exo: once we were a fire burning
once we were a fire burning
→ baekhyun/kyungsoo ; 7,746 w.
→ the aftermath of whirlwind romances depend on how strong they were. kyungsoo's annihilated one half of his being.
→ written for sooenaemoured 2015. as always, thank you to G for being my pillar of support; you're the best! listened to this throughout the writing process, so if you'd like to put it on loop while reading the fic, that would be wonderful. ♡
Solitude isn't necessarily a bad thing, not when it comes with a seemingly endless supply of books and all the time in the world to pick them apart.
Kyungsoo has lost count of the number of times he's been in this bookstore, but every single time he lifts a book off its shelf and brushes away the thin sheen of dust clinging to its cover, the jolt of electricity that surges through him never dulls. It's the strangest combination of elemental powers at work. The excitement that strikes is as quick and poignant as lightning. The musty smell of the pages when he flips through them feels like the beginnings of a soft spring breeze. The helpless way he just loses himself when he starts reading, Kyungsoo has to admit, is almost too much like the way a boat would sink in a raging sea storm.
He picks the lone red book amidst all the other ones with blue, green and black spines. Part of the excitement of reading - of the written word in general - is its unpredictability. Going through the front cover, the acknowledgements, the foreword is like packing for a journey.
What follows is an adventure.
The scrape of his chair against the wooden flooring is drowned out by the loud tinkling of the bell attached to the door. A small gust of cool air floods into the store as Kyungsoo sets the book down on the counter.
His customer is a man no older than he is, simple shirt, loose-fitting trousers and unkempt hair. Kyungsoo has to bite back his surprise; this man looks more like the troublemaker street artist-busker type - not really the kind of person he'd expect to visit a bookstore, specialising in literature and history, no less.
"Oh, hi," his customer says. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and saunters towards the counter, a small bounce in his step. "I didn't expect to see someone else here. What happened to the usual ahjusshi?"
Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow. He's lived in this town all his life, and it's not all that big of a town, but he doesn't recall them ever having met.
"He was my neighbour." Kyungsoo tries not to think about the old man hobbling into the house next to his, body racking with coughs. His brows furrow in worry anyway. "He's been sick for years now, but his condition's gotten a lot worse lately. He asked me if I could take over running the store in his place."
The man nods. "Ah, I know. He's been having that cough for years. He was okay when I was here last week... hope he feels better soon, even if he's probably not going to come back to the store."
The conversation dies down, and comfortable silence wedges its way between them. Kyungsoo shuffles around a little bit, rests his fingers on the cover of the book as if to turn it. He's only just realised the golden embellishments on the spine. He looks up, fully expecting the customer to have wandered off among the bookshelves, but he's still there, standing in exactly the same spot, with the same curiously small smile lifting the corners of his lips.
Kyungsoo almost asks, "What?" But he doesn't, can't, really, so he opts to clear his throat and blink politely. "Can I help you?"
A laugh slips past the man's lips. Kyungsoo almost falters in his step. He's been sensitive to laughter for as long as he can remember. The books call it a pleasant sound of happiness, but they always forget to mention that it can also be mockery. It's almost always the latter if it's directed at someone without one arm. He's hyperaware of his sleeve brushing against the stump of his arm now, but he can't bring himself to look away like he always does. There's something about this man's laugh - it's not demeaning in any way. It's... pure. Like he hasn't even noticed the absence of Kyungsoo's arm, or that it just doesn't matter.
"You look like you really like books," the man replies matter-of-factly, shrugging his shoulders and tapping the cover. "I think the ahjusshi saw a bit of himself in you."
Kyungsoo clears his throat again, and he does avert his gaze this time. He hasn't ever consciously hid his love for books from anyone, but it's still mildly unnerving that a stranger he's just met is pointing out things about him. "Anyway," he says quickly, "what kind of books are you looking for?"
The man laughs again; he seems to like doing that. It sounds beautiful - sweet, a little rough around the edges, like rocks and waves and sand. Kyungsoo finds himself clutching the edge of the counter a little bit harder.
There's a curious glint in the man's eyes when he speaks. "Every time I come here, the ahjusshi recommends me a book." He rests his elbows on the counter, the smile on his face never faltering. "Since you're running the place now, how about you take over and rec me something you like?"
"You're a hundred percent okay with me just giving you a book like that? You don't want to narrow it down or anything?"
If anything, the man's smile seems to grow even wider. Kyungsoo tries not to wonder about how much brighter his face can get; it's unnerving. (And strangely soothing, but he doesn't need to know that.)
"Well, I was thinking of buying the book instead of you giving it to me," he jokes. Kyungsoo shoots him a pointed glare and realises too late that this is a customer he's talking to and he probably shouldn't do that, but the man across the counter doesn't seem to mind, eyes twinkling with mirth. "Just messin' with you. But yeah, anything's cool. It's nice to have someone else pick a book for you; the unpredictability is what makes it all fun anyway."
Kyungsoo knows he doesn't - couldn't possibly, even - mean any harm, but can't help eyeing him apprehensively. "Wait here," he finally concedes. It's not like he can say otherwise, but he finds that he doesn't quite mind. The edge in his voice is receding. "I'll be back."
He can feel a pair of eyes on his neck as he turns; the strangest thing is that it doesn't feel uncomfortable at all, just oddly prickly. There's the smallest flutter in his chest.
The storage shed, which Kyungsoo knows doubled as a personal reading space for the previous owner on quiet nights where there were no customers, had a reasonably sized bookshelf that Kyungsoo had taken to exploring on the first day he started work here. He'd discovered a collection of short stories he really liked, and had unconsciously spent an entire three hours reading it from cover to cover - at the counter, of course, he did technically still have a job to do.
The binding on The Crows Come Last is already coming loose, but it's still in one piece. For some reason, Kyungsoo doubts his very smiley customer would mind.
"Here," he says, sliding the book over the counter. "It's from the owner's personal collection."
The man picks it up, flips through the pages quickly and reads off the cover. "The Crow Comes Last... looks pretty good." He snaps it shut and moves to reach into the back pocket of his trousers, pulling out a few folded notes. "How much is this?"
3,500 won, Kyungsoo should say. Almost says. The words die off in his throat, and all he does is shake his head. "It's not in the store's inventory, technically, so I can't sell it. Keep it, borrow it, it's fine."
A smile - brighter than all the rest - is his answer, and Kyungsoo has to take a deep breath, almost as if all the air's been knocked out of his lungs. "Okay," the man chirps. "I'll bring it back once I'm done with it."
Kyungsoo can't find it in himself to come up with an answer, so he presses his lips into a thin line and nods. He can look away now, the man will leave, he can start reading, maybe his pulse will stop jumping-
"But you know," the man starts, picking up the book and clutching it to his chest, "I do need a name so I'll know who did me a favour today, and who I should return this book to." The sharp edges of his canines are peeking out from behind his lips, his smile cheekier now.
It's just his name. It's something he's said dozens of times in the twenty odd years he's lived. For some reason, though, it comes out as little more than a wisp. "Kyungsoo," he breathes. "Do Kyungsoo."
An appreciative smile, one last curious gaze, the tinkling of the doorbell again, and Kyungsoo is left with nothing but haunting images of a smile too bright to be true, and a beautiful name to match a beautiful face.
He tests the name on his tongue. "Byun Baekhyun."
The name registers more deeply than any of the words he reads from the book he'd picked out.
✧
Kyungsoo tries not to fumble over his breakfast when Byun Baekhyun saunters through the door the next morning, two books in his arms and the same shining smile on his face.
"W-What," is the intelligent greeting that slips past his defenses. Kyungsoo swears it's the cabbage he ate; it's been in the fridge a few days too long. "You've finished the book? Already?"
A soft thud echoes through the room as Baekhyun rests both books on the countertop and wrings his hands a bit. "Of course not, silly," he chides playfully, gesturing to the little tuft of the bookmark sticking out between the pages. "I am about two thirds of the way through, but I had to sleep, otherwise I wouldn't be able to wake up today. It's really good, though!"
Kyungsoo tilts his head to the side, silently prodding for a continuation he knows is coming, because of the way Baekhyun's chest is rising, almost as if preparing to share something he's excited about. "And...?"
"And," Baekhyun pushes the bigger, heavier book he'd been carrying with him. "You recommended a book to me yesterday, so I'm here to return the favour. This is one of my favourites! I've had it for a few years now and none of my friends want to read it because they hate stuff like this, but I figured you might, so I don't mind."
The book is a paperback one, but it's larger than the hardcover he'd lent Baekhyun yesterday. It's tattered and its pages are yellowed, chipping off at the edges, but the big, bold text on the front is still legible. Broken Harbour, it reads, black in stark contrast against a sketch of a ship docked by the pier. Baekhyun tells him it's one of the original manuscripts before the reprints were ordered.
"Thank you," Kyungsoo replies softly, pulling the book close and running his finger over the slightly embossed title. His eyes cautiously lift to meet Baekhyun's eager ones; they're sparkling like a child's on a bright summer's morning, but if anything, they're not childlike to Kyungsoo. They're joyful, but also wise, eyes that have read thousands of words and the stories they've strung together.
They're the eyes of a passionate reader.
A small gasp tumbles off Baekhyun's lips, and it makes Kyungsoo's train of thought come to screeching halt on its tracks. "What?" he asks.
Baekhyun shakes his head vigorously, suddenly alarmed at the possibility that Kyungsoo might have misunderstood. "No, no, I- you know..." He rubs the back of his neck, flashes Kyungsoo a sheepish smile. "It's just... that was the first time you smiled at me."
Of all the answers, that was the last thing Kyungsoo would ever have expected. He didn't even realise he'd smiled at Baekhyun, much less that he hadn't so much as smiled till now. Kyungsoo feels like sinking into the ground; it's basic shopkeeper etiquette that should be impossible to forget, even if it's only his first week on the job.
Kyungsoo tries his best not to stumble over his reply. "Oh, um, well, yeah. I mean, it's really nothing special, but... thanks."
Baekhyun leans close, so close that Kyungsoo can see the sharp twinkle in his eyes turn into something softer, gentler. It feels like the sun shrinking back on itself to be a star instead.
"Don't say that, please," Baekhyun pleads. His voice is so genuine, it stings Kyungsoo a little. Kindness like this is hard to come by, and the feeling is so foreign to his skin. "You have a great smile. You should smile more."
When Kyungsoo chances the tiniest of smiles at him, Baekhyun grins back like a superhero who's just finished his job and set the world right. It's painfully innocent, and it makes Kyungsoo's smile widen just that little bit more.
"There we go," Baekhyun says encouragingly, before walking off into the labyrinth of shelves in the store.
It takes Kyungsoo all of five minutes to gobble down the rest of his breakfast, and he wanders out in search of Baekhyun. He doesn't usually walk around the place - to be fair, it's not like he has something to search for, save the books he picks in the mornings - and maybe, just maybe, that's why he feels more lighthearted today. Like even the flickering lightbulb he hasn't bothered to replace and the dust on the shelves tucked deep in a corner of the store can't get to him.
He finally finds Baekhyun leaning against one of the shelves in the Japanese history section, skimming through a thin book that looks to be a pocket edition of something. "You like history?" Kyungsoo asks, taking quiet steps towards him.
Baekhyun laughs sheepishly and carefully tucks the book back into its rightful spot. "If it's something I can read, I'd like it."
"Did you like The Crow Comes Last?"
Kyungsoo makes himself comfortable standing next to Baekhyun, resting his back comfortably against the ridges of the shelves. Baekhyun's gaze flickers to the ceiling, then comes back full circle to rest on Kyungsoo. There's a tinge of hesitancy to his answer when he speaks next, like he's choosing his words carefully. "It's... how do I even put this? I loved it, it also made me kind of sad. I'm not sure if I love it because of that, or if it took away from me loving it. Does that make sense?"
"It does," Kyungsoo reassures him, tugging the sleeve of his shirt over the stump of his left arm. It's an unconscious habit he's developed whenever he stands next to someone. "Why did it make you sad, though?"
It takes a few moments of thoughtful silence before Baekhyun answers. "They're all short stories, and they're poetic and all, but that also makes them really ambiguous. It's like... the feelings hit you square in the gut and before you know it, it's over. Next story. Rinse and repeat."
Kyungsoo's honestly never thought of it that way before, but comparing it to the way he felt when he was first reading it, Baekhyun's analogy feels so familiar. It's part of the reason why he enjoys discussing books with other people; there will always be someone who relates to the way you feel but words their ideas in different ways. Sometimes, in ways that are so powerful, they leave a sweet ache in your chest.
"I felt that way too, when I first read the book," Kyungsoo says, turning to gaze at Baekhyun. "The impact is like - for lack of a better word, ground zero."
Baekhyun's gaze matches his in intrigue; he opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again, as if to ask Kyungsoo a question he can't quite phrase. Finally, Baekhyun tilts his head, a gesture for Kyungsoo to follow him, please and what is this? and what are we doing? all melting into the brown orbs of his eyes.
Kyungsoo follows, no questions asked, no words needed.
They sit themselves on the foot of the stairs that leads up to the second floor of the store, which is mostly just unused boxes and old books that have fallen into disrepair.
"You know, I've always believed that the books you read and share with people says a lot about who you are." It's so unlike Baekhyun, to breach a subject so carefully. Kyungsoo's only known him for all of two days, but it still feels so strange. "The book is so... poignant, bittersweet. And as I was reading it, it made me wonder about what kind of person you are."
A pause, and then, softly, so softly, "So tell me, Do Kyungsoo. What kind of person are you? Who are you?"
Kyungsoo takes a deep breath, but it's not enough. It's never enough when he needs to address questions like these. What oxygen can't seem to give him, though, Baekhyun's gentle smile seems to make up for it, and Kyungsoo feels a slight burst of trust in his being - like he doesn't mind telling Baekhyun, just because Baekhyun is Baekhyun. Maybe telling strangers things are easier than having to answer to someone you know.
"Like I said, I'm nothing special. I was the good kid in school - the one who always did his homework, was on time for class after lunch break. I'm probably just like you." Kyungsoo shrugs, but he knows it's a lie. How could he ever compare to the radiance of Baekhyun's smile? For comparison's sake, he tells himself.
Baekhyun doesn't push him to continue, and just waits. For just a moment, Kyungsoo contemplates dropping the subject, but his right hand makes its way to his left shoulder. It grazes over where his arm tapers off into an abrupt end.
"I'm just like anyone else, except I couldn't do sports, or the heavy lifting. I couldn't lift boxes for the school festival. I couldn't play basketball or baseball or any of that." He lifts his left shoulder a bit for good measure and lets it fall. "I was born without an arm, and I suppose that was kind of a one-way ticket to being raised without my parents too. They left me with an aunt who never saw them again."
Very few people ever manage to surprise Kyungsoo - the people around him tend to fall into this odd pattern of predictability. That could be why books and their fictional universes appeal to him so much, and now, Baekhyun as well.
"Does it matter?"
Kyungsoo's eyes widen. "What?"
"I said, does it matter?" Baekhyun is too close now, bridging the distance between them in too few breaths. His fingers close gently around the stump of Kyungsoo's arm, but Kyungsoo doesn't wrench away. "Does it matter if it doesn't make you any less of a person inside?"
Baekhyun looks him straight in the eye. "Does it still matter, if I said I think it's made you who you are today, and that person is beautiful?"
✧
It takes Kyungsoo a good five minutes of wrenching the key this way and that before it finally fits into the keyhole of his front door. He cringes as the door swings open with the shrill creak of brittle metal, and makes a mental note to get someone - anyone - to take a look at the lock when he has the time.
Maybe Chanyeol could do something about it. He does work in servicing old cassette tape sets and does stay halfway across town, but Kyungsoo's running out of ideas. His social circle isn't the biggest.
He bends down to pick up the envelopes chucked haphazardly into the gap between his main door and the floor. The utility bill reminds him that it's already the start of a new month, and there's a receipt from the store he'd bought a radio set from a couple of weeks ago. A third envelope, folded in half and smaller than the conventional ones, has his name and address handwritten instead of the standard typewritten font face for official mail.
Kyungsoo elbows his door closed, places the other letters on his writing desk and sits down to examine the envelope. The penmanship is faintly recognisable, like he's seen it before but not in an exceptionally long time.
The paper inside is still crisply folded, of reasonably better quality than most of the notebooks in Goyang. Kyungsoo wets his lips and slowly begins to read the letterhead, and with a start, he remembers who this could be from. It's the only person who ever sends him mail anyway.
Kim Junmyeon was his best friend in grade school - one of the only people who wouldn't laugh at him for choosing to read indoors than go outside to play catch, the person who'd walk with him to the crossroads before they part ways to their own houses. Junmyeon's family was reasonably well-off even after the Japanese occupation, due to their ranking in the government, and he'd moved to Seoul at the age of nine. Kyungsoo honestly hasn't seen him since, but Junmyeon makes it a point to write to him periodically. It used to be once in a few months, but as they grew older - and, Kyungsoo supposes, begun working - their correspondence dwindled down to once or twice a year. Post is still relatively expensive, and he knows it takes a while before letters ever even reach its destination if it's not within the same area.
Junmyeon's handwriting, Kyungsoo notices, never quite changes. It's still cursive, beautiful loops and ends in fine ink, but always legible. Kyungsoo's never asked Junmyeon what he works as now; probably a government official, or maybe an educator. He wonders what kind of person Junmyeon is now.
The dim lighting in his room isn't doing much to help matters, but Kyungsoo can still read the words. Junmyeon tells Kyungsoo that he's a Navy officer now, and that he's gotten engaged to Jongin, a girl he'd met in his final years of high school. Kyungsoo remembers her - she's tall, pretty, very lean; Junmyeon had attached a photo of them together in one of his previous letters.
There's talk going around that worries Jongin, though. Kyungsoo sits up slightly straighter, attention piqued. People say that North Korea's planning to invade us soon... and war's going to break out, and all that. I'm not sure about this because I honestly haven't heard anything from the higher-ups, but it's been in the rumour mill for weeks.
Just a heads' up. They might start calling men in from the smaller towns soon.
Kyungsoo only skims through the rest of the letter, then stuffs it in his drawer and lies down on his bed. Junmyeon means well - he always does. He won't be asked to enlist with the military because of his disability; Kyungsoo knows this, and knows Junmyeon knows he knows. What Junmyeon probably didn't have the heart to write, however, is I'm just telling you so maybe you can start preparing your goodbyes.
Kyungsoo almost wants to laugh. He doesn't have anyone to say goodbye to; not really, at least. Maybe he'd pop by and wish the old man next door good health. There's Chanyeol, and Junmyeon, whom he'll likely never see again. His parents are gone, and his aunt passed away when he was in middle school.
He doesn't bother changing out of his clothes, and falls asleep with an arm pressed over his eyes to block out the lights. It works, but the images of Baekhyun's earnest gaze and soft smile still lingers behind his closed eyelids.
✧
Weeks pass as quickly as they possibly could in a small town on the outskirts. Kyungsoo still chooses a random book to read every morning (he hasn't run out just yet), it's quiet as ever, and Baekhyun still visits the store almost every other day. Kyungsoo still lets him borrow books, and sells them to him if Baekhyun likes them enough to want to keep them.
(Baekhyun keeps every book.)
It becomes painfully difficult to pretend that day didn't happen, to push it into the very recesses of his mind and let it float back to the surface only when he's alone in his room, hovering in the space between lucidity and dreams. The day where - for the first time - instead of laughing at him, or averting their gaze and saying "I'm sorry", someone had asked him if his disability really mattered. Someone had looked past his lack of an arm, and called him beautiful. Baekhyun had called him beautiful.
Baekhyun had walked into the store two days later like nothing ever happened; his smile was still as bright, laugh still as melodious. If anything, Kyungsoo should've gotten used to them by now, but he hasn't. People tend to have difficulty coming to terms with things they consider out of this world.
"Whatcha doing?"
The question comes out more like a song, and Kyungsoo can't help but smile as he looks up. Over the weeks, he's come to learn that Baekhyun likes to sing - everywhere, whenever he feels like it. Baekhyun lives with an older brother a few streets down, and he works multiple jobs on different days. It's Tuesday today; he should've helped out at the postal company earlier.
Kyungsoo keeps his breathing even. It wouldn't do to let Baekhyun know that he fits perfectly in the rhythm of Kyungsoo's heartbeat - erratic, mildly excited. No way.
"Writing my book," Kyungsoo replies, gesturing at the typewriter in front of him. There's a thick stack of paper to his right, and a mug of warm tea to his left. His writing workspace never quite changes, no matter if it's grade school homework or novel crafting. "I've always wanted to be an author."
Baekhyun lifts the last sheet of printed paper with two delicate fingers, gaze meeting Kyungsoo's as if to say May I? Kyungsoo shrugs and shakes his head. I don't mind.
A grin breaks out on Baekhyun's lips. This one is controlled, intrigued, like he's still trying to process something in his head. It's not like Kyungsoo's been observing the kinds of smiles Baekhyun has; certainly not unconsciously memorizing them. Of course not. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?" Baekhyun says cheekily.
Kyungsoo takes a sip from his mug to hide the small, giddy tremble in his lips. Baekhyun smoothens the piece of paper on the countertop and begins to read. "What's this about?" he asks.
"This one is about a girl who's forced to move around the country a lot, but discovers herself in the different places she goes to. Like each place contributes to her development as a person, so a journey of self-discovery, I guess." Kyungsoo scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.
There's a hint of excitement in Baekhyun's voice. "What d'you mean 'this one'? You have more?"
Kyungsoo hastily moves to correct himself. "No, no, I mean- no, it's just that I've been working on a book forever, but I always write halfway and then feel really iffy about it," he says. Baekhyun returns the sheet of paper to the stack, but never takes his eyes off Kyungsoo, as if silently prodding him for a continuation. "I just haven't found a story I wrote that really clicks with me. Something I'm really passionate about, and something I know I can publish without regrets."
"Perfectionist," Baekhyun teases, and earns himself a punch to the shoulder. "Ow!"
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and huffs a bit, but he knows it never works. It's like the fuel to the fire that is Baekhyun's grin - it just grows and shines that much brighter in the dark. (He does wonder if one day it'll become all-consuming, like a flame that burns its mark into anyone it passes.)
"But no, really," he sighs, giving in, "this is my third manuscript. I still don't even feel strongly about this one."
Baekhyun leaves the counter abruptly then, and Kyungsoo's mind begins to race - did I say something I shouldn't have? did he just get tired?. Two heartbeats, and Baekhyun rounds the corner then, with Kyungsoo's coat and an idea in hand.
"You'll find your muse, but you won't find it being holed up in here. What d'you say to closing up early today?"
✧
For a Tuesday evening, the town is relatively quiet. There isn't usually much activity going on either way, but it's as if a blanket of tranquility has settled over them. Kyungsoo keeps thinking there's construction work going on, though, or maybe army firing practices, but then he remembers it's just the violent collision of his heart against his ribcage. He's half afraid it'll just fall out of his chest completely, if not for Baekhyun's hand wrapped tightly around his, anchoring it where it's supposed to be.
Kyungsoo finds it irrationally difficult to focus on anything else but the fit of their fingers, perfect down to the tiny crooks of Baekhyun's slender ones. It's as if they fill the little gaps in each other's lives. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from tightening his grip.
A woman sweeping dried leaves off her compound sees them, and Kyungsoo can hear her cluck her tongue. It's surprisingly loud over the beating of his heart, so he tries to concentrate on Baekhyun's soft humming instead.
Softly, Baekhyun pulls him to the right, into one of the stores. Kyungsoo catches a glimpse of the signboard before he steps through the door; it's a place selling musical instruments. He hardly even realised that they'd walked as far as the square in the centre of town, where all the main shops are. It's slightly more happening here - Kyungsoo can see children playing in the square, old men chattering around the tables and benches.
"Do you like music?"
The thing about Baekhyun, Kyungsoo realises, is that even though he's asking questions all the time, he never once looks at Kyungsoo expectantly. He's just curious, perhaps genuinely interested to learn about an equal, not about a person who's different from him. It makes Kyungsoo want to keep him happy.
He squeezes Baekhyun's hand gently, applies the slightest pressure and feels his heart constrict from the warmth between their skin. It's not even fair. "Yeah."
The smile Baekhyun replies with is just as warm, and Kyungsoo finds himself being pulled towards the grand piano in the middle of the room. It strikes an odd sense of awe in him; it's just a piano, nothing he hasn't seen in pictures or read about in books, and it's been in production in Korea for the longest time. Maybe it's because he doesn't step into music stores often, partly because he can't afford the instruments on sale anyway, and because he wouldn't be able to play them even if he did.
Kyungsoo fights back a sad smile, but Baekhyun's jaw tightens. For the first time, the grin falls off his face, just for the briefest of moments, and he turns to the shopkeeper behind the counter. "Excuse me," he calls. "Can you turn that off?"
Kyungsoo's eyes follow Baekhyun's line of sight and realises he's gesturing towards the radio set perched on the shelf. The news is being read, but Kyungsoo had hardly even noticed the background noise. The South Korean military has begun issuing summons for all able men-
"There, son, y'happy?" the shopkeeper grumbles, eyeing Baekhyun haughtily.
"Much better," Baekhyun calls cheerfully, turning back to Kyungsoo. His smile is in place again, so perfect that it looks like it never left. "Sit here with me?"
Baekhyun inches over to make space for Kyungsoo on the piano seat; the air immediately feels cold around his hand when Baekhyun releases his grip. It's a lonely kind of cold, and Kyungsoo wants more than anything to take Baekhyun's hand in his again, but he stops short when he sees Baekhyun positioning his fingers over the piano keys. They're a work of art on all on their own - long and sculpted, bent in perfect angles.
"I used to write music," Baekhyun murmurs, as if afraid someone else would overhear, as if keeping this moment all to themselves. "This is one of my favourites."
The piano is a brilliant, versatile maker of music - the most classic of classical music instruments. People say you can play any form of music on the piano; it doesn't matter if it's slow or upbeat, if it's new or old. Kyungsoo reckons people don't often mention that the right people could play something that's more than just music. They could play emotions, beauty, wonder. It becomes more than just pressing keys; the right people make their listeners' hearts their personal piano keyboard, and strike every last chord there is.
The right people are often called musical geniuses.
Kyungsoo begs to differ, and thinks it was all probably referring to Byun Baekhyun.
Baekhyun's piano piece is eerily beautiful, in the most haunting, sad kind of way. It's not the kind of song that starts off slow and builds into a moving chorus. It's sad, sad all the way through, but Kyungsoo can pick out grace and beauty in that sadness. Each note transitions seamlessly from one to the other as Baekhyun's fingers glide over the keyboard, everything deliberately yet effortlessly thought out, down to the pressure on the keys and pedals.
For lack of a better word, everything about this - the music, Baekhyun, being here with Baekhyun - is breathtaking. It's exceptionally hard for Kyungsoo to speak when Baekhyun finishes the piece, eyes closed, breathing deep, hands withdrawing from the keyboard to rest on his lap, corners of his mouth curved upwards in a private smile.
When Baekhyun opens his eyes, Kyungsoo feels like all the air in his lungs has been forcefully ejected from him. It should leave him feeling empty, but all he feels is full and warm and so, so at home.
"So... do you like my music?" Baekhyun asks. The question comes out like a child's whisper, meek and soft, nothing like the grandeur of his usual confidence.
Kyungsoo takes a deep, deep breath. Articulation feels so hard now. "I loved it," he says gently. As if on impulse, he leans over and brushes a hand over Baekhyun's fingers. "You have a gift. Thank you."
Baekhyun's fingers twitch under his skin. "For what?"
"For sharing it with me. For inspiring me." He lifts his gaze to meet Baekhyun's. They're so close now that Kyungsoo can feel Baekhyun's breath against his face. Their shoulders are bumping. He doesn't need to look to know where to fit his fingers; they slide against Baekhyun's in a way that makes Kyungsoo feels he's complete.
Maybe he is. He's spent years writing about characters who pine for love and travel halfway across the world to find it. He never really wrote about love being your neighbour, or about love walking up to your doorstep.
"For being my muse."
✧
If he ever moved to Seoul, Kyungsoo reckons he'd miss a lot of things. One of the things he'd miss the most would be the night sky.
He's read about it in Junmyeon's letters, overheard it in conversations between passing teenagers or elderly folk who've travelled. The sky in the city is nothing but a blanket of darkness, heavy and blank, a reflection of the industrialising society under it. You can't see the stars at all!, Junmyeon wrote once. If you're lucky, you'll be able to see one star, but even that's really dull. It's nothing like the skies at home.
From here, lying down on a patch of grass with the wind in his hair and Baekhyun's hand in his, Kyungsoo can see the tiny little lights from the town below them, hundreds and hundreds of stars burning above him, and home.
Home in the man next to him, laughing softly and pointing out the brightest stars above.
After the music store, Baekhyun had taken Kyungsoo for a walk around town, to see the little things that have escaped him from years of being in school and now, weeks of being pent up in the bookstore. Kyungsoo never realised they'd built a small fountain in the second square, or that a new toy shop had opened, or that someone - "No one knows who, no one's ever seen them!" - has been going around placing flowerpots along walkways.
Evening was falling quickly on them, the sky already beginning to turn dark. The lampposts flicker on, yellow orbs of light in the dusk. "Do you trust me?" Baekhyun had asked.
Kyungsoo had no reply, other than a small smile that said all he needed to say. Baekhyun led him out of the town, to the outskirts where the railroads are, and climbed up a ledge that connected ground level to the top of a low hill.
What awaited was a small clearing between the trees, close to a low-hanging cliff that overlooked the town. It had felt almost magical, enclosed from the rest of the world by a ring of trees, with the town he'd grown up in lying unawares beneath them and nothing but an endless expanse of sky above.
"How did you even find this place?" Kyungsoo asks, after Baekhyun's laughter dies down and comfortable silence settles into the distance between them.
Baekhyun turns to rest on his side and chuckles. "I wasn't exactly the best of students, you know. I used to come here every day just for fun. Maybe it was just to escape reality for a little while, I don't know, but it was my personal refuge. Like I knew no one would find this place, except me."
Kyungsoo scoffs lightly, but there's no menace to it. He grins teasingly at Baekhyun, and it feels liberating. He's never felt so light for as long as he can remember. "Well, now I've found it, so too bad, Byun."
He isn't sure what he was expecting. Maybe a grin, like the one he saw the first day Baekhyun walked into the bookstore. Maybe a laugh, the sweet song that Kyungsoo never could get enough of. Maybe a witty reply, like, "Technically, you didn't find it, I brought you here."
He can't say he was expecting Baekhyun to lean over him, press both hands into the ground next to his face and whisper, "And I've found you." He can't say he expected the kiss that followed either, the press of their lips that feels like a thousand stars exploding all at the same time.
Kyungsoo arches upwards, threading his fingers through Baekhyun's hair, resting on the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer, drinking him in until there's not an inch of space between them. One of Baekhyun's hands is pressed to his cheek, the other around his torso, holding him in place.
Kyungsoo's head is spinning. Perhaps it's the lack of oxygen, or the fact that his heart feels like it's been jumpstarted; he's no medic but beating a mile a minute definitely isn't healthy. Or maybe it's just that Baekhyun's lips are moving in perfect tandem with his, tongue gliding over his bottom lip and against the roof of his mouth.
"God," Baekhyun breathes, when they're through chasing each other's lips, panting heavily. He leans his forehead against Kyungsoo's and rests a thumb over his mouth, caressing it gently. "God, you're amazing."
A laugh bubbles out of Kyungsoo's lips. "I want you," he murmurs. "I want to love you and be with you. I want you."
Baekhyun gives up resistance. Their respite is up; the truce is over. "You can have me," he says between kisses. "All of me. Every last bit."
Kyungsoo can't tell how long they stay that way, kissing, touching, whispering to each other. Their heated touches flicker down to slow, sensual ones - nipping down the column of each other's necks, kissing earlobes, brushing their thumbs over hipbones.
They finally stop when Baekhyun catches Kyungsoo's bottom lip between his teeth and sucks on it, hands slipping under his shirt to rest against his sides.
Kyungsoo can feel the curve of Baekhyun's smile against his own. That matches perfectly, too. "Hey," Baekhyun whispers.
"Hey," Kyungsoo mumbles in return.
Baekhyun lets go of him slowly, as if reluctant to part. He stands up and extends a hand down to Kyungsoo. "Do something with me?" Kyungsoo's already grasped his hand, even before he finishes his question, smoothing down the hem of his shirt.
He's led over to one of the larger trees surrounding the clearing. It has the thickest canopy of leaves, thick trunk wrought with lines over the years and years of looking over their town, like a hardy guardian angel. Baekhyun leans down to sift through the broken twigs on the ground and picks up a short, thick one with a sharp edge.
Kyungsoo watches with bated breath as Baekhyun approaches the tree and begins carving something. Four strokes later, he realises it's Baekhyun's own name.
Baekhyun hands it over to Kyungsoo when he's done. It's a welcome weight in his hand. "Do yours," he says gently.
He approaches the tree and begins slowly etching out the strokes of his name, one by one. Kyungsoo can't help but smile when Baekhyun wraps an arm around his waist from behind and starts mouthing at the base of his neck, nipping softly at the exposed skin, all the way up to the shell of his ear. Pleasant shivers run down his spine as he leans into Baekhyun's touch.
"Say..." Kyungsoo breaks the silence when he's on the third stroke. "You do know I'm an arm short, right? I'm not... perfect and all?"
Baekhyun leaves a lingering kiss at the juncture between his neck and shoulders. "That's part of you, and I love you for that. I don't care. You're beautiful in every way to me."
Every press of Baekhyun's lips against his skin feels more desperate than the last. Baekhyun's arms tighten around his waist just as he finishes carving his name into the wood, right below Baekhyun's, with a small heart in the middle. It's cheesy, the stuff only romance novels would write about, but Kyungsoo still loves it. It's their own piece of imperfect artwork.
"I love you," Baekhyun whispers, so softly even Kyungsoo has to strain to hear it. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he repeats.
"We'll have plenty of time to say that to each other," Kyungsoo tells him. "Don't say it like it's a goodbye when we have to go home tonight."
Baekhyun doesn't reply, but his arms begin to shake. They're holding him in an iron grip now, and it's beginning to alarm Kyungsoo how unnaturally quiet he's become. The kisses have stopped; he can feel Baekhyun's face buried into his shirt, pressed against his shoulder. "Baekhyun?"
"I'm going to war." Baekhyun's choked reply feels like a hammer punching its way through Kyungsoo's heart, boring holes in it and reducing it to little pieces. "I got the letter that says I have to enlist."
Kyungsoo turns around to face him, but all the possible questions, the possible words of comfort, everything fades away when he sees Baekhyun's beautiful face, streaked with tears, eyes red from crying. He wipes them away, but more keep coming.
So he kisses Baekhyun, in the hopes that it'll make this all go away, that it'll heal the growing fissure in his heart.
It doesn't.
✧
Today is Thursday, June 3rd. It's two days after Baekhyun had first kissed him, two days after they'd gone back to Kyungsoo's house and given themselves to each other in bed. It's the day Baekhyun leaves to enlist as a soldier in the war.
The books in the store are serene as ever - still, unmoving, so cold. They're nothing like the reprieve of Baekhyun's arms or the touch of his lips; they couldn't ever compare. Kyungsoo shivers, even though it's summer. He doesn't understand. How could everything look so normal, when it feels like the world is coming down on him?
The doorbell rings, followed by the creak of the door as it swings open. Déjà vu hits him square in the gut when he sees Byun Baekhyun in the doorway, dressed as he was the first time they met, except now he has a full backpack slung over his shoulders and weary eyes swollen from tears. There's still a smile on his face, but it's so, so sad.
"Hey, you," Baekhyun greets, walking into the store and prying the books Kyungsoo's arranging from out of his hands. "You look like you haven't eaten. You should, you know. It's the most important meal of the day."
Kyungsoo pretends to ignore the tremor in Baekhyun's voice, but he's never been a good actor. He has a thousand things to say - "I hate you", "don't leave me", "I thought we had all our years ahead of us", "I'd still choose you", "I love you". But instead, he looks Baekhyun in the eye and says, "Come back to me."
There are certain things you don't need words for. Baekhyun cups his cheek and leans close; Kyungsoo meets him halfway and presses their lips together. He knows they'll always be two halves of a whole this way. They'll always be connected. "I love you," he breathes into the kiss.
Baekhyun manages a small smile. "With all my heart."
Kyungsoo runs his fingers through Baekhyun's hair and watches as the strands part over his skin. "I'll miss this," he says. "When you come back, I won't get to do this anymore. You would've shaved your head for the army."
"When I come back, I'll grow my hair out as long as you want it." Baekhyun rubs his thumbs in circles over Kyungsoo's cheekbones, glazed eyes looking him over, as if hastily committing everything about him to memory. "And when I come back, Do Kyungsoo, you'd better let me read that book you've finished writing. I want an autographed copy."
Kyungsoo chokes out a laugh. "I promise."
Baekhyun leans in to press their lips together one last time, slowly, deeply, and Kyungsoo feels like he's falling. The kiss tastes like salt, sorrow, and longing.
BETWEEN THE LINES
Do Kyungsoo
For Baekhyun,
my soldier who never came home.
Notes:
01. The war mentioned in the story is the Korean War, which was the civil war between South and North Korea. This sets the fic in the early 1950's.
02. The book Kyungsoo recommended to Baekhyun at the beginning, The Crow Comes Last, is a brilliant collection of short stories written by Italo Calvino. The book Baekhyun recommends in return is Broken Harbour, by Tana French. (Shhh, let's just pretend that was released way before our time.) Both are excellent books that I would definitely rec!
03. The title of this fic is taken from Who Is Fancy's Goodbye.
04. The piano piece I imagine Baekhyun playing in the music shop is Ito Eri's you are my love.
→ baekhyun/kyungsoo ; 7,746 w.
→ the aftermath of whirlwind romances depend on how strong they were. kyungsoo's annihilated one half of his being.
→ written for sooenaemoured 2015. as always, thank you to G for being my pillar of support; you're the best! listened to this throughout the writing process, so if you'd like to put it on loop while reading the fic, that would be wonderful. ♡
Solitude isn't necessarily a bad thing, not when it comes with a seemingly endless supply of books and all the time in the world to pick them apart.
Kyungsoo has lost count of the number of times he's been in this bookstore, but every single time he lifts a book off its shelf and brushes away the thin sheen of dust clinging to its cover, the jolt of electricity that surges through him never dulls. It's the strangest combination of elemental powers at work. The excitement that strikes is as quick and poignant as lightning. The musty smell of the pages when he flips through them feels like the beginnings of a soft spring breeze. The helpless way he just loses himself when he starts reading, Kyungsoo has to admit, is almost too much like the way a boat would sink in a raging sea storm.
He picks the lone red book amidst all the other ones with blue, green and black spines. Part of the excitement of reading - of the written word in general - is its unpredictability. Going through the front cover, the acknowledgements, the foreword is like packing for a journey.
What follows is an adventure.
The scrape of his chair against the wooden flooring is drowned out by the loud tinkling of the bell attached to the door. A small gust of cool air floods into the store as Kyungsoo sets the book down on the counter.
His customer is a man no older than he is, simple shirt, loose-fitting trousers and unkempt hair. Kyungsoo has to bite back his surprise; this man looks more like the troublemaker street artist-busker type - not really the kind of person he'd expect to visit a bookstore, specialising in literature and history, no less.
"Oh, hi," his customer says. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and saunters towards the counter, a small bounce in his step. "I didn't expect to see someone else here. What happened to the usual ahjusshi?"
Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow. He's lived in this town all his life, and it's not all that big of a town, but he doesn't recall them ever having met.
"He was my neighbour." Kyungsoo tries not to think about the old man hobbling into the house next to his, body racking with coughs. His brows furrow in worry anyway. "He's been sick for years now, but his condition's gotten a lot worse lately. He asked me if I could take over running the store in his place."
The man nods. "Ah, I know. He's been having that cough for years. He was okay when I was here last week... hope he feels better soon, even if he's probably not going to come back to the store."
The conversation dies down, and comfortable silence wedges its way between them. Kyungsoo shuffles around a little bit, rests his fingers on the cover of the book as if to turn it. He's only just realised the golden embellishments on the spine. He looks up, fully expecting the customer to have wandered off among the bookshelves, but he's still there, standing in exactly the same spot, with the same curiously small smile lifting the corners of his lips.
Kyungsoo almost asks, "What?" But he doesn't, can't, really, so he opts to clear his throat and blink politely. "Can I help you?"
A laugh slips past the man's lips. Kyungsoo almost falters in his step. He's been sensitive to laughter for as long as he can remember. The books call it a pleasant sound of happiness, but they always forget to mention that it can also be mockery. It's almost always the latter if it's directed at someone without one arm. He's hyperaware of his sleeve brushing against the stump of his arm now, but he can't bring himself to look away like he always does. There's something about this man's laugh - it's not demeaning in any way. It's... pure. Like he hasn't even noticed the absence of Kyungsoo's arm, or that it just doesn't matter.
"You look like you really like books," the man replies matter-of-factly, shrugging his shoulders and tapping the cover. "I think the ahjusshi saw a bit of himself in you."
Kyungsoo clears his throat again, and he does avert his gaze this time. He hasn't ever consciously hid his love for books from anyone, but it's still mildly unnerving that a stranger he's just met is pointing out things about him. "Anyway," he says quickly, "what kind of books are you looking for?"
The man laughs again; he seems to like doing that. It sounds beautiful - sweet, a little rough around the edges, like rocks and waves and sand. Kyungsoo finds himself clutching the edge of the counter a little bit harder.
There's a curious glint in the man's eyes when he speaks. "Every time I come here, the ahjusshi recommends me a book." He rests his elbows on the counter, the smile on his face never faltering. "Since you're running the place now, how about you take over and rec me something you like?"
"You're a hundred percent okay with me just giving you a book like that? You don't want to narrow it down or anything?"
If anything, the man's smile seems to grow even wider. Kyungsoo tries not to wonder about how much brighter his face can get; it's unnerving. (And strangely soothing, but he doesn't need to know that.)
"Well, I was thinking of buying the book instead of you giving it to me," he jokes. Kyungsoo shoots him a pointed glare and realises too late that this is a customer he's talking to and he probably shouldn't do that, but the man across the counter doesn't seem to mind, eyes twinkling with mirth. "Just messin' with you. But yeah, anything's cool. It's nice to have someone else pick a book for you; the unpredictability is what makes it all fun anyway."
Kyungsoo knows he doesn't - couldn't possibly, even - mean any harm, but can't help eyeing him apprehensively. "Wait here," he finally concedes. It's not like he can say otherwise, but he finds that he doesn't quite mind. The edge in his voice is receding. "I'll be back."
He can feel a pair of eyes on his neck as he turns; the strangest thing is that it doesn't feel uncomfortable at all, just oddly prickly. There's the smallest flutter in his chest.
The storage shed, which Kyungsoo knows doubled as a personal reading space for the previous owner on quiet nights where there were no customers, had a reasonably sized bookshelf that Kyungsoo had taken to exploring on the first day he started work here. He'd discovered a collection of short stories he really liked, and had unconsciously spent an entire three hours reading it from cover to cover - at the counter, of course, he did technically still have a job to do.
The binding on The Crows Come Last is already coming loose, but it's still in one piece. For some reason, Kyungsoo doubts his very smiley customer would mind.
"Here," he says, sliding the book over the counter. "It's from the owner's personal collection."
The man picks it up, flips through the pages quickly and reads off the cover. "The Crow Comes Last... looks pretty good." He snaps it shut and moves to reach into the back pocket of his trousers, pulling out a few folded notes. "How much is this?"
3,500 won, Kyungsoo should say. Almost says. The words die off in his throat, and all he does is shake his head. "It's not in the store's inventory, technically, so I can't sell it. Keep it, borrow it, it's fine."
A smile - brighter than all the rest - is his answer, and Kyungsoo has to take a deep breath, almost as if all the air's been knocked out of his lungs. "Okay," the man chirps. "I'll bring it back once I'm done with it."
Kyungsoo can't find it in himself to come up with an answer, so he presses his lips into a thin line and nods. He can look away now, the man will leave, he can start reading, maybe his pulse will stop jumping-
"But you know," the man starts, picking up the book and clutching it to his chest, "I do need a name so I'll know who did me a favour today, and who I should return this book to." The sharp edges of his canines are peeking out from behind his lips, his smile cheekier now.
It's just his name. It's something he's said dozens of times in the twenty odd years he's lived. For some reason, though, it comes out as little more than a wisp. "Kyungsoo," he breathes. "Do Kyungsoo."
An appreciative smile, one last curious gaze, the tinkling of the doorbell again, and Kyungsoo is left with nothing but haunting images of a smile too bright to be true, and a beautiful name to match a beautiful face.
He tests the name on his tongue. "Byun Baekhyun."
The name registers more deeply than any of the words he reads from the book he'd picked out.
✧
Kyungsoo tries not to fumble over his breakfast when Byun Baekhyun saunters through the door the next morning, two books in his arms and the same shining smile on his face.
"W-What," is the intelligent greeting that slips past his defenses. Kyungsoo swears it's the cabbage he ate; it's been in the fridge a few days too long. "You've finished the book? Already?"
A soft thud echoes through the room as Baekhyun rests both books on the countertop and wrings his hands a bit. "Of course not, silly," he chides playfully, gesturing to the little tuft of the bookmark sticking out between the pages. "I am about two thirds of the way through, but I had to sleep, otherwise I wouldn't be able to wake up today. It's really good, though!"
Kyungsoo tilts his head to the side, silently prodding for a continuation he knows is coming, because of the way Baekhyun's chest is rising, almost as if preparing to share something he's excited about. "And...?"
"And," Baekhyun pushes the bigger, heavier book he'd been carrying with him. "You recommended a book to me yesterday, so I'm here to return the favour. This is one of my favourites! I've had it for a few years now and none of my friends want to read it because they hate stuff like this, but I figured you might, so I don't mind."
The book is a paperback one, but it's larger than the hardcover he'd lent Baekhyun yesterday. It's tattered and its pages are yellowed, chipping off at the edges, but the big, bold text on the front is still legible. Broken Harbour, it reads, black in stark contrast against a sketch of a ship docked by the pier. Baekhyun tells him it's one of the original manuscripts before the reprints were ordered.
"Thank you," Kyungsoo replies softly, pulling the book close and running his finger over the slightly embossed title. His eyes cautiously lift to meet Baekhyun's eager ones; they're sparkling like a child's on a bright summer's morning, but if anything, they're not childlike to Kyungsoo. They're joyful, but also wise, eyes that have read thousands of words and the stories they've strung together.
They're the eyes of a passionate reader.
A small gasp tumbles off Baekhyun's lips, and it makes Kyungsoo's train of thought come to screeching halt on its tracks. "What?" he asks.
Baekhyun shakes his head vigorously, suddenly alarmed at the possibility that Kyungsoo might have misunderstood. "No, no, I- you know..." He rubs the back of his neck, flashes Kyungsoo a sheepish smile. "It's just... that was the first time you smiled at me."
Of all the answers, that was the last thing Kyungsoo would ever have expected. He didn't even realise he'd smiled at Baekhyun, much less that he hadn't so much as smiled till now. Kyungsoo feels like sinking into the ground; it's basic shopkeeper etiquette that should be impossible to forget, even if it's only his first week on the job.
Kyungsoo tries his best not to stumble over his reply. "Oh, um, well, yeah. I mean, it's really nothing special, but... thanks."
Baekhyun leans close, so close that Kyungsoo can see the sharp twinkle in his eyes turn into something softer, gentler. It feels like the sun shrinking back on itself to be a star instead.
"Don't say that, please," Baekhyun pleads. His voice is so genuine, it stings Kyungsoo a little. Kindness like this is hard to come by, and the feeling is so foreign to his skin. "You have a great smile. You should smile more."
When Kyungsoo chances the tiniest of smiles at him, Baekhyun grins back like a superhero who's just finished his job and set the world right. It's painfully innocent, and it makes Kyungsoo's smile widen just that little bit more.
"There we go," Baekhyun says encouragingly, before walking off into the labyrinth of shelves in the store.
It takes Kyungsoo all of five minutes to gobble down the rest of his breakfast, and he wanders out in search of Baekhyun. He doesn't usually walk around the place - to be fair, it's not like he has something to search for, save the books he picks in the mornings - and maybe, just maybe, that's why he feels more lighthearted today. Like even the flickering lightbulb he hasn't bothered to replace and the dust on the shelves tucked deep in a corner of the store can't get to him.
He finally finds Baekhyun leaning against one of the shelves in the Japanese history section, skimming through a thin book that looks to be a pocket edition of something. "You like history?" Kyungsoo asks, taking quiet steps towards him.
Baekhyun laughs sheepishly and carefully tucks the book back into its rightful spot. "If it's something I can read, I'd like it."
"Did you like The Crow Comes Last?"
Kyungsoo makes himself comfortable standing next to Baekhyun, resting his back comfortably against the ridges of the shelves. Baekhyun's gaze flickers to the ceiling, then comes back full circle to rest on Kyungsoo. There's a tinge of hesitancy to his answer when he speaks next, like he's choosing his words carefully. "It's... how do I even put this? I loved it, it also made me kind of sad. I'm not sure if I love it because of that, or if it took away from me loving it. Does that make sense?"
"It does," Kyungsoo reassures him, tugging the sleeve of his shirt over the stump of his left arm. It's an unconscious habit he's developed whenever he stands next to someone. "Why did it make you sad, though?"
It takes a few moments of thoughtful silence before Baekhyun answers. "They're all short stories, and they're poetic and all, but that also makes them really ambiguous. It's like... the feelings hit you square in the gut and before you know it, it's over. Next story. Rinse and repeat."
Kyungsoo's honestly never thought of it that way before, but comparing it to the way he felt when he was first reading it, Baekhyun's analogy feels so familiar. It's part of the reason why he enjoys discussing books with other people; there will always be someone who relates to the way you feel but words their ideas in different ways. Sometimes, in ways that are so powerful, they leave a sweet ache in your chest.
"I felt that way too, when I first read the book," Kyungsoo says, turning to gaze at Baekhyun. "The impact is like - for lack of a better word, ground zero."
Baekhyun's gaze matches his in intrigue; he opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again, as if to ask Kyungsoo a question he can't quite phrase. Finally, Baekhyun tilts his head, a gesture for Kyungsoo to follow him, please and what is this? and what are we doing? all melting into the brown orbs of his eyes.
Kyungsoo follows, no questions asked, no words needed.
They sit themselves on the foot of the stairs that leads up to the second floor of the store, which is mostly just unused boxes and old books that have fallen into disrepair.
"You know, I've always believed that the books you read and share with people says a lot about who you are." It's so unlike Baekhyun, to breach a subject so carefully. Kyungsoo's only known him for all of two days, but it still feels so strange. "The book is so... poignant, bittersweet. And as I was reading it, it made me wonder about what kind of person you are."
A pause, and then, softly, so softly, "So tell me, Do Kyungsoo. What kind of person are you? Who are you?"
Kyungsoo takes a deep breath, but it's not enough. It's never enough when he needs to address questions like these. What oxygen can't seem to give him, though, Baekhyun's gentle smile seems to make up for it, and Kyungsoo feels a slight burst of trust in his being - like he doesn't mind telling Baekhyun, just because Baekhyun is Baekhyun. Maybe telling strangers things are easier than having to answer to someone you know.
"Like I said, I'm nothing special. I was the good kid in school - the one who always did his homework, was on time for class after lunch break. I'm probably just like you." Kyungsoo shrugs, but he knows it's a lie. How could he ever compare to the radiance of Baekhyun's smile? For comparison's sake, he tells himself.
Baekhyun doesn't push him to continue, and just waits. For just a moment, Kyungsoo contemplates dropping the subject, but his right hand makes its way to his left shoulder. It grazes over where his arm tapers off into an abrupt end.
"I'm just like anyone else, except I couldn't do sports, or the heavy lifting. I couldn't lift boxes for the school festival. I couldn't play basketball or baseball or any of that." He lifts his left shoulder a bit for good measure and lets it fall. "I was born without an arm, and I suppose that was kind of a one-way ticket to being raised without my parents too. They left me with an aunt who never saw them again."
Very few people ever manage to surprise Kyungsoo - the people around him tend to fall into this odd pattern of predictability. That could be why books and their fictional universes appeal to him so much, and now, Baekhyun as well.
"Does it matter?"
Kyungsoo's eyes widen. "What?"
"I said, does it matter?" Baekhyun is too close now, bridging the distance between them in too few breaths. His fingers close gently around the stump of Kyungsoo's arm, but Kyungsoo doesn't wrench away. "Does it matter if it doesn't make you any less of a person inside?"
Baekhyun looks him straight in the eye. "Does it still matter, if I said I think it's made you who you are today, and that person is beautiful?"
✧
It takes Kyungsoo a good five minutes of wrenching the key this way and that before it finally fits into the keyhole of his front door. He cringes as the door swings open with the shrill creak of brittle metal, and makes a mental note to get someone - anyone - to take a look at the lock when he has the time.
Maybe Chanyeol could do something about it. He does work in servicing old cassette tape sets and does stay halfway across town, but Kyungsoo's running out of ideas. His social circle isn't the biggest.
He bends down to pick up the envelopes chucked haphazardly into the gap between his main door and the floor. The utility bill reminds him that it's already the start of a new month, and there's a receipt from the store he'd bought a radio set from a couple of weeks ago. A third envelope, folded in half and smaller than the conventional ones, has his name and address handwritten instead of the standard typewritten font face for official mail.
Kyungsoo elbows his door closed, places the other letters on his writing desk and sits down to examine the envelope. The penmanship is faintly recognisable, like he's seen it before but not in an exceptionally long time.
The paper inside is still crisply folded, of reasonably better quality than most of the notebooks in Goyang. Kyungsoo wets his lips and slowly begins to read the letterhead, and with a start, he remembers who this could be from. It's the only person who ever sends him mail anyway.
Kim Junmyeon was his best friend in grade school - one of the only people who wouldn't laugh at him for choosing to read indoors than go outside to play catch, the person who'd walk with him to the crossroads before they part ways to their own houses. Junmyeon's family was reasonably well-off even after the Japanese occupation, due to their ranking in the government, and he'd moved to Seoul at the age of nine. Kyungsoo honestly hasn't seen him since, but Junmyeon makes it a point to write to him periodically. It used to be once in a few months, but as they grew older - and, Kyungsoo supposes, begun working - their correspondence dwindled down to once or twice a year. Post is still relatively expensive, and he knows it takes a while before letters ever even reach its destination if it's not within the same area.
Junmyeon's handwriting, Kyungsoo notices, never quite changes. It's still cursive, beautiful loops and ends in fine ink, but always legible. Kyungsoo's never asked Junmyeon what he works as now; probably a government official, or maybe an educator. He wonders what kind of person Junmyeon is now.
The dim lighting in his room isn't doing much to help matters, but Kyungsoo can still read the words. Junmyeon tells Kyungsoo that he's a Navy officer now, and that he's gotten engaged to Jongin, a girl he'd met in his final years of high school. Kyungsoo remembers her - she's tall, pretty, very lean; Junmyeon had attached a photo of them together in one of his previous letters.
There's talk going around that worries Jongin, though. Kyungsoo sits up slightly straighter, attention piqued. People say that North Korea's planning to invade us soon... and war's going to break out, and all that. I'm not sure about this because I honestly haven't heard anything from the higher-ups, but it's been in the rumour mill for weeks.
Just a heads' up. They might start calling men in from the smaller towns soon.
Kyungsoo only skims through the rest of the letter, then stuffs it in his drawer and lies down on his bed. Junmyeon means well - he always does. He won't be asked to enlist with the military because of his disability; Kyungsoo knows this, and knows Junmyeon knows he knows. What Junmyeon probably didn't have the heart to write, however, is I'm just telling you so maybe you can start preparing your goodbyes.
Kyungsoo almost wants to laugh. He doesn't have anyone to say goodbye to; not really, at least. Maybe he'd pop by and wish the old man next door good health. There's Chanyeol, and Junmyeon, whom he'll likely never see again. His parents are gone, and his aunt passed away when he was in middle school.
He doesn't bother changing out of his clothes, and falls asleep with an arm pressed over his eyes to block out the lights. It works, but the images of Baekhyun's earnest gaze and soft smile still lingers behind his closed eyelids.
✧
Weeks pass as quickly as they possibly could in a small town on the outskirts. Kyungsoo still chooses a random book to read every morning (he hasn't run out just yet), it's quiet as ever, and Baekhyun still visits the store almost every other day. Kyungsoo still lets him borrow books, and sells them to him if Baekhyun likes them enough to want to keep them.
(Baekhyun keeps every book.)
It becomes painfully difficult to pretend that day didn't happen, to push it into the very recesses of his mind and let it float back to the surface only when he's alone in his room, hovering in the space between lucidity and dreams. The day where - for the first time - instead of laughing at him, or averting their gaze and saying "I'm sorry", someone had asked him if his disability really mattered. Someone had looked past his lack of an arm, and called him beautiful. Baekhyun had called him beautiful.
Baekhyun had walked into the store two days later like nothing ever happened; his smile was still as bright, laugh still as melodious. If anything, Kyungsoo should've gotten used to them by now, but he hasn't. People tend to have difficulty coming to terms with things they consider out of this world.
"Whatcha doing?"
The question comes out more like a song, and Kyungsoo can't help but smile as he looks up. Over the weeks, he's come to learn that Baekhyun likes to sing - everywhere, whenever he feels like it. Baekhyun lives with an older brother a few streets down, and he works multiple jobs on different days. It's Tuesday today; he should've helped out at the postal company earlier.
Kyungsoo keeps his breathing even. It wouldn't do to let Baekhyun know that he fits perfectly in the rhythm of Kyungsoo's heartbeat - erratic, mildly excited. No way.
"Writing my book," Kyungsoo replies, gesturing at the typewriter in front of him. There's a thick stack of paper to his right, and a mug of warm tea to his left. His writing workspace never quite changes, no matter if it's grade school homework or novel crafting. "I've always wanted to be an author."
Baekhyun lifts the last sheet of printed paper with two delicate fingers, gaze meeting Kyungsoo's as if to say May I? Kyungsoo shrugs and shakes his head. I don't mind.
A grin breaks out on Baekhyun's lips. This one is controlled, intrigued, like he's still trying to process something in his head. It's not like Kyungsoo's been observing the kinds of smiles Baekhyun has; certainly not unconsciously memorizing them. Of course not. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?" Baekhyun says cheekily.
Kyungsoo takes a sip from his mug to hide the small, giddy tremble in his lips. Baekhyun smoothens the piece of paper on the countertop and begins to read. "What's this about?" he asks.
"This one is about a girl who's forced to move around the country a lot, but discovers herself in the different places she goes to. Like each place contributes to her development as a person, so a journey of self-discovery, I guess." Kyungsoo scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.
There's a hint of excitement in Baekhyun's voice. "What d'you mean 'this one'? You have more?"
Kyungsoo hastily moves to correct himself. "No, no, I mean- no, it's just that I've been working on a book forever, but I always write halfway and then feel really iffy about it," he says. Baekhyun returns the sheet of paper to the stack, but never takes his eyes off Kyungsoo, as if silently prodding him for a continuation. "I just haven't found a story I wrote that really clicks with me. Something I'm really passionate about, and something I know I can publish without regrets."
"Perfectionist," Baekhyun teases, and earns himself a punch to the shoulder. "Ow!"
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and huffs a bit, but he knows it never works. It's like the fuel to the fire that is Baekhyun's grin - it just grows and shines that much brighter in the dark. (He does wonder if one day it'll become all-consuming, like a flame that burns its mark into anyone it passes.)
"But no, really," he sighs, giving in, "this is my third manuscript. I still don't even feel strongly about this one."
Baekhyun leaves the counter abruptly then, and Kyungsoo's mind begins to race - did I say something I shouldn't have? did he just get tired?. Two heartbeats, and Baekhyun rounds the corner then, with Kyungsoo's coat and an idea in hand.
"You'll find your muse, but you won't find it being holed up in here. What d'you say to closing up early today?"
✧
For a Tuesday evening, the town is relatively quiet. There isn't usually much activity going on either way, but it's as if a blanket of tranquility has settled over them. Kyungsoo keeps thinking there's construction work going on, though, or maybe army firing practices, but then he remembers it's just the violent collision of his heart against his ribcage. He's half afraid it'll just fall out of his chest completely, if not for Baekhyun's hand wrapped tightly around his, anchoring it where it's supposed to be.
Kyungsoo finds it irrationally difficult to focus on anything else but the fit of their fingers, perfect down to the tiny crooks of Baekhyun's slender ones. It's as if they fill the little gaps in each other's lives. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from tightening his grip.
A woman sweeping dried leaves off her compound sees them, and Kyungsoo can hear her cluck her tongue. It's surprisingly loud over the beating of his heart, so he tries to concentrate on Baekhyun's soft humming instead.
Softly, Baekhyun pulls him to the right, into one of the stores. Kyungsoo catches a glimpse of the signboard before he steps through the door; it's a place selling musical instruments. He hardly even realised that they'd walked as far as the square in the centre of town, where all the main shops are. It's slightly more happening here - Kyungsoo can see children playing in the square, old men chattering around the tables and benches.
"Do you like music?"
The thing about Baekhyun, Kyungsoo realises, is that even though he's asking questions all the time, he never once looks at Kyungsoo expectantly. He's just curious, perhaps genuinely interested to learn about an equal, not about a person who's different from him. It makes Kyungsoo want to keep him happy.
He squeezes Baekhyun's hand gently, applies the slightest pressure and feels his heart constrict from the warmth between their skin. It's not even fair. "Yeah."
The smile Baekhyun replies with is just as warm, and Kyungsoo finds himself being pulled towards the grand piano in the middle of the room. It strikes an odd sense of awe in him; it's just a piano, nothing he hasn't seen in pictures or read about in books, and it's been in production in Korea for the longest time. Maybe it's because he doesn't step into music stores often, partly because he can't afford the instruments on sale anyway, and because he wouldn't be able to play them even if he did.
Kyungsoo fights back a sad smile, but Baekhyun's jaw tightens. For the first time, the grin falls off his face, just for the briefest of moments, and he turns to the shopkeeper behind the counter. "Excuse me," he calls. "Can you turn that off?"
Kyungsoo's eyes follow Baekhyun's line of sight and realises he's gesturing towards the radio set perched on the shelf. The news is being read, but Kyungsoo had hardly even noticed the background noise. The South Korean military has begun issuing summons for all able men-
"There, son, y'happy?" the shopkeeper grumbles, eyeing Baekhyun haughtily.
"Much better," Baekhyun calls cheerfully, turning back to Kyungsoo. His smile is in place again, so perfect that it looks like it never left. "Sit here with me?"
Baekhyun inches over to make space for Kyungsoo on the piano seat; the air immediately feels cold around his hand when Baekhyun releases his grip. It's a lonely kind of cold, and Kyungsoo wants more than anything to take Baekhyun's hand in his again, but he stops short when he sees Baekhyun positioning his fingers over the piano keys. They're a work of art on all on their own - long and sculpted, bent in perfect angles.
"I used to write music," Baekhyun murmurs, as if afraid someone else would overhear, as if keeping this moment all to themselves. "This is one of my favourites."
The piano is a brilliant, versatile maker of music - the most classic of classical music instruments. People say you can play any form of music on the piano; it doesn't matter if it's slow or upbeat, if it's new or old. Kyungsoo reckons people don't often mention that the right people could play something that's more than just music. They could play emotions, beauty, wonder. It becomes more than just pressing keys; the right people make their listeners' hearts their personal piano keyboard, and strike every last chord there is.
The right people are often called musical geniuses.
Kyungsoo begs to differ, and thinks it was all probably referring to Byun Baekhyun.
Baekhyun's piano piece is eerily beautiful, in the most haunting, sad kind of way. It's not the kind of song that starts off slow and builds into a moving chorus. It's sad, sad all the way through, but Kyungsoo can pick out grace and beauty in that sadness. Each note transitions seamlessly from one to the other as Baekhyun's fingers glide over the keyboard, everything deliberately yet effortlessly thought out, down to the pressure on the keys and pedals.
For lack of a better word, everything about this - the music, Baekhyun, being here with Baekhyun - is breathtaking. It's exceptionally hard for Kyungsoo to speak when Baekhyun finishes the piece, eyes closed, breathing deep, hands withdrawing from the keyboard to rest on his lap, corners of his mouth curved upwards in a private smile.
When Baekhyun opens his eyes, Kyungsoo feels like all the air in his lungs has been forcefully ejected from him. It should leave him feeling empty, but all he feels is full and warm and so, so at home.
"So... do you like my music?" Baekhyun asks. The question comes out like a child's whisper, meek and soft, nothing like the grandeur of his usual confidence.
Kyungsoo takes a deep, deep breath. Articulation feels so hard now. "I loved it," he says gently. As if on impulse, he leans over and brushes a hand over Baekhyun's fingers. "You have a gift. Thank you."
Baekhyun's fingers twitch under his skin. "For what?"
"For sharing it with me. For inspiring me." He lifts his gaze to meet Baekhyun's. They're so close now that Kyungsoo can feel Baekhyun's breath against his face. Their shoulders are bumping. He doesn't need to look to know where to fit his fingers; they slide against Baekhyun's in a way that makes Kyungsoo feels he's complete.
Maybe he is. He's spent years writing about characters who pine for love and travel halfway across the world to find it. He never really wrote about love being your neighbour, or about love walking up to your doorstep.
"For being my muse."
✧
If he ever moved to Seoul, Kyungsoo reckons he'd miss a lot of things. One of the things he'd miss the most would be the night sky.
He's read about it in Junmyeon's letters, overheard it in conversations between passing teenagers or elderly folk who've travelled. The sky in the city is nothing but a blanket of darkness, heavy and blank, a reflection of the industrialising society under it. You can't see the stars at all!, Junmyeon wrote once. If you're lucky, you'll be able to see one star, but even that's really dull. It's nothing like the skies at home.
From here, lying down on a patch of grass with the wind in his hair and Baekhyun's hand in his, Kyungsoo can see the tiny little lights from the town below them, hundreds and hundreds of stars burning above him, and home.
Home in the man next to him, laughing softly and pointing out the brightest stars above.
After the music store, Baekhyun had taken Kyungsoo for a walk around town, to see the little things that have escaped him from years of being in school and now, weeks of being pent up in the bookstore. Kyungsoo never realised they'd built a small fountain in the second square, or that a new toy shop had opened, or that someone - "No one knows who, no one's ever seen them!" - has been going around placing flowerpots along walkways.
Evening was falling quickly on them, the sky already beginning to turn dark. The lampposts flicker on, yellow orbs of light in the dusk. "Do you trust me?" Baekhyun had asked.
Kyungsoo had no reply, other than a small smile that said all he needed to say. Baekhyun led him out of the town, to the outskirts where the railroads are, and climbed up a ledge that connected ground level to the top of a low hill.
What awaited was a small clearing between the trees, close to a low-hanging cliff that overlooked the town. It had felt almost magical, enclosed from the rest of the world by a ring of trees, with the town he'd grown up in lying unawares beneath them and nothing but an endless expanse of sky above.
"How did you even find this place?" Kyungsoo asks, after Baekhyun's laughter dies down and comfortable silence settles into the distance between them.
Baekhyun turns to rest on his side and chuckles. "I wasn't exactly the best of students, you know. I used to come here every day just for fun. Maybe it was just to escape reality for a little while, I don't know, but it was my personal refuge. Like I knew no one would find this place, except me."
Kyungsoo scoffs lightly, but there's no menace to it. He grins teasingly at Baekhyun, and it feels liberating. He's never felt so light for as long as he can remember. "Well, now I've found it, so too bad, Byun."
He isn't sure what he was expecting. Maybe a grin, like the one he saw the first day Baekhyun walked into the bookstore. Maybe a laugh, the sweet song that Kyungsoo never could get enough of. Maybe a witty reply, like, "Technically, you didn't find it, I brought you here."
He can't say he was expecting Baekhyun to lean over him, press both hands into the ground next to his face and whisper, "And I've found you." He can't say he expected the kiss that followed either, the press of their lips that feels like a thousand stars exploding all at the same time.
Kyungsoo arches upwards, threading his fingers through Baekhyun's hair, resting on the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer, drinking him in until there's not an inch of space between them. One of Baekhyun's hands is pressed to his cheek, the other around his torso, holding him in place.
Kyungsoo's head is spinning. Perhaps it's the lack of oxygen, or the fact that his heart feels like it's been jumpstarted; he's no medic but beating a mile a minute definitely isn't healthy. Or maybe it's just that Baekhyun's lips are moving in perfect tandem with his, tongue gliding over his bottom lip and against the roof of his mouth.
"God," Baekhyun breathes, when they're through chasing each other's lips, panting heavily. He leans his forehead against Kyungsoo's and rests a thumb over his mouth, caressing it gently. "God, you're amazing."
A laugh bubbles out of Kyungsoo's lips. "I want you," he murmurs. "I want to love you and be with you. I want you."
Baekhyun gives up resistance. Their respite is up; the truce is over. "You can have me," he says between kisses. "All of me. Every last bit."
Kyungsoo can't tell how long they stay that way, kissing, touching, whispering to each other. Their heated touches flicker down to slow, sensual ones - nipping down the column of each other's necks, kissing earlobes, brushing their thumbs over hipbones.
They finally stop when Baekhyun catches Kyungsoo's bottom lip between his teeth and sucks on it, hands slipping under his shirt to rest against his sides.
Kyungsoo can feel the curve of Baekhyun's smile against his own. That matches perfectly, too. "Hey," Baekhyun whispers.
"Hey," Kyungsoo mumbles in return.
Baekhyun lets go of him slowly, as if reluctant to part. He stands up and extends a hand down to Kyungsoo. "Do something with me?" Kyungsoo's already grasped his hand, even before he finishes his question, smoothing down the hem of his shirt.
He's led over to one of the larger trees surrounding the clearing. It has the thickest canopy of leaves, thick trunk wrought with lines over the years and years of looking over their town, like a hardy guardian angel. Baekhyun leans down to sift through the broken twigs on the ground and picks up a short, thick one with a sharp edge.
Kyungsoo watches with bated breath as Baekhyun approaches the tree and begins carving something. Four strokes later, he realises it's Baekhyun's own name.
Baekhyun hands it over to Kyungsoo when he's done. It's a welcome weight in his hand. "Do yours," he says gently.
He approaches the tree and begins slowly etching out the strokes of his name, one by one. Kyungsoo can't help but smile when Baekhyun wraps an arm around his waist from behind and starts mouthing at the base of his neck, nipping softly at the exposed skin, all the way up to the shell of his ear. Pleasant shivers run down his spine as he leans into Baekhyun's touch.
"Say..." Kyungsoo breaks the silence when he's on the third stroke. "You do know I'm an arm short, right? I'm not... perfect and all?"
Baekhyun leaves a lingering kiss at the juncture between his neck and shoulders. "That's part of you, and I love you for that. I don't care. You're beautiful in every way to me."
Every press of Baekhyun's lips against his skin feels more desperate than the last. Baekhyun's arms tighten around his waist just as he finishes carving his name into the wood, right below Baekhyun's, with a small heart in the middle. It's cheesy, the stuff only romance novels would write about, but Kyungsoo still loves it. It's their own piece of imperfect artwork.
"I love you," Baekhyun whispers, so softly even Kyungsoo has to strain to hear it. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he repeats.
"We'll have plenty of time to say that to each other," Kyungsoo tells him. "Don't say it like it's a goodbye when we have to go home tonight."
Baekhyun doesn't reply, but his arms begin to shake. They're holding him in an iron grip now, and it's beginning to alarm Kyungsoo how unnaturally quiet he's become. The kisses have stopped; he can feel Baekhyun's face buried into his shirt, pressed against his shoulder. "Baekhyun?"
"I'm going to war." Baekhyun's choked reply feels like a hammer punching its way through Kyungsoo's heart, boring holes in it and reducing it to little pieces. "I got the letter that says I have to enlist."
Kyungsoo turns around to face him, but all the possible questions, the possible words of comfort, everything fades away when he sees Baekhyun's beautiful face, streaked with tears, eyes red from crying. He wipes them away, but more keep coming.
So he kisses Baekhyun, in the hopes that it'll make this all go away, that it'll heal the growing fissure in his heart.
It doesn't.
✧
Today is Thursday, June 3rd. It's two days after Baekhyun had first kissed him, two days after they'd gone back to Kyungsoo's house and given themselves to each other in bed. It's the day Baekhyun leaves to enlist as a soldier in the war.
The books in the store are serene as ever - still, unmoving, so cold. They're nothing like the reprieve of Baekhyun's arms or the touch of his lips; they couldn't ever compare. Kyungsoo shivers, even though it's summer. He doesn't understand. How could everything look so normal, when it feels like the world is coming down on him?
The doorbell rings, followed by the creak of the door as it swings open. Déjà vu hits him square in the gut when he sees Byun Baekhyun in the doorway, dressed as he was the first time they met, except now he has a full backpack slung over his shoulders and weary eyes swollen from tears. There's still a smile on his face, but it's so, so sad.
"Hey, you," Baekhyun greets, walking into the store and prying the books Kyungsoo's arranging from out of his hands. "You look like you haven't eaten. You should, you know. It's the most important meal of the day."
Kyungsoo pretends to ignore the tremor in Baekhyun's voice, but he's never been a good actor. He has a thousand things to say - "I hate you", "don't leave me", "I thought we had all our years ahead of us", "I'd still choose you", "I love you". But instead, he looks Baekhyun in the eye and says, "Come back to me."
There are certain things you don't need words for. Baekhyun cups his cheek and leans close; Kyungsoo meets him halfway and presses their lips together. He knows they'll always be two halves of a whole this way. They'll always be connected. "I love you," he breathes into the kiss.
Baekhyun manages a small smile. "With all my heart."
Kyungsoo runs his fingers through Baekhyun's hair and watches as the strands part over his skin. "I'll miss this," he says. "When you come back, I won't get to do this anymore. You would've shaved your head for the army."
"When I come back, I'll grow my hair out as long as you want it." Baekhyun rubs his thumbs in circles over Kyungsoo's cheekbones, glazed eyes looking him over, as if hastily committing everything about him to memory. "And when I come back, Do Kyungsoo, you'd better let me read that book you've finished writing. I want an autographed copy."
Kyungsoo chokes out a laugh. "I promise."
Baekhyun leans in to press their lips together one last time, slowly, deeply, and Kyungsoo feels like he's falling. The kiss tastes like salt, sorrow, and longing.
BETWEEN THE LINES
Do Kyungsoo
For Baekhyun,
my soldier who never came home.
Notes:
01. The war mentioned in the story is the Korean War, which was the civil war between South and North Korea. This sets the fic in the early 1950's.
02. The book Kyungsoo recommended to Baekhyun at the beginning, The Crow Comes Last, is a brilliant collection of short stories written by Italo Calvino. The book Baekhyun recommends in return is Broken Harbour, by Tana French. (Shhh, let's just pretend that was released way before our time.) Both are excellent books that I would definitely rec!
03. The title of this fic is taken from Who Is Fancy's Goodbye.
04. The piano piece I imagine Baekhyun playing in the music shop is Ito Eri's you are my love.