#saudade was just one way for me to come to terms w it

[millie-ionaire05]

Saudade - Ot7 | 11 (End)

Ot7 BTS

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Rating: M (Mature)

word count: 2,439

Trigger Warnings: Hospitalization (rehab, mental institute). Mental health issues (Text Reason to 741741 if you need to reach out for help). Insinuated M x M (if you squint hard enough). Substance abuse (alcohol, pills | call 1-800-662-4357 if you are dealing with this). Weapons (gun, knife). Smoking (cigarettes, weed). Mentions of suicide/attempted suicide (National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255). Violence (murder/attempted murder). Mentions of blood. Mentions of therapy sessions (these are not accurate representations, please leave it to proper professionals). Mentions of physical abuse (Call 1-800-799-7233 if you are dealing with domestic violence) WE DO NOT GLORIFY THESE WARNINGS/TRIGGERS; THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY, AND DOES NOT RELATE TO ANY OF THE MEMBERS. IF YOU ARE DEALING WITH ANY OF THESE, PLEASE REACH OUT TO YOUR LOCAL AUTHORITIES FOR ASSISTANCE, OR THE NUMBERS LISTED ABOVE.

↤ Previous | 11

February 3rd, 2018

   The sun was starting to set when Jungkook pulled into the parking garage of his apartment complex, the lights dimly illuminating the parked cars. Hoseok had been hiding out there on and off for the past two weeks, only running home to shower and put fresh clothes before rushing back and seeing if his friend had finally shown up. His attempt to confront Jungkook at the hospital backfired when the nurses stated he wasn’t allowed visitors. But Hoseok was cunning, and worked his skilled Gwangju tongue on the adorable nurse at the desk, who was quick to spill all of the dirty secrets.

   While she had freely given most of the secrets involving his younger friend, she didn’t have the answer to when he was allowed visitors, but she did reveal his release date. That was all Hoseok needed, and he quickly passed her a fake phone number before leaving the place, afraid he would run into either Namjoon or Yoongi.

   His conversation with Yoongi played in his head over and over again for the two weeks it took Jungkook to finally show up. He’d half expected to see cops pull up and arrest him for owning an illegal weapon, but the other half of him knew Yoongi wouldn’t dare let the cops be involved if it meant outing whatever secret he and Namjoon had with each other. Hoseok hadn’t even known Jungkook was involved until a tearful conversation with Jimin, the magenta haired man looking completely distraught and revealing Jungkook had been in the same room. It was that same day that Jimin whimpered his plea in wanting to know what really happened that night, and Hoseok had silently promised him that he would find out.

   Stepping out of his car, he slowly approaches the younger man whose dark hair had grown all the way to his cheek bones, observing as Jungkook moves to his passenger side before pulling out a box. Hoseok has half a mind to grab him and forcefully make him talk, but he also feared that would just bring his friend back into a semi-catatonic state, and he had no patience in waiting for his answers.

   Jungkook didn’t realize Hoseok was standing there until the older friend was pretty much in his face, his eyes widening in fright before his bunny smile lights up his face. He practically drops the box back into his car before throwing his hands around his friend, a shocked Hoseok freezing in place at the sudden onslaught of affection that he was no longer used to receiving. After a moment Hoseok returns the hug, trying to ease Jungkook away from him so he can stay focused. Or at least attempt to.

   “Hyung! It’s so good to see you,” Jungkook chirps cheerfully, his hands rubbing together nervously before becoming hidden behind him. “W-what are you doing here?”

   Hoseok takes a moment to purse his lips before crooking a smile, gesturing at the stuff in his car. “I heard the good news and came to celebrate.”

   Jungkook’s eyes shake for a fraction of a second, possibly from fear, but Hoseok isn’t sure. He doesn’t have too much time to dwell on it either because his friend reaches back into the car and pulls out the box, gesturing for his hyung to follow him to the parking garage elevator.

   The silence that follows gives Hoseok a moment to regroup his thoughts as they walk towards the elevator, their steps slow and methodically echoing around them. The distance between them physically is only a mere sliver, but the emotional gap is palpably large, Hoseok’s mind racing to fill it in with conversation.

   “So, what are you going to do now that you’re out?” Hoseok probes, his hand moving to fluff up the back of his hair in nervousness.

   “Uhm…,” Jungkook starts before adjusting the box onto one hand, his other reaching out to the elevator button. “Probably look for a job. I gotta start paying back my parents somehow,” he admits sheepishly, his shoulders coming up to make him appear smaller than he actually is.

   Hoseok nods in agreement, his arm stretching out to hold the elevator doors open as the younger friend steps in. “That makes sense,” Hoseok comments before stepping into the small metal contraption as well, his fingers beginning to sweat.

   “What have you been up to, hyung?” Jungkook asks cheerily, his bunny smile growing as his eyes move towards him.

   “Uhm...well...I’ve been in rehab for a majority of the past six months. I got out about two weeks ago,” Hoseok reveals, his shoulders rising of their own accord as his own smile turns sheepish.

   “Oh wow, hyung,” Jungkook innocently throws out the term of endearment, his eyes widening at the confession. “What happened?”

   Hoseok turns an exasperated look to his friend, unsure if he was being serious or just messing with him. Hoseok realizes it was the former when the younger man continues to stare even as the elevator dings its arrival onto Jungkook’s floor and their bodies remain in their spots. The older man can’t help but let a sigh slip from his lips, a hand moving to run through his freshly dyed brown locks, frustration causing his eyebrows to come together.

   “I-I’m sorry if I’ve upset you…,” Jungkook murmurs, shifting the box in his hands.

   “It...it’s not so much upset as frustrated, Jungkook,” Hoseok admits, his hands rubbing his face before falling to his sides. “I...I thought you knew what happened to all of us after what happened that night. I thought Yoongi had kept you updated.”

   “What do you mean?” Jungkook questions, the bunny smile falling off of his face, and confusion taking its place.

   “Yoongi would visit you...I thought he had kept you updated…,” Hoseok trails off, unsure of how else to put the statement together. After a few seconds of silence, it seems to click in Jungkook’s head.

   “Yeah, Yoongi would visit, but he never talked about you guys...just about his work and sometimes Jimin,” Jungkook pouts, his eyebrows coming together. “The last I heard was Jimin wasn’t talking to him, but he didn’t tell me why.”

   Hoseok nods slowly, his frustration level reaching its peak, and he was worried he wouldn’t get the answers he was desperate to seek.

   “Look, Jungkook, I can’t lie. I didn’t come here to celebrate your release...I came here because I need answers.”

   “A-answers?” Jungkook stutters, his fingers whitening as they grip the box tighter, his body instinctively taking a step away from Hoseok’s.

   “I need to know what happened that night, Jungkook,” Hoseok demands, his sentence rushing from his lips so quickly he himself almost didn’t understand.

   “W-what do you mean, Hoseok?” Jungkook questions a solid minute later, tears pooling in his eyes. “Taehyung killed Jin...and then he killed himself.”

   Hoseok lets out a cross between a growl and a grunt of frustration, his hands moving to Jungkook’s shirt collar before he slams the younger boy against the mirror wall of the elevator. They hear the mirror crack, to which Jungkook’s eyes widen impossibly further than before, his lips quivering as a single tear rolls from his right eye.

   “That’s exactly what everyone keeps saying, Jungkook, but you know what-,” Hoseok starts, each word bringing his volume to rise until he’s shouting in the small space, “I don’t fucking believe it! Because the only people who are saying that are Namjoon and Yoongi, but you were there. You should have seen what happened! Tell me what happened, Jungkook!”

   The two of them shuffle for a second, Jungkook trying to use the box as a shield as Hoseok tries to get a better grip on the shirt, Jungkook’s cries echoing between them.

   “I-it was me!” Jungkook cries out, his hands releasing the box to allow it to collapse on the ground, a sob retching from his throat as Hoseok’s grip loosens.

   “W-what?” Hoseok starts, his fingers instinctively tightening on Jungkook’s shirt before he lets go all together. “What do you mean?”

   “It...it was me,” Jungkook sobs, the tears pouring from his eyes as his body slides down the elevator wall, his knees curling up to his chest. “I’m the one who did it.”

   Hoseok stays silent as his friend cries, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to collect his breath. What feels like an hour passes before Hoseok crouches down, his hand moving to Jungkook’s knee, unsurprised when he jumps at the contact.

   “What do you mean, Jungkookie?” Hoseok attempts to use the endearing nickname Jin-hyung had used many times in the past, and he’s surprised to see Jungkook’s head rise, the younger man’s eyes meeting his own.

   “I..I...killed Taehyung,” he sniffles, fresh tears flowing from his eyes.

   Hoseok is frozen in place, his body feeling like a ton of weights as his knees roughly hit the elevator floor, stinging from the impact. The grip he has on Jungkook’s knee that was originally for comfort, is now the only thing keeping his body up, his vision blurring at the confession.

   It takes a moment before Hoseok can break the silence. “H-how?” is all he can croak out, his eyes unwilling to meet Jungkook’s, but he can still feel his friend’s desperate stare. “Start from the beginning.”

   Jungkook lets out a breath of air before sniffling, his hands attempting to wipe his face. “I was in the kitchen doorway, listening to Jin-hyung and Tae argue…”

   “What were they arguing about, Jungkook?” Hoseok presses, his desperation at its peak and toppling over.

   “About Jin-hyung telling Namjoon that Taehyung had gotten arrested again. Hyung was trying to apologize, but Tae wasn’t having it. They were getting louder, but no one else could hear them over the music in the living room. I peeked my head in just as Jin-hyung threw a punch to Taehyung’s face, and Tae’s eyes...they looked crazy. Tae slammed hyung onto the floor and started beating him...and I wanted to stop them, but I froze. Hyung’s blood was dripping onto the floor and Taehyung looked like he was about to stop, but then he reached up to the counter and grabbed a knife. Jin choked on his blood as Tae stabbed him, and I gasped. His eyes...they were so dark and angry.

   He looked up from hyung’s body and saw me in the doorway, and I freaked. I turned and ran for the stairs, and I heard Tae behind me as Namjoon started shouting for someone to call an ambulance, but I was too scared to turn around,” Jungkook stops, his body trembling as his eyes go distant.

   Hoseok reaches out, his hands cupping Jungkook’s face in fear that the younger man won’t continue, won’t give him the answers he needs. This sends Jungkook into a panicked frenzy as he kicks out, his thick combat boot connecting with Hoseok’s stomach, causing him to wheeze at the impact. Hoseok’s hold of Jungkook’s face breaks, one of his hands going to his stomach as the other moves to Jungkook’s hand, gripping it in hopes it will help his friend.

   It seems to help, because Jungkook’s eyes meet his own, a flash of understanding causing Jungkook to stop. They sit there in silence, Jungkook attempting to collect himself, and Hoseok attempting to get a steady breath back. Hoseok doesn’t push Jungkook this time, just waits for his friend to continue on his own, even when his desperation has his body vibrating with tension.

   “I was scared, so I went into the first room I saw and hid in the closet. I couldn’t really hear anything over the music and my heartbeat. I stayed as quiet as I could, but I couldn’t help but jump when Tae opened the door and let it slammed against the wall. I peeked between the closet doors, and watched him walk around, checking under the bed before eyeing the closet. Except...he didn’t walk up to it. He had to know that I was in there, but he didn’t open the doors...instead he walked up to the window and looked outside.

   I tried to quietly step out of the closet, but I saw the knife in Taehyung’s hand, and I froze. It didn’t matter though, because Tae saw me in the reflection of the window, and he quickly turned around. He had this smirk on his face. I...I didn’t know what to do, but my body just acted on its own and I rushed him. I-I pushed him, and he went through the window and out onto the yard,” Jungkook bawls, tears running down his face with renewed fervor. “I heard someone curse behind me so I turned and saw Yoongi and Jimin standing in the doorway, but Yoongi’s hand was covering Jimin’s eyes.I pushed past them and headed straight for the bathroom, everything coming up at once.”

   Hoseok’s body tilts before his butt is firmly planted on the floor, the thump of his body weight shifting causes the elevator to bounce, but neither of them pay attention to it. Hoseok’s hands rise to grip his head, a firm pounding beginning behind his eyes.

   “I didn’t want any of you guys to be affected by what I did...so Namjoon came up with the lie. We...I...just wanted to protect you guys.”

   ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

   “Mr. Park, you have a visitor.”

   Jimin’s eyes rise from the book in his hands, his feet coming down from their spot on the chair he was resting on as his eyebrows come together in confusion. A visitor? After Hoseok had left, he hadn’t heard of Yoongi trying to visit again, not that Yoongi was still allowed to visit him. He rises from his spot and follows the petite nurse out of the common room, her steps quick as she makes her way down the hallway towards the visiting office, to which he rapidly attempts to keep up with her pace.

   Making it to the sickly yellow door, he notices that there isn’t a window, and is unsure of his feelings on being alone with whoever is on the other side. His feelings of worry are quickly dampened when the nurse opens the door and he spots Hoseok inside, the older man leaning back comfortably in one of the two chairs within the room. Jimin bounds inside and stretches his arms out, taking his friend by surprise when they wrap around his shoulders. After a moment, Hoseok forcibly pushes Jimin back, a worried expression on his face, and Jimin can’t help but mirror the expression.

   “Jimin...we need to talk.”

[astarisms]

lacuna

pairing: natan word count: 8154 summary: for better, for worse. in sickness, in health. she had taken those vows, even if he didn’t remember it, and she would not break them. all human amnesia au.  notes: this is a project that’s been three years in the making. it will be in three parts (that will come later), but i thought natan week was the perfect opportunity to finally post it. i finished this part in 2016 and haven’t edited it, so it will also follow how my writing has changed since i started this project. i hope you all enjoy, and happy @natanweek! :)

saudade

(n.) a nostalgic longing to be near 

again to something or someone that 

is distant, or that has been loved and 

then lost; “the love that remains”

origin: portuguese

The steady tone of the heart monitor was what had eventually coaxed her to sleep every night for three days. It was the comfort, the constant reassurance that he was here and he was alive and that the fear that had nearly brought her to her knees when she’d gotten the call was unfounded. 

It was only fitting that it would be the heart monitor that woke her as well — but there was something wrong. Before opening her eyes, she just listened for it, the confirmation of his life, but the timing was off. It was faster than the tone that had been ingrained in her mind, consumed every sleeping and waking moment.

She shot up, immediately alert and prepared for the worst, her eyes darting to the hospital bed that took up the middle of the room where he’d been, unmoving, since he’d come out of surgery. Except now there was a twitch to his fingers, a turn to his head, a murmur on his lips. 

She realized then that the change in the heart monitor wasn’t a bad thing, but a good one. Her eyes burned but she pushed back the urge to cry, making her way out of the room as quickly as she could without tripping over all the machines and yelling for a nurse, her voice breaking tearfully. 

Within moments the small room was filled, nurses rushing in and talking to each other in terms Natalie couldn’t understand. His doctor was next, side by side with another nurse mumbling something about paging the surgeon. 

Unable to breathe with so many people in such a small space, and unable to see him anyways with the crowd that had gathered around him, Natalie stepped out into the hall and leaned against the wall beside the door. 

She sighed shakily, looking down at her hands without really seeing them, her vision blurring. She twisted her wedding band around her finger anxiously, trying to ease the thundering of her heart and the racing of her thoughts. 

Was he okay? How did he feel? Was it too soon? Could they go home and finally put this nightmare behind them?

The questions were endless, circling round and round, taunting her as much as the noise in the room behind her was, reminding her that they were there to see him wake up and she was out in the hall. 

Hearing a low groan beneath several overpowering voices, Natalie squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, taking several deep breaths to keep the relieved tears at bay. 

Flashes of that night, curled on the couch to wait up for him, watching some cheesy TV movie, cold pizza waiting for him on the counter. Her phone ringing and absentmindedly reaching over to answer it without glancing at the caller ID. Ipos’s voice, usually so chill and smiling, solemn in her ear, straining like it would break. Horror settling in her bones like ice, immobilizing her. Ipos’s voice vague and distant in her ear, something about having sent Zoe to pick her up and take her to the hospital already. 

It had undoubtedly been the worst night of her entire life. They had already taken him in for emergency surgery when Zoe had dropped her off, and the wait had been agonizing. Hours without any updates. Hours of replaying every moment with him. Hours of being stricken with the thought that their goodbyes that morning had been goodbye in the most literal sense. 

The relief when they’d told her he was stable was palpable, but there was a catch — he was unconscious, and they had little to no idea when he would wake up.

Three days had felt like an eternity, but now she was grateful that that was all the time it had taken for him to regain his consciousness. She couldn’t imagine if she had had to wait much longer — three days had made her restless enough.

She lowered her hands from her eyes, turning to peer inside the room when she heard his voice, rough with pain and misuse. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, and she could only catch glimpses of him from where she stood, but it was enough. It was a confirmation she couldn’t get from heart monitors, or the gentle rise and fall of his chest.  

He was awake. He was okay. They would go home soon and he would recover the rest of the way there and everything would go back to normal.

She stared down at the floor, trying to catch bits of the conversation, but the doctor’s voice was too low. She didn’t know what the verdict was yet, she didn’t know how close he was to recovering, but he was awake, and that had to be good news.

After all, waking up had been the last obstacle they’d had to face. His recovery, slow as it may be, they would conquer together at home.

After several minutes, people started to file out of the room one by one. Natalie moved to the side as much as she could while still peering into the room, more and more of him revealed to her as the room cleared.

The doctor remained by his bedside even as the last nurse finished adjusting his IV and left. Natalie, feeling lighter than she had in days and with a bounce in her step, walked back into the room and to the doctor’s side. 

He looked from the doctor to her, all sharp lines and tired brown eyes, and she couldn’t help her watery laugh.

“You scared the crap out of me, dude,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out to take his hand.

“Uh, Mrs. Dev-”

“Who the hell are you-” 

“Mr. Devante, please, a moment-”

“Did you just say missus?”

Natalie was a bit stunned by the swiftness of everything — Lucifer pulling his hand away from her as if he’d been burned, sending her a suspicious look. The overlapping voices, their exact words taking a second for her to process. She could only stare with wide eyes, unsure what was happening.

“I — What?”

“Mrs. Devante, I had meant to speak with you before you came in, because I felt this might be the case as soon as we spoke.”

Her chest constricted with the implications of his solemn tone. 

“W… What might be the case?” she asked, hesitantly, afraid of the question itself just as much as the answer.

“I’m afraid I think your hus— Mr. Devante has a case of amnesia.” He looked between the two of them, to ensure Lucifer didn’t feel like he was being talked about instead of talked to. 

He kept talking, something about how it was not a surprising turn of events after brain surgery, something about not being able to tell if or when his memories would return, something about hope and therapy but Natalie heard none of it, her world closing in on her.

Suddenly she found it hard to breathe. Her vision swam and her ears rang and she barely heard her own voice cut off the doctor.

“He doesn’t…” She turned to look at her husband of 5 years. Her best friend of even longer. So many years… “You don’t remember me?” 

He shook his head.

... gone. 

It felt like a slap in the face.

“...Are you sure?” It was a stupid question, she knew it even as it slipped past her trembling lips, she knew it even without the look on his face that told her he thought it was a stupid question. And though it was silly, though it was a little breathless and desperate, in that moment it was all she had. 

“I’m sure.”

“...Oh.”

“Mrs. Devante-”

“Why do you keep calling her that?” Lucifer snapped, glowering between the two of them. The doctor looked alarmed for a second, before looking to Natalie inquiringly. 

“I...I’m your wife. Natalie. Your wi-”

“Bullshit.” Natalie flinched, and floundered, unable to think of a reply in the wake of his harsh tone. He looked to the doctor. “Could you stop calling her that?”

“Um-” The greying man glanced at Natalie again, cautiously.

“...My, uh… Natalie is fine,” she said softly, eyes dropping from Lucifer’s irritated expression to the stark white sheets. 

“Ah, well, yes. Perhaps it’s better if we let Mr. Devante get his rest? After all, proper rest is key to a speedy recovery.”

“Haven’t I been resting enough?” Lucifer scoffed, but settled back into the pillows anyways.

“A coma is not the same as resting. We’ll get you some food soon, to see what you’re able to keep down as well.”

Lucifer grunted, but otherwise didn’t reply. 

The doctor touched Natalie’s arm, and she scrambled off the bed. 

“Right. Um, I hope you uh, rest… well,” she said, stumbling over her words and avoiding his eyes, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice but doing her best to mask the hurt regardless.

She turned and ducked out of the room as quickly as she could, the doctor on her heels. He shut the door softly behind them and turned to look at her. 

“Is — is it permanent?” she asked, quietly even though Lucifer was well out of earshot now. She looked up at him with big, hopeful green eyes, and he really wished he could give her a different answer. 

“There’s no way of telling,” he said slowly. “It could be permanent,” Natalie took a shuddering breath, and he hurried to continue, “but there’s also a chance he could regain them, quickly or over time. It’s a matter of circumstance. Every situation is different.”

She nodded slowly, glancing at the door and wrapping her arms around herself. He had been in this field for too long, and was good at recognizing the signs of her resolving herself now to face what laid ahead.

“Yeah. Okay.” 

“I’m sorry there’s nothing more we can do,” he added sincerely. Natalie gave him a bright smile, but he’d seen a lot of those too — it broke his heart to note that hers was one of the most authentic, if a little strained, like she hadn’t had to use her perfected grin in some time.

“You’ve done so much already. Thank you. Him being okay is the most important thing.” 

He nodded, his years of experience betraying him when he was unable to find a way to comfort her. 

“My pleasure, Mrs. Dev—”

“Please,” she said, a shaky exhale. “Just — could you call me Natalie?” 

“Of course.” Her smile this time looked a little more genuine. “I’ll leave you to it, Natalie.”

She nodded, and he left her alone in the hallway. She sighed and pursed her lips, trying to decide what she should do next.

Calling Ipos was the first thing that came to mind — he and Sheila would be happy to hear that Lucifer was awake. She reached down to grab her phone before she remembered it was in his room, charging beside the cot she’d made a home out of during her stay since she’d refused to leave his side since she’d arrived. 

She bit the inside of her cheek, glancing to the door and debating whether or not it was worth it, before deciding she was being silly. She braced herself, and cracked the door open, peering inside. 

He looked like he was asleep. 

Creeping inside, she tried to be as quiet as possible. She made it halfway across the room before he grunted, and she froze, turning slowly to look at him. He was staring at her with none of the warmth of the brown eyes she had fallen in love with a hundred times over, brows drawn.

“I — s-sorry, I was just grabbing my…” she trailed off, gesturing instead. He rolled his head to look at the small pile of her stuff, his gaze narrowing. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He sighed, and closed his eyes again.

“Just get it.” 

She made herself quick about grabbing it, and turned to walk out, but thought twice and spun back around to grab her jacket off the top of her bag. She tugged it on as she manuevered carefully around the small room and all its machines and wires, and she tried very hard to keep her nose in the screen and not glance back at him, but her body betrayed her.

She chanced a look at him, and seeing him lying there peacefully, she was overcome with emotion. It didn’t matter that he no longer had his lush, dark hair. It didn’t matter that a scar stretched across his scalp. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the same man she married. It didn’t matter that he didn’t remember her.

She was overwhelmed with emotion, with the relief that he was alive, that he was breathing, that his eyes were closed of his own will and not the result of his head injury and the surgery that followed to save his life. 

Her knees nearly gave out beneath her, and she threw caution to the wind as she rushed the last few steps from the room. She shut the door as softly as she could with trembling fingers, not noticing that he was staring at her.

Once out in the hallway, she was at a loss — bathroom, she needed the bathroom, but she had been using the one in his room and she didn’t know where the public one was. Her vision blurred and her head swam and she stumbled down a random hallway in search for it.

After she’d turned down the third hallway with no results, she leaned against the wall, breath shuddering. She slid down until she touched the floor, buried her face in her pulled-up knees, and let the dam break.

She sobbed, everything she’d been repressing for the past three days bursting forth. She felt everything she hadn’t let herself all at once — the frantic worry, the crippling fear, the indescribable pain, and most prominently the overpowering relief. She felt it all pulse through her with so much force it hurt. 

She hadn’t been able to think as optimistically as she’d pretended. Several what if’s taunted her every waking moment and visions of life without him made her dreams bleed with terror and grief. 

The vision of him, pale and breathing shallowly, blood matting his hair to the back of his head and curling down the sides of his face and staining the pillow crimson and his body limp and broken and vulnerable in a way she had never seen him — was one created entirely of her own imagination. She hadn’t actually seen him after that accident, he’d already been taken back for surgery by the time she’d reached the hospital, but the image her own mind conjured had haunted her every moment since.

But none of that mattered anymore. None of it. Because he was okay, she couldn’t reassure herself enough that he was fine, that besides a few lost memories the doctor had said he would likely make a full recovery. And that — that was enough for her. It had to be.

As her sobs died down, she heaved on the floor of the deserted hallway, shaking and exhausted. She was no stranger to bottling her emotions, but it had been a long time since she’d had to keep some that roiled so violently within her under lock and key.

She jumped when she heard the rustling of someone sitting beside her, and looked up into a pair of warm, familiar eyes. Ipos didn’t say anything, he just offered his silent presence. Feeling better with the company, she sniffled and wiped her face on the sleeve of her jacket. 

They were silent for a minute, the only sounds in the barren hallway Natalie’s shuddered breathing and sniffles as she attempted to compose herself again.

“H-How did you find me?” she finally asked. Ipos shrugged, leaning back against the wall. 

“A few nurses pointed me in the right direction.”

“I — Is Sheila…?”

“She’s in his room. Told her I’d bring you by as soon as I found you.”

“Liar.” Ipos glanced over at her, a smirk turning up his lips. 

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Natalie giggled, sitting up straighter, “We should go back, before I make a dishonest man out of you.”

Ipos laughed quietly, but it faded out when Natalie stood up.

“You sure?” 

He wasn’t a man of many words, but Natalie knew what he meant — was she ready? To face him again? To endure his lost memory? To handle the loss of his love?

“Yeah,” Natalie said, sobering up. 

Ipos only nodded, and stood to walk her back.

***

Natalie would be lying if she claimed the last few days hadn’t taken their toll on her. She was exhausted and trying to stay optimistic just wore her down more.

Attempting to keep smiling when he would barely so much as look at her, trying to laugh when he recounted old stories with Sheila and Ipos that she’d heard a million times over, keeping the tears at bay every waking moment — she was just about ready to collapse. 

Ever since he’d woken up, she’d spent her nights at home. He didn’t like the idea of her being there when he didn’t know her. She understood, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t felt like a slap in the face.

That didn’t mean trying to sleep in their bed alone didn’t feel cold and empty.

She’d taken to sleeping on the couch instead, and she busied herself during the day trying to prepare for his homecoming. Keeping herself distracted from her own thoughts had become a struggle, so she put all her leftover energy into cleaning, blasting music and singing along just as loudly to drown out the negativity that tried to pull her under.

But he was coming home today, and she would be optimistic if it killed her. He was going through enough, and she was going to make his transition back into his life as easy as possible.

She made sure everything was where it belonged and dabbed concealer over the dark circles beneath her eyes before she set off to the hospital to pick him up, equal parts excited and nervous. She was hoping a familiar environment would trigger some of his old memories, but she was also trying not to get her hopes up.

The doctor had warned her there was a chance he would never regain them, anyways. So Natalie was resolutely devoted to keeping this whole ordeal about him — he was the one who was injured, he was the one whose life had been thrown completely off-kilter, he was the one who needed the help.

Her own problems could wait, because him recovering was the big picture and she wouldn’t lose sight of that. She would nudge him in the right direction, but she wouldn’t pressure him to remember. Not when he had bigger things to worry about.

Her stout optimism was tested the moment she stopped outside his door, though. She heard him, inside, arguing.

“Why can’t I crash at your place?” A beat of silence accompanied by the sinking of Natalie’s heart. Of course, she should have known he wouldn’t want to come home with her — after all, to him, she was a complete stranger.

“C’mon, Ipos, this— no, listen, I’ll sleep on that shit-stained couch, I — wait, what? You moved? You big fuck, when did that happen?”

She figured she’d been eavesdropping long enough, and knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open and poking her head inside.

“Hey,” she said, gently, not wanting to risk his temper. He tensed, and Natalie tried not to let her smile waver. “I brought you a change of clothes, for whenever you’re ready…” 

“Yeah, okay,” he said gruffly, and jerked his chin towards the end of the bed. “You can just set them there.” She walked over, setting the bag where he’d indicated and soothing it out.

“Just… whenever you’re ready,” she repeated, sincerely, trying to catch his eyes. He refused to look at her, however. She bit back her disheartened sigh, and stepped back. “Just let me know, okay? I’ll be outside.”

He nodded once, and she clasped her hands in front of her tightly to keep them from shaking as she retreated once more, with the sinking feeling that retreating from him — her best friend, her confidant — was going to be the norm very soon. 

She stopped once the door closed behind her again and after a moment of hesitation, she pressed her ear against it as he resumed his conversation with Ipos.

“I don’t know…” she heard him say, and there was an uncertainty in his voice that she hadn’t expected given the demanding and abrasive tone he’d had before she interrupted. “I don’t know her.”

Her breath shook as she exhaled, and she turned her face to the ceiling to blink back the tears. There was a long silence on his end, and she almost turned away when he spoke again, a bit of the edge from before back.

“I don’t know if I can remember her. I don’t know if I can love her.”

Her hand flew to her mouth to muffle the pained gasp she wasn’t sure he could hear anyways but didn’t want to risk, and she spun around and fled before he could catch her, before she could hear anything else she didn’t want to.

That was her karma for eavesdropping, she supposed, as she felt her already fragile heart shatter into pieces.

This time, her search for the bathroom didn’t result in an abandoned hallway, but instead found her bowed over the sink, the heels of her hands pressed into her eyes, her head throbbing as she resisted the overwhelming desire to cry.

She needed to get it together. She couldn’t react like this every time he said something that stung — it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t remember. She had to remind herself that he wasn’t being malicious, but that he was understandably very confused and disoriented and that she would be put off, too, if she woke up with no memory of a person claiming to be married to her.

She took several steadying breaths to compose herself, then slowly peeled her hands from her face. Her eyes were a little red, so she grabbed a paper towel and dampened it with cool water. She dabbed it gently beneath her eyes in hopes of making the swelling go down a little.

Once she decided she was presentable enough to brave the waiting room again, she slipped from the bathroom and traveled the short distance to the lobby where she could wait on him to get changed and sign the release forms. 

He, thankfully, didn’t keep her waiting as long as she had expected him to. He emerged from his room within half an hour, and though he didn’t seem thrilled at the idea of coming home with her, he didn’t say anything against it, either as he signed his discharge forms, dropping his bag by his feet.

His doctor was giving him some final instructions about bed rest and not over-exerting himself — “that means you’re gonna be out of commission for awhile, Lucifer, and I’ve already talked to your chief about how long you need to stay out,” he’d said, to which Lucifer scowled but nodded.

Natalie was lingering, not close enough to make Lucifer anymore uncomfortable but enough to overhear. The graying man caught her eyes a few times and she nodded subtly in response, because they both knew Lucifer was too reckless and restless to follow the strict orders unless he was watched.

“We’ll have your follow up in about a month, alright? It should be pretty routine, but if you notice anything unusual please come in immediately regardless.” Lucifer nodded absently, it was clear he wasn’t listening anymore, itching to not be cooped up anymore.

Natalie’s apologetic smile was tired and strained but she waited silently while the doctor looked over the forms Lucifer handed him back to confirm his release.

“Looks like you’re good to go,” he said, glancing at the last page. “Though I’d prefer if you used a wheelchair. You just had surgery.” He sighed at the look he was given, and conceded. “Just remember all I told you, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” The doctor shared a look with Natalie and she lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. Even without the amnesia, Lucifer had always been impartial to hospitals, especially for long periods of time.

“All packed up?” she asked after the older man wished them a safe trip home and took his leave, a hesitant tease since all he really had was the clothes on his back and a few of his favorite books she’d brought for him. 

He hummed in acknowledgment and scooped up his bag. Natalie pursed her lips, but didn’t push his lack of a reply. Instead, she folded her arms over her stomach and followed him as he made his way to the elevator. 

The ride down was silent. Natalie had several things she wanted to say, but she didn’t know how to bring them up and she wasn’t prepared for more of his rejection just yet. So she kept quiet and when the elevators opened on the ground floor he strolled out ahead of her, then stopped.

His brows were furrowed, clearly frustrated as he looked down at her. She didn’t know what she could’ve possibly done wrong this time, all she’d done was walk beside him, until —

“Well?”

“Well… what?”

“Where’s the car?” he asked, an exasperated edge to his voice. 

“O-Oh, right, I’ll go pull it around—”

“That’s not necessary. That’ll just take more time.”

“You shouldn’t walk too far, though, the doctor said—”

“I had surgery, I’m not crippled. I can walk to the fucking car,” he snapped, and Natalie flinched. He looked away from her, and his tensed shoulders slumped a little in what she recognized as regret for losing his temper, but he didn’t offer an apology. 

“...Right,” she said after a beat, and hated how her voice wavered. “Sorry, I’ll — it’s this way.”

She took the lead and was glad for it, because if he was behind her he couldn’t see the way her expression crumbled as her smile became too exhausting to fake anymore. The parking garage wasn’t far, but it was a pain to navigate and she tried in earnest to get him to the car as quickly as possible without the short trip being too much for him.

When it came into sight, she fished her keys out and unlocked the doors, moving to get in. She paused briefly when she noticed his uncertain expression and the slight sheen on his forehead, and she wished she’d just made him stay put in the lobby so she could have brought the car to him instead.

She didn’t have time to linger on it, however. He tugged the door open and slid in, careful not to hit his head, and she got in and started the car, eager to get them home.

He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat and Natalie found herself distracted by the possibilities of what would happen once he was home as she put the car in reverse and took the wheel with both hands.

Would he hate it? Would the familiar environment rattle something within him? Would it fail and only serve as a bitter reminder of his lost memories? 

She couldn’t say. She didn’t know what to expect, and while she was usually fond of surprises, this one worried her. 

She shifted in the driver’s seat uncomfortably, her fingers tapping a nervous beat against the wheel. She hated driving, and preferred taking the bus or walking or leaving it to him, which was ironic considering the first time they’d met he had pulled her over for speeding.

Her accident about a year after they’d been dating had really put things in perspective for her, however, and even though she had walked away from it physically sound, she had been shaken.

The drive home lasted for what felt like forever, but when she finally pulled into the driveway she kept her eyes firmly in front of her until she'd parked. Her fingers tightened around the wheel, before she released it and chanced a look at him.

He was staring up at their house with the same familiarity he had greeted her with — or rather, lack thereof. 

“This is it,” she said, trying for enthusiastic but not wanting to come off overbearingly so, and wiped her hands on her jeans. She tried not to linger too long on his unimpressed expression. 

It wasn’t his fault he didn’t remember them picking this out together because it was in their budget even though it had almost nothing they’d wanted. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t remember many of their days off spent together making this house their home. It wasn’t his fault that the walls he’d so looked forward to coming into at the end of a long day were now unrecognizable to him. It wasn’t his fault and she had to keep reminding herself of that.

He made the first move to get out of the car, finally tearing his eyes away, and she scrambled out after him. She wanted to get his bag for him, but he grabbed it before she could get to it and turned away without a second glance.

She bit her tongue and followed him up the short distance to their front door, fumbling with the keys while he stood off to the side, annoyed and impatient. Once she got it open, a feat with her sweaty, nervous fingers, she gestured for him to go in first. He gave her a look but obliged and she followed after him, shutting the door softly behind them.

He stood just inside, looking around at the odd decoration and the abundance of potted plants, not sure what to make of it all. Natalie decided to give him a moment, not wanting to rush him. 

She noticed his gaze fall to a small table that she’d decorated with photos of them and their friends. She couldn’t help the rush of hope she felt, especially the longer he stared at them — pictures of them when they were dating, one a friend had snapped when they had told everyone they were engaged, one of their wedding. Surely, surely they had to trigger something? 

She didn’t dare breathe, digging her nails into her palms as her chest swelled when he reached for them…

...and she felt herself deflate, the air rushing out of her like a balloon and taking the hope she’d let consume her for that brief moment with it when he grabbed their wedding picture and turned it down, until it rested facedown on the table where he wouldn’t have to look at it.

Natalie’s heart twisted painfully, and her smile became more difficult to uphold. She stepped in front of him, quickly so he wouldn’t see her expression crumble. It was all she could do to keep her voice even.

“Come on, I’ll show you around,” she offered, walking deeper into their home.

“Can you just show me where I’m staying?” he said gruffly. “I don’t really feel like getting the whole grand tour right now.” 

She froze midstep. She swallowed hard, but nodded, and turned for the bedrooms.

“Yeah, of course. It’s… it’s this way.”

The heavy thud of his footsteps behind her matched the painful beat of her heart in her chest as she guided him to the end of the short hallway. 

She opened the door at the end to the master bedroom and moved to the side so he could step in.

“This is our—” she didn’t miss the wrinkle of his nose at her choice of words, and she looked away, “—bedroom. I… You can stay, or, you can have it. I mean, it’s already yours, but I can — I’ll stay in the guest room.”

She felt him staring, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes this time.

“The, uh, the bathroom is just through that door,” she said, gesturing lamely. And I’ll be staying in, um… in the guest bedroom. If you need anything.” She tilted her head back down the hall. “It’s the second on the left.”

He nodded in her peripheral, and she turned to leave, fingers curling around the knob.

“I’ll let you get settled in, then.” 

The door clicked softly on her way out, and she crossed the short distance to her new bedroom. With one last look towards their room, she slipped inside and leaned heavily against the door. Her knees buckled and she allowed herself to slide down, until she hit the ground.

Her breath shuddered and she pulled her legs up, until she could rest her face in her knees. Exhausted, she squeezed her eyes shut and pushed past the pounding in her head, refusing the urge to cry.

They would get past this. They had always gotten past everything, together. This obstacle was inarguably their biggest one yet, but they would figure it out. She had to believe they would. She couldn’t give up so easily. 

Their wedding picture, turned down, flashed in her mind and a tear slipped unbidden down her cheek. That had been the first thing she’d decorated with. That had been a constant since they had moved in. She had put it by the door in case of an argument where one of them would leave angry — when they came back in, that picture served to remind them to leave their anger and work to fix things instead. 

She sucked in a breath and raised her head, swiping angrily at her face and glaring at the moisture that came away on her fingers. 

Things were different now. He was different now. Years of the experiences that had changed and shaped him were gone, but the man she had fallen in love with was still in there. She just had to remind him of the woman he had fallen in love with.

She couldn’t rush him, though. She knew that much. She couldn’t imagine how strange this all must have been for him, and she wanted to make the transition as easy as possible.

It would take time, but they had all the time in the world. 

But first, baby steps.

***

“What are you doing?” 

Natalie jumped, turning away from the stove to face him and laying a hand over her heart. She opened her mouth, ready to crack a joke about how he still managed to sneak up on her after all these years, but she caught herself and thought better of it.

“Making breakfast,” she answered instead. They’d had takeout for lunch and dinner, she thought it would be nice for him to have something homemade instead. “Chocolate chip pancakes, your favorite!” 

She could tell by the look on his face that he was skeptical about them being his ‘favorite’, but they promised chocolate and if there was one thing that would never change about her husband it was his unwavering love of chocolate. 

She turned back to the stove, a smile tugging at her lips. At least she could get something right. 

She slid the last one onto a plate and dropped a small square of butter on top of the stack, then carried it and the syrup over to him. 

He looked down at the plate, less than impressed by the ugly pancakes with jagged edges and the burnt splotches. 

“Bon appetit!” she said cheerfully, and Lucifer looked up at her, then back down to the pathetic pile of vaguely circular and questionably edible pancakes before him. 

“...Thanks,” he muttered, and grabbed the syrup, deciding that if he drowned them in it then they couldn’t possibly be as bad as they looked. 

He cut into the stack and lifted the bite to his mouth. He choked around the taste, and for a moment, he tried to get it down, he really did. He gave up on that effort, though, instead grabbing a napkin and spitting it out, wiping his mouth. 

“That bad, huh?” Natalie asked, and he looked up at her. She didn’t look surprised or upset, just disappointed and a little sheepish. “Sorry. I’m not a great cook. It’s funny, you used to—” she stopped herself by taking his plate once she realized what she had done. 

It was too late, though, and he stood up with an unreadable expression. Natalie frowned, and moved to apologize, but he cut her off. 

“Don’t forget to turn the stove off,” he said, and disappeared back down the hallway towards their — his — room. She stood staring after him, and set his plate back on the table. 

“Way to go,” she murmured to herself, leaning against a chair, her knuckles going white around the back of it. Every time she thought she was making progress she slipped up and ruined it. 

Chewing on her lip, she spun around and flicked the stove off, hating the reminder he’d given her that he’d given her so often before, each time more teasing than the last. 

Turn the stove off, Natalie. 

I have nightmares about you leaving that thing on.

The guys over at the fire station will never let me live it down if they find out my wife set a fire.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, laughing to herself. He had hated her cooking and he always told her he refused to eat anything she made, though she knew he would do anything if she asked, he just had to put up the right show of resistance first. He had always gone out to check that the stove was off before coming to bed with her, and she had always rolled her eyes and teased him about it.

I didn’t even use the stove today, Lucifer.

You attract so much bad luck it wouldn’t surprise me if it turned on just because you looked at it.

You’re such a jerk.

She grabbed his plate again and dumped the contents in the trash, along with the extras she’d made for herself. She wasn’t hungry anymore. She rinsed the dishes off and dropped them in the dishwasher and then cleaned up the mess she’d made. 

It didn’t take long, even as she tried to devote more time and attention to it than necessary just to keep her hands busy, to do something because she felt so useless. She had taken the week off for work, to help him get settled again, but she wasn’t so sure if she’d need the whole week if he didn’t even want to talk to her. She dried her hands and cast the towel onto the counter, sighing.

She turned to look around the small space for something to do, and her eyes fell on the photo of them pinned to the fridge. She walked over, slipping her fingers beneath it to get a better look, thumbing the edges tenderly. She’d surprised him that day at work. She’d snuck up on him, kissed his cheek, and snapped a picture to catch his reaction. 

Her teeth worried her lip for a moment while she hesitated, and then she yanked it off. She went in search of a box, and once she found one a decent enough size, she dropped the photo in there. Then, she made her way to the living room, where she swiped all the photos of them into it. She made her way through every room except their bedroom, taking all evidence of their memories together down to shut them away.

She would show him later, she would revisit them with him, she promised herself. But she would take them down for now. She wouldn’t make him look at them every day.

She wouldn’t make him regret coming home.

The box and all their pictures found a new home beneath her bed. All except their wedding picture. She set that one up carefully on the nightstand, so at least she could look at it. She dusted her hands off, but once she stepped out of the room she immediately felt like she wasn’t even in her own home anymore. 

It felt empty, impersonal, cold without their lives playing out over the walls. She looked over her shoulder, at his shut door, then at the clock. It was almost time for him to take his medicine, and she knew he needed to eat in order to do that.

Maybe she could make up for breakfast.

She started for the bedroom, going to tell him she was leaving, but her fingers hovered over the knob. She blinked at it, then looked up when she heard his voice coming from inside.

“—tried to kill me with those fucking pancakes, I swear,” she heard, and she covered her mouth with her hand, torn between the urge to laugh and the urge to cry. “It’s not funny, Ipos, I—”

His voice faded and she decided that was enough eavesdropping, backing away from the door. She’d leave a note instead for him to find, if he even noticed she was gone. She’d be back in less than ten minutes anyways, if traffic wasn’t horrible. 

She found an old bill and scribbled “Be right back” on the back of the envelope, leaving it on the table just inside the door. She snatched the keys up and slipped outside.

Traffic wasn’t bad, just as she’d hoped, and she was at the small bakery in no time. The bell jingled welcomingly when she walked through the door, immediately consumed in the warmth and pleasant smells.

Rosenfeld Bakery. It was his favorite place. The interior was a play on the name, decorated with roses Natalie’s shop supplied now and small, old frames of rose fields. They’d found it years ago and nothing else they tried ever compared to the little shop, tucked into a corner. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Devante!” the owner, Anthea, greeted from behind the counter. 

“Good morning,” she smiled, relieved at the friendly face, and walked over.

“The usual? Where’s Lucifer?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” she said, and dropped her eyes to the display. “He’s, ahh… He’s at home. Could you add one of those eclairs, too?” 

“An eclair? You making up for something?” Anthea teased. It was rare she saw one without the other. Natalie laughed, but it sounded breathless, forced.

“Something like that.” 

Anthea frowned, setting the bag on the counter between them. Natalie fished out a bill and pushed it across, pulling the bag more towards her instead.

“Is everything alright?”

It took Natalie a long moment to answer as Anthea rung her up, waiting for her answer with a concerned crease in her brows. Was everything alright? Not really.

But…

“It will be,” she finally said, raising her eyes to meet Anthea’s. She smiled at her and gathered up the bag of Lucifer’s favorite breakfast, turning to leave. “Keep the change!” she called over her shoulder, and walked out before Anthea could even get a word in.

Her return home was even quicker. She was excited, because her cooking was a longshot, she’d known that from the beginning, but she was sure this was something he could appreciate. 

She hurried inside, the warm bag tucked against her side, and travelled back into the kitchen. She pulled down another plate and arranged the chocolate-cinnamon rolls he ate religiously in one half, and put the double chocolate eclair on the other half. Smiling to herself, she made her way back towards their — his — room.

She knocked lightly on the door, and waited for a few excruciating moments.

“Lucifer?” she finally asked, and there was another beat of silence before she heard shuffling and finally the door opened up.

His eyes dropped down to the plate almost immediately, and then back up to her. She saw the skeptical arch of his brow, even as his eyes kept dropping back to the plate. It looked a lot better than what she’d presented to him earlier, she knew.

“A peace offering,” she offered as an explanation. “I know this is hard for you and I’m probably not making it any easier, but I figured I couldn’t go wrong here. I didn’t make it,” she added quickly when she saw his lip twitch as he undoubtedly remembered the disaster pancakes.

He stared at her for a minute longer, before taking the plate.

“Where did you get it?”

“Rosenfeld’s. It’s a bakery on the corner of 5th.” He was halfway to lifting one of the rolls to his mouth when he paused.

“Never heard of it.”

“We uh… we found it a few years ago,” she said slowly, cautiously, not wanting to upset him. She watched his expression carefully as she added, “It’s a bit of a hole in a wall, but it’s really good.” 

Something in his eyes darkened, and he nodded and set the roll back down. 

“Thanks,” he said, but there was an undefinable edge to his voice and he was unable to meet her eyes now. She felt a piece of her break away, screaming, wondering what she could say if everything about his likes or interests when she knew him was apparently off the table. She was trying to help.

Didn’t he want to remember? 

“...Yeah, of-of course. You, um, you have to take your medicine at 11:30.”

“I know.”

“I just thought I’d remind you, just in case.” She shifted uncomfortably, not sure whether she should try to catch his eyes or avoid them altogether. “I know you need something to eat with it, but if you… if you don’t want that there’s cereal and stuff in the kitchen. You’re more the welcome to help yourself.”

“I don’t need you to fucking babysit me, Natalie,” he said, and even he seemed surprised at how harsh his voice had been, but he didn’t make a move to apologize. Despite herself, it was the first time she’d heard him say her name since he’d woken up, and it sent a shiver down her spine. “I’m a grown man, I know how to take care of myself.” 

The words felt like a slap in the face. She felt her stomach drop. Her fingers curled into white-knuckled fists in an attempt to keep him from seeing her shaking hands. Her heart beat a thunderous beat against her ribcage and the blood rushing through her ears was deafening. 

She looked up at him, and he was looking at her now. There was harsh dip between his brows, his light brown eyes angry, tensed against the doorframe. Her eyes fell on the bandage covering his stitches and her breath shuddered.

“Yeah,” she said, calmer than she felt. She met his eyes again, now that she’d made her point with her gaze. “Sure looks like it.” 

She turned on her heel and marched back to her room. She shut the door with a little more force than necessary, and went to go sit on the bed. She let her fingers uncurl, and pressed them against her thighs in an attempt to quell how violently they shook. 

She stared at the floor for what felt like an eternity, trying to even out her breathing again, trying to get the resonance in her ears to go away, trying to see something other than the angry curl of his lip and the annoyed set of his jaw.

Finally, she raised her head. She was never one to let the day pass without living it to its fullest, but there was nothing more she wanted than to crawl into bed and sleep it away right then. She hesitated, because what if he needed her, but—

He didn’t need her. He’d made that perfectly clear.

She caught the shimmering frame of their wedding picture on the nightstand. She stared at it, her chest tight with the memory and all the implications it held, all the vows it upheld and all the arguments it had resolved.

She reached over, and with every part of her crying out in protest, she pushed it face down.

Then she kicked her shoes off and crawled under the sheets, pulling the covers above her head and trying to ignore how sharply she felt her heart break. 

[bisexualray]

To Describe Love, Chapter Two: Saudade

Summary: A morning of intimacy, an afternoon of loneliness, and an evening of reunion.

Note: Here it is! I worked so hard on this, and I’m really proud of how it turned out. This one has angst, fluff, and sm*t.

Warning: Mature themes, non-explicit sm*t.

Pairing: Jumin/Yoosung

Word Count: 10k+

previous

ao3 | masterpost

I think you’re the kindest, sweetest, most caring and attractive soul on this earth.

It took me until now to realize my feelings because I’ve... rarely felt them before. A strong urge to just... hold you. I want to be close to you, and every day I want to make you smile. Like you told me: I love everything about you.

You’re just like your smile, Yoosung. Beautiful.

/

It was four in the morning when Jumin woke up and for a moment he had no idea where he was or who was in his arms.

He opened his eyes and adjusted to the darkness of the room, awaking to a short, surging fear at the unfamiliar surroundings and the unknown weight wrapped around his chest. He then suddenly grew to realize that he was at home, having had fallen asleep on the couch with someone that he loved.

The fear was replaced with a different, comfortable sensation and he smiled to himself at last night’s memories, seeing through blurred vision from the darkness his tired hand move up and down Yoosung’s back.

The room was still and quiet, quiet enough that Jumin could listen to the sound of Yoosung’s breathing and focus on the feeling of his chest rising and falling against him. Yoosung, last night’s welcome guest and date, one with a smile and bright eyes that made Jumin’s head explode, holder of many titles such as friend, crush—

I w-want you to be my- my boyfriend.

This realization hit Jumin like a car and a short, breathy laugh couldn’t help but escape his mouth when he thought about how he’d fallen asleep with his boyfriend, and he could barely believe it was real, that they had their first date and their first kiss the night before and now the one he loved was asleep in his arms and he got to call him his boyfriend.

He wondered what Yoosung was dreaming about.

I- I love everything about you, Jumin.

He let out a content sigh and closed his eyes.

“I love you, too...” he whispered, and part of him pretended Yoosung was awake to hear him, his voice but a calm breath with no pitch. He considered the idea that he probably only imagined himself saying that.

He remembered the way they kissed, shy at first before gaining comfort and control and passion, enough of which to throw him onto the couch and lay in each other’s embrace. It was an incredible feeling, kissing Yoosung, like the satisfaction of completing a long-term goal, and it was something he hadn’t realized he’d wanted to do for a long time.

He licked his lips, and his eyes opened.

Among his multiple other realizations, he also realized he hadn’t brushed his teeth last night.

He hadn’t done any of his nightly routine for that matter. He was probably to blame, having had been the one to want to cuddle with Yoosung and not send him home, though he hadn’t expected to fall asleep with him, and at this point he wasn’t getting up any time soon.

Besides, he was beginning to struggle to keep his eyes open, vision fluctuating between the darkness of the room and the pitch blackness of blocked view. He felt himself falling, seemingly sinking into the couch and being pushed into a deep sleep by Yoosung mindlessly moving his arm and gliding his hand across Jumin’s chest.

Jumin let his muscles relax but kept his arms wrapped around Yoosung, breathing in his scent and taking all of it in, deciding he would tell him he loved him in the morning as he began to shut down.

You’re so warm...

He floated, drowning in a sea of endless thoughts.

/

If I’m so attractive, then we must be very similar. That’s not to say we don’t have our differences, but there’s no crime in that. And I believe that with our differences... we complete each other.

/

It was six in the morning when Jumin woke up again and for a shorter moment he had no idea where he was or who was in his arms.

He opened his eyes to a softly lit room, the light of the sunrise shining through the windows. Yoosung was still asleep on his chest, in a shifted, relieving position.

He rubbed Yoosung’s back, leaning down to place a kiss on his head. His muscles were hardly mobile with exhaustion, but he managed to get himself up and off the couch.

He felt stiff in his suit, the results of neglecting his nightly routine catching up to him. He looked down at Yoosung, sleeping comfortably on the couch, memories of the night before returning to his mind again. He thought about work, thought about Yoosung, looked back at the couch.

Taking his thoughts into consideration, he made his way toward the kitchen, toward the phone.

/

“I am not coming into work today.”

“What? Why?”

“I am taking a personal day. Yoosung is still a guest at my apartment, so it would be best to treat him nicely.”

“Yoosung is still there? Did he sleep over?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Um... alright. You must really like him then. I’ll call to cancel today’s meeting. And please tell me when you are available to pick up Elizabeth—my living room is covered in cat hair...”

“I can pick her up tomorrow.”

“Thank you. Is that all?”

“That is all.”

“Have fun this morning, Mr. Han.”

He hung up.

/

It was seven in the morning when Jumin felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist from behind and a pair of lips press against his back.

He had finished his morning routine and the person he left to sleep in had clearly woken up, making Jumin smile at his sudden hug.

“Good morning.”

He spoke against Jumin’s back, tightening his hug before letting go for Jumin to turn around and face him. Jumin rested his hands on Yoosung’s waist and leaned down to press his lips against his neck.

“Good morning.” He placed a kiss under Yoosung’s earlobe. “You must’ve slept well.”

“I... got excited when I woke up on your couch,” Yoosung said. “It made me think of last night.”

Jumin smiled, two arms wrapping around his neck. He pulled back to look Yoosung in the eye, seeing him lean forward to suddenly kiss his nose. Jumin let out a breathy laugh, forehead resting against Yoosung’s.

“You’re cute,” he said. “I hope you enjoy breakfast this morning.”

“You’re making me breakfast?”

“The chef will.” The smile left Jumin’s face when he saw Yoosung’s do the same. “Is something wrong?”

Yoosung bit his lip and he cupped Jumin’s face, eyes locking intensely with his. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Jumin blinked.

“I thought I would spend the day with you.”

“You’re skipping work for me?”

“Yes. Unless you have class...?”

Jumin didn’t consider that. Yoosung let out a sigh, head falling to rest against Jumin’s chest and words muffled as he spoke into his shirt.

“I don’t- I don’t usually go to class, but... ah, wouldn’t that be a lot of extra work for Jaehee?” He looked up at Jumin. “I don’t wanna be a burden on- on you or her or anything—”

“You could never be a burden,” Jumin said. “If that’s what you want, I can go to work today, and you can go to class.” He kissed the top of Yoosung’s head, speaking against his hair. “I’m... going to miss you. But can we at least spend the morning together?”

Yoosung’s smile was soft and his touch was light against Jumin’s skin as he moved a lock of hair behind his ear.

“Of course we can. We don’t need the chef to make breakfast, either.”

/

Jumin stared down at the omurice on his plate, focusing on the smiley face made out of ketchup, and copied the expression.

He remembered the way Yoosung drew the smile with the ketchup, swirling the bottle around to form the shape. Jumin saw the image of Yoosung’s bright, happy eyes, as his own caught the red heart in the corner of the omelette.

“Made with love!” he remembered Yoosung saying as he quickly added the heart, placing the plate in front of Jumin on the table and leaning down to kiss him on top of his head.

Now he was sitting across from him, eating his own, and Jumin didn’t know how he could bring himself to take a bite.

He knew it must have been delicious, but...

“This is too cute for me to eat.”

Yoosung looked up at him, a smile on his face, rolling his eyes. He dropped his spoon onto his plate with a clink of metal.

“Don’t skip breakfast, Jumin. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

“I know,” he said, taking his spoon from beside his plate and using it to cut a piece for him to eat. He brought it up to his mouth, savoring the taste that he knew was made by Yoosung, and—

“Does it taste good?”

He swallowed, locking eyes with a curious Yoosung.

“Of course it tastes good,” he said. “It’s made with love.”

/

The soft music from Yoosung’s phone on the kitchen counter was enough for the two of them to hear and sway along to, Yoosung’s arms wrapped around Jumin’s shoulders and head resting on his chest, pulled tight against him as Jumin hugged his waist.

It was a peaceful reminiscence of the past day, when they danced like this in the living room. Jumin ran his hand across Yoosung’s back, holding him closer, remembering the day before.

He was lost in his memories before Yoosung spoke.

“You know what I still can’t believe?”

“What?”

“That you’re my boyfriend. I didn’t believe it yesterday and I still don’t believe it today.” Yoosung let out a sigh. “I... a- a part of me thinks I’m d-dreaming.”

Jumin closed his eyes, listening to the quiet music and the soft sound of Yoosung’s voice.

“You know, I...” Yoosung continued, “I- I had... I had a crush on you for months, Jumin, so- so this- this is just...” He let out a laugh. “... unbelievable. And... that’s why I think I’m dreaming, because getting to call you my boyfriend is something I never, ever thought would happen.”

Months.

Yoosung loved him for months. He could barely believe it.

He ran through the thoughts in his head, wondering how long he had these feelings for Yoosung. Days, weeks, months of obliviousness. He sighed.

“I had a crush on you, too,” he said. “I don’t know how long I had it, and only yesterday I realized I had feelings for you, but- but I had eruptions, too. I’ve been feeling this way for a while, and now I know it’s love.”

Yoosung looked up at Jumin, locking eyes with him. Jumin leaned his head down, pressing his lips against Yoosung’s skin and kissing his forehead.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “No wonder I loved you for so long.”

Jumin gave him another soft kiss before pulling back, Yoosung resting his head against his chest once again. He hugged tighter around his waist, moving along with the end of the song. Yoosung’s whisper was barely audible, but he heard it from under his chin, breath hitting his neck.

“I wonder... what the others will think.”

/

Jumin wished this moment never had to come, that the sun wouldn’t rise that morning and they could lay on the couch together in loving silence for as long as time went on.

Still, wishes can’t always come true.

He dreaded this moment, when Yoosung would have to walk out the door to get ready for class, go back to his apartment and leave. His heart ached, not yet ready to say goodbye.

But Yoosung was ready to leave and the door was already open, his face fallen, showing an emotion the two of them shared. They’d said their goodbyes and given their kisses, but Yoosung’s glance over his shoulder and the way they locked eyes sent him running back to Jumin to fling his arms around his neck.

Jumin caught his breath, hugging Yoosung tighter, face in the crook of his neck, Yoosung’s hand in his hair. He closed his eyes and let himself pretend the hug could last forever and Yoosung didn’t have to leave.

“I’ll miss you.”

His voice was low and quiet, eyes still closed as he rubbed his hand up and down Yoosung’s back.

“I’m gonna miss you, too...”

Yoosung’s voice was the same, soft whisper, a comforting tone, and Jumin felt like he could fall asleep in the hug, if just one of his wishes could come true and Yoosung could stay for a little longer.

He felt Yoosung relax under his touch and heard him speak again. “Can I kiss you?”

Jumin responded by ending the hug, taking three seconds before he could bring himself to pull away, and gave a warm smile. Yoosung’s hands glided across his chest before they tugged at his tie, pulling him forward for their lips to collide.

Jumin closed his eyes, humming as his lips moved against Yoosung’s, and reached up to cup his face in his hands. He ran his tongue over Yoosung’s lip and saw stars behind his eyelids.

This would be their last kiss until their date, and all Jumin wanted to do was spend the rest of the day with Yoosung, kiss like this for hours on end. Their lips parted before returning for another, warmer kiss.

Jumin ran his thumb over Yoosung’s cheek, fingers lightly brushing against his hair, and broke the kiss again to whisper.

“I love you.”

Yoosung sighed against his lips, hands running down his tie and lightly clutching his suit jacket.

“I love you so much, Jumin,” he said, lips turning up into a smile and lightly pressing against Jumin’s again for a quick kiss. “If you ever feel upset today, remember that.”

He smiled back at Yoosung, staring into his eyes.

Jumin wished this moment never had to come, that they could kiss again and again and spend more time together and he never had to let go.

Still, wishes can’t always come true.

/

Yoosung★: Good morning! :)

Yoosung★: The sky is very clear today. I don’t see any clouds!

Yoosung★: Ha... I have classes today but...

Yoosung★: at least I slept well last night

Yoosung★: and had my favorite breakfast this morning.

Yoosung★: I... kinda want to go back to sleep tho lol

Yoosung★: I feel like that every day T_T

Yoosung★: But today especially.

Yoosung★: ...

Yoosung★: Haha!

Yoosung★: Ah... anyways,

Yoosung★: everyone have a good day!

Yoosung★: I hope Jumin has one too. I’ll miss him today.

Yoosung★ has left the chatroom.

Yoosung★ has entered the chatroom.

Yoosung★: ajsksj

Yoosung★: I MEAN

Yoosung★: I DIDNT

Yoosung★: I MEANT LIKE I’LL MISS HIM BECAUSE

Yoosung★: BECAUSE

Yoosung★: SEVEN!!!

Yoosung★: T_T

Yoosung★ has left the chatroom.

/

707: Oh Jumin~ I’ll miss u so!

707: Ohhh Jumin my sweet prince!

707: I wish I could spend every minute in ur loving embrace!

/

Yoosung★: I love you.

Yoosung★: I... want to say that in the chatroom, but I’m afraid of Seven’s teasing...

/

“Come in.”

He had two new texts from Yoosung when Jaehee entered his office, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. He glanced at the messages, quickly reading them, smiling to himself before placing his phone face down on his desk.

She carried a small packet of papers in her hands as she approached his desk. “I’m... surprised you came in today, but...” she cut herself off, clearing her throat. “Reports for today’s meeting.”

“I see.”

She held it out to him.

He flipped through the papers, skimming over each paragraph, the occasional word echoing in his mind, but never sticking as to comprehend it.

I wonder... what the others will think.

He turned another page.

He could feel Jaehee’s stare on him as she spoke about the meeting. “An important group of people, asset to the company, wants to work with us...”

He’d rather spend time with Yoosung than go to a meeting. He’d choose that over anything.

In his mind, images flashed of the omurice, of Yoosung’s smile, of the decorations made of ketchup, the faraway taste of the breakfast in his mouth, made with love. He wished he could go back to that, to waking up next to him and spending the morning with him, hugging him before he left to go to class.

He was glad Yoosung was getting an education.

But Yoosung was also the entire reason why he wasn’t listening to a word Jaehee was saying, droning on in the background.

He stared at a paragraph, reading the first sentence in hopes of taking in the words.

Forty five million won in order to...

He wondered if Yoosung missed him this much.

Forty five million won...

He hoped Yoosung was able to concentrate, if he missed him as much. He wondered if he, too, was thinking about that morning.

Forty five...

Damn it.

He looked up at Jaehee, locking eyes with her for a few seconds before hers averted.

He was trying to focus on the papers, focus on the meeting, but he couldn’t get that morning out of his head, and all he could think about was Yoosung, Yoosung, Yoosung—

“Do you understand the negotiations?”

“Yes,” he answered on impulse, the words from the paragraph floating around in his mind, not stringing together. He glanced to Jaehee, to the paper, to a nearby wall, back to Jaehee.

He hoped he could get through this meeting.

/

Jumin Han: We can take our time to announce our relationship. I can personally ask Luciel to stop if you feel his teasing is getting to you.

Yoosung★: But still, I want to let everyone else know how much you mean to me... how much I love you...

Yoosung★: I want them to know you’re mine!

Yoosung★: But then there’s Seven’s teasing... I mean, he can get annoying but then again he’s not wrong.

Jumin Han: Are you saying you wish you could spend every minute in my loving embrace?

Yoosung★: djshja

Yoosung★: who am I kidding

Yoosung★: I just want to run to your office and give you a hug...!

Jumin Han: I too wish to hug you again. I want to hold you forever.

Jumin Han: You’re my angel.

Yoosung★: I’m your angel?

Jumin Han: Yes. Your hair is like a halo.

Yoosung★: Well if I’m an angel then you’re a prince~!

Jumin Han: Luciel really was right then. I’m your sweet prince.

Yoosung★: You’re my sweet prince and I’m Superman Yoosung, your golden angel~!

Jumin Han: Perhaps I died and went to Heaven.

Yoosung★: Heaven... I think I died and went there last night.

Yoosung★: I just wanna relive that over and over again... I wanna give you a kiss.

Yoosung★: But arrggghh classes T_T

Jumin Han: I also want to kiss you. It’s... all I can think about this morning. Do you know what you do to me? My love for you is taking over my mind.

Jumin Han: At least you’re in a learning environment. I hope you take in at least some of the content during your next class, whenever that may be. I’m unable to focus.

Yoosung★: I can’t focus either! I can’t sit still!

Yoosung★: Why can’t I just go on a date with my boyfriend... I want to see you again.

Jumin Han: I as well. I look forward to our date later.

Jumin Han: I love you.

Yoosung★: I love you more!

Jumin Han: Ah, I’m aware of this game. I love you more.

Yoosung★: I love you MOST

Jumin Han: Then my love for you must exceed the maximum.

Yoosung★: ksjaj

Yoosung★: professro caught me txeting

Jumin Han: Texting in class again, tsk tsk.

Yoosung★: dnot judge me I missed u too mcuh

Yoosung★: I love u I miss u so so much see u latre

Yoosung★: mwah xoxo

Jumin Han: God, I miss you too. I love you, my angel.

/

I love you so much, Jumin.

His hand became stiff and motionless, and his pen stopped writing in the middle of a word, mind shifting back to that morning and memories thrown at him one by one.

Jumin moved the pen up and down the paper, leaving a trail of ink in its wake. He focused on one spot on the paper, one word he had written, trying to bring his thoughts back to the present, but—

The only image in his mind was Yoosung.

The pen fell out of his hand.

If you ever feel upset today, remember that.

He sighed, elbows leaning on his desk and face buried in his hands, fingers pulling at his hair, words racing through his mind that only reminded him of Yoosung, only made him want to relive that morning.

What he’d give in that very moment to see him again.

/

Jumin Han has entered the chatroom.

Yoosung★: Jumin!

Jumin Han: Yoosung.

Yoosung★: Ha... Jumin...

Yoosung★: I can’t take it anymore.

Yoosung★: I wanna give you the biggest hug!

Jumin Han: What was that for?

Yoosung★: I’m so happy to see you.

Yoosung★: Did you eat lunch?

Jumin Han: Yes.

Yoosung★: Good. I did too!

Yoosung★: I miss you so much...

Jumin Han: I miss you too.

Jumin Han: But we’re in the chatroom. I’m afraid we didn’t decide on this.

Jumin Han: If you wish to announce it, that’s okay with me. But please don’t push yourself if you feel uncomfortable.

Yoosung★: ...

Yoosung★: I was afraid to say this in the chatroom... because of the teasing...

Yoosung★: but now I feel confident, and I want to say it!

Yoosung★: Jumin...

Yoosung★: I... love you!

Jumin Han: I love you too, Yoosung.

Yoosung★: And I want everyone to know it.

Yoosung★: To the members... I want you all to know... that Jumin and I are dating, and I love him.

Yoosung★: Jumin... I love you. Don’t forget that.

Jumin Han: How could I possibly forget?

Yoosung★: I mean now that I said it for everyone to read I guess u could never forget lol

Jumin Han: Because of inevitable teasing.

Yoosung★: Seven...

Yoosung★: But now that I said it, I can’t stop!

Yoosung★: I love you I love I love you!

Jumin Han: I love you.

Jumin Han: Even without teasing, I could never forget. You give me all the love you have to offer. You make me so happy.

Yoosung★: You make me happy too!

Yoosung★: <3

Jumin Han: Is that a heart?

Yoosung★: Ah... yes...

Jumin Han: Oh my god.

Jumin Han: That’s adorable.

Jumin Han: <3

Yoosung★: OMG

Jumin Han: That’s my heart.

Jumin Han: It beats for you only.

Yoosung★: fjsjdzh

Yoosung★: I love you so much ur so cute

Yoosung★: I wish I could kiss you. But I know work is important...

Jumin Han: I miss your smile. God, I miss you so much. You don’t even know.

Jumin Han: I love you. You’ve stolen my heart.

Jumin Han: <3

Jumin Han: I couldn’t be happier.

Yoosung★: I miss you...

Yoosung★: I have to go to class. It starts soon.

Jumin Han: ...

Yoosung★: I’ll be thinking about you.

Yoosung★: I love you.

Yoosung★: <3

Jumin Han: I love you too. Pay attention.

Yoosung★: I will. Promise!

Yoosung★: I’m... so happy

Yoosung★: that the RFA knows you’re my boyfriend now.

Yoosung★: See you later!

Yoosung★ has left the chatroom.

Jumin Han: I miss you, Yoosung.

/

Leave a message after the tone.

“It’s me. You should read the messages when you have an internet connection. At least make an effort to find one. You’ll want to read them. In related news... I did not plan this speech. I usually know exactly what to say. To summarize my thoughts, I... no, you’ll want to read the messages. But I do have a boyfriend. You should know that. Why do I never see you? Call me back. But I might not pick up after work hours. Yoosung and I are going on a date. Goodbye, V.”

/

“May I ask you a question?”

As they approached the elevator, Jumin began to hope it wasn’t too cramped with the palpable tension in the air. He walked next to Jaehee and nodded his head in greeting to employees passing by. They stopped when they reached the elevator, Jaehee pressing the button.

“Yes,” she responded.

“Were you surprised?”

Jaehee turned her head and looked up at him, eyes widened slightly, a puzzled look on her face.

He lowered his voice. “When I said I loved Yoosung."

The elevator doors swung open.

Jumin stepped inside, Jaehee following. He took in a deep breath, remembering the slow way Yoosung breathed before he told him he was beautiful: in through his nose, out through his mouth.

“To be honest, Mr. Han,” Jaehee reached forward to press the button for the floor of their destination, “not really.”

The elevator doors closed with a thump and Jumin felt the ground move beneath him.

In through his nose.

He suddenly decided he didn’t want to go to this meeting, and would rather have the doors open to see Yoosung standing there, arms open, and he’d give him a bigger hug than he did that morning. He’d kiss him, tell him how much he missed him, and they’d leave, go on their date and fall asleep together once again.

Out through his mouth.

“... I guess I wasn’t so surprised,” Jaehee said, “because you already seemed to have such a close relationship with him. I know you told me I was mistaken when I thought you were dating, but—“

Jumin’s voice was soft and composed as he spoke. “You were mistaken. But only at the time. We... started dating yesterday.”

“I see.”

Silence.

Jumin took in another long, controlled breath.

It made him think of Yoosung, kissing him, resting his hands on his waist and pulling him closer. It made him involuntarily run his fingers through his hair to simulate the way Yoosung did, hands moving from around his neck to his hair to his chest, heart pounding with every passing second, that notorious somersault.

“So... your dinner plans with him, last night...” Jaehee said, “... does that mean that was a date?”

He closed his eyes and pretended he was still there, on his first date with Yoosung, having dinner with him, dancing with him, spinning him, kissing him, thoughts averting back to the hand in his hair.

“It was our first date...”

He tried to keep his voice controlled, like he wasn’t thinking about every aspect of that night, every aspect of Yoosung. He remembered Yoosung admitting his feelings, holding his face in his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks.

He remembered the first time Yoosung told him he loved him.

Jumin couldn’t stop the tears behind his closed eyes from falling, one escaping in a clear view for Jaehee, and he hid his face behind a hand, the frustration of the whole day forcing its way out of him.

He loves me so much, he—

“Mr. Han? Are you okay?”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

“I miss Yoosung.” He let out a sob, chest heaving, breathing no longer controlled. “I miss him- I- I- I w-want to- to see him again—”

He let out all the stress of the day through his tears, like a dam breaking, the powerful water flowing without an end.

“I- I love him so m-much—”

The frustration, the loneliness, the sadness he could usually contain, making its way out of him through the water, and he had no control over it. He cursed at himself as it happened, but the disappointment was diminished by the heat of the moment.

“I miss him s-so much, I- I- I wish h-he was here—”

His head was pounding and his hearing was muffled, and he tried to slow his breathing, tried to calm himself down, tried to get himself back to his regular state and stop the flow of water.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

Jumin heard the sound of the elevator doors opening, before a forceful clicking noise. He heard the doors close, and the elevation change beneath them. Flipping through papers. Incomprehensible words muttered under a breath.

He wiped his eyes, glancing to the side and looking at Jaehee through watery vision. “What are you doing?” he asked, trying desperately to keep his voice at its usual monotone.

“I’m going to cancel the meeting,” Jaehee said, firmness in her voice, turning the page to her monthly calendar.

“What?” He rubbed his temples, wiping his eyes again. “No, it’s important. We have to—”

“Mr. Han.” Jaehee turned to look at him, challenging him to look back. “You are in no condition to go to a meeting.”

“Business cannot accommodate to things like this.”

“But—”

Jaehee cut herself off, searching for words, eyes narrowing in frustration, and she looked forward at the closed elevator doors. Jumin sniffed, head spinning, and the descending elevator did nothing to help. Tears threatened to fall once again when his heart cried out with longing for Yoosung.

The silence sat uncomfortably between them.

He thought it would last forever until Jaehee spoke.

“But... would you at least feel better if you called him?”

/

“I miss you.”

He was back in his office, sitting at his desk with the door locked, phone gently pressed against his ear as he whispered into it. He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh, tears dried on his cheeks from the aftermath of crying. “I miss you so much,” he whispered, feeling another round of tears threatening to fall and holding them back with broken willpower.

The room was still and quiet. To the right of him he heard the sound of Yoosung’s breath, voice in his ear like faraway music.

“I miss you, too,” Yoosung said, and Jumin let out a sigh, feeling a sense of relief, a comfort in hearing his voice.

He pretended Yoosung was in the room, standing next to him and talking to him. He kept his eyes closed, his headache and a series of thoughts like a dream within wishful thinking.

“I want to see you again,” Jumin said, voice still low, worrying for a quick second that he spoke inaudibly. He reached up to wipe away a tear on the brink of falling, convincing himself that keeping his eyes closed would stop the tears. “I... wish there was a way for you to go to school and for me to still see you.”

A pause from the other end of the line. “Think about our date later, Jumin,” Yoosung said, voice falling quieter, kind. “I’ve been doing that all day, since I’ve been r-really anxious...”

“I’m trying. But I meant that I- I w-want to see you now—”

That was when Jumin let out a sob, the make-believe barrier failing to stop the tears, falling, breathing turned to trembling heaving. With his left hand he wiped the tears away, leaning forward to rest his elbow on his desk, rubbing his eyes until they hurt, holding his face in his hand as a tear fell with a splash onto the desk.

A worried gasp from the phone and the music began to play louder and louder.

“Jumin! Oh god, Jumin- I’m- I’m here. I’m here. I promise, I’m right here.”

Fast, small reassurances.

“I’ll always be here.”

Constant music, long songs playing in Jumin’s head.

“Even if I’m not t-there with you at the office, I’ll- I’ll always be with you, okay? I promise. I’m here... right here.”

Yoosung’s voice shifted to slow whispers, breathy words of love and Jumin felt his presence, speaking like he was hugging him and whispering into his ear, reminding him that he was here, always, no matter how far away he might have been.

Jumin just couldn’t see him, touch him, kiss him, but he could hear him, and he was here. On the other side of the phone, maybe, but here, right next to him.

He sniffed, trying to control his breathing, chest rising and falling with each desperate gasp that he tried to slow. He pulled his hand away, defeatedly letting the tears fall, words suddenly spilling out like the tears themselves.

“I- I cried in- in front of Assistant Kang,” he said, no longer making any effort to keep the sobs from escaping in his voice, growing louder. He felt a pain in his chest with each breath, as he spoke into the phone like he was uttering his last words. “W-when I told her we’re lovers, and that I m-miss you so much- I- I just s-started—“

“It’s okay.” Yoosung’s voice gave a contrast to Jumin’s, a soft, gentle tone. “It’s okay, you’re okay now. You’re okay. I’m here now, I promise, you’re okay. I’m here, I love you, you’re okay now...”

His words were soothing, calming, collected.

“Just breathe, slowly... in and out.”

Jumin felt his breathing slow naturally, impulsively taking Yoosung’s advice. The pain turned into an annoying lump in his throat, but the tears kept rolling down his cheeks, onto his suit, his hands, and he leaned back in his chair, listening to the whispers in his ear.

“I’m here. I love you, it’s gonna be okay...”

He closed his eyes, letting himself calm down, guided by the sound of Yoosung’s voice.

/

707: !!!

707: OMG!!!

707: ALERT! ALERT!

707: WEE OOO WEE OOO~

MC: Seven, you were right!

707: The great seven oh seven

707: was right!

707: They’re dating~

MC: Awwwww~

707: So cute I think I’m gonna die!!! T_T

707: Now whenever I say

707: Yoosung‘s got a boyfriend~

707: Yoosung’s dating the cat mom~

707: I’ll know I’m right lolol

MC: Zen and I support their relationship!

707: OMG

707: Zen’s being nice to the cat mom now!!

MC: He says he still wants to check up on him and Yoosung, but he won’t pick up his phone.

707: He said he’s not worried yesterday but now he is lol

MC: It’s probably because yesterday he didn’t think they were actually dating...?

707: Me and Jaehee did.

707: Can’t u tell from the messages?!

707: They’re head over heels~

MC: So that’s why Yoosung said he was going to miss Jumin this morning. Because he loves him!

707: !

707: I TOLD YOU

707: I knew it the whole time

707: I must be a psychic lol

707: God7 the clairvoyant...

707: He can see into the minds of Yoosung and Jumin...

707: Oooh~

MC: Tell me my fate, oh wise one...

707: God7 can only see into the minds of Yoosung and Jumin...

707: He has limited daily powers. They’ll recharge tomorrow lolol

MC: So if you can read their minds, can you tell me if they’re okay? I’m actually kinda worried about them.

707: Didn’t u say Jumin won’t pick up his phone?

707: Oh boy.

707: God7 feels...

707: A great disturbance in the force lol

MC: Well... I was just saying... I hope they’re okay if they miss each other so much...

/

Even if I’m not t-there with you at the office, I’ll- I’ll always be with you, okay? I promise. I’m here... right here.

“Do my eyes look red?”

As they approached the elevator for a second time, Jumin began to hope it wasn’t too cramped with their shared knowledge of his sadness. He walked next to Jaehee and kept his head down to avoid employees passing by. They stopped when they reached the elevator, Jaehee hesitating to press the button.

She glanced at him.

“Yes.”

“Damn.”

Jaehee turned her head and looked up at him, eyes widened slightly, a puzzled look on her face.

He lowered his voice. “I don’t want anyone to know I was crying.”

The elevator doors swung open.

Jumin stepped inside, Jaehee following. He took in a deep breath, remembering Yoosung’s voice over the phone, his reassurances, the promise that he was here, and Jumin imagined he was right next to him.

“To be honest, Mr. Han,” Jaehee reached forward to press the button for the floor of their destination, “I don’t think anyone at the meeting will be able to notice, considering that I know you were crying earlier.”

The elevator doors closed with a thump and Jumin felt the ground move beneath him.

Just breathe, slowly... in and out.

In through his nose. Out through his mouth.

Yoosung’s reassurances echoed in his mind, voice replaying in his head like a broken record, music growing louder again. He closed his eyes and breathed once more, in and out.

He pictured seeing Yoosung again, being able to finally touch him, soft lips against his. He remembered Yoosung’s words, that he was here, and he’d be with him throughout their upcoming meeting.

His eyes opened, and when the elevator doors did the same, he felt his legs move forward, slight confidence rising in him.

He’d go to the meeting, make it through the rest of the day.

For Yoosung.

/

A feeling of satisfaction and achievement overtook Jumin when he closed his office door on the way out. The work day neared its end, the sun waiting to set, and he would see who he wished he could see all day.

He rounded a corner to find Jaehee, readying her belongings to go home, and walked up to her.

“I wanted to thank you for your help today.”

Jaehee stopped, confused eyes averting to meet Jumin’s.

“What?”

“I just don’t know what I would’ve done if I was alone in that elevator,” he said. “So I wanted to thank you.”

A silence that sat for a long, long second. Jaehee cleared her throat and swung her bag over her shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” she said, a small smile on her face. “I wish you and Yoosung well.”

He took the words in, his breathing slow and calm, as his lips turned up and he smiled back at her.

/

The apartment door opened.

When Jumin finally saw Yoosung, bright eyed and with a heartwarming smile on his face, he felt his head spin and his world explode.

For a second he couldn’t move, left to stand still like he was turned to stone, lip trembling and eyes instinctively tearing at the sight of him, the sight he’d wanted to see all day, one he’d cried about; the person who gave him so much love and had a melting touch that he’d missed, more than he’d missed anything in a long time.

He wanted to bring himself to say his name, to say Yoosung just once, but he was speechless, and he heard the sound of his own name, a muffled Jumin, and saw Yoosung running towards him, giving him no time to react before a pair of arms were around his neck and held on for dear life.

He leaned down with the pull, wrapping his arms around Yoosung and hugging him closer. Warmth enveloped his body as the tears of joy began to fall, and he swayed with the hug naturally, holding like he’d never let go.

In that moment he realized—the promise he’d made to himself, and the reminders he’d told himself with the reassurances from Yoosung that he was here, with him, and they’d see each other soon...

They were all true, and completely worth it, just so he could get the chance to hold Yoosung again in that hug when he walked through the door.

He didn’t want the hug to end, but his body relaxed, and Yoosung pulled back. Jumin looked into his eyes for a second before he tightened his hold around his waist and began to lift him up.

“Woah—!”

Yoosung’s feet left the ground and his arms were around Jumin’s neck again in an instant, gripping the back of his suit jacket like he was afraid he’d die if he fell. His lips pressed against Jumin’s, and for the second of exhilaration that came with the kiss, Jumin’s heart pounded with the overwhelming relief of finally kissing him after a long, long day of wishing he could.

A short-lived pain in his leg as Yoosung kicked it and smiled against his lips, Jumin leaning forward again to let him down, the kiss lingering for a few more seconds before their lips parted. Yoosung’s hands glided from around Jumin’s neck to rest at his shoulders, and he gave a smile.

“What was that for?” Yoosung’s voice was breathless, and Jumin was reminded of the music from earlier, his boyfriend’s voice such a nicer tune when heard in person than over the phone. Yoosung’s smile was wide and he let out a short laugh when Jumin leaned in again, their kiss longer and deeper than the last one.

Jumin broke the kiss, gasping for air before pressing their lips together for another, and Yoosung’s hands tugged at his hair. A third one, their kisses breathless and needy, before Jumin spoke, answering Yoosung’s question.

“I’m so happy to see you.”

/

“Did you feel better after I called you?”

“Yes, much better. My meeting was rather boring, but I made it through.”

“That’s great!”

“It is. Usually I can go to any meeting, but today was just... different. You have no idea what your love is doing to me, Yoosung. I don’t think I do, either.”

/

They moved from Jumin’s apartment to the sidewalk hand-in-hand, the setting sun painting the sky in reds and yellows, shining from behind the clouds. Yoosung led the way to make a turn down the sidewalk as Jumin brought their intertwined hands up to kiss the back of Yoosung’s hand.

“Where are we going?” Jumin asked with a smile when Yoosung swung their hands down again.

“A small place I go to when I... don’t want to study.” The sparkle in Yoosung’s eye and the small laugh that escaped his mouth when he answered sent Jumin’s heart racing, remembering his feelings throughout the day of wishing he could see that sparkle and hear that laugh.

He drowned in this feeling as Yoosung led the way down the street to a destination unknown to Jumin, the sun making its way towards disappearance.

/

The sky was darker and the air was colder, wind hitting Jumin’s face as he sat down on a park bench, the taste of a simple order of ice cream still present on his tongue.

Yoosung sat next to him, head leaning on his shoulder, their hands intertwined and resting on Jumin’s thigh. Jumin placed a soft kiss on the top on Yoosung’s head, and they sat in comfortable silence.

Jumin closed his eyes, breathing controlled and rhythmic, before his voice broke the silence.

“I feel... rather ashamed that I cried at work today.”

He opened his eyes, feeling a sudden tightness on his hand from Yoosung.

“I... grew up around people who taught me that crying is a waste of time,” he said.

A sudden coldness on his side when Yoosung lifted his head and pulled his hand away.

“What?”

Jumin turned his head to the side and they locked eyes, Yoosung’s darkened with concern and confusion.

He’d always felt this way, a need to keep himself isolated, and there was so, so much frustration inside him when he thought back to his time in the elevator.

“Crying isn’t a bad thing, Jumin, o-okay?”

The way Yoosung looked at him and spoke to him... it was different.

“You don’t have to hide your emotions.”

Tears welled up in his eyes again, and he let out a shaky breath.

“I cried yesterday, on our date,” Jumin said. “I... I wasn’t ashamed when you were with me...”

He wiped away his tears, shaking his head.

“I- I really don’t have- have any idea what your love is doing to me, Yoosung,” he said. “It’s like there’s something wrong with me.”

Two arms around his neck, pulling him closer, Jumin’s head leaning against Yoosung’s. The voice that spoke to him was soft and reassuring.

“There's nothing wrong with you. You don’t- you don’t have to be afraid to cry, okay? You can- you can just... express yourself.”

He’d never, ever felt this way before.

“Look at me.”

Yoosung cupped Jumin’s face, misty eyes locking, a tear rolling down Yoosung’s cheek when he spoke.

“You’re so beautiful when you show your emotions, Jumin, b-because your emotions are what make you you, okay? I...” He choked back a sob. “... I love you. Everything about you.”

He’d never been spoken to like this, never been given a chance to cry, and he looked at Yoosung with astonishment and a low, distant feeling of fear.

“I- I don’t know how to—”

“It’s okay,” Yoosung said, hugging him again. “You’re okay.”

He’s okay.

The hug was shaky and tentative, the fear growing larger, and when Yoosung’s lips hit his neck, a fire inside of him ignited.

He rubbed Yoosung’s thigh and heard a small gasp in response, his breath hot against Jumin’s skin. Each touch from Yoosung was sensual and almost burning, and he hummed, low and quiet.

Yoosung pulled back for their eyes to meet again, and he spoke breathless words that struck Jumin like lightning.

“Can... can I touch you?”

/

You have one new voicemail message.

“You and Yoosung, huh. I never would’ve guessed. I think that might’ve been my last guess, to be honest. I... was... in the chatroom just now. Hyun’s trying to call you, so... sorry you missed me, but I hope you’re having fun on your date. You seem to really love him. I’m glad. He definitely loves you, too. I... want to see you. We’ll see each other, I promise. But right now I should leave, I have to... you know, I’m proud you found someone who makes you happy, Jumin. As your friend, it- it’s just a nice feeling to know you’re happy. See... see you soon, Jumin.”

/

Jumin barely remembered opening the door to his penthouse and walking inside, but soon enough he found himself being led to his bedroom, two hands on his shoulders to take off his suit jacket before pushing him onto the bed. That was the furthest his memories went after their date and he didn’t really need to know what happened before that.

He sat up a bit to see Yoosung crawling onto the bed, eyes red and tears still rolling down his cheeks as he moved on top of him, sitting in his lap. Yoosung leaned forward to whisper in Jumin’s ear.

“If t-this is too much,” he said, barely choking on a sob, “just tell me. I’m n-never assertive like this but- but—” he pulled his head back to look into Jumin’s eyes before closing them and shaking his head, seemingly changing the subject. “I love you so much.” His voice was louder and less controlled, and he placed a hand on Jumin’s chest, pushing him down to lay on his back, using his arms as support to hover over him before leaning down and kissing him.

Yoosung’s kisses were short, eager and passionate, and Jumin could feel his tears wet on his face. Jumin hugged Yoosung’s waist and let him lead, Yoosung pulling back after each kiss to take a breath and whisper I love you again and again, returning to let his tongue push past his lips.

Jumin was sweating, rapture flowing through his body, like he was walking on air and the world was spinning, his heart banging against his chest. He gasped, sucking in a breath and breaking the kiss. His eyes shot open and found Yoosung’s, both out of breath.

“I love you,” he said, out of impulse and the fact that he’d been wanting to say it ever since Yoosung threw him onto the bed. “I love you and I want you. All of you. I want you more than I want anyone else in this world.”

He saw more tears fall down Yoosung’s face and splash onto his, Yoosung taking a long, uncontrolled breath punctuated with another sob, his cheeks shining with tears and he forced out a few words. “I w-want you, please...” he said, before catching Jumin’s lips in another kiss, a rough one, and Jumin felt himself explode.

Yoosung kissed so desperately and with a passion that made it feel as if the room was getting hotter and hotter, humidity growing in the atmosphere. He was gasping and panting for air but still quickly returned each time for a breathless kiss.

At some point Jumin felt Yoosung’s teeth sink into his lip, enough that pain coursed through his body with the euphoria that came from the raw passion of it all.

That was how he knew he wasn’t dreaming, that Yoosung was real and in front of him and he could physically feel him, touch him, kiss him, and he wanted him, more in that moment than he ever had.

He wrapped his arms tighter around Yoosung’s waist and pushed him to the right, the kiss ending with Yoosung’s yelp as he fell off Jumin, landing on his back, head falling onto a pillow and elevating it slightly. Jumin rolled to the side, leaning forward to hover over him. Yoosung’s arms traveled up Jumin’s chest and rested around his neck, Jumin initiating the next kiss.

When it ended, Jumin spoke against Yoosung’s lips, words low and quiet.

“I want to leave a mark on you.”

“Please.” He spoke with the desperation and eagerness that came with his kisses. “I want you, Jumin, I—“

Jumin moved down to the crook of Yoosung’s neck and pressed his lips against hot skin, tongue running over where he wanted to mark before biting and sucking, Yoosung whimpering in response. Yoosung’s hands traveled and he forcefully ran his fingers through Jumin’s hair, each breath growing quicker and quicker until he gasped, letting out a whine from Jumin sucking harder.

Jumin moved closer to Yoosung, heat growing between them as he pushed further.

“... ah- oh, god, Jumin-! P-please, I w-want you, I want you- god, so bad, I- aah...!”

Jumin gave one last tug at Yoosung’s skin before pulling back, the bruise on his neck red and fresh. He looked into Yoosung’s desperate eyes, and his head was pulled forward by the two hands in his hair, crashing their lips together.

Jumin felt the relief of Yoosung’s hands relaxing in his hair, moving to his shoulders and his chest, pushing him so he rolled to the side and Yoosung was able to crawl on top of him once again. Yoosung slammed his hands onto Jumin’s shoulders and held him down, pinning him onto the bed.

Yoosung leaned down to kiss him again, pushing closer as Jumin had done, before his lips moved to Jumin’s jawline, kissing down his neck to his collarbone before he pulled back to tug at his tie.

Jumin’s eyes locked on the hickey on Yoosung’s neck as he fiddled with the tie before it came loose, pulling it down and out of Jumin’s shirt. Yoosung then tugged at his own blue jacket, pulling it off and throwing it to the side along with the tie.

Yoosung’s hands traveled up from under Jumin’s shirt, fingers moving up his bare chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His eyes locked on Jumin’s, dried tears on his cheeks. He pulled his hands back and moved them to tightly grip his shirt.

His eyes spoke every word.

Jumin slightly sat forward and tugged his shirt up, vision blocked for a moment when he took it off. He pulled it over his head and threw it to the side, Yoosung pinning him down again.

Yoosung’s vision moved from Jumin’s eyes to his chest and back up again.

“You don’t seem too thrilled.”

“What?” Yoosung’s eyes widened for a second before narrowing. “Jumin, when I say I love everything about you, I mean everything about you. I think you’re perfect.”

His eyes darted again, down and up, heavy breathing slowing down. Yoosung swallowed, another round of tears forming in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” Yoosung said, voice soft. Jumin hummed, closing his eyes.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You’re the most amazing person on this earth, inside and out.” Jumin opened his eyes, staring directly into Yoosung’s. “I love you because you astonish me. You make me feel... like I’m not alone anymore.”

Yoosung’s lip trembled and he blinked back tears, one escaping and leaving a trail in its wake.

“So... sometimes I can’t believe you’re my boyfriend and you see me as perfect, when you are as perfect as perfect gets. And I’m—”

Yoosung leaned down to place a kiss on his lips, a soft one, unlike the rough, passionate ones from before. He moved to his cheek, down to his jawline, kissing Jumin across his face. He moved to Jumin’s other cheek before speaking.

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated. “That’s what you are. Beautiful. I love you.”

“The only beautiful one here is you.”

“Stop saying that!” Yoosung’s voice grew louder and he looked into Jumin’s eyes again. “Stop saying you’re not beautiful or- or amazing or perfect because you are, Jumin, and I love you. I love you so much and I want to love you forever. You...” he placed a kiss on Jumin’s forehead. “... you make me so happy, and you give me a reason to try...”

Jumin’s hands found Yoosung’s waist and gripped at his shirt. “Are you self confident, Yoosung?”

“Are you?”

Jumin’s hands fell.

“You should be, J-Jumin, you’re... the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Jumin considered Yoosung to be so much higher above him, the most beautiful person in the world, deserving of all his love and even more. He felt a connection to Yoosung that he’d never felt before, and wanted to share his love with him in a way he’d never shared with anyone else.

No one’d ever told him he loved him, wanted him, the way Yoosung did.

He didn’t think he’d be the best thing to ever happen to someone, the light of one’s life and the reason for trying.

But here he was.

And it felt... amazing. Meaningful. Like he finally found the person who wanted to give him everything, and he wanted to give him that, too; the person who wanted to love him forever if he could, and he was right in front of him, kissing from his forehead to his cheek to his jawline to his neck to his collarbone and leaving that love in a trail.

Jumin didn’t bother to blink back the tears forming in his eyes.

“I love you,” he said, voice trembling. “I love you, Yoosung, s-saying that I love you can’t express how much I love you. I don’t know w-what I’d do—” he sniffed, desperately trying to gain control of his voice, “—without you.”

Yoosung looked up.

“I love you, too,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, either, so... so let’s do everything together, so I never lose you.”

He lowered his head again, lips landing on Jumin’s chest before traveling down. His kisses were slow and his hands moved with him, grazing Jumin’s arm and over his chest, touching any bare skin he could find. Jumin was covered in a layer of sweat and he imagined he could die of heatstroke, finding soft grunts escaping his mouth, closing his eyes and feeling Yoosung’s lips on his stomach.

When he heard the sound of a shirt thrown onto the floor, his eyes shot open.

He sat up to look at Yoosung, who was sitting on his lap and had his arms crossed over his bare chest, eyes averting to meet Jumin’s for a split second.

He was perfect.

“Wow,” Jumin whispered, and in that moment it was all he could manage. Yoosung looked back up at him.

“W-what?”

“You are absolutely stunning.”

Yoosung gave Jumin a small smile. “So are you.”

“Take your arms away.”

Jumin reached out to grasp Yoosung’s wrist and gently pull his arm, the other one falling with it, so he could look at him. He glanced up at Yoosung, who was shaking slightly. He then wrapped his arms around Yoosung’s waist and leaned forward, placing a quick kiss on his lips before his head dropped and he moved to his shoulder.

“Are you nervous?” Jumin asked.

“Y-yeah...”

“Don’t be. Everything about you is perfect.”

Jumin pulled Yoosung closer, kissing his neck, the feeling of skin against skin sending him into an exhilaration. Yoosung wrapped his arms around Jumin’s neck, saying his name under his breath, barely audible but enough that it echoed in Jumin’s mind and played on a loud repeat.

Pleasure flowed through his body as he gripped Yoosung’s waist and rolled their hips together, Yoosung whining in response, and Jumin had never heard a more beautiful sound.

“... aaah, oh god, Jumin, I w-want you, please...”

He kept his eyes closed, drowning in the mere darkness he saw and melting into Yoosung’s touch.

That night, he loved and wanted, treasuring every part of Yoosung Kim, his heart to his soul to his mind to his body. He gave him his own, every part of him that Yoosung held in his hands.

He let himself go, just this once.

For Yoosung.

/

It was as if Jumin’s body was on fire and he could breathe in the humidity in the air, uncomfortably yet euphorically warm under the covers of his bed, Yoosung pressed against his lower body with his hand and head on his chest, barely sticking out from underneath the blankets.

He felt numb, numb in his fingers and legs and arms, exhausted arms, holding his boyfriend against him and tracing circles on his back with his fingers. He listened as Yoosung whispered, hot breath against bare skin.

“You’re so beautiful, Jumin, you- you’re beautiful, and... I want you to believe that...”

Yoosung’s voice was hesitant, trembling. A sudden wetness against Jumin’s skin that he guessed was either sweat or tears.

“I want to help you, I don’t want to lose you- please- please, tell me I’m not gonna lose you...”

Yoosung’s voice cracked, tensing up, Jumin hugging tighter. His head was pounding with pain and his eyes were stinging with past tears, face flushed, and he held Yoosung in a way that wordlessly told him he’d never let him go.

He knew, in that moment, that he wanted to be happy with Yoosung, to not have to worry about anything and just spend every minute with him. To go on dates with him, have dinner with him, to cuddle on the couch and kiss his forehead and for them to tell each other everything’s going to be okay, and it’d end up that way.

Yoosung shifted closer to him, blonde hair tickling his chin. “Please.” Another soft whisper and Jumin barely heard it past the ruffling of the blankets. Yoosung’s hand moved to his shoulder and rested there, placing gentle, tired kisses against his neck.

Finally, Jumin spoke.

“You’re not going to lose me. I promise.” His hand moved to run through Yoosung’s hair and he pressed his lips against the top of his head, kissing for a slow second, speaking low words and thoughts and feelings against his hair when he finished. “I’m going to help you, too, and I’m here, right here. I’ll always be here.”

Yoosung began to shake underneath his arms, letting out a sob, tears streaming down his face and onto Jumin’s chest as he hugged him tighter.

“I’m here, Yoosung. I’m always going to be right here. You’re never going to lose me.”

He repeated it like a soft chant, over and over again.

He held him like he’d break his promise if he let go, the promise they’d made to each other, one he intended on keeping, and he knew why. His heart beat faster as he spoke, color and warmth erupting inside of him.

“We’re connected,” he said, speaking into Yoosung’s hair, placing another kiss on his head. “My heart is yours, Yoosung Kim. Everything about me is yours and I want you, everything about you, because I’m helplessly in love with you, Yoosung. Every moment we spend together I fall a little more in love with you.”

Yoosung’s breathing was shook with sobs, crying into the crook of Jumin’s neck.

“I’m- god, I love you, I’m so in love with you,” Yoosung said between gasps and sobs.

Yoosung pressed soft kisses against his neck, the humidity of the room making Jumin’s heart race. Jumin’s voice was another soft whisper against Yoosung’s hair.

“It took me so long... so long to realize the person I love is right in front of me. I found you... I can’t believe I found you...”

/

“Assistant Kang, what does it mean to be in love?”

“Well... um... love, Mr. Han, is a complicated topic. It’s... hard to explain, because being in love is such a phenomenal thing...”

“I know the definition of love. I know what it feels like. But... to describe love...”

“Love is incredible. I believe it is one of the most beautiful things in the the world. Love can be shared between family, friends... but being in love with someone is all-consuming, the purest form of suffocation.”

“How do you know you’re in love?”

“Well... love is a connection. I think when you connect with the person, and you’re truly able to understand them, enough to fall in love with them... that is the kind of love I see as all-consuming. You feel as if your heart if theirs, and a piece of you is with them. That kind of love is undying, and... almost unfathomable.”

“And... if you feel a part of them is with you...”

“Then that is a complete type of love. When you love another person, and you give them that love, you share your heart with them, and they return it, they share their heart with you... the way I can describe it, Mr. Han, is... true love.”

“... Assistant Kang.”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m in love with Yoosung.”

“Oh! Wow! I- um, well... if you are, then... then that’s... an amazing thing, Mr. Han.”

/

All-consuming.

Undying.

Connection.

Complete.

True.

He was in love with Yoosung, and from that point forward, he didn’t think. He knew.

/

Love can be blinding. Love can be a destructive thing and love can make a person unlike themselves.

But Jumin was in love, and he never felt more like himself than when he was with him.

He lay in that love as he pulled the man of his dreams against his chest, his breath hitting his neck as he spoke words that made Jumin fall more in love with him.

“I don’t want you to be lonely anymore.”

[topmixtrends]

“OÙ SONT les neiges d’antan?” Throughout my childhood, at odd moments, I heard my stepfather Vasily Yanovsky — a noted Russian émigré author who provides one of the bookends to this brilliant, poignant anthology — burst out with that melancholic line from François Villon. Even as a child, I could hear its wounded beauty. Now, as an ageing translator from the Portuguese, I can see it as a manifestation of saudades, the famously untranslatable Portuguese term best glossed as a yearning, a longing, both for what is now in the past and for what perhaps never existed. One might speculate that saudades and les neiges d’antan represent a universal response to our expulsion from the Garden of Eden. We are all exiles from a vague paradise that, by its nature, is forever blocked to us, creatures fallen from grace. Bryan Karetnyk, the expert editor of Russian Émigré Short Stories from Bunin to Yanovsky, suggests this poignant connection to the expulsion of our mythic ancestors with the epigraph to his introduction, taken from John Milton’s Paradise Lost (1667): “Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon; / The world was all before them, where to choose / Their place of rest.”

Strange as it may seem, though born in New York and speaking at best an embarrassingly rudimentary Russian, I found myself quite at home in this anthology — at home in a world where loss was the starting point, death the never-forgotten conclusion, and love a desperately desired antidote or anodyne. Again I remember the expulsion, the rude thrusting of man and woman into a world of suffering and death, but also with the possibility of salvation: “They hand in hand with wand’ring steps and slow, / Through Eden took their solitary way.”

  Memory

Along with their clear, familiar tones of joy and despair, these tales also include minor details that remind me of my Russian-American childhood in New York in the 1940s. For example, Georgy Ivanov, in his tale “Giselle,” describes a billiard player’s apartment back in St. Petersburg, where the “windows […] had not yet been sealed with extra putty against the coming cold.” And suddenly I remember, for the first time in almost 70 years, my fascination with the gray strips of putty that my grandfather, a survivor of Siberian prisons, always clean-shaven and redolent of Eau de Cologne 4711, meticulously pressed into the gaps between window and windowsill in our ordinary apartment in ordinary Rego Park, Queens, allowing me the pleasure of pushing my fingers against the softly receptive substance. This unprofessional aside leads me back to the collection, and the title of a lengthy Parisian tale by Yury Felsen, “The Recurrence of Things Past,” with its obvious Proustian echo. Like Proust’s masterpiece, this anthology is, in fact, a book of memory. And suddenly I remember that Yanovsky’s last published book was Elysian Fields: A Book of Memory (1983, translated by my mother, Isabella Levitin Yanovsky, in 1987), in which he recounts the Russian émigré experience in Paris between the wars, with firsthand sketches of many of the writers included in the present anthology. And then I notice that Bryan Karetnyk initiates this very anthology with a salient quote from Vladimir Nabokov, in response to the question: “What is your most memorable dream?” His answer is: “Russia.”

As I step back for a wider view, I see a kind of double nexus permeating this collection of stories, a nexus of the remembered, seemingly distant past in Russia (Moscow, St. Petersburg, Sebastopol) — a kind of ghost that cannot be escaped — jostling against the more recent past of eternal displacement in Berlin, Paris, Nice, or Montpellier. And this doubleness, I now realize, explains why Yanovsky gave the fictional protagonist of his best-known novel No Man’s Time (1967, translated by my mother and Roger Nyle Parris, and introduced by W. H. Auden) two names: Cornelius Yamb and Conrad Jamb. As the protagonist says of himself: “It is not at all clear who I really am. For instance, one person will say: I, and the other also says: I … Do these two feel something different or is it exactly the same?” A dilemma indeed — the dilemma of the exile.

It’s appropriate, then, to begin my survey of the themes and symbols that recur throughout this collection by looking at memory’s dream, incarnated as les neiges d’antan.

  Snow

Ivan Shmelyov’s “Shadows of Days” is a lengthy, disjunctive nightmare of the past. But in the chaos of the narrator’s dreaming, religion and nature provide some solace: “I recall the lovely icons, my icons. They exist only in one’s childhood.” And then he encounters snow:

The night street shows blue. The snowdrifts are swept in mounds — you could drown in them. It has been snowing heavily all day. Great bales in snow-capped rows. It’s so quiet on our little street […] Atop the posts, atop the fences — little mounds of snow. Soft, powdery. Lanterns covered in snow shine drowsily; dogs dig up the snow with their snouts. Beyond the fence, among the birches, a crow croaks hoarsely, foretelling more snow.

For the American reader, this gentle, endless snow reminds us of Robert Frost’s ambiguous vision of stopping by woods on a snowy evening, where “the only other sound’s the sweep / of easy wind and downy flake” and where seduction is not easy to resist, for “the woods are lovely, dark, and deep.” In any case, as the dream flickers on, Shmelyov’s narrator is left with “joy, loss — all in a flash.” And when he awakes, it is in alien Paris, to the calls of a rag-and-bone man passing in the street.

In another nightmare vision, Nabokov’s “The Visit to the Museum,” the narrator leaves the titular building and finds himself, unexpectedly, in a snowy landscape:

The stone beneath my feet was real sidewalk, powdered with wonderfully fragrant, newly fallen snow, in which the infrequent pedestrians had already left fresh black tracks. At first the quiet and the snowy coolness of the night, somehow strikingly familiar, gave me a pleasant feeling after my feverish wanderings. Trustfully, I started to conjecture just where I had come out, and why the snow, and what were those lights exaggeratedly but indistinctly beaming here and there in the brown darkness.

Soon he realizes that the “strikingly familiar” snow-covered streets are those of Russia, which is now in Soviet hands. The story ends: “But enough. I shall not recount how I was arrested, nor tell of my subsequent ordeals. Suffice it to say that it cost me incredible patience and effort to get back abroad.”

  Love

A possible salvation from the long shadow of displacement is love. For example, in Nobel laureate Ivan Bunin’s “In Paris,” the narrator finds love in a Russian restaurant in the guise of Olga Alexandrovna, a waitress. We assume that solace has come to the uprooted protagonists in the form of a convenient alliance, and only at the end do we understand that the younger waitress had not only found support and comfort in the well-to-do older Russian gentleman, but had actually fallen in love with him. By that point the elderly gentleman is dead and the former waitress, turned rich by his death, is “convulsed by sobs, crying out, pleading with someone for mercy.” What touched me in this tale was the understated and simple drift from a casual pickup to a true love between two Russians, making their lonely way in the alien West.

Another story that turns with an unexpected rush toward love is Irina Odoevtseva’s “The Life of Madame Duclos,” in which, after a lifetime of compromises, the Russian protagonist, having bought comfort and success by marriage to an elderly Parisian, suddenly senses salvation in the offing with a younger Russian. This time, however, the heroine can only declare herself to her mirror:

“Hello,” she will say, in Russian. She can see her lips moving in the mirror, struggling to remember the long-forgotten Russian word.

“Hello.”

She leans closer to the mirror.

“Kolya …”

And, so close now that she’s touching the cool glass, she whispers:

“I love you. I love you!”

Alas, the yearned-for lover, unaware of her feelings, has slipped aboard a ship returning him to Russia: “And then there is nothing. No ship, no happiness, no life.”

Finally, Irina Guadanini’s “The Tunnel” is a sad retelling of the author’s doomed love for Vladimir Nabokov, who was then already married to Véra. The intensity of her love is sustained through the 13 sections of the tale, but in the end the unfortunate woman, grown frantic, falls from her perch high above the Italian coast — where she was seeking distance and perspective, while also trying to spy on her lover — and tumbles downhill to the railroad tracks. There she lies, perhaps dead, perhaps only dying, but clearly reminiscent of Anna Karenina, her literary progenitor. The glory and obsession of love give way to despair. The exile does not find salvation.

  Gambling

Though gambling is a universal human pursuit, Russian literature has given it a particular focus. In his notes, Karetnyk traces the literary portrayal of this obsession to Alexander Pushkin’s story “The Queen of Spades” (1834) and Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s novel The Gambler (1867), which was based on the author’s own experience with the deadly fascination of roulette. In fact, Dostoyevsky used proceeds from the novel to pay off large debts he had accumulated in the casino. In this collection, we encounter, in Georgy Adamovich’s “Ramón Ortiz,” an Argentine version of Dostoyevsky’s obsessed youth. With no restraint, no realistic self-appraisal, the young man, fond of being considered a baron, gambles his way from early success to utter destitution and resolves his situation by committing suicide. The narrator approves of this final act, seeing it as a proper response to the universe’s indifference toward the individual’s sufferings. Adamovich himself was the chief arbiter of the Paris Note, a Russian-Parisian literary movement that sought, in Karetnyk’s words, “to combine the despair of exile with the modern age of anxiety.” Certainly Ortiz’s suicide can be seen as indicative of both the despair of exile and the age of anxiety pressing on these displaced people. And I recall that shortly before Adamovich died, Yanovsky invited him to his home in New York to meet W. H. Auden, the man who coined the very phrase “Age of Anxiety.” It was a great satisfaction to Yanovsky to bring together the two intellectuals he admired most, one from his youthful years of exile in Paris, the other from his mature exile in the United States. Within one year of that meeting, both Adamovich and Auden were dead.

One of those who gambled over the bridge table with Yanovsky and Adamovich in Paris was Vladislav Khodasevich, whose story “Atlantis” depicts a circle of obsessed Russians immersed in games of bridge in a basement below the cafe Murat. (Interestingly, the lost land of Atlantis is also the setting for Yanovsky’s unpublished short story “The Adventures of Oscar Quinn.”) And in Dovid Knut’s “The Lady from Monte Carlo,” we again encounter an obsessed gambler, who can see the truth in others, if not himself: “these indifferent people [are] eternally — tragically — lost and disassociated from one another.” He is tempted by an older woman with a secret for winning (borrowed from Pushkin’s tale a century earlier), but in this version we have a seemingly happy ending: the ancient temptress resists her own urge to pass along her secret and insists that he leave her. Still, indifference reigns: “She kissed my forehead. The evening was cold, majestic, and indifferent.”

  Chaos

Entropy is, of course, our common foe — the one to whom, in the end, we must succumb. But for the exile, the onslaught of chaos can come early and in a heightened, phantasmagoric form. Here are snippets of chaos from Shmelyov’s “Shadows of Days”:

Night. Snow. I’m in the alleyways. […] Dead houses, closed gates. I’m lost, I don’t know where mine is. […] Dark, blind buildings. They’ve all gone. Now there’s just one road — […] I run in trepidation. The Champs-Élysées, my final road. […] The Elysian Fields! […] The end!

And “It’s them, they’ve come for me … I know it. […] The trees and the wind are whispering. Footsteps below the windows. I listen — a scratching at the window sill, they’re climbing up. […] I scream, I scream.”

In the anthology’s final text, Yanovsky’s “They Called Her Russia,” we encounter a vortex of entropy in a circular vision of hell: a trainful of soldiers going round and round through jumbled fields, never engaging “the enemy,” slowly spiraling through the repetitive brutality and madness of the Russian Civil War toward utter dissolution. In fact, it is never clear who the enemy is. Their own “engine-driver offered to find a way through to the Reds; the stoker tried to persuade them to join the partisans.” Eventually, “[t]hey decide to break through up ahead: if not Whites, then Reds — whomever they meet.” In this nightmare — where the commandant’s refrain is “Dream or real?” — the enemy they engage is themselves.

  Two Horses

It seems appropriate to conclude with the most painful, touching image I found in this anthology, an image that occurred twice: a horse without a rider, striking out into the sea — one in Gallipoli, the other in the Crimea. Both horses are valiant, yet have nowhere to go, no function to fulfill; nothing awaits them but death in an alien sea. They are abandoned by history. The narrator of Ivan Lukash’s “A Scattering of Stars,” a poetic evocation of the retreat to Gallipoli, tells of his beloved horse and its shameful end:

I spot my Leda […] craning her neck towards the water, whinnying, nostrils flaring. […] I see her suddenly, with all four legs, leap into the water. She couldn’t bear the thirst. She went crashing down, placed her lips to the sea salt and began jerking her head about. She jerked her head, Leda did, but she was soon swept away by the current.

And in Galina Kuznetsova’s “Kunak,” the denouement is even more poignant: “Above the grey misty water, a horse’s head could be seen craning. It was swimming apparently without knowing where it was going, borne by the current out towards the middle of the bay.” A rowboat comes to the rescue, but in fact only offers the hopeful horse three sudden bullets in the head, and then “the current was freely, and with terrible speed, bearing it away. It disappeared again, then reappeared … until finally it vanished for ever in the quick-flowing water.” The onlookers “all gasped in horror and compassion.”

And there we stand, observers of an entire culture carried out to sea, but with nowhere to go. There is much grimness, much pain, much despair in this collection, but it is also struck through with deep emotion and a pulsing sense of life. We contemplate the struggle of the exiles with horror and compassion, for we know that, at some level, we all share their plight.

¤

Alexis Levitin, a professor of English at the State University of New York at Plattsburgh, translates works from Portugal, Brazil, and Ecuador. His 40 books of translation include Clarice Lispector’s Soulstorm and Eugénio de Andrade’s Forbidden Words, both from New Directions Publishing.

The post “Où sont les neiges d’antan?”: On “Russian Émigré Short Stories from Bunin to Yanovsky” appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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