“Did you fight with Kyungsoo today?” her mother asked, lean and frail in the bathroom doorway.

Gayoon turned away from the mirror, towel in hand, trying to pat her hair dry. Despite the protection of Baekhyun’s arm, half her body had been soaked, her shoes a waterlogged mess. Memories of the evening flashed before her eyes: Baekhyun had seen to it that she got home safe, ignoring his stop to walk her. They’d parted just as the rain coughed out its last drops, her thanking him, Baekhyun smiling, promising he’d see her again tomorrow.

Her mother’s expression was stern beneath its gentle worry.

“Yes,” she answered, and turned away quickly, in no mood or state to discuss the details.

Her mother sighed. “He came to the bakery today, honey, alone, as I was on my way out. I asked why didn’t he join you, since you told me you were studying at the library, but Kyungsoo offered that forlorn smile of his and told me he’s just gambling his chances. ‘Maybe she’d come here instead,’ he said.”

Gayoon pressed her lips thin, eyes still on the mirror.

“Kyungsoo always hates arguing with you. Why are you doing this to him?”

“He stuck his nose where it shouldn’t be.” She hung her towel up, ducked her head and slipped beside her mother’s slight frame, padding down the hallway.

“Jongin was there too. Both seemed eager to see you.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow.” She’d reached her room, curled her fingers around the frame and door, impatient to slam it shut. “I’m tired mom. I just want to go to bed.”

Her mother nodded, smiling gently. “Come down when you’re hungry. I made your favourite.”

It was after a long night of mulling, in the mute company of her room’s four walls, that she decided to semi-forgive Kyungsoo, on the basis of their long-standing friendship. She was still peeved that Kyungsoo had taken liberties with the margin between friendly concern and invasion of privacy, but he was still her Kyungsoo with the wide, imploring eyes and a heart that was never quite as cold as his words.

He beamed a little when presented with a whole box of double chocolate chip cookies.

“Don’t assume I approve of what you’ve done,” she told him sternly, as he dug a paw in. “I’m still mad at you.”

“And I have something to say,” he said, chewing slowly, “but I’d rather tell when you have cooler head.”

She sighed, pulling her chair near him, as was her custom since the start of their friendship. “Tell.”

Kyungsoo paused in his munching, bending forwards, searching her face. His expression was that of true concern, and the eyes which swum with emotions were mostly cautious, tentative.

“Jongin went looking for you yesterday, out in the rain.”

Her heart froze. “Why did he? Why didn’t you stop him?”

“I tried to. At first, he just looked agitated. He kept staring at door, watching raindrops spray onto the glass. I told him that you would be fine, that sooner or later, it would stop.” He took another cookie, carefully fastening on the lid. “When it didn’t, he started washing his hands, grabbing his coat. I told him not to go –he had no umbrella –but Jongin is as stubborn as you are and slipped out of the door before I could my hands out of the bowl.”

“Jongin went in the freezing rain, looking for me, without an umbrella?” Her ears echoed her own words, all their plain disbelief. “He must have been soaked!”

Kyungsoo nodded grimly. “I don’t know what happened to him after that. He didn’t come back. I tried calling him but all went to voice mail.”

“But I was fine! Baekhyun was with me. Why did he have to do something so stupid?”

Kyungsoo looked at his hands, palms turned up, pale and spindly on the table’s surface. “He didn’t know you were with Baekhyun. I didn’t tell him.”

“Kyungsoo!” she groaned, halfway to grabbing his shoulders and shaking him.

“You don’t understand at all, do you?” he shouted, not angry, but anguished. He caught her arms and held them down, shaking his head. “You don’t see from Jongin’s eyes. You don’t think about how it would make him feel.”

“Feel?” Something cold slithered in her stomach. “What do you mean, Soo?”

“Baekhyun… has taken an unnatural and an unexpected interest on you,” Kyungsoo said, speaking low and quick. “He asks about you frequently, more times than I’ve told you. He lights up when I mention you. I tried to keep him away from you, but he always looks for you, finds you –”

“What are you trying to say, Kyungsoo?”

“He’s developing feelings for you,” Kyungsoo stated in powerless distress. “Why do you think he’s trying his best to squeeze himself into your time? Jongin sees it, and I do too.” He released her hands, pulled his onto his lap. “There are two reasons for Jongin to behave that way, and one of them is that he fears Baekhyun would break Yeonjoo’s heart.”

She felt her body going cold, her heart beating fast, rushing in her ears. The notion stirred in her emotions that balled and twisted, strings too knotted, ribbons of past and present and future, flattery and fear and anger.

“That’s not fair,” she snapped, fury a mist in her eyes. “She cheated on Jongin while they were still dating. Why would he care so much for her heart? Why shouldn’t she have it broken?”

Kyungsoo was startled into silence. He breathed evenly, but the air between them shimmered and twisted with the force of her voice.

“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,” he said finally, in a tone she’d once heard him use on a wounded bird. “Maybe Jongin doesn’t want anyone to suffer anymore.”

“While he does?”

Kyungsoo his lips, once, twice, swallowing his nerves. “What can he do? He can’t force her back, and he’s too virtuous for revenge. He’s too kind for anything; when I told him the story of their courtship in Baekhyun’s perspective, in the words I heard Baekhyun tell me, he told me he wasn’t angry.”

“Truth?” For a moment, she lost her grasp on anger, and it dissipated, into wary, foreboding confusion. “What truth?”

“Baekhyun didn’t know Yeonjoo had a boyfriend when he courted her,” Kyungsoo said quietly. “Still has no clue of it to this very day. He thought her single.”

“Poor Jongin.” Her heart hurt dreadfully for him. Realisation descended upon her, a heavy grey cloud. It shook her bones, filled her heart. “And now he’s going to get himself sick because of me.”

“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he stopped halfway and found shelter.”

She looked at Kyungsoo. Even he looked doubtful at his words.

The silver ladybug, the gloss of its wings, opening into creamy watch face, was beautiful under the light, intrinsic in its mechanics. She had it dangled below one finger, a silver flash, a revolution of numbers and rolling gears.

She was still contemplating what Kyungsoo said.

Of course, there was no proof that he was right. Kyungsoo spoke based on the gut, his interpretation of an observation. It was not Baekhyun’s true heart; not words spoken in his voice.

She was torn between believing Kyungsoo and trying to forget.

It was a very unproductive evening, tiresomely damp. The dough left to rest in bowls were slow to rise. The ones in trays await what was left of the functioning ovens (her father had gone into a fit upon the discovery of a faulty) and the timer was a merry, mocking little thing that bounced ticks off walls.

Jongin was somewhere in the back, working mutely, like an elf.

She’d arrived to find him already there, cap jammed over his blonde locks, staring sullenly at the ocean of cookies he needed to bottle and label. He worked fast, earphones blasting, deaf to the world and anything beyond.

He jerked when she touched him, was quick to sidle away with a smile too tight at the edges.

She attempted a conversation to the best of her efforts. “Evening. How’s your day?”

“… okay, I guess.”

Jongin nodded a few times, lips pressed into a reluctant beam. She noticed his eyes looked a bit dazed, his hands quick to flit into his apron pocket, refusing her touch.

“Jongin, are you well?” she asked, worried.

He shrugged. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“I heard you got yourself soaked in the rain, yesterday.”

A crack of a tired smile. “Did you, now?”

“Yes,” she pressed, tired of his short answers. “Why’d you do that?”

“Family emergency.”

It was a pitiful excuse. She watched his eyes again. Her ache came slow, first a bind, then the sting, the sharp cut. The Jongin who’d held his heart out for her to see was now telling her lies, retreating from her as one would a poisonous snake.

And she was too weary, too wounded, to ask why.

That was how they ended up on the opposite sides of the door, not speaking. She hung her thoughts with the chimes and listened to it trill the words her lips couldn’t form. Half-formed apologies danced amongst thoughts of well-meaning best friends and ghostly fragrances recalling the park.

There was so much to think about. So much to process.

When the air became too fraught, when it was too much to bear, she stood, steeled her resolve, and turned the knob.

What she found upon her entrance into the kitchen is sudden, oppressive silence. Deceitful silence, sly and peaceful.

Then she saw light pooling on blonde locks, on a head bent into the crook of an arm, a splash of colour against steel. Jongin was unmoving, curling in on himself, the rise and fall of his shoulders implying hard breathing.

She rushed to him, her heart thudding, wild in her ribcage. She touched the heaving shoulders, brushed his golden hair when he turned his head. She pressed cold fingers against his forehead and shuddered, for the heat against her palm was sudden, vengeful.

He opened his eyes a crack when she called his name. She realised they weren’t only dazed; they were feverish. His bronze skin was pale, his cheeks flushed.

“Oh God, Jongin. You’re running a high fever!” Her eyes frantically searched the kitchen. Surely a clean cloth and basin wouldn’t be too hard to find.

Something warm grazed her cheek: the tips of Jongin’s fingers, light as grass, gentle as his own voice. “Don’t panic. I’m not worth anyone’s panic.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous!” she hissed, glaring down at him. She turned her cheek away, afraid he saw the flush he left with his touch. “No one is worthless. Stay here. I’ll look for something to cool you down.”

Jongin stayed conscious of the world for only a short time before the fever’s delirium caught and held him. When she returned with a damp cloth, he had his head back in his arms, mumbling incoherently, refusing to come out. She had to coax him like a child, and when the cloth met his skin he recoiled. She secured the cloth, sandwiching one end between the table and his temple, and sat back, reeling.

She thought of options, solutions. The last and most optimal had her scuttling into the changing room, master key in hand. She returned with Jongin’s cell phone, stewing over possible patterns for the screen lock. After the third try and a blinking warning, she sat next to Jongin, touched him lightly on the shoulder, and whispered to him.

“Jongin? Jongin, I need you to wake up. Unlock your phone for me, please, so I can call someone for you.”

Mumbling. Shifting weight.

She placed the phone below his fingers, grasping his arm lightly. “Jongin, please, before you get worst. Unlock it for me.”

His response came slow. With painstaking effort, he dragged his finger across the screen, joined the dots with snakes of green. There was a click and he was limp again, eyes drifting shut.

She felt the cloth, made sure that it could still absorb his heat, and quickly pulled up his call log. She picked the first name, dialled, and waited.

The voice that answered was hoarse, deep. Over the tinny reception, it had not the essence of the quiet, contemplative boy who watched Jongin dance.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Um… Oh Sehun?”

There was a startled pause, long enough to make her fidget. He was somewhere quiet; the hum of silence cut an uncomfortable air better than noisy voices could.

Finally, he spoke. “Who is this? Why do you have Jongin’s phone?”

“I’m Seo Gayoon,” she said, breathing in relief, tethering her hopes on the fact that Sehun sounded curious instead of malicious. “We met that day, remember?”

Now she heard his surprise. “Of course. You’re Jongin’s –” he seemed to catch himself, biting away his words before they bubbled out of his lips. “–friend,” he amended, in a way that made it rather obvious that wasn’t the initial word he wanted to use. “You’re his friend.”

“Listen, I’m sorry to bother you on such short notice, but Jongin…” she stared at the boy in question, his sprawled limbs, his fluttering lashes, “He’s on a high fever. I don’t think he get home on his own and –”

Sehun cursed. “That idiot. I told him not to go to work. He already looked feverish since morning.” He clucked his tongue. “I’ll come get him. I’m just a couple of blocks away. It’ll only be a sec.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, relieved.

She set the phone onto the table, next to Jongin’s curled fingers. Jongin groaned, fisted his hands, twitching to pain that belonged to only him. She took the cloth from his head. The brush of her fingers seemed to calm him; his lids flickered less, his fisted hands coming loose.

“Why did you have to be such a fool and leave the bakery?” she murmured, more to herself than to him, as she replaced the cloth for the fourth time. “I was fine.”

“Because of Baekhyun?”

His voice was weak, but it carried to her ears. She stiffened. The cloth slid from her fingers, flopped onto his outstretched arm.

Jongin was looking at her, eyes dark and glossy –a vortex, a chasm of secrets.

“Because he was there to hold you?”

was dry; the words she spoke came in an equally soft whisper, a quavering, silent earthquake. “Is this the fever talking?”

“No,” he shifted, tilted his head up. The force of those eyes bred more tremors in her bones. “It’s just me.”

“How did you know?”

“You didn’t see me, but I saw you.”

“Jongin, please don’t misunderstand,” she begged. “I don’t mean to make him unfaithful to Yeonjoo. I’ve no intention in breaking her heart –”

“What about yours?”

She flinched. “What about my heart?”

“Is it still broken, or has he mended it to become whole again?”

“It is as it is,” she answered vaguely, uncomfortable. The truth was that she hadn’t thought of her heart for a very long time, hadn’t thought of its responses, its judders when Jongin smiled and tingling warmth when he laughed.

 “Do you still love him?”

Interruption came in the form of singing chimes and creaking hinges. The scent of bread baking was an assault, the fingers that pulled her free from the web of questions Jongin spun. She spun in her heels, aware of his eyes on her back as she crossed the room to make for the door. She was relieved to escape, though her heart still pumped, thunder in her ears.

Sehun was a figure in the doorway, a lost child with his hands in his pockets. Gayoon remembered the boy in the mirror: the boy with skin as ivory as Jongin’s was tan and stood every bit as tall. He was gazing around absently, amidst a wreath of the fragrant air of the bakery.

“Hey.”

He whipped his head to her voice. For the briefest of moments, she saw his smile: a slight, shy upturn of the lips, tipping his wary eyes into an expression of sweetness.

“Where is he?”

She beckoned him to come, pointed to the door behind her. Sehun walked quickly, disappeared like smoke through the open square of light. She peered through the window and saw Sehun perching on the stool next to Jongin, mouth moving, speaking more words than she’d ever heard him mutter. Jongin appeared to try to lift his head, lips moving slow, whispering responses to Sehun’s rant. The latter rolled his eyes, clapped Jongin once on the back, and the carefully adjusted the cloth over his eyes.

She twisted away when Sehun began sliding down from the stool. She busied herself with the register as she heard his footsteps near. The door opened. His quiet voice made her raise her head.

“Thanks for bearing with the little tramp.” She did not miss the affection in Sehun’s voice. “He’s like a pet. Jongin does stupid things sometimes, but his heart is always, always in the right place.”

She nodded. She knew that –had known it since the very beginning, when Jongin blew dandelion seeds at her and smiled through his tears.

“I called my brother to pick us up,” Sehun continued, fidgeting with the doorknob, clearly unsure with how long he was supposed to talk. “He’d be here in a few minutes.”

Sehun was endearing in his shyness, and polite with his gratitude. She softened to him and smiled. Pushing box of tester cookies she’d made herself, she told him to eat.

“These are good!” Sehun remarked, eyes lighting up after the first bite. “Jongin was right after all. You’re excellent at what you do.”

She managed a smile through her blush.

“He loves it here, you know. Said it’s the best job he’s ever had.”

She twiddled with the hem of her apron, intrigued. “What other jobs did he used to do?”

Sehun shrugged, helping himself to a second. “Oh, the usual. Waiting tables, washing windows, manning counters. He takes odd jobs sometimes from his neighbours. Worked part-time at a shelter once, but quit because he felt bad that he’s taking a wage when the other people who worked there are volunteers. I told him he’s silly. It’s no harm to accept money when you’ve done your part to earn it. And Jongin really needs it anyway.”

Sehun was quick to catch her surprise. He paused, colour staining his ears and neck. “You didn’t know? Sorry. I didn’t mean to babble on you,” he smiled contritely.

“No, I’d like to know. Jongin never mentioned anything other than his school and you.” She didn’t mention Yeonjoo, unsure how Sehun would receive it. “Why does he work so many jobs? I’ve always wondered.”

 Sehun pushed away the cookies, clasping his hands on the table. He rubbed circles on his fingernails, appearing to sort his words. “Jongin’s family is not the most financially well-off out there, and as you’d probably guessed, our school isn’t really all that cheap to go to. Jongin’s acceptance was by sheer talent alone. He’s backed with a scholarship, albeit not a full one. He still to pay about twenty percent –a pretty hefty sum for him, given that he has none to give. But he’s persistent to go there and is willing to go though a lifetime of labour if it means staying.”

“But he doesn’t…” she paused and the sentence trailed. It sounded insensitive, even in her head.

“Doesn’t look like he’s broke?” Sehun supplied, though not unkindly.

“He wears pretty clothes,” she said meekly, ashamed to have thoughts that was so blatant and easily read.

Sehun’s lips lifted in a slight smirk. “Those are mine, actually. Initially, he didn’t like borrowing my things, but I made him take them, on grounds that I couldn’t stand watching them make fun of him simply for how old his shirts looked. And besides, he’s somewhat adopted into my family. My mom supplies him with the stuffs he needs for dancing and classes. Jongin protested adamantly in the beginning, but my mom is a very persistent woman.”

“No wonder he speaks so highly of you,” she said, touched by awe. “You’ve been so very kind to him.”

She saw pink creep up his ivory skin, like the flash of colour of a gemstone held under the light. “If I’m not, that who will?” He then leaned closer, eyes glimmering, wide and earnest as he said, “I know it’s not my place to say this, but can you please try not to fire Jongin? He’d be mad at me if he knew I begged for him on his behalf, but… please, alright? He really needs this.”

“He’s never done anything to warrant a dismissal,” she told Sehun honestly. “If it counts for anything, everybody personally enjoys having him here.”

Sehun chuckled quietly. “Jongin hit the jackpot with an employer like you, then.”

She didn’t hear the noise through the glass door, but Sehun suddenly perked, twisted his torso to stare at the curb, at the sleek Honda. The window rolled down. He nodded to the boy whose features strikingly mirrored his own, and then shuffled through the door, Gayoon trailing behind.

Jongin’s breathing appeared more even now, his eyes no longer closed. His lashes still fluttered though, as though the heat from the ovens had breathed into them movement.

Sehun came to his side, slid an arm behind him. “Can you at least stand?”

“Not well,” Jongin croaked. His throat must have been parched, his tongue like sandpaper. “My legs are wobbly. I’ll fall –several times.”

Sehun grunted. “Then lean on me.”

He was stronger than Gayoon expected, for he was able to lift Jongin to his feet. He planted his own steadily on the concrete floor, shouldering Jongin’s weight, fumbling with the latter’s limp arm. She jumped forward, helped Jongin lean, and arranged his limbs where they lay in crooked angles.

Jongin could walk at least, so Sehun didn’t have to drag his dead weight. He made Sehun stop when they passed her though, beckoning her nearer, asking for ear. His lips were a light brush of butterfly wings in his whisper.

“Thank you.”

A/N: 

I couldn't resist :3