beklemmt | 아프더라도 너만 있으면 돼

It makes S smile a little, the way J swings their hands as they walk. Minuscule a gesture as it may be, it feels lighthearted, too — much more than a few minutes ago, infinitely more than the last time he was here, trying to pull himself together after an already emotionally trying day turned into crying in public in a strange new place. Whatever is still ahead of them, this is still so much better than all that grief and useless longing, even if he suspects he'll still carry some of the former around with him. This doesn't change the past, after all. But it makes the present, and maybe the future too, far less empty than he'd ever expected his life to be again, incredibly, overwhelmingly so, enough that it makes a little rush of giddiness surge up in him before he makes himself tamp it back down again. Now isn't the time. The frustration of having to hide will probably hit him again soon enough anyway, but he still, as J asks for and is given his packet, gives himself a moment to appreciate how much has changed for the better in such a short time.

"See? Like I said, easy," he says, smiling over at J, a little too wide and fond for a moment before he catches himself and tones it down, glancing at his feet as he does. "Just two more, and then we can go back. Hopefully it won't take too long to find another taxi." It shouldn't, he thinks. There seem to always be a few waiting by the train station, though with as little time as he's spent here, that's really just anecdotal evidence. Regardless, he thinks it should be easy enough. At least now that they've gotten J's packet, they have a little more money between them, careful as he still intends to be with it. Careful after paying for a second cab ride, anyway, but he thinks he can make that up well enough by being a little more choosy about groceries. They've gotten by before; they will again. That's a nice thought, too.

Curious though J is about the contents of the packet, he decides against opening it now. If this kind of thing is waiting for him and they aren't the only people who've arrived here like this, it stands to reason that there are other packets and people who know that there are just envelopes full of money at the train station. Standing around with it or even opening it seems like inviting trouble. Still, just having it makes him feel a little better. However much is in here, whatever else is inside, at least he can contribute now. He's never liked having to rely entirely on anyone, not even S. It never felt right if he couldn't pitch in for whatever reason, and he worked hard to avoid that ever happening. They're a team, a partnership. Knowing he has at least a little bit to fall back on here makes it easier to swallow the probability he won't be ready to work for a while.

The way S looks at him for a moment makes him smile in return, warming him through. His fears never go away entirely, but they recede from time to time, and the pain he felt earlier at the prospect of being alone has ebbed. It's hard to feel lonely when S looks at him that way. He shouldn't, not out here, but J doesn't entirely care right now. Almost everyone, he's found, just assumes they're straight anyway, since they assume everyone else is. It would annoy him if it weren't so much to his advantage.

"Aren't there always taxis at train stations?" he asks, nudging S with his shoulder before he starts back toward the entrance. The station is actually quite nice and not as busy as he'd thought it would be. On another day, perhaps, he might even look around. Today, though, he'll be glad to get out of here as quickly as he can. He hugs the packet to his chest with one arm, refusing to let go of S's hand. "That was easier than I thought it would be."

S has to bite back a wider smile again when J nudges him, and still he mostly fails at doing so, exhaling a quiet laugh to himself as they head towards the entrance. "I told you it would be," he says, though he's really just teasing. He'd been told the same, and it was easier than he would have expected, too. Granted, he was taking a stranger's word for it, but still, it's a difficult thing to wrap one's head around, showing up in a place so strange and just being given so much. It's good, though, too, one more thing to be grateful for. Not as much as he is for the man whose hand is so sweetly warm in his, who smiles at him like he probably shouldn't while they're in public, but grateful all the same, and really, this is just part of that. Without all of it, he would have struggled, but he would have figured out something for himself. Instead, he has a little money to help keep them fed and afloat, and he doesn't have to find a job quite yet. Soon, but not yet. It's probably the only reason he was able to find J when he did, too; he might well have been working at the time otherwise. That thought could quickly turn too unsettling if he let it, considering again how easily they could have missed each other, how slim the chance of their finding each other must have been, so he doesn't dwell on it, but still, it's one more reason to be glad he had money to start out with.

"And there usually are, but is anything usual about this place?" he counters in his own defense, but that's lighthearted, too. Usually there's farther a taxi might have to go, but then, they're taking one. They can't be the only people here who would rather not walk or take public transportation of some kind. It's a relief to be right, anyway, to step back outside, still holding J's hand, and realize that there are a few empty cabs waiting.

"There, good," he says, sparing another glance over at J as he starts towards one of the cars. "This was easy, too."

There's a lot J still doesn't understand about all this and the city itself is strange to him. While there are things about it that look perfectly ordinary, he knows it can't be entirely so, not if he's here. At least, though, there's this, a handful of things that are as they should be.

That this has all been simpler than expected makes him feel a little more comfortable in general, too, relaxing a bit more as they head toward a taxi. The next step shouldn't be too bad either. Drugstores are rarely all that crowded. The aisles might be cramped, depending on the store, but he doesn't think he's ever seen more than a handful of people in one at a time. That helps.

"I don't know if anything's usual," he points out, almost laughing. "I've hardly seen any of it." It's only to climb into the nearest available taxi that he lets go of S's hand, ready to say where to go when he remembers that he doesn't know the name of the store, let alone the address. He looks over at S, helpless and amused and resigned all at once.

It's a fair enough point, though S doesn't think he needs to say that the fact of their being here at all — J, especially — makes it inherently strange enough. This should be impossible. Even if J weren't alive when he ought to be dead, it would be impossible; it's just all the more so now, and this time, in an even better way than S could have imagined. It isn't as if there aren't things here that make sense, too. Although it's not like home, some of the trappings of this place, its more surface elements, play out the way any normal life would just about anywhere, or so it's seemed to him over the past few days. Still, it makes no sense, except in the way that being with J is the only thing that's made sense to him in a long time. A place like this shouldn't even exist. He's grateful that it does.

Holding back a laugh at the look on J's face as he settles in the backseat of the cab, he waits until he's turned away to rest his hand on the seat between them for J to take if he wants to, as casual as he can manage. "Old Forest Road and Scoone, please," he tells the driver, a little but more careful than when he was asking to go to the train station. He can't remember which cross street the drugstore is on, actually, but that should get them close enough, into the same neighborhood where he's done his food shopping so far.

"You'll see more of it," he says, turning towards J again as the car starts to pull away. "Soon. I'll show you."

What J really wants is to shift closer once S is settled, to tuck himself against S's shoulder. It's just as well that he can't, he tells himself. He'd close his eyes and miss the whole trip. He won't learn much about this place looking out the window, but it's still something, and less overwhelming than walking all of this.

It's nice to imagine, though. Even if S hasn't been here all that much longer than him, he likes the idea of S showing him around, introducing to him to the place that's their new home. Reaching over for S's hand, he nods. "Good," he says. "I'd like that." Even if he doesn't yet feel up to it, he'd like to hope that he will soon. It feels good, too, to make some kind of a plan, to have something to want to do in the future.

Practicing English is another thing to put on that list, he realizes. Living here will have to mean improving his language skills. He can't expect S always to be available to speak for him, and he wouldn't want that anyway. He mouths the words he sees to himself as he looks out the window. He could say them out loud, he thinks, if they were on their own. He's pretty sure of that, at least, and pretty sure, too, that he knows what they say, what they mean. The idea of saying any of them to another person, though, is unnerving. There are days he has enough difficulty articulating his thoughts and feelings in Korean, never mind a language he's never had cause to use seriously or to a native speaker. He'll make S practice with him later. S might laugh at him or tease, but he would do so with love. It's a safer place to start.

A couple blocks pass by like this, J catching a word or two here and there, trying to get his mouth to form the right shapes even if he doesn't actually say anything. He gives up then, deciding it's not as helpful when he can't actually check any of it. There will be time to practice later. For now, he looks back to S, leaning his head back against the seat to watch his boyfriend for a little bit. As much as he wants to see more of this city, this is the only part of it that matters right now. "It seems nice already. Usual or not."

Although he'd expected him to do so — already such a far cry from yesterday, he realized, when he first brought J back to his apartment and sat beside him, similarly leaving his hand out only for that distance to remain between them — S can't help but smile when J takes his offered hand. He tries to bite it back, but he only halfway succeeds, and the driver is watching the road, anyway. A few moments of excessive fondness probably isn't going to give them away too much. He can't bring himself to look away, either, watching J watch the passing streets, his thumb absently stroking the back of J's hand. Over and over, it keeps hitting him that he doesn't know how he got this lucky. He's in a place that makes no sense whatsoever, apparently in an altogether different world. For one of them to be here should have been strange and impossible enough. For them to have found each other at all, never mind crossed paths at the perfect time, for him to have another chance with the man he loves, for J to love him back, for them to have had at least a few moments of peace, maybe even happiness, it's more than he could ever even have imagined, never mind hoped for, more than he had any reason to believe he would have in his life again.

It's so hard not to draw J closer, or at least not to lean over and kiss him, his face so sweet as he seems to mouth words. Were they on their own, S might tease him about it — gently, affectionately — but even with the relative privacy of a driver who probably couldn't understand them, he decides to wait. It isn't as if it's not understandable, anyway. He's fortunate to remember as much as he does, more than he thought he did, and still it's been overwhelming to find himself in a place where nearly everything is in and nearly everyone speaks English. He's just had a few more days to reacquaint himself with some of it, at least to familiarize himself with names of streets and shops near him.

"It is nice," he answers, feeling all warm despite how chilly he actually still is. That niceness has little to do with Darrow itself and far more to do with the man beside him, but S doesn't think he needs to say that. His expression probably makes it clear enough all on its own. "I like it here." Still he wishes he could just say it, but he trusts J to understand what isn't being said. At this time yesterday, he didn't mind being here, if only because there was nothing really left for him back home, but now, he couldn't possibly want to be anywhere else. "There's plenty I haven't seen yet, too. A mountain. A beach."

"Maybe not the beach yet," J says, smile growing wider as he shakes his head. "Too cold." It's probably pretty, actually, and he's willing to bet that, in this weather, they'd have the beach mostly to themselves, which is tempting. At the very least, though, he won't go until he has a coat of his own so S doesn't have to loan him this one again. Still, it's nice to know it's there. He hasn't been to the beach very much.

His smile softens then. "I do, too, though," he says. "I like it here." There's a lot for him to worry about, a lot he's afraid of. He knows this is going to be hard, and just knowing how much pain lies ahead of him as he tries to find a way to live with all he's done makes him scared to try. Dying would be faster, easier. But the last day, or less, has been the best he's felt in longer than he can really recall — the safest, the happiest, the most loved. It's the first time in a long time he can remember actively wanting to stay alive, rather than just making it from one day to the next. He has a reason now to try. There's hope again. As scary as living might be, he's at least got to try. It's worth it if it means he gets to have a little longer with S.

J can see, too, how much S is trying to keep his expression in check, though only because he's not doing very well at it. But then, J supposes, he's probably not any better at it right now. At least the driver is probably watching the road. "So we'll see the rest together."

Despite knowing that it won't always be this easy, despite the fear that's taken up residence in the back of his head and all the things they still haven't talked about, it's incredibly gratifying, even a little relieving, to hear J say that he likes it here. He hasn't seen much of the place itself to make a judgment like that. As strange and a bit surreal as it may be, S thinks that it must, at least on some level, be because of him. Hearing that, it's easier for the moment to believe that J really does want this as much as he does. If nothing else, it means J might just want to stay here, which is the most important thing anyway, after what he seemed on the verge of doing yesterday. That's all that really matters, regardless of the reasons for it. Deep down, S is just a little selfish about it, too, and he'd like to think that he might have something to do with J liking it here.

J's smile seems to suggest as much, too, making it that much harder for S to keep his own under control. It's ridiculous, and dangerous, but the driver doesn't seem to be paying them much mind, and it's just so hard to try to ignore how terribly in love with J he is. He was never supposed to be able to get to have this again. It's that much sweeter for the time he went without it, the months he spent alone, certain he would never again feel anything remotely like this. Ducking his head, he makes himself look away, but still his smile doesn't fade.

For that matter, just some sort of plan for the future is nice, too, even a vague, nonspecific one. These are things they'll do together, things J wants to do. Where just a day ago, S was only going through the motions, attempting to acclimate but without his heart in it at all, now he actually wants to build a life here, one for the two of them to share. "We will," he agrees, struck by how odd it is to be looking forward to something for a change. "Ah, I'm glad I haven't seen it all yet. It'll be more fun this way."

S turns away first, and even that's endearing, as if he has to in order to control himself; everything about him is charming today, J thinks, and always, but especially anything like that, anything to points to just how much he loves J. It might be selfish, but he also doesn't think anyone else would feel differently. How could he not be moved to see such affection in S's eyes?

He should be more careful, he knows. Usually he's the one in a rush to tamp down anything that might give them away. He's not sure he's very good at it still, but he tries. He's rusty, though, and it's hard not to look at S when he's right there. It's so strange, everything here is so strange and different. It's like he's starting all over again. Being alive when he shouldn't be is bizarre in and of itself, but everything has turned on its head, like he's rediscovering parts of who he used to be and who he is, putting them together to figure out a new self to be. At some point, music began to matter more than anything else, and all he had in mind from day to day was try and create something, to improve, to make something that was his and good. Something worth the award he didn't earn, worth how hard his mother worked so he could play at all, worth that first theft, worth the lives he took, worth his own. It's been so long since he found himself making plans that didn't have to do with that effort, looking forward to something outside of a messy room and a piano and blank sheets of lined paper staring at him. He forgot how it feels. He forgot so much.

How is he supposed to sit here feeling like this and not tell S he loves him? He just nods, emphatic, placing his other hand briefly over S's before shifting it back to his packet. "It will be," he says, feeling more confident in it just by saying it. Somehow he'll manage to survive. He has to. There's so much he wants to do now, so much he wants to say and to give S, so many months they lost or he ruined for him to make up for, a future to create. They'll go to this mountain and he'll complain about walking so much and they'll laugh, and they'll go to the beach even though it's cold and run from the waves. S will teach him how to be a little better at cooking. Maybe with some practice, he can improve, enough for there to be halfway decent meals for S to come home to. He's getting ahead of himself, he knows he is, but maybe that's good. He wants it to be good.

A quick glance at the driver is enough for J to feel relatively certain they probably don't speak Korean, but he doesn't dare risk it. He settles for a smile, small and hopeful. "It's a good thing there's a map in here, isn't there? We'll get lost for sure."

Even now, with as good as he feels, so warm and loving and loved, there's the slightest sting under it. All the things he'd like to say and do right now, he can't — can't lean over even to kiss J's cheek, can't pull him closer, can't talk about how he'd rather get to do these things with the person he loves than do them alone. With the last, at least, he most likely wouldn't be understood if he did, but S doesn't want to start assuming that too much. It's kind of nice, having a little extra security in that regard, but with as difficult as it is to keep himself in check around J anyway, he knows he could far too easily let his guard down and say or do something he shouldn't. That risk just isn't one he can take. On his own, he may not have really cared anymore, but he isn't alone now, and he decided a long, long time ago that a life with J would be worth a life spent hiding. Or, really, he didn't even have to decide. He just knew, with the same sort of certainty as knowing he loved J, something bone-deep and instinctive, a part of his very being.

He doesn't let himself turn back towards J again, but he sees that smile in his peripheral vision, his own pulling a little wider when J briefly reaches over with his other hand. Once again, S can't help wanting to get the shopping out of the way so they can return to the privacy of his apartment and not have to worry about any of this, but at least he feels too good right now to be quite as frustrated as he was earlier. He still hates it — he always has, he always will — but that doesn't take away from how nice it is to be together, making vague plans for the future they weren't meant to get to have.

"Of course we will," S says with a laugh, nodding in agreement. Darrow's layout is relatively simple, at least, with the city all laid out in a grid, but it's still new and unfamiliar. He's gotten turned around more than once in the last week already, and that was before he had J to inevitably keep him distracted as they try to navigate anywhere. It will be worth it when they do get lost, though. It's been so long, he realizes, since they went out and did anything fun together like that. He's been without J for a long time anyway, but even before J actually left, things were so strained near the end. This — well, there's still so much hanging over their heads, heavier subjects they're going to have to get into sooner or later, but being like this now makes him hopeful that they'll be able to weather it.

"Even if there weren't one, though," he adds, glancing over again for just a moment, "I can think of worse things than getting lost here with my best friend." It's both true, something he missed as much as any of the rest of it in J's absence, and not what he actually means at all. Somehow, though, he thinks J will understand that.

Edited 2021-01-29 07:35 (UTC)

J is the one who has to look away now, ducking his head. He gets what S means, and he agrees entirely; getting lost might even be fun, as long as it's the two of them together. Anything that's them can't be too bad. But he missed that as much as he missed being together romantically. He tried hard over the last year to forget that or ignore it, to pretend he was fine on his own, that he could be wholly independent. He's never managed it, though. As much as he wants to be self-sufficient, he's not sure he ever has been. And in all the time he was on his own, there were days when it was harder to keep from missing his best friend than it was to keep from missing his boyfriend. To have S back as both, to let himself have that, it's everything.

He thought that getting the things he wanted meant giving this up. He thought it would be better for him. And there is, too, a part of him that still firmly believes he doesn't deserve to have this. What he did can't be undone. But so many of the things he was so sure of have slipped away in the last few days, it's hard to be certain of much of anything. In the absence of any other conviction, it's easier to open back up to this one, the only constant he's had in his life in a long time. There are worse things than that by far.

"Me too," he says, soft. It's strange, really. Yesterday he was so tormented, so broken, he couldn't see any way forward. Not that long ago today, he was miserable, terrified of being alone. Right now, though, so assured of love, he can't stop smiling. He almost adds that he missed this, he missed his best friend, but it's too much. He's not afraid he'll give them away in saying it, whether the driver understands them or not. He's more concerned it might be too emotional a truth, even if they both already know it. He missed himself, too. For a while, being with S only amplified his own worst fears and tendencies, preyed on his self-doubt, his self-loathing. Right now, though, S's hand warm on his, every inch of J so vividly aware of how close he is to the man he loves, he has faith that can't be true anymore. It can't be. Having S here, he feels so much calmer and happier than he thought he knew how to be. That has to be right.

"Might even be fun." A little more certain of his ability to control his expression, he looks over again. "So we'll explore. Later. Not tomorrow." Tomorrow is for staying home, which he almost says, but bites back just in case. He can't keep from his smile from growing a little wider again, though, at the idea of it.

Later, S thinks, there's so much he's going to want to say. It's not even just the heavy things, too, the ones he knows they've both been putting off. It's everything he has to hold back now, no matter how clear it all must be on his face for a moment: the utter relief in hearing J's agreement, S's chest tightening with it, how glad he is to have not just his boyfriend back but his best friend too, how much he loves him. The last, he could never get sick of saying, could probably never say enough. He should have taken every possible chance to say it before. They would still have had to be careful in public, like they are now, but still, however much he might have said it when they were on their own, he couldn't have done so often enough. He didn't know how short their time would be. And that thought still hurts, but at least all the grief he still feels is tempered now by all the love, all the hope. They have a second chance now. They might have more time together after all. Hearing J sound like he does now, even just glimpsing that smile, S feels like they actually stand a chance of making this work.

"No, not tomorrow," he says with a laugh, shaking his head, almost as if sharing an inside joke. Elaborating on that seems too dangerous right now, too, even without getting suggestive. He's already looking forward to it, though, a day just for the two of them, no going out into the world and having to hide. It will be fun when they do, a little adventure — the sort of thing they haven't done in so long, and probably the closest thing they ever could get to going on a date — but it will be nice, first, to have a day alone together. They haven't in so long; the few hours after he found J yesterday, good as all of that wound up being, hardly constitute a day. There's a lot of lost time to make up for. "But later. Soon."

Before too long, they're going to have to venture out again to get J at least a coat anyway, and probably some other clothes too. What S has should keep them both clothed for the time being, but it wasn't really meant to be a wardrobe for two. It's barely even a wardrobe for one. Once that's out of the way, maybe, they can explore, wander Darrow, see the sights. They never did get to travel together, really; between the two of them, they wouldn't have had enough money to go terribly far. This almost feels like amending that, even though there's nowhere else to go from here.

Glancing out the window, S sees them pass by his building, and he tugs gently on J's hand before pointing. "See, now we're back where we started," he says. He did promise to show J around. This is barely a start, but it's something. "Just a few more blocks."

One of the nice things in making this vague plan, one of the parts J likes, is the assumption that he'll be able to do this. It's not even whether or not he'll be alive still; it's the idea that he'll feel steady enough to go out and do some sightseeing, that he'll still feel like that's something he can enjoy doing. If he thinks about it, he's really not at all sure that's true. Somehow, though, pretending it is feels good. It's comforting to imagine a future where they're happy.

J glances over at S's urging, leaning closer to peer out his window. It is, he realizes, the first time he's gotten an actual look at the building. He didn't look as they left and he didn't take in anything he saw when he arrived. He tries to remember it now. Whatever happens next, whether he stays with S or moves out, that's home.

"That didn't take that long," he says, pleased, lingering in S's space until it no longer makes sense to do so. "Almost there. And the drugstore shouldn't take long."

Although it doesn't last very long and it wasn't his intention, it's nice to have an excuse for J to move closer for a moment. S gives him another small smile as he does, wishing he could draw him closer still, fighting off a momentary disappointment when he eases back again. It makes sense. They still have to be careful. By the time they make it back here, though, he suspects he'll be half-insane with just wanting to hold J, never mind anything else. It's never been easy, keeping a distance in public, but it's that much more challenging now. Soon, though. They'll finish their shopping, they'll come back here to his building, and aside from briefly going to the basement to do laundry, then they'll have the rest of today and all of tomorrow to spend only with each other. And it won't all be like this, he's sure. They've been through too much, and there's too much they haven't yet said, too much still lingering on the periphery, just waiting to move back in. Even if just some of it is, though, even if none of it is, it's still time they wouldn't have had together if not for this place. For them to be like this now has to mean, he thinks, that they could find their way back to it sooner or later.

"It's not very far," he agrees. "Just far enough that it would have taken too long to walk today." He's too eager to get back — suspects they both are — and anyway, not having a coat would have made the walk much worse. He doesn't regret giving his to J, would rather be the colder of the two, but it is one more reason that paying for two cab rides today is more worth the money than it ordinarily would be. They should be able to walk back, at least, even with bags of groceries weighing them down, his building close enough to the stores where they'll be shopping. "And no, it shouldn't. We only need a few things there, I think."

With the state he was in and the cold out there, J thinks, they would probably still be on their way to the train station. This might not have been their smartest choice financially, but he doesn't care. It's made this much faster, and that in itself has taken some of the weight off of him. Being able to check things off their list more quickly has him more relaxed by far.

He looks over at S, brow raising slightly as he smiles. He hasn't forgotten what, exactly, is on their shopping list for this stop. Right in this moment, he has no idea what will happen when they get home. He might be too tired, physically or emotionally or both, from being out for so long, or he might be in a darker mood again, and sex might be off the table for the night. That doesn't make the possibility of it any less alluring. And in this moment, he suspects they'll want it anyway, tired or not. Sex isn't the only way for them to be close physically, of course; whatever they do or don't do, he has every intention of simply holding S and being held in turn for an extended period of time. Still, he knows from past experience that, after hours of just barely holding themselves back from being too physically affectionate to pass for friends alone, S is extremely hard to resist. Spending so much time restraining themselves makes him all the more eager to tell and to show S how much he loves him, how much he wants him.

"Toothbrush," he says. He frowns a little after that, thoughtful. He's almost certain S mentioned other things he should get, but he can only think of two, and he's not saying the other in front of a stranger. There isn't much he needs, anyway, that he can't share with S, at least for as long as he stays at his apartment. "What else?"

S can't say out loud the first other thing that comes to mind, of course. Given the expression on J's face for a moment, a look S returns, he doubts he's the only one thinking it. There's no sense even in trying to find a way to talk around it, then, letting that glance be enough. He tries instead to think of what else they might need to get while they're at the drugstore, head tilting slightly to the side as he does. "Maybe some more soap and shampoo," he says, thoughtful. Although he has some in the apartment already, like so much else, it wasn't bought with two people in mind. They'll go through it more quickly like this, and while he wouldn't ordinarily stock up beyond what they might need for the time being, he would rather save them another trip in the immediate future. Besides, if J does decide to move into his own apartment, then he can take whatever extra is left with him and not need to pick up more for himself yet.

Given how the conversation earlier went, S feels a little guilty considering that, but he can't bring himself not to, mostly because he knows he needs to fight his own instincts here. As much as he might want to push for J to stay, for so many reasons — emotional and financial and, first and foremost, out of concern for J's safety — it could too likely go wrong. He wants to do better this time, not just fall into making the same mistakes he made before. His approach was all wrong, last time. He has to find a better one now.

Giving it another moment's thought, he shrugs. "I can't think of anything else, but if we see anything we need, we can get it."

J has to bite his lip, head dropping, to keep from laughing. It's not like he didn't think S would know exactly what he meant, but it's still funny to see the look on his face, to know he's thinking the same thing. All the time they were apart from each other, all those lonely months, all the things he knows they need to figure out and relearn and change, and this is what they still land on.

Granted, he's optimistic — enough so that he keeps finding himself surprised by it — about much of the rest of it. S has been so thoughtful today. It's easy to see he's really trying, that he's taken to heart what J has said. That in itself means so much to him. He's been trying, too. Sometimes he wants nothing more than to confide in S, but that became increasingly difficult for a long time there. Figuring out how to be open with him isn't always going to be easy, but J thinks — hopes, at least — that he's made a good start. Between all of this effort and the certainty that S understands him better now than he has in a long time, J feels sure all over again that they can do this. They can get right what should always have been right. He wants that so badly. If anything is worth fighting for, it must be this. And the rest of it, the sex, the desire at the back of their minds, is just part of that.

That they get this at all is a miracle. There's so much they know, so much they remember, but there's a lot to learn, whether anew or again. Not all of it will be as nice as this, but, J thinks, maybe that's nice, too, knowing he'll be able to say these things. Some of it will be hard to say. There are things he knows he won't want to mention, at least not in any detail, and things that will hurt both of them, but they'll talk. He'll feel like he can. It's such a relief to think that not only will S listen, he might actually hear, that it makes the prospect of talking less frightening. Already they're back to how they were in some ways, reading each other's minds at a glance, and he's home.

"Okay," he says, nodding as he tries to focus again. "Toothbrush, soap, shampoo. Easy enough. And then we'll remember five other things we wanted an hour after we leave."

"Of course," S says as seriously as he can, which isn't very, the corners of his mouth curling up as he tries to hold back a laugh. That's what always seems to happen, but at least if it does this time, it probably won't be anything too pressing that they've forgotten, something that can wait until the next time they venture out. Thinking about it, he still doesn't want to get too far ahead of himself. There's a fine line, he thinks, between considering things they could do eventually and planning more specific ones, even if only in his own head. By this time next week, J might decide to move into his own apartment, which, if it comes to that, S knows he can only fight so hard; he can point out the reasons why it would make more sense for him not to live elsewhere, but he can't make J stay with him if he doesn't want to. Seeing the city together, they can still do — he expects they'll spend most of their time together regardless — but it isn't as if they'd need to be running errands together while living separately.

But thinking about that is getting too far ahead of himself, too. It doesn't make a difference right now, with J smiling, his hand warm in S's. He tries to focus on that instead, and on what they'll need to get on this stop — just a few items, the trip bound to be a short one. Groceries will take considerably longer, but after that, they'll be in the clear, free to spend the rest of the day and all of tomorrow with each other, not having to worry about what other people might see or hear. Again he thinks that he used to be better at dealing with what's been a facet of their relationship since it first became something more than just friends, but it's been so long now, and he's so overwhelmingly glad and grateful and relieved to have J back. Holding back is much harder in light of that.

"And then we just need groceries," he continues, shaking his head a little at himself. "I wish I'd remembered to make a list." He got distracted thinking about this same thing, he thinks. Getting dressed, considering how they were about to have to pretend not to be in love with each other, he forgot all about his plans to write down what he intended to get. The same thing will probably happen with the groceries, too, that they'll remember several things they meant to get a little while after leaving, but he just hopes, if that is the case, it isn't anything too crucial that they will have left out.

J's glad that S doesn't laugh, if only because he knows he'd follow quickly after. S is so cute, though, trying not to. It makes simply sitting here that much more difficult. They can't be very far from their destination, though, which should make things easier. He hopes it will, at least. Having something to do, things to find, will at least take up enough of their attention to distract from how badly they want to do more than steal knowing looks. It's not even like J wants desperately to kiss S, though he certainly wouldn't mind. It's just all the little touches and looks and jokes that are difficult to make in front of other people, or outright unsafe. It's having to think rather than act on instinct and impulse. J can be guarded around other people. He's good at that. He had to learn how to be so with S, and he isn't sure he really knows how right now.

He gives S's hand a little shake between them. "I said we should," he says, "and then I think I distracted you." It means they'll forget something or the other for sure, but he's not really sorry. It was the first good morning he's had since well before he left. As long as they get the basic ingredients for the stew, they'll manage. Living on a strict budget, he's found, requires both discipline and improvisation. It's a good thing, then, that he's with S again. He tends to lack skill in both departments.

"It's fine, though," he assures him. "I'll just put a bunch of unnecessary things in the cart and you can take them out again until we have things we actually need." He's not that bad. He knows he isn't. They learned how to be good at this because they had to be. On his own, too, he knows how to manage his attention, at least as far as running errands and purchasing staples. When he knows, though, that S will be there to keep track of things, it's easier to let his mind wander.

Once again, S doesn't say what he wants to, what he would if they were alone. It wouldn't even mean anything in this context, really, telling J that he's very distracting. Nothing happened between them this morning save for a few kisses. Still, it might be a little too true, and anyway, he needs to get in the habit of this again, of watching what he says, of knowing when to hold back. He might as well not push his luck now. However much he hates having to be so cautious, it's still necessary, and that's all there is to it. He just smiles instead, nodding in quiet acknowledgment, gently squeezing J's hand. List or no list, it was worth getting distracted, anyway. He doesn't know how he could be expected to focus on much of anything other than J right now, surreal and incredible as it is to be back with him.

"I assumed you would," he says, half-teasing. It's an exaggeration and he knows it; they always got by before, even if S is more likely to keep solely to necessities, keeping track of the cost and how much he can afford to spend at one time, than to pick out too much and have to put some back. With J's money, there isn't quite as strict a budget to adhere to anyway, though he still intends to be careful, to make sure J will have enough to live on if he does decide to stay elsewhere. Still, it gives them a bit more flexibility, certainly more than he had when he was first shopping for himself, keeping all his purchases as sparing as possible with no idea that he would soon be cooking for two. "We'll figure it out."

First they'll get the drugstore out of the way, though. Knowing they should be getting close to the intersection he guessed would put them close enough to their destination, he takes his wallet out of his pocket, absently thumbing through the still-unfamiliar bills inside. Judging by the cost of the last one, he should have enough on hand to cover this cab ride, at least, without having to ask J to pay yet, which is good. "Almost there, I think."

He will, admittedly, probably grab one or two things they don't strictly need. At least part of the money they'll use to buy these groceries will be his, so J feels like it's fair to do so. Even if he's still a little wary, knowing that the conversations that still have to have are likely to put him back on edge, right now he can't help feeling they have a lot to celebrate. A small cake or some pastries or some kind of treat might do the job nicely. For the most part, though, he intends to behave.

At least they're almost there. It really isn't all that far from the apartment building S pointed out, which is a relief, so as long as the grocery store is in the same area, the worst of it should be the actual shopping. He's going to have to figure out what to do with his own money soon enough, he realizes, watching S pull out his wallet. He doesn't have one on him to put it in; he hadn't needed one yesterday, at home at the piano. He'll have to put that on his shopping list for the future.

"We should get some flour and scallions," he muses, "make some pajeon." It's not that difficult to prepare, though he's pretty sure he's never gotten the thin savory pancakes right in the few times he's tried. Most of the time, he ends up with one side too light and the other a little too close to burnt. It goes nicely with a lot of things, though, and they can always toss some meat in if they find something cheap or have leftovers from the jjigae. Besides, the kinds of flour they'd need sell cheaply enough, as do scallions. Gyeranjjim would be good, too, a few eggs going a long way for that one. He's not sure when he even last had that. It's not like he did much recently that could be considered cooking.

It's probably a bit too late to make a list, especially since he'll forget most of what he has in mind by the time they get to the grocery store. Still, maybe it helps just to say. He looks over, eyes widening just a little as the car pulls up to the curb. "Ah, we're here."

At J's suggestion, S nods, trying to make a mental note of it, along with the few other things he already has in mind that they'll need. Flour and scallions shouldn't be too difficult to remember, at least, though there's no telling how distracted he'll be by the time they get to the store. Everything seems reasonably steady for now, but he knows, too, how easily that could change. As good as he feels right now, this peace is fragile. Even his best efforts to hold onto it might not be enough. There's no sense in dwelling on that, though, when they do have it for now. Despite how much he would rather be back in his apartment, not out in public having to keep so much hidden, just doing something as simple as sharing a cab ride and running errands together feels so good. It's ridiculous, probably. He missed this, though — not specifically, not knowingly, but just being around each other, doing the sort of basic things that come with sharing a life together.

"That sounds good," he agrees as the car comes to a stop. He wouldn't usually be keeping track of such things, counting down steps, but this puts them just one little bit closer to finishing what they have to do today, and he's glad for it, for both of their sake. Turning away from J and towards the driver, he once more carefully counts out bills once he's been given the total — a little more than he would have liked to spend on something technically unnecessary, but still worth it, under the circumstances, and not terribly much for a reasonably short trip. It's strange keeping track of an entirely different currency, too, but at least with a week here, he's started to gauge what different things cost relative to each other, how much it chips away at the money he was given to start off with, how much he should allot for things like groceries and how much he should try to set aside for next month's bills. It's a start.

Opening the door, he steps out to the sidewalk, hands twisting in front of him for a moment to keep from reaching for J too soon. It gives him a chance to orient himself, anyway, to remember where the drugstore he knows is nearby actually is. "Alright, this way."

It doesn't take J long, however, to reach out for S's hand. Now that he's letting himself, it's so easy to fall back into old habits and to give into the things he wants. Holding hands is such a little thing. He's always liked it, the simple intimacy of it, a way to stay tethered to each other. Even as friends, he liked it, and then it became a way to maintain some level of contact without raising suspicion, a key part of going out into the world together, so obvious a constant he didn't fully realize how much he missed that. It's comforting, holding onto S like this, a small, constant reminder of his presence. J might be feeling much better now than he did when they first left the apartment, but that doesn't keep this from being overwhelming, just easier to handle.

Letting S lead, he follows alongside him, looking around at the neighborhood they're walking through. After so many blocks of English, this place is a bit of relief. There's English here, too, lots of it, but there's Korean, too, and Chinese and Japanese and what he's pretty sure is Thai, notes of Asia scattered across different signs and windows. There's a lot he doesn't recognize, but it feels familiar, and there are products in windows that look like things from home. With such a mix of cultures present, it's clearly not any of the tiny neighborhoods he's lived in, but it feels a lot more like it could be another part of Seoul.

He always wanted to travel, though it never seemed likely to happen. Now he has no choice in it, and it's nice to know there's somewhere here that feels familiar, like he could turn a corner and find his way toward a road that might take him home. He wasn't bothered, exactly, by the rest of what he saw. It's been interesting to see, at least, and it's nice to feel curious, to want to explore. Even so, he finds himself relaxing a little more.

He glances over at S, smiling. "I guess we're finally getting the chance to travel some."

Hearing that, and with J's hand in his again, S can't help smiling a little in turn, though he has to work hard to keep it from being a bittersweet one. Not all the time, but every once in a while, these past months — after J was dead, anyway, leaving no chance of any reconciliation — he's caught himself thinking about all the things they would never get to do together. Some of them might well have never happened anyway. It's not like they were ever able to afford to travel, and he doesn't know if that would ever have changed. It's one of so many things that's occasionally crossed his mind, though, the lifetime that he used to imagine for them cut so short. Doing any of those things on his own — seeing the rest of the world — wouldn't have been the same, would probably only have made him miss J more. He's here now, though, his hand as warm and familiar as ever, comforting, too, when there's only so much contact they can allow themselves in public, and S doesn't want to darken the mood again, at least not so soon. Probably sooner rather than later, it seems inevitable that it will take another turn, but that's all the more reason to hold onto this shared contentment while he can.

"I guess we are," he agrees with a soft laugh. This isn't at all how he would have pictured it, and he's not sure it really counts as traveling when both of them wound up here against their will, but it still feels a little like it, learning and exploring a new place together. For the first time in a long time, it feels like he has something to look forward to, and he has no idea how to say how much that means to him. He half-suspects that if he tried, it would come out all wrong anyway. As he so often does, he opts to make a joke instead, figuring that with J seemingly in good spirits for the moment, it won't land too badly. "At least we got to save on airfare."

With his free hand, he gestures up ahead, where the drugstore he remembers is farther up the block. "We're going there now. Groceries are a block or two down. I did most of my shopping here when I first showed up."

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