homesick (for your arms) [2/2]
[ part 1]
Jongin awakes to a sense of urgency setting his heart to a fast pace. The sun is burning through his curtains and onto his sheets, warming his entire room, and he wants to know why Kyungsoo didn’t wake him up already. It’s later than the hybrid has ever let him sleep, he can tell by how his eyelids aren’t heavy, and why hasn’t Kyungsoo woken him up, did he do something wrong-- the beep of a text message pulls him from his thoughts, and Jongin reaches over lazily to grab his phone.
From: ByunBaek
4:19 PM
Don’t forget about dinner at that barbeque place in town! Everyone will be there. Starts at 5:30. See you there~
“Fuck,” Jongin whispers, followed by a series of fuck fuck fuck’s and I’m gonna be so late’s. He’s out of his bed in a flash, sticking his head out of his door to see Kyungsoo watching T.V., cross-legged in his pajamas, and says, “We’re going out to eat. Hurry and get dressed!” Then he’s slamming his door before Kyungsoo can even widen his eyes and runs into his bathroom.
Jongin doesn’t think he’s ever gotten ready faster, but he also doesn’t look half bad. His hair is combed and falls nicely over his eyes, while his clothes are casual but not shabby. Baekhyun hates it when he dresses poorly, and Jongin doesn’t feel like dealing with his nagging. His eyes aren’t swollen, either, and he knows that’s thanks to sleeping much more often.
When he walks back out into the living room, Kyungsoo is brushing his hair and still watching the television, eyes wide and concentrated on the screen. He’s dressed already in a pair of skinny jeans that hug his hips and a large knit sweater that displays his collarbones. Jongin gulps when Kyungsoo looks away from the screen and up at him, the reflections playing in the spread of his irises.
“Where are we going?”
Jongin has to find his breath before he can reply. “My friends invited me out to eat, and I can’t really skip out on them.” He would try and find someone to watch Kyungsoo, but everybody that he would trust enough to watch Kyungsoo will be at the dinner. “So you’re coming with me.”
“I get to meet your friends?” Kyungsoo smiles. Jongin notices that his right ear twitches when he’s happy.
“Yeah, you are,” he beams back.
For the first time, Jongin doesn’t mind sharing a piece of his world.
They leave shortly after Kyungsoo brushes his teeth for the fourth time, claiming that he needs to make a good first impression on Jongin’s friends, and Jongin assures him that if anything, his friends are the ones who need to impress Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo blushes at that, and Jongin grins as he ushers him out of the door with a hand on the small of his back, but not without wrapping a scarf around his neck. It’s not even cold outside, it’s Spring! Kyungsoo screams at him, putting it back on the coat-rack.
The restaurant Baekhyun picked out is on the other side of town, and on a Friday evening, traffic is clogged from miles back. The cab they’re in doesn’t smell that great-- neither does the cab driver, and the way he’s watching Kyungsoo through the rearview mirror pisses Jongin off-- but it’s too far to walk and there isn’t nearly enough time to take the bus. Watching Kyungsoo look through the car window at all the buildings makes the time go by fast, though. Before Jongin can break his eyes from watching the myriad of delight pass over the features on Kyungsoo’s face, they arrive at the restaurant.
Jongin pays the cabbie with a glare then leans over to push the door open for the hybrid. “This place is huge,” Kyungsoo gawks, stepping out of the cab without watching where he’s going.
Jongin steps out after him, murmuring, “Yeah. It’s expensive, too.”
The restaurant in front of them is large and obviously new, lights hanging from the veranda and tables placed next to open windows. They stop for a second as the cab pulls off to admire the grandeur, floating lanterns floating all around them. Kyungsoo is too busy trailing the frame of the building with his eyes to notice the throng of people passing in front of them. He goes to take a step forward before Jongin grabs him by the arm and jerks him back, and he falls back onto Jongin’s chest. Kyungsoo snaps out of his reverie at the pained sound Jongin lets out, turning back and looking at him with confusion.
He frowns at the shorter male. “Watch where you’re going. Those people could have trampled you, Soo.”
Soo. They both hear it, but neither of them question it.
Kyungsoo only nods shakily, watching Jongin’s eyes swirl with concern. “Sorry,” he amends quickly, huddling closer to Jongin. His hand is still wrapped around Kyungsoo’s arm, tight but not smothering, and Jongin smiles when he leans into it.
“It’s fine, I was just worried,” Jongin tells him, and they cross the sidewalk once it’s clear. Half of him feels guilty for snapping at Kyungsoo, but the other half of him knows Yixing wouldn’t like the hybrid being trampled Jongin wouldn’t like it if he was trampled. “Let’s hurry, I bet they’re waiting on us.”
Jongin has not been to dinner with his friends in what feels like years, and the new atmosphere makes his gut twist with anxiety. The whole place smells like delicious pork, the entirety of the floor filled with tables and booths with tiny grills set in the middle, and waitresses weaving between the labyrinth of tables. He has always loved places like these: the way everybody’s voice floats on top of one another, the yells for more soju or more pork, and the way the lights sit on top of everything to make it look candid. Everything wraps up into an ambiance that doesn’t suffocate him with intimacy or drown him with despondency.
The hostess greets them as soon as they walk in with a kind smile, uniform black and fit. “Would you like a table or a booth?” she asks, grabbing a couple menus. Her hair is long, sitting lustrously over her shoulders, and they both grin back at her.
“Actually, we’re meeting--”
“JONGIN!” Baekhyun’s voice travels easily over everyone else’s. Jongin ducks his head in embarrassment with heat rushing up his neck. The hostess looks to their booth curiously, while Kyungsoo shrinks behind him. “JONGIN, OVER HERE!”
“We’ll see ourselves there,” Jongin bows to the hostess, taking Kyungsoo by the arm again and gently pulling him towards his friends. The entire restaurant is looking at them by now, and Jongin’s gut twists harder.
Everybody is seated at the table already; starting with Baekhyun at the end, Jongdae beside him, Minseok, then Luhan on the other side. They quiet down once Jongin nears them, sliding in beside Luhan and pulling Kyungsoo in with him. The air around them turns uncomfortable at the drop of Minseok’s fork, saturated with uncomfortable glances and unasked questions. Jongin looks between them all curiously, but he doesn’t even have time to say hello before--
“Who’s this, Jongin?”
He smiles at Jongdae’s bluntness. “This is Kyungsoo. I’m pet-sitting him for my neighbor.” The table ah’s at his answer, and Luhan’s lips pout in approval. Kyungsoo bows his head to each of the others, eyes curved into crescents and a small greeting on his lips. He speaks so timidly and quietly that he can barely be heard over the noise of the restaurant.
Jongin introduces his friends one-by-one, sometimes intersecting with a funny story that Jongdae plays a main role in, and even though Kyungsoo probably doesn’t understand half their jokes, he laughs with them. He stops on Luhan, telling Kyungsoo how he’s the inspiration behind the food-fighting scene in his last novel.
Luhan leans against the table to see past Jongin when he’s finished, a friendly smiling curling at his lips. His 5 o’clock shadow is already taking up most of his jaw, and his hair glows auburn under the yellow light. “Nice to meet you, Kyungsoo-yah! I really like your ears!”
“T-Thank you,” he mumbles his appreciation, just loud enough for Luhan to hear him. Luhan stares at him harder, and Jongin can feel Kyungsoo trying to melt into the upholstery. Minseok reaches across the table to subtly hit him on the arm, angrily whispering stop staring, and Luhan finally leans back in his seat. Jongdae rolls his eyes at the two of them.
They soak in silence for a moment longer than comfortable. “So Baek,” Jongin decides to change the subject. “Where’s Sehun?”
“He’s with Zitao. They’re having a sleepover or something I don’t care about,” he sighs, just as their waitress comes to take their drink orders.
“But you still miss him, huh?” Jongdae teases once she walks away, even though the punch aimed at him is inevitable.
Jongin shakes his head a bit as he watches the two laugh with each other, then looks to Kyungsoo who has got his head down and ears cocked. “Who’s Sehun?” he whispers, frowning.
“Sehun is Baekhyun’s cat hybrid. He’s a bit younger than you, but he’s really playful. You’d like him. I’ll introduce you two one day.”
Kyungsoo’s blush isn’t from the heat of the grill. “Okay.”
The dinner goes by in a swirl of bright colors and sonorous voices to Jongin after that. He sits back and surveys the way Jongdae constantly picks at Baekhyun and feels the subtle vibrations under the table when Minseok and Luhan’s feet collide. His friends don’t ask him many questions about Kyungsoo, or rather, why he never told them about Kyungsoo, and Jongin is glad. He doesn’t know how he would be able to explain that he wanted to keep this happiness a secret.
Baekhyun calls for another soju some time after eight, arm swinging recklessly in the air. By now, the only people left are a few families of late diners and people scattered over the bar on the other side of the restaurant. The emptiness causes his voice to echo around the room, and Luhan buries his head in his hands.
Minseok takes a look at all the other empty bottles on their table and is quick to stop him with, “don’t you think you’ve had enough?” And Jongdae grabs for his arms, pinning them to the table.
With red cheeks and slurred speech, Baekhyun replies, “Not nearly.”
“Alright, time to go, big boy.” Jongdae resigns after Baekhyun’s hands get free for the third time. “You’re paying, by the way.” He tugs the other away with him to the register, patting his ass for his wallet, then pulling out his credit card. Minseok watches them to make sure nothing goes wrong, and Luhan teases him for being a mother hen.
It’s getting late anyway, and Kyungsoo’s eyes flutter shut every couple of seconds. He rubs his eyes cutely, his other hand resting on his bloated tummy. “Did you have fun tonight?” Jongin asks, just low enough for only Kyungsoo to hear. He doesn’t know why his heart stalls in the second before his reply.
“Of course I did.” His smile is genuine; red lips pulled into a heart, midnight lashes curving against the swell of pink cheeks, and his skin shining from a thin sheen of sweat. Jongin has to stop himself from leaning forward, from trying to count the number of sparkles he sees in Kyungsoo’s eyes and from calculating the angle at which his smile becomes perfection. Kyungsoo doesn’t seem to notice the heat of his stare, and he quickly ushers them all out of the booth when Jongdae and Baekhyun come back.
The night air is a refreshing change from the warmth of the grill. Stars have dotted the sky in patterns that tell stories of the world, and Jongin wonders if one day they will tell of the bends of hazel irises and the man that came to love them. He smiles thinking that one day his words could be written in the sky.
It takes both Jongdae and Minseok to hold Baekhyun up-- his legs have gone out of order, he said, and promptly dropped all of his weight onto them. He doesn’t stop babbling, even before they get out onto the sidewalk, and they garner several odd stares. “You know, you remind me of Sehun,” he slurs out to Kyungsoo, lifting his head to watch the hybrid walking in front of them.
Luhan snorts unattractively from behind. He got stuck with toting all their things. “Could it be the ears?”
“No,” Baekhyun’s face straightens, “it’s the cuteness.”
That is the last thing Jongin hears before Jongdae and Minseok’s startled gasps along with Kyungsoo’s short yelp is the scuff of shoes against the ground. The hybrid tumbles to the ground with Baekhyun on top of him, trying to snuggle into his neck from behind with a content grin. “Baek, stop!” Jongin screams. He can see Kyungsoo’s face being pushed into the concrete of the sidewalk, and even if he doesn’t make a sound, his face is scrunched into pain.
“You’re so cute!” Baekhyun giggles, grabbing onto him tighter when Jongin and Jongdae tug him off the hybrid. They’re only able to pull him off once Luhan pinches the back of his thigh and he lets go of Kyungsoo to slap his hand away.
Hoisting Baekhyun up from the ground is a lot harder when he’s weighed down with alcohol. “That’s enough of that,” Minseok sighs when they have him up again, slapping Baekhyun upside the head. “You’re never getting drunk again.”
“It would have been fine if Jongin wasn’t such a jealous grumpy pants,” he pouts.
Jongin helps Kyungsoo up from the ground, cupping the side of his face instantly to check for scratches. Thankfully, his skin is only red; Jongin will spare Baekhyun’s life another day. “I’m fine,” Kyungsoo reassures him after he’s through brushing the debris from his clothes. He checks Kyungsoo’s face for cuts one more time before dropping his hands, deciding to help the other three get Baekhyun in the car.
A tendril of heat wraps around Jongin’s heart. It isn’t all from anger-- there are green roots amongst them rendering the outline of Baekhyun’s body against Kyungsoo’s.
Minseok slams the door in Baekhyun’s face almost as soon as Jongin reaches their car, but he still hears the elder muttering why is he so jealous through a frown. Jongdae gets into the seat to him, pulling his head into his lap with a gentle tug while Minseok and Luhan jump in the front.
They give each other empty promises to see each other next time. Luhan tells Kyungsoo how lovely to meet him it was, and Jongin gets a bit mad when Luhan pulls him in for a hug through the car window. He knows he shouldn’t-- Luhan isn’t interested in Kyungsoo, he’s been in love with the same person for three years-- but that doesn’t mean he’s not jealous.
A flame licks at his belly at their embrace, and Jongin knows that no amount of water could douse it.
He is jealous, he did want to rip Baekhyun apart when he was on top of Kyungsoo, and he does want to tear Kyungsoo away from Luhan’s embrace.
Jongin does want to stay with Kyungsoo.
He doesn’t want him to go back to Junmyeon.
Jongin finally understands why people pick flowers from the ground.
They catch the last bus back to Jongin’s apartment, sitting beside each other on plastic seats that have frozen under the air conditioning. Kyungsoo presses up next to him, their thighs touching, and leans his head on Jongin’s shoulder. Kyungsoo’s ear tickles his neck, arm knocking into his at every bump, and the jilted pieces of their soul slide against each other.
Jongin can’t find the right words to fit into the empty slots in the air, so he says the only thing ebbing in the space of his lungs.
“Let’s go home.”
//
To Jongin, Sunday evenings mean sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee, and converting into words the way the sunlight rounds his dining room table. He likes the lethargy of the air and the way time slows like just after midnight. Sunday means 8 o’clock anxiety and melancholic pieces of his heart that shine and cut through his skin like broken fragments of glass.
To Kyungsoo they mean sitting outside with a mug of tea and letting the colors of the sunset soak into his vision. Occasionally Junmyeon comes out to sit with him, and they swing on the wooden bench, the hinges creaking with each sway of their legs. The day moves at a snail’s pace, the clouds bending to the shape of the sky, and Kyungsoo doesn’t think life gets any better than that.
Their Sunday evening comes to a compromise consisting of a cup of coffee and a mug of tea and Kyungsoo’s legs resting on Jongin’s thighs so that he can watch the sunset through the open windows. The couch is much more comfortable than the stool that Jongin sits on and the bench Kyungsoo swings with, and Jongin’s arm accidentally brushes his leg sometimes as he goes to flip the page of his book.
“What are you reading?”
The sun is halfway past the horizon; halfway past home, and Jongin can feel Kyungsoo’s gaze more focused on the strands of hair that fall over his eyes than the colors dancing across the city.
“Kafka on the Shore.” Jongin doesn’t look up from the book, thumb pressed to the pages. There is a crease in his forehead from concentrating. Kyungsoo reaches out and smooths it with the tip of his finger, but Jongin still doesn’t glance at him.
“What’s it about?”
“It’s about a boy who runs away from what is to what he wants.”
Jongin sighs and leans back, resting on hand on Kyungsoo’s shin, but he still doesn’t look away from the book.
Kyungsoo nods to himself. The sky is steadily morphing into shades of blue as the sun sinks slowly yet without hesitation, and time is crawling by while they dwell in the silence. Kyungsoo seems to break it when it becomes too heavy to carry. “Would you be sad if we never met again?”
Jongin looks up from his book at Kyungsoo’s question, eyes wide, and closes his book. His fingers mark the page he was on. “Of course I would,” he mutters, gripping Kyungsoo’s leg tighter. “Would you be sad?”
Kyungsoo’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sad right now.”
Jongin can’t swallow past the lump of words clogged in his throat, and he remains silent, turning back to his book. Kyungsoo goes back to sipping his tea, and Jongin watches from the corner of his eye as he whispers, “Life does get better than lonely Sunday evenings and sunsets.”
//
“Are you packed up already?”
Jongin’s apartment is drenched in woe, the curtains drawn and all traces of Kyungsoo packed up into his bag. The only thing that remains is the smell of his shampoo on the pillow that he curled up with at night. Sunday has come and gone, and Monday has arrived saddled with clouds that hang like bruises.
“Yeah. Everything’s ready.”
Yixing stopped by as soon as he dropped his stuff off at his own apartment, and it was obvious by his wide eyes that Kyungsoo was more shocked than excited to see him. It hit Jongin like a bullet to the chest; he won’t be taking care of Kyungsoo every day, won’t be watching the hybrid’s face light up at every cup of tea, and they won’t be taking spontaneous walks to the park at midnight or spend the day watching terrible movies.
All good things must come to an end.
Jongin reminds himself of that as he walks Kyungsoo to the door with his bag in his hand, the other on the doorknob. They walk out into the hallway in silence, their footsteps muffled by tattered carpeting. Jongin’s anxiety grows by the second, his palms damp with sweat and Kyungsoo’s eyes drilling into his back.
Yixing’s apartment door feels like the portal to finality. Jongin can’t even look at it as he raises his hand to knock, to send Kyungsoo off to be taken care of by him again. “Jongin,” Kyungsoo calls, and Jongin pauses just a second before arms are wrapping around his torso. Kyungsoo presses his cheek into the space between his shoulder blades, winding his arms tighter, drawing Jongin back to him.
“Soo,” he breathes, covering Kyungsoo’s hand with his own. The seconds tick by.
“Midnight, okay?”
“What?” Jongin furrows his eyebrows, but Kyungsoo is already pulling his arms from around him. “Wait--”
Yixing cuts through his sentence by opening the door, the wood slamming against his inside wall and he squeals loudly. “Kyungsoo! I’m so glad to be back! I missed you!”
“You just saw me five minutes ago,” Kyungsoo jokes, but he dives in to hug Yixing just the same.
Jongin feels awkward standing there in the hallway while Yixing talks about his grandmother’s funeral, barely holding back tears. He barely met the man a couple weeks ago, yet Yixing is talking to him like they’ve known each other for ages. Maybe it’s that Kyungsoo can sense it, or maybe it’s the weird stares they receive as other neighbors pass by them, but eventually Kyungsoo tugs him back into his apartment with a sympathetic command.
Before Kyungsoo shuts the door completely, he sticks his head out and whispers midnight again. He’s gone before Jongin has time to ask anything.
//
Jongin’s apartment resonates with Kyungsoo’s absence. It has only been an hour and yet the cracks of his skin are filled with silence and the corners of his home flood with darkness, the ceiling drenched in vacuity. The reality of his loneliness dawns on him all at once, and Jongin feels himself choking on it, feels it echoing in the marrow of his bones all the way up to the base of his skull.
Time doesn’t move as quickly as it did when they laughed together; when their smiles pasted themselves on the bare walls and their words filled the empty spaces of his heart.
Jongin sighs for the fifth time in a row, fingers hovering above his keyboard and ideas escaping his grasp at the last second. He’s at the ending of his novel, but the words just won’t fall into place. “This just can’t be the end,” he mutters to himself, half to color in the silence and half to assure him that this isn’t the end.
This story does not end at midnight.
The clock ticks on and Jongin sits at his seat at the dining room table, fingers frozen and mind stagnant. His palms stay barren, reminding him of the the time he can’t grab, can’t stop, can’t reverse.
It is only when Baekhyun calls that he remembers there’s a world outside his low ceiling and white walls, and he answers with a gruff hey, Baek.
Baekhyun’s voice helps drown out the sound of the clock ticking by, his words an endless drone of sentences that don’t make any sense to Jongin from start to finish. He listens regardless, humming to let Baekhyun know he’s there and occasionally inserting that’s good or that sucks, I’m sorry, Baek.
“How’s Kyungsoo doing?”
The question snaps Jongin out of his own thoughts, and he sits up with useless haste. The sadness immediately fills his mind again. “He’s doing fine. He went back with his original pet-sitter earlier.”
“Original pet-sitter?” Baekhyun questions in a shrill voice. Jongin cringes when he remembers he never told him about this.
“Yeah, original. My neighbor Yixing had a family emergency, but he was already pet-sitting Kyungsoo, see? And so he asked me if I could watch him while he went to his hometown.”
“What about his owner? Where are they?”
“Soo said he’s away on vacation or something. I don’t know him, though.”
Baekhyun scoffs at him. “You’re in love with a hybrid whose owner you don’t even know?”
“What?!” Jongin yelps, his heart knocking into his chest. “Why would you--”
“Hyung,” another voice interrupts him, “let’s go to sleep, I’m tired.”
“I’ve got to go, Jongin,” Baekhyun says next, and Jongin can tell there’s a smirk on his face. Jongin really wants to punch him in the face. “Talk to you later.”
“Wait!” Jongin breathes, but the dialtone is already sounding over the speaker, and he knows there’s no getting ahold of Baekhyun until morning.
His sighs again, looking at the big 11:39 pasted across his screen and slumps in his chair.
Midnight.
He has until midnight to figure out what Kyungsoo meant, and now both Kyungsoo and Baekhyun’s words are eating away at his mind. Jongin paces around the length of his living room, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. No matter what, he can’t stop time from nearing midnight, nor can he stop the constant throb of you’re in love into his skull.
The air of his apartment quickly becomes stale, pressing against him at all angles until he steps out onto the balcony. The wind is crisp and he breathes in deeply, letting his hands rest on the cool metal railing. The moon is only half-full tonight, stars dotted around it, all sitting in their usual place, not letting the bright lights of the city wash away their color. He breathes in again, pushing himself away from the railing, ready to head back inside when--
“Jongin.”
Jongin startles at the familiar voice, whipping his head around to see a body outlined against Yixing’s balcony. “Soo?” he calls hesitantly, hand drifting away from the door. “Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me, silly,” Kyungsoo laughs. He is sitting on the floor, just like they did not too long ago, except this time he’s facing Jongin’s balcony instead of the city. His legs dangle over the edge, toes bare and pajamas flitting with each gust of the breeze.
“So this is what you meant by midnight?” Jongin copies his position, pressing up against the metal railing. The burden of his thoughts lighten, and Jongin can finally breathe properly when he sees Kyungsoo’s lips lift into a smile.
“Yeah. Sorry to be so cryptic, but Yixing hyung definitely would have followed me if I’d said something. And I kind of wanted to be alone with you,” he utters, head dipping with embarrassment.
“I’m just glad I can see you again,” Jongin says in a low tone.
“Did you miss me?” he jokes, just as low as Jongin, the railing digging into his forehead.
“I did.” A flush covers Jongin’s cheeks and down his neck, and the summer night turns even hotter.
“Me too,” Kyungsoo whispers, and Jongin can see his blush even through the darkness. The silence that punctuates his sentence isn’t awkward; doesn’t rub against Jongin in all the wrong ways like it does with other people. He feels content in watching the sway of Kyungsoo’s legs and the way his hair tosses in the wind until the hybrid speaks again. “How is your book coming along?”
“It’s hard to explain, really,” Jongin sighs, looking down and picking at the loose ends of his pajamas, but Kyungsoo’s gaze doesn’t waver. He continues anyway, despite the knot of his tongue and the tangle of words in his head. “I can write the beginning, and I can fill in the middle-- but the ending. The ending is where I struggle.”
Kyungsoo smiles. “Maybe this story doesn't have to end, then.”
Jongin smiles back, the corner of his lip curling bitterly. “I really wish it didn’t.”
//
Meeting Kyungsoo just as the clock strikes twelve soon becomes engraved in Jongin’s routine, and not long after that it becomes his favorite part of the day. They don’t even need to talk most of the time, because staring at Kyungsoo and soaking in his presence is enough for Jongin. Words are obsolete.
The weather is warm and the ground stays dry, but the closer it gets to monsoon season, the more humid the air gets. It makes Jongin feel like he’s drowning, and they move their secret meetings to the stairwell on the far side of the hall.
“What do you think about at night?”
They have to talk low so that their voices don’t echo, but it isn’t hard to hear each other in the small space. They sit with their arms pressed together, backs hunched and elbows digging into their knees, the small light by the door not hiding the color on Kyungsoo’s cheeks.
“Lots of things, I guess,” Kyungsoo replies. He leans towards Jongin, their shoulders brushing, and looks up at him. “What about you?”
Heat unfurls in Jongin’s chest, latching onto the stars in Kyungsoo’s eyes as his tail swipes across his back. “I build dreams about you.”
Jongin’s eyes are potent with emotion, peering at the hope that flutters over Kyungsoo’s irises. Kyungsoo licks his lips, and Jongin follows the steal of his tongue across the trembling plane of his mouth with a concentrated gaze. He catches himself before he leans in, though, turning away from Kyungsoo with an embarrassed flick of his fringe.
You’re in love, filters through his thoughts again, along with the bow of Kyungsoo’s lips.
He soon loses count of the number of days they meet and of the number of times he follows the curve of Kyungsoo’s mouth as the hybrid talks and traces the bend of his eyelids. Time is only measured in the number of laughs they share and in the blushes that spread over necks and cheeks and the soft press of their arms.
Eyes have always been Jongin’s favorite part of a person-- they’re the first thing he notices, the first thing he describes in his writing, the first thing he falls in love with. He can pick a person apart by the labyrinth hidden in the color of their irises and the enigmatic specks of emotion hidden under wisps of opaque pigments.
Kyungsoo has become Jongin’s favorite maze.
They carve out their space in the stairwell each night, huddled together under the dying light, and every meeting is the same yet completely different. Different words, different meanings, different questions, but the same looks, the same touches, the same yearning to see each other.
Something tonight, though, seems off, and it settles dysphoria in his gut like a steel ball.
They are curled up together as usual, the sound of the rain hitting the apartment building’s roof bouncing over the edge of the stairs, and Kyungsoo’s head is dipped low enough to draw shadows over his entire face. Neither of them have spoken a word to each other, and the air is pulled tight between them, Jongin’s voice turning to ashes in his mouth every time his tongue begins to stream with thoughts.
Kyungsoo speaks suddenly, face still hidden, draped in space that the light can’t reach. His words are meek, and they scatter around the stairwell in broken consonants. He sounds resigned and worn out, like he’s hiding something under the husk of his words, something sad and final. “I hope you look for me in everyone you meet.”
Jongin’s chest throbs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re the writer, aren’t you?” Kyungsoo looks up at him, and Jongin sees pensive swirls in the black rings under his eyes.
“Yeah, but you sound like you’re about to die,” Jongin tries to joke. The laugh dies in his throat.
“I’m not about to die, Jongin,” he grins shyly, but there’s a flash of rancor in the flutter of his eyelids.
Something in Jongin snaps. All of his thoughts flood him at once, crashing into him like a typhoon off the coast of potential regret. Baekhyun’s voice seizes his lungs and chokes him, Kyungsoo’s face translated into words wrapping around his limbs, paralyzing him, and he drowns in monocarpic opportunity. Jongin grabs it.
“You know, they say that if a writer falls in love with you, you’ll never die.” His chest is tight with anxiety, but he doesn’t stop. “Because they write you into every word, and pick you apart and lay you out, and they give each little part to something different so that they’ll never run out of you.”
Kyungsoo rests his head against his laced fingers, gazing at Jongin languidly, absorbing each carefully crafted word in the mouth of an artisan. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jongin swallows over the lump of nerves in his throat. “Maybe that’s why I find myself writing you into my stories.”
He doesn’t know what to expect in the silence that follows his confession, but it isn’t the slow twist of pain that consumes Kyungsoo’s features. Jongin’s heart stalls when he turns his head the other way, body pulling away from Jongin’s, and stands up with stiff muscles, knees locking into place. Kyungsoo doesn’t say a word as he marches back up the stairs, bare feet silent against the tile. Jongin watches him all the way up, jaw slack, mind blank, and body paralyzed.
The door slams shut behind him, but it isn’t louder than the shatter of Jongin’s heart.
//
For each tick of the clock, Jongin’s heart beats three times. He counts the seconds on his fingers, slouched over his knees at the bottom of the stairwell, acridity seeping into the cracks of his skin. The time is well past midnight-- the rattle of the elevator that echoes throughout the devoid space has long since stopped, the slamming of doors has ceased, and all hope of Kyungsoo walking down those steps has drained from Jongin’s mind.
He waits again the next night, fingers laced tightly, regret weaving through the seam of his lips as he mutters curses to himself. He shouldn’t have suddenly confessed like that; he shouldn’t have followed the movements of Kyungsoo’s tongue as he ran them over his lips; he shouldn’t have looked at Kyungsoo with that intensity that all his friends hate.
Jongin shouldn’t have loved. Now he’s messed everything up.
After that, on the days it’s not raining, Jongin will sit out on the balcony with his legs dangling over the edge of the metal, the rail cutting into his flesh, and he watches Yixing’s terrace. He doesn’t know how long he sits in silence that he can hear his heart beating in his ears. Kyungsoo never walks out to meet him.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
//
He’s out of coffee again. The empty can of Folgers sits there, dormant in the center of the counter, mocking the rings of black that line his eyes and the quick tremble of his bones. Coffee has become less about life and more about habit, the slow burn of his throat reminding him of a Sunday afternoon with Kyungsoo’s legs thrown over his or sitting up at three a.m. with the hybrid and trying to get some writing done.
Jongin has never felt so empty. There are no perfectly curved smiles to back the bow of his wrists, no laughter to fill the hole in his chest before it can consume the rest of him. There are no shallow conversations to distract him from the depth of his heart, his soul, his thoughts, and his love.
They have always said not to make a home out of people, but damned if his spine didn’t grow like a vine around Kyungsoo’s ribs.
Jongin sighs as he steps out of his apartment, keeping his head down as he turns back to lock the door behind him. The hall feels a few shades darker than normal, maybe due to the billow of dark clouds above the city or maybe from the way his fringe hangs over his eyes.
The sound of a door shutting beside him is the only thing that makes Jongin pick his head up, eyes rounding and heart thumping in anticipation when he realizes it’s coming from Yixing’s apartment. He grins to himself when he sees that it really is Yixing standing at his door, a paper bag dangling from his wrist and his lips pouted in concentration as he turns his key in the lock.
“Yixing?” Jongin calls out tentatively, pocketing his keys with shaky fingers. Baekhyun and coffee can wait for a minute or two.
Yixing glances up at him numbly, but as soon as recognition unfurls in his eyes, his entire face blooms with a smile-- one that Jongin can’t help but return. “Jongin,” he laughs happily, “it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“A few weeks, yeah.” He nods, flashing a guilty smile. “I haven’t seen Kyungsoo around for a while, either…” It’s been days since Kyungsoo stopped meeting him; days that feel like months, and he’s been writing words that feel like chapters.
Jongin’s heart stalls when Yixing’s face saddens, his shoulders sagging and chin dropping to his chest. “He went back with Junmyeon a few days ago, actually.” Jongin’s gut twists. “But I hope he’ll come back to visit soon.” Yixing’s smile is fake, loneliness wilting the spark in his eyes that Jongin has come to admire him for.
Jongin’s bones feel hollow, his stomach empty aside from the bile rising in his throat. He quickly excuses himself from his neighbor, heading back inside while he tries to swallow over the lump in his throat. He ignores Yixing’s inquiry of hey, weren’t you just heading out? and instead shuts his door with gentle obstinacy.
The apartment is filled with the sounds of Jongin’s harsh breath with a slow rattle of pain in his chest. The movies and the novels, they never prepared him for this. They showed him kisses at midnight during the final confession, but the credits rolled and the pages stopped counting before dawn ever broke and reality set into the plot of their lives.
With his head shoved in the crook of his arm, Jongin curls up on his couch, his chest constricting with contrition and the sun setting behind dismal clouds.
//
When Jongin wakes up, his apartment is as dark as the night sky, and his mouth throbs with sleep and words running under the thin skin of his cheeks. He doesn’t remember what he dreamt of, doesn’t remember if he even dreamt at all, but he hopes it was about wide eyes and pale skin.
The sound of the rain pouring outside doesn’t fill the nasty voids of his soul like it usually would tonight. His chest still hurts, still aches with Kyungsoo’s absence, and he presses the heel of his hand to his sternum until his pulse hums in his bones.
The air in his apartment is stifling, smothering him to the very tips of his lungs, so he quickly shuffles through his living room and to the door that leads to his balcony. Jongin presses his forehead against the glass, the rain pelting on the other side, running down the door with intrinsic patterns that he traces with his eyes.
It is pitch black outside, the sky falling in heaps, flooding onto the ground, and Jongin wonders why people don’t realize the world is collapsing. Or maybe it’s just his.
A flash of movement outside catches Jongin’s attention, snagging his gaze and tearing it away from the droplets sliding down the glass. The only thing he can manage to see through the rain is a green-tinted orbs of light and the faint outline of pale flesh. The hope that it’s what-- or rather, who-- Jongin is thinking of sets a fire in his belly and a thrum in his heart.
He takes the stairs two at a time, his door still gaping from when he slammed it open just seconds ago, and his fingers etch down the railing as he holds on tight. His footsteps echo against the walls of his skull, each long leap drilling into his head harder, and the receptionist out front watches him as he bursts out the main door. Jongin manages to stay dry while walking to the back of the building, the overhang of the roof blocking the rain from his shoulders, but once he circles around the rear, he immediately becomes drenched.
The rain hits his face like tiny needles all over his body, and he pulls in his arms so that they’re crossed over his chest. He walks until he recognizes his own balcony, eyes squinting from the bright lights and heavy rain. When he looks back in front of him, through the downpour he can see a figure, hair drenched and falling over his eyes, clothes sagging over his bones, and Jongin immediately runs to him.
“Soo?” He gulps, slowing down, just in case his intuition has failed him. But then he sees a tail flicking and the whites of eyes that clamber through the darkness and he grins. “Soo!”
“Jongin?” Kyungsoo calls out, and there’s a tremble in his voice. He has no idea how long the hybrid has been out here. “Is that you?”
As Jongin nears him, he can make out Kyungsoo’s features more clearly; his hair is plastered onto his forehead, ears pressed against his head, and his bottom lip pulled nervously between his teeth. “What are you doing out here?” he asks, fingers clasping Kyungsoo’s wrist. Despite the warm Summer night, the rain has turned his skin cold, and shivers rack both their spines.
“I can’t stand being with Junmyeon anymore,” he murmurs. Jongin can barely hear him over the sound of the water splashing onto the ground. “I want to stay here.”
Jongin’s heart flutters in his chest, and he can’t stop himself before he’s reaching for Kyungsoo and pulling him into his embrace. Their chests press together, Kyungsoo’s nose brushing against the crook of his neck, their hearts beating so close together. “You can stay here with me, then. I don’t mind.”
“I want to stay here,” he repeats, voice becoming firmer with each word. “I want to read the way you write me into your stories, and I want to make you coffee at three a.m., and I want to lay in bed with you at night with your arms wrapped around me until the sun rises and all the love I have for you is flooding my lungs.” Jongin can feel Kyungsoo shaking in his arms, their wet clothes grating together, and he pulls back to look at the sincerity laced into his words and the redness of his cheeks at the confession. “I want the part of you that you refuse to give anyone else.”
Jongin smiles-- he smiles so hard that his cheeks hurt, and he can see Kyungsoo’s eyes flickering to the stretch of his lips. He bends down slowly, grin still evident on his face, and their noses slightly graze as he presses his forehead to Kyungsoo’s. Jongin’s eyes are half-lidded, happiness inflating his chest like a balloon, and he watches the languid spread of a smile over Kyungsoo’s mouth as he fits their lips together.
It is midnight on a Thursday, in the middle of a rain that won’t stop for days, and Kyungsoo and Jongin are soaked to the core. Kyungsoo is laughing even as they kiss and kiss again, and Jongin knows that there’s no better taste than someone else’s laughter in his mouth, so he presses his lips to Kyungsoo’s harder.
“I love you,” Kyungsoo breathes out, hands cupping Jongin’s cheeks to hold him in place as he smiles against his mouth.
“I love you so much,” Jongin replies, gathering Kyungsoo into his arms, fingers digging into the skin of his back. He never thought that he could hold the entire world in his arms, but here he is looking into the sun and the sun is looking back. “Even the rain falls for you.”
//
Jongin’s world is constructed of soft sighs and gentle smiles; of eyes that burn brighter than the sun and a love that even the horizon envies.