adrift on your shores (so carry me home tonight) [ii/iii]

[.livejournal.com]

i.

Weeks pass in a blur of meeting deadlines and Jongin, of frantic calls from a frazzled Wufan in the middle of the night when he needs an extra pair of eyes to help put together the final draft of the magazine before it gets sent to print and publish. Kyungsoo slowly feels like he’s himself again, like the gaping chasm he thought was permanently carved out in his chest is somewhat shrinking.

He doesn’t stop to wonder if it’s because it’s being filled again by the re-emergence of Jongin as an active force in his life.

His weekly routine remains almost the same: days spent in the office fighting off Zitao’s suggestions of dying his hair bright yellow, trailing behind Chanyeol to various restaurants across the city, smiling quietly to himself as Wufan and Junmyeon grumble about having to restock the office’s pantry way too often. The only difference, really, is that he’s now constantly with his phone in his hand, exchanging whatsapp messages with a certain Kim Jongin.

Kyungsoo (2:55pm)
Jongin you need to send help I see bleach and hair dye on Zitao’s desk I am not prepared for this situation

Kyungsoo has sent an image.


Jongin (2:57pm)
That’s… Really yellow. Like actual Tweety Bird’s feathers yellow.
Why don’t you just dump it???

Kyungsoo (2:58pm)
Have I ever told you what the guy keeps next to his desk Jongin
Hint: he does martial arts.

Jongin (2:58pm)
Does he keep a poster of Captain Shang on his wall or –

Kyungsoo has sent an image.


Jongin (2:59pm)
Holy SHIT WHY WOULD A FASHION OBSESSED WRITER NEED
A FUCKING WUSHU STICK WITH HIM
IN THE OFFICE
RIGHT NEXT TO HIS DESK WHAT THE FUCK


Kyungsoo (3:00pm)
I see you understand my reluctance to mess with him.

Kyungsoo chuckles to himself. It’s always so simple, talking to Jongin about things like this. About things that don’t matter, just like the old days. He doesn’t deny that it kind of hurts when he opens the app and sees Jongin with his arm around Sehun in the top right corner of his screen, but he learns to ignore it – even learns to ignore the casual mentions of the other man’s boyfriend that gets thrown in once in a while – because Sehun or no, Jongin was still Jongin.

Jongin (3:49pm)
Hey Soo
Wanna watch a movie tonight

Kyungsoo (3:52pm)
What movie

Jongin has sent an image.

Kyungsoo (3:57pm)
Absolutely no way in hell

Jongin (4:01pm)
Soo!!!! C’mon!!! Please (╯3╰)

Kyungsoo (4:02pm)
What the fuck is that
And still no

Jongin (4:02pm)
It’s just one horror movie!!! C’mon
It’ll be fun! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Kyungsoo (4:10pm)
…
If I say yes will you stop sending me those damned emoticons

Jongin has sent an image.

Kyungsoo (4:12pm)
OR PHOTOS OF YOU DOING AEGYO
JESUS CHRIST

Jongin has sent an image.

Kyungsoo (4:23pm)
Fine. I’ll go. Pick me up around seven.

Jongin (4:26pm)
Yay!!!! see you tonight, hyung! (☞ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞

Kyungsoo (4:27pm)
Hey Jongin

Jongin (4:27pm)
Yeah?

Kyungsoo (4:28pm)
(╹◡╹)凸







Kyungsoo waits outside his apartment building at exactly 6:55PM, with his hands in his jacket pockets and his foot tapping an imagined rhythm. Cars crawl along past him, people making their way home from work, others just heading out for a well-deserved Friday night. The symphony of the city greets him in blaring car honks and angry yells, in a child’s happy laughter as he tears down the street, mother’s wrist clamped firmly by chubby fingers.

He should hate the city, he thinks, bemoan the existence of the neon lights that blind him, the polluted air that poisons his lungs. He should despise how everything is loud and forever changing here, how his favourite burger stand migrates from one corner to the next without any sort of notice, how the buildings and the people and time in general is packed too close together, stifling him.

He should hate all of this, used to detest everything about the city, but as a familiar red car pulls up in front of him, he’s reminded why he doesn’t anymore.

The city is where Jongin lives.

‘Well don’t just stand there, we’re gonna be late!’ Jongin hollers, and Kyungsoo rolls his eyes dramatically before getting into the car. Pleasantries are postponed as Jongin concentrates on cutting back into traffic.

They get to the theatre just in time, Jongin hastily running off to use the men’s room as Kyungsoo buys them popcorn and drinks from the concession stand. They hurry into the cinema just as the lights start dimming, and Kyungsoo tries not to notice that Jongin’s bought them couple seats, wordlessly pushing himself down into the one on the left.
‘I get discounts if I buy these tickets,’ Jongin explains. Kyungsoo nods and tries to sit as comfortably as he can, the side of his thigh and arm touching Jongin’s. Slow fire starts coursing just under his skin as his attention zeroes in on Jongin’s warmth, so he decides to try and concentrate instead on the movie.

Which, he quickly realises, is an absolutely terrible idea. Because not fifteen minutes into the movie Kyungsoo’s horrified, mysterious murders making his skin crawl and the hairs on the back of his next stand at attention. He’s trying his hardest not to let Jongin realise this, of course, but Jongin’s always been able to sense exactly how the elder feels.

By the time the first ghost makes an appearance, Kyungsoo is trembling all over, hands balled up into fists at his side. He chances a glance at Jongin, something inside him desperately seeking comfort. Jongin notices Kyungsoo looking, of course, and smiles a gentle smile, spreading his arms wide with a whisper of ‘come here.’ Kyungsoo doesn’t give it a second thought, scrambling into Jongin’s embrace as quickly as he can, the rapid beating of his heart turning his limbs into an uncoordinated mess.

Kyungsoo calms down considerably after that, Jongin’s warmth surrounding him.

Something in the back of his mind tells him that he shouldn’t be doing this, that he should let go, disentangle himself from Jongin and get as far away from the latter as he can. But slight terror and sheer selfishness keeps him clinging to the front of Jongin’s shirt, fisting it with every new appearance of a dead body.

Kyungsoo forgets how to breathe for minutes at a time, but it has nothing to do with the bodies that keep dropping and the ghosts that pop up out of nowhere onscreen. It has everything to do with how he knows that maybe his feelings are unrequited, and that maybe Jongin doesn’t feel like Kyungsoo does now. It has everything to do with how right it feels to have Jongin’s chest pressed up against his ear and being able to feel his heartbeats.

Kyungsoo is still surrounded by an ocean of deep blue, but here in Jongin’s arms, he thinks he sees sunlight breaking the surface of the water suffocating him.

The fourth murder is particularly violent, shrill screams and blood splattering absolutely everywhere onscreen. Kyungsoo quakes violently in his seat, and Jongin’s arms tighten around him. The ghost hovers somewhere over the dead body and Kyungsoo’s shaking even more now, whole body trembling in Jongin’s hold. He wants to stop watching, wants to leave, but there’s still another hour and a half before the movie’s done, and Kyungsoo hates, this, he really, really does and –

Oh.

Oh.

Kyungsoo doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but he’s fairly sure he’s not. He’s almost certain that there are lips pressing down on the top of his head, lips burying themselves in his hair. He forgets his fear almost immediately, attention now focused only on the fact that Jongin is kissing him. Jongin is pressing gentle, comforting kisses along the top of Kyungsoo’s head and Kyungsoo cannot breathe, heart pounding in his chest.

As soon as Jongin’s lips are off him, Kyungsoo lifts his head, wide eyes shocked and staring straight into the former’s. Entire eternities pass them in the moments where all they can see is each other, the screams and words from the speakers above them blurring out into white noise. Kyungsoo doesn’t know if it’s okay for him to push forward and capture Jongin’s lips in a kiss, so he’s frozen where he is, uncertainty binding his limbs.

And then it happens.

Jongin pushes forward just a little, closing the gap between him and Kyungsoo before he’s kissing him. The kiss is soft and gentle, just lips against lips, pure innocence in one mouth against another. And then there are fingers threading themselves into Jongin’s hair, pulling him closer, and Kyungsoo’s mouth falls open just a little. Jongin smirks and deepens the kiss, tasting Kyungsoo on his tongue for the first time in years.

They’re too wrapped up in each other to really pay attention to the movie anymore. Should we really be doing this hangs somewhere in the back of Kyungsoo’s mind but never makes it past his lips, Jongin swallowing all his thoughts into his own mouth. They separate just before the lights blind them again and the end credits roll, two pairs of lips completely swollen, two pairs of lungs struggling to take in oxygen.

Jongin grabs Kyungsoo by the wrist and they make their way to the car, both of them all rushed footsteps and rapid heartbeats. Jongin pushes Kyungsoo up against the passenger door to kiss him roughly one last time, before opening it and shoving the older inside. Jongin gets in and stares at the steering wheel for a few long moments, breathing heavily, as if he’s forgotten how to move.

As if he’s finally woken up, and he’s afraid of what’s going to happen next.

Kyungsoo slowly reaches over and takes Jongin’s hand in his, the latter startled out of his reverie by the contact. Kyungsoo’s eyes never leave his as he lifts the younger’s hand up to his lips, pressing soft kisses on each of his knuckles, staring holes into Jongin’s soul. Kyungsoo puts Jongin’s hand on the gearshift and gently arranges his fingers to grasp it.

‘Come home with me.’ Kyungsoo whispers, and Jongin swallows, starting the engine. He spares one last glance back in Kyungsoo’s direction before pressing his foot dangerously hard on the accelerator, running red lights and crossing double lines in his hurry to get them back to Kyungsoo’s. He hastily parks the car and they just barely make their way up to Kyungsoo’s apartment, limbs tangling with one another’s, lips meeting again and again.

Jongin hesitates just outside Kyungsoo’s apartment door, uncertainty tinting his eyes with a shade of doubt. Kyungsoo can see the internal conflict occurring in Jongin’s head and decides to chase it away. He reaches out for Jongin’s hand again, gently encircling his wrist with small fingers, and puts it on his chest, directly above his heart.

The touch means so many things: I missed you, I still have feelings for you, I can’t stop thinking about you. But the only feeling Kyungsoo’s ready to convey right now is the one that has his nerve endings tingling with high voltage electricity, the one that has his skin positively burning with need. I want to do this with you, I want you, he tries to make his touch say.

Jongin nods and crosses the threshold into Kyungsoo’s apartment without any further hesitation, and it’s him who kisses Kyungsoo first, it’s him who undresses himself first, it’s him who reaches out to initiate intimate touches. Kyungsoo’s overwhelmed with emotion, feels that empty void inside him fill up again, and he wants to cry and laugh and sob at the feeling of being complete once more. Jongin’s touches are lightning strikes peppered onto his skin, his kisses delicate raindrops on the barren lands of Kyungsoo’s body.

But night turns into morning and tired eyes droop shut, and when Kyungsoo wakes up again he’s alone and naked on his unmade bed, and Jongin’s nowhere in sight. His phone isn’t on the bedside table, his clothes aren’t in a crumpled mess on the floor.

Kyungsoo sighs and reaches for his own phone, unlocking it and opening his messages.
There are no new messages for him, but he surreptitiously opens his conversation with Jongin anyway. He scrolls through days’ worth of frivolous talk, of teasing and (now that he looks back on it) subtle flirting, of Jongin and Kyungsoo just being Jongin and Kyungsoo. He notices a small change though, and smiles to himself before he switches the phone off and puts it back on the nightstand, lips still curled up at the corners as he drifts off into sleep.

Jongin’s profile photo isn’t of him and Sehun anymore.







Jongin and Kyungsoo fall into a routine. It’s a routine that involves lingering touches only in the privacy of Kyungsoo’s apartment, or of Jongin’s car parked in dark spots. It’s one of smiles that curl a little too knowingly when fingers brush and static transfers from skin to skin. It’s one that includes passionate kisses and searing touches that reek of longing and lust, and falling asleep for a few short hours with limbs entangled in soiled sheets.
It’s one that requires lying and betrayal, furtive text messages and stolen time.

It’s one Kyungsoo finds absolutely thrilling.

‘You’re in a good mood today,’ Chanyeol comments, an undercurrent of something unpleasant travelling in his tone. It’s been weeks since Kyungsoo’s eye bags disappeared, replaced by an ever-present beam.

‘I’m getting enough sleep now,’ Kyungsoo says dismissively. His glasses reflect the glow of words flying downwards as he scrolls through another draft, expert eyes highlighting errors in the details.

Somewhere behind him Chanyeol grimaces, biting down on his tongue to stop himself from voicing the wrong words. Kyungsoo’s gradual (but steady) mood incline hasn’t gone unnoticed, and even Junmyeon confided that he now lives in fear of being blinded by the former’s smile.

Chanyeol agrees.

Kyungsoo’s phone beeps and he immediately picks it up, unlocking it with one hand as he clicks the document on his laptop closed. A smile spreads across his lips just as faint pink dusts his cheeks, and he tries to slump down in his chair in an attempt to hide his bashfulness from Chanyeol’s watchful eyes.

It doesn’t work.

Chanyeol peers over Kyungsoo’s shoulder just in time to read a name at the top of the screen and the first couple of lines under it before the screen goes blank and accusatory eyes pierce him. ‘How can I help you?’ Kyungsoo’s voice drips with disguised venom, so Chanyeol flinches away and straightens up.

‘I um. Junmyeon wants me to go to that new bar near Zitao’s place and um. Um.’ Chanyeol falters, doesn’t seem to be able to get his words out. It probably has something to do with the way Kyungsoo’s eyes are boring holes into his skull, fingers drumming slower than the elder’s rapid heartbeat. ‘Come with us?’

Kyungsoo deliberates for a moment, wondering if he really wants to go to a bar – a new one, at that, one sure to be full of people and loud music and bad “artsy” lighting. He turns the thought over in his head, mentally making a note to check with Jongin if he has plans for that night when he comes over later. ‘I’ll let you know? I have to, um. Check my schedule.’ Kyungsoo mutters. Chanyeol smiles.

‘It’s gonna be great, man. Let me know!’

Hours later, Kyungsoo makes his way home in a hurry, heart thumping loudly in his chest at the thought of seeing Jongin again. The moment he unlocks his front door he’s greeted with warm lips on his and a hand slipping up his shirt to push ticklish touches into his waist, and he pulls away from the kiss with a laugh.

‘Hey, beautiful.’ Jongin whispers, forehead pressed against Kyungsoo’s.

‘Stop it, you’re making me blush,’ Kyungsoo murmurs, hand curling behind Jongin’s neck as he mouths kisses down a tanned neck. This is one of the rare moments between them where there is no desire or lust, only pure basking in each other’s presence, only one body’s exaltation of another.

Jongin pulls Kyungsoo toward the couch, falling backward onto it, the smaller boy landing on top of him in his arms. Jongin’s eyes flutter shut as he wraps arms around Kyungsoo’s body, chest moving up and down as he breathes. It’s at times like this that Kyungsoo feels himself melt back into Jongin, feels everything Jongin simply bleed back into him.

It’s at times like this that Kyungsoo feels like he’s just about to break the surface of the water that threatens to fill his lungs, that he’s floating along just under where the water meets the air, but he’s not quite there yet. Like freedom and salvation are so close he can taste it, but it dances away from him, just out of reach.

‘You haven’t met any of the guys yet,’ Kyungsoo comments, body still draped comfortably over Jongin’s. He doesn’t know if this is toeing the line between what’s okay for him to ask and what’s not, but he takes the plunge anyway.

‘That’s not true. I’ve met Chanyeol.’ Jongin’s voice is a deep rumble that echoes directly into Kyungsoo’s ears, and he feels his heart swell.

‘Oh yeah. But that was for like, five minutes, so it doesn’t count. Besides, you haven’t met Zitao yet. He’s the best,’ Kyungsoo muses, smiling fondly at the memory of Zitao efficiently ridding Kyungsoo’s favourite shirt of a ketchup stain Chanyeol had thrown on it. Deep red faded out to white when Zitao was done with it, and Kyungsoo couldn’t have been happier.

Something in Jongin stirs when he hears Zitao’s name, which is peculiar, because it isn’t as if Kyungsoo’s never mentioned the guy before. Curiosity peaks in the middle of his chest and he remembers that Sehun’s got a family function this weekend. ‘Do you want me to meet them?’ Jongin asks. There’s friction on his chest from where Kyungsoo nods, and Jongin chuckles slightly at the feeling. He doesn’t answer, though, only threads his fingers through Kyungsoo’s hair and tugs his head up to claim his lips in a kiss that ignites all his nerve endings.

Jongin’s fingers dance an intricate ballet over Kyungsoo’s skin, arabesques and pirouettes that steal his breath and sanity. His whispers are words flowing in smooth jazz over the terrains of Kyungsoo’s heart, and he drinks it all in. He doesn’t stop to think that there’s someone else sleeping lonely in a bed made for two, another body that longs for Jongin’s warmth by its side somewhere halfway across the city. He doesn’t think of any of that when Jongin drives his body into his, bringing them both so close to the edge, just on the brink of feeling so irrefutably alive, not even when they reach their peaks and climaxes, not even when they come back down from their high.

Because at the end of the day, Kyungsoo is the one that holds Jongin’s heart, Kyungsoo is the one who gets to hold Jongin, gets to be held by Jongin until they fall asleep.

It’s Kyungsoo and Jongin who are the definition of “meant to be”.

Just before Kyungsoo drifts off into sleep, body sore and satiated, he remembers the tenderness of Jongin’s touches, the gentle caress of their words when they have se - when they make love.

‘Alright, I’ll meet them,’ Jongin says, softly.
‘Thanks, Jongin. You’re the best.’ I think I still love you.
‘I know.’ Maybe I do, too.








The moment Kyungsoo sets foot into the bar, a cozy little place tucked into the side of a busy street, he immediately takes his previous reservations back. The place is tastefully decorated, colour palette soothing his eyes and music just loud enough to be present but unintrusive to conversations between patrons. The lighting is far from “artsy”: it’s just dim enough that the place gives off an illusion of quiet and intimate, but it’s not too dark that Kyungsoo finds himself colliding with bodies everywhere he turns.

The owner is a happy looking man, older than any of them (which isn’t saying much, because Zitao and Kyungsoo are only a year younger than Chanyeol), with a hearty smile on his face and a slight paunch to his stomach. He greets all three of them with a friendly pat on the back and takes particular interest in Chanyeol, seeing as he’s going to be doing the bar’s first review since opening night.


He ushers them off to a discreet seat in the corner of the room, one Kyungsoo’s sure has been reserved just for them. It’s got a good overall view of the place and it’s not too close to the kitchen doors, but not too far from the main bar, either. ‘Place looks good,’ Zitao comments, and that’s a compliment if there ever was one. Chanyeol had stopped asking Zitao to accompany him to the eateries he reviews because nobody wants to sit with the guy in a leopard print poncho complaining loudly about the decor, least of all Chanyeol, in all honesty.

‘I hope you guys don’t mind, but I’ve asked someone to join us,’ Kyungsoo says, feigning a tone of nonchalance as he flips through the menu. Chanyeol and Zitao exchange glances, the younger pressing his lips together. You ask him, say Chanyeol’s eyes, and Zitao’s reply with a stubborn no, you until Chanyeol relents.

‘And who might this someone be?’ Chanyeol asks in a tone he hopes is casual, sliding his own menu towards him before opening it to hide his face. He wonders if Kyungsoo will lie to them, and tries to fight down the hurt him and Zitao are bound to feel at the deceit.

‘Um. You remember Jongin?’ Kyungsoo questions, eyes never leaving his menu. There is a hopeful note in the words he mutters, one that makes Chanyeol and Zitao exchange wide-eyed glances.

‘You mean the café owner? Dude, his food was really, really good,’ Chanyeol says, and a small smile grows on Kyungsoo’s face as he nods. ‘Not a single bad thing about the food we had there when we went. You should come with next time, Zitao.’

They place their orders (along with one for Jongin, who’s running late because he’s busy at the café, Kyungsoo says) and talk of light-hearted things and heavier topics. There is laughter and serious frowns around the table when Jongin walks into the establishment, with his hair a little out of place and his breathing coming out in pants. They’re just in the midst of talking about Wufan’s garish choice of instant coffee that he stocks the pantry with when Jongin appears right behind Kyungsoo, hand instinctively finding the side of his neck.

Kyungsoo blushes bright red, unused to public displays of affection. Chanyeol and Zitao smirk at the sight, amused because this was Kyungsoo they were watching getting all coy – the Kyungsoo who was never easily flustered in the office, the Kyungsoo who never got worried even when Wufan went ballistic closer to the monthly deadlines. ‘Um – Chanyeol, Zitao. This is my – um – friend. Jongin,’ Kyungsoo introduces, and Jongin takes his hand off his neck to shake hands with the two.

Jongin settles down in a seat next to Kyungsoo and seamlessly joins the conversation, graciously thanking Chanyeol for the “excellent review” he’d given the café all those weeks ago. ‘Seriously, my chef was on cloud nine. He clipped the article right out the magazine and framed it. It’s hanging on the wall right on top of his stove now, “motivation”, he says. “My food needs applause to live up to its full potential.” He talks a lot of bullshit, honestly, but his food’s good, so.’

Chanyeol chuckles. ‘I need to meet this guy. What’s his name again?’ the fries he’s chewing on is an unattractive mess in his mouth when he speaks, but clearly, Chanyeol doesn’t care.

‘Baekhyun,’ Jongin says, politely ignoring Chanyeol’s (lack of) table manners. ‘I don’t think he’ll be able to live through meeting you though, the guy worships you. “If I ever meet this man, Jongin, I will simply die.”’ Jongin closes his eyes and poses dramatically, both his hands over his chest.

Chanyeol laughs so uncontrollably he smashes his fist on the table without caution, and Kyungsoo and Zitao instinctively leap backward, away from it. Sure enough, Chanyeol’s coke glass tips over and spills all its contents, splashing out to stain Jongin’s white shirt. A waiter comes over with a dishtowel and a larger rag, and Chanyeol apologises profusely as Jongin grimaces at the stain that runs down his clothes. ‘No, it’s fine, Chanyeol – it’ll wash out.’ Kyungsoo murmurs distractedly. Jongin looks curiously at the smaller man, and Kyungsoo nods. ‘I’m just gonna go wash it out for him in the bathroom. C’mon, Jongin.’

Kyungsoo laces his fingers through Jongin’s – another instinct he’s going to have to try and hide better in the future – and leads him to the bathroom, pulling Jongin’s shirt off before shoving the latter into an unoccupied stall. Kyungsoo turns the tap on and gets to work, Jongin’s voice floating into his ears from the other side of the stall door. ‘Your friends are nice,’ Jongin comments.

‘Mmm,’ Kyungsoo mumbles. Truth be told, Zitao’s been acting a little more than shifty tonight, as if Jongin is a book he’s trying to read, but the words are all written in smudged ink. He tries not to think about it too much, pushes the thought back from the forefront of his mind. Maybe Jongin looks like someone he knows, Kyungsoo reasons.

When the stain’s gone, Kyungsoo runs the shirt under the hand dryer before he goes to knock on Jongin’s door. ‘It’s done,’ Kyungsoo says, and the door swings open to reveal a shirtless Jongin Kyungsoo was previously too distracted to properly take notice of. Jongin smirks when he sees a twinkle of something else in Kyungsoo’s eyes trailing all over bared skin. He’s glad that the toilet’s empty, because he knows Kyungsoo would never agree to what he has in mind if there were actual people in there with them.

Jongin stalks toward Kyungsoo until the latter is pressed up against the wall opposite the main door, hands trapping both his wrists as he bruises Kyungsoo’s lips with his own, in a kiss that has him panting in mere moments. Kyungsoo’s breath melts out of his mouth into Jongin’s, and he forgets for a moment that they’re in a public place, that someone could walk in at any second, that Chanyeol and Zitao were probably waiting for them back at the table.

And then the door swings open and there’s a gasp of ‘oh,’ as the man catches sight of Jongin and Kyungsoo, and Jongin immediately pulls away and dons his shirt. With Jongin out of the way Kyungsoo can see it’s Zitao, and the heat in his face multiplies tenfold at the thought of his friend having seen him like that. With his body sandwiched between Jongin’s and the wall, with his shortened breaths and his mussed up hair. ‘I’ll just – I’ll go wait with Chanyeol,’ Kyungsoo says, scurrying out of the toilet as quickly as he can.

Jongin smirks after Kyungsoo’s disappearing form, going to wash his hands in the sink next to Zitao’s. He’s wary of the silence that Zitao emanates, has been wondering what words sit on the edge of the elder’s tongue throughout the whole meal. He decides to break the silence. ‘Sorry about that. That was indecent,’ Jongin mutters, about to punctuate his sentence with a laugh before –

‘I’m friends with Sehun.’

Jongin’s eyes go wide when the words register in his head, warm water washing over cold fingers. His heart beats insanely fast in his chest and he thinks he’s about to have a heart attack, and then Zitao turns to face him. The look he gives him isn’t one of disdain or of hatred in any way, and Jongin’s taken aback by the pity that’s in Zitao’s eyes. ‘He and I went to university together. We took all the same electives and we even managed to get a room together for our last few semesters. We’re not insanely good friends but – yeah. We talk once in a while. He’s told me about you.’ Zitao reaches over to turn the tap of, but Jongin remains unmoving.

‘You – You know him?’ Jongin croaks out dumbly, speech restricted by the tendrils of guilt that bind him. A million and one scenarios and moments flash past in his mind, and he vaguely remembers a couple of times Sehun’s left the house with a see you later, I’m going to go meet Zitao. Jongin was always too busy trying to finalise staffing for the new café, so he never really paid attention. No wonder the name sounded so familiar.

Zitao nods. ‘Will you – are you going to –’

‘I’m not going to say anything about – about you and Kyungsoo to him. That’s between the three of you and it’s got nothing to do with me, so you don’t have to worry.’ Zitao offers Jongin a paper towel before taking one between his own hands. ‘I just – Sehun’s a really good friend, you know? Used to let me paraphrase all his assignments to turn in because I was always too caught up with wushu practice and fashion stuff to properly keep up. We used to keep each other up all night just to make sure we finished our coursework on time.’ Fondness is evident in Zitao’s tone, and the guilt in Jongin’s heart increases tenfold.

‘He… He means a lot to me.’ Jongin manages, the eloquence of his words during the evening leading up to this completely gone. Zitao smiles a sad smile as he claps his hand on Jongin’s shoulder, eyes in a reassuring stare when Jongin’s meet his.

‘I’m sure he does.’ Zitao says. ‘And I’m sure Kyungsoo means a lot to you too,’ he adds.
Jongin nods slowly, coming face to face with a choice he’d been avoiding for the past few weeks. The familiarity that comes with Kyungsoo’s body and touches and smiles and voice makes Jongin feel like he’s finally coming home, but Sehun still lingers somewhere in the back of his mind, sad eyes watching as Jongin lays kiss after kiss on Kyungsoo’s lips. Guilt pulls tears into his eyes and he looks back into Zitao’s, who grasps his shoulder one more time before letting go.

Zitao turns to leave the toilet, but stops in his tracks just in front of the door. Slowly, he turns to face Jongin, who looks so small and confused now, in stark contrast to the confident and larger than life man who sat with them at dinner a few minutes ago. Curiosity gets the better of Zitao and he can’t fight down the words that are escaping his lips.

‘Hey, Jongin?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Can I ask you something?’

Jongin nods in agreement, throat closing up all over again. Zitao purses his lips as he chooses his words, tone gentle and soft.

‘What’s – what’s wrong with Sehun?’

It’s a question Jongin can’t find an answer to. Nothing’s wrong with Sehun, he wants to say. Sehun doesn’t leave messes in their bathroom after he shaves, Sehun always washes his dishes when he’s done with them. Sehun stays up at night to wait for Jongin even after Jongin’s been with Kyungsoo, and Sehun ignores the reds and purples Kyungsoo’s painted on Jongin’s skin as if they weren’t even there. There is nothing legitimately wrong with Sehun whatsoever, but still –

‘He’s… He’s not Kyungsoo.’

iii.