly opening and eyes narrowing further and further as the truth of the situation finally dawns on her. But she looks Kyungsoo’s way, sees the vacancy of his look back, and then back to Jongin’s live and wired face, and it seems that combined image is enough.

“Come on, girls,” she mutters, tone sniping but cold in its instruction as she turns on her heels and starts sauntering away, the two girls following just close behind on either side. With them gone, Kyungsoo is too weak to resist, and his gaze deviates naturally to rest upon the man by his side.

Even angry, even with his eyes still fixated intently on the three girls’ retreating backs, Jongin is beautiful. Maybe the pinch in his brows, the hooded nature of his eyes cast in shadows by the poor corridor lights, is even more devastating, even more extraordinary, for Kyungsoo can’t help but to smile.

And Kyungsoo hates it.

He’s already so exhausted from everything, from all those many jeers and insults directed his way, and it suddenly feels so unfair, so infuriating that this boy has so much power over him, that even after painfully ignoring Kyungsoo for all those weeks, his mere presence is, impossibly, a happy one. He hates it- hates this feeling of weakness.

Jongin’s hands are suddenly on his shoulders, turning Kyungsoo to face him, eyes urgent and searching in a way Kyungsoo hasn’t seen in weeks, but he can’t hear what the other is saying, can’t even comprehend the situation and what it all means. His mind is a jumbled swarm, and yet, somehow, he is at a blank.

Eventually, he feels Jongin’s hand, just as warm and calloused as Kyungsoo remembers it to be, taking a hold of Kyungsoo’s own and leading him away, and all he can do is follow on numbly. The hallways are quieter now, though still not completely deserted by the sound of things, so Jongin takes him further into school, further from the entrance doors that can take them out, and Kyungsoo can do nothing to stop him.

It’s only when Jongin halts, seemingly content with their new position and the privacy it offers, that he turns to Kyungsoo and starts speaking.

“God, those girls-“ he begins, expression twisting - in anger, disgust, infuriated by what he’s seen. And Kyungsoo can’t help it, can’t hold it back - the thought, twisted, torturous: what’s different, Jongin? What’s different between the time with the cronies before the time with these girls now? What made you move forward?

Kyungsoo hates it - hates this feeling: sick, ugly, feeling. And it’s always, always Jongin - his presence, his voice, even the simple thought of him that evokes all these loud, consuming wonders. Kyungsoo doesn’t want to feel it anymore, doesn’t want confusion and doubt, fret and stress.

Jongin, suddenly, speaks his name - demeanour changing, softening before Kyungsoo’s eyes and Kyungsoo’s heart only needs that, that image, to pound a little faster.

Foolish, foolish, foolish, Kyungsoo thinks of himself, helpless to the self-onslaught and it’s this mantra, more than anything else, that tugs him over the edge.

His voice is bare, true, and ever so quiet when he speaks- “What are you doing?”

Jongin had been saying something, words gone to deft ears, for his mouth falls suddenly and resolutely shut before Kyungsoo’s eyes with a jittery sort of swiftness.

“I-what?” He stutters out, mouth hanging limply open, perplexity evident in his features, and Kyungsoo’s heart catches onfire.

“I asked-,” he stops, breathes, “-what it is you think you’re doing?” Kyungsoo repeats, voice hard and sludgy even to his own ears.

Jongin blinks, lips parted and brows furrowed in confusion, at a loss for what to say, but Kyungsoo doesn’t care, can’t torture himself all over again by caring, and he fills in the awkward gap of silence with a vigour and determination he did not know himself capable of.

He meets Jongin’s eyes, his own pair sharp and purposeful. “What you’re doing...” He starts, his whole form trembling beyond help, “you can’t do that.” He manages, looking up at Jongin through the flutter of his lashes.

Jongin stares a little dumbly, lips parted, his words clearly stolen, and he still looks painfully, painfully lovely even in the circumstances. Kyungsoo can’t bear it, doesn’t know how to, so his eyes fall shut as he goes on - a protective mechanism just until he can get his words out.

“You-“ he swallows, and it’s still hard, still excruciating, but-

“You can’t ignore me and then talk to me again whenever you want,” Kyungsoo almost gasps the words out by now, each one slipping out with a pant as the cold of the hallway peels over the wet tear tracks on his face and reminds him to breathe. “I can’t handle that,” he goes on, “I-I can’t-“ but this is where his strength finally runs out, and the words escape him before he can help them-

“I can’t not speak to you, anymore.”

Then Kyungsoo crouches down and begins to cry, loud, body-shuddering cries that quake through him, but worse, much worse, for the fact that his tears are well and truly dried out and they never do come. He just stays there, body small and eyes sore from having cried all the moisture out of them, and he howls like that, to himself, like he’s never done before, unable to stop it or lessen the force of it even if he’d wanted to.

Vaguely, he registers Jongin still stood there, maybe a little closer now, but the boy doesn’t move forward to touch him, probably doesn’t even dare. “I’m sorry- I-“ he hears the words from above escaping softly, hesitantly, Jongin’s voice almost tortured, but Kyungsoo can’t stop and Jongin doesn’t go on. He just continues crying like that, without tears and so painfully he’s sure he’s never felt quite this amount of hurt before, and comes to the realisation that this is what heart break must sound like.

Jongin stays with him through his entire onslaught of tears; Kyungsoo feels his presence lingering the whole time - watchful, worried, soundlessly there. When Kyungsoo recovers enough to get back to his feet, he tries to play it off, feign normality, walking the usual track back to the car park outside as if the fitful display of emotion had never occurred. Jongin, at the very least, does not bring it to attention; maybe he sees the resolve in Kyungsoo’s face, or perhaps he just can’t think of something to say, for they walk the corridors for a long, long minute without either party speaking a single word.

Eventually, though-

“Can I... walk home with you?” Jongin’s voice sings of hesitance, tone so soft and gentle that Kyungsoo feels his eyes pinch all over again. He swallows the sensation away, blinking rapidly into the dark corridors and ignoring the stiffness building in his chest.

“No.” It takes a second for it to register in Kyungsoo’s mind that he’s the one who has spoken, his own voice scratchy and hoarse to the point of being unrecognisable. His hand naturally raises, the pads of his fingers dancing briefly over his throat like the touch is somehow healing. Nothing changes of course, how could it, but his hand lingers there anyway - hanging in the air, a ghost of a touch against his bare skin. “Eun-Seo is picking me up,” he tags on for further explanation.

Jongin doesn’t prod; maybe he senses Kyungsoo’s tone, or maybe he can’t really think of anything to say. In any case, for all of the wrong reasons, Kyungsoo is grateful for the silence between them as they finally walk out into the dark night sky. There was a time that their silence was a comfort, a show of how swiftly they’d adjusted to each other’s temperaments and nuances; Kyungsoo doesn’t know how something like that can change so quickly. They move towards the car park area, and maybe the silence is obsolete enough that it gives Jongin strength, for he tries speaking once more-

“Kyungsoo, I-“-

“No.” This time, Kyungsoo feels it, hard evidence - that he is the one who has spoken. The vibrations of the word, though brief and concise, send a wave through his skin that he could feel as if it were instead an electric shock. Jongin, a pace ahead, stops and turns back around, moving as if to make a step back toward Kyungsoo but-

“You- you broke your promise,” Kyungsoo manages to get out, even if it hurts. Jongin’s expression twists eyes wet, clearly pained by his own, but Kyungsoo is seeing red, and he can’t stop himself. “You promised-“ he pauses, breathes a hoarse breath, “you promised you wouldn’t do that to me again-“

“Kyungsoo, your voice,” Jongin starts, cutting in, “you’re hurting yourself-“

“Jongin, I can’t go through that again, I-“

“Kyungsoo, please,” he sounds more desperate this time, visibly tearing up, “just, I won’t do it again, I-“

“How do I know that!” At this Kyungsoo actually clutches at the skin of his neck, the burn there so severe it feels like a hundred tiny fires have started up there, and maybe it’s that action, the clear pain of it, that makes Jongin’s mouth fall shut.

Tears blur Kyungsoo’s vision, and everything feels strangely hazy, but he’s started now and he knows that if he stops he’ll never ever find the strength to get these words out once more, so he goes on, voice trembling with every word-

“I can’t- I can’t keep doing this when I don’t trust you’ll do the exact same thing.” He says softly, voice just barely audible.

“Kyungsoo-“ Jongin’s own words sound strained, pleading, almost scared, but Kyungsoo only looks back at him with wide, dry eyes and resolve like none other he has felt before.

For a while, they just stand like that - neither party speaking, both soundlessly trapped in the other’s gaze. They don’t look away, the absoluteness of their stare like that of a spell, an enchantment.

And then from the corner of Kyungsoo’s eye, perfect timing, he sees Eun-Seo’s car pull up, and he lets the contact shatter.

He twists his head to the side, looks purposefully in the opposite direction to the glaring car headlights, before staring once more Jongin’s way. His whole body feels heavy, slumber seeping into his every bone, and he just wants to close his eyes, sink into bed and fall asleep.

“I have to go.” He says vacantly, refusing to look the taller’s way.

“Kyungsoo, I-“

“Please, just stop talking.” Kyungsoo’s hands have found his throat again, curling there as he takes a step to walk away.

“But I-“

“JUST LEAVE!” The shout cuts into him so much that even if he’d tried for anger, tried for force, Kyungsoo staggers in place and clutches at his neck just to check that it’s not torn right open as he whips back to look Kyungsoo’s way. At least to this though, Jongin’s mouth finally falls shut, his eyes wide in shock and expression twisted like he’s just been physically slapped.

Kyungsoo can feel the glare of Eun-Seo’s headlights, even that of her stare as she watches their exchange, but he meets Jongin’s gaze once more with a languidness that he doesn’t have, and he privately thinks the words he’s been trying to ignore since the exchange, what he really wants to say, beyond anything else, at the forefront of his mind-

Why did it take so long?

Jongin doesn’t say anything, though it feels as if they’ve had a conversation, and Kyungsoo enters the car without another glance back, sinking into his seat with fingers massaging into his throat, eyes fallen shut and trying to ignore the weight of Eun-Seo’s worried stare.

The absolute silence of the car is deafening. Kyungsoo can’t even look her way, his energy drained beyond help. In any case, Eun-Seo doesn’t ask if he’s okay - she probably doesn’t see the point when the answer is so blatant. Instead, she mutters words that Kyungsoo can’t comprehend in his state, and it’s only at the sound of the car door slamming that he grants a short look to see that she’s gone.

It doesn’t affect him; instead, with the stare gone and the silence one he faces alone, he finds himself with his eyes dropping to a close, limbs sagging with fatigue - grateful beyond words that there is only one day left of school before Christmas break.

In school, Kyungsoo spends his time aching for the day to end.

He’s in changeover, walking a little aimlessly and paying no notice to his peers around him as he goes, feeling more drained and helpless than he has felt in weeks. His voice last night had been completely lost for the whole evening, but he’s packed a drink therapy Ryeowook had taught him back when he was his vocal coach and, though it hurts, he is able to speak. Eun-Seo had been appalled at the state of it, coddling him and putting him to sleep like he was twelve again and not seventeen and heartbroken. She had stayed with him the whole night, in the morning explaining her presence as an accidental capture by slumber, though Kyungsoo secretly thinks she’d seen the way Kyungsoo had quivered and fallen, and protected him from himself in the only way she’d known how to.

Even in amongst Kyungsoo’s thoughts, he registers something strange in the back of his mind about the crowd surrounding him where he walks - the way they hustle more than the usual, noise level peaked as if something has happened. Kyungsoo has been too out of it to focus much on what’s been going on, so it’s only now, after noticing the raised noise levels, that he focuses enough to hear the words being uttered around him.

“Yeah, but Kim Jongin-“

His footsteps falter, then stop completely, right in the middle of the hall with his eyes still trained on the ground and shoulders hunching high by his side. Something flips, uncomfortable, uneasy, in his chest, and he hates, hates, hates it.

I don’t care, he thinks to himself firmly. I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.

But when he restarts his steps with that mantra playing firmly in his mind, he can’t have moved any more than a metre before he hears it again-

“Jongin, though, Kim Jongin-“

And he goes ice-cold.

I don’t care, he repeats, but it’s weaker this time, and he tries it aloud-

“I don’t care,’ voice in the barest of whispers. “I don’t care.” He speaks louder, even if his thoughts wonder, theorise - is the bustle this loud because of Jongin? What could’ve happened? What is happening? Is Jongin oka-

“I don’t care,” he repeats, louder, eyes falling shut and fists clenching over his school bag straps. “I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care-“

Except he does.

Kyungsoo can’t help it, even if he feels so, so stupid, so foolish he can’t even bare it. It’s just the worry that floods him is too strong, to all-consuming in ways Kyungsoo didn’t know worry could be, and it renders him paralysed to any internal doubts and wars urging him to keep walking.

He turns back, steps hurried as he stops before the person who had spoken and turns to face him, his eyes wide and searching, desperate in their fear. The boy seems startled, but his mouth falls shut complacently as he raises a brow for Kyungsoo to speak. With his thoughts still jumbled, Kyungsoo tries desperately to convey what he wants to know, the blunt question, but everything still hurts and all he manages is a weak, croaky, “What?”, hoping that the boys before him will understand enough to elaborate.

Extraordinary, it is enough. Though their brows furrow - puzzled at his misplaced, apparent urgency, a few at the back fixing him with a strange, unreadable look like his behaviour is even more peculiar than Kyungsoo fully understands - the boy who Kyungsoo had overheard speaking to begin with responds.

“What? Didn’t you hear about it?” He chants, eyes shining with the buzz of idle school gossip, and he doesn’t wait a single moment longer before-

“He came out this morning, a proper announcement and everything - in front of half the school too. Who would’ve thought, right?”

Somewhere, something in the back of Kyungsoo’s head short circuits - somewhere, too, he comprehends those unreadable expressions, the way the students in the back of the group had fixed him with a heavy, steely sort of stare like putting two and two together, but the words aren’t truly processing properly, aren’t making any real sense.

And when Kyungsoo only stares blankly, the boy who had spoken seems to realise he needs more, so he repeats it simply, in a plain enough phrasing that anyone could understand-

“Kim Jongin,” the guy says, “he’s gay.”

-

A/N:

This was late

UNI IS HARD GUYS. 4 months and it is hard

That’s all I can say tbh, I try to keep a routine with updates but at the end of the day life and my uni commitments is what I have to put first. I have, during these 4 months however, expanded on and written in some scenes for my future plan so this fic is all mapped out – in my plan, I think we’re just over halfway now, which seems so small considering how long I’ve been writing it. I’m hoping I’ll figure out some new time management techniques to keep up with these updates.

ANYWAY

Ohoho this one’s a doozie

So Jongin is OUT. Kyungsoo is no longer the single de-closeted gay at his school woo

Let’s see what this changes up now shall we :D

Stay tuned kids

Hope you enjoyed and please leave your feedback in the comments below you lovely people

Till’ the next time :D