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Jongin lived in a rundown space. The kind where colours morphed into the spectrum of grey hues. Where two buildings stuck so close to each other that if you stood in your own house and stretched with a little effort, you could indefinitely invade someone else’s privacy.
No matter the emptiness of the place, it still screamed that someone had lived here. Wooden floors that would creak every time Jongin moved too quickly, or the dents and fades on the flooring that had familiarised themselves with Jongin’s dance routine. A small, cosy bedroom and an even smaller kitchen.
Although it was a rundown space, Jongin called it home, his home—a home decorated over the years in each one of his passing emotions and turmoils. A home where he could come after work, and it would soothe his aching muscles. A home where the only thing grand was a single window in the living room, with its attached seating, on which Jongin lay, spending his slow days, accompanied by a book or his thoughts. And the person living across his window, who had inevitably become a part of his home.
At first, when Jongin moved to the place, the windows remained closed throughout the day and the night. As he practised his routines, his reflection more comfortable than a stranger’s greeting. Even though it was the only source of ventilation, the compromised air seemed small in comparison to a breached solitude, and Jongin, being shy and introverted, did not mind the lack of scenery.
But one night, when the heat was unbearable and the lights left the circuits in a blackout, Jongin had to reluctantly open the window in the quill of darkness.
He lit a lone candle and set it on the holder, illuminating the space. Walking up to the window, and sliding the glass open, he peeked his head out to see whether the whole neighbourhood shared the same fate in this abrupt blackout, and yes, they did. The air came through in a gush, and the candle he had lit just seconds ago went off. Left again in pitch blackness, Jongin sighed, sitting on the window seat; he closed his eyes as there was not much to see, letting the air take away the heat, one time in a gentle sway and another in a powerful wave.
He started to doze off in that uncomfortable yet tranquil feeling. Tiredness catching up to his features, as a click of a lock broke his reverie. Another candle, blurring around the glass across his, came into view, and Jongin unconsciously sat up straight. The other window opened, and he looked down, suddenly feeling awkward. A beat passed, the sound of wind hollering too loud in the stillness of the two presences, when—
“Hello.” A deep voice came from the other window.
“Ah, hello,” Jongin muttered, finally looking in the direction of his neighbour.
In the lightless neighbourhood, his face illuminated by the sole flickering yellowish-orange light. The big eyes, shining, reflecting. It was hard to tell from whom did the luminescence came, and Jongin found himself riveted by his gaze.
“Are you new here?” He asked, curious.
“Um, yeah, I just moved in two weeks ago,” Jongin chuckled, stiff and awkward, voice almost cracking from the lack of verbalising. He really wasn’t good at small talk, but he didn't want the conversation to end just yet. “Uh, do the blackouts occur often?”
“Uh-huh, more or less.” He answered, “I’m Kyungsoo.”
“Jongin.”
That was the first time Jongin talked to Kyungsoo, and as days passed, little by little, the window started staying open more than closed. A quick greeting when they would meet in the morning, a glance across, going in and out of the house.
Sometimes they’d talk longer, chats extending past midnight, when Jongin had a book in his hands, head rested along the window frame as Kyungsoo would curiously listen about the fictions and fantasies Jongin had been reading. Or when he would catch a waft of some delicious-smelling food and rush to the window to ask for the recipe from him, only to never make it. Sometimes they would just sit there, not talking, Jongin requesting Kyungsoo to sing a song, his voice settling over his anxiety, like a honeyed veil.
He would catch Kyungsoo’s gaze when he practised his routines, too immersed in the music and failing to notice when the shorter man joined as a spectator. Compliments leaving his mouth, and claps resonating through the air, leaving Jongin blushing, as the temperature in the room would rise from his cheeks up to his ears.
A year passed by in a flash. It seemed like Kyungsoo had become a part of his life, in times of grief, joy, anger and hurt, the times they would talk, piling into the happy memories’ corner inside Jongin’s brain.
They’d talked about everything, but somehow the little details of their mundane everyday life would pass the conversations.
So when Jongin got to know that Kyungsoo owned a restaurant, it had left him in awe; he was aware that Kyungsoo was a chef, the man once brought it up in between conversations—and even if he didn’t that is what Jongin would have guessed based on Kyungsoo’s skill in the kitchen, but it never crossed his mind that the shorter man might be the owner of a successful chain of restaurants—three in total.
Although he had never visited his restaurant, their schedules rarely aligning, with Jongin waking up late in the afternoon till the time Kyungsoo had already reached work. But one day, when they did see each other through their misaligned routines in the parking lot, Kyungsoo took the opportunity to invite Jongin over to his restaurant.
He was returning home after a long night of practice, limbs tired and aching, when he saw Kyungsoo seemingly heading to work.
He jogged towards the taller man, smiling, and Jongin forgot how to blink or breathe. It still made him somewhat flustered when they met each other like this.
“Are you just coming home?” He asked; his voice in such proximity did wonders to Jongin’s sleep-deprived consciousness.
“Uh, yeah, practice ran late.” He said, rubbing his neck, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Wait, you didn’t eat anything for dinner then?”
“Oh, I had a protein bar.”
“That’s not real food,” Kyungsoo said, furrowing his eyebrows. “You know what, come to my restaurant, I’ll make you something.”
Jongin had tried to refuse, saying he probably smells like sweat and it would be a bother, but Kyungsoo was adamant about making him agree, even waiting for him in the same spot until Jongin came back after showering.
And there he was sitting at the empty table, decorated with side dishes as Kyungsoo disappeared into the kitchen. Jongin picked the radish kimchi with his chopsticks as he looked around the small restaurant.
Despite it not being rush hour, the restaurant quickly started filling up soon after its opening. He could tell the crowd loved the food here, and some might also love the handsome chef here, and they wouldn’t be wrong.
Kyungsoo came back with his food, putting a pause on his train of thought. All eyes on the chef heading towards his table. He placed a bowl of bibim guksu in front of him, along with kimchi mandu, and sat on the opposite side waiting for Jongin to taste. Jongin picked up the chopsticks, swirling it in and around the bowl.
“Are you going to stare at me like that?” Jongin asked, averting his gaze, feeling shy under the unwavering pressure of the two eyes.
“Well, I want to see what you think, after all you’re my special guest.”
Jongin took a bite amidst his fluttering heartbeat, eyes widening immediately at the taste. “Oh my god, this is delicious!”
“I am glad,” Kyungsoo chuckled, smiling at him. “So, why were you at the studio this late, oh try the mandu too it’s our speciality.”
Jongin picked up the little dumpling at Kyungsoo’s request, “Our team is practising for the national league championship, so I have to pay extra attention to them, it’s already so taxing for the team, plus there’s only a month left, so I’m really nervous. That’s why I stayed the extra hours.”
“There’s still a month left Jongin, think of it as thirty days, or better yet as seven hundred twenty hours, or–
“I get it,” Jongin said, chuckling.
“All I’m trying to say is no need to be nervous, I’m sure they’ll do great with you as their teacher.”
“Ah well, they probably are sick of it, calling me a drill sergeant and whatnot. Sehun even went ahead and got it printed on a T-shirt.”
They both laughed at the comment, Jongin feeling less nervous about the competition as their conversation progressed. Although it had been only a year since they both got to know each other but for Jongin, it felt like he had known Kyungsoo forever, how easy it was for him to open up to the raven-haired man, how comfortable it was to sit in his company even if they didn’t say anything.
Kyungsoo left to attend to the kitchen once again, not after some pestering from another taller chef who introduced himself as Chanyeol. “Ah Jongin, I’ve heard a lot about you from Kyungsoo, he’s always–” so he had started, but Kyungsoo dragged him away, leaving Jongin smiling at the aftermath of their conversation, and a promise of meeting again.
—•—
Kyungsoo’s been living in his rundown apartment for quite some time. The grey walls, painting his spaces, a permanent scenery, and the blackouts a pain in this heat. He didn’t mind the minimalism, though, fond of the small but adequate space, enough ventilation from the window in the living room and enough square feet to make it a comfortable home; plus, it was easier to clean. The only thing that bothered him was the lack of kitchen space, since he spent more time in the kitchen than in any other room.
At times, he thought about moving out, his friends and parents encouraging the idea, always telling him how shabby his place looked, that they could never come visit. Maybe, he thought he could look for a home in a posher area with a much bigger kitchen—because really, it was kind of a deal breaker for the chef, but then his restaurant was close to his place, saving him the trouble of travelling. The neighbourhood was quiet, and the neighbours were kind and gentle, especially the one living across his window. The one who made leaving this space a difficult task.
At first, Kyungsoo had seen someone move to the apartment across from his. The lights indicated a presence as a silhouette moved inside the place, but the windows always remained shut, so he was a bit sceptical about his unseen neighbour. The first time they talked, in the dark, he couldn’t make out much of his neighbour's face, but the way moonlight shone on his features mesmerised Kyungsoo, and he couldn’t help but initiate a conversation with the shy man.
And after that first impression, Kyungsoo found himself reeled into Jongin’s space. Even though Jongin seemed shy, the more he got to know the tan-skinned man, the more he realised that Jongin was actually very talkative and bubbly. The moments when the two of them sat on the window seat talking about their day started becoming a common occurrence. Jongin talking about his new books, asking him for recipes, and the one occasion where he heard Kyungsoo sing and requested that he sing for him, which Kyungsoo had shyly obliged. It had become an unconscious routine to sit alongside the window, hear Jongin talk.
And when he wouldn’t hear from Jongin, his heart would long to listen to that weird laughter. It had happened abruptly one day; the lights in his apartment didn’t turn on. He waited by the window, and every day his turmoil worsened. Still, he stood near his window; it had only been a couple of days, but to him it felt like eternity. Kyungsoo was about to leave, disappointment weighing on his chest yet again, when the lights turned on, and the click broke through his thoughts.
“Jong–
He had started, but when his gaze fell on Jongin’s swollen eyes, glistening with unshed tears, he stopped, a thousand horrifying scenarios clouding his mind, and every second that passed in silence was equally dreading for Kyungsoo. Jongin sat down like he always did, head drooping over the window frame, but it felt heavy, unbelievingly so. Kyungsoo also sat down without saying a single word. A beat passed, a sniffle echoed, then Jongin broke the silence.
“My grandma, she–” his voice cracked, and Kyungsoo understood. “I am so sorry,” he said, a whispered statement. Jongin had told him about his grandma, his only family, admitted to a nearby hospital; that was the reason why Jongin moved here to be closer to her. The way Jongin talked about her never failed to show how much he loved his grandmother.
Every time he came home after visiting her, he would tell Kyungsoo how the treatments were going well, and she’ll be happy and healthy in no time.
He heard a silent sniffle, his own vision blurring as tears started to form. He wished he could reach out to Jongin right now, hold him in his arms, and soothe his pain. That day, they didn’t talk, but the silence that filled the space remained a small offering from Kyungsoo that I’ll be here, I’ll always be here, with you, beside you.
The next day, Kyungsoo didn’t leave for work instead, he stood in front of the familiar yet unknown apartment with containers of food. He knew Jongin wouldn’t eat easily, but he’d be there to try and make him.
Jongin opened the door, his hair dishevelled and clothes unchanged. Eyes and face swollen alike, and Kyungsoo’s heart broke again at the sight. He let Kyungsoo inside without saying a word, his apartment completely different from his. Vibrant and colourful, just like Jongin. He set the containers on the counter, a sniffling sound grabbing his attention.
Kyungsoo turned around to see Jongin holding back tears. Before he could comprehend his actions, Kyungsoo embraced the boy, trembling in his arms, “You can cry, Jongin, don’t hold back your tears,” he whispered as Jongin hugged him back and cried on his shoulder.
Kyungsoo wasn’t a talker, and comforting someone was never his forte, but that day he stayed there true to his unspoken promise, as long as Jongin wanted. He stood there in his apartment, letting Jongin know that he’ll lend his shoulder for him to cry upon as long as he would like him, he’ll run circles on his back to soothe even a fraction of the pain, as long as Jongin would allow, and as long as Jongin would, he’ll stay by his side.
Every day passed with new emotions, time morphing into seasons, and seasons into years. But they both remained each other's comfort. Jongin frequently visited Kyungsoo’s restaurant, and Kyungsoo made him new dishes to try. They still talked through the window when life got a little too busy.
Sometimes they’ll watch movies in Jongin’s apartment, sometimes he’d stay the night on the whining boy’s demand.
Right now, however, he was busy tidying every corner of his home, an array of meals prepared and garnished, because today was the first time Jongin would visit his apartment, and on top of that, it was a special occasion.
The tanned dancer had left for the national championship; it had been three days. Today he’ll be back, but Kyungsoo didn’t know what to expect of the results. These past three days, he couldn’t contact Jongin—something about the rules—so right now, sitting on his sofa, tapping his foot on the wooden flooring, he contemplated whether he should wait for Jongin or swing by his apartment himself.
Kyungsoo stood up, the bell to his apartment rang. The wooden floor creaked as he hastily made it to the door, praying for it to be the guy he was waiting for the whole evening, and there he stood on the other side, void of any expressions, and Kyungsoo was getting anxious as moments passed.
“Jongin-ah–
Kyungsoo stumbled backwards as he caught himself in the middle of a hug attack by the younger man.
“We won, hyung!” He squealed, jumping up excitedly. Kyungsoo took a moment to steady himself from the onslaught of happiness and hugged Jongin back.
A moment passed in their celebration, then Kyungsoo parted from Jongin’s embrace fingers nimbly settling over Jongin’s waist.
“Okay, now tell me, did you eat something?” He asked.
“No, but they did make me drink one celebratory beer.” Jongin giggled.
“Oh, so you are drunk?”
“What no, one beer cannot possibly make me tipsy hyung, plus it wasn’t even a full can, because I told them I had to leave and then they all teased me, saying yeah yeah go back to your boyf–” Jongin stopped mid-sentence, eyes displaying the fact that his mind had caught on to his honest mistake.
Kyungsoo raised his eyebrows, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Go where?”
“N-Nowhere now can we eat, I’m actually starving?”
“Sure, I made my speciality.”
Kyungsoo set the plate in front of the taller man, his special recipe of kimchi spaghetti presented neatly, evidence of Kyungsoo’s experience as a chef. Jongin thanked him as he set a plate for himself as well. Clink of glasses and cutlery placed on either side, echoed throughout the room.
He finished setting up the table. Jongin eagerly waiting to taste the food with a childlike enthusiasm. Just when he dragged his chair out, finally joining Jongin in their little dinner date, the lights went out, and the statement about frequent blackouts proved itself right.
Suddenly, the space seemed quiet, absent of the whirring air conditioner and their celebration just minutes ago. Kyungsoo rummaged around in the dark, his place familiar enough to navigate without a light. He joined Jongin again, a candle and light in hand. He set the holder in the middle, placing the candle on top. A flick of the matchstick against phosphorus and onto the wick, enough to light up the two presences.
Kyungsoo blew out the match, his focus regaining on the man sitting in front of him. And surely the orange light did wonders colouring his honey skin, his hazel eyes in tones of warmth, and Kyungsoo found himself unable and unwilling to look away.
“Wow, a candlelight dinner, how romantic hyung,” Jongin said, in a lilt his voice took every time he teased Kyungsoo.
“What can I say, I am a very romantic person.” Kyungsoo teased back, leaning closer to Jongin, voice low enough to evoke an underlying meaning, and he could see its effect as Jongin’s cheeks coloured red.
Epilogue
The wind ran clear that morning, carrying with it the smell of a dozen flowers surrounding the gravesite.
With a single flower of yellow and white chrysanthemum in both of their hands, they placed it on the tombstone, bowing deeply.
Jongin’s fingers grazed the carving, Kim Ji-hwa.
He stood up straight, eyes glassy from the overwhelming weight of emotions. A hand, firm and gentle, slipped into his own, encircling around his fingers, giving the addled mind a way of peace.
“I wish I got to meet her and tell her she did a wonderful job in raising a beautiful gentleman,” Kyungsoo said.
Jongin blinked his eyes free of the moisture “I wish she could meet this beautiful gentleman as well,” head turning to meet Kyungsoo’s eyes, “She would have loved your squishy cheeks.” And he poked Kyungsoo’s cheeks to emphasise the statement. “Because she truly wanted to meet you.”
“Wait, she knew about me?” Kyungsoo questioned, surprised, his eyes turning wider in bewilderment.
“Yeah,” Jongin chuckled, moving ahead as Kyungsoo followed, looking for a proper answer, “Jongin–ah, wait.”
They settled at a nearby bench, the sun nestled onto the clouds, its colours leaking through the sky, rays painting along the canvas in warm brush strokes.
Jongin heaved a deep sigh. “Whenever I visited my grandma, I talked about you, about my day,” Jongin started, “She said, I look happier these days, and that she’d like to meet you.” His gaze met Kyungsoo, who was already looking at Jongin, smiling sweetly, and his heart stuttered.
“T-the sun looks so pretty,” Jongin said, averting his eyes.
“Yeah,”
Jongin glanced through the corner of his eyes, Kyungsoo gaze still fixed at him “You are not even looking at the view,” he pouted, now fully looking at the shorter man.
“I am, you are the best view for me.”
“Yeah, and how is it? The view.”
“Very pretty.”
“Well, my view is stunning as well.”
Jongin bit his lips to hold the smile from showing on his face, but in the end, both of them ended up smiling ear to ear at the cheesy compliments.
—•—