They’re mending and all things bad luck.

Kibum finds a CD on his bed in a black case,
a sticky note attached reading Track 1 - Kibum.
Another sticky note lies beneath - This is what you sound like.
Another sticky note – Play me :)?  

Confused, he plops his bag on the floor and slides the CD into his laptop.

Notes trickle like beads of water down his back from the speakers, cool and soothing.
The melody is cheerful, upbeat at the beginning, slowly slowing as if rain pattering to a stop at the end.
He doesn’t need a shower to feel clean. Jinki’s music leaves him refreshed and dumbstruck at once.
He closes his eyes, hugging the CD case close to his chest.

He imagines Jinki tapping his fingers against those piano keys,
handsome with his concentrated eyes and perfect posture.

“He’s trying,” thinks Kibum, eyes softening, “he’s trying.”

___

They’re synching and all things bad-

Their walking in step on a rhythm they haven’t felt in awhile.

Jinki still gets into trouble for breaking dishes
-I’ll handle the kitchen and you stay away from anything fragile, sharp, and possibly dangerous
-while tripping, giving Kibum and himself bruises.

One time found Kibum snorting as they lay on the floor, the garbage bag ripped open
-this isn’t bad luck Jinki, this is clumsiness; something you are or you are not born with
-Jinki argued, telling him about his ex-girlfriend-One; don’t ever mention her around me again.
Two, it was an accident, so please get over it.

The fights aren’t as arm twisting as they used to be. They’re lighthearted and playful. 

They keep the habit of sharing Jinki’s soda and banana rum-What is this drink called anyway?
-Jinki laughed. He didn’t know the name either.

___

They’re tumbling and all things-

Kibum is on Jinki’s bed with his camera, fixing the lens clumsily as his feet sway.

“I used to stalk you.”

Jinki sputters, spinning in his swivel chair, a quizzical expression on his face.

“That’s why I was in your neighborhood when the accident happened.
I kept comin' by eeeeveryday, hopin' to see you, makin' sure you're ok.
It’s stupid now that I think about it. I was such a creep.” Kibum snickers, rolling and extending his arms.
He takes a picture of Jinki, cutting off his eyes by accident. “Jeeeez, I caused you alotta problems.”

“No you haven’t.”

“Yeah I diddd!”

“What’s with you?” Jinki asks. It isn’t until his eyes land on the floor he sees the empty bottle of rum.
“I didn’t bring that in here.”

“I did! I’m a bittt tipsy.” Kibum squeals, taking a picture of the ceiling, the lamp shade, and the doorknob to the closet.

Jinki’s never seen Kibum this loose before.

“I liked you…aaaa lot when we grew up together, more than just friends.”
Kibum states unsteadily, removing the flash from the camera’s functions option.
“I would draw you allll the time in high school.”
Kibum smiles cheekily. “I reeeally like your face but I couldn' get the details right for a good drawing.
I kept messin' up! Even when you first started stayin' with me, I tried drawin' you again, but I still c-ca-can-"
Kibum laughs, choking on his spit, "wow, I can't talk. Oh, there we go, can't get it right!”
He giggles, pronouncing hist's with a sense of accomplish.

“Kibum…” Jinki’s eyes widen. He had liked him, more than friends, when they were kids?



Instead of replying, he bites his lips and reaches for Kibum’s arms, pushing him down on his bed.

“Go sleep for a bit, I think you drank more than you should have.”

“Heeey! I’m not done! You’re still freakin' rude.” Kibum growls as he stumbles to get off the bed.
Jinki pushes him down again, covering him with a thin blanket. “I’m tryin' to pour more heart out-”
Kibum is successfully silenced when Jinki plants a quick kiss at the edge of his mouth.
He pulls up his swivel chair beside the bed and Kibum’s hair.

“I’ll be here, just fall asleep.” Jinki says, his arms sinking into the bed,
his cheek resting on the sheets, his head bumping into Kibum’s side.

Kibum quiets, the newly added heat sobering him somewhat. They both lie awake, unable to sleep.

Maybe this can be something more. Maybe.

___

They’re suspicious and all-

It isn’t until a few days later Kibum starts noticing a change in his bedroom. He always keeps his room organized;
the bed neatly made, the sheets tucked into the corners of the mattress, his clothes folded and color coded,
his art table absent of charcoal, scratch marks, and pencil shavings. He knows how his room is supposed to look like,
but there’s an open book on his floor, his closet door is partially open when he always keeps it closed,
and his rack of drawing pads looks tampered with.

“Tampered?” Kibum hones in on the word and narrows his eyes.
He decides not to address the issue. He could be worked up over nothing.

The shuffling of papers is unmistakable the next day.    

Kibum stares in awe while in the doorway to his bedroom,
watching Jinki search through his belongings. “What the hell are you looking for!?”

Jinki twists his head abruptly, cheeks flushed at being caught. Kibum’s not supposed to be home yet.

“You really are rude.” Kibum reiterates, his eyes pinning Jinki to his crouched position on the floor.
“What are you look-” His mouth falls open when Jinki slowly raises his hand, a small drawing pad in his grasp, the edges torn.

“This is one of the more recent ones, right?” Jinki asks,
standing and turning to face Kibum fully, flipping through the pages.
Kibum watches drawings of Jinki flip by like a stop motion film, Jinki’s head turned, his cheek suddenly missing,
the pencil lines of his chin heavy as if he grows a beard, his eyes lowered, closed, missing pupils,
pupils shaded black, lips puckered, pouting, smooth, smudged, stretched in a smile.
The film stops on a blank page and Jinki closes the pad. “Where are the other ones?”
He prods, walking over to Kibum’s art table, searching through the rack of drawing pads and tracing paper.

 

Now that Jinki thinks of it; Kibum has never mentioned anything concerning his artwork.

Tucked between a pack of colored paper and a bin of cardboard tubes is a beat up thick spiral book.
Jinki his lips and reaches for it. Kibum watches in a daze, unable to move. Jinki sits on Kibum’s bed,
opening the book to be greeted by a likeness of his pre-teen face, eyes gloomy gray clouds and mouth slack.
He flips through the rest of the sketch book, watching his life unfold, his wonky baby face and messy hair shifting,
his face narrowing as if being squeezed, his head expanding like a balloon with too much helium, about to burst.
The drawings are unfinished; the lines like loose threads, undoing his eyes, nose, and lips, his facial expressions falling apart.  

“There’s so many.” Jinki whispers incredulously, his arms slack.
If Kibum’s been drawing him since high school, how many drawings of him could there possibly be?

“It’s probably an unhealthy obsession, drawing your face all the time.”
Kibum replies quietly, approaching his desk, gripping the ends of the chair nervously.
“I don’t draw your face just because it’s handsome, which it is,” Kibum pauses,
“but I wanted to remember. I wanted to make sure I knew what you looked like if I ever saw you again.”

“But you didn’t recognize me at first.”

“I did. I was just shocked to see you that I let any words fall out of my mouth,” chuckles Kibum.

“You really wanted to see me again that much?”

“Is it weird for a crush to last so long?” Kibum pouts. “Like I said before, I really liked you.”

“Liked?” Jinki frowns at the past tense.

“Yeah, liked. It was a crush but it’s not that anymore.” Kibum sits beside him, taking the sketch book and closing it.
“Hasn’t been for awhile.” He wraps his arms around Jinki’s waist, hugging him sideways.

Jinki closes his eyes, reveling in the warmth of those hands on his clothes.
They both made it very clear from that kiss in the living room a week ago they had feelings for one another.
However, Jinki didn’t know how deep Kibum’s feelings went, how much of a hold they had on him.
Not just for days or weeks but for years.

“For years.” Jinki gawks internally at the thought, yet, he can’t feel completely taken off guard.

He understands because he’s always felt the same way.

Jinki’s been pining for Kibum to a point the mere thought of him bent the stems to his music notes,
the tunes off key and whimsical at once when he played.
Kibum’s face had been unconsciously plastered on any person his eyes happen to fall upon,
his heart whispering he’s back, he’s back, only to realize the person he’s about to tap on the shoulder is a stranger.

Jinki breathes in deeply. 

They’ve both been stricken by something much more sinister than the misshapen smirk of Bad Luck.
It was Bad Luck’s weapon, a dirtied baseball bat of self deception, that had beat them down and drove them apart.

Jinki had played himself like the fool some part of him had always known he was,
blaming all of his problems on bad luck because he had been scared to live, to hurt people.

Jinki places his hand flat against Kibum’s chest, slowly pushing him onto the bed.
He lies beside him, grabbing his wrist as Kibum stares wearily at him.

Jinki’s tired of being beaten down. He knows what he wants,
and he’d be damned to have some intangible force snatch the opportunity away from him.

“What are you-” Jinki presses a light kiss to Kibum’s lips, to his forehead, his brows, his neck, and his lips again.

Jinki can’t escape the abuse of bad luck yet,
but he can at least stop the baseball bat from hitting them again, despite the fear and uncertainty.    

“I don’t want you to move on without me.” Jinki responds firmly, his fingers in Kibum’s shirt.

Kibum bites his lips roughly in surprise. He had expected an answer in the lines of apology.
The resoluteness in Jinki’s eyes is refreshing, desirable, tempting.

“What do you want me to do then?” Kibum whispers, body rigid, his senses alert.

“I know you don’t like things to be a mess,” responds Jinki,
“but I want you so tangled in me that you can’t get out of this place,”
Jinki intertwines their fingers and points to his heart, “here.”

Coming undone, Kibum pulls Jinki’s face harshly to him,
biting, mashing, , and massaging their lips together, motions quick like pencil .
He won’t contain himself. He won’t wait.  

“Can I draw you?” Kibum asks, fingers trailing Jinki’s side.

“Yeah.”

“Every part of you?”

“Yeah.”

“Everyday?”

“If it’s an excuse to look at me all the time, you don’t need one.” Jinki mutters affectionately.

“I’m obsessed with you. It isn’t healthy.” Kibum gasps, mouth pressed to Jinki’s neck,
his grip tight in brown tufts of hair. “Does that freak you out?”

“No.” Jinki replies softly, his hand on Kibum’s back, pushing their bodies together.
“You’re not the only one who thought of their neighbor for years.”

He lifts Kibum onto his lap, his hands sliding up and down Kibum’s thighs.

“I’m just as crazy as you are.” Jinki grips Kibum’s arms,
pulling him forward, mouths full of anxiety, what if’s, what will happen, will thiswork amIenoughdoeshelove-

They shut out their fears and kick Bad Luck down a flight of stairs.  

___

They’re smiling and-

Kibum walks through the hallway, rolling his shoulders.
His boss thought it would be fun to lift heavy rolls of matte paper on the highest shelves in the storage room.

He notices Jinki in the living room, playing a melody on the keys of his new piano, sheet music scattered on the floor.
Kibum thought it was silly for his boyfriend to wait for something he wanted. They split the cost to buy the instrument.

Kibum imagines what Jinki's face looks like as he plays;
peaceful with scrunched eyebrows, his nose wiggling when a note is out of tune.
He’s glad Jinki is more relaxed than he was a month ago.
Jinki still flinches at the accidents, the occasional apology slips from his lips when there isn’t a need for one,
and their kisses are sometimes timid but Kibum doesn’t mind.
He knows this relationship will take time. He’s just glad Jinki’s willing to try.

Kibum’s more grateful than he’s willing to let Jinki know. He has a certain level of confidence to maintain.

He places his jacket on the couch and strolls into the kitchen, looking for something to eat, bobbing his head to the piano's tune.

Kibum’s eyes catch sunlight glinting off a reflected surface. He finds a plate and fork caked in almonds and cream.
A glass of soda and banana rum sit on the kitchen counter, a sticky note underneath the glass.

Kibum’s fingers tap on the paper, blushing while he grins as a pair of arms encircle around his waist:

Tastes awesome.

I <3 U

___

They’re happy-