"You should use the word philatelist."
"I'm not using philatelist."
"But doesn't it sound so dirty?"
"Do you even know what it means?"
"Does it really matter?"
Kyungsoo ran a hand through his already tousled hair in frustration. They were seated at a small table for two by the window in a coffee shop, the man in front of him smiling with that evil glint in his eye. It was just too early and Kyungsoo hadn't had his coffee yet and fuck, it was always too early to deal with Jongin. Kyungsoo slid his elbows off the table as the waiter arrived with his steaming hot cup of caffeine. He wrapped his always cold fingers around the hot mug and just closed his eyes in happiness. Ah yes, silence.
Silence?
When you were in Jongin's company, silence either meant he was finally passed out or he was planning to do something stupid. Nine times out of ten it was the latter because he seemed to possess ridiculous reserves of energy. Kyungsoo's currently aching back was a testament to that fact.
The older man opened his eyes to an empty seat across from him. He didn't even bother to look around because whatever Jongin was getting into, he wanted no part of it. He enjoyed coming here most mornings and he wasn't about to let that overgrown sex toy spoil it for him. It was one of the few places he felt comfortable in. He liked routine. He enjoyed familiarity. And for the thousandth time this week he wondered why in the hell he was still letting Jongin control so much of his life. Hell, it had been over two years since they met and Jongin still hadn't slowed the fuck down.
After taking a small sip of his piping hot coffee, Kyungsoo finally set the mug down and fished a small notepad and pen out of his jacket pocket. Might as well get something useful done while he could.
---Initial Contact: Two years, three months and seventeen days earlier---
Kyungsoo was staring at the screen of his laptop in the hopeless desperation words would start appearing on the screen without his help. He needed something, anything to pour out of his brain and into his fingers so he could get through this part of the book. He tried really hard for several more painful minutes before clicking the save button and calmly closing the electronic device before he threw it across the room. A broken laptop would only hinder his progress and force that looming deadline to tighten its hold around his neck. He let his head fall into his hands and a loud sigh escaped his lips.
Kyungsoo was a novelist. Or at least that's what he told people when they asked. He never specified what he wrote and always skirted around people asking where they could find a copy of his book. It wasn't that he was ashamed of what he did, but it really was suited to a more specific audience. Thank god for his nom de plume. Kyungsoo wrote gay romance novels. He had been deliriously happy when he'd finally gotten a letter of acceptance from a publishing company, albeit a small one that catered to that type of clientele.
His first novel had done fairly well considering, and he was more than pleased. It was writing a second one that was the problem. He was afraid that he'd used up every good bit of his sexual knowledge with the first book and now he was completely out of ideas. No one wanted to read about two men in love having extremely awkward sex with fumbling hands and nervous squeaks for the first time. They wanted amazing mind blowing sex that never happened in real life. Or at least in Kyungsoo's real life.
He let his head fall on his desk with a resounding thunk. He lifted it a few inches and let it fall back down, repeating this process until he heard a loud knock that wasn't his head connecting with the wood underneath him. No one came to see him. But there it was again. Clearly a knock. The man slid out from his desk and walked to the door, nervously wiping his hands on his jeans before grabbing the door and opening it slowly.
