remember my name.

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remember my name. [Kaisoo; g]
577w.

When Jongin thinks everything in this world is temporary, Kyungsoo reminds him that some things are not.


The performance ends and all twelve of the boys make their way backstage, high off excess adrenaline, the rush from screaming fans unlike anything else they’ve experienced. Jongin’s being dabbed down by hands belonging to random stylists, a change of clothes shoved into his arms as he finds himself being barked at to change. Jongin does so hastily, behind a makeshift curtain in a corner of the waiting room, eyes just managing to see over the cloth obscuring him. He scans the room in search of one particular member but doesn’t seem to be able to spot him, and his heartbeat picks up. He hastily balls up his performance gear and shoves it into a plastic bag before handing it to a stylist, all the while counting how many of his members were present. 8, 9, 10. He shakes his head as realisation dawns upon him, quietly exiting the room, then the building through a back entrance, heartbeats slowly decelerating back to normal when he finds a smaller body leaning up against the wall outside, a stick of white with burning embers at its end attached to his full lips.

The other man smiles at him, but Jongin doesn’t return the gesture. ‘You know you shouldn’t smoke. It’ll mess up your singing,’ Jongin mumbles, moving to snatch the cigarette out, the other man showing no signs of protest as he allows Jongin’s fingers to take it. His companion chuckles as Jongin crushes the cigarette underfoot, a sound that’s supposed to symbolise happiness and joy ringing clear of bitter resentment. Jongin feels eyes on him so he mans up and meets the gaze head on.

‘How long do you think all this will last, Jongin?’ Comes the question, and Jongin doesn’t know if he’s meant to answer, can’t find the proper reply even if he tried. ‘Fame is a fickle friend, Jongin. One minute she loves us, the next she’s all over someone else. They’ll get bored of us soon, Jongin. They’ll start noticing how we’re really not all that special, all our mistakes and shortcomings, they’ll see them all. They’ll start seeing us for who we really are.’ Jongin lets the words sink into his skin, dread the size of an ocean lapping at his toes. His friend’s right, of course. They’re only perfect for as long as people want them to be. After that, well - they’re flawed, frauds - they’re boring. The fans will leave faster than they came, and Jongin’s worry carves its lines across his forehead.

His friend takes a step closer, finger coming up to trace the new crease between Jongin’s eyebrows, a soft chuckle escaping pink lips. ‘We only have one shot at this. This is a game we can’t reset, this is a game with no extra lives. So I say,’ - at this, he pulls Jongin in even closer - ‘I say we make the most of it. Together.’ and there’s lips on Jongin’s and he can’t breathe in the best way, and all his insecurities and exhaustion and fears and doubts seem to leave him: the boy in his arms his sole guardian. They’re going to be late, they’re going to get caught, they’re going to be so dead once they pull away from each other - but, Jongin thinks, all of that will be temporary. He runs his fingers through the other boy’s hair and smiles into the kiss. This - this, him and Kyungsoo - this is for ever.

A/N: Emma tweets fic at 4am. Wow. Tlist this is 577 words. Why. Why would you let me spam you. Why.