Chapter 1: Jeonghan Yoon
Summary:
"Let me
say it plain: I loved someone
and I failed at it. Let me say it
another way: I like to call myself woundbut I will answer to knife."
— Nicole Homer, Underbelly
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
In hindsight, Jeonghan knew he had no one to blame but himself, the world around him stopping as he finally admitted guilt after days of deliberately finding faults in the actions of the people that had surrounded and took him in, making his usual fleeting days longer and memorable, pulling him from places to places, etching themselves in his whole being and turning his world upside down.
It felt good for awhile, to see vibrant colors bleeding in his world instead of the usual black and white that coated the mountains around his house and the flowers along the streets of the metropolis, he felt happy for awhile, to look at a cafe or a diner and remember the sounds of laughter that echoed inside, cajoling his lips into a smile instead of passing just another building that sparked nothing inside him.
Everything was too good to be true, and Jeonghan was aware he should’ve ran away the moment he felt the frost in his heart melting, to distant himself the minute he felt giddy from every notification sounds his phone made, indicating a message or two from people that had his walls crumbling- friends, as they liked to call themselves.
Friends that came into his life and filled his mornings with dumb jokes and lulled him in the evenings with talks about dreams and their pasts, friends that held his hands and enveloped his body with warmth, friends that winked with inside jokes, friends that grinned with mirth, friends that made everything better and worse at the same time.
Better because he finally had something he could hold on to.
And worse because he finally had something to lose.
Something, Jeonghan blinked, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks as he took a deep and shuddering breath, extremely confused at the amount of self-loathing he had been doing for something he knew was bound to happen.
Happiness always came with a price, and if it wasn’t, then happiness always had an end, he knew that by experience so he didn’t know why he was wallowing in remorse and regret at the possible loss of connections he didn’t even want to make in the first place, of friendships that he never really cared about before, of love, he trembled, of love that he didn’t even deem possible.
And yet there he was, a self-proclaimed cynic curled up on himself on the cold tiled floor of his bathroom, head cradled under his arm that had been numb for a couple of minutes, pins and needles spreading from his feet and up to his legs, whole body covered in goosebumps, inhaling the smell of burnt sage that didn’t do anything to comfort his wailing heart and stop his eyes from tearing up so much.
He was not supposed to be mourning something that could still be revived, but Jeonghan knew, after everything that he did, leaving the bonds he made to rot at the back of everyone’s mind was the only way to go because Jeonghan was aware of his tendency to kill something over and over again when the voice inside him started talking about not being enough, and not being deserving.
So he should’ve walked away, spared himself the trouble of building bridges he knew he’d burn in the end, grant the people that dared help him construct it an out, and prevent fire from spreading through forests of hope and trust that he didn’t own but for some reason, he didn’t- oddly optimistic that it would be different that time, ridiculously confident to think that he could keep a connection long enough to see flowers blooming all around it.
Chewing on his lips, Jeonghan closed his eyes and allowed his mind to mull over the things that happened in his life- well, he swallowed hard, lives, more tears slipping past his defenses when memories of who he was before mingled with who he was in the present, frustrated at how the ball of remorse that had blocked his airways for the past few days grew tremendously, feeding on his guilt and staying in its place in his chest, squeezing his heart and lungs painfully.
It was cold, colder than anything he had felt, and Jeonghan had experienced the harshest winter inside him before.
Maybe, he thought, maybe it was colder and maybe it was harder because he was carrying two versions of pain inside him then, the pain that his past life had experienced slithering inside him and molding itself to the pain that he had been carrying all his life, sliding through the gaps of his rib cage and snaking their way around his neck, squeezing his throat and suffocating him, not really enough to cut off his life but enough to have him struggle to continue breathing.
In and out, in and out.
Jeonghan tried to make sense of everything that had been flashing right before his eyes, too many memories filling his head with vignettes of phantom smiles and sparkling eyes, filling his chest with far too many emotions that made his grief worse, of gaiety and sadness, of excitement and melancholy.
He should get up, avoid yet another evening spent on the floor of the apartment that witnessed his lowest and highest, allow his body the luxury of waking up without feeling like all his limbs were mauled to pieces and then glued back together.
But the more he swam deeper down the ocean of memories that drowned most of his consciousness, the more he felt as if something was pulling him up, the supercuts that kept playing in his head moving in reverse like he was being sucked back to the past.
And even before he could open his eyes and stand back up, he felt himself getting plucked out of the strong waves and liquid thoughts that enveloped his body with strange nostalgia, darkness engulfing him as he gave in and allowed a familiar heat lick his skin with flames.
Jeonghan snapped his eyes open to a place he knew very well, a place where the sky was high, clear and blue, where the land was a vast plain of nothing but cracked soil, brown and lifeless, almost as if it had been barren for decades, an ugly terrain that stretched for miles, an endless field that went on forever.
He should know because he had walked there for as long as he could remember, trying to reach the horizon where something- no, someone was waiting, wordlessly beckoning for him.
And that night, the sun was at its highest peak, almost scorching his skin with its unforgivable heat, the pads of his feet burning with every step he took, sweat rolling down his temples as he forced himself to walk, bringing his arms above his head to shield his eyes from the blinding sunlight.
Jeonghan was already exhausted and his tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth, legs like lead dragging themselves painfully across the field that had been torturing him for so long.
A part of him wanted to stop, to catch his breath and maybe indulge the pleas his body was making but stopping wouldn’t really do anything but burn the soles of his feet, keep him from closing the distance he knew he wasn’t going to achieve so he forged on- oddly hopeful, heart racing as he thought about Him.
Him who he longed to know.
Him who plagued his every evenings.
Him who was a constant force that kept drawing him in.
Jeonghan swallowed hard, knees buckling and eyes stinging as the sun above started shifting from its position, slowly moving from his left and then towards the far desolate mountains on his right, chest constricting at the realization that his time was up, heart sinking down to his stomach as he trained his eyes to the figure in the far horizon.
A black silhouette that had been staring at him for the longest of time, frozen save to his mop of hair that billowed with the constant gust of blazing wind.
“Please,” he choked out, his voice foreign in his own ears, whole body aching as the world around him bled black, the sky turning inky while the sun found its way behind the bosom of the rocky mountains he was so used to seeing, painful disappointment engulfing his consciousness with apprehension, shaken and quite frankly, disheartened by the lack of progress he made in his journey.
Gritting his teeth, he found himself breaking into a run, desperate enough to force his aching joints to try and reach Him, ignoring the burst of blinding pain in his shins that had him seeing white, gasping as he breathed in the warm air that suffocated him for years, burning his nostrils and setting his lungs aflame, fatigue almost drowned by the adrenaline that powered his futile attempt to decrease the distance between him and the figure.
“No,” he whimpered, halting as soon as he sprinted, knees meeting the rough ground beneath his body while he felt himself disappear, a series of sobs that he had been holding back spilling from his mouth as he clawed the earth that burned his skin, crawling and desperately calling out to the figure before him, eyes widening when He moved, blurry through his hazy vision, shifting inch by inch, clouded with tears yet solid and definable.
Eyelids heavy, Jeonghan did his best to keep them open, limbs melting into a puddle as his body hit the rough ground, grit and gravel digging on his skin while he fought hard to stay awake, forcing himself to raise his head to witness something he had been waiting for half of his life, chest heaving, and shoulders shaking in bid to lift his evaporating body, but just like his every attempt to do anything in that forsaken place, it was fruitless.
There was only silence when his eyes closed on their own, the taste of something metallic spreading on his tongue as an overwhelming scent of grapefruit and lemon filled his lungs- tears were on his cheeks, dirt was caked under his fingernails, and his heart was racing as fast as he was panting.
A nightmare, it was a nightmare to be in that position, a torture that had his whole body screaming in agony but fuck, he couldn’t seem to let go, grasping on to the last tendril of his consciousness that connected him to the world he had long since called hell because he could feel Him, a heavy warmth surrounding his body, the only comfort in the forlorn and agonizing wasteland he was in.
“You,” he whispered in time with the ‘Him’ that his mind screamed, arms and legs uselessly thrashing on either side of him in despair, another frantic and yet pointless attempt to hold on and anchor himself to where he was, heart racing and throat burning as he felt His heartbeat drumming under his palms, the ground that cradled his body moving as if it was breathing with Him.
“Jeonghan?”
He was there, and Jeonghan felt everything before he felt nothing.
There was a burst of light, and then it was all black.
His time was up.
And a huge chunk of his heart was gone.
“Fuck,” he gasped, bolting upright as his eyes opened to the peeling soft beige of his bedroom wall, the low buzz of morning hubbub outside his window anchoring him to the present.
Running both of his hands through his hair, Jeonghan closed his eyes as he plopped back down on the soft nest of blankets and pillows that was his bed, calming his nerves while he tried to comprehend what happened in his dream, confused, delighted and scared all at the same time because for years, he thought, it was the first time the figure moved, overwhelming him with His strong presence, the scent of the fruits still lingering if he inhaled deep enough.
Nothing made sense.
And a part of him wanted to grab some sleeping pills he stashed under his bed so he could go back, find out if he was finally going to see Him but his alarm clock was echoing around the four corners of his room and his mind was berating him for thinking about the horrible pills again, a tiny voice at the back of his head reminding himself of the promise he made of not obsessing over his dreams while vignettes of the lowest point of his life flashed right before his eyes, of him neglecting his life in favor of chasing the faceless man that seemed to be calling our for him when he was asleep.
“Not again,” he blinked, lightheaded and numb as he reached out for the soft plushy that kept him company for half of his life, the smiling lamb looking back at him with its beady eyes and rosy cheeks, providing him comfort for simply being idle, unchanging through the years, his adorable knight that had always calmed his heart, assuring him that even when the people around them came and go, even when their surroundings changed, seasons melting from one to another- it was there to stay.
Smiling, he shook his head and gave his little lamb a pat on its head, tutting softly as he remembered it was a Monday, groaning inwardly while he debated whether to go to work or call in sick.
The thought of the order slips he had to go through and flowers to arrange made his stomach flip, the simmering ache behind his eyes boiling to a headache that did nothing to help motivate his whole body from tearing itself away from his bed, only ever adding fuel to the flame of desolation that was starting to spread from his core and throughout his body, his mind zeroing in on the heavy presence he felt when he was dreaming.
It was happening again, he thought, his dream momentarily forgotten as he focused on his current predicament, sighing deeply because he didn’t know why he was already experiencing a burnout from a job he had only been doing for a couple of months.
The terrible tightness on his chest was there again, making his vision blurry as he felt he felt frustration bleeding from every inch of his body, instantly making him haul his body up from his bed and peel his body off of the clothes that clung to him in his sleep, hurriedly seeking the comfort of the cold spray of his shower in an attempt to douse the flames of anxiety inside him, his thoughts dissipating while he shut his eyes close, inhaling the smell of his vanilla shower gel, and getting rid of the distinct smell of fruits from his dream.
Jeonghan loved his job.
And he found peace in arranging flower bouquets for people that paid him with sweet smiles and soft compliments in return, his fingers itching to feel the silky texture of the ribbons he used to bind stems, his senses longing for the serene environment that the flower shop he worked at provided- The Bloom Room, as his boss, his friend, Sujeong named.
Beside the small lamb plushie he bought from a flea market that he always carried to keep himself grounded, flower arrangement was the second best thing in his life right then, losing it just because of another case of burnout was something he didn’t want to happen.
“Stay for a while,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head as he carded his fingers through his wet hair, the uneasy apprehension he felt when he woke up melting away with the bubbles that slid off of his body, shoulders light, and heart at peace while he let himself spend an extra five minutes in the bathroom- his dream turning into an afterthought as flowers took over his mind, somehow convincing himself that if he stayed, the burnout would fade away.
“Everything will be fine, Jeonghan Yoon,” he muttered, ignoring the looming cloud above him, pretending that everything was indeed going to be okay and forcing himself to smile at his reflection, adamant to stay in the flower shop and determined to stop change from happening again just because his whole consciousness didn’t want to go to work.
Jeonghan was not going to let go of something he loved, not again, not when flowers were providing him serenity he didn’t know he needed.
“You’ll be fine,” he said in finality.
There were several missed calls on his phone when he finally stepped out of the shower, droplets of water falling from his slightly wet locks as he dialed Sujeong’s number, putting it on speaker as he went about his room, pulling out his favorite fawn sweater and white pants, smile falling when the voice of his boss pierced through the silence in his room.
“You’re fired, Jeonghan.”
He was going to be fine, he didn’t need the ribbons in his hands.
He was going to be okay, he didn’t need the flowers.
He was going to be alright, he didn’t need serenity.
“Thank goodness,” he muttered under his breath, faking a chuckle because he couldn’t let Sujeong know he cared about being a stupid florist, couldn’t let her know that he was looking forward to the rest of the day despite feeling like utter shit, that he was willing to do everything to stay that time, work on his dumb issues and make sure he’d do something responsible in his life for once.
“I’m sorry,” Sujeong sighed from the other line.
Jeonghan knew she had the smallest grimace on her face, and he knew she was probably up all night thinking about what to say after firing her childhood friend from her own shop in spite of promising to help him for as long as she could so Jeonghan did the best thing he could think of right then, laugh and dismiss her apologies despite pain gnawing around his chest.
“Do you want to get lunch?” she asked, her voice cautious and meek, and of course Jeonghan said yes because he didn’t want to seem bitter, even when all he wanted to do was spend his remaining days on Earth crying helplessly on his pillow.
He said yes for the sake of consoling Sujeong, and maybe he said yes for the sake of expressing how sorry he was for not being good enough.
“Jiae will come too,” he heard her say before saying a tentative, “See you later.”
Jeonghan blinked after being left alone, his screams of frustration muffled by the duvet that held him the night before, allowing himself to cry for hours until it was time to pretend the sudden curveball in his life didn’t affect him one bit, to act like he wasn’t miserable, that he wanted to just sleep and maybe never wake up ever again, stay in the desert, be with Him.
“I think I peaked in high school,” he found himself blurting out, frowning at the two dumb ice cubes floating on top of his sweet tea before looking at Sujeong who was blinking at him wearily and then to Jiae who looked like she wanted to chuckle but didn’t want to hurt his feelings because based on the sparkle on her eyes, she agreed.
It was true.
Jeonghan was pretty popular before, always the topic of every boy and girl that were lucky enough to be graced by his presence, praised by his teachers, acknowledged for his intelligence and wit.
He was smart, emphasis on was because as years went by, he found his brain cells deteriorating, the knowledge he crammed in his head before completely replaced with nothing but random facts about things he’d read off of the internet when he couldn’t sleep.
“Did you guys know that we have about eight thousand taste-buds?” he asked, sticking his tongue out and trying to look down at it.
He was cross-eyed and was aware that he looked extremely foolish.
“You haven’t peaked yet,” Sujeong said gently, patting his knee with great softness that had him reeling his tongue back in his mouth and smiling in return.
“And that is a good thing,” Jiae interjected, schooling her features so she looked more sincere than mocking.
“When you’re down,” she continued, “There is nowhere to go but up.”
“Wrong,” he contended, eyes going back to the ice cubes on his drink that had gone smaller, basking under the sliver of harsh sunlight that peeked from in between the restaurant’s window blinds, “When you’re down, you can stay down.”
For a second the three of them was silent because they all knew it was true, and Jeonghan felt like an asshole for dragging his friends to his black hole when all they wanted to do was shed some light in his dreary mood but God, Jeonghan felt as if he was an ice cube, melting and disappearing under their gentle sentiments.
“Your flowers suck,” Jiae snorted, and Jeonghan was thankful she had the balls to the break the terrible lull he had put over their table, automatically prompting his mouth to defend himself pathetically, whining at every jabs she was throwing, bantering with her despite acknowledging that he was indeed a bad florist, mentally agreeing that he had always tied the stems too tight or too loose, never really perfecting his technique in tying bows and ribbons, never really paired colors that went well together.
“But if you think you’re good,” Sujeong smiled, putting more ice cubes on his drink- one, two and then three, “Then you are good.”
And that was the only thing that mattered to him.
In his bubble, through his own eyes, all the bouquets he had made was perfect, made with love and sincerity that he never really poured on anything before, his fingers always careful when handling the dainty flowers he admittedly didn’t bother knowing the names of, smiling as he cradled the bundles of fragrant blossoms before handing them to his clients.
“They’re beautiful,” they would always say, and Sujeong was right, his bouquets weren’t technically perfect. He knew they were ugly to look at but he liked to think that his clients appreciated how he worked hard on them more than they looked, choosing to ignore how they would subtly ask another florist to straighten their flowers out or to redo them altogether.
Those bouquets were the only thing in Jeonghan’s life that he held and didn’t destroy.
And for that, they were beautiful.
“Work for us,” Jiae had perked up, tilting her head to the side as she snapped her fingers, eyes bright like a light bulb just blinked inside her head, “We have an opening- assistant for my boss’ secretary.”
Jeonghan scrunched his nose at that, eyeing the corporate attire Jiae always donned during the weekdays, his mind already painting how drab her workplace was, all black and white and gray compared to the soft pastels of Sujeong’s flower shop.
The sound of people typing and murmuring was already loud in his ears, his heart yearning for the serene jazz Sujeong liked to play in her shop, the smell of coffee and paper making his stomach churn, making him long for the soft smell of tulips and roses.
The automatic answer should be no, but his friends were looking at him expectantly, and the face of his landlord was floating in his head, enough to make him consider saying yes.
“I look dumb in a suit,” was the first thing he said, ignoring the fact that he knew nothing about being an assistant, shaking the apprehension looming above his head because for one, Jiae worked in a law firm, and two, as far as Jeonghan was willing to admit, he had just found out the difference between loitering and littering so in reality, Jeonghan didn’t just know how to be someone’s assistant, he also didn’t know anything about the law.
Unwelcomed panic was setting in, and Jiae, bless her heart, had noticed the way he had already formed his hands into fists, graciously rolling her eyes at him and muttering a quiet insult aimed at his nerves.
“You’ll just do admin stuff, don’t worry.”
Admin stuff, he blinked, unsure about what that entailed.
“The secretary will boss you around,” Jiae continued, chuckling lowly at his silence, “You do what he says, and you can ask interns what the fuck he meant if you didn’t understand what he wanted.”
Easy enough.
Jeonghan was good at following orders.
But the suddenness of everything was stirring something inside him.
“I look dumb in a suit,” was the second thing he said, a repetition of what he blurted out the first time because his mind was fixated on the fact that he was totally not qualified for the said job.
“You can work from home,” Jiae said in some kind of sing-song voice that had Jeonghan flinching, and he should’ve said no, but the offer was too good to pass up so he mustered his brightest smile and pretended as if he was born for the job.
“Don’t get too excited,” Sujeong said even though he was feeling quite the opposite, faint and lightheaded as he watched Jiae type something on her phone, lips quirked in a small smile, too smug for his own liking, “You have to do an interview first."
Jeonghan definitely blanched at that, and if his friends noticed, he was glad they didn’t say anything.
“An interview that I scheduled tomorrow morning through Zoom,” Jiae said, offering him a small smile that looked more like a grimace, “Is that going to work for you?”
“No,” he shook his head, his confident facade obliterated almost instantly, palms sweaty and whole body cold at the thought of him going in an interview clueless, “No, I have this thing tomorrow and I-”
“A thing?” Sujeong raised an eyebrow, her cup of coffee rattling as she settled it down on its pretty saucer.
God, Jeonghan wished he was a porcelain china.
“There is no thing,” he mumbled in defeat, slumping down on his seat with his eyes closed, heart racing quite frantically for a nice Monday lunch, “I wish I have a thing, why don’t I have a thing?”
“This could be your thing, Jeonghan,” Jiae mumbled gently, reaching out from across the table to squeeze his hand like that would make his worries go away.
It was a welcomed gesture, but a sentiment that Jeonghan couldn’t place anywhere inside him because his brain was too busy running hundreds of scenario that included him being humiliated and rejected.
“I don’t-” he started, too mystified about what was coming next to form a coherent sentence, “- know anything about this- this thing.”
“I’m pretty close to the people in the office,” Jiae muttered, completely serious and businesslike, “I could ask around and find out what they’ve been asking the people who were already interviewed today?”
“You’d do that?” he whispered, momentarily forgetting the knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach and turning to Jiae like he was God and she had just offered him salvation, “You’d do that for me?”
“Anything to prevent you from going homeless,” Jiae nodded as she stood up, kissing his forehead and patting Sujeong’s back before bidding them adieu, muttering about being late to a meeting.
“Roleplay with me tonight,” he turned to Sujeong who was devouring the salad he ordered but found disgusting, “You can act like the scary interviewee and I’ll try not to piss my pants.”
“What’s in it for me?” she asked, and Jeonghan wanted to tell her that she was the reason why he was jobless in the first place for the fun of it but decided against the dumb joke because he knew she was going to sulk for a week.
Besides, he wasn’t ready to admit that he was at fault out loud so he was happy to leave the whole being fired shtick in the past and never speak about it again.
“The more I’m prepared for the interview,” he started, chewing on the cheese Jiae left for him, “The bigger the chance I’ll get the job and the slimmer the chance that I’ll end up leeching off of you and Jiae.”
Jeonghan didn’t want to dwell too much on how quickly Sujeong agreed to helping him after he spoke.
And so that was how they spent the night, talking in front of their respective computers, Jiae and Sujeong doing their best impression of a stern man looking for the person that could do his job well and blend with the company dynamics, and him hiding his trembling fingers under the pillow perched on his lap, watching his face closely on his monitor to make sure he didn’t look like he was going to cry any second, a part of him confused as to why despite it being already over two hours, his heart still hopped madly.
It was ten when Sujeong left the call, and it was eleven when Jiae asked her final question.
Jeonghan stayed in his seat until it was one, time moving much faster than he would’ve liked, ice forming inside his chest as he watched the hands in his wall clock turn and turn.
Bright orange slipped from his window, and the sound of cars grew louder and louder.
And then it was seven.
He still hadn’t moved.
Then it was eight.
The loud ping of his computer was the only sound that jolted him out of his stupor, an invitation of some sort for a Zoom meeting staring back at him from his inbox, eyes glassy and mouth dry, hands shaking as he reached out for his mouse, opening the email in daze and reading its contents, heart dropping to his stomach as he read the name at the bottom of the page.
“Minghao Xu,” he muttered to himself, a chill running down his spine as he closed his tabs and unplugged his computer.
The fear and panic he had kept bottled since the day before had exploded into shards that burrowed deep in his lungs and his heart, making him run towards his bathroom with shaky legs so he could try and throw up the awful terror that had spread all over his body, dry heaving and crying over his toilet bowl as his broken sobs and awful coughs blended with the pretty songs the morning birds outside his window was singing.
A part of Jeonghan wanted to call Jiae, show her what he looked like and ask her if she still believed that when someone was down, there was nowhere to go but up but he was numb and his head was spinning, so he did what he always did when he felt like he was about to die- pretend that he was already dead and stay on his bathroom floor until he was ready to be alive again.
Notes:
I read this somewhere before, it said, "You are a better knife than you are a person," and it bothers me that I agreed immediately.
Chapter 2: Minghao Xu
Summary:
"What is a ghost?
Something dead
that seems to be alive.Something dead
that doesn't know it's dead."— Richard Siken, Landscape with Fruit Rot and Millipede
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
How to Get the Job
A Guide Written by Jeonghan Yoon for Jeonghan Yoon
1. Do the interview. Don’t show up for the interview.
This is a tricky one because as someone who wants to get a job, your first goal is to impress the people that could give you the position you’re aiming for so naturally, anyone who wants to make a good impression has to show up for the interview but and that is a huge BUT, if you are anyone like Jeonghan Yoon (which you are), it’s definitely recommended that you skip the meeting to completely avoid being embarrassed by your lack of knowledge, skill and ability to hold your shit together under pressure.
The first step might seem bizarre but you’ve already done it already anyway so let’s roll with the current situation and pretend like this is all a part of some amazing plan to start living a better life- call someone that will placate the voice inside your head that has not stopped berating you for being a pussy nervous since yesterday.
“I look dumb in a suit,” Jeonghan muttered on the phone when he called Sujeong after finally being strong enough to lift his body and grab his cellphone from his room, weakly going back to the comfort of his bathroom because he could feel the walls the witnessed his breakdown judging him, leaving his little lamb tucked under his duvet because he didn’t want to cause it more trauma.
“I looked so fucking dumb,” he repeated, closing his eyes as he continued to chew on his bottom lip- the taste of blood making his stomach churn.
Stop chewing on them, Jeonghan.
Note: Try to sound pitiful, harvest any sort of sympathy from your friend to help you make feel better about you poor decision-making skills. Remember, the more you sound like you’re miserable, the better.
Forget fabricating confidence, that won’t get you anywhere (e.g., when you acted like you can do the interview yesterday. Look at you now, dumbass).
“You didn’t even have to put a suit on,” Sujeong answered, her anger obviously simmering down after the whimper that left Jeonghan’s mouth- okay, pause. That was an accident, even Jeonghan knew where to draw the line between being strategically vulnerable to being downright pathetic.
Note: But if a whimper does the job of calming your friend’s anger towards your absurdity, then definitely go for it.
“Jeonghan, Jiae said you didn’t need to open your camera.”
“The necktie was too tight around my neck,” he continued, totally lying about wearing a tie, but if he could imagine a blue silk tie around his neck instead of his dreadful anxiety, he figured the feel of being choked by either of them would cause the same struggle anyway, “I couldn’t breathe.”
Note: That is true and that is concerning but thank you Jeonghan for sounding bratty, remember to always sound whiny when opening up to your friend so they won’t worry too much to drive to your apartment and check on you (don’t be such a burden) but sound helpless enough for them to comfort your racing heart.
“Jeonghan,” Sujeong sighed, sounding grim, and maybe Jeonghan might have pulled the same shit to her once or twice to gain a sympathy that had always calmed his thoughts but one more sniff and her friend’s voice was going soft again.
Important: If you are to use this guide more than once, try not to call the same friend over and over again but if you don’t have other friends, learn how to be a better actor.
“We’ll find you another opening, okay?” she breathed out gently.
They won’t.
But Jeonghan still exhaled out a wobbly okay, closing his eyes as Sujeong talked about her day to get his mind out of what had just happened.
Good friends, that was the key.
Good friends were friends that knew when to point out the shake in your voice and when not to say anything about it, friends that were aware that the words, “It’s going to be okay,” won’t help but would just add an extra weight on your shoulders, friends that would play along and join you in your dumb coping mechanisms but would occasionally cup your face to look you in the eyes and say, “You need help, please let us get you help.”
Note: Good friends, you need more good friends.
Additional Note: Maybe teach yourself how to treat other people better in the future so you have more friends.
“Hire me as a janitor or something,” Jeonghan whispered, eyes dry and chest aching.
At that point, he was helpless enough to take whatever he could get but his friend was too much of a dear that she wanted something better for him so she said no, mumbling a soft farewell because she needed to go back to work, because she was a person who could function without crying every hour, because she had a life outside their friendship.
And Jeonghan stared at his phone because he wasn’t Sujeong and he had nothing better to do.
If you can bring yourself to stand, go ahead and walk towards the living room, make yourself breakfast, maybe even breathe in the early morning air outside your apartment, but if you are like Jeonghan which, again, you are because you’re writing this in your head to cope with your latest shortcoming, weak and pathetic and too in on you head, stay in your bathroom and proceed to the second step.
"Okay."
2. Cry in your bathroom until you could no longer cry anymore.
Easy.
If someone asked Jeonghan what he had been doing for most of his life, he would answer, “Crying,” with a smile, deadpan and serious without any hint of remorse, a small part of him would be giddy, even smug that he could admit that wholeheartedly, not afraid of any judgments because crying, although caused pain throughout his entire body, was something that could also ease his worries, keep his fears at bay and ground him to the present.
If crying has been a part of your usual routine, then this step will help you feel everything that you have to feel, make you acknowledge that your life is teetering yet again to the brink of falling apart, and aid you in accepting the fact that you are a pathetic excuse for a human being.
Cry, Jeonghan.
No one had to tell him that twice.
Good.
Jeonghan was thankful that he cleaned his bathroom the day after, a chuckle slipping out of his lips in time with a sob that rocked his whole body because he found the whole ordeal amusing, like he knew he was going to fuck up and spend another day in his bathroom, pushing himself into a coughing fit when he couldn’t stop laughing, hugging his legs closer to his chest as he burrowed his face on his knees and letting his bones dig uncomfortably on his eyeballs.
You’ll see black at this point, as you would always see when you close your eyes, but close them tight and put enough pressure on them, you’ll be welcomed with a kaleidoscope of colors to accompany you with your small pity party.
The floating worms are your friends, Jeonghan.
They’re here for you.
Jeonghan wailed because it was the only thing he knew how to do, refusing to open his eyes and allowing himself to spend more time with his transparent friends, watching them dance all around him like they were happy to see him again, like they were grateful for his presence, like they wanted him to stay there for good.
And for a second he indulged their requests, or maybe it wasn’t just a second but a whole minute, maybe a full hour and Jeonghan remembered his habit of timing his crying sessions, something he always did in the past just for fun but as he grew up, half an hour turned to two and three hours, and half a day turned to a day of loathing and really, after that, timing wasn’t so fun anymore.
Reminder: You can always time your crying if you really, really want but the results, more often than not, would just push you to another round of wailing so do this only if you want to spend the whole day feeling like someone had spat acid in your eyes.
Burning.
Jeonghan’s eyes always felt like they were burning, and it was already eleven in the morning when he found himself staring at his ceiling, the intense heat of the mid-morning summer sun embracing his body as he unconsciously moved to the next step where he could finally think about every wrong things he had done and stew in them without getting interrupted by the sound of his own grieving.
Note:
Why do you have so many notes?
Stop with the note, Jeonghan.
Just sto-
Note: If you need to cry more, go ahead, but if you’re more nauseated than depressed, it’s time to move on.
Jeonghan moved on.
3. Stare at the cobwebs on your ceiling.
Everyone have had cobwebs on their ceiling.
To some, it could be the dust bunny they saw under their couch but never really swept, a tilted frame they didn’t bother straightening out, books on their shelf that weren’t arranged by height- things that needed fixing, things that could be sorted in a matter of minutes but somehow, they couldn’t bring yourself to.
This wasn’t a case of laziness. At least to Jeonghan, it wasn’t.
Because how could anyone call him lazy if his apartment was spotless?
How could anyone call him lazy when he’d change his bed sheets and pillow cases every three days??
How could anyone call him lazy when he liked washing his dishes the second he finished eating?
Jeonghan was a waste of space but Jeonghan wasn’t lazy.
So he didn’t know why he couldn’t just get a broom, stand on his tiptoes and get rid of the cobwebs on his bathroom ceiling- the sight of the silky strings almost hypnotizing as it billowed against the faint wind coming from his tiny window, like a symbol that had been mocking him since it appeared, like a sign of obstacle in his life that he could easily overcome but couldn’t.
Discovery: That cobweb is the interview, that dust bunny is your interview, the tilted frame is your interview- things that aren’t going to harm you, but things that sparked fear within you nevertheless.
Stare at the cobwebs, Jeonghan. Stare at them and ask yourself THE questions.
You’re familiar with them, I don’t need to remind you of them.
Do I?
Fine, I’ll ask them.
Jeonghan stared at the cobwebs as he let the voices at the back of his head ask him questions.
Why the fuck are you so nervous?
What are you so afraid of?
Why can’t you do something to change your life?
Why are you set on sabotaging your own self?
What the hell is wrong with you?
Jeonghan blinked.
I’m sorry.
He deflated.
But ask yourself these questions and stare at your cobwebs.
Answer them, Jeonghan.
Think of more questions, maybe?
He didn’t close his eyes that time despite the ache spreading around them and instead, he thought of more questions that made his blood ran cold, questions that he would usually ask himself when it was three in the morning, questions that could make him crumble down to the floor, questions that he couldn’t ask a five-year-old kid because it would scare them shitless but questions he wanted to ask the five-year-old version of him to warn him about the consequences of finding comfort in isolation.
You don’t have to answer your questions, I'm sorry.
Jeonghan had always liked staring at the cobwebs because it would be just him.
He could ask himself hundreds of questions and he wouldn’t have to answer any of them, he could tell himself he was being stupid and no one would tell him that he was being too hard on himself, he could lie and say that everything was in God’s plan and no one would notice the palpable doubt in his eyes.
Maybe that was why Jeonghan couldn’t get rid of the cobwebs.
Because then, if the cobwebs were to go missing, he’d have to answer all the questions, admit that he was really being stupid, and acknowledge that God didn’t care about him enough to assure him he had bigger plans for him.
Note FACT:
There are other things scarier that spiders. Do NOT get rid of the cobwebs.
Let’s move on.
Jeonghan forced himself to get out of the third step because he could feel his eyes stinging and as much as he liked crying, he had no plans on going back to step two any time soon then.
4. Manifest and hope for the best.
You have hit a new kind of low.
Jeonghan knew nothing about manifesting if he was being honest- the only thing he knew about it, aside from a picture of idols standing in a circle with flames edited on their heads so they could look like candles was that it was a practice of thinking aspirational thoughts with the purpose of making them real.
That was explanation he completely memorized from his hasty trip to Google because he couldn’t wrap his head around the concept of manifesting, of thinking of what you wanted or what you desired most in your life then getting it after, because Jeonghan had spent most of his life wishing for something better, and yet there he was, lying on his back inside his bathroom, sweat forming on his forehead as his stomach grumbled in hunger.
Manifest, Jeonghan.
He couldn’t.
You have nothing to lose, close your goddamn eyes and think positive thoughts.
That was true.
And Jeonghan didn’t know why he was so afraid if he had nothing to lose.
Manifest or go back to staring at the cobwebs.
Jeonghan closed his eyes.
Move to a more comfortable place, Jeonghan.
And he wished he had the strength to go back to his room, but his body was heavy and he was aching all over so he stayed in his position on the floor, taking in a deep breath and thinking of the things he wanted, wishing for them to come to him.
That’s right.
Jeonghan focused on his deteriorating energy, manifesting for good things to come to him like he hadn’t been screaming his lungs out for them every night, like he hadn’t been mulling over them when he was looking at his reflection, like he wasn’t thinking about them every second of the day.
Keep your eyes closed, and whatever you do, do not let yourself go back to step two.< /p>
He bit hard on his lip and swallowed a painful sob.
If you’re lucky, you’d be okay enough to abandon this guide and try again tomorrow.
And if you’re luckier, you’d go through the painful guide again and again and your friend will call you for a good news.
Who knew Jeonghan could be luckier?
5. Repeat steps number 2 through 4 until your friend Jiae calls you to say you got the job.
Manifesting worked.
Afterthought: Ignore this guide and head straight to manifesting.
End of Guide
A Guide Written by Jeonghan Yoon for Jeonghan Yoon
You can stop crying now, Jeonghan.
So he slept- dreamless, long, repulsing.
And when he awoke, seven days had passed and he had no recollection of what the hell he did as a virtual assistant in a law firm, cradling his head as he prayed for the pain to subside even just for a little, taking his sweet, sweet time to adjust from being consumed by a dark void to being bathed with the soft light of the early morning sun, blinking his eyes once and then twice before rubbing the sleep out of him.
He missed the heat of the sun from his dreams.
But would he manifest to get it back?
No.
Not yet.
Because it was a Tuesday and he needed all the sleep he could get to adjust to his new normal.
Jeonghan was supposed to drag himself out of his bed and not think about anything else but what was in front of him, brush his teeth and log in on his company-issued laptop, chat with Jiae and Sujeong on the phone while reading the performance feedback his boss would usually email him the night before, Google some terms he didn’t understand and soak everything what the other man had to say.
He was always praised by the way, which he didn’t really understood because the first day of working at Choi Legal Co., he accidentally deleted a whole row of information in a spreadsheet someone emailed him and panicked for a half an hour, chewing on his lips like the wounds he left there the day before weren’t stinging with pain, pulling on the hem of his shirt as Jiae laughed at him.
“Undo, idiot.”
His face burned the whole day.
And the flames of his embarrassment spread from his face up to the points of his ears when he received an email from the person that hired him, the same person whose name sent his whole body frigid, the same person who was supposed to interview him, and the same person who claimed to know him.
Minghao Xu.
“You’re going to work for him, Jeonghan,” Jiae said when he called her for the second time that day, beads of sweat rolling down his back because he had just sat frozen on his seat for an hour, doing his best to digest what was being said during his orientation and ignoring the urge to crack the window he forgot to open- too scared to ask the host for a second, and too terrified to be called out if he moved an inch.
“I don’t see the reason why I have to meet him,” he breathed out, moving his swivel chair from left to right, left to right as he stared at yet another link for a Zoom meeting, throat dry and lips chapped for the lack of water in his system, too nervous to keep anything in his stomach, too agitated to even attempt to make himself a glass of iced coffee.
All of Jeonghan’s emotions that Wednesday were just too much, amplified twice despite the numbness that enveloped his body, mind whirring hastily, facts and dumb thoughts causing a hurricane inside his head that resulted in concentrating harder.
Everything was too much.
“Can’t we just text each other?” he whimpered, earning yet another startling laughter from his friend, her nonchalance in his current predicament oddly appeasing his worries.
“He gave you this job,” Jiae chuckled, sighing quietly as a comfortable silence fell before them, a lull that only lasted for about five seconds but a hush that he was grateful for, his uneasiness melting to small jitters that made him feel braver, even just a little, “Just open your camera and mic, sit there like a good boy and answer his questions.”
“It couldn’t be that easy,” he muttered under his breath, a part of him already devising a plan on how to get fired in under five minutes- maybe he could accidentally send the lyrics of Never Going to Give you Up to the employees of the firm, maybe pretend like he was having a stroke during the meeting with Minghao, or maybe even not show up at all.
He could do all of that, Jeonghan knew he could.
But a larger part of him didn’t because he was aware that not only would he embarrass himself, he’d also drag Jiae’s name to the mud, and Jeonghan was an asshole, he was, he really was but he wasn’t an asshole enough to taint her friend’s reputation.
He wished he was.
But he wasn’t.
So he thanked Jiae, told her he’d meet her for lunch so he could have something to look forward to, and clicked on the link that was starting to ingrain itself in his brain.
He breathed in and out, in and out and suddenly his screen wasn’t as empty as it was before.
“Hello,” the man on his monitor spoke.
Jeonghan blinked.
Once, twice and then thrice.
“Hi,” he breathed out, cheeks flushed red and whole body immobile.
“Do you remember me?” the man whose name was Minghao Xu asked, a small smile playing on his lips, a slight shake evident in his voice, like he was the one nervous for the meeting, like he was taken aback by the presence of the other.
Jeonghan blinked again.
Once, twice and then thrice.
“Yes,” he answered.
Because Sujeong thought it would be a good idea to play along with the other man’s assumptions that they knew each other before because that was the reason he got the job in the first place.
And because Minghao Xu looked like the gray cat that had been hanging out outside his apartment building for as long as he could remember, slanted eyes and mysterious grin, soft and yet eerie, like they knew Jeonghan’s deepest secrets and were choosing to keep them hidden to be used as leverage in the future.
“You do?” Minghao exhaled, breathless and almost surprised, like he wasn’t expecting that kind of answer, his cool demeanor slightly falling, “Jeong-”
“But I don’t remember where,” he found himself saying, hastily trying to save himself for a game of question and answer he knew he’d have a hard time playing, hesitantly holding the other man’s gaze from his laptop screen, “You look familiar but I forgot where we met.”
And Jeonghan guessed it didn’t matter if he remembered him or not because he had spent more time talking to Minghao during their work hours than actually working, his social battery draining much faster than it usually did because his boss really liked talking to him, sending him silly pictures and asking him if he had already eaten like they really were old friends, waving the errors he would make in his tasks and telling him he’d have some intern redo it.
“Maybe he likes you,” Sujeong raised her eyebrow once, insinuating that the only reason why Jeonghan was getting paid despite doing terrible at his job was because Minghao wanted to get in his pants- a theory he laughed at for about five minutes because it was impossible, just impossible.
“You’re really pretty, Jeonghan,” she continued arguing but Jeonghan knew it wasn’t the case, and a part of him felt guilty for lying, that maybe Minghao really had someone in his life that looked like him, someone that made an impact in his life that had him ignoring all of his mistakes and giving him praises instead of berating him.
It was dumb, Jeonghan thought, to feel that kind of emotion for a stranger that he didn’t even consider as an acquaintance but there was something about Minghao that made him want to care.
So he asked him, on the fourth day of working in the company, Jeonghan shot Minghao a message asking where they had met, that maybe he needed some kind of prompt so that his brain could remember.
“It’s hard to explain,” Minghao mumbled, calling him the moment he sent him the text, a part of Jeonghan surprised at how quickly he answered the call despite of his unexplainable hatred of talking to people on the phone.
“But,” he heard him sigh, “You have that dream too, right?”
Jeonghan blinked.
He blinked once, twice and thrice.
“Dream,” he breathed out, a hand immediately curling around his lamb plushie because he could feel his mind floating away- the heat of the sun, the smell of tropical fruits and the horrible taste of blood filling his senses, forcing him to think about the dream that had plagued half of his life, the dream that hadn’t visited him for days, the dream that rendered his chest empty.
“Yeah,” Minghao answered, his voice like an anchor holding him down to the present, clear and so, so familiar, strangely tugging at his heartstrings, “That recurring dream in the ocean.”
“Desert,” he blurted out, wincing at how pained he sounded.
There was a beat of silence, and then there was a quiet, “What?” on the other line, the other man’s voice gravelly and rough, strained and much, much more pained than his own.
Jeonghan wondered if he had gone through the same torture as him.
“My dream,” he maundered, eyes closed and grip tight around his little lamb, “It’s not in the ocean, it’s in a desert.”
“Oh,” Minghao replied, hollowed and a tad distant, and Jeonghan didn’t know why he could imagine him sitting in his office, wearing the same kind of gray office attire Jiae had to wear during the weekdays for work, in daze and in on his head, recalling a dream that most probably drowned him every night as much as it burned Jeonghan’s skin.
Alone.
Just like him.
Struggling and gasping for air the second they woke up.
“Yeah, oh.”
Jeonghan guessed that was the reason why he said yes when Minghao asked him out for breakfast, making him forget the usual fear looming over him during unexpected meetups.
Looking back, Jeonghan had no one to blame but himself for being in that position, of being in a place where he couldn’t really say no because he needed to keep his job, because more than anything, the smiles on Jiae and Sujeong’s face whenever he talked about how horrible sorting files was were enough to keep him going, and of being curious enough to talk about Minghao and their dreams, of what they meant and of how hard it was to keep them under wraps, unintentionally forming some kind of bond that the only two of them had.
And Jeonghan thought, as much as he didn’t want to, that was how someone could make a friend, even unintentionally, they would say something completely bizarre and the other would say, “You, too?”
“Where are you now?” Sujeong asked when he called, palms slightly sweaty and heart thumping painfully as he tapped his foot restlessly on the wooden floor underneath him, the smell of coffee and butter filling his senses, causing his stomach to growl lightly.
“Coffee Express,” he answered, gritting his teeth because he was aware his lips couldn’t take another round of chewing, “Maybe I shouldn’t have went early.”
“You hate not being the first one in a meeting place, though,” Sujeong chuckled, and that was true.
Jeonghan didn’t like people expecting and looking at the door for him, didn’t want them watching him making his way over them because he never knew what to do.
Should he wave?
Should he smile?
Should he call out for them?
It was confusing so Jeonghan preferred to be the first one to always show up because he could always pretend that he hadn’t seen the people he was meeting coming towards him, and they’d be the first one to say hello, then the conversation would flow freely from there.
He’d smile, he’d nod and he’d go home.
“Hey, look at the barista over there,” someone whispered from beside him, almost making him jolt out of his seat in surprise, a curse slipping under his breathe that had Sujeong asking if he was being mugged.
“What?” hissed, uncharacteristically glaring at Minghao who was looking too comfortable and snug close to him, the oversize beige sweater he was wearing making him look like he tiny.
“There!” Minghao hissed back, hitting his shoulder lightly and using his lips to point at the counter behind them, ducking and slotting his body closer on his side, like he was hiding, “The tall one, do you see him?”
Jeonghan gritted his teeth, saying a quick goodbye to Sujeong before whipping his head to where Minghao was motioning at, instantly getting a slap on his knee.
“Don’t look!” the other man muttered ferociously, tugging his bucket hat down on his face.
“You told me to look!” he mumbled exasperatedly, ignoring the way his heart fluttered by the lack of space between him and the other man, his eyes oddly blurring because Minghao, he swallowed hard, Minghao felt warm and he felt familiar, and for a moment he wondered if they had really met before.
“Okay, do you remember him?” Minghao asked, looking up at him with eyes shining with something Jeonghan couldn’t put his finger on, his lips slightly quivering as he took in a deep breath, a daunting silence falling over them before his boss closed his eyes and shook his head, like he was getting rid of that bright glint in his eyes.
“Do you?”
“No,” he whispered, subtly looking back at the tall barista who was laughing with a patron, a yellow mug in one hand and a plate of sliced cake in the other.
“No,” he repeated again, his eyes traveling from the stranger to Minghao because Minghao wasn’t a stranger and not quite just an acquaintance too- he was a friend, Jeonghan admitted to himself, and looking at him wasn’t making him antsy.
Minghao was familiar, too fucking familiar and Jeonghan was beginning to think that they really had crossed paths before.
“He was my husband,” Minghao replied, his voice cracking and his shoulders slumping, and frankly, Jeonghan didn’t know why there was an ache blooming in the middle of his chest, hands oddly itching to reach out to the other man and grasp his hands, ask him if he was okay but Jeonghan, still reeling from the sense of familiarity that engulfed him, couldn’t do anything but lean closer, urge the other man to continue talking with a smile.
“But not in this lifetime,” he heard him say, frowning as he watched him picking on his nails and bouncing his leg, nervously peeking up at him through his eyelashes, “Not in this universe.”
Minghao was crazy.
And Jeonghan was crazier for not being in the slightest alarmed with what he said.
Because really, them having the same dream was already ludicrous- throw in reincarnation, sure.
Why the hell not?
But Jeonghan still asked, “Are you crazy?” just so he could make sure.
“I wish I am, Jeonghan,” Minghao smiled, the sadness in his eyes enough for Jeonghan to stop himself from completely crumbling right then, “But he doesn’t know yet. He doesn’t remember me yet.”
Jeonghan blinked.
Once, twice and then thrice.
“Was I?” he swallowed hard, holding Minghao’s gaze only because he could feel himself slipping away from the present and Minghao, like the little lamb he carried everywhere, had always felt like a fastener that grounded him on Earth.
“Was I in your past life, too? Is that where we met?”
“Yes,” Minghao answered, looking like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide and chest heaving, and for a moment he was opening his mouth, only to close them every time, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know what, like he wanted to take back what he said but at the same time, didn’t.
“Who was I in your life, Minghao?” he found himself asking, goosebumps peppering his arms when the tall barista from the counter walked past their table, unknowingly smiling at them with no real recognition in his eyes.
Minghao blanched.
And Jeonghan, for the first time in his life, felt the need to protect someone he didn’t even know that well, one of his hand automatically holding the other man’s until the barista finished his rounds through the café and was back behind the counter, thumb drawing circles on his skin until their pastries were consumed and until the contents of their glasses were just ice cubes and foam.
“You should remember it yourself,” Minghao mumbled after they stopped pretending like the topic of sorting files entertained them, “Your past memories, I mean,” he continued, squeezing his hand before finally letting go.
Minghao felt like summer, and the absence of his touch had prompted a small hurricane inside Jeonghan’s mind, waiting to ravage him completely the moment he was left alone in his room.
“How?” he asked, waving away the apprehension that was restlessly stirring in the pit of his stomach, deciding right then and there to believe what Minghao was saying because for one, he had nothing to lose, and two, in the other man’s presence, he could feel nothing but warmth.
That was good, wasn’t it?
“I don’t know,” Minghao shrugged, his button nose twitching as they stared at each other again.
“You’re useless,” he blurted out, eyes widening at the realization of what he had just said, spluttering a chain of apologies under his breath as he felt his whole face burning up, a part of him elated that he made Minghao laugh, sparking some kind of mirth at his downcast eyes and a part of him scared, afraid that the second the other man leaves, he’d be alone in his bathroom floor, losing his mind over things he couldn’t understand.
“I can’t really tell you anything about your past life but I can tell you mine,” Minghao offered after his laughter started to subside, comically wiping tears from his eyes, “Would you like that?”
And of course Jeonghan said yes.
Because Minghao came to his life like the sun peeking from behind thick clouds after a storm, gradually bathing him in light that didn’t quite melt him and suddenly, Jeonghan was looking up, arms open and head tilted up, smiling at the world that looked more picturesque despite the blacks and the whites surrounding him, despite the cobwebs on his ceiling, despite the void inside him.
He closed his eyes that night and waited for the sun to rise, sleep only ever stealing his consciousness when his eyes were heavy and his body was sore, still dreamless.
“Junhui Wen,” he said, rolling the foreign name on his tongue over and over again because it had been two weeks since Minghao revealed that he could remember his past lives, sharing what he was in a different world, a stylist who owned a cat named Tuna and a husband to the clueless barista they had been spying for a couple of days, and Minghao still didn’t want to go and talk to him.
“We have to meet naturally,” Minghao insisted, looking up at him through his glasses, “Like you and me!”
“But you’ve been eating at Coffee Express for almost a year,” he argued, the voice at the back of his head confused as to why he cared about Minghao and Jun reuniting.
“What’s unnatural is you waiting for another barista to man the counter before you order just because you think you can’t talk to him.”
“I can’t, okay?” Minghao sighed, and Jeonghan really couldn’t understand why seeing the other man sad and frustrated affected him so much, “I just can’t- it’s not, I don’t know how to introduce myself.”
“How about I introduce myself?” he blurted out, fueled by that strange force that wanted to do something good for Minghao, to make sure he wouldn’t waste another day of silently pining over the other man, his pulse racing in both apprehension and delight when Minghao pouted and mumbled a quiet, “You’d do that for me?”
Minghao reminded him of himself too much.
“How bad could it be?” he shrugged.
But Jeonghan shouldn’t have said anything.
Jeonghan shouldn’t have befriended the man that looked like a cat.
And Jeonghan shouldn’t have volunteered himself to be some kind of bridge between him and the barista that actually, also looked like another cat, always sleeping heavily at the corner of his street- orange and round.
Because if he didn’t do all those things, if he had just hidden himself in his apartment instead of having fun under the sun with Jiae and Sujeong and holding hands with Minghao, he wouldn’t be on the floor of Coffee Express, drenched in coffee and milk, whole body frozen in shame as dozens and dozens of eyes watched him.
“Are you okay?” he heard a man ask, his voice low and quiet and had a complete summer bursting inside his chest.
“This is your fault,” he mumbled, blinking up at the barista who was apparently his friend’s husband in a different universe, flowers blooming in the pits of his stomach when the other chuckled with amusement, “Junhui Wen, this is all your fault.”
Notes:
I have cobwebs in my room.
Chapter 3: Junhui Wen
Summary:
"Lemon Boy and me
started to get along together,I helped him plant his seeds
and we'd mow the lawn in bad weather,it's actually pretty easy
being nice to a bitter boy like him.So, I got myself a citrus friend."
— Cavetown, Lemon Boy
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Jeonghan was on his twenty-fifth pomegranate seed when Sujeong came bounding from his kitchen and on the spot in the couch beside him, donning on a look of amazement and wonder as she chewed on a piece of toast, glistening marmalade slathered on top of a slightly burnt wheat bread, her adorable expression extinguishing the small fire of annoyance that sparked inside him when he lost count of the rubies in Jiae’s salad, his immersion for the task her friend gave him to get rid of the fruit on her lunch so he could stop picking on his nails forgotten at the sudden intrusion.
“Where did you buy this?” the florist asked, cheeks puffed out and mouth slightly full- a sight that would usually make Jeonghan’s toes curl in disdain, but a sight that had his heart hopping in slight apprehension and elation at that moment, lips slightly curved in a bashful smile.
“The bread?” he mumbled, blinking innocently at his friend who looked like it was the first time she found out that marmalade and toast was a thing.
“The marmalade, Jeonghan,” she answered, hissing with no heat before biting into her bread again, eyes closed as she chewed, humming in jubilation.
“Ew, get a room,” Jiae snorted, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but laugh, giving her bowl of salad back because the pomegranate seeds in it weren’t worth paying attention to anymore.
“Is it good?” he inquired meekly, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering as he braced himself for his friend’s answer, the gears in his brain already turning, fishing for brand or shop names he could say just in case her expression was just a fluke to hide her disgust for the spread.
“Good?” she exclaimed, scoffing like he offended her, a wide smile gracing her lips when she answered his question, “It’s more than good, Jeonghan. Did you make this?”
“Yes,” he breathed out, shy smile turning to a full grin, vision almost blurry with how happy he felt.
“I didn’t know you could make marmalade,” Jiae gushed, salad forgotten on his coffee table as she rushed beside Sujeong, squeezing herself in the small space on her right and stealing the last bite of toast right off of the florist’s hand.
“Neither did I,” he said, chuckling at his friends’ antics, reveling in their praises and saccharine smiles, pride blooming in his chest as he grabbed his cellphone, ecstatic as he messaged Jun to say that he was better at making marmalade than him, instantly receiving a reply with nothing but a bunch of crying emojis and broken hearts that made his grin even wider.
Unintentionally getting pulled in someone’s orbit was something Jeonghan didn’t know that could happen by being a virtual assistant in a law firm. He figured that it was inevitable to make some acquaintances within the company, talk to different people, interact with them and maybe engage in some small talk about the weather but that was it. If someone had told him he’d be going out on a Sunday in his own free will to meet two people that weren’t her childhood friends, he would’ve probably died of both crying and laughing.
Because that was impossible.
Alright, not entirely impossible but the thought of Jeonghan sacrificing some of his alone time for people he had just met was something that would usually spark some sort of deep remorse in him because he would fight tooth and nail to get at least twenty-four hours of some quiet time instead of spending it with other people.
And yet there he was, watching Jun demonstrate how to peel and cut oranges properly, the smell of citrus filling his nostrils as Minghao leaned beside him, blatantly staring at the barista’s serene face rather than the technique he was showing off.
“I don’t understand why we can’t just use our hands,” he muttered, groaning when Jun handed him a small knife and a cutting board, urging him and Minghao to do what he just did.
“Then it wouldn’t look pretty,” the other man answered with a lilt in his voice, eyes formed into crescents when he smiled.
Summer.
Jun felt like summer just like Minghao but brighter and more intense than the other’s soft warmth.
“Yeah, duh?” Minghao gave him a look, elbowing him in the process, “Why must you ask dumb questions, Jeonghan?”
“I will dropkick you right here, right now,” he mumbled under his breath, taking the chance to tease his friend while Jun was busy washing a bunch of oranges for them, “You’re drooling, control yourself.”
Minghao gaped up at him before huffing, stepping on his toes playfully because they both knew harmless jabs would lead to them literally pummeling each other on the ground, and Jun couldn’t see them like that, not when Minghao was eagerly trying to make the other man swoon for him.
“Why can’t you just tell him?” he asked one day, exhausted from staring at his monitor and sorting through files he didn’t understand for five hours, “You’re just driving him away with your terrible flirting skills.”
“First of all, at least I have some skills to improve unlike you,” the other man retorted, rolling his eyes as he leaned back on his chair, the quiet buzz of the office behind him ringing though Jeonghan’s ears.
“And secondly, I don’t want to put any romantic ideas inside his head by telling him I used to suck his dick in a different universe,” he continued, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but fake a gag, ignoring the glare his friend had thrown him.
“I want him to think of romantic thoughts about me because, well, you know, I look cute in this timeline or something,” the other man shrugged, chewing on his lips thoughtfully.
“Now see, that’s unfair,” he muttered, raising an eyebrow as he mimicked the other man’s posture, draped boneless on his own swivel chair, twirling a bright red pen between his fingers.
“How is that unfair?” Minghao frowned, his glare still present.
“You know he was your husband in your past life so you’re pining for him now,” he explained, his voice faltering the more the other man continued staring back at him, almost unmoving, “Jun’s just completely clueless, you can’t expect him to return your feelings if he has no feelings to ponder over.”
“I had a crush on Jun even before I could remember him,” Minghao breathed out, shedding more light to Jeonghan’s understanding in their situation, the familiar ache in his chest reappearing as he imagined his friend walking in Coffee Express, breathless the moment he saw Jun in his brown apron and white shirt.
And even before he could ask Minghao how it felt to remember Jun, what went through his head when he recalled his past life, his friend was already scooting closer to his table, his voice turning quieter when he opened himself once more in front of him.
“I felt like I was dying,” his friend started, muttering about how he woke up one night, nauseous and reeling as foreign yet familiar memories flashed right before his eyes, vignettes of a life he wasn’t sure if real or not ingraining themselves in his being, “It felt like watching hundreds of movies in one second for half a day and then remembering everything that happened frame by frame.”
Jeonghan heaved a sigh, suddenly apologetic for assuming that Minghao only liked Jun because of their shared past, fingers drumming on his desk as he pictured his friend trying to make sense of what happened to him.
“How did you know they were real?” he asked, squirming on his seat as he felt something crawling beneath his skin, sweat forming increasingly fast on his back, throat dry and tongue tingling, “How did you know that that was your past life?”
“I didn’t know right away,” Minghao shook his head, and for a second Jeonghan saw the flash of fear in his eyes, like he was recalling something horrible, and going through all of that, he understood why even after a year of adjusting and coping, his friend was still, to a degree, scared, “But I saw Jun and I felt all the emotions that went through my body that night it all came back to me,” he winced, “I just knew it was real.”
Love was real, that was what he understood from the other man’s explanation, if someone or something managed to get the butterflies in their stomachs to flutter, if they could feel the comfortable warmth and security from them, “Then it’s real. Even if you’re the only one who believes it is.”
Jeonghan didn’t know how Minghao lasted that long without telling anyone.
A part of him ached for his friend, because Jeonghan knew what it felt like to keep his dreams to himself, afraid that he’d worry his friends too much, worried that they’d think of him as crazy, very unlikely, but the first time he shared it to them and met with concerned looks, he never uttered anything again, deciding then that he’d keep it to himself, nearly tearing himself every morning because all he wanted was cry and tell them everything.
Jeonghan couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like to remember a lifetime of memories all on his own and not have someone to share them with.
So if someone noticed how easily he folded when Minghao asked for something, he wouldn’t even try to deny it because it was true, he didn’t understand why, but it was true, and he had stopped trying to make sense of the warmth in his chest whenever he was in the other man’s presence.
Warmth.
The familiar warmth that Jun also gave, embracing his whole body with some kind of glow that had him forgetting about his coffee-soaked shirt and flaming cheeks, focusing on the garden that erupted inside him as he watched the barista rummaging through his bag, tossing him a clean shirt and a sheepish grin.
“For the record,” the other man muttered, a playful expression on his face, “You bumped into me.”
“Yeah,” he blinked, nodding in daze because Jun really looked familiar up close, like he had seen him before, and Jeonghan wasn’t even talking about the orange cat in his street that he resembled so much, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m kidding,” Jun gaped, terrified and laughing softly as if he was nervous.
Jeonghan found him incredibly silly, ignoring the vines of fondness slithering their way through his lungs because the other man, just like Minghao when he first saw him, felt too fucking familiar, and he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around that fact.
“It was my fault, why are you apologizing?” the barista asked, red roses blooming on his cheeks.
Everything that Jun did and said in the short span of twenty minutes felt like déjà vu, and Jeonghan had a feeling that it would feel like that for days and weeks that would soon follow.
“Because I bumped into you?” he answered, playing with the soft fabric of Jun’s shirt because his fingers were starting to get restless, his leg bouncing up and down because everything felt surreal.
He wished Minghao was with him and he wished he wasn’t too wary to reach out in his bag and reach for his little lamb.
“No, you didn’t,” Jun chuckled in disbelief, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
“You were just standing there and I was,” he flushed, taking a second before he was talking again, “I was looking for Minghao so I- you know, bumped into you.”
Jeonghan perked up at that.
“You know Minghao?” he heaved, heart thumping restlessly against his coffee-stained chest.
“Well,” the barista started, his small smile melting to a wary frown, “Everyone ought to know the name of the man that avoids them like the plague.”
“I told you so,” were the first words he said to Minghao when they were going through some of his tasks the next day, pretending as if the whole ordeal didn’t keep him up all night, insisting that he should come up to Jun and apologize, say that he wasn’t avoiding him.
Minghao was hesitant at first, but ultimately gave in when Jeonghan said Jun gave him a free apple tart after the whole incident.
“If he doesn’t give me a free pastry, you’re buying me one,” his friend muttered under his breath, leaving him alone to finish his stupid tasks and only ever talking to him again when the clock was about to hit five, the afternoon sun filling his room with soft coral light, his grin big when Minghao told him that he was given a free chocolate muffin.
Most of his time was spent in Coffee Express after that.
Jiae and Sujeong became regulars.
And Minghao had moved them both from their usual seats at the very back of the cafe to a table just by the counter, often talking to Jun about things Jeonghan didn’t really pay attention to because he was too busy watching how the two looked at each other, filled with fondness and filled with mirth, wondering if Minghao could see that Jun was looking at him the way he was looking at the barista.
“Why are we even making marmalade?” he scrunched his nose, staring down at his beautiful orange slices before looking at the clock in Jun’s kitchen, a part of him already itching to leave and crawl under his duvet because it was a Sunday and he needed his alone time, and half of him adamant on staying, curious about the process of jam making and too comfortable by the warm vibes the two person was emitting.
“Because Jun managed to break a case of marmalade back at Coffee Express,” Minghao explained, his voice gentle and soft, “And now he’s abusing our kindness by making us his slaves.”
“Hey,” Jun protested, throwing them, mostly Minghao, a wide smile- teeth and palpable admiration in full view, “You guys are my friends. Friends are supposed to help each other when one of them fucks up, right?”
Jeonghan blinked at that.
Once, twice and then thrice.
Friends.
Usually, when someone assumed that he was their friend, he’d be quick to retaliate and say, “Not yet,” and he was sure he’d do the same when Jun uttered that one word because unlike Minghao, there was no bond with him and the barista yet except for the fact that his friend was head over heels for him so it was surprising that he stayed quiet, his smile staying intact as Minghao agreed- a garden flourishing inside him.
And even before he could curl in on himself, he found himself laughing, joining in on the banter between Jun and Minghao, his worries forgotten as the morning sun made its way down the hills that were overlooking the metropolis.
His heart was full of joy when the day ended, stomach full of toasts and arms full of marmalade that he ended up doing over and over again for a week in his own kitchen, making some adjustments and transforming Jun’s recipe to his, his mind at peace as he stirred his favorite citrus and sugar tirelessly.
“There are others, you know?” Minghao told him one night, the orange light of the lamppost beside them drowning his skin with warm apricot, the sound of the crickets from a nearby park oddly softening the blow of what the other man had said.
“What?” he inhaled, a tremble running down his body when the cold gust of evening summer air moved past them, tousling their hair and kissing their skin harshly.
“People like you and me,” his friend whispered, his voice quiet and low, like he meant to say the secret to the wind instead of him, reaching out for his hand and giving it a squeeze- almost apologetically, “Don’t ponder about that too much.”
“How many?” he asked because how couldn’t he?
“Besides you and Jun?” Minghao mumbled, and for a moment, Jeonghan wondered if his friend already asked the barista about his dream, but one look at the other man’s placid expression, he already knew that the other didn’t have to inquire because he was 100% sure.
“I know a lot more, but I’ve only met another one.”
Jeonghan left it at that, and he was glad Minghao dropped the subject and didn’t explain any further, both of them heading towards the direction of Coffee Express where Jiae, Jun and Sujeong were waiting, preventing him from completely spiraling in the middle of the street.
“Do you dream of the ocean?” he asked Jun that night on the phone, dialing his number in haste when the city was already on edge of snoring and when he was minutes away from tearing his hair out of an unexplained dread.
He was afraid, scared that he was imagining everything, panicked that his brain had a new way of coping, making up people and scenarios just to make his recurring dream mundane.
“I used to dream that I was swimming in the middle of the ocean,” Jun answered, his voice hoarse and slightly guttural, sounding as if he had just pulled himself up from the deepest part of the sea- Jeonghan wondered if that was how he sounded after waking up after every dream, “Sometimes I would drown because I’d be too tired to paddle but there was someone there who was helping me.”
A figure in the horizon, he said, and Jeonghan knew instantly that he and Jun were on the same boat on a confusing tide, propelling against a dangerous current, mindlessly doing their best to keep up with the flow while keeping themselves sane- one of them clearly doing much better than the other.
“Do you know who it was?” he whispered, hugging himself tight as he berated himself for not doing better, for not running fast enough to see the figure in his own dream before his desert turned into nothing but a muted void.
“No,” Jun breathed out, shuffling from the other side of the phone as he continued speaking, “But you know what?”
“What?” he echoed back, the world around him stilling for a second as the beats of his heart vibrated from his ribs to the four walls of his bathroom, darkness engulfing him in throbbing fear and anticipation, “Jun?”
“The figure feels like Minghao.”
He was not going insane.
And Jeonghan wondered that night if he could feel what Jun felt as he climbed up his apartment building, plopping down on the concrete floor of its rooftop, surrounded by empty boxes and moss, the smell of the city caressing his insides in the most horrendous way while he let his eyes stare at the scattered stars above him, wondering if he could remember what Minghao remembered, too.
He lost his motivation to continue again the morning after.
Jeonghan lost it like a remote in the couch, like a hairpin in the backseat of a car he didn’t own, like ice under the heat of the sun.
He lost it because he thought about the constellations the night before, how they were completely just a construct made by people, that they didn’t actually exist.
“They’re just stars,” he wrote on a piece of napkin when the night breeze became too cold, asking himself why tons of people named them, giving them art and myths, literature that could fill an entire library, “Why do they write about stars more than they write about people?”
Jeonghan wanted to go missing because he knew the answer to that, aware that not everyone was special, that millions of people could vanish and the world would continue spinning but pluck one star out of the night sky and everything would cave in and wilt.
He wondered what it would feel like to be a star in someone’s life, to disappear and have their whole universe fall apart, to evaporate into thin air and have them searching the entire galaxy, to melt and then to be missed.
Minghao was a star, he decided.
So was Jun, and Jiae, and Sujeong.
And Jeonghan, he wasn’t sure if he was a star yet.
He wanted to fade, even just for a little while because more than wanting to see if anyone would look for him, he just couldn’t see the point of working anymore if he was just going to die.
What was the point, he asked himself, of living when he wouldn’t even leave any kind of imprint for the next generation, that he wouldn’t even change the world in the slightest, and anyone could argue, anyone could say he was speaking nonsense but he was a twenty-six-year old living in an apartment that smelled of Lysol, sorting files for a living and crying himself to sleep every night.
Jeonghan was a waste of space and oxygen.
So he wanted to go missing, not talk to anyone and spend days and maybe weeks on his own, look down on himself until he was praising his beauty again, be miserable until he was neutral once more, cry until he could no longer produce tears.
Sujeong and Jiae had seen this before, saw the movie of isolation again and again and every time, they would give him his space then come running back to him when he was done wallowing in his lavender-scented cavern, everything would be back to normal after that.
He would be okay.
And he would continue being okay for months.
Then he’d be spouting the same bitter bullshit about the constellations and stars again.
It was a cycle that he had been stuck on for years, and a cycle he was excited to start again because he was tired, and he needed the reset, the thought of opening his laptop for work making his stomach churn, the whole idea of sitting in front of the device turning him nauseous, head reeling and chest tightening.
But Minghao had called him even before he could lock himself in his bathroom, greeting him a good morning and gushing about Jun, perfectly taming the hurricane of negative thoughts inside his head and prompting him to settle on his swivel chair and talk to the other man, absentmindedly pulling him out of his head and helping him finish the day without a hitch.
“Are you okay?” Minghao had asked after they clocked out, the smile on the other man’s face enough to brighten the darkness inside Jeonghan that had momentarily stopped spreading.
“Yeah,” he answered, honest and true despite spending the night in a dazed and sleepless state, tired and weary as he stared at his ceiling, mapping out the constellations that he envied and loathed inside his head, counting lambs when he got drowsy, and then manifesting for an out.
Even just for three days, he wanted to disappear.
But every attempt was met with Minghao asking him to eat with him and Jun, his days being spent in front of the laptop with his friends calling and chatting with him until the sun was retiring, his evenings being consumed in Coffee Express, a cup of coffee in his hand and one of his friends’ hand on the other, laughter bubbling from his chest and gaiety spilling from his chapped lips.
“You’re tired,” was what Jun said to him one night, giving him a smile that had the floodgates of his mouth opening, his spiel about the damn constellations echoing through his mind and floating out of him, dancing their way in Jun’s ears, his sentiments misting the barista’s eyes with a look of understanding.
“But they aren’t just stars,” the other man maundered, offering his arm a gentle squeeze before pushing a plate of coconut macaroons towards him, “To other people they’re special. They’re like your lamb plushie, Jeonghan.”
“What?” he said, eyes raising from the golden sweets in front of him to Jun’s kind smile.
“To other people it’s just another stuffed toy,” the other man replied gently, his voice reminding Jeonghan so much of his father teaching him about how subtraction worked, “But to you, it’s more than that, right?”
Jeonghan blinked.
Once, twice and then thrice.
“Yeah.”
“And the same goes for you, Jeonghan,” the barista continued, and Jeonghan sat there, titillated and completely transfixed by the sound of the other man’s voice, soothing the hard edges inside him and carving them round and soft, “You think you aren’t special because the Earth won’t stop turning when you’re gone but if you vanish, our worlds totally would.”
Jeonghan was their star, and that thought had him chuckling and ducking his head, cheeks flaming as he rubbed his eyes clear of tears.
“But you know,” Jun mumbled, still smiling as he reached out to hand Jeonghan a napkin, “If you need a break from all of this, all you have to do is tell us- we won’t even ask why.”
So he asked Minghao if he could take a few days off.
The yes was immediate.
And that yes was also the reason why his friends were sprawled carelessly on his living room, Minghao snoring softly on Jun’s shoulder who was leaning on his sofa, nose twitching whenever a draft would billow the other man’s hair under his nose and opposite of them was Jiae, curled just by their feet, back turned to Sujeong who was staring at the ceiling, loudly regretting drinking more than she could take.
“I’m going to be such a bitch tomorrow, Jeonghan,” she whimpered, the look of horror for the hangover that hadn’t even come making him giggle on the cold bottle in his hand, silently making his way towards her so he could lay his head on her stomach, maybe have her run her dainty fingers through his hair.
“We’ll still love you,” he whispered in the air, keening when dull nails dug softly on his scalp.
“And we love you too, Jeonghan,” she whispered back, laughing quietly when Jiae let out an incoherent babble, “So take as many days as you need to- I don’t know, I honestly don’t know what you do when you’re away.”
Jeonghan chuckled at that, tipping his head back to carefully empty the bottle of beer in his hand, wincing slightly at the bitter taste that coated his tongue and throat.
“You know who I don’t love?” he blurted out, smiling dazedly to himself as his transparent worm friends made an appearance around him, dancing along the bright halo of the light bulbs above him, blurring his vision just slightly.
“Who?” Sujeong whispered, panic evident in her voice as her hand stilled on his hair, “Is it Jiae?” she gasped comically, “Is it me?”
“No,” he laughed, snorting when Jiae mumbled quietly about murder, making him both double in laughter and flinch in concern, giving his friend a second to stop muttering before he answered Sujeong.
“Choi Legal Co., that’s who I hate.”
“You should tell them,” was the last thing his florist friend said before loud zzzz’s were pouring out of her mouth, the sound of everyone sleeping urging Jeonghan to stand up, carefully finding his way to his bedroom and giving his little lamb an apologetic smile.
Sighing, he found himself in front of his laptop, blinking until his vision was clear enough to differentiate the alphabet keys under the pads of his fingertips, everything illuminated in blue because of the full moon staring down at him in curiosity.
He shouldn’t tell them, he blinked, chewing on his lips helplessly as he pulled up the tab for his email, dozens of unanswered messages mocking him, staring back at him as if deriding his decision to take a break, headers written in bold taunting him to open them, get his tasks done even when he was technically not working.
Jeonghan should get up and wave Sujeong’s silly suggestion away, treat it as a drunken advice because that was all it was, he didn’t even really hate the company but even before he could turn away, he was already typing, mind whirring in exhaustion as his fingers started working away.
Words of hatred and bitterness traveled from the pit of his stomach to the blank space in front of him, days of staring at nothing but information that didn’t make sense transforming to paragraphs of metaphors and similes that would make his English teacher in high school proud, his apprehension and anxiety bleeding from his whole being then to the screen that glowed brightly at him.
Talking was great, he concluded.
Expressing what was in his mind, especially when he was drunk was amazing, bravery surging through his veins as he clicked on send, thoroughly satisfied with himself, completely enamored with the confidence that came with drinking liquid courage for an entire evening.
“Sleep,” he mumbled to himself, his legs moving on their own and making their way to his living room, inhaling the smell of alcohol and mixed perfume in the air.
He felt good.
Everything felt absolutely good.
“Sleep,” he echoed again, plopping his body next to Minghao and snaking his arms around his waist, head lolling itself on the other man’s chest and smiling gently when he was pulled in a loose embrace.
“Sleep.”
“Wake up,” he heard someone say.
There was a tap on his shoulder, a gentle pat on the head and then his whole body was being shook, his arms flailing on either side of him while he blinked his eyes open, panicked faces of his friends and an almost splitting headache welcoming him back from his slumber.
It was morning, much to his dismay.
“What?” he groaned, weakly swatting Minghao’s grip away from him, cursing quietly under his breath when he attempted to sit up straight, neck strained and body sore, pulling out yet another miserable grunt from his fuzzy mouth.
“What have you done?” Minghao blinked down at him, mouth quirked in either a smirk or a scowl- Jeonghan didn’t know, and his muddled mind certainly wasn’t helping, still heavy with sleep and inebriation, still addled with the pleasant high of being with his friends the night before.
“What have I done?” he echoed in return, lifting his gaze up to his other friends in an attempt to gouge an answer from them, the bright light of the morning sun burning his eyes, “What did I do?”
“Jeonghan,” Sujeong rasped, approaching him on her hands and knees, hair sticking up everywhere, “Why did you do that?”
“What?” he whimpered, head spinning as the florist gathered him in her arms, cradling his head like he was her long lost son, “What did I fucking do?”
“You just emailed your whole firm,” Jun said, deliberately dragging his words like he was talking to a child.
And Jeonghan certainly felt like he really was, cheek resting snugly on Sujeong’s bosoms, his back being patted by Minghao, and fear slowly fluttering from his chest like a sunflower welcoming the rays of the sun, confused and lost and aching for something warm in his system.
Milk, he wanted milk.
Sweet and comforting.
Or coffee.
Bitter and scalding.
“And?” he swallowed hard, eyes trained intensely at Jun who looked like he was doing his best to school his features- Jeonghan wanted to yell at them, “Did I tell them I love working in the company?”
There was a beat of silence that made the tension around them almost unbearable, Jeonghan’s throat constricting as more seconds passed by, the sound of the cars outside his apartment making his skin crawl.
“Quite the opposite, actually,” Sujeong answered, successfully preventing him from going on a stupor, fingers threading through his hair like she did the night befor- oh.
Oh.
Jeonghan felt like the walls of his living room was closing in on him, vignettes of the words he fished from the deepest and darkest part of his brain flashing right before his eyes, weaving themselves in sentences that expressed his drunk hatred and intoxicated thoughts, the paragraphs he formed floating on the beige wallpapers around him.
“What did I say?” he whispered, eyes wide and mouth opening purely on the leftover courage running in his system, “Did you guys,” he swallowed hard, gingerly pushing Sujeong away from him because he wanted to feel confident again, “Did you guys read the metaphors I used?”
“Jeonghan, the only coherent sentence in your email was “Working at Choi Legal Co, sucks,” Minghao chuckl- no, Minghao squawked, looking at him with eyes swimming in half disbelief and half amazement, “The rest was just random letters pieced together like someone was holding you at gunpoint to keyboard smash.”
He blinked.
Just once.
“So there was no hyperbole and simile?” he asked, shoulders sagging as he felt the last wave of bravery crash in the rocky parts of his consciousness, shrinking a little when Jiae came running from his bedroom, looking much, much worse than Sujeong.
“He wants to meet you,” she said, panting as if his room was on the other side of the world, her words completely draining Jeonghan’s blood and replacing it with slush, thick and cold, blocking his veins and his airways, rendering him both frozen and speechless, “Jeonghan, Seungcheol Choi said he wants to talk to you.”
His body returned to the comfortable nest that was Sujeong’s arms, manifesting for better days to come.
Notes:
I stumbled upon Cavetown last night, and heard their songs again this morning from a random playlist that I was listening to and my life is never the same ever again.
Chapter 4: Seungcheol Choi (Part I)
Summary:
"A kiss on the forehead—erases misery.
I kiss your forehead.A kiss on the eyes—lifts sleeplessness.
I kiss your eyes.A kiss on the lips—is a drink of water.
I kiss your lips.A kiss on the forehead—erases memory.
I kiss your forehead."— Marina Tsvetaeva, A Kiss on the Forehead
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
FADE IN:
EXT. CHOI LEGAL CO. BUILDING – DAY
Jeonghan looks at the building in front of him, lifting a hand just above his eyes to shield himself from the rays of the early morning sun, the bright light shining down the metropolis making everything it touches brighter except for one building.
Jeonghan tongues his cheek, shaking his head to stop his mind from comparing his current situation to his dream, focusing instead on the block of three storey gray concrete staring back at him.
It’s an eyesore, a complete opposite of the buildings beside it.
On its left is a bank colored in blue and white, a huge poster of a family caught in mid-laughter hanging on the vast space beside its door, potted plants of varying heights and types decorating its entrance.
And on its right is a vegan restaurant painted in the lightest apricot and cobalt, coffee tables and plush seats littering its space outside.
There are people talking and eating.
Jeonghan sighs, and it’s evident that he wishes he is one of them, poking on a bowl of fresh vegetables and steaming rice, or maybe frozen in a poster, smile lines visible for everyone walking down the street to see.
He shivers, rolling his shoulders as he places one foot over the other, chin up and chest out (just like what Sujeong taught him), walking towards the building with an air of false confidence, his heart pattering nervously against his chest.
With a slight frown, he looks at the trimmed green hedges on either side of the double-door entrance, wondering who thought to put it there, an afterthought that might be an attempt to make the place less menacing and more welcoming.
Jeonghan:
(in his head)
There is no reason to be nervous. It’ll be just a meeting. Minghao will be sitting just outside of Seungcheol’s office. Jiae will be there, too. It’ll be fine.
Jeonghan swallows hard, muttering a string of curses under his breath while he waited for the doors in front of him to open, smiling at his reflection to somehow ease his nerves.
It doesn’t help.
And so he visually deflates.
INT. CHOI LEGAL CO. BUILDING, RECEPTION AREA – DAY
The floor is tiled with white, and the walls are painted with a color that resembles the oatmeal Jeonghan ate that morning, dark wooden accents adorning the whole place beautifully, black marble used in every counter and surfaces.
It’s cold.
There are people dressed up in crisp suits laughing in a corner with folders cradled in their arms, and there are people walking in and out of the building, one of them pulling a kid throwing some kind of tantrum with a lollipop in hand.
Jeonghan stands still for a while. He is unsure of what to do.
A receptionist is talking on the phone by the counter in the middle of the space, eyes flickering up at him for a second.
The occasional ding of the elevator somewhere is echoing through the entire floor.
Receptionist:
(raises her hand midair to catch Jeonghan’s attention)
Good morning!
(she smiles, putting her telephone down)
How may I help you?
Jeonghan stands up straighter, dusting his ironed blazer before heading over the woman by the counter.
Jeonghan:
(swallows hard)
Good morning.
(whispering)
My name’s Jeonghan Yoon? I have a meeting with Seungcheol Choi.
Receptionist:
(eyes somewhat wide, her lips quivering to hide a smile)
Oh, it’s you.
(she types something on her computer)
Jeonghan:
(grimacing, hands finding their way on the cold marbled counter)
Y-yeah, it’s me.
Receptionist:
You don’t have to be nervous.
(she offered him a smile)
Seungcheol is a kind person. He probably just called you out here to discuss the reason what made you say his family’s company sucks.
Jeonghan:
(shaking his head with a tight smile)
I’m not nervous.
(mostly saying this to himself)
Receptionist:
(stares at his face for a second)
Of course not.
(ignores the way Jeonghan’s hands tremble on the counter)
Why did you send that? As far as I know, everyone loves working here.
Jeonghan:
(quickly hides his hands in his pockets)
I was- I was drunk.
A loud ding bounces around them again, followed by a couple of soft footfalls and shuffling.
Enter Minghao Xu and Jiae Yoo.
Minghao:
(looks relieved)
There you are! We thought you weren’t coming.
Jeonghan:
I wouldn’t want to miss my execution.
(shrugs helplessly)
Jiae hurries towards him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and then steering him to the corridor just behind the receptionist’s counter.
Jiae:
Thank you, Yein!
Receptionist (Yein):
(voice faltering behind)
Tell your boy to relax! Choi isn’t going to bite.
Jeonghan shrinks inside his friend’s arm as they walk to the elevator.
INT. CHOI LEGAL CO. BUILDING, ELEVATOR – DAY
The elevator is much colder than the reception area, and Jeonghan is glad that Jiae and Minghao are both warm enough to keep his body from shaking.
It’s quiet except for the tacky elevator song softly playing around them.
Jeonghan stares at the distorted reflection of him and his friends.
Jiae looks like herself, lips pursed and eyes staring dead ahead.
She is a picture of boredom, and that slightly makes Jeonghan feel better.
But Minghao looks nervous.
Jeonghan watches him through the steel doors in front of them.
Minghao is chewing on his lips and he’s tapping his foot on the carpeted floor.
Jeonghan is becoming more and more restless.
Jeonghan:
(turning to Minghao)
Why do you look more nervous than me?
Jiae turns to look as well, eyebrow raised.
Minghao:
(shaking his head with a hollow chuckle)
I’m not, I’m just- I’m just hungry.
(he winces)
Minghao isn’t a very good actor.
But even before Jeonghan can press him more for an answer, the loud ding of the elevator stops him.
The clicks and clacks of keyboards welcome them.
INT. CHOI LEGAL CO. BUILDING, 2nd FLOOR – DAY
The second floor of the building looks much, much better than its exterior and reception area.
The walls are still painted with the same tone of cream like the walls below, but the floor was carpeted with the coziest brown Jeonghan had seen, cubicles were lined up neatly across the room, the sound of keyboards working, papers shuffling and lighthearted chatters filling the space.
It’s nice.
And it smells like coffee and marmalade.
Jeonghan takes a deep breathe.
Jiae pushed him out of the elevator, both of them looking back at Minghao who almost trips on his own foot, muttering about stupid carpets while he stands beside them.
Jeonghan:
I’m going to get fired, am I?
Minghao:
(puts a hand behind Jeonghan’s back)
No, of course not.
Jeonghan:
(helpless)
Then why the fuck do you look so sullen?
Jiae:
(groans, obviously irritated)
Because he ate a bad burrito last night. Jeonghan, I swear to God you’re not going to get fired.
Jeonghan:
(sighs again, eyes wandering around the whole floor)
Whatever, it was good while it lasted anyway.
Jiae huffs, hooking her arm around his.
Jiae:
Choi is not firing you, alright?
(she throws Minghao a glare, prompting the three of them to walk to a wooden door at the very far corner of the room)
He just wants to talk.
Jeonghan:
(grumbling, heart beating quickly)
We could’ve talked on Zoom. I’m a virtual assistant, he should’ve treated me as such.
Minghao:
No, this is good.
(looks at Jeonghan, squeezing his hand as they stopped at the door)
Just breathe in and out, okay? Jiae and I will be out here.
Jeonghan:
(squeezes his eyes shut, taking another deep breath then muttering to himself)
He’s not going to kill me.
Jiae:
(laughs, patting his head gently reassuringly)
That’s right. He will not kill you, Jeonghan.
Jeonghan:
Cool, cool, cool.
(looks from Minghao and then to Jiae)
So I just walk in?
Jiae:
(knocks on the door, looking at Jeonghan with fond and disbelief)
Duh?
Jeonghan flinches at the sound of Jiae’s knuckles hitting the wooden door.
Seungcheol: :
(voice muffled, coming from the other side of the door)
Come in.
Jeonghan: :
(panic evident in his voice)
I’m going to fucking faint.
Minghao: :
(reaching out for the door knob, twisting it as he hides a laugh)
(whispering)
That’s not the first time it’s going to happen.
Jeonghan:
(frowns)
What?
Minghao:
(opens the door and pushes Jeonghan in)
Good luck.
Jeonghan stumbles forward, turning around so he’s facing the door, an argument resting at the back of his throat.
Seungcheol:
(clear and soft)
Good morning, Mr. Yoon.
Jeonghan blanches, heart jumping out of his chest.
He closes his eyes, muttering a silent prayer under his breath before he turns around.
Jeonghan doesn’t faint.
INT. CHOI LEGAL CO. BUILDING, SEUNGCHEOL CHOI’S OFFICE – DAY
Jeonghan is still for a second.
(There is a gasp in the audience.)
He slowly shifts around, eyes falling on the man standing in the middle of the room.
(The crowd cheers.)
Jeonghan was supposed to describe the room.
He was supposed to look around and provide everyone in his head a clear description of what he was seeing because pretending like he was in a fucking sitcom helped him calm down but all he could see was Seungcheol Choi.
And he should describe Seungcheol, he knew he should but how could he describe him without flames erupting inside him?
He couldn’t.
So he didn’t.
Seungcheol:
(tentatively walks a couple of steps towards Jeonghan)
Hey, are you okay?
(The crowd is still clapping. One of them yells at Jeonghan to say something.)
Jeonghan listens and obeys.
Jeonghan:
(swallowing hard, blinking once, twice and then thrice)
Uh, yeah.
(shakes his head, extending his arm out for a handshake)
Good morning.
Seungcheol:
(smiling, grasping Jeonghan’s hand gently)
It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.
There is static in his palms, lightning under his fingertips.
Jeonghan:
Likewise.
Thunder rolls inside Jeonghan’s head, heavy rain filling his chest with water. It drowns his heart and his lungs, but he doesn’t do anything but let the storm engulf him.
(Hoots and whistles echo all around them.)
Jeonghan forgets he’s in trouble, and he forgets how ugly the exterior of the building is.
He forgets the cold reception area, forgets his distorted reflection in the elevator.
And he forgets that Jiae and Minghao are outside, forgets Jiae’s chuckles and Minghao’s odd behavior.
Seungcheol:
(still smiling kindly, gesturing over to the chairs in front of his desk)
Have a seat.
Jeonghan nods in daze, sitting stiffly on one of the chairs with his eyes trained at Seungcheol.
Storm surges inside him.
FADE OUT.
THE END?
“What do you mean you’re going to work there?” Sujeong frowned, dropping a heap of tulips on the grass where Jeonghan was currently sitting on, nimble fingers weaving delicate stems over each other, tying their ends before looking up at his friend.
“He told me that I should try working there,” he mumbled, strategically placing the flower crown he just made on top of Jiae’s head, angling it perfectly so she could continue sleeping on his lap without the garland falling, “I said yes.”
“You said yes?” the florist gaped, mouth opening and then closing as she sat, folding her sundress under her legs neatly, “Why would you do that?”
Jeonghan sighed, fiddling with Jiae’s hair as he recalled how the meeting went, how, for half an hour, he sat in front of Seungcheol, frozen at the edge of his seat, doing his best to etch every word that left the other’s mouth inside his head, drowning out the hushed sound of a busy office on a Monday outside his office.
“I care about the people that I work with, Jeonghan,” Seungcheol said, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but feel bad about what he did during his drunken haze, shame burning the tips of his ears as he held the other man’s gaze, “I thought they made that clear during the orientation?”
“They did,” he lied, because really, how could he tell him that he wasn’t listening because it was too hot in his room, and he was too afraid to open his window without sounding like a total lunatic? He couldn’t, so he lied, “And I’m perfectly happy in the company,” he continued, playing with a lone thread that came loose on the hem of one of his sleeves, ignoring the way his breath hitched in the middle of his rambling, “I told you I was drunk that’s why I sent that.”
That confession made him blush, his chest tight with the sudden onslaught of emotions that started wrecking havoc inside his body the second he locked eyes with the other man, a huge part of him trying to keep his shit together, reminding himself of what Jun said about how there was only one thing in life people could control and that was their own selves.
So he held his shit together because the stupid ugly building could collapse on him at any second, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything but cover his head, even when he could feel something inside him shifting, even when the feel of Seungcheol’s palm was still branded on his skin, all he could do was keep his dumb shit together.
“A drunken man's words are a sober man's thoughts,” the other man replied, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back on his chair, studying him closely, “Just be honest with me, Jeonghan.”
And really, for someone who claimed to despise opening up to people, Jeonghan sure do liked running his mouth like his life was an open book, muttering about how he hated his life in general.
“So don’t take it personally,” he fidgeted on his seat, squeezing his eyes shut and bouncing his leg as he continued talking, gray clouds rolling over his mind and casting dark shadows over his better judgment, “I think working here sucks because I think everything that I do sucks.”
“You made that marmalade,” Seungcheol muttered, cocking his head to the side where a jar of orange spread and an empty plate sat, “Did it suck when you were making those?”
It was not a surprise for Jeonghan to follow the other man’s line of sight and see the familiar concoction he made because Jiae and Minghao had been bringing the excess marmalade he’d been making to the office, telling him that most of their colleagues liked them, his spread turning to their staple pick-me-up during laborious days.
What he found surprising however was the sudden urge inside him to answer Seungcheol’s questions as truthfully as he could, like he owed him some kind of explanation as if he wanted the other man to understand where he was coming from.
“Not really,” he replied even before he could stop himself, a jolt of lightning flashing right before his eyes as he resisted the urge to ask the other man what he thought about the damn marmalade.
“Try working here instead of at home,” Seungcheol said, his voice prompting a cackle of thunder in his ears, “I know you talk to Minghao and Jiae a lot, you could do that here. The food in our pantry is free, too.”
“What?” he breathed out, fingers frozen as he stared at the man in front of him, brown eyes glittering under a couple of bright luminescent lights, red lips formed in a small smile.
Seungcheol looked familiar.
And Jeonghan didn’t know if he was going crazy or not but he swore, as he took a deep breath, a faint smell of tropical fruits filled his senses for a second, the scent triggering something distressing in him, his brain failing to recognize where he smelled it before.
“Work here for a week,” Seungcheol said again, his voice effectively interrupting his train of thoughts, “Tell me if working here still sucks next Friday.”
Jeonghan felt like he was on a boat without Jun by his side, floating down a stream with a torrent that was neither rapid nor slow, moving in a way that made him feel as if he was weightless, like he was nothing but a soul being guided in a place he hadn’t been in before.
He wanted to go home.
Or at least, he wanted to control where his boat was heading.
So he muttered a quiet, “I’ll think about it, sir,” like he was in a position to make the other man wait, like he was doing him a huge favor instead of the other way around, and it was weird, at least to him it was, that Seungcheol was letting him.
“Seungcheol,” the other man called out just when he was about to turn the knob on the door to leave, making him turn to see yet another dazzling beam that anyone could compare to the sun, or maybe to a lightning across a dark sky, “Or Choi. Around here, sir is reserved for my father.”
Jeonghan nodded because he couldn’t bring himself to say his name without practicing it first in front of a fogged up mirror, leaving his office with a promise to give his answer as soon as possible.
He felt in control, and he felt as if he was going to faint as he walked over to Minghao who was looking up at him with a look akin to fear, rooted on his chair while they studied each other.
“Do you,” he breathed out, head spinning as his voice cracked, vision misty, “Do you know him before?”
“Yes,” Minghao answered, clipped and short, “Do you-”
“No,” he shook his head, heart oddly falling down to his stomach, coiling and writhing in some kind of pain, “No, I don’t remember him.”
“That’s okay,” his friend nodded, his hands finding their way on either side of his arms as he stood, the other man’s touch easing the storm in him, replacing the dark clouds in his head with white and fluffy ones, sunshine peeking from them, “It’s fine.”
And Jeonghan knew it was, but somehow it felt like it wasn’t.
It felt as if it was a sin that he couldn’t remember him.
“He doesn’t remember anything yet too, anyway,” his friend continued, steering him towards the direction of where the cold elevator was situated, letting him know that Jiae was in a meeting.
Jeonghan’s mind fizzled, confused as to why that information felt like a stab on the chest.
His feet lead him to Coffee Express that afternoon, waking up from an agonizing nap with the flutter of Seungcheol’s eyelashes in his mind, and the twinge of knife lodged between his ribs, still thinking about what he was going to do, if he should try working there or just quit altogether.
Everything was too much, and all Jeonghan wanted to do was go home and maybe stare at his cobwebs but the drink on his table was still untouched and his stomach was protesting in hunger, he needed sustenance, and he needed a distraction.
So he stayed, nibbling on his pastry and sipping on his tea, grateful that Jun decided to keep him company during his break.
“Look,” the barista murmured, placing a photo album in front of him with an excited grin, “Someone was cleaning the old office earlier and found this.”
Jeonghan hummed in response, thoughts still too muddled to come up with something that wasn’t either about Seungcheol or his office predicament, tongue still tasting of metal despite the sugar at the back of his throat.
“Here,” Jun chuckled, flipping the pages a couple times before pointing at a younger version of himself, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but laugh, blocking out the sound coming out of his mouth at the back of his hand, thoroughly endeared at the photograph of Jun, eyes wide in panic and smile lopsided.
“It was my first day,” the barista started, telling Jeonghan how he almost managed to cause a major loss in revenue the day he first manned the counter because apparently, math wasn’t his strong suit, “I don’t even know how I got everyone’s change wrong. Thank God I’m cute and the owners gave me a second chance.”
Jeonghan smiled, still couldn’t bring himself to say anything and really, he was glad Jun knew how to read the room, continuing to talk about his early days in the cafe, letting him sit back in silence and imagine the barista in his head, flushed and frantic in front of other people, giving them wrong orders, and generally doing a shit job on his first few days.
“They gave me a lot of chances if you really think about it,” the other man mumbled, fingers glossing over a picture of him covered in whipped cream, a cherry adorably perched on top of his shoulder, “Improvement is possible with the right people around.”
Good friends, that was the key .
Jeonghan found himself shivering, eyes finding their way on Jun’s.
“Minghao said your boss wants you to work in the office,” the barista drew out, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but feel like a scared dog in a corner.
“Not want,” he found himself saying, shaking his head slightly, “It’s not like he’s forcing me or anything, he’s giving me a choice.”
It was Jun’s turn to hum, still looking at him with something soft in behind his eyes.
And Jeonghan really, really wanted to shrink.
“Do you want to do it?” Jun asked quietly.
“I want to,” he answered, not even bothering to hide the shake in his voice, taking a deep breath as he let go of the other man’s stare, choosing to lean back on his chair and have his eyes trace the outline of the half-eaten waffles on his plate, “But at the same time I don’t.”
They were silent for a while, and Jeonghan almost jumped on his skin when he heard the other man’s voice again, grass and dandelions sprouting from the cavern of his chest where the flood from earlier had subsided.
“Do you know I became a barista only because I want to wear an apron?” Jun chuckled, shifting beside him so their knees were touching, “I didn’t know I had to go through tons of training, I literally went in blind and let the tide sweep me off of my feet, going with the flow just so I could have a stupid apron with my name stitched on it.”
Sometimes Jeonghan wondered if Jun could read his mind- he wouldn’t be surprised if he did.
“I know you’re scared and I know you’re not someone who’s comfortable going blind somewhere but,” Jun sighed, “Everything good is on the other side of your fears.”
Jeonghan had heard that one before, the line tugging softly on his heart because he was aware that it was true.
A couple of months ago, he sat in front of his computer, listening to an orientation with sweat rolling down his back, and he could’ve let his fears unplug his monitor, he could’ve crawled back under his covers, and shut the world out but he didn’t and he met Minghao.
Weeks ago, he sat with Minghao and listened to him babble about Jun, and he could’ve sat back and allowed his reservations to keep him from introducing himself to the barista but he didn’t, and so he met Jun.
He learned how to make marmalade.
And he watched Jun and Minghao share secret smiles and longing glances.
“These moments, whether they’re scary or not,” Jun continued, eyes trained on the photo album in front of them, “We’ll eventually move past them, then everything will feel mundane and we’ll be so glad that they’re in the past but,” he took a deep breath, voice breaking as he traced his picture gently, “We see these and we wish we could just relive it again and again.”
The sentiment gnawed at Jeonghan’s heart, and he sat there, thinking about the dozen of paths in his life he could’ve taken but didn’t, held back around the neck by fear that took control of his legs and feet, anchoring him to a place that comforted his heart but did nothing to make him happy.
“You made a good decision,” he said because he knew Jun did, and he was aware of how scary it might have been for him in the past, but looking at his friend then, under the warm lights of Coffee Express, the barista was looking at the pictures, at his past with fondness rather than dread and regret.
Jeonghan wanted that.
He thanked Jun for going with the flow because that lead to them meeting.
And he went home that day with renewed motivation, emailing Seungcheol directly to say that he was ready to start the next day, heart thumping on his chest when he received a reply almost instantly, cheeks heating up when he read what the other had wrote.
“Take the whole week off. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Is he hot?” he heard Sujeong ask, successfully pulling him out of his thoughts, “Is that why you said yes?”
“What?” he laughed, shaking his head as he pulled out a white instant film camera from his bag, aiming it at Sujeong to hide the reds tainting his cheeks, “Smile.”
Sujeong smiled, and the question why he agreed to work in an office was dropped, melting away under the sun like the way their sundaes melted in their cups, chocolate syrup achingly sweet in their throats, and their laughter mingling with the sound of birds playing on top of the tree that shielded them from the afternoon heat.
“You’re spending too much money on these films, Jeonghan,” Jiae muttered that night, flipping through his binder of photographs, pocketing a picture of the three of them taken that afternoon in the park, “You know you can just take pictures using your phone, right?”
“It’s not the same,” he shrugged, tucking a picture of the cobweb in his bathroom ceiling inside his wallet.
Jun agreed and gave Jeonghan a bunch of films in return of taking a picture of him with the orange cat that always slept at the end of his street.
“He does look like me,” Jun mumbled in wonder, all of their heads tilting to look at the feline yawning under a street sign, stretching and staring up at them with equal fascination with the stars as witnesses to their shenanigans.
“Did you say yes because of Seungcheol?” Minghao asked after they stopped Jun from taking the cat home, convincing him that the streets owned him.
“Not entirely,” he answered, ducking his head as he felt something warm spreading from his neck, ignoring the way Minghao’s lips curved in a small knowing smile.
“What made you say yes, then?” the other man muttered, walking slowly behind their friends.
“I’ve missed out on a lot of things just because I was scared, you know?” he started, quietly looking back at his life as they continued their trek towards his house, the streets almost empty save for them and a couple of people who were out for a run.
“When Jun showed me the pictures of him starting out in Coffee Express, I thought that I wanted that too, to look back on something that scared me and then to smile and miss it instead of regretting.”
A light breeze pushed past them as Minghao shifted closer to him, their arms brushing as they trudged along a cramped alleyway. It was nice, he thought, walking with his friends at an ungodly hour, talking and bearing himself open.
“I can’t believe a picture of Jun drenched in milkshake would have that kind of impact on you,” Minghao laughed, the amusement in his voice watering the wildflowers in his chest, “Is that why you keep taking pictures of us, too?”
Jeonghan stilled at that question for a while, eyes trained at Jiae and Sujeong playfully pushing Jun down the road, both of them laughing when the barista spouted another dumb knock knock joke that resulted in another harmless jostling.
He looked at them, the grins on their faces and the sparkle in their eyes.
And then he looked at Minghao, the line on his mouth, and the bags under his eyes.
“Tomorrow, one of us could be gone,” he said, sighing when Minghao halted, the silence around them growing louder and louder, the sound of their friends laughing muffled by the blood rushing through his ears.
“I could be gone, you know?” he continued, blinking away the tears that gathered in his eyes, “I want to store everything and have someone look at them and say that we all lived a good life. I want someone to remember even when we couldn’t.”
Jeonghan didn’t know how long they stayed frozen in the middle of the street, he didn’t know who called his name, didn’t know who pulled them to his apartment and up to the rooftop, only ever coming to his senses when a flash went off, his eyes landing on Minghao with his camera on hand.
“Hey,” he breathed out, “What was that for?”
“You always take pictures of us,” Minghao smiled, shaking the film on his hand before looking at it with a smile, and pocketing it in his jacket, “I want the world to remember you, too.”
“Why are you keeping it then?” he chuckled, teasing the other man and tinting his cheeks red, “Are you insinuating that you’re my world?”
“A part of it, Jeonghan,” Minghao breathed out, turning to look at the city lights in front of them.
Jeonghan marveled at that when he went to sleep, waking up to his whole body buzzing with something that wasn’t heavy or painful, smiling to his reflection when he found himself excited to start the day, laughing when he found Jun outside his apartment building.
“This is so fun,” the barista gushed, handing him a cup of coffee before pushing him inside his car where Jiae and Minghao were already seated, cheering loudly as if they were going on a trip instead of work, “It’s like dropping my kids to school.”
“It’s going to be great, Jeonghan,” Jiae whispered.
And it was, it really, really was.
Notes:
I, too, would sometimes think my life is a sitcom.
Chapter 5: Seungcheol Choi (Part II)
Summary:
"Walking home for a moment,
you almost believe you could start again.And an intense love rushes to your heart,
and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable."— Franz Wright, Night Walk
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
If someone asked Jeonghan how he managed to survive his first day in the office, he could’ve and would’ve answered that it was because of the encouraging words his friends had given him throughout his break, giving him enough strength to keep himself together and not combust in the middle of a hectic Monday morning or maybe say that it was because of the sugar in the pastry Jiae handed him on their ride to work, giving him a burst of energy that fueled him through half the day, helping him settle well in his new swivel chair and aiding him calm his nerves.
He could’ve and would’ve easily answered with those, and no one would really know if he was telling the truth or not- well, no one except for him, and Jeonghan knew he had been trying so hard for the past week to face his present and to not succumb to his fears but honestly, how could he not lie when the real reason he got through the day easily without a hitch was, even for him, questionable?
But still, he thought, he vowed to keep his composure at all times and stop laying on his bathroom floor every time something or someone made his heart jump in the slightest, to absorb the facts as they were and digest them as eloquently as possible, allow the world to spin around him and accept that there were just things that were just out of his control and there were things that just didn’t make sense.
And that was okay.
So when he accepted the real reason as to how he finished his first day in an office surrounded with strangers chattering around him, he breathed in and out, smiled at Minghao and Jiae when they asked him to wait for them, and sent Jun a passive-aggressive message about the coffee he handed him that morning, closing his eyes as he locked himself in a cubicle and pondered about the caffeine in his system that made him hyperaware about Seungcheol’s presence looming over him.
“Was the coffee not good?” Jun texted him back, the presence of sad emojis in the other man’s text making Jeonghan tongue his cheek because for one, the coffee was good and two, it really helped him focus on his tasks but, he sighed, that didn’t change the fact that coffee also made him conscious about a pair of glittering brown eyes watching over him, prompting his whole being to do good, to do better, to, for the first time since he started working in Choi Legal Co., finish everything without any mistakes.
If Jeonghan was allowed to spend a night in his bathroom staring up at his beloved cobwebs and make a guide on how not to lose his mind over emotions he couldn’t even describe, he would, he really would but God, he didn’t want to teeter on the edge of being dysfunctional again so he waved all his worries away and decided to focus on the muffins Jun promised to give them after dinner.
“It is good,” he sent the barista, chewing on his lips as he frantically typed another message, “It just made me super jumpy,” he shot, a part of him guilty for making it seem like his friend had done a bad thing when in fact, he helped him greatly but really, how was he supposed to explain that he despised the coffee a tad bit for making him think that Seungcheol was watching him? That the mere thought of his boss glancing down at him whenever he made his rounds around the office pushed him to be a great assistant?
He couldn’t.
So he shook his head and spammed his friend a bunch of heart and flower emojis to make up for his fatuity before pocketing his phone and exiting his cubicle, making a mental note to dote on him later at Coffee Express after Minghao’s meeting which, he frowned, was supposed to be finished fifteen minutes ago.
“Oh, you’re still here?” he heard someone say, his heart almost lurching out of his chest when he raised his head to meet the source of the voice, his whole body turning frigid, “Hello, Jeonghan Yoon.”
He blinked.
Once, twice and then thrice.
“Hi,” he mumbled, ducking his head down as he walked over a sink that was farthest away from the other, pumping liquid hand soap on his palms and lathering it all over his hands, eyes trained at the bubbles on his skin and cheeks oddly burning at the other man’s sudden appearance, “I’m waiting for Minghao and Jiae.”
“Ah,” he heard him say, and Jeonghan didn’t know why it was suddenly so hard to breathe, the sound of his heart pumping and the water rushing down his hands loud in his ears, “Their meetings should be done by now.”
He hummed, nodding his head timidly as he busied himself by rinsing the soap from his skin away, half of him wishing to be left alone and the other half reprimanding the former for being antsy, reminding them that he was turning a new leaf, that he believed that talking was great, that everything good was on the other side of his fears.
But God, could anyone really blame Jeonghan for looking at everything but Seungcheol Choi? For wishing that he came with a bell so he’d know when he’d appear so he could at least prepare himself? No, because the first second he laid his eyes on the other man that day, he felt as if his whole body was shot by lightning, spine tingling with electricity when he allowed himself a second or two to look at how the man dressed himself, his suit fitted like a glove and his hair perfectly styled on top of his head.
Jeonghan might have more weaknesses than an average person but just like any other human being, he too, had weakness over beauty.
And Seungcheol Choi might be the most beautiful person he had ever seen.
“Is it okay?” he heard him ask, the question bouncing off of the walls of the spacious comfort room, echoing inside his head as he turned the faucet off, “Working here, is it okay?”
“Yeah,” he replied, braving a glance up at the other man who was leaning on the counter, arms crossed, and eyes trained on him. Jeonghan almost wanted to run away right then and there, but he stayed rooted to his spot, drying his hands with paper towels that kept breaking off and sticking between his fingers, “It’s okay.”
“And you?” Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, head tilted to the side, obviously hiding a chuckle over his silly predicament, “Are you okay?”
He stilled for a moment at that, taking a deep breath as a soft drizzle fell over the flowers that had been growing inside him, tended by his friends’ gentle ministrations and impressive wisdom, gray clouds casting shadows on the field teeming with greens inside his chest.
It should throw him off-guard, the sudden intrusion of cold rain in his system but he found it oddly comforting, the image of soft droplets sliding off of silky petals reminding him of the calmness that would usually engulf him whenever he watched the sky wail, tucked under thick duvets that smelled of him and his apartment, eyes trained at the tears cascading down his window.
“I’ve never felt better, actually,” he drawled out, the embers under his cheeks growing warmer and warmer by the second because yes, listening to Seungcheol’s voice felt like listening to the sound of rain outside his apartment but talking to him was different, talking to him felt like being under the rain, unafraid of lightning striking him, unflinching at the thunder roaring above.
“That’s good to hear,” the other man smiled, pushing himself away from where he was leaning and walking towards the door, turning to look back at him to say, “We’re glad to have you with us, Jeonghan,” before leaving him on his own, standing in the middle of a thunderstorm that vanished as quickly as it appeared, drenched with a familiar warmth that was quite different from Jun and Minghao’s, and honesty hanging on his tongue.
His evening was spent praising Jun after that, his whole one-sided ordeal with Seungcheol briefly forgotten over mugs of cappuccinos and buttered croissants, laughter bubbling in his chest and stories about his first day flowing from his mouth, cheeks almost aching at how wide he had been smiling over the past few hours.
“You made a good decision,” Jun texted him a shy before midnight, showering him with hearts and thumb-up emojis that made him lay on his bed and not on his bathroom floor, sleeping with a smile on his lips, the assurance that he was doing something right for once making his whole body buzz in excitement for the next day.
Working in Choi Legal Co. was a blur of bitter coffee, tangy marmalade and the smell of bond papers and jet-black ink, time passing by relatively fast with the sound of low chatters and crisp clicks and clacks of keyboards around him, his chest filled of wildflowers and occasionally graced with abating rainfall, the glow under his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning from a sensation that bothered him to a feeling that he subconsciously yearned for.
“I feel like I finally found a place where I belong, you know?” he said to Minghao on his fifth day, a plate of clubhouse sandwich in front of him and a glass of pink lemonade on his hand, marveling at how at ease he felt in a place he once found terrifying, heart fluttering at the sight of Seungcheol’s head peeking at the office pantry, greeting him and Minghao with a beam and a small, “Enjoy lunch,” before he was scurrying back to his office.
And if Minghao noticed the way he stumbled over his words after the other man left, Jeonghan was glad that he didn’t say anything, choosing to wave his friend’s knowing smirk off as something but a smile with no real meaning behind it, continuing his ramble about how harder it was to work at home despite his mind having troubles fishing for the right words to say.
“Do you want me to tell you something about him?” Minghao asked that night, their locks dancing wildly on top of their heads as they shared a box of cupcakes and a mug of steaming chamomile, a handful of stars blinking down at them.
And Jeonghan was glad he nodded his head, grateful for the chilly evening wind that swept his inhibitions away because the following week, he found himself in front of Seungcheol Choi, several plates of food between them as the clock read 12:30PM, the sun glaring down harshly at the restaurant’s sign, “St. Bart’s” it said, the letters standing tall by the front.
“The Seungcheol this lifetime or?” Minghao blinked, a grin pulling his mouth wide.
“This lifetime,” he answered, settling himself at the corner of his apartment rooftop, leaning on empty boxes that Jun arranged weeks ago so they looked like a fort, pulling Minghao beside him so they were huddled closer.
“He acts older than his age,” Minghao started, sipping on their ceramic elephant mug before continuing, telling him that he meant it in the most positive way, and Jeonghan agreed, humming when his friend told him how Seungcheol carried himself maturely, dressing in tailored suits, replying to everyone he talked to with calculated and smart responses, often choosing to sit back and listen during discussions rather than talking, only ever sharing his thoughts once everyone settled down.
So it came to Jeonghan as a surprise when Seungcheol crouched in front of a dog, scratching behind his ears as they waited for a cab, talking to the canine’s owner with a voice that had the butterflies in his stomach fluttering, schooling his features when he heard him coo, praising the golden retriever and telling him that he was a good boy.
It was a side of Seungcheol Jeonghan didn’t expect to see, silently enjoying the scene before him with a secret smile, coughing behind his hand when the other man looked up at him, giving the dog one final pat before he was back beside him, the warmth radiating off of his body silencing Jeonghan further.
“He could read the room easily,” he remembered Minghao saying the night before, a shiver running down their bodies as another gust of wind pushed past them, “Sometimes I think he could even read minds,” his friend shrugged, nibbling on an apple crumble cupcake, “That made me assume that he remembered our past lives, actually.”
“How sure are you that he doesn’t remember?” he asked, tilting his head back to finish off their tea, the sound of traffic below them vanishing as Minghao stared at him, the gears in his head visibly turning, “What?”
“He would’ve cried when he saw you,” the other man whispered, shaking his head almost immediately as he forced out a laugh, “He would’ve bawled his eyes out when he saw me,” he said hastily, “I was his favorite friend after all.”
He nodded at that, waving his thoughts away and shooing the curiosity creeping under his skin.
It wasn’t a good idea, he thought, to ask about things he knew he wouldn’t understand, things that could disturb the calm lull in his head so he stayed quiet, swallowing down his question of what he was to Seungcheol before, and why Minghao would always hide a smile whenever he’d see him and the other man talking.
“We’re going out for lunch,” he heard Seungcheol say, and Minghao was right, the other man was either a mind reader or just plain perceptive because he had been fidgeting on his seat for awhile then, cajoling himself to calm down and just ask where they were going, “I hope that’s alright with you.”
Jeonghan swallowed hard, immediately turning his head to the side as he mumbled a quiet, “Of course” under his breath, eyes following the clouds trailing up at them, a part of him grateful that the other man had spontaneously dragged him out for lunch instead of telling him beforehand, unintentionally preventing hours of chewing on his lips and coming up with hundreds of scenarios in his head.
“It’s normal,” he received a text from Minghao, stepping out of the cab and shielding his screen from the harsh light of the sun, “He often eats lunch outside with our colleagues.”
Jeonghan didn’t know if that information made his heart drop to the floor or the prices on the outdoor menu he saw.
“For a guy who mostly works pro bono,” Minghao chuckled as they picked up their trash and decided to return to his apartment, “He sure is a very generous person.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, holding out a trash bag so his friend could do his dumb trick shots, laughing when the other whispered a silent “Please,” before aiming a ball of napkin at him, completely missing and successfully embarrassing himself.
“He has a lot of money,” the other man shrugged, draping an arm around his shoulder and steering them both inside, the two of them mumbling a quiet “Good night,” to the stars that came to hang out with them.
“Can’t we just share?” he raised his head, placing the leather-bound menu on top of their table as he looked at Seungcheol, fingers itching to message Minghao and join them for lunch, leg bouncing erratically under him, “I just- it’s all- I don’t thin-”
“Is that okay with you?” Seungcheol asked, effectively saving him from the embarrassment of stammering. He nodded, and the other man smiled, turning to a staff beside their table and ordering food that Jeonghan didn’t even know existed.
Seungcheol knew how to read the room, and Jeonghan was so glad that he did because he didn’t know what he would’ve done if the other man waited for him to talk, if the other man didn’t lean on the table and talked to him about what he thought with his setup in the office, his nerves melting to nothingness by the time their food arrived, his apprehension and timidity replaced with some sort of comfortable confidence that had him pulling the softest laugh from the other man.
“Does it still suck?” Seungcheol asked when they were halfway done dessert, a lemon tart that the restaurant insisted they try, the staff waiting for them joking that he’d be in a lot of trouble if they refused their hospitality- they both gave in after that, profusely thanking him and the chef who waved at them through a small window from the kitchen, “It’s been what? Ten days since you started working in the office, I haven’t received any drunken emails from you yet.”
Scarlet burnt Jeonghan’s face when the other man said that, tangy lemon filling cradling his tongue as he did his best to find the right words, spluttering out an excuse, saying that he didn’t know he had to send an email, “Do I have to be drunk?” he gaped, his brain buffering at how loudly the other man laughed.
“I’m joking, Jeonghan,” Seungcheol chortled, pushing the small plate of pastry closer to him before placing his fork down, “But how is it? Working in the office, I mean- do you still think it-”
“No,” he shook his head, trepidation melting under umber eyes, “I like it,” he trailed off, and that was that, their conversation drifting from Jiae spilling iced tea on her laptop during a presentation to their shared interest in animals, both of them wanting to adopt a dog someday.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” he heard Seungcheol say when he fished for his wallet as they finished their food, the smile on his face unwavering, hiding his blush behind his glass of water, “This one’s on the company.”
It would be a lie if Jeonghan said his soul didn’t deflate at that, a voice at the back of his head berating him for thinking that the lunch was something more than just a civil and professional meal shared between two colleagues.
“Tomorrow’s on me,” the other man added.
And it would definitely be a lie if Jeonghan said he didn’t spend the rest of the day on cloud nine, confused, but still, floating in warm daze as he finished his tasks without any hitch, easily conversing about the weather with some of his colleagues by the photocopying machine, refilling Jiae and Minghao’s coffee mugs and basking under the burning glances of Seungcheol who had spent his day beside Minghao, muttering about a case he didn’t understand and occasionally smiling at him whenever their eyes met.
“I think I’m aromantic,” Jeonghan recalled saying, smoothing his hair down after an hour of dancing with Jiae and Sujeong in the crowded dance floor of their favorite local club, regretting the way he caved in with his friends begging and joining them for a night of drinking.
“Aromantic?” Jiae frowned, still slightly swaying to the muffled music from inside the club, completely inebriated after stealing shots from random groups she befriended, “You mean you smell nice?”
“You idiot,” Sujeong laughed, holding their friend steadily by her hips, “He meant he doesn’t have any desire to be in a romantic relationship.”
“Yeah,” he nodded, taking a deep breath as he sent an apology to the guy he was dating that time, composing a really good response on his question about making their relationship official, and ending it with the classic, “It’s not you, it’s me,” line because it was the truth- the problem had always been with him.
“Maybe you just haven’t met someone you’d want to have a romantic relationship with yet,” Sujeong offered, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but scrunch his nose at the sentiment, shaking his head in disbelief as his friend gave him an apologetic smile.
Years passed and Jeonghan couldn’t help but think that maybe Sujeong was right, because as he watched Seungcheol cut a fillet of salmon perfectly in half, asking him what side he wanted, all he could think about was the idea of Seungcheol doing things for him that would’ve normally had him pulling out the “It’s not you, it’s me,” line, his brain flashing with images of the other man planting flowers for him, of studying how to make marmalade late at night to impress him, of adopting a dog with him.
Jeonghan was crazy.
And in any other circumstances, he would’ve treated these thoughts as delusions that stemmed from his breakdowns and lack of sleep but he hadn’t cried for weeks, and his sleep had been better then after adjusting from waking up in a desert to complete stillness, so there was still another explanation for his daydreaming, and Jeonghan didn’t know if it was worse or not.
He could be completely normal.
But he could also be thoroughly infatuated with Seungcheol Choi.
And again, no one could blame him because his lunch with Seungcheol had become a part of his routine then that even Jiae and Minghao stopped asking him to eat lunch with them, politely smiling at him and Seungcheol before they leave the building and rambunctiously teasing him about it after they clocked out, the news easily reaching the ears of Jun and Sujeong.
“So he’s hot,” Sujeong concluded, answering the question she threw at him before, “I knew it.”
“What?” he laughed helplessly, swatting Jun as he aimed his camera at him, the barista laughing at how red his face was, “So what if he’s hot? We’re just friends, there’s nothing there.”
His statement ignited yet another round of hysterical laughter in their table and Jeonghan, as much as he hated to admit it, was aware how unconvincing he sounded, rolling his eyes as a flash lit up the room, the lava under his cheeks showing up embarrassingly well on the film that Jun claimed as his.
“I’ll show this to him,” the barista threatened lightly, handing him his camera back and pulling the picture away from his grasp, “So be extra nice to me, okay?”
He went home that night with his body wrapped up in flames, his smile ingrained on his mouth even when he felt another surge of shame crashed through him, wondering if he looked like that whenever Seungcheol’s name was mentioned, if his cheeks were always dyed cherry when he’d eat lunch with the other man, if his eyes shone brightly just like in the photograph and if they did, did Seungcheol find him pretty?
Jeonghan slept with his face buried in his pillows before the clock hit one, willing himself to stop thinking of the other man, reminding him to take everything slowly, that there was no reason to run and to leap when he could walk, to see where the new path would lead him- step by step, he thought, one at a time.
There was no reason to overthink, he reminded himself, there was no reason to put meaning behind every actions Seungcheol did and every words that left his mouth, but it was so hard not to wonder why the man ended up dragging him outside for lunch every day, talking about his day and his life like he had no one to talk to but him.
“Did he say that to you?” Minghao muttered, pouting as he looked up at him quizzically.
“Say what?” Jeonghan blinked, purposefully trying to rile the other man up because apparently, even with the amount of time they were spending together, he still feel like he was being left out, complaining why no one hadn’t thought about inviting him to his and Seungcheol’s daily lunch… appointments.
“That he has no one to talk to,” Minghao frowned, stabbing his toast with a fork like a kid denied dessert, and Jeonghan, couldn’t help but repress a chuckle, finding Minghao’s sudden neediness both odd and amusing, “He’s my friend too, you know?”
“Really?” he asked, pretending as if Seungcheol hadn’t already told him how they met, the story vividly imprinted in his mind because the latter shared the memory with him with so much details that it was impossible for Jeonghan to not feel like he was there too, like he was a part of it.
“Why do you look so surprised?” his friend asked, scoffing like he was really offended that Jeonghan doubted his connection with the other man.
“Because I’ve never seen you hang out with him outside work,” he shrugged, stifling another chuckle when Minghao gritted his teeth, glaring at him softly as he left his toast alone, the sound of fork hitting fine china painful in his ears.
“He’s my roommate, Jeonghan,” Minghao grumbled, folding his arms across his chest, with a pout still present on his mouth, “I always hang out with him.”
“Why do I find that odd?” he mumbled, ignoring the incredulous look his friend threw him and snatching the toast from his plate, idly slathering the bread with fresh marmalade.
“Go to my apartment tonight,” the other man challenged, fixing him a glare before taking the bread from his hands, “Jun’s stopping by for dinner anyway, might as well drag you along and show you that I’m friends with Seungcheol.”
Jeonghan shouldn’t have pushed Minghao’s buttons and Jeonghan shouldn’t have said yes because to see Seungcheol during lunch was so much different than seeing him outside working hours, much more in his apartment, his home, probably wearing casual clothes and not his usual suit and tie, hair probably tousled messily on top of his head instead of being styled neatly.
He should’ve refused because it felt like stepping over some line, of having a connection with Seungcheol that didn’t involve the law firm, of possibly having a bond like what he had with Minghao and Jun, and Jeonghan didn’t know if he was ready for that, so he should’ve just said he was sick and he couldn’t make it.
But he went, afraid that he’d miss something important, scared that he’d spend one night alone and fall back in love with isolation.
“You like him,” Jun muttered as he drove them both to where Minghao and Seungcheol lived, a pop song from the 2000s softly playing in the background as he felt his breath hitch.
“And you like Minghao,” he whispered, turning his head so he could look at Jun who stopped at a red light, smiling back at him with magenta dancing on the apples of his cheeks.
There was no reason to lie and hide when he was with Jun.
“Yeah,” the barista mumbled.
“Yeah,” he echoed back.
They had always been in the same boat anyway.
And that was that, both of them smiling at each other with a wordless vow to keep their secret between them and the moon, hiding their grins when the other two greeted them warmly in their apartment.
“Who are you?” Jiae asked him the day after, putting a palm on his forehead to check his temperature, playfully holding his head to see if there was a bump somewhere, “You went to Seungcheol’s apartment last night and now you’re asking everyone out to meet at Coffee Express? What have you done to Jeonghan?”
“Shut up,” he whined, swatting Jiae away because her touch tickled him, failing to hide his smile when his friend grinned back at him, mumbling a quiet, “Happy looks good on you, Jeonghan,” as she flung a knitted blanket over their bodies, the sounds from the movie they were watching muffling the thumping of his heart.
“I think,” he started, sighing as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt, “This is who I really am, not the sad mouse who’s afraid of everything and cries over the smallest of things,” he chuckled, blinking back the mist blurring his vision as he took a second to compare where he was before and after working at Choi Legal Co., ears ringing as he recalled just how helpless he was the morning he didn’t attend the interview, stomach churning at the thought of possibly going back to that state.
“You’re still you when you’re like that, Jeonghan,” his friend mumbled, shifting beside him so she could easily gather him in his arms, “We all have different sides, we’re not always happy and pretty.”
“But I’m better like this, right?” he asked, nuzzling his cheek on the soft fabric of Jiae’s jumper.
“Everyone is better when they’re like this,” he heard her say, chuckling lightly as she smoothed his hair down, “But don’t think you have to hide your other sides just because of that.”
“I know,” he answered, shaking his head as he felt something ache inside him, the ghost of Seungcheol’s smile from the night before along with the smiles of the phantoms in his past flashing before his eyes.
Jeonghan had never been good in dealing with sudden changes, never really been great at thinking on his feet, most often than not preferred to stick to a routine and spend some of his time to people that he already knew, then go back in his dark apartment and recharge his battery, cook and eat alone, play games and watch videos on YouTube until the sun was filling his room with light again.
He liked being alone, that much was true and it would really be a lie if he said it wasn’t lonely.
Jeonghan had a lot of friends in high school, dwindling down to a handful when he went to college and then reduced to just Jiae and Seungcheol when they entered adulthood.
It was a choice.
He always thought that it was his choice to cut down his circle of friends, that he was the one in control of their relationships but every night, he would look back and blame himself for the bridges that burnt, fire licking the bonds he formed when he was still bright-eyed and optimistic, pouring gas wherever he went with every invitations he declined, and every messages he left on read.
He didn’t want to be a bad friend, but he ended up being one.
And he let everything turn into ashes despite the countless opportunities he had to extinguish the flames, allowing his absence and silence to fuel the roaring fire that ate up his connections to people that made half of his life bearable.
It was his fault, he was very much aware of that.
And as he ate dinner with Jun, Minghao and Seungcheol the night before, cheeks warm and heart sated, a huge part of him wanted what they currently have to last long, protect the bridges that connected their lives with his everything, permit flowers and trees to grow all around them, take care and strengthen the foundation of their relationships.
“I want to always be the best version of me,” he mumbled, eyes blurring a bit when Jiae squeezed him tight, telling him that she didn’t care whatever version he was in, “We love you anyway,” she whispered.
And despite the assurance, Jeonghan promised to never shut himself from the world again.
Time was short, and for the first time in his life, Jeonghan was scared of suddenly vanishing.
He wanted to be there tomorrow, to be present during Minghao’s presentation next week, to walk with Jun in the park every Saturday after his shift, to make Sujeong laugh, to annoy Jiae and to eat lunch with Seungcheol for as long as he could.
“Would it be weird if I take a picture of you right now?” he blurted out, slightly dizzy with laughter after Jun spilled wine on himself and Minghao, eyes watery with mirth, chest fluttering with happiness.
“It depends,” Seungcheol chuckled, tilting his head to the side as he returned his gaze- expression soft, always so soft, “What are you going to do with it?”
“Keep it in my wallet,” he answered, the truth rolling out of his tongue easily, heart flipping wildly in his chest as he watched the other man smile, the dim lights of the dining room casting shadows of his eyelashes on his crimson cheeks, lips glossy and stained with wine.
Seungcheol was beautiful.
One more glass of red and Jeonghan would be brave enough to tell him that.
But he relented, wrapping his trembling fingers around the lace of his camera and pulling it out of his bag, swallowing the lump of apprehension down his throat and focusing on the beat of his heart, blaming the alcohol in his system for the heat surging beneath his skin.
“Sure,” Seungcheol shrugged, his head reeling as he held his breath, completely transfixed at the way the other man leaned back on his seat, one arm draped on the back of the chair beside him and the other casually resting on the table separating them, faint apricot lights bathing his skin with the warmest tone of coral.
He whispered a countdown in the air, tongue trapped in between his teeth when he uttered a faint, “Three,” the familiar shiver he felt when he first saw the other man making its presence known down his spine, vignettes of memories he didn’t own darting through his consciousness in time with the flash of his camera, of mountains and bicycles, of tears and pretty pink cocktails, and of yachts and stars.
Jeonghan felt nauseous, and he felt himself coiling in on himself, panic settling deep inside his stomach as he recalled what Minghao said, of what it felt like to remember your past lives, chest tightening at the realization that that might be it, that he must be starting to remember but the moment was over even before he could register anything, the ghost of Seungcheol’s fingers burning the skin where it brushed.
“Your turn,” he heard the other man say, his voice pulling him out of the distorted memories that flooded his mind, every supercut that flashed right before his eyes vanishing the moment his eyes landed on Seungcheol’s.
“What?”
Jeonghan blinked.
Once, twice and then thrice.
“I want to keep you in my wallet, too,” Seungcheol maundered, aiming the camera at him and clicking the shutter without any prompts, his whole body burning as the last remnants of nauseousness left his system, his mind instantly zeroing in on what was happening.
“Hey, I wasn’t ready,” he found himself huffing, chest heaving as he shook the film in his hand, ignoring the overwhelming fondness that filled every crevices of his being while he watched Seungcheol do the same with his film, laughter replacing the ball of agitation in his chest.
“It doesn’t matter,” the other man shrugged, his grin sending goosebumps all over his arms, boyish and charming and God, Jeonghan wondered if he knew the effect he had on him, “You’re beautiful like this.”
“Like what?” he managed to breathe out, his core blazing while his eyes stubbornly trained themselves on Seungcheol who was studying the picture between his fingertips, his grin melting to a soft beam that made his features softer, gentler, “Seungcheol?”
“Open?” Seungcheol answered, meeting his eyes with tenderness that had his heart hopping madly, “Honest?” he added, and for a second, a look of pain passed through his features, fading as quickly as it came, “Vulnerable?”
“Oh,” he exhaled, nodding like he understood what those meant, accepting his answers like it didn’t set some sort of alarm at the back of his head, smiling down on the picture of the other man on his hand like sudden progress in their relationship didn’t scare him.
“Do I look cool?” Seungcheol asked, his voice quiet and his eyes wide, like a child waiting to get praised, like a toddler sticking his arm out waiting for a Good Job sticker, staring at him like he hadn’t just called him beautiful, like he hadn’t just slid his picture in his wallet.
“You look cute,” he answered, thumb gently tracing the other man’s silhouette, a part of him wondering how it would feel to touch his skin, to draw circles on his cheeks with his fingertips, to feel his pulse under his palms, and then he wondered why there was an almost staggering feeling of grief inside him, why he was longing to touch him, why he missed him when he was literally in front of him.
“Just cute?” Seungcheol muttered, chuckling in disbelief as he rambled on how he made an effort to pose for him, “You can’t call me cute,” he shook his head, the image of Seungcheol as someone who was too matured for his age completely breaking right then and there, and Jeonghan was laughing, laughing because he was happy, happy that he could see him like that, that the other man was allowing him to see, see the real him, him under the crisp suits and ties, “Tell me I’m cool, Jeonghan.”
“No,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he hid the picture in his wallet, mentally apologizing to his little lamb plushie for putting Seungcheol over its picture, “You’re cute,” he grinned, enjoying how the other man visibly bristled, cheeks puffed out in annoyance, “Yup, totally adorable.”
“I’m no-”
“What did we miss?” Jun asked, plopping back on his seat with his shirt looking more ruined fifteen minutes ago, completely wrinkled by the collar and the stain still vibrant, like there was no attempt made to get rid of it.
“Nothing,” Seungcheol answered even before he could say anything, his knee bumping against him under the table, both of them sharing a look before all eyes went to Minghao who came stumbling to the dining room, hair disheveled and shirt, much like Jun’s, wrinkled and still stained with indigo.
“What did we miss?” he asked in return, and he didn’t know why he found it so hilarious to watch Minghao’s face slowly turned from a tamed shade of pink to a violent hue of crimson in just five seconds, his laughter spilling out of his mouth when his friend answered with a clipped, “Nothing,” before sitting beside him, patting his hair back in an attempt to make himself more presentable.
“You dog,” he mumbled under his breath as he turned to Minghao, tuning out Jun and Seungcheol’s conversation about coffee grounds as he watched his friend glare up at him, “You’re telling me everything.”
“As long as you do the same,” the other man retorted, cocking his head downward, a curse falling from his mouth when he saw his wallet by his feet, bare and open on the floor, the picture he took of Seungcheol watching him back in naivety.
“No,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes as he ducked down and swiped the worn leather down below, “I didn’t even want to listen to you gush about kissing Jun.”
“What?” Jun perked up, the tips of his ears as red as Minghao’s cheeks, “Gush about what?”
“Shut up,” Minghao whined, burying his face on his hands as more laughter erupted around the table, only ever showing his face when the teasing somehow morphed into a game of Uno, smiles never leaving their mouths, and harmless trash-talks rolling off of their tongues.
“I love you guys too, you know?” Jeonghan said, closing his eyes as Jiae continued threading her fingers through his hair, “My issues aren’t an excuse for me to be an asshole to you and Sujeong.”
“You?” Jiae laughed, “An asshole? When?”
He chuckled, whining as he hugged Jiae back, grateful that she and Sujeong didn’t leave him despite his tendency to disappear from their lives and ignore their messages, waving the past away because for once, he could see how bright his future could be.
“Your lover is calling,” his friend pointed out, fishing his phone from her side of the couch and handing it to him.
“He is not my lover,” he huffed, biting his tongue to fend off the grin that threatened to stretch his mouth as he looked at the caller ID, “Seungcheol Choi.”
“But you wish he is,” she cackled, disentangling herself from him to give him some space, walking towards his kitchen as she mumbled something about excessive snacking.
He ignored the remark, not thinking twice when he answered yes to Seungcheol’s sudden dinner invitation- the movie in front of him forgotten.
Notes:
So, is this considered slow burn?
Chapter 6: Soonyoung Kwon and Jihoon Lee
Summary:
"There’s a Japanese phrase that I like: koi no yokan.
It doesn’t mean love at first sight,
it’s closer to love at second sight.It’s the feeling when you meet someone
that you’re going to fall in love with them.
Maybe you don’t love them right away,
but it’s inevitable that you will."— Nicola Yoon, The Sun Is Also a Star
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“It wasn’t a date,” Jeonghan answered with a well-rehearsed smile, eyes darting across the audience in front of him who was all at the edge of their seats, half of them groaning in frustration and the other cheering for him, almost everyone coaxing him to change his answer, to come clean and to stop dancing around the issue that had been plaguing the world for days.
“That’s not what everyone is saying,” the man to his left said, blinding white teeth fully on show, laughing on the mic hastily taped on his shirt as the crowd agreed, clapping their hands and grinning with mirth, “Everyone agrees that it was a date so tell us, Jeonghan. How come you’re not calling it as what it is?”
He held back a scoff at that, shaking his head as he reminded himself that he needed to keep his emotions in check because one, he had to stay in character, be the person everyone was expecting him to be- cool, calm and collected and two, he didn’t want anyone to know that he was just as lost as they were, literally making up a whole question and answer portion inside his head so he could understand what the hell was happening between him and Seungcheol.
“So much for not reading into things too much,” he thought to himself, heaving a sigh as he stopped chewing on his lips, the taste of cherry lip balm lingering on his tongue.
“Because it’s nothing more than just a dinner between friends,” he explained, unsurprisingly hearing a displeased boo at the back of the set, “Oh, come on,” he chuckled, raising his hands in mock defense, “It isn’t established, alright? So it couldn’t be a date.”
“But what we all saw was the textbook definition of a date,” the other man insisted, his voice loud and clear, and a part of Jeonghan wondered why he had to conjure such an annoying persona to act as the host in his made-up world, “Didn’t we, guys? Didn’t we?” he turned to the crowd who, in return, were nodding their heads enthusiastically.
Jeonghan wanted to get rid of every single one of them but the thought of dealing with his predicament alone sounded like torture so he swallowed yet another disgruntled scream and continued playing the part of an unbothered human being.
“You’re all so annoying,” he groaned, the beam on his mouth unwavering, “Should I tell you what happened in detail?” he asked, chuckling at how chaotic the audience had gone, the host beside him unprofessionally hooting, joining everyone at their boisterous acclamation.
“That is a good idea,” the host roared, clapping his back with an unforeseen force that had Jeonghan’s posture stuttering, “Let’s all decide if it was a date or not,” he bounced on his seat, patting his shoulder good-naturedly, “Put an end to all of the speculations once and for all!”
“Alright. Settle down, settle down,” he rolled his eyes, grateful that everyone obeyed, excited to get an opportunity to prove them wrong, “You guys said that what happened was the textbook definition of a date but what all of you didn’t know is that,” he paused for a second, smiling at how attentive everyone looked, “He didn’t even pick me up.”
“Oh,” the host who was starting to look like Caesar Flickerman from The Hunger Games, breathed out.
“Yeah, oh,” he exhaled.
The sky bled black much faster than Jeonghan would’ve wanted that Sunday, the sun moving towards the rocky mountains to retreat for the day, taking the light and the warmth he grew loving with it and leaving him with nothing but darkness speckled with stars, and winds that sat between hot and cold, his mind too muddled to even focus on two things at once.
He took a deep breath and ignored the sirens blaring at the back of his mind, muffling the sound with the small predicament he needed to sort out before going to a much bigger one, eyes trained at the clothes hanging inside his closet and wondering what he should wear, drowning the panic stirring inside him by turning his speaker on and listening to Doja Cat, channeling his inner bad bitch even just for a second.
“One problem at a time,” he mumbled to himself, head idly bopping while he started sorting through his clothes, scrunching his nose at how horribly plain his wardrobe was, shades of beige and white staring back at him, cotton and corduroy grazing his fingertips, “One problem at a time.”
“You shouldn’t look too put together,” Jiae offered after he told her that Seungcheol just invited him out for dinner, grateful that he didn’t get teased as he asked her what he should wear, “And you shouldn’t look too casual too. Did he say where you guys are going?”
“No,” he shook his head, dumbly staring back at his friend as he tried his best to sew his sanity together, adamant on making sure he wouldn’t unravel at the sudden meeting- yes, he convinced himself, it was nothing but just a meeting held over dinner and not lunch, a part of him comforted at that, keen on focusing on that to keep himself from falling apart at the idea of him going on a date with the other man.
“It’s not a date,” he found himself blurting out, grip tight around his little lamb as he blinked up at Jiae who turned to him with a chuckle.
“Whatever you say, dumbass,” she waved her hands in dismissal before looking at his closet thoughtfully, “I suggest wearing something dark,” he heard her say, and he couldn’t help but agree, silently nodding his head in slight daze, “It’s always the safest color to wear.”
“So what did you wear?” the host- no, Caesar Flickerman said, his tamed brown hair transforming to electric cobalt all the while glitter and Swarovski crystals appeared on his suit, giving the shine of his teeth a run for their money.
“I wore white,” he blinked, a couple of people chuckling behind their hands, “A white shirt, sleeves rolled to my elbows, a few buttons opened,” he smiled, cheeks warm when he heard someone whistle, “Then black pants, black dress shoes and a silver watch.”
“So you dressed up like a waiter?” Caesar asked, pulling a rather bitter laugh from his mouth and another eyeroll, the eccentric host ended up exclaiming he was just kidding when a woman in the audience called him out for it.
“It’s fine,” he chirped, giving the woman a wink before turning back to Caesar who had a sheepish grin on his mouth, “Seungcheol liked it anyway.”
“How did you know he liked it?”
The crowd let out a collective, “Oooooh.”
Jeonghan blanched at that, the world stilling for a second as a clip of how Seungcheol looked at him played at the monitor situated at the middle of the stage, the bright lights of the studio dimming down, mimicking the warm ambiance of the restaurant where the meeting took place.
“I just know,” he shrugged, fidgeting on his seat at the recollection of Seungcheol’s eyes deliberately traveling from his face and then to the dips of his collarbones, tongue swiping the bottom of his lips when their eyes met again.
“Did you take a cab to get here?” Seungcheol asked, cutting through the tension that somehow hung above them the second they sat on their table, surrounded by other diners chatting away and clinking glasses of red.
“Yeah,” he answered, dusting an imaginary lint on his pants because he didn’t fucking know what to do with his hands, slight tremors running through his fingers as he hyped himself up, mentally chanting that all the good things in life was on the other side of his fears, beyond situations that he found nerve-wracking, further away from his comfort zone.
“You should’ve let me pick you up,” the other man sulked, a small pout gracing his mouth, “I had my car cleaned and everything,” he whined, looking like a kid whose dog was kicked, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but scoff, a chuckle seeping past the wall of apprehension blocking his airways.
Everything was easy with Seungcheol, he thought, chest already filled with rainwater that soothed his thumping heart, the earthquake in his hands instantly subsiding.
“Wait,” Caesar interrupted, his face appearing in his line of vision, “He offered to pick you up but you refused?”
“Yeah,” he answered, shoving the other man aside as he did his best to return to the restaurant, oddly missing the way Seungcheol had his eyes locked on him at all times, “Because it wasn’t a date.”
“You’re the only one who thinks that this isn’t a date,” the host grated, jerking his head on the monitor that showed Seungcheol visibly blushing at something that he said.
“Would it be too much to rewind that bit,” he whispered, his own skin flushing when Caesar stared at him, unblinking, “I forgot what I said to him.”
The crowd laughed.
“NO!” Caesar sneered, taking a couple of deep breathes before he was smiling again, “Focus, Jeonghan,” he clapped, fixing him yet another alarmed look, “You’re the only one that thinks this isn’t a date.”
“No,” he frowned, shaking his head in an almost frail attempt to get Seungcheol’s tinted cheeks out of his mind, “No, no. I’m not the only one.”
“Yeah?” the host challenged, the lights in the studio turning a violent shade of red, “Then who else thought that it wasn’t a date?”
"Jun."
“So it’s not a date?” Jun said, voice dripping with uncertainty but Jeonghan chose to ignore that- Caesar was definitely not amused.
“I don’t think it is,” he answered, kicking a small pebble on the ground, hands stuffed inside his pockets as he and the barista walked over the only sturdy bench in the park, “We ate at The Supper Club.”
“It’s a date,” Caesar groaned dramatically, hand slamming on the coffee table that magically appeared on his left, “The Supper Club is totally a place where people go on dates.”
“We were surrounded by families. The background music was Boyce Avenue covers,” he defended himself, frustrated at how easily the host could cut the memories he was trying to relieve, smashing his points even before he could make them, “Why would anyone take someone out on a date in a place like that?”
“Because you hate intimate settings,” the host answered, his voice strangely similar to his, quiet and low, breathless and shaky, enough to put the audience and him in a sudden halt, shrinking in his seat when he remembered the one time Seungcheol brought him to a quaint restaurant just outside the city, and immediately bringing him back to Coffee Express when he noticed him fumbling and fidgeting, too overwhelmed with the unfamiliar setting, too suffocated at how confined the place was.
“Was the not-a-date meeting nice?” Jun asked, leaning back on the bench they non-verbally claimed as theirs while they both looked up at the barely visible constellations he used to despise, the faint light from a lamppost not far from them drowning their bodies with pale coral.
“Yeah,” he nodded, wincing at the way the barista smiled at him.
“Close your eyes,” Seungcheol said, nudging his knee under the table, the lilt in his voice making him look up.
“Why?” he frowned, shooing away the butterflies in his stomach that seemed to always swoon whenever Seungcheol’s attention was on them, “Why should I do that?”
“You’re having a hard time picking,” the other man shrugged, not bothering to hide his grin, “Close your eyes and then randomly point on something, you’ll order whatever’s under your fingertip.”
Jeonghan almost wanted to ask him how he could do that, look at him and then immediately know what was going inside his head, listen to the timbre of his voice and instantly know if he was joking or not, pick up on his quirks and promptly know the meaning behind his mannerisms, but he held his tongue back, afraid to hear Seungcheol say that it was trait, a skill he honed to be a good lawyer and not because he cared enough to prioritize his comfort.
“Here,” Seungcheol mumbled, closing his eyes as he held his menu in front of him, “I’ll do it first.”
And it was so silly, to watch a grown man grin and wave his forefinger around, letting out a small, “Ha!” as one of his digits landed on the smooth paper of their menu, “I’m getting,” he snorted, a look of disdain gracing his face, “I’m apparently getting minestrone soup.”
“Do you like minestrone soup?” he asked, doubling in laughter when Seungcheol subtly faked a gag, his heart growing fonder and lighter by the second, mind getting clearer and lax by the minute, giggling to himself as he closed his eyes, imitating Seungcheol and comically gasping when he opened his eyes.
“Thai chicken noodles,” he beamed, looking back at Seungcheol whose eyes apparently hadn’t left him, “I guess I’m ordering that one?”
“No,” Seungcheol shook his head, “Try again.”
“Is it not good?” he whispered, eyebrow raised, “Is it that bad that we have to cheat the game?”
“No,” the other man huffed a laugh, looking at him incredulously, “Aren’t you allergic to peanuts?”
Jeonghan blinked.
Once, twice and then thrice.
“How did he know?” Caesar’s voice rang in his head, a glint of something akin to mischief shining behind his eyes, a knowing smile appearing on his mouth.
“How did you know?” he cocked his head to the side, the storm inside him momentarily stopping.
“You told me,” Seungcheol answered, and Jeonghan didn’t have to be as perceptive as him to notice the sudden change in his tone, his eyes shrouded with something dark- troubled and unsure, and Jeonghan suddenly couldn’t breathe, “You told me, remember?”
He didn’t.
And he would’ve asked him in what timeline, in what universe he told him but their server was back for the second time to ask for their orders, and Seungcheol, for the first time that night, was avoiding his gaze, choosing to talk to the man standing by their table instead, wisps of their conversation floating around them, successfully bringing back the tension that hang over them the first minute they say.
But then again, everything could be just inside Jeonghan’s head.
Because the light in Seungcheol’s eyes was back as he told him that they could make the chicken noodle without the peanuts, their server assuring them that it’d be just as good without the legumes.
“Are you okay?” the other man then asked, and Jeonghan couldn’t do anything but nod his head, ignore the questions blasting at the back of his mind and force himself back to a much looser state.
“Fantastic,” he beamed, absentmindedly reaching out to pat the other man’s hand on the table, letting the butterflies in his stomach flutter wildly as electricity ran through his veins, the short physical interaction he initiated unintentionally leading to much bolder and yet gentler ministrations for weeks to come.
“Did you share food?” Caesar asked, his voice quiet.
“We always share food,” he answered, the hand he used to touch Seungcheol tingling.
“Did you drink wine?” the host raised an eyebrow.
“We always drink wine,’ he mumbled, eyes trained on his fingers.
“Then it’s a date,” Caesar stated, deadpan.
And there were no resounding cheers in the set, there were no claps and there were no hoots.
As a matter of fact, the audience was gone and the lights in the studio were turned off, leaving him, Caesar Flickerman and the monitor in which was paused to Seungcheol's smile unmoving in the middle of a void.
“No, it’s not,” he whispered.
“Really?” the other man snickered, the enthusiasm in his voice gone, “What did Jun say after you told him what happened?”
Jun stayed quiet for a second, looking at him like he had just sprouted another head.
And that night, Jeonghan could feel the barista slowly standing up from the boat they had been sharing for a while, his friend drifting to another one where he could hold the paddles, control where he’d go, against the currents or along the ride, and Jeonghan, he was still sitting meekly on his seat, going with the flow despite the oars in his hands.
“Did he pay for it?” the host pressed.
“He insisted,” he exhaled, too weak to tell Caesar to shut up, too tired to even wave him away and make him disappear.
“You’re embarrassing yourself, Jeonghan,” he heard him tut, the sound of displeasure echoing around the void that was starting to close in on them.
“Look, why does it matter to you if it’s a date or not?” he hissed, tearing his gaze away from the tips of his fingers and unto his companion, jaw set and hands clenched into fists.
“You tell me,” Caesar shrugged, his smile still intact, “This is all in your head, buddy,” he pointed out, white noise blaring from a far distance, “Why is it a big deal to you if it’s a date or not?”
“It’s not,” he heaved, and the host vanished just in time for seven colored bars flashed before his eyes, the sound of a high-pitched beep pulling him out of trance.
Jeonghan was sitting stiffly on his usual seat at Coffee Express when he finally got his bearings, his surroundings bleary as he looked around, slightly nauseous at how fast everyone and everything moved.
“So is it a date or not?” Sujeong asked, her voice ringing painfully in his ears, and he couldn’t help but let out a frustrated groan, stand abruptly and head to the comfort room where he splashed water on his face, forcing himself to get a strong grip on the reins that were controlling his emotions.
He couldn’t spiral again, he just couldn’t.
It didn’t matter what it was, it shouldn’t matter.
So why the fuck was he torturing himself over something that was supposed to be irrelevant?
“Oh,” a voice from behind him exclaimed, making him whirl around with droplets of water still dripping from his chin, “You’re the guy last Sunday!”
Golden beams of light peaked through the shifting clouds in his chest, new life sprouting from the earth that nurtured the wildflowers his friends had planted in him, the air in his lungs light and sweet, and Jeonghan hadn’t felt spring since he was born, but looking at the man in front of him, slanted eyes glittering and saccharine smile blinding, he couldn’t help but feel as if a new season had wrapped itself around his core.
“Excuse me?” he rasped, the sound coming out of his voice rough and tense.
“You were on a date with Seungcheol Choi, right? My friend was your server,” the other man grinned, and Jeonghan couldn’t stop himself from letting out a frustrated scream despite the embarrassed flush on his skin, hastily turning around to grab paper towels from the dispenser beside him, and hissing, “I was not on a date with him.”
“But you shared dessert,” the man frowned, his statement laced with equal confusion and wonder, “Only couples do th-”
“Soonyoung, they’re outside,” another man barged in, eyes wide and skin pale, completely halting when their eyes met, “Jeonghan?”
Spring had come once again, pastel pink petals dancing around the caverns of his chest,
“Shhhh,” the man whose name was apparently Soonyoung hissed, turning to look at the intruder in alarm, “He doesn’t remember, Jihoon.”
Jeonghan swallowed a thwarted sigh.
“Minghao,” he exhaled as the two men in front of him froze.
He blinked.
“Minghao remembers.”
Once, twice and then thrice.
There were a lot of things in Jeonghan’s life he wished he was a part of.
When he was nine, he used to pester his parents about ballet class.
When he was twelve, he talked their ears off about volleyball.
When he was fifteen, it was a debate club.
When he was seventeen, it was photography.
And at the end of the same year, he just stopped.
Drained and tired, his parents pestering him to come out.
And as he stood there, watching Minghao sob inside the arms of Soonyoung while Jihoon blinked his own tears away, and pat their shoulders gently, he wished he could be a part of that too, to remember their past lives together and feel the emotions of finding someone who once was a part of your life.
“I wish I could remember them,” Jun whispered, his words twisting the knife already lodged in Jeonghan’s chest, “They’re familiar, aren’t they?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, melancholy mixing in with the pleasant buzz under his skin, a part of him bitter and a part of him grateful that Minghao finally had someone he could talk to about a different universe, “You still don’t remember?”
“No,” the barista chuckled, giving his arm a squeeze, “It’d be amazing to remember but I don’t think it matters that much.”
“Yeah,” he replied, taking a deep breath as he willed the venom inside him to go away, determined to stop it from spreading from the wounds underneath the garden in his chest, adamant on not letting them fester again, “I guess it doesn’t.”
Jeonghan went home that night alone, walking towards his apartment after telling Minghao to spend more time with Jihoon and Soonyoung, the other two giving him a hug that were too tight between people who had just met, but then again, in their situation, they were close friends before.
He just couldn’t remember.
“I missed you,” Soonyoung whispered to him before bidding him good night, those three words sending the same shiver in his spine when he met the other people that were a part of his life before.
Jeonghan wished he could say the same.
It was hard, he thought, to lay awake at night, bathing in remorse and swimming in questions that singed his mind, and then greet the morning after with a smile, continue living like he didn’t feel like he was dead the evening before.
He wondered how he did that for years, and then completely forgot how to endure that grief after months of nothing but joyful summers and storms.
“Something’s bothering you,” Seungcheol asked when he found him alone in the pantry, stirring his mug of coffee that had turned lukewarm on his hands.
“It’s whatever,” he forced a smile, wincing as he dropped the act immediately, fully aware that no amount of acting classes could fool Seungcheol Choi, “It’s nothing,” he breathed out.
“If it’s bothering you,” the other man started, “Then it’s not just whatever and it’s definitely not nothing.”
Jeonghan knew that talking was one of the simplest ways of solving a problem, he had proven that again and again during the process of him turning a new leaf, his shoulders free of any burden for as long as he could remember because Jun and Minghao had encouraged him to open up more, Jiae and Sujeong guiding him to guard his heart at the same time.
He should talk to Seungcheol.
Honesty had always been something he had given him since day one, but really, how could he confess that the dinner bothered him, that it kept him up at night, that it shook his core to the point that he could feel himself unraveling again?
He couldn’t.
He really, really couldn’t.
Because he vowed to keep everyone in his life close until his last breath, determined to protect the bridges connecting them and keep his flames away, prevent another garden from burning, avoid hurting people again with his tendency to distance himself when things get more overwhelming.
So he couldn’t.
He really, really couldn’t.
But Seungcheol was looking at him with so much concern that he found himself considering the idea of laying his heart open, to let the other man in as he had been doing since the beginning, to ignore the foreboding apprehension he had of returning to his old self, to allow himself the benefit of the doubt that he could really change that time, that it’d be different because Jun and Minghao and Seungcheol are different.
“Did you know I’m allergic to peanuts?” he asked Soonyoung the next day, successfully buying more time to figure things out after Seungcheol squeezed his hand and told him that he didn’t have to tell him anything if he didn’t want to, his heart fluttering at the gesture.
“You’re still allergic to peanuts?” the other man gasped, both of his hands finding their way on either side of his face, pinching his cheeks in wonder, “That’s so cool.”
“Still?” he echoed back, pulling away slightly from the other man because his touch produced more cherry blossoms inside his lungs and as much as it was welcomed, Jeonghan wanted to focus more on Seungcheol.
“There were several universes where you’re allergic to peanuts,” Soonyoung grinned, head being smacked by Minghao who sat beside him, placing a tray of food on their table.
“I told you not to tell him anything,” his friend muttered, offering him a worried smile, and Jeonghan was grateful for his friend’s concern, he really was, but at that time, he wanted answers, answers he had been avoiding before, answers that could help him decide whether it was a good idea to be completely honest with Seungcheol.
“It doesn’t matter,” Soonyoung whined, stomping his little feet on the ground, oddly making sense in spite of looking like a five-year-old with his oversize shirt and bear socks, “He’ll remember it eventually.”
“But right now he doesn’t,” Minghao berated, smacking the other man again and Jeonghan almost wanted to speak up, to say that it was alright, that maybe he was ready but his friend had just started working out and was looking kind of buff so he swallowed down his protests and pondered over the fact the possibility of Seungcheol remembering his past life alone, “Stop confusing him, he already has a lot of things to think about.”
That was true.
But he wasn’t going to admit that out loud.
“Oooh,” Soonyoung chuckled, eyes glinting with mirth, “Like what? Like if he went on a date with Seungcheol or not?”
Jeonghan almost mimicked Minghao and smacked him on the head again.
“It wasn’t a date,” he grumbled, swirling the ice cubes in his iced tea with a straw, “I don’t even know why you guys think it’s a date when it’s-”
“Ask him,” Jihoon interrupted, shrugging as he walked towards them, “Ask Seungcheol if it’s a date or not.”
“Why would I do that?” he muttered.
“Because the last time I talked to him, he said that it was,” the man shrugged, glaring at Minghao who apparently kicked him under the table, telling him that it wasn’t his confession to say, “I have no reason to lie to you, Jeonghan.”
Again, that was true.
And a part of Jeonghan wanted to ask Jihoon what was Seungcheol to him, but he knew and he was aware that Minghao was not up for that so he asked him about his relationship with Soonyoung instead, noticing the gold bands on their fingers glinting identically under the faint light above them.
“Oh,” Soonyoung perked up, smiling so wide that his eyes were formed into crescents, “We’re married,” he chuckled, giddily standing up to drape himself over Jihoon who was hiding a smile, “In this universe and in every other universes out there.”
“Soulmates?” Jun asked as he walked by their table, gracing them with either free samples of muffins or a batch he stole when his boss wasn’t looking.
“Something like that,” Jihoon answered, letting his husband nuzzle his cheeks against his, “But as far as I know, we all are- platonically, I mean. That’s why we keep meeting. That’s why we remember each other.”
Jeonghan stayed quiet after that, tapping away on his laptop with earbuds on, typing the same sentence over and over again, his mind whirring, torn between pulling Jihoon aside to make him spill about his relationship with Seungcheol or just make him tell stories about their friendship in general, his remark about all of them being platonically soulmates making his whole body warm, glad that the past him had amazing friends like them.
He did neither, of course, because a huge part of him made him stay in his seat, convincing him to let the truth unfold on its own.
“Ask Seungcheol,” Jihoon breathed out as another day passed by, holding him gently by the elbow as they walked behind their friends, “Trust me on this?”
He almost wanted to say no, but after a minute of searching for any malice in Jihoon’s face and finding none, he gave in and nodded, not just because he felt a surge of faith in the other man’s words, but because he could feel himself looking at his bathroom floor the more time he spent figuring things out, his apprehension only growing, feeding in on his doubts and insecurities, the idea of locking himself out from the world sounding more and more appealing with every night he wasted thinking about his predicament.
Jihoon gave his hand a squeeze, leaving him alone with his thoughts as the other man ran up to his husband, wrapping an arm around his waist before tilting his head up to plant a kiss on the other’s cheek.
Spontaneity.
If there was one thing he learned from Seungcheol, it was that sometimes, acting on a whim was better than planning, an idea that would’ve sent his old self straight to the floor of his bathroom but a thought that had him calling Seungcheol that night, asking if he could meet with him in an hour, inviting him out to dinner in the same restaurant that pushed him to the brink of reverting to what he was before.
“Let March be March,” he remembered Jihoon saying, his words about letting everything whatever it was ringing inside his head as he looked at Seungcheol, staring back at him expectantly, ebony locks tucked behind his ears, eyes sparkling with wonder, “You know it was a date, just accept that it was. It doesn’t have to be anything else but just a date.”
He remembered mulling over that for a while, watching Jun and Minghao’s intertwined hands swinging lazily between them, their eyes catching the light from the moon faintly hovering over them, his heart happy that the two finally figured out that their feelings were mutual.
Jeonghan wanted that, too.
He wanted to be able to live his life unafraid, to remember his past and reminisce, to hold and to be held.
Jeonghan burned with a desire to have more, something he hadn’t felt since he was nine and wanted to twirl prettily on a stage, to be a swan and to be a prince, to wear costumes that shone brighter than the city stars, to be showered with roses and praises.
And he was aware that in order to give himself what he wanted, he needed to face the dilemma in front of him first, confident that after the whole date or not a date debacle with Seungcheol, he’d move on to a next chapter, one step closer to his shiny new goal of being included, not just in the lives of the people around him, but included in a world he’d been watching in the sidelines for a long time.
“How did you know Seungcheol?” he messaged Jihoon just before he entered The Supper Club.
“In this lifetime?” he received immediately, typing a quick, “Yes,” and heaving a sigh, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders to get rid of the fuzzy nervousness spreading in his body, the corners of his mouth curling in a small smile when he read what Jihoon sent him.
“He spends most of his nights at my restaurant, always nursing a glass of scotch alone in the bar.”
Jeonghan could imagine Seungcheol then, clad in black and hunched over a smooth marbled counter, fingers wrapped around an expensive glass, chewing on his lips, a habit they shared when they were thinking, eyes blank but mind filled with thoughts they didn’t know how to put into words.
“You always work pro bono?” he recalled asking Seungcheol once, tongue coated with the sweet taste of strawberries and cream.
“Not always,” the other man answered, ducking his head down to hide the tint on his cheeks, “But I want to, you know? To give free services all the time but I need to make a living, too.”
“Why?” he marveled.
“Because I know what’s it like to ask for help but get denied,” Seungcheol shrugged, and it would be a lie if Jeonghan said that that sentiment didn’t have him staring at a wall for hours, completely in awe of how golden the other man’s heart must’ve been, to work from dawn until dusk for other people and not get anything in return.
“Then he brought you and suddenly, not seeing him there for almost a month made sense.”
Jeonghan frowned at the message that followed, the image of Seungcheol tipping his head back to finish the deep amber in his glass vanishing, leaving a painting of an empty stool in the middle of a busy restaurant.
“Why does it make sense?” he quickly sent back, the butterflies in his stomach stirring at the appearance of a familiar Lexus pulling up on an empty parking space, heart lurching out of its place when he heard a ding just in time for Seungcheol to step out of his car.
“You don’t have to ask me what he was to you in the past."
“You already know the answer to that.”
Let March be March.
“So?” Caesar Flickman appeared beside him, teeth ever so white, and eyes ever so cheerful, “Was it a date or not?”
Jeonghan could only stare at Seungcheol, unmoving with a hurricane raging inside his chest.
“Yes,” Seungcheol answered when he asked, and despite the soft smile on his lips, Jeonghan could tell he was nervous, the usual shine in his eyes dim as they held each other’s gaze.
Jeonghan remembered the smell of the ocean breeze that greeted them when their feet lead them to the pier last Sunday evening, the back of their hands brushing as they walked, shoulders touching while they craned their necks upwards, watching a firework show going off from a distance- too far away to be deemed amazing, but near enough to catch their attentions.
“You believe in destiny, don’t you?” Seungcheol asked out of the blue.
“I used to not,” he answered truthfully, his eyes finding their way on the other man, hair billowing gracefully with the late night wind, cheeks flushed and mouth slightly parted, “But I do now.”
The other man hummed, silence falling over them for a minute and then two.
“And you?” he maundered, echoing the answer back as he felt the other’s eyes on him.
“Yeah,” Seungcheol mumbled, his face burning when he gathered all his strength to turn his head and meet the other man’s eyes, bright and open, familiar and kind, “Yeah, I do.”
“So?” the host inside his head asked, “What was it?”
“It was a date, Caesar.”
“Is this a date, too?” Seungcheol breathed out, visibly worried and God, Jeonghan couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh, finding everything absurd because it was obvious that the first dinner they had somehow affected the other man too, despite the fact that it was his idea in the first place, “Please don’t laugh. If this is some kind of prank, I swear I’m going to cry here, Jeonghan.”
He was adorably dumb.
And Jeonghan didn’t know why he was so afraid of him, of the warmth spreading in his chest whenever they were together. He didn’t know why he was so scared of ruining something when he had already vowed not to, of burning bridges when the only fire in his system were flames Seungcheol caused harmless and comforting, beautiful and serene.
Let everything be whatever they were.
“Yes,” he answered, lightheaded as Seungcheol grinned.
The evening was spent blushing and stammering, both of them fidgeting giddily on their seats, their fingers brushing against each other one too many times.
And the night ended with him in his bathroom, a broom in hand while Seungcheol sang along with Kelly Clarkson through his earbuds, the cobwebs on his ceiling balled and discarded in the trash can.
Notes:
Seeing the cobwebs gone fills the crowd in Jeonghan's head with determination. We're hoping it did that same to you.
Chapter 7: Vernon Chwe and Chan Lee
Summary:
"And how could I listen,
without wanting to be with them.And how could I have thought,
that I was ever alone?"— Fiona Apple, Largo
Chapter Text
There were times when Jeonghan would feel like he was just dreaming- the mornings passing by almost as quickly as the evenings ended, his days condensed in vignettes of banters and laughter, stored in tapes labeled in scrawny Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and so on, captured in films plastered wherever he frequented, stuck with magnets on his fridge, taped along the monitor of his computer in the office, tucked inside his friends’ things, Seungcheol still occupying his wallet.
It should scare him, the way he’d store little facts about his friends in his brain instead of information he’d usually read about when the evening was the darkest, how he hadn’t been spending his free time watching random videos on YouTube and instead burning the candle of the day with his friends, drinking despicable amounts of caffeine at Coffee Express and imprinting himself around the city with his adventures with Seungcheol.
He was happy and it was surreal, to feel warm elation enveloping his body when he expected cold misery to lull him to sleep, to hear Seungcheol’s soft snores through his cell phone instead of his own grating sobs when the crickets start to sing, to remember the day with fond and not with acrid disdain over not being able to spend time in comforting silence alone.
“Didn’t we ban anything Seungcheol-related in this trip?” he heard someone say, tilting his head up and raising an arm to block his eyes from the punishing light of the mid-day sun, a chuckle slipping past his mouth when he was welcomed with Sujeong’s deadpan stare, her hair braided down her back and her sunglasses hoisted up on her head, water trickling down the floral rash guard that clothed her body.
“What are you talking about?” he scrunched his nose, toes digging further down the fine sand beneath him, soft and warm, gentle and yet rough on his skin, the breeze coming from the ocean surrounding them momentarily cooling his body down.
“You’re thinking about him,” the florist grumbled, pulling her glasses down and snatching her floppy hat from his head before she plopped beside him, “You have that I-miss-Seungcheol-look in your face. It’s unnerving and quite offensive, Jeonghan.”
He shook his head, aware that his friend was just kidding, that she just invented that “look” on the spot to convince him to take a dip in the ocean but even then, he could feel heat creeping from his neck and up to the apples of his cheeks, muttering that he wasn’t thinking about the other man.
“Jeonghan,” Sujeong comically gaped, ducking her down so she could look at him closely, a grin forming on her lips, “You totally are, aren’t you?” she laughed, poking his face and getting sand all over his cheek and shirt, “Jiae, look at how red he is.”
“Were you thinking of Seungcheol?” Jiae squinted at him as she wrung her hair, pulling it in a tight bun before grabbing a bottle of beer in their cooler, tutting while she approached, “You know, we went to the beach because you’ve been spending a lot of time with him and we’re feeling quite neglected, right?”
“I was not thinking about him,” he breathed out, laughing when Jiae playfully shoved him to the side as she sat, doubling over when he looked at Sujeong who had an exaggerated pout on her mouth, absentmindedly playing with the hem of her sleeves, “You guys are ridiculous.”
It had been a month ever since he went on the second date with Seungcheol, the weeks that followed that night moving in a blur of butterflies and secret smiles, the days filled with bliss and linked fingers, the evenings spent with joy and whispered good nights, and it would be a lie if he said that everything that happened after the date hadn’t affected him because they had, making him question his reality at times, prompting him to go through the photographs he took and kept in binders to assure himself that every moment he spent with his friends and Seungcheol were real, that it really happened, that he was not dreaming, that the feeling of happiness and warmth that surged in his body weren’t just the result of a coping mechanism he wasn’t even aware of yet.
“Why do you keep thinking that?” Seungcheol asked one night, his voice gravelly through his worn-out earbuds, “Is it really that hard to believe that a fine gentleman like me had taken a liking towards you?”
He snorted at that, turning to his side so he could cuddle against his pillow, eyes falling on the lamb plushie he hadn’t clutched for comfort in a while, the book wherein it was perched on gathering dust.
“Yeah,” he sighed deeply, doing his best to sound like he was actually distressed about that, “I could not believe that you, the people’s hero, handsome and oh so very muscular has a crush on little old me, a simpleton who’s idea of making the world a better place is handing out jars of marmalade to people that don’t want them.”
It was Jiae’s idea when he came to work with two paper bags full of marmalade after one particular stressful night, his body moving on its own as his legs brought him to his kitchen, hands grabbing the ingredients for his favorite spread, mind flushing his worries down the drain and providing him the recipe he already knew by heart, the low hum of his refrigerator keeping him company until the city was buzzing to life.
“A lot of our clients are curious,” his friend said, helping him haul up the bags on the table in their pantry, “Apparently, Yein has been raving about it down the reception area. We can sell them, or I don’t know- give them away as treats.”
“Wouldn’t that be weird?” he asked, the thought of people seeking legal assistance coming out of their building with a jar of marmalade on hand making him laugh quietly, “This isn’t a dental clinic, Jiae.”
“I’ll tell Seungcheol,” Jiae patted his arm, ambling out of the pantry even before he could say anything, his quiet laughter turning into a much louder one, echoing around the office when he heard that Seungcheol said it was a good idea, his colleagues oddly agreeing.
“It’d be good,” one of his co-workers said, smiling down at him as she gave him a stack of documents to sort, “Especially for clients who think they have no one,” she sighed, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but heave a sigh, appreciating how the company genuinely cared for their clients.
And that was that, the company had begun offering their clients marmalade to take home, most of them taking up the offer, coming back to attend meetings and stopping by Jeonghan’s desk to thank him.
“Hey now,” Seungcheol chuckled, breaking out of character rather easily, “You are making the world a better place with your marmalade and trust me, everyone wants them,” he assured, honey dripping from the other’s voice and coating his entire being with warm assurance, something that Jeonghan didn’t really need but something he was glad to receive, “You should see the looks on our clients’ faces whenever I give them samples. You’re making them happy, Jeonghan.”
“I do?” he whispered, clutching his pillow tightly as he felt ache blooming in his chest, something that didn’t stem from hurt but something that would occasionally spread within him whenever he was particularly glad about Seungcheol’s existence, about being told that he was doing something great.
“Of course, you do,” the other man mumbled, the lilt in his voice melting to something more quiet and serious, his tone making his smile wide, “And if you’re wondering why a dashing man with ridiculously good hair and overflowing charm has a crush on you, it’s because you’re making him happy, too.”
“Is this guy overcompensating for something?” he teased, sitting up because he couldn’t seem to keep the butterflies inside him to calm down, his legs pulling him out of bed and making him pace around the room like a teenager having his first phone call, chuckling when the other man audibly gawked.
“Jeonghan, Jeonghan, Jeonghan,” Seungcheol breathed out, and Jeonghan didn’t have to see the other man to know that he was grinning, smug confidence oozing in his voice, “You are not ready,” he said, his laugh sending some kind of thrill down his spine, “You’re not ready for this conversation, I’m telling you.”
He almost choked at that, stopping in the middle of his room as he let out a small and panicked, “You’re right,” the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment, “I’m not,” he muttered, hiding his chagrin with a cough.
“And it’s alright,” Seungcheol hurriedly replied, the humor in his voice gone, reverting back to the comforting timbre of his mouth, “We’re taking baby steps, aren’t we?”
Baby steps, he nodded in daze, the flames on his skin extinguished by the other man’s assurances.
It was true that they were, and he was glad that Seungcheol seemed to be on the same page as him when they talked about relationships, both of them admitting that they were happy with where they currently were, that they were willing to take things as slowly as they could, to not rush into getting together and to allow time to sort them out, to take them to wherever they belonged.
“That makes sense,” Jiae shrugged when he told them, completely ignoring the way Soonyoung looked incredulously at him, muffling the other man’s rants about the importance of labels by getting into a heated discussion with Jihoon about the right peanut butter and jelly ratio, grateful that Sujeong called him that night, telling him that he and Seungcheol was doing the right thing.
“That won’t stop Jiae and I from interrogating him about his intentions, though,” she muttered, hanging up even before he could tell her that an interrogation was not necessary, the image of a stunned Seungcheol, pale and blinking, surrounded by his friends, surprising him when he waltzed inside Coffee Express the next day.
“What did you guys say to him?” he asked Jiae, pulling him towards the counter where Jun was shaking his head, chuckling at the whole ordeal, “You didn’t scare him, did you?”
“No,” she groaned, rolling her eyes when Jun patted her back, “Minghao said we shouldn’t so we talked to him all civilly. Sujeong was upset because she wanted to be the bad parent.”
“What does that even mean?” he laughed in disbelief, pinching the bridge of his nose when he looked at Seungcheol, head ducked down as Sujeong whispered something in his ears, “Please tell me she’s not threatening him right now.”
“You can’t blame her,” Jiae shrugged, stifling her own laughter as she clapped his back, “We practically raised your whiny ass. We aren’t just about to give you away to a man that doesn’t even look like he could cook. He needs to pass our test first before he could have your hand.”
“I already told you we’re taking it slow,” he muttered, thoroughly endeared at how protective his friends were, chuckling to himself when he saw Soonyoung sulking to his husband, probably grumbling about how dumb the whole arrangement was.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jiae grinned, “He still needs to pass the test.”
“What kind of test?” Jun asked, and Jeonghan didn’t stay long enough to hear why Jiae was grinning so evilly, walking up to where his friends were seated and offering Seungcheol an apologetic smile, rolling his eyes at how easily Jiae and Sujeong warmed up to the other man after paying for the group’s afternoon coffee dates for a couple of days.
“Do you want to text Seungcheol?” Jiae raised an eyebrow, fishing his phone from her bag and dangling it in front of him, a look of mirth flashing across her face when saw his notifications, “It looks like lover boy misses you.”
“He doesn’t,” he rolled his eyes, batting away Sujeong who was making grabby hands towards Jiae, “It hasn’t even been a day since we last talked to each other. I- he couldn’t miss me.”
“You’re right, he shouldn’t,” Jiae tutted, grinning as she closed his phone, grateful that his friend still had the decency not to snoop around even when she was just teasing, “But you guys have been spending an awful lot of time together these past few weeks, missing each other is a very valid emotion to feel.”
He shook his head at that, tracing random patterns on the sand to stop himself from sharing that he indeed was pathetically missing Seungcheol, chewing on his lips as he tried to drown his friends’ conversation about him, prompting his mind to conjure the most adorable image of the other man, gummy smile and dimples on full display.
“I thought you guys said that I’m not allowed to do anything related to Seungcheol today?” he huffed, waving away his thoughts as he felt heat blooming under his skin, taking a swig of his drink to ignore the thought of Seungcheol waiting for his texts, “Why are we talking about him?”
“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” Jiae laughed, hiding his phone again when Sujeong tried to jump her, the florist landing face first on a poorly-made sand castle instead, incoherent babbles sputtering out of her mouth, “And you miss him too,” she continued as she helped their friend up, “Besides, we’re just kidding when we said we feel neglected. We’re actually happy that you’re spreading your wings and exploring the world with him.”
“You can’t say that we’re exploring the world when I couldn’t even eat outside the city,” he mumbled under his breath, smiling when Jiae reached out to ruffle his hair, telling him that it was okay, that the city could be his whole world if he wasn’t ready to go beyond his comfort zone yet.
“Speaking of outside the city,” Sujeong chimed in, dusting her hair to rid of the sand on her braid, “I just recently hired two guys as florists,” she shared, beaming at them as she continued her story, “They’re really kind and funny, maybe you guys could meet them tomorrow? I’m taking them both out for tea.”
“Sure,” he nodded, blinking at how fast he said yes, remembering just how he’d dodge that kind of last minute invitation before, of coming up with an absurd excuse just so he could say no, lock himself in his bedroom as both his friends update him, and get rid of the envy gnawing at his heart by distracting himself with dumb infomercials and eating anything edible in his pantry, his body almost always ending up slumped in his bathroom floor.
“And since you’ve been behaving really well today,” Sujeong snickered, playfully nudging him, “You can invite Seungcheol with us too.”
He scoffed up a laugh at that, letting himself grin at the thought of seeing Seungcheol out of the office the following day, “You just want him there so he’d pay for us.”
“Hey,” she protested, laughing as she swatted his arm, “I’m not after his money or anything,” the florist explained, pulling an amused chuckle from Jiae who was very upfront about appreciating Seungcheol’s tendency to pay for everyone’s food whenever they were out, saying that it was a good quality to have, an assurance that the lawyer won’t let him stave in the future, “He’s a very good judge of character, I just want to make sure that Chan and Vernon are really good people.”
“Right,” he mumbled, doing his best to sound unconvinced, peeling himself from his shirt when Sujeong continued rambling, pulling on his leg when he ignored her, laughing with Jiae as they ran towards the ocean, leaving their other friend mumbling and defending her morals to the wind.
Moments like that, the sun bathing their bodies with light as laughter filled his ears, water splashing everywhere, those were the kind of moments he should know as true because the feelings he always carried in his chest whenever he was with Jiae and Sujeong were familiar.
The joy they brought, the warmth they provided and the smiles on their faces, they were all constant in his life but right then and there, feet barely touching the ocean floor as cerulean hugged his body, he couldn’t help but think if everything was real, if he was just dreaming or not because under the euphoria filling his heart, he didn’t find the usual dread and apprehension that resided there, his head oddly clear of fear that the next day would be filled with grief because he knew from experience that after happiness, sadness would always soon follow.
“Jeonghan?” he remembered Seungcheol calling for him through the phone, humming in response as he stood unmoving in the middle of his room, “You think that everything is a dream because you’ve never considered that you’d be able experience all of this, don’t you?”
He swallowed hard, vignettes of the lowest points in his life flashing right before his eyes, the cold hands of isolation ghosting around his neck, his vision blurry as he recalled accepting the fact that he’d die not knowing what happiness felt like, of leaving the world without really living in it.
“You’re making everyone happy, Jeonghan. Do you understand that?” the other man continued, and Jeonghan didn’t know if the tears running down his cheeks were of remorse or appreciation, wiping them hastily, afraid that his body would revert back to its old self, of wailing through the night, of always hurting, “It’s not just me, you know? Sujeong and Jiae? Minghao and Jun? Jihoon and Soonyoung? You’re making us happy so the least we could do is help you feel the same way.”
“Why?” he breathed out, clutching the back of his swivel chair as he felt his knees buckling under his weight, “I’m a difficult person to deal with so I don’t know why you- why they-”
He didn’t get it.
“I know I’m handsome,” Seungcheol started, his soft chuckles anchoring him down to the present, “And maybe that’s the reason why you’re head over heels for me but I’m also a handful, aren’t I?” he muttered, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but agree, “I work a lot and I’m stubborn. I have a huge ego and act like I’m a child sometimes. I’m a difficult person too, so tell me why you’re going out of your way to make sure I sleep before I pass out? To make sure that I’m smiling after a very stressful day?”
“Because I care about you,” he answered truthfully because that was the only way he knew how to talk to Seungcheol, with honesty, “Because I always want to see you happy.”
“And we care about you too. I mean,” the other man coughed quietly, “I think I care the most about you but honestly, this isn’t a competition so anyway,” he laughed and Jeonghan found himself smiling in the dark, “We want to see you happy, too. No matter how difficult you can be, no matter how stubborn you might be. Let us take care of you anyway.”
“Okay,” he ended up saying, sniffling quietly as he blinked his tears away.
“Okay?” Seungcheol asked, his voice like an old blanket around his body, familiar and nostalgic.
“Okay,” he repeated, grateful that the other man was being so patient with him.
“Good,” Seungcheol said, the lilt in his voice back, “Let yourself be happy, alright?”
“Alright.”
Relationships were a two-way street, that was what he learned with his conversation with Seungcheol that night, it had always been a bond forged between giving and taking, and he understood then how Jiae and Sujeong stayed with him even when he had shunned himself from them for so many times.
“Because I love you,” Sujeong texted him when he asked, the sound of Seungcheol tapping on his laptop and murmuring keeping him company through the night, “And because you’ve helped me graduate, find what I’m passionate about and come into terms with my sexuality- I’m not leaving you just because you weren’t replying to me, you know?”
“And what did Jiae say?” Seungcheol asked just as he was about to finally head out of the office.
“She said she thought I was going to be rich that’s why she did her best to put up with me,” he laughed, settling himself deeper under his warm duvet, “She said she should’ve known I’d grow up as a cry baby,” Seungcheol snorted at that, “And now she can’t leave me because I apparently bewitched her to love me.”
“Tell her you’ll marry rich,” Seungcheol muttered coolly, the remark oddly pulling his lips into a wide smile, thunder rumbling at the back of his head. “Now she has no choice but to stay with you.”
“Where the hell am I going to find a rich man to marry, Seungcheol?” he asked, face heating up when the other man let out a breathy laugh, mumbling about his bruised ego, whining that he was being mean, and that he left him with no other choice but to work harder so he could be rich enough for him.
Seungcheol was ridiculous.
And Jeonghan was more ridiculous for letting the thought of marrying Seungcheol stew in his mind until the sun was drowning his room with amber lights.
“We should invite Jun and Minghao too,” he said when Sujeong finally joined them in the ocean, laughing loudly when Jiae immediately dunked her head, successfully ruining the braid she spent the whole night mastering.
“Might as well drag them along,” Jiae agreed, dodging Sujeong’s attempt for retaliation.
“Jihoon and Soonyoung, too?” he asked, smiling brightly at his friends who were looking back at him with wonder.
“You know,” Sujeong grumbled, “Soonyoung called my style cottage-core on a budget.”
“That was a month ago,” he laughed, gathering the florist inside his arms and petting her head gently.
“I hold grudges,” she reasoned out, kicking Jiae ruefully when she approached them.
“That’s literally your aesthetic, Sujeong,” he heard her say before squeezing herself between the hug.
“I know,” the florist admitted in defeat, “They can go,” she huffed, disentangling herself from the group embrace when the sun decided to come out from the clouds again, “Only because I don’t want everyone to hear Soonyoung fake crying when he finds out we didn’t invite them.”
“It’s going to be fun,” he said genuinely as Sujeong defended her personal style, nodding absentmindedly as he remembered their old group of friends, the circle that formed when they were in high school, the one that fell apart because of him, the one that burned bright and got caught on fire, turning to ashes as the last ember fizzled out.
He should feel suffocated as he sat between Seungcheol and Minghao the next day, the former holding his hand and the latter muttering something about work all the while different topics were thrown across their table, hushed laughter hidden behind napkins and palms, the group doing their best to adhere to the tearoom’s dining etiquette, all squished in a round table they were herded at.
It was a sight that was supposed to make his toes curl, a sight that should’ve instantly drained his battery but being there, delicate fingers tracing the lines on his palm, listening to Minghao and Jun argue whether to point their pinky when drinking tea or not, watching Jiae and Jihoon talk with their mouth full of macarons and Sujeong explain his style to Soonyoung for the nth time made him want to stay rooted on his seat, bask in the warm glow the whole group emitted, let the seasons in his core decorate the caverns of his chest with flowers and rain, of butterflies and bees.
“We can always leave if everything gets too much,” Seungcheol whispered beside him because of course he knew what was going through his mind, his breath tickling the shell of his ear, “Just let me know, okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” he mumbled, turning towards him with a beam, breath hitching when he was met with brown eyes, glimmering under the chandeliers littered across the ceiling, forehead wrinkled with worry- a picture that relentlessly tugged on his heartstrings, prompting him to move his hands and bring them towards the other man’s face, gently smoothing down the lines on his skin with his thumbs, “You look more handsome when you’re not worrying about me.”
“Ahh,” Seungcheol hummed, nodding his head thoughtfully, “I knew you only like me for my face.”
“Uh-huh,” he smiled, letting his other hand fall on his lap and the other toying with the hair just at the base of Seungcheol’s neck, the world around them muted and blurry, momentarily forgotten, “So if I see you frowning again, I’m going to leave you and you can’t hold that against me.”
“I don’t think you’ll be able to do that,” the other man whispered, tilting his head slightly to the side, visibly keening under his soft ministration.
“Do what?” he asked, swallowing hard when a smirk appeared on the other’s mouth, his dimple showing.
“Leave me.”
They stayed silent for a while after that, ignoring how their table had gone quiet as he continued staring at Seungcheol, his smile unwavering as he felt the intensity of the other man’s gaze, his words and his trust burning the walls of his chest, branding his name in small letters like he owned his heart.
“Whoa,” he heard someone say in wonder, foreign and yet familiar, “Chan, how come you never look at me like that?”
Jeonghan blinked.
Once, twice and then thrice.
Soft multiple gasps echoed around the table, his hand falling down at his side when he turned to look at Minghao who had his neck tilted up, eyes clouded as he sat frozen from where he was seated, his heart beating loudly when he followed his line of sight, eyes landing on Sujeong with two boys just in front of her, one of which had an unreadable expression and the other had fascination written all over his face.
They were familiar.
And for a split second, he found Jun’s eyes, his hold on Seungcheol’s hand tight as he followed the sound of muffled shuffling, swallowing hard when he found Soonyoung jumping out of his seat, Jihoon’s hand barely able to stop him from coming closer to the newcomers, the table falling even quieter when they watched him pull the two in a tight hug.
“I don’t think this is how you greet people you just met,” one of the two mumbled, arms awkwardly frozen on his side while the other accepted the hug wholeheartedly, nuzzling closer to Soonyoung who suddenly turned rigid in front of them, “Ah, Chan, always the conservative. Accept the love, man.”
Jeonghan didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that they were both in their pasts, his stomach churning with a season he couldn’t quite put a name to as he ducked closer to Minghao, “They don’t remember?”
“No,” his friend whispered, grimacing when Jihoon stood up to collect his husband, mumbling an apology towards the duo who only smiled politely, “No, they don’t.”
They were like Soonyoung’s kids, that was what Jeonghan gathered from his hasty talk with Minghao, the other man waving him away when he tried extracting more information, forcing him to ponder alone, eyes often falling towards Soonyoung who was watching the duo with fond glittery eyes, Jihoon’s hand drawing patterns on his back.
It was easy to assume that they were special to him, and Jeonghan didn’t know why it pained him to see his friend restrain himself from the other two, visibly biting his tongue to stop himself from asking too many questions, busying himself with his food to prevent himself from crossing yet another line.
“Chan really likes flowers,” he heard Vernon say, smiling at Chan who looked tense, picking on the dessert in front of him and basically avoiding everyone’s gazes, “And I like whatever he likes so we studied a lot about them, and then worked at a couple of flower shops before deciding to come to the city.”
Vernon glowed while he talked about his adventures with his friend, the group immediately falling in love with him, refilling his cup with tea and piling food on his plate, and by the look of Jiae, it was obvious that she was close to cooing at the younger man.
“How about you, Chan?” he heard Seungcheol ask, always the first one to make a move and include everyone, “Vernon said he likes flowers because you like them, what makes you like them so much?”
“I just do,” Chan shrugged, excusing himself to the group without any further explanation, rendering the group silent, and Seungcheol asking if he said something wrong.
“He’s just really shy,” Vernon mumbled when the other man was out of earshot, shooting the man beside him an apologetic smile, “When we were roommates in college, he didn’t talk to me for months.”
“How did you end up being friends then?” he asked, a warm glow bursting in his chest when Vernon directed a bright smile at him.
“I told him to stop using AXE body spray because it hurts my nostrils,” the younger chuckled, and Jeonghan could picture them inside a dingy dorm room, Vernon fiddling restlessly, grimacing as Chan pulled out his body spray, shakily snatching the bottle away and chucking it in the trash, “He started using something different the next day and the rest was history.”
Chan came back with a short apology, his shoulder no longer tense when Jihoon said he had nothing to say sorry for.
That day ended just like any other day, with the group piling inside Coffee Express, pushing tables together to accommodate their growing circle- lattes and pastries were shared after Jeonghan finally managed to convince Seungcheol to let him pay for everyone’s orders, his friends thanking him with smooches on his cheeks and promises of paying for the next days to come.
Jeonghan was floating.
“So what was that?” Jihoon asked when Seungcheol left to answer a call, scooting close to him with an eyebrow raised.
“Meeting Chan and Vernon was weird, huh?” he muttered, lowering his voice to not upset Soonyoung who was just starting to be his usual talkative self, clearly shaken with the duo’s sudden appearance.
“I’m talking about you and Seungcheol,” the other man chuckled quietly, tipping his head back to finish his mug of coffee, “You know you can’t just eye fuck each other in front of your friends, right?”
Jeonghan felt his ears burn at that, embarrassment filling his chest at the recollection of what he did back at the tearoom, aware that the whole group watched him caressing Seungcheol’s face, bracing himself for the knowing smiles and tactless jokes the others would soon give him.
“Shut up,” he grumbled under his breath, shaking his head to try and force his mind to think about anything that wasn’t about how soft Seungcheol’s face was, “Tell me what you think about Chan and Vernon?”
“They’re still the same,” Jihoon answered, and Jeonghan was grateful that other man dropped their first topic immediately, both of their eyes trained towards Soonyoung who was wiping foam from his lips, “At least, I think they do. There were several universes where Vernon was the quiet one and Chan the more outgoing one,” he explained, “It’s still them, nonetheless.”
“Yeah?” he nodded solemnly, turning to the man beside him to ask, “How about me, then?” he edged, eyeing Minghao from across the table to make sure he wasn’t listening in, careful as to not get caught snooping around for his past again, “Am I still the same Jeonghan from your past?”
A second of silence had passed, then it turned to two, and then three.
“No, not really,” Jihoon maundered, looking at him with a sad smile on his lips, “You used to be bolder and I don’t know, much more open,” the other man shrugged, looking away from him just in time for Seungcheol’s return, the gears inside his head whirring to life as he tried to make sense of what the other had just said, not really expecting to get an answer to his question.
“Oh,” was the only thing he managed to breathe out, recalling just how Seungcheol said he looked beautiful when he was open and vulnerable, and even before he could entertain the intrusive thoughts that came with Jihoon’s statement, he was being pulled immediately to the shore, a gentle hand squeezing his shoulder.
“Don’t think about it much or else Minghao’s going to kill me,” Jihoon chuckled, offering him a kind beam, whispering, “The past doesn’t matter anymore if I’m being honest,” before he stood up, giving Seungcheol his seat back.
“Everything good?” he heard the other man ask, covering his hand with his, fingers lacing almost immediately, and a huge part of him wondered if they used to hold hands in the past too, and if they did and if Seungcheol finally remembered, would he like the version of him in the past better or the version of him in the present?
“Yeah,” he whispered, absentmindedly running his thumb on the other’s skin, eyes catching Minghao’s questioning eyes, “Yeah, everything’s good.”
Jeonghan slept that night with Jihoon’s words ringing inside his head, and he woke up the following morning determined to be the Jeonghan he was talking about, bolder and more open, the person that was loved by all of them.
“What do kids talk about these days?” he muttered, turning to Soonyoung who was already ten minutes late for his duty at The Supper Club but still had the audacity to queue for coffee.
“Dabbing?” the other man offered, chuckling as he checked his watch, muttering a string of curses as if he cared about punctuality.
“God, we’re old,” he groaned, crossing his arms on his chest as he smiled at Jun who was by the counter, mouthing a good morning to both him and the man beside him.
Soonyoung laughed, “Why are you even doing this?” he asked, hands stuffed in his pockets, “Don’t you hate talking to other people that aren’t as cute as your friends?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged, thinking about how Chan and Vernon kept to themselves as days turned to a week, the group failing to absorb the duo in their circle because for one, none of them frequented Sujeong’s flower shop and two, Minghao was still adamant on letting the friendship between them grow naturally which he understood but still found pointless so he thought that maybe he could visit Sujeong, “accidentally” meet Chan and Vernon there, and then see where his plan would take him, “I think I just want them to know where to find us when they remember.”
“For someone who hates people, you do care a lot about them, huh?” Soonyoung marveled, the smell of spring filling his senses as he heaved out a, “I don’t hate people.”
“It’s okay to hate people,” the other man grinned, bouncing on his toes as the line moved, “They’re very unbearable sometimes,” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around him, and nuzzling his cheek on his shoulder, “Some of them doesn’t even know the meaning of personal space- absolutely disgusting.”
Jeonghan chuckled as he snaked an arm around his friend, squeezing him gently, and allowing him to continue his affectionate ministrations, sparing Jun a defeated smile when the barista scrunched his nose at them.
“You should go with me to The Bloom Room,” he muttered, recalling just how obvious the longing was in the other man’s eyes when they met Chan and Vernon, his heart still aching.
“No,” Soonyoung shook his head, pouting as they finally reached the counter, “I’m still embarrassed with what I did,” he said, humming as he eyed the menu they already knew by heart, “You can do this, Jeonghan.”
“Yeah,” he whispered to himself, “I can do this.”
Jeonghan blinked as he found himself with both Chan and Vernon inside Coffee Express a week after, the three of them fiddling with flowers to see who could make a crown the fastest, marveling at how easier everything was than he thought- no dabbing needed, slightly grateful and still amused at Chan who cornered him in the back of the flower shop after his seventh visit.
“Vernon is my boyfriend,” he remembered the younger one muttering, his voice threateningly low, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but laugh, chuckling as he looked down at the other man glaring up at him, “I don’t know why you think you can prance around here, buy flowers and flirt with him every day but you have to stop.”
“I don’t like him,” he said, swallowing down another set of giggles.
“Why? What’s wrong with him?” Chan frowned, blinking up at him in disdain, the animosity in his voice slowly wavering, “He’s literally the most amazing person that graced this world. What do you mean you don’t fucking like him?”
“Wh-” he gaped, raising his hands in defence, “I don’t like him romantically! I just want to be friends.”
“What?” Chan spluttered, staring at him in disbelief, “What? Like, just him?”
“You too, actually,” he answered with a grin, shaking his head at how adorable he found the younger man, thoroughly charmed at how young he looked with downcast eyes, “But you’ve been so rude to me these past few days so it’s quite hard to get my points across.”
Visiting The Bloom Room every day at seven in the morning was something he thought would drain him but an additional “thing” in his routine that warmed him completely.
He had refused Jun and Seungcheol’s offer to drive him to and fro, insisting that he wanted to do it by himself, choosing to take the bus instead and setting his alarm clock an hour earlier than usual with the goal of being bolder and more spontaneous plastered at the back of his mind, fueling his body with some kind of motivation that drowned his anxiety.
“You’ll do great,” Sujeong texted him before his first visit, informing him that both Chan and Vernon were pretty great at carrying out conversation in the shop, replying with a simple, “Thank you,” and several heart and flower emojis, deciding not to tell her about that stack of index cards he had been shuffling through with different topics written on them, randomly choosing one or two so he could instantly have something to discussion with Chan and Vernon as they make his orders.
Vernon was unsurprisingly much easier to talk to than Chan, often jumping on his chosen topic every morning fairly quickly, almost always either babbling excitedly about his take on dinosaur extinction and constellations or nodding his head and eagerly listening to him talk, the other young florist, often standing back, sharing his opinion in a clipped voice, eyeing him through his poorly-hidden glares.
“I don’t understand,” Chan mumbled, his features relaxing, voice softening, “Why do you want to be friends with us.”
And then it hit him right then.
Vernon felt like the sun rays that touched his skin at the beach, just as warm and bright like Minghao.
And Chan felt like the restless waves of the ocean, more perturbed than Jun, but just as comforting.
He should’ve kept it to himself, but even before he could shun the realization away, he was already speaking, “You guys feel like summer,” he exhaled, tonguing his cheek when Chan drew in a breath, a flash of recognition darting across his face, “I mean-”
“You too,” the younger man said, his voice still lingering through his ears even when Vernon was gushing loudly in front of him, waving his flower crown around and claiming his victory, cheeks tinted crimson when Chan kissed his knuckles, placing the garland he made on top of his head.
“Oh, they’re here,” Chan said, pointing towards the door where their friends entered laughing, the baristas on duty greeting them amicably, already starting on their usual orders, “So is this a daily thing? You guys meeting here after work?”
“I guess so,” he shrugged, perking up when he heard Seungcheol’s voice above the cafe’s buzzing fuss, warmth instantly engulfing his insides at the realization that he had another “thing”, vision blurring when he recalled just how lonely it felt to be alone in his apartment, prioritizing his time with himself more than anything before and now giving his all to his friends because he knew what it felt like to crave for it.
“Hello,” Seungcheol muttered against his skin, giving his temple a quick kiss before settling beside him, complimenting Vernon’s flower crown as their friends started taking their usual seats, the group ending up trying their hands at making their own garlands.
“This isn’t a dream,” he mumbled to himself, beaming at the man beside him who turned to him with a blinding smile, butterflies fluttering inside his stomach, “You’re not a dream.”
“I’m not,” Seungcheol replied, taking his hand and placing it right on his chest, the vibrations of the other man’s heartbeat traveling from his palm up to his arm and towards his own thumping heart, their beats were frantic and they were in sync, and Jeonghan could feel himself glow, electricity running through his veins, lightning cackling and thunder roaring beneath his consciousness.
Seungcheol was a storm that ravaged him from the inside out, and he knew- God, Jeonghan knew that it was impossible to go through his kind of monsoon unscathed but at that moment, there were no hesitations in his movements, no doubts fogging up his judgment, there was only Seungcheol and their heartbeats, and those were enough to push him out the suffocating vicinity where his comfort laid.
“Should we go on a trip?” he asked, palm still resting on the other’s chest, pointedly ignoring Jihoon and Soonyoung who were both watching them in amusement, “Minghao said you like hiking.”
“You want to go hiking with me?” Seungcheol breathed out, smile gummy and eyes misted, elation dripping in his voice, “Jeonghan, I swear to God if you’re joking-”
“I’m not,” he chuckled, delighted at how happy the other man looked, shaking his head when he was pulled into a hug, their friends jeering at their public display of affection.
Seungcheol sang along to Paramore when he went to bed that night, his voice rough through his earbuds but still gentle enough to lull him to sleep, guiding him to a dream that wasn’t his usual muted void but a dream he didn’t know he’d miss until he was seeing it again.
He was back in the desert.
And Seungcheol was staring back at him from afar.
Chapter 8: Seokmin Lee
Summary:
"Empty me
of the bitterness,
and disappointment
of being nothing but
myself."— Franz Wright, God's Silence; Why Is the Winter Light
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“There will be a time when we’re going to get caught,” Jeonghan heard Chan mutter beside him, completely miffed despite the look of satisfaction on his face, cookie crumbs dotting the corners of his lips, “And I know,” the younger heaved a sigh, wiping his hands with a napkin, “I just know that all blame will be put on me instead of you.”
“Don’t act as if you’re not benefiting from this harmless trade,” he chuckled, carefully tying a handkerchief around a small tin of buttered cookies before putting it away in his bag, looking up expectantly at Chan who was staring back at him with visible chagrin, “Okay, out with it.”
“You,” the younger one started, falling silent just for a second before tearing his gaze away from him, “You were rich, alright?” he muttered, idly fiddling with the knot of his beige apron, “Not just rich but rich rich. I remember you paying me thousands just to hack into someone’s account one time.”
He frowned at that, dismissing the information almost immediately because he didn’t really think it could come in handy in the future, sighing heavily when the younger florist made a move to stand up, his hand catching him by the elbow, pulling him down again, “That won’t do,” he shook his head, “Give me something juicier.”
“Juicier?” Chan scoffed, shaking his head wearily, “You’re giving me a butter cookie for one random fact about your past lives,” he seethed, the heat under his voice inoffensive, “I clearly got the short end of the stick in this ridiculous deal so be a good boy, and be content with what I’m giving you.”
“I’m going to tell them,” he threatened, blinking up at Chan who had stood up again, softly glowering down at him with squinted eyes and pursed lips, “If you don’t tell me anything about me again, I’ll spill your secrets to the people that wanted to hear it the most.”
“No, you won’t,” Chan breathed out, his stance guarded and his chest heaving, “Jeonghan, you can’t.”
Jeonghan knew he couldn’t, and Jeonghan really wasn’t going to.
He was aware that the other man’s secret was not his confession to tell but Chan didn’t need to know about that so he held his ground and sat straighter, staring back at him, deadpan and doing his best not to take back his threat and apologize, recalling just how he found out about the younger one’s secret, head slightly reeling at the feel of his hand on his wrist, stopping his actions when he randomly picked up a cashew from Vernon’s trail mix, both of them locking eyes instantly.
“You,” he whispered before being pulled towards the comfort room, the younger man’s boyfriend throwing both of them an amused look before going back to his food, pulling Minghao’s attention from them, the sound of the door slamming before them making him flinch.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Chan shook his head, letting go of his wrist as he paced back and forth, “I need Vernon to remember first,” he explained when he meekly asked why, his hands itching to touch the younger florist, tell him to stand still, to calm down, “I don’t want to acknowledge that I remember anything if he doesn’t, alright?”
“Alright,” he faltered, pushing himself to place a hand on the other’s shoulder, offering him a kind smile and promising him he won’t tell anyone, his heart almost melting when the younger turned to him, engulfing him in an embrace, whispering a quiet, “Thank you,” on his collar.
“So you remember me?” Jeonghan asked that night, choosing to inquire further when everyone had gone home, clutching his phone tightly when he heard the younger one mumble a, “Yes,” his heart thumping wildly on his chest, “What do you- what do you remember about me?”
There was an intake of breath on the other line, followed by a strangled, “A lot,” his feet leading him in front of his lamb plushie that stared back at him in silence, “Why are you asking?”
Jeonghan understood why Minghao didn’t want him asking around about himself in the past, and he had long since given up on trying to gouge more information from his friends, choosing to steer clear of Soonyoung who was always glad to spill snippets of what their lives were, convincing himself he should just wait for everything to unfold on its own because he simply wasn’t ready, because he was aware that one information could trigger him from spiraling again.
But it was hard.
It was difficult to stay in the dark as he tried living his life, digging dull fingers on his palms until crescents peppered his skin at the slightest feeling of nausea, expecting flashes of lives he couldn’t remember to knock him down on his knees and steal the air in his lungs, dread silently growing at the back of his mind where even Seungcheol’s comforting rain couldn’t reach, making him more agitated in between seconds, waiting in fear of vignettes of the past that could easily send him back to the floor of his bathroom.
Jeonghan had to prepare himself.
He needed to make a stack of index cards where he could write what kind of person he was, of the things he did, of what he had said because a couple of notes weren’t helping ease his expanding apprehension at all- he was bolder, he was much more open, he was allergic to peanuts, and he needed more, he needed so much more.
“They don’t want to tell me anything,” he started, fingers curling around the body of his little lamb, squeezing it tenderly, momentarily pausing as he recalled just how many breakdown the stuffed toy had seen, “I mean, Soonyoung does but the others make sure to silence him when he does, and I-” he swallowed hard, turning away from the moon peeking from his window, “I want to remember what I was like.”
“Why?” Chan asked, his voice shaky, obvious that he was unsure.
“I just do,” he answered easily, hiding his desperation by clearing his throat, fist clenched as he thought about what Jihoon said over and over again, telling himself that he had to know who he was, that he had to be ready, that he had to be the past Jeonghan so when everyone remembered, no one was going to look at him and ask, “What happened?”
“What’s in it for me?” the younger one exhaled in defeat, goosebumps peppering his arms as he racked his brain for something he could offer, ignoring the way his anxiety spiked, head spinning at the possibility of finally finding out what he was, of who he was.
“Do you like butter cookies?” he mumbled, Chan pulling out a laugh from his mouth when he answered with a serious, “I would kill for a good butter cookie.”
So for days, they had been talking at the back of The Bloom Room, him bringing Chan a cookie and the younger florist sharing a piece of information about his lives, his stack of index card finally improving.
He was a singer, and a model.
He once threatened to drag someone by the hair, and once robbed someone because he was bored.
And then he was rich rich.
Jeonghan lived so many lives, and Jeonghan was grateful to know those things but they weren’t what he was looking for, they didn’t give him a clue of who he was as a person, didn’t give him an insight of what his friends loved about him.
He needed more.
So he continued looking at Chan, a false threat hanging on his tongue.
“You’re not going to tell them because you’re not that kind of person,” Chan rolled his eyes, huffing as he tore his gaze away from him, walking towards the flower shop.
“Just one more information for today, Chan,” he sighed, standing abruptly just as the other man gripped the doorknob in front of him- desperation lacing his voice, “Just something I should know so I’d know how to act during my hiking with Seungcheol.”
Chan turned to look at him, “Jeonghan,” he breathed out, exasperated, “You’re already doing so good with Seungcheol. Why do you need to know what you were in the past when he doesn’t even fucking remember?”
“Because he knows I’m allergic to peanuts,” he blurted out, the skin under his eye twitching when Chan fixed him a look of disbelief, “I didn’t tell him, okay?” he heaved, hands trembling on either side of his body, “And I’m not dumb, I know we had a thing in the past, I just want to make sure that he’s not going to wake up one day not liking me anymore because I wasn’t who I was before.”
He closed his eyes for a second, balling his hands into fists in an attempt to get rid of the tremors running through his fingers, the fear of his friends remembering their pasts and slowly pulling away from him because he was different overshadowing the calming wave that was Chan, covering the garden in his chest with shadows and ugly gray clouds.
“Trust me,” he heard Chan say, his eyes opening to the younger florist staring darkly at the ground, “You don’t want to remember who you were before.”
Jeonghan blinked,
Once, twice, and then thrice.
“What does that supposed to mean?” he choked out, heart dropping to the ground as he watched Chan stiffen, his mouth opening and closing while slowly backing away, alarmed at how afraid the younger man looked, regret shining brightly in his eyes.
“You didn't know how to ride a bicycle,” he heard him say, the quiver in his voice hard to miss, “Seung- we tried to teach you but you,” he shook his head, chuckling helplessly, “That’s- that’s all you’re getting from me, I’m sorry.”
“I still don’t,” he revealed, blinking away the tears he didn’t even know that were in his eyes, chest constricting as Chan stood motionless in front of him, “I still don’t know how to ride a bicycle.”
“I know,” the younger florist murmured, “I’ll see you tonight.”
And then he was gone, taking the sound of the rolling ocean with him, leaving Jeonghan to contemplate about the words that stabbed his heart and the emotions that plunged it deeper until he could feel the bolster digging on his chest, the tip tearing through his skin.
Jeonghan felt alone, cold as he closed his eyes, and he couldn’t help but think about how he used to invent friendship whenever he found himself getting lonely, walking along the streets of the overcrowded metropolis alone and pretending like the strangers that ambled beside him were his friends, creating scenarios in his head about the kind of friendship he’d see in TV series he liked to binge until his head was throbbing, of going on trips with other people, of going to clubs and laughing, and exchanging messages over the dumbest of stuff.
Standing there by himself, the smell of butter lingering in the air, it wouldn’t be too farfetched to think that he finally had that, his fingertips tingling at the thought of opening his phone and seeing multiple notifications from his friends, of random funny pictures Jun would send him in the most random times of the day, of Jihoon telling him something dumb Soonyoung did, and of Seungcheol occasionally asking and making sure that he was doing alright.
Jeonghan should text Seungcheol, tell him he couldn’t go to work because his whole body was desperately yearning for the cold tiled-floor of his bathroom, the urge was strong, making his skin crawl with an itch that wanted to be soothed with isolation but he couldn’t bring himself to give in, couldn’t force himself to lie to the other man and say that he had a fever, he didn’t want to lie- not to his friends, not to Seungcheol.
So he took a deep breath and opened his eyes, buried everything that happened a while ago somewhere where he wouldn’t be able to reach, choosing to take the knife out of his chest instead of reveling on the pain it brought and focusing on what mattered the most- his friends.
Jeonghan was going to take care of them, he thought to himself.
He was going to be good to them as long as they were still by his side, Jeonghan was going to be their star and he was going to treat them as his until the day would come that they’d be tired of him, until the day would come when they’d realize that he was not the Jeonghan they loved.
And everything was going to be fine.
It would hurt, but he wouldn’t regret anything.
Shaking his head, he found himself grabbing a blank index card from his bag, scribbling a quick apology towards Chan, hastily writing how dumb it was to bribe him with cookies for something that he clearly didn’t want to talk about, “I’m sorry,” he wrote, “For threatening to tell them your secret,” he blinked, promising Chan that he was bluffing, his heart heavy when he slid the card inside his cookie tin, leaving it by the younger’s locker, only ever breathing a sigh of relief when the florist called him back by the end of the day.
“I’m sorry that I can’t tell you anything,” Chan said, and he couldn’t help but take a deep breath, wave his apology away by telling him that he shouldn’t even have forced him to say anything in the first place, “You didn’t force me,” the florist insisted, “It was my fault for getting persuaded with butter cookies.”
He laughed at that, flowers blooming from the wound in his heart, their roots stitching the gash on his back, “Just let me know if you want more?” he offered, smiling at a picture of Vernon grinning with a jar of marmalade taped on the corner of his monitor, “Jun has a shelf full of them and I’ve gotten the privilege of taking as many cans my heart desires.”
“I’m going to abuse this secondhand privilege because I have no shame,” Chan hummed, both of them hanging up after another round of apologizing, Jiae and Minghao hauling him up from his desk.
“Where’s Seungcheol?” he asked, craning his head towards the other man’s office who had remained closed for the whole day.
“In another meeting,” Minghao answered, hooking his arm with his, “He said we should go ahead.”
He nodded at that, sighing as flashes of Seungcheol darted in his mind, of his hair dancing along the warm winds of the forsaken world he thought he wouldn’t see again, of his flushed skin painted red by the harsh sunlight above, of the smell of tropical fruit that appeared with his presence, the overwhelming sense of familiarity jolting him awake.
It already had been a week since he saw Seungcheol in his dream, a week of keeping it to himself and a week of wondering if the other man had been having the same dream as his because in theory, he should, the desert being their middle ground just like Jun and Minghao who had the ocean.
“Do you think I should tell him?” he asked Chan when he had the opportunity, taking advantage of his friends’ collective interest at Coffee Express’ new attraction, a mini library by the far corner of the shop, the nook where he and Minghao used to sit at when the latter was being silly about his crush over Jun.
“Do you want to tell him?” Chan raised an eye brow, his calculating look making him more older than his age.
“I don’t know,” he whimpered, taking a deep breath as he let his shoulders sag, slumping dumbly on his chair as he racked his brain for an answer he knew he wasn’t going to find anytime soon, “Have you told Vernon about your dream?”
“I tell him everything,” Chan muttered, quickly whispering, “Well, not everything,” under his breath as they both watched their friends browse through the different book selections that the café provided, “But yeah, I told him about my dream and he told me about his dream. He thought it was cute that we have the same one.”
“Would Seungcheol think it’s cute that we have the same dream?” he peered up at Chan, finding it ridiculously stupid that he was relying on the younger one’s answer, but that had been their dynamic since the whole trail mix incident anyway- him finding comfort in Chan’s words, and Chan, well, he was just always there, looking at him with the same judging expression but entertaining his questions nonetheless.
“He’s a puppy when it comes to you, Jeonghan,” Chan huffed, shaking his head with a small smile on his face, “I bet he’s going to fucking wag his tail when he finds out he appears in your dream and shit.”
“Language,” he breathed out, heart hopping madly at the sound of the café door opening, visibly deflating when it wasn’t Seungcheol that came in, choosing to ignore the way the younger man stifled a chuckle, sparing him a knowing smirk, “Oh, shut up.”
Jeonghan busied himself with his croissant as he wondered when he started looking for Seungcheol in the crowd, often straining his ear just to see whether he could hear the other man’s voice through the usual buzz that surrounded him, absentmindedly craning his neck at the sea of people around him to try and spot the familiar mop of hair he used to daydream about, a sense of warm pride spreading through his chest whenever he’d be the first one to see him, cheeks flushing when he’d catch his eyes, unabashedly thinking that the other man was doing the same thing, seeking him out through the masses, and hurriedly finding his way beside him.
It was surreal how different Jeonghan was when it came to Seungcheol, and it wasn’t the first time that thought came across his mind, the questions of how and why often floating inside his head every minute of the day, prompting him to push them away again and again because for one, he wasn’t ready to answer them yet and two, thinking was something that he had been trying to avoid, finally accepting the fact that sometimes, mulling over his thoughts was much more destructive than actually letting them out in the open, of talking about them so when another twenty minutes had passed without Seungcheol, he finished his croissant and texted the other man.
“I keep looking for you,” he typed, making himself smaller on his seat, head ducked down over his phone, “And I don’t know why.”
The response was immediate, and the message had his heart racing, “You miss me.”
It was a statement.
It was not a question.
And Jeonghan didn’t know how Seungcheol could be so sure, chewing on his lips as he read the statement over and over again, unblinking and frozen on his spot, a sense of nausea rolling over his being, “You don’t know that,” he sent because he didn’t know what else to say, his eyes stinging as he drowned out the conversations flying around him.
“I do,” Seungcheol sent, and Jeonghan knew he was a perceptive person but there was no way he could read him through his texts, right? That was just silly, and honestly, wishful thinking, the idea of the other man knowing exactly what was going through his head even through the screens of their phones sending the butterflies in his stomach in their usual giddy flutters, “I know because I do the same.”
He was smiling, aware of the eyes that were watching him curiously, and in any normal circumstances, he would’ve schooled his features, would’ve turned away or maybe would’ve hidden the beam that he couldn’t get rid off at the back of his hand but Seungcheol was sending him a confession that was worth a reaction that wasn’t bashful or reticent so he allowed himself to simper openly, running his eyes towards words that were weaved in raw sentences that had his heart singing.
“I keep expecting that you’ll come to my office,” Seungcheol sent out, and Jeonghan wondered if it was the just the light of his screen that was making his eyes sting or other man’s words, “I know you’re not here but I keep looking up at the tiniest sounds, hoping and wishing it would be you,” the following text read, and it was so simple, so cheesy, and yet Jeonghan couldn’t stop the fire under his skin from spreading.
“I know you miss me because I miss you,” he received just a minute after, swallowing down a keen as he imagined the other man in his office, darkness engulfing him save from the light of his own phone, painting his pale skin with the lightest shade of blue, cradling his features with the softest glare, “And you know I’m always looking for you because our eyes always, always meet whenever and wherever we are.”
“I didn’t know this is what it feels like to miss someone,” he typed back because that was true, even by the beach, when he thought that he missed Seungcheol, it wasn’t as intense as what he was feeling right then, the spot beside him still unoccupied because he was hoping the other man would be able to tear himself away from his work and by his side, and if he couldn’t, then Jeonghan could pretend that he was there, “I don’t like it.”
“You know, we always exist in two places, right?” Seungcheol sent after two minutes of grueling silence, Jeonghan’s lips already sore from his incessant chewing, heart jumping at the message staring back at him, “At least, I do,” it said, “Where I currently am, and where you are.”
Jeonghan didn’t know it was possible to combust in flames without fire burning his skin but Seungcheol managed to do just that, send him words that filled his insides with kerosene, light him up with his blazing sentiments, and engulf him in heat that was so comforting that had Jeonghan manifesting for the hottest day of the summer just to see, just to feel which was more intense.
“Do you want me there?” he sent out, fingers trembling with longing and anticipation, the taste of blood unmistakable on his tongue, the sweet taste of the pastry he munched on earlier gone and was replaced with something metallic, “I can be there.”
He was different with Seungcheol, even he couldn’t deny that anymore, and it was terrifying to think how he could leave the warmth comfort of Coffee Express with just one word from the other man, to hail a cab on his own, shakily tell a stranger his destination, and stay cooped up with them for a while, zooming through the metropolis with just the moon as his lookout.
“Stay with our friends there,” was Seungcheol’s response, squeezing out a sigh of relief and then a disgruntled whine from his mouth, his insides still burning from the other’s declaration, “Even my wonderful bone structure isn’t worth the risk of traveling for across the city this late at night.”
Jeonghan snorted at that, his grin melting down to a contemplative smile, wondering what would happen if he replied with a, “It’s worth it to me,” his raging thoughts soothed by another text from Seungcheol, “Endure it a little bit, I’ll call you tonight.”
And then his phone was hidden away, one hand resting on the seat where Seungcheol would usually sit, the flames ravaging his whole being turning to a hearth in the middle of the garden that was his chest, the butterflies fluttering around calming down just in time for him to catch his friends’ conversation.
“Whose idea was it to add the library?” he heard Minghao ask, his friend’s voice holding his consciousness and guiding him back to the circle, his interest piqued despite his nonchalance over the shelves of books by their old corner.
“Seokmin,” Jun answered, a chorus of strangled, “Who?” bouncing around their table, “Seokmin Lee,” the barista repeated, frowning as he looked around, blinking just in time for both him and Jeonghan to understand what was happening, “Oh,” he mouthed in feigned astonishment.
“Who’s he?” Vernon asked, surveying the group who had mostly perked up at the mention of the name, “Is he a friend?” he added, quick to pick up on the palpable tension that fell over them.
“Sort of,” he answered, forcing a smile on his face before turning to Jun, the name Seokmin Lee echoing around his head.
“He’s the owners’ son,” Jun supplied, keen on answering his friends’ questions, “As far as I know, he’s been living in the country, said that the city was too suffocating for him.”
Jeonghan hummed at that, absentmindedly drinking his coffee as he attentively listened to his friends, soaking up as much information as he could, figuring that the Seokmin guy was his friend too in the past, his brain trying to paint what he looked like- tall, pointed nose, and sharp features. He seemed scary with the all the physical descriptions he picked up from Soonyoung who couldn’t stop babbling about the man but apparently, Jun said he looked like a dog, always smiling with crescent eyes, visibly vibrating at everything that he found amusing.
“He’ll be here next week,” the barista drawled out, putting a stop on the conversation because Soonyoung was becoming too comfortable with asking his questions, and Jiae, Sujeong and Vernon were still present, confused albeit silent as to why the other man asked if he was still the angel they knew and loved as if he had known him before.
“Does he remember?” Minghao asked when it was just the three of them, neon lights dancing on their skin as Jun decided to take them for a ride around the city, zooming through streets they hadn’t been in before, zipping on roads that they were unfamiliar with.
“No,” the barista answered, the melancholia that dripped from his other friend’s “Oh,” pulling him in a stupor of unwelcomed grief, prompting him to immediately hole up in the office pantry the day after, chewing on his lips and tentatively typing the name that brought the feeling of bereavement in his chest for the whole day on Google’s search bar.
Seokmin Lee didn’t look like a dog.
He looked like a sun.
The sun.
And Jeonghan couldn’t believe that such a person existed because he was well aware of how he had constantly compared Minghao and Vernon to the ball of fire before, but it was just with how they felt, of the warmth that their words provided as they slither under his skin, embracing him with their wisdom and innocence but Seokmin, he concluded, as he stared unblinking on the monitor in front of him, looked like the actual sun, like he could make new life and destroy them as he pleased, light the world and grant its people unyielding brilliance with just a smile, with just a word, and Jeonghan was utterly enthralled.
“Should I be worried?” he heard someone say from behind, his heart lurching out of its place when he was met with Seungcheol’s stormy eyes, clearly bemused at the way he slammed his laptop shut, “Hi there.”
“You scared me,” he breathed out, turning away from the other man to open his laptop again, lips caught between his teeth before asking, “What are you doing here?”
“Jeonghan,” the other man chuckled, the sound of his voice sending the usual electricity under his skin buzzing, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“What?” he blinked, raising his head to look at Seungcheol who was standing just beside him, amused wonder shining bright in his eyes.
Jeonghan fought the urge to move closer, his brain still functioning just enough to remind himself that they were in the office, and even when there really weren’t any rules in the company against romantic relationships- not that he and Seungcheol was in a romantic relationship, that was not what he was implying at all, he just wanted to draw a line on things they could and couldn’t do under the roof of Choi Legal Co.
“It’s eight,” Seungcheol blinked back, an eyebrow raised while he had his hands stuffed inside his pockets, and Jeonghan momentarily entertained the idea of the other man wanting to touch him too, shaking his head immediately and tearing his gaze away from his fidgeting fingers, “Jiae and Minghao thought you’d gone home.”
“Oh,” was all that he could say, frowning to himself when he stared at the clock that said 8:15PM on the corner of his laptop, blaming Seokmin who was still looking back at him naively for hogging his attention.
“What are you still doing here, Jeonghan?” Seungcheol asked again, his voice gently pulling his consciousness back to him, the familiar warmth beneath his cheeks prodding his brain to stop mulling over Seokmin for a moment.
“I’m just looking up an old friend,” he mumbled, refraining himself from sharing too much because as far as Jeonghan knew, Seungcheol wasn’t aware of the whole resurrection thing- unless of course, he was like Chan who chose to keep it as a secret, “I didn’t notice the time.”
“Can I see your friend?” Seungcheol asked with a grin, already pulling a chair closer to him even before he could answer, “I just want to see if I should hit the gym up more or not.”
“You are so stupid,” he exhaled, hiding his own grin as he positioned the laptop between them, deciding then that there was no harm in Seungcheol seeing Seokmin, a part of him even glad that there was someone beside him that could keep his thoughts anchored, “What do you think of him?”
Seungcheol didn’t say anything for awhile, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but watch him quietly, eyes deliberately moving in a slow pattern that had him assuming that the other man was taking in Seokmin’s picture like an art hanged in a museum, silently tracing the silhouette of the beaming sun on his monitor, etching every tiny features in his mind just like what he did.
And for a moment he wondered if Seungcheol was starting to remember, his own heart racing as he felt the other man grow rigid beside him, his shoulder tensed and his mouth parted- there was a sharp intake of breath, a flicker of recognition, and then he was speaking, “He looks like he smells of baby powder.”
Jeonghan heaved a sigh of relief right then, still unsure whether who he wanted to remember their shared past first, scared that one of them would realize that the present was nothing like their past, afraid that the other wouldn’t be enough, daunted at the possibility of them hating what had become of them- morbid thoughts he never dared to think about for more than a second, but thoughts that were at the back of his head nonetheless, muffled by the storm that was Seungcheol’s laugh and reassuring words.
“I bet I can take him down,” he heard Seungcheol mutter between chuckles, agitation dissipating because of the other man’s notions, shaking his head as he pulled the laptop closer to them, browsing the internet for Seokmin’s social media accounts, stroking the storm’s ego by saying that, “You’re not going to take anyone down, but if you did,” he quipped, “I bet you can, too.”
Seungcheol laughed loudly at that, obviously happy at the remark, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but think about what Chan had said, about Seungcheol being a puppy when it came to him, the thought making him just as giddy as he clicked on Seokmin’s Twitter account, subconsciously leaning on Seungcheol’s side while scrolling through a number of tweets.
Seokmin was not a sociable person as far as Jeonghan could tell. He was only following ten accounts and just a hundred and two followed him, his feed mostly consisting of tweets about coffee and music, the pictures he posted were always of the sky, painted with different colors of azure and crimson, starring the sun and the clouds, then the moon and the stars.
The other man was poetic in a way that didn’t seem forced, the way he typed his words, albeit simple, still held some kind of deeper and much more profound meaning behind every letter- Seokmin tweeted prettily and eloquently, like he was writing a poem, like he was penning lyrics, and one tweet in particular had Jeonghan’s breath hitching, fingers frozen over his mouse pad.
I wandered across the sky again tonight and sat on the clouds, talking to an angel until the sun shone over us.
Jeonghan didn’t know how he could type softly, didn’t know how a mere tweet could have that kind of gentleness, and it was surreal how every word ingrained themselves in his mind, bleeding some sort of pain that poured thickly over his heart, covering his whole chest with bitter syrup, his insides throbbing in a lethargic pace, his vision almost growing dark as he thought about his own dream, of the desert, and of Seungcheol, half of him wanting to turn to the other man beside him, tell him everything just so he could share the ache growing through his veins but he couldn’t, he didn’t know why he couldn’t bring himself to but he didn’t, asking Seungcheol if he thought the tweet was weird instead, closing his laptop in haste.
“No,” Seungcheol answered, his expression somber, “You should check up on your friend,” he heard the other man suggest, looking at him with a small smile that made Jeonghan want to ask if he knew something, if he was aware of everything, “Just see how they’re doing.”
He stared at him in silence for a second, swallowing hard as his confession about his dream died at the back of his throat, the storm inside him halting as he held the other man’s gaze, “It’s been awhile,” he mumbled, vision blurry at how fragile that statement sounded, a sense of longing squeezing his heart that was still marred with pain, “I don’t- I don’t even know what to say.”
“Talk about something that you both know,” the other man muttered just as quietly, packing his things neatly inside his bag before holding his hand, pulling him out of the pantry, “I’ll drop you off, it’s late.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be reviewing the case files for tomorrow’s hearing?” he found himself asking, holding the other man’s hand tight as he felt his head spin, Seokmin’s beaming face flashing before his eyes, his tweet about his dream continuing to torment his beating heart.
“I can do it later,” Seungcheol shrugged, pulling him towards his office to grab his car keys, “My priority right now is getting you home safe so you can sleep,” he continued, pausing just so he could spare him a look, “You haven’t been sleeping well these past few nights, have you?”
“No,” he admitted, tonguing his cheek as he took a shuddering breath, urging his mind to focus on Seungcheol, forcing his whole being to stay rooted in his place in the present, “Your singing helps me, you know?”
Seungcheol closed his eyes at that, “I’m sorry,” he lamented, his thumb drawing circles on his skin, “I’ve just been so busy these past few nights, I-”
“I’m not trying to guilt you, Seungcheol,” he interrupted, smiling as widely as he could as the other man looked at him, “I just said it because it’s true,” he shrugged, chuckling when the other whined softly, telling him that he wanted to help him sleep, “You’re not obligated to sing me to sleep or anything.”
“I want to,” Seungcheol declared, adamant and firm.
“You know you can’t just sing to your emo playlist when you’re going through important files,” he shook his head as the world stopped spinning, waving Seungcheol off and muttering, “Forget I said anything, alright?”
And what was Seungcheol if not stubborn?
Jeonghan adored him painfully.
“How could you expect me to forget the fact that my angelic voice helps you go to sleep?” Seungcheol asked, his grin charming and smug, and Jeonghan would be silly if he said that the other man didn’t affect him, rendering him stupid and numb from the hurt gnawing on his ribs, “I should record myself singing,” he heard him maunder under his breath, the sound of the his office locking loud in his ears.
“Don’t,” he laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let himself be pulled towards the elevator, his whole body surrendering all control to the other man, “Honestly, I’ll be fine.”
Seungcheol dropped it at that, nodding his head as he rambled about the hearing the next day.
It was eleven when he was finally under his duvet, sleep taunting him mercilessly as more minutes passed by in relative silence, his head no longer foggy and his chest no longer slicked with pain.
“You think I should message him?” he asked Seungcheol when they reached his door, nodding in earnest when the other man answered with a, “Yes,” and a quick kiss on the cheek, urging him to wash up and get some rest before he was ambling back to his car, turning twice just to wave at him and bid him good night.
Thirty more minutes of the night was spent on hyping himself up, staring at his phone in the dark as he continued typing and then deleting the message he was going to send, wasting a minute and two on WikiHow, scrunching his nose and then ultimately giving up when the clock struck twelve, cursing under his breath while he typed a simple, “Hello,” and hitting send, closing his eyes as he locked his phone, counting from one to a thousand to keep his mind preoccupied.
two hundred and thirty-six
Waiting was a form of torture.
three hundred and seventeen
He gritted his teeth when he found out that unsending a message was not a thing on Twitter.
four hundred and ninety-eight
Jeonghan was staring at an unopened message from Seokmin, the notification blinking back at him with a soft ding.
@skminlee:
Hi! :)
How may I help you?
five hundred and seventy-five
@jnghanyoon:
I saw your tweet about talking to someone in your dreams.
There’s someone in my dreams, too.
six hundred and eleven
@skminlee:
How did you see that tweet?
I don't know you and that was tweeted months ago.
six hundred and twenty-nine
@jnghanyoon:
Fate, I think.
six hundred and forty-two
@skminlee:
Fate? That's an odd answer.
But I guess talking to someone in your dreams is odd too so do you want to talk about that? :)
six hundred and ninety-three
@jnghanyoon:
Please.
And even before he could finish counting to a thousand, he and Seokmin were already in too deep with their conversation, comforted by the thought of slight anonymity the internet provided, the butterflies in his stomach stirring in surprise as a notification from Seungcheol appeared on his screen, an hour long recording of the other man singing too close to his phone wrapping his whole body in bemused warmth, followed with a message:
Seungcheol:
I would’ve recorded something longer but I can’t show up in court without my lovely voice so just put it on loop, alright?
I’ll try to record more when I find the time.
See you tomorrow!
He slept dreamless that night, and awoke with a smile on his face, Seungcheol’s voice faltering through his ears before his phone died.
“I talked to Seokmin,” Jeonghan blurted out, several pairs of eyes looking back at him with equal confusion and surprise as he sipped timidly on his cup of peppermint tea, his friends squawking in false indignation while he accidentally scalded his tongue when Soonyoung plopped beside him, bumping his shoulder in the process, “Soonyoung!”
“Look, I’m sorry,” his friend hissed, hastily placing a kiss on his cheek before grilling him, asking him how he was, where he was, what he was doing, and Jeonghan really couldn’t stay mad as he watched the other man visibly vibrate on his seat, grateful that Chan and Vernon were both running late, Jiae and Sujeong too busy finding books to read in the mini library, giving them some time to talk about Seokmin.
“We mostly just talked about our dreams,” he explained, telling them about how Seokmin was able to talk to the person in his dream.
“Who?” Jihoon asked, his voice broken and rough, “Who was he talking to?”
Jeonghan blinked.
Once, twice and then thrice.
“I didn’t really ask,” he answered, saying that it didn’t feel right for him to prod just like that, waving away the sense of dread that fell over the group as he told them about how Seokmin was convinced that he was talking to an angel, the grim look in their faces only ever turning soft as he shared how Seokmin was doing, “He said he’s excited to meet us,” he beamed, “I told him half of our salaries were spent in his café.”
“It’s today, isn’t it?” Minghao wondered, pulling out his cellphone and swiping to his calendar, “He should be here today?”
“I thi-”
“Jeonghan!” he heard someone yell, immediate warmth surrounding his core when he whipped his head to where the voice was coming from.
The sun had come down from its place on the sky and unto the world, walking up to them with a skip on its step to grace everyone with its presence.
“Seokmin,” he mumbled to himself, standing up because what else was there to do but welcome the man that lit up the Earth with nothing but his laugh? The sound of joy that came out of his mouth emitted a different kind of warmth, something that coated even his bones with light, tugging on his heart with a force that even looking at him had his chest aching, a lump forming at the base of his throat when he was eagerly pulled in an embrace, “It’s great to finally see you!”
It only had been four days since they started talking, but inside the other man’s arms, it felt as if they’ve known each other for eternities. Jeonghan didn’t utter a word because he couldn’t, too overwhelmed at the intense familiarity he thought he was used to, shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth when he returned the hug, breathing in the scent of vanilla that clung on the other’s shirt.
He didn’t want to let go but he reluctantly did, swallowing hard as he shook his head, ignoring the way both Minghao and Soonyoung turned away to wipe the tears that they couldn’t hold back, pretending like he didn’t see Jihoon visibly stop himself from going to Seokmin, stomach oddly churning when he met Jun’s eyes, the barista who was behind the counter standing frozen with something strange contorting his face.
“Hi,” he heard Seokmin say, pulling his attention back to him, his beam beautiful and wide, and Jeonghan felt as if he was back in the office pantry, unaware of anything but the man on his monitor, the ache in his chest returning, transforming the greens inside him to shades of reds and oranges, the leaves on the trees Jihoon and Soonyoung planted falling crisply on the teeming ground of wildflowers.
Autumn, Jeonghan thought, a season of abundance and decay.
Seokmin felt like autumn.
A sound of glass shattering brought the cafe’s tamed clamor into a halt, all eyes moving towards the counter where Jun was situated, shaken despite the smile on his face, waving everyone off with apologies and assurances that he was okay, the look in his eyes wildly befuddled, the tremors running up and down his hands easy to notice.
“I’ll be right back,” Minghao mumbled to the group before sparing them a smile, hastily walking towards Jun and pulling him towards the back, their hands automatically finding each other.
“Let me know if you guys need me,” he typed in, sending the message to Minghao before settling back on his seat, smiling up at Seokmin who had returned to the group before helping the staff clean up, his worries momentarily forgotten when the other man slid beside him, his friends welcoming him with saccharine smiles and enthusiastic greetings.
Seokmin was special to them, he could tell, and he couldn’t help but sit closer to the younger man when he agreed on staying with them for their regular coffee session, his friends in daze as they introduced themselves, shaking Seokmin’s hand and holding it a little too longer than they should, all of them eagerly listening to the bright-eyed man as he spoke about the library he insisted his parents to add.
“They thought it’s dumb,” Seokmin grinned, his remark instantly receiving multiple protests from across the table- even Jiae and Sujeong had joined in on the hype train, “You guys are too kind to me.”
“Because it’s a great idea,” Jihoon replied in earnest, his husband nodding his head vigorously, earning a delighted laugh from Seokmin, “Have you ever thought about opening the library for trades?”
“No,” Seokmin gasped, blinking at Jihoon with genuine wonder, “That’s a really good idea,” he chirped, and Jeonghan didn’t know how a set of eyes could hold all the stars in the universe, the younger man glowing as he gushed about the idea, “I’ve always thought about what the café could do to have the patrons interact with each other. You know, to create some sort of community within these four walls, maybe that could be it.”
Jeonghan found himself sitting back and listening at the conversation around him, basking at the warmth that the whole group emitted, his tongue soothed by the popsicle Vernon had brought for the group, the taste of watermelon spreading in his mouth, reminding him of a childhood he only remembered in millisecond vignettes.
“Where’s Minghao and Jun?” he heard Chan ask, prompting him to grab his phone from his bag, his message left unopened and unanswered, “They didn’t ditch us, did they? Minghao said he was going to treat us for dinner.”
“I’ll check on them,” he said, standing up from his seat and excusing himself, waving Seokmin’s offer of assistance, “They’re probably just making out somewhere,” he joked, blanching when the younger man looked up at him in alarm, “Which is a health code violation, I know and Jun knows, I was just kidding.”
The way Seokmin sighed in relief was way too comedic.
And Jeonghan wandered towards the back of the coffee shop with a small smile playing on his lips, asking Kei, the manager on duty that night if he could check on his friends, receiving an immediate, “Of course,” and a pat on the back.
There was something amiss, Jeonghan could feel it creeping from the deepest part of his stomach, suddenly nauseous as he walked though the familiar corridor that reminded him of the sticky coffee that clung on his body when Jun bumped into him so many months ago, goosebumps peppering his arms and his back when he stopped dead on his tracks in front of a room, a huge sign that said, “Authorized Personnel Only,” staring back at him as the faintest echoes of daunting cries reached his ears.
He felt cold.
And he felt the long fingers of horror wrapping around his neck.
His movements was shaky yet measured, lungs almost burning as he found himself holding his breath, only ever finding the courage to breathe when a gasp fell from his mouth, eyes trained on two bodies woven tightly on the ground, Jun’s sobs echoing around the room together with Minghao’s watery coos, their bodies intertwined so close that Jeonghan didn’t know where the other started and ended, his knees buckling when he caught Minghao’s eyes.
“He remembers,” his friend mouthed, eyes closing as tears slid down his cheeks, murmuring words of consolation on the barista’s skin, fingers running through his hair, digging dully on his scalp in an attempt to pull him closer and closer, “I’m here.”
And Jeonghan didn’t know what he should do so he left, closing the door behind him as he slid down on the floor, trembling fingers dialing Seungcheol’s number because he needed something to replace the feel of cold autumn in his core, yearning for the rumble of thunder, longing for flashes of lightning inside his skull.
“Cheol,” he whimpered, unsure of what else to say because his mind was too muddled, too foggy, too fucking overwhelmed with the revelation of Jun finally remembering the past, elation and a mix of bitterness overflowing from the healing wound on his heart, feeling utterly and stupidly alone as he found himself sullen in the familiar clearing inside his head, the boat Jun used to occupy vanishing right before his eyes, “Cheol,” he cried again, and it shouldn’t be enough for the other man to come rushing to him but it was, and he was out of Coffee Express even before his friends could look for him.
“It’s okay,” he heard Seungcheol say as he cradled him close inside his car, the other man choosing to lead him away from the entrance in the back, assuring him that their friends were already notified that they were together because of course he did, of course he knew he didn’t want to be seen bawling his eyes out, of course he knew he didn’t want to worry their friends, of fucking course, because he was Seungcheol, and Seungcheol always knew what to do.
And Jeonghan could only fucking cry, hold his hands open that had always been clenched into fists behind him, yearning- no, he wasn’t yearning because yearning had always been whispered wishes under soft duvets, what he was doing right then was much more disgusting, silently begging on his knees for the memories he couldn’t have, wanting, selfishly wanting to belong, to remember, crying his lungs out for a past that didn’t want to come back to him.
“It’s alright,” Seungcheol whispered on his skin where claws were scratching from the underside, and Jeonghan had always known that his monster had always been himself, residing in a place deep within him that he never wanted to acknowledge, breathing on his neck whenever it could, feeding on his greed and God- everything had always been self-made, his beginnings and his ends, and Jeonghan didn’t want to end his second chance.
No. Not yet. Not again.
Not when the grass around him was just starting to get greener, not when he had the sun and the storm taking care of his core, not when there were flowers and butterflies living inside him.
He didn’t want anything to end, he didn’t want to set flames on his garden and his bridge ever again.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed out when he could no longer cry, staying inside Seungcheol’s arm, face hidden on his tear-soaked collar, ashamed and numb, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called-”
“Don’t,” Seungcheol mumbled on his hair, his hold tight and his hold almost bruising, “Never apologize for calling me, alright?” he breathed out, and Jeonghan knew he was going through the same intense form of yearning as him, begging for something that he couldn’t give, not yet, drawing blood on his lips just so he could hold himself back from crying for a future he couldn’t hand him, not yet, “Call me, please always call me.”
And Jeonghan used to invent that kind of wanting inside his head before the mere thought of commitment scared him, at night, he would revel at the feel of someone swimming across the ocean just for him, crow over the idea of someone thinking about him, of looking at him like he made the world, and as he listened to Seungcheol’s racing heartbeat, and the rough sound of his shallow breathing, it wasn’t implausible to think that he finally had that.
He knew he didn’t need his stack of index cards when Seungcheol was already at his beck and call, always putting his needs first, bending backwards for his comfort, and waiting for him, but he was going to choose to keep them nevertheless, do his best to be the Jeonghan he loved in the past because if anyone deserved to be happy, it was Seungcheol.
And maybe he deserved that too, to experience the same lives he lived before- brave and happy, so he pulled away from his storm, a venerated confession ready to roll on his tongue, doing his best to clean up his face, breath hitching when gentle hands grip his wrists, pulling them down before the soft texture of cotton licked his cheeks clean, dainty swipes gliding across his skin with the kind of gentleness that had his whole body igniting with warmth.
Jeonghan had never felt more cherished, the other man’s ministrations blurring his vision as fresh tears welled in his eyes, a pathetic sob falling from his mouth once more, “No, no, no,” he heard Seungcheol whisper, taking his face in his hands and thumbing away his tears even before they reached the apples of his cheeks, feather-light kisses planted along his forehead, “Shhh,” the other man crooned, “Tell me what’s wrong, Hannie. I’ll make it right.”
“Hannie?” he swallowed hard, the whole world around them standing still as they looked at each other.
Hannie, Hannie, Hannie, a nickname no one had called him before but a nickname that felt too familiar in his ears.
Hannie, Hannie, Hannie, his heart sang.
Hannie, Hannie, Hannie , his mind chanted.
“You called me Cheol,” the other man blinked, crimson bleeding on his cheeks as Jeonghan remained frozen, muttering, “Cheol,” under his breath, the nickname laying heavy in his mouth, a sense of a thousand déjà vu hitting him in the chest, “Cheol,” he repeated, and it was surreal how more and more enamored Seungcheol looked as he repeated it again and again, “Cheol.”
It was two in the morning when they finally decided to go home, both of their cheeks stained with tears while they said good night to each other, Seungcheol’s smile small and barely there as he waited for him to get inside his apartment, his cologne faint but almost overwhelming in his crumpled shirt.
“Are you still with Seungcheol?” Jiae asked when he informed them he was home, typing in a quick, “No,” as he crawled on his bed, exhausted and spent, “What did you guys do?” his friend sent back, his head spinning when he hit send for his response, closing his phone and chucking it somewhere before he passed out.
“Remembering,” his message said, “Remembering, Jiae.”
Notes:
That vicious cycle of telling yourself that that one something won't bother you because it doesn't matter anymore, breaking down over that one something, getting comforted, and then vowing it won't happen again, only for the cycle to repeat.
Chapter 9: Seungkwan Boo
Summary:
"I’m often terribly and
cantankerously melancholic, irritable—
yearning for sympathy
as if with a kind of hunger and thirst.I become indifferent, sharp
and even pour oil in the flames if I don’t
get sympathy."— Vincent van Gogh, A Letter to Theo
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The last time Jeonghan had put on makeup, he remembered it being the night of his college graduation, lips smothered with the faintest pink and the sheerest gloss, eyeliner electric blue, and cheeks tinted with cherries and freckles, bright-eyed and hopeful. He recalled because it was also the first time he found comfort in the tiled exterior of a bathroom, the walls of the room he was in vibrating with the loud bass from the raging music below, floors almost rattling in time with the muffled beats and drops that were pounding on the door he hastily locked.
It wasn’t even past eleven when he felt something clawing out of his throat, tears clouding his already hazy vision as he tried to make sense of why he suddenly felt so little when it was just three hours ago when he stood tall and proud on a high platform, diploma on hand and a promise of change in his heart, the speeches he heard that evening boosting his morale, making him optimistic for his future, shrouding his core with wisdom about bravery and courage to chase one’s dreams.
“You can do it,” one of the speakers said, and he believed, for three hours he believed it, and it only took about thirty minutes and a dumb party to tore that enthusiasm away right from his hands.
Jeonghan had always been filled with pride, and for someone who claimed to not care about what people thought of him, he was oddly too interested about what they said about him, feeding on their hushed praises and blatant admiration in secret, picking out the prettiest words he heard someone describing him and writing the adulation all over the walls of his insides, obsessing over the flattery when the night was at its darkest, refusing to accept the fact that the acclamation he was receiving were the only good thing in his life, a false light that mimicked the rays of sun, comforting him while he ignored how bleak his life was.
He wasn’t a narcissist, he had made that clear with himself before, aware that if given a chance, his parents would have him switched for someone who had a goal in life, and really, he couldn’t blame them because he knew if he was in their position, he would do the same, so he knew that he was a waste of space obsessing over the way the people around him praise his good looks and false façade of being put together just to keep himself from falling apart.
And that was the thing, he knew he wasn’t as important as everyone was saying so he didn’t know why he was curling in on himself at the farthest corner of the house he was in, the party around him raging as he did his best to stop unraveling, the claws on his neck squeezing his airways, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
He didn’t want to admit anything, not even to himself but it was hard to evade the ugly voice throwing a tantrum from inside him, its cries echoing around the hollow space of his chest, scratching the walls of his torso and wailing, desperate for attention, furious at the lack of praises he received that night. It was dumb, it was so stupid but Jeonghan couldn’t blame the monster inside him for its animosity, the night was young and the future was daunting, and the speeches he heard during the graduation ceremony was faltering the more he spent his time alone and ignored.
Green bled where he was clawed and scratched, the monster that was envy growling lowly through his ears, whispering words that did nothing to nurse his deflating ego, squeezing his body tight with grotesque contempt, and reminding him of his unseemly reality.
“You can’t do anything,” it mumbled, and he believed, unaware that for the rest of his life, he would continue believing that fucking notion, but that didn’t cross his mind, not that night because he was too busy getting himself away from the crowd that didn’t pay attention to him, tearing his body from Jiae who had caught him by the arm, asking if he was alright with Sujeong by her side.
“I’m fine,” he remembered saying, backing away from his two best friends because they were having a good time, he knew because his eyes had never left them for the longest of time, the taste of his strawberry gloss melting on his tongue as he chewed on them, idly wondering what it felt like to be as confident as them, dancing with strangers and laughing with them- open and wild, brave and happy.
“I’m fine,” he repeated when Sujeong asked again, bidding them goodbye even before they could say anything else, afraid that he’d lash out on them, afraid that envy would leak right out of his mouth and unto the world, and they didn’t deserve to witness that, his friends didn’t deserve to see that monster out in the open.
So he blindly went upstairs, one hand bracing himself on muted walls as he stumbled like a drunkard, the other holding his sanity tightly together, staggering inside a bathroom that rivaled the cold malice seeping in the cracks of his core, locking the door behind him as he gasped for air, fingertips digging themselves on cold marble, his reflection distorted on the mirror staring back at him.
Looking back, he wondered if things had gone differently if he didn’t like the way his mascara bled from his eyelashes and down to his cheeks so much, the tear tracks painted in the darkest black marring his whole look in a way that had him smiling bitterly in front of the mirror, his hands clenched tightly on the sink in an attempt to resist the default urge of fixing something that was broken, of cleaning up a mess that could easily be wiped away but right then, he recalled how he found it useless, found it pointless because put together or not, it didn’t matter.
Envy was a monster that fed even on the shallowest things.
Envy was the ugliest horror that controlled his mind.
For a short moment, envy was him.
Time was irrelevant inside that bathroom, and he knew he would hate himself in the morning but he couldn’t help but give in on his body’s pleas, knees buckling under his weight, back welcoming the sheer cold of the tiled floor underneath him, unbothered whether it was clean or not, frost seeping from his clothes to his skin, and to his bones, stroking the envy wrecking havoc inside him, his own voice comforting the monster with soothing words of, “It doesn’t matter,” more tears spilling from his eyes, “It never mattered,” he repeated, his lips moving on his own, “Nothing ever mattered.”
Everything was still when he felt his envy shrink into nothing but a numbing void, his whole body coated with green, skin stained with mascara and tears, and by the corner of the ceiling where his eyes were trained on, a spider weaved its web across the ceiling, moving with precision, moving with ease, and a part of him wanted to stand up, to shoo it away but he didn’t, he couldn’t, too transfixed with the way it swung around, too bewitched with the way the webs adorned the pale ceiling.
“Why are you hanging out with me?” he heard Vernon ask, successfully pulling him out of trance, his head throbbing slightly when he was met with his own reflection, lips oddly sheer and pink, skin glowing with misplaced highlighters, “Are the old people busy?” the younger one wondered, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but tear his eyes away from himself and to the florist, his eyes wide and bright with strokes of glitter.
Between the shame he felt for his breakdown when he found out that Jun remembered, and kissing Seungcheol during their hiking trip, he didn’t know what he could discuss without feeling like a little shit for hiding from the people involved, so he evaded the question instead because avoiding had always been one of his strongest suit.
“We’re not that old, Vernon,” he breathed out, standing up from the seat in front of the younger’s vanity, and plopping on the floor where the other man laid- feet in the air, and fingers fiddling with the makeup he bought at three in the morning.
“Soonyoung said you’re into dabbing,” Vernon muttered, grinning at him as he pulled himself into a sitting position, grabbing another package from his stack of late night shopping spree, and hacking it open with scissors that looked too sharp for him to be using, “You are old,” he chuckled, coy and teasing, “I bet you used to teach people how to dougie.”
Vernon was a child, and he was exactly who Jeonghan needed to escape his predicaments for awhile, his smile soothing the simmering turmoil just below the surface of the garden in his chest, “I’m not into dabbing,” he huffed out, shuffling closer to peek at the other man’s purchase and to make sure he wasn’t going to cut himself with the blades he was holding haphazardly on his hand, “I don’t even know what dougie means.”
“Whatever,” Vernon murmured, waving his denials away and smiling widely at him as he held up a box of multicolored polishes, “Do you want me to paint your nails?”
Jeonghan said yes just so he could have an excuse to stay longer, sending a group text to his friends informing them that he was with Vernon because he was then a responsible member of a social circle that didn’t want to make anyone worry and make anyone think that there was something wrong even when there really was something wrong, putting his phone on silent before settling himself in front of Vernon.
“So what’s up?” the younger one asked, peering up at him through light eyelashes, the smell of the mandarin pie they shared just half an hour ago gone and was replaced with the strong smell of nail polish, pungent and overwhelmingly sweet, perfectly comparable to the other man’s apparent curiosity as to why they were idly hanging out in his apartment instead of showing up at Coffee Express, “Is there something bothering you? Like something you can’t talk about with the others?”
Jeonghan wondered then why he had to be friends with people who cared enough to study each other, all of them almost already familiar with one’s body language and speech. It irked him because he had never been too good at not letting his emotions show on his face, but it endeared him nevertheless because he knew that they were the only people in the world that would understand what he was going through and stay with him.
Their friendship was a double-edged sword, at least in his eyes it was, taxing because he still wasn’t used to being surrounded by such amazing people, and alleviating because they were amazing people.
“There’s nothing bothering me,” he mumbled, amused at the color selection Vernon laid out for him, pastels of green, pink and red meekly staring up at him, choosing to ignore his fondness for his friends to extinguish the guilt growing under his ribs, “Do you think green suits me?” he asked, picking up the bottle that coincidentally named Envy just because he could, staring back at the monster that had been looming over him for days, paws tainted with a sickly hue of olive that he hated.
“No,” Vernon replied, grabbing the polish from between his fingers with a slight frown, “This one suits you,” he chirped, picking out the prettiest pink he had ever seen, dainty and faint, “Because you’re kind, and nice, and soft,” the florist cooed, Jeonghan’s heart sighing painfully in contempt at the sentiment.
“I don’t think I’m like that, Vernon,” he muttered, his eyes stinging as he remembered how bitter he felt when he found out that Jun remembered, not even recognizing envy engulfing his consciousness as he called Seungcheol, making him drive all the way from his office and to where he was, probably forcing the other man to abandon his work that was much, much more important than him just because he was being a brat over something no one could even control, not his friends, and most definitely not Jun.
“You only think that because you’re nice to everyone but yourself,” Vernon mumbled, shrugging with nonchalance as he gently took one of his hands, placing it on top of his knee and inspecting his nails with guarded concern, and Jeonghan suddenly want to pull away, his argument about the other’s statement dying on his tongue when he heard him mutter, “You used to chew on them, huh?”
“When I’m nervous, yes,” he answered, itching to hide his fingers away from Vernon’s calculating eyes, feeling bare and vulnerable all of a sudden as scorching shame licked his cheeks, startled when the younger one raised his head, squinting at his face and humming silently, like he was trying to solve something, like he was trying to figure him out.
“And now you chew on your lips?” Vernon asked, nodding when he found himself answering with a timid, “Yes,” watching his friend crawl to where his stack of packages were, and pulling out a box of lip balm, scurrying back closer to him and handing it to him, “Here,” he grinned, “That ought to help your lips heal!”
They wouldn’t- Jeonghan would know because he tried it before, used just about every lip balms known to men and finished every tube in just weeks, none of them working because the real problem was him , chewing on his lips as soon as he applied the balm, transferring the taste of fragrant fruits on his tongue, and pulling the skin on his lips between sharp teeth even before it had any chance to heal.
“Thank you,” he maundered still because he didn’t have the heart to tell the other man the truth, sliding the box in his bag just as Vernon started applying the polish on his nails, humming softly while he worked, grateful and at the same time distressed for the silence that fell over them, his mind already whirring as it pointed out how heavy the makeup on his face felt, self-control wavering when all he wanted to do was lick the gloss on his lips away, chew on them just so he could stop being so hyperaware of everything.
Vernon’s room was small, big enough for him to have a decent bed and a couple of drawers and vanity but small enough for Jeonghan to feel like he needed to make himself tinier, his legs folding themselves close to his chest, an arm hugging them even closer, chin resting on one of his knees as he watched Vernon carefully paint his nails, his breathing deliberately turning shallower and shallower when he suddenly noticed the window just behind the other man, shut closed and curtains drawn, his skin prickling with something akin to apprehension.
He blinked.
Once, twice, and then thrice.
Forcing himself to ignore the locked window, he busied himself by looking around, swallowing hard as he made a mental list of what was inside Vernon’s room, of how pretty his bed sheet was, beige and white, the same colors that adorned his pillow cases, his tongue unknowingly swiping itself on his lower lip when his eyes met a couple of pictures he had given the other man taped on the wall just above his bed, messily strewn about with teddy bear stickers, his heart sinking when he noticed one particular picture of him and Seungcheol with Jun and Minghao, a shot taken by Vernon himself when they were playing scrabble when Jihoon brought the board game at Coffee Express one night, the whole group almost getting thrown out after arguing over the correct spelling of chartreuse.
Envy was a creature of the dark.
Envy was a tragedy that won and controlled his future before.
For the longest of time, even without envy in his system, it still haunted him for the chaos it caused.
And Jeonghan couldn’t believe that even with the experience, he was still none the wiser, choosing to bask under the glowering frost of envy instead of his friends’ comforting warmth, guilt still growing ugly vines across his chest even when he was aware that Jun and Minghao wouldn’t hold anything against him, that if he could just step back and look at the bigger picture, he’d see that it wasn’t even about him at all, that Jun remembering didn’t have anything to do with him, and whatever he felt, no matter how many tears he shed, if he just talked to his friends about it, he’d be pulled in a hug and assured that his feelings were valid.
His lips tasted of cherries, he thought, its flesh slotting perfectly between his teeth, soft and plump, and beside Vernon’s bed, a small table was placed, a book of flowers perched on top with a digital clock and a vase of tulips- Vernon’s room was pretty, suffocating but really pretty, and his lips were destroyed within a minute, comforting, painful but eerily comforting, the ghost of Seungcheol’s lips on his drawing the taste of metallic blood on his mouth, drowning out the hints of tart stone fruits from his taste buds.
It was just a kiss, he was agonizingly aware of that.
But what he was also arduously aware was that it was envy that pushed him to do it.
“Can I ask you a question?” he suddenly blurted out, pulling out a surprised curse from Vernon, immediately sucking his lower lip in his mouth and hiding it from the other man when he fixed him a curious look, muttering a small, “Shoot,” before ducking his head back down again, taking his other hand and placing the other one to the side.
“How did you know you like Chan?” he breathed out, not really sure why he was suddenly asking about that but it was the first thing that came into his mind, and he would gladly take any sort of distraction he could get if it meant not stewing on the guilt of letting envy take control of his life for a moment.
“I don’t know,” the younger one shrugged, tilting his head from side to side as he inspected his nails, sparing him a look before dipping a brush on his baby pink polish, “It just kind of developed over time.”
He nodded dumbly after that, racking his brain for something that he could say to get the conversation flowing, setting aside the random facts he read about tigers the night before when Soonyoung sent him a video of a cub, promptly wishing that he could reach inside his bag and pull out his stack of index cards, Caesar Flickerman appearing just before his frustration turned to tears.
“Ask him how he told Chan,” the host whispered, and so he did.
“Is this what’s bothering you?” Vernon exclaimed, raising his head up to look at him incredulously, Jeonghan swatted Caesar hard on his arm, earning himself a mischievous grin and a shrug, “You want to say you like Seungcheol but you didn’t know how so you’re asking me for an advice?”
“No,” he shook his head, momentarily confused as to who he was talking to, telling the host inside his head to leave him alone, and then turning to the florist in front of him, “No, just please answer the question?”
Vernon stared at him quizzically for a second, heaving a sigh when he returned to his nails, “I didn’t have to tell him,” he answered, the corners of his mouth curving into a small smile, and as much as Jeonghan was glad that the other man had the decency to not point out his chewed-out lips and the red embers of his cheeks, he was endeared how easily the other melted at the mention of his boyfriend, “He knew.”
“He knew?” he echoed back, thoroughly enchanted by how the pink on his nails seemed to transfer through the other’s skin, his whole body emitting a kind of glow that Jeonghan could only describe as fuzzy and soft, his own bitter sentiments forgotten.
“Yeah, he knew,” Vernon whispered, his answer clipped and short, like he was holding back a secret, like he was replaying every moment he had shared with Chan, sighing dreamily at whatever it was that flashed his mind, and Jeonghan wondered if that was the look Jiae and Sujeong was always referring to, fake gagging and calling him out whenever he thought of Seungcheol, his heart jumping as he recalled soft dimples and much softer umber eyes.
“Ask him how did they become a couple,” Caesar whispered from somewhere at the back of his mind, and he did, successfully pulling Vernon out of his pensive stupor, and prompting him to look back at him again with the same incredulous look as before, mouth opening and closing for a little while before he shook his head, probably swallowing a coy remark, then answering his question instead.
“We just did,” Vernon said, his voice dripping with ardor despite the amusement dancing behind his eyes, his touch tender and his strokes slow and precise, “One day,” he started, “Someone flirted with him, and then he pointed at me,” he looked up, stars blinking back at him, “He called me his boyfriend, and I’m still his boyfriend until now.”
“It couldn’t be that easy,” he marveled in awe, the envy hovering over his body draping itself across his shoulders, much less cruel and vicious, expressing an equal amount of curiosity as him, purring just under his collar like he was a street cat and not the monster that pushed him to believe that nothing mattered.
“Attraction is normal, you know?” Vernon chuckled quietly, closing the bottle of clear coat as he continued smiling at him, the smell of rich lacquer filling his senses, “And love is easy to act upon when you’re aware of the worst case scenario.”
“Worst case scenario?” he echoed back, retracting his hands from Vernon, and holding them up in front of him, speckles of dust dancing around his fingers that were painted like the hue of pink that fluttered underneath Seungcheol’s skin when it was cold, or when they were drunk in laughter, his heart aching at the thought of his own worst case scenario, envy nuzzling closer when a gust of insecurity momentarily blew over the hearth at the center of his chest, ache holding his heart hostage, “Like when your love is unrequited?”
“What?” Vernon exhaled, his smile falling just slightly, his voice faltering, “God, no.”
And Jeonghan didn’t know why he felt shame tinting his insides with red, realizing then that he probably missed another mark, that he wasn’t looking at the bigger picture, focusing yet again on himself, “Then what is the worst case scenario?” he asked, flinching slightly when he heard his voice break, his arms back around his knees.
“Dying and taking all your love to the grave with you,” Vernon muttered, his answer peppering goosebumps all over his body, shuddering when a shudder ran through his spine, “Dying and not telling the people you love that you love them,” he continued, the stars in his eyes misted with something cloudy, “Dying and robbing the world of how beautiful your love could be,” he beamed, “That’s cruel, you know? For the people around you and for yourself.”
Jeonghan blinked.
Once, twice and then thrice.
The sun was already at its highest when he and Seungcheol both reached the end of the trail, his breathing rugged and his chest containing a raging storm that filled his system with familiar comfort, cackles of thunder and flashes of lightnings darting across the horizon above his sated garden, the hearth that Seungcheol always stoked with his smile and his gentle touches spreading all over his body, the flames harmlessly licking the flowers that decorated his core, providing his teeming garden a gradient of warm apricots and crimsons.
“You keep on surprising me, Jeonghan Yoon,” he heard Seungcheol laugh, beads of sweat glistening from where they formed just below his hairline, his cheeks flushed with peach, and his mouth pulled in the widest grin- Jeonghan could only think that it was the happiest he had seen him since they met, “I really thought you wouldn’t make it.”
“I almost didn’t,” he breathed out, chuckling as he did his best to catch his breath, “I think my body thought of passing out thrice,” he stifled a groan, tilting his head from side to side, “My limbs feel like jelly.”
Jeonghan remembered looking at the view in front of them then, acres of fields flourishing with greenery, a huge plantation of vegetables on the side, and a wide land covered with wild grass and flowers on the left, towering mountains stretching at the far horizon, a wall of rocks and tress that made the whole scene before him picturesque, the blue sky and the white cumulus floating above tying the whole painting of nature together, beautiful and yet Jeonghan wasn’t quite sure if he’d put himself through another strenuous hike ever again just to see that, a part of him understanding why anyone would want to, and another part confused as to why, turning to Seungcheol to ask him why he loved hiking so much, but his breath hitched instead, his heart racing from another reason that wasn’t because of the climb.
“What?” he exhaled, completely transfixed at the way Seungcheol looked at him, his body frozen under umber eyes, his question dying on his tongue when the other man stepped closer, his footfalls masked by the sounds of crisped leaves beneath their feet- he was breathtaking, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but compare the slopes of his cheeks with the hills surrounding them, his eyelashes reminding him of the wisps from the dandelions littered around the path they took, the curve of his lips and its color a perfect comparison to the plump apples that hung on trees from the orchard they passed through on the way to the hiking spot.
He was the view.
And as much as Jeonghan found that sentiment cheesy and dumb, there really wasn’t no denying that Seungcheol rivaled the beauty of the nature that breathed with life around them, his insides burning bright with both gaiety and thrill of the other man looking back at him with equal interest, his eyes glossy with something he hadn’t seen before, his expression ablaze with palpable and ardent pining.
There were times when Jeonghan wished he could read Seungcheol’s mind, wondering ever so often if he could handle the thoughts that ran through the other man’s head, the butterflies in his stomach already stirring at the idea of how much raw his statements could be, unfiltered and without restraints, the storm in his chest growing harsher and harsher as he pondered over the words the other could be thinking when their skins were touching, when there was nothing but an inch between their bodies, when they were looking at each other in silence.
He blinked.
Once, twice, and then thrice.
Just like what they were doing right then, hands almost touching, standing in front of each other with their eyes locked, Jeonghan wondered then what was on his mind, and really, it was useless to spend his time mulling over that when he knew he could just ask and Seungcheol would answer in a heartbeat, his fear momentarily forgotten when he heard himself ask, “What are you thinking?”
Seungcheol’s smile was then muted down to something much soft, heaving a sigh before he was answering his question, “You,” he whispered, their fingers linked under the burning rays of the sun, “I’m always thinking about you,” he started, sincerity dripping from his voice like honey on a summer day, “But right now I’m just really thankful.”
“Yeah?” he marveled, too enamored with the way Seungcheol held his gaze, thoroughly mesmerized by the whole scene playing in front of him to even think about the weight of the other man’s words, idly tracing his sentiments on the walls of his skull so he’d never forget, “For what?”
“For existing,” Seungcheol mumbled, his eyes briefly closing just in time for a warm gust of wind to push past them, tousling both of their hairs and prompting Jeonghan to raise one shaky hand, tuck ebony strands behind the other man’s ears while he continued etching flowery words wherever he could, “For finding me, I guess?” he heard him breath out, unsure and shy, “For staying.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that, Seungcheol,” he hummed, laughing under his breath because he found the whole situation utterly silly, not quite believing that someone was that grateful to him that they were thanking him for simply existing.
Seungcheol was incredibly ridiculous, and if not for the sting of the violent sunlight on his skin and the fire inside him, Jeonghan would’ve thought that he was dreaming, that he was passed out somewhere, spent and deranged but everything was real and they weren’t inside his head, not in the desolated wasteland of his dreams, not in the scripted vignettes of his daydreams, and even with that certainty, there was still an overwhelming urge inside him to slide his hand from behind Seungcheol’s ear down to his shoulder then to his chest just so he could feel his heartbeat beneath his palm.
“Thump, thump, thump,” it said, muffled yet raucous, and Jeonghan wondered if it was louder for Seungcheol, if it traveled all over his body like bass, if it clouded his mind, if it made breathing harder.
“I know you’re not doing this for me,” he heard the other man say, the vibrations of his voice making their way underneath the pads of his fingertips and unto his veins, his voice and his words making his heart race just as much as his heart did, “I’m aware that you’re trying to put yourself out here in the world for yourself but I just can’t help but be thankful still,” Seungcheol rambled, just like what he always did when he was nervous, just like what he always did when he didn’t want silence hanging between them, “Thank you for letting me hold your hand while you navigate your life.”
Seungcheol was too good to be true.
But he was.
And Jeonghan didn’t understand why he was so thankful.
“You’re thanking me for something like that?” he found himself saying, vision hazy as the storm surged inside him, “If anything, I feel like an inconvenience,” he said truthfully, unabashed and unafraid to say the notion that he knew would torment him, laying it all out in the open because he found no purpose in hiding them when Seungcheol was looking at him closely, seeing through his façade, soothing his apprehension even before it could take shape, “Not just to you but to our friends.”
“Don’t say that,” Seungcheol sighed, almost begging, “Never think like that.”
And Jeonghan knew he shouldn’t say that, Jeonghan was aware that he shouldn’t think like but it was hard not to, not when he spent a long time dealing with his issues alone, not when he was used to knives in his chest that when flowers started to bloom, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking how hard it must’ve been for his friends to plant blossoms and shine a light in a barren land.
“Cheol,” he muttered in defeat, his argument melting when Seungcheol fixed him a look and whispered a gentle, “Hannie,” in the air, telling him just how everyone was struggling with their lives too, and how he was helping them just as much as they were helping him, reminding him how relationships work, of how everything was a two-way street, always giving and taking, “Okay?”
“Okay,” he nodded, smiling because how could he not? In that moment, everything was good, everything was pretty and Seungcheol’s words made him feel safe and secure so he shook his anxiety away and believed that there were no reasons to doubt the bonds he made with his friends, “Okay,” he repeated, convincing himself that he deserved their kindness and their patience.
“And I like you,” Seungcheol beamed, squeezing his hand tenderly, his eyes glittering with something akin to adoration, “It’s surreal and honestly so pathetic how many oceans I’m willing to swim just for you but,” he continued, smile unwavering, “I like you, like a lot- as a person, as a friend, and whatever is beyond that.”
Having experienced isolating himself from other people for weeks, staying inside his apartment with all his windows closed and curtains drawn, Jeonghan thought that he already knew what real grief and misery felt, surrounded with dirty dishes and empty crisp packets, his whole room reeking of anguish, desperation, and tears, he thought that maybe that was what agony felt like, but as he stood in front of Seungcheol then, he couldn’t help but feel his insides churn at a new kind of suffering that came with his inability to say what he wanted to say, frustrated at despite being naturally honest with Seungcheol, he couldn’t bring himself to say that he liked him back, that he liked him so much, that he was thankful for his existence too, a pathetic, “Cheol,” rolling out of his mouth instead of the confession he so badly wanted to say.
“I know,” Seungcheol mumbled gently because of fucking course he knew, “I know, you don’t have to say anything because I know,” he assured, planting a quick kiss on his cheek before he was challenging him for a race, poking him on the side before they were sprinting down the trail, his melancholy laid forgotten where the mountains witnessed their exchange, laughter and harmless jokes thrown between the two of them while they did their best to outrun each other, Jeonghan’s heart soaring when the other man slowed down, giving him a win, and giving him a kind of happiness he only knew existed in the movies.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he heard Vernon ask, shaking his head as he pulled himself out of his thoughts, the butterflies in him half fluttering with the memory of that wonderful morning, and the other half twitching with dread at the memory of what happened that night, “I can’t really say anything to Chan yet so?”
“What is it?” he maundered, watching the younger florist with keen eyes, curious and a little bit worried with what he was going to say.
“I think I might like someone,” Vernon started, staring up at him when he let out a strangled, “What?” confused and was then really worried with what the other had said, “It’s not like I want to leave Chan,” he continued, sighing deeply as he visibly collected his thoughts, a moment of silence passing over them before he was speaking again, “It’s just that this person, what I feel for him, it’s the same feeling I have with Chan and it’s confusing to me.”
“Who?” he asked cautiously, nodding in earnest when Vernon made him promise not to tell anyone, guilt marring the innocence in his face as he talked to him about the person who was regularly visiting the flower shop in the morning, keen on talking about different kinds of flowers despite only ever getting baby’s breath with his every visits.
“Chan likes talking to him too, you know?” Vernon mumbled, a small smile ghosting over his mouth, “There were times Sujeong would berate the two of us for spending so much time talking to him,” he chuckled, taking a moment before he was telling him about the other person again, a serene look flashing over his features when he told him about his baby pink hair, not too long but enough to fall over his eyes when he was ducking, or when he was laughing too hard, “He’s like a peach,” he marveled out loud, “His skin is smooth, and he has the lightest fuzz I’ve ever seen.”
“What’s his name?” he asked, entranced by the way Vernon described the stranger softly, the words he used to construe the person warming his heart for a second. He was kind, he said, once bringing in a stray cat with him because he said it was getting picked on by kids, ferocious too, he muttered, the vilest of threats rolling out of his tongue when a rude and homophobic customer dropped by with insults on his tongue.
“Seungkwan Boo,” Vernon answered in his quietest voice, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but taste the sea in his mouth, sounds of seagulls floating above his head.
His name sounded like summer, he thought as they moved on, finding themselves on the way to Coffee Express.
“Jeonghan,” he saw Minghao sent an hour ago, “Is there a problem?” his next message said.
And Jeonghan would be lying if he said he didn’t feel bad because he did, halting in the middle of the street to send a long-due reply, “I’m the problem,” he typed, sending it hastily as Vernon turned to look at him, envy still purring from somewhere inside his head, “When I found out Jun remembered, I felt resentful when I should be happy,” he sent, breathing deeply as he told his friend the truth, “I’m sorry for keeping my distance, I just don’t know how to face you and Jun after my breakdown because I know I was being selfish.”
“And you’re being stupid right now,” he received almost immediately, grateful that Vernon quietly waited for him by the sidewalk, “We understand, and the only thing you should be sorry for is that you still haven’t told us what happened to your hiking date with Seungcheol,” the next message read, making his eyes water and his heart jump, “Please stop being an idiot and come to Coffee Express right now. I know it’s only been two days but I miss you and your whiny ass.”
“There’s someone they want us to meet, Jeonghan,” he heard Chan mumbled, smiling as he looked up at him, “Seokmin’s friend,” he explained, and Jeonghan could only nod, hastily typing an, “I miss you too,” to Minghao and a bunch of heart emojis to Jun who had sent him a series of heart and bread emojis, “I don’t think we’d be able to see him, though. They said he was in a bit of a hurry.”
“Did they say what the friend’s name was?” he asked, walking just beside Vernon who shrugged, “Another addition to our ever growing circle, huh?” he chuckled, oddly not worried about their expanding friend group, a part of him wondering if Seokmin’s friend was a part of their past too or not, elated and giddy when Jihoon’s sentiment crossed his mind, of him thinking that they were all platonically soulmates, destined to meet, destined to find each other.
The moon was bright as it shone down at them, it’s luminescence reminding him so much of how softly the same light caressed Seungcheol’s face, poking at the envy that had been lingering around him, jealousy flaring from the cracks of his heart and unto his veins, settling just underneath the pads of his fingers, his hands immediately finding themselves on either side of the other man’s face even before he could recognize the green that oozed from his wounds inside, utterly transfixed at how beautiful Seungcheol looked under slivers of the moon light that went through his windshield.
“Hello,” Seungcheol blinked, cheeks dusted with the faintest shade of pink and mouth parted, surprised and painfully in awe, “Mine,” his brain chanted as he let his thumbs draw circles on his skin, utterly enamored by the way the light he envied so much bleeding from his fingers and to the other man’s face, agitation nowhere to be found as he let himself be fueled by the desire of wanting, of claiming.
“Hi,” he breathed out, scooting closer just because he could, just because he felt brave, letting his eyes wander from Seungcheol’s glimmering eyes, to the gentle slope of his nose, and to his crimson-stained lips, the pulse under his fingertips racing, and for a moment, he wondered if it was his or Seungcheol’s, the very thought of the possibility that they felt the same sort of veneration while looking at each other making head spin.
And then he was surging forward, jealous at the way the moon touched the other man, covering his lips with his for a second, the quick peck enough to wake his better judgment, his whole body buzzing to life at the contact, pulling away just as quickly as he closed the gap between them, smiling when Seungcheol looked just as daze as he felt, roses blooming just beneath his skin, pretty lips still slightly parted in wonder, “Jeonghan.”
“Let’s go home, Cheol,” he mumbled, turning away from Seungcheol and curling on his side, closing his eyes and surrendering to sleep with the satisfaction of one-upping the moon above, hoping that the kiss was enough for the other man to fully understand that he liked him a lot, and God, maybe it was, because Seungcheol planted another chaste kiss on his lips when he was dropped off in front of his apartment with gentle hands caressing his face, a sweet distraction that lasted until the next morning, dread filling his head the moment he woke up, envy blinking down at him with a knowing smirk and calculating eyes.
“Jeonghan!” he heard someone call out as the smell of butter and coffee filled his senses, still in some sort of trance when he was pulled in a tight embrace, his heart fluttering when he felt a familiar metal name tag digging on his chest.
“Jun,” he breathed out, arms automatically locking around the barista’s waist when he found himself anchored in the present, eyes closed as he profusely apologized, only ever stopping despite the other man’s dismissals when Minghao joined the hug, pinching them both for blocking the door, and for being two idiots.
“We’re your idiots,” Jun chuckled when they pulled away from each other, and it shouldn’t be that easy, to fall back in their usual banter when he was on the brink of falling apart just half an hour ago, when they were just all hurt moments ago, but it was Jun and Minghao and him, and they were friends, and maybe it was really supposed to be that way, to make a mistake, stew on it, acknowledge what you had done, ask for forgiveness and be forgiven.
Maybe that was just it, and Jeonghan wondered if he had just faced his friends back then, if he had swallowed the pride he didn’t know he had, admitted his faults, would he have saved the bridge they’ve spent building for half of his life?
Maybe his friends then and his currents friends were just different.
Maybe it was just maturity.
“What happened with Seungcheol?” Minghao muttered under his breath, his heart doing somersaults at the mention of the name, swallowing hard when he was lead by the counter where Jun immediately manned the register, skin warm when he felt one familiar pair of eyes following his movements, “It didn’t go well?”
“What?” he maundered, blinking as perfectly painted nails dug harmlessly on his palms, “Why are you asking me that?” his defenses standing alert as apprehension bled from the crescents on his skin, “Did he- did he say something?”
Minghao fixed him a look of curiosity, eyebrow raised as he answered cautiously, like he was afraid that he was going to say the wrong thing, and he would bolt, and maybe he would, even with his realization about how owning up and forgiveness could be easy, with Seungcheol, he was still unsure, a tad bit wary, a tad bit anxious, “No,” he heard his friend drew out, “It’s just that,” Minghao blinked, “He’s been pouting and sulking.”
Pouting and sulking.
They were comically things Seungcheol would definitely do, and it was so dumb how he found that fact stupidly cute, even with the nervous beats of his heart, even with agitation dripping from his hands, Jeonghan couldn’t believe how he was finding everything outrageously adorable, warm fondness blooming from the hearth Seungcheol had kept going in his chest, thawing out the frost of guilt that formed in his airways.
“What happened?” Jun echoed his boyfriend’s question, the concern in his voice palpable, and Jeonghan really couldn’t lie then, not when he didn’t find no reason to hide what happened, not when thinking about it, thinking about how beautiful that day was, had shooed all the dark thoughts in his head away, the envy nuzzling under his skin turning docile and blithe.
Envy was then just a creature that wanted.
Envy was then just a heartfelt yearning that turned his thoughts soft.
For a brief moment, envy was him.
And it was okay.
“I kissed him,” he breathed out, looking from Minghao, and then to Jun, a spark of euphoria lighting his whole body up, the embers on his cheeks bristling with warmth as he was instantly taken back on the top of the trail, lips tingling and nerves aflame, the edges surrounding his better-judgment tuning soft, “Then he kissed me.”
It was Jun’s turn to blink, his eyes alight with both amazement and confusion, “And then what?”
Jeonghan stared back at him, noting just how eerily Minghao’s eyes looked the same as his, a sense of disconnect obvious in their faces, “And then I,” he muttered out, his mouth moving even before he had the time to think about what to say, “I disappeared for a day,” honesty laying heavy on his tongue, floating out of his lips, and then stabbing him straight through the healing wound on his heart, his mind whirring to life as he thought about what Seungcheol must’ve felt during his silence after the kiss, what must’ve gone through his mind as he pouted and sulked, ignored and set aside, “Fuck.”
“Oh,” Minghao drew out.
“I should talk to him,” he mused dumbly, forcing the jitters in his body to go away as he clenched his teeth and halted his brain from forming hundreds of words and thousands of excuses, refusing his mind to go haywire even before he could say what he wanted to say, do what he wanted to do, and for the first time in his life, he found himself heading towards something without collecting his thoughts, trusting his heart to do what was right for once, “I’ll be right back,” he mumbled before taking out his phone, his feet leading him out of the café as he typed in a quick message for Seungcheol, asking him to meet him outside while butterflies flocked around his heart.
The night was pretty even through the fog in his mind, his eyes automatically landing on the moon that had always watched his every move, grinning down at him like a Cheshire cat who knew exactly what mischief he did, the same light it used to bathe Seungcheol in touching his skin apologetically, the stars who showed up with it winking dimly at him, squeezing out a soft smile from him because it was stupid, so, so stupid to be jealous of the moon for having the luxury of doting on people without any precautions, of adoring everyone underneath it, and of being adored back just by existing.
“Hey,” he heard someone say, breathy and almost laced with the same nervousness running though his veins, his heart hopping in gaiety when his eyes found Seungcheol, his hair already tousled by the evening breeze, his skin already flushed with the lightest coral, “You want to talk?” he asked, almost unsure, and almost shaky- Jeonghan missed him, and Jeonghan was slightly resentful for what he did, for what he put the other man through.
“I’m sorry,” was the first words that came out from his mouth, and maybe they could’ve went somewhere more private, somewhere people weren’t walking back to and fro, somewhere that didn’t drown with the sound of traffic and footfalls but right then, standing on the pavement just outside the café that held his fondest memories, staring at the person who warmed his entire being, it felt intimate, it felt raw and personal so he kept going, telling Seungcheol about the envy he felt whenever he watched Jun and Minghao talk and touch and kiss, “I wanted that, you know?” he mumbled before he talked about the envy he felt over how easily the moon could touch him when he found it hard at times.
“I was jealous,” he confessed, the tips of his ears burning bright when the corners of Seungcheol’s mouth curled, a small smile ghosting over his lips, barely-there and yet, still causing a thousand of storms in his chest, “It was silly, okay? To get jealous over the fucking moon but I was,” he continued, hands clenched into fists, “So I kissed you, and I felt so bad for kissing you because I thought it was just out of jealousy and I- it’s not supposed to be that w-”
“Thought?” Seungcheol chimed, his stance straight and the usual air of confidence in his voice back, “You thought you kissed me because you’re jealous,” he recounted, walking up towards him in small and sure steps, “So what’s the real reason you kissed me, then?”
Jeonghan could smell him, and it was so surreal how much he smelled like the Seungcheol in his dreams, his head spinning when he breathed in, tasting the artificial fruits on his tongue, coating his airways with familiarity that eased his apprehension, “I want to kiss you because I like you,” he answered, blinking up at Seungcheol whose smile stayed faint, the glitter in his eyes shimmering in a way that rivaled the city sky above, “I like you,” he repeated because it felt good to say, flowers blossoming where envy scratched him so many years ago, his shoulders light, and his whole body on fire.
“I want to hold your hands, and I want to touch you, and I know I can already do that but I want to do it more,” he forged on, the lilt in his voice silky and soft through his ears, his honesty dancing around him in circles, “I kissed you because you looked beautiful under the moon,” he reasoned out loud, vision almost blurry with how happy and brave he felt, his heart soaring, his breath hitching, “I kissed you because I like you and I want to keep doing it if you st-”
Seungcheol kissed him with the same gentleness he did the other night in front of his apartment, his lips just as soft as it felt before, the kiss just as breathtaking as their first and second, and even before he could pull away, even before he could look at Seungcheol in the eyes to see if he had the same look as that night, large and delicate hands slid on either side of his face, holding him in place, careful and as tender as he was held when he broke down.
Jeonghan felt cherished, and Jeonghan felt thoroughly treasured, his own hands unfurling and finding their way around Seungcheol’s waist, holding unto him tightly when thousands of feather-light kisses were placed on his lips, his mouth opening on instinct on the thousand and first, gasping softly when his tongue met Seungcheol’s- the kiss was candied and sweet, and his tongue tasted of chai and cinnamon, the kiss was comforting, and Seungcheol was even more.
And no one could blame Jeonghan for crying as they pulled away from each other, his face buried on the crook of the other man’s neck when he was gathered in an embrace, warm, tight and safe, and Jeonghan couldn’t quite believe how revered it felt to be kissed and touched like that, his heart still skipping when soft pecks were placed on top of his head, and then on his temple as assurances were whispered on his skin.
He had no reason to be sorry, Seungcheol promised, openly saying that a part of him felt sad when he didn’t hear anything from him the following day, “But I understand,” he added, his fingers running through his locks, “I understand, and I’m not going to force you to talk to me when something’s bothering you but,” he heaved a sigh, “Please talk to me, alright? I’ll listen, and we’ll figure everything out.”
“Okay,” he muttered, his whole body aflame when he finally had the courage to look up at the other man, laughter falling from both of their mouths when their eyes met, their cheeks wet and tinted red, “I missed you,” he whispered, blinking away his tears and beaming when Seungcheol sighed, saying that he missed him too before placing another tender kiss on his lips.
“You taste like strawberries,” Seungcheol mumbled on the corner of his mouth, his thumb drawing circles on his cheek, “I never liked strawberries until now,” he stated, grinning down at him when he spluttered out an embarrassed squeak, a bright flash from their right and the familiar sound of camera going off popping the small bubble that shrouded them from the world.
“We get it,” Soonyoung yelled from the entrance of Coffee Express, his camera on one hand and a polaroid film on the other, “You like each other and stuff,” he laughed as Sujeong faked a gag beside him, “Can you guys hang out with us already? We’re all feeling particularly needy tonight.”
He shook his head at that, his cheeks almost hurting with how wide he was smiling, his heart almost bursting to the seams with happiness when familiar fingers slotted themselves between his, “Let’s go?” Seungcheol asked, and all he could do was nod, ignore the way Soonyoung and Sujeong rolled their eyes, and focus on Seungcheol, determined to go with him wherever, convinced that inside his storm, he had nothing to be afraid of.
His hand remained held all throughout the night, his chest filled with the most beautiful seasons as the hearth in his middle stayed lit, warming him up in the right ways, and comforting the tides and waves inside his head- drinks were shared, and pastries were split in quarters, there was sugar in his system and chai on his tongue, and by the time their laughter died down, and their eyes started drooping, a plethora of good nights had been given away, hugs and claps on the backs were distributed, and it was just him and Seungcheol again in front of his apartment.
“Give me your wallet,” he muttered as he rummaged for something in his bag, shaking his head with a smile when Seungcheol handed it to him, not even bothering to ask why, looking down at him with adoration despite the question swimming in his eyes, “Do you always give your wallet to people when they ask?”
“No, just to you,” Seungcheol answered, the familiar glint of playfulness shining in his eyes, “And if I’m being honest, you could ask for the sun, and I’ll probably find a way to give that to you too,” he shrugged, his grin ever so boyish and charming, and Jeonghan was aware he was joking but holding gaze right then, he couldn’t help but think that a part of him meant it.
“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered because it was either that or another lengthy ramble about how much he liked him, smiling as he pulled out the film he was looking for from his bag, the one that Soonyoung took, of him and Seungcheol standing close to each other, his arms around the other’s waist, and the lawyer’s hands on his face, a pretty picture he wanted to keep, but a picture he knew they could recreate again and again in the future so he slid it inside Seungcheol’s wallet instead, putting it over his own photograph, the one that the other man took on the first night they had dinner in his apartment, his gesture rewarded with another earnest kiss.
Seungcheol sent him another recording before midnight, the hour-long audio of the other man belting with the cheesiest romantic songs from the 90s blasting through his earbuds as he looked through his messages, sending everyone a chain of heart of emojis before clicking on the notification from Seokmin, his message sending a shiver down his spine.
“I met him,” the younger man sent the morning before, “It was a long shot because I didn’t know if he was real or not but when I met him in my dreams last night, I told him where he could find me if he wanted,” the message said, his heart racing for a reason he didn’t even know what, recalling what Vernon said about Seokmin wanting to introduce them to someone.
“He’s real, Jeonghan,” another message said, sent just the evening before, “He’s real, and his name is Jisoo Hong,” it read, his whole body turning frigid at the mention of name, “I’m bringing him to the café tomorrow. Come and meet him, okay?”
Jisoo Hong.
It couldn’t be him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked the second Jiae answered his call, the warmth surging through his veins replaced with slush, cold and biting, his eyes closed when his friend answered him almost immediately, “I didn’t think it matters, you know? It’s been so long, Jeonghan.”
But Jeonghan knew it still mattered.
No matter how long time had passed, there was no erasing what Jeonghan did to him.
“We’re all grownups now,” Jiae continued, her voice raspy through his phone, “I bet he understands why you did what you did before. Don’t worry about it, alright?” she assured, “I talked to him for a bit, he didn’t seem like he was holding any sort of grudge or whatever.”
“Yeah?” he asked, chewing on his lips as series of vignettes flashed in his mind, of most of his high school days spent with Jisoo, of afternoons playing the guitar in the park with him and his other friends, of evenings wasted on planning a life where they were all going to succeed in their chosen professions and buying houses beside each other, their bridge and all their dreams burning down to ashes when he started getting suffocated, leaving their messages on seen, not showing up during planned lunches and dinners, and ultimately letting their circle fall apart.
“Yeah,” Jiae chirped, “He’ll be back with Seokmin next week, I think,” she said, explaining to him that Jisoo had been looking for a job, and he might just try looking for one in the city, “Jihoon offered him a managerial position in his restaurant, maybe he’ll take that as his last resort.”
He slept that night dreamless again, waking up at four in the morning to a heavy feeling settling inside his stomach, his hands clamoring towards his phone, hoping that Seungcheol’s voice could help ease his discomfort.
It didn’t.
But he kept listening until the sun was painting his room bright, dread filling his body for the rest of the week.
Notes:
I wrote this when I was drunk.
Chapter 10: Jisoo Hong
Summary:
"Tell me,
now you are here,
will you wither or bloom?"— Ijeoma Umebinyuo, Questions for Ada: Pain
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
joshuahong reblogged rckstrgrlfrnd:
My brother cracked my rib one morning and gave half of his orange in the evening.
— Excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire by Ritika Jyala
joshuahong reblogged squareupgod:
I never asked where he went, worried he wouldn’t ask me to follow.
— M.L. Rio, If We Were Villains
joshuahong reblogged mango-season:
I’ve gotten so good
about not flinching at the sound of your name
that people don’t know I’d still throw myself
mouth-open into the ocean
for the chance to drown somewhere you might see it.— Trista Mateer, "Baggage", from Honeybee
joshuahong reblogged petey-piez:
i lost my best friend
i lost my best friend.
she’s— she’s not dead.
but i’ve lost her in the way
that we only talk
on birthdays.movies and books
only portray the kinds of
lost friendships where
there was a huge betrayal.
they don’t tell of the kind where
it’s the expo marker losing its
gloss after being left out to dry.they don’t tell of the
slowly sinking ship.
they don’t tell of the
fact that there weren’t enough
lifeboats for the two of you.
one of you were left on the
sinking ship.it wasn’t malicious when she left you
she just didn’t realize how important
that ship was to you.
she just saw it as one of many
that she’d be on in her life.they don’t tell of the
friendship that rots away like
decaying flesh from the bone.
they don’t tell you that the secrets
you shared beneath the stars or in
her furnace of a room in the late
hours of the night would be
locked in a little box you’d never
share with anyone else—(inspired by ritka jyala )
joshuahong posted:
You always say that I'm no good
Just as you walk out the door
I tell you that it breaks my heart
Because I've seen it all beforeBut I love you, yes I love you
You're my best friend
You're my best friend
- coral, My Best Friend
joshuahong reblogged alostloveletter:
If only my heart were as cold as I pretend it is, maybe I could get over this.
— Jessica Katoff
joshuahong reblogged araekni:
I may think of you softly from time to time. But I will cut off my hand before I’ll ever reach for you again.
— John Proctor, The Crucible
joshuahong reblogged ruinsofathen:
Oh, I could call you names now. List a hundred reasons for why you were awful. But what would that do? Where would it leave me? I still loved you. I still have to live with that.
— Sue Zhao
joshuahong reblogged frenchtoastlesbian:
losing people is so interesting bc like, no I don’t want to speak to you ever again. Yes I think about you on your birthday
joshuahong reblogged ph-logiston:
You meet people who forget you. You forget people you meet. But sometimes you meet those people you can't forget. Those are your 'friends.’
— Mark Twain
“What are you doing?” Jeonghan balked as he heard someone whisper beside him, fingers automatically locking his phone before looking at the man on his right, big brown eyes looking up at him with curiosity, an eyebrow raised delicately, “You’re not role-playing with Seungcheol, are you?” Seungkwan asked, his nose scrunched, “You guys are too old for that, you know?”
“And you, Chan and Vernon, aren’t?” he retorted, earning a squawk from the younger man and a chuckle from his own mouth when he watched the other flush, plump cheeks turning a bright shade of pink that would undoubtedly reap a flurry of coos and waxed poetics from his two boyfriends, “Teach Vernon how to withhold unnecessary information next time.”
“In defense, we were young,” Seungkwan rolled his eyes, sipping on his limeade before turning to look at him, “We did it once, okay?” he continued with a disgruntled sigh, flustered and obviously bemused at how quickly his jab turned against him, “I’m not going to tease you ever again, I’m sorry. How are you?” he asked, his smile sweet and his eyes silently begging to be let off, and really, Jeonghan could go on and on about the questionable things the trio did in the past but the younger one was asking him so nicely so he let out one final chuckle before answering his question.
“I’m honestly fine,” he breathed out, beaming when the other man squeezed his hand, grateful for the simple ministration because yes, it might be true that Jeonghan was feeling better but that didn’t mean that he was a hundred percent okay, a part of him still shaken up with the things that happened a week ago, a part of him still wishing for time to stop, just long enough so he could process every single changes in his life, just long enough for him to sort out his thoughts and feelings.
“You look sick, though,” Seungkwan mumbled, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but snicker bitterly because he did, his cheeks slightly hollow after a week of throwing everything up that he tried to put in his body, laying awake from night until dawn, breathing and living with just his friends’ warmth and iced coffee- it didn’t feel great too, that he felt sick from the inside, waving the nauseous feeling away for the mere purpose of not making Seungkwan any more worried for him, mentally wrapping his arms around his core, the flowers around its center wilting, falling on the ground just beneath his chest, the garden flourishing inside him pale and yellow.
“Grab me a chai latte?” he drew out, giving Seungkwan his most adorable pout because for one, he needed some time alone, even just five minutes, and two, he missed Seungcheol, the lawyer still away from a business trip that added fuel to his remorse and misery, and the taste of chai was the only thing grounding him despite his evening calls with the other, “I’ll be fine then.”
“Okay,” Seungkwan nodded, because of course he would, squeezing his hand before standing to queue for his requested drink, his heart aching a little as he watched the younger man fiddling with his sleeves, looking back at him from time to time.
“Seungkwan’s still my adorable feisty baby,” he remembered Chan comically wailing exactly one week ago, his heart beaten into pulp as he stood back with Minghao, letting the scene in front of them unfurl, utterly in pain and at the same time, enraptured by how the pale morning light bled from the rainbow-stained windows of The Bloom Room, spilling the prettiest of colors unto the shop, fresh flowers blooming around the trio who were holding each other, clinging tightly on one another with red tints on their cheeks, tears on their skin, and recognition in their eyes, “I can’t believe this, I can’t fucking believe this!”
And Jeonghan could say the same thing, his own eyes welling up with tears, thoroughly overwhelmed with what was happening, pulse pounding and head spinning at how both Seungkwan and Vernon accidentally brushed fingers, freezing for a moment before they were both on the ground, reeling with memories that came back to them within minutes, their bodies shaking violently, fingers threaded tightly through sweaty locks, a chain of “Stop,” and “Please” flowing out their mouths.
It was havoc, and then it was clarity, Chan’s presence anchoring the two in the present, his touch obviously providing comfort for the duo who blinked up at him in unison, arms encircling one another in a way that looked practiced, weaving under and over each other like they had been hugging each other their whole lives, and Jeonghan didn’t need to be a genius to confirm that they did, that they had indeed hugged each other that way before, his throat tightening when Chan caught his eyes, smiling at him and then at Minghao before he was pulling his two lovers closer to him.
“Do you want to go?” Minghao had asked then, his voice shaky and his fingers trembling, eyes glinting with both concern and happiness, and Jeonghan would’ve said yes, would’ve nodded his head to give the trio some time alone but it was hard to look away, it was so difficult for him to tear his gaze from the reunion, too entranced by how the three held and looked at each other, wordlessly piecing everything back from their shared history with soft touches and knowing looks.
“No,” he whispered absentmindedly, rooted on his spot as he wondered if his reunion with Seungcheol would be as pretty, if they would hold each other as close, if they would look at each other as tenderly, or would it be ugly, would it be filled with confusion just like when Vernon went up to him, holding his face as the other two crowded Minghao, thumbs drawing circle on his cheek as he stared back at the younger florist with eyes pooling with pain, “You,” he said, asking the very same question that he feared hearing, “What happened to you?”
“He didn’t mean it like that,” he recalled Jun saying that night because he couldn’t stop wanting, couldn’t stop himself from yearning for the past that seemed to be running away from his consciousness, couldn’t stop himself from wishing that he could remember what he was, of who he was just so he knew what to do, what to change, what to work on because God, being open and being vulnerable wasn’t going to cut it, not when he was falling for Seungcheol day by day, craving his presence wherever he went, longing for his touch and his warmth even when he was just beside him, and he couldn’t- Jeonghan didn’t even want to imagine a life without the other man as he moved forward so he had to know, he needed to know, to remember.
“I don’t want Seungcheol to leave me,” he muttered, his eyes burning and his heart aching, “I don’t want to lose you guys,” he continued, face buried on Minghao’s chest because he sounded so pathetic, so selfish, and he hated himself for feeling, for wanting, for not being able to stop his body from trembling, from breaking down again for the very same reason that he swore didn’t bother him anymore.
“That won’t happen,” Minghao whispered, fingers combing through his hair, his ministrations gentle and measured, his heartbeat quiet and serene, “That would never happen, okay?” he murmured thoughtfully, his sentiments comforting and warm, and all Jeonghan wanted was to stay there, his chest already aching at the thought of being alone in his apartment that night, “Because we remember you, we remember all of you, and we’re still here, aren’t we?”
Jeonghan couldn’t do anything but whimper helplessly because he was aware of that, he knew that he should trust them, that if there were any people in the world that would call him out on his bullshit, and tell him if he was doing something wrong, it would be them, it would be his friends who kept on being reincarnated to fill the world with kindness and sunshine, it would be Jihoon who had always watched the group and kept their banters friendly, it would be Jun who always seemed to know what to say, it would be Chan that wasn’t afraid to be honest but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that something was wrong with him, especially when Vernon’s question was still echoing in his mind, not when he knew he didn’t mean any harm and yet there was still pain blooming in his chest.
He wanted Seungcheol, and he felt so feeble then, to curl on Minghao’s lap and listen to his heartbeat and the muffled traffic of the metropolis but still pine for someone else, guilt creeping from the deepest part of his consciousness when he couldn’t stop himself for wishing that Seungcheol was there holding him, feeling miserable and sick at the staggering feeling of longing for the other man, for the safety and security his embrace provided, for the smell of tropical fruits on his shirt, for the chai on his tongue.
“We’ll never leave,” Minghao mumbled against his hair, rocking him back and forth, patting his back and smoothing his locks, “We’ve met much more annoying versions of you, Jeonghan,” he continued, his body turning lax as he heard Jun snort, muttering a quiet agreement while his boyfriend chuckled, “And you’ve met worse versions of us, too. But every single time, we always met half-way, always compromised, always stayed together.”
“Platonic soulmates,” he heard Jun add, the lilt in his voice tending over the hearth inside him that was usually looked after by Seungcheol, the flames in his chest dancing blithely, casting pretty shadows over the flowers around it, illuminating his garden with apricots and crimsons, “Jihoon said that, didn’t he? We’re all bound to meet because in a way, we complete each other.”
“I’m sorry,” he found himself saying, holding Minghao just as tight as he was being held because he felt like he was taking them all for granted, losing sight of what he vowed to do, to be a good friend to them, to take care and listen to them, to make them feel appreciated and loved because they deserved that, “I’m sorry for making everything about myself, I’m sorry for being selfish, for being weak. I-”
“Stop, Jeonghan,” Minghao sighed, pushing him gently and then taking his face in his hands, his eyes glistening with something akin to compassion, “When are you going to treat yourself nicely, huh?” he asked, and Jeonghan wanted to pull away, to curl in on himself and hide his face but Minghao was looking at him so tenderly, holding him so cautiously that he couldn’t bring himself to move, “You ask for help and you think you’re being a burden, something makes you sad and you think you’re being selfish? That’s- Jeonghan, I know it’s hard but I need you to understand that you’re not what you think you are.”
Jeonghan swallowed hard at that, remembering exactly what Vernon told him before, of him being nice to everyone but himself, and he didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to react because he hadn’t really thought about how he treated himself before, didn’t know that that was important, and even before more tears trickle down his face, Jun was speaking.
“You're not weak,” he heard him say, pretty neon lights from the buildings outside zooming in and out of his dark car, “This is you being brave, Jeonghan. You telling us what’s hurting you when you’d usually shut the world off is brave,” he continued, and Jeonghan stayed frozen in front of Minghao, his friend’s cheeks wet with his own tears, his smile small and barely there, “You letting us see you cry, you opening up to us, you calling the two of us up because you’re in pain is bravery. You have to stop basing what your tough looks like with other people’s.”
Looking back, he was glad that he listened, allowed Minghao and Jun to spend the night in his apartment with Seungcheol eating dinner on his laptop, clueless about his latest breakdown as the usual banters and laughter floated around his room, his friends preventing him from returning to his habit of locking himself in his bathroom, and giving him the opportunity to stew on his emotions, think about what they said in a place that didn’t reek of grief and bleach.
“Are you okay?” Seungcheol asked when both Minghao and Jun were already deep in sleep, the worry in his eyes notably present even through the screen, and Jeonghan didn’t know what pushed him to do it, to tell the other man about his dreams and reincarnations, of platonic soulmates and past lovers, he didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, but he talked and talked, blinking away his tears until the moon could no longer be seen, until the sun was peeking from the horizon, drowning his living room with hues of cobalt and indigo, the sound of the birds chirping outside his apartment loud and grating against the silence that followed his rambles.
“I-” he breathed out, heart thumping painfully on his chest as another minute and then two passed, and even before he could shut his laptop off and run back to the safety of his bedroom, Seungcheol’s lips curved into a small smile, telling him that he was aware, that he knew, that Minghao slipped up one night and didn’t have a choice but to tell him everything.
“I still don’t remember, you know?” he heard Seungcheol say, “And I really don’t mind, Jeonghan.”
“How can you not mind?” he asked, a part of him in disbelief, and the other relieved, “I- I don’t know who I’m supposed to be, and Vernon remembered, and he asked what happened to me, and I don’t know.”
“You don’t know who you are?” Seungcheol asked, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but wonder what was he seeing on his own screen, was he seeing a broken man trying to keep himself from falling apart or a black hole sucking everything that was good in the world and spitting them out, chewed and destroyed, and with Seungcheol, Jeonghan knew it didn’t matter, because he was still smiling at him even when he answered with a quiet, “No.”
“Then create yourself,” Seungcheol offered kindly, his voice soft and soothing, and all Jeonghan wanted to do was hail a cab and go wherever he was, let himself be engulfed by the other man, drown in his scent, drown in his adoration, “You know you can change, Jeonghan. You know you can be different. You don’t have to be anyone else but who you want to be. Draw yourself, Jeonghan.”
“I’m not very creative,” he muttered under his breath, recalling how, as a child, he never colored inside the lines, his yellows always going where the blues meant to go, his greens blending with the browns of his tree trunks, and at that moment, he could feel Seungcheol’s presence in front of him, and if he tried hard enough, he could imagine him thumbing the tears that went over the borders of his eyes like the reds that always licked the edges of his oranges, whispering to him softly like how his oceans touched his skies.
“Soonyoung has drawn himself as a tiger in front of us,” Seungcheol chuckled, “Minghao shakes his head every time but he still loves him nonetheless,” he maundered, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but smile at the memory of his friends acknowledging Soonyoung as a tiger, of them accepting the fact that Minghao poured milk on his bowl before putting his cereal, and of them just generally being supportive of each other’s quirks and habits, “You could be a Van Gogh’s Starry Night or you can be a two-year-old’s first attempt at doodling, and we wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t care, as long as you’re happy, as long as you’re you.”
He knew it didn’t matter.
Jeonghan had always been aware that it didn’t matter to his friends.
But right then, he understood.
Jeonghan understood, for the first time since he started questioning his life and himself, he understood that he could be whatever and whoever he wanted to be because his friends loved him, because Seungcheol liked him, so he spent the following days painting himself in colors he saw in his friends’ laughter- yellow all over his body, and pink all over his heart, Seungcheol’s voice always talking through his earbuds, keeping him company while he figured himself out.
“Orange,” Seungcheol answered when asked him what color his hands would be, iced coffee fueling his body to move forward, the promise of a brighter future keeping him awake, “I think they would be orange.”
“Like the color of my marmalade?” he laughed quietly, hugging himself as he sat by his window, dressed in his prettiest blouse and smartest pants because Jihoon insisted he dined with him and Soonyoung, adamant on making sure he’d eat something.
“No. Softer, something softer,” Seungcheol paused, heaving a sigh when he asked, “Like what?” his heart fluttering when the other man hummed thoughtfully, “Would it be too cheesy if I say like the color of warmth?” and Jeonghan smiled because there was no reason not to, not when he understood what he was trying to say, not when he knew what kind of orange it was, “The color of warmth is the color of your hands.”
So Jeonghan painted his hands the colors of embers, and if he overdid it so the color could read Seungcheol’s own hands, no one needed to know but the other man breathing softly in his ears.
He was multicolored- pretty in the right angles despite the dark crimsons and muted grays in his body.
“Changing and healing isn’t going to happen overnight, Jeonghan,” Jun reminded him a couple of days after, patting his cheek tenderly as he gave him his iced coffee, “Don’t overwork yourself.”
He nodded because he was aware, understanding then that the process of mending wounds was never pretty, that healing never meant waking up with a sudden will to live, it was waking up without any motivation but continuing to finish the day anyway, that healing never meant looking at your reflection with a forced smile, but staring at yourself with tears running down your cheeks; healing was never scented candles and honeyed tea, healing was swollen eyes and missed meals, it was cobwebs and dusts, and it was wailing and laying on the floor, then standing up and doing it over and over again until he was no longer scared of the things that used to eat him alive.
Jeonghan was healing most of his life, he was healing when he thought he was suffering, he was healing, and he’d continue healing until his past wounds had been closed off, until the new ones were sealed and sewn delicately, then he’d start all over again, heal when there were scratches and gashes, and he’d cry, and he’d wail, and he’d be nice to himself again.
“Are you ready for tonight?” Seungkwan asked when he returned, placing a tall glass of chai latte with tiny ice cubes he loved so much, and a plate of cherry tart that Jun probably bought for him in an attempt to ease his nerves.
“I’m not sure,” he answered, turning to look at their friend barista and flashing him his most radiant smile, his chest glowing with warmth when he received a relieved beam, “I don’t know what to feel if I’m being honest.”
“What do you mean?” his friend queried, tilting his friend to the side as they stared at each other for a second, Jeonghan’s heart melting at the sight of the younger one looking at him concern, choosing to spend the Saturday morning with him instead of grabbing breakfast with his boyfriends.
“I’m happy that Seungcheol’s coming back,” he answered, deciding then to be honest with him because he found no reason to lie and to avoid talking about what was bothering him for days, “But that also means seeing Jisoo, and I still don’t know how to act in front of him.”
Seungkwan hummed, nodding empathically, “Is that why you’ve been closed off this week?”
“Not really,” he grumbled, a small smile falling on his mouth when he recalled how he spent most of his days sorting through his feelings, spending hours of talking to his friends about stuff he never really thought of sharing, of his fears and of his worries, and then taking the time to mull over his thoughts on his own, healing with the help of his circle, and healing on his own, “I was just figuring things out, and I- but with Jisoo, I’m still at loss.”
“He used to be our friend,” was the what he said three days ago when Seokmin asked him why he was so nervous in meeting Jisoo, the whole table falling silent as he shook his head, admitting what he did to the other man, guilt forming at the base of his throat, Jiae and Sujeong holding his hands as he talked, “I wanted to talk to him, of course I do,” he muttered, grief holding his breath hostage because Soonyoung had told him Jisoo was their friend too in the countless of past lives they shared, “But it had been too long, you know? His uncle passed away, and I didn’t even had the courage to send my condolences.”
“Friends fall apart, Jeonghan,” Seungkwan offered again, repeating the sentiment that his friends had told him over and over again as he patted his thigh kindly, “It’s normal to lose someone and then find them again.”
“I didn’t lose him, though,” he mumbled under his breath, holding Seungkwan’s gaze as he admitted his fault again, “He lost me,” he whispered, recoiling at the memory of him justifying his actions before, making up scenarios inside his head just so he could avoid the guilt that came from missing them, “I left him, I left them just because I found the world suffocating, just because I needed some time alone.”
“You’re not a bad person for the ways you tried to kill your sadness, Jeonghan,” Seungkwan breathed out, his words like shrapnel digging deep in his chest, the statement echoing around his skull as his stomach churned in slight antipathy, a part of him in disbelief over how his friends tried to downplay what he did to make him feel better, walking on eggshells around him whenever Jisoo wormed his way on their conversations.
“I’m a bad person for leaving my friends without any word,” he explained, blinking away the haze in his vision as Seungkwan’s hand intertwined with his, “My sadness, my unwillingness to live, to talk to anyone weren’t excuses to hurt them like that.”
Seungkwan nodded, telling him that he understood where he was coming from, apologizing in behalf of the group for trying to sugarcoat their words, and then offering another piece of advice, “Talk to Jisoo,” he started, his kind smile unwavering, “And then you explain what happened, apologize for the things that you did,” he shrugged, letting go of his hand to push the plate of tart closer to him, “We can’t really do anything to change the past, can we? But we can do something and change the future.”
“Right,” he nodded, smiling softly when Seungkwan whisked his thoughts away by sharing a project he was working on with Seokmin, his heart warm as he listened to the younger one ramble about open mic events for the café, the tags Jisoo wrote on his blog flashing right before his eyes.
You threw our friendship away but you could’ve given me a slice of orange and I would’ve forgiven you right then.
The problem he had with the situation with Jisoo was that, he knew he was going to be forgiven, and he knew he deserved to be forgiven, but a part of him couldn’t outright accept that easily, not when he was aware of the hell he had put him through, of ignoring his messages and calls, of deliberately not doing anything to reach out, of just thinking about himself and nobody else.
Seokmin said Jisoo would understand, Seungcheol and Jihoon had shared the same sentiment, Jiae and Sujeong said he already moved on, Chan and Seungkwan said that what happened was normal, but nothing sat right with Jeonghan, especially when he had just felt immense fear of getting left alone by his friends and by Seungcheol just a week ago- he knew what that felt like, of how crippling the fear was, and he even with courage surging through his veins, he couldn’t bring himself to imagine what kind of pain Jisoo had to go through because of him and his selfishness.
Stepping out of Jun’s car that night, Jeonghan had prepared himself for the worse, his heart thumping painfully on his chest when Seokmin sent him a text, that Jisoo was already with him, that they already secured a booth big enough for their group to drink and eat comfortably, his mind going through multiple scenarios that could play out once he was face to face with Jisoo.
And after every horrendous scenes he had thought of, after admitting that he deserved nothing but wrath, he couldn’t seem to decide whether he deserved being called a rat in a club’s parking lot at ten in the evening, running for his life while the lunatic that was Jisoo chased him, his lungs burning, and his sides aching as he tried calming down the other man, their screams muffled by the loud bass coming from inside the club.
“Can’t we just talk like normal adults?” he yelled, making a mistake of looking back at the man chasing him, the smell of apples and caramels and the sudden hurricane of amber and apricot leaves inside his chest almost making him trip, his heart aching at the familiar sight of Jisoo, his umber eyes dim, his usual curved mouth formed in a sneer.
He felt like the harshest autumn.
“Adults?!” he heard him scream back, the animosity in his voice fueling his legs to keep moving, to keep running, “You stop running right now, and I’ll show you how adults deal with their insensitive rat best friends!”
“With our words, right?” he bellowed, wincing when he felt fire licking its way up from his shins up to his legs, groaning inwardly when he heard Jisoo screech, “With my fucking fists, you rat!”
“Can you stop calling me rat?!” he wailed, his mouth opening even before he could think about the words rolling off his tongue, grimacing when he heard his demand through the strong evening wind, “You’re starting to hurt my feelings!”
“I’m hurting you?!” Jisoo squawked, indignation dripping from his voice, thick and rough, and if he wasn’t in such a precarious position, he would’ve laughed at how comical the whole ordeal was, the ache in his whole body reminding him of how fucked up the situation was, of how everything was his fault, “I’m hurting you?! Face me like a fucking man, and I show you real hurt!”
From a distance, he could see Soonyoung laughing his ass off, holding his sides as he guffawed, their other friends watching them with colorful drinks in their hands like it was normal for them to see the two chasing each and screaming bloody murder, he wondered then if they fought in the past too, the thought making him miss a step and trip, a collective gasp echoing from where his friends stood- God, he wished Seokmin didn’t have to take a call, maybe then he and Jisoo could’ve talked as civilly as the latter could, he wished Seungcheol was there, maybe then, their friends wouldn’t be chuckling behind their hands.
“You asshole!” he heard Jisoo yell, pushing him on the ground, wincing as he braced himself, expecting painful punches but received weak jabs instead, soft fists pounding on his chest harmlessly, and he really, really would’ve laughed right then and there if there weren’t tears spilling from the other man’s eyes and unto his shirt, would’ve cracked a joke about how stupid he looked, feeble and shaking and hurting, but Jeonghan couldn’t even bring himself to think about how absurd their position was when his own tears were trickling down the sides of his face, his whole body cold and his core trembling, “You dumb idiot,” Jisoo continued hitting him, his rhythm faltering, “You fucking rat.”
There were a lot of things Jeonghan wanted to say, his brain presenting him with the speech he had slaved over for half a day, of strings made out of apologies weaved through the truth of what happened to him, endless threads of sorrow laced through the horrible narrative he believed just so he could ignore the ugly truth of what he had done, his admittance sewing his ramble together in a form of a sweater made out of the remnants from their burnt bridge and the ashes from their severed bond, but there he was, crying with Jisoo who was looking at him with equal hatred and yearning, his glare intense but soft, his hands clenched loosely with vengeance.
“Let them talk,” he heard Jihoon say from where they were watching, the distinct smell of Seungcheol’s perfume, and the warmth from Seokmin’s protests urging him to pull the other man close to his chest, wrapping both of his arms around him and squeezing him tight. >/p>
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, engulfing the other man inside the sorry-excuse-for a sweater that were his arms, apologizing over and over again until Jisoo was no longer thrashing in his grasp, “I know it’s not enough,” he mumbled, because he could apologize until the day of his reckoning and it still wouldn’t be enough, but he said it anyway, embraced his friend and held him close even when he deserved better, “But I’m sorry for being such a fucking-” he gritted his teeth, cold wind shrouding them both, “-damn rat.”
And Jeonghan didn’t know how he ended up sitting on a curb with Jisoo and Seungcheol on either side of him, his friends crowding the three of them as they peeled and divided the oranges he brought specifically for his oldest friend into segments, giving each one of them a slice, their mouths pulled in wide smiles, their eyes shining as brilliantly as the sign of the club they had abandoned, choosing to eat fruit at the sidewalk and get drunk on hard liquor in tiny bottles provided by Jun and Minghao instead, his heart full and his stomach sated.
“I don’t think I could forgive you,” Jisoo mumbled under his breath when Jihoon herded the group in his van, deciding then that it wasn’t really too smart to get inebriated in the streets, proposing that they continue their little party in his house, “Not yet at least,” he heard him say, his voice slightly slurred, but his point was still clear, “I just need time to make sense of the things that you did, to understand your reasons.”
“I was a bad friend,” he shrugged, the hearth in his chest growing warmer and warmer by the second, the back of his hand brushing with Jisoo’s, his eyes trained on his friends, swaying and walking in front of them, talking and laughing, pushing and nudging each other under the faint moonlight, “Take all the time you need, Jisoo. But there really isn’t anything to understand, I was just cruel and mean. That’s just it.”
Jisoo halted at that, and Jeonghan found himself looking back at him, the rim of his eyes still red, the tear tracks on his cheeks still visible, “Do you believe that?” he asked, heaving a sigh as he ran his fingers through his tousled hair, “I would’ve let you go without any fight if you were cruel and mean, you know?” he smiled, small and weak, “I was mad because I didn’t understand you, I held on because I knew you.”
“Jiso-”
“You liked to sleep,” his friend continued, a lump forming at the base of his throat as he recalled the very moment he told Jisoo that, his whole body heavy and his mind muddled when his friend asked where he had been, his chest tight at the sight of their packed classroom, wishing his mother could’ve permitted him another day at home despite already being absent for almost a week, “Because you said when you’re sleeping, you weren’t miserable and sad, when you’re sleeping, you’re not anything but yourself. And I understood that.”
Isolation had always been something he liked even when he was a child, cooped inside his room, playing at the very far corner with just himself and the toys his parents bought, only ever coming out of the house to play with other kids when his mother brought him to the park, laughing and running around with the children in the neighborhood, his heart filled with gaiety, glad that he came out, happy and beyond elated until his body ached, yearning to curl up in his room again.
“So when you left, I thought that maybe you were sleeping,” Jisoo huffed out a quiet chuckle, his hands stuffed in his jacket, his eyes shaky as he held his gaze, shining with unshed tears, glimmering with sadness and antipathy, “And I let you be, and I tried to keep holding on to you because maybe you’d think that I was still beside you like Jiae and Sujeong,” he maundered, his statement digging painfully inside Jeonghan’s chest, “That maybe you’d realize that when you sleep, I’m hurting, and miserable and sad.”
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his fiftieth apology that night, his sentiment dancing along the late night breeze, rolling of his tongue over and over again because there was nothing else he could say but that, acknowledging his mistakes and atoning with words, “Jiae and Sujeong,” he started, his voice dying inside his mouth when Jisoo shook his head, empathy radiating off of the other man.
“I’m not mad at them,” Jisoo explained, “And I know it’s stupid to blame my misery to you but you understand, don’t you?” he muttered, smiling when he nodded, his heart aching at the fragility of their conversation, “I can’t forgive you yet but I’d like to be friends again in the future,” he said, tentative and timid, and Jeonghan could only nod because he didn't trust himself to not choke on a sob, “And we can make each other understand more, and you can,” Jisoo paused, grinning, “You can tell me what’s going on between you and Seungcheol.”
“There’s nothin-”
“And I’ll tell you what’s going on between me and Seokmin,” the other man interrupted, the two of them sharing a laugh when he muttered, “There’s something going on between me and Seungcheol,” under his breath.
There was a beat of silence before Jisoo was walking again, wandering closer to their friends who had been waiting for them at the end of the street, the other man taking his place beside Seokmin who raised a hand to tuck strands of hair behind his ear, his smile unwavering as he watched the two, hues of magenta and tangerine tinting the leaves inside him, a sense of bliss wrapping his heart in cool comfort, butterflies fluttering when Seungcheol ambled back to him, placing a kiss on his cheek as their fingers intertwined.
“Are you okay?” Seungcheol asked, his thumb tracing lazy circles on his skin.
“I am now,” he answered, eyes closed as he whispered how much he missed him, his shoulders light and his chest, for the first time since he could remember, free from any pain, “I missed you,” he repeated, nuzzling closer to the other man when he was pulled in an embrace, content and pleased when he heard Seungcheol return his sentiment, placing tiny kisses on his cheek, cooing and tickling him until their friends were hooting and howling at them, his face red and his whole body in flames when they returned to the group, rolling his eyes at Minghao who was fake gagging at his direction.
“We’re at Jihoon’s house,” he tapped on his phone, sending it to Jiae and Sujeong, both of them reminding him not to drink too much, to call them if he needed a ride, “Or anything, really,” Sujeong’s message read, his cheeks almost hurting at how wide his smile was, endeared at how incredibly doting his friends were, his body glowing with warmth and elation as he told them about Jisoo- his friend who looked like he was wholly loved by the people around him, his friend whose eyes were formed into crescents as he laughed, their friends piled on top of him, engulfing him with tight hugs and proclamations of love, his friend who was red in the face as he looked at Seokmin with veneration.
“He’s important, isn’t he?” he asked Jun when the barista settled beside him, the smell of alcohol and citrus strong in his mouth and in his shirt, “Jisoo, I mean,” he blinked, watching his friends gather around the other man like they were moths who were seeing a light for the first time, his own heart yearning to get closer.
“Everyone’s important, Jeonghan,” Jun answered, his voice quiet and almost gravelly, “Jisoo’s just,” he heard him sigh, and turning to look at his friend, he couldn’t help but reach out, squeeze his hand in an attempt to offer some sort of consolation, “We’ve all been through so much, you know? But Jisoo even more.”
“Oh,” he breathed out, a pang of guilt appearing in the center of his chest, but even before he could find himself overwhelmed, Jun was hauling him up, pulling him towards the group who had immediately pulled his frown back up to a smile, his camera somehow ending up in the hands of Chan, Seungcheol’s arms wounding their way around his torso as he pulled him close, their friends scooting closer together while the youngest positioned himself in front, aiming the camera towards them, successfully capturing all of them in one take.
“Can I keep it?” Seokmin asked, his voice small and yet easily heard amidst the chaos that were his friends, half of them almost on their way to completely being intoxicated, and the other half already laughing at jokes that didn’t make sense, a part of him impressed that even with the alcohol in their system, none of them had slipped and said anything about reincarnation in front of Jisoo and Seokmin, most of them saying yes to the other man’s request and the other making a beeline towards Jihoon’s alcohol cabinet.
“I take it that it went well?” he heard Seungcheol whisper behind him, his arms still locked around his middle, his heartbeat erratic and wild, his scent much more intoxicating than the beer he decided to drink, adamant on remembering everything that happened that night, determined to wake up without hangover the next day.
“I think so,” he answered, letting Seungcheol nip the tip of his ear as he hid the curl of his mouth behind his Heineken, laughing quietly when Minghao pushed the two of them towards the living room, rounding everyone up just in time for Jihoon and Soonyoung to emerge from the kitchen, plates of food on their hands.
It was eleven when they shared food and opened their hearts, arms draped over each other as drinks were poured and glasses were emptied, loud guffaws echoing around the room while most of them swayed and leaned on the shoulder beside them, talking and singing until the clock struck two, the eerie silence of the empty street outside bleeding from the cracks of Jihoon and Soonyoung’s doors, the light of the moon lulling them one by one to sleep, sweet exhaustion trickling through their veins, prompting the most sober person, which was Jeonghan, to drag his friends in different rooms, tuck them all in and coerce them to sleep.
“You can take the room at the end of the hall,” Jihoon groaned when it was his turn to settle in his bed, Soonyoung already snoring beside him, “Seungcheol won’t be as stubborn as Chan,” he heard the other man say, chuckling as he recalled just how the youngest tried running away multiple times, only ever accepting defeat when his boyfriends were sleeping by his side, “Thank you, Jeonghan. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night,” he mumbled, patting his friend’s head before padding away, closing their door and making his way to the room Jihoon was pertaining to when he didn’t find Seungcheol in the living room, laughter bubbling in his chest when he was welcomed with the sight of the lawyer, taking off his socks in the middle of the room, surrounded by pillows he scoured from around the house.
“What are you doing?” he asked, plopping down on the bed with a fond beam on his mouth, his heart fluttering when the other man raised his head, blinking up at him with a pout, “Get over here, I’ll help you.”
“I can do it,” the other man mumbled, shaking his head as he tied his sweatpants securely around his waist, tongue peeking in between his lips when he focused on his socks again, his body swaying from left to right, left to right, his hold on his socks slipping again and again, “I honestly can do it, don’t worry.”
“Throw your pillow over here then,” he laughed, his whole body buzzing in elation and fondness, the hearth in his chest burning bright and warm, “You’re not sleeping on the floor.”
Seungcheol paused at that, frozen on his spot for two, three seconds before looking back up at him, his face flushed crimson, his eyes wide and glassy, “You’re really pretty,” he heard him say, the embers in his cheeks smoldering, “And I’m sure you’re a nice person but I’m already head over heels for someone, okay?” the lawyer explained, stammering over his words, fidgeting with his fingers while he ducked his head, “His name is Jeonghan Yoon, and I want him to be my boyfriend, I don’t- I don’t think it’s right for me to sleep beside you. I’m sorry.”
“You’re so stupid,” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief as he felt an almost overwhelming warmth spread from his head and down to his toes, the tips of his fingers tingling as electric currents traveled through his veins, lightning and thunder waking his lethargic consciousness up, the storm brewing inside him prompting his legs to move towards Seungcheol, trembling hands finding their way on either side of his face, “You don’t know who I am?” he asked, tears marring his vision when a flicker of recognition flashed from the other man’s eyes.
“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol muttered, blinking once, twice and then thrice before sitting up straight and gathering him in his arms, pulling him closer and closer until Jeonghan had no other choice but to settle on his lap, the embers underneath his skin blazing and tinting his skin with flames, “There’s a pretty boy asking me to sleep with him,” he heard the other man mumble just below his jaw, his heart hopping like a wild rabbit when he felt large hands caressing his sides, “I said no, of course.”
“Why did you say no, huh?” he hummed, melting under Seungcheol’s ministrations, mind muddled as he took a deep breath, the smell of alcohol and citrus mingling with the faint scent of his cologne almost too much, the longing he had been feeling the past week squeezing his heart in a way that wasn’t painful, but in a way that had him holding tighter unto the other man.
“Because it’s you who I want to sleep beside,” Seungcheol mumbled.
“Me?” he chuckled, his heart almost bursting with elation, smiling as pure euphoria bled from his heart, resorting to teasing just because his brain didn’t know how to respond to the other man’s drunken declarations, “You know people can’t sleep beside each other when they’re not boyfriends, right?” he maundered, tonguing his cheek when Seungcheol whined, his breath hot on skin, his touch oh so real, “We’re not boyfriends, Cheol.”
“Be my boyfriend then,” Seungcheol muttered, pulling away slightly and holding him in arms length, his eyes bleary and cloudy, but his intention loud and clear.
Jeonghan was utterly enamored with him.
“How about you ask me again tomorrow when you’re sober?” he mumbled, one hand snaking their way at the back of the other man’s head, his fingers grazing softly against the lawyer’s scalp.
“But I wanna sleep beside you tonight,” Seungcheol breathed out, eyes almost welling up with tears, his skin dark hue of cherry, flushed with something more than just alcohol in his system.
“I’ll sleep beside you,” he kissed his cheek, blinking away his tears as Seungcheol pulled him in another embrace, their limbs tangled with each other, their arms holding unto one another, the rough wood beneath their bodies, albeit uncomfortable, forgotten as they held each other’s gaze, “We won’t tell anyone.”
“Okay,” Seungcheol nodded, closing his eyes as he shifted their position, pulling him gently on top of him so his body was cushioned, a gesture that had him chewing on his lips, the tears welling from his eyes, silently falling from his cheeks and unto the other’s shirt, whispering, “Okay,” before his surroundings turned dark.
There was a time when Jeonghan used to be so unspeakably lonely, and looking back, it felt like a whole lifetime away, when he had stopped talking in fear of spilling the contents of his chest, in fear of crying and not being able to stop while the world watched, rendering him silent for weeks and months, forgetting how to talk, forgetting the sound of his own voice, his exhaustion seeping unto his skin, through his bones and even deeper in his heart, the memory of him saying he wished he was dead to his mother the only thing replaying in his mind, of how her eyes watered with pain and not with anger, of how his heart cracked after yelling those words, of how he cried in his mother's arms, saying that he didn't want to die, not really, even when he was so lonely, even when he didn't understand why everything seemed so hard, even when he didn’t know what was making him stay.
That night, in his dreams, Seungcheol was beside him, quietly holding his hand as they watched the sun above their heads, and when he woke up, he was greeted by a smile that rivaled the radiance of the brightest star, his day starting with a man who did a series of tests just to prove that he was sober, that he was thinking straight enough to ask him again to be his boyfriend, and with a group of people who he could comfortably call his family.
“Mingyu and Wonwoo,” he heard someone say as he flipped pancakes, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and hushed conversation filling the mid-morning air, replacing the scent of alcohol and groans of hangover that echoed around the house at dusk, “I can’t believe they’re missing this,” the voice that belonged to Soonyoung continued, the sizzle of his pan and the low hum of the refrigerator barely muffling the conversation he didn’t know he was allowed to hear, “We should all just attend Mingyu’s concert and kidnap him or something,” he perked up at that, the name too familiar in his ears, “If we have him, Wonwoo will undoubtedly show up.”
Jeonghan blinked.
Once, twice and then thrice.
“Mingyu Kim?” he whirled around, his eyes landing on the people huddled around Jihoon’s wooden table, “Mingyu Kim as in THE Mingyu Kim?” he asked, huffing out a quiet laugh when Jun slowly nodded, “He’s our friend?” he maundered, feeling quite faint when the barista nodded again, “I’m-” he swallowed hard, schooling his features as he felt his face burn, “I’m a fan. I have a binder of his photoca-”
“You’re burning them,” Seungcheol shook his head, standing up from where he was seated to help him cook as both Jun and Minghao laughed, Jihoon nodding in agreement and muttering a quiet, “No need to inflate his ego more, Jeonghan. I heard he’s a nightmare.”
“But I like him,” he quipped, his heart thumping when his boyfriend stood beside him, blushing ferociously at the feel of the other man’s hands resting on his hip, grumbling about how the pop star wasn’t even human, “He looks too good, Jeonghan,” the lawyer whispered, and he couldn’t help but plant a kiss on the other’s cheek, the tips of his ears burning when he asked, “Are you jealous?” and being answered with a low, “Maybe.”
“Disgusting,” someone groaned, all their eyes landing on Chan who looked totally wrecked, his hair sticking up, and his shirt worn backwards, his boyfriends standing on either side of him, not really looking better, “How about we keep everything family-friendly in front of the kids?”
“We’re hardly children, Chan,” Vernon grumbled, pulling the other two towards the table and pushing them on empty seats, “And you don’t have any rights demanding family-friendly content in this family when you’ve literally just sucked me and Seungkwan dr-”
“JESUS CHRIST,” Soonyoung yelled, making everyone wince with the volume of his voice, the room erupting in laughter and friendly banters as plates of bacon and pancakes were distributed, Jeonghan’s heart humming in elation when he saw a jar of his marmalade inside Jihoon and Soonyoung’s fridge, whole body buzzing with gaiety when Jisoo and Seokmin joined the group, his hand never leaving Seungcheol’s until the morning turned to noon, and the afternoon turned to evening.
Love, he thought, as foreign as it sounded to him, was what kept him going- love for his parents who he didn’t want to leave, love for Jiae and Sujeong who he never wanted to see cry, love for his friends, for Minghao and Jun, and Jihoon and Soonyoung, and Seungkwan, Chan and Vernon, and Seokmin and Jisoo, people who he always wanted to hear laughing, to see smiling, love for Seungcheol, the person who ignited most of his fears, but also the person who pushed him to face them, to, not really conquer or fight them, but to hold their hands and tame them, walk along with his apprehension and make friends with the monsters that held his life before.
Jeonghan deserved it, a life filled with happiness that stemmed and bloomed with the help of the people around him, thriving with his own efforts and slowly and deliberately stepping out of the dark that he shrouded himself with, all his doubts and worries small compared to the love that developed within himself, finally understanding then how cruel he had been, not just to his friends, but to himself as well, promising and vowing to himself that he’d never put himself through misery and suffering again, not when he knew he deserved to be happy too, not when he then had friends who he wanted to keep for as long as he could.
Notes:
I, too, sucks at art.
Chapter 11: Mingyu Kim
Summary:
"Nothing lasts.
There is a graveyard where
everything I am talking about is,
now.I stood there once,
on the green grass, scattering flowers."— Mary Oliver, Flare
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Jeonghan never liked how so sudden endings in real life were, of how even when he had been anticipating for it his whole life, it still came to him without any warning, rendering him motionless, throat tight as he looked back to when he was standing in the middle of everything, hopeful, and in one blink of an eye, it would feel like light years away ago, lifetimes away ago, and he couldn’t do anything about it because he could never go back, couldn’t even look back long enough for him to remember everything because he had to turn his head and look forward, stare at the ending hurtling at him without any signs of stopping.
He had wished for it before, begged for the universe to let him remember, and it was almost laughable of how after months of praying and wanting, he found himself gripping his hair in despair, frozen in agony as countless of memories flashed right before his eyes, filling his mind with vignettes of lives he knew he lived before, clogging his airways with supercuts of the past that he yearned to remember, darkness engulfing his consciousness while his head throbbed, the loud hubbub around him muffled with whispers of the past, boisterous laughter pounding hard on his eardrums, wails lashing on his heart from the inside out- God, Jeonghan wished he hadn’t remembered.
Seokmin was with him when it happened, the soda inside his mouth fizzy and sweet, the smell of fried chicken strong and intense through his nose as the other man rambled on about the memories that came rushing through him just four days ago, selectively sharing things that didn’t directly involved him- envy, for the first time since it reappeared in his life, barely flinching when he heard about what happened from Jun, instantly on his feet and on the way to Coffee Express when the barista said that the younger man was in hysterics, locked inside his made-up office with Jisoo by his side, “Remembering,” as what his friend had said.
“So Jisoo knows now?” he asked, a cup of fresh coffee nestled between his hands as he watched Jun wipe the counter, a couple of baristas and some of his friends, namely Seungkwan and Vernon tidying up when Minghao and Seungcheol arrived, the two immediately rushing to where he was sat.
“I think it was the right thing to do,” Jun answered with a shrug, leaning across the counter to plant a chaste kiss on Minghao’s cheek, “Seokmin was inconsolable, and Jisoo was the only one he wasn’t trying to punch.”
“How did he take it?” Jeonghan heard Seungcheol breathe out, settling beside him and resting a hand on his thigh, giving him a squeeze and a quiet. “Hello.”
“Seokmin obviously isn’t taking this thing well,” Jun grimaced, both him and Minghao sharing a knowing and horrified look, “I wouldn’t blame him, though. Remembering sucks,” he chuckled humorlessly, something akin to remorse flashing through his eyes as they all remained quiet for a while, as if they were recalling something tragic, something that happened to Seokmin, maybe to Jisoo as well, maybe even to all of them, “Jisoo didn’t seem fazed at all when I told him about reincarnation though, he just hauled Seokmin up and locked themselves up in the office.”
“Do you reckon he remembers?” he maundered, absentmindedly scooting his chair closer to his boyfriend, thoroughly warmed by the arm the other draped over his shoulders, a small spark of bashfulness burning the tips of his ears- two weeks of going out with Seungcheol, two weeks of tender touches and saccharine kisses, and he still found everything disconcerting, exasperating in the best way possible, and so, so thrilling, exciting enough for him to lean closer to every touch, respond feverishly to every kiss, push himself just so he could meet Seungcheol half-way, “Maybe he’s waiting too before he says something just like what Chan did.”
“I doubt,” Minghao exhaled, taking a seat beside him when Jun handed him his drink, the sight of his tea doused with more milk than what he considered normal making him smile a little, endeared at the small cookie Jun included on his saucer, “He would’ve- you know,” his friend stammered, sighing heavily as his eyes landed on Seungcheol who was then had his head ducked, lips red and bitten, idly scrolling through his phone, “Jisoo would’ve cried when he- when he saw us, if he remembered.”
Jeonghan remembered blinking then.
Once, twice and then thrice.
Looking back, he felt a sense of pride running through his veins with how he handled the situation, dismissing the crushing curiosity that almost fogged his mind, successfully ignoring the voice at the back of his head nagging him to dig deeper, to note that Minghao had said the same thing to him before with Seungcheol, to ask why he was looking at his boyfriend with eyes marred with both concern and daunt, to turn to the man beside him and take his face between his hands, search for any signs that could render his theory about him remembering wrong, choosing to finish his coffee instead, make small talk with his friends as they waited for Jisoo and Seokmin to emerge from the office, his intrusive thoughts diluted to nothing but a sense of relief when the two finally decided to leave the room confining them for at least three hours.
“I almost ended up with Mingyu once, you know?” Seokmin chuckled, the lilt in his voice pulling him out of his deep reverie, shaking his head in an attempt to get his consciousness anchored to the present, “He was really adamant on kissing me, and I was so, so close to just going for it because Jisoo was being such an idiot but Wonwoo, my brother that time showed up and they fell in love,” he rambled, and despite the smile on his mouth, Jeonghan felt as if he was dunked under the Arctic ocean- hands clammy, back damp, and his chest burning.
“What happened to you and Jisoo?” he wondered out loud, his body frozen and his limbs aching, his mouth dry and his throat constricting, and albeit the layers of clothing Sujeong insisted that he wore, he could still feel the cold seeping through them an unto his skin, goosebumps peppering the expanse of his whole body as frost pierced on his bones and marrows- he felt sick, head reeling as his vision doubled, “Did you- did you end up together?”
“We did. We always did, I think,” Seokmin answered, blinking for a couple of second before he was talking again, “I mean- there was a time where we didn’t really end up together because you know, life wasn’t always perfect but we,” he heaved a sigh, raising his head to hold his gaze, “We always loved each other.”
Jisoo died.
Jeonghan blanched at that sudden thought.
There was a universe where Jisoo had died earlier than everyone else, leaving Seokmin to mourn for him all his life, leaving him and his friends celebrating the rotten life he lived with a handful of memories that had him smiling genuinely, beaming so prettily that his eyes shone bright, leaving the world a little bit colder as he passed and took some of the Earth’s warmth with him.
Jisoo died.
And Jeonghan remembered.
Under the flickering busted light of KFC, engulfed with the overbearing smell of oil and hugged by the revolting chill in the air, he remembered, his stomach churning as he did his best to focus on the other man in front of him, biting on his tongue when he felt pain squeezing his head tight, the pressure behind his eyes overwhelming, and the sense of nausea breaking him out in cold sweat, tremors running through his veins while vignettes of the past filled his mind, his brain throbbing and his heart aching.
Jeonghan wanted to do nothing but throw up, his chest heaving as he felt the multicolored walls of the restaurant closing in on him, ears ringing while different conversations overlapping each other echoed inside him, vision glassy as hundreds and hundreds of supercuts flashed right before his eyes, the sweet taste of soda in his mouth replaced with something metallic, almost bloody and so, so repulsing.
“Are you okay?” Seokmin asked, and of fucking course he nodded, the movement making his whole body recoil in dizziness, gritting his teeth as he tried to be as placid as he could, focusing more on what was in front of him than what was surging in his brain, wiping the sweat on his palms on his pants, and blinking back the tears that were forming in his eyes, “Jeonghan?”
“I’m just really nervous,” he whimpered out, tipping his head back to finish his glass of overly-sweet orange juice, “I’ve been a fan of Mingyu since I was in college,” he managed to say, reveling on the taste of artificial citrus on his tongue, grateful for the momentary comfort it gave, getting rid of the foul taste in his mouth just enough for him to finish his sentiment, “I can’t believe we’re actually attending his concert.”
Seokmin laughed at that despite the concern in his eyes not dissipating, “Do you want to find the others?” he asked, standing up and offering his hands for assistance, “Jisoo said he’s with Seungcheol and the trio,” he started, blinking down at him when he didn’t make a move, still frozen on his seat, the idea of seeing Seungcheol making his head spin, his consciousness randomly picking a sliver of memory from the millions of scenes playing before him, of Seungcheol crying because of him, the ache in his chest enough to make his heart stutter, almost doubling over in pain as he struggled to find the answer to why, why he had made Seungcheol cry, and why it tormented him so, so much, “Jeonghan?”
“I’m going to the comfort room,” he said, drawing blood on his tongue as he slotted the flesh in between his teeth, determined to keep himself from falling right in front of the younger man, knees buckling when he stood up, forcing out a bright smile on his mouth just to console his friend’s worry, “Find the others, I’ll just message Seungcheol.”
“Or I could wait for you,” Seokmin offered, hooking his arm through his, slightly jostling him and prompting his stomach to drop, his surroundings turning and turning around him, “The line isn’t that long,” he heard him say, pointing across the street where the comfort rooms were situated, a short line of people queued just outside, “Come o-”
“No,” he blurted out, flinching as he retracted his arm from the Seokmin’s hold, his smile instantly returning on his lips when the other man watched him, his expression skeptic and the concern back behind his umber eyes, “I’m fine, alright?” he chuckled, wincing when he felt a tremble running all over his body, tonguing his cheek while he pushed Seokmin out of the restaurant, another memory from a lifetime he couldn’t remember surfacing right before him, of him and his friends sneaking around to prepare a surprise for both Jun and Minghao before their weddings, absentmindedly using the memory as an excuse to get himself out of Seokmin’s questioning eyes, “I’m buying a gift for Seungcheol, okay? I want to buy it alone.”
That was enough for Seokmin to leave him alone.
And a part of him was livid for putting himself in that position, hunched over a toilet bowl, dry heaving as tears poured from his eyes, sweaty in spite of the frost spreading from his core and all throughout his body, ice clinging heavily on the underside of his skin, slush blocking his airways- all fucking alone under the almost blazing heat of the fluorescent lights above his head, trembling and helpless, aching and utterly ill, yearning for the comforting warmth Seungcheol would’ve provided if he had just told Seokmin what was happening, if he had just pushed himself to say the truth, ignored the fear that gnawed its way from the deepest part of his stomach and unto his mind, the echoes of his doubts and worries about what he was before, of who he was a long time ago blaring loudly around his skull.
He recalled what Minghao said before, of how remembering felt like watching a hundred of millisecond movies, millions of information stuffed inside his head in such a short period of time, his brain buffering at the amount of things it had to register and understand, most of the supercuts that ravaged him still floating all over the place, most of the vignettes inside him still cloudy.
Remembering wasn’t easy, remembering was torture, remembering felt like dying over and over, and then being born again and again, and Jeonghan desperately wished he hadn’t remembered at all because he was then sitting alone inside a cubicle of a public comfort room, clueless as to where he was going to store the memories of his ridiculously painful past lives.
Jeonghan wanted to forget, and after months of begging for the heavens to let him remember, the enormity of his wanting right then disgusted him.
The life he lived before his current one was what his brain started to inspect, the memory of Jisoo dying in a lifetime that happened way before locked at the farthest place from his heart, his whole being still too bruised, still too feeble to even comprehend what happened in that lifetime, so there he was, ambling through a crowd of concert-goers, tendrils of hair dripping wet from when he found himself frantically washing his face, chewing on mints until the metallic taste in his mouth was gone, until the smell of KFC no longer lingered, until his nostrils and head ached with menthol.
“Jeonghan!” he heard someone call out, his brain taking a second to recognize where it came from, “Seungcheol,” it yelled, a flush of something hot boiling just beneath his cheeks, remembering how he met his boyfriend in his last lifetime, a gym owner that had captured his interest the first time he laid eyes on him from across a distance, chest heaving at the recollection of him literally fainting at the sight of him even before they had the chance to talk, and right then, as his eyes landed on Seungcheol, alabaster skin glowing from the blistering ray of the sun, he saw countless versions of him in the past, of him at the foot of Mt. Everest, of him on stage under colorful spotlights, of him planting flowers, and of him confessing his love for him with tears in his eyes.
All Jeonghan could see and feel right then was him.
Him who he had known for so long.
Him who plagued his every waking hours.
Him who was a constant force that kept drawing him in.
Jeonghan swallowed hard, knees buckling and eyes stinging as the sun above remained in its position, its rays moving along his skin as he remained rooted on his spot, glimmer of beams dancing along his body while the clouds above drifted across the expanse of the sky, his heart thrashing in his chest as he kept his eyes trained on Seungcheol- the man who had been watching him for the longest of time, always frozen by his side, always, always standing near enough for him to touch, to hold.
“Where have you been?” he heard him ask, almost jumping out of his skin at their sudden proximity, blinking as he looked back at where he was standing before, a part of him wondering how and when he closed the space between them, his brain ignoring his question as it busied itself with his memories before, dissecting each vignettes frame by frame, weaving the old events with the new as if they were meant to mingle, as if they were meant to fit with each other, the butterflies in his stomach stirring back to life as he took a deep breath, the familiar scent of Seungcheol filling his senses up.
It was bright and the air smelled of lavender, he was holding on to Seungcheol as the latter pedaled, telling him how easy it was to ride a bicycle, zooming through a countryside he couldn’t quite remember, and then they were in the city, the bicycle he had borrowed from Minghao laid forgotten somewhere.
Jeonghan blinked.
It was dark and the air didn’t smell of anything but it was stuffy, he was holding on to Seungcheol’s hand as the latter jumped up and down, laughing and having fun with their friends that surrounded them, singing along to a song he knew by heart, the image of Mingyu projected on a giant screen staring back at him, the crowd that came in the stadium for him forgotten.
Jeonghan blinked once.
It was sunny and he was wearing something sheer, the fabric tight around his neck and itchy on his skin, he was frowning down on a small white board, trying to spell something in a language he didn’t understand, crowded by kids who seemed to all be concentrating just as him, his heart fluttering at the sight of Seungcheol leaning on a wall, watching him with a fond smile, and the galaxy in his eyes.
“Mangga,” he heard himself yell- his accent and tone foreign.
He blinked twice.
It was chilly and he was wearing a coat that smelled so much like his boyfriend over the layers of clothes he was currently donning, the feel of cotton on his body comforting and warm as he blinked at the dish in front of him, a tower of bingsu dripping with gold, the taste of mango sweet and tangy inside his mouth, his heart stuttering when he raised his head, catching Seungcheol’s gaze who was ordering by the counter, watching him with a barely-there smile, palpable curiosity in his eyes.
Jeonghan blinked thrice.
He was alone, and he could feel something choking him, slender fingers wrapping themselves around the column of his neck, squeezing tight, nails digging through his flesh as his mind thought of Seungcheol, his heart aching terribly for him, eyes stinging at the thought of being with him, of wanting to be with him, his lungs burning and pleading for air, chest constricting at the idea of commitment, stomach churning at the thought of being tied to someone for God knew how long, choking and utterly hurting at how he managed his whole situation, of suggesting to be Seungcheol’s boyfriend for a week, of making a bet as to who would fall in love first, of being such a selfish asshole for using the other man’s own adoration against him, take advantage of his feelings to get what he wanted.
Jeonghan blinked, and blinked, and blinked.
He blinked because he didn’t want to relieve his last lifetime, he blinked because he couldn’t stomach how stupid he was, how cruel, how mean, and he blinked because he was hoping, God he was hoping that in that lifetime, he had learned his lesson and realized he was a terrible person, he blinked and then he blinked and everywhere he looked, there was nothing but tears and remorse, regret and pain, and then he blinked again, because he longed to be beside Seungcheol in his current lifetime, tuck himself closer under his arm, breathe in his cologne, and bask under his bright smile and steady gaze.
“I can’t believe you guys are here,” he heard Mingyu gush when he had enough of jumping back and forth from his memories to his present, ignoring the way his core recoiled at how pliant he was beside Seungcheol, their body almost sewn tight as the other man held him close, one hand running itself up and down his arm in an attempt to keep him warm, the other pouring fresh chai on his cup, his ministrations making his heart keen and his whole body sick- content in his current position, and utterly disgusted at how happy he was, “I was supposed to come to you guys, you know? I was stalking your Twitter accounts and I- I thought that you guys ought to remember.”
“Not all of us,” Soonyoung scrunched his nose, nuzzling his cheek on the other man’s arm, “Jeonghan, Jisoo and Seungcheol still doesn’t remember,” he rambled, Jeonghan’s breath hitching when Mingyu fixed him a look, curious and piercing, “And Wonwoo- well, we don’t know where Wonwoo is, sor-”
“You don’t remember?” Mingyu asked, his voice loud and clear, his head tilted to the side, the silence that followed his question almost deafening, and Jeonghan remembered him in his last lifetime, a sous chef at a French restaurant, someone he knew for only the briefest of time because he was originally Seungcheol’s friend, and Jeonghan knew to keep his distance from the people that were close to the person he hurt, “I thought for sure you did, the recognition in your eyes was hard to miss.”
He balked at that.
“He’s a fan,” Seungcheol answered because he was Seungcheol and he knew exactly when to open his mouth, when to speak up, when to redirect a conversation, and Jeonghan wanted to ask then if he knew that he remembered, wanted to turn to him and ask if he himself remembered, and if he did, why the fuck was he sitting beside him after what happened to them in their last lifetime, he wanted to ask Seungcheol why he was holding him so tenderly, looking out for him like he didn’t stomp on his heart and ruin his life, why, Jeonghan wanted to ask, why was he looking at him like didn’t play with his emotions, and leaving right after, “He has all your photo cards.”
“Oh,” was the only thing that left Mingyu’s mouth then, the whole table erupting into fits of giggles when Jeonghan felt blood rushing unto the apples of his cheeks, shrinking when the idol’s calculating eyes never left him despite dropping the subject almost instantly, their conversation drifting from their individual lives and to Wonwoo, the enigmatic man leaving no visible traces on the internet.
“Do you want to go home?” Seungcheol whispered when another half an hour burned with him curling on his side, silent as he let his mind drift aimlessly though the maze of his past life, tortured and dazed at how much of a monster he was, his head pounding with the thought of him not deserving Seungcheol and his kind heart, of his gentle touch and sweet kiss, of his hearth and his storm, “Let’s get you home, alright?”
He nodded, his head reeling at the action, his surroundings spinning once again when he was hauled up, a strong arm wrapped around his waist, sets of eyes glues on his face, “Post concert depression,” he mumbled under his breath before letting Seungcheol guide him outside, the cold breeze of the evening May reminding him of the night he left the very same man taking care of him right then, the storm inside his chest relentless and strong, filling his lungs up with water that burned his insides with every intake of breath.
Jeonghan was looking up at the sky one second, and then he was looking outside the tinted window of Seungcheol’s car on the next, the muffled sound of traffic and the soft pop songs from the radio cradling his exhausted mind, wrapping his mangled heart with waxed poetic about life, distracting his whole consciousness with happy tunes, rendering him lax but not quite numb, still appalled at how he was still allowing Seungcheol to drive him home, to run his fingers through his hair at every red lights, to dote on him, taking advantage of him again, in a way, because Seungcheol was then clueless about what he had done in the past, and there he was, still clinging unto the storm that he didn’t deserve to run under.
Seungcheol could notice everything, he was aware that the other man was very good at discerning everything and anything, and Jeonghan almost wanted to throw up right then, the thought of the other man noticing the way he was closed off for most of the day making his stomach churn at the vilest way, his chest tight as he braved a glance at his boyfriend, the rims of his eyes a faint crimson, one leg bouncing to a rhythm that was one beat off from the song playing around them, fingers restlessly tapping on the his steering wheel, confused, probably worried sick, maybe even hurting, and Jeonghan couldn’t fucking believe he was putting him through that again, his voice stuck at the base of his throat, a huge part of him still selfish enough not to say the truth.
He blinked.
And then he was seeing Seungcheol in a cafe that didn’t belong in his current lifetime, his vision slightly obstructed by a book he couldn’t understand, a slice of strawberry cake staring up at him- Jeonghan was hiding, or at least, the version of himself in the past, heart thumping wildly on his chest, an agonizing sense of jealousy wrapping itself around his whole being, and he knew it was wrong, he was aware he didn’t have the right to be there, not when Seungcheol just confessed that he was in love with him and he was too much of a coward to say that he felt the same way, saying the cruelest thing he could mutter right then, telling Seungcheol that he had lost the bet because he fell in love first, and whispering, “Forget about me,” when all he wanted to do was take everything back, kiss him into oblivion and offer all of his nights and days to him.
He blinked twice.
And then he was looking at Seungcheol, bathed in moonlight, watching him from outside his apartment door, the metal knob strangely cold on his palm, searing his skin, and licking his veins with frost- Jeonghan wanted to hide, or at least a part of him did, heart slowly crumbling in his chest, a nauseating sense of yearning clawing itself up his throat, and he knew it was wrong, he was aware he didn’t have the right to yearn, not when he had hurt Seungcheol in the past, putting him through so much over and over again, “Good night, Seungcheol,” he whispered, when all he wanted to do was say everything that he knew, hope that he’d forgive and allow him to taste saccharine on his tongue again.
Jeonghan blinked thrice.
And then more.
Again, and again.
Over, and over, and over.
Because in Seungcheol’s eyes he could see pain that was so fucking familiar to him, grief spreading from his irises, dripping down the slopes of his cheeks, and pulling the corners of his mouth to a tight line, the remorse on his features so heavy that his shoulders seemed to sag, chest heaving with something that Jeonghan didn’t even want to think about, but his mind, the fiend that it was, made him see through the man before him, of how mangled his heart was because of him, of how dark everything was inside the empty void of his core.
“All because of you,” a voice at the back of head whimpered.
“All because of me,” he thought.
“File a leave for the rest of the week,” he heard the other man say, his words, although quiet, like a thunder waking his whole consciousness up, the earnestness of his tone like an anchor holding him down to the present, the step he took backward like a bullet piercing through his skin and burying deep inside his flesh, agonizing and hot, burning him in ways that had his core writhing, “Call me if you want to talk,” the other man continued, and it was such a Seungcheol thing to do, to give him space when he needed it, to give him time even when it was hurting himself, “Please,” he added, his voice broken, and his voice holding so much pain that Jeonghan almost blurted out what was happening.
One, two, three seconds passed in silence.
And then he was kissing Seungcheol, the taste of sweet mango still lingering in his mouth, the taste of his tongue still as intoxicating as he remembered, his touch still as tender and rough, holding him in the right places, pulling him closer and closer.
He kissed Seungcheol again and again, kissed him until his lungs burned, kissed him until he could taste the strong flavor of mocktail on his tongue the very night he last saw Seungcheol, the sickening taste of grapefruit, lemon and sugar bringing him back to the past, tears cascading down his cheeks as the other man kissed him with familiar fervor, held him with hands that branded invisible prints on his skin that blazed his whole existence, claiming him as his, even just for the night, kissing his tears away, waxing poetics between pants as he gave him all of him, again and again, deeper and deeper, harder and harder, and then Jeonghan was pulling away because he remembered that night so fucking vividly, and it haunted him of how he felt what he felt back then.
“I love you,” Seungcheol said back then, looking back at him with eyes clouded with melancholy, “Always remember that.”
Jeonghan did, and as he watched his boyfriend catch his breath, he could feel that he loved him still.
And he wanted to hold on to him, wanted to bury himself in his arms just like what he longed to do that fateful night but Seungcheol was already pulling away just like he did the last time, and he trusted him, didn’t hold any grudges for what he was doing because Seungcheol had always known what was good for them, for him, so he let him walk away, cherishing the chaste kiss he planted on his temple, the peck convincing him that it wasn’t goodbye, even when he didn’t know what he deserved, it wasn’t the last time they were going to see each other.
“You believe in destiny, don’t you?” he called out, repeating the question he asked him that night, goosebumps peppering his arms when he saw Seungcheol stiffened, looking back at him with stars in his eyes, “I do,” he said, smiling softly when he nodded and mumbled a quiet, “Me too,” oddly hopeful, strangely at ease at the thought of them believing that time for real, his chest, although in ruins, still warm at the hearth burning dimly in the middle of his garden.
“Call me, okay?” Seungcheol breathed out, taking a deep breath before he was turning away, “No matter how long it takes,” he said, his sentiment wrapping Jeonghan’s body with the kind of warmth that the layers of his clothes couldn’t provide, accepting it even when half of him was still rejecting the comfort, still adamant that he didn’t deserve it, that a monster wasn’t entitled to anything but penance, “I’ll always be wherever you want me to be.”
And then Jeonghan blinked.
He was inside his apartment, and somehow, the place he had called home somehow had changed, the space he had made for his own, the cavern that held pieces of him he hid from the world unfamiliar and foreign through his misted eyes, limbs trembling as he mapped his way around the maze he should knew by heart, but everything was different, and everything didn’t make sense, so he closed his eyes and walked along the path he knew so well, slightly disoriented when he reached his destination, peeling his clothes off of his body but keeping Seungcheol’s jacket around him, locking his bathroom behind him before looking at himself in the mirror.
Homesick- Jeonghan didn’t know how and why he was suddenly homesick inside the home that sheltered him for most of his life, his vision clouded as he stared at his reflection, breathing uneven when he felt the walls around closing in on him, the collective consciousness he had in his past lives bleeding into his current one, tears hot and heavy on his skin.
“What happened to you?” a voice had said, “What happened to us?” another one asked, and even before he could acknowledge the strangers that once controlled his better-judgment, he was on the floor, curling around himself, making his body small, knees on his chest, face hidden somewhere beneath the folds of his skin and shirt.
The colossal desire to escape, to retreat and to not talk to anybody was hard to ignore, and he cried, and cried, and cried because he knew that feeling so, so well, he felt it whenever he found no reason to continue living, felt it when he was young whenever he started getting bored with his hobbies, felt it the night of his college graduation, felt it again and again after that, the prequel to another chapter of locking himself in his apartment, of leaving messages on read, of ditching lunch plans, of burning bridges and bonds, of ignoring the world’s existence in favor of relishing the pain that came with overthinking, clinging on to the agony that always walked with his morbid thoughts hand-in-hand.
He didn’t know why he was so devoted to his pain.
And he didn’t fucking know why he was in that position on his bathroom floor again after months of trying, of making promises after promises of being better, of doing better but fuck, he whimpered, even with the hope that Seungcheol’s hearth provided, he didn’t know if after what he did, there was still room for forgiveness, and even if the other man did forgive him, he didn’t know if he could live his life warmed by the same person that he had hurt again and again, the guilt in his core growing and growing, and Jeonghan wanted to be kind to himself, wanted to be nice and allow himself to lament and then forgive himself at the end of the day but he was a monster, and he was cruel, and he didn’t fucking deserve forgiveness.
So he blinked, and blinked, and blinked.
It was night, and then it was morning, the cycle of the dusk meeting dawn embedded in Jeonghan’s mind, his body trembling with exhaustion and starvation, dehydrated beyond belief, every inch of his insides burning in pain, self-loathing tinting his thoughts with crimson and ebony, self-deprecation carving his round edges into jagged shards, metallic fuzz filling his mouth, and the smell of agony filling his senses- Jeonghan wondered then if he was healing, or if he still could heal if he chose to do so, the hearth in his chest dimming and shrinking into slivers of embers surrounded with ash and soil.
In hindsight, Jeonghan knew he had no one to blame but himself, the world around him stopping as he finally admitted guilt after days of deliberately finding faults in the actions of the people that had surrounded and took him in, making his usual fleeting days longer and memorable, pulling him from places to places, etching themselves in his whole being and turning his world upside down.
It felt good for awhile, to see vibrant colors bleeding in his world instead of the usual black and white that coated the mountains around his house and the flowers along the streets of the metropolis, he felt happy for awhile, to look at a café or a diner and remember the sounds of laughter that echoed inside, cajoling his lips into a smile instead of passing just another building that sparked nothing inside him.
Everything was too good to be true, and Jeonghan was aware he should’ve ran away the moment he felt the frost in his heart melting, to distant himself the minute he felt giddy from every notification sounds his phone made, indicating a message or two from people that had his walls crumbling- friends, as they liked to call themselves.
Friends that came into his life and filled his mornings with dumb jokes and lulled him in the evenings with talks about dreams and their pasts, friends that held his hands and enveloped his body with warmth, friends that winked with inside jokes, friends that grinned with mirth, friends that made everything better and worse at the same time.
Better because he finally had something he could hold on to.
And worse because he finally had something to lose.
Something, Jeonghan blinked, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks as he took a deep and shuddering breath, extremely confused at the amount of self-loathing he had been doing for something he knew was bound to happen.
Happiness always came with a price, and if it wasn’t, then happiness always had an end, he knew that by experience so he didn’t know why he was wallowing in remorse and regret at the possible loss of connections he didn’t even want to make in the first place, of friendships that he never really cared about before, of love, he trembled, of love that he didn’t even deem possible.
And yet there he was, a self-proclaimed cynic curled up on himself on the cold tiled floor of his bathroom, head cradled under his arm that had been numb for a couple of minutes, pins and needles spreading from his feet and up to his legs, whole body covered in goosebumps, inhaling the smell of burnt sage that didn’t do anything to comfort his wailing heart and stop his eyes from tearing up so much.
He was not supposed to be mourning something that could still be revived, but Jeonghan knew, after everything that he did, leaving the bonds he made to rot at the back of everyone’s mind was the only way to go because Jeonghan was aware of his tendency to kill something over and over again when the voice inside him started talking about not being enough, and not being deserving.
So he should’ve walked away, spared himself the trouble of building bridges he knew he’d burn in the end, grant the people that dared help him construct it an out, and prevent fire from spreading through forests of hope and trust that he didn’t own but for some reason, he didn’t- oddly optimistic that it would be different that time, ridiculously confident to think that he could keep a connection long enough to see flowers blooming all around it.
Chewing on his lips, Jeonghan closed his eyes and allowed his mind to mull over the things that happened in his life, well, he swallowed hard, lives, more tears slipping past his defenses when memories of who he was before mingled with who he was in the present, frustrated at how the ball of remorse that had blocked his airways for the past few days grew tremendously, feeding on his guilt and staying in its place in his chest, squeezing his heart and lungs painfully.
It was cold, colder than anything he had felt, and Jeonghan had experienced the harshest winter inside him before.
Maybe, he thought, maybe it was colder and maybe it was harder because he was carrying two versions of pain inside him then, the pain that his past life had experienced slithering inside him and molding itself to the pain that he had been carrying all his life, sliding through the gaps of his rib cage and snaking their way around his neck, squeezing his throat and suffocating him, not really enough to cut off his life but enough to have him struggle to continue breathing.
In and out, in and out.
He wanted to cry, but after days of being frozen in his spot, nothing was coming out, and he felt horrible, and he felt so fucking sick as he tried to move, sadness engulfing his mind with a shroud of overwhelming melancholy, his hunger doing nothing to help ease the discomfort he felt with every movement his body made- Jeonghan was sick, and Jeonghan was sad and opening his eyes to welcome yet another morning in his safe space, he felt his heart skip at the sight of cobwebs staring down at him at the very far corner of his bathroom, swaying from the draft that came from a small window, patiently waiting for him to stand up, and to remove it from its spot.
His hand twitched with the urgency of getting rid of them, head reeling at the sudden and intense desire of hauling himself up, of standing on his tiptoes with a broom on his hand, and of throwing the cobwebs away, treat himself to a hearty breakfast as a reward, to stand under the warm spray of his shower and start anew, rub anguish away, replace the scent of shame and sorrow with vanilla and apples- he could do it, Jeonghan knew he could do it, be nice to himself, be kind himself because even with the vile things he did in the past, he knew his body didn’t deserve the torment he was putting itself through.
He hated himself, hated every version of himself that walked the Earth, that hurt his friends, and hurt Seungcheol but as much as he wanted to stand up without holding back, let himself experience whiplash and extreme nausea, he moved carefully and slowly, limbs shaking with every effort he exerted to get himself upright, his stomach in pain, and his sides tingling with ache when he stood up, feeble arms keeping him from falling on the floor, palms sweaty on marbled counter, vision hazy when weak fingers unlocked the latch he had kept shut tight for days.
Sitting alone in his kitchen, a glass of water and a jar of marmalade open in front of him, Jeonghan couldn’t help but feel some kind of remorse, free of resentment for himself and for the people around him, just plain sadness that had his lips quivering, eyes trained on his cellphone charging at the other side of the room, wondering then who had called him, wondering who had spammed him messages, wondering who had said they missed him. Swallowing down a sob, he raised a spoon of jam in his mouth, the taste of sugar and oranges enough to wake himself up completely, the tang and the citrus on his tongue reminding him of Jiae and Sujeong, the two girls probably reassuring their friends that him going radio silent was normal.
That thought almost had him throwing up.
Jeonghan didn’t want that to be normal.
At least not anymore.
And as he stripped himself off of the clothes that hugged him through hot days and cold nights, he thought that maybe he could still save himself, that maybe he could face his friends and explain to them that he knew, that he was already aware of how mean he was before, that they didn’t need to pretend anymore, and he’d look at them all in the eyes, and he would accept whatever they would say and do, and it would be painful but it would be okay, and he’d talk to Seungcheol, tell him the truth, and tell him that he deserved better, that he deserved so, so much better.
He was going to do it, Jeonghan was going to talk, and he would face the consequences of his actions, and his words, do everything that he was too afraid to do before- heal, and move on, heal, and carry on.
But for the mean time, he was going to spend some time alone for himself, to think things through, to feel whatever emotions he needed to feel, to let his body rest, to let his mind breathe- solitude was something he had always cherished, and a part of him kept wondering why, as he watched the sunset from the rooftop of his apartment building, his lamb plushie inside his arms, he felt as if it was wrong to stand there alone, phantom laughter echoing at the back of his mind, ghost of smiles flashing right before his eyes.
Jeonghan missed his friends.
He missed Seungcheol.
And then he missed chai lingering in his mouth.
Jeonghan felt like a hole right then, a black void sucking the light out of the retreating sun, selfishly claiming the beams of apricots and magenta tinting the sky, hogging the colors of the worlds for his own, his eyes closed as he took a deep breath, painting his surrounding with muted whites and blacks, and then exhaling, bright hues bursting unto the world.
Staring at the scene in front of him, he couldn’t help but compare the metropolis under his building to a drawing he made when he was ten, of his messy creation where his lines weren’t straight, where his colors were blended in the ugliest way, where his shapes didn’t look like shapes, and his animals didn’t look like animals, and his people didn’t look like people and yet, and yet every single one of his horrendous art had a star, every single one rewarded with a, “Well done,” and an, “I love it,” his vision blurring when he recalled just how he painted himself the same way with the help of Seungcheol, receiving an, “I really, really like you,” even when he wasn’t perfect.
Beneath him, the traffic was jammed, and crowds of people spilled from tall buildings, the sound of the busy city painful in his ears but if he listened close enough, he’d hear gentle songs and mirthful giggles, and if he looked hard enough, looked past the suffocating groups of people clamoring to cross the streets, he’d see smiles on their faces, and happiness in their eyes- that was the world, he thought, imperfect but pretty, and as he looked at his cellphone with hundreds of notifications from his friends, it was hard not to think that that he belonged, that he was in it, and it was hauntingly beautiful.
Notes:
I wrote it in a way that was utterly disconcerting.
Chapter 12: Wonwoo Jeon
Summary:
"There is so much violence
in reconstruction.Every minute is grisly,
but I have
to participate.I am building
what I cannot break."— Jennifer Willoughby, Beautiful Zero: Poems
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Jeonghan was supposed to report back to work that day, he was supposed to set up his usual alarm the night before, iron his clothes before he tuck himself under his duvet, and even when he had every intention of showing up and continue working like a decent human being, he still managed to sleep through the whole morning, his eyes opening up to his bedroom walls tinted with the harsh apricot of the afternoon sun, his whole body heavy despite the promise he made of not running away from the people that mattered in his life, his mind blank in spite of the resolve he made days ago, of accepting whatever consequences that waited for him, of braving the karma that was sure to stab and gut him clean.
He was supposed to be anywhere but in his apartment and yet there he was, spending most of his afternoon scrubbing his floor until all the nooks and crannies of his space was sparkly clean, changing all his linen and doing his laundry instead of sorting files and arranging meetings at Choi Legal Co., the time slowly melting away as he heaved a sigh, staring at his ceiling, fingers pruney for aggressively wiping every inch of his walls with wet cloths, joints aching after lifting every piece of appliances he owned to make sure no dirt had escaped his vacuum cleaner- his consciousness drifting towards the thoughts he had ignored throughout the day.
Walking along the forest that was his memory, Jeonghan couldn’t help but sigh as he was reminded of how he was back then, longing for who he was, missing how he used to be, bright and confident, unafraid and daring, yearning for the times when he could still go through immeasurable hurt and problems and still be his friends’ rock- he wanted to be like that again, to be afraid of nothing, to be far from the person he was right then, half-alive in a world he used to love, half-dead inside his bathroom for countless of nights.
The garden inside him was almost close to being the same barren land that plagued his dreams right then, and even when he decided to try and be a little nicer to himself, he couldn’t bring himself to, couldn’t apologize to what he had done to his body and his mind, to his core and to his heart- the plants his friends had planted inside him turning to brown sticks poking out of the dry and almost matted earth, a handful of leaves that were the color of decay swaying sadly from the cold gust of wind swirling inside his rib cage, the pastel flowers that used to crowd his lungs turning brittle and yellow and ugly, and looking around, he couldn’t help but swallow hard, draw blood from his raw lips as he finally gave in, apologizing out of despair.
He was numb, and he didn’t know if that was better or worse.
“I’m sorry,” he said, breathing in and feeling thorns dig through his airways, “I’m sorry I’ve been so reckless with my life,” he breathed out, guilt seeping from his fingertips and unto a petal he caught in the wind, completely lifeless and rough, his resolve about facing his friends and telling them about how he fell into his knees and failed to nourish the garden they gave getting stronger the more he stayed in isolation, the hearth that had kept him warm when the night was the coldest blinking back at him with grief, its embers waiting to be stoked by the man he broke down but built him in return.
Jeonghan missed himself, and he missed his friends, but God- his longing for Seungcheol had gone so extreme that he had started hearing the other man’s voice inside his head whenever he found himself talking to no one but his consciousness, the low rumble of his boyfriend’s voice like a thunder during a quiet storm, lightning striking his heart, hitting the same spot over and over again, the twenty-seven bones of his hand yearning for him, and in his most vulnerable moments, he’d find himself touching his own arm and shoulder, fingers trailing his own skin just so he could pretend that the other man was with him, his vision almost always blurring because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t be as tender as him, his touch never as soft, his ministrations never as gentle.
So he let his touch hurt for awhile.
Feeling like he was back to who he was before had waken him out of his stupor, pushed him to keep waking up and greeting the sun with the widest smile he could muster, breathing in the smell of coffee that filled his kitchen, reminiscing the day he spent at Coffee Express, thrilled for the future despite his past holding him back.
He could do it.
Jeonghan knew he could do it.
Despite his past anchoring him down, despite his fears and worries, he was aware he could do it.
Jeonghan just needed one final push, one final sign, and then he would do it.
Above the unimaginable noise of his mind, there was a knock that had him sitting upright, blinking at the wilting flower crowns Seungkwan had made for him, heart racing when the same sound echoed through his apartment- knock, knock, knock, it said, and knock, knock, knock it continued, further filling his space with a noise that wasn’t his sobbing or his frustrated grunts, foreign after a week and a day in isolation, and if not for the increasing urgency of the knocks, he would’ve deemed it as one of his hallucinations.
“Mr. Jeonghan Yoon,” someone had called out from the other side of his wooden door, the muffled voice familiar and yet he couldn’t seem to find a face to attach it to, his legs hauling him up, feet leading him closer to the stranger, blinking at the rough oak that stared back at him, almost jumping out of his skin when a series of knocks came a long with a, “I know you’re in there,” his brain scrambling for a response, beads of sweat forming on his back, “Mr. Yoon, don’t let me call the pol-”
And he knew it was wrong to open the door right then and there, he knew, with the countless of videos he watched on YouTube about keeping oneself when you live alone that no one should open their doors for a stranger but at that moment, the soft light of dusk painting the world with the coldest tones, his inhibition was gone, and the fear making a home in his system had dissipated, in from of him stood a friend he had last seen a lifetime ago, the frame of his glasses gleaming under the faint light that spilled from his apartment, his eyes still masked with indifference, a complete opposite of the warmth his heart provided.
Autumn.
Just like Jisoo and Seokmin, he felt like autumn.
The stark difference between him and Mingyu who felt like spring almost pulling a smile from his mouth.
“Wonwoo Jeon,” he mumbled under his breath, eyes hazy as the other man frowned, staring back at him with the usual aloofness that had always shrouded his features, heart thudding on his chest when he realized he had just blurted out his name when they hadn’t met in that lifetime yet, “You’re the landlord’s son, right?” he asked, remembering just then about the older woman’s last name, grateful that the other nodded, “How may I help you?”
“Rent,” Wonwoo answered, his voice placid and his stance guarded, and it took Jeonghan more time than normal to understand what he had just said, too caught up at staring at the younger man, wondering if he remembered, wondering if he had a recurring dream as well, and if he did, was it the same as Mingyu? “It’s due yesterday.”
“Right,” he breathed out, his hand still gripping his cold door knob, his heart still thrashing around, and even before he could stop himself, he was inviting Wonwoo in, not quite sure why, and not quite sure what for, “Would you like some tea?”
Wonwoo surprisingly said yes.
Rummaging through his cupboard, he was glad that Minghao had frequented in his apartment enough that he had no choice but to buy his favorite brands of tea, his heart momentarily breaking at the thought of the milk that had gone bad in his fridge that was supposed to be for him and his drink, almost hating himself over again for breaking down and detaching himself from the world when he could’ve spent the week warmed by his friends, “Stop it,” Seungcheol’s voice had said, echoing somewhere at the back of his mind, sighing as he swallowed the lump on his throat, walking towards where his kettle was, whistling and waiting to be poured.
“My grandmother uses the same kettle,” he heard Wonwoo say, his mind, after not being able to talk to anyone but himself for a whole week, still buffering, unaware of what to say, unaware of how to continue the conversation, tonguing his cheek as he did his best to come up with something, with anything that could get rid of the growing silence between them.
“My friend gave it to me,” he managed to answer after ten, twenty seconds, his voice rolling out of his tongue with ease, tentatively explaining how his friend was a barista, saying that even with the technology surrounding them, the better way to boil water was to use a kettle, “The best way is to use a small pot,” halting for a moment when the other man asked, “Why aren’t you using a pot, then?”
Jeonghan blinked.
Once, twice and then thrice.
“Because I burned my hand on the handle once,” he maundered, recalling the incident in a daze, of how he had forgotten how hot the handle of his pot could be, of how both Minghao and Jun rushed to his side, running cold water on his palm as the two lectured him about safety, the barista returning to his apartment that night to give him the kettle, “So you wouldn’t burn yourself again making Minghao’s tea.”
“That’s nice,” Wonwoo said, his smile small and timid when he handed him a cup, a white ceramic that looked like his lamb plushie, slightly bashful when the other man raised his eyebrow at it, the tips of his ears hot when he realized what mug he had used, “This is cute,” he heard him chuckle.
“My friend gave it to me,” he explained, grimacing as he returned to his cupboard to look for a more normal one, a bunch of animal mugs staring back at him- damn Jiae and her adorably dumb sentiment of buying him a set of the cutest barn animal cups ever, “So you wouldn’t get lonely when you’re alone,” she reasoned out, the memory warming his cheeks, sighing when he spotted a plain mug at the far corner, “Do you want me to chang-”
“No, it’s fine,” Wonwoo said with haste, the smile he gave him when he turned around easing the jitters running through his veins, the comfort it emitted reminding him of their shared past, “I’d like to use this please.”
“Okay,” he nodded, chewing on his lips as he made himself a cup, half at least and half agitated at the way the other man remained on his sit with a serene beam on his mouth, looking around his apartment with interest, the dim light of his kitchen making his sharp features softer and kinder- he didn’t know why he invited the other man in, didn’t know why he was sitting across from him when he could’ve just handed him the money he owed and retire early in the night but he was glad he offered him tea, glad that he prepared him toast and marmalade, glad that he was making an effort to slowly entangle himself from the world of isolation.
“How about the flowers?” Wonwoo asked, breaking the silence that fell between them, looking at the vases littered all around his apartment, pretty pastel flowers hanging quite sadly on their stems, wilting with most of their petals on the surfaces beneath them, “Did your friends give them to you too?”
“Yeah,” he drawled out, a part of him embarrassed at the current state of the plants, a part of him happy when the other man asked what the occasion was, what the flowers were for, his heart thumping in elation as he told him that his friends were just kind like that, grinning when he explained how they delivered the bouquets to him, leaving out the reason why they didn’t just handed them to him, grateful that Wonwoo didn’t question why would they just leave such precious flowers outside his apartment, hoping that he’d come out and get them, “I’m not very good at keeping them alive though,” he added, eyes lingering on the brown flower crowns his youngest friends had made.
“You don’t have to feel bad, you know?” Wonwoo hummed, sipping on his carefully before he continued speaking, “Flowers aren’t meant to live a long life. Even in the wild, they wilt, and they fall on the ground,” he said, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but feel longing embracing his core right then- not the kind of longing that was intense and had him on his hands and knees, but the kind of longing that was oh, so soft and had him looking, really looking at the person in front of him and then thinking, really thinking of how good it must really be to be alive and breathing, “But you could preserve them, or maybe you could press them inside books.”
“I haven’t thought of that before,” he muttered, eyes oddly misty as he tried to absorb Wonwoo’s words and presence, the wind inside his lungs, although chilly, comforting the apprehensive butterflies in his system, a part him almost wanted to pull the younger one in a hug because he had missed him, and because he hadn’t changed one bit, still kind and still wise, still dependable and well-spoken, “I just- I don’t want to throw them out but that’s usually what I’d end up doing.”
“Do you have a book?” Wonwoo asked, head titled to the side, “It’s pretty easy.”
“I do,” he perched up at the question, strangely giddy at how smooth their conversation was going, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering quite cheerfully, ecstatic that he was able to communicate with ease despite a week and a day of talking to himself, elated that he could talk about his friends without an inch of guilt, just fondness and pride, “Just one, though- The Storm Between Us, it’s a gift from Seokmin. He’s my fr-”
“-riend,” Wonwoo chuckled, “You have nice friends, Jeonghan,”
“Yeah, I do,” he smiled, his cheeks and his chest warmed by the thought of his friends, eager to share how amazing they were to Wonwoo because one, he was sure the other man was going to get dragged in the circle anyway, and two, he missed his friends so, so much, that even talking about them had the sense of yearning in his chest dissipate, “Two of them even- they’re Jihoon and Soonyoung, they bought me expensive liquors for my cabinet because they found out I only drink booze on discount.”
And it really shouldn’t be easy to talk to Wonwoo like that, it shouldn’t be easy for him to talk about his friends and yet there he was, sharing more than what he should, telling Wonwoo about the things his friends had left in his apartment, realizing just then how much imprints they left in his life and how his apartment, the place that witnessed his worst, had become a place that witnessed his best, his home becoming space where his friends could come and go, where his friends could stop by when they needed rest or someone to talk to, where his friends could laugh and chase each other without much complaints from the neighbors.
Jeonghan had dreamed of that before, of having a home for the sake of welcoming people in it, and he had pictured it so vividly when he was all alone and the only company he had were the constellations he hated so much, told them that he wanted his fridge to filled in the future just in case someone would come by his home and wanted something to eat, he’d have bowls of fresh fruits and jars of cookies, and he’d ask them if they wanted something to drink, show off his coffee and tea collection, give them unique glasses and mugs that they could use whenever they were with him.
He had always wanted to have a home, and had always wanted to be able to say, “If you ever need something or someone- come here, come to me.”
And looking around that, maybe he finally had that because in front of him was Wonwoo, patiently listening to his rambles with a soft smile, sipping on his second cup of earl grey that he had bought to appease Minghao’s preference with a mug that he could see he would use in his future visits, munching on his toast slathered with the marmalade Jun had taught him to love, and if he wanted, he could get up and offer him more food, of cookies Chan loved so much, and of exotic chips Vernon insisted they tried.
Jeonghan could continue talking and talking, and Wonwoo could keep on listening and listening, and he could open his fridge and pour fresh lemonade that he made just in case Jisoo would visit in his mug, or maybe he could grab a bottle of bourbon or maybe champagne if the younger man had something to celebrate, and if the other was tired, and if the other wanted to go to sleep, he could tell him he had multiple sets of futon he bought just for his friends- there were then extra chairs around his dinner table, and his living room and if he could form a bond and develop a friendship with Wonwoo after that, he could see him coming to him if he needed anything, like a younger brother, like how Seokmin would come to him, like how the other would go to him.
It shouldn’t make him happy- that fact should not make his heart flutter and yet there he was, elated about having friends and a home, enraptured that he had bonds formed with every single one of them, their bridge still sturdy even with the cracks that formed all over the surface, the hearth inside him still blazing despite the agonizing solitude he chose to instead of the comfort his circle could’ve provided.
He missed them terribly.
And it was almost laughable how, if he could just take a moment to breathe in and not submerge himself from his past and his worries, he was the only one torturing himself, sabotaging his future just because of his thoughts, ending relationships just because he was afraid to take a step forward, to open his heart and his soul, burning bridges just because he thought he didn’t deserve a second chance, maybe a third and a fourth and a fifth.
He missed Seungcheol.
And maybe it really was time to return to him, to them because Wonwoo was talking about his hobbies, and the artists that he liked in between bites of toast, his heart racing when the other had mentioned Mingyu’s name, “Is it weird to say that I wanted to meet him before I die?” he asked, and he really wanted to laugh right then because everything was so fucking easy, the moon was already in full view, and the water in his kettle had gone lukewarm, and Wonwoo wasn’t supposed to be sharing his life with him but he was, and it felt like talking to a long-time friend, even when Wonwoo hadn’t remembered him, the bond was there, and it was so, so easy.
“I know Mingyu,” he blurted out, the turmoil inside him completely gone, the grief festering in his core transforming like sprout unfurling from beneath cracked soil, stem extending towards the sky, leaves growing and dancing along the breeze that no longer stung, flower blossoming, full and pink, greeting the sun that had peeked from gray clouds, the agony camping in the middle of his heart waking up with hope and faith engulfing it in an embrace- reassuring, comforting, “I can introduce him to you, if you really want.”
“You can?” Wonwoo asked, straightening up with his eyes glimmering in both shock and excitement, the gaiety in his grin, the widest beam Jeonghan had seen from him that night, so hard to miss, and so hard not to adore, “How do you know him?”
“He’s my friend,” he answered, his voice clear and free of hesitation, his chest warm, and his shoulders light- Mingyu was his friend despite all the shit they had done to each other, Mingyu was his soulmate, and he was meant to meet him in spite of everything, and that meant Minghao and Jun too, Jihoon and Soonyoung, Jisoo and Seokmin, Chan, Vernon and Seungkwan, Mingyu and Wonwoo.
He breathed in and out.
He blinked once, and twice, then thrice.
That meant he was destined to meet Seungcheol too.
Again and again.
Over and over.
Until they got everything right.
And that was how he ended up going to Coffee Express that night, spontaneity pumping adrenaline through his veins, heart thumping loudly against his chest, the feeling of excitement keeping him from thinking about his fears and worries, a part of him elated at the similarity his emotions were whenever he was with Seungcheol, the thrill running up and down his spine making him drag Wonwoo hastily across streets and avenues, making a mental note of sending Wonwoo a couple of YouTube links about how dangerous it was to believe strangers and get pulled in an unknown location in the middle of the night with a promise of setting him up with an idol.
It wasn’t weird to return, Coffee Express was still the same cafe he remembered leaving, still the coziest shop he had ever been in, still bustling with customers, still serving pastries and coffee that he loved so much, and in the very center of it, a long table was still set up, permanently reserved for him, and for his friends and there they were, passing plates of cakes between each other, sipping on drinks that either looked too sweet or bitter, laughing and talking, and making their usual raucous, and nothing changed, nothing fucking changed, even when he met Minghao’s eyes, even when he was pulled into a hug by Soonyoung, even when Seungcheol made a space beside him so he could sit.
Nothing changed, and that tore him more than it should because he knew he did something bad, he knew he left them but they were looking at him like he did nothing wrong, talking to him like he hadn’t ignored them for a week, and he couldn’t do it, couldn’t take it, couldn’t enjoy the way Seungcheol slotted their fingers together so he spoke up- in the middle of Jihoon’s explanation about the correct milk, tea and sugar ratio, he cleared his throat and he said “I’m sorry.”
Jeonghan was no longer engulfed in remorse when he told them what had happened the week before, his heart no longer ached, his hands no longer shook, and opening up had never felt so good, the words rolling out of tongue easily, his thoughts spilling out in the air like lyrics in the song that was playing in the background, his sentiment soft and no longer jagged, his sentences gentle and no longer harsh, “I was a bad person, a bad friend,” he concluded, smiling despite the tears that escaped the boundaries of his self-preservation, beaming because he was then brave enough to acknowledge what he had done, and what he was doing, “And I’m sorry that I still am.”
He had thought about that moment before, had thought about what would his friends reaction be, what would they say, and none of them were good, none of them were kind and nice, none of them helped him sleep at night, and being right there, sat at the center of the cafe, fidgeting at the center of circle, he couldn’t help but feel fear rushing back to him, filling his senses with the same kind of pain he had felt when he was in isolation, the bitter taste of metal present in his tongue, the pulsating ache returning behind his eyes, and even before he had the chance to stand up and run away, Wonwoo was speaking up, frowning as he looked around, “What’s happening?”
There was silence, and then there was laughter- his heart jolting out of its place when Minghao answered, “He’s just being stupid, Wonwoo,” he started, holding his gaze with a pretty twinkle in his eyes, sighing softly as he stood up, bending down to scoop him in an embrace, “Did you really think that we’ll hold the past against you?” he asked, whispering to him softly, more tears falling down his cheeks when Soonyoung stood up, wrapping his arms around them, “We’ve all done dumb things in the past, Jeonghan,” his friend continued, “I’ve made all of your lives hell before but here I am, getting squished to death with love,” he heard him chuckle, his eyes closed as he felt more and more people squeezing them in a hug.
Jeonghan had never thought forgiveness could be that easy, and looking back at the torture he had put himself through, he couldn’t help but berate himself for not trusting his friends enough, almost laughing at the absurdity and the enormity of his pain, waving away the cobwebs in his mind, erasing Caesar Flickerman from his head, and trashing the scripts he had stored in the nooks and crannies of his brain containing the hardest moments of his life, his apprehension melting in nothing but soft elation when he smelled the familiar cologne of Seungcheol Choi, blinking his eyes open to see him beside Wonwoo, keeping the confused man company with the orange of his hands reaching out to his fingers.
The evening passed so quickly that Jeonghan himself lost count of how many hours he had spent with his friends in Coffee Express, shrouded with the warmth he tried so hard to replicate with thick duvets, wrapped around in the security he dumbly tried to depict by locking himself in his safe space, held so tenderly by Seungcheol, something that he also sincerely tried to mirror with his own arms and hands- Jun had spent his break in their table, Minghao was stuck by his side, Jihoon had ordered him his favorite drink, Chan had filled him in with whatever his two boyfriends were up to, Jisoo had been nicer to him, and Wonwoo, Wonwoo was in the middle of it all just like he was, at awe and surprisingly adjusting fairly well with the chaos once Vernon proved that Mingyu was, “My homie.”
Everything was easy, and a part of him didn’t understand why, his smile growing wider when both Jiae and Sujeong dropped by, ruffling his hair and tinting his cheeks with faded crimson wax.
Everything was back to normal, and he was still completely in daze in spite of being half-elated, his heart growing heavy with adoration and love when Seokmin pulled him away from Seungcheol to cuddle him by the small library.
And one by one, as the lights from Coffee Express dimmed, and the chairs were turned over, his friends had returned to their homes, and they went back to their own businesses, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but selfishly wonder if that was what they did even when he was in isolation, if they went on about their lives when he was writhing in pain alone in his bathroom, if they joked around and laughed when he was wailing for himself and his past, and he didn’t know- God, he didn’t know how Seungcheol could comfort him with just one peck on forehead, didn’t know how the other man knew what to exactly what to say when he was in on his head.
“They missed you,” Seungcheol whispered, his arms tight around his waist, his breath hot on his skin, “I missed you,” he added, his eyes closed, and his touch soft, “I missed you, I missed you,” he whimpered, and Jeonghan didn’t have it in him to tend to himself and coax the guilt in his core, pouring all his energy on reassuring that he missed them too, that he missed Seungcheol too, “So much,” he returned, pulling his boyfriend closer and closer, the light of the moon shining down on them like it always did.
He blinked.
Once, twice, and then thrice.
And then it was only him and Seungcheol at the empty beach just outside the city, the moon still present to witness yet another display of confessions and drama, the stars blinking mirthfully as he held the other man’s gaze, the smile he wore most of the evening ghosting his lips while he tried to digest what his boyfriend had said, getting rid the haze in his vision because he wanted to see the other, wanted to make sure that everything was real, “You remember,” he echoed back.
“I’ve been remembering for a while now,” Seungcheol answered just in time for a wave to crash unto the shore, the cold breeze of the evening enveloping his arms with goosebumps.
“I told you to tell me,” he breathed out, hands formed into fists, nails digging crescents on his palms- he wasn’t angry, God, he was not, but there was something bitter on his tongue, and something heavy on his shoulder that his voice had came out much harsher than he intended, “You promised me you will so why didn’t you?”
“Because it doesn’t matter, Jeonghan,” the lawyer said, his voice, although still leveled and quiet, had the same kind of intensity that his eyes held, flames blazing behind umber crystals, glitter made out of confusion and rage glimmering under the faint evening night, “I loved you, and I love you now so it shouldn’t matter.”
“It matters, Seungcheol,” he insisted, hissing because everything was coming back to him all at once again, filling his lungs with remorse, filling his head of images that reminded him that he was not good for Seungcheol, that maybe he still wasn’t, “You- you can’t just say that you love me and ignore what I did to you, what I put you thro-”
“I’ve forgiven you, Jeonghan,” Seungcheol interrupted, blinking back his tears as they both remained rooted on their spots, a meter or two away from each other, sand nestled between their toes, the salt of the ocean thick in the air, “I’ve acknowledged your faults, and I’ve forgiven you.”
“Why?” he exhaled, because he truly couldn’t understand, despite him accepting that his friends’ forgiveness and kindness, he didn’t know if he could continue allowing Seungcheol to build a home inside his heart not knowing why he was there, not knowing why, despite everything that happened to them, he was willingly stoking the fire inside his core.
“What do you mean why?” Seungcheol chuckled humorlessly, disbelief written all over his face.
“In every lifetime,” he drawled out, eyes stinging as he recalled the memories that brought him to his knees, of Seungcheol crying because of him, of Seungcheol in pain because of him, of Seungcheol doing everything for him, “I hurt you, and you’d forgive me,” he whimpered, pain returning in his chest, spreading from his heart and his throat, from his arms and on his fingertips, “Why is it always like that? Why are you okay with that? With this?”
“I’ve hurt you as much as you’ve hurt me, Jeonghan,” Seungcheol said, his voice melting down to a quieter timber, shaky as the slight tremors running through his veins, clear as the sound of waves crashing around them, “And in every lifetime, you’ve forgiven me,, and we’ll stay together and figure shit out except-” he gritted his teeth, roughly wiping the tears on his eyes with the back of his hand even before they could grace the slopes of his cheeks- the image of the other man struggling to speak hitting Jeonghan hard, “- except for out last time.”
That was true.
God, that was true.
And Jeonghan couldn’t bring himself to talk because it was Seungcheol’s fault as much as it was.
He was afraid of commitment back then, and Seungcheol loved hard.
They weren’t meant to be together.
“We didn’t remember any of our past lives that lifetime, and looking back now, we did something that we weren’t supposed to do and we lived such miserable lives,” Seungcheol rambled, the shine in his eyes bright and almost hard to look at, they were no longer the universe that brought Jeonghan comfort, but like stars seconds away to exploding, still mesmerizing but so damn terrifying, “I don’t want that to happen again, I want to stay with you this time.”
“You want to stay with me,” he swallowed hard, his throat tight, and his chest oh so painful, “Even if we forget our pasts, even if we pretend like that didn’t hurt us- you’ve seen how I breakdown in this lifetime, you’ve seen how I push away people that comes too close, you’ve seen how I isolate myself when things get hard,” he maundered, “Why? Seungcheol, why?”
And it was like someone had turned on the light switch of the universe, Seungcheol’s face brightening in time with the sun peeking from the horizon, the dawn painting the sky a wild array of dark plums and crimsons, the birds singing songs that Jeonghan were so familiar with, the waves coming into a sudden lull as the man in front of him smiled, his mouth opening with words and sentences Jeonghan didn’t know existed.
“Normally when you meet someone that you like, the first thing you'll offer them is one of your best traits, maybe your prettiest smile, maybe your most wonderful laugh but with you, that's not the case,” Seungcheol shook his head, his voice quivering, the shine in his eyes melting into something tamer, “It was never the case with you because every time that we meet, you've offered me with something that someone would usually keep under the rug after a few dates, sometimes, after a few years of being together.”
Jeonghan was transfixed, and Jeonghan couldn’t move.
“Do you know what that is, Jeonghan?” the other man asked, and all he could do was blink, heart thumping harder and harder against his chest, “It's your ugliest side,” the lawyer answered, the smile in his lips small and timid, but it was so fond, and all Jeonghan wanted to do was cry, “Jeonghan, every time that we meet, you somehow always manages to tell me all your flaws even before I could consider being friends with you. In one universe, you blatantly said you only liked my money, in another, you were a brat that forced me to do dangerous stuff, in another, you said that you're afraid of commitments and in this lifetime, you hate your life.”
Jeonghan knew where the other man’s sentiment was going to go, and he wanted to run to Seungcheol, run to him, hug him and say that he understood but he was frozen, and there were tears in his eyes, marring his vision, distorting everything in front of him.
The world was alive and turning, the world was slowly waking up but it was only him and Seungcheol.
“And every time- fuck, every time,” Seungcheol shook his head, cheeks tinted pink and glossed with tears, “I'll take your hand and let you lead me wherever you want to go, whenever you want to move. Do you know why?”
“No,” he chocked out, knees buckling as he did his best to keep his body upright, refusing to let go of other man’s gaze, adamant on listening, on understanding, “No, I don’t.”
“Because I've always acknowledged the ugly in people, and I have no shame in calling our problems ugly because fuck, they are and I refuse to romanticize the way we hide our feelings, the way we pine for each other, the way we destroy ourselves,” Seungcheol answered, taking one step closer to him, “I've always refused to find beauty in your tears and your ticks because I have them and I know how painful they are. I’m here because I understand you.”
Jeonghan let go of the sob he had been holding on since the moment he stepped inside Coffee Express, the sound he made broken and ugly compared to the sound of waking nature that surrounded them, his sniffles breaking the serenity and the peace the songbirds provided, his pain piercing through the perfect filter the sunrise gave.
And it was okay.
Because Seungcheol understood him.
He felt heard and seen.
And everything was going to be okay.
“I've always understood why you did what you did and I will continue to understand you until the day we die, and meet again,” Seungcheol continued, slowly decreasing the distance between them, his nose red, and his hair tousled, “And you will continue seeking me and I’ll always cross oceans for you. The universe know, and we both know that we're meant to meet because we understand each other’s pain, we understand each other so fucking well.”
They do.
And a part of Jeonghan hated himself for being so stubborn, for clinging unto the pas that shouldn’t really matter, for letting his mistakes anchor him down the ocean of grief, for willingly allowing his pain to shackle him in the cage of his pain.
“And I know that you know that because in the last universe we were in, we spent our time with other people and no matter what we did, it was never the same and the more we tried to fix ourselves alone, the more time we wasted miserable and fuck, we could've just called each other, and talked and we would’ve met in the middle,” Seungcheol continued, and Jeonghan almost couldn’t take it, couldn’t take how honest and how right he was, how vulnerable and open he was, and he wanted to hug him and say that yes, he knew, and yes, he understood but his brain was still overwhelmed, and his body was still refusing to move, so he listened and listened, and listened, “We would've loved each other despite our flaws, we would've loved each other despite how ugly we were, and we would've been happy, we would've been together.”
Jeonghan remembered their last lifetime so clearly, remembered it so well because it was the only lifetime he fixated on for a week, of how he promised Seungcheol to learn how to ride the bicycle and learn to love himself but didn’t, recalled how many nights he wasted looking at Seungcheol through social medias he swore he’d never visit again, remembered the days he spent looking at the horizon alone, wishing and hoping the other man was happy despite his smiles never reaching his eyes for the longest of time.
“Jeonghan, I don't care if you're broken,” he heard Seungcheol mutter, his voice heavy with emotions and sincerity, his sentiment dripping with genuine passion, “I don't care if you see yourself as undeserving, I love you and I'm aware that you can’t get rid of your monsters over night, I know you can't force them away but I'm here at your beck and call,” he continued, his declaration warming his heart, his veneration igniting the hearth inside him to burn brighter and higher.
“I love you and I'm willing to stay by your side while you navigate your way through life because you've done the same to me,” the lawyer said, successfully closing the distance between them, his touch waking up his whole consciousness, his touch sending electricity through his veins, jolting the butterflies in him awake, “Jeonghan, you've always been by my side. You're always there at my worst and I'm not going to beg you to let me stay- I can't do that, I refuse to do that but you have to understand that I love you no matter what.”
Desire was desire, and Jeonghan was there, pooled and thirsting.
Jeonghan blinked.
He blinked once, twice and then thrice.
And even before the sun ad completely shown itself to the world, he was pulling Seungcheol closer to him, both of his hands on either side of the other man’s face, thumbing his tears away as he claimed his lips, putting every ounce of love he had for the other man through his tongue, heart stuttering when large hands pulled him close, squeezing him tight, and returning his kiss with much, much more fervor, tasting grapefruit on his mouth- Seungcheol was sweet and intense, Seungcheol still kissed hard and still loved hard, and Jeonghan knew how to handle him, knew then how to calm him down with soft caresses and tender touches, and he was so fucking dumb to think that they weren’t meant to be, that they wouldn’t work because they do, they fucking do.
“I love you,” he breathed out when the passionate kissed turned to saccharine pecks, “I love you,” he repeated, again and again, telling Seungcheol to say by his side, “Forever,” he pleaded, fresh tears falling down his warmed cheeks when he heard to other man whisper “Yes,” in between chaste nips, and as they held each other, watching the sun in front of them with sand sticking on their clothes and their skin, he realized how everything good in his life seemed to lead back to his friends, and every single time, he’d run in their arms, and he’d exist not just for himself but for them, and for friendships and bonds, and for love, and for Seungcheol, the man he’d always look for, the man he’d always return to.
“Let’s get you home,” he heard Seungcheol say, letting the other man haul him up from the ground, his heart fluttering, when he stole another kiss, bravery surging through his veins when he asked him how he was going to do that, enjoying the blush on the other man’s cheeks when he whispered, “I’m here beside you, I’m already home.”
Seungcheol had kissed him again and again, claimed his lips until the sunlight had turned harsh on their skin, and he let him hold his hand and pull him away from the shore, allowed him to lead him to his car and didn’t bother asking where they would go because Jeonghan knew then that it didn’t matter, that it no longer mattered as long as it was with him- he’d follow Seungcheol, and everything would be alright, and everything would be fine, even when fear still lingered at the back of his mind, he’d do it anyway because it was his life, and nothing and no one could control his decision but him, and if he wanted to stay with Seungcheol, that was what he would do.
Over and over.
Again and again.
Notes:
Talking helps.
A lot.
Chapter 13: Jeonghan Yoon
Summary:
"Beyond all hope, I prayed those timeless
days we spent might be made twice as long.I prayed one word: I want.
Someone, I tell you, will remember us,
even in another time."— Sappho, Six Fragments for Atthis
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Jeonghan would never get tired of watching how the rays of the sun illuminated almost everything it touched, its light dancing merrily with the fluttering leaves and gliding clouds, casting the prettiest shadows unto the world, and unto the dashboard in front of him, shimmering gold snaking its way on the rough surface, mingling with the dark shade, the two waltzing, intertwined in the most intimate way, skimming along the ridges of the air vents and the smooth expanse of the windshield, snaking gracefully around the coarse leather of the steering wheel, bravely continuing their elegant dance on the alabaster skin of Seungcheol’s hands- they look pretty, under the dazzling glow of the sun, everything looked beautiful, and Jeonghan would be lying if he said that the man beside him wasn’t the most beautiful right then, umber eyes turning almost a light shade of hazel, cheeks flushed coral, the smile ghosting over his lips as bright as the ball of fire hovering over them.
“What are you doing?” he heard Seungcheol ask, his voice raspy compared to the soft soprano crooning from the radio, the melody of the nostalgic song he couldn’t remember the title of amplifying the sense of deja vu he was currently having- he wondered if it was going to be like that every time, his mind rewinding the countless of memories similar to the current one he was experiencing and shroud him with soft longing, giving him the kind of itch he couldn’t scratch, giving him a word he couldn’t say out loud because it was stuck on the tip of his tongue, half-frustrating and half-thrilling, “Jeonghan?”
“I’m looking at you,” he answered easily, blinking at how sudden the bubble of deja vu that encaged his consciousness popped with just one bashful smile from Seungcheol, cheeks slightly flaring at the honesty of his own reply, the butterflies in his stomach stirring awake when the other man held his gaze, ivory skin flushing with the faintest pink, his eyes, as if they were moving on their own, deliberately tracing the lawyer’s features, from his long eyelashes to the rims that held back tears on many occasions, from the slope of his nose to the swell of his cheekbones, from his jaw and chin to his mouth, plump lips glistening under the sweltering light of the sun like fresh cherries on top of a cool ade.
“Why?” Seungcheol chuckled, eyebrow raised as they stopped by a red light, the roses beneath his skin unfurling to a darker crimson, disbelief marring the sparkle in his eyes- Jeonghan had never been good at reading people, he used to be, but in that lifetime, it was hard for him to assume what the others were feeling when he himself couldn’t figure out his own emotions but right then, looking at his boyfriend fidgeting as he waited for an answer felt as if he was seeing him in a new light, a much transparent one, his mind acting as if it was an expert on Seungcheol Choi and his body language, and maybe it was, because all he could see right then was nervousness and uncertainty, apprehension and fear.
Jeonghan couldn’t help but ask himself if those had always been present, hidden under a mask of bravery and certitude, cloaked with a veil of confidence for the sake of assuring and comforting him, overlooked and kept out from his own sight because he was too busy inside his head and his crumbling world, almost too selfish to think about Seungcheol, to think about the lines on his face, the tension on his shoulder, the smile on his mouth that sometimes would never reach his eyes.
He swallowed hard, because under normal circumstances, he would’ve berated himself, recoiled and ran away, taunt himself and chant that he was no good, and that he didn’t deserve Seungcheol and the bright future that came with him but right then, powered with the same adoration and love that the other man had showered him with, he found himself smiling, his mind and his heart, for the first time in a very long time, in sync with each other, all of him adamant on making sure that he was returning the affection and the affirmations that his boyfriend gave him tenfold.
“Because you’re beautiful,” he breathed out, a part of him unsure if he said it loud enough for the other man to hear but witnessing bright cardinal travel from the base of the lawyer’s neck up to his cheeks and the tips of his ears, there was no doubt that he heard his sentiment, and right then he recalled just how he found Seungcheol handsome and radiant and beautiful in all of their shared lifetimes, a twang of pain shooting through his heart when he realized how he rarely said it to the other man, how it had always been the other shouting praises in the air for him and never the other way around, and Jeonghan right then, wanted to do nothing but do the same, open his mouth and fill the world with Seungcheol’s name, let the winds carry the poems he’d mutter that reminded him of Seungcheol around the world, brand the earth with songs he’d sing for Seungcheol, “You’re beautiful and real, and I don’t understand how.”
And as Seungcheol stared at him with disbelief, the corners of his mouth curling in a small smile, Jeonghan couldn’t stop himself from reaching out for his hand, sunlight painting their skin a light apricot, softer than the orange he painted their hands with before but just as warm, his thumb gliding on his skin, and on his palm, resting just above his pulse- he was alive and real, and Jeonghan almost wanted to cry again because he was in a car with the most wonderful human being that he loved so much, the butterflies inside him fluttering in frenzied chaos, tremors running through his veins.
It was all too much, and it was so overwhelming until it wasn’t, the storm inside him turning into a light drizzle as Seungcheol held his hand and raised it on his mouth, placing a tender kiss on his knuckles like a silent veneration he had no word for, the sudden urge to return his reverence igniting the embers underneath his skin, flames licking his insides and rendering his throat dry- he wanted to get on his knees and worship Seungcheol and how hard he loved, wanted to brand his devotion on his skin with his mouth, wanted to grace his skin with praises with his tongue.
Desire was the color of crimson on Seungcheol’s skin, and desire was the color of their adjoined hands.
“God, I want to suck you so bad,” he whispered, and it should break the illusion of love that covered and warmed both of their bodies, but because it wasn’t an illusion, it didn’t- even when they both broke down into fits of giggles, even when their laughter drowned the classical song playing on the radio, the longing between them never faltered, didn’t even dilute down to something less intense, and as he tipped his head back, looked at his boyfriend who was driving with a smirk playing on his mouth, he reached out and snaked his fingers through the other man’s silky locks, “I’m not joking,” he exhaled, yearning, “I want to show you how much I missed you, how much I love you.”
And Jeonghan really didn’t know where he was getting his boldness from, shame nowhere to be found as he found himself pulling Seungcheol inside his apartment after an agonizing car ride, closing his door with haste, and taking his boyfriend’s face between his hands, claiming his lips as his and letting himself be pushed on the wall, opening his mouth when he felt an eagerly begging for entrance, keening as he sucked on it as languidly as he could, his fingers making their way on his boyfriend’s hair, pulling on long tendrils of ebony as he felt hands running up and down his sides.
Kissing Seungcheol felt like swimming in lava, lungs filled with flames and skin burning wherever the other touched, it was intense and it should overwhelm him but he couldn’t find it in him to stop, his mouth latching itself on the smooth skin of the other man’s neck as he listened to him panting on his ear, thrill shooting up his spine when he spun and trapped his boyfriend on the wall, pushing his body closer to his as he sucked and nipped on his jaw, groaning when he found himself slotting a leg in between the lawyer’s leg, the feeling of his hard arousal clouding his mind with lust and passion, letting the other man grind on him as he busied himself with peppering bruises on his skin.
“Does that feel good, Cheollie?” he breathed out, pressing his thigh harder on the other man’s crotch, enjoying the way his boyfriend’s hips stuttered on the sudden pressure, hissing when the hands on his waist slid down to cup his ass, his lover kneading his flesh as he pulled him closer and closer, rubbing his tented front on him, “Do you want me to make you feel better?” he asked, holding back a moan when Seungcheol answered with a bite on his shoulder, large hands still groping his behind, “Do you want to fuck my mouth?”
And even before embarrassment flood his consciousness about what he said, Seungcheol was kissing him again, coaxing his mouth open for a kiss so intense, he swore he could feel his surroundings spin, the urge to please the other man growing stronger by the second, any contempt left in his mind melting to a puddle of goo when he heard his boyfriend moaned a quiet, “Baby” on his lips, his fingers unbuckling the lawyer’s belt as he allowed his mouth to get ravaged, the sweet taste of his boyfriend intoxicating and numbing, putting his mind in a sort of heavenly haze, flames engulfing his own body when his hands wrapped themselves around the length of Seungcheol’s cock, pulling away slightly from him to look at his swollen lips and then his member that was equally as flushed and wet.
“Pretty,” he heard the other man breathe out, the air around them thick with tension, and he couldn’t help but lick his lips when he met Seungcheol’s gaze, thumbing his slit and spreading pre-cum on his shaft, “But you’d look prettier with my cock in your mouth.”
Jeonghan suddenly felt faint.
Because he was used to hearing Seungcheol praise him, but God- it was different when his adoration was mixed with filth, his knees buckling under his weight as he shakily dropped on the floor, looking up at his boyfriend like he made the world for him, and maybe he did, his love helping him see the mountains teeming with life instead of just boulders, his gentleness helping him see meadows of flowers instead of barren lands, his heart helping him see the beauty in the world that he hated in the past, and right then, as he licked the head in front of him- he wondered if he could help the other man see heaven with his mouth.
Seungcheol’s cock laid heavy on his tongue as he slowly took everything in, occasionally pausing to lick and suck just to hear his boyfriend grunt in pleasure, his own dick twitching in pleasure with breathy praises that left his lover’s mouth, motivating him to do good, to do better, his hands running up and down the other man’s thighs, deliberately using his nails to scratch lightly on his skin, his eyes fluttering shut when he felt the tip poking the back of his throat, swallowing hard just to hear what kind of sound Seungcheol would make, his ministrations rewarded with a husky, “Fuck, baby,” and two hands gripping his hair, “God, you look so pretty stuffed like this,” he heard him say, his eyes blurry when he opened them, looking up at the lawyer who was watching him with dark umber eyes, “You’re going to let me fuck your mouth, lovely?”
Lovely.
He hadn’t heard that pet name in such a long time, the familiar coo that came with it pulling out a pleased moan from the base of his throat, nodding as he braced himself on the onslaught of punishing thrusts that Seungcheol made, the cock in his mouth sliding in and out of his mouth with ease, lips stretched in an almost painful way, the sensation heading straight to his own cock, perverted thoughts about his boyfriend’s dick in his hole fueling him to keep taking what the other man was giving, cherishing the noises he was making, and continuing the brutal rhythm the other had started when he felt him slowing down.
“Jeonghan,” he heard him groan, the hands on his hair gripping his locks tighter, “I’m close,” he exhaled, his breathing just as uneven as his- and fuck, he really should listen to the other man, should allow him to make all the decisions because it was all about him in the first place but the thought of his boyfriend’s cum in his mouth and down his throat had rendered him stupid, lapping on his dick like it was the oasis in the desert he spent half his lifetime exploring, sucking relentlessly, bobbing his head up and down, up and down as his nails form crescents at the back of Seungcheol’s thighs, “Baby, I’m gonna c-”
And then he did.
Warm and thick cum filling his mouth like honey, his vision, despite still being marred with tears of pleasure, capturing the bliss on the other man’s face upon his release, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open as the most beautiful sound rolled off of his tongue, waiting for the other man to look at him before swallowing everything down, nuzzling on his palms when rough hands caressed his cheeks, thumbing the bottom of his lip with gentleness.
“Come here,” Seungcheol muttered, his eyes clouded with stars, skin tinted with the brightest red, and Jeonghan couldn’t believe how the sheer beauty of the other man, even after literally just sucking him off seconds ago, could still render him breathless, his whole body trembling when he was hauled up, a strong arm snaking its way around his waist to pull him close, and the other clutching on his locks, his moan swallowed down by his boyfriend when he claimed his mouth again, toes curling at how fucking filthy the kiss was, the other man sucking on his tongue that squeezed out the neediest whine from him, his mind going haywire when the same strong hands that cradled his body found their way at the back of his legs, jumping on instinct and wrapping them around the other man, his fingers resting on his shoulders, nipping on his ear as the other man navigated his way in his apartment.
It would be a lie if he said he never thought of doing that with Seungcheol before because he had, and it was almost embarrassing how quick he’d come undone with just the thought of the other man’s hand around his dick, and to see and to feel him in the flesh right then, it took all of Jeonghan’s energy not to burst, doing his best to control his breathing when he was thrown on his bed, his swollen lips trapped between his teeth as he watched Seungcheol peel his clothes off before hovering on top of him, trailing wet kisses on his chest while he helped him out of his shirt, tongue gliding down his skin, breath hitching when he took a nipple in his mouth, teeth grazing his sensitive nub all the while fingers drew his pants down, his cock twitching at the sudden absence of clothing.
“Don’t,” he warned as Seungcheol made a move to tease him with his tongue, “I want to cum with you inside me,” he muttered, licking his lips as he bravely held the other man’s gaze, ignoring the bashful cackle of fire underneath his cheeks, “I want to make you feel good first- please.”
And Seungcheol was really looking at him then, breathing ruggedly with a look of palpable wander on his face, eyes glistening with more than just lust, with more than just desire, the softness in his smile the complete opposite of the wanton expressions shrouding his features just moments ago.
Staring back at him, it felt as if he was looking at all different versions of Seungcheol, of him in different universes, of him in different lifetimes, and yet, he couldn’t help but swallow back down a sob, because in every version of Seungcheol, he was donning the same expression, and Jeonghan, as much as he did his best to rack his memory, he couldn’t seem to find out what he did to deserve Seungcheol, to be looked at with so much love, to be held with so much tenderness.
“What are you thinking, Jeonghan?” Seungcheol asked, hovering closer as his hands roamed his body.
“How lucky I am to have you,” he answered, writhing under lingering touches.
“Yeah?” Seungcheol hummed, mouth returning to the sensitive skin of his shoulder, asking him why he thought he was lucky, and despite the fog in his mind, despite the anticipation clouding his consciousness, Jeonghan answered him as if his life depended on it, told him how good he was to him as he watched him fetch lube from his discarded coat, told him how golden his heart was as he felt him slick his entrance with his fingers, gritting his teeth when a digit entered him languidly, going in and out of his hole in the most enchanting way, told him how encouraging and supportive and motivating he was, gasping when another finger entered him, stretching him as Seungcheol urged him to keep going, tongue and teeth teasing his sensitive nipples, the praises he wanted to say coming out breathy and squeezed in between moans.
“How about now?” he heard Seungcheol whisper, nipping on his ear as another digit joined the two that was inside him, moaning when he found himself grinding back on the other man’s hand, his cock sliding against the lawyer’s that looked just as painfully hard as his, “Are you feeling lucky right now, Hannie?” he shuddered, nodding with urgency as he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's neck, pulling him closer when he felt a finger prodding his prostate, whimpering when the other man demanded an answer.
“Luckier,” he breathed out, the butterflies inside him growing crazy and wild, “I feel luckier- fuck,” he mewled, squeezing his eyes shut when Seungcheol bit on his neck hard, “I love how your body covers mine,” he continued, panting when he felt his lover sliding his cock against his, “Love that you could stretch me out so good,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut when the fingers inside him explored him ruthlessly, rubbing on spots that had him seeing white, “Love, love, love how hard you hold me,” he softly whined, his lover’s free hand squeezing his ass madly, “Fuck- Cheol, you make me feel so good- I wanna make you feel good, too.”
And then he was pushing his boyfriend away, shifting their position so he was the one on top, panting and completely dazed, biting on his lips as he angled his hips, heart racing “Let me make you feel good,” and then he was sliding Seungcheol’s cock inside him without any sort of caution, both him and his boyfriend hissing at the contact, his whole body burning as he felt the other man’s cock inside him, throbbing and hot, keening when large hands branded fingertips on his skin.
“God, you’re big,” he breathed out, feeling absolutely filthy as he spluttered out dazed cries, telling Seungcheol how he felt so good inside him, his nails digging deep crescents on his shoulder, bouncing up and down, up and down, knees trembling with every grunt and with every groan the other made, the sounds he was making almost as good as the songs he had recorded for him, “I want you inside me all the time,” he cried, the taste of metallic blood coating his tongue when he bit his lips too hard, surprised by the way the other had thrust up to meet him, the tip of his cock successfully hitting him on the right spot, “You feel so fucking amazing.”
Jeonghan swore he wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow, his knees shaking as he continued his ministrations, grinding heavily on the cock inside him, raking his fingernails on Seungcheol’s chest while his lover viciously fucked him, adamant on targeting all the right spots that had him screaming for the heavens.
“Jesus,” he gasped, the world around him spinning as he was thrown back on the bed, his heart almost bursting inside his chest when the other man buried himself deep inside him, chuckling humorlessly on his ear, “Seungcheol,” the other man breathed out, “Shouldn’t you be screaming my name, Hannie?”
Jeonghan had never felt so fucking aroused in his whole entire life- he had known Seungcheol loved hard, he had known the other man was a fucking animal in bed, he had spent some nights under the cold spray of his shower as he relieved memories of him fucking him in different positions but God, experiencing it then after a long time of drought, everything that he did was enough to almost set his whole being on fire.
“Fuck- Cheol,” he cried out, toes curling as the other man pounded in him relentlessly, his pace merciless, every thrust crude and almost inhumane, and he should tell him to stop but the burn was so good, and the ache was so delicious that he couldn’t bring himself to say anything but “Harder, Cheol,” crying pleasure as he focused on how big his lover was, clenching his hole in an attempt to make everything feel better, to make his boyfriend curse in his ear, to make his rhythm slow even just for a minute.
“You’re taking me so perfectly,” Seungcheol whispered as he bottomed out, staying still for a second before peppering him adoration and bites, thrusting in and out in a pace so slow and maddening, Jeonghan had no choice but to life his hips up, urge the other man to fuck him fast, to fuck him hard, legs wrapping around his body just so he could pull him closer and closer, chanting his lover’s name over and over again when he started picking up pace again, his cock plunging deep inside him, sinking in his sensitive hole with purpose and power, his prostate deliberately nudged and poked with every shove.
“I’m close,” he stammered out, looking up at Seungcheol who was watching him with eyes glimmering with pleasure, “Cheollie, I’m close- so, so close.”
And then Seungcheol was kissing him, asking him to come untouched in between pecks, urging him to let go in between groans, reassuring him that he was close too, that it was okay, that he got him- so he did, his legs quivering as he came, shuddering when he felt Seungcheol’s hot load filling him up to the rim while his boyfriend continued ravaging his mouth, swallowing down his mewls and his whines, lazily grinding down on him as they both rode their high, his body spent, and his mind almost blank, vision blurry as Seungcheol pulled away, the sound of the city dying down as they held each other’s gazes.
“I’m not a religious person,” Seungcheol mumbled, still just as breathless as him, “But there are times that I want to thank God for letting me meet you again and again.”
“I pray,” he found himself saying, closing his eyes as his lover rested his forehead against his, “To no one really,” he breathed out, inhaling the scent of sex and the scent of the other man’s familiar cologne, “But I’ve always prayed for a life like this, for a love like this,” he chuckled quietly, opening his eyes and cradling Seungcheol’s face between his trembling hands, “I prayed for someone like you.”
“I love you,” Seungcheol mumbled in reply, planting a chaste kiss on his mouth before gathering him in his arms, the two of them mumbling sweet nothings in hushed voices, tracing each other’s features with feather-light touches, trading memories like those vignettes didn’t hurt them, exchanging kisses as they cleaned each other up, holding unto one another until the moon had disappeared, and the sun had risen.
There had always been something delicate and tender about waking up with someone by your side, and Jeonghan, despite his inclination of being alone, was not exempted from that fluttery feel of opening your eyes and getting graced with the very image of innocence and vulnerability, his heart aching in the most serene way, blinking his sleep away to watch the rise and fall of his boyfriend’s chest, smiling at the softness of his everything, entranced with his long eyelashes, bewitched by the soft snores he was making- he wanted to capture that moment right then, chewing on his lips as decided against it, sighing with gaiety when he was pushed back down on the bed, Seungcheol’s arms wrapping around his body, his head tucked under his chin, asleep, yet still loving as ever.
Everything was going to change, he thought, swinging a leg over Seungcheol’s as he found himself holding his lover just as tight, thinking about how the second his boyfriend awoke, nothing would be the same ever again- the idea scared him, the very concept of the afterglow frightened his entire being but God, he was excited, beaming to himself while he watched pastels bled across the sky from his window, realizing then how dumb he was for pressuring him into being unafraid, lightly berating himself for causing himself grief just because he was afraid because the thing was, everyone was just as afraid as he was, and no one should really tell another person to not be afraid because that was like saying don’t blink.
Jeonghan was human, he was then stewing at that while he nuzzled closer to his boyfriend, he was free to have flaws and make mistakes, and be afraid, and right then, he was afraid of Seungcheol waking up because everything will shift and move and change but that didn’t mean he didn’t want things to change, he was just afraid, but he was going to face the future nonetheless, he was still going to be afraid, and he was going to continue living- he was human, and he was allowed to digest everything in his own pace, he was allowed to make small steps until he could walk with confidence, stride with courage, run with certainty.
A lot of people had always said that everything was bound to be okay, he had told him the same sentiment over and over again, but it was just that morning he really believed that eventually, everything would eventually fall into place, and he’d be fine, and he’d look back at all of his worst moments and laugh, and as he felt Seungcheol stir awake, all his worries had melted into nothing but a puddle of joy, electricity running through his veins as he was peppered with kisses, a quiet, “Good morning,” whispered on the junction of his neck and shoulder, the fear lingering at the back of his mind replaced with a sense fondness, the domesticity of Seungcheol pulling him up and dragging him in his bathroom so they could get ready for the day enveloping his body with warmth.
“We’re not going to work today, right?” he asked, peering up at Seungcheol who was brushing his teeth, half-naked and beaming with foam on his mouth- he was adorable, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but voice out his silly observation, “You look really cute right now.”
“You don’t have to butter me up,” Seungcheol chuckled, his cheeks a faint color of pink- Jeonghan was utterly smitten, “I already told Minghao we’re taking a couple of days off.”
“A couple?” he raised an eyebrow, the embers beneath his skin blazing as he was pulled against the other man’s chest, breath hitching when his boyfriend stayed silent, smiling at him dubiously, the smell of mint and of his peach soap lingering in the air, squeaking in surprise when the lawyer squeezed his behind, his lover laughing loudly as he left him in the bathroom, telling him to come out for dinner whenever he was ready like he owned his apartment.
Seungcheol was silly, and Jeonghan was completely charmed by him.
Sharing his space was not really something he was bothered of, and looking back at how many days and nights his apartment was filled with boisterous laughter and lively chatters, he came to love how his home became his friends’ as well, his whole body warmed tenfold when he recalled his conversation with Wonwoo, his realization that he finally had everything he had been dreaming of coming into mind once again- he was lucky and he was blessed, but as he ambled outside his bedroom, he couldn’t help but think of what was running inside Seungcheol’s mind, wondering if he’d find his apartment as welcoming as Wonwoo did.
But Seungcheol was Seungcheol, and of course he’d always look at him and everything that surrounded him with love and sensitivity- watching his boyfriend move around his kitchen, the overwhelming love he had for the other man had resurfaced again, coming into him like waves crashing unto rocks, filling his mind with the sounds of sin and love that echoes around his room the night before, of declarations of love, of breathy praises, and of soft good nights.
Jeonghan could see himself bringing Seungcheol into his home over and over again, not just because he loved him deeply but because the other man had never ignored the things he was uncomfortable to talk about, he noticed how his house smelled too strongly of Lysol but never showed pity when he explained how cleaning was a habit of his when he could no longer control his emotions, he pointed out the wilting flowers in every corners of his apartment and nodded as if it was normal for people to have rotten petals littered on their floors, and when he apologized for only having marmalade in his fridge, the other man had said, “I don’t mind,” kissed his cheek and suggested they make strawberry jam in the future, both of them buzzing with elation as they shared a cup of coffee and almost finished a loaf of bread as they both talked about what scared them the most in their last lifetime, of their issues and their worries, and their fears in between kisses and smiles.
He talked about the places he would go to when the world was too much, surprised to answer Seungcheol’s question without hesitation, that if not his room, it would be “Beside you,” his heart racing when Seungcheol blushed- he decided he liked that, liked the way his lover’s pale skin bloomed into roses, faint at first and then intense the more he told him how much he meant to him, and maybe he looked the same, maybe the warmth he felt under his flesh had burned through the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears because Seungcheol did the same, told him things that made his stomach flip, carved praises on the column of his neck, branded veneration along his shoulder with teeth.
It was ridiculous how much time they spent that day attached, holding each other and kissing, the sun shining down brightly at them as they traded stories from their shared past when their lungs started burning, laughing and joking around just to give the flesh of their lips some break, tracing each other’s skin with gentle fingers, mapping the expanse of their skin features with nips that would always end up in passionate make-outs, the citrus on their tongues replaced with the saccharine taste of their love.
“Get your ass over here, Jeonghan- I swear to God, I’ll drag you out of your apartment myself if you’re still not here by the next five minutes,” Jiae hissed through his phone, her voice and her absurdity pulling his mouth in a smile, “Are you still holing up with Seungcheol? Jeonghan- it’s been two days, you guys need t-”
“Seungcheol’s not with me,” he chuckled, cutting off his friend as he looked outside the window of the taxi he had successfully hailed, “He went back to his apartment yesterday,” he explained, “He might even be already in the office.”
“Whatever,” his friend dismissed, snorting, “As long as you guys aren’t humping like rab-”
“I’ll be at Coffee Express in two minutes,” he interrupted, bidding his friend farewell as she continued chortling, telling him to be careful between her teases.
It was silly how he suddenly felt sentimental, pocketing his phone as tears marred his vision, the view of the bustling city already bright and lively in spite of still being too early in the morning, blinking away the grateful tears pooling in his eyes while he basked at how truly lucky he was, to have friends that were always rooting for him, to have a lover that was always waiting for him, to have a life that was always opening doors to greater opportunities for him, he tongued his cheek and he clenched his fists, thoroughly grateful and beyond happy- a part of him wanting to bawl because he had everything, and he knew he would never be just as ecstatic, the other part of him excited and hopeful because the chance of him being happier and more ecstatic was high, so damn high.
He was starting to understand himself, and everything that was happening around him.
Jeonghan loved his friends.
Jeonghan loved Seungcheol.
And Jeonghan was slowly loving himself.
Jiae, Minghao and Jun was already halfway through their breakfast when he arrived, surprised to see not only them but Sujeong and the trio as well, the cafe buzzing with early morning chatters, the shop drowning with the smell of coffee and butter, and he was already being showered with love, the garden inside him sprouting new plants and flowers with every kisses that were peppered on his cheeks, his friends’ embraces stoking the hearth inside him, his core warmed by their affections and fond teases- he missed them, and he knew was missed as well, giddy at how he had become one of the stars in their systems, and them in his, smiling widely as Jihoon and Soonyoung arrived with the news of Wonwoo remembering.
“It was hilarious,” Soonyoung guffawed as he sat beside him, slinging an arm around his shoulder while Jihoon chuckled under his breath, stealing a piece of toast from Vernon’s plate, “We were playing Monopoly last night and he froze for a minute, then turned to Mingyu and said, I’ve seen your dick before .”
The laughter that followed his friend’s testament was a loud one, alerting both Jiae and Sujeong who was huddled together by the small library, ambling back to the table to ask what was happening, Jeonghan’s heart dropping when Seungkwan told them a different story, a huge part of him wanting to tell them the truth, the guilt simmering inside his stomach dissipating when he caught Minghao’s eyes, a knowing smile on his mouth, “Soon,” the shine in his eyes said, “Soon,” the small nod he gave promised.
Soon, he blinked.
The day had started with his friends surrounding him, and the day had ended in the same fashion- Seungcheol attached by his side as their usual circle welcomed the cold night together, talking about anything and everything, laughing at the inanity of life, a sense of longing falling lightly over his shoulder as he watched his friends smiling, lingering behind even when everyone had said good bye, an overwhelming feeling of melancholy filling his chest because even when he knew that they’d meet each other again in another lifetime, Jeonghan was aware that the number of hours they had together was not large, almost not enough.
“Let’s make the most of our time together, then,” Seungcheol smiled when he opened about his worries, the voices at the back of his head turning into whispers that were soon drifting away with the evening breeze.
His boyfriend was right, of course he was correct, time was out of their control but despite that acceptance, he still found himself taking more and more pictures of his friends in the most beautiful light, “Just in case it would be the last time,” he once told Jun, “Just in case something goes wrong,” and the barista had hugged him until his eyes were dry, until his chest no longer ached, and until his worries for the day no longer mattered, Seungcheol staying by his side day by day, and night by night.
He took pictures over and over again because he was afraid of forgetting.
Then Jeonghan took pictures again and again until his reason changed, angling his camera towards the people he loved so much, grief no longer gnawing on his heart, “You look really pretty here,” he’d say, handing out the photographs he took, giving them away to his friends, and letting go of the films while he kept the memories if their beams and why they smiled in his mind, no longer apprehensive that he’d forget, no longer scared that he’d think of them as figments of his imagination, convinced that their lives weren’t stored in photographs but in the taste of marmalade, the smell of coffee, and the radiance of the rising sun.
And already having what he had been longing for his entire life, Jeonghan thought that he’d never found himself staring at his pale ceiling with wishes on the tip of his tongue ever again and yet, there he was, curled inside Seungcheol’s arms, eyes stinging as he remained unblinking, chest filled with love, he couldn’t stop himself from daydreaming about a better life, of putting a ring on Seungcheol’s finger, of building a house with him, and growing flowers and plants, maybe even trees in their backyard with their pets, maybe even their kids, and he wanted to take his friends in every places he loved, wanted to store their laughter and their voices in every corner of the world, let the universe know that it was right to allow them to meet over and over again.
“You want to marry me?” Seungcheol grinned when his thoughts came out of his mouth one night, the smell of stir-fried vegetables and sweet wine filling his senses, the domesticity of his boyfriend wearing his apron with his things strewn around his apartment once again warming his whole entire being, his cheeks burning as the realization of what he had just spouted dawned on him- not really afraid to talk about a commitment that entailed forever, but was a tad bit shy that he was the one that opened up about marriage, “Did you mean that?”
“Why would I joke about that?” he huffed, turning away from his boyfriend’s piercing gaze in an attempt to hide the flush on his skin, heart oddly racing as he mumbled on and on about how it was a normal thing to say, rambling about their love and their bond, his fingers fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt as more and more sentiments flowed of his mouth, frowning as his rants were met with nothing by silence, his heart almost lurching out of his chest when he turned around, Seungcheol Choi kneeling on one knee, beaming up at him with a velvet box on his hands.
“Jeonghan Yoon,” his lover had started, his vision hazy, “Will y-”
“What the fuck are you doing?” he breathed out, blinking as he stared at the other man, his throat dry and constricted, the world around them halting to a stop.
“Proposing?” Seungcheol answered, the smile on his face falling just slightly, faint crimson bleeding on the apples of his cheeks.
“You can’t just-” he stammered, swallowing hard as he tried his best to ignore the glinting diamond on his boyfriend’s hand, something akin to thrill or fear running up his spine, “Seungcheol, you can’t propose to me just because I said I wanted to marry you.”
“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol exhaled, blinking back at him as the butterflies in him twitched awake, his heart pounding harder and harder against his chest, his ears burning as flashes of his daydreams resurfaced in his mind, of Seungcheol as his husband, and of them owning their own house, the sense of yearning for something they missed out on in their last lifetime shrouding his body with both warmth and frost, “I’m proposing because I want to marry you.”
“What?” he whispered, elation bubbling at the base of his stomach, the sounds around them, of the evening traffic outside his apartment, the sizzle of the pan that held their dinner, the soft dialogues of the Netflix show they had stopped paying attention to drowned by the echoes of Seungcheol’s declaration- he wanted to marry him, he wanted to spend an eternity with him.
“I’ve been holding on to this ring for months now,” he heard the other man confess, his voice quiet and almost shy, and all Jeonghan wanted to do was laugh, cackle at how both of them could still make each other nervous and bashful even after a year of being together- Jeonghan wanted to laugh, and then kiss him senseless, wanted to assure him that with him, to him and for him, it was always going to be a yes, “I was just waiting for you to you know, say something about it and I-”
“Yes,” he exhaled out, lips quivering, and voice shaky as he heard his own answer through his own ears, chest heaving at the weight of his decision, his entire being buzzing with glee, heart pumping euphoria in his bloodstream- he was scared, of course he was scared, but the happiness he felt after saying yes outweighed all his doubts and worries.
“What?” Seungcheol maundered out, still blinking at him with glistening eyes, the tremors running through his fingers visible and Jeonghan shouldn’t feel reassured by that but he was because that meant that Seungcheol was scared too, but he was still asking him, still chasing him just as much as he was- they were both afraid, but they had been constantly moving forward for themselves and for each other, and Jeonghan loved him so much, loved him with every ounce of his being.
“I said yes,” he repeated, closing the distance between them with small and tentative steps, tears freely falling down his burning cheeks, his heart soaring with gaiety, chuckling softly as Seungcheol continued to stare up at him with wonder, eyes wide and mouth agape, “Now is the right time to put the ring on me, Cheollie.”
“Right,” his boyfriend shook his head, his expression transforming from shock to happiness, “Fuck, yeah- okay,” he licked his lips, standing up and reaching out for his hand gingerly, sliding the cold ring in his finger with caution, holding him as if he was going to break, the beat of his heart loud and clear, and Jeonghan felt so fucking love, felt so fucking appreciated and cherished when Seungcheol finally, finally raised his head to meet his gaze, grinning with tears highlighting the crimson on his cheeks.
“I love you,” Seungcheol said, pulling him in a crushing hug as the world continued spinning again, the sounds of the metropolis and the sounds in his apartment returning to harmonize with the thumps of his their hearts, to join in with their hushed veneration and promises, “I love you,” he echoed back, again and again as they skipped dinner and spent the night filling his apartment with declarations of love, the filth of their moans and groans toned down by the sweetness of their confessions and vows.
He realized then how his fear was like the cobwebs in the corner of his bathroom, appearing without any notice at the back of his mind, its presence sometimes pushing him in his own little bubble, locking himself up in his apartment for one or two days, his own will to see the sun again pushing him to get up, face his fears and get rid of it by himself, his heart softening whenever he found either Seungcheol or his friends by his side, holding his hand as he braved to fight off another monster- going to the bank, renewing an ID, and driving, those were the cobwebs he had thrown in the trash during his journey together with eating in public alone, small talks with strangers, and telling a staff when his orders arrived wrong, jumping those hurdles motivating him to keep going outside his box, to stretch out of his shell.
And of course it wasn’t always easy, of course it wasn’t always a good day.
There were still nights when Jeonghan despised the constellations, conjuring Caesar Flickerman inside his head as a distraction, making jars and jars of marmalade to ignore his predicaments, and spending a night on his bathroom floor, but because he understood that he was human, he never once saw those episodes as setbacks again, treasuring those moments instead because those were the times when he was the most vulnerable to himself, his heart and his soul taking a break as he allowed himself a day or two of staying at his lowest, of feeling what he needed to feel, of just existing and nothing more.
“Color?” he heard Seungcheol ask on the other side of the phone, looking at the engagement ring staring back at him with a glint, “Yellow,” he answered, smiling when he noticed the sound of relief in his lover’s voice, “I’ll see you tomorrow then?” the other man breathed out, his question laced with hope, and Jeonghan loved him so much, loved him for giving him space when he needed to, loved him for taking care of him without being too much, loved him for giving him time to adjust to everything.
“Tonight,” he answered back, acknowledging the fact that he missed Seungcheol a lot, the two days of them being apart almost like a torture for his heart, “I’ll cook for us,” he continued, smiling as he picked himself up from the floor, filling up his tub with warm water and soap that smelled of cotton and the sea, “And then maybe we can go hiking tomorrow?”
“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol sighed softly, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but giggle, already aware of what he was going to say, already knew that he was worried, “We can just stay insid-”
“But I want to go out with you,” he interrupted, idly playing with the bubbles on his tub, “And I know you want to go hiking again- Minghao told me.”
“Are you sure?” Seungcheol asked, the uncertainty in his voice melting the ice that had covered Jeonghan’s core for a day, saying yes despite half of him already dreading the strenuous activity, saying yes because he knew that in order for a relationship to work, the two of them had to meet halfway, had to sacrifice something to make the other happy, had to give before he could take, had to learn how to love the things the other loved, to be by their side and make them smile, to hold their hands through the ups and downs, to be their resting spot, to be their home.
“Yes,” he answered again, his heart soaring when the other man replied with a contented, “I love you,” his mood turning green even before he could take his bath, “I love you too,” he replied, telling him to be careful on his way to his apartment before hanging up- for the first time in a very long time, everything was making sense.
Notes:
In the end, it was Jisoo who was not able to remember the past.
“I hope you died warmed by the life you tried to live,” he said as he threw a rose on a mock tomb he had made for the version of him that died the earliest, resting his head on Seokmin’s shoulder, his boyfriend wrapping a steady arm around him, thanking him under his breath for humoring him, “Do you have something to add, Minnie?”
“I loved you until my last breath, loved you with my first,” he heard him say, blinking back his tears away and swallowing down the bitter taste on his mouth, his own heart aching as he recalled how painful his death was for the other man, “And I’ll love you again now- for eternity and beyond that.”
Jisoo used to want to remember but the more he learned about how terrible the stories of their history were, the more he was grateful that he didn’t have to relieve all his hardships, all his energy being used on making sure that Seokmin felt loved, on making sure that he was there when the other man would have nightmares, on making sure that his angel would never be alone again- only ever forgiving the world because Seokmin was there.
“He never stopped loving you,” he mumbled under his breath, lacing his fingers between the younger one’s, “I may not remember, but I’m sure he didn’t- I’m here now after all.”
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spicydokyeom on Chapter 4 Fri 03 Mar 2023 01:23AM UTC
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