Helter Skelter
Juveniles love to pretend that they know love.
Pairing : Taemin/Kai
Length : 7,428w
Rating : PG-15
Genre : Coming of Age
(A songfic to my favorite song by Arctic Monkeys: Fluorescent Adolescent)
☾
You used to get it in your fishnets
Kim Jongin would watch Lee Taemin’s smirk from the other side of the cafeteria.
Lee Taemin sat alone, though there are days when people gathered up their courage to talk to him and position themselves next to him-and those are the days when Jongin’s kind face twists into something sour.
Lee Taemin skipped classes.
Lee Taemin’s jeans were perpetually distressed.
Lee Taemin looked at people in the eye when he talks.
Lee Taemin was a fucked up kid with ink on his skin,
And smoke in his lungs.
Taemin was everything Jongin was not.
And had and will never dream to be.
Jongin would watch him partly because he doesn’t have anything else to do, but also because he’s never seen skin so akin to silk, and a smirk so infuriating he doesn’t know whether he wants to punch it right off his face or see it tremble and beg.
Jongin had decided long ago-that he’s too scared to find out which idea he likes the most.
A dark Thursday afternoon was when seventeen-year-old Jongin reconsidered and thought that he should probably give his ideas a try.
Dazed and sleep-deprived, Jongin deliberately loitered in the hallway to avoid the sharp eyes and sharper tongue of his IT teacher. He grumbled and shoved his phone into the pocket of his jeans when the hall monitor shooed him away, irritably dragging his feet towards his class-which had started twenty minutes ago-his steps falling into the rhythm of the pitter patter of the rain.
Only a mere turn away from his destination, Jongin stopped in his tracks.
Jongin had thought that he was being delusional from the lack of sleep-but loud enough to be heard over the thick rain;
He heard the rough rustling of jeans agsinst leather, the soft clinking of teeth against teeth, and drawled noises of whispers breathed against skin.
Not knowing what posessed him, Jongin turned on his heel and followed the dizzying sound of wet kisses against cold skin.
He stopped by a crude staircase when his eyes caught;
Tucked away in the corner, beside the empty language labratory, was Lee Taemin-
Seized in a liplock with another boy with glossy blue hair, the silver strands woven into it catching the flickering glow of the neon lights right above their heads.
Jongin’s eyes widened into the size of skillet pans, his breath caught in his throat.
And though he urged himself to turn around, he found his shoulders stiff and his feet riveted to the ground.
The boy who was currently pulling the roots of Taemin’s dyed brown hair and popping the buttons of his collar was someone Jongin recognized, barely, but knew all the same.
Kim Jonghyun, renowned manager of the football team.
Built enough to have people wondering why he’s not in the team himself, but has got enough brains and owned no amount of ignorance for people to understand why he wouldn’t want to be associated too heavily with the group of dim-witted, beefcake boys in the team.
He was fully aware that he was looking at something he shouldn’t, catching an intimate act; and he knew full well that he was staring at the strip of Taemin’s skin between his crumpled shirt and low-rise jeans-which he shouldn’t be doing either-but what he didn’t know was what he found out seconds later when his gaze rose to realize-that Taemin’s eyes had been wide open, for a good portion of the time that Jongin had been standing there.
Jongin’s eyes only grew wider, willing his jaw not to drop to the floor, but Taemin kept his eyes burning holes into Jongin-never wavering, groaning as Jonghyun’s tongue sucked bruises into his collarbone, his knee positioned inbetween Taemin’s legs and used it to hoist.
Jongin’s gaze dropped to the space between the rim of Taemin’s high tops and the hem of his jeans, and where there should’ve been a sliver of fair skin there was the pattern of the tight fit of a pair of fishnets.
Jongin was sure his cheeks were an embarassing shade of red, but he couldn’t will himself to look away.
Jongin felt as if Taemin’s scorching look alone was undressing him, slowly peeling off his boots, his belt, his jeans, his briefs-even though his actual hands was still grasping the leather of Jonghyun’s jacket.
After what feels like hours of staring into each other’s eyes;
Taemin smirked.
Jongin felt his knees go weak and the invisible rivets holding down his feet screw loose, and made a run towards the opposite direction.
☾
That Bloody Mary’s lacking in Tobasco
Remember when you used to be a rascal?
Jongin did not eat in the cafeteria for an entire fortnight.
He’d find solace in eating lunch alone on the sketchy foyer by the language labratory, the same place he’d caught something he had hoped he’d never see again just a few days before.
He wouldn’t buy lunch at school at all, avoiding the trouble of carrying a tray all the way up to the fifth floor.
So he’d sit on the yellowed tiles with his knees gathered to his chest, the half-assedly put together sandwich in the brown paper bag that was turning cold sitting beside him, and he’d wonder what it were like if he were Jonghyun and he had the taste of tobacco on Taemin’s skin for lunch instead.
- - -
Not wanting to return to the blank eyes of his mother Having nothing to do one Tuesday afternoon, Jongin volunteered to clean the Physics labratory, receiving a tired smile and a thankful pat in the cheek from the greying spindly Mrs. Song.
He hummed an off key tune as he sorted the scales and sensors and carefully put them back inside their glass drawers;
He was halfway through wiping the whiteboard clean when he heard a low whistle from behind him-that definitely wasn’t his own.
He jumped with an undignified squeak, turning around and dropping the wooden eraser from his grip and letting it clatter to the polished floor.
The sight that greeted him wasn’t one that he had expected;
Lee Taemin had his feet up on the table in the far corner of the room, balanced precariously on a wooden stool that tilted with the curve of his spine that leaned against the tiled wall.
“Kim Jongin, is it not?” Taemin drawled-Jongin’s name gritty on his gravelly voice.
He opened his mouth, but closed it again.
“Oh come on, pretty boy,” Taemin chuckled at the scarlet blooming across the span of Jongin’s cheeks, “I don’t bite.”
“Well,” Taemin tilted his head, a mischevious glint flashing in his eyes, “Unless you ask.”
Jongin’s eyes widened-he drew his eyes down.
When Jongin did not look up nor say anything in return-much to Taemin’s discontent, the latter dramatically sighed and heaved himself up from his seat, kicking his feet off the table and breezily made his way towards the still rigid Jongin.
Taemin comically stomped a foot on the ground when he was face to face with Jongin, as if to say that he was determined to stay until he received an answer.
With the scent of Taemin-smoke, alcohol, freshly washed jeans-so close to him, Jongin was snapped back into his senses and gathered all the confidence and courage to look up.
The carnal droop of Taemin’s eyes that Jongin met with his own had his words stuck in his throat, but he forced it up to meet the tip of his tongue.
“Yeah.” He managed lamely, a hand rising to hover in the space between his chest and Taemin’s, as if to shield himself from the heat of Taemin’s burning gaze.
The warmth of the smile that formed on Taemin’s lips at Jongin’s reply had him averting his gaze.
“Jongin. Yes.” He cleared his throat warily, “That’s my name.”
“Well then, Jongin,” Taemin chirped, his grin crinkling his eyes into crescents. The softness in his voice had Jongin slowly turning his head and looking up into Taemin’s kind eyes through his lashes. He knelt down on floor to take Jongin’s discarded backpack and Jongin tried his best not to pay any mind to the warmth of Taemin’s breath so close to his thighs dropped it to Jongin’s open arms as he straightened and stood.
Taemin tilted his head and his grin twisted into a petulant pout; “I’m hungry.” He declared. And the moment Jongin opened his mouth to state his reply was the same second that Taemin had grabbed him by the hand and broke into a run towards the exit-knocking the breath out of Jongin’s lungs, and leaving no room for questions.
- - -
“What are you doing?!” Jongin exclaimed through tight lungs, his brows deeply furrowed- though he didn’t snatch his hand away from Taemin’s steel grip, trying his best to keep up with the speed of Taemin’s long, long, long legs.
“Run, run, run,” Taemin laughed breathlessly.
Realizing that he wasn’t going to get a proper answer, Jongin decided to clamp his mouth shut and fall into step with the beat of Taemin’s sneakers against the ivory floor.
When they were nearing the wide entrance doors of the building, only then did Jongin open his mouth again to shout over the loud rush of wind in his ears, “But it’s pouring outside!”
Taemin abruptly came to a stop, causing the unsuspecting Jongin to crash into his back and have the little breath he has in his lungs to be knocked out-for the second time.
He then turned around and grabbed Jongin by the shoulders, looking him dead serious in the eyes.
“Jongin.” He said with not a tinge of trivia in his voice.
Jongin-a panting, wide-eyed mess-waited for his next words to come.
“A brilliant deduction.”
Then the breathless smile returned to Taemin’s lips as he took Jongin’s quivering hand and took off again.
- - -
When the two of them dropped themselves into the shabby plastic seats in front of the convenience store an entire block away from their school grounds-out of breath and soaking to the bone, Jongin only dumbly stared at the clouds of steam from the cup of cheap ramen in front of him.
“What,” Jongin began, after moments of silence only filled with the steady light rythem of the rain, and the sound of Taemin slurping on his noodles-in which Jongin had tried his best to keep his eyes away from Taemin’s lips that just became redder and wetter-“The hell. Was that.” He managed, in a voice barely above a whisper-his blank eyes still fixed on the cooling styrofoam cup placed in front of him.
“Well,” Taemin dropped his chopsticks and wiped his lips with his wrist, “I told you I was hungry.”
Jongin’s eyes met Taemin’s across the small space of the umbrella stand their table was situated on, blank and flabbergasted and completely and utterly dumbfounded.
Then very quietly, Jongin chuckled.
The chuckle grew into a fit of giggles, the fit of giggles into an amused laugh, and the laugh into a full-blown booming guffaw.
Soon enough, Taemin followed suit.
At that very moment, Jongin felt so very crudely juvenile-as they were Two thinly dressed teenagers, soaking wet, laughing, and gasping for air, eating instant noodles in front of a convenience store-but with Taemin shaking with laughter and grinning so genuinely a mere armswidth away from him, Jongin can’t seem to mind.
“Do I even want to know how you got my name?” Jongin asked inbetween gasps to breathe.
Taemin avoided answering, and instead reached inside his drenched jacket, pulling out a shining silver flask and spinning it in the palm of his hand.
“A Bloody Mary mix.” He stated, popping open the cap and downing a chug in an impressive amount of time. Jongin racked his brain for his knowledge of vodka to distract himself from staring at the way Taemin’s adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed down the liquid.
Taemin gestured at Jongin to drink it himself when he drew the flask close to him, smirk softening at the hesitant tilt of Jongin’s head.
“It’s Seargram’s, don’t worry. Quality stuff, won’t char your bones off.”
Though first reluctant and skeptical, Jongin wasn’t entirely unwilling; so when curiosity got the best of him, he took the flask gently from Taemin’s offering hand, stiffening at the jolt of electricity when their fingers brushed.
Jongin finished what was left of the drink inside the thin flask, the alcohol in his veins boiling his blood and heating up his skin.
When he handed it back to Taemin, he averted his gaze from the curve of his smile and forced himself to look at the droplets hanging across his lashes instead.
- - -
In Sunday Service, their eyes would meet across the vast space of white pillars and wooden crosses-and Jongin would wonder how a prayer’s smile could hold so much sin.
☾
Everythings in order in a black hole
Nothing seems as pretty as the past, though
Jongin slipped his legs into his jeans, buttoning and buckling with comical haste. His P.E. class had taken the very last period, and he was eager to go home and put as much distance between himself and the neanderthal jocks he unfortunately had to share the same class with.
Whilist trying to shove one foot inside his sneakers and pulling his jumper over his head, Jongin heard the muffled sounds of cocky laughter and-the clinking of tin?-heard only barely over the thin walls of the showers. Brow raised and curiosity piqued, he quickly threw his satchel over his shoulder and walked out of the cramped shower stall.
There was no one else outside when Jongin had arrived, he had figured that they’ve all already gone home. And he was about to exit and do the very same, until he caught a flash of something bright in the corner of his vision.
When he turned to his side-Jongin’s jaw dropped to the floor.
Ruthlessly written in mock-looping letters on the navy blue surface of one locker door-
‘Whore’
So that’s what the clinking sound was-spray paint.
Jongin carefully approached the ruined wall of lockers, the nasty white paint over the dark blue of the metal hurting his eyes. Running his fingers through the still-drying paint, he searched for the name of the locker’s occupant. Written in bold scraggly handwrting, slipped inbetween a narrow silver frame:
Lee Taemin
Jongin’s hands curled into fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palms. His head felt hot with anger, and he took off towards the exit door with a slam-before he can do any damage to the thin metal with his shaking fist.
- - -
Gliding across the polished floor, Jongin stealthily made his way towards the locker room, greeting the greying janitor with a smile and crinkled eyes. It was still far too early for anyone to be in the school grounds; the group of janitors and security were the only ones who had arrived-unlocking doors and polishing floors.
Jongin came to an abrupt halt with a squeak of his sneakers when he had caught sight of the hateful graffiti, but then snapped himself back into action and kneeled in front of the locker door, taking out cans of paint-stripper and clean white rags.
Spraying the first squirt of the solvent, Jongin heaved a sigh and began to scrub.
Halfway through washing the thing off-hands reddened and roughened-Jongin heard an amused chuckle over his shoulder, causing him to jump and drop the rag on his lap.
His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach when he craned his head to look for the source of the voice;
Standing behind him, one shoulder nonchalantly leaning against the tiled wall: was Taemin.
“I-I didn’t know you’d be...” Jongin trailed off, casting his gaze downward.
Taemin tilted his head, the smirk still ever present on his lips but his eyes warm and soft and touched-something he’d failed to hide with the veil of his indifferent façade.
“I left my jacket here yesterday.” Said Taemin, answering Jongin’s unspoken question. His gaze was level, and Jongin dared himself to raise his head and look back. When Jongin’s gaze met the sad eyes and the small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes-the breath was sucked away from his lungs.
“Well then.” Taemin breathed with a sigh, straightening and squaring his shoulders. He stepped towards Jongin and knelt beside him, taking a can of the spray and a rag of his own.
“Not bad, Kim Jongin.” Taemin hummed, the smile on his lips crawling slowly but surely into his eyes, crinkling it into twinkling little moons.
Jongin’s lips soon followed suit.
“Not bad at all.”
☾
Flicking through a little book of sex tips
Remember when the boys were all electric?
Blowing a tuft of hair from his face, Jongin’s brows scrunched up in concentration as he carefully threaded the small sewing needle held inbetween his calloused fingers. The fraying black thread began to close the hole in the hem of his recital wear.
Jongin huffed a breath of frustration when the needle poked at his cuticles and pricked the soft skin of his palms. Not having the heart to ask for a new pair of dancewear from his mother, he had prompted to look up sewing tutorials online and hunched himself up in the corner of his room, trying his best not to pierce himself with a rusted needle.
Just as he was about to close off the stitch with a knot, the door of his room slammed open with a loud bang. Nearly stabbing himself in the wrist-Jongin jumped in his seat, head snapping up.
Perched against the doorframe, was his sister-face irritable and arms crossed.
“What did I do?” Jongin stuttered with wide eyes.
“It’s Christmas.” She spoke through gritted teeth.
Jongin tilted his head, “I am aware.”
His response elicited an irked groan from his sister, as she uncrossed her arms to have her hands pull at the roots of her hair in desperation.
“Have mama and I not reminded you a million times already? You’re supposed to be going to the Youth of Orthodox event.” She wailed, exasperation lacing her tone.
“Oh.” Jongin’s gaze dropped.
His sister sighed, her shoulders slumping and her gaze softening. She made her way towards Jongin’s cocoon in the corner of his room; crouching in front of him and putting a gentle hand on his knee.
“Hey.” She said soothingly, the annoyance in her voice gone like a candle in the wind.
At the tender tone of her voice, Jongin dared himself to look up and meet her gaze.
In her stare there was no scrutiny-just doting sisterly concern, and the clear fondness in the drooping curve of her eyes.
“I know being a stranger isn’t the easiest thing for you to be.”
Jongin’s lip twisted into a pout.
“But mama wants you to go,” She hummed, rubbing comforting circles into the fabric of his jeans, “Very badly.”
“Do it for her, will you?” She spoke with no cheer in her eyes, but her smile was kind.
Jongin bit his lip-and shook his head.
She sighed but did not scold him for his blatant indiffernce for his mother’s wishes, but instead took him by the crook of his elbows, and tried one more time;
“Do it for me, then.” She said with a new hardness in her voice-but it was not out of anger, yet out of the sheer instinct of protectiveness.
Jongin’s gaze dropped to the skinny little hands holding him by the elbows, a new bruise in the shade of a sickening mixture of blue and yellow blooming on her left knuckle.
At that a smile pulled at his lips.
She never lost the habit of picking fights.
When he looked up, he was met with gaunt cheekbones and eyes worn and aged far beyond her years-so Jongin puffed his cheeks and nodded.
“For you.” He said, voice small.
A crooked grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, the light returning to her eyes.
“No one else.”
- - -
Jongin smiled politely at the fair headed girl who handed him an ivory velvet box wrapped in gaudy silver ribbons. Peeling off the lid, he hummed silently to himself when he saw the dainty magnetic ornaments settled snugly in dunes of crinkly wrapping paper, the gilted biblic verse catching the glaring light of the chandelier hanging above.
Jongin tucked the small gift in the folds of his jacket, nodding demurely in response when the girl asked him whether or not he liked it.
Noticing his drawn posture, the girl quietly sighed and left him with a nod and a kind smile.
Jongin let out a bitten-back breath, loosening his lungs-the stiffness of his shoulders faltering.
His sister had brought him a small jar of sweets packaged with gilded ribbons, informing him that they were having a gift exchange event. Jongin did not even try to feign enthusiasm. Though that-she understood.
Fiddling with the fraying hem of his sweater, Jongin continued to pull his shoulders in and tangle his fingers neatly on his lap, silently watching the exchange of pleasantries and mannerly interaction of the flocks of people around him.
No one had bothered to come up to him and spark up a conversation; everyone had known about Mrs. Kim’s children.
The eldest rebelled against traditional beliefs of femininity and showed up at the chapel with a stringy ponytail and bruises from fights on her cheek, the black ichor from the motor shop visible underneath her nails.
They looked down upon her-but no one dared to admit that they were still very much scared of her.
The youngest had a talent for being completely and utterly invisible.
They hadn’t even known Mrs. Kim had a second child before she announced it herself, that; ‘no this is not my chauffeur-he’s my son, and he’s fifteen.’
They could barely afford their monthly rent, let alone a chauffeur.
He stayed quiet, blended in with the background, he sat still, staring at nothing but thin air.
‘Quiet as the devil’s breath,’ They said;
He scared them.
It was an idea so ludicrous and insufferably laughable, that a kid who can’t even ask the shop clerk for help intimidated them, though that meant they mostly left him alone, and that-he’s thankful for.
Scratching cluttered patterns onto the surface of his jeans, Jongin sat idly as the sky outside darkened and the moonlight grew bright.
Wishing he were home instead-his idle reverie was shattered by the sharp intake of breath heard from in front of him, and the sound of a solid box crashing into the marble floor.
Snapping his head up, Jongin was greeted with the sight of a dark haired girl with a hand smothering her mouth, and another clutching her chest-her eyes wide and her face aghast.
They were all staring at a little booktlet splayed across the polished floor-their faces twisted and contorted into different levels of shock, amusement and disgust.
Just as Jongin’s eyes began to rake the cover-fair skin, dark hair, fishnets, a garter belt, tacky pink font-he felt a firm grip grab him by the shoulder, fingers digging into the fabric of his sweater. Craning his head back, he saw a familiar grin and a pair of half-moons masked with a dishelved brown fringe.
The boy took his hand and pulled him up from his seat;
And like the last time-they broke off into a run.
- - -
“Lee Taemin, what the actual-”
“Hush your profanities, my dear, for we are in the grounds of the lord!” Taemin laughed through tight lungs, his shoulders shaking as he gasped for air.
Jongin tried to scowl but he simply couldn’t, so he opted to do the most natural thing in the world-to throw his head back and laugh.
Jongin hadn’t known where they were going, but all he thought of was anywhere else but here, so he tightened his grip on Taemin’s hand and pliantly relented and followed.
When it felt like their legs couldn’t bring them any further, they collapsed onto the parking lot of a sketchy warehouse-the awful condition of the surrounding houses showing them that they had ventured into the rustier side of the neighbourhood, the other side of the coin.
They were leaning against the cobalt blue doors of a ratty, rusted pickup truck, breathless and gasping-the faint glow of starlight casting shadows underneath the hollows of their cheekbones.
“Did you actually give the pastor’s daughter a booklet of sex tips?” Jongin exclaimed through laughter and gasps for air, the amusement loud and clear in his voice.
His laughter only grew louder when Taemin had replied; “I don’t need it anymore, anyway.”
His head crashed into the crook of Taemin’s neck-and for a while they did nothing but laugh.
Though after a while their laughter had subsided, Jongin’s smile stayed put.
Jongin watched with careful eyes as Taemin took out a crumpled box of Capri menthols and a golden zippo lighter-watching tentatively as he lit a slim cigarette with a flick of his wrist.
When clouds of moonlit smoke started to waft through the night air, Jongin closed his eyes and inhaled as deeply as possible-taking in the scent that is so often if not always stuck on the velvet of Taemin’s skin, the silk of his hair, the fabric of his jeans.
“I’ve only realized,” Taemin hummed, tapping at the moist end of the cigarette, specks of tobacco falling in clumps on the asphalt.
Jongin faced him and tilted his head, the mess of his locks falling over his eyes.
“That we’ve never been properly introduced.” Taemin said with a small smile tugged at one corner of his lips, that would’ve been an aggravating look if it were on anyone else.
Jongin’s eyes stung from the smoke.
“No, no we haven’t.” Jongin managed to choke out a reply, but he blamed the thick curtain of smoke draping around them-and not the lock in his throat.
Inside his beaten canvas shoes, he curled in his toes.
“ Well hello then, My name is Lee Taemin, professional delinquent and future president of The United States.”
At that, Jongin burst into another fit of laughter.
“To whom do I own the pleasure?” Taemin asked with smile remained gauzy and indifferent as he dramatically took Jongin’s hand.
Jongin swallowed back a choked gasp, biting the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from whimpering.
“Kim Jongin.” He replied, not being able to hold back the smile that followed.
“But I think you already know that.”
A grin split across Taemin’s features, the half moons of his eyes mirroring the dim light of the crescent moon hanging above their heads.
“Nonsense!” He exclaimed, throwing up his hands in the air.
Jongin’s hand dropped to his own thigh when Taemin had relinquished his grip, and he tried to hide his disappointment through smiling just as wide.
“Whatever made you think so?” Taemin sang, the theatrical tone of his voice not faltering the slightest.
Jongin shook his head and chuckled-the gathering smoke disappearing into the dark of the sky.
Taemin lowered his hands-his back leaning back against the door of the truck.
“But no really,” Jongin pondered-stopping Taemin mid-action when his hand had rose to his lips that had been rubbed red with tobacco and the cold-his fingers tangling into one another on his jean-smothered thigh.
“How did you know my name?”
At that, Taemin only smiled and placed the cigarette inbetween the chapped petals of his lips, not bothering to take it out when he breathed out the smoke through his mouth.
“I have my resources.” Taemin said, his words muffled by the cigarette hanging from his teeth.
Jongin narrowed his eyes, and Taemin only chuckled-his laughs coming out in puffs of glimmering silver.
The end of the cigarette that crackled with tiny flames dimmed and burnt into a reddish ash; Taemin took it out of his mouth and threw it under the soles of his shoes, crushing it under the steel toes of his boots.
“I didn’t expect you to attend little events like those, being an angelic little boy.” Taemin had taunted, though his tone was light.
Jongin scoffed, “Speak for yourself.”
Taemin shrugged, taking out another roll from his pack of Capris and twirling it between his tapered fingers.
“I had nothing better to do.” He said, “I wanted to be a good boy for Christmas.”
Jongin’s eyes fell onto the unlit cigarette in the space between his fingers, and raised a brow.
Taemin grinned.
“I’m not that bad, you know.” Taemin said, sounding almost earnest.
Jongin’s brow disappeared further into his fringe.
“Don’t you trust me?” Taemin whined with a pout, the look appearing comical for he had a roll of menthol held inbetween his rosy lips.
Taemin was the friend every parent warned their children about,
The hormonal, crude teen that every teacher twisted their cheeks scowling at,
The kid his sister would pull him away from in the playground as children.
Jongin did not think twice before he answered with a blunt: “No.”
Taemin laughed so hard he choked on his breath and coughed out the dimly lit cigarette-making it roll across the grainy asphalt.
Jongin had to hit his back, attempting to make it seem as polite as possible-trying to get Taemin to cough out the tobacco out of his throat.
When his coughs had subsided, Jongin was taken aback to see that Taemin continued to laugh, his shoulders shaking and his cheeks flushed.
“Well, then,” Taemin managed through his fit of giggles, “You’re a wise man, Kim Jongin.”
Jongin shrugged, trying to act nonchalant-but the shrug came off as looking like an act of trying to fix a dislocated shoulder.
“To not put trust on someone like this? Your mother raised you well.” Taemin grinned, but his grin was gone as soon as it came when he saw Jongin’s shoulders slump and his smile disappear.
“Ooh.” Taemin said, hissing through his teeth. “Dangerous waters there?” He asked, his tone joking, but trembling enough for it to be obvious that he was genuinely afraid.
Jongin slowly shook his head, his lips pulled into a tight line.
“Nah.” He waved it off, though Taemin was all but convinced.
When Jongin said nothing more, Taemin’s brows had softened and he spoke a soft; “Okay.”
Jongin appreciated it.
Though he wouldn’t say.
Then fell the silence.
A comfortable one, though, at that.
“Thanks, by the way.” Jongin said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Taemin hummed in response, the tone sung as a question.
“For getting me out of there.” He shrugged, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.
Taemin chuckled, though his voice was dark, “You looked like you were suffocating.”
Jongin contemplated on his reply before he spoke:
“I was.”
Their shoulders were brushing, but barely touching-and even though there were tens of layers of fabric carving the space between them, Jongin couldn’t help but feel content.
“Taemin,” Jongin spoke, when he was sure that it was the side effects of the dizzying scent of smoke speaking.
“Yes?” Taemin tilted his head, and the tips of his curls brushed against Jongin’s flushed cheek.
“You’re one fucked up kid.”
Taemin smiled, then the smile grew into an ear-to-ear grin.
“Aren’t we all?”
☾
Oh the boy’s a slag
The best you ever had
Jongin pinched the bridge of his noise as he tried to smother down the nausea that was rising in his stomach, the rice wine still warm in his throat.
It was some random classmate’s birthday party, and Sehun had insisted that Jongin would accompany him.
Jongin scoffed at the memory, for Sehun had abandoned him in the first ten minutes upon arriving-when the event hadn’t even yet begun.
The heavy thrum of music that reverberated through the floors and walls of the tall suburban home gave Jongin headaches, and he was longing for some quiet-and maybe some aspirin.
Walking as far as he could from the centre of the room-where mathlete Kim Jongdae was currently trying to chug down an entire box of some cheap Bourbon with the rowdy crowd around him cheering and hooting like uncivilized baboons-Jongin slumped against a plain wall-right next to the ivory mantelpiece, clutching his stomach and covering his flushed face with his too-long fringe.
Swallowing down his urge to hurl his lunch all over the (Expensive, might I add) carpet, Jongin could only groan when someone increased the volume of the damned electronic music and the crowd responded with a wave of obnoxious hollers.
Next to him was a pile of discarded red solo cups, and Jongin was tempted to just throw himself and collapse on them and fall asleep right then and there.
When the beat of the music took a drastic change for the worst, then Jongin did think to heave all over the mantelpiece and ruin the tasseled velvet that draped over it.
Just as the bile rose up his throat, Jongin felt a hand on his shoulder-firm but soothing.
When he looked up, Lee Taemin was looking down at him with concern in his eyes and a frown on his lips.
“Hey, you okay?” He asked, worry lacing his voice.
The sickly color of Jongin’s cheeks had Taemin shaking his head and grabbing him by the wrists.
“Stupid question. Right.” Taemin berated himself.
Jongin forced his eyes shut and hung his head.
“Alright then, let’s get you out of here.”
- - -
It takes a lot for Jongin to unlock all of his five-foot-eleven tower of irrational fears and timidity.
It took his sister all seventeen years of his existence.
It took Taemin seventeen minutes.
He found himself wearing his heart on his sleeve to a stranger he only knows by detention slips, hickeys, and his go-to brand for liquor.
“The Jungs aren’t so bad,” Taemin hummed, as Jongin spewed on about how much he fears the intimidating sisters as they sit perched on the staircase, “I especially don’t mind the eldest.” Taemin said with a wink.
Jongin swallowed.
“I threw up all over Jung Soojung’s paper mache solar system once.” He said with a tremble in his voice.
When Taemin laughed so hard he hit his head on the railing, Jongin can’t help but follow.
Laughing did wonders to worsen his headache, but he can’t quite find himself to mind.
“Oh, oh oh! In third grade, you won’t believe. . .”
Jongin should find himself concerned-
No, terrified that this complete and utter stranger could coax him to open up so very easily, like he untied the laces of strangers’ insecurities for shits and giggles, accomplishing what his sister had slaved herself over for, for the last seventeen-almost eighteen years of his life, accomplishing what his mother hadn’t even bothered to try to do, being what he had always needed but had never gotten-
Company.
And as simple as that,
For once, Jongin didn’t feel so lonely.
☾
Likes her his gentlemen not to be gentle
Maybe it was the hard liquor in his veins,
The stifling atmosphere of so many people in endless layers of silk and taffeta cramped in one single joint,
The skull-splitting music that resounded through the walls,
Jongin couldn’t quite remember.
The closet smelled like cleaning products and heavy smoke, the lingering scent of alcohol still clinging to every inch of their skin.
Jongin heard his name muffled as a sigh and he had never thought his name would be able to sound so debauched,
So very much so, that his sister would’ve been enraged.
A flash of movements and a hand was holding on to his throat like a rail, and so Jongin pushed the thought of his sister away.
All he knew of now was the weight pressed against his chest and the soft hair between with his fingers, the rising palpitations he could feel underneath the press of his fingers-there was breathing against his cheek, his neck, ragged and warm and Jongin never thought he could want so much-
There was the popping of buttons, the rattling of the closet door as a drunken couple laughs and stumbles,
From outside there was the rustling of dresses and clacking of glasses and Jongin’s head was swimming with heavy need and obsession.
There was a pair of lips leaving trails of wet patches up his neck and on his jaw, biting and nipping and bruising-
He was afraid of himself and how much lust was clouding his eyes, how he couldn’t quite see anything but a smudge of brown curls and fair skin and oh how he wants so badly to bruise that very fair skin-
When his tongue couldn’t find enough to devour he pushed further and his palm cupped the cinch of a waist, the other hand too deeply coiled and knotted in a mess of dark hair,
When Jongin pulls he heard a sound so addicting-his lips tremble as all he could think of is the animal instinct to want skin, skin, skin-
- - -
Jongin skimmed his fingers along the dip of Taemin’s collarbone.
With their bangs sticking with sweat on their foreheads, legs still tangled and arms slinked around each other, they calculated how many inches away from the ground their feet were, how much longer the empty storage bin could hold their weight, full of banter and chatter like they haven’t just fucked.
Pressed against each other, Jongin would feel more than hear Taemin’s hushed laughter when they hear some intoxicated couple eat each other’s faces from the other side of the closet door.
“You had ink,” Jongin began, snuggling closer for warmth, “Right underneath your clavicle.”
Taemin hummed in response.
“’Pressed to the wall, dying. But fighting back.’” Jongin quoted, inhaling the thick smell of smoke that clung to Taemin’s skin.
“If We Must Die, McKay.” He said, voice low.
Taemin smiled at Jongin's small wrists in his palms and for a face so young Jongin thought his eyes had looked so very worn.
“’If we must die, oh-let us nobly die; So that our precious blood may not be shed; In vain, then even the monsters we defy; Shall be constrained to honor us though dead.’” Jongin recited the piece with grace, for it had been his very favorite since he was twelve.
“Look at you,” Taemin cooed like his sister would, “So literate.”
Jongin chuckled and waved him off.
“Why?” Jongin asked straightforwardly.
But the most innocent possible question had caught Taemin off-guard.
“Why what?” Taemin pretended to be puzzled.
“Why those very words?” Jongin asked again, now craning his neck to be able to see Taemin properly. “They sound incomplete.”
Taemin looked up from his spot against the crook of Jongin’s shoulder.
His hair tickled against Jongin’s cheek.
Taemin averted his gaze, and shrugged-the motion shifting their position on the bin.
“To me,” Taemin began with a whisper, “Not about not wanting to die in vain.”
Jongin knitted his brows.
“But in cowardice.”
Jongin contemplated the answer, before deciding that it satisfied him and decided not to press any further.
Taemin was thankful for it-
Jongin could see.
“You recited it with such ease.” Stated Taemin, trying to sound aloof.
Jongin shurgged, “It was my favorite since middle school.”; Giving away another piece of himself to a barely-acquaintance.
“I tell you so much about myself.” Jongin chuckled, “But I don’t know that much about you in return.”
Taemin said nothing, and so they fell back into silence.
It was when sleep started to gnaw at his brains that the thought struck Jongin, and he was taken aback.
“When I do think about it,” Jongin thought aloud,
“I know nothing of you, Taemin.”
Taemin’s shoulders tensed, but relaxed again when he had replied, “You know my name.”
“And my favorite brand of cigarettes.”
“That,” Jongin said, “And nothing else.”
Taemin’s gaze was soft as he mulled over and deliberated over Jongin’s statement, drawing incoherent patterns on the surface of Jongin’s trousers with the tip of his finger.
He fluttered his eyes shut and pressed himself further against Jongin when he sighed,
“Let’s keep it that way.”
☾
You just sounded it out
You’re not coming back again
Graduation was held on a Thursday.
Jongin had always quite liked Thursdays, but the warm sunlight that was uncomfortable enough that prickled on the back of his neck, sending droplets of sweat down the collar of his suit had strewn his sweet temper askew.
Waving off every greeting, every well-wish and every praise with a smile, Jongin wove his way through the rambunctious crowd, eyes searching for a familiar face.
When there was no sight of the bad brown dye job and the thick-lipped smile, his shoulders slumped and his mouth was locked in a frown.
Squeezing himself inbetween a plump middle aged man and his sister, Jongin covered his head with the tassels of his cap and hid his phone inbetween the creases of his too-short gown, tapping away at the keys.
It was a simple enough question, and after a few more times of embitteredly checking and recheking for replies, he finally felt defeated and stuffed it back into the pockets of his trousers.
He only received the long awaited ping! of response when he was walking towards the wooden podium, Mrs. Song smiling at him like his mother never did-arms outsretched and medal in hand.
Jongin stopped in his tracks with no warning, causing the few people behind him to crash against his back, earning him a handful of grumbles and complaints.
Muttering an apology, Jongin fished for his phone in the folds of his pocket-his hands slippery and his mind wandering-continuing to walk, but ever slowly. Not giving a second thought at the impatient, irked stares that bore his back.
It was a simple enough question,
And a simple enough answer.
Jongin : Where are you?
Taemin : I’m chasing stars, Jongin.
The number was deemed inactive moments later.
- - -
When Mrs. Song handed him his diploma, Jongin’s smile was blinding.
☾
Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness
Landed in a very common crisis
Jongin ticked off soda from his little list of groceries as he threw a tall bottle of diet coke to his shopping cart.
It was his own little list of needs, Kyungsoo wouldn’t even touch the carbonated drink with a five-foot pole.
Looking around to see if his roommate was anywhere near him, Jongin added an extra bottle to his cart and smiled mischeviously to himself like a child.
Pushing his cart around the beverage alley, he fired away a quick text to Amber that No, Kyungsoo still won’t let you all use our apartment for the post-exam party. Christ, he won’t even let you in.
Sliding his phone shut and stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans, Jongin hummed off key as he loitered around the aisle.
Perusing the little liquor section, Jongin hung around the parlor-mindlessly picking up the most expensive brands and putting them back down with a shiver when he saw the price tag.
As he was about to turn on his heel and search for Kyungsoo, an assortment of blue-labeled bottles, the label clear as day underneath the fluorescent lights:
Seargram’s Vodka
Jongin studied it with a careful gaze, holding the neck of the bottle with gentle hands. He was so distracted that he didn’t sense Kyungsoo coming up behind him, startling him enough to nearly drop the bottle when he spoke in his ear-
“I thought you didn’t drink.”
Jongin hissed a jumble of unintelligible curses under his breath and gingerly placed the bottle back down on its pile.
“No,” Jongin shook his head, “I don’t.”
“Pity,” Kyungsoo sighed, “If you did I would’ve introduced you to Chartreuse long ago.”
Jongin laughed and continued his stroll towards the cashier with Kyungsoo in tow.
“And who gave you permission to buy soda, Kim Jongin?”
Author's Note :
It took me the entirety of January to finish this. [wipes sweat]
Hope this was enjoyable!