Chapter Text
When Do Kyungsoo enters the first rehearsal, Jongin feels his heart leap into his throat. It’s not that he’s surprised. Of course, the conductor and composer of the ballet concert is expected to show up at some point. Jongin knows this. Before he’d decided on auditioning for this piece, Jongin knew this moment would come.
Still, that doesn’t mean he’s any more prepared for it.
Five years later, and the Kyungsoo that enters the practice studio doesn’t quite match up with Jongin’s memory of him. His shoulders look a little broader, and when he cuts across the room, the dancers make way for him. He carries an air of confidence to him now—a far cry from the shy assistant maestro he knew from what now feels like a past life. These last five years have been good to him, Jongin thinks. And then, the two of them meet eyes.
Jongin, who’s stretching against the barre furthest from the door, attempts nonchalance. He reminds himself of what performing in Kyungsoo’s piece is supposed to mean to him: that what transpired between the two of them over a single summer in 2018 didn’t mean anything. Not anymore, at least.
But Kyungsoo still has those eyes—round like the moon and just as beautiful. It’s impossible for Jongin to look away, not when Kyungsoo’s plush, heart-shaped lips tug into a smile. Not when Jongin has imagined this moment countless times after Kyungsoo left him heartbroken in New York City. That was ages ago , Jongin repeats in his mind.
“Jongin-ah,” Kyungsoo’s voice is soft like silk, and it’s so fucking unfair because just like that, the distance of those years apart collapses. Jongin’s heart is still in his throat. And all those feelings he’d buried away spill over like a cup overflowing. Here, in Seoul, it’s New York City all over again.
Despite this, Jongin clings to his dignity and trains his face into a polite, measured expression.
“Good to see you again, Kyungsoo sunbae-nim,” Jongin answers with a forty-five degree bow, arms pinned to his sides. When he lifts his head, Kyungsoo looks stunned for a second, and he wonders if the formality stings. A part of him hopes so.
“It’s been a while,” Kyungsoo responds stiffly. For a second, he looks nervous like Jongin’s thrown him off kilter, hand reaching up to rub his nape. “Congratulations on becoming principal dancer.”
“Thank you,” Jongin gives him a tight-lipped smile. Just a few weeks ago he received the promotion after a year at this ballet company in Seoul. He’s spent most of his career abroad—dancing on the world’s most prestigious stages—but it was always his goal to return back home.
(Jongin remembers telling Kyungsoo this while they walked through the sticky summer heat to catch the C train, hands clasped together like they were afraid of losing one another. Maybe Jongin was the only one who’d been afraid of that.)
“You’ve written a beautiful piece,” Jongin adds on because it’s the truth and he can’t help himself. “I look forward to working with you.” There’s a hint of warmth in his words. He's a total, colossal fool for wanting to see Kyungsoo smile again—at least just one more time. One more, that’s all he needs, and it’s back to being a professional.
Kyungsoo’s smile is a serene, mesmerizing thing that could pull in the tide of the ocean. His foolishness is rewarded.
“Me too,” the composer replies.
They met when Jongin had landed the opportunity of a lifetime: a spot in New York Ballet City’s corps de ballet. Back then, Kyungsoo was apprenticing under one of the Lincoln Theater’s conductors. Jongin already had a handful of years living abroad under his belt—before New York, he’d danced with a company in London and before that Tokyo—and so meeting another Korean person at work, being able to practice his mother tongue was like having a little piece of home. From the start, Kyungsoo’s presence gave him comfort.
They became fast friends. During breaks in rehearsal, they’d sip on lattes at a cafe nearby. And on some late nights, they’d snack on cheap slices of pizza at the joint two blocks down from the theater, just for Jongin to whine about his face looking puffy the next morning. Kyungsoo was meek at first, but as they got closer, Jongin learned he had a dry, unexpected sense of humor.
Jongin has always been the type to fall fast. And Kyungsoo made it so easy. At dress rehearsals and concert nights, Jongin used to search for Kyungsoo in the orchestra pit. Sometimes, when Kyungsoo was supposed to be following the sheet music or keeping a close eye on the orchestra, they’d steal glances at each other while Jongin was on stage.
Not long after Jongin had arrived in New York City, the two of them started hanging out on their days off too.
But for weeks, he couldn’t muster up the courage to tell Kyungsoo about his feelings. Then, on a rainy Saturday afternoon in late May, everything changed between them.
What was supposed to be a sunny morning at the 79th street farmer’s market turned quickly into a torrential summer downpour. Kyungsoo’s apartment was closer, and they were forced to take the subway in order to avoid the sudden onslaught of heavy rain. Their efforts were futile in the end—when they arrived at his cramped, Upper West Side studio, the two of them were already soaked to the bone.
Like a good host, Kyungsoo insisted Jongin shower first since the two of them smelled like wet dogs, offering him a towel before ushering him into the bathroom. It wasn’t the first time he’d been over at Kyungsoo’s place, but he’d never used his shower before and the intimacy of using his shampoo, his soap kickstarted the tempo of Jongin’s heart. When he was done, there was no way he could change back into his wet clothes. So Jongin opened the bathroom door with the towel wrapped low on his hips. A lifetime of dressing alongside fellow dancers meant he was no longer shy about his body.
“Hyung,” Jongin called, and Kyungsoo, who was sitting on the floor by the couch with a binder of sheet music in his lap, hummed without looking up. “Mind if I borrow some clothes?”
“Oh, right—” Kyungsoo quickly shifted to his feet. As he stood, Kyungsoo took in the sight of Jongin standing in the bathroom doorway. He paused. They stared at each other for a second, long enough for Jongin to see the open want in Kyungsoo’s eyes. It was all the reassurance he needed to walk toward the composer with steady, careful steps—the same graceful way he might’ve crossed a stage. He gave Kyungsoo enough time to shrink away. But Kyungsoo didn’t backtrack or stay rooted in place. Instead, he met Jongin in the middle until there was no distance between them.
They kissed, and that’s when Jongin knew he was a complete goner.
“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to do that,” Jongin murmured when they broke apart, their noses brushing together. Kyungsoo breathed a laugh, and his eyes took the shape of soft crescents.
“I think I do actually,” he mumbled back, reaching up to cradle Jongin’s jaw between his hands. His palms were warm.
“I hate him,” Jongin says ruefully, hugging his glass of beer to his chest with a pout. The rest of the first rehearsal that day had been fine. Kyungsoo stayed for the entire thing as they practiced, sticking close to the choreographer. Jongin being the lead dancer meant that he could feel the heat of Kyungsoo’s gaze on him like an ant beneath a magnifying glass. The pressure almost made him slip up. Almost. But god, had it been agonizing.
“No, you don’t,” comes Sehun’s flippant response, who reaches over to swipe a bite of rice from Jongin’s bowl. “And that’s the problem,” he says around the food—Jongin’s food—in his mouth. Sehun is Jongin’s closest friend. He also happens to be an idol (over a decade ago, Sehun very nearly convinced Jongin to audition with him) which means it’s an absolute nightmare to get their schedules aligned. Still, no matter how busy things get, they make time for each other.
Jongin just furrows his brows and pouts even harder, sinking into his seat, because he hasn't drank enough to admit that Sehun’s right out loud.
“Oh, come on, don’t be like that,” Sehun scolds, waving his chopsticks at him. “You guys were together for one summer! And that was what? Like ten years ago?”
“Five,” Jongin mumbles, and he hates how pathetic he sounds. “I know it was just a few months, but—but,” He stumbles over his words. “I don’t know, it was just different with him.” Finally, he gives up on words completely, letting out a noise that’s caught somewhere between a groan and a whine.
“So, you’re obviously not over this guy,” Sehun observes, and he extends his arm again to steal another clump of rice from Jongin’s bowl—but this time Jongin moves it away from him. Sehun makes a face. “Then why agree to do his piece in the first place? Hm?”
In lieu of an immediate answer, Jongin empties the rest of his beer. A buzz is starting to settle in; he can feel it in his shoulders.
“When I saw Kyungsoo’s name attached to it, I wanted to stay away,” he admits. “Then I heard the sample recording. It was so lovely, Sehun-ah. I couldn’t resist.”
“You’re literally hopeless,” Sehun retorts with his signature indifference. Sadly for Jongin, he’s right.
To Jongin’s chagrin, Kyungsoo’s presence becomes a fixture at his practices. It’s kinda strange—conductors aren’t typically involved until their practices transition to full, on-stage rehearsals when the orchestra is present. But it’s obvious Kyungsoo's more invested in the ballet choreography than the usual maestro. Jongin tries to keep his distance, but he says hello and goodbye like the polite person he is. This doesn’t work for very long, and at the end of the third practice, Kyungsoo stops him.
“Wait, Jongin-ah,” he calls out. Jongin hates the way his body automatically beckons to the sweet sound of Kyungsoo’s voice the way a sunflower can’t ignore the sun.
“Yes, sunbae-nim?” Jongin tilts his head, his tone light and even.
“Good work today,” Kyungsoo says, and there’s an expectant look on his face that keeps Jongin from walking away. “Would you…” He starts, but his voice dies. During practices, Kyungsoo is all drawn back shoulders—the picture of poise and confidence. But at this moment, he looks unsure of himself. It reminds Jongin of when they first met. “Would you like to get coffee with me?” Kyungsoo asks with hesitance.
“Okay,” Jongin’s reply tumbles out of his mouth before he can think about it too hard. “I’ll go change and meet you at the front in ten.”
They settle on a cafe just down the street. Despite it being four in the afternoon, the cafe is bustling with customers.
“I’ll order,” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin guesses he’s worrying that they won’t find an open table. “Cafe latte with skim, right?”
“Uhm—yeah. I mean, yes. That’s right.” There it is again: the nervous jump of Jongin’s heart. The dancer mentally kicks himself. Okay, so Kyungsoo remembers his coffee order. Whatever. It doesn’t mean anything. He spots an empty table near the back. “I’ll save us a spot,” he says briskly before stalking off.
Kyungsoo arrives five minutes later with their drinks. When Jongin asks him how much he owes him, the other adamantly shakes his head.
“I can pay you back,” Jongin protests.
“It’s alright, Jongin-ah,” he says with his stupidly soothing voice.
“But—”
“I said it’s fine ,” Kyungsoo cuts him off.
“Okay, okay. Thank you, sunbae-nim,” Jongin concedes with a sigh. He notices Kyungsoo grimaces. It’s slight, but Jongin notices.
“Do you have to keep calling me that?” he asks softly—not annoyed or angry, but hollowed out. He’s looking down at his iced americano, lips pulled into an unhappy line.
Jongin knows what Kyungsoo wants to hear. It’d be so easy to give in. In fact, he has to make a concerted effort not to.
“It’s not like that anymore,” the ballet dancer says, voice even and neutral. He takes a long sip of his latte and steals a glance at the maestro.
Kyungsoo’s eyes are trained at a spot on the table between them. His round eyes look shiny, and he keeps blinking. Jongin feels split in two—on one hand, he wants to reach out, to fix things. He can already picture it: the relieved, gentle smile that would find Kyungsoo’s face when he reaches out to bump their fingers together.
On the other hand, he feels a flare of anger in his stomach and the jagged pain in his chest of a heart that's been broken for a little too long. Kyungsoo broke up with him— what reason did he have to be sad all these years later?
“You made sure of that,” he tacks on quietly, a simmering heat in his words. In the end, anger wins. It’s an unproductive thing to say, but Jongin lets it out anyway.
Around them, the cafe continues to move around them, but the pair stay very still for a few moments.
“I know,” Kyungsoo still won’t look up, won’t meet Jongin’s gaze. “I know I broke things off. But, I’m sorry—”
“Please, don’t,” Jongin cuts him off. “Just stop there. Please.”
Kyungsoo shuts his mouth, eyes mournful. Jongin rises out of his seat and leaves behind his half-empty latte.
Kyungsoo has three moles on his chin that formed a trail to the corner of his mouth. Jongin noticed this early on; he frequently stared at the constellation on the maestro’s face while they were grabbing coffee together, while they stole knowing glances across the room during rehearsals. But since they had started dating, Jongin could do more than just stare.
It was a miserably hot day in New York City, and the pair spent their afternoon napping in Kyungsoo’s studio apartment while the window A/C unit rattled on high because it was far too sweltering to do anything else, much less go outside.
Jongin, sprawled on his stomach, leaned over to press kisses on the moles dotting Kyungsoo’s face. The young composer responded with a sweet smile and tinkling laughter.
“Jongin-ah, that tickles,” Kyungsoo murmured, hands reaching up to cover his blushing cheeks. He tried to shift away to his side, but the dancer was too quick, planting both hands between Kyungsoo, hovering over him with a playful look etched into his features.
“Can’t help it, hyung,” he whispered like a confession. He leaned back down to press another and then another and then another kiss along that same trail of moles, earning more laughter from Kyungsoo. It was like following the clues on a treasure map, and there was no greater prize Jongin could’ve hoped for as he met Kyungsoo’s lips.
Rehearsal carries on like normal. Jongin stays cordial and Kyungsoo sends Jongin forlorn looks that he thinks Jongin doesn’t notice. He does notice, by the way, and just for the record, Jongin maintains his resolve because that’s what healed people do. At least that’s what he tells Sehun, conveniently leaving out the part that after every rehearsal, Jongin leaves with so much haste his fellow dancers are beginning to ask him if everything’s okay.
This time around, Jongin has an actual reason for beelining for the changing room as soon as rehearsal wraps up: Sehun invited him to a house warming get-together (not a party, the younger had been keen to clarify, because they were pushing thirty and parties were for college students) at Chanyeol’s new apartment. Jongin knows Chanyeol, but only through Sehun, yet he agreed to tag along so that the younger would stop pestering him about it (“It’ll get that composer off of your mind for a night, come on , Jongin,” he’d told him and that, unfortunately, was an astute observation on Sehun’s part).
In the end, Jongin and Sehun still end up late because Sehun insisted on pre-gaming for a house-warming get-together that most certainly isn’t a party. Jongin, edges softened by the alcohol in his system, holds onto his gift for Chanyeol while Sehun rings the digital doorbell at the bottom floor of the apartment building.
“Oh, Sehun, Jongin! Come on up!” booms Chanyeol’s deep voice over the intercom before buzzing the two of them inside. When they reach the door, Sehun knocks twice and shortly thereafter, it swings open.
“Ah, thank you both for coming!” Chanyeol exclaims, face lit up with a thousand-watt grin. “Jongin-ah, it’s good to see you! It’s been a while. I was getting tired of only seeing Sehun’s ugly mug lately,” he rumbles with a laugh before crushing Jongin into a hug.
Sehun says nothing, but gives Chanyeol the finger as he pushes past the both of them and kicks his shoes off at the door.
“This is for you,” Jongin hands Chanyeol the small gift bag containing a fancy candle he picked up in Gangnam. Chanyeol takes the gift with both hands, cooing his gratitude. He then ushers Jongin inside. It looks like Sehun’s already disappeared down the hall where Jongin can hear music, utensils clattering, and a chorus of voices.
“Come on, we just started eating.”
Jongin follows Chanyeol into the rest of his new apartment. It’s sleek and modern in design, the main hall leading to an open concept living room and dining area. But before Jongin can notice any more details about Chanyeol’s apartment, he spots Kyungsoo sitting at the dining table, holding a wine glass between his delicate fingers. Every thought running through his head disintegrates into white noise. And the first thing that enters his stupid, treacherous brain is that Kyungsoo changed his clothes after rehearsal earlier today, and he looks good in that loose oxford shirt with two buttons undone. Like magnets, their eyes meet.
“Ugh, where are my manners!” Chanyeol’s voice cuts in like a bullhorn. “Jongin, this is Kyungsoo. He makes music too, just uhm, not the same kind that I do—”
“We know each other,” Kyungsoo interrupts, a little dazed. “He’s the lead dancer in my piece.”
“Small world,” Baekhyun chirps, who is also sitting at the table. He waves hello at Jongin, mischief in his smile like he can sense there’s something deeper between the two of them. Sehun’s sitting next to him, and Jongin sends him a look that says what the fuck, why is Kyungsoo here . But all Sehun gives him is a helpless shrug. Ah, well that settles things. Jongin will simply have to strangle his best friend later tonight.
The last remaining seat at the table is next to Kyungsoo. And Jongin takes it like a decent house guest. The conversation at the table resumes, Junmyeon starting off about some commercial he was on set for today. It’s strange, sitting at a table full of idols that he only knows because of Sehun. Plus Kyungsoo.
“Here,” he starts scooping rice into Jongin’s empty bowl. It’s the first thing Kyungsoo has said to him outside of rehearsal after that day in the cafe.
“Oh, thank you,” he responds quietly instead of protesting as Kyungsoo also reaches over to deftly place pieces of spicy pork onto his plate.
“Kyungsoo-ssi cooked!” Minseok chimes in like he wasn’t paying attention to Junmyeon’s tangent at all. And that really shouldn’t be the reason why Jongin then eagerly takes a bite of the pork, but truthfully it is—because Kyungsoo’s cooking is something Jongin had been certain he’d never get a taste of again.
“It’s really good,” Sehun blurts before Jongin can and the rest of their table echoes in agreement, Junmyeon’s story completely forgotten now. He sees that Kyungsoo’s ears look a little red at the tips.
“Jongin-ah, you should drink with us,” Baekhyun says in the middle of pouring a glass of red wine. Jongin accepts because he likes to respect his elders. But mostly, a little more to drink may burn away at his nerves while he sits next to ex.
Jongin survives dinner. Actually, no, he enjoys himself despite everything. Sehun’s friends are a lively bunch, and even though he and Kyungsoo are the odd ones out as the only non-idols, all of them get along. And it’s… fun . Well, it also helps that Baekhyun has a very heavy pour, and he’s always quick to refill everyone’s glass. Then, when their food is cleared and the wine runs out, Chanyeol produces bottles of soju from his fridge.
“How do you know Chanyeol?” Jongin asks. They’ve all migrated to the living room, Sehun, Chanyeol, Baekhyun, and Jongdae playing cards on the floor while the rest of them watch to see if it will be Sehun or Baekhyun who inevitably breaks the rules first.
“I’ve known him since I was in college.” Kyungsoo, somehow, is still sitting next to Jongin. This time, the two of them are on Chanyeol's couch, close enough that Jongin can feel the warmth radiating next to him. “What about you?”
“Sehun,” Jongin says simply.
“You two are…?” Kyungsoo’s voice trails off, but Jongin can tell it’s a question.
“Best friends,” Jongin answers swiftly, because what the hell , he’d never date Sehun.
“I remember him, actually.” Jongin turns to him with an eyebrow quirked. “You used to talk about him a lot. I just wasn’t sure if now you two were—”
“Not my type,” Jongin intervenes and barks out a laugh at the idea that Kyungsoo might’ve thought he and Sehun were together .
“He’s not your type,” Kyungsoo repeats slowly, and he must be drunk too. The pretty red flush spread across his neck and cheeks is a dead giveaway.
“Have you and Chanyeol ever,” Jongin gestures vaguely, and Kyungsoo makes a face with a shake of his head.
“No, never.” As if on cue, Sehun and Chanyeol start yelling at each other, their cards going up in the air in a flurry. Junmyeon—bless his heart—does his best to mediate, but it’s a futile effort.
Alcohol makes talking with Kyungsoo casually like this a little easier. He doesn’t have to think about the past or dwell on what went wrong or consider the lingering feelings lodged deep in his chest. He can just sit here, close enough to stare at those three moles on Kyungsoo’s chin and marvel at the fact that yeah, they’re still there. A trail that Jongin used to trace over and over…
“I think you need a glass of water,” Kyungsoo gets up suddenly, just as Jongin had started getting a closer look at his face—how rude. He settles back against the couch. Because Chanyeol and Sehun had seemingly forfeited the card game out of anger, Baekhyun declares himself the winner.
“Here.” Ah, Kyungsoo’s back. But he’s sitting a little further than before. The warmth isn’t quite as near as it was and worst of all, Jongin can’t see his favorite constellation.
“Thanks, hyung,” Jongin responds without thinking, their fingers brushing together as he takes the glass from Kyungsoo. He gulps down the water.
Wait—fuck. Jesus, he’s too sloshed right now for this. All he can focus on is the way his big doe eyes light up in the slightest. He could say it again, say it as many times as Kyungsoo likes as long as it means he’d keep looking at him like that.
“Okay, new game!” Baekhyun sing-songs loudly with a clap. “Frying pan game. Everyone has to play.” For some reason, he’s looking straight at Jongin. “Loser gets punished.”
Jongin didn’t know that people actually played that game outside of variety shows, but he’s seen enough of them to know the basic rules of the game. Baekhyun insists everyone gather around in a circle on the floor like kindergarteners and explains the rules for Kyungsoo, whose mildly bewildered expression clearly indicates that he doesn’t watch as much TV as Jongin.
The frying pan game requires a lot of clapping and counting, but following a beat is Jongin’s literal day job so he’s certain he can keep up even with the alcohol pumping in his veins. The thing is, once they start the game, it feels like Baekhyun is deliberately targeting him. He keeps calling Jongin’s name while making eye contact with Jongdae or Chanyeol or anyone else but him. And eventually, after too many attempts to count, Jongin’s years of classical training fails him and he slips up the rhythm.
“Oh no, you lose, Jonginnie!” Baekhyun says gleefully. What a devil, he thinks to himself. “What will our Nini's punishment be?”
“Do a Tiktok dance!” Sehun chirps, and Jongin decides, for the second time that night, that he’d like to choke his best friend.
“Another shot of soju!” Minseok throws in, before adding after a beat: “No, three!”
“I got it,” Baekhyun clasps his hands together as if the thought had just occurred to him (it’s obviously a farce). “We’re running low on drinks, Jonginnie. And I want some snacks. Go to the convenience store around the corner for us.”
Out of all the options presented, that one doesn’t sound that bad.
“Oh, and Kyungsoo-ssi has to come with you,” he tacks on. “You might get lost!”
“Ah, maybe Sehun should—” Kyungsoo protests weakly.
“Nonsense! Sending our two youngest out on their own? They’ll never make it back!” Baekhyun cries like he’s performing for the back row of a theater. “C’mon, Kyungsoo-ssi, don’t turn your back on your own dancer like this.” Baekhyun must love to see people squirm, Jongin decides, and that’s just what Kyungsoo does.
Jongin’s a good house guest, remember? So he goes along with it and ten minutes later, the two of them are strolling down the sidewalk. Alone. Together.
Jongin does his best to focus on walking in a straight line despite the fact that Minseok insisted they all finish their last bottle of soju before they left. It’s a good way to keep his mind occupied, instead of thinking about something stupid like the apples of Kyungsoo’s cheeks or the way he keeps glancing at Jongin like Baekhyun had actually convinced him he’d get lost without a watchful eye. Jongin must not be focusing hard enough because he nearly trips, stumbling over his own two feet.
“Woah, careful.” Kyungsoo’s voice is like honey. There’s a warm hand on his shoulder. And when Jongin looks up, his entire vision is just Kyungsoo, illuminated under the street lights, pale skin slightly ruddy from the cool late-night air and the alcohol. Fuck, there they are again—the moles dotting his chin, just beneath his plush lips. “C’mon, Jongin-ah, we’re almost there.” Kyungsoo tugs him along, linking their arms together.
“‘M not going anywhere,” Jongin mumbles, but he doesn’t try to pull away. The early October air feels so nice on his warm face.
“I know,” Kyungsoo says back easily, so patiently. With him, walking is much easier. They make it to the convenience store in no time.
Jongin trails behind him, holding the basket as Kyungsoo grabs items off the shelves. He can’t remember the last time they did something like this, but it feels so familiar, the memories of late night bodega runs on the other side of the world surfacing in his mind. And not even all the alcohol he’s had can dull the pain that thought brings him.
“You okay?” Kyungsoo asks in the middle of the ramen aisle, round eyes full of worry, like he can sense something wrong.
“Uhm, just sleepy,” Jongin fibs—or, half-fibs. It’s a little past midnight now. Kyungsoo chuckles, heart-shaped smile on full display, and Jongin wishes he wouldn’t do that in his direction.
“We’ll be back soon,” he assures Jongin.
After a few minutes, the basket is full of honey butter chips, tuna rice balls (one for all of them), a few instant bowls of ramen, 3 more bottles of soju, and because Kyungsoo likes to think ahead, a hangover drink for each of them. Without a word, Kyungsoo takes one bag and Jongin takes the other after they’ve paid.
“Hanging in there?” Kyungsoo asks gently as they step outside the convenience store.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jongin replies, focusing yet again on walking like a sober person instead of the velvety timbre of Kyungsoo’s voice. And just like before, it doesn’t work.
Kyungsoo links their arms together again. He must’ve noticed it too.
Damn, how could the guy who tore your fucking heart in two be so sweet?, Jongin contemplates to himself. Or so he thinks.
Kyungsoo stops walking, and Jongin’s palm flies up to cover his mouth, but the damage has already been done.
“Ignore me,” Jongin says dumbly, words tumbling out of his mouth in a desperate attempt to backtrack. He pulls away, swaying just slightly. “I’m—I’m just drunk. We don’t have to talk about this, I promise. Let’s just go back.”
He can’t read Kyungsoo’s face because the older man’s looking down at his shoes.
“I don’t know how much this means to you,” Kyungsoo starts, voice watery. He finally looks up at Jongin, and his perfect features are pinched together—lip quivering, eyes shiny, eyebrows furrowed. “But, I’m sorry, Jongin-ah. I really am.”
They stand in the middle of the sidewalk, backs illuminated by the convenience store. Jongin hates this— hates how perfect it is, hates how much he’s dreamt of this exact scenario a million times in his head over countless sleepless nights and restless mornings. Because Kyungsoo is here, remorse written all over his face, and Jongin wants nothing more than to crush their lips together. It’s all he’s ever wanted since he walked in on that first day of practice.
The lump in his throat gives way to the tears welling in his eyes. And before he knows it, they’re rolling down his cheeks in fat, embarrassing streams. Jongin covers his face and digs his palms into his eyes, the plastic bag on his wrist swishing from the movement.
“You’re supposed to be mean,” Jongin sobs quietly, trying not to hiccup. “I’m supposed to hate you. I’m…I’m such a fucking idiot.” He can’t see anything, but he feels the weight of the plastic bag from his arm disappear.
“Please don’t say that, baby,” Kyungsoo places a light hand on his shoulder, voice torn up with concern. Concern for him. For Jongin. “I’m the idiot.” Jongin hiccups. “I’m the idiot for ruining things,” Kyungsoo repeats.
“Yeah,” Jongin agrees, palms digging deeper into his eyes until his vision fills with fuzzy lines. “You are.”
“Can—can I see you?” The hand on his shoulder moves to Jongin’s hands over his face. And because he’s never denied Kyungsoo anything, he obliges.
Kyungsoo’s standing so close, looking up at Jongin with his big, stupid, lovely eyes. He had set the bags on the ground, and now his hands are hovering over Jongin’s face.
“Can I?” he asks again—it’s a different request this time—so softly Jongin wouldn’t have heard him if they weren’t so near. He nods, and Kyungsoo’s delicate fingers brush away the tears on his cheeks. “I never should have left you behind,” he murmurs. “I made such a big mistake. Huge.”
“I miss you,” Jongin blurts. And he thinks back to their conversation on the couch. “I’m not dating anyone.”
“I miss you too,” Kyungsoo responds without missing a beat, cradling Jongin’s face between his palms. He looks straight into his eyes. “Neither am I. Haven’t been since New York.”
Haven’t been since you , it means.
“We can’t just get back together,” Kyungsoo continues. “I have to make it up to you.”
“Yeah,” Jongin agrees for the second time. “You do.”
“Are you really drunk?” Kyungsoo asks suddenly, and Jongin’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest because he thinks he might kiss him.
“Kinda,” Jongin says. “Fresh air is helping.” And because the tension is killing him, he asks: “Why?”
“I don’t want you to forget this conversation,” Kyungsoo answers, hands pulling away from his face. He then picks up the bags and hooks their arms together. “Let’s go, the others are waiting for us.”