Synchronicity.
Love From Afar & Love ReturnedI feel so stupid wearing Jong-In’s stupid hoodie. But I guess it’s nice. At least I’m being kept warm while walking around in this obnoxiously cold weather. Winter usually never bothers me, but now I’m seeking warmth like a homing pigeon. Maybe it’s Seoul. Yeah, it’s probably just Seoul.
“Have you been eating well?” my manager asks Jong-In. The two are in front of me, while I trail behind. “You look a little thin.”
“I’ve been eating fine…Does it look bad?” Jong-In asks as he squeezes his waist.
I let my sight wander on Jong-In’s frame. I can only see his back-profile, but it’s enough to reach a judgement.
“Yes, you need to eat more.” I speak up from behind. My manager turns his head back and gives me a quizzical brow. I glare at him until he turns back around. Jong-In continues to walk onwards for a few paces before speaking up in defence.
“Well, you’re looking a little thin too. Not enough strawberry jam on the bread from your luggage?” he coldly chides.
I immediately slow down, letting them gain a few extra strides ahead of me. Blood in every vein race up to my face, fighting for first place. I drop my chin to my chest and scrunch up my face. The smell of rain and cinnamon tickles my nose and I start to play with the hem of Jong-In’s hoodie.
“Me?”
“You and Jong-In have a teaser to film next week. I hope you can keep up with him, Lu Han. He’s a fast learner.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I bow out of common courtesy. Jong-In is still peering into the fridge. I swear, he better not get that apple I saw before. I’m really craving an apple right now. I wait a total of two seconds for Jong-In to finish up, but he doesn’t. So I stride over, squeeze in beside him and look into the fridge. I spot the apple, but before I’m able to grab it, cinnamon-rain flood my nose. Cinnamon-rain, but with a bit more of rain than usual. , I did not realise how close I am. I turn around to see Jong-In in a grey hoodie. The same one I wore a few nights ago. Why is he wearing it?! . Does he know? Oh god. I need to get out. Out of panic, my hand grabs the closest thing it can and I run. I try to rush out, only to be stopped by my manager.
“Jam-only for breakfast? Are you serious? That’s not healthy.”
Jam? I raise the object in my hand and try and focus my vision on it. At first, all I can make out is a dark-reddish blur, but once I focus I read the label. ‘Strawberry Jam. 95% Real Strawberries!’ What?!
““I-…um...I’m eating it with bread. I-I’ve got bread in my luggage. And knifes and plates and-“ I stutter like a fool. “I’m-I’m going to go now.”
Embarrassment shoots me in the face. I storm out without looking back. Funnily enough, I bump into Tao for the second time. He squirms himself away from me mumbling a quick “Sorry!” in Chinese. I really need to patch things up with Tao. He sees me as a monster… but I’ll do it later. I burst open the bedroom door and jump into Jong-In’s bed. Why his bed? I don’t know. His bed’s nicer. Must be the mattress. It’s still warm, warm like cinnamon-rain. I slam my face into his pillow and scream. And then I notice a cold sensation gripping my left hand. The jar of strawberry jam.
“Argh.” I grunt as I toss the stupid jar onto the timber boards, hoping it would break and the jam to bleed out. It doesn’t. Instead, it just makes a blunt bang and rolls around in a circle for a moment as if it’s mocking me “Stupid jam.”
I hate strawberry jam.
“Just shut up, kid.” I spit out, lacing every word with a deadly poison. Of course, my face is still red, but I try to make myself seem capable in defending my actions.
Jong-In still doesn’t turn back. Stupid kid.
“Settle down,” My manager mumbles in reprimand. “You two seriously need some couple therapy.”
“C-couple- what?!” Jong-In and I shout in unison. We realised, in that one moment, we were in synchronisation, on the same frequency and riding the same wavelength. The redness starts to fight its way back into the veins of my face. Jong-In looks away, hiding his face in the collar of his jacket.
“You heard right. Couple therapy,” my manager emphasises the ‘couple’ almost mockingly. “You two act more like a couple, than rivals.”
“You’re not serious, are you?!” I shout. Jong-In appears to be choosing to stay out of this.
“Nope. But since you’re so against it… I guess it would be a good-“
“No. Never.” Jong-In and I interrupt in sync. Again, we look away, faces crimson red and hidden.
Our manager laughs.
~
Time control!
“1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8” says a retro-stylish man in his early twenties. “Yes, Jong-In, good, good.”
Our choreographer has some sort of liking towards Jong-In. You can tell by the way he talks to him. Maybe it’s just me, but he always sounds more chipper towards Jong-In than me.
“Lu Han, you need to roll your shoulders a little more.”
I do as I’m told.
“No, no. Here.” He walks over, his hairspray-cemented hair reflects the ceiling lights like crystals. He grabs my shoulders and proceeds to mould them like clay. “More like this. Yeah?”
I feel so belittled having to be monitored like this. A chill runs down the hairs of my back. I look at the mirror. Jong-In’s staring at me. Our eyes meet, but he doesn’t look away.
“What you looking at?” I say, also provoking him by seething my eyes at him.
Jong-In’s eyes widen a fraction, but soon looks away and proceeds to go over the routine. Who does that kid think he is?
“Pay attention!” the choreographer scolds.
It’s been over four hours of continuous practice and we’re finally allowed a break.
“Alright, you’ve got half-an-hour. Rest up. You’ve still got the rest of the evening” our choreographer says before walking out.
Now it’s just Jong-In and I in the practice room. I collapse on the small couch along the wall, while Jong-In continues to go over the routine. I wipe the sweat off my face using my sleeve. Jong-In stares at me while I wipe the sweat off my skin.
“What are you doing?” he almost whispers.
“Getting dry. What’s it to you?” God, what is up with this kid? All he does is question what I do.
Jong-In turns his head away and stops dancing.
“N-nothing. I’m going to the bathroom.” He mumbles as he quickly shuffles out.
I don’t know what’s wrong with him. I get up and dig through my backpack for my bottle of water. I skull down the rest of the liquid, letting it quench my thirst like a downpour in a drought. Sweat clings to my clothes. Who’s stupid idea was it to tell me to wear extra clothes? Stupid manager. I take off my grey hoodie and toss it on the floor. Wait. What? I get off the couch and walk over to where I tossed the hoodie. I bend down and stare at it for a moment. You have got to be kidding me. I almost fall back upon the realisation. That hoodie is not mine! I completely forgot I was wearing Jong-In’s hoodie. I kick it like someone kicking a puppy. It gingerly moves a little further away.
I feel so damn stupid. I don’t even know why I wore it in the first place. It was so damn obvious that Jong-In set it there for me, almost as if he knew I needed something to wear. He even folded the stupid thing. It just looked so tempting and alluring lying there with no specific purpose other than to tease me. And so I caved in. I tossed my backpack on the floor and seized the hoodie with all my might. I quickly wore it over my shirt and folded out any creases. I stood there, not moving, letting the hoodie embrace my body. It felt like a second skin. And then I remembered how Jong-In had only worn this same hoodie minutes before, how his cinnamon-rain still lingered in the fabrics, how he had worn this same hoodie shirtless, his bare skin indirectly embracing my own. Redness fired onto my face and sweat began to squeeze its way through my pores. My chest started to ache, but it didn’t hurt. It was a weird feeling, a synthesis of warmth and joy and pain and hesitation. I picked up my back pack and walked out, redness still painted all over my face.
Now I look at the same hoodie, lying on the floor, darkened with patches of my own sweat. I even wiped my own sweat with it. He probably thinks I’m disgusting and went to the bathroom to puke or something. The door sounds open. I look up. Jong-In’s back.
“Y-you’re back!” I stutter, caught completely off guard from his appearance. I quickly pick up his grey hoodie and sit down on the couch, head glued to my chest.
“Uhh… yeah.”
There’s silence. A long painfully awkward silence. And then I hear the floor boards squeak. I sneak a peek to see Jong-In going over the routine. He never really stops practicing. He’s trained for the longest within our group and even with our imminent debut, he never stops. A soft smile creeps up on my lips, but I soon supress it down into the cold depths of my cold, black heart. Jong-In isn’t worthy of my praise.
Fifteen minutes pass. Jong-In has been practicing the whole time. I’ve just been lying on the couch with my eyes closed, resting my muscles in preparation for the next few hours. I sit up and realise that I used Jong-In’s hoodie as a pillow. Panic washes over my face.
“Are you serious?” I whisper softly to myself.
“What was that?” Jong-in asks while fixing his gaze at himself dancing in front of the wall-mirror.
“N-nothing!” He has too much of a good hearing to be talking to myself with.
My heart starts beating at 5-beats per second. I don’t know why I’m going to do this, but do.
“Umm… Your hoodie…” I mumble through my teeth. Jong-in stops dancing and looks at me. “S-sorry for using it as a sweat towel-thingy. I-I forgot I was wearing it.”
He looks at me.
I look down at my lap.
All of the sudden, I hear him rush towards me.
I look up, just in time to feel his arms push me back down onto the couch.
He straddles me, while pinning my arms down on the couch.
“W-what are you doing?!” I shout. My eyes dart to either side of him, avoiding his heated gaze.
Jong-In doesn’t say anything. All he does his stare at me with his round almond eyes. His mouth is slightly open. His breath dances on my skin. Beads of sweat roll down onto his nose and threaten to drop down onto my face.
“You’re not struggling.” He breathes out.
“I-I…”
I don’t know why I’m not. I did before. I tried to squirm my way out of his grip, but not this time.
I stop avoiding his gaze. Turning my head straight, I peer into his eyes. They’re yoked with emotions, but I can’t tell which ones. They lacked clarity. All I see are multitudes of frequencies with different wavelengths. I don’t know exactly which one, but I do know something. I know we’re on the right frequency, riding the same wavelength. I know what he’s feeling, and he knows what I am.
Jong-in leans towards my face until our noses touch. The bead of sweat on his nose before now rolls down my cheeks, mixing with my own. We stay like this for eons. We get lost in each other’s eyes, swimming the depths of the other’s pupils. We breathe in each other’s warm breath, sharing the same air between two lungs*. We live off our own breath as air and our sweat as hydration.
“Just…” Jong-In breathes. “Just this once…”
His eyes are squints now. He his lips. They glisten with his saliva.
“Yeah.” I breathe in reply.
We lean into each other.
Our lips meet.
It’s a slow shallow kiss, like testing the water before jumping in.
And then it heats up.
Our tongues collide like galaxies.
Jong-in loosens his grip on my arms and begins to slowly caress down to my waist.
I snake my arms around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss.
Our bodies press together, slowly grinding together.
Lips touching, tongues dancing.
We’re in sync.
______________________________
BAM!
I felt the urge to update because of the overabundance of other ships (Hunhan mainly and others [Lu Han is a ])
NOTES:
*Between Two Lungs - Florence and the Machine. I love them. The song is beautiful and the lyrics are too. I'm seeing them next month!
I can't think of anything else to say.
I hope you enjoyed!
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