(for bluedreaming) back in bloom
❊ for: bluedreaming
❊ title: back in bloom
❊ pairings: kai/d.o, kai/luhan
❊ rating: r
❊ warnings: violence, character death, not sure what category this would fall under but two people are buried alive (while unconscious)
❊ word count: 8,639
❊ summary: Jongin is angry and Kyungsoo is dead but their garden is still beautiful.
❊ a/n: the lovely poem separating each part of this fic was provided (and written, I believe) by the prompter! I'm sorry if this isn't what you had in mind but I read the poem and immediately had an idea for this, although it did kind of turn out a total mess...
Let’s go into this
Tomorrow sharply
Banking for the miss -
-
Speckled light plays across the walls, shaking and waving with the wind. Jongin's not sure how long he's been standing here, staring at this grey floor. This isn't how it should've ended, they should've had more time, they were grasping for the world but were left in pieces on the tarmac, blinded by dust and splintering silence.
The day Jongin's world crumbles is a Tuesday. He's driving and Kyungsoo sits beside him clicking through pictures of the ocean on his camera. No one else is on the road as they speed towards a glittering horizon, it's almost too tranquil. Kyungsoo is humming a light tune that carries the cloudless sky, Jongin is leaning over to peck him on the cheek as they round the bend, Kyungsoo is stiffening a little-
And when they crash, everything comes down in shining shards of glass and metal and fire. The silence that follows is smothering and absolute. There's smoke in Jongin's lungs and blood in his mouth and the sky is still a perfect blue, delicate as a dream. It was a Tuesday and Kyungsoo died with the birds soaring on winds that hold his song.
Now the sun has reached its blazing fingers through the one window in the room, reflecting nastily off the casket into Jongin's eyes. The door creaks open and he jumps, almost hoping it'll be Kyungsoo.
"Jongin?" Luhan ventures. "You've been in here for ages, you should come have lunch with the rest of-"
"I'm fine," Jongin interrupts. His voice is hoarse and it feels like there are stones in his throat. "You guys should go on without me."
"Are you sure?" Luhan asks. "I know it's hard, too, he was-"
"Luhan?" The edge to Jongin's voice is painful and heavy. "I'm fine. Now please, please give me some time." He looks back down to his shoes. The door closes and he crumbles to his knees.
-
When he drops his third empty beer bottle on the ground, it doesn't shatter like he wanted it to; the clunk it makes echoes through the studio. Jongin's three bottles deep, three bottles gone, three bottles drowning and ready for more. He's laying the moonlight in pieces across the table when one of the fragments catches the outline of a frame. Kyungsoo's photographs.
The ones Kyungsoo kept in the studio were his favorite, they were all ones with Jongin. Jongin silhouetted walking away into the rising tide, Jongin sleepy-eyed gazing down into his coffee mug, Jongin laughing as he swings backwards into the mist, just, only Jongin.
He turns and the frames are gleaming all around him, his face jeering out to remind him of old times. The fourth bottle is slammed against the table as he stands up to face the wall. There's a dizzy sort of buzzing to everything. His head is burning as he tears the lacy white curtains down, flinging the windows open, he's going to throw everything out, all the memories in their pretty frames. He's grabbing the beach one, raising his fist to break it in a flurry of-
The door bursts open and it's Luhan, all cold fingers and short gasps, grabbing Jongin's arm from behind and slowly working the picture out of his grasp. "It's okay," he's breathing, "it's okay." Jongin falls back to the smaller boy, wrapping himself in the the smell of cinnamon and cherry blossom tea, in the smell of burnt childhoods still smoking into the later years.
"I'm sorry," he mutters. "This isn't what Kyungsoo would've wanted."
Luhan nods by his ear, squeezing his hand. "It's tough," he whispers. "I know it is. But you can tell me. I don't want you to suffer here alone."
Jongin breathes out into his friend's embrace, nodding. They sit there as the night reassembles itself, Luhan holding Jongin, Jongin breaking to pieces.
-
And a month passes of the same routine, too much alcohol, too little sleep, a funny sort of betweenness that can be burnt away if you hurt enough. All the stories are rocked away in the end, to the rhythm of Luhan's embrace. He seems to have a knack for- well, Jongin, despite Jongin's own failure to notice it.
They box the Sunday morning in Luhan's blue apartment walls, Luhan sipping tea and watching Jongin, Jongin flicking through his phone for pictures of Kyungsoo.
"Jongin?" Luhan's shaky voice breaks the silence. Jongin doesn't look up. "What do you think would happen if I left?"
"Dunno," Jongin says. "You'd be gone." To preoccupied with Kyungsoo, Jongin doesn't see Luhan's face fall with his tea cup. He doesn't see the thin lines that trace up Luhan's arm and lace meaningless into his every thought.
-
"I remember when I went back to China for my senior year," Luhan is hiccuping, "and one night this tall guy shows up with smoky eyes. They were like, really gorgeous eyes. And he asks me if I knew a Wu Yifan. Of course, I didn't, but I told him I was the guy, because he's really hot, and-" Luhan starts giggling.
"And what?" Jongin grins, red faced. They're more than a bit tipsy and falling all over each other on the couch.
"We hooked up," Luhan snorts. "Never saw him again." Jongin bursts out laughing too, rolling over onto Luhan. He stops when he notices how close in proximity they are. "Come to think of it," Luhan whispers, "your eyes are pretty gorgeous too." Jongin can feel Luhan's breath on his face, his lips parted so delicately that it's too tempting to-
"I can't do this." He stands up, setting down his glass.
"Come on," Luhan sighs. "He's dead, Jongin. You can't bring him back. Can't you-"
"No," Jongin says. "I can't, Luhan. I'm sorry." He throws up outside the door of the apartment.
-
The next night Luhan is gone and Jongin lets the glass of a photograph break on the edge of the coffee table, sleek black frame splintered and picture torn in two. He feels sick for a week and lets the glass cut his feet.
He's finally sweeping away the torn paper and broken glass when he notices smudges of ink on the back of the photo. It's scrawled along the bottom of the picture in Kyungsoo's handwriting.
We were both at fault. He thinks he loves me. I thought I loved him too. He'll destroy me, and I'm going to let him.
Almost as an afterthought, Kyungsoo's written a note below in parentheses.
(I'm bleeding out but his smile keeps me coming back)
His breath catches itself in his throat. This couldn't be about him, could it? He flips it over and it's a picture of him looking at Kyungsoo, and it's soft and warm and everything about it says he's in love. He's smiling.
Tonight the stars seem farther away than they did before, and Jongin sits on their back porch waiting for the morning to wash it all away. Morning comes but Kyungsoo doesn't. Still, Jongin waits, running the scrap of paper through his fingers until they bleed. As the sun rises, an itch in his feet pulls him up, and Jongin finds himself moving towards the loud voices and earthy spice scents that drift from the morning market.
There's a crisp freshness to the air, and as he wanders past vendors selling exotic teas and herbs, he realizes with a sharp pang this is the first time he's gone out since Kyungsoo's funeral. Luhan would be proud. He ends up buying ingredients to make samgyetang because it was always Kyungsoo's favorite, and also udon soup for the hell of it.
Expedition finished, Jongin sets back towards his house. But as he's walking past the cigarette shop, he notices a sign hanging in the window. It's black and white, just a small, striped poster, but it asks in bold letters, if you could spend a day with a deceased loved one, what would you do? A small address and date are typed at the bottom, along with a short note that reads, come with possession of said loved one.
Jongin isn't one to believe in magic tricks, but these words grip him for the rest of the week.
-
Luhan tries to build a bridge across the room, over the silence that falls between them the next time he visits. "How've you been?" He asks. No response. "I saw your chrysanthemums are blooming," he tries again. "They look lovely."
"Kyungsoo planted them," Jongin grumbles.
If Luhan is taken aback by his unresponsiveness, he doesn't show it, politely setting down his bowl on the counter. "I've always wondered," he comments uncertainly, "what do you think it would be like to be a flower? You know, just staying in one place, watching the seasons pass." Jongin stands up and leaves the room.
-
And the night finally comes, and Jongin zips his jacket up and sets out. The address is for a town on the eastern coast, a few hours out from Busan. The driving is a blur of horns and lights until he arrives on a dingy lot. This is the address listed, but there's nothing here. Confused and angry, Jongin slams the car door shut, looking out on the bay and then-
There it is. Circus tents rise over the water, striped black and white like the poster. It's almost as if they're floating on the bay. Jongin starts towards the tents, catching the smell of burnt caramel and something else that he can't quite name. Symphonic music drifts out towards him, a tune he's sure Kyungsoo has sang to. Everything about it seems familiar but unplaceable.
The light is warm and it pulls him in, and Jongin's not sure where he's supposed to be but he thinks again of the scrap of photo in his pocket, and he knows he has to find Kyungsoo one last time.
-
The circus is abuzz with strange looking people, the likes of which Jongin's never seen. Women in dresses seemingly made of clouds or autumn leaves, men wearing jeweled coat tails that shimmer and change color below light. There is a faceless clown in the corner, two triangles pointing downwards painted in place of his eyes. Jongin watches the clown, slightly mortified, as he juggles what seem to be balls of fire.
This can't be real. He isn't thinking right. Tearing his gaze from the faceless clown, he continues deeper into the tent, past various booths and mini-tents advertising fortune telling or trapeze artists or rings of fire.
There's a woman in the center of the tent on a small pedestal in an arabesque. Jongin watches her for a good five minutes but she does not move, arms suspended in forward motion, gaze pointed up to the ceiling. Her dress seems to be made of thistle-down. Not a single thread of it shakes despite the chilly breeze that sneaks in below the tent folds.
After a bit of wandering, Jongin finds a mini-tent where a piece of paper has been taped to the front with the message, this is what you were looking for. Looking up at the black clock that ticks loudly at the entrance to the tent, Jongin sees that it's only 8:30.
Pulling back the flaps, he can see a bead curtain hanging between himself and whoever is in the tent. The place has a flowery incense smell, bits and curls of smoke hanging about in the air.
"You may come in," a voice comes from behind the bead curtain. Jongin pushes back the bead curtain, peeking into the room. The room is lined with candles and incense, a small black velvet table in the middle. The woman sitting behind it smiles, gesturing for him to enter. When the beads fall back, colliding with each other, it sounds like falling rain.
"You have come because you saw my poster, no?" Jongin nods faintly. Everything, the woman's voice, her features, her clothing, all of would be easily forgettable. Already, Jongin feels kind of dizzy from the incense. The music curves and distorts behind him.
"You said you could help me see a dead person," he says.
The woman nods. "And I can. Do you have something of theirs? It can be anything, clothing, favorite book, a letter..."
"I have this." Jongin holds up Kyungsoo's torn photo of him. "It has his writing on the back."
The woman smiles. "Wonderful. Now let's begin. How did this person die?"
"Car crash."
"Date of death?"
Jongin gulps. "The first of September. It was a Tuesday."
"So a bit over a month ago, eh? Pass me the photo, please."
Jongin nods, handing it to her. The woman gets up from the table and walks around the perimeter of the room. Eventually, she picks up a short beeswax candle and returns to the table. Setting it down, she produces a dark box. It's a deck of tarot cards. The backs are patterned with swirling skulls.
"Pick two."
Jongin reaches forward, pulling at random. He doesn't care about some fate or destiny thing, he just wants to see Kyungsoo. The first card he turns over has the figure of a woman on it, one foot on land and the other in water. The caption reads, Temperance. On the second card is a horned man with great wings, stretching over two half-human figures chained below him. It seems like the man on the card is laughing at him.
"The Devil," The lady remarks. "Interesting." Jongin turns both of the cards facedown. "Now, Jongin, I want you to burn them."
This startles Jongin. "You mean here?" He hesitates before holding Temperance out over the candle. Flames begin to lick up the sides of the card, manifesting in a small grey cloud that floats up to the ceiling. The fire devours the second card much faster, and the smoke is spindly and sinister, hanging thick in the air.
"And the photograph," the woman points her long nails at Jongin.
Jongin swallows, reaching forward to dangle the picture over the flame. He watches his face on the picture burn slowly, softness wicked away to smoke. The lady smiles when the last of it drifts away.
"It is done," she says.
"What?"
"Done," the woman repeats. "It will take effect shortly." Jongin sighs, getting impatient, but she reaches her bony hand forward to clasp his, table creaking below them. "If you throw a stone in the stream, it will create a ripple, but the flow will always correct itself, no?" Jongin nods, irritated. He didn't come here for an old woman's metaphors. "Anything you do during that day will have no effect on the future. You will return to present day and your love will be dead."
"I understand." Jongin fidgets to get out, but the woman is still talking.
"When the clock strikes midnight tomorrow, you can't be touching any person. There'll be averse effects on yourself." Jongin nods, beginning to stand up. "Do you understand me?" She asks firmly.
"I understand," he repeats, thanking her as he turns to go.
"Be patient, Jongin," the lady calls out behind him. "You'll see him soon."
Jongin leaves the black and white circus quickly, not noticing that the pedestal where the ballerina stood is now gone. The clock is ticking and his heart is racing as he steps into the chilly air of the night.
The car he drives now is different from the one in the crash, it runs more quietly, leaving Jongin alone with his thoughts as he races back to Seoul. He's going to see Kyungsoo. A part of him still doesn't know what he's got himself into.
There's something very muted about this kind of closure, it seems, something very empty. Perhaps seeing Kyungsoo again will help him to stitch his wound back up. Perhaps it will only rip it wider open.
Is that not love? He can hear Kyungsoo's voice as he runs his worries through his mind. It's from a morning spent burning biscuits and fingers and stealing kisses behind curtains. Kyungsoo's eyes are half-moons in the gentle morning light and when he smiles at Jongin, the shapes that reflect in his eyes look a lot like forever.
The gloomy lights shine through the mist as Jongin runs now to Kyungsoo, as Jongin runs now to his home.
-
But it is hardly/Yesterday's problem
-
Sunlight sneaks into his bedroom slowly, twisting itself nimbly across the lines of his back. When Jongin wakes up, he is alone. At first, this doesn't seem any different to him than any other day of recent, but the events of the previous night come back to him quickly. He was tricked. There's a dull pounding at the back of his head, and he throws his arms against the sheets in frustration. Kyungsoo's photo is burned, and Jongin's wasted another night missing him.
But as he sits in the morning light, hunched over in his bed, a familiar tune rises from a corner of the house. It drifts in filaments like cobwebs in the breeze, Jongin only catching snippets of the song. Pushing up from his bed, he wanders downstairs and into the kitchen.
That's when he sees him, humming over a bowl of cereal. Jongin freezes in the doorway, almost gasping at the sight. The sun catches all of Kyungsoo perfectly, dark eyebrows furrowed over delicate eyelashes, lips downturned slightly as he reads the newspaper. When Kyungsoo sees Jongin he smiles, getting up from his seat to kiss Jongin's cheek.
"Morning, sleepyhead." Kyungsoo brushes something invisible off Jongin's shoulder.
"Kyungsoo." The name is thick on his tongue, in the air, and Jongin is amazed by the realness of everything, stuttering, "wh-what day is it?"
"It's the last day of August, I think."
The day before the crash. Jongin swallows. He reaches out to pull Kyungsoo into his arms, breathing in deeply. Kyungsoo is fresh lemons and soap and good dreams, and Jongin tries to take all of it into him, the feel of his skin, the tremble of his hands, the beat of his heart. Kyungsoo laughs quietly.
"Clingy today, eh?" Kyungsoo laughs. "Better get ready soon, we're leaving for the beach again in a few hours."
-
The beach is quiet and grey, just like Jongin remembers it. Kyungsoo slips off at one point to photograph the tide pools. It's almost surreal to Jongin, watching Kyungsoo sift through the sand with his camera. He's not sure if this is the way Kyungsoo has always acted, he's not sure if this is the way he's always walked and breathed and looked, and that scares him. He can't be letting go of Kyungsoo already, not when he's waited for so long.
He walks to him through the sand, sidling up behind him to entwine their fingers and pull him into a kiss. Kyungsoo is definitely shocked but relaxes into it quickly, mumbling to Jongin that he has to work. He pushes him back and turns back to his work.
"I think we'll have to stay longer. We can rent a room in a motel and drive home tomorrow, right? You said you were taking a break from your big fancy computer job." Kyungsoo looks at Jongin. "Is that okay?"
"Are you sure we shouldn't go home today?" Jongin panics. "The, um, road can be rough, you know?"
"Then it won't make any difference if we stay longer or not. This is about the artistic process, Jongin. I need to feel at home here." Kyungsoo grins. "And there's a nice bed and breakfast back in town. I heard the owner makes pancakes."
Jongin sighs, nodding. Kyungsoo walks past him and out into the sea, waves washing around his bare legs. When he stretches his arms out, it looks like he could hold the sky. "I think I'm home," he calls out to Jongin, laughing. Jongin sees Kyungsoo's smile, and has to swear that he's home too.
-
The afternoon turns golden and they leave the beach to have greasy pizza in an empty plaza. The ocean wind is strong and Kyungsoo huddles against him as their shadows pull themselves higher up the brick walls.
"Someday, I'd like to live in a place like this," Kyungsoo says.
Jongin smiles, buttoning his jacket. "Would you, now?"
"We could have a nice little cottage on the oceanfront. The windows would be large and curtainless, and the only furniture is a rickety old table and two armchairs facing the sunset. We could have fresh strawberries every morning and count the stars at night. Our garden would be big and bountiful and beautiful."
Jongin hugs Kyungsoo tightly against him. "And we'd both live to be a hundred years old. We'd be the happiest people in the world."
"I already am," Kyungsoo mumbles into his hair. "I already am."
Jongin wishes he could pause time and stay in this moment forever, stay with Kyungsoo forever, but it's getting late and he knows he doesn't have much time. The woman at the bed and breakfast tries to give them two rooms but they only use one, huddled together below the sheets silently. Kyungsoo is asleep and Jongin stays watching the clock, waiting for midnight.
At about 11:30 the rain begins falling. The drumming on the roof is steady but it does nothing to soothe Jongin. Instead, he clenches Kyungsoo's fingers in his hands, exhaling shakily. He's not ready to leave, he doesn't want to go. The rain gets louder and louder as it draws closer to midnight. Jongin feels as if the clock is mocking him, speeding up on purpose.
Three minutes left. Jongin pulls Kyungsoo closer to him. He needs to remember everything about him, the sound of his breath, the rise of his chest, the curl of his lips. Seconds slip through his fingers like sand.
Two minutes left. Jongin opens the curtains to see the rainy street below them. The ocean looks flat and still from here. When Kyungsoo shifts in bed, Jongin climbs back in with him. He's afraid to touch him. He's afraid to look at him. He knows he's already lost him.
One minute left. Jongin squeezes his eyes shut, heart beating. He doesn't want to let go. Kyungsoo is so beautiful, he can't-
As the clock strikes midnight, Jongin presses a kiss to Kyungsoo's forehead. The feeling is exhilarating and cold, and he holds himself there for a while. He holds himself there as the thunder crashes above them so loudly they're jostled around inside their own bodies. He holds himself even as there's a sort of dropping feeling in his stomach. The rain quickly resides. It's dark so Jongin doesn't know what has happened, but he's with Kyungsoo and that's what matters.
-
And he is still holding himself against Kyungsoo when he wakes up the next morning. They're back at their house, in their bed. It takes a few moments for the events of yesterday to come back to him. Kyungsoo is here. With Jongin. They're safe at home. Excitement bubbles in Jongin's chest. Somehow, Kyungsoo survived. Somehow, they've won.
But as he hops out of his bed to brush his teeth, he catches a glimpse of the calendar. The month is flipped to October. It couldn't-
Jongin quickly checks his phone. In the dim room, the date October 11, 2015 glares out at him. Excitement turned to panic, Jongin rushes over to shake Kyungsoo awake.
"Kyungsoo? Kyungsoo?"
"What is it?" Comes the groggy reply.
Jongin swallows. "What day is it?"
Kyungsoo furrows his brow. "What do you mean, what day is it? It's the first of September. Now let me sleep." He rolls over again, back facing a worried Jongin.
Needles prickle down his back, his breath catches in his throat. Could they have jumped back forward into present day? Kyungsoo can't know that he died, he can't know what Jongin's done. Hastily, Jongin runs to pull the calendars off the walls in their room and kitchen, stuffing them in the trash.
When Kyungsoo comes out into the kitchen, Jongin's already burned breakfast twice. "Jongin?" He asks. "Why are we here? I had to stay another day to get more photographs."
"The, um, the owner told us we had to leave. It was, like, one in the morning, so I didn't want to wake you." Jongin almost chokes on his lie.
Kyungsoo frowns. "That's shitty of them. I had work I needed to get done." Jongin nods faintly, turning back to his eggs, which, once again, were overdone. He sighs, and Kyungsoo walks up next to him, taking the spatula from his hands. "Hey, are you okay?"
Jongin brushes him off. "Yeah- tired, I guess." He rests his head on Kyungsoo's shoulder.
"Jongin, what are you doing?" Kyungsoo murmurs, shifting away from him. Jongin moves with him. Annoyed by the distraction, Kyungsoo pushes him away. "Move, Jongin," he snaps, a familiar tone that Jongin had forgot existed. "I'm working."
Kyungsoo, forever the artist. Jongin had forgotten he could be like this. Miffed and slightly nauseous, Jongin walks out of the room. His head spins.
-
Two more days pass before Luhan visits again. When Jongin hears the knocking on the door, he tells Kyungsoo to stay still, jumping up to answer it.
He opens the door just a crack, so that Luhan can't see in and Kyungsoo can't see out, so that the autumn breeze won't slip in to tell Kyungsoo the truth. "Hey, um, I was just wondering if we're going to do dinner at the same ti-"
"No!" Jongin interrupts forcefully. "I mean, I'm busy tonight. Sorry."
"That's okay." Luhan smiles. "Is there a time later this week?"
Jongin looks back at Kyungsoo quickly, immersed in his book on the couch. "I'm not sure," he says. "I'll have to get back to you on it." He quickly shuts the door on Luhan in his autumn day.
"Who was that?" Kyungsoo asks when he returns.
"Nobody- just a salesman."
"That's funny." Kyungsoo taps his chin. "It sounded an awful lot like Luhan. We should visit him sometime, you kn-"
"H-he's on a trip," Jongin stutters. "Besides, I like being here better." He wraps his arm around Kyungsoo. "I have you." Kyungsoo's eyes are dark and confused, but he curls into him and they drift off together.
-
"Jongin?" Kyungsoo leans out from the studio door. "Did something happen to one of my pictures?" Jongin hurries down the hall to the studio, peeking in. "It's this one," Kyungsoo points to an empty spot on the wall. "It was of you looking forward. Do you know what happened to it?"
Thinking of the broken photograph, Jongin swallows uncertainly. "I don't know. When did you have it last?"
Kyungsoo raises his eyebrows at him. "Not funny. Did you do something to it?"
"I swear I didn't, Kyungsoo. I barely even go in there," Jongin persists. Kyungsoo's brow furrows as he begins to walk away.
"Listen, I know it was there before I left, you're the only pers-"
"I don't know, okay?" It comes out harshly, and wincing, he turns and walks quickly down the hall. It's harder to cover this up than he'd realized.
-
Jongin wakes up that night with twigs snapping in his lungs, and he realizes with a prickle down his back that he's alone in his bed. Kyungsoo is gone. He rushes up and down the house, into each of the rooms, calling his name, but he's only met with his own hollow echo. The echoes knock into each other but Kyungsoo is gone. It's one in the morning and bits of twigs are lodging themselves in Jongin's throat.
And just as he's given up, just as he's began thinking that Kyungsoo wasn't meant to come back with him, the door creaks open. He can't quite explain why, but when Jongin sees Kyungsoo, his worry immediately flares into anger.
He storms over to him. "Where were you?" He demands.
Kyungsoo is taken aback by Jongin's abruptness, stepping back a bit. "I was just out for a walk, Jongin, I couldn't sleep but didn't-"
Jongin slams the door behind him. "And you didn't tell me?"
"It's okay," Kyungsoo says, trying to assure him. "You don't need to worry about me, I'm not your child."
Jongin raises his fist, the heat rising to his cheeks. "And what about me? Did you even leave a note? I was worried, Kyungsoo."
Kyungsoo is looking at him strangely, as if he doesn't understand, which confuses Jongin. He's in love with Kyungsoo, he can't just leave Jongin. Kyungsoo lets out a puffy laugh. "Do you even hear what you're saying? That I need your permission to leave? I don't belong to you, Jongin, I don't-"
When Jongin's fist connects with Kyungsoo's cheek, Kyungsoo doesn't gasp or yell. When he hits the wall, there is a sharp intake of breath and then silence. The second and third blows fall hard on his shoulders. The base of his spine is rammed into the wall as he tries to scramble away, but Jongin is swinging blindly at him, jerking movements like that of a puppet on a string. The sudden rage is contained, and in a few seconds bottled away, Jongin standing back and leaning his head against the opposite wall.
He doesn't offer and apology and Kyungsoo doesn't wait for one. Instead, he pushes himself up, cupping his face in his hands as he trudges into the living room. The only sounds are the creaking of the house and the lonely whistling of their hearts. The only sounds are the malicious autumn breeze and the twigs snapping, one by one, down Jongin's spine.
-
And the way you danced/By headlights-rotten/Flowers for the last/Waltz to the abyss;
-
The next morning, Jongin walks through all of the rooms in the house and shuts the blinds on every window he can. Kyungsoo is still sitting in the living room, staring absently at the ceiling. Jongin winces when he sees the ugly purple bruise that's bloomed on his cheek.
Kyungsoo doesn't want to look at Jongin, eyes flickering back and forth and never finding a suitable resting place. But when Jongin approaches Kyungsoo, and he tells him that he was sorry and that he made a mistake, Kyungsoo devours his words like a hungry dog. Jongin's words are like paper, torn and flimsy, and Kyungsoo knows this. But the thing is, there's an ache deep in his bones that Kyungsoo's felt for too long. The thing is, Kyungsoo thinks Jongin can fix him too.
And so the weeks pass and Kyungsoo carries a necklace of bruises and cuts, a spattering of them to trickle down his arms and sides. He's prideful- he won't let Jongin know that he hurt him- but Jongin can tell. Kyungsoo flinches sometimes, if Jongin moves towards him or talks too loudly. He's getting nightmares that Jongin can't wake him from.
-
Luhan visits several times for the first few weeks, but the click of the door closing in his face becomes too familiar, the walk down the the driveway becomes too long, and soon he's gone. Almost.
Until one dark evening when, instead of Jongin, Kyungsoo wanders over and opens the door to see Luhan. The shock registers slowly on Luhan's face, jaw dropping and face losing color. When Kyungsoo makes to greet him, Luhan jumps back.
"Who are you?" He sputters. "Why are you here?"
"Luhan, Luhan." Kyungsoo tries to talk over Luhan's babbling. "It's just me. It's Kyungsoo."
Luhan looks around frantically. "You-you're not supposed to be here, you're de-"
Jongin, who heard the racket from upstairs, pushes in front of Kyungsoo right then, closing the door in Luhan's face once again. Kyungsoo looks at him confusedly.
"Jongin!" Luhan yells, banging against the wood. "Open the door!"
"Move," Jongin growls at Kyungsoo, who timidly retreats into the house. He stands silently next to the door as Luhan pounds against it, heart beating loudly. He knows now. He can't know. Jongin sits still, breathlessly staring at the tall walls around him. They had seemed so safe to him, an impenetrable fortress where he and Kyungsoo could be together. That's all he had wanted.
He opens the door. Luhan's normally composed face is a mess, puffy eyes and red cheeks and blotted tears. He opens his mouth and for a moment before he speaks, they stand there wordlessly, Luhan's jaw moving up and down.
"What did you do, Jongin?" He finally whispers. "How is he still here?"
Jongin shakes his head. "You shouldn't ask, Luhan. All you need to know is that I'm happy now." Luhan looks at him and this time Jongin can see the hopelessness etched in his eyes.
"That's what it was always about, wasn't it?" His voice is weak and hollow. "You were happy. You were with him. You didn't need to spare anyone or anything a second thought."
"Luhan," Jongin hesitates, "what are you trying to say?"
"All this time, and you haven't noticed?" Luhan chokes out. "Jongin, I-" His face is dark and contorted. He makes a noise that sounds like a gasp for air but is probably a cry for help and leans forward. When his lips press against Jongin's they are hungry and suck all of him in, all of his focus spiraling to a single point.
Luhan is breathing down Jongin's throat and Jongin stands frozen for a moment before he slams his fist into Luhan's chin and punches him hard in his stomach, pushing him to the ground. Luhan's body makes a crunching sound when it hits the gravel. Jongin slaps his face once more.
"What the hell was that?" He asks angrily.
Luhan's grin is bloody as he props himself up. "I'm nothing to you, aren't I?"
"What are you talking about, Luhan?" Autumn creeps up his spine and settles like a rope around his neck. Jongin is gasping for air as Luhan lies laughing on the ground.
"Hell," he coughs out, "I should've known. I should've given up. But then he was gone and you were ripped open and I thought I could fill that hole in your chest." He gestures at Jongin's shirt. "I thought it could be me." He's crying too, palms flat on the sharp rocks. He says something that is drawn out and lost in gasps, repeating it in low sharp tones. "End this," he's saying, "please."
"Luhan, what are you-"
"You can't tell? I'm nothing without you, Jongin, but I mean nothing to you. Please," he begs, "please." He falls back onto the ground, elbows scraping on the gravel.
"I don't know what you mean, Luhan, I don't understand." Jongin stands in the wind with blood on his hands and Luhan starts coughing. It's a horrible sound, racketing back and forth across his chest and scratching up his throat, slicing through the air like knives. Jongin stoops down, cradling his head in his lap. Eventually Luhan's eyes close, eventually his coughing stops, but Jongin can still feel him breathing limply on top of him.
What is he supposed to do? Luhan knows about Kyungsoo, he can't, he shouldn't know about Kyungsoo. It's cold and he's losing feeling in his fingertips and probably his brain when Luhan's voice digs its way from the back of his mind. "What do you think it would be like to be a flower?"
So it happens that Jongin comes to a very rational decision involving a shovel and several packets of seeds. He lifts Luhan up carefully and brings him through the house to the back porch. The evening is dark with storm clouds above them, everything holding just to spill over all at once.
Lying Luhan carefully down on a bed of decomposing leaves and dirt, Jongin grabs his shovel and gets to work. He digs him a space between the elderberries and the chrysanthemums, throwing dirt back over his shoulder as the night darkens. It's almost too easy, the dirt is soft and the work goes fast. Soon he's ripped a person-sized hole in their garden.
"He's still alive." Kyungsoo has walked out, bent over looking at Luhan. "But barely."Jongin nods. "Why did you-" Kyungsoo swallows his question, not wanting to know the answer. "He got so scared when he saw me, it was weird."
"Yeah," Jongin echoes. "Weird."
Kyungsoo eyes Luhan silently before walking back into the house. He comes out a second later with a faded blue Polaroid camera and a towel, wiping the blood off Luhan's face and silently positioning himself over Luhan. "You're taking pictures of this?"
"Everything is art, Jongin," Kyungsoo reminds him. And it's true. In the low evening light with the mist and shadows creeping up his face, Luhan looks peaceful. He's pale and stands out against the dark leaves, and everything comes out hazy and beautiful when Kyungsoo is behind the camera.
They don't check to see if he's breathing before they hoist him into the hole. The storm clouds are gathering quickly overhead, so they have to hurry, Kyungsoo sprinkling seeds in between heaps of dirt Jongin covers him with. They don't talk. They've had to bury ghosts before, they've had to bury ghosts too many times, a human should be no different.
When the storm starts, the two of them stand together over freshly turned dirt. The rain washes the dried blood off Jongin's hands, pooling over at the edge of the lawn. Luhan is planted below the asters on a chilly October night.
"He loved you," Kyungsoo says, flipping through his Polaroids. "He always did." Jongin doesn't respond.
-
The asters grow faster than expected. Three days later, they've popped up in the middle of the garden, purple heads bobbing in the breeze. Kyungsoo picks some to put in a small vase on the kitchen table, and Jongin smiles.
They come out the next morning, however, and find that each and every one of the flowers in the vase have rotted. The blackened things droop drearily above the table cloth, decaying petals strewn across the surface. Neither of them have the heart to throw them out. Outside, the aster bunch tumbles and spreads joyfully.
-
Kyungsoo cuts his silhouette small against the night, looking up to the stars. Jongin sweeps in like a breeze behind him.
"Look at the stars, Jongin," Kyungsoo says. "Look how beautiful they are."
Jongin is tipsy, grinning haughtily at Kyungsoo. "They're not beautiful," he says. "We are." He jerks Kyungsoo's face to his, pulling him into a kiss, but where Jongin tastes fire and passion and love, Kyungsoo can only taste Jongin's tequila. The night pulls on and the stars wink out above them.
-
At the end of the week there comes a knock. Jongin pushes Kyungsoo into the studio, opening up to find a thin man in a cop uniform. His nameplate reads Oh Sehun. There's a bored look in his eyes as he addresses Jongin.
"You're Kim Jongin, correct? I'm here to ask you some questions about a man named Luhan. I understand you are friends with him." Jongin nods. "He was reported missing a few days back by a Byun Baekhyun-" curse him, whoever he is, Jongin thinks- " and we believe he was last headed for your house."
"He's here," Jongin says blankly. "He's in the backyard."
Oh Sehun nods. "If you don't mind, then, I'll have a look around," he says flatly. Jongin follows him, tight-lipped, into the house. First, he checks the guest room. No one. Next, he walks through the kitchen, glancing quickly at the rotten flowers. Jongin's heart picks up as he starts toward the studio.
"That's all now, isn't it?" He says shrilly.
"Just a bit more, Mr. Kim." His hand is on the doorknob, he's pulling the door out towards him and-
There's a clang as the policeman is knocked to the ground, followed by one of Kyungsoo's photography light stands. The stand is picked up one more time, bashing against Oh Sehun's skull, before the door swings out farther to reveal a wide-eyed Kyungsoo.
"What did I just do?" He asks. Oh Sehun is not moving. A moment passes between them and they've come to a silent decision.
-
The shovel is still stuck in the soil above Luhan's flowers. Jongin begins on the other side of the chrysanthemums, piling the midmorning high with dirt. This time Kyungsoo doesn't bring his camera out watching silently until the time has come to bury their next mistake. Scattering a handful of seeds, he walks back inside. Jongin stands, staring silently down at where they put Sehun. He could've had a family, he could've had people wait for him. They hadn't checked if he was breathing.
It's almost calming to Jongin, though, to push the soil back into place over the police officer's unmoving body. When he walks back into their bedroom, Kyungsoo is curled up, shaking below the sheets.
"Are we going to live like this?" Kyungsoo asks, not looking up. "Are we going to hide?"
As Jongin walks in, he notices that everything is a hollow white. It feels like someone's funeral in here. He sits down on the bed, and is hesitantly reaching out to stroke his hand across Kyungsoo's back when he notices that his shoulder bones protrude out, like featherless angel wings. Maybe it is someone's funeral. Retracting his hand, he leans down to whisper in Kyungsoo's ear.
"It's okay," he says. "We can find a place our memories don't drip down the back of our necks. We can run away from our ghosts."
-
They end up driving away from their ghosts.
Kyungsoo gets up a few hours after and wanders out to where Jongin waits. "I'm ready," he says. Jongin looks down at him. "Not bringing anything?"
"I have this." Kyungsoo holds up a large orange envelope. "Didn't have the heart to leave my pictures behind."
It's late at night when they leave their house for the last time, unlocked. Jongin carries Kyungsoo to the car, bare feet dangling over the gravel. Kyungsoo kisses one of Jongin's hands.
"It's my fault we're doing this. I'm sorry, Soo, I knew you loved this house."
"I hit him with a lighting post," Kyungsoo says. "We buried him in our garden."
"He was a threat," Jongin assures Kyungsoo. "He was a threat to us." Kyungsoo shifts uncomfortably in Jongin's embrace. The nights are falling earlier and earlier, and it's dark already. Their headlights flick on and they're gone. The last thing Kyungsoo sees of it is the upstairs bedroom, one lamp still on, empty picture frames reflecting slow white decay.
They don't see the blue stalks of delphinium that sprout on the other side of the chrysanthemums and pour out to fill their yard.
-
Everything harshly/the misbegotten dreams/of a last gasp
-
They don't have much of a destination, heading generally north up the winding coast. Some nights, they're in the thick of metropolitan South Korea. Some nights, the sky above them is deep and unclouded. Kyungsoo doesn't mention the stars.
To Jongin, it's just what it is- driving across the country with his boyfriend. He doesn't worry about finding a home because he knows that as long as he's with Kyungsoo, he'll be okay. The highways twist but the blank expression on his face stays the same.
Kyungsoo can't help but feel a little homesick. He knows the car is different than the one they had when they came back from the beach, but he's afraid that if he mentions it, Jongin will get mad. For Kyungsoo, the worst part of traveling is not having anything to hold on to.
A week on the road leaves them with a tense atmosphere buzzing between the driver and passenger seat. Kyungsoo is snippy and Jongin pushes inside himself. The silence is a tangible one, humid and heavy against their tongues.
-
They're nearing Incheon when Kyungsoo turns to Jongin and says, "I feel like dying."
"What are you-"
"Since September, really. Everything is different and quiet and it feels like I'm drowning in nothing. I don't feel like I should be here, Jongin, and I don't know why."
Jongin gulps. "Everything seems normal to me. You shouldn't worry, Kyungsoo." He tries his best to reassure him, but as he looks down at him, he realizes how pale and skinny he's become. He's barely clinging to his own skeleton.
"But I'm not-"
Jongin has to change tactics. "Why do you make everything about you?" He raises his voice over Kyungsoo's. "It hurts me too. I didn't want to leave either. It was a good piece of money I put down for that house." Kyungsoo sits, tight-lipped, staring silently ahead. They both know that Kyungsoo's worries are legitimate, but Jongin can't let him know the truth. He can't afford losing him again.
Kyungsoo's cold voice slices through everything. "When did you get this car?" Jongin ignores him.
-
That night, there is an unsuccessful attempt to initiate something with Kyungsoo. They're in the back of the car, silently eating their own bowls of some instant ramen bought from the convenience store. Jongin leans over, kissing around the shape of Kyungsoo's ear. Kyungsoo spills his ramen on Jongin's pants.
Fuming silently, Jongin stops at the nearest gas station bathroom to wash up. "You wanna stretch your legs a bit?"
Kyungsoo makes to get up out of the car but quickly lets out a groan of pain. "No," he squeaks. "I'm fine." His face is contorted, eyes squeezed shut until they stop
-
Jongin has to carry Kyungsoo to his room when they stop at a motel. When Jongin lays him down on the creaky mattress, he doesn't open his eyes. "Don't make me have to bury you too," he ventures. He's only half joking.
"I can't see," Kyungsoo mumbles. He isn't in the mood for Jongin's jokes. After a bit of silence broken only by the sound of the mattress springs as Kyungsoo shifts above them, he asks, "where are we even heading?"
"I don't know." Jongin shrugs. "Tomorrow we'll probably reach Incheon, and I was thinking we can take it from there. You know, the airport is in Incheon." He grins. "Just think, Kyungsoo, we can start a new life. We could live anywhere, the U.S., or Switzerland, or Japan. We could be happy togeth-"
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Kyungsoo starts, propping himself up against the headboard. "I'm not sure how I feel about this."
"Kyungsoo, it's okay. It'll just be us two, no Luhan or policemen or anybody else."
Kyungsoo looks down uncomfortably. "That's the thing. I'm not sure I want it to be us two anymore."
This time, Jongin doesn't raise his voice. He is utterly confused as to why this is happening. "But you can't leave," he objects. "I know I fucked up, I know things are a mess, but we were meant to be, we were-"
"Listen to me, Jongin. For more than a month, it's been like all my pieces are shoved together the wrong way, and I don't know why. Luhan was so spooked to see me, you've been keeping me in hiding- I don't get it."
The sun sets on an auburn evening as Jongin's focus skitters back and forth. "I did all those things to protect you. Kyungsoo, I want to live and breathe at your side. I want to die with you, I need to keep you safe." He takes a breath in. It feels like someone's stuck a knife in his side. "I love you." His voice is hoarse as he reaches forward towards Kyungsoo's face, but Kyungsoo turns away.
"I loved you too, Jongin- I still do. But don't you see what you do to the people around you? I remember when I met you in high school when you still had a girlfriend, and one day, her friend turned to me and said, that's a boy who could crush your heart without knowing he ever held it in his hands. Let me tell you, it hurts." He's holding back tears, gasping for air in the cold room.
"Kyungsoo, I-"
"I'm not your destiny, Jongin. I'm not your home, or your heart, or anything else you were going to tell me. My head is throbbing, my legs don't move, and my back feels like it could shatter. I'm in pain because of you, and you won't let me go. Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell that that's love?" Kyungsoo's words crack against the sun-stained wall as they fly out of his mouth. "I'm so," he's coughing out, "so fucking miserable here. I need a doctor and I need a break from you. So please, Jongin, take me away from here. Please."
Cracked moonlight slips in through the window slats. Jongin can only stare hard at his hands, unblinking. Everything he's done to bring Kyungsoo back, to be with him, it's all resulted in this. His stomach is dropping, Kyungsoo is getting fainter and fainter. Jongin doesn't know where he went wrong. Kyungsoo is his love, not anybody else's.
"Goddamn you, Jongin, let me live." Kyungsoo's voice is harsh as it shatters the silence. The pieces scatter and bounce away, and for the rest of the night, the quiet is never quite complete. There's an ocean of cicadas screaming in their minds. There's an ocean of blood washing up on their lips. It's a shame these sort of oceans can't water wilting flowers.
-
And the next day, they set out for a hospital, or so Jongin thinks. It's a blazing Tuesday morning in the middle of November, Jongin driving and Kyungsoo with his head tipped back, eyes closed against the seat. No one talks in the car as they enter Incheon.
They speed down the road, apartment complexes reaching to touch the sky on either side of them. The bay is approaching, the turnoff to the international airport. Jongin exhales.
"It should be right here," Kyungsoo is saying, "go up to the turnoff for the bridge but then turn right instead."
Jongin tries to take in everything, the Incheon Expressway Bridge rising high above them, white and snaking towards the terminals. Kyungsoo's features are delicate against the drab grey of the apartments. Against the slow sunlight stretching across his face to take him away from Jongin.
"Right here, Jongin." Kyungsoo reminds him. He's numb to everything. He presses down on the pedal, hands jerking the steering wheel. Kyungsoo's voice rises in pitch. "What are you doing Jongin where are you going we're on the bridge fuck we're on the-"
Jongin's face pulls into a grin. Next to him, Kyungsoo is shouting at him, gesturing frantically. Jongin's mind is blank. He swerves back and forth recklessly on the empty bridge, their hollow world collapsing in on itself behind him. He's breaking through white railings, vehicle tipping, tipping, tipping-
As the murky water nears, Jongin can't help but laugh because he is falling, off a bridge and maybe in love again with Kyungsoo. As the murky water nears, he can't help but laugh because no matter how long you've been leaning off the side, no matter how loud you scream your pains, if you drive your car straight off a bridge, people will just say, what a horrible accident. No questions asked.
Kyungsoo is pushing his fists against Jongin's chest and Jongin has his eyes closed peacefully and as the murky water nears, he can't help but laugh because he knows that when the ocean shifts the sands over their blue bodies, they will blossom into beautiful flowers entwined together below the ocean.
❊ title: back in bloom
❊ pairings: kai/d.o, kai/luhan
❊ rating: r
❊ warnings: violence, character death, not sure what category this would fall under but two people are buried alive (while unconscious)
❊ word count: 8,639
❊ summary: Jongin is angry and Kyungsoo is dead but their garden is still beautiful.
❊ a/n: the lovely poem separating each part of this fic was provided (and written, I believe) by the prompter! I'm sorry if this isn't what you had in mind but I read the poem and immediately had an idea for this, although it did kind of turn out a total mess...
Let’s go into this
Tomorrow sharply
Banking for the miss -
-
Speckled light plays across the walls, shaking and waving with the wind. Jongin's not sure how long he's been standing here, staring at this grey floor. This isn't how it should've ended, they should've had more time, they were grasping for the world but were left in pieces on the tarmac, blinded by dust and splintering silence.
The day Jongin's world crumbles is a Tuesday. He's driving and Kyungsoo sits beside him clicking through pictures of the ocean on his camera. No one else is on the road as they speed towards a glittering horizon, it's almost too tranquil. Kyungsoo is humming a light tune that carries the cloudless sky, Jongin is leaning over to peck him on the cheek as they round the bend, Kyungsoo is stiffening a little-
And when they crash, everything comes down in shining shards of glass and metal and fire. The silence that follows is smothering and absolute. There's smoke in Jongin's lungs and blood in his mouth and the sky is still a perfect blue, delicate as a dream. It was a Tuesday and Kyungsoo died with the birds soaring on winds that hold his song.
Now the sun has reached its blazing fingers through the one window in the room, reflecting nastily off the casket into Jongin's eyes. The door creaks open and he jumps, almost hoping it'll be Kyungsoo.
"Jongin?" Luhan ventures. "You've been in here for ages, you should come have lunch with the rest of-"
"I'm fine," Jongin interrupts. His voice is hoarse and it feels like there are stones in his throat. "You guys should go on without me."
"Are you sure?" Luhan asks. "I know it's hard, too, he was-"
"Luhan?" The edge to Jongin's voice is painful and heavy. "I'm fine. Now please, please give me some time." He looks back down to his shoes. The door closes and he crumbles to his knees.
-
When he drops his third empty beer bottle on the ground, it doesn't shatter like he wanted it to; the clunk it makes echoes through the studio. Jongin's three bottles deep, three bottles gone, three bottles drowning and ready for more. He's laying the moonlight in pieces across the table when one of the fragments catches the outline of a frame. Kyungsoo's photographs.
The ones Kyungsoo kept in the studio were his favorite, they were all ones with Jongin. Jongin silhouetted walking away into the rising tide, Jongin sleepy-eyed gazing down into his coffee mug, Jongin laughing as he swings backwards into the mist, just, only Jongin.
He turns and the frames are gleaming all around him, his face jeering out to remind him of old times. The fourth bottle is slammed against the table as he stands up to face the wall. There's a dizzy sort of buzzing to everything. His head is burning as he tears the lacy white curtains down, flinging the windows open, he's going to throw everything out, all the memories in their pretty frames. He's grabbing the beach one, raising his fist to break it in a flurry of-
The door bursts open and it's Luhan, all cold fingers and short gasps, grabbing Jongin's arm from behind and slowly working the picture out of his grasp. "It's okay," he's breathing, "it's okay." Jongin falls back to the smaller boy, wrapping himself in the the smell of cinnamon and cherry blossom tea, in the smell of burnt childhoods still smoking into the later years.
"I'm sorry," he mutters. "This isn't what Kyungsoo would've wanted."
Luhan nods by his ear, squeezing his hand. "It's tough," he whispers. "I know it is. But you can tell me. I don't want you to suffer here alone."
Jongin breathes out into his friend's embrace, nodding. They sit there as the night reassembles itself, Luhan holding Jongin, Jongin breaking to pieces.
-
And a month passes of the same routine, too much alcohol, too little sleep, a funny sort of betweenness that can be burnt away if you hurt enough. All the stories are rocked away in the end, to the rhythm of Luhan's embrace. He seems to have a knack for- well, Jongin, despite Jongin's own failure to notice it.
They box the Sunday morning in Luhan's blue apartment walls, Luhan sipping tea and watching Jongin, Jongin flicking through his phone for pictures of Kyungsoo.
"Jongin?" Luhan's shaky voice breaks the silence. Jongin doesn't look up. "What do you think would happen if I left?"
"Dunno," Jongin says. "You'd be gone." To preoccupied with Kyungsoo, Jongin doesn't see Luhan's face fall with his tea cup. He doesn't see the thin lines that trace up Luhan's arm and lace meaningless into his every thought.
-
"I remember when I went back to China for my senior year," Luhan is hiccuping, "and one night this tall guy shows up with smoky eyes. They were like, really gorgeous eyes. And he asks me if I knew a Wu Yifan. Of course, I didn't, but I told him I was the guy, because he's really hot, and-" Luhan starts giggling.
"And what?" Jongin grins, red faced. They're more than a bit tipsy and falling all over each other on the couch.
"We hooked up," Luhan snorts. "Never saw him again." Jongin bursts out laughing too, rolling over onto Luhan. He stops when he notices how close in proximity they are. "Come to think of it," Luhan whispers, "your eyes are pretty gorgeous too." Jongin can feel Luhan's breath on his face, his lips parted so delicately that it's too tempting to-
"I can't do this." He stands up, setting down his glass.
"Come on," Luhan sighs. "He's dead, Jongin. You can't bring him back. Can't you-"
"No," Jongin says. "I can't, Luhan. I'm sorry." He throws up outside the door of the apartment.
-
The next night Luhan is gone and Jongin lets the glass of a photograph break on the edge of the coffee table, sleek black frame splintered and picture torn in two. He feels sick for a week and lets the glass cut his feet.
He's finally sweeping away the torn paper and broken glass when he notices smudges of ink on the back of the photo. It's scrawled along the bottom of the picture in Kyungsoo's handwriting.
We were both at fault. He thinks he loves me. I thought I loved him too. He'll destroy me, and I'm going to let him.
Almost as an afterthought, Kyungsoo's written a note below in parentheses.
(I'm bleeding out but his smile keeps me coming back)
His breath catches itself in his throat. This couldn't be about him, could it? He flips it over and it's a picture of him looking at Kyungsoo, and it's soft and warm and everything about it says he's in love. He's smiling.
Tonight the stars seem farther away than they did before, and Jongin sits on their back porch waiting for the morning to wash it all away. Morning comes but Kyungsoo doesn't. Still, Jongin waits, running the scrap of paper through his fingers until they bleed. As the sun rises, an itch in his feet pulls him up, and Jongin finds himself moving towards the loud voices and earthy spice scents that drift from the morning market.
There's a crisp freshness to the air, and as he wanders past vendors selling exotic teas and herbs, he realizes with a sharp pang this is the first time he's gone out since Kyungsoo's funeral. Luhan would be proud. He ends up buying ingredients to make samgyetang because it was always Kyungsoo's favorite, and also udon soup for the hell of it.
Expedition finished, Jongin sets back towards his house. But as he's walking past the cigarette shop, he notices a sign hanging in the window. It's black and white, just a small, striped poster, but it asks in bold letters, if you could spend a day with a deceased loved one, what would you do? A small address and date are typed at the bottom, along with a short note that reads, come with possession of said loved one.
Jongin isn't one to believe in magic tricks, but these words grip him for the rest of the week.
-
Luhan tries to build a bridge across the room, over the silence that falls between them the next time he visits. "How've you been?" He asks. No response. "I saw your chrysanthemums are blooming," he tries again. "They look lovely."
"Kyungsoo planted them," Jongin grumbles.
If Luhan is taken aback by his unresponsiveness, he doesn't show it, politely setting down his bowl on the counter. "I've always wondered," he comments uncertainly, "what do you think it would be like to be a flower? You know, just staying in one place, watching the seasons pass." Jongin stands up and leaves the room.
-
And the night finally comes, and Jongin zips his jacket up and sets out. The address is for a town on the eastern coast, a few hours out from Busan. The driving is a blur of horns and lights until he arrives on a dingy lot. This is the address listed, but there's nothing here. Confused and angry, Jongin slams the car door shut, looking out on the bay and then-
There it is. Circus tents rise over the water, striped black and white like the poster. It's almost as if they're floating on the bay. Jongin starts towards the tents, catching the smell of burnt caramel and something else that he can't quite name. Symphonic music drifts out towards him, a tune he's sure Kyungsoo has sang to. Everything about it seems familiar but unplaceable.
The light is warm and it pulls him in, and Jongin's not sure where he's supposed to be but he thinks again of the scrap of photo in his pocket, and he knows he has to find Kyungsoo one last time.
-
The circus is abuzz with strange looking people, the likes of which Jongin's never seen. Women in dresses seemingly made of clouds or autumn leaves, men wearing jeweled coat tails that shimmer and change color below light. There is a faceless clown in the corner, two triangles pointing downwards painted in place of his eyes. Jongin watches the clown, slightly mortified, as he juggles what seem to be balls of fire.
This can't be real. He isn't thinking right. Tearing his gaze from the faceless clown, he continues deeper into the tent, past various booths and mini-tents advertising fortune telling or trapeze artists or rings of fire.
There's a woman in the center of the tent on a small pedestal in an arabesque. Jongin watches her for a good five minutes but she does not move, arms suspended in forward motion, gaze pointed up to the ceiling. Her dress seems to be made of thistle-down. Not a single thread of it shakes despite the chilly breeze that sneaks in below the tent folds.
After a bit of wandering, Jongin finds a mini-tent where a piece of paper has been taped to the front with the message, this is what you were looking for. Looking up at the black clock that ticks loudly at the entrance to the tent, Jongin sees that it's only 8:30.
Pulling back the flaps, he can see a bead curtain hanging between himself and whoever is in the tent. The place has a flowery incense smell, bits and curls of smoke hanging about in the air.
"You may come in," a voice comes from behind the bead curtain. Jongin pushes back the bead curtain, peeking into the room. The room is lined with candles and incense, a small black velvet table in the middle. The woman sitting behind it smiles, gesturing for him to enter. When the beads fall back, colliding with each other, it sounds like falling rain.
"You have come because you saw my poster, no?" Jongin nods faintly. Everything, the woman's voice, her features, her clothing, all of would be easily forgettable. Already, Jongin feels kind of dizzy from the incense. The music curves and distorts behind him.
"You said you could help me see a dead person," he says.
The woman nods. "And I can. Do you have something of theirs? It can be anything, clothing, favorite book, a letter..."
"I have this." Jongin holds up Kyungsoo's torn photo of him. "It has his writing on the back."
The woman smiles. "Wonderful. Now let's begin. How did this person die?"
"Car crash."
"Date of death?"
Jongin gulps. "The first of September. It was a Tuesday."
"So a bit over a month ago, eh? Pass me the photo, please."
Jongin nods, handing it to her. The woman gets up from the table and walks around the perimeter of the room. Eventually, she picks up a short beeswax candle and returns to the table. Setting it down, she produces a dark box. It's a deck of tarot cards. The backs are patterned with swirling skulls.
"Pick two."
Jongin reaches forward, pulling at random. He doesn't care about some fate or destiny thing, he just wants to see Kyungsoo. The first card he turns over has the figure of a woman on it, one foot on land and the other in water. The caption reads, Temperance. On the second card is a horned man with great wings, stretching over two half-human figures chained below him. It seems like the man on the card is laughing at him.
"The Devil," The lady remarks. "Interesting." Jongin turns both of the cards facedown. "Now, Jongin, I want you to burn them."
This startles Jongin. "You mean here?" He hesitates before holding Temperance out over the candle. Flames begin to lick up the sides of the card, manifesting in a small grey cloud that floats up to the ceiling. The fire devours the second card much faster, and the smoke is spindly and sinister, hanging thick in the air.
"And the photograph," the woman points her long nails at Jongin.
Jongin swallows, reaching forward to dangle the picture over the flame. He watches his face on the picture burn slowly, softness wicked away to smoke. The lady smiles when the last of it drifts away.
"It is done," she says.
"What?"
"Done," the woman repeats. "It will take effect shortly." Jongin sighs, getting impatient, but she reaches her bony hand forward to clasp his, table creaking below them. "If you throw a stone in the stream, it will create a ripple, but the flow will always correct itself, no?" Jongin nods, irritated. He didn't come here for an old woman's metaphors. "Anything you do during that day will have no effect on the future. You will return to present day and your love will be dead."
"I understand." Jongin fidgets to get out, but the woman is still talking.
"When the clock strikes midnight tomorrow, you can't be touching any person. There'll be averse effects on yourself." Jongin nods, beginning to stand up. "Do you understand me?" She asks firmly.
"I understand," he repeats, thanking her as he turns to go.
"Be patient, Jongin," the lady calls out behind him. "You'll see him soon."
Jongin leaves the black and white circus quickly, not noticing that the pedestal where the ballerina stood is now gone. The clock is ticking and his heart is racing as he steps into the chilly air of the night.
The car he drives now is different from the one in the crash, it runs more quietly, leaving Jongin alone with his thoughts as he races back to Seoul. He's going to see Kyungsoo. A part of him still doesn't know what he's got himself into.
There's something very muted about this kind of closure, it seems, something very empty. Perhaps seeing Kyungsoo again will help him to stitch his wound back up. Perhaps it will only rip it wider open.
Is that not love? He can hear Kyungsoo's voice as he runs his worries through his mind. It's from a morning spent burning biscuits and fingers and stealing kisses behind curtains. Kyungsoo's eyes are half-moons in the gentle morning light and when he smiles at Jongin, the shapes that reflect in his eyes look a lot like forever.
The gloomy lights shine through the mist as Jongin runs now to Kyungsoo, as Jongin runs now to his home.
-
But it is hardly/Yesterday's problem
-
Sunlight sneaks into his bedroom slowly, twisting itself nimbly across the lines of his back. When Jongin wakes up, he is alone. At first, this doesn't seem any different to him than any other day of recent, but the events of the previous night come back to him quickly. He was tricked. There's a dull pounding at the back of his head, and he throws his arms against the sheets in frustration. Kyungsoo's photo is burned, and Jongin's wasted another night missing him.
But as he sits in the morning light, hunched over in his bed, a familiar tune rises from a corner of the house. It drifts in filaments like cobwebs in the breeze, Jongin only catching snippets of the song. Pushing up from his bed, he wanders downstairs and into the kitchen.
That's when he sees him, humming over a bowl of cereal. Jongin freezes in the doorway, almost gasping at the sight. The sun catches all of Kyungsoo perfectly, dark eyebrows furrowed over delicate eyelashes, lips downturned slightly as he reads the newspaper. When Kyungsoo sees Jongin he smiles, getting up from his seat to kiss Jongin's cheek.
"Morning, sleepyhead." Kyungsoo brushes something invisible off Jongin's shoulder.
"Kyungsoo." The name is thick on his tongue, in the air, and Jongin is amazed by the realness of everything, stuttering, "wh-what day is it?"
"It's the last day of August, I think."
The day before the crash. Jongin swallows. He reaches out to pull Kyungsoo into his arms, breathing in deeply. Kyungsoo is fresh lemons and soap and good dreams, and Jongin tries to take all of it into him, the feel of his skin, the tremble of his hands, the beat of his heart. Kyungsoo laughs quietly.
"Clingy today, eh?" Kyungsoo laughs. "Better get ready soon, we're leaving for the beach again in a few hours."
-
The beach is quiet and grey, just like Jongin remembers it. Kyungsoo slips off at one point to photograph the tide pools. It's almost surreal to Jongin, watching Kyungsoo sift through the sand with his camera. He's not sure if this is the way Kyungsoo has always acted, he's not sure if this is the way he's always walked and breathed and looked, and that scares him. He can't be letting go of Kyungsoo already, not when he's waited for so long.
He walks to him through the sand, sidling up behind him to entwine their fingers and pull him into a kiss. Kyungsoo is definitely shocked but relaxes into it quickly, mumbling to Jongin that he has to work. He pushes him back and turns back to his work.
"I think we'll have to stay longer. We can rent a room in a motel and drive home tomorrow, right? You said you were taking a break from your big fancy computer job." Kyungsoo looks at Jongin. "Is that okay?"
"Are you sure we shouldn't go home today?" Jongin panics. "The, um, road can be rough, you know?"
"Then it won't make any difference if we stay longer or not. This is about the artistic process, Jongin. I need to feel at home here." Kyungsoo grins. "And there's a nice bed and breakfast back in town. I heard the owner makes pancakes."
Jongin sighs, nodding. Kyungsoo walks past him and out into the sea, waves washing around his bare legs. When he stretches his arms out, it looks like he could hold the sky. "I think I'm home," he calls out to Jongin, laughing. Jongin sees Kyungsoo's smile, and has to swear that he's home too.
-
The afternoon turns golden and they leave the beach to have greasy pizza in an empty plaza. The ocean wind is strong and Kyungsoo huddles against him as their shadows pull themselves higher up the brick walls.
"Someday, I'd like to live in a place like this," Kyungsoo says.
Jongin smiles, buttoning his jacket. "Would you, now?"
"We could have a nice little cottage on the oceanfront. The windows would be large and curtainless, and the only furniture is a rickety old table and two armchairs facing the sunset. We could have fresh strawberries every morning and count the stars at night. Our garden would be big and bountiful and beautiful."
Jongin hugs Kyungsoo tightly against him. "And we'd both live to be a hundred years old. We'd be the happiest people in the world."
"I already am," Kyungsoo mumbles into his hair. "I already am."
Jongin wishes he could pause time and stay in this moment forever, stay with Kyungsoo forever, but it's getting late and he knows he doesn't have much time. The woman at the bed and breakfast tries to give them two rooms but they only use one, huddled together below the sheets silently. Kyungsoo is asleep and Jongin stays watching the clock, waiting for midnight.
At about 11:30 the rain begins falling. The drumming on the roof is steady but it does nothing to soothe Jongin. Instead, he clenches Kyungsoo's fingers in his hands, exhaling shakily. He's not ready to leave, he doesn't want to go. The rain gets louder and louder as it draws closer to midnight. Jongin feels as if the clock is mocking him, speeding up on purpose.
Three minutes left. Jongin pulls Kyungsoo closer to him. He needs to remember everything about him, the sound of his breath, the rise of his chest, the curl of his lips. Seconds slip through his fingers like sand.
Two minutes left. Jongin opens the curtains to see the rainy street below them. The ocean looks flat and still from here. When Kyungsoo shifts in bed, Jongin climbs back in with him. He's afraid to touch him. He's afraid to look at him. He knows he's already lost him.
One minute left. Jongin squeezes his eyes shut, heart beating. He doesn't want to let go. Kyungsoo is so beautiful, he can't-
As the clock strikes midnight, Jongin presses a kiss to Kyungsoo's forehead. The feeling is exhilarating and cold, and he holds himself there for a while. He holds himself there as the thunder crashes above them so loudly they're jostled around inside their own bodies. He holds himself even as there's a sort of dropping feeling in his stomach. The rain quickly resides. It's dark so Jongin doesn't know what has happened, but he's with Kyungsoo and that's what matters.
-
And he is still holding himself against Kyungsoo when he wakes up the next morning. They're back at their house, in their bed. It takes a few moments for the events of yesterday to come back to him. Kyungsoo is here. With Jongin. They're safe at home. Excitement bubbles in Jongin's chest. Somehow, Kyungsoo survived. Somehow, they've won.
But as he hops out of his bed to brush his teeth, he catches a glimpse of the calendar. The month is flipped to October. It couldn't-
Jongin quickly checks his phone. In the dim room, the date October 11, 2015 glares out at him. Excitement turned to panic, Jongin rushes over to shake Kyungsoo awake.
"Kyungsoo? Kyungsoo?"
"What is it?" Comes the groggy reply.
Jongin swallows. "What day is it?"
Kyungsoo furrows his brow. "What do you mean, what day is it? It's the first of September. Now let me sleep." He rolls over again, back facing a worried Jongin.
Needles prickle down his back, his breath catches in his throat. Could they have jumped back forward into present day? Kyungsoo can't know that he died, he can't know what Jongin's done. Hastily, Jongin runs to pull the calendars off the walls in their room and kitchen, stuffing them in the trash.
When Kyungsoo comes out into the kitchen, Jongin's already burned breakfast twice. "Jongin?" He asks. "Why are we here? I had to stay another day to get more photographs."
"The, um, the owner told us we had to leave. It was, like, one in the morning, so I didn't want to wake you." Jongin almost chokes on his lie.
Kyungsoo frowns. "That's shitty of them. I had work I needed to get done." Jongin nods faintly, turning back to his eggs, which, once again, were overdone. He sighs, and Kyungsoo walks up next to him, taking the spatula from his hands. "Hey, are you okay?"
Jongin brushes him off. "Yeah- tired, I guess." He rests his head on Kyungsoo's shoulder.
"Jongin, what are you doing?" Kyungsoo murmurs, shifting away from him. Jongin moves with him. Annoyed by the distraction, Kyungsoo pushes him away. "Move, Jongin," he snaps, a familiar tone that Jongin had forgot existed. "I'm working."
Kyungsoo, forever the artist. Jongin had forgotten he could be like this. Miffed and slightly nauseous, Jongin walks out of the room. His head spins.
-
Two more days pass before Luhan visits again. When Jongin hears the knocking on the door, he tells Kyungsoo to stay still, jumping up to answer it.
He opens the door just a crack, so that Luhan can't see in and Kyungsoo can't see out, so that the autumn breeze won't slip in to tell Kyungsoo the truth. "Hey, um, I was just wondering if we're going to do dinner at the same ti-"
"No!" Jongin interrupts forcefully. "I mean, I'm busy tonight. Sorry."
"That's okay." Luhan smiles. "Is there a time later this week?"
Jongin looks back at Kyungsoo quickly, immersed in his book on the couch. "I'm not sure," he says. "I'll have to get back to you on it." He quickly shuts the door on Luhan in his autumn day.
"Who was that?" Kyungsoo asks when he returns.
"Nobody- just a salesman."
"That's funny." Kyungsoo taps his chin. "It sounded an awful lot like Luhan. We should visit him sometime, you kn-"
"H-he's on a trip," Jongin stutters. "Besides, I like being here better." He wraps his arm around Kyungsoo. "I have you." Kyungsoo's eyes are dark and confused, but he curls into him and they drift off together.
-
"Jongin?" Kyungsoo leans out from the studio door. "Did something happen to one of my pictures?" Jongin hurries down the hall to the studio, peeking in. "It's this one," Kyungsoo points to an empty spot on the wall. "It was of you looking forward. Do you know what happened to it?"
Thinking of the broken photograph, Jongin swallows uncertainly. "I don't know. When did you have it last?"
Kyungsoo raises his eyebrows at him. "Not funny. Did you do something to it?"
"I swear I didn't, Kyungsoo. I barely even go in there," Jongin persists. Kyungsoo's brow furrows as he begins to walk away.
"Listen, I know it was there before I left, you're the only pers-"
"I don't know, okay?" It comes out harshly, and wincing, he turns and walks quickly down the hall. It's harder to cover this up than he'd realized.
-
Jongin wakes up that night with twigs snapping in his lungs, and he realizes with a prickle down his back that he's alone in his bed. Kyungsoo is gone. He rushes up and down the house, into each of the rooms, calling his name, but he's only met with his own hollow echo. The echoes knock into each other but Kyungsoo is gone. It's one in the morning and bits of twigs are lodging themselves in Jongin's throat.
And just as he's given up, just as he's began thinking that Kyungsoo wasn't meant to come back with him, the door creaks open. He can't quite explain why, but when Jongin sees Kyungsoo, his worry immediately flares into anger.
He storms over to him. "Where were you?" He demands.
Kyungsoo is taken aback by Jongin's abruptness, stepping back a bit. "I was just out for a walk, Jongin, I couldn't sleep but didn't-"
Jongin slams the door behind him. "And you didn't tell me?"
"It's okay," Kyungsoo says, trying to assure him. "You don't need to worry about me, I'm not your child."
Jongin raises his fist, the heat rising to his cheeks. "And what about me? Did you even leave a note? I was worried, Kyungsoo."
Kyungsoo is looking at him strangely, as if he doesn't understand, which confuses Jongin. He's in love with Kyungsoo, he can't just leave Jongin. Kyungsoo lets out a puffy laugh. "Do you even hear what you're saying? That I need your permission to leave? I don't belong to you, Jongin, I don't-"
When Jongin's fist connects with Kyungsoo's cheek, Kyungsoo doesn't gasp or yell. When he hits the wall, there is a sharp intake of breath and then silence. The second and third blows fall hard on his shoulders. The base of his spine is rammed into the wall as he tries to scramble away, but Jongin is swinging blindly at him, jerking movements like that of a puppet on a string. The sudden rage is contained, and in a few seconds bottled away, Jongin standing back and leaning his head against the opposite wall.
He doesn't offer and apology and Kyungsoo doesn't wait for one. Instead, he pushes himself up, cupping his face in his hands as he trudges into the living room. The only sounds are the creaking of the house and the lonely whistling of their hearts. The only sounds are the malicious autumn breeze and the twigs snapping, one by one, down Jongin's spine.
-
And the way you danced/By headlights-rotten/Flowers for the last/Waltz to the abyss;
-
The next morning, Jongin walks through all of the rooms in the house and shuts the blinds on every window he can. Kyungsoo is still sitting in the living room, staring absently at the ceiling. Jongin winces when he sees the ugly purple bruise that's bloomed on his cheek.
Kyungsoo doesn't want to look at Jongin, eyes flickering back and forth and never finding a suitable resting place. But when Jongin approaches Kyungsoo, and he tells him that he was sorry and that he made a mistake, Kyungsoo devours his words like a hungry dog. Jongin's words are like paper, torn and flimsy, and Kyungsoo knows this. But the thing is, there's an ache deep in his bones that Kyungsoo's felt for too long. The thing is, Kyungsoo thinks Jongin can fix him too.
And so the weeks pass and Kyungsoo carries a necklace of bruises and cuts, a spattering of them to trickle down his arms and sides. He's prideful- he won't let Jongin know that he hurt him- but Jongin can tell. Kyungsoo flinches sometimes, if Jongin moves towards him or talks too loudly. He's getting nightmares that Jongin can't wake him from.
-
Luhan visits several times for the first few weeks, but the click of the door closing in his face becomes too familiar, the walk down the the driveway becomes too long, and soon he's gone. Almost.
Until one dark evening when, instead of Jongin, Kyungsoo wanders over and opens the door to see Luhan. The shock registers slowly on Luhan's face, jaw dropping and face losing color. When Kyungsoo makes to greet him, Luhan jumps back.
"Who are you?" He sputters. "Why are you here?"
"Luhan, Luhan." Kyungsoo tries to talk over Luhan's babbling. "It's just me. It's Kyungsoo."
Luhan looks around frantically. "You-you're not supposed to be here, you're de-"
Jongin, who heard the racket from upstairs, pushes in front of Kyungsoo right then, closing the door in Luhan's face once again. Kyungsoo looks at him confusedly.
"Jongin!" Luhan yells, banging against the wood. "Open the door!"
"Move," Jongin growls at Kyungsoo, who timidly retreats into the house. He stands silently next to the door as Luhan pounds against it, heart beating loudly. He knows now. He can't know. Jongin sits still, breathlessly staring at the tall walls around him. They had seemed so safe to him, an impenetrable fortress where he and Kyungsoo could be together. That's all he had wanted.
He opens the door. Luhan's normally composed face is a mess, puffy eyes and red cheeks and blotted tears. He opens his mouth and for a moment before he speaks, they stand there wordlessly, Luhan's jaw moving up and down.
"What did you do, Jongin?" He finally whispers. "How is he still here?"
Jongin shakes his head. "You shouldn't ask, Luhan. All you need to know is that I'm happy now." Luhan looks at him and this time Jongin can see the hopelessness etched in his eyes.
"That's what it was always about, wasn't it?" His voice is weak and hollow. "You were happy. You were with him. You didn't need to spare anyone or anything a second thought."
"Luhan," Jongin hesitates, "what are you trying to say?"
"All this time, and you haven't noticed?" Luhan chokes out. "Jongin, I-" His face is dark and contorted. He makes a noise that sounds like a gasp for air but is probably a cry for help and leans forward. When his lips press against Jongin's they are hungry and suck all of him in, all of his focus spiraling to a single point.
Luhan is breathing down Jongin's throat and Jongin stands frozen for a moment before he slams his fist into Luhan's chin and punches him hard in his stomach, pushing him to the ground. Luhan's body makes a crunching sound when it hits the gravel. Jongin slaps his face once more.
"What the hell was that?" He asks angrily.
Luhan's grin is bloody as he props himself up. "I'm nothing to you, aren't I?"
"What are you talking about, Luhan?" Autumn creeps up his spine and settles like a rope around his neck. Jongin is gasping for air as Luhan lies laughing on the ground.
"Hell," he coughs out, "I should've known. I should've given up. But then he was gone and you were ripped open and I thought I could fill that hole in your chest." He gestures at Jongin's shirt. "I thought it could be me." He's crying too, palms flat on the sharp rocks. He says something that is drawn out and lost in gasps, repeating it in low sharp tones. "End this," he's saying, "please."
"Luhan, what are you-"
"You can't tell? I'm nothing without you, Jongin, but I mean nothing to you. Please," he begs, "please." He falls back onto the ground, elbows scraping on the gravel.
"I don't know what you mean, Luhan, I don't understand." Jongin stands in the wind with blood on his hands and Luhan starts coughing. It's a horrible sound, racketing back and forth across his chest and scratching up his throat, slicing through the air like knives. Jongin stoops down, cradling his head in his lap. Eventually Luhan's eyes close, eventually his coughing stops, but Jongin can still feel him breathing limply on top of him.
What is he supposed to do? Luhan knows about Kyungsoo, he can't, he shouldn't know about Kyungsoo. It's cold and he's losing feeling in his fingertips and probably his brain when Luhan's voice digs its way from the back of his mind. "What do you think it would be like to be a flower?"
So it happens that Jongin comes to a very rational decision involving a shovel and several packets of seeds. He lifts Luhan up carefully and brings him through the house to the back porch. The evening is dark with storm clouds above them, everything holding just to spill over all at once.
Lying Luhan carefully down on a bed of decomposing leaves and dirt, Jongin grabs his shovel and gets to work. He digs him a space between the elderberries and the chrysanthemums, throwing dirt back over his shoulder as the night darkens. It's almost too easy, the dirt is soft and the work goes fast. Soon he's ripped a person-sized hole in their garden.
"He's still alive." Kyungsoo has walked out, bent over looking at Luhan. "But barely."Jongin nods. "Why did you-" Kyungsoo swallows his question, not wanting to know the answer. "He got so scared when he saw me, it was weird."
"Yeah," Jongin echoes. "Weird."
Kyungsoo eyes Luhan silently before walking back into the house. He comes out a second later with a faded blue Polaroid camera and a towel, wiping the blood off Luhan's face and silently positioning himself over Luhan. "You're taking pictures of this?"
"Everything is art, Jongin," Kyungsoo reminds him. And it's true. In the low evening light with the mist and shadows creeping up his face, Luhan looks peaceful. He's pale and stands out against the dark leaves, and everything comes out hazy and beautiful when Kyungsoo is behind the camera.
They don't check to see if he's breathing before they hoist him into the hole. The storm clouds are gathering quickly overhead, so they have to hurry, Kyungsoo sprinkling seeds in between heaps of dirt Jongin covers him with. They don't talk. They've had to bury ghosts before, they've had to bury ghosts too many times, a human should be no different.
When the storm starts, the two of them stand together over freshly turned dirt. The rain washes the dried blood off Jongin's hands, pooling over at the edge of the lawn. Luhan is planted below the asters on a chilly October night.
"He loved you," Kyungsoo says, flipping through his Polaroids. "He always did." Jongin doesn't respond.
-
The asters grow faster than expected. Three days later, they've popped up in the middle of the garden, purple heads bobbing in the breeze. Kyungsoo picks some to put in a small vase on the kitchen table, and Jongin smiles.
They come out the next morning, however, and find that each and every one of the flowers in the vase have rotted. The blackened things droop drearily above the table cloth, decaying petals strewn across the surface. Neither of them have the heart to throw them out. Outside, the aster bunch tumbles and spreads joyfully.
-
Kyungsoo cuts his silhouette small against the night, looking up to the stars. Jongin sweeps in like a breeze behind him.
"Look at the stars, Jongin," Kyungsoo says. "Look how beautiful they are."
Jongin is tipsy, grinning haughtily at Kyungsoo. "They're not beautiful," he says. "We are." He jerks Kyungsoo's face to his, pulling him into a kiss, but where Jongin tastes fire and passion and love, Kyungsoo can only taste Jongin's tequila. The night pulls on and the stars wink out above them.
-
At the end of the week there comes a knock. Jongin pushes Kyungsoo into the studio, opening up to find a thin man in a cop uniform. His nameplate reads Oh Sehun. There's a bored look in his eyes as he addresses Jongin.
"You're Kim Jongin, correct? I'm here to ask you some questions about a man named Luhan. I understand you are friends with him." Jongin nods. "He was reported missing a few days back by a Byun Baekhyun-" curse him, whoever he is, Jongin thinks- " and we believe he was last headed for your house."
"He's here," Jongin says blankly. "He's in the backyard."
Oh Sehun nods. "If you don't mind, then, I'll have a look around," he says flatly. Jongin follows him, tight-lipped, into the house. First, he checks the guest room. No one. Next, he walks through the kitchen, glancing quickly at the rotten flowers. Jongin's heart picks up as he starts toward the studio.
"That's all now, isn't it?" He says shrilly.
"Just a bit more, Mr. Kim." His hand is on the doorknob, he's pulling the door out towards him and-
There's a clang as the policeman is knocked to the ground, followed by one of Kyungsoo's photography light stands. The stand is picked up one more time, bashing against Oh Sehun's skull, before the door swings out farther to reveal a wide-eyed Kyungsoo.
"What did I just do?" He asks. Oh Sehun is not moving. A moment passes between them and they've come to a silent decision.
-
The shovel is still stuck in the soil above Luhan's flowers. Jongin begins on the other side of the chrysanthemums, piling the midmorning high with dirt. This time Kyungsoo doesn't bring his camera out watching silently until the time has come to bury their next mistake. Scattering a handful of seeds, he walks back inside. Jongin stands, staring silently down at where they put Sehun. He could've had a family, he could've had people wait for him. They hadn't checked if he was breathing.
It's almost calming to Jongin, though, to push the soil back into place over the police officer's unmoving body. When he walks back into their bedroom, Kyungsoo is curled up, shaking below the sheets.
"Are we going to live like this?" Kyungsoo asks, not looking up. "Are we going to hide?"
As Jongin walks in, he notices that everything is a hollow white. It feels like someone's funeral in here. He sits down on the bed, and is hesitantly reaching out to stroke his hand across Kyungsoo's back when he notices that his shoulder bones protrude out, like featherless angel wings. Maybe it is someone's funeral. Retracting his hand, he leans down to whisper in Kyungsoo's ear.
"It's okay," he says. "We can find a place our memories don't drip down the back of our necks. We can run away from our ghosts."
-
They end up driving away from their ghosts.
Kyungsoo gets up a few hours after and wanders out to where Jongin waits. "I'm ready," he says. Jongin looks down at him. "Not bringing anything?"
"I have this." Kyungsoo holds up a large orange envelope. "Didn't have the heart to leave my pictures behind."
It's late at night when they leave their house for the last time, unlocked. Jongin carries Kyungsoo to the car, bare feet dangling over the gravel. Kyungsoo kisses one of Jongin's hands.
"It's my fault we're doing this. I'm sorry, Soo, I knew you loved this house."
"I hit him with a lighting post," Kyungsoo says. "We buried him in our garden."
"He was a threat," Jongin assures Kyungsoo. "He was a threat to us." Kyungsoo shifts uncomfortably in Jongin's embrace. The nights are falling earlier and earlier, and it's dark already. Their headlights flick on and they're gone. The last thing Kyungsoo sees of it is the upstairs bedroom, one lamp still on, empty picture frames reflecting slow white decay.
They don't see the blue stalks of delphinium that sprout on the other side of the chrysanthemums and pour out to fill their yard.
-
Everything harshly/the misbegotten dreams/of a last gasp
-
They don't have much of a destination, heading generally north up the winding coast. Some nights, they're in the thick of metropolitan South Korea. Some nights, the sky above them is deep and unclouded. Kyungsoo doesn't mention the stars.
To Jongin, it's just what it is- driving across the country with his boyfriend. He doesn't worry about finding a home because he knows that as long as he's with Kyungsoo, he'll be okay. The highways twist but the blank expression on his face stays the same.
Kyungsoo can't help but feel a little homesick. He knows the car is different than the one they had when they came back from the beach, but he's afraid that if he mentions it, Jongin will get mad. For Kyungsoo, the worst part of traveling is not having anything to hold on to.
A week on the road leaves them with a tense atmosphere buzzing between the driver and passenger seat. Kyungsoo is snippy and Jongin pushes inside himself. The silence is a tangible one, humid and heavy against their tongues.
-
They're nearing Incheon when Kyungsoo turns to Jongin and says, "I feel like dying."
"What are you-"
"Since September, really. Everything is different and quiet and it feels like I'm drowning in nothing. I don't feel like I should be here, Jongin, and I don't know why."
Jongin gulps. "Everything seems normal to me. You shouldn't worry, Kyungsoo." He tries his best to reassure him, but as he looks down at him, he realizes how pale and skinny he's become. He's barely clinging to his own skeleton.
"But I'm not-"
Jongin has to change tactics. "Why do you make everything about you?" He raises his voice over Kyungsoo's. "It hurts me too. I didn't want to leave either. It was a good piece of money I put down for that house." Kyungsoo sits, tight-lipped, staring silently ahead. They both know that Kyungsoo's worries are legitimate, but Jongin can't let him know the truth. He can't afford losing him again.
Kyungsoo's cold voice slices through everything. "When did you get this car?" Jongin ignores him.
-
That night, there is an unsuccessful attempt to initiate something with Kyungsoo. They're in the back of the car, silently eating their own bowls of some instant ramen bought from the convenience store. Jongin leans over, kissing around the shape of Kyungsoo's ear. Kyungsoo spills his ramen on Jongin's pants.
Fuming silently, Jongin stops at the nearest gas station bathroom to wash up. "You wanna stretch your legs a bit?"
Kyungsoo makes to get up out of the car but quickly lets out a groan of pain. "No," he squeaks. "I'm fine." His face is contorted, eyes squeezed shut until they stop
-
Jongin has to carry Kyungsoo to his room when they stop at a motel. When Jongin lays him down on the creaky mattress, he doesn't open his eyes. "Don't make me have to bury you too," he ventures. He's only half joking.
"I can't see," Kyungsoo mumbles. He isn't in the mood for Jongin's jokes. After a bit of silence broken only by the sound of the mattress springs as Kyungsoo shifts above them, he asks, "where are we even heading?"
"I don't know." Jongin shrugs. "Tomorrow we'll probably reach Incheon, and I was thinking we can take it from there. You know, the airport is in Incheon." He grins. "Just think, Kyungsoo, we can start a new life. We could live anywhere, the U.S., or Switzerland, or Japan. We could be happy togeth-"
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Kyungsoo starts, propping himself up against the headboard. "I'm not sure how I feel about this."
"Kyungsoo, it's okay. It'll just be us two, no Luhan or policemen or anybody else."
Kyungsoo looks down uncomfortably. "That's the thing. I'm not sure I want it to be us two anymore."
This time, Jongin doesn't raise his voice. He is utterly confused as to why this is happening. "But you can't leave," he objects. "I know I fucked up, I know things are a mess, but we were meant to be, we were-"
"Listen to me, Jongin. For more than a month, it's been like all my pieces are shoved together the wrong way, and I don't know why. Luhan was so spooked to see me, you've been keeping me in hiding- I don't get it."
The sun sets on an auburn evening as Jongin's focus skitters back and forth. "I did all those things to protect you. Kyungsoo, I want to live and breathe at your side. I want to die with you, I need to keep you safe." He takes a breath in. It feels like someone's stuck a knife in his side. "I love you." His voice is hoarse as he reaches forward towards Kyungsoo's face, but Kyungsoo turns away.
"I loved you too, Jongin- I still do. But don't you see what you do to the people around you? I remember when I met you in high school when you still had a girlfriend, and one day, her friend turned to me and said, that's a boy who could crush your heart without knowing he ever held it in his hands. Let me tell you, it hurts." He's holding back tears, gasping for air in the cold room.
"Kyungsoo, I-"
"I'm not your destiny, Jongin. I'm not your home, or your heart, or anything else you were going to tell me. My head is throbbing, my legs don't move, and my back feels like it could shatter. I'm in pain because of you, and you won't let me go. Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell that that's love?" Kyungsoo's words crack against the sun-stained wall as they fly out of his mouth. "I'm so," he's coughing out, "so fucking miserable here. I need a doctor and I need a break from you. So please, Jongin, take me away from here. Please."
Cracked moonlight slips in through the window slats. Jongin can only stare hard at his hands, unblinking. Everything he's done to bring Kyungsoo back, to be with him, it's all resulted in this. His stomach is dropping, Kyungsoo is getting fainter and fainter. Jongin doesn't know where he went wrong. Kyungsoo is his love, not anybody else's.
"Goddamn you, Jongin, let me live." Kyungsoo's voice is harsh as it shatters the silence. The pieces scatter and bounce away, and for the rest of the night, the quiet is never quite complete. There's an ocean of cicadas screaming in their minds. There's an ocean of blood washing up on their lips. It's a shame these sort of oceans can't water wilting flowers.
-
And the next day, they set out for a hospital, or so Jongin thinks. It's a blazing Tuesday morning in the middle of November, Jongin driving and Kyungsoo with his head tipped back, eyes closed against the seat. No one talks in the car as they enter Incheon.
They speed down the road, apartment complexes reaching to touch the sky on either side of them. The bay is approaching, the turnoff to the international airport. Jongin exhales.
"It should be right here," Kyungsoo is saying, "go up to the turnoff for the bridge but then turn right instead."
Jongin tries to take in everything, the Incheon Expressway Bridge rising high above them, white and snaking towards the terminals. Kyungsoo's features are delicate against the drab grey of the apartments. Against the slow sunlight stretching across his face to take him away from Jongin.
"Right here, Jongin." Kyungsoo reminds him. He's numb to everything. He presses down on the pedal, hands jerking the steering wheel. Kyungsoo's voice rises in pitch. "What are you doing Jongin where are you going we're on the bridge fuck we're on the-"
Jongin's face pulls into a grin. Next to him, Kyungsoo is shouting at him, gesturing frantically. Jongin's mind is blank. He swerves back and forth recklessly on the empty bridge, their hollow world collapsing in on itself behind him. He's breaking through white railings, vehicle tipping, tipping, tipping-
As the murky water nears, Jongin can't help but laugh because he is falling, off a bridge and maybe in love again with Kyungsoo. As the murky water nears, he can't help but laugh because no matter how long you've been leaning off the side, no matter how loud you scream your pains, if you drive your car straight off a bridge, people will just say, what a horrible accident. No questions asked.
Kyungsoo is pushing his fists against Jongin's chest and Jongin has his eyes closed peacefully and as the murky water nears, he can't help but laugh because he knows that when the ocean shifts the sands over their blue bodies, they will blossom into beautiful flowers entwined together below the ocean.