Jongdae finds him in the living room at three am wandering restlessly back and forth in front of the window.
“Figured you wouldn’t be sleeping.”
Jongin doesn’t look away from the dark city streets but he rests against Jongdae when he comes to stand beside him. “I couldn’t.”
Chanyeol’s apartment had been chosen with deliberate care; too many cameras would be pointed at the dormitory and any cars departing from it this morning would be followed. Two vans with heavily tinted windows were scheduled to leave from there at eight regardless; empty but effective. Their one and only concession from the company.
The rest was up to them. It’s a familiar dance but they’re well practised by now. Jongin listens as a police siren wails loudly in the distance. His head feels heavy. “I’m nervous.”
“I thought you’d be happy.” Jongdae hooks an arm around Jongin’s shoulders and gives him a gentle wiggle. “You should be.”
Jongin lets himself flop trustingly in the grip. “That too. I’m just… What if—god there’s so many what ifs.”
Jongdae tips his head, craning to look at Jongin resting on his shoulder. “There’s only one certainty. We all wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t.”
Raising his watch to check the time lights up the temporary tattoo on the back of his hand. Jongin pulls a face. “He’s not going to be expecting these. What if they startle him?”
A set of bare feet pad out into the living room. “You severely underestimate Minseok’s ability to visit and share every fancam of yours on the quiet within the last two weeks,” Baekhyun yawns. He pats Jongin’s waist as he passes. “He’ll have seen you.”
Jongin raises his head and sighs. Jongdae gives him a squeeze. “It’s just the nerves talking. Take a shower. I’ll go get your bag. Where is it?”
“Here,” Chanyeol tosses the gucci-themed duffel out of the hallway, sleepily scratching through his undercut with the other hand. He drags his palm over his face. “I’ll go back to bed for a bit if you want first shower.”
“No you won’t,” Baekhyun loops back and steers him out by the waist. “We need breakfast. Start that. I’ll help.”
Chanyeol scrunches up one side of his face. “You know how to operate my frying pan. And you got more sleep than me on the flight back.”
Baekhyun applies more pressure, pushing him along. “And who has a fansign tomorrow night? You don’t have to get out of the house until Thursday. I’m gonna get way less sleep than you.”
Chanyeol hooks an arm back and grabs Baekhyun around the neck, wrestling his armful of candy pink hair into the kitchen. “Gaming for eight hours straight might as well be resting.”
“Children,” Jongdae calls after them as something clangs. “Behave.”
Jongin hoists his bag onto the arm of the couch and digs through it. They’d all managed to snatch only a handful of hours after departing Tokyo on the red eye flight and it had just seemed easier to stay awake in the end. Jongdae pats him on the arm.
“Make sure you eat something, even if it’s small. We’ll leave at seven.”
Baekhyun shrieks with laughter. Chanyeol pokes his head out around the partition separating the kitchen from the living room; there’s something suspiciously like flour in his hair. “And you know he’s going to be able to watch the next part, right?”
Jongin frowns. “Of what?”
Junmyeon stumbles in from the direction of the spare room, wrapping a blanket around his pajama-clad shoulders. His hair still has SMtown product in it and he resembles a bunny that’s stuck it’s paw into something electric. ”Us. He’ll have his phone back for Hong Kong.” With a jaw-cracking yawn he pushes past the two of them and makes for the kitchen. “I’m ordering in if you’re both going to just make a mess—Baekhyun put that egg down.”
“I want omurice,” Sehun calls from the bedroom.
Chanyeol borrows a friend’s four wheel drive, large enough to transport them and unremarkable enough to not be recognised. Jongin spends the entire journey staring through the humidity beading on the tinted window out at the traffic, seeing but not really registering anything. He fiddles aimlessly, picking at the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt; far too hot but entirely necessary. Chanyeol’s borrowed cap rests on his knees.
Junmyeon takes his fidgeting hand and holds it as they arrive.
Minseok’s number lights up in the kakaotalk group chat.
The private car park is little more than a large cordoned-off chunk of asphalt to the back of the Nonsan center lined with caution tape but Chanyeol follows the directions given in the chat and pulls in amid the cameo-printed trucks with a crunching of gravel. He cuts the engine and drums his fingers on the wheel. “What next?”
Junmyeon is reading something on his phone. “They’re still setting up. Once we’re inside the venue we’re not to leave until it’s well and truly over. There’s an event for family after the parade and the official photographer will need Kyungsoo at that point. But we have a…” he waits until the next message loads. “We have a room set aside to watch in. Kyungsoo will meet us there.”
Jongin hoists the cap and tucks it low on his face, smoothing his hand over the top. Jongdae reaches back and doles out disposable masks. To Jongin he also hands over a pair of fingerless gloves. Jongin obediently tugs them on.
A tall, older-looking soldier with a clipboard and a stern look approaches the car. Baekhyun reaches back and squeezes Jongin’s knee. “If we get caught Sehun has volunteered to run out of here nude as a distraction.”
Jongin takes a deep breath and steps out of the car.
Kyungsoo marches, easily visible on the outer reaches of his unit. Jongin doesn’t move a muscle for the entire parade, standing and watching the flat screen tv that’s set up, arms tight against his chest, hands curled around his biceps. He shakes his head when Sehun offers him a drink.
“Leave him,” Junmyeon hushes kindly when Sehun tries again later with some food the soldiers have left on a small platter. “Not now.”
Jongin watches the final graduation ceremony, eyes glued to the screen. Baekhyun somewhere behind him is challenging Chanyeol to scissors, rock, paper to see who gets to make the congratulatory Instagram post later. The faint whispers of ‘kai-bai-bo!’ are soothingly repetitive background noise.
The parade ends with a camp-wide salute, the entire stadium ringing with strong voices that they can hear even indoors. Jongdae takes a photo of the screen when the camera passes by Kyungsoo, back straight and smiling politely. The feed switches then to the presenter of the morning’s events and Jongin turns away, uncramping his muscles.
He’s still doing small stretches and swings of his arms when the door to their tiny room opens a short while later with a rush of boots and clipped, military voices. Jongin spins.
Kyungsoo is sun-kissed and ruddier than Jongin remembers sending him off. His face is slightly thinner now and there’s a steadiness to his stature. Jongin loses his breath as everyone around him simultaneously shouts and hushes each other, pulling terribly-executed soldier poses and giggling. Kyungsoo looks like he can’t decide whether to laugh or smack them. But he dives into the welcoming throng and takes his hugs and pats and somewhere in the process loses his beret.
He squeezes out the back of the pack and makes it to Jongin who is still standing at the end of the room almost trembling on the spot. Kyungsoo pulls up short, out of breath from all the roughhousing. But he silently straightens and raises his hand, pinpoint perfect and salutes. His eyes never leave Jongin’s face.
Junmyeon slams the half-forgotten entranceway door shut in the waiting soldier’s faces and Jongin swoops in, kissing Kyungsoo. He smells like boot polish and cheap store-bought deodorant and a thousand other new, unfamiliar things. They drown in each other until Jongin gathers Kyungsoo up, lifting him to his tiptoes and burying his nose in his neck to learn the new smells. And underneath it is the reassuring scent of Kyungsoo himself who squeezes Jongin’s shaking shoulders like he never intends to let go. Ten minute visitation rule be damned.
Chanyeol balances Kyungsoo’s beret back on top of his head but it jostles free and Jongin catches it against his back. He kisses a tender line up Kyungsoo’s neck, cheek and finally pulls back, replacing the hat properly. He has to blink a few times to see through the tears. Clearing his throat helps.
“Hey,” Jongin finally manages.
Kyungsoo’s smile is soft. “Hey.”
Baekhyun leans around and hands over a fistful of scrunched napkins from the table. “Welcome back.”
Kyungsoo takes them and dabs at Jongin’s damp face. “I didn’t emigrate,” he murmurs fondly.
Jongin chokes out a laugh.
janainaart
areudirty
kianamaiart
turnnoffyourmind
snowghoul
vaporwave
romaincrisis
