Coma Toast

It wasn’t entirely too uncommon for both Jongin and Kyungsoo to simply disappear for days (and weeks) at a time, travelling the world, filling up their photo albums and memory books with obscure locations and beautiful pictures taken with both polaroid cameras with grainy textures, and smartphones with Instagram filters.

    The origins of Kyungsoo and Jongin are ambiguous and vague, for nobody knows exactly how the two contrasting forces met or when, and there’s an inkling around campus that not even Kyungsoo and Jongin themselves really know how they came to be about. Perhaps it really was fate—a red string growing taught the instant they met, binding the two together with the strength of a thousand lifetimes.

    Do Kyungsoo isn’t Kim Jongin’s type, and neither is Jongin Kyungsoo’s usual chase—anybody on campus can vouch for such a fact. Do Kyungsoo is a wide-eyed petite little thing, with red hair and an undercut that’s growing out his natural black, and he’s majoring in Vocal Performance, though one wouldn’t know without asking, because he’s hardly enrolled in any classes, and the few that he is paying for, he seldom shows up.

    Kim Jongin is tall, lithe muscle—the body of a dancer who’s trained their entire life, and with his body, face, and starch-blonde hair, he could easily become a model if his Dance and Performance Studies major doesn’t work out. He, much like his counterpart, is a no-show to most of his classes, even though he’s only enrolled in two for the Spring semester.

Interestingly enough, though Jongin has a head of height on Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo is the one who’s a bit harder to approach, despite his large eyes and full lips that might paint him as inviting. Kyungsoo, while never a loner, had never really been big on being the center of attention and reaching beyond his comfort zone to broaden his circle of friends.

That didn’t mean he didn’t have friends, of course.

Jongin had been in an established group when he met Kyungsoo. A circle of ten (eleven with Jongin, and twelve with Kyungsoo) who had been more than delighted to welcome Kyungsoo into their arms, even though, with Kyungsoo by his side, Jongin didn’t show face at gatherings quite as often anymore, and when he did, he was often too smitten with his boyfriend to pay any attention to what was happening.

Nobody ever seemed to mind, however. Jongin was happy, and Kyungsoo, though poised with a difficult exterior, was sweet and kind to Jongin. Their dynamic was odd—they were more often than not in their own little world—but nobody could find any reason to disturb it.

Jongin and Kyungsoo were both born into fortunate and wealthy families, Kyungsoo’s family owning a successful chain of restaurants around South Korea that were fast-spreading into Japan, and Jongin’s mother a doctor with her own practice, while Jongin’s father held a high-up corporate position, and because of the money that constantly filled their bank accounts, and their own fleeting impulses, it wasn’t entirely too uncommon for both Jongin and Kyungsoo to simply disappear for days (and, at once, weeks) at a time.

They travelled, of course—shutting their messaging systems off and flying to Bridgetown, Barbados, some quaint little cottage in Barcelona, Spain, or renting out an apartment in Paris, France, filling up their photo albums and memory books with obscure locations and beautiful pictures taken with both polaroid cameras with grainy textures, and smartphones with Instagram filters.

This time around, their impulses have lead them to Vicenza, Italy, in the middle of the flower blooming season.

They’ve rented a tiny apartment in the middle of the city, having put down enough money to get them a week, though at the end of the week, they might decide to stay longer.

The apartment is charming, though incredibly small, with all white walls and a bedroom that’s pressed against the busy street. The bedroom is Kyungsoo’s preferred style—the mattress, while comfortable, has been lazily placed in the middle of the room, and instead of a bed frame, it sits on dark-colored wooden slats that look like they’ve been pulled from a nearby development, and the rest of the mattress is just sheets and a fluffy, white comforter that conceals their wandering hands during the night.

There’s a stack of books arms-length away by the window that have been placed there by the owner of the apartment, but neither Kyungsoo nor Jongin have been able to pull away from each other long enough to study what the Italian titles read. On top of the books is a white office lamp that had reminded Jongin of the Pixar mascot (Kyungsoo had giggled and rolled his eyes at that), and the rest of the bedroom is decorated with a few accents along the walls—a potted cactus resting on a set of shelves that contain a minimalistic black clock and calendar, with a few more books stacked here and there.

Kyungsoo had taken a picture of the bedroom as soon as they had arrived, cooing over the minimalist but rustic feel of the interior, while Jongin had less-than-eloquently laid across the bed and murmured about how tired he was from the flight, because they had had a three-hour delay in Stockholm, causing them to land in Vicenza at nine-thirty at night, and while Kyungsoo had curled into Jongin’s side and taken a nap during the lay-over, Jongin hadn’t been so fortunate.

Ironically, however,  it’s Jongin who wakes first the following morning.

It’s going to be bright, sunny day, he can tell by the way the sunlight is beginning to filter through the white curtains that hardly allow any privacy. He raises his arms above his head—knuckles pressing against the wall—and stretches his limbs with a soft groan. In the process, he accidentally kicks Kyungsoo beside him, who whines softly, brow furrowing and lips pouting, but otherwise doesn’t wake.

Jongin’s lips tug upwards into a smile at Kyungsoo, and he lowers his arms and lazily searches for his cell phone, which he had plugged into an outlet near the bed to charge before falling asleep. His fingers scrape across the dark, hardwood floors until he blindly finds the device and yanks it from the charger.

When the home screen illuminates, he sees that its 6:42 in the morning and his notifications have been absolutely blown up, but he’s more concerned with the fact that it isn’t even seven in the morning, and he’s wide awake and doesn’t think he’ll be falling back asleep any time soon.

Out of some unorthodox feeling of obligation, he scrolls through his notifications, some of which are Instagram alerts, some of which are emails that he doesn’t linger on long enough to properly read, and most of which are alerts from a group Kakao talk conversation.

Jongin starts at the top of the conversation, and scrolls down, barely letting his eyes linger on the characters, though he does pick up the general gist.

Suho: Where are Jongin and Kyungsoo??

Suho: Do you think they’re off on another romantic tirade?

Baekhyun: When was the last time they went to class? Misfits.

Kris: guys it’s three in the morning and tao's got an 8am class can we really not do this right now

And so on.

Jongin smiles, running the hand that isn’t holding his cellphone through his hair, which he’s sure is sticking up in a million different directions.

Their friends never really learn, do they?

Jongin and Kyungsoo hadn’t told anybody about their trip to Paris during the winter, which had lasted four days before Jongin decided that the people were too mean and he wanted to leave; they hadn’t told anybody when they went to Singapore for a weekend just after Lunar New Year, and they certainly hadn’t told anybody t