Kyungsoo’s dreams filled with concrete walls, slamming on doors begging for them to open. Screams tore from his throat and he clawed steel away. No, he wouldn’t be locked away, he wouldn’t disappear, he couldn’t. Nothing would get in his way, not even—
The metal tore away like clay and with it half of a face, bloody, bruised, lips murmuring hit me again if you want. Kyungsoo staggered backwards, blood staining his hands and he didn’t have to ask to whom it belonged. A crimson tide poured from the hole in Jongin’s face, sweeping Kyungsoo from his feet. He sank no matter how he flailed his arms, deeper and deeper until the darkness around him solidified.
Metal scuffed against something soft and Kyungsoo looked down to see a manacles curled about his ankles a dark chain threaded between them. He expected someone to yank on it, to whip his feet from beneath him. In his gut, crystals bloomed, a field of rubies that pressed out of him at jagged angles. He couldn’t get out. There were no corners, no treads, no breath of air to follow to freedom.
Down his arm the glass spread, transforming his skin into ridges of flesh and blood, making him look inhuman.
Like a devil.
When fingers curled around his shoulder, he swung his arm on instinct and caught his assailant on the edge of the embedded glass. Jongin stood there, face shredded and torn, lips forming strange words he couldn’t comprehend. I’m yours. Hit me again if you want. Is this what you want? I’m not taking anything away from you. Kyungsoo stepped away, head spinning. He saw the party, glimpses of Jongin and himself pressed against the wall of the living room, lips tangled. Then they lay on the beer pong table, his mirror image humming in delight as Jongin rutted against him, ecstasy rolling off in waves that Kyungsoo recoiled from.
Once more, he stepped back and into a strong chest. He turned in time to see the glass protruding from him sliding from Jongin’s torso, leaving gaping holes behind. Fuck. Fuck.
He stumbled and found another version of himself, this time draped all in black as he choked Jongin behind bushes too high to see over. Rather than releasing the pressure when Kyungsoo remembered, the shadow bore down further.
“No!” Kyungsoo shouted, feet unsteady beneath him. “Don’t kill him you piece of shit!”
The chain around his ankles pulled taut and Kyungsoo found himself face down in an instant. He lifted his face, tried to crawl, but the chain pulled him back, further and further from the scene as his image laughed. Jongin’s eyes opened for an instant, unseeing and distant and Kyungsoo screamed. The laughing rang around him, vibrating through his skin.
No hard feelings. A long shadow blanketed Kyungsoo, snaring his wrist. Glass spread under its touch. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“You’re too weak to handle me.” Jongin rose, dressed in collar of black. “I’m sure there’s someone that can.”
Kyungsoo’s heart swelled painfully in his chest at the truth before him. At his ankles, the pull returned, metal links breaking his skin as something dragged him. Into the ground, he dug his hands and in return Jongin shrieked, curling to the ground as his back erupted with canyons of crimson. In an instant, Kyungsoo released but the damage had already been done, drowning him. Stop fighting, fuck. Every time Jongin would get hurt, more than bruises, more than a split lip.
“Be a good boy and run along to your boss.” A shadow stood over Jongin’s form, bearing down on him with a shard of glass.
He dipped under, his limbs limp and useless at his sides when he slammed down against concrete. An all too familiar tutting filled his ears and his stomach boiled. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t run, he couldn’t speak.
“You’re pathetic, Kyungsoo,” his father said, shoes clicking on the floor.
Under his eyelids, blips of light broke through, too bright and the footsteps drew closer.
“Did you miss me?” Do Hyunshin’s knees crackled as he leaned down, but Kyungsoo didn’t want to see the inevitable disappointment.
A moment too late, Kyungsoo remembered the words in chemistry class, Jongin sat beside him and whispered the same thing to him. What the fuck was—
“He’s stronger than you. You’re too scared of me to keep me in control.” One after the other, filtered words hit his ears with his father’s voice.
Hands curled into his hair. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t see.
“Do you feel in control, Kyungsoo?” The fingers in his hair tightened and pulled him up. Too bright. Too bright he couldn’t see.
A haze of purple and red, Jongin’s grinning face, whispers of “None of them are yours.”
Go home like the cowardly piece of shit you are. His image stood above him, not Do Hyunshin’s, not Jongin’s, his own. A fist struck him first, bone against bone, glass against glass, tearing through the last shreds of Kyungsoo’s human form, exposing him for all to see as the demon he was, the piece of worthless garbage.
Is it really worth your life? His shadow struck him again, slammed him down against lineoleum. Or your old life coming back? Where the fuck did they pick you up? The gutter?
Bone cracked and shattered and light seared his eyes again.
I told you not to fuck with me.
Kyungsoo scrambled, and glass spread from him, shooting in every direction.
“There is no money,” Jongin said before a ruby erupted from his chest, stealing his breath away. “No one sent me here. Please, Kyungsoo. I hate you.”
Blood. So much blood. Head spinning. Jongin under his hands taking punch after punch. Glass sliding through his hand. Stumbling across the floor. Waking up in the mountains. Jongin’s lips pressing against his, filling him with something so unattainable it burned him.
Light spilled into Kyungsoo’s vision as his eyes opened. Instead of the dark and the blood, he lay somewhere soft, warm and circled in a sturdy embrace. Slow, steady breathing ruffled his hair. Nowhere to be found were any shadows. No glass stuck up from his flesh. Instead, gauze and medical tape covered his hands.
He blinked, taking in the sight of a metal horseshoe threaded through dark skin.
Wait. He knew that piercing.
His breath caught in his throat before he could stop himself. Quiet. He had to be quiet. If he could get away before Jongin woke, he could spare the other so much pain. Kyungsoo had never wanted such a thing before, but in this moment… he didn’t know what to think of himself.
Weak, probably. Too weak.
[jong]
He did dream again, this time.
Jongin was in New York, pressed against the wall with Shannon’s eager lips attached to his throat and behind him, Alex held the video recorder.
“C’mon, Kai, it’ll be fun. You can watch it later while I suck you off.”
He tried to say no this time, that he really didn’t want that video taken, that it wasn’t a good idea--but his English was still pretty poor, and besides, his lips had been sewn shut, great ugly twine “X”s sealing his mouth so he couldn’t refuse, even if he tried.
Closing his eyes against humiliation and tears, he turned his head to the side and canted his hips; a wordless invitation because he loved Shannon desperately and wanted to keep him close. Shannon hummed gleefully against his earlobe as he popped the button on Jongin’s--no. on Kai’s jeans.
And when he pried open his eyes again, he was in an alleyway in Seoul, his sister’s mangled limbs a tangled mess of bone-speckled blood. She wasn’t breathing and he was screaming, screaming for help, screaming for someone to help her, someone please call for help--
The whole world tilted and when he looked down to see what had happened, it wasn’t his sister but Shannon that lay in his arms--his face half blown off, a chunk of his cheek flapping uselessly against Jongin’s shirt as he sobbed, screamed Shannon’s name as loud as he could, too horrified to move but too frightened to look away in case the bullet-riddled corpse stood up. He tried to run, but he slipped on the blood-slick pavement and fell backwards.
The dirt ground into his ripped-open back, stinging painfully, his eyes full of tears as hands closed tightly around his throat, hands he wanted to kiss, wanted to hold-the feeling was foreign to Jongin, but his hips slipped upwards and met with friction. He couldn’t breathe, he was pinned down, but he was close, so close, so close--
“Fuck, I hate you, SHIT--”
His eyes flicked wide open. It was too hot--too much heat, why the fuck--
In the process of trying to move his arms, he realized that someone was lying pressed face-first into his chest.
Long lashes, thick, dark hair, full lips, bruises.
“Kyungsoo.”
His voice was rough with sleep, his eyes aching. Everything was aching, actually, he realized with a groan as he kicked off the stifling comforter. He felt sore deep into his bones, like someone had found a way to inject pain directly into his muscles--and especially his face.
He remembered bits and pieces as he glanced down at the boy in his arms. He remembered a week of silence, of being ignored; then class, where he snuck out, and the bathroom... Jongin couldn’t remember much, could only remember in small flashes of violent pain as Kyungsoo’s fist connected with his face, the glass grinding into his palm--Kyungsoo falling into his apartment with him, hitting the floor like he’d been shot, like Shannon had when he’d--
The breath he drew was too shaky, too loud. He trapped the next one before it escaped his lips, swallowed it down to keep with all the secrets he’d stolen in his life. He was miserably overheated but pressed the fingers of one hand against Kyungsoo’s scalp and ran the other down the length of his spine to rest on his hip to pull him closer, anyway.
He rested his swollen cheek atop Kyungsoo’s hair, breathing in the smell of his day-old shampoo. There was too much to think about--too much to do, too much he had to tell Kyungsoo. His cheeks warmed as he remembered plush lips against his own, and his toes wiggled with delight and...fear.
Fear. He was afraid. He was frightened that the next time he opened his eyes, Kyungsoo would be gone, would disappear again.
Breathing a sigh against Kyungsoo’s damp hair, he pressed a trembling kiss to his forehead before running his hand up Kyungsoo’s side and reaching past him to pull the blankets back over his steadily-breathing figure.
The least he could do was keep Kyungsoo warm while he had him. Jongin kissed his forehead a second time as he tucked the crimson sheets around around Kyungsoo, unable and unwilling to think of why he couldn’t (wouldn’t) pry himself away from the man tucked in his arms.
[soo]
As Kyungsoo blinked more of the sleep from his eyes as Jongin jostled him, first the arms tucked securely around him, then the long legs that kicked at the sheets. Rough breathing overhead sliced through Kyungsoo’s gut, burning him with guilt. Those were his fault. He nearly killed Jongin and yet here Kyungsoo was in his bed, curled against him and protected while Jongin shook like a leaf. Soothing hands ran down his back and sides, followed by kisses to his forehead as if he were something precious.
His heart lurched in his chest, though he worked to control it; Jongin was too close, he would be torn apart if the glass returned. Kyungsoo raised his head, gathering his strength, and his shoulders lifted from the bed for only a moment before crashing back down. His chest quaked with the effort required to breathe. Fuck. He couldn’t move, couldn’t touch Jongin for fear of hurting him though Kyungsoo could feel the dried blood on the knee of his jeans.
Kyungsoo already hurt him, again and again, like the devil he was.
“Jongin,” he gasped out, rolling onto his back without pushing the other away.
Don’t hurt him again. Don’t let yourself be distracted either. You can’t have this. You don’t deserve this. Worthless. Don’t lie Kyungsoo.
You should run.
No, it was Jongin who should run, far far away from Do Kyungsoo, from the Do curse, from the Do demon.
“… should run.” Kyungsoo’s voice lingered somewhere on the edge of airy, though stronger than the day before. “Jongin.”
[jong]
Jongin’s eyelids began to lift slowly, then snapped open when he realized that Kyungsoo was moving.
He’d rolled himself onto his back, his arm still trapped between Jongin’s belly and his own side. Jongin blinked in confusion, his aching brain struggling to catch up, to try and sort what had happened to rouse him.
“...should run,” he heard Kyungsoo slur, his eyes half-closed like he was lost, “Jongin.”
Unsure of how he’d come out of that bathroom the stronger one, Jongin’s eyebrows met in hesitation. Run where, from what? As far as Jongin was concerned, he had nowhere left to run. He’d hit Kyungsoo like a brick wall and had been sinking steadily ever since. Now that he’d made it to his own bed with Kyungsoo at his side, he wasn’t sure there was anywhere left to go.
Part of him knew that, he imagined, when he spat out his address in the bathroom--knew that bringing Kyungsoo here was bringing him into his life in a more permanent way. Maybe he was hoping Kyungsoo would see that there was nothing to be so scared of. Jongin hadn’t counted on the tenderness in Kyungsoo’s fingertips, the gentle press of his lips to Jongin’s; but those were precious treasures Jongin cherished, not actions he expected. He wasn’t the sort for romance, or to be tied down. Jongin also wasn’t the sort to be swayed or left speechless, and especially not to regret something he’d done. (Regret required a heart, and Jongin wasn’t quite sure he still had one of those.)
The entire world had shifted under his feet when Kyungsoo kissed him; everything he’d done and said until that moment reluctantly became a “what if” in Jongin’s head. What if he hadn’t spat his words like a snake spitting venom? What if he hadn’t tried to kiss him again on that table? What if he had fought back in the bathroom, had struggled against Kyungsoo’s violence?
What if?
Jongin, Jongin.
You’re mine, Jongin.
The memory of Kyungsoo’s voice in his ear, the possessive ring of it hitting the insides of his skull and sinking into his very bones as he came harder than the time he was wrestled down into the ground and violently choked...
Jongin’s lip, tender from the deep cut down the left side, still managed to curl up into a smile.
“I’m not going anywhere. And I don’t run. It’s undignified.” He murmured, his stiff hands brushing hair away from Kyungsoo’s cheeks and forehead as he slithered down the blankets to rest his swollen face against Kyungsoo’s shoulder.
Between them, his fingers twitched, eager to hold Kyungsoo’s hand, but he pressed his lips further together. Not yet. Not while Kyungsoo was lucid. Not until he understood a little more about the situation they’d gotten themselves into.
[soo]
I’m not going anywhere. I don’t run. It’s undignified.
Kyungsoo stared up at Jongin, brow slowly rising, though tempered by another spark in his chest. What a fucking idiot. Didn’t know what he was getting into, hadn’t learned from every previous experience with Kyungsoo. Yet the brief anger from his place atop his logical horse ebbed, turning into something that weighed him down. Jongin settled on his shoulder and the anchor pulled him deeper.
At his side, Jongin’s long fingers twitched and shook.
A clinical interest, Kyungsoo told himself, running his bandaged fingers up the other’s wrist and higher. His wounds protested the way he stretched them to align his hand with Jongin’s. White bandages stopped an inch or so short of the longer digits. Ah, another facet in which Kyungsoo failed to measure up to Jongin.
Before he could be tempted to slot their fingers together, Kyungsoo pulled his hand away and let it rest on his side where it ached and throbbed with every beat of his heart. Stupid Kyungsoo, so fucking stupid. He blinked up at the ceiling to clear his burning vision.
If Jongin knew anything about him, he’d run, no matter how undignified it might be.
“Shut up,” Kyungsoo muttered with a sigh.
[jong]
“Well, you’re feeling better.” Jongin mused, his eyebrow lifted in amusement.
“Also, never.” he added, the reply casual and muffled against Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “I’ll be six feet under before I shut my trap. You should know that by now.”
Jongin played off his disappointment in the lack of hand-holding by stretching his arms carefully over his head, gently releasing Kyungsoo from his arms and gauging the reaction from the corner of his eye. Rolling onto his back, he bent his stiff knees, curved his spine so it would crack the way it did every morning. With the satisfying pop of his vertebrae, Jongin went boneless, head against the pillows and breathing a weighty sigh.
Every time he thought he’d wiggled close enough to Kyungsoo to learn something, he was shut out; door slammed in his face, sign swapped from “Open” to “Fuck off”. It was frustrating, this cat-and-mouse game they had been playing since they’d met. If someone had told Jongin three weeks ago that he would be spooning Kyungsoo in his own bed on a Tuesday morning, he would have called them crazy.
And yet, here he was--and there was Kyungsoo, he thought as he turned his head to look at him through swollen eyelids.
An impossible space stretched between them, one that Jongin had desperately tried to close for weeks. Lying side by side sprawled out on his bed, he still felt that he’d gotten no closer.
But there was hope, he thought, and his stomach exploded into stardust as he thought of the naked, genuine expression he’d glimpsed on Kyungsoo’s face a few hours earlier. Thinking about the smooth contact of their lips drove a hot pulse through his body. Rolling closer to Kyungsoo, careful not to crush his hands or knock himself in any way, Jongin invited himself to his personal space, swollen lips nearly brushing the corner of Kyungsoo’s mouth.
“And by the way, good morning. Do you prefer coffee or tea, Mr. Do Kyungsoo?”
Then he was up, heaving himself out of bed and dancing out of reach to stand at the top of the stairs with a twinkle in his bruised eyes. Jongin had enough practice being beaten on to know that he could look good in anything, even the bruises from yesterday’s violent altercation; because he knew it, he swiped his thumb across his bottom lip with a coy smile.
“I’ll bring you whatever you want.”
[soo]
He couldn’t help but watch Jongin as he stretched. Long limbs curving into delicious positions and Kyungsoo’s mouth dried. This fucker… this fucker Kim Jongin—
Kyungsoo told himself it was fine that Jongin danced away from the bed, that the bruised and swollen lips that graced the corner of his own now quirked in a familiar, infuriating smile. He reached up to cover his face with his hands, digging his fingers into his damp hair. Fucking fuck. It was too early in the morning and he hurt too much to deal with Jongin’s games. Yet the spark in his chest told him it wasn’t all a game. Last night hadn’t been a game and the nightmares that soaked into Kyungsoo’s consciousness certainly weren’t either.
“My laptop and glasses,” he groaned out as he rolled onto his right elbow and struggled to get upright.
God-fucking-dammit.
He didn’t know how much time had passed since the bathroom, since the last time he was awake and the clock on the wall didn’t give much context outside an hour of the day. 8:58. Late for something, probably. Chemistry if it was Tuesday, genetics if it was Friday. Either option also meant missed evening classes and baseball practices.
Fuck.
Okay, not everything had to be fucked up. He just needed a laptop, his backup hospital papers, his glasses, and a cup of some strong tea.
“And tea,” he piped up from where he laid on the bed, one arm trapped beneath him and the other sprawled out at an awkward angle.
He couldn’t sit up, couldn’t gather enough energy to do more than roll over, but fuck if he didn’t get emails out this morning, his medical forms would not be convincing in the slightest.
[jong]
Of course, he drinks tea. AND wine. Fuck.
Jongin bowed a little in response to Kyungsoo’s commands, moving as quickly as his battered limbs would carry him. While he waited for the kettle on the stove and the coffeemaker on the counter, he limped into the bathroom. Flicking on the light, he groaned at his own reflection.
It still wasn’t as bad as it felt. The left side of his face was more heavily bruised, from his jaw and his split lip all the way up to his swollen eyelid; the right side was mostly just tender, his cheekbone having taken the brunt of the beating. Peeling the gauze away from his hands, he growled as the tape caught the fine hairs on his arm, frowning as he carefully washed away the dried blood and trying not to reopen old wounds.
The kettle was just boiling when he emerged, drying his hands carefully on a clean towel that he hung on the over door to dry.
His hands hesitated as he pulled a mug from the cabinet.
He hadn’t made tea in ages, had it in his house more for Krystal or Seokjin or Sehun’s enjoyment than his own.
With a huff, he piled the tea, sugar, a small cup of milk, and honey onto a cookie sheet--he didn’t have a tray, and he was a bit disappointed in himself when he realized it--poured himself a large cup of coffee with extra cream, and slung Kyungsoo’s backpack carefully over his shoulder before navigating his way very carefully to the staircase.
Setting the tray cautiously on the ottoman in front of his reading chair, he felt his cheeks heat.
“I don’t know where your glasses are, I didn’t wanna pick through your stuff.” He said as he slid Kyungsoo’s backpack from his shoulder and placed it next to him on the bed.
“I also don’t know how you take your tea, so...” He gestured to the tray, hastily removing the drugs and water bottles from his nightstand so he could set it down closer to Kyungsoo, who was still flopped on the bed like he wasn’t sure which way his arms were supposed to bend.
With a meaningful glance at Kyungsoo, Jongin rolled his eyes and climbed on all fours over to straddle Kyungsoo’s thighs. Without another word, Jongin pulled him up against his chest, this time more efficiently because his hands weren’t filled with glass. He tried to ignore the hum of the increased pulse in his veins, loud and hurried like a hummingbird as he cradled Kyungsoo’s head against the crook of his neck and rearranged the pillows. His stomach was definitely not fluttering, his breath definitely not coming a little too quickly as he gently leaned Kyungsoo back.
And he certainly didn’t let his lips linger just a little too close to Kyungsoo’s as he settled; Jongin wasn’t letting his eyes hungrily study the beautiful bow of Kyungsoo’s upper lip that made his whole mouth heart shaped, surely wasn’t wondering if his tongue tasted just as sweet.
Under no circumstances were those things running through his mind even as his tongue ran across his own lips.
[soo]
Of course, Jongin was just as noisy coming up the stairs as he was in everything else but Kyungsoo didn’t expect the words he heard. Didn’t look through his things? What? How? He blinked up at Jongin, following the other’s silhouette as it crowded closer. Warmth surrounded him, his head cradled against Jongin in a way that bordered on tender. Kyungsoo’s breath caught in his chest and his lips brushed against exposed skin.
He was eased back against pillows and Jongin’s lips lingered above his, too far while at the same time too close. A kiss would burn both of them, Kyungsoo reminded himself even as he pushed closer. As a result, his lips barely touched Jongin’s bottom one before Kyungsoo leaned back to distract himself with his backpack. With a grunt, he pulled it up onto the bed and fished through the front pocket for a set of thick-framed glasses, gently squared at the corners.
Don’t kiss him, he repeated in his head. Jongin was too close, too hot, too fucking gorgeous for Kyungsoo to stand.
The laptop came next, stainless steel slick in his hands as he opened the lid to sit between himself and Jongin as a clear barrier. He tugged his glasses on in the next moment, trying to look busy though his computer was only starting up. His heart pounded in his chest and his vision darkened for a moment before clearing.
At least that part was better, today, even if he couldn’t determine why he wanted Jongin to stay right there on his thighs.
[jong]
Unfair, Jongin thought with a tight clench in his stomach as Kyungsoo’s petal-smooth lips disappeared as quickly as they’d come. That was completely unfair. All these half-kisses, half-whispers, half-meanings. He struggled not to let his desire for Kyungsoo’s mouth--or, more accurately, ANY part of Kyungsoo--get in the way of what he hoped was progress.
Jongin felt the door close gently in his face this time instead of slamming shut; instead of flinching away he allowed himself to peek through the darkened glass.
He peered over the edge of Kyungsoo’s laptop, directly invading his personal space again. He swallowed very, very deliberately at the sharp look directed at him from above the lenses of Kyungsoo’s glasses. His stomach swooped and his palms pricked with sweat.
As if he needed to add more things to the list of things that made Kyungsoo absolutely irresistible.
“What’re you doing?” he managed to croak.
Lifting his head to look into Kyungsoo’s eyes, he wrestled once more the incurable urge to kiss him into the pillows, pull his strings and watch him unravel until he was pinning Jongin down with that sharp sneer on his face. Being so close to Kyungsoo was too hard, the width of his eyes and thickness of his lashes too tempting for Jongin to bear; he slid from Kyungsoo’s thighs, walking stiffly to his cup of coffee and handling it gingerly between his injured palms. He took a small sip, pleased that it wasn’t stale or cold yet, and set it back down to feel around for his leather medical bag with the intention of re-bandaging his own wounds and possibly Kyungsoo’s as well.
When it was in his grasp, he flopped back down on the bed, wiggling between Kyungsoo’s legs until he was nestled with his head just above Kyungsoo’s knee, already soaking the cotton balls to wipe across his palms, heedless of the way the peroxide ate away the skin of his fingertips.
“Don’t forget your tea.” He mumbled after a moment’s silence as he tossed the cotton balls into the trash and fished around for more gauze.
[soo]
In his periphery, Kyungsoo could see Jongin and ignored the figure moving around on the bed. He flicked his gaze over the edge of the laptop once Jongin settled again. Christ, this fucker had to be half dog for all his squirming. Kyungsoo sighed and pushed away the warmth separated from his skin by a thin layer of denim.
“I’m working,” he grunted, refocusing his gaze on the screen as he clicked through files.
Cat Pictures —> Favorites —> Hang In There Cat —> gwangjuhos.pdf
He followed the familiar path to his target and pulled open the record sheet. Filling in the information was difficult with stiff fingers: hit by a car at 10:00 AM on the crosswalk. Hit and run. Unknown make and model, investigation ongoing. Heavy blood loss - shattered windshield, old vehicle. Observed overnight, recommended another 72 hour observation to replenish iron levels. Signed by Dr. Jung. Saved.
Doctor’s note.
To whom it may concern, Do Kyungsoo will return to classes on 13 July 2015. Respectfully, Dr. Jung.
Ignoring the mention of tea, he glanced down at Jongin again. It was Kyungsoo’s fault he missed classes. The man who curled around him last night, he treated him like something precious, who tasted like summer and somehow remained despite the violence he’d received courtesy of Do Kyungsoo.
His stomach boiled. Fucking Do Kyungsoo. Fucking failure Do Kyungsoo, ruin of Do Hyunshin, of hundreds of lives. But Kyungsoo didn’t want to ruin this one.
He rolled his eyes to clear them and lifted his knee to nudge Jongin.
“Do you want to get get hit by a car or mugged?” He asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world while he pulled up a new form.
Kim Jongin. 010 5555 5555. That’s all he had, despite weeks of his ‘work,’ if he could call it that. For all Kyungsoo’s grinding and crying and barbing, he had so little to show for it.
[jong]
What?
Jongin whined when Kyungsoo’s knee displaced his head. He meant to ask what for, or why, or are you going to run me over? His mouth opened before he thought to stop himself.
“What?” He asked dumbly.
His eyebrow shot up to his hairline and he scrambled to his knees, ignoring their shrieks of protest. Jongin invited himself into Kyungsoo’s lap again, straddling his thighs, peeking over the top of his computer with his knuckles braced against the wall on either side of Kyungsoo’s head.
He couldn’t make sense of what was on the screen while it was upside-down. He lifted his face to look into Kyungsoo’s eyes.
“Why? I mean, you can have the drugs in the cabinet, if you want, but I don’t have much else.”
Pausing, his lip sucked between his teeth again, he flicked his eyes away and then let them dart back up to Kyungsoo’s.
“I mean, if running me over is gonna help you, or mugging me, for that matter, I guess I’ll do it. But you’ll owe me.”
[soo]
Kyungsoo raised an eyebrow, then the other. Jongin crawled into his lap and curled right in the way of the screen, pink hair flopping everywhere. This fucking idiot and his stupid fucking—
Luckily, Jongin raised his head in time to soothe the sharpest edge of Kyungsoo’s temper, wide eyes bright with a vulnerability he hated to see. The urge rose again in his chest: to strike deep, fast, cut into Jongin so far he would never be able to recover. It would be easy and Kyungsoo liked easy. Filling out medical forms was not easy, hell, sitting up seemed too difficult for his body.
“You’re a fucking idiot.” Kyungsoo stared for a moment longer than he wanted, gaze caught on the bruises.
He did that.
He was the one who owed Jongin.
“To cover you for class,” he grumbled, not looking up at Jongin, unable to rid himself of his sour stomach. “Now, car or hobo.”
[jong]
Jongin took the space of three blinks before he couldn’t keep his face straight anymore.
His lips split into a sunny smile, he laughed, leaning back to cup Kyungsoo’s face gently in his palms.
“God, you’re cute. I love these glasses. You look so...serious.”
Before he could change his mind, he pressed his mouth over Kyungsoo’s lips, the thrill of stealing such intimate contact sending heat to unfurl from his heart all the way to his fingertips. He was still smiling when he leapt away and cradled his coffee mug once more.
“Are you doing one, too? Which did you pick? It would be weird if we were both hit by a car on the same day.”
Jongin paused, took another sip of his coffee, frowned when he glanced back at Kyungsoo.
“And besides, unless you know of any car that exclusively punches people in the face, these marks are gonna be kinda hard to explain.”
His lips twitched into a smile again. He adjusted his posture, more confident now; less skittish. One of his fists rested against his bare hip, the other clutching his coffee cup; he straightened his spine and opened his shoulders drawing himself up so that Kyungsoo could see that he was alright. Could see that he was pliant, obedient, made of things stronger than Kyungsoo had initially thought--but not a threat. Not ever to Kyungsoo.
“You’ve got a nice right hook, Kyungsoo. I’d love to see what else you can do, sometime.” He said quietly, so softly that it was a silk-smooth promise that left a trail of bright blue flame he could practically see crawling cross his room and into Kyungsoo’s ear.
He calmly took another sip of his coffee, keeping the lip of his mug pressed to his mouth as he stared unwaveringly at Kyungsoo, eyes alight with mischievous promises.
[soo]
Cute? Cute? That was it. Kim fucking Jongin was really going to get hi—
Full lips pressed over his own, warming Kyungsoo to his core and gently pushing the anger to the side. Before he could stop himself, he was leaning into it so when Jongin danced away, his head bobbed forward. He tried to pass it off as a cough as he covered his mouth with his left arm and looked away, not wanting to see the sneer he expected.
Dammit. Fucking… Jongin raised himself, shoulders squared and Kyungsoo followed the movement with his eyes. They trailed over that bare hip, curled over muscles that had to be drawn on, and up to the main attraction. Mottled skin curved about Jongin’s face and Kyungsoo wondered who this whole show was for in the first place.
That promise, that silk dragged across Kyungsoo’s senses and dusted goosebumps all over. Jongin saw promise in him, in a way no one else had, not even professors, not even his father, not even his father’s employees. He wanted to curl in on himself, to leave Jongin on his own to make an excuse, let him take all the blame in the world.
If running me over is gonna help you, I guess I’ll do it.
Hit me again if you want.
You should run.
I was worried. Then I was tired.
Look at our collection.
…
Attacked by unknown male, white, 75 kg, investigation ongoing. Superficial injuries to face. Confusion. Disorientation. Delusions. Kept for observation. Recommended a 72 hour psychiatric hold.
“Date of birth,” Kyungsoo said as he diverted his attention to the screen in front of him. “Blood type. Home address. Previous surgeries.”
[jong]
Jongin’s lips parted in a pretty smile as Kyungsoo rattled off the empty spaces in what he could only assume was a blank medical file.
He answered easily, for once--without a struggle.
“14th of January, 1994. Type A.” He paused, chewed his lip. His smile dimmed “I don’t have a home address, anymore. So just use this room. Or 1022 Hiragana street suite 4, in Gangnam. That’s...” He readjusted, a frown on his face. “That’s Minju’s place. She’d know what to do. I had my left ACL repaired after it tore in a dance accident when I was 14, tonsils out when I was ten, wisdom teeth when I was seventeen.”
He folded his legs beneath him as he settled back on the bed, this time with his coffee in hand.
“What else do you need?”
He cocked his head to the side, his face open and readable. He wasn’t blind, he’d seen the look Kyungsoo had given him earlier; the one that made his knees feel weak. Kyungsoo was looking at him from over the tops of those black framed glasses and Jongin was positive that if he didn’t have a “thing” about glasses, he did now.
[soo]
Kim Jongin. Dancer. Caprius 119. Type A. Born a year after him. Didn’t have a place he called home anymore. New York wasn’t home. Minju was home.
Minju was home. His heart clenched, wondering if Jongin would offer to be run over or mugged for her as well. Kyungsoo wouldn’t stand a chance against a woman, he was a failure— our collection didn’t mean anything.
Weight, height, Kyungsoo could fill that in on his own. Signed by Dr. Jung.
To whom it may concern, Kim Jongin will return to classes |
The cursor blinked. Jongin had an entire life separate from him and it was stupid to think he would spend it here in Caprius 119. Hell, Kyungsoo expected to be kicked out hours ago, if not now. If he weren’t so weak, if he weren’t so pathetic, he would have left of his own volition long ago.
Right?
His weak limbs kept him in bed, not the fire in his chest fighting against the pouring rain.
Kyungsoo focused his gaze on the screen, on the cursor that blinked up at him, demanding he acknowledge Kim Jongin, dancer, 1994, belonged to Minju in Gangnam.
To whom it may concern, Kim Jongin will return to classes 9 July 2015. Respectfully, Dr. Jung.
Emails sent off, laptop closed, tea ignored, glasses removed. Done.
“You’re going back to class on the 9th,” he muttered as he shifted to try and lay down.
[jong]
Jongin had been studying the blank slate of Kyungsoo’s emotionless face for several moments when his bandaged fingers suddenly faltered over the keyboard, the mechanics of his carefully constructed expression cracking just long enough for Jongin to see his troubled eyes blink too many times in a row to be normal.
Kyungsoo was fighting something in his head.
Jongin had seen that before, had seen it when he turned around to sneer at him in the classroom. It had been followed by tears as he called out, “See you later, Jongin-ah!”
Protect. Preserve. Prevent. Do something. Scrambling to put his mug down quickly, opting to set it on the ignored tea tray he removed from the nightstand to slide away from the bed, Jongin spun around just as Kyungsoo turned away. He was presented with Kyungsoo’s back as he muttered that Jongin had two days before he was to return to his classes.
Two days. His heart sped up.
Two days he hoped to share with the person behind the door that had once more closed in his face.
He let a desperate breath escape his lungs as he climbed back onto the bed, his eyes wide and his heart thrumming. He tried to speak with his fingertips because his mouth wouldn’t budge.
Don’t close me out.
Jongin’s hands smoothed upwards from the base of Kyungsoo’s spine, splitting at the start of his neck to trace over his bicep, his forearm.
Stay with me.
Fingers curled gently around Kyungsoo’s hand, fingers locking together, the laptop sliding easily across the mattress and placed gently on the floor, out of the way.
Don’t leave me.
The blankets readjusted as Jongin slid between, tightly pressed against Kyungsoo’s back, linked arms draped over his hip.
Everything felt hot and slow, like each passing second stalled the clock; two days, Jongin repeated in his head. July ninth. The pressure coiled in his stomach, striking upwards into his heart and downwards between his legs; he could taste Kyungsoo’s lips again, feel the press of his fingers into Jongin’s flesh. Jongin wanted, he needed, though he couldn’t understand what this was--not even as his breath hit the back of Kyungsoo’s neck and was followed by his lips. A kiss.
I’ll protect you.
Jongin breathed in deep, buried his nose in Kyungsoo’s hair, exhaled a sigh. Everything was languid, anything outside of this room, outside of this bed where he lay parallel to Kyungsoo’s body, forgotten--unimportant. Insignificant.
I’m yours.
Lips pressed against Kyungsoo’s earlobe, unmistakably bold.
“Kyungsoo,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering closed in case the door slammed too hard in his face. “Please kiss me.”
[soo]
Kyungsoo thought he felt the chain around his ankles again, too heavy to move, too weak. Blood loss, the logical part of him murmured in the dark; these feelings, this raw disappointment in himself, in the reality of the present situation, was due to losing too much blood. As soon as he was back on his feet— as soon as he completed every roadblock he could throw between himself and Kim Jongin— he would feel like himself again, he would be in control again. Of himself, of every person who orbited around him, who dared venture too close to the black hole that was Do Kyungsoo.
This was stupid, this was all so stupid. Jongin would go back to his life, Kyungsoo to his, nothing changed from a simple fight in the bathroom. That was all it was and it never should have happened in the first place.
Kyungsoo never acted directly until he met Kim Jongin, who lit him with a fire that he now tried to smother. He’d rather get used to the chill sooner rather than later; Jongin would find out who he really was, just how little there was behind all the facades and plastered smiles. Nothing but a greedy child lingered behind the door, clutching a black pearl but surrounded in stolen gems, stolen lives. If he let Jongin in, he would take the sun and bottle it up, bury it in the sand and proclaim it as his like he had with hundreds of lab notebooks.
Pinpricks of light pressed to the door, fingers to his back, smoothing down his arm to his hand. Kyungsoo flinched, curled tighter around his black pearl, around the shards of glass slicing through his chest making his shoulders bob.
You should run.
Jongin should run back to Minju, back to his home, back to New York, back to Shannon, it didn’t matter as long as it was away from Do Kyungsoo, devil spawned in the deepest pits of hell to bring ruin upon the earth, to kill everything beautiful.
And yet Kyungsoo wanted him to stay, to keep Jongin to himself for hours, days, months to come. He wanted to be selfish, to push Jongin down into the dirt so no one else could see his treasure.
Fuck.
Lips pressed against the nape of his neck, a fluttering breath followed and Kyungsoo curled tighter.
Hit me again if you want.
Kim Jongin, dancer, gentle light that wandered too close. 1994. Type A. Gangnam. Minju.
Look at our collection.
A string of rubies he wanted to carve into Jongin’s neck, to make sure this time he didn’t come back, that he learned his fucking lesson. He was so stupid, so fucking stupid Jongin, stupid Jongin didn’t listen.
Kyungsoo, please kiss me.
Kyungsoo’s eyes flew open, though he didn’t know when he closed them, when they blurred or when his jaw began to hurt from clenching it so tight. He wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be untouchable, logical, calculating, but in this moment he was none of those things.
Clean up this mess immediately. His father’s voice this time.
That’s mine. His quiet murmur in the office.
Don’t be ridiculous.
You took it from me, you rat—
Jongin laid against tile, bloody, bruised.
You should run.
You should run.
“You should run.” His voice escaped him in a whisper at first.
Energy he didn’t have before burned through him, too hot, too hot— Slid through his neck. He kicked, he was suddenly pushing the sun away from him, suddenly upright, suddenly shouting.
“You should run!” Colors spun around him as he screamed. “You should run, you should run. You’re so fucking stupid, didn’t you—-“
The sheets caught around his ankle and he had no balance, no strings to hold him up, no lies, no facades, no bricks, just a child, a worthless child. He hit something soft and springy first, his feet tilting up over his head onto something hard. His knees followed then lax elbows and his head.
The child’s tears didn’t stop. Instead, they rushed out of him. He needed to get away, needed to hide. He tried to lift himself. However, the burst of lightning passed through him leaving nothing behind but a sniveling mess tangled in crimson sheets that looked too much like blood, Jongin’s blood.
Do Hyunshin in the mirror, Kim Jongin bent over his shoulder, Do Kyungsoo smashing it, spiderwebs tracing down Jongin’s features.
He curled in on himself and screamed.
[jong]
Jongin’s breath stopped in his lungs. Time sped up to a cruel pace, too fast for him to react, to think--
Kyungsoo was in his arms, and then he was screaming, writhing as he tried to untangle himself from the sheets, head down on the floor, twisting violently.
Jongin moved before he could think, his arms wrapping down around Kyungsoo’s middle in an attempt to pin his arms against his side.
“Kyungsoo.” He said loudly, making his voice heard above the sound of Kyungsoo’s panicked shrieking. “Kyungsoo, please!”
If he could just get him back up in the bed, get him down, soothe him somehow, he could make the screaming stop. Wherever Jongin’s hand landed on his body, Kyungsoo recoiled like he’d been burned, squirming away, chanting “You should run, you should run.” under his breath. Jongin begged with as many pleas as he could for Kyungsoo to stop, please stop, you’re going to hurt yourself, Kyungsoo, please.
But if there was energy in his limbs, it appeared that Kyungsoo was going to fight.
Jongin choked back his own sob, holding Kyungsoo’s back tightly against his chest, arms pinned to Kyungsoo’s sides. His eyes were on fire. He was burning. He hated himself, he hated everything about him that set Kyungsoo off like this even though he didn’t know what it was.
“Kyungsoo please, please don’t make me do this, I don’t want to hurt you,” Jongin’s breaths were heavy, all his bruises and cuts aching from where Kyungsoo had knocked into him with flailing limbs.
He thought Kyungsoo was held tightly enough in his arms that he couldn’t escape, but when he tried to stand, Kyungsoo dropped easily from the circle of his arms and hit the floor with a heart-wrenching thud. His unseeing eyes were glazed as he crawled towards the top of the stairs and Jongin lurched forward with Kyungsoo’s name on his lips, desperate to keep him safe, to keep him from falling because if he couldn’t even stand, there was no way stairs--
“Kyungsoo! Stop! Please, please, stop...”
Scrambling away like Jongin was a villain, a murderer--and wasn’t he?
Shannon’s blood was still sticky on his hands as Jongin begged for forgiveness again and again, his eyes shut tightly against Kyungsoo’s labored breaths as his hand locked around Kyungsoo’s ankle. He tugged him backwards.
“Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo.” he breathed, pulling him back with some difficulty as he forced Kyungsoo up on his knees, bracing his spine and stomach to hold them both upright as he wrapped his right arm around Kyungsoo’s throat. The smaller boy thrashed in his arms, tears spilling onto Jongin’s forearm as Jongin braced his wrist with his opposite arm, leaving enough space for Kyungsoo’s larynx to remain undamaged, just enough pressure on either side to cut off the carotid arteries--and Jongin squeezed.
“God, I’m sorry, Kyungsoo, I’m so sorry, please forgive me... I’m sorry...”
Jongin’s sobs were unhindered, ugly, every bit as broken as he felt as Kyungsoo’s fingers dug into his arm, little red crescent-shaped welts of peeled-up skin that made Jongin feel ill; and then his hands were dropping, hanging limply by his side as Jongin breathed out Kyungsoo’s name, lips wet with his own tears as he cradled Kyungsoo’s limp body to his heaving chest, finally secure enough in the sudden silence and stillness to release his arms.
“Please, God, Kyungsoo, I’m so sorry... I’m sorry... I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t mean t-to...”
Kyungsoo was spread out on his lap and Jongin felt so much pain in his empty heart that it made him numb. Jongin stilled his tears long enough to feel for Kyungsoo’s pulse with trembling hands; and there it was, faint but steady beneath his freshly-bleeding fingertips.
“Thank God,” he moaned. “Jesus Christ, Kyungsoo, you fucking idiot...”
But even as the calloused words threaded past his lips, he curled himself around Kyungsoo’s body on the floor, trying to keep his breath steady in the midst of pain he never wanted to feel again.
“Kyungsoo, I’m so sorry.”
I’m sorry for everything, he thought. I’m sorry for the pool table and pushing so hard and insisting on getting in your way. I’m sorry for opening your wounds and putting you under. I’m sorry for hurting you, sorry for bringing you here, sorry for messing up everything.
Thinking of Kyungsoo’s gentle kisses, the ones he’d chased so hard, the ones he’d ruined by demanding follow-ups...it made Jongin’s stomach heave, but he swallowed back the coffee-bile and coughed loudly against the back of his bloody hand.
Kyungsoo was draped across his knees, one of Jongin’s arms wrapped around his waist, the other resting gently against the back of his head to hold him up against Jongin’s shoulder.
Everything hurt. Everything was his fault.
It wasn’t Kyungsoo lying in Jongin’s arms, but Shannon’s corpse. he was covered in blood speckled with brain matter, pieces of Shannon’s personality literally spattered across his face, his hands, inside his mouth because it had been open when the gun was fired and he’d dropped into Kai’s arms without the chance to say goodbye.
Jongin held back a wail, or at least tried, his heart throbbing in his chest to remind him that he had failed, that Alex had been creeping up on him and he’d been so lost in Shannon’s sunlight that he hadn’t seen the shadow growing.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” and the words were in English, spoken to the still-breathing boy in his arms and to the American one, long-dead, buried outside of New York City.
~~
Jongin didn’t remember cleaning up. Everything blurred together, a mix of memories that he wanted to forget as soon as the next second passed. He was sitting now on the chair across from his bed staring at Kyungsoo’s sleeping form, the gentle rise and fall of his bare chest.
Jongin had stripped him to his black briefs, made the bed neatly against his bare skin, put away all the untouched utensils and cups for tea, started the laundry.
Kyungsoo slept most of the day, and Jongin occasionally cried himself into a restless slumber in the arm chair.
He didn’t want to get too close to Kyungsoo. He didn’t trust himself. He was afraid to hurt him again.
He awoke at nine, the sky outside dark. Numb and terrifically empty, Jongin couldn’t think of what else to do. Listlessly, he picked himself up from the chair and dragged himself through the shower, letting the tears drop freely under the shower head and swirl down the drain with the pomegranate-scented soap suds.
[soo]
The last thing Kyungsoo remembered, he was crawling toward the stairs, desperate to escape, to be anywhere but in Caprius 119. Jongin was in Caprius 119. Jongin with spider-web fractures in his face, who bled underneath his hands.
Wait, no he remembered more. Jongin’s hand around his ankle, stronger than any chain, stronger than Kyungsoo expected. Jongin had dragged him back away from the stairs, pulled him up on his knees and pressed his arm about his neck.Was that it?
No, there was more still. His stiff hands scrambled at Jongin’s forearm, fingers stretching too far and tearing. A firm hold that Kyungsoo would have been impressed by if it weren’t used on him. While Kyungsoo was out of control, screaming, sobbing, Jongin stepped in and provided a firm hand. A shudder danced down Kyungsoo’s spine at the memory. Kim Jongin. Dancer. New York. Strong. Strong when Kyungsoo was weak, but not like his father. Instead, Jongin bore a physical strength Kyungsoo lacked, that Do Hyunshin never valued.
However, when Kyungsoo woke with slow blinks, nothing seemed as he remembered. Around him, sheets were folded and neat, nothing like the river on the floor. He shifted under them and his bare legs slid across the fabric, unimpeded. Cold fluttered against him, rather than any stray brush of warmth that would indicate another body beside him.
Kyungsoo lifted his head as best he could and cast a glance around the loft. No tea on the bedside table, no mug of coffee. His laptop lay beside his backpack, glasses perched neatly on the steel. No sign of Jongin. Rolling on his other side revealed much the same: no Jongin.
Had the boy finally run, finally fucking listened? Darkness rolled around him like fog, welcomed him and Kyungsoo exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
Finally.
Every last inch of tension in his body fled, every board pulled down from his sloppy palisade, and for a moment he simply breathed. Jongin ran to Minju in Gangnam, to… to home, as bitter as that nugget of relief tasted. Far, far away from Kyungsoo the devil and well away from his plans. He had to leave as soon as he could, disappear into the night. Perhaps he would go overseas, play the timid foreign kid to strangers who didn’t give a single fuck about a pharmaceutical company that died twenty years ago in a country they gave even fewer fucks about. Maybe somewhere in the West. Not the States. Not New York. Maybe France. Maybe fucking Russia of all places.
He’d drop all of his relationships, lose his phone in the ocean, nothing too difficult.
He smiled at the thought of stepping onto a plane and never coming back to Korea. Korea would be Jongin’s place, a shelter to keep him from Kyungsoo’s greedy hands.
Sitting up still proved too difficult a task to do entirely on his own, so he scooted himself under the sheets to the edge of the bed. Jongin must have taken his clothes to burn the evidence. Made sense. Maybe the kid was smarter than Kyungsoo gave him credit for initially. Regardless, he was tucked safely away.
It must have started raining, he guessed, the sound of water distant in his ears. That meant a full ensemble, an umbrella, rain boots if Jongin had them. He spotted the dresser and pulled himself from the bed as gingerly as he count, but his hands protested every stretch of his fingers. Fuck this, he needed to try to walk. One leg underneath him, then the other, pull himself up with the drawer, climb up the handles annnnnnnnd… alright, not steady but upright.
Kyungsoo dug around in the drawer at the level of his chest, resting on the corners as he rooted through neatly folded fabric. Something light but long to go under a rain jacket. Casual. There.
Black. 88. Something in written in English he couldn’t read. Sure, that would work.
He balanced himself enough to pull it over his head and over his arms. Step one…
Dizziness hit him and he climbed back down the handles. He just needed a little rest, a chance to catch his breath. Plus, there were some nice comfy shirts here on the floor and they smelled so nice.
He may or may not have taken a short nap face down in Jongin’s clean laundry.
[jongin]
Jongin heard a thud when he shut off the spray and it made his heart speed up.
Wiping away his shame and sadness along with the water, he wrapped his favorite green towel securely around his hips before stepping out of the bathroom.
“Kyungsoo?” he called softly.
No answer.
His heart was in his throat, now. Had the sound he heard been the door closing, been Kyungsoo leaving again?
Another week of silence, of emptiness, of time and space without the darkness of Kyungsoo’s eyes and the force of his hand and Jongin was sure that he would go mad. He’d rather pack his things and go back to New York, dangle himself on a hook in front of Alex’s allies so that they couldn’t not kill him this time. He’d even hold still for them.
His bare feet padded softly against the tile floor, his breath coming in short bursts. His hands still ached, but the wounds were mostly closed; still, he was cautious as he gripped the railing and kept his eyes on the ground as he ascended the stairs.
Slowly, his eyes traveled across the floor to the empty bed and his heart dropped through his toes.
It rose just as quickly up into his throat with a startled snort of laughter.
Kyungsoo, face down on the pile of laundry he’d just completed, bare legs curled up to his chest.
And he was wearing Jongin’s t-shirt, to boot.
Jongin choked back a sob of relief and laughter, a wide smile splitting his face. Tentatively, he crept over to Kyungsoo’s slumbering form, reaching down to slide his arms underneath Kyungsoo’s shoulders and the backs of his knees.
The slumbering boy was heavier than Jongin expected and he struggled, trying to keep the towel around his waist to maintain his dignity-but it was sacrificed for the sake of keeping the peace on Kyungsoo’s face as Jongin laid him gently back down on the bed, smiling down at him with heartbreak in his eyes as he folded the blankets gently up around his shoulders. Jongin forced himself to step away, to not let his palms cup Kyungsoo’s face tenderly, to not let his breath stain Kyungsoo’s pallid cheeks.
Turning around and wiping his suddenly wet eyes on the backs of his hands, he snatched up his towel and grabbed his freshly-cleaned sweatpants. He shimmied into them with his back to Kyungsoo before turning to head for the stairs, towel over his shoulder.
[soo]
This time, Kyungsoo was sure he remembered everything, crawling across the floor to the dresser, climbing up then down and yet here he was, back in the bed. He. just. got. out. of. these. fucking. sheets. He squirmed under the sheets and forced his eyes back open. Was he sleep walking? Did he somehow gain strength when he closed his eyes for half a second?
Why was everything so fucking difficult?
He opened his eyes to see a very bare ass— a very nice ass— before sweatpants hid it from view. What the fuck? His gaze followed the line of vertebrae to a mop of pink hair atop broad shoulders.
Kim Jongin.
Kim fucking Jongin.
After that fucking mess, Jongin hadn’t run.
Kyungsoo’s mind blanked, unable to find any reason the state of things. Somewhere on the path between his brain in his mouth, the words he wanted to say got tangled in the haze of his most recent fainting spell.
“… didn’t run? Why…” he said, not entirely sure if he was speaking aloud or not. “I hurt you… devil, I’m a devil. Do Kyungsoo, devil… ‘m not…”
He trailed off, blinked as he sat up too quickly and faded just as fast. Breathless. Watching Kim Jongin. Dancer. 1994. Gangnam.
[jong]
Jongin froze at the top of the stairs, his blood ceasing to flow for a moment.
Kyungsoo was awake.
Turning slowly, Jongin looked over at him with wide eyes as he scrambled to get himself out of the bed.
Jongin’s heart hurt; he didn’t want to think he had a heart at all, but he must have, because it ached. It hurt for the way Kyungsoo pushed him away and the way Jongin pushed him right back.
Creeping back to crouch by the edge of the bed, Jongin rested his bruised cheek against the cool sheets, wrapping his hand gently, tenderly around Kyungsoo’s index finger, careful of the wounds he knew weren’t quite healed beneath the bandages.
“Do Kyungsoo, you are an idiot, not a devil.” He whispered, his eyes unmistakably fond. He was very glad that Kyungsoo probably couldn’t see.
“I’m never going to run from you.” He added, so softly he almost hoped Kyungsoo wouldn’t hear.
Jongin burned to offer comfort the best way he knew how; with his hands, his lips, his eyes and his tongue, ached to use them to soothe away pain and make each moment last for an eternity. Since he was a young man, he’d been told he was beautiful, told he was extraordinary. So he had grown to understand it, accept it, use the talents he had on people to get them what they needed and, in some cases, what he needed, as well. He wanted to let Kyungsoo bend him to the breaking point and then pull off; let him wrap his hands around something he could control, like Jongin’s lungs, take him down while he was vulnerable and fuck him or hit him until Kyungsoo felt right again and Jongin felt properly at peace in his place.
His hands were hovering over Kyungsoo’s face, his index finger poised to trace his lip.
Hastily, Jongin drew back, his heart hammering in his chest as he backed away and dropped heavily into the chair.
[soo]
Idiot, not a devil.
Kyungsoo heard the first batch of words easily as he cleared his vision with unfocused blinks. Jongin swam back into his gaze, lips still moving, forming more words. Closer, closer, Jongin moved, his hand an anchor for Kyungsoo as he trudged back into full consciousness. I. From you. Never. He didn’t catch the verb.
He didn’t catch Jongin before the other sank into the arm chair beside the bed, far away but not enough. Kyungsoo was sure he could still cross the distance, still hurt him.
“You don’t know,” he grumbled as consciousness became more of a tangible web he could climb into.
[jong]
“I don’t have to.” came Jongin’s casual reply, his cheek resting against the palm of his hand as he crossed his legs and folded them under himself.
“Sleep, Kyungsoo. It’s okay. I’ll be here.”
Eyelids heavy, Jongin felt the itch to crawl into bed, to spread his limbs next to Kyungsoo’s warmth; but it wasn’t his. It wasn’t right, Jongin thought to himself. Not yet.
He closed his eyes against his own misery, sang to himself gently until he was drifting into a dreamless, unhappy slumber.
[soo]
It’s okay. I’ll be here.
Now Kyungsoo was sure he had been imagining this whole conversation. Another blink and Jongin’s chest leveled into a steady rhythm. This day had been so fucking weird already, if it was a day or two or however many. Jongin’s horseshoes glimmered in the dark with each rise and fall of his chest. Kyungsoo watched as long as he could let himself, as long as it took to get his brain back in gear. Bathroom. Glass extraction. Laptop. Medical documents. Minju in Gangnam. Kim Jongin. 1994. Dancer. Screaming. Crimson tide. Glass scratching against Jongin’s face. Now, Jongin asleep in chair.
A part of him wanted to run his fingers through the damp pink mess atop Jongin’s head. Kyungsoo swallowed. No.
It was obvious his brain wasn’t going to work tonight. Today. Whatever. He would have to keep his goals simple.
Get downstairs.
Leave Caprius.
Get to Aqurixum.
Sleep until the tenth.
From there, he could book plane tickets, wipe his presence off the map--- Fuck, stop. No long-term plans. Just little things you weak piece of shit.
Kyungsoo crawled to the edge of the bed. Left foot on the floor. Right foot on the floor. Scoot hands toward the edge. Sit. Catch breath. In and out. In and out. Keep moving. Crawl. Stairs. How many? Too many. Just keep crawling until they finish. Left foot out. One stair. Test for the next. Keep moving. Stair. Stair. Stair. Test for the next. Nothing.
Settle feet on the floor. Crawl up to the bannister. Lean on the bannister. Catch breath. In and out. In and Out. Lean on the wall. Left foot. Right foot. Catch breath. In and Out. In and out. Door. Stretch left hand.
Cool metal. Not touched for a while. Jongin didn’t leave, he didn’t run, he--- simple.
Simple, Kyungsoo.
Lean against the doorway. Curl fingers around the metal.
Pull.
[jong]
“Please don’t go.”
His words cut like a blade across empty space, across the infinite number of galaxies and universes and stars that stretched between himself and Kyungsoo. Time was stretched thin and Jongin flicked on the bathroom light, his profile illuminated while his other half remained in darkness. A fine, clean line drawn right down his middle, just like the one down his heart.
He’d almost let Kyungsoo go, almost let him slip away without saying a word. But Jongin was human; unutterably selfish and flawed with a face was full of numb, passive pain. The kind of hurt that years couldn’t heal, the kind that stayed imprinted in the backs of eyelids and lingered in your thoughts as the sun set to keep you awake until it rose again.
“Kyungsoo,” Jongin called softly, aching to feel the blush of Kyungsoo’s lips beneath his fingertips, to steal away each labored breath he exhaled. He heard the breaking in his voice, the splintering crack down the center as he exposed himself, laid himself completely bare, his hands hanging limply by his sides. He felt so ugly, so weak; so hideously unprepared to face the reality before him.
He was pitiful.
“Kyungsoo, please don’t leave.”
There was a word that dangled unspoken at the end of the sentence, and Jongin prayed that Kyungsoo could hear over the din of his heart beat and strangled breath as he tried not to cry.
Kyungsoo, please don’t leave me.
His eyes were wet. Dimly, he realized he was crying.
Sinking to his knees in the light of the bathroom, Jongin gazed down at the palms of his hands and then peered up into Kyungsoo’s eyes, his breath hitched on silent sobs as he whispered, “Kyungsoo, please stay.” in a pain-riddled voice he barely recognized.
[soo]
Kyungsoo didn’t hear Jongin approach until that voice touched his ears.
Please don’t go.
His knees shook. From the effort of standing up, he told himself. His fingers faltered where they curled around metal. From damaged nerves, the voice continued. Everything could be explained. Like the way his stomach soured at the scalding pain in Jongin’s voice or how he released the door handle despite every inch of him screaming to go.
He wanted all this pain to stop: Jongin’s and his own, but he didn’t know how. This was something so real and Do Kyungsoo was nothing but fake, a child clutching a black pearl, a devil pulling even the brightest stars down into the darkness with him. Yet, for once, he didn’t want that, he wanted to save someone from his influence, shake free the leash so freely given to him. Why did Kim Jongin look at him like he was something precious, beg for him on his knees?
Kyungsoo, please stay.
Like the little thief he was, he stole Jongin’s words from the bathroom. “Is this what you want?”
Shutting his mouth didn’t happen.
“I hurt you.” He didn’t turn, speaking to the door. “Because I wanted to; I’m your enemy.”
And yet they kissed, curled around each other, fit just right and Kyungsoo wanted that now.
“But I… I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he said, voice barely a whisper.
[jong]
Is this what you want?
Jongin watched the words fall past Kyungsoo’s lips and drop onto the floor, send a ripple towards him that shook him deep inside, in his very bones
“I want... I want you. I need you. I’m sorry.”
The breath was sticky in his throat.
I hurt you...because I wanted to.
I’m your enemy.
Remembering the closed-off space of the intimate moments from the previous night when the distance between them had been closed, when Kyungsoo’s wide eyes reflected back at him the fear and wonder of uncertainty. When Jongin had turned to Kyungsoo and opened for him easily, stretched himself in all his small glory before Kyungsoo’s eyes and lips for inspection, for intimacy.
He couldn’t breathe.
I don’t want to hurt you anymore.
His head lifted sharply, his mouth snapping shut and face pinched in distressed understanding.
“Then don’t. Please stay.” He managed to breathe.
His knees hurt. His hands hurt. All his pain was magnified to be ten times greater than it was in the face of this, Kyungsoo’s hand on the door, his soft voice coming from the darkness like a melody.
[soo]
With a soft thump, Kyungsoo leaned his head against the door. Jongin made it sound so easy. Flip a switch, so simple. Weren’t things supposed to be simple, though? Keep everything simple and he would get out the door. Jongin wasn’t supposed to be awake, on his knees, telling Kyungsoo he needed him. However, Jongin didn’t know anything about him or the ruined lives that lay about him.
“You don’t understand.” Kyungsoo yearned to be angry, to shove Jongin away for his own good, but nothing in his body rallied for the cause.
He turned as best he could, feet stuttering squeaks beneath him, and even then he lost his balance. Falling down, Kyungsoo reached out for a support, arms swinging, and clocked Jongin in the side of the head. They both lay on the ground, face-to-face, a quiet reminder of not only the hours spent in Jongin’s bed, but the first day they arrived, bloody and bruised and broken.
[jong]
Jongin's head smacked back against the tile with an unforgiving crack that made his vision spin. When he peeled open his eyes he saw stars dancing mockingly around Kyungsoo's pale face. He tried to blink them away, but he couldn't tell if he was imagining the spots In his vision.
"Don't you get it, Kyungsoo?" He whispered hoarsely, his shaking hands reaching out across the oceans of pain and uncertainty spread out before them to gently press his fingertips into Kyungsoo's cheek. "Don't you understand?"
There was a strange sound like the creak of a toy horse, similar to the one he'd had as a child. Jongin vaguely recognized it as being the sound of his own miserable laughter.
"Look at us, beat to hell and lying on the floor," he managed to choke out, not doing anything to try and stop or hide his tears. "We're a couple of real professionals. Match made in heaven."
And he laughed again, his hand groping about for Kyungsoo's in the darkness.
[soo]
Kyungsoo still didn’t understand as Jongin stared back at him, trails of tears bubbling over bruised cheeks. He didn’t understand why fingers pressed into his cheek, gentle and sure despite his own uncertainty. He didn’t understand why his own bandaged ones reached up to cover those on his face, seeking comfort before he could tell himself no he couldn’t have this.
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo said, his voice lower than before. “I…”
The boy mirroring him on the floor laughed with a broken smile, fractures spidering down his neck to his chest and Kyungsoo was frankly tired of trying to be selfless. He’d never worn the virtue before and fuck it was heavier than he imagined.
“I’ll only hurt you,” he murmured.
Despite his words, he scooted closer to Jongin, pressing his burning right hand to the other’s chest. He shouldn’t want this, couldn’t want this, and yet he leaned in, pulling Jongin’s arm around his shoulders.
“I’ll only hurt you,” he said again and his lips brushed Jongin’s collarbone.
[jong]
"Then hurt me." Jongin whispered, a shiver like flames tickling down his spine to bow his back, to bring kyungsoo closer, closer. He was pressed into Jongin's chest and jongin wanted to spread himself across all of kyungsoo's wounds, open the empty cavern of his chest like a majestic set of doors and devour him whole.
His face tilted downwards, his breath mingling with Kyungsoo's. His fingers slid naturally, easily into Kyungsoo's hair, gently curling against his scalp. Their noses brushed and a desperate noise akin to a whimper shuddered its way out of his mouth.
Curling himself tighter around Kyungsoo’s shoulder, his back arching harder to press against the warmth of his chest, the words he spoke were breathed directly into Kyungsoo’s lips.
“Hurt me all you want because you know I like the pain, but don’t you dare leave me.”
[soo]
Closer, Jongin drew closer and Kyungsoo could practically feel the other’s lips on his own, separated by little more than the space needed to breathe. When he shut his eyes, his lashes brushed against Jongin’s cheeks, caught on the tears there.
“Not like this you don’t,” Kyungsoo said before he sealed the gap between their lips.
Like before, nothing possessive lingered on his mouth as they pressed gently to Jongin’s, only the need for comfort, the need for Jongin and strong arms. He stretched his right arm up so it wouldn’t become trapped between them as he pressed his chest flush against Jongin’s. His left curled along the other’s side, bandaged fingers fluttering over shoulder blades.
[jong]
He became malleable beneath Kyungsoo’s touch, sinew and tissue commanded by small, calloused fingertips. Any unsure thoughts Jongin had prior were pressed into the far reaches of his mind, abandoned to rot in dusty corners. He needed only the press of lips against his own, the tender feeling of a promising grip that fluttered against his bare shoulder blades to guide him. The hesitance in Kyungsoo’s touch, the gentle sensation of cool hands against heated skin was a request that Jongin could finally understand after weeks of mangled messages and botched attempts.
Just like this, Kyungsoo said with his bandaged fingers resting lightly against Jongin’s flesh. I’ll hurt you in ways you can’t recover from.
And I will love it. Jongin breathed back into Kyungsoo’s touch, his eyes closed and his pulse racing as he slid his hand across smooth skin under the cotton of Kyungsoo’s t-shirt--Jongin’s t-shirt. Sweetly, gently, he raked his fingernails against the smooth, warm flesh of Kyungsoo’s back.
He didn’t push this time; didn’t press and didn’t beg like he had before. I’ll listen, I’ll be good for you, he said as he cherished the warmth of Kyungsoo’s chest pressing into him, commanding him. Jongin simply took what he was given, his lips hopeful as they met Kyungsoo’s a second time and he whimpered again, a thankful little sound to express that he was grateful.
Tilting his head back to bare his throat, Jongin realized how quickly the room was spinning. He clung to Kyungsoo out of a need to protect, to keep. He broke away first but his face stayed close, his free hand moving from Kyungsoo’s hair to splay across his cheek.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m yours.” He breathed, his eyes still shut, his breath coming quickly against Kyungsoo’s supple lips.
[soo]
Jongin held him like a treasure, fingers and lips gentle against him. Kyungsoo curled closer, tangling one bare leg with the boy mirroring him. He didn’t reply, couldn’t find the words to counter Jongin’s. What could he argue with? Instead, he pressed his lips to Jongin’s again, stealing away the other’s words in any way he could. His fingers slid against muscles, tracing long lines until his digits burned.
He pulled his lips free and hissed, shaking his hand behind Jongin’s back.
[jong]
Lips parted to allow breath to escape his lungs, Jongin flushed prettily when other sounds escaped as well; a needy whimper, a hiss of exhaled air as Kyungsoo’s knee pressed between his thighs. Jongin let him take, let him have whatever he wanted, supplied it willingly with the subtle roll of his hips and the tightening of his hands on Kyungsoo’s body.
“Kyungsoo,” he breathed, hyper-aware of the needy lilt in his voice. “Kyungsoo, please don’t s...stop, don’t go.”
His hands trembled as they directed Kyungsoo’s fingers to his collarbone, to his throat, pressing them flush against his skin as he slid onto his back and brought Kyungsoo with him, half on top-he could squirm away, if he wanted, and Jongin wouldn’t stop him. But he prayed that Kyungsoo would take the chance, slide between his spread legs if only so Jongin could be closer to him.
“Please say it. Please, Kyungsoo.” His eyes were open, glittering up at Kyungsoo, his swollen lips parted and lids half-lowered. “Tell me, please, that I’m...”
The words died in his throat and he smoothed his hands over Kyungsoo’s chest and shoulders, dragging his fingernails lightly over the cotton stretched across his back as he rested his head against the tile again with a dizzied gasp.
[soo]
Kyungsoo sucked in his breath as Jongin rolled against his hips and settled his hands about a throat still speckled green and yellow. He couldn’t give Jongin what he wanted right now, he was far too weak and scared to even think of applying pressure. Instead, he settled himself at Jongin’s waist, straddling the other as nails caught on cotton. His shirt lifted and skirted along his back and Kyungsoo curved like a bow for a moment before he lay back down atop Jongin’s chest. He couldn’t give anything right now except words.
Looking up from Jongin’s shoulder, he chanced an experimental drag of his bandaged right hand down Jongin’s chest.
Please say it. Tell me, please, that I’m…
This Kyungsoo could give and give freely. This he would give.
“You’re mine, Jongin.” he replied, his voice low in the dark as forced stiff fingers to curl about one horsehoe and pull. “Mine.”
[jong]
You’re mine.
Mine.
It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard; the words hung in the air above his head and his mouth dropped open to swallow them letter by letter, keep their glow immortal.
“I’m yours,” he repeated as Kyungsoo’s hand dragged up his chest and sent him flying out of his own body. He was reeling, breathless, feeling so much in his head and his body that it seemed to be compressing under his skin--he was a hollow cast that had finally been filled to the brim with glittering stars and dark swirls and milky planets too far away to touch.
“I’m yours...”
Kyungsoo’s fingers hooked on the horseshoe through his nipple and it slammed him back into his own body, his own reality; a high, pretty-sounding mewl flew out of his open mouth and hovered in the air between them. Jongin dug his fingers meaningfully into Kyungsoo’s flesh in warning.
“Ah f-fuck, Kyungsoo, don’t--aah.” Jongin stuttered, his voice catching on a breath. He shuddered through a few breaths, his thighs deliciously tensed beneath Kyungsoo’s weight.
“Later, I promise. Later. But not now.”
He cupped Kyungsoo’s face again, hating himself for being unable to take advantage of the boy bracketing his hips like he’d done to so many other boys so many times before. He kissed Kyungsoo again, gently--and just as gently, his limbs extended to push Kyungsoo from his hips, sweep his arms behind his knees and scoop him against his chest.
Bridal style, Jongin cradled Kyungsoo’s head against his shoulder as he made his way up the stairs, ignoring the persistent throb from between his legs as he laid the boy out on the bed, kissed his forehead, and marveled at the spectrum of emotions he’d managed to cross in one day.
“Can I…?” Jongin fidgeted, glancing at the empty bed by Kyungsoo’s side, his hand twitching nervously.
He waited for Kyungsoo’s permissive nod before he slid beneath the comforter at his side. Jongin’s arm wrapped easily around his waist and the other snaked behind Kyungsoo’s head to press him loosely against his chest.
“Sleep.” He said softly, an invitation and a suggestion as his heavy eyelids finally closed and reality faded slowly into darkness.
