Prismatic Souls, Pt 3/?

[iamthegayagenda]

“Kyungsoo, you absolute idiot!” Jongdae screeched, letting himself into Kyungsoo’s apartment.

He hadn’t gone out since Sunday (it was now Wednesday, as Jaehwan’s text reminded him). Instead, he’d holed up in his apartment, which was as drab in color as it had been in black and white. But he couldn’t go out and face the world. Not right now. Not ever, really. So he stayed in (caving to his curiosity on Monday night and learning the color names; that color he so loved on Jongin was red), wasting all his money on takeout, his days defined by the sofa, his bed, and the kitchen sink.

But now Jongdae barged in. Kyungsoo peeked at Jongdae over the pile of blankets, sniffling. Jongdae stopped in front of him. Kyungsoo had forgotten he’d given Jongdae a copy of the key years ago, and now sorely wished he’d never done it.

“Ok, that was mean. I’m sorry,” Jongdae said tenderly, ruffling Kyungsoo’s hair. “You’re still an idiot though.” Kyungsoo curled up further into the blankets, pulling one over his head.

“Why didn’t you tell me you saw Jongin in color?” Jongdae asked, pulling the blankets away. Shivering, Kyungsoo groped blindly for them, squawking when he found Jongdae’s leg instead.

“H-how did you-“

“Figure it out? You scrambled out of that studio as soon as he walked in. And the fact that you knew his name when you sometimes forget my name,” Kyungsoo scowled at him, still searching for the blankets, but Jongdae held them hostage. “And then you not answering my calls or my texts for so many days.”

“I just wanted to be alone,” Kyungsoo sniffed. Jongdae’s eyebrows rose.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Why didn’t you tell me?” He repeated, pulling gently on Kyungsoo’s ear. It was quiet now; just the echo of Kyungsoo’s neighbor yelling at her dog in the hallway, the distant rumble of buses, and the nearly inaudible chugging of the train along the tracks.

“Because I’m afraid,” Kyungsoo said at last.

“Afraid of what?” Jongdae knelt beside Kyungsoo, placing a hand on Kyungsoo’s knee.

“Afraid of what might happen if he doesn’t-“ Kyungsoo took a shaky breath.

“If he doesn’t see you in color?” Jongdae asked. Kyungsoo nodded, sniffling again, willing the tears to disappear. Jongdae stared at him, lost in thought, but then an excited glint appeared in his eyes. “Come to dinner with me.” Kyungsoo looked at him, faced screwed up in confusion.

“No,”

“Ah, Kyungsoo why?” Jongdae whined. Kyungsoo rolled his eyes.

“Because I don’t want to go out,” he said flatly.

“But it’ll be at my place,” Jongdae continued his whine, “And I’ll grill meat, and Chanyeol will get some soju.” He perched his chin on Kyungsoo’s knee, batting his eyelashes up at him. Kyungsoo shrugged him off.

“No,”

“Aaah, Kyungsoo,” Jongdae threw himself onto the sofa dramatically, fake sobbing until Kyungsoo poked him hard in the ribs.

“Okay, fine,” Kyungsoo grumbled, “Only if you shut up.” Jongdae flashed him a bright grin.

“You won’t regret it, Dudu,” Jongdae ruffled Kyungsoo’s hair.

“I hate it when you call me that,” Kyungsoo huffed, slapping Jongdae’s hand away.

“You love it, my dear. Anyway, my place, six o’clock,” Jongdae chirped, skipping out of Kyungsoo’s apartment. As soon as Jongdae left Kyungsoo felt his stomach sink. A list of excuses to worm his way out of this ran through his mind, but he knew Jongdae was capable of coming back to drag him out, so he resigned himself to his fate.

 

And now, in Jongdae’s apartment (which Kyungsoo was appreciating in color for the first time), he sat on the deep brown sofa, toying with the pale pink cushion. Chanyeol had brought him a glass of soju, which he downed instantly, and Chanyeol had laughed, refusing to bring him another one.

“If I want to get shit-faced, let me get shit-faced. I’m 22, you giant oaf,” Kyungsoo growled. Chanyeol only smiled cryptically and shuffled out of Kyungsoo’s reach. Jongdae had just started grilling the meat out on the terrace, but the mouthwatering scent had made its way into the apartment, and Kyungsoo’s stomach voiced its approval. He was tempted to go out there (Jongdae had closed it off for the winter with giant glass panels that still offered the spectacular view of the skyline, but it was still drafty, the biting winter wind worming its way in), but the warmth of the living room and the coziness of the sofa made him groggy, completely unwilling to get up. So he settled for observing from his seat.

The walls were off-white, which Kyungsoo found rather disappointing, now that he could see color, but there were framed photographs on each wall; some of Chanyeol, some of landscapes, dramatic mountains piercing through low clouds, some of Jongdae’s family, and each one so incredibly bright. But ever the artist, Jongdae had arranged them to match, so that the warmer photos were on one wall and the cooler on the others. In Jongdae’s office, Kyungsoo knew, were photos from his shoots, framed and occupying the wall space, but he really didn’t want to move, not even to see if one of those happened to be of Jongin.

In his research Kyungsoo had decided that he preferred warm colors; the soft glow of yellow, the comforting warmth of deep orange. He had a vision, then, of his apartment ablaze with warmth, from the ceiling to kitchen counter to the toothbrush on the bathroom sink. He even went as far as scouring websites for new bedclothes and paint, saving those he loved most. But for himself, he preferred blue. He was wearing it now, a soft sky blue shirt (he had always thought it was just gray) with his jeans, and deeper blue socks with lighter dots. He’d been disappointed to find out that most of his wardrobe was, in fact, colorless, just a collection of varying shades of black. He would fix it too, he thought, gradually.

But now that the shuffle of Chanyeol in the kitchen, Jongdae’s voice from the terrace, the warmth and the comfort of the sofa were all lulling him to sleep, he decided to stand. Jongdae and Chanyeol were not to be trusted, not when he had work the next day. He’d woken up one too many times with a mustache on his face, hastily scrawled with a marker (and not always above his lip). So he stood up, groaning as he stretched, and shuffled his way to the kitchen.

“Aw, you didn’t fall asleep,” Chanyeol whined. Kyungsoo glared at him, pushing past to grab a glass. “What? Our mustaches always add to you macho allure.” Jongdae laughed, which only made Kyungsoo’s scowl deepen.

“How can you even hear him from over there?” He grumbled.

“That’s for me to know and for you to never find out,” Jongdae quipped, his voice carrying from the terrace. Now Kyungsoo was even more bothered: he hated it when Jongdae would tease him like this.

Chanyeol, seeing Kyungsoo reach for the soju bottle, smoothly swapped the shot glass for a regular one, full of soda, and shooed him out onto the terrace. When Jongdae gave him a confused look, Chanyeol smiled.

“He can watch the meat, while we finish over here,” Chanyeol said sweetly, pulling Jongdae into the kitchen. So Kyungsoo stayed by the grill, standing awkwardly, watching it sizzle.

There was a knock on the door, and Kyungsoo’s stomach churned. He peeked at Jongdae over the rim of his cup, feeling more than a little betrayed. Wasn’t this supposed to be dinner for him? Why would Jongdae invite someone else? He stayed on the terrace, hoping that perhaps it was a mistake, perhaps Jongdae had forgotten something and asked someone to bring whatever it was. But then he heard Jongdae and Chanyeol greet the person and invite them in, and the deep voice that answered them, equally as polite. Kyungsoo’s palms grew sweaty. What if he had to hide on the terrace the whole night and freeze to death? Maybe he’d be able to slip inside and hide in the closet-

Jongdae’s voice piqued Kyungsoo’s interest, so he peered into the living room, the shatter of his glass drawing all eyes on him, but his heart was beating so wildly he didn’t even notice.

 

-

 

He knocked on the door, licking his lips. His shoes were a bit loose, and he had to keep shifting his weight to get comfortable. Sweat pooled above his lip, and he wiped it away, sighing as he did so. Not for the first time, Jongin cursed his sweatiness. It was one of the things he hated about photoshoots; the heavy heat of the lights always sent the assistants into a frenzy, blotting the damp from his face.

At last, Jongdae opened the door, greeting him cheerfully. Jongin gave him a nervous smile, no doubt looking more pained than joyous, but he still hadn’t quite figured out why Jongdae had invited him, though he had his suspicions. He tried to peer over Jongdae’s head, but a massive bean pole of a person blocked his way. The bean pole’s name was Chanyeol, Jongdae’s soulmate, and Jongin found his ears massively distracting. Really, how couldn’t he, when they stuck out so much.

He toed off his shoes (and shed the socks, hoping Jongdae wouldn’t think much of it), and walked in, still marveling at the way Chanyeol’s ears seemed ready to fly off his head.

“The food is almost done,” Jongdae, who had been talking since Jongin arrived, announced. “But I think there’s enough time for you to meet-“ Glass shattering cut him off. They all looked towards the terrace, and standing there, eyes wide, lips in a perfect O, looking incredibly startled, was Kyungsoo.

And it was incredible. Color had seeped into all of Kyungsoo, spreading, leaking into the living room, the still not quite dark sky, the kitchen, Chanyeol and Jongdae’s bright striped sweaters. And for that moment, as stupid as it felt, neither Jongin nor Kyungsoo could move; they just stared at each other, letting the shock sink in.

That was, until Kyungsoo leapt back and hid in the terrace corner. Jongdae jumped into action, scurrying to find the broom, while Chanyeol tried his best to gingerly pick up the bigger pieces. Jongin stood there awkwardly, still frozen to his spot, his brain whirring, calculating what the best thing to do would be. But with the shock of seeing color, of knowing his soulmate was less than a few feet away, his brain malfunctioned. So he stood there, blinking stupidly, staring at the spot where Kyungsoo had been standing.

“You should probably go talk to him,” said Chanyeol, grinning when Jongin sputtered.

“He’s just really shy,” Jongdae added, smiling brightly.

“So am I,” Jongin said softly. Jongdae sighed.

“Alright, hang on,” he made his way to the terrace. There was bickering, and Jongdae’s trademark whining, what sounded like a slap, and then he reappeared, Kyungsoo by his side. “Listen, I didn’t plan this so you’d hide in a corner the whole ti- don’t! Step there! Chanyeol is still cleaning that!”

Their eyes met, and Jongin tried smiling, but he couldn’t. Jongdae marched Kyungsoo to the sofa, then, seeing that Jongin was still glued to the same spot, marched Jongin over to sit next to Kyungsoo.

Great. Now they were sitting together, so close, their thighs nearly touching, but Kyungsoo was avoiding his eyes, engrossed by the loose string on the cushion instead.

“H-hi,” Jongin said meekly. Kyungsoo froze, still not looking at him. “I’m-”

“Kim Jongin. I know,” said Kyungsoo, though his voice was hardly more than a whisper. Jongin faltered, unsure what to say. “I’m-“ Kyungsoo finally looked up at him, “I’m Do Kyungsoo.” Jongin’s breath hitched. Kyungsoo licked his lips, going back to the cushion string, but Jongin reached out, resting his fingers on Kyungsoo’s cheek. Kyungsoo gasped, their eyes meeting again. But now it was too much, the emotion overwhelming, and Jongin felt the hot prick of tears welling in his eyes.

“Sorry,” Jongin sniffled, but the tears fell anyway. Kyungsoo gently wiped them off, but now his eyes were glossy. “I- I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long and now I don’t even know what to say.” They both laughed, and Kyungsoo inched closer, placing a warm hand on Jongin’s back. Their thighs were touching now, and it was driving Jongin insane, to feel that warmth pressed against him.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not good with words at any moment in my life,” said Kyungsoo and oh- oh, his smile was heart shaped, his cheeks perfect little apples. Jongin melted, smiling at the flush on Kyungsoo’s cheeks when the other noticed Jongin’s intense gaze.

“Ah, well maybe moments like these don’t need words anyway,” said Jongin, regretting it instantly. Baekhyun had always accused him of excessive corniness, and now Jongin was wishing he’d actually cared to remedy that. But Kyungsoo didn’t seem phased, just nodding in agreement, nervously pushing his hair back. And then, because Kyungsoo’s skin looked so soft, Jongin was gripped with the urge to kiss him, so he did, placing a soft, lingering kiss on Kyungsoo’s cheek. Kyungsoo squeaked in surprise, his neck flushed. Oh, how cute. How so very incredibly adorably cute. Now he was hiding his face in his hands, peeking up at Jongin, and Jongin wanted to squeal, and to bury him in kisses.

Chanyeol cleared his throat, waiting for both of them to look at him, an amused and rather proud smile on his lips.

“Dinner is ready,” he said, “Unless, of course, you guys don’t want to eat because you’re- uh- busy.” Jongin and Kyungsoo looked at each other, then at Chanyeol.

“I mean, I’m…hungry,” Kyungsoo mumbled. His stomach growled then, as if on cue.

“I’m always hungry,” Jongin piped up, grinning at Kyungsoo’s bashful smile. Chanyeol rolled his eyes.

“Alright, come on, before you guys give me gas with all this lovey-dovey stuff,” he turned to go back to the kitchen, but not before Kyungsoo had landed an echoing slap on his calf. Jongdae’s head popped out from behind the living room wall.

“Don’t abuse my man like that,” Jongdae frowned.

“Tell him to leave me alone,” Kyungsoo grumbled. They followed Chanyeol to the dining room and sat down.

“Where would you be in life if not for us,” said Jongdae. Kyungsoo opened his mouth, but Jongdae cut him off. “Don’t answer that.” A small frown wrinkled Kyungsoo’s brow, but it was offset by his pout. Jongin sighed, resting his elbow on the table.

“So cute,” Jongin said softly. Everyone else froze and Kyungsoo blushed, curling into his chair. Jongdae and Chanyeol waited with baited breath, but nothing else happened.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh,” Chanyeol said, looking a little annoyed.

“Huh?”

“If we ever try to call him cute-”

“I’m not cute,” Kyungsoo gritted through his teeth. Chanyeol ignored him.

“If we, his best friends, try to call him cute, he tries to murder us,” Chanyeol finished. Jongdae, who had stepped out to serve the meat, came back in, brandishing the plate before them.

“At last, we feast,” he announced, piling it onto their plates. Jongin looked over at Kyungsoo.

“But you are cute,” Jongin said softly. Kyungsoo bit his lip, avoiding Jongin’s eyes, but Jongin knew there was a small smile on Kyungsoo’s lips. Chanyeol huffed, looking even more offended. But then Jongin’s stomach growled, and he apologized, blushing; the others laughed, but Jongdae had finished serving them. Chanyeol held out his arms.

“Feast, my children,” he boomed. Kyungsoo crinkled his nose.

“You’re so fucking weird,” he mumbled. Jongin giggled, especially at the offended look on Jongdae’s face, but the food smelled too good, and they were far too hungry, so they dug in.

“Well, you have quite the appetite,” said Jongdae, looking rather impressed that Jongin had fit four pieces of meat in his mouth. Jongin had the decency to look apologetic, feeling all the more embarrassed when Jongdae and Chanyeol stared at him.

The rest of the meal, thankfully, passed without much fuss, and they finished all with cups of tea, Jongdae on Chanyeol’s lap. Jongin sat next to Kyungsoo, feeling a bit stiff, but then Kyungsoo leaned into him. He wrapped an arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulder, resting his cheek on Kyungsoo’s head. Chanyeol cooed at them, flinching when Kyungsoo threw a cushion. It was a comfortable silence now, just relishing in the company, and Jongin finally felt like things were good, like the pieces of his life were falling into place.