It's five minutes after the time they have to meet.

The street is bustling with life and energy, workers on their way home, lovers with their hands held together, fingers interlocked, children running ahead of their parents, escaping from their control. Some wave at him sitting on the stairs, waiting. He greets them in return, smiling.

He checks his phone and the screen brightens, alive, his face carved on it, a keepsake of last summer, the sun caressing his flesh with adoration, tinting it with soft shades. But he is not interested in observing the image that he knows by heart, in remembering the waves kissing his feet, saltpeter sticking on his back, sand and lotion and him kissing his lips with devotion, the taste of his love and the summer on his skin, warm, soft, diluted on his mouth; he checks the hour and the fact that there is nothing else, not a call, not a text and the screen shines, the light marking the time, all the seconds and minutes that he has been missed, that he has been waited, scratching his heart, thorns of worries blooming up, the coldness of a winter afternoon.

He brushes his locks, distressed.

He is never late, he always makes sure to be the first one to arrive, he loves to call him out whenever he comes out of time. He is always so responsible, so caring, he wouldn’t left him thrown in the snow without notice, an explanation that hasn’t arrived yet.

Something feels wrong.

And he worries.

And time keeps passing and he walks in circles, up and down the street where they should encounter, concerned, cornered, trapped, a wounded animal waiting for a death sentence, his eyes searching, looking through the rush of people coming his way. He sees a myriad of faces but none of them is the one his heart reclaims, the smile that lit the sky, piercing the clouds, the eyes that are his stars, beaconing, welcoming him home. He makes sure that he is in the right location but, of course, he is, everything around is familiar, reassuring, enervating his nerves - he can’t be lost in this well-known district where they always hang out, the street at the left of his office, the place that has seen their love tatter and suffers and start like a sparkle blazing a fire - a fire that has their names in every flame, magnificent, bright, illuminating their shared path with a light that is born from their hearts.

He stares at the shops, inside, scouting for him but he is not in any of the coffee shops they used to go, sipping a cup of his favorite tea, ordering his vanilla latte and mocking him for his child-like taste; he is not sitting in the swing, the kids playing around, loud, boisterous, kicking a ball and the and grit, but he is not here, looking at him, his feet pointing to the infinity, flying with his endearing chuckles swirling with him, the crescent moon painting his face sterling. 

He is not behind the lamps, waiting to hunt him with a kiss and laughter after scaring him, grinning with pleasure, his little mischievous love. He goes through them all, but his shadow is not peeking out, his giggles are nowhere to be found and his heart sinks, uneasy. 

He glances at his watch and it's twenty minutes past the time of their meeting and not a single trace of him, not a single message to reassure his heart, to lift the fear of his mind, the torment that is it not knowing if he is well, the swarm of images of him leaving him behind - he is compelled to be insecure when he is far better than what he deserves, what he can achieve; Kim Jinwoo is with him by mistake and he has realized just that, has decided that he doesn’t want him anymore, regretting morning kisses that fell upon him a few hours before. He shakes his head, shooing away the treacherous thoughts that appear whenever he is out of his sight when he is not holding his hand - when he misses him the most; when he needs him to keep his sanity.

Something has happened, he can feel it in the air. It doesn't taste like Jinwoo and this sends prickles down his blood - it hurts not having him around, when he is not by his side and he isn't sure if he is alright. Though he is older and wiser, he can't help the urge to keep him pressed between his lips, protected in his arms, his chin on top of the cloud of his hair. He is so protective of him, because he is so innocent, so naive, so kind… Jinwoo has to be observed, to keep him away from any harm and Seungyoon is going crazy thinking of all the things that could have happened, that could have fallen upon Jinwoo, preventing him to come to Seungyoon: a crash, a fire in the office, an emergency - his imagination runs wild, runs to dangerous, obscure places where his indecisions live. 

Maybe he should call the police, maybe he should check his office - but what if Jinwoo comes when he is looking elsewhere, what if he can’t find him waiting on the spot they always meet? It’s just thirty minutes, he sighs, trying hard to think of possibilities, reasons, explanations that are less extravagant, more realistic than the ones beating through his core - he knows he is over-reacting, that he has been late, too, and Jinwoo has never accused him; he teases him about it, about how much he worries about the most irrelevant things, how he kisses the fears away, how he retrieves the best of him.

It's forty-four minutes later and he sees him coming, running to him, the wind on his hair, color on his cheeks, flashes of a smile, hands waving.

He gets up from the step he has been waiting - anxiously waiting, his shadow covering his mind in black. He jumps to the top of the stair to have a better view of Jinwoo, welcoming him back with a precious simper growing on his plump lips, spreading widely.

His heart constraints, his vision narrows to only focus on him. He is alive, well, he is breathy and his hair is a total mess, but he is grinning and his core does somersaults, delighted, assured finally. He waves back at him, beaming and Seungyoon immediately forgets to be angry, all the worries and concerns are thrown away to the universe, all the fears that have been piling inside his head dissipate with a glance of Jinwoo. He smiles at him, feeling his chest tickling with Jinwoo's presence, with his proximity, his will to be with Seungyoon. He smiles as big as possible, until it hurts the corners of his mouth. He doesn't care - he only cares about Jinwoo.

"I'm sorry, babe, I'm late", he says, apologetic. "An urgent meeting. I couldn't text you."

But Seungyoon doesn't care, he doesn't mind about whatever excuse or argument he is providing him with, he is too busy providing Jinwoo with kisses, peppering them all over his skin.