The first time they meet is in Madrid.

The only memories Junmyeon has of that meeting are preserved in ephemeral photographs haphazardly glued into scrapbooks during one of Jongin's uncharacteristically artistic days.

"I hated your hair," Jongin would say every time Junmyeon pulled out the scrapbook and manhandled Jongin into looking through it with him. "It looked so...you."

"Are you insinuating that you hate me?" Junmyeon says teasingly, lightly bumping his shoulder against Jongin's.

Jongin gives him a smile in return, nothing more, but the curve of Jongin's lips is no longer an enigma to Junmyeon. Instead of pondering what Jongin might mean with his silence, Junmyeon reaches up and captures Jongin's lips with his own as his mind travels back in time into years before when they had met in the beautiful Spanish city.

These photographs are of Jongin, taken during a photoshoot in the middle of the day, the sun glaring upon the lenses and Jongin squinting as he leans against the painted doors of a bar. Even through the pictures, one could see his lean body and toned muscles, bronze skin glittering under the midday sunlight and hair mussed for the perfect effect.

What Junmyeon sees when he flips through the scrapbook though, with Jongin asleep on his lap, is Jongin's beautiful eyes--haunting, deep, and waiting to be unlocked.



The second time they meet is in L.A.

It's a whirlwind type of meeting, the two of them bumping into each other--quite literally--on Spring Street as Junmyeon hurries towards the bus stop with a cup of coffee in hand and his camera bag swung over his shoulder.

", sorry, didn't see you there," Junmyeon says, apologizing hastily as he balances his coffee to keep it from spilling over.

"It's okay," a low voice answers, and Junmyeon looks up in recognition.

"Kai--" Junmyeon begins, but Jongin quickly places a finger to his smiling lips.

Only then, does Junmyeon notice the Ray Bans and snapback Jongin was wearing. Suddenly, from 'round the corner, a trio of three men holding cameras almost as expensive as Junmyeon's come running. Jongin glances back, almost nonchalantly, before he wraps his thin fingers around Junmyeon's wrist and pulls.

"W-wai--" Junmyeon splutters as Jongin cuts him off with a breathless laugh, and the two of them sprint down the early morning streets of L.A, weaving between crowds of business men and women as they head to work. 

Junmyeon momentarily wonders if these people, with stern faces and a brisk walk that sometimes scared Junmyeon, had anything in life to look forward to and live for, but then Jongin yanks him around another corner, and then another, and then another, until the both of them are panting and possibly lost, and Junmyeon can't think of anything but the way Jongin's eyes sparkle with feeble excitement and life.

"Let me guess, you have no idea where we are," Junmyeon gasps after a while, bending over to catch his breath. He looks over at Jongin and sees him in the same position, with his hands on his hips, and smiling.

"Nope," he says, and Junmyeon groans.

The two of them end up on a bus heading to Santa Monica, and they spend the rest of the day strolling along the pier, hands in pockets and not talking.

Junmyeon doesn't ask Jongin what he's doing in L.A. when his manager was in Korea--he had spoken to Chanyeol just the night before--and Jongin doesn't ask Junmyeon why he had boarded the bus with him.

Junmyeon's quite glad he hadn't, because even to this day, he doesn't know why. Perhaps it was the look on Jongin's face--the hardened, practiced, detached expression that had taken over when Junmyeon had stepped back and pulled out his phone--that had prompted him to hang up on Kyungsoo and run down the street to hop on the bus.

As the two of them sit on opposite sides of the aisle in the near empty bus, Junmyeon looks out the window and into the setting sun and thinks about how lonely Jongin had seemed, standing alone on the sidewalk, watching Junmyeon make the phone call. He seemed almost weary, too strung out for his age, and the look in his eyes screamed a tired acceptance.

There's another picture in the scrapbook from that day. It's not taken by Junmyeon, but instead, by Jongin. It's a bit blurred, and the sun in the background makes the picture too dark, but one could easily discern the subject.

It's taken on the Santa Monica pier--a picture of Junmyeon leaning over the rails with an ear-splitting grin on his face as the wind blew his hair back.

This picture also happens to be Jongin's phone wallpaper, and sometimes, at night when the two of them are snug under the covers, he'd whisper in Junmyeon's ear that it was at this moment that he had fallen in love.



They meet again and again in Tokyo and Shanghai and Seoul as Jongin gets ready for his spring show and Junmyeon gets ready to document every moment of it. They fly back and forth from the same airport but never on the same airplane, and they never talk. They often pass each other in the duty-free shops, and Junmyeon learns that Jongin loves the smell of Calvin Klein's Eternity. 

Months pass, and Junmyeon suddenly has a stash of Calvin Klein perfume samples bookmarked in his planner and a small bottle of it tucked away in the linings of his suitcase. 

Photographs of this time are sharp and crisp, with Kai clad in sheaths of black fabric and dark make-up accentuating his features. Junmyeon never shows up in these picture, and neither does Jongin.

Junmyeon quickly learns that he doesn't like photographing Kai, doesn't like photographing the runway mannequin that was hailed by the entire fashion world, and instead loves photographing Jongin, the young boy much too early into a world of adults, stern-faced and brisk-paced.

Kai scares Junmyeon, but Jongin--Jongin lets him see the red in sunsets and the green in oceans and the azure in night skies. Suddenly, even the brightest hues seem banal compared to Jongin's dark eyes and bronze skin.



The first time they really talk is at a pub in London.

It's the after party of a Ralph Lauren show, and Junmyeon gets dragged there by Kyungsoo who claims he has to meet this make-up artist named Byun Baekhyun.

Baekhyun's eyes curve into crescents when he holds out his hands for Junmyeon to shake, his fingers brittle and frail. Junmyeon wonders if all make-up artists and models look like skeletons, their bones protruding from every inch of their skin.

"I remember you," Baekhyun says in a surprisingly rich voice that makes up for his lack of sustenance. "Kim Junmyeon, Madrid, correct? I'm Kai's make-up artist."

Junmyeon nods politely, exchanging the proper greetings as Baekhyun rambles on and on about his latest earth-tone eye shadow palette.

"Kai," Baekhyun says abruptly mid-sentence, placing a hand on Junmyeon's shoulder, grip much too strong for his tiny frame. "He's a weird person, don't you think?"

"Why do you say so?"

Baekhyun shrugs, and his eyes bore into Junmyeon's. Inexplicably, Junmyeon feels a chill down his spine and thinks that Baekhyun's kohl-lined eyes sees so much further than just skin deep.

"He just is," Baekhyun replies mysteriously, a coy smirk slithering its way onto his face. He slinks back into the crowd, giving Junmyeon a little finger wave, and disappears amongst the waves of people. Junmyeon's left standing at the edge of the dance floor, the neon lights doing little to distract him from his thoughts.

He ends up on a barstool for the rest of the night, waiting for Kyungsoo, who was out socializing with other make-up artists and other photographers and other models. He dutifully only orders ice water--Kyungsoo insisted on him being the designated driver--and notices another figure sitting at the near empty servery.

"Shouldn't you be there?" Junmyeon asks, angling his thumb at the dance floor.

Kai--Jongin--looks behind his shoulder and laughs, the sound dripping with a bitterness that almost rivals the whiskey in his hands. 

"Nah," he slurs, shot glass tipping in his fingers. "They'll get along well without me."

"Who?"

"My...." Jongin's eyebrows scrunch up for a second as he spins in his barstool and tries to focus on Junmyeon. "My friends."

He spits out the world with distaste, and his eyes are too bright to be completely dry, and Junmyeon resists the urge to wrap his arms around the trembling boy.

Suddenly, Jongin laughs. "Just kidding!" He says much too loudly as he slams the glass onto the table and teeters towards Junmyeon. "I don't have any friends."

The grin on Jongin's face breaks Junmyeon's heart, and his hand involuntarily moves over to grip at Jongin's thin wrist. Jongin looks up at him in surprise, but Junmyeon is already pulling him out of the bar. The two of them stroll along midnight London streets, reminiscent of their grand escapade back in L.A, and end up on the balcony in Jongin's hotel room, Junmyeon's phone buzzing with messages from an angry Kyungsoo.

Junmyeon drinks absinthe from a champagne flute as Jongin sits on the balcony rails, legs swinging as he hovers dangerously twelve stories above the sidewalk.

"The moon's quite nice tonight," Jongin says, breaking the precious silence that seemed to define the peculiar relationship between the two of them.

Junmyeon glances up at the sky and sees a vast landscape of dark blue and grey. "You can't see the moon."

"I know."

Junmyeon thinks Jongin's words are always too heavily laden with implications and burdens and he longs to alleviate some of that weight that's been placed on Jongin's sagging shoulders. As Jongin bends backwards over the railing, threatening to tumble down onto the concrete below, Junmyeon thinks about how he's long stopped seeing the tall, lithe human version of Adonis and now sees a beautiful porcelain boy, cracks spreading across every limb of the body, ready to shatter irreparably with the tiniest trigger.



It's December when the two of them settle back into Seoul. It's two weeks from Christmas when Junmyeon appears at Jongin's door after an urgent call from Chanyeol telling him to please come, I don't know what to do, please.

So, Junmyeon sprints to Jongin's million-dollar flat that happens to be just three blocks away from his own dwelling, smack dab in the center of Seoul's downtown, and finds himself ringing the doorbell frantically to Jongin's door.

It swings open to reveal a disheveled and grim Chanyeol who wordlessly invites him in. As Junmyeon toes off his shoes at the walkway, he sees empty bottles of liquor littered on the floor, an unending sea of expensive wine spilled and wasted.

"Third room down the hall," Chanyeol says when Junmyeon looks at him from the corridor.

He slowly makes his way there, hand trembling as he pushes open the door like he's afraid of what he might find. 

Jongin's lying in the middle of a king-sized bed in a stark-white room that vaguely reminds Junmyeon of a hospital. His limbs are splayed across the bed, his black dress shirt a shocking contrast against the snow-colored sheets. Junmyeon leans over his body, surveying the feeble rise and fall of his chest and then the bottle of spilled pills lying next to him.

"What happened?" Junmyeon whispers to Chanyeol, who was standing at the doorway.

He shakes his head and gives a pitiful impression of a shrug.

"He was in one of those moods," Chanyeol begins slowly, expression pained like he's struggling to find the right words. "The ones where he wouldn't talk to anyone and just lock himself in his room, and then I stepped out for a second, and when I came back, he was unscrewing the bottle of pills and stuffing them down his throat." Chanyeol inhales shakily, the air whistling down his throat and he steadies himself with the doorframe. "I-I forced him to spit most of it out but he was screaming and crying for a long time until he fell asleep.

He gestured tiredly to Jongin's broken body before disappearing down the hall and into his own room, leaving Junmyeon with Jongin and no idea what to do.

Junmyeon contents himself with tucking Jongin under the covers, pulling the blankets up around his chin like he's a little boy. His lips are parted as he sleeps, tiny breaths escaping every time he inhales and exhales. The vulnerable facade seems so ephemeral yet real, and Junmyeon runs his fingers down the sharp slopes of Jongin's cheeks.

"Why," he finds himself asking, voice hoarse and cracked. Almost instinctively, Jongin twitches, angles his body towards Junmyeon, and reaches out to grab at the blankets.

Junmyeon watches Jongin sleep for a while longer, hand coming up periodically to brush stray strands of hair away from his face, and tries to solve the mystery that he knows as Kim Jongin.

When the sunlight begins breaking out from behind the clouds, Junmyeon's sitting on the nearby ottoman, flipping through a book that Jongin had been reading. 

"I didn't know you understood French."

It's barely seven o'clock, the world barely lit, and Junmyeon starts at the sudden sound. Jongin's sitting up in his bed, head cocked to the side as he warily looks at Junmyeon and the book in his hands.

"I learned in high school," Junmyeon says casually, words a tad strained as he places the book back onto the nightstand and walks towards Jongin. "Are you feeling better?"

Jongin shrugs. "There's never really a better. It's always just bad or worse."

"That sounds miserable."

Jongin grins. "That's why."

Junmyeon doesn't question him, and instead, watches as Jongin pulls himself out of bed, stumbling a little as he enters the bathroom. As the sound of water running floats through the door, Junmyeon runs a hand through his fingers, thinking back at the broken smiles Jongin had bestowed upon him over the months that they've met.

When Jongin comes out of the shower in a fresh t-shirt and grey sweats, they head to the kitchen and Junmyeon shuffles between the stove and refrigerator. He returns to the dining table, balancing two plates of omelettes, and places one in front of Jongin.

They talk about trivial matters--the weather, Junmyeon's upcoming gallery, Jongin's haircut--and Junmyeon watches as Jongin picks at his omelette, never taking a bite. It gets thrown into the trash, but Junmyeon doesn't comment on it.

The two of them end up on the couch, watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre, with Junmyeon cowering behind a pillow and whimpering every time he hears screams and splatters of blood. Halfway through the movie, Junmyeon nearly falls off the sofa in shock, and Jongin begins to laugh, and then Junmyeon really does fall. 

"You should eat more," Junmyeon mutters when the movie's ended and he's lacing up his sneakers at the door.

"Can't," Jongin says, leaning against the doorway with his hands in his pockets again. "Contract doesn't let me."

"Your contract doesn't ask you to starve yourself," Junmyeon replies, almost angrily, as he tugs at his laces.

Jongin doesn't say anything in return, but merely laughs, the sound warm and thin, almost like wisps of smoke disappearing into the atmosphere. He walks Junmyeon to the elevator, and then waves goodbye. As Junmyeon watches the elevator doors close, with Jongin standing on the other side wearing the same hard expression, he feels the inexplicable need to jab at buttons and run back out the elevator and envelope him in a hug.

Instead though, he gives Jongin a small smile and waits patiently for the door to close and the elevator to descend.

As he walks in the chilled Seoul air, he wonders to himself if Jongin needed his own petit prince to help him find the short childhood that he had lost in the midst of blush and bronzer and suits and fine prints and other things that seemed to weigh him down and create a sheen of glass that separated him from everyone else.



On Christmas Day, Junmyeon receives a phone call from Chanyeol, asking him if he wanted to celebrate the holiday at Jongin's house. His kitchen counter is filled with unopened Christmas invitations from various nameless corporations, but he says yes.

The three of them--Junmyeon, Jongin, and Chanyeol--sit at the oversized dining table and eat Chinese take-out and pretend that Jongin isn't spooning his portions over to Chanyeol and taking in only sips of wine.

"I didn't get you guys presents," Junmyeon says when they're cleaning up.

Chanyeol laughs. "I can't remember the last time someone actually gave me a Christmas present. More often than not, I receive a diamond-studded key chain from Tiffany's, with a contract for Kai's next photoshoot."

Junmyeon nods. He understands what Chanyeol means. Presents weren't given for the sake of giving anymore; they're given for the sake of getting something back in return. It's so prevalent in this industry, it's almost disgusting.

To his surprise though, the huge Christmas tree in Jongin's living room isn't just a decoration. Jongin procures to small packages from under the tree and hands them to Junmyeon and Chanyeol, almost shy.

"Shut up, they're not from Tiffany's," he mutters when Chanyeol opens his present and lets out a laugh.

Chanyeol holds up a gold keychain for Junmyeon to see, with a guitar charm dangling from the end of it. He grins widely and reaches over to Jongin for a one-armed hug.

"Thanks man," he says affectionately, rubbing Jongin's arm. 

Junmyeon opens his and finds a similar keychain with a camera charm attached. He looks up to find Jongin looking anxiously at him, biting his lip in an almost timid manner.

He smiles, and Jongin relaxes. 

"Thank you," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't--"

"It's okay," Jongin says quickly, words stumbling over themselves. "I-I don't like presents. I get too many."

Junmyeon blinks at him for a moment, and then laughs. Jongin looks confused, and Junmyeon just laughs harder, leaning over to finally wrap his arms around Jongin.

"Thank you," he whispers again, breath tickling the side of Jongin's neck.

Two days later, Jongin receives a package in the mail, crudely wrapped with his name scrawled on the front. He opens it to find a scrapbook of his pictures from Madrid.

There's a note attached--

Merry belated Christmas, Kim Jongin. This isn't a present--just a token of thanks.



Junmyeon sees Chanyeol at a March photoshoot in Seoul. He's working with Kim Taeyeon, an old friend of his and veteran model, when he sees Chanyeol in the hallways of the venue.

They talk for a moment, and Junmyeon finds out that Jongin had been in New York for the last couple of months.

"He did it again," Chanyeol says after a while, sighing and sweeping his hair back.

"What do you mean?"

"The sleeping pills. That's twice in less than half a year."

Junmyeon stays silent. "Why--" he finally starts.

Chanyeol shakes his head. "I don't know."

"Why did you call me that time, then?" Junmyeon tries again.

Chanyeol looks surprised at his question, and chuckles quietly. 

"He talks about you. Jongin. Just you."



"You know, that expression doesn't suit you."

Junmyeon looks up from his spaghetti and gives Taeyeon a questioning look. She laughs and points her fork at his face.

"You're going to get wrinkles," she explains, gesturing at his frown, amusement lacing her voice. 

"Am not," he protests.

"Am too!" She laughs again. "No seriously, what are you thinking about?"

He swirls a strand of spaghetti around his fork, hesitating, before asking, "Your line of work--modeling, I mean--is it hard?"

Taeyeon raises an eyebrow and kicks him lightly under the table.

"What do you think? Of course it is," she says. "Sometimes....sometimes I feel like I'm losing myself, you know what I mean? Everyone sees you for your body, your face, your make-up, your outfit, and no one sees you for yourself anymore." She smiles and kicks Junmyeon again. "That's why I have you."

Junmyeon returns her smile, genuine and sweet. As Taeyeon pours him another glass of Laurent-Perrier, he thinks about another model, another young soul who seems to have lost himself in the tornado and consequent collateral damage of the adult world.

When he returns to his apartment, answering machine ringing with voice messages from Taeyeon's manager thanking him, he settles on his couch and turns on the T.V. He sets it to a random channel and lets it drone on and on like white noise, and turns his phone around in his hands.

He scrolls down his contacts list, pause at a certain name, and hovers his thumb over the call button. It takes him half a second to decide, and then--

"Hello?"

At the sound of Jongin's voice--low, smooth, and sure--Junmyeon clams up. He opens his mouth, wracking his brain for something to say and finding none.

"Junmyeon?"

He swallows thickly before finally saying, "Jongin."

His voice comes out grave and somber, and there's a pause over the line. "Is there something wrong?"

"Are you free right now?" He finds himself asking.

"Yes, yes I am. Do yo--"

"Let's go out for coffee," Junmyeon blurts out. "Angel's Cafe? On the corner of my street?"

Jongin doesn't say anything, and Junmyeon counts down the seconds of silence.

"Sure," he replies after a while. There's a shuffling noise in the background. "I'm leaving now."

"O-oh, okay. I'll meet you there."

Junmyeon hangs up and throws on his coat again, tripping over his laces as he stumbles out of his house, keys in hand. 

Jongin's already waiting for him when he rushes through the doors of the cafe, a spurt of warm air greeting him.

"Hey," he mutters as he drops into a seat across from Jongin.

"I ordered for us," Jongin says in reply, smiling a little. "I hope that's okay."

Junmyeon nods, entranced by the new found twinkle in Jongin's eyes. The lilt of his lips seem unfamiliar but fitting, and Junmyeon resists the urge to trace his finger against them.

"What did you order?"

"Caramel Macchiato, for you?" Jongin looks a bit nervous, watching Junmyeon with wide eyes as he sheds his coat.

"That's great. My favorite," Junmyeon replies and grins.

Jongin's eyes light up and he fiddles with his own cup of steaming green tea.

"So, what's up?" He says after Junmyeon's drink arrives.

Junmyeon doesn't say anything--perhaps he's not too sure what to say--and he just merely looks at Jongin, taking in the glow of his skin under the fluorescent yellow lights.

"Well," he begins, clearing his throat. "Chanyeol told me about the incident in New York."

Jongin stiffens as his expression changes. "Oh."

"I--"

"You don't have to worry," Jongin cuts him off. "T-this happens a lot. It's no big deal. Chanyeol usually stops me before I do anything drastic."

Junmyeon looks him in the eye, expression dead serious. "What if Chanyeol isn't there the next time?"

Jongin holds his gaze for a total of three seconds before tearing his eyes away from Junmyeon and looking out the window instead, fingers tightening over the handles of his cup. 

"I don't know," Jongin replies curtly.

"What if," Junmyeon says, inhaling deeply and steeling himself for the words he's about to utter. "What if I want to be there for you the next time?"

They come out in a rush, like a stream of water tumbling over beaten rocks. Time seems to still for a second, and Junmyeon worries that perhaps he's said the wrong thing because Jongin seems to have frozen. But then, he slowly turns his head, the seconds agonizingly long, and he looks at Junmyeon with wide eyes that doesn't seem to fit his lean face, and for the first time, Junmyeon realizes that Jongin has gained some weight. He looks less like a story-book character, less like a store mannequin filled with plaster and much more like a human being with warm flesh and blood.

"What did you say?" He whispers, like all the strength has escaped him and all he could do was murmur his words and pray that the wind could pick them up.

But there was no wind, and Junmyeon could hear them perfectly fine, and perhaps Junmyeon has always heard all of Jongin's unspoken words perfectly fine, and that's why he's here.

"I said--I want to be there for you. Always. For the rest of our lives. Something like that."

Junmyeon's face falls when Jongin looks away and down at the table, his hands suddenly clasped tight in front of him. To his surprise though, there's a flush creeping its way up Jongin's neck, and maybe Jongin was never really Kai and he's still a little boy who becomes shy and bashful when someone tells him they care.

"Oh," he says after a long period of silence, still adamantly refusing to meet Junmyeon's eyes. Instead he, picks up his cup much too fast and gulps down scorching hot tea, coughing when it burns his throat. 

"So...you'll let me?" Junmyeon asks hesitantly, biting back chuckles.

Jongin bites back a smile and drums his fingers on the table, an adorably nervous gesture that Junmyeon wishes to pocket and keep forever.

"Sure."



And that seems to seal the deal for the two of them. Junmyeon somehow becomes Jongin's speed dial, number two after Chanyeol because Chanyeol insisted that managers were more important and that he had been first.

Junmyeon doesn't mind though, because he's the one Jongin always calls in the middle of the night for sweet, pointless conversations that dwindle into silence and last until early mornings. He's the one Jongin texts in the middle of boring business dinners, and the one who picks Jongin up from after parties when he's wasted and staggering.

He's the one Jongin kisses in the back of a taxi as it makes its way through nighttime Shanghai traffic, and the one Jongin whispers his feelings to after one too many shot glasses.

Words are muttered against the nape of his neck as Jongin curls against him, arm slung over his stomach in an attempt to get closer. Junmyeon's heart pounds at the proximity and at Jongin's words, and he finds himself lacing his fingers through Jongin's and smiling as his other hand runs through Jongin's hair.

It takes Jongin two weeks to face Junmyeon, mortified by the things he'd said that night, and it takes another week for Junmyeon to appear at Jongin's door with a single rose in hand.

"I've come to make you mine," he says when Jongin opens the door and gawks at him in shock. He weakly takes the rose, staring as Junmyeon walks into the house and sits on his couch like he owns the place.

"That was remarkably cheesy," Jongin finally chokes out. "I think you outdid yourself there."

"Yeah?" Junmyeon smiles and gestures for Jongin to sit next to him.

Jongin hesitates for a moment before shuffling obediently over to Junmyeon, deciding to stand instead of sit.

Junmyeon frowns and huffs as he mutters, "Guess we're doing this the hard way, aren't we?"

Before Jongin knows it, Junmyeon stands up and wraps his arm around Jongin's waist, and then time really does stop for the two of them, and it's like the world had stopped spinning the second Junmyeon's lips meet Jongin's. It tumbles back into motion when they break apart, Jongin breathless and wide-eyed as he stares uncomprehendingly at Junmyeon.

"I think I love you, Kim Jongin," Junmyeon murmurs, the words floating in the few centimeters between them.

Jongin takes a deep breath and wraps his fingers around Junmyeon's wrist, lightly tugging him so they're standing even closer together, and then he looks him in the eye and smiles.

"Good, because I love you too."

He leans down and captures Junmyeon's lips for another kiss, chaste and sweet and promising of everything but especially of a new tomorrow.



Sometimes when Junmyeon looks back, he thinks that perhaps he had been Jongin's petit prince, but Jongin had been his desert. And what makes the desert beautiful, the little prince had said, is that it hides a well somewhere.

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