iamthegayagenda | Entries tagged with exo

AN: And here's the last part of PS so far, hope you guys enjoy

Kyungsoo stretched luxuriously, slumping onto Jongin’s chest again when he was done. He’d been awake for half an hour now, but the comfort of the bed was too much, nestled between the warmth of the comforter and the warmth of Jongin; so he stayed, lulled into a pliant state. Jongin, it seemed, wouldn’t wake soon, and Kyungsoo wanted to make them breakfast, but then he remembered the gleaming empty insides of the fridge and decided that staying in bed really would be the best option.

It would be another hour before Jongin stirred, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

“Morning,” he murmured into Kyungsoo’s hair.

“Hm, good morning Jonginnie,” said Kyungsoo, propping his chin on Jongin’s chest.

“Ow, pointy chin,” Jongin grumbled, pouting when Kyungsoo giggled. But then Jongin rolled onto his side (and Kyungsoo slid off him) and closed his eyes again.

“Oh no. Come on,” Kyungsoo sat up then, hissing at the cool air against his overheated skin. The comforter was puddled at his waist, and had slipped off Jongin’s shoulder; he shivered, curling up into a ball.

“Go back to sleep,” he whined, pulling Kyungsoo down. Kyungsoo draped himself over Jongin’s bare back, nuzzling Jongin’s shoulder.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he whispered. Jongin groaned.

“Yes,” he said in a small voice. “But I don’t wanna leave bed.”

“Well I-” Kyungsoo said, placing a kiss on Jongin’s shoulder, “will go make breakfast and you-” another kiss, “will wash up.” Jongin sighed.

“Okay,” he sniffled. So with another kiss, Kyungsoo rolled off the bed and trudged downstairs.

The dumplings, leftovers from last night that he decided to pan-fry, were nearly done by the time he felt Jongin come up behind him, nuzzling the back of his head.

“Smells good,”

“That’s what happens when the food you cook is homemade-”

“I meant you,” Jongin said softly. Kyungsoo blushed.

“O-oh,” he turned his head to look up at Jongin, his cheeks heating up at the bashful smile on Jongin’s lips.

“But the food does too,” Jongin added, and his stomach echoed its agreement.

“It’s a good thing it’s done then, huh,” said Kyungsoo, placing the dumplings on a plate. Jongin, in his infinite impatience (something Kyungsoo had noticed last night) grabbed a dumpling with his fingers, hissing when it burned him.

“Why does it hurt me like this?” he whined.

“The same way the soup hurt you last night?” Kyungsoo asked, raising an eyebrow. Jongin sighed, his shoulders sagging.

“Yes,” he sniffled.

“Then wait, dummy,” said Kyungsoo, handing Jongin chopsticks. Jongin complied, but dragged his feet to the table, biting into the first dumpling as soon as Kyungsoo sat down.

They ate in relative silence, no doubt aided by their hunger, until they were down to the last dumpling. Jongin stared at it, then at Kyungsoo.

“You can have it,” Kyungsoo said sweetly.

“But I feel bad,” Jongin said softly.

“It’s fine, Jonginnie, I can make more,” said Kyungsoo, twining his fingers with Jongin’s. They were so slender, elegant; long and slim, just like the rest of Jongin. He loved it.

“Okay,” Jongin said hesitantly. But then he swallowed the dumpling in one bite. Of course. But now that they had eaten they found it hard to get up. Well, Kyungsoo did at least, and judging by the slump of Jongin’s shoulders, he also had no intention of getting up.

“We need food,” Kyungsoo said after a while. Jongin opened his mouth to reply. “Real food.” He closed it with a pout.

“We just ate.”

“Yeah, the last food in this apartment. You know there’s nothing else there. I can’t cook with half a head of garlic and two onions,” Kyungsoo retorted.

“We could get them delivered?” Jongin said hopefully. Delivered?

“Absolutely not, Kim Jongin,” Kyungsoo sniffed.

“Why not?”

“They don’t know how to pick anything! They give you beat up fruits and bad meat and-”

“Okay, we’ll go!” said Jongin, an amused twinkle in his eye. “You look so cute all riled up.”

Kyungsoo sputtered. No. He was not cute. But he also couldn’t say no to Jongin, not like that. So he just stood up, squeaking when Jongin pinched his ass.

They arrived to the supermarket an hour later, and Kyungsoo was equal parts excited and intimidated. This was a fancy supermarket, with overpriced food, but it was all better quality, fresher. Any chef (or chef’s assistant’s) wet dream. He took a deep breath and stepped in, keeping out of the way of Jongin and the cart. First were the fruits, which Jongin stopped at immediately, and Kyungsoo had to stop him from filling the whole cart with boxes of strawberries. Then Kyungsoo wandered off, admiring the deep red pomegranates.

“Oh look, hyung, peache- Ah!” Jongin threw the fruit back, jumping back. It happened nearly in slow motion, the tumble of fruits, but Kyungsoo was able to stop them with his arm, only the offending peach rolling onto the floor.

“Jongin!” Kyungsoo looked over at him, his eyes wide. Jongin was still frozen, watching the peach roll farther. “What was that for?” Jongin held out his hand.

“M-moldy,” he sniffled, looking at his fingers miserably. Kyungsoo let out his breath, pushing the fruits back into a neat pile.

“Did you actually touch the mold?” Kyungsoo asked, shuffling back to inspect Jongin’s fingers.

“I-I don’t think so,” Jongin said miserably. With anyone else Kyungsoo would have continued to be annoyed, but the monumental pout and the glisten in Jongin’s eyes made his heart melt.

“Just go wash your hands,” Kyungsoo said softly, brushing the hair out of Jongin’s eyes, “And don’t scare me like that again, okay?” Jongin nodded, leaning down to give Kyungsoo a quick peck on the lips. Kyungsoo watched him walk down the aisle, skirting the fallen moldy peach, and rested his hands on the shopping cart handle.

He heard Jongin guffawing behind him.

“Hyung-” and a snort, his laughter growing. So Kyungsoo turned around. And he saw apricots.

“Yes?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Tiny butts,” Jongin managed, before dissolving into laughter yet again. Kyungsoo stared at him, because was he really laughing at that? But because Jongin’s laugh was so ridiculous Kyungsoo couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Really,” he tried to deadpan, but he couldn’t.

“Look this one is- this one is just like yours,” Jongin said through hysterical giggles, picking up a particularly round apricot with a pronounced indent.

“Okay, put it down. We’re moving on now,” Kyungsoo said, biting back the giggle that threatened to spill. He plucked the apricot from Jongin’s fingers and placed it back snugly among the others.

“Tiny Kyungsoo butts,” Jongin repeated, burying his head in Kyungsoo’s back, his shoulders shaking.

“Hyung look! Cucumbers! My friend Baekhyun hates the-”

“Jongin,” said Kyungsoo, staring at the fruit in Jongin’s hand.

“Eh?” Jongin looked at it, then back at Kyungsoo.

“That’s…not a cucumber,” he said at last. Jongin’s face morphed into one of confusion, his lip curled.

“It’s not?” Jongin held it closer, and Kyungsoo had to stifle a giggle.

“It’s a zucchini,” said Kyungsoo, pointing at the plastic label on the display.

“I just saw long and green-”

“Mhmm,” Kyungsoo couldn’t hold back his laughter now and Jongin’s face fell.

“Ah, hyung,” he whined, “That’s not fair, this is your area of expertise.” He stomped his foot, huffing at Kyungsoo’s giggles.

“It’s-it’s-” but he couldn’t even get out the words. Jongin huffed.

“Yah, let’s just go,” he plopped the zucchini back, turning on his heel.

“Wait, I actually want some of those,” Kyungsoo sputtered, grabbing two and a plastic bag for Jongin to put them in. But naturally Jongin just kept pushing the cart, a zucchini in each hand, the bag sitting on top of the onions, neglected.

“Do you think you could-” Jongin looked around, then lowered his voice, “Do you think you could stickoneoftheseupyourass?” Kyungsoo stopped abruptly, cursing when Jongin crashed the shopping cart into him.

“What?”

Jongin looked up at him from the zucchinis in his hand.

“You know,” he waved them around, “Up the bun hole?”

“But why?” Kyungsoo asked. Jongin shrugged. “Wh- that’s what dildos are for!” And just because luck was not on Kyungsoo’s side, an ahjumma passed at that moment and gave him a disapproving frown. “Don’t laugh!” Kyungsoo whined, but of course Jongin did anyway.

“I was just wondering, that’s all,” he said, still grinning.

“I don’t think so. Cucumbers are probably better for that,” Kyungsoo said at last, snatching the zucchini out of Jongin’s hands. “Next time, we’re getting the groceries delivered.”

“Aw, no! This is fun,” said Jongin, poking Kyungsoo’s arm.

And maybe Jongin was right. Everything in the cart looked beautiful, the arrays of deep, striated red of the pomegranates, the green and yellow mottled pumpkins, the deeper green of the zucchini; even the waxy reds and greens of peppers nestled between the leaves. Kyungsoo had decided that morning that given all the sunlight in Jongin’s apartment, it would be a shame to not have a vegetable garden at the very least, so he’d picked pepper plants and tomatoes and chives and cilantro and scallions and oregano and radishes and basil. They’d had to get a second cart just for all the plants, a miniature jungle on wheels. And because Jongin thought they were lovely (they were, with thick pink petals freckled with darker pink, and a scent that nearly made his head dizzy) there were several lilies squashed in between the rest. The meat, stuffed in extra plastic baggies because one couldn’t be too careful (Jongin learned this the hard way, wide-eyed as Kyungsoo gave him a whole speech about putting meat on top of veggies), exiled to one corner of the cart. Kyungsoo was itching to get to the apartment, to sort it all out and see the bursts of color decorate the white insides of the great big fridge, and the packets and cans and boxes neatly organized in the pantry. At last, they picked out some munchies, mostly junk that Kyungsoo refused to even look at but secretly enjoyed. He couldn’t admit that his own highly refined culinary taste would be marred by honey butter chips and pepero.

And then, because they could and they wanted to, they just meandered through the aisles, pointing out outrageous colors (causing quite a few traffic jams in the narrower aisles) and taking in properly, for the first time, a bit of the world in its full spectrum.

But when they reached the apartment Kyungsoo realized, one foot in the door and eyes wide in horror, that they had forgotten a key ingredient.

“Shit.”

“Hm?” Jongin turned around, brow creased.

“We didn’t get kimchi,” he groaned, “Not even something I could use until I raided the fridge at my place.”

“We could go to the corner store-”

“Absolutely not, that stuff is garbage,” Kyungsoo whined, stomping his foot. “I guess I’ll cook non-Korean food for now.” Jongin perked up.

“That’s okay! I don’t think I’ve tried proper foreign food. Shake Shack aside,” he said with a wink. Kyungsoo narrowed his eyes at him.

“Go put the lilies in water,” Kyungsoo grumbled. Jongin grinned at him, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek, before he skipped over to the flowers. Cute. Stupidly cute. Kyungsoo loved it.

“I think-” Jongin paused, spread-eagled on the mattress.

“Hmm?” Kyungsoo sat at the edge of the bed, flattening the creases on the comforter.

“I think maybe the apartment decor needs an upgrade,” Jongin finished, rolling onto his stomach. Kyungsoo brightened at that, a heart-shaped smile growing on his lips.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I mean, I think Manager-hyung probably had something to do with it but the apartment is so-” Jongin sniffed, “bland. It needs color.”

“It could…” Kyungsoo trailed off, grinning at the unamused look on Jongin’s face.

“Oh come off it, I know you want it to be more colorful too,” Jongin grumbled, and ah- that dorky guffaw. Kyungsoo was too cute for his own good.

“Okay, fine, I do,” said Kyungsoo with a sigh. Jongin pulled Kyungsoo close, so that Kyungsoo was sitting fully on the bed, and then lay his head on Kyungsoo’s lap.

“It’s so odd,” Jongin sighed, “It’s like I just can’t quite get enough of it now. To think that I’d gone all these years in monochrome and now-” but then Kyungsoo began to play with Jongin’s hair and all the thoughts slipped out of his mind.

“I know. I feel like I need to see all the most colorful things, to drink them all in,” Kyungsoo hummed, but Jongin was too lost in the sensation of Kyungsoo’s fingers in his hair. “I-I actually-” Kyungsoo chuckled sheepishly, “I already have a few things in mind to buy.”

“Hnng?” Jongin moaned, and Kyungsoo leaned forward to get his phone, “No, don’t move.”

“But how am I gonna show you?” Kyungsoo asked, and Jongin groaned.

“Okay, I’ll get the laptop,” Jongin said, faking a sob. Kyungsoo smacked his shoulder lightly.

“You big baby, you can just come right back,” said Kyungsoo, but he was giggling, his bright round cheeks pinked. But Jongin slipped off the bed and crawled to the desk, tucking the laptop under his arm. He handed it to Kyungsoo before he flopped onto the bed again, wiggling his way back onto Kyungsoo’s lap.

The light of the screen was blinding, but Kyungsoo lowered it, smoothing Jongin’s hair down until Jongin stopped grumbling. He pulled up the tabs, his finger hovering over a turquoise monstera print pillow case.

“Hyung, why don’t you look at stuff here?” Jongin asked, opening a new tab (clumsily, because he refused to move from Kyungsoo’s lap). He clicked on the pillowcases, stopping when Kyungsoo choked. He shot up, patting Kyungsoo’s back.

“Sorry, air- wrong way,” he said through the tears. Jongin kept rubbing small circles on his back, until the coughs subsided, but Kyungsoo still looked distressed.

“What’s wrong?” Jongin asked. Kyungsoo looked at the laptop screen, then at him.

“That pillowcase is worth 200,000 won,” said Kyungsoo.

“Yes.”

“Yes? That’s all you have to say to a ridiculously expensive pillowcase?” Kyungsoo squawked.

“Money isn’t an issue for me, Kyungsoo. And it isn’t for you either,” said Jongin. Kyungsoo was just staring at him now, but Jongin knew his brain was whirring. So he let him process it, letting it sink in, until Kyungsoo’s eyes widened. There. He got it.

“Oh.”

Jongin gave him a bright smile, but Kyungsoo was still in a daze. Jongin booped his nose gently, laughing at the bewildered and slightly offended look Kyungsoo gave him.

“Okay, well-” Kyungsoo cleared his throat, sniffling, and then wiggled into a more comfortable position, “Those are cuter pillowcases.”

With a hum of agreement, Jongin sidled close again, his head resting on Kyungsoo’s chest. Of course that was a dangerous thing to do after a dinner as exquisite as the one Kyungsoo had whipped up, with the excitement of the day now gone. He was exhausted, and everything was soft and warm and cozy. His last thought, before his eyelids drooped, was that it felt so natural, so incredibly right, to be cuddled against Kyungsoo’s chest, lulled by the soft beat of his heart.

AN: YALL OMG IM SO SORRY!!! I totally forgot I had this account but don't worry, I'll be back to posting regularly on here!! you can always find me on twitter @honeyedsunshine!!

Kyungsoo’s first thought upon waking was that this bed was overwhelmingly comfortable; dangerously so, in fact. He had no intention of moving, snuggled between the comforters and Jongin’s bare chest. Oh. Right. Jongin. Naked, in bed. Still asleep, a hand thrown over his eyes. How cute. Kyungsoo shifted closer, resting his cheek on Jongin’s pec, his eyes fluttering to a close when the alarm on his phone went off.
“Shit,” he bolted upright, scrambling for his phone (and knocking his hip bone on the corner of the nightstand - that would leave a nasty bruise, he knew it). He looked at the time, letting out a string of curses. There was no way he’d make it to work on time, not when he had to cross all of Seoul and back. He couldn’t risk showing up without his uniform. So he pulled on his rumpled clothes, nearly falling ass-first on the floor. Jongin had woken up with the racket, peering at Kyungsoo with eyes still puffy from his sleep. His hair was sticking up adorably, and Kyungsoo wanted to go back to bed and pat it down, to caress Jongin’s cheek until they fell asleep again. But he couldn’t, so he pulled on his socks and ran downstairs.

He did, in fact, arrive to work almost two hours late. He hoped to slip in unnoticed, but it was a completely unreasonable hope, considering he’d missed three days of work and was now late. Jaehwan cornered him first, bread knife in hand.
“Where the hell have you been?” Jaehwan asked, waving the knife in Kyungsoo’s face.
“Can you point that somewhere else before you hurt someone,” Kyungsoo snapped, trying to push past him.
“Not until you answer my question,” he hissed. Kyungsoo gave him the dirtiest look he could muster, folding his arms across his chest.
“I fell into my closet and ended up in Narnia where a leopard-”
“It was a lion,” Jaehwan interrupted.
“Where a leopard decided it wanted to show me the whole continent on a five-star cruise ship. Only just got back yesterday,” Kyungsoo finished, glaring at him.
“Fuck you, I was worried,” Jaehwan spat.
“I’m fine, now move,” Kyungsoo pushed past him, going to his work station.
The sight of the peppers, the ones he’d mixed up just last week, shocked him. Waxy and bright and yellow and green and red, stark against the brushed steel of the table. He would definitely grow these at home. It seemed a shame to him, actually, to have to cut them now, but he did anyway, marveling in the even, minute cubes building up on the cutting board. It engrossed him, the rhythm of cutting, until he’d forgotten that he’d been so nervous.
That was, until Jeongsuk called him to the office. Kyungsoo was officially fucked.
He bowed deeply as soon as he reached the door, bowing twice more before Jeongsuk asked him to sit.
“Welcome back, Mr. Do,” he said with a smile, resting his elbows on the desk. Kyungsoo swallowed hard. Jeongsuk’s nonchalance was throwing him off.
“Th-thank you?” He stuttered.
“You were out for-” Jeongsuk paused, looking down at the paper on his desk, “three days, and you were late today.” Then nothing else. Kyungsoo could feel the sweat seeping into his uniform shirt.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Jo, it won’t happen again,” Kyungsoo murmured, bowing; but when he sat back up, Jeongsuk was still giving him a curious look.
“Why were you out?”
“S-sorry?”
“You’ve never missed work like this, and we tried contacting you but we couldn’t. We were worried. Were you alright?” Jeongsuk asked. Kyungsoo was stunned into silence.
“Y-yes, I was fine, Mr. Jo,” Kyungsoo said at last. Jeongsuk sat back.
“Well, that’s good to hear. But I’ll still need to know why you were out,” he said.
“Because I-” Kyungsoo paused. This was the first time he was going to say it. To speak the words into existence, “Because I met my soulmate.” Oh, that felt amazing. Jeongsuk’s face lit up.
“Congratulations, Kyungsoo,” he said, standing up. “Really, this is incredible! I’m so happy for you.” And then he pulled Kyungsoo into a hug. Kyungsoo sputtered out a thank you.
“I know I should’ve called it in, Mr. Jo, but it was so overwhelming-”
“Oh, I know, Kyungsoo. It’s fine, don’t worry. We can talk more about it when you get back,” Jeongsuk sat back down.
“G-get back? From…” Kyungsoo stared at him.
“From your leave. All persons who meet their soulmate are entitled to four weeks of vacation for the purpose of strengthening the relationship,” said Jeongsuk, beaming up at Kyungsoo.
“Oh.”
“Now go home, Kyungsoo. Relax. Go fall in love,” said Jeongsuk, standing up to give Kyungsoo a pat on the shoulder. Kyungsoo was still in shock, letting his boss lead him out of the office, standing at the door awkwardly when Jeongsuk continued on his way.

The train ride home was one long hour and half trip of processing just what Jeongsuk had told him. Four weeks off. He’d never even dreamed of having that much time off. But it was perfect. Then his thoughts turned to Jongin. He couldn’t think of him without his ears turning red. So caught up in his memory of the night before that he nearly missed his stop. Even the dreary streets and dingy apartment weren’t enough to dampen his mood. That was, until he pulled out his phone to call Jongin and realized he didn’t have his number. Fuck. How could he forget? His heart sank, and for a split second he wanted to scream, but no, he would figure it out. So he scrolled through his contact list until he found the person he was looking for.
“Jongdae, I need to ask you something-”
“Good morning Kyungsoo,” Jongdae chirped. Kyungsoo let out an exasperated sigh. He really didn’t want to hear what Jongdae would say.
“Do you, by any chance, happen to have Jongin’s phone number?”
Silence. Kyungsoo looked at his phone, thinking the call had disconnected, but no, Jongdae was still there.
“Hello?” A sharp inhalation.
“Oh, I heard you. But of all the monumentally stupid things you’ve ever done, Do Kyungsoo-”
“Yes, Jongdae. I know. Do you have his number?”
“You literally went home with him last night!” Jongdae screeched.
“I know that-”
“I cannot believe you right now, Kyungsoo-”
“Can you just text me his number-”
“Were you two fucking? That’s the only valid excuse for this-” Kyungsoo hung up on him then, sitting on the floor next to his bed. A few minutes passed, and still no text from Jongdae. Tears pricked his eyes, and he sniffled, feeling overwhelmingly useless. Why couldn’t he just have remembered? That should’ve been the first thing he did, the most basic- The vibration of his phone interrupted his thoughts. A number flashed on the screen, one Kyungsoo didn’t know, so he let it ring, getting ready to indulge in his pity fest when the realization smacked him. He practically tackled the phone, swearing when it didn’t respond to his thumb at first.
“Hello?!” He asked, breathlessly.
“Kyungsoo?” yes, that was Jongin’s deep voice on the other end. Kyungsoo sighed, wiping at the stray tear on his cheek.
“Hey, oh gosh. I’m really sorry, I completely forgot to ask you for your number-”
“It’s okay. I did too,” Jongin chuckled, “But are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Kyungsoo asked, staring at his phone with a frown.
“Oh, well, you really bolted out of the apartment this morning and you seemed like you were panicking so I didn’t know if maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe you’d regretted what we did last night,” Jongin finished in a small voice.
“What? Oh- No! Jongin no! I don’t regret it,” Kyungsoo stuttered. “I was just freaking out because my alarm went off and I’d completely forgotten I was going to work today and I didn’t even have my unifor- Why are you laughing?”
“Nothing. Go on,” said Jongin.
“Well I rushed to get home. And I did get to work late, unfortunately, but then my boss told me I had the next four weeks off-”
“Because of us,” Jongin finished. Yes. Because of us. Kyungsoo liked the sound of that. “Well now that you know you don’t have to work tomorrow, would you like to eat dinner at my place and stay over?” Kyungsoo blushed, burying his face in his hands. Which was stupid, really, Jongin couldn’t see him. But the thought of what they had done last night…
“Depends on what dinner is,” Kyungsoo answered, cringing. That came out much less flirty than he’d meant it to.
“We could have a glamorous dinner from Shake Shack?” Jongin asked, dissolving into laughter. Kyungsoo sputtered.
“Absolutely not, Kim Jongin,” he said, still in disbelief.
“They have good burgers,” he heard Jongin whine.
“Why don’t you cook me something,” said Kyungsoo. Silence. The silence stretched on so long, in fact, that Kyungsoo thought the call had disconnected.
“Not if you want to live,” an unfamiliar voice answered.
“Manager-hyung!” Jongin’s horrified voice squeaked. Kyungsoo giggled.
“He can’t be that bad, can he?” Kyungsoo asked. Jongin whined.
“I would really prefer that you get Shake Shack if Jongin’s cooking is the other option,” the manager replied.
“I’m not that terrible, it’s just experimental,” said Jongin, continuing his whining. Oh, that did not sound good.
“Okay, how about I cook?” Kyungsoo asked.
“Yes,” both Jongin and the manager replied. Kyungsoo chuckled.
“Alright, if I’m gonna cook, I’m going to need-” Kyungsoo listed off the ingredients, smiling the scramble he heard from the other line. “It’ll take me about an hour and a half to get there, though.”
“Where do you live?” Jongin asked, sounding baffled.
“Very far,” was Kyungsoo’s answer.
“Okay,” said Jongin, sounding, if Kyungsoo wasn’t imagining things, a bit disappointed. “Manager-hyung is gonna get the ingredients for you.”
“See you then,” said Kyungsoo.
“Mmm. Please save my number this time, yah?” Jongin quipped, before he hung up.

The doorman’s voice crackled through the intercom, announcing Kyungsoo’s arrival. Jongin glanced at the bags of groceries his manager had dropped off, then at the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He’d dressed up for this, far too formally at first, but had finally settled on a black turtleneck and red pants. Fancy but casual. Still comfy. He didn’t want to look too formal. Despite what they’d done last night Jongin was still nervous, going to the mirror by the closet for the millionth time to check his hair, huffing when a stray lock withered, defying the hairspray. He pushed the offending lock back, but it refused to stay, so he whined in protest, sucking his teeth when it flopped onto his forehead again.
There was a knock on the door. He tried to push it up one last time, but it refused to cooperate, so he left it at that, opening the front door. And there was Kyungsoo, adorable, rosy-cheeked, tiny Kyungsoo, beaming up at him.
“Hey,” Jongin said a little breathlessly.
“Hi,” Kyungsoo replied, shifting his weight. That was cute. Jongin almost cooed at him, but that probably would’ve been weird. So he settled for a quick kiss instead, his eyes fluttering to a close when Kyungsoo tiptoed to meet him.
“How was work?” Jongin asked when they pulled apart. Kyungsoo’s apple cheeks were fully pink now. Gosh, Jongin wanted to bury him in smooches. But Kyungsoo was still standing in the doorway, so Jongin stepped aside to let him in.
“What, you mean the whole twenty minutes I was there?” said Kyungsoo, toeing off his shoes.
“Well, twenty minutes of work for four weeks of vacation sounds like a good day to me,” said Jongin, laughing when Kyungsoo gave him a light smack on the arm. He padded over to the kitchen (and Jongin watched the sway of Kyungsoo’s hips, the lightest jiggle of Kyungsoo’s thighs and ass, completely enraptured), stopping next to the bags with a little hop. Oh, that ass jiggle. But then Jongin realized Kyungsoo would turn to look at him at any moment so he sidled over to join him. Kyungsoo gave him a bright smile, brushing the treacherous lock away from Jongin’s forehead. Well, maybe not treacherous. The soft brush of Kyungsoo’s fingertips against his skin made him blush.
“These it?” Kyungsoo asked, peeking into the bags on the counter. Jongin nodded, peering too. “You didn’t buy this did you?”
“Manager-hyung knows how to pick things better than I do,” Jongin said with a sheepish grin.
“Of course,” Kyungsoo said gruffly. For the first time in his life Jongin was starting to feel bad about not knowing how to cook, but then, seeing Kyungsoo’s deft fingers sorting through the groceries (yes, really, even something as simple as that), made him quite glad he didn’t know. “Wait, did you not have any of this?” Kyungsoo turned on Jongin, eyes nearly popping out of the sockets. “Even garlic?” He waved it in front of Kyungsoo’s face.
“Uh,” Jongin gave him a bashful smile, hunching his shoulders. Kyungsoo stared at him, unblinking, and Jongin bit his lip.
“You cannot be seriou- oh my god, Jongin,” Kyungsoo had pushed past him, opening up the fridge. It was glimmering on the inside, fresh and clean and entirely empty but for a few water bottles and a can of grape juice. “What do you eat?”
“Food! I just order out a lot. And maybe sometimes manager-hyung makes shin ramyun for me,” Jongin mumbled, gulping at the bewildered look Kyungsoo gave him.
“Jongin-” Kyungsoo paused, taking a deep breath. He closed the fridge door, glancing over at the groceries. “I’ll just make dinner.” Okay now Jongin felt bad again. But then Kyungsoo spun into action, working with an efficiency that left Jongin slack-jawed.
“Wow,”
“Hmm?” Kyungsoo looked up at him as he peeled the garlic. “This isn’t my house but you’re welcome to sit.” Jongin blushed, settling onto a stool.
“It is your home,” he said softly, and now it was Kyungsoo’s turn to blush. “And you’re just- wow. How do you do all of that so fast?” Kyungsoo snorted.
“Practice, dummy. I work as a chef’s assistant at a cooking school,” he said, dicing the onions. Jongin watched him, resting his chin on his hand, as Kyungsoo worked, making the dumplings, the broth simmering as his hands flew. The scent was, quite frankly, heavenly, and Jongin’s stomach made its opinion clear. Kyungsoo laughed.
“Ah, don’t laugh. It’s embarrassing,” Jongin whined, covering his stomach with his arms. “It smells too good.”
“Mm, I’m guessing it doesn’t ever smell like this here,” said Kyungsoo, finally dropping the dumplings in, stirring the beef that was already in the soup.
“Not at all,” Jongin moaned, walking around the island to get a closer look. Kyungsoo’s elbow collided with Jongin’s arm.
“Hey, no standing in the kitchen if you’re not helping,” Kyungsoo snapped, but the way he pouted up at Jongin made him coo. “Stop that.”
“But I am helping,” Jongin whined, “I’m the quality tester- ah, aw, please?” But Kyungsoo shooed him out anyway.
“Not yet, big baby,” said Kyungsoo, folding his arms across his chest. Jongin faked a sob, clutching his heart. “Don’t do that, you’re making me feel bad.” So of course, Jongin collapsed onto the counter, arms outstretched.
“Oh, Kyungsoo. Please, give me some of the magical broth! It’s the only way I’ll liv- ow! You poke hard!” Jongin doubled over, rubbing the spot Kyungsoo had jabbed his finger in.
“Not yet,” Kyungsoo hissed. “You can’t rush perfection.”
“Then gimme a smooch,” Jongin whined, pursing his lips comically. Kyungsoo dissolved into giggles.
“Not when you look like that,” he said. Jongin pouted. “Okay, fine.” Kyungsoo gave him a quick kiss, his squeal of surprise muffled when Jongin kissed him deeper, pulling him close till their chests were touching. The grumble of Jongin’s stomach interrupted them.
“Oops?” said Jongin.
“Did you eat lunch?” Kyungsoo asked, his nose scrunched adorably.
“May…be?” Kyungsoo’s face morphed into shock.
“That’s not healthy!”
“You don’t approve of Shake Shack so I wasn’t gonna eat it!” Jongin protested. It was Kyungsoo’s turn to be quiet.
“I’ve never actually had it,” he confessed. Jongin stared at him, jaw hanging.
“What?”
“I’ve never tried it-”
“That’s blasphemy, hyung-”
“You can’t even cook!”
“Yeah well-” Jongin sputtered, “Well- so what?” How eloquent. He burst into laughter before Kyungsoo did, but the Kyungsoo leaned into him, and his heart somersaulted. It felt so right, the way Kyungsoo was tucked in Jongin’s arms, his warm cheek pressed against Jongin’s neck. He wanted to hold him like that forever. Except Kyungsoo bolted, running towards the stove.
“Well, dinner is ready, Jonginnie,” Kyungsoo said, gesturing dramatically at the stove, “Please tell me you at least have plates.” Jongin gasped, mock offended.
“I can’t cook, that doesn’t mean I don’t have thing to eat off of or eat with,” he said with a pout. He grabbed the plates for Kyungsoo, watching him serve the soup, handling the small spoon (because despite Jongin’s protest, he didn’t even have a ladle) with an efficiency Jongin envied. He walked up behind him, resting his chin on Kyungsoo’s shoulder.
“Jal meokgesseumnida,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to Kyungsoo’s cheek.

Current Mood: sheepish

(A/N: Hey guys! So I've noticed that mondays are just too hectic, so I'm going to most likely do mid-week postings from now on. Hope you like it!!)

When Jongin invited him to the apartment, Kyungsoo happily agreed, so caught up in the warm fuzzies of the sofa cuddling that he didn’t think twice about it. But then they got in the car, and then they went to Gangnam. Kyungsoo (stupidly) thought Jongin had said “home” and not “shopping” so he looked out the window, confused, but still admiring the glassiness of the tall buildings, the ugly glare of neon lights, so different now with the bright pinks and yellows. And then the car pulled up to one of the buildings. One of the big buildings. Like, huge. Jongin was smiling at him, and Kyungsoo was feeling his palms get sweaty again. The thought formed in his mind, Jongin was a really famous model after all (at least, he got that from Jongdae), but live-in-the-middle of Gangnam famous? No, that didn’t sound right. This was probably just a pit-stop, a party or something.

But then Jongin got out the car and held the door open for him, and Kyungsoo got out, cursing when he stumbled (right into Jongin’s broad, firm chest - Kyungsoo let his hand linger for a bit). There was a doorman (a whole doorman?! Those really existed?!), who greeted Jongin with a tilt of the hat, and smiled at Kyungsoo, though there was a curious glint in his eye. Jongin returned the greeting, and pulled Kyungsoo (who was staring at the ceiling, because wow that was high, and the clean, beige lines were quite appealing and-) towards the elevators, laughing when Kyungsoo’s ears turned red.

They went up. And up. And up. And even farther up. Kyungsoo watched the floor number rise, his eyes widening when he (belatedly) realized that the top floor had been pressed.

“Uh, Jongin, did you- did you forget to press your floor?” Kyungsoo asked. Jongin gave him a confused look.

“No?” Jongin looked at the buttons, then back at Kyungsoo.

“Oh, you- you actually live in the penthouse,” Kyungsoo said breathlessly. His heart had started racing again, and he wished, just for a second, for the calm mundanity of his life before this, but then the elevator slowed to a stop.

“Is it bad that I live in the penthouse?” Jongin asked in a small voice. Kyungsoo, so entranced by the opening of the elevator doors, didn’t even hear him; instead, he was stepping out with wobbly knees towards the door of Jongin’s apartment.

“Nice door,” he said. Stupid. Stupid Kyungsoo. That was a stupid thing to say. Nice door? Jongin look amused, opening it and stepping inside, taking off his shoes. In Kyungsoo’s defense, it was a nice door, thick amber-colored wood with a frosted-glass insert around the frame. Then Kyungsoo realized Jongin was waiting for him to come inside, an amused smile on his lips. Ears burning, Kyungsoo stepped inside, taking off his shoes. He put them next to Jongin’s, just inside a closet right next to the entrance, full of shoes and coats and scarves. Jongin was organized, at least, which pleased Kyungsoo very much.

“Well, welcome home,” Jongin said timidly. Home. Maybe too soon for that, but he wouldn’t mind living in a penthouse. Not when- oh. Oh, what a beautiful kitchen. Kyungsoo beelined towards it, trailing his fingers along the counter. The counters were a deep carnelian, all the accents in dark wood, but for the platinum gleam of the fridge. The stove and the sink were matching brushed nickel. Kyungsoo stood in the middle of it, absolutely mesmerized. Jongin’s chuckle startled him.

“Oh, sorry. Oh god, I just ran to the kitchen. I’m so sorry,” Kyungsoo hid his face in his hands, cursing the heat that rushed to his ears.

“It was cute,” said Jongin. That word again. Kyungsoo hated it. But…not when Jongin said it. No, if Jongin thought he was cute, then he was cute.

“Sorry,” he mumbled again, shuffling out of the kitchen. Jongin held out his hand, showing Kyungsoo the living room, the dining room, a quick peek at the terrace and the gym, before they went up the stairs (Kyungsoo, in his awe, choked on his saliva when he realized there was a second floor).

Jongin’s room was tidy, only a few shirts strewn on the desk chair (and a sock in the corner, which Jongin sheepishly explained he’d thrown because he was angry at it - he hated socks). The bed was enormous, even for a guy as big as Jongin, and Kyungsoo wanted nothing more than to throw himself on it. Jongin seemed to have read his mind, a sly smile on his lips.

“I guess it’s a good thing this bed is so big,” he started, but Kyungsoo, wonderful, sweet Kyungsoo, was a little slow on the uptake. “There are lots of things we can try on it.” And there it was. Kyungsoo blushed, giggling. Yes, there were lots of things they could try; quite a few had already crossed Kyungsoo’s mind. But then the thought of it made him awkward, and they both dissolved in giggles.

“I suppose there are,” he said, and then Jongin stepped closer, and Kyungsoo was acutely aware of just how close they were, of the warmth radiating off of Jongin. He looked up at Jongin, who gave him a small smile, his cheeks pinked. Standing there, in the shadow of Jongin’s warmth, woke something up in Kyungsoo he hadn’t felt before, not like this.

“I mean, we don’t have to do anything right now, of course. Waiting is fine, it’s good. We’ve got the rest of our liv-” Kyungsoo cut him off with a kiss before the courage left him.

Which Jongin was not expecting. The press of Kyungsoo’s soft lips against his, the embarrassed flutter of Kyungsoo’s eyelashes when Kyungsoo pulled away.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Stopped? Yeah,” Jongin said breathlessly. Kyungsoo froze, and Jongin knew he was caught off guard, but a smile worked its way onto Kyungsoo’s face, that beautiful heart Jongin knew he would never tire of seeing. But now that the heat was making its way to his ears, Jongin felt a little bit of nervousness. He willed himself to calm down, to hold the tide of heat and sweat when Kyungsoo tip-toed again to kiss him, but it was no use. He succumbed to Kyungsoo, to the tangle of their hands as they tried to undress each other clumsily, to the giggles when they bumped noses, to the novelty of feeling so vulnerable and so trusted at the same time. Kyungsoo, he could tell, was quite self conscious at first, curling in on himself while Jongin fought with the zipper on his pants. But once Jongin was in his underwear, Kyungsoo seemed to forget his own nakedness and marveled at the muscle and golden skin. Jongin was flushed, loving the glint of desire in Kyungsoo’s eyes, the soft touch of Kyungsoo’s fingertips, the meeting of their lips. He wanted to hurry, to meet the climax head on, but he also wanted to spend all night exploring each dip and curve of Kyungsoo’s body. He wasn’t sure where his shyness went, his shame, but he didn’t care, instead coaxing Kyungsoo onto his lap, kneading the softness of Kyungsoo’s ass. They became a tangle of limbs, pausing every so often to make sure they weren’t tangled beyond salvation. And then Kyungsoo started kissing his way down. Oh. Jongin watched him, entranced by the movement of Kyungsoo’s pink lips trailing down his abs, pausing at the waistband of Jongin’s underwear. Kyungsoo looked up at him, his beautiful eyes wide, and Jongin gave him a small nod. Kyungsoo pulled down Jongin’s underwear, licking his lips nervously. Jongin felt self conscious then, blushing, even when Kyungsoo wrapped his lips around Jongin’s dick, sucking gently. It sent a shiver down Jongin’s spine, sighing when Kyungsoo sucked harder, setting a slow rhythm, though awkwardness made Kyungsoo stutter in his movements. Jongin tangled his fingers in Kyungsoo’s hair, watching Kyungsoo’s lips

“Ah- wait,” Jongin stopped him, pulling him up. They kissed, but Kyungsoo pulled back, a worried look in his eyes. He looked, to Jongin, amazing, with mussed hair and slightly swollen lips.

“Did I-”

“No! That feels really good,” Jongin laughed breathily, caressing Kyungsoo’s cheek. “I just- I want you to feel good, too.” Kyungsoo smiled, his cheeks pinking.

“That would be nice,” he said. Jongin kissed him again.

“So, uh, sixty-nine?” Jongin purred. Kyungsoo choked, hiding in Jongin’s neck, until the coughs and laughs subsided. “Without choking. You were doing so well.” Kyungsoo lightly smacked his arm.

“You’re insufferable,” said Kyungsoo. Jongin beamed, flipping them so that Kyungsoo was underneath. He blew raspberries on Kyungsoo’s neck; Kyungsoo squealed, trying to throw him off, but Jongin was too heavy, so he resigned himself to groaning instead. “That’s gross. I’m all covered in saliva now.”

“That’s not the only thing you’ll be covered in,” Jongin sputtered, finishing just before he dissolved into giggles. Kyungsoo’s ears were bright red. “Okay, I’m done. I promise.” Kyungsoo didn’t seem satisfied, but the incredulity was soon replaced by small gasps. Jongin kissed and nibbled his way down, lapping at Kyungsoo’s dick. He drunk in Kyungsoo’s small moans, scooting around until he was facing the opposite way, pausing his sucking when Kyungsoo wrapped a hand on Jongin’s asscheek, wrapping his lips around Jongin’s dick again.

The room was filled with soft sucking and soft moans, and Jongin kneaded Kyungsoo’s ass gently, almost absentmindedly, until Kyungsoo tried to pull away. He moaned in protest, popping off wetly when Jongin kept sucking.

“Jongin, I’m-” he groaned, “I’m close-” Jongin sucked harder, but the hot spurt of cum still caught him by surprise. Kyungsoo thrusted shallowly, his breath stuttering on Jongin’s dick. Some of the cum dribbled onto Jongin’s bottom lip. His pink tongue darted out to clean it up, and Kyungsoo, seeing him, blushed. For a moment their eyes met, and Kyungsoo, rosy cheeked and still reeling in post-orgasmic bliss, smiled at him, before wrapping his fingers around Jongin’s dick to jerk him off. It was a horrible and wonderful thing, Jongin decided, to watch his cum spurt all over Kyungsoo’s fingers; some of it even landed on Kyungsoo’s lips (and Jongin nearly nutted again at the doe-eyed surprise, the softly parted and slightly swollen lips). He crawled up to meet Kyungsoo in a kiss, lapping at the cum on Kyungsoo’s lips. Kyungsoo whimpered then, swallowing hard.

“You, uh, you still have cum on- there,” Kyungsoo pointed at the corner of Jongin’s mouth, blushing when Jongin’s tongue snaked out to lick it clean. “Oh.” Kyungsoo put his hand on Jongin’s chest, eyes widening in horror when he realized he’d smeared cum on him. “Sorry!” Jongin reached out for Kyungsoo’s hand, tongue at the ready, but Kyungsoo rolled away, giggling, and nearly fell off the bed.

“Aw, I could’ve cleaned that,” Jongin whined.

“That’s enough cum!” Kyungsoo squeaked. There was a pinkness in his cheeks that Jongin knew was from the cum licking; the amused yet slightly scandalized twinkle in Kyungsoo’s eye was strangely endearing. Jongin’s response, naturally, was a pout, but Kyungsoo slid off the bed anyway, and headed toward the bathroom.

Current Mood: anxious

“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.

Current Mood: anxious

(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.

Current Mood: ditzy

(A/N: I come bearing gifts!! A new, much less angsty story. I hope you guys enjoy this one!! I'll actually stick to weekly posting for this, so please anticipate it!)

Do Kyungsoo, 23 years old, working as a chef’s assistant at a cooking school. Living in a dingy, studio apartment somewhere far from the center of the city. And still, still miserably, unforgivingly, alone. That most of his friends had already met their soulmates was no help to this loneliness. Even the small things, a comment about the color of someone’s shirt, the color of the sky on that day - isn’t it strange? An invitation to watch the sunset at Banpo bridge - what for? For the colors, of course! Jongdae, his closest friend, would take the time to meet Kyungsoo, cook with him, eat with him, but there was still the lurking figure of Park Chanyeol, Jongdae’s soulmate, and between the effervescent cheeriness of them both Kyungsoo wanted to puke.

Besides, he was busy. He had his job, which he went to six days a week, and worked long hours, if only to keep him from the soul-sucking alone-ness of his apartment, and he had his parents, who he went to visit on his day off, and he had bills to pay, and movies to watch, and groceries to buy and food to cook and clothes to wash and floors to clean and-

And?

There was a magazine, propped haphazardly in front of all the others, that Kyungsoo only recognized because Jongdae, his best friend, worked as a photographer for. GS25’s selection of magazines was meager, really, and Kyungsoo had never paid them much mind. This magazine, Jongdae’s magazine, as Kyungsoo always referred to it, was a fashion magazine, with slim, ugly models bedecked in sleek outfits, but this model…this model. Kyungsoo couldn’t tell if the magazine was just using a new method of printing, with covers that could holographically change, but there was something about the model on the cover that seemed…different. He was beautiful, long-legged, with broad shoulders, and he was-

He was- not in black and white? Kyungsoo frowned, picking up the magazine, careful not to crease the glossy cover. It wasn’t bright, couldn’t be, he wasn’t seeing him in person after all, but the hints were there. A warm color, deep, on his shirt, and his skin, also warm, but different.

The ahjumma behind him cleared her throat, staring pointedly at the space in front of him. The cashier was waiting for him, a bored look on his face. Kyungsoo mumbled an apology, ears hot, and rushed to the counter, leaving the magazine behind.

He came back for it. Not to buy it, not really, just to see if it still happened. He stood off to the side, gingerly paging through the magazine, each glimpse of him a small flash of color. Kyungsoo drunk it in greedily, lingering on the model’s face, until a clerk, her face pinched with boredom, told him to buy it or leave. Kyungsoo placed it back on the shelf, but not before looking at the model’s name: Kim Jongin. And the photographer- oh. Kim Jongdae. So Jongdae knew this Jongin guy.

He formed a plan in his head, magnificent, down to every last detail. Kyungsoo would express interest in Jongdae’s work, get himself invited to a photoshoot, suavely introduce himself to this Jongin and they would kiss, passionately, and make sweet, colorful love-

But, of course, there was the small problem of Kyungsoo’s incredible shyness. Not to mention that Jongdae, with his ever sharp thinking, would be far too intrigued in Kyungsoo’s sudden interest in his work to let it go. And of course, the most worrisome of all the problems: that Kyungsoo would see Jongin in color, but Jongin would not see him in color. Kyungsoo’s stomach flipped. Why would he? A super hot model, see him, bug-eyed, short, near-sighted Kyungsoo, in color? No. It was ridiculous. So Kyungsoo filed it away and headed home, forgetting all about it when he curled up in bed to watch movies.

But it didn’t leave him alone. All Saturday, through the din of preparation, of chopping and rinsing and cleaning and measuring, he couldn’t get Jongin’s face out of his head. Even his mortifying blunder, handing (what the chef told him was) a green pepper instead of a red one (how could he tell? They looked the same, all varying shades of gray), wasn’t enough to distract him. Which is why, during his lunch break, he decided to look this Kim Jongin up, dropping his chopsticks unceremoniously in his bowl of soup when the flash of color came up on the screen. Brilliant, really. As if he wasn’t looking Jongin up precisely because Kyungsoo could see him in (partial) color. He fished them out, licking the excess broth off and hoping his boss wasn’t in the room to see it. But now he was entranced, by the warmth of Jongin’s skin, the way it contrasted with the color of the shirt (Kyungsoo really wanted to know the name of that color, it was so bright, so rich). Jongin’s jawline was so sharp, and his slim fingers so elegant. So engrossed was Kyungsoo in staring at his phone that he didn’t feel Jaehwan sneak up behind him and snatch the phone.

“Ooh, who is this absolutely delicious five course meal?” Jaehwan purred. Kyungsoo spun around, cursing at him through the dumpling in his mouth. “Kim Jongin, huh. Didn’t take you for the type to moon over celebrities.” Jaehwan scrolled through the pictures, side stepping Kyungsoo’s vicious swipe.

“Give it back!” Kyungsoo growled. He managed to grab Jaehwan’s sleeve, pulling him hard enough to throw him off balance.

“Ah- hey! You’re gonna stretch my shirt,” Jaehwan grumbled, huffing when Kyungsoo snatched his phone back, cradling it. “It’s just some stupid model, anyway. Why are you looking him up?” Kyungsoo didn’t deign him with an answer, returning instead to his soup. “If you want a devilishly handsome man to look at you’ve already got me.” Jaehwan gave Kyungsoo a lopsided grin, but Kyungsoo replied with a scowl. “Oh come on.”

“Go away,” he muttered.

“No need to get so pissy,” Jaehwan huffed, sitting across from Kyungsoo despite the glare.

“Shouldn’t you be peeling potatoes or something,” said Kyungsoo.

“It’s not complicated. I don’t need half an hour for it,”

“It’s ten pounds of potatoes,”

“Oh, fine. I’ll go do my work. Moody, much?” Jaehwan ruffled Kyungsoo’s hair, chuckling when Kyungsoo tried to slap his hand away.

Modeling hadn’t been Jongin’s dream, not really. He wanted to dance, to shine on a stage, to move to the music. But dance, unfortunately, had not paid his bills. Modeling had come to him, unworked for, almost. An agent, seeing him one day, sweaty, hair unruly, sun in his eyes, asked him to try out. He did. They loved him. And that was how he made it; one of Korea’s top models, with magazine offers out the wazoo, designers tripping over themselves to get their clothes on him. But it did nothing. The other models, he didn’t understand. They loved it, the industry, the work. But they lost themselves in it. Many of them, he knew, would sleep around, living their whole lives in black and white, unloved and unloving. He was, he felt, far too alone. His consolation: Baekhyun, a model, one of his few model friends, who was also colorblind, also alone.

One of the few luxuries he allowed himself was his apartment, a two-storied penthouse south of the river, with a sprawling view of the city. The terrace was his favorite part, sheltered just enough so that the wind would not be a bother, but still cool in the summer. In the winter, he curled up on the sprawling sofa, against the northern window, indulging in books and fatty food, at least until his manager complained, pointing at the fullness of Jongin’s cheeks. He rather liked his cheeks full, but fashion didn’t, so he would exercise (in the privacy of his own apartment, of course- why have a penthouse and not a private gym). That brought its own satisfaction, seeing his muscles ripple under his skin, glistening with sweat. He hoped his soulmate, whoever it could be, would like it, too.

Then he’d strut onto the set, the clothes tight (they always were, because he needed to sell those glorious muscles he worked so hard on), holding flowers, sitting under palm trees, sprawled on the floor. And then on to the next set. Off came the makeup, the clothes; he’d sit patiently under the hands of the makeup artist (they always saw in color, just like the photographers, and the designers, and the stylists). Sometimes, if he was lucky, he’d be paired with Baekhyun; photoshoots were more relaxed, then, and Baekhyun even got the photographer to take photos of them making faces. Not Choi Siwon, he was kind of a dick, by the book and unwilling to waste even a pixel on less than perfect photos. But Kim Jongdae, funny guy, would let them in indulge. He’d even suggest faces, and equally ridiculous poses, his bright laugh a welcome relief from the stiff, uptightness of most photoshoots.

So life was good, sort of. Good money, good apartment, good friend (singular, unfortunately, he didn’t consider anyone else a friend, except perhaps Moonkyu). And yet the gnawing loneliness, knowing that his soulmate was out there, somewhere, perhaps feeling just as alone.

Just as alone as Baekhyun, too. Sometimes, like now, Jongin would feel guilty about his moping. Baekhyun was, of course, two years older than him, still seeing in black and white. Most people, Jongin would groan, would have already met their soulmate by now. And Baekhyun, ever cheerful, would remind him that for some people it took time.

But now, Baekhyun didn’t say that. He stayed quiet instead, slowly munching on his food. Jongin traced his fingers over the design on the cover of the book he’d picked out. It was a quiet afternoon, one of the few days they’d had off, what with magazines rushing to get their winter shoots done.

“I just- get so desperately lonely, y’know?” Jongin continued, playing with the corner of the book. “I feel like I’m missing something. Like my life hasn’t quite started yet.” Baekhyun sniffled.

“I know,” he said softly. They were quiet now, just the rustle of Jongin flipping through the book, and the clink of Baekhyun’s chopsticks against the bowl.

“I try, you know,” Baekhyun said at last. Jongin looked up at him, confused. “I try to stay positive. To always cheer people up. To be that bright light. But-“ he sighed, placing his chopsticks on the table, “But it’s hard. It’s hard when I’m missing the biggest part of my life.” Jongin took Baekhyun’s hands in his, squeezing them gently.

“Hyung, you know I’m-“

“Yes, I know but-“ he sniffled again, “but it’s not the same. And we can’t give each other what we really need. You know that.” Jongin pulled away, settling back onto his chair.

“I’m sorry,” Jongin said, his voice barely a whisper. Baekhyun chuckled, wiping his eyes.

“What for, silly. There’s nothing you can do, you know,” he smiled at Jongin, his eyes and nose bright red. Jongin shifted in his seat, fiddling with the book again.

“I’m sorry we’re sitting in a multi-million dollar penthouse, eating corner store kimbap, like the famous models we are, but all we can do is be miserable,” Jongin said wryly. Baekhyun kicked him, laughing when Jongin tried to bite back a smile.

“Well, I’m sorry that we have to do a photoshoot with Choi on Thursday,” said Baekhyun. Jongin groaned, the book slipping from his lap.

“Why him?” Baekhyun shrugged.

“Fuck if I know? I just know it’s gonna suck,” said Baekhyun.

“Well, if things get any worse in life, for us, I could always be your lifelong companion,” Jongin joked. Baekhyun threw his head back, laughing.

“As much as I think you would give divine dick, it’s gonna be a no from me,” said Baekhyun. Jongin faked a pout, a dramatic sob shaking his chest. Baekhyun threw his balled up napkin at Jongin, sniggering when it nearly landed in Jongin’s mouth.

Thursday was, as they had expected, absolutely terrible. The Choi, as they referred to him, was as stuck up and demanding as ever. They’d been given very dramatic makeup, which Jongin only imagined was worse in color, and their clothes were all transparent. The important parts were covered, of course, with conveniently placed props, and, in some cases, just a hand.

The Choi sniffed.

“I need-“ he rested his fingers on his chin, lost in thought. “I need homoerotic,” he decided. Baekhyun and Jongin exchanged glances, eyebrows raised. The Choi stood, hand on hip, waiting for them to move. “Today!”

Baekhyun rolled his eyes, slipping his leg between Jongin’s thighs, snorting when the plastic of his pants stuck to Jongin’s. Jongin widened his legs enough for Baekhyun to get comfortable, smothering a giggle when Baekhyun placed a hand on his right pec.

“Ah- ah- no,” The Choi snapped. Baekhyun sighed, resting his forehead against Jongin’s head. “This is far too close. You’ll look-“ The Choi glanced around, pursing his lips, “You’ll look gay.” Baekhyun and Jongin looked at each other, then at him.

“You just asked for homoerotic,” Baekhyun said, quirking an eyebrow when The Choi nodded.

“Yes, but this is too much. Look, the leg between his thighs- no- no, no, no. This won’t do,” The Choi sucked his teeth. “No, instead, Baekhyun- here- no, not there, this way-” Baekhyun complied, slipping down until he was settled between Jongin’s legs on the floor. “Now, up- no, not all the way.” Baekhyun was kneeling now, a hand delicately placed on one of Jongin’s thighs. Jongin’s manager rubbed his temples, watching The Choi fuss over them some more.

“Not to rush you, Mr. Choi, but Mr. Kim has another photoshoot this afternoon,” he said. The Choi sniffed, nodding.

“I’m well aware of the time, Mr. Noh,” The Choi drawled, snapping away at them.

He was, in fact, not. They were freed, from The Choi’s incessant fussing and the chafing of the plastic clothes, two hours later.

Jongin’s manager ran through the schedule, lips pursed.

“You have a solo shoot on Sunday,” he said, sucking his teeth,

“Sunday?” Jongin asked. He pouted, peering over his manager’s shoulder. “With who?”

“For Dazed Magazine. Apparently that was the only day both you and Photographer Kim had available,” the manager flipped through the other pages.

“Kim Jongdae, Kim?” Jongin asked. The manager nodded absentmindedly. “Ah, well, at least there’s that.”

“You’ll be free the rest of the day, though,” said the manager.

“Oh, goodie,” said Jongin, grinning when manager Noh gave him an unamused look.

“You have a good rest of the weekend,” his manager said, shuffling out of Jongin’s apartment.

Current Mood: cheerful

A/N: well guys, we're kinda close to end now. it'll be two more parts and an epilogue (which i will hopefully finish up before i go to study abroad). no warnings for this chapter, hope yall enjoy.

It wasn’t until Baekhyun said the name that a chilling fear crawled up Kyungsoo’s spine. He’d forgotten about Moonkyu, in the turmoil of his return. He stopped mid-slice, staring at Baekhyun.

“I didn’t realize he was still relevant,” Kyungsoo muttered icily, resuming the peeling of the mangos with a little too much vigor.

“Oh, for me he isn’t. But for you, unfortunately yes,” Baekhyun had started. He would go on to explain that Moonkyu had been feeding Jongin false information, spinning tall tales about Kyungsoo’s departure; breeding mistrust in Kyungsoo’s intentions when he and Jongin were together. With each comment Kyungsoo grew colder, glaring until Baekhyun had to ask him if he was going to murder the mango.

“Hyung I- I have to go,” he’d said, rinsing his hands and grabbing his keys, running out of the door before Baekhyun could process it.

Which was how he found himself standing in front of Jongin’s door, where he’d been glued for the past twenty minutes, unable to bring himself to knock. They’d seen each other twice since the weekend on the North Shore, and Jongin was polite without the icy reserve, though he was shyer than he used to be. He felt like a fool, pacing in front of Jongin’s door, so distracted by his thoughts he didn’t register the ding of the elevator.

“Hyung?” Jongin’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Kyungsoo swallowed hard, blushing.

“Huh? Oh, Jongin! Howzit? Fancy seeing you here,” Kyungsoo chuckled.

“Um, well, you’re in front of my apartment door,” said Jongin. Kyungsoo choked on his spit, clearing his throat to cover it up.

“Right. I was- am. But you’re busy, so I’ll be going now,” Kyungsoo waved, attempting to side-step Jongin but the grocery bags in Jongin’s hands blocked the way.

“How long were you waiting?” Jongin asked. Kyungsoo’s ears burned.

“I- I wasn’t waiting! For you. For anyone. Just checking out the-“

“Hyung,” Jongin raised an eyebrow, waiting for a flushed Kyungsoo to look at him.

“O-okay maybe I was waiting for you,” he admitted, scratching his neck. Jongin shifted a hip towards Kyungsoo.

“My keys are in that pocket,” Kyungsoo stared at him stupidly. “My hands are kinda full, hyung.”

“Oh, right,” Kyungsoo awkwardly extracted the keys from Jongin’s pocket, opening the door and stepping back to let Jongin in. The apartment was slightly messy, a hoody thrown across the sofa, and three socks thrown haphazardly across the living room floor, accompanied by several cups. Jongin placed the bags on the countertop after slipping off his shoes, running to pick up the strewn clothes and crusty cups, closing the door of his room with a sheepish grin.

“So,” he walked back to the kitchen, sifting through the groceries and organizing them, “Why’d you come over?” Kyungsoo pushed up his glasses, licking his lips.

“Oh, uh, no reason, really. I wanted to know how you were doing,” he said, biting his lip when Jongin gave him a quizzical look.

“You should’ve called first,”

“Right. Sorry,”

“I meant so you wouldn’t have to wait for me,” Jongin paused, holding the cabbage, “I like having you over.” Kyungsoo’s head shot up, but Jongin had gone back to sorting the groceries, the fridge door blocking his view.

“Do you- I could cook, if you want,” said Kyungsoo, shifting his weight. Jongin peered at him over the fridge door, eyes twinkling.

“It’d be a crime to turn down your cooking,” said Jongin, grinning at him, “but we don’t have many options.”

“Didn’t you just go to the supermarket?” Kyungsoo asked, butting Jongin aside to look in the fridge. Jongin blushed, tugging on his ear.

“Ah, well, I mostly live off this stuff,” he held up a box of frozen food, his ears bright red when Kyungsoo gave him a horrified stare.

“My god, what have I done to you,” he said. Jongin laughed shyly, hiding the frozen food box behind him. “There’s no use hiding it now, throw that out.”

“But that’s my dinner for the week!” Jongin protested, holding the box out of reach. Kyungsoo rolled his eyes, grabbing the bag of rice and shoving it at Jongin.

“Make yourself useful, cook some rice,” Jongin took it with a sheepish grin, stuffing the frozen food box in the freezer before removing the lid of the rice cooker. Kyungsoo shuffled around the kitchen, setting up bowls and placing the scallions aside. “Where’s your kimchi?” Jongin pointed at an unlabeled jar on the door of the fridge. Kyungsoo took it gingerly, opening it to sniff it. “Where did you get this?”

“Oh, eomma- uh, your mom, gave it to me,” said Jongin, fiddling with the switch on the rice cooker. Kyungsoo’s soft “oh” was nearly lost under the clatter of the lid, Jongin’s sheepish grin making its return.

Kyungsoo went about cooking, squeezing the juice out of the kimchi, ordering Jongin to open up a can of spam, slicing the scallions thinly; the juice went into a bowl with the gochujang and the soy sauce, which Jongin was ordered to whisk while Kyungsoo heated the pan, kimchi browning until the apartment was fragrant with it. Jongin’s stomach growled, eliciting a giggle from both of them. Next was the spam, sizzling loudly. Kyungsoo waved at Jongin, hands outstretched for the bowl of rice for him to mix in. It was quiet for a while, just the sizzle of the pan and the movement of the spatula across it. Jongin watched him closely, leaning against the counter, and the weight of Jongin’s gaze made Kyungsoo fumble, nearly dropping the bowl as he poured the kimchi, gochujang, and soy sauce in. He gasped sharply. Jongin’s hands were steadying him, taking the bowl when he was done. The rice sizzled, and he was flushed, swallowing hard.

“Fry up the eggs, it’s almost done,” Kyungsoo snapped, but it was far less forceful than he’d wanted it to be. Jongin smiled, giggling when Kyungsoo snatched the egg out of his hand.

“I can fry an egg, hyung!”

“I don’t want eggshell in my rice,” he grumbled.

“Three years is long enough to learn to fry an egg,” Jongin grumbled back, peeling Kyungoo’s stubborn fingers back.

“Yah! Watch it, I’m gonna drop it,” Jongin just grinned, cheeks pink, as he took the egg and cracked it open. “Oh, you weren’t kidding.” Jongin threw his head back and laughed.

“Hyung, it’s an egg,” Heat crawled up Kyungsoo’s neck.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, serving the rice onto a plate. He sprinkled the scallions on top, sliding a fried egg on each plate (two for Jongin, the way he liked it).

“It smells so good,” Jongin moaned, grabbing a spoon and chopsticks, breaking the yolk of the eggs.

“Sit down first!” said Kyungsoo, taking the plate from under Jongin’s spoon. He followed closely, sidling up to Kyungsoo’s side and mixing the yolk into the rice. He moaned again, making Kyungsoo blush.

“I missed this so much,” he managed around the mouthful of rice.

“You could’ve cooked it yourself. It’s not that hard,” said Kyungsoo, blowing on the coil of steam that rose from his spoonful. Jongin shook his head, hissing.

“Ith hod,” he jiggled his knees, swallowing with a wince.

The rest of the meal was mostly quiet, though it was over quickly; Jongin had practically inhaled his plate, leaning back on the sofa with a sleepy smile. The clean up was slower; Kyungsoo felt odd, out of place now, drying the plates carefully. He watched all of Jongin’s movements, shifting his weight so he leaned away whenever Jongin got close. He squeaked when Jongin touched him.

“Uh, hyung, you’ve been drying that plate for the past minute,” said Jongin. Kyungsoo put the plate down hurriedly, wincing when it clattered, and threw the paper towel out.

“I- uh, I guess I’d better go now,” Kyungsoo chuckled, drying his hands on his pants. Jongin was quiet, his dark eyes boring into Kyungsoo.

“What if you stay?” Jongin asked. Kyungsoo choked on air, coughing until Jongin patted his back.

“You- really want me to?” Kyungsoo asked. Jongin gave him a half smile, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around Kyungsoo, burying his nose in Kyungsoo’s hair. It was unexpected, but everything Kyungsoo wanted, enveloped by Jongin’s scent and warmth. He melted against Jongin, closing his eyes and giggling when Jongin’s shoulder knocked his glasses askew. Jongin pulled back. “I should take these off.” Jongin chuckled, putting the glasses on the counter and pulling Kyungsoo towards the sofa, patting his lap. Kyungsoo settled in it, curling up against Jongin’s chest. Jongin’s slim fingers tangled themselves in Kyungsoo’s hair and he felt Jongin’s soft lips against his forehead. Jongin’s shirt was low cut, the triangle of golden skin teasing him until he placed a hand squarely at its center, feeling Jongin’s heartbeat under his fingers.

He hadn’t slept this well in years. Of course there were the nights after he returned to Oahu, sex-satiated and pliant after oof with Jongin, but it wasn’t quite the same; not when he was afraid to touch Jongin afterwards, afraid of driving him away again. That night, curled up against Jongin’s side (he would’ve liked to sleep on Jongin’s chest, but he’d jostled the piercing one too many times), the feeling of their bare skin and the rise and fall of Jongin’s breathing had lulled him to an unbroken sleep. The morning came and went, his phone buzzing, later Jongin’s, but they slept well past noon. He checked his phone groggily, rolling his eyes at Baekhyun’s texts, which grew progressively more lewd, and opted to respond to his mother’s text; Jongin rolled over, blinking blearily.

“Wha’timeizzit,” he slurred, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Kyungsoo peered at his phone.

“1:25. Wow, we woke up late,” Kyungsoo chuckled, running his fingers through Jongin’s hair when the other groaned.

“Ten more minutes,” he mumbled, faceplanting into the pillow. Kyungsoo laughed.

“You have until I finish using the bathroom, then we’re going out,”

“Out?” Jongin squawked, staring at Kyungsoo’s back.

“Uh, yeah, we’ve already wasted a whole day,” he turned to look at Jongin, propping a hand on his hip. Jongin pouted, kicking his legs. “You’re such a baby.” Kyungsoo laughed, ignoring Jongin’s scowl.

Somehow, they left the apartment two hours later, Jongin still grumbling, and ate. The afternoon was cool, and the sun was already tinging the sky pink by the time they reached the park, shaved ices in hand. They walked slowly, kicking up sand with each step, and Jongin bumped into Kyungsoo playfully, grinning when Kyungsoo stumbled and blushed.

“Like beef?” Kyungsoo asked, frowning at Jongin, who laughed.

“Aw, c’mon hyung,” Jongin snickered, placing a wet kiss on Kyungsoo’s temple. “What’s with the stink eye?” Kyungsoo blushed, shrugging.

“It’s nothing,” said Kyungsoo, giggling when Jongin put his fists up.

“C’mon hyung, let’s scrap. See how tough New York made you,” he stretched his neck, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Stop that, before you get hurt,” said Kyungsoo, snorting when Jongin bumped into a palm tree.

“Laughing at my pain? Is that how it is?” Jongin asked, pulling Kyungsoo close and kissing the bridge of his nose. Kyungsoo blushed, snaking an arm around Jongin’s waist.

“You lolo,” said Kyungsoo, squawking when Jongin blew a raspberry on his cheek. They were reaching the beach now, and their giggles subsided. They sat under a palm tree (not a coconut palm, Kyungsoo had checked), the orange glow of the sky washing over them. Jongin rested his cheek on Kyungsoo’s head.

“I missed this,” he said softly, draping an arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulders. Kyungsoo felt tears prick his eyes, clearing his throat to keep them at bay.

“Me too,” he said quietly, sniffling. There was a lump in his throat, and it wouldn’t leave; his eyes still glittered with tears, but he didn’t want Jongin seeing him cry. He took off his glasses, wiping the tears under the pretense of rubbing his eyes.

“Allergies?” Jongin asked.

“Oh, no. Just got something in my eyes. Probably an eyelash,” said Kyungsoo, sniffling again and wiping his hand on his shorts. Jongin caressed Kyungsoo’s neck, then pulled his hand away, both of them suddenly shy. “It’s good to be back.” Jongin smiled at him.

“Guess the big city couldn’t compare to this little ole’ island,” Jongin joked, slipping his feet out of his sandals and burying them in the sand. Kyungsoo watched him, the grains alight with the colors of the sky, toes peeking.

“No, it doesn’t in the least. This is home,” he said softly, looking back out over the beach. The waves were growing, crashing noisily, crested with orange and red.

“Then welcome home,” said Jongin, reaching out to hold Kyungsoo’s hand. Their fingers slotted together, warm and familiar.Kyungsoo wanted to press himself to Jongin’s side, but he didn’t want to scare Jongin off, so he just squeezed Jongin’s hand lightly. A cool breeze blew from the water, sending a shiver down Kyungsoo’s back. Jongin’s warmth enveloped him; he looked at Jongin, who had wrapped an arm around Kyungsoo and pulled him close, but Jongin was looking out over the water.

“Thanks,” Kyungsoo said softly. Jongin smiled.

“I’m your sun boy, remember,” he said, just as softly. Kyungsoo inhaled sharply, frowning to keep the tears at bay. He suddenly felt much colder, but he couldn’t sidle closer to Jongin, not when guilty tears pricked his eyes. But he didn’t need to. Jongin pulled him closer, resting his cheek on Kyungsoo’s head. For the moment, as he had felt when he was on Jongin’s lap the night before, and as he had felt curled up by Jongin’s side on the bed, it was as if he hadn’t left; as if he’d stayed in Honolulu, carving out a life for them together, a step closer to planting their starfruit. Jongin still wore the pendant; he hadn’t taken it off since that weekend on the beach. Despite the spikes of guilt that made him nauseous, Kyungsoo had hope; with Jongin playing with his hair and kissing his temple, some of the guilt ebbed. He turned to look at Jongin, blushing when Jongin’s cheeks pinked too. There was a sad glimmer to Jongin’s eyes that made Kyungsoo’s stomach churn, but Jongin sniffled and kissed Kyungsoo’s forehead, pressing Kyungsoo’s cool cheek against his own, much warmer cheek. He felt the slight stubble grate against his skin, a smile forming on his lips when Jongin tangled his fingers in Kyungsoo’s hair, leaning down to kiss Kyungsoo’s neck. He shied away, blushing, and Jongin chased after him, catching him by the waist when Kyungsoo nearly fell over. He chuckled nervously, feeling all too raw under Jongin’s touch; but it wasn’t enough to keep him away, tucking himself under Jongin’s arms again to watch the sun drown spectacularly, the sky painted in orange and red, the far reaches of it pink until it met the inky blue of the night sky.

They returned to the apartment much later, with groceries (curated by Kyungsoo; he couldn’t possibly cook anything else with the garbage Jongin had bought, or so he said. This, of course, led to a race down the aisles that nearly ended in disaster, Jongin jerking back the cart mere inches from a tottering old woman), and Kyungsoo cooked while Jongin ran out to the corner store to buy slushies, though his was half finished by the time he returned. After they ate and cleaned up, they settled on the balcony, looking out over the traffic.

“You didn’t ever tell me why you came over,” said Jongin, gnawing on the straw. Kyungsoo sipped his drink noisily.

“Me wanting to see you isn’t a good enough reason?” Kyungsoo asked. Jongin smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“If it was that, you would’ve called. And you wouldn’t have tried playing it off,” said Jongin. The apartment was quiet now, the far off sound of cars honking and the breeze ruffling the curtains muffled. At last, Kyungsoo cleared his throat.

“Because you were talking to Moonkyu,” he said softly, avoiding Jongin’s gaze.

“Why do you care that I’m talking to him?” Jongin asked, though it wasn’t with malice. Kyungsoo fiddled with his straw, mixing the remnants of slush around.

“Because I don’t like him. All he ever does is talk stink about me,” said Kyungsoo, looking up at Jongin, whose face was unreadable, “and before you bring up me leaving, this has been happening since we became friends, and you know it.” Jongin looked away. “He’s always hated me, and I can’t even imagine what bullshit he tried to poison you with while I was gone.”

“Why do you care about what he said while you were gone?” Jongin asked quietly. “He’s my friend. He was worried about me.” Kyungsoo crushed the straw, fire in his eyes.

“He’s not your fucking friend, Jongin!” Jongin glared at him, lip curled in a snarl. “Would a friend talk stink about your boyfriend? Would a friend make you feel worse about something that’s not your fault-

“You’re just jealous-“

“Me? Jealous? He’s the jealous one, Jongin. All these years he’s been talking shit about me and it’s because he’s fucking pining over you,” Kyungsoo growled. Jongin’s eyes widened and he leaned back in his chair.

“He- oh,” Jongin hid his face behind his hands. “Oh god, oh- that’s why he’s always- I didn’t know why he- oh that- oh my god.” Kyungsoo stared at him.

“Jongin did you really not notice that he liked you?” He asked, so quietly he wasn’t sure Jongin had heard him, but Jongin’s nod answered him.

“I just thought he was bitter because he thought he was being replaced as my best friend. I didn’t think he- liked me,” Jongin propped his elbow on the armrest, staring at the condensation on Kyungsoo’s glass. They were quiet again.

“It’s getting kinda late,” said Kyungsoo, standing up.

“Right. Yeah,” Jongin stood up too, closing the balcony door when they walked in.

“I’m gonna- I’ve got papers to grade,” Kyungsoo stuttered.

“Do you want to meet for dinner tomorrow?” Jongin asked. Kyungsoo smiled.

“That sounds wonderful,” he said. Jongin looked relieved, hugging Kyungsoo and holding the door open.

“Wait-“ he pulled Kyungsoo back, giving him a deep kiss, before Kyungsoo stepped onto the elevator.

Current Mood: anxious

A/N: i apologize in advance for all this suffering but I PROMISE IT GETS BETTER AFTER THIS PART!!! i'll be making a pidgin/korean glossary soon just in case you guys need it so be on the look out.

“I feel disgusting,” Kyungsoo sobbed, his face buried in Baekhyun’s shirt. Baekhyun rubbed circles on Kyungsoo’s back, resting his cheek on Kyungsoo’s head. They’d spent the better part of the morning like this, Kyungsoo calling out sick and curling up on the sofa where Baekhyun found him an hour later, sniffling into the cushions. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You know I love you brah, but sometimes you so lolo you amaze me,” Baekhyun said softly, smiling at the hiccuped laugh that rattled Kyungsoo’s ribs.

“You don’t even know what I did,” Kyungsoo mumbled miserably, sitting up and wiping the tears with his shirt.

“I don’t needa know what you did. No, no- don’t give me no stink eye, you know it’s true,” Baekhyun gave Kyungsoo a knowing look, raising an eyebrow when Kyungsoo melted into the corner of the couch.

“I met up with Hyunsik for some drinks and then we went over to his place,” said Kyungsoo, avoiding Baekhyun’s eyes.

“And?” Kyungsoo glared at him.

“What you mean and?”

“Stop givin’ me dat stink eye. You ain’t miserable over no drinks,” Baekhyun set his jaw, staring down Kyungsoo until he looked down at his hands.

“We almost had sex,”

“How you ‘almost’ oof?” Baekhyun asked. Kyungsoo gave him a dirty look.

“We were making out, we did some touching and he got almost naked,”

“But not you?” Kyungsoo shook his head. “Boy, you really did him dirty- okay, okay- ow! I’ll stop!” Kyungsoo smacked Baekhyun with the cushion one last time, for good measure, before burrowing into the corner of the couch again.

“I couldn’t do it. I was- I wanted to forget Jongin just for one night. To move on, but I just felt-“ Kyungsoo took a shaky breath, “disgusted. I thought I could just fuck and forget but I couldn’t.” He hid behind the cushion, muffling his hiccuped sobs.

“You real lolo, you know,” Kyungsoo’s teary eyes glared at him from above the cushion. “You can’t jus’ forget someone who was part of your life fo’ so many years, brah.”

“But I want to,” Kyungsoo whispered.

“No, you don’t,” Kyungsoo whimpered, curling up around the cushion. “I know you still love Jongin. And he still loves you.”

Baekhyun hopped around the sofa, grabbing the mugs of tea that had been left on the counter to cool. They were lukewarm now, but Baekhyun brought them over anyway, shoving a mug into Kyungsoo’s hands.

“I’ma go see Jongin later, kay? See how he’s feelin’, cause you two need to work this out,” Kyungsoo choked on his tea.

“No! No, don’t. He doesn’t want to see me or be with me and I understand, because I fucked up. It’s just better if we-“ Baekhyun waited, sipping his tea, “if we move on.”

“Mm, okay,” Baekhyun propped his feet on Kyungsoo’s lap. Kyungsoo narrowed his eyes at Baekhyun.

“What do you mean ‘mm, okay’?” Kyungsoo asked. Baekhyun peeped at Kyungsoo over the rim of his mug.

“It means okay. You don’t want me to talk to Jongin? Shoots, I won’t talk to Jongin,” Kyungsoo sniffed, still giving Baekhyun a wary look. “Yah, stop bein’ all mopey, brah, let’s watch some movies or somethin’,” Baekhyun grabbed the remote, throwing himself on top of Kyungsoo as he searched for options; halfway through the movie, Kyungsoo’s head lolled, finally resting on Baekhyun’s head.

He was trapped again, just as he feared, in the cycle of sleepless nights. New York had been three sleep-deprived years, a nightmare of tossing and turning and kicking off sheets at three in the morning, staring at the the darkest corner of the rooms. He’d thought, foolishly, when he and Jongin had moved into their first apartment near Manoa, that he’d never sleep well again; the hot, humid nights without an ac in the cramped bed, Jongin’s arm thrown around his sweaty back, the beads of sweat on Jongin’s forehead and the small of his back glimmering in the morning was what defined their first home. But in time, they grew used to it, though once Kyungsoo nearly shoved Jongin off the bed when Jongin tried to cuddle.

The apartment had been tiny, a one bedroom with a minuscule bathroom with shoddy tile work on the floor and walls, a leak under the kitchen sink, and a fridge that shuddered loudly at the quietest hours, but it was theirs, a space they could be in without the ever-present anxiety of Kyungsoo’s mother walking in on them, or without neighboring aunties spying on them when they sat on the balcony, reporting every movement to Kyungsoo’s mother in hushed whispers. The balcony, which only fit one chair, was the only reprieve of fresh air, where they often spent their afternoons, sometimes with Jongin insisting he fit on Kyungsoo’s lap, sometimes forgoing chairs altogether and sitting on the floor, their legs entwined.

But those nights, even at their worst (usually in august, and usually after sex, sleeping fitfully, sticky with sweat even after cold showers), were not as bad as the nights in New York; the twin bed was uncomfortable, but he refused to get a bigger bed, not when it would make the absence of Jongin’s warmth more noticeable. He has resigned himself to permanent sleep deprivation, surviving on all the naps he could fit into his day.

The first night Kyungsoo had slept over at Jongin’s place, sex sated and pressed against Jongin’s warm back, he slept well, so well, in fact, he woke up late, something unusual for him, feeling well rested, his body pliant.

Sleeping in Jongin’s bed had become an addiction, the scent of Jongin enveloping him, the glow of Jongin’s skin peeking through the mint green the first thing he saw each morning. He looked forward to these mornings, watching the sunlight kiss Jongin’s skin, drinking in the almost feverish warmth of the square of sunlight on Jongin’s shoulder. Jongin’s face was peaceful, half buried in the pillow, unbothered by Kyungsoo’s soft touches. Kyungsoo would indulge in caresses, resting his cheek on the square of sunlight on Jongin’s shoulder, pressing his lips to the small of Jongin’s back, lost in the golden glow of the expanse of Jongin’s back.

But now, forced to sleep in his own bed, the haunting loneliness of the sleepless nights of New York sat on his chest, smothering him so that all he could do was lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan, hot tears burning tracks until the pale gray of morning filtered into the room. Class forced him out of bed, and it took the last of his energy to stand in front of the room and listen to the students butcher Korean. He would collapse on the sofa when he got home, often falling asleep until Baekhyun’s arrival jolted him out of the nap, shifting to make room for Baekhyun’s vibrancy.

Baekhyun’s cheer had been nauseating, the usual chirpiness in Baekhyun’s voice grating on Kyungsoo’s nerves, but he welcomed it, knowing that Baekhyun would hold him as he hiccuped through heart-wrenching dramas; he had even, at Kyungsoo’s timid request, started sleeping in Kyungsoo’s bed, burrowed in Kyungsoo’s side.

“I talked to Jongin,” said Baekhyun one afternoon, his feet buried under Kyungsoo’s thighs. Kyungsoo’s pencil point snapped but he didn’t notice, staring at Baekhyun in horror. “He’s miserable.”

“I know that, you didn’t need to tell me,”

“He’s miserable because he wants ta be with ya but you two have stuff to work through,” Baekhyun wiggled his toes, laughing when Kyungsoo smacked his feet away.

“He’s miserable because I hurt him and I want something I have no right to ask for,” Kyungsoo said through gritted teeth, clicking the eraser until the new point peeked through.

“He’s miserable because he cares about you, brah. It’s gonna hurt but you gotta talk to him, Kyungsoo,” Baekhyun raised his eyebrows when Kyungsoo huffed.

Junmyeon, who was in the kitchen peeling a mango, put down the knife.

“Listen, he’s been pining over you since you left,” he waited for Kyungsoo to turn around, but Kyungsoo stared at the tv instead. “The day he saw you he spoke to me for like four hours and it was all about you. Do you know how many times I had to hear him sob about not planting the starfruit or whatever-“

“Wait what?” Kyungsoo whipped around to face him. Junmyeon and Baekhyun looked at each other, then back at Kyungsoo.

“Where did I lose you?” Junmyeon asked, leaning on the counter.

“He- he said something about planting starfruit?” Kyungsoo’s voice trembled, a glint of hope in his wide eyes.

“Yeah only about a million times,” Junmyeon chuckled, offering the mango pit to Baekhyun, who squealed in horror when it nearly slipped through his fingers. Kyungsoo looked back at the tv, blinking stupidly. “Did I miss something?” Junmyeon whispered. Baekhyun shrugged, picking at a strand of mango that had lodged itself between his teeth.

“I can’t just go and talk to him though,” said Kyungsoo, walking towards the island and staring at the mango juice that was running down Baekhyun’s hands. He leaned against the cool marble, resting his chin on his hand.

“Why not?” Baekhyun asked, making a face when Junmyeon tried to clean his chin.

“Stay still, babo,” Junmyeon hissed, scowling when Baekhyun pulled away.

“Because it’s not right. I’m the one who messed up, I can’t be the one demanding things from him,” Kyungsoo trailed off, sighing.

“I could tell him to talk to you-“

“No!”

“Oh..kay,” Junmyeon and Baekhyun looked at each other and Baekhyun tilted his head, quirking an eyebrow. Junmyeon raised his eyebrows too, humming in agreement when Baekhyun nodded; Kyungsoo, too busy still staring at the mango juice on Baekhyun’s hands, didn’t notice. Baekhyun winked, whining when Junmyeon rejected his mango-covered kiss.

🌴🌴🌴

They’d gotten rid of the worst of the boxes that crowded what little space there was in the living room, their clothes neatly put away, Jongin’s books organized meticulously (by Jongin, who had shooed Kyungsoo away when Kyungsoo offered to help); the pots and pans were in the kitchen, what little furniture they could fit had been set up, sheets and towels in the closet, and the small touches (paintings, candles, the wind chime on the balcony, all courtesy of Kyungsoo’s mother) had found their place.

The heat had kicked in, the open windows offering no relief from the muggy afternoon air. The sofa proved too suffocating, especially after their messy first attempt at couch sex (Jongin’s idea, who wanted the thrill of fucking in every room of the apartment, beginning with the living room).

They had moved to the balcony, sprawled on the floor under the soothing tinkle of the wind chime, the occasional hot breeze ruffling their hair. The sweat pooled above Jongin’s lip, running down his back and forehead; he scrunched his nose, leaning against the wall.

“I really miss the AC in Eomma’s place,” he groaned, nudging Kyungsoo’s leg with his foot.

“Me too,” said Kyungsoo, peeling his shirt off. It was after he’d finished balling up the shirt and throwing it inside that he noticed Jongin’s stare. “What?”

“I love you,” he said softly, smiling at the blush on Kyungsoo’s cheeks.

“I love you, too,” said Kyungsoo, brushing sweaty strands away from Jongin’s eyes.

“This is the first step, ya know,” said Jongin, ducking his head bashfully when Kyungsoo gave him a puzzled look. “To planting our starfruit.”

“Planting our starfruit?”

“I mean, first apartment, right? Then good jobs, a nicer apartment, then better jobs, a house with a big ole yard so we can plant starfruit trees, an’ who knows, maybe even a keiki or two runnin’ around,” Kyungsoo was quiet, which made Jongin blush furiously. “I just meant- I’m just daydreaming, ya know, nothin’ serious.”

“Oh, Jongin,” Kyungsoo chuckled, twining his fingers with Jongin’s. “It sounds beautiful, kangaji.” Jongin looked up at him, still flushed. “Hang on,” Kyungsoo stood up, giving Jongin a teasing grin when Jongin looked at his ass, pouring them glasses of water and washing a starfruit, slicing it thinly. Each glass had three stars poised on the rim, pale yellow with a slight tinge of green. He settled on the floor of the balcony again, handing Jongin a glass. “To planting our starfruit,” said Kyungsoo, holding up the glass. Jongin gently clinked their glasses, his smile to brilliant it was nearly blinding.

“To planting our starfruit.”

Current Mood: tired

A/N: the smut in the first part was entirely unplanned but be warned: there is a lot of angst in this one. as per usual, palm trees = a flashback. hope yall enjoy the suffering. (also follow me on tumblr!! ask me questions!! i'm at kyungsoosjigglynalgas)

He craved warmth. He was starved of the warmth of touch, or so he felt. New York had been three years of touch-starved studying, except for the few rushed nights with Insung (which had left him, every morning, so disgusted he could hardly stomach food for the next few days), and Honolulu, for the past two months, looked to be the same. Baekhyun had relaxed considerably since that afternoon in the kitchen, hugging and touching Kyungsoo without the reserve he’d first had, but Jongin hadn’t. Their touches were limited to sex, and Kyungsoo found himself drowning in the need to run his fingers through Jongin’s hair, to settle on Jongin’s lap and bury his face in Jongin’s neck, to press kisses to the wide expanse of Jongin’s shoulders. Jongin was cold, reminding Kyungsoo of the distance between them whenever Kyungsoo caved, trying to feed the need for touch. He wanted to feel the warmth of Jongin’s skin, to fall asleep on Jongin’s golden, sun-warmed back like he used to in their tiny apartment on Algaroba Street. But Jongin denied him every time, so he had come to depend on Baekhyun to fulfill that need, clinging to Baekhyun even when the muggy afternoons left them in a sticky film of sweat, their backs, necks, foreheads covered in perspiration.
Which was why Kyungsoo was currently curled up on the towel, a perpetual scowl on his face, while Baekhyun and Junmyeon were wrestling, Baekhyun falling off Junmyeon’s shoulders into the shallow water, with an amused Jongin watching them from a safe distance. They’d had a late brunch, arriving at the beach close to three in the afternoon; Junmyeon, who had greeted Kyungsoo politely enough, had been a foil to Kyungsoo the whole afternoon, stealing the attention of both Baekhyun and Jongin, both of them burying him under hugs and corny handshakes and genuine joy to see him. The resentment simmered in Kyungsoo, but he couldn’t blame Junmyeon; it didn’t lessen the sting of rejection that left him a heap of sourness on the beach, a grumpy blight on the sunny sands.
Junmyeon managed to escape Baekhyun’s arms, walking towards the heap of towels on the sport bag beside Kyungsoo, wiping the saltwater out of his eyes.
“You’re not gonna go for a swim? The water’s nice, not too cold,” said Junmyeon, disappearing under the fuzzy blue of the towel. Kyungsoo stared at Jongin’s head bobbing above the water, avoiding Baekhyun’s splashes.
“Hmm?”
“Swimming. Water. Cool down?” Junmyeon plopped onto the towel next to him, waving a hand in front of Kyungsoo’s face. Kyungsoo blushed, tearing his eyes away from Jongin and Baekhyun.
“Oh. Uh- I don’t- Maybe later,” Kyungsoo stretched his legs out, pushing sand around with his toes. Junmyeon gave him a curious look, still toweling his hair.
“How are you?” he asked. Kyungsoo looked at him, bug-eyed. “I mean, you and Jongin.” He pressed his lips together, guilt rising in his throat like nausea.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” he said softly.
“Baekhyun told me you two are-“ Kyungsoo looked at him and Junmyeon half smiled, almost embarrassed, “physically intimate.”
“Those are not Baekhyun’s words,” said Kyungsoo. They laughed.
“No, he said you two were fucking, and he was so shocked by how New York that sounded and he didn’t want to use the word fuck that way again,” said Junmyeon. Kyungsoo snorted, looking back out at the water, where Baekhyun was flailing against Jongin’s attempts to shove him underwater.
“We are, but that’s about it,” Kyungsoo said at last.
“You haven’t talked,” he looked at Junmyeon with surprise. “I know my cousin, and he’s been the moodiest bitch ever since you got back.” Kyungsoo blushed. “It won’t get better if you don’t talk, you know.”
“I know,” Junmyeon gave him a look, eyebrows arched.
“Soon,” Kyungsoo looked down at his toes, wiggling them.
“Yah, you not gonna dunk yourself in the water a bit?” Baekhyun’s loud voice broke the silence, cold droplets falling on Kyungsoo’s legs. Kyungsoo shook his head. “New York made you allergic to the water?” They laughed. Baekhyun settled next to Junmyeon, ignoring Junmyeon’s protest about having already dried off and pressing himself to Junmyeon’s side. Jongin, who had been right behind Baekhyun, grabbed a towel, sitting next to Kyungsoo. He was close to the edge, sand sticking to the wet rim of his bathing suit. The sour mood settled heavily again, Kyungsoo looking at the space between him and Jongin. It was only a few inches, but Jongin deliberately sat away from him, his tanned back facing Kyungsoo.
Baekhyun was, through no fault of his own, insufferable. He pressed kisses to Junmyeon’s face and neck, rubbing his nose on Junmyeon’s shoulder, sharing soft kisses and holding hands with Junmyeon. It made the inches between himself and Jongin even worse, the need to wrap his arms around Jongin, to taste the salt on Jongin’s skin and drink in the warmth. A cold breeze made Jongin shiver and he wrapped the towel around himself, looking over at Baekhyun and Junmyeon with a guarded look. Kyungsoo used to hold the key to those looks, reading Jongin like an open book even when others found Jongin perplexing. Three years ago, Kyungsoo would have said Jongin was jealous, the envy simmering under the surface, but now he wasn’t sure, couldn’t be sure, though he hoped he was right.
Jongin stood up.
“I, uh, think I’m gonna head home, actually,” he said, holding the towel tightly around himself. Junmyeon and Baekhyun looked up at him, puzzled.
“So soon, brah? Why?” Baekhyun asked, resting his chin on Junmyeon’s shoulder. Jongin buried his toes in the sand, looking down at the droplets that still dripped from his bathing suit.
“I have the opening shift tomorrow, don’t wanna go to sleep too late,” he murmured, not meeting Baekhyun’s eyes. Baekhyun hummed. “Uh, hyung.” Kyungsoo didn’t move. “Kyungsoo.” Kyungsoo looked up at Jongin, blinking stupidly.
“Oh, me?”
“Yeah, let’s go,” Jongin grabbed Kyungsoo’s bag, waiting for Kyungsoo to stand up. He scrambled, nearly falling face forward into the sand, looking back at Baekhyun and Junmyeon.
The car ride was quiet, far too quiet for the comfort of Kyungsoo’s frayed nerves. Jongin kept fidgeting, readjusting his grip on the wheel, fiddling with the volume on the radio, changing stations until he turned it off. The image of Baekhyun and Junmyeon kissing was burned into Kyungsoo’s mind, the need for Jongin’s touch growing with each red light.
Jongin threw the bag on the floor, waiting for Kyungsoo to close the door before pulling him close, kissing him. Kyungsoo dropped the keys, melting in Jongin’s arm as Jongin pressed open mouthed kisses down his neck. He kissed Jongin’s shoulder, relishing in the taste of the sea on Jongin’s warm skin until Jongin pulled him towards the bathroom, fumbling with the shower and testing the water. Kyungsoo watched the muscles ripple under Jongin’s skin, shifting his weight when Jongin slid the bathing suit off, half hard and still wet.
“You gonna shower with clothes on?” Jongin asked, chuckling. Kyungsoo blushed, taking his clothes off. Jongin pulled him into the shower, kissing him under the spray. “Suck me off,” Jongin murmured, his fingers tangled in Kyungsoo’s hair. Kyungsoo kissed his way down, sucking on the head of Jongin’s half-hard dick. Jongin hissed, his grip on Kyungsoo’s hair tightening when Kyungsoo sank down on him. He traced his tongue around the head and the slit, sucking at the pace Jongin had set with his hands on Kyungsoo’s head. Jongin no longer tasted like salt, the sweet water of the shower mingled with the warmth of him in Kyungsoo’s mouth.
Jongin had closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of Kyungsoo’s tongue and lips, moaning softly, but Kyungsoo wished he’d open his eyes. He wanted to see the pleasure in Jongin’s eyes, the dark intensity in Jongin’s eyes when he was turned on, the intimacy of Jongin’s gaze that always made Kyungsoo blush; but Jongin kept his eyes closed, thrusting into Kyungsoo’s mouth shallowly. Kyungsoo kept sucking, drawing deep groans out of Jongin, reaching and licking and touching the spots he knew would bring Jongin to the edge.
Jongin hissed, thrusting deeper into Kyungsoo’s mouth, cumming with a low moan. Kyungsoo winced, pushing against Jongin’s hands and coughing up cum, scrunching his nose at the mess on his chin. Jongin laughed, helping Kyungsoo stand and wiping the cum off Kyungsoo’s lips. They kissed, Jongin pushing the cum that was left into Kyungsoo’s mouth with his tongue, reaching down to touch Kyungsoo’s neglected hard-on. Kyungsoo moaned, a hand around Jongin’s wrist as Jongin jerked him off, cumming with a breathy sigh.

🌴🌴🌴

Kyungsoo had never been the best problem solver, but he knew then, the half-packed suitcase on the floor between Jongin and him, that he had monumentally fucked up; there was no going back from this. Jongin was frowning slightly, looking down at the neatly folded clothes, lips parted. Kyungsoo didn’t dare speak or move, swallowing hard.
“What-“ Jongin looked up at Kyungsoo, searching for the right words, “What are you doing? What is this?” Kyungsoo looked away, his chest tightening.
“I didn’t- I’m so sorry, Jongin, I really didn’t know how to tell you-“
“Tell me what?” Jongin’s voice was barely audible.
“I- I’m leaving. To New York. I got accepted to Columbia so I’m going,” Kyungsoo managed, his breath coming out ragged. Jongin stared at him.
“When are you- when are you leaving?” he asked, the tears glittering in his eyes. Kyungsoo shifted his weight, avoiding Jongin’s gaze.
“Next week,” Kyungsoo whispered, wincing at the sound of Jongin’s choked sob.
“Next week? Next fucking week?” Jongin turned away, covering his face with his hands. His back hiccuped with the sobs. “How long are you going to be there?” Kyungsoo didn’t answer, looking at the floor. “How fucking long, Kyungsoo?” Kyungsoo closed his eyes.
“Three years,”
“Three years?”
“Jongin-“ Kyungsoo stepped forward, but Jongin lurched out of his reach, raw pain in his eyes.
“When the hell were you going to tell me?”
“I don’t know,”
“You didn’t fucking know? What- Why? What the fuck were you waiting for?” Jongin’s voice was raw, ragged with emotion. Kyungsoo felt his stomach lurch.
“Jongin, I don’t know. I know this is really last minute but I didn’t know how to tell you-“
“Didn’t know how? And what? Was I supposed to find out when I got home next week and find out you’re on a plane going halfway across the fucking world for three fucking years?” Jongin was sobbing, his face splotchy with tears. Kyungsoo felt his heart drop, seeing the hurt in Jongin’s eyes, the way Jongin was falling apart in front of him.
“I didn’t want to hurt you-“
“How is not telling me supposed to help me?” Kyungsoo bowed his head again, taking a shaky breath. Jongin wiped the tears away furiously, sniffling. “You never talked about this. You didn’t tell me you wanted to leave. You never once mentioned leaving, and now you just think you can leave without telling anyone and it’ll all be fine?” He was raising his voice, a desperation in his tone that Kyungsoo had never heard in Jongin.
“I know I didn’t and I’m sorry, Jongin. I didn’t even think I’d get in I just applied for kicks but if I got accepted why wouldn’t I go?”
“I- I’m not saying you shouldn’t go you just didn’t fucking tell me! You’re just leaving!”
“This is a chance for me to start my life! Did you really expect for me to stay on this fucking island forever? There's nothing here for me,” Kyungsoo snapped.
“Nothing here for you? What about me? What about us?” Jongin was screaming now; Kyungsoo took a step back, his breath hitching. “Am I not enough?”
“That’s not what I meant-“
“No. That’s exactly what you meant. I’m not enough. The last five years, the life we’ve been building together, they’re all on this fucking island,” Jongin was nearly in hysterics, wiping his tears away angrily, “Well, I’m sorry all I ever did was waste your fucking time.” He dissolved into sobs, hardly able to breathe. Kyungsoo felt the sting of his tears, reaching out to Jongin.
“Jongin, baby, I swear that isn’t what I meant-“
“Don’t- don’t touch me!” Jongin whimpered, so desperate to move away from Kyungsoo’s outstretched hand he nearly tripped over the suitcase.
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo couldn’t stop the sob, “please-“
“What about us, hyung?” Jongin sobbed again, holding his head in his hands, “what about us?” Kyungsoo stepped over the suitcase to hug him but Jongin moved away, giving Kyungsoo one last tearful look, a look so raw, so full of pain that Kyungsoo burst into tears, before running out of the room. The apartment door slammed shut, Kyungsoo sinking to knees. He was trembling, his heart palpitating in a frenzy; it was too late. He’d lost Jongin. There was no going back.

Kyungsoo wiped down the counter, jumping when Jongin said his name.
“You’re upset,” he said softly, leaning against the island. Kyungsoo went back to wiping the counter, sweeping the rag over the edge of the sink as well. “Why?” Kyungsoo wrung the rag out, arranging it over the faucet to let it dry.
“What makes you think I’m upset?” he asked, not turning around. He heard Jongin scoff.
“We were together for five years, and we’ve been friends longer than that,” said Jongin, “Why are you upset?” There was an edge to his voice Kyungsoo had only heard him use when speaking to people he didn’t particularly trust.
“I’m fine,” said Kyungsoo, turning around to face Jongin. Jongin folded his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow.
“Fine,” he cocked his head, pushing himself off the counter. Kyungsoo cursed him for knowing what he didn’t want to admit.
“It’s just- All we do is fuck,” Kyungsoo hated the look of mild surprise on Jongin’s face.
“I didn’t realize that bothered you, y’know, considering you’re the one who comes over asking to oof,” said Jongin, leaning back against the counter.
“It doesn’t bother me,” Kyungsoo grumbled, “I just want-“ Jongin pursed his lips, waiting for Kyungsoo to finish. “I want more,” he finished quietly.
“More what?” Kyungsoo looked up at Jongin, biting back an angry retort.
“You know what. I know you want it, too, the way you were looking at Baekhyun and Junmyeon,” said Kyungsoo. Jongin shifted his weight, his face guarded again.
“What, are we supposed to just pick it up like you didn’t abandon us to start your life in New York?” Jongin asked bitterly, watching the guilt choke Kyungsoo’s reply.
“You- you have every right to be angry, and I’m sorry for what I did. I hate myself for this, for leaving you, for leaving home, for wanting things to be like they were before I left,” said Kyungsoo, sniffling miserably. Jongin was quiet, his face blank. “I know what I did was wrong. I monumentally fucked up the best things in my life and I have no right to ask for things to go back but I miss it, I miss you and I miss us.” Jongin looked up at him, a flicker of pain his eyes.
“It took everything I had in those three years to pull myself back together, then you came back and tore right through everything I’d worked on,” said Jongin, his voice trembling.
“I’m so sorry,”
“I don’t- don’t say that,” Kyungsoo’s shoulders fell, his back crumpling. “You can’t just leave like that and then come back asking for us to be together. You don’t know how you ripped me apart, how you knocked out everything from under me.” Tears brimmed in Jongin’s eyes, his voice steadier.
“I’m- I ruined everything I had, and I didn’t know what I’d be coming back to. Baekhyun was so distant, and Junmyeon too. You- you were also distant but- you still let me in that day. When you kissed me I didn’t know what to think, but I missed you so much, I needed- I need you-“ Jongin shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“You don’t get to say that,”
“I love you,” Kyungsoo knew he shouldn’t have said it, especially when Jongin’s face twisted in pain, but the desperation was beating against his chest, as erratic as the frantic beat of his heart.
“Get out,” it was barely audible, but Kyungsoo still felt his heart drop, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Go!” Kyungsoo was still frozen to the spot, his breathing labored. Jongin stepped forward, shoving Kyungsoo towards the door. Kyungsoo stumbled, fumbling to slip into his shoes and run out of the apartment. The slam of the door behind him made him wince, and he stood there, stunned, until the ding of the elevator snapped him out of the daze.

Current Mood: accomplished

A/N: I'm horrible at signaling when a flashback starts so whenever you see three little palm trees, that's a flashback. Also this is a lot shorter than Part 1 and for that I'm so sorry (what is pacing and how can I do it properly). Oh also, the flashback scene has a bit of smut so ye hath been warned.

But of course, it would have been stupid to think the disjointed feeling would be gone forever, his return to Honolulu now incorporated seamlessly into their lives, as if he had never left. There was a gingerness to the way people spoke to him, too pleasant and superficial in their greetings, their questions; it bothered him, but he knew confronting it meant confronting Jongin, so he played along, as charming and pleasant as the people around him. He hated pretending he was fine, staying over at the apartment for takeout, slurping greasy noodles while he and Baekhyun watched a corny show, or spending the night with Jongin, which often meant hot, rushed sex and more takeout, this one eaten on Jongin’s bed. Weekly visits to his mother, 3 AM grocery runs, his cart filled with chips and ice cream, and the sense of dread preying on him at every moment, filling in the emptiness of the aisles.
His mother found out about his rendezvous with Jongin and he knew it was Baekhyun who ratted him out; she had finished laying out the banchan, plopping onto the chair opposite from Kyungsoo, and looking him straight in the eye.
“You better be doing right by that boy,” she’d said, and Kyungsoo knew exactly what she spoke of, but rather than face her judgement he picked up his chopsticks and began to eat. Judgement came anyway, muffled by the mouthful of rice his mother was chewing. “You been by his apartment, right?” Kyungsoo thought of the rushed blowjob he gave Jongin that morning after they’d had breakfast, still in the kitchen, the lines of the tiles imprinted on his knees. He blushed, nodding. “Don’ play around with him. You already hurt him bad once-“ Kyungsoo sputtered in protest, lowering his eyes when his mother gave him a hard look. “Either you with him or you not with him, but you betta choose. Make things right with him.” She finished, just as cryptic as she’d started, and continued eating. And there it was, the feeling of dread he’d been avoiding, sitting down with him for dinner. This wasn’t the first time she’d said this, dropping hints, and it was in the tone of Baekhyun’s voice whenever he spoke of Jongin, the judgmental glint in his eyes when Kyungsoo came home in the morning, smelling of Jongin and wearing Jongin’s clothes.

“So you two are on a daily oof basis, huh?” Baekhyun asked, slurping loudly. The mango juice spilled down his chin anyway. Kyungsoo’s neck flushed, throwing his bag a bit too roughly onto the couch.
“No. Not daily,” he muttered. Baekhyun snickered.
“At least once a week tho,” he said, sinking his teeth into the mango’s yellow flesh. Kyungsoo closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Why do you care if we’re fucking or not?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Oh, fucking. That’s the New York in you. No need to snap,” said Baekhyun, thoroughly amused. “That’s the problem, brah, you fuckin’, not makin’ love. You oof just to oof.” Sputtering, Kyungsoo turned to face him; Baekhyun nibbled on the mango, unbothered.
“And what would you know about that?” Kyungsoo snarled; it was a low blow, he knew it, but it was too late. Baekhyun laughed, licking the mango juice that ran down his hand.
“Junmyeon an’ me know about that just fine,” said Baekhyun, grinning at the surprise Kyungsoo was unable to mask.
“Oh.”
His bag clattered to the floor, the tin water bottle sliding out of its pocket and rolling across the uneven floor. The bag was slumped on its side, the blue fabric stained and torn, the zipper of the small pocket refusing to close. It was a bag Kyungsoo had borrowed from Jongin years ago, like the shirts and sweaters that Kyungsoo refused to take with him to New York, only to miss them once he arrived. They were in his closet on Waiola now, most of them threadbare, and slowly joined by new ones, no longer the bright colors Jongin’s mother used to buy. Kyungsoo wore them at the apartment on the days he didn’t stay with Jongin, even if AC was down, sweating with sleeves past his fingertips, the warmth of his body helping the release of the scent of Jongin entrenched in the fabric.
He avoided Baekhyun for the rest of the afternoon, collapsing onto his bed and waiting for his phone to vibrate, the pile of quizzes he had to grade ruffled by the dying fan.

🌴 🌴 🌴
They were shy with each other, though they’d been best friends for as far as their memories extended. The soft touches, the glances, the kisses; they were seeing each other with new eyes (ones filled with a cloying sweetness that Baekhyun never stopped complaining about). It had become daily routine now, to rush out of school and buy a snack, eating at Queens Beach and watching the sunset. Jongin had put on his bathing suit beneath his pants (“Guess what, hyung!” “Eh?” “I’m commando.” “I- why are you telling me this?” “Well, technically maybe I’m not, I put on my bathing suit but no underwear!”), dipping in the cold water for a bit while Kyungsoo watched, until the sky was lit up brilliant orange. He shivered, water trailing down his chest, clinging to his eyelashes, trailing down the sharpness of his jaw. Kyungsoo stared, unaware of the intensity of his gaze until Jongin blushed and laughed, ducking his head.
“I’m cold,”
“I don’t have a towel,” Jongin gave him a pitiful look, trembling. “I can’t get my uniform wet what’m I supposed to do?” Jongin drew his knees in closer, shuffling closer to Kyungsoo and burying his nose in Kyungsoo’s neck. “Ah! No! No, no, you’re sopping wet.” Jongin huffed, curling up further. A droplet ran down his cheek, slipping down the curves of Jongin’s lips, and Kyungsoo leaned forward, wiping the droplet off Jongin’s bottom lip. Jongin rested his cheek on his knees, looking at Kyungsoo with the intense stare he always reserved for making him flustered, and Kyungsoo swallowed hard. A cool breeze rolled in, blowing over them with each wave that crashed, and Kyungsoo kissed Jongin, tasting the saltwater on Jongin’s lips, sucking on Jongin’s lower lip with a confidence that surprised them both. Jongin pulled away, licking his bottom lip and looking at Kyungsoo with equal parts curiosity and lust. Kyungsoo leaned in for another kiss, feeling Jongin unfurl underneath him, a tanned arm planting itself in the sand for support. They leaned into each other, breathing heavily, tasting each other with a desperation that hadn’t allowed themselves to feel before, held back by the timidity of their reserved personalities. Kyungsoo placed his hand flat on Jongin’s chest, caressing the collarbone with his thumb, drinking in the shivers that still racked Jongin’s body.
“Hyung, I- oh,” Jongin sucked in his breath, looking down at Kyungsoo’s hand, which had caressed its way into his bathing suit, resting tentatively on Jongin’s dick.
“Is this okay?” Kyungsoo asked, waiting for Jongin to look up at him.
“Yes. Please,” Jongin said softly, touching Kyungsoo’s wrist as if to make sure he was solid, looking back down at the form of Kyungsoo’s hand under the wet orange fabric of his bathing suit. Kyungsoo’s fingers were gentle, exploring the skin of Jongin’s thighs, chasing after droplets. Jongin fidgeted under Kyungsoo’s touch, torn between looking at the movement of Kyungsoo’s hand in his bathing suit or at Kyungsoo’s face, his brow slightly furrowed, lips slightly parted, his cheeks flushed a soft pink. A truck honked its horn far off, scaring them both, Kyungsoo squeezing Jongin’s balls and stuttering an apology.
“It didn’t hurt,” Jongin said softly, shivering when another breeze blew. There were still droplets of water sprinkled across his shoulders and chest, his legs glimmering with drops as well. His bathing suit was stiff with the cold, but Kyungsoo’s hand kept him warm, alternating with a maddening slowness between stroking his dick and massaging his balls, pressing soft kisses along Jongin’s shoulder. Jongin dipped his head to kiss Kyungsoo, drinking Kyungsoo in with a fervor that nearly threw Kyungsoo off balance.
Kyungsoo stroked Jongin’s dick, desperate to pull Jongin’s bathing suit down, to have a peek, to taste Jongin, lick the salt of the ocean off of him. Jongin’s hooded eyes and soft sighs drove Kyungsoo on, spreading the beads of precum down Jongin’s dick, picking up the pace. Letting out a stuttered moan, his fingers curled in the sand, droplets dripping from his hair onto the starched white of Kyungsoo’s uniform sleeve.
Jongin’s moans were carried off by the breeze, soft sighs and messy, hot kisses exchanged as Jongin trembled under Kyungsoo’s fingers, hot cum spurting onto Kyungsoo’s fingers.

The pile of quizzes now littered Jongin’s coffee table, half of them corrected, the other half waiting for the attention Kyungsoo refused to give them. He pushed the uncorrected pile further into the table with a socked foot, tucking the foot back under him on the sofa. Jongin walked over, drying his hands on his shirt (a habit Kyungsoo had tried to break years ago but failed) and sitting on the corner of the sofa, stretching his legs out along its length, feet perched on Kyungsoo’s lap. It was a position they’d grown used to since Kyungsoo got back, lacking the warmth of Jongin pressed against Kyungsoo’s back when they would study, curled up as close together as they could, but they were sitting together, and that was enough for Kyungsoo, or so he tried to convince himself. Hesitantly, he put a hand on Jongin’s ankle, relieved when Jongin didn’t move it off.
“So Baekhyun and Junmyeon are a thing now?” Kyungsoo asked, clearing his throat. Jongin had just picked up a worn book, the edges tattered with a few missing page corners, the red skyline of New York drawn across the bottom and the red letters spelling out Let The Great World Spin; he opened it, leafing through the first few pages.
“Yeah, they got together right about when you left,” said Jongin, his voice neutral, which unnerved Kyungsoo.
“Oh. Baekhyun hadn’t mentioned it until today,” said Kyungsoo, tracing the hair on Jongin’s legs until Jongin shook his leg, giving Kyungsoo an annoyed glance over the book. “Sorry.” Jongin went back to the book, gnawing on his bottom lip and narrowing his eyes in concentration. Kyungsoo wanted to kiss him, to run his fingers through Jongin’s hair, but he didn’t dare. They kept their touching confined to sex, kissing and caressing and touching only in the heat of the moment; Jongin, with the exception of the seating arrangement on the sofa, kept his distance, hardly touching Kyungsoo and it made his heart ache.
Jongin noticed Kyungsoo’s stare, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Hm?”
“What?”
“You’re staring.”
“Oh, sorry. I hadn’t really noticed, I just spaced out,” Kyungsoo chuckled, licking his lips nervously. Jongin pressed his lips together, his attention once more absorbed by the book. The fan ruffled the abandoned quizzes, and Kyungsoo reluctantly reached out, taking the pile and uncapping the purple pen (courtesy of his mother), correcting the near illegible scribbles. The sky grayed, the cold breeze of a thunderstorm rushing in through the balcony, but the sounds within the apartment were much the same: Jongin turning the brittle pages, the scratch of Kyungsoo’s pen against the quizzes and the quiet whirr of the fan shaking its head.
🌴 🌴 🌴
His bags were still only half packed, tucked under his bed with the illusion that not seeing them mean they wouldn’t have to be finished. He tapped his pen against the desk, looking over at his room. He’d decided not to change it, leaving the picture frames hanging on the walls, spaced apart on the drawers, youthful smiles beaming down at him. He considered laying them face down, but it would draw attention to questions he didn’t want to answer, to questions he’d avoided answering for the past month. His mother had been surprised when she walked into his room, but she didn’t pry him for answers. His friends wouldn’t be so mercifully quiet; neither would Jongin. It had been a month of careful calculations, meticulously planning details when he was alone, avoiding them, all of them, and their exuberant post-graduation celebrations. Most of his friends were content with a B.A., others wanted an M.A. but were content with Oahu; Kyungsoo knew that he couldn’t believe they didn’t want to leave the confines of the island, the vast expanses of blue separating him from the life he wanted to start living. But these dreams, they were too big for Oahu, too big for the lives of his friends to comprehend, so he kept it secret, tucked under his bed like his half-packed bags.
“Kyungsoo, Jongin here to see you,” his mother called. Kyungsoo cursed softly, tucking a few papers into the near empty drawer of his desk, running to stand outside the door of his room before Jongin reached the top of the stairs.

Current Mood: blah
Current Music: Juliet - CBX

The humid Oahu air assaulted him, the thickness of it a wall he had to wade through. It shocked him, to feel like the air was so humid he could slice through it after the frigid air of the New York winter he’d left behind, the clinical dryness of the airport also abruptly squashed. He felt the humidity seeping into everything, a welcome warmth that softened his dry skin.
Three years ago he had been stepping into Honolulu International, his luggage clicking against the white scuffed tiles, the realization that he was finally leaving the confines of the island weighing on his shoulders. He remembered the excitement when he’d been accepted to Columbia, but at the airport he’d only felt the weight of his sudden freedom as a burden.
Standing by a black car was his mother, more glimmering silver strands in her pitch black hair than he had remembered, the small golden cross still occupying the hollow of her neck. She sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand and patting it dry on her skirt before holding her arms open. He walked into her embrace, breathing in the soft scent of jasmine perfume and baby powder, the scent of home.
The familiar “howzit’s” and “da kine’s” tittered in the background, the cool breeze that so often preceded thunderstorms blowing them over him, rustling his hair.
“Welcome home, son,” his mother whispered, rubbing circles on his back with her hand. He couldn’t let go, his nose still buried in the soft cotton of her peach cardigan, tears spilling from his eyes though he hadn't meant to let them out.
It wasn’t until they got home, settled in his room, his mother sitting at the edge of his bed, filling him in on the juicy news about all of Oahu that he felt it; he was home, but something was missing, something didn’t quite click in with the rest. The picture frames on his drawer, untouched since he’d left, stared at him, the joy in those faces too bright for Kyungsoo to look at. When his mother left the room, he lay them flat on the surface.

It was Mrs. Kim, though he hardly recognized the hunch in her shoulders. She looked far older than she was, the bitterness in the hard set of her lips evident even from a distance. She was dyeing her hair, that he could see, too, though it had been a while, gnarled silver roots shining against her black hair. She was fumbling with a cloth, tying it on her head to cover up the silver roots. The shopping basket hanging from the crook of her elbow clattered against the shelves, nearly knocking several cans over. Peering at the cans and deciding against them, she shuffled down the aisle, closer to him, looking at the packs of ramen noodles and muttering about the brands. She pulled out one of the packs, sending the ones on top of it onto the tiled floor, cursing colorfully. The plastic crinkled against her feet and she hunched over, her thin back curving painfully. Her thin shirt clung to her, the outline of her ribs clear, and it startled Kyungsoo to see her so decimated, but he made no move to help her. Her bony fingers clumsily curled around the packets, and it was those bony fingers he was afraid of, of the force they had to destroy something so fragile. He grabbed a can of baby corn and turned on his heel, leaving Mrs. Kim cursing at the packet of noodles that slipped from her grip again.

“I saw Mrs. Kim at the supermarket,” Kyungsoo’s mother continued sorting through the groceries. Kyungsoo repeated himself, taking the starfruit from his mother’s hands and laying them out on the marble countertop. His mother hummed in acknowledgment. “She looks real skinny.” His mother opened the fridge.
“That woman, she’s lolo, doing what she did to her poor son. Ack, why did she care so much he mahu? He her son! It shouldn’t matter,” she shook her head, taking out the empty egg carton and slipping in the new one. Kyungsoo took the empty carton from her, watching her shuffle across the kitchen. Her accent seemed to him much stronger, the oddness of the cadence of the pidgin with the clumsiness of her Korean accent meshed into one.
“Not everyone is like you, Eomma,” said Kyungsoo, hugging his mother and resting his cheek on her head. She swatted him away, giggling. “She’s still not talking to you?”
“I tole you, she lolo. Byun-ssi tried to say hello, Kim-ssi gave her stink-eye! Byun-ssi tole her she wanna be friends again, Kim-ssi tole her nevamine, like Byun-ssi a child. She lolo, that woman,” his mother shook her head vehemently, handing Kyungsoo the scallions to put away. “Jongin’s Appa still with her. That man too good for her. He talk to Jongin still, help him with the apartment.” Kyungsoo bumped his head against the cabinets, cursing. “Jongin still talk to me, too. He even buy me new slippahs when he saw my ole ones. That boy is too good, too good.” Kyungsoo slammed the cabinet shut, murmuring an apology when his mother frowned at him.
“And how is Jongin?” His voice cracked. His mother looked at him for a moment, cradling a head of cabbage in her hands, before shooing him aside, reaching for the fridge again.
“He’s good. Got his own apartment, an’ he tole me he got a job at that bookstore on Ala Moana,” she said, her curtness surprising him.
“Oh, the Barnes and Noble?” his mother nodded. Kyungsoo couldn’t help the smile; it was what he’d expected, for Jongin to surround himself with books.
“Jus’ until he finish studying,” she said, “Now go somewhere else, you in my way,” she shooed him out again, eyeing the starfruit he grabbed before ducking out of the kitchen.

Mrs. Byun had suggested it, one night after dinner, while they were sitting on the back porch, nursing their mugs under the azure sky, the last tinges of daylight streaked along the horizon in brilliant pink.
“Baekhyun been struggling to pay that place by hisself and none of the roommate he had been reliable. Is too good a place to give up,” she’d started, leaning back in her rocking chair and glancing at Baekhyun over the rim of her glasses. “You two best friends, and you could make your Eomma’s life easier by moving out.” Kyungsoo’s mother made a noise, the disagreement plain on her face.
“Is been three years since I had my son home, you ole fart, he stay as long as he want,” she swatted Mrs. Byun’s arm, the two of them giggling.
“Well, if Baekhyun doesn’t mind me moving in, I think that would be a great idea,” said Kyungsoo. Baekhyun shifted, meeting Kyungsoo’s eyes for the first time that night, a half smile on his lips.
“It’s better than having a stranger, especially a haole,” said Baekhyun.
“Or a Japanese,” Mrs. Byun added.
“Ma, you can’t be saying things like that,” said Baekhyun, the horror clear in his eyes. Mrs. Byun shrugged, slipping her feet out of the sequined slippers and crossing them at the ankles.
“Where’s the apartment?” Kyungsoo asked, meeting Baekhyun’s eyes. Baekhyun tilted his head, placing his mug between his feet.
“Over by University Ave, close to the highway,” he replied. Kyungsoo nodded, regretting voicing his agreement. Maybe they once had been best friends, but the howzit Baekhyun had produced when he arrived was less than enthusiastic, and for Baekhyun, who was energetic and enthusiastic even when running on three hours of sleep, that was a clear enough sign. Kyungsoo didn’t blame him, but it hurt, a knot forming in his stomach at the coldness with which Kyungsoo regarded him the whole night.
Kyungsoo’s mother brought out the starfruits he hadn’t devoured (she hid the rest from him when she’d realized he’d eaten half of what they bought in one sitting), sliced and arranged in a circle on the plate. He reached out to grab a star but his mother swatted his hand away; by the time he reached the plate, once Baekhyun and his mother left, the rest of the slices were gone.

The apartment was on the corner of Waiola and McCully, the main entrance off the side since the arch for the parking ran straight through the middle. Squat palm trees were clustered on one corner, below the windows, as squat as the building itself. It had four apartments, three floors, a window wrapped around the front corner that let the afternoon light into the living room, the glare of it ruining afternoon plans of watching tv. It was a short drive from Manoa on a good day, but there was never a good day for traffic in Honolulu, which meant Kyungsoo had to wake up earlier than he wanted to each morning, leaving an hour early in order to avoid the traffic jams that choked University Ave.
Manoa was spread out to the north of them, a sea of apartment buildings and houses divided by the highway and crowned by the deep green of the edge of the crater. New York had been endless gray, metal and sharp lines, concrete and pigeons, everything faster than the life he’d lived in Honolulu. It had left him with a massive headache for the first week, shoved and squeezed and trodden over, the tiny studio apartment that faced the saddest park he’d ever seen no help. He longed for green, for fresh air, for the wind to caress him, not cut through his jacket. But what he had missed most about being in Honolulu was the freedom to wake up in the morning, throw on a bathing suit and some slippahs (“What’s with this flip-flop nonsense, brah, this no New York,” Baekhyun teased), and drive to the beach, spending the day watching the glittering blue of the Pacific crash against the white sand.
Queens Beach hadn’t changed much in those three years, still watched over by high-rises and slender palm trees, the bustle of the crowds of Waikiki not far off. Diamond Head loomed above it all, massive and solid, the emerald slopes spread out languidly over the corner of the island. It was a rush of nostalgia, sitting under the shade of the palms, the afternoons after exams or the afternoons in which they cut class, wading in the crystalline water. It made the inevitable chastisement worth it; even when Kyungsoo and his mother moved out to Mauna Lua the tittering of the aunties reached her. She would wait at the doorway, giving him a lecture, but she was never hard on him and she would revoke the punishments as soon as she gave them.
Kyungsoo was sitting on the towel, his feet buried in the sand, watching the grains fall every time he shifted his toes. Baekhyun had gone for a swim after his nap, waving his arms and screaming at the top of his lungs as he ran into the water, disappearing under the spray. The others on the beach looked at the sopping head of hair that popped up a few feet in, then over at Kyungsoo, who blushed and shook his head. Baekhyun hadn’t changed much either, not since high school, as effervescent and loud as he had been once the initial coldness of seeing each other again passed. And yet, there was something that still didn’t sit quite right; it haunted him, and he knew he couldn’t run from it, not on an island as small as Oahu.
The droplets from Baekhyun’s hair startled him, Baekhyun standing before him and shaking out his hair. Kyungsoo smacked Baekhyun’s legs with a towel, joining in Baekhyun’s laughter when he tumbled onto the towel.
“What’sammater, New York left you all clammed up? You a cold city kanē now,” Baekhyun asked, throwing his wet towel on Kyungsoo.
“Tanks, brah,” Kyungsoo muttered, shoving Baekhyun into the sand. Baekhyun laughed, his hysterical cackles carried across the beach by the breeze.
“Baekhyun! Howzit?” the voice that called it out made Kyungsoo’s blood run cold, the sun feeling too hot against his skin and the sand too harsh. He didn’t dare look up, watching Baekhyun return the shaka and leap up to his feet.
“Where you been, eh? Haven't seen you in a week,” said Baekhyun. Kyungsoo looked up, swallowing hard, but the lump in his throat didn’t move. He looked the same, though his shoulders were broader, and his dark hair a bit longer, shining obsidian strands dripping with water. He embraced Baekhyun, turning to greet Kyungsoo, but the hello never passed his lips. His dark eyes, heavy lidded and as alluring as Kyungsoo remembered them, met Kyungsoo’s eyes, but Kyungsoo couldn’t hold the gaze, not when he recognized the flicker of pain.
“Kyungsoo,” he said stupidly, scattering sand when he shifted his weight.
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo said, feeling equally stupid. “Howzit?” It wasn’t the right thing to ask, he knew that, not when they weren’t close anymore, but in his panic he had let it slip.
“I didn’t realize you were back,” said Jongin, his voice soft, softer than Kyungsoo remembered it being, and Kyungsoo could feel Jongin’s eyes searching, but he refused to look up. Baekhyun, who had been staring at both of them, finally thumped Jongin on the back, drawing Jongin’s attention away from Kyungsoo.
With Jongin’s eyes on Baekhyun, Kyungsoo took the chance and looked at him, and for a moment he saw the boy from eight years ago, standing on the same beach; he’d been admiring the triangle of Jongin’s brown skin that formed between the open collar. It was August, the sunset bringing the welcome relief of night, each wave that crashed bringing with it a cool breeze. Jongin was all smiles, his long brown fingers wrapped around the pale yellow of the starfruit Kyungsoo had fished from his backpack. Taking a bite, Jongin pulled a face.
“Why do you always bring the sour ones, hyung?” he whined, coughing.
“It’s mo’ better sour. If you don’t want it, hand it over,” Kyungsoo held open his hand. but Jongin shied away, shaking his head. “No complaining then.” Jongin stuck his tongue out at him, yelping when Kyungsoo knocked him over. His nose was wrinkled while he ate the starfruit, tossing the core away and wiping his fingers on his shorts.
They sat in silence for a while, Jongin scooting closer and bumping their legs together. Kyungsoo looked over, his cheeks flushed when he met Jongin’s eyes, the cat-like eyes that were always so intense, so full of emotion that simmered under the calm surface.
“What?” he asked, his voice sharper than he’d intended. Jongin laughed.
“Nothing,”
“You lolo,”
“Am I still lolo if I want a kiss?” Kyungsoo choked, his ears burning.
“What you want a kiss for?” Kyungsoo asked, his voice cracking. Jongin blushed, his head hanging, digging his toes in the sand.
“Maybe cause I want you to be my boyfriend,” he said, so softly Kyungsoo barely heard him.
“Oh,” Jongin looked up at him, the apprehension clear in his dark eyes. Kyungsoo tried to hide his smile, but Jongin saw it, smiling back at him, radiant. Leaning over, Jongin nudged Kyungsoo’s cheek with his nose. Kyungsoo laughed, turning to look at him, their noses touching. Jongin closed his eyes, leaning closer, but Kyungsoo beat him to it, pressing their lips together. It was that night, sitting on the beach, the sky alight with orange and pink, that Kyungsoo decided his favorite fruit was starfruit.

The apartment was only three blocks away from Kyungsoo and Baekhyun’s place on the ninth floor of one of the high rises on Wiliwili Street. Jongin was quiet, the same quiet, closed manner he’d had when they first met. Jongin had a subtle vibrancy, in the shine of his eyes, in the movement of his hands when he spoke, but only when he was around people he trusted. It was a question Kyungsoo had been asked so many times when they were together: “Isn’t he cold? He’s so emotionless. Does he ever feel anything?” And Kyungsoo had wanted to scream yes, stand on top of Diamond Head and shout it to the whole of Oahu, but now he found himself outside of Jongin’s world, the doors closed to him for the first time since they’d met.
“Hey,” Jongin stepped aside to let him in, closing the door and hovering behind Kyungsoo, unsure where to go. Kyungsoo stepped in further, drawn to the balcony in the corner of the living room. Air, he needed air.
“Want tea?” Jongin asked. Kyungsoo looked over at him, startled that Jongin was speaking to him. He took a deep breath, nodding. He was here, he was home, he was back, but it wasn’t the same. A breeze blew in through the balcony, cars honking at the corner, and Jongin cursed, water spilling into the sink. Kyungsoo edged closer to the balcony, leaning out to take a breath of fresh air.
“It’s a nice place you got,” said Kyungsoo, murmuring his thanks when Jongin gave him a mug, the steam curling and dancing above the fragrant tea. Jongin hummed in agreement.
“How was New York?” Jongin asked, settling cross legged onto a chair in the balcony. Kyungsoo sat on the other chair, hissing at the heat of the mug against his fingertips.
“Cold, mostly,” Kyungsoo chuckled, the smile disappearing when Jongin merely nodded. “Interesting. Too fast-paced for me, though. Guess the Hawai’i in me couldn’t keep up.” Jongin smiled at that.
“You sound like a kotonk,” he said into his mug. Kyungsoo sputtered, nearly choking on his tea, opening his mouth to protest but decided against it, pouting instead. Silence settled over them, uncomfortable, pregnant with all the things they wanted to say but didn’t, the three years a distance too long for them to travel.
“Still not talking to your mother?” Kyungsoo finally asked. Jongin pursed his lips, looking out over the balcony, a heaviness forming in the silence.
“No,” he said at last, taking a noisy sip from his mug. “Not talking much to Appa either, but he won’t get a divorce. It’s been too many years, they’ve been through too much to just end it like that.” Jongin’s voice was soft, almost wistful, but the accusation in his eyes made Kyungsoo’s ears burn in shame.
“I’m sorry,” he hadn’t meant to say it, but he didn’t know what else to say, not with the weight of those three years on him. He didn’t look up, afraid to see Jongin’s reaction, the silence heavy, too heavy, his chest tight, each breath more labored, keeping the tears in though they burned his eyes.
“Me too,” said Jongin, waiting for Kyungsoo to look up; the pain in his eyes was too raw, too overwhelming for Kyungsoo, the salt of his tears spilling into his tea.

The sun filtered through the window, laying its warmth on Jongin’s back like a blanket, the golden sheet of light playing on golden skin. The sheets were mint green, the same shade as Jongin’s polo the night they were on Queens beach, wrapped around Jongin’s waist, the gold of his skin glowing under it. Kyungsoo traced his fingers across Jongin’s shoulders, down the shoulder blades, relishing in the warmth of his skin. Jongin wouldn’t wake up soon, not if he still slept like he did when they were together, sometimes waking up when it was nearly four in the afternoon, sleeping through hurricanes, through volcanic eruptions. The world ceased to exist while Jongin slept.
Kyungsoo’s stomach rumbled, a reminder that they hadn’t eaten dinner, so caught up on re-discovering each other that they went to sleep without food. He crept out into the kitchen, opening the fridge as quietly as he could, but everything required more effort than he was willing to put in, until he spied the starfruit, pale yellow, the edges brown and slightly bruised. He grabbed two, rinsing them in the sink and walking back to the room, slipping under the covers again, the sour tang of the tart flesh filling his mouth. Jongin stirred, blinking the sleep away and looking up at Kyungsoo.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Kyungsoo murmured, gently pushing a few strands of Jongin’s hair away from his eyes.
“You’re eating those sour starfruit? You still lolo,” Jongin chuckled, reaching out to take the other starfruit from Kyungsoo.
“Sour’s mo better,” Kyungsoo said softly, laughing when Jongin puckered his lips. The sun had shifted, now fully on Jongin, and he glowed under it, the starfruit juice glimmering on his lips. Somehow, with the tartness of the fruit and the warmth of the sun, that disjointed feeling that had been haunting Kyungsoo dissipated, evaporating in the sunlight of the morning.

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