Kyungsoo opens his eyes for what feels like the thousandth time that day behind millions that have yet to come.  Yellow light leaks into his head like water running from a faucet.

            But squeezing his eyes shut doesn’t change reality or numb his senses.

            It never has.

           

            The beige, matte crystals that are terribly familiar rub up against his skin.

            It is not because he’s strong that they fail to break through; he isn’t.

            Kyungsoo breathes in.  Thick, frothy steam invades his lungs, and it feels like the frosty fluid trying to eat him from the inside.  He wouldn’t be surprised, anyway.

            The periwinkle sea crashes again, murkiness bleeding out like ink on paper and dense foam bubbling up where seams meet seams, and, for the first time, the noise doesn’t feed him.  He is impervious to his own flinches.  Perhaps, he ponders, his life is just a metaphorical migraine, for he can’t remember the last time the sky and ocean blended together with such indifference.

            He releases his breath, and, once again, his footsteps leave evidence of his presence as he travels the shore.

            It is the same garden of logs, the one at which two figures, one an innocent boy and one a conniving man, had sat together, leathery hands intertwined with soft ones and monolith fingernails grazing saline skin.  The logs are big and almond-colored and waterlogged with salt and ocean, progressively being swallowed by the sand and always being watched by the sky.

            Walking in figure eights is unavoidable for Kyungsoo, it seems.  The sun pounds down on him; it feels as if he is slowly being seared, but perhaps not by the sun. 

            He feels swallowed by his own thoughts, words and metaphors tumbling around like a sea of confusion in his mind.  His life has become too draining for him to realize that his hair feels like unnecessarily dehydrated forage and his once pale complexion has been masked with an excessive amount of bilirubin, flaxen as the trail of pencil shavings littering his bedroom floor.  Kyungsoo knows that something isn’t right, but in his life, that’s always a given.

 

-

 

            If things weren’t the way they were, Jongin would have let his hands wrap around Kyungsoo’s shoulders, whispered “boo,” in his ear, ruffled his hair to beyond disheveled and kissed his eyelids until they fell asleep, and then some more.  Dozens more lieders would have been written, fingertips would be stripped of their numbness, and lingering worries about coagulation of the heart would not exist.  Light bulbs would have been replaced because Jongin would still have a reason to live, and ignored drops of blood would instead be tears of love letters and altruism and the ocean.  Maybe Jongin would have taken the guitar out of his closet, a black palace clogged up with the remnants of anger and sadness and old stuffed animals that the 19-year-old claimed to be too grown up for.

            Maybe their love would have been more than an anecdote.

           

            But instead, Jongin is visible to Kyungsoo as he approaches.  For a moment, the boy doesn’t notice.

            Jongin steps closer.

            “J-Jongin?” Kyungsoo asks.  His eyes are stuck to the elder’s body like magnets, perhaps out of shock, but still, he refuses to make eye contact.

            “I…  I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

            It takes an irritatingly large amount of focus for Kyungsoo to rip his eyes away and turn to the ocean.

            “How did you know I would be here?”

            “I come here every day, Kyungsoo.  You know that better than anyone.”

            The sun is finally beginning to set, Kyungsoo notices.  Rather than refracting the light, the ocean seems to soak up all of it, willingly taking on the hue of tangerines and Kyungsoo’s idea of happy on a cold day.  It reminds him of his childhood, fortuitously sets of spilled watercolors and frustration and anger.  He is too distracted, too lost in the imagery to wonder how he’ll be able to drive home in the dark with sanity.

            “What do you want?”

            His voice trembles, maybe on the verge of tears. 

            Jongin lets out a deep sigh, because he really doesn’t know.  He doesn’t want to explain propensities and the piqued thoughts that sit in his head, even though the boy would probably listen to all of it.  Broken pride is a piteous topic, he has decided.

            “I…  I miss you.  And I was wondering if you miss me too,” he says, sounding sorrowful and empty and hopeless.

            Kyungsoo eyes are still stuck to the ocean, lost in the effervescent explosion of the setting sun.  Jongin wonders if he had even bothered to listen.

            Minutes have passed when the sun finally slips under the ocean, glossy and blue, a crescendo of the sea.  It seems that the ocean has transformed, perhaps taken on a new identity at the least.

            Jongin is lost in the sea too.  He isn’t ballistic in the least, which really shouldn’t surprise anyone, not even Kyungsoo.  Being in the boy’s presence is a reward in itself, he has decided, and there is no reason not to enjoy every second of it.

            “You know, Jongin, if you want me to consider things, you’re going to have to give me a little bit more of an explanation.”

            Though is response comes minutes too late, Jongin is elated.  Consider things, Jongin repeats to himself mentally.  He said he might consider things.  Kyungsoo hopes that he hasn’t set himself up for too much, for his words are nearly hollow.  Almost.

            “I...  I…”

            Jongin’s words meet a dead end, his confidence dropping at the speed of light.  Because he’s Jongin. 

            Because elation never really did equal validity.

            Jongin swallows, awkward hope fluttering around inside him like a fireflies in a jar.  What’s climactic to him is casual to Kyungsoo.

            “I love you, Kyungsoo.  I miss watching the sunset with you and staying up until the sun comes out talking about stupid things and scary stories.  I miss picking you up from work and seeing the stupid little smile that is always on your face.  Your eyes.  Your fingertips.  I miss putting you hand in mind.  I miss you.” 

            Jongin refuses to acknowledge what may be green and black infatuation, enveloped in stories of trembling hands and scars and frighteningly beautiful laughter.  He believes it is love. 

            “I love you,” he repeats, hoping to elicit a response from Kyungsoo be it with the tears in his eyes or the words on his lips.

            But Kyungsoo only stares into the sky.  The endless cloak of darkness that sweeps the surface of the earth every night has always been frighteningly haunting.  The stars aren’t insubstantial, but they’ll never be enough to mend things like awkward physical contact and melted crayons and broken dreams and indigo lullabies that only the city can sing.

            All that Kyungsoo wanted were sunshiney mornings and a cocoa-colored boy to hug and kiss, but he is gone, Kyungsoo has realized.

            “I’m sorry, Jongin.  I…  I can’t do this,” he says, more to himself than to his elder.

 

-

 

            Initially, Jongin doesn’t know what to say.  Rather than angering him, the boy’s words only seem to feed the madness inside of him.

            Kyungsoo is afraid of the dark.  He always was.

            Jongin drives him home.

            They stand on Kyungsoo’s doorstep, where Jongin says goodbye.  Both are drenched in piqued pride.

            Kyungsoo acts stoic.

            But undisclosed remorse still sat in his heart, because to him, knowing Jongin had been knowing a low-tar cigarette.

            Kyungsoo released a perturbing sigh, because it was only a week ago that he’d found out that, in fact, low-tar cigarettes were not a safer alternative.

            Salt on ice could not have been any less painful.

            “Goodbye,” he says, evading eye contact.  “Nice knowing you.”

            He walks into his house and knows that what they had is truly gone.

---

a/n:  I wrote this a long time ago.  Sorry about any mistakes.  I didn't know what to title it since it's a oneshot, lol.  Hope you enjoy, and I appreciate comments!  :)