prologue; shutters

Wet tall-grass gets stuck into Kyungsoo’s hair, sticking out sideways in a lopsided fashion, turning him into somewhat of an elf. Tall grasses between his fingers’ grasp deforms into something that falls fast between his fingers, and the smell of salt in the air evident.

Kyungsoo struggles to stand and gallops towards the ocean. Warm waves crash against his feet. Once. Twice. He doesn’t feel a third.

Kyungsoo furrows his brows and turns back to look at the soft sand that once grazed his fingertips, but there was none. He turns once more, and cold linen greets his face.

When he stirs awake, thick duvet replaced wet sand and warm waves deterred into something wet and slippery his feet.

Kyungsoo feels strong sunrays shine bright against his face. He thinks he must have forgotten to close the curtains last night, and makes a mental note to remember tonight. Words from the ahjumma living down the hallway echoes in his mind. He does not want any strange bearded man looking through his window from the apartment across the road.

He props himself up slowly and sits himself at the edge of his bed, habitually slipping his feet into the pororo slippers he keeps on the left side of his bed every night. Tiny teeth nip at his fingertips. Kyungsoo finds himself smiling, reaching out and rubbing the head of his furry friend, where he knew it would be.

It takes him only two seconds to get on his feet today, and another six to step on the cold tiles on his bathroom floor. He doesn’t trip on the latch by the door today. Kyungsoo is starting to get used to this, he thinks.

He reaches out for his toothbrush—where he knows he had place on the right side of the sink the night before—but instead his fingers come in contact with a small, cold, object. Kyungsoo takes half a step back, mouth cracked slightly open. He fiddles with it for a moment and accidentally pushes a button.

A voice sounds and he listens, “I have decided that I want to do this on morning-afters. How are your eyes today? I hope you didn’t trip over the latch again. Now, pause this and brush your teeth.”

Kyungsoo tries to stifle a laugh and does as he is told. “Now, get out of the bathroom. Careful, you don’t want to fall flat on your face. Again.”

Three steps past his closet, his heel touches another similar invention under his dresser, “This was where I sat you, and we talked about my works. I went on and on and you didn’t stop me. You leaned in and kissed me first, wasn’t it?”

Another two steps to his couch, in front of poster after poster of his favorite boy band, with a tiny yellow post it stuck on the forehead of the main vocalist—14/12/2009, Jung Daehyun left to pursue solo career sigh, “And you giggled like a child between each kiss. I hope you remember how you tried to my shirt with only your left hand, your right busily intertwined and your lips on mine.”

Kyungsoo feels his hands subconsciously reach and touch his lower lip, “And on the adjacent wall was where I pinned you against and breathed hard against your neck. You didn’t say anything, but you were thinking about us having , weren’t you?”

Kyungsoo swears he heard a chuckle between those words. “I was thinking about how boring your mornings must be, so I hope you like my voice?”

It is when he hears three knocks on the door and shuffles to open it that two sharp shutter sounds from a camera greets his face, “And here stands Kim Jongin with an amused look on his face, who is probably laughing at the photos of your baffled face. Surprise?”

The second of recorders finally beeps to a stop.

Kyungsoo begins to picture Jongin standing there by the door—just like any other day—defined jaws and cheekbones, dark skin—only because he told him so before—sharp collarbones, thick lips, DSLR in hand and backpack slung over his left shoulder. He wishes he could see that look on the man’s face.

The sudden urge to flick Jongin’s forehead for playing games with him smacks him right in the head, but Kyungsoo keeps a straight face, one hand in his pocket and the other on the door ready to slam it back in the idiot’s face.

“Hi, hyung.” Jongin grins, eyebrows slightly raised as he watches the digits in Kyungsoo’s head form and try to make sense of itself. His words tingles Kyungsoo’s ears—a voice he is far too familiar with.

Kyungsoo sees the world between streaks of light. And somewhere within those streaks are the twinkling eyes and stupid, self-assumed grin of Kim Jongin. And then unknowingly, a simple smile forms on his lips and a tiny ‘hello’ slips.

It feels almost perfect, the way Jongin’s name rings in his mind. Perhaps because Jongin tore down the castle walls Kyungsoo had built around his heart a long time ago with ease. Or perhaps because he thinks they are meant to be.

a/n: i don't mean any disrepect to daehyun, i love bap too. catching feelings has finally started, the following chapters will be lengthy. not a long multi-chaptered story. comments are appreciated. ♡