drabbles; set one
"because good things come in threes and . . . so do bad things."
i. forbidden
kaisoo; ~800 words
nc-17; romance, gore.
jongin likes cock. he likes it so much he has it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. sometimes, he slips them for midnight snacks. kai munches on limp, fresh cock.
today isn't any different.
there are advantages of having a steady flow of cash. as a son of a premiere director, jongin gets to devour everything he asks for. from raw meat down to slimy fish. he takes delight in the pulsing veins that had once nursed life. he can't skip back the tracks of his memories to pause at the time when he first realized he liked eating things that are considered forbidden. he doesn't have to.
ahh, forbidden. jongin likes that word.
forbidden carries with it a ring of mystery. a thick veil of lust coating jongin's heart.
"young master, this is your course for today." his butler, a wide eyed man named kyungsoo, says. a gleaming silver platter is balanced on his hands. and with movements kai finds hypnotizing and graceful, kyungsoo brings it down in front of jongin.
jongin takes the metal cover off with eager fingers and excited eyes. his nerves buzz with the knowledge of all the fresh meat he's going to have this night. "this is delicious. thank you, kyungsoo."
"you're welcome."
before jongin, there are about ten torn cocks. blood drips down areas where vessels have been cut off. underneath the chandelier's glow, the chunks of flesh appear as appetizing to jongin as ever. he moistens his lips with his tongue. kyungsoo observes him, trying to gulp back the flood of love and admiration he has for jongin.
jongin takes his fork and knife, holding them the way they should be held. sharp edges slice through thick, wrinkled skin. jongin cuts and divides each one in chunks before diving in and chewing them.
kyungsoo holds his breath as he waits for jongin's reaction. this is all he ever wanted; to please jongin. ever since jongin's family picked him up in an orphanage, kyungsoo feels eternally indebted to the kims. jongin, especially. the only son. jongin with his tanned skin and passionate limbs. jongin with his crooked smiles and jokes no one else ever gets so kyungsoo is already trained in the art of fooling jongin into thinking he's funny. jongin, who collects scars and hides them under his favorite white shirts. jongin, the only one kyungsoo longed for and can never have.
"are you sure this is good?" jongin closes his eyes, muttering in between bites.
"yes. i'm sure. they're from this group called exo. people lust after them, apparently." kyungsoo recites, each syllable spoken under the motive of making jongin happy.
jongin takes a bite, chews, swallows. "this is too salty."
he picks another one and repeats the process. skin and muscles and blood caught in between incisors and molars. "good, but not good enough."
another one. "too sweet."
"too dry."
"this is shit."
kyungsoo fidgets with every expression of disapproval jongin's stare causes the hair on the nape of his neck to stand up. clenched jaw, curled fingers; telltale signs of jongin's anger. there are times when kyungsoo wishes he doesn't know jongin like the back of his hand, hopes he isn't able to recognize jongin's patterns the same way an astronomer worships constellations he can retrace.
"this won't do. get this away from me." jongin orders and at once, kyungsoo covers the platter, sliding it away from jongin.
meanwhile, jongin's eyes are glued on kyungsoo's pants. an idea slithers in, digging deeper and deeper his mind until jongin finds himself reaching out to tug the waist band of kyungsoo's jeans, just so he could curb his appetite. "i'm not done with my meal yet."
kyungsoo turns, freezing as jongin's fingers maneuver their way into the buttons and zipper. a flux of emotions and thoughts overcomes kyungsoo. jongin tugs kyungsoo's jeans and underwear down. quickly, roughly, as if every second matters. "my, my. i think i can handle it like this."
jongin gets down on his knees and takes a tentative lick off the head of kyungsoo's dick. "perfect. this is perfect."
he gets up again, leaving kyungsoo wondering. jongin walks back to the table, and when he goes back to kyungsoo, he lifts both hands up. there's a fork on his left hand, a knife on the right, a wide smile plastered on his face.
"now, for the main dish."
ii. bite
kaisoo; 439 words
nc-17; smut, gore
“i just-” kyungsoo gasps, pleasure spreading all over his lower body. jongin’s fingers are digging into the soft flesh of kyungsoo’s thighs, leaving trails of lust and desire in their wake.
“don’t stop yourself.” jongin whispers in between sucking kyungsoo off and tasting him on the tip of his tongue. darkness nestles in the corner, on the where the lamp’s light fails to reach. kyungsoo can’t help but admire the golds and yellows resting on jongin’s bare skin.
so kyungsoo comes, nearly an hour of pent up frustrations and foreplays escaping in one go. jongin takes it all in, loving the way kyungsoo writhes, the way kyungsoo moans, the way kyungsoo tastes.
“oh my god i’m sorry. i didn’t-” but it’s too late. kyungsoo had already released something that shouldn’t have went out. heat rushes up to his face as yellow liquid dribbles down jongin’s face. it glistens on his lips, on the curve of his nose. “this is so awkward i don’t i’m sorry i couldn’t stop it-“
this night, it turns out, is a night of surprises.
instead of belching in disgust, jongin leans closer and licks off the urine near his mouth. this action lead kyungsoo’s wide eyes to widen even more, mouth to set into a thin line the moment jongin begins drinking the filthy liquid.
it dawns on kyungsoo that this should have been illegal, should have been inhumane. but then jongin moves his mouth around his cock in a way which rattles reason off kyungsoo. time doesn’t matter, morals don’t either.
at once, jongin shifts and stands up. he looks at kyungsoo and kyungsoo is taken back to the time when they first met. all nervous chuckles and childish fights and kisses and everything in between which fueled the fire behind jongin’s eyes.
“i love you,” jongin whispers, breath hot against kyungsoo’s chest. he moves a little lower and swirls his tongue on a patch of skin in kyungsoo’s waist. slowly, he bares his lips and sinks his teeth into kyungsoo’s flesh so hard it drew blood. “so much. so so so, so much”
“you’re hurting me!” kyungsoo yells, fidgeting to move out of jongin’s embrace. jongin tightens his hold and bites as hard as he can.
more blood spurts out. crimson reds staining kyungsoo’s body. jongin pants heavily, a manic grin set on his face. “you’re mine now. all mine. all mine.”
sharp, vivid pain resonates from where kyungsoo’s skin has been bitten off. tears flit on the edge of kyungsoo’s eyes as jongin chews on what must have been soft flesh and brushes blood off his lips. “delicious. i want more.”
iii. intersections
kaisoo; 2,040 words
pg; romance, but not really
kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
some souls were created to live happily; others were sculpted to get in the way. there’s a fiery line dividing good and evil, darkness and light. usually, it doesn’t require much of a genius to mark exactly where territories lie. it takes one look, one nanosecond off the road you’re walking in for the tables to flip and for the universe to change its course.
kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
haloed by the blinding flashes going on and off before him on red carpets, jongin grew up in a world composed of designer goods for breakfast and photoshoots for dinner. in his refuge, there isn’t any space for anything that weighs more than he does.
jongin lives for the hollow cheekbones, nine-to-five routines that are knotted tight with strings of praises from people who only knows the jongin beyond the lens. he thinks this is good enough. experience has taught him that people are sponges that would soak up everything he is until his frail marrows are rotting on the pavement. yes, this is good enough. there should be an invisible barrier between him and everyone else; get too far and you lose them, reel them in too close and they suffocate you.
today is a bleak day, but it isn’t very different from any other day.
jongin has seen all the expressions of the skies; shifting from angry grays to clear blues within a matter of seconds. staring past the neat windows, he allows himself to fall into the fantasy that he resembles the weather in the way he’s trying to be everything else aside from himself.
but then doors creak open, a heavy aroma wafts through the atmosphere. it smells like the inside of a prison. jongin sits down on one of the leather chairs. he lets faceless strangers touch his face, contouring it with precise brush strokes, adding a smudge of eyeliner there, dabbing concealer on certain spots until he looks like what they wanted him to be: modern and edgy.
the concept is overrated, even jongin tries to not roll his eyes at the lack of originality. he is briefed about this. he is briefed even though he doesn’t need to be because five years of modeling taught him everything. chin up, set your back straight, make your shoulders appear relaxed. take a deep breath.
the location is in a state-of-the-art apartment, or at least that’s what his manager, suho called it before hanging up on him.
jongin cannot deny that the intricate patterns on the tables, the careful color-coding, each meticulous plan apparent in every corner are immaculate. however, he cannot also deny that he feels like the white walls are caving in so fast he can’t even take a deep breath.
kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
ringed by endless possibilities, kyungsoo matured in a world filled with storybook characters and happy ever afters. carrying a knapsack of old wisdom he inherited from his grandmother, kyungsoo sets out to face the universe while wearing rose-tinted glasses that enables him to see all the good lurking in every places.
kyungsoo lives for sweaty palms holding steady microphones, for the unstable time tables that he never really follows. tones and notes, rhythm and beat, falsetto and sheets. he immersed himself in doing what he loves and if he’s lucky on a crowded night, he gets paid for it.
he is both everywhere and nowhere at the same time, but looking up at the cloudless sky up above, kyungsoo decides it doesn’t really matter. there are songs to sing, people to sing to and feelings to express. he smiles at the heavens before resuming his walk.
with empty pockets waiting to be filled, kyungsoo takes a deep, deep breath. he savors the feeling of oxygen and the universe opening in his lungs.
kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
due to the location being so close to his own apartment, jongin decides to walk instead of driving his car. he can pick it up tomorrow; early morning. he’ll have more exercise then. the night looks friendly tonight.
warm indigos cover the skies, skyscrapers attempt to pierce right through it. jongin does not think of how his life is as drained as the bottle of foundation they keep using for his skin. life bustles in quiet whispers around him. tucked in small shops and battered restaurants, he could see people conversing with each other.
jongin wonders what they mostly talk about. he never had friends, no one had been thick enough to withstand his stubborn lips and the outright lies spilling out of them. maybe they don’t talk about camera angles or which color would flatter their skin type. maybe there isn’t any need for that.
he threads past these animated humans, feeling more and more alienated with every step.
kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
it’s one of those friendly evenings.
kyungsoo’s eyes are half closed in concentration. his eyelashes are shadowing the apples of his cheeks, he could feel it. he could sum up the weigh a dozen eyes fixed on his face.
they’re listening, he thinks while singing the bridge of one of his favorite songs. they’re actually listening.
soon enough, the hat he always puts down beside him is slowly getting filled. he keeps on singing. the attentive ears, muted conversations, coins juggling on his hat gives him more than enough satisfaction.
he keeps on living.
kim jongin is nothing but a blurred silhouette in the dark. he keeps on walking. there are hearts beating around him; he knows how much of a strain it is for the tender organ to pump blood for survival. not feeling his own causes him dissatisfaction.
he keeps on walking, keeps on wondering when he’ll start living.
kyungsoo is singing right on the corner of the street where jongin’s apartment is.
jongin looks at the crowd of people with their backs on him, centered on something or someone out of his line of vision. he only sees a handful of individuals who have nothing better to do with their time so he ignores the knocking curiosity in his mind and goes straight home.
kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
seoul is a labyrinth of roads and intersections. it is easy to get lost in the creases of alleyways and avenues. jongin has been here long enough to familiarize himself with the curves and twists of the streets.
on this brilliant day, jongin is huddled inside a convenience store. he’s struggling with the loaded basket on his hand. the pressure causing his arm to tremble has him thinking that maybe he really should exercise more next time. and food won’t kill him, well, not really.
jongin carefully places the basket down. fingertips curled around the cold sliding metal, his eyes rake over the hazy window. he lets it glide to the side and takes a bottle of full fat milk. creases decorate the spaces between his eyebrows. he doesn’t know why he took full fat instead of the skimmed one he usually buys. jongin shrugs, grabs his basket and dumps the bottle of milk along with other purchases.
when he left the store, thoughts of the lone bottle of skimmed milk in the shop’s refrigerator have been evaporated into thin air.
carefully, in the same way he does everything else, jongin loses himself in the babble of the city he’s surrounded by.
four hours later. the same store. kyungsoo shimmies his way to the aisles, past bewildered customers and the startled cashier. a smile is etched on his face. he is rarely seen without one.
short legs scramble to the lines of refrigerators. after waltzing through the heated concrete outside and inhaling dark fumes, kyungsoo congratulates himself by stopping at the freezer where the bottles of milk are.
one sweeping look over the contents inside has him furrowing his eyebrows in disappointment. nevertheless, he molds his hand over the door and slides it open. with anchored arms, he takes the only bottle of skimmed milk and begins walking around the store for other food to salvage.
yet by the time his feet had stepped outside the premises of the shop, regrets over the skimmed milk are still as solid in his mind as the bottle of liquid he doesn’t want.
kyungsoo and kim jongin are not destined to meet.
their lives are two parallel lines that were meant to continue without interruption from the other. two lives tracing different courses, two roads never created with an intersection.
but there are rules that are subconsciously broken. there are spaces that are suddenly filled. minds change as often as situation requires them to.
instead of going back to work that night, jongin stands by the han river bridge. the engines of his shiny black mercedes turned off as it remains hidden in the side. jongin’s eyes are glued on the small, glistening ripples below him. the wind blows, dragging with it the tangible scent of the waters. jongin inhales, closing his eyes.
he has never felt so alive.
instead of singing in his favorite spot that night, kyungsoo decides to walk until he finds a suitable place. it’s at this moment when he’s just nodding off the side of the bridge when he spots a figure of a man leaning dangerously close over the railing.
kyungsoo does what he does best and trust his common sense. he runs toward the man, wrapping an arm around his waist and throwing the both of them a bit farther from the edge.
“thank god i saved you. there are people who love you don’t do this to yourself.” it’s kyungsoo’s first conversation with another person in three years. when he parts his lips, it’s mostly for the sole purpose of letting music escape.
“excuse me?” it’s jongin’s first conversation with a person who didn’t slip him a business card first. when he parts his lips, it’s only to aid the makeup artists in applying him lipstick, other weird shit.
“this isn’t a good way. you shouldn’t kill yourself, please.” kyungsoo begs, eyes drowning in the yellow lights hitting the stranger’s tanned skin.
the short guy’s voice draws out a memory. jongin is taken back ten years before, when he was just eleven and held up by gangly arms and knees. one of his guilty pleasures was stopping over the quaint house in the neighborhood every five o clock in the afternoon, flattening his ears against the windows just so he could hear a boy sing.
jongin has no idea who the boy was or why he never saw the singing boy in the five months he’s listened to him before heading out if their little town and into seoul along with his parents. they’ve been alive then.
“please, can you sing for me?” jongin asks, hating himself for being bizzare, liking the soft crimson on the short guy’s cheeks.
so kyungsoo sings. he sings with eyes wide open, fixed on the lean man before him in fear that if he stops, time will too. stupidly, he thinks that if he doesn’t continue singing, the man will jump off the bridge.
each second the short guy spends singing, the more jongin’s knees buckle underneath him until they resemble twigs that can’t support the weight of the untangling nerves inside him. it’s the exact same song from before jongin realizes and smiles.
it’s his first genuine smile in ten years.
kyungsoo returns a shy smile in the middle of the song.
but kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
they’ve met at intersecting points, marring the other’s destiny. just then, as kyungsoo’s voice rises above the hum of street life around them, a certain hand steers a steering wheel. drunk in alcohol and lack of sleep, the bus driver lets his control of the wheel slip.
tires veer to the right, where the two unsuspecting men stand. before he can step on the brakes and regain control, the bus cuts the parallel line of the road it’s supposed to follow.
it swerves to kyungsoo and jongin’s direction, hitting the pair, jutting through the railings behind them.
kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
[note: unbeta'ed and everything.
drabbles except for the last one.
written on a whim so excuse my tao(ism) english.]
i. forbidden
kaisoo; ~800 words
nc-17; romance, gore.
jongin likes cock. he likes it so much he has it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. sometimes, he slips them for midnight snacks. kai munches on limp, fresh cock.
today isn't any different.
there are advantages of having a steady flow of cash. as a son of a premiere director, jongin gets to devour everything he asks for. from raw meat down to slimy fish. he takes delight in the pulsing veins that had once nursed life. he can't skip back the tracks of his memories to pause at the time when he first realized he liked eating things that are considered forbidden. he doesn't have to.
ahh, forbidden. jongin likes that word.
forbidden carries with it a ring of mystery. a thick veil of lust coating jongin's heart.
"young master, this is your course for today." his butler, a wide eyed man named kyungsoo, says. a gleaming silver platter is balanced on his hands. and with movements kai finds hypnotizing and graceful, kyungsoo brings it down in front of jongin.
jongin takes the metal cover off with eager fingers and excited eyes. his nerves buzz with the knowledge of all the fresh meat he's going to have this night. "this is delicious. thank you, kyungsoo."
"you're welcome."
before jongin, there are about ten torn cocks. blood drips down areas where vessels have been cut off. underneath the chandelier's glow, the chunks of flesh appear as appetizing to jongin as ever. he moistens his lips with his tongue. kyungsoo observes him, trying to gulp back the flood of love and admiration he has for jongin.
jongin takes his fork and knife, holding them the way they should be held. sharp edges slice through thick, wrinkled skin. jongin cuts and divides each one in chunks before diving in and chewing them.
kyungsoo holds his breath as he waits for jongin's reaction. this is all he ever wanted; to please jongin. ever since jongin's family picked him up in an orphanage, kyungsoo feels eternally indebted to the kims. jongin, especially. the only son. jongin with his tanned skin and passionate limbs. jongin with his crooked smiles and jokes no one else ever gets so kyungsoo is already trained in the art of fooling jongin into thinking he's funny. jongin, who collects scars and hides them under his favorite white shirts. jongin, the only one kyungsoo longed for and can never have.
"are you sure this is good?" jongin closes his eyes, muttering in between bites.
"yes. i'm sure. they're from this group called exo. people lust after them, apparently." kyungsoo recites, each syllable spoken under the motive of making jongin happy.
jongin takes a bite, chews, swallows. "this is too salty."
he picks another one and repeats the process. skin and muscles and blood caught in between incisors and molars. "good, but not good enough."
another one. "too sweet."
"too dry."
"this is shit."
kyungsoo fidgets with every expression of disapproval jongin's stare causes the hair on the nape of his neck to stand up. clenched jaw, curled fingers; telltale signs of jongin's anger. there are times when kyungsoo wishes he doesn't know jongin like the back of his hand, hopes he isn't able to recognize jongin's patterns the same way an astronomer worships constellations he can retrace.
"this won't do. get this away from me." jongin orders and at once, kyungsoo covers the platter, sliding it away from jongin.
meanwhile, jongin's eyes are glued on kyungsoo's pants. an idea slithers in, digging deeper and deeper his mind until jongin finds himself reaching out to tug the waist band of kyungsoo's jeans, just so he could curb his appetite. "i'm not done with my meal yet."
kyungsoo turns, freezing as jongin's fingers maneuver their way into the buttons and zipper. a flux of emotions and thoughts overcomes kyungsoo. jongin tugs kyungsoo's jeans and underwear down. quickly, roughly, as if every second matters. "my, my. i think i can handle it like this."
jongin gets down on his knees and takes a tentative lick off the head of kyungsoo's dick. "perfect. this is perfect."
he gets up again, leaving kyungsoo wondering. jongin walks back to the table, and when he goes back to kyungsoo, he lifts both hands up. there's a fork on his left hand, a knife on the right, a wide smile plastered on his face.
"now, for the main dish."
ii. bite
kaisoo; 439 words
nc-17; smut, gore
“i just-” kyungsoo gasps, pleasure spreading all over his lower body. jongin’s fingers are digging into the soft flesh of kyungsoo’s thighs, leaving trails of lust and desire in their wake.
“don’t stop yourself.” jongin whispers in between sucking kyungsoo off and tasting him on the tip of his tongue. darkness nestles in the corner, on the where the lamp’s light fails to reach. kyungsoo can’t help but admire the golds and yellows resting on jongin’s bare skin.
so kyungsoo comes, nearly an hour of pent up frustrations and foreplays escaping in one go. jongin takes it all in, loving the way kyungsoo writhes, the way kyungsoo moans, the way kyungsoo tastes.
“oh my god i’m sorry. i didn’t-” but it’s too late. kyungsoo had already released something that shouldn’t have went out. heat rushes up to his face as yellow liquid dribbles down jongin’s face. it glistens on his lips, on the curve of his nose. “this is so awkward i don’t i’m sorry i couldn’t stop it-“
this night, it turns out, is a night of surprises.
instead of belching in disgust, jongin leans closer and licks off the urine near his mouth. this action lead kyungsoo’s wide eyes to widen even more, mouth to set into a thin line the moment jongin begins drinking the filthy liquid.
it dawns on kyungsoo that this should have been illegal, should have been inhumane. but then jongin moves his mouth around his cock in a way which rattles reason off kyungsoo. time doesn’t matter, morals don’t either.
at once, jongin shifts and stands up. he looks at kyungsoo and kyungsoo is taken back to the time when they first met. all nervous chuckles and childish fights and kisses and everything in between which fueled the fire behind jongin’s eyes.
“i love you,” jongin whispers, breath hot against kyungsoo’s chest. he moves a little lower and swirls his tongue on a patch of skin in kyungsoo’s waist. slowly, he bares his lips and sinks his teeth into kyungsoo’s flesh so hard it drew blood. “so much. so so so, so much”
“you’re hurting me!” kyungsoo yells, fidgeting to move out of jongin’s embrace. jongin tightens his hold and bites as hard as he can.
more blood spurts out. crimson reds staining kyungsoo’s body. jongin pants heavily, a manic grin set on his face. “you’re mine now. all mine. all mine.”
sharp, vivid pain resonates from where kyungsoo’s skin has been bitten off. tears flit on the edge of kyungsoo’s eyes as jongin chews on what must have been soft flesh and brushes blood off his lips. “delicious. i want more.”
iii. intersections
kaisoo; 2,040 words
pg; romance, but not really
kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
some souls were created to live happily; others were sculpted to get in the way. there’s a fiery line dividing good and evil, darkness and light. usually, it doesn’t require much of a genius to mark exactly where territories lie. it takes one look, one nanosecond off the road you’re walking in for the tables to flip and for the universe to change its course.
kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
haloed by the blinding flashes going on and off before him on red carpets, jongin grew up in a world composed of designer goods for breakfast and photoshoots for dinner. in his refuge, there isn’t any space for anything that weighs more than he does.
jongin lives for the hollow cheekbones, nine-to-five routines that are knotted tight with strings of praises from people who only knows the jongin beyond the lens. he thinks this is good enough. experience has taught him that people are sponges that would soak up everything he is until his frail marrows are rotting on the pavement. yes, this is good enough. there should be an invisible barrier between him and everyone else; get too far and you lose them, reel them in too close and they suffocate you.
today is a bleak day, but it isn’t very different from any other day.
jongin has seen all the expressions of the skies; shifting from angry grays to clear blues within a matter of seconds. staring past the neat windows, he allows himself to fall into the fantasy that he resembles the weather in the way he’s trying to be everything else aside from himself.
but then doors creak open, a heavy aroma wafts through the atmosphere. it smells like the inside of a prison. jongin sits down on one of the leather chairs. he lets faceless strangers touch his face, contouring it with precise brush strokes, adding a smudge of eyeliner there, dabbing concealer on certain spots until he looks like what they wanted him to be: modern and edgy.
the concept is overrated, even jongin tries to not roll his eyes at the lack of originality. he is briefed about this. he is briefed even though he doesn’t need to be because five years of modeling taught him everything. chin up, set your back straight, make your shoulders appear relaxed. take a deep breath.
the location is in a state-of-the-art apartment, or at least that’s what his manager, suho called it before hanging up on him.
jongin cannot deny that the intricate patterns on the tables, the careful color-coding, each meticulous plan apparent in every corner are immaculate. however, he cannot also deny that he feels like the white walls are caving in so fast he can’t even take a deep breath.
kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
ringed by endless possibilities, kyungsoo matured in a world filled with storybook characters and happy ever afters. carrying a knapsack of old wisdom he inherited from his grandmother, kyungsoo sets out to face the universe while wearing rose-tinted glasses that enables him to see all the good lurking in every places.
kyungsoo lives for sweaty palms holding steady microphones, for the unstable time tables that he never really follows. tones and notes, rhythm and beat, falsetto and sheets. he immersed himself in doing what he loves and if he’s lucky on a crowded night, he gets paid for it.
he is both everywhere and nowhere at the same time, but looking up at the cloudless sky up above, kyungsoo decides it doesn’t really matter. there are songs to sing, people to sing to and feelings to express. he smiles at the heavens before resuming his walk.
with empty pockets waiting to be filled, kyungsoo takes a deep, deep breath. he savors the feeling of oxygen and the universe opening in his lungs.
kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
due to the location being so close to his own apartment, jongin decides to walk instead of driving his car. he can pick it up tomorrow; early morning. he’ll have more exercise then. the night looks friendly tonight.
warm indigos cover the skies, skyscrapers attempt to pierce right through it. jongin does not think of how his life is as drained as the bottle of foundation they keep using for his skin. life bustles in quiet whispers around him. tucked in small shops and battered restaurants, he could see people conversing with each other.
jongin wonders what they mostly talk about. he never had friends, no one had been thick enough to withstand his stubborn lips and the outright lies spilling out of them. maybe they don’t talk about camera angles or which color would flatter their skin type. maybe there isn’t any need for that.
he threads past these animated humans, feeling more and more alienated with every step.
kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
it’s one of those friendly evenings.
kyungsoo’s eyes are half closed in concentration. his eyelashes are shadowing the apples of his cheeks, he could feel it. he could sum up the weigh a dozen eyes fixed on his face.
they’re listening, he thinks while singing the bridge of one of his favorite songs. they’re actually listening.
soon enough, the hat he always puts down beside him is slowly getting filled. he keeps on singing. the attentive ears, muted conversations, coins juggling on his hat gives him more than enough satisfaction.
he keeps on living.
kim jongin is nothing but a blurred silhouette in the dark. he keeps on walking. there are hearts beating around him; he knows how much of a strain it is for the tender organ to pump blood for survival. not feeling his own causes him dissatisfaction.
he keeps on walking, keeps on wondering when he’ll start living.
kyungsoo is singing right on the corner of the street where jongin’s apartment is.
jongin looks at the crowd of people with their backs on him, centered on something or someone out of his line of vision. he only sees a handful of individuals who have nothing better to do with their time so he ignores the knocking curiosity in his mind and goes straight home.
kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
seoul is a labyrinth of roads and intersections. it is easy to get lost in the creases of alleyways and avenues. jongin has been here long enough to familiarize himself with the curves and twists of the streets.
on this brilliant day, jongin is huddled inside a convenience store. he’s struggling with the loaded basket on his hand. the pressure causing his arm to tremble has him thinking that maybe he really should exercise more next time. and food won’t kill him, well, not really.
jongin carefully places the basket down. fingertips curled around the cold sliding metal, his eyes rake over the hazy window. he lets it glide to the side and takes a bottle of full fat milk. creases decorate the spaces between his eyebrows. he doesn’t know why he took full fat instead of the skimmed one he usually buys. jongin shrugs, grabs his basket and dumps the bottle of milk along with other purchases.
when he left the store, thoughts of the lone bottle of skimmed milk in the shop’s refrigerator have been evaporated into thin air.
carefully, in the same way he does everything else, jongin loses himself in the babble of the city he’s surrounded by.
four hours later. the same store. kyungsoo shimmies his way to the aisles, past bewildered customers and the startled cashier. a smile is etched on his face. he is rarely seen without one.
short legs scramble to the lines of refrigerators. after waltzing through the heated concrete outside and inhaling dark fumes, kyungsoo congratulates himself by stopping at the freezer where the bottles of milk are.
one sweeping look over the contents inside has him furrowing his eyebrows in disappointment. nevertheless, he molds his hand over the door and slides it open. with anchored arms, he takes the only bottle of skimmed milk and begins walking around the store for other food to salvage.
yet by the time his feet had stepped outside the premises of the shop, regrets over the skimmed milk are still as solid in his mind as the bottle of liquid he doesn’t want.
kyungsoo and kim jongin are not destined to meet.
their lives are two parallel lines that were meant to continue without interruption from the other. two lives tracing different courses, two roads never created with an intersection.
but there are rules that are subconsciously broken. there are spaces that are suddenly filled. minds change as often as situation requires them to.
instead of going back to work that night, jongin stands by the han river bridge. the engines of his shiny black mercedes turned off as it remains hidden in the side. jongin’s eyes are glued on the small, glistening ripples below him. the wind blows, dragging with it the tangible scent of the waters. jongin inhales, closing his eyes.
he has never felt so alive.
instead of singing in his favorite spot that night, kyungsoo decides to walk until he finds a suitable place. it’s at this moment when he’s just nodding off the side of the bridge when he spots a figure of a man leaning dangerously close over the railing.
kyungsoo does what he does best and trust his common sense. he runs toward the man, wrapping an arm around his waist and throwing the both of them a bit farther from the edge.
“thank god i saved you. there are people who love you don’t do this to yourself.” it’s kyungsoo’s first conversation with another person in three years. when he parts his lips, it’s mostly for the sole purpose of letting music escape.
“excuse me?” it’s jongin’s first conversation with a person who didn’t slip him a business card first. when he parts his lips, it’s only to aid the makeup artists in applying him lipstick, other weird shit.
“this isn’t a good way. you shouldn’t kill yourself, please.” kyungsoo begs, eyes drowning in the yellow lights hitting the stranger’s tanned skin.
the short guy’s voice draws out a memory. jongin is taken back ten years before, when he was just eleven and held up by gangly arms and knees. one of his guilty pleasures was stopping over the quaint house in the neighborhood every five o clock in the afternoon, flattening his ears against the windows just so he could hear a boy sing.
jongin has no idea who the boy was or why he never saw the singing boy in the five months he’s listened to him before heading out if their little town and into seoul along with his parents. they’ve been alive then.
“please, can you sing for me?” jongin asks, hating himself for being bizzare, liking the soft crimson on the short guy’s cheeks.
so kyungsoo sings. he sings with eyes wide open, fixed on the lean man before him in fear that if he stops, time will too. stupidly, he thinks that if he doesn’t continue singing, the man will jump off the bridge.
each second the short guy spends singing, the more jongin’s knees buckle underneath him until they resemble twigs that can’t support the weight of the untangling nerves inside him. it’s the exact same song from before jongin realizes and smiles.
it’s his first genuine smile in ten years.
kyungsoo returns a shy smile in the middle of the song.
but kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
they’ve met at intersecting points, marring the other’s destiny. just then, as kyungsoo’s voice rises above the hum of street life around them, a certain hand steers a steering wheel. drunk in alcohol and lack of sleep, the bus driver lets his control of the wheel slip.
tires veer to the right, where the two unsuspecting men stand. before he can step on the brakes and regain control, the bus cuts the parallel line of the road it’s supposed to follow.
it swerves to kyungsoo and jongin’s direction, hitting the pair, jutting through the railings behind them.
kyungsoo and jongin are not destined to meet.
[note: unbeta'ed and everything.
drabbles except for the last one.
written on a whim so excuse my tao(ism) english.]