WELL OOPS HERE'S THE FIRST PART WOAH WHERE DID THIS COME FROM PLS ENJOY AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! I'm really not that sure about this story right now so feedback would be greatly appreciated!

Disclaimers:

1. I in no way mean to glorify any phobia or fears and do not mean to offend anyone (please let me know if I do). I have suffered from anorexia and bulimia in the past and I wanted to share the ideals behind it (for myself at least) so this piece is very personal. There will be explicit descriptions of eating disorders, so if you are uncomfortable with that, please do not continue. Read with caution, but a happy ending perhaps, because you all know me.
2. I know there are a lot of racist and offensive slurs in here that are heard by the characters when they were young, and while by NO MEANS am I saying that bullying and harassment do not occur in Canada, I’m also not trying to say that Canada is a  mean and horrible country.
3. Sorry if you don’t know Toronto at all, it’s one of the biggest cities in Canada, but I wanted to write the story here so that I could do it more realistically. I hate inventing intricate street maps and city grids. And sorry if you are from Toronto, because I changed around a bit of the streets and stuff just to make more sense (e.g. placing Jongin’s apartment on College near Bathurst even though there’s like zero residential buildings there).

~

~13k

I.

Pique, pique, chaîné, extend… Balancé, pas de bourrée, chassé, attitude, and-

.

He falls to the floor with a dull thud, upper lateral thigh contracting in pain as his leg gives out underneath him and sends him crashing down. He winces visibly, and the air leaves his chest in a resounding thwomp.

“Kim, what the hell are you doing? Stop sitting there like an idiot and get back up!”

The shrill sounding voice of the Head of Choreography pierces his already fuzzy mind and makes everything ten times worse. They’ve been at this for an hour and a half now, only making it through thirty seconds of his piece for the Soloists Showcase in January. Today is the last day of August, and the coming winter isn’t the only thing giving him cold feet.

The exorbitant amounts of sweat he’s been shedding have his body dry, and he’s running on fumes until the Head will let him take a break and take a drink. But he gets up again and repeats the same eight counts he’s been rehearsing for six minutes now.

Pique, pique, chaîné, extend… Balancé, pas de bourrée, chassé-

Well .

His thigh muscles spasm again and he falls to one knee, chest resting against it and breathing heavily. He places one hand on the ground for support and shakes his head at himself, because he can’t believe this. It’s unacceptable.

He hears footsteps approach him and raises his head (with an extreme amount of effort). The Head stands in front of him, tall enough that he has to tilt his head up along toned legs and graceful fingers to the pretty face of a retired ballerina. The look she gives him is almost sympathetic, as she no doubt understands first hand that every dancer has their good and their bad days. Unfortunately for Jongin, recently his bad days have begun to pile up.

“Kim,” She says softly, and Jongin winces again, but this time not because of the physical pain. He hates being pitied, hates it when people go easy on him, because it’s something he’s never done with himself. “We both know that I’m not going to go easy on you, not now, not ever, but it’s only because you are one of my best soloists. I know how much this showcase means to you, so I doubt I have to remind you, but I will anyways.”

She smiles then, and Jongin thinks that it reminds him of the way his mother used to smile at him, and his mouth sours. “This showcase could open up so many possibilities for you, and I know that you know the Company Director will be sitting in the audience. If you do even half as well as I know you can, then I am one hundred percent confident that the vacant Principal spot is yours. But it isn’t just going to come to you. So show me something, show me that you’re worth it. Come on, get up.”

Jongin pinches the bridge of his nose between his right thumb and forefinger, exhaling heavily, before pushing himself up to standing and willing away the dull throbbing that’s taking place in his hip. The Head nods at him and he nods back that yes, he is okay, and without another word she waltzes back to the stereo.

The music begins anew, and Jongin allows the familiar alternatively legato and staccato beat consume his thoughts. His mind floods with crescendos and quarter rests, and with a deep sigh, he begins to dance.

Chassé pas de bourrée, glissade, assemblé battu, relevé passé en avant, rond de jambe à terre, lunge, port de bras, recover, and breathe...

Pique, pique, chaîné, extend… Balancé, pas de bourrée, chassé, attitude-

And hold.

The Head cuts the music at that and flashes Jongin a smile, because they both knew very well that he was more than capable. Jongin lets himself smile back, a small reward for his hard work. To someone like him there is nothing more gratifying than doing something and doing it well, and as he catches his breath he smiles again into his shoulder.

He feels his chest decrease its tight hold slightly, and he rests a hand on his back as the Head tells him again.

Before he begins he looks at himself in the mirror, all long limbs and skinny muscles, and taking note of his flushed cheeks and sweating brow, he thinks that there is no place he’d rather be.

~

… 5, 6, 7, 8…

Kyungsoo silently thinks to himself that it sounds like some sort of ballet, the way that he’s numbering the accounts and entering them into the spreadsheet. He’s currently working on last month’s balance sheet, assets and equities and liabilities swimming through his head.

He’s always liked numbers, loves the way that they don’t cause any trouble. If you know what you’re doing, they’ll add, subtract, multiply and divide exactly how you want them to, ten times out of ten. Even if you’re wrong, all it takes is a quick scan and you can find your mistake and fix it.

Numbers are easy to deal with, people are not.

Maybe that’s why he works at a private law firm, Times New Roman letters spelling out Parker & Wells in large stenciled font on the front of the building. A private firm like his is small, small enough that he doesn’t have to deal with large numbers of people, but still big enough that he has numbers to work with. The spreadsheet kind, of course.

Kyungsoo is one of those people who shuffled his way through university, keeping his head down and meanwhile earning his degree in accounting, one of those people who quietly found a job immediately thereafter that suited his needs and stayed. His friends (read: friend), think that he’s rather boring, but he doesn’t mind. He likes it this way. P&W has only about ten employees, which suits Kyungsoo just fine, because it means there’s more of a chance that there will be someone more exciting for people to talk to than himself. Plus there’s the added bonus that 8/10 employees (minus the name partners) are Korean, so he feels a little less alienated.

It’s not that he hates people, definitely not, even he can appreciate the beauty of human nature. It’s moreso that he’s afraid of them, and thus never stays around long enough to see that beauty. People are frankly just frightening, constantly changing their minds and causing drama and creating conflict and inflicting pain on everyone around them, whether intentionally or not. Kyungsoo had learned long ago that people in particular were not kind to people like him, and since then he’s decided that it’s just easier to stay away, and plug numbers into equations.

A soft knock at the door startles him out of his reverie, four soft raps with a quarter of a second in between which he recognizes to be Minseok’s. He had learned very quickly at P&W that it was better to memorize which knock signaled which person, because then at least he wasn’t walking into the interaction blindly. It’s like a student preparing for an oral exam, and well, speaking has never been Kyungsoo’s strong suit. 

“Come in,” He calls weakly, voice rough from being unused.

The door creaks open and in walks a man not much taller than Kyungsoo himself, with pointed features and shiny black hair. It’s not a face he looks at often, probably because he doesn’t look at any face often, but he knows that it’s a nice one nonetheless.

That does not, however, make him feel any better.

He feels the telltale arrhythmic beating of his heart begin, feels his fingers twitch where they rest on the keyboard, but he mushes his hands together in an attempt to preemptively stop whatever embarrassing things his body is about to do.

“Hey Kyungsoo,” Minseok greets with a warm smile, and Kyungsoo nods back, eyes whisking around the room to avoid eye contact.

Minseok just smiles further, because Kyungsoo has always been like this ever since he started working, but he thinks he can empathize to some degree, so he lets it be.

“So Parker asked me if you were done with that balance sheet yet.” He rolls his eyes humorously. “The man never does anything related to numbers- I swear- but he said something about wanting to crosscheck client accounts?”

Kyungsoo gulps, throat going dry and words sticking. “Um- uh, yeah, yeah, I can, um. Get that for you. One sec.”

He looks back to his computer and rapidly types the remaining numbers into the sheet, checking that it all balances out before sending it to the printer and printing two copies just in case. His eyes bore into the screen so glaringly that it almost hurts, because little voices in his head are telling him that Minseok is smiling at him to mock his nervous twitches.

“I, uh- I sent it to the printer. And um, printed two copies. Just. In… uh, just in case.” He doesn’t like the way that the other man is looking at him speak so expectantly, telling himself that Minseok is probably just expecting him to up and slur his English.

“Hey Kyungsoo, why do never say hi to your classmates, huh?”

“It’s probably cause he’s ESL, the little chink!”

“Yeah, Kyungsoo say something for us in ching chong!”

“I- I, um…”

“Look! He can’t even say two words! Who even let him into the country?”

“Right.” Minseok breaks into thoughts once again and Kyungsoo swallows hard because that was embarrassing. Minseok probably thinks he’s like brain dead or something now. “Thanks Kyungsoo, I owe you one.” Minseok winks amorously and closes the door behind him.

As soon as the mechanism clicks Kyungsoo lets out a sigh of relief and reaches for a tissue to absentmindedly dab at the sweat forming in the nape of his neck. He can’t believe that he just did that in front of someone, in front of Minseok, can’t believe he even let his mind go back to that time in the first place. Part of his brain tells him that Minseok likely didn’t even notice anything strange, because he’s always kind of strange, but another- stronger- part of his mind is telling him that Minseok is going to go tell every last person in the office about how much of a freak he is.

He lets out a shaky breath and rests his wrists on the edge of the keyboard, fingers curling upwards towards his forearms and clenching into fists to relieve some of the tension. It doesn’t work, not-so-surprisingly, and Kyungsoo huffs before planting his face on the keyboard and squeezing his eyes shut instead.

He hears the whir of the computer typing the characters his cheek is smushed into, and he sighs when he realizes that he’ll have to delete all of them later.

~

A person arrives at a certain point where they crave the outside air and want nothing more than to breathe in the slightly musty but always interesting scent of the downtown streets. A point at which they grow tired of being forever cooped up in their cozy albeit cramped apartment, and itch to go for a nice evening stroll.

Kyungsoo has arrived at this point, but unfortunately, he is still Kyungsoo.

This means that he has spent the last hour browsing the internet and google maps for good and secluded places to do these kinds of things, every other breath becoming a sigh. He can’t go to a really fun place, because then there’s obviously too many people, but he doesn’t exactly want to hang out by himself in a dingy back alleyway.

His socked feet kick at the air when they don’t touch the ground from his chair, and he blows air up into his eyes, aiming to sweep the fringe off his forehead but falling spectacularly short.

He’s still rather unfamiliar with downtown Toronto, even though he’s been living here for almost ten years now. Although to be fair, in high school he only went to school, in university he only went to his lectures, and now he only goes to his job. Not much room for exploration there.

After another ten minutes he finally finds something that he thinks might be alright. Christie Pits Park, located right smack dab in the middle of K-Town on Bloor.

When he moved out from his parents place K-Town was the first place he had looked for an apartment, finding comfort in the numerous hole-in-the-wall Korean restaurants and cute little Korean stores. He never really went into those places, mind you, but it was still nice to know that they were there.

Christie Pits is about a five minute walk from his apartment, not bad at all, and so he grabs his messenger bag and loads it with a blanket, a book, and a water bottle. He triple checks the lock before he finally leaves his apartment behind for the first time in a long string of weekends, keeping his eyes down as he exits his complex.

The streets are rather empty for a Sunday evening, most people no doubt scrambling to finish last minute school assignments and projects for work that are due the following morning. Kyungsoo, the lucky fella that he is, managed to finish all of that in the astonishing 24 hours he was home yesterday, and can now afford a bit of luxury. Although, to him it’s a little more like torture.

He reflexively freezes every time someone approaches him from the opposite direction, has to force himself to calm down his breathing so that people don’t look at him more than they probably already are (they aren’t, really).  He repeats over and over in his head that this guy isn’t going to shove you to the ground and that this little girl isn’t going to go run and tell all her friends about the weird man walking down Bloor Street. By the time he reaches the park the sun is setting and his hand aches from the crescent-shaped marks that his fingernails have dug into his palm as he clenches his fist.

There’s only a few scattered people around the park, some packing up already and some enjoying the last few rays of sunshine on one of the last few days of summer. Toronto gets cold early he supposes, which for someone like him on a day like today is a good thing.

He finds a secluded corner of the park, away from the street but not too close to the baseball diamond a ways away, and he shakes his blanket out with a satisfying crack before setting it down. It’s a little lumpy when he sits on it but he supposes that he can’t have everything the way he wants it. Just being out here, in the fresh air, with no one to bother him is enough. He’s always loved being outside in any environment, but unfortunately the ever skyrocketing prices of the GTA don’t exactly help fund that love.

It’ll probably be getting dark in an hour or so, he thinks as he pulls the paperback from his messenger bag. The cover is worn, despicably so, probably from the tens- if not hundreds- of times Kyungsoo has read it. 1984 reads the title, a bold red font resembling Cambria complementing the red frame surrounding the image on the cover.

This book is probably his favourite, maybe because he empathizes with Winston’s self-withdrawal and general hermit-ness, maybe because he empathizes with the flickers of hope that glitter in Julia’s beautiful eyes. Either way, he finds something heartbreakingly true in the sad ending of the book, the way that it was sad from the get-go. It’s a lot like real life, to him anyways, and every page brings his mind awash in memories.

But on the other hand, a part of Kyungsoo hates this book. Hates how the characters were never even given a chance, hates how they were doomed from the moment the first page began. It reminds him too much of himself, of the depressing thought that he will likely forever be on his own. Kyungsoo may not like talking to people, but no matter oxymoronic it sounds, it doesn’t mean that he craves to be loved any less.

Nonetheless, he flips over the cover and curls it around the book backwards, stopping when he hears the spine cracking.

“It was a bright day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.”

It’s always struck him as an odd sort of sentence, because clocks don’t exactly strike thirteen. Perhaps military time, but probably not because that seems too easy and 1984 is anything but. He’s never searched it up- because honestly, what’s the fun in that- but every time he reads the line it makes him wonder.

Words can do that, he finds, make you wonder. It’s part of the reason he likes them so much.

A little less than he likes numbers, but still a lot.

On the other side of the park, past the sparsely laid out trees and freshly trimmed grass, a man runs, thick wool sweater zipped all the way up to his chin and sleeves tucked up into the creases of his elbows.

He breathes hard, exhaling with one thud of his runners against the concrete sidewalk and inhaling the next. Exhale, inhale, repeat. The music blasts so loudly in his ears that he knows people can hear it as he passes, but he finds that he doesn’t care, not with the wind whipping his hair and the throbbing in his chest. It’s a good kind of burn, the best kind, one that he craves always.

The song he’s listening to is something rough, and almost kind of violent, but with the way that his day has been shaping up he could use a little stress relief. Baekhyun had started another argument that afternoon, or that was how Jongin saw it anyways. They’ve been roommates for years now, and they’ve had their fair share of fights, but today Jongin is particularly pissed off because he knows it’s his fault for overreacting even though at the time it was definitely Baekhyun’s.

The older had asked innocently why he always ran for so long, but for some unknown reason the question had irritated Jongin to no end. It’s none of Baekhyun’s business why he runs for literal hours on end, it’s none of his business why Jongin’s pleasure receptors spark in activity whenever he feels like he’s run so much he’s about to pass out, and it’s certainly none of Baekhyun’s business why Jongin’s stomach dips in excitement when he sweats a lot, because it just feels like something is melting right off of him. It’s none of Baekhyun’s business, because it’s not like he’s trying to lose weight or anything. Baekhyun can be so suspicious sometimes, it’s annoying.

So he lets the music pound in his ears and lets his pulse beat in his throat, as he races down Bloor and away from his shared apartment. This is his therapy, what relaxes him, running until he can’t think of anything else and has to concentrate solely on breathing. It’s a very good form of distraction, one that Jongin can’t really seem to find any downside to.

And it seems that today, he just may add another upside to the list.

He decides to cut through the approaching park diagonally, saving himself the trouble of dealing with the clump of people on the sidewalk in front of him, and veers off slightly to the right. The grass feels lumpy beneath his feet, and his glutes and hamstrings contract to steady himself on the uneven surface.

Christie Pits looks pretty in the evening lights, he thinks, the setting sun washing the park in an orange gold hue and shining bright in the eyes of the people he passes. He jumps out of the way as a dog leaps up at him and barks, turning around without stopping to smile at the owner who's apologizing profusely and waving her arms all over the place. In another world, Jongin probably would have stopped to ask her number.

He turns back around and smiles to himself all the while, fishing his phone out of his pocket to switch the song because this whatever it is is really starting to get on his nerves. He hits shuffle and the tune is something poppy, inciting a bop in his head and a jump in his step as he shoves the device back in his pocket. But as he pulls his head back up he levels his excitement out, blinks twice, and well, falls flat on his face.

Not so far away, Kyungsoo blinks furiously at the image of a terribly attractive man falling in an equally terrible manner. It's one of those falls from the old black and white slapstick comedies, where the television plays over it with a static smack.

He watches as the man struggles to pull himself up, wincing heavily in pain and clutching at his ankle. Kyungsoo looks around nervously, hoping that someone else will come to the man's aid, but the park’s cleared out a lot faster than he anticipated.

Is he supposed to do something? Is that how this kind of thing works? But what does he do? Call an ambulance? Take him to the convenience store and buy him some bandaids? Offer him his water?

God, people are exhausting.

His eyes flick around nervously, but apparently this is a massive mistake, as he accidentally makes eye contact with the man who sends a pleading look his way. He looks almost near tears, and Kyungsoo gulps because he doesn't know how to approach a person, much less one that's crying.

But the humane side in him wins over, and he awkwardly picks himself up off his blanket before shuffling even more awkwardly towards the stranger. The man doesn't notice at first though, too busy tilting his ankle this way and that as he inspects it.

Kyungsoo clears his throat but winds up choking on his own spit instead, coughing and blushing beet red as he captures the man’s attention.

Well this is off to a good start.

“H-hi there, um yeah. Hi. Are you… are you alright?”

The man doesn't say anything though, staring up at Kyungsoo in such a dumbfounded way that he's sure there must be something on his face. He surreptitiously brings up a hand to swipe at his nose and coughs again, but he isn't cold.

“Are you… do you need-” he tries again, and the fallen man just blinks again before furiously shaking his head.

“No no, I'm sorry, that was rude of me to stare.”

Oh God, there's definitely something wrong with my face. Did I brush my teeth this morning? I think I did but I couldn't be sure but I mean I do remember my cough tasting minty when Chanyeol called me this mornin-

“Hello? Oh good, you're back. You had me worried there for a second.” The man laughs, and the setting sun frames his glistening and tanned skin in a breathtaking rose hue.

“Sorry I- sorry. Sorry. I'm- sorry.”

Kyungsoo must look like he's about to bolt, which really isn't too far off the mark, so the man quickly interrupts. “Hey, hey, it's all good. I just wanted to make sure you weren't one of those people who faint when someone's injured. You sure you're okay?”

Kyungsoo nods quickly, because as much as he doesn't know about social interaction, he's pretty sure that when you're helping a stranger it's not supposed to go like this.

“Are- are you okay?” He asks timidly, pointing down to the injured ankle.

“Oh this?” The man holds up his foot in some weird contortionist’s pose. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just in shock I guess. I can walk it off, no problem.”

“Well… that's good?”

“Yeah. I suppose it is.”

The man smiles at him again and Kyungsoo wants nothing more than to slink away and go back to his book, because this stranger is probably mocking his weird behaviour and wondering why he stumbles over every other word. He must look like an idiot, all bumbling words and twitching fingers. He must look so stupid.

“I'm Jongin, by the way.” The man supplies, earning a twitch in Kyungsoo’s face because he doesn't hear strictly Korean names very often. “And you are? It's only proper that I thank my saviour by name.”

Kyungsoo drops his eyes and shifts his weight, swaying slightly back and forth. “I didn't do anything.” He mumbles, mostly to himself.

“K-Kyungsoo.” He says a bit louder, and the man breaks out into a full grin.

“Korean huh? That's really cool. I mean, I guess we’re in K-Town, but still, it's nice to see people sticking to their roots.”

The little chink can't even bring a normal lunch to school, what is that Asian ?!

“Um- uh, yeah. I guess.”

“Well cool! Anyways, I'm sorry for interrupting you over nothing, I'll see you around.” The man- Jongin- moves to stand up with minimal effort, and Kyungsoo takes a step back.

“Thanks, again.” The stranger repeats before stabbing his earbuds into his ears and taking off.

As the man retreats, Kyungsoo takes note of his extremely cut cheekbones and almost sunken eyes, and thinks that he may add this face to his sketchbook. That is, he would, if he could draw.

He almost forgets how idiotic he must have looked, how awkward and out of his element he must have seemed to the man, because he's too busy wondering how someone so slim can run so well.

But, the key word is almost.

~

He orders in takeaway from his favourite Korean restaurant, the one that makes its hoddeok fresh and always has the perfect ratio of sauce to rice cake in its ddeokboki. Even being in K-Town, it’s hard to find a truly authentic Korea place, one that tastes like home and reminds him of the way the sunlight used to reflect the sweat on his mother’s brow as she slaved away all day in the kitchen. She used to let him taste test everything, sometimes even double-dipping the spoon and flashing him a knowing grin, and he thinks that it’s the last time he was truly comfortable being around another person.

He hasn’t called his mother in years.

This restaurant, namely called “Little Taste of 한국”, is also his favourite in part because they’ve long since learned to accept the $20.49 in exact change outside the door, and leave the white plastic in its place. Kyungsoo’s likes it this way, because as soon as the smell of spices and vinegar begin to creep into his apartment, he knows that the doorway has been vacant long enough for him to venture out.

Tonight is no different, and he hears the telltale creak of the floorboards under the delivery boys heavy step, hears the crinkle of the bills as the boy pockets them, and finally hears the soft thud of the plastic hitting the ground. The steps retreat, and after a minute he pushes himself up and off his couch, making his way to the door.

He opens the door and shrieks.

“Well that’s no way to greet your only friend.”

Kyungsoo blinks rapidly, fingers shaking on the door knob and rattling it in its position.

“Ch-Chanyeol, I-”

“Hush hush. Calm yourself down Soo. Go to the bathroom, okay? Wash your face, dry off, and then come back.”

“Al-Alright.”

Chanyeol shoos him away with a flick of the wrist and he turns around numbly on the way to the bathroom.

His fingers begin to shake much more violently, and he clenches his jaw hard to prevent the tremble of his lips. Small but strong fingers grip edges of a porcelain stand alone sink, and he pushes the air out through his nose in a rush. His head drops, closely-trimmed black hair tickling his forehead.

He hates being surprised, hates it so much. He hates it when people sneak up on him. From behind, from the front, doesn’t matter. At least Chanyeol had the decency to calm him down. The taller has known him long enough to know that even with him Kyungsoo is skittish at best, and always does his best to be accommodating.

Kyungsoo inhales in, and out, and in, and out, and meanwhile his fingers close around the sink so tightly that his knuckles turn white and the tips go all tingly.

But it seems to do its trick and a few minutes later he’s significantly calmer, now thinking that Chanyeol likely thinks he’s a wuss. Or a freak. Possibly both.

When he’s calm enough that his wrists have stopped twitching up and towards his face, he splashes chilly, not cold, water onto his eyes and nose. He towels his skin dry with the fluffy towel from Belgium, that with one person in the apartment, doesn’t get used as often as it should. He looks at this reflection one final time, deeming himself to look a mess, but Chanyeol’s pretty messy anyways and either way, he’s fairly sure that friends are supposed to accept this kind of thing. Although, he never had any friends, so he can’t be too sure.

The living room holds Chanyeol in it, unpacking the takeaway and grinning at the contents inside. The taller had been born in Toronto, and had never even been to Korea, but he had once mentioned something about feeling like he was home when he ate Korean food. Or something like that.

Chanyeol looks up when he hears Kyungsoo clear his throat softly and smiles at the sight of Kyungsoo awkwardly fidgeting and twisting his hands together. He knows that it’s not by choice- that Kyungsoo doesn’t mean to do it intentionally- but the timid shyness of the smaller (that’s not even the half of it) is admittedly, endearingly adorable.

“Oh come on Soo, don’t be like that. Look, I brought takeout!” He holds up a grease-soaked white box. “Come, eat.”

Kyungsoo moves to the couch, cautiously sitting a foot and a half away from his brunette friend and reaching for one of the boxes. His eyes keep subconsciously flicking to the image of a relaxed Chanyeol lounging back and lazily scrolling through the channels, half expecting him to suddenly stand up and throw food at him.

“Hey you!  Yes you, you retarded little asian ! Here’s some real food, not that ching chong China bull you eat. Enjoy washing it out of your hair, you dog-eater.”

But Chanyeol is his friend, his only one at that, and it means that he trusts Chanyeol a bit more than everyone else.

“Soo, Soo!” He waves his hand in the shorter’s face, who proceedingly crosses his legs beneath him on the couch, sinking into the fabric. “Look, I am really sorry about startling you. I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

“I… It’s okay, you didn’t mean to.”

Chanyeol does look apologetic, genuinely so, and maybe that’s why they get along so well. For all of the giant’s antics and loud voice and too-wide smile, he’s deep down a good person, and trying very hard to be a better one. He’s annoying, and speaks too much, but he cares about Kyungsoo, and doesn’t want him to feel left out. Not that he’s his friend because he pities him. He’s friends with Kyungsoo because he likes him, because he can tell that there’s so much to the other that no one ever sees. Even he rarely makes it past the rows upon rows of defences, but bit by bit, he’s slowly unravelling the alluring mystery that is Do Kyungsoo. It’s an arduous process, but Chanyeol has never taken the easy route before.

“You know, I feel kind of honoured that you can speak more comfortably around me,” He says. “I see how you talk to people like Minseok, like Jongdae, or God forbid if you had to talk to Parker or Wells. I’m not saying that I’m your one true confidante or anything like that, I just think it’s nice that we’re friends, yeah?”

Kyungsoo nods slowly, chewing his quickly cooling food. “I guess… I guess it’s not so bad with you. I- I mean you’re the only one who… makes an effort to talk to me, and you’re nice, so it makes it a little easier for me.”

Chanyeol smiles. “Well I’ll consider myself lucky then.” He taps his knee. “And uh, Soo… I know you well enough to say that it’s safe to assume you’re beating yourself up right now over whatever just happened, but don't okay? It’s totally cool.” The taller pauses, tilting his head to the side. “I would have freaked out too, to be honest, if someone random yoda-eared freak like me showed up at my door. So trust me, I don’t think you overreacted.”

“I, um, I- yeah, I suppose.” Is all Kyungsoo says back.

The taller turns his head back to the television and lets out a breathy sigh, because even though he doesn’t like it when Kyungsoo gets all short with him like this, he supposes that it is his fault for not forewarning the other. He probably should have said something.

Kyungsoo notices Chanyeol’s discomfort, because he’s just naturally picked up that habit of reading the people around him, and he shoots him a sideways glance before swallowing one half of the lump stuck in his throat.

“I-I’m sorry too, Chanyeol… I’m trying harder, I swear I am. It’s just- it takes… time.”

He’s staring straight into the television but he sees a flash of pearly white from the corner of his eyes and sighs somewhat contentedly.

“Don’t worry about it, Soo. Let’s eat, yeah? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” And with that Chanyeol picks up the remote and turns the TV up to a volume where talking would be inconvenient.

Kyungsoo smiles into his side box of rice, steam fogging up into his mouth. He knows that Chanyeol turned up the volume for his benefit, so that they wouldn’t have to talk because too much interaction- even with friends- stresses him out. He knows that Chanyeol does little things like this, with the sole intent of making him more comfortable, and it makes him wonder how the taller could possible be okay with just sitting with him in silence. He’s not the most interesting person out there, he thinks. There must be someone more worth the giant’s time.

But for now it makes him happy that at least one person on this planet is truly nice, and he smiles a little further as he wiggles deeper into the sofa.

~

He’s walking down Bathurst and has just made it past Wells when he thinks that today has been a particularly ty day.

He’s just finished a four hour rehearsal, running the group pieces time and time again until their timing matched and their bodies moved identically. They had been at it so hard and for so long that the studio had become humid and sticky, sweat from the fifteen men and women mingling in the air in a rather unpleasant fashion.

Jongin didn’t get yelled at much today, which he supposes would be a good thing, were it not for the sparing glances the Head snuck his way every now and then, some pitying and some implorable. For someone who loves to be on stage, Jongin really does hate it when people look at him.

Because looking means that they’re analyzing, and analyzing means that they’re finding flaws. Jongin knows he has flaws, and he can point them out perfectly well on his own. He doesn’t need someone else to do it for him.

But the cool evening air is almost enough to distract him and push all thoughts from his mind. Cars honk in three-four beat somewhere behind him, and a young teenager with their hoodie pulled up to their ears rattles the spray paint can as he draws a mural on the side of a convenience store.

The temperature is low enough that Jongin’s nose is probably a little rosy, but warm enough that he only needs his army green three-quarter zip. It’s a comfortable kind of night, one that in another life, Jongin may have taken the time to stop and enjoy.

But right now his legs are sore, and his arms are sore, and his core is sore, and everything is just so sore. It’s the mind-numbing kind of soreness, the one that doesn’t hurt if you keep moving but as soon as you stop will amplify in waves. His feet drag against the concrete sidewalk and his shoulders slump forwards after being held straight and rigid for hours on end.

His palm slides across his abdomen, subconsciously checking the feel of it under his fingertips. The skin feels hot and still a little moist beneath his sweater, but there’s also an underlying hardness. He hums when he notes the flex of his abdominals, the way they react to his touch. He thinks he feels a little bump on his lower stomach, probably bloating from the water he chugged after they had all been let go. He frowns slightly, rubbing at the spot before dropping his hand. His sigh falls into the wind and he shakes his head thrice. Progress, it’s all a work in progress.

He pauses at Bloor and looks to the right, smiling at the Korean stores he can see a little ways away , the large and comically-designed characters spelling out restaurant names and bubble tea shops and two-for-one deals. He thinks of the man he met yesterday, the really shy one with the traditional name, and he smiles. The man seems like he would fit right into K-Town.

A moment later another, more contented sigh escapes his lips, largely because his crossing Bloor means it’s only five to ten more minutes until he reaches College and walks to the left for three and a half minutes to his apartment. It’s on top of the store Baekhyun’s family runs, and they had been kind enough to rent it out to the two for free. For the time being, at least. Busy street life had never really suited Mr. and Mrs. Byun anyways.

He’s just made it across the intersection when his leg twitches, and before he can process what's happening he awkwardly half-falls to the ground. He looks around dazed for a second, because his thigh just randomly decided to stop working and that was embarrassing, before picking himself back up. He brushes off his joggers and frowns, because this has been happening more and more often. His muscles randomly giving out on him, that is.

It's probably suspicious to some people, may even go so far as to call it a warning sign, but as to what it's forewarning, has his mind drawing a blank.

His stomach rumbles then, and he half-thinks that the two events might be related, but he quickly dismisses the thought, because that’s just silly.

People are probably looking his way, at the shuffle of his steps and the sway of his gait, wondering if he’ll make it home alright. But in his head, he tells them not to worry. He always makes it home alright.

Why would tonight be any different?

~

It's a new day and the sunlight hits his face at the perfect angle, illuminating his cheekbones and offsetting the pearly whites of his teeth as he grimaces. The breath leaves his lungs in small wooshes, toes curling in his shoes as the sweat gathers uncomfortably between them. He shakes his head once, and a few lingering beads of sweat flick onto the concrete below.

Running is very much so different from walking, he thinks.

When you walk, it’s calm, and you can see the the faces of people passing you by, can hear the indistinct conversations bleeding through cellphone speakers. When you walk you notice the world around you, from the little boy chewing his gum to the old woman hobbling ten metres ahead. When you walk you have a lot of spare time and not a lot to do, and so you think.

But when you run, you forget everything. Maybe it’s because running is faster, maybe it’s because it’s harder, but either way, when you run you hear nothing but the pound of your soles against the concrete, see nothing except for the stop sign twenty metres ahead signalling a water break. If you’re smart like Jongin, you play music at full blast so you don’t die of boredom, and you let the saccharine voice of Mariah Carey caress your ears in all of its eight-octave glory.

Jongin has always enjoyed the latter, because walking is like a breath of fresh air, and running is what takes it away. It’s a much more satisfying feeling in the end anyways, to bend over and rest a palm on each knee, breathing hard and wobbling slightly. He finds that you either run because you need release, or you run because you need stimulus.

Today he needs release, because today he's been fighting with Baekhyun again.

It had been over the most insignificant thing too, something that to any random passerby on the street would have deemed unnecessary and wholly just a waste of time. Baekhyun had invited him out to lunch, which wouldn't be so bad, you see, were it not for the fact that Jongin is very busy nowadays. Very busy. With dance rehearsals day after day and night after night, there was not a single way possible in which he would have been able to go out for lunch of all godforsaken things. It was so inconsiderate to even ask in the first place, in his opinion.

There was, of course, the added negative that eating out is extremely unhealthy, and Jongin doesn't do anything even remotely so. Which is ridiculous, because one lunch isn't going to kill him, but it could very well make him fatter, which is a very big, very sophisticated, no-no.

So he and Baekhyun had gotten into it, the latter wondering why the former was making such a big deal out of it, and the former wondering why the latter just wasn't getting it. They hadn't said anything especially irreversible- thank God- but the point still stood that Jongin had walked out and slammed the door behind him.

Now he was running, which meant that there were a few unresolved issues.

The slightly damp smell of Toronto after the rain fills his nose, making breathing a little more difficult but nonetheless possible. The concrete has nearly dried and the sidewalk has almost faded back to its original ash-gray colour, but the surface still squeaks slightly underneath his heavy steps.

His feet had automatically carried him down to Bloor, mind subconsciously seeking out the comfort of the smell of barbeque and the taste of ddeok. Baekhyun’s older sister runs a restaurant near Euclid with her husband and their five-year old son Jinwoo as free advertisement, and the brunette always seems to know the way around her brother.

So he had run in the opposite direction down Bloor and then looped back ,wasting away an hour minimum.  He now approaches the restaurant, pausing to pull his earphones out and shove them in the back pocket of his joggers. A neon sign with small, square letters flashes in his eyes as he opens the door, bell jingling to alert his presence. Little Taste of 한국, the words read, the best Korean restaurant in all of the GTA.

The interior is warm, all maple floors and sixties wallpaper and glowing wall lamps. The scent of jjajangmyeon and kimchi stew invades his nostrils, and his lungs expand far past normal just to memorize the smell a little bit longer. He smiles to himself and leans his head back because he’s never felt more at home than here in this restaurant.

He can’t count the number of times he’s spent late nights here grabbing dinner with Baekhyun, getting pissed drunk and haphazardly stumbling into the streets to hail a cab. Early lunches spent stuffing their faces until they couldn’t breathe, and sometimes even breakfasts with dishes that weren’t on the menu, “just for you two”. It’s like his home away from home, not that he really has a home in the first place, and as lost as he usually feels, he can always find his way back here.

“Jongin-hyung!” A small voice breaks into his memories, dragging his eyes down to an equally small figure. A pair of chubby arms circle his hips and a round face is smushed into his lower stomach. “You came! Eomma said you and Baekhyun-hyung should come over and you did! Did eomma call you?”

Jongin laughs, petting Jinwoo’s hair with a delicate hand and brushing back his fringe. “Nah, I can just read your eomma’s mind. I have superpowers.” He pulls back and crouches down, wiggling his fingers in the younger’s face at the word superpowers.

Jinwoo giggles and Jongin smiles back, bopping his nose and earning himself a funny face.

“Did you bring Baekhyun-hyung with you?” Jinwoo asks, peering over Jongin’s shoulder to the door behind him.

Jongin shakes his head. “Not today, little guy. He was busy with some stuff, but I promise I’ll bring him next time, okay?”

Jinwoo looks a little despondent at the news, but he quickly shrugs his shoulders and pops his lips. “Okay!” He echoes, and Jongin smiles at him once more.

“So my brother’s too busy to pay his own sister a visit, huh?” Jongin hears from a few metres away. He looks up to the sight of a youthful and grinning woman, black hair falling in waves over her slim shoulders and hands resting on identically slim hips.

“Hi Tiffany-noona,” He greets, straightening himself up and ruffling Jinwoo’s hair on the way. The younger scrunches his nose up at the action and runs over to his mother, hiding behind her leg and shooting Jongin a death glare. He laughs. “Yeah, Baek had some, uh… some things to look after, so I had to leave him behind.” He says, giving her a pointed look.

Tiffany seems to understand that this means we had an argument again, as she turns to Jinwoo and nods her head towards the back of the restaurant. “Go see if your appa needs any help, okay? You can come back when you’re done.”

Jinwoo pouts and Jongin smiles through his eyes, because the kid is just sometimes way too adorable for his own good.

“Okay…” Jinwoo mumbles, turning on his heel and shuffling his feet to the back. Tiffany laughs and pats him on the , a shrill squeak sounding the air. Jongin matches her laugh, flicking his head to the side in an effort to swipe the hair off his forehead.

Tiffany motions for him to sit a table, chair scraping against the wood floor and adding to the hundreds of marks already there. It’s good, he supposes, because it means that this chair is being used often, but it’s still a shame, because they are nice floors.

“You’re looking rather disgusting today,” Tiffany notes, crinkling her pretty face at the beads of sweat that trickle slowly down his neck. “Been working out again?” She ventures.

“Yeah, something like that.” Jongin responds offhandedly, graciously accepting the napkin she sends his way and dabbing at his collarbones.

Tiffany tilts her head to the side, hair landing with a slight shuffling sound on the table. “Well, you only ever run if you’re trying to lose weight or if you’re fighting with my brother, and I’m assuming the latter is true,” She says, pointing at his existence, “Obviously, or you wouldn’t be here. And I’m really hoping it’s not the first one, because Kim Jongin I swear to God, if you get any skinnier I am chaining you to this table.”

Jongin laughs at the threat, knowing that there’s no real heat behind it, and shakes his head, tapping his middle and forefinger on the table twice. “I need to stay fit noona, for my dancing. If I’m thinner I have more energy.”

Tiffany clucks her tongue. “Mmm, and if you don’t eat at all then you also have no energy. Just eat a bit more, alright? You make me worry.”

She winks at him but doesn’t press the issue, something that Jongin appreciates. It’s very unlike her brother, who never seems to know when to mind his own business (even if he means well), and he thinks that she must take more after Mr. Byun.

“Speaking of which,” She continues, “What brings you here? You know how I love to hear about how wonderful Baekhyun can be.” She rolls her eyes, but even the sour expression can’t do anything to taint her pretty features.

Jongin sighs, meshing his fingers together and laying them palms down on the table. “It’s stupid, really,” He says into his shoulder, wiping the sweat from the corner of his jaw into his quarter-zip.

“Try me,” Tiffany says challengingly, resting both elbows up on the table and leaning into her hands.

“He, uh, he asked me out to lunch.” Jongin says in embarrassment, and his cheeks show just the slightest tint of red.

“No way! Really?” She half-shouts. Her palms slam down on the table and Jongin jumps. “I always knew he was gay, I just knew it.” She says to herself, pulling back and leaning into the wooden backrest. “Well don’t just sit there, tell me how he did it.” She prompts when Jongin makes no move to reply.

But then Jongin sputters, because that was definitely not what he meant. “No no no no, noona no. He’s not, he isn’t- uh, no.”

Tiffany blinks, and her eyes slowly pull into a squint. “What do you mean he isn’t? He asked you out, didn’t he? That’s why you’re here? Needed some good sisterly advice?”

Jongin offers her a small smile. “Not exactly.”

She huffs. “Well that’s disappointing. And here I was, thinking that I had finally found someone good enough for my Jonggie-bear. Although, my brother definitely wouldn’t have been my first pick.” Tiffany smirks at him, teasing glint evident in her elegantly arched eyebrow.

“Tiffany~” Jongin whines, covering his face with his hands. Tiffany laughs, shaking her head at the younger.

“You know, Jongin, for someone so not normal you fit in terribly well with the whole gay dancer stereotype.”

“Well yeah,” Jongin mumbles into the table, upon which his face is now planted. “But not everyone needs to know that.”

“Hey! There is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay.” She defends, even though Jongin has long since accepted the fact.

“I know, I know.” He says, lifting his head back up.

“So then why are you here?” The brunette questions. “If not for a guy crisis.”

Jongin frowns, to which Tiffany tsks because she doesn’t feel like telling him for the hundredth time that if he keeps doing that his face will stick. “Like I said, Baek asked me out to lunch.”

Now it’s Tiffany’s turn to frown, eyebrows knitting in a complicated knot. “I don’t get it. If it’s not a date then what’s the big deal? Just take the man to Aroma and get it over with.”

“It’s not that simple, noona.”

“Sure it is! You don’t even have to book a reservation. That’s pretty simple in my books.”

Jongin sighs, sliding his moist palms down his thighs. He surreptitiously sniffs his shoulder and wrinkles his nose. He’s starting to stink, he really needs to shower before he scares all the customers away from Tiffany-noona’s restaurant.

“It would be yeah, but I’m um, I’m trying to eat healthy.”

“So? Just don’t go to Chipotle and you’re all good.” Tiffany says boredly, eyes scanning her nail beds. Not that she doesn’t love Jongin to bits, which she really does, she was just hoping for a little more boy talk.

It’s a tough life.

“No but still. I… don’t want to eat out.”

Tiffany freezes, nail stopping halfway to on it’s way to be bitten.

“Kim Jongin, don’t you dare tell me you’re skipping meals again.” Her gaze shoots daggers straight through Jongin’s body, and he almost shivers at the intensity of the gaze.

“No- no, no I’m not.” He says nervously. Tiffany doesn’t look like she believes him. “I swear I’m not, I just- I’m trying to eat less.”

Tiffany sighs. “Jongin, I’ve told you so many times, you’re perfect just the way you are. And besides, you’re already so thin, I don’t see how you could get any smaller.”

Jongin shakes his head because no, that’s not the point. He’s not losing weight, he’s just getting fit. There’s a very distinct difference, if you squint really hard. Really hard.

“I’m just trying to be the best dancer I can.”

“I know you are.” Tiffany says more softly this time, regarding him with gentle eyes. “I know you are. Just be careful about it, yeah? I don’t need you disappearing on me. You know what it did to me last time.”

The brunette’s tone is serious and Jongin very well understands just how much it is. He tries to forget as best he can, but there’s always the lingering memory of an ambulance and a hospital bed and a tube being shoved down his throat and food being forced in. Most strongly, however, he remembers the way Tiffany-noona had run into the room in a panic, looking like she hadn’t slept in days but had still just hopped out of bed, messy hair and bare face.

“Of course, noona. I’ll try to eat more for you” He concedes after a moment, but Tiffany sends him a suspicious look because they both know that he’s lying. But then she shakes her head as if erasing the conversation, and tilts her head back to the ceiling before looking him in the eye.

“Just explain things to Baek. I’m sure he’ll understand.” Jongin gives her a pointed look, and Tiffany quickly laughs. “Okay so maybe don’t tell him everything. But don’t keep him in the dark either, okay? You know how much he hates it. He’ll only be harder to deal with. Just tell him that you’re trying to be healthier. It’s a start.”

Jongin nods slowly, mulling over just what he’s going to say to his roommate. Baekhyun knows about everything that happened in the past, obviously, so it’ll require a little more tip-toeing around the more sensitive parts, but Tiffany is right. Baekhyun gets whiny when h doesn’t understand, and a whiny Baekhyun is something no one wants to deal with.

“How about I fix you up something small right now? No carbs and lots of protein, yeah? You look like you could use it.” She offers, nodding at his exhausted state. “And don’t give me that look, you know I won’t let you pay. I’m older than you, let me take care of you you ungrateful child.”

Jongin holds his hands up as if to defend himself and laughs, face morphing into an expression of who, me?

“I”ll go cook that right up for you, so don’t even think of going anywhere. I’ll get Jinwoo for you. That kid I swear, likes you more than he likes me.” Tiffany says good-naturedly, because it’s so absurd that it’s almost kind of true.

Jongin nods and she smiles back before disappearing, and Jongin thinks with a chuckle that if he were straight he probably would be breaking some major bro code with Baekhyun. Tiffany-noona is too good to him, which is bad because he’s starting to get used to it.

Just then the bells hanging from the entrance jingle, capturing Jongin’s attention and turning him around to face the noise, largely because it’s been empty the entire time that’s he’s been here. Also, however, because after the bells jingle he hears a squeak, notably a man’s squeak, which sounds rather out of place among the hum and clatter of cooking in the back.

He’s met with the pleasant (or unpleasant, depending on how you look at it) sight of a small man, with jet black hair and a lithe frame. The man looks in utter horror at the bell, almost as if he can’t believe it had the audacity to sound off. Which is all fine of course, because what strikes him the most, is that this is the man he saw in the park the other day.

The man, Kyungsoo was it? Had been nice enough to check on him after he had fallen ever so graciously onto his face, which is bad enough, but coupled with the fact that he had stared at the man’s face for an unacceptable amount of time makes Jongin whip back around and sink further into his seat.

He prays to every single god out there that Kyungsoo was too busy being offended by the bells to notice him, and tucks his chin into his chest effectively creating a rather attractive double chin. Thankfully it seems that Kyungsoo is trying to avoid him just as much as he is, and whether or not that’s actually true doesn’t really matter because Kyungsoo walks right past him and up to the counter.

The shorter looks around nervously, peeking behind the counter and looking left and right for any sign of life. Alas, there is none, and Jongin can see his adam’s apple jump as he gulps. From this angle, and every other angle he supposes, Kyungsoo looks just as breathtaking as he did the other day. All strong jaw and alabaster skin and dark eyelashes. He can’t really be blamed for staring; can he?

But apparently he can, because Kyungsoo then turns around and leans back against the counter. He fidgets with his hands, flexing his wrists up and towards his body, eyes darting back and forth. Jongin’s own eyes go wide in surprise, waiting like a sitting duck for Kyungsoo to inevitably spot him.

Not a moment later Kyungsoo catches sight of his face and squeaks once again before whirling back around to the counter. He grips it so tightly that his even from a distance Jongin can tell that his knuckles are turning white, and  he can faintly hear the elevated breathing. Jongin frowns, because he couldn’t have had that bad of a first impression.

“Kyungsoo?” He ventures, voice ringing out in the silence.

The shorter turns around once more, this time slowly as if biding his time, and tentatively looks up through thick lashes at Jongin.

“Hi.” He says shortly, and Jongin swallows thickly because the sight is far more intriguing than Kyungsoo obviously meant it to be.

“Hey,” Jongin greets back, offering a warm smile to the other. “Come here often?”

“Not… really.” Kyungsoo hesitates, like he doesn’t know the answer himself.  “I normally call in, but my um- my phone line wasn’t working.”

“Typical.” The taller says with a laugh.

“Yeah.”

Jongin smiles again, wasting time away because Kyungsoo truly is something to look at, and that’s not even the side of him attracted to men that’s talking. There’s just something strangely appealing about the blend of Kyungsoo’s features, like the contrast between his strong eyebrows and soft lips, or the way that he’s so small and yet seems to command such a large presence, even if it’s painfully obvious how much he’s trying to make himself seem smaller. Jongin’s good with body language, and something tells him that Kyungsoo’s got a whole lot of amazing cooped up in his guarded stance.

“Want me to get the cashier for you?” He offers, because Kyungsoo is just standing there and honestly Tiffany-noona needs to learn better customer service. Jongin isn’t even paying, for God's sake.

“Um… no- no that’s okay. I’ll just- um, wait.” Kyungsoo nods once, firmly, to himself mostly, before turning his head away and giving Jongin a wonderful view of his jawline. He looks down a bit and notices Kyungsoo gripping the fabric of his slacks between well-knuckled fingers. He can see the small up and down motion of the tops of Kyungsoo’s shoes, indicating that he’s probably wiggling them to some extent. Kyungsoo sure does move around a lot, Jongin thinks.

But looking back up Kyungsoo’s body Jongin also thinks that oh yeah, he looks like right now. Of all times, honestly. His hair is likely greasy or at the least crunchy from the now dried sweat and salt, his cheeks are some awful shade of crimson, and his clothes are not suitable for public wearing in the slightest.

Kyungsoo doesn’t seem to notice though, seemingly too fascinated by his shoelaces (dirty, Jongin notes) to pay him any mind.

“No, no, I insist.” Jongin says after an awkward moment, and Kyungsoo moves like he wants to stop him before Jongin is yelling out, “TIFFANY-NOONA!” At the top of his lungs and Kyungsoo jumps five feet into the air while covering his mouth.

The brunette woman runs out of the kitchen and nearly slams into the service counter, looking wildly at Jongin before frowning when she sees him sitting far too casually in the same spot she left him in.

“What do you want?” She asks, rolling her eyes.

“You have a customer!” Jongin chirps, looking cheerfully at Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo, on the other hand, looks marginally shell-shocked, and the hairs on his arms are visibly standing on end. His face is rather pale, and he takes a step back from the counter as if Tiffany is impinging on his personal space.

“I- um, I’m sorry, it’s okay. You can uh… go back to whatever you were doing, I’ll, um, wait.” He mumbles.

“Nonsense.” Tiffany waves away Kyungsoo’s attempt at chivalry with a wave of her palm. “Sorry about Jongin though, he’s pretty inconvenient most of the time.”

“It’s okay.” Kyungsoo says even more quietly, and Jongin makes a weird face because Kyungsoo is too much, and they don’t even know each other. Unfortunately, Tiffany catches the look, and raises an eyebrow at him before turning her attention back to her paying customer.

‘What can I get you?” She asks, and Kyungsoo launches into a short and stumpy order that Jongin doesn’t listen to. Why listen, when you can watch.

When Kyungsoo orders, he does this thing where he grips the bottom of the service counter where it juts out, running his palms along the surface to the left and the right. He also crosses one leg behind the other, tapping the back toes rapidly on the ground. He would have thought it would make Kyungsoo, and subsequently anything he touched, shake violently, but the shorter man must have an insane level of proprioception.

“Will that be all?” He hears Tiffany ask sweetly.

“Um yeah, that’s… it.” Kyungsoo replies, running his palm along the worn wallet that he’s brought out from his pant’s pocket.

“20.4-” The brunette begins, but before she even finishes Kyungsoo is pushing the exact change over the counter. Tiffany stands there in mild shock, because the only logical explanation is that Kyungsoo just read her mind. Kyungsoo doesn’t notice, however, because he’s pocketing his wallet again and smoothing his fingers over the bump like he thinks it’ll disappear.

Tiffany tilts her head to the side for half of a second before her chocolate brown eyes light up in recognition and she announces- very loudly- “Hey! You’re never-opens-the-door guy! I gotta tell you, my husband just loves delivering to you. Says it’s his easiest delivery of the night.”

Kyungsoo eyes widen almost comically and his hands drop to his sides, and from far away it looks like he just got caught red-handed for second degree murder. “Oh, I- I, um… yeah.”

“Well, it’s good to finally match a face to the name. Please, take a seat, I’ll get your food ready right away.” She gestures at the table Jongin is sitting at, which earns her a scowl, before twirling around and marching back to the kitchen.

Jongin sighs- because Tiffany is going to kill him someday- before smiling. “Sure Kyungsoo, come sit with me.”

When the shorter makes no move of any kind to sit Jongin rolls his eyes jokingly and winks. “I don’t bite, I promise.” And Kyungsoo mumbles something to himself along the lines of I know that, before awkwardly shuffling over. He gingerly pulls out the chair across from Jongin and wrinkles his nose in discomfort when he no doubt finds the chair warm from when Tiffany-noona had sat on it.

“So, never-opens-the-door guy?” Jongin tilts his head Kyungsoo’s way.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He says quietly, almost as if he’s embarrassed.

“Oh no no it’s totally cool, I was just wondering how that works. Do you just leave the money at the door or something?” Kyungsoo nods. “Ahh, well that explains it. Tiffany-noona looked like she was about to call the cops when you knew what to give her before she even said it.” Jongin laughs, and it’s a nice one, all loud and warm.

But Kyungsoo flinches, squeezing his eyes shut before slowly peeling them open one after the other. Jongin swallows twice, waiting for Kyungsoo to tell him for being rude or something, but the words never come.

“So, uh, do you live around here?” The taller tries again, and it sounds so stupid that he almost doesn’t want Kyungsoo to respond.

“Yeah, I… do.” Kyungsoo’s fingers are curling in strange ways on the table, drawing Jongin’s eyes. They flex and unbend, rotate this way and that, and it all strangely looks like one of his rehearsal pieces.

But he’s probably staring again and clears his throat. “Me too actually, I live just down on College with my roommate. Any roommates of your own?”

“Not really.”

“Mmm.”

So apparently Kyungsoo isn’t one for conversation, which is okay because they don't really need to be talking for him to appreciate the other, but it's a shame nonetheless because he'd love to get to know Kyungsoo.

The shorter man looks around timidly, eyes flicking over the little in the shop, from the scratches in the wood panelling to the flickering of the overhead light. Jongin doesn’t really have time for cute things these days, but if he did, he’d make time for Kyungsoo.

“Say Kyungsoo, would it be okay if I got your number? I mean, we keep running into each other, so it might be nice to actually run into one another on purpose sometime, yeah?”

“Uh, um… I, uh-” Kyungsoo flounders, suddenly going beet red in the face (which if it isn’t the cutest thing Jongin has ever seen), “I don’t really um… go out.”

“Really? I don’t believe it. With a face like yours, I mean…” Smooth Kim, very smooth, he thinks to himself with an invisible smirk.

Although maybe that wasn’t the thing to say because Kyungsoo just slouches further, shrinking in on himself and turning his head away. Jongin internally panics because he the last thing he wants to do is make the other uncomfortable.

“Okay okay, so maybe not meeting up right away… but uh, I could call you?” He offers.

Tiffany then reemerges from the back with Kyungsoo’s plastic in hand- great timing, really- and Kyungsoo whips his head back and forth between the two, wondering who to answer. But Tiffany points to the bag again with a little shaking motion and Kyungsoo swallows hard.

He looks back to Jongin one last time before he quickly scribbles his number down on a napkin with the old pen in his coat pocket. He slides the digits across the rough table to Jongin, who smiles sweetly and holds up the napkin in recognition. Kyungsoo nods, and turns around, snatching the plastic from Tiffany like she’s infectious before quickly shuffling out of the store.

When the bell chimes again as the door closes Tiffany rests one hand on her hip and looks at Jongin disapprovingly.

“What did you do now?”

“Nothing! I swear!” He tries to defend himself, but Tiffany just squints at him before saying that she’ll be back with his food and disappearing once more.

He swears, he did nothing.

But really, he probably did everything.

~

This time they don’t eat at Tiffany-noona’s restaurant, something about presents and birthdays and forgetting and wanting to avoid. Jongin follows Baekhyun as he picks the first random restaurant they pass by, a small joint with faded seats and dim lighting. A heavy smoke fills the air, causing Jongin’s eyes to water and his throat to catch.

“What the is this place, Baek?” He questions, hand waving uselessly in front of his face.

“This happens to be my second favourite restaurant, thank you very much.” The blonde bites back sarcastically.

“Really, because I find it fascinating that your favourite restaurant is a combination gay bar.”

Jongin raises an eyebrow at the other, who clearly did not see the neon signs advertising a good time and the company of men that hung in the window.

“I never said I was straight,” Baekhyun mumbles, although they both know that he is.

“Clearly.”

The bartender, a man in his twenties with tattoos snaking up his arms and piercings littering his eyebrows, nods his head at an empty table, and Baekhyun takes that as their clue to take it. They slide into the leather seats of the booth, edges fraying and fabric ripe for picking.

Baekhyun eagerly picks up the menu, probably hungry from his eight-hour shift at the hospital, eyes readily scanning the stained, laminated piece of paper left forgotten on the table.

Jongin, however, isn’t as enthusiastic, not really caring for the smell of grease and onion rings that emanates from the kitchen. Instead he takes a look around, noting that the bartender as well as the guy pretending to play pool in the corner are staring his way. Or maybe they’re looking at Baekhyun. The blonde did tend to attract the attention of those he didn’t want it from. Curse of being pretty, he supposes.

“Not ordering anything?” Baekhyun asks suddenly, eyes popping up from the top of the menu.

“I’m good.” Jongin says dismissively, nervously turning his attention away from the pool-player who’s just winked at him.

“Oh come on, you must be hungry,” Baekhyun chides. “You haven’t eaten anything today, have you?”

“I’m alright.” Jongin plays with the corner of the table, liking how it’s so round and worn from being bumped into countless times over the years.

“Jongin.” The tone is not light and said man looks up warily. “Let’s not do this again, okay? You can get a salad if you want, I’ll pay. My treat.”

Baekhyun tries to make it sound as casual as he can, but Jongin’s known him long enough to know that the nervous twitch in his knuckles is exactly that. He sighs, because this isn’t worth getting into another fight over.

“Fine, get me a house salad. Dressing on the side. And don’t even, of course I’ll pay for myself.”

“I’m older than you, I should pay.” Baekhyun argues, index finger scratching at his opposite knuckle.

Jongin snorts. “You know we don't actually live in Korea, right? You're not obligated to take care of me. And God forbid, if you ever managed to make me call you hyung.” He gags at the mere prospect of the notion, not even remotely fakely.

“You use honorifics with Tiffany.” He points out, even though it really doesn't help his case because Jongin really doesn't care. “Even I don't do that, and she's my sister.”

“Yeah, well, she's earned it. Unlike someone I know.”

It earns him a light slap on the side of the head, which in all honestly he probably deserved, and he chuckles before raising his eyebrows at the bartender to catch his attention. He's already looking though, the realization of which makes Jongin both proud and uncomfortable.

A minute and an awkwardly obvious brush of the fingertips as the bartender took the menu away later, Jongin has ordered a salad and Baekhyun has ordered a bison burger and curly fries. At least if he dies of heart disease I won't have to share the bathroom anymore, Jongin thinks.

“So how was dance today?” Baekhyun asks, taking a sip of the coke he's ordered as well.

“Awful, as usual.” Is what's mumbled into callused palms.

Rehearsal today had been just as horrible as it had been last week, when the Head had reamed him out in front of every last soloist in the company. He doesn't know what's gotten into him lately; dancing used to come so naturally. No matter the style or the concept, the movements of his body flowed as effortlessly as the music to which they were matched, feet bouncing gracefully and head tilting upwards pompously.

But now it takes him effort to even motivate himself to go to rehearsal, which isn't optional in the first place. Not to mention the way that it feels like a chore to make his body cooperate with him for three minutes, to just do the ing fouettés and not go off-time.

“You know, you could just stop dancing.” Baekhyun says it as if he actually expects the younger to consider it, and Jongin glares at him, none too nicely, before pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Baekhyun laughs. “Jesus, I'm kidding. You would have thought that I just hooked up with your ex-lover or something. Lighten up, would you?” There's a twinkle in the blonde’s, telltale that he was joking from the get-go.

He sighs.

“Sorry Baek I just-”

“Hey.” Baekhyun stops him, patting his shoulder. “No harm done.”

Jongin smiles at him gratefully, pulling himself up and sinking back into the seat. His leg twitches as he tucks it underneath him, and he winces when he remembers the unknown puddle that he stepped in earlier, the contents of which is now smeared along the bottom of his pants on the thigh.

Baekhyun knows better than anyone how grouchy he can get about his career, how it can affect his mood on a day-to-day basis. Dance is so much a part of him that sometimes it is him, something he's learned that can be both a blessing and curse.

“How's the hospital?” He asks back, leaning onto one palm on the seat beside him.

“It's alright. Mark gave me another flower today. I think he searched up how to make origami tulips on youtube.”

Jongin laughs. “He’s still after you? I have to admit, that's dedication. No way you're worth that much effort.”

His roommate looks affronted, and it makes Jongin laugh again because pissy Baekhyun looks like an offended corgi.

“Besides, wasn't he after that Taeyong kid?” Jongin plays with the little square napkin, folding it into triangles repeatedly.

“Nah, that was ages ago. He's moved onto me now, I suppose… But that's Mark for you. He's clingy.” Baekhyun shrugs.

“He's also depressed and suicidal with severe attachment issues, Baek.”

The blonde has the audacity to look unaffected by the statement and Jongin stares at him.

“What? You can't blame me for being used to these kinds of things.”

“Well I can still blame you for being a heartless .”

“I have a wonderful , thank you.” Baekhyun smiles sweetly, expression contradicting the lewdness of his words.

Baekhyun works in the psych ward of Toronto General, treating patients with a wide and always pleasant variety of conditions, from anorexia to depression, from multiple personality disorders to psychosomatic limps. It's all in a day's work him, really, and unlike his roommate Baekhyun has learned not to think too much of it.

“You know Jongin, the world needs more people like you.” Baekhyun swirls the liquid in his glass and looks at him sideways. “People who care, people who want to make things better. The world needs more Jongins.”

“I don’t think you’d be able to handle more of me, Baek. I’m pretty sure I’m already maxing out your ‘Jongin limit’ by myself.”

Their soft laughs mingle together, cloudy in the dusky bar, and if Jongin were to describe the sound he would call it pretty.

He thinks about it for a second, what it would be like to have more people like him in the world. He doesn’t contribute much in all honesty, but it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want to. He’s just waiting for his chance, he supposes. His chance to change something. Or someone.

“Still. You’re a good guy Jongin. I wish more people could see you.”

(But sometimes, Baekhyun wishes he didn’t see Jongin, as he pretends not to notice when Jongin excuses himself to go to the bathroom, and pretends not to smell the underlying scent of vomit that laces with Jongin’s peppermint-flavoured gum when he returns.)

~

A/N: Woo part 1 down! So as I said at the beginning of this chapter, I'm really not too sure about this fic right now, so let me know what you guys think. Like if you think dialogue is lacking orother stuff like that. Tbh kaisoo interaction in this chapter , but I'm just sorting out their characters right now and I'm not too sure of what their dynamic will be like. Let me know your thoughts on that as well! And thanks so much for subbing already if you have, I love you all to bits <3