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The key card worked.
Jongin hadn’t expected that when he’d swiped it off a manager’s desk. Sorrow and relief rushed him simultaneously when the sensor flashed green. The door clicked open and he burst onto the rooftop.
Wind whipped his hair as he stumbled to the ledge and caught himself on its barrier. Above, a black sky reflected the city’s light pollution. He couldn’t even see the stars on his last night alive.
Climbing onto the barrier, he swung his legs over the side. Thirty stories below cars glided by, headlamps pooling light. Jongin wondered if he’d see light like that on the other side. Whatever awaited him there had to be better than this.
He wished he could have done this privately, through slit wrists or chugging the finest bottle of sleeping pills that the company’s psychiatrist could prescribe him. That would have left a prettier corpse. But the company’s top idol smashed on the concrete right outside their headquarters would suffice.
Jongin chuckled as he leaned over the edge, trying to pick out the concrete he’d paint crimson. He’d only written one hasty note. He didn’t have any friends who’d search for the reason why.
Closing his eyes, he listened to the traffic, to the wind. No more practicing in a lonely dance studio until his feet bled. No more singing his throat raw. No more denying himself food or indulging and being forced to purge. No more anything.
Tears streamed down his cheeks as he surveyed the skyline one last time. It really was beautiful. Maybe he was sentimental because his heart would only beat for a few minutes more. “Sorry,” he choked out. To nobody. Maybe his own aching heart and body he’d let down.
He slid forward, feet dangling in midair.
“Three.”
A gust carried away his breath. He inched farther, toes scrambling for something to touch.
“Two.”
He gripped the edge, tensed his biceps to get a good push.
“On—”
Something hooked around his arm and hauled him backwards, ripping him off the wall. His ass hit the flat rooftop hard—hard enough that it would affect practice tomorrow. Well, he wasn’t practicing tomorrow anyway. At least until his plan was foiled by…
Jongin craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the moron who had ruined what were supposed to be his last moments. A tall figure towered over him, silhouetted by the city’s lights.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jongin snapped, wiping his cheeks dry.
“Me?” The man knelt and the city illuminated his face with soft salience. “You’re the one who almost jumped off the roof.”
Jongin gaped. He knew this guy from somewhere, but his mind, hazy with adrenaline and despair and rage, couldn’t place him. “Maybe you should mind your own business.”
The man sat back on his hands, folding his long legs. He wore a suit with the tie pulled loose and the buttons around his collar undone. “I can’t,” the man said, “when I see someone about to end their own life.”
Jongin blinked at the smog-filled sky as his eyes watered again. This guy probably worked for the company if he had roof access. Jongin could deny everything. Say he slipped.
But he was so… exhausted. He didn’t care if he got scolded by a manager or felt any other consequences the company would dole out. He needed to focus on finding another opportunity to end it.
He sniffed as a tear streaked down his cheek like a comet. “You going to tell my managers?”
“One of your managers already knows,” the man said and held his hand out. “Park Chanyeol. I just started a week ago.”
“No way.” If this guy was one of Jongin’s managers, he’d know… right?
Chanyeol frowned. “You’ve seemed out of it lately.”
That was an understatement. Jongin couldn’t find it in him to laugh—even bitterly. “I take it you’re going to lock me in my room and make me meet with the CEO.”
“I have a better idea.” Chanyeol rested his elbows on his knees. “How about you agree to put off your suicide plan for one week?”
Jongin blinked. “Just a week?”
“Yup,” Chanyeol said. “You promise not to kill yourself for a week and every day, I’ll show you something to live for.”
This guy couldn’t be serious. “All I have to do is wait a week?” Jongin asked. “And you won’t tell anyone about this?”
“Cross my heart.” The manager extended his pinkie. “Just promise.”
Jongin stared at the offering. Was this guy stupid? He stealthily slipped the key card he still gripped securely into his pocket. As long as he kept it, he could opt out any time he wanted.
He hooked his pinkie with Chanyeol’s. “I promise.”
* * *
Jongin woke the next morning in a foul mood. It followed him all day, during dance practice, where he numbly went through choreography. Until he got back to his room, showered, and collapsed into bed.
Someone knocked on his door.
“Fuck.” Jongin rolled off the mattress, but before he reached the door, it opened.
That idiot manager stood on the other side. “Are you ready?”
“For what?” Jongin was ready to sleep. Ready to die. Ready to forget that stupid promise that bound him to this life
“I promised to give you something to live for.” Chanyeol swung a key ring around his index finger. “You didn’t think I meant your gym session, right? Although, that can be fun. We should—”
“I’m ready.” Jongin grabbed a coat and threw it over his shoulders. He pulled the hood up and donned a mask he kept in the pocket for the rare occasions the managers let him out of the building.
When they left, no car with blacked-out windows waited for them. “Are we not driving?” Jongin asked, jogging to keep up with Chanyeol’s long strides.
“It’s a nice night.” Chanyeol inhaled deep as he strolled. “Enjoy it.”
Jongin grumbled that there was nothing to enjoy. The city was dirty. Crowded. Full of painful memories.
He nearly bumped into Chanyeol when he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Jongin tore his gaze from his shoes, gazing up at a pink neon sign shaped like an ice cream cone. “Ice cream?”
“You could use some,” Chanyeol said and stepped into the shop.
Jongin considered dipping out. He could lose the manager if he bolted now. Maybe throw himself in front of the subway or buy enough drugs to—
“Are you coming?” Chanyeol asked.
The automatic doors stayed open, and air gusted through them, drowning Jongin in the scent of sugar and vanilla. Ice cream wasn’t on his diet. This was another way to stick it to the company.
And he’d promised Chanyeol. His word bound him. For a few more days.
He trailed Chanyeol to the counter and scanned the flavors behind the glass. His mouth watered. “I shouldn’t get anything.”
“You should.” Chanyeol bent lower to examine a tub of Supreme Cookie Dough. “That’s the whole point.”
“Ice cream is going to keep me from offing myself?” Jongin scoffed.
Chanyeol shrugged. “You can try any flavor you want for free.”
Jongin didn’t want to try. Or get recognized. So he pouted while Chanyeol asked the employees for tastes.
He shoved a tiny spoon with a dollop of vanilla in Jongin’s face. “Try this.”
Jongin sighed and rolled his eyes, but pulled his mask down to accept the spoonful.
The sugar melted into his tongue, sweet and creamy. A memory pushed on the edge of his mind until it broke through. Years ago, Jongin and his mom on a hot summer day. Warm concrete under his feet as they sat on the front steps of his old house and licked vanilla ice cream from quickly-melting cones.
He licked the spoon clean. “I’ll have a cup of vanilla, please,” he said to the girl behind the counter. “Actually,” Jongin said when she went to scoop the ice cream, “can I have a cone?”
They walked leisurely back to the company’s building, ice cream in hand. Jongin worried fans would recognize him, but no one did.
“So, that’s it?” Jongin asked. “This is all I get for not unaliving myself?”
“Killing yourself,” Chanyeol said frankly. “Don’t sugar-coat it. You were going to kill yourself.” He slurped the last of his Mint Chip from the cone. “And yeah, this is what you get today. Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”
Jongin couldn’t deny the ice cream was good. It pissed him off. “You’ll have to do better than ice cream tomorrow.” When they passed an overflowing trash can, he dumped the rest of his cone inside. “I can’t finish it. I’m not used to the sugar.”
Instead of looking like Jongin’s rejection wounded him, Chanyeol grinned. “Okay, Kim Jongin. I’ll up my game tomorrow.” He crunched on his cone and the sound drove Jongin to the brink of violence.
Chanyeol rode the elevator up to Jongin’s floor and walked him to his dorm. “See you at practice tomorrow?”
Jongin lingered in the threshold, guilt singeing the edges of the numb he’d gotten so used to. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
He went straight to his bed and knelt at the foot. He shoved his arm under the mattress until he felt paper beneath his fingertips.
He pulled out the envelope. Wrinkled. Sealed. Mom scribbled on the back.
The only note he’d written. He knew she wouldn’t understand. Describing the pain and how it iced into nothing but numbness… he didn’t think anyone could understand that.
He sighed and stuffed the letter back into its hiding place. He wouldn’t need it for six more days.
* * *
“We shouldn’t be here during the day,” Jongin said as he glanced around the outdoor nursery. There were too many people who could recognize him here.
“Relax.” Chanyeol ambled through rows of greenery. “This is a home improvement store. Not exactly your main demographic.”
Jongin groaned but didn’t argue. “You going to build me a house?”
“Nope.” Chanyeol stopped in front of a multi-tiered display laden with houseplants. “You’re going to choose a plant.”
Jongin frowned. “You want me to take care of a plant? You can’t even get attached to a plant. They don’t talk.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” Chanyeol examined the posted information about Devil’s Ivy. “Leaving your plant behind won’t bother you. This one could be good.”
Jongin looked the plant over, picking up one of its long vines. It was interesting, but… “This one’s too ugly.”
“Sh!” Chanyeol hissed and pretended to cover the plant’s leaf ears. “He’ll hear you.”
Against his will, Jongin chuckled. He inhaled the scent of earth and flowers and a flash of brilliant color flitted into his mind. Then stronger memories—huge, open rose blooms and trees bursting with saucer-sized magnolias.
His grandmother’s garden had really been something to behold. He missed her.
As he scanned the shelf, another plant caught his eye. A pinwheel of dark green leaves with tear-drop white petals. “This one.”
Chanyeol drifted closer, so Jongin could feel the heat of his body. “Peace Lily. Easy to take care of, according to this.” He pointed to the plaque beneath the plant.
Jongin picked up the lily, soil crumbling over the top of the flimsy plastic planter. “If you’re making me care for a plant, you should at least buy me everything I need for it.”
They spent the next hour asking a nursery employee for help. By the time they left, Jongin had already repotted the lily into a white ceramic planter and knew all about its care.
When Chanyeol left for the night, Jongin carried the plant around the dorm, trying to find the best spot for it. The nursery employee said an east-facing window would be best. Luckily, Jongin had one of those. He set the planet on the sill and misted its leaves.
“Pretty,” Jongin said to himself and sat on the floor next to his ward. Watched the sinking sun play across its deep greenery and white petals. “You can’t talk, so I can’t get attached to you.”
When it was time for bed, Jongin scheduled a reminder on his phone to mist the plant every morning. He set it to repeat every day.
* * *
“This is low,” Jongin complained as he stood in front of the kennels, each one containing a puppy.
“How is it low?” Chanyeol asked. “This is my family’s shelter.”
Jongin almost said because you know I love dogs , but didn’t want to give anything away in case Chanyeol didn’t know that. Instead, he wandered past the kennels, observing each rescue dog. “I can play with any one I want?”
“Any one you want,” Chanyeol repeated from where he crouched by a Golden Retriever’s cage. “More than one.”
Ten minutes later, Jongin rolled around in a patch of fresh grass while half a dozen puppies attacked his face with their tongues. For the first time in a very long time, he couldn’t stop laughing.
Weight lifted from his chest and a shadow fell over him. He opened his eyes, wet with tears from his laughing fit to find Chanyeol holding a squirming Australian Shepherd mix. “Having fun?” Chanyeol asked.
Jongin sat up and wiped his eyes. “They’re really cute.” He grabbed a rope toy hanging from a Corgi’s mouth and tugged, giggling again when the dog played along. “You’re not going to make me pick one, right? The company won't let me have a dog.”
The puppy in Chanyeol’s arms whined until Chanyeol set him down. He offered his liberated hand to Jongin and helped him off the ground. “You’re probably right about that.”
Jongin brushed the grass from his pants and watched the dogs sprint around the pen, wrestling each other. They reminded him of the dogs his parents had when he was a kid. Maybe if he had a pet now, he wouldn’t be so lonely.
“Did you water your Peace Lily today?”
Jongin flinched out of the memory. “What?”
“The plant we got yesterday.” Chanyeol shoved his hands into his pockets as he watched the dogs play. “Are you taking care of it?”
“Yeah.” Jongin didn’t say anything about setting the reminder. “Do you come here a lot to help out?”
Chanyeol shrugged. “Depends on how much I’m needed, which is a lot more in spring. Puppy season.”
“Maybe I could help.” Jongin hadn’t meant to say it aloud, and when Chanyeol raised an eyebrow, he flushed. “Everyone should do charity work, right?”
A slow smile broke over Chanyeol’s mouth like a sunrise. “Sure.”
If Chanyeol wanted to say anything about Jongin making future plans, he didn’t. Besides… Jongin hadn’t said he definitely would help out.
“How do you feel?” Chanyeol asked.
“Why do you care?” No one asked Jongin how he felt except the company’s psychiatrist who only wanted to know how much medication he needed to comply.
“Believe it or not, I actually like you, Jongin.”
Jongin scoffed and picked up a Chihuahua begging at his feet. The dog licked his chin. “You want me to keep working.”
Another puppy bounded over and dropped a ball at Chanyeol’s feet. “Actually,” Chanyeol picked up the ball and threw it. “I don’t care if you work. Your music isn’t my thing.”
Jongin frowned and hugged the Chihuahua closer. “Rude.”
“What? I have a different style.” The puppy returned with the ball, eager for Chanyeol to throw it again, so he obliged. “I think if your job makes you want to die, you should reconsider your career path.”
Jongin quickly changed the subject. “You should show me what kind of music you like.”
Chanyeol smiled as if he had some secret. Something inside Jongin bristled, desperate to uncover it. “Sure.”
* * *
The next night, Jongin waited for Chanyeol.
And waited.
And waited.
Until he went to bed, restless and annoyed he’d stayed up waiting for someone who inevitably let him down. Jongin burrowed under the covers, hiding from the sharp pang in his chest.
This whole thing was a stupid idea. He should have jumped when—
His phone chimed.
Jongin threw the blankets off and checked his messages. From Chanyeol: Coming now. Get dressed. Wear something grungy .
Jongin leapt out of bed and raided his closet, rejecting designer outfit after designer outfit until he found the ripped jeans he used to love and his old comfort hoodie.
The place Chanyeol took him was… unexpected. A hole-in-the-wall bar where they stood amid a sweaty crowd while a local punk band shredded. Jongin hated the noise at first, but as the night progressed, he got lost in the rhythm and couldn’t stop his body from moving. When the band played a Queen cover, he nearly lost his voice from screaming the lyrics.
Between sets, Chanyeol dragged him to the bar where they nursed beers straight from the bottle. “What do you think of my music?” Chanyeol asked after a long swig.
Jongin took a sip, enjoying how the bubbles coated his throat. “Is that why you brought me here?”
“You did ask for it.” Chanyeol elbowed him. “And you had fun.”
“Maybe.” Jongin allowed himself the luxury of taking a closer look at Chanyeol. At his hair, unstyled for once, a mess of dark curls. At his clothes, much like Jongin’s instead of his usual suit. He looked good. Like this, Jongin could pretend Chanyeol wasn’t a manager—just a guy he liked. Maybe they’d flirt. Maybe Jongin would go home with him or kiss him against a grimey bathroom stall.
“You didn’t even complain about possibly getting recognized,” Chanyeol said.
Jongin looked around, but no one noticed him. “This place is cool.”
Jongin really meant you’re cool . Because Chanyeol was. And he might have been the first person in years to pay enough attention to recognize Jongin’s pain.
Chanyeol smoothed some of Jongin’s sweaty hair, tucking it behind his ear. His fingers lingered on Jongin’s cheek. “Glad you like it.”
* * *
Jongin took care of his Peace Lily, watching the soil’s moisture, misting it every day. Sometimes he talked to it, which was crazy. It couldn’t talk back. He wasn’t attached.
On Day 5, Chanyeol drove Jongin to the beach where they kicked seafoam at each other and buried their toes in the sand.
Day 6 was lowkey. After Jongin’s schedule, Chanyeol made popcorn at the dorm and forced Jongin to watch the first two movies in a trilogy about space wizards. The second one ended on a cliffhanger that had Jongin pacing in front of the TV. “Next one,” he demanded when the credits rolled.
Chanyeol chuckled. “It’s not out yet.”
Jongin deflated. “You tricked me into getting invested.”
“How did I trick you?” Chanyeol lay back against the cushions.
Jongin collapsed beside him, close enough that their knees touched. “You knew I’d want to see the last one. You think it’s going to stop me from—” Jongin shut his mouth. He hadn’t thought about ending his life in days. He wasn’t sure which was harder: saying he wanted to die or realizing it might not be true.
“Stop you from what?” Chanyeol pushed.
Jongin drew a shaky breath. “Killing myself. You thought I might wait to kill myself. And maybe if I waited, I’d forget about it.” His eyes watered, and he turned away from Chanyeol wiping his tears before they rolled down his cheeks.
“That’s not it.” Chanyeol placed a hand on Jongin’s knee. Jongin couldn’t remember anyone touching him with that much care. “I don’t expect you to forget your pain. I just hope you’ll see it won’t last forever.”
Jongin pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “You don’t know what I’m going through.”
“You’re right.” Rustling fabric followed Chanyeol’s words. “But I know you’re not alone.”
Jongin opened his bleary eyes to find Chanyeol rolling up his sleeve, revealing a palimpsest of thin scars across his forearm. Dozens of them crisscrossing like an abstract painting.
Jongin traced the scars, long healed but still raised. The mess they left on Chanyeol’s skin mimicked how Jongin felt. “How’d you stop?”
Chanyeol tugged his sleeve down. “Slowly and over a long time. At first I had to make some changes that were really hard.”
“I think you’re my only friend,” Jongin said, hugging his knees.
“Maybe,” Chanyeol agreed, “At least you have one. No matter what.”
Jongin couldn’t identify the heaviness in his chest. He only knew he didn’t want to be alone. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
“I’ll stay with you every night.” Chanyeol patted his lap, and Jongin, raw as the old scars on Chanyeol’s arm, crawled across the couch and laid his head on Chanyeol’s thighs. He fell asleep to Chanyeol stroking his hair.
* * *
Jongin awoke on top of Chanyeol. He had a full schedule, but Chanyeol assured him, before either of them left the couch, he had something really good planned for that night.
Jongin grinned. “Your hair’s a mess.” When Chanyeol tried to smooth his bedhead, Jongin added, “It’s cute.”
That flustered Chanyeol even more and Jongin saw him blush for the first time.
The promise of their meetup helped Jongin get through his day. Apparently, he had a meeting with creative directors tomorrow.
Chanyeol took him to a carnival outside the city. Elated screeches flooded the warm night, rising over the zooming rollercoasters and hiss of deep fryers. Jongin kept his mask on and stayed tucked under Chanyeol’s arm as they explored the grounds.
Chanyeol bought Jongin every fried delicacy they saw and made Jongin play every single game. Jongin lost each time. “I don’t believe this,” he grumbled after his third defeat at a watergun game.
Chanyeol blew on his watergun. “Guess I’m lucky tonight.”
“Yeah, lucky.” Jongin slid off his stool. “I’ll practice and next time, I’ll kick your ass.” He realized his mistake instantly.
Next time .
Chanyeol didn’t seem to notice. He slung an arm over Jongin’s shoulders. “You’ll have to work pretty hard to beat me.”
“It’s getting late.” Jongin glanced at his watch. “I have an early meeting.”
“There’s one more thing.” Chanyeol pointed to a massive circle of steel and lights twirling against the night sky.
They boarded the ferris wheel, sitting next to each other on the cool metal bench as the ride attendant secured a bar over their laps. Despite its intimidating height, the ride was lazy and relaxing.
“Tomorrow you’re free,” Chanyeol said, gripping the railing. “You’re no longer bound to our promise. Congratulations.”
“Yeah.” Jongin rested his head on Chanyeol’s shoulder. “You said it took a long time to stop hurting yourself.”
Chanyeol draped an arm around Jongin’s back and tugged him closer. “Healing wasn’t easy. I relapsed. I had days I thought I couldn’t hold on.”
Jongin breathed in Chanyeol’s scent, soap and sandalwood deluging his senses as they plunged over the ferris wheel’s crest. “But you did.”
“I had to figure out what made me happy.” Chanyeol’s fingers grazed Jongin’s neck. “And I had to do things that were really hard but worth it.”
Jongin swallowed, a long-forgotten heat simmering on his skin in every place he and Chanyeol touched. “If I stay, will you help me?”
Chanyeol pivoted to face Jongin, lifting his chin so their eyes met as the wheel began another upswing. “If you stay, I’ll never leave your side, Jongin.”
The desire for something other than emptiness rushed into Jongin. He grabbed Chanyeol’s jacket and pulled him in until their lips collided.
They kissed until the ride stopped, then made the drive to Chanyeol’s apartment in apprehensive silence. Jongin couldn’t think of anything but the feeling of Chanyeol’s mouth caressing his own. Of how he ached between his legs.
When they got to Chanyeol’s place, Jongin shoved him against the wall and joined their lips again. Chanyeol’s hands wandered over him, up his shirt, touching places that made Jongin moan. Eventually, they guided Jongin to the bed. Stripped his clothes.
Chanyeol entered him and Jongin felt complete. He wrapped his legs around Chanyeol’s waist and held on for the ride, letting every sensation overtake him, never attempting to stifle a cry.
They were slick with sweat and cum when Chanyeol collapsed on him. An intense orgasm echoed in Jongin’s bloodstream, and before he caught his breath, Chanyeol kissed him again. Lazy and with lots of tongue. It tasted like love.
“Thank you,” Jongin whispered in the dark, missing Chanyeol inside him. “For making me feel…”
“Loved?” Chanyeol nuzzled his shoulder. “You are. I’ll make sure you always feel it.”
“Me too,” Jongin mumbled before he fell asleep with the weight of Chanyeol’s arm thrown over his stomach.
* * *
Jongin woke up too late to go to the dorm. He extricated himself from Chanyeol and slipped into the shower. When he got out and dressed, Chanyeol was making breakfast in the kitchen.
“We’re late,” Jongin muttered, but accepted a kiss on the cheek.
“Don’t worry.” Chanyeol set a bowl of kongnamul bap on the table for him . “I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
Chanyeol parked at the company’s building five minutes late and Jongin’s stomach felt icy despite the warm breakfast. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You don’t have to.” Chanyeol clutched the steering wheel. “Say the word and I’ll drive you anywhere.”
Jongin swallowed his fear, like he’d done for years. Except this time he wasn’t alone. “I’ll go in.”
Chanyeol nodded and they rode the elevator up to the conference room where the creative director, producers, and other managers waited. Jongin took a seat while Chanyeol made up some excuse for their tardiness. And Jongin felt it again—the feeling Chanyeol promised him. He smiled at Chanyeol across the table.
The meeting started, but Jongin didn’t know why it had to wait until he arrived. Like always, they excluded him from decisions. There would be a new album with a concept he didn’t like. Promotions packing his schedule. A two-month tour.
“He’ll have to get in shape,” one of the producers noted. “He looks pudgy.”
As they made a gym schedule, Jongin’s eyes stung. He really couldn’t do this. So he did what he always did—shut down.
His hands crept into his pockets, brushing something smooth and firm. The roof card. All he had to do was get through this meeting, wait until tonight, and—
Except he didn’t want this to be the end. Instead of the relief he’d felt only a week ago when he’d snatched the card, now he felt… scared. He didn’t want to die, but he couldn’t stay here.
He pushed his chair away from the table, the screech of the legs on the floor interrupting the conversation. Jongin stood. Let the silence flood his ears. Said the first thing that fell on his heart. “I quit.”
* * *
It was a legal mess. And all over the news. Fans took to social media to vent. How could he do this to us?
Jongin tried not to look.
The company kicked him out of the dorm and Jongin had never lived on his own. Chanyeol drove Jongin to his mom’s place and she told him he could stay as long as he wanted. When he arrived, she hugged him and didn’t let go even when Jongin sobbed against her shoulder.
She invited Chanyeol to stay for dinner, and while she cooked, Chanyeol and Jongin watched a trailer for the last installment in that trilogy. “Look, there’s a release date,” Chanyeol said at the end.
Jongin nestled against Chanyeol’s side. “Can’t believe your trick worked.”
“I’ll stay with you,” Chanyeol whispered. “Tonight and every night.”
Jongin nodded. Everything felt tenuous, tight like it could snap any second. But instead of letting go, Jongin held on with white knuckles. “Tomorrow I’ll find a doctor. Get some professional help.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Chanyeol said and kissed the top of his head.
At dinner, Jongin’s mom had a lot of questions for them. Mainly why Jongin quit fame.
“I wasn’t happy,” he said, picking at his japchae.
His mom nodded. “Then you made the right decision.”
When they finished, Jongin asked his mom if they could light the firepit out back. He and Chanyeol sat by the fire, talking about what they’d do now that they were jobless—something Chanyeol insisted he didn’t regret.
After a moment of quiet, Jongin emptied his pockets. The suicide note to his mom and the roof key. He tossed them both into the flames, watched their remnants float away as sparks on the breeze.
Once his mom was asleep, he dragged Chanyeol to his old room and threw him onto the bed. Climbed on top of him while they kissed like they didn’t need oxygen.
“Don’t treat me like I’m fragile,” Jongin demanded when they were skin to skin. “Fuck me hard.”
Chanyeol happily obliged, turning Jongin onto his stomach and taking him from behind while Jongin’s heart pounded against the mattress. They had to be quiet, but Jongin couldn’t help mewling into his pillow, devotion and love pouring off his lips every time Chanyeol thrusted deep.
He felt like a teenager again. Keenly alive and for the first time in so, so long. It was almost as good as the orgasms Chanyeol coaxed from him or Chanyeol’s dripping out of him when they lay together, catching their breath.
“What will you do now?” Jongin asked.
“No idea.” Chanyeol rolled onto his side. “But I’m not worried. It’s an opportunity. What about you?”
Jongin thought about it seriously—a future. “I liked the puppies.”
“What a coincidence,” Chanyeol said and kissed Jongin’s sweaty temple. “I know someone who runs a shelter. I could put in a good word.”
Jongin snuggled closer to Chanyeol, resting his head above the beating heart that ticked away the moments of the life he never thought he’d have. The rhythm lured him closer to a sleep he couldn’t wait to wake up from. “Sounds like a plan.”