Chapter Text
September 4, 1991. Take One.
Junmyeon rolls over, his legs bunching in the tangled sheets. He struggles to reach his alarm clock, the sudden chatter of AM radio cutting through the lingering fogginess of sleep.
Gooooood morning, Portland! It’s 7:15 on September 4, 1991! Happy Wednesday! It’s another wet one out there, so grab your umbrellas and raincoats!
He gets out of bed. Stretches.
It’s raining again. But it’s always raining. That’s the thing with Portland. The rain never leaves.
He goes through his morning routine. Cereal for breakfast, cornflakes this time. Showers. Shaves. Brushes his teeth. Gets dressed. Blue button down, grey sweater, black slacks, brown shoes. Steps out into the gray morning. The rain has slowed a bit, to a light mist that he’s grown to associate with the city. He’s always found it to be kind of unsatisfying, like the clouds are only just whispering about the idea of rain instead of giving into the downpour. It’s a little ironic, he thinks, that he moved to a place where even the weather can’t fully commit. It’s fitting.
He doesn’t bother with an umbrella and just lets the early-September dampness cling to his coat and soak through his hair. He waits for the bus in silence, watching the cars drive past, their tires squeaking on the slick road. The bus comes at 8:30, just like it always does. It’s just about half full when it reaches his stop, like it usually is. He nods to the bus driver as he pays his fare. Seventy-five cents. The ride to his office takes the same 25 minutes, the bus navigating its way from the suburbs into downtown Portland. His office is the same--cubicles just starting to fill as the clock strikes 9. He says hello to Nick and Angie as he makes his coffee. Nods in acknowledgment to Susan. He settles at his desk, boots up his Gateway modem. The code he’d been working on last night flickers to life in front of him, the complex strings of numbers and letters blinking at him in green. He scrolls through, looking over his work from last night.
A whole section of the code he wrote last night has disappeared.
“Mother fucker ,” he mutters under his breath. He’d been having issues with the project since last week, the program always glitching out or resetting on him. He’s had to redo parts of the code at least three or four times.
All in all, it’s just another average day.
“Enjoying the rain yet, grumpy?” Junmyeon looks up over the lip of his cubicle wall. Amber is hanging over the edge, smirking down at him, her bangs hanging into her eyes.
“Happy Wednesday to you too, Amber,” he deadpans back. He picks up his coffee and takes a sip. He grimaces. It’s gone cold.
“No smile?” Amber comes around to the cubicle’s entrance, leaning in the doorway. She looks every bit like the grunge fan she is; gray plaid flannel, baggy jeans. As an almost sarcastic nod to the fact that she’s at work and should at least attempt to somewhat look the part, she’s wearing neatly laced Doc Martens, the fresh shine of the shoe polish glinting in the fluorescent office lighting.
“What’s there to smile about?” Junmyeon says. He turns back to his computer monitor. “It’s just another Wednesday. And my fucking code has reset again .”
“But it could be a new and exciting Wednesday!” Amber replies, her voice lilting upwards. “I wanna go to the movies tonight.”
“And?” Junmyeon keeps clicking through, trying to see if any of last night’s code is salvageable.
“You should come with me.” Amber goes over to his desk and places both hands on the back of his swivel chair, spinning Junmyeon around to face her. Junmyeon rolls his eyes at her and sighs.
“I don’t know, Amber,” he replies. “I’m busy tonight.”
“Don’t lie, you’re never busy.” Amber crosses her arms. “You don’t ever go out unless I drag you out, you don’t have any hobbies, and in all the time that I’ve known you, you’ve never introduced me to any other friends, so! You should stop bullshitting and come out with me tonight.”
Junmyeon sighs again but Amber is right. She knows him too well. She is his only real friend, the only person that he’d gotten close to since moving here from Oakland. She’d noticed him when he’d started at the company, shaking his hand enthusiastically when the boss had taken him around the office on his first day, introducing him to the other staff. She’d waved at him excitedly every morning for a week, waves that Junmyeon would halfheartedly return with a weak smile. On the Wednesday of his second week there, she’d sat down next to him during lunch in the breakroom and demanded that he go to the movies with her that night.
“We’re the only two Asians at this motherfucking company and Portland sucks enough as it is. We’re gonna be friends whether you like it or not.”
Amber had been extremely persuasive from the very beginning.
So he went with her. They saw a second run of The Silence of the Lambs , Amber’s choice. Junmyeon bought a large popcorn, to share.
After that, they fell into a routine. They’d eat lunch together every day at work. They saw a movie once a week at the old theatre three blocks down on East Burnside Street. They always go on Wednesdays, when the theatre shows second-run films and old movies, half-off. Junmyeon likes Amber. She’s funny, and talks a lot and is loud enough to fill up all of his own silence. She gets him in a way that he never thought anyone would, not anymore at least. Not since he moved away. And she never really pries into Junmyeon’s life. She gets it.
“So?” Amber asks again, waving a hand in front of Junmyeon’s face. “Movies?”
Junmyeon smiles to himself and then turns around in his chair, facing his monitor again.
“Sure,” he says, “movies. Now get out of my cubicle, I have to redo this entire line of code or the boss is gonna kill me.”
“Awesome,” Amber calls out over her shoulder as she leaves. “I’ll come get you at six!”
---
The rest of the day passes in a blur. Junmyeon rewrites the missing code and makes more progress on the project. He works through his lunch and is still deeply immersed when Amber comes by at six, raincoat draped over her arm.
“Ready to go?” She asks. “It’s not really a question, we have to go now, the movie starts in thirty minutes.”
“Give me five minutes,” he says to her. “I’ll meet you out front.”
“It better only be five.”
Junmyeon presses save on his work -- three times just to be safe--shuts down his computer. He grabs his coat and heads out, nodding goodnight to his coworkers on his way to the main entrance.
Amber is waiting by the elevator.
“Four minutes and forty five seconds,” she says, looking up from her watch as he approaches.
“I told you it would only be five minutes.” Junmyeon reaches past her and presses the elevator down button. “When have I ever lied to you?”
The elevator arrives with a quick ding , the doors sliding open.
“Never,” Amber replies. “I should have never doubted you.”
---
“What are we seeing tonight?” Junmyeon asks as they head down the last block to the theatre. The sun’s set and the temperature’s dropped. The air feels dense with the rain. It’s brisk against his face.
“They’re doing a showing of Purple Rain tonight for some reason.” Amber replies. Junmyeon’s heart jumps into his throat. “You ever see it?”
Junmyeon swallows, hard, trying to push his heart back down to his chest. He nods. “Yeah.” He tries to keep his voice steady. “ I saw it a few times. I first saw it on the night it came out.”
“I didn’t know were a Prince fan.” Amber looks at him through her bangs. She has the hood of her rain jacket pulled down low over her forehead. It makes her look very young.
Junmyeon suppresses a tiny laugh. “Not exactly.”
Amber laughs out loud. “You have to be to see Purple Rain more than once. It’s kinda a shitty movie.”
They turn the corner and Junmyeon can see the theatre’s vintage marquee.
NOW PLAYING
CHILD’S PLAY 3 1:15 4:00 7:30
DEAD AGAIN 3:00 5:25 8:40
BEASTMASTER 2 12:15 3:40 7:15 9:20
TONIGHT ONLY!
PURPLE RAIN 6:45
“It is pretty bad,” Junmyeon agrees. “But my ex---” he breaks off. “Someone I used to be close to loves Prince more than anything else in the whole world.” He takes a deep breath, trying to quell the deep tugging in his chest. “I saw it with him. He really wanted to see it on opening night. Bought tickets ahead of time and everything.”
They walk up to the box office.
“I think this is the first time you’ve ever shared anything personal with me,” she says as they wait in line. “Who would have thought that you’d finally tell me something about your mysterious Cali lifestyle.” She wiggles her eyebrows at him as the person in front of them finishes up.
“Two for Purple Rain ,” she says to the bored teenager behind the counter. Amber pays for their tickets and they head inside, going through the old heavy glass and wood front doors. Like always, the doors creak and bang behind them.
They go straight to the concession stand so Junmyeon can uphold his part of the bargain.
“You know,” Junmyeon replies. “Maybe I’m finally warming up to you.” He buys a large popcorn, extra butter for them to share. The usher rips their tickets and directs them to theatre 6, gesturing down the long, red carpeted hallway.
“Dreams do come true.” Amber pokes him in the ribs as they find seats near the back and settle down. The theatre is fairly empty, only a handful of people are scattered in the rows in front of them.
Junmyeon balances the popcorn in between the two of them and takes a handful, shoving it in his mouth. The salty-buttery taste almost quells the strange deja vu settling deep in his stomach.
The overhead lights dim and the screen flickers to life. Junmyeon and Amber eat popcorn as they watch the previews.
The lights go all the way down and the Warner Brothers logo eases on the screen and the opening notes of “Let’s Go Crazy” fill the movie theatre.
Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life.
Amber pokes Junmyeon in the ribs excitedly and starts to mouth along to the words.
Electric word, life, it means forever and that’s a mighty long time.
Junmyeon still remembers all the lyrics, even after all this time.
The album had been the soundtrack of his summer in 1984. The cassette tape was a mainstay in his car’s player. They’d gone to the record store, together, on the day the album had dropped, Junmyeon watching as the cashier bagged both the vinyl and the cassette tape. They played it on repeat while they drove around Berkeley, volume turned all the way up, the two of them shout-singing with all the windows down.
Are we gonna let the elevator bring us down?
Oh, no let’s go!
And sometimes, deep in the dead of night, the two of them would drive around, playing Purple Rain as loud as they could, trying so hard to keep every aching sadness at bay. It was easy to lose themselves in the pleading call of Prince’s guitar. It made the love a lot easier.
A sudden burst of yellow light from the hallway streaks into the theatre, making Junmyeon and Amber turn their attention from the scene playing out in front of them.
Junmyeon can only just make out the tall silhouette that makes its way to a seat in the very front row. The person has long, long legs and a straight backed, fluid way of walking that fills Junmyeon with the aching tightness of memory.
Let’s go crazy!
Let’s go nuts!
Junmyeon watches as the person settles into their seat, their broad shoulders filling the width of the chair. The pang in his chest twists. But he’s over 600 miles away from that memory. He came this far to get away. And things like this don’t follow you so far up north.
Amber elbows him in the ribs.
“You watching the movie or watching some random dude?” she whispers at him. “I didn’t buy us tickets just for you to ignore the movie.”
Junmyeon directs his attention back to the movie, to the Kid and The Revolution on stage.
We’re all gonna die
And when we do
What’s it all for
You better live now
Before the grim reaper come knocking on your door.
---
“So, how’d it live up this time around?” Amber asks as they make their way out of the movie theatre. “Just as good?”
Junmyeon tosses the empty popcorn container as they pass a trash can. He shrugs. “About the same.”
“The songs hold up even if the movie doesn’t,” Amber says. “But now I’m pretty sure that I’m never going to stop telling you to ‘purify yourself in the waters of Minnetonka.’”
Junmyeon just nods at Amber as they walk through the theatre’s front doors. The old glass doors slam behind them with a resounding bang.
“You alright?” Amber asks, her voice softening. “You got really quiet on me all of a sudden.”
Junmyeon nods again. “I’m fine.” It’s stopped raining but the night is cold. Junmyeon can feel the quiet whisper of early autumn against his cheeks. “Just tired.”
He doesn’t know how to tell her that every minute of the movie pulled him all the way south, tugging him a year back into the past.
Amber steps towards the curb in front of the theatre.
“I think I’m gonna take a cab home,” she says. “I don’t feel like taking the bus this late.” There’s a cab about two blocks down and Amber sticks one hand out into the road to hail it down. “You want to share?”
Junmyeon shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’ll just take the bus.”
“Suit yourself.” The taxi pulls up and Amber gets in. “Call me when you get home!”
“I will!” Junmyeon waves as the taxi pulls away and then sighs to himself, shoving both hands into the pockets of his coat. It’s only a short walk to the nearest bus stop, but he starts to second guess turning down Amber’s taxi offer. It’s well past ten o’clock and with the way that the buses run this late, he probably won’t make it home until nearly midnight.
The loud bang of the theatre doors startles Junmyeon out of his thoughts and he turns around.
And feels like he’s slipped a year into the past.
Somethings don’t make any sense. And other things don’t, can’t, shouldn’t exist in the same place.
He’s standing directly under the marquee, the flashing gold lights catching in the dull shine of his leather jacket. He looks the same as he did when Junmyeon had last seen him, framed by the lights of The Castro. Tall, dark haired, broad shouldered. His face as stern and serious as ever. He’s wearing a green and gray plaid flannel under his jacket and ripped black jeans. His hair is longer now, falling into his eyes in a way that it hadn’t since he was 19. It makes him look younger, smoothing the contours of his face.
And Junmyeon can’t help but stare.
He looks up and notices Junmyeon standing there, at the curb. He blinks in rapid succession, three times, like he can’t quite process what he’s seeing. Then he quirks an eyebrow upwards, looking Junmyeon straight in the eyes.
Junmyeon turns around abruptly and heads down the sidewalk. It’s not until he’s halfway down the block that he realizes that he’d gone in the opposite direction of the bus stop. Heart still racing, he steps up to the curb with his arm out. Looks like he’s taking a taxi home after all.
September 4, 1991. Take Two.
The blaring sound of the radio startles Junmyeon awake.
Gooooood morning, Portland! It’s 7:15 on September 4, 1991!
Junmyeon sits up in bed. Wait. What?
Happy Wednesday! It’s another wet one out there, so grab your umbrellas and raincoats!
What the fuck?
He looks out the window. It’s raining. But it’s always raining. That doesn’t help.
He gets out of bed anyways and goes about his morning routine. Still has cornflakes for breakfast. Showers. Shaves. Brushes his teeth. Gets dressed. Still picks out a blue button down, grey sweater, black slacks, brown shoes. Heads out the door and tries to shake the niggling feeling that he’s done this all before . The bus comes at 8:30 on the dot. He pays the seventy-five cents. Gets on.
It pulls up to his work stop. He walks the few blocks to his office. Takes the elevator up.
He says hello to Nick and Angie as he makes his coffee. Nods in acknowledgment to Susan. He settles at his desk, boots up his Gateway modem. He checks the date in the bottom right-hand corner of his desktop screen.
9/4/91.
Now that’s just creepy.
The code he’d been working on last night flickers to life in front of him, the complex strings of numbers and letters blinking at him in green. He scrolls through, looking over his work from last night.
Junmyeon’s stomach sinks to the floor.
None of it had saved. It cut off in the same spot where he’d found it yesterday--or today? Or in his dream last night?
“What the fuck ,” he mutters under his breath.
“Enjoying the rain yet, grumpy?” Junmyeon looks up over the lip of his cubicle wall. Amber is hanging over the edge, smirking down at him, her bangs hanging into her eyes.
“Oh, uh.” He pushes back from his desk. “Hi, Amber.”
“You ok?” Amber comes around to the cubicle’s entrance, leaning in the doorway. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”
You have no idea . “I’m fine,” Junmyeon says. His voice wavers. “Just. . .having computer problems.”
“Same resetting issue that you’ve had all week?” Amber comes over and peers over his shoulder. “Damn. This looks complicated.”
“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, grateful that she took the bait. “Same problem. I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Well don’t look at me.” Amber puts her hands up in defense. “If you can’t figure it out, then no one can. You’re the resident computer genius.”
Junmyeon nods. “Yeah. . .I guess so.”
Amber studies him for a moment and then frowns. “You sure you’re ok?”
Junmyeon takes a deep breath and shakes his head again. “No, really,” he says. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Ok.” Amber leans against the side of his desk. “You still down for movie night tonight, then?”
“Movie night?”
“Duh,” Amber says, rolling her eyes. “It is Wednesday.”
Ok, this is definitely creepy. “What movie is it?” Junmyeon asks, carefully.
“ Purple Rain .” Junmyeon’s stomach twists violently. “It’s a one night only special.” Amber pouts at him. “Come on! I’ll buy the tickets if you buy the popcorn.” Amber pokes him in the ribs.
“Um. Yeah, ok,” Junmyeon says. “Alright.”
“Awesome.” Amber gets up to leave his office. “I’ll come get you at six,” she calls over her shoulder.
---
Junmyeon spots the cinema marquee from three blocks away.
NOW PLAYING
CHILD’S PLAY 3 1:15 4:00 7:30
DEAD AGAIN 3:00 5:25 8:40
BEASTMASTER 2 12:15 3:40 7:15 9:20
TONIGHT ONLY!
PURPLE RAIN 6:45
Amber buys their tickets and they head inside, the doors banging shut behind them.
“You ever see Purple Rain ?” Amber asks.
Junmyeon swallows hard. He nods, trying to not shout Yes! We went to this exact same movie yesterday! “Yeah.” He tries to keep his voice steady. “I saw it a few times. I first saw it on the night it came out.”
“I didn’t know were a Prince fan.” Amber looks at him through her bangs.
“Not exactly.”
Amber laughs out loud. “You have to be to see Purple Rain more than once. It’s kinda a shitty movie.”
They get in line for popcorn.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Junmyeon says as he orders and pays for a large popcorn. “It’s kind of just one extended music video.”
They go into theatre 6 and, like last time, it’s mostly empty. They sit in the back and sit in silence as they previews play in front of them.
The lights go down and the movie starts, The Kid’s silhouette, backlit in purple lights.
Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life.
The opening scene plays on and then: There’s the burst of light, streaking across the theatre.
This time, Junmyeon follows the shadow as it moves across the floor. The person who walks in is tall and lithe. His back is rimrod straight and he takes long quick steps as he heads down the aisle. It’s weird, Junmyeon decides. The things that you remember about a person . The parts of people that cling to your memory. Junmyeon takes in the way that the man has his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket and the way he ducks his head as he makes his way to an empty seat near the front. He takes it all in and feels like he’s been thrown a year back into the past.
It’s funny. The things that follow you up north.
Oh no, let’s go!
Amber nudges him in the ribs.
“Watch the movie, you asshole! I didn’t spend money on these tickets for nothing.”
Junmyeon nods at her and turns back to the screen, feeling both adrift and anchored in time.
---
“I think I’m gonna take a cab home,” Amber says, once they walk to the curb. “I don’t feel like taking the bus this late.”
Junmyeon looks down the block and points to the cab rounding the corner. He steps off the curb and sticks his left hand out, hailing it down for Amber.
“Thanks,” Amber says with a smile. “You want to share?”
Junmyeon shakes his head. “No,” he says. He glances over his shoulder, looking towards the theatre doors. “I’ll just take the bus home.”
“Suit yourself.” The taxi pulls up and Amber gets in. “Call me when you get home!”
“I will!” Junmyeon waves as the taxi pulls away and then sighs to himself, shoving both hands into the pockets of his coat.
There’s the loud bang of the theatre doors and Junmyeon lets his breath escape. The entire day has felt like an echo: every part of yesterday? today? a year before? worming its way into the present.
He’s standing exactly where Junmyeon remembers him, directly under the marquee’s flashing gold of the lights. He looks the same as he did when Junmyeon last saw him yesterday (today? last time?).
He catches Junmyeon’s eye and smiles at him, his entire face lifting with the upwards turn of his lips. This time, Junmyeon doesn’t look away.
Instead, he walks back towards the theatre doors, his feet falling heavily against the damp concrete.
“Well,” the man says, when Junmyeon comes closer. “Junmyeon.” His words make little puffs of white in the cold night but his voice is just warm enough, dancing with the dull bite of mischief that always made Junmyeon’s heart jump.
Junmyeon swallows hard.
“Sehun,” he says, his voice wavering. He coughs, trying to clear his throat. “You’re in Portland?”
Sehun smiles. “Yeah,” he says, “Been up here about a month. Got a job up here. At Nike, in their accounting department.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his well-worn leather jacket. “I’m actually out in Beaverton, but I saw in the newspaper that this theatre was playing Purple Rain . So, you know. I had to see it.” Sehun’s eyes travel up and down Junmyeon’s body, taking him in. Junmyeon feels his body grow hot. “Rumor back in the Bay is that you headed up to Seattle. I guess that isn’t true.”
Junmyeon shakes his head. “I didn’t make it all the way to Seattle.”
“So you went to Portland instead?”
“Portland was the next best thing.”
“But it’s not Seattle though.”
“It’s not Seattle,” Junmyeon agrees.
Sehun leans against the concrete support beam.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Sehun says. He exhales hard, the waver in his breath betraying his usual confidence as something more delicate. “But I honestly never thought I’d see you again.” His voice drops lower and words hang gently in the air between them. “Especially not all the way out here.”
I came up here to forget about you. Junmyeon swallows hard.
“I wasn’t really sure that I’d see you again either,” Junmyeon says. He lets himself look at Sehun more closely, taking in the way that his face has sharpened in the past twelve months. There’s a new severity in the set of his lips, a new rigidity in the curves of his face. It suits him, in a way.
“But here we are,” Sehun says.
“Here we are.”
The rain starts up again and the two of them fall silent as they watch it fall.
“What have you been doing up here all this time?” Sehun asks after a bit.
“A lot of the same as I had been doing before,” Junmyeon replies. “I’m still a programmer. I work at a small company in Portland.”
“Are you happy?”
Junmyeon pauses. He feels his lips quiver and he fights to control them.
“I’m fine,” he replies. “Things are fine. I have a decent job, I’m making decent money. I have a pretty nice apartment. I can’t complain.” Even to himself, he doesn’t even sound convincing.
“That’s good,” Sehun says with a nod. His face is unreadable.
“What about you?” Junmyeon asks, almost desperately. “Are you happy?”
Sehun looks at him again, really looks at him, staring him dead in the eyes.
“I’m learning a lot about myself,” Sehun says. “Finally. It’s worth it.”
There’s a sharp screech and release as the bus rounds the corner, turning towards the stop.
“I’m catching the bus home,” Sehun says. “I gotta go get that.”
“Oh,” Junmyeon says. “Right.”
“Right.” Sehun looks at him one more time, his eyes sharp on Junmyeon’s face. “Take care, Junmyeon.”
Sehun walks past him and then jogs into the darkness, reaching the bus stop right in time. Junmyeon watches as he gets on and pays his fare, and then works his way towards the back, finding a seat. Sehun glows under the bus’s harsh fluorescent lights. Junmyeon’s body aches.
The bus pulls away and Junmyeon walks towards the curb.
Looks like he’s taking a taxi home after all.
---
Junmyeon lays in bed that night, the comforter pulled up over his head. He feels cold and tired in a way that he hasn’t felt since he’d arrived in Portland. A deep tired. An aching exhaustion.
Leaving the Bay Area was supposed to mute him. Numb him down. Turn off all of his emotions and let his loneliness wash away with the rain. And it had worked, mostly. He’d done a good job, letting everything go. Letting his feelings melt away and chipping almost a decade of love and longing and letdowns from his soul. He let the empty space fill with cold rainwater, telling himself that it was easier this way. That this was the right decision. That he would be happier, that Sehun would be happier, that Sehun deserved better than what he could give him anyways.
But now the fatigue was back, filling him with a throbbing nausea and an aching pain. The type of pain that hung on, clawing at his throat. Making him wish he could ask to start over. For another way to do it again, try again. It was the type of pain that made him want to believe in second chances.
But, he’s realized that second chances don’t really come around anymore. Not when he’s 28 and all his childhood friends are married and have kids or whatever. Not when 30 is right around the corner and, if he listens just closely enough, he can almost hear the death knell of his youth cutting through the sound of the pouring rain. Second chances don’t come this late. 28 is basically the end of the world.
The thing is, he’d moved, the day he’d turned 27, travelling up the coast, as high as his savings could take him. His bus fare ran out in Portland. He’d been hoping for Seattle, but what was Portland except for a smaller, more boring version of the city that he’d read so much about? Maybe there was no real music scene, but maybe that was for the best. It would remind him a little too much of Sehun if he’d been in the middle of Seattle, surrounded by the grunge scene and the trilling, distorted sounds of the Nirvana and Soundgarden. Sehun would have loved that a little too much.
And anyways, Junmyeon’s spent his life falling just short, so what’s one more almost , really, in the grand scheme of things?
It’s been over a year since then. He’s 28. And 1991 feels like the end of the world. Estonia? Latvia? Lithuania? One of them or two of them or maybe all of them had left the Soviet Union the other day. It feels a million miles away but what is the U.S. without an enemy to yell on the other side of the world. Maybe this is the end of the maybe, kind of, sort of war. Maybe this is the end of the fear? Junmyeon laughs to himself at that one. It’s never the end of the fear. He’s built his entire life on existential dread, so what’s the fall of the Soviet Union going to change, really, in scheme his everyday angst.
He was supposed to be perfect. That’s what his parents said anyways. Perfect grades, perfect family. Perfect kid. Went to a perfect private school tucked away in the Oakland Hills, went to Cal, majored in computer science, did everything right. Almost.
September 4, 1991. Take Three.
Gooooood morning, Portland! It’s 7:15 on September 4, 1991! Happy Wednesday! It’s another wet one out there, so grab your umbrellas and raincoats!
Junmyeon pokes his head above the comforter.
The high today is a cool 54 degrees so make sure to bundle up! There’s traffic heading into the city, a slight back up on the St. Johns Bridge so make sure to plan ahead!
Junmyeon finds himself oddly at peace with this new reality. He turns off the radio and gets dressed for the day, going about his usual routine.
It isn’t until he’s on the bus, watching the city whizz past, that he starts to think about his situation.
This is his third time reliving the same day, he figures. It’s not a dream, because even in the weirdest of situations, dreams don’t go on this long. And Junmyeon is sure he’s not asleep. Everything feels too real: the squeak of the bus’s breaks too loud in his ears, the honking of the other cars on the road, the cool wet kiss of the rain against his cheeks.
And he remembers everything about the last two days (or the last two Wednesdays?). Clearly. Too clearly for them to have just been figments of his subconscious.
So something must be going on here. He’s in some sort of time slip situation, maybe? He frowns to himself. Maybe not really a time slip. That makes him think of that story he read back in middle school. . .the one about the Yankee in King Arthur’s Court or something? That’s not the same thing that’s happening here. He’s still in his own time period, he’s just stuck repeating the same day. Like he’s stuck in a loop.
The bus pulls up to his stop and he gets off, nodding to the driver on his way out.
He feels out of his depth. This feels like something plucked out of one of those sci-fi magazines that Sehun loves so much.
Or maybe loved so much? The Sehun that Junmyeon knows might as well be a ghost. It’s been that long.
But, he needs a second opinion.
He goes into his building, takes the elevator up. Says hi to his co-workers. Boots up his computer. Makes coffee. The code comes into focus again, the numbers blinking at him menacingly.
Its reset itself again.
He sighs and starts trying to correct the gaps.
“Enjoying the rain yet, grumpy?”
“Hi Amber,” Junmyeon says, without looking up. “Good to see you.”
“No smile?” Amber comes around to the cubicle’s entrance, leaning in the doorway.
“Nope, don’t start with me.”
“Whatever,” Amber says. “I just came by to see if you wanted to--”
“Yes, movies would be great,” Junmyeon says. “ Purple Rain is playing tonight right?”
“Um, yeah.” Amber sounds taken aback.
“Saw it in the papers. I’ll meet you at six by the elevators so we can go together.” Junmyeon finally swivels around in his chair to face his friend. “But, do you want to get lunch today? I can go get us sandwiches from the place around the corner.”
Amber’s eyebrows shoot up. “Normally I’m the one who has to beg you to break for lunch. What’s happened to you? Are you sick?”
Junmyeon smiles. “Not sick,” he says. “Can you blame me for wanting to spend more time with you?”
Amber shrugs. “Guess I can’t. 12:30 in the break room?”
“Deal.” Junmyeon swivels around to face his computer again.
“Make sure to get me a roast beef sandwich,” Amber says as she walks out of his cubicle.
“Whatever you want.”
---
“Here you go.” Junmyeon places two wax paper wrapped sandwiches on the break room table.
“What’d you get?” Amber asks.
“One roast-beef and cheddar for you, one turkey and provolone for me.”
She grins and starts unwrapping her lunch.
“Thanks, Junmyeon,” she says as she takes a bite. “It’s been so long since we’ve had lunch together like this.”
Junmyeon sits down across from her and unwraps his own sandwich.
“It has,” he says. “Sorry about that. I’ve been busy.”
Amber shrugs. “You’re always busy. I’ve long since learned to never rely on you for quality friendship time.”
Junmyeon grimaces. “I’m sorry. I’m a shit friend.”
“It’s whatever.” Amber doesn’t look angry. “Some friendships are like that. One person does more of the work. It doesn’t make you a bad friend or a bad person. I wanted to be your friend because you looked like you needed someone. I’m that someone. You set the terms of this relationship. I’m just here whenever you need me.”
Junmyeon doesn’t know what to say.
“I don’t deserve you.” He takes a big bite out of his sandwich.
“I know you don’t.” Amber laughs at him. “But it doesn’t matter to me as long as you never forget that fact.”
“Can I ask you a weird question?” Junmyeon says suddenly.
“I’m not going to stop you.”
“What do you know about time loops?”
“Time loops?” Amber looks at him like he’s crazy. “Like that sci-fi shit?”
Junmyeon feels his face grow red. He knows how stupid he sounds.
“Yeah, like that sci-fi shit,” he parrots back. “What do you know about them?”
“Nothing really? I think I watched a short movie about them on TV last year or something?” She frowns as the puzzles it through. “ 12:01 AM or PM or something. The dude got caught reliving the same hour of his life over and over again.”
“How’d he get out of it?” Junmyeon leans forward. “What’d he have to do?”
“I think he killed himself,” Amber says.
Junmyeon winces. “Ok,” he starts again. “Well. What do you think someone would have to do to get out of a time loop?”
“Why the sudden interest in time loops?” Amber asks. “You been reading Asimov’s ?”
“Uhh,” Junmyeon fumbles his words. “Yes, actually. One of my friends from back home used to read sci fi mags all the time and I saw one at the newsstand the other day. So I picked it up.”
“Never really been my thing,” Amber says. She hums to herself. “But I guess. If I were stuck in a time loop, I guess it would be because the world was trying to tell me something. That something in my life was broken and there was something special about the time that I was stuck in. Like the repeating moment held the key to solving the problem?”
“So you’re saying that something is broken and I have to figure out what it is and fix it?” Amber raises her eyebrows at him. Junmyeon bites his lip. “Hypothetically, I mean.”
“I guess so? I mean, that makes sense to me.” Amber takes a bite out of her sandwich and chews thoughtfully. “Think about it. Back in school, if you failed a math test or something, your teacher would make you redo it, right? Until you figured out what mistakes you made and figured out how to fix them. The same thing makes sense here.”
Junmyeon nods. “I guess that does make sense.” And it does, the more that Junmyeon thinks about it. It’s almost like the universe is trying to teach him a lesson. If only he knew what the lesson was. “How do you think you’d be able to figure it all out?”
Amber shrugs. “I have no fucking idea. Look for context clues?” She gives Junmyeon a strange look. “Are you planning on writing a science fiction novel or something?” she says, teasing. “Is writing one of your mysterious hidden talents?”
Junmyeon ducks his head. “You caught me,” he says, grateful for the out. He takes a bite out of his sandwich.
“Just promise you’ll let me be the first to read it when you’re done,” Amber says, laughing.
“Deal,” Junmyeon mumbles through his mouth full of food.
Amber makes a face at him. “Gross.”
---
Junmyeon doesn’t start to piece the clues together until the lights of the cinema’s marquee come into view.
“You ever see Purple Rain ?” Amber asks.
“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “More than once.”
“You like it?”
Junmyeon hesitates. “I guess you could say that it holds a special place in my heart.”
They buy tickets and popcorn together and then go into the theatre. The movie starts just as it had yesterday, and the day before. Junmyeon sings along under his breath, mouthing the words to himself.
The next clue comes in the burst of yellow light when the theatre door opens and in the slinking, straight backed shadow that makes its way to a seat in the front. Instead of paying attention to the film, Junmyeon spends the next hour watching Sehun watch the movie.
---
“I think I’m gonna take a cab home,” Amber says, once they walk to the curb. “I don’t feel like taking the bus this late.”
Junmyeon looks down the block and points to the cab rounding the corner. He steps off the curb and sticks his left hand out, hailing it down for Amber.
“Thanks,” Amber says with a smile. “You want to share?”
Junmyeon shakes his head. “No,” he says. He glances over his shoulder, looking towards the theatre doors. “I’ll just take the bus home.”
“Alright,” she says as the taxi pulls up the curb. “See you tomorrow.”
Amber waves at him through the window as the taxi pulls away. Junmyeon gives her a half hearted wave back.
He exhales hard, watching his breath puff into a small, soft cloud in front of him. He glances at his watch. It’s well past ten. He takes another breath, and then holds it, waiting. It would make sense, he figures. If the thing that he needed to fix, the thing that he needed to pay attention to was Sehun. It’s been over a year--a year since he left the Bay, over a year since he said goodbye to everyone and everything he’d ever known, a year since he’d left a city and a state so saturated with the tears and failure and loss and fractured love. Over a year since he’d last seen Sehun, and left him hanging by the thread of unanswered questions.
There’s the bang of the theatre doors and Junmyeon turns around.
Sehun is still standing underneath the marquee, the gold and red lights glinting off of the black of his hair. Junmyeon meets his eye and Sehun quirks an eyebrow up at him.
“Hey!” Junmyeon calls out. He jogs back over to the entrance. “Sehun!”
“Junmyeon.” Sehun’s voice is steady, but there’s a flash in his eyes. “This is a surprise.”
Junmyeon nods. “It is,” he says, a bit breathlessly. “I, uh, wouldn’t have expected to see you. Here, I mean. In Portland.”
“I guess I could say the same about you.” Sehun reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He taps one out and brings it to his lips, lighting it. Junmyeon watches as his eyes slide shut as he inhales.
“You want one?” Sehun offers Junmyeon the pack. Junmyeon takes it, shaking out a cigarette. Sehun takes the lighter back out of his pocket and beckons for Junmyeon to lean in. Junmyeon leans closer and Sehun cups his hand around the cigarette, lighting it for him.
Junmyeon inhales, sucking the fragrant smoke into his lungs. It tastes the same. Still menthol.
“How have you been?” Sehun asks, after a moment. “I never thought I’d bump into you here.” He pauses, takes another drag on his cigarette. “Or ever again, to be honest.”
“I’m fine.” Junmyeon fiddles with the burning cigarette, weaving it between his fingers. “Busy. Working. You know.”
Sehun nods. “I guess I do. You were always dedicated to your job.”
Sehun’s words sting but Junmyeon just takes another drag off his cigarette to soothe the bite.
“I guess you’re right,” he says. “So I’m guessing that you’re not at the clinic anymore? Since you moved.” Junmyeon bites his tongue. Of course he’s not at the clinic any more. He’s not in the Bay anymore.
Sehun tilts his head and quirks his mouth to the side, shooting Junmyeon a bemused look. “I'm not at the clinic,” he says. “I quit right before I moved up here. I figured that it was time for a fresh start. To actually put my degree to use, you know?” He leans back against the concrete support beam and takes another drag off his cigarette. Junmyeon watches as Sehun closes his eyes on the inhale, his face serene like he’s really enjoying the rush of nicotine. His hair has fallen into his forehead, long and thick and black like night and this time, this third time, Junmyeon wants to run his fingers through it. Just like he used to.
But instead, he chuckles nervously and sticks his free hand in his jacket pocket. “Fair enough,” Junmyeon says. “I get wanting a fresh start.”
Sehun opens his eyes and looks at Junmyeon, really looks at him, his eyes travelling up and down Junmyeon’s body. Junmyeon feels like his entire body seizes up under attention and he looks away from Sehun, hoping that the other man can’t see how much of an effect he still has on him. Even now.
“I guess you would,” Sehun says, finally. “You moved away because that’s what you wanted, right? You wanted a fresh start?”
Junmyeon swallows around the lump that’s taken residence in his throat and nods. “In a way. After Halmeoni died, I. . .I didn’t know what to do.” And after you stopped answering my calls, I didn’t know who I was. “So I felt like I needed to start over. Try again.”
“Has it worked?” Sehun is still staring at him, his body long and imposing. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Junmyeon gapes at Sehun for a moment, looks at the way that the lights of the cinema marquee catch in his hair and watches the careful way that Sehun watches him. He doesn’t know if he has an answer.
“I found some things,” Junmyeon says, sounding unsure even to his own ears.
Sehun nods. He stubs out his cigarette on the concrete post and then drops it on the ground.
“It’s so weird to see you here,” Sehun says. He sounds so small. “I really never thought that I’d see you again.”
“Are you upset?” Junmyeon asks. “I mean, does it upset you to see me?”
“I don’t know.” Sehun hacks out a harsh laugh and then looks towards the sky. “It feels like I’ve dropped out of time. It feels like a sick type of deja vu.”
“I. . .” Junmyeon peters out. “I’m happy to see you,” he decides. “It’s been so long. It’s---it’s really good to see your face again. To see all of you again.”
“It’s been a year and a half,” Sehun murmurs. He bites his lip and then exhales harshly. “You look the same.”
“You do too.” But it’s not true, not really. Sehun looks years older, somehow. There's a new harsh cut of his mouth, hardened by sorrow.
Sehun looks at his watch. “The bus is going to be here soon. So I should probably head over to the stop.”
Junmyeon nods. “Right.” He stubs out his own cigarette, dropping it on the ground next to where Sehun had discarded his own.
They stand there for a moment, staring at each other. The rain picks up again, the drops falling loud and heavy against the sidewalk.
“I should--”
“Sehun,” Junmyeon interrupts. “Could I, um, do you--” he stops, takes a deep breath. “Do you want to stay in touch?” he starts again. “Since we’re both in the same city again and I’ve been living here for a while, so maybe, I could, um. Show you around some?”
Sehun gapes at him and then, slowly, nods.
“Alright, then.”
“Give me your hand?” Junmyeon asks.
Sehun steps in closer and then extends his left hand. Junmyeon reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out the felt tip pen that he’d left there about a month ago. He takes Sehun’s palm in his own and then quickly writes his phone number across the back of his hand.
“Now you have my number,” Junmyeon says, letting go. “Uh, um. Call me at some point?”
Sehun nods. There’s the squeak of tires against the road and they both watch as the bus rounds the corner, pulling up to the stop.
“I will,” Sehun says before taking off towards the bus stop in a sprint. Junmyeon watches him go, just making it in time for the bus to pull up. He watches as Sehun pays the fare and boards, and Junmyeon watches through the smudged windows as Sehun navigates his way to a seat in the back.
Maybe he’ll actually call. Maybe.
April 13, 1984
He’d been perfect, almost. Until he’d drunk just enough wine on a night halfway through his junior year of college and decided to sit alone on the front steps of a frat house, leaving the party raging along inside. It’s nice outside, milder than most April nights, and Junmyeon tipped his head back towards the clear sky, breathing in the cool air. His body feels like the right type of loose, the wine having worked its way into his muscles. He can hear the soft thump of the bass of the music playing inside and the voices of people singing along to the chorus of Square Biz . He opens his eyes and looks at the stars, faint pinpricks fighting to be seen against the city lights.
“You all alone out here?”
Junmyeon turns around. A boy is standing in the doorway. Junmyeon recognizes him from inside, where he’d spotted him dancing in the middle of the living room. From here, he seems so tall, his head almost reaching the top of the door frame. He’s wearing white Keds and black jeans that make his legs seem so, so long. His shirt is red and tight against his slim body and he has a black leather jacket slung over his left shoulder.
“I guess I am,” Junmyeon replies.
“Is there enough space for one more?”
Junmyeon scoots over towards the railing.
“Be my guest.”
The boy sits down, his knees folding in front of him. From up close, Junmyeon can make out all of his features. He has a round, stern face and serious eyes. His hair is just past the point of too long but he makes it work, parting it in the middle so that his black bangs hang artfully into his forehead.
He swings his jacket off his shoulder and roots around in the pockets, taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He taps a cigarette out and places it between his lips. Junmyeon watches as he cups one hand around the tip, lighting it with a flick of his lighter. He takes a long drag and then exhales, setting a long plume of smoke loose into the night. He holds the cigarette out to Junmyeon.
Junmyeon takes it from him and places the cigarette between his own lips, the filter damp from the other boy’s lips. He inhales, the cool taste of menthol coating his mouth.
“Thanks,” Junmyeon says, handing the cigarette back.
“Sure. I’m Sehun by the way.”
“Junmyeon.”
“I know,” Sehun replies. His voice is low and soft, just one octave above a murmur. He smiles at him, his eyes softening with a mischievous mirth. “You’re the TA for my Calculus class.”
Junmyeon blinks at him. “Oh!” he says, “I didn’t recognize you.”
Sehun shrugs. “There are like 200 people in that class. I’d be surprised if you did remember me.”
“Doesn’t mean that I can’t feel bad.”
Sehun takes another drag off his cigarette, his cheeks hollowing. “Feel as bad as you want,” he says, exhaling long and low.
Sehun hands the cigarette back off to Junmyeon and leans back on his hands, staring up at the sky. His body looks so long like this, the muscles in his arms cording as they support his weight, his neck sloped and graceful in the low light.
“Do you usually come to frat parties to sit alone outside?” Sehun asks.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Junmyeon replies. “But no. I came here with some of my friends but I wanted some air. It’s too hot in there.”
“Then you know why I’m out here,” Sehun says. “I got too hot while dancing. I wanted to smoke in peace and cool off.” The sheen of sweat is still visible on the back of his neck, even out here in the dark.
“I guessed as much,” Junmyeon says before he could stop himself. “I saw you. In there. Dancing I mean.” Junmyeon had watched him from the kitchen doorway, dancing with a group of sophomores in the middle of the living room. Sehun had thrust his arms up in the air, his shirt riding up just enough that a flat stripe of stomach was exposed. Even now, Junmyeon could see the hypnotic way that Sehun’s hips had ridden the beat. It was the type of thing that made you never want to look away, the type of thing that set a throbbing heat alight in Junmyeon’s stomach, the type of heat that he always tried to tamp down and shove away. Perfect doesn’t have space for fires like those.
Sehun’s face splits into a wide, wide smile, his eyes crinkling.
“You saw me?” Sehun repeats. “And you didn’t want to join?”
Junmyeon feels his face grow hot. “I’m a terrible dancer,” he says, his voice cracking.
Sehun chuckles, his eyes twinkling. “I can teach you.”
Junmyeon turns away and shakes his head. “I think I’m beyond hope.”
They’re quiet after that. A breeze cuts through the air, making Junmyeon shiver.
“You cold?” Sehun asks, noticing. He takes his leather jacket from where it’s folded on his lap and drapes it over Junmyeon’s shoulders. Junmyeon shivers again as he’s enveloped in warmth and the spicy smell of well worn leather and sweat, menthol cigarettes, and the hot spiciness of cologne. The heat in his stomach starts to simmer again and Junmyeon moves to take off the jacket, hoping that will extinguish the flame.
“No, I’m alright,” Junmyeon says.
“Keep it,” Sehun puts his hands over Junmyeon’s own, stopping his movements. “I’m too hot as it is.” Sehun’s hands are large and warm and Junmyeon freezes, the fire in his belly licking upwards to his throat. He nods instead.
Sehun drops his hands back to his own lap. Junmyeon slips his arms into the sleeves of the jacket. It’s way too big on him, the shoulders hanging around his own. Junmyeon almost feels like he was drowning.
“So you’re a sophomore?” Junmyeon asks, trying to regain his footing.
Sehun nods. “Yeah. More or less.”
“More or less?”
Sehun nods again. “I’m a sophomore but I’m younger than the rest of my class. I should technically be a freshman, but I skipped my senior year of high school.”
Junmyeon looks at Sehun again, taking in the boyish slope of his chin.
“So how old are you, then?” Junmyeon asks.
Sehun laughs again, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. “I turned 19 yesterday. I was born in ‘65.”
Junmyeon can’t help but laugh. “Yesterday? You’re a baby!”
“And how old are you then? 40?”
“I turn 22 next month,” Junmyeon takes another drag off the cigarette. He blows the smoke up towards the stars. It hangs there for a moment, like a soft gray cloud before dissipating into the night. “I’m only three years older than you.”
“But you’re, what? A junior?” Sehun furrows his brow, his face collapsing in wrinkles. “Shouldn’t you have graduated by now?”
Junmyeon shakes his head. “No. You’re a bit young for your year and I’m a bit old. I had to repeat second grade.”
“Repeated second grade and still at Cal,” Sehun says. “Miracles do happen.”
Junmyeon smiles. “I guess so. I was born in South Korea and my family moved to the Bay when I was seven. They enrolled me in school but I didn’t know any English so I had to redo everything.”
“Again,” Sehun says, his voice dancing with mischief. “Miracles do happen.” He reclaims the cigarette from Junmyeon and takes another drag.
They fall silent again, staring up at the sky. Junmyeon can hear the party inside, the voices of one hundred college kids singing along to Madonna’s Holiday . Sehun hums along beside him, tapping the beat out with his fingers on the concrete step.
“I’m from LA,” Sehun says after a moment. “Born, raised, and never left.”
“Until now,” Junmyeon offers.
“Until now,” Sehun agreeds. “Came up here for college.”
“Berkeley is a bit of a way to go just for college.” Junmyeon studies the way that Sehun lazily dangles the cigarette between his index and middle fingers, the butt glowing orange-red. “Why not just stay in LA? UCLA is a great school.”
Sehun brings the cigarette up to his lips, taking another puff. “Sometimes you just need to go north, you know?” He says.
I don’t . Junmyeon wants to say back.
“Which one is better?” Junmyeon asks, instead. “LA or Berkeley?”
“San Francisco is better,” Sehun says without hesitation. “Not Berkeley. But San Francisco is the only place where I feel like I can be myself.”
“Be yourself?” Junmyeon asks. “What’s so special about San Francisco?”
Sehun quirks one perfect eyebrow up at Junmyeon. “I thought that you were supposed to be smart.” Sehun takes one final drag from the cigarette then stubs it out in the sliver of concrete between their bodies. “You grew up here, didn’t you?”
Junmyeon frowns at him and nods. “I did.”
“And aren’t you friends with Baekhyun?” Sehun turns his body slightly, so that he’s facing Junmyeon. His gaze is heavy on Junmyeon’s face, Sehun’s serious eyes weighing on him.
Junmyeon nods again, his roommate’s relationship with Kyungsoo and the way that the two of them had pressed up against each other on the dance floor rising to mind.
“Oh,” he says. “You’re gay.”
Sehun lets out a loud laugh. “Very gay. Like Elton John levels. Except I never had a bisexual phase in the Seventies. I’ve never touched a girl, don’t ever want to touch a girl, don’t ever need to touch a girl. Like that level of gay.”
“Oh.”
“ Oh ,” Sehun says, mimicking Junmyeon in a high pitched voice. “And what about you? Straight as hell or more liberated?”
The heat in Junmyeon’s belly licks its way up to his lungs, setting his breath on fire. He exhales hard, trying it force it all out.
“I’m. . .not sure,” he says, in a small voice. Maybe it’s all the wine he’d had, maybe it’s something about the way that Sehun is so brash but the words come out. “I’m not. . .straight. I don’t think.”
“Well, let’s try this,” Sehun says. “You ever kissed a girl?”
Junmyeon nods. “Yeah. A few times.”
“Fucked a girl?”
Junmyeon jumps and feels his face grow red at Sehun’s bluntness.
“No,” Junmyeon says. “I came close once, with my high school girlfriend, but it. It didn’t happen.” He can still remember being alone in bed with Irene, the two of them naked and the way that he couldn’t make it happen. How he’d tried and tried and tried but couldn’t get it up. He’d chalked it up to nerves and she’d been understanding, but their relationship hadn’t lasted much longer after that. Not when he could never bring himself to actually touch her. Not like that anyways.
Sehun frowns in concentration and then nods. “And boys? Ever kissed a boy?”
Junmyeon bites his lip and shook his head. “No,” he says, looking down at the concrete. “Never.”
“Ever thought about kissing a boy?”
So many times . Junmyeon wants to say. So many times . He’d thought about kissing his high school English teacher, a man fresh out of college with long brown hair and warm smile who taught him about Shakespeare’s lyricism and Beat poetry. He’d thought about kissing Minho, the boy who lived across the street from him all through middle and high school. He’d thought about kissing Kris, the captain of the Cal basketball team, who had sat behind him in Programming I last semester.
And you’ve been thinking about kissing Sehun too , whispers a deep part of his brain. All night.
“Yes,” Junmyeon says, his words small in his mouth.
Sehun leans in close, his face only a few inches from Junmyeon’s own. Junmyeon’s next breath gets caught in his throat.
“Sounds like you’re a bit more liberated,” Sehun whispers. He glances down at Junmyeon’s lips and then looks back into Junmyeon’s eyes. “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
Junmyeon inhales sharply. His heart is beating a million miles a second. “You want to kiss me?” He asks, at a loss of what else to say.
Sehun grins. “I do. I saw you watching me inside and I followed you out here ‘cause I thought you might want me.” Sehun’s voice is light with laughter. “So,” he continues. “Junmyeon. What would you do if I kissed you?”
Junmyeon takes a deep breath. Well. What the fuck .
“I’d kiss you back,” he replies, his voice dropping into his chest.
Sehun’s grin grows even larger. “That’s what I hoped.”
Sehun leans in then, closing the distance between their lips.
Junmyeon’s eyes grow wide and then flutter shut. He parts his lips with a sigh. Sehun is a good kisser; he kisses like Junmyeon is the entire world, his lips soft and firm as they press against Junmyeon’s own. Sehun’s hand moves upwards to tangle in Junmyeon’s hair as he directs the kiss, guiding their heads together so he can slot their heads at just the right angle for him to slide his tongue into Junmyeon’s mouth. Sehun tastes sweet like beer and cool like menthol and warm like something that had to just be Sehun himself. Junmyeon curls his fingers over the too-long sleeves of Sehun’s jacket and whimpers in the back of his throat. Sehun’s tongue darts forward, swiping over the edges of Junmyeon’s teeth. It feels good. God, good, so good. Better than any other kiss Junmyeon had ever had. Sehun knows what he’s doing and Junmyeon loses control of the heat in his stomach, letting it unfurl throughout his body. He gasps into Sehun’s mouth and presses in closer, trying to share some of the fire with him.
Sehun hums into Junmyeon’s mouth and then breaks away, panting softly. He moves his lips to Junmyeon’s jaw, pressing quick open-mouthed kisses along his jawline.
“Well, then,” Sehun whispers, drawing away. Junmyeon can feel the words against his lips. “Now you can say you’ve kissed a boy.”
Junmyeon nods, still dazed. It feels like Sehun’s kiss had taken all of Junmyeon’s words.
The song playing inside changes. Junmyeon can just make out the opening monologue of Prince’s 1999.
“Come on,” Sehun stands up, holding a hand out for Junmyeon. “I’ll teach you how to dance.”
Junmyeon takes his hand.
“Alright.”
April 15, 1984
Junmyeon watches as the students as they file into the lecture hall on Tuesday morning. He’s never really paid much attention to his students, and to be frank, they’ve never seemed to care much for him. They almost never come to the review sessions he holds on Thursday afternoons and, with the exception of a small handful of sophomore girls, they never hang back after class to ask questions. Junmyeon isn’t even sure that he even knows most of their names.
But today, he scans the faces of each person as they come through the doors, looking for the familiar curve of a jaw and a mischievous smile and he hopes.
“Alright, settle down,” Professor Simmons says. The class falls silent. “Happy Tuesday. Hope you all had good weekends. Make sure to grab your midterms from Junmyeon on your way out today.” He nods at Junmyeon who’s relegated to the TA desk off to the side. “Overall, I was pleased with your performances. The highest grade was a 98 percent and median grade was a 79 percent. You all seemed to have really grasped the concepts ---”
Junmyeon tunes Professor Simmons out, focusing instead on the captive audience of students, sitting the elevated rows of the lecture hall. He keeps searching, but there’s no sign of Sehun. Maybe he’s late? Junmyeon glances at the clock. 10:15. Class started twenty five minutes ago. It would be brash to still come to class this late. Junmyeon bites his lip and shakes his head. He’s being dumb.
He turns his attention back to Professor Simmons who’s scribbling on the chalkboard.
“Let’s get started,” he’s saying. “Last week, we left off on differential equations---”
Maybe he’s skipping? Junmyeon’s mind whispers. Or maybe he’s avoiding you . Maybe he doesn’t want to see you again.
Junmyeon shakes his head and tries to banish the dark thoughts from his head. Sehun had left him on the dance floor with the ghost of a kiss lingering on Junmyeon’s lips as a promise for later . And for every moment for the past two days, Junmyeon has wanted nothing more than that later .
“So please turn to page 384 in your books. The first equation---”
There’s a loud bang as the doors of the lecture hall swing open. Junmyeon looks up to see Sehun, hair haphazardly scraped back from his forehead, backpack slung over one shoulder, making his way to a seat.
“Mr. Oh,” Professor Simmons calls out. “Nice of you to join us. Hopefully you can get up to speed.”
“Sorry, Professor.” Sehun slides into an empty seat near the back. “I’ll make sure to ask Junmyeon about what we’ve covered after class.” Sehun finds Junmyeon’s eyes and holds his gaze, raising one perfect eyebrow playfully.
“Good.” Professor Simmons turns back to the board. “Anyways--”
Sehun doesn’t break eye contact. He nods at Junmyeon and Junmyeon feels his entire face go red. He ducks his head hopes that no one else noticed. It’s hard to look at Sehun and not be flooded with the memory of heat and soft lips and arms and hands intertwined. Even now, he looks at Sehun and all he sees are their two bodies pressed together, Sehun’s warm hands on Junmyeon’s hips, guiding him along to the beat, their faces so close that Junmyeon can make out every dip and freckle on Sehun’s nose, their breaths--hot--and mingling in the minute of space between them.
Junmyeon takes a deep breath, trying to clear his head. He feels like a teenager again; stupid and blushing and nervous. All because Sehun looked at him.
This is ridiculous.
He looks back up and Sehun has his head down, scribbling away in his notebook. Even from his vantage point, all the way in the front, Junmyeon can see the way that Sehun’s hair has fallen into his eyes and damn if he doesn’t want to do anything else but brush the locks out of Sehun’s forehead.
Junmyeon takes another deep breath. Fuck .
---
“Don’t forget to pick up your tests!” Professor Simmons shouts over the burst of chatter as the students pack up to leave. “And remember that your problem sets are due tomorrow!”
“Here you go,” Junmyeon says as he hands a test to a blonde girl with a sky high perm. “You did really well, 85 percent.”
She smiles at him and then moves out of the way.
“Next!” he calls out. He shuffles through the stack of tests on the desk in front of him. “Last name, please.”
“Oh.” Junmyeon looks up at the sound of a voice that’s echoed throughout his days every moment for the last three days.
“Sehun,” Junmyeon looks up at him. Sehun gives him a tiny smile. “Give me one second.” Junmyeon flips through the stack to the Os: O’Connell, Olson, Ong-- “here you go,” he says, pulling Sehun’s test free. “98 percent.” Junmyeon swallows. “The highest grade.”
The corners of Sehun’s mouth twitch upwards. He takes the test from Junmyeon and folds it in half, tucking it in the back pocket of his jeans.
“Give me your hand,” he says to Junmyeon.
“What?” Junmyeon frowns at him.
“Your hand,” Sehun says again. “Give it to me.”
Junmyeon places his left hand on the table and Sehun takes it in one of his own. His hand is warm and dry. Sehun picks up Junmyeon’s pen from where he left it on the table and draws Junmyeon’s hand closer and starts writing on his skin.
“There,” Sehun says, letting him go. “Now you have my number.”
Junmyeon stares down at the blocky numbers scrawled on the back of his left hand in black ink. The skin tingles.
“Why did you want me to have your number?” He asks him, his voice small.
“So you can help me catch up on what I missed today,” Sehun says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re the TA. That’s your job.”
“I--” Junmyeon glances at the line of students behind Sehun, some of them scowling at the hold up. “Ok. I’ll call you later tonight.”
Sehun grins at him and turns away. “I’ll be home at around eight,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks away.
Junmyeon stares after him, watching the roll of his hips as he walks away. It’s hard to look away.
“Um, Junmyeon?” The next student in line raps his knuckles on the table. Junmyeon looks up at him with a start. “Can I get my exam?”
“Yes!” Junmyeon starts flipping through the stack. “Sorry!”
---
“Are you gonna use the phone or are you just gonna stand there staring at it?” Baekhyun glares at him from across their tiny living room. “‘Can you let me know ‘cause I’d really like to call my Kyungsoo at some point tonight but I can’t if you’re acting like you’ve forgotten how to use a basic piece of technology.”
“Shut up, Baekhyun. I’m. . .working on it.” Junmyeon stares at the phone again. He knows he’s being stupid. It’s just a phone call for fuck’s sake.
“Working on it? How have you been working on making a phone call for almost half an hour, what is wrong with you?” Baekhyun sighs dramatically and plops down on the sofa next to him. His eyes narrow when he notices the back of Junmyeon’s hand. “What’s that?” Baekhyun pries Junmyeon’s right hand away from the receiver and holds it at eye level. “Whose number is this?”
Junmyeon snatches his hand out of Baekhyun’s grasp. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles.
Baekhyun’s brow furrows in confusion and then Junmyeon watches as his face unfurls with understanding as it dawns on him.
“ Oh ,” Baekhyun says. “It’s Sehun.”
“It’s not--he’s not--” Junmyeon takes a deep breath and then sighs. The problem is, Baekhyun already knows. He was there with him on Saturday night. He saw him dance with Sehun, he saw the way that he let Sehun draw him close in the dark security of the corner of the living room. He saw the way that Sehun kissed him, and Junmyeon knows that Baekhyun had seen the way that he had opened his mouth for Sehun and sighed at the heat that Sehun breathed into him. Baekhyun had seen it all but hadn’t brought it up before now, knowing in the way that he always knew, that this was something that Junmyeon needed to hold close before he shared it with anyone.
“It’s him,” Junmyeon says, instead.
Baekhyun puts his hand on Junmyeon’s knee and squeezes gently. “Alright.” He gets up from the sofa. “I’ll be in my room. Just let me know when you’re done with the phone. Kyungsoo can wait.”
Junmyeon watches as he goes down the hall and then waits for the click of the bedroom door closing.
He takes a deep breath and picks up the receiver. He starts punching in the smudged numbers scrawled on the back of his hand.
“Hello?” Junmyeon freezes. There’s music playing in the background, a slow desperate crooning that sits like liquid in the cup of Junmyeon’s ear. Junmyeon closes his eyes and breathes in, like he’s trying to drink it down.
“ Hello ?” The voice says again.
“Um,” Junmyeon pauses. “Is, uh, is Sehun there?”
“ Sehun? Oh yeah, he’s right here .” There’s some rustling and then the rustle of the receiver being handed over.
“ Yeah ?” Sehun’s voice floats in on top of the music.
“What’s that song?” Junmyeon blurts out.
“ What song ?”
“The one playing in the background.”
He can hear the smile in Sehun’s voice. “ Why? Do you like it ?”
“I’ve never heard it before.”
“ It’s by Prince. ”
“You like Prince?”
“ Doesn’t everyone like Prince ?” Sehun laughs. “ But yeah. I like Prince. I really like Prince. But don’t tell me that you just called me to ask about my musical preferences. ”
“I didn’t,” Junmyeon says. “I called because you asked me to.”
“ Not because you wanted to? I’m almost offended. ” Junmyeon can hear him smile through the phone.
“And because I wanted to,” Junmyeon corrects, quickly. “But you asked me to help you review what you missed in class today. And that’s my real job. So that’s more important.”
Sehun laughs out loud. “ So I did. Ok. What if I asked you to come tutor me ?”
“Do you need tutoring, Sehun?” Junmyeon asks. “You got the highest grade on the test. And you have the highest grade in the class.” Junmyeon would know. He checked after class.
“ Did you go check? Aww, Junmyeon, I’m flattered .”
Junmyeon feels his face go red.
“ But anyways ,” Sehun continues, “ I need to catch up on everything I missed in class today. And you’re the TA. And like you said, it is your job even if I have the highest grade in the class. You wouldn’t want my grade to drop, now would you ?”
“No,” Junmyeon says. “I wouldn’t.”
“ Exactly ,” Sehun says. “ Are you free tomorrow night? Like around this time? ”
“Um, I should be.” Junmyeon is. He has nothing going on on Wednesday nights.
“ Cool. Do you want to meet at mine ?”
Junmyeon’s heart is thundering in his chest. “Ok.”
“ I live off of Channing Way ,” Sehun says. “ Right after you turn off of the main street. It’s a duplex-- a purple house. My side is the one with the white door. It’s the first one on the street, you can’t miss it .”
“Ok,” Junmyeon says.
“ So see you tomorrow at 8. And Junmyeon ?” Sehun says.
“Yeah.”
“ I’m looking forward to seeing you again .”
There’s a clatter as Sehun hangs up the receiver. Junmyeon holds the phone up to his ear until the dial tone kicks back in. He slowly drops it back into place and then exhales.
He’s looking forward to seeing Sehun again too.
April 16, 1984
The streetlights are just flickering on when Junmyeon rounds the corner to Sehun’s street. It doesn’t take him long to find the right house---Sehun was right, you really couldn’t miss it. He stares at the house for a moment, taking in the graying paint on the once-white shutters and the overgrown hedges and then takes a deep breath. He shoulders his backpack and then rings the doorbell.
There’s the thundering of feet behind the door and then it swings open. Sehun is leaning in the doorway, wearing a blue crewneck long sleeve with CAL emblazoned across the chest in bright yellow letters and gray sweatpants. His hair is damp, flopping into his eyes.
He smiles when he sees Junmyeon, the curves of his face softening.
“You came,” Sehun says, his voice edging with something that sounds just north of surprise.
“I did,” Junmyeon replies. He looks at the way that Sehun stares at him with his eyes open and clear, his mouth curving upwards. “I hope it’s ok that I’m a little early? It didn’t take me as long to walk here as I thought it would.”
“No,” Sehun says. He steps aside to Junmyeon walk in. “I wasn’t doing anything anyways.”
Junmyeon goes inside and toes off his shoes, leaving them in the pile next to the door.
“This way,” Sehun says, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. They go down the hallway, passing the living room where Junmyeon can hear the opening chime of the Dynasty theme song playing from the TV.
“My housemates,” Sehun says, nodding in the direction of the living room. “They’re obsessed with Dynasty and they watch it together every week.”
“You don’t join them?” Junmyeon asks.
Sehun shakes his head as he leads them towards the kitchen. It’s small and sparse in the way most college group houses are. There’s a round wooden table shoved to one side with two notebooks and a pack of Newports stacked on top. Four mismatched chairs--some green, some white-- surround it. The countertops are narrow but neat; boxes of cereal--Cheerios, Smurf-Berry Crunch-- and cans lined up neatly against the backsplash.
“ Dynasty is too melodramatic for me,” Sehun says. He gestures towards the kitchen table. “Sit if you want?”
Junmyeon sits down in one of the kitchen chairs and puts his backpack on the floor.
“Do you want anything?” Sehun asks. He’s being more gentle, Junmyeon notices. His voice is more guarded, almost shy. It’s a far cry from the teasing on the phone last night.
Junmyeon watches the way that Sehun holds himself--his limbs close, his back straight--and he feels his heart jump. Sehun is just as nervous as he is.
“What do you have?” Junmyeon asks.
Sehun goes over to the fridge and opens the door, peering in.
“Um. . .looks like water? Coke? Milk and orange juice, Capri-Sun?”
“I guess I’ll go with water, then,” Junmyeon says. “Thanks.”
Sehun grabs a water bottle and a Capri-Sun out of the fridge. He goes over to the pantry and snags a bag of Lays chips from the shelf and then plops them all on the kitchen table before sitting in the chair next to Junmyeon.
“Ok,” Sehun says. He drags one of the notebooks towards him. “Where do we start?”
Junmyeon reaches over and opens up the water bottle, taking a sip.
“You missed the beginning of the recap on differentials in class yesterday,” he says. “We can start there?”
Sehun opens the bag of chips, eating a handful. He nods.
“Sure,” he says, swallowing.
Junmyeon reaches down into his backpack and pulls out the textbook, opening it up to the correct page.
“Ok,” he says. “So Professor Simmons started off with a review of partial differentials---”
Sehun pays close attention as Junmyeon walks through an overview of everything covered in the lecture, asking targeted questions along the way. He’s a good student, an attentive listener. It’s immediately obvious to Junmyeon that Sehun knows exactly what they’re going over. He nods along and draws connections to the other units in Calculus, even correcting Junmyeon when he skips a step in the problem they walk through. Junmyeon is almost convinced that Sehun knows more about differentials than he does.
“That it?” Sehun says, leaning back from the table.
“That’s all you missed."
“Cool.” Sehun picks up his Capri-Sun and finishes it, the pouch contracting in on itself.
Junmyeon looks down at the equations in the textbook, the color coded variables shouting up at him. They don’t say anything to each other, they just sit at the table, breathing their breaths. Junmyeon wants to move closer to him, wants to say something , wants to ask Sehun why he asked him to come, wants to know if Sehun can’t get their kisses out of his head, wants to know if Saturday night is still playing on repeat in the back of his mind like the way it is for Junmyeon. Junmyeon wants to take Sehun’s hand and press their palms together, just to let the heat of their skin mingle together again. Junmyeon wants so much; he wants answers, he wants clarity, he wants to make sense of this giant swirling sandstorm inside his chest that seems to rage with the same rhythm of Sehun’s breaths. He wants to know the reality of what it meant to say yes to Sehun on Saturday night, he wants to know what it means that he said yes to him again yesterday. Junmyeon wants to know.
“Hey, Sehun why do you have the entire bag of Lays?”
Both Junmyeon and Sehun jump and turn in their chairs. Two guys around Sehun’s age are standing in the entryway. They’re both tall--the taller one Junmyeon vaguely recognizes from the posters of the basketball team posted in the campus gym, the other more compact.
“Were you eating them, Chanyeol?” Sehun asks. The fire and mischief have snuck their way back into his voice. He picks up the bag and hugs it close to his chest. “If you weren’t eating them and if Jongin wasn’t eating them, then why shouldn’t I eat them? Should I have just left them in the cabinet to get stale?”
“The problem ,” Chanyeol replies, “is that you’re eating the whole bag .”
“Hi,” the shorter guy says, waving at Junmyeon. He has a kind smile. “I’m Jongin.”
Chanyeol stops glaring at Sehun and walks into the kitchen, going up to Junmyeon. He puts his hand out. “And I’m Chanyeol,” he says. His voice is warm and deep. Junmyeon takes his hand and shakes it. “I’m guessing that you’re the guy Sehun was on the phone with yesterday?”
“Junmyeon,” Junmyeon says. “And yeah, I guess that’s me.”
“Chanyeol and Jongin are my housemates,” Sehun clarifies. “And they’re also extremely annoying,” he says through gritted teeth.
“I’m not annoying,” Jongin says. He goes over to the refrigerator and pulls out a can of Coke, cracking it open. “That’s all Chanyeol.”
“I resent that,” Chanyeol says. He comes over to the table and reaches over Sehun’s shoulder, grabbing a handful of chips. He goes over to the cabinet and reaches up to the top shelf, taking down a bag of rice.
“I’m gonna make dinner,” he announces. “Do you all want some?”
“Depends on what you’re making,” Sehun says.
“Well, rice.” Chanyeol holds up the bag. “And we have eggs and there’s a can of Spam in the pantry and some kimchi? So probably kimchi fried rice?”
“Then, yes.” Sehun looks at Junmyeon. “Have you eaten yet?”
“No,” Junmyeon says with a shake of his head. “I’d love some kimchi fried rice. I only ever get it when I go home.”
Jongin sits down in the other empty chair. He grabs the pack of cigarettes from where they’ve been shoved off to the side. He shakes one out and places it between his lips.
Sehun silently reaches into the pocket of his track pants and pulls out a lighter. Jongin leans forward and lets Sehun light the cigarette for him.
“Do you not cook much?” Jongin asks, exhaling a plume of smoke. He pries the bag of chips out of Sehun’s arms and helps himself.
“I can’t cook,” Junmyeon says mournfully. “It’s almost embarrassing how bad I am at it.”
“Jongin and I can’t cook either,” Sehun says. “Chanyeol is the only reason we haven’t died from malnutrition.”
Junmyeon laughs. “Yeah, it’s the same for me and Baekhyun. Kyungsoo comes over and cooks for Baekhyun most of the time and I just mooch off of that. Or my mom will make me stuff and I’ll bring it back with me.”
“Did you grow up nearby?” Chanyeol asks from where he’s washing rice at the sink.
“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “In Oakland on Telegraph Avenue.”
“There’s a little Koreatown over there, right?” Jongin asks. There’s something really gentle about Jongin. He radiates kindness and his demeanor is open and warm. Junmyeon likes him already.
“Pretty much.” Junmyeon thinks about how easy it had been when he’d first moved to U.S. with his mother and grandmother to their little house on Telegraph. Everyone’s face had looked like his own, everyone still spoke Korean. For those first few weeks before he’d started school, it was like he’d never left their neighborhood in Seoul. “Most everyone on that stretch is Korean.”
Jongin nods. He takes another drag off the cigarette and then offers it to Sehun who places it between his lips. “Yeah, both Sehun and I are from K-Town down in LA. It’s the same sort of deal.”
“You two knew each other growing up?” Junmyeon looks at the two of them.
Sehun shrugs. “We went to high school together. Same year and everything.”
“Until you decided to graduate early!” Jongin pouts and then reaches over and punches Sehun in the arm. “Abandoning me.”
“I needed to leave.” Sehun’s words grow heavy in their vowels. He pauses for a second, taking another drag off the cigarette, and then smiles. “And you followed me the second you could, so it’s not even like you had a chance to miss me.”
Jongin rolls his eyes and reclaims the cigarette.
“Chanyeol, can you put music on or something?” Sehun calls over. “It’s weirdly quiet in here.”
“You could totally do it yourself you know,” Chanyeol grumbles as he goes over to the small boombox tucked in the corner. “It’s not like I’m making us dinner or anything.” He balances the bowl of eggs that he’d been beating on the corner of the counter and presses the play button with his toe.
There’s a crescendo of sound and then the song settles into the same slow groove that had played in the background while Junmyeon and Sehun had spoken on the phone last night.
“Jesus Christ, how many times are we gonna have to listen to this goddamn album,” Chanyeol whines. “Aren’t you sick of Prince yet?”
“Never,” Sehun says. “And if you hate it so much, then just switch to the radio.”
“Too much work,” Chanyeol says. He’s moved on to chopping green onions. “I’m busy.”
“This song is filthy though,” Jongin chimes in. “It leaves almost nothing to the imagination.”
“I like it, ok?” Sehun sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Prince is a genius and he’s not afraid to take risks and you’re all complete prudes for condemning him.” He scowls but he shoots Junmyeon a nervous sideways glance.
“We know you like it, Sehun,” Chanyeol says. “But the bigger issue is that you’re making the rest of us sit here and listen to your sex music in a common area.”
The song is filthy, Junmyeon realizes now that he can hear all of the words clearly. Prince sings about tension and sex in his trademark falsetto, detailing exactly what he wants to do his lover. It’s a really beautiful song, Junmyeon thinks. It still grabs his attention in the same way that it had over the phone last night, and he wants to sink into it, to feel what Prince is begging for. His face grows hot and he presses his hands to his cheeks, trying to tamp down on his blush.
“You could just appreciate the song?” Sehun fires back.
Junmyeon listens as Sehun bickers with his housemates, laughing when Chanyeol and Sehun get in a loud shouting match about which Prince song is the best. Jongin rolls his eyes and leans in towards Junmyeon.
“They do this all the time,” he whispers, conspiratorially. Jongin finishes off the cigarette and then stubs it out on Sehun’s deflated Capri-sun. “They’re both huge music snobs. Chanyeol plays, like, a thousand instruments and Sehun just has an opinion on everything.”
Junmyeon chuckles. “And what about you? Where do you fit in?”
Jongin graces him with one of his beautiful smiles. “I’m a dancer. So I think of music a little bit differently. Not as technically as Chanyeol. And I’m not a snob like Sehun so I don’t care about all the shit that he pays attention to.”
“I can hear you, you know,” Sehun cuts in.
Jongin laughs. “It’s not like I’m lying!”
Chanyeol comes over then and places bowls of kimchi fried rice and spoons in front of him and Jongin.
“Eat,” he says.
“What about me?” Sehun demands.
“What about you?” Chanyeol says, winking at Junmyeon as he turns back to the kitchen to fill two more bowls.
Junmyeon takes a bite and is immediately overwhelmed with the taste of home.
“This is so good, Chanyeol,” he says. “It tastes just like something my grandma would make.”
Chanyeol smiles around the spoonful of rice in his mouth. “Thanks. My mom taught me and I get to practice on these goons.”
Jongin shoots him a dirty look and Chanyeol just laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
The four of them finish their dinner and the kitchen is filled with the sounds of their laughter, Sehun and Chanyeol’s bickering, and Prince playing in the background. Junmyeon keeps sneaking glances over at Sehun, watching the way that he waves his hands around in indignation whenever Chanyeol says something he disagrees with and the way that his entire face changes when he laughs.
He’s so beautiful.
Sehun catches him looking and he stares back, letting Junmyeon see the light dancing in his eyes.
Jongin glances at his watch. “Fuck, its late,” he says. “It’s almost 11:30.” He gets up from the table. “I have a 9 am class. I should go to bed.”
Chanyeol grimaces. “Shit, and I have basketball practice at 6:15.” He starts stacking the empty bowls.
“Is it that late already?” Junmyeon says, alarmed. “I should be getting home.” He stands up and starts collecting his notes, shoving them in his backpack.
“I can walk you to the door.” Sehun gets up from the table.
“Thanks.” Junmyeon zips up his backpack. “It was really nice to meet you,” he says, nodding to Chanyeol and Jongin.
“You too!” Chanyeol says, grinning. “I bet we’ll be seeing you around?”
Junmyeon, for the thousandth time that night, blushes.
“I hope so,” he says. He means it. “Goodnight!”
“Goodnight!” Jongin calls after him.
Sehun leads him down the hall and back to the front door. He stands there awkwardly while Junmyeon laces up his sneakers.
“You gonna be ok getting home this late?” Sehun asks him once he’s straightened up. Sehun fidgets, placing his hands in the pockets of his pants and then crossing them over his chest, only to put them back in his pockets. He looks nervous.
“Yeah,” Junmyeon says carefully. “I don’t live all that far away. It’s a quick walk.”
Sehun nods. “That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
Sehun looks over his shoulder, towards the kitchen, then steps in closer, until he and Junmyeon are breathing the same air. Surprised, Junmyeon takes a step backwards, his back pressing against the front door.
“Junmyeon.” Sehun’s voice is a whisper, filling the tiny space between them. His eyes are steady on Junmyeon’s face but his voice betrays him. His words wobble. “I--I. . .”
“You?” Junmyeon says softly. He looks into Sehun’s face, seeing the uncertainty painted there.
Sehun bites his lip and then exhales, hard. “I really want to kiss you,” he says. “I’ve wanted to kiss you all night.” He puts one hand on the side of Junmyeon’s face, gently cupping his cheek. Junmyeon closes his eyes and leans into the touch. Sehun’s palm is warm. “Would you let me kiss you?” Sehun asks. “If I kissed you now, what would you do?”
“The same thing I did on Saturday,” Junmyeon murmurs. His heart is beating so fast. Sehun is so tall, and Junmyeon has to tilt his head upwards to look him in the eyes. “Kiss you back.”
Sehun’s smile is tiny but blinding. “Thank god.”
Sehun’s lips are soft. He hums against Junmyeon’s lips, singing into his mouth. Junmyeon sighs and opens his mouth for him, letting Sehun breathe him in. It’s different this time, without the taste of the night air mixing with their breaths, without the soft haze of alcohol clouding Junmyeon’s mind. Kissing Sehun makes sense. It feels like all of the questions that Junmyeon has carried in his heart finally have answers. Kissing Sehun feels like finding himself.
Sehun’s hands go to Junmyeon’s waist, pulling him closer, until their bodies are flush. Junmyeon gasps into his mouth as Sehun’s fingers slip under the hem of his sweater, stroking at his hip.Junmyeon wraps both arms around Sehun’s neck, pulling him further down. He wants this. He wants this so badly.
But, it doesn’t last. Sehun breaks away first, licking at his bottom lip. His face is flushed, the apples of his cheeks, tinting pink.
“God, I could do that forever,” Sehun whispers, the words ghosting over Junmyeon’s lips.
Breathless, Junmyeon just nods. He leans into Sehun’s chest, feeling the rapid beating of Sehun’s heart patter through his shirt.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Sehun,” Junmyeon mumbles into Sehun’s chest. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Do you want to do this now?” Sehun asks. His hands move up Junmyeon’s back, smoothing soft circles into his skin. Junmyeon shivers.
“I think I do,” Junmyeon says. “But--” I’m afraid. I’m confused. “I’m not sure how. I don’t know where I’m going with you. It feels so complicated .”
“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Sehun says, “I can show you that it can be so simple.” He pulls back from Junmyeon, letting space grow between them. “Go out on a date with me.”
“A date?”
“Yeah.” Sehun looks at him, his eyes hopeful. “On Saturday?” He pauses. “Maybe?”
A thousand questions and a million worries blossom in Junmyeon’s mind. But he takes one more look at curve of Sehun’s mouth and just--
“Ok,” Junmyeon says. “A date.”
Sehun grins at him. “Perfect.”
April 19, 1984
“I am so sorry I’m late!” Junmyeon runs up to where Sehun is waiting for him at the top of the hill. Junmyeon is panting, his hair is mussed from his sprint over from the bus stop. “The bus showed up like fifteen minutes behind schedule and then BART wasn’t running regularly.” He feels bad for having left Sehun alone outside the venue, waiting for him to show up. Junmyeon had tried his best to leave on time--BART was always spotty on weekends and he knew it. But his grandmother had called early in the afternoon, asking him to stop by the house to fix the bathroom faucet that’d been leaking all week. He’d ended up trapped there all day, helping out around the house until it was half past five and he ran out, giving his mother and grandmother some bullshit excuse about having to tutor a student.
“Sounds like a typical day on Bay Area transportation,” Sehun says. He shrugs. “It’s no big deal. It doesn’t really start until 8 anyways.” Sehun hesitates and then comes in close, close enough that Junmyeon can smell the warmth of his skin. He puts his arms around Junmyeon, drawing him in and Junmyeon stiffens then melts into the embrace, leaning his face into Sehun’s broad chest. They part after what feels like only a flash of a moment. Sehun is grinning, his entire face lit up by the lights of the Castro, twinkling at the bottom of the hill. Junmyeon takes all of it in; taking in yellow and black stripes on Sehun’s shirt and the way that the colors play up the gold undertones in his skin, the inky blackness of his hair and how it curls at the nape of his neck, the way that his leather jacket hangs off of his wide shoulders, the way that his black jeans cling to his thighs.
“You look really nice,” Junmyeon says, at a loss for what else to do or say.
Sehun smirks at him playfully. “Thanks,” he says. “I got you a present.”He takes a cassette case from the pocket of his leather jacket and hands it over.
Junmyeon squints at the writing on the title card tucked into the cover of the clear plastic casing. “”For You, Part One,” he reads aloud. ““Are you expecting to make a part 2?” he asks, looking up at Sehun.
“Are you hoping that I don’t?”
Junmyeon blushes. “No, I--that’s not what I meant.”
Sehun looks at him, bemused, and then shakes his head. “Then just accept it. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth or whatever it is that they say. Some people would kill for one of my mixtapes.”
“Who are ‘some people’?”
“Most people. My mixtapes are legendary and I don’t give them out easily so consider yourself lucky.”
“Duly noted.” Junmyeon puts the cassette in his jacket pocket. “I’ll listen to it first thing when I get home.”
Sehun glances at his watch. “We should probably get going,” he says. “They start charging a cover at 8 and I don’t know about you, but I’m trying to avoid that at all costs.”
“Where exactly are we going?” Junmyeon asks as they set off down the hill.
Sehun grins at him. “You ever been rollerskating before?”
“A few times, I guess,” Junmyeon thinks back to long summer afternoons, struggling to stay upright on the second hand roller skates that a mother at Temple handed off to him when they no longer fit her son. “When I was a kid. We used to roller skate up and down the block during the summer.”
Sehun smiles and shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?” Junmyeon gives him a confused look.
“I mean have you ever gone to a roller rink before? Like a legit one with music and roller dancing.”
Junmyeon shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Never.” Some of the kids in middle and high school used to go on Saturday nights, but he never tagged along. He didn’t have time after all, not with helping out at the restaurant and his studies.
Sehun laughs and takes Junmyeon’s hand as they hit the main crush of the Castro. “Then this will be fun,” he says.
This is Junmyeon’s first real time in the Castro. He’s walked past it, sure, and he’s seen the giant art deco sign shouting out the neighborhood’s name more times than he can count. But he’s never ventured down the hill.
Tonight, he sees it all up close. There are men holding hands with men, women with their arms wrapped around other women in ways that are so natural, so gentle, so intimate that Junmyeon wants to look away. There are people in dresses, in skirts, in bright red lipstick, in shock blue eye shadow, in heels, people that defy any of Junmyeon’s understandings of gender, all sharing space with him on the sidewalk. Rainbow flags flutter from the flag poles, daring anyone to challenge their claim on the wind. The storefronts broadcast every last one of Junmyeon’s wildest dreams and things well beyond his imagings: there’s a bookstore with a sign in the window that announces GAY LITERATURE HERE to passersby, there’s a hotel with a rainbow flag in the window, there are posters strung up all over the light posts and on walls asking people to STAY SAFE. THINK SMART. DON’T BE NEXT.
“That’s where I work,” Sehun says, pointing at a nondescript yellow building across the street with the words Coalition Care Clinic written on the door.
“What is it?” Junmyeon asks.
“It’s an AIDS clinic,” Sehun replies. “We help people who are sick and try to connect them with resources at hospitals or just try to be there for them when no one else will be.”
Junmyeon shivers, suddenly feeling cold. He’d heard about all of this, he’d have had to be completely oblivious to have not. It’s terrifying, scary in a way that makes his skin feel too tight.
“You come down to the city every day?” he asks.
“No,” Sehun says. “Just Thursday through Saturday. I’m only a volunteer.”
Junmyeon just nods. He doesn’t know what to say. Sehun, just squeezes his hand and pulls him closer.
They walk in silence for a while until they reach the end of the block.
“This place technically isn’t in the Castro,” Sehun explains as they turn a corner. “There’s not enough space for it here.”
Junmyeon sees the sign from halfway down the block. GRAVITY written in curling neon purple letters sit above the double doors of the old warehouse. There’s a short line leading up to the door where the bouncer is stationed, checking IDs.
Junmyeon follows Sehun up to the door.
“Hey Sehun,” the bouncer says as they reach the door. “It’s been a while.”
Sehun smiles and gives the man a hug. “Sorry, Donghae. I’ve been busy.”
The bouncer, Donghae, laughs and claps him on the back. “You’re always busy.” He looks at Junmyeon. “Who’s this?”
Sehun pulls Junmyeon forward. “This is my friend Junmyeon.”
Donghae smirks. “‘Friend,’” he says smugly. He gives Junmyeon a once over. “Sure, right.” He extends his hand to Junmyeon. “Well it’s nice to meet you, Junmyeon. Take good care of my Sehunnie, ok?”
Junmyeon takes his hand and shakes it. Donghae has a tight grip. “Nice to meet you too,” he replies. “I’ll try my best.”
Sehun laughs. “Stop terrorizing my date, Donghae.”
Donghae laughs out loud. “I knew he wasn’t just a friend.” He gives Junmyeon a menacing look. “Then you’d better take very good care of Sehun.”
Sehun rolls his eyes and moves to walk through the door. “Shut up, Donghae.”
Donghae keeps laughing but moves out of their way. “Have fun you two!”
Junmyeon follows Sehun inside. The space is larger than the outside lets on and the cavernous space is bathed in pink and purple lighting. The room is bisected by the bar where bartenders in purple polos bustle around, serving customers. Half of the room looks like a traditional bar with tables and booths with pink vinyl backed chairs. The skating rink takes up the other half of the room, the floor full of people dancing and skating underneath the glimmer of the disco ball turning in time to the beat of Earth Wind and Fire’s Let’s Groove .
“Look at Chanyeol and Jongin,” Sehun says, pointing towards the rink. Jongin is dancing circles around Chanyeol, skating with a grace that Junmyeon hadn’t even known was possible. Chanyeol has a firm hold on the wooden support bar running the circumference of the rink and is laughing. “Chanyeol’s got it bad,” Sehun whispers under his breath.
“What do you mean?” Junmyeon asks.
Sehun shakes his head. “Drink first or skate first?” He asks instead.
Junmyeon grimaces. “Skate first,” he says. “I don’t trust my skating abilities the second that I have alcohol in my system.”
Sehun laughs. “Let’s go get our skates, then.”
They go over to the rental stall and trade in their sneakers for roller skates. After they both get laced in, Sehun holds out his hand.
“Let’s go.”
“I’m not going to be any good at this,” Junmyeon says as he staggers to his feet. “I can barely dance on my normal feet and you’re expecting me to dance on wheels?”
Sehun laughs. “Didn’t I teach you how to dance last weekend?” He skates in close, putting his hands on Junmyeon’s hips. “Just consider this as the next lesson.”
Junmyeon’s heart almost stops beating but he lets Sehun lead him to the rink.
“Easy,” Sehun says. He steadies Junmyeon with a hand on his hip. “Don’t want you to fall.”
“Oh, I am definitely going to fall,” Junmyeon grumbles. “This is not going to be me at my best.”
Sehun links their hands together and laughs. “I’ll take you at your worst over nothing at all.”
Junmyeon’s insides turn into jello.
“What’s up, everybody?” The DJ shouts out over the music. A loud cheer rises up from the rink and the DJ scratches the vinyls on the turntable once, twice. “I know you all know this one!”
The Safety Dance starts playing to another loud scream from the crowd and the rink becomes a blur, bodies racing around Junmyeon, moving to the beat.
As it turns out, Sehun is a very, very good roller skater. Not only does he skate so effortlessly that he might as well just be walking, but he is somehow capable of actually dancing while skating, turning and moving to the beat of each song.
On their third go around the rink, Junmyeon finally starts to feel like he’s getting the hang of it. He grips Sehun’s hand in his own, their fingers tangling together, and Junmyeon finally feels like he’s keeping his balance. Sehun turns, and takes Junmyeon’s other hand, so that he’s skating backwards, pulling Junmyeon along. Junmyeon looks into Sehun’s face, sees the way the glitter of the disco ball twinkles across his face. The whole rink feels safe, the type of safe that Junmyeon had never dared dream about, the type of safe that let him feel alive, feel capable, feel possible . Every expression and type of love whirls around them in a chorus that Junmyeon never thought he’d be lucky enough to hear.
“Having fun?” Sehun whispers in his ear.
Junmyeon tilts his head up and winds his arms around Sehun’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss. Their lips brush against each other in a short soft press. Sehun draws back with a smile.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. “And as much as I like kissing you, I feel like skating and kissing is a recipe for disaster.”
They make a few more trips around the rink, passing Chanyeol and Jongin who are skate-dancing in a group of people that Junmyeon doesn’t recognize. When they skate past them the fourth time, they call out to Sehun, begging for him to join them.
“You should go,” Junmyeon says, pushing Sehun gently.
“I can’t just abandon you.” Sehun waves his friends off. “What type of date would that make me?”
“A kind one,” Junmyeon says. “My legs are killing me. I’m gonna go take a break by the bar. You can keep skating if you want.”
Sehun glances over at Jongin. “You sure?”
“Positive.” Junmyeon kisses him again and then carefully glides himself in the direction of the bar, his arms outstretched in a childish attempt to maintain balance, confidence gone without Sehun to help him stay upright. He almost makes it, too, until a leggy blond in red sequin daisy dukes, cuts him off, causing him to lose balance. He flails around until two strong arms wrap around his middle, righting him.
“Whoa there, stay upright please,” Chanyeol says as he helps Junmyeon regain his balance. Junmyeon blushes and then skates the last six inches towards the bar.
“Thanks, Chanyeol,” he says, once he has a firm grip on the linoleum covered ledge. “I’m no good at this.”
“You seemed to be doing just fine.” Chanyeol comes up next to him. “At least, you seemed to be doing fine when you had Sehun holding on to you.”
Junmyeon isn’t sure if he can go any redder. “Sehun makes it look easy.”
Chanyeol laughs, his face splitting into a wide smile. “Sehun makes almost everything look easy.”
They both hoist themselves up onto the purple plastic topped barstools. Junmyeon’s feet don’t even touch the floor.
The bartender comes over, a man around Sehun’s height with David Hasselhoff hair. He’s wearing a tight purple t-shirt with GRAVITY emblazoned across his chest in baby blue lettering.
“What can I get you guys?” he asks, a huge smile on his face.
“I’ll have a Coors,” Junmyeon says.
“Make it two,” Chanyeol says.
The bartender winks at them. “Sure thing.” He disappears for a moment and then returns with two gold cans, placing them on the bar in front of Junmyeon and Chanyeol. “That’ll be $5.50 total.”
Junmyeon makes a motion for his wallet but Chanyeol shushes him. “I got this.”
“You sure?” Junmyeon says, surprised.
“Yeah, no worries.” Chanyeol pulls out a ten-dollar bill, telling the bartender to keep the change. The bartender smiles and winks at them again before wandering off to serve other customers.
“Thanks.” Junmyeon cracks open his beer and takes a sip. It’s cold and he relishes the way it feels as it moves down his throat, cooling him down. They stand there in silence, sipping at their beers slowly. Junmyeon watches as the DJs swap out, and a woman with jheri curl and in a bright green leotard and black fishnets takes over the turntable. There’s a quick break in the music as she cues up the next record, then the sound of a shrill horn cuts through the room. An exuberant cry rises from the rink as the driving bassline takes over. Junmyeon watches in awe as people dance as they glide around the circumference of the rink; some jumping and spinning on their wheels.
“How the hell do they do that?” Junmyeon says in awe.
“Talent,” Chanyeol says, dejectedly. “Lots of talent and probably a lot of practice. But probably more talent than anything.” He sighs. “I’ve been rollerskating for years but I could never do that. I’m an awful dancer.”
Junmyeon snorts into his beer. “You’re telling me. I’m fucking hopeless.”
Chanyeol nudges him with his elbow. “Hey, you’re no more hopeless than I am. I’ve had Jongin try to teach me to dance for years and I’ve made no progress. We can’t all be Jongin and Sehun. Some people just have talents in different places.”
Junmyeon laughs and looks up at Chanyeol who’s smiling down at him.
“So what’s your talent, Chanyeol?”
Chanyeol takes a sip of his beer. “Oh, I dunno,” he muses. “Music, probably. Or maybe basketball. And I’m good at a lot of weird shit, like I’m really good with my hands. I can fix almost anything. I’m really good with cars.”
Junmyeon raises his eyebrows. “I’m jealous. You probably save so much money on tune-ups.”
Chanyeol laughs. “I guess I do.” He takes another long drink from his beer. “What about you? What are your non-dance related talents?”
Junmyeon shrugs. “I’m not really good at anything, honestly.” He thinks about all of his years spent studying, all of the time buried in his textbooks and staring out of his bedroom window wishing for something more.
“Oh stop shitting,” Chanyeol says. “Aren’t you the TA for Sehun’s calculus class? You must be good at math, at least. Sehun says that you’re a fucking genius.”
Junmyeon scoffs. “Sehun is miles smarter than I am, and he knows it too.”
“That’s not the way he tells it.” Chanyeol nudges him again. “You should hear him. He’s been talking about how smart you are for ages.”
Junmyeon looks up at Chanyeol. “Ages?”
“Oh hell yeah.” Chanyeol winks at him. “Sehun went to one of your review sessions once or something and then came home talking up a storm about how smart and cute the TA for his Calculus class was.”
“Now you’re shitting.” Junmyeon feels his face grow hot. He wraps both hands around his beer can, the condensation cool against his palm.
“Nope.” Chanyeol grins at him. “He’s had a huge crush on you forever.”
“I--I don’t know what to do with that information.” And Junmyeon doesn’t. Not really. He’s never really been wanted like this before. He’s only ever yearned for someone else from afar, through rain spattered late night windows, cloaked in darkness’s cover.
“Well,” Chanyeol says, “what do you want to do with it?”
Junmyeon looks out onto the skating rink to where Sehun and Jongin are dancing together, both of their bodies fluid and graceful, both of their faces lit up with a careless freedom.
“I want to try this with him,” Junmyeon decides. “I want to give this my best shot. If he’ll let me.”
Chanyeol nods. “He’ll let you,” he says. “Sehun might not seem like it at first, but he has a huge heart and once he makes up his mind, he gives it out really easily.”
“And you think he’s made up his mind on me?”
“Looks like it,” Chanyeol says. “He stayed up all night making you a mixtape. He doesn’t do that for people he’s not sure about.”
Junmyeon takes a sip of his beer and looks back out onto the rink. Sehun catches his eye and waves and smiles.
Junmyeon has never seen anything so beautiful.
Chanyeol catches him staring. “You seem to really like him.”
Junmyeon bites his lip. “I guess I do. But it’s all happening so fast? I feel like I barely know him.”
Chanyeol laughs. “Things sometimes move really quickly with us.”
“Us?”
“You know.” Chanyeol shrugs. “Us gays. Time seems like it moves differently for us.”
“You’re gay too?”
Chanyeol howls with laughter, attracting the attention of the two girls sitting next to them. “Hell yeah,” he says, once he’s calmed down. “Why else do you think I’m here? It’s fucking Gay Night at Gravity. It’s all queers here tonight.”
Junmyeon flushes red. “Fair point.” He takes another sip of beer.
“And besides,” Chanyeol adds, “That’s why I know Sehun. He wrote to the campus Gay Alliance before he started at Cal, asking about housing. I wrote him back, telling him that there was space in the attic of my house since one of my housemates had graduated and moved out. He’s been kinda like a little brother ever since.”
Junmyeon nods. “My housemate is in the Gay Alliance, too. Do you know Baekhyun Byun?”
Chanyeol graces him with another huge smile. “Fuck, Baekhyun is your housemate? He’s fucking insane .”
Junmyeon grimaces. “Baekhyun can be a handful, sometimes.”
Chanyeol laughs. “Baekhyun and I really similar. We get along really well.”
Junmyeon catalogues everything that he’s learned about Chanyeol from their two conversations and he can see the places where Chanyeol and Baekhyun overlap. They both have huge personalities but are easy to talk to with loud, warm laughs. Junmyeon feels comfortable with Chanyeol, comfortable in the same way that Baekhyun always makes him feel.
“I can see the similarities,” Junmyeon says.
“The only things different about me and Baekhyun is the fact that I’m like half a foot taller than him and the fact that he has someone to love,” Chanyeol lifts his beer can up to his lips.
“Are you seeing anyone then?”
Chanyeol shakes his head but Junmyeon notices the way his gaze drifts to where Jongin is laughing with Sehun. “No,” Chanyeol says, his gaze lingering on Jongin’s face. Jongin notices him staring and he starts to skate over to them, Sehun following behind him. “I’m as single as they come.”
Sehun and Jongin come over and Sehun slings an arm around Junmyeon’s shoulders.
“Chanyeol, are you scaring Junmyeon away?”
“Not at all,” Chanyeol says. “Just trying to make sure that he’s good enough for you, Sehunnie.”
“So what’s the verdict?” Jongin asks. He snags Chanyeol’s beer and drains it while Chanyeol squawks in protest.
“He seems like a good one,” Chanyeol says. “You’re buying me another one, for the record.”
“There was almost nothing left in it!”
“That is so not the point, it’s the principle! ”
“Wanna skate one more song with me?” Sehun whispers into Junmyeon’s ear, making him shiver.
“Alright.” Junmyeon eases himself back onto his skates. He takes Sehun’s hand and lets him lead him back onto the rink.
---
Junmyeon switches on his bedside lamp. He’s only just gotten home from his date and he can still feel the sure grip of Sehun’s hand in his own. He feels light. His heart feels like the warmest spring day.
Junmyeon strips down to his boxers and then digs around in his bedside table until his hand closes around his walkman. He detangles his headphones and opens the cassette player. It’s empty. It’s been a long time since he’d last listened to anything on his own. He reaches down to where his jeans are discarded on the floor and pulls out the cassette tape that Sehun had handed him earlier, taking the black plastic tape out of the case, inadvertently pulling the liner page out in the process. It falls into his lap and Junmyeon notices that there’s writing on the back. He picks it up and recognizes Sehun’s blocky handwriting.
For You. Part 1.
- Do Me, Baby - Prince
- Stuck on You - Lionel Ritchie
- Love Is A Battlefield - Pat Benatar
- For You - Prince
Junmyeon,
Hope you like this. Took me a while to decide which songs to include, it’s never taken me this long to make a mixtape for someone. I feel like. . .there’s so much that I want to share with you. And I’ve only just met you? I don’t know. Jongin always says that I tend to get ahead of myself. Maybe that’s what I’m doing right now and if I am, well shit. At least you maybe got a good mixtape out of it.
-- Sehun
Junmyeon smiles to himself and then pops the cassette into the player. He pulls the headphones over his ears and switches off the light before sliding under the covers. Then he presses play.
The same song from Wednesday and Thursday night fills his ears, the crashing crescendo of sensuality washing over him. Maybe Sehun has a point about Prince.
September 5, 1991, Take One.
Junmyeon wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing. He fumbles around on his bedside table until his fingers close around his phone’s receiver.
“. . .hello?” he mumbles into the phone, his voice still thick with sleep. He runs a hand across his face, trying to rub the lingering fatigue out of his eyes.
“ Junmyeon ?” Sehun’s voice comes across the line, muffled and uncertain.
“Yeah?” Junmyeon sits up in bed, his whole body jolting fully awake. “I mean, yeah, hey.”
“ It’s Sehun .”
“I know,” Junmyeon says. He’s gripping the receiver so tightly, like he’s afraid that if he lets go, Sehun’s voice will disappear.
“ So you didn’t forget the sound of my voice, I guess. ” Junmyeon can hear the whisper of Sehun’s old mischief dancing along with his words.
“I haven’t.” Junmyeon glances at the clock on his bedside table. The red numbers glow in the early morning light. 7:13 am. “You actually called me,” Junmyeon says, almost in disbelief. “I didn’t think that you would.”
“ You gave me your number ,” Sehun says, like it’s that simple. “ So of course I called. Sorry for calling you so early in the morning though. I figured that I should try to catch you before you went off to work .”
Wait. Junmyeon blinks, realization dawning on him. If Sehun is calling me, then that means that I gave him my number last night which means that---
“Sehun,” Junmyeon says, suddenly. “What day is it?”
“ What day is it ?” Sehun repeats, confused. “ It’s Thursday ?”
Relief washes over Junmyeon like the first rays of the early morning light.
As if on cue, his radio alarm goes off.
Goooooooooddddd morning, Portland!
It’s 7:15 on Thursday, September 5, 1991. It’s a cool 64 degrees out there today and, of course, rainy. So pack those umbrellas and settle in for another wet and beautiful day in the Rose City!
“It is Thursday,” Junmyeon murmurs, quietly as he reaches over to switch off the radio.
“ What’d you say ?”
“Nothing,” Junmyeon says. “Just the radio.”
“ Oh .” There’s the distinctive click of a lighter and an inhale. Sehun is smoking, Junmyeon realizes. Sehun only smokes on the phone when he’s nervous. At least, that’s how he used to be. Junmyeon’s not really sure what Sehun does when he’s nervous now.
“ Listen ,” Sehun says. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m. . .glad that I bumped into you last night. And I. . .wanted to know if I could take you up on your offer. I wanted to know if you could-- ”
“Show you around?” Junmyeon finishes for him.
There’s a beat of quiet and Junmyeon can hear Sehun take another drag off of his cigarette.
“ Yeah ,” Sehun says finally, quietly.
“Yeah,” Junmyeon says. “I can do that.”
“ Great ,” Sehun says.
There’s another awkward beat of silence. Junmyeon takes a deep breath.
“What time do you get off work?” Junmyeon asks, in a rush. His palm is sweaty where it wraps around the receiver. “We could meet up after work some time this week.”
“ I get off at five ,” Sehun says.
“I’m done at six,” Junmyeon replies. “That probably works best, since it might take you a little while to come down from Beaverton. You know. With the bus and all.”
“ I have a car, ” Sehun says. “ I don’t like driving much, but it’ll be faster than the bus .”
“Oh.” Junmyeon bites his lip. “Yeah. It will be much faster.”
“ But it will still take me about an hour to drive to the city .” Sehun says. “But it’s better than whatever detour the bus would take me on. Where do you want to meet ?”
“Um,” Junmyeon racks his brain. He doesn’t go out often. He wouldn’t really go out at all if it weren’t for Amber dragging him out of the office a few times a week to “air him out” because he’s, as she calls it, “too young to go stale.”
“There’s a little dive bar on the border of Chinatown,” Junmyeon says. “It’s called Auto . Maybe we can go there at some point this weekend?”
“ This weekend ?” Sehun asks. “ Why not today ?”
“Today? So soon?” You want to see me that badly?
“ Are you doing anything after work tonight ?” Sehun asks the question like he already knows the answer.
“No,” Junmyeon says. “I’m not.”
“ Then why don’t we meet tonight? At like 6:30 ?”
“Um, yeah,” Junmyeon says, surprised. “Sure, that works for me.”
“ Ok .” Sehun sounds lighter, his voice sailing over their connection. “ I’ll see you then ?”
“Yes,” Junmyeon says. “Definitely.”
There’s a click as Sehun hangs up the phone.
Junmyeon listens to the patter of the rain against the roof. His bones are shaking, uncertain of what the rest of the day will bring, and while he’d rather not admit it, he’s afraid to see Sehun again, one-on-one. But still, he feels relieved. He’s finally cracked the loop. All along, Sehun was the key.
In a way, some things never change.
He gets out of bed.
Eats breakfast; cornflakes this time. Showers, shaves. Gets dressed. He spends longer than usual rifling through the choices in closet, taking uncharacteristic care selecting his outfit. He settles on dark blue slacks and an emerald colored sweater that Amber always says makes his eyes pop. Whatever that means. He shrugs on his raincoat and rushes out the door, just in time to catch the 8:30 bus.
The ride to work goes by quickly and Junmyeon finds himself sitting at his desk, computer flickering to life, before 9:15. The code fills in on his screen. All of his work from yesterday has saved.
Junmyeon takes a sip of his coffee and gets to work.
The rest of the day flows smoothly. He works through another section of the code, takes lunch at 12:30 with Amber, goes to a two-hour long meeting with the design team at 2, and then spends the rest of the day wrapping up his coding.
At 5:12, Amber comes by his cubicle.
“Hey, you,” she says, leaning in the entryway. “You headed out soon?”
Junmyeon turns in chair, facing his friend.
“I’m gonna hang on a little longer,” he says. He tugs at his shirt collar. It feels too tight and he’s felt hot ever since the clock had hit 5 pm. “I want to look this code over one more time.”
“I can wait for you,” Amber offers. “I might go grab a drink down the street. I’ll look less pathetic if I don’t go alone.”
Junmyeon shakes his head. “No thanks,” he says. “I, um. I have plans. I’m meeting someone at 6:30. At Auto.”
Amber’s eyebrows shoot up. “You? Are meeting someone? Has the earth broken?”
Junmyeon flushes and turns back around to face his computer.
“It’s nothing special,” he says, focusing on the lines of code in front of him. “He’s just an old friend from home. Bumped into him after the movie last night. Thought it might be nice to catch up, you know?” He hopes his voice doesn’t give him away.
“Sounds fun,” Amber says. “Look at you. Deciding on your own to hang out with people. And talking about people from your secret California life? Between you asking me to eat lunch together yesterday and this, I’d almost say that you’re a completely different person.”
“Fuck off, Amber,” Junmyeon says, sighing.
Amber just laughs in response.
“Whatever, grumpy,” she says. “I’ll go see if Sue wants to get a drink with me. I want a full report on your friend reunion tomorrow though. As penance for you abandoning me tonight.”
“Deal,” Junmyeon says. He hears Amber leave.
He wiggles the mouse around on the screen. Clicks the save function a few times. He glances at the time. 5:17. He takes a deep breath. Only 45 more minutes to go. He can do this.
He can do this.
---
Junmyeon is just taking the first sip of his beer when he feels a warm hand on his shoulder.
“Hey,” Sehun says, sliding on to the bar stool next to him. “Took a while to find parking. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
“It’s no big deal,” Junmyeon says. “I only just got here.”
“Still,” Sehun says. He reaches into the front pocket of his shirt and takes out his cigarettes, setting them on the bartop. He takes one out and lights it with the book of matches left out on the bar. “I feel bad,” he says with an exhale of a plume of smoke. He places both elbows on the bartop, resting his head in his left hand as he holds his cigarette with his right. He stares straight ahead, as if he’s eyeing the liquor selection behind the bar. He doesn’t make eye contact with Junmyeon.
“Don’t,” Junmyeon says. He watches Sehun’s profile as he smokes. He’s still in his work clothes; wearing a dark blue button down, slightly wrinkled from the day. He’s rolled both sleeves up to his elbows and Junmyeon can see the toned strength in his forearms.
The bar is fuller than Junmyeon would have thought for 6:30 on a Thursday. All of the booths are filled, groups of people, fresh from work, sitting in the high back red vinyl bank seats. There are a good number of people sitting at the bar, too, flanking Sehun and Junmyeon on both sides. They’re playing music in the background, Axel Rose’s shrill crooning weaving through the chatter. The bartenders look busy, running back and forth, filling orders and closing tabs. One finally loops her way to Junmyeon and Sehun, taking Sehun’s order.
“What can I get you?” she asks, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Vodka soda,” Sehun says, “with ice please.”
“You got it.” She disappears to the liquor shelf.
“I didn’t know you liked vodka,” Junmyeon says. “You used to always avoid it.”
“I didn’t like vodka,” Sehun agrees in a plume of smoke. “But it’s kind of grown on me now.”
The bartender comes back and places the drink in front of Sehun. He thanks her with a toast of his glass.
He takes a sip, his eyes sliding shut as he swallows. Junmyeon tries his best to not let his eyes linger.
“So.” Junmyeon says. “How are you liking Portland? Do you like it much?”
Sehun opens his eyes and rests his half burnt cigarette on the crowded ashtray on the bar.
“No,” Sehun says, bluntly. “I don’t really like it here.”
Junmyeon winces. “Why not?”
“Do you like it here?” Sehun challenges.
“I mean--” Junmyeon thinks about it. He’s never thought about his time in Portland in terms of his own happiness. Happiness was never part of the consideration. He just wanted to get away. After feeling so much, he had come to Portland to try to feel nothing. To numb himself. “I’m not unhappy. I don’t dislike it.”
“But you don’t love it,” Sehun confirms. “It doesn’t really feel like home, does it?”
Junmyeon glances out the window. It’s still raining--the sky and the concrete are the same shade of dirty gray, everything rippled and warped through the never-ending sheet of rain. It doesn’t have the depth of color or the bursts of light that always break through even the rainiest of days back in the Bay. No, this type of rain is cold and unrelenting in its constant drizzle, never as wild or as heavy as the rains back home but, instead, damp in a soft hesitance that fills Junmyeon with unease.
“Not really,” Junmyeon says, turning back to Sehun. “It’s not home. But it feels like something different. Like somewhere that I’m still getting to know.”
“Do you like what you’re seeing, then?” Sehun presses. “Do you really think that Portland is a place worth knowing?”
“It might be.” Junmyeon watches the tiny curl of smoke work its way up from the butt of Sehun’s cigarette. “I don’t know if I’ve really gotten to know it yet.”
Sehun nods. He takes a sip of his drink. The song playing changes over, switching to R.E.M. Junmyeon recognizes it immediately--Amber had been obsessed with it a few months back, always humming it throughout the office. When she’d finally played it for him, the first thought that had popped into Junmyeon’s head was that it sounded like a song that Sehun would love. And, now, it seems like he was right. Sehun is humming along tapping the beat out against the side of his glass.
“It doesn’t feel like home to me either,” Sehun says after a moment. “I don’t know anyone here. And Portland is so much smaller than Oakland or Berkeley or San Francisco but it feels so empty. I feel so alone out here.” His expression is unreadable, Sehun’s face closed off in that way that it would always get whenever Sehun was trying to suppress his emotions.
“Do you like living alone?” Sehun asks. “Are you lonely?”
“How did you know that I live alone?”
Sehun graces Junmyeon with a small smirk. “Call it an educated guess.”
Junmyeon feels his face grow hot. “I. . .don’t know,” he answers. “It’s quieter than I thought it would be. Quieter than I like, I think. And I don’t like. . .” he trails off.
“Don’t like what?”
“I don’t like waking up alone.” Junmyeon takes another swig of his beer, hoping that the cold liquid will cool down his burning insides. “And I don’t like coming home to an empty house. It’s the first time that I’ve ever had to do that. It’s eerie, not having someone around.” Walking through his front door at the end of every day feels like going down into silent and still catacombs.
Sehun nods, picking up his nearly burnt out cigarette and taking one final puff. He grinds it out in the ashtray.
“I really never thought that you’d leave the Bay.” Junmyeon says. He picks at the label on his beer bottle. “It always seemed like you’d made it your home. It’s like you fit there.” And it’s true. Those last few months. . .it had felt like Sehun’s voice had mixed in with the early morning fog, carried over from the Bay, shrouding Junmyeon’s entire world in the gray memory of the person he loved.
“I never really thought that I’d leave, either.” Sehun takes a sip of his drink. “But things changed, I guess.”
“What changed?”
“Chanyeol and Jongin left last year, did you know that?” Sehun asks. Junmyeon shakes his head. “They moved to New York City. Chanyeol got a great job--they both did actually. Jongin is going to be dancing with an ensemble out there. Chanyeol got a job working at a production studio, making music for films. And then. . .” he pauses. Junmyeon can see the way his fingers tremble where they close around the width of his glass. “Everyone at the clinic. I just. . . I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt like I’d lost so much. I didn’t think I could still give them what they needed most when inside I felt like I’d shattered to pieces. I didn’t feel like I had a family any more. I didn’t feel like I had anything left to share.”
Junmyeon succeeds at ripping half the label off, the paper mushy and damp between his fingers.
“And plus,” Sehun continues, voice clear and steady over the bar’s din, “everything in the Bay reminded me of you.”
Junmyeon’s throat suddenly feels so dry and he brings his beer up to his lips, downing it all.
“Isn’t it weird?” Sehun says. “That we ran away from each other but somehow, after a year, we still ended up in the same random city?” He laughs once, harsh and tight. “It’s like universe is playing a fucking trick on me.” He doesn’t make eye contact with Junmyeon, choosing instead to stare out at the street. The sun has finally set and the streetlights are just flickering on, their glow reflecting against the damp sidewalk in small golden halos.
Junmyeon doesn’t know what to say. He watches as Sehun gulps down the last of his vodka soda and then as he takes another cigarette out of his pack, lighting it. He hands the pack to Junmyeon. It almost feels like an offering.
“Thanks.” Junmyeon shakes one out, bringing it to his lips and then lighting it with the discarded matchbook. The rush of nicotine races through his veins, calming the bubbling discomfort in his throat. He exhales, letting the cloud of tobacco scented smoke raise up like a ghostly screen between the two of them.
“Where do we go from here, Junmyeon?” Sehun says, looking at him through the smoke’s haze. “What are we to each other now? We’re in a new city, it’s been over a year since I’ve last seen you. What type of people are we to each other now that we’ve been through that storm? What type of men are we to ourselves, now?”
“I don’t know,” Junmyeon breathes out. The words taste sour on his tongue. “I don’t know what any of this means anymore.”
“Well, then what do you want?” Sehun says, almost pleading. A stray lock of hair has fallen into his forehead and it takes everything that Junmyeon has to not reach up and brush it back into place. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want us to be friends,” Junmyeon says. “You’re here, six hundred miles from the place we met.” From the place where I left you , Junmyeon wants to say. “Against all odds. You said it yourself--it’s like the universe was trying to get us to this place. Together. So who are we to fight all of that? Who are we to fight the cosmos, really?”
Sehun is silent. He goes back to staring out of the window, smoking his cigarette, a stern look on his face. Junmyeon doesn’t know what to say so he smokes, too. The rain is still falling. Tom Petty’s voice croons in the background.
“Friends,” Sehun murmurs. He stubs out his cigarette. “Friends.”
“Maybe, we could try?” Junmyeon says, more hopefully than he intends.
“No.” The word falls from Sehun’s lips with the heavy certainty of the Bay Area’s rains. It washes over Junmyeon in a flood. “It’s not that easy.”
“Why can’t it be?” Junmyeon asks. He wants it to be this easy. Even after all this time, he still wants Sehun. He still yearns for him in every way, so strongly, so painfully that even being here, sitting so close to him with the distance of a year and a half in between them burns like hell.
“Because---” Sehun breaks off. “Because you were my everything, Junmyeon. You can’t just go from being my everything to disappearing into thin air and then ask to be a casual acquaintance. It doesn’t fucking work like that.” Anger drips down into Sehun’s voice. “For a little while, we all thought that you’d gotten married and run off, you know that? Chanyeol and Jongin and I all thought that you’d finally caved to your mother and done what she wanted. Baekhyun’s convinced that you’d died, that you’d fucking offed yourself or something. That’s how complete your disappearance was. And it hurt , Junmyeon.” Sehun looks at him dead on, showing Junmyeon all of the misery floating in his eyes. “After we fought, you just moved out like that and then we didn’t speak. Then your grandma died and you just fucking disappeared. I felt like I was going to go insane. You were just gone.” Sehun scoffs. “So no. We can’t just be friends like that. Because even now, even in this boring, tiny wet-ass city, it still hurts like hell to see you. I’m sitting here, trying to tell myself that it was a good idea to call you. That it was worth it to try to have a normal drink with you like I don’t still love you. Even after all this time.”
Sehun stands up. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a five dollar bill, dropping it on the bartop.
“I have to go,” he says. “See you, maybe.”
Junmyeon watches as he hurries out the door. Sehun doesn’t put his jacket on when he steps out into the rain.
January 17, 1979
Junmyeon’s life is the answer to a question a generation in the making.
Stability.
Safety.
That’s what his umma said when she told him to pack up his things. We’re going to America. We’re going to start over.
And it made sense, then. Even at seven years old, Junmyeon knew that things had changed. Ever since Haraboeji had died last year, things had gotten hard. The corner store was struggling--Umma and Halmeoni working long hours to try to keep it afloat but dinners had gotten smaller and the house had run cold last winter when they’d run out of money for briquettes.
And then there had been all the shouting and the stomping and the screaming in the streets, people chanting hot, angry words, their voices thundering past as Junmyeon watched through the storefront windows.
So it made sense. When Junmyeon’s clothes were packed into the old black suitcase, when Umma and Halmeoni boarded up the empty shop. When they paid the cab driver in the last of the winter kimchi and four bags of rice to drive the three of them to the airport. When they got on the plane, its wings gleaming and silver like the quickest of fish, and flew through the skies, Junmyeon’s face pressed against the windows, staring out at the white kingdom of the clouds.
Stability , Umma had said once they landed in San Francisco, the air cold and thick and gray, safety.
Halmeoni had taken his tiny hand in her own, her grip strong and firm. She nodded at Umma.
Yes , she’d said. This means stability. This means safety. She looked down at Junmyeon, giving him a tight smile. You are our stability. You’re our safety .
And they’d done everything to make it so. They’d moved into a tiny house right off of Telegraph Avenue, its roof a warm red, its walls a soft peach. His mother and grandmother worked hard, doing the only thing they knew how to do--opening a tiny restaurant around the corner, selling not the Korean food that Junmyeon knew and loved, but Americanized Chinese food: deep fried gloopy orange chicken, fried rice, chow mein. When Junmyeon asked his mother about it, asked why there was no kimchi, so little garlic, his mother shook her head and reminded him: safety, stability .
They sent Junmyeon to school, listening to the whispers of concerned mothers at Temple, and through complex machinations, getting him admitted to the “better” schools further down Telegraph in Berkeley. Work hard , his mother and grandmother whispered to him, we’re doing it all for you. For your safety, for your stability. And so Junmyeon tried his hardest, and then tried even harder when they held him back for his jumbled English. He sailed through junior high and then won himself a spot and a full scholarship at one of the fancy prep schools tucked away in the Oakland Hills, where he kept his head down and worked his way towards straight As in between shifts at his family restaurant. Because he had to. Because of safety . Because of stability . Because he owed it to his Umma and Halmeoni. Because he’d left a part of himself, a different person, an inquisitive child, behind; dropping him in the middle of that cloud kingdom in the sky to float on with his dreams. Because even then, thousands of miles above the ground, Junmyeon already knew that his mother and grandmother had packed up their lives on the strength of their faith in a single question. Could they make it in America? He knew that they were putting their faith in themselves, but probably even more, they were putting their faith in him, for him to be the answer to that question. Because of safety , because of stability .
But now it’s two in the morning and Junmyeon is kneeling on his bed, peering out of his window, looking out across the street. It’s raining tonight, the winter rains in full swing, painting the street in a watery veil. His corner of the neighborhood is silent, only the patter of the rain drops and the dulled sound of cars on the main street seeping in through the thin-paned glass. He watches the road, waiting. Waiting.
There’s a flash of headlights and then the green Gremlin rounds the corner, its engine grumbling as it pulls in front of the small white house across the street. Junmyeon inhales softly as the engine cuts out and then the doors of the car swing open, Minho climbing out, his long hair tumbling to his shoulders, his mouth open wide with laughter. His boyfriend, Kibum, follows him coming out of the driver-side door and then coming up behind him wrapping two arms around Minho’s middle. Junmyeon feels his chest grow tight as Kibum pulls Minho close, burying his face in the gulf between Minho’s shoulder blades. They seem oblivious to the rain, letting the water soak through their clothes, running down their necks. Junmyeon imagines the way the rain must feel cold against their skin, he imagines the way that their bodies, pressed so tight, probably keep each other warm. Minho keeps laughing and spins in Kibum’s arms, wrapping his arms around Kibum’s neck and drawing his face in close ( close, close, closer ) for a kiss. Junmyeon gasps as they make out, Minho pushing Kibum backwards until they’re pressed against the side of the car, their two bodies yielding and melding in the dim late night.
Junmyeon bites his lip and then sinks down from the window, laying down on his back. He stares at the ceiling, breathing slowly. In. Out. In. Out. He hopes that each rush of oxygen will cool his blood. He closes his eyes and bites his lip.
He feels nauseous. He shouldn’t feel this way, he can’t feel this way, not when he has Irene who waits for him at his locker after the last bell rings everyday and who always greets him with a gentle, rose scented kiss on the cheek. Not when he’s trying hard, so hard, to feel this same surge of electricity in his stomach when the two of them are alone in her basement, reruns of The Mary Tyler Moore Show turned up loud, and he’s kissing her full on the mouth, one hand up her skirt, trying his hardest to feel something, anything. To get himself to feel even one of the sparks racing up and down his skin right now.
Junmyeon has tried. His hardest, and then some.
But still all that follows him into his dreams is the idea of another man’s hands on his waist, strong and sure. All that sees when he closes his eyes is a face, beautiful and angular like Minho’s, closing in on his own. All he finds himself asking for when he lets his mind wander is love that looks and sounds like the kiss playing out across the street.
But.
Junmyeon is the amen to his grandmother’s prayer. He’s the answer to his mother’s question. He’s their safety. He’s their stability.
But thoughts like this, desires like these, aren’t safe. They aren’t stable.
Maybe he’ll never actually be safe. Maybe he’ll never be stable.
September 4, 1991, Take Four.
Gooooood morning, Portland! It’s 7:15 on September 4, 1991! Happy Wednesday! It’s another wet one out there, so grab your umbrellas and raincoats!
“FUCK,” Junmyeon shouts so loudly that he’s sure that his neighbors can hear him. “FUCK THIS.”
He lays in bed longer than he should, staring up at the ceiling. He can hear the quiet patter of the rain against his window. He replays last night in his mind; the way Sehun’s face had iced over, like the coldest winter night, the way that Sehun’s fingers had curled over and pressed into the stained wood of the bartop and the short, hard way that Sehun had whispered see you, maybe as he walked away.
He doesn’t want to do this again. He can’t keep living this day over and over again. Not when he knows what’s waiting for him at the end. Not when he knows that he knows what’s at the end. Not when he knows that everything just fades out with Sehun standing under the theatre lights. Not when he knows that Sehun will just walk away from him.
And that’s the truly fucked part, isn’t it? That he and Sehun can wind up in the same city after their story had come to a crushing end and that, somehow, the earth had corrected its rotation four times just to get Junmyeon to fix his year-old mistake. And that Junmyeon still can’t seem to get it right.
He groans and rolls over in bed, burying his face in his pillow. He wants to give up. Just tell time that there’s nothing else that he can do, that no matter how many chances he gets, he’s still going to find some way to fuck it all up. He’s still going to find someway to hurt the person he loves.
And he does love Sehun, still. Junmyeon’s love for Sehun had come rushing back the second he’d seen Sehun’s silhouette standing under the theatre’s lights. If the past few days have done anything, they’ve dredged the very bottom of Junmyeon’s heart, reaching down to the lake bed of his soul where he’d tried his hardest to bury his longing. But if Sehun has always been good at anything, it’s been at unearthing every last one of Junmyeon’s hardest truths. Even a year apart couldn’t change that.
The radio is still playing in the background, the traffic broadcast switching over to music. They’re playing an old song by The Cure, one that Sehun had been obsessed with when it had first been released, recording it off the radio and then playing it ad nauseum throughout their apartment. Even now, Junmyeon still knows all the words.
Daylight licked me into shape
I must have been asleep for days
And moving lips to breathe her name
There’s a tightness in his chest and roughness in his throat, like he’s swallowed a lungful of cold ocean water. Junmyeon sits up in bed, trying to quell the raging storm of his sadness. He lets his feet hit the cold floor and he shivers, looking out the window at the gray, rainy morning.
I opened up my eyes
And found myself alone, alone, alone above a raging sea
That stole the only girl I loved and drowned her deep inside of me.
He stands up. And he starts again.
---
“I think I’m gonna take a cab home,” Amber says, after they step out of the movie theatre that night. “I don’t feel like taking the bus this late.” There’s a cab about two blocks down and Amber sticks one hand out into the road to hail it down. “You want to share?”
Junmyeon chances a glance over his shoulder, looking towards the movie theatre’s main entrance. Sehun is just pushing through the doors. Junmyeon looks away quickly.
“Yeah,” he says to Amber. “Let’s do it.”
A yellow cab pulls up along the curb. They both get in the back seat.
They drive away. Junmyeon doesn’t look back.
April 21, 1985
Junmyeon lays on his back, staring up at Sehun’s ceiling. It’s late on a Friday night, probably inching towards midnight. Junmyeon had come over after a shift at the restaurant, wanting nothing more than to see Sehun. They’d hadn’t had much time together all week; they’d both been busy with midterms, Sehun had been busy at the clinic, and Junmyeon had been busy with the restaurant. Sehun is sitting next to him, cross legged, flipping through one of his sci-fi magazines.
The radio is on and tuned to the campus station. Whoever is DJ-ing for the night settled on dreamy British new wave, playing songs that sound like they’re travelling through time and space just to reach them. Sehun is tapping the beat out on the folded over spine of his magazine.
“I like that one,” Junmyeon says, when the song fades out in a distorted haze. “It’s . . .kinda astral.”
“Astral?” Sehun snickers at him. “That’s a word you don’t hear very often.”
“Don’t be mad because my vocabulary is bigger than yours.” Junmyeon rolls over onto his side, propping himself with one hand to look up at Sehun. “What’s that song called?” he asks. “I know you know.”
“It’s by the Cure,” Sehun says. “It’s called ‘Charlotte Sometimes.’”
“See?” Junmyeon says. “You can’t make fun of me for knowing big words when you know the name of every song in existence.”
Sehun puts his magazine to the side and lays down next to him. “Do you feel neglected?” he asks, “Is that why you won’t let me read in peace?”
“Neglected?” Junmyeon makes a face at his boyfriend. “Me? Never.” He leans over and kisses him on the cheek. “No, but seriously, I’m fine. I’m just glad we got to spend some time together tonight. It feels like an eternity since I last saw you.”
Sehun grins at him. “It does.” They both lay down after that, Junmyeon tucking himself under Sehun’s arm, pillowing his head on Sehun’s broad chest.
“I’m glad that you’re here,” Sehun says, quietly. He runs his fingers through Junmyeon’s hair, making him shiver. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.” And Junmyeon has, so much. Sometimes it scares him--how much he misses Sehun when they’re not together, how much he looks forward to their late night phone calls, the two of them fighting off sleep’s pull to stay on the line as long as they can. Junmyeon hadn’t known that emotions could run like this; fast and reckless like white water. And Junmyeon doesn’t know what to do, not with feelings this deep, not with his heart always on the verge of breaking free from his chest. All he’s done is hold his breath and try his absolute best to hold on.
Sehun hums and then pulls Junmyeon up to kiss him full on the mouth. It’s an easy, open mouthed kiss and Sehun breathes into Junmyeon’s mouth, a tender gasp that sounds and feels everything like a prayer. Junmyeon chases after him, kissing him back deeply, trying to pass some of his raging feelings between them. And Sehun accepts gratefully, swallowing the kiss down and opening his mouth, letting Junmyeon all the way in. They kiss like they’re drowning in it, like their desire for one another is overflowing, like the only way to keep from being swept away is to cling to each other. Sehun runs his hands all over Junmyeon’s body, slipping his fingers under the soft cotton on Junmyeon’s t-shirt, sliding over his chest, gripping at his hips, making Junmyeon moan into his mouth. Junmyeon places a hand on the back of Sehun’s neck and holds him there, keeping their faces close.
They kiss until their chests are heaving, until they work up a storm between them. Sehun has rolled them over so that Junmyeon is on his back again, pinned underneath Sehun’s long frame. And it feels good , so good to be covered like this, to have all of Sehun spread out on top of him.
It makes Junmyeon want, so badly.
Sehun finally breaks away with a gasp, his eyes hazy, his lips bitten red. Somewhere along the way Sehun’s shirt had gotten rucked up, the strong muscles of his stomach visible in the dim bedroom light. Junmyeon runs a finger down Sehun’s side, marveling in the softness of his skin.
“That tickles,” Sehun says with a tiny shiver. He presses his face into the corner of Junmyeon’s neck, leaving a trail of tiny kisses along its curve.
“Maybe I want to tickle you,” Junmyeon chokes out as Sehun starts to suck on a pressure point. It sends a bolt of sensation through his body, straight to his dick, making him push his hips up against Sehun. “ Fuck , Sehun.”
“Still wanna tickle me?” Sehun murmurs, coy as ever. He bites down on the same spot, making Junmyeon cry out.
Junmyeon’s entire body runs hot and cold and he trembles, wanting to do something, anything more than just this. He pushes his hips up again, sighing and grinding into Sehun’s twin hardness. The friction makes Sehun groan and press back into him, setting a rhythm while they find each other’s lips again.
Their bodies move like liquid; Sehun’s hands on Junmyeon‘s hips leading him in this dance that, somehow Junmyeon’s body has always known. It’s everything that he’s ever wanted, it’s everything that he’d ever dreamed about but told himself that he couldn’t have. Sehun is that everything.
“Junmyeon?” Sehun whispers, his voice strained. “Do you. . . want to move? To the bed?”
Junmyeon stills. They’ve never done more than this. Never more than kiss and move their bodies together, their hands wandering, dancing along deep curves and soft lines. But the need has always been there--the need for more, the need for it to be deeper, to be closer, to be hotter. They’ve played with the fire growing between them but never leaned all the way in, too afraid to throw themselves into the seat of the flames. Touch like this, need like this, just feels too big for them to take.
But now, looking up at the look on Sehun’s face-- gentle and open and full of trust and edged with fear--Junmyeon wants nothing more than to try.
“Yeah,” Junmyeon says, a little breathless. “Let’s do it.”
They detangle themselves from one another and then get up, passing through the gold beaded curtain into the other half of Sehun’s bedroom.
Junmyeon sits down on the edge of Sehun’s bed. He’s nervous and his heart is beating so quickly, like it's going to jump out of his chest. Sehun stands at the foot of the bed and they just stare at each other for a moment, breathing in tandem.
“I’m scared,” Junmyeon confesses in a whisper. “I. . .I don’t know what I’m doing and I’ve never done this before but I want you so much.”
Sehun bites his bottom lip and nods. “I’m scared too,” he says. He sits down next to Junmyeon, suddenly seeming so small. “I have done this before. . .but only once. And I’m still scared.” He laughs, nervously. “And I. . .” He exhales in a big rushing breath. “I don’t know how to say this but. . .I’ve been tested, recently too. We got tested together down at the clinic. And I have a clear bill of health. I just thought I should let you know. . .in case you were worried or something.”
“I’ve been tested too,” Junmyeon says. He takes Sehun’s hand and draws it into his lap. “I went with Baekhyun. We actually went to Coalition. . .on one of the days that you weren’t there. I didn’t want to tell you. . .you know. Just in case it didn’t go well.” Junmyeon swallows around his words. “But it went fine. I’m fine.”
“Ok,” Sehun says. He kisses Junmyeon again. “We’ll do this together, right?”
“Right.”
They take their time, working each other out of their clothes, stopping to kiss and touch each other along the way. Sehun doesn’t bother with turning on the bedside light, so they’re cast in shadow, with only the faint light from the other side of the room bleeding through the beaded curtain to cast delicate shadows against their skin.
They pause, chests heaving, bodies thrumming and tight with want. Junmyeon is in Sehun’s lap, straddling his thighs, his arms looped up and around his boyfriend’s neck. Sehun’s hair is tangled and mussed from Junmyeon’s fingers working their way through it and his cheeks are tinged pink. He can feel the hard heat of Sehun’s arousal pushing up against the small of his back and god if Junmyeon doesn’t just want to edge in closer, find a way to meld their bodies into one.
Sehun leans in to suck at Junmyeon’s neck again, making him tilt his head back and moan.
“How do you want to do this?” Sehun whispers into his skin. “I want you. Anyway you want me. So just tell me and we’ll do it.”
Junmyeon rocks his hips back and imagines Sehun slipping into him; pressing him down and sharing their heats. He wants that so badly, more than he ever wanted anything else, and the need burns him from the inside out, making him want to cry.
“I want you,” Junmyeon whispers. “I want you in me."
Sehun looks at him like he holds every last one of the stars and constellations posted on the walls and in that moment Junmyeon wants nothing more than to pluck each one from the sky and braid them into a necklace for Sehun to wear around his neck.
“Ok,” Sehun says.
Junmyeon ends up on his back, Sehun kissing him between his eyes as he works one lubed finger into Junmyeon’s heat. It all moves too quickly; the entrance, the slow pleasure blossoming within him, the heavy weight of each of his breaths as Junmyeon fights for air. It feels so good all at once and then it feels like not enough and Junmyeon finds himself begging for more.
“ Please, Sehun ,” he moans. He’s moving his hips now, riding Sehun’s fingers, his hands gripping hard at the sheets.
“Okay, baby,” Sehun says, the endearment slipping over his tongue and making Junmyeon flush red. “Give me a second.”
Sehun reaches into the bedside table and pulls out a condom from the drawer. He fumbles with it for a second, his fingers slippery from the lube and then gets it open, rolling it down on his dick.
Sehun places his hands on the back of Junmyeon’s thighs and hitches Junmyeon’s legs up around his waist. He lines himself up but doesn’t push in. Instead, he looks down at Junmyeon, with an expression so tender and so fond that it tugs right at the deepest part of Junmyeon’s soul.
“What?” Junmyeon asks. He reaches up to caress Sehun’s cheek, feeling the softness of his skin.
Sehun leans into the touch and shakes his head with a tiny smile. “Nothing.” He kisses the edge of Junmyeon’s hand. “Ready?”
Junmyeon takes a deep breath and nods. “Yeah.”
Sehun braces his arms against the bed and then guides himself into Junmyeon’s warmth. There’s a stretch and for a brief moment, Junmyeon is afraid it won’t work but then Sehun slides all the way in and Junmyeon loses all his breaths.
“Oh fuck , Sehun,” he gasps.
“Is it okay?” Sehun asks, breathless, moving shallowly.
“It’s so good.” Junmyeon breaks off in another gasp. “It’s -- shit --Sehun it’s so good.”
Sehun bites his lip and then leans down to lick at Junmyeon’s neck. He starts moving faster and Junmyeon completely loses his mind.
And finally, his body feels like his own. Close enough. Solid enough. Stable. Like when Sehun pushed in, everything around him came into focus, and Junmyeon finally settled into his own skin. Who knew touch could feel like this? Who knew that touch could feel like a home? Like a kiss could feel like safety. Like sex could feel like the promise of what he could be, of what he could have always had. Of what he’d always lusted after.
Junmyeon wraps his arms around Sehun, feeling the flex of the muscles in his back as he works into him. And Junmyeon feels like he’s aflame.
“Junmyeon,” Sehun moans his name. He bites his lip and touches his forehead to Junmyeon’s own, claiming Junmyeon’s lips with his own. “ God , baby.”
Sehun hitches Junmyeon’s hips up higher and he slides deeper and Junmyeon screams, giving himself completely over to the wave of pleasure.
“Tell me that it’s good,” Sehun murmurs into his ear, his breath hot against his skin. “Tell me that you like this.”
“ Shit , Sehun .” Junmyeon struggles to condense all of this feeling into words. “It’s so good, I-I’ve never felt anything like this-- Fuck .” Sehun works a hand down between them, taking Junmyeon into his palm. He jacks him off to the same rhythm of his thrusts and then it’s suddenly too much. Junmyeon’s eyes slide shut and his arches into Sehun, coming with a silent scream.
Sehun moans and speeds up, fucking into Junmyeon even faster. Junmyeon opens his eyes just as Sehun stills, his body vibrating as he finishes.
Sehun slides out and then rolls over onto his back, gasping for air with one arm flung over his eyes.
Junmyeon slides over to him, tucking himself into Sehun’s side. Sehun peeks out at him from under his arm and then smiles.
“We’re too sticky to cuddle,” he says. He pulls Junmyeon closer to him anyways.
“Then let’s get cleaned up?” Junmyeon offers. He kisses Sehun briefly.
“One second,” Sehun says. He runs his fingers down the curve of Junmyeon’s arm before taking his hand in his own. “I just want to lay here for a second."
Junmyeon smiles at him. His heart feels so full.
“Ok,” he says. “Let’s lay here together.”
April 11, 1985
Happy Birthday, Sehun.
I saw this at a pawn shop down on Telegraph when I was out with Chanyeol the other day and immediately thought of you. What does it mean that whenever I see the stars I think of you?
I’m not really sure if you’re a necklace person or anything but something about it just said that you needed to have it.
Anyways, have a great birthday Sehun. I’m so glad that you’re in my life.
--- Junmyeon
Junmyeon puts his pen down and sighs. The necklace that he’d bought that afternoon shines at him in the light of his lamp, the gold chain glimmering like a spilled sunbeam across his desk. He picks it up, feeling the way that the cool metal slides between his fingers. It seemed like a good idea at the time, when he and Chanyeol had walked past the display window on their way back from the library two days ago. It was the pendant that had caught his eye, the tiny stars stamped into the gold, the crescent moon set in its center. It’s a little wonky, but it made him think of Sehun, about how he always deserved to carry around at least a tiny bit of the galaxy that he loved so much. So he’d gone inside, bought it. It’d cost him all the cash he’d had in his wallet, but it was worth it.
Or at least he thought it was worth it. If he can’t actually give Sehun the moon and stars, then this is the closest that he’ll ever be able to get.
Junmyeon carefully arranges the necklace in black cloth box. He folds his note in two.
He’ll give it to Sehun tomorrow.
September 4, 1991, Take Five.
Gooooood morning, Portland! It’s 7:15 on Sept---
Junmyeon hits the snooze button so hard that he knocks the alarm clock off the nightstand. There’s something satisfying about the bang it makes when it hits the floor.
October 17, 1989
The voice on the radio says that it’s the largest to hit since 1906.
“ There are reports of some injuries at Candlestick Park where some fans were waiting for the World Series to begin.” Junmyeon turns the tiny battery-powered Panasonic radio up with trembling fingers. He hasn’t been able to stop shaking.
The power is out; the city cut all the lines after the quake hit, so he’s sat there in the dark, only the light of the one candle he’d been able to dig out of the back of the pantry giving any light.
“ We’re told that one of the fires in San Francisco’s Marina District has been put out and two others are under control. Emergency crews are still working at the Cypress Structure, trying to recover survivors from the collapse. So far, they’ve pulled eight people out. None have survived, but officials say that they’re not going to give up hope.”
Junmyeon gropes around on the kitchen table, feeling for the pack of cigarettes that Sehun had tossed there before leaving for work that morning. His fingers close around the smooth cardboard and he opens it with uneasy fingers.
“We’re getting word that passengers are trapped on BART. Transportation officials aren’t letting any trains proceed down the tracks until they have been able to verify that the structures are still sound.”
Junmyeon shakes a cigarette out of the pack, clasping it between his thumb and index finger. He tries to light it on the candle flame and misses--once, twice, three times--before he finally gets it lit. He brings it to his lips and takes a deep, shaky breath. The nicotine calms him, quelling the quick racing of his heart.
“This is KCBS-AM. The time is 10:04 pm.”
It’s been five hours. Five hours since the earth started to roll and buck like an angry sea. Since Junmyeon had dived underneath the kitchen table, holding on to its legs, eyes squeezed shut, wondering if this was how he was going to die.
Five hours since the power had gone out. Five hours since he’d been sitting alone at his kitchen table, wondering where Sehun was. Praying to every god he could name for Sehun to come home in one piece.
“Seven, no, five--five people are reported dead after a brick facade collapsed onto the sidewalk and street. Two were crushed to death in their car.”
There’s the telltale clacking noise of the front door unlocking and Junmyeon jumps up from the kitchen table, dropping the cigarette into the ashtray.
He runs down the hallway. Sehun is there, toeing off his shoes. He looks exhausted, his body drooped and the lines around his mouth severe. He looks up.
“Oh thank god,” Junmyeon breathes out, relief filling his bones. He throws his arms around Sehun’s neck, holding him close. “Thank fucking god you’re ok.”
All of him is trembling now, like the way the earth had shaken for those ten terrible seconds. Sehun holds him close. “ Fuck Sehun.” Junmyeon doesn’t even try to stop his tears. “I really fucking thought something had happened to you. It’s been five hours and I couldn’t get a hold of you and I was so scared.”
Sehun tightens their embrace. “I know,” he says. “And I’m so sorry. I wanted to call, but all the phone lines were down after the earthquake. I couldn’t take BART because it stopped running. Minseok ended up driving me home but we couldn’t take the Bridge because part of it collapsed. So we and everyone else had to creep through the backroads. It took so long.”
Sehun eases them down to the floor, cradling Junmyeon so that he’s sitting in his lap. Sehun leans against the front door. Junmyeon keeps his arms wrapped around Sehun’s middle.
What a picture they must make, Junmyeon thinks. Two grown men, sitting on the floor in the dark, tangled together, both on the verge of tears.
“Thank god you’re ok, too,” Sehun murmurs. “The entire time that we were driving back, I was so afraid that I was going to come home and you wouldn’t be here or that the apartment wouldn’t still be here or that I’d go to your mom’s place and find out--” he stops, inhales. “Find out that something happened to you. God , Junmyeon. I was thinking about that the entire time that I was trying to get back over here and fuck . I don’t ever want to have to imagine a world without you in it.”
Junmyeon presses his face into the warm crook of Sehun’s neck and breathes him in. He smells like sweat and skin and that same sweet softness that, over the past five years, he’s come to associate with his boyfriend.
“Hey,” Sehun says, tucking his fist underneath Junmyeon’s chin, lifting his face so that they’re staring into each other. Sehun leans in and kisses him, a tender brush of lips. Junmyeon doesn’t let him pull away. He kisses Sehun back desperately, like he’s trying to prove to himself, prove to them both that they’re ok, that they’re here, that they’ve both survived.
Sehun cups Junmyeon’s face in both of his palms and returns the kiss, with the same wet anguish.
Junmyeon shifts around so that he’s astride Sehun’s lap, his knees on either side of Sehun’s thighs. He slips his hands into Sehun’s jacket, sliding it off his shoulders. Sehun shrugs it off and then reclaims Junmyeon’s lips, one hand braced on the small of Junmyeon’s back, pulling him close.
They kiss like they’re drowning, like they’re afraid, like they’re mourning. Their hands press and slide and grip at one another, like they’re worshiping each other.
“Junmyeon,” Sehun whispers against his lips, so close that Junmyeon can taste the longing in his words. “Can I--?”
Junmyeon twines his hands in Sehun’s thick hair and nods.
“Oh god, please .” He’s still trembling.
Sehun lays him down on the cold floor and undresses him, slowly. He takes his time working Junmyeon out of his button down, kissing each sliver of skin as he reveals it, making Junmyeon squirm and arch his back against the linoleum.
Sehun’s long fingers undo his belt and unzips his pants. Junmyeon lifts his hips so Sehun can slide everything off until he can take Junmyeon in his hand, his grip warm and firm.
Sehun starts to work his hand up and down, sure and fast. He leans down to catch Junmyeon’s lips with his own. Junmyeon licks at the seam of Sehun’s lips, wanting to taste more of him and Sehun’s lets him in, swallowing down each one of Junmyeon’s minute gasps and whines.
“Like that?” Sehun breaks away to ask, gently.
“Yeah,” Junmyeon breaths out.
Like this Junmyeon knows that they’re still here. That they made it back to each other. That the earth can move and churn and shake but that they’ll never be apart.
He finally stops shaking.
September 4, 1991, Take Six.
Baby, baby, baby
Listen to me
I may not know where I'm going baby
Look here
I said may not know what I need
One thing
One thing's for certain baby
Junmyeon watches as Prince writhes across the stage, screaming out his longing for Apollonia, begging her with every last part of his body to choose him, to pick him to see him.
I know what I want, yeah
And it's to please you baby
Please you baby
I'm begging down on my knees
The couple sitting behind Junmyeon is singing along, their muted harmonization clashing with Prince’s desperate wails. Junmyeon shifts in his seat and chances a glance over to the front left. He’s memorized Sehun’s spot. Third row from the front, second seat to the left. Sehun is still there, sitting as straight backed as ever.
I want you
Yeah
I want you
Baby, baby, baby, baby
Junmyeon turns his attention back to the screen.
June 25, 1984
The sharp chime of the doorbell makes Junmyeon groan. He rolls over in bed and pulls the pillow over his head, hoping that that will stifle the noise. It’s too early in the morning on a Saturday during summer vacation for him to get out of bed. He’s spent every day this week working long hours at the family restaurant, trying his best to help his mother and grandmother out in his free time. Today is his first day off in forever and Junmyeon is tired .
But whoever is at the door doesn’t let up. The chiming of the doorbell speeds up whoever is out there ramping up their assault.
“BAEKHYUN,” Junmyeon shouts, “CAN YOU FUCKING GET THAT PLEASE?”
“NO.” Baekhyun’s voice comes in through the wall. “I’M NAKED AND ABOUT TO GET IN THE SHOWER. SO JUNMYEON, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CAN YOU PLEASE GET THE FUCK OUT OF BED AND ANSWER THE GODDAMNNED DOOR?”
Junmyeon grumbles and throws the sheets off his legs. He’s too tired and too annoyed to bother putting on a shirt or a proper pair of pants, so he storms down the hall shirtless and only in a pair of boxers.
“Okay, okay I’m coming!” Junmyeon calls as he unlatches the deadbolt.
He swings the door open. Sehun is standing on the front step, one finger poised to press the doorbell again. They stare at each other for a moment and then a slow smile spreads over Sehun’s face as he takes in Junmyeon’s mostly naked state.
“Oh,” Sehun says, slyly. “Good morning to you too.”
Junmyeon feels his cheeks go red and he folds one arm over his chest in a vain attempt to shield his partial nudity.
“Sehun,” Junmyeon says. “Why are you abusing my doorbell at 8:30 on a Saturday morning?”
“Because,” Sehun says. “We’re going to the record store. Right now.”
“Again,” Junmyeon says, frowning at him. “It’s 8:30 in the morning. On a Saturday. In the summer.”
“And Prince’s new album comes out today so we’re. Going. To. The. Record. Store.”
And then Junmyeon remembers. Sehun had brought this up over the phone on Wednesday night, mentioning that Prince’s last album was slated to be released today. At the time, Junmyeon had agreed to go with him to buy the album but he hadn’t known that Sehun wanted to go this early in the day.
“So early though?” Junmyeon asks. “It’s not like they’re gonna run out of cassettes, Sehun.”
“They might,” Sehun says, wide-eyed and serious. “It is Prince after all.”
Junmyeon groans. He steps back and opens the door wider.
“Alright, fine,” he says. He’s awake now anyways. “Come in and give me a second to get changed. Then we can go.”
Sehun’s grin is brillant. He steps inside and kisses Junmyeon on the cheek.
“Hooray.” He gives Junmyeon’s body another once over. “And for the record, you look amazing shirtless.”
“Oh my god , Sehun.”
---
They take Junmyeon’s ancient two-door Ford.
The store is more packed than Junmyeon has ever seen it, people swarming through the low aisles, flipping through the bins of records and sorting through the racks of cassette tapes.
There are posters hung in the windows, Prince in a ruffled shirt and a purple jacket, straddling a motorcycle, glowering at the camera. PURPLE RAIN is emblazoned across the top of the picture in dark purple writing.
Prince’s new album is easy to find. The new record is placed up at the front, on the display rack advertising the new releases. There’s only one left.
Sehun grabs it off the display with a shout.
“ See ?” he says, waving the record, shiny in its shrink-wrapped packaging, in front of Junmyeon’s face. “I told you that we needed to get here early.”
“I bet they have more in the back,” Junmyeon says.
“Totally not the point, Junmyeon, but ok.”
When they get to the register, Sehun asks for the cassette version as well. “I want to have both, you know?” he explains when Junmyeon asks. “And anyways, the cassette is way more portable than the vinyl.”
Sehun takes the cassette out once they get back to the car.
“Do you want to listen to it now?” Junmyeon asks.
Sehun’s whole face lights up. “Oh fuck yeah.”
Sehun unwraps the cassette from its packaging as Junmyeon starts the engine. Sehun presses play just as they pull off from the curb.
Dearly beloved, we have gathered here today
To get through this thing called life.
Ethereal organs fill the tiny car, playing background to Prince’s monologue.
Electric word, life, it means forever and that's a mighty long time
But I'm here to tell you there's something else
The afterworld .
Junmyeon chances a glance at Sehun who is staring out the passenger-side window.
A world of never ending happiness
You can always see the sun, day or night
Junmyeon smiles to himself and refocuses his attention on the road. He hums along.
---
They end up in one of the parking lots on the northside of campus. It’s a Saturday in June, so it’s nearly empty, with only one other car, a beige sedan, parked in the far corner of the lot.
Junmyeon parks in the shade of one of the towering redwoods clustered to the side of the lot. They open both car doors and recline their seats as far back as they’ll go. Sehun turns the volume up, and they lay there listening to the album play through.
There’s a light breeze cutting through the air, soft and gentle, and Junmyeon relishes the way that the summer morning air kisses at his skin as Prince sings about desire and longing and frustration and regret and love and sex.
He and Sehun don’t speak, not even when side one runs through and Junmyeon has to reach forward to flip it.
Sehun reaches over and takes Junmyeon’s hand halfway through the
“So what did you think?” Sehun asks when last notes have faded out.
“Fuck,” Junmyeon swears. He’s not sure what to say. How do you express that feeling when you hear someone put words to things that you didn’t even know that you felt. What are the words for that? He just settles on: “It’s incredible. It’s so good. And that last song--” Sehun nods at him, his eyes shining. “Fuck, that last one is amazing.”
Sehun rights his seat and presses rewind.
“Wanna go get donuts and then listen to it again?” he asks.
Junmyeon readjusts his seat and starts the engine.
“Hell yeah.”
---
In all, they listen to Purple Rain all the way through six times that day.
Three times in the car, Junmyeon driving around Berkeley with all the windows down, letting the sunshine mix with the melodies. By the third listen, they’ve memorized most of the words, and the two of them sing along at the top of their lungs, shouting the music into the summer air.
You! I would die for you! yeah!
Darling if you want me to!
You! I would die for you!
With the smell of summer in his lungs and Sehun next to him and Prince playing on the radio, Junmyeon doesn’t think that he’s ever felt more free.
The last three times, they listen to it in Sehun’s room, the album playing on his record player. They lay on their backs on his floor with all the lights off, just focusing on the deep intricacies in the music. The songs sound fuller like this, the music is richer, filling every last crack and crevice in Sehun’s attic. Junmyeon feels like he’s being carried away on the wail of Prince’s guitar.
“So,” Sehun says with a sigh after their sixth listen. “Which song is your favorite?”
“The last one, Purple Rain,” Junmyeon says, staring up at the rafters. “No question.”
“Me too, I think,” Sehun says. “That one or The Beautiful Ones. But I think I still need to sit on it. Every song is so fucking good . It’s like. . .I feel like Prince was looking into my mind when he wrote this. So much of this album just feels like it gets me , you know?”
“It does feel really real,” Junmyeon says. “It feels like Prince really tapped into some deep vessel of humanity when he wrote this.”
Sehun laughs. “‘Deep vessel of humanity,’” he repeats. “Thanks for the analysis, Professor Kim.”
Junmyeon laughs with him. “Anytime.”
March 26, 1990
Junmyeon turns the busy street corner towards the bar where he knows Sehun is waiting for him. They’re supposed to get drinks together tonight, before heading to a concert. Soundgarden and Nirvana are playing at a tiny venue tucked just off the Castro and Sehun had gotten tickets. It’s all he’s talked about for the past week, playing nothing but the bands’ two albums on repeat throughout their apartment for days on end.
Sehun is easy to spot, standing outside of the bar in his usual leather jacket and blue jeans, his hands in his pockets. He breaks into a huge smile when Junmyeon walks up.
“Hey.” Sehun leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “I haven’t heard from you all day,” he says. “I was almost afraid that you weren’t gonna make it.”
It takes everything Junmyeon has to force out a smile.
“Sorry,” he says. “I got caught up at work all day. I’m working on a big project.”
“How big and important can computers be?” Sehun asks. He winks at him and takes his hand. “All you do is punch numbers all day.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Junmyeon forces out. “It’s a bit harder than that.”
“I have a present for you,” Sehun says. He reaches into his jacket pocket with his freehand and takes out a cassette tape, handing it over. “It’s been a while since I’ve made you a mixtape and I feel like I need to make up for all the grunge I’ve been playing in the house.”
Junmyeon looks at the label. For You, Part 25.
“Thanks, Sehun,” he says. “It’s been a while.”
Sehun laughs and squeezes Junmyeon’s hand in his own. “How else would you stay up to date on what music is good?”
Junmyeon doesn’t rise to the jab and just smiles at him weakly.
“Are you ok?” Sehun asks, concerned. “You’re really quiet.”
Junmyeon takes a deep breath and glances down the sidewalk. The Castro is surprisingly busy for a Thursday night; people are everywhere making their way up and down the narrow sidewalks.
“It’s my mother,” Junmyeon says. “Things are. . .getting hard.”
Sehun inhales sharply. “What do you mean?” Junmyeon’s mother has been a constant presence in their lives for the past few months, calling at odd hours of the night, making Junmyeon stay up with her on the phone while she talked through the latest developments in his grandmother’s health, shaming him for not coming home, blaming him for the downturn in his grandmother’s state.
She wouldn’t be this sick if you would just come home and help. What kind of son are you? Who would do this to their family?
It’s been a strain on Junmyeon. He’s been sleep deprived and agitated for the past month, snapping at Sehun and his friends, going straight to the bedroom he and Sehun share after work every evening, not wanting to talk. It’s been hard on Sehun, too, and the two of them have been more distant than they ever have been.
“My mother is making me choose,” Junmyeon says. He can barely look at Sehun, the pain on his face is burning his eyes. “She called me at the office, just before I left. She said that I can’t come home unless I. . .promise to stop seeing you. She said that I can’t come into our house if I’m still. . .with you. She won’t let me see Halmeoni if I’m still near you.”
It happens in slow motion. The way that Sehun’s face collapses in on itself, the way that the light in his eyes takes on water, diluting their glow. Junmyeon hates that he has to watch it happen.
“She wants you to choose?” Sehun repeats.
“She does.” Junmyeon can’t look at him anymore. He focuses on the sign instead, the street’s name lit up in red and gold. He remembers his first time down in the Castro--his first date with Sehun, the swelling happiness in his chest, the wonder and amazement that he felt when seeing people living openly, without fear.
Now all Junmyeon can feel is a deep sinking panic. The crowds walking past and the lights and the loud music spilling out of the clubs are making him nauseous and he’s trying his absolute best not to push past them all and race up the hill into the quiet normalcy of the sleepy neighborhood streets, with their candy-colored houses and mothers and fathers tucking their children into perfect, normal beds. The life that Junmyeon was supposed to want. The safe and stable life that his mother and grandmother had dreamed of for him.
“She wants me to choose,” Junmyeon says. “I don’t know what Halmeoni wants. She can barely wake up, she’s that sick. God, my mother said the worst thing on the phone yesterday. . .” Junmyeon bites his lip. “She said that I can’t come around as long as I’m still with you because I’ll just make Halmeoni worse. She thinks I’m sick. For being with you. That being with you makes me sick.” Each word feels like hot glass on Junmyeon’s tongue and they blister across his tongue.
Sehun’s expression is unreadable.
“So what are you gonna do?” Sehun asks. His voice is strained.
“I don’t know,” Junmyeon says. “But I can’t just abandon my grandma like that. . .I. . .can’t.”
Not after everything his mother and grandmother had done for him. Not after they’d left an entire continent behind, for the promise of another chance, not after they’d given up so much just for the chance to have Junmyeon hold them steady in their uncertain times.
There are three things that Junmyeon knows: one, that his mother and grandmother had put all of their chips in him, in the possibility that he would be great, that he would be good, that he would stay safe and always be stable; two, that he had lived and wanted and loved and had something that; three, was never really his to begin with, that love like what he has and what he’s felt don’t belong to people like him, not to people whose lives have never really been theirs to begin with, not to people whose lives are bigger than their own bodies, not to people who have to be the foundation and the hope and dream for an entire lineage.
“I can’t just say no to my mother,” Junmyeon says again. His throat aches like its been shredded, like it’s bleeding. “So I don’t know.”
“Junmyeon. . .” Sehun whispers. He has his hands balled into two tight fists clenched at his sides. “What are you saying?”
Junmyeon swallows, hard. And god , he can’t look at Sehun, he can’t look him in the eyes or he’s certain that his entire heart will crack. “I think. . .” he starts. But it’s so hard to say it, so fucking hard. “I think I have to say goodbye, for a little while. Until I figure out what to do. Because I don’t really think I know what to do right now.”
“Well you need to fucking make a decision , Junmyeon.” Junmyeon jumps. He’s never heard Sehun shout before, not like this, not hot and red and angry like blood splashed across the pavement after a knife fight. Junmyeon looks at him, looks into the face of man he loves and he for the first time, he feels fear. Sehun’s face is red and he’s breathing hard. “I’m not just here for you to play with. It’s been years . Fucking years . I’ve given you so much--six years of my whole entire life.” His voice crackles, like burning paper. Junmyeon’s chest aches, like he’s breathing in the smoke. “You have almost all of my twenties. A whole chunk of my adulthood. Parts of me exist only because you helped make them.” His eyes drop to the floor and Junmyeon watches him bite his lip, hard, so hard that it goes white. “You have so much of me. You’re a part of me.”
Sehun sniffs and suppresses a sob, his breath catching. He shakes his head, like he’s trying to will the tears back into his eyes. People continue down the sidewalk, their laughter muting as they sense the tension between the two of them as they walk past.
“You can’t do this to me,” Sehun rasps, his volume dropping. “You can’t spend six years holding me and kissing me and whispering that you love me only to try to tell me that I’m not someone that you can hang on to. You can’t tell me that you can’t do this with me.” He finally looks up, staring Junmyeon straight in the eye. His eyes are rimmed red. “ Fuck. That.” He spits out the last two words with a bitterness that Junmyeon has never heard from him.
“But I guess it’s my own fault though, right?” he continues. “Cause I fucking fell for you and I put all my cards in you and I believed you and I wanted you. I found a home in you. You were a part of my everything. You were the closest thing I ever had to a family. And I never fucking lied to you, I never hid any part of myself from you. I gave you everything . I showed you all of me .” He laughs, sharp and sour. “But I should have fucking known better. You’ve never really been all in, have you? You’ve never really loved me.”
Junmyeon hears the delicate crash of his own heart shattering.
“No!” He cries out, his voice cracking. “Sehun, that’s not it. I just feel like I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. It’s my Halmeoni and I just---” he chokes back a sob. “I’m being forced to pick between you and my family and. . .” he fights for the words. “I’ve always loved you, Sehun, you know that. I’ll always lov--”
“Shut up, Junmyeon.” Sehun’s voice is deathly quiet. “I’ll believe that when you fucking decide to choose me.”
Sehun takes a deep breath and then straightens up. The lights of The Castro sign glint in the tear tracks on his cheeks. He wipes a hand across his face, his skin pulling as he drags his palm downwards.
“Make a fucking decision , Junmyeon,” Sehun rasps at him. He turns away, and starts off in the opposite direction, leaving Junmyeon standing alone, clutching the cassette tape so tightly in his left hand. He squeezes it, tight, so tightly, that it cracks, the plastic jewel case breaking into shards and cutting into his hand. Junmyeon feels the hot ooze of blood across his palm. He can’t bring himself to care.
Sehun doesn’t come home after that night. Junmyeon packs up his things after three nights alone and moves back in with his mom and grandmother. His mother doesn’t say anything when she sees him on her doorstep, his suitcase stuffed tight. She just opens the door and walks away.
The silence between them stretches for two months. Junmyeon picks up his phone and listens to the dial tone. He puts it down. He doesn’t call him. He avoids The Castro, stays in Oakland. He stops going out. For the first month, he has trouble sleeping, missing the strong rhythm of Sehun’s steady breathing regulating his dreams. The month after, his body aches with exhaustion and he finally sleeps; first for ten hour nights, then all afternoon, then for days on end. He quits his job. His grandmother finally dies in May, passing quietly in her sleep. Junmyeon wonders if the sleep will take him too.
His birthday rolls around two days later. He’s twenty-seven. Junmyeon packs his bags and buys a bus ticket. Maybe he can make it to Seattle. Maybe he’ll take the Greyhound until it reaches the edge of America. Until it reaches the end of the world. Maybe this is his decision.
September 4, 1991, Take Seven.
“It’s a song the girls in the band wrote, Lisa and Wendy.”
The opening chords of Purple Rain fill the theatre and Junmyeon feels his heart skip.
There are some songs that burrow under your skin, that hit the deepest part of your heart, that make you feel things that you didn’t know you could feel. Purple Rain has always been that song for Junmyeon.
It’s been so long since he’s listened to this song, not since Sehun had given him that last cassette tape and not since Junmyeon had mustered up the last of his courage and finally listened to it.
It hurts now, more than he thought it would, to see Prince up on the screen, singing his heart out and each note pierces deep in Junmyeon’s chest.
He bites his lip. He tries his hardest not to cry.
He does anyway.
May 28, 1984
Junmyeon makes his way down the sidewalk, the early evening glow of the setting sun staining the Berkeley skyline in muted pastel purples and pinks and blues. It’s a nice night, still warm from the day’s sunlight. Junmyeon had skipped on wearing a jacket tonight, instead letting the soft breeze brush against the thin fabric of his sweater.
It’s the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend and everyone is out--people on their porches, kids playing in the street.There’s the sweet smokiness caught on the wind, the smell of a hundred barbecues. And someone is playing music off in the distance, the soft bass threading in with air.
The night feels easy, in that smooth slowness that only ever comes during long weekends.
Junmyeon hums to himself as he turns the corner to Sehun’s street. He had been able to beg off of work at the restaurant tonight, telling his mother that he had a test to review for. He felt bad about it in the moment, but all of that guilt melts away the second that Sehun opens his front door.
“Well hello there,” Sehun says as he closes the door behind him. Sehun leans down to kiss him, full on the lips. It’s a soft kiss, almost like a whisper, and it lingers, Junmyeon’s eyes sliding shut, savoring the warmth of Sehun’s mouth against his own.
“Hi,” Junmyeon murmurs when they part.
Sehun smiles at him. “I’m really happy to see you,” he says. “It feels like it’s been so long.”
Junmyeon shakes his head at him, smiling exasperatedly. “I saw you on Thursday,” he says. “And we were up on the phone all night last night.”
“That’s a long time, though,” Sehun says with a wink. Junmyeon’s stomach does a backflip. A month into. . .whatever this is, and Junmyeon still feels like Sehun is able to reach into his insides. He feels like he shouldn’t like it as much as he does.
Sehun closes the door behind Junmyeon.
“Chanyeol and Jongin are at a party at Jackson Wang’s place,” he says as he leads Junmyeon to the kitchen. “So it’s just us tonight.”
“You didn’t want to go too?” Junmyeon asks. Jackson’s parties are legendary on the Cal campus--infamous for their huge crowds, excessive amounts of alcohol and the sheer number of scandals that always bubble up in the aftermath.
Sehun shakes his head. “Not right now. It’ll probably keep going until midnight, at least, so we can head over later if you want.” He goes over to the fridge, opening it to examine its contents. “Do you want a beer?” he asks Junmyeon, who’s sat himself at the kitchen table.
Junmyeon nods. “Sure.”
Sehun takes out two Miller High Lifes. He pops the caps off on the edge of the countertop. He sits down next to Junmyeon, handing a beer over.
“Cheers.” Sehun lifts his bottle in a toast, his eyes crinkling with that joyous mischief that he always seems to be carrying inside him. Junmyeon is hit with the urge to reach out and cup some of that joy into the palms of hands. He wants to bring it up to his lips, drink it down, find a way to carry some of Sehun inside of him.
That thought scares him.
So instead, Junmyeon toasts him back and takes a sip of his beer, the taste cold and the bubbles crisp against his tongue.
“Sehun,” Junmyeon says, carefully. “Can I ask you something?”
Sehun raises his eyebrows and hums in agreement.
“Of course,” he says. “You can ask me anything.”
Junmyeon takes a deep breath. “What. . .what are we doing Sehun? Are we-- I mean, am I--”
“Are we dating?” Sehun fills in. “Is that what you mean?”
Junmyeon takes another sip of his beer, bigger this time. The bottle’s glass feels slick in his hand.
“Yeah,” he says as he swallows. “That’s what I mean.”
Sehun grins at him, running a hand through his hair.
“Can I answer your question with another question?” Sehun asks. “Do you want to date me?”
And that-- that --that’s something that Junyeon isn’t sure that he can answer. For the past month, Sehun has been all he can think about. He’s the first thing that crosses Junmyeon’s mind every morning, seeping into his thoughts as the sunlight eases across his bedroom. He’s the last thing that Junmyeon thinks about at night, clinging to the mischief in Sehun’s smile as sleep carries him to unconsciousness.
Junmyeon wants Sehun so much. He wants Sehun in the same way he’d wanted that midnight rain-soaked kiss, he wants Sehun in a way that he’d never wanted Irene. In a way that he’s never wanted anyone else at all.
But for all his want, for his all his need , when Junmyeon closes his eyes he sees his mother and grandmother, standing on the curb at the San Francisco airport. He sees his tiny hand grasped in grandmother’s own, he hears their voices, his grandmother and mother whispering in unison.
Safety. Stability .
He looks at Sehun now, sees the patience and care spread across his face and the deep tenderness and trust in his eyes. Junmyeon imagines that he could dig through to the Earth’s core and he wouldn’t be able to find anything in the world that’s more safe or more stable than the swell of emotion that Sehun makes bloom in his chest.
“I do,” Junmyeon says, his voice so small. He looks down at the table, studying the layered rings of water damage. “I do want to date you. I like you Sehun,” he admits. “I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone before. I know that I just met you, but it feels like I’ve been waiting my entire life for you to walk up to me. When I’m with you. . .things make sense.” He looks up at Sehun, holding his gaze as steadily as he dares. “When I’m with you, I understand parts of myself that I always told myself that I would--could, really--never get to know. But I’m scared . You scare the hell out of me.” It hurts to admit it, hurts in a way that it feels like the words have been ripped out from the back of Junmyeon’s throat. He drinks more of his beer, trying to soothe the pain.
Sehun has nothing else to say. He just takes Junmyeon’s free hand in one of his own, tangling their fingers together.
“I’m scared too,” Sehun says, softly. “You’re the first for me too, you know? You’re the first person that I’ve ever really wanted to be with, like this. I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me want to try to have a real relationship.” His face contorts into an expression halfway between joy and pain. “The whole world is telling us that two men can’t care about each other,” he says, almost strained. “That any relationship we’d try to have is fucked up and impossible. That by trying this we’d be crossing a forbidden line. But, Junmyeon--” Sehun leans towards him, gripping Junmyeon’s hand tight, “I feel like we could be possible . I feel like there’s enough here, even only after a month or however long it’s been, to build on--to build something stronger than what the world is busy trying to force us into.” Sehun laughs, quietly. “So, yeah. I want to date you too. If you’ll let me.”
That molten heat from that first night on the porch is back in Junmyeon’s stomach, licking its way up and through his body. This--all of this--is reckless, it’s foolish, it makes as much sense as kissing in the middle of the night during the pouring rain.
But the thing is, Junmyeon has always liked the rain. He’s always liked the way it feels, cold and close against his skin.
And Junmyeon has never wanted much in his life, at least, he’s never wanted anything like this. He feels like he’s been asleep ever since he boarded that plane fifteen years ago, like he fell asleep in the clouds.
But then Sehun sat down next to him on a porch step on a moonlit night and, finally, Junmyeon woke up. And Junmyeon doesn’t want to go back to sleep.
So he says: “Yes. I want to date you, too. More than anything.”
If happiness had a wattage, it would be the same brilliance of Sehun’s smile.
Sehun leans forward and kisses Junmyeon full across the mouth.
“Alright then,” Sehun says when he breaks away, “boyfriend.”
Junmyeon swats at him. “So corny.”
Sehun leers at him. “Always.”
They climb two sets of stairs, take their beers to Sehun’s room, upstairs in the attic.
It’s a huge space; with a high ceiling with old-school wooden rafters. There’s a half moon window tucked into one corner, giving a clear view of the night sky. Sehun’s hung a gold-beaded curtain from one of the beams, dividing the space in half. Through the gaps in the beads,
Junmyeon can see through to the other side where there’s bed with a blue comforter and a side table covered in books, a tiny white lamp balanced on its edge.
But the half they’re standing in is taken up with an antique secretary’s desk that looks like it was plucked from the turn of the century. There’s a swivel desk chair and two low bookshelves crammed with books and magazines. Sehun’s haphazardly pasted posters on the wall, all space themed: there’s a map of the solar system that Junmyeon is certain was posted in his fifth grade classroom, a vintage woodblock print of the moon and star chart that has to be from the late 1890s at least . There’s a mismatched pair of standing lamps in either corner and Sehun goes over to them both, turning them on. There’s a boombox in the space between them and next to that is a gray record player, its lid closed.
“So this is the fun section,” Sehun says. He puts his beer down on the edge of the desk and then goes through the beaded curtain. “This side is less fun.” He comes back with two huge floor pillows. He drops them in the middle of the floor.
He gestures to the pillows. “Get comfy?”
Junmyeon gingerly sits down on one of them, his back towards the window. From this angle, he can see through the still swinging beaded curtain into the other side of the room.
Junmyeon redirects his attention to Sehun’s bookshelves, squinting to read the titles.There are dozens of volumes of science fiction mags; Asimov’s Science Fiction , Analogue , and F&SF taking up five shelves, at least. There are books on space and the universe and scattered among them, almost as if by accident, are his textbooks. Advanced Calculus III , Introduction to Macroeconomics, The Shakespeare Reader .
“You really like space, don’t you?” Junmyeon asks when Sehun sits down on the cushion next to him.
Sehun shrugs. “I guess so. I mostly just really like science fiction and fantasy. I’m a huge Star Wars fan. I think space is really fascinating; it’s a great backdrop for a huge fantastical story, you know?”
“Is that why you have ten thousand sci-fi mags?” Junmyeon says, teasing him.
“Hey, I like them.” Sehun scowls at him. “Are you gonna make fun of me for being a nerd? Because that’s really reductive, Junmyeon.”
Junmyeon laughs. “No, don’t worry. I think it’s really. . .cute. That you have something that you love this much. You love a lot of different things.”
“I do.” Sehun stretches his legs out in front of him. He’s so much taller than Junmyeon, even sitting down like this. It’s so hard to not feel completely overwhelmed. “I like a lot of things.”
“You like sci-fi and math and rollerskating,” Junmyeon lists off. “And music.”
“I do love music.” Sehun gets up and goes over to the window. There’s an old milk crate underneath it, full of records. Sehun squats down and starts rummaging through them.
“You really love music.” It isn’t a question, but Junmyeon still wants to know more.
“I do.” Sehun doesn’t look up. “Always have.”
“Always?”
“Always.” Sehun seems to find what he’s looking for and pulls out a record in a dark blue sleeve. He reaches over and opens up the record player, carefully removing the record from its sleeve and then setting the needle on the disk. A gentle piano melody fills the room.
Sehun goes over to where Junmyeon is stretched out and lays down on his back, next to him, sharing the same pillow. He’s so close that their finger tips graze at each other and Junmyeon can feel the warmth radiating off of Sehun’s body.
“This is Joni Mitchell,” Sehun murmurs, his voice treading underneath the song. “ Blue . One of my favorites.”
The song is like the coldest part of the deepest lake, Junmyeon thinks. Joni’s voice is so full that it feels depthless and it floods him, taking him under, until Junmyeon feels like he’s at the bottom of Lake Merritt, the warmth of the sun glinting somewhere far above him.
Sehun’s hand sneaks over and he twines his fingers with Junmyeon’s own, like he knows, like he’s trying to anchor Junmyeon, keep him near and close on the bedroom floor.
Junmyeon takes a deep breath, feeling his chest rise and fall with the swell of air.
“This is incredible,” he whispers to Sehun. “It’s such a simple song but it feels enormous. It feels like it’s taking up the entire room, the entire world.”
“That’s why I love music,” Sehun says. “It takes you over. It swallows you. I feel like I can sink into a song, into an artist and have them take over my entire world. Music makes me feel like I can control the world. It’s like it lets me see the world exactly the way that I want to.”
“Do you not like the world that you’re seeing, usually?” Junmyeon asks. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“It never feels like there’s space for me in it. It never feels big enough. It always feels so cluttered with terrible things and hate and loss and loneliness. Music makes it all better.”
“What about now? Do you like the world you’re seeing right now?”
Sehun turns over on his side, looking Junmyeon straight into the eyes. He doesn’t let go of Junmyeon’s right hand, instead bringing up to his mouth and squeezing it tightly, firmly, in his palm.
“Are you my world, right now?” He whispers. His face is so close. Junmyeon’s breath catches in his throat and he feels like his heart has travelled to his hand, to be caught in the gasp of space between their two palms.
“I don’t know if I’m your world,” Junmyeon says. “But I think I’m in it. At least right now.”
“Then I like it,” Sehun says with a smile. “I like it a lot.”
---
Junmyeon eases awake. The room is dim, lit only by the light of the lamps. Sehun has an arm tight around his middle holding him close. They’re still on the floor, having fallen asleep listening to records. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world but, there, with Sehun’s body hot at his back and with the steady sound of his breathing filling the night, Junmyeon feels more at peace than he ever has.He stares at the swirls of planets and galaxies on Sehun’s walls. The beaded curtain hangs off to the side, the gold beads glowing in the lamp light like the shower of a thousand shooting stars. He wants to stay, he thinks. He wants to stay here, with Sehun, asleep in the light.
He lays there for a while longer but he’s more thirsty than he can stand.
He works himself out of Sehun’s embrace, gently, and then slips out of the bedroom. He picks his way down the stairs in the dark, one hand on the wall, guiding him down.
The kitchen is dark and empty so Junmyeon fumbles around for a moment before finding the lightswitch. He has to open three different cupboards until he finds where the cups are kept. He selects a blue plastic tumbler and fills it with water from the faucet, drinking it down in one go. He’s in the middle of filling his cup for the second time when the front door opens with a bang. There's a commotion in the hallway and then Jongin appears in the kitchen, hair messy and cheeks red with the tell tale flush of alcohol.
“Oh,” Jongin says when he notices him. “Junmyeon. I didn’t know you’d still be here.”
Junmyeon glances at the clock above Jongin’s head. The hour hand is just past 1 am.
“Yeah,” he says. “Sehun and I fell asleep while listening to music. I didn’t really mean to stay.”
Jongin graces him with one of his soft smiles and nods. He plops himself down at the kitchen table and props his legs up on one of the other vacant chairs. “Makes sense,” he says. “That’s peak Sehun behavior. He still asleep?”
Junmyeon nods. “I got thirsty,” he holds the tumbler full of water up as an explanation. “Do you want some?”
“That would be amazing.”
Junmyeon goes back to the cupboard and takes out another cup, filling it as well. He carries it over to Jongin, placing it on the table next to him.
Jongin takes a big sip. “God, thanks. I drank way more than I meant to and I’m gonna feel this in the morning, I can feel it already.” Jongin is much more talkative when he’s drunk, words spilling out of him in a quick flow.
Junmyeon sits down in the other open chair. “Jackson’s party was good, I take it?” He’s never really spent much time with Jongin. Unlike Chanyeol, who Junmyeon seemed to always bump into all around campus after that night at Gravity, and now they got lunch together all the time, Jongin is still a bit of a mystery to him.
Jongin smiles and shrugs. “It was fine. Same as always. Dancing, music, alcohol. Semi-indecent behavior. I left early.”
“Is that why Chanyeol isn’t here?” Junmyeon asks.
All of the ease in Jongin’s face drops immediately. “Yeah,” he says, his voice tight. “He wanted to stay a little while longer. With some of his other friends.”
Junmyeon doesn’t know what to do with this change in tone so he leaves it there, hanging. He drinks more of his water.
Jongin sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
“How are you and Sehun doing?” Jongin asks, breaking the weird tension between them.
Junmyeon can still feel the warmth of Sehun’s arm, curled around his middle. He smiles to himself.
“We’re good,” he says to Jongin. “I think we’re really good.”
A softness comes over Jongin, his lips curling upwards.
“That’s really good to hear,” he says. “Sehun deserves it, really. I mean, you both do, but Sehun’s had such a rough time. . .he really deserves to know what it feels like to be cared for.”
“A rough time?” Junmyeon frowns.
Jongin raises his eyebrows. “If he hasn’t told you, then it’s not my story to tell.” He folds his arms on the table in front of him and rests his head on top of them. “But, like, I’ve known Sehun my whole life. And growing up in LA. . .it was hard on him. He never really fit in there and I think he felt really alone when we were kids. And he was always so. . .hungry? Or so desperate, probably, for friendship or for someone to see him, you know? I think that’s why he was in such a huge rush to leave.” He quirks his mouth to the side.
“But when he left, he really left everything behind. He had to start all over up here. And I know that he can sometimes come off as being kind of mischievous and flirtatious but really, there’s a lot of hurt there.” Jongin laughs to himself, softly. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this, but I’m pretty drunk so what the hell. You should at least be able to know more about the man--” Junmyeon’s heart jumps--” you’re dating. Sehun tends to get attached easily. Not in a bad way, but he wants so much all the time, he’s always trying to keep people, in a way. So, he might try to keep you, Junmyeon.” Jongin looks up at Junmyeon through his bangs. “And honestly? Sehun deserves all the love in the goddamn world. He’s a lot more fragile than he comes off. So, Junmyeon, take care of him, ok? Sehun is like the brother I never had. And I only want the best for him.”
Junmyeon nods. He grips the tumbler tightly in his hand.
“I’ll try my best, Jongin,” he says, “I will, really.” Junmyeon swears to himself that he will try. Right there, in the harsh glare of the kitchen lights, sitting across from his boyfriend’s best friend, Junmyeon makes that promise to himself.
Jongin props his head up with one hand. He grins. “I think I like you, Junmyeon.”
Junmyeon smiles back at him. He takes another sip of his water.