as the smoke clears (watch as ashes fade away) [part 1/2]
Title: as the smoke clears (watch as ashes fade away)
Rating: pg-15
Pairing: sehun/suho, broken!kyungsoo/suho
Length: ~9400 words
Summary: And in the end, Junmyun learns it isn’t only Sehun who needs to learn to let go.
Written for aideshou's fifth challenge ^^
prompts used: i + ii
Winter in Seoul is a clashing symphony of harsh, biting winds and snowstorms and clear, fresh air, but Seoul in winter is cloudy puffs of breath whenever Junmyun steps outside and days so cold you freeze no matter how many layers of clothing you hide underneath. Days when Junmyun wonders if it’s actually possible to become a living popsicle just by standing still on the street for more than a few milliseconds, watching the world pass by as he’s frozen in time, frozen in the past.
The boy appears on one of those days, throwing himself in Junmyun’s path all of a sudden as Junmyun trudges through the snow for a grocery shopping trip he couldn’t put off for any longer, teeth chattering, hands and voice trembling but expression steely and determined as he points the barrel of a gun at Junmyun’s face and breathes in a quavering whisper, “Don’t move. I’m going to kill you.”
It takes Junmyun a few seconds to register what the boy is saying, and even then, he’s too numb, partly due to the cold and partly due to his shock, to even feel the slightest bit of fear. Instead, he fumbles about with his mouth, trying to loosen up his frozen lips enough to manage a croaked, half-distinctive “Sorry?”
The boy flinches as the sound of Junmyun’s voice and he slowly, shakily lowers the gun, his voice a half whisper as he asks, “You’re not him, are you?”
Junmyun blinks, or at least, attempts to blink with his frozen eyelashes and general unwillingness to make the effort to move in the cold. “No?” he says questioningly, hoping that it’s the right answer and that he’s not going to get his brains blasted to bits by some random kid on the street. Damn. It’s really too cold to be worrying about things like this.
“Oh,” the boy says and for some reason he looks like he’s about to cry, “Fuck.” And maybe he is crying, because his eyes are shining with unshed tears and in this cold it’s not possible to shed tears while crying anyway. Something about his determined, defiant expression cracks and Junmyun is painfully reminded of a vulnerable, confused kid behind the death threat and the entire is-this-person-messed-up-because-of-said-death-threat-and-how-it-was-a-mistake.
The boy looks awfully young, almost to the point that he’s just barely out of his teens. He’s not wearing much other than a thin jacket and a pair of jeans, and it’s obvious from the way he’s still gripping the gun, knuckles turning white and hands trembling, that he’s freezing, maybe to the point of dying, fading away like the determination he once had. Out of its own accord, Junmyun’s mouth moves again and he forces out between chattering teeth, “Are you looking for someone?” Stupid question, really.
The hint of vulnerability on the boy’s face disappears immediately and he snaps, “It’s none of your business.” He pauses, looking around to make sure that there’s no one else around, then asks, this time with a touch of hesitation in his voice, “You’re not going to tell anyone?”
Junmyun stares at the boy for a long moment, wondering what he’s supposed to say in a situation like this. He’s not bad-looking, the sort of boy who probably would have dozens of girls fawning over him in school, if he actually went to school. Innocent looking. Fragile, almost feminine. Too young to be wandering around the streets carrying a gun, threatening to kill random strangers on accident. Much too young. “If I say yes, you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
A flicker of uncertainty crosses the boy’s face, but he nods, obviously gone down Junmyun’s train of thought. “I’ll kill you if you tell.”
“Then I won’t,” Junmyun finally says slowly. The boy doesn’t change his expression, but something about the way he shifts his arm subtly into a more comfortable, relaxed position tells Junmyun that he’s relieved.
“Thank you,” he says stiffly, and the almost formal tone he uses make Junmyun feel like they’re having a rather surreal, strange conversation. The boy turns around to leave, but at the last moment, something clicks in Junmyun’s mind and he reaches out and grabs the boy’s arm before the boy can run off. There’s a moment of panic as Junmyun realizes that despite his brief moment of vulnerability, the kid is carrying a fucking gun, but the boy turns back and merely watches Junmyun warily. “What do you want?”
“Do you have anywhere to go?” It’s badly phrased and Junmyun isn’t quite sure what makes him say it, but when the boy doesn’t respond, he continues past numb lips and shivers, “You’re freezing. You’re going to die if you stay out like this. And if you don’t have anywhere to stay…I…I’ve got clothes. And food.” He’s crazy. Insane. The cold has somehow inhibited all his senses and he should go and find a doctor or a therapist. But something about the boy reminds Junmyun of himself in a way, although he can’t figure out exactly what. Something about the boy cries out help, and the last time Junmyun saw that, he didn’t do anything, and the fact that he didn’t haunts him constantly.
The boy stares at him, all open hostility and suspicion, and Junmyun doesn’t blame him because he has every right to be suspicious of him. Of everything. “Why should I trust you?”
“Keep the gun,” Junmyun responds. His feet are so numb he can’t feel them at all anymore. “I’m unarmed. I won’t hurt you. I won’t tell. If I do anything harmful to you, you can kill me. Happy?”
The prospect of being warm and full must have won over caution because the boy nods warily and mumbles, “You can let go of my arm now.”
Junmyun frowns, having completely forgotten that he has been clutching the boy’s arm the entire time. “Sorry.” He takes his hand away and rubs it with his other, trying to get some circulation back into his extremities. The grocery trip is going to have to wait. He’ll live. There might be some ramen hidden in the corner of some cupboard in the kitchen, and if not, then there’s probably some leftover soup or rice. “Will ramen be okay? It’s not much.”
“Ramen?” The boy is still regarding him suspiciously, but his eyes seem to brighten up at the mention of food. Junmyun gets the feeling that any food at the moment will be welcome. He wonders when the boy had his last meal.
“Yeah. Ramen. If I can find some.” He smiles as well as he can and nods behind him, trying to not think of how weird the entire conversation has been. “Come on. We’ve got a bit of walking to do. Try not to freeze to death before we arrive, okay? I don’t think I can carry you in this state.”
-
They meet for the first time in spring, in the midst of blooming flowers and soft drizzles. Spring is the time for love was something his mother had always told him, and he had laughed, thinking the phrase foolish. But when the boy smiles at him and reaches out to shake his hand, he forgets about laughing, breathing, living. Time stops.
“I’m Kyungsoo,” the boy says.
“Suho,” he manages, “I’m Suho.” And maybe spring really is the time for love.
-
Surprisingly, Junmyun finds two packets of ramen in the back of a cupboard almost immediately. He also finds a yellowing, worn-out recipe for kimchi spaghetti, which he pushes to the side, out of sight. The boy hovers in the distance, watching Junmyun warily as Junmyun dumps the ramen and whatever ingredients he can find into a pot and stirs the bubbling concoction. Junmyun catches the boy flinching every time he stirs the ramen and rolls his eyes. “Relax. I’m not going to report you, or harm you, or poison you. My cooking isn’t that bad.” He stirs the noodles one more time and tastes them, nodding in approval when they’re mostly edible. “What’s your name?” he continues as he lifts the pot off the stove and sets it on the dining table, along with a couple of bowls and pairs of chopsticks.
“Why should I tell you?” the boy snaps, although his eyes follow Junmyun’s hands when they pick up a ladle and a pair of chopsticks. His voice becomes less abrupt when Junmyun begins ladling the ramen into the bowls. “I don’t trust you enough.”
Junmyun pushes a steaming bowl towards the boy and raises his eyebrows as he begins eating his own ramen. “All right, kid. I won’t ask.”
The boy’s fingers pause in front of the bowl and Junmyun looks up to see a pair of angry eyes directed at him. “Who are you calling kid? I’m not a kid.”
“You look like one,” Junmyun mumbles past a full mouth. He chews and swallows exaggeratingly, then smiles innocently at the boy, shaking at his own audacity. It’s the weather. It’s making him crazy. “So stop complaining and eat your food, kid. And until I know your name, I’m calling you a kid.”
Silence ensues. Junmyun continues eating, but his heartbeat begins hammering loudly in his ears, and he wonders if he’s gone too far, because somehow, in the warmth of his apartment and the almost pathetic way the boy stares at the ramen, he’s forgotten that the boy has all the reasons in the world to just kill him any moment.
Then, the boy mumbles, “It’s Sehun. My name. It’s Sehun.”
Junmyun almost laughs out of pure relief, but he merely nods, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “I’m Junmyun. There. We know each other’s names. Eat your food before it gets cold, Sehun. And that gun…” He trails off and stares at the weapon hanging off of Sehun’s belt, then continues, “put it somewhere where no one else will notice it, okay? You don’t have to tell me where you put it. But I’d rather not have you carry a gun around. Hide it when you have the time.”
They fall into another silence, but Junmyun’s so overwhelmed by relief that he almost misses Sehun muttering, “I’m not even that young. Eighteen isn’t young.”
Eighteen. Eighteen is too young. Eighteen is an age that Junmyun doesn’t want to remember. “It is to me,” Junmyun retorts back, “I’m in my early twenties. I’m ancient compared to you.” He doesn’t quite succeed, but the ghost of a smile hovers around the edges of Sehun’s lips before the boy ducks his head and begins eating the ramen ravenously, obviously too hungry to mind burning his mouth. Something not quite sympathy and not quite pity enters Junmyun’s thoughts.
He waits until Sehun finishes his food before holding out his hand. “Give me your jacket.”
Sehun looks at him in confusion, but he complies, taking off his jacket and handing it over to Junmyun. The jacket feels thin in Junmyun’s fingers, the edges frayed, the fabric so faded that he can’t tell what color it used to be, and he silently marvels at the fact that it’s still holding itself together. Sehun watches him with wary eyes, fingers still barely clutching at the sleeves of the jacket. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Get you a better jacket,” Junmyun responds, tugging at the jacket when Sehun refuses to let go. “You don’t need this. It’s so worn-out you can’t possibly wear this anymore.”
Something like desperation appears in Sehun’s expression and he grasps at the jacket even more tightly. “Don’t throw it away,” he says, almost pleadingly, imploringly, “Let me keep it. You can give me a different jacket to wear. Just. Let me keep this. Please.”
Junmyun almost asks why, but he closes his mouth at the last moment and releases his grip on the jacket. Sehun takes the jacket back almost reverently, and maybe, Junmyun realizes, the unraveled hems of the jacket are worn-out threads of faded hope-hope that Sehun cannot afford to lose. “Fine. Keep it.”
He comes back with one of his old jackets and gives it to Sehun. The boy takes the clothing wordlessly and Junmyun notices that the gun has disappeared out of sight. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but before he makes a sound, Sehun sinks to his knees and begins crying into the jacket, shoulders heaving, muffled sobs choked and wretched.
Junmyun watches, that feeling not quite sympathy and not quite pity rising in his thoughts again, and he thinks Sehun is too young to sound so broken.
-
They meet again in summer, among dancing golden sunlight and grassy green meadows, and Kyungsoo walks with him, their arms brushing whenever one of them leans too far to the side. The sparks of contact are pleasant. They don’t speak much, but Kyungsoo smiles at him and their fingers eventually find each other, curling around each other as if holding hands is the most natural thing to do in the world, and perhaps it is.
He decides that he’s in love.
A citizen of Seoul was murdered today at noon, he hears on the radio a few hours later. Suspects have been questioned; however, the police have not come up with any new leads.
“That’s terrible,” Kyungsoo says softly when the announcement is finished. “You should be more careful on the streets.”
“You stay safe too,” he returns, too distracted with the feeling of Kyungsoo’s hand clasping his to feel more than slightly sorry for the victim of the murder.
Kyungsoo smiles and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
-
Sehun eventually stops crying and ends up sitting on the couch in the living room, staring blankly off into the distance, still clutching the two jackets tightly in his hands. Hours pass, with Junmyun going about on his own business, before he sits down by Sehun and clears his throat gently, causing the boy to jump up, startled as he realizes that Junmyun is right next to him. “Hey.”
Sehun doesn’t speak for a few moments, and when he does, his voice is rough and miserable. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to sleep,” Junmyun begins awkwardly. Sehun doesn’t respond, so he takes some confidence in that and continues, “I’ll take the couch. You can have my bed.”
“No.” Sehun looks too tired and worn out to seem extremely angry, but hostility creeps back in his expression and he shakes his head vigorously. “You can sleep in the bed, but I’m sleeping on the floor of your room.” He shoots Junmyun a furious glare when Junmyun opens his mouth to protest. “What are you going to do if you’re sleeping on the couch? It’s closer to the door. The room is closed off. We’re sleeping in the same place, because I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Funny. Junmyun feels like he should be more worried about keeping an eye on Sehun than Sehun keeping an eye on him, but he sighs and stands up without commenting any further.
Sehun slips through the door of the bedroom a few minutes after Junmyun lies down on the bed, and the boy situates himself awkwardly on the floor, blocking Junmyun’s entire path from the bed to the door. Junmyun raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, and tries to fall asleep, to no avail as Sehun proceeds to toss and turn around every few minutes, the sounds of fabric on floor grating against his ears.
“Can’t sleep?”
“I’m not trying to sleep,” Sehun’s voice retorts, muffled and not amused, “I have to be awake in case you get up or something and try to call authorities in the middle of the night.”
Absurdity is a strange thing. Junmyun doesn’t quite know how to respond, so he merely shrugs instead and settles back under the quilts. “Have fun with that.”
-
He watches as Kyungsoo’s hands guide the pencil across the paper, quick and precise. “I don’t make recipes,” Kyungsoo says teasingly as he signs the note with a flourish, “but I’ll write one just for you. There. Kimchi spaghetti. Try making it now.”
He takes the paper and studies it, brow furrowing as he tries to figure out what the directions actually mean. Kyungsoo laughs at his confusion and takes his hand, leading him to the kitchen. “I’ll help you. Here, take the bowl. And get the kimchi out, along with the noodles. Seriously, you’re so clueless sometimes.”
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, but Kyungsoo only shakes his head, the grin still lingering on his face. He takes the bowl and the kimchi and noodles out, then looks hopelessly up at Kyungsoo, completely at loss on what to do next.
“Really?” Kyungsoo stares at him, wide-eyed and adorable, and he feels his face heating up in embarrassment and a bit of something else. “Come on, Suho, it’s not that hard. I’ll teach you.”
He turns around, half expecting Kyungsoo to follow and stand beside him, but instead a piece of kimchi meets his lips and an arm wraps around his waist as Kyungsoo whispers softly into his ear, “The first step is to taste the kimchi, Suho-yah, to make sure it’s suitable. Good kimchi makes good kimchi spaghetti. Got that?”
And suddenly he can barely breathe as Kyungsoo forces the kimchi through his lips, into his mouth. Chew. Swallow. Focus on the preserved, spicy cabbage, not the heat of Kyungsoo so close to him. Breathing is like oxygen in water, slow and labored, suffocating. “It’s good. The kimchi.”
“That’s right. And step two-” Kyungsoo kisses the side of his neck softly and continues, “Step two-”
He doesn’t let Kyungsoo finish the sentence, hooking his fingers through Kyungsoo’s belt and pulling him into a proper kiss, maybe a little clumsy and messy, but he doesn’t mind, and Kyungsoo doesn’t seem to mind either. They break apart, breathing rapid, faces flushed, and he half laughs, running his fingers through Kyungsoo’s hair.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for some time,” he confesses, tugging gently at a lock of hair and curling it around his finger. “Sorry.”
Kyungsoo pushes him against the kitchen wall, shaking his head as he clutches at the edges of his jacket. “Sorry? We’re meant to be, Suho-yah. I don’t know if I believe in destiny, but I believe in thinking about you all day long. We are meant to be.”
And he thinks Kyungsoo’s kiss-swollen lips are beautiful, red like blood, matching the newspaper clipping he had left on the dining table, the one with the huge scarlet font screaming out Second Victim of Murder Discovered!
“Yes,” he says breathlessly, “I think we are.”
-
Morning light comes quickly, the first ray of sun hitting Junmyun’s face with unwanted brightness as he blinks blearily, still half asleep and slightly irked at waking up. It takes him a few minutes to remember the events of the previous day, and he sits up abruptly as the realization finally hits him. Shit. He peers over the bed, frantically hoping that Sehun hasn’t gone anywhere and that nothing has happened.
Junmyun finds Sehun fast asleep on the floor, curled up, expression relaxed for the first time Junmyun has seen the boy. It feels so nice for the moment, the muted glow of sunlight diffusing throughout the room and onto Sehun’s peaceful expression as he sleeps, free of any hostility or wariness. This, Junmyun thinks, is what Sehun should look like all the time. Carefree. Innocent. The look of a student starting his journey in life, not someone who has grown up too quickly and too much. He suppresses a yawn and begins walking around Sehun’s sleeping figure, treading softly as to not wake the boy up. The weather seems wonderful, clear skies and sun despite the snow built up on the streets and freezing temperature. It’s a good day to start anew.
As Junmyun passes by Sehun, Sehun suddenly rolls over and grabs Junmyun ankle. There’s a moment of struggle as Junmyun tries to shake his foot free of Sehun’s grip, but in the end, he loses his balance and lands ungracefully on the floor next to Sehun. Sehun releases Junmyun’s ankle and Junmyun attempts to sit up, but before he can do anything, Sehun grasps his arm and clutches it, refusing to let go even when Junmyun tries to push him away. Junmyun blinks, then realizes that Sehun has been asleep the entire fucking time.
“Hey, kid, wake up-” he begins in exasperation, but Sehun merely shifts his position, still clinging onto Junmyun’s arm tightly.
“Don’t go, Jongin-ah,” he mumbles, and Junmyun freezes, “Jongin, Jongin, don’t leave me.”
Jongin.
“Wake up,” Junmyun finally says urgently when he’s stopped staring wide-eyed in shock, shaking Sehun roughly with his free arm, “Kid, wake up. It’s just a bad dream.” A bad dream. Just a bad dream.
“I told you not to call me kid.” Sehun opens his eyes slowly, eyelashes leaving faint traces of shadows, and stares up at Junmyun. For some strange reason, Junmyun’s heartbeat seems to miss a beat. “What are you-” There’s a long pause as Sehun realizes the position they are in, and he quickly releases Junmyun’s arm, then sits up so quickly that he nearly knocks into Junmyun. They stare at each other for a split second before Sehun pushes himself to a standing position and practically bolts out of the door of the bedroom.
Junmyun remains sitting on the floor by the bed, the word Jongin still in his thoughts, and an inkling of an idea appears, and Junmyun has a feeling that he knows why Sehun wants to kill someone.
It’s not a good feeling.
He finally gets up from the floor, dresses, washes, and walks into the kitchen, half expecting Sehun to have already run out of the apartment and out into the streets. The boy hasn’t, but when Junmyun enters the room, he flinches and looks away. He can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or something else, but Junmyun doesn’t say anything, and begins sorting through the refrigerator, looking for any food left to make a somewhat decent breakfast. There is barely anything, and Junmyun resigns himself to facing another trip to the grocery store in the cold.
“Why haven’t you reported me to the authorities?” The question bursts from Sehun as if he has been wanting to ask it for quite a while. “Why didn’t you?”
“Why do you want to kill someone?” Junmyun asks back, sorting through the meager pile of food he’s managed to scavenge from the nearly empty fridge. “Soup for breakfast?” he adds as he searches for a pot, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to ask what breakfast should be after asking about someone’s motivations for murder.
A pause. Then a mumbled, “Soup is fine.”
Junmyun waits for a few more minutes, focusing on making the food, but when Sehun doesn’t say anything, he asks quietly, “Who’s Jongin?”
Silence ensues, broken only by the sounds of water boiling and Junmyun chopping vegetables. Junmyun almost begins to change the subject when Sehun whispers hoarsely, “My best friend. He was killed last spring. I know who killed him, and I’m not letting him go.”
The soup finishes cooking and Junmyun’s head begins throbbing in pain, the beginning of a splitting headache. He winces as he picks the pot up from the stove, cursing softly under his breath as a wave of pain hits him and he almost loses his balance from dizziness. My best friend. He was killed last spring. I know who killed him, and I’m not letting him go. “Eat,” he says to Sehun, “I’m going to buy more food.” He doesn’t say anything about Sehun’s words. He doesn’t know what to say, really.
“Now?” Sehun’s face becomes a mask of wariness once again as he watches Junmyun turn away and put on a coat. “You haven’t even eaten breakfast. What are you doing? You’re going to report me. Aren’t you?” His voice sounds accusing, betrayed. Scared almost.
Junmyun forces on another coat and turns around to face Sehun, barely breathing from the pain in his temples. He needs to get out of the house. He needs to go somewhere where he can just breathe in the air and stop the headache and figure out what to do. He needs to get away, far away from the memories. “If I had any intention of reporting you, I would have done that yesterday,” he grits out, “And anyways, you haven’t killed anyone yet. Don’t make it hard for me to choose what to do.”
He stumbles out of the apartment before Sehun can respond, dizzier by the second.
-
Sometimes, when Junmyun wakes up in the morning, he remembers the sensation of dark blood dripping down his fingers, hot and filthy.
-
The cold doesn’t even register until Junmyun has run a few blocks, and even then, it’s almost a relief, numbness in exchange for pain. His headache fades slightly, but the dizziness remains and he stops, panting as he leans against the wall of a nearby building, watching his breath disappear into puffs of cloudy wisps in the air. They disappear without any qualms and he feels oddly envious of how easy it seems to to fade into nothing.
Groceries. Junmyun shakes his head slightly and takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the sharp pain that rises in his head in protest. Groceries. That’s all he’s going to think of. Groceries and the way the sunlight reflects glaringly on the snow, reflecting glistening fragments of glittering light on the white crystals.
“Cold day, isn’t it?”
A hunched figure shuffles into Junmyun’s sight, footsteps slow and laborious. The figure looks up, and Junmyun finds himself staring into the eyes of a shivering middle-aged man in rags, years of weariness and suffering etched into his face. A hat perches precariously on top of his head, worn and flimsy. Like it’s seen too much.
“I don’t have any money-” he begins uncomfortably, moving away, but the beggar waves at him.
“I didn’t ask for money. I asked you a question about the weather.” There’s something off about the beggar’s smile and the expression in his eyes, Junmyun thinks, and of course-he’s dealing with someone gone insane.
“It’s a cold day,” he finally says, slowly sidestepping and edging away. “Cold.”
“So let me tell you a story,” the beggar responds smoothly, blocking Junmyun’s path in a swift movement. He takes off his hat and thrusts it in Junmyun’s face. “I hate cold days. They’re terrible.”
“Terrible,” Junmyun agrees. “Really.” He steps back, only to have the hat waved in front of his face again.
“You know someone named Goo Jaehee? My daughter. She ran away on a cold day, all because of some idiot named Kang Taejoon or something ridiculous like that. She left me this hat. It’s all I have left of her now.” The beggar laughs loudly, baring his teeth in a grotesque snarl. “Cold days are terrible.”
Junmyun thinks of Sehun standing in the dining room, clutching the jackets, tears sliding down his face. His headache begins to come back. Jongin. Jacket. Sehun. Worn-out threads of faded hope, of not being able to let go.
“Yeah,” he says, and forces himself to run before the beggar can cut him off again. Groceries. Not Sehun, not Jongin, not jackets, not him. Junmyun reaches the grocery store and collapses into the snow, not caring if anyone sees, breathing rapidly in quick, shallow breaths.
His head hurts like hell and he doesn’t know how to make it stop, or maybe he’s just too afraid to.
-
“Where do you go?”
Kyungsoo looks at him curiously, still sorting through the papers on the table. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t pretend,” he says playfully, pushing Kyungsoo slightly when Kyungsoo gives him another curious look. “You seem to disappear for days on end. I can’t even find you. Do you know how worried I get? Where do you go?”
The mood seems to change immediately, and he can almost feel the temperature of the room drop. “It’s none of your business,” Kyungsoo says absentmindedly, shrugging. “You wouldn’t be interested.”
“Hey,” he says, trying not to let the irritation creep into his voice and knowing that it’ll show anyway, “I’m worried about you, Kyungsoo-yah. Tell me.”
Kyungsoo makes scoffing sound and the look he gives him is something with a hint of scorn. He recoils-Kyungsoo has never been like this. This is the not Kyungsoo he knows. “I said, it’s none of your business. Do you really have to know everything I do?”
And then suddenly he’s angry, pent up worry and frustration spilling out as he snaps at Kyungsoo, “So this is how it is? So this is how we are? What sort of relationship are we in if we can’t trust each other?”
“Hey Suho, calm down,” Kyungsoo says soothingly, reaching out his hand, but he flinches away from the hand and shakes his head.
“How do you expect me to let you go without knowing that you’ll be safe? I’m worried for you. Remember the third victim of the murders they found yesterday? What if you’re out there and you get killed?”
“You don’t have to be worried about that-”
“But I am. Because I love you.” They stare at each other for a few moments, and Kyungsoo’s expression is a cross between surprise and something else Junmyun can’t quite identify. Something softer. More caring.
“Really?” Kyungsoo finally asks quietly, and his expression becomes blank, empty of emotion. “You mean it?”
“Yes.” He stares defiantly back at Kyungsoo, trembling despite his efforts to keep still. “I do.”
Kyungsoo’s expression doesn’t change, but he reaches over and takes his hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be safe. I promise. It’s the best answer I’ll give you.”
It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but he forces himself to accept it.
part ii
Rating: pg-15
Pairing: sehun/suho, broken!kyungsoo/suho
Length: ~9400 words
Summary: And in the end, Junmyun learns it isn’t only Sehun who needs to learn to let go.
Written for aideshou's fifth challenge ^^
prompts used: i + ii
Winter in Seoul is a clashing symphony of harsh, biting winds and snowstorms and clear, fresh air, but Seoul in winter is cloudy puffs of breath whenever Junmyun steps outside and days so cold you freeze no matter how many layers of clothing you hide underneath. Days when Junmyun wonders if it’s actually possible to become a living popsicle just by standing still on the street for more than a few milliseconds, watching the world pass by as he’s frozen in time, frozen in the past.
The boy appears on one of those days, throwing himself in Junmyun’s path all of a sudden as Junmyun trudges through the snow for a grocery shopping trip he couldn’t put off for any longer, teeth chattering, hands and voice trembling but expression steely and determined as he points the barrel of a gun at Junmyun’s face and breathes in a quavering whisper, “Don’t move. I’m going to kill you.”
It takes Junmyun a few seconds to register what the boy is saying, and even then, he’s too numb, partly due to the cold and partly due to his shock, to even feel the slightest bit of fear. Instead, he fumbles about with his mouth, trying to loosen up his frozen lips enough to manage a croaked, half-distinctive “Sorry?”
The boy flinches as the sound of Junmyun’s voice and he slowly, shakily lowers the gun, his voice a half whisper as he asks, “You’re not him, are you?”
Junmyun blinks, or at least, attempts to blink with his frozen eyelashes and general unwillingness to make the effort to move in the cold. “No?” he says questioningly, hoping that it’s the right answer and that he’s not going to get his brains blasted to bits by some random kid on the street. Damn. It’s really too cold to be worrying about things like this.
“Oh,” the boy says and for some reason he looks like he’s about to cry, “Fuck.” And maybe he is crying, because his eyes are shining with unshed tears and in this cold it’s not possible to shed tears while crying anyway. Something about his determined, defiant expression cracks and Junmyun is painfully reminded of a vulnerable, confused kid behind the death threat and the entire is-this-person-messed-up-because-of-said-death-threat-and-how-it-was-a-mistake.
The boy looks awfully young, almost to the point that he’s just barely out of his teens. He’s not wearing much other than a thin jacket and a pair of jeans, and it’s obvious from the way he’s still gripping the gun, knuckles turning white and hands trembling, that he’s freezing, maybe to the point of dying, fading away like the determination he once had. Out of its own accord, Junmyun’s mouth moves again and he forces out between chattering teeth, “Are you looking for someone?” Stupid question, really.
The hint of vulnerability on the boy’s face disappears immediately and he snaps, “It’s none of your business.” He pauses, looking around to make sure that there’s no one else around, then asks, this time with a touch of hesitation in his voice, “You’re not going to tell anyone?”
Junmyun stares at the boy for a long moment, wondering what he’s supposed to say in a situation like this. He’s not bad-looking, the sort of boy who probably would have dozens of girls fawning over him in school, if he actually went to school. Innocent looking. Fragile, almost feminine. Too young to be wandering around the streets carrying a gun, threatening to kill random strangers on accident. Much too young. “If I say yes, you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
A flicker of uncertainty crosses the boy’s face, but he nods, obviously gone down Junmyun’s train of thought. “I’ll kill you if you tell.”
“Then I won’t,” Junmyun finally says slowly. The boy doesn’t change his expression, but something about the way he shifts his arm subtly into a more comfortable, relaxed position tells Junmyun that he’s relieved.
“Thank you,” he says stiffly, and the almost formal tone he uses make Junmyun feel like they’re having a rather surreal, strange conversation. The boy turns around to leave, but at the last moment, something clicks in Junmyun’s mind and he reaches out and grabs the boy’s arm before the boy can run off. There’s a moment of panic as Junmyun realizes that despite his brief moment of vulnerability, the kid is carrying a fucking gun, but the boy turns back and merely watches Junmyun warily. “What do you want?”
“Do you have anywhere to go?” It’s badly phrased and Junmyun isn’t quite sure what makes him say it, but when the boy doesn’t respond, he continues past numb lips and shivers, “You’re freezing. You’re going to die if you stay out like this. And if you don’t have anywhere to stay…I…I’ve got clothes. And food.” He’s crazy. Insane. The cold has somehow inhibited all his senses and he should go and find a doctor or a therapist. But something about the boy reminds Junmyun of himself in a way, although he can’t figure out exactly what. Something about the boy cries out help, and the last time Junmyun saw that, he didn’t do anything, and the fact that he didn’t haunts him constantly.
The boy stares at him, all open hostility and suspicion, and Junmyun doesn’t blame him because he has every right to be suspicious of him. Of everything. “Why should I trust you?”
“Keep the gun,” Junmyun responds. His feet are so numb he can’t feel them at all anymore. “I’m unarmed. I won’t hurt you. I won’t tell. If I do anything harmful to you, you can kill me. Happy?”
The prospect of being warm and full must have won over caution because the boy nods warily and mumbles, “You can let go of my arm now.”
Junmyun frowns, having completely forgotten that he has been clutching the boy’s arm the entire time. “Sorry.” He takes his hand away and rubs it with his other, trying to get some circulation back into his extremities. The grocery trip is going to have to wait. He’ll live. There might be some ramen hidden in the corner of some cupboard in the kitchen, and if not, then there’s probably some leftover soup or rice. “Will ramen be okay? It’s not much.”
“Ramen?” The boy is still regarding him suspiciously, but his eyes seem to brighten up at the mention of food. Junmyun gets the feeling that any food at the moment will be welcome. He wonders when the boy had his last meal.
“Yeah. Ramen. If I can find some.” He smiles as well as he can and nods behind him, trying to not think of how weird the entire conversation has been. “Come on. We’ve got a bit of walking to do. Try not to freeze to death before we arrive, okay? I don’t think I can carry you in this state.”
-
They meet for the first time in spring, in the midst of blooming flowers and soft drizzles. Spring is the time for love was something his mother had always told him, and he had laughed, thinking the phrase foolish. But when the boy smiles at him and reaches out to shake his hand, he forgets about laughing, breathing, living. Time stops.
“I’m Kyungsoo,” the boy says.
“Suho,” he manages, “I’m Suho.” And maybe spring really is the time for love.
-
Surprisingly, Junmyun finds two packets of ramen in the back of a cupboard almost immediately. He also finds a yellowing, worn-out recipe for kimchi spaghetti, which he pushes to the side, out of sight. The boy hovers in the distance, watching Junmyun warily as Junmyun dumps the ramen and whatever ingredients he can find into a pot and stirs the bubbling concoction. Junmyun catches the boy flinching every time he stirs the ramen and rolls his eyes. “Relax. I’m not going to report you, or harm you, or poison you. My cooking isn’t that bad.” He stirs the noodles one more time and tastes them, nodding in approval when they’re mostly edible. “What’s your name?” he continues as he lifts the pot off the stove and sets it on the dining table, along with a couple of bowls and pairs of chopsticks.
“Why should I tell you?” the boy snaps, although his eyes follow Junmyun’s hands when they pick up a ladle and a pair of chopsticks. His voice becomes less abrupt when Junmyun begins ladling the ramen into the bowls. “I don’t trust you enough.”
Junmyun pushes a steaming bowl towards the boy and raises his eyebrows as he begins eating his own ramen. “All right, kid. I won’t ask.”
The boy’s fingers pause in front of the bowl and Junmyun looks up to see a pair of angry eyes directed at him. “Who are you calling kid? I’m not a kid.”
“You look like one,” Junmyun mumbles past a full mouth. He chews and swallows exaggeratingly, then smiles innocently at the boy, shaking at his own audacity. It’s the weather. It’s making him crazy. “So stop complaining and eat your food, kid. And until I know your name, I’m calling you a kid.”
Silence ensues. Junmyun continues eating, but his heartbeat begins hammering loudly in his ears, and he wonders if he’s gone too far, because somehow, in the warmth of his apartment and the almost pathetic way the boy stares at the ramen, he’s forgotten that the boy has all the reasons in the world to just kill him any moment.
Then, the boy mumbles, “It’s Sehun. My name. It’s Sehun.”
Junmyun almost laughs out of pure relief, but he merely nods, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “I’m Junmyun. There. We know each other’s names. Eat your food before it gets cold, Sehun. And that gun…” He trails off and stares at the weapon hanging off of Sehun’s belt, then continues, “put it somewhere where no one else will notice it, okay? You don’t have to tell me where you put it. But I’d rather not have you carry a gun around. Hide it when you have the time.”
They fall into another silence, but Junmyun’s so overwhelmed by relief that he almost misses Sehun muttering, “I’m not even that young. Eighteen isn’t young.”
Eighteen. Eighteen is too young. Eighteen is an age that Junmyun doesn’t want to remember. “It is to me,” Junmyun retorts back, “I’m in my early twenties. I’m ancient compared to you.” He doesn’t quite succeed, but the ghost of a smile hovers around the edges of Sehun’s lips before the boy ducks his head and begins eating the ramen ravenously, obviously too hungry to mind burning his mouth. Something not quite sympathy and not quite pity enters Junmyun’s thoughts.
He waits until Sehun finishes his food before holding out his hand. “Give me your jacket.”
Sehun looks at him in confusion, but he complies, taking off his jacket and handing it over to Junmyun. The jacket feels thin in Junmyun’s fingers, the edges frayed, the fabric so faded that he can’t tell what color it used to be, and he silently marvels at the fact that it’s still holding itself together. Sehun watches him with wary eyes, fingers still barely clutching at the sleeves of the jacket. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Get you a better jacket,” Junmyun responds, tugging at the jacket when Sehun refuses to let go. “You don’t need this. It’s so worn-out you can’t possibly wear this anymore.”
Something like desperation appears in Sehun’s expression and he grasps at the jacket even more tightly. “Don’t throw it away,” he says, almost pleadingly, imploringly, “Let me keep it. You can give me a different jacket to wear. Just. Let me keep this. Please.”
Junmyun almost asks why, but he closes his mouth at the last moment and releases his grip on the jacket. Sehun takes the jacket back almost reverently, and maybe, Junmyun realizes, the unraveled hems of the jacket are worn-out threads of faded hope-hope that Sehun cannot afford to lose. “Fine. Keep it.”
He comes back with one of his old jackets and gives it to Sehun. The boy takes the clothing wordlessly and Junmyun notices that the gun has disappeared out of sight. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but before he makes a sound, Sehun sinks to his knees and begins crying into the jacket, shoulders heaving, muffled sobs choked and wretched.
Junmyun watches, that feeling not quite sympathy and not quite pity rising in his thoughts again, and he thinks Sehun is too young to sound so broken.
-
They meet again in summer, among dancing golden sunlight and grassy green meadows, and Kyungsoo walks with him, their arms brushing whenever one of them leans too far to the side. The sparks of contact are pleasant. They don’t speak much, but Kyungsoo smiles at him and their fingers eventually find each other, curling around each other as if holding hands is the most natural thing to do in the world, and perhaps it is.
He decides that he’s in love.
A citizen of Seoul was murdered today at noon, he hears on the radio a few hours later. Suspects have been questioned; however, the police have not come up with any new leads.
“That’s terrible,” Kyungsoo says softly when the announcement is finished. “You should be more careful on the streets.”
“You stay safe too,” he returns, too distracted with the feeling of Kyungsoo’s hand clasping his to feel more than slightly sorry for the victim of the murder.
Kyungsoo smiles and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
-
Sehun eventually stops crying and ends up sitting on the couch in the living room, staring blankly off into the distance, still clutching the two jackets tightly in his hands. Hours pass, with Junmyun going about on his own business, before he sits down by Sehun and clears his throat gently, causing the boy to jump up, startled as he realizes that Junmyun is right next to him. “Hey.”
Sehun doesn’t speak for a few moments, and when he does, his voice is rough and miserable. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to sleep,” Junmyun begins awkwardly. Sehun doesn’t respond, so he takes some confidence in that and continues, “I’ll take the couch. You can have my bed.”
“No.” Sehun looks too tired and worn out to seem extremely angry, but hostility creeps back in his expression and he shakes his head vigorously. “You can sleep in the bed, but I’m sleeping on the floor of your room.” He shoots Junmyun a furious glare when Junmyun opens his mouth to protest. “What are you going to do if you’re sleeping on the couch? It’s closer to the door. The room is closed off. We’re sleeping in the same place, because I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Funny. Junmyun feels like he should be more worried about keeping an eye on Sehun than Sehun keeping an eye on him, but he sighs and stands up without commenting any further.
Sehun slips through the door of the bedroom a few minutes after Junmyun lies down on the bed, and the boy situates himself awkwardly on the floor, blocking Junmyun’s entire path from the bed to the door. Junmyun raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, and tries to fall asleep, to no avail as Sehun proceeds to toss and turn around every few minutes, the sounds of fabric on floor grating against his ears.
“Can’t sleep?”
“I’m not trying to sleep,” Sehun’s voice retorts, muffled and not amused, “I have to be awake in case you get up or something and try to call authorities in the middle of the night.”
Absurdity is a strange thing. Junmyun doesn’t quite know how to respond, so he merely shrugs instead and settles back under the quilts. “Have fun with that.”
-
He watches as Kyungsoo’s hands guide the pencil across the paper, quick and precise. “I don’t make recipes,” Kyungsoo says teasingly as he signs the note with a flourish, “but I’ll write one just for you. There. Kimchi spaghetti. Try making it now.”
He takes the paper and studies it, brow furrowing as he tries to figure out what the directions actually mean. Kyungsoo laughs at his confusion and takes his hand, leading him to the kitchen. “I’ll help you. Here, take the bowl. And get the kimchi out, along with the noodles. Seriously, you’re so clueless sometimes.”
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, but Kyungsoo only shakes his head, the grin still lingering on his face. He takes the bowl and the kimchi and noodles out, then looks hopelessly up at Kyungsoo, completely at loss on what to do next.
“Really?” Kyungsoo stares at him, wide-eyed and adorable, and he feels his face heating up in embarrassment and a bit of something else. “Come on, Suho, it’s not that hard. I’ll teach you.”
He turns around, half expecting Kyungsoo to follow and stand beside him, but instead a piece of kimchi meets his lips and an arm wraps around his waist as Kyungsoo whispers softly into his ear, “The first step is to taste the kimchi, Suho-yah, to make sure it’s suitable. Good kimchi makes good kimchi spaghetti. Got that?”
And suddenly he can barely breathe as Kyungsoo forces the kimchi through his lips, into his mouth. Chew. Swallow. Focus on the preserved, spicy cabbage, not the heat of Kyungsoo so close to him. Breathing is like oxygen in water, slow and labored, suffocating. “It’s good. The kimchi.”
“That’s right. And step two-” Kyungsoo kisses the side of his neck softly and continues, “Step two-”
He doesn’t let Kyungsoo finish the sentence, hooking his fingers through Kyungsoo’s belt and pulling him into a proper kiss, maybe a little clumsy and messy, but he doesn’t mind, and Kyungsoo doesn’t seem to mind either. They break apart, breathing rapid, faces flushed, and he half laughs, running his fingers through Kyungsoo’s hair.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for some time,” he confesses, tugging gently at a lock of hair and curling it around his finger. “Sorry.”
Kyungsoo pushes him against the kitchen wall, shaking his head as he clutches at the edges of his jacket. “Sorry? We’re meant to be, Suho-yah. I don’t know if I believe in destiny, but I believe in thinking about you all day long. We are meant to be.”
And he thinks Kyungsoo’s kiss-swollen lips are beautiful, red like blood, matching the newspaper clipping he had left on the dining table, the one with the huge scarlet font screaming out Second Victim of Murder Discovered!
“Yes,” he says breathlessly, “I think we are.”
-
Morning light comes quickly, the first ray of sun hitting Junmyun’s face with unwanted brightness as he blinks blearily, still half asleep and slightly irked at waking up. It takes him a few minutes to remember the events of the previous day, and he sits up abruptly as the realization finally hits him. Shit. He peers over the bed, frantically hoping that Sehun hasn’t gone anywhere and that nothing has happened.
Junmyun finds Sehun fast asleep on the floor, curled up, expression relaxed for the first time Junmyun has seen the boy. It feels so nice for the moment, the muted glow of sunlight diffusing throughout the room and onto Sehun’s peaceful expression as he sleeps, free of any hostility or wariness. This, Junmyun thinks, is what Sehun should look like all the time. Carefree. Innocent. The look of a student starting his journey in life, not someone who has grown up too quickly and too much. He suppresses a yawn and begins walking around Sehun’s sleeping figure, treading softly as to not wake the boy up. The weather seems wonderful, clear skies and sun despite the snow built up on the streets and freezing temperature. It’s a good day to start anew.
As Junmyun passes by Sehun, Sehun suddenly rolls over and grabs Junmyun ankle. There’s a moment of struggle as Junmyun tries to shake his foot free of Sehun’s grip, but in the end, he loses his balance and lands ungracefully on the floor next to Sehun. Sehun releases Junmyun’s ankle and Junmyun attempts to sit up, but before he can do anything, Sehun grasps his arm and clutches it, refusing to let go even when Junmyun tries to push him away. Junmyun blinks, then realizes that Sehun has been asleep the entire fucking time.
“Hey, kid, wake up-” he begins in exasperation, but Sehun merely shifts his position, still clinging onto Junmyun’s arm tightly.
“Don’t go, Jongin-ah,” he mumbles, and Junmyun freezes, “Jongin, Jongin, don’t leave me.”
Jongin.
“Wake up,” Junmyun finally says urgently when he’s stopped staring wide-eyed in shock, shaking Sehun roughly with his free arm, “Kid, wake up. It’s just a bad dream.” A bad dream. Just a bad dream.
“I told you not to call me kid.” Sehun opens his eyes slowly, eyelashes leaving faint traces of shadows, and stares up at Junmyun. For some strange reason, Junmyun’s heartbeat seems to miss a beat. “What are you-” There’s a long pause as Sehun realizes the position they are in, and he quickly releases Junmyun’s arm, then sits up so quickly that he nearly knocks into Junmyun. They stare at each other for a split second before Sehun pushes himself to a standing position and practically bolts out of the door of the bedroom.
Junmyun remains sitting on the floor by the bed, the word Jongin still in his thoughts, and an inkling of an idea appears, and Junmyun has a feeling that he knows why Sehun wants to kill someone.
It’s not a good feeling.
He finally gets up from the floor, dresses, washes, and walks into the kitchen, half expecting Sehun to have already run out of the apartment and out into the streets. The boy hasn’t, but when Junmyun enters the room, he flinches and looks away. He can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or something else, but Junmyun doesn’t say anything, and begins sorting through the refrigerator, looking for any food left to make a somewhat decent breakfast. There is barely anything, and Junmyun resigns himself to facing another trip to the grocery store in the cold.
“Why haven’t you reported me to the authorities?” The question bursts from Sehun as if he has been wanting to ask it for quite a while. “Why didn’t you?”
“Why do you want to kill someone?” Junmyun asks back, sorting through the meager pile of food he’s managed to scavenge from the nearly empty fridge. “Soup for breakfast?” he adds as he searches for a pot, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to ask what breakfast should be after asking about someone’s motivations for murder.
A pause. Then a mumbled, “Soup is fine.”
Junmyun waits for a few more minutes, focusing on making the food, but when Sehun doesn’t say anything, he asks quietly, “Who’s Jongin?”
Silence ensues, broken only by the sounds of water boiling and Junmyun chopping vegetables. Junmyun almost begins to change the subject when Sehun whispers hoarsely, “My best friend. He was killed last spring. I know who killed him, and I’m not letting him go.”
The soup finishes cooking and Junmyun’s head begins throbbing in pain, the beginning of a splitting headache. He winces as he picks the pot up from the stove, cursing softly under his breath as a wave of pain hits him and he almost loses his balance from dizziness. My best friend. He was killed last spring. I know who killed him, and I’m not letting him go. “Eat,” he says to Sehun, “I’m going to buy more food.” He doesn’t say anything about Sehun’s words. He doesn’t know what to say, really.
“Now?” Sehun’s face becomes a mask of wariness once again as he watches Junmyun turn away and put on a coat. “You haven’t even eaten breakfast. What are you doing? You’re going to report me. Aren’t you?” His voice sounds accusing, betrayed. Scared almost.
Junmyun forces on another coat and turns around to face Sehun, barely breathing from the pain in his temples. He needs to get out of the house. He needs to go somewhere where he can just breathe in the air and stop the headache and figure out what to do. He needs to get away, far away from the memories. “If I had any intention of reporting you, I would have done that yesterday,” he grits out, “And anyways, you haven’t killed anyone yet. Don’t make it hard for me to choose what to do.”
He stumbles out of the apartment before Sehun can respond, dizzier by the second.
-
Sometimes, when Junmyun wakes up in the morning, he remembers the sensation of dark blood dripping down his fingers, hot and filthy.
-
The cold doesn’t even register until Junmyun has run a few blocks, and even then, it’s almost a relief, numbness in exchange for pain. His headache fades slightly, but the dizziness remains and he stops, panting as he leans against the wall of a nearby building, watching his breath disappear into puffs of cloudy wisps in the air. They disappear without any qualms and he feels oddly envious of how easy it seems to to fade into nothing.
Groceries. Junmyun shakes his head slightly and takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the sharp pain that rises in his head in protest. Groceries. That’s all he’s going to think of. Groceries and the way the sunlight reflects glaringly on the snow, reflecting glistening fragments of glittering light on the white crystals.
“Cold day, isn’t it?”
A hunched figure shuffles into Junmyun’s sight, footsteps slow and laborious. The figure looks up, and Junmyun finds himself staring into the eyes of a shivering middle-aged man in rags, years of weariness and suffering etched into his face. A hat perches precariously on top of his head, worn and flimsy. Like it’s seen too much.
“I don’t have any money-” he begins uncomfortably, moving away, but the beggar waves at him.
“I didn’t ask for money. I asked you a question about the weather.” There’s something off about the beggar’s smile and the expression in his eyes, Junmyun thinks, and of course-he’s dealing with someone gone insane.
“It’s a cold day,” he finally says, slowly sidestepping and edging away. “Cold.”
“So let me tell you a story,” the beggar responds smoothly, blocking Junmyun’s path in a swift movement. He takes off his hat and thrusts it in Junmyun’s face. “I hate cold days. They’re terrible.”
“Terrible,” Junmyun agrees. “Really.” He steps back, only to have the hat waved in front of his face again.
“You know someone named Goo Jaehee? My daughter. She ran away on a cold day, all because of some idiot named Kang Taejoon or something ridiculous like that. She left me this hat. It’s all I have left of her now.” The beggar laughs loudly, baring his teeth in a grotesque snarl. “Cold days are terrible.”
Junmyun thinks of Sehun standing in the dining room, clutching the jackets, tears sliding down his face. His headache begins to come back. Jongin. Jacket. Sehun. Worn-out threads of faded hope, of not being able to let go.
“Yeah,” he says, and forces himself to run before the beggar can cut him off again. Groceries. Not Sehun, not Jongin, not jackets, not him. Junmyun reaches the grocery store and collapses into the snow, not caring if anyone sees, breathing rapidly in quick, shallow breaths.
His head hurts like hell and he doesn’t know how to make it stop, or maybe he’s just too afraid to.
-
“Where do you go?”
Kyungsoo looks at him curiously, still sorting through the papers on the table. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t pretend,” he says playfully, pushing Kyungsoo slightly when Kyungsoo gives him another curious look. “You seem to disappear for days on end. I can’t even find you. Do you know how worried I get? Where do you go?”
The mood seems to change immediately, and he can almost feel the temperature of the room drop. “It’s none of your business,” Kyungsoo says absentmindedly, shrugging. “You wouldn’t be interested.”
“Hey,” he says, trying not to let the irritation creep into his voice and knowing that it’ll show anyway, “I’m worried about you, Kyungsoo-yah. Tell me.”
Kyungsoo makes scoffing sound and the look he gives him is something with a hint of scorn. He recoils-Kyungsoo has never been like this. This is the not Kyungsoo he knows. “I said, it’s none of your business. Do you really have to know everything I do?”
And then suddenly he’s angry, pent up worry and frustration spilling out as he snaps at Kyungsoo, “So this is how it is? So this is how we are? What sort of relationship are we in if we can’t trust each other?”
“Hey Suho, calm down,” Kyungsoo says soothingly, reaching out his hand, but he flinches away from the hand and shakes his head.
“How do you expect me to let you go without knowing that you’ll be safe? I’m worried for you. Remember the third victim of the murders they found yesterday? What if you’re out there and you get killed?”
“You don’t have to be worried about that-”
“But I am. Because I love you.” They stare at each other for a few moments, and Kyungsoo’s expression is a cross between surprise and something else Junmyun can’t quite identify. Something softer. More caring.
“Really?” Kyungsoo finally asks quietly, and his expression becomes blank, empty of emotion. “You mean it?”
“Yes.” He stares defiantly back at Kyungsoo, trembling despite his efforts to keep still. “I do.”
Kyungsoo’s expression doesn’t change, but he reaches over and takes his hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be safe. I promise. It’s the best answer I’ll give you.”
It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but he forces himself to accept it.
part ii