The bruises stay imprinted on his skin long after they are due to fade away.

Jongdae's fingers shake as he breathes in frigid November air, slumped over on a bench on the outskirts of his university's campus. He feels a tremor on his thigh and Jongdae hurriedly pulls his smartphone out.

From: Jongin | 4:08 PM

    Come home.

Now Jongdae's entire body trembles as he scans the two words over and over. Come home. That apartment isn't a home, no, Jongdae thinks it's-    

"Hey, you alright?"

The shivering student glances up to meet eyes belonging to a face he recognizes. Zhang Yixing. Chinese transfer.

"Yeah," Jongdae mutters, and he stands up.

Yixing smiles brightly and Jongdae blinks at the appearance of dimples on the smooth skin. "You and I probably already know each other's names, but I don't think we've been introduced properly yet. I'm Zhang Yixing. You're Kim Jongdae, right? Jongin's boyfriend."

Jongdae flinches at the name and the other man's eyebrows furrow for a fraction of a second before his smile settles back in place.

"Yeah," Jongdae replies, shifting back and forth on his feet. He's got to get going. Jongin is waiting. "Hey, uh, I have to leave, so... see you in class tomorrow." He waves awkwardly, turns, and starts running, not even looking to see if Yixing wanted to say something more or if cars are driving on the very streets he's crossing. It doesn't matter if they hit him.

Jongdae would rather die, anyway.

The junior makes his way back to the apartment in record time, heaving as he opens the door. The moment he steps in, Jongin presses him up against the wall, hand tight around Jongdae's neck.

"What took you so long?" the younger man questions. He loosens his grip a bit.

"Friend," Jongdae chokes out. "Yixing. From class. Stopped me for a chat."

Jongin's eyes narrow and he punches his boyfriend right on his left cheekbone. Jongdae cries out, eyes burning and skin stinging.

"You cheating bastard," Jongin growls, tightening his hold on Jongdae's pale neck. "Hyung, you know that there's no one better for you than me. Don't talk to Yixing ever again, do you understand?"

Jongdae's head feels light and his vision's going black around the edges but he manages to nod. Satisfied, Jongin lets go and Jongdae hurries to the bathroom, coughing and hacking up what little he ate into the toilet.

Later that night, Jongin wraps his arms around Jongdae's and murmurs into the older man's ear "I love you" and Jongdae cries because he doesn't know who his boyfriend is anymore.

"Do you really?" he whispers through the tears coursing over his black and blue cheeks.

Jongin doesn't answer. He's already asleep.

Jongdae wakes before his boyfriend, the sun's soft rays basking them in light. He smiles as he runs a hand through Jongin's hair. The younger looks beautiful and serene in the early morning, eyes closed with the faintest trace of a grin on his full lips.

"You're up?"

Jongdae's blissful expression turns to one of horror and he scrambles to get off the bed. Jongin sends him a strange look as he sits up and stretches.

"Something wrong?"

Jongdae's fingers run over the bruises on his neck and he turns away.

"I'll make breakfast," he mutters. "Do you want something?"

"No," Jongin responds with a yawn. "Oh, yeah. You know the papers on the desk by the TV? There's a manila file right next to them, could you put the papers in the file and put it by the door? I need the papers for class and I forgot to organize last night."

Jongdae nods and heads to the kitchen. He mulls over what to make before deciding on traditional bacon and eggs, reaching for the frying pan.

"Breakfast is ready!" he calls out. Jongdae places two plates and two glasses of orange juice on opposite ends of the kitchen table. He's halfway finished with his food when Jongin comes out of the bedroom, fully dressed with his bag slung over his shoulder.

"Thanks, babe," he says and drops a kiss on Jongdae's head before sitting down to eat. Jongdae gazes at him in curiosity and wonder, because innocent affection from his boyfriend is so rare nowadays, but Jongin just meets his eyes blankly.

The older man clears his plate first and goes into the bedroom to get ready for class. Jongdae's half-dressed when Jongin calls his name. Jongdae frowns and quickly zips his jeans before opening the door.

"Yeah?"

"Where's the file?"

Dread like ice cold water trickles down his spine.

"Sorry, I was dressing and it completely escaped my mind-"

Jongin smacks him across the face and Jongdae's head snaps back.

"I ask you to do one thing," the younger man snarls, "one thing, and you forget to do it." He shoves Jongdae to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Jongdae sobs, crawling backwards on his hands, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

He curls up on his side after Jongin kicks him in the stomach, hides his pale face when Jongin's fist pounds into his diaphragm, screams as the hard rubber tip of Jongin's Converse slams into his gut.

Blood sprays from Jongdae's mouth onto the dirty laces of his boyfriend's shoes and he looks up with eyes shining for the wrong reason.

Jongin kicks off his Converse and grabs a different pair of sneakers, that ing manila file tucked into his messenger bag.

"You got blood on them," he says. "I'm not wearing something like that."

I wouldn't, either. But you paint scars across my skin, dab bruises along my neck, and I am forced to use the pain you give me as clothing. Don't you feel sorry for me, too?

Jongdae forcibly swallows down his words with a mouthful of blood and closes his swollen eyes.

Jongin scoffs before he slams the door and Jongdae has never felt more pitiful in his entire life.

It’s agonizing to be treated like a ragdoll by someone he loves so much, but it’s near unbearable to get back on his feet after Jongin abuses him and leaves. Jongdae’s head hurts, his entire body aches, and his heart is nothing but black powder, but he braces a hand against the wall and pushes himself off the ground.

He wants nothing more than to lie on the smooth wooden surface but there’s blood everywhere and Jongin will beat him again if it isn’t cleaned.

Giving up isn’t an option. No matter how much Jongdae wants to.

“Are you alright?”

Jongdae turns around. Through his fuzzy mind and warping vision, he can make out a figure running toward him.

“I’m fine,” he slurs as Yixing wraps an arm around his waist to stop Jongdae from toppling over. “I just need to go to the store and buy stain removers.”

“What?” Yixing asks incredulously, “Jongdae, you need to get to a hospital.”

Jongdae’s chest is burning.

“But the blood,” he protests. “The blood on the floor. Jongin will hit me again if I don’t clean it up."

"I think we should be worrying more about keeping the blood inside of your body," Yixing protests, eyes wide, "oh god, Jongdae-"

He doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want to hear how ed up his life is and how Jongin cares more about a pair of sneakers and a manila folder than his own boyfriend. He doesn't want to hear the sound a fist makes when it collides with tear-stained cheeks and he doesn't want to hear Yixing's panicked, heavy breathing, it's starting to get on his nerves.

"I'm fine, I just need to rest for a while," Jongdae slurs. His aching legs don't want to work anymore so Jongdae slumps to the ground, leaning against a fire hydrant.

"Just for a while," he murmurs as the wail of an ambulance pierces the cold air, and his eyes slide closed.

Jongdae dreams his body is propped up against an apple tree, Jongin kneeling in front of him.

Bruises blossom like brilliant violet and azure roses where Jongin trails his finger on Jongdae's skin. He’s a garden, and Jongin is growing lilies and asters and delphiniums, blood watering the contusions. It’s beautiful. It’s sick. Jongdae can’t look away from himself.

Jongin rests a hand on Jongdae’s hipbone and looks into his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he weeps, tears raining down upon Jongdae’s bare body and washing the blood away. “I’m so sorry.”

Crows swoop from the sky and nip at Jongin’s clothes. They carry him into the clouds and Jongin allows them to, his limp form growing smaller and smaller by the second. He doesn’t release his gaze from Jongdae’s even as he disappears from view and Jongdae can still feel it on him for what seems like an eternity.

He wakes up to white.

"Ah, you're awake."

Jongdae blinks slowly. There's a fierce pounding in his temple. A middle-aged man in uniform with a pen behind his ear looks down at him.

“I’m Officer Chung. You were brought in yesterday with some startling injuries. Would you mind giving me some background?”

He pulls up a chair next to the bed when Jongdae slowly nods.

“Now,” Officer Chung says, grasping the pen and putting its tip to a sheet of notebook paper, “when did Kim Jongin began abusing you?"

"I'm-" Jongdae feels a bit disoriented- "I'm not sure. I think three months ago?"

"Mhm," the other man says, scribbling something down. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Jongdae blinks twice. He can’t seem to recall… oh yes. “I came home later than usual from work and Jongin was upset. He kept yelling at me, accusing me of cheating among other things, and when I wouldn’t answer he hit me.” Jongdae shivers and looks down at his fingers. He still doesn’t know what set Jongin off that day, or why he thought Jongdae would be unfaithful. Maybe he’ll never know.

“How severe were your beatings?”

Jongdae forces himself to focus and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I would throw up blood and be unable to move a part of my body for a while. This is the first time I’ve gone to a hospital from them before.”

Officer Chung tsks. “It’s a good thing, too. You’ve got a concussion and at least three broken ribs. Doctors told me they gave you stitches on your stomach as well. You’re lucky that your friend found you."

More questions are asked and Jongdae answers them as best he can, feeling strangely disconnected from his own self. Perhaps it's the concussion, perhaps the dizzying white of the room, but Jongdae knows something's off.

"Excuse me," he calls to an elderly nurse after Officer Chung leaves. "Excuse me, but were there any other visitors while I was asleep?"

"Mhm. A boy around your age with brown hair. He ran inside and held your hand, sobbing and wailing up a storm before police came and dragged him away. He never stopped saying sorry." The nurse tilts her head. "There was another visitor. Chinese. Very polite, that boy. Quiet, too. He sat by your bed for a while before leaving." She opens the window and sunlight spills onto Jongdae's trembling hands. "You know them?"

"No," Jongdae replies, tasting metal, and he realizes it's blood. "I don't."

They tell him that Jongin will be imprisoned for thirty months. The female officer who swings by Jongdae's new apartment to tell him sounds apologetic.

"You didn't show up at court, and without your own testimonies, well..." She shrugs her shoulders. "Thirty months was the longest sentence we could get."

"That's fine," Jongdae reassures. "Thank you."

When he closes the door, Jongdae breathes out his relief. He doesn't have to be scared anymore.

On Jongin's hundredth day in confinement, Jongdae sits down across from him, protected by a half inch of clear plastic.

"Happy birthday, Jongin."

The younger smiles. He looks exhausted. It reminds Jongdae of himself. "Thank you, hyung."

Jongin breaks his gaze, eyes flitting down to his clasped hands. "I'm sorry, Jongdae. Nothing I say will ever make up for what I did to you, and I'm sorry."

Jongdae sighs. "You know I can't forgive you."

"And I understand," Jongin replies steadily. "I just wanted you to know. That I'm sorry and that I..." He hesitates before closing his eyes. "...still love you." Jongin chuckles sadly. "There's nothing I can do about it now. But I haven't said that to you in a long time."

"No, you haven't," Jongdae says. "But I haven't, either. And saying it now will only make me a liar. I care for you, Jongin, but you destroyed me. You and I both know we can't love like that again."

Jongin runs a hand through his hair, looking incredibly tired. "Yeah. I get it."

The older man smiles thinly at him. "Thank you, Jongin. It was nice seeing you-"

"Wait!" Jongin cries, slapping the division. The two guards glance at each other and then at Jongin with wariness.

"Please..." he whispers.

Jongdae sits back down and raises his hand, pressing it on the plastic, matching it up with Jongin's palm. He cannot feel warmth through the divide, but he knows it's in Jongin somewhere, and Jongdae hopes it'll catch up with Jongin one day.

"Thank you," Jongin murmurs, and lets his hand slide from the thick plastic, lets the guards lead him back to his cell, lets Jongdae walk away for the last time. Because Jongdae deserves better. Because Jongin needs a new start.

Because Jongdae will not allow Jongin's bruises to sprout on his skin again.

took a break from fics i actually need to write and somehow got this.