SBB 2016 ENTRY #21: FINALLY (1/4)
Title: Finally (1/4)
Pairing: Onew/Taemin
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Angst
Warnings: Discussions of death & mental illness
Final Word Count: 26,067
Author’s Note: Jinki's birth year has been changed from 1989 to 1991.
~Yesterday~
The room is silent, a soft breeze flowing through from the fan twirling overhead. The sun is setting, its rays through the blinds casting odd shadows on the walls and floor that Taemin watches from his perch on the sofa. It’s still hot, though it’s cooling swiftly, and Taemin’s head is resting on Jinki’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around Jinki’s waist and he feels safe. Jinki is reading a book on his tablet, a novel that Taemin has forgotten the name of, but that Jinki has been engrossed in for the last week. The gentle swipe of his thumb over the screen is the only movement he makes, his spare arm thrown over the back of the couch behind Taemin’s head.
They’ve been in this position for a while, about an hour he would guess. It was a busy day; a farmer’s market, a film, and lunch. The rush of the crowds has left him feeling overwhelmed and he needs to feel Jinki for a little bit longer.
When he’s relaxed enough he leans up and nuzzles Jinki’s neck, softly kissing the tender skin. Wordlessly, Jinki lays the tablet on the table beside him and turns to look down at Taemin. In this moment it is just the two of them, together, and Taemin feels at home. He leans up to kiss Jinki and hums softly when their lips meet. It is tender and it is chaste and he pulls back to smile up at Jinki once again.
This time he smiles that mischievous smile that Jinki loves so much and Jinki raises an eyebrow at him, lets him take the lead. Taemin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and laughs as Jinki swiftly rises up, pulling Taemin with him, lifting him off the ground. Taemin’s legs swiftly wrap themselves around Jinki’s waist as the other man hugs him close. They kiss again, Jinki’s face cradled in Taemin’s hands. A soft kiss whose intensity rapidly grows desperate, ending only when Taemin leans back, nibbling at Jinki’s bottom lip.
“I love the things you do with your tongue”, Jinki whispers, a quirky look to his gaze. And as much as Taemin enjoys the sensation of Jinki’s lips on his he has more pressing needs, and by the look in his eye he suspects Jinki feels the same way.
He leans in and whispers, “I love the things you let me do with my tongue”, squeaking in surprise as Jinki adjusts his grip around Taemin’s waist. They laugh as Jinki takes them to the bedroom, Taemin still in his arms, their travels hindered by hungry kisses. He turns around in the doorway, taking the last few steps backward to fall onto the bed, still unmade from the morning, Taemin muttering a soft “oof!” as he falls on top of Jinki, legs tucked awkwardly beneath his body.
He scooches his feet out, his knees on either side of Jinki’s waist and leans down to kiss him again, languidly, pressing the intensity of before down. He’s still clear-headed enough to want to take his time, enjoy the moment, and he knows that if he teases Jinki long enough Jinki will give him what he wants.
And it happens, fast. He grins as Jinki sits up, fingers threaded through Taemin’s hair. He keeps his hair on the longer side just for these moments, just long enough for Jinki to run his fingers through, to shield his eyes. His head is pulled back, his exposed neck now leveled with Jinki’s eyes and he feels a shiver ripple through his entire body from the burn in his scalp as Jinki pulls tight. Yes, finally, yes. Jinki leans forward and bites at the pulse point on Taemin’s neck, the vein prominent beneath the stretched skin and Taemin gasps, the bite brief but deep, not quite enough to leave a mark and covered quickly with a kiss.
It is a trick, the gentle pressure after the sting meant to dilute the discomfort. It is a trick Taemin doesn’t need, but the ebb and flow of pain and pleasure is a sensation he enjoys nonetheless. His shirt is slipped over his head, and Jinki moves from his neck to his shoulders to his chest; the spikes causing his breath to hitch and his hips to begin grinding in Jinki’s lap.
The last action earns him a slap on the ass from Jinki’s open hand and a terse “Wait your turn”. Taemin stills and sighs and lets Jinki continue his ministrations, one hand still in his hair and the other now cupping his ass as he grows hard. Taemin’s breaths deepen as he works to keep his body still and not react to what Jinki is doing with his hands and teeth. It is excruciating and he knows that Jinki knows that it is taking everything in Taemin’s willpower to maintain this pose. And, as always, just as he’s about to break, Jinki moves back up and gives Taemin a gentle kiss to his cheek, caressing his hair gently, matting down the mess he has made in the strands.
“Now”, he murmurs into Taemin’s ear, leaning back on his elbows and smiling smugly at Taemin who watches him move. Taemin licks his lips, a habit he knows he has because Jinki has told him so but one that he is never aware of when he does it. He leans forward, hooking his fingers through the waistband of Jinki’s sweatpants and pulling them down slowly, Jinki raising his hips to help. He slides them down muscled legs, over pale feet, and tosses them to the floor beside him. His favorite part comes next, when he pulls Jinki’s shirt over his head and the lean muscle underneath is exposed. Jinki is now completely naked and Taemin knows what he needs to do, what he wants to do.
He licks his lips again and climbs back onto the bed, between Jinki’s legs spread open in invitation, his cock already half-hard and resting to the side. He doesn’t see the look of amusement on Jinki’s face, doesn’t see the glint in his eye as he leans down, his lips already parted as he takes Jinki’s dick in hand and licks a long stripe from the base to the tip, blowing gently on the moisture he leaves behind.
Jinki sighs and mutters something Taemin doesn’t hear as he continues his attentions, his tongue laving up and down the swollen flesh followed by a cool exhalation, a combination that causes Jinki to grow hard in his hand and against his tongue. He takes the head into his mouth and listens with delight as Jinki sucks a breath in through his teeth. He has practiced and practiced but Jinki is too thick for him to take in all the way so he uses his fingers to reach what his lips can’t, wrapping them around the base and smearing the saliva and precum with one hand, his empty hand gripping Jinki’s bare thigh. He absorbs the echoes of the moans escaping Jinki’s lips, the dull thud as his head falls back against the headboard, and the steady cacophony of sounds Taemin’s mouth is making. Far too soon he feels Jinki’s fingers back in his soft strands and his head is jerked back, Jinki leaning forward and wrapping his arm tight around Taemin’s waist, forcing him to look down from where his head leans back in Jinki’s hand.
“Do you want something Taemin?” Taemin nods as much as Jinki’s grip will allow, his lips dark and shiny, his pupils blown and eyes heavy.
“What do you want?” Jinki’s voice is so gentle, so quiet. Taemin finds it mesmerizing when he does this, when he takes control. His mind goes blank and everything he does breaks down to one instinct: please Jinki. And he knows it pleases Jinki to make Taemin beg and wait; he frequently does both, patiently and obediently. But he also knows that it pleases Jinki to please Taemin. This is one of the moments where Jinki will give him anything and everything he wants. Even those things that make Jinki nervous, the ones he’s still unsure of, the ones whose accoutrements sit quietly in a metal case on Taemin’s side of the closet, too large to fit under their bed. Taemin doesn’t want those tonight. Tonight he just wants Jinki. He takes a few deep breaths, knowing what that does to Jinki and knowing that he is going to need them soon.
They speak in code, their own language, and Taemin whispers what he wants, the words only Jinki will understand. Jinki lets go of his hair again and smooths his palm over the mussed strands. He keeps their bodies locked tight as he rolls them over, his body now on top of Taemin’s. Taemin loves this, he needs this, the pressure of Jinki on top of him, tangible and hot, sweaty and safe.
It’s Jinki’s turn to undress Taemin, kissing his thighs and knees as he pulls his ripped jeans off. He stretches over Taemin’s naked body to rummage through the drawer of the table beside their bed. There’s lubricant in there and he pulls it out, pouring some out into Taemin’s outstretched hand before tossing it back. He grits his teeth and takes a sharp breath as the lube warmed by Taemin’s hands is smoothly applied. He kisses him as he pushes in, inhaling the gasp Taemin lets out as he relaxes his muscles and adjusts to the stretch, his body familiar with Jinki’s girth.
The rhythm is slow at first, Jinki rocking them back and forth in tandem, Taemin’s legs resting on either side. His fingers play with Jinki’s hair as they nip at and suck on each other’s lips, Taemin groaning when Jinki bites down a little harder than necessary. Jinki begins increasing the tempo, his strokes deeper and quicker. Taemin wraps his legs around Jinki’s waist, adjusting his position and bringing Jinki even closer to himself, his arms wrapped around Jinki’s neck.
He can feel the muscles in Jinki’s body contract as he moves inside of Taemin, can feel the texture of his dick inside his body, his own cock caught between them. The heat created between their bodies is making them sweaty, making their movements smoother. Their room resonates with furtive grunts and guttural moans, muted thumps as Jinki’s hips pin Taemin to the mattress again and again, the sound of naked skin pressing against bare flesh. Taemin’s mouth hangs open as he gasps for air, his breath coming in ragged drags, and he feels lightheaded from all the stimulation. He whispers Jinki’s name, affirmations, and the occasional profanity. His voice is ragged and pitched and he suddenly feels hollow as Jinki pulls away from him, sliding out completely.
He whimpers as he’s pulled down to the edge of the bed, his hips placed just above the edge. Jinki slips back in and starts up again, his pace steady and strong, hands braced on either side of Taemin’s shuddering body. He presses his hands to Jinki’s chest, staring into his eyes and it’s not long before he feels his already heated body begin to warm from the slight shift in angle. The one Jinki knows he likes, the one he didn’t even have to ask for, his legs spread wide and hanging over the edge, his feet bouncing in the air.
As he feels his climax build he grabs at Jinki’s bicep with one hand and reaches up to grab Jinki by the neck with the other, pulling him down into a bruising, sloppy kiss. Jinki pulls away, pressing their damp foreheads together before leaning back, looking down at Taemin with dark eyes.
“I want you to look at me Taemin. I want to watch.” Taemin nods, desperate, willing to do anything and everything Jinki asks of him. His lips are caught again, sucked into Jinki’s mouth, and then kisses are peppered along his jaw. Taemin’s head drops back, his back arched, body rocking in rhythm with Jinki’s thrusts and his dick now in Jinki’s hand. His breathing grows deeper, ragged, his ability to catch his breath slipping away as he comes, his nerves on fire and every molecule in his body vibrating with sensation.
He is still gasping, still slipping back into reality when he hears the shift in Jinki’s breath, the rising tone of his groans, and he watches silently as Jinki’s mouth drops open and his eyes scrunch up, head flung back as he climaxes, filling Taemin’s body with heat. He loves that feeling, loves that Jinki leaves a piece of himself every time they have sex, that he leaves his marks both outside and inside Taemin’s body. He smiles his blissful post-coital smile up at Jinki who has an equally loopy grin on his face. Jinki pulls out of Taemin and falls gently to his side, stretching his arm out and Taemin nuzzles in, kissing his rib as he moves up to rest his head on Jinki’s arm, one leg tossed over Jinki’s as they lay sprawled over the mess of sheets; sweaty, sticky, and sated.
~Today~
“How’s it going back there?”, Jinki’s voice calls from down the hall. Taemin can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, cabinets opening and the muffled thud of ingredients, bowls, measuring cups, and spoons being dropped onto the counter. He’s making banana pancakes and an awful lot of noise; it’s making it difficult for Taemin to concentrate on the print-out in his hand. He forgets to respond, muttering to himself as he compares the list in his hand with the open suitcase before him, perched at the end of the bed. He touches each item as he reads it off the list, scratching the name off with a pen he keeps in his mouth.
The old black leather toiletry kit is pulled out again, the contents compared to the items on the list. His toothbrush is cute, one that is highlighted by two colors, green and yellow, and which folds in half making it easy to tuck away for travel. It sits in a plastic bag to keep it as sanitized as possible, the thought of naked bristles rubbing against the fabric of the kit making Taemin slightly nauseous. There is also a travel sized toothpaste, plastic box with a bar of soap, small bottle of shampoo, pill box with enough medication to last him a few days, and a comb. There’s no razor because he doesn’t have enough vacation days to warrant one.
Looking at all the tiny bottles and boxes makes Taemin feel like a giant. He throws his arms over his head, paper still in hand, and declares himself ruler of this tiny town. It is in this stance that Jinki finds him. He stands in the doorway bemused, watching silently as Taemin continues to threaten to wreak havoc on the tiny inhabitants of the imaginary town if they do not concede to his authority. While still blustering on, demanding complete obedience of his will, he turns just enough to catch Jinki’s figure out of the corner of his eye and he jerks violently, the paper in his hand flying through the air and fluttering to the ground like freshly fallen snow.
He snatches the page up, his eyes wide and his face flushed. Tentatively he asks, “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to know that you would be a tyrannical leader.” Taemin flashes him an impish grin.
“We can’t all be benevolent overlords.”
Jinki slaps him on the butt, leans in and whispers, “You know you like it.” Taemin’s smile deepens as he turns back to his packing.
It was Gwiboon who had made the list and sent it to Taemin, along with a note that he could thank her for the favor by coming to her next play. A musical, an original, with a few of the tracks penned by her on-again off-again girlfriend Junghee who currently fell into the on-again category. He always enjoys Gwiboon’s plays, they are typically quite good, and the songs Junghee had previously written were very nice. A little sappy and slow for Taemin’s taste, but they reflected Junghee’s personality well; thoughtful and intense, tending to be about either unrequited love or passionate love depending on where on the spectrum she was in her relationship with Gwiboon.
She had it bad for Taemin’s friend and Taemin suspected Gwiboon knew just how bad and kept running away because she felt it too. To be fair, she had been quite upfront about her discomfort with monogamy and had always dated multiple people at once. But Junghee was different. Not in a way that would force Gwiboon to change a fundamental part of her personal identity, but in a way that softened her edges a little. She made Gwiboon blush and giggly, actions she was not commonly known for. She was nicer and calmer when they were together, two traits that probably itched her to her core, and Taemin hoped that she didn’t end up losing Junghee.
He had known Gwiboon since they were children, had grown up together, and attended the same schools. She was two grades above his, and they’d become friends in middle school when her abrasive personality abruptly made her a social pariah. His timid nature had left him one of the few people the more popular girls couldn’t bully into silence; he wouldn’t speak to her on his own but he wouldn’t stop her if she decided to speak with him. It was an odd pairing, though comfortable. She spoke a lot and he listened, never quite sure when or how to respond, stumbling over his words more than once and not producing the reaction she’d been anticipating. More often than not, however, they got along, a gentle, teasing friendship that he was grateful to have.
The intrigue of seeing how her current interactions with Junghee were playing out was slightly outweighed by Taemin’s aversion to crowds, the noise and the heat from strangers’ bodies creating an anxiety that was difficult to quell. He needed something to do with his hands and he had been instructed that cell phones and hand jobs were inappropriate in such a venue. He had stuck the note on the refrigerator beneath the pineapple magnet, the one with jiggly eyes that makes Jinki smile, mildly hoping that something would come up to keep him from having to endure sitting still for hours in a rush of strangers.
Jinki has returned to the kitchen and Taemin joins him, watching as he ladles batter onto a bubbling griddle, and slipping his hands around his waist.
“I’m going to miss you.”
Jinki chuckles, his eyes on the batter as it grows to an absurd size: He is serious about his pancakes.
“It’s only for the night. I’ll join you tomorrow morning. You won’t even notice that I’m not there.”
Taemin stills. The only sound is the sizzle of the pan as the pancake cooks.
“I don’t like waking up without you.”, he whispers softly. Jinki gently takes Taemin’s hands from around his waist and turns from the stove.
“I know. But I’ll call you, you’ll wake up to my face even if I’m not there. It’s just this once.” He pulls Taemin close and kisses him on the forehead. Taemin needs this, this pressure from Jinki’s body, this tangible connection to the present so he won’t remember the past and become sad, won’t think about the future and lose himself to his own anxieties. He needs to take this trip; he needs to see his brother. It’s been years and it’s time. They eat their pancakes at the kitchen table, Taemin’s hand fluttering back and forth between a tight fist to the side of his plate and resting on Jinki’s leg. In reciprocity, Jinki plays with Taemin’s foot, bouncing it on his own and gently rubbing his toes up Taemin’s naked legs causing Taemin to jerk and shiver at the sensation.
After the scrapes of their knives and forks against the plates quiets down Jinki goes to take a shower, leaving Taemin in charge of the clean-up. He rinses the dishes and loads them into the dishwasher, scrubbing the griddle by hand. He nearly starts the machine when he remembers that Jinki is still in the shower and instead sets a timer for twenty minutes, the shrill one that he hates but will be certain to hear, time enough he thinks for Jinki to finish bathing. Studying the suitcase still lying open on the bed he runs through the list one last time, his fifth, to confirm that he has everything on it and to distract himself from his own apprehensions.
He smiles softly at the sight of the little box of snacks Jinki has put together for him, little treats to keep him from getting too hungry and being forced to stop in unfamiliar places while on the road, a shy shrug of his shoulders and a “It makes me feel helpful” when he was caught. He had teased him about it, had slipped his arms around Jinki’s neck and murmured “My domestic god”, receiving a slap on the ass and a kiss that flirted between chaste and obscene and an edict to “get packing” in response.
Once certain that everything on his list is now packed in his suitcase he zips it up and tugs it off the bed, rolling it noisily down the hall and propping it up next to the door, the place he is most likely to remember to grab it from when he leaves.
If Jinki were coming with him it would have been a simple two-day, two-night trip. Jinki would have driven while Taemin slept, hiding from his nerves, and he would have arrived refreshed and ready for his visit with Minho. But he wants to do this himself, to prove that he can, so he will be traveling alone today. Besides, Jinki needs to go into the office this afternoon work on a project that is near completion, one that he hopes they will be able to finish today. He’s taken the next three days off so that he can join Taemin, visit his mom, and drive them back home. He’ll take the train tomorrow morning to the nearest city where Taemin will pick him up. It will be nearly an hour round-trip drive by the roads Taemin will take, the fields of tumbleweeds and bridges over the rushing river a beautiful but slow route.
Like the trip he’ll take this afternoon.
He’s nervous but it is an all-encompassing-no-specific-reason nervous, and he’s pressing it down by focusing on his excitement to return to his hometown, the place where he grew up and where he and Jinki had met. It is a small town that has grown from a rural community into a suburb, absorbed into a nearby town that is still too small to be called a city. He hasn’t been to visit in years, not since they moved across the state for a job offer he eagerly encouraged Jinki to accept.
Jinki emerges from the bedroom dressed in jeans and a “Star Wars” T-shirt, his clothes casual for the weekend. The timer dings violently in the kitchen, startling them both.
“What was that for?”
It takes Taemin a moment to remember, the action completely forgotten while he had been packing.
“I didn’t want to start the dishwasher while you were still in the shower,” he says as he heads down the hall into the kitchen and shuts the door of the machine all the way, the soft click a prelude to the whir of the appliance as it begins its cycle. It hums gently in the background as Taemin leans against the counter, arms wrapped around his waist as a sudden wave of anxiety and nausea overtakes him making his vision blurry and his breaths short. Seeing the sudden shift, Jinki walks over and pulls him into his arms, the smell of his soap soft and his body warm, one hand stroking Taemin’s hair and the other placed firmly against his back. He holds him quietly, giving Taemin a chance to relax and catch his breath.
“Hey, it’s going to be fine.” Jinki can’t know that but Taemin still nods into his shoulder, turning his head to rest it against his firm chest. He takes a few deep breaths and closes his eyes.
“What are you scared of?” It’s a question that Jinki often asks, one meant to help him focus, one never asked with the condescension his parents had when they had asked him the same as a child. If Taemin cannot think of an answer, one that Jinki cannot help him rationalize, then he trusts that it is his mind playing tricks.
“I’m nervous about driving by myself, about spending the night away from you.”
“Is that everything?” Taemin pauses to think.
“Yeah.”
“What about seeing Minho?” He smiles.
“I’m not nervous about seeing Minho.” He sighs a little, the sadness threatening to creep in. “I miss him,” he whispers softly. Jinki nods, his hand still stroking Taemin’s hair gently and he leans into the touch.
“Are you more nervous about the drive or excited about seeing Minho?” Taemin has had this conversation before, had already answered these questions but he had forgotten his answers and he finds the repetition comforting.
“Excited.”
“Then take that, focus on that. You can do it, you got this.”
Taemin breathes deeply and pushes gently away from Jinki. “Thanks.”
“Always.”
Taemin smiles and leans in to give Jinki a kiss, soft and languid, breathing each other’s air, the taste of the other on their lips. Taemin’s hands card through Jinki’s hair, Jinki’s hands at his waist; their final farewell.
Twenty minutes later, with bruised lips and a satiated smile, Taemin finds himself waving one last time at Jinki who stands at the head of their driveway watching him leave. The pack of snacks and his leather satchel ride in the seat next to him, his suitcase in the trunk. His phone is plugged into the dashboard, a playlist he put together for the drive loaded and playing softly in the background: he’ll turn it up once he’s on the road. He swallows down the rising panic and resists the urge to turn back into the driveway, to scratch the planned trip in favor of the familiarity of home. The thought of not seeing Minho, however, is overwhelming, the sadness threatening to overtake him. He knows he will feel better for having visited, that these impulses are not ones he wants to act on.
It is a long drive and an odd one, the scenery changing dramatically as he leaves the city from lush evergreens and majestic mountains to farmland and flat terrain that expand for miles with no end in sight. He spends the first few hours passing through only the smallest towns, blips on the map, places lucky to have a library and where the grocery store is locally owned. He decides to stop in one, decides to take a chance.
Having caught his eye, he pulls into the driveway of a diner with an enormous giraffe attached to the roof. He steps out of the car, surprised by the warmth of the day, and takes a picture with his phone, sending it to Jinki who he knows will get a laugh out of the sight. When he enters the restaurant he finds it cool yet cozy, a break from the summer heat. To his disappointment it is not themed. Though he wants to ask about the statue outside, he cannot work up the courage to do more than order his food and thank the waitress as she fills his cup with ice water. When she brings his meal, and asks if there’s anything more he needs, “Ketchup? Mustard?”, he says no and thanks her, watching as she leaves, knowing she’ll return. She does, multiple times. He wishes she would stop turning her attention to him but he understands it is her job and he repeats the words he knows will keep their exchanges short.
“Everything’s great. Thank you.” She smiles and moves on and he breathes a sigh of relief.
He checks his phone a few times while he eats, surprised at how tasty his food is, not expecting Jinki to text back but still hoping for a message anyway. He texts Gwiboon too, the one friend who is sure to answer his message, attached constantly to her phone, sending her the photo of the restaurant. She texts him back a poop emoji and warns him about the source of meat in small town diners. He laughs just as his phone vibrates again with a second message, a quick “how r u doin?” It’s a question that he finds both comforting and yet slightly irritating because he had just managed to calm his nerves, focusing on his food and on his phone a sufficient distraction. He types out a quick “ok” with a smiley face and sets his phone back on the table.
The next few hours go by quickly, the only tension to the rest of his trip comes when he is momentarily blinded by the setting sun, his sunglasses and sun shade not strong enough to protect his eyes from the thing itself. The trip could have been much faster, nearly half as long in fact, he would have arrived hours ago if he had taken the freeway. He prefers to take the backroads, the rural highways that take him through the small towns.
Some of them are clean and pretty, manicured lawns and historical markers hung throughout their main street. Some have stands on the side of the road covered by striped awnings with hand-painted signs advertising local produce. A few are sad to travel through; dilapidated houses and dirt yards, areas that have seen better days though not for a very long time. They’re real, familiar, and in some ways remind him of his hometown. Their roads are slow and interesting, a striking contrast to the freeway he detests, littered with signs notifying motorists of the available hotels, restaurants, and gas stations at each exit, the speed and passing cars making him dizzy.
It is dark when he arrives, and still warm. He’s used to the cooler climate of the coast, the area’s moderate temperature maintained by a high elevation and an influx of cold air blown in from the various bodies of water that surround the city. Here the heat is captured by the valley and held hostage well into the night. It is pleasant during spring and autumn, though even in summer the temperatures rarely rise above ninety degrees. And it is a dry heat.
He unplugs his phone, slips his satchel over his shoulder, and pops the trunk, pulling out his suitcase, a quick beep echoing through the parking lot as he remotely locks the car on his way into the hotel. It’s more out of habit than any actual concern that his car may be stolen. His check-in goes smoothly, though it takes longer than he expected; it’s not his first time in a hotel, but it is his first time checking in to a hotel. While the clerk processes his credit card, he manages to ask about the continental breakfast so that he won’t have to struggle to find it in the morning, glancing over at the room the manager points to. Finally, the card key is handed to him with an accompanying “Have a good night” and he begins heading down the hall.
The room is small and clean, light sharp in the darkened room. There is a window that will provide him with a striking view of what passes for mountains on this side of the state when the sun rises in the morning. For now, it provides him with a moon that is full and bright. He slips the strap over his head and drops his satchel on the spare bed, hoisting his suitcase up beside it. Pulling out his phone, he checks eagerly for a message from Jinki, disappointed but not surprised when he doesn’t find one: Jinki’s total immersion when he’s focused on a project often causes him to forget that there is a world outside of his graphs and charts.
He types a quick message to Jinki to let him know that he’s arrived before placing the phone on the stand between the two beds and flopping down onto the empty one. He tucks his hands under his head and stares at the ceiling, waiting for Jinki’s message, hoping that at this late hour he will finally have remembered to take a break. He’s tired, very tired, it was a long drive, and he’s nearly fallen asleep when his phone starts playing the ringtone assigned specifically for Jinki, the one that makes him blush when they’re in public. He sits up and grabs it off the table, swiping his thumb across the screen and grinning as Jinki’s face comes into view.
“Hey,” Jinki says blearily, rubbing his face with an open hand and Taemin’s grateful to know that he won’t be driving home in this state.
“Hey.”
“How was your trip?”
“Uneventful. Nice, quiet, the usual back roads.”
“Good. I got your picture. I can’t believe they had a giraffe on their roof.”
Taemin laughs and tells him how the inside was actually designed like a 50s diner, a fact that Jinki laughs a little too hard at.
“How are you doing?”, Taemin asks, “You look exhausted.”
“Don’t try to boost my ego with hollow flattery, it will get you nowhere.”, he replies, making Taemin chuckle. “I am exhausted but we’re almost done. I think we have maybe an hour of work left and then we can call it a night.”
“That’s good.”
“Have you eaten?”
“I finished up your snack box before I got in. I’m not really hungry.” Jinki nods and they’re able to talk for only a few minutes more before there is a muffled voice off-screen and Jinki says he has to go.
“Hey,” Jinki says, his tired smile brightening, “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Taemin smiles and blows a silly kiss at Jinki who laughs and pretends to juggle it in his free hand, acting as though he may drop it any minute. He tucks the “kiss” into an imaginary shirt pocket, winks, and then disappears from Taemin’s screen.
Still holding the phone in his hands he lets it drop onto his chest and lies back, his head resting against the pillow still tucked under the patterned bedspread, unsure what to do now. As tired as he is he’s also a bit energized from finally being off the road, his travels across the state completed. He’s also a little sad because he can’t remember the last time he fell asleep alone; it happens so rarely. Sitting up, he places the phone back on the stand, pulling a pillow out from under the bedspread. Walking over to the other bed, he begins to search through his suitcase until he finds what he’s looking for.
Pulling Jinki’s dark gray hoodie out of its plastic bag, he zips it over the standard issue white pillow case. He clutches the pillow to his chest, inhaling the scent of Jinki embedded in the fabric and immediately feels the tension lift. He’ll rest a few minutes like this, get his bearings, and then he’ll brush his teeth and prepare for bed. That way, hopefully, he’ll be ready to see Minho in the morning.
~
Taemin wakes up in a panic. He is cold and disoriented and his hand can’t find purchase; there is nothing but mattress and worn sheets beneath his palms. He’s woken too early. Though the sun shines brightly through the gaps between the curtains and the window, when he grabs his phone off the side table the numbers tell him he still has twenty minutes before Jinki is going to call.
Jinki. That’s what’s wrong. He remembers he’s alone and for a moment he can’t breathe. His head throbs and it feels as if the air above him is pressing down, mockingly staying out of reach of his lungs and burying his body beneath its full weight. Rolling into a fetal position, he hugs the pillow wrapped in Jinki’s hoodie tight against his chest, eyes closed as he counts backwards from one hundred slowly, murmuring each number with what little breaths he can manage.
He’s supposed to count back by sevens, the struggle to figure out which numbers come next intended to work as a distraction to his panicked mind. But that’s like math and Taemin is not skilled at math, doesn’t need the extra anxiety this practice induces, so he counts back each number one at a time. By the time he hits forty-seven the pressure has dissipated and when he reaches eighteen he’s breathing normally. He might be more concerned that it took so long, he’s gotten so much better at this in the last few years. However, he knew he was pushing himself by taking this trip alone and that this was his mind’s way of pushing back. What was important now was that it had passed and he could open his eyes again.
He stays in that position a little longer, adjusting to the emptiness and the silence. Slowly he unravels, pulls the covers back and slips his legs to the floor, sitting up. He’s still a little dizzy but he can manage so he stands, picking up his phone and his small toiletry bag, and carrying them both with him into the bathroom where he places them on the counter. He bustles around a bit, relieving himself and splashing cold water on his face, brushing his teeth and avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He takes his meds with a sip of warm water, and when Jinki doesn’t call he takes the phone back into his room.
He’s a bit anxious and he needs something to do with his hands so he takes a chance and attempts to make the bed. Even his careful examination of how the other bed has been made doesn’t help him and he’s left with a crooked, lumpy mess of sheets and bedspread. Sighing, he pulls Jinki’s pillow back against his chest, and waits for the call.
It’s an eternal three minutes from the last time he checks his phone to when he hears his phone ring, snatching it up and swiping the screen to answer the call, smiling happily when he sees Jinki’s mussed hair and sleepy eyes on his screen. Jinki’s clearly propped his phone up on a pillow, his head resting on a bent elbow.
“Hey.” Jinki croaks out groggily, his voice raw and Taemin laughs.
“Hey Aurora,” he replies, a joke about the depth of Jinki’s sleep. Jinki rolls his eyes and rubs his face with the hand not propping his head up and Taemin wants to reach out and touch the bristles across his face, to feel them scrape against the pads of his fingers.
“How’d you sleep?” Taemin stiffens slightly and he can tell by the subtle shift in Jinki’s gaze that he’s noticed. He manages a tense “Fine”, and immediately regrets being terse: he doesn’t want their morning together spoiled by his morning alone. He wants to apologize but he doesn’t have the words and he knows Jinki doesn’t like it so he racks his brain to come up with something to say.
“The sheets are a bit scratchy but they smell like bleach and it makes me want to go swimming. There’s a pool, you should pack your shorts.” It’s a throwaway thought and Jinki chuckles, nods non-committedly, and Taemin likes the way Jinki’s eyes are slowly blinking awake.
“I missed you this morning.” It’s a confession, toeing the line between telling Jinki how bad it was and a simple acknowledgement of his absence. Jinki reads between the lines and responds as though it’s the latter.
“I missed you too. I didn’t realize how much space you take up. This bed is huge!” He wriggles around for emphasis, keeping his head on his elbow but moving his butt in the air. Taemin laughs despite the pang the thought of Jinki being pleased to be alone causes him. He knows it wasn’t meant that way so he blinks the thought away and tells Jinki not to get too comfortable.
“The beds here are smaller. I’ll take up even more room tonight.”
“I look forward to it.” There’s a soft pause between them and Taemin finds himself wishing for the hours to pass, for Jinki to arrive.
“I’m thinking of having breakfast in the little cafeteria they have in the lobby. Save some money so we can have a nice dinner.” It’s a question as much as it is a statement and one that Jinki answers with an affirmation and an assertion that he had already planned that they would eat out that night. He presses Taemin to choose a venue and he responds that, if it’s still in business, he’d like to try the Korean BBQ restaurant that had just set up as they moved out.
He wants to keep Jinki on the line, to plug in his headphones and have him accompany him to the cafeteria so that he won’t be alone and so that he’ll be left alone. But Jinki needs to get up and get ready and he doesn’t actually need Jinki this time, just wants him, and he’ll see him tonight so he takes a breath and says good-bye, says “I love you too” before the line disconnects and he’s again alone.
The phone slips from his hand onto the bed as he decides to take a shower. The water is warm but not hot, the spray strong but not striking, and it’s everything that isn’t home. The soap and shampoo he packed are miniature versions of the ones that smell like Jinki and his life on the other side of the state. The scent helps him relax and build up the confidence he’ll need to get his free breakfast. He uses the hotel towels though because they smell like bleach, and because he didn’t have room in his luggage for his own.
He dresses quickly; dark blue jeans, a loose black T-shirt, black sneakers, and the hoodie he had slept with through the night, the hood pulled tight over his head. The tiny room is packed when he arrives at the doorway, overlapping voices echoing loudly in the small space. The additional sound of plastic scraping against Styrofoam is too much so he turns around and heads back to his room where he fiddles with things, watches a little TV, and watches the clock.
After half an hour he tries again, relieved to find it empty, almost eerily still. The selection is simple; fruit that looks out of place, sugary cereals, milk, coffee, and bagels. He fills up a bowl with Fruit Loops and smears a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese. He’d take his food back to his room if he thought he could sneak it down the hall without shaking. Instead he rushes his meal, glancing at the door every few minutes to make sure no one else comes in. No one does so he takes the chance and has a second serving before tossing his bowl, spoon, plate, and knife in the garbage bin and heading back to his room. He takes off the hoodie, packs up his phone, wallet, and room key in his satchel, and slips into a jacket that is far too warm for the weather: black wool body and leather sleeves designed to keep out a chill that doesn’t exist.
There’s no rush for his visit to Minho, he’s not expecting to be there until the afternoon, and he needs just a little more time to think, to clear his head and decide what he wants to say, how he wants to say it. There are some places he wants to visit, places he should wait until Jinki arrives tonight to see, to visit together in the morning. So he puts them off and goes to the ones that are important to him, the ones he keeps for himself. It’s not that he doesn’t let Jinki see them, it’s not that they’re secrets that he keeps; after six years together there very few secrets left between them. These are just...places he prefers to be alone in.
The library for instance, his refuge when he was younger and one of the few places he felt safe among strangers, knowing that he would be left alone. He pulls into the parking lot, pausing to admire and photograph the mural outside the entrance, reading the dates and taking a close-up shot of the drawing that means the most to him, the one that makes him sigh. It’s quiet inside, and cool. He breathes in the smell of old books and squints in the not-quite-bright-enough light, brushing his fingers against the spines and listening to the shuffle and shift of the other few patrons. He wanders around slowly, swathed in calm and nostalgia.
His next stop is the park with the caged birds, the nets over their yards always a source of consternation for him when he was a child: what was the point of being a bird if you weren’t allowed to fly? He still feels a pang of sympathy to see them as he walks from his car to the display. The only birds that make sense in this prison are the peacocks; flightless avian whose primary purpose in life is to strut around and be seen. Still, it seems unfair that these beautiful birds are trapped in all this netting while the ducks and geese float and fly freely across the road, gathered around the pond at the edge of the park. He buys a bag of birdseed from the automated dispensary at the entrance and walks through the enclosure slowly, studying and photographing the display, tossing in the kernels as the mood hits.
When he’s through, he heads over to the pond with the ducks and geese and takes pictures of the fountain in the center of the water, the birds, and the benches that surrounded it. He knows there’s a pavilion at the far end that is hidden unless one knows it’s there and he finds himself under its shade, watching the ripples on the water and feeling calm. It’s still a foreign feeling, one that he has slowly become more familiar with, and it’s welcome and he stays still as long as he can to let it in. He leaves only when his phone rings in his hand and it is then that he realizes it’s time to visit Minho, time to pick up the things for their picnic.
Strolling through the aisles is arduous and yet not because while he hates shopping alone, and therefore rarely does, he is in a market he has known since he was a child, one that he shopped at with Minho, and his parents, until they were teenagers. And he is hungry. He purchases cold fried chicken, potato salad, green beans, fresh fruit, and two bottles of root beer, grabbing assorted cutlery and napkins from the deli area. He asks for a paper sack because he likes the sound it makes when it crinkles and because a plastic bag just seems wrong for a picnic.
The drive over is long, Minho is clear across town, and he spends the time fidgeting in his seat and tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel, the car silent because he can’t concentrate on this drive with the music playing. The gates are open and he drives in, over the pavement, up and down the lots until he finds Minho’s place. He grabs the bag of food and a blanket from the back seat and steps out, the sound of paper crinkling sharp against the quiet of the early afternoon.
He walks across the lawn up to where Minho rests, waiting for him in the shade. It’s a beautiful day, the sun bright, and there’s a soft breeze that keeps the heat from becoming stifling though it’s still too warm to wear the jacket. He does anyway, sentimentality overriding sensibility. He unpacks, placing the blanket on the ground and the food on top of it, leaving the lids on to keep out bugs. The yard needs a bit of a clean-up and he’ll tend to it after the meal, after he’s already messed his hands with food.
But for now he can’t help himself. He kneels down, reaching out and brushing his fingers against the dusty headstone, the one that says “Choi Minho, beloved son and brother”, the dates of his birth and death etched into the cold stone. He smiles softly, sadly, as he speaks to his brother the words he’s not been able to say for more than seven years.
“Hello Minho.”
Part Two
Pairing: Onew/Taemin
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Angst
Warnings: Discussions of death & mental illness
Final Word Count: 26,067
Author’s Note: Jinki's birth year has been changed from 1989 to 1991.
~Yesterday~
The room is silent, a soft breeze flowing through from the fan twirling overhead. The sun is setting, its rays through the blinds casting odd shadows on the walls and floor that Taemin watches from his perch on the sofa. It’s still hot, though it’s cooling swiftly, and Taemin’s head is resting on Jinki’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around Jinki’s waist and he feels safe. Jinki is reading a book on his tablet, a novel that Taemin has forgotten the name of, but that Jinki has been engrossed in for the last week. The gentle swipe of his thumb over the screen is the only movement he makes, his spare arm thrown over the back of the couch behind Taemin’s head.
They’ve been in this position for a while, about an hour he would guess. It was a busy day; a farmer’s market, a film, and lunch. The rush of the crowds has left him feeling overwhelmed and he needs to feel Jinki for a little bit longer.
When he’s relaxed enough he leans up and nuzzles Jinki’s neck, softly kissing the tender skin. Wordlessly, Jinki lays the tablet on the table beside him and turns to look down at Taemin. In this moment it is just the two of them, together, and Taemin feels at home. He leans up to kiss Jinki and hums softly when their lips meet. It is tender and it is chaste and he pulls back to smile up at Jinki once again.
This time he smiles that mischievous smile that Jinki loves so much and Jinki raises an eyebrow at him, lets him take the lead. Taemin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and laughs as Jinki swiftly rises up, pulling Taemin with him, lifting him off the ground. Taemin’s legs swiftly wrap themselves around Jinki’s waist as the other man hugs him close. They kiss again, Jinki’s face cradled in Taemin’s hands. A soft kiss whose intensity rapidly grows desperate, ending only when Taemin leans back, nibbling at Jinki’s bottom lip.
“I love the things you do with your tongue”, Jinki whispers, a quirky look to his gaze. And as much as Taemin enjoys the sensation of Jinki’s lips on his he has more pressing needs, and by the look in his eye he suspects Jinki feels the same way.
He leans in and whispers, “I love the things you let me do with my tongue”, squeaking in surprise as Jinki adjusts his grip around Taemin’s waist. They laugh as Jinki takes them to the bedroom, Taemin still in his arms, their travels hindered by hungry kisses. He turns around in the doorway, taking the last few steps backward to fall onto the bed, still unmade from the morning, Taemin muttering a soft “oof!” as he falls on top of Jinki, legs tucked awkwardly beneath his body.
He scooches his feet out, his knees on either side of Jinki’s waist and leans down to kiss him again, languidly, pressing the intensity of before down. He’s still clear-headed enough to want to take his time, enjoy the moment, and he knows that if he teases Jinki long enough Jinki will give him what he wants.
And it happens, fast. He grins as Jinki sits up, fingers threaded through Taemin’s hair. He keeps his hair on the longer side just for these moments, just long enough for Jinki to run his fingers through, to shield his eyes. His head is pulled back, his exposed neck now leveled with Jinki’s eyes and he feels a shiver ripple through his entire body from the burn in his scalp as Jinki pulls tight. Yes, finally, yes. Jinki leans forward and bites at the pulse point on Taemin’s neck, the vein prominent beneath the stretched skin and Taemin gasps, the bite brief but deep, not quite enough to leave a mark and covered quickly with a kiss.
It is a trick, the gentle pressure after the sting meant to dilute the discomfort. It is a trick Taemin doesn’t need, but the ebb and flow of pain and pleasure is a sensation he enjoys nonetheless. His shirt is slipped over his head, and Jinki moves from his neck to his shoulders to his chest; the spikes causing his breath to hitch and his hips to begin grinding in Jinki’s lap.
The last action earns him a slap on the ass from Jinki’s open hand and a terse “Wait your turn”. Taemin stills and sighs and lets Jinki continue his ministrations, one hand still in his hair and the other now cupping his ass as he grows hard. Taemin’s breaths deepen as he works to keep his body still and not react to what Jinki is doing with his hands and teeth. It is excruciating and he knows that Jinki knows that it is taking everything in Taemin’s willpower to maintain this pose. And, as always, just as he’s about to break, Jinki moves back up and gives Taemin a gentle kiss to his cheek, caressing his hair gently, matting down the mess he has made in the strands.
“Now”, he murmurs into Taemin’s ear, leaning back on his elbows and smiling smugly at Taemin who watches him move. Taemin licks his lips, a habit he knows he has because Jinki has told him so but one that he is never aware of when he does it. He leans forward, hooking his fingers through the waistband of Jinki’s sweatpants and pulling them down slowly, Jinki raising his hips to help. He slides them down muscled legs, over pale feet, and tosses them to the floor beside him. His favorite part comes next, when he pulls Jinki’s shirt over his head and the lean muscle underneath is exposed. Jinki is now completely naked and Taemin knows what he needs to do, what he wants to do.
He licks his lips again and climbs back onto the bed, between Jinki’s legs spread open in invitation, his cock already half-hard and resting to the side. He doesn’t see the look of amusement on Jinki’s face, doesn’t see the glint in his eye as he leans down, his lips already parted as he takes Jinki’s dick in hand and licks a long stripe from the base to the tip, blowing gently on the moisture he leaves behind.
Jinki sighs and mutters something Taemin doesn’t hear as he continues his attentions, his tongue laving up and down the swollen flesh followed by a cool exhalation, a combination that causes Jinki to grow hard in his hand and against his tongue. He takes the head into his mouth and listens with delight as Jinki sucks a breath in through his teeth. He has practiced and practiced but Jinki is too thick for him to take in all the way so he uses his fingers to reach what his lips can’t, wrapping them around the base and smearing the saliva and precum with one hand, his empty hand gripping Jinki’s bare thigh. He absorbs the echoes of the moans escaping Jinki’s lips, the dull thud as his head falls back against the headboard, and the steady cacophony of sounds Taemin’s mouth is making. Far too soon he feels Jinki’s fingers back in his soft strands and his head is jerked back, Jinki leaning forward and wrapping his arm tight around Taemin’s waist, forcing him to look down from where his head leans back in Jinki’s hand.
“Do you want something Taemin?” Taemin nods as much as Jinki’s grip will allow, his lips dark and shiny, his pupils blown and eyes heavy.
“What do you want?” Jinki’s voice is so gentle, so quiet. Taemin finds it mesmerizing when he does this, when he takes control. His mind goes blank and everything he does breaks down to one instinct: please Jinki. And he knows it pleases Jinki to make Taemin beg and wait; he frequently does both, patiently and obediently. But he also knows that it pleases Jinki to please Taemin. This is one of the moments where Jinki will give him anything and everything he wants. Even those things that make Jinki nervous, the ones he’s still unsure of, the ones whose accoutrements sit quietly in a metal case on Taemin’s side of the closet, too large to fit under their bed. Taemin doesn’t want those tonight. Tonight he just wants Jinki. He takes a few deep breaths, knowing what that does to Jinki and knowing that he is going to need them soon.
They speak in code, their own language, and Taemin whispers what he wants, the words only Jinki will understand. Jinki lets go of his hair again and smooths his palm over the mussed strands. He keeps their bodies locked tight as he rolls them over, his body now on top of Taemin’s. Taemin loves this, he needs this, the pressure of Jinki on top of him, tangible and hot, sweaty and safe.
It’s Jinki’s turn to undress Taemin, kissing his thighs and knees as he pulls his ripped jeans off. He stretches over Taemin’s naked body to rummage through the drawer of the table beside their bed. There’s lubricant in there and he pulls it out, pouring some out into Taemin’s outstretched hand before tossing it back. He grits his teeth and takes a sharp breath as the lube warmed by Taemin’s hands is smoothly applied. He kisses him as he pushes in, inhaling the gasp Taemin lets out as he relaxes his muscles and adjusts to the stretch, his body familiar with Jinki’s girth.
The rhythm is slow at first, Jinki rocking them back and forth in tandem, Taemin’s legs resting on either side. His fingers play with Jinki’s hair as they nip at and suck on each other’s lips, Taemin groaning when Jinki bites down a little harder than necessary. Jinki begins increasing the tempo, his strokes deeper and quicker. Taemin wraps his legs around Jinki’s waist, adjusting his position and bringing Jinki even closer to himself, his arms wrapped around Jinki’s neck.
He can feel the muscles in Jinki’s body contract as he moves inside of Taemin, can feel the texture of his dick inside his body, his own cock caught between them. The heat created between their bodies is making them sweaty, making their movements smoother. Their room resonates with furtive grunts and guttural moans, muted thumps as Jinki’s hips pin Taemin to the mattress again and again, the sound of naked skin pressing against bare flesh. Taemin’s mouth hangs open as he gasps for air, his breath coming in ragged drags, and he feels lightheaded from all the stimulation. He whispers Jinki’s name, affirmations, and the occasional profanity. His voice is ragged and pitched and he suddenly feels hollow as Jinki pulls away from him, sliding out completely.
He whimpers as he’s pulled down to the edge of the bed, his hips placed just above the edge. Jinki slips back in and starts up again, his pace steady and strong, hands braced on either side of Taemin’s shuddering body. He presses his hands to Jinki’s chest, staring into his eyes and it’s not long before he feels his already heated body begin to warm from the slight shift in angle. The one Jinki knows he likes, the one he didn’t even have to ask for, his legs spread wide and hanging over the edge, his feet bouncing in the air.
As he feels his climax build he grabs at Jinki’s bicep with one hand and reaches up to grab Jinki by the neck with the other, pulling him down into a bruising, sloppy kiss. Jinki pulls away, pressing their damp foreheads together before leaning back, looking down at Taemin with dark eyes.
“I want you to look at me Taemin. I want to watch.” Taemin nods, desperate, willing to do anything and everything Jinki asks of him. His lips are caught again, sucked into Jinki’s mouth, and then kisses are peppered along his jaw. Taemin’s head drops back, his back arched, body rocking in rhythm with Jinki’s thrusts and his dick now in Jinki’s hand. His breathing grows deeper, ragged, his ability to catch his breath slipping away as he comes, his nerves on fire and every molecule in his body vibrating with sensation.
He is still gasping, still slipping back into reality when he hears the shift in Jinki’s breath, the rising tone of his groans, and he watches silently as Jinki’s mouth drops open and his eyes scrunch up, head flung back as he climaxes, filling Taemin’s body with heat. He loves that feeling, loves that Jinki leaves a piece of himself every time they have sex, that he leaves his marks both outside and inside Taemin’s body. He smiles his blissful post-coital smile up at Jinki who has an equally loopy grin on his face. Jinki pulls out of Taemin and falls gently to his side, stretching his arm out and Taemin nuzzles in, kissing his rib as he moves up to rest his head on Jinki’s arm, one leg tossed over Jinki’s as they lay sprawled over the mess of sheets; sweaty, sticky, and sated.
~Today~
“How’s it going back there?”, Jinki’s voice calls from down the hall. Taemin can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, cabinets opening and the muffled thud of ingredients, bowls, measuring cups, and spoons being dropped onto the counter. He’s making banana pancakes and an awful lot of noise; it’s making it difficult for Taemin to concentrate on the print-out in his hand. He forgets to respond, muttering to himself as he compares the list in his hand with the open suitcase before him, perched at the end of the bed. He touches each item as he reads it off the list, scratching the name off with a pen he keeps in his mouth.
The old black leather toiletry kit is pulled out again, the contents compared to the items on the list. His toothbrush is cute, one that is highlighted by two colors, green and yellow, and which folds in half making it easy to tuck away for travel. It sits in a plastic bag to keep it as sanitized as possible, the thought of naked bristles rubbing against the fabric of the kit making Taemin slightly nauseous. There is also a travel sized toothpaste, plastic box with a bar of soap, small bottle of shampoo, pill box with enough medication to last him a few days, and a comb. There’s no razor because he doesn’t have enough vacation days to warrant one.
Looking at all the tiny bottles and boxes makes Taemin feel like a giant. He throws his arms over his head, paper still in hand, and declares himself ruler of this tiny town. It is in this stance that Jinki finds him. He stands in the doorway bemused, watching silently as Taemin continues to threaten to wreak havoc on the tiny inhabitants of the imaginary town if they do not concede to his authority. While still blustering on, demanding complete obedience of his will, he turns just enough to catch Jinki’s figure out of the corner of his eye and he jerks violently, the paper in his hand flying through the air and fluttering to the ground like freshly fallen snow.
He snatches the page up, his eyes wide and his face flushed. Tentatively he asks, “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to know that you would be a tyrannical leader.” Taemin flashes him an impish grin.
“We can’t all be benevolent overlords.”
Jinki slaps him on the butt, leans in and whispers, “You know you like it.” Taemin’s smile deepens as he turns back to his packing.
It was Gwiboon who had made the list and sent it to Taemin, along with a note that he could thank her for the favor by coming to her next play. A musical, an original, with a few of the tracks penned by her on-again off-again girlfriend Junghee who currently fell into the on-again category. He always enjoys Gwiboon’s plays, they are typically quite good, and the songs Junghee had previously written were very nice. A little sappy and slow for Taemin’s taste, but they reflected Junghee’s personality well; thoughtful and intense, tending to be about either unrequited love or passionate love depending on where on the spectrum she was in her relationship with Gwiboon.
She had it bad for Taemin’s friend and Taemin suspected Gwiboon knew just how bad and kept running away because she felt it too. To be fair, she had been quite upfront about her discomfort with monogamy and had always dated multiple people at once. But Junghee was different. Not in a way that would force Gwiboon to change a fundamental part of her personal identity, but in a way that softened her edges a little. She made Gwiboon blush and giggly, actions she was not commonly known for. She was nicer and calmer when they were together, two traits that probably itched her to her core, and Taemin hoped that she didn’t end up losing Junghee.
He had known Gwiboon since they were children, had grown up together, and attended the same schools. She was two grades above his, and they’d become friends in middle school when her abrasive personality abruptly made her a social pariah. His timid nature had left him one of the few people the more popular girls couldn’t bully into silence; he wouldn’t speak to her on his own but he wouldn’t stop her if she decided to speak with him. It was an odd pairing, though comfortable. She spoke a lot and he listened, never quite sure when or how to respond, stumbling over his words more than once and not producing the reaction she’d been anticipating. More often than not, however, they got along, a gentle, teasing friendship that he was grateful to have.
The intrigue of seeing how her current interactions with Junghee were playing out was slightly outweighed by Taemin’s aversion to crowds, the noise and the heat from strangers’ bodies creating an anxiety that was difficult to quell. He needed something to do with his hands and he had been instructed that cell phones and hand jobs were inappropriate in such a venue. He had stuck the note on the refrigerator beneath the pineapple magnet, the one with jiggly eyes that makes Jinki smile, mildly hoping that something would come up to keep him from having to endure sitting still for hours in a rush of strangers.
Jinki has returned to the kitchen and Taemin joins him, watching as he ladles batter onto a bubbling griddle, and slipping his hands around his waist.
“I’m going to miss you.”
Jinki chuckles, his eyes on the batter as it grows to an absurd size: He is serious about his pancakes.
“It’s only for the night. I’ll join you tomorrow morning. You won’t even notice that I’m not there.”
Taemin stills. The only sound is the sizzle of the pan as the pancake cooks.
“I don’t like waking up without you.”, he whispers softly. Jinki gently takes Taemin’s hands from around his waist and turns from the stove.
“I know. But I’ll call you, you’ll wake up to my face even if I’m not there. It’s just this once.” He pulls Taemin close and kisses him on the forehead. Taemin needs this, this pressure from Jinki’s body, this tangible connection to the present so he won’t remember the past and become sad, won’t think about the future and lose himself to his own anxieties. He needs to take this trip; he needs to see his brother. It’s been years and it’s time. They eat their pancakes at the kitchen table, Taemin’s hand fluttering back and forth between a tight fist to the side of his plate and resting on Jinki’s leg. In reciprocity, Jinki plays with Taemin’s foot, bouncing it on his own and gently rubbing his toes up Taemin’s naked legs causing Taemin to jerk and shiver at the sensation.
After the scrapes of their knives and forks against the plates quiets down Jinki goes to take a shower, leaving Taemin in charge of the clean-up. He rinses the dishes and loads them into the dishwasher, scrubbing the griddle by hand. He nearly starts the machine when he remembers that Jinki is still in the shower and instead sets a timer for twenty minutes, the shrill one that he hates but will be certain to hear, time enough he thinks for Jinki to finish bathing. Studying the suitcase still lying open on the bed he runs through the list one last time, his fifth, to confirm that he has everything on it and to distract himself from his own apprehensions.
He smiles softly at the sight of the little box of snacks Jinki has put together for him, little treats to keep him from getting too hungry and being forced to stop in unfamiliar places while on the road, a shy shrug of his shoulders and a “It makes me feel helpful” when he was caught. He had teased him about it, had slipped his arms around Jinki’s neck and murmured “My domestic god”, receiving a slap on the ass and a kiss that flirted between chaste and obscene and an edict to “get packing” in response.
Once certain that everything on his list is now packed in his suitcase he zips it up and tugs it off the bed, rolling it noisily down the hall and propping it up next to the door, the place he is most likely to remember to grab it from when he leaves.
If Jinki were coming with him it would have been a simple two-day, two-night trip. Jinki would have driven while Taemin slept, hiding from his nerves, and he would have arrived refreshed and ready for his visit with Minho. But he wants to do this himself, to prove that he can, so he will be traveling alone today. Besides, Jinki needs to go into the office this afternoon work on a project that is near completion, one that he hopes they will be able to finish today. He’s taken the next three days off so that he can join Taemin, visit his mom, and drive them back home. He’ll take the train tomorrow morning to the nearest city where Taemin will pick him up. It will be nearly an hour round-trip drive by the roads Taemin will take, the fields of tumbleweeds and bridges over the rushing river a beautiful but slow route.
Like the trip he’ll take this afternoon.
He’s nervous but it is an all-encompassing-no-specific-reason nervous, and he’s pressing it down by focusing on his excitement to return to his hometown, the place where he grew up and where he and Jinki had met. It is a small town that has grown from a rural community into a suburb, absorbed into a nearby town that is still too small to be called a city. He hasn’t been to visit in years, not since they moved across the state for a job offer he eagerly encouraged Jinki to accept.
Jinki emerges from the bedroom dressed in jeans and a “Star Wars” T-shirt, his clothes casual for the weekend. The timer dings violently in the kitchen, startling them both.
“What was that for?”
It takes Taemin a moment to remember, the action completely forgotten while he had been packing.
“I didn’t want to start the dishwasher while you were still in the shower,” he says as he heads down the hall into the kitchen and shuts the door of the machine all the way, the soft click a prelude to the whir of the appliance as it begins its cycle. It hums gently in the background as Taemin leans against the counter, arms wrapped around his waist as a sudden wave of anxiety and nausea overtakes him making his vision blurry and his breaths short. Seeing the sudden shift, Jinki walks over and pulls him into his arms, the smell of his soap soft and his body warm, one hand stroking Taemin’s hair and the other placed firmly against his back. He holds him quietly, giving Taemin a chance to relax and catch his breath.
“Hey, it’s going to be fine.” Jinki can’t know that but Taemin still nods into his shoulder, turning his head to rest it against his firm chest. He takes a few deep breaths and closes his eyes.
“What are you scared of?” It’s a question that Jinki often asks, one meant to help him focus, one never asked with the condescension his parents had when they had asked him the same as a child. If Taemin cannot think of an answer, one that Jinki cannot help him rationalize, then he trusts that it is his mind playing tricks.
“I’m nervous about driving by myself, about spending the night away from you.”
“Is that everything?” Taemin pauses to think.
“Yeah.”
“What about seeing Minho?” He smiles.
“I’m not nervous about seeing Minho.” He sighs a little, the sadness threatening to creep in. “I miss him,” he whispers softly. Jinki nods, his hand still stroking Taemin’s hair gently and he leans into the touch.
“Are you more nervous about the drive or excited about seeing Minho?” Taemin has had this conversation before, had already answered these questions but he had forgotten his answers and he finds the repetition comforting.
“Excited.”
“Then take that, focus on that. You can do it, you got this.”
Taemin breathes deeply and pushes gently away from Jinki. “Thanks.”
“Always.”
Taemin smiles and leans in to give Jinki a kiss, soft and languid, breathing each other’s air, the taste of the other on their lips. Taemin’s hands card through Jinki’s hair, Jinki’s hands at his waist; their final farewell.
Twenty minutes later, with bruised lips and a satiated smile, Taemin finds himself waving one last time at Jinki who stands at the head of their driveway watching him leave. The pack of snacks and his leather satchel ride in the seat next to him, his suitcase in the trunk. His phone is plugged into the dashboard, a playlist he put together for the drive loaded and playing softly in the background: he’ll turn it up once he’s on the road. He swallows down the rising panic and resists the urge to turn back into the driveway, to scratch the planned trip in favor of the familiarity of home. The thought of not seeing Minho, however, is overwhelming, the sadness threatening to overtake him. He knows he will feel better for having visited, that these impulses are not ones he wants to act on.
It is a long drive and an odd one, the scenery changing dramatically as he leaves the city from lush evergreens and majestic mountains to farmland and flat terrain that expand for miles with no end in sight. He spends the first few hours passing through only the smallest towns, blips on the map, places lucky to have a library and where the grocery store is locally owned. He decides to stop in one, decides to take a chance.
Having caught his eye, he pulls into the driveway of a diner with an enormous giraffe attached to the roof. He steps out of the car, surprised by the warmth of the day, and takes a picture with his phone, sending it to Jinki who he knows will get a laugh out of the sight. When he enters the restaurant he finds it cool yet cozy, a break from the summer heat. To his disappointment it is not themed. Though he wants to ask about the statue outside, he cannot work up the courage to do more than order his food and thank the waitress as she fills his cup with ice water. When she brings his meal, and asks if there’s anything more he needs, “Ketchup? Mustard?”, he says no and thanks her, watching as she leaves, knowing she’ll return. She does, multiple times. He wishes she would stop turning her attention to him but he understands it is her job and he repeats the words he knows will keep their exchanges short.
“Everything’s great. Thank you.” She smiles and moves on and he breathes a sigh of relief.
He checks his phone a few times while he eats, surprised at how tasty his food is, not expecting Jinki to text back but still hoping for a message anyway. He texts Gwiboon too, the one friend who is sure to answer his message, attached constantly to her phone, sending her the photo of the restaurant. She texts him back a poop emoji and warns him about the source of meat in small town diners. He laughs just as his phone vibrates again with a second message, a quick “how r u doin?” It’s a question that he finds both comforting and yet slightly irritating because he had just managed to calm his nerves, focusing on his food and on his phone a sufficient distraction. He types out a quick “ok” with a smiley face and sets his phone back on the table.
The next few hours go by quickly, the only tension to the rest of his trip comes when he is momentarily blinded by the setting sun, his sunglasses and sun shade not strong enough to protect his eyes from the thing itself. The trip could have been much faster, nearly half as long in fact, he would have arrived hours ago if he had taken the freeway. He prefers to take the backroads, the rural highways that take him through the small towns.
Some of them are clean and pretty, manicured lawns and historical markers hung throughout their main street. Some have stands on the side of the road covered by striped awnings with hand-painted signs advertising local produce. A few are sad to travel through; dilapidated houses and dirt yards, areas that have seen better days though not for a very long time. They’re real, familiar, and in some ways remind him of his hometown. Their roads are slow and interesting, a striking contrast to the freeway he detests, littered with signs notifying motorists of the available hotels, restaurants, and gas stations at each exit, the speed and passing cars making him dizzy.
It is dark when he arrives, and still warm. He’s used to the cooler climate of the coast, the area’s moderate temperature maintained by a high elevation and an influx of cold air blown in from the various bodies of water that surround the city. Here the heat is captured by the valley and held hostage well into the night. It is pleasant during spring and autumn, though even in summer the temperatures rarely rise above ninety degrees. And it is a dry heat.
He unplugs his phone, slips his satchel over his shoulder, and pops the trunk, pulling out his suitcase, a quick beep echoing through the parking lot as he remotely locks the car on his way into the hotel. It’s more out of habit than any actual concern that his car may be stolen. His check-in goes smoothly, though it takes longer than he expected; it’s not his first time in a hotel, but it is his first time checking in to a hotel. While the clerk processes his credit card, he manages to ask about the continental breakfast so that he won’t have to struggle to find it in the morning, glancing over at the room the manager points to. Finally, the card key is handed to him with an accompanying “Have a good night” and he begins heading down the hall.
The room is small and clean, light sharp in the darkened room. There is a window that will provide him with a striking view of what passes for mountains on this side of the state when the sun rises in the morning. For now, it provides him with a moon that is full and bright. He slips the strap over his head and drops his satchel on the spare bed, hoisting his suitcase up beside it. Pulling out his phone, he checks eagerly for a message from Jinki, disappointed but not surprised when he doesn’t find one: Jinki’s total immersion when he’s focused on a project often causes him to forget that there is a world outside of his graphs and charts.
He types a quick message to Jinki to let him know that he’s arrived before placing the phone on the stand between the two beds and flopping down onto the empty one. He tucks his hands under his head and stares at the ceiling, waiting for Jinki’s message, hoping that at this late hour he will finally have remembered to take a break. He’s tired, very tired, it was a long drive, and he’s nearly fallen asleep when his phone starts playing the ringtone assigned specifically for Jinki, the one that makes him blush when they’re in public. He sits up and grabs it off the table, swiping his thumb across the screen and grinning as Jinki’s face comes into view.
“Hey,” Jinki says blearily, rubbing his face with an open hand and Taemin’s grateful to know that he won’t be driving home in this state.
“Hey.”
“How was your trip?”
“Uneventful. Nice, quiet, the usual back roads.”
“Good. I got your picture. I can’t believe they had a giraffe on their roof.”
Taemin laughs and tells him how the inside was actually designed like a 50s diner, a fact that Jinki laughs a little too hard at.
“How are you doing?”, Taemin asks, “You look exhausted.”
“Don’t try to boost my ego with hollow flattery, it will get you nowhere.”, he replies, making Taemin chuckle. “I am exhausted but we’re almost done. I think we have maybe an hour of work left and then we can call it a night.”
“That’s good.”
“Have you eaten?”
“I finished up your snack box before I got in. I’m not really hungry.” Jinki nods and they’re able to talk for only a few minutes more before there is a muffled voice off-screen and Jinki says he has to go.
“Hey,” Jinki says, his tired smile brightening, “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Taemin smiles and blows a silly kiss at Jinki who laughs and pretends to juggle it in his free hand, acting as though he may drop it any minute. He tucks the “kiss” into an imaginary shirt pocket, winks, and then disappears from Taemin’s screen.
Still holding the phone in his hands he lets it drop onto his chest and lies back, his head resting against the pillow still tucked under the patterned bedspread, unsure what to do now. As tired as he is he’s also a bit energized from finally being off the road, his travels across the state completed. He’s also a little sad because he can’t remember the last time he fell asleep alone; it happens so rarely. Sitting up, he places the phone back on the stand, pulling a pillow out from under the bedspread. Walking over to the other bed, he begins to search through his suitcase until he finds what he’s looking for.
Pulling Jinki’s dark gray hoodie out of its plastic bag, he zips it over the standard issue white pillow case. He clutches the pillow to his chest, inhaling the scent of Jinki embedded in the fabric and immediately feels the tension lift. He’ll rest a few minutes like this, get his bearings, and then he’ll brush his teeth and prepare for bed. That way, hopefully, he’ll be ready to see Minho in the morning.
~
Taemin wakes up in a panic. He is cold and disoriented and his hand can’t find purchase; there is nothing but mattress and worn sheets beneath his palms. He’s woken too early. Though the sun shines brightly through the gaps between the curtains and the window, when he grabs his phone off the side table the numbers tell him he still has twenty minutes before Jinki is going to call.
Jinki. That’s what’s wrong. He remembers he’s alone and for a moment he can’t breathe. His head throbs and it feels as if the air above him is pressing down, mockingly staying out of reach of his lungs and burying his body beneath its full weight. Rolling into a fetal position, he hugs the pillow wrapped in Jinki’s hoodie tight against his chest, eyes closed as he counts backwards from one hundred slowly, murmuring each number with what little breaths he can manage.
He’s supposed to count back by sevens, the struggle to figure out which numbers come next intended to work as a distraction to his panicked mind. But that’s like math and Taemin is not skilled at math, doesn’t need the extra anxiety this practice induces, so he counts back each number one at a time. By the time he hits forty-seven the pressure has dissipated and when he reaches eighteen he’s breathing normally. He might be more concerned that it took so long, he’s gotten so much better at this in the last few years. However, he knew he was pushing himself by taking this trip alone and that this was his mind’s way of pushing back. What was important now was that it had passed and he could open his eyes again.
He stays in that position a little longer, adjusting to the emptiness and the silence. Slowly he unravels, pulls the covers back and slips his legs to the floor, sitting up. He’s still a little dizzy but he can manage so he stands, picking up his phone and his small toiletry bag, and carrying them both with him into the bathroom where he places them on the counter. He bustles around a bit, relieving himself and splashing cold water on his face, brushing his teeth and avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He takes his meds with a sip of warm water, and when Jinki doesn’t call he takes the phone back into his room.
He’s a bit anxious and he needs something to do with his hands so he takes a chance and attempts to make the bed. Even his careful examination of how the other bed has been made doesn’t help him and he’s left with a crooked, lumpy mess of sheets and bedspread. Sighing, he pulls Jinki’s pillow back against his chest, and waits for the call.
It’s an eternal three minutes from the last time he checks his phone to when he hears his phone ring, snatching it up and swiping the screen to answer the call, smiling happily when he sees Jinki’s mussed hair and sleepy eyes on his screen. Jinki’s clearly propped his phone up on a pillow, his head resting on a bent elbow.
“Hey.” Jinki croaks out groggily, his voice raw and Taemin laughs.
“Hey Aurora,” he replies, a joke about the depth of Jinki’s sleep. Jinki rolls his eyes and rubs his face with the hand not propping his head up and Taemin wants to reach out and touch the bristles across his face, to feel them scrape against the pads of his fingers.
“How’d you sleep?” Taemin stiffens slightly and he can tell by the subtle shift in Jinki’s gaze that he’s noticed. He manages a tense “Fine”, and immediately regrets being terse: he doesn’t want their morning together spoiled by his morning alone. He wants to apologize but he doesn’t have the words and he knows Jinki doesn’t like it so he racks his brain to come up with something to say.
“The sheets are a bit scratchy but they smell like bleach and it makes me want to go swimming. There’s a pool, you should pack your shorts.” It’s a throwaway thought and Jinki chuckles, nods non-committedly, and Taemin likes the way Jinki’s eyes are slowly blinking awake.
“I missed you this morning.” It’s a confession, toeing the line between telling Jinki how bad it was and a simple acknowledgement of his absence. Jinki reads between the lines and responds as though it’s the latter.
“I missed you too. I didn’t realize how much space you take up. This bed is huge!” He wriggles around for emphasis, keeping his head on his elbow but moving his butt in the air. Taemin laughs despite the pang the thought of Jinki being pleased to be alone causes him. He knows it wasn’t meant that way so he blinks the thought away and tells Jinki not to get too comfortable.
“The beds here are smaller. I’ll take up even more room tonight.”
“I look forward to it.” There’s a soft pause between them and Taemin finds himself wishing for the hours to pass, for Jinki to arrive.
“I’m thinking of having breakfast in the little cafeteria they have in the lobby. Save some money so we can have a nice dinner.” It’s a question as much as it is a statement and one that Jinki answers with an affirmation and an assertion that he had already planned that they would eat out that night. He presses Taemin to choose a venue and he responds that, if it’s still in business, he’d like to try the Korean BBQ restaurant that had just set up as they moved out.
He wants to keep Jinki on the line, to plug in his headphones and have him accompany him to the cafeteria so that he won’t be alone and so that he’ll be left alone. But Jinki needs to get up and get ready and he doesn’t actually need Jinki this time, just wants him, and he’ll see him tonight so he takes a breath and says good-bye, says “I love you too” before the line disconnects and he’s again alone.
The phone slips from his hand onto the bed as he decides to take a shower. The water is warm but not hot, the spray strong but not striking, and it’s everything that isn’t home. The soap and shampoo he packed are miniature versions of the ones that smell like Jinki and his life on the other side of the state. The scent helps him relax and build up the confidence he’ll need to get his free breakfast. He uses the hotel towels though because they smell like bleach, and because he didn’t have room in his luggage for his own.
He dresses quickly; dark blue jeans, a loose black T-shirt, black sneakers, and the hoodie he had slept with through the night, the hood pulled tight over his head. The tiny room is packed when he arrives at the doorway, overlapping voices echoing loudly in the small space. The additional sound of plastic scraping against Styrofoam is too much so he turns around and heads back to his room where he fiddles with things, watches a little TV, and watches the clock.
After half an hour he tries again, relieved to find it empty, almost eerily still. The selection is simple; fruit that looks out of place, sugary cereals, milk, coffee, and bagels. He fills up a bowl with Fruit Loops and smears a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese. He’d take his food back to his room if he thought he could sneak it down the hall without shaking. Instead he rushes his meal, glancing at the door every few minutes to make sure no one else comes in. No one does so he takes the chance and has a second serving before tossing his bowl, spoon, plate, and knife in the garbage bin and heading back to his room. He takes off the hoodie, packs up his phone, wallet, and room key in his satchel, and slips into a jacket that is far too warm for the weather: black wool body and leather sleeves designed to keep out a chill that doesn’t exist.
There’s no rush for his visit to Minho, he’s not expecting to be there until the afternoon, and he needs just a little more time to think, to clear his head and decide what he wants to say, how he wants to say it. There are some places he wants to visit, places he should wait until Jinki arrives tonight to see, to visit together in the morning. So he puts them off and goes to the ones that are important to him, the ones he keeps for himself. It’s not that he doesn’t let Jinki see them, it’s not that they’re secrets that he keeps; after six years together there very few secrets left between them. These are just...places he prefers to be alone in.
The library for instance, his refuge when he was younger and one of the few places he felt safe among strangers, knowing that he would be left alone. He pulls into the parking lot, pausing to admire and photograph the mural outside the entrance, reading the dates and taking a close-up shot of the drawing that means the most to him, the one that makes him sigh. It’s quiet inside, and cool. He breathes in the smell of old books and squints in the not-quite-bright-enough light, brushing his fingers against the spines and listening to the shuffle and shift of the other few patrons. He wanders around slowly, swathed in calm and nostalgia.
His next stop is the park with the caged birds, the nets over their yards always a source of consternation for him when he was a child: what was the point of being a bird if you weren’t allowed to fly? He still feels a pang of sympathy to see them as he walks from his car to the display. The only birds that make sense in this prison are the peacocks; flightless avian whose primary purpose in life is to strut around and be seen. Still, it seems unfair that these beautiful birds are trapped in all this netting while the ducks and geese float and fly freely across the road, gathered around the pond at the edge of the park. He buys a bag of birdseed from the automated dispensary at the entrance and walks through the enclosure slowly, studying and photographing the display, tossing in the kernels as the mood hits.
When he’s through, he heads over to the pond with the ducks and geese and takes pictures of the fountain in the center of the water, the birds, and the benches that surrounded it. He knows there’s a pavilion at the far end that is hidden unless one knows it’s there and he finds himself under its shade, watching the ripples on the water and feeling calm. It’s still a foreign feeling, one that he has slowly become more familiar with, and it’s welcome and he stays still as long as he can to let it in. He leaves only when his phone rings in his hand and it is then that he realizes it’s time to visit Minho, time to pick up the things for their picnic.
Strolling through the aisles is arduous and yet not because while he hates shopping alone, and therefore rarely does, he is in a market he has known since he was a child, one that he shopped at with Minho, and his parents, until they were teenagers. And he is hungry. He purchases cold fried chicken, potato salad, green beans, fresh fruit, and two bottles of root beer, grabbing assorted cutlery and napkins from the deli area. He asks for a paper sack because he likes the sound it makes when it crinkles and because a plastic bag just seems wrong for a picnic.
The drive over is long, Minho is clear across town, and he spends the time fidgeting in his seat and tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel, the car silent because he can’t concentrate on this drive with the music playing. The gates are open and he drives in, over the pavement, up and down the lots until he finds Minho’s place. He grabs the bag of food and a blanket from the back seat and steps out, the sound of paper crinkling sharp against the quiet of the early afternoon.
He walks across the lawn up to where Minho rests, waiting for him in the shade. It’s a beautiful day, the sun bright, and there’s a soft breeze that keeps the heat from becoming stifling though it’s still too warm to wear the jacket. He does anyway, sentimentality overriding sensibility. He unpacks, placing the blanket on the ground and the food on top of it, leaving the lids on to keep out bugs. The yard needs a bit of a clean-up and he’ll tend to it after the meal, after he’s already messed his hands with food.
But for now he can’t help himself. He kneels down, reaching out and brushing his fingers against the dusty headstone, the one that says “Choi Minho, beloved son and brother”, the dates of his birth and death etched into the cold stone. He smiles softly, sadly, as he speaks to his brother the words he’s not been able to say for more than seven years.
“Hello Minho.”
Part Two