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Jisung’s in love with Hyunjin.
He thinks about it, often, once the night has fallen and his apartment has turned almost completely dark, the moon throwing just a sliver of light onto the wooden floors. The old wristwatch he used to wear ticks away on his nightstand, a steady sound to accompany the rapid thumps of his heart, and the noise fills the space around him, leaving no corners empty, leaving him no air to breathe. He stares at his ceiling, eying the few spots where the paint is chipping, before closing his eyes to catch the portrait of Hyunjin that’s painted on the back of his eyelids.
It makes his skin crawl, makes it buzz, makes all the life he has in his body fizzle out the tips of his fingers till it’s nothing more than a stain on his sheets. He feels almost an abundance of feeling gathering in his heart, threatening to overflow, threatening to explode inside of him, threatening to tear his chest open for all to see.
It’s scary, maybe, how much it overpowers him, how much it makes him lose all his senses—how it makes him willingly give them up, in truth. It’s scary, maybe, but it’s not like it matters. Not to him, at least, because he’s going to risk everything to remain close to Hyunjin. It’s not even a question anymore.
The night is the perfect place for losing himself in these thoughts, Jisung thinks. It’s quiet, long, dark, lonely—because during the day, he can hear people outside. During the day, he knows that a whole universe exists outside of Hyunjin, no matter how much he may think that it doesn’t. During the night, there’s nothing but Jisung’s thoughts of Hyunjin, nothing but Jisung’s love for Hyunjin, with nothing to distract him from it.
During the night, there’s nothing.
That’s at least until his phone buzzes on his bed and throws up a harsh blue light onto the ceiling, one that physically makes Jisung recoil, one that makes him rub at his eyes to help them adjust to the sudden change. He ignores the phone at first, but his mind overflows with who could it be and—if it’s Hyunjin—what he could have said, so he sits up dejectedly and picks up his phone.
It’s Hyunjin.
Jisung laughs, sounding like he’s finally veered off the edge, sounding like he’s never going to scrape himself back into feeling all right, sounding like he’s past the point of no return. Hyunjin’s texted him a location just outside of town and be there in an hour? and Jisung knows, already, what’s going to happen.
He doesn’t want to do it, is the thing. He doesn’t want to do it but it’s not like Hyunjin wants to do much other than arson, nowadays, and the thought alone makes Jisung’s skin want to crawl off his body. He remembers the way Hyunjin looked when they set the house alight the first time, when they did it the second and the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth.
He remembers the way he, himself, felt, and he’s not sure whether he wants to feel like that again. He remembers the way he felt and knows he’s going to feel that way again, in just an hour or two.
Jisung knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this isn’t a good idea, not for his nor Hyunjin’s wellbeing. He’s not doing great—that much is clear, even to his half-conscious mind—and it’s not like Hyunjin is, either; if he was, he wouldn’t be lighting abandoned houses on fire, would he? Jisung knows, he does, and he wants—theoretically, he’d like both of them to get better, but it seems like they’re only helping each other get worse.
He should stop, break all contact with Hyunjin, maybe, probably, block him everywhere. He should, but the thought of what Hyunjin would do if left to his own devices—continue committing arson, but less carefully? Have all his energy leak out his skin, only to use it as an accelerant for the fire to catch on his sheets, on his curtains. The thought of it alone terrifies him, down to his core, and so he sets out of his apartment in the dark, bracing himself for what’s going to come.
It all trails down to this, in truth:
Jisung’s in love with Hyunjin and he so, so desperately wishes he wasn’t.
.
Changbin would hate everything that Jisung does with Hyunjin, he thinks, on the bus ride, as he tries to force a granola bar down his throat. He figures Changbin wouldn’t be pleased if he connected the dots between them and the fires occurring in the outskirts of the city, too. Felix wouldn’t either, but he’d skirt around showing it, probably.
That’s part of why he doesn’t tell them about his relationship with Hyunjin, doesn’t tell them that he sees Hyunjin practically everyday, that his thoughts are occupied with him and only him, that he blows off any responsibilities he may have to see him. It’s not like Hyunjin tells his friends about Jisung, either; Jisung still remembers how surprised Minho had been when they coincidentally met in front of Hyunjin’s doors. So surprised he’d dropped the boxes of takeout he’d been holding, making them spill out over the floor.
It’s almost funny to think about.
.
“You made it,” Hyunjin says when Jisung arrives. He’s sitting on train tracks, not a care in the world, and Jisung feels sick. He’s quiet, too, so much so that Jisung has to strain to make out individual words, but that’s not a surprise; he’s been quiet, lately, more than usual. Jisung suspects it has something to do with the falling out with Minho that he’d mentioned in the passing a couple of weeks ago, his voice slightly strained and jaw clenched, but it’s not like Jisung’s going to pry.
That’s not what would help, probably, so instead he forces a smile at him, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
“Yeah,” he says, “I told you I would.”
Hyunjin hums in response, though he doesn’t say anything, and Jisung fucks around, kicking at the stones beneath his feet. He itches to ask Hyunjin what’s this about, why the sudden text, but this isn’t the way this works—he’ll have to wait till Hyunjin’s ready to explain.
“You ever spray paint anything?”
“Huh?” Hyunjin turns to him, his brows pulled together and his eyes barely open, not to mention almost completely devoid of any feeling, and Jisung wants to pull him into his arms and hold him tight.
“You ever spray paint anything?” He repeats, as he takes a seat a few steps away from the train tracks. He holds up his hand, his index finger on the tip of the imaginary nozzle of the spray can as he pretends to paint the air in front of him. “Graffiti? That sort of thing.”
“Yeah,” Hyunjin says, picking at the ground in front of him, sending up clouds of dust. “For an, uh, art project in high school. Why?”
Jisung smiles, “I meant like, illegally.”
“Oh,” Hyunjin says, “then no, not really.”
“Would you like to try it?”
“Maybe,” Hyunjin says, almost coy as he chews on his bottom lip, the words that are on the tip of his tongue too scared to be let out. He drags his lighter out of his pocket, flicking it on, his eyes immediately caught by the flame, and Jisung feels his heart drop to the bottom of his stomach.
“We could try it, one day,” Jisung suggests, because he’s not stupid. Because it scares him how dependent Hyunjin is becoming on arson, on the prospect of fire and flames and everything in between. It scares him down to his bones and—and he doesn’t know what to do other than indulge Hyunjin. “If you’re ever into it.”
Hyunjin doesn’t reply for a moment, making the conversation lapse into a brief silence. Jisung watches him push himself up and walk along the train tracks, balancing on the edge.
“It’d be nice,” he says, “if we painted something before burning it down. Left a signature of sorts.”
“That hits a bit close to serial arsonist behavior, though, doesn’t it?” Jisung asks. Hyunjin balances on one foot on the tracks, staring at the rocks below his shoes. “If we leave signatures.”
“You don’t have to join me on these,” Hyunjin bristles, pointedly looking down at his feet. He stretches his ams out on his sides, looking like he’s balancing on tightrope. “You don’t have to join me if you hate this so much.”
“I don’t hate this,” Jisung lies, his voice catching on the last word. He’s not able to force more past his throat but Hyunjin doesn’t care, getting off the train tracks.
“Let’s get going, then.”
.
The house Hyunjin’s picked this time is more of a shed, empty and dirty and disgusting, falling apart when they step inside. The floor creaks with each movement and Jisung hates it, hates it so much he almost feels euphoric when Hyunjin lights it up. Their hands twists together as Jisung drags him outside as they run until their legs give out, falling on the ground. There’s a road somewhere, if only because of the incessant sound of cars driving past, but neither of them pay it any attention. Hyunjin stares at the sky, eyes clouded with awe as they follow the smoke, and Jisung stares at him, silent.
It’s now that everything seems okay. It’s now that Hyunjin’s grip on his hand is strong, that he smiles, that he looks almost happy. It’s now that emotion swells in Jisung’s heart, making it grow ten sizes in his chest.
“I love you,” Jisung says, before he can think better of it.
Hyunjin doesn’t reply. He doesn’t react, either, still looking at the sky with the same dazed expression, and Jisung lightly squeezes his hand. “Hm?”
“Run away with me,” he says, because it’s the only thing he can think of. Because it’s better than what they’re doing right now, and it’s not as if he hasn’t wanted to leave this city for most of his life, anyway. Maybe this is what Hyunjin needs, too; a break from the city, a break from the burned houses, a break from everything that’s hurt him here. “Run away with me. We can leave this place and never look back, if you want. Nothing’s stopping us.”
And Hyunjin looks at him. He looks at him, his brows pulled together, his eyes open wide, and he looks so—so vulnerable, so innocent, almost, so naive, maybe, and this isn’t right, Jisung thinks, at the very core of his being. This isn’t—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go, is it?
Not that it matters, anyway, because Hyunjin looks at him, his mouth dropping open, almost as if he’s ready to agree, his fingers twisting in Jisung’s, before he turns back to the sky—and that’s what he’s in love with. Not Jisung. Not the sensation he gets from being with him. Not even the attention and affection Jisung is so willing to give to him.
Hyunjin’s in love with the smoke that blocks the sky, with the fire that rises when he drops the match onto whatever they’ve used as an accelerant this time, with the adrenaline that rises in his body when he stays in the burning home till it’s about to collapse. Hyunjin’s in love with just about everything they’re doing—but he’s not in love with Jisung.
He’s never going to be in love with him, probably.
It burns Jisung’s skin, as does the smoke, as does the ash and the fire and the hot air, but he can’t find it in himself to care—not now, anyway, when Hyunjin’s mouth drops open in awe as he keeps staring at the sky. Not now, when Hyunjin’s grip on Jisung’s hand in still strong despite everything. Not now, when Hyunjin’s here, next to him, keeping him from veering off the edge.
It’s going to be different, sure, when Jisung gets back home, different when the night falls and leaves him prisoner to his thoughts. It’s going to be different then but he’s almost fine now—as fine as he’s going to be.
“Come on,” he says, tugging on Hyunjin’s hand, reveling in the way Hyunjin looks at him—banishing the sky from his thoughts for even just a moment—and maybe he’ll be able to convince him to run away one day. He pushes himself up, letting Hyunjin’s hand drop from his grip, trying not to miss it immediately. “Come on, before we get caught.”
Hyunjin reaches up for his hand without being prompted and Jisung, foolish and naive and just simply stupid, maybe, lets the hope flow steadily into his chest from his fingertips as he helps him up. Lets the hope flow into his heart until it overflows, until the atria and ventricles swell and swell and swell till they’re ready to burst—and lets himself believe that his relationship with Hyunjin leads to somewhere else than disaster.
Maybe one day, he thinks, as they’re running through the forest, starting to hear the sirens in the not too far off distance. Maybe one day this will be something else. Maybe one day they’ll both be okay and not grasping for the impossible.
He thinks otherwise as soon as he and Hyunjin part ways, as soon as the hope flows out of his heart, making it read to collapse in his chest. He thinks otherwise as he lays down on his bed, staring at the ceiling, letting the rest of the day pass him by as he slips in and out of consciousness. He thinks otherwise but he knows, deep in his chest, that as soon as Hyunjin messages him again, everything’s going to repeat.
Hyunjin’s going to message him again and drag him out to the middle of nowhere so they can do nothing but set something on fire, so Hyunjin can feel alive, so Jisung can feel a bit okay again, so it’ll seem like what they’re doing isn’t pointless.
And so, Jisung thinks otherwise—knows that this can’t end well. Knows it won’t end well, probably, but he waits for Hyunjin to message him nonetheless, so he can pretend that one day, he’ll convince him to run away. One day, he’ll convince him to leave, and Hyunjin will go with him, and they’ll go to some secluded town or huge city where no one will know who they are, where what they’ve done doesn’t matter, where they’ll finally feel okay.
In the meantime, though, he stares at his ceiling, trying not to feel like he’s bound to break at any given moment.
Maybe one day, he thinks bitterly, and waits for Hyunjin to message him another location.