there was a time where do kyungsoo felt alright. a time where he saw himself making dinner for two and handling a laundry basket twice the amount of clothes he had. that time flashes back to him often, the pictures on the wall and mantle and tables spoke memories of when everything was alright.

he wanted to take them down, to touch them and tuck them away into boxes. but whenever he tried, whenever he stared for too long, heartache pursued like a train wreck into his chest. so, he preferred to leave them undisturbed and dusty.

there were two toothbrushes at his sink, along with a scent he never used and gel he thought was unusable. he knew from the photographs and scattered about belongings (that he swore he would never use) were from that time where he let a dancer sway him about, a time when he felt kisses that melted on his lips.

again, a wave of transient displeasure came across him when he touched his lip. it was then that he decided to search for the source of this nostalgia; the source of this caraphernelic pain.

.

it was the seventeenth of janurary (year 2016) when he came across his first hint while gazing on the balcony of his hotel roof. do kyungsoo had accustomed himself to the differentiating rooms; the modern aesthetic of japan and korea to the victorian architecture of italy and france. he found himself scanning the outline of rome when his eyes landed on a bakery with a line that came out from it's doors. from there, he walked back into the room and took a coat with him out onto the streets.

the bakery was filled with pastries from different cultures. the scent pulled at kyungsoo's wallet, begging for a euro to be spent. he bought a box of a dozen pastries, not getting two of a kind. then, he sat outside the shop, where the tables were protected from the light sun with shade.

across from where he sat, was a young man who looked about his age- maybe younger. the male was wearing a trenchcoat with a burgundy colored sweater inside. his jeans were a dark shade and his lips were attatched to the rim of a mug. eventually, the stranger noticed his stares and tipped the cup towards him, as if saying, 'good afternoon.'

kyungsoo waved and winced at the sudden pain in his chest. the nonchalant look on the man's face was replaced by a look of pure concern. he set the cup down and made his way over to his table. the stranger touched kyungsoo's arm and a burning sensation numbed the area.

"are you alright?"

the two locked eyes on each other, kyungsoo noticing the honey brown irises and dilated pupils. a fringe of hair swooped across the man's forehead and his lips were pink from the warm liquid. his skin was tan, either from the constant sun of europe or from birth. kyungsoo's eyes widened and took his arm away from the man's touch.

"jongin?"

the male stepped back and swallowed, his lips.

"how have you been kyungie?"

tears were threatening to fall from kyungsoo's eyes, until he blinked them away. he tried to feel angry and upset, frustrated and enraged instead of the bittersweet emotion welling in his chest.

"do you know how much it hurts to hear you call me that?"

"i can bet it hurts more than dying."