The Red Queen Theory

[dmtn]

EXO
Joonmyun/Jongin 
PG-13
9K
Inspired by The Script's "For The First Time."
Domestic AU in which they try.

All he can think about is how heavy his eyes feel. He doesn’t know if it’s the cheaper brand of contacts he had to buy last week or if it’s because he hasn’t slept more than four hours a night, but it takes four tries for his key to fit into the lock. When he finally gets it in right, it makes a loud zipping sound. It’s comforting. He’s home. He’s finally home. He pushes open the front door, careful not to stumble over his own feet, and is immediately cloaked in darkness.

It’s not the first time and it hurts his heart to think it won’t be the last but coming home to darkness isn’t high on his list of most liked things. Other things topping the list are missing his 7:09 AM bus, finding a rip in the seam of his favorite pants, and tripping over Jongin’s oversized running shoes in the middle of the night.

He flicks the light on. No bright red running shoes.

The walk from the front door to his bed is a long one. His shoulders ache from hours of lifting and sorting boxes in the basement of the store. He had dropped a heavy one on his big toe and he can feel it starting to throb again as he shuffles to bed. Joonmyun’s contacts are taken out with dirty, city-stained hands, and he’s too tired for adequate eye care.

I should be more careful with them, he thinks as he stands in the bathroom. They’re expensive. The light is too bright. His eyes won’t open all the way. It’s too late to count the ways his face is falling apart (droopy eyes, chapped lips, limp cheeks -- he counts and wishes he hadn’t) and he doesn’t even want to look up at his hair.

Brushing his teeth takes longer than it should have and when he notices he’s falling asleep with his toothbrush still between his lips, he rinses his mouth, turns off the light, and goes to bed. His mouth is wet and beads of water trail down his neck, wetting the front of his gray work shirt. He tugs everything off and slides into bed completely naked, and he tries to imagine himself as a fish, all slick scales and streamline body, jumping back into the ocean after being on land all day.

He closes his eyes. He’s a fish and he’s swimming away. There are no bills to pay, no bosses to please. No aching muscles, no burning eyes, no bright red running shoes.

He’s a fish and he isn’t bothered by the emptiness of his bed, or by the strange memories of warmth, of touch, of being young and laughing and thinking everything was always going to be okay.

Joonmyun hears his nineteen year old self - “We’ll be okay, I know we will” - and he swims away faster. Sleep should come claim him now. He’s in bed, he’s warm. All the work of the day is done. He has a roof over his head, some food in the kitchen, and he’s exhausted. He doesn’t want to be awake anymore. His entire body is crying out for sleep, his mind is tearing itself apart for some rest or it’ll continue down a path it only walks down in the middle of night. Before sleep. When he’s at his most vulnerable and open, gutted open, to the influences of the darkness.

The apartment is dark and quiet. Mrs. Kim next door isn’t shouting at her children and her baby isn’t crying. The teenage sisters downstairs aren’t play loud pop music and jumping so hard it feels like the entire building will collapse. His bed doesn’t creak and moan with the weight of a restless body. He can’t hear any breathing, he can’t feel any heat other than his own.

In the morning, he doesn’t remember falling asleep. He wakes up on the wrong side of the bed, holding his own pillow to his chest, and as light streams in through the dull blinds, Joonmyun finally looks out on his empty bed. He doesn’t remember it ever being this big.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s almost time for work again.

A quick look through the fridge tells Joonmyun he seriously needs to do the groceries or they’re going to starve in the next week. He grabs a can of quickly expiring soup and opts to make the best of this situation by adding chunks of the carrots Jongin picked out but never ate.

They’re a sad orange now, no longer as bright and appetizing as they had been when Jongin threw them into the grocery cart last month. Joonmyun carefully peels around the rotten bits and almost cuts into his index finger when his hand slips on the carrot. His eyes still won’t open all the way, held together by the glue of fatigue, and he had thrown out his contacts (and he swears he saw won notes following the contacts into the trash). His glasses are old and too big and they’re going to make work a pain, but Joonmyun’s terrible vision can’t afford to make a comeback.

“You wear glasses?” Jongin had smiled, gesturing to Joonmyun’s face. “They’re cute. Why don’t you wear them more often?”

Joonmyun. Seventeen. Quiet and slow to respond. Partially blinded by the glow of Jongin’s smile and the way his eyes curved and how close he stood to Joonmyun and how much taller he was and how he smelled and-- “I don’t like them,” is all he had said and turned around to go to class, ignoring whatever else Kim Jongin could have told him. Joonmyun’s stomach hurt so much he ducked into the bathroom and hovered over a toilet, waiting for stomach acid or partially digested cereal or

butterflies.

Joonmyun cuts himself.

“Fuck.” It’s what he gets for letting his mind wander when he has a knife in his hand. Blood wells out of the cut on his index finger, bright red (like Jongin’s running shoes) and everything has to come back to Jongin. Of course it does. Everything.

He’s dropped the knife into the sink and is running his finger under water when a key makes a “zip” sound in the lock of the front door, fitting right into place, coming home, and the door opens.

Beyond all sense, Joonmyun’s stomach heaves and explodes in tiny rushes of nerves, colliding butterflies, tightening muscles. Under the hood of his sweatshirt, Jongin looks like he’s been up all night, with wild, oily hair in his eyes and sunken cheeks. A stubborn stubble darkens his chin and there’s a certain defeated slant to his shoulders Joonmyun is only used to seeing in himself and not in Jongin. It looks wrong, somehow.

“Are you hungry?” Good morning. Where have you been? Are you hurt? How’s your back? I missed you. Joonmyun’s finger is starting to sting again. He wants to reach for some paper towels to wrap it in but he doesn’t want to turn away from Jongin.

Jongin slowly shakes his head. He doesn’t ask Joonmyun why he’s holding his hand like that or what’s the deal with the return of his glasses. Jongin doesn’t seem to notice anything around him as he tugs off his sweatshirt (Joonmyun’s vision is momentarily filled with skin and hair and a sudden craving for a warmth he’s too tired to ask for). He silently walks to their bedroom and closes the door behind him, and that’s the first and last time Joonmyun will see Jongin today.

Fish-on-land Joonmyun is suffocated by the silence and swallows down any desire to bother Jongin or interrupt his much needed sleep. The last time Joonmyun had wanted to “talk,” Jongin had sucked his teeth and muttered something along the lines of “can you leave me alone already” and Joonmyun had retreated to the living room, a strange, unsettled feeling in his chest.

Old Jongin would have been different. Old Jongin would have swept into the room and barreled Joonmyun over in his haste to have him close. Old Jongin would have wanted some of Joonmyun’s soup and would have teased him for his glasses and would have pulled Joonmyun to him by the hem of his shirt and kissed him against the fridge because he liked movie cliches like that.

Old nineteen year old Jongin would have chastised Joonmyun over his finger and said something like, “You were thinking of me, right?” while loudly kissing his cheek and Joonmyun would have sworn his fins had grown wings.

Jongin hasn’t been nineteen in eight years. Eight years is a long time. Entire countries have fallen in eight years, it’s not too hard to believe a person can change.

On Joonmyun’s way out, he notices Jongin’s sweatshirt left on the floor. Like much of Jongin’s wardrobe, it’s colorful and is a striking blue with a cartoon ape on the front. It looks like something Jongin would have worn in college and tried to get Joonmyun to try on because Joonmyun needed to “get out of those church clothes.”

He contemplates wearing it to work and passing through the day feeling small and warm in Jongin’s pseudo-embrace, but he can’t bring himself to put it on. He feels like he doesn’t have the right to wear it.

 

 

 

 

 

Mr. Park throws him a plastic apron when he walks in. “You’re working the meat section today, Kim,” he says from behind the register.

“Yes, sir,” Joonmyun half bows and pulls the largest hole of the apron over his head. It’s barely six o’clock in the morning and Park’s Fresh Foods isn’t open yet, but Mr. Park is strict on punctuality.

Today, Joonmyun is scheduled to work until well in the afternoon and then he has to quickly change his clothes and run across town to a local community college. Grocer by day, chemistry teacher by night. It’s not a glamorous life. He isn’t invited to conferences and his name isn’t in any published journals.

Ever since he had been sixteen years old, Joonmyun had dreamed of becoming a teacher. No, not a teacher, a university professor. Kind of like a teacher but more experienced, more published, held in higher esteemed.

During his undergrad years, he worked toward the eventual goal of a doctorate in chemistry and worked part time at his old organic chemistry professor’s lab on campus. It’s there that he understood what a real professor’s life was like: busy. Busy telling teaching assistants to do this or writing grants in order to do that. Busy compiling lectures and speaking eloquently with other professors in your field and always doing research, always wearing a lab coat, knowing the exact moment this element turns into this one and how to speed up this reaction and when to add this enzyme.

His organic chemistry professor’s life revolved around his work in the lab and though he repeatedly told Joonmyun, “If this is what you want to do, Kim, you better be sure you’re willing to spend the rest of your life running in place. That’s the only way you are ever going to get anywhere.” Joonmyun had been sure. It had been what he had wanted.

He loved retrieving his professor’s mail from the campus mailroom and peeking through the latest scientific journals, trying in vain to memorize all of the graphs and charts. Every time he stepped into his lab coat and worked with the other students in his professor’s lab, he felt a little closer, a little more empowered. He could do this and then, after attaining significant experience, he could inspire others to follow in his footsteps. He could go on to teach his future students how to love chemistry as much as he did.

As much as he did. Does? He doesn’t know anymore.

Now he avoids the science sections of newspapers and silently tunes out his mother when she asks him how his career is doing.

“You have degrees!” she always says, as if he forgets. “Why are you working in a community college?” Her sneer distorts her words. Snobbery, that’s what it is. The Kims can’t believe their only son has sunk so low. A community college? What will the neighbors think?

“Leave it alone, mother.” She has never understood some schools aren’t hiring. She’s never trusted him (at least not since...) and she wants to put her foot in everything, making him feel like he’s twelve again and she’s threatening to call the principal because some older boy pushed him into a mud pit.

The community college job had meant to be temporary. Joonmyun had wanted to go back to school, to finally start to chase his elusive doctorate again, but life doesn’t care about degrees. Life, all pretty and fragile, cares more for character than fancy pre-signed soon-to-be-laminated papers.

The accident, the bills. Money, money, money. Life revolves around money. If you don’t have the money, you can’t do what you want. Joonmyun had been too frightened, no, too ashamed, no, too cowardly to ask his parents for help. He promised to take care of the expenses on his own and that meant reaching deep into his savings; that meant not going back to school to accumulate more loans he wasn’t sure how he would ever pay off.

And it’s fine. It’s alright. To be painless is priceless. To be together, to be healthy - that’s worth more than any fancy degree, than Joonmyun’s face in journals, in co-authored books.

 

 

 

 

 

He’s still teaching. He stills goes to the school a few evenings a week and slowly goes through the textbook, remembering the problems his chemistry tutees used to have in school. Most of his students are older than him and, from the few that have come to his small office hours, have led lives that pushed them away from their studies, but now they’re back again. Joonmyun can go back too, someday. It’s not the end of the line for him. These hard times are only giant pit stop on the off beaten path of his life goals. He’s stumbling now-

But he’s been stumbling for months. He doesn’t know how he has the energy to lift this knife and cut into his chicken breast and smile at the middle schooler who comes in every Friday with a request from her mother. He used to sneak a few extra candies into the grocery bags of elementary schoolers, always a sucker for their cute, round faces, but now he’s even too tired for that.

He still smiles, because he thinks he’ll be fired if he doesn’t, and he remembers the only reason he has this job now is because Mr. Park’s brother had been in his class for a few months before he couldn’t afford to make his payments.

When lunchtime rolls around and he’s given his fifteen minute break, he takes off his apron, pulls on his jacket, and wanders into the stationary store next door. Plush toys of various sizes cover the walls, along with colorful pens, notepads, and a few glittery trinkets. He passes by a large pink monkey with motion detects in its eyes and it whistles after him, calling him a “babe.”

The young woman behind the register looks over and, upon seeing it’s only him, nods and goes back to listening to the afternoon lottery numbers, a red pen between her teeth. Joonmyun’s stomach growls and tears at the inside of his body cavity but Joonmyun must go through with his little weekly ritual. He thinks it might be one of the few things keeping him afloat.

The greeting cards section, an entire wall stacked with cards for various occasions, is the highlight of the stationary store. Here Joonmyun has read the funniest, saddest, most well meaning cards he ever thought could exist and here is where he spends his lunch time every Saturday. Joonmyun’s favorite cards are explosion of bright colors and adorable drawings - most of which star a pair of pink and green dogs that sit atop their very own stationary empire. He opens the cards and they titter at him, speaking words of comfort in high pitched, animated voices.

“Keep going!” “I believe in you, pal. I mean, look at you. I know you can do it!” “Don’t ever give up, okay? Do you hear me all the way up there? Don’t give up!” “If you think it, you can do it! And if anyone tells you any different, punch them in the face!”

His stomach may not get fed during lunchtime on Saturdays, but something else does. It’s enough.

 

 

 

 

 

The rain starts a little after four o’clock. A couple of passersby duck under the overhang of the storefront and Joonmyun watches them from inside. Some have briefcases, others are tugging fidgety children under their arms.

Joonmyun is finishing up a takeout order for cutlets when Mr. Park comes in from the back, face grim. He stops in front of the meat display and lays his hand on the glass.

“Kim Joonmyun,” he says and then sighs. “There’s....there is honestly no easy way to say this...”

Thunder rumbles so hard it feels like Joonmyun’s entire world is trembling. “Yes?” He tries to remember the cards and their happy faces, or the glow in him after he reads them and he believes that things will get better, that it can’t rain forever-

“I’m closing down the shop. I...” Mr. Park looks away, his hand dropping from the glass. “I can’t afford to keep this place up anymore. Business is slow. It’s such a...a rough time for everyone and I really don’t want to do this to you but...”

Joonmyun feels a raindrop plop onto his head. “When?”

“Two weeks.” Mr. Park sighs again. “I’m sorry, Joonmyun, but there’s nothing I can do anymore. I’ve run out of options and the easier thing, the cheapest thing, to do is to let it all go. I’ve serve this community faithfully for the last twenty years...”

Joonmyun is sure Mr. Park is still talking. He’s more than sure because he can see Mr. Park’s lips still moving, but he can’t hear him. He’s lost a job, and it’s only one, but now he has to find another one and God knows how long that will take. The rent is due soon and if he and Jongin can’t scrape together enough money, they’re going to be tossed out on their asses and then where are they going to go? Back to their parents?

No. No, Joonmyun had said they would be fine, that they would work this out. Money isn’t important as long as they have each other, but they won’t have each other if they don’t have money. They won’t. They probably don’t even have each other now and that’s because of money, because of the money they don’t have, because-

“Excuse me,” Joonmyun squeaks out, tugging his apron off. He thinks he hears Mr. Park asking him what’s wrong, his voice coming in through the fog of noise clouding Joonmyun’s mind, but he ducks the questioning and rushes to the tiny restroom.

No matter how hard he breathes, air doesn’t reach his lungs. Sweat breaks out, hard and oppressive, on his forehead and he throws his head under the sink, turning it on full blast. His big gray sweater is too hot but he’s also too cold and he feels like he’s going to cry but he doesn’t want to scream and scare Mr. Park.

They’re going to be evicted and Jongin’s going to hate him. Jongin’s going to hate him even more than he hates him now and they’re never going to be them again, they’re never going to go on stupid dates and not have to worry about how much the check will amount to.

Why don’t his parents just disown him already if he’s such a worthless immoral piece of shit who can’t even afford to have cable? He’s a disgrace to his own family.

God, why does Jongin even stick around? Why hasn’t he left yet? He can do so much better, his heart is so big and tiny Joonmyun doesn’t deserve all of it to himself, he doesn’t deserve anything.

Water gushes up his nose and he coughs, pulling himself away from the sink. The front of his sweatshirt is wet and now he smells even more like rotting meat, but at least he’s not crying. The water on his face is too cold to be tears. It feels exactly like the rain he had been watching.

“Kim Joonmyun?” There’s a knock on the restroom door. “Are you alright? Do you need any help? You looked a little green out there.”

“No, I’m-” His voice breaks. Joonmyun presses his hand to his still wet neck, as if hoping to keep his voice together. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I’m alright.”

He’s not alright. He’s not. But he’s expected to be. The world will throw shit at you but you’re supposed to stand tall against it, strong in the face of adversity. Joonmyun’s supposed to be more courageous than this. His parents didn’t teach him to deflect trouble by hiding out in restrooms. Whether he stays in here for the next five minutes or five hours, life will go on.

It will never stop for him.

 

 

 

 

 

Fourteen days, even when broken down into seconds, isn’t a long time. On Joonmyun’s final night, when most of the store has been cleared, Mr. Park pulls out two boxes of wine.

“I know it’s not much,” he says, voice low. Mr. Park had never been such a quiet man before and Joonmyun wants to tell him things will get better for all of them, because that’s what’s expected of him, but he can’t. He doesn’t believe. He doesn’t want the wine, but he takes it. Mr. Park said he’ll get his last check soon and he’s recommended Joonmyun to an old friend who owns a family restaurant across town. “There’s no guarantee he’ll hire you,” Mr. Park pats Joonmyun’s shoulder. “But I put in a good word for you. Take care of yourself, okay, Joonmyun? You know you’re welcomed in my home.”

Mr. Park is a kind soul. He can be short tempered and nothing inflames him more than “that stupid fascist prick” (the president), but he means well. Joonmyun doesn’t want to think about how he’s going to put his children through college. The last he heard of Mr. Park’s family, the youngest one had finally learned how to walk. He can’t imagine raising a child through all this.

As bizarre as it is to look back at the now empty store and imagine all the afternoons Joonmyun spent here, restocking the shelves or helping old grannies with their shopping list, Joonmyun can’t wait to leave it. These two weeks have felt as if he had been stalling his unemployment and it annoyed him, making it even harder to sleep.

Before he leaves with the two boxes of wine in ‘thank you for shopping with us’ bags, he bows. “Thank you for everything, Mr. Park. It was a pleasure to work with you.”

Empty words. Joonmyun feels the weight of the wine with every step he takes back to their apartment. He bumps into Mrs. Kim and her son Minkyung in the lobby.

Minkyung waves when he sees him, chubby arm in the air. “Hi!”

Joonmyun smiles. It hurts. “Hello Minkyungie. I hope you have a nice day.” He used to babysit Minkyung years ago for a couple of extra won. That had been before the rent had gone up and Joonmyun needed to find another “real” job to keep up.

“It’s nice to see you, Joonmyun,” says Mrs. Kim. Her face is plump and her son looks well fed. Joonmyun wonders if she’s ever had two jobs. Probably not.

“It’s nice to see you too,” he lies. There’s a gold watch on her wrist. Her shoes shine so brightly he can almost see his face in them. Man, he had forgotten how the other people in this building live. He can’t run up the stairs fast enough.

 

 

 

 

 

Signing off on this apartment had been one of the most best moments of Joonmyun’s life. That had been before the accident, when Joonmyun’s parents still helped to support him, and coming home to a large, spacious apartment had felt a little like “I’ve made it!” Pressing Jongin to every wall, holding his hips and sucking him in the pearl white bathroom, in the middle of their gigantic bed had felt like “Yes! I told you!”

Now opening the door, setting the wine on the coffee table, and sitting, almost sinking, on the couch feels like “fuck.” Fuck, they can’t afford this anymore. Fuck, they’re going to have to move out soon if Joonmyun doesn’t get a higher paying job. Also, what the fuck does Jongin do all day? Joonmyun knows he used to work, among other things, before the accident, and they haven’t really talked about it much since then, but where does he always go? Doesn’t he know he should take it easy because of his back?

It’s been years but Joonmyun can’t forget the night he stormed into the closest hospital and found Jongin resting in a bed. Even in school, he had always been plagued by back problems, but then a routine dance move had turned into Jongin unable to move.

The doctors had been waiting for Joonmyun to decide on what to do. Jongin’s insurance wouldn’t pay for the surgery he needed, only for the painkillers, and it hadn’t taken long for Joonmyun to decide he would pay for it himself.

The sight of Jongin lying in a hospital bed, forehead creased even in medicated sleep, is what Joonmyun sees when he slowly pays the medical bill. In a choice between money or Jongin’s wellbeing, the answer is obvious.

After tossing off his wet gray sweatshirt, Joonmyun picks his head up and listens to the apartment. Jongin’s not home. He hadn’t seen his red shoes at the entrance either. It’s a little past six and Joonmyun should get started on whatever dinner they’re going to eat.

Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen Jongin eat in a few weeks now. They haven’t been home at the same time in a while.

Joonmyun thinks it’s his fault that they’re like this. When Jongin is home, Joonmyun is obsessed with his lesson plans or grading tests or trying not to fall asleep in the bathtub and flood them to hell. Romantic relationships don’t depend entirely on sex or kisses, but when was the last time Joonmyun had reached over to Jongin and pulled him in for a kiss, even a little one?

Suddenly the wine is a lot more appealing than it should be. He’s on his second plastic cup of cheap pink wine when Jongin comes home, dressed in his blue sweater. “What’s the occasion?” And it’s the most he’s said to Joonmyun in a few days.

“I’m unemployed. We might have to give up the apartment.” Joonmyun toasts himself and then chugs it down. The alcohol is bitter and stings the inside of his mouth but it’s better than the alternative. If he didn’t cry when shit start going downhill, he’s not going to cry now that they’re in rock bottom.

Jongin freezes all over, halfway through pulling off his red running shoes. “What?”

He looks like he’s freezing in his hood. He should come over here and let Joonmyun warm him up.

Drinking is a terrible idea. Joonmyun doesn’t stop. He hates himself a little more.

“I don’t really want to move,” says Joonmyun slowly. “I love this place.” It still feels like “I’ve made it!” but it’s time for a choice: either they keep the apartment and continue to live like shit and never see each other or they give it up and try to start somewhere else. “But I don’t really think we can afford it anymore. It was fun while it lasted.”

God, they had been so excited to move in here. They finally had a place for themselves. The first year or so had been bliss. Waking up to see Jongin, half naked, cooking breakfast and watching a smile grow on his face as he looked over to sleepy Joonmyun. It had been more than the feeling of watching Jongin pick up his boxers after spending the night in Joonmyun’s dorm room. It had felt a little more official, more real, more grown up.

Jongin crosses the room and takes Joonmyun’s cup from his hand. Joonmyun thinks he’s going to tell him to stop drinking but Jongin refills the cup and takes large gulps himself. This is how they self medicate.

The couch sinks a little when Jongin throws himself down on it. He smells like gasoline and, for some reason, lemon cleaning product. They take turns sharing the cup and drink until Jongin has to tip the box forward for any wine to come out.

He starts to sag a little into Joonmyun, his head on Joonmyun’s shoulder, and Joonmyun delights in this little morsel of physical contact even though they once had sex every day (sometimes even more than once) for a month to see if they could.

“This fucking sucks,” says Jongin. His hand rests on Joonmyun’s right thigh.

“I know,” Joonmyun replies, letting his head drop on Jongin’s. It feels good to have him close. He hadn’t realized how much you can miss someone who sleeps in your bed.

Then Jongin picks his head up and turns his body to Joonmyun, giving him his full attention. “Listen...I’ve been thinking...”

Wine bubbles in Joonmyun’s stomach. He might need a little more to drink if Jongin is going to keep looking at him like that. “Yes?”

Jongin drops his eyes to his hands. “I think... I think you should go back to your parents and not... not do this anymore.”

Joonmyun is thrown back into his fog. He can’t hear, he can’t see. Jongin’s on the other side, waiting for him, speaking to him, but Joonmyun doesn’t understand. “What? What are you saying?” No. It can’t be what Joonmyun is thinking.

“I think you’ve noticed,” says Jongin. “We don’t really... we don’t have time for each other anymore. It’s been like this for a while now. We’re struggling, but you... you don’t have to struggle, right? You can go back to your parents-”

“And what about you?” What about us? “Where are you going to go? What about your hospital bills?”

A muscle jumps in Jongin’s jaw. “Forget about that. I don’t want you to worry about that anymore. I’ll take care of it. I should’ve never let you agree to pay for so much of it anyway-”

“Jongin-”

“No!” Jongin sits back. “No, listen to me. You don’t have to do this. You can forget about me and go back to them, okay? Tell them...” He pauses, licking his lips. “I don’t fucking know, tell them you had a sexuality crisis but you’re straight now. You don’t live with a man anymore, they’ll take you back, and you can go to school again. I can work on my own until I’ve made enough money to pay it off. Taemin said he’d let me sleep on his floor until I could get everything figured out.”

He has been thinking about this for a while. And, it’s funny and it’s sad, because Joonmyun hears him clearly now, but all he’s really understanding from all this is-

“If you wanted to break up with me, you could’ve just said it.” He needs another drink. He needs ten more drinks. Eight years. Eight years. They’ve known each other for almost ten, they’ve loved each other for eight. Eight. Eight birthdays and Eight Christmases and eight White Days sneaking little presents into each other’s pockets. Eight New Years that began with drinking until long past midnight and going to bed at six in the morning, sleepy, happy smiles on their faces. Eight.

He doesn’t expect Jongin to explode.

Jongin doesn’t really do loud anger. Usually the angrier he is, the quiet he becomes. He retreats inside himself, swallowing his words and letting his eyes speak for themselves and that’s how people know they’ve crossed the line. Jongin grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Is that all you’re thinking about? Have you seen yourself lately?” His voice cracks. His eyes well with tears. “You’re working yourself dry and it’s all of my fucking fault, okay? It’s my fault! And I’m sick of it. I’m trying and you’re trying and nothing’s really happening. It’s not you, Joonmyun. It’s me that’s the problem. It’s me and it’s this fucking life and it’s me thinking you hate me because I’m the reason we’re like like this, working and never seeing each other. If I had just stopped fucking dance when you told me to-”

“That was a mistake,” Joonmyun cuts in, wrapping his arms around Jongin’s shoulders. He doesn’t budge. “I was angry and I was lonely and I thought I was the only one working, I didn’t know-”

“No, no, you were right,” says Jongin. “I should’ve stopped. Then maybe I wouldn’t have needed surgery and we wouldn’t be drowning in fucking medical bills. Who the fuck grows up to be a dance major anyway, right? I shouldn’t have-”

“You love dancing,” and Joonmyun knows he still does. Jongin can’t not dance. That’s not the kind of person he is.

“Dancing doesn’t fucking pay the bills, Joonmyun!” He shakes Joonmyun a little. “It doesn’t. And it doesn’t make your life any easier. It doesn’t mean you have to work less. If anything, your life will be better without me. I’m just bringing you down.” He pauses again, chest heaving. His nails bite into Joonmyun’s shoulders. It hurts but Jongin is obviously hurting more. “You should... you should go. I think... this is the best thing for you.”

“No.” Joonmyun tugs again and this time Jongin lets himself fall, his grip still tight. “I’m not leaving. I’m not. I don’t want to go back to my parents. I don’t want to tell them I’m ‘straight’ or that I don’t live with a man. I do. I do live with a man and I love him, so when he was hurt, I helped take care of him. Money... money is...” The rent is due soon. Joonmyun still has to find another another job. “Money is our biggest problem and I don’t know how we’re going to get through this month, but if I have to choose between being tired and not having you, I would rather be tired.”

“It’s...it's not supposed to be this hard,” Jongin insists, dropping his forehead on Joonmyun’s shoulder.

Joonmyun wants to comfort him more but the words are jumbled and stuck, knotted like vines in the back of his throat.

“I hate this,” Jongin continues. “I hate never having you around.”

“It’s not fun,” says Joonmyun. “And some days I don’t want to get up because, what’s the point? We’ll always be a few dollars short.” It the end, it’s always money. Words of comfort aren’t forthcoming but the truth pours out of Joonmyun’s lips like the most beautiful bejeweled waterfall. His emotions have been damned for far too long. “I do want to go back to school one day, it’s true, but... but I want to be with you too. I know we don’t really talk about where this is going and some days it feels like... we’re losing each other, but I think about you every day.”

“I really can’t stop thinking about you,” said nineteen year old Jongin. “And I know we’re not exactly best friends. Fuck, I don’t even know if you like me like I like you or if I’m just making shit up or if I’m projecting my feelings onto you but you’re really...” He took a deep breath then. “You’re really... great and I’m not, I’m not just saying this because I want to fuck you or anything. I mean, I mean I...I kinda do...b-but that’s really, uh, that’s not the point! That’s not it. I mean, that’s not all. I just.” Another deep breath. He was a pink as the cotton candy in his hand. “I’m s-sorry if I’m not really making any sense or anything. And I’m really sorry if I’ve been reading you wrong and you don’t really like me like I like you but...can I... kiss you? Would that be... alright?”

Over the last few years, Joonmyun has fallen in love with Jongin in a variety of ways. Most of them are in the afterglow of sex or when he catches Jongin looking at him and Jongin gets embarrassed. There was also that time in college when he had come home from lab on his birthday to find Jongin asleep in his bed, a half melted ice cream cake on the dresser.

“You can walk away,” Jongin reiterates again, as if giving Joonmyun another chance to change his mind. “I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t take it too hard. You have to live your life, you know? It’s not fair for you to...to pay so much attention to me.”

Joonmyun shakes his head, “Again, I don’t want to. I don’t. I’m not going to pretend this is easy or will get easier in the next few days, or even in the next few weeks. I don’t know what’s going to happen to us, but if we have to move, we’ll move. We’ll move.” He turns his head and brushes his lips over Jongin’s ear. “I love you,” he says. Maybe he hasn’t been saying it enough.

Jongin sighs and whispers it back like he always does. He’s heavy in Joonmyun’s arms. All the fight has gone out of him and the smell of gasoline is stronger in Joonmyun’s nose.

“Jongin?” Joonmyun hugs him to his chest, his nose almost in Jongin’s hair. “Where do you go every night? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but I would really like to know.”

Silence. He thinks Jongin’s not going to answer. What if there’s someone else?

But then, “Taemin. His teaches at a studio. I can’t... I don’t pay for classes there anymore, but I still dance there because... I do whatever I can. Take care of their plants. Change their oil. Taemin knows a couple of big time overseas choreographers and I work with them sometimes. All of these things don’t really pay a lot all at once so I try to do a lot of them at the same time.” He cuddles closer to Joonmyun’s body. His stubble tickles the soft skin of Joonmyun’s neck. “I love dancing, but everything feels like a chore now. I feel like shit and when it’s all over, I want to sleep and never wake up. Is this what real life is like? Because if it is, I think we should go back to college and stay there forever. I’m sick of thinking about money.”

“I know,” says Joonmyun. “Trust me, I do. I saw Minkyung, you remember Minkhyung, right? The little boy from a few floors down I used to babysit? I saw him and his mom today in the lobby. All I could do was think about her gold watch and wonder if she ever has to worry about money.”

“Doubt it.” Jongin’s voice is muffled and heavy. He’s falling asleep. “Too many rich fucks in this building. No wonder we can’t afford rent.”

“We’ll find a smaller place with smaller rent. Then we can stop trying to uphold the facade that we can live this lifestyle and we can relax.”

“I haven’t felt relaxed in months,” says Jongin as he pushes himself up. He yawns into the back of his hand and pours more wine for himself. “We should go somewhere. Far. Like Canada. And stay there and not have to worry about anything.”

Joonmyun smiles a little, “And how do you supposed we get to Canada? By rowboat?”

Jongin’s shoulders sag, “God, sometimes I feel like I need to have money in order to think. Is nothing in life free?”

“Kisses are free,” Joonmyun reminds him and leans in to kiss his fuzzy jaw. “Too bad they don’t pay the rent.”

Jongin accepts the kiss and pulls Joonmyun in for another. His hands slide down to Joonmyun’s hips. “If kisses paid the rent, we would be living rent free for the rest of our lives.”

Joonmyun can feel the heat of Jongin's face against his own cheeks. He's embarrassed. "You're so cheesy."

"Shh," Jongin whispers. "Kiss me."

 

 

 

 

 

“Do you remember our first date?” asks Jongin in bed a little later. He’s stroking a hand down Joonmyun’s side and it’s slowly lulling them both into a well deserved nap.

“Our first?” Joonmyun repeats, blinking sleepily. He tries to think. It hadn’t been the night they had kissed; that had been long after their first date. It hadn’t been the night of their college trip to Jeju either; that had been their first time spending the night, not their first date. “Was it in college? When you asked me out to lunch?”

Jongin makes a noncommittal sound. “Was it?”

He’s not budging. “I think it was,” says Joonmyun. “We were in the same lecture class, history I think, and you came up to me and asked me if I was hungry. I still remembered you as the little kid I taught in high school, and I still thought you were too cute, so I said yes. Right?” He doesn’t know why he can’t really remember. In this defense, it had been a really long ago.

“Nope,” says Jongin. He sounds so proud of himself. “That wasn’t our first date. Not the one I consider our first one, anyway. That was in high school.”

“High school?” Joonmyun’s eyebrows scrunch together. “We didn’t date in high school.”

“No,” Jongin agrees. “We didn’t, but I had the hugest crush on you and it was so embarrassing. We ate lunch once, only once, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to kiss you. I didn’t actually get the balls to do it until quite a while after that, but I consider that to be our first date.”

“Wow,” Joonmyun doesn’t remember that day. He remembers so many other moments -- like the time he went over to Jongin’s apartment to help him with his calculus and the day at the college carnival when Jongin had confessed behind the inflatable jumping castle -- but not of that first date. “We really have been together for a long time.”

“What...” He hears Jongin swallow. “What do you think about... marriage?”

“Illegal,” Joonmyun breathes.

“By law,” says Jongin. “But what if it wasn’t?”

“It would be something to think about then, but since it’s currently impossible, I don’t really care for it.”

“You know,” Jongin’s hand stops. “God doesn’t discriminate.”

“But the law does.” Joonmyun’s too old to believe any differently. Homosexual relationships, as ordinary and commonplace as they should be, still provoke strong reactions. “Besides, doesn’t it feel like we’re married already?”

“A little,” Jongin agrees. “I don’t really know where I’m going with this. Maybe it’s because I was raised with the idea that marriage is what you do when you’ve found the person you.... you know. Fairy tale ending, culmination of God’s romantic plan for you, etc. Aren’t your parents putting pressure on you to get married?”

“Not really. When my mother found out I was still living with you, she said it was my fault if I never found anyone and never got married. Don’t you remember a few years ago, when she offered to pay me to move out and we didn’t speak for months?” Joonmyun still doesn’t have the courage to come out to his parents. He thinks it should be obvious by now, but his mother’s denial can run deeper than any rainforest river. He knows his mother would sooner admit that her son is not her son than her son is a homosexual and has been living with his steady partner since college.

“Oh yeah. Wow, I forgot that had even happened.”

Jongin’s parents have gotten a little better about the entire thing but they also don’t financially support him. One of Jongin’s older sisters moved home after her divorce and brought with her three children Jongin’s parents now help raise. Jongin’s father even pulled himself out of retirement to support his grandchildren.

They call Joonmyun “Uncle Jongin’s friend.”

“Joonmyun?” Jongin pokes his side. “You awake?”

“Barely,” Joonmyun slurs. “We should eat before we sleep but I don’t want to get up.”

“Do you have work in the morning?”

“No,” Joonmyun shakes his head. He throws his leg over Jongin’s. “It’s Sunday.”

“Okay,” Jongin pulls him close for a brief moment and kisses him, his lips lingered on the curve of Joonmyun’s cheek. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night.”

 

 

 

 

 

Alcohol, Joonmyun knows, is a depressant. He knows the structural formation, how to create different kinds of alcohol, how to use them in a lab, and what their effects are on the human body. With this in mind, he expects the alcohol to keep him down at least until the sunrise.

He grumpily wakes up at three in the morning to Jongin snoring and partially drooling on his neck. A few shoves pushes Jongin off and he grunts and cuddles up to Joonmyun’s pillow instead, wrapping his arms around it. “Mmm,” he says, kissing it. “Okay Joonmyun?”

Joonmyun stifles a snort and he thinks about falling back onto the bed, curling back into Jongin’s arms, but then his stomach growls and he remembers he hadn’t actually eaten dinner last night. He shoves his glasses onto his face, almost poking himself in the eye in the process, and heads to the kitchen. There are enough ingredients to make a less hearty version of spicy tofu soup and now, now, they really have to do the groceries. With this, there’s hardly anything left to eat.

Even if he had slept well, an annoying exhaustion lingers in his bones. He hopes some food in his tummy will help give him more energy, but somehow he knows this isn’t something food nor sleep can cure and it frightens him.

The appearance of the sun after a windstorm doesn’t automatically fix the collateral and emotional damages. The sun will help in time, he knows. Everything helps in time. The sun means that, for now, the worst is over and it’s time to restore buildings to their former glory. Joonmyun can’t live in a house with a leaky roof forever and then, when the sun comes out and his belly is full and Jongin’s kisses taste like chocolate, he has to keep working to maintain these conditions. Happiness takes work.

“If this is what you want to do, Kim, you better be sure you’re willing to spend the rest of your life running in place. That’s the only way you’re ever going to get anywhere.”

Joonmyun doesn’t notice when sleepy Jongin comes up behind him and looks over his shoulder. “Tofu?” His voice is a happy grumble, like a purr of a gigantic cat, and Joonmyun swears he can feel it through their clothing.

“We have to do the groceries soon,” he says, stirring the pot. “We don’t even have an egg to put on top.”

“Oh,” says Jongin, dropping his head on Joonmyun’s shoulder. “We’re probably going to give up our apartment and I think I’m more affected by our lack of eggs. Is this normal?”

Joonmyun looks around as best as he can with Jongin stuck to him. “This is such a nice place, isn’t it?” Small but convenient kitchen. Spacious bedroom. Living room. Empty spaces of walls they had meant to hang pictures on but never really got around to it. A bathroom they’ve thoroughly christened.

“We’ll find an even better one out there,” Jongin promises. He raises his arm to help stir the pot when Joonmyun’s hand lags. “One that won’t make us work ourselves crazy to maintain. It’s good that some people can comfortably afford a place like this but we really... can’t.” He scoops up some stew with the wooden soup and holds it to Joonmyun’s lips.

Joonmyun blows it cool and takes a small sip. “Needs a little more time,” he says, lowering Jongin’s hand and continuing to stir. “It’s amazing how long it’s taken us to come to this.”

“Stubborn,” says Jongin. He steps back to look at something over his shoulder but his hands linger around Joonmyun’s hips. His fingers brush the space between Joonmyun’s ratty t-shirt and the waist of his sweatpants, making him shiver. “For such an expensive apartment, you would think they didn’t have inconsistent heating. You cold?”

“A little,” Joonmyun admits. “But the stove helps.”

Jongin’s hands drop away and he steps out of the kitchen. Joonmyun thinks it’s the end of that conversation and continues to stir the stew when he feels Jongin step back.

“Here.” It’s the blue sweatshirt with the cartoon ape on the front. With a little help, Joonmyun slips it on, revelling in its softness and the phantom warmth from Jongin’s body. “Oh man,” says Jongin, pulling at the sleeves. “I didn’t think it’d be this big on you.”

“I like it,” says Joonmyun.

“The color suits you. I’ve always liked you in blue.” It’s 3am but Jongin’s eyes are bright in the lights of their kitchen. He looks younger than he is and Joonmyun thinks he’s finally starting to take a liking to Jongin’s scruff. “Hey, maybe now you won’t wear those hideous gray sweaters anymore.”

“They’re not hideous,” Joonmyun frowns a little as he moves the stew pot to the table in the middle of the kitchen. “They’re comfortable.”

“Hideous,” Jongin repeats handing Joonmyun a spoon. “After we’ve moved out, I’m burning all of them.”

“So you’re sure?” Joonmyun takes the first sip. “Because this isn’t exactly something we can say we want and then take back. There’s no way we’ll be able to come back here again.”

“I’m sure,” says Jongin. “One hundred and twenty three percent sure. I don’t want to waste my life, or yours, trying to keep this place up. If we can’t, we can’t. It’ll suck in the beginning and we’ll miss it but--” He shrugs. “It’s either that or we keeping doing what we’re doing.”

Both of them working until they’re too exhausted to really come home to each other and hiding their emotions under layers of sweat stained clothing they never really take off. Weeks and weeks of gray and tensions headache and loneliness and only feeling comfortable when sleep makes its grand appearance. Enough is enough.

“Goodbye pretty apartment,” Joonmyun says, looking up at the now familiar walls. “We’ll miss you.” But we’ve missed each other more.

 

 

 

 

 

“‘Professor Kim Joonmyun?’” Jongin read off a napkin, holding it up to the light. They were in the middle of their new apartment, drinking and eating take out in the empty living room. Joonmyun had been doodling on a napkin when Jongin had run down to get them dinner. He had forgotten the napkin until Jongin had picked it up.

Embarrassed but overwhelmed with the feeling of moving into a new home, Joonmyun had asked, “Doesn’t it have a nice ring to it?”

“Professor Kim Joonmyun,” Jongin had said again, playing with the syllables in his mouth. “I like it.” He held his beer bottle to Joonmyun’s and clinked them together. “To Professor Kim Joonmyun!”

 

 

 

 

 

“Well,” Jongin huffs, setting down the last of their boxes. “I think we’re done?” Sweat sticks his hair to his forehead and his arms glisten in his sleeveless top. “Oh shit. We’re done. Wow.”

“Good work, partner,” says Joonmyun, handing off a bottle of water. He looks around. This apartment is significantly smaller than their old one. It had taken less than a month for them to find an open vacancy but the week of packing had been hell. Jongin had gone through with his promise and burned all of Joonmyun’s sweaters. Joonmyun, as much as he liked his sweaters, hadn’t stopped him.

They’re farther away from everything, from the dance studio, Mr. Park’s old grocery store, and the community college, but they can comfortably afford the rent.

Joonmyun thinks he’ll have to change his career path as well. The community college gives him too few hours of work. He wouldn’t mind putting in a full work week, but they won’t budge on the issue. Joonmyun thinks he’ll start looking for work at a few nearby high schools. Now that the stress of rent paying is gone, it’s also time for him to get out in the sun and start to run again.

“We did good, right?” Jongin asks him when the sun goes down. The walls are stained. The bathroom has the strangest odor and the toilet forces water out when it flush so the floor needs to be constantly mopped. And no matter how sweaty they had been before, they’re freezing now. Joonmyun is bundled up in Jongin’s blue sweater and Jongin has his cold hands on Joonmyun’s tummy.

“Yeah,” says Joonmyun, curling his fingers around Jongin’s. “Yeah, we did. You’ll call me Professor Kim Joonmyun soon enough.”

“Professor Kim Joonmyun,” whispers Jongin, and he sounds so much like he did all those years ago in their first apartment. Adoration, awe, and his insufferable grin pull his words out of shape. “I guess I can brag to all of your future kids that Professor Kim Joonmyun taught me first. I think they’ll be jealous. I know I would be.”

Joonmyun laughs. Like sunshine, Jongin warms everything he touches. “Would you really?”

They have even less money now than they did a few weeks ago and they’ll have to spend the first few weeks of living here eating whatever they can afford. Hopefully, though, Joonmyun will find work and Jongin will establish a happy medium between dancing for duty and his own delight. They probably won’t get a tv for a few months and it’s a good thing Joonmyun no longer has to buy any contacts. There are still medical bills to take care of and Jongin still has a few of his student loans he needs to pay off.

It’s a good thing kisses are free. It would’ve been such a bother to need a down payment in order to trace his way down Jongin’s neck and feel Jongin’s pulse flutter under his lips.

Joonmyun’s eyes are heavy with warm fatigue and he doesn’t think he’ll make it all the way between Jongin’s legs, but Jongin doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls Joonmyun up when there’s a lull in the action and yawns, fitting one of his legs between Joonmyun’s.

“Goodnight professor.” Jongin shifts and the bed shifts with him, creaking and rattling under his body.

The bed is smaller than Joonmyun is used to but he likes the way Jongin’s body presses into his. He likes the heat between them and the steady thump of Jongin’s heart under his ear.

“Goodnight student.” My favorite student, Joonmyun mentally adds.

 

 

 

 

 

Joonmyun looked out of the library window. “Do you think the rain has finally stopped?”

Seventeen year old Jongin smiled. “A little drizzle is good for your health, tutor Kim. It won’t slow us down.” He pulled his messenger bag down from his desk. “Let’s go.”