S3 2015: 角砂糖なめて終わってゆく春に二十二歳のシャツ脱ぎ捨てん
Title: 角砂糖なめて終わってゆく春に二十二歳のシャツ脱ぎ捨てん
Rating: PG
Pairing(s): Myungsoo-centric, (highlight for spoilers) Myungsoo/Sungyeol, Myungsoo/Jongin (EXO), Myungsoo/Sungjong
Length: 3867 words
Summary: Sometimes it's important to start with oneself.
Warnings: none
Notes: Thanks so much to everyone and the mods and Infinite for being so cute.
Prompts:
1. Image prompt: vending machine
2. Quote prompt:
角砂糖なめて終わってゆく春に二十二歳のシャツ脱ぎ捨てん
Sucking on a sugar cube
at the wane of spring.
I strip off my T-shirt of my twenty-third year.
-Tawara Machi, translated by Juliet Winters Carpenter
3. Lyrics/MV prompt: Gain - Paradise Lost (lyrics)
Myungsoo stops in front of the drink machine in the hallway. The fluorescent lights flicker dimly; it's late and he really wants to be in bed, asleep, in fact he's been wishing that for the last ten hours or so, give or take a few migraines, but he has to finish this.
What did Sungyeol want again? Myungsoo blinks, finds himself leaning just a little too close to the machine. It's one of those new-fangled things, his eyes only centimetres away from a small lcd screen that's playing some kind of coffee ad. Right, coffee. In his zombie-like state, Myungsoo watches the people on the small screen, the way the dark coffee, the rich milk coffee, the warm spicy coffee slips down their throats before they smile, the rims of their coffee cups kissing in the artificially touched-up light. He feeds the machine his card, almost presses two Americanos instead of one. He must be more tired that he thought, his finger hovering over the other options.
Banana milk? Or lemonade? Myungsoo's head gives an involuntary nod, and his finger ends up nudging the strawberry kiwi smoothie instead. Whatever. There's a dull thud as the cans drop to the slot where he reaches his hand in to collect them.
Walking back down the hallway, Myungsoo catches the trailing end of the last ad, coffee cups clinking and the silhouette of two people, their mouth meeting behind a screen. Half-asleep, Myungsoo wonders what Sungyeol would do if he kissed him.
They have the photos spread out over the table and they're on to the last culling; Sungyeol's leg is tapping impatiently, a combination of too much caffeine and exhaustion. Myungsoo just wants to slump over in a chair, but Sungyeol holds his hand out for the coffee and knocks back half a can while Myungsoo just watches, face wrinkled slightly.
"Come on then," Sungyeol says, setting the half-empty can down on the side desk with a determined clink. "We're almost done." He ignores Myungsoo's mouth already opening in what will probably be yet another request to finish in the morning, even though he knows there is no morning, and shows him two photos side by side.
Myungsoo blinks; tries to focus his eyes.
On the left is Sungjong, sophomore of the lily-pretty face and contrastingly sharp disposition. He's not looking at the camera, disdaining it even, as though he doesn't believe in things like cameras and photographs and the lies they print on celluloid. I must really be tired. Sungjong is gorgeous, the long lines of his neck, the barely-hinted at nobs of his spine drawing the eye. It's a prize shot.
On the right is Jongin, freshman heartthrob and star dance student who had the entire female student body and at least half the male population at his feet after the autumn showcase, barely months after starting school. Myungsoo isn't impressed by those kinds of things, he's more interested in what people look like from behind the camera, and this photograph isn't of Jongin dancing. Rather, he's sitting in one of the auditorium seats, waiting for something, Myungsoo wasn't sure when he took the picture, but it's his expression, entirely directed towards the stage, that's so captivating. He looks at the stage like people look at him. It's also a prize shot, and Myungsoo doesn't know what to do.
"I can't decide," he tells Sungyeol, who frowns and drinks the other half of his coffee.
In the end they're too tired to decide; Myungsoo is literally in a daze, drooping forward to almost slump onto the table and drool on the photos before Sungyeol kicks him under the table, though he's not much better, another empty coffee wrapped in his fingers.
"They're both good," Myungsoo says, and it feels like he's talking through water, bubbles of words drifting up to burst on the surface.
"We have to pick one," Sungyeol repeats, like he's repeated over and over and over again for the last, it feels like an infinity stretching out behind them. Myungsoo thinks about his warm bed, the feather comforter, the soft flannel of his pyjamas, and gives up, or maybe it's just a kind of moving on.
"Darts," he mumbles into the photographs that are starting to float in his half-dreaming date. "Put your cups on the ground and toss a pencil."
Sungyeol looks at him, eyebrows raised, but he doesn't know either so he finally does it. Maybe it's the way Myungsoo is almost dreaming, all the motions spinning off into the air, maybe it's something else, but watching Sungyeol poised to toss the pencil, it's not like watching his friend at all. It's like watching a stranger, a tall young man with dark, slightly curly hair, long arms and the line of skin stretching to his fingers, shoulders and a pink mouth, lips pursed even as he's trying to blink awake.
You're beautiful, Myungsoo thinks, the thought crystallizing in his head, and he doesn't know how he never realized before. Without thinking his arm moves almost on its own, fingers reaching up to touch-
there's a clatter, the sound of paper and wood falling on tile, the pencil has landed in one of the paper cups, tipping it over. Myungsoo blinks, pulls his arm back and sits on his hand. What just happened?
"Okay," Sungyeol says, and starts sweeping the photographs spread out on the table into a folder. "Let's go home." Myungsoo nods gratefully, grabbing the other folder and helping tiny the mess.
It's only when he's falling into bed that he realizes that he still doesn't know which photograph Sungyeol picked.
I guess I'll ask tomorrow, is his last trailing thought before he goes under.
"Myungsoo!"
There's a sound, like his name being called from far away, like the bottom of a well or a mountain top. Myungsoo nestles deeper into his blankets.
"Myungsoo!" There's something tapping his face now, shaking his shoulder, and Myungsoo moans into his pillow. He's still so tired. There aren't even words in his head, just a kind of formless buzzing.
"Myungsoo!" Firm hands are sitting him up in bed, pulling his pyjama top over his head, arms reaching up as a t-shirt slides down over his head instead, finally forcing him to blink open his eyes.
His mom is looking at him with an affectionately exasperated expression as she passes him a pair of jeans. "I let you sleep all morning but Sungyeol will be mad if you don't show up for the submission." Myungsoo blinks, the words filtering slowly through his brain.
The submission.
All of a sudden his mind is scrambling, but he's still not awake, trying to get out of bed but falling in a tangle of sheets and pyjama pants on the floor as his mother only clicks her tongue.
"You're okay, dear," she says, "I'll check on you in ten minutes to make sure you're out of bed, okay?" Her warm hand ruffles his hair before she walks out the bedroom door and down the stairs; Myungsoo can hear the clackety-clack of the keyboard resume as he shakes his head and tries to swim ahead of the waves of sleep that are threatening to pull him under again.
Must. Stay. Awake.
"Glad you could make it." Sungyeol's voice is sarcastic, but he pulls Myungsoo in for a hug anyway; Myungsoo nuzzles into his neck as usual, still not completely awake, when a stray thought from yesterday slips into his head and he remembers the lines of Sungyeol's arms, poised to throw the pencil. He stiffens, just for a moment, but Sungyeol notices.
Sungyeol notices everything, and usually Myungsoo is so happy about it but right now he wishes he wouldn't. It's a strange feeling, this more than the thoughts from before, and it makes him uncomfortable. Sungyeol's hand on his back is too warm, and Myungsoo pulls away.
"Are you okay?" Sungyeol asks, and Myungsoo just nods, blinking the last lingering trails of dreams out of his eyes. Hopefully that's all that Sungyeol will chalk it up to. But watching Sungyeol out of the corner of his eye; the way he moves, stretching his arms above his head, yawning, a can of coffee already sitting on his desk, Myungsoo can't unsee what he saw yesterday.
And Sungyeol's the one he always talks to about everything, but he can't talk to him about this.
Myungsoo is so distracted that he ends up submitting their project without even checking which photograph was selected in the end. Oh well. By now he's poured so much of himself into the project that either photograph represents what he wants to say. Usually he'd care more, but Sungyeol keeps hovering and Myungsoo would normally be so happy but now he's just confused.
They're sitting next to each other in the cafeteria, Sungjong across from them, glancing through some kind of science notes that make Myungsoo's tired brain hurt just to think about. He's made his way through most of his hamburger, lazily twirling fries now, the oil coating his fingers as he absentmindedly leans over to rest his shoulder on Sungyeol's shoulder, something he's done so many times before.
Today Sungyeol's skin beneath the thin layer of his shirt feels slightly warmer than usual; Myungsoo can feel the firm muscle beneath the surface. Sungyeol is stronger than he looks.
Myungsoo's attention skips, fingers stilling for just a moment, long enough to drop the French fry he's twirling, watching it fall to the ground, landing without a sound.
"Are you okay?" Sungjong asks, and Myungsoo mumbles something about being tired before leaving. Sungyeol says something, but he's walking away, tray in hand, swallowed up by the chaos of the cafeteria before he can hear it.
There's a kind of solace in the library; Myungsoo isn't necessarily a full-out library person like some other people but he likes the soft comfy couches-perfect for sleeping-and the lighting always inspires him to take photographs. Wiping his damp hands on his jeans, French fry grease washed off and face splashed with water in the hopes of staying awake, Myungsoo slips between the shelves, making his way to his favourite alcove. Jongin is already there; he's a year behind Sungjong who's a double major with Science and Performing Arts, but this is actually where Myungsoo first met him.
Jongin, despite his dancing and playboy image onstage, is a huge bookworm and Myungsoo likes him a lot. Jongin is also really good at listening, and if Myungsoo can't talk to Sungyeol, because he's busy or something or like now, it's actually about him, Jongin would definitely be his second choice.
"Hi Jongin!" he calls. Jongin looks up from the heavy book lying open on his lap, pages splayed to reveal tiny lines of text. The black plastic-rimmed glasses perched on Jongin's nose slip a little as he smiles back.
"You submitted your project?" Jongin asks, and Myungsoo nods, slipping onto the windowseat to sit beside Jongin, who wraps an arm around his shoulder and shifts to make a little more space. Jongin knows that one of the final cut of photographs is of him, but he won't ask if he was the final submission, and that's another thing Myungsoo likes about Jongin. He always keeps the difference between work and personal life very clear.
They sit in comfortable silence for a while, Myungsoo just sinking into Jongin's shoulder and almost drifting to sleep before he remembers why he sought him out today in the first place.
"Jongin," he says, then has to stifle a yawn with a hand as Jongin laughs, his exhalation stirring the dust that dances in the air of the library, spilling flecks of gold, and suddenly Myungsoo needs to take a photograph. He pulls out his camera, Jongin just nods slightly to let him know it's okay, as Myungsoo snaps a few shots, library books, wood shelves, the silhouettes of students in the light and the golden dust. Finally he turns the camera around for a last shot.
"Cheese!" he says, laughing as Jongin elbows him affectionately in the ribs and the shutter clicks.
"Okay," Jongin says, "I think you were going to tell me something, before you got distracted?" Myungsoo nods. Sometimes it's hard to remember that he's older than Jongin, when Jongin feels like an older brother, like his cousin Sunggyu before he left for graduate school. Myungsoo misses him and maybe that's a part of why he latched onto Jongin so readily.
"What happens," Myungsoo finally begins, fingers playing with the strap of his camera as his eyes roam over the bookshelves; it's easier to say it when he's not meeting Jongin's gaze somehow. "What happens if you start feeling things about your best friend? Even though you've just been friends for like, forever, and you never even thought about that before?" His voice trails off.
"Is this Sungyeol?" Jongin asks, and Myungsoo nods, wondering if maybe he's the last one to know.
"It's okay," Jongin says, "I only knew because you said best friend. You're not obvious or anything." He pauses, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Actually, everyone knows you cling to the people you like, so it's not a big deal." Jongin grins, gesturing to how Myungsoo is currently snuggled into his side, and Myungsoo feels a little embarrassed, but not really. Touch is so important to him, and the people he cares about know and understand.
"But it is okay to like him?" Myungsoo asks. "I don't even know if I like him; it's so. . .new?" He doesn't know how to explain the strange feelings bubbling inside his chest. "I just keep noticing things?" He watches a student, someone he doesn't know, pull a book out of a stack, flipping through it briefly before putting it back on the shelf and taking out a new one.
"It's okay to have feelings and be confused, " Jongin says, giving Myungsoo a squeeze. "That's part of life. You're allowed to like Sungyeol but you don't have to tell him until you're ready, or ever, if you don't want to." Myungsoo nods. It makes sense, even if it doesn't make everything easy. Jongin is like that.
"Thanks, Jongin," he says, and he really means it, the way everything feels more calm and organized inside his head, not the strange drifting feelings building to a panic, which is what happens when Myungsoo gets overwhelmed. He doesn't have time to get overwhelmed, not just before finals. I'm so thankful I could kiss you. The phrase pops into his sleepy brain, maybe a book he was reading or something he saw on television, but as he pulls himself up off the cushions, waving goodbye, he's not thinking about Sungyeol. He's thinking, suddenly, traitorously, about Jongin, waving goodbye, backlit by the sun's glow like a soft halo and his pink mouth, lips smiling, shaping the words, "good luck."
Do I want to kiss Jongin? Myungsoo asks himself, and the answer is surprisingly, confusingly yes.
Myungsoo leaves the library even more confused than he arrived.
Can I meet you for coffee?
Myungsoo rarely uses his phone; his twitter hasn't been updated for almost a year and he's conveniently forgotten the password to his email, but once in a while desperate times call for desperate measures, and he knows he must be truly desperate to be trying to ask Sungjong for advice, but short of hopping on an airplane to find Sunggyu, or trekking out to whatever wild animal preserve Dongwoo is working at right now, Sungjong is it.
Sure Sungjong texts back a few moments later, and Myungsoo slumps against the brick wall of the library, where he's been sitting in the shade of the apple trees at this end of the campus quad. Sungyeol is probably looking for him, wondering why he skipped class. Myungsoo feels a little bad, but he wants to talk to Sungjong first.
Meet you at the campus coffee shop?
Okay
Myungsoo walks into the warehouse-like space, bare copper pipes against the concrete walls, exposed duct work instead of a ceiling. It's nice, the soft light from the windows and the rich yellow spot lighting combine to make great shots when he uses the right settings. Sungyeol looks best when he doesn't know he's on camera, and Myungsoo has a few magical photographs he's captured here, Sungyeol sitting at the table, waving his arms, an Americano in one hand, completely in his element. Myungsoo smiles at the thought, without really realizing it.
"Myungsoo!" Sungjong's voice is commanding, nice but firm, and Myungsoo peers around for his friend, his shock of pink hair glistening in the lights from where he sits in a booth, sipping lemonade. There's a juice waiting for Myungsoo, and he wonders what flavour Sungjong picked out for him today.
It's strawberry-kiwi, the flavour oddly familiar as it slides down his throat, but Myungsoo can't remember from where. He sits and sips, the sweet slide down his throat as he breathes. Sungjong is pragmatic. He'll be able to tell him what to do.
"What would you say if I said I liked Sungyeol?" Myungsoo says, just going for it. He'd like to sit beside Sungjong, but he looks a little tired, eyes slightly red in the light, and Myungsoo figures he's probably tired from studying. Myungsoo is tired enough, and he's not in science.
Sungjong laughs. It's not a mean sound, just laughter. "I don't think anyone would be surprised," he says, taking another gulp of lemonade and pushing the hair out of his eyes. "You're stuck together like glue."
Myungsoo frowns, because even though it's true it's not like it was intentional, and Sungjong just leans over the table to poke him on the forehead.
"It's okay!" he says, "That's just what you're like." He pauses for a moment, straw inches away from his mouth. Myungsoo closes his eyes. "So, are you trying to say you do like Sungyeol or is this a hypothetical question?" Myungsoo opens his eyes again, green dots from the lights swimming in his vision.
"I don't know," he says. "I went to talk to Jongin about it," Sungjong's eyes narrow thoughtfully, like he's starting to figure out the problem, "and he helped but then-" Myungsoo breaks off then, looking down at the table.
"You thought about liking him too, right?" Sungjong says, and Myungsoo has always known Sungjong is too smart, especially about people things, but it's still strange to have the evidence right in front of him. He nods though, because it's true.
"I kind of wanted to kiss him," he says quietly, the confession almost a whisper as he glances over at Sungjong's mouth, lips pursed around the straw as he sips lemonade, the straw slipping out of his mouth, tongue running lightly over his lips.
Myungsoo swallows. Sungjong looks thoughtful.
"Do you want to kiss me?" he asks, and Myungsoo feels like a deer caught in the headlights. Sungjong tips his head inquisitively and Myungsoo nods.
He isn't expecting Sungjong to lean forward, over the table, and press his lips to Myungsoo's mouth. He's surprised, caught slightly off balance, lips parting but Sungjong doesn't slip his tongue into Myungsoo's mouth, just delicately nibbles at his bottom lip before finishing with a gentle press to the corner of his mouth, pulling back to resume his seat.
Myungsoo's head is full of things he can't even begin to unravel, as he reinhabits the press of Sungjong's mouth against his, as he looks at Sungjong across the table, his gently puffed pink lips, the feeling in his own as Myungsoo lifts a finger to his mouth that tastes like the tangy sweetness of lemonade and something else.
"You look so confused," Sungjong says, taking another sip of lemonade. He looks softly affectionate, amidst the pragmatism that is Sungjong, slightly apologetic even, and Myungsoo feels so young again. He's just figuring everything out, and he really needs to hug someone right now. Sungjong notices, beckoning him over, and Myungsoo slides onto the seat beside Sungjong gratefully, resting his head on his shoulder as Sungjong wraps an arm around him.
"It's okay to be confused," Sungjong says, running his fingers through Myungsoo's hair. "It's okay to take your time and figure things out."
"Is it okay to like more than one person?" Myungsoo asks, and the fingers running through his hair pause briefly before continuing.
"Of course," Sungjong says, and Myungsoo still doesn't understand all the things running through his head but somehow he feels better. It's okay to feel like this.
Myungsoo heads home after that, pulling out to text Sungyeol that he's tired and he must have looked that way because Sungyeol doesn't even comment that he's using his phone. So when he sees Sungyeol face to face for the first time after the discussion with Sungjong, it's the next day and their photo project preliminary results are out. Sungyeol is jumping up and down and yelling and has Myungsoo engulfed in an ecstatic hug before Myungsoo can even figure out what's going on.
"We placed first!" Sungyeol is shouting and Myungsoo blinks and tries to wake up a little more. But Sungyeol is too impatient, dragging him to the front of the crowd of students standing, looking at the wall display, the photographs like spots of dark and colour against the white wall.
Myungsoo blinks again. He can't see the photograph of Jongin or the photograph of Sungjong anywhere. Sungyeol grins, noticing his confusion, and places two hands on either side of Myungsoo's face, directing his gaze. Sungyeol's hands are warm on his skin, tingly, and Myungsoo smiles because it's okay for him to like it.
The photograph with his name and Sungyeol's attached to it isn't one of their final two photographs. It's a photograph of Myungsoo, arms in the frame, a shot he can't remember taking and was probably an accident or a test shot, holding the camera up to the light. He's not even looking at the shutter, but rather off to the side, wind ruffling his hair.
There are shadows running across his face, the leaves of trees and dapples of light it looks like. His face is a network of tiny shapes, branches sprouting from his lips and twigs springing from his eyelashes.
Myungsoo blinks. Stares. Blinks again. The caption off to the side says, in black print,
A portrait of the artist at 23.
"Yeah, I know," Sungyeol says, but it doesn't sound like an apology. "You were so tired and I was taking the stuff back to the darkroom, you'd gone home already, and I saw this one and developed it on the spot. And. . .I'm not even sorry." He looks at Myungsoo, an edge of defiance in his eyes, but Myungsoo isn't angry. He's not even sure if he could be, when he just wants to hug Sungyeol and maybe kiss him. Maybe.
He doesn't. He just grins, eyes crinkling up and butts Sungyeol playfully with his head. "You're the smart one," Myungsoo says, and it's Sungyeol who wraps an arm around his shoulder, laughing, and pulls him away, Myungsoo falling into step.
Sometimes it's important to start with oneself.
I feel. I'm real.
-GAIN
Rating: PG
Pairing(s): Myungsoo-centric, (highlight for spoilers) Myungsoo/Sungyeol, Myungsoo/Jongin (EXO), Myungsoo/Sungjong
Length: 3867 words
Summary: Sometimes it's important to start with oneself.
Warnings: none
Notes: Thanks so much to everyone and the mods and Infinite for being so cute.
Prompts:
1. Image prompt: vending machine
2. Quote prompt:
角砂糖なめて終わってゆく春に二十二歳のシャツ脱ぎ捨てん
Sucking on a sugar cube
at the wane of spring.
I strip off my T-shirt of my twenty-third year.
-Tawara Machi, translated by Juliet Winters Carpenter
3. Lyrics/MV prompt: Gain - Paradise Lost (lyrics)
Myungsoo stops in front of the drink machine in the hallway. The fluorescent lights flicker dimly; it's late and he really wants to be in bed, asleep, in fact he's been wishing that for the last ten hours or so, give or take a few migraines, but he has to finish this.
What did Sungyeol want again? Myungsoo blinks, finds himself leaning just a little too close to the machine. It's one of those new-fangled things, his eyes only centimetres away from a small lcd screen that's playing some kind of coffee ad. Right, coffee. In his zombie-like state, Myungsoo watches the people on the small screen, the way the dark coffee, the rich milk coffee, the warm spicy coffee slips down their throats before they smile, the rims of their coffee cups kissing in the artificially touched-up light. He feeds the machine his card, almost presses two Americanos instead of one. He must be more tired that he thought, his finger hovering over the other options.
Banana milk? Or lemonade? Myungsoo's head gives an involuntary nod, and his finger ends up nudging the strawberry kiwi smoothie instead. Whatever. There's a dull thud as the cans drop to the slot where he reaches his hand in to collect them.
Walking back down the hallway, Myungsoo catches the trailing end of the last ad, coffee cups clinking and the silhouette of two people, their mouth meeting behind a screen. Half-asleep, Myungsoo wonders what Sungyeol would do if he kissed him.
They have the photos spread out over the table and they're on to the last culling; Sungyeol's leg is tapping impatiently, a combination of too much caffeine and exhaustion. Myungsoo just wants to slump over in a chair, but Sungyeol holds his hand out for the coffee and knocks back half a can while Myungsoo just watches, face wrinkled slightly.
"Come on then," Sungyeol says, setting the half-empty can down on the side desk with a determined clink. "We're almost done." He ignores Myungsoo's mouth already opening in what will probably be yet another request to finish in the morning, even though he knows there is no morning, and shows him two photos side by side.
Myungsoo blinks; tries to focus his eyes.
On the left is Sungjong, sophomore of the lily-pretty face and contrastingly sharp disposition. He's not looking at the camera, disdaining it even, as though he doesn't believe in things like cameras and photographs and the lies they print on celluloid. I must really be tired. Sungjong is gorgeous, the long lines of his neck, the barely-hinted at nobs of his spine drawing the eye. It's a prize shot.
On the right is Jongin, freshman heartthrob and star dance student who had the entire female student body and at least half the male population at his feet after the autumn showcase, barely months after starting school. Myungsoo isn't impressed by those kinds of things, he's more interested in what people look like from behind the camera, and this photograph isn't of Jongin dancing. Rather, he's sitting in one of the auditorium seats, waiting for something, Myungsoo wasn't sure when he took the picture, but it's his expression, entirely directed towards the stage, that's so captivating. He looks at the stage like people look at him. It's also a prize shot, and Myungsoo doesn't know what to do.
"I can't decide," he tells Sungyeol, who frowns and drinks the other half of his coffee.
In the end they're too tired to decide; Myungsoo is literally in a daze, drooping forward to almost slump onto the table and drool on the photos before Sungyeol kicks him under the table, though he's not much better, another empty coffee wrapped in his fingers.
"They're both good," Myungsoo says, and it feels like he's talking through water, bubbles of words drifting up to burst on the surface.
"We have to pick one," Sungyeol repeats, like he's repeated over and over and over again for the last, it feels like an infinity stretching out behind them. Myungsoo thinks about his warm bed, the feather comforter, the soft flannel of his pyjamas, and gives up, or maybe it's just a kind of moving on.
"Darts," he mumbles into the photographs that are starting to float in his half-dreaming date. "Put your cups on the ground and toss a pencil."
Sungyeol looks at him, eyebrows raised, but he doesn't know either so he finally does it. Maybe it's the way Myungsoo is almost dreaming, all the motions spinning off into the air, maybe it's something else, but watching Sungyeol poised to toss the pencil, it's not like watching his friend at all. It's like watching a stranger, a tall young man with dark, slightly curly hair, long arms and the line of skin stretching to his fingers, shoulders and a pink mouth, lips pursed even as he's trying to blink awake.
You're beautiful, Myungsoo thinks, the thought crystallizing in his head, and he doesn't know how he never realized before. Without thinking his arm moves almost on its own, fingers reaching up to touch-
there's a clatter, the sound of paper and wood falling on tile, the pencil has landed in one of the paper cups, tipping it over. Myungsoo blinks, pulls his arm back and sits on his hand. What just happened?
"Okay," Sungyeol says, and starts sweeping the photographs spread out on the table into a folder. "Let's go home." Myungsoo nods gratefully, grabbing the other folder and helping tiny the mess.
It's only when he's falling into bed that he realizes that he still doesn't know which photograph Sungyeol picked.
I guess I'll ask tomorrow, is his last trailing thought before he goes under.
"Myungsoo!"
There's a sound, like his name being called from far away, like the bottom of a well or a mountain top. Myungsoo nestles deeper into his blankets.
"Myungsoo!" There's something tapping his face now, shaking his shoulder, and Myungsoo moans into his pillow. He's still so tired. There aren't even words in his head, just a kind of formless buzzing.
"Myungsoo!" Firm hands are sitting him up in bed, pulling his pyjama top over his head, arms reaching up as a t-shirt slides down over his head instead, finally forcing him to blink open his eyes.
His mom is looking at him with an affectionately exasperated expression as she passes him a pair of jeans. "I let you sleep all morning but Sungyeol will be mad if you don't show up for the submission." Myungsoo blinks, the words filtering slowly through his brain.
The submission.
All of a sudden his mind is scrambling, but he's still not awake, trying to get out of bed but falling in a tangle of sheets and pyjama pants on the floor as his mother only clicks her tongue.
"You're okay, dear," she says, "I'll check on you in ten minutes to make sure you're out of bed, okay?" Her warm hand ruffles his hair before she walks out the bedroom door and down the stairs; Myungsoo can hear the clackety-clack of the keyboard resume as he shakes his head and tries to swim ahead of the waves of sleep that are threatening to pull him under again.
Must. Stay. Awake.
"Glad you could make it." Sungyeol's voice is sarcastic, but he pulls Myungsoo in for a hug anyway; Myungsoo nuzzles into his neck as usual, still not completely awake, when a stray thought from yesterday slips into his head and he remembers the lines of Sungyeol's arms, poised to throw the pencil. He stiffens, just for a moment, but Sungyeol notices.
Sungyeol notices everything, and usually Myungsoo is so happy about it but right now he wishes he wouldn't. It's a strange feeling, this more than the thoughts from before, and it makes him uncomfortable. Sungyeol's hand on his back is too warm, and Myungsoo pulls away.
"Are you okay?" Sungyeol asks, and Myungsoo just nods, blinking the last lingering trails of dreams out of his eyes. Hopefully that's all that Sungyeol will chalk it up to. But watching Sungyeol out of the corner of his eye; the way he moves, stretching his arms above his head, yawning, a can of coffee already sitting on his desk, Myungsoo can't unsee what he saw yesterday.
And Sungyeol's the one he always talks to about everything, but he can't talk to him about this.
Myungsoo is so distracted that he ends up submitting their project without even checking which photograph was selected in the end. Oh well. By now he's poured so much of himself into the project that either photograph represents what he wants to say. Usually he'd care more, but Sungyeol keeps hovering and Myungsoo would normally be so happy but now he's just confused.
They're sitting next to each other in the cafeteria, Sungjong across from them, glancing through some kind of science notes that make Myungsoo's tired brain hurt just to think about. He's made his way through most of his hamburger, lazily twirling fries now, the oil coating his fingers as he absentmindedly leans over to rest his shoulder on Sungyeol's shoulder, something he's done so many times before.
Today Sungyeol's skin beneath the thin layer of his shirt feels slightly warmer than usual; Myungsoo can feel the firm muscle beneath the surface. Sungyeol is stronger than he looks.
Myungsoo's attention skips, fingers stilling for just a moment, long enough to drop the French fry he's twirling, watching it fall to the ground, landing without a sound.
"Are you okay?" Sungjong asks, and Myungsoo mumbles something about being tired before leaving. Sungyeol says something, but he's walking away, tray in hand, swallowed up by the chaos of the cafeteria before he can hear it.
There's a kind of solace in the library; Myungsoo isn't necessarily a full-out library person like some other people but he likes the soft comfy couches-perfect for sleeping-and the lighting always inspires him to take photographs. Wiping his damp hands on his jeans, French fry grease washed off and face splashed with water in the hopes of staying awake, Myungsoo slips between the shelves, making his way to his favourite alcove. Jongin is already there; he's a year behind Sungjong who's a double major with Science and Performing Arts, but this is actually where Myungsoo first met him.
Jongin, despite his dancing and playboy image onstage, is a huge bookworm and Myungsoo likes him a lot. Jongin is also really good at listening, and if Myungsoo can't talk to Sungyeol, because he's busy or something or like now, it's actually about him, Jongin would definitely be his second choice.
"Hi Jongin!" he calls. Jongin looks up from the heavy book lying open on his lap, pages splayed to reveal tiny lines of text. The black plastic-rimmed glasses perched on Jongin's nose slip a little as he smiles back.
"You submitted your project?" Jongin asks, and Myungsoo nods, slipping onto the windowseat to sit beside Jongin, who wraps an arm around his shoulder and shifts to make a little more space. Jongin knows that one of the final cut of photographs is of him, but he won't ask if he was the final submission, and that's another thing Myungsoo likes about Jongin. He always keeps the difference between work and personal life very clear.
They sit in comfortable silence for a while, Myungsoo just sinking into Jongin's shoulder and almost drifting to sleep before he remembers why he sought him out today in the first place.
"Jongin," he says, then has to stifle a yawn with a hand as Jongin laughs, his exhalation stirring the dust that dances in the air of the library, spilling flecks of gold, and suddenly Myungsoo needs to take a photograph. He pulls out his camera, Jongin just nods slightly to let him know it's okay, as Myungsoo snaps a few shots, library books, wood shelves, the silhouettes of students in the light and the golden dust. Finally he turns the camera around for a last shot.
"Cheese!" he says, laughing as Jongin elbows him affectionately in the ribs and the shutter clicks.
"Okay," Jongin says, "I think you were going to tell me something, before you got distracted?" Myungsoo nods. Sometimes it's hard to remember that he's older than Jongin, when Jongin feels like an older brother, like his cousin Sunggyu before he left for graduate school. Myungsoo misses him and maybe that's a part of why he latched onto Jongin so readily.
"What happens," Myungsoo finally begins, fingers playing with the strap of his camera as his eyes roam over the bookshelves; it's easier to say it when he's not meeting Jongin's gaze somehow. "What happens if you start feeling things about your best friend? Even though you've just been friends for like, forever, and you never even thought about that before?" His voice trails off.
"Is this Sungyeol?" Jongin asks, and Myungsoo nods, wondering if maybe he's the last one to know.
"It's okay," Jongin says, "I only knew because you said best friend. You're not obvious or anything." He pauses, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Actually, everyone knows you cling to the people you like, so it's not a big deal." Jongin grins, gesturing to how Myungsoo is currently snuggled into his side, and Myungsoo feels a little embarrassed, but not really. Touch is so important to him, and the people he cares about know and understand.
"But it is okay to like him?" Myungsoo asks. "I don't even know if I like him; it's so. . .new?" He doesn't know how to explain the strange feelings bubbling inside his chest. "I just keep noticing things?" He watches a student, someone he doesn't know, pull a book out of a stack, flipping through it briefly before putting it back on the shelf and taking out a new one.
"It's okay to have feelings and be confused, " Jongin says, giving Myungsoo a squeeze. "That's part of life. You're allowed to like Sungyeol but you don't have to tell him until you're ready, or ever, if you don't want to." Myungsoo nods. It makes sense, even if it doesn't make everything easy. Jongin is like that.
"Thanks, Jongin," he says, and he really means it, the way everything feels more calm and organized inside his head, not the strange drifting feelings building to a panic, which is what happens when Myungsoo gets overwhelmed. He doesn't have time to get overwhelmed, not just before finals. I'm so thankful I could kiss you. The phrase pops into his sleepy brain, maybe a book he was reading or something he saw on television, but as he pulls himself up off the cushions, waving goodbye, he's not thinking about Sungyeol. He's thinking, suddenly, traitorously, about Jongin, waving goodbye, backlit by the sun's glow like a soft halo and his pink mouth, lips smiling, shaping the words, "good luck."
Do I want to kiss Jongin? Myungsoo asks himself, and the answer is surprisingly, confusingly yes.
Myungsoo leaves the library even more confused than he arrived.
Can I meet you for coffee?
Myungsoo rarely uses his phone; his twitter hasn't been updated for almost a year and he's conveniently forgotten the password to his email, but once in a while desperate times call for desperate measures, and he knows he must be truly desperate to be trying to ask Sungjong for advice, but short of hopping on an airplane to find Sunggyu, or trekking out to whatever wild animal preserve Dongwoo is working at right now, Sungjong is it.
Sure Sungjong texts back a few moments later, and Myungsoo slumps against the brick wall of the library, where he's been sitting in the shade of the apple trees at this end of the campus quad. Sungyeol is probably looking for him, wondering why he skipped class. Myungsoo feels a little bad, but he wants to talk to Sungjong first.
Meet you at the campus coffee shop?
Okay
Myungsoo walks into the warehouse-like space, bare copper pipes against the concrete walls, exposed duct work instead of a ceiling. It's nice, the soft light from the windows and the rich yellow spot lighting combine to make great shots when he uses the right settings. Sungyeol looks best when he doesn't know he's on camera, and Myungsoo has a few magical photographs he's captured here, Sungyeol sitting at the table, waving his arms, an Americano in one hand, completely in his element. Myungsoo smiles at the thought, without really realizing it.
"Myungsoo!" Sungjong's voice is commanding, nice but firm, and Myungsoo peers around for his friend, his shock of pink hair glistening in the lights from where he sits in a booth, sipping lemonade. There's a juice waiting for Myungsoo, and he wonders what flavour Sungjong picked out for him today.
It's strawberry-kiwi, the flavour oddly familiar as it slides down his throat, but Myungsoo can't remember from where. He sits and sips, the sweet slide down his throat as he breathes. Sungjong is pragmatic. He'll be able to tell him what to do.
"What would you say if I said I liked Sungyeol?" Myungsoo says, just going for it. He'd like to sit beside Sungjong, but he looks a little tired, eyes slightly red in the light, and Myungsoo figures he's probably tired from studying. Myungsoo is tired enough, and he's not in science.
Sungjong laughs. It's not a mean sound, just laughter. "I don't think anyone would be surprised," he says, taking another gulp of lemonade and pushing the hair out of his eyes. "You're stuck together like glue."
Myungsoo frowns, because even though it's true it's not like it was intentional, and Sungjong just leans over the table to poke him on the forehead.
"It's okay!" he says, "That's just what you're like." He pauses for a moment, straw inches away from his mouth. Myungsoo closes his eyes. "So, are you trying to say you do like Sungyeol or is this a hypothetical question?" Myungsoo opens his eyes again, green dots from the lights swimming in his vision.
"I don't know," he says. "I went to talk to Jongin about it," Sungjong's eyes narrow thoughtfully, like he's starting to figure out the problem, "and he helped but then-" Myungsoo breaks off then, looking down at the table.
"You thought about liking him too, right?" Sungjong says, and Myungsoo has always known Sungjong is too smart, especially about people things, but it's still strange to have the evidence right in front of him. He nods though, because it's true.
"I kind of wanted to kiss him," he says quietly, the confession almost a whisper as he glances over at Sungjong's mouth, lips pursed around the straw as he sips lemonade, the straw slipping out of his mouth, tongue running lightly over his lips.
Myungsoo swallows. Sungjong looks thoughtful.
"Do you want to kiss me?" he asks, and Myungsoo feels like a deer caught in the headlights. Sungjong tips his head inquisitively and Myungsoo nods.
He isn't expecting Sungjong to lean forward, over the table, and press his lips to Myungsoo's mouth. He's surprised, caught slightly off balance, lips parting but Sungjong doesn't slip his tongue into Myungsoo's mouth, just delicately nibbles at his bottom lip before finishing with a gentle press to the corner of his mouth, pulling back to resume his seat.
Myungsoo's head is full of things he can't even begin to unravel, as he reinhabits the press of Sungjong's mouth against his, as he looks at Sungjong across the table, his gently puffed pink lips, the feeling in his own as Myungsoo lifts a finger to his mouth that tastes like the tangy sweetness of lemonade and something else.
"You look so confused," Sungjong says, taking another sip of lemonade. He looks softly affectionate, amidst the pragmatism that is Sungjong, slightly apologetic even, and Myungsoo feels so young again. He's just figuring everything out, and he really needs to hug someone right now. Sungjong notices, beckoning him over, and Myungsoo slides onto the seat beside Sungjong gratefully, resting his head on his shoulder as Sungjong wraps an arm around him.
"It's okay to be confused," Sungjong says, running his fingers through Myungsoo's hair. "It's okay to take your time and figure things out."
"Is it okay to like more than one person?" Myungsoo asks, and the fingers running through his hair pause briefly before continuing.
"Of course," Sungjong says, and Myungsoo still doesn't understand all the things running through his head but somehow he feels better. It's okay to feel like this.
Myungsoo heads home after that, pulling out to text Sungyeol that he's tired and he must have looked that way because Sungyeol doesn't even comment that he's using his phone. So when he sees Sungyeol face to face for the first time after the discussion with Sungjong, it's the next day and their photo project preliminary results are out. Sungyeol is jumping up and down and yelling and has Myungsoo engulfed in an ecstatic hug before Myungsoo can even figure out what's going on.
"We placed first!" Sungyeol is shouting and Myungsoo blinks and tries to wake up a little more. But Sungyeol is too impatient, dragging him to the front of the crowd of students standing, looking at the wall display, the photographs like spots of dark and colour against the white wall.
Myungsoo blinks again. He can't see the photograph of Jongin or the photograph of Sungjong anywhere. Sungyeol grins, noticing his confusion, and places two hands on either side of Myungsoo's face, directing his gaze. Sungyeol's hands are warm on his skin, tingly, and Myungsoo smiles because it's okay for him to like it.
The photograph with his name and Sungyeol's attached to it isn't one of their final two photographs. It's a photograph of Myungsoo, arms in the frame, a shot he can't remember taking and was probably an accident or a test shot, holding the camera up to the light. He's not even looking at the shutter, but rather off to the side, wind ruffling his hair.
There are shadows running across his face, the leaves of trees and dapples of light it looks like. His face is a network of tiny shapes, branches sprouting from his lips and twigs springing from his eyelashes.
Myungsoo blinks. Stares. Blinks again. The caption off to the side says, in black print,
A portrait of the artist at 23.
"Yeah, I know," Sungyeol says, but it doesn't sound like an apology. "You were so tired and I was taking the stuff back to the darkroom, you'd gone home already, and I saw this one and developed it on the spot. And. . .I'm not even sorry." He looks at Myungsoo, an edge of defiance in his eyes, but Myungsoo isn't angry. He's not even sure if he could be, when he just wants to hug Sungyeol and maybe kiss him. Maybe.
He doesn't. He just grins, eyes crinkling up and butts Sungyeol playfully with his head. "You're the smart one," Myungsoo says, and it's Sungyeol who wraps an arm around his shoulder, laughing, and pulls him away, Myungsoo falling into step.
Sometimes it's important to start with oneself.
I feel. I'm real.
-GAIN