(for xiujaemin) Megalopolitan
For: xiujaemin
Title: Megalopolitan
Genre: streetart!au
Rating: PG-13
Length: 5,202 words
Summary: The skyline is beautiful at night, with its shimmering lights and dancing noise. The busy city never seems to sleep because neither does he.
Notes: Thank you for your lovely prompts, prompter. I strayed a bit from the idea on this one, but I hope you still enjoy it.
Kyungsoo is sprawled across the four bleached walls of Jongins matchbox apartment. He fades in and out, pale complexion tinted by traffic lights and neon signs there in the room in photograph but not in reality.
Jongin runs a finger along the soft curve of Kyungsoo jaw, leaving his fingerprints glaring against glossy paper. This is his favorite picture- this one that feels almost like it isn't even real.
Jongin unpins the photograph, sinking to the floor and just taking it in.
He wonders when Kyungsoo will be back.
***
Jongin is a second year film student at a small university in the city.
He lives by himself in a quaint, sparsely furnished apartment, the walls whitewashed but the furniture inundated with memories. He's not home much because he's always working; working on school work, working on photography, working on short films, working for funds.
Jongin goes to classes every day at the university, taking a fifteen minute train both ways. His many school projects and little time cause him so many problems, the most pressing of which is currently his semester cinema assignment.
He wracks his brain day after day, staring at the Times New Roman twelve point font that mocks him in all its catastrophic glory, outlining requirements for his film to be.
He doesn't know what to do. How to approach the project, what theme to apply, should it be fiction or nonfiction, should he use a grainy camera or a clear camera? there are so many pieces that just refuse to fall into place.
So he goes to sleep on restless night after restless night, September slowly melding into October.
It's when Jongin is making his way through the maze of people littering the city pavements on a cold October day, clouds hanging low in the sky, weighty like the reminder of his approaching project proposal, that providence smiles down on him as if the clouds have parted for the barest of moments and beamed light down on his omnipresent worry. Suddenly colors are all he sees, the colors of the graffiti that cover the chipping mortar walls that he walks along every day and he wonders why he hadn't thought of it sooner because the answer is right there.
Jongin decides to make a film about street art.
***
Sehun is one of Jongins sort of on and off, “we only talk to each other in class because we have no one else to talk to” friends. He is also a burgeoning street artist (the sort of street art that splatters the sides of buildings and bridges, the sort of street art that he says is a thrill because you always have the threat of the police firing you because, yes, graffiti isn't legal, but it says something and sehun is a reckless freshman in college who wants the exploding behind the scenes fame that other street artists bathe in daily) and Jongin decides Sehun will be the best person to help him.
He approaches his classmate at a quiet cafe. Sehun is sitting at a round wooden table with a tattered sketchbook in front of him. The ear buds he's wearing do nothing to stop the sound of bass-heavy music from seeping into the jazz-ruled coffee house.
Jongin taps his shoulder as he peels off a thin army jacket.
"Kim Jongin," Sehun says, his gaze taking in Jongin' disheveled appearance. The stains under his eyes mirror the way Jongin knows he looks, himself.
Jongin invited himself to sit in the chair opposite Sehun. "I need your help."
Sehun blinks, like it's the last thing he expected Jongin to say, which it probably is. "You have the best grades in our class," he says slowly. "You ace every test. You're the teachers pet. What would you need my help with?"
Sehun says it sort of jokingly as he pauses his music, but there's still some sort of animosity behind his praising words.
"I want to do my cinema project on street art," Jongin says, fiddling with his camera. "You're the only person I know who has connections. Please."
Sehun studies him wordlessly.
"Look," Jongin says. "All I want is to help out a bit- carry stuff, hold ladders, distract the police, anything- in exchange for some footage for my documentary. That's all."
"You do know how dangerous such a thing is, right?" Sehun asks. "One slip up and the cops will be taking all your footage and using it against me, or anyone else you film. You'll probably flunk your class, at least."
Jongin swallows thickly. But he's stubborn and his mind is so set on this plan that he doesn't think he could even consider something else.
"I will do it," he tells Sehun. "No matter what you say, I'm going to do follow through with this."
Sehun sighs and reaches over to start his music again. "Fine, then. Meet me after dark in front of the south station."
Jongin smiles.
***
Jongin decides he loves the night life. He likes the cold tingle that stings his nose as the wind blows by, he likes the quiet back streets that Sehun has them stick to, he likes the adrenaline that pumps through his veins when a cop car pulls around the corner down the street and they have to do their best to look immediately inconspicuous.
Sehun drags him around through the city, taking premade mosaics rom his bag and motioning at Jongin to hand him the can of plaster.
Sehun makes small, tiled images that remind Jongin distinctly of '80s video games. He pieces them together and glues them up all over town. It's his own little brand of crazy street art.
While they're out, Jongin films everything. He turns his camera on streetlights and badly parked cars, rusted bridges covered in splashes of colorful graffiti and crumbling walls that still have yet to be touched. He films Sehun as his friend carefully lines up his tiles and pushes them into place.
Among Sehun' street art friends, he becomes the notorious shadow- somehow they all know of his existence even though he's never said a word to any one of them.
October passes into early November and Jongin finds himself falling more and more in love with the things that happen at night and less and less with what happens during the day.
***
Jongin meets Kyungsoo on the day of the first autumn snowfall.
He's on the way to meet Sehun for their nightly escapades when he sees a figure across the street, spray can rattling and moving across pale concrete walls.
Something makes him stop for a moment- maybe it's just the intrigue of a new artist to meet, but it probably also has something to do with his slight build and skilled strokes.
Jongin crosses the street.
The man looks up when he hears footsteps, a sort of cautiousness in his eyes, but also a low-burning flame of defiance.
He has paint-covered clothes and fingerless gloves but he looks nowhere near being dressed warmly enough for the temperature. A white, speckled face mask covers his nose and mouth and stops below round eyes tickled by raven bangs.
"What do you want?" he asks, voice muffled by the mask like he's under a layer of blankets.
Jongin's eyes flicker to his hand clutching at a can of black spray paint, the index finger dusted a faint grey like rain clouds have clustered around his fingertip.
"To film you," he replies truthfully, lifting his camera ever so slightly.
The stranger scoffs, his eyes twisting into amusement. "No," he says simply, and turns back to where he has taped a giant stencil to the concrete. It's an image of the three blind mice and Jongin isn't sure what to make of it.
He goes back to spraypainting for a couple minutes before he stops and says, "You're still here? You should go. I work alone and I don't do well with strangers."
Jongin knows his limits at least, even though he really would like to stay. The style this man uses is actually quite familiar to him but he finds himself unable to connect the dots.
So he leaves. And snow begins to fall in small, powdery flakes.
***
"The three blind mice?" Sehun asks as Jongin is passing a bucket of thick glue up to him atop a ladder.
"Yeah," Jongin says. "Do you know him?"
Sehun does a double take. "Know him?! Of course I know him. How do you not know him? Aren't you doing a documentary on street art?"
Jongin gives gives him a dry look, hands gripping the ladder for sehun so it doesn't shake. "Yes, I'm doing a documentary on street art. So what's the deal with this guy?"
Sehun snickers and turns back towards the wall he's applying his mosaics to. "He's only the most famous street artist of our time. He goes by D.O. but no one knows his real name. I've been lucky enough to chat with him a couple times. He's a genius."
"A genius?" Jongin echoes.
"Yeah," Sehun says, his voice strained as he tilts his head back to check his work. "The statements he makes in his art are some serious stuff. It's all deep stuff about government oppression and censorship and just the big ideas about life."
"How can I contact him?" Jongin asks, already deciding that he needs to film this D.O. guy no matter what.
"Contact him?" Sehun splutters. "You don't contact him. He's his own man. I doubt he would accept any help like me. Sorry, Jongin, but that's one thing I just don't think is going to happen."
***
But Sehun is wrong. Because not even three days later, Jongin is sitting all by himself in the corner of a pedestrian coffee shop when a slight figure in paint-splattered clothing falls into the armchair beside him.
"So, filming," this stranger begins and Jongin can't help the widening of his eyes as he looks up from the dim screen of his camera.
Jongin recognizes him immediately, except he is without the identity concealing mask this time. Instead, Jongin takes note of his thick pink lips and defined jawline.
"You're..." Jongin tries.
D.O. smiles a cordate smile. "Do Kyungsoo," he says, offering a hand.
Jongin takes it for the barest of seconds. Kyungsoo's fingers and palm are softly calloused, probably from a constant use of spray paint and brushes and other art tools that Jongin hasn't ever touched in his life.
"You mentioned something about filming me," Kyungsoo says. "And I've decided to agree to it."
Jongin's jaw drops. "Really?"
Kyungsoo's eyes sparkle with a silent mirth. "Yes. But only under certain conditions."
Jongin cannot wait to shove this in Sehun's face. "Okay," he agrees.
Kyungsoo continues. "You can only shoot me from the back- no face or defining characteristics. My hands are fine, but nothing more. Also, please only refer to me as D.O. Okay?"
If that's what he can get, Jongin decides that's fine with him. He agrees.
***
Jongin learns a lot about Kyungsoo very quickly. It's funny, he thinks, how much you can find out about out about a person by spending half your waking hours with them.
He gets accustomed even further to being up all hours of the night, passing tools to Kyungsoo and taking pictures and sequences of film.
He finds that when Kyungsoo paints, he paints using long, wide, continuous strokes that spread themselves across the walls like the ocean along the horizon; unavoidable and scarily fascinating. street art can warrant an arrest, but here they are, almost like partners in crime. Jongin is filming something illegal and to tell the truth, he's really not sure if this will give him a good grade or if he's going to be expelled for assisting in defacing city property.
But it doesn't really matter because Jongin begins to lose himself in climbing rooftops and billboards and hiding behind the camera as he captures Kyungsoo's back with his film.
***
"Sehun says your art makes a statement," Jongin says one night as they take a break from working for a while. They havent really conversed much and Kyungsoo still has him doing either menial work or just plain ignoring him. It's good for his assignment, but not for jongin himself.
"My art?" Kyungsoo echoes, turning to pull a metal thermos and two Styrofoam cups from his bag.
Jongin nods, fiddling with his camera.
"You must be mistaken," Kyungsoo says as he twists open the thermos with a squeak that fizzles in the chilly air. "The greatest statement I make isn't the content of my art, but the fact that what I do is illegal."
Apparently the thermos has hot chocolate in it because and few seconds later, Jongin is receiving a lazily steaming white cup
He sips it, letting the soft warmth seep through his tired bones. He hasn't gotten enough sleep in at least and couple weeks and it's beginning to take its toll. The traffic down on the street below is a white noise accompaniment to their conversation.
"Do you know what the definition of art is?" Kyungsoo asks suddenly and seriously.
Jongin has to think about it for a bit before shaking his head. "Isn't art just... art?"
Kyungsoo traces the rim of his cup with the finger that always has a tinge of spray paint. "Yes and no," he says. "In reality, art is much more complicated than we think. There are maybe twenty definitions for the word art alone. But my favorite definition is that art is 'something done or made to illicit an emotional response.' When I take a can of spray paint to an old wall, my art is the act of defiance, itself, not the product of my actions. Does that make sense?"
When Jongin looks over to him, Kyungsoo's eyebrow is arched to match his question.
Jongin nods and Kyungsoo looks back to his now-empty cup. "We should get working again," he says.
***
He's not sure how it happens but somewhere between all the painting and the gluing, illuminated by streetlights streetlights and tail lights, Jongin starts to see kyungsoo differently somehow.
He likes to think he knows who kyungsoo is, but really he doesn't. Not more than any other street artist might. And yet he finds himself wanting to know more about the person behind the big ideas and the boom surrounding street art.
Jongin starts to enjoy taking pictures of Kyungsoo. Only a couple, taken as Kyungsoo rummages through his collection of rainbow spray paints or as he's putting on his black safety mask, his head bent as he ties it in the back to fit. He likes when they come out in the dark room at the college, dripping wet and hung on thin clothesline for hours. He lines four or five up and leaves them hanging there.
And maybe it's something about Kyungsoo, himself that has Jongin staring at the pictures long after he should have stopped, taking in the shadow of his jaw and the line of his nose. He finds it fascinating.
***
“You're different,” Kyungsoo says with a soft glint in his eyes.
Jongin looks at him and his obsidian hair that reflects the blaring lights of the nightlife. “Different how?”
“You're daring," Kyungsoo lilts, eyes dancing. "Even more so recently."
Jongin thinks about how he climbs ledges higher than Kyungsoo would dare, with the excuse of trying for a better vantage point for his film. He finds he likes being up so high, where he can see the world sprawled below and Kyungsoo diligently pasting or painting, his hands covered in viscous pinkish glue and lines of colored paints.
The world is quiet and dark outside of their bubble of light, the city lit only by the artificial daylight of people afraid of the dark. Shadows cling to them up high on the rooftops and yet it's so bright.
Kyungsoo's profile is a mix of sharp edges and pillowy skin. “You've dared to do something that no one else has ever done," Kyungsoo continues quietly, silence clinging to the folds in his sweatshirt.
“Why do you bother?”
Jongin fiddles with his camera, pulling it apart and putting it back together, Kyungsoo's question drifts through his head aimlessly, nagging and asking, bringing about a crescendo of thoughts that continues to grow as Jongin stumbles inside his apartment in the long hours that exist between midnight and sunrise.
Kyungsoo runs through his mind and Jongin realizes the reason why he tries and its not for a big fat A to be an addition to his constantly stellar university performance.
Jongin falls asleep on paper sheets with the realization that he is inexplicably and unavoidably changed by Kyungsoo.
***
Kyungsoo kisses him on the cold night of Thanksgiving.
Jongin isn't expecting it, but it happens. It's chaste, and Kyungsoo's lips taste like the hot cocoa he brings in his thermos on the chilliest nights.
"I think I like you," Jongin whispers after it's over.
"Okay," Kungsoo says, round eyes looking up at Jongin with something he's never seen before. Then Kyungsoo sets down his Styrofoam cup and goes back to pasting up an image of a large face with covered eyes.
Jongin goes home that night, confused but with his lips tingling and a warmth in his chest that won't go away.
***
University days pass like waves along the side of a speeding boat; quickly and without recognition. Jongin's days are ruled by the fog of sleep. He begins skipping every class he can afford to, knowing he's in jeopardy of a failed grade but not caring enough. That time is ruled by editing and reviewing and just looking at the footage and photographs of Kyungsoo. He is fascinating and Jongin's admiration is unhealthy and strange.
But with the excitement and the fascination, it is something that is hard to give up.
***
They continue like that for quite a while. Jongin is loathe to admit that he gets used to Kyungsoo's kisses and the nonchalance with which he dispenses them.
They have an interesting relationship. They're sort of close and yet Jongin knows so little about Kyungsoo's background. He's not even sure where he's from or who his friends are.
But Kyungsoo doesn't ask him such things so he doesn't question kyungsoo either.
But he kind of wants to know.
***
Jongin is wrapping up for the night, his eyes beginning to feel heavy and bleary. He sits reviewing his footage on the screen of his camera, thumb pressing the pause button often. Kyungsoo is finishing up something on the wall of an alleyway.
He's almost to the end of the film when he hears a distinct "shit!" and his head shoots up.
There's an out of place red streak bleeding across the meticulous painting Kyungsoo has been working on. But worry floods Jongin when he sees Kyungsoo hunched over, clutching at his right wrist.
"Holy crap, are you alright?" is all he can ask, rushing to wrap an arm around Kyungsoo's shoulder- rushing to see if he's okay.
Kyungsoo breathes deeply underneath his palm, his left fingers whitening where they're squeezing around his bony wrist.
"I'm fine," he manages after a couple seconds pass of relative silence. "I just need to go home."
"I'll help you pack up," Jongin offers, still wanting greatly to ask what had happened, but his conscience preventing him from doing so.
***
The next few times he sees Kyungsoo, there is a thick black arm brace on his wrist and he takes a noticeably longer amount of time to finish everything because of it. Jongin doesn't mention that.
But Kyungsoo does. It's halfway through December and the witching hour has come and passed. Jongin stands close by Kyungsoo as he works, just watching him but not filming him. He finds it enjoyable because he's noticed Kyungsoo actually talks when he's without the camera.
Kyungsoo glances at him briefly, biting art the inside of his cheek. Then he speaks, his attention back on the image he's touching up.
"I have something called De Quervain's tendonitis," he says. "In my right hand."
Jongin blinks.
"I just figured you were curious," Kyungsoo adds.
Jongin let's it register in his mind. Tendonitis. "What is it?" he asks. "What does it do?"
Kyungsoo keeps painting the same spot over and over. "It's a condition where your muscles get easily inflamed from repeated movement. I'm not supposed to be painting, the doctor said, because it can make it worse."
Kyungsoo turns to him. "But I can't very well stop doing this art, can i? It's all I have. I was going to do this until I was eighty, be able to buy my own house and retire on art money. But I can't, you know? So I'm going to make art while I can."
Jongin doesn't know what to say. So he doesn't say anything. He just steps forward and holds Kyungsoo close until he feels his shoulders trembling and hot, wet tears soaking into the skin at his neck.
***
Kyungsoo is amazing, Jongin decides one night as he films his small figure slashing glue across high rooftops during the chill of the late evening. He still wears thin sweatshirts and ratty jeans, has glue and constantly clinging to his cuticles and the lines in his soft palms.
He's brighter these days, if only a little. His expressions are rather serene and while he doesn't say anything about the still intermittent (and now slightly more passionate) kisses, he's definitely friendlier now.
Every once in a while, he yanks his omnipresent hood insistently back over his head the second it slips, as if he's trying to hide from something. Jongin isn't sure it's the camera or Jongin, himself. But he still lets Jongin see his face; his wide eyes, his determined brow, his light laugh and loose smile. The world sees him as serious and withdrawn, but to Jongin and his camera he comes across as anything but.
***
He first sees Kyungsoo's studio one night when Kyungsoo invites him there instead of doing their usual rounds. It's a high-ceilinged warehouse with sections of different supplies.
Jongin films it, which means Kyungsoo's back is to him the whole time, his mask on and hood up just in case. But the camera catches the glue peeling from his fingers and the paint settling into every fiber of his being. From the camera's point of view, Kyungsoo could only be an artist.
Kyungsoo shows Jongin his sketches- thousands of them that sit in piles on old industrial shelves. He shares his process of transferring an image to a wall. Some of it is about glue, some is stenciling and spray paint, and some is both. Jongin is more interested in the way Kyungsoo's eyes sparkle as he talks than he is about the actual content of his words.
The tour ends in a small room with some fifteen cardboard boxes. Kyungsoo hefts one into the middle of the room and opens it to reveal- money. Tons and tons of it.
"This isn't real," Kyungsoo reassures almost immediately. "A couple years ago, a friend and I made all these bills as a joke. But when we started handing them out, we saw people actually using them so we stopped before the cops caught us."
Kyungsoo holds a bill under the light for the camera to see. "But we had changed Ben Franklin to the English queen, so they must not have been the smartest people."
Jongin takes one of the bills home that evening and pins it to his wall next to his calendar where he can see it as he edits the footage from the warehouse.
***
Jongin's life used to be a series of papers during late nights, coffee cup after coffee cup, rings on his mahogany desk and under his eyes.
But now it's sparkling lights, rolls and rolls of film that stack themselves up in box after box in his closet, hidden away from anyone's eyes but his own. It's the thick smell of glue, splotches of black ink that stain his clothes, Swiss Miss hot chocolate in a styrofoam cup, little marshmallows all but melted completely, twenty cans of rattling spray paint in a swimming rainbow of colors across the walls of state buildings, the ribs of rusted steel bridges, glossing over year-old billboards, or the weather-worn bricks of stores in the suburbs, snow still clinging to the mortar in frosty white clumps.
Now it's a tenacity and a determination he's never known to document something no one else has ever seen. It's aching arms and bruised knees, high buildings and ledges no man has ever climbed.
Now it's the flick of black bangs across a pale forehead, worn, baggy clothes, too big on a small figure who stands on his tiptoes and holds the magic of rebellion in his hands and in his heart. Now it's cordate lips that taste faintly of cheap cocoa and a smile, or hands that get too cold in the night air and need to be warmed by his own.
Now, it's Kyungsoo and now, it's living what he should have always been living.
***
"I have to leave for a little while," Kyungsoo says. It's New Years Eve Eve and Jongin looks up with a start.
"Why?" he asks, surprised.
Kyungsoo turns to him, taking his mask off with one hand.
"The cops almost caught me a couple days ago. I usually move from place to place to throw them off. But I haven't been. Your project is almost done, anyway, so I won't be needed anymore."
Jongin does a double take. "Not needed?" he repeats. "But didn't I tell you I liked you? Doesn't that mean you're needed?"
Kyungsoo's eyes go wide, but he says, "Jongin I don't think you understand, but I really need to go."
"Why?" is all Jongin asks.
Kyungsoo shakes his head silently. Then he stands and hurries from the roof.
Jongin can't bring himself to follow him because even though very little was said, he still feels like something inside him is breaking.
***
It's only after Kyungsoo has had to disappear for a while that Jongin realize how cold his life feels without him.
He can't shake his night owl habits now, so he stays up every night, the whole way through, trying to find some warmth in the familiarity of the rooftops he visits with his camera, filming the traffic passing below, letting his eyes shutter to half mast until the cars all blur together into one bright ribbon of running colors. He only retires once his battery has run dry and his eyes are begging to close. He only leaves when his physical limits outweigh his emotional emptiness, when his bright red nose and clammy fingers become too numb and noticeable that they take over the thoughts he has of Kyungsoo that flit through his mind like the images of him on his film.
The hot chocolate he drinks tastes bitter instead of sweet, cold even though it's warm to the touch. The big difference in his life before and after Kyungsoo is that he feels more alive now, he feels more emotions now, more emptiness, more life.
He begins developing photos again, letting the obsidian of the dark room wash over him, the smell of the chemicals, the triumph when his prints come out right. They're picture upon picture upon picture of Kyungsoo; Kyungsoo with his face illuminated by streaming red tail lights, by the orange glow of the setting sun, by the bright fluorescence of the office buildings and twenty four hour convenience stores. Kyungsoo with his back to the camera as he stretches up on his tip tip toes and tries his darndest to reach the top of his kinkos print, reaching his glue roller up as high as it will go or straining to reach the top of a stencil with his bright black paint, the can rattling and Kyungsoo's other hand holding a flimsy mask over his nose and mouth. Kyungsoo with his art spattering his face- drops of spray paint, lizard patches of glue-skin and filmy adhesive, a small ghost of 5 am shadow across his upper lip.
It's in that dark room that he lets himself miss Kyungsoo the most.
***
Jongin turns in his cinema project halfway through January. The teacher plays the projects in class and gets an A, but it feels insignificant to him when he doesn't have Kyungsoo to share it with.
Sehun approaches him after class, slinging a lanky arm around his shoulders. "I'm surprised you got D.O. to help you. You did a good job. And I looked pretty nice, myself."
Jongin makes some sort of noncommittal grunt and walks away.
He goes to the dark room and just sits.
***
Kyungsoo returns late on Valentine's day, just as the bell is tolling eleven down in the square. Jongin is on his third glass of the champagne some girl at school gave him, consuming it from a paper Dixie cup because he has no funds for fancy glass flutes.
Really, Jongin isn't expecting Kyungsoo at all but when the door to the rooftop creaks open, he can't help the hope that immediately floods his heart.
The sight of Kyungsoo is a surreal one and Jongin blinks blinks couple times, wondering if the champagne is really that potent.
Kyungsoo looks a little overtired, with the way his shoulders hunch forwards and how purple stains under his wide eyes. He's not wearing enough layers for the cold weather, but when does he ever dress appropriately.
"What are you doing here?" Kyungsoo asks as he steps forward.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," Jongin says, setting down his Dixie cup.
Kyungsoo shrugs. "I came back."
"I can see that," Jongin says quietly. "But why?"
Kyungsoo comes even closer. "I'm not good with feelings," he explains. "So I really didn't want to deal with mine, however cliché that sounds."
Jongin swallows thickly.
"Also, the cops really were after me," Kyungsoo chuckles. His voice sounds different- almost British.
"Where did you go?" Jongin asks.
"Back home," Kyungsoo says. "My adoptive parents live in London. I'll tell you about it later."
Jongin breathes out a sigh. "Really?"
Kyungsoo nods. "I don't tell you enough about myself. I figure I should start somewhere."
But Jongin isn't really listening anymore because his brain is finally processing that Kyungsoo is there with him, breathing and real. He looks a thousand times better in person than any picture Jongin could possibly take.
And he feels better as well, Jongin realizes as he touches a hand to Kyungsoo's cheek, watching as he breathes in sharply, his skin warming to a rose hue.
Jongin leans in to kiss him, because he really, really wants to.
"Wait," Kyungsoo says suddenly, bringing his hand up between their lips. His eyes search Jongin's in silence.
Kyungsoo's lips part and he says, "I like you too, Jongin."
So Jongin wrenches his hand away and kisses him, tasting the sweet chocolate and blooming emotions he's come to associate with Kyungsoo.
And the night city sighs with him.
Title: Megalopolitan
Genre: streetart!au
Rating: PG-13
Length: 5,202 words
Summary: The skyline is beautiful at night, with its shimmering lights and dancing noise. The busy city never seems to sleep because neither does he.
Notes: Thank you for your lovely prompts, prompter. I strayed a bit from the idea on this one, but I hope you still enjoy it.
Kyungsoo is sprawled across the four bleached walls of Jongins matchbox apartment. He fades in and out, pale complexion tinted by traffic lights and neon signs there in the room in photograph but not in reality.
Jongin runs a finger along the soft curve of Kyungsoo jaw, leaving his fingerprints glaring against glossy paper. This is his favorite picture- this one that feels almost like it isn't even real.
Jongin unpins the photograph, sinking to the floor and just taking it in.
He wonders when Kyungsoo will be back.
***
Jongin is a second year film student at a small university in the city.
He lives by himself in a quaint, sparsely furnished apartment, the walls whitewashed but the furniture inundated with memories. He's not home much because he's always working; working on school work, working on photography, working on short films, working for funds.
Jongin goes to classes every day at the university, taking a fifteen minute train both ways. His many school projects and little time cause him so many problems, the most pressing of which is currently his semester cinema assignment.
He wracks his brain day after day, staring at the Times New Roman twelve point font that mocks him in all its catastrophic glory, outlining requirements for his film to be.
He doesn't know what to do. How to approach the project, what theme to apply, should it be fiction or nonfiction, should he use a grainy camera or a clear camera? there are so many pieces that just refuse to fall into place.
So he goes to sleep on restless night after restless night, September slowly melding into October.
It's when Jongin is making his way through the maze of people littering the city pavements on a cold October day, clouds hanging low in the sky, weighty like the reminder of his approaching project proposal, that providence smiles down on him as if the clouds have parted for the barest of moments and beamed light down on his omnipresent worry. Suddenly colors are all he sees, the colors of the graffiti that cover the chipping mortar walls that he walks along every day and he wonders why he hadn't thought of it sooner because the answer is right there.
Jongin decides to make a film about street art.
***
Sehun is one of Jongins sort of on and off, “we only talk to each other in class because we have no one else to talk to” friends. He is also a burgeoning street artist (the sort of street art that splatters the sides of buildings and bridges, the sort of street art that he says is a thrill because you always have the threat of the police firing you because, yes, graffiti isn't legal, but it says something and sehun is a reckless freshman in college who wants the exploding behind the scenes fame that other street artists bathe in daily) and Jongin decides Sehun will be the best person to help him.
He approaches his classmate at a quiet cafe. Sehun is sitting at a round wooden table with a tattered sketchbook in front of him. The ear buds he's wearing do nothing to stop the sound of bass-heavy music from seeping into the jazz-ruled coffee house.
Jongin taps his shoulder as he peels off a thin army jacket.
"Kim Jongin," Sehun says, his gaze taking in Jongin' disheveled appearance. The stains under his eyes mirror the way Jongin knows he looks, himself.
Jongin invited himself to sit in the chair opposite Sehun. "I need your help."
Sehun blinks, like it's the last thing he expected Jongin to say, which it probably is. "You have the best grades in our class," he says slowly. "You ace every test. You're the teachers pet. What would you need my help with?"
Sehun says it sort of jokingly as he pauses his music, but there's still some sort of animosity behind his praising words.
"I want to do my cinema project on street art," Jongin says, fiddling with his camera. "You're the only person I know who has connections. Please."
Sehun studies him wordlessly.
"Look," Jongin says. "All I want is to help out a bit- carry stuff, hold ladders, distract the police, anything- in exchange for some footage for my documentary. That's all."
"You do know how dangerous such a thing is, right?" Sehun asks. "One slip up and the cops will be taking all your footage and using it against me, or anyone else you film. You'll probably flunk your class, at least."
Jongin swallows thickly. But he's stubborn and his mind is so set on this plan that he doesn't think he could even consider something else.
"I will do it," he tells Sehun. "No matter what you say, I'm going to do follow through with this."
Sehun sighs and reaches over to start his music again. "Fine, then. Meet me after dark in front of the south station."
Jongin smiles.
***
Jongin decides he loves the night life. He likes the cold tingle that stings his nose as the wind blows by, he likes the quiet back streets that Sehun has them stick to, he likes the adrenaline that pumps through his veins when a cop car pulls around the corner down the street and they have to do their best to look immediately inconspicuous.
Sehun drags him around through the city, taking premade mosaics rom his bag and motioning at Jongin to hand him the can of plaster.
Sehun makes small, tiled images that remind Jongin distinctly of '80s video games. He pieces them together and glues them up all over town. It's his own little brand of crazy street art.
While they're out, Jongin films everything. He turns his camera on streetlights and badly parked cars, rusted bridges covered in splashes of colorful graffiti and crumbling walls that still have yet to be touched. He films Sehun as his friend carefully lines up his tiles and pushes them into place.
Among Sehun' street art friends, he becomes the notorious shadow- somehow they all know of his existence even though he's never said a word to any one of them.
October passes into early November and Jongin finds himself falling more and more in love with the things that happen at night and less and less with what happens during the day.
***
Jongin meets Kyungsoo on the day of the first autumn snowfall.
He's on the way to meet Sehun for their nightly escapades when he sees a figure across the street, spray can rattling and moving across pale concrete walls.
Something makes him stop for a moment- maybe it's just the intrigue of a new artist to meet, but it probably also has something to do with his slight build and skilled strokes.
Jongin crosses the street.
The man looks up when he hears footsteps, a sort of cautiousness in his eyes, but also a low-burning flame of defiance.
He has paint-covered clothes and fingerless gloves but he looks nowhere near being dressed warmly enough for the temperature. A white, speckled face mask covers his nose and mouth and stops below round eyes tickled by raven bangs.
"What do you want?" he asks, voice muffled by the mask like he's under a layer of blankets.
Jongin's eyes flicker to his hand clutching at a can of black spray paint, the index finger dusted a faint grey like rain clouds have clustered around his fingertip.
"To film you," he replies truthfully, lifting his camera ever so slightly.
The stranger scoffs, his eyes twisting into amusement. "No," he says simply, and turns back to where he has taped a giant stencil to the concrete. It's an image of the three blind mice and Jongin isn't sure what to make of it.
He goes back to spraypainting for a couple minutes before he stops and says, "You're still here? You should go. I work alone and I don't do well with strangers."
Jongin knows his limits at least, even though he really would like to stay. The style this man uses is actually quite familiar to him but he finds himself unable to connect the dots.
So he leaves. And snow begins to fall in small, powdery flakes.
***
"The three blind mice?" Sehun asks as Jongin is passing a bucket of thick glue up to him atop a ladder.
"Yeah," Jongin says. "Do you know him?"
Sehun does a double take. "Know him?! Of course I know him. How do you not know him? Aren't you doing a documentary on street art?"
Jongin gives gives him a dry look, hands gripping the ladder for sehun so it doesn't shake. "Yes, I'm doing a documentary on street art. So what's the deal with this guy?"
Sehun snickers and turns back towards the wall he's applying his mosaics to. "He's only the most famous street artist of our time. He goes by D.O. but no one knows his real name. I've been lucky enough to chat with him a couple times. He's a genius."
"A genius?" Jongin echoes.
"Yeah," Sehun says, his voice strained as he tilts his head back to check his work. "The statements he makes in his art are some serious stuff. It's all deep stuff about government oppression and censorship and just the big ideas about life."
"How can I contact him?" Jongin asks, already deciding that he needs to film this D.O. guy no matter what.
"Contact him?" Sehun splutters. "You don't contact him. He's his own man. I doubt he would accept any help like me. Sorry, Jongin, but that's one thing I just don't think is going to happen."
***
But Sehun is wrong. Because not even three days later, Jongin is sitting all by himself in the corner of a pedestrian coffee shop when a slight figure in paint-splattered clothing falls into the armchair beside him.
"So, filming," this stranger begins and Jongin can't help the widening of his eyes as he looks up from the dim screen of his camera.
Jongin recognizes him immediately, except he is without the identity concealing mask this time. Instead, Jongin takes note of his thick pink lips and defined jawline.
"You're..." Jongin tries.
D.O. smiles a cordate smile. "Do Kyungsoo," he says, offering a hand.
Jongin takes it for the barest of seconds. Kyungsoo's fingers and palm are softly calloused, probably from a constant use of spray paint and brushes and other art tools that Jongin hasn't ever touched in his life.
"You mentioned something about filming me," Kyungsoo says. "And I've decided to agree to it."
Jongin's jaw drops. "Really?"
Kyungsoo's eyes sparkle with a silent mirth. "Yes. But only under certain conditions."
Jongin cannot wait to shove this in Sehun's face. "Okay," he agrees.
Kyungsoo continues. "You can only shoot me from the back- no face or defining characteristics. My hands are fine, but nothing more. Also, please only refer to me as D.O. Okay?"
If that's what he can get, Jongin decides that's fine with him. He agrees.
***
Jongin learns a lot about Kyungsoo very quickly. It's funny, he thinks, how much you can find out about out about a person by spending half your waking hours with them.
He gets accustomed even further to being up all hours of the night, passing tools to Kyungsoo and taking pictures and sequences of film.
He finds that when Kyungsoo paints, he paints using long, wide, continuous strokes that spread themselves across the walls like the ocean along the horizon; unavoidable and scarily fascinating. street art can warrant an arrest, but here they are, almost like partners in crime. Jongin is filming something illegal and to tell the truth, he's really not sure if this will give him a good grade or if he's going to be expelled for assisting in defacing city property.
But it doesn't really matter because Jongin begins to lose himself in climbing rooftops and billboards and hiding behind the camera as he captures Kyungsoo's back with his film.
***
"Sehun says your art makes a statement," Jongin says one night as they take a break from working for a while. They havent really conversed much and Kyungsoo still has him doing either menial work or just plain ignoring him. It's good for his assignment, but not for jongin himself.
"My art?" Kyungsoo echoes, turning to pull a metal thermos and two Styrofoam cups from his bag.
Jongin nods, fiddling with his camera.
"You must be mistaken," Kyungsoo says as he twists open the thermos with a squeak that fizzles in the chilly air. "The greatest statement I make isn't the content of my art, but the fact that what I do is illegal."
Apparently the thermos has hot chocolate in it because and few seconds later, Jongin is receiving a lazily steaming white cup
He sips it, letting the soft warmth seep through his tired bones. He hasn't gotten enough sleep in at least and couple weeks and it's beginning to take its toll. The traffic down on the street below is a white noise accompaniment to their conversation.
"Do you know what the definition of art is?" Kyungsoo asks suddenly and seriously.
Jongin has to think about it for a bit before shaking his head. "Isn't art just... art?"
Kyungsoo traces the rim of his cup with the finger that always has a tinge of spray paint. "Yes and no," he says. "In reality, art is much more complicated than we think. There are maybe twenty definitions for the word art alone. But my favorite definition is that art is 'something done or made to illicit an emotional response.' When I take a can of spray paint to an old wall, my art is the act of defiance, itself, not the product of my actions. Does that make sense?"
When Jongin looks over to him, Kyungsoo's eyebrow is arched to match his question.
Jongin nods and Kyungsoo looks back to his now-empty cup. "We should get working again," he says.
***
He's not sure how it happens but somewhere between all the painting and the gluing, illuminated by streetlights streetlights and tail lights, Jongin starts to see kyungsoo differently somehow.
He likes to think he knows who kyungsoo is, but really he doesn't. Not more than any other street artist might. And yet he finds himself wanting to know more about the person behind the big ideas and the boom surrounding street art.
Jongin starts to enjoy taking pictures of Kyungsoo. Only a couple, taken as Kyungsoo rummages through his collection of rainbow spray paints or as he's putting on his black safety mask, his head bent as he ties it in the back to fit. He likes when they come out in the dark room at the college, dripping wet and hung on thin clothesline for hours. He lines four or five up and leaves them hanging there.
And maybe it's something about Kyungsoo, himself that has Jongin staring at the pictures long after he should have stopped, taking in the shadow of his jaw and the line of his nose. He finds it fascinating.
***
“You're different,” Kyungsoo says with a soft glint in his eyes.
Jongin looks at him and his obsidian hair that reflects the blaring lights of the nightlife. “Different how?”
“You're daring," Kyungsoo lilts, eyes dancing. "Even more so recently."
Jongin thinks about how he climbs ledges higher than Kyungsoo would dare, with the excuse of trying for a better vantage point for his film. He finds he likes being up so high, where he can see the world sprawled below and Kyungsoo diligently pasting or painting, his hands covered in viscous pinkish glue and lines of colored paints.
The world is quiet and dark outside of their bubble of light, the city lit only by the artificial daylight of people afraid of the dark. Shadows cling to them up high on the rooftops and yet it's so bright.
Kyungsoo's profile is a mix of sharp edges and pillowy skin. “You've dared to do something that no one else has ever done," Kyungsoo continues quietly, silence clinging to the folds in his sweatshirt.
“Why do you bother?”
Jongin fiddles with his camera, pulling it apart and putting it back together, Kyungsoo's question drifts through his head aimlessly, nagging and asking, bringing about a crescendo of thoughts that continues to grow as Jongin stumbles inside his apartment in the long hours that exist between midnight and sunrise.
Kyungsoo runs through his mind and Jongin realizes the reason why he tries and its not for a big fat A to be an addition to his constantly stellar university performance.
Jongin falls asleep on paper sheets with the realization that he is inexplicably and unavoidably changed by Kyungsoo.
***
Kyungsoo kisses him on the cold night of Thanksgiving.
Jongin isn't expecting it, but it happens. It's chaste, and Kyungsoo's lips taste like the hot cocoa he brings in his thermos on the chilliest nights.
"I think I like you," Jongin whispers after it's over.
"Okay," Kungsoo says, round eyes looking up at Jongin with something he's never seen before. Then Kyungsoo sets down his Styrofoam cup and goes back to pasting up an image of a large face with covered eyes.
Jongin goes home that night, confused but with his lips tingling and a warmth in his chest that won't go away.
***
University days pass like waves along the side of a speeding boat; quickly and without recognition. Jongin's days are ruled by the fog of sleep. He begins skipping every class he can afford to, knowing he's in jeopardy of a failed grade but not caring enough. That time is ruled by editing and reviewing and just looking at the footage and photographs of Kyungsoo. He is fascinating and Jongin's admiration is unhealthy and strange.
But with the excitement and the fascination, it is something that is hard to give up.
***
They continue like that for quite a while. Jongin is loathe to admit that he gets used to Kyungsoo's kisses and the nonchalance with which he dispenses them.
They have an interesting relationship. They're sort of close and yet Jongin knows so little about Kyungsoo's background. He's not even sure where he's from or who his friends are.
But Kyungsoo doesn't ask him such things so he doesn't question kyungsoo either.
But he kind of wants to know.
***
Jongin is wrapping up for the night, his eyes beginning to feel heavy and bleary. He sits reviewing his footage on the screen of his camera, thumb pressing the pause button often. Kyungsoo is finishing up something on the wall of an alleyway.
He's almost to the end of the film when he hears a distinct "shit!" and his head shoots up.
There's an out of place red streak bleeding across the meticulous painting Kyungsoo has been working on. But worry floods Jongin when he sees Kyungsoo hunched over, clutching at his right wrist.
"Holy crap, are you alright?" is all he can ask, rushing to wrap an arm around Kyungsoo's shoulder- rushing to see if he's okay.
Kyungsoo breathes deeply underneath his palm, his left fingers whitening where they're squeezing around his bony wrist.
"I'm fine," he manages after a couple seconds pass of relative silence. "I just need to go home."
"I'll help you pack up," Jongin offers, still wanting greatly to ask what had happened, but his conscience preventing him from doing so.
***
The next few times he sees Kyungsoo, there is a thick black arm brace on his wrist and he takes a noticeably longer amount of time to finish everything because of it. Jongin doesn't mention that.
But Kyungsoo does. It's halfway through December and the witching hour has come and passed. Jongin stands close by Kyungsoo as he works, just watching him but not filming him. He finds it enjoyable because he's noticed Kyungsoo actually talks when he's without the camera.
Kyungsoo glances at him briefly, biting art the inside of his cheek. Then he speaks, his attention back on the image he's touching up.
"I have something called De Quervain's tendonitis," he says. "In my right hand."
Jongin blinks.
"I just figured you were curious," Kyungsoo adds.
Jongin let's it register in his mind. Tendonitis. "What is it?" he asks. "What does it do?"
Kyungsoo keeps painting the same spot over and over. "It's a condition where your muscles get easily inflamed from repeated movement. I'm not supposed to be painting, the doctor said, because it can make it worse."
Kyungsoo turns to him. "But I can't very well stop doing this art, can i? It's all I have. I was going to do this until I was eighty, be able to buy my own house and retire on art money. But I can't, you know? So I'm going to make art while I can."
Jongin doesn't know what to say. So he doesn't say anything. He just steps forward and holds Kyungsoo close until he feels his shoulders trembling and hot, wet tears soaking into the skin at his neck.
***
Kyungsoo is amazing, Jongin decides one night as he films his small figure slashing glue across high rooftops during the chill of the late evening. He still wears thin sweatshirts and ratty jeans, has glue and constantly clinging to his cuticles and the lines in his soft palms.
He's brighter these days, if only a little. His expressions are rather serene and while he doesn't say anything about the still intermittent (and now slightly more passionate) kisses, he's definitely friendlier now.
Every once in a while, he yanks his omnipresent hood insistently back over his head the second it slips, as if he's trying to hide from something. Jongin isn't sure it's the camera or Jongin, himself. But he still lets Jongin see his face; his wide eyes, his determined brow, his light laugh and loose smile. The world sees him as serious and withdrawn, but to Jongin and his camera he comes across as anything but.
***
He first sees Kyungsoo's studio one night when Kyungsoo invites him there instead of doing their usual rounds. It's a high-ceilinged warehouse with sections of different supplies.
Jongin films it, which means Kyungsoo's back is to him the whole time, his mask on and hood up just in case. But the camera catches the glue peeling from his fingers and the paint settling into every fiber of his being. From the camera's point of view, Kyungsoo could only be an artist.
Kyungsoo shows Jongin his sketches- thousands of them that sit in piles on old industrial shelves. He shares his process of transferring an image to a wall. Some of it is about glue, some is stenciling and spray paint, and some is both. Jongin is more interested in the way Kyungsoo's eyes sparkle as he talks than he is about the actual content of his words.
The tour ends in a small room with some fifteen cardboard boxes. Kyungsoo hefts one into the middle of the room and opens it to reveal- money. Tons and tons of it.
"This isn't real," Kyungsoo reassures almost immediately. "A couple years ago, a friend and I made all these bills as a joke. But when we started handing them out, we saw people actually using them so we stopped before the cops caught us."
Kyungsoo holds a bill under the light for the camera to see. "But we had changed Ben Franklin to the English queen, so they must not have been the smartest people."
Jongin takes one of the bills home that evening and pins it to his wall next to his calendar where he can see it as he edits the footage from the warehouse.
***
Jongin's life used to be a series of papers during late nights, coffee cup after coffee cup, rings on his mahogany desk and under his eyes.
But now it's sparkling lights, rolls and rolls of film that stack themselves up in box after box in his closet, hidden away from anyone's eyes but his own. It's the thick smell of glue, splotches of black ink that stain his clothes, Swiss Miss hot chocolate in a styrofoam cup, little marshmallows all but melted completely, twenty cans of rattling spray paint in a swimming rainbow of colors across the walls of state buildings, the ribs of rusted steel bridges, glossing over year-old billboards, or the weather-worn bricks of stores in the suburbs, snow still clinging to the mortar in frosty white clumps.
Now it's a tenacity and a determination he's never known to document something no one else has ever seen. It's aching arms and bruised knees, high buildings and ledges no man has ever climbed.
Now it's the flick of black bangs across a pale forehead, worn, baggy clothes, too big on a small figure who stands on his tiptoes and holds the magic of rebellion in his hands and in his heart. Now it's cordate lips that taste faintly of cheap cocoa and a smile, or hands that get too cold in the night air and need to be warmed by his own.
Now, it's Kyungsoo and now, it's living what he should have always been living.
***
"I have to leave for a little while," Kyungsoo says. It's New Years Eve Eve and Jongin looks up with a start.
"Why?" he asks, surprised.
Kyungsoo turns to him, taking his mask off with one hand.
"The cops almost caught me a couple days ago. I usually move from place to place to throw them off. But I haven't been. Your project is almost done, anyway, so I won't be needed anymore."
Jongin does a double take. "Not needed?" he repeats. "But didn't I tell you I liked you? Doesn't that mean you're needed?"
Kyungsoo's eyes go wide, but he says, "Jongin I don't think you understand, but I really need to go."
"Why?" is all Jongin asks.
Kyungsoo shakes his head silently. Then he stands and hurries from the roof.
Jongin can't bring himself to follow him because even though very little was said, he still feels like something inside him is breaking.
***
It's only after Kyungsoo has had to disappear for a while that Jongin realize how cold his life feels without him.
He can't shake his night owl habits now, so he stays up every night, the whole way through, trying to find some warmth in the familiarity of the rooftops he visits with his camera, filming the traffic passing below, letting his eyes shutter to half mast until the cars all blur together into one bright ribbon of running colors. He only retires once his battery has run dry and his eyes are begging to close. He only leaves when his physical limits outweigh his emotional emptiness, when his bright red nose and clammy fingers become too numb and noticeable that they take over the thoughts he has of Kyungsoo that flit through his mind like the images of him on his film.
The hot chocolate he drinks tastes bitter instead of sweet, cold even though it's warm to the touch. The big difference in his life before and after Kyungsoo is that he feels more alive now, he feels more emotions now, more emptiness, more life.
He begins developing photos again, letting the obsidian of the dark room wash over him, the smell of the chemicals, the triumph when his prints come out right. They're picture upon picture upon picture of Kyungsoo; Kyungsoo with his face illuminated by streaming red tail lights, by the orange glow of the setting sun, by the bright fluorescence of the office buildings and twenty four hour convenience stores. Kyungsoo with his back to the camera as he stretches up on his tip tip toes and tries his darndest to reach the top of his kinkos print, reaching his glue roller up as high as it will go or straining to reach the top of a stencil with his bright black paint, the can rattling and Kyungsoo's other hand holding a flimsy mask over his nose and mouth. Kyungsoo with his art spattering his face- drops of spray paint, lizard patches of glue-skin and filmy adhesive, a small ghost of 5 am shadow across his upper lip.
It's in that dark room that he lets himself miss Kyungsoo the most.
***
Jongin turns in his cinema project halfway through January. The teacher plays the projects in class and gets an A, but it feels insignificant to him when he doesn't have Kyungsoo to share it with.
Sehun approaches him after class, slinging a lanky arm around his shoulders. "I'm surprised you got D.O. to help you. You did a good job. And I looked pretty nice, myself."
Jongin makes some sort of noncommittal grunt and walks away.
He goes to the dark room and just sits.
***
Kyungsoo returns late on Valentine's day, just as the bell is tolling eleven down in the square. Jongin is on his third glass of the champagne some girl at school gave him, consuming it from a paper Dixie cup because he has no funds for fancy glass flutes.
Really, Jongin isn't expecting Kyungsoo at all but when the door to the rooftop creaks open, he can't help the hope that immediately floods his heart.
The sight of Kyungsoo is a surreal one and Jongin blinks blinks couple times, wondering if the champagne is really that potent.
Kyungsoo looks a little overtired, with the way his shoulders hunch forwards and how purple stains under his wide eyes. He's not wearing enough layers for the cold weather, but when does he ever dress appropriately.
"What are you doing here?" Kyungsoo asks as he steps forward.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," Jongin says, setting down his Dixie cup.
Kyungsoo shrugs. "I came back."
"I can see that," Jongin says quietly. "But why?"
Kyungsoo comes even closer. "I'm not good with feelings," he explains. "So I really didn't want to deal with mine, however cliché that sounds."
Jongin swallows thickly.
"Also, the cops really were after me," Kyungsoo chuckles. His voice sounds different- almost British.
"Where did you go?" Jongin asks.
"Back home," Kyungsoo says. "My adoptive parents live in London. I'll tell you about it later."
Jongin breathes out a sigh. "Really?"
Kyungsoo nods. "I don't tell you enough about myself. I figure I should start somewhere."
But Jongin isn't really listening anymore because his brain is finally processing that Kyungsoo is there with him, breathing and real. He looks a thousand times better in person than any picture Jongin could possibly take.
And he feels better as well, Jongin realizes as he touches a hand to Kyungsoo's cheek, watching as he breathes in sharply, his skin warming to a rose hue.
Jongin leans in to kiss him, because he really, really wants to.
"Wait," Kyungsoo says suddenly, bringing his hand up between their lips. His eyes search Jongin's in silence.
Kyungsoo's lips part and he says, "I like you too, Jongin."
So Jongin wrenches his hand away and kisses him, tasting the sweet chocolate and blooming emotions he's come to associate with Kyungsoo.
And the night city sighs with him.