He woke with the immediate feeling that everything was wrong. His body was sore, his eyes were still drooping with exhaustion, he was staring at yet another unfamiliar ceiling, but most of all, his heart ached with an abiding sense of despair and loneliness that had seeped in while he was sleeping. What a way to celebrate the holiday season. His showcase was in three days.
He hissed at the pain that spiked in his arm as he sat up, mind foggy but already trying to map out his next moves. A clatter behind him had him twisting his head quickly.
“Sorry,” Tao whispered loudly, still buttoning up his shirt as he clambered through the messy kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator and frowning. “Fan ge is still sleeping, his shift isn’t until later. I was going to make us some breakfast, but it’s pretty sad in here.”
“Oh, no problem,” Jongdae said, even as his stomach protested its roaring hunger. “Really.”
“How is your wound?” Tao said, moving into the living room and sitting down on the coffee table in front of Jongdae.
“It stings, but not more than I was expecting, if that makes sense,” Jongdae shrugged. “Umm, I don’t mean to impose, but if you’re leaving, and you drive, can I get a ride with you?” What was one more lift from one more tangential stranger.
“Oh,” Tao said, narrow eyes widening. “Of course! But…” he glanced behind Jongdae. “You didn’t have any other business with Yifan?”
It seemed to Jongdae that there was an underlying question other than the one that he was asking. “Tao, I swear that us meeting last night was a total coincidence,” Jongdae tried to reassure him. “I’m not—we’re not—anything at all. In fact, I’m pretty sure he hates me. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Tao said quickly, cheeks flushing.
“I just…” Jongdae sighed. “I’m out of options. I don’t have any money, or my jacket, or my shoes, and I’m pretty sure I’m never getting my phone back.” Well, Joonmyun’s phone. At least he still had his old one at home. “I wouldn’t bother you otherwise, but I…I need help,” he finally admitted, eyes pricking with a sudden surge of emotion.
“Oh…” Tao said, his own eyes watering. “Jongdae, I’m sorry…Do you want to talk about it?”
Jongdae shook his head vigorously. Even if he did want to get something off his chest, under his circumstances a police officer would never be at the top of his list for confessions. “No! No, I…I just need a ride. Please.” Hopefully his landlord or someone in the front office would be wiling to let him back into the apartment before Kyungsoo got back and yelled at him for leaving everything so messy. Maybe not yelled. Maybe a penetrating glare or two.
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Summary: Jongdae’s heat is at least two weeks late by now, and he’s been throwing up all the damn time, but he’s definitely not pregnant. Seriously. There’s no way, right?
Jongdae’s eyes darted between Yixing and Minseok, barely feeling the sting of the doctor treating his arm with an antiseptic-soaked gauze patch as the tension suffocated the study. It was a beautiful room, with mahogany bookshelves, a large traditional desk covered in paperweights and pens, and couches and chairs upholstered in deep red leather. Jongdae felt bad for bleeding all over the cream-colored rug draped on top of the hardwood floor. As least it matched the color of the couch where he sat.
Yixing was still in his tank top, his blood-stained sweater resting in Jongdae’s lap, but the house was warm enough that he didn’t seem bothered. His sharp gaze settled on Jongdae when the doctor took a step back, bowing to the two watching men in respect. “It was a deep wound, but it seems to have clotted just fine. As long as he doesn’t use the arm for the next week, he can go without stitches. If it opens again, I would re-consider.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Minseok said, slipping an envelope from his back pocket. “For your services.”
Yixing huffed and rolled his eyes as the man bowed again, a slight tremor visible in his hands as he accepted the envelope. He opened the study doors to be met by a guard, who presumably led him outside.
“I could have handled it,” Yixing said.
“I’m not letting Jongdae’s arm rot off because you handled it,” Minseok said lowly.
“I’m fine!” Jongdae interrupted quickly, fingers kneading the soft fabric of the sweater. “I’m fine, so…don’t fight, okay?”
Yixing’s eyes softened. Minseok sighed.
“What now?” Jongdae dared. “I mean…what…do we do?”
“We don’t do anything,” Yixing said coldly, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his back to Jongdae. “I’ve let this…” he sighed, shaking his head. His fingers curled into fists. “We’re going to stop seeing each other.”
Jongdae felt his heart drop into his stomach. “What?” he breathed, eyes stinging with emotion.
Yixing turned his head to look at Minseok, expression blank. “You’ll see him home?”
Minseok quirked an eyebrow. “Of course.”
“Wait, Yixing!” Jongdae protested, hopping to his feet, the sweater tumbling to the floor. He had to grip the arm of the couch to stop from falling over as the blood rushed to his head.
Yixing only paused for the barest of seconds, so short that Jongdae might have been imagining it, before he was already walking through the door.
Jongdae eyed himself in the floor-length mirror, fingers smoothing creases from the expensive fabric. The lighting wasn’t doing his dark circles any favors, stress and exhaustion apparent on his face. The suit felt alien and out of place against his rough skin, the image reflected in the mirror far too dissonant with the mental image he retained of himself.
Sighing, he turned around and pushed aside the velvet curtain concealing the dressing room, peering uneasily outside, where Yixing sat playing with his phone on a leather couch. Jongdae never would have picked this place, but from the way the store employees reacted to Yixing, it seemed to be a regular stop for him. He supposed he should have expected something like this after Yixing found out about the semester-opening music show by rifling through the papers on Jongdae’s desk.
Yixing must have caught the movement, his eyes flitting upward and fixating on Jongdae’s nervously hunched figure. “It fits?” Yixing said. Neither of them had been sure there would be a stock size small enough to suit him.
“Yeah, I think so,” Jongdae said, looking down at his body. “I don’t know, though, hyung. How much is something like this? I can just buy a less expensive—”
“It’s your opening showcase. You should look expensive,” Yixing said, rising and taking a few steps towards Jongdae, who watched nervously. Their bodies were unbearably close as Yixing carefully pulled and prodded at the various pieces of the outfit, judging from an unknown criteria. His face was its usual expressionless plane, save for the occasional brow furrow. Jongdae fought back the rising tide of self-consciousness. “I think this will do. There’s not enough time to have it tailored right, but…a diamond with a flaw is worth more than a pebble without imperfections.”
Jongdae huffed. “Where do you pull all these proverbs from?”
“The internet,” Yixing deadpanned, fingers brushing the skin at Jongdae’s wrist.
The simple touch brought an involuntary shiver up Jongdae’s spine, surprising even himself with its intensity. It was impossible for Yixing not to have noticed.
“Jongdae?” the man questioned, dark eyes narrowed in askance at the goosebumps pimpling Jongdae’s exposed skin.
Jongdae shook his head quickly. He held no illusions about how the handsome man felt about him. “Sorry, I just got nervous about—about the showcase, all of a sudden.”
Yixing stared at him for another moment before nodding his head curtly. “Let’s eat.”
Jongdae wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, practically skipping down the stage steps as he returned to his position behind the bar. With the semester break in full swing, he’d taken up additional shifts at Luhan’s bar, both to make sure he didn’t get rusty and for the extra money.
He smiled at a few regulars who complimented him on his voice, and he mindlessly served drink after drink as more people, also on Christmas vacation, poured into the bar. Halfway through the night, Luhan joined him to help out, grumbling about fire hazards under his breath but smiling brightly all the same.
Mid-way through pouring a vodka tonic, a hand wrapped bruisingly around his wrist. Jongdae was so startled that he dropped the bottle of tonic water, sending it to splash fizzingly to the ground and all over his shoes. “Wha--?” Jongdae gasped.
“Kim Jongdae,” Professor Kim sneered, cheeks bright red. Jongdae hadn’t served him anything, so he must have come into the bar already drunk.
Jongdae’s heart plummeted to the floor, his breath coming in short gasps as words failed him. This wasn’t…this wasn’t supposed to happen. They were never supposed to see each other again. Joonmyun had said…he promised…
“Yah!” the man growled angrily, fingers squeezing harder as his other arm reached across the bar to fist a handful of Jongdae’s shirt.
Jongdae felt like a fish out of water, vulnerable and exposed and unable to breathe. He didn’t even think about calling for help, his mind going straight to panic, fear, and shutdown. He didn’t do anything wrong, he didn’t do anything bad, so why? Why was this happening again?
“Hey!” Luhan shouted, thin fingers trying to pry the other man off of him. “Let him go!”
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Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead as he tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. It was a usual occurrence, the insomnia, but it wasn’t usually because he was worried that his gangster hyung was going to murder someone. Minseok had said they were trying to make things legitimate, but Jongdae knew that old habits didn’t just go away once you said it out loud. He knew that more than anyone.
Every few minutes, his thoughts would drift to the phone on his desk and the contact he’d labeled “Unknown Number” as a joke. Jongdae hadn’t heard anything from Joonmyun in a few days, but that only made him even more anxious, as he had no idea what the other man would do.
A year ago, when Chanyeol had seen…that…he’d forced Jongdae to report it. Jongdae hadn’t wanted to, and he knew now that it was because he’d been practically brainwashed. But back then, it had felt like he was betraying something special. Chanyeol forcing him to tell someone had been the right thing to do. Except it hadn’t left him with a sense of much justice in the world when, after the investigation was closed, Professor Kim had simply chosen to transfer to another university.
He didn’t even get reprimanded or disciplined. He just chose to leave, because Chanyeol had photo evidence and threatened to ruin his reputation. And then Jongdae had the label of troublemaker permanently stamped on his file, because he even brought up the issue in the first place. The world really wasn’t fair sometimes.
Rolling onto his side with a sigh, Jongdae was reaching for the phone before he even knew he was doing it.
Fr: Jongdae
Yixing hyung?
It was in the early, early hours of the morning, and Jongdae wasn’t really expecting an immediate reply, so the quick buzzing of the phone in his hand startled him.
Fr: Unknown Number
What’s wrong
Jongdae hesitated.
Fr: Jongdae
Why do you think something is wrong?
 Fr: Unknown Number
Coming events cast their shadows before them
Fr: Unknown Number
I’m not weird that’s a proverb
Fr: Unknown Number
Clearly something is wrong what is it
 Fr: Jongdae
Have you talked to Joonmyun hyung?
 Fr: Unknown Number
As a rule I try to avoid it why
Fr: Unknown Number
Did he do something again
Jongdae was already regretting starting this conversation, but it was too late now, as Yixing continued his persistent string of texts.
Fr: Unknown Number
Jongdae answer me
Fr: Unknown Number
I know where you live
Fr: Unknown Number
Kim Jongdae
Jongdae sighed as he tried to formulate a response without risking Yixing also going on a murderous rampage. Would it be better to just tell him the reason? Lying hadn’t worked out very well so far, and besides, he was a terrible liar.
“So, you…have a boyfriend, now?” Minseok asked, ignoring Chanyeol’s exclamation.
“Chanyeol, would you mind filling my bottle with water?” Jongdae said quickly, pressing it into Chanyeol’s chest.
“Okay…” Chanyeol said warily, looking between them. Turning his back on them, he began weaving his way through the mass of people and machines.
“He’s not my boyfriend!” Jongdae hissed quickly. “Not really! Look, it…it’s complicated, umm…”
Minseok sighed, running a hand through his sweaty hair and pushing it out of his eyes. “Why did you have to get involved with them, Jongdae? Do you know what you’re risking? What they could do to you?”
Jongdae blinked. “Them? You know?”
“About Yixing and Kim Joonmyun?” Minseok smiled wryly. “I figured they were both involved when he kidnapped you at the hospital.”
“What is this?” Jongdae said, looking suspiciously at the box.
“I was in town today, and when I saw this, I thought of you!” Joonmyun said, reaching out to pat Jongdae’s upper arm. “Go on, open it!”
Jongdae’s first instinct was to refuse the box completely. His second was unbearable curiosity at what was inside of it. “I really should get back to work,” Jongdae hedged, worrying at his bottom lip.
