Work Text:
Kyungsoo doesn’t check the alarm clock that sits perilously close to the edge of his nightstand, but knows it can’t be anywhere close to the hours of daylight. If he has to guess it is probably 2 am, 3 at the most.
The sheets are sticky against his sweat coated legs and he does best to gently unwrap himself from their grasp without disturbing his bed partner. With a soft look at his companion he slips out of the bedroom and onto the terrace through the sliding glass door.
Cool air cuts at his damp skin and he sucks in a breath through his teeth as he sits himself down onto the cushioned bench. His shoulder is hurting again. No, that isn’t right. He thinks his shoulder is hurting again. His doctor has assured him multiple times that it is all in his head. That the old war wound has been completely healed. No, no shrapnel has been left inside. Yes, the bone has healed perfectly. Yes, it’s possible to regain full motion of your shoulder once again. No, you’re perfectly fine Mr. Do.
He didn’t feel “perfectly fine.”
He’s not stupid though, he knows about PTSD. Has read about it, even before his time serving. Before a nurse had handed him a pamphlet about it at the doctor’s office. Before a veteran had approached him in the supermarket and given him a flier to a support group. Before his mother had suggested he go see someone for some “professional help.”
But Kyungsoo is a private person. And he’s…uncomfortable letting people in. Even people who are there to help him. So he copes like this. Does this instead of see a doctor, or a therapist, or a support group.
Like clockwork he wakes up at some inappropriate hour of the night (or early morning) from a nightmare his mind can barely remember but that his body can hardly forget, and he sits himself down (on the edge of the bed, at the kitchen table, on the terrace, on the sofa) and waits. If you ask him to explain what he’s waiting for he wouldn’t be able to tell you. He’s not quite sure himself. Is he waiting for his heart rate to calm down? For fatigue and exhaustion to take over and send him back to bed? For the nightmares to drain out of him? For a miracle? He doesn’t know. He just…waits.
But it’s the waiting that kills him just as much as the nightmares. Because while he waits his mind does its best to destroy him.
Kyungsoo begins the waiting period like he does every night by reliving the first time he went to “battle.”
It wasn’t anything like the movies he had seen growing up. But he had known that going in. The battlefield wasn’t drawn out with a clear cut out of good guys vs bad guys. It was a horrific, monstrous, nightmarish mess. Chaos everywhere. You couldn’t just sit, fire a couple of rounds and save the day like the heroes in fiction did.
It was hours of crawling through mud, split seconds where you were convinced you were going to die, a lifetime of watching the men you had surrounded yourself with for past 6 months fall down around you.
It was watching his close comrade gurgle up blood from a bullet wound that went straight through his neck. It was wrapping a belt around his commanding officer’s thigh to cut off the circulation so that they could amputate his leg. It was watching a man next to him bite his through his tongue to keep from screaming. It was an indescribable pain that took over his entire body, then a flash of light, then a noise, then an explosion in that order.
Then it was waking up with his shoulder in pieces. Then it was being honorably discharged. Then it was coming home. Then it was moving back in with his mom. Then it was weekly physical therapy appointments. Then its was trying to sleep at night and stay awake during the morning. Then it was trying to deal with the nightmares (or at least try to ignore them). Then it was getting his appetite back. Then it was trying to figure out social cues again. Then it was getting used to the honking cars in traffic. Then it was getting used to the flash of camera lights. Then it was reminding himself to live not just survive. Then it was torture, torture, torture, torture.
Then it was Kim Jongin.
They met through a common friend, Park Chanyeol, who invited both of them to his daughter’s piano recital.
Chanyeol had always been one of those absolutely nosey friends who seemed to think it was his business to make all of his friends, acquaintances, coworkers, the like, happy. And what he had thought Kyungsoo needed at the time was a date. Or at least the idea of a date. The “nudgings” of the idea of a date. So he used his daughter’s recital as the backdrop to set one up. Typical Chanyeol really. (He hooked up their mutual friend, Byun Baekhyun, with the doctor that delivered Chanyeol’s daughter, Oh Sehun—so Kyungsoo shouldn’t have been very surprised.)
So Kyungsoo showed up right on time to Chaera’s elementary school with a bouquet of daisies and a twitch in his fingers that made his hands unsteady. Chanyeol spotted him right at the door so he’d been saved from awkwardly shuffling around.
He slid past Baekhyun and Sehun on the end and got his ass slapped by the former (who was holding a camcorder ready in his hands, Kyungsoo was willing to bet Sooyoung bossed him into recording Chaera’s performance). He then stumbled past Chanyeol’s wife and they exchanged polite smiles before he collapsed into his spot next to Chanyeol. The metal fold out chair next to him was empty save a leather jacket that Kyungsoo recognized as Chanyeol’s that laid across the back.
Kyungsoo looked at the jacket and then at his friend.
“Ah, that’s for Jongin. He should be showing up soon,” Chanyeol craned his head back instead of meeting Kyungsoo’s glare to search the crowded gymnasium.
Kyungsoo had briefly entertained the idea of leaving but the daisies had felt heavy in his hands and the words “just try” were ringing in his head. So he fixed his sweater sleeves over the scars on the backs of his wrists and crossed one leg over the other and willed his shoulder to stop aching.
As soon as the lights were dimming Chanyeol made a noise in the back of his throat and began to wave to someone who was standing in the back corner of the gym.
A few murmured apologies later and this “Jongin” friend was seated next to Kyungsoo.
“Ah Kyungsoo this is Kim Jongin, he’s Chaera’s ballet teacher. Jongin this is my best friend Do Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol hastily said in a hurried whisper before reclining into his wife’s side and focusing on the stage.
Kyungsoo was prepared to ignore this Kim Jongin, but curiosity got the best of him and he snuck a quick look.
His jawline was easily the first thing Kyungsoo noticed and the hardest to look away from. He had strong bone structure that he was sure Baekhyun’s artist’s eye could appreciate. His skin was honey brown and it seemed to glow in the dim lighting of the gym. His lips were small but full and they pouted out as he sat concentrating on his bulletin. His hair was dyed a light brown and it swept artfully across his forehead and that was all the time Kyungsoo allowed himself to look for before he had glanced away.
He sat through 4 uncomfortable piano solos that were basically just tasteful banging on the piano before Jongin leaned over, close enough that when he whispered his breath tickled Kyungsoo’s ear lobe.
“So how do you know Chanyeol?”
No. No thank you. Kyungsoo did not want to participate in small talk. He wanted to watch Chaera’s performance, hand her her daisies, and leave. Maybe get through one night of sleep without waking up shaking and coughing and scared out of his mind.
But Jongin had these dumb puppy dog eyes and Chanyeol was right there and Kyungsoo knew Sooyoung would kick his ass if he was rude to one of Chanyeol’s…friends?
So he opened his mouth and replied, “We went to university together. Roommates.” He was ready to leave it at that, but his brain helpfully reminded him that usually this was when he asked the same of the person next to him. “Um, how do you know Chanyeol again?”
Jongin smiled and Kyungsoo pretended that he didn’t feel the hairs on his arms stand up, “I teach Chaera’s ballet classes. Have been for the last…3 months. Met Sooyoung on the first day and we hit it off pretty fast since she did dance in college, but the next day Chanyeol came by to pick up Chaera and—” He was rambling. Kyungsoo recognized this. He was rambling because he was…nervous? Excited? He hadn’t known. But he strangely didn’t find himself…bothered. Maybe a little charmed even…maybe.
They continued their conversation over the next ten or so performances in hushed tones. Kyungsoo learned that Jongin graduated from Paris’ School of Ballet and then moved back home to open his own studio. He found out Jongin had three dogs growing up (all gone now), that he loved chicken (especially the fried chicken that comes from that little shop across from the laundromat) but hated coffee. All coffee. Any coffee. He was very adamant about that. Kyungsoo learned that Jongin can’t whistle, his favorite color was pink, that he has seen Pirates of the Caribbean at least 13 times, and that he has cried at Billy Elliot twice. And in return Kyungsoo divulged a little bit about himself. He shared that he liked to cook (it relaxed him), that his favorite music genre was R&B and he couldn’t stand folk music, that he took French in high school but most of the vocab escapes him so he’d need Jongin to translate that ballet move for him.
And it was all…okay. It was a little terrifying how natural the conversation was flowing. The last place Kyungsoo thought that he’d get to know someone (and get to know them so well) would be at Chanyeol’s daughter’s recital.
Speaking of which…
“Oh! She’s on!” Jongin whispered, genuine excitement gripped him as he pulled out his iPhone to begin to record her.
Ask Kyungsoo later and he would have told you she did a good job playing Fair Ilse. Ask him what his favorite part was and he would have told you the middle bit where she messed up and smiled at the crowd. Ask him to be honest and ask: were you really paying attention to her? And he would have had to say no. His eyes were on her, but his mind was elsewhere.
Elsewhere but close by.
Kyungsoo had snuck another look at Jongin as the crowd clapped around them, applauding Chaera on her near perfect performance, and saw that he was smiling. Teeth wide and white and perfect and Kyungsoo suddenly burned.
Oh no.
Fast forward to the end of the show. Chaera got her daisies, Kyungsoo got a peck on the cheek from Sooyoung, Baekhyun got a refusal at his offer to drive Kyungsoo home, and Jongin got his passenger seat filled.
Chanyeol, being Chanyeol, was able to work out a situation in which Jongin gave Kyungsoo a ride home as well as received Kyungsoo’s number (for business purposes).
The ride home was again littered with chit chat and Kyungsoo added more facts about Jongin to his mental bank (liked The Weeknd’s music but don’t tell his students, broke his last two iphones within a month of each other, failed chemistry in high school because he set his teacher’s eyebrows on fire by not following proper lab safety rules).
By the time he reached his front porch (that Jongin insisted on walking him up to) he’d been…fine. He’d had a nice night. He enjoyed himself…for the first time in a long while. And it had felt good. To talk. About anything. Everything. (Not the war.) (Not his nightmares.) (Not his inability to make himself better.)
Jongin made him promise to text him with the times that he was free the following week and Kyungsoo didn’t need to check his calendar to know that his whole week was free. Hell, his whole month was free. But he humored Jongin and promised him anyways, and waved him off before entering his place. His life continued like that. Jongin and he met weekly at different shops and restaurants around town, getting to know each other (as friends). Kyungsoo caught himself staring too long at the dimple on the right side of Jongin’s mouth, at the sharp point of his canines, at the eye fat that crinkles when he laughs, at the jut of his adam apple. And in return Kyungsoo pretended not to notice at the way Jongin stared at his fingers, at the bow of his lips, at his dark eyelashes, at the sharpness of his jaw. They did a pretty good job of overlooking all that until Kyungsoo went ahead and ruined everything.
Three months after they started doing whatever they were calling what they were doing, Kyungsoo kissed him. On the mouth. Right outside Jongin’s favorite chicken restaurant. Just…out of nowhere. Jongin was talking about how unnecessary Qui-Gon Jinn was in the Star Wars prequels and Kyungsoo just stretched up and pecked his mouth like he couldn’t help himself. (Because he couldn’t.)
And the quiet, uncomplicated moment is ruined and Kyungsoo ruined it and he’s sorry sorry sorry until Jongin cupped his cheeks and surged forward.
Their second kiss lasted longer. A lot longer. Until their fingertips were numb from the cold, their noses red, and lips were puffy and swollen.
And Kyungsoo felt…okay. He felt fine. He wasn’t anxious. He wasn’t burdened. He felt fine. He was “perfectly fine.” Jongin made him feel fine. Not exceptional, or giddy, or in love. But fine. “Perfectly fine.” And that was everything.
Give it another 3 months and they did more than just kiss. Give it almost a year and Kyungsoo moved into Jongin’s studio apartment that sat over his ballet studio. Give it 2 years and Kyungsoo was relaxed enough to start entertaining the idea that he was in love with Jongin. Give it until just last week and Kyungsoo has said just as much to Jongin.
They were curled up against each other on Jongin’s couch that permanently smells like vanilla (due to a secret he refuses to let Kyungsoo in on). Jongin’s head was in Kyungsoo’s lap and he was running his fingers through his hair, twirling the light brown strands between his fingers and then he just blurts it like some goddamn idiot.
But it worked. It somehow fit this relationship between them. This soft murmuring they shared. This unhurried pace of theirs.
Kyungsoo sighed out the words, “I love you” and didn’t have to wait more than a second before Jongin turned in his lap, kissed the patch of skin that showed between his sweater and jeans, and replied, “And I love you.”
And that was it.
But not everything was as uncomplicated as that.
Some of the soldiers from his old squad had tracked him down and haggled him until he agreed to go out with them for drinks. He had kissed Jongin’s pouty lips goodbye after dinner and walked the couple of blocks it took to get to the bar his old mates had texted him the name of. The next few hours Kyungsoo did his best to deflect the conversation away from himself. What he was doing with his life. Who he was seeing. How he was coping. But that meant he had to listen. And that was just as bad.
The conversation had drifted from sports, to the news, to wives or lovers, to bitterness. One of the men on Kyungsoo’s right began to tell a story of his nagging, clueless wife. And how she prattled on about day to day things, complaining about hair appointments or noisy office workers.
“And I just say, ‘Bitch! You think you have it tough? I took a bullet to the leg! Quit complaining!’” The table roared with laughter and Kyungsoo scratched at the scars on his arms.
“God, that’s the worst,” another man agreed, taking a drag from his cigarette. Kyungsoo crinkled his nose.
“Yeah, they just don’t get it. We’ve seen shit,” The guy on Kyungsoo’s right was talking again, “We’ve seen some seriously fucked up shit. And they’re sitting their on their asses complaining about us drinking the last of the milk or some shit! I’ve fought and bled for this country and my wife has the audacity to get mad at me for not separating my lights and darks in the laundry.” The men grumbled in agreement and gulped from their cups, sloshing beer onto the sticky table in their greedy haste.
But Kyungsoo sat still.
“They don’t get it,” another man repeated into his cup and the words echoed darkly in Kyungsoo’s head.
They followed him home at 3 in the morning. They followed him as he took off his jacket and hung it next to Jongin’s. Followed him as he brushed his teeth, took off his clothes and slid into bed next to Jongin.
They rattled around in his brain as he felt Jongin subconsciously snuggle closer to him, rest his head in the curve of Kyungsoo’s neck and sigh, once, sweetly, and settle.
They don’t get it.
Kyungsoo doesn’t want Jongin to get it.
Jongin is pure. Unblemished. Jongin will never experience the horrors Kyungsoo has to live with daily. Jongin has the freedom to complain, to whine, to get frustrated when things don’t go his way, to throw tantrums because he doesn’t know.
Jongin will pitch a fit over the most ridiculous things sometimes. He gets cranky when he doesn’t get enough sleep. He refuses to eat vegetables. He cries when a dog dies in movies. He doesn’t let Kyungsoo touch him if Kyungsoo has snapped at him that day. He plays hard to get when he’s moody and then gets mad if Kyungsoo doesn’t try hard enough to win him over. Jongin can be a brat. Some of the time. (A lot of the time.)
But that…works for Kyungsoo.
It reminds Kyungsoo of how…innocent Jongin can be at times. How naive. How protected and childlike he is still able to be even in his late twenties. And that attracts Kyungsoo.
Maybe it’s the darkness inside Kyungsoo that desires so desperately to love the light bits inside Jongin.
Kyungsoo doesn’t mind hearing about Jongin’s day. He doesn’t mind the mundane tasks Jongin goes through. He never tires of Jongin gushing about the dog he got to pet that day or the baby that smiled at him. He doesn’t mind listening to Jongin’s complaining either. He doesn’t mind hearing about the ballet mom that yelled at him, about the one boy in his class that won’t sit still, about how he doesn’t want to wash the dishes in the sink because “my arms are tired!”
He takes it all. Because all of it is Jongin. And a part of him is attracted to the mundane. The easiness of Jongin’s life. The purity of it.
He prefers this ignorance Jongin shows toward the cruelty of the world than the knowledge of its immorality.
Kyungsoo feels dirty.
He gets like this at times. When things are going well. His brain comes along and messes it all up. Tells him Jongin is better off without him. Better off without someone who gets spooked by honking cars in the street. Who gets sick when he gets too close to the ocean. Who freezes up during sex and goes hours refusing to be touched. Who wakes up in the middle of the night because of the dreams (memories?). Whose entire body is raked with scars.
He looks down at his arms.
They’re tanned right now (it’s the middle of summer) so he can see the ugly scars that run up and down them. Repulsive, jagged lines that draw attention to themselves whenever he steps outside without long sleeves. He remembers Jongin telling him that they were sexy, but Kyungsoo thinks he might have been lying to him at the time to make him feel better.
He’s held Jongin in these arms. Perfect, tan, smooth, unblemished Jongin. He’s touched Jongin with these arms. Gasping, moaning, squirming, sighing Jongin. He’s killed with these arms.
Kyungsoo begins to shake. And he’s done this enough times to know that this was going to be the beginning of a very long, sleepless night.
Next his heart will start to feel like it’s being squeezed, and he’ll start gasping like his lungs can’t take in enough air, his head will get fuzzy and he won’t be able to see or think or—it will be hell. It will be hell and then it will continue to be hell. It’s torture, torture, torture, torture—
“K’ngsoo?”
Kyungsoo freezes. Or tries to. His body continues to rake with shivers, short bursts of spasms. Jongin steps onto the terrace and plops himself down next to Kyungsoo and curls up in his lap without paying any mind to Kyungsoo shaking and losing control.
“I woke up an’ you weren’t there,” Jongin sighed into Kyungsoo’s belly, his breath feather light against Kyungsoo’s skin. His thumb traced the waistband of Kyungsoo’s boxers in a sleepy debauched kind of way. Innocently brushing over the fabric before dipping inside and pressing the pad of his thumb into the warm skin he finds there.
“S-sorry,” Kyungsoo gasps. “Hmmm,” Kyungsoo can hear Jongin pouting, “Don’t do that. I don’t like it.”
Kyungsoo chokes out a laugh. It’s too loud. Too harsh for this kind of stillness.
Jongin hums again and shifts until he’s laying on his back looking up at Kyungsoo’s face. The dim light of the moon paints a pretty picture in Kyungsoo’s lap. Jongin looks like a dream. Thick eyelashes, hooded eyelids, pouty lips, smooth skin. Kyungsoo wants to reach out and touch him, but his arms remain rooted to his body.
So instead Jongin reaches up his own hands and begins to stroke the skin of Kyungsoo’s face. He smooths out roundness of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, the slight stubble under his bottom lip. His eyes are heavy on him, soaking him in and just…existing, with him.
The sensation is hypnotic and Kyungsoo finds himself calming down. Taking in deep breaths through his nose and letting them out between the part of his lips.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Jongin asks so softly, voice so low that Kyungsoo almost doesn’t hear it. It blends into the rest of the night. Calm, dark, deep.
Kyungsoo is already shaking his head before he replies, “No. No I—no. Sorry.”
“Shhh,” Jongin brushes his thumb over Kyungsoo’s lips. His brows are knit together with sincerity. “Shhh don’t be.”
Kyungsoo nods, softly, as to not disturb Jongin’s hands on his face. “Tell me about your day.”
“Well. I woke up and I was cold because my dumb boyfriend took all the covers—” Kyungsoo scoffs. “–so I took him to the shower with me,” Jongin placed a delicate kiss on the soft part of Kyungsoo’s belly, “and obviously I was late to my first lesson. But it was worth it,” a nip at the skin.
“I taught the first years how to stand in second position. It took thirty minutes before any of them could hold it right,” Jongin laughs against Kyungsoo’s stomach, kissing the skin again, this time a bit more sloppy, “Jooyoung was the first to get it. So she started bossing Hyunseung and Jaehyun around.” Another kiss. Another bite. “Then I got lunch with Chanyeol. He brought Chaera. We both ordered chicken nuggets. The dinosaur kind? And had a T-rex battle with blood ketchup and everything. She’s a pretty neat kid, Soo,” kiss, “she’s a lot like her mom,” kiss, “god Chanyeol is so fortunate.” Jongin looks up into Kyungsoo’s eyes and smiles as if to say but I’m luckier.
“After lunch I went to the Opera House and practiced for the Ballet with Taemin and Jinri. They’re so gross now days. If we ever get that gross just dump me. Promise me,” Kyungsoo promises, “They literally couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It was terrible.” Jongin removes his hands from Kyungsoo’s face and latches them onto his waist, pressing his thumbs into the squishy skin right above Kyungsoo’s hip bones and Kyungsoo thinks of the irony.
“Then I came home to my boyfriend,” Kyungsoo can feel Jongin’s teeth graze his stomach. He’s smiling, “and he was cooking in that dumb apron Baekhyun gave him as a gag gift last Christmas that he insists is cute on him,” It is cute on him, “and he’s making kimchi spaghetti ‘cause it’s one of the only 3 dishes he knows how to make without fucking up,” Kyungsoo lightly flicks Jongin’s ear, “and I end up standing there. Staring at him like an idiot, for a good 10 minutes.”
Kyungsoo freezes. He didn’t know about this.
“So I’m standing there, with my bag on my shoulder and coat in my arms and I’m honestly floored Soo. Here is this absolutely gorgeous man and he’s all mine,” Jongin’s eyes get hooded and Kyungsoo’s hands start to tremble and his breathing picks up. But this is different from before. This is so different. Before it was terror. This here now is thicker, it’s darker, it’s warmer.
Jongin tugs Kyungsoo’s hand to put on his chest and laces their fingers together, “He has his sleeves rolled up and I can see his arms,” Jongin kisses the back of Kyungsoo’s wrist, “and I love his arms. They’re tan and strong and when they hold me and touch me I can’t breathe,” Jongin traces his lips over the juts of Kyungsoo’s arms and over the bump of his wrist until he sucks lightly at Kyungsoo’s knuckles and murmurs, “And his hands—god his hands Soo—he hates them, but I love them. Is it possible to be attracted to a pair of hands? They’re rough and dry ‘cause he never moisturizes but I love it when he puts them on me. When he brushes them through my hair. When he drags them down my body. When he touches me there with them,” Jongin wiggles his eyebrows ridiculously and Kyungsoo chokes out something that could pass as a laugh but is probably a sob.
“And I’m not even going to talk about his ass or else we’ll be here all night,” this time Kyungsoo is sure it’s a laugh. It bubbles out of this throat and he presses the back of his free hand to his lips to try and trap it.
“So you can imagine that I couldn’t help myself. And I wrap my arms around his waist and kiss his neck and you know what he does?”
Kyungsoo humors him, “What?”
“He slaps me with a spoon that’s in his hands.”
Kyungsoo rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling, “You scared me.”
“Scared? My boyfriend?” Jongin’s eyebrows wrinkle together as if the statement doesn’t make sense, “No. Never. Not my boyfriend. He’s the bravest man I know.”
Kyungsoo puffs out a bitter laugh.
“He’s a fighter. He wakes up everyday and loves me even though he knows everything about me. Loves me even though he knows that I’m constantly failing, constantly letting him down. He wakes up and experiences the world. Allows the earth to romance him. To teach him. He wakes up everyday and tries. And I find that so, so brave,” Jongin kisses the back of Kyungsoo’s hand again and mumbles, “and sexy too.”
“So that’s my day,” Jongin smiles. Clearly and unashamed. His eyes scrunch up with his joy and his tongue pokes out between his teeth adorably. And Kyungsoo’s heart is warm. No, it’s hot. It’s red hot.
It’s burning. He’s burning. This right here. This moment is everything. Jongin in his lap. This feeling in his chest. His fingers entwined with his boyfriends. His legs going numb from Jongin’s weight (his dick going hard for the same reason).
Everything is still for a bit. Just easy. Uncomplicated. Comfortable. So Jongin shifts until he’s sitting up and plants a soft hardly-there kiss on Kyungsoo’s nose, then both of his eyelids, then his cheeks, his chin, his mouth.
Kyungsoo parts Jongin’s mouth and their tongues brush easily until Jongin smiles and tips his head back.
“I love you.”
Kyungsoo can taste the sincerity. Can see it. Can hear it. Can feel it. His senses are flooded with it. And he basks in it.
This isn’t the first time Kyungsoo has woken up from a nightmare. And it certainly won’t be the last. But for now he feels…fine. He’s okay. He’s “perfectly fine.” So he looks into Jongin’s eyes, smiles and replies:
“And I love you.”