here lies love

↳( kkt: jinyoungie ): hey i’m at the mall rn 

( . . . )

when he was younger, his mom used to tell him to relax constantly, said he looked uncomfortable all the time. he can tell he probably feels tense, and so he does what he always does; forces his body to relax, piece by piece. it works, like it always does, and it gives him something to think about, rather than just letting his mind or his mouth to wander and make a mess.

it's always a surprise how easy they come together: lines fall in step with lines, shapes fit together, his arms wind around yoongi's waist to pull him close against his chest. and as he smiles, he wonders what kind of movie this would be -- where the stardom that he crafts in daydreams has led him.

probably experimental, he thinks. a spotlight shines above them -- the rest of the set is a gleaming black; only they exist, the couch, a circle on the floor. would be a lonely scene if it weren't so warm: the spotlight bathes them in muted browns and flecks of gold; their shadows simmer in orange; like sunlight in repose.

but no matter how insistent his imagination, reality is hard to ignore; it comes in terse strokes that make jinyoung close his eyes as his chin settles on yoongi's shoulder. it helps to imagine them in that scene again and jinyoung's hands awaken, his fingers spread, his palms find yoongi's form; he searches for shape; something steady, tangible. it always helps with cooling down.

"we're the only ones here, so, definitely bony. but not, like, bony bony. like cute bony. a fluffed up bony.

"and bony isn't even bad -- whenever i go out to eat chicken wings, sometimes they'll have boneless wings but i always order mine with bone in because i like it that way. the other ones taste weird and, like, they're not fun to eat. so, like, in this space we are going to love and embrace bony butts."

a smile tugs at his lips as a wash of wonder comes over him. it's always these seconds that confuse him, the world slowing down, the air as placid as stilled waters, the knowing that the world out there is worse when he's not high and the comfort of yoongi's presence, warm even when sober. it's an unlikely safety, and if he were just a tad smarter, or as special as people on magazines, he'd write about it -- the phenomena of the light after drug abuse. the thought widens his smile and his thumbs draw quiet circles into yoongi's torso.

( . . . )

“if you’re so curious about who other people are fucking, why don’t you try living that risky life and have a threesome or something? maybe that’ll spice things up.”

"it is romantic," he argues, mostly to himself; a whisper meant to assure and soothe the fears that joohyun inspires. it's not her disapproval that terrifies him -- he'd done more than enough things that she was less than approving of -- but her disinterest. if she thinks it's boring, it's only a matter of time before he thinks that way, too.

it's how it had always been: from childhood to now, their lives had been braided. and maybe it's because she's older, or perhaps because his academic failure has hacked away at his confidence, but he'd always lagged behind; he, of the two, had always been the one to follow.

even next to her, jinyoung's always felt a couple of steps behind. maturity finds her early on, allows her to blossom; a beauty that blinds; glistens in the sun, unbridled and unapologetic. his comes years later, and he still feels himself getting used to it; trying to make sense of shapes; running his fingers over their edges; still unfolding petals so he, too, can bathe himself in sunlight.

so what she finds boring now, he's sure, is what he'll find boring in a few months -- but for once he wants to stray from the path. for once he wants to make a choice on his own -- not out of defiance, but out of maturity. a choice that sounds like his voice instead of an echo.

but one look at joohyun and he forgets how to walk on his own. joohyun had taught him everything he knows, and she does it so well that he's earnest to learn more. his devotion is holy, he thinks, and he knows it runs both ways, no matter what they say between each other. no matter what happens in that space.

"i wish i could do that, too, but -- like -- i only let boys trouble me. it's my job to have boy problems.

"also, as cool as that sounds, i don't think i would want to have a threesome that doesn't involve you. like, that's our thing -- remember when we tried to make it happen for weeks but each time they only wanted one of us. and, like, none of the girls wanted you, and then the boys only wanted to smash you.

( . . . )

he liked affection and when he was coming down, he didn’t care enough to build up any walls. that was part of how he’d gotten to the level of comfort with jinyoung that he was at, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. “are you ready to be the little spoon yet?” he asked lazily, his voice low and affectionate. 

he wilts in his seat, waits for yoongi to return, wonders how after months of shuffling his life around -- reorganizing priorities and pruning his habits -- he can find himself in the same place, staring at yoongi’s familiar face. it's difficult to cut things out of his life when he's built them around people: it wasn't about lines anymore, but about the person who provided them -- who shared them with him.

in the midst of madness he'd found a small fixture; a dip in his hours where light gathers, pools; warm to the touch.

as yoongi nears him, something scuttles in jinyoung's chest, a whir that resembles the heaving breath of affection. it reminds him of bushes in the winter -- flowers blooming where they shouldn't, all unruly petals and defiant leaves but always a sight to behold. things wrong in all the right ways. after all, in all the movies he's seen and all the books he's pretended to read, no one ever lays with their drug dealer as much as he does, but he’s sure it never felt as good for them as it did for jinyoung.

and here he is, and there yoongi is, and a brush of his gaze against that rounded face and tugged eyes is almost moving enough for him to forget how sad he feels.

"no -- i'm the big spoon. please? i always feel like i have some control over my life, then i peak, then it just feels like i'm floating so, like, i need to be in control of something -- need to grab on to something." he doesn't mention how yoongi's height makes him perfect to hold, too, and no matter how tough his lifestyle may be, there's an undeniable softness to him; gives the illusion of being pliant. jinyoung lifts his arms up, spreads them in invitation.

( … )

long fingers splay along the stranger’s stomach, feeling the taut flesh, the toned lines and curves, and he lets his even expression quirk at the sight of the leg pointed in the air, fingers tightening on supple skin. “impressive.” he laughs, deep and curling, like winding smoke. he hums - “yes. that would be the second most impressive thing about you.”

time slows for them enough that the minutes fall around them like flowers at their feet, a tribute to something greater than him, than them, greater than this room and the music that swells and pushes against the walls, feels around for an escape.  

it slows and jinyoung is sure that this is what it must be like to live inside the bright colors of a postcard: all warm and silk, with soft fingers splayed against his stomach, a hand firm against his leg; a voice that fills his ears like velvet and words that scamper down his spine to remind him of flesh and bone and the desire nestled between.

“is that a fancy way of saying you want me to, like, jump in the shower with you? do you need help shampooing? do you just want to see me naked?”  

and the alcohol makes him blind to the timid flutters that fill his chest, almost in warning, and it makes him deaf to the rest of the party; the crowds fade – details blur, the colors bleed, the music muffles. a picture out of focus. in his tunnel vision, he sees the strange boy in front of him more closley and the more he looks, the more he resembles every daydream he’s  ever had: handsome eyes, full cheeks; a cocky slant of the lips.

“i’m not following you around – i’m not a creep. i just got tired of you waiting to make a move, so i thought i would do it myself.

"here, give me your hand. i’ll show you.”

he pulls the hand from his leg, lets it fall; his posture loosens but he takes care in folding the boy’s fingers into a fist. then their eyes meet and jinyoung guides the hand to his lips; his mouth opens wide, his jaw slackens; his lips brush against warm knuckles and his teeth drag gently over skin just as a hiccup races to fill his throat. then a second rises, then a third, and before the fourth comes around, jinyoung is laughing. the sound rings like bells; splashes like water; colors the air as jinyoung sits up, smiling, and pushes the other’s hands away from him, pulls away just to settle in his lap again. he straddles him.

then his neck is bending forward; his lips find the shape of his ear. one hand finds the quiet curve of his neck, the other holds his shoulder for balance.

( . . . )

did he just say that out loud just now? so embarrassing, letting his cheeks flush deeply in red, ten quickly removed himself from the situation while pulling jinyoung along behind him and made their way towards the bar and somewhere a little quieter so that they could actually communicate. “how long have we been here?”

a part of him has yet to grow used to the attention that ten brings when complete their weekend pilgrimage to the clubs of itaewon -- some nights he thinks it's the cute height, that short frame, the way his legs are thick in all the right places that draws the men in. other nights, he's sure it's the nose and the face that settles around it, all soft, rounded edges and dreamy shapes that lure the male gaze like bees flocking open blossoms.

and the there are the nights like these when jinyoung understands that what ten has goes beyond the physical -- he is a bundle of light, a fallen sun if there ever was one, with his own gravity. he feels himself drawn most of the time, as though his body were made to hover, to orbit around those dark eyes that glimmer as though the stars have chosen them as a place to rest. dazzling and beautiful and blinding enough that jinyoung just nods and smiles and lets himself be dragged through the crowd, past a man set on seducing ten, towards the relative quiet of the bar.

it's here that he learns to breathe again, slow, still clumsy; alcohol has not been kind to his balance, and he leans towards ten. his free hand finds purchase on his shoulder where he grips just enough to be sure he doesn't fall.

"ten," he says; the name falls gentle, fills his mouth like sugared water; lingers like honey, "ten we've been here for like an hour -- ten, that guy kept looking at you -- i'm jealous, ten, but he's cute -- ten. i'm jealous."

his lips stretch around a smile, genuine and reckless and wide enough to show the white of his teeth and to thin his eyes and to place small wrinkles around the skin of his eyes. part of him aches at the thought of ten leaving him, but the other revels in the excitement; ten's victory is his own, too, and he wants nothing more than to fill ten’s pockets with endless wins. 

he's too drunk to be subtle, so he turns, stares off into the distance where he'd seen him -- possibly their age, a little older. nice hands, nice enough, he thinks, to be worthy of grabbing at ten's perfect ass.