(don't) let me fade out // taekai
Because they’re disintegrating in slow motion, and Jongin can’t look away.
Rating: NC-17.
Warning: Self-harm, implied disordered eating, drug mention.
Pairing: Taekai, Jongin-centric.
Length: ~8000.
your fleeting heart is leaving with each sigh.
Jongin sees him everywhere. In the slow city lights and the cold blue hum of the apartment elevator. He’s there in the stained lip of the empty coffee cup rolling across the floor of the train carriage. And everywhere that Jongin sees him, he thinks to himself, he better be back tonight. Smoke billows from between his fingertips, and Jongin sees Taemin in that too. Raising his cigarette to his lips, he inhales. Drops the stub to the ground. It smoulders and dissipates into the dark.
He’s been standing outside the roller door of the garage beneath their apartment block for over an hour now, nervously chain smoking as he watches each resident return. Every time a car approaches and the roller door goes up, he looks at his watch. He’s late. Taemin doesn’t know that Jongin is home tonight, so Jongin knows he doesn’t have a right to be upset. Still, Jongin doesn’t like the idea that Taemin is traipsing around the city by himself after dark. He pulls out another cigarette and reaches into his pocket for a lighter.
“Jongin!”
He looks up. Taemin is sprinting towards him from across the street, a wide grin on his face. Jongin exhales slowly, forehead creasing.
“Jongin? You’re back? You didn’t call!” Taemin throws his arms around him, knocking the cigarette out of his hand.
“I thought I’d surprise you,” Jongin says, patting Taemin’s back with one hand as he eyes his dropped cigarette. “You’re out late tonight. Didn’t you drive to work today?”
“I did! I came home to change and then I went out for dinner with a friend,” Taemin says, smiling up at him. “He dropped me off just then.”
“Which friend is this, hmm?” Jongin presses a kiss to Taemin’s forehead and pulls away, steering the other towards the elevator. “Do I know him?”
Taemin rolls his eyes. “Since when do you know any of my friends? You’re always working.”
“I’m not working now, am I?”
“No,” Taemin says, brightening. “I’ve missed you so much. Why were you standing there? Were you waiting for me? When did you get back?”
“I was having a cigarette. I got back about an hour ago.”
They enter the elevator. Jongin wraps a hand around Taemin’s wrist and pulls him close.
“Have you had dinner yet?” Taemin tucks himself into Jongin’s side and puts his arms around him again, as if unwilling to let go. “I could heat something up for you.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Jongin watches the LED numbers change floor by floor. “Did you enjoy your dinner with your friend?”
Taemin nods. “Minho and I had hot pot. The restaurant was so nice! We should go there sometime.” He bites his lip. “I mean, if you can.”
“You know I shouldn’t,” Jongin chides gently. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”
The lights are on in the apartment. Jongin’s suitcase is next to the couch in the living room. Taemin spots it immediately and frowns. “Do you want me to help you unpack?” Taemin looks over at Jongin hopefully.
Sometimes, Jongin will be home for weeks. Those are the times that Taemin is happiest; being able to fall asleep and wake up next to someone he loves. Jongin never wants to go out when he’s home, claiming to be too tired from going out when he’s working, so they always spend long lazy days in bed. Jongin is always especially affectionate in the mornings, and Taemin likes knowing that he’s the only one who gets to see him all soft and undone, wrapped up warmly in the sheets they bought together.
“I won’t be staying very long this time,” Jongin says over his shoulder as he walks towards their bedroom. He pauses and looks back at Taemin. “Come to bed?”
Taemin studies him in the dim light of the hallway leading to their shared bedroom. Jongin runs a hand through his silver hair. It’s dry at the ends from relentless styling and colour treatment. He’s lost weight since he was last home. He’s always been skinny in the time that Taemin has known him, but now he just looks tired. Taemin doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t ever say anything. Taemin knows that Jongin knows all these things. What would be the point of saying anything? Jongin-ah. You work too hard. Please come home more often so that I can take care of you. You should take better care of yourself. It’s nothing Jongin doesn’t already know. Taemin doesn’t want to patronise him by telling him again. Taemin trusts Jongin to know what he’s doing, but there’s some part of him that will always remember Jongin as the boy with the collarbones spreadeagled beneath his own hesitant fingers-still the same reticent boy with the shuttered eyes and the lilting half-smile.
Jongin smiles that smile now, and Taemin finally nods, pulled along by the gentle promise of at least one night with the boy he fell in love with all those years ago.
/
Loving Jongin comes easily; even after weeks apart, Jongin falls back into his arms like he never left. Falls apart for him like this is the reason he’s home. Taemin trails his fingers down Jongin’s side, tugging at his waistband. Jongin obediently wriggles out of them, pressing hot kisses against Taemin’s cheek, his hair, his temples.
“Taemin,” he says in a quiet whine, which Taemin ignores. Jongin attempts to roll over and onto his knees, but Taemin shoves him back into place gently, shaking his head with a smirk. “Taemin,” he tries to say again, but is silenced by Taemin’s mouth against his. Jongin moans into the open-mouthed kiss, which is cut short when Taemin pulls the blanket over himself and slides down between Jongin’s legs, licking and nipping the warm taut skin on his way down. Jongin shudders hotly and his eyes flutter shut when he feels Taemin’s mouth on him, the soft wet heat slicking down his cock. Taemin misses this; the feeling of being full of Jongin like this, the way his hips quiver with the effort of not bucking into Taemin’s mouth. Taemin’s tongue strokes him teasingly, and Jongin whines again, fisting a hand beneath the covers as Taemin slides a hand up to caress a nipple. Taemin’s mouth soon follows his hand, kissing his way up before tonguing the small brown nub, provoking a breathy sigh as Jongin reaches for him desperately.
“Taemin,” Jongin says again. “Please-”
“Jongin-ah,” Taemin breathes. Jongin looks so needy and impatient like this, skin covered in a light sheen of sweat as he lies panting in the bedsheets. He leans over to the bedside table for the bottle of lube, uncapping it with a pop. Jongin tilts his hips eagerly, and Taemin swoops down to kiss him again, avoiding his lips. He moves his fingers to slowly enter Jongin, pleased to find that he’s still relaxed and pliant from their shower together. Taemin pulls away and squeezes out some more lube, about to slick it over his own cock, when Jongin places a hesitant hand on his arm.
“Could you-you should-you should probably use a condom for tonight.” Jongin looks up at him beneath dark lashes, almost apologetic. Taemin gazes back at him stonily. “Just until I go get tested again. Sorry. It’s been a while.”
“Of course,” Taemin says quietly. “It’s best to be sure.” He attempts a smile.
“I’m sorry, I should have told you earlier. I wanted to get checked out before I got back, but I didn’t end up having any time.” Jongin sits up and reaches for Taemin, who flinches away.
“It’s fine,” Taemin says, laughing wryly. He looks at the cold sticky pool of lube that he’s still holding in his palm. He’s not hard anymore. Neither is Jongin.
Jongin exhales slowly, jaw clenched. “I’m sorry, Taemin. Here.” He grabs Taemin’s wrist and wipes his hand clean with the sheets. “Come here.” Pushing Taemin down to the bed, Jongin slides a hand over his chest and straddles his hips, leaning down to spread his mouth over the head of Taemin’s cock. Taemin feels himself getting hard again despite himself. Not that he’s mad. He’s not. It’s fine. Jongin pulls off and kisses his way down Taemin’s thighs, languorously stroking the soft warm skin. Taemin’s eyes open wide and he’s trying to pull away but Jongin has already felt them-felt the long thin scabs running across and down his skin.
Jongin sits up immediately, confused, and Taemin closes his legs instinctively, avoiding eye contact.
“Taemin-ah.” Jongin bites his lip worriedly and tugs the blankets over them, avoiding the cold damp patches on the bed. “What’s been going on?” He curls into Taemin’s side, searching for Taemin’s hand under the covers. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Taemin says with a sigh. He sits up, taking the blankets with him, and swings his legs over the side of the bed, standing shakily. Clutching the blankets to his body, he walks out of the bedroom, leaving Jongin lying alone in their cold bed.
/
“Is this because I fuck other people?”
Taemin winces. They’re both on the balcony; Jongin standing silhouetted against the reflection of the city lights on the sliding glass doors of their apartment, thin cotton pants hanging off jutting hipbones.
“You know I don’t care about that.”
“Taemin, you need to tell me what’s going on. What’s upsetting you. I can’t-I can’t make this better if you don’t talk to me.”
Taemin doesn’t say anything. Just curls up tighter in his bundle of blankets, shivering in the late night chill.
“Taemin,” Jongin pleads, and drops to his knees, pulling Taemin into his chest. “Come on. Please. Please work with me. Let’s not do this again. Whatever’s bothering you-we can work through it. Please. Please. Come on Taemin.” Jongin’s breaths are warm against Taemin’s scalp, and Taemin feels the tears pricking behind his eyes. “Come on Taemin. I love you. I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”
Wordlessly, Taemin grabs Jongin’s hand and places it in his lap. Jongin looks at him, as if asking for permission. Taemin looks down and pulls away the blanket, dropping both their hands onto his inner thigh. Jongin grits his teeth and runs a finger along an angry red scar, the one that looks most recent. Some are white and raised, older-Jongin tries to remember if they were there last time, but he can’t remember when he last came home anymore. It’s been a long time. He doesn’t realise he’s been holding his breath until Taemin finally speaks, and he can finally fill his lungs again.
“I’ve missed you so much.”
“I know.”
Taemin doesn’t say anything more that night, but he lets Jongin carry him back to bed. Jongin watches his lover sleeping soundly, a slight frown on his face. Taemin hasn’t let go of Jongin’s hand, so Jongin sits up and with his other hand goes over the increasingly agitated messages his manager has sent him over the last 24 hours. With a sigh, he places his phone facedown on the bedside table, ignoring the bottle of lube resting on its side, still uncapped. Taemin’s hand is warm and sticky in his, and Jongin memorises the way it feels as he closes his eyes, hoping that he won’t let go in his sleep.
/
“What are you thinking about?” Jongin drapes a jacket over his shoulders and looks across the room, where Taemin is standing at the balcony doors.
“Taemin?”
Taemin finally glances over and shrugs. “It might rain tonight. During your flight.”
He looks back out the window and Jongin hears him sigh. Taemin’s been quiet all morning, helping Jongin get ready. There’s not much to pack; just a few changes of clothes and a phone charger. The BB creams and hairsprays and hairdryer take up half the suitcase. Jongin finds himself suddenly unable to move; unable to disturb the tangible silence in the room. Taemin is still, face expressionless as he watches the city shift and move outside, and Jongin finds himself wondering again-should I leave? Will it be okay? He knows what he can do better. He knows Taemin deserves better. But there’s no point in doing better when Taemin doesn’t want him to. Doesn’t want him to change or make compromises. Jongin’s heart seizes uncomfortably in his chest. Taemin never complains. He never asks for more. Taemin never says anything more than ‘I miss you’. And Jongin misses him too; misses whining at Taemin to do this and do that while Taemin laughs gleefully and refuses to humour him. Misses tripping over himself to fulfil Taemin’s every whim when he decides to whine at Jongin in return. Misses sitting together in the sun with takeaway coffee back when no one knew his face or his name.
Jongin thinks that if he could, he would want to go back to those days, but when he looks again at Taemin’s profile, closed off and cast in shadow, he’s not sure if it would make a difference.
are we already / too busy forgetting?
Sehun looks up from the book he’s reading as Jongin walks in from the bathroom. “You missed a call.”
Jongin’s phone is sitting on the table in front of Sehun, resting on top of an array of lookbooks and makeup swatches. Jongin raises an eyebrow at the book in Sehun’s hand, but doesn’t say anything.
“You didn’t answer it?”
“It was Taemin.”
Jongin nods in understanding. There’s no privacy between them; they’ve known each other since Sehun’s first casting call. In the industry and in all the tabloids, they’re known as best friends. Professionally and privately, they know the same people, so it’s a matter of efficiency for them to answer one another’s phone calls. Their colleagues know that if they find Sehun, they can find Kai. Jongin doesn’t mean to be elusive; it’s just that he prefers to be by himself, or with Sehun, while Sehun doesn’t mind pandering to journalists and street-style photographers. But when it comes to Taemin, Sehun knows to keep his distance.
Jongin has introduced Taemin to his ‘model friends’ before, but Jongin hates it when Taemin smiles at all the tall, well-coiffed industry professionals who hand him slender-necked champagne flutes and lean down to whisper softly in his lover’s ear over the loud thumping music. And he hates it when Taemin sees him like this, playing his role to perfection; equal parts aloof and inscrutable, smirking at cameras and kissing the cheek of every designer and celebrity who comes up to greet him. He hates it because only Taemin can make him feel shame. Only Taemin can make him feel smaller than he pretends to be; like a child faking bravado when really, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
Sehun puts down the book he’s reading and gets up to stretch, rubbing his belly with one hand. “Mmm. Let’s go eat. I’m hungry now.”
“I’m not.” Jongin picks up his phone and throws it from hand to hand.
Sehun looks annoyed. “Well, have a drink with me then. Come on.”
Jongin shakes his head. “Don’t feel like it.”
“Well what are you going to do instead? Mope around all night?”
Jongin looks up and smiles wryly. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll call up Lu Han. See if he’s busy.”
“Fucking don’t,” Sehun says lowly, exhaling.
“What’s it to you?” Jongin picks up the book Sehun was reading earlier. “Here. Don’t forget your fucking book. Since when did you even read?”
“Shut up,” Sehun says, snatching it from his hand. “Yixing-hyung said I should read more while I’m young.”
“While you’re young,” Jongin repeats. “What does that make him?”
“Old enough to know better. You know your shelf-life,” Sehun says, shrugging. “I was thinking of going back to school.”
“Is that what you want to do?” Jongin sits back, rubbing at the concealer beneath his eyes. It’s been a long day and Jongin doesn’t want to move, or eat, or talk about his future. He wants a hot shower and a hot body beneath him and maybe after all that-before he’s about to knock out for the night, by himself-he’ll return Taemin’s call and listen to his lover murmur to him sleepily about not being able to stay up much longer, but that he’s glad Jongin managed to call before he went to bed.
“I have to do something,” Sehun says. “I can’t do this forever.” He studies Jongin absentmindedly, as if planning his next words carefully. “You should come with me tonight. Don’t go to Lu Han, okay? Or anyone. This show is over in two days. You’ll be home soon. With Taemin.”
Home. With Taemin.
Jongin nods mutely, and lets Sehun drag him out to eat barbecue, not even bothering to protest about exceeding his calorie intake.
/
Jongin is lying on the oversized bed in the hotel room his manager arranged for him, phone resting on his chest. Somehow, he ended up spending the entire night out with Sehun. Yixing had shown up halfway through the night with two friends, wordlessly tangling his hand in Sehun’s hair and tugging him up for a breathless kiss that Jongin observes with a raised eyebrow while Yixing’s friends, Kris and Tao, roll their eyes and make gagging noises. Despite his scepticism about Yixing’s seemingly angelic tolerance of his best friend’s juvenile sense of entitlement, Jongin is happy for the two of them. Although Sehun would deny it heatedly, Jongin knows his friend has been long infatuated with the gentle photographer. At first, he thought it was the usual salvation complex that some well-meaning people get; you’re so much better than this. You’re more than a pretty face. I can save you from this. Those people, Jongin thinks, don’t understand the value of his work. They’re jealous, Lu Han always says. They want you to think less of yourself because they don’t want to see you rise above them. But Yixing has seen scores of young men pass before his camera lens and he’s seen scores of young men age and fade. So if it’s Yixing, then Jongin is happy. If it’s Yixing, then he knows Sehun will be safe.
It’s hours past midnight, and Jongin knows without checking his phone that Taemin will be fast asleep, maybe holding his phone like Jongin is now. He could leave a message for when he wakes up, but somehow it feels cheap, as if Jongin is going through the motions, retrospectively scrambling to make up for not being there. He settles for writing a text, but he’s halfway through typing out a greeting before he realises he sounds defensive and distant, as if he’s emailing a teacher about forgetting to complete a homework assignment. He knows it’s not enough anyway, so it seems pathetic to even try. Erasing the words, he lets his phone drop back onto his chest. His eyes close. He has a 7 AM wakeup call and another long day, but at the end of it, he’ll be halfway through the fashion show.
Halfway home.
/
Taemin checks his phone as soon as he wakes, blearily squinting at the bright screen, but there've been no new messages since he checked before going to sleep the night before. It's not light yet; one of the occupational hazards of working in floristry is the obscenely early trips to the market every few days. Not that Taemin minds. He likes to think he’s outgrown the bad habit of staying out all night and stumbling home when the bars close right before the first train.
These days, he still goes out, but he gets home at a more respectable hour. He knows that Jongin worries about him being by himself too much, so he tries not to spend too many nights home alone, but he knows that Jongin also worries about him getting home late at night, so he makes sure he’s never home too late. Taemin hates making Jongin worry; Jongin works so hard, he figures, so the least he can do is make sure he’s not being a burden on him. Taemin worries about Jongin too, but he trusts Jongin to take care of himself.
Dragging himself out of bed, he rubs at his eyes again and pauses to stretch. When Jongin isn’t around, he sleeps with all of their winter blankets lumped on Jongin’s side of the bed, so that he has something to stop him rolling all the way off the other side when he unconsciously seeks his lover in the night. He doesn’t bother making the bed-he’s the only one returning to it after all-and stumbles to the bathroom to get ready.
Taemin thinks the market is beautiful in the early morning light. He likes these in-between times, when no one is quite awake or asleep, and everything is a little more soft, a little more mellow. Like the world is still emerging from a deep dream. He breathes in the chilly autumn air now, and nods in greeting at the permanent traders who have all come to recognise him. Once, Jongin has insisted on coming along, and spent the entire morning complaining about being awake. Taemin had cuffed him for being a brat, and forced him to bargain with the flower sellers while he went to look at the foliage. He smiles at the memory. He misses Jongin almost constantly, but they’ve always led separate lives, and in a way, Taemin is glad. Jongin doesn’t like waking up for early morning market trips any more than Taemin likes staying up all night pretending he doesn’t see the models with their noses pressed to glass tables.
/
Yixing is shuffling around backstage, camera in hand as he edges around bored models waiting for the foils to be taken out of their hair and agitated dressers brandishing fashion tape. There’s always an interesting dynamic backstage; Yixing thinks it’s one step away from descending into complete chaos; some people are frantic and near tears, others are apathetic and impatient for it to be over. For him, though, he just has to take the occasional candid backstage shot, so for the most part, he’s one of the few who actually gets to stand back and enjoy the atmosphere. He spots Jongin and Sehun across the room, and waves to them. Only Sehun waves back. Jongin is already looking cold and unapproachable, sinking into the defensive persona he’s developed over the past few years in this industry.
Yixing still remembers the first time he had Jongin in front of his camera. He had told Jongin that he looked too ambivalent; that he needed to be more certain of what he was presenting to the viewer. Yixing knows the privilege of being behind a camera; taking a photo of someone, one-on-one, is strangely intimate for him. He knows that many photographers in the fashion industry don’t feel the same way. After all, when you’ve got model after model in twenty-one different outfits swanning on and off the set for yet another lookbook, you stop bothering to get to know them between outfit changes. But still, Yixing thinks that to take a photo of another human being is to make a connection with them, even if it’s just for a second, and if photos are forever, then Yixing doesn’t want to forget a single person.
He’s never forgotten Jongin. Not just because of his friendship with Sehun, but also because when he was photographing Jongin, he wasn’t sure who he was photographing. Yixing knows Kai-everyone knows Kai. But Yixing met Jongin before Kai was fully-formed, and sometimes he fancies he can still see that vulnerable, equivocal Jongin in the borderlines of his austere industry persona. Because Yixing never forgets anyone he photographs; he never forgets them in that moment. The thing about moments is that they pass all too soon; in a second, everything can turn inside out. And Yixing, always fixed on those static moments, is always the one left reeling. Moments don’t disappear, but people do. And suddenly those moments appear faded; a distorted recollection of what Yixing has tried so faithfully to capture.
/
Jongin doesn’t usually mind long taxi rides. He likes travelling-being in between places. It feels weightless. When he’s on a plane, or in a taxi, no one can demand anything of him. Whatever anyone wants will have to wait until he gets where he’s going. But tonight, he finds himself impatiently checking the passing scenery every few minutes until it begins to look familiar. It’s only been a few nights, but he’s desperate to be back with Taemin-back home, where no one is looking at him. With Taemin, there’s no looking-Taemin just sees, and feels, and understands, and Jongin doesn’t have to pretend to be mature, or worry about saying the wrong thing.
The elevator ride feels too long too. He realises the source of his anxiety at the eleventh floor; he never returned Taemin’s call. By the sixteenth floor, he remembers that he hasn’t even called to tell him he’s coming home so soon. When he does arrive at their floor, he suddenly feels that the trip back didn’t take quite as long as he needed to get ready to see Taemin again.
His keys are at the bottom of his bag, so he knocks. He can hear Taemin shout, “Coming!” from the back of the apartment, and worries his bottom lip as footsteps approach the front door.
“You’re home!” Taemin looks surprised, but pleased. “Have you eaten yet? I’ve got some people over. I didn’t know you’d be back so soon.”
“I’ve eaten already,” Jongin says quickly. “I won’t bother you guys, I’ll probably just get some sleep, actually. I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead.”
Taemin nods, reaching down to pick up his suitcase. “We’ll be quiet, then. You get some rest.” He leads Jongin into the apartment by the hand, calling out to the people clustered in the kitchen. “Guys! Jongin is back and wants to sleep so we’ve got to be quiet, okay?” He turns to Jongin. “Do you want to go over and say hi quickly?”
Jongin looks down at Taemin’s hopeful face, and shrugs. “Sure.” He can tell Taemin wants him to at least meet his friends, and he knows he should. He feels a little guilty that he’s never spoken to any of them, or even heard much about them.
Taemin introduces him proudly to Jonghyun, Jinki, Minho, and Kibum. He recognises Minho’s name, and observes the taller man narrowly. Kibum fawns over him, much to his discomfort, and asks him to sign a magazine cover. He obliges, but Taemin can tell he wants to leave. Jongin lets Taemin excuse the two of them, and follows Taemin into their room.
“Are you okay? Sorry about Kibum. He’s really into fashion and all, you know? Anyway, you get some sleep now.” Taemin leans up to kiss him affectionately, and Jongin frowns. He feels like a child, being put to bed early while the grown-ups continue to socialise and drink throughout the night. And, like a child, he doesn’t want to be left alone.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you back,” he blurts out. “It got too late and I knew you would be asleep and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Oh!” Taemin looks as if he’s remembering. “Oh yeah, don’t worry about it.” He smiles. “I was just calling to ask if you knew when you’d be back, but you came back so quickly that I hardly had a chance to miss you!” He pushes Jongin gently onto the bed and places the suitcase at his feet. “Okay, you definitely have to get some rest now, you look like death warmed up.”
Taemin returns to his friends, closing the door quietly behind him. Jongin sits in the dark for a little longer, before getting up to strip off his clothes. His side of the bed is loaded with blankets, as if Taemin had kicked them off in the morning and shoved them all to one side. He can’t quite remember Taemin ever having such a habit, but he knows he has to get up early for the flower market, so he doesn’t think about it too much. Lying there, in his own bed, he listens to the quiet chatter and muted laughter from the kitchen, and finds himself growing resentful that he even bothered to feel bad about not returning Taemin’s call. Obviously, Taemin has learned to keep himself occupied while Jongin is away. And he should be grateful that Taemin isn’t the type to be overbearing and clingy. Taemin is happy when he’s home, and checks in when he’s away, but never obsesses or demands to know Jongin’s whereabouts. He almost wishes that Taemin had missed him a little more, but he dismisses it as childish neediness. He remembers, for a second, the livid scars, but dismisses that too as he lapses into uneasy sleep.
i can hear it loudly, even words that aren’t said.
Jongin stirs when Taemin slips back into bed beside him, pressing cold hands against his side.
“Awake?”
“Am now.” Jongin rolls over onto his back, tugging Taemin onto his chest. “Actually. No. Totally not. Very sleepy. Very, very sleepy.”
“Well, be awake!” Taemin buries his face in Jongin’s neck. “Guess what I did? I made Henry go to the market today. Well. I asked him nicely, because he’s older than me and everything. But I asked him nicely at 4 AM, so I’m not sure it really counts.”
Jongin wakes up a bit more at the news. “Are you going to work later?”
“No, Henry and Kyuhyun can handle it.”
“Who’s Kyuhyun?”
“New guy. I like him. He’s cute.”
Jongin sits up a little too suddenly, forcing Taemin to sit up too. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to think of what to say next. He settles for, “What time is it?”
“Like 5 AM,” Taemin laughs. “I just had to call Henry. We can go back to bed. I just thought you were awake.”
“I’m not that sleepy anymore,” Jongin confesses. “I slept pretty early last night.”
“I’m glad,” Taemin says, flopping back down on the bed. “I was afraid we were going to keep you up. We can get pretty loud when we’re all together.”
“Your friends seem nice,” Jongin says. “Is that the Minho you were having dinner with a few nights ago?”
“Yeah, that’s Minho,” Taemin says. He yawns. “If you don’t want to sleep, then did you want some breakfast? Nothing’s open yet, but I could make something.”
“Not hungry,” Jongin says. He lies back down too, and turns to press light kisses to Taemin’s eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, his lips. “But you’re right, I don’t want to go back to sleep.”
Taemin laughs softly, and rolls over to straddle him. “In that case, I can think of a few things we can do.”
/
This time, Jongin runs his fingertips along the scars, tending to them with gentle kitten licks. Taemin exhales breathily, hands tangled in the hair at the nape of Jongin’s neck.
“How would you like it if I took some time off work?” Jongin pauses to crane his neck up, looking at Taemin with soft eyes. “We could wake up like this every morning.”
Taemin laughs, shaking his head. “No, Jongin, we couldn’t. Even if you could, I couldn’t take too many days off.”
Jongin pouts. “But I want to spend more time with you.”
“If that’s the only reason, then you definitely shouldn’t. Your work is too important, and you come home often enough. Besides, it’s not like I’ll be too lonely without you.” Taemin pulls Jongin up onto his lap, letting him rest against his chest. “You shouldn’t worry about me.”
“I shouldn’t worry?” Jongin snaps, stiffening. He grabs hold of Taemin’s inner thigh, forcefully enough to make Taemin flinch. “You think I shouldn’t worry?”
“Stop,” Taemin says firmly. “I don’t need you getting so worked up over this. You concentrate on your career and don’t make me worry about you.”
“What about-what about this?” Jongin brushes the crosshatch of scars.
“It was just a few times,” Taemin says, avoiding his gaze. “It’s stupid. I was being stupid. I’m not going to do it again. Don’t treat me like a child, Jongin.”
I’m not, Jongin wants to say. Taemin is always the one treating him like a child. Like there are things that Jongin doesn’t need to know, doesn’t need to worry about. But Jongin does worry, because as much as Taemin tries to be strong for him, he wishes instead that Taemin could let himself be weak once in a while. Weak, like Jongin is.
Taemin smiles down at him. “Trust me. I know how to look after myself. I don’t want you to worry about anything. I just need you to look after yourself too.”
Jongin burrows further against Taemin, eyes closed. Taemin caresses his cheek with one hand as the other pulls their blankets back over them.
“Can you do that for me?”
/
Jongin leaves for Milan a few days later, feeling empty. After the last time he’d been back, he’d expected Taemin to take him up on his offer of taking time off work. But as usual, Taemin had put Jongin first. As usual, Taemin hadn’t let Jongin take care of him in return.
His manager picks him up from the airport and takes him to his next location, briefing him about the next job while Jongin attempts to nap in the backseat. Yixing is there, straddling a swivel chair, with Lu Han hovering next to him.
“Am I working with you today?” Jongin asks sleepily. Lu Han nods, and leans down to exchange a few words with Yixing in Mandarin.
“I’ll leave you to get ready. I’m not actually the photographer for this shoot. Just assisting. But I wanted to say hi first,” Yixing says.
Jongin nods. “How’s Sehun?”
“Ornery.” Yixing smiles fondly. “A brat, as usual.” He gets up and gathers his things, making his way towards the door. “Right. I need to help set up. You kids have fun.” He turns to leave, waving as the door closes behind him.
Lu Han takes the seat that Yixing has just vacated, looking up at Jongin with curious eyes. “You look like shit.”
“I’ve been hearing that a lot,” Jongin says, dropping his bag.
His manager scoffs. “It’s because you do. What’s the point of going home so often when you spend half your time on red-eye flights?”
Jongin shrugs. “I don’t like hotel rooms.”
/
This time, Jongin calls first. Taemin answers breathlessly on the second ring and immediately puts him on speaker.
“How’re things?” Taemin says. He sounds distant. Jongin can hear him shuffling around on the other end.
“Not bad,” Jongin says. “But I would rather be home with you.” He rolls onto his stomach and listens carefully for Taemin's reply; the speakerphone isn't ideal in terms of sound quality, and he hopes that Taemin can hear him properly.
He hears Taemin chuckle somewhere near the phone. “You'll be home soon, won't you?”
“I guess,” Jongin says, pouting.
“Shouldn’t you be off partying with your model crowd right now?”
“Not tonight,” Jongin says. “Tomorrow I have to make an appearance at an opening to promote something or other. But once they take some photos of me with the product, I think I’ll be able to leave. I want to get some sleep so I’m not too tired when I come home.” Jongin doesn’t want to pass out in their bedroom again while Taemin is in the kitchen without him, entertaining friends that Jongin doesn't even know or like that much.
“That sounds very grown-up of you,” Taemin says approvingly. “Sadly I can’t say I’m doing the same. I’m heading out just about now.”
“Don’t you have to go to the market tomorrow?”
“I do,” Taemin says, sheepish. His voice suddenly sounds louder, clearer. He’s picked up his phone again and taken it off speaker. “But one night won’t kill me.”
Jongin’s breath catches in his throat. There’s a pregnant silence that Taemin doesn’t break; Taemin never minds silences. Taemin has patiently waited for over an hour while Jongin slowly falls asleep over the phone. Taemin always gives him all the time he needs.
“I love you,” he finally says, in a fast exhale, and he holds his breath again, in fear of missing Taemin's reply if he’s breathing too loud. Turns out it’s a meaningless endeavour, because for some reason, he can hear his heart pounding in his temples too-and he definitely can't turn that off, and he doesn’t know why it’s so important to him, what Taemin will say next-might say next-or what Taemin might not say at all.
Jongin hears a zipper being pulled up, and a jangle of something that might be a belt buckle. When Taemin finally picks up the phone again, he tells him hurriedly that he needs to leave, and that he’ll talk to Jongin later.
Jongin is about to end the call when he hears, “Jongin-ah. I love you.”
a repetition of suffocating scenes.
When they first moved in together, they spent all of their time out on the balcony. It had been late summer when they signed the lease. The balcony had been the deciding factor in choosing an apartment. A balcony meant Jongin could smoke late into the night and still maintain a conversation with Taemin only half a room away. A balcony meant Taemin could hand-wash all of Jongin’s delicate clothes and have somewhere to hang them without crowding the hallway to the bathroom with fold-up racks. Sometimes, when they entertained, guests would spill out onto the balcony and marvel at the view of all the other apartments with a thousand anonymous glowing windows, watching tiny people shifting and pulsing on the streets below.
“Look at the ant people!” Sehun had said gleefully when he came for their housewarming. He had given them an expensive bottle of sparkling wine and a cactus.
They don’t entertain as often nowadays, since Jongin is away much more, but sometimes they still sit out on the balcony and watch the city lights fade into the horizon.
Taemin is out when Jongin gets back, so Jongin dumps his suitcase at the foot of their bed, picks up the half-empty wine bottle from Taemin’s bedside table, and takes it out to the balcony. He sits down on a dog-eared stack of phonebooks, faded white from the sun, and pulls out a cigarette, the wine bottle wedged between his thighs.
The bottle is empty before Taemin gets back, but Jongin reasons that there wasn’t much left in the first place. He wonders when Taemin took to keeping a bottle of wine by his bedside. For a second, he thinks about dropping the bottle over the railing. He leaves it next to his ashtray instead and goes back inside. The apartment is chilly now. Jongin doesn’t mind the cold so much; he’s had to wear next to nothing in the snow, so a cold apartment doesn’t bother him anymore. He turns up the heating nonetheless, because Taemin likes to indulge in heating whenever he’s home; flowers don’t like heaters even if Taemin does, so he never gets to be warm at work.
The sun is starting to sink behind all the buildings outside their glass walls. Jongin looks out at the warm wash of light and imagines Taemin, illuminated in that pink glow.
/
Jongin sits at the kitchen bench, playing on his phone as Taemin makes breakfast. He’s wearing one of Jongin’s shirts. One of those minimalist designers had gifted it to him after a shoot, and Taemin likes it because it’s made to only have one seam, and he claims it’s more comfortable. Jongin doesn’t really care if Taemin steals his entire wardrobe for ‘comfort’ because at the end of the day, Jongin has more than enough clothing, and really, the only thing he doesn’t like sharing is Taemin himself.
“I’m so glad your flight isn’t until later today,” Taemin says, looking up with a smile. He’s whisking eggs with a pair of chopsticks, and Jongin doesn’t have the heart to ask him to remove the yolks first. “I haven’t made you breakfast in so long.”
Jongin doesn’t particularly care whether he has breakfast; more often than not, he skips it for an extra half-hour of sleep, and he’d much rather Taemin was holding him right now and asking him not to leave. But he doesn’t want to bring it up again. If Jongin takes time off for Taemin, Taemin will feel guilty. If Jongin takes time off for Jongin, Taemin will worry.
“You don’t have to make me breakfast, you know,” Jongin says.
“I want to!” Taemin waves the chopsticks emphatically and frowns at him. "I even took the morning off. I want you to have a nutritious breakfast before you leave.”
“Uh huh,” Jongin says, rolling his eyes. “All your hard work will definitely be undone tonight. Sehun will probably drag me out to get barbecue or fried chicken or something incredibly unhealthy.”
“Eating meat isn’t unhealthy in moderation,” Taemin chides. “Just don't eat too much.”
“I won’t,” Jongin promises earnestly. I won’t.
“Good, because then you really will undo all my hard work.” Taemin looks pleased as he begins scrambling the eggs.
Jongin puts his phone down and clears his throat, looking fixedly at the stovetop. “Will you be around if I call you tonight?”
“I’m going out with Minho and the others,” Taemin says, not turning around. “So I guess it depends what time you call. But you probably won’t be done until late, right?”
“Right.” Jongin looks away.
Sometimes, nothing bad has to happen. Sometimes, it’s bad enough that nothing bad ever happens. It would be better, Jongin reflects, if we actually fought.
/
Jongin hates flying. Hates being stuck in a metal container halfway across an ocean. He fishes out a blister pack and pops a couple of pills into his hand. Washing them down with the complimentary glass of wine, he leans back in his seat, and closes his eyes. When he arrives, it’ll be late afternoon there, but back home, it’s just starting to get dark. Taemin will be getting ready to go out. Jongin doesn't want to think about the amount of time Taemin seems to spend with Minho and the other friends whose faces Jongin can no longer recall. He doesn’t want to think about the way Taemin seems to be becoming more and more distant. The way Taemin no longer seems to need him, or miss him.
Jongin’s hand closes over his phone as he falls asleep. In his dream, he goes home and puts his suitcase at the foot of the bed. Takes the half-empty wine bottle from Taemin’s bedside table. Takes it to the balcony and sits on the sun-bleached stack of phonebooks. Smokes cigarette after cigarette. Taemin never comes home. His dream fades to black as flight attendant wakes him.
“-Sir? Sir? We’ll be beginning our descent soon. Please fasten your seatbelt.”
He’s left with a dry mouth and a bitter taste in the back of his throat.
/
Sehun drags a drunken Yixing out of the backseat of the taxi and waves goodbye to Lu Han, dropping a few creased notes into his lap.
“Take care of him, okay? Make sure he gets to his room.” Sehun eyes Jongin warily. “I don’t think he’s even checked in yet. Remind him that his suitcase is at the front desk.”
Lu Han nods, and Sehun nods back. “Right then. See you.” He slams the door and watches the taxi pull away from the curb, Yixing breathing soft and warm against his neck.
Sehun wonders when he turned into the sensible one. For as long as they’ve been friends, Jongin had always seemed more mature; he’d been the one with the steady long-term relationship and the industry connections. Sehun had envied him for being so comfortable in a world that seemed, to him, to cut people down just as easily as it handed out fast-fading glory. Jongin had seemed incapable of being cut down by anyone except himself.
Sehun no longer nurses any misguided hero worship for his friend; it’s hard to idolise someone when you’ve watched them slip up, time and time again. Sehun knows that Jongin is afraid of fading away; afraid of obsolescence. So he pushes himself harder, and does anything he can to numb the ache of being away from himself for too long. Sehun thinks that Jongin has always been too good at compartmentalising, but not so good at maintaining the discrete parts of his life. Jongin always insists on separating his public life from his personal life, but Sehun isn’t sure what’s left of the latter. He thinks of Taemin, alone for most of the year, in that too-large apartment. When Sehun had first gotten into this industry, Jongin had asked him what he was working towards. Sehun had thought for a moment, before shrugging and replying with, “I’m no good at anything else.”
When Sehun asked him the same question, Jongin had said, “I have someone waiting for me back home.”
It’s been four years since they first met.
/
Jongin is heavy and barely conscious as Lu Han gently leads him to the elevator. Lu Han has Jongin’s suitcase in one hand and his room key gritted between his teeth.
“Jongin-ah,” Lu Han says, as well as he can through the plastic card in his mouth. “Hang in there, okay? Don’t fall asleep on me or I am going to slap you so hard that your next makeup artist will be bitching me out for decades.”
“Not asleep,” Jongin mumbles. “Very. Awake.”
“Good, good," Lu Han says. “Stay that way.” They enter the elevator and Lu Han presses the button for Jongin’s floor. The gentle movement of the elevator has Jongin swaying queasily, and Lu Han has to poke him to confirm that he’s not going to upchuck all over himself.
They manage to make it into Jongin’s hotel room without any further mishap, and Lu Han promptly pushes Jongin onto the bed and unzips his suitcase, in search of a change of clothes.
“Lu Han!”
“What, brat?”
“What are you doing?”
“Baking a fucking cake for your mother. Finally awake, are you?” Lu Han raises an eyebrow at the figure facedown on the bed. “Come on, take your clothes off. Do you have pyjamas in here or something?”
“No,” Jongin says sullenly. He does begin to strip, much to Lu Han’s relief. Leaving him to undress, Lu Han turns on the light and goes into the bathroom to wet one of the rolled-up hand towels on the granite bench, bringing it back to Jongin to wipe his face and neck.
“Thanks,” Jongin says. He’s quieter now, more subdued than when he was on his ninth standard drink. “I can take that.”
Lu Han hands him the towel and watches him solemnly as he smudges off the dark eye makeup.
“How was your flight back?”
“Slept.”
“You should do some more of that.” Lu Han wipes his damp hands on his jeans. “Will you be okay if I leave?”
Jongin looks up sharply. “You’re leaving?”
“Well, yeah, unless you need something.”
Jongin bites his lip and throws the hand towel off the side of the bed. Leaning back on one arm, he spreads his legs and runs the other hand down his bared thigh, drumming his fingertips on his knee.
“Don’t you want to fuck me before you leave?”
Lu Han lets out an abrupt laugh, crossing the room to tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of Jongin’s neck. “Listen, Jongin,” he says curtly, right next to his ear. “I like you a lot. But I’m not going to fuck you when I know you’re going to think of someone else. I’m not going to fuck you so you can pretend you’re anything like me. You’re nothing like me. Don’t try to pretend we fuck for the same reasons.”
Jongin flinches, looking away.
“I’m not going to fuck you because you hate yourself, Jongin.” Lu Han murmurs, more gently this time. “If you miss him so much, why don’t you just call him?”
“Can’t.”
“Of course you fucking can! Don’t be such a child.” Lu Han whacks him gently against the side of the head. “Just call. Be weak. Say you miss him. Tell him you love him. Tell him you screamed his name while I fucked you against the wall last week.”
Jongin cracks a bitter smile at that. “I’m just waiting for him to realise he deserves so much better, you know?”
“On one hand, I agree with you,” Lu Han says. Jongin looks up in surprise. “What? You think he deserves a piece of shit like you who can’t talk about his feelings like the grown-ass man he is?”
“Are you trying to help or what?” Jongin flops back onto the hotel bed. “Because you’re really not making me feel better.”
“I’m not trying to. I’m just saying, if you think he deserves better, then be better. Or leave. Then you can be like me and fuck anything that moves.” Lu Han grins down at him gleefully.
“You probably shouldn't say that so proudly.”
“At least I can admit it to myself. You’re a good kid, Jongin. If you love him so goddamn much then don’t fuck this up. Stop pissing around and just have it out with him. Tell him about everything that keeps you awake at night.” Lu Han sits down on the bed and prods at Jongin’s prone body. “How can you be so hot but also such a total loser?”
Jongin slaps his hand away halfheartedly. “Go away. You're not helping."
“I am so helping!” Lu Han slaps him right back. “But alright, alright, I’ll go. But only because I need to go find someone else to fuck who isn’t a pissbaby.”
“Such a challenge,” Jongin taunts.
“Go to sleep, brat.”
Lu Han gets up and leaves, taking with him the last of Jongin’s mirth and energy.
He stares at the closed door, wishing Lu Han had turned the light off when he left. His entire body feels heavy and sluggish, but he forces himself to get up. There’s a mirror next to the light switch. He examines himself closely. He hates looking at himself naked. He always looks weak. There are still streaky grey smudges near his eyes and the bridge of his nose, but even those aren't enough to distract from the dark bags beneath his eyes, or his blown pupils. Leaning his head against the cool glass, he exhales, and lets the hot tears well up and spill over.
Jongin doesn't know quite when it got this bad, when it got to feeling like he wasn't just separated from Taemin temporally and physically, but emotionally too. He can’t picture the last time they were together and Taemin was smiling. All he can think of is the half-empty bottle of wine by his bedside-because Taemin, his Taemin, isn’t like him, he wouldn’t bother with anything stronger-and the scars, the scars that Jongin himself had caused. He remembers what Taemin had said. I’ve missed you so much.
Jongin remembers. He remembers.
Dark beads of blood spill from split knuckles as Jongin lets himself sink to the ground.
i can’t let you go.
Jongin is clenched around him so hotly, exhaling shallow and fast at the heavy drag of his cock as Taemin languidly rocks his hips into him. Jongin’s suitcase is still at the foot of the bed, and the flowers that Taemin brought to the airport from work are sitting on top of it. Taemin never brings home fresh flowers; the flowers in their home are always the ones that won’t last the night.
“I love you,” Taemin says softly, pushing Jongin’s legs back. Jongin slides his calves against Taemin’s back, tossing his hair back and biting his lip in anticipation of being filled from this new angle.
“Look at me,” Jongin pleads. Taemin meets his gaze, his eyes soft and his expression tender even as he plunges into Jongin, his lips parted. Jongin palms his hip, urging him to go faster, fingers biting into flushed skin as Taemin rests on his forearms and fucks him steadily to a climax, whispering I love you I love you I love you I love you in an endless mantra against his shoulder.
/
It was Taemin who taught him how to love himself. It was Taemin who taught him that he deserved to be loved. He looks at Taemin now, and wonders if he can ever become the person Taemin deserves to love.
He wonders how Taemin loves him, and how much.
/
“What are you thinking about?”
/
Jongin dips a finger into the sachet of white powder and sucks it between his lips. His skin glows blue in the early morning light. Splaying a hand against his own belly, he imagines a sharp blade slicing him open, revealing all the ugly things he keeps inside of himself. Taemin stirs beside him, and wakes when Jongin whispers his name.
“Jongin?”
Jongin lets his eyes close.
/
Taemin is sure that he is loved. It is a beautiful thing to be sure; it is a beautiful thing to be loved by Jongin. Jongin’s heartbeat is a stutter against his palm. And he remembers. He remembers.
/
“You.”
the end?
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a/n: hi friends, here is some super mega angsty taekai based on epik high's spoiler for y'all!! special thanks to the lovely sasireun for helping me do all the things, like editing and italicising and just generally putting up with me whenever i flopped around and wailed on her. what a gem.