(for bluedreaming) Wherever My Heart Touches (Wherever That Is), I Will Go [3/4]
Title: Wherever My Heart Touches (Wherever That Is), I Will Go
part two
Jongin was never a child that cried, because his mother could work emotions. The touch of her hands could calm him down, could make him forget every irritation and annoyance, every ache and fall.
He was never scared of the dark, because his father could turn invisible. Even when he couldn’t see his father, he pretended that his father was with them, and the shadows never seemed scary. All he had to do was call out, and his father would materialize and hold him close, sing away the monsters that crept out at night.
He remembers the children playing in the schoolyard, showing each other licks of flame and small globes of water, levitating rocks and stones, little faces furrowed in concentration.
“Jongin, show us what you can do!” the high voices would inevitably call to him, but he had nothing to show.
He was considered a late bloomer, though he knew some wondered if he’d ever show any kind of ability. He didn’t know himself.
It was a summer night, the fireflies glowing intermittently as Jongin watched from inside. Their fathers talked politics while their mothers divvied up the leftovers and mixed some cocktails, using Minseok to cool the drinks.
Minseok turned to Jongin and asked if Jongin wanted to catch fireflies. Minseok was so much older and mature, and Jongin wanted to be so much like him. He scampered away to get a jar.
Jongin jumped around ineffectually in the yard, slapping at the air with small, clumsy hands. “Not like that, Jongin,” Minseok said patiently. “You have to sneak up on them.”
He modeled the correct behavior and Jongin watched, but he felt a crackling surround his body, burying into his ears and snapping at his skin. “Jongin, are you paying attention?”
He saw Minseok staring at him in horror, mouthing his name, but he couldn’t really hear the words. “Jongin!”
And then he was in a different place. It was cold and windy and he wasn’t dressed for the weather and he wanted to go home. He called out, but no one heard.
His mother didn’t come to soothe his fears, and his father didn’t chase the monsters away. Even Minseok wasn’t there, to take the ice-shard of loneliness out of his heart. He only had himself.
Jongin doesn’t remember much more of this. He’s read the articles about the seeming feral boy who was found up north, who rehabilitated in the hospital for weeks while they tried to identify him, while his parents looked for him without a clue.
It was when his parents saw a televised conference presenting him to the public that they realized it was him.
He remembers the first time they met. His mother clasped her hand between his, crying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” but he wrenched his hand away so she couldn’t erase the ache in his chest.
In the night, he cried from the shadows cast by the monitors and the rolling tables in his hospital room, but he clamped his hands over his ears when his father tried to sing.
“They’re teaching him to control the teleportation, but he’s afraid,” he remembers hearing his parents say outside his hospital room. “He feels abandoned, and he doesn’t want to be, again.”
He sat up and waited. Minseok and his parents filed into the room. Minseok was a little taller, a little thinner. “Hey, long time no see,” Minseok said.
Jongin stared at the embroidery on the edge of the covers on his bed.
“I heard they don’t let you get out much,” Minseok said quietly. “It’s almost the season for fireflies again. I promise to take you as soon as they release you from the hospital.”
“Jongin?” his mother asked, alarmed. He realized he was crying. It happened sometimes - he cried and he didn’t know why.
“It’s okay,” Minseok said, waving his hand in front of Jongin’s face.
Minseok had turned the tears from his eyes into snowflakes, and made him smile as they stayed suspended, in the air.
Jongin remembers, curled up on the couch as he stares, not at the muted television, but the glowing numbers on the DVD player.
It’s late, and he’s called Minseok a couple of times, but Minseok hasn’t called back. He doesn’t know Tao’s number.
Minseok doesn’t usually stay out this late, not even if he does tell Jongin. Jongin closes his eyes and tries to fight the tidal wave that threatens to swallow him alive.
Somehow instead, he falls asleep. “Jongin,” he hears, and reluctantly claws his way to the surface. “Why aren’t you in bed?” It’s Minseok, concerned for the millionth time.
Tao stands behind him, expression inscrutable. It’s early morning.
“Waiting for you,” he mumbles, sitting up.
Alarm dawns on Minseok’s face. “Damn it, I didn’t send you a text?” He whips his phone out to check.
“We stayed at the gallery to finish something,” Tao says. He sways slightly, and there’s a sharp burn on the edge of his scent, a knife in the air.
They went drinking together, Jongin’s mind deduces, but Jongin pushes the thought out of his head.
“I’m sorry, Jongin,” Minseok says. Jongin wonders, and he feels like that’s all that he’s been doing nowadays, wondering.
The high school Jongin and Sehun attended was across town, so they often took the bus. It was usually packed with young office workers and other students heading back to the suburbs, so they always stood, swaying unevenly as they hung onto the straps hanging from the ceiling.
It was spring. Sehun had already been accepted into a school in the capital; his parents had been very excited. Jongin, on the other hand, had lined up a part-time job close to his house. His father shook his head, but the counselor had told his parents not to pressure him about it.
Jongin knew what the counselor had told his parents; he knew that his father had once questioned what was “wrong” with Jongin. He actively pushed the thought from his mind. It was awful enough to think that Sehun still hung out with him out of pity.
“What did you think of that physics test?” Sehun asked.
Jongin shrugged. “It was alright, I guess.” He’d studied. There was one question that had stumped him, and he had made a mental note so he could ask Sehun about it, but he had forgotten.
The silence between them was awkward, in contrast to the gurgling baby sitting in its mother’s lap in front of them and the loud grandmothers gossiping behind them. “I’m just glad it’s over,” Sehun said at last, and Jongin agreed.
They stopped at the train station, where a few women in pencil skirts got off. Sehun nudged Jongin closer to the front of the bus, where he found himself standing next to a guy wearing a baseball cap.
His hands were stuck in the pockets of a thin jacket, his chin dipping into its collar. He carried a dark backpack. Still, he looked somewhat older than them, from what Jongin could see of his face.
He was staring straight ahead, at a florist’s stand. Before their eyes, an earth worker waved his hands over the soil. The flowers bloomed in all kinds of colors. The florist smiled.
Jongin looked over at the stranger. Their eyes met, and it was like a punch to the stomach. “Min-?” Jongin asked.
The sound of the bus doors opening, an exhale of the hydraulics system, cut off his words. The guy quickly elbowed his way off the bus and descended the stairs. Jongin watched as he looked around, choosing a direction.
The bus driver pulled on the crank to close the doors. It was like watching himself in a dream; Jongin rushed forward and shouted, “Stop!” The bus driver let him off.
He stood on the sidewalk, peering over the crowd to find the man on the bus. “Jongin!” Sehun asked, irritably to his right. “Why did you have us get off here?”
Jongin blinked at him in surprise. “I didn’t think that you would get off with me.”
Sehun bristled and looked down at his shoes. “You didn’t think I’d let you go on your own, did you?” and for all Jongin had ignored Sehun in his own misery for the last few months, he was incredibly grateful to have a friend like him.
“Thanks,” he said, meaning it. Sehun brightened. “I think, I think this way,” Jongin decided, and Sehun hurried to catch up.
“What are you doing?” Sehun asked, but they turned a corner and could see the baseball cap drifting along down the street. “Who is that, Jongin?”
Jongin only said, “I think I know him,” before tugging Sehun along.
They followed the man through an arcade and an open-air market. He stopped at a few stands to appreciate candy and fruits, wallets and scarves, but chose nothing.
“My legs are going to fall off,” Sehun huffed.
Jongin snorted and Sehun poked him in the side. They laughed together, and it felt good.
The man kept walking, closer and closer to their part of town. Jongin’s hopes rose, and he wished that it was Minseok. It has been so long since Jongin had seen him - he never returned home once, not for holidays or the summer, always interning or working.
Jongin and Sehun ducked into an alley by a bakery, where the man went inside. “I hope he buys something this time,” Sehun said waspishly. They took turns looking through the murky glass windows.
The man asked for a bag of dinner rolls, and then took his time selecting a small pastry at the counter. The assistant packed it up for him to go.
Sehun and Jongin slinked back into the alley when he passed, but he stopped and glared into the shadows. Then he shook his head and left.
They emerged from the space between the buildings carefully. “Do you think he saw us?” Sehun asked, excited. “Do you-oh.”
They hadn’t noticed the man waiting for them, having bluffed walking away. He tilted up his cap, and from the way Sehun stopped, Jongin could tell that Sehun could recognize him.
Minseok grinned at the both of them. “Hello, Jongin, Sehun,” he said pleasantly. “It’s nice to see you. Please stop following me home, or you’ll ruin my surprise for later.”
Stymied, they watched him walk away. “That was your friend,” Sehun said. “Minseok? The one who was in high school?”
“He’s in university now,” Jongin said. “Well, he graduated.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Sehun said. Jongin gave him a look.
Later, when Jongin and his parents were sitting down at the table, Minseok’s mother and father urging them to help themselves, they heard a knock at the door. Jongin’s heart leapt into his mouth. He knew exactly who it was, but didn’t say anything as Minseok’s mother went to answer.
“Oh, oh!” she exclaimed after a moment. Minseok’s father got up from the table, and then they heard him laughing heartily. The door shut, and the three of them came into the room. It was then Jongin’s parents turn to greet Minseok, as if he were their own son.
Minseok smiled and presented his mother with the dinner rolls, expertly deflected questions of where he had been this whole time. “I got a weekend off,” he said. “It had been a while.
“Hey, Jongin,” he said suddenly, as Minseok’s father passed out fruit salad for dessert. Jongin was startled by the attention, having been content with sitting in the corner, watching Minseok’s mother pat Minseok’s hand. “I brought you this,” he said, and pushed the small pastry box to him.
He opened it to find a little cupcake, decorated with sprinkles and hearts. His cheeks grew red, looking at it. It was the kind that Minseok used to buy him in cafes, a snack after school.
“Oh, honey,” Minseok’s mother laughed, when she saw what it is. “I think Jongin’s a bit older than when you had seen him last.”
Jongin glanced up and at Minseok straight on, who blinked and then swallowed. “I guess so,” he said. “Sorry, Jongin.”
“I’m eighteen,” Jongin replied. The parents laughed. “Before, I wouldn’t have thought of sharing with you,” he said, “but now I’ll give you half.” He cut with the bread knife, passing a rough slice to Minseok across the table.
Jongin’s father watched mournfully, having been told to watch his sugar. Hence the fruit; his mother took the doctor’s orders literally.
“Thanks, Jongin,” Minseok said. “I won’t forget, next time.”
Jongin ducked his head and nodded, thrilled to hear the last two words. Next time.
The store is a mess when Jongin comes in. There’s a strange banging noise from the backroom, and a few customers are looking over the counter curiously. Jongin never rings up customers, except that one time Seohyun forced Junmyeon to go on bed rest and thus Jongin took a break from his deliveries. But Junmyeon doesn’t emerge, and so Jongin is forced to stand behind the register.
He tries to help the customers standing in line as best as he can. Junmyeon never comes, and he sighs in relief when the last one leaves the shop, the bell ringing behind him.
Junmyeon is on the phone with someone, trying to speak, but whoever it is keeps cutting him off. “We can still send the package-” he says at one point, but stops.
Jongin waits until he gets off the phone. Junmyeon shoves his hand through his hair, looking miserable. “There was a box I forgot to give you - remember, the one for America?”
He remembers - he was supposed to deliver it on the day of his and Minseok’s wedding anniversary, but Junmyeon had been kind and allowed him to go home early.
“This person paid express shipping and everything,” Junmyeon exhales. “But I forgot, and this person now says it’s too late to sent it, he doesn’t want it to be sent.”
Jongin is always terrible in situations like this. He feels terrible for the customer they let down, but also for Junmyeon, who looks wrecked.
“I think it was really important, but what can I do if they don’t want to send it anymore?” Junmyeon asks, but he’s not really asking Jongin.
Jongin delivers all the boxes he’s assigned. He doesn’t travel too far today, and he skips his break so he ends up leaving early. He feels bad about it, but Junmyeon is so down about the forgotten package that Jongin can’t face the idea of sitting across from him at lunch.
A lot of their packages that Jongin delivers are silly, or strange. Jongin has delivered strange vegetables and old rotary telephones, and once a little kitten that Junmyeon let out of the box while they waited to send it. He’s sure that Junmyeon has passed on certain requests, for Jongin’s safety or his own sanity. But sometimes, Jongin delivers clearly sentimental items, and he always tries to be extra delicate handling them.
So it really sucks when they make a mistake, and they can’t even bring the package late.
Junmyeon is in the front when Jongin materializes in the stockroom. He thinks of going home, but Minseok will be staying late with Tao in the gallery, of course - and he just doesn’t want to be alone again. He could ask Junmyeon if he needs any help, but everything looks clean and nice - Junmyeon’s been working hard to put the store to rights.
Junmyeon’s desk is piled with notes and post-its as always, but a large box sits on top. It has the special sticker that signals it’s for America, and Jongin realizes that this is the package.
He looks at the return address, then listens. Junmyeon is making small talk with a customer; he won’t notice that Jongin’s gone.
The space stream seems to sense his determination - the trip is faster than he expects. It’s a house in the countryside, glowing yellow lights above the garage in the dark. Jongin rings the bell.
“You’re the boy that picked up my package,” he hears, and is faced with a boy around his age, with deep circles under his eyes. He looks upset.
“I wanted-” Jongin begins, already with the sinking feeling that this is a mistake. “I know that Junmyeon told you that he could send this, but you said no. I wanted to come personally and ask you to change your mind-”
“And I haven’t. Sorry for making you come all the way out here,” the boy says.
Jongin is frustrated. “But that’s the thing, I’m a teleported,” he says. The boy’s eyes widen. “It’s not a long distance, it’s not a lot of trouble, so I would like to do this for you.”
Jongin feels like it is partially his fault, because Junmyeon didn’t have him deliver the parcel because of the wedding anniversary - and that night was nothing like Jongin hoped for, the start of this last set of disappointing weeks that seem to be racing a terrible conclusion completely apart from this particular delivery.
The boy sighs. “I was an idiot,” the boy interrupts in a rush of words. “I wanted to give this to a person very special to me, because he was going to leave, and I thought that maybe I could convince him not to go. But I was too afraid that he wouldn’t get it, that he’d just ignore what I meant. So I decided to send it, because it was less personal, less confrontation. I was afraid. And I had to send it before he left. But he never got the package, and he did leave.”
He looks worse now that he’s explained. “Okay?” he says. “I know you want to fix it, I know that you want to - I don’t know. But it’s already done, and it’s really my fault, not yours.”
Jongin thinks of Minseok, inexplicably. This would be the kind of thing that he would immediately go to Minseok to talk about, but Minseok isn’t there. He hasn’t been available, and they haven’t talked like that in a long time. He thinks of Tao instead, the ready resentment tinged with confusion curling inside of him, as always-
“I think,” he says, as the boy reaches out for the box, conversation clearly over, “I think I can do something. But I need to go ask someone for help.” Jongin pauses. “I promise to bring this back to you, if it doesn’t work, okay. But I think it will work.”
The boy looks at him. “You’re that kid that was stuck in the woods when you were thirteen or something, right?”
Most of the time, Jongin cringes when people ask. But he thinks that it will make this boy trust him, and he needs that, not only to keep the package right now but also for the strength to do what he needs to do next. “There aren’t many teleporters my age,” he admits. “My name’s Jongin.”
“Baekhyun,” the boy says. He watches as Jongin calls the space continuum to whisk him away. The last thing Jongin sees is the expression of delight on his face.
He hopes that he can bring it back permanently.
Minseok didn’t buy him cupcakes after the first time, but he did treat Jongin to bubble tea again. “You’re never too old for bubble tea,” he said sternly.
Jongin protested, not wanting Minseok to treat him. He didn’t have much money of his own to cover their - dates.
Jongin didn’t have another word to describe it. It wasn’t much different from their after school meet-ups, but now Jongin was older, and it seemed like everything changed.
Or maybe Jongin just blushed more easily now. Minseok was always asking Jongin what he was thinking about, but Jongin just shook his head.
Minseok explained that he could come home more because his internship was ending and it was his senior year - he didn’t have many exams, and he had finished his portfolio.
“I just need to apply to jobs,” Minseok said. Then he laughed. “I just need to - who am I kidding. That’s going to be the toughest thing yet.”
Jongin stirred the base of his drink while Minseok talked about his first year class, where his professor had the students pitch a proposal for a thesis project. “If he liked it, you got an A,” Minseok said. “If he didn’t, well, you failed.”
“But you got an A,” Jongin said.
Minseok tucked his chin inside his jacket. “Well-” As if anything else would be expected from Minseok, Jongin thinks.
“They said you’re not going to university,” Minseok said suddenly. Jongin tensed. “Are you going to take summer-”
“I don’t know what I want to do,” Jongin interrupted, before Minseok got the impression that Jongin was stupid, like the other kids in Jongin’s class. “So, I’m just going to work. And think about it.”
Minseok regarded him carefully. “Art history - no one expected me to do that,” he said at last. Jongin remembered Minseok’s parents cheering at his report card. The school Minseok attended was known for its architecture program. “But I took a creative arts class my first semester, and I met some people-”
Jongin wondered who Minseok’s friends were, and what they were like.
“-and I changed my mind. And if I change my mind when I’m forty, that’s okay, too,” Minseok said. “You don’t have to be who people expect you to be. Just a generally kind person, that’s nice.”
Jongin thought of the papers, the articles he read late at night when his parents were asleep. They speculate on where the “Miracle Boy” is, what he’s doing. “Wherever he is,” Jongin once watched a news anchorman say, “he’s already entered our collective consciousness. He’s a staple of the decade - he won the hearts and minds of so many people as they prayed for him in the hospital to get better. And just by recovering, he became an inspirational story to us all. Whatever he’s doing, it’s already amazing, because of what’s happened to him before.”
Jongin had wondered if that was what the anchor would say if he knew that Jongin was an aimless convenience store casher-to-be.
“I try to be good,” Jongin said. “I refrain from punching Sehun - that should fulfill that requirement,” and Minseok’s eyes crinkled.
Jongin thinks of that particular exchange as he hides the package in his coat, shouting goodbye to Junmyeon as he leaves. Junmyeon will probably be suspicious, because Jongin is never that exuberant. But Jongin quickly pedals away.
He nearly crashes into the glass of the gallery, but the motion itself is enough to cause Tao to look up. “What the hell are you doing?” Tao asks, crossing over to the door to hold it open.
“I need you to help me,” Jongin says, without precursor, “to deliver this package.” He pulls it out, but Tao barely looks at it.
Instead, he goes back to the photo that he is painstakingly fitting into its frame. “To what, drive the truck?”
“No,” Jongin says. “It’s an important package that wasn’t delivered in time, and it’s caused a lot of trouble for the sender. I need you to bring me back to when it was supposed to be delivered, so I can bring it to the recipient.”
Tao puts down the frame and looks at him. “What?”
“I was supposed to deliver this to a person in America, a few weeks ago,” Jongin explains hurriedly. It’s frustrating to explain, when he’s so close to fixing this for Junmyeon and Baekhyun. “I need you to bring me back to then.”
“We’re not in America, though,” Tao points out, voice rising in bewilderment. “I could bring you back” -and Jongin is so relieved, because Tao is actually considering it- “but you’d still have to travel to America. I don’t know how you could account for that-”
“I can handle that,” Jongin interrupts. Tao’s brow furrows. “But if you can take me back, then please, can you do it?”
Tao looks down at the table, and it’s quiet for a moment. Jongin knows exactly what he’s asking for, and how intimate it is, but he can’t help it, not after seeing Baekhyun’s face. “I can handle it,” he says at last, not in the least way mocking like it might have been before.
“Now?” Jongin asks.
Tao laughs, as if overwhelmed. “You’re - I think you’re crazy, worse than me. Yes, yes, we can go now.” He goes into the studio and pulls on his coat, and then they leave the gallery, locking it behind them.
“Where’s Minseok?” Jongin feels guilty for not asking before.
“He went to get something,” Tao answers, distractedly. “How - how are you going to get to America?”
Jongin leads them to outside the town, to a little hill where he appeared from traveling in space and Junmyeon had seen him, approached him in amazement. It’s a mostly secluded place - he had claimed the spot as his own for months before Junmyeon passed by. “I’ll show you, but first I need you to bring me back to the date written on the package.”
He passes the box to Tao, who examines it carefully. “I’m coming with you, of course,” Tao says, taking his hand and facing him. Jongin is surprised at the close contact, and it must show because Tao blushes and says defensively, “I haven’t done this before. I’ve only taken Minseok along, before.”
“It’ll be okay,” Jongin says, and then backpedals, because since when has he or Tao said such things to each other?
It’s what’s needed to snap Tao out of his reverie, though. He grins and says, “Of course.”
Suddenly, they’re not on the hill anymore. Or rather, they are - Jongin can sense it peripherally, in the way that he can feel the grass under his worn sneakers and the slope of the earth underneath him. But all around him is a sticky stream, a humid mess. There’s so much information, and Jongin can only capture glimpses of it out of the corner of his eye, but it’s enough to overwhelm him.
He feels like he’s stuck in quicksand, slowly sinking. But Tao’s hand tightens on his wrist. “It feels strange at first,” Tao says. “But I’ve got you, okay? Stay with me.”
He mumbles, and Jongin strains to hear until he realizes that Tao is no longer talking to him, but to the - time stream. That’s what it is, the molasses current that Minseok had described so long ago, it seems. It’s nothing like the space current, which isn’t particularly disconcerting in itself. But it doesn’t feel like teleporting either.
But then Tao brushes against him, and he is reminded of how painfully personal this must be for him. Jongin knows that the time stream isn’t the reason that Jongin can feel emotions, radiating from Tao himself: fear and resentment and contentment - and something else that makes Jongin himself afraid and perplexed. It’s simply the proximity of Tao, the ability to read his body language after how long he’s stayed with Jongin and Minseok.
“Jongin, open your eyes,” Tao says. They’re still on the hill, but it’s cooler, rainy. A wind slips into his hair and musses it. Tao is there, when he opens his eyes.
He’s there, and he kisses Jongin. His hands wrap around Jongin’s torso, and Jongin leans in. Their lips together, and this time it is a natural progression. Minseok doesn’t - can’t - interrupt, and Jongin remembers but doesn’t stop himself. Tao stares at him, when they pull away from each other for breath, but Jongin can’t say anything right now.
There’s nothing really to say. Jongin is a terrible person, who wants two people. And he can’t have that; he knows he has to choose.
There’s a noise like a bike horn, and Tao pulls Jongin behind some bushes. “Come on, or someone will see us,” Tao says.
Jongin can hear the whirring of the wheels before he sees himself, eagerly flying along the road home. It’s the day of the wedding anniversary, he realizes. “You brought us back a little earlier,” Jongin says.
“You remember that day?” Tao asks. They both watch the past Jongin as he disappears beyond the turn of the road.
“Are there problems if we see our past selves?” Jongin asks.
Tao laughs a little. “I’ve talked to myself before,” he says, and his voice sounds a little strange. “But you’d probably think it weird, wouldn’t you, if you talked to yourself? But there aren’t any huge ramifications or anything. Just a little messy, and I don’t think you have time for messy right now.”
At that, Jongin turns to Tao briskly and says, “It’s my turn now.” He quickly checks them both over, making sure that nothing is out of place, nothing is missing - it is easy for people with powers like them to move through their respective continuums and leave part of themselves elsewhere. But they are both whole, and the package is still tucked between them.
Tao is still holding his hand.
A bus drives down the road and appears to slow down before them, the driver checking to see if they need a ride.
“I’ve never done this before,” Jongin confesses.
“What?” Tao asks. “Hitched a ride with a time traveler and then asked him for bus fare to America?”
Jongin frowns at him while he snickers. “I’m not an idiot,” he says, waving the bus off. “You can’t take a bus to America. I’ve never shown anyone my ability before, that’s what I mean.”
“And what is it, Jongin?” Tao says, deceptively calm. “Because I’ve taken you this far, and I’m starting to have doubts that you even know-”
Jongin brings them both into the space stream, before he loses it and does something to Tao instead. Kiss him or kill him, Jongin is torn, and he really doesn’t want to decide.
Tao immediately stops talking, and Jongin takes a moment to appreciate it through his unexperienced eyes. The crackle and snap of the coiling energy around him; the brightness and cool electricity as compared to the time continuum.
“What is this?” Tao asks, but Jongin is already calling out. Tao twists in his grasp, but Jongin holds on tightly, and only lets go when he feels his feet on steady ground again.
He hears a thwump, which must be Tao falling on his butt.
“I didn’t fall when we traveled in time,” Jongin says.
“Good for you,” Tao says, sounding far away and discombobulated. He gets up and looks around, stares at the country road they’ve come to. Jongin has a feeling that they are not so far from Baekhyun’s house. “Where - what did you do?”
“I teleported us,” Jongin says, simply. “We traveled through space, to America.”
Tao looks around. “Indeed,” he says. Jongin is afraid he’ll say something else, but instead: “You sure you brought us to the right address?”
Jongin really wants to punch him. “Yes,” he says, rolling his eyes, and starts up the driveway.
At the door, Tao rings the doorbell twice in succession, obnoxiously. Jongin gives him a look. “What?” Tao asks innocently.
The door swings open before Jongin can answer. “Hey,” a boy says, looking at them both curiously.
Tao looks back, interested even though he’s green. Jongin interjects before he gets flashbacks of Jongdae. “Delivery for Zhang Yixing,” he says.
Tao snorts into his sleeve. Jongin wonders why it is so hard for Tao to just behave.
“Thanks,” Yixing says, accepting the package.
A familiar boy appears behind him in the entry, eyes large. Jongin freezes, but it’s too late. It’s not like Baekhyun recognizes him, but-
“Yixing,” Baekhyun says, looking up at Jongin in horror. “That package wasn’t supposed to come until-”
“Early surprise?” Tao says, clearly catching on. Jongin elbows him in the side so he doesn’t make it worse than it is.
“Baekhyun, you sent this to me?” Yixing says. “But this kind of delivery service is expensive! Why didn’t you just give it to me personally?” He bends down to open the box.
“Well,” Baekhyun says. Yixing lifts out a book, opening to a page. Whatever he sees makes him look back up at Baekhyun, who takes a deep breath before a whole torrent of words pours out. “I couldn’t tell you, I thought you didn’t feel the same way. So I sent it, so if you didn’t feel that way, you could just pretend that you never got it-”
He stops talking when Yixing throws his arms around him. “It’s not fair to tell me this, when I’m about to leave,” he says.
“I know,” Baekhyun says, a sharp cut to his voice, but it’s not unfriendly. “It’s okay if you still have to go.”
“No,” Yixing says. “I’m not going to go.” He kicks the door shut in Jongin and Tao’s faces.
For a moment, they stand on the step, shocked. Then Jongin groans. “I didn’t get a signature, again.”
“What kind of delivery man are you?” Tao asks, good-naturedly.
Jongin steps on his foot in revenge. He only tries to be good, after all.
Once Minseok returned home, the dinners with their parents became a routine. The houses alternated, but each time Minseok and Jongin would leave their parents at the table and take a walk by themselves.
Jongin didn’t fail to notice the way their mothers always looked at them eagerly; he ignored the hope in his mother’s eyes. His father had already tried to have an encouraging conversation with Jongin about Minseok. He suggested that Minseok was a good role model and a positive influence, and said everything except what his mother had probably wanted his father to hint at - except Jongin could tell the real meaning behind the conversation by the blush his father couldn’t quite get over.
Jongin had nodded and commented at the appropriate times, allowing his father to escape with some shred of dignity.
He didn’t know if Minseok had the same conversations with his parents. Minseok was never awkward, not like Jongin was, or became even more so after one afternoon when his mother had hinted that adoption was a perfectly fine way of granting her the grandchildren she had always wanted.
Minseok didn’t mind that Jongin blushed at random moments, because he was clearly thinking of things that they were not even talking about. He didn’t mind that sometimes Jongin fell silent for long periods of time, because he was searching for something to say so long that the conversation fell apart by the time he found some witty response.
Minseok just walked, with that comfortable gait and sure direction of someone who always knew the path to where they wanted to go. Jongin couldn’t stop staring; only partially because he was envious of that particular quality.
They didn’t talk about much, because Jongin’s days were pretty empty. There was always strange things happening at the convenience store - odd customers, weird coworkers coming and going - but Jongin was never confident enough to tell Minseok about what went on. He figured it would be pretty boring for someone else to hear.
And besides, Minseok was probably distracted by the job interviews he was currently attending. He had told Jongin about his art, but never showed him it when Jongin had unthinkingly asked. Minseok had chuckled uncomfortably and said that he wasn’t quite done with the work yet; Jongin had shriveled inside for asking so presumptuously. It wasn’t like Jongin would have understood Minseok’s art if he had seen it, so it had been silly to ask.
But he explained, in the meantime while he was working on his portfolio, he needed to get a job. Minseok had applied for literally everything - curator, fashion buyer, teaching assistant at a university. The decision of an art degree was probably not the best or most lucrative, Minseok had said, but he looked content.
It was in those moments that Jongin felt even more paralyzed than before.
They stopped at the park where they used to play soccer together, a few years before. This time, they sat under the old tree by the long dried-up fountain.
“I heard the town is closing this place,” Minseok offered.
“Yes,” Jongin said. There had been a small initiative to save the playground, but less and less parents were taking their children to this particular park. There were just less young families in the area.
Jongin’s mother had sighed when she read the headline in the local paper. “I always imagined you bringing your kids back to that playground when you came to visit us once in a while,” she said.
Jongin had spit out his chocolate milk at the thought.
“It was fun, playing with you here,” Minseok said. “I missed that, when I went away.” He laughed. “It was weird, not having large open fields there. The parks in the city are all small and cramped, and there are paved roads cutting through everywhere.”
“It doesn’t sound like much of a place for children,” Jongin said. “Too many safety hazards.”
Minseok leaned his head close to Jongin’s. “Well, this place won’t be one much longer.” When Jongin turned his head to reply, Minseok kissed him instead.
This wasn’t anything new between them. Somewhere between “Jongin’s a bit older” and bubble tea, this had - developed. Jongin didn’t remember their first kiss - he had wished for so long that it had been like a dream, and no one ever remembers the good dreams they have, only the nightmares.
He only remembered, with the lucidity of a smudged edge of a worn handkerchief, wanting to kiss Minseok so much that he did. And Minseok hadn’t stopped at all, but only chased his mouth in return, saying afterwards, “Me, too, Jongin.”
It felt different, that night, considering that they were in a place that would no longer exist in a few weeks. It was a bit trippy to think about. Minseok seemed to understand that as well, pulling Jongin down until he was lying on the grass, Minseok’s shoulder pillowing his head.
The stars were bright, the sky a pale shade of gray. Jongin pointed out the few constellations that his father had taught him, when singing no longer worked in the dark. “There’s the Dipper,” he had said. “And Orion’s belt. All these people in the sky, watching you so nothing will ever happen to you.”
It had been mildly comforting, until Jongin had learned that it was all myths. Still, Minseok seemed to appreciate it. When at last Jongin trailed off, Minseok said, “Hey, Jongin,” and kissed him.
Jongin kissed back, relishing the smooth easy glide of their lips, which was mostly Minseok’s doing. Jongin could barely coordinate his limbs not to elbow Minseok in the side when Minseok attempted to roll out from under Jongin. But Minseok just huffed a laugh, and Jongin curled his arms around him looser.
Minseok pulled back. “You can hold me tighter,” he said smiling, but he was serious. Jongin wanted to disappear into the ground, the way Minseok could see his insecurities so easily. “I want you to.”
“Okay,” Jongin said. “But you have to kiss me again first.” Minseok’s breath bloomed over Jongin’s mouth before they met again, heady and strange but Jongin wanted more and more. He propped a leg up to the side, letting Minseok press closer.
“Jongin, Jongin, can I do something else?” Minseok asked, and then he was fumbling with the zipper of Jongin’s pants. The air caught in Jongin’s throat the first time Minseok touched him, and he couldn’t help the noise he made.
“You okay?” Minseok asked, concerned. Jongin could only give him an incredulous look, for saying that so earnestly while holding Jongin’s cock in one hand: only Minseok.
He was relieved when Minseok turned his attention to stroking Jongin’s cock, long slow pulls that quickly drove Jongin to writhing and small yelps. He couldn’t stop his hips from jerking up into Minseok’s arm.
Minseok shifted his weight slightly so his hip pinned down one of Jongin’s. He seemed intent on watching the precome bead at the slit, swiping at it to smear it down the sides. He did that several times before wrapping his fingers around Jongin’s cock again, this time moving faster.
“Minseok,” Jongin whimpered. Minseok rubbed a little, under the head, noting the most sensitive spot by the intensity of Jongin’s moan. He dragged his nail, up and down, then back up to that spot, pressing his fingers against it. “Minseok,” Jongin said, a little louder.
Minseok leaned into him, and Jongin caught his mouth, kissing sloppily, open mouthed. Minseok gave up all pretense of teasing, instead allowing Jongin to buck up into the circle of his fingers while keeping his own pace.
He ground down against Jongin, the roughness of his jeans almost too much for Jongin’s skin. He rubbed his thumb under the head again, and leaned back. “Come for me, Jongin,” he said.
Jongin’s back arched as he cried out, striping Minseok’s hand. It took some time for his breathing to return to normal, while Minseok cleaned them up and tucked Jongin back into his pants.
“Hyung, you didn’t-” Jongin said in a raspy voice, scrabbling at Minseok’s fly.
Minseok pulled his hand away. “Not now,” he said. “You can owe me one, for later.” He kissed Jongin, deep and slow, pressing Jongin back into the ground. Jongin tried to mirror him, kiss him back the same way, with the same emotion.
He pulled back, eyes glassy. Minseok was no better. “You were so pretty when you came,” Minseok said, and Jongin’s cock twitched in his pants. He had to stifle his groan in the side of Minseok’s neck.
Minseok only laughed.
Jongin looked up at Minseok, smiling at him the way he always did, as if he hadn’t just jerked Jongin off. He wondered who else had gotten to see this side of Minseok - he thought to himself that he would never want to share it with anyone else.
part four
part two
Jongin was never a child that cried, because his mother could work emotions. The touch of her hands could calm him down, could make him forget every irritation and annoyance, every ache and fall.
He was never scared of the dark, because his father could turn invisible. Even when he couldn’t see his father, he pretended that his father was with them, and the shadows never seemed scary. All he had to do was call out, and his father would materialize and hold him close, sing away the monsters that crept out at night.
He remembers the children playing in the schoolyard, showing each other licks of flame and small globes of water, levitating rocks and stones, little faces furrowed in concentration.
“Jongin, show us what you can do!” the high voices would inevitably call to him, but he had nothing to show.
He was considered a late bloomer, though he knew some wondered if he’d ever show any kind of ability. He didn’t know himself.
It was a summer night, the fireflies glowing intermittently as Jongin watched from inside. Their fathers talked politics while their mothers divvied up the leftovers and mixed some cocktails, using Minseok to cool the drinks.
Minseok turned to Jongin and asked if Jongin wanted to catch fireflies. Minseok was so much older and mature, and Jongin wanted to be so much like him. He scampered away to get a jar.
Jongin jumped around ineffectually in the yard, slapping at the air with small, clumsy hands. “Not like that, Jongin,” Minseok said patiently. “You have to sneak up on them.”
He modeled the correct behavior and Jongin watched, but he felt a crackling surround his body, burying into his ears and snapping at his skin. “Jongin, are you paying attention?”
He saw Minseok staring at him in horror, mouthing his name, but he couldn’t really hear the words. “Jongin!”
And then he was in a different place. It was cold and windy and he wasn’t dressed for the weather and he wanted to go home. He called out, but no one heard.
His mother didn’t come to soothe his fears, and his father didn’t chase the monsters away. Even Minseok wasn’t there, to take the ice-shard of loneliness out of his heart. He only had himself.
Jongin doesn’t remember much more of this. He’s read the articles about the seeming feral boy who was found up north, who rehabilitated in the hospital for weeks while they tried to identify him, while his parents looked for him without a clue.
It was when his parents saw a televised conference presenting him to the public that they realized it was him.
He remembers the first time they met. His mother clasped her hand between his, crying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” but he wrenched his hand away so she couldn’t erase the ache in his chest.
In the night, he cried from the shadows cast by the monitors and the rolling tables in his hospital room, but he clamped his hands over his ears when his father tried to sing.
“They’re teaching him to control the teleportation, but he’s afraid,” he remembers hearing his parents say outside his hospital room. “He feels abandoned, and he doesn’t want to be, again.”
He sat up and waited. Minseok and his parents filed into the room. Minseok was a little taller, a little thinner. “Hey, long time no see,” Minseok said.
Jongin stared at the embroidery on the edge of the covers on his bed.
“I heard they don’t let you get out much,” Minseok said quietly. “It’s almost the season for fireflies again. I promise to take you as soon as they release you from the hospital.”
“Jongin?” his mother asked, alarmed. He realized he was crying. It happened sometimes - he cried and he didn’t know why.
“It’s okay,” Minseok said, waving his hand in front of Jongin’s face.
Minseok had turned the tears from his eyes into snowflakes, and made him smile as they stayed suspended, in the air.
Jongin remembers, curled up on the couch as he stares, not at the muted television, but the glowing numbers on the DVD player.
It’s late, and he’s called Minseok a couple of times, but Minseok hasn’t called back. He doesn’t know Tao’s number.
Minseok doesn’t usually stay out this late, not even if he does tell Jongin. Jongin closes his eyes and tries to fight the tidal wave that threatens to swallow him alive.
Somehow instead, he falls asleep. “Jongin,” he hears, and reluctantly claws his way to the surface. “Why aren’t you in bed?” It’s Minseok, concerned for the millionth time.
Tao stands behind him, expression inscrutable. It’s early morning.
“Waiting for you,” he mumbles, sitting up.
Alarm dawns on Minseok’s face. “Damn it, I didn’t send you a text?” He whips his phone out to check.
“We stayed at the gallery to finish something,” Tao says. He sways slightly, and there’s a sharp burn on the edge of his scent, a knife in the air.
They went drinking together, Jongin’s mind deduces, but Jongin pushes the thought out of his head.
“I’m sorry, Jongin,” Minseok says. Jongin wonders, and he feels like that’s all that he’s been doing nowadays, wondering.
The high school Jongin and Sehun attended was across town, so they often took the bus. It was usually packed with young office workers and other students heading back to the suburbs, so they always stood, swaying unevenly as they hung onto the straps hanging from the ceiling.
It was spring. Sehun had already been accepted into a school in the capital; his parents had been very excited. Jongin, on the other hand, had lined up a part-time job close to his house. His father shook his head, but the counselor had told his parents not to pressure him about it.
Jongin knew what the counselor had told his parents; he knew that his father had once questioned what was “wrong” with Jongin. He actively pushed the thought from his mind. It was awful enough to think that Sehun still hung out with him out of pity.
“What did you think of that physics test?” Sehun asked.
Jongin shrugged. “It was alright, I guess.” He’d studied. There was one question that had stumped him, and he had made a mental note so he could ask Sehun about it, but he had forgotten.
The silence between them was awkward, in contrast to the gurgling baby sitting in its mother’s lap in front of them and the loud grandmothers gossiping behind them. “I’m just glad it’s over,” Sehun said at last, and Jongin agreed.
They stopped at the train station, where a few women in pencil skirts got off. Sehun nudged Jongin closer to the front of the bus, where he found himself standing next to a guy wearing a baseball cap.
His hands were stuck in the pockets of a thin jacket, his chin dipping into its collar. He carried a dark backpack. Still, he looked somewhat older than them, from what Jongin could see of his face.
He was staring straight ahead, at a florist’s stand. Before their eyes, an earth worker waved his hands over the soil. The flowers bloomed in all kinds of colors. The florist smiled.
Jongin looked over at the stranger. Their eyes met, and it was like a punch to the stomach. “Min-?” Jongin asked.
The sound of the bus doors opening, an exhale of the hydraulics system, cut off his words. The guy quickly elbowed his way off the bus and descended the stairs. Jongin watched as he looked around, choosing a direction.
The bus driver pulled on the crank to close the doors. It was like watching himself in a dream; Jongin rushed forward and shouted, “Stop!” The bus driver let him off.
He stood on the sidewalk, peering over the crowd to find the man on the bus. “Jongin!” Sehun asked, irritably to his right. “Why did you have us get off here?”
Jongin blinked at him in surprise. “I didn’t think that you would get off with me.”
Sehun bristled and looked down at his shoes. “You didn’t think I’d let you go on your own, did you?” and for all Jongin had ignored Sehun in his own misery for the last few months, he was incredibly grateful to have a friend like him.
“Thanks,” he said, meaning it. Sehun brightened. “I think, I think this way,” Jongin decided, and Sehun hurried to catch up.
“What are you doing?” Sehun asked, but they turned a corner and could see the baseball cap drifting along down the street. “Who is that, Jongin?”
Jongin only said, “I think I know him,” before tugging Sehun along.
They followed the man through an arcade and an open-air market. He stopped at a few stands to appreciate candy and fruits, wallets and scarves, but chose nothing.
“My legs are going to fall off,” Sehun huffed.
Jongin snorted and Sehun poked him in the side. They laughed together, and it felt good.
The man kept walking, closer and closer to their part of town. Jongin’s hopes rose, and he wished that it was Minseok. It has been so long since Jongin had seen him - he never returned home once, not for holidays or the summer, always interning or working.
Jongin and Sehun ducked into an alley by a bakery, where the man went inside. “I hope he buys something this time,” Sehun said waspishly. They took turns looking through the murky glass windows.
The man asked for a bag of dinner rolls, and then took his time selecting a small pastry at the counter. The assistant packed it up for him to go.
Sehun and Jongin slinked back into the alley when he passed, but he stopped and glared into the shadows. Then he shook his head and left.
They emerged from the space between the buildings carefully. “Do you think he saw us?” Sehun asked, excited. “Do you-oh.”
They hadn’t noticed the man waiting for them, having bluffed walking away. He tilted up his cap, and from the way Sehun stopped, Jongin could tell that Sehun could recognize him.
Minseok grinned at the both of them. “Hello, Jongin, Sehun,” he said pleasantly. “It’s nice to see you. Please stop following me home, or you’ll ruin my surprise for later.”
Stymied, they watched him walk away. “That was your friend,” Sehun said. “Minseok? The one who was in high school?”
“He’s in university now,” Jongin said. “Well, he graduated.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Sehun said. Jongin gave him a look.
Later, when Jongin and his parents were sitting down at the table, Minseok’s mother and father urging them to help themselves, they heard a knock at the door. Jongin’s heart leapt into his mouth. He knew exactly who it was, but didn’t say anything as Minseok’s mother went to answer.
“Oh, oh!” she exclaimed after a moment. Minseok’s father got up from the table, and then they heard him laughing heartily. The door shut, and the three of them came into the room. It was then Jongin’s parents turn to greet Minseok, as if he were their own son.
Minseok smiled and presented his mother with the dinner rolls, expertly deflected questions of where he had been this whole time. “I got a weekend off,” he said. “It had been a while.
“Hey, Jongin,” he said suddenly, as Minseok’s father passed out fruit salad for dessert. Jongin was startled by the attention, having been content with sitting in the corner, watching Minseok’s mother pat Minseok’s hand. “I brought you this,” he said, and pushed the small pastry box to him.
He opened it to find a little cupcake, decorated with sprinkles and hearts. His cheeks grew red, looking at it. It was the kind that Minseok used to buy him in cafes, a snack after school.
“Oh, honey,” Minseok’s mother laughed, when she saw what it is. “I think Jongin’s a bit older than when you had seen him last.”
Jongin glanced up and at Minseok straight on, who blinked and then swallowed. “I guess so,” he said. “Sorry, Jongin.”
“I’m eighteen,” Jongin replied. The parents laughed. “Before, I wouldn’t have thought of sharing with you,” he said, “but now I’ll give you half.” He cut with the bread knife, passing a rough slice to Minseok across the table.
Jongin’s father watched mournfully, having been told to watch his sugar. Hence the fruit; his mother took the doctor’s orders literally.
“Thanks, Jongin,” Minseok said. “I won’t forget, next time.”
Jongin ducked his head and nodded, thrilled to hear the last two words. Next time.
The store is a mess when Jongin comes in. There’s a strange banging noise from the backroom, and a few customers are looking over the counter curiously. Jongin never rings up customers, except that one time Seohyun forced Junmyeon to go on bed rest and thus Jongin took a break from his deliveries. But Junmyeon doesn’t emerge, and so Jongin is forced to stand behind the register.
He tries to help the customers standing in line as best as he can. Junmyeon never comes, and he sighs in relief when the last one leaves the shop, the bell ringing behind him.
Junmyeon is on the phone with someone, trying to speak, but whoever it is keeps cutting him off. “We can still send the package-” he says at one point, but stops.
Jongin waits until he gets off the phone. Junmyeon shoves his hand through his hair, looking miserable. “There was a box I forgot to give you - remember, the one for America?”
He remembers - he was supposed to deliver it on the day of his and Minseok’s wedding anniversary, but Junmyeon had been kind and allowed him to go home early.
“This person paid express shipping and everything,” Junmyeon exhales. “But I forgot, and this person now says it’s too late to sent it, he doesn’t want it to be sent.”
Jongin is always terrible in situations like this. He feels terrible for the customer they let down, but also for Junmyeon, who looks wrecked.
“I think it was really important, but what can I do if they don’t want to send it anymore?” Junmyeon asks, but he’s not really asking Jongin.
Jongin delivers all the boxes he’s assigned. He doesn’t travel too far today, and he skips his break so he ends up leaving early. He feels bad about it, but Junmyeon is so down about the forgotten package that Jongin can’t face the idea of sitting across from him at lunch.
A lot of their packages that Jongin delivers are silly, or strange. Jongin has delivered strange vegetables and old rotary telephones, and once a little kitten that Junmyeon let out of the box while they waited to send it. He’s sure that Junmyeon has passed on certain requests, for Jongin’s safety or his own sanity. But sometimes, Jongin delivers clearly sentimental items, and he always tries to be extra delicate handling them.
So it really sucks when they make a mistake, and they can’t even bring the package late.
Junmyeon is in the front when Jongin materializes in the stockroom. He thinks of going home, but Minseok will be staying late with Tao in the gallery, of course - and he just doesn’t want to be alone again. He could ask Junmyeon if he needs any help, but everything looks clean and nice - Junmyeon’s been working hard to put the store to rights.
Junmyeon’s desk is piled with notes and post-its as always, but a large box sits on top. It has the special sticker that signals it’s for America, and Jongin realizes that this is the package.
He looks at the return address, then listens. Junmyeon is making small talk with a customer; he won’t notice that Jongin’s gone.
The space stream seems to sense his determination - the trip is faster than he expects. It’s a house in the countryside, glowing yellow lights above the garage in the dark. Jongin rings the bell.
“You’re the boy that picked up my package,” he hears, and is faced with a boy around his age, with deep circles under his eyes. He looks upset.
“I wanted-” Jongin begins, already with the sinking feeling that this is a mistake. “I know that Junmyeon told you that he could send this, but you said no. I wanted to come personally and ask you to change your mind-”
“And I haven’t. Sorry for making you come all the way out here,” the boy says.
Jongin is frustrated. “But that’s the thing, I’m a teleported,” he says. The boy’s eyes widen. “It’s not a long distance, it’s not a lot of trouble, so I would like to do this for you.”
Jongin feels like it is partially his fault, because Junmyeon didn’t have him deliver the parcel because of the wedding anniversary - and that night was nothing like Jongin hoped for, the start of this last set of disappointing weeks that seem to be racing a terrible conclusion completely apart from this particular delivery.
The boy sighs. “I was an idiot,” the boy interrupts in a rush of words. “I wanted to give this to a person very special to me, because he was going to leave, and I thought that maybe I could convince him not to go. But I was too afraid that he wouldn’t get it, that he’d just ignore what I meant. So I decided to send it, because it was less personal, less confrontation. I was afraid. And I had to send it before he left. But he never got the package, and he did leave.”
He looks worse now that he’s explained. “Okay?” he says. “I know you want to fix it, I know that you want to - I don’t know. But it’s already done, and it’s really my fault, not yours.”
Jongin thinks of Minseok, inexplicably. This would be the kind of thing that he would immediately go to Minseok to talk about, but Minseok isn’t there. He hasn’t been available, and they haven’t talked like that in a long time. He thinks of Tao instead, the ready resentment tinged with confusion curling inside of him, as always-
“I think,” he says, as the boy reaches out for the box, conversation clearly over, “I think I can do something. But I need to go ask someone for help.” Jongin pauses. “I promise to bring this back to you, if it doesn’t work, okay. But I think it will work.”
The boy looks at him. “You’re that kid that was stuck in the woods when you were thirteen or something, right?”
Most of the time, Jongin cringes when people ask. But he thinks that it will make this boy trust him, and he needs that, not only to keep the package right now but also for the strength to do what he needs to do next. “There aren’t many teleporters my age,” he admits. “My name’s Jongin.”
“Baekhyun,” the boy says. He watches as Jongin calls the space continuum to whisk him away. The last thing Jongin sees is the expression of delight on his face.
He hopes that he can bring it back permanently.
Minseok didn’t buy him cupcakes after the first time, but he did treat Jongin to bubble tea again. “You’re never too old for bubble tea,” he said sternly.
Jongin protested, not wanting Minseok to treat him. He didn’t have much money of his own to cover their - dates.
Jongin didn’t have another word to describe it. It wasn’t much different from their after school meet-ups, but now Jongin was older, and it seemed like everything changed.
Or maybe Jongin just blushed more easily now. Minseok was always asking Jongin what he was thinking about, but Jongin just shook his head.
Minseok explained that he could come home more because his internship was ending and it was his senior year - he didn’t have many exams, and he had finished his portfolio.
“I just need to apply to jobs,” Minseok said. Then he laughed. “I just need to - who am I kidding. That’s going to be the toughest thing yet.”
Jongin stirred the base of his drink while Minseok talked about his first year class, where his professor had the students pitch a proposal for a thesis project. “If he liked it, you got an A,” Minseok said. “If he didn’t, well, you failed.”
“But you got an A,” Jongin said.
Minseok tucked his chin inside his jacket. “Well-” As if anything else would be expected from Minseok, Jongin thinks.
“They said you’re not going to university,” Minseok said suddenly. Jongin tensed. “Are you going to take summer-”
“I don’t know what I want to do,” Jongin interrupted, before Minseok got the impression that Jongin was stupid, like the other kids in Jongin’s class. “So, I’m just going to work. And think about it.”
Minseok regarded him carefully. “Art history - no one expected me to do that,” he said at last. Jongin remembered Minseok’s parents cheering at his report card. The school Minseok attended was known for its architecture program. “But I took a creative arts class my first semester, and I met some people-”
Jongin wondered who Minseok’s friends were, and what they were like.
“-and I changed my mind. And if I change my mind when I’m forty, that’s okay, too,” Minseok said. “You don’t have to be who people expect you to be. Just a generally kind person, that’s nice.”
Jongin thought of the papers, the articles he read late at night when his parents were asleep. They speculate on where the “Miracle Boy” is, what he’s doing. “Wherever he is,” Jongin once watched a news anchorman say, “he’s already entered our collective consciousness. He’s a staple of the decade - he won the hearts and minds of so many people as they prayed for him in the hospital to get better. And just by recovering, he became an inspirational story to us all. Whatever he’s doing, it’s already amazing, because of what’s happened to him before.”
Jongin had wondered if that was what the anchor would say if he knew that Jongin was an aimless convenience store casher-to-be.
“I try to be good,” Jongin said. “I refrain from punching Sehun - that should fulfill that requirement,” and Minseok’s eyes crinkled.
Jongin thinks of that particular exchange as he hides the package in his coat, shouting goodbye to Junmyeon as he leaves. Junmyeon will probably be suspicious, because Jongin is never that exuberant. But Jongin quickly pedals away.
He nearly crashes into the glass of the gallery, but the motion itself is enough to cause Tao to look up. “What the hell are you doing?” Tao asks, crossing over to the door to hold it open.
“I need you to help me,” Jongin says, without precursor, “to deliver this package.” He pulls it out, but Tao barely looks at it.
Instead, he goes back to the photo that he is painstakingly fitting into its frame. “To what, drive the truck?”
“No,” Jongin says. “It’s an important package that wasn’t delivered in time, and it’s caused a lot of trouble for the sender. I need you to bring me back to when it was supposed to be delivered, so I can bring it to the recipient.”
Tao puts down the frame and looks at him. “What?”
“I was supposed to deliver this to a person in America, a few weeks ago,” Jongin explains hurriedly. It’s frustrating to explain, when he’s so close to fixing this for Junmyeon and Baekhyun. “I need you to bring me back to then.”
“We’re not in America, though,” Tao points out, voice rising in bewilderment. “I could bring you back” -and Jongin is so relieved, because Tao is actually considering it- “but you’d still have to travel to America. I don’t know how you could account for that-”
“I can handle that,” Jongin interrupts. Tao’s brow furrows. “But if you can take me back, then please, can you do it?”
Tao looks down at the table, and it’s quiet for a moment. Jongin knows exactly what he’s asking for, and how intimate it is, but he can’t help it, not after seeing Baekhyun’s face. “I can handle it,” he says at last, not in the least way mocking like it might have been before.
“Now?” Jongin asks.
Tao laughs, as if overwhelmed. “You’re - I think you’re crazy, worse than me. Yes, yes, we can go now.” He goes into the studio and pulls on his coat, and then they leave the gallery, locking it behind them.
“Where’s Minseok?” Jongin feels guilty for not asking before.
“He went to get something,” Tao answers, distractedly. “How - how are you going to get to America?”
Jongin leads them to outside the town, to a little hill where he appeared from traveling in space and Junmyeon had seen him, approached him in amazement. It’s a mostly secluded place - he had claimed the spot as his own for months before Junmyeon passed by. “I’ll show you, but first I need you to bring me back to the date written on the package.”
He passes the box to Tao, who examines it carefully. “I’m coming with you, of course,” Tao says, taking his hand and facing him. Jongin is surprised at the close contact, and it must show because Tao blushes and says defensively, “I haven’t done this before. I’ve only taken Minseok along, before.”
“It’ll be okay,” Jongin says, and then backpedals, because since when has he or Tao said such things to each other?
It’s what’s needed to snap Tao out of his reverie, though. He grins and says, “Of course.”
Suddenly, they’re not on the hill anymore. Or rather, they are - Jongin can sense it peripherally, in the way that he can feel the grass under his worn sneakers and the slope of the earth underneath him. But all around him is a sticky stream, a humid mess. There’s so much information, and Jongin can only capture glimpses of it out of the corner of his eye, but it’s enough to overwhelm him.
He feels like he’s stuck in quicksand, slowly sinking. But Tao’s hand tightens on his wrist. “It feels strange at first,” Tao says. “But I’ve got you, okay? Stay with me.”
He mumbles, and Jongin strains to hear until he realizes that Tao is no longer talking to him, but to the - time stream. That’s what it is, the molasses current that Minseok had described so long ago, it seems. It’s nothing like the space current, which isn’t particularly disconcerting in itself. But it doesn’t feel like teleporting either.
But then Tao brushes against him, and he is reminded of how painfully personal this must be for him. Jongin knows that the time stream isn’t the reason that Jongin can feel emotions, radiating from Tao himself: fear and resentment and contentment - and something else that makes Jongin himself afraid and perplexed. It’s simply the proximity of Tao, the ability to read his body language after how long he’s stayed with Jongin and Minseok.
“Jongin, open your eyes,” Tao says. They’re still on the hill, but it’s cooler, rainy. A wind slips into his hair and musses it. Tao is there, when he opens his eyes.
He’s there, and he kisses Jongin. His hands wrap around Jongin’s torso, and Jongin leans in. Their lips together, and this time it is a natural progression. Minseok doesn’t - can’t - interrupt, and Jongin remembers but doesn’t stop himself. Tao stares at him, when they pull away from each other for breath, but Jongin can’t say anything right now.
There’s nothing really to say. Jongin is a terrible person, who wants two people. And he can’t have that; he knows he has to choose.
There’s a noise like a bike horn, and Tao pulls Jongin behind some bushes. “Come on, or someone will see us,” Tao says.
Jongin can hear the whirring of the wheels before he sees himself, eagerly flying along the road home. It’s the day of the wedding anniversary, he realizes. “You brought us back a little earlier,” Jongin says.
“You remember that day?” Tao asks. They both watch the past Jongin as he disappears beyond the turn of the road.
“Are there problems if we see our past selves?” Jongin asks.
Tao laughs a little. “I’ve talked to myself before,” he says, and his voice sounds a little strange. “But you’d probably think it weird, wouldn’t you, if you talked to yourself? But there aren’t any huge ramifications or anything. Just a little messy, and I don’t think you have time for messy right now.”
At that, Jongin turns to Tao briskly and says, “It’s my turn now.” He quickly checks them both over, making sure that nothing is out of place, nothing is missing - it is easy for people with powers like them to move through their respective continuums and leave part of themselves elsewhere. But they are both whole, and the package is still tucked between them.
Tao is still holding his hand.
A bus drives down the road and appears to slow down before them, the driver checking to see if they need a ride.
“I’ve never done this before,” Jongin confesses.
“What?” Tao asks. “Hitched a ride with a time traveler and then asked him for bus fare to America?”
Jongin frowns at him while he snickers. “I’m not an idiot,” he says, waving the bus off. “You can’t take a bus to America. I’ve never shown anyone my ability before, that’s what I mean.”
“And what is it, Jongin?” Tao says, deceptively calm. “Because I’ve taken you this far, and I’m starting to have doubts that you even know-”
Jongin brings them both into the space stream, before he loses it and does something to Tao instead. Kiss him or kill him, Jongin is torn, and he really doesn’t want to decide.
Tao immediately stops talking, and Jongin takes a moment to appreciate it through his unexperienced eyes. The crackle and snap of the coiling energy around him; the brightness and cool electricity as compared to the time continuum.
“What is this?” Tao asks, but Jongin is already calling out. Tao twists in his grasp, but Jongin holds on tightly, and only lets go when he feels his feet on steady ground again.
He hears a thwump, which must be Tao falling on his butt.
“I didn’t fall when we traveled in time,” Jongin says.
“Good for you,” Tao says, sounding far away and discombobulated. He gets up and looks around, stares at the country road they’ve come to. Jongin has a feeling that they are not so far from Baekhyun’s house. “Where - what did you do?”
“I teleported us,” Jongin says, simply. “We traveled through space, to America.”
Tao looks around. “Indeed,” he says. Jongin is afraid he’ll say something else, but instead: “You sure you brought us to the right address?”
Jongin really wants to punch him. “Yes,” he says, rolling his eyes, and starts up the driveway.
At the door, Tao rings the doorbell twice in succession, obnoxiously. Jongin gives him a look. “What?” Tao asks innocently.
The door swings open before Jongin can answer. “Hey,” a boy says, looking at them both curiously.
Tao looks back, interested even though he’s green. Jongin interjects before he gets flashbacks of Jongdae. “Delivery for Zhang Yixing,” he says.
Tao snorts into his sleeve. Jongin wonders why it is so hard for Tao to just behave.
“Thanks,” Yixing says, accepting the package.
A familiar boy appears behind him in the entry, eyes large. Jongin freezes, but it’s too late. It’s not like Baekhyun recognizes him, but-
“Yixing,” Baekhyun says, looking up at Jongin in horror. “That package wasn’t supposed to come until-”
“Early surprise?” Tao says, clearly catching on. Jongin elbows him in the side so he doesn’t make it worse than it is.
“Baekhyun, you sent this to me?” Yixing says. “But this kind of delivery service is expensive! Why didn’t you just give it to me personally?” He bends down to open the box.
“Well,” Baekhyun says. Yixing lifts out a book, opening to a page. Whatever he sees makes him look back up at Baekhyun, who takes a deep breath before a whole torrent of words pours out. “I couldn’t tell you, I thought you didn’t feel the same way. So I sent it, so if you didn’t feel that way, you could just pretend that you never got it-”
He stops talking when Yixing throws his arms around him. “It’s not fair to tell me this, when I’m about to leave,” he says.
“I know,” Baekhyun says, a sharp cut to his voice, but it’s not unfriendly. “It’s okay if you still have to go.”
“No,” Yixing says. “I’m not going to go.” He kicks the door shut in Jongin and Tao’s faces.
For a moment, they stand on the step, shocked. Then Jongin groans. “I didn’t get a signature, again.”
“What kind of delivery man are you?” Tao asks, good-naturedly.
Jongin steps on his foot in revenge. He only tries to be good, after all.
Once Minseok returned home, the dinners with their parents became a routine. The houses alternated, but each time Minseok and Jongin would leave their parents at the table and take a walk by themselves.
Jongin didn’t fail to notice the way their mothers always looked at them eagerly; he ignored the hope in his mother’s eyes. His father had already tried to have an encouraging conversation with Jongin about Minseok. He suggested that Minseok was a good role model and a positive influence, and said everything except what his mother had probably wanted his father to hint at - except Jongin could tell the real meaning behind the conversation by the blush his father couldn’t quite get over.
Jongin had nodded and commented at the appropriate times, allowing his father to escape with some shred of dignity.
He didn’t know if Minseok had the same conversations with his parents. Minseok was never awkward, not like Jongin was, or became even more so after one afternoon when his mother had hinted that adoption was a perfectly fine way of granting her the grandchildren she had always wanted.
Minseok didn’t mind that Jongin blushed at random moments, because he was clearly thinking of things that they were not even talking about. He didn’t mind that sometimes Jongin fell silent for long periods of time, because he was searching for something to say so long that the conversation fell apart by the time he found some witty response.
Minseok just walked, with that comfortable gait and sure direction of someone who always knew the path to where they wanted to go. Jongin couldn’t stop staring; only partially because he was envious of that particular quality.
They didn’t talk about much, because Jongin’s days were pretty empty. There was always strange things happening at the convenience store - odd customers, weird coworkers coming and going - but Jongin was never confident enough to tell Minseok about what went on. He figured it would be pretty boring for someone else to hear.
And besides, Minseok was probably distracted by the job interviews he was currently attending. He had told Jongin about his art, but never showed him it when Jongin had unthinkingly asked. Minseok had chuckled uncomfortably and said that he wasn’t quite done with the work yet; Jongin had shriveled inside for asking so presumptuously. It wasn’t like Jongin would have understood Minseok’s art if he had seen it, so it had been silly to ask.
But he explained, in the meantime while he was working on his portfolio, he needed to get a job. Minseok had applied for literally everything - curator, fashion buyer, teaching assistant at a university. The decision of an art degree was probably not the best or most lucrative, Minseok had said, but he looked content.
It was in those moments that Jongin felt even more paralyzed than before.
They stopped at the park where they used to play soccer together, a few years before. This time, they sat under the old tree by the long dried-up fountain.
“I heard the town is closing this place,” Minseok offered.
“Yes,” Jongin said. There had been a small initiative to save the playground, but less and less parents were taking their children to this particular park. There were just less young families in the area.
Jongin’s mother had sighed when she read the headline in the local paper. “I always imagined you bringing your kids back to that playground when you came to visit us once in a while,” she said.
Jongin had spit out his chocolate milk at the thought.
“It was fun, playing with you here,” Minseok said. “I missed that, when I went away.” He laughed. “It was weird, not having large open fields there. The parks in the city are all small and cramped, and there are paved roads cutting through everywhere.”
“It doesn’t sound like much of a place for children,” Jongin said. “Too many safety hazards.”
Minseok leaned his head close to Jongin’s. “Well, this place won’t be one much longer.” When Jongin turned his head to reply, Minseok kissed him instead.
This wasn’t anything new between them. Somewhere between “Jongin’s a bit older” and bubble tea, this had - developed. Jongin didn’t remember their first kiss - he had wished for so long that it had been like a dream, and no one ever remembers the good dreams they have, only the nightmares.
He only remembered, with the lucidity of a smudged edge of a worn handkerchief, wanting to kiss Minseok so much that he did. And Minseok hadn’t stopped at all, but only chased his mouth in return, saying afterwards, “Me, too, Jongin.”
It felt different, that night, considering that they were in a place that would no longer exist in a few weeks. It was a bit trippy to think about. Minseok seemed to understand that as well, pulling Jongin down until he was lying on the grass, Minseok’s shoulder pillowing his head.
The stars were bright, the sky a pale shade of gray. Jongin pointed out the few constellations that his father had taught him, when singing no longer worked in the dark. “There’s the Dipper,” he had said. “And Orion’s belt. All these people in the sky, watching you so nothing will ever happen to you.”
It had been mildly comforting, until Jongin had learned that it was all myths. Still, Minseok seemed to appreciate it. When at last Jongin trailed off, Minseok said, “Hey, Jongin,” and kissed him.
Jongin kissed back, relishing the smooth easy glide of their lips, which was mostly Minseok’s doing. Jongin could barely coordinate his limbs not to elbow Minseok in the side when Minseok attempted to roll out from under Jongin. But Minseok just huffed a laugh, and Jongin curled his arms around him looser.
Minseok pulled back. “You can hold me tighter,” he said smiling, but he was serious. Jongin wanted to disappear into the ground, the way Minseok could see his insecurities so easily. “I want you to.”
“Okay,” Jongin said. “But you have to kiss me again first.” Minseok’s breath bloomed over Jongin’s mouth before they met again, heady and strange but Jongin wanted more and more. He propped a leg up to the side, letting Minseok press closer.
“Jongin, Jongin, can I do something else?” Minseok asked, and then he was fumbling with the zipper of Jongin’s pants. The air caught in Jongin’s throat the first time Minseok touched him, and he couldn’t help the noise he made.
“You okay?” Minseok asked, concerned. Jongin could only give him an incredulous look, for saying that so earnestly while holding Jongin’s cock in one hand: only Minseok.
He was relieved when Minseok turned his attention to stroking Jongin’s cock, long slow pulls that quickly drove Jongin to writhing and small yelps. He couldn’t stop his hips from jerking up into Minseok’s arm.
Minseok shifted his weight slightly so his hip pinned down one of Jongin’s. He seemed intent on watching the precome bead at the slit, swiping at it to smear it down the sides. He did that several times before wrapping his fingers around Jongin’s cock again, this time moving faster.
“Minseok,” Jongin whimpered. Minseok rubbed a little, under the head, noting the most sensitive spot by the intensity of Jongin’s moan. He dragged his nail, up and down, then back up to that spot, pressing his fingers against it. “Minseok,” Jongin said, a little louder.
Minseok leaned into him, and Jongin caught his mouth, kissing sloppily, open mouthed. Minseok gave up all pretense of teasing, instead allowing Jongin to buck up into the circle of his fingers while keeping his own pace.
He ground down against Jongin, the roughness of his jeans almost too much for Jongin’s skin. He rubbed his thumb under the head again, and leaned back. “Come for me, Jongin,” he said.
Jongin’s back arched as he cried out, striping Minseok’s hand. It took some time for his breathing to return to normal, while Minseok cleaned them up and tucked Jongin back into his pants.
“Hyung, you didn’t-” Jongin said in a raspy voice, scrabbling at Minseok’s fly.
Minseok pulled his hand away. “Not now,” he said. “You can owe me one, for later.” He kissed Jongin, deep and slow, pressing Jongin back into the ground. Jongin tried to mirror him, kiss him back the same way, with the same emotion.
He pulled back, eyes glassy. Minseok was no better. “You were so pretty when you came,” Minseok said, and Jongin’s cock twitched in his pants. He had to stifle his groan in the side of Minseok’s neck.
Minseok only laughed.
Jongin looked up at Minseok, smiling at him the way he always did, as if he hadn’t just jerked Jongin off. He wondered who else had gotten to see this side of Minseok - he thought to himself that he would never want to share it with anyone else.
part four