Prismatic Souls, Pt 2/?

[iamthegayagenda]

 (AN: I'll start posting regularly on Mondays! This is a lil early update before the semester starts!)

“You need to get out of the house more,” Jongdae declared. Kyungsoo inhaled sharply, choking on the noodles he’d just slurped.

“Why?” He asked, tears in his eyes, once he’d calmed down. Jongdae had smacked him on the back, none too gently.

“Because you do,” Jongdae replied. Kyungsoo gave him a hard look, though its effect was lessened by the splotchiness of his cheeks. “Because I said so.”

“That’s not-“

“Um, yes. It is a good enough reason. I’m your hyung, and you’re coming with me,” said Jongdae. Kyungsoo kept eating, his lip curled in dissatisfaction.

“It’s still not. Where are we going anyway?” Kyungsoo grumbled at last.

“To a photoshoot I’m doing,” Jongdae chirped, beaming at Kyungsoo’s sour face. But then- oh. Kyungsoo’s eyes widened, the realization washing over him.

“Who- who are you gonna shoot- I mean, take photos of,” he asked. Jongdae narrowed his eyes at Kyungsoo.

“Why do you wanna know?” Jongdae asked, “I didn’t realize you knew any models by name.” Kyungsoo gulped, avoiding Jongdae’s eyes.

“I..don’t?” Jongdae didn’t look convinced, but didn’t press it.

“It’s Kim Jongin,” said Jongdae. Kyungsoo choked again, this time on air. Did Jongdae- did he know? No, it was impossible. Kyungsoo hadn’t told a soul about what he’d seen, not even when Jaehwan grilled him about it (again, after work, when Kyungsoo was tired and cranky and just wanted to be home). Once he’d calmed down, Kyungsoo wiped the fresh tears away, sniffling.

“Oh, that guy?” Kyungsoo winced; he’d aimed for nonchalant, but had missed the mark entirely. Jongdae leaned on the counter, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that guy,” he stopped, looking at Kyungsoo, smiling when Kyungsoo began to squirm.

“Stop staring at me like that,”

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” said Jongdae. Kyungsoo scoffed.

“What could I possibly not be telling you?” he asked. Well, that was a stupid question. There were many things Jongdae could suspect, and Kyungsoo was afraid of every one of them. Jongdae bit his lip.

“I don’t know yet,” he said softly, “But I will figure it out.” Kyungsoo swallowed hard. Should he- No. But maybe- No, Jongdae would think him an idiot. Coming clean was the last thing Kyungsoo wanted to do, if only to preserve his pride. But Jongdae suspected him of keeping a secret. Which meant that Kyungsoo had to act like he still didn’t want to go. Then Jongdae wouldn’t suspect a thing.

“I still don’t see why I have to get out of the house more,” Kyungsoo whined, picking at the now lukewarm noodles.

“Because I said so,” Jongdae said through gritted teeth.

“But I don’t want to,” Kyungsoo shot back.

“Well, tough luck, bitch, because you’re going,” said Jongdae.

The building was enormous. Kyungsoo had lost track of how to get out, which of course led him to imagine a thousand scenarios in which he had to get out of the building (like, say, godzilla crashing through the city, or an alien portal that opened up just above the roof of this building) and would most likely perish because he simply could not find the fucking exit. He would have to rely on Jongdae, who maneuvered through the halls so easily, so confidently.

The studio had already been set up, but Jongdae, ever the perfectionist, began to tweak it to his liking, leaving Kyungsoo sitting besides the cameras, feeling quite like a turd among all the fancy equipment and the equally fancy people. His palms were grossly sweaty; he had to keep wiping them on his jeans. The bustle of people on set was soothing, at least, quite like the bustle of the kitchen.

“You look like you’re gonna pass out,” said Jongdae, a hand on his hip. Kyungsoo jumped, startled by the sound of Jongdae’s voice. “Now you look even worse.” Kyungsoo squeaked, but couldn’t say much. “Don’t shit yourself plea-ow!”

“This was your brilliant idea. Not mine,” Kyungsoo hissed. He jabbed at his glasses angrily, scrunching his nose when they wedged themselves too tightly on the bridge of his nose. Jongdae laughed, slapping Kyungsoo’s shoulder.

“You’ll be fine,” he winked at Kyungsoo, kneeling next to the camera bags. Kyungsoo watched him, half fascinated, half angry, as Jongdae attached the lens to the smallest camera.

Once Jongdae was done and waiting, fiddling with the camera, he heard a rustle, and sharp footsteps. Kyungsoo turned, and his mind went blank.

Long. His legs were damn long. Like, miles long. And his arms. Oh, his arms. Bulging. Not too much of course, just toned enough to make Kyungsoo’s blood rush. With a gorgeous, head of thick black hair and full lips, his hooded eyes so, so alluring. And-

Oh. Oh, no.

It was different now.

The colors were bright now, saturated. Jongin’s skin, the warmth that radiated from him, the cool colors on his shirt. But it didn’t stop there. No, the colors spread, seeping into everything and everyone in the room. It wasn’t explosive, not like Kyungsoo had thought it would be, but rather a gentle flowing out of a central point. That central point was Jongin. Kim Jongin. Kyungsoo couldn’t take his eyes off him. Jongin was bowing now, greeting everyone, a polite smile on his beautiful face.

Kyungsoo was trembling, his palms sweaty, his stomach lurching. With each step Jongin took, closer to Kyungsoo, he felt his heart drop. He tugged on Jongdae’s sleeve, but Jongdae shrugged him off. He grabbed it again, tugging harder. Jongdae frowned down at him, his face softening when he saw how pale Kyungsoo was, a film of sweat on his forehead.

“What is it?” Jongdae whispered. Kyungsoo opened his mouth to reply, but Jongin was turning in their direction. He whimpered, scuttling to hide behind the chairs. “Kyungsoo-” But Jongin had reached Jongdae, and Kyungsoo, eyes darting frantically, made his escape, slipping into the hallway before the others could notice.

He was hyperventilating, his heartbeat erratic, and though he tried to keep himself calm, he couldn’t. The bright walls of the building were taunting him, labyrinthine, impossible to get out of. Once he’d sped out of the studio (and had nearly knocked into several people), he walked around, trying to find the elevators. His earlier thoughts, though irrational, came back to exasperate his already anxious heart.

“Breathe, stay calm, it’ll be fine,” he repeated under his breath. But he kept turning corners, and corners, and corners, and endless loop of white walls.

So he stopped, leaning against a wall and closing his eyes. It took him awhile, but he managed to steady his breathing, no longer feeling like he’d just finished running a marathon. He wiped the tears from his face roughly (he hadn’t, in his panic, even felt them) and set out to find the elevators, determined though still afraid. At least, he thought, this elevator quest was keeping his thoughts preoccupied.

It turned out, much to Kyungsoo’s annoyance, that’d he passed the elevators several times. He waited for one, freezing when the elevator doors opened and five pairs of eyes stared at him. A man huffed, crossing his arms. The ding of another elevator finally jolted Kyungsoo into motion, mumbling an apology and squeezing in.

The sun was too bright, the sky a dazzling color that Kyungsoo didn’t know the name of. Now that he was outside, the array of colors was dizzying. Kyungsoo blinked, disoriented. The colors threw him off; he wasn’t sure where the subway was, not in the multitude of people, the dazzling buildings, the groaning buses. He stumbled towards a corner, leaning on the lamppost, the sun behind him, but it was little comfort. His head was starting to ache.

But then- people. People coming out onto the street from an escalator. Yes, that was the subway entrance. Kyungsoo made his way to it, looking at the sign. Was that- was that what Jongdae meant by the orange line? Kyungsoo had always navigated by the numbers.

Despite the growing migraine and the dizzying colors, Kyungsoo made it home. He didn’t bother looking around, not taking in the grim colors of the dingy apartment, a pop of something new. He just rushed to his room, throwing off his coat, and threw himself onto the bed.

Color. Full color. He (stupidly) didn’t expect it to happen, despite the flashes when he saw Jongin’s pictures. But he still couldn’t believe. The journey home had still not been enough for it so sink in.

So now, in the safety of his bedroom, he allowed the denial to flourish. He refused to look up, his face smothered by his pillow. And then his thoughts began their acrobatics. It really happened. Jongin, supermodel Kim Jongin, and Kyungsoo saw him in full color. But no- absolutely not. He wouldn’t give himself the chance to be rejected, for his heart to be split into pieces. No. He’d just hole up in his apartment, safe. Safe, and alone as always.

The photoshoot went smoothly enough, though Jongdae seemed off. They were sitting by the monitor, now, checking the photographs. Jongdae kept checking his phone, a small frown marring his brow. Jongin wanted to ask, but he kept quiet instead; it might get awkward. They weren’t that close after all. So he stared at the computer instead, watching the images load.

But they weren’t just his pictures. There were others, before his shoot, that loaded as well. And a boy. A beautiful boy. With wide eyes and heart shaped lips, large glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. And he was- in color. Soft, washed out, as it happened in photos. Only in person would he see them in full color. Jongin gulped.

“Um- Mr. Kim-”

“It’s Jongdae,” said Jongdae, smiling at Jongin’s mumbled apology.

“Who- who is that?” he asked, pointing at one of the photos. But then they disappeared, replaced by the photos of Jongin’s shoot. Jongdae laughed at Jongin’s embarrassed squawk and scrolled up.

“Ah, that’s just a friend of mine,” he said, “I was testing out a new lens filter, needed someone to practice with.” Jongin licked his lips, leaning closer. Jongdae narrowed his eyes, watching Jongin study the photos. “Why do you want to know?” Jongin looked at him, startled.

“Oh- uh,” Jongin replied eloquently. His eyes darted between Jongdae and the computer. “He’s...cute?” Jongdae raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, is that all?” Jongdae asked, sounding quite amused. Jongin bit his lip. An assistant looked through the papers on the table, pausing when Jongin looked at her. Jongdae cleared his throat. “Can you, uh, grab us some tea?” She pursed her lips, but nodded. Once she’d left, Jongin turned to Jongdae.

“I- I’m seeing him in color,” Jongin said, his voice nearly a whisper. Jongdae’s eyes widened. He looked at his phone, then at Jongin.

“Oh, that makes so much sense,” Jongdae said cryptically. Jongin stared at him, blinking. That...was odd. But then the assistant appeared again, a cup of tea in each hand. The questions would have to wait.