oh sehun's guide to loving kim jongin

i/i

i. now is not the end.
brush off your ghosts
and meet his.

the day before yesterday, sehun had been listing down things he has to accomplish for the day when his water heater grumbled and died. winter's harsh rains and breezes urged him to invade his neighbor's apartment, pleading, whining. the boy next door has dark skin and lips carved into a permanent smile. this was their first time meeting each other. water had been boiled, windows slammed shut, cigarettes taken. sehun smirked to himself as his neighbor pretended to know how to smoke. he let the tanned boy suck on the unlit cancer stick, saving his words and his neighbor's dignity.

steams rose and danced. the casserole was carried into sehun's bathroom and before leaving, sehun demanded for a name.

his skinny neighbor, who doesn't know how to smoke and had a dirty living room, looked at sehun and grinned.

jongin. kim jongin. you're sehun, right? it's written outside your door. cool.

sehun closed the door after jongin. he did not tell jongin this is the first time he spoke to another person for two years and that he was planning to bid his farewell to the earth by slitting his wrist in the bathtub.

someone knows his name. for that, he'll tuck himself to bed tonight.

yesterday, sehun spent half of his morning reciting kim jongin's name. jong-in. jongin. jo--ngiiin. he treated the syllables as if it was candy on his tongue. savor the letters, let the word sink in. what most people will never know is that inside sehun, there's a sea of sadness he sometimes drowns in and somehow, little distractions like his neighbor's name could serve as a life vest keeping him afloat. sehun cooked, ate, tried to breathe despite the heavy pressure on his chest. peeling paint, shattered mirrors, spilled coffee, bruises blooming from his sides, slashes of red over his wrists. he is not a beautiful creature. sehun destroys every thing he lays his hands on. this is why he never asked to be saved, why he would never touch someone else.

kim jongin knocked on his door, talking about a hole between their walls. sehun could hardly care less. but the way jongin talks is so soothing and peaceful and calm sehun is willing to do anything just to listen to him speak some more, laugh some more. he entertained his neighbor, even going as far as to tape layers of flimsy paper over the hole. he saw jongin's bedroom from there. jongin sheepishly chuckled and explained about his multiple sidelines, hence the uniforms sprawled out all over his floor.

every word coming out of jongin's lips was music to oh sehun, who isolated himself for a long time inside his room. a ray of sunlight, breezes of fresh air. jongin oozed charisma, glee, politeness, kindness, something else that sehun can only feel the very edges of.

today, sehun searches for excuses instead of answers. he strips off the paper covering the hole and peeks into foreign territory to find something that's missing from his own home--life. the filled photo frames and inked papers fail to contain irreplaceable memories. they are simply not enough. there are souvenirs from other countries sprinkled all over the place and this is how sehun knew jongin does what he wants when he wants it. jongin hops from one continent to another, in search of something sehun wanted to be a part of.

ii. don't allow him to sleep in.
strip the bed until it's as naked as his soul
and remind him that he's going to have forever to sleep anyway.

the day before yesterday, sehun got too comfortable with his hard-working, gentle, patient, quiet neighbor and had jongin pirouetting around his living room as sehun waved wads of bills in the air. chuckles exploded out of him. the charade went on in twists and turns, taunts and running commentaries about jongin's hidden elegance. the truth is, sehun's cheeks and sides ached with the weigh of laughing too much, happiness hurts. sometimes.