190 mph [i / ii]
sekai | twoshot | romance, motherofall!aus | pg-13
part one; the servant
The sky is an azure blue, lumps of white clouds are dancing over the limitless heavens. If you look up, you’d see nature untouched by any form of machinery, spewing out dangerous fumes for the atmosphere to soak in. Men have yet to unleash countless miracles from their hands.
This is the seventh century.
Silla, being one of Korea’s greatest kingdoms and the longest dynasty, nurses novelties and scholars, weary travelers and rulers who wave their hands as they wait for servants to fulfill their wishes. Somewhere between the palace gate where armored guards stand and run-down shops bartering for change, there wrestles two men; one a servant, the other a crown prince.
Their rascal yells are muted by thick walls. The crown prince is cursed with a permanent sneer on his face, the servant burdened by his family's debt to the King.
"No! I'm the one that should go and fight! This is my kingdom we're talking about! Mine!" Oh Sehun cries, his beloved jade necklace swinging on his chest. "You're one of the caretakers here, you have no right to wear my armor!"
Kim Jongin fastens the strap of the bag carrying his sharp arrows. He looks at Sehun, lazy eyes and lazy lips. "Don't worry about me. I'll do this for you."
"That's the problem, can't you see? This is my battle. I should have the honor of assassinating that be-damned Chinese ruler. Why can't you understand that?"
Lips are pressed tight against each other, preventing a confession from escaping. Kim Jongin turns, squares his shoulders; never sparing a glance at Sehun's face. One look, and Jongin knows he won't be able to stop himself from baring his true reason. It's not the prince's shooting accuracy he's worried about, but the prince himself who could make Jongin's heart feel like a house (made out of wood) on fire.
Sehun is just too precious; worth more to Jongin than all of the kingdom's golds and pearls, nobles and peasants combined.
"I'll be back," Jongin says and even to their ears, it sounded like a lie.
He should have remembered how stubborn the caramel-haired prince was.
While instructing his men how they'll conduct the killing from the rooftop, Jongin catches a figure moving on the grounds. The way the intruder walks with that lean stance causes Jongin to drop the conversation and search for him again. Sehun is the only person who walks as if a broomstick is glued against his back.
They assumed the King and his escorts would arrive in less than three minutes now, and Jongin can't afford Sehun ruining everything by his presence. With trembling hands, Jongin slides down the rooftop's protection and into the paved grounds, dashing around to find Sehun with his own weapons and plans.
Damn it, damn it. I told you I'll do this for you, Jongin's need to find Sehun arises when he hears the rush of an incoming chariot; some horse’s neighs, the ground as it subtly shakes. They can't be seen out in the open. Jongin looks up at the three men he left behind, knowing they're more than capable of taking down the King's company. Now all Jongin has to worry about is getting Sehun.
Jongin hides behind the shadow of some post. The moonlight is his enemy, too. Almost after half a minute of his eyes skimming everywhere, some arrows are beginning to slice the velvet skies. Cries follows suit. Jongin assumes that targets had been hit, but arrows are rushing their way, too. Others with flames glowing at the end, burning other men in hiding.
Still, Jongin searches for Sehun in the middle of this chaos. He’s there; wheezing near the gate, gasping for air while clutching the arrow perched on his chest. And in the blink of an eye, nothing else mattered. Not the assassination or fallen men. Not the King or his warriors.
What mattered was the moon shining gloriously from the inky-black sky. What mattered was the blood soiled on the ground. What mattered was the way Sehun's hair was damp and knotted, lips chapped, eyes set too far away, and his cheeks littered with spider web cracks where Jongin thinks his soul leaked out. Sehun is everything Jongin shouldn't have touched, but then he did and oh god, he fell in love.
Now look at where Jongin's unrequited love got Sehun; death.
Jongin leans down to kiss Sehun with finality, ignoring the weapon enclosed in Sehun's heart. Sehun's lips taste like death, and he was gone just as easily as the ground under Jongin.
✖✖✖
Kim Jongin wakes up refreshed, as if someone dipped him in a pool off the Antarctic coast. His memory's been tampered; there are things he remembers, but can't imagine himself doing. A funny thing, he concludes. Jongin's line of vision shifts until everything looks like they're where they're supposed to be. His bedroom door opens, and Sehun comes inside with his shirt wrinkled, face devoid of any emotions.
"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Jongin asks, swearing those words made more sense in his mind.
Sehun chuckles, pleasant bells in his throat warming Jongin more than the blankets he's toasted in. "Do you really want to get rid of me that badly? Is that why you pushed me off the waterfall yesterday?"
"Yesterday?" Jongin tries to remember, and then there's a flash of green and rushing water, a memory that isn't his but his at the same time. "But, prince! Why would I push you off a waterfall?"
"Prince? Wow, that's a good improvement from the vile nickname you called me yesterday. Maybe you should sleep more and more. It's making you kinder," Sehun's informal way of speaking gets him off guard, too. As with everything else right now, Jongin is still trying to adjust to the changes leaping from every corner.
What happened to the clothes? To the prince's robes and his humble attire? What about the prince's hair and his? Why are they so unholy and short? Where is this place?
The questions dampening Jongin's mind evaporates in the heat of Sehun's smile. Never witnessing Sehun grin so carelessly before, warmth springs forth the gap between his ribs, sneaking past the edges of Jongin's heart. He stands up, walks to Sehun and takes his hand in his.
"In this moment, you make sense when everything else doesn't," Jongin whispers. Sehun hides a blush behind a series of 'Man, you're so cheesy, this isn't some sort of novel!', 'I don't swing that way!', 'Go to hell, Jongin'.
The 38th Parallel is the dividing line between North and South Korea, and this is the year 1950.
Jongin barely remembers and Sehun knows on their good days with good weather and good food churning on their stomachs, they’d jog over to this border, place a limb over to the other side before laughing at how they're in two places at the same time.
Sehun is reckless and sixteen, dragging Jongin by the hem of his loose shirt. Jongin is seventeen in this life and burdened by the memories Sehun has forgotten. There had been a time when it was Jongin who towed the reluctant crown prince secretly out of the palace. There had been a time when they could remember the same moments.
"Please, Jongin? Don't be so damn difficult now. I'm getting tired," It's halfway between a whine and a command and Jongin finally settles to walking side-by-side Sehun. The boundary's a few feet away. Sehun stares at the birds flapping their wings overhead. Jongin kicks small pebbles and looks at Sehun the same way a collector admires his most-prized possession.
"Why do birds make that annoying sound when they fly?" Sehun inquires, ignorant of Jongin's longing looks.
"Why do we swing our arms when we walk? I think it's because it’s more natural that way."
"What else is natural for you, Jongin?"
"Talking, walking, breathing, but even that gets tiring, too. You? And don't copy my answers," Jongin warns, and again Sehun's smile outshines the golden sunlight peeking through the branches of the tall trees.
"This," Sehun uses his ring finger to mark the distance between him and Jongin, a jade ring adorning it. "Being with you like this is natural. Sometimes, I believe that I was born just so I could waste days like these with you. Cheesy, right?"
Before Jongin could murmur something about dying for every second spent with Sehun, dark and large trucks grumbled behind them. Jongin guides Sehun to the side of the road, both of them watching how men flits out of the green flaps while cradling weapons. From dirty handguns to the latest rifles, their ammunition sparked alertness to the unsuspecting teenagers. This is supposed to be the time of peace; where no one stirs war again.
"Why are they here? What are they doing closer to the. . . ." The rest of Sehun's sentence is being drowned out by the bang of exchanged gunshots, men as they scream orders at their comrades. Jongin doesn't hesitate to drag Sehun this time, away from the violent bloodbath.
"Let's go, let's go," Jongin's voice is barely audible behind his thudding heart. His right hand is encircled around Sehun's wrist, their footsteps sharp against the pebbled ground. He’s unable to lose Sehun again. Lost him once and it was unbearable. Lose Sehun twice and sanity might as well depart from Kim Jongin.
"Stay with me, prince." Jongin pleads, looking straight ahead as he feels the strength of Sehun's arm scoop to level zero. When he turns, Sehun's knees give out beneath him, pupils dilated and mouth parted open in surprise as he falls down. Shot.
✖✖✖
After a few more replays in different settings, Kim Jongin wakes up. He knows who he is and what he is and who it is that he loves, but the weight of his tragedy anchors his limbs downwards. Glimpses of plastic cups filled with alcohol, raised for a toast and unfamiliar bodies grinding in a dark room, fills his mind.
Jongin takes a deep breath, ignoring the pounding on his head and the blur in his eyes before things are swiped clear. He thinks instead of Sehun, because Sehun is the only thing that's constant in a universe that keeps on changing its course; rattling Jongin to be a soldier, or a poor sixteen-year-old caught up in war. Everything's been moving so fast; Jongin is in an express train he had no intention of getting on.
Different things happen. Different Reasons. Different Roles. Different Personalities.
But the same feelings and endings. When Sehun dies, things go on a different track. Jongin bangs his head against the bathroom wall (he has idea where this place is, just that the bathroom is neat enough). He reaches for a handful of his hair, wanting to tear them out in frustration.
The truth is, he isn't the love-struck Jongin who pines for the dead Sehun. He isn't even that soldier who lost his best friend while on a mission.
He is Kim Jongin, son of a humble palace servant who somehow found favor in the King's eyes. He is Kim Jongin; raised to question every little thing he can't understand, to delve deeper into philosophy in order to grasp how individuals think. He's been trained to be able to go arm-in-arm with the crown prince in battle. Jongin's been nagged at to know how much sugar Sehun secretly adds to his herb tea.
Kim Jongin should have protected Sehun, should have lived on to badger Sehun about his diet and studies, problems and plausible solutions.
They shouldn't have left and set off this grenade bursting with an avalanche of worlds and alternate endings.
"Go on and jump," Jongin encourages Sehun, leaning close to the edge of the school's roof.
Two hours of looking around and talking to people, and Jongin gathers he and Sehun are supposed to be enemies in this time. The soccer and basketball captain who can never get along, biting the other's leg off at every ball game. They trade insults behind rusted gym lockers and leave nasty one-week-old food on each other's desks. Jongin thinks they're getting more interesting.
Sehun turns with tears racing down his cheeks. Jongin knows he isn't supposed to, but he rushes to Sehun anyway. Out of rekindled affection than current rivalry. Sehun shuffles closer to the open air, gentle breeze caressing his blonde hair, and Jongin imagines that if he's a photographer in this lifetime, this would have been the perfect shot of Sehun; one remarkable moment in an ocean of moments.
"Of course you'd want that, wouldn't you? We've always been fighting, Kim fucking Jongin. If I jump here, I bet you'd throw a party and invite the whole class," Sehun chokes out. Jongin attempts to separate the emotions in Sehun's syllables.
"You're wrong," Jongin moves to the side of the railing, an arm's length away from where Sehun stands. "I would have invited the whole city, no. I would have invited the whole city along with some nearby villages, and then I'd have some really famous DJ and some popular actors there, too. And you'd be in hell because where else can you be? You'd be giving Lucifer a headache as I party like there's no tomorrow."
"What a good way of convincing someone not to jump," Sehun smiles and this one is different, along with his smiles from the previous lifetimes.
Jongin concludes that Sehun's smiles are snowflakes; not one of them perfectly identical to the other. He's been through lifetimes, and he'll probably be on more lifetimes, but Sehun's smile will forever be a galaxy of peculiar. Sometimes, they're quick, other menacing, and rarely, heart-warming. But despite the appearance, they all do the trick and ensnare Jongin's soul, reminding him why Sehun is worth the repetitive catastrophes.
"I wasn't trying to stop you from jumping. I was being polite and making small, casual talk, prince." Jongin steps on what's left of Sehun's pride, because really, the way Sehun furrows his eyebrows when agitated is kind of, sort of, okay it's really cute.
"When I die, I'm going to haunt your soul and choke you to death with a banana. That prince thing is annoying!" Sehun's famous last words before turning and diving headfirst. His favorite bracelet tinged with jade sparkles underneath the sunlight, catching Jongin's attention.
Jongin only smiles when he hears a resonating thud. See you later, prince.
✖✖✖
"Hello, good morning! I'm Luhan, and this is my partner, Sehun! We're the couple living next door. I hope we'll be good, and happy neigh-" The wooden door slams loudly against Luhan's glowing face. The welcoming smile is replaced by a puzzled expression; wide eyes looking for answers about their new neighbor's rudeness on Sehun's lips.
"I don't know, love. Maybe he's just shy, or he's not in a good mood. People have reasons," Sehun responds with the familiarity one can only acquire by being with someone for a long time.
Luhan stares at Sehun, softly, shyly, as if the years they've spent together didn't cast their shadows on their first meeting. Heart-warming looks like these transports Sehun back to their initial encounter; two book-lovers searching around the library, found each other, and left with digits scribbled hastily on the back of borrowed books.
"I'm so glad I found you," Luhan murmurs.
Jongin peeks through the crack in his door, discovering a new level of agony when Sehun stares at Luhan the same way Jongin looks at Sehun in all of their lifetimes. Sehun is happy.
✖✖✖
Next time Jongin meets Sehun, Sehun has pink hair and looks like the grunge version of Hello Kitty. Hello Kitty gone high, wrong, and castrated, that is. Jongin had been walking down a park with autumn's burning leaves falling behind him when he spotted Sehun. By far, this is the worst he's seen Sehun look, but there's a certain light behind Sehun's pupils, grace in the way he tilts his neck to observe his surroundings. Jongin can stand still and watch Sehun underneath the tree's shade forever.
He approaches Sehun, sitting close enough to touch and see the 'free listen' sign lying beside him. "What does that mean?"
"It means that you talk and I shut up and listen and keep it with me," Sehun explains, speaking slowly. He takes his time with each word.
"Okay, maybe I should give this a try, right? This talking thing. You're a weird stranger,"
"Huh-uh, tell me more,"
"Are you being sarcastic or are you being a sarcastic prick?"
"I'm a little bit of both,"
"I could tell," Jongin shakes his head, glad to have this kind of conversation with Sehun. After examining Sehun's pale hands and clean fingernails, Jongin lies. "I'm a writer."
"Cool, continue."
The leaves rustle overhead, faint footsteps serving as a backdrop for Jongin's narration. Peaceful and serene afternoons like these are what drives Jongin into wishing that somehow, he'll be able to prevent the reoccurring tragedies. Maybe he can even brew Sehun tea every single morning (and allow him to put as much sugar in it as he wants), then they'd talk about menial things like this girl from work who never cuts her nails, or about paying for the electric bills, or whose turn it is to clean this car this week.
Normalcy is a luxury seven billion people overlook. But then again, none of them are Kim Jongin and Oh Sehun. None of them live over and over again, with a hat on their heads. A hat decorated with thorns, loaded with the questions; Is it really him? Is this the last time? Will Sehun die? Would you be happier without me?
So they go on with their normal lives, unaware that somewhere, some time, there are two lovers trying to untangle their fates, struggling to tie up loose ends.
"I have this idea, this might be cliché, but I do believe that given the right writing style and elements, this can really be good." Jongin begins, shifting in his place until it's the right angle that he can see Sehun react to each 'idea'. "It's about this palace servant, and this dates back to the seventh century. A servant in love with the crown prince, whom he happened to be assigned to look after. Now this prince is stubborn, willful and smart, but oblivious when it comes to feelings. Naturally, he doesn't notice the meaningful looks this servant's giving him. Your classic case of a one-sided love. Unrequited love. Call it what you want."
"Is this all historical?"
"No, this gets better. It has fantasy and psychology."
"Psychology?"
"As in the servant went cuckoo. Bonkers. Mad as a woman on her period." Jongin basks in the sphere of Sehun's laughter.
Oh Sehun stops when the rays of the sun hits Jongin's eyes; then creating a fading halo atop his head. Sehun feels like this all happened before. A deja vu; except that this one brings with it a surge of emotion close to longing and desire, but not really that synonymous.
"The prince was killed because he was stupid enough to get killed, and just when the servant wanted to pull a sleeping-beauty on the prince, they both vanished." Jongin then tells Sehun about the servant's adventures through time, how he traveled with a suitcase of his original memories, hand-carrying a bag containing little things he loved about the alternative versions of the prince.
"But which one did the servant like? Which version? If he kept seeing different counterparts of this prince, the servant should at least have a favorite," This is Sehun's first time interrupting someone who came to him in the hopes of borrowing an ear. The writer-stranger with toffee skin allures Sehun. In more ways than one.
"Let me tell you something about the servant first," Jongin reeks of expensive cologne. "He's completely mad and smitten! He thinks that whatever this prince touches turns into gold. While there are some lifetimes where he doesn't like the prince, he's yet to come across one where hearing the prince's laugh or talk wouldn't have him tumbling down head-first. That's the thing about the servant and his feelings."
"What's the thing about the servant and his feelings?" Sehun asks after a whole minute of silence.
Sehun wasn't aware a smile, a wink, and a look can catch him off-guard and had his heart beating wildly until the man before him does them. Jongin whispers and his voice calms down the tide that is Sehun's emotions. "Reasons, situation, era, whether or not the prince remembers the servant, all these things are just a dot compared to the magnitude of the servant's love for his prince."
"Wow. That is a beautiful kind of love," Sehun murmurs, eyes curtained by strands of pink hair. "I pity the servant, though."
"How so?"
"Because he's been alone all this time. He's been so strong and patient. He must be so tired." The compassion braided in Sehun's voice is what does Jongin in.
There are instances when Jongin thinks he knows exactly what love is (what with the repeated lifetimes and parallel worlds), but sometimes Sehun just blinks so beautifully and Jongin forgets to look away and it dawns on him that it's impossible to reinvent love with every time they meet. Take it from Jongin; you can never love someone perfectly, despite the chances handed out to you.
He blinks back tears. "He'll be alright. This is my story, remember? He'll be alright."
It isn't until the writer-stranger leaves Sehun, and a whiff of citrus and some musky scent invades his senses, when he finally remembers. The writer-stranger smells like a memory; burning arrows on, a gun being fired on a sunny day, the soft wind as it ruffles Sehun's hair.
And Sehun stands up and runs to follow the writer-stranger, clueless about who he is and how they're related. But rest assured in the familiarity his scent and smiles bring. Sehun sprints forward, fiddling with his good luck charm; a jade brooch on his pocket.
The writer-stranger is already across the road and Sehun runs, yelling without any care in the world. "I remember, you idiot! I remember you! I don't know you, but I know that I love you somehow!"
When Jongin turns back, he sees Sehun in the middle of the road, red-faced and panting. Jongin turns two seconds before a fast truck, out of control, runs Sehun over.
✖✖✖
In their next encounter, Jongin isn't Jongin, but Kai onstage. Kai is baptized with oil and sweat and dull glamour attracting his audience for the whole night. This Kai pretends to be happier inside bedrooms he can't recognize, waking up to the scent of some women's expensive perfume, or an old chap's cheep aftershave. The hired entertainer who never stays for more than just one evening.
And Kai stands on the corner of the club he's working at, looking for something he doesn't know. His eyes skim past the barely-covered dancers onstage. They keep on searching until they encounter a familiar slouched figure.
Sitting in one of the bar stools, this Sehun is all droopy eyes and wrinkled clothing; nursing a cigarette stick between dry lips and blowing smoke into Kai's direction when the latter sits beside him.
"Work here?" Sehun asks, both knowing that Kai does, based on the sequined attire and oiled skin.
Kai entertains the young man with tousled hair, speaking as if it's their first meeting instead of the thousandth. "I do, and I kind of mean to brag, but I'm the best one out here."
"You look like you are," Sehun winks and Kai suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands. He fidgets in his stool, wondering if this is Sehun's way of flirting or he's thinking much into it. Sehun moves closer, whiskey-stained breath sticking onto Kai's flesh. "Let's get out of here."
Jongin and Sehun left side by side, both knowing that this is right and wrong.
"What if I've seen you and fallen in love with you in a lot of parallel worlds?" His eyes are trained on Sehun's face. Jongin can eternally drown in the sea of Sehun's features. Scratch that; Sehun lips are Atlantis.
Sehun's neat room is slowly being filled in by sprinkles of sunlight, indicating the morning after their first love-making. Golden light splayed out over discarded clothes on the floor, over dirty-white sheets warming their tired bodies. Jongin had made sure to remember each detail; from the way Sehun looks under the lamp, to the way Sehun feels in his arms. It wasn't everything Jongin imagined it would be like--it was way better than that. After the intimate encounter, they slept soundly; contentment and love settling down on Jongin's lungs like dust.
"Theoretically?"
"Theoretically," Jongin confirms, admiring the slur of Sehun's tongue.
"Say that we've seen each other before and you're the only one that can remember all those meetings, and I'm the clueless one," Sehun laughs, ignorant of the truth resting on his statement. "Then uh, I probably should feel guilty. Man! Just thinking of it makes me feel guilty. I don't know, I just hope that I love you better each time, to make up for those moments when I didn't."
"Let's say that you didn't always love me."
"This is a weird conversation to have with someone like you," The mirth on Sehun's eyes diminishes everything else around them. Jongin shuts Sehun up with a kiss, making sure the next thing that leaves Sehun's mouth is a groan.
By each day that Sehun spends alive, the more Jongin fidgets in his room. He counts every ticking of the clock, waiting for the seconds when Sehun's own heart would refuse motion. It's not like Jongin has a lot of time spent to worry. As mild nights give way to halcyon mornings and serene afternoons, Jongin or rather, 'Kai', grows unbelievably attached to this Oh Sehun.
Sehun's body is Kai's instrument; he strums Sehun like a guitar, plucked music from those needy lips and fed him kisses in the dark to keep them both contented. Without notice, Sehun fitted himself behind Kai's sternum. When Kai inhales, Sehun exhales with him.
"I like to paint," Sehun informed him with a firm tone. They'd been walking back to Sehun's flat after one of Kai's nightly shifts. They never went well. Kai's sensuous movements turn more sexual underneath Sehun's gaze. And they're both too aware, and being too aware isn't a good thing when it comes to damaged bed mattresses and headboards.
Kai is everywhere in Sehun's house; he's the sticky coffee stain on Sehun's kitchen table, the checkered boxer lying beneath Sehun's bed, even the dog-eared pages between Sehun's favorite books. They're the things Sehun leaves alone while cleaning, they keep him company when the real Kai can't.
"I like the way you do this and that," Sehun's favorite words (but it's only because Kai utters them when Sehun is unaware). And that's what Kai is saying now, as Sehun finds it difficult to swallow down his cereal. Using firm fingers, he creates soothing circles against Sehun's adam's apple until the latter feels relaxed.
"Thank you."
"Just be careful next time." Kai says, more to himself than to Sehun. More to his nervous heartbeat than Sehun's reassuring smile back. Even food serves as a lethal poison in a world where Kai is determined to save both himself and Sehun.
That night, Kai sneaks out of Sehun's house, goes back to his own to shatter the windows with vases, mirrors with plates. Things that break with things that hurt. The earsplitting sound of glass shattering is comfort to him. He isn't the only one getting destroyed by each powerful impact and the only one who sees the person whom they love die before their eyes.
Big to medium to microscopic shards of glass decorate the marble floor Kai walks on. They create a satisfying sound when he runs outside of his house. Starlit skies, whispering branches, invisible crickets, the heavens deaf to everything under the clouds; all these things Kai addresses when he shouts, "I'm going to save the both of us! This is a fucking sick game and this has to stop. I won't let you have Sehun again. I won't, just you watch!"
And Kai yells and yells until Sehun asks about his hoarse voice the next day and he has to lie as to why.
The thing about being with someone long enough to fall in love with them for the eighth time, is that you can't help the onslaught of other emotions that comes along with love. Kai loves Sehun, but he gets mad at him, too.
"What are you working on?" He asks groggily, a toothbrush balanced between bubbled lips. This is also one of the things that irks Kai about Sehun; the secrecy when it comes to his artworks. As an avid fan of what Sehun can do with his fingers, Kai is brimming with curiosity as to what Sehun's been busy on.
"It's a secret," Sehun says before retreating to his studio and shutting it behind him. Keys turning doors locked causes Kai's eyes to roll to the ceiling, down to the floor, and back to the closed studio, wondering what sort of spell Sehun's been casting using acrylics and bristles.
"I love you," The three words glides out of Sehun's mouth as fluidly as the river flowing in front of them. A picnic, as what people these days call it. A banquet, as what Sehun dubbed it upon seeing the baskets and baskets of food Kai explained he prepared overnight.
Kai's body reacted before his mind could; his heart hammering against its cage, veins surging with delight and excitement, his chest trembling with the magnitude of those three words. Three words that had been made special by the number of lifetimes he has to endure before hearing them. Kai replies with an 'I love you, too' that's insufficient when it comes to translating his feelings.
It's Sehun who's responsible for their kiss under the tree's thick shade and their lips as they find their way into the other's. More than just oxygen spirals between them: electricity, drive, desire, things that not even Kai's clenched fingers can't grasp. Love, and the syllables composing their names slips on the third kiss and the seventh.
In their kiss, Kai mentally lists down the most captivating sounds he's ever heard: their heavy breathing before they lock lips again, the wild grass supporting their rolling bodies, fingertips tapping against jawlines, how Sehun pants 'Kai' like they're made of stardust instead of three letters, the 'I love you's Sehun scattered like seeds on Kai's collarbones and earlobes.
"Please don't ever leave me," says Sehun weighed down by the mix of food he devoured within thirty minutes.
"The universe needs to do more than kill us both again and again for me to finally leave you,"
"Did the universe try?"
"Yes, but it didn't succeed yet." Kai stretches his limbs as far as they could go on the ground. He turns to his side, and envelopes Sehun in a loose hug and they both stay still, as if somewhere, some time, there's a sculptor taking in the way their bodies fold in on each other and imitate their limbs on marble.
Sehun bites the inside of his cheek. "Parallel worlds, this and that. Lifetimes, reincarnations, versions. Why are you fascinated with these things? Far as I know, you're not into sci-fi or the likes. You worry me."
"Really? Worry?"
"Yes, worry." Sehun confirms with a nod. Jongin replies with a lazy grin, one that could mean a lot of things ranging from 'I really don't care about what you feel' to 'Your wish is my command.' Jongin stands up and offers his hand to Sehun before the younger can decode the meaning behind Jongin's smiles.
Cool, autumn breeze grazes the edge of Jongin's shirt and moves strands of his hair to the side. "I know something that would make us both less-worried for the rest of our lives. Come with me, there's this place just for us."
This place turns out to be a lonely, unlit dirt-road a few miles outside the city. Twisting, maneuvering a rented midnight-blue BMW through the dust covered path, Jongin's grip is steady around the wheel, his free hand driving its way into the spaces between Sehun's warn fingers. Dim lights and the scenery snaking past them are reflected in Jongin's eyes.
"Where is this place?" Sehun finally lets go of the burden two hours of not-speaking-to-each-other laid on his head.
Engines groan beneath them, Jongin's knuckles turning pale from hanging onto the wheel serve as Sehun's reply. 190 mph. Neon orange stands out in the dark for Sehun to take in like fire alarms at two in the morning. There are certain times in your life when you could gather how stupid you are, and to Oh Sehun, this is one of those unforgettable moments.
The car's headlights are flicked off, its interior as cold as the inside of a refrigerator. Jongin is speeding with a devil-may-care smile, courage on his right foot, and Sehun's heart wrapped around his wrist bone. It's like the whole galaxy slits through the crack in the window just to warn Sehun to get the fuck off this car at this very instant, but Sehun still hangs on to Jongin with the trust of a five year old.
"This is for the best," Jongin says and he has already pushed the gas pedal as hard as it can go.
"Just remember that I, Kim Jongin, love you and it doesn't matter if you forget everything else," Jongin says, voice as unstable as the car speeding through the dark.
"I'll be back for you, always." Jongin, the servant, says and tightens his hold on his prince's hand; the only thing that remained steady as the ground vanished and they tumbled and tumbled down to kiss the pit of death waiting for them.
part two; the prince
part one; the servant
The sky is an azure blue, lumps of white clouds are dancing over the limitless heavens. If you look up, you’d see nature untouched by any form of machinery, spewing out dangerous fumes for the atmosphere to soak in. Men have yet to unleash countless miracles from their hands.
This is the seventh century.
Silla, being one of Korea’s greatest kingdoms and the longest dynasty, nurses novelties and scholars, weary travelers and rulers who wave their hands as they wait for servants to fulfill their wishes. Somewhere between the palace gate where armored guards stand and run-down shops bartering for change, there wrestles two men; one a servant, the other a crown prince.
Their rascal yells are muted by thick walls. The crown prince is cursed with a permanent sneer on his face, the servant burdened by his family's debt to the King.
"No! I'm the one that should go and fight! This is my kingdom we're talking about! Mine!" Oh Sehun cries, his beloved jade necklace swinging on his chest. "You're one of the caretakers here, you have no right to wear my armor!"
Kim Jongin fastens the strap of the bag carrying his sharp arrows. He looks at Sehun, lazy eyes and lazy lips. "Don't worry about me. I'll do this for you."
"That's the problem, can't you see? This is my battle. I should have the honor of assassinating that be-damned Chinese ruler. Why can't you understand that?"
Lips are pressed tight against each other, preventing a confession from escaping. Kim Jongin turns, squares his shoulders; never sparing a glance at Sehun's face. One look, and Jongin knows he won't be able to stop himself from baring his true reason. It's not the prince's shooting accuracy he's worried about, but the prince himself who could make Jongin's heart feel like a house (made out of wood) on fire.
Sehun is just too precious; worth more to Jongin than all of the kingdom's golds and pearls, nobles and peasants combined.
"I'll be back," Jongin says and even to their ears, it sounded like a lie.
He should have remembered how stubborn the caramel-haired prince was.
While instructing his men how they'll conduct the killing from the rooftop, Jongin catches a figure moving on the grounds. The way the intruder walks with that lean stance causes Jongin to drop the conversation and search for him again. Sehun is the only person who walks as if a broomstick is glued against his back.
They assumed the King and his escorts would arrive in less than three minutes now, and Jongin can't afford Sehun ruining everything by his presence. With trembling hands, Jongin slides down the rooftop's protection and into the paved grounds, dashing around to find Sehun with his own weapons and plans.
Damn it, damn it. I told you I'll do this for you, Jongin's need to find Sehun arises when he hears the rush of an incoming chariot; some horse’s neighs, the ground as it subtly shakes. They can't be seen out in the open. Jongin looks up at the three men he left behind, knowing they're more than capable of taking down the King's company. Now all Jongin has to worry about is getting Sehun.
Jongin hides behind the shadow of some post. The moonlight is his enemy, too. Almost after half a minute of his eyes skimming everywhere, some arrows are beginning to slice the velvet skies. Cries follows suit. Jongin assumes that targets had been hit, but arrows are rushing their way, too. Others with flames glowing at the end, burning other men in hiding.
Still, Jongin searches for Sehun in the middle of this chaos. He’s there; wheezing near the gate, gasping for air while clutching the arrow perched on his chest. And in the blink of an eye, nothing else mattered. Not the assassination or fallen men. Not the King or his warriors.
What mattered was the moon shining gloriously from the inky-black sky. What mattered was the blood soiled on the ground. What mattered was the way Sehun's hair was damp and knotted, lips chapped, eyes set too far away, and his cheeks littered with spider web cracks where Jongin thinks his soul leaked out. Sehun is everything Jongin shouldn't have touched, but then he did and oh god, he fell in love.
Now look at where Jongin's unrequited love got Sehun; death.
Jongin leans down to kiss Sehun with finality, ignoring the weapon enclosed in Sehun's heart. Sehun's lips taste like death, and he was gone just as easily as the ground under Jongin.
✖✖✖
Kim Jongin wakes up refreshed, as if someone dipped him in a pool off the Antarctic coast. His memory's been tampered; there are things he remembers, but can't imagine himself doing. A funny thing, he concludes. Jongin's line of vision shifts until everything looks like they're where they're supposed to be. His bedroom door opens, and Sehun comes inside with his shirt wrinkled, face devoid of any emotions.
"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Jongin asks, swearing those words made more sense in his mind.
Sehun chuckles, pleasant bells in his throat warming Jongin more than the blankets he's toasted in. "Do you really want to get rid of me that badly? Is that why you pushed me off the waterfall yesterday?"
"Yesterday?" Jongin tries to remember, and then there's a flash of green and rushing water, a memory that isn't his but his at the same time. "But, prince! Why would I push you off a waterfall?"
"Prince? Wow, that's a good improvement from the vile nickname you called me yesterday. Maybe you should sleep more and more. It's making you kinder," Sehun's informal way of speaking gets him off guard, too. As with everything else right now, Jongin is still trying to adjust to the changes leaping from every corner.
What happened to the clothes? To the prince's robes and his humble attire? What about the prince's hair and his? Why are they so unholy and short? Where is this place?
The questions dampening Jongin's mind evaporates in the heat of Sehun's smile. Never witnessing Sehun grin so carelessly before, warmth springs forth the gap between his ribs, sneaking past the edges of Jongin's heart. He stands up, walks to Sehun and takes his hand in his.
"In this moment, you make sense when everything else doesn't," Jongin whispers. Sehun hides a blush behind a series of 'Man, you're so cheesy, this isn't some sort of novel!', 'I don't swing that way!', 'Go to hell, Jongin'.
The 38th Parallel is the dividing line between North and South Korea, and this is the year 1950.
Jongin barely remembers and Sehun knows on their good days with good weather and good food churning on their stomachs, they’d jog over to this border, place a limb over to the other side before laughing at how they're in two places at the same time.
Sehun is reckless and sixteen, dragging Jongin by the hem of his loose shirt. Jongin is seventeen in this life and burdened by the memories Sehun has forgotten. There had been a time when it was Jongin who towed the reluctant crown prince secretly out of the palace. There had been a time when they could remember the same moments.
"Please, Jongin? Don't be so damn difficult now. I'm getting tired," It's halfway between a whine and a command and Jongin finally settles to walking side-by-side Sehun. The boundary's a few feet away. Sehun stares at the birds flapping their wings overhead. Jongin kicks small pebbles and looks at Sehun the same way a collector admires his most-prized possession.
"Why do birds make that annoying sound when they fly?" Sehun inquires, ignorant of Jongin's longing looks.
"Why do we swing our arms when we walk? I think it's because it’s more natural that way."
"What else is natural for you, Jongin?"
"Talking, walking, breathing, but even that gets tiring, too. You? And don't copy my answers," Jongin warns, and again Sehun's smile outshines the golden sunlight peeking through the branches of the tall trees.
"This," Sehun uses his ring finger to mark the distance between him and Jongin, a jade ring adorning it. "Being with you like this is natural. Sometimes, I believe that I was born just so I could waste days like these with you. Cheesy, right?"
Before Jongin could murmur something about dying for every second spent with Sehun, dark and large trucks grumbled behind them. Jongin guides Sehun to the side of the road, both of them watching how men flits out of the green flaps while cradling weapons. From dirty handguns to the latest rifles, their ammunition sparked alertness to the unsuspecting teenagers. This is supposed to be the time of peace; where no one stirs war again.
"Why are they here? What are they doing closer to the. . . ." The rest of Sehun's sentence is being drowned out by the bang of exchanged gunshots, men as they scream orders at their comrades. Jongin doesn't hesitate to drag Sehun this time, away from the violent bloodbath.
"Let's go, let's go," Jongin's voice is barely audible behind his thudding heart. His right hand is encircled around Sehun's wrist, their footsteps sharp against the pebbled ground. He’s unable to lose Sehun again. Lost him once and it was unbearable. Lose Sehun twice and sanity might as well depart from Kim Jongin.
"Stay with me, prince." Jongin pleads, looking straight ahead as he feels the strength of Sehun's arm scoop to level zero. When he turns, Sehun's knees give out beneath him, pupils dilated and mouth parted open in surprise as he falls down. Shot.
✖✖✖
After a few more replays in different settings, Kim Jongin wakes up. He knows who he is and what he is and who it is that he loves, but the weight of his tragedy anchors his limbs downwards. Glimpses of plastic cups filled with alcohol, raised for a toast and unfamiliar bodies grinding in a dark room, fills his mind.
Jongin takes a deep breath, ignoring the pounding on his head and the blur in his eyes before things are swiped clear. He thinks instead of Sehun, because Sehun is the only thing that's constant in a universe that keeps on changing its course; rattling Jongin to be a soldier, or a poor sixteen-year-old caught up in war. Everything's been moving so fast; Jongin is in an express train he had no intention of getting on.
Different things happen. Different Reasons. Different Roles. Different Personalities.
But the same feelings and endings. When Sehun dies, things go on a different track. Jongin bangs his head against the bathroom wall (he has idea where this place is, just that the bathroom is neat enough). He reaches for a handful of his hair, wanting to tear them out in frustration.
The truth is, he isn't the love-struck Jongin who pines for the dead Sehun. He isn't even that soldier who lost his best friend while on a mission.
He is Kim Jongin, son of a humble palace servant who somehow found favor in the King's eyes. He is Kim Jongin; raised to question every little thing he can't understand, to delve deeper into philosophy in order to grasp how individuals think. He's been trained to be able to go arm-in-arm with the crown prince in battle. Jongin's been nagged at to know how much sugar Sehun secretly adds to his herb tea.
Kim Jongin should have protected Sehun, should have lived on to badger Sehun about his diet and studies, problems and plausible solutions.
They shouldn't have left and set off this grenade bursting with an avalanche of worlds and alternate endings.
"Go on and jump," Jongin encourages Sehun, leaning close to the edge of the school's roof.
Two hours of looking around and talking to people, and Jongin gathers he and Sehun are supposed to be enemies in this time. The soccer and basketball captain who can never get along, biting the other's leg off at every ball game. They trade insults behind rusted gym lockers and leave nasty one-week-old food on each other's desks. Jongin thinks they're getting more interesting.
Sehun turns with tears racing down his cheeks. Jongin knows he isn't supposed to, but he rushes to Sehun anyway. Out of rekindled affection than current rivalry. Sehun shuffles closer to the open air, gentle breeze caressing his blonde hair, and Jongin imagines that if he's a photographer in this lifetime, this would have been the perfect shot of Sehun; one remarkable moment in an ocean of moments.
"Of course you'd want that, wouldn't you? We've always been fighting, Kim fucking Jongin. If I jump here, I bet you'd throw a party and invite the whole class," Sehun chokes out. Jongin attempts to separate the emotions in Sehun's syllables.
"You're wrong," Jongin moves to the side of the railing, an arm's length away from where Sehun stands. "I would have invited the whole city, no. I would have invited the whole city along with some nearby villages, and then I'd have some really famous DJ and some popular actors there, too. And you'd be in hell because where else can you be? You'd be giving Lucifer a headache as I party like there's no tomorrow."
"What a good way of convincing someone not to jump," Sehun smiles and this one is different, along with his smiles from the previous lifetimes.
Jongin concludes that Sehun's smiles are snowflakes; not one of them perfectly identical to the other. He's been through lifetimes, and he'll probably be on more lifetimes, but Sehun's smile will forever be a galaxy of peculiar. Sometimes, they're quick, other menacing, and rarely, heart-warming. But despite the appearance, they all do the trick and ensnare Jongin's soul, reminding him why Sehun is worth the repetitive catastrophes.
"I wasn't trying to stop you from jumping. I was being polite and making small, casual talk, prince." Jongin steps on what's left of Sehun's pride, because really, the way Sehun furrows his eyebrows when agitated is kind of, sort of, okay it's really cute.
"When I die, I'm going to haunt your soul and choke you to death with a banana. That prince thing is annoying!" Sehun's famous last words before turning and diving headfirst. His favorite bracelet tinged with jade sparkles underneath the sunlight, catching Jongin's attention.
Jongin only smiles when he hears a resonating thud. See you later, prince.
✖✖✖
"Hello, good morning! I'm Luhan, and this is my partner, Sehun! We're the couple living next door. I hope we'll be good, and happy neigh-" The wooden door slams loudly against Luhan's glowing face. The welcoming smile is replaced by a puzzled expression; wide eyes looking for answers about their new neighbor's rudeness on Sehun's lips.
"I don't know, love. Maybe he's just shy, or he's not in a good mood. People have reasons," Sehun responds with the familiarity one can only acquire by being with someone for a long time.
Luhan stares at Sehun, softly, shyly, as if the years they've spent together didn't cast their shadows on their first meeting. Heart-warming looks like these transports Sehun back to their initial encounter; two book-lovers searching around the library, found each other, and left with digits scribbled hastily on the back of borrowed books.
"I'm so glad I found you," Luhan murmurs.
Jongin peeks through the crack in his door, discovering a new level of agony when Sehun stares at Luhan the same way Jongin looks at Sehun in all of their lifetimes. Sehun is happy.
✖✖✖
Next time Jongin meets Sehun, Sehun has pink hair and looks like the grunge version of Hello Kitty. Hello Kitty gone high, wrong, and castrated, that is. Jongin had been walking down a park with autumn's burning leaves falling behind him when he spotted Sehun. By far, this is the worst he's seen Sehun look, but there's a certain light behind Sehun's pupils, grace in the way he tilts his neck to observe his surroundings. Jongin can stand still and watch Sehun underneath the tree's shade forever.
He approaches Sehun, sitting close enough to touch and see the 'free listen' sign lying beside him. "What does that mean?"
"It means that you talk and I shut up and listen and keep it with me," Sehun explains, speaking slowly. He takes his time with each word.
"Okay, maybe I should give this a try, right? This talking thing. You're a weird stranger,"
"Huh-uh, tell me more,"
"Are you being sarcastic or are you being a sarcastic prick?"
"I'm a little bit of both,"
"I could tell," Jongin shakes his head, glad to have this kind of conversation with Sehun. After examining Sehun's pale hands and clean fingernails, Jongin lies. "I'm a writer."
"Cool, continue."
The leaves rustle overhead, faint footsteps serving as a backdrop for Jongin's narration. Peaceful and serene afternoons like these are what drives Jongin into wishing that somehow, he'll be able to prevent the reoccurring tragedies. Maybe he can even brew Sehun tea every single morning (and allow him to put as much sugar in it as he wants), then they'd talk about menial things like this girl from work who never cuts her nails, or about paying for the electric bills, or whose turn it is to clean this car this week.
Normalcy is a luxury seven billion people overlook. But then again, none of them are Kim Jongin and Oh Sehun. None of them live over and over again, with a hat on their heads. A hat decorated with thorns, loaded with the questions; Is it really him? Is this the last time? Will Sehun die? Would you be happier without me?
So they go on with their normal lives, unaware that somewhere, some time, there are two lovers trying to untangle their fates, struggling to tie up loose ends.
"I have this idea, this might be cliché, but I do believe that given the right writing style and elements, this can really be good." Jongin begins, shifting in his place until it's the right angle that he can see Sehun react to each 'idea'. "It's about this palace servant, and this dates back to the seventh century. A servant in love with the crown prince, whom he happened to be assigned to look after. Now this prince is stubborn, willful and smart, but oblivious when it comes to feelings. Naturally, he doesn't notice the meaningful looks this servant's giving him. Your classic case of a one-sided love. Unrequited love. Call it what you want."
"Is this all historical?"
"No, this gets better. It has fantasy and psychology."
"Psychology?"
"As in the servant went cuckoo. Bonkers. Mad as a woman on her period." Jongin basks in the sphere of Sehun's laughter.
Oh Sehun stops when the rays of the sun hits Jongin's eyes; then creating a fading halo atop his head. Sehun feels like this all happened before. A deja vu; except that this one brings with it a surge of emotion close to longing and desire, but not really that synonymous.
"The prince was killed because he was stupid enough to get killed, and just when the servant wanted to pull a sleeping-beauty on the prince, they both vanished." Jongin then tells Sehun about the servant's adventures through time, how he traveled with a suitcase of his original memories, hand-carrying a bag containing little things he loved about the alternative versions of the prince.
"But which one did the servant like? Which version? If he kept seeing different counterparts of this prince, the servant should at least have a favorite," This is Sehun's first time interrupting someone who came to him in the hopes of borrowing an ear. The writer-stranger with toffee skin allures Sehun. In more ways than one.
"Let me tell you something about the servant first," Jongin reeks of expensive cologne. "He's completely mad and smitten! He thinks that whatever this prince touches turns into gold. While there are some lifetimes where he doesn't like the prince, he's yet to come across one where hearing the prince's laugh or talk wouldn't have him tumbling down head-first. That's the thing about the servant and his feelings."
"What's the thing about the servant and his feelings?" Sehun asks after a whole minute of silence.
Sehun wasn't aware a smile, a wink, and a look can catch him off-guard and had his heart beating wildly until the man before him does them. Jongin whispers and his voice calms down the tide that is Sehun's emotions. "Reasons, situation, era, whether or not the prince remembers the servant, all these things are just a dot compared to the magnitude of the servant's love for his prince."
"Wow. That is a beautiful kind of love," Sehun murmurs, eyes curtained by strands of pink hair. "I pity the servant, though."
"How so?"
"Because he's been alone all this time. He's been so strong and patient. He must be so tired." The compassion braided in Sehun's voice is what does Jongin in.
There are instances when Jongin thinks he knows exactly what love is (what with the repeated lifetimes and parallel worlds), but sometimes Sehun just blinks so beautifully and Jongin forgets to look away and it dawns on him that it's impossible to reinvent love with every time they meet. Take it from Jongin; you can never love someone perfectly, despite the chances handed out to you.
He blinks back tears. "He'll be alright. This is my story, remember? He'll be alright."
It isn't until the writer-stranger leaves Sehun, and a whiff of citrus and some musky scent invades his senses, when he finally remembers. The writer-stranger smells like a memory; burning arrows on, a gun being fired on a sunny day, the soft wind as it ruffles Sehun's hair.
And Sehun stands up and runs to follow the writer-stranger, clueless about who he is and how they're related. But rest assured in the familiarity his scent and smiles bring. Sehun sprints forward, fiddling with his good luck charm; a jade brooch on his pocket.
The writer-stranger is already across the road and Sehun runs, yelling without any care in the world. "I remember, you idiot! I remember you! I don't know you, but I know that I love you somehow!"
When Jongin turns back, he sees Sehun in the middle of the road, red-faced and panting. Jongin turns two seconds before a fast truck, out of control, runs Sehun over.
✖✖✖
In their next encounter, Jongin isn't Jongin, but Kai onstage. Kai is baptized with oil and sweat and dull glamour attracting his audience for the whole night. This Kai pretends to be happier inside bedrooms he can't recognize, waking up to the scent of some women's expensive perfume, or an old chap's cheep aftershave. The hired entertainer who never stays for more than just one evening.
And Kai stands on the corner of the club he's working at, looking for something he doesn't know. His eyes skim past the barely-covered dancers onstage. They keep on searching until they encounter a familiar slouched figure.
Sitting in one of the bar stools, this Sehun is all droopy eyes and wrinkled clothing; nursing a cigarette stick between dry lips and blowing smoke into Kai's direction when the latter sits beside him.
"Work here?" Sehun asks, both knowing that Kai does, based on the sequined attire and oiled skin.
Kai entertains the young man with tousled hair, speaking as if it's their first meeting instead of the thousandth. "I do, and I kind of mean to brag, but I'm the best one out here."
"You look like you are," Sehun winks and Kai suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands. He fidgets in his stool, wondering if this is Sehun's way of flirting or he's thinking much into it. Sehun moves closer, whiskey-stained breath sticking onto Kai's flesh. "Let's get out of here."
Jongin and Sehun left side by side, both knowing that this is right and wrong.
"What if I've seen you and fallen in love with you in a lot of parallel worlds?" His eyes are trained on Sehun's face. Jongin can eternally drown in the sea of Sehun's features. Scratch that; Sehun lips are Atlantis.
Sehun's neat room is slowly being filled in by sprinkles of sunlight, indicating the morning after their first love-making. Golden light splayed out over discarded clothes on the floor, over dirty-white sheets warming their tired bodies. Jongin had made sure to remember each detail; from the way Sehun looks under the lamp, to the way Sehun feels in his arms. It wasn't everything Jongin imagined it would be like--it was way better than that. After the intimate encounter, they slept soundly; contentment and love settling down on Jongin's lungs like dust.
"Theoretically?"
"Theoretically," Jongin confirms, admiring the slur of Sehun's tongue.
"Say that we've seen each other before and you're the only one that can remember all those meetings, and I'm the clueless one," Sehun laughs, ignorant of the truth resting on his statement. "Then uh, I probably should feel guilty. Man! Just thinking of it makes me feel guilty. I don't know, I just hope that I love you better each time, to make up for those moments when I didn't."
"Let's say that you didn't always love me."
"This is a weird conversation to have with someone like you," The mirth on Sehun's eyes diminishes everything else around them. Jongin shuts Sehun up with a kiss, making sure the next thing that leaves Sehun's mouth is a groan.
By each day that Sehun spends alive, the more Jongin fidgets in his room. He counts every ticking of the clock, waiting for the seconds when Sehun's own heart would refuse motion. It's not like Jongin has a lot of time spent to worry. As mild nights give way to halcyon mornings and serene afternoons, Jongin or rather, 'Kai', grows unbelievably attached to this Oh Sehun.
Sehun's body is Kai's instrument; he strums Sehun like a guitar, plucked music from those needy lips and fed him kisses in the dark to keep them both contented. Without notice, Sehun fitted himself behind Kai's sternum. When Kai inhales, Sehun exhales with him.
"I like to paint," Sehun informed him with a firm tone. They'd been walking back to Sehun's flat after one of Kai's nightly shifts. They never went well. Kai's sensuous movements turn more sexual underneath Sehun's gaze. And they're both too aware, and being too aware isn't a good thing when it comes to damaged bed mattresses and headboards.
Kai is everywhere in Sehun's house; he's the sticky coffee stain on Sehun's kitchen table, the checkered boxer lying beneath Sehun's bed, even the dog-eared pages between Sehun's favorite books. They're the things Sehun leaves alone while cleaning, they keep him company when the real Kai can't.
"I like the way you do this and that," Sehun's favorite words (but it's only because Kai utters them when Sehun is unaware). And that's what Kai is saying now, as Sehun finds it difficult to swallow down his cereal. Using firm fingers, he creates soothing circles against Sehun's adam's apple until the latter feels relaxed.
"Thank you."
"Just be careful next time." Kai says, more to himself than to Sehun. More to his nervous heartbeat than Sehun's reassuring smile back. Even food serves as a lethal poison in a world where Kai is determined to save both himself and Sehun.
That night, Kai sneaks out of Sehun's house, goes back to his own to shatter the windows with vases, mirrors with plates. Things that break with things that hurt. The earsplitting sound of glass shattering is comfort to him. He isn't the only one getting destroyed by each powerful impact and the only one who sees the person whom they love die before their eyes.
Big to medium to microscopic shards of glass decorate the marble floor Kai walks on. They create a satisfying sound when he runs outside of his house. Starlit skies, whispering branches, invisible crickets, the heavens deaf to everything under the clouds; all these things Kai addresses when he shouts, "I'm going to save the both of us! This is a fucking sick game and this has to stop. I won't let you have Sehun again. I won't, just you watch!"
And Kai yells and yells until Sehun asks about his hoarse voice the next day and he has to lie as to why.
The thing about being with someone long enough to fall in love with them for the eighth time, is that you can't help the onslaught of other emotions that comes along with love. Kai loves Sehun, but he gets mad at him, too.
"What are you working on?" He asks groggily, a toothbrush balanced between bubbled lips. This is also one of the things that irks Kai about Sehun; the secrecy when it comes to his artworks. As an avid fan of what Sehun can do with his fingers, Kai is brimming with curiosity as to what Sehun's been busy on.
"It's a secret," Sehun says before retreating to his studio and shutting it behind him. Keys turning doors locked causes Kai's eyes to roll to the ceiling, down to the floor, and back to the closed studio, wondering what sort of spell Sehun's been casting using acrylics and bristles.
"I love you," The three words glides out of Sehun's mouth as fluidly as the river flowing in front of them. A picnic, as what people these days call it. A banquet, as what Sehun dubbed it upon seeing the baskets and baskets of food Kai explained he prepared overnight.
Kai's body reacted before his mind could; his heart hammering against its cage, veins surging with delight and excitement, his chest trembling with the magnitude of those three words. Three words that had been made special by the number of lifetimes he has to endure before hearing them. Kai replies with an 'I love you, too' that's insufficient when it comes to translating his feelings.
It's Sehun who's responsible for their kiss under the tree's thick shade and their lips as they find their way into the other's. More than just oxygen spirals between them: electricity, drive, desire, things that not even Kai's clenched fingers can't grasp. Love, and the syllables composing their names slips on the third kiss and the seventh.
In their kiss, Kai mentally lists down the most captivating sounds he's ever heard: their heavy breathing before they lock lips again, the wild grass supporting their rolling bodies, fingertips tapping against jawlines, how Sehun pants 'Kai' like they're made of stardust instead of three letters, the 'I love you's Sehun scattered like seeds on Kai's collarbones and earlobes.
"Please don't ever leave me," says Sehun weighed down by the mix of food he devoured within thirty minutes.
"The universe needs to do more than kill us both again and again for me to finally leave you,"
"Did the universe try?"
"Yes, but it didn't succeed yet." Kai stretches his limbs as far as they could go on the ground. He turns to his side, and envelopes Sehun in a loose hug and they both stay still, as if somewhere, some time, there's a sculptor taking in the way their bodies fold in on each other and imitate their limbs on marble.
Sehun bites the inside of his cheek. "Parallel worlds, this and that. Lifetimes, reincarnations, versions. Why are you fascinated with these things? Far as I know, you're not into sci-fi or the likes. You worry me."
"Really? Worry?"
"Yes, worry." Sehun confirms with a nod. Jongin replies with a lazy grin, one that could mean a lot of things ranging from 'I really don't care about what you feel' to 'Your wish is my command.' Jongin stands up and offers his hand to Sehun before the younger can decode the meaning behind Jongin's smiles.
Cool, autumn breeze grazes the edge of Jongin's shirt and moves strands of his hair to the side. "I know something that would make us both less-worried for the rest of our lives. Come with me, there's this place just for us."
This place turns out to be a lonely, unlit dirt-road a few miles outside the city. Twisting, maneuvering a rented midnight-blue BMW through the dust covered path, Jongin's grip is steady around the wheel, his free hand driving its way into the spaces between Sehun's warn fingers. Dim lights and the scenery snaking past them are reflected in Jongin's eyes.
"Where is this place?" Sehun finally lets go of the burden two hours of not-speaking-to-each-other laid on his head.
Engines groan beneath them, Jongin's knuckles turning pale from hanging onto the wheel serve as Sehun's reply. 190 mph. Neon orange stands out in the dark for Sehun to take in like fire alarms at two in the morning. There are certain times in your life when you could gather how stupid you are, and to Oh Sehun, this is one of those unforgettable moments.
The car's headlights are flicked off, its interior as cold as the inside of a refrigerator. Jongin is speeding with a devil-may-care smile, courage on his right foot, and Sehun's heart wrapped around his wrist bone. It's like the whole galaxy slits through the crack in the window just to warn Sehun to get the fuck off this car at this very instant, but Sehun still hangs on to Jongin with the trust of a five year old.
"This is for the best," Jongin says and he has already pushed the gas pedal as hard as it can go.
"Just remember that I, Kim Jongin, love you and it doesn't matter if you forget everything else," Jongin says, voice as unstable as the car speeding through the dark.
"I'll be back for you, always." Jongin, the servant, says and tightens his hold on his prince's hand; the only thing that remained steady as the ground vanished and they tumbled and tumbled down to kiss the pit of death waiting for them.
part two; the prince