[exo] mirror mirror 3/3
Title: mirror mirror (formerly 'Thief')
Fandom: EXO
Pairing: KaiSoo (with hints of others)
Rating: R
Genre: AU, angst, and a ~*~mystery genre~*~
Word Count: 21,956w
Summary: When Jongin has difficulty triumphing over himself and many lines are crossed, blurred and completely ignored.
Soft jazz music plays from invisible speakers as the tanned male brings a hand to newly blonde-dyed locks and attempts to puzzle out a solution to the question before him. Perhaps if he stares hard enough, the numbers will magically re-arrange themselves into something that matches with the answer he had glimpsed in the answer sheets the professor had whisked away, but he knows if he hopes to pass the class with even a passing grade he needs to understand this on his own. It’s not that he doesn’t understand (because he has decades under his belt and in boredom anything is achievable) but it’s simply that he’s distracted by the entity who is Do Kyungsoo, flitting from table to table like a restless bird, metaphorical wings frazzled and a suitably harassed disposition about him.
Kyungsoo sometimes reminds Jongin of a bird in a cage, entrapped in an enclosure for the sole task of carrying trays of dangerously full coffee cups that threaten to overspill with foam. Sometimes, more often in recent days it seems like he could do with a large cup of coffee himself - but diligently, uncomplaining he continues with his work regardless of the dark bags that hang below his eyes.
Perhaps this is why Jongin finds himself so captivated by the presence of the other man. He’s experienced the other’s rather extraordinary work ethic before, but perhaps it’s the fact that this time round he isn’t the boss, but merely an unknown onlooker? Jongin finds Kyungsoo to be a mystery, a puzzle box he can never seem to solve. He’s not even sure there’s anything to be found once solved - perhaps he’s a trick box and full of naught but old, dusty air.
In this lifetime, Jongin has dismissed the idea of love. He knows it’s there, brimming below the surface and waiting for the slightest drop to fall so that it can spill over and flood the premises, but Jongin’s a master balancer and it’s not going to happen easily. He’s back to his original task - trying to go about his way with minimal fuss.
Well, that’s what he’d like to say but in reality Jongin is so far past the threshold of love there’s no sane path back.
Jongin is a frequent visitor to this particular café as it’s situated at a perfect distance right between his home and the university he attends. The coffee is not too bad either and the price affordable for regular purchase, and since the tables are often free he decides to call upon habits from another lifetime and brings his homework and various odds and ends to do, one regular mocha keeping him awake and working for the better part of the afternoon and occasionally evening.
“Refill, Jongin-sshi?” a soft voice breaks his concentration right at a crucial breakthrough, and he looks up with annoyance laced in his features.
Kyungsoo shirks back in intimidation, the movement crinkling the material of the standard black button-up top he wears as part of his uniform. His name-tag proudly reads ‘Kyungsoo’ in neat characters, and for the sake of not seeming like a creep (he dealt with that in a previous life and it was not particularly fun) Jongin pretends to check the name before answering.
“Ah, sorry…” fake pause “Kyungsoo-sshi.” The apology sits for a bit, before he continues. “What were you saying again?”
“That’s okay,” Kyungoo smiles a timid smile “I asked if you wanted a refill?”
Jongin glances to the empty cup sitting on the table beside his textbooks. Since when was it empty? Giving an absent nod, he shrugs “Sure, why not. Thanks, Kyungsoo-sshi.” He smiles back encouragingly, noting how cute the elder man looks when his cheeks stain a light rosy pink. Huh, cute. How long has it been since he last had such simplistic thoughts?
Frowning, he decides to follow that train of thought. He knew he was attracted to the elder man, even a fool could work out such feelings. However, why had they intensified so? Jongin dislikes the concept of love, completely abhors the thought of devoting ones entire spirit to another, of being unable to commit the final deed all because of one incessant tug on his conscience. All he wants to do is to move on and get things completed, but-
“Oww!” Jongin hisses, reflexively jolting as he feels something hot and wet hit his knee.
“I’m sorry! So sorry!” Kyungsoo cries in apology, and Jongin’s eyes flicker from the wet patch on the knee of his jeans to the table where a mess of a brown-hued puddle lies. Thankfully it seems to have missed his textbooks, but there are a few splatters of liquid here and there and he’s more than convinced that the flustered man before him will find some way of making the situation worse with his panicking.
Chuckling lightly, Jongin removes the cloth Kyungsoo holds in his distraught grasp and uses it to swipe and dab at the liquid on the table. Caramel brown stains the pale yellow cloth immediately, and by the time Kyungsoo comes to his senses Jongin has already completed the task.
“I’m really sorry,” the milky-skinned male is like a broken record on repeat, the same repetitive apology continuously spilling from his lips as he takes the cloth back from Jongin and makes sure the desk is fully clean. “I don’t know what’s gotten over me today. I’m not usually like this I swear.”
Jongin laughs, pushing the automatic memory of shaky hands from his mind. “It’s okay, we all have our off days.”
“I probably have enough for the whole of Korea.” Kyungsoo wrinkles his nose as he stares at the soiled cloth in disdain before shrugging and stuffing it into a pocket of the apron he wears tied snug around the waist.
Jongin chooses not to comment on that, simply shifting his books to the side and raising to make room for the other to get to the coffee staining the wooden floor. Kyungsoo flinches when he catches sight of Jongin’s knees. “You should… probably go to the bathroom and clean that” he tentatively voices, before ducking his head down in embarrassment. “Sorry.”
The smile on Jongin’s face at the other’s expression is genuine. “It’s really fine. I’ll be back… it should be fine if I leave my books here, right?”
Kyungsoo nods. “Yes, it should be fine Jongin-sshi.”
Jongin heads to the bathroom located in the back of the store, and it’s only when he’s concentrating on the dark patch of his jeans in the flickering lights when he realises - how had Kyungsoo known his name when he has never introduced himself?
He doesn’t get a chance to ask, for when a tanned male finally slides back into his seat, Kyungsoo is back to his usual, professional self. He can’t help but to ask a question -
“Where did you get that bruise from?” the wide-eyed male asks as his eyes catch sight of the dark purple mark on the tanned male’s skin.
His response is a tugged-down sleeve and a rather ambiguous “Nowhere. Was clumsy the other day, is all.”
-
“I’m Kyungsoo!” the jittery man proclaims, beam impossibly bright and eyes staring straight into Jongin’s own. “Friends call me DO, but you can call me never, I’m taken!” His face flushes, before he ducks his head in embarrassment. “Sorry, I don’t mean that. It’s just, I’ve always wanted to use that line.”
Jongin blinks at the rapid-fire stream of words that escape the other’s lips. “Uh huh. Okay. I’m Jongin, friend of Baekhyun.” He indicates the droopy-eyed male who clings like a drowning man to a life buoy to Kyungsoo. One moment the man had been standing beside him, the next he was holding the other in a very affectionate (if not deadly) choke hold. Upon feeling Jongin’s gaze upon him, Baekhyun beams expectantly in response. It’s clear he’s hoping his boyfriend and friend will get along.
“Very nice to meet you, Jongin-sshi!” Kyungsoo gushes, untangling one arm from around Baekhyun and extending it for Jongin to shake. He does so, firmly.
Nodding slowly, he places half his mind on the conversation and the other half on the strange feeling of constriction that has suddenly intertwined around his chest. It’s tight, and his eyes flash panic before soothing to their usual dark coolness. It would do no good for him to lose himself now.
“Yes, nice to meet you too.” He responds, bowing quickly. It’s the polite thing to do after all.
His eyes meet Kyungsoo’s own, and he imperceptibly jolts as a fluttery, light feeling takes hold of him. What’s going on?
Baekhyun, unaware of anything wrong chirps on. “I’m glad the two of you seem to get along!” The moment passes. Kyungsoo turns to gaze dotingly at his boyfriend and Jongin sets his gaze on a thread on his sleeve. His heart is ensnared once more.
Jongin has lived many lifetimes, but this is the first in which he has killed someone he hasn’t been assigned to. It’s refreshing, being able to eradicate the source of the annoying jealousy.
-
This is the first lifetime in which Kyungsoo loves him back. The problem is that he loves what he cannot see, covets what he imagines to be real and desires for the unattainable.
As Kyungsoo allows the final, sad note to linger in the air, he falls silent once more. The spectators begin to drift off one by one, some pausing to drop in a coin or two to the battered cap he keeps upside down within arm’s reach. He pays close attention to the closeness of footsteps and the click of heels and the thump of soles, throwing in murmurs of gratuitous ‘Thank you sir’s and ‘Thank you ma’am’s which do nothing but help improve his image of being a polite, young singer.
Eventually, the clamour of footsteps fades to join the hundreds of others that pass by his juncture on the street with brisk, firm strides and sophisticated airs. Kyungsoo is left to fiddle with the cap of coins, sort out what belongings he has with him, and wait.
“How did I go?” he asks when he feels a familiar sounding pair of feet pause in front of him. The steps of this figure are light and rhythmic, powerful yet docile, fluid and explosive. They are made with soft-soled shoes that sound like they’ve been put to good use and more. Kyungsoo idly considers bringing up the topic of purchasing new ones - he would, if the other had not rejected the idea at least ten times prior. Something about the shoes taking him many places. He’s a strange one, this one is.
The figure stoops down; Kyungsoo can tell because his breathing is suddenly noisier. “You sang beautifully as always.” Jongin promises.
Kyungsoo allows a smile to spread across his features. “Did you dance this time?”
“Yep,” Jongin answers proudly, smiling at the man, “can you guess what genre?”
“Hmm…” Kyungsoo mimes stroking a beard, before answering “Ballet?”
Jongin shakes his head no, but then remembers that that would do no good. “Wrong!” he’s proud that he’s managed to trick Kyungsoo as his ears are able to pick up and infer what seems to be everything, but at the same time he cannot help but feel a twinge of misery. “It was contemporary.”
“Ah!” Kyungsoo pouts, shakes his head a bit at his own thinking. “I should’ve known. Next time I’ll be right, just wait and see.”
Jongin doesn’t smile, but forces the emotion into his voice. “Yeah! You’ve been right almost all of the time so far, so let’s see if you can redeem your accuracy.”
Kyungsoo doesn’t notice. “Hmm, perhaps,” he hums, “are you going to perform soon?”
“Yeah. In ten. You going to stay?”
The older male is quiet. “I think I’ll pass. Until we next meet, Jongin-ah.” He reaches up with his hands, feels the hair and trails down to the chin before tugging the younger man towards him to place a feather-light kiss on his lips.
Jongin pulls away first. Prying the other’s hands from his face, he smiles and knows that in his blindness Kyungsoo is unable to see. “Until next time, hyung.”
When Jongin dances, he doesn’t dance only for himself. He dances for the people who are unable to do so for themselves, he dances for the freedom that comes with letting his body fly and twirl, and most importantly he dances for Kyungsoo. Each carefully executed move is in the hopes of imprinting a memorable event in the eyes of his audience, each punch of the arm a symbol of his determination.
He dances grief, joy, remorse and a wisp of love and is rewarded for his efforts by loose change and occasional gifts. He’s never been asked for an encore by the person he desires to hear it from most, but he foolishly aspires to one day hear the request from those plump lips that take the world to the heavens with each soul-filled song. Kyungsoo will never ask him for an encore, but Jongin sets his sight on flowers.
The one person he wishes to see him dance is unable to. Such is the injustice of Jongin’s world.
-
The rain falls like angry stones against the window panes of his apartment, so strong the sheer force of the torrent of icy cold liquid shakes the brittle and clumsily constructed ledge. It doesn’t take much for some remnants of the dirty water to seep through and into the small compact box he calls a living room either and, cursing audibly into the air Jongin skids in his socks and trips in his quest to press a faded towel against a rapidly dampening spot on the carpet. There’s a dark stain on the mousy-coloured fabric already. When he notices it, the tanned male snorts into the scarf around his neck as he makes a mental note in his mind; booze affects material as it does people. He would remember that next time he decides to invite his friends over to drink.
Once certain that there will not be any unsightly fungus growing in the middle of his living room floor (because that would quite frankly suck), he replaces the towel with a bucket and watches as the steady drip from the ceiling begins to collect in the bright blue plastic. The pace is not so unreasonably fast that he is unable to move from his position, so once satisfied that the bucket will not fill until a good few hours later he troops back out of the living room and into the bathroom, raising a hand to rub at the fog-stained glass to peer at his reflection.
Jongin is greeted with a look of distaste upon his features and bird-nest hair, and after arranging the locks on his head the tanned male pries his eyes away from himself and gives a look-over of the bathroom. Tiles the colour of dried leaves and a slowly dripping faucet greet him, and he tries to tug a corner of his lips up as he surveys the sight. It seems that even with a few centuries in-between there’ll always be some places in the world with crappy bathrooms and questionable lighting.
Trooping back to the living room, he flops back into the armchair he had been perched in prior to the sudden dripping that he had noticed from the ceiling, but he is not able to sit and rest for long until a sudden timid series of knocks sound on the door and he is prompted to answer it.
He’s greeted by the image of a drowned puppy - or rather a grown man, dripping wet with rain and shivering from the cold, giving him a gaze that could put a puppy’s own to shame.
“Can… I help you?” Jongin’s not sure if he knows Kyungsoo or vice versa here, so he decides to go with an ambiguous question.
Kyungsoo’s teeth chatter as he tries to answer. “Hello, I’m Kyungsoo,” even in his clearly half-frozen state he does not forget his courtesy, giving Jongin a deep bow “Cold… I left my keys at home. Locked myself out, and my fi--” he hesitates, before continuing “I mean, my roommate is out. I’d avoid disturbing you if I could, but,” he seems to visibly droop, a wilting flower on its final stage of life. “I’m desperate, and I live just across the street.” He gestures blindly into the pitch-black rain behind him, rubs his shoulders for warmth. “Could I please… come in for a while?”
Well, what can he do? The other looks so forlorn that it would be a sin to leave him alone out in the cold. Jongin is no saint, that’s for sure but when it comes to Do Kyungsoo, there’s an annoying block called emotion which prevents him from doing anything to taint the dove white feathers of the male. Stepping aside, he lets the door swing open and in comes Kyungsoo, accompanied by a collection of rainwater and gusty wind.
“It’s not that great in here, honestly.” He mentions as he eyes a fresh spot of rain that has managed to drip through the rather crummy ceiling of his home. “Guess it’s better than being outside. Sit in the living room, I’ll make tea and get you a towel.”
When he returns, two towels in grasp (one for Kyungsoo, one for the floor) and two mugs of hot herbal tea firmly in his grasp, he watches the other stare out into the torrent of rain beating and whipping his windows. If it weren’t for the knock and proclamation of desired sanctuary, he would have been of the impression the wide-eyed man did desire to be out in the weather, so wistful and lost does he look.
His trance is broken when Jongin pushes a mug into his grasp, wrapping his chilled fingers around the toasty warm porcelain and dropping the towel loosely onto his head.
“Drink up, you seem like you can do with something warm.”
“Ah, thanks.” Kyungsoo lets the towel slip onto his shoulders as he raises the mug to his lips before taking a sip. It’s when he sets it down that he asks, somewhat jokingly, “you didn’t poison this, did you?”
Jongin hadn’t even realised the opportunity was there. Shaking his head in the negative, he laughs softly. “Who, me? I’m nobody but a poor young man trying to live… and make sure his home doesn’t flood with dirty rainwater.”
Kyungsoo laughs, leans over and whispers conspiratorially “Ah, I hear plumbers get quite high pay! Experience some success with this and move on to the big market.”
The tanned male snorts, settles into the easy-going rhythm they have going. Maybe if he forgets he’s speaking to Kyungsoo and avoid meeting his gaze directly he’ll make it through the evening. “Are you kidding me? Just imagine the smell!”
They say that when a stranger accepts two cups of tea, they become an honoured guest. Three and they’re family. Somewhere along the way, Kyungsoo and Jongin have managed to finish the pot of tea, and upon realising that the rain is not about to let up soon and the surrounding area outside is so dark it would take a million lamps to create some sort of light to make visage feasible, decide to settle in for a long night.
There’s something about the night that brings out all shades of a human. Like greedy and nosy hands, the night coaxes out chilling secrets and uncertainties under the illusion of sanctuary and drowsiness. It cups its shapeless hands around throat of the speaker and slips inside with each inhale as if some sort of toxic gas that enables the inhaler to only speak truth, each steady inhale and exhale accompanied by a stream of words that tumble like water from a jug.
Somewhere between ten o’clock and midnight, Jongin learns that Kyungsoo’s roommate is actually his fiancé, Joonmyun. Staring with hollow eyes into the half-empty cup of tea he cradles in his grasp, the wide-eyed male tells Jongin that they have been arguing lately, that he secretly fears the marriage won’t happen, but where will he be if not cradled snugly in Joonmyun’s arms?
After that Jongin’s own arm somehow finds its way around Kyungsoo’s frail shoulders, but it doesn’t seem to be enough and Kyungsoo continues on, telling Jongin - a mere stranger - about how he’s scared because actually, Joonmyun hasn’t been home in days, almost a full week now and he’s fearing for the worst. Joonmyun is not the flighty type, Kyungsoo says as he anxiously fiddles with a silver piece of eternity around his ring finger. Joonmyun is successful, is smart, is what Kyungsoo is but a little bit more. Joonmyun is a neat stack of thick-spined law books, is crisp collars and -
Kyungsoo breaks, finally looking up from the cup in his grasp and enabling Jongin to see the full destruction of his soul. He says, Joonmyun is not really all that, Joonmyun is actually also notorious for being two-faced, he doesn’t know what to expect when he comes home smelling of sex and drink, he reckons - the man swallows down oxygen, cup long cold in his grasp. Jongin dutifully rubs circles into his shoulder.
The male doesn’t speak any further, but by the end of the night it seems like they’re grown just that extra bit closer. Jongin wonders whether Kyungsoo exposes all his secrets out of stress, because he’s a stranger or maybe because…
Jongin tugs Kyungsoo closer. He likes to say he’s comforting him, but he’d be lying if he claims he doesn’t have any ulterior motives. As they drift off to sleep, Jongin dimly wonders whether he can wake up in the morning and serve the stranger he loves coffee.
It turns out he never gets the opportunity to ask.
Sometime during the night, Jongin dies. Some reckon he was poisoned, others say stabbed. No one ever bothers to figure out the details though.
The bucket of water remains half-empty. Seems the rain let up overnight.
-
Jongin is livid. He tears through the apartment with all the fervour of a lawn-mower through grass, upturning whatever pristine perfection he sees and set on a one-track path to destruction. It’s kind of beautiful, watching perfection crumble to nothing and once started, Jongin doesn’t stop. He wants to see the world splinter and collapse before his very eyes, and determined on a goal, he raises a vase high above his head.
Kyungsoo enters the room at this crucial moment in time, expression animated with bewilderment at the furious actions of his usually aloof and unassuming roommate. He’s standing directly in the way of the vase, and Jongin finds himself subconsciously altering the trajectory of the porcelain to minimise risk of hitting the elder male with stray shards. Though obsessed with the beauty of broken perfection, even with his alcohol-addled mind Jongin seems to be unable to find it in himself to harm the other.
That’s frustrating, annoyingly so. It’s in the same way that makes one want to tear happiness to shreds and set the pieces on fire. Perhaps it’s the half bottle of wine he had downed earlier, but now suitably inebriated and incapable of much of any coherency, the only thing Jongin has intention of doing is making sure his surroundings reflect himself. Destruction is a delight that he will partake in for today.
“You killed me!” Jongin screams. His fists rise to slam against the smooth plane of the mirror in the bathroom, and when he brings them down the shatter is immediate. Red crimson drips, a slow trickle of anger and trickery down his palm, and his reflection scowls mockingly back at him in a distorted mutilation of glass and light.
“How dare you - How dare you come and kill me when things are going fine!” his voice tears through the air like nails on an invisible chalkboard, full of menace and shrill undulating emotion, eyes blurry from drink and what feels suspiciously like tears. Or blood, blood is a possibility too, because when he raises his hands to his eyes to swipe them clean, all he does is come away with a vision of red.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jongin registers Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo gasping and asking him what’s wrong, Kyungsoo thinking that maybe he’s just like this when drunk and coming up with half-logical conclusions as to why he is currently acting so unorthodox, but Jongin is - well, he’s a lot of things.
They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but for Jongin it’s impossible to be gained without the steady flow of warm crimson, and more to the point, how is it possible to triumph over yourself?
Jongin lets his voice rip through the air once more. If he’s unable to physically gain any sign of relief, perhaps words will do the task. “You killed me!” he’s wondering why the hell the other is remaining silent, refusing to make his presence known when he can feel his presence, can feel him watching and listening. “Speak to me, damnit! You have no problem interfering when you’re not wanted, now speak to me and tell me why the hell you decided to do what you did!” His voice tips up and down, curls confusingly around the consonants and sways with the dizziness of his mind, but Jongin doesn’t care. He knows he looks a mess, he knows he’s the very image of everything he abhors in romance, but to hell with it all because if there’s one thing Jongin isn’t capable of doing, it’s being patient when he has had centuries and hundreds of lifetimes to watch the love of his soul die countless times before his very eyes.
The other remains stubbornly silent, and as Jongin’s voice finally dies out and his fists drop to his sides, he allows his limp body to be dragged away by his worried roommate.
As they exit the room, he swears he hears laughter in his ears.
-
Seated in the plush red-backed seats of a high-class train carriage, the two men sit opposite each other and eat as they converse. The wheels of the carriages rumble like a thunderous stormy night, and the utensils clatter on their place on the trays set on the table. Jongin crosses his legs, and his feet brush against the hard bolts that prevent the table from sliding with each jolt of the train. He thinks it’s a little strange and out-dated, hurtling through the country in a speeding locomotive, but there aren’t many things that Jongin has not tried in his life (or lives) and he figures there’s no harm.
The ivory tickets of the passengers read a destination, but neither of the two have any idea of where they’re headed. Kyungsoo is a country boy headed on his first big adventure whereas Jongin is an author with reckless wanderlust. The shorter male has hair neatly arranged and a backpack tucked into his side, eagerness evident in his expression and clean-soled shoes. In contrast, Jongin is angular limbs and fatigued posture, bags under the eyes and a restless shifting that isn’t quite a habit and isn’t quite a necessity either. When they meet and exchange pleasantries Jongin smiles charmingly at the elder male, and upon seating himself he scuffs worn-out sneakers against the plush padding of the foot of the seat.
A somewhat stifling awkwardness hangs in the air like humidity in the tropics, but as the sky grows darker and restlessness settles in the joints of their bones, the two make idle talk over dinner.
“So Jongin-sshi, what do you do for a living?” Kyungsoo asks curiously as he spears pasta before delicately placing the bite into his mouth.
Jongin swallows before responding. “Just Jongin is fine.” He smiles distractedly at the waiter who pauses to refill his glass of wine, the deep red tumbling into the curve of the bowl with a satisfying trickle before pausing when the glass is a third of the way full. “I’m a freelance author, travelling for a bit until I return home and do something a bit more worth my time.” At the final words, he brings his fingers up to quote before drifting back down to his fork and knife, the utensils glinting silver in the light.
“Oh, an author?” Kyungsoo leans forward, deep navy dress shirt crinkling with the movement. As an automatic reflex, he moves to adjust the material that hugs his torso, smoothing out creases that instantly form when he releases pressure. The young man isn’t used to the workings of formal attire, it seems. “Any works in progress at the moment?”
Jongin nods, arranges his napkin neatly on the tray that rests upon the table. “I’m currently working on a fictional piece,” he fiddles with the fork in his grasp before stabbing at a piece of lettuce. It stubbornly evades him, and he soon gives up and moves to a tomato instead, “been travelling to gain some ideas, haven’t got very much yet.”
The male opposite him nods, purses his cherry lips in thought. “Mind telling me about it? Perhaps I can help.” He suggests.
A strange smile tugs at Jongin’s lips. “No, it’s okay,” he pauses. “What about you? Have any occupation or aspirations?”
“Well…” Kyungsoo pauses for a beat. “I suppose… an artist?”
Jongin quirks an eyebrow. “Art requires a lot of patience doesn’t it? You must be pretty good.”
Kyungsoo’s cheeks stain crimson. “No, not really…” he sets his utensils delicately aside and turns to his backpack. Reaching in, he pulls out a black-covered book and offers it over the table to Jongin. The tanned male accepts it, gingerly flips open to the first colour-popped page and pauses at the first illustration. “Is this… a rock concert?”
“Yes! How did you know?” Surprise decorates Kyungsoo’s features. “People usually assume it was the stage at my high school. Reckon it was my dream to graduate top of the class.” He scoffs.
Jongin looks down, traces a finger around the curve of a guitar. His index finger follows the indentations from where Kyungsoo had pressed a little too hard, and if he looks closely he can see faint pencil marks from a preliminary sketch. “Lucky guess, perhaps. Where’d you get the inspiration for this from?”
“You see, that’s the strange thing.” Kyunsoo looks down, picks up his fork once more and begins pushing his food around. “I have no idea. Dreams, perhaps? They just hit me sometimes. Like…” reaching over with his free hand, he flips the page Jongin is on to a new one, clearly well-versed in the workings of his diary. Jongin comes face to face with a familiar figure smiling up at an unknown viewer, cup of coffee held in his grasp. The steam too has been sketched in light grey lead, and the strands of hair fly about with dark graphite.
“I know it’s weird,” Kyungsoo says quickly, sharply, like ripping a Band-Aid off a wound and unsure of the outcome “but… I just feel like we’ve met before.”
Jongin stares at the perfect reflection of himself. He remembers this scene - the only question is why Kyungsoo can too. Deciding he’ll think about it later, he switches his train of thought.
“Did you know? Third person is much more unreliable than first.”
The change in topic is swift, and Kyungsoo’s eyebrows furrow. “What-“
Jongin cuts him off. “In a first person narrative, you can be assured that everything that goes on is in the perspective of the character,” he explains as he fiddles with his utensils once more. His obsidian gaze flickers to the other who is now listening in a mix between curiosity and confusion, “however in a third person, what is meant to be neutral is saturated with the opinion of the author.”
Kyungsoo frowns. “I still don’t understand.”
“Let’s say for example… Character A has been described as meek from a third person perspective. But is Character A really meek, or is that from someone’s objective view? How do we know who came to that conclusion?” he asks, placing a bite of pasta into his mouth and chewing.
The elder male frowns harder. “I… don’t know?”
The tanned male sets down his fork. “Exactly. The reader doesn’t know if it’s from the opinion of the character, the author, or some unknown third party.” Finished with his meal, Jongin swipes at his lips with the napkin once more.
Rising from his seat, Jongin exits the compartment. Kyungsoo remains behind, heavily confused.
-
“Couple years back, there was an accident here. Two dead, they reckon one killed the other, then committed suicide… though there’s some speculation there was a third party.” The old lady prattles on even as she’s writing down his name and scanning the keys for the right one to pass to him. “Rather unfortunate, really… no one wanted to purchase the home after, said it was too eerie,” she continues as she leads him up the steps and to the front door, “so I decided to take custody of it and wait until someone was willing to rent it out. Good thing you came along.” she falls silent, focusing on making sure her small, wobbly frame is able to make it to the front door, and when they arrive she seems to falter in her footsteps.
“Well, I don’t want to go further than here. Even I have my limits. If there’re any problems that I can assist with… well, you know where I am.”
He smiles a tight-lipped smile at the landowner as she hands him the key and turns away. “Yes, thank you.” Out of courtesy rather than anything else, after saying his gratitude-less thanks he doesn’t waste any time in clicking open the door and stepping inside.
The lady wasn’t kidding when she said people preferred to avoid the place. Deceptively bright in the afternoon glow, Kai lets his feet trace a path to one of the many sheet-covered pieces of furniture in the room. Reaching out, he fists the material and watches it bunch up against his fingers like a spider web before giving one firm, harsh yank to reveal the furniture beneath.
He never thought he’d see this place again, but it seems that his idiot other self has plans that differ to his. Really, what is that fool doing? He wonders, eyes slipping shut. He needs to get the deed over and done with so they can move on. How bothersome. It would be so much simpler operating on my own. Dropping the sheet in his grasp carelessly onto the floor, Kai raises a hand and flexes his fingers before forming a fist. The movement is nowhere as fluid as he remembers it being back in the day and scowling, the tanned male curses aloud. That idiot.
Emitting a sigh befitting of one his age, Kai allows his body to slump down onto the beige fabric of the couch, lets his head tilt back and up to the water-stained ivory hued ceiling. He lets his eyes drift shut, he hears his other self screaming obscenities into his ears and he pops a painkiller between his lips even though he knows it will do nothing to erase the annoyance.
“Argh, shut up.” He whispers into silence, shifting in his seat.
Crunch.
Frowning, Kai slips a hand between the cushion and frame of the couch, and withdraws it with broken glass and a white lid in his grasp. White powder rubs into his fingertips.
Hah. I knew it.
As the other finally falls silent, Kai lets himself laugh like a man beyond the line of insanity, eyes squeezed shut in humorless mirth.
That idiot.
-
The morning rays bathe the room in an ethereal light, and when the tanned male sleepily blinks his eyes open he thinks that the morning after holds just as much significance as the quiet cloak of night time. There’s something confronting about being able to see the world in such perfect clarity, being able to bury his head into the pillow of the bed and of knowing that the previous night was not a dream. Smile soft on his lips, Jongin raises a hand and places it on the soft locks of the man lying beside him.
It’s not perfect by any means. Whereas others have the luxury of a large home for themselves or a high-rise suite, Kyungsoo and Jongin reside in a not too shabby but definitely modest apartment situated in a convenient suburb not too far from anywhere. It’s not perfect, but after being able to come home to Kyungsoo for a few months Jongin thinks he’s finally found sanctuary.
“Hyung, wake up. It’s morning.”
The other flutters his eyes open drowsily at the other’s voice, blinking before focusing with sleepy incoherency on the tanned male. Kyungsoo smiles. “Good morning, Jongin-ah.”
“Good morning.” Jongin returns the other’s smile with his own, then crosses the distance between them by leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on the other’s lips.
Kyungsoo yawns, stretches his arms up and when he brings them back down he wraps them snug around Jongin’s waist. “You been up long?”
“Nup,” Jongin shakes his head no, “pretty much just woke up. I’ll go to the bathroom first, be back in a bit.” He sits up and feels the other’s arms reluctantly let him go as he troops his way to the bathroom.
He fixes his hair to the flicker of a voice in his mind.
Is this your choice?
Resignation is linked in every word. Jongin fumbles with his toothpaste, searches for a toothbrush before giving up and taking up his lover’s one instead. “I love him.”
We don’t have much time left. You can feel it too, can’t you? Kyungsoo is starting to remember. We’re weakening.
Jongin scrubs furiously at his teeth as if cleansing himself of the thoughts that plague his mind. Some things are impossible to discard with a simple scrub and rinse, though. “I know. I’m prepared.” He mutters around a mouthful of toothpaste.
The voice sighs. Are you really? We have two days maximum left.
Now done with brushing his teeth, the tanned male dunks his face into the lukewarm water before raising his head once more, staring directly into his reflection.
I can’t kill him, I’ve tried. I’m prepared to die.
Kim Jongin is inherently selfish. So selfish he is willing to steal the boyfriend of his best friend, willing to steal someone he knows is taken, willing to steal and hoard souls in order to expand his own lifetime. He knows it’s morally wrong, that really he should have stopped at the first accidental kill, but if there’s one thing Jongin is, it’s stubborn.
He’s so stubborn he’s willing to die if it means prolonging the life of the one person he’s ever loved.
Jongin passes away in spring, just like Kyungsoo’s first death. Unlike Kyungsoo, no one is there to discover the body and hold a funeral. Indeed, the only sign that he was ever there is the glowing young man who wakes up and finds he’s able to live the full extent of his life.
Kyungsoo lives to a ripe old age of 100.
Such is sacrifice.
-
Once sure that his companion is asleep, Kyungsoo slides out from under his arm, arranges him on the sofa and smiles softly down at him. It would be a touching scene were it not for the ice in his orbs and the tenseness of his stance. Kyungsoo raises a slender hand, letting it cup the other’s chocolate skin and marvelling at the contrast. The tug at his mind is finally starting to loosen once more, and he wonders who the next unlucky soul will be.
Lips curled up, he picks up the empty vial from the table, slipping it away between the cushions of the couch, the perfect way to conceal a murder weapon. They say love is like poison, slow acting but powerful. Kyungsoo is a master of murder - he uses two weapons at once. By the time anyone thinks to deduce the facts from evidence, he will be long gone. “Good-bye, Jongin,” he sings in his sweet, lilting voice, “sweet dreams, and may you never wake up again.”
He rises from his seat, starts to head towards the front door but doesn’t make it very far past the quarter-filled bucket on the ground before he feels icy cold fingers applying a deathly pressure against his neck. He feels his body slam into the wall, registers the pain and the screaming of his instincts. Danger, danger they cry, your mission is about to be compromised. The man gives an uncharacteristic scowl raises his arms to struggle against the arm of his unknown attacker. There can only be one man after him, and it seems like he’s finally caught up.
Kai. Kim Jongin. Kai. You’re Kai, aren’t you.
“Damn right I am.” Kai grunts as Kyungsoo struggles in his arms. “You’re dying today, right now. Any last words?”
Jongin is too soft. I’ll win in the end. Even if my fool counterpart seems to be unaware of his abilities, I’ll awaken them, you’ll see. You won’t kill me again.
“I’ve killed you in all our previous lifetimes and there’s nothing to say I won’t do so again. It’s Jongin who’s hesitant, but he’ll get it done eventually.” Kai’s expression is murderous. “Let’s see who’ll get there sooner in the end. You or me? Your soul will soon cease to exist.”
Hmm, is that so? I’ll give this round to you, but from now on…. May the games begin.
Kyungsoo’s eyes slide shut, his struggling weakening until Kai feels no resistance in his arms. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he drops the body and withdraws a knife, making quick work of the set-up of the scene.
As he turns the corner to exit, he turns with one last hurrah. “Good bye, Kyungsoo.” Kai sings, “sweet dreams, and may you never wake up again.” Not in this lifetime, anyway.
The rain has long stopped, the floor not damp enough for his shoes to create a trail.
He’s able to disappear easily, a simple reflection of what once was.
-
Kyungsoo’s still living when the end of the world arrives.
When he finally allows his body to slip away, he departs with a whisper.
“I win, Kim Jongin.”
a/n:
- Big thank you to all the people I've complained about this to, you are true A+ ともだち
- Massive thanks to subduedblue for letting me use her plot!
- multi-life idea borrowed with permission from changdictator fic in tandem
- Is it too late to say this is non-linear
- This is my lj debut is it worthy It's not is it LOL
- Mystery genre wasn't a mystery genre but "reincarnation" and "soul stealing" and "multiple realities" and all that fun stuff
- Gold star to anyone who understands the plot aside from people I have explained it to!
- Also deep apologies for failure of smut! First attempt/s and I should probably never try again a hahaha
Fandom: EXO
Pairing: KaiSoo (with hints of others)
Rating: R
Genre: AU, angst, and a ~*~mystery genre~*~
Word Count: 21,956w
Summary: When Jongin has difficulty triumphing over himself and many lines are crossed, blurred and completely ignored.
Soft jazz music plays from invisible speakers as the tanned male brings a hand to newly blonde-dyed locks and attempts to puzzle out a solution to the question before him. Perhaps if he stares hard enough, the numbers will magically re-arrange themselves into something that matches with the answer he had glimpsed in the answer sheets the professor had whisked away, but he knows if he hopes to pass the class with even a passing grade he needs to understand this on his own. It’s not that he doesn’t understand (because he has decades under his belt and in boredom anything is achievable) but it’s simply that he’s distracted by the entity who is Do Kyungsoo, flitting from table to table like a restless bird, metaphorical wings frazzled and a suitably harassed disposition about him.
Kyungsoo sometimes reminds Jongin of a bird in a cage, entrapped in an enclosure for the sole task of carrying trays of dangerously full coffee cups that threaten to overspill with foam. Sometimes, more often in recent days it seems like he could do with a large cup of coffee himself - but diligently, uncomplaining he continues with his work regardless of the dark bags that hang below his eyes.
Perhaps this is why Jongin finds himself so captivated by the presence of the other man. He’s experienced the other’s rather extraordinary work ethic before, but perhaps it’s the fact that this time round he isn’t the boss, but merely an unknown onlooker? Jongin finds Kyungsoo to be a mystery, a puzzle box he can never seem to solve. He’s not even sure there’s anything to be found once solved - perhaps he’s a trick box and full of naught but old, dusty air.
In this lifetime, Jongin has dismissed the idea of love. He knows it’s there, brimming below the surface and waiting for the slightest drop to fall so that it can spill over and flood the premises, but Jongin’s a master balancer and it’s not going to happen easily. He’s back to his original task - trying to go about his way with minimal fuss.
Well, that’s what he’d like to say but in reality Jongin is so far past the threshold of love there’s no sane path back.
Jongin is a frequent visitor to this particular café as it’s situated at a perfect distance right between his home and the university he attends. The coffee is not too bad either and the price affordable for regular purchase, and since the tables are often free he decides to call upon habits from another lifetime and brings his homework and various odds and ends to do, one regular mocha keeping him awake and working for the better part of the afternoon and occasionally evening.
“Refill, Jongin-sshi?” a soft voice breaks his concentration right at a crucial breakthrough, and he looks up with annoyance laced in his features.
Kyungsoo shirks back in intimidation, the movement crinkling the material of the standard black button-up top he wears as part of his uniform. His name-tag proudly reads ‘Kyungsoo’ in neat characters, and for the sake of not seeming like a creep (he dealt with that in a previous life and it was not particularly fun) Jongin pretends to check the name before answering.
“Ah, sorry…” fake pause “Kyungsoo-sshi.” The apology sits for a bit, before he continues. “What were you saying again?”
“That’s okay,” Kyungoo smiles a timid smile “I asked if you wanted a refill?”
Jongin glances to the empty cup sitting on the table beside his textbooks. Since when was it empty? Giving an absent nod, he shrugs “Sure, why not. Thanks, Kyungsoo-sshi.” He smiles back encouragingly, noting how cute the elder man looks when his cheeks stain a light rosy pink. Huh, cute. How long has it been since he last had such simplistic thoughts?
Frowning, he decides to follow that train of thought. He knew he was attracted to the elder man, even a fool could work out such feelings. However, why had they intensified so? Jongin dislikes the concept of love, completely abhors the thought of devoting ones entire spirit to another, of being unable to commit the final deed all because of one incessant tug on his conscience. All he wants to do is to move on and get things completed, but-
“Oww!” Jongin hisses, reflexively jolting as he feels something hot and wet hit his knee.
“I’m sorry! So sorry!” Kyungsoo cries in apology, and Jongin’s eyes flicker from the wet patch on the knee of his jeans to the table where a mess of a brown-hued puddle lies. Thankfully it seems to have missed his textbooks, but there are a few splatters of liquid here and there and he’s more than convinced that the flustered man before him will find some way of making the situation worse with his panicking.
Chuckling lightly, Jongin removes the cloth Kyungsoo holds in his distraught grasp and uses it to swipe and dab at the liquid on the table. Caramel brown stains the pale yellow cloth immediately, and by the time Kyungsoo comes to his senses Jongin has already completed the task.
“I’m really sorry,” the milky-skinned male is like a broken record on repeat, the same repetitive apology continuously spilling from his lips as he takes the cloth back from Jongin and makes sure the desk is fully clean. “I don’t know what’s gotten over me today. I’m not usually like this I swear.”
Jongin laughs, pushing the automatic memory of shaky hands from his mind. “It’s okay, we all have our off days.”
“I probably have enough for the whole of Korea.” Kyungsoo wrinkles his nose as he stares at the soiled cloth in disdain before shrugging and stuffing it into a pocket of the apron he wears tied snug around the waist.
Jongin chooses not to comment on that, simply shifting his books to the side and raising to make room for the other to get to the coffee staining the wooden floor. Kyungsoo flinches when he catches sight of Jongin’s knees. “You should… probably go to the bathroom and clean that” he tentatively voices, before ducking his head down in embarrassment. “Sorry.”
The smile on Jongin’s face at the other’s expression is genuine. “It’s really fine. I’ll be back… it should be fine if I leave my books here, right?”
Kyungsoo nods. “Yes, it should be fine Jongin-sshi.”
Jongin heads to the bathroom located in the back of the store, and it’s only when he’s concentrating on the dark patch of his jeans in the flickering lights when he realises - how had Kyungsoo known his name when he has never introduced himself?
He doesn’t get a chance to ask, for when a tanned male finally slides back into his seat, Kyungsoo is back to his usual, professional self. He can’t help but to ask a question -
“Where did you get that bruise from?” the wide-eyed male asks as his eyes catch sight of the dark purple mark on the tanned male’s skin.
His response is a tugged-down sleeve and a rather ambiguous “Nowhere. Was clumsy the other day, is all.”
-
“I’m Kyungsoo!” the jittery man proclaims, beam impossibly bright and eyes staring straight into Jongin’s own. “Friends call me DO, but you can call me never, I’m taken!” His face flushes, before he ducks his head in embarrassment. “Sorry, I don’t mean that. It’s just, I’ve always wanted to use that line.”
Jongin blinks at the rapid-fire stream of words that escape the other’s lips. “Uh huh. Okay. I’m Jongin, friend of Baekhyun.” He indicates the droopy-eyed male who clings like a drowning man to a life buoy to Kyungsoo. One moment the man had been standing beside him, the next he was holding the other in a very affectionate (if not deadly) choke hold. Upon feeling Jongin’s gaze upon him, Baekhyun beams expectantly in response. It’s clear he’s hoping his boyfriend and friend will get along.
“Very nice to meet you, Jongin-sshi!” Kyungsoo gushes, untangling one arm from around Baekhyun and extending it for Jongin to shake. He does so, firmly.
Nodding slowly, he places half his mind on the conversation and the other half on the strange feeling of constriction that has suddenly intertwined around his chest. It’s tight, and his eyes flash panic before soothing to their usual dark coolness. It would do no good for him to lose himself now.
“Yes, nice to meet you too.” He responds, bowing quickly. It’s the polite thing to do after all.
His eyes meet Kyungsoo’s own, and he imperceptibly jolts as a fluttery, light feeling takes hold of him. What’s going on?
Baekhyun, unaware of anything wrong chirps on. “I’m glad the two of you seem to get along!” The moment passes. Kyungsoo turns to gaze dotingly at his boyfriend and Jongin sets his gaze on a thread on his sleeve. His heart is ensnared once more.
Jongin has lived many lifetimes, but this is the first in which he has killed someone he hasn’t been assigned to. It’s refreshing, being able to eradicate the source of the annoying jealousy.
-
This is the first lifetime in which Kyungsoo loves him back. The problem is that he loves what he cannot see, covets what he imagines to be real and desires for the unattainable.
As Kyungsoo allows the final, sad note to linger in the air, he falls silent once more. The spectators begin to drift off one by one, some pausing to drop in a coin or two to the battered cap he keeps upside down within arm’s reach. He pays close attention to the closeness of footsteps and the click of heels and the thump of soles, throwing in murmurs of gratuitous ‘Thank you sir’s and ‘Thank you ma’am’s which do nothing but help improve his image of being a polite, young singer.
Eventually, the clamour of footsteps fades to join the hundreds of others that pass by his juncture on the street with brisk, firm strides and sophisticated airs. Kyungsoo is left to fiddle with the cap of coins, sort out what belongings he has with him, and wait.
“How did I go?” he asks when he feels a familiar sounding pair of feet pause in front of him. The steps of this figure are light and rhythmic, powerful yet docile, fluid and explosive. They are made with soft-soled shoes that sound like they’ve been put to good use and more. Kyungsoo idly considers bringing up the topic of purchasing new ones - he would, if the other had not rejected the idea at least ten times prior. Something about the shoes taking him many places. He’s a strange one, this one is.
The figure stoops down; Kyungsoo can tell because his breathing is suddenly noisier. “You sang beautifully as always.” Jongin promises.
Kyungsoo allows a smile to spread across his features. “Did you dance this time?”
“Yep,” Jongin answers proudly, smiling at the man, “can you guess what genre?”
“Hmm…” Kyungsoo mimes stroking a beard, before answering “Ballet?”
Jongin shakes his head no, but then remembers that that would do no good. “Wrong!” he’s proud that he’s managed to trick Kyungsoo as his ears are able to pick up and infer what seems to be everything, but at the same time he cannot help but feel a twinge of misery. “It was contemporary.”
“Ah!” Kyungsoo pouts, shakes his head a bit at his own thinking. “I should’ve known. Next time I’ll be right, just wait and see.”
Jongin doesn’t smile, but forces the emotion into his voice. “Yeah! You’ve been right almost all of the time so far, so let’s see if you can redeem your accuracy.”
Kyungsoo doesn’t notice. “Hmm, perhaps,” he hums, “are you going to perform soon?”
“Yeah. In ten. You going to stay?”
The older male is quiet. “I think I’ll pass. Until we next meet, Jongin-ah.” He reaches up with his hands, feels the hair and trails down to the chin before tugging the younger man towards him to place a feather-light kiss on his lips.
Jongin pulls away first. Prying the other’s hands from his face, he smiles and knows that in his blindness Kyungsoo is unable to see. “Until next time, hyung.”
When Jongin dances, he doesn’t dance only for himself. He dances for the people who are unable to do so for themselves, he dances for the freedom that comes with letting his body fly and twirl, and most importantly he dances for Kyungsoo. Each carefully executed move is in the hopes of imprinting a memorable event in the eyes of his audience, each punch of the arm a symbol of his determination.
He dances grief, joy, remorse and a wisp of love and is rewarded for his efforts by loose change and occasional gifts. He’s never been asked for an encore by the person he desires to hear it from most, but he foolishly aspires to one day hear the request from those plump lips that take the world to the heavens with each soul-filled song. Kyungsoo will never ask him for an encore, but Jongin sets his sight on flowers.
The one person he wishes to see him dance is unable to. Such is the injustice of Jongin’s world.
-
The rain falls like angry stones against the window panes of his apartment, so strong the sheer force of the torrent of icy cold liquid shakes the brittle and clumsily constructed ledge. It doesn’t take much for some remnants of the dirty water to seep through and into the small compact box he calls a living room either and, cursing audibly into the air Jongin skids in his socks and trips in his quest to press a faded towel against a rapidly dampening spot on the carpet. There’s a dark stain on the mousy-coloured fabric already. When he notices it, the tanned male snorts into the scarf around his neck as he makes a mental note in his mind; booze affects material as it does people. He would remember that next time he decides to invite his friends over to drink.
Once certain that there will not be any unsightly fungus growing in the middle of his living room floor (because that would quite frankly suck), he replaces the towel with a bucket and watches as the steady drip from the ceiling begins to collect in the bright blue plastic. The pace is not so unreasonably fast that he is unable to move from his position, so once satisfied that the bucket will not fill until a good few hours later he troops back out of the living room and into the bathroom, raising a hand to rub at the fog-stained glass to peer at his reflection.
Jongin is greeted with a look of distaste upon his features and bird-nest hair, and after arranging the locks on his head the tanned male pries his eyes away from himself and gives a look-over of the bathroom. Tiles the colour of dried leaves and a slowly dripping faucet greet him, and he tries to tug a corner of his lips up as he surveys the sight. It seems that even with a few centuries in-between there’ll always be some places in the world with crappy bathrooms and questionable lighting.
Trooping back to the living room, he flops back into the armchair he had been perched in prior to the sudden dripping that he had noticed from the ceiling, but he is not able to sit and rest for long until a sudden timid series of knocks sound on the door and he is prompted to answer it.
He’s greeted by the image of a drowned puppy - or rather a grown man, dripping wet with rain and shivering from the cold, giving him a gaze that could put a puppy’s own to shame.
“Can… I help you?” Jongin’s not sure if he knows Kyungsoo or vice versa here, so he decides to go with an ambiguous question.
Kyungsoo’s teeth chatter as he tries to answer. “Hello, I’m Kyungsoo,” even in his clearly half-frozen state he does not forget his courtesy, giving Jongin a deep bow “Cold… I left my keys at home. Locked myself out, and my fi--” he hesitates, before continuing “I mean, my roommate is out. I’d avoid disturbing you if I could, but,” he seems to visibly droop, a wilting flower on its final stage of life. “I’m desperate, and I live just across the street.” He gestures blindly into the pitch-black rain behind him, rubs his shoulders for warmth. “Could I please… come in for a while?”
Well, what can he do? The other looks so forlorn that it would be a sin to leave him alone out in the cold. Jongin is no saint, that’s for sure but when it comes to Do Kyungsoo, there’s an annoying block called emotion which prevents him from doing anything to taint the dove white feathers of the male. Stepping aside, he lets the door swing open and in comes Kyungsoo, accompanied by a collection of rainwater and gusty wind.
“It’s not that great in here, honestly.” He mentions as he eyes a fresh spot of rain that has managed to drip through the rather crummy ceiling of his home. “Guess it’s better than being outside. Sit in the living room, I’ll make tea and get you a towel.”
When he returns, two towels in grasp (one for Kyungsoo, one for the floor) and two mugs of hot herbal tea firmly in his grasp, he watches the other stare out into the torrent of rain beating and whipping his windows. If it weren’t for the knock and proclamation of desired sanctuary, he would have been of the impression the wide-eyed man did desire to be out in the weather, so wistful and lost does he look.
His trance is broken when Jongin pushes a mug into his grasp, wrapping his chilled fingers around the toasty warm porcelain and dropping the towel loosely onto his head.
“Drink up, you seem like you can do with something warm.”
“Ah, thanks.” Kyungsoo lets the towel slip onto his shoulders as he raises the mug to his lips before taking a sip. It’s when he sets it down that he asks, somewhat jokingly, “you didn’t poison this, did you?”
Jongin hadn’t even realised the opportunity was there. Shaking his head in the negative, he laughs softly. “Who, me? I’m nobody but a poor young man trying to live… and make sure his home doesn’t flood with dirty rainwater.”
Kyungsoo laughs, leans over and whispers conspiratorially “Ah, I hear plumbers get quite high pay! Experience some success with this and move on to the big market.”
The tanned male snorts, settles into the easy-going rhythm they have going. Maybe if he forgets he’s speaking to Kyungsoo and avoid meeting his gaze directly he’ll make it through the evening. “Are you kidding me? Just imagine the smell!”
They say that when a stranger accepts two cups of tea, they become an honoured guest. Three and they’re family. Somewhere along the way, Kyungsoo and Jongin have managed to finish the pot of tea, and upon realising that the rain is not about to let up soon and the surrounding area outside is so dark it would take a million lamps to create some sort of light to make visage feasible, decide to settle in for a long night.
There’s something about the night that brings out all shades of a human. Like greedy and nosy hands, the night coaxes out chilling secrets and uncertainties under the illusion of sanctuary and drowsiness. It cups its shapeless hands around throat of the speaker and slips inside with each inhale as if some sort of toxic gas that enables the inhaler to only speak truth, each steady inhale and exhale accompanied by a stream of words that tumble like water from a jug.
Somewhere between ten o’clock and midnight, Jongin learns that Kyungsoo’s roommate is actually his fiancé, Joonmyun. Staring with hollow eyes into the half-empty cup of tea he cradles in his grasp, the wide-eyed male tells Jongin that they have been arguing lately, that he secretly fears the marriage won’t happen, but where will he be if not cradled snugly in Joonmyun’s arms?
After that Jongin’s own arm somehow finds its way around Kyungsoo’s frail shoulders, but it doesn’t seem to be enough and Kyungsoo continues on, telling Jongin - a mere stranger - about how he’s scared because actually, Joonmyun hasn’t been home in days, almost a full week now and he’s fearing for the worst. Joonmyun is not the flighty type, Kyungsoo says as he anxiously fiddles with a silver piece of eternity around his ring finger. Joonmyun is successful, is smart, is what Kyungsoo is but a little bit more. Joonmyun is a neat stack of thick-spined law books, is crisp collars and -
Kyungsoo breaks, finally looking up from the cup in his grasp and enabling Jongin to see the full destruction of his soul. He says, Joonmyun is not really all that, Joonmyun is actually also notorious for being two-faced, he doesn’t know what to expect when he comes home smelling of sex and drink, he reckons - the man swallows down oxygen, cup long cold in his grasp. Jongin dutifully rubs circles into his shoulder.
The male doesn’t speak any further, but by the end of the night it seems like they’re grown just that extra bit closer. Jongin wonders whether Kyungsoo exposes all his secrets out of stress, because he’s a stranger or maybe because…
Jongin tugs Kyungsoo closer. He likes to say he’s comforting him, but he’d be lying if he claims he doesn’t have any ulterior motives. As they drift off to sleep, Jongin dimly wonders whether he can wake up in the morning and serve the stranger he loves coffee.
It turns out he never gets the opportunity to ask.
Sometime during the night, Jongin dies. Some reckon he was poisoned, others say stabbed. No one ever bothers to figure out the details though.
The bucket of water remains half-empty. Seems the rain let up overnight.
-
Jongin is livid. He tears through the apartment with all the fervour of a lawn-mower through grass, upturning whatever pristine perfection he sees and set on a one-track path to destruction. It’s kind of beautiful, watching perfection crumble to nothing and once started, Jongin doesn’t stop. He wants to see the world splinter and collapse before his very eyes, and determined on a goal, he raises a vase high above his head.
Kyungsoo enters the room at this crucial moment in time, expression animated with bewilderment at the furious actions of his usually aloof and unassuming roommate. He’s standing directly in the way of the vase, and Jongin finds himself subconsciously altering the trajectory of the porcelain to minimise risk of hitting the elder male with stray shards. Though obsessed with the beauty of broken perfection, even with his alcohol-addled mind Jongin seems to be unable to find it in himself to harm the other.
That’s frustrating, annoyingly so. It’s in the same way that makes one want to tear happiness to shreds and set the pieces on fire. Perhaps it’s the half bottle of wine he had downed earlier, but now suitably inebriated and incapable of much of any coherency, the only thing Jongin has intention of doing is making sure his surroundings reflect himself. Destruction is a delight that he will partake in for today.
“You killed me!” Jongin screams. His fists rise to slam against the smooth plane of the mirror in the bathroom, and when he brings them down the shatter is immediate. Red crimson drips, a slow trickle of anger and trickery down his palm, and his reflection scowls mockingly back at him in a distorted mutilation of glass and light.
“How dare you - How dare you come and kill me when things are going fine!” his voice tears through the air like nails on an invisible chalkboard, full of menace and shrill undulating emotion, eyes blurry from drink and what feels suspiciously like tears. Or blood, blood is a possibility too, because when he raises his hands to his eyes to swipe them clean, all he does is come away with a vision of red.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jongin registers Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo gasping and asking him what’s wrong, Kyungsoo thinking that maybe he’s just like this when drunk and coming up with half-logical conclusions as to why he is currently acting so unorthodox, but Jongin is - well, he’s a lot of things.
They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but for Jongin it’s impossible to be gained without the steady flow of warm crimson, and more to the point, how is it possible to triumph over yourself?
Jongin lets his voice rip through the air once more. If he’s unable to physically gain any sign of relief, perhaps words will do the task. “You killed me!” he’s wondering why the hell the other is remaining silent, refusing to make his presence known when he can feel his presence, can feel him watching and listening. “Speak to me, damnit! You have no problem interfering when you’re not wanted, now speak to me and tell me why the hell you decided to do what you did!” His voice tips up and down, curls confusingly around the consonants and sways with the dizziness of his mind, but Jongin doesn’t care. He knows he looks a mess, he knows he’s the very image of everything he abhors in romance, but to hell with it all because if there’s one thing Jongin isn’t capable of doing, it’s being patient when he has had centuries and hundreds of lifetimes to watch the love of his soul die countless times before his very eyes.
The other remains stubbornly silent, and as Jongin’s voice finally dies out and his fists drop to his sides, he allows his limp body to be dragged away by his worried roommate.
As they exit the room, he swears he hears laughter in his ears.
-
Seated in the plush red-backed seats of a high-class train carriage, the two men sit opposite each other and eat as they converse. The wheels of the carriages rumble like a thunderous stormy night, and the utensils clatter on their place on the trays set on the table. Jongin crosses his legs, and his feet brush against the hard bolts that prevent the table from sliding with each jolt of the train. He thinks it’s a little strange and out-dated, hurtling through the country in a speeding locomotive, but there aren’t many things that Jongin has not tried in his life (or lives) and he figures there’s no harm.
The ivory tickets of the passengers read a destination, but neither of the two have any idea of where they’re headed. Kyungsoo is a country boy headed on his first big adventure whereas Jongin is an author with reckless wanderlust. The shorter male has hair neatly arranged and a backpack tucked into his side, eagerness evident in his expression and clean-soled shoes. In contrast, Jongin is angular limbs and fatigued posture, bags under the eyes and a restless shifting that isn’t quite a habit and isn’t quite a necessity either. When they meet and exchange pleasantries Jongin smiles charmingly at the elder male, and upon seating himself he scuffs worn-out sneakers against the plush padding of the foot of the seat.
A somewhat stifling awkwardness hangs in the air like humidity in the tropics, but as the sky grows darker and restlessness settles in the joints of their bones, the two make idle talk over dinner.
“So Jongin-sshi, what do you do for a living?” Kyungsoo asks curiously as he spears pasta before delicately placing the bite into his mouth.
Jongin swallows before responding. “Just Jongin is fine.” He smiles distractedly at the waiter who pauses to refill his glass of wine, the deep red tumbling into the curve of the bowl with a satisfying trickle before pausing when the glass is a third of the way full. “I’m a freelance author, travelling for a bit until I return home and do something a bit more worth my time.” At the final words, he brings his fingers up to quote before drifting back down to his fork and knife, the utensils glinting silver in the light.
“Oh, an author?” Kyungsoo leans forward, deep navy dress shirt crinkling with the movement. As an automatic reflex, he moves to adjust the material that hugs his torso, smoothing out creases that instantly form when he releases pressure. The young man isn’t used to the workings of formal attire, it seems. “Any works in progress at the moment?”
Jongin nods, arranges his napkin neatly on the tray that rests upon the table. “I’m currently working on a fictional piece,” he fiddles with the fork in his grasp before stabbing at a piece of lettuce. It stubbornly evades him, and he soon gives up and moves to a tomato instead, “been travelling to gain some ideas, haven’t got very much yet.”
The male opposite him nods, purses his cherry lips in thought. “Mind telling me about it? Perhaps I can help.” He suggests.
A strange smile tugs at Jongin’s lips. “No, it’s okay,” he pauses. “What about you? Have any occupation or aspirations?”
“Well…” Kyungsoo pauses for a beat. “I suppose… an artist?”
Jongin quirks an eyebrow. “Art requires a lot of patience doesn’t it? You must be pretty good.”
Kyungsoo’s cheeks stain crimson. “No, not really…” he sets his utensils delicately aside and turns to his backpack. Reaching in, he pulls out a black-covered book and offers it over the table to Jongin. The tanned male accepts it, gingerly flips open to the first colour-popped page and pauses at the first illustration. “Is this… a rock concert?”
“Yes! How did you know?” Surprise decorates Kyungsoo’s features. “People usually assume it was the stage at my high school. Reckon it was my dream to graduate top of the class.” He scoffs.
Jongin looks down, traces a finger around the curve of a guitar. His index finger follows the indentations from where Kyungsoo had pressed a little too hard, and if he looks closely he can see faint pencil marks from a preliminary sketch. “Lucky guess, perhaps. Where’d you get the inspiration for this from?”
“You see, that’s the strange thing.” Kyunsoo looks down, picks up his fork once more and begins pushing his food around. “I have no idea. Dreams, perhaps? They just hit me sometimes. Like…” reaching over with his free hand, he flips the page Jongin is on to a new one, clearly well-versed in the workings of his diary. Jongin comes face to face with a familiar figure smiling up at an unknown viewer, cup of coffee held in his grasp. The steam too has been sketched in light grey lead, and the strands of hair fly about with dark graphite.
“I know it’s weird,” Kyungsoo says quickly, sharply, like ripping a Band-Aid off a wound and unsure of the outcome “but… I just feel like we’ve met before.”
Jongin stares at the perfect reflection of himself. He remembers this scene - the only question is why Kyungsoo can too. Deciding he’ll think about it later, he switches his train of thought.
“Did you know? Third person is much more unreliable than first.”
The change in topic is swift, and Kyungsoo’s eyebrows furrow. “What-“
Jongin cuts him off. “In a first person narrative, you can be assured that everything that goes on is in the perspective of the character,” he explains as he fiddles with his utensils once more. His obsidian gaze flickers to the other who is now listening in a mix between curiosity and confusion, “however in a third person, what is meant to be neutral is saturated with the opinion of the author.”
Kyungsoo frowns. “I still don’t understand.”
“Let’s say for example… Character A has been described as meek from a third person perspective. But is Character A really meek, or is that from someone’s objective view? How do we know who came to that conclusion?” he asks, placing a bite of pasta into his mouth and chewing.
The elder male frowns harder. “I… don’t know?”
The tanned male sets down his fork. “Exactly. The reader doesn’t know if it’s from the opinion of the character, the author, or some unknown third party.” Finished with his meal, Jongin swipes at his lips with the napkin once more.
Rising from his seat, Jongin exits the compartment. Kyungsoo remains behind, heavily confused.
-
“Couple years back, there was an accident here. Two dead, they reckon one killed the other, then committed suicide… though there’s some speculation there was a third party.” The old lady prattles on even as she’s writing down his name and scanning the keys for the right one to pass to him. “Rather unfortunate, really… no one wanted to purchase the home after, said it was too eerie,” she continues as she leads him up the steps and to the front door, “so I decided to take custody of it and wait until someone was willing to rent it out. Good thing you came along.” she falls silent, focusing on making sure her small, wobbly frame is able to make it to the front door, and when they arrive she seems to falter in her footsteps.
“Well, I don’t want to go further than here. Even I have my limits. If there’re any problems that I can assist with… well, you know where I am.”
He smiles a tight-lipped smile at the landowner as she hands him the key and turns away. “Yes, thank you.” Out of courtesy rather than anything else, after saying his gratitude-less thanks he doesn’t waste any time in clicking open the door and stepping inside.
The lady wasn’t kidding when she said people preferred to avoid the place. Deceptively bright in the afternoon glow, Kai lets his feet trace a path to one of the many sheet-covered pieces of furniture in the room. Reaching out, he fists the material and watches it bunch up against his fingers like a spider web before giving one firm, harsh yank to reveal the furniture beneath.
He never thought he’d see this place again, but it seems that his idiot other self has plans that differ to his. Really, what is that fool doing? He wonders, eyes slipping shut. He needs to get the deed over and done with so they can move on. How bothersome. It would be so much simpler operating on my own. Dropping the sheet in his grasp carelessly onto the floor, Kai raises a hand and flexes his fingers before forming a fist. The movement is nowhere as fluid as he remembers it being back in the day and scowling, the tanned male curses aloud. That idiot.
Emitting a sigh befitting of one his age, Kai allows his body to slump down onto the beige fabric of the couch, lets his head tilt back and up to the water-stained ivory hued ceiling. He lets his eyes drift shut, he hears his other self screaming obscenities into his ears and he pops a painkiller between his lips even though he knows it will do nothing to erase the annoyance.
“Argh, shut up.” He whispers into silence, shifting in his seat.
Crunch.
Frowning, Kai slips a hand between the cushion and frame of the couch, and withdraws it with broken glass and a white lid in his grasp. White powder rubs into his fingertips.
Hah. I knew it.
As the other finally falls silent, Kai lets himself laugh like a man beyond the line of insanity, eyes squeezed shut in humorless mirth.
That idiot.
-
The morning rays bathe the room in an ethereal light, and when the tanned male sleepily blinks his eyes open he thinks that the morning after holds just as much significance as the quiet cloak of night time. There’s something confronting about being able to see the world in such perfect clarity, being able to bury his head into the pillow of the bed and of knowing that the previous night was not a dream. Smile soft on his lips, Jongin raises a hand and places it on the soft locks of the man lying beside him.
It’s not perfect by any means. Whereas others have the luxury of a large home for themselves or a high-rise suite, Kyungsoo and Jongin reside in a not too shabby but definitely modest apartment situated in a convenient suburb not too far from anywhere. It’s not perfect, but after being able to come home to Kyungsoo for a few months Jongin thinks he’s finally found sanctuary.
“Hyung, wake up. It’s morning.”
The other flutters his eyes open drowsily at the other’s voice, blinking before focusing with sleepy incoherency on the tanned male. Kyungsoo smiles. “Good morning, Jongin-ah.”
“Good morning.” Jongin returns the other’s smile with his own, then crosses the distance between them by leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on the other’s lips.
Kyungsoo yawns, stretches his arms up and when he brings them back down he wraps them snug around Jongin’s waist. “You been up long?”
“Nup,” Jongin shakes his head no, “pretty much just woke up. I’ll go to the bathroom first, be back in a bit.” He sits up and feels the other’s arms reluctantly let him go as he troops his way to the bathroom.
He fixes his hair to the flicker of a voice in his mind.
Is this your choice?
Resignation is linked in every word. Jongin fumbles with his toothpaste, searches for a toothbrush before giving up and taking up his lover’s one instead. “I love him.”
We don’t have much time left. You can feel it too, can’t you? Kyungsoo is starting to remember. We’re weakening.
Jongin scrubs furiously at his teeth as if cleansing himself of the thoughts that plague his mind. Some things are impossible to discard with a simple scrub and rinse, though. “I know. I’m prepared.” He mutters around a mouthful of toothpaste.
The voice sighs. Are you really? We have two days maximum left.
Now done with brushing his teeth, the tanned male dunks his face into the lukewarm water before raising his head once more, staring directly into his reflection.
I can’t kill him, I’ve tried. I’m prepared to die.
Kim Jongin is inherently selfish. So selfish he is willing to steal the boyfriend of his best friend, willing to steal someone he knows is taken, willing to steal and hoard souls in order to expand his own lifetime. He knows it’s morally wrong, that really he should have stopped at the first accidental kill, but if there’s one thing Jongin is, it’s stubborn.
He’s so stubborn he’s willing to die if it means prolonging the life of the one person he’s ever loved.
Jongin passes away in spring, just like Kyungsoo’s first death. Unlike Kyungsoo, no one is there to discover the body and hold a funeral. Indeed, the only sign that he was ever there is the glowing young man who wakes up and finds he’s able to live the full extent of his life.
Kyungsoo lives to a ripe old age of 100.
Such is sacrifice.
-
Once sure that his companion is asleep, Kyungsoo slides out from under his arm, arranges him on the sofa and smiles softly down at him. It would be a touching scene were it not for the ice in his orbs and the tenseness of his stance. Kyungsoo raises a slender hand, letting it cup the other’s chocolate skin and marvelling at the contrast. The tug at his mind is finally starting to loosen once more, and he wonders who the next unlucky soul will be.
Lips curled up, he picks up the empty vial from the table, slipping it away between the cushions of the couch, the perfect way to conceal a murder weapon. They say love is like poison, slow acting but powerful. Kyungsoo is a master of murder - he uses two weapons at once. By the time anyone thinks to deduce the facts from evidence, he will be long gone. “Good-bye, Jongin,” he sings in his sweet, lilting voice, “sweet dreams, and may you never wake up again.”
He rises from his seat, starts to head towards the front door but doesn’t make it very far past the quarter-filled bucket on the ground before he feels icy cold fingers applying a deathly pressure against his neck. He feels his body slam into the wall, registers the pain and the screaming of his instincts. Danger, danger they cry, your mission is about to be compromised. The man gives an uncharacteristic scowl raises his arms to struggle against the arm of his unknown attacker. There can only be one man after him, and it seems like he’s finally caught up.
Kai. Kim Jongin. Kai. You’re Kai, aren’t you.
“Damn right I am.” Kai grunts as Kyungsoo struggles in his arms. “You’re dying today, right now. Any last words?”
Jongin is too soft. I’ll win in the end. Even if my fool counterpart seems to be unaware of his abilities, I’ll awaken them, you’ll see. You won’t kill me again.
“I’ve killed you in all our previous lifetimes and there’s nothing to say I won’t do so again. It’s Jongin who’s hesitant, but he’ll get it done eventually.” Kai’s expression is murderous. “Let’s see who’ll get there sooner in the end. You or me? Your soul will soon cease to exist.”
Hmm, is that so? I’ll give this round to you, but from now on…. May the games begin.
Kyungsoo’s eyes slide shut, his struggling weakening until Kai feels no resistance in his arms. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he drops the body and withdraws a knife, making quick work of the set-up of the scene.
As he turns the corner to exit, he turns with one last hurrah. “Good bye, Kyungsoo.” Kai sings, “sweet dreams, and may you never wake up again.” Not in this lifetime, anyway.
The rain has long stopped, the floor not damp enough for his shoes to create a trail.
He’s able to disappear easily, a simple reflection of what once was.
-
Kyungsoo’s still living when the end of the world arrives.
When he finally allows his body to slip away, he departs with a whisper.
“I win, Kim Jongin.”
a/n:
- Big thank you to all the people I've complained about this to, you are true A+ ともだち
- Massive thanks to subduedblue for letting me use her plot!
- multi-life idea borrowed with permission from changdictator fic in tandem
- Is it too late to say this is non-linear
- This is my lj debut is it worthy It's not is it LOL
- Mystery genre wasn't a mystery genre but "reincarnation" and "soul stealing" and "multiple realities" and all that fun stuff
- Gold star to anyone who understands the plot aside from people I have explained it to!
- Also deep apologies for failure of smut! First attempt/s and I should probably never try again a hahaha