Butterflies / end

“I dare you to kiss me.”

Taemin placed his palm on Jongin’s neck and smooched his cheek. He pulled away quickly and gave him a bright smile.

“I won!” Taemin tilted his head, removing his hand. “Hey,” he grabbed at Jongin’s arms and forced them away from his body. “What’s wrong?”

Jongin shook his head – nothing’s wrong. He blankly watched Taemin get off him and said nothing as he followed him inside. He closed the window behind them, glancing one last time at the pale moon.

Compared to Taemin’s, Jongin’s bedroom was decorated rather plainly. The ceiling angled 45 degrees with the roof on the side where his bed was, where Taemin sat and kicked the air like he often does, watching Jongin pull the curtains to block any light from entering in the morning. He also had a desk, two bookcases – one for actual books, the other he filled with photos and awards – and an armoire, three boxes stacked in the corner, for anything else he did not want to throw away or might need later, and the tiny couch attached to the window, where he often stretched his limbs and read.

He had nothing fancy or wild or vividly colored like Taemin.

Jongin sat next to Taemin and watched him again, noticed Taemin avoided his gaze right away and the way he held his hands between his knees, wanting to talk about something but denying Jongin the satisfaction of actually hearing him out.

Taemin had done that often too.

“You didn’t win,” and Jongin knew that if it were after Taemin, they would never get to anything. He had been running for a night and a day like he had never run in his life, but he still did not feel as tired as how Taemin made him feel in that moment.

“I didn’t?” Taemin didn’t seem interested. He frowned and got up from the bed and crossed his arms. “You said to kiss you, I did.”

Jongin stood up too and wanted to face Taemin, but his hands were shaking and he had lost most of his strength.

“On the lips. Kiss me on the lips.”

“Or else what?” Taemin snapped. He turned to Jongin, arms still crossed, legs glued together, glaring. “I’ll tell you what, nothing.”

“Taemin.”

“Shut up! Do you even know what the Hell you’re asking me to do?”

Jongin stared, shaking harder. Another thought occurred to him. If he insisted, if he hadn’t stopped, he could possibly destroy something more than their relationship. For every year he spent with Taemin, he would have to endure a year without and the pain of it would kill him.

“I know,” then again, Jongin had been hurting for a while. He had been silently nurturing in his heart desires and wishes and all sort of scenarios and ideas; had been quietly provoking reactions from Taemin, teasing and poking him, observing the way he accepted or rejected him. He had been preparing and with that sort of shield up, he could resist a little longer, a little more of that heartache, a little more sorrow, to end it.

He had to know.

“I know it better than you do.”

Once and for all, he had to know his answer.

“No, you don’t,” Taemin stepped closer.

“I do. I’m asking you to kiss me on the lips, if not, I will.”

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