Chapter Text
Jaemin double checked the address on the crumpled receipt paper in his pocket, and then checked it again.
The taxi driver seemed just as confused as Jaemin as he got out of the car, lugging his backpack onto his back. The backpack was worn and old, and the straps dug into his shoulders uncomfortably. He paid the taxi driver, sending him off with a thank you. He watched as the yellow car drove forward a few yards, then did a U-turn and sped past Jaemin in the direction they came. Dust kicked up behind the car as it flew down the long gravel road.
Jaemin sighed. He already had a bad feeling about this plan. Although, he’d had a bad feeling about it since the moment it first crossed his mind, yet here he was. No stopping now. He glanced one more time at the address scribbled onto a gas station receipt in blue ink. Sure enough, the address matched the numbers on what Jaemin assumed used to be a mailbox. In front of him stood a small wooden steak protruding from the ground with a small, rusted sheet of metal sticking up on the right, like all other sides of the mailbox had been torn off. On the sheet of metal, the numbers 0201 were scratched into the side. A slim dirt path barely showing through the grass made up the driveway. It led up to a small wooden shack about a hundred yards out. It was the only structure that Jaemin could see for miles. With the exception of the forest wrapped mountains to the north, dry grasslands and the occasional tree were only interrupted by the gravel road that stretched for miles in either direction.
His watch read noon, which made sense with how horrendously the sun beat down on him from the center of the sky, not a cloud in sight to offer him any mercy. He glanced up at the shack again. The address itself wasn’t the centerpiece of his plan, so the shack wasn’t a devastating disappointment. In all honesty the run-down structure only spurred on his curiosity. For now, though, he had time to kill.
He walked towards the shack, receipt in hand.
The wood of the shack was old and rotted just like the wood of the mailbox post. It had a door on the front side that hung crooked, one of the hinges rusted completely off. Jaemin could see the imprints of what once might have been a small garage or shed in the grass.
Was he supposed to knock?
It felt like a dumb question. What else would he do?
He stepped up to the door, and knocked three times. The door moved and creaked with the force of it, but that was the only sound. He knocked again, for whatever reason. Nothing. Jaemin stepped back. A long piece of rotted wood laid in the grass a few feet to the side of the shack. Jaemin only noticed that it was from the roof when he looked up and saw the large hole in it.
He was sure then, that no one had lived here for a long, long time.
With the sun high in the sky, and no shade for miles, Jaemin slipped into the shack, careful not to move the door with more force than necessary. The inside proved itself to be just as underwhelming as the outside, with creaking wooden floors and a musty smell. A window sat at the back wall, one pane completely gone, and the other cracked. Sunlight filtered through it, along with the hole in the roof. It had a small bench on the side near the window and no other furniture, as though it was built with the intent of being nothing but a small shack for wanderers to seek shelter in from the sun and the dry heat of July.
Jaemin slumped against it, cringing when the bench creaked and groaned under his weight. He slid down the bottom of his shorts a little so his thighs wouldn't touch the wood at all, and pulled his backpack to his lap. He’d only packed a water bottle, along with his papers and a book he had brought for the car ride.
He drank some of the water and pulled out the receipt again. To think this little slip of paper could spur so much.
The gas station receipt was crumpled and torn at the bottom. It didn’t belong to any gas station Jaemin had ever heard of before, and the date on it read 05/14/1983, which meant it was from over a decade ago. On the back, written in blue ink that had been since smudged and faded and in handwriting Jaemin didn’t recognize, was the address to the very shack he now sat in.
Most importantly, the receipt was what his older cousin, Jaehyun, used as a bookmark. In the few years he’d been living with Jaehyun, and even before that, each time Jaemin saw the older reading, that receipt was sure to be resting on the counter next to him or tucked between pages in his book.
Nothing about it had seemed initially out of place, Jaehyun was just the sporadic, carefree person to use anything available around him as a bookmark, but when Jaemin entered his first year of college and moved in with Jaehyun as his house was close to campus, he’d borrowed a book from Jaehyun’s room, not realizing his cousin had been in the middle of reading it. Jaehyun stormed into his room, more frantic than Jaemin had ever seen him in his life, and demanded Jaemin return the receipt. Not the book, just the receipt.
Jaehyun wasn’t the sentimental type either, or so Jaemin had thought. Staring at the neatly sharp handwriting on the back of the receipt, though, made Jaemin wonder how well he really knew his cousin. Why keep it? All this time? For a decade old receipt, it was preserved well, which meant Jaehyun was careful with it, but careful was another adjective Jaemin would never use to describe him. It must have meant a lot to him, which made it the perfect target.
"Kim's Gas & Convenience?" Jaemin muttered. The only family-named gas stations left in the country were the ones in towns too small to be technically considered towns. Twenty dollars of gas paid in cash. Sounds like Jaehyun, he never kept more than twenty dollars on him. He would have been 22 when he got this receipt. Again, Jaemin felt unusually estranged from his cousin. This 22-year-old Jaehyun, the one who kept receipts for decades, was a stranger to him.
Then, Jaemin realized. Jaehyun would have been 22. He left to study in the States when he was 23, meaning he still would have been going to college here at the time. His old school was in the country, only a handful of miles west from where Jaemin currently sat in the abandoned shack, actually. He kept his old truck on campus, a 1970s Jeep that he called o lutador , which means he got gas around here, which means that Kim's Gas & Convenience was probably somewhere not too far from here. Jaemin traced a finger over the blue ink.
Whose handwriting did this belong to? What had this shack meant to his cousin all those years ago? He hoped a lot. Otherwise his plan was worthless.
Jaemin shoved his water back in his backpack and made his way back out of the shack and into the summer sun, praying he remembered which way he came.
Jaemin was overheated by the time he was a hundred feet down the road. At least he thought. Was overheated a medical term? He probably wasn't overheated then. Very hot and uncomfortable at the least.
Crickets and grasshoppers jumped out from the grass when Jaemin accidentally brushed against it with his foot or leg, so he moved to the middle of the dirt road. His backpack straps were rubbing his skin raw, and the dirt he kicked up from the gravel started to stick to the sweat forming on and dripping down his calves. The wind was strong enough to blow his bangs into his eyes, but not strong enough to offer him relief from the heat. He hadn't even brought sunglasses.
The gravel road stretched out in front of him, barren and unforgiving like the horizon line. The long, boring travel gave him the perfect time and space to think, which Jaemin immediately decided was for the worst. He found that his thoughts always drifted to the same place nowadays, like water flowed into river basins, and with the summer heat reminding him of the lazy sun basking he did last summer, an abundance of memories and thoughts itched under his skin like mosquitoes. There was a stark contrast between now and last summer, the main difference in his mind being the absence of a slim body next to his. His heart ached, but it’d been doing that for the past eleven months.
His watch read 1:23 when he reached a large oak tree on the side of the road. He flung off his backpack and slumped against it. Shade had never felt so good. He drank half of the water, pouring some more into his hands and dumping it across his face and hair, washing away the sweat and dust. Still not a gas station in sight. His eyes fluttered shut, his chin jutted upwards as he let his head fall back against the tree. He could hear a bird chirping somewhere above him, along with the light sway of the grass around him. In the shade things weren't so bad. He could fall asleep here, which was a tempting idea when the other option was more walking.
Then another sound broke through. This sound wasn't delicate or natural, but rather grumbly and machine-like, only soft because it sounded very distant and far away. Jaemin listened to it for a few more seconds before slipping an eye open and peaking.
He watched as a brown car jumbled down the gravel road, dust flying up in its path. It was a hundred yards away at least. Still, Jaemin sat up, stuffing his things back into his backpack and slinging it over his shoulders. The receipt went into his pocket. He stepped out to the side of the road, where the shade no longer reached him. Upon feeling the sun beat down on him, he immediately stuck his hand out in a thumbs-up, like Jaehyun said they do in the States to signal they wanted a ride.
Jaemin wasn't sure if the driver would understand what he was doing, or even care, but Jaemin figured he'd try it. It seemed successful, because as the car neared, it slowed and carefully stopped a few yards away from Jaemin. The window rolled down as Jaemin walked up to it, briefly mulling over the dangers of asking a stranger for a ride. If he got kidnapped, Jaemin's mother would probably kill Jaehyun herself anyway.
"Hi," Jaemin said, one hand on his backpack strap, the other playing with the receipt in his pocket.
"Hello?" The driver responded. He was young, probably younger than Jaemin. He had bright orange hair that was almost as out of place as his age. His bangs covered his clearly furrowed eyebrows and nearly covered his eyes.
"What are you doing out here?" The driver asked when Jaemin didn't say anything back.
"Just walking..." Jaemin dug the receipt paper out of his pocket. "Actually, do you know where this gas station is?"
He handed the driver the receipt and rested his hand on top of the car as the driver read, ripping it off seconds later with, Jaemin was pretty sure, at least 3rd degree burns on his palm. The AC in the car was cranked, an indie-rock song playing quietly through the radio, and Jaemin couldn't help but lean in to feel more of the cool air, resting his hand on the bottom of the open window instead.
"Yeah, it's just a few miles down this way." The driver pointed in the direction Jaemin had been walking. "Do you want a ride? I'm headed that way."
Jaemin could faint from relief. "Please."
The driver nodded to the passenger side, and Jaemin had never moved so fast in his life. The car was just as old on the inside as the outside, probably something from the 70s, with worn tan leather seats. He set his backpack at his feet, rubbing where they had dug into his shoulders.
The driver whistled at what Jaemin could guess was all the sweat glistening on his skin. "How long have you been walking?"
"Like an hour.” Jaemin shut his eyes momentarily, the AC doing wonders.
“Why on earth would you do that to yourself?”
“Because I don’t have a car. Aren't you scared of inviting a stranger into your car?" Jaemin blinked, taking back the receipt as the driver handed it to him.
"Aren't you scared of getting into a stranger's car?" The driver shot back, turning down the radio a little as he pulled back onto the road. Then he shrugged. "The people out here are friendly enough. I'll take my chances. I'm Jisung, by the way."
Friendly. That explained how laxly this Jisung kid talked with him.
"Jaemin." He nodded, leaning forward to get his face next to the AC vent.
"Oh come on, you're gonna make the whole car smell like sweat," Jisung whined, high pitched, in a sort of childish way that made him seem even younger.
"Then don't give rides to sweaty strangers." Jaemin gave him a look, but there was no real bite to it. "How old are you anyway? Can you even drive legally?"
"I'm nineteen, thanks," Jisung chided, moving an arm to hang out of the window.
"You look younger. I bet you get pulled over a lot."
"Not a lot of police around here."
"Do you live around then?"
"And why would I tell a stranger where I live?" Jisung tutted.
Jaemin rolled his eyes at that.
"I do. I get the impression that you don't, though." The song on the radio changed, and Jisung made a face and switched the channel.
"What gave it away?" Finally at a bearable temperature again, Jaemin moved away from the AC vent and sat back in his seat.
"No one who knows this place would be caught dead walking along a road like this, in weather like this."
"Fair."
“What are you doing out here anyway?" Jisung asked.
“Visiting someone in town,” Jaemin lied. He’d pondered telling the kid the truth, but in all honesty, he didn’t want to get made fun of by an orange-haired teenager. His pride was already damaged and he wasn't sure he could handle that.
If a teenager would make fun of your plan, it's probably a ridiculous one, isn’t it?
“And you planned to walk the whole way there, did you?” Jisung mocked.
“Figured I’d wait for a dopey kid to pick me up instead of paying for a taxi.”
“Ah, of course,” Jisung let his lips curve into a faint grin. Jaemin did the same.
They drove in silence for a little while. Jisung thrummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the song on the radio, and watching him move to the rhythm while tallgrass whizzed by out the car window gave Jaemin an unanticipated bout of happiness. What was summer without ridiculous little adventures like this?
The song on the radio changed, and Jaemin instantly recognized the beginning notes. A hit from last summer, played on repeat from country to country. It was a rather upbeat song, perfect for the warm weather, but it filled Jaemin with dread. With each note came different memories, the sound of waves lapping against the rocky shore, the wind coming off the sea and ruffling papers, and the scent of suntan lotion under the sun. A soft yet cunning smile that was all Jaemin seemed so see when he closed his eyes.
A dreadful emptiness washed over Jaemin as the song played. It belonged to another time, a different era, and hearing it now felt like a terrible intrusion. He only heard the lyrics, which he knew by heart because how could he not, in a smooth voice that didn’t belong to the singer. Jaemin’s throat felt tight.
The song was swiftly replaced by a different one as Jisung flicked through channels again. “Heard that one too many times,” He mumbled.
Jaemin felt a humbling wave of relief and gratitude.
When Jaemin’s eyes flicked back to the front windshield, he spotted a small building on the right of the road probably half a mile ahead. He sat up. "Is that it?"
"Yup." Jisung popped the 'p'.
The gas station only had two pumps under the canopy, and was made of a deep brown brick. It certainly matched the receipt in that it looked multiple decades old. "It's small."
Jisung breathed a laugh. "Did you expect anything else?"
"No. Just saying."
"Well," Jisung signaled as they turned into the station, "See ya, I guess."
Jaemin returned a smile as he opened the car door. "Thanks, Jisung. I appreciate it, really. Is there any way I can pay you back?"
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Jisung said, waving him off. “And whatever you’re really doing in town, good luck.”
Jaemin stared at the car as Jisung pulled out of the gas station. How had that little punk known? Maybe his comment on the gas station gave him away that he had no connection to the town.
The pavement was cracked and crumbling where Jaemin stood. He looked up, and the faded red sign that displayed the letters im's Ga & Conv nien was just as underwhelming. There were two windows on either side of the glass door at the front of the gas station. A rusted icebox sat to the left side of the building.
He tried to imagine Jaehyun here, walking in his exact footsteps ten years ago, the sun overheard just as it was now. Hopefully there was a phone here. He would call Jaehyun, who would hopefully ask about the receipt, to which Jaemin would smugly reply that he not only had the receipt but was in fact at the very address written on it. Jaemin hoped Jaehyun would grow frantic again, like he had that first time Jaemin took his book with the receipt in it.
This was Jaemin’s revenge. It was petty and childish but this ache wasn’t going away and he felt cornered in by it.
A bell rang as Jaemin pulled the door open. Jaemin could see the top of a large white portable fan whirring in the back right corner over two rows of food and snacks. Along with the whirring came the light buzzing of the fluorescent lights, one of them flickering a little. The entire place couldn't have been more than a 30 x 30 space.
"Hi."
Jaemin spun to see a boy standing behind the counter. He had large, deep eyes and a head of shiny black hair. His eyes were a little wide, like Jaemin had surprised him, but his lips curved into a soft smile. He had on a green tie-dye t-shirt, and small colored shapes and doodles dotted the exposed skin of his arms. Were they tattoos?
Jaemin's hands fell from his backpack straps. "Hi."
His feet moved for him, taking him further into the gas station, moving a little quicker than necessary. He pretended to occupy himself by the clear fridges at the back of the building. He couldn’t see a phone anywhere. He’d have to ask the boy at the desk.
He glanced over at the counter, his eyes widening when gas station man's eyes met his. He snapped his head back around, watching in the reflection of the fridge glass as gas station man's figure quickly shuffled around behind the counter.
Jaemin sighed and stared blankly at the drinks. He didn't have much water left, so it couldn't hurt to get a drink. Plus, it would give him more time to stall. Jaemin quickly found the waters and grabbed one. The cold felt unbelievably good against his skin. He took another water for good measure. He paused to walk through the aisles, and his stomach rumbled looking at the snacks. He took a small bag of chips off the shelf and reluctantly dragged himself back to the counter.
Gas station man didn't say anything as Jaemin approached and while he scanned the items, which only made Jaemin more nervous.
"Is that all?" Gas station man asked.
"Huh? Oh, yeah." Jaemin nodded. He figured gas station man probably didn't get many customers who weren't just stopping by for gas.
Gas station man kept his gaze down as he took the money from Jaemin’s hand, his eyes flickering from the register to the items, to the money Jaemin handed him, but never to Jaemin himself. Jaemin could only be partially upset, because it gave him the freedom of staring at gas station man all he wanted.
Gas station man handed him his change.
"Keep it," Jaemin blurted. Gas station man's eyes flicked up to finally, finally meet Jaemin again.
A few seconds went by, the two of them staring at one another, gas station man's hand outstretched with his change.
"What?" Gas station man asked.
"Keep the change. It's um, your tip."
"My tip?"
Jaemin nodded.
"Okay." Gas station man pulled back his hand, "Uh, thanks."
The two looked away again. Jaemin rocked back and forth on his heels as gas station man bagged his waters and chips.
"Do you want a receipt?" Gas station man asked, holding out the bag towards Jaemin over the counter.
Jaemin's breath hitched, suddenly remembering the receipt in his pocket. "Yeah."
"Okay." Gas station man's eyes flitted from the bag to Jaemin a couple times before Jaemin realized, letting out a small gasp and apologizing as he quickly took the bag from him.
Jaemin pulled out the receipt from his pocket as he listened to the receipt printer whir out a brand new one, without the decade-old crinkles.
Gas station man tore it off and handed it to Jaemin, mumbling to have a good one. Jaemin didn't miss how he glanced outside the window, where Jaemin very obviously did not have a ride waiting for him.
Jaemin took a few steps towards the door, one hand with a bag and the new receipt, the other with the old one before stopping. He swallowed and turned back to gas station man, who had definitely been staring at his back, but looked caught-off-guard when Jaemin spun to face him again.
"Sorry," Jaemin said, striding back to the counter. "Is there a phone here I could use?"
Gas station man blinked at him twice before recovering. “A phone?”
Jaemin nodded. This interaction felt strangely tense and awkward, though Jaemin wasn’t sure if that was his fault or gas station man’s. Both, maybe.
Gas station man cleared his throat. “Yeah, there’s one in the back, next to the bathrooms.”
Jaemin uttered his thanks, then made his way towards the back of the station where he spotted the telephone.
Step two of his plan was in swing. Jaemin set his bag down on the floor and, with pursed lips, pushed Jaehyun’s number into the keypad. With his free hand, Jaemin pulled out the old receipt. He listened to the phone ring as he traced the smudged blue ink. The handwriting was sharp but elegant, neat but clearly swift. Nowhere near Jaehyun’s sloppy, loopy handwriting.
The phone rang and rang. Jaemin closed his eyes and sighed long and deep as the automated voice message response sounded. Jaemin hung the phone back on the wall.
“If you’re calling for a taxi, I have the number for the station in town,” Gas station man said from the counter. His voice was quiet, hesitant.
“Thanks,” Jaemin said, “I’m not calling for a taxi, though.”
“Oh,” Gas station man nodded quickly and occupied himself with reorganizing the lighters on display. Jaemin could’ve sworn there was a faint blush on his cheeks.
Jaemin dialed Jaehyun’s number again. The automated response filled Jaemin with a similar kind of numbness as that hit song from the radio. Jaehyun knew Jaemin didn’t have work or class today, and Jaemin hadn’t told Jaehyun he’d be going out. Jaemin began to wonder if Jaehyun even noticed he was gone.
Jaemin slumped against the wall. This was such a stupid plan. His throat felt tight and scratchy again, but he didn’t move to drink any water. The buzz of fluorescent lights above him hummed like the man-made equivalent of the thrum of insects in the summer.
Last summer. The blue sea sparkling before him, the scent of salt air, creaking sun-baked wooden stairs, soft hands on his arms, his jaw, in his hair.
Now he listened to the portable fan strain to push around lukewarm air, cracked tile under his feet, the wall uncomfortable against his already-sore shoulders. He’d rather have been anywhere than here.
The bell at the door rang out, and Jaemin straightened, watching an older man step into the station to pay for gas, a large pickup truck parked at one of the pumps outside.
Jaemin watched gas station man ring him up, his hands moving quickly and confidently along the register. He’d done this thousands of times before, you could just tell. His head stayed down however, his posture timid. His black hair flopped into his eyes. Jaemin studied the colorful doodles decorating his arms as his muscles flexed with his movements. It was almost graceful.
The man left and gas station man glanced over at Jaemin, who spun back around upon being caught staring.
Jaemin pretended to study the bulletin board to his right, which had various papers tacked to it: advertisements, hiring ads, events in town. After an appropriate amount of time had gone by to convince gas station man he’d been reading, Jaemin began to turn back around, when his eyes fell to a white slip of paper tacked to the bottom left corner of the board.
It was contact information for a service repair company in town, nothing special, probably the service the gas station called when it needed repairs, but Jaemin knew that handwriting. Sharp, neat, elegant. The same from the receipt.
Jaemin’s heart nearly skipped a beat as he untacked it from the wall, and, in a momentary detective-discovering-case-altering-evidence sort of thrill that strengthened his boldness ten fold, brought it to gas station man and slapped it on the counter.
“Do you know who wrote this?” He asked, not bothering to mask his urgency.
Gas station man stared back at him for a few seconds, during which Jaemin suddenly realized how absurd he probably sounded, but no matter. If Jaehyun wasn’t going to give him a second thought, Jaemin would discover what this secret—the seemingly sole secret Jaehyun had—was all about, what would will his cousin to keep a receipt for ten years, and to use it as a bookmark at that, where he’d surely see it on a daily basis.
Gas station man looked down at the paper then back at Jaemin with slightly wide eyes. “Uh, the store manager?”
“Who’s the manager?” Jaemin asked, leaning over the counter slightly. Was he on the precipice of some valuable information, some dark revelation about his cousin, or was this as far-fetched and ridiculous as gas station man probably thought it was? Did the pieces Jaemin was collecting even belong to one coherent puzzle? Or was Jaemin making something out of nothing?
“He’s not here right now. His name is Doyoung.”
“Doyoung,” Jaemin repeated, as if trying to uncover something within the name itself, but only to avoid the sinking feeling taking him over right now because he’d never heard of Doyoung and his name revealed nothing. Mostly likely he was making something out of nothing.
“How long has he worked here?” Jaemin asked, desperate. The disappointment made his awareness return to him suddenly. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Like, fifteen years? I’m not really sure. This place is family owned, and I don’t know when he started working.” Gas station man gave Jaemin a slower once over.
Fifteen years matched the timeline. He would have been here when Jaehyun was in college. “How old is he?”
Gas station man gave him a look. “I don’t know if I should be giving away all his personal information.”
Jaemin sucked in a frustrated breath, even though that was an entirely fair point. “Will he be here anytime soon?”
Gas station man shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“ Maybe, maybe not? What’s that supposed to mean?” Jaemin narrowed his eyes at such a vague answer.
Gas station man furrowed his eyebrows defensively, but gave in anyway. “He comes occasionally on the weekends. He has another full time job, though, so it's not often.” He eyed Jaemin. “Why do you want to know all this stuff?”
Jaemin had half the mind to just tell him: Oh, well you see, my cousin uses a decade old receipt from this gas station as a beloved bookmark, and to get back at him for being so cold with me lately I thought I’d steal it and travel to the address written on the back. Duh.
Jaemin put both hands on the counter and hung his head in defeat. This was pointless. Stupid. All this work and Jaehyun probably didn’t care. He’d been distant since Jaemin came back from Greece nearly a year ago, so what made him think his cousin would care about him now? He should just cut his losses and call for a taxi now.
“Are you okay?” Gas station man’s voice came softly.
Jaemin knew he should compose himself better in front of a stranger, but he’d lost his will to care. “Fine,” He mumbled, rubbing at his temples. “Just need to mope a little, if you don’t mind.”
“Mope all you want,” Gas station man responded. It was strangely comforting.
Jaemin looked up at the man in front of him. "Are those tattoos?"
Gas station man followed Jaemin's eyes to his arms. "Oh, no. These are just drawings. We don't get a lot of customers, so I bring markers sometimes and draw on myself. To pass the time."
His cheeks were red again. Gas station man was kind of cute, wasn't he?
"They look nice. I'd get tattoos like that, but maybe it just works on you." Jaemin said, resting his chin in his palm.
Gas station man bit his lip a little, staring at Jaemin a moment before speaking. "I could draw one for you. On your arm."
Jaemin raised an eyebrow. He didn't answer, but stretched his arm out over the counter.
Gas station man quickly dug up a light blue marker from a drawer and took Jaemin's wrist in his hand. His skin was warm and soft, contrasting the cool tip of the marker as gas station man dragged it along his skin. The drawing was small, and it took gas station probably less than a minute, drawn just below the joint of his elbow.
"An arrow?" Jaemin asked. It was no larger than an inch, the head of it sharp and the feathers at the end light and wispy.
Gas station man nodded.
"Why?"
"'Cause you seem like a pain in the ass."
Jaemin gaped at him, a curse on the tip of his tongue, but when he saw the mixture of sheepishness and slyness in the other's smile, it died right there. Instead, he sniffled and pretended to wipe a tear. "You've captured my essence so well."
Gas station man laughed, and Jaemin took notice of how his eyes crinkled into little crescents when he smiled widely. Cute.
"Do another one," Jaemin said, putting his arm out again.
"Woah, I'm going to have to start charging you for this," Gas station man said as he pulled out a green marker.
"That's what the tip was for."
"I'm pretty sure that violates the rules of tipping."
"Shut up and draw."
This one was on the back side of his upper arm, just above the elbow. Jaemin whined the whole time as gas station man pushed him into an awkward position to get the drawing on, but it took even shorter than the last one.
"I can't even see this one," Jaemin complained.
Gas station man rolled his eyes and turned around, walking away from the corner.
"Hello?" Jaemin asked, standing up. He watched as gas station man hopped up and over the counter on the other side before making his way over to Jaemin. Without the counter in the way, Jaemin could see he had on a pair of light blue jeans that still hugged his thighs a little despite their loose fit.
"Come on." Gas station man, who stood just a little taller than Jaemin, grabbed Jaemin's blank arm and pulled him to the left corner of the gas station, pushing past a door labeled Restroom . The light flickered on as they entered.
He shoved Jaemin in front of the mirror and tugged him around a little so Jaemin could see the small, straight green lines meeting in dots.
"What is it?" Jaemin asked.
"A constellation. Taurus."
"It looks like a fancy Y."
"It's supposed to be a bull."
"So, you're an astrology guy, huh."
"I just like the constellations."
"Whatever you say." Jaemin made his way out of the bathroom, gas station man trailing behind him. "It is pretty though. Both of them are. You're good at drawing."
Gas station man flushed again and Jaemin thoroughly enjoyed it. "I have a lot of time to practice."
Jaemin picked up his bag again, but gas station man didn't slip behind the counter like he'd expected.
"Are you off then?" Gas station man asked.
Jaemin glanced outside. All blue sky, faded green tall-grass, and beige and dusty gravel.
"Maybe, maybe not," Jaemin teased, but then leaned against the counter, conceding, "I actually have nowhere to go. I don't have a bike or car or anything, and if I have to step back out in the heat I think I'll actually die this time."
“I do have the number for that taxi service,” Gas station man reminded him, though he said it tentatively, not even looking at Jaemin.
“That’s the best idea, I suppose.” Jaemin bit the inside of his cheek. He could have sworn gas station man’s face fell a little, his hands dropping to his sides as he nodded.
More numbness as he watched gas station man shuffle around in a drawer for the number. His new plan, then: call a taxi, find a hotel in town, call Jaehyun again, return home in the morning to his indifferent cousin, who’d only be bothered that Jaemin hadn’t done his share of the house chores yet.
Gas station man slipped the card across the counter, but Jaemin made no move to take it.
Briefly, as he stared at the little slip of paper on the counter, an image flashed through his mind of the little rectangle plane ticket handed to him last summer.
This is the end of this, isn’t it? The words had come from his own mouth, but they had sounded unreal and far away, as though they belonged to a narrator explaining the events of Jaemin’s life to an audience. The only answer he had received from the man standing in front of him was a delicate smile so pained and sorrowful that Jaemin pinned it as the exact moment he felt his heart begin to break.
Now, nearly a year later, he hadn’t escaped that parting smile. He suddenly wasn’t convinced he ever would.
Anywhere but here. Jaemin couldn’t go back to Jaehyun’s house and keep pretending he was even a fraction better than he was. The stress and ache had done him over completely. He couldn’t bear to stand in front of his cousin, the only one he thought would ever understand, with tears in his eyes again, asking for the comfort of a solidarity he’d always thought was given between them, only to realize that not only had Jaehyun pulled the rug of that solidarity out from beneath his feet, but that it had never been inherently given and that his cousin had simply been tolerating it for some time.
If Jaemin could not have the easy comfort of his cousin whom he loved like a brother, he would take it from a stranger instead, one who smiled at him so widely his eyes crinkled.
“I’m not sure I want to spend more money on a taxi today,” Jaemin started, speaking slowly to recover from the depths of his mind he’d just unwillingly visited. “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait until another car comes to catch a ride into town. It’ll be cheaper that way.”
Gas station man peered at him curiously. Could he tell this money excuse was a lie? That it was just Jaemin’s way of asking to stay a little longer? Part of him hoped so.
“Of course,” He said, then repeated it, more so to himself. “Of course.”
Jaemin liked the sound of his voice and the way he kept his head down, so when he did look at Jaemin it was through his black bangs.
“What’s your name?”
"Jeno. And yours?"
"Jaemin."