12

His Rolex points five in the afternoon and he has been doing nothing but rolling in bed, in and out of dreams and revelries about Jinwoo. He still can’t give credits that he had exposed his most inner feelings to Jinwoo – he replays the ball game, again and again, finding the holes, Jinwoo’s reactions, his expression of mixed panic and terror. He hasn’t been exactly pleased, to begin with, but Minho can hardly expect it to be different – he was just recovering, it was, clearly, not the best moment to press his affections towards him (but, then, maybe he won’t have another chance to tell him, to be honest to Jinwoo). He had known, though, his emotions always open like pages of a book ready to be read, all his gestures obvious to Jinwoo – every little thing expressing his infinite love to him.

From outside, across the opened window, the wind comes in in orange and red breeze, taking away the warmth that thinking about Jinwoo puts into him, tepid and mild and so nice to keep. On a whim, he closes the panels of glass, stares at the expanse of green evolving his house, the front garden strewed with floral bushes of soft pink roses and marigolds. Daisies smile at him, waving white petals, surrounded by steam of falling leaves, creaking in maroon and dust. From his point of observation, he can hear the wires of a car, old and ragged, stirring along the road, coming his way – and he checks the time again, thinking that, perhaps, Seunghoon is out of work, driving Seungyoon as they have agreed. He leaves the window and hurries to clean up, throwing on him a pair of casual denim and a shirt – he peeks at the mirror and smirks, pleased with the reflection: he looks rested, well, his tanned skin glowing under the tittering sunset shading the room with autumn feels.

He darts from his room to Jinwoo’s, to ensure that he is there, safe and sound, that he has all that he needs and requires, that he is ready to greet his friends who are coming to visit. But, once he opens the door, slowly and carefully, he finds that the bed has been stripped off of the sheets and that the space is empty, not a single trace of Jinwoo – the lights in the toilet are off, the curtains drawn, veiling with shades the rest of the room.

There is a tang of citrus all over the hall and Minho sighs, following it to the kitchen, where he should have guesses Jinwoo would be – after all the room has become Jinwoo’s natural habitat, the place where he takes refuge, where he settles down (and he fits there perfectly as if he has always been there, cooking for him). He finds Jinwoo standing there, nervously glancing at the window, expectant, expecting to see his friends. There is a kettle boiling and a tray with delicate cups of tea on their saucers, all arranged to the detail. And, from the oven, the delicious smell of biscuits and butter swirls to welcome him.

He should have known that Jinwoo would be getting ready for Seungyoon and Seunghoon.

“So you are here,” he smiles, coming closer, stepping into the kitchen charily, watching at Jinwoo, looking out for signs of tiredness, of exhaustion – but he looks put-together, dressed in his assorted bleak shirt and baggy jeans (he has totally discarded Minho’s gifts, but he doesn’t mind, there will be plenty of other occasions for him to wear them, for him to observe Jinwoo get undress). “Though there is no need for you to do it,” he adds, soothingly, his hand falling on top of Jinwoo’s, holding it, preventing him from continuing his doings. He smiles at him, “we could have ordered it,” he reminds him but Jinwoo only shakes his head, scattering black hair that, this close, hits him – and he catches the sweet perfume of his locks. “I bet Seunghoon is bringing something,” he finishes, releasing Jinwoo’s hand, feeling the miss under his palm – calloused from working, Jinwoo’s fingers are long and slender, pale below his own skin, scarred but beautiful.

“I bet he doesn’t,” he smiles, turning momentary to face him. He looks grand, his eyes brimmed with stars, his lips glossed, the taste of lip-balm coming to Minho’s nostrils, filling them with the flavour of vanilla and peaches, delicate and sumptuous, it makes him crave for them, makes Minho wants to relish on Jinwoo and nip them, swallowing the balm, nipping and gracing the surface.

“But you just fainted earlier on,” he reminds him, sitting on the table in front of the set of tea. Jinwoo shrugs, a faint smirk on him.

“But I am good,” he proclaims and Minho doesn’t dare to contradict him – if Jinwoo says he is feeling better, then he is, he is not going to sabotage this moment being persistent and toilsome (he wants to enjoy every second he has with Jinwoo). “And Seunghoon will come empty-handed, he is arriving too soon, no time to stop do the grocery,” he points out just when a car pulls in, gravel shivering.

Indeed, Seunghoon comes in with nothing but a hand on Seungyoon, smiling like a devilish creature. Minho makes it his mission to act all customary, making a fuss over their visit, welcoming them in with open arms and groovy feelings. He is truly delighted to have people paying a visit, something that has never occurred before – being Jinwoo his first and only visitor (and that shouldn’t add up because he kind of forced him in, reeling him into coming, driving him to the front door that fateful day when he crumbled down on the streets).

“How are you feeling?” asks Seunghoon, raising a brow, staring at the biscuits on the plate and back at Jinwoo, interrogating.

“Fit as a fiddle, right as rain,” he cheerfully says, smuggling a smile that lit up his whole face. There aren’t any visible signs of what had transpired earlier on, just a small amount of fatigue colouring purple the bags under Jinwoo’s eyes. And, turning to Seungyoon, he adds in a conspirator tone, “there is a swimming pool,” and Seungyoon beams, excited like a little kid.

This is how Minho finds himself lending the pair of them swimming tracks – all branded and expensive, - because Seungyoon has threatened them to go , unafraid of been seen and watched, dragging Jinwoo alongside, making Minho’s head stutter and shut down. And Minho doesn’t have it in him the willpower to resist such an assault, such a temptation laying in front of his bare eyes.

For a split second, he is tempted to lend them his Speedo, so tight that leave nothing to the imagination – but the image inside of his head of Jinwoo wearing those is already too much, reality could end him, could turn him into a bloody fountain. He shakes his head and discharge the notion – splashes cool water on his forehead and lets the drops stick over his flesh for a minute, relieving the heat blazing in his mind.

In the end, safety comes first and that’s how Seungyoon ends running ahead to the swimming pool wearing his Louis Vuitton swimming gear. Jinwoo is using regular underwear – he has teamed up with Seunghoon against his proposal, has refused to wear it saying it crashes his fashion, though he has none, to begin with (and it hurts but the views unfolding in front of his eyes are to die for – from behind, he can see his long, pale legs, the smooth curve that swings while walking, the hollow at the bottom of his back, a dimple he wants to poke at). Jinwoo is all bones and dangling skin, the expanse of the flesh is milky, splashed with little dots all over that Minho wants to joint, paint them by numbers, touch them reverently, remember every freckle by their name. He is long legs perfectly crafted, round and wobbly, dragging feet and a precious he wants so bad to fondle, to grab him by the waist and kiss him, hands trailing down, sneaking under the fabric, gracing at the skin below, marvelling at its softness, at the taste of it.

Seunghoon helps carry the tea to the back garden, where Seungyoon is already soaked in sweet, freshwater, his hair wet, brushed off, his clean forehead exposed – Seunghoon looks at him fondly, his eyes the same colour of the sky. The afternoon is filled with chuckles and giggles and the occasional splashes, pearls shimmering under the sunset, holographic, capturing the rainbow inside of them like magic and Jinwoo’s laughter. He is, too, submerged into the water, half in, floating, letting it wash him off, with drops trapped on his chest, rivulets along his arms like translucence veins and he gleams under the last of the sunlight, orange and red blending with navy blue at the far end of the horizon, colouring him with shadows of fire and dragonflies. It’s a wonder, Jinwoo smiling, the agonising day forgotten, beaming under a fresh fluttering rain water-falling down his hair, laced around his wrists and the beginning of his hips and he is all wet and delighted, a beacon of radiance and happiness – as if nothing has transpired, as if morning never occurred to them. And Minho stares at him feeling all the tension disappear. And he wishes to stay in this moment forever, pressed on it like a dried flower, the colour fading but never-ending, a precious recollection – and this is what this will become once Jinwoo leaves, once he is left alone (once the laughter will be subdued and all that Jinwoo is will be only a dream, a pleasant memory for him to live in).

“So, how are things going?” Seunghoon asks, sinking into the grass, his back against the trunk of a tree, the foliage colouring him blue and green, the soft breeze swirling flocks of dark hair from across his face. He is watching at Minho intently, a brow raised inquiring and Minho feels it like a slap, a retort back to reality – back to a world where Jinwoo isn’t his to see, to get lost into. He is forced to tear his glance from the swimming pool, from Jinwoo bouncing at the same pace as Seungyoon’s mirth and it is a sight to behold, to engrave behind the lids of his flickering eyes – he doesn’t want to miss a thing, a single instant of this joyous Jinwoo, a peek of something he has never seen (all worries faded, troubles that no longer weight on his shoulders; nothing but another second here, alive, shimmering).

“I’ve told him. Everything,” and he doesn’t need to elaborate, Seunghoon naturally follows the lead, nods at him appreciatively – it’s written in him, there is nothing else to add or say: Seunghoon has known it since the beginning, even before he put a label on his heart, handing it to Jinwoo.

“And?” he queries, smirking at him as if a joke was about to escape.

“Nothing,” he retorts, “ he has dodged my pleas and refute my feelings,” he says, shrugging. There is a flick of intelligence, of recognition, lit inside Seunghoon’s eyes that are falling on him, a small chuckle following.

“Well, all things considered, it was to be expected,” he admits and Minho finds his logic a bit flawless – that Jinwoo has just been torn apart, his chest ripped and opened and massacred by the vile of a man he so much loved. “And he is stubborn and obstinate,” he notes. “likes to do things his own way,” he adds, shaking his head with disapproval, “so it’s just normal that he has refuted your help. He doesn’t know you. I don’t know you either, for the matter, and you could change your mind, change your feelings for him, and demand to be repaid, compensated for all you have done to aid him,” he exposes and, again, Minho is surprised by how rational it sounds, plausible, realistic to the core – that this could perfectly be the reason behind Jinwoo’s actions (that he fears that help could back-stab him, to be hurt again, left in the same position he is standing now).

“Now that you mention it, I think you are right,” he admits, noticing that Seunghoon seems to read Jinwoo up.

“Don’t look so amazed!” he guffawes, watching his puzzled expression, “I’ve known Jinwoo for half my life, I haven’t developed a skill of reading minds, it just happens that I know him well,” he confesses, clasping his hand on his shoulder, shaking him out of his fantasy. “So, if you accept an advice, maybe instead of cramming your option down his throat, make him be involved somehow,” he explains, “offer him a job, the possibility to pay it off but without the pressure of the bank on him, for instance,” he suggests and it makes so much sense, Minho is embarrassed for not having thought of it first – for not coming up with a plot like this when it was evident that Jinwoo wouldn’t take his idea willingly.

“Hyung,” Seungyoon beams at Jinwoo, bumps into him all sparkling in shimmering droplets caught on his skin, dangling from his forehead, smiling as if all the joy came from standing next to Jinwoo – all soft and cuddly, he wraps himself around Jinwoo like a cute octopus. “How are you feeling?” the velvet of his voice graces his ears, suave and smooth, splotched with worries and preoccupation that only transpires between them, between that enclosed circle that are Seungyoon’s arms trapping him against his chest, his chin above his silky, black hair. “Like, really. You don’t have to pretend with us, you know,” he adds, carefully, peeling off Jinwoo as he always manages to do – uncovering what lays behind, covered with dust and fears and concerns.

“I’m good now that you are around,” he says, honestly, “but also as the aftermath of a crash, my mind has shut down,” he tries to explain. By his side, Seungyoon hums, rubbing with fluffy cheeks his profile. “Wrecked but intact,” he specifies, a stuttering smile growing across his lips. He ruffles Seungyoon’s delicate curls, water spreading over them like pouring rain and Seungyoon hugs him from behind, tightly, all warm on the inside.

“You’ll get over this,” he promises and Jinwoo senses all the faith he has in him, how much he trusts in him – and he knows that he will do everything in his hands to recover, to get back on track, not just for himself, but for Seungyoon and Seunghoon, who have been his support system, who have been by him all this time, all his life.

“Of course I will!” he assures him, feeling his words sinking into his core, blooming like roses on bare land, a miracle born out of tenacity and iron will. He will get well, he will start from scratch, he will solve the meddling things nagging at the back of his mind where Minhyuk’s name is engraved in blood and fresh, his memories replaying like a broken record, always the same sweet recollections (shared kisses, secret smiles, his hands tenderly pushing him into a lovingly embrace. It wasn’t all terrible and that is what makes it whole worse because he can’t forget him now that time floats slowly, now that he can sit down and actually think about it, about all that happened to him, with him).

“Are you going to date Minho then?” Seungyoon asks peeve, that same way a little brother would come to annoy you, smirking at him jocosely.

Any lovingly thought towards Seungyoon burns up inside of his chest - the bothering brat, he wants to slap him hard, wants to reassure him that he will find a way that doesn't require Minho's assistance, that he can't take him in when he is all broken down, shattered pieces of the man he was (that he can't love because his heart is long gone). He rolls his eyes instead, considers remaining silent as his fundamental right. 

"You know, depending on others doesn't usually work out in the end," he sighs but then that's all that Seungyoon has done - relaying on them for shelter and home (but he is a mere kid who needs to be protected, taken care of and neither Jinwoo nor Seunghoon mind a bit about it, it's not the same, he tells himself looking at the pout forming on Seungyoon's marshmallow lips; it's not like Seunghoon is spoiling him, dotting on him because he is soft and sweet - he has a job, he can live by himself, it just happens that living with Seunghoon is always much better, Jinwoo can't blame him).

"But Minho is ready to give you the moon and the stars," he insists and Jinwoo knows that he is correct, that Minho is all whipped by him, he has admitted it too, even if he had asked him to stop - and it comes in faded colours, words spiralling, unsaid, unmentioned. 

"Even if that, even if he is willing to do it all for me, I couldn't live knowing that there is no way I could repay him, I wouldn't be able to live with myself after having taking advantage of him," he mumbles, shaking, heaving heavily. "He deserves better, deserves someone who is whole and not walking on eggshells, hanging on a cliff," Jinwoo finishes, walking away from Seungyoon, taking refuge under a warm towel and a cup of tea. 

"Are you all right?" comes Seunghoon's voice, but this time there is no answer to his qualms.