There was a time when the tempo echoed in his bones, became the very way he breathed.

It’s like someone came and stole his breath, leaving him searching for oxygen.

Jongin closed his eyes, falling back against the mirror in the practice room. The music was still playing, but he couldn’t find the rhythm in the beats. It’s all passion now—energy that didn’t quite match the rhythm, like a long angry rant without reason.

At night, he would fall asleep with the metronome ticking by his bed, the beats one, two, three, four echoing in his head.

The next morning, the echoes would still be there—one, two, three, four—but there was a fogginess in his mind, an irregular jerk that would throw the song off balance.

He could see the pity hidden under the sharp impatience. “Count!”—from the dance instructor, calling him out again. “Are you okay?”—from his concerned friends, yet none of them paused long enough to hear the answer. “What’s wrong with him?”—from the rookies, who had no doubt heard of Kai and could not understand what to make of the broken man before them.

Just another year, and his contract would end. Then, not only would he be unable to find the beats, but there would be no music.

The more he tried to chase after the rhythm, the more it ran away, just beyond reach.

“Jongin, are you okay?” Junmyeon—Junmyeon was always there, finding enough time and energy to care without losing himself somewhere in between. Jongin had admired this control before, and he envied it now, when it seemed no longer possible.

“I don’t know,” but he did. It wasn’t every day that your breath disappeared. Jongin knew exactly what fell under the “casual” label, and he’d thought for once, there was a potential.

Junmyeon frowned, but he didn’t press further. “If you ever need help, I’m here, okay? Just give me a call.”

Jongin nodded, knowing that it wouldn’t be so simple. Some decisions were already made.

“If I find who did this to you, I’m going to beat him up,” Junmyeon promised.

Jongin wanted to laugh. The situation was so ironic.

Jongdae had a habit of taking too much. Like the mint candies at the doctors’ office—he’d grab several handfuls and only eat two or three. It wasn’t even greed; it was a precaution of sorts.

“Take all you want,” his father had said, and Junmyeon would nod in silent approval.

It’s taking when Jongdae went to the address on the text, knocking on the door to a five star hotel room. Taking off his shoes as he walked through the door, fingers sifting through the soft hair of the man before him, breathing in the familiar scent.

Quick and hurried: they never had enough time. Yet somehow, they managed to meet, the few hours crammed between crowded schedules.

Jongdae stood before the dark screen of the TV, smoothing his hair and brushing off dirt particles from his clothes.

“You’re not staying?” Jongin asked, pouring packets of sugar into a cup of coffee. He always complained that it wasn’t sweet enough.

Jongin asked the question each time, although they both knew the answer. Or maybe he didn’t really know. Jongdae looked down at the dark screen of his phone, knowing that the instant he turned it on, he would see the face that resembled his love and his guilt. It wasn’t difficult to guess, but for a few hours, at least, they could escape.

“No.” Jongdae declined the offer for coffee, even though he desperately needed some. It was nearly three in the morning, so the subway was probably closed. He quickly slipped on his shoes.

Jongin, still holding his cup, walked over, opening the door for him. It was an unnecessary but sweet gesture, so Jongdae kissed the corner of his mouth briefly.

“Do well, okay?”

Jongin nodded, smiling. “I’ll text you.”

“You’re going to Japan? Bring me back a souvenir, okay?” Jongdae hugged the younger man quickly before stepping back, walking away with a brief wave.

The hotel was eerily quiet at this hour, so the only sound was Jongdae’s shoes hitting the floor. The lights flickered on with each step he took, and the usually crowded elevator was spacious.

Outside, the temperature was still cold, like the weather was confused as to whether or not winter had actually ended. Jongdae shivered at the sudden breeze, pulling his jacket tighter around him as he walked briskly, making sure to avoid the dark alleys and dead ends.

The wind was refreshing, and it blew away the smell that clung to Jongdae: the strong scent of Jongin’s cologne. Not all of it disappeared, but enough was erased so that an inhalation of the expensive aroma wouldn’t arouse much suspicion.

When he reached his apartment complex, the guard that usually stood at the gates was sleeping, not even stirring as Jongdae used his card to slip in.

At this hour, the elevators in the apartment buildings were no longer in service, so Jongdae took the stairs up to the tenth floor. He unlocked the two front doors and stepped inside, arranging his shoes neatly by the door.

“I’m home, love.”

Junmyeon and Chanyeol had opted for a private ceremony, partially because gay marriage was still an ongoing dispute in the nation, even if it had recently become legal, and partially because neither one of them saw the need to put in so much time and effort in something that could be done simply. However, they invited many friends and relatives for the lunch a week after the marriage.

“Are you done?” Yixing asked softly, stepping into their room with light, graceful steps.

Jongdae ran a hand through his hair and scowled playfully into the mirror. “The hair products aren’t cooperating with me.”

Yixing laughed and stepped up behind Jongdae, pushing down his hands and running thin, agile fingers through his hair. He used a comb to brush the strands back into something slightly more presentable. “Why are you so nervous?” he asked.

“I’m not,” Jongdae protested, but he ran his fingers through his hair again, completely messing up the order Yixing had achieved just a few seconds before. “Come on, let’s go.”

“What’s the rush?” Yixing followed Jongdae to the doorway, smoothing his boyfriend’s suit jacket along the way.

“The family always arrives early,” Jongdae said, tugging on his shoes. With the extra centimeters in heels, he didn’t have to reach up as much to peck Yixing’s cheek. “You look nice.”

“Just nice?” Yixing laughed at Jongdae’s playful pout and flicked the side of his head lightly. “You look handsome too.”

“No one said you were.” Jongdae took Yixing’s hand and they walked out of the apartment. “I’m so excited,” he admitted as they stepped into the elevator. “Nothing beats seeing your kid brother married.”

Yixing gave him an odd look. “He’s older than you.”

“Kid brother,” Jongdae repeated emphatically.

“Like we will be one day?”

Yixing’s dimpled smile was beautiful under the fluorescent lights, but Jongdae’s sudden breathlessness had nothing to do with it. It was like the ground of the elevator had suddenly dropped, and he had to swallow the wave of nausea.

“Yeah,” he said, staring up at the red letters of the elevator as they finally reached the ground floor. “We will.”

They were in the taxi when the text message came.

Jongdae glanced to his left at Yixing, who was staring out the window with his hands folded in his lap. The texts came very intermittently, and seemed completely harmless. Jongdae’s hand shook slightly as he opened the text.

                        From: Kim 2

                        The weather is nice today~

Jongdae looked over at Yixing again and turned off his phone. He took one of Yixing’s hands in his own and intertwined their fingers together.

“Your hand is clammy,” Yixing complained, wrinkling his nose cutely.

Jongdae just smiled, still feeling nausea in the back of his throat. It was the taxi, he reasoned. There was a consistent smell of dirty bills and stale cigarette smoke and who knew when the seats had last been cleaned.

The restaurant took up a large building of its own, fitting snugly between a clothes store and a jewelry store with its own sky-high prices. They had rented one of the larger rooms for the occasion, a place that took up half the third floor.

Junmyeon, Chanyeol, and their father were already there, and a few guests had arrived early. They were scattered around the corners of the room. Jongdae started walking towards Junmyeon, who was already talking to someone.

“I thought you would still be in Japan,” Junmyeon was saying.

“How could I miss your wedding?” the person said, and Jongdae gasped, freezing in place. The person was…

Unfortunately, Junmyeon had already seen him and was waving him over. “Hey, Jongdae! Have you met Jongin yet?”

Jongin. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long time, and an awkward silence settled over them.

Jongdae cleared his throat and casted around for the first thing to break the silence. “You know Junmyeon?”

“You’re Junmyeon’s brother?” Jongin looked equally as shocked.

Jongdae just kept staring at Jongin, not quite believing that he was there. Junmyeon, meanwhile, was looking between the two of them, bewildered.

“You two know each other?” The silence just confirmed his question, so Junmyeon brought Jongin closer to Jongdae, seeming unaware of the tension between them. Or maybe Jongdae was just very sick and this was all a hallucination.

“Ah, yes,” Jongin said, his eyes fixed steadily on Jongdae.

“How?” Yixing asked. Jongdae jerked in surprise. He’d nearly forgotten that Yixing was there.

“We were friends,” Jongdae said slowly, hoping that Jongin wouldn’t say anything.

“Really?” Junmyeon was still smiling brightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Since both Jongin and Jongdae were unresponsive, he turned towards Yixing. “You must be Jongdae’s boyfriend. Zhang Yixing, right?”

Yixing bowed and shook Junmyeon’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Boyfriend?” Jongin repeated softly.

Jongdae looked up and met his eyes. “Yes.” His smile felt too tight across his face.

“Let’s sit down,” Junmyeon suggested as more guests started filing into the room. “You should have introduced Yixing to me sooner,” he added, leaning close to Jongdae’s ear.

Jongdae nodded, still feeling sick. He locked eyes with Jongin, and the younger boy jerked his head in a way that clearly said, “Follow me.” Jongdae didn’t want to follow him, but he knew that it was part of his responsibility.

“I need to go outside,” he murmured to Yixing, and then he walked away, following Jongin’s general direction, smiling and bowing to the guests on his way out.

Jongdae walked into the bathroom, which was the only room down the right end of the hallway. Jongin was there, washing his hands in the sink. They locked eyes in the mirror as Jongin wiped his hands with a tissue.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Jongdae said lightly, trying to dispel the tense atmosphere.

“You never told me you had a boyfriend,” Jongin said, and this time, Jongdae heard the break in his voice, despite his outwardly calm appearance.

“Does it matter?” Jongdae tilted his head to one side, still trying to keep a casual air.

“Of course.” Jongin dropped the tissue into the trash. “Did it mean nothing to you?”

“Does it matter?” Jongdae repeated because even he couldn’t answer that question. He didn’t know. It was better to live in blissful ignorance, to pretend that he didn’t have to choose.

Something in Jongin’s eyes flashed, and then he was in front of Jongdae, pushing him against the wall and kissing him roughly. Jongdae’s lack of responsiveness only seemed to make him angrier.

“What are you doing?” broke the moment, and Jongdae was pushing Jongin back, gasping for breath. Yixing was standing in the doorway, eyes wide and frozen in shock. And Jongin—Jongin was crying, tears slipping down his cheeks.

It wasn’t difficult to make out what had happened, and Yixing turned and walked away.

Choose was the only thought in Jongdae’s brain. Maybe somewhere inside, he’d had this debate many times, a constant war between these two opposing sides. But he couldn’t give either one of them up—Yixing, with his sweet, gentle cheerfulness; Jongin, with his adorably shy demeanor behind his charisma.

Jongdae wanted to curl up on the dirty floor and sleep this away, but he forced himself to turn and run. He caught up with Yixing a few meters away from the bathroom and took hold of his wrists, preventing him from taking another step.

“Who was that?” Yixing asked softly. Even now, he still maintained his ever-present calm attitude.

“No one,” Jongdae said. Then, because he had to convince himself, he repeated, “No one. It was just a one night stand. I’m sorry.”

“You…”
 

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae repeated with more conviction. “Can you forgive me?”

“Yeah.” Yixing was staring in the direction of the bathroom. “I think so.”

Jongdae tried to swallow the sudden wave of feelings. Maybe he didn’t really deserve this, but maybe… “I love you,” he said. They rarely spoke these words over the three years they’d been dating, but Jongdae had never known how much he’d meant those words until now.

“Me too,” Yixing said, still smiling as he gently removed Jongdae’s hands from his wrist. He then took one of Jongdae’s hands and led him back towards the dining room. “Come on. We should get back before your brother starts worrying.”

The rest of the lunch seemed to pass in a blur of too-wide smiles and deafening laughter. Jongdae felt almost mechanical as he ate and drank with the others around him. He congratulated his brother as sincerely as he could, and thankfully, his brother was too busy with his guests to notice.

When Jongdae and Yixing got into the taxi, Yixing was silent, but it felt like he was distancing himself from Jongdae.

“Yixing?” Jongdae rubbed his fingers nervously along the fabric of the seat.

“Don’t apologize,” Yixing said, still staring out the window. “It’s okay.”

The texts stopped after that, and the nightly meetings did too.

It wasn’t like Jongdae expected them to continue, but sometimes, late into the night, he’d wonder about the other possibilities. What if he’d chosen differently?

So, he busied himself with work and Yixing, trying to remind himself of all the reasons why he’d fallen for the other in the first place. If he tried hard enough, maybe it would be possible to forget the memories in the back of his mind.

It was like a part of him had been ripped away, but he did his best not to show it. It was easier to smile and pretend than it was to break down and confess.

Maybe it didn’t fade away completely. There were times when he would just stare at the contact on his phone, tempted to just send a text to make sure Jongin was okay. But he never did, afraid that, from there, the situation would spiral out of his control.

And Jongin was probably okay. Jongdae saw him from time to time, on magazines and ads and even on TV. It wasn’t like he deliberately searched for him. With Jongin’s recent comeback, the media was full of information about Kai. His music video was popular as well, and Jongdae found himself watching it one restless night before the TV.

It was the song that first drew him in. Something about the melody was so unbalanced. The lyrics told of something happy and upbeat, but the background music was so wistful, scattered here and there with unsatisfied major seventh chords.

Then Jongin’s face flashed before the screen, and Jongdae almost dropped the remote control. He watched Jongin’s dance, how he moved with undeniable precision, and he just sat there, immersed in the three minute video clip. Yixing wasn’t home, so Jongdae allowed himself to relax, to be drawn into the music.

He realized what the song really meant. Behind the words promising happiness and perfection, there was heartbreak. It could be simply passed off as the image the company was trying to draw, but Jongdae could see something different in Jongin’s eyes.

It was undeniable that he’d hurt Jongin, and yet Jongin was still able to smile brightly. He was strong, the layers of timidity barely hiding his determination and persistence. He wouldn’t break, and that was what had drawn Jongdae to him in the first place.

It wasn’t like Jongdae regretted his choice, but he longed for the past nonetheless. He could remember a different smile, another scent, and during moments like these, he allowed himself to remember.

It was impossible to not know that something was off.

Admittedly, they were small details, like the foreign smell that clung to Jongdae on some nights, the way he hid his phone and smiled down at the screen at certain texts, or even the way he returned absurdly late on some days, blaming it on work.

Yixing didn’t say anything the first few times it happened, hoping that his worst fears weren’t confirmed. But then Jongdae was late for their second anniversary, and he knew something was off.

He had every right to confront Jongdae about it, but he never did. If he did, he knew that Jongdae would admit to it, and Jongdae would never do anything to intentionally hurt him. Besides, Yixing was afraid. Because if he admitted that he knew, then they would have to break up.

Maybe Yixing sought for comfort too much. He liked consistency in his life, and even if the consistency meant Jongdae sleeping with another man and coming home with a bright smile on his lips, he was fine with that. Because he was too old to start over again, too old to go out and try something different. If this was the best that he could get, he would stick to it.

So Yixing didn’t say anything, and he turned a blind eye to everything that Jongdae did behind his back. Many nights, Jongdae didn’t even bother coming home, and Yixing would eat dinner facing an empty seat and go to sleep on a bed that was too big and too cold.

He would put the food into the refrigerator, never really knowing when Jongdae would be back, and he would lay awake in the dark, silently counting his breaths. He couldn’t fall asleep without Jongdae there beside him.

And he would wait for the moment that Jongdae would walk through the door, throwing his keys in the general direction of the kitchen counter—he’d gotten it into the trash multiple times, and Yixing was used to checking in the trash before he took it out every morning, just in case—and taking off his shoes by the door.

Maybe he would microwave the food that Yixing had set out for him, or maybe he wouldn’t. But Yixing knew for sure that he would carry another scent with him, that the smile on his face wasn’t because he was happy to return home. But Yixing was happy, even if there were tears in his eyes sometimes. He would never admit those times when he had broken down, and he smiled back at Jongdae. Pretending was so much easier than admitting.

It was enough to hear Jongdae’s bright, cheerful voice calling out in the same greeting.

“I’m home, love.