Beautiful Goodbye- Maroon 5

Jinyoung’s up early for once, when the sun’s just peeking blearily over the rooftops of the little buildings in Seoul, and the sky’s a sleepy, half-half blue and the dorm is silent.

Jinyoung mechanically cracks an egg into a bowl, his eyes are itching from the lack of sleep but it’s just one of those nights when no matter how much you toss and turn, sleep just doesn’t come. Jinyoung knows it’s partly due to all the late nights he spent composing, but his pride doesn’t let him acknowledge it, so he silently but irritably blames everything but himself for the suffering he knows will come later today from the exhaustion.

He’s beating the eggs in with milk and a bit of salt, (and pepper and cheese and tomato and bacon bits, just like how the rest of them like it) when he hears a shuffling from behind him, and someone leans against him from behind, their arms snaking lazily around his waist, head pressing against the back of his neck.

Dongwoo mumbles something unintelligible into the collar of Jinyoung’s shirt. Coherence is usually beyond anyone at such an early hour, but the effect seems to double on Dongwoo. The little involuntary voice in the back of Jinyoung’s mind proclaims proudly that Dongwoo-in-the-morning is the most adorable creature to walk the Earth, and Jinyoung briskly tells it to shut up or be pulverised.

“Good morning to you too,” Jinyoung says, pretending to be unfazed, as he dices the onions.

“You’re up early today,” Dongwoo murmurs, his head burrowing further into the crook of Jinyoung’s neck, the feathery wisps of his hair tickling Jinyoung’s cheek. The warmth emanating from his body envelopes Jinyoung like a comforting blanket, and Jinyoung resists the urge to yawn.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jinyoung shrugs, sliding the tiny onion cubes into the bowl. “You’re up early too.”

“You weren’t in bed,” Dongwoo replies reproachfully, the half-disappointed, half-accusing tone in his voice making Jinyoung visualise a tiny child-Dongwoo frowning, stomping his little feet and throwing a mini-tantrum.

“The eggs are going to go bad if we don’t use them soon,” Jinyoung reasons, but Dongwoo still huffs sleepily behind him, arms locked around Jinyoung as though seeking vengeance through some form of imprisoning body contact.

Jinyoung’s just finished beating the eggs when he realises Dongwoo hasn’t moved or said a word since his reply, and is about to nudge his boyfriend to make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep on him or something, when Dongwoo stirs and yawns tiredly, nuzzling his way further into Jinyoung’s neck, so close that Jinyoung can feel the light brush of Dongwoo’s eyelashes as his lids droop with exhaustion.

“You should go back to bed if you’re tired,” Jinyoung begins, but Dongwoo grunts in disagreement.

“Not unless you’re coming back too,” he says stubbornly, and Jinyoung rolls his eyes. For someone who’s supposed to be the eldest, Dongwoo often acts like a child.

It’s one of the things Jinyoung’s annoyed by, one of the things that irks Jinyoung, especially when he’s tired and grumpy, but it’s also just one of the things he knows he can’t live without. Maybe it’s also one of the things Jinyoung loves. Jinyoung really doesn’t know, but he decides that maybe it’s not that important to know. The mere drifting, wandering, taking a stroll through the limbo of the unknown with nothing but Dongwoo at his side, is enough to sate Jinyoung’s desires. For now.

All internal debate vanishes, however, when Dongwoo leans forward to press a sleepy kiss on Jinyoung’s cheek, but misses, getting his ear instead, and laughs as Jinyoung blushes furiously, scrubbing at his ear vehemently with his yellow apron to get rid of the weird sensation.

“You’re such a child,” Jinyoung mutters under his breath as he adds a pinch of salt to the eggs, pointedly ignoring Dongwoo’s titters.

“You love it,” Dongwoo says, giving Jinyoung’s ear a mischievous nip from behind, then fleeing for the bedroom as Jinyoung whirls around, wielding the whisk like a weapon of mass destruction, laughing triumphantly as he does so.

It’s two thirty-seven in the morning when Jinyoung finally emerges from his bedroom, battered and bruised all over, as he reminds himself for the thousandth time to never under any circumstances give Chansik coffee before bedtime again, and straightens glumly to survey the disastrous situation in the living room again.

The pillows have been flung to the farthest corners of the room, and the only ones that are still on the sofa are spewing fluffy white cotton as a result of the pillow fight that erupted over the remote control sometime after midnight. A mug lies shattered on the floor, its contents spreading in a pool around it like a tragically humorous murder scene. Opened wrappers are scattered around the room, peanut and chip crumbs rolling out of the silvery foil onto the sofa as though to mock him. The video game controllers lie abandoned on the coffee table, and Jinyoung wonders vaguely for a moment through his exhaustion-hazed mind if the weird orange stuff that’s split all over said coffee table has gotten into the machinery of the controllers.

Jinyoung’s taking all this in, trying to remember if he’s supposed to mop the liquid up before picking up the broken pieces of mug then sweeping the floor to get rid of all the sharp pieces or pick up the pieces first…or whatever, and reluctantly bends over to pick up the first candy wrapper rolling past his feet like a dust bunny when there’s movement at the corner of his eye, and Dongwoo appears out of nowhere, dragging a trash bag behind him, already sweeping the area for wrappers and empty soda cans, tossing the broken pieces of the mug in with the other rubbish.

Their eyes meet for a moment after Dongwoo’s done with about half of the living room, and he quirks a smile.

“You know, you could take the trash bag and toil away for the rest of the time and I could stand there staring into space too, I think I’d be able to do that pretty well,” he says, the sarcasm in his tone playful, and Jinyoung snaps out of his tired trance, scowling heavily as he swats Dongwoo with the wrapper in his hand before stuffing it into the trash bags as well, but secretly feeling pleased as he heads for the kitchen to get the broom and dustpan.

They slip into a comfortable routine after that, as Jinyoung sweeps up the little pieces of crumbs and fluff, and Dongwoo clears all the trash and starts wiping up all the split messes with paper towels. The video game controllers are safe and sound, to Jinyoung’s relief, and he thanks all greater powers that they never thought of getting a carpet in the living room.

After an hour and a half or so, with the exception of three missing pillows, several stubborn stains on the sofa as well as a dent in the television that Jinyoung prays hasn’t affected the reception, the living room looks close to acceptable. It is, however, now four sixteen in the morning, and Jinyoung’s pretty sure he would have collapsed on the floor due to exhaustion if Dongwoo hadn’t been around to help.

Just as Jinyoung ties up the last bag of trash and shoves it beside the shoe cabinet for disposal the next day, however, Dongwoo sneaks up from behind (at least Jinyoung thinks he did, he could’ve teleported or flown for all Jinyoung knew) and whirls him around to press a quick, passionate kiss on his lips, and Jinyoung remains stunned for a moment, blinking in an attempt to collect whatever had happened in the past split second and waiting for his brain to process an appropriate response, but then Dongwoo smiles, plucking a bit of fluff from Jinyoung’s red hair and causing all neural functions still operating in Jinyoung’s brain to short circuit with a pathetic fizz.

(He vaguely remembers snuggling into Dongwoo’s arms in bed after a long, hot shower, but when he wakes up, Dongwoo’s in his own bed, fast asleep, like nothing had happened.)

Jinyoung always enjoys night time considerably better than he enjoys the day.

It’s quiet, it’s peaceful, and everyone’s fast asleep, unable to shout or stare or get him in trouble. It’s like a break from the world, a break from reality just to catch a breath of fresh air before diving back under to fight all the monsters that lurk in the dirty depths of life.

 The sky’s darker than usual tonight, a cloudless, cool Thursday midnight, and the moonlight shines, its soft beams bathing the rooftop which Jinyoung’s sitting on. Everything feels perfect; it’s just bright enough to see where he’s walking without falling on his face, and dim enough to forget he has a life outside right now.

He wiggles his bare toes on the threadbare mat, wishing he’d brought socks with him to protect his feet from the twilight chill, and gathers his knees to his chest, wondering how long he’d been up here alone. Just as he considers going back down to check, however, the rusty fire escape stairwell rattles, and he perks up, looking over, as Dongwoo emerges from seemingly nowhere, a paper bag in tow.

“Chansik almost caught me going up on the way to the toilet,” he chuckles, as if the thought amused him.

“Did he go back to bed alright?” Jinyoung asks, scooting over to make space for Dongwoo on the mat as the elder settled down on the mat.

“Yep, I told him I needed to go out and buy something before tomorrow,” Dongwoo says absently, opening the paper bag and scrutinising its contents.

“He bought it?”

“He was tired. You know Chansik.”

“I think we were all worn out after today,” Jinyoung grumbles, as he shifts to sit in a cross-legged position. “I swear, I’m going to ask Manager for another choreography instructor. The new one treats us like ballerinas. More grace! More confidence! You need to leap like a swan!”

“Swans don’t even leap,” Dongwoo laughs again, passing a packet over to Jinyoung. “The cassava chips sold out, so I got us some tripe instead.”

“Whatever, I’m starving,” Jinyoung mutters, ripping off the top and poking into the packet. “Not like there’s much to buy past midnight, anyway. Is there anything else?”

“You know, I wonder how you stay that skinny all the time,” Dongwoo complains, digging into the paper bag once more. “It took me ages to lose all my teenage weight.”

“Trade secret,” Jinyoung peers over, mouth half-full of snacks, and his eyes widen. “You bought beer!”

“Taking into account the crappiness of today, I think it’s well-deserved,” Dongwoo passes the can over, the smooth metal surface slick with cold condensation, and Jinyoung his fingers hastily before cracking open the top, his throat going dry at the delightful hiss of fizz escaping.

Dongwoo chuckles softly again as Jinyoung tips the can eagerly to gulp down a few mouthfuls of the bitter liquid, opening his own can as he does so.

“Slower, you’re going to choke,” he reprimands Jinyoung, who rolls his eyes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he lowers the can.

“Tell me that when I don’t have an interview script to write or an album to complete by next month,” the leader retorts, swirling the liquid in the can.

A comfortable half-silence follows after that, broken soothingly by the sounds of rustling plastic as Jinyoung bolts down more snacks and the swishing of their beer in their cans, as well as the rumble of distant traffic from below them.

It’s after almost half an hour of eating and talking about nothing when Jinyoung feels satisfactorily content, leaning against Dongwoo’s chest, the sound of Dongwoo’s heartbeat a peaceful rhythm thudding steadily against Jinyoung’s ear. It’s nice, feeling considerably light-headed after the beer and full of junk food he knows he’s going to regret during the next public weighing session. But it’s like Dongwoo said, every bit Jinyoung eats vanishes into dead space after he swallows it, so Jinyoung decides after a minute and a half of pondering that he shouldn’t worry about it too much.

When Dongwoo sighs, however, it sets the warning bells in Jinyoung’s head off, because Dongwoo showing how he felt inside was as often an occurrence as Sandeul refusing any kind of food, or Baro seeing a piece of SNSD merchandise and not spontaneously freaking out on the spot. Jinyoung looks up, just a little bit, because looking too far up makes his neck hurt, watching the faraway expression on his boyfriend’s face.

“Something on your mind?” he mumbles, snuggling up closer towards Dongwoo, intent on absorbing as much body heat as possible before any of his toes dropped off from frostbite. Something about a toeless idol just didn’t fit, you know?

Dongwoo’s about to shake his head, then changes in mid-action and half-shrugs instead. Jinyoung exaggerates his sigh, closing his eyes as he takes Dongwoo’s hand and begins absently playing with his fingers.

“Are you going to share that something on your mind?” he asks, stifling a yawn.

Dongwoo remains silent for a while, and Jinyoung listens for the sound of his breathing, a calming, slow sound, just like everything else Dongwoo did. Slow and steady. Like the turtle in that race with the hare his older sister always used to tell him stories about.

“Slow and steady wins the race, Jinyoung. I feel you should take a leaf from the turtle’s book sometimes.”

It was true, Jinyoung had always been the one with the vision, the excitement, the passion and dreams. The one who lead the soldiers into battle, the one with twinkling eyes and big words and an undying willpower to drag himself to his goal, dead or alive. It was always the big picture, about how can we be better, how can we be faster, how can we win, so much that he found himself always forgetting the mundane little bits of life which, despite their apparent uselessness in the big scheme of things, were indeed vital for his survival, as well as the rest of B1A4’s.

Dongwoo had been there from the very beginning, laying out the bricks beneath Jinyoung’s feet, paving the way for all their dreams to come true through the simple parts of life Jinyoung was constantly overlooking. He was the one who got everyone to bed on time so they wouldn’t look like ghosts the next morning during that oh-so-important interview, he was the one that called the maintenance men in when their toilet got stuck, he was the one that made sure they ate, made sure they picked up after themselves, made sure they all stayed alive in the process of chasing all their dreams.

Jinyoung wasn’t exactly sure he knew what he’d do without Dongwoo.

“Do you ever regret becoming an idol?”

Jinyoung’s shaken from his reverie, opening his eyes and looking up questioningly to study Dongwoo’s face. His boyfriend’s eyes are fixed on the crescent moon, the light slanting onto his face such that his glasses cast sad shadows on his pale face.

“Sometimes, when Manager yells at us or when we have to wake up in the morning for practice,” Jinyoung shrugs slightly. “I’m surprised none of us have tried to run away yet, to be honest. Why? Do you?”

Dongwoo looks away, exhaling with a note of resignation. “Well, not exactly regret, but…you know. Sometimes I wonder if it was really the right way to go.”

Jinyoung remains quiet for a while, weighing out the different responses he could give, and suddenly realises that while he’s been working towards his dreams all his life, he has no idea whatsoever what Dongwoo’s dreams are.

“Why did you join WM, then?” he asks softly, slender fingers tracing patterns along the outline of Dongwoo’s collar bone in the moonlight. “Sometimes you just need to remember why to rediscover your purpose.”

“Why?” Dongwoo echoes, still looking into the night sky. “To be honest, now, I don’t really know. I…I wanted to be recognised, you know, for rapping, for singing. I knew I could never fit in with the crowd I had to be around, so I guess I became an idol to escape from it all,” he laughs humourlessly. “Might as well be an outcast where I’m adored and showered with attention, right?”

Jinyoung looks up at Dongwoo, properly this time, and their eyes meet for a moment before Jinyoung speaks.

“Did it work? Escaping?”

Dongwoo gives a helpless kind of shrug, eyes returning to the stars.

“I don’t really know, to tell you the truth. Sometimes it feels like I’m really needed, like people actually notice and appreciate the fact that I’m standing right there, but most of the time I’m still just the awkward kid that hangs around in the back when everyone else is smiling and fighting for camera space,” Dongwoo’s eyes are downcast now. “I’m still the outcast, just in a different way. I…” Dongwoo chuckles bitterly. “I guess I just wanted to be loved.”

Jinyoung blinks, the haze caused by the beer now forming a rather irritating grey cloud cover in his head, which is probably the reason why the next sentence slips from his lips before he can stop it.

“I love you.”

It’s stated like a fact, a point which Jinyoung’s making to argue with Dongwoo’s claim, with that touch of annoyance that always penetrates his voice when he’s trying to prove he’s right, but it’s out before Jinyoung can drag it back on a hurdle thither and quarter and burn it and hide the ashes in some obscure part of his mind where he won’t ever have to think about it again.

Jinyoung considers jumping off the building, seeing as they’re on the roof and all, but deduces that Dongwoo would probably knock some sense into him before he gets halfway across the roof, and settles for pretending that no outright declarations of love were ever made and the past thirty seconds did not exist. Ever.

When he finally sneaks a peek back up after thirty more seconds of unnerving silence, however, Dongwoo is looking at him with a different kind of smile, a cross between disbelief and laughter and the loving affection that Jinyoung always needed to see after getting a scolding from Manager or reading hurtful comments about their band on the internet.

Nothing more is exchanged between them (certainly no more outright love declarations, and the latter disappoints Jinyoung considerably more than he thinks it should), and it’s only when they’re packing up, after Dongwoo lectures Jinyoung about proper disposal of rubbish and Jinyoung wonders for the hundredth time why he ever fell in love with such an umma, as they descend down the grimy fire escape staircase, when Dongwoo even mentions what Jinyoung had come to dub in the past ten minutes as The Stupidest Mistake Jung Jinyoung Has Ever Made.

“Thanks,” Dongwoo says, and Jinyoung tries to look back at Dongwoo without tripping on the staircase and falling to a hilariously embarrassing death. “For reminding me.”

Jinyoung notes the flush on Dongwoo’s cheeks with some degree of satisfaction, and considers replying with something equally sappy, but decides on the alternative he much preferred. He clears his throat loudly, giving Dongwoo a meaningful look (or as meaningful as he could while clinging onto the rickety old stairwell railing for dear life as he descends).

Dongwoo raises as eyebrow, before getting the idea and rolling his eyes.

“And yes,” he says, sarcastically. “I love you too, Jinyoung.”

“Good,” Jinyoung says happily as he turns back, and they continue on their way back home.

Jinyoung’s always had problems with sleeping, mostly due to the annoying schedule imposed upon them by the management, but this, this, is insomnia on a whole new level.

He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut determinedly, but his mind was awake and alive, wondering about everything and anything except about how he’ll cope with promotions tomorrow without sleep.

Well, not really everything and anything. Maybe just a couple of things. One thing in particular, maybe just one thing only.

His back is cold, but he refuses to face away from the wall, refuses to turn over and face Dongwoo. Not after what he did today.

It wasn’t so much about teaching Dongwoo a lesson by giving him the silent treatment, Jinyoung had realised sometime tonight, after hours of his wondering-about-things-he-should-not-be-wondering-about-during-sleeping-time. Jinyoung’s just frustrated, angry, tired, tired after all the things that he was forced to suffer through, like he’d been shoved into a little fighting ring and forced to dodge rotten tomatoes flung from catapults for the people’s amusement, and as superficial and selfish as it may sound, he was upset that Dongwoo hadn’t been there to help him through it.

And today, today, when Dongwoo directly refused the plea Jinyoung so desperately over the phone made to spill his woes and frustration over the mess of tomato pulp being whirred about in a food processor currently known as Jinyoung’s Life, that became the absolute last straw Jinyoung could endure.

Okay, so maybe Dongwoo was in the middle of doing a photoshoot and maybe Dongwoo hadn’t really slept in two days and maybe Dongwoo didn’t actually directly refuse it, more like tell Jinyoung that he’d call back when the producer wasn’t glaring him down like he was a new virus species, but that was still unacceptable. Jinyoung had always put Dongwoo as his first priority, so why shouldn’t Dongwoo do the same?  

Whatever it was, Jinyoung felt that he was fully justified in shouting/crying at Dongwoo for that half a minute after that, then hanging up and refusing to speak to him for the rest of the night.

Maybe.

There’s a creak in one of the beds behind him, and Jinyoung stiffens, willing his eyes to close, but they seem to be rebelling against him, and Jinyoung remains wide awake.

The creak comes again, but it’s followed by louder one, as though someone’s getting up from the bed.

It’s Junghwan, Jinyoung tells himself determinedly. He’s going to the kitchen to sneak that last bite of kimchi stew from the stove.

The ladder creaks under pressure audibly, and Jinyoung’s heart leaps so fast he has to prod his throat to make sure it hasn’t wedged itself there permanently.

Okay, so it’s Dongwoo. He’s going to the bathroom. Or to the living room to make sure his phone is charging. Or to check on the laundry. Or something else Dongwoo-ish.

When Jinyoung feels the mattress behind him sink under a new weight, however, his heart sets a pace so inhumanly fast that he’s sure either Dongwoo will hear it, or Jinyoung will suffer from a and die. Every muscle tenses in his body at the lightest nudge of Dongwoo’s fingers against his back.

“Go away,” he mutters under his breath, still refusing to turn and face Dongwoo. “I’m not talking to you.”

“I’m not asking you to talk,” Dongwoo takes Jinyoung’s acknowledgement of his presence as an invitation to wrap an arm around his shoulder, which Jinyoung shrugs off with more force than intended.

“You have your own bed,” Jinyoung says in as cold a tone as he can manage.  “Go away.”

“Jinyoung-…”

“You’re going to wake Chansik up. I said go away.”

Silence falls once again between the two, and Jinyoung feels Dongwoo sigh against the back of his head. He feels a spark of irritation that Dongwoo still doesn’t get it, he’s still acting like he’s in the right, but maybe that irritation’s coming from the fact that Jinyoung knows he’s just being unreasonable with his boyfriend, and it really isn’t his fault, but Jinyoung just wants someone else there to help him pick up the pieces of his life before he crashes headfirst into another wall of fear or insecurity.

“I had a bad dream,” Dongwoo nuzzles against Jinyoung’s back, and Jinyoung almost turns around- he certainly doesn’t remember nightmares being a step in makeup procedures. It takes him by surprise. However, he remains silent, and Dongwoo takes it as his cue to continue.

“I dreamt you left us.”

Something fragile in Jinyoung kind of tips off the mantelpiece and shatters into a million pieces on the floor then, but Jinyoung’s determined not to show any form of emotional feedback then, so his lips remain sealed.

“Will you?”

Jinyoung’s so surprised this time that he actually answers.

“Will I what?”

“Will you leave me?”

Jinyoung’s completely dumbstruck at that moment, and he realises, with a stab of annoyance, that Dongwoo’s effectively cornered him with that question. Jinyoung ponders for a while, and decides that his best plan of action for the moment is to remain silent. The mattress creaks as Dongwoo leans closer.

“Will you leave me?” he repeats his question, this time with a sense of urgency in his voice that stirs all the little broken pieces in Jinyoung. The sensation forces him to respond.

“No, of course I won’t leave you, you idiot,” Jinyoung mutters, still refusing to face Dongwoo.

“Then why are you mad?” Dongwoo asks softly, pressing closer to Jinyoung, so Jinyoung feels the tip of his hair brushing lightly against his ear.

“Dongwoo, listen,” Jinyoung finally turns around with a glare that kind of quails at the pained look on his boyfriend’s face. “It was just getting really hard for me to cope with, okay? Manager’s been hounding me for that report every day since last week, and none of the others are cooperating, and our concert’s in less than a month, and I haven’t even gotten out the first segment of our script yet, and with our album due by the end of the year, I haven’t managed to finish composing a single song, and you-…” Jinyoung’s voice cracks here, and he hopes whatever’s prickling in his eyes aren’t tears. “You just weren’t around, I don’t know if you didn’t care, or if you just couldn’t be bothered to notice-…”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Dongwoo’s voice is low, calming, and the way he brushes the tears (Jinyoung’s not crying, for heaven’s sake) rolling down Jinyoung’s cheeks away soothes Jinyoung, it’s something he needs, a balm to alleviate the sharp pain from a burn, a warm bath and bed after days of unrelenting, harsh toil.  

“You left for your filming on Monday, then it’s like you just didn’t want to speak to me after that,” Jinyoung’s voice was trembling now, he was just so tired of waiting and wondering and holding back, tired of working without knowing the cause, tired of the emotional rollercoaster he’d been forced to ride during the past week. “And then I hardly saw you after that, and even when I got to see you, all the others were around, and after that you went for that photo shoot, and Baro tells me you spent the entire afternoon with him and Chansik in the practice room…and I kept wondering if you didn’t want to see me or something…”

Dongwoo lets out a breathy laugh, which sounds a lot more like one of weary resignation than actual humour.

“I always want to see you, Jinyoung,” he murmurs. “It’s just…the past few days have been hard on me too, okay? And being your boyfriend…” he chuckles dryly again here. “Keeping you happy is a tiring commitment, Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung feels a brief stab of shame at the truth of that statement, then one of fear, as he wonders if Dongwoo means what Jinyoung thinks he does.

“And no, I’m not trying to break up with you, or I wouldn’t have begged you to stay less than thirty seconds ago,” Dongwoo says, his tone bordering on the usual I’m-rolling-my-eyes-at-you-right-now, but it returns to solemn a moment later. “Just…don’t do this to me again, okay, Jinyoung? Just tell me you need to talk to me, and I’ll listen,” Dongwoo gently pulls Jinyoung into a comforting hug, and Jinyoung welcomes the warmth with such an aching desire that he doesn’t care about whatever’s happened to make him upset, he doesn’t care about his pride, he just buries his face in the fuzzy material of Dongwoo’s sweater and hopes he never has to come out, because right here, in Dongwoo’s arms, is where he knows he belongs forever. “I’ll always listen, Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung doesn’t want to speak, because he doesn’t trust his voice to carry one syllable without cracking in the most horrifyingly embarrassing way possible, but he gathers himself as best as he possibly can to say two words.

“Thank you,” he deliberately muffles his words to hide the weight of the emotion they carry, but Dongwoo seems to get it anyway, as he settles back down on Jinyoung’s pillow, his fingers beginning a steady, motion through Jinyoung’s hair, the other arm wrapped protectively around Jinyoung’s slim shoulders like he’ll never let go. The thought comforts Jinyoung, and combined with the peace he finally feels after days of torment and suffering, he settles quickly into the lull of Dongwoo’s gentle movements.

(Junghwan and Chansik don’t comment when they wake up to find Dongwoo in Jinyoung’s bed, but Baro blasts off at breakfast how relieved he is that all the is finally over and Jinyoung kind of breaks a plate of eggs on his head.)

It’s their last night in Paris, and Jinyoung’s standing in the balcony, trying to ignore the ache in his calves and thighs from the vigorous repetitive practices they’d been forced to undergo during the past few weeks before their concert segment, chin resting on the flat of his palm, gazing down at the bustling night life. Paris seemed like a sparkling city of wonder beneath him, cars like little sparks zipping across the highways, tall buildings adorned with lights glittering against the velvety black sky, the cool night air rushing against his face as a refreshingly stiff night breeze. It’s like a giant, glamorous circuit board, winking at him from below, alive with colour and light. Jinyoung sighs, wondering when he’d ever see something like this again.

The sight’s almost enough to distract him from the soft whoosh of the balcony door sliding open, the sound of footprints gently padding across the cool tiled floor.

“What’re you doing out here all on your own?” Dongwoo’s voice is muffled as he presses a kiss against the back of Jinyoung’s neck, and his breath is warm, tickling Jinyoung’s ear. Jinyoung shrugs in response, pretending to be unfazed.

“I like standing and watching pretty things,” Jinyoung replies, and he feels Dongwoo lean forward a little to get a better look at the glowing metropolis beneath their feet. His body is deliciously warm, and he smells a lot like strawberry and peppermint. Jinyoung has half a mind to chastise him for using Chansik’s shampoo again when Dongwoo smiles against his skin, and Jinyoung decides to save it for another day.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jinyoung asks conversationally, through the comfortable silence. Dongwoo chuckles.

“Not as beautiful as you are,” he murmurs, and Jinyoung flushes red, turning slightly to give him a glare, but Dongwoo’s just grinning smugly, tightening his grip around Jinyoung’s waist. His hair is still wet, the locks dark against his pale forehead, and his glasses are dotted with droplets of water. In the darkness, however, they glitter like diamonds.

“You’re insufferable,” Jinyoung’s reduced to huffing as he turns back to the city, deciding to resort to the silent treatment, but Dongwoo still clings on like a particularly nice-smelling koala, (a very handsome, sweet, often annoying but still kinda cute koala), and Jinyoung wonders if he could ever stay mad at Dongwoo for long.

It’s another few moments of silence, drinking in the beauty of a night in the City of Love, when a crash and several loud shouts drag both boys back down onto the Earth with an unpleasant thud, and Jinyoung wiggles out of Dongwoo’s hold to rush back into the room, his elbow catching painfully on the edge of the balcony door, only to see Chansik barrel into the room, his eyes wild, looking positively terrified, practically leaping into Jinyoung’s arms to burst into hysterical sobs. Jinyoung and Dongwoo exchange questioning looks, but it’s all they allow before parent mode kicks in and Dongwoo is preparing a mug of hot chocolate to calm Chansik down, and Jinyoung is patting and holding Chansik reassuringly while Chansik trembles vehemently, curled into a tight ball, uttering small yips of gibberish with wide eyes.

It’s a good twenty minutes or so of assurance that Chansik is safe and sound and no one can come in and attack him anymore before Chansik even starts whimpering about what had happened.

“It was horrible,” is the first thing Jinyoung can comprehend from the string of shaky words Chansik says. “B-baro hyung, Baro hyung and Sandeul-hyung, I wanted to go to their room to get my strawberry milk, b-but, they, they…”

The door swings open in full gusto then, and Chansik practically leaps a metre in the air with a shriek that kind of shatters Jinyoung’s eardrums, and flees for the bathroom straight away, slamming the door shut behind him. The lock clicks shut audibly.

“Wow,” Baro says from the doorway, rubbing a towel into his blonde hair, the locks still dripping with water.

“Dry your hair properly,” is the first thing Dongwoo says, and Jinyoung resists the urge to roll his eyes. “And what did you do to Chansik? Did you kill a puppy in front of him or something?”

“That boy should knock before he goes into rooms,” Baro says cynically, tossing a pink bottle to Jinyoung, who almost misses it. “He wanted that. I think. I couldn’t really hear what he was saying.”

“What on Earth were you doing?” Jinyoung demands, setting the bottle onto the bedside table. “And where’s Sandeul? I thought you already showered tonight.”

“Uh, Sandeul’s not exactly in the right position to walk over right now,” Baro says. His words are followed by a long and awkward silence. “And I, uh…I got dirty.”

“Yes you did,” Dongwoo says sceptically. He turns to Jinyoung. “I’ll…go check on Sandeul. Make sure he’s capable of getting to the airport tomorrow.”

The temptation to decapitate Baro by strawberry-milk-bottle grows dangerously strong in Jinyoung, he and Dongwoo were having a moment, one of the rare times when neither of them were running around like they were on fire trying to organise everything, but then Dongwoo half-smiles, leaning closer.

“Just get Chansik out of the bathroom, and I’ll be back to continue where we left off.”

Jinyoung blushes a brilliant shade of red then, hoping desperately that Baro wouldn’t notice, and nods, not trusting himself to speak without his voice cracking by a truly embarrassing degree. When he looks up again, Baro is clearly not amused, raising an eyebrow, arms folded.

“And you blame Junghwan and I for being obvious,” he says, as Dongwoo walks over.

“If you would kindly stop being an so I can go survey the damage you’ve done,” Dongwoo says with dangerously fake politeness, taking the key card from the pocket of his jeans and sliding it into his shorts. “We still have dance practice tomorrow back in Korea, you know. Manager’s going to have a fit once he hears that Sandeul probably won’t be able to dance properly for a week…”

Jinyoung can hear the two rappers bickering obnoxiously down the corridor, and sighs, picking the hotel phone up from the cradle to dial the reception. A cool female voice speaks almost at once.

“Yes, how may I help you?”

“Could I have a heater blanket and some chamomile tea brought up to room 2978 please?” Jinyoung asks in what he hopes is comprehensible English, and the lady confirms his order calmly, before Jinyoung puts down the phone and walks over to his luggage to extract a jar of cucumber kimchi from his Only In Case Of Emergency bag, and deflates slightly, gazing forlornly in the direction of the bathroom, which was now emitting odd hyperventilating yelps in 3-second intervals.

It’s going to be a long night, Jinyoung thinks. But Dongwoo’s going to be there at the end of it all, and that’s enough to put a smile on Jinyoung’s face for tonight.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Author's Note:

And here lies the product of my writers' block frustration/guilt trip. 

I'm so tired it hurts.

I actually wanted to post this up at the same time I posted the foreword but I kind of fell asleep before I could touch the laptop again and I'm kind of glad I did, because when I looked through the document again today I found a thousand and one mistakes :((( I don't know what would've happened if I'd just posted all that, I think my ego would be smashed upon the floor and stomped into oblivion if I ever came back to reread it.

I really hope my writer's block goes away soon because I seriously want to continue writing Shattered Secrets again :( Argh I'm going to nap now.

Hope this met your expectations :)

Love you guys,
WhiteWings19

p.s. feel free to vote on your favourite . Personally mine's Chansik's, cause damnnnn...