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Jisung’s scared of Hyunjin, sometimes.
Or—maybe that’s not the correct way to phrase it, because the fear is overpowered by the concern and worry he feels for him, both of which run too deep and too heavy, but. It’s all in the way Hyunjin acts, really, in the way he stands at the top of abandoned buildings so close to the edge, his arms wide open, looking like he’s seconds away from tumbling down. It’s in the way he screams, so loudly, as if he wants to tear his vocal cords till there's nothing left of them, in the way he functions like he’s got nothing to live for, nothing to die for, nothing to exist for.
It’s in the way he kisses, too, rough and harsh and bruising, almost, in the way he grips Jisung’s hand, so tightly it feels like he’s about to shatter all his bones—or, sometimes, the complete opposite: so lightly that Jisung can almost forget he’s there, his grip barely stronger than the wind.
Hyunjin juggles between being loud and brash and careless and being quiet and small and absent in a way he didn’t back in high school, and Jisung thinks he’d follow him to the end of the world if it meant keeping him safe, if it meant keeping him alive, if it meant keeping him sane.
“Have you ever set a building on fire?” Hyunjin asks, flicking his lighter on and off, staring at the flame that pops up. He always carries it with him, Jisung’s noticed, fidgeting and burning the tips of his fingers till they flare red.
Jisung’s not so sure it’s accidental, nowadays.
“No,” he says, “never really got into arson.”
“I’m not talking about arson,” Hyunjin says, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth in thought, his eyes leaving the flame to search for an answer in the sky, and Jisung follows his line of sight. It’s particularly nice today, warm, a near lack of clouds present overhead, but the air surrounding Hyunjin seems tense, and he wonders whether something happened. “Like, uh, you know. Lighting something up. Watching it burn down. That sort of thing.”
“That’s arson,” Jisung says and Hyunjin huffs. They’re sitting by the train tracks, idly watching trains pass by every so often. Hyunjin busies himself with wandering too close to them and Jisung with watching him, watching the way his hair shifts with each passing train, the way his eyes fall closed and a near smile tugs at his lips.
They would be doing something else—were meant to, as well, but Hyunjin’s a bit detached today, a bit out of it, his mind elsewhere. Earlier, he had his brows pulled together, his lower lip jutting out the slightest bit when he let Jisung into his apartment, and Jisung could feel him slipping out of his grasp, retreating into the deepest corner of his mind.
“There’s some buildings on the outskirts of town,” Jisung says, before his mind stops him. “Abandoned ones, barely standing, that sort of thing. We could—we could try to light one up, if you’d like.”
He wants to say it’s because he’s a textbook people pleaser, but he knows he wouldn’t offer the same thing to Changbin or Felix—maybe to Jeongin, because he has a way of getting everything he wants, but even that seems to be pushing it. He wants to say it’s because he’s a textbook people pleaser, but he know he’s doing this so that Hyunjin looks up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, and Jisung can kid himself into thinking that everything he feels is reciprocated, that he’s more to Hyunjin than just a distraction.
“Oh,” Hyunjin says. His fingers close over the lighter even though it must be still a bit warm on his skin, and he slips it back into his pocket as he turns to face Jisung. “Like, right now?”
He looks so vulnerable just then, so raw, so helpless standing there inches away from the train tracks, almost swaying with the mild wind, and Jisung wants to wrap him up in a jacket and buy him coffee, hot and scalding, wants to be enough to keep him satisfied without a rush of adrenaline around every corner. He wants to hold his hand and be enough of an anchor to keep Hyunjin from doing something he regrets, to keep him from standing in front of train tracks like he’s doing now, to keep him safe. He wants to kiss him and be enough to make Hyunjin feel better, to stop every thought that runs around in his head and makes him feel miserable.
He wants to be enough so that Hyunjin doesn’t have to let his mind eat away at him, so that he doesn’t have to let himself waste and rot away till there’s nothing of him left. He wants to be enough so that Hyunjin has something to live for, finally.
Right now, he’s not.
“Yeah, if you’re up for it,” he says, grinning, because this is the role he’s meant to play, because maybe this is what it takes for Hyunjin to feel better, because maybe this is what he needs now. “I mean, we don’t have to do it all. It’s just a suggestion, you know. We can always, uh, scout the area or something and come back another day or forget about it or whatever.”
“Scout the area,” Hyunjin echoes, his lips twisting into a smile as he moves closer to Jisung. He shoves his hands in his pockets and Jisung wonders whether he resumes toying with the lighter in them, whether he’s still trying to flick it on and off. “Only gamers say shit like that.”
“It’s an actual thing, you dumbass,” Jisung says, laughter on his breath as he stands up, kicking at the dirt before he raises his eyebrows at Hyunjin. “So,” he asks, “are you up for it?”
Hyunjin doesn’t even have to speak for Jisung to know his answer; he looks like a child in a candy store, the excitement barely concealed in the way his eyes are blown wide open, the way his fingers spasm at his sides, the way he stands on his toes, almost bouncing.
They end up buying several magazines in the small kiosk near the bus stop, to act as kindling for the fire. Jisung buys a box of matches as well, almost getting a box of cigarettes before he thinks better of it, scrunching his nose at the thought. He smiles brightly at the woman working and she just stares at him in response till he feels embarrassed enough to duck away and join Hyunjin at the very edge of the bench.
“Here,” he says, handing Hyunjin the magazines. He shifts through them, muttering the titles of articles under his breath and giggling softly, every once in a while, and Jisung can imagine they’re on a date, maybe, can imagine they’re going back to either one of their apartments, to read the magazines and mock them or to tape them up over the walls and say it’s art. He can imagine they’re waiting for the bus to get coffee or dinner or go to the movies, maybe, can imagine Hyunjin’s leg is bouncing so fast because he’s excited to hold hands in the dark of the cinema, because he’s excited to talk more with Jisung, because he’s excited to spend time with him.
He can imagine, but it’s not going to change anything.
Hyunjin’s still occupied with the magazines as the bus arrives, but he tucks them under his arm and intertwines his and Jisung’s hands to pull him onto the bus. They stumble their way to the back seat, laughter rolling off their lips easily when they nearly fall as the bus starts. They end up close to each other, shoulder-to-shoulder and knee-to-knee, their hands still linked.
“Do you think this will work?” Jisung asks. Maybe it won’t and maybe that’s for the best, but who’s to say Hyunjin won’t want to try again, this time with gasoline and a whole collection of other flammables? Who’s to say Hyunjin won’t feel the need to light a fire crawling under his skin until he gives in? Who’s to say he won’t—
“—maybe, maybe not,” Hyunjin says. Instead of meeting Jisung’s eyes, he glances out the window, his eyes following the road as they make their way further and further away from the city. “I hope it does, though.”
Jisung hums in response, curling his fingers over his thighs. “Why fire?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your lighter?” Jisung prompts. Hyunjin’s grip on his hand loosens until he lets go and instead itches his fingers into the pocket of his jacket, likely sliding over the smooth surface of the lighter again, flicking it on and off. Jisung wonders whether he does it to feel alive, maybe, to feel the flame on his skin and remember that he’s there, that he’s not dreaming. “The whole house thing, too.” When Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, he tacks on, “you don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. I’m just—curious.”
“I like it,” Hyunjin says, simply, turning to face Jisung. There’s something in his eyes that worries him, something dark and unsteady and threatening to pull Jisung under. Something that wasn’t there, back in high school—or maybe it was, but a bit subdued, reeled in by Hyunjin, kept hidden underneath everything else. “It’s—I know, objectively, that it’s bad, that it’s harmful to everything, really, but there’s something so beautiful about it. It’s so—so careless, maybe, so overpowering, and I just—I wonder what it feels like, to be like that.”
“To be so powerful?” Jisung asks, his eyebrows pulling together.
“To be so beautiful, so breathtaking, even amidst destruction,” Hyunjin says, before he sighs and looks down at his hands, fidgets with the end of his shirt. Jisung wonders how he can be so oblivious. “It’s stupid, I know. Very stereotypical, angsty teen of me, very edgy, yeah, I’m aware, but it’s not my fault I’m hitting my emo phase a few years too late.”
“It’s not stupid,” he says, because Hyunjin looks so unsure, so embarrassed, and Jisung knows he’s about to retreat back into the corner of his mind and stay dormant there for the rest of eternity. “Maybe it’s a bit along the lines of I’m a weirdo, I don’t fit in, but I think it’s fine. There’s worse reasons to like things, anyway.”
“If you say so,” Hyunjin says. A moment passes before he speaks again, his voice soft and barely loud enough for Jisung to hear. “It’s also nice to, uh, lose control, with it. Or to let it take what little control you have left, maybe.”
More than anything, he sounds painfully honest, as if he’s laying himself bare out in front of Jisung. He sounds honest in a way he never does lately, not with Jisung, at least, his heart presented on his sleeve and what’s Jisung to do?
“I get it,” Jisung says, thankful his voice doesn’t waver, because he really doesn’t mean it. It’s—this is what scares him about Hyunjin, because he’s so sincere, so painfully sincere, and it’s almost like he doesn’t hear his own words, doesn’t hear the dangerous edge to them, the way they make it seem like he’s moments away from teetering off the edge. Jisung’s not sure how to make him notice it, to be truthful. “Or—okay, maybe not get it, not entirely, but I understand what you’re getting at? It’s—for me, it’s, hm, it’s—it’s not something I’m into, not necessarily, but I get the appeal.”
“Yeah,” Hyunjin says, pressing his forehead against the window of the bus, and Jisung feels the way his body rattles with each movement of the vehicle. His hand dips into his pocket again and he chews on his bottom lip before he adds, “are you sure about this?”
He looks so young, so naive when he says it, when he turns his eyes to Jisung, unsure. Jisung’s throat runs dry and he knows he should say no, knows he should say this is not a good idea or we shouldn’t do this, but if he lets his mind stray, he imagines Hyunjin trying this on his own, he imagines Hyunjin’s lighter setting the curtains in his apartment on fire, imagines Hyunjin feeling his skin burn and his bones turn to dust after a bout of curiosity got the best of him.
“Yeah, totally,” he says, instead of listing any of his worries. He watches as Hyunjin’s fingers dog-ear the cover of one of the magazines. “Are you?”
Hyunjin opens his mouth, closes it, stares at Jisung. His body goes so incredibly still, his fingers flat against the stack of magazines, his legs flat on the ground, and he says, “more than anything.”
It scares Jisung, how sure he sounds.
The house they find is a small building, tucked away in the middle of nowhere. It’s falling apart, a mess of foundation and old wood and a bit of mold, too, climbing the walls.
“This one’s perfect,” Hyunjin says, shoving the magazines in Jisung’s hands, and Jisung doesn’t have to look at him to know there’s a sort of hunger, almost, shinning in his eyes. He knows there’s something similar blooming in his and the thought terrifies him. “Let’s light it up, then.”
“Pipe down for a second, yeah?” Jisung says, gently pushing open the door. It creaks and groans, loudly, as do the floorboards when they enter, and he’s very glad they’re doing this in the middle of the day, when the sun is still following them through the sky. “Let’s make sure there’s nothing, uh, living here, maybe, before we do anything drastic.”
Hyunjin nods, sucking in his bottom lip at the implication of what this could theoretically cause—of what could happen, really, but he doesn’t call off the plan. Instead, he ducks his head into the rooms, as does Jisung, surveying each and every corner of the building, before they both find their way to what had to be living room. There’s some old curtains, greying, ready to fall apart, hanging by the windows, and they’re what Hyunjin heads for, almost immediately.
“So,” Jisung says, “do we lay the magazines out throughout the whole thing or make a funky little stack? Go for a little bonfiresque feel?”
“All in one place,” Hyunjin says, absolutely ignoring every attempt Jisung makes at distracting him as his fingers feel at the curtains, sending up dust into the air. “Let it spread on its own, let it make its own path and all that.”
“Where do you want it, then?”
“Here,” he says, holding out a hand, and Jisung’s helpless to do anything other than hand the magazines over. He watches as Hyunjin lays them out carefully under the curtains, arranging each one with so much precision.
He wonders if this is what it would be like to watch Hyunjin work, to watch him draw and paint and create piece after piece after piece, to watch as his inspiration and creativity and every skill he’s gained flows out his fingertips. His brows are furrowed and his tongue’s peeking out from between his lips as he makes sure the magazines are laid out as they should be, makes sure they’re laid out to cause the optimal amount to damage, to bring the building down.
“Are you ready?” Jisung asks after minutes pass and Hyunjin’s just leaning back on his heels, staring down at the magazines. He’s got his lighter in his hand, flicking it on and off, mindless of the box of matches Jisung’s trying to hand to him. “I’ve got the matches—unless you want the lighter, but—”
“—the matches will be better,” Hyunjin says, turning to face him, and his face is set. He barely smiles as he slips his lighter into his pockets and takes the matches, popping open the box and taking one out. Jisung just watches as he tries to light it once, twice, before it works. He keeps it lit for an uncomfortable amount of time, and Jisung knows he must feel the heat on the skin of his thumb, before he lets the match fall.
It scares Jisung, how Hyunjin barely flinches as the fire seems to explode in front of their eyes. It spreads quickly—it spreads so, so quickly, and all Jisung can do is stare at it, stare at the bright flame that’s burning his eyes, that’s getting hotter by the minute, that will engulf the two of them if they don’t leave.
He thinks he gets it, then, thinks he gets what Hyunjin was talking about. He feels so utterly and completely powerless in front of the fire, so utterly weak and feeble as it rises and gains in height, and yet his mind feels blissfully blank as he can’t help but stare, as he can’t help but appreciate the beauty of the flame, can’t help but want to stare at it till it wraps around his feet.
It takes it nearly doing so for him to snap out of it, for him to blink and try to focus on anything other than the fire, and his eyes land on Hyunjin. He looks absolutely breathtaking, ethereal, with his profile underlined with a harsh red, with flames in his eyes and his mouth parted.
He looks more alive than he ever looked in the few weeks they’ve spent together.
“Hyunjin, we have to go,” Jisung says, grasping at Hyunjin’s wrist, tugging at it. “We have to go, before the roof folds in on us, come on, we have to go—”
“It’s okay,” Hyunjin says, almost calmly, while Jisung almost shakes with every emotion coursing through his veins. “It’s okay,” he repeats, his hands finding the sides of Jisung’s face, holding them in place, fingers tapping away at his skin even as the fire roars around them.
The fire roars around them and yet, all Jisung can focus on is Hyunjin, on the way his lips move as he speaks, on the way his voice seems to smooth over every worry poking at the sides of his mind.
The fire roars around them and Jisung doesn’t think he minds.
“It’s okay,” Hyunjin repeats, one final time, before he kisses Jisung, but there’s nothing to it other than excitement, other than the pure adrenaline that’s pumping through their body, other than the pure awe Hyunjin has for fire. There’s nothing to it and yet, Jisung kisses him back, putting all his love, all his affection, every single thing he feels for Hyunjin into it, and hoping it’s enough.
He thinks it could be, as the heat grows unbearable and they run out, laughing and shouting. He thinks it could be, with the way Hyunjin smiles at him, with the way he links their hands, with the way he pulls Jisung further and further away from the house. He thinks it could be, until his eyes focus and he catches the expression on Hyunjin’s face, catches the way he looks back at the flames, back at the smoke that’s rising steadily in the sky. Until he catches the way Hyunjin’s gaze never stops on Jisung for longer than a few moments, the way his smile drops just the tiniest bit when he faces him instead of the fire, the way his grip on Jisung’s hand loosens significantly the further away they get.
He thinks it could be, until his eyes focus on Hyunjin and he knows, deep in the back of his mind, that it won’t be.