He considered the possibility it was Jongin's foreboding presence. 

 

An abstraction he fixated on nearly every day since that phenomenon at the window, the gears in Kyungsoo's mind had been greased and turned by the latter's hands reaching in and working his dancing fingers the way he does. Such an outlandish, novel sentiment he toted for the model. It was like he was saved but didn't have the language to express how or why. He just knew Jongin had something to do with why he was where he was, but why- if he was truly 'fixed'- was he feeling such a cloud of darkness placed overhead while he gazed at the other. The mutual understanding of something unknown and unsaid. Ultimate secrecy and blissful ignorance.

Kyungsoo had continued his boring way of life through the beginning of fall, rotating through classes and pages of homework, spending most nights perched over a desk or sitting in the library until closing. It felt as if his life had taken a million sharp turns over the course of the past, rattling his bones and sending him into a dizzy state every morning he woke up to ride to school. His mundane sensability become something soul- and it leeched off of his will to learn, and his will to do pretty much anything else for that matter. Chanyeol was still silent since his departure, and Baekhyun was always too busy to pick up his calls. Soojung was nowhere to be found, confirmed during the lowest nights of Kyungsoo's life where he would grovel at the window and peer through to catch a glimpse, as if he was afraid none of it was real. 

 

Jongin returned into a cursory spirit. He molted away from humanity and became perennial in Kyungsoo's camera, the scent of smoke, a honeyed voice and a shadow in his peripheral. A ceaseless vision across his bedroom window that lingered too long and stared up too intensely at Kyungsoo's lucarne to see if it was open. One day, it was.

Kyungsoo found him after the model had waited outside his apartment entrance, in an encounter that seemed like a meticulous act of apologetic fortune all in itself. Shaking his head, Kyungsoo attributed the fleeting thought to nothing more than the activity of his hopeful imagination, and let Jongin inside. It had been his first appearance since the month before. He felt more dizzy than ever before, and he was burning.

With a subdued and hesitant movement, the model ran a stressed hand through his long hair, Kyungsoo's silence refusing to appease Jongin's vulnerable state, eyes darker than the last time he had seen them.

"Are you busy?" Uncertainty marked each syllable, and the words felt as if they leave traces of fear on Jongin's tongue, dripping like a repetitive offense from his mouth.

The pout on Kyungsoo's lips tilted into a flat line, and Jongin sighed as Kyungsoo shook his head, "I was working on school. My room is a mess." He didn't finish that thought, and they escaped up to his room seconds after.

There was film, albums and pages of collaged journaling strewn about his bed in a display of chaotic disarray. It usually put Kyungsoo in some kind of control, to go back and look at old photos he had taken in the past. He had been attempting to find inspiration. A reason as to why to moved here. Yet he felt as if he had no control at all having all his work out, while the model was in his space. Like he was open and gutted. His inspiration had just entered the room, it seemed, personified in the sickly form of cotton and bronze skin.

Kyungsoo moved some of the parchment to give Jongin room to sit, "So, what's up?"

"Is it okay that I'm here?" Jongin asked in shy terror. It didn't suit him.

"If it wasn't, I wouldn't have let you in."

"Yeah. You're right." Jongin laughed, "I just...wanted to see you."

It reminded him of that night that Jongin came by after the gala, golden and wearing a halo of drugged shame.

"Where's Soojung?"

He swore he saw light die behind Jongin's brown eyes, and the model hunched over to fiddle with the pictures on the mattress as if he was trying to hide his face, "Left again. Friends house."

"Friends house." Kyungsoo leaned back against the post and bent the corner of an effigy. "Who is this friend? Do you know?"

"Yeah. I know."

The photographer decided to leave it at that, and peeked over at what Jongin was touching, "Those were for my photography final. We had to do a series where it was all black and white. It had to have a story and a meaning, and it had to be somewhat abstract. I guess." Kyungsoo had a hushed voice as he pointed. The four, menacing pinups riveted up at them. "I saw you staring at them."

Jongin was motionless and reconciled as he shuffled through with heavy eyes, putting one behind the other. He then looked up to meet his stare, "Did you pass?"

"Yeah, but my professor was underwhelmed."

"Wow. Harsh teacher. You have photos in catalogues and he still graded you like that?" Jongin scoffed.

The shorter shrugged with a weak smile, "Status means nothing to him, I just don't think it was romantic enough for his liking."

"What's more romantic than tragedy?"

"Tragedy." Kyungsoo mouthed, "Why do you think these represent tragedy?"

"You closed your window." Jongin frowned with his fingers pressed harshly against the vignette. He held up the one with the dried flower, "You closed your window this day. What isn't tragic about that?"

"I had to." Kyungsoo was speechless.

"You closed it and didn't talk to me for weeks after. And now I'm back. Again, like always. What isn't tragic about this whole thing?"

"Just give them back if you don't want them. I'll put them somewhere else." Kyungsoo lunged, but Jongin held them out of reach.

"Hyung. Just tell me why."

"It was hard." Kyungsoo felt his voice deepen, "It got hard. At the end."

"Then that was the end?"

"Maybe. I-I don't know, Jongin. I don't."

Jongin stacked them all together like they were going to be stolen from him, "Let me have them." He said.

He still wasn't facing Kyungsoo, and the shorter wondered what was so detrimental about the flower on the window sill. It all felt bigger than what he had intended it to mean, bigger to Jongin. He nodded, watching as the model had begun to cry.

"So I take it, things aren't...good?"

"Were they ever good?"

"I don't know." Kyungsoo admitted. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Well, I can say one thing. Soojung is not coming back. Ever." Jongin finally met his gaze, blinking away tears.

"What? Jongin, why not?"

"Why do you think? Because of me. Because of how messed up we were."

"I'm sorry." Kyungsoo whispered, fighting the wanton yearning to pull the model into his arms. He was weak. Weak for Jongin in a way he didn't quite grasp. If that was love, it didn't feel as clean and pure as the stories made it out to be.

"Why are you sorry? None of that is your fault. We were toxic. We knew that before we moved here and came to Paris anyway. It's just the end of a chapter."

"You sound uncharacteristically calm about the whole thing."

"I'm just tired. It was so exhausting. I'm just glad there's finally an end." Jongin closed his eyes like he was ready to sleep surrounded by all the mismatched photographs, like it was a nest of his own memories and not Kyungsoo's. "I've been selfish. Really selfish. To you, and to Soojung."

Kyungsoo had a gut feeling it wasn't the end at all, "What happened?"

"Just had a bad fight. Brought up old , and it pissed her off so she brought up new . Do you really want to know?"

"Sure."

Propping himself up straight, Jongin spiraled into it like he had been waiting his whole life to talk about the topic, since Kyungsoo finally pushed enough with his sentient violence and empathy.

"Well, neither of us were loyal. Especially when pills got involved. Or we drank. This business is....bad for people. In a way, it brings out your most shallow qualities and rewards them. Because that's how you survive." He said, laying back down. "Modeling pushed us into unhealthy lifestyles, and our judgment was always fogged up by our bad decisions. Ruined together, with the help of one another. We became cheaters, liars and drunks. It was an inevitable end."

"I never saw either of you like that."

"How did you see us?" The model smirked at the glint of hope lacing Kyungsoo's words. "The perfect couple?"

"No. Not perfect, just...complicated."

"Well, that's a little optimistic."

"I saw the goodness in both of you."

"You're too romantic, Hyung. The city of love will eat you alive."

"Well, you're overly cynical. Maybe the city has more to offer than just bittersweet monotony." Kyungsoo counterattacked. He had regretted it the second it left his lips.

"Easy for you to say, you're an artist. Artists live in their own world. Head up in the clouds like always." He pointed to Chanyeol's portrait amongst all the others decorating the blanket, "Speaking of which...do you love him?"

"What? You know he's my best friend."

"I asked if you loved him, not if he was your best friend. He could be your cousin for all I care." Jongin arose imminent below the torchlight in his room and his fingers began to dance in mid air, "Do you love him?"

"Obviously." Kyungsoo spat, eyes furrowing in concealed anger.

"Okay. Too easy. Are you IN love with him?"

The shorter recoiled like the question gutted him, "Am I in love with Chanyeol? Is that really what you're asking me right now? What is wrong with you?"

Jongin smiled bitterly and clawed Into the duvet as if to stifle himself, "Well, he's in love with you. Really in love. You can see it in the way he gapes at you all the time." He his lips, "I met him only once. That one time, while me and Soojung in were front of him, he could only look at you."

"How doped up are you?" Kyungsoo scowled and turned away.

"I'm sober. For now." Jongin leaned in close, "Do you think I'm lying?"

"About which thing?"

"Which one seems crazier?"

"Chanyeol is—" Kyungsoo was too in awe to fully collect his thoughts. "Me and Chanyeol have something you don't understand. You're deflecting away from your own relationship problems and trying to pry into mine."

The model quirked a brow, "So you admit its a relationship?"

"What do you want me to say? It literally has nothing to do with you. You're being annoying and vague and it's starting to piss me off."

"It's unfair for you to look into my life when I can't look into yours." Jongin said. Kyungsoo could see the fatigue on his face lined with hidden resolution. For once, the shorter didn't label it charming. "The window goes both ways, Hyung."

Kyungsoo distracted himself by pottering with the adornments on the mattress, deciding to stare into a flat face of Chanyeol rather than Jongin's very close, very real one. He wished the chipped embankment would cave and engulf them both alive, "So, you came here to vent about your self inflicted issues and then judge me for mine? Why did you really come here?"

"Why do you keep letting me in?"

Kyungsoo discarded the photo with a fueled toss and perked up in explosive fury, "Is this some mental game? Can you just explain to me what the hell you're talking about?" He could see the shock on Jongin's face, "I don't know what you want from me! I'm not Soojung, and I don't know what you want me to say or do. You just showed up here out of the blue for no ing reason."

Kyungsoo's mind whirred and clicked in place, sending him through a flashback of months ago. Months ago when they were acquaintances. When there was an unwavering lie Kyungsoo had told himself to excuse himself in the era of infatuation. He had deemed the experience of Jongin as temporary, all fleeting and beautiful under an impenetrable smile. Then, in the wintry season, time and time again after his dance with smoke and anguished truth, he finally felt the model was permanent, but now, he could only look at the model feebly and say, "I don't know why I keep letting you in." While thinking maybe, Jongin would be temporary again.

The model was shaking as if a storm had passed through, and for once his hands stopped dancing alongside the emptiness as he got up to leave.

"When I come back. Don't let me in alright?"

The photographer stared with stinging eyes as Jongin disappeared out of sight. 

The remnants of his project laid in the space between their two fenestellas. Distant and loosely dropped like discarded wings. Jongin had thrown them out and let them flutter down, down, down into the abyss.

He cried too, that same night. Paris lonesome again in his immortal woes.

 

__________

One month later

___________

Developpe, Echappe, Grand Jete...

So many stretched out hands, unspoken words, dodged glances, inhales of soot and smog. Kyungsoo entered the cafe hearing the soft ringing above his head and the distant English from the barista. He bought a hot coffee.

"Where's your friend?" The worker asked as he handed Kyungsoo the piping drink.

"My friend?"

"The tall one."

"Oh." Kyungsoo didn't know what to say. "Different schedules. Busy."

"I see." The kind man said, wiping his hands off on his apron and retreating behind the counter. Kyungsoo decided not to sit in today, and went to exit through the glass door.

Times could change so suddenly, it seemed. To Kyungsoo, life had gone to specific company to nothing besides the ordinary. It was sitting in class, fighting the winter wind, and returning to his favorite coffee shop for a small break. Kyungsoo would use his free time to people watch down the winding streets, faces covered with cloth and white breath as they moseyed through the skyhigh buildings and hidden alleyways. The photographer was used to being alone. He was used to being a foreigner, though, it had almost been too long for him to use that excuse anymore.

Kyungsoo lingered down the boulevard where boutique shops and stands decorated the path, dangling potted plants overhead and the sweet aroma of carb-filled foods. It was the same avenue that he walked down numerous times, usually to order an overpriced drink from a coffee shop other than his usual, and walk arm-in-arm with the two models who were linked at his side like extra limbs. Down the arteries of urban paradise, the memories were haunting him, clinging to him the way they did. Wraiths and whispers, now infiltrated by the noise of vehicles and vendors that spoke overlapping french. 

There was a terrace that was used more like a rail, the higher the road raised into the city sky, icy cold to the touch and kissing the open range of the superstructures crowning the world. It appeared as if the city lights stole the stars right out of the sky and twinkled in their place. Kyungsoo edged up the stairs and huddled into his muffler, shielding his lips from the drop in tempurature now that he was elevated to the view. It was the incertitude of the dark cityscape that almost made him forget he was hours from Seoul, standing above the obscured blackness and drops of glow, even an illusion was comforting. He reached out to touch the metal pole, recoiling his fingers at the numbing pain, just to feel what he felt all that time ago. The same iciness he felt when Jongin danced his fingers over it, laughing and letting his skin flush red from the sting. Soojung at his side, letting her face drop into a playful smile for only a moment. 

Kyungsoo thought about bringing out his camera, as if he could steal the image from his mind, like it was right in front of him, and project it into the physical realm. As he fumbled around in his pockets, he realized he didn't bring it. For once, he forgot a part of himself. 

Kyungsoo's sighed a brash, "That's a first." Which struck him, falsely, as bit dishonest in it's insinuation of innocence. He knew the truth—which was that it was never about anything in Paris. In his brief moment of pride, he immediately flinched and ran down the steps.

As his legs carried him across blocks and blocks of iced concrete, he asked the stars and the sky and moon and sun, why Jongin's and Soojung's faces were everywhere around him even when he wasn't behind the camera. When he wasn't at his window, or inhaling the vapor of fallacious longevity. When he got home he went straight to the window and slammed it shut. I'm not letting you in. I'm not letting you in. I'm not letting you in.

 

-----------

 

Chanyeol did not pick up his calls. One, two, three were missed at the dial tone with the sickening offense of the message machine. Kyungsoo sighed, tossing the device to the opposite side of the bed and laying down. His walls were barren now, all chipped and cracked ugly like time clawed the foundation in animalistic ; Barren pots remained in clay lumps on the wooden floor. It felt like utter incompleteness. He was back to square one, the world just as gray and predictable as it was over a year ago. A knock at the door made him jump up, and the plank opened to reveal the curious leer of his roommate.

"Hey, Kyungsoo?" The blonde man asked. He lifted up something through the opening that resembled a dirty, downtrodden portfolio. "I found these down in the alley while I was taking out the trash. Are they yours?"

"What are they?"

Four filthily stained photos were handed to him, and now he could see they were what was left of his project. The project that he never bothered getting back when he saw it laying between Jongin's place and his own. He gave the man a weak smile, "Oh. Thank you."

"I'm sorry the weather got to them, they must have been dropped out of your school bag or something."

"Yeah." Kyungsoo watched him leave, and for the second time, the horrid pictures were thrown aside like poison. He could see them sprawled out from his bed, fronting him through laminated shine and lack of color.

The first one he had taken was faced up, as if to remind the photographer of its importance. The prying and meddling at the entrance, ogling the man behind it with large black intent and a camera to steal his mental acquisition. An empty framework with pane, pastel blue curtains, dancing, ash on the thicket, the perfume of intoxicant and seductiveness. Kyungsoo had stared inside and wondered. Who, what and why? The beginning of the chapter was all about himself. Another pointless game played in spiritless pleasure.

Jongin smiling with the marigold was slightly tucked underneath the others, mucky and smudged where only his teeth were visible. It was about ballet fingers, laughter over the rooftops of thrift stores and along the smog infested streets, the sound of jazz and smeared gloss as Jongin kissed Soojung on the subway, it was projection and the warmth that came with feeling embodied, whole. It was the way Jongin smoldered rouge under the city lights, when he was the most beautiful. Soojung was the flower seized in his hand, and Kyungsoo was the flower too. Imperceivable glass hidden in the satiny petals. Kyungsoo suddenly felt the urge to cry.

He looked over at the third one. It was the furthest from the bedside, sheathed halfway under his tied curtain. It was Jongin again, skinny and hard-lined below the scrutiny of the 35mm. Existing exactly the way it was perceived: gray, with tickles of black. Neediness. Sorrow. Unveiled truth. The window was finally, and completely stepped through.

Then the final piece of the puzzle right next to it, the window with the dried flower. Loss. Grief. Finality. A beautiful goodbye.

"So, the flower is the man in this photo?" His professor had asked.

Kyungsoo shook his head, "No. The flower represents the people. We're all the flower."

"Interesting. Why isn't he representative of the flower? He is so joyous in the second photo, and by the end he is frowning and the flower is dead. Doesn't it seem to be connected to him as well?"

"Connected, yes. But he isn't the flower himself, he merely holds it and watches it wither. We're connected to him so we are all the flower he holds." The class was staring at him, silent, he gulped, "We are the marigold, filled with glass, watching him through the window. When we find the truth..."

His professor cleared his throat, "You die when you find the truth? What is the truth?"

"The truth is reality. The window is clear and empty in the first one because we are anticipating what his life entails, then we find the surface level romanticization of his life where everything is springtime, then you find the hard truism and the harsh fabrication of it all. That's why I used the black and white to make that one more of a gray, since it's supposed to be muddled. In the end, everything is clear again and the light is gone. We had gotten what we wanted."

"Which was?"

"To live and die as someone else. To see every angle through one opening."

The class applauded at that, seeming to understand his words despite the rough translation and shaking voice. His professor grinned and gave him the photographs back, "Ever the artist, Kyungsoo. Amazingly put. Though, it's a bit eerie isn't it? Unlike your past work."

Kyungsoo flushed as students giggled and muttered amongst themselves, and he nodded, "Ive been inspired by different things lately."

"You did well. But the darkness of an artists mind can be a dangerous place, so don't meddle in there too often. Okay Kyungsoo?"

The photographer recalled finding it strange for a teacher to say something so shallow, but he hummed a yes regardless.

And now he was here, hanging up the four disastrous prints on his impoverished wallpaper. They were the only things inhabiting the space now, positioned over the enamel that trapped him there inside his thoughts and cursed destiny as an artist. What a burden it was, to be anything close to an obsessive person.

 

_________

 

Winter was beckoning it's end, breathing it's last Icy breath across Europe as the trees stood bare and the pavement thawed into muddy concrete. His campus was lively with students huddling together in long pea coats and voices of merriment, like it was a celebration of December's final slumber, and Christmas break.

Christmas had become only a word on his lips, a forgotten concept, and a call from his parents now that he was across the globe. His holiday gift was money to stay afloat a little longer, and he thanked them, letting out a sigh of relief at the fact he could pay bills on time without the glare of his housemates. He was asked about college, about the food and the music, about the possibility of a European girlfriend, and about his photography.

"We heard you were featured in a magazine?"

"Only one. And I had help with that."

"You could always come back home. So many models here would love to be shot by you!" His mom chirped. Naive.

"It's alright. I don't really care about magazines anymore, mom."

"Are you going to visit home for break?" She wondered hopefully, "We all miss you. Your friends stop by sometimes, and they miss you too."

"I miss everyone as well, mom."

Hearing about his friends made his heart do a double flip, and not the good kind.

He found himself only using his camera for school-work or projects, and never for extracurricular, personal interest. Paris, in his heart, was still a cold as ever.

Funnily enough, his professors seemed to like his work better when there was no thought put behind anything he shot, passing him consecutively with flying colors and the occasional murmurs of praise, only to make Kyungsoo feel smaller and weaker under what his art really meant to the world. In his opinion, the lack of open minded freedom was ironic in the land of photography, yet he wanted to pass, and faking expression was easy at this point. Like a second nature.

"Your muses, I haven't seen them in awhile. I see you've turned to landscapes and city streets now." One of his teachers commented as Kyungsoo sat at his desk, leering as his graded work was set in front of him.

"Muses change, to me."

"Do they? You must fall in love awfully fast."

The bell rang, and the class began to pack up and saunter out of the door. Kyungsoo purposefully said nothing and quickly crammed the papers into his backpack. The city of love was frozen solid under December's funeral. Stuck in time, and stuck in its ways of fruitless expectation.

As he wandered to his coffee shop, he saw a wooden signed hanging on the glass door: CLOSED FOR RECONSTRUCTION.

He blinked, inquiring how he had just seen this now. And where was he going to go now on his day off? As he stood stiffly at the dead end, another shadow lurked beside him.

"Sad, right? They're going out of business."

Kyungsoo whirled around to observe the stature of a man in his late twenties, who had matted black hair and handsomely aged features, the man had talked to him in Korean, and it took the photographer a whole second before the shock subsided and he could reply.

"Yeah, I had no idea they were going to close." He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, feeling shy suddenly. "I'd like to believe that I helped them stay open a bit longer. Anything to help the family out."

The man chuckled, looking like a movie star in his pressed suit and clean shoes, Kyungsoo could see now that he was carrying a suitcase. He didn't seem like the kind of man who would loiter there at all, he looked like he belonged in front of a museum, or somewhere where he could propose a sales plan in a big room. He was grinning, "I'm sure you did. You came a lot, I recognized you. I used to be in the corner on my laptop every other day. It was like coming to work except I got to have coffee and a pastry along with tedious wage slavery. I doubt you'd remember me, though."

"You...you speak Korean. How is it that I've only been meeting people from home, now?" Kyungsoo wondered aloud with a meek laugh. "At the same coffee shop no less. It's nice to meet you, I'm Do Kyungsoo."

"I thought the same, I'm Kim Junmyeon." He held out his hand, looking like the poster boy of a law firm. Kyungsoo returned it with a polite bow. "There's a lot of kids that study abroad here, considering you spoke English and French fluently to the baristas, I knew you weren't a tourist."

"Do tourists frequent coffee shops for months?" Kyungsoo joked.

"I guess not." Junmyeon actually looked a little embarrassed, rubbing a hand behind his neck. "I should have probably said something sooner, but I didn't want to seem weird."

"It's okay. Are you here on a job?" The photographer asked, sizing up the formal attire.

"Yeah, kind of a business trip turned permanent. Well, semi-permanent. I work in finances, lots of boring stuff I don't want to get into." The man shrugged, "I know another coffee shop that is just as good. It's a little further, but it's family owned and they make all their cakes by hand. You want to try it out?"

"You want me to go with you?" Kyungsoo raised a brow.

"Only if you want to. Drinks are on me." The latter offered, flushing a little. December was a little warmer now, and Kyungsoo nodded.

"Uh, sure then. Lead the way."

Junmyeon was the color of the ocean. He was deep and blue, but in the shallow ends he was emerald and sprinkled with gleaming foam and clarity. There were layers to him, and Kyungsoo, in time, found they were very easy to pull back. The business man was someone who had too much money with no one to spend it on, too many thoughts with no one to tell them to, and too much love with nobody to reciprocate. He was giving, like a lottery that spit out green even if none of the slots aligned. It was a little sad, and Kyungsoo found someone else who looked like him behind darting pupils and twitching hands. Another shard of glass in the full length mirror that was his life.

Junmyeon was also the first person he had met that cowered from the camera.

"I'm not photogenic." He whined on a day that signified the birth of holiday spirit, cloudy in the moments of revival. There was no more suits and ties when they met up for coffee, and it was all replaced with domestic fixation. Frankly put, he was Kyungsoo's only current friend. The only person who was beside him as the clock ticked into the new year, In his white shirt and rolled up jeans, Junmyeon hid his face behind two rough hands. "Seriously, I'm not. Stop!"

Kyungsoo brought the camera down with a smirk, "You look at yourself in every mirror or reflective surface we pass by, and now you're acting modest? I don't believe you."

"You're bullying me."

"A little. Now put down your hands!"

Junmyeon never refused anything, or anyone. He lowered his hands and gave him an uncomfortable side smile, looking absolutely ridiculous for someone who met every beauty standard. He flinched as Kyungsoo guffawed, "You're laughing!"

"You're making this look like your middle school yearbook photo! Just look normal!"

"I can't! How?"

"Just be natural, let your face drop." Kyungsoo brought it back up to his eye, finger hovering over the flash.

"Drop?" Junmyeon repeated, then pulled his face down into an exaggerated frown.

Kyungsoo took the photo anyway, shaking his head, "You're unbelievably bad at this." As the picture popped up on the screen, Junmyeon came over to observe it with a hot hand clasped over his shoulder.

"Wow, I'm such a model." He laughed, saying nothing else as Kyungsoo nearly doubled over at the sight. His heart was so full, overflowing onto the wood and suffocating Kyungsoo with unrequited fondness, waves lapping at the misty shore, soaking his pants and bleeding dark into the fabric of quiet suffering and endless night. They were so similar, and Kyungsoo could do nothing to aid him.

"I'm definitely printing this."

"Hang it up on your walls, they're so empty. I don't know how you can sleep in a room like this to be honest." Junmyeon said, glancing around and gesturing vaguely into the air. "You can put it next to those other ones. With the guy and the flower."

Kyungsoo stilled at that, "Too much clutter makes it hard to think. I know from experience."

"Yeah, but no clutter is suffocating. Like a ghost lives here." Junmyeon walked over to the window, "You should put flowers back up too, since you have all these pots. It would help, I think."

"I'm not home enough to water them. They always die."

"Buy the plants that don't need as much care. You probably only bought ones that looked pretty, without any knowledge of how they stay alive." He said, "You seem to be a er for beauty, but you don't want to handle all the ugly parts of it."

The photographer rolled his eyes, "I tried to water them, so don't lecture me on house keeping. I've been to your place and it looks like a tornado ran through it a hundred times over."

Junmyeon opened the window, and it creaked as dust flew off into the air in little sparkles and the smell of stale dirt. Kyungsoo immediately sat up panicked. The window was open, would Jongin know? His heart was squeezing like it was about to burst, and he watched with wide eyes as Junmyeon simply leaned out and inhaled the fresh air.

"Kind of your bedroom faces the apartments next door, you can only see your neighbors window and this alleyway. No view at all." He commented, peering down. "And there's only the sound of cars and noisy people. You don't get to see what living in Paris can really be like. It's better than this."

"Not everyone can afford to live in the pricey area of town. Plus, you're still messier."

"That's my roommate, not me. And plus, you were only over once when we had to go and find my wallet.  So it's not like you know how it nice it usually is."

Kyungsoo was still staring at the open window, tapping a foot. He decided to focus on the camera again, swallowing, "Well, my place wasn't always this depressing either. Things change."

"Yeah, they do."

"Anyways, let me take a real picture of you before I have to kick you out to finish my homework. Old man."

"Don't say that, that makes me feel creepy hanging out with you." Junmyeon finally stepped away, planting himself where he was before in front of the other. "Just take it. No guarantee it'll be what you want though."

"I just want to capture this." Kyungsoo clicked the button before Junmyeon could overthink and look dorky again, and the picture came out with the business man looking into the lens with a blank simper.

"Capture what?"

"Whatever this is."

Whatever that feeling was. The one that made him want to keep going, and the one that made him feel like Paris could be home. What feeling was that? Why couldn't he feel it again?

"Hey, before I go, I was thinking we could go out this week. Have you ever gone to a club here?" Junmyeon spoke soft like the question would scare him away, "If not, we could go. Or we could go see the Eiffel Tower and have a picnic. Up to you, if you like less populated areas."

"The Eiffel Tower is less populated? It's a tourist gold mine." Kyungsoo chortled and shook his head. "But...if I'm free, I wouldn't mind."

The latter beamed at that, heading toward the door, "Cool! Just let me know. We could work something out on a day neither of us are busy." Junmyeon hovered in the archway, "I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, later. I'll call you." Kyungsoo nodded and watch the other smile and disappear down the stairwell. All the photographer could think about was the window. The window was wide open. He needed to close it.

As he rushed back to do that exact thing, he found Jongin.

Jongin. Jongin again. Back curved over the terrace, cigarette in hand, hair wired and angled over his forehead in mangled strings. The model had an unreadable look as Kyungsoo barged into the evening air, eyes hot and breaths heavy, and Kyungsoo hardly had enough time to be mortified before he impulsively asked in his gravelly, unsteady voice: "What are you doing out here?"

Jongin looked at him as if were insane, "I live here, Hyung."

"I-" Kyungsoo lowered his hands and left the slider open. He bit at his lips, "Yeah, you're right."

The model studied him with narrow eyes, much skinnier than the last time Kyungsoo had seen him. Paler, too. He reached down into his pocket with bony fingers and took out the cigarette carton, and for the first time, offered Kyungsoo one.

"Want one?"

The photographer failed to hide his shock and beating heart, stretching to take it. He nearly fell, but it wasn't the first time nor the last time they would exchange things dangerously through the two windows. He gave Jongin a polite gesture, "Uh, thanks."

"You're going to need a light, too." Jongin said, amused but dead-eyed in his delivery.

"I'll just use the stove." Kyungsoo wedged the smoke behind his ear.

"Oh, you're one of those people? The behind the ear thing? So lame, Hyung."

"I need both my hands."

"You look like a little kid who stole one of his dads cigarettes and is showing it off."

"Then how do you carry it?"

"My mouth. And then I smoke it."

"I'm not in that much of a rush to smoke it. I have homework to do." Kyungsoo wasn't sure why he was even entertaining this conversation. Or why he glanced down at Jongin's lips as the smoke bobbed up and to the side. He moved to close the window again, "Thanks for the cigarette."

"Wait." Jongin almost appeared hurried. "I left something at your place but I've been forgetting to get it. Let me come over and find it."

"I can just throw it over."

"It's too valuable, it'll break if I drop it. I'll just get it, okay?"

"Why can't I drop it off for you?"

Jongin smirked, "Hyung, it'll take two seconds. I'll be in and out."

"Fine. The doors unlocked."

It was the rawest kind of withdrawal. Push and pull, push and pull with tremors and chattering teeth. Jongin was in his room again, smoking indoors the way Kyungsoo hated, stalking close to the walls as if he wasn't even meant to be seen. The model was transformed back into a translucent shadow.

"You hung those." He said, pointing with the end of his smoke at the four pictures hanging. "They look busted up."

"Someone tossed them three stories down." Kyungsoo sneered.

The model was silent before he turned to see Kyungsoo's expression of dolor. He looked away and rubbed a finger on the smudged project, "Guessing by that face, I did it?"

"Like you don't remember."

"No. I don't." Jongin let his hand drop, "I was probably..."

"Yeah." Kyungsoo sat on the bedside and tried to control his face, "I figured."

Jongin inhaled, Kyungsoo exhaled. The model was eerily still, stagnant in his posture. "I don't remember what I said when I came over, but I know it wasn't good. So whatever it was about, I'm sorry." He confessed.

"You really don't remember anything?"

"Bits and pieces. But, let's just say I only knew not to come over when I saw your window shut."

Kyungsoo screwed his eyes closed, opened them again, his heart was shaking under his ribs, rattling in his ears like deafening white noise. "I don't know if that makes it worse or better at this point. But, I guess the real fact still stands." He muttered, "I let you back in when I wasn't supposed to."

"I lied about leaving something here."

Kyungsoo let out a pitiful laugh, "I know."

"I just needed to apologize to you." Jongin babbled on, emitting smoke like a dragon. He sauntered to the window and tossed the cigarette out, "And I was curious."

"About what?"

"That guy. He's a couple years older than us, sometimes he wears a fancy suit." Jongin spit unfiltered tobacco out of the opening, "Hes been over a lot. I see him walking past to come to your place. You guys are, what, friends?"

"Yeah we are. Is this another interrogation?"

"No. That's all I'm asking." Jongin raised his hands in defense, taking a seat on the corner of the cot a foot away from where Kyungsoo was placed, "I really am sorry, Hyung. I hope you can forgive me."

"You're sorry, but you don't even know what you said to me. How can I believe that?"

"I don't want to hurt you. I never did, ever. That's the last thing I'd ever want to do."

"You wanted to hurt me the second you came through that door." Kyungsoo pressed his lips together in repressed anger. "You were unhappy so you wanted someone else to be unhappy, and I was dumb enough to let you in. You only came that day because Soojung wasn't there."

"Hyung, how can you say that?" Jongin looked like a wounded animal.

He felt like a million daggers were in his chest, and words kept spilling out against his will, "I keep letting you in, over and over. And you keep coming. Why? I don't know how to deal with this anymore. I'm completely and utterly alone now."

"You're not alone." Jongin whispered. "Hyung, I'm sorry for what I said and for what I did. I'm not used to...this. You don't do any of the messed up I do, and you're well rounded. People love you because you're just a nice, genuine person. I'm so damn jealous, and I look up to you. It comes out in these awful moments of projection. I'm sorry, I don't know how to keep a healthy relationship."

Kyungsoo stared at him, observing the way he shook like a tiny leaf, his eyes too dry to produce any tears, "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met, so I don't know why you feel that way." He said.

It was such a Jongin thing to do, to say something so significant with no fear underneath. Yet, it was Kyungsoo this time. Breaking under the pressure. Under the foot of loneliness and abyssal loss.

Jongin was so wrecked, and so so so perfect as he closed their distance, landing a kiss in the corner of Kyungsoo's mouth, too slow to be chaste but too short to be passionate. He tasted like smoke and wiped off lipstick. As blood rushed to his cheeks, Kyungsoo immediately shot away and scrambled off the sheets to stand. It felt like the color red, like the sunsets they watched every night. Blood orange, marigold yellow, white and pink like summer and spring.

"I'm sorry." Jongin said, quiet.

Kyungsoo put a hand up to his face to feel the heat radiating off, "You're too impulsive."

"Not really. I've been wanting to kiss you for months." He said, face flat. "Id like to give you a real one someday."

"You're crazy." Kyungsoo almost felt the hysterical urge to break into laughter, it was too absurd. "We can't do stuff like that, Jongin."

"Why not? You don't like me?"

"We just can't." He shook his head and paced in circles. It felt as if he was high this time, crimson racing through his veins in wild strides, eyes large and darting around like he wasn't sure where to look. He ran his hand through his short hair, "I just told you why we won't work. We just won't. You come over because of Soojung, and I let you in because—"

Jongin sat impassively, "Because why?"

"Because we're friends! I thought we were friends. But you think different."

"Friends?" The other barked out a cynical laugh, "Don't act like you weren't using me as your school projects and documenting my every little move. You used me for character development like I was some manic pixie girl. The window goes both ways."

Kyungsoo didn't want to behold those words again and instead squinted out into nothing, the vast pathos of his actuality crumbled around him, falling apart in minuscule pieces, tearing the paint off the walls and ripping the cotton out of the pillows, his own clothes seemed to fly out into the sailing wind. Shattering at the scathing, weighted accusation that spilled out of Jongin's lips. God, he knew exactly what the boy meant. He had been living that lie every moment of his waking life.

When he moved to Paris there was something valuable in his essence that had fled. So near he could steal it back, if only he wasn't blind to what it could possibly be. Every point he slugged out of bed, to look into his own eyes and know his gaze had inexplicably shifted into something darker. To every time he passed by a mirror and felt it wasn't him but instead, was Soojung mooning back. To his best friend, who he should feel smitten for but instead he was greedy and numb to the succumbing flood of affection and love. To Jongin, who opened his subconscious and picked it apart to reveal the rawest form of eclectic quiddity. Was it all selfishness? An act in vain?

"I think you're just as lonely and sad as me, and you let me in because I make you feel alive." Jongin added, eyes blacker than night.

"We are bad for eachother."

"Says who?"

"Me. I say so. You're just going to compare me to Soojung and I'm going to wait around for you until you stop. And it won't stop. So, we won't work." Kyungsoo was whispering, waiting for his words to be taken by the deafening silence. "I threw all the pictures I had of you away."

"Not those ones." Jongin peered back over to the four hanging on the wall. They were nearly consumed by all the emptiness.

"No. But you threw those away. I just scraped them back up because that's what I always do. I clean up your messes." He added.

"I think you might actually hate me."

"No. I don't." Kyungsoo stopped moving and went back to the bed. "I hate that you kissed me. You're so ing impulsive and you don't ever think about the future."

"It didn't mean anything." The model said quickly, he never looked unnerved, even when he was shaking and rattling from the pills, or lethargic and half awake from all the French wine.

Jongin was someone who was clumsily put together like a puzzle with missing pieces, but his eyes looked sharp and intentional, like it was all an act and the world was being played. It pissed Kyungsoo off in moments like this. Moments where even HE couldn't compose himself and remain stoic like he wanted, the model just brought that out in him.

Jongin reached over and swiped the cigarette from behind his ear, "I changed my mind. I really don't want you to smoke this."

"Were you even listening?"

"I listen to everything you say." Jongin put the cigarette in the crook of his own ear. "I'm not high off my either, if that's what you meant. I'll remember this conversation for as long as I'll live, probably."

"You're being dramatic. You'll forget it by tomorrow. I feel like half the I'm saying is stuff you don't even bother caring about." Kyungsoo said wearily.

He wondered if tonight Jongin was going to sleep over, then leave in the morning to abandon it all, or maybe this really was the last time the model would step foot in this place.

Jongin edged closer to him, magnetic like how they were the second they met, "I do care, and I know you're right, I know you're right about everything. But...I think you're wrong about things never changing. I think they can change. I can change. I have before, and I can again. I'm not going to be like this forever."

"I don't have years to wait, Jongin." Kyungsoo pleaded. So weak, always so weak. A lie.

"I know." Jongin replied, leaning in for the second time to land his kiss right.

_________

Paris in transition from winter to spring was best viewed during the red sunsets. Rows of illusionary fire and darkness peeking behind corners, wafting in with a faint scent of coffee and pastries. The asphalt was icy again with a light mist in the air, but Kyungsoo wasn't brought down by the overcast. He wasn't sure what street he was on, or what time it was, but for some giddy reason he felt more inspired than ever. It might be a contact high, except Jongin claimed to be reaching sobriety. Maybe it was regaining something he lost, but he was certain he didn't lose anything. Maybe it was an infatuation with an evasive idea.

Perhaps he had collapsed into a romance, overlooking everything so that he could hold the camera to his eye and snap, snap, snap. Daylight, smoke, fatigue. Maybe it wasn't romance. Maybe it was tragedy, just as Jongin said before.

"Wow. This place has changed." Junmyeon commented as he walked into Kyungsoo's bedroom, rotating around like he was in a gallery. He was still dressed in his work clothes, poised and clean, unlike the chaos painting the walls, he set down his suitcase and smoothed out his jacket, "Did you have an artistic breakdown since the last time I saw you?"

Probably, Kyungsoo wanted to say. Instead he just snorted and shrugged on his coat, "I told you, things change." As he the pocket he felt cardboard and smooth rolled paper, this was Jongin's coat. He had left his carton behind. The photographer ignored it and slung the camera over his neck, "Does it bother you? You said you wanted it to be more decorated remember?"

Junmyeon seemed to be in jumbled awe, yet he always had a pliant smile, "I did. I like this. It looks more alive this way, and you can really showcase your art better." He turned and caressed a photo of Soojung and Jongin, "Who are they? They're beautiful."

"Old friends. Kind of. That's an old picture, I'm not sure why I still have it or why I hung it up, to be honest."

"Sounds like you aren't too fond of them."

"Fond? I am fond. It was just a different time." Kyungsoo didn't want to get into that, and he quickly made a show that he was ready to leave. Junmyeon was still leering at the picture, and for some reason it made him nervy. "Come on, Hyung. Let's go." He urged.

Junmyeon finally fronted him, smiling perpetually, "What? Oh, yeah. Coming."

Sunlight nestled itself into the crooks of the Eiffel Tower, hot and cloyingly bright in the sky, the fields surrounding it littered with small groups of people with their blankets open and baskets filled to the brim with bread and cheese. It was so cliche, and Kyungsoo had milked everything out of the scene the second he moved here. Fresh-faced Kyungsoo had a tourists eye, which now, was tragically uninspiring. Junmyeon fanned out their sheet and laid it atop the grass while Kyungsoo just watched and tried to feel like he belonged. In a strange intrusive passing, he thought about Chanyeol. This is something Chanyeol would do. This is not something Jongin would do. His mind was a war zone.

"I brought pasta because you said you liked it. Wine too, but I don't know if you drink." The man sounded winded as he opened the picnic basket to show him. Everything was organized so nicely, so neatly without any rough edges or flaws.

Kyungsoo nodded, "I drink sometimes. This is nice, thank you."

"So i take it, you've probably done this before." Junmyeon said, giggling and taking out their plates. "You have the face of someone who's a little embarrassed to be here. Is this not underground or indie enough?"

"Shut up. I'm just not used to...this."

"To picnics?"

"Dates." Kyungsoo stated. Blunt and honest, the only way he knew how. He avoided the man's gaze by taking the bowl of noodles out and grabbing the bottle by the nose. "I haven't gone on any since I've been here. I don't know how to act."

Junmyeon was pink in the face as he watched Kyungsoo pop open the drink, "You acted fine when we got coffee all those times. And that time at the art museum." He commented.

He poured the tinted drink into the glasses and nested it back inside the woven casing. Kyungsoo was furrowing his brows, "Those were dates?"

"Yes. I thought so, I guess I didn't come on strong enough. I'm really bad at flirting."

"Oh. Well, me too." He lifted his glass to cheers, and for some reason, the image of Soojung and Jongin raising theirs up flashed in his psych. Why was he thinking of that? Junmyeon, callowless, clinked his own glass on Kyungsoo's with a gentle tap.

"Cheers. To being bad at flirting."

"Cheers, Hyung." Kyungsoo smiled.

Their glasses of wine gleamed under the daylight, dripping in condensation and tension as Kyungsoo sat in total rigidity, failing to disguise his malaise as he sipped away at the sugary substance. Junmyeon on the other hand, looked completely at ease.

The bittersweet taste of alcohol was a familiar stranger on Kyungsoo's tongue. It was like remembering a dream he had as a child, where he could only recall and color and texture of something, but later it comes to life under his fingers or over his palate in a hallucinogenic reality. Warmth pulsed in his belly, and he knew that feeling all too well. He was drinking to forget something.

He took another swig, feeling zoomed in under the latter's boggling view.

"You're going to get drunk alone at that pace." Junmyeon pointed at Kyungsoo's half empty glass with a knowing mask. "It'll take me a lot longer to catch up."

The shorter shrugged loosely, "I know my limit. I'm naturally a heavyweight."

"I thought you said you only drink sometimes."

"That's still true. It's been almost a year." Kyungsoo confirmed at the edge of his drink, "But I was always good at handling my alcohol."

Junmyeon hummed at that and held up his sheer cup in a secondary act of a cheers, the liquid sloshed gently at the collision of their glasses and another satisfying 'clink' rang in the air. He then took a solid swig, groaning as his face distorted into an awkward grimace. Kyungsoo let himself grin at the sight, since it was almost deemed impossible for the other to make a face like that, given his genes. Not that he would ever admit that.

"You don't like the taste, do you?" Kyungsoo queried, finishing the rest of his glass.

"You do? You must have the soul of an old man. No one likes the taste, they drink it to get drunk." The other said.

"You're dumb." He laughed. Grabbing the bottle and pouring a refill for himself, sparing some only for the sake of sharing. "That's what inexperienced drinkers say. Trust me on that."

Junmyeon wet his lips, eyebrows pulled together. "I've been through college and have done my fair share of drinking. Trust me, I'm not inexperienced. I'm just truthful."

The skin on Kyungsoo's exposed neck pricked up as a cold gust blew tentatively, and he smoothed the goosebumps down to nurse his new full drink with surging impatience. His face was hot, "My friends from home would say the same thing. They drink to get drunk, and don't bother savoring anything."

Junmyeon sighed, "I think being in your 20's is just rarely being sober. Know what I mean?" He took the wine bottle and dropped the leftover alcohol into his own glass. Kyungsoo could feel him tapping his foot on the blanket. "Party culture is unavoidable. A lot of my coworkers go to bars every single weekend. Every single weekend! I don't know how they do it."

Kyungsoo shook his head and scowled down into the dark liquid with flashbacks swimming around in his head. He couldn't remember the last time he partook in 'party culture'. At least in the way Junmyeon was talking about. Maybe high school? Again, Jongin manifested into his head and he wondered if Jongin considered his own lifestyle to be something as simple as party culture. Or if he was more aware than that. Snapping out of his daze, he peered up to see the man chug his whole cup, throat bobbing as a some of the substance trickled down his jawline in a red line.

"You say that, but I just saw you down that whole thing in under ten seconds."

He slammed the empty glass down in his act of victory. Then raised his hand to erase any evidence on his face, and the shorter could see the rosy hue under his complexion, framing an uncharacteristic smirk.

"This is a special occasion. Plus, I told you I had to keep up with you right?"

"You're ahead of me now."

"No." The other gestured to their drinks. "That's your third. That was my second."

Kyungsoo eyed his alcohol suspiciously then, as if he had no control over how much appeared within the confines. "Oh, well, we're only a drink apart. It's not that much." He said. "Should I stop?"

Junmyeon had an unreadable energy around him as he reached for the bottle again. "Why are you asking me? It's your decision." Another cup filled without hesitation.

"I just, um, I don't want to drink too much."

"Afraid you'll answer some of my questions if you get too comfortable?"

Kyungsoo felt a pang of annoyance, "No."

"Liar."

"Hurry up and drink."

"You're always in a rush." Junmyeon brought the edge to his lips, breath fanning over the surface. "You always have places to be. Things to do. So busy..."

Kyungsoo moved across the basket to push up the bottom of his glass, leaving Junmyeon to sputter as he spit wine all over his front and onto the shorter's hand. Kyungsoo could only recoil in lighthearted disgust as the latter dribbled and guffawed into the expanse.

"Jeez, kind of harsh right?" He yanked out the spare napkins and dabbed his shirt with it, glowing. Always diverted.

"It's deserved." Kyungsoo wiped his hand off over the material of his jeans, guilt swallowed by an overwhelming sense of drunken humor. He drank some more, face incredulously hot now, like a furnace. The air suddenly felt like a humid, icy cloak around him.

"You're actually getting drunk. I've never seen you get that playful. Or maybe it was purely evil intentions, I can never tell with you." Junmyeon rambled, tossing the used towels aside on the cloth. He didn't continue his attempt at drinking, and instead he surveyed Kyungsoo as the shorter topped off his fourth drink of the night.

"Still care about getting too drunk?"

Kyungsoo ran a hand through his lack of hair, self aware of how his body buzzed and radiated warmth under the sky. The hidden stars were there and whispering amongst themselves. "Of course I care." He spat impishly.

"I just really wasn't planning on getting faced in broad daylight."

"Then why did you bring so much?"

"Ambience?" Junmyeon offered meekly, "Aesthetic? I don't know. I thought art students liked stuff like that."

"First of all, do you really think we're the only ones day drinking in Paris?" Kyungsoo was brash with his words, "Also, art students don't care as much as you think about that sort of thing, especially when alcohol is involved."

"You're probably right. I just don't want to lose my cool."

"You were never cool, Hyung." He smiled.

"Cool enough to have you come here with me." Junmyeon pursed his lips, mirroring him. "Let's eat and then walk around wasted like a couple of degenerates, yeah?"

"Sounds good."

There wasn't as much walking as they originally intended after all, since Kyungsoo found himself pressed against the door of his bedroom not even an hour later by the man. Fumbling and grabbing at hot skin and a sense of urgency to get out of his jeans, the alcohol was pulsing throughout his body, along with the nagging sense that this was a mistake. But god, he was lonely.

And he was angry. Angry at Jongin and the whole world. The thought of the model made something within him boil and gnaw and bite with searing fire. He wanted to scream into the void, but that was numbed by Junmyeon pushing him on the bed and straddling him.

"Kyungsoo, take these off." The latter mumbled against his lips, using two fingers to hook his belt loops and tug. Though he was hurried, he wasn't too rough. Nothing about Junmyeon was rough. He was safe. Safe in a way where he could so easily be broken.

"Not yet." Kyungsoo connected their lips once more. If his jeans came off he was afraid that this was real and happening and not just a figment of his imagination. His head was spinning. "It's been...too long. I haven't done this in a long time."

"That's okay." Junmyeon said, settling with just keeping his hands above the waist and holding gently, the act was intimate, and bubbling regret was coming up faster in his throat at the warmth of it all. He opened his mouth to say something but let Junmyeon kiss the words out of him. It reminded him of Chanyeol, the way everything was planned out and feathery, like it was behind a hazy white filter and it was meant to be slow. He thought of Chanyeol when Junmyeon kissed him with desperate softness, but he thought of Jongin when the man's hand came too close to the zipper of his pants. Red sirens were playing, screaming in his brain to end it.

Putting a hand on Junmyeon's chest, he lightly guided the man off, who was breathing heavily, face red and eyes glazed over with a glint akin to neediness.

"Hyung, I can't."

Junmyeon swallowed, "We don't have to."

"I mean, I can't do any of this. I can't give you this." Kyungsoo said, slurring words.

"Oh." Junmyeon stepped away. He looked bewildered and sloppy in his crooked button up, "Why not?"

"You deserve better than a drunk hookup."

"I like you, Kyungsoo, But you don't like me, do you?" He asked softly.

"Not in the way I should."

"I see." Junmyeon had crumbling heartache in his voice, the same kind Chanyeol possessed. What Soojung possessed. What he possessed. It was like hearing something break. The bottle against the brick. Kyungsoo didn't have the mental power to say anything, not even when the man stood there searching for something invisible, and left out of the door with blurry eyes.

He should have stopped him, should have told him not drive home. Should have said anything, but he didn't, and Junmyeon was gone. Just like everyone else.

Kyungsoo opened his window before passing out against his blankets.

______

He awoke to a throbbing pain in his head, and the piercing alarm of his cellphone. Sitting up with a groan, his eyes flickered to the screen to read the unexpected name of Chanyeol. Chanyeol. Chanyeol was calling him, after days of torturous silence.

He scrambled to hold it up to his ear, ignoring the aching in his skull, "Hello?" He said.

"Kyungsoo-yah?"

"Hey." The photographer clenched his eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over him, he wasn't sure if it was the hangover or the shock of hearing Chanyeol's voice. His body didn't even feel like his own.

"It's been awhile." Chanyeol said.

"Uh, yeah. What's up?" Kyungsoo swallowed, trying again, "Are you okay?"

A quiet moment, before the deep voice erupted again in a withdrawn tone, "I'm okay. Im sorry I didn't call back earlier. I just needed time. I reacted immaturely and I really regret it, so, I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"No it's not." He cut in again, "You always say that to avoid conflict, but it's not okay. I almost ruined our whole friendship over something stupid. I don't know what I was thinking. Soo, I'm sorry. I expected a lot from you, and obviously we weren't on the same page. Maybe we never were."

Kyungsoo was stunned, and for a juncture he was able to tolerate the drunken aftermath he put himself through, just to absorb what the other was confessing. He swallowed for the what seemed to be the hundredth time, "I...yeah. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry too. I should have been better at a lot of things. I was being selfish. More selfish than you." He laughed weakly, "Why did you decide to call now?"

"Woke up with a horrible hangover and a strange moment of clarity."

"Wow, that's almost identical to my situation here." They chuckled solemnly over the line together, then Kyungsoo frowned, "I really want to come back soon."

"What?"

"I want to go back to Korea."

"Kyungsoo-yah, hasn't Europe been your dream? What about school? I thought...I thought you were happy? Where is this coming from?"

"I meant for winter break, idiot." Kyungsoo laughed again, his head pulsing with each breath. It felt so strange to laugh. "But I really am homesick."

The other let out a relieved sigh, "Your pessimism caught me so off guard. I'm used to the prideful, headstrong you. So, things are actually pretty good over there? You have to be honest with me. It's been too long, I'm out of the loop for once."

"Honest, huh?" He laid down and stared up at the chipped ceiling. Memory is a funny thing, Kyungsoo suddenly thought, as the white paint turned into the familiar shape of cigarette filters and embers, the open space a replica of the apartment complex next door, of magazine pages and projects, of photographs fluttering in the air, falling miles downward into forgotten sludge; Of tobacco kisses, and wine stained lips.

Kyungsoo reigned himself in enough to reply, "Its been interesting."

"That's it?"

"Yeah." He sees Jongin in the doorway then, standing in his baggy clothes and dancing his fingers against the slab of wood, as if summoned by the open window and Kyungsoo's pining weakness. The model had just let himself in. What did he expect, really?

Chanyeol's voice yanked him back from the sight, "Interesting isn't the worst thing, I guess. It's been pretty slow here, but the time I've had to think has given me a chance to work on music. That sounds conceited doesn't it? Maybe this is the wrong time to rant aimlessly about stuff like that."

"I get it."

Kyungsoo watched as Jongin sauntered into the room inch by inch, sending him a stretched smile and a slight wave as if he wasn't the most disorienting thing about this whole morning. He wet his lips, and nodded as Jongin mimed the gesture for 'jacket', which was certainly the one he had worn last night. He pointed to the end of his bed, where it was crumpled and discarded from drunken use.

"Hello?" Chanyeol muttered, "Soo?"

"Sorry." Kyungsoo glanced away from the model in front of him, the one who must have been manifested in his room as a sad spiritual gimmick, or something of the sort. None of it made sense. He closed his eyes as Jongin shrugged the coat on, "I'm just really hungover. I'm really out of it." It wasn't a complete lie, but the guilt was most definitely there.

"Can we revisit this soon? I know I called out of the blue, and that's my fault, but theres more I want to say and I want to talk about it. Okay, Soo? I want to continue this." He went on, "And please come home for winter break. We all miss you, dude."

"Let's talk soon, and yeah, definitely."

"Love you?" He said like a question.

"I..." Kyungsoo opened his eyes to see Jongin trying on the wrinkled jacket in front of his bedside mirror, back afront. He pressed his mouth tightly, "...love you too."

Kyungsoo set down his cell phone, ogling the unseemly view of Jongin in his apartment, who was mindlessly standing a few feet to his left. Another wave of nausea came, causing him to tear his eyes away and lean into the cold compress of his palms.

"Hungover, huh?" Jongin puzzled, still facing his reflection and pushing bent fabric into straight indents. "It's obvious."

"How did you guess, detective?" Kyungsoo retorted as he rubbed the fatigue out of his face in lazy . Hearing the models voice felt like an uncomfortably familiar concept, especially the tone of careless indulgence. It almost sobered him up completely.

"I used telepathy. Just kidding, this jacket just really reeks of wine and sweat. I pegged you to be a much cleanlier guy, Hyung."

"How did you get in here?"

Jongin finally spun away from the mirror to sit next to Kyungsoo, reaching up to graze his back with a cheeky smile.

"Your roomies. They always let me in. How many times are you going to ask me that? Or has it become some kind of reflex?"

"You came for your jacket." Kyungsoo answered himself, subconsciously leaning into the touch of the other as he kept his eyes closed.

Jongin chuckled and rubbed little circles, "I did. It also seems like I ran into an intense phone conversation. You alright?"

"I'm fine. Just drama from back home, I guess that's the easiest way to describe it."

The city was beautiful this time of the year, when the trees that line the roads were shedding, and dry petals were billowing in the morning breeze, spiraling down to the ground that was sprinkled with kisses of white. Kyungsoo thought of how much more beautiful it would be if there wasn't this absolute sense of disaster he had when he was with Jongin. When the model appeared in his room, his porch, his bedside, his view from the window and everything in between, invited yet hardly welcomed. Kyungsoo thought about how it was all backwards. That could merely waltz in here after missing for days, after a kiss, merely to pat him on the back and retrieve his jacket. It was withdrawal again, with the push and pull that seemed endless now. He swore the stars up in the sky were murmuring about the display below, whispering about insolence and repetitive demise.

He also wondered if he should tell Jongin about the phone call with Chanyeol, or if he should leave that part of himself shielded from the prying eyes of the other. How would he explain such a situation? A situation of selfishness and jealousy, and foolish idolization of the man who sat pressed against his thigh this very second?

"Well, if you want to talk, I'm here." Jongin said as he leaned away, choosing to rest on his elbows. He gazed up at the ceiling again, like he always did when he was in Kyungsoo's room. "I have news for you, Hyung. If you need something more positive for this depressing morning."

"News?" Kyungsoo faced him and raised a concerned brow. It was weird to listen to Jongin treat him as a friend, and offer any kind of comfort.

"I'm sober. Four days."

"Jongin..."

The model lifted up a dismissive hand, "You don't have to say anything. I don't expect anything from you...except maybe your time. I was thinking we could do something special to celebrate." He then stood up with an unwavering energy about him, "It would be the perfect hangover cure, promise. You want to come over? I have something planned, so you kind of have to say yes."

Kyungsoo rubbed his eyes and blinked up at the other, "You want me to come over? Right now you do?"

"Got anything else planned?"

He had to check on Junmyeon, he had to talk to Chanyeol, he had to start the projects assigned over break for—

Kyungsoo could never say no, "I guess not." He said. "It better be worth it."

 

_________

 

The city was also so much more beautiful with Jongin, Kyungsoo admitted internally, capturing the shot where Jongin appeared almost wholesome, holding a tray of bread and coffee as he walked to where the photographer sat. They were on the floor, situated with two used pillows and a low risen table, decorated with nothing other than the cut loaves and dipping oil. 

"What was that for?" Jongin asked, letting Kyungsoo help lower the tray once his hands were free.

"What was what for?"

"You took a picture of me. I wasn't even posing or doing anything."

Kyungsoo smiled and removed the strap around his neck as the other sat across from him, "You were bringing me food and coffee like a little waiter. Of course I had to take a picture." He put the camera off to the side and scooted up, legs crossed neatly under the flattop.

Jongin dipped a piece of bread, "I'm ignoring that evil comment. You also haven't even complimented my handiwork here, either. Doesn't this remind you of something?"

The first time they met, with naive glimmers and timid promises, pillows on the wooden floor, and not enough napkins. How could Kyungsoo forget something so detrimental? Something far too innocent for their story?

"No. Enlighten me." He snorted.

"You really are evil. You're going to make me say it?" Jongin returned a smile, holding the soaked bread piece between his fingers, he then held it up to hover over Kyungsoo's lips.

"Open up."

"I can feed myself."

"I know. You're indulging me, Hyung." Jongin almost whined, smiling even larger when Kyungsoo gave in, letting the model put the sponge in his mouth with a quick movement of his fingers. He then laughed at the others expression, "Is it good? I bought some generic olive oil stuff from the store. It's probably not as good as the one you got, but I hope it's okay."

"Why are you doing all of this? This hospitality stuff." Kyungsoo swallowed and stared down into the pool of oil.

"I told you already. This is a celebration. For me, and for us. I thought you'd like it, I even came up with the idea of recreating the day we became friends." He deflated in a subtle way, in a way that only Kyungsoo could catch since he watched the other so closely. The setup now seemed more cohesive, yet it was tainted by the present. When they met things were so, so different.

"I do like it. I didn't mean it like that."

"You're proud of me though, right?"

"Of course I am." Kyungsoo impulsively reached out to pat Jongin's coiled hand.

Jongin didn't look him in the eyes, even when Kyungsoo squeezed over his knuckles and ran a thumb over them in reassurance, "You're shaking."

He attempted a weak laugh, "I'm nervous hosting you at my house. That's all."

From watching the model so intently over time, he could also read Jongin's face like an open book. The slightest crease of a brow or squint of an eye could tell Kyungsoo all he needed to know, yet in times like these, Jongin's vulnerability instantly transformed before his very eyes into blankness. Into nothing literate. It was a dead giveaway to his exposure. Jongin was not sober, not completely, but the photographer just said nothing and pulled his hand away.

"Nervous?" He resumed eating like the truth wasn't just revealed by Jongin's quivering fingers.

"It's been a long time since you've been over, right? I lose track of time, but it feels like you haven't been to my apartment in ages. Months, atleast. Or is that wrong? I don't know." Jongin shook his head and lifted his mug to his lips, which were still pinned into a tight curve.

"Our friendship is..." Kyungsoo chewed on some bread until it was tasteless, "it's not conventional, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. It's just strange." He swallowed it and mindlessly picked up another,  "Our meetings, our conversations. I feel like our dynamic is really weird."

Jongin leaned back off the pillow to put his weight onto his palms, "I've never had a conventional relationship with anyone."

"So it's you, then. Not me. Got it."

"Hey, not so fast. You're not a conventional person either. You lurk around and take pictures of things secretly, like a little goblin." He sat back up to wave his hands around in mocking, beaming genuinely.

Kyungsoo stifled a real smile of his own, "Okay, heroine chic, don't get too ahead of yourself. You admitted it first."

"What the is heroine chic?"

"Heroine chic?" Kyungsoo rolled his eyes and wrapped an exasperated fist over his coffee, "It's a ultra-famous model term from like, the 90's or something. It describes the fad of being like skinny and lanky, and somewhat grungy, I guess. You really don't know?"

Jongin shrugged, "I don't know any modeling terms, I just stand around and look pretty."

"Bimbo."

"Wow. Ouch. So hostile." Jongin clutched at his chest like he got a gun wound from his words, leaning forward over the table. He was finally smiling, again. He then covered it with his coffee mug as he took another sip, "I missed hanging out with you."

Kyungsoo stilled, "Yeah."

"Yeah? That's it? Double ouch."

"All I said was yeah. I'm agreeing."

Jongin's smile fell into a relaxed line, and Kyungsoo didn't fail to notice how he had barely eaten any of the food prepared. It felt performative, like it was only for Kyungsoo and no one else, not even the one who hosted it all. For the first time, Kyungsoo looked up from the table and away from the model's gaze to observe the apartment space. Half of the furniture was missing, creating vacant spaces between walls and counters, leaving darkness instead of the old bookcase and the sofa chair. There was the record player left standing, alongside the lonesome couch that he had sat on a number of times, watching television or hearing Soojung and Jongin chatter away about god knows what. He faced him again, expression shielding the feeling of displacement.

Jongin didn't miss the way Kyungsoo fell quiet, and he immediately ran a shaky hand across his bangs, looking at the record player, "I can see you're checking out the new decorations."

"What's the inspiration?" Kyungsoo said with just as much humor, miming the way the other glanced around.

"I wanted to go for the most depressing theme I could muster. Emptiness, shallowness, complete and utter heartbreak. You like it?" Jongin batted his eyelashes and waved his hand as if he was showing off something expensive. "It's called: my girlfriend left and owned half of the furniture. It's a very common, yet organic aesthetic."

"I don't even know what to say." Kyungsoo barked out a stunned laugh, suddenly not feeling hungry either. "Are you sure you shouldn't have been a theater kid? I think you would have thrived."

"It is what it is. My life has really become just listening to my records since there's not much else to do around this miserable apartment now. And yes, being a theater kid was on my list of self exploitation, thanks for reminding me."

"You just sit in here and listen to music all day?"

"Yeah, the player and pretty much all the records were mine so I was able to keep all that stuff. It's been keeping me sane, honestly. Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev, Brahms. They've all been my personal saviors."

"They're all pianists."

"I used to be a dancer, remember?" Jongin tapped at the side of his temple, "Ballet around the living room is a good past time. You should try it."

"How are you doing with that, by the way." Kyungsoo changed the subject and took a lukewarm swig of his coffee to lube his throat, which was inevitably dry. "I feel like I should ask. No jokes this time."

"Dancing?" Jongin quirked an eyebrow.

"Soojung. Everything. You really haven't told me anything since the last time we talked. Or maybe the time before that." He corrected himself, suddenly feeling awkward as he set the mug down. It was cheap coffee. Grainy.

Jongin blinked and pursed his lips like he had to choose the next words very carefully, "We talked about it once. It was the time I came to your house and took your project home. It wasn't a great conversation if I remember correctly."

"Are any of our last conversations great?"

"When you put it like that, no." The model then stared at his lap, "I want to apologize again, actually. I feel like I honestly began to ruin our friendship once autumn ended, when me and Soojung finally broke it off, I was in a really bad place mentally. I took that out on you because at the time you were all I had, and I was angry. I was angry that it felt like you had everything and I had nothing. You didn't deserve any of that, and I'm sorry. I'm telling you sincerely now."

Kyungsoo set down his food, "Jongin..."

"I'm sorry for the kiss too. I wasn't sober then, and it wasn't the way to apologize for all the I put you through and I was being selfish. You were right about everything you said, and that's something I didn't forget. Hyung, I hope you can forgive me and we can be friends again. None of this mental warfare . I mean it. I miss going out with you and reading poetry and having you cook Korean food. I want to have that back and I don't want to my relationships up anymore."

"Is that why you brought me here?"

"I, uh, well— yes." Jongin was shaking harder with each passing second, and Kyungsoo actually questioned if maybe the model really was just nervous to have him over. How much of this was Kim Jongin and how much of it was a trauma response? How much of it thoughtful sobriety? He rubbed the crumbs off over his slacks and avoided the photographers gaze, "I have a lot of things I want to say to you, but I wanted to start with that. I want to be transparent from now on. I want to get a lot better at expressing myself."

Jongin's story was one born from the discrepancy between the place of which people see themselves, and one in which where they actually are. It was a story of human weakness, of realization and the euphoric sense of delusional wishes, and Jongin had laid it out straight before the world. Like he had gutted himself and slept the eternal sleep, molded in dirt and the fear of truth. The fear of freedom. All of it was futile in the grand scheme of things, and yet—the model had a sparkle of something light behind the mocha of his eyes. A fondness, and a longing shielded by ache. Kyungsoo for once, wasn't sure if it was love or something more, and he would rather stay ignorant.

"I want to be transparent too." Kyungsoo heard himself say.

Jongin smiled a subtle smile, "I'm glad."

A number of things arose in that shared moment. Kyungsoo thought about all the words that could have fallen from his lips, what could have stuck to his tongue and floated in the air they breathed in, and what could have been something akin to vulnerability. The truth was, he was terrified. 

Tearing his gaze from the model, he fiddled with the basket and picked it up. "Well, if were not going to eat this stuff, shouldn't we clean up?"

"I guess so." Jongin replied, shutting down once more. After the flood gates opened, they were closed again. Kyungsoo watched as the other stood up and removed the leftovers from the table with a tight expression, heading directly to the kitchen and placing them into the trash. The energy was different again, always a metamorphosis that was immutable and strangling, destroying any progress of clarity the either of them had with each other in conversation. 

Kyungsoo remained on the floor with his mouth open, right on the edge of saying something else. Why was it always him? Why was he always the one who ruined the overt attempts at reconciliation? If the model had one thing over him, it was the ability to communicate. Which was kind of pathetic in hindsight. Jongin  gestured over to the living room, nodding his head. "You want to move into here? Go ahead and pick out a record. Any one you want."

He stood up to join the other in the next chamber, standing awkwardly as the model flickered on a lamp and perched himself next to the record player resting against the wall, he then bent down briefly to retrieve a bin and  flip through the discs like they weighed lighter than air. Dusted with visible disuse, Kyungsoo could smell the antique perfume from where he was standing. It was nostalgic, and faintly melancholy. Jongin then held the case out to him. 

 

"To be honest, I don't think you've ever picked out a record since you first started coming over, huh? Thats kind of a bummer, i should have been a better host. I guess i just wanted you to be impressed with my music taste, Hyung. But looking back...I should have let you pick the music at least sometimes."

 

Kyungsoo sat back on the couch arm and rested the records on his lap, "Your music taste is good." He shuffled the paper casings to even them out in his palms, " But not as good as mine, Kim Jongin."

"You said you wanted to be transparent, not cocky..."

"I can be both." Kyungsoo chuckled, the energy moving and swirling again; Into the red of the Paris sunsets. He raised a Blood Orange record up into the window's tinted light and smirked up at the model who was still standing. "Here."

"That was quick. You didn't even look through them all!" Jongin begrudgingly took the record from his grasp and placed it on the player, bending the needle over it accordingly. Kyungsoo wondered if Jongin had the same issue saying no. He confirmed it must be so, or else they wouldn't be here for the hundrenth time, dancing the dance of repudiation in their apartments and shared windows. As the record crackled and started its first track, Jongin turned to face him with amusement. "This is a good band, though. I guess I wont complain. I havent heard them in awhile."

 

Kyungsoo said nothing, continuing to brush through the rest of the vinyl. The confession from minutes ago was still haunting him, hoarding his thoughts with cloudiness and an emotional fog. He was still terrified. He could tell Jongin wanted to say more than he did. He probably wanted to demand an explanation from Kyungsoo, or push for any amount of humanity he could spare. He still wasn't bold enough to figure out who should speak first. Push and pull, push and pull, withdrawal and aching. He could see it in Jongin's eyes as the model seemed to contemplate having a cigarette by the window, his eyes scanning across the room with hardness. Without a second to spare, Kyungsoo walked back to the table and picked up his camera. 

Jongin was so beautiful. Even with the disconnect between them.

"You're beautiful."

Jongin whirled around with wide eyes, "What?"

"it's..." The photographer held his breath and lifted the camera to his eye. "The lighting is beautiful."

The model was tense as the flash went off, expression neutral, eyes and jaw locked. Kyungsoo lowered it, trying to control the completion he felt from clicking the shutter and seeing the digital version appear on the mini screen, engulfed by his palms. That was the only way Kyungsoo knew how to communicate, the only way he knew vulnerability and transparency and the lot of it. A photograph, like a song, or a poem. A poem about addiction. The record playing was like the red sunset. 

"Can I ask you something?" Jongin suddenly asked.

"Hm?"

"Are you...seeing that one guy?"

Kyungsoo looked up and made a face, "What guy?"

"The one with the nice clothes, he's Korean too." The model focused back on the horizon, choosing not the make eye contact as he spoke. He had that kind of fearfulness that didn't look natural on him, like a mask. "I see him walk past the building a lot..."

Junmyeon. He was talking about Junmyeon. "Oh." Kyungsoo said, not entirely sure on how to reply to something like that. What was Junmyeon? A man who fell victim to the same heartache and solitary fray, and assuredly a man who deserved better. He studied Jongin as he swayed gently to the R&B, probably as a self soothing tactic. "We were talking, but it didn't go past that."

He perked up, "Why not?"

"He's really nice, and honestly was there for me when I wasn't doing good, but I just couldn't date him. I think I was..." Kyungsoo had to remember to be honest, now. To be open in his faults. He leaned back onto the couch, "I was kind of using him because I  was lonely. He didn't deserve that, but it happened. I'm not proud."

I was looking for you in him. I was trying to mold him into a new muse.

Jongin was quiet again and then moved to the window, walking across the space to continue the conversation at the opening. His hair was longer now, and the sky made it look like it had a halo of fire. Kyungsoo got up and followed him,  standing a generous distance away. "I still have to apologize to him. What I did to him was...ed up. I was at a low point at the end of the year."

"I get that more than anyone. I was at a really low place too." The latter muttered into the brisk air, mainly to himself. He was wearing the jacket he retrieved from Kyungsoo's  apartment and he peered down to fish the carton out, opening it to count the cigarettes poking upwards. "I was surprised you guys clicked so fast...considering the fact you told me it was nearly impossible to make friends here. I guess little shy Soo isn't as shy as he seems." He said the last part with a small smirk, barely caught by the light.

"I mean, he approached me first, so I don't know if I did much of the initiating." Kyungsoo hung back, facing Jongin's back as he clicked through his camera gallery in subliminal fixation. The pictures moved backwards from Jongin, to Jongin with the plate, to some of his project works. He kept pressing until another familiar face appeared, taking him by internal surprise. It was Junmyeon, staring in neutrality, stiff as a tree in front of the flash. Guilt swarmed him and buzzed in his head. Junmyeon was a victim in an emotional carousel, a ride only meant to be ridden by Kyungsoo, and maybe, Jongin. "Weirdly, I felt like we were alike. Despite him being so much more open than me." 

"How so?"

"I felt like he was desperately looking for a reason to stay here. Like a purpose, or any kind of inspiration. He's living here for some boring finance job, and I could tell it drained the out of him. I think he was hoping I could give him some peace." Kyungsoo let the words gush out, and clicked mindlessly through the rest of the pictures though he was barely paying attention to them. "Or maybe it wasn't peace, it was some kind of excitement. Someone or something to make him feel alive. He seemed like he was almost down to be mistreated...if it meant he was wanted in any way."

Jongin lit one of the sticks before the photographer knew it, and silently at the filter for a moment as he stared outside. He then turned around the rested his lower back on the weald, angled like the graceful branches of a tree against the choleric luster. His face was twisted into an expression of preclude, plush lips circled to let the smoke fall out and fill the air with the prosaic scent. He compelled Kyungsoo's fingers to hover over the capture button.

"So, you feel like that applies to you too?" He asked.

"I guess I do." Kyungsoo gazed up and met his eyes, and it felt like the first time their gazes had actually met tonight. He could almost read the unsaid confessions in Jongin's iris's. The terror was back, but conviluded with the desire to begin a photoshoot. He suppressed it to join the other at the window. "Remember when you asked me if I had a muse?"

"That was awhile ago."

"Well, I remember. I never forgot it. It was the first time anyone asked me that besides some of my teachers. It really made me think about why I came here." He continued, curling into himself. It was much colder at the opening. "My family and friends thought it was because of the scenery, or the romance of France. They thought I was nearly insane for applying to art schools so far from Korea, and at the same I wasn't even sure why I did it either. I thought it was because of the buildings, or the food, or the museums. The tourist-y stuff looks really great when you've never been. So when I got here, I went exploring and did all the things I wanted to do. I took pics of all the things I wanted to capture, but it didn't...work."

Jongin listened, gaze heavy in the corner of Kyungsoo's view as he spoke. He felt himself begin to shiver, and he wasn't sure if it was the weather, or the absolute nightmare of spilling his angst out. He swallowed and went on, "I realized it was because I was lonely. And uninspired. Paris was just like Seoul, because I moved here with a lack of direction. I think when you..." He stopped. He was shaking, and it felt like he couldn't ever stop.

A sensation of warmth was cast over him then, as Jongin returned the infamous jacket and blanketed it over his shoulders. It reeked of smoke now, but also like a version of home. He tightened it around his torso and tried to remain composed, even though he was shivering for a different reason now. The other, as if he sensed every thought the photographer had, rested a long arm over his back and held it there. It was insanely intimate, and yet appropriate. This was the most honest they could be, for now. It felt right. It was okay.

"When you and Soojung..." Kyungsoo his lips, "Well, you. When you came into my life I think for the first time I had found a real friend here. A friend and...a muse. You really inspired me, and I think it made me a little bit selfish in the way I went about it. You were like a concept to me, but also someone too real. I want to apologize for...being the way I was. I was insensitive to your struggles. I said a lot of ty things. When Chanyeol came over, there was a lot of baggage there and I handled it really poorly. I ended up losing him for awhile too, because of that. You asked me earlier what that phone call was about...it was because of you. And me."

 

The stars glimmered in the hazy distance as Jongin held him, breathing fire and looking directly at his face. His eyes grazed over Kyungsoo's eyelashes, his nose and parted lips, always picking him apart with sharpness and weary boldness. "I said before I never had any conventional relationships." The model finally uttered something other than fumes, "But...this is one that I think is really worth it. If you'd...wait with me."

As Kyungsoo leaned into his unsteady, tremoring touch, he knew what the latter meant. Kyungsoo really couldn't ever say no.