Archive of Our Own

jongin throws the number two pencil across the mahogany table. it hits the $500 crystal ash tray that he keeps there and it ricochets, falls to the marble floor to almost silence. his office is too big for a thin piece of wood to make noise.

the vinyl spins on the phonograph, crooning about empty dreams and kisses and a long, long time. jongin crumples the loose sheet he’s been drawing on, not caring that the image distorts into something unrecognizable. the skirt on the page wrinkles alongside jongin’s handwriting.

he tosses the ball of trash into the small mountain he’s accumulated near his feet. jongin eyes the collection with disdain as he sneers.

there is a knock on the door—two steady raps—before there is a cough. jongin raises his head to the door and finds sehun’s long figure leaning against the jamb, languid and easy in his sweatpants and nothing else.

jongin traces the younger male’s torso before he meets sehun’s eyes. the man has a blank face but, jongin knows, he always does.

“what does my favorite model need?” jongin tries to tease, make his voice sound as light as possible.

sehun snorts before he steps inside the room. he pushes the door close and the definitive click disrupts the sound of the singing plastic. jongin sighs as sehun rounds his table. the taller man leans into the wood and the pale skin of his bare torso contrast beautifully against the cherry red. jongin mentally catalogues the color as he looks up.

“you’ve been stressing out since three months ago over this collection, jongin.” sehun crosses his arms over his chest. sehun reaches and pushes jongin’s art book farther from the edge before he hops on top of the table. he wiggles around and jongin adjusts himself so the both of them are facing each other.

sehun’s feet dangle and the model rests them on top of jongin’s lap.

“of course, i am,” jongin answers after a pause. the vinyl pauses and jongin makes a move to remove sehun’s feet but the younger male digs his toes on the tops of jongin’s thighs. the designer sighs and adds, “it’s the seoul collection. kai’s first anniversary in south korea.”

sehun adopts a thinking pose and jongin runs his eyes over the younger male. his fingers grip around sehun’s slim ankles and his stare slows down at the sight of sehun’s defined abs sitting down—practically no flab at all. jongin marvels at the man’s dedication.

“maybe,” the model says after a moment of silence. “what you need in your seoul collection is some—” he snickers and pauses before adding, “—soul.”

jongin tilts his head to the right and sehun grins as he slips down the heavy wooden table. he stands in front of jongin before he plops down on the larger male’s lap. jongin maneuvers them around so sehun’s legs are not uncomfortably twisted. the younger model rests the side of his head against jongin’s neck. jongin sighs when thin lips find his sensitive skin.

“what do you mean by soul?” jongin asks as he tilts his head even more.

a thin hand slips under the soft material of his turtleneck. cold fingers map jongin’s eight-pack lightly and sehun hums in appreciation, says against the nibbles he is leaving beneath jongin’s ear, “your abs are better than mine.”

jongin twists his head as his right hand goes to grip sehun’s hair. he crashes their lips together and sehun giggles against the harsh kiss before it breaks into a drawn out moan after jongin bites his bottom lip.

when they part, jongin says idly, “you’re a model. you have a certain physique to maintain.”

sehun visibly pouts at that at that as he sinks into jongin even more. “the fashion industry is bullshit.”

jongin laughs. “that it is.” he strokes sehun’s back in languid motions, finding a rhythm that is similar to the music playing just awhile ago. “but it pays the bills.”

the model shrugs and he purrs as jongin thumbs down a particularly tight knot below sehun’s left shoulder blade.

“and i meant,” the younger man says, breaking the quiet calmness inside the room. jongin watches as the man’s toes nudge the small hill of crumpled sketches that jongin has managed to build from hours of frustration and creative slump.

“meant what?”

“soul.” sehun wiggles his fingers in jazz motions. “seoul.”

jongin pauses—understands.

“i’ll think about it,” he replies.

“jongin,” sehun sighs at him, put upon and a little tired. “you’ve never gone to korea since you left the country, right?”

jongin nods slightly. on his last year of high school, his father receives a promotion and they have to move to new york. now, at twenty-five years old, south korea is a distant dream of smoke and skyscrapers, and the familiar sound of the creaking swings in the playground two blocks from his old home.

south korea is tinkling laughter and silent tears, confessions and promises.

sehun does not know a single thing.

jongin does not answer, does not tell.

two sketchbooks later and a pack of cigarettes after, jongin is inside his walk in closet, stuffing clothes inside a louis vuitton suitcase. sehun is rolling his turtlenecks and arranging them in neat rows. the model is sitting sprawled on the floor as jongin tosses him pieces of clothes.

he debates which pair of jeans to bring, raising both in front of his eyes. his skinnies never fit him that well so he discards them and opts for tailored trousers. he takes one half of his tom ford suit from last year’s met gala and picks out a chanel tee. sehun carelessly folds thousands of dollars of fabric and squeezes them into the available space.

once it’s all zipped up, jongin pulls out a leather duffel bag from his own brand. he places most of his necessities inside and goes to the safe in his closet. he peeks behind him and sehun is still busy.

the model, however, snorts. “i’m not going to look into your super secret safe, jongin.”

jongin laughs but he breathes a sigh of relief as he cups his palm over the number pad. he enters the pin—930112—and it opens with a barely audible click. slowly, he pulls the safe’s door open. inside, he takes a worn out sketchpad and puts it inside his carry on. the paper is yellowing around the edges—poor quality and cheap, old and almost ready to fall apart.

jongin treasures this the most.

he zips his bag and finds sehun standing in the middle of the large closet space. in jongin’s large t shirt and boxer shorts, he looks like he can still be photographed by vogue—at home chic, maybe frat house boyfriend.

jongin drops his duffel bag when sehun wraps his arms around his neck. thin fingers link over the designer’s nape and the pads of sehun’s fingers are cold—they always are. it reminds jongin of their first meeting almost a year ago now, in the middle of the bathroom in a club in paris. everything is vague from that night except for the goosebumps from the temperature of sehun’s skin.

“what are you thinking?” sehun asks softly. he bends down to murmur against jongin’s lips and the older male’s hands find purchase on sehun’s bony hips.

“you,” jongin answers without hesitation.

sehun laughs, “me?” he shakes his head before he slots his mouth against jongin’s in a quick kiss. “you’re not the romantic type, jongin.”

jongin smirks. “romance is overrated.” he slip his hand beneath the band of sehun’s—his, really—boxers and cups the man’s ass. the model shivers and a moan breaks out of his thin lips when jongin digs his blunt nails into the soft skin.

“everything is overrated with you,” sehun breathes out with snark. he pulls the hair on jongin’s nape sharply.

jongin shrugs nonchalantly. “i’m not that good of a boyfriend, am i?”

the model nods and jongin will not say this to sehun, but there’s a sting. just a little bit. new york has stolen away the warmth from jongin’s belly, replaced the laughter from his lips with expensive cigarette smoke.

he takes his hand out from beneath sehun’s underwear and his fingers cup sehun’s bottom before he lifts. sehun squeaks and he wraps his long legs around the designer’s hips.

“nice,” he comments before he frowns. “you reek of cigs, jongin.”

jongin laughs as he carries sehun outside of his walk in closet. “they’re expensive.”

sehun kisses jongin harshly and the designer moans at the feeling of teeth scraping the delicate skin of his bottom lip. the model adds, “ i don’t care if your cigarettes are fucking hermes. they’re disgusting.”

jongin giggles and he places a sweet kiss into sehun’s lips. “are you mad? i can stop smoking if you want?”

sehun shrugs. “your lungs, your problem.”

the designer chuckles and he tosses sehun on top of the bed. his boyfriend’s long figure bounces and messes the covers up. jongin cheekily retorts, “i feel loved.”

sehun sticks his tongue out and jongin sheds the top he’s wearing. the younger man visibly gulps before he runs his tongue over his lips.

“pre-flight sex?” sehun asks.

jongin smirks before he pounces.

(“i have a gift for you,” a tiny voice singsongs.

jongin looks up from his water colors and smiles widely at the tiny kid toddling up to him. the other boy dances and spins before he plops down beside jongin.

“it’s not my birthday yet,” jongin says.

“but i want to be the first one to give you a gift,” the boy whines.

jongin laughs. “so you’ll give it to me a week early?”

the boy nods enthusiastically and jongin takes the poorly wrapped present. he rips the packaging and out spills a large drawing book.

“open it!” the other persuades. jongin grips the sketchpad and carefully plucks the cover page with his small hand.

inside, there are two badly drawn figures. one of them is wearing what he can make out as a suit and the other is wearing a long skirt and a short jacket.

jongin smiles and he kisses the boy on his chubby cheek. the smacking sound makes the both of them giggle.

the smaller kid hugs jongin tightly and he whispers, “i love you so much, jongin. happy birthday.”

jongin feels something in him well up—his heart feels too big for his almost eight-year old body. he answers, “i love you so much too, kyungsoo. so, so much.”)

south korea has barely changed, jongin realizes once he stepped into the tiled floors of incheon airport. he slips his sunglasses on as he walks through the throngs of people making their way in and out of the country. his luggage drags behind him as the sound of korean filters through his ears. the syllables are unfamiliar after years of english and metropolitan french.

he stops and gets himself a south korean number, registers it for mobile data. he sends a quick imessage to sehun and his mother about arriving in south korea safely. the timezone does not allow for a quick reply as he pockets his phone.

jongin gets out of the buzzing airport lounge and before he can hail a taxi, a stealth black convertible pulls up a few yards away.

“jongin, here!” the man calls out from the driver’s seat. the english attracts attention and jongin turns his head to the direction of the deep voice. he narrows his eyes and finds a man waving from the car.

he sighs and pulls his luggage behind him.

“yo,” he greets. he tosses his luggage inside the trunk alongside his duffle bag. he slams it shut and tries to ignore the curious gawkers. distantly, he knows there are phone cameras being pointed their way.

he slips inside the supercar and pops his sunglasses out. “how nice of you to pick me up, mr. ceo.”

the man waggles his eyebrows. “not yet ceo, jongin.” he laughs out loud. “maybe in a month—i’m about to be your boss.”

jongin snorts. “just because you brought my brand in south korea doesn’t automatically mean i’d bend backwards for you, chanyeol.”

chanyeol laughs again as jongin sinks into the plush bucket seat. the expensive car streaks out of incheon and into the roads heading for seoul.

“who says you’ll be bending over for me?” chanyeol drawls out. “maybe i want to bend for you.”

jongin snorts agains and he mutters out, “gross.” he fake shivers before he turns the radio on. he winces at the sound of bubblegum pop coming out of the speakers.

he lets out a sharp what the fuck as the high-pitched and energetic sound of some girl group assaults his ears. chanyeol tuts at his reaction and switches to korean.

“do not insult our national anthem, jongin,” he reprimands. chanyeol pulls the wheel to himself and jongin grips the side of his seat. the older businessman is a notorious and well documented bad driver. several society pages and a broken fence at three in the morning serve witness to that fact.

“what?” jongin sighs but he doesn’t switch stations. the rhythm is catchy and it reminds him of beaches and summers. “that?”

“yup!” chanyeol replies, popping the letter p. “that’s red flavor by red velvet—song of the year, dude.”

jongin raises his eyebrows and remarks snidely, “i see you’ve been busy.”

chanyeol barks out a sharp laugh as he sneaks a glance to jongin’s direction, uncaring that he is driving along the expressway. “you really are a joy to be around, kim jongin.”

jongin grins, all teeth and no mirth.

“i know.”

chanyeol drops him off at one of his five star hotels. gangnam is buzzing with the noises of tourists and unemployed children of conglomerate owners. fatigue seeps into his bones and joints when he drags his luggage out of the trunk. chanyeol whistles for a bell boy and a young man greets them with a bow. jongin passes off his louis vuitton trunk and his duffel bag without a second glance.

when he finally settles in his suite, he drops to the bed with a groan and a drawn out, “fucking finally.”

distantly, he hears chanyeol laugh as the businessman slips out of the bedroom. jet lag catches up to jongin as he falls into deep sleep.

jongin wakes up at half past four in the morning with a groan and a slowly dissipating headache. with eyes half closed, he feels around the bed before he finds his phone.

he winces as the light hits his eyes and he drops the phone on his torso. he heaves a deep sigh before he picks it up again. there are message notifications from his mother and sehun alongside a couple of e-mails from his assistant. jongin skims through them before the familiar coffee craving hits.

jongin finds a glass of water and an unopened box of aspirin on top of his bedside table. he pops a pill and washes it down with the lukewarm liquid before getting up.

there is not much to do when one is jet lagged, he knows this the hard way. instead, he heads to the bathroom for a quick shower. he dries his hair with the blower tucked in one of the cabinets and pulls warm clothes. he wears his signature turtleneck and jeans and puts a warm structured coat over. the gold buttons glimmer under the dim lights of his hotel suite.

jongin gathers his phone and the thick wad of korean won that chanyeol has thrown on top of the dining room table outside the bedroom. he finds the card key carelessly tossed on top of the glass coffee table before he heads out.

the elevator is blissfully quiet except for the steady notes of the saxophone. it’s playing a melody that jongin doesn’t know of but is strangely calming. it’s not too sensual for the early morning and the music, strangely, makes him crave even more for some coffee.

“good morning,” the reception greets him with a big smile. jongin returns it with a tight-lipped one and a short nod before he walks out of the hotel. he takes his phone out and searches for the nearest coffee shop.

there’s a starbucks a couple of blocks away and while jongin has an aversion for anything other than the coffee from his own press, desperate times call for desperate measures. he walks up the length of the strip and before six in the morning hits, he finds the starbucks tucked around fashion houses and competition.

inside, there’s barely any people. in new york, there is never a slow day. jongin guesses that sundays in gangnam means no haggard employees. tourists never wake up before ten in the morning. he finds a person idly typing on their laptop in the far corner and someone breezes past him carrying a to-go paper bag and a doughnut crammed inside their mouth.

“good morning,” he greets the person manning the register. the young woman returns it with a smile and jongin scans the board.

“one latte, please.” he orders. “skim milk and sugar free syrup, extra espresso shot. grande-sized.”

the woman nods and repeats his order and jongin gives his name. it feels weird to say “kim jongin” rather than “jongin kim” and he slips up before he quickly corrects himself.

the perks of starbucks being almost dead is jongin doesn’t even wait for his order. his name is called after a minute or so with his order and he shows his receipt. the barista stamps it down and jongin throws the strip of paper to the trash.

jongin debates sitting down but the idea of huddling inside starbucks is unappealing. besides, the music being played sucks. he takes his iphone out and puts the wireless ear pods into his ears. it’s jongin’s fourth pair in a month and he fits it properly before he hits play.

his leather shoes are rhythmic against the new concrete of gangnam’s expensive zip code. sinatra croons from his playlist with a song that is too early for the day. jongin tucks one of his hands inside his jacket pocket as he watches the empty side roads. he imagines a tumbleweed and snorts to himself. he continues walking for a few minutes until he looks to the other side of the street.

to his surprise, he finds someone doing the same thing he does. the other person is walking down the strip carrying a to-go paper cup. they have the lid discarded and smoke billows from the top. jongin, out of habit, eyes the way the person is dressed. they’re covered in a short padded jacket and from the side, he can see the short hem of a black dress—or maybe that is a skirt?—peeking out of the warm outerwear.

jongin takes a sip of his latte and the person takes another step. they’re walking too slowly as they eye the glass windows of various clothing shops. they stop in front of chanel and jongin watches from afar as they tilt their head, soft-looking hair following the movement. the person taps their left foot against the ground—one, two, and three—before walking along.

jongin doesn’t know what it is—maybe it’s the familiarity of this person that has him following. before long, he stops at the end of the street, where there is an intersection. jongin knows what store the person is looking out now. they take out a croissant from the paper bag they’re carrying and jongin watches the person watch the windows of the store.

there is an unassuming kai printed on the barely tinted windows. there is a floor-length gown displayed and jongin knows, without really seeing, that it’s the one that sparkles. last season is all about bold glimmer and the piece displayed is from one of his haute couture pieces, coveted and fought over.

the person stays in front of his boutique and jongin leans against the wall of a closed bookstore drinking his coffee and listening to sinatra. the stranger finishes his cup and his croissant and when they turn around, facing the street where jongin is on, he gets the shock of his life.

he almost drops his cup of latte and he’s about to call the person out before a cab streaks past. they stop it with a hand gesture before they hurriedly slip inside.

jongin watches as the vehicle disappears and suddenly, the skinny commercialized latte does not sound appealing. there is a trash can a few meters away and he drops his drink alongside sinatra’s long drag of a syllable.

his past runs after him and the image of the person in the small black dress imprints on the back of his eyelids. when jongin blinks, he sees it like a crystal clear painting.

the person in the black dress is a man.

jongin takes his ear pods out and stops the music. he pockets it quickly as he, too, hails a cab. his fingers itch and there is something underneath his skin, crawling like jittery tendrils of memories and abandonment.

inside the cab, he barely gets the name of his hotel right. the driver asks him something he doesn’t hear so he says no korean, pretending like he’s just any other english-speaking tourist.

jongin's hands tremble as he grips his coat. he tilts his head backwards and whispers a quiet, “kyungsoo.”

(jongin smiles as he enters inside kyungsoo’s gate. the small single story property sits at the end of the road and he reaches under the potted plant for the key to the front door. he finds the cold metal quickly and he inserts it into the lock quietly.

he snickers when the door opens and he takes the key out, tiptoeing inside the house after carefully closing the door. kyungsoo’s mother is on a company retreat and he’s planning to surprise his best friend with a plastic bag of flavored chips and two cans of soda. kyungsoo’s mother never lets the older boy eat junk food but jongin’s heart will hammer inside his chest every time kyungsoo smiles. one of the things that puts happiness on kyungsoo’s lips is the salty taste of potato chips.

he walks inside the house quietly and slips inside the narrow hallway. kyungsoo’s bedroom is the farthest and he giggles to himself, clutching the plastic in one hand as he grips the door knob. jongin carefully twists it before he pushes it open.

“surprise!” he screams.

there is a shriek inside the bedroom and when jongin opens his eyes, he sees kyungsoo looking scared, caught red-handed. jongin gapes at the sight as his eyes run over his best friend’s figure.

kyungsoo’s standing in front of the mirror and he’s wearing his mother’s black dress. jongin’s mouth falls open at the sight and kyungsoo clutches the front of his clothes. his right foot is over his left and he’s visibly shaking.

jongin’s chest hurts when he sees kyungsoo’s face redden before tears slip out of his best friend’s wide eyes. kyungsoo shuts them immediately as jongin stands stupidly.

“go away,” kyungsoo sobs out. his knees give out and he slumps on the floor. jongin rushes over the older boy and his heart hearts, breaks, when kyungsoo shies away from his touch.

“kyungsoo, hey,” he says softly. he sits in front of kyungsoo as the other boy sinks his face in the cup of his hands. he’s covering his face and hiccuping and every noise shatters jongin’s heart into tiny pieces.

“kyungsoo,” he coos again. jongin’s hand circles kyungsoo’s wrists and he tugs. the older boy resists but jongin pulls again. his fingers drag against kyungsoo’s skin before their fingers meet, kiss. jongin intertwines their hands and they don’t quite fit but he knows they’re both young. they will grow until the spaces and their fingers slot like it’s fate, like it’s meant to be.

“jongin.” kyungsoo says before he hiccups. a fresh wave of tears fall down from his pretty eyes and his thick lashes clump together.

jongin gathers kyungsoo in his arms and he strokes the older boy’s short hair. “you’re going to ruin your pretty dress if you continue to cry.” jongin tries to reprimand the other.

kyungsoo hiccups before he finally—finally—looks up at jongin’s face. his chubby cheeks are red and his eyes are quickly swollen. his lips are still quivering and jongin presses a chaste kiss on the tip of kyungsoo’s round nose.

“but i’m a boy and i’m wearing a dress,” kyungsoo says, almost like a whisper.

“yes.” jongin nods as he hums. “and you look very pretty, kyungsoo.” he cards his fingers through the strands and makes sure to softly massage kyungsoo’s scalp. “though—it’s a little too big for you.”

kyungsoo chuckles at that before he hugs jongin close. he asks, “you don’t mind?”

jongin shakes his head as he pats kyungsoo’s back. he continues to hum a song that they have recently learned in school. “i really don’t.” he watches the way the sleeves are too big on kyungsoo’s narrow shoulders and how it wrinkles on kyungsoo’s flat chest. with a grin, he adds, “what if i make clothes for you?”

kyungsoo looks at him again. “like the way you draw clothes for girls?”

jongin frowns. “they can be clothes for boys too, you know?” he pinches kyungsoo’s chubby cheeks. “that way, they can be clothes for you, too.”

kyungsoo glances down and with a sad smile, he says, “but look at this dress, it’s for girls and—” he hiccups and breaks jongin’s heart. “—and it doesn’t fit me. i don’t think it will.”

jongin shakes his head again before he gives kyungsoo a grin. “of course they won’t fit you, silly.” he pokes kyungsoo’s cheek with his index finger and giggles at the way it sinks down. “the dress is for your mom.”

the older boy nods at jongin before he climbs on top of jongin’s lap. kyungsoo’s heavier than jongin is and the younger boy makes a groaning sound but maneuvers them both into a more comfortable position.

he tucks kyungsoo’s face into his neck and adds, “i’ll make you dresses that will fit, kyungsoo.”

jongin’s twelve and kyungsoo’s thirteen when he makes that promise amidst the sound of silence and kyungsoo’s slowly dying sobs.)

the door to jongin’s suite slams open and the designer groans before he calls out, “just because you own the hotel does not mean you can enter my room anytime you want, park chanyeol.”

the business just laughs at him as he climbs on top of the couch and sits beside jongin. the younger man eyes the other with disdain. chanyeol’s wearing adidas track pants and an oversized vetements hoodie.

“you’re too old for that kind of streetwear,” he comments idly, shading his sketch as he looks at it with a critical eye. “and you’re a ceo.”

chanyeol shrugs, “not yet.” he swipes down the bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice on top of the table, chugging the drink despite it being obviously consumed by jongin already. with a wink, the older male adds, “and future ceos get to pick what they wear.”

jongin grimaces as he adds a detail on his drawing before he retorts, “not when it’s adidas.”

chanyeol scoffs. “there is nothing wrong with adidas.”

“there are a lot of things wrong with adidas,” jongin corrects. “and it’s a-didas not adi-das. the brand is german.”

“a-didas. adi-das,” chanyeol waves him off. “toma-to, to-mato.”

the taller male peeks into jongin’s drawing and jongin resists the urge to cover his sketch. he’s grown out of hiding them from people close to him and the brand kai but somehow, this one feels strangely personal.

chanyeol makes an impressed noise. “i thought you’re in seoul because you’re uninspired.” he takes another swig of the orange juice before he points his lips towards the sketchbook on top of jongin’s lap. jongin taps the end of the pencil against the page, trying to figure out what is wrong with the piece—what is missing.

“you don’t seem uninspired to me,” chanyeol says suddenly.

jongin rips his gaze from his art and he raises one eyebrows, asks, “you think so?”

chanyeol nods minutely as he crosses his long legs together. “i like what you have.” chanyeol stares at the piece again. “that figure doesn’t look like it’s a girl to me.”

jongin looks down again. chanyeol is right. the croquis lacks the characteristic barely there chest and the dip of the waist is smaller than usual. the figure is not the standard nine-head measurement too.

“i am—” jongin pauses, tries to find the word beneath his tongue. in the end, he settles for, “reminiscing.”

chanyeol makes a questioning sound at that. “reminiscing what?”

“who,” jongin corrects. he drags his pencil and adds a little more something at the sketch before he smiles. he flips the page to a new one and draws a line in the middle of the page. “and it’s a childhood friend.”

“your current muse is your childhood friend?” chanyeol asks, incredulous.

jongin wants to say that kyungsoo has always been jongin’s muse. no matter how many years has passed, how many seasons, how many collections. kyungsoo is and will always be—

“he’s pretty special,” jongin suddenly says.

chanyeol eyes him both his eyebrows raised. they’re perfectly plucked, looking a little bit intimidating. times like this one, jongin is reminded why park chanyeol will inherit his family’s corporation.

he glances down at the empty page and watches as jongin’s hands form a round head, devoid of any facial features. jongin’s pencil quickly dances on top of the page as it traces the narrow length of a shoulder.

“i’d say this childhood friend is,” chanyeol comments as jongin sketches a fur coat, the lead running downwards with light strokes.

jongin opts to stay silent as he imagines kyungsoo on paper, remembers all of kyungsoo’s excited babbling about the color black and french lace, leather and soft tulle and embroidered flowers.

the next day, jongin goes back to starbucks again—skinny latte, grande—and settles on one of the tables outside. he waits for kyungsoo’s familiar figure to make way down the sidewalk. his sketchbook is opened on top of the table and he’s lazily tracing the curve of kyungsoo’s plush lips, the same heart-shaped smile from two decades ago, from a decade ago, from the the last time he’s seen the older male.

at seven-thirty in the morning, sinatra’s last croon signals the end of jongin’s favorite playlist. he tugs his ear pods out of his ears and he packs his things. he throws his cold coffee away alongside his greasy half-eaten croissant.

there is no kyungsoo anywhere.

jongin rips a page from his drawing book but keeps two.

starbucks becomes a routine. jongin gets out of his hotel before six in the morning. the sun has barely come up and the sky is still dark, clouds hidden with the last chill of winter. he brings his sketchbook with him and a clear case with three number two pencils and a good quality eraser. he orders the same skinny latte and the same greasy croissant.

he never finishes his breakfast.

kyungsoo doesn’t come until—

jongin does not bother with starbucks’ shitty croissant but he does order the skinny latte in grande still. he is tapping the end of his pencil against the thick sheet of paper.

there is no sinatra to softly sing in his ears. he has lost his ear pods last night. he draws an outline of a skirt before he quickly erases it. he pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and his trusty lighter.

he taps the bottom of the box against his palm before he plucks out a thin stick. he softly places it between his lips and he cups a hand in front of his mouth. he places the flame against the end of the cigarette and it catches fire. jongin closes the lid of his lighter as he takes a deep drag, inhaling nicotine into his lungs slowly.

it has been a week since he’s seen kyungsoo last and jongin wonders if he really has seen the older man. maybe it’s some sort of delusion brought by desperation and the familiarity of south korea and the strangeness of home.

kyungsoo has always been home to jongin—for jongin.

smoke spills between his lips and out of his nose before he lightly taps his cigarette against the cheap standard coffee shop ash tray. jongin watches the ashes fall as he idly uses his free hand to pick his pencil up. years of smoking with his left hand and sketching with his right allow for an image of ambidexterity—or nicotine dependence.

jongin takes another drag of his cig before he settles it into the crook of the ash tray. he takes a sip of his skinny latte and rolls the still hot liquid over his tongue. the skim milk makes it taste like it’s watered down.

jongin picks up his cigarette again before he spots a familiar figure crossing the street. he squints and—kyungsoo.

he hurriedly tamps down the glowing embers of his cancer stick. he pockets his phone pencil case and tucks his sketchbook under his arm. he grabs the paper cup containing the steaming latte. his eyes never leave kyungsoo’s form from across the street.

jongin stands up and walks slowly, matching kyungsoo’s every step. his childhood friend makes his way through the stores as jongin carefully sips his latte. he feels himself break out into a gentle smile at the sight of kyungsoo marveling at the displays behind the glass windows.

just like the last time, he stops in front of the window at kai. jongin has specifically asked to change the dress into a new piece. this time, it’s from one of his ready-to-wear collection. it's a calf-length pleated skirt in navy blue and a matching crop top with white kai printed in front. he watches as kyungsoo traces the glass with his free hand and from jongin’s angle, it looks like he’s touching the thin metal straps of the top.

it’s not very winter-appropriate but non conformity sells and looks good between glossy magazine pages or displayed in bookstores and news stands.

he leans to the wall again and he stuffs his hands inside his jacket pocket as he tries hard not to cross the street and yell “surprise!”

he wonders if kyungsoo still remembers him, if kyungsoo is mad or disappointed.

jongin wonders a lot of things while he sips his latte and kyungsoo spends only a few minutes staring at the display. jongin contents himself at the soft smile playing on the male’s face. he’s almost finished with his drink when kyungsoo turns around and, just like last week, he hails a cab and disappears amidst gangnam traffic.

jongin gets park chanyeol to deliver an expensive scanner into his hotel suite and the man gets it done in thirty minutes. he’s not sure if it’s the efficiency of the notoriously fast-paced south korean electronics market or the surname park. he scans most of his sketches and sends them to his assistant’s e-mail.

he's sketching idly when a text pings from his phone. he mentally winces at the fact that he has forgotten to put it on silent. he holds it lazily between his fingers as he sees a notification from sehun. before he even unlocks the phone, two more pings break the stillness of the room.

jongin presses the home button and the phone unlocks. he taps the message icon and sehun’s name as he skims through the short messages.

[ see u the soonest, boyf ]

[ so excited for the collection. ]

[ how’s the sketching going along???? ]

the designer smiles at the obviously enthusiastic texts. before he can even type out a reply, sehun has already sent a badly taken selfie that only includes his eyes and his forehead. for someone who has been on the cover of several magazines in various parts of the world, the younger model hates taking pictures of his own face.

jongin types out a quick reply—going well. i think i found my muse

he’s not sure if that’s the right move. he’s not exactly lying and before he can add or take what he has said back, a facetime video call pops up. jongin can’t exactly reject sehun’s request so he swipes accept as the model’s face fills his screen.

“you found your muse?” is the incredulous greeting he gets.

“no i miss seeing your handsome face, jongin?” he teases. jongin gets comfortable in the couch as he watches sehun lean against the headboard. the man is in his own brooklyn apartment, lounging shirtless from what jongin can see.

“nah,” sehun shrugs with an impish grin. “i can survive without your face for a week.”

jongin snorts and instead of trying to come up with a better retort, he settles for replying, “yeah. he’s someone i know from before.”

sehun raises his eyebrows at that. “he?”

jongin’s hackles raise, just a bit. sehun’s a good guy and while he’s many things, he is not an asshole. “yeah. a he.”

thankfully, sehun just grins and drawls out, “interesting.” he waggles his eyebrows playfully. “when can i meet him? see him in original kai creations?”

jongin sighs. “as soon as i do.”

the young model pauses at that and he seems to weigh jongin’s words before he deadpans, “what.”

“exactly that, sehun,” jongin returns with a tired sigh. “i haven’t met him.”

“and why is that?” sehun raises an imperious eyebrow. it’s perfectly plucked, as always.

“we kind of—” jongin pauses. “—left our friendship in an unfinished note. nothing bad, i think, but still.”

sehun hums before he nods. the thing about the younger man is he never asks questions—just nods or thinks, answers straightforward. he’s blunt and pragmatic even if he is a little bit of a spoiled brat. jongin thinks it’s what makes sehun attractive even if it is what makes him frustrating at times.

“you won’t know until you approach him,” sehun says, idly. without all the care in world, he sounds like he knows what he is talking about. “you should work with him--he sounds like he’s inspired you a good deal.”

there is a pause and jongin cannot figure out the length or the meaning. sehun will never tell. jongin will never ask. it is why they work.

it is why they will never.

with a rueful laugh, sehun adds, “you no longer sound frustrated.”

curiosity nags into jongin’s consciousness and he knows he shouldn’t ask but he does it anyway. rebellious is a habit that no one has managed to clip. in fact, fame and notoriety have only given it a wider streak.

“how do i sound like?”

sehun flicks his eyes up and like that, he seems like he’s across jongin and not a whole continent apart, a whole ocean. he gives smile that jongin cannot define—like it is a mix of sadness and genuine satisfaction.

sehun simply answers, “like you’re longing for something.” there is a pause before sehun hums quietly, adding, “you always sound like that when you’re designing—not everything but—there are pieces. when you draw them, you seem like you’re missing someone.”

confusion mars jongin’s face but deep down, something in him shift before it settles—something long buried, like a treasure waiting to be found.

in the end, like always, jongin does not ask and sehun does not tell.

jongin repeats the process again the next week. he waits on monday, on tuesday, and on wednesday. on thursday, he oversleeps. he walks along gangnam on friday and saturday. all of those days, there is no kyungsoo.

he sighs, tomorrow it is then.

jongin should have expected it, kyungsoo is a creature of habit.

the person manning the starbucks counter already knows his order. the moment jongin steps inside the coffee shop, the barista works on his grande skinny latte. he leaves an exorbitant amount in the tip jar before he heads outside.

he has a pair of wireless ear pods and he lets the familiar notes of sinatra’s singing lull him. a fourth into his cup and jongin notices kyungsoo’s black ballet flats first. his eyes slowly rise up, tracing the similarly colored black opaque tights that kyungsoo is wearing. it’s the same as last sunday, and the sunday before that.

to jongin’s surprise, however, instead of the padded down jacket, kyungsoo is wearing a thinner army green parka. the way kyungsoo huddles deep into it has jongin feeling cold himself. he follows the shorter male through his daily gangnam trek—past chanel and hermes, yves saint laurent and gucci.

like clockwork, kyungsoo stops in front of kai. he brings out what jongin makes out to be a single cookie out of the paper bag he is carrying. he holds it between his lips as he takes the lid off of the to-go paper cup.

jongin rests his back against the closed bookstore and he feels himself smiling once more as kyungsoo gazes at the window and the displayed clothes. he frowns when kyungsoo visibly shakes from his spot, eyes going to the way kyungsoo is rubbing his thighs together. the older male’s shoulders look smaller now that he’s trying to hug himself.

it doesn’t take a moment for jongin to think. he crosses the street without hesitation as he takes his ear pods out of his ears and throws his latte into the trash.

he tries to keep it quiet and kyungsoo doesn’t notice when he sidles next to the older male. kyungsoo is gripping his paper cup and when jongin looks down, the aroma of earl grey tea wafts alongside the coldness of winter.

he shrugs his long coat off and places it on top of kyungsoo’s shoulders. the man gasps and he turns around. jongin steps back to give kyungsoo his space.

kyungsoo looks scared, all wide eyes and defensive stance. he almost spills the tea all over himself but he manages to catch himself in time. the cookie drops to the ground between kyungsoo’s ballet flats and jongin’s leather dress shoes.

the temperature bites but it is nothing jongin can’t handle. mentally, he’s glad to be wearing a thermal shirt underneath a thick knit turtleneck.

“hi, kyungsoo,” jongin smiles and says, finally.

thankfully, kyungsoo does not drop the tea nor throw it to jongin’s face. he gapes as he looks up to the designer’s face before his cheeks blush a bright red. jongin feels his lips twitching as he tries hard not to smile like an absolute idiot.

the older male relaxes and his shoulders drop down as he loosens his hold around the paper cup filled with the steaming hot tea. the older male looks like he is seeing a ghost, looking through jongin instead of at him.

“jongin?” kyungsoo asks, after a moment of almost awkward silence.

surprise mars the face that has continued to occupy jongin’s thoughts throughout the years. like his dreams, kyungsoo seems as if he is frozen in time. like any moment now, the older man will grin at him and ask jongin how annoying his teachers are or how hard his given homework is.

the illusion breaks when kyungsoo tilts his head and the sunlight hits his face from an angle filtered by the gangnam high rises. the gleam of the skyscrapers throw glimmer on kyungsoo’s smooth face and the light hits the glass of the fashion boutique as it throws rainbows on the air around kyungsoo’s head. it casts him and gives the older man an unfinished and imperfect halo and jongin finally notices the subtle differences on kyungsoo’s face from the years of separation.

the older man looks almost the same but his black bangs fall to cover his forehead, grazing his thick eyebrows. unlike before, his face is a little thinner without the cushion of baby fat and the softness of their teenaged years. it accentuates how high his cheekbones are before they taper down to kyungsoo’s slightly rounded chin. his cheeks remain round and his lips are plush, looking even pinker from the bite of the winter. he imagines cupping the older male’s cheeks in his rough hands, knowing that he can hold kyungsoo’s small face in between.

jongin nods, a little because he has no idea what he should do and a little to himself, for a congratulations and also, a calm down. kyungsoo breaks out into a genuine smile, eyes turning into attractive slits as jongin’s heart comes alive, too much that its beating almost runs away, too fast and too erratic.

“how long has it been?” kyungsoo enthuses.

there is a lump stuck in jongin’s throat and he’s afraid to speak—that if he does, he is going to blabber on and on, maybe cry and sob his heart out. his chest feels tight as an enormous weight presses down and he can hear the pounding in his ears before the tsunami waves.

underneath the leather soles of his dress shoes, the world quakes and rearranges itself around the cupid’s bow of kyungsoo’s pouty lips and the slight inward tilt of the man’s knees.

he croaks out a barely intelligible, “seven years—or eight. i’m not so sure.”

jongin lies and pretends he has no idea how long, exactly, has it been since the last time they have exchanged words. kyungsoo, thankfully, takes it in stride and nods slightly, as if he, too, also has no idea how many years have passed.

the older male just smiles at him like jongin does not know that it has been exactly seven years and nine months since he has last stepped in south korea, since he has left kyungsoo in front of the older male’s single story house with a letter and a chaste kiss on the man’s forehead.

“ah!” kyungsoo gasps before his free hand consciously grips the hem of his tiny dress.

his fingernails remain bitten close—a nervous tick that kyungsoo has obviously not let go off. his small hand twists the fabric and exposes even more of the warm-looking tights. the dress falls a little over the middle of kyungsoo’s thighs, a little too short like it has been run over years, chasing after old memories.

jongin realizes why it feels like that when it strikes him. the dress is a decade old, sewn in a basement three houses down kyungsoo’s using thrifted woolen fabric.

“you’re wearing—” jongin stops, trails off. the wind carries his breath and kyungsoo looks down on the tips of his ballet shoes. there is a neatly tied ribbon on each vamp.

“yes,” kyungsoo rushes out. he looks flustered, sounds flustered, and jongin does not deny the way his blood sings and excitement rushes in his veins at the revelation and the realization. with a whisper, kyungsoo adds, “i finally had the courage to so—i am.”

jongin smiles and he does not stop himself from patting kyungsoo’s arm. he touches it briefly, over kyungsoo’s own thin jacket and jongin’s structured coat. the man looks up and from this angle, it looks like kyungsoo is peeking at jongin from underneath the thicket of his lashes. the smoke billows out of the paper cup that the older male is tightly holding. the tips of their shoes are almost kissing after jongin takes half a step towards kyungsoo’s direction.

it is intimate, years of not talking and seeing each other bleed away alongside the rising smoke. the designer taps the hand that’s still gripping the edge of kyungsoo’s dress before he holds it in between his own.

jongin coaxes the older male to loosen the way he is clutching the cloth and jongin reprimands, almost playful, “you’re going to wrinkle your dress.”

“sorry,” kyungsoo blurts out in a hushed whisper before he sighs softly.

his fingers slowly let go of the way he is holding on to the hem of the dress like it is a lifeline. there are lines marring the fabric and jongin bends down just a little bit as he attempts to smoothen it down. he feels kyungsoo’s eyes on him and the hair on his nape rises—maybe from the cold, maybe from the intensity of kyungsoo’s stare. when he straightens up, the young designer smiles softly, as honest and as genuine as he has ever been, and will always be, to kyungsoo.

jongin says—meaning every word like he’s twelve again and kyungsoo is thirteen—like he’s seventeen and kyungsoo is eighteen, “you look pretty, kyungsoo.”

kyungsoo looks down at the fallen cookie mournfully and jongin takes his chance, asks, “do you want to have breakfast with me?”

his childhood friend looks up at him, incredulous, and his lips twist into a half-grimace. there is hesitance in his features but in the end, he nods.

jongin grins down as nods towards kyungsoo’s direction. “put my coat on,” he says.

kyungsoo quickly follows—he must have been colder than jongin previously assumes. he slips his arms inside and the ends of the sleeves fall almost to kyungsoo’s finger tips. he hugs the opened jacket close as the hem falls to his calf, covering kyungsoo’s mini dress.

“my hotel is close by,” jongin tells the older male after a moment. “we can have breakfast there if you want?”

kyungsoo only nods awkwardly and he falls into step beside jongin. jongin looks down and watches as kyungsoo’s ballet flats slowly synchronize with his own dress shoes. the soles hit the pavement and while jongin’s shoes click against the concrete, kyungsoo’s shoes make a softer sound—like they’re whispering.

they fit kyungsoo perfectly.

jongin leads kyungsoo to a secluded part in the five-star hotel’s restaurant. the man looks nervous as he steps inside and jongin sticks closer to his childhood friend. his heart aches when kyungsoo closes jongin’s coat around him with a white-knuckled grip. it covers his mini dress completely as he hurriedly shuffles in his ballet flats.

he asks for a table in a secluded corner and the two of them are ushered into a tall booth that is practically hidden from the other customers. unless someone deliberately heads to where they are, kyungsoo and he will be hidden.

jongin does not know how comfortable kyungsoo is going out like this but judging by what he understands to be sundays-only trips during the wee hours of the morning when people are barely up and still recovering from the debauchery of a typical saturday night, he guesses it’s not much.

kyungsoo most likely doesn't mean for jongin to see him this way.

the waiter comes out with a menu and jongin flips to the western fare to order a hearty white egg spinach omelette, a side of whole wheat toasts and turkey bacon, and a tall glass of orange juice.

“what do you want?” he turns his attention towards kyungsoo. a smile slowly erupts into his face—maybe it has never left—as he watches kyungsoo peruse the selection. his finger traces the words before he looks up.

quietly, only for the waiter to him and jongin, barely, kyungsoo asks for a plate of orange and cream cheese pancakes and a glass of water. the waiter leaves with a smile as kyungsoo tilts his head down.

jongin knows that the older male is playing with his fingers, fiddling with them to pass the budding anxiety. it makes him happy to know that kyungsoo is still the same, even if it stings a bit that kyungsoo feels nervous in jongin’s presence.

the width of the table between them feels so large in the face of more than half a decade.

the consuming silence is broken by jongin when he decided fuck it and tells kyungsoo what he’s been wanting to say for the past years, always chasing away the ghosts of his childhood friend from the only home he has ever known.

“i miss you, kyungsoo,” jongin says with a soft smile.

kyungsoo looks up at him, head tilting to the side and bangs falling just above his eyebrows. it feels like the world stopping and it really is no surprise, jongin thinks, because the axis of everything that is kim jongin will always be do kyungsoo—and do kyungsoo only.

a smile blooms into kyungsoo’s face. jongin watches it in rapt attention. it begins with a twitch on the corner of the older man’s mouth before it stretches into a small and tight-lipped smile.

jongin repeats it again. “i really miss you, kyungsoo.”

kyungsoo tilts his chin downwards before the smile slowly morphs into a beaming grin. kyungsoo is all teeth and gums, heart-shaped and looking like the actual sun in the middle of winter.

if jongin has to describe kyungsoo’s smile—the one that makes his eyes crinkle and his mouth turn into a wide heart, he’d say it’s like those days in between spring and summer. when the sun beats down warmly on jongin’s skin but the slight breeze would still kiss his cheeks, that is how it feels to have kyungsoo’s smile directed to him.

“i—” kyungsoo pauses before he raises his head just a little bit. “i really miss you too, jongin.”

jongin’s heart thunders in his chest, like it’s coming alive after seven years and nine months. it has been a long, long time.

before he can reply, the waiter comes out with their drinks and the complementary bowl of fresh fruits. kyungsoo picks up the thin for in between his fingers as he pushes jongin’s coat sleeve up.

jongin frowns. “you can take my jacket off, you know?”

kyungsoo stops in the middle of inspecting the fruits in his bowl. he’s about to pierce the plump looking grape that jongin knows is imported from japan.

“but i’m wearing—” kyungsoo’s free hand waves and gestures in front of him.

jongin tilts his head and raises his eyebrow. “a dress,” he says with finality. “a pretty one at that.”

kyungsoo gives a hesitant smile that is a little too sad for jongin’s liking. anything other than happy on kyungsoo’s face, jongin abhors.

“kyungsoo,” he says softly. “it’s fine. you look fine. the dress fits you nicely.”

“it’s not about the dress fitting me nicely,” kyungsoo rushes out as red fills his cheeks.

jongin furrows his eyebrows when kyungsoo’s hands disappear underneath the table again. he gives a tight-lipped smile, trying to look as encouraging as possible. “it’s a little too warm in here for my coat, kyungsoo. and—” jongin tries to find words that he knows will encourage the older man, make him feel at ease, half-way happy. “—if you’re really worried then, there’s barely any people here. and the booth is tall enough.”

kyungsoo bites his lip but jongin notices the way his childhood friend's shoulders loosen, slowly relaxing. the older male looks around before he looks down to shrug jongin’s coat off. the structured wool falls away from kyungsoo’s bony shoulders and kyungsoo lifts his hips from the seat to take it off completely. he folds in into two before he rests it on the free space beside him.

the other man is left in his green parka and jongin watches as kyungsoo looks down at himself before firmly nodding. the designer tries to hold off a large smile when kyungsoo takes if off again. the male is left with the sleeveless mini dress and underneath it, there is a warm turtleneck in black.

jongin grins down and says, “we match.”

kyungsoo looks up and he smooths his small hands down the front of his dress. he loosens the sleeves of the turtleneck sweater around both of his wrists before he tugs at the high collar. jongin watches as kyungsoo’s cheeks turn pink under the hotel chandeliers and he looks happier, more comfortable, as he takes the thin fork to pick a grape.

he pops it into his mouth and kyungsoo swallows the morsel before saying, commenting, “you like wearing turtlenecks.”

jongin’s eyes widen slightly. “you noticed?”

kyungsoo snorts and jongin notes how nice comfort and satisfaction looks on kyungsoo. he wears it the same way runway models wear jongin’s designs, like it’s made for them. his childhood friend nods and adds, “kind of hard not to. i think most of your photos have you wearing them.”

jongin blurts out, “you’ve seen my photos?”

kyungsoo hums an affirmative as he picks a honeydew and another grape from his bowl. he eats the two quickly as he nods again, making noises of affirmation. “in magazines. over the internet.” kyungsoo shrugs. “i like your recent collection.”

jongin stomps down on the urge to ask even more. kyungsoo is obviously changing the topic, giving him an out. maybe it is not yet the right time and jongin pierces a grape with his fork, smiling to himself. warmth settles into his bones the same way kyungsoo steps into his life—like it’s always been there.

kyungsoo looks like the by gone years do not even matter and while jongin thinks a conversation is almost a decade long overdue, it can wait. he’s staying in seoul for a few months, anyway, and maybe—

“which ones? the haute couture or the ready-to-wear?”

kyungsoo tilts his head to the side. “both.”

he shrugs and the sleeves of his dress falls down his shoulders. he hitches it again and that’s when jongin notices that the piece is too big for kyungsoo. when he sew it a few years ago, kyungsoo still has the remnants of his chubby years, all soft edges and a slightly pudgy tummy.

with a tiny smile, he adds, “i like the separates and how the male models walk in them.”

jongin grins. every piece from his recent collection is worn by a male model and a female model. sehun opens the show in a pair of blood red wide legged trousers alongside a long sleeved top with large ruffled sleeves and a neckline that dips almost to his belly button. to close the show, he appears in a tailored suit in metallic red.

“i figured you will,” jongin beams. “maybe we can visit the boutique?”

kyungsoo hums but doesn’t answer and he peeks to the side. jongin follows the motion and he sees their waiter coming back with their breakfast plates. kyungsoo shrinks into himself and turns away.

jongin gives the waiter a warning smile as he sets their meals in front of them. the waiter smiles at them and asks, “will that be all, sirs?”

jongin shoots kyungsoo a smile. it’s not hard to notice that kyungsoo is a biologically male, a man too, when he addresses himself with masculine pronouns. the designer stiffens up when the waiter’s attention turns to kyungsoo.

“your dress looks really pretty on you, sir,” the waiter leans in to say softly. kyungsoo looks up at that and jongin breathes a sigh of relief when the waiter nods at kyungsoo encouragingly. kyungsoo smiles shyly and replies, “thank you,” in an almost hesitant voice.

the waiter leaves with a polite bow and jongin makes a mental note to leave an extremely generous tip for the young wait staff just for the smile that occupies kyungsoo’s beautiful face throughout their breakfast.

after their meal, the two of them sit idly in front of their drinks. kyungsoo orders another bowl of fresh fruits to snack on.

“can i have your number, kyungsoo?” jongin asks. to his relief, he doesn’t stutter.

“it’s the same ever since. i didn’t change my contact details.” kyungsoo playfully smiles at him. his wide eyes twinkle prettily. “but i’m not sure if you still have it, jongin.”

“ wrong.” jongin laughs before he smirks, “i have it saved on all of my devices.”

jongin calls a cab for kyungsoo and the older male gasps as the taxi pulls in front of the hotel.

“your coat!” kyungsoo says. he makes a move to take it off but jongin just tugs it tighter around kyungsoo’s thin frame.

“no need,” he says, leaning down with a tiny smile. “i don’t want you to get cold.”

jongin’s heart hammers in his chest when kyungsoo nods with a red flush that is not from the last tendrils of winter.

(jongin watches with nervous excitement as kyungsoo slowly removes the gift wrapper. the older male is meticulous about it, removing every piece of tape first before unwrapping. the plain black wrapping paper crinkles and makes noise as kyungsoo—finally—takes all of it off completely.

“why do you have to take so long when unwrapping?” jongin whines. he bounces on top of kyungsoo’s bed, clutching his knees close to his chest.

kyungsoo clicks his tongue as he smiles thinly at jongin. “my 17th birthday present, my rules.”

jongin groans as kyungsoo laughs. the older boy holds the box tenderly. he runs his fingers over the thick cardboard before lifting the lid.

jongin watches kyungsoo’s reaction. his best friend hums under his breath as he eyes the red crepe paper inside.

“the present is under all the paper, kyungsoo,” jongin says again. his heart beats loudly in his chest as he waits for kyungsoo’s reaction.

“i know. i know,” kyungsoo berates. “why are you so excited? and nervous?” the other boy raises one of his eyebrows.

jongin rests his chin on top of his knees as he murmurs. “you will know when you take the gift out, ‘soo. so please just—”

“fine!” kyungsoo interrupts with a chuckle. “i’ll do it now.”

the shorter boy carefully takes the red scraps of paper out and jongin sees what’s inside just as kyungsoo does.

“take it out,” jongin says softly. he gestures to the cloth inside the box with a nod.

he sees kyungsoo visibly gulp as he lifts the item out of the box. kyungsoo gasps when it unfolds. the red paper falls like blood red snow alongside the fluttering fabric.

“it’s a dress,” kyungsoo says flatly.

jongin gulps. “yes.”

“for me?” kyungsoo looks at jongin with so much hesitation and he’s gripping the strap of the clothing piece so tight that his knuckles are white.

jongin smiles. “for you, kyungsoo.” jongin opens his arms and kyungsoo, predictably, launches himself into jongin’s embrace. the two of them falls on top of the bed as the both of them starts to laugh.

“the dress is for me, jongin?” kyungsoo asks again, as if he’s trying to make sure.

“it is,” jongin nods eagerly. “remember when you’re thirteen and you cried ‘cause i caught you wearing your mother’s dress?”

kyungsoo laughs wetly. “yeah. you told me you would make me dresses that fit.”

jongin nods as his right hand goes to kyungsoo’s hair like it’s automatic. he pats the older boy’s head gently as he presses a light kiss on kyungsoo’s temple. “go put it on for me.” the hand on kyungsoo’s hair slides down to poke the protruding knob on the top of kyungsoo’s spine. “let me see.”

kyungsoo hurriedly clambers away from jongin as he holds the dress with both his hands. jongin reaches for his polaroid camera in his side drawer.

“close your eyes, jongin,” kyungsoo orders as he stands on the foot of the bed.

“hold up,” jongin says as he checks the plastic camera. there are two films left, thankfully. he shuts his eyes tight and nods. “okay. go change now.”

in the darkness, jongin can only hear his own breathing and the sounds of kissing fabric. he hears kyungsoo’s jeans fall to ground, the metallic button hitting the floor. jongin laughs when a cotton shirt hits his face and he whines, “why did you do that?”

kyungsoo just giggles and jongin leans back, holding the camera and kyungsoo’s discarded t shirt. he hears the hiss of the zipper and jongin’s stomach tightens in knots. the sound is familiar—there is a thin strip that zips on the side of the dress.

jongin wants to open his eyes but he waits for kyungsoo’s signal. he hears a sigh before there is a nervous, “you can look at me now.”

he opens his eyes slowly and jongin must have shut it tight—too tight—because everything seems blurry at first. he blinks once, twice, before the world clears up.

kyungsoo stands with his right foot over the left. his inner thighs are brushing together as jongin’s eyes run on kyungsoo’s exposed legs. the dress fits him perfectly and the length hits below the older boy’s mid thigh. the straps rest flat against the dip of kyungsoo’s prominent collarbones.

jongin sighs, “you look pretty, kyungsoo.”

the older male laughs nervously as he smiles, crooked and quivering. “you’re only saying that because you made the dress.”

jongin shakes his head. “no—yes.” he sighs in frustration as he messes his hair up. “i meant you’re really beautiful.”

kyungsoo blushes shyly as he peeks at jongin. his cheeks are suffused with red and his bottom lip is in between his teeth.

“am i really?” kyungsoo turns around and the skirt billows just a bit. it doesn’t move much because of the straight vintage cut.

“really, really,” jongin helplessly replies. he holds the polaroid up and adds, “can i take a photo of you?”

kyungsoo nods but his posture remains awkward. his hands are behind his back and his foot is still on top of another. his head is tilted slightly to the side and he is still looking flustered but—

happy. kyungsoo looks extremely happy, the happiest jongin has seen him in a long time. it’s not about the curve of his smile but the twinkle in his round eyes—like kyungsoo is comfortable, real.

he presses his face against the plastic polaroid camera as he counts, “one, two—”

through the viewfinder, jongin looks at kyungsoo’s tiny figure and finds his whole word.

“—three.”

he hits click.)

jongin pulls a polaroid film from in between the pages of his old sketchbook. the colors have slightly faded into something watered down and foggy but, as he traces kyungsoo’s pink smile, he can still make out every single detail like it’s just yesterday.

there is a small date written on the film but jongin knows with clarity that it’s kyungsoo’s 17th birthday. it’s a sunday and jongin has almost broken his leg because he’s running too fast to kyungsoo’s home. his finger trails down to the length of the kyungsoo’s figure and his best friend has truly changed in the past years, but also does not.

some things remain the same—like jongin.

he picks up his phone and takes a deep breath. something in him stirs, a mixture of guilt and desperation, weighing him down. alongside, there is excitement as well as happiness. kyungsoo makes jongin feel light and weightless, helpless in a good way. kyungsoo is a train wreck in the form of a man and jongin is a passer by and a passenger.

he clicks kyungsoo’s contact number and types a message.

[ hey, kyungsoo. this is jongin :) ]

he waits patiently for the reply and jongin taps his foot against the carpeted floor of his hotel living room to pass the time. what feels like eternity is just two minutes.

[ hi, jongin :) do you need anything? ]

jongin bites his lip at the reply. he debates being roundabout but if kyungsoo is anything like the childhood friend he has grown up with, he knows the older male will not appreciate his dilly dallying.

[ i was thinking we could get dinner? are you free anytime this week? ]

the reply is quicker this time—[ we just met today. aren’t you sick of me? ]

[ i will never ]

jongin types back. there’s another moment of nothing before his phone vibrates. jongin eagerly unlocks the device as he taps the message, swiping through the screen with his index finger.

[ okay then. but i have a deadline to finish. ]

before jongin can reply, two other messages from kyungsoo is sent to his phone.

[ i’m free friday evening. ]

[ are you? ]

jongin nods as he types his yes even if he knows that kyungsoo will not be able to see. the two of them finds a convenient time and place and jongin offers to pick up the older man. kyungsoo quickly declines and jongin lets him, knows he can’t just suddenly barge into kyungsoo’s life like he has never left in the first place.

when kyungsoo says goodbye with the excuse of work, jongin tosses his phone on the other end of the couch. he tilts his head back and covers his eyes with his forearm. he groans before he drags his breath into a short sigh. kyungsoo’s face flashes in his mind and imprints on the back of his eyelids.

like always.

jongin takes his arm away but he replaces it with the heel of his hands, pressing it hard against each of his eyes—as if the pressure will erase do kyungsoo’s image and existence from his life. it’s been years and yet—

and yet.

“what the fuck are you doing, jongin?” he hisses to himself, positive that he is going out of his mind. that is, if he has not already.

they meet at a restaurant two blocks from jongin’s hotel. it’s a michelin with a little too many stars for anything less than a pair of tailored trousers and a smoking jacket. jongin tucked his black turtleneck into his suit pants and he stops by kai to pick an outerwear to match.

he walks to the restaurant thirty minutes before eight and he is led to his reservation by a middle-aged man in a penguin suit. the wait staff has nicely gelled hair and there is a gleaming pin that displays the restaurant’s logo like it’s a proud family crest. the waiter informs them that they have a sommelier.

jongin hooks his fingers on top of his turtleneck, pulling the warm fabric away from the skin of his neck. the motion does nothing to alleviate the discomfort of thousands of dollars worth of chandelier and the designer candles on top of the table. the flowers look fresh, like they are changed everyday—thrown to the trash once come morning like a particularly horrible one night stand.

he hitches his left sleeve and flicks his wrist. there is a little over ten minutes before kyungsoo arrives. jongin fiddles with his phone and he receives a text that kyungsoo’s almost there. jongin taps a quick okay and he also adds a smiling emoji. he goes through his less urgent e-mails and replies to a couple of them.

he’s lost in the rush of not-really work and a small and hesitant, “good evening,” pulls him out of his stupor. jongin looks up and he finds kyungsoo standing beside the table. he stands up out of instinct and habit as he steps closer into kyungsoo’s space with slightly open arms.

he sees kyungsoo’s eyes widening and his shoulders stiffening. jongin immediately stops. his hand falls down beside him and he says awkwardly, “good evening, kyungsoo.”

kyungsoo gives him a tight smile and jongin steps away, backing down. the older male has a smile on his face but it doesn’t reach his doe eyes, nor does it split his round face. jongin eyes the way kyungsoo stands in his charcoal gray suit. the shoulders are a little too big for kyungsoo and the tie sits crooked. the pants are a little too loose but they are the perfect length.

jongin gestures for kyungsoo to sit down and the two of them settle on their seats as the waiter, smiling pleasantly in an illusion of comfortable customer relations, hands them the menu. jongin flips through the pages and while he loves fine dining as much as any other person, he’s not sure about kyungsoo.

he peeks on top of the pages and sees kyungsoo wincing. there is a twist on his mouth and he’s fidgeting in his suit. kyungsoo’s right hand keeps on tugging the lapels of his jacket and smoothing out his tie.

“i’ll get the filet mignon course,” jongin says. the waiter nods pleasantly. that way, he doesn’t have to deal with picking out his own appetizer and wine.

“i’ll be having the same,” kyungsoo adds. his voice is a notch softer, purposefully deep and less enthusiastic sounding—a little flat, like a deadpan.

jongin curls his hands into fists on top of his lap, careful not to clutch at the material of his trousers.

the waiter leaves with a smile and jongin turns to kyungsoo, asking, “how have you been?”

kyungsoo shrugs, “i just finished work so…” he trails off as he gives jongin a questioning stare. jongin tilts his head to the side and kyungsoo huffs in amusement. “i work in freelance. i translate english to korean and korean to english.”

jongin nods. kyungsoo has always had a knack for languages, easily learning them and being as fluent as a native. the older male raises his eyebrows and he, too, asks, “how about you?” there is a pause before kyungsoo adds, “why are you here in seoul after all these years?”

jongin looks down at his lap, just a little bit, before he raises his head again. he leans into his seat as he crosses his right leg over the other. “kai’s doing well.” he gives a nonchalant shrug. “and i’m about to launch a south korea-only limited edition collection.”

kyungsoo smiles softly at that, commenting idly, “that’s fancy.” his tongue pokes out and swipes his bottom lip. “and thoughtful—it’s almost your first anniversary here in south korea, right?”

jongin lifts one shoulder in agreement. “yeah,” he nods as well. his left hand rests on top of the table as his index finger trails over the table cloth. “home country and all that.”

a moment of silence occupies their table and jongin takes a deep breath. kyungsoo is still looking uncomfortable and jongin feels something heavy settle on the pit of his stomach. he wants to ask, wants to know, wants to make kyungsoo as happy as that time they have had breakfast.

before he can do so, the waiter arrives with their food. kyungsoo digs in to it silently and slowly. every so often, his fingers will play with the hem of his jacket. throughout dinner, kyungsoo’s shoulders do not relax.

jongin has an idea why.

they finish their meal at half past nine in the evening, thirty minutes before the restaurant closes. jongin leads kyungsoo outside and he looks down at kyungsoo, looking hesitant and odds with himself. the older male is clutching the bottom of his jacket and his fingers are running through the material in short strokes.

“kyungsoo,” jongin says. he is unable to help himself from speaking out loud—not when kyungsoo looks like he’s about to break down in front of him. discomfort mars his entire posture.

“what is it?" kyungsoo asks. his shoulders are slumped down now, defeated and tired. kyungsoo consciously picks at his hair then, fixing his straight bangs.

“do you want to go to kai with me?”

kyungsoo’s eyes widen. “now?”

jongin nods with a reassuring smile. he grips kyungsoo’s wrist and pulls his hand away from where he is fiddling with his suit jacket.

“but it’s already closed,” kyungsoo mutters in protest.

kai is a few blocks away and it closes at exactly 9:30 in the evening. the staff will still be there to close, jongin knows from his various visits, until 10.

jongin hums, “but i’m the owner.”

kyungsoo snorts and jongin sighs in relief when kyungsoo gives him a teasing smile. jongin makes a living out of knowing people’s bodies and while kyungsoo still seems like there is something beneath his skin, an itch he can’t quite scratch, the smile is more genuine, more playful.

“technically, you’re not the owner,” kyungsoo retorts. “park co. is.”

jongin shrugs, “tragic—the future ceo of park co. dresses in adidas.”

kyungsoo laughs. “sportswear is comfortable, you know?” the older male shrugs as he adds, “i really like nike.”

jongin makes an exaggerated offended noise. “no way.” he widens his eyes for good measure and flares his nostrils.

his childhood friend giggles at jongin’s expression and the knot in jongin’s chest loosens—just a little bit. kyungsoo continues, still joking and obviously in a more jovial mood, “at least i don’t wear turtlenecks every single day.”

this time, jongin turns to kyungsoo with incredulous eyes. “there is nothing wrong with turtlenecks.”

“not when you look like you’re the next steve jobs of the fashion industry.”

jongin gapes at kyungsoo before he breaks out in loud laughter. he snorts and double overs, unattractively having his mouth wide open and to the point of hollering. he claps, even, and kyungsoo joins him as sounds of happiness spills out of kyungsoo’s lips with hiccups.

“did you really—just—did you—steve jobs of—the fashion industry.” jongin clutches his stomach as he huffs. “steve jobs.” he shakes his head as his right hand automatically reaches to grip kyungsoo’s wrist. the older male does not protest, still giggling.

“every collection is like an iphone release. people will line up to get their hands on them and the runway is—what is it? the event where they present new apple releases?” kyungsoo chuckles and he asks, “is this the first time someone pointed it out?”

“yeah,” he replies in enthusiasm just as kyungsoo says, “i figured someone would have used that analogy by now. what with you and living in turtlenecks.”

“i don’t live in turtlenecks!” jongin defends himself. there are hotter days, after all. he tilts his body back and shows off the length of his torso in his jacket and turtleneck. “but i look good, don’t i?”

kyungsoo’s lips lift slowly in a grin and he nudges jongin’s shoulder in answer. “you look really good, jongin. nothing like steve jobs at all—may he rest in peace.” the shorter male breaks off into a fresh round of soft chuckles, giggling into his own like he has just said the most amusing thing.

jongin’s eyes are drawn to kyungsoo’s smile and the look of happiness in the older man’s face. he has helped put that there. like a snap, he realizes that they are still standing in the middle of the sidewalk. the two of them are pressed together in one corner as people walk past them.

belatedly, jongin wonders if this is how it feels like for time to stop. if this is what people mean when they say that the world falls apart all around them, when they are with that person.

“jongin?” kyungsoo calls out. his wrist is still caught in jongin’s hold but he’s not doing anything to move away or take his hand back.

“yes?” jongin whispers helplessly. he adds, blurts out, “let’s go to kai, please?”

kyungsoo looks less hesitant now as he nods. “okay.”

jongin tries to stop the wide grin that blooms on his face but he can’t. instead, he switches position with kyungsoo, his left hand going around kyungsoo’s right wrist. he places himself between kyungsoo and the main road as he tugs kyungsoo to the direction of kai.

kyungsoo falls into step beside him and jongin’s grin is brighter than the neon lights of night time gangnam as his childhood friend starts blabbering on and on about anything and everything, looking happy once again.

the staff at kai is perfectly happy to let jongin and kyungsoo inside despite the store being closed. the two of them apologizes profusely as jongin poses for pictures with the staff.

“is there anything you’d like, mr. kim?” the manager asks. the other employees are cleaning the space still so jongin carefully keeps to himself. kyungsoo’s eyes are roaming around the entire boutique.

jongin leans in and whispers to her, “i’m really sorry for being such a brat but i want to get my—” he pauses and gives kyungsoo a stare. the older male is now looking over at the racks of kai’s signature skirt and crop top combo. “—my childhood friend something.”

the woman nods and smiles at him. jongin thanks park chanyeol’s strict orders of “accommodate kim jongin in any way” or else, he knows, he’ll be thrown out without a second glance.

he walks over to kyungsoo quietly and he taps kyungsoo on the man’s shoulders. “you can get anything you want, kyungsoo.”

the older male bites his lower lip. “anything?” he sounds unsure but jongin is a designer and he knows what the twinkle in kyungsoo’s irises mean.

he nods.

kyungsoo breaks out into a soft smile as he reaches over the rack to grab the skirt and the crop top in navy blue. the short bandeau style top has metallic chain straps that make noises when jostled. there’s a big KAI printed in white at the center. kyungsoo presses the skirt high on his torso, inches above his navel, and the hem hits his calf. small hands run over the pleats and kyungsoo seems so taken with the piece that jongin cannot help but hold his breath.

“you can fit them,” jongin says.

kyungsoo shakes his head as he eyes the staff still cleaning the store. “i think i’m this size anyway.”

jongin knows that kyungsoo does not want to cause unnecessary trouble for kai’s staff and the designer is inclined to agree. he reaches over and looks at the sizing.

“the skirt will fit but,” jongin hums. “maybe size down on the top to fit…”

he trails off and gestures to kyungsoo’s chest—or lack thereof. the man flushes but he nods and replaces the item.

“just this,” kyungsoo murmurs.

“really?” jongin asks to make sure. he looks around the store—jeans and skirts, blouses and jackets, outerwear in varying materials. “you only want that?”

kyungsoo nods firmly and jongin asks the manager for the outfit in the correct sizes. they head to the counter to pay while kyungsoo’s eyes are still wide over the amount of clothes inside. he turns kyungsoo away when the male staff swipes jongin’s black card before they carefully pack it inside a white paper bag.

jongin hands kyungsoo the paper bag and the older male clutches the straps tightly. he looks down at the bag with a fond and excited smile and jongin’s heart beats inside his chest as he asks, “do you want to wear it now?”

kyungsoo replies with an enthusiastic “yes!” but it quickly dies down when he realizes that it’s a little over ten in the evening.

“ah but,” kyungsoo bites his lip. jongin’s eyes follow the motion, records every change and movement. “it’s already so late.”

jongin shrugs, “and so?” he steps beside kyungsoo. “it’s never too late to wear nice clothes.”

the two of them end up in jongin’s hotel room after not much persuasion. jongin has told the man they can order room service and after the sparse dinner, no matter how good it is to the palette, fine dining often leaves the hungry unsatisfied. kyungsoo doesn’t really look like he has the heart to refuse.

jongin gestures for kyungsoo to come inside. his childhood friend walks into the room with slow steps as his wide eyes survey the living room of jongin’s suite. he’s holding the paper bag with one hand and jongin smiles as he nudges kyungsoo to sit on the couch.

kyungsoo plops down and he looks boneless and a little exhausted. jongin follows suit and shrugs his jacket off.

“you can open the bag if you want,” he nods to the gift on kyungsoo’s lap. kyungsoo plays with the tops and his finger trails low before it traces the k, and then the a, and finally, the letter i. kai is embossed neatly in a small, simple font in the middle of the white paper bag.

“can i—” kyungsoo swallows. he looks up at jongin with some shyness before his gaze diverts to side, anywhere else as long as it is not jongin’s eyes. “can i wear them?”

jongin beams. “of course you can!” he waves his hand nonchalantly. “we can just talk about whatever. catch up, yeah?”

kyungsoo nods in agreement as he grins. “we didn’t really talk much in the restaurant.”

“we didn’t,” jongin groans. “the place was recommended by a friend but it was stuffy, right?”

the older male chuckles lowly. “i liked the food but—” he flushes just a little bit. “—i’m still kind of hungry.”

jongin hums. “well, i can order us a bunch of food and we can, like, sit on the floor and pretend it’s cheap takeout.”

“instead of a five-star hotel room service?” kyungsoo raises his eyebrows and the corner of his lips twitches.

“exactly that,” jongin grins before he stands up to head to the phone. he tilts his head to the side and pushes his lips to the direction of the bathroom. “you can change there right now if you want.”

kyungsoo nods and jongin holds his breath, waiting for kyungsoo to stand up. the older man does after a few seconds of contemplation and jongin sighs in relief as he presses the number for room service. he browses over the menu, flipping to the japanese selection.

“good evening,” he greets when the other line picks up. thankfully, the hotel’s restaurant won’t close until twelve midnight. jongin hums as he thinks of what to order. japanese is kyungsoo’s favorite type of cuisine.

“i’ll get—uh—a bowl of tonkotsu ramen and—yeah. firm noodles, extra garlic on the side. a plate of gyoza. a bowl of edamame to share—” jongin flips the page and reads over the selection of sushi rolls. “and what’s your bestseller? for sushi rolls?”

the man on the line answers but jongin finds the food choice odd. he’s sure kyungsoo won’t appreciate eating raw fish at almost eleven in the evening, no matter how fresh or good it is.

“no, not that. maybe the other one? yeah. the one with cream cheese.” jongin turns around to leand against the wall beside the table where the phone is. like this, he has a perfect view once kyungsoo comes out of the bathroom. he knows the older man is taking his time and jongin takes his as well, picking out their midnight snack.

“and a plate of tempura shrimp, please.” jongin turns the pages to the available drinks and while he’s thinking whether to order hot sake or ice cold beer, he sees the door open.

“kyungsoo,” he calls out, holding the phone away from his mouth. “do you want hot sake or—”

his voice trails off as kyungsoo steps out wearing jongin’s design. the hem of the skirt hits where it should, perfectly. kyungsoo smoothes the pleats down as he plays with the band. it sits high on kyungsoo’s waist and between that, and the trim of the crop top, there is a pretty generous amount of skin being shown. the kai is printed stark against kyungsoo’s flat chest and jongin thinks sizing down is a good idea—the top lays neatly on kyungsoo’s upper body.

under the lights, the navy blue fabric slightly sheens and the metallic straps glimmer. kyungsoo’s hands are behind him, linked and, if jongin has to guess, fidgeting. his right foot is rubbing the top of his left and he gives jongin a shy smile, swaying a little to the left and to then to the right.

“what are you asking again?” kyungsoo tilts his head to the side. jongin follows the movement and kyungsoo’s hand reaches up to brush his bangs, fixing them against his forehead.

“um… hot sake or—” jongin gulps. when kyungsoo walks, the fabric falls all over him like the clothes are made for him and him only. his childhood friend’s shoulders are also relaxed and the way he takes his steps, toes pointed out like he’s walking on air and his chin tilted slightly upwards—everything makes jongin’s heart pound.

“or?” kyungsoo prompts. he walks even closer to jongin and the designer has no idea whether to lean back or lean forward. jongin doesn’t know if kyungsoo is aware of what he is doing but the older male’s index finger is tracing the band of his skirt. running it along the short length of the fabric. the brand kai looks amazing printed on something that kyungsoo is wearing.

jongin’s stomach tightens in millions of knots as he holds himself off from cursing.

“or cold beer,” jongin finally breathes out. “they have light beers on the menu.”

kyungsoo bends down to read the menu on the table and he hums as he mouths the word. he raises an eyebrow before he tells jongin, “beer, please. i think sake will be too heavy and it’s already late as it is.”

jongin nods before he turns back to the staff on the other end of the line. he apologizes for the hold up and adds four cans of beer to their order. the person repeats all of the orders and jongin confirms everything is correct before he puts the telephone down.

the click it makes is audible because it hits the plastic a little too hard. jongin realizes that it is because of the way his hand is slightly trembling. if kyungsoo notices, he doesn’t say anything. instead the older male heads to the couch and jongin watches from afar the way kyungsoo dances on his light feet. he seems so happy that jongin blurts out—

“you’re wearing my design.”

kyungsoo turns around to face him and the skirt moves slightly. the fabric is a little too structured for it to billow but the slight movement throws the sheen of the navy blue deeper with the light hitting it just so.

“i am,” the other male smiles at him and he stares down at himself. he twirls on his toes and grins at jongin. “do i look pretty?”

jongin sighs—like he’s letting go of the weight of the entire world and leaving only nothing but honestly. “you do, kyungsoo.”

he walks over to the older man and jongin resists the impulse to hold kyungsoo’s face between his hands. instead, he settles for repeating, “you look beautiful.” and, just because he knows what to say to kyungsoo ten years ago, now, he adds, “the clothes fit you perfectly.”

kyungsoo laughs at him, cheeks pink and threatening to burst.

they have all of the food on top of the coffee table. when the hotel staff enters with their order, jongin notices the way he averts his eyes from kyungsoo’s figure. the older man is standing in one corner of the room, admiring his reflection on the floor to ceiling windows. jongin watches kyungsoo’s body line blending in with the twinkling lights of the seoul skyline. they look like stars on the ground, easy to reach and attainable.

unlike the man in jongin’s hotel suite, wearing his design and carrying memories from the years he has spent in south korea.

once the hotel staff goes out, kyungsoo walks towards the couch before he arranges himself. jongin smiles at how kyungsoo sits carefully before he huffs tiredly, plopping down.

“you’re wrinkling your clothes,” jongin says.

kyungsoo shrugs. “they’re clothes.” there is a pause before kyungsoo adds, “i love it when they look lived in.”

jongin sits on the floor across the man as he starts splitting the ramen between the two of them. he makes sure to put the extra slice of pork into kyungsoo’s bowl and keeps the spring onions to himself. he gives one half of the soy egg to kyungsoo and takes the other half for himself.

kyungsoo accepts it gratefully before he picks an edamame from the bowl. he drags the piece between his teeth, popping to get the seeds out of the pod.

jongin does the same as he reaches over for the cans of cold beer. he pulls the tab open and the drink makes a loud hissing sound that kyungsoo coos over.

“you like drinking?” jongin asks nonchalantly. he picks one of the glasses as he tilts it to the side. he pours the alcohol slowly, occasionally stopping to let some of carbon dioxide out of the liquid.

“yeah,” kyungsoo nods happily. “not like it’s habitual or anything—i’m not an alcoholic. but it just feels good—good food, good drinks, and good people.”

jongin raises his eyebrows as kyungsoo picks a shrimp and swallows the entire thing whole, leaving the tail out. his right cheek puffs out as he chews.

jongin smirks as he leans into the table. his feet is sprawled underneath and his right foot is nudging kyungsoo’s legs. the older male shoots him a warning glare as he puts an entire sushi roll in his mouth. he makes a hum of appreciation before he starts with his small bowl of ramen.

“so,” jongin purposefully trails off. he takes a huge slurp of his noodles, uncaring of how it messes up his face. he’s sitting on the floor, slouched before the coffee table, and amazing and amazingly overpriced hotel food with his best friend. “i’m one of the—your—good people?”

kyungsoo smiles at jongin. there’s a seaweed wrapper sticking on his front teeth. his hair looks like a mess. the metallic strap catches the light and sparkles.

softly, but no less certain, the older man answers, “always.”

the two of them don’t get to finish the meal. kyungsoo insists on properly packing everything that can be packed inside the fridge. he stands up and rubs his tummy, running his soft palm against the sliver of skin that is exposed. it looks smooth and inviting to the touch.

jongin averts his gaze as he throws the trash to the waste bin. there are two cans of beer left and jongin doesn’t want kyungsoo to leave yet, to leave at all.

“kyungsoo,” he calls out. he holds the cans of beer overhead and lifts a brow. “want to stay and finish these with me?” jongin nods to the fridge and continues, “i also have some champagne there if you’d like that one better.”

kyungsoo looks contemplative as he stands in the middle of the living room. he frowns and says, “i want to drink.” jongin makes to pull open one of the beer cans open until kyungsoo adds, “but i also want to lie down on the bed.”

he looks down at his clothes mournfully. “what a waste.” he plucks the skirt away. “i have to take this off soon.”

jongin hums. “well, i have a bed here. we can finish the beer and you can just crash afterwards.” he nods towards kyungsoo’s direction. “and i won’t judge you if you wear designer clothes to sleep—i’ve heard worse things from hollywood celebrities.”

kyungsoo groans but his shoulders slump. jongin says as he walks to the bedroom. “it’s pretty late too. you can just stay the night—like a sleepover.”

at that, kyungsoo grins.

“just like the old times?”

jongin nods, “just like the old times.”

jongin sets the beer cans down on the bedside table as kyungsoo jumps on top of the king sized bed. his skirt flips up, riding up his thighs. the designer sighs as he fixes the fabric for kyungsoo.

“you can be such a kid sometimes,” jongin comments. there is an unmistakable note of fondness in his tone. he pats kyungsoo on the hip and the scoots over to leave some space for jongin.

the taller male pulls the covers up and over them as they both lie down beside each other. jongin’s hotel bedroom has a large window too but the blinds are pulled low. the dim lights are on and when jongin turns his head to the side, he finds wide eyes staring at him.

kyungsoo’s hand moves between them, lying on the space separating their bodies. eternity measures the distance of their bodies. jongin feels kyungsoo’s hand twitch and he thinks—fuck everything—before his own hand crawls and rests over kyungsoo’s.

a slow smile takes over kyungsoo’s face at jongin’s action. the older male moves his head closer and his lips are parted, pink and plump—inviting, like they are all for jongin to take and take and take. kyungsoo breathes softly and slowly as he slowly relaxes and sinks into the warmth.

like a whispered confession, he says, “jongin.”

jongin smiles and raises both his eyebrows. kyungsoo grins at him as he giggles to himself softly.

“jongin,” kyungsoo repeats. his mouth curls around jongin’s name and the younger male cannot deny the way his stare follows and lingers. the valley over kyungsoo’s upper lip holds one too many secrets.

“say my name again,” jongin requests after a second of silence.

kyungsoo chuckles and the sound is closer to a song and a melody than anything else. kyungsoo’s lips point out as he says, “jo—” he deliberately stretches his mouth wide into a bright grin as he continues, “—ngin.”

the shorter male sighs and murmurs, “jongin.”

jongin laughs shortly and he joins, “kyungsoo.”

kyungsoo gives him a grin that almost threatens to split his round face. “i miss hearing you say my name.” the hand underneath jongin turns and their palms touch, kissing. “no one says it quite like you do.”

“what does that even mean?” jongin wonders out loud. there is something familiar about it—

“jongin,” kyungsoo says and right then and there, jongin understands.

no one says jongin quite like kyungsoo does.

the older male looks sincere as he says, “i miss you.”

jongin’s heart skips three beats, maybe ten. maybe it stops all together. kyungsoo’s words send him spiraling into something as something heavy settles into his stomach. his chest feels light and the contradiction of everything is too much.

he closes his eyes.

kyungsoo doesn’t wait for him to reply and the night turns cold, slowly fading into silence.

the cans of beer are left forgotten—lukewarm and dying.

jongin lies beside kyungsoo on the latter’s bed and he curls closer to kyungsoo’s figure, trying to seek warmth. he does not get easily cold.

“kyungsoo,” jongin whines.

kyungsoo just makes a noncommittal sound as he flips another page of the fashion magazine he is reading.

“pay attention to me,” jongin whines some more.

kyungsoo just laughs as he pats jongin’s hair like the younger boy is a particularly amusing pet.

“i’m busy,” kyungsoo says. his eyes linger on a page of a woman wearing a floor length evening gown. she’s wearing black silk gloves and her fingers are bent invitingly as her arms curl around her midsection. she’s staring straight at the camera—eyes a piercing color of fresh spring grass.

jongin moves closer as he lays his head against kyungsoo’s chest. his childhood friend huffs but he adjusts their position into a more comfortable one.

“do you like what the model is wearing?” jongin asks. he whispers it against kyungsoo’s cottom t shirt.

“yes,” kyungsoo answers simply. “it’s pretty.”

“would you like to wear one?” jongin asks. kyungsoo’s pale skin looks nice contrasted with dark colors, stark and bold.

“of course.” kyungsoo nods and his index and middle finger traces the outline of the tall model on the page. her cheekbones look like they can cut glass and maybe diamonds. “i want to look pretty like them.”

without hesitation, jongin says, “but you’re already pretty enough as it is.”

kyungsoo taps him on the back with slight force and the older boy laughs to himself. “don’t be silly.” he leans his head to side—the side closer to jongin’s temple. “and don’t even try to flatter me—you know what i mean.”

jongin sighs but there is no hint of resignation in it. just an inhale of air, dragging out of his lungs alongside his thoughts and worries. “you know what i mean, too.” he pauses as he hugs kyungsoo close. “you don’t have to be them to be pretty.”

kyungsoo makes a sound and jongin knows, without even really looking, that kyungsoo scowls afterwards. he snorts in amusement and fondness.

after a moment of silence, kyungsoo speaks up again. “i feel prettier in prettier clothes.” he sounds hesitant and jongin does not even know. have they already had this conversation or was it long overdue?

“do you like the color black then?”

“like what the model is wearing?”

“yes,” jongin replies.

kyungsoo’s bedroom is eerily silent and the only sounds that can be heard are their breathing. after several moments, jongin realizes that their every inhale and their every exhale are synchronized, matching. a perfect pair and a perfect fit.

“the black looks too plain, don’t you think?” kyungsoo asks. his fingers are studying the shape of the skirt.

“maybe i’ll give you roses,” jongin says.

“roses?” kyungsoo sounds confused and jongin answers by reaching for kyungsoo’s wrist. he grips it in a loose and comfortable grasp as he steadies kyungsoo’s index finger. he moves it to the hem of the skirt and starts drawing mindless circular patterns on the glossy page.

“here—” jongin says. he makes a twirl and tightens his hold. underneath the embrace of his fingers, kyungsoo’s pulse is working overtime and hammering against the thin skin and the delicate bones. “—and here too.” jongin draws another messy circular figure before he lets it derail into a thin length. “and maybe some veins.”

kyungsoo laughs and jongin slides his hand down kyungsoo’s palm as he fits his fingers between the spaces of kyungsoo’s. the small hand is warm against his own skin. jongin has held kyungsoo’s hands many time—the right one and the left—but nothing feels like this. nothing can ever compare to this. it is like an intimate secret, like they have shared something sacred inside the four walls of kyungsoo’s boring looking and almost barren bedroom.

“you deserve embroidered flowers on expensive fabrics, kyungsoo,” he says again after another pause. kyungsoo remains silent. jongin is too afraid to look at the older man’s expression. “you deserve a whole garden of them.”

jongin stirs from his slumber in stages. his eyes open and flutter as he feels a warm body against his body. his left arm is slung over someone and his fingers are loosely placed on top of what feels to be skin. he yawns and curses as he stretches, one of his joints popping in the middle of the silent bedroom. sunlight slowly trickles in lines through the blinds, hitting the floor and painting it with a bright glow.

he opens his eyes and is met with kyungsoo’s sleeping face. his best friend’s lips are parted slightly as he curls beside jongin. kyungsoo has almost always slept like a baby. the older male is perpetually cold and he seeks warmth anywhere and everywhere as he tries to avoid the nipping chill. his fingers are beside his face and he stirs when jongin does. his hand reaches closer and that’s when jongin realizes that there are fingers holding jongin’s waist, slightly above the material of his trousers.

jongin shrugs off the thick comforter and the hair on kyungsoo’s pale legs rise with goosebumps. the skirt that kyungsoo is wearing is now a mess, hitched high up his thigh. when kyungsoo twists away from jongin with a groan, the skirt rides up, exposing a corner of kyungsoo’s boxer shorts.

he looks away as he pulls the fabric down kyungsoo’s knee. the skirt is all crinkled now and jongin rolls off of the bed.

“you stupid fucker,” jongin tells himself. he stands on the foot of the bed, heart pounding, as kyungsoo lies there, peacefully sleeping. jongin burrows his face into his hands before he slides it upwards. he grips his messy hair and tugs it as if it’s going to wake him up from the sight of kyungsoo in his bed.

fuck.

kyungsoo wakes up right then and with his eyes still closed, he sits up. he rubs his fingers against his eyes as he yawns. the skirt is billowing around him, splayed wrinkled on top of the bed. kyungsoo curls his legs underneath him and jongin—

jongin wants to take a picture of the sight.

kyungsoo looks like a walking advertisement. like if anyone sees how the older male looks right now, freshly woken up and cracking his neck, they will buy kai out of their clothes. jongin can perfectly imagine it—kyungsoo’s face all over magazines, doing mundane things while wearing thousands of dollars worth of clothes. kyungsoo fits kai in a raw and visceral way as if jongin is making and designing all the clothes with his childhood friend in mind, with their own childhood in mind.

“good morning,” kyungsoo greets with a lazy smile. from jongin’s position standing up at the foot of the bed, he can see kyungsoo’s eyelashes kissing the skin below his eyes every time his lids flutter.

fuck.

jongin wants to take a picture of the sight not because kyungsoo looks like he’s a walking kai collection but because kyungsoo is—

kyungsoo is.

helplessly, jongin says back, “good morning.”

“what are you standing there for?” kyungsoo groans. the smile never leaves his face. he’s still sitting on top of the bed and kyungsoo bends down into himself, sighing in contentment. “what time is it?”

jongin has no idea what time it is, or what day it is—what year it is. he feels like he’s meeting kyungsoo again after sleeping over the man’s place. kyungsoo gives him a soft good morning and a lazy morning smile and jongin feels like he’s sixteen again—in a bed too small for two teenagers, kissing kyungsoo on top of his head and maybe his temple and intertwining both of their hands as kyungsoo pretends he’s asleep and tries hard not to giggle.

kyungsoo raises his brows at him, looking half playful. “you can speak, jongin. don’t worry—i know all about your morning breath since, like, we’re eight.”

“i don’t have a morning breath!” jongin protests like always. he adds mutinously, “unlike you.”

kyungsoo laughs at that as he gets out of the bed. he attempts to fix his hair in a somewhat presentable manner but only fails. he huffs in frustration but gives up in the end. he rubs his stomach in light circles and jongin is still standing there dumbly. his stare follows kyungsoo’s every movement—everything all at once, the little details and the large ones.

the older male sidles up to him with a smile. he steps in front of jongin and looks up. jongin just. jongin can’t take the heavy feeling in his chest and he does not stop himself from reaching out to kyungsoo. his hand cups kyungsoo’s cheek and the man leans into the touch, pliant and boneless. kyungsoo sighs and it sounds like he’s letting go of all his worries at once.

“i miss you,” jongin says with all the emotions that he feels—all the emotions that he has felt for the past years. not just the years of separation but also the childhood they have spent together. jongin feels like he has been feeling a lot for do kyungsoo, even when he’s too young to know what they mean. with utmost sincerity, he repeats, “i really miss you, kyungsoo.”

kyungsoo smiles and he holds jongin’s wrist with his cold fingers. he turns his head just so and his lips meet jongin’s palm in a delicate kiss as if he understands.

instead of ordering room service for breakfast, the two of them finishes the leftover sushi rolls from last night. the tempura shrimps are no longer crispy after being put in the microwave, but neither of them are complaining as they wolf everything down. kyungsoo does not drink milk anymore so the two of them shares one bottle of orange juice, passing it back and forth.

when kyungsoo changes, he folds the clothes and places them into the paper bag with something akin to sadness and longing.

kyungsoo says, “i wish i can wear clothes like that everyday.” he laughs at what he has just said and then adds, looking at jongin as if the designer needs an explanation, “not everyday, you know? but just—when i want to. i want to wear them and look pretty.”

jongin tilts his head. “why don’t you?”

kyungsoo gives a bitter chuckle. “i’m scared, jongin. my mother has no idea i’m like… this.”

“then tell her,” jongin answers as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“it’s not—” kyungsoo sighs in frustration. “i don’t want to know how she will react.”

jongin understands and he kneels before kyungsoo’s feet. he rests both his hands on kyungsoo’s knees. the older male is looking down and jongin peeks at the way his eyes are shining with unshed tears. he draws circles over kyungsoo’s suit pants.

“she loves you so much, kyungsoo,” jongin tells the man. “remember when she won’t let you sweat outside? or when you got that scar on your knee? she panicked so hard that she was almost crying while cleaning your wound.”

jongin remembers the memory clearly. the two of them are playing outside and kyungsoo accidentally falls from the monkey bars. his right knee takes the brunt, skidding on the asphalt. he remembers kyungsoo’s loud sobs and how he cries as much, seeing his best friend in pain.

“she would cook your favorite food almost everyday and she didn’t even make you drink your milk.” jongin chuckles and adds, teasing, “that’s why you didn’t grow up to be tall—you don’t like drinking your milk. you always make me drink them for you. your mom knew; she just didn’t say anything.”

“i’m not that much of a bratty child!” kyungsoo swats jongin’s hand but a smile breaks into his face. jongin figures the slight sting is worth it.

“i’m not sure,” kyungsoo bites his lip. “not now.”

it sounds like a not yet to jongin’s ears.

jongin hums before, tiredly, he slumps on the floor. he rests his head against kyungsoo’s knee and the low couch and kyungsoo’s height make it easier for him to lean his head down against kyungsoo’s lap.

“kyungsoo,” jongin says. kyungsoo’s fingers are on his hair, carding through the strands. jongin is looking out at the window, past the glass and the morning hustle of a never ending city. weighed down, jongin sighs. the sound is aborted like an engine of a plane stuck at the tarmac.

“what is it?” kyungsoo asks in an equally soft voice. the two of them sound like they are both scared to disturb what is happening between them and the bubble they have created for themselves.

“do you want to—” jongin swallows the lump in his throat. “do you want to be my muse?”

the designer stops. that sounds wrong because—because kyungsoo is his muse. now and before, always. he amends, “i have a new collection, a limited one that will be released in south korea only.” jongin watches the skyscrapers disturb the endless horizon. when he closes his eyes, he sees kyungsoo. “i want to release a personal campaign. everyone that has to already knows about my plans i just need—a model. someone who can wear the clothes i design and look like—like they belong in them and—”

jongin sighs in frustration. he’s not sure if kyungsoo understands. he's not even sure if he understands himself. the only thing he knows is he wants kyungsoo to wear his clothes. he wants to do it because kyungsoo looks at home in his clothes, comfortable and happy. he wants that for kyungsoo—two decades ago. one. now.

“i—jongin—” kyungsoo sounds hesitant. “i don’t know.”

jongin curls his hands into fist and begs. “please,” he says brokenly. his voice hitches and breaks.

kyungsoo bends down and jongin opes his eyes because the older male seems to be hugging him in this odd position. it can’t be comfortable.

“why would you even want me?” kyungsoo asks. insecurity bleeds in his voice and jongin wants to rip it off, take it away and burn it over his palms. he doesn’t want kyungsoo to sound like that, not now and not ever.

jongin searches for his voice and his words. he wants to be honest and genuine. the only thing he finds is something that he’s been keeping for a long time. the only thing he finds is, really, the answer to most of the questions that makes up kim jongin.

“because you’re you,” jongin replies without hesitation. “because you’re kyungsoo. my—”

he stops himself and sighs out. he adds, just for good measure, “because i love how you look happy in them.”

“happy?” kyungsoo asks. it sounds like a question for himself. there is a pause just as kyungsoo seemingly falters. “i do. i feel happy wearing them.”

another pause. another eternity of silence. jongin opens his eyes to the sight of seoul’s early morning skyline. there is not much to see, not when the one jongin wants is imprinted behind his eyelids. he closes his eyes again, longing and desperate.

kyungsoo adds and this time, it’s for himself and for jongin, quiet like a confession and honest like a prayer, “but also because it’s you.”

the taller male sighs but it feels at ease. “is that a yes?” he asks, even if he already knows the answer.

kyungsoo chuckles and simply, he answers, “that’s as good as any, i guess.” kyungsoo runs his hand up and down, up to the middle of jongin’s back in gentle caresses. “for you, jongin.” silence and then, “all for you.”

jongin understands perfectly.

kai has no atelier in south korea so the two of them decides between the office at the kai boutique in gangnam, jongin’s hotel room, or kyungsoo’s own apartment. kai is immediately scrapped when kyungsoo expresses hesitation over the staff at the store hovering and jongin insists on visiting kyungsoo and catching up.

he’s driving down the road to kyungsoo’s apartment in a borrowed sports car courtesy of park chanyeol. the engine purrs as the wheels glide against the asphalt. jongin's sunglasses tint the world dark as he drums his fingers against the steering wheel alongside the beat of the hiphop song playing from a cd he has found inside the glove compartment. chanyeol’s taste runs vastly different from jongin but the song is not that bad, if one is into that kind of thing.

jongin turns left just as his gps instructs him to do. he sees kyungsoo’s standard apartment building from afar and he speeds up, feeling excitement thrum in his vein and threatening to rip his skin apart. he parks and pays an amount that makes him roll his eyes—overpriced amidst the packed scenery of seoul, south korea.

he gets out of the car with his small bag with a small emergency sewing kit, several measuring tapes, a moleskin, and a pen that costs hundreds of dollars bought from london inside. kyungsoo’s midrise apartment building does not have fancy security and jongin walks in without so much as a glance or a problem. he gets inside the elevator and shoots kyungsoo a text.

it feels a little bit clandestine, like their own personal tiny secret.

jongin gets off at the seventh floor and walks to the third door from the elevator. he presses the door bell and he doesn’t have to wait, doesn’t even get a coming, before the door opens.

kyungsoo’s grinning face greets him. he’s wearing comfortable clothes, sweatpants and a thing black t shirt.

“come in. come in," kyungsoo ushers him inside. he looks so excited and on the verge of laughter, like jongin’s presence alone makes him happy. jongin understands the feeling well enough.

“sorry it’s a little small,” kyungsoo says sheepishly. he does not sound ashamed or unapologetic and jongin delights at that. that kyungsoo still feels comfortable with him, enough that he welcomes jongin in his home with a warm smile.

“it's cozy,” jongin comments out of lack of anything to say.

it’s true though. the place is a one-bedroom, he thinks. there are two doors—probably kyungsoo’s room and the bathroom. there is one near the entryway but that’s most likely a small storage closet than anything else. it’s a good space for one person, maybe two even.

“sit down,” kyungsoo gestures to the couch as jongin immediately follows.

“you don’t have a dining table?” jongin observes. the minimal furnitures  make the space feel less claustrophobic. he figures that the wooden coffee table serves as a dining table too.

“yeah,” kyungsoo nods. he heads to the tiny kitchen to, presumably, get some snacks. he turns to jongin with a wink and drawls out, “i wouldn’t invite anyone in my home who i wouldn’t eat on the floor with.”

jongin cackles. “i pass that test alright.”

kyungsoo comes back with two bottles of juice—a mix of apple, carrot, and ginger—and rice crackers in individual packs. some are dusted in salt and some in sugar.

jongin picks one with sugar as he rips the pack apart. he takes one and nibbles on it as kyungsoo twists the cap of the juice bottle. he looks around kyungsoo’s apartment and finds plain picture frames holding kyungsoo’s memories. jongin is in most of them and he smiles—

it feels similar to his atelier and his private office, filled with photos of jongin’s memories. kyungsoo is in most of them, from the photographs of their childhood until jongin has to leave because of his father’s job.

“i almost got lost,” jongin says after a moment. he puts the rice cracker down and adds, “i thought you’d still be living in our old neighborhood.”

kyungsoo shrugs, “once i finished university, mom moved back to the countryside. we sold the house so she could buy one in her hometown.” kyungsoo chuckles to himself and his eyes twinkle. jongin knows how much kyungsoo loves his mother. “the properties there are cheaper and she was able to buy a small house with a yard. she gardens and owns chickens.”

jongin laughs with kyungsoo. the older boy’s mother has always wanted to retire to the countryside and gives jongin a warm feeling knowing where she is right now.

“i visit her a lot—too much, i think,” kyungsoo rubs his nape sheepishly. “but you know how it is. freelance work gives me more flexible hours unless i have to go to the office.”

jongin nods. being a designer gives him odd hours and he figures it’s a little bit similar to kyungsoo as well.

“how about auntie and uncle?” kyungsoo asks jongin. “are they still working?”

“mom is,” jongin nods. he’s grinning from one ear to another. “but dad doesn’t anymore. she’s content to watch sports and help mom out but you can’t make him go into an office even if you pay him.”

kyungsoo giggles at that. “uncle is so lazy.” he looks far away for a moment, lost in reminiscence. “he’s always told us that his dream was to be a househusband.”

“i remember that!” jongin enthuses. “dad is really hopeless. i don’t know how mom puts up with him.”

kyungsoo giggles at jongin’s words and he looks around like a kid trying to spot if anyone has heard. it feels silly because they are the only ones in the tiny apartment but it also feels very much distinctly kyungsoo.

jongin smiles and he knows that he looks like an idiot—hopeless and helpless. he feels lost in kyungsoo’s grin and the soft curves of his lips as he talks.

everything feels a little bit like nostalgia and a lot like home.

halfway through their cold pressed juice, kyungsoo stands up and plugs his phone to the speaker placed on the self under the tv. he presses shuffle on his song list. jongin laughs out loud when red flavor plays.

“song of the year, huh?” he asks playfully.

kyungsoo’s cheeks are red as he says, “shut up!”

“no,” jongin whines. “i like the song really. it’s catchy.”

the older male snickers and he wiggles his hips, perfectly singing, “ppalgan mat gunggeumhae honey.”

jongin laughs and he struggles to continue the next line. he hasn’t gotten the first syllable out before he breaks out into a fresh set of high pitched giggling. kyungsoo falls beside him on the couch, kicking his shin lightly.

“i won’t ever dance or sing it for you again,” the shorter man warns. he’s glaring at jongin but the effect is ruined by his red cheeks and his twitching mouth.

“what a loss,” jongin deadpans before kyungsoo hits his thigh. jongin laughs again at kyungsoo reaction, tossing his head back and slumping down on the couch. he holds his stomach as he wipes the tears leaking out of his eyes.

“aren’t you here for my measurements anyway?” kyungsoo nudges jongin. he’s obviously trying to change the subject as he wills the redness on his cheeks to go away.

jongin leans back into the couch as he sways with the catchy pop song. kyungsoo likes older music—slow ones with reverberating deep voices, lazy drawls and dragging notes. this really must have been good for kyungsoo to even download it on his phone.

he hums. “i am.” jongin gestures for kyungsoo’s clothes. “you’re wearing too much.”

the redness on kyungsoo’s cheeks flares up even more. “do i have to change out of this?”

jongin nods and he shrugs. he gives kyungsoo half a grimace and half a smile. “sorry but your sweatpants are too thick.” he sees the discomfort on kyungsoo’s face and adds, “you can keep the shirt.”

kyungsoo sighs but he stands up and goes inside his bedroom. jongin closes his eyes and listens to the song playing from the speakers. kyungsoo’s bedroom door swings open and jongin turns his head, tries not to gasp out loud.

he’s asked for this.

kyungsoo is in the same thin black shirt but he’s wearing a pair of shorts that barely reach mid thigh. his thighs are rubbing together and his hands are clasped behind his back. he is looking anywhere and everywhere but jongin’s eyes.

jongin pulls his bag and and takes a measuring tape from inside. he doesn’t avert his gaze from kyungsoo’s direction.

“come here.” his voice comes out hoarse and almost quiet. the air changes just as the song on the speakers does. he curses inwardly when the first slow notes trickle out like rain drops. the low drawls of elvis envelops the entire room and—

(wise men say only fools rush in.)

this sounds more like kyungsoo’s music than anything else. this is everything that kyungsoo loves in a song.

jongin stands up and unravels the tape measure. kyungsoo takes a step back and he starts swaying a little bit alongside the music. the older man has always been like this, easily swept by the notes and the melodies. he’s a light person, the right breeze would have him dancing on the tips of his toes.

the designer steps behind kyungsoo and he lays the measuring tape flat against the plane of kyungsoo’s back, from one shoulder to the next.

“you know—” (would it be a sin if i can’t help falling in love with you?) “—i have people who do this for me in new york.” he sees the number and files it in his mind. jongin empties all his thoughts, most of them, and catalogues kyungsoo’s measurement.

“well, mr. big-shot-designer,” (darling, so it goes some things are meant to be.) “it’s only your childhood friend here and i’m glad to feel special.”

“you are,” jongin blurts out as he circles kyungsoo’s bicep with the tape. (take my hand, take my whole life, too.) he drags it to the length of kyungsoo’s arm afterwards and writes the number down in his head.

“i am what?”

(for i can’t help falling in love with you.)

“special,” jongin answers. kyungsoo hums but he notices the older man fiddling with his fingers. jongin smiles to himself and says, “turn around.”

kyungsoo does and he steps into jongin’s space. jongin winds the measuring tape around kyungsoo’s small waist. their sock clad feet kiss and jongin takes half a step back.

(like a river flows, surely to the sea.)

the taller male looks down and he loosens the tape around kyungsoo’s waist before he slides it down to the other man’s hips. he tightens it perfectly, a hair’s breadth away from pinching kyungsoo’s soft skin. he takes another half a step back before he goes on his knees.

kyungsoo looks at him, confused, and jongin chuckles.

“your inseam and leg length,” he answers. from waist down to the floor, he measures. from hip down to the floor, he measures.

“and your inseam,” jongin softly whispers.

kyungsoo flushes at that and jongin tries to stop his hands from trembling. he grips the tape measure tightly as he lays it flat against the inside of kyungsoo’s thighs, just below his crotch. he can feel how warm kyungsoo is and jongin steadies kyungsoo’s shaking knees. he doesn’t say anything, just working fast as he drags the tape down.

he gets the measurement and stands up fast. kyungsoo takes a shaky inhale of breath before he lets it go. his shoulders slowly relax and he says, “don’t you need to write it down?”

jongin shakes his head. “not really.” he puts his index finger against his temple and taps the area once. “i have everything here.”

“of course—you do have that freak memory.”

kyungsoo laughs and jongin thinks it sounds perfect against the backdrop of the deep darling, so it goes some things are meant to be. kyungsoo’s chuckles ebb away into a small smile, heart-shaped in exchange for jongin’s own heart, and for i can’t help falling in love with you comes out of the speakers like it’s supposed to.

(for i can’t help falling in love with you—)

and jongin sways to the music, understands it perfectly.

“remember when we would slow dance?” he asks, blurting out. his brain is fried and is quite possibly on the verge of short circuiting.

“i’d put on a dress and—” kyungsoo’s smile widens at the memory. “—you’d put your hands on my hips and then we’d just move to the music.”

“i’d twirl you,” jongin adds, continues. “you’d laugh out loud.”

“i would,” kyungsoo replies quietly.

a familiar tinny sound comes out of the speakers when the song changes. it sounds a little bit broken, like the music is a low quality recording. jongin realizes what it is as he smiles.

“i have this one on vinyl—different but the same.” he comments.

the two of them are still standing in the middle of the room. jongin has a tape measure in his hands and kyungsoo is in his thin t shirt and underwear. the first stirrings of the piano sound high.

“this one’s by peggy lee,” kyungsoo answers as he sways to the piano. “it’s cleaner. quieter.”

jongin takes a step closer, both hands automatically reaching. kyungsoo meets them halfway with his own and he intertwines their fingers. he leans in and kyungsoo’s warm breath fans against his face.

a woman’s soothing voice starts to languidly sing—

(kiss me once—)

he takes another step, almost crowding into kyungsoo’s space.

(then kiss me twice—)

his eyes drop down to kyungsoo’s lips and he sees the man does it as well, wide eyes trained on jongin’s plush lip.

(then kiss me once again.)

he bends down a little, seeking and finding. found. every millimeter is another eternity and—

(it’s been a long, long time.)

kyungsoo takes a step back. jongin frowns, senses cloudy with the heavy atmosphere. the older man shakes his head with a sad smile.

“we can’t,” kyungsoo softly says. “jongin, don’t.”

jongin looks up at the ceiling because kyungsoo is right. they can’t. they shouldn’t.

“you’re right—” (haven’t felt like this, my dear, since can’t remember when.) “i have a—we can’t. we can’t.”

kyungsoo pulls him to the couch and the two of them plop down weakly. jongin closes his eyes and tightens his hold on kyungsoo’s hands.

“after all these years,” jongin softly whispers. his words trail off. he wants to say—after all these years, we still fit.

kyungsoo makes a humming sound and jongin snorts to himself. frustration builds up in his chest, tight and heavy. he wants to say a lot of things, wants to ask a lot of questions.

“why?” jongin asks.

“why did i stop you?” kyungsoo asks softly.

jongin shakes his head. “why did you not say yes?” (you’ll never know how many dreams i’ve dreamed about you.) “years ago when i asked.”

“too scared,” kyungsoo says simply. (or just how empty they all seem without you.) “too—not myself. i’ve never been—”

kyungsoo takes a large gulp of air and jongin squeezes the older male’s hand. somehow, jongin understands what kyungsoo is trying to say. from the way his hand also tightens against jongin’s, and the way his voice trembles weakly, to the way he puts his head against jongin’s shoulder, and the sigh that follows.

(so kiss me once—)

“you have a boyfriend,” kyungoo says.

“i have,” jongin replies.

(kiss me twice—)

the woman croons one last time. the longing in her voice is a time machine that brings jongin to the past, the present, and the future. he figures it’s something that will stay with him—the longing. just like the singing woman from the speakers. it’s a two minute song that encompasses two decades of jongin’s life, two decades more, and then, eternity.

(kiss me once again.)

the music dies just as it begins—quietly, with fingers kissing the piano keys ever so softly.

(kyungsoo’s head is resting against jongin’s shoulder and jongin moves them to the music coming out of the radio. they’re in kyungsoo’s living room and the older male is dressed in the black dress that jongin has gifted him for his birthday.

they’re swaying out of beat as the sun warms up the floor. they dance over the tiled floors barefoot as kyungsoo hums to the english song that neither of them know the title of. the unfamiliar tune casts a certain mystery to their dance, throws everything off. jongin twirls kyungsoo and they both laugh. the count is a little too long for the drag of the string instrument.

“you’re out of rhythm,” kyungsoo notes.

“it’s not about the song or the dance,” jongin answers without pause. he sways the both of them to right and to the left. he moves them closer to the window, near the sunlight. kyungsoo’s dress moves with the both of them.

“if not those, then what?” kyungsoo smiles at him. he looks like he knows the answer.

“us,” jongin answers. kyungsoo looks startled at that and jongin does not know what for. he thinks it is because kyungsoo has expected him not to answer but—

but kyungsoo is wearing his dress—his dress—and he looks happy and comfortable nestled with jongin’s embrace. he feels alive with the thrum of music and he may only be 17, a little reckless and a little stupid, but jongin has always felt this way for kyungsoo—a decade now, more than that even.

it is hard to count the years when they bleed together into kyungsoo—kyungsoo in his silence and his secrets, in his smiles and his laughters, his sobs and screams of frustration. as if one name and one person is axis of all things, the answer and the reason, the end and the beginning. jongin has known kyungsoo for as long as he is alive and has loved him the same amount of time, in different ways and in many ways.

“jongin,” kyungsoo whispers. it sounds broken and hesitant. “i’m not—not now. not yet—”

jongin smiles sadly because it sounds like a sorry.

“don’t say anything anymore,” he says. “it’s not a no—maybe some day. in the future, maybe.”

he sways the both of them and kyungsoo leans closer. he hugs jongin to himself as jongin hums. kyungsoo’s arms tighten around his neck and jongin draws aimless pattern’s on the side of kyungsoo’s torso.

the music plays, continues.)

it’s been three weeks since the incident at kyungsoo’s apartment. the two of them are awkward at first, acting like nothing really happened. jongin acts like it’s a distant dream and kyungsoo pretends like he doesn’t know anything about it. ever so surely, their movements go back to normal, comfort comes into them in their little smiles and excursions all over the city.

jongin’s assistant comes to south korea in a flurry of kai boxes. baekhyun drops them in his hotel room as the younger designer picks each article of clothing with care. park chanyeol has a bunch of open clothing racks delivered to his suite.

baekhyun eyes jongin with half suspicion and half curiosity. “who are all of these for?” he tilts his head while steaming the fabric free of wrinkles.

“a childhood friend?”

baekhyun gapes and incredulously asks, “the first clothes for your super secret limited edition seoul collection is for a childhood friend?”

jongin picks one of the long skirts and inspects the embroidery on them. he traces the threads with his index fingers and cups the soft tulle with his hands. the embroidered flowers climb up and create a garden midway before slowly fading into nothingness.

“yeah,” jongin answers with a sigh. “for him.”

if possible, baekhyun’s eyes widen. he shoots jongin another glance that speaks volumes. jongin neither hears nor understands.

baekhyun sighs in frustration and hisses out, “don’t do anything stupid, jongin.”

jongin snorts and says, “i won’t,” even if, deep down, he already knows he will—already has.

jongin plays with his newly bought canon camera. it’s after dinner when kyungsoo visits, having to go to the office and spend most of his day there.

he twists the lenses as kyungsoo stands in front of the racks of jongin's recent collection. his eyes are wide and his lips are parted. he looks like a child again, running his hands through the collection pieces.

“you’re the first person not part of my team to see these clothes,” jongin remarks. he places the camera on top of the table, walking to where kyungsoo is still standing. he’s in a pair of boring jeans and an oversized gray sweater.

“do you want to put some of them on?” jongin asks and nods to the clothes with a smile.

kyungsoo smiles at him and he tilts his head. “i want to.” he notices the camera and adds, “are you going to take pictures of me?”

“if you want,” jongin shrugs. “i’m thinking of turning it into some campaign—but no pressure. i want you to have fun wearing them.”

kyungsoo’s gaze goes back to the clothes hanging from the rack. he picks out a pair of wide legged trousers and puts it against himself. he hitches it high and the black fabric flows with every movement.

“i have a pair of kitten heels for you.” jongin tilts his head to the couch where another kai box is sitting.

kyungsoo bites his lip, hesitant. “i’ve never worn heels, to be honest.”

"why not?” jongin goes to retrieve the box but kyungsoo follows him instead, returning the pants to their original place.

“too bothersome,” kyungsoo deadpans. jongin watches as his eyes turn soft. “i like my ballet flats better. i feel like myself but—” he pauses, as if searching for the proper word. in the end, he sighs and softly beams, “—better.”

jongin smiles and he takes the box before tossing it to the other armchair. kyungsoo makes a sound of distress as the box opens up to reveal the red paper. one of the shoes falls down softly to the carpet.

“then you won’t wear them,” jongin says with finality. “did you bring your favorite with you?”

kyungsoo nods and he grabs his backpack. he pulls out a ziploc bag containing the ballet flats that jongin has first seen him in. kyungsoo takes them out of the plastic before he slips his feet inside.

he raises his feet slightly, wiggling them in the air.

“they look good on you,” jongin says. he stands up and pulls the same pair of trousers from the rack and a bandeau top. the small piece of clothing is heavy—the metallic flowers designed on it are intricate and genuine. when the light hits the bandeau, it glimmers.

“these ones,” jongin hands them to kyungsoo. “i imagined them together. something big that’s too plain accentuated by a small thing that’s practically bursting.”

kyungsoo laughs. “you’re always poetic about clothes.” he takes both of items and frowns at the tiny bandeau. “it’s too cold outside to wear this.”

jongin waves him off. “i have a fur coat.” he grins at kyungsoo happily. “i’ve thought of this, you know?”

kyungsoo laughs him off and jongin watches as he dances out of the room to change into something of his.

jongin’s hands curl into fists when kyungsoo comes out of the bathroom. kyungsoo is adjusting the bandeau over his chest before he smooths out the front of the trousers with his palms. jongin thinks it’s a nervous gesture, to check if everything is okay and in place.

kyungsoo hooks his index finger underneath the top and he loosens it around his torso. he hitches the pants higher before he gives jongin a smile. he turns around on the tips of his toes, the hem of the pants hovering on the floor from the added height.

“it’s the perfect length, i think,” kyungsoo remarks. he slips into his ballet flats before he starts tapping his shoes on the floor. one, two, three.

jongin stands there, unmoving and unblinking.

“jongin,” kyungsoo calls out. he chuckles to himself, hiding his mouth behind his hand. his eyes curl into crescents—twin moons on the small universe that is kyungsoo’s face. “you’re staring again.”

“of course,” jongin mindlessly says. he blinks before coughing. he turns his body away, walking to the clothing rack. he picks a faux fur coat in black and gives it to kyungsoo. he says, “to keep you warm.”

kyungsoo shrugs it on and it falls a little below the band of the wide legged pants kyungsoo sinks into the heat of the fabric as he curls and hugs himself.

“so nice,” he coos. “i feel soft.”

jongin smiles at the older man and says, like clockwork but meaning every turn and word, “you look good. the clothes fit you.”

kyungsoo waves him off, laughing. he’s laughing lightly again—any moment he can fly away with how carefree he is, drifting and relaxed. “you always tell me that.” he grins at jongin playfully. “are you only saying it because you made the clothes?”

“ha ha,” jongin retorts flatly. “and no, i don’t. you can wear something off of the sale rack of a department store and i will still say the same thing.” he shrugs. “it’s the truth, anyway.”

kyungsoo flushes and he bites his bottom lip. he looks away and trains his gaze on an abstract painting hanging on the wall of the hotel suite. his hands are playing with the hem of his jacket, running his fingers through the soft faux fur.

jongin grabs his camera and smiles. there really isn’t anything to be done.

“let’s go out,” he says. “i’ll take photos of you.”

there isn’t any concept for the photoshoot. kyungsoo slaps his face with tinted moisturizer and a slight blush. when light catches the high points of his face, they shine and glitter. his lips have an almost sheer pink color to them.

“what am i supposed to do?” kyungsoo asks, confused as they pull in front of a grocery store. there aren’t much cars in the large parking space and kyungsoo’s head is bend low, absentmindedly tracing patterns over the material of his pants.

his dolls shoes peek out of the hem, resting on the floor of jongin’s borrowed sports car.

“didn’t you mention about grocery shopping?” jongin kills the engine as he turns to kyungsoo’s side.

“yes, i did but—” kyungsoo turns to the window, looking outside the big sign boasting the store’s name. the sky is dark and moonless but the artificial lights are brightly lit. a couple comes out of the store carrying a full reusable grocery bag. kyungsoo turns back to jongin, still playing with the hem of his jacket. “wearing these?”

jongin nods. “why not?”

kyungsoo gives him a flat stare and jongin sighs. “there won’t be much people inside, kyungsoo, and—” he laughs before reaching to pry kyungsoo fingers from the faux fur. “—don’t you want to do your groceries wearing designer clothes.”

“when you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.” he pauses before speaking up again. he points out softly. “we’re going to be stared at. they’re going to stare at me.”

he doesn’t sound like he particularly minds and jongin’s small smile stretches into a large grin. he squeezes kyungsoo’s hand between his before he rubs his thumb over the skin between kyungsoo’s own thumb and index finger.

“they will stare because you look good.” jongin lowers his voice. if kyungsoo hears, then it’s fine. even if he doesn’t, jongin will say it anyway. “you look beautiful tonight, kyungsoo.”

there is a moment of shared silence in the car and jongin thinks kyungsoo has not heard what he has said. he does not mind, exactly. jongin will just say it again, and again, and again until kyungsoo hears. and then, again, and again, and again until kyungsoo understands.

jongin is about to ask if kyungsoo wants to go out still but before he can, the older male speaks up, “do i really?”

the designer leans in and he fixes kyungsoo’s bangs against his forehead. his palm rests on top of kyungsoo’s head before it slides down to cup the gentle curve of the smaller man’s skull. it fits jongin’s large hand almost perfectly.

“you do,” jongin says sincerely. “most people will only see a man dressed in women’s clothes but—” jongin takes a deep breath. “i see you, kyungsoo. i see you and you look really beautiful. more than words. more than anything.”

kyungsoo breaks out into a wet smile and his eyelids flutter. he blinks quickly and his long lashes bat against the soft looking skin underneath his eyes.

“thank you.” kyungsoo tilts his head to the side. “no one has ever told me that since—”

kyungsoo doesn’t have to finish. jongin understands it with the crystal clarity of his childhood friend’s eyes.

—since you.

the older male nods to himself and his fingers wrap around the door latch. his smile is small, with the remnants of hesitation.

it is no less beautiful.

kyungsoo tilts his head to the side. “let’s go, jongin?”

everything has to culminate into something, eventually. jongin knows he can’t live in a static—dangling precariously on the edge of danger and recklessness.

sehun’s plane touches down at incheon three days after the photographs come out of the printing shop. he arrives in a flurry of a louis vuitton duffel and a kai pea coat.

jongin picks him up from the airport and smiles. he kisses sehun on the lips and the taller male returns it softly.

oddly, it feels like the end of something jongin does not know.

sehun hates the cold with a passion and the model is cooped inside jongin’s hotel room. they’re ordering room service for lunch. the younger male is perusing the clothing rack in the living room and he picks up the long skirt—the one that, to jongin, seems like a garden. sehun caresses the soft tulle as he hums lightly.

he puts it against himself, the band above his belly button. the hem falls high and the length of it seems awkward against sehun’s long and thin frame.

sehun frowns. “who’s going to wear this?” he inspects the clothing item with a critical eye born out of years of working in the fashion industry. sehun’s been walking runways since he’s sixteen after catching the eyes of maison margiela.

“remember my muse?” jongin says from the couch. he’s drinking his scotch neat. it’s too early for one but jongin’s on his second refill, two knuckles worth of alcohol at quarter to two. “kyungsoo? he is a little bit on the short side.”

sehun chuckles before he puts the floor length skirt back to it’s place. he walks down and plops to jongin’s lap with careless grace. his long limbs are all over the place and jongin laughs when sehun almost hits his in the face with his sharp elbow.

“too bony,” the designer complains.

“suck it up,” sehun whines. “by the way, i heard from baekhyun that you personally took the photos of this kyungsoo guy. when can i meet him? i want to talk to him.”

jongin freezes up and he takes a swig of the scotch. he rolls it inside his mouth, trying to taste it everywhere. he swallows it down and relishes at the sharp line it draws on his throat.

“he’s a little bit busy,” jongin says—lies. kyungsoo can make time if he wants to, what with being in freelance and all that.

sehun shrugs and brushes it off. “can i see the photos at least?”

jongin nods. “brown envelope on the bedside table.”

sehun shoots up and he dashes to jongin’s bedroom. the older male can hear the model humming as he roots around. sehun is complaining about the bible inside the drawer before he releases a triumphant, “aha! found it!”

when he comes back to the room. he sits on the floor across jongin. he picks the envelope flap carefully before plucking the thick wad of photo paper. sehun excitedly spills the stack on top of the coffee table and then—

the smile completely drops from his face.

on the table are the photos from that night and jongin holds his breath. he still has not seen them himself and he watches as sehun picks one where kyungsoo is smiling up at the camera while sitting inside the grocery shopping cart. jongin remembers how that goes—he has to pick kyungsoo up and out the cart because the shorter male cannot get out of it.

sehun puts that down and jongin sees his thin lips quirk slightly at a photo of kyungsoo playfully posing with vegetables. some are taken between aisles of red pepper paste tubs and soybean paste tubs. kyungsoo wears kai against a backdrop of condiments and instant noodles.

“he’s cute,” sehun says after a moment.

jongin just nods and drinks the remaining liquid from his glass.

sehun stands up and jongin places the glass against the table. sehun has a smile that jongin can’t decipher. something in the air shifts as another weight settles deep into jongin’s stomach.

“jongin,” sehun says softly. “i love you.”

jongin stops and he opens his mouth. he tries to get the words out. just three of them and sehun’s name. just three. he closes his mouth again and swallows the lump in his throat. he tries again—just three words and sehun’s name and—

sehun laughs wetly as he throws his head back. he places his right elbow on the table before his leans his cheek against the side of his forearm.

“kyungsoo,” sehun says slowly, like he is testing kyungsoo’s name against the curve of his lips. “he’s the one on the polaroid, right?”

“the—” jongin pauses. he wants to lie, wants to reassure sehun, wants everything back to normal like it’s new york again and he’s frustratedly drawing a design that will not easily come on the tip of his lead pencil.

“don’t lie,” sehun warns. his eyes are wet and his lips are twisted.

jongin exhales and answers, “yes, he is.”

sehun chuckles bitterly as jongin asks, “how did you know?”

the model gives him a gentle stare and jongin wonders how sehun can be gentle right now, when he looks like he is breaking apart, when jongin is breaking his heart. kyungsoo’s photographs are scattered on the table.

“you’re not very secretive,” sehun replies. he chuckles again and like the laughter from before, it lacks mirth. “i thought he was your first love.”

“he was,” jongin nods. kyungsoo is his first love and—

“and still your love?” there is no hint of question to the words that escape between sehun’s twisted lips. the model reaches up to wipe the budding moisture on the corner of his eyes.

jongin does not pause because there really is only one answer.

“he is,” he replies—firm and clear but soft and apologetic. “my first love.” jongin pauses and takes a deep breath. it’s hard to get it out but there really is no other answer, nor is there any other explanation. “my always love.”

sehun huffs and he wipes at his eyes harshly. he stands up and jongin steels himself. he’s prepared for sehun to slap him or punch him, to call him names and throw the glass and the photos to his face.

instead, sehun bends down and hugs jongin close. jongin trembles before everything catches up to him. the first sob erupts like a tsunami wave hitting the shore and the concrete, eating away all the things in its way.

it’s so unfair and so, so selfish of him. sehun’s heart is breaking, broken, and he is the one comforting jongin and running his fingers through the older male’s hair.

“i’m breaking up with you,” sehun says. he says it so lightly like he’s telling jongin he is going out to get bubble tea or milk or like he’s talking about the weather or the latest paris fashion week.

“sehun—” jongin hiccups but sehun hushes him.

“you’ve been waiting for a long time, jongin.” sehun lets go of him and the younger man wipes the tears on jongin’s face.

“what about you? sehun, i’m sorry. i really am. i love you and—”

sehun places his fingers against jongin’s lips and he shushes him with a soft hiss. “i know. i know you love me, jongin.” the model turns jongin’s head before cold lips meet jongin’s warm cheek. “but you don’t love me the same way.” sehun wipes jongin’s fresh tears again. “i don’t want to compete with a ghost of your past. it’s unfair for the both of us, you know?”

jongin nods in understanding and sehun chuckles, pulling jongin up. he fixes jongin’s shirt and smoothens out the wrinkles on the front.

“i’ll get myself a new room and ask the staff to bring our lunch there. i think i can finish food for two, anyway,” sehun says idly. he pats jongin on the chest. “why don’t you kiss your always love?” he pushes jongin to the door. “two decades is a long time, ex lover.”

jongin drags his feet before he turns around. he finds sehun giving him an encouraging smile despite the tears falling from the younger man’s eyes. he waves his thin hand towards the door, mouthing go now.

jongin runs.

panting and almost light headed, jongin raps his knuckles against kyungsoo’s door. he curls his hand and pounds his fist against the wood.

“kyungsoo!” he says desperately. “it’s jongin! please. i want to talk.”

there is a noise from the inside but jongin can only hear the sound of thunder in his ears. the door swings open to kyungsoo in an oversized tee and a pair of sparkly socks. there is butterfly clip holding his bangs back and he is so, so beautiful—the most beautiful person jongin has ever known.

he slips past inside and kyungsoo makes a questioning noise.

“jongin, are you okay?” kyungsoo’s hands flutter all over jongin’s figure. “is there something wrong?”

the designer takes a deep breath and he faces kyungsoo.

“no,” he replies. “everything is alright.”

kyungsoo tilts his head and jongin knows there is another question stuck in between the older man’s plush lips. before kyungsoo can voice it out, jongin exhales and smiles.

“i love you, kyungsoo.” all the years rush back to jongin at once and his vision and his touch and his ears and everything in the universe are reduced to do kyungsoo. it feels good to get it out, finally. for the first time in his life, he says it. three words and kyungsoo’s name. “i’ve been in love with you for two decades now.”

“jongin, what—”

jongin cuts the smaller male off as he rushes out, “and i don’t care if you love me back. i have loved you for twenty years, i can wait for twenty more if that is how long it will take.”

kyungsoo’s eyes visibly soften at that and both his hands cup jongin’s face.

“maybe not twenty years,” kyungsoo says. he looks worried. “you have a boyfriend.”

“he broke up with me,” jongin chuckles almost incredulously. “he broke up with me.” jongin leans his forehead against kyungsoo’s and he whispers, reverent, “i’m all yours whenever you want me.”

kyungsoo smiles and he tilts his head. the older male’s nose kisses jongin’s. it’s so soft and tender. it’s everything jongin has ever imagined it to be except also, different. this is real—this is the reality that jongin is living.

no more empty dreams.

{bonus}

“just one last thing,” kyungsoo says suddenly. “i want to tell my mother about me.”

jongin’s about to streak out into the roads heading out of seoul when kyungsoo grabs his hand. the warmth of it pulls jongin’s attention away from the road and into kyungsoo’s. he smiles at the older male and raises an eyebrow.

“can i—” kyungsoo pauses. he looks shy and hesitant. “can i wear pretty clothes?”

he’s looking down at his loose khaki pants, fisting the material tightly. he’s wearing a worn out christmas sweater under his black padded jacket.

jongin lifts kyungsoo’s hand to his lips as he kisses every knuckle.

“of course you can,” jongin murmurs against kyungsoo’s soft skin.

jongin’s hotel room is empty. the glass of scotch is still on the table alongside kyungsoo’s photographs. jongin makes a mental note to pay for sehun’s hotel room and the room service fees the high maintenance model will stack up.

kyungsoo makes a beeline to the open clothing rack. jongin steps behind kyungsoo and hesitantly, he wraps his arms around kyungsoo’s waist.

“your doll shoes are in my bedroom, i think,” jongin says. he hugs kyungsoo close and jongin’s heart pounds in his chest because he can do this now. kyungsoo’s back is pressed against his front and jongin kisses the back of kyungsoo’s head gently.

kyungsoo picks the floor length skirt in soft tulle and he smiles at the flowers at the bottom—red roses, a whole garden of them.

“you told me before,” kyungsoo says. “about giving me a garden.”

“i did,” jongin replies. he kisses the back of kyungsoo’s head again, just because he can.

“can i wear this one?” kyungsoo asks.

“it has a matching crop top but—” jongin stops before he chuckles. “maybe your mother won’t approve of that.”

kyungsoo turns around and he frowns at jongin. “maybe i can wear it with something else?”

jongin thinks before he smiles down. “i have a black sweater that matches this black of this one.” he presses a kiss on kyungsoo’s forehead and whispers, “wait here.”

he goes inside his bedroom and he finds it quiet and undisturbed. the bible from a while ago is tossed to the floor alongside the menu for the restaurant downstairs. jongin kneels and picks kyungsoo’s ballet flats from under the bed before he goes to the closet. he digs around for one of his cashmere sweaters before he finds it in between his navy blue turtleneck and a pair of light washed jeans.

when jongin returns back, he finds kyungsoo already in the skirt. the tulle falls around him with a certain softness. the skirt does not balloon all over kyungsoo’s tiny frame, instead settling down straight down to the floor. his pants are hanging over the rack as well as his shirt.

jongin gulps at kyungsoo’s naked torso. the coldness of the room makes kyungsoo’s nipples pebble. he sets the ballet flats down and kyungsoo slips inside them wordlessly. jongin steps in front of kyungsoo before he pulls the sweater down.

“i can dress myself, you know?” the older male remarks.

“i know,” jongin replies but he helps kyungsoo into the cashmere still. he drags the material down and the sleeves go past, covering half of kyungsoo’s fingers. the hem hits below the band of the high waist skirt, a little below kyungsoo’s hips. it’s loose on him all over and kyungsoo looks comfortable. there are flowers blooming on his feet.

“you look good,” jongin says.

“you always say that,” kyungsoo says.

there are twin smiles playing on both their faces and jongin chuckles, leaning in to peck kyungsoo’s round cheek.

“let’s go?”

kyungsoo nods and he reaches for jongin’s hands, intertwining them and linking their fingers together.

the drive to the countryside is long and kyungsoo holds jongin’s hand throughout the hours. the sun is barely up when they reach kyungsoo’s mother’s house. it sits in a large plot of land, small and cottage-like. the yard is well-maintained and there is a large tree planted out front.

jongin parks the car. the sky is bleeding oranges and reds. there are little hints of pink on it too. kyungsoo is buzzing with nervous energy beside him and jongin squeezes the older man’s hand.

“it’s going to be okay,” he says.

kyungsoo nods before he takes his hand back. he opens the door and jongin sees him breathe.

kyungsoo is the one who knocks. jongin stands behind the smaller male. kyungsoo is curling and uncurling his hands. he fixes his bangs smoothes out his skirt. jongin leans in and kisses kyungsoo’s nap. the older man gasps and turns around but jongin steadies him, smiling as they wait.

the front door swings open.

“mom,” kyungsoo says. the two of them are sitting on the couch and kyungsoo’s mother looks confused. there is warm water for the both of them.

“kyungsoo?” his mother asks, equally confused. “can you—what are you—baby.”

there’s a hiccup on auntie’s voice and jongin wants to hold kyungsoo’s hand but now is not the time. he sees kyungsoo steel himself before he says, “i like dressing up like this.”

“why?” auntie sounds so confused and broken. like what she is seeing does not make any sense. jongin wants her to be okay with kyungsoo because he knows how much kyungsoo loves his mother.

“there’s no reason,” kyungsoo gulps. “i’m still—i just want to dress this way. mom—” kyungsoo sobs and the words spill out of the older man’s lips, unbidden. kyungsoo’s been hiding for more than two decades now and the weight of his secret loosens in his chest alongside what sounds to be relief. “mom, this is how i am. i’m sorry. i—i’m still your son but—mom, this. i am sorry. i am so—”

“oh, kyungsoo,” auntie gasps. she’s tearing up now as she hurriedly stands up. her thin arms wind around kyungsoo’s neck as she leans down before going down on her knees in front of her son. she cradles kyungsoo close as jongin tries not to watch. this seems too intimate—something only kyungsoo and her mother share.

“i love you,” auntie coos to kyungsoo. she runs her hands through his hair before she starts patting kyungsoo’s skirt. “you look so pretty, baby. so, so pretty.” kyungsoo hiccups and jongin sees kyungsoo’s mother smile slowly. “you’re really beautiful, my son. the most beautiful person in the world.”

kyungsoo sobs harder and jongin closes his eyes. he reaches up to wipe the tears in his eyes as kyungsoo’s mother sings her son praises.

the cottage is a small three bedroom and the two of them are bundled in kyungsoo’s bedroom. it’s already late and kyungsoo’s mother has retired with one last hug and one last kiss to her son. the bed is too small for the two of them and the cramped space brings back memories tasting of nostalgia and teenaged cologne.

kyungsoo is still wearing the long tulle skirt and jongin’s large italian cashmere sweater. he rolls over on top of the designer’s prone figure before he drops a kiss on to jongin’s lips. jongin’s hand fits on kyungsoo’s lower back as he chases kyungsoo’s mouth to return the favor.

he catches kyungsoo’s lips and the older man chuckles into the lip lock. jongin tilts his head and kyungsoo also tilts his the other way. he slips his tongue inside kyungsoo’s mouth as he pulls the skirt up and up. jongin tries to grapple for kyungsoo’s bare skin underneath the tulle and the embroidery.

when his palm meets warm skin, he starts tracing lines and drawing aimless patterns on them. kyungsoo moans as he breaks the kiss. the smaller male pants on top of jongin as he raises his head up. his lips curl into a small smile, the familiar heart-shaped that jongin has loved since he’s five, maybe even before that.

“i haven’t told you yet,” kyungsoo whispers. he sounds so giddy, child-like and honest. “i love you.” he drops a kiss on jongin’s lips again, short and perfect. jongin feels his world stop at the sensation. kyungsoo breathes against his skin and world spins once more. “i’ve been in love with you for two decades now.”

jongin smiles and kisses kyungsoo once. and then twice. and then, once again.