fetus

if you leave me tonight, i’ll wake up alone

beefballs — Mon, 07 Jan 2013 09:31:40 GMT

Title: if you leave me tonight, i’ll wake up alone
Pairing/Focus: ot7, sungyeol/sungjong, woohyun/sungyeol
Rating: nc-17
Word count: 6500w~
Summary: Where Infinite gets drunk and falls into a place they never thought they’d end up at.

(originally written for samstrident here)

The end is the beginning, sort of.

It’s three in the morning, wheels grazing against asphalt, whispers of city lights and quiet traffic. They pull by a roadside stall, Woohyun slipping out of the car first. It’s cold, not because of the autumn breeze. (They’re covered from head to toe in scarves, caps, sunglasses, masks, big furry coats.)

But it’s cold, cold to the bone, because the holes in their hearts, feeling slipping past their fingertips.

The stall vendor and Infinite exchange bows. She exclaims, “What pretty boys!”, obviously not knowing who they are. It’s good though, to stay away from the press and the crazy fans for once.

“Soju and one big plate of spicy rice cakes please!” Sunggyu orders. His eyes are marred with grey, lips pale and tearing.

“Coming right up!”

They all sit around a long table, bodies hunched.

Nothing has been going right.

Words breed on silence. Whatever that’s happened feels like an invisible weight on them, and their shoulders stiffen, their eyes don’t meet. The future seems grim.

(Sungyeol has slipped into a coma. Infinite goes on a hiatus and the company is even considering to disband them.)

It takes a while to register the alcohol. Thoughts don’t draw like straight lines, instead beginning to curve into waves, messy and transient. Shades of grey, rather than problems put down in black and white. Heartache almost washes away with the soju, almost.

Woohyun laughs. All of them do. But the laughter sounds more like sobbing. Chests bursting, backs bending. The world seems less sharper, and they don’t see the edges. Everything just turns into blurred colours and everything they say is slurred, like wordless voices, just the way they like it, just the way they want it.

A more conscious part of him thanks god that it’s 3 AM and there aren’t any fans following them around. He imagines Infinite on the headlines and laughs instead of worries.

Sunggyu's phone rings. It might be their managers, but then again, who the fuck cares now? Wrong feels so right, fucking up feels so damn good.

"Don't pick it up, hyung." Woohyun wriggles his eyebrows at the leader.

"Yes, don't pick- up. Me- aha. Ha fucking ha." Sunggyu drinks up another time.

Myungsoo has a stupid grin pasted onto his face, but he's quiet, and his cheeks are coloured with an ugly blotch of crimson.

The stall vendor walks over to them, questioning them out of concern, but they laugh it off. Woohyun even asks her to fuck off. Her impression of them changes within the second, but yeah, who cares.

Who cares? Woohyun asks himself bitterly. Who cares if Infinite's crumbling? Who cares if Woollim might just throw them away? Who cares if Sungyeol might just never wake up? Who cares if they might come apart and turn into a group of subunits and soloists?

Infinite is stitched into his vision, the seven of them shining on stage, the stage they call home.

Sungjong's the most sober of them all, though red-faced. He tugs on Sunggyu's arm, "Hyung, c'mon. Let's go."

'Mmm, let's go," the older man curls and uncurls his fist, chuckling into Sungjong's collar.

Dongwoo drives and they're far too gone to realise it's actually fucking dangerous. He steers the wheel with eyes crinkled into crescents, laughter loud and contagious and really, they all can't stop laughing. It rips through them, they can only crackle, and come apart, even harder, even faster.

The car swerves indiscriminately. Howon nibbles on Sungjong's ear at the back seat and the younger pushes him away, punching him on the nose. Woohyun laughs as if it's the fucking funniest thing that's ever happened, spurred on by Dongwoo's reckless driving and the alcohol that burns at his throat.

"Guys, stop, don't. Huh- mmm," Sunggyu throws his head back against his seat, groaning a little.

"Mmmm," Dongwoo hums along.

Screeching tyres, shattering glass.

♡

Woohyun wakes up cheek against the window, bones cold, skin burning. It hurts and he doesn’t know why. The crimson streaks covering his arms and thighs, his tattered bermudas, the holes in his coat, they all don’t trigger any memory of what’s happened before. All he knows is that he feels like he’s on fire, and he vaguely remembers the smell of boiling rice cakes and alcohol.

“Ugh, shit.” The world doesn’t shift on the right axis. Tasting bile at the back of his tongue, he immediately regrets waking up.

“Woohyun?” Sunggyu stirs awake next to him, fingers curling onto his arm for support. The younger man instinctually shrugs him off. “Where the fuck are we?”

Somehow, he’s oddly reminded of dancing figures, perspiration trickling down the temples, nape, ankles, bass set in the pulse, in synchronised heartbeats.

“I don’t know.” Hazy vision, cheeks stained with tear tracks.

“This, this is our van.” Sunggyu throws his head back, hand massaging the temples.

Tilting his head, Woohyun squints to make out whatever that’s before him. The others begin to wake up, a mess of soft groans and aching bodies. The only things missing are hearts beating in unison, hearts beating for the same dream, the same life they thought they have achieved and it shatters around them like a house of cards.

Myungsoo attempts to stand up, feet pressing into glass shards instead. He winces, gripping onto the seat for support, and throws himself back, face contorted in pain.

“Where the hell.” Sungjong peeks out the window, or actually, the broken window.

Woohyun does that, too. The world outside doesn’t make sense, like splashes of ethereal colours on a canvas. They’re parked by a roadside, and further down seems like a highway to hell, further down seems like a trip down memory lane. Further down seems like it’d tear them away from reality. It’s like being stuck in a weird dream. But dreams are fragmented memories and he doesn’t remember coming here before.

“Let’s get out,” Sunggyu suggests. They all mumble in agreement and stumble out of the vehicle, heavy hearts and light footsteps.

Soles drag across gravel, but there’s a skip in their steps. Their toes curl a little, too, almost like ballerinas when they rise onto pointe. The ground, the universe underneath feels like illusions of solidity, but there isn’t a fear of falling. They don’t have to hold on as well, freedom traced into their movements in indiscernible letters. Light, like froth moustaches. Floaty, like thin streaks of clouds hovering above the horizon. Woohyun even finds himself smiling.

Ombre skies and naked trees, rotten souls draped over their branches. The air smells like death, like metal and blood, and maybe he hears a distant crash, bodies jolting forward, glass cutting into flesh, lungs on fire, final heartbeats.

“Where were we before this? Fuck, guys, try to remember.”

He’s anxious, or at least he thinks is. There are sparks of electricity where his fingers touch, and he holds onto the sensation. He doesn’t want to believe that he’s dead.

Sunggyu doesn’t know the answer; he reaches his arm out instead, wanting to touch the creases on Woohyun’s forehead.

“Soju. We went out for soju,” Sungjong answers quietly, “and we got drunk, and Dongwoo hyung was driving and, I think, fuck.”

“Oh my god,” Woohyun closes his eyes, “oh my god.”

Howon panickedly puts a hand over his chest. “My heart. It’s still beating.”

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Sungjong frowns. He puts his hand over his chest too. Howon lifts the youngest member’s arm, pressing a finger against the wrist, finding a pulse.

“So we’re not dead. We’re not dead,” Sunggyu mumbles, as if talking to himself.

And suddenly, Dongwoo explodes with laughter. Laughter that slices through the air, loud, piercing, contagious. The other members slowly follow suit, with heads thrown back. Woohyun stares at them like they’re fucking crazy. But Dongwoo sees how nonsensical the situation is and it’s really fucking funny and he can’t help it.

As Sunggyu clutches his stomach, eyes pressed into slits, he chokes, “Woohyun, where are you going?”

“Leaving you guys alone, obviously,” Woohyun hisses, stalking ahead. Sunggyu chases after him, pulling him back. “Hey, you okay?”

“Am I okay? Hyung, we got into a fucking car accident and we’re stuck in god knows where and here you guys are, laughing your asses off for nothing. Ask yourselves if you’re okay. I’m gonna go explore this place.”

Sunggyu sighs. He can’t even bring himself to lash out at Woohyun and his shitty temper.

“Look, we’ll go together. Okay?”

“Whatever.”

Turning around, he beckons the other members to join them. “Come on, guys. We’re gonna explore this place, at least find out where we are.”

They’re still laughing, but jogging over at the very least, a group of dangling arms, strained smiles and hurried footsteps. It’s been awhile seeing them like this, Sunggyu thinks. Not that he had the time to be with them often either. Ever since Sungyeol’s accident, the company has been focusing more on the members’ solo activities. And Sunggyu just had finished his debut promotions. He was so busy, always reaching the dorm only after the other guys have fallen asleep. It didn’t feel like home, without Woohyun waiting up for him in their room.

They tread down the lane like dying laugher and drying scars. Woohyun almost feels guilty. He is the mood changer in the group after all, always lightening up the atmosphere whenever the members get scolded or made mistakes. And now, the way his brows furrow, fists clench and teeth bite into lower lip rubs off the other guys, as if stealing their right to laugh freely or be happy about something. He wants to tell them sorry but looks at the ground instead, as they walk in silence.

In the distance, there’s a familiar figure sitting on the sidewalk. He’s oddly reminded of long, tangled limbs and cheeky grins.

A spark of anxiety. It evolves into something stronger, something surging through Woohyun’s veins and it gets a little harder to breathe. He staggers even faster forwards. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Fuck, Woohyun!” The figure jolts out of his position, squinting his eyes.

“Sungyeol!” The other members behind him begin to exclaim one by one. Woohyun freezes.

Everybody’s howling, screaming, lunging for Sungyeol but Woohyun drowns himself out. This isn’t right. He curls his fists so hard his knuckles show. It feels so real. Too real, even. It’s not supposed to make sense but it does, anyway.

He thinks Sungjong’s crying. He doesn’t really notice. He studies the way rays of light beat on Sungyeol’s hair instead, and how his face is glowing. Almost ethereal. He wonders if it’s real to the touch and squeezes past the members, fingers cupping his wrist. There. That same warmth, the same skin plastered over bones.

“Fuck.” He smiles in a long time. A real smile. The kind of smile he smiles at his fans because he loves them so much, because what was Infinite without them? “Fuck, Sungyeol. Fuck.”

♡

“This is the place between life and death.” Sungyeol closes his eyes, “You guys aren’t going to die. This is just somewhere you wait to have your lives back.”

“Does this mean,” Sungjong says instead, squeezing on Sungyeol’s shoulder, “that you’ll wake up?”

“Yes, I will.” The older man smiles, eyes crinkling into crescents. Woohyun stares at him and thinks the smile doesn’t look right. Sungjong tiptoes, running his fingers through Sungyeol’s hair, fingers trailing down and along the jawline, pulling at the cheek. Sungyeol puts his hands on Sungjong’s face and laughs against his forehead. A wave of vertigo hits Woohyun as he watches.

Howon walks over as well, tugging on Sungyeol’s arm. There he is, still the same old tangled mess of limbs as if stuck in pubescence forever. Lanky, skinny, angled bones pressing hard into his palm and his breath turns hitched, because Lee Sungyeol is here, awake, and so fucking real.

Rendered speechless, Sunggyu watches them quietly. Dongwoo clings to him, teary-eyed. And it hurts because they’ve missed him so much, it hurts because who the fuck knows that this might just all be a dream they’ll wake up from.

But it doesn’t hurt like it hurts for Sungyeol, Sunggyu thinks as the younger man grips harder onto the material of Sungjong’s shirt and flashes shaky smiles at Howon and Woohyun, eyes glassy. Myungsoo has his fists clenched, fingernails tearing into palms, fresh cuts and unsteady breathing.

Funny. It’s funny you can want something so badly and when it appears right before you, you can’t choose to believe in it.

“How long will we be here? What have these two months been like?” Woohyun asks softly, looking away.

“I’m not sure, heh. These two months have been boring as fuck.” Sungyeol pouts and then sighs afterwards, “I’ve missed you guys. A lot.”

It’s only seconds before Dongwoo starts bawling, running over to him and wrapping him in his arms. Sungyeol chuckles, nails clawing at his thighs. He doesn’t want to cry too.

“I’m glad- I’m glad you’re here,” the older man wails. And Sungyeol’s widely known for his childish behaviour both off stage and on shows but right now, Dongwoo feels like a kid in his arms. He’s reminded of how he can always count on Dongwoo to pour his troubles to, because even though Dongwoo’s not the type to give coherent advice but he listens and drapes an arm around the shoulder as a form of silent comfort.

Dongwoo’s a ball of sunshine and nobody can ever bring themselves to dislike him. Though sometimes his innocent image feels a little too exaggerated, it's a mask he's learnt to put on whenever they go on schedules. Outside, he's still all laugh lines and million dollar smiles. And whenever Sungyeol buries his face into Dongwoo’s shirt, his lungs filled up with the smell of Dongwoo, he’s immediately, infinitely happier. Like now.

“Myungsoo, come here. Stop standing there looking like an idiot.” Sungyeol rolls his eyes, tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Said man stalks over, arms dangling by his sides in an awkward manner. He scratches his head, honestly at a loss of what to say.

Myungsoo and Sungyeol share a special relationship. Where most fans put them together as a couple, they’re actually more of best friends who bicker over everything and anything. It’s hard for Myungsoo to open up but once he does, he’s so much louder. And Sungyeol personally hates those heart-to-heart talks with Myungsoo, but he sits through them, makes Myungsoo laugh, just because.

Two months have changed so many things though. Myungsoo doesn’t even dare to look at the other in the eye. Sungyeol lifts the younger man’s chin up, breaking into a full grin. “Hey.”

“Hey, hyung.”

“I missed you, you idiot.” Sungyeol ruffles Myungsoo’s hair.

“I missed you too-” Myungsoo begins, albeit softly and suddenly, Sungyeol’s left ear begins to bleed.

“Sungyeol!” Woohyun shouts, swiping blood that’s dripped onto the cartilage away.

“I’m fine,” Sungyeol mumbles, swatting him away. Woohyun doesn’t take his words though and immediately strips off his shirt, wiping the blood that’s gathered in his ear. Sungyeol bows a little, cheeks flushed. “Thanks.”

“Hyung, are you okay?” Myungsoo asks worriedly. The other members come closer, all furrowed brows and whispers of concern and worry.

“Guys, guys! I said I’m fine. Let’s move on now, shall we?”

“Where can we actually go to?” Sungjong sulks.

♡

They turn into the forest clearing. There’s a lot of sand, and a water body in the middle. People they don’t recognise linger around. They’re probably waiting to have their lives back, like Sungyeol.

But Sungyeol’s not supposed to have his life back, he’s not supposed to even be here.

Sungjong throws side glances at him, tugging at his arm occasionally as they saunter across the sand. He wants to relax, but his body is hunched, his shoulders stiffened. The place smells faintly of almost losing Sungyeol. And he doesn’t want to let go ever again.

“Somebody’s clingy today.” Sungyeol raises a brow at the younger man. He sounds like everything’s normal, like they were still performing together, eating together, sleeping together a day ago, not two months ago. Scrap that, he’s trying too hard to sound normal. Sungjong only winces.

“Remember how you used to not eat at all when you got angry?” Sungyeol tucks a flower behind Sungjong’s ear as the younger glares at him. They sit on a rock, facing the lake. The other members traverse the place, Dongwoo all shining eyes and bright laughter. Woohyun looks glum as ever though.

“Oh, ya? The only things I remember about you are how dumb and immature you were. Also, it’s good not having you around. It’s good not having to listen to your shitty voice, and watch you dance like a lunatic in the making," Sungjong spits back, nails denting into the other’s arm.

Sungyeol chuckles, “Aw. You’re right though. I couldn’t hang around to annoy you just a bit longer, just a little more.”

(I missed you. It sucked having to hold your hand without you lacing our fingers together. It sucked having to stay in the dorm, knowing that Infinite might break apart and not being able to do anything about it. It sucked not having you to banter with, not having you pulling stupid pranks on all of us. I missed you, hyung.)

“Sungjong?”

“Mhmm?”

“I missed you too.”

He tilts his head to look at Sungjong, eyes glazed. The younger man just glares at him. “Isn’t this the part where you kiss me?”

“You fucker.” Sungyeol raises his arm, about to flick his fingers onto the other’s forehead but Sungjong stops him midway and pulls the arm down, lifting his head up to peck on his lips instead. He misses though, ending up pecking on the chin and Sungyeol laughs. “You idiot.”

Sungyeol does kiss him anyway, cupping his face then pulling him in, lips centimeters apart. Open books where he nibbles on Sungjong’s lower lip. The younger opens his mouth and Sungyeol tries to shove deeper, until they’re running out of breath, all tongues and saliva and not giving a damn about the world around them.

Sungjong directs Sungyeol’s hand and puts it over his chest. I’m here, he says. I’m here and I won’t leave and promise you won’t too, hyung. They break away, gasping for air, noses nudging.

Sungyeol doesn’t promise him.

♡

Sungyeol coughs into his hands, palms mottled with specks of blood. Dongwoo pats on his back, as the younger man lapses into a fit of coughing and wheezing. Woohyun just eyes the blood and, he knows that something isn’t right. Nothing has felt right the moment they stepped in, actually. And Sungyeol trying so hard to pretend everything’s fine just makes things stranger.

So he grabs him by the arm and pulls him away from everybody and pins him against a trunk.

“What the fuck is up with you.”

“Woohyun, what the hell?”

“You’re bleeding everywhere, all the time. You- you’re not supposed to be here, right?”

“What are you talking about?” Sungyeol just says quietly, looking away. Woohyun cups his face and shifts it back so they’re facing each other, eye-to-eye.

“It doesn’t make any sense. You tell us this place is for people who are waiting to have their lives back. And it’s been two months since you’re stuck in a coma, wait, are you supposed to die?”

Sungyeol pushes Woohyun away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re not supposed to be here, aren’t you?” Woohyun prompts again, tugging at the other’s arm. “Stop lying to us!”

“Okay, fine. Yeah. You fucking got it right, man. Do you want a trophy?”

“Why didn’t you just,” Woohyun coughs, “move on?”

“I can’t.” His lips quiver, tears pooling in his eyes. “I just think about my trainee days, about our first album, our first concert, our Japanese debut and I can’t, Woohyun.”

Woohyun’s rendered speechless, the world passing by around them in slow-motion. Swaying trees, cloudless skies and Sungyeol’s nails digging into Woohyun’s skin, slow, painful, sayings of something excruciating, maybe a mutual understanding.

Woohyun understands. He does.

“Please don’t tell the others.” Sungyeol curls his toes.

“Sungyeol.” Woohyun doesn’t know what to do. He’s afraid if he says anything more, Sungyeol might come up with thoughts of him wanting to drive him away, as if he isn’t good enough. But no, that’s not the case, he thinks as curls his fingers onto the hem of the other’s sleeve. This isn’t right. Defying death isn’t right.

“I was supposed to die right after the accident.” Sungyeol shudders, vapour and carbon dioxide leaving his mouth in steamy swirls, accentuating his words as if they’re out to mock him. “I couldn’t move on. So they put me in a coma. And I’ve been staying here thinking if I stayed long enough, I’d get my life back. I’d get to live as Infinite’s Lee Sungyeol again.”

Woohyun’s face contorts, cheeks hollowing.

“You know, I wasn’t perfect. I couldn’t get my notes right and I sounded terrible. I always fucked up our performances. And it’s not like I’m particularly good at dancing. I could only count on my humor to keep me going. But everybody’s going to get sick of me trying to be funny all the time someday. Being alone here, I sometimes have thoughts like these and think, maybe it’s better for me to move on after all.” He shrugs.

“But I want to try. I want to try to be better. I missed all of you and there’s so much you guys did for me, so much being in Infinite did for me. I realised I had taken all of this for granted and I want to go back and try again. I want my life back, Woohyun.”

His shoulders start jerking and he begins coughing out blood again. Hurriedly, Woohyun rushes over to his side, hitting on Sungyeol’s back. Sungyeol just grips onto Woohyun’s wrist, hissing, “Don’t breathe a word to the others.”

Woohyun glares at him. No.

“Promise me,” Sungyeol cries aloud. Woohyun turns away from the other man and jogs off instead, joining the other members.

♡

That day, Woohyun doesn’t even spare a proper glance at Sungyeol. Sungyeol casually tries to grab his attention, being as subtle as he can, occasionally glimpsing over at him, flashing him desperate smiles. But Woohyun just rolls his eyes and sticks to another member as they travel, sometimes lagging behind alone. He feels angry, whether at himself or Sungyeol he’s unsure.

All of them decide to settle down on an empty field that’s, amusingly, right next to a meadow with flowers that glitter when the sky turns dark. They make a fire and this honestly feels like a camp, an adventure trip, rather than death.

(Woohyun doesn’t mention but there’s a painful tugging at his chest, as he notices how Sungjong sticks to Sungyeol all the time.)

Sungyeol, he thinks with a sigh. Lee fucking Sungyeol.

Woohyun was heartbroken when the accident happened. It’d take a hell lot of him to deal with the loss of a friend. Somebody he’s been living with, eating with, performing with, practising with. And having it all torn away from him out of the blue left him in trauma. Quiet trauma.

He started shying away from the other members, rejecting individual schedules, sleeping in more often. He needed to deal with it alone, he thought.

And he’s still breaking. But he doesn’t want Sungyeol to break, he thinks he deserves so much better. He’d let go, if Sungyeol could let go as well.

The sky turns from orange, to blue, then finally to indigo. Infinite watches the meadow come alive, flowers spiralling into balls of glitter, an ocean of flickering lights. Dongwoo playfully pushes Sungyeol forward and the younger man yelps, turning around and lightly hitting his shoulder. It’s warm, where seven of them are together and not apart. Warm where the flowers light up, warm where their hearts light up.

♡

“Hyung.” Woohyun saunters over. Sunggyu acknowledges his presence with a quick nod and they both curl forwards, feet almost touching the flickering embers. The other members are fast asleep, bodies heaving, lips slightly parted.

“It’s surprising to find you awake.”

“I could say the same for you.”

Sunggyu rubs his palms together, edging closer to Woohyun, their shoulders barely brushing past each other before the younger man slides away. Frowning, he asks in a quiet voice instead, “So, what’s up?”

Woohyun tucks his knees into his chest, propping his face up with his elbows. “Hyung, Sungyeol told me something today.”

Sunggyu raises a brow. “I noticed you pulling him away earlier on. What did he say?”

Scratching his head, Woohyun starts, “He’s- Well, he’s kind of not supposed to be here.”

“What do you mean?” Creasing forehead, narrowing eyes.

“You see, he’s stuck here because he can’t move on, hyung. He wasn’t even supposed to be in a coma.” He’s supposed to die gets stuck in his throat. Sunggyu hears it anyway. Gulping, the leader admits, “I already suspected something up with him, but I didn’t think...”

“Hyung, do you think it’s right he gets stuck here and perhaps never move on? He’s basically defying death. And I don’t even know what to tell him, hyung. He told me today about wanting his life back, about wanting to try again. He misses us, we miss him, but it’s just wrong. And it hurts, I really don’t like watching him suffer.”

And Woohyun can’t shut up once he starts pouring out his feelings. His genuine thoughts. This entire thing, about Sungyeol’s coma, has been consuming him from the inside since the day of the accident. The other members feel it too, the way Woohyun closes himself up from everybody else. If Sungyeol was dying, Woohyun wasn’t any better. Collapsing inside, fading away outside.

They know. They know he loves Sungyeol with every fiber of his being.

“Sometimes, I want to be selfish, Woohyun. I want to keep him with us. But you’re right,” Sunggyu pats him on the back, “you’re absolutely right.”

“Then help me persuade him, hyung.” Woohyun turns sideways, “Tell him to go. Tell him it’s alright to go.”

The desperate edge to his voice sends something shuddering into Sunggyu’s veins and he bites his lower lip in an attempt to drive the feeling away.

“Talk to him, hyung.” Woohyun shakes the other’s arm wildly. Sunggyu stands up, walking off into the meadow where the flowers glitter, with Woohyun scurrying after him.

“We’ll all talk to him. We’ll tell him to move on,” he assures the younger man, though sounding more like he’s assuring himself.

Woohyun touches a flower, a pink one. Glitter transitions into electricity where finger meets petal and runs through his veins. He jerks away, breathing intensified. But he feels lighter, more clear-headed. And he sighs into the night air, instead of screaming.

♡

An hour passes. The sky starts to light up, the flowers dimming. Woohyun pulls Sungyeol out of his sleeping position and the younger man rubs his eyes, dazed. Sunggyu puts a finger over his lips, signalling be quiet. Stirring, Sungjong peeks at them, wondering what they’re doing. He waits till they’ve left his sight then stands up, creeping after them wordlessly.

Woohyun pins Sungyeol against the wall, crashing his lips onto his and Sungyeol tilts his head downwards, breathing what the fuck against the other man’s chin. Their foreheads hit as Sunggyu cups Sungyeol’s right ear, leaning closer to nibble on the cartilage, hand slipping up under the shirt, thumb brushing past a nipple.

“What.” Sungyeol throws his head back, “What the fuck, hyung.”

Woohyun starts grinding against Sungyeol, pulling him closer, closer, closer. He bites on the lower lip, lets go for a second then shoves his mouth back, their teeth touching instead. Love tastes like metal.

Pulling down the sleeve, Sunggyu presses his lips onto the collarbone, incoherent whispers and closed eyes.

“Let go, Sungyeol.”

“Hyung,” he whines instead, against Woohyun’s lips. Woohyun observes the tent in his pants and almost smirks, kneeling down and stripping off his pants. Material pools around the ankles. Then he pulls down the underwear and cups the base, other hand stroking the cock.

“Fuck, hyung. Stop,” Sungyeol groans but he can’t focus. He thrusts into Woohyun’s hands, thoughts a mess and Sunggyu leaving burning touches where fingers meet skin and lips sucking purple over the canvas of his body isn’t making it any better.

Sungjong watches them and tries not to whimper, fingers shaking, heart palpitating. But Sunggyu turns his face sideways and notices him, mouthing, “Come here.”

A sob slips through the youngest member’s lips. He feels dizzy and he doesn’t understand what’s going on but Sungyeol succumbing to Woohyun’s godly hands is just really fucking hot and he can’t breathe, eyes still glued onto them.

“I said, come here.” The smile tugging at the corner of Sunggyu’s lips is anything but seductive. In fact, it’s heartbreaking. Confused, he stumbles towards them and Sungyeol watches him walk over with heart beating impossibly faster than before. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

“Sungjong, I- Fuck, Woohyun.” He clenches his fists, head pressing against the wall, not wanting to look at hands wrapped around cock, pumping the shaft, fingers tracing the veins.

Pulsating vision, heavy breathing, dark eyes.

“Fuck,” Sungjong curses, throwing an arm around Sunggyu’s shoulder instead, fingers rubbing over the adam’s apple. It bobs up and down with Sunggyu’s heavy breathing and Sungjong says quietly, “Help me, hyung.”

Sunggyu almost sighs and unzips the younger man’s pants. His lips wrap around the head, cheeks hollowing as he sucks and Sungjong moans, tugging on his hair and pulling him closer, bucking his hips and thrusting into his mouth, nails clawing at the scalp. With one eye shut, lips parted, all hot breaths and slippery moans, he peeks at Sungyeol and Woohyun with the other.

Sungyeol’s glancing at him too, a mess of fuck Woohyun, fuck you and your fucking hands. Woohyun whispers against the tip, thumb swiping the pre-come. “You’re beautiful, Sungyeol. So, so beautiful.”

And Sungyeol’s eyes grow red, tears pooling, chest swelling. He knows what they want from him, he knows what they’re trying to tell. But it hurts. He’s tired of waiting. Some part of him wants to let go too.

“You’re a beautiful, beautiful person, Sungyeol. Don’t forget.”

But I’ll forget if I go, Sungyeol tells him. I’ll forget and all of you will remember.

Woohyun pauses and the other almost groans. He feels up Sungyeol’s thighs with his hands. His big, now moist hands. And Sungyeol shudders, his voice trembling, moans quieter but still intense.

We love you, Woohyun says. And it’s because we love you we’re telling you to move on.

Sunggyu presses a knuckle into Sungjong’s hipbone, a speck of pink over beige. Cock sliding down the throat, it convulses and Sungjong’s scream. Goosebumps spiral out the flowerbed of Sungyeol’s skin as he hears the scream. Something rips through him.

Everything about Sungjong, really, leaves him fascinated. Sungjong, flower poking out the side crack. Mesmerizing and absolutely gorgeous. He leaves Sungyeol’s mouth tasting bittersweet.

“Just go.”

Sungyeol explodes with a grunt into Woohyun’s hands. They both pant, chests rising and falling. Sungjong comes all over Sunggyu’s mouth, streaks of white dripping down the chin.

“Just go? Go from where?” the maknae asks softly. And his voice is so tender, laced with the afterglow of his orgasm. Sungyeol doesn’t want to break his heart.

So Woohyun starts for him. “Sungyeol’s not supposed to be here. He’s supposed to be dead.”

♡

Today, the sky is red. Graduating shades of red, from terra cotta to electric crimson. Sungyeol’s nose bleeds a third time before the other members slowly begin to wake up, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.

He begins admitting to everything. Howon stares blankly at him, unable to respond.

Woohyun cups Sungyeol’s face and pulls him in. They kiss like hot breaths and twirling tongues, and their bodies press up against each other, a mess of pulsating veins and heaving chests and hummingbird heartbeats. Woohyun’s fingers burn on Sungyeol’s cheek, and they trail over the canvas of peachy white, along the jawline, down to the collarbone where he rubs circles over skin.

Sungjong sobs into Sungyeol’s back, fingers pressing into the material of his shirt. Myungsoo watches from aside, eyes welling up with tears. He wants to make it all better but he doesn't know how. Having been thrown into the entertainment industry for a pretty long time, they all learnt that things don't magically get better.

Sungyeol breaks away, squeaking, "Guys."

"Just go. Move on, Sungyeol. There's a better place," Woohyun whispers, breath hot against the other's chin. And a chill runs down Sungyeol's spine. He doesn't know what to feel. Woohyun has always been there for him, from their trainee days, even up till now, when they're trapped in the place between life and death.

They might have not liked each other when they first met, but slowly, their friendship grows into the meetings where lips mesh, tongues twirl and fingers curl onto the napes of necks speak of something so much more.

Woohyun's always reassuring Sungyeol when he feels like he fucked up during their practices or performances. Woohyun's always advising him to overcome his low self-esteem and perform with more confidence. Woohyun’s always giving him tips on how to sing better during their spare time.

And Sungyeol's always growing and learning, along with what Woohyun does for him, along with being in Infinite. It hadn't been easy, and he'd always complain about the work being overly tiring, about not getting enough time for himself, about barely being able to see his family. But now, twenty-one and dying, he sees it all in a new light and realises how much this all means to him.

He doesn't want to let it go.

"I missed you. I still miss you, even now, when you're here in front of me. But I don't want you to suffer. That's what friends are for, right?" Woohyun sounds painfully unsure of what he's saying.

No, Sungyeol wants to say, we are more than friends. We are family.

Infinite is family. Beyond the scripted shows, ninety-nine percent synchronisation, Sunggyu lashing out at all of them during practices, it’s family where hands knead into skin, where Myungsoo decidedly plops down on Dongwoo’s lap and the older man laughs into his hair, where Sungyeol pulls a dumb prank on the members and everybody laughs instead of staying angry at him.

It’s family where Woohyun listens to Sunggyu talk worriedly about their group’s progress and about his own solo debut, where Sungyeol and Sungjong pull off quick kisses in between schedules. It’s family where they sit around the television and watch another episode of Reply 1997 and Howon blushes at his own acting.

Sungjong fists into Sungyeol’s shirt, lips trembling.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

It scares Sungyeol a little seeing him like this. Sungjong’s always been rebellious, strong-headed and never liked showing off any form of weakness. Right now, he looks vulnerable, all open scars and bubbling blood.

And it hurts, the tugging at his chest grows stronger, painful. His nose starts to bleed, blood trailing down his upper lip, and Woohyun tiptoes to press his lips onto the philtrum.

“Go now, before it gets worse. Stop waiting around, don’t defy death. Just go, Sungyeol.”

Sungyeol nods dazedly. “I miss you too. Even if I cease to exist, I’ll still miss all of you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Things would have never been the same if I wasn’t in Infinite, if I never met all of you. And I- I’m so sorry because I lack in so many things and I love of all of you and there’s really no other way I can put it. I’ll move on, so I hope all of you can too.”

“There’s the light.” Woohyun points upwards to the portal.

“I know. I’m going now. Fuck, guys. I’m really going.” And nobody can stop Sungyeol when he starts crying, all bloodshot eyes and quivering lips.

A bright, white light envelops him.

♡

Woohyun wakes up cheek against the pillow, bones cold, skin burning. It hurts and he doesn’t know why. The crimson streaks covering his arms and thighs, his tattered bermudas, the holes in his coat, they all don’t trigger any memory of what’s happened before. All he knows is that he feels like he’s on fire.

“Fuck,” he curses, “it hurts.”

The room smells like medicine and detergent, fluorescent lights blinding. It’s painful to keep his eyes open.

A nurse raps on the door before stalking in, cheeks coloured crimson. She probably recognises him, he thinks. Tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear, she asks gently, “Are you feeling better, Woohyun-sshi?”

“Yeah,” he answers quickly, trying not to snap at her. He squints, barely making out the shape of her face, the thickness of her eyebrows. There’s swirls of movement where her fingers curl onto the clipboard and he groans, trying to register his surroundings.

Something flashes across his mind, flitting images, vivid but temporary. There’s a tugging at his chest. But this time, it isn’t foreign.

(PS: He tries his best not to cry. But the tears fall, anyway. They always do.)

so fill to me the parting glass, goodnight and joy be with you all

beefballs — Mon, 07 Jan 2013 09:22:22 GMT

title: so fill to me the parting glass, goodnight and joy be with you all
pairing: kai/kyungsoo, minor kris/lay
rating: nc-17
word count: 8800w~

(originally written for carpepartem here)

It hurts. Everything hurts, hurts to the bone, and he can smell death, see the world less sharpened, hues of red against silver, metallic like blood more than wheels grazing against asphalt. It’s exhausting too, but he runs until he can’t hear his thoughts. He feels them instead, traced in indiscernible letters under his skin, shuddering into his veins.

Shit, shit, shit.

Home feels near. It’s a wreck of overturned tables, shards of glass scattered all over the floor. It’s their feet pressing against the glass, as Kyungsoo tip-toes for one more kiss. One last kiss, maybe. Dates don’t run on the calendar, time doesn’t run on the clock. They determine the seconds, minutes, hours, days on lips to lips, on skin against skin.

Home is turning into another alleyway, wheels scraping against the expanse of gravel and legs tangled as they desperately move up the stairs. Kyungsoo turns around and pulls at the trigger. The figure falls onto the ground, jerking a little. He continues running, staggering backwards into the building, a mess of sweat and horror.

Jongin kisses him furiously against the door, lips meshing, tongues swirling, taste like blood and gunpowder, breaths hot and quick. There, he loses the shuddery feeling, fear transitioning into something less overwhelming.

Home is the smell of Jongin’s navy blue sweater.

“The food rations are running out,” Kyungsoo sighs, “we should move out soon.”

Jongin shuts him up with another kiss, fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt. He quietly moves his lips down along Kyungsoo’s jawline, collarbone, across the chest, and down his belly button ring. Kyungsoo pulls on Jongin’s hair, laughing a little, shoulders sagging in hesitant relaxation.

“I love you.” His voice is muffled against the other’s skin, “Don’t forget.”

“Love you too,” Kyungsoo says breathlessly, “don’t forget.”

Jongin laces one arm around the older’s waist, using his free hand to strip him off his pants. He buries his face in between Kyungsoo’s thighs, swiping his tongue across canvas of porcelain.

“Jongin, please,” Kyungsoo begs softly, erection aching with need.

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of Jongin’s lips as he curls his fingers onto Kyungsoo’s cock, pecking at the tip before stroking the length, sometimes quickly, sometimes slow and teasing. He acts both on and against Kyungsoo’s words, the way Kyungsoo thrusts into his hands and fists into his hair, a mess of fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I love you, Kyungsoo.”

“Jongin, Jongin, Jongin.”

Pre-come gathers at the slit. Jongin licks it, lips fitting around the head, cock sliding down the throat. Kyungsoo screams at that, with his head thrown back and lips parted. Pulling away for a moment, the younger glances up, grinning. “You look absolutely fucking gorgeous like that.”

“Shut up and go on,” Kyungsoo whines and Jongin chuckles, taking the shaft in his mouth once more.

They lose control, letting the seconds slip past their fingertips, for now. Now is all that matters, now is Jongin loving Kyungsoo, now is Kyungsoo loving Jongin.

Now is Kyungsoo coming in spurts, in streaks of white all over Jongin’s mouth, collar, sweater.

“I love you.”

“Don’t forget.”

The electricity goes out for two hours and comes back just in time for dinner. Dinner at midnight, that is. Kyungsoo boils the sweet potatoes while Jongin sits by the door, gun ready at hand. He holds onto the sounds of bubbling water and throbbing hearts.

They eat by the door, too. The potatoes taste more like terror than sweetness so once they finish, Jongin kisses Kyungsoo over and over, finding comfort in thick, pink lips and tiny hands. He likes how they fit in his.

“We really have to move out of here,” Kyungsoo says again, “there’s a safe house, at the outskirts of town. I- I’m scared too but we have to, before it gets too dangerous.”

“I understand, baby.” Jongin pulls him closer. “We’ll move first thing tomorrow.”

(I’ll protect you. No matter what happens, I’ll always be here.)

Jongin pretends to fall asleep on Kyungsoo’s lap. Kyungsoo watches his chest rise and fall, studies the way his lashes fan out, and then traces Orion over his shoulder. Jongin’s lips curve into a smile.

They, “Dorado”, build, “Aquila”, galaxies, “Pegasus”, out, “Eridanus”, of, “Cassiopeia”, skin-against-skin. It’s easier getting through starless nights like this.

Kyungsoo sucks Jongin off against the wall the next morning. They skip breakfast, packing the last of their food rations into brown rucksacks.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Hyung, no matter what, you have to look out for yourself first, okay?”

“Jongin.”

“And remember I love you,” he reminds.

“I won’t forget.”

Jongin shrugs, “Say it, say you love me too.”

“Yeah, Jongin. I love you too.”

It’s scary to talk about death. Kyungsoo feels the fear, hard and bitter, but he pretends it isn’t there. It’s easier that way, he thinks. The problems go away, at least for now, as long as he pretends.

With trembling fingers, Jongin finally opens the door. They stalk out of the unit, back pressed to back, with Jongin facing the front and Kyungsoo facing behind. Their hands are clutched onto their guns. Footsteps quiet but quick, Jongin already spots a couple of them hanging around the elevator and fires at them without hesitation, “Fuck.”

Kyungsoo’s knees wobble and he feels as though he might crumple onto the floor. He presses deeper against Jongin’s back, heartbeat reverberating throughout his body.

“Hyung, stay calm.”

The figures fall. Kyungsoo glances over at them, and thinks how they once had lives, how they used to be individuals, people with beating hearts, people with families, people with feelings.

“Hurry up, hyung." Jongin signals for Kyungsoo to enter the elevator.

The trip down to the lobby is silent.

Kyungsoo thinks the sound of their breathing is enough.

♡

They leave the building through the back door, relentlessly firing at the figures. Jongin eyes them with disgust, bile bitter at the back of his tongue. Kyungsoo doesn’t bear to look.

The small figure, hair patchy and face splashes of brown and red. The lanky figure, arms a ladder-scale of scars. The bulky figure, irises the colour of rotting green apples.

They’re getting pretty good at this, Jongin thinks. He wants to hope that maybe all of this will end, that this is just a nightmare they’ll wake up from. Shifting his eyes, he presses himself against Kyungsoo even harder. There, he can hear their hearts beating in unison.

Outside, the heat is sweltering. Kyungsoo squints and pushes himself backward, motioning for Jongin to move along quickly. He fishes out the guidebook, flipping over to the page that shows a map of the city.

“It’s going to be a long trip,” he sighs, lips slightly quivering. Blue, green, brown and silver scatter across the canvas of the city. There’s a speck of red indicating the safe house and it’d take at least two days to get there.

“We need a vehicle,” Jongin declares.

“How the hell- I don’t want to risk it, Jongin,” Kyungsoo sighs. “Maybe we should just travel by foot.”

“It’s going to take forever, hyung. There’s a lot of distance to cover.”

Kyungsoo weighs the options they have now. Jacking a car would be difficult but getting there by foot means having to use up more time, more resources. It also means having to set up camp midway, and killing even more zombies. He doesn’t like the idea.

“Well, we can try.”

It’s amazing how Jongin even has the heart to smile at him. The car park is a few blocks away. Hardly anybody drives their cars anymore. It’s either they can’t bear to leave the house or they’re dead. Kyungsoo doesn’t want to think that far.

He climbs over the panel and stands on top of the car, arm reached out, fingers resting on the trigger guard, as Jongin jimmies the lock first. Fishing out a screwdriver, he removes the screws, unbolting the ignition switch. He gets rid of the other screws that attach the electrical and mechanical parts together and then turns the switch with the screwdriver.

The vehicle exhales with ignition soon after. Jongin beams, sliding out. “You can come down now.”

He watches Kyungsoo sigh in relief. The older man climbs back down, taking the front seat.

“It’d take about four hours to get there.”

“Do we have enough fuel?”

Jongin squints at the fuel gauge. “Should be.”

Kyungsoo clasps his tiny hands together. The world outside is a glass painting, monochromatic. Skyscrapers that cut into the sky, street stalls flipped over, broken panels and fallen trees. His stomach lurches as he notices a tiny figure, fingers so small they’d be able to wrap around his thumb. It staggers from behind a building, cheeks criss-crossed with scars.

“Don’t look,” Jongin warns. Suddenly, Kyungsoo’s so aware of the metallic sound where wheels graze against asphalt, the low growl of Jongin’s voice, crackling on the edges. His breath grows hitched, and his heartbeat reverberates violently throughout his body. Jongin notices. “You okay?”

Kyungsoo grips onto his seat, hands clammy. “I will be.”

They stop the car by a poorly barricaded area temporarily. The sun is just beginning to dip beneath the horizon, sky streaked with pink and orange. It’s much cooler now and Jongin aches to roll down the windows, to feel the breeze whipping his face. He doesn’t, though.

“We’re reaching.” Kyungsoo smiles lightly. The younger man closes his eyes and nods, leaning sidewards and pressing a kiss onto the other’s forehead.

“Is it okay, hyung? Is it okay to feel hopeful? Because the longer we survive, the more I feel as though we can actually make it. We can live to see tomorrow.”

Kyungsoo tilts his head, lips brushing over the philtrum. Their noses nudge. “I’m not the kind of person to hope but yeah, it’s okay, Jongin. It’s okay.”

“It’s a beautiful world outside,” Jongin whispers, finger tracing the curve of Kyungsoo’s ear, “so, so beautiful.”

Their cheeks are coloured with red, and it’s electric where skin meets skin. Kyungsoo knows it’s going to come out stupid, but he takes a deep breath and says anyway, “Yeah. It’s beautiful because you’re my world.”

(And I’ll do anything to keep you safe.)

Kyungsoo swipes a finger over the eyebrows, knuckles pressing into forehead. This is the sky, he says quietly. He squeezes the nose bridge and Jongin takes a double take, sneezing. Giggling, he moves his fingers away, trailing them across the canvas of his cheek. And then he pulls him in for another kiss. Where lips mesh, this is my oxygen, he says.

“Let’s move on, Jongin.”

“Okay.”

♡

The safe house looks run-down but good enough to settle down in. They enter the place, tips of ears growing crimson. Now that they’re at the far end of the city, there are barely any zombies here. To be safe though, Kyungsoo keeps watch as Jongin fumbles with the passcode system, one hand punching the numbers, the other hand holding onto the guidebook which reads the passcode.

Once the door is closed, they stalk in noiselessly, eyes scanning the room. Kyungsoo thinks he hears something but he can’t put a finger to it. The noises are so soft, it’s almost as if they’re non-existent and just a figment of his imagination. He grips onto the gun even more tightly though.

As they near the first room, he recognises the noises as breathing noises. Ragged breathing, as if asphyxiated and every breath hurts. He almost feels it, the tugging at his chest, raw and painful.

“There’s somebody else here.”

Jongin darts his eyes over to Kyungsoo, hands clammy from anxiety. He mouths, who?

The older man shrugs, signalling he doesn’t know. He moves slowly towards the noises instead, turning into an empty room albeit two heaving figures on the ground. Jongin takes a double take, before squinting to get a better view.

The taller one has dirty blond hair, eyes closed, lashes fanning out. Modelesque, lips smeared into a line. His hands rest on his jacket, nails subconsciously digging into the material. Even in sleep, he’s cautious.

The other man is shorter, sleeves rolled up, bones protruding out of skin. His hair is unkempt, fringe so thick it covers his right eye. Purple colours his cheeks, an extremely sickly shade. He looks like he’s in pain.

They’re definitely human. Jongin relaxes a bit, corners of lips even tugging upwards into a smile. But Kyungsoo only stiffens his shoulders, brows furrowing. The apocalypse has just occurred, there’s no such thing as trusting strangers at a time like this. Ushering Jongin into the other room, they find ammunition and food and bottles of mineral water. Kyungsoo gasps, eyes lighting up. It was the right choice to come here after all.

“Hyung!” Jongin exclaims, albeit in a soft voice. He envelops him in his arms, until their chests are pressed up against each other, his lips softly brushing the top of his head.

Kyungsoo puts a finger to his lips. “Shh.”

The younger man swiftly takes a bottle, opening the lid and taking small sips. He can’t drink up as much as he wants to. It’s key to survival that the body adapts to harsh conditions. Kyungsoo smooths his hands over the packets of bullets, heart beating just a little faster. Instantaneously, he picks a few of them up and keeps them in his rucksack.

It makes sense that there’s so little people who managed to reach the safehouse. The virus has gotten so widespread even the government can’t stop it, as much as they have tried. People either die after getting transmitted, or of starvation or dehydration, not having enough to eat and drink.

They’re all dead inside anyway, in one way or another. The fear of death is thick and fatal, consuming them. Drowning in quicksand, with arms flailing and throats growing hoarse from all the screaming. Nobody hears, nobody saves them.

Kyungsoo blinks, shutting the thoughts away. As he finally closes his rucksack, oblivious to his surroundings, he leans forward onto the shelf, hands gripping the board.

A voice laced with quiet anger pierces through the air. “Who are you?”

The both of them instantly turn around, arms raised in surrender. It’s the taller man, gun in hand pointed towards them. Threat glazes over his eyes in tiny, orange flames. His slanted brows make him look grumpy. But he’s ridiculously handsome, figure towering over Kyungsoo.

Jongin glares at the man but Kyungsoo sighs, dropping his arms. “Hey. I am Kyungsoo and he’s Jongin. We’ve come to the safe house to escape. We mean no harm.”

The guy slowly puts down the gun. “Hi, I’m Wufan.”

"Nice to meet you.... Wufan," he says, frowning. Wufan's words are slightly accented. He tries to figure out why.

"We don't come from here, if that's what you're wondering. And by we, I mean my partner and I. He's called Yixing."

"You're Chinese?" Jongin deciphers, making wild hand gestures. Wufan chuckles, promptly nodding his head. Kyungsoo still has his guard up, forehead creased, fists curling and uncurling.

"Well, welcome to the safe house. I guess we've landed ourselves on the same boat."

"Everybody is, actually," Kyungsoo says quietly. "It's just a matter of who dies first."

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence, something gnawing at their chests. The shorter man of the two finally wakes up, he guesses. Yixing joins Wufan, placing a hand on his shoulder, back bent as he coughs awkwardly.

"This is Kyungsoo and Jongin," Wufan introduces. Yixing smiles a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He's probably just as cautious of them as they are of him.

Kyungsoo decides he'd like them both more than what he expects though.

They don't sleep in the same room, each pair sticking to themselves. Jongin chews on his dried beef, watching Kyungsoo wiping the gun with a wet cloth. Kyungsoo, with his slick, black hair. Irises so white they wash out the black of his pupils. Brows pulled together as if he's deep in thought. Lips pursed, resembling a heart shape.

It's crazy how they only have each other now. Jongin thinks of their old friends from high school. There was Sehun and that guy was a pain in the neck, he remembers. Out to ruin Jongin's life, always pulling pranks on him. There was Junmyeon, and he brought him and Jongin together. He also thinks about his colleagues. Luhan, the only Chinese dancing teacher at their school, whom Jongin was closest with.

Wufan and Yixing's accent brings back memories of Luhan. Luhan and his bambi eyes, dancing precise but not as fluid as Jongin's. Luhan who's quirky and handsome. And Jongin loves him, even if it isn't the same way he loves Kyungsoo.

He wonders how Luhan's faring. Is he dead or dying? Is there somebody to back him up? Luhan has come all this way from China alone, leaving his family and old friends behind. Jongin bites on his lip. Loneliness is contagious.

"Kyungsoo, come here," he whines. The other man crawls over and sits on Jongin's lap, legs wrapped around the body. "What."

"Kiss me," he orders, the authority in his voice stealing the breath away from Kyungsoo. The older man leans in slowly, nibbling on the lower lip first. What's wrong, he asks, breath hot against the chin. Jongin shrugs, sifting his fingers through Kyungsoo's hair.

Their teeth touch and his chest crackles with laughter. Kyungsoo thinks it sounds more like sobbing though. He sucks on the lower lip again and it's a mix of pain and pleasure. Mouths open, tongues meet, twirling. He tries not to think about their touching crotches.

"We can't do this now, right." He pulls away, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Jongin grumbles, "Who cares."

"Jongin," Kyungsoo sighs, cupping said man's face, rubbing circles over the philtrum. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I thought about Luhan. And Sehun. And Junmyeon."

"Ah. Junmyeon was such a nice guy." Kyungsoo smiles bitterly. "Sehun was hilarious. You guys were best friends, I remember."

"Hyung, you were pretty close to that Baekhyun guy too. He always wore eyeliner to school, that guy."

"Baekhyun was a social butterfly. Everybody liked him. Befriending him helped me open up to people in the school," Kyungsoo talks as he pulls in to peck on Jongin's lips once more.

"It scares me. To think they might not even be alive now."

"Don't even go there. They'd like if we remember them as how we had known them."

Jongin figures that Kyungsoo's right. He should keep remembering Sehun as the boy who smudged chocolate all over his textbooks, Junmyeon who stayed back after school to help him with his homework. Chanyeol whom he occasionally played basketball with. Jongdae, the jokester of the class, the boy who made everybody laugh.

Kyungsoo ends up thinking about his own friends as well. Baekhyun and Minseok and Zitao. When his chest starts to hurt, he drives away the images where high school burns into his memory.

"Kiss me again."

Kyungsoo's smile falters. Foreheads touch, lips mesh.

The tent in his pants grows painful. Fingers curling onto the nape of Jongin's neck, he groans, "Thanks for making me hard at a time like this, fucker."

Jongin laughs out loud. "It's okay, hyung. Doesn't matter if Wufan and Yixing are in the other room."

As they jerk off each other, a mess of whimpers and low moans, Jongin’s mind a tree branching out into a million things, an idea grows. An idea of happiness, happiness which doesn’t mean having to survive this. He blinks and pumps his cock faster.

Days grow into weeks. Kyungsoo doesn’t even want to think about what goes on outside the safe house. He sticks to eating dried beef and fruits and hydrating himself whenever he can. They start talking to Wufan and Yixing after two weeks. It’s fascinating learning about the both of them, Kyungsoo thinks. It’s nice to look outside yourself and realise that other people are living too, living real lives and having their own problems and loving the people they love just like you do.

Wufan talks about his past. He had lived in Canada when he was young, a basketballer on his school team. Jongin is reminded of Chanyeol once more, of high school. He figures he kind of misses it, the school work, the peer pressure. His first date with Kyungsoo, their friends teasing them. It seemed as if they were an unlikely couple.

Yixing talks about how he met Wufan. Both struggling to make it in the entertainment industry, Wufan goes to China confused, finding Yixing midway. When Kyungsoo watches them talk, he’s reminded of Chinese take-out, greasy dumplings in a box, wooden chopsticks.

“So why did you come to Korea?” Jongin asks.

“We thought we could find more opportunities here,” Wufan explains. Kyungsoo wishes he can smooth the creases on his forehead.

“I mean, I get sick of hanging around backstage in search for something more. Something exciting. I was confused, I didn’t know what I was aiming for. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want it just as bad as the others did.”

“A spotlight. I guess that’s what we were looking for.” Yixing shrugs. “Funny how it doesn’t seem to matter that much now.”

“We got to the safe house as fast as we could, right after the apocalypse happened. How about you guys?”

Kyungsoo realises they barely talk about themselves. They only listen to the Chinese men, craving for more, for a connection outside the tiny world they live in. The walls they’ve built around them they’re unwilling to break, too.

‘We managed to get by for about a month. Then we jacked a car and got here.” Kyungsoo almost smiles. Jongin digs his nails into the other man’s arm, stopping him from saying anything more. It’s as if it’s their secret to keep. The lives they’ve lived, the lives they’re fighting for. They’re all secrets, they’re the only things left to protect. Kyungsoo bites on his lower lip.

“Cool.” The corners of Wufan’s lips pull upwards. And then Kyungsoo figures what Jongin means.

They’re starting to get attached.

It’s about three a.m. when Kyungsoo wakes up to Jongin stuffing the food from the storage room into their rucksacks.

“Jongin! What are you doing!” he asks, bewildered, albeit in a hushed voice.

Jongin ignores him, carefully sealing the rucksack and then sitting down next to Kyungsoo. “Go back to sleep, hyung.”

“Jongin....” His mind drifts off to Wufan and Yixing, to how the hell they’re going to manage without them when they all finally leave the safe house. Without the food Jongin’s stolen.

“Hyung, I said, go back to sleep.”

“Think about Wufan and Yixing-”

“This is us trying to survive, this is us snatching every chance we get. Hyung, you can’t get attached. You know you can’t, not at a time like this. I’m only doing this for us.” He puts a hand over Kyungsoo’s chest. The older man knows he’s right, but it’s not like he can help it. He can’t help reaching out to other people, he can’t help missing whatever that’s left of humanity.

And he really doesn’t want to cry, but he does, tears trailing down the cheeks leaving behind salty tracks betraying him. Jongin sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, bending forwards to press a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m not going to be sorry, hyung. We’ll need the food, we’ll need to move on.”

“I understand, Jongin, it’s just-”

“Yes, I know. I do.” He shuts him up with another kiss, and then another. They don’t want their conversations to always border on heartbreak.

♡

They start to notice something’s up by the fifth week. Kyungsoo thinks he hears nails clawing at the walls, the low growl of a zombie. He wonders if fear has caught up with him and tries to shake away the noises, the images in his head.

Wufan barges into the storage room though and tells them, “I think we’re being sieged.”

“What the fuck.” Jongin stands up, hand already fishing the gun out of the pocket.

“Sieged?” Kyungsoo questions.

“The whole lot of them. They’re going to stay outside the safe house and wait till we finish our supplies. Then we’ll have no choice but to leave the place.”

“Oh my god.” He covers his face with his hands, heart sinking.

“We are running out of supplies,” Wufan frowns. “We might end up having to leave anyway.”

Jongin thinks about the food he’s stolen, hidden in his rucksack. There’s a tinge of guilt, blooming, flower poking through the side crack.

“Do you guys have any excess supplies? Things we can use for now.”

“No,” he immediately answers, taking Kyungsoo’s hand in his. “no.”

Wufan nods his head slowly and sighs, lips quivering, eyes blank and closed off to the rest of the world. Behind the pupils though, Kyungsoo thinks he sees the universe through Wufan’s eyes, thinks he sees the first time Wufan had kissed Yixing, the first time Wufan watched Yixing danced. He wants so bad to tell him about the food they’ve hidden but Jongin only holds onto his arm even harder.

“Hey, Wufan,” Kyungsoo calls out. Jongin stiffens.

“Yeah?”

“I hope you feel better.” He tries his best at comfort and wonders if he hears the guilt in his voice. Wufan just smiles though. “You too.”

They drink as little water as they can and indulge in kisses instead, sloppy, alive with saliva. Tongues and jaws and mouths, wet and meshing and twirling. Where they couldn’t eat, they devoured each other, lips sucking red and purple into skin. They’re hours away from their old apartment, but Jongin still smells like home. Dirt, crackers and perspiration. Home.

“I want to get a nice, warm shower. And then come out of the bathroom to the waft of kimchi spaghetti. Your kimchi spaghetti. So cheesy, so good.” Jongin closes his eyes and almost smells the pasta, almost tastes it on his tongue.

“We’ll get to have a good glass of wine. It has been an exhausting day for the both of us. You smell like your favourite pear organic soap, I smell like the kitchen fire. You’re really hungry but you kiss me first, because you’re like that. I know you’re like that.”

Jongin snickers, stomach making growling noises. “Can I have another cracker?”

Kyungsoo nods, eyes crinkling into crescents. He opens the wrapper and hands the golden biscuit to Jongin, watching him eat. He thinks Jongin relieves the hunger. As long as Jongin’s okay.

Around the seventh week, they’ve finished up most of the food. There’s a few bottles of mineral water left. Kyungsoo paces up and down, heart beating so hard he feels the pounding in his ears, the thrumming of his pulse, set against the canvas of the entire world. It’s a liquid canvas, and each heartbeat draws a ripple over the water. The anxiety is raw and painful, scars that run deep into his bones. He can shed all the skin, the flesh, the muscle, the tissue and the scars would still be there.

“We have to leave tonight,” Wufan declares. They discuss their plans over a tiny meal of plain wafers and dried beef.

“Where are you guys going?” Kyungsoo asks. The wafers have gotten softer, he notices.

“We can’t even think that far.” Yixing chuckles as if it’s a joke, “What’s most important is getting past the zombies.”

“We’ve got our guns and ammunition. Basically, we have to kill them. Shoot them. But I can already picture the numbers and it’s going to be hard.”

“What’s the minimum?” Kyungsoo questions timidly. Wufan tilts his head, brows pulling closer. “I guess, about twenty?”

“Christ.” Jongin swears, tucking his knees to his chest. The older man just shrugs. “Have to get used to it.”

“Are you afraid?”

Wufan clicks his tongue, then hesitantly smiles. “Afraid of death? Not really. I just regret a lot of things.”

Yixing scoots closer to his partner, pecking on the cheek. His lips stay there a little longer than they shoot, breath against the face, wordless goodbyes breeding where lips meet skin. Kyungsoo starts to shiver, not because it’s cold (autumn is nearing) but because it’s painful to watch.

He’s not going to say goodbye to Jongin. No matter what, he’s not.

♡

They punch in the passcode and the door opens with a creak. This is it.

Wufan stalks out first, gun pointed outwards. There are more than twenty of them and Kyungsoo staggers backwards, reaching his gun out, letting out a scream. The figures approach them, eyes gleaming with the undead. Wufan pulls the trigger and shoots two down, all of them following behind and finally dispersing.

“Jongin!” Wufan yells, edging sideways and blasting off at another one. Yixing swiftly swerves in between the mess of figures, shooting and loading, all with shaky fingers.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, arms flailing and body rotating away from the zombies. One of them is jumping at Jongin and the man shrieks, veins pulsating against his neck. Kyungsoo immediately runs over, blasting at the back of its head, pulling Jongin up.

“Yixing, run! Go now! Quick!” Wufan orders but Yixing shakes his head and continues attacking the figures. “Shit, I’m running out of bullets.”

“Run now, listen to me! Somebody take him away!”

“Yixing!” Kyungsoo calls out, letting go of Jongin and loading his gun. Yixing sprints over to Wufan, fisting into his jacket. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“You dumbass. Go now, I beg you.” Tears well up in the Chinese man’s eyes and Kyungsoo can’t keep his eyes off him for a second. He has never seen Wufan cry and has never expected to either. It breaks his heart.

“Yixing! Come with us!”

“Go with them!” Wufan urges on. Yixing just shakes his head, cheeks flushed. He slowly lets go of his grip on the other man’s clothes, lagging behind a little and then blasting off at a bulky figure but missing.

Jongin grabs Kyungsoo’s hand, wanting to pull him away from the scene. Kyungsoo shakes his head and struggles in his grip, shooting at another one that stumbles past.

“Go now, hyung!”

Caught up in asking Yixing to leave, a big one crashes on Wufan, pinning him to the ground. Yixing screeches and it’s excruciating to hear. Jongin and Kyungsoo cry aloud, watching the zombie sink its teeth into Wufan’s neck, the man slowly growing lifeless, sickly colour spreading across the canvas of his body.

Jongin shoots the zombie, immediately racing over to pry Yixing off but it’s pointless, the man racking with sobs, kneeling beside Wufan.

“Get away now, Yixing! He’s dead, he’s not Wufan anymore!”

But Yixing refuses to let go, lanky arms holding down Wufan’s, pressing them deeper against the ground. When Wufan’s eyes flicker open, he curls upward, nails digging into the other man’s skin, lips sucking onto the chin, teeth tearing open the flesh.

“No!” Kyungsoo screams, “Jongin, run now!”

Jongin’s crying by now, turning around to fire randomly at the figures as Kyungsoo grips his arm and pulls him backward, the both of them running into the dark. Running with their arms swinging, until their legs grow sore, their feet swell. There isn’t that familiar adrenaline, it isn’t electric where something surges through their veins. It pulverises them instead, and Jongin’s sobbing so hard he falls onto the road, screaming.

“Calm down, Jongin! Jongin!” Kyungsoo pins him onto the ground, elbow pressing into the material of his shirt.

Jongin screams, nails clawing at the asphalt, cheeks stained with tear tracks. And Kyungsoo wants to cry too. It really, really fucking hurts. But he leans in to nibble onto Jongin’s lower lip and watch his shoulders sag in relaxation, albeit still a mess of chattering teeth and hummingbird heartbeat.

They kiss like that, until all that Jongin is aware of is his lungs. Lungs on fire, lungs filled up with the smell of Kyungsoo. Until he forgets the smell of almost losing him, of losing Wufan and Yixing, of losing the place they called home for seven weeks.

“We have to go.”

“Where?” Jongin chokes, “Where the fuck can we go?”

“I don’t know. But anywhere with you, it’s fine. It’s going to be fine.”

They both know it’s not.

Jongin nods, getting up feebly, and when Kyungsoo attempts to lace his fingers with his, he just shifts his arm away. They limp like angled legs and quiet footsteps into a forest. It’s dark, but it’s better like this anyway. Where they can’t see, the zombies can’t see them either.

Traversing deeper, they find a spot to settle down. Tomorrow they’d look for water, Kyungsoo thinks. He misses home, he wished they never left, he wished they never met Wufan and Yixing, and silently, he wished he had died. Even though he knew this was all just part and parcel of trying to survive, he thinks there are better things worth living for.

And then he throws a side glance at Jongin and takes his words back.

“You can sleep. I’ll keep watch tonight,” he whispers.

“Thanks.” Jongin lays on Kyungsoo’s lap. “Do you think the zombies will ever die out? Or will they keep increasing in numbers and we all just die? Do you think that, someday, we’ll go back home and rebuild the scraps of life we’re left with, with real things to worry about like food and jobs and children? Do you-”

“Jongin.” Kyungsoo shrugs, hesitantly carding his fingers through the other’s hair.

“Do you remember? We were supposed to go to the orphanage and find a kid we liked. And I- I miss teaching the children at dance class. I wonder what happened to them, hyung. But the more I wonder, the more I realise that I don’t actually want to know.”

“Jongin. Please.”

“Your parents hated me. They hated me so much but we still got together in the end. Are you happy? That we ended up together. Do you love me, hyung?”

“I love you so much, Jongin. So fucking much.”

“Okay. I love you too, hyung. You have to remember. We can forget about all the other things, even the little things. But you have to remember that I love you too.”

Kyungsoo nods. “Just go to sleep.”

“You have to remember.”

“I won’t forget. I promise.” He glares ahead.

Until he watches Jongin’s eyes screw shut, body heaving, chest rising and falling, lips pressed into a line, he lets out a breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding.

I love you, he mouths, tracing the curve of Jongin’s ear with his fingertip.

It’s going to be a new day. Another day of trying to survive. He goes through the list of things they’re left with in their rucksack. Bullets, blades, guide book, empty bottles, scissors, a tiny pot and dried food. He’s glad Jongin decided to steal them off the safe house's storeroom anyway. And tomorrow, they’re going to find water, of course; and maybe look for edible plants in the forest. He smiles to himself. It’s a sad smile.

Suddenly, Jongin jolts out of Kyungsoo’s lap and wraps his fingers around the other’s neck, holding him down against the ground.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

But Jongin pulls out his gun and presses the pistol against Kyungsoo’s forehead.

“J-Jongin?” Not now. Now now, you idiot.

“Jongin! Jongin, goddammit!” Kyungsoo hisses, struggling in Jongin’s grip. “Stop!”

“You love me right, hyung. Trust me.” Jongin’s eyes are dark and Kyungsoo sees it, sees how determined he is to do this. It scares the fuck out of him and the panic makes him want to throw up. He shakes his entire body instead, squeezing tears out of his eyes. “Please, Jongin! Not now! Stop, please!”

“Hyung, trust me. I’ve got this.” Jongin just says quietly, shaky finger about to pull on the trigger.

“Fuck.” Kyungsoo throws himself forward, denting nails into arms, sinking teeth into the younger man’s cheek, biting on the flesh and Jongin drops the gun, falling backwards.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he lashes out at him, hurling punches at his nose, until blood trails down the philtrum, and then the upper lip. For a tiny man, Kyungsoo has more strength, more depth to his attacks than what he seems to be on the exterior.

Jongin lets Kyungsoo hit him because yeah, Kyungsoo’s right, what the fuck was he thinking?

“Hyung, I- I’m sorry.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t soften, he bends and pulls at the collar, hauling him up, other hand clawing at his scalp, fingers pulling on dishevelled hair.

“We’re going to fucking live through this. Do you hear me? I said, we’re going to fucking live through this. You asked me if we could go back to living the way we used to. To be honest, things are never going to be the same. Recovering from this is going to be difficult. But you know what? At least we’d have a chance to try. I want to try, Jongin. For you, for us, for now, for tomorrow. I want to try.”

Jongin pants heavily as Kyungsoo slowly releases him.

“Hyung, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, Jongin.” Kyungsoo closes his eyes, attempting to even out his breathing.

“I don’t know what I was doing, I-”

“Yeah, I know. Just go back to sleep.”

“Hyung.”

“I want to cut my hair,” Kyungsoo announces out of the blue.

“I’ll do it for you.” Jongin frantically rummages through the items in the rucksack, fishing out the scissors.

“Jongin. You don’t need to. I said, go back to sleep.”

“No, no, hyung. Let me.” His voice is trembly on the edges. Kyungsoo keeps his guard up as the blades snip past strands of black hair, slowly yawning, vision blackening, scalp mottled with Jongin’s teardrops.

That night, he dreams about Jongin, skin patches of bronze and green, eyes bloodshot, scars running across his back, arms, face.

Jongin ends up falling asleep. They both wake up to something heavy in their chests, a burden to carry, and now they have to walk with their backs bent, pain etched into the creases on their forehead, the way their brows furrow together. Jongin awkwardly slings an arm around Kyungsoo’s waist for support. His limping is less obvious but it’s there.

“You feeling better?” the older man asks quietly.

“Yeah. Where are we heading off to?”

It’s clear he doesn’t want to touch the topic of what happened last night. The way his hand squeezes the flab on Kyungsoo’s abdomen says sorry though. It says I’m so sorry and I love you and I did this only because I love you. Kyungsoo decides it’s not worth mulling over so he tiptoes to press a kiss against Jongin’s cheek. It’s okay.

“We’re going to look for water.”

“Oh.”

The trees here look livelier than those in the city. Faint sunlight filters through the leaves, dappling the ground. Red, orange and gold spiral from underneath, twisting into the sky. The wind is heavy, and Kyungsoo buries his head into Jongin’s shoulder, teeth chattering.

They walk for hours, with their guns at hand of course. But they’re drained of any energy to care, really. They don’t even bother to look around, be cautious of any oncoming monsters. All they do is trudge through the forest in silence. It’s a comfortable silence.

When they finally find a lake, the sun is beginning to set. Jongin gathers some twigs and branches, starting a fire. They’re aware the light it emanates makes them an easy target but they have to boil the water first. Making sure they drink clean water is just as important.

As the liquid simmers in the pot, Kyungsoo attempts to bring his feet as close as possible to the flickering embers. The warmth is very comforting and as dry as their throats are, they relish in the heat first.

“It’s kind of pointless, isn’t it? Getting by like this.” Jongin begins. Kyungsoo turns to look at him, body trembling violently. “Jongin, why do we keep talking about this?”

“We don’t have all the time left in the world to talk about anything else, hyung.”

The older man drawls, “Admittedly, it kind of is.”

“Are you happy?”

“I don’t know, Jongin. But really, have I been happy all my life? What I’m getting at is that everybody’s stuck in a transition between this emotion and that emotion. Everybody’s stuck in a transition between one phase and another. We move on, we fall behind, we get stuck. Life works like that.”

“Are you happy now?”

“No. I’m not happy at all. I’m tired and I just want to sleep and never wake up. But I guess you can say I’m glad. We’ve made it this far, Jongin.” Kyungsoo takes his hand, “And it’s not worth looking back anymore.”

“I wonder if we’ll end up in a better place after death.”

“Maybe. But what if don’t end up there? What if we cease to exist? I want to fight for the seconds we have left. I don’t want to let them slip past my fingertips again.”

“And I just want to be happy.” Jongin gets up, removing the pot. They let the water cool down before pouring it into the bottles. Taking a slow sip, he throws his head back, shoulders sagging. Kyungsoo takes tiny sips as well, drinking as slowly as he can. As night arrives, they smother the fire with dirt and run off, groping through the darkness, face specked with fresh, tiny cuts.

♡

They manage to survive in the forest for a good month, the zombies barely ever venturing into this secret haven they’ve found. There have been a couple of them but Kyungsoo and Jongin kill them with ease. With the small number of zombies, they don’t have to worry about ammunition, regardless of the bullets they’ve used when leaving the safe house.

Jongin starts to notice they don’t talk much anymore. But Kyungsoo holds on to him harder than before. When they run low on dried food, they start picking out the edible plants in the forest. It’s a good thing they’re near the lake, too. So they can always have a source of water.

On a particular day, Jongin catches sight of six or seven of them. He fires from a distance before dashing back to their camp, hurriedly asking Kyungsoo to move from their current location first, but to still stay in the forest, just further away. Something feels off and he starts thinking about his family again, his friends. Their neighbours. He pictures them, greener and bruised and eyes the colour of something else. He pictures them with teeth baring, nails clawing at skin. And then he shudders and shakes his head, but that doesn’t bring the gut feeling that pools in his stomach away.

Kyungsoo thinks about something else. He thinks about how tired he is and about winter. Winter’s going to come, it’s already so cold, how are they going to go on? Then his thoughts drift off into little fantasies. Of fireplaces and winter clothing and Christmas. Kyungsoo misses Christmas.

Last year, he was insistent on celebrating Christmas. He cooked a small dinner, just enough for themselves and a few of their colleagues. Jongin bought him new silverware and Kyungsoo bought him cute socks. They had kissed as they unwrapped the presents.

The next day, around morning time, the national alarm blasts off. Kyungsoo jumps out of his sleeping position, gripping onto Jongin’s shoulders and screaming into his back.

He remembers reading about the alarm in the guidebook. It means a nuclear wipeout.

They lapse into silence for a few minutes, attempting to digest everything. The alarm still rings, loud and clear, force knocking death onto them. Shoving death down their throats.

“You do realise we can’t survive this, right? We’re gonna die, hyung. We’re really gonna die.” Jongin laughs. Their fingers lace, and Kyungsoo’s chin rest on Jongin’s. Their eyes are glittering, seas reflecting shimmering city lights. Seas in which their hearts sink.

Kyungsoo blinks, taking a better look at Jongin. Has he always been this unclean? The grime, the dirt, the perspiration trickling down the temples. He cups his wrist and pulls them away from their camp. Jongin doesn’t even question him, lets him take him away without a word.

When they reach the lake, Kyungsoo slowly takes off Jongin’s sweater, unbuttoning the shirt underneath. His fingers are trembling and Jongin takes his hand in his, swiping a thumb over them, callused skin plastered over bones. But Kyungsoo can’t stop shaking, and he halts, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes. Jongin waits until he relaxes, then lets him work at unbuttoning the shirt, pushing them out the slits. The younger man slips out of his shirt by himself and Kyungsoo trails his fingertips against the abs, letting the digits go over the ridge, mapping out the curve, the dip. Jongin only shudders.

When Kyungsoo finally stops, breathing a sigh, he pushes the other man into the lake. Jongin doesn’t protest, much to his surprise. The water could very much be contaminated with the virus, but honestly, who cares now?

Kyungsoo flicks some water at Jongin’s abdomen, tracing circles over skin. Jongin laughs and splashes the liquid at the older man, watching him erupt with giggles and submerging under the surface. Bubbles rise, bursting when they reach the surface. After a while, he hauls him up, eyes the way his shirt clings onto his skin.

Kyungsoo, like this, is a mess of laugh lines and eye smiles. In time to come, he’ll figure out that this is what happiness really means, Jongin thinks. It’s freezing, kind of. But this is the cleanest they’ve felt since they left home, droplets of water trailing down canvases of porcelain and bronze, iridescent even in minimal sunlight.

“This is it, isn’t it?”

“I guess so.” Jongin starts to laugh again because it’s so fucking sad it’s funny. The kind of funny where it bursts through his veins, mine trail marked around the heart blowing up all at once. The kind of funny where he remembers the first time he tried coming to terms with his sexuality, the first time he met Kyungsoo’s parents. The first time he tugged on Kyungsoo’s arm, not letting him go, promising him he’ll take care of him forever.

And the first time he competed for his job with another graduate, the first time he and Kyungsoo fought over finances. He also remembers the parts in between, the world they’ve built, the world they’ve spent forever trying to keep. In circles they go, moving forward at times, lagging behind at others.

Maybe there’s bits of happiness wedged in between the work, the endless plans for a future. But Jongin can’t remember, and it’s sad that it’s only now he wants to not forget.

Because the kisses are never enough, because there’s always something left to regret. The empty spaces where the puzzle pieces don’t fit. Money and work, puzzle pieces too big. The spaces are smaller, meant for the little things.

“I’m sorry,” Jongin suddenly says as they get out of the lake. The blades of grass crunch underneath their feet. Kyungsoo shivers, lapsing into fits of violent coughing. Leaning in, Jongin laps at the wetness, pressing a hand against the cheek.

"You're gonna have a fever." He frowns, putting back on his clothes. Kyungsoo falls limp, lying down on the grass, letting out a sigh that's trembly on the edges. "Whatever."

"I said I'm sorry."

“For what?” Kyungsoo snaps. Jongin takes a deep breath. “Sorry for not kissing you hard enough, sorry for all the dinner dates I’ve not turned up for because of work. Sorry for coming home late sometimes, like- I just wish I came home earlier to find you awake instead of sleeping. Fuck.”

“I’m sorry too. Sorry for ordering take-out on the days I’m too tired to cook. Sorry for the kid we couldn’t adopt. Sorry for turning down sex on working days,” Kyungsoo adds on. And the way he speaks, his voice itself, it all takes Jongin’s breath away. He wishes he could fall for him again. Over and over again.

“Dry your clothes,” he says instead. Kyungsoo doesn’t listen, just closes his eyes as Jongin lies down next to him. “It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay.”

When the sky darkens, Jongin notices that Kyungsoo might be having a fever after all. He crouches, carrying him on the back all the way to camp. It’s pointless but he rushes. Because as much as being killed by a zombie is no different from being killed by a nuclear wipeout, he doesn’t want Kyungsoo to die like that.

“I’m so tired, Jongin.”

“Take a rest when we reach camp.”

He wets Kyungsoo’s forehead, letting him sleep on a bed of fallen leaves and makes a fire. There’s an ache in his chest where he watches Kyungsoo shiver and he chides himself for letting Kyungsoo go down into the lake. And he’s freezing but he takes off his coat and drapes it over the older man instead.

The idea of happiness branches out, Jongin’s mind not bearing the weight. He’s going to collapse, both inside and outside. Gently patting the sleeping figure, he promises he’s not going to let Kyungsoo watch him fall apart.

Jongin remembers the first time he tried killing Kyungsoo. It was completely irrational but this time, it makes a lot more sense. He reaches out for the rucksack, fishing out the bottle which stores the edible plants, attempting to force a leaf into the other man’s mouth. Kyungsoo groans, turning over to sleep on his side. Chuckling, Jongin opens another bottle that’s filled with water and lightly sprinkle it over Kyungsoo’s forehead. He hopes it relieves the pain, even if it’s just by a little bit.

“The first time we met, I was a mess.” Jongin doesn’t even realise he’s talking aloud.

“I was a mess and didn’t even bother with fixing myself. I fucked up a lot.” He pauses for a second, brushing a wisp of hair off Kyungsoo’s eyes.

“If you looked at this from the big picture, me meeting you wouldn’t have been a miracle. We just grew so used to being with each other we kind of forgot that it’s what makes us that’s most important. We stopped appreciating the little things. It’s the little things I miss most, hyung.”

The wind bites at his neck, goosebumps blooming on the flowerbed of his skin.

“Thank you for staying. Thank you for not giving up, for saving me. For putting back all the broken pieces together. I love you.”

He curls his fingers onto the gun. The gun which he fished out along with the plants. Curling closer, he points the pistol onto Kyungsoo’s forehead. What he doesn’t expect to see though, is Kyungsoo breathing a sigh, single tear trailing down the cheek.

“I love you too.”

Jongin fires.

you're strumming on my heartstrings like you were a grade 8

beefballs — Wed, 28 Nov 2012 15:29:56 GMT

you're strumming on my heartstrings like you were a grade 8
suho/kai/baekhyun, nc-17
for pressurise, happy b'day sonja i love you!!!

Jongin rubs the sleepiness out of his eyes as he threads through the passageway. He should be used to it by now, the lack of sleep, intense practices, flights to foreign countries, countless schedules. Junmyeon pats him on the shoulder and flashes an encouraging smile, promises of something else, something far more exciting than concert rehearsals.

The both of them are rooming tonight, along with Baekhyun. Hotel room, king bed and stunning night view of the city.

(Jongin fantasizes about figures silhouetted against the glass window, heaving bodies pressing into the sheets.)

And it's the little things Junmyeon and Baekhyun do that builds up his anticipation. The way Baekhyun cards through his hair after an exhausting rehearsal. The way Junmyeon pulls on the hem of his sleeve as they all scramble up the stage for another run-through. Quick massages during breaks, hands kneading into skin more sensual than comforting. Jongin wants it, he wants it bad and rough and numbing.

“Be patient,” Junmyeon rubs circles over the nape of Jongin’s neck, all hot breaths and sweaty hands. The younger almost whines. Just then, Baekhyun walks over, lacing an arm around his waist and leaning towards his ear, teeth grazing the lobe almost as if he’s about to nibble on it, “He’s right, be patient.”

“Christ,” Jongin glares straight ahead. Baekhyun chuckles, fingernail denting into the dancer’s wrist, both threatening and teasing, “I said, wait.”

Junmyeon laughs like it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened.

That night, Jongin gets his reward anyway.

Jongin goes on all fours, knees and hands pressing into the mattress. A smirk tugs at the corner of Baekhyun’s lips. There, the sight of Jongin biting on his lip, hair matted in perspiration, a mess of soft whimpers and nails digging into the sheets, it makes Baekhyun oddly happy. This isn’t Kai, this isn’t the boy which has fluidity traced into his joints, isn’t the boy who oozes sensuality on the stage, the stage they all call home. This is Jongin, sleepiest member, has issues with expressing what he feels, painfully submissive, the boy Baekhyun falls for over and again, everyday.

On the other side of the bed, Junmyeon slides his cock down Jongin’s throat, fingers tangling into strands of his hair. Jongin makes these muffled noises where his lips fit around Junmyeon’s shaft, euphoria mixed with vibrations and jesus christ, those fucking lips, the older thinks as he shallowly thrusts for more, more, more.

Baekhyun rubs circles into Jongin’s inner thighs. He likes how they all contrast against each other, bronze and milk and roses.

“Look at you,” Junmyeon alternates from loud moans to slippery whispers, “taking up my cock like that.”

Laughing at Junmyeon’s attempt at dirty talk, Baekhyun coats his fingers with lube. Durex Play Very Cherry. He slides in a digit and purrs, “You’re gonna be really fruity. I like fruity Jongin.”

“Mmmph,” Jongin moans and Junmyeon throws his head back, “Fuck, Baekhyun, do that again.”

Pressing his thumb into Jongin’s hole, Baekhyun flicks it and Jongin’s stuck in the transition between pain and pleasure. He tries to spread his legs further apart, teeth knocking onto the head, tongue swiping over pre-come that gathers on the tip.

“Jesus christ,” Junmyeon tugs Jongin closer once again. As Baekhyun fingers him achingly slowly, he uses his other hand to jerk off, which frustrates the shit out of Jongin because he’s only going slower. And when he tries to protest, it just comes out as stifled moans and Junmyeon would shove himself deeper down the other’s throat, because it feels so damn fucking good, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Jongin has memorised the way Baekhyun’s lips part ever so slightly, eyes shut, lashes fanning out, with fingers curled onto his cock, pumping the length. But it isn’t enough, he wants to turn back and watch him jerk off while fingering him with the other hand. He whines around Junmyeon’s cock for the nth time that night.

“You little shit,” the leader claws at Jongin’s scalp. Baekhyun inches closer to rub himself against Jongin’s thigh while stroking, his entire focus shifting towards his own dick.

“Baek, hyun, hyung,” the younger is about to tear up, “please.”

“Beg him,” Junmyeon orders, releasing his grip on Jongin temporarily.

“Hyung, hyung, hyung, please.”

“Louder, you fucker,” Baekhyun adds on, “fuck.”

“Hyung!” He’s just so vexed, having to pleasure Junmyeon but not being able to come. And he needs more of those fingers, Baekhyun’s fingers, slender and delicate and quick.

Baekhyun curls the digit and something rips through Jongin. He screams, Junmyeon laughs and Baekhyun curls in deeper. Then he thrusts the digit, adds another, and another. Three fingers up the ass and Jongin still wants more.

The younger sucks even harder, slight pops and wet noises. Junmyeon finally comes, streaks of white dripping off Jongin's chin. They kiss, lips meshing, tongues swirling, with the leader cupping the dancer's face. Baekhyun's chest swells. He thinks they look lovely like that.

"Hyung, Junmyeon hyung. Help me please," Baekhyun pleads, staring down at his neglected cock. Junmyeon's panting, chest rising and falling, lips curved into that stupid smile. Afterglow of a really good orgasm.

"Yeah, okay," he slides under.

“Shit,” Baekhyun curses as fingers curl onto his cock, cradling the base then pumping the length. His fingertips teasingly trace over the veins, thumb swiping over the slit. With one elbow, he props himself up on the bed, and leans in to suck on the pre-come.

Jongin thinks he looks really hot like that, and he watches them with dark eyes.

Fingers delve even deeper, curling into the prostate and Jongin makes a sound that's halfway between a scream and a growl, low, vibrating.

Baekhyun coats his fingers with more lube and curls into that same spot everytime. Jongin's eyes roll back, warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach.

“You like that?” Junmyeon teases huskily as he strokes, “You fucking like that, right? My hands, on your cock? Huh?”

And Junmyeon’s voice is soft but rich, laced with lust. There’s a foreign tugging at Baekhyun’s chest and he doesn’t know what to make of it. He blushes an endearing red instead, “Just shut up, hyung.”

“Yeah, he’s, mmph, right, hyung. Just shut, fuck, up,” Jongin adds on.

“Is this how you talk to your hyung?” the older man says softly, strumming on heartstrings and painting red over cheeks. He squeezes the base, and Baekhyun thrusts into his hands as something tightens in his stomach.

Jongin comes with a scream, fingers clawing at the sheets, shoulder blades jutting out of skin as he arches his body. Baekhyun explodes into Junmyeon’s hands in spurts, streaks of white, and his shoulders sag, eyes close, as he slumps his self over Jongin, arms hugging legs.

"Well?"

They smell like come and flavoured lube, and Baekhyun's wrist hurts but,

"Well."

this is rly badly-written sorry i love you have the best birthday ever
(thanks liuqi and regina for beta)

2 drabbles

beefballs — Thu, 25 Oct 2012 12:25:35 GMT

2 drabbles
a/n: i just really felt like posting something idk

where everything's meant to be broken, i just want you to know who i am
pairing: aj/kiseop, rating: g

Jaeseop is the kind of person Kiseop knows he should stay away from. But he thinks, it’s in the moments where they pass by each other, shoulders brushing, fingers curling and uncurling, that he falls deeper into alligator eyes and a deceased heart. He memorizes Jaeseop by heart, the way disquiet spirals out of his fingertips into crumpled papers and ethereal colours.

A kaleidoscope of red, yellow, orange, purple, green, blue, like pain in different shades of colour, like a constant, a focus point, like black ink dripping off the pages in liquid streaks, leaving behind trails of crimson illusion. Like something to hold onto, when everything else is spiraling out control. And Jaeseop digs his nails into Kiseop’s skin, breathes into the nape of his neck, whispering something along the lines of it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.

And Kiseop wants to believe him so bad, so they lace their fingers together, life against death, beating as one.

we can go where you want, say the word and i'll take ya
pairing: soohyun/kiseop, rating: pg

“I’m cold,” Kiseop declares rather bitterly. A smile tugs at Soohyun’s lips, “Come here.”

Kiseop pads over to Soohyun, plopping himself down on the other’s lap. Arms lace around waist, chest beats against nape of neck, lips press onto back of head.

“What are you thinking about now?”
“About the future, about us. About eating vanilla cones while watching the sun set beneath the horizon, grains of sand filling up the spaces between our toes.”

“And we can wake up to sloppy kisses, and feed each other strawberries dipped in chocolate for breakfast. Then we’ll lay on the sofa, and I’ll trace along your collar bone, jawline, shoulder blade, the outline of your fingers, toes, ears, with my fingertip. I’ll map you out.”

“We can fuck in the shower,” Kiseop smiles slyly, “against the wall, with the water running. It’ll be wet, and your skin will be hot and flush against mine.”

“I can’t wait already,” Soohyun laughs.

“I love you, hyung.”
“I love you too, Kiseop. Merry christmas.”

masterlist

beefballs — Thu, 27 Sep 2012 11:52:30 GMT

MASTERLIST

my writing is extremely shitty, thank you.

ex fic lj
twitter
tumblr
flavors
ask.fm

[u-kiss]
9 ways to be beautiful
ot9, pg-13

in his dreams
soohyun/kiseop, pg-13

i feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin
aj/kiseop, pg-13

2 drabbles:
where everything's meant to be broken, i just want you to know who i am
aj/kiseop, g

we can go where you want, say the word and i'll take ya
soohyun/kiseop. pg

[infinite]
wither
sungyeol-centric, pg-13

[exo]

perception
kyungsoo-centric, kai/kyungsoo, pg-13

the science to killing yourself
kai/kyungsoo, pg-13

little one lie with me, sew your heart to my sleeve
kai/kyungsoo, pg-13

you're strumming on my heartstrings like you were a grade 8
suho/kai/baekhyun, nc-17

i feel it deep within, it’s just beneath the skin

beefballs — Sat, 11 Aug 2012 08:46:40 GMT

i feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin
Death is an art, something crafted meticulously out of beauty and want; a concept labelling a heart that’s stopped beating, a pulse that's stopped throbbing.
warning: might be triggering to those who practise self-harm

Death is an art, something crafted meticulously out of beauty and want; a concept labeling a heart that’s stopped beating, a pulse that's stopped throbbing. Like the spaces between words and holes punched out of hearts, it’s a quiet secret to carry.

Most of all, it has the ability of ripping reality apart and as soul gets torn away from body, the person is finally saved.

♥

The first time Kiseop dragged the razor blade across his wrist is the most unforgettable. He remembers lengthening crimson cut a representation of emotions which he couldn’t recognise, building up and then finally releasing with blood that bubbles. His breath had gotten caught in his throat and he had thrown his head back, eyes pressing into slits.

♥

The first time Jaeseop killed a client is the one he tries all his life to forget. He had pressed the muzzle against the latter’s head, pushing him hand-to-chest down into the bathtub. He remembers pulling trigger and bubbles that stop surfacing instantaneously afterwards, him falling backwards and body against wall, wanting to just seep away. Jaeseop had thrusted his lips onto the client’s, blood ebbing across the water in webs, before slipping off.

♥

Kiseop perches over the rosewood table, eyes clouded with guardedness. His fingers tremble against trouser pockets, skin stretched over with the most painful kind of anxiety. The glass of water remains untouched.

Heart keeps pumping and he honestly wants it to stop, right now. There’s that urge to be cut all over until he bleeds everything out, until he’s a mess of liquid crimson over dried red. Until breathing gets cut off and the world around him fades off into nothingness.

Heart only manages to pump faster though.

Jaeseop feels a little too suffocated in blue-and-white checkered shirt that clings onto his skin. He still adorns a smile, that smile which ignites little sparks of fear yet drawing fascination concurrently.

The moment he enters the cafe, his eyes are trained onto a boy with scarlet hair swept over his eyes. His client.

That smile only grows wider, sparks of fear developing into flames, resulting in Kiseop’s fascination anyway. It’s a norm.

Jaeseop slips onto the chair, movements somewhat feline, making him seem almost surrealistic. He fishes out a hand, “Kim Jaeseop.”

“Lee Kiseop,” the older takes up his hand, fingers interlacing, contact a little overwhelming.

Jaeseop pretends not to see through the ladder-scale of scars creeping its way up Kiseop’s arms, decorating peachy skin with red.

“So, how much are you willing to pay?” the younger folds his arms, cushioning his back against the chair, exuding confidence. Kiseop’s a mess of side glances and shaking body, “Five thousand dollars? Ten thousand dollars? I -”

“Ten thousand dollars it is,” Jaeseop’s eyes sparkle, resembling constellations that hold the wrong stars together. They creep the hell out of Kiseop, who’s already creeped out by what he’s going to do, to spend ten fucking thousand dollars on -

“How would you like it to be executed?” Jaeseop speaks of death and murder in terms of his occupation, not in the term of its notoriety, which Kiseop spent half of his life being eaten away by. Death grows with Kiseop, turning from want to need.

“Blood,” he mutters, “just, blood. And slow, physical pain erasing what’s inside of me, just -”

Two rows of teeth clattering against each other and Kiseop wants to shrivel up, his soul in discomfort from being trapped inside a body he’s never liked. They want to tear away from each other, slowly but surely.

Jaeseop just nods his head.

“Tomorrow, please, I just -” Kiseop doesn’t know how to stop rocking in his chair and Jaeseop firms his grip on the former’s hand, skin against skin, fingers burning against fingers. Together, they mesh, encircled by a blaze.

A blaze that creates them, when burns don’t know how to heal like before.

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Mr Lee.”

Kiseop leaves a cheque for ten thousand dollars and his address on the table.

♥

Stars draw themselves over large expanse of indigo sky, pearly and white and glowing. Kiseop would love to bleed over them, like how he chooses to die over white bedsheets. Engulfed by visualizations of blood seeping across whiteness in swirls, he gets a little too impatient waiting for Jaeseop.

The minute hand etches spaces across background and numbers, tick tock tick tock. Soft grumbling slips through tousled lips and a throbbing ache develops at the back of head. Butt presses deeper into sheets, softness against denim material of jeans.

Minute hand finally reaches the ‘eight’ mark and hour hand points towards ‘twelve’. Doorbell rings and he smiles, even though he’s torn between being happy for finally getting what he wants or freaked out by Jaeseop’s surrealistic punctuality (or actually, surrealistic everything).

Jaeseop adorns a tuxedo, tie hugging his collar and smile pressed into something less intimidating. Kiseop loses himself in slanted eyes and slick black hair, and tries to feel happy that the person tasked with killing him is really fucking beautiful.

♥

The younger man begins the process of tearing clothing away from skin, then soul away from body. He leaves gentle touches as he unbuttons and removes, material slipping off skin and flesh. It isn’t long before the older turns into a shuddery mess, alive and open, wanting to just shrivel up and die out instead.

“My razor,” Kiseop throws his head back into the sheets, finger pointing out towards said blade which rests on the beside table, “I’d love to die with it.”

Jaeseop crawls upwards, knees grazing against bed, fingers curling around razor.

“Thanks.”

He begins with Kiseop’s nose, drawing tiny cuts over the bridge before sliding the blade under and over cartilage, drawing the first streak of blood. It runs down the latter’s chin, staining his lips with metallic crimson. Kiseop sinks even deeper into the bed, shoulder blades jutting out of skin. With his fingertips, Jaeseop smears the blood all over philtrum and at that, even more blood bubbles out of nostril. Draws the blade over cartilage once more, this time with more pressure and Kiseop moans, lost in tiny bouts of physical pain.

"Shit," hint of a tongue slips through parted lips, swiping over them, attempting to taste the metallic and the glorious.

Smirking, Jaeseop moves on to work at Kiseop's arms. Piercing blade into skin, cutting perfectly parallel lines over wrist, over older scars, some already greying and left to fade out.

"You're so good at this," the older says quietly and Jaeseop honestly wishes he would just shut up instead. He's never had a client who talks every five fucking minutes while being killed and it's honestly disturbing.

(and painfully distracting as well, reopening wounds Jaeseop thought were never there anymore)

Jaeseop expertly cuts a gash down Kiseop's arm, blood seeping out and slowly spreading across the sheets. Instantaneously, the latter feels a little giddy but tries to focus on the stunning contrast of crimson against white. His breathing begins to turn ragged.

Tip of blade cuts into open flesh and flickers away, only after leaving an impression of razor having been embedded into body. Euphoria escalates with sporadic pain, and with blood dotting area around the gash.

"It's an art," Kiseop whispers to himself.
Jaeseop tries not to roll his eyes.

"You're an artist," the older man smiles feebly.
He ends up rolling his eyes after all.

Kiseop squirms as Jaeseop forms another gash on his other arm, blood seeping out freely. Draws tiny cuts over knuckles and longer ones across palms. Even attempts to shape beauty out of flesh, as blood doesn't know how to stop flowing, streaking everything else with the most brilliant kind of red.

Jaeseop cuts out circles around the older's nipples, gently pressing metal against them in the process. Throwing sensuality aside, he's carving out a Kiseop that's lost in physicalness. The edges of soul that's been plastered onto body are slowly being ripped off.

Basically, Kiseop's beginning to lose himself.
(with Jaeseop's aid, of course)

Kiseop doesn't expect Jaeseop to dig the blade in and out of belly button, as if weaving thread over and under thread. Pain is amplified with how pressure is inversely proportional to area in contact and he breaks into the most breathtaking smile.

Jaeseop finds it beautifully repulsive.

He moves on to draw dashes over Kiseop's thighs and experimentally licks the blood, plushness against lips. Aching to watch the blood pulsate over soft thighs, he draws a little more indiscriminately and Kiseop chuckles darkly.

Obsessiveness can get a little contagious.
(especially with death)

Kiseop's bleeding so much he's barely conscious anymore, and suddenly Jaeseop listens out for muffled "thank yous", carving a valley in his chest that surrounds the heart out of flesh, blood already pooling.

Crimson over peachy skin over white sheets.
Just the way Kiseop has envisioned it.

When Kiseop is fully unconscious, Jaeseop stabs him in the heart and watches him die with a smile. Then slowly he crawls up the mattress, hovering over him and leaning in to press his lips against his.

He quietly slips away, losing another piece of his heart to (Kiseop).

"You died beautiful."

Soul gets torn away from body.

little one lie with me, sew your heart to my sleeve

beefballs — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 09:07:57 GMT

little one lie with me, sew your heart to my sleeve
His mind morphs out parallel universes, in which he attempts to weave with reality. Filling threads over and under warp threads, fragments of both a broken world and a perfect world like puzzle pieces fitting together.
warning: might be triggering to those who practise self-harm

His mind morphs out parallel universes, in which he attempts to weave with reality. Filling threads over and under warp threads, fragments of both a broken world and a perfect world like puzzle pieces fitting together.

There’s just something so beautiful about completeness.

It keeps him from shivering even when it’s painfully cold, as his ribcage flexes to his steady breathing, as his heart beats shallowly against his chest, bones jutting out of dark skin, the slightest hint of a smile plastered across his face.

Jongin carves out a universe in which he’s skeletal, with bony fingers. Shaky thoughts of perfection, being a flawed concept itself, slip through the spaces in his head, but he holds onto his universe, his coping mechanism, where dreams don’t die, where scars bleed forever – stunning crimson slits seemingly hiding a body of flesh but actually cutting into it, into Jongin’s heaving body, into his chest that rises and falls, into walls of flexing muscles. Sometimes, if he thinks hard enough, the scars might even turn bone-deep.

It’s so easy to believe, to put his faith into something but the mirror is excruciatingly truthful and it reflects same old Jongin, same old boy who doesn’t know how to hurt or how to stop when he’s hurting. Same old boy whose eyelashes fan out, hair falling in place over his brows, luscious lips cushioning emotions he doesn’t know how to verbalize. Same old Jongin slipping into infinite masks, and nothing fits exactly the way he wants it to be.

✍

Hunger comes in elusive swirls, painting over Jongin almost as effectively as emptiness does. He thrives with a kind of numbness that eats away at him, dulling the colour in his eyes and threatening to steal his breath away from him. He thinks it’s okay, because he’s nothing underneath all this skin, so he lets himself shrink away, slip away until he’s disappeared, until no one remembers he ever existed.

But then, Jongin’s life decides to magically conjure up a Do Kyungsoo.

Jongin bumps into a boy, one with a small build and huge eyes that take up most of his face. There’s a navy blue name tag pinned onto his sling bag that reads “Do Kyungsoo”.

“Sorry,” they both mutter at the same time.

The second time they meet, Jongin’s already mapped out the contours of Kyungsoo’s face. He can see bones beneath flesh, caving inwards; and he immerses himself in eyes with whites that wash out the blackness of pupils. He comes up with a conclusion that being around Kyungsoo is painful yet comforting at the same time so he smiles at him.

Surprisingly, Kyungsoo smiles back at him.

☺

Translucent white curtains drape themselves over glass windows, rays of sunlight peeking through them. The walls are painted a lovely shade of aqua blue and Jongin has a sudden urge to bleed into them, knowing he'd turn euphoric from the most beautiful kind of invisibility.

But fucking Kyungsoo pulls out a chair for him.

Kyungsoo’s eyes twinkle as they surf through the items in the menu. Jongin sees through its red cover and italicised text, Red Velvet Raspberry Cake, Salted Caramel Cheesecake Bars, Royal Blue Velvet Cake, Cookie Dough Cheesecake. The younger boy blinks as the page flips, Baked Beefballs, Cheese Sticks, Fish Nuggets with Mayonnaise, Spring Rolls, Tempura Vegetables. Page flips again, Ribeye Steak with Baked Potato and Garden Salad, Fish And Chips, Grilled Cajun Chicken.

Kyungsoo orders Fettuccine Alfredo. And hazelnut iced tea. And a deep-fried wanton platter. And a sinful slice of cheesecake coated with caramel-

Jongin sticks to iced water before his head can hurt any harder.

Kyungsoo’s not the kind to ramble, instead the both of them enjoy the comfortable silence. The older boy speaking from time to time between spoonfuls of pasta noodles. Jongin doesn't really listen, barely sips from his glass of water, only watches the former's lips glisten with moisture, opening and closing when he speaks, more luscious than he would have liked them to be.

Teeth sinks into dumpling skin, crushed and splattered across his tongue. Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows.

And suddenly Jongin wants to remember what it feels like, to eat like a normal person.

So Kyungsoo cuts a piece of cake with his fork and the crumbs break against Jongin’s tousled lips. It’s faintly sweet, but enough to make Jongin shake his head.

♨

Jongin doesn't see food the way Kyungsoo does. He visualizes the food particles coursing through his blood like poison; and the calories, more than a calculation of energy expenditure, but a measurement of the ways he has failed himself. It's honestly scary to watch Kyungsoo dicing vegetables, scattering salt and sugar into the boiling pot, stirring the liquid, looking revoltingly motherly.

A recipe for disaster.

And he does it so easily, effortlessly cooking up a monster, that grows in stomachs and develops into calories, food that isn't meant to be eaten, but meant to eat souls up.

Soup. With a sheet of oil on its surface. With carrot cubes, and peas and corn swirling around in the liquid. The smell of it already manages to nauseate Jongin and he visualizes the walls of his red, throbbing throat convulsing upon contact with the soup and its contents, spilling past his lips mere seconds after trying it. He imagines himself purging and gagging until he begins to feel as though he's attained control over his body again.

His head begins to hurt like a bitch.

"Try it, Jongin," Kyungsoo gives a smile that comes off as, inviting?

Jongin's still learning how to register emotions.

He clenches his fists so tightly his knuckles turn white. Food makes it hard for him to breathe, and as a gut feeling pools at the pit of his stomach, he decides to let what he deems as anxiety, consume him over, again and again.

"Jongin?" Kyungsoo's smile only turns wider, ends of lips curling upwards, towards inviting and reassuring and non-judgmental.

He figures out that Kyungsoo's smile decorates otherwise disgusting vegetable soup.

“I don’t know,” because Jongin really doesn’t know, what to do, what to say, how to respond.

“But I know,” Kyungsoo puts his arm on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze, “that not knowing shouldn’t stop you from trying.”

Trying. Six letters, one vowel, five consonants, two syllables. It bears the weight of a promise, with the possibility of crumbling any second. Jongin barely remembers what disappointment feels like, since he’s sure he’s stopped trying a while ago, but he definitely doesn’t want to disappoint Kyungsoo.

“What hurts less? If I fail or don’t try at all?”

“If you don’t try,” Kyungsoo’s fingers find their way down Jongin’s shoulder blade, dancing against the fabric of his shirt.

Jongin estimates that vegetable soup is about 250-300 calories or so. He pictures the calories lightening up a sky full of flaws and mistakes, his flaws and mistakes, making them seem even brighter, and they starkly contrast against its pitch blackness.

But Kyungsoo means more than guilt, so Jongin picks up the metal spoon with trembling fingers as the former nuzzles his nose against his back. (encouraging)

Teeth clatters against the metal, a spoonful of soup barely slips past parted lips, slides against the walls of his throat, cold against the muscles of his stomach.

Kyungsoo is there to hold Jongin before he can even fall apart.

☟

There's a tiny slit draped over the curve of Jongin's collar bone, resembling the blade of a crescent moon slicing the sky apart. Kyungsoo breathes into the crook of the younger boy's neck, hovering his lips over the cut, and Jongin shudders at the intimacy, slowly losing pieces of himself to the former. He doesn't know what to make of this, of them, he just knows he can't afford to let it slip away.

And so he builds fences around the world that only he and Kyungsoo belong to.

"Kyungsoo, I -" The shorter boy slowly pulls up the sleeves of Jongin's white flannel shirt, revealing a ladder-scale of even more scars. They look as though they've been embedded into his skin, crimson and faded red and grey and seemingly, fascinatingly pulsating.

Kyungsoo wears the most genuine smile as he feels about at the scars with his fingertips, identifying beauty in pain, in a broken person. There isn't any exact vocabulary with the ability to describe hurt, and sadness sounds almost too cliche on Jongin's tongue. Adjectives don't make the cut, labels like 'depressed' and 'despondent' don't fit, but Kyungsoo, with his fingers and his tongue (swiping over the scars), manages to make him feel more like a human and less like the shell of who he used to be.

“Do you –” Jongin blinks, “do you like me?” Kyungsoo whispers against the scars, “I guess I like you. Or maybe it’s more than that? Maybe I love you?”

“How do you, just, how can you? How can you say it so easily?” (quiet anger)

It’s when Kyungsoo finally presses his lips against the progression of slits that Jongin knows he’s been telling the truth.

Tangled arms and legs, fingernails grazing into skin. Bronze against pearly white, bodies pulsating as a whole. Heaving chest to heaving chest, eyes glazed with an emotion so raw it throws Jongin off the edge. He leans in for the first kiss, and as their lips mesh together, as their tongues intertwine, as their bodies press up against each other, Jongin realises that Kyungsoo fits, that they form completement itself. He doesn't stop wearing Kyungsoo ever since.

Kyungsoo is snug and warm, and it clings onto Jongin's skin. It doesn't even complain, because in Jongin it finds beauty, beauty like a drug. Or maybe Jongin just assumes it does, because it's from the day since he met him, that he starts to diverge towards something that can actually be perceived as perfection, everything that can be seen as beautiful.

Beauty that is brutal, that is unattainable in some sorts. Beauty that kills you before you can even reach out to it. Beauty that is twisted. Beauty that maybe isn't beauty at all.

Jongin is convinced his mind contradicts itself and his understanding of everything fades out. He can't grasp onto concepts, he can't hold on to what feels like human forever. Physical pain wears out, emotional pain wears out, scars fade away.

Kyungsoo just might disappear someday after all.

♡

Jongin's beginning to get convinced to eat, and with one, two, three, four, five spoonfuls of soup, he's sure he tastes Kyungsoo in the liquid, tastes that stupid smile that's always spread across the latter's face.

When skies turn from orange in the mornings, to azure blue in the afternoons and then finally to dark indigo at night, starlight bathes their faces in a pearly glow and Jongin drags his razor across his wrists harder than he's ever did before.

Kyungsoo's there to brush his lips over the cuts, and they swell, stained with blood.

Jongin leans in for his second, third, fourth, fifth kiss, tasting himself on Kyungsoo's lips (metallic), absorbing what he has attempted so painstakingly to get rid of before.

He fluctuates between being himself and wearing Kyungsoo, dealing with guilt and dealing with expectations, deviating towards perfection and deviating towards contentment, hurting and not hurting.

☹

They enjoy running into the monsoon, rain that filters through the atmosphere in sheets, pelting down on their backs and soaking through their shirts, skin glistening. Kyungsoo bubbles with laughter effortlessly while Jongin holds back, as if it's a sin to be happy. His lips are pressed into a tight line and Kyungsoo gifts them with sloppy smooches, sifting fingers through strands of drenched hair.

Sometimes, Jongin lets a few tears seep out of his eyes, mixing with the rainwater. Crying's close to bleeding out poison, made up of sins and flaws and everything that's Jongin, but it makes him feel ashamed.

Kyungsoo envelops him with lanky arms and that only makes him cry harder, but he figures out that maybe it's okay to cry, that sadness has always went beyond what he thought he could contain.

From the top of skyscrapers, they gaze down at umbrellas splayed out across them, dotting dark grey roads with brighter colours. Jongin’s half-naked by now, and Kyungsoo has his sleeves rolled up, the weather still splashing on them, in forms of (alternating from drops to torrents), not that they notice, not that they care because nothing really matters when it’s just him soaking up whatever warmth the older boy’s radiating.

Kyungsoo catches a raindrop for Jongin, letting it settle on the tip of his fingernail first, before placing it gently on Jongin’s collar bone. It’s iridescent even in minimal light, reflecting luminous colours, almost hypnotizing.

☂

Jongin always manages to feel a little better about himself when he dances. He maneuvers Kyungsoo, a familiar warmth that's pinned against him, with bones that suddenly feel a little too hollow, and limbs assembled out of elegant twists and turns which work about at the joints. Simpering, his fingertips against Kyungsoo's, lodging bonds (that feel like electricity) between them. Jongin sifts through the options in his head, a) amplification, b) easing, c) -

The older boy lifts his head up, grazing his chin against Jongin's, you don't have to choose what you want to feel.

But Jongin is clueless, bits and pieces of his heart turned over, capillaries visible through the cracks. Kyungsoo slips his free hand under Jongin's wifebeater, not forgetting to brush his fingertips over the scars, before penetrating it through walls of flesh, the organ pumping furiously against his palm.

"Completeness," Kyungsoo smiles with dark eyes as he attaches the fragments together.

Arching back. Hands gripping onto thighs. Moans slipping freely through lips.

"It's genuine completeness," he says again.

(Completeness not in the form of emptiness, not the emptiness which you have been using against yourself.)

Kyungsoo offers his own heart up to Jongin as well.

Sweeping finger across dark nipples. (electrifying, pleasuring)

Nails digging into skin. (physical pain)

Heart beats faster into palm. (anticipation)

Thread and needle, organ sewn into the underside of Jongin's stained sleeve. (beauty in its highest form)

(Completeness times two.)

♥

Kyungsoo starts off stark naked against the canvas, face toasted by the warm glow of sunlight. When Jongin looks at him, he’s reminded of seas reflecting shimmering city lights. He takes his time squeezing paint out of tubes into the palette, clearly keeping his eyes off the older boy’s wilting cock, lips twitching up in silly amusement.

Green for his fingers, pine green. (for the sense of security he attains whenever Kyungsoo brushes his fingertips over his scars)

Azure blue for his lips. (for the identifiable truth in which when their lips lock)

Tufts blue for the joints that attach his fingers and hands together. (for that calmness achieved only with Kyungsoo's moving hands)

Tangerine for the crook of his neck. (for that comforting warmth)

Shallow breathing. Brush dipped in paint, swiping over skin, colouring a masterpiece, painting emotions over what's left of it, painting with both gratitude and guilt.

Jonquil for his cheeks. (for, something Jongin will never admit to, but the happiness he finds in being with Kyungsoo)

The left side of his chest is left in its original state, not only because his heart has been given to Jongin, but because the absence of colour itself is a representation of perfection.

Jongin hangs Kyungsoo on the wall.

✑

Jongin's a mess of thick eye bags and perspiration and almost, tears. He's afraid to shut his eyes, because the moment he does, his body awaits the darkness engulfing him and he can feel himself at the tip of the edge, about to fall off. Kyungsoo's still pinned onto the canvas, body glistening with colours, his breathing a steady whir. It threateningly lulls Jongin deeper into sleep, blackmailing him with his pores exuding any kind of exhaustion possible.

He considers crawling out of bed and pressing himself onto Kyungsoo, both of them against the canvas and breathing as a whole, as one. But he can't move, and he feels more than spent and really, he should just sleep, even with a fear of lapsing into sleep paralysis consuming him from the inside.

With half-lidded eyes, he yanks Kyungsoo's heart out from the underside of his sleeve, whimpering when he realises its beating much more feebly now. Immersing himself in dark blue veins and crimson arteries protruding out of translucent surface, consciousness seeps away, and suddenly, he can't will himself to hold on anymore.

Jongin has always wondered about the place between the state of being asleep and the state of being awake.

So as he weaves through the maze of darkness, black pools that swallow him whole, joints freezing in place and lips sewn shut, he awaits projections of burning eyes (which his brain believes, belong to ghosts) that stare him down. This time, however, he only sees Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo adorning crisp, white blouse, fresh blood seeping through breast pocket. Kyungsoo sauntering backwards, arms hanging loosely by his sides. Kyungsoo fading out and deciding to turn away from Jongin. Kyungsoo wearing that stupid smile even as he fades out.

And Jongin wants to do something, wants to reach out towards Kyungsoo and pull him back, but he can't even see himself in the fucking blackness -

The only body part that's movable when Jongin has lapsed into sleep paralysis is his right arm and so he pries his eyes open, screams finally slipping through his lips.

Jongin wakes up like a mess of thick eye bags, perspiration and tears freely streaming down his cheeks. (With an amplified fear of losing Kyungsoo)

⌛

It’s one of those days where Jongin doesn’t know how to stop hurting so Kyungsoo tries to be there.

"You make things out of nothing, Jongin, and I am so proud of you for that,” it’s scary that they’re having this conversation, that the paint is drying up, that his heart’s beating so slowly. Kyungsoo wraps his legs around Jongin’s torso, grazing his teeth along the latter’s scalp, lost in the smell of vanilla shampoo. Jongin’s face contorts and he sinks backwards into the older boy’s embrace. Kyungsoo laughs and again, the younger's amazed by his ability to be happy. (Or how his ability to be happy is actually, really fucking contagious)

"Is there a point in what I do?" Jongin shrugs, "Because I'm still learning how to see it."

"Maybe you already know."

"Maybe it's you."

He nuzzles his nose into Kyungsoo’s thigh, “Tell me.”

“Mhmm?” the older closes his eyes, drowning in the warmth at the lower part of his body. “Tell me about the world, about labels and society, about perception, about the minority and the majority,” Jongin sounds like he’s choking on non-existent tears.

“I’ll tell you,” palms rubbing arms, “about how temporary standards are constructed based on popularity, how slowly we’re abiding by sets of rules, ending up going against ourselves, being consumed over and over by our own thoughts, by how we’re always trying to be somebody we’re not,

“I’ll tell you about how we end up being victims of ourselves. I’ll tell you about how people try and try all their lives to reach those standards, but standards don’t stay permanent, they keep changing and really, it’s not enough. It’s never enough, it’ll never be enough. I’ll tell you about facades and masks, about how what is deemed as somebody’s character, when exposed to the world, is really just a lie,

“I’ll tell you about how attachment and emotions can be scary things, but sometimes, because there really isn’t any point, we have to let go. I’ll tell you that perfection is unattainable, but the beauty within yourself is. I’ll tell you about running away, from reality, from ourselves because what’s not enough for this world, for this society ends up as what’s not enough for ourselves. We end up setting these rules, we end up wanting to be anybody else but ourselves, we end up losing ourselves amongst all of this,

“Most of all, I’ll tell you that I love you. I love you, Kim Jongin,” the colours in Kyungsoo’s eyes dilute.

“It’s hard for me,” Jongin confesses with a quiet voice, “but I love you too, and I’m so afraid you’ll slip away.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Inside of you,” Kyungsoo circles Jongin’s chest with his fingertip, “....right there.”

“Always have been,” the latter smiles darkly.

Sleep comes easy after that, and hurt learns to wash away.

Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

Pink colours the sky, streaked with golden glow of sunlight. Jongin should wake up, with Kyungsoo’s legs still enveloped around his neck, but he sleeps through identifiable emotions he chooses instead, to ignore. The hours bleed by, and it's all too fast, and his breathing is hitched, and -

"Kyungsoo?" he calls out but the name feels a little too foreign on his tongue. Trembling and not daring to open his eyes, mouth hangs open with a truth he's been running away from. Morning sun grows into the afternoon sun, and its heat contrasts against the coldness of Jongin's body. It's not something he can ever get used to again, not when he's spent the past few months building a world he's already adapted to.

Maybe he can still hear Kyungsoo's heartbeat, amongst the chaos of his thoughts. It keeps ticking off, somewhat like a time bomb and he lets out a cry when it finally drowns out.

It's the art of making a world out of a person. The brain cannot create faces but you can hold onto whatever scraps of reality you can find, lost in cells that store memories. Yet, it's another thing to open your heart fully up to your own creation, it's another thing to display vulnerability. Nothing lasts.

Kyungsoo is the part of Jongin that wants to love himself.

Kyungsoo is the part of Jongin that believes in beauty outside of skeletal terms.

Kyungsoo is the part of Jongin that aspires to be happy.

Kyungsoo is what Jongin secretly wants to be.

Kyungsoo has vanished, yet Jongin has found understanding.

✈

Jongin shapes dreams out of clay, paints colours over blank canvases, colours that seemed to swirl. He carves emotions out of huge ice blocks, folds alternate dimensions out of origami paper, crafts beauty out of wood, weaves something so close to perfection out of threads. He works until his fingers are blistered, until leftover materials are scattered indiscriminately across the floor, until his apron turns into a mess of colours, splashes of faded colours.

A workshop. Art pieces lined neatly on glass shelves. Cuts that are barely visible, still hiding and breathing under skin though. Refrigerator contains salad bowls and cartons of fruit juice. The hint of a smile once plastered across Kim Jongin's face has now developed into something wider, something closer to genuine but never actually there.

He guesses he's finally content.

The glass door flings open, ring of bells hanging over its knob twinkling. Jongin doesn’t look up from fitting lego pieces together, edges interlocking with spaces, completement.

A boy, with a small build and huge eyes that take up most of his face, hobbles enthusiastically into the shop, scanning the art pieces with a strange kind of excitement. He carries a sling bag with a faded blue tag pinned onto it which reads “Do Kyungsoo”, and writing pad and pen with fingers.

• colours seem to blend • excellent use of contrast • no apparent use of spaces (holes etc)

The boy copies down notes fervently, and tip of pen scraping noisily against paper. Jongin hisses a little, concentration finally dissolving away and so he lifts his face up -

“Hello! I’m Do Kyungsoo and I want to feature you in our company’s arts magazine! It’s my first work assignment and um, I am, I just, I really love your work and -” his face is coloured by an endearing blotch of crimson, as he shuffles his feet nervously.

Filling threads over and under warp threads.

It’s the second time they meet. This time, Jongin smiles first.

And as planned, Kyungsoo smiles back.