(no subject)
er, so. I had another one of those "winner gets a drabble!" contests in my journal, and kaiiser won. AGAIN. cheater. and she requested a jaemin version of changmin's banjun story from this week. AND IT'S UBER CHEESY, AND I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE, BUT SHE'S MAKING ME POST IT.
so, um.
i.
They did not meet on accident.
It was Changmin taking the long way home, once or twice, for a breath of fresh air and maybe a minute to have his thoughts to himself between school and homework, taking Third Street instead of Main past all the little family shops and cafes and one little music shop with guitars hanging in the front and faint acoustic melodies drifting down from the upstairs window.
One day, it was H.O.T's Haengbok, and he stopped to listen.
And again.
And again.
So one day, he went inside.
Upstairs, Changmin learned, was not part of the store. But that didn't stop him; as soon as the manager looked away, he stole up the back stairs, and that's where Jaejoong was waiting.
ii.
Jaejoong was not as delicate as he looked, with silky black hair falling in his face and impossibly dark eyes peeking up with a glint that matched the grin on his lips. He was slender, with strong hands and a low, melodic voice, and Changmin thought he had never seen anyone quite like Jaejoong before.
"I always play," he said the first day, elbow propped on the old acoustic guitar cradled in his lap, "but you seemed to like that song. So I played it more, because I wanted to meet you."
He winked, and Changmin forgot everything he ever believed about fate and destiny.
iii.
"I have to make my own destiny," Jaejoong would always say, looking out the open window with his strong hands curled around the sill and the breeze ruffling his hair. "Or else I'll never get to do anything."
"My dad says I'll never get anywhere without a good education," Changmin grumbled to that, once, and Jaejoong didn't turn to look at him, but Changmin saw his knuckles turn white in their grip on the windowsill.
"He's probably right," Jaejoong said softly, so Changmin never brought it up again.
iv.
There were some things that, Changmin found, just didn't need to be talked about.
One was how Jaejoong's strong hands would suddenly become soft when they touched Changmin, squeezing a shoulder or twining through fingers or ruffling through hair.
Another was how Changmin's heart jumped whenever those things happened, or how he would hug Jaejoong goodbye and hold on just a little too long, just to make sure he could remember the scent of the other boy's hair until the next time he saw him.
But by the time that Changmin figured out that those were the same thing, really, the other thing they never talked about had already burst out of its silence.
That was: Jaejoong never left his room because he was sick.
v.
Changmin had already hated hospitals and their aura of clinical cleanliness and sickness and death, but he hated them even more when Jaejoong was in one. Jaejoong's parents just sat there with sad eyes, looking up every five minutes to thank Changmin for being such a good friend to their son, and Changmin would distract himself by thinking how they really didn't know what he meant when he said he'd do anything for Jaejoong.
"A few weeks," the doctor said.
When Changmin met Jaejoong, his whole world had turned upside down. He had never thought that things wouldn't fall back into the same places if it got turned over again.
vi.
Jaejoong's room was a world of monitors and machines and plastic tubing and a thin plastic curtain that kept Changmin miles away from Jaejoong. He couldn't believe, at first, that that was his Jaejoong, it couldn't be - because that Jaejoong actually was as fragile as he looked.
Changmin sat, rested his head against the curtain, and watched Jaejoong sleep. And he sang: Haengbok.
When Jaejoong finally woke up, blinking wearily up with dark eyes, Changmin smiled so he wouldn't cry. He traced his fingers over the curtain, as if he could touch the other boy.
"You like that song, hm?" Jaejoong said with a weak laugh.
"I like anything that makes me think of you," Changmin said softly.
Jaejoong's smile was slow, but Changmin concentrated on it so he wouldn't have to look at the tears in the other boy's eyes. "And what makes you think of me, Changmin?"
Changmin didn't even try to hide how his voice cracked when he said: "Everything."
vii.
There was a tree out in the country, Jaejoong said, where he used to go to think about anything and everything. His dad had planted it when he was born. He wanted to see it.
So Changmin took him.
They took the bus, and then Changmin carried Jaejoong piggyback, trying not to think about the points of bone-thin limbs that would dig into him when Jaejoong shifted.
"We're almost there," Jaejoong said sleepily into Changmin's neck. But then he coughed.
And again.
And again.
And when he pulled his hand back from his mouth, the blood stood out a little too brightly against Jaejoong's pale skin.
viii.
The doctor said, "There's nothing we can do here."
Jaejoong didn't want to go to a big hospital in Seoul. He wouldn't survive there, he said. He needed to see his tree, he said. Then he could live longer.
Jaejoong's lips were chapped, and they cracked and bled when he smiled.
ix.
In Changmin's only picture of him and Jaejoong, they're both smiling. Jaejoong's head is on his shoulder, and he has the other boy pulled against him with a hand around Jaejoong's waist, and Jaejoong's mother had laughed at how cute they were and said that if she had a daughter, she would want a boy just like Changmin for her.
Later, when he looked at that picture, all he could see was how Jaejoong was too pale and too tired, and he wondered how Jaejoong could look so happy when he knew it wouldn't last.
At least, he knows, it wasn't fate that pulled them apart.
x.
Changmin brought blankets and lunch and books and music, but when they got to Jaejoong's tree they just sat, leaning against the trunk and each other, Changmin slowly threading fingers through Jaejoong's hair while Jaejoong's hand curled weakly on his knee. Sometimes he sang softly, the same song as always, but mostly they just sat, talked, together.
"It's really beautiful here," Changmin said, tucking a lock of hair behind Jaejoong's ear. "Let's come back next year, okay?"
"Okay," Jaejoong said softly. And then, more softly: "I love you."
Changmin thought, Jaejoong was more beautiful than all the scenery in the world.
"I love you, too," Changmin whispered. But Jaejoong's eyes were already closed, so he kissed Jaejoong's head, and memorized his scent, and cried.
to review: kaiiser's fault.
not mine.
>> << >>
so, um.
i.
They did not meet on accident.
It was Changmin taking the long way home, once or twice, for a breath of fresh air and maybe a minute to have his thoughts to himself between school and homework, taking Third Street instead of Main past all the little family shops and cafes and one little music shop with guitars hanging in the front and faint acoustic melodies drifting down from the upstairs window.
One day, it was H.O.T's Haengbok, and he stopped to listen.
And again.
And again.
So one day, he went inside.
Upstairs, Changmin learned, was not part of the store. But that didn't stop him; as soon as the manager looked away, he stole up the back stairs, and that's where Jaejoong was waiting.
ii.
Jaejoong was not as delicate as he looked, with silky black hair falling in his face and impossibly dark eyes peeking up with a glint that matched the grin on his lips. He was slender, with strong hands and a low, melodic voice, and Changmin thought he had never seen anyone quite like Jaejoong before.
"I always play," he said the first day, elbow propped on the old acoustic guitar cradled in his lap, "but you seemed to like that song. So I played it more, because I wanted to meet you."
He winked, and Changmin forgot everything he ever believed about fate and destiny.
iii.
"I have to make my own destiny," Jaejoong would always say, looking out the open window with his strong hands curled around the sill and the breeze ruffling his hair. "Or else I'll never get to do anything."
"My dad says I'll never get anywhere without a good education," Changmin grumbled to that, once, and Jaejoong didn't turn to look at him, but Changmin saw his knuckles turn white in their grip on the windowsill.
"He's probably right," Jaejoong said softly, so Changmin never brought it up again.
iv.
There were some things that, Changmin found, just didn't need to be talked about.
One was how Jaejoong's strong hands would suddenly become soft when they touched Changmin, squeezing a shoulder or twining through fingers or ruffling through hair.
Another was how Changmin's heart jumped whenever those things happened, or how he would hug Jaejoong goodbye and hold on just a little too long, just to make sure he could remember the scent of the other boy's hair until the next time he saw him.
But by the time that Changmin figured out that those were the same thing, really, the other thing they never talked about had already burst out of its silence.
That was: Jaejoong never left his room because he was sick.
v.
Changmin had already hated hospitals and their aura of clinical cleanliness and sickness and death, but he hated them even more when Jaejoong was in one. Jaejoong's parents just sat there with sad eyes, looking up every five minutes to thank Changmin for being such a good friend to their son, and Changmin would distract himself by thinking how they really didn't know what he meant when he said he'd do anything for Jaejoong.
"A few weeks," the doctor said.
When Changmin met Jaejoong, his whole world had turned upside down. He had never thought that things wouldn't fall back into the same places if it got turned over again.
vi.
Jaejoong's room was a world of monitors and machines and plastic tubing and a thin plastic curtain that kept Changmin miles away from Jaejoong. He couldn't believe, at first, that that was his Jaejoong, it couldn't be - because that Jaejoong actually was as fragile as he looked.
Changmin sat, rested his head against the curtain, and watched Jaejoong sleep. And he sang: Haengbok.
When Jaejoong finally woke up, blinking wearily up with dark eyes, Changmin smiled so he wouldn't cry. He traced his fingers over the curtain, as if he could touch the other boy.
"You like that song, hm?" Jaejoong said with a weak laugh.
"I like anything that makes me think of you," Changmin said softly.
Jaejoong's smile was slow, but Changmin concentrated on it so he wouldn't have to look at the tears in the other boy's eyes. "And what makes you think of me, Changmin?"
Changmin didn't even try to hide how his voice cracked when he said: "Everything."
vii.
There was a tree out in the country, Jaejoong said, where he used to go to think about anything and everything. His dad had planted it when he was born. He wanted to see it.
So Changmin took him.
They took the bus, and then Changmin carried Jaejoong piggyback, trying not to think about the points of bone-thin limbs that would dig into him when Jaejoong shifted.
"We're almost there," Jaejoong said sleepily into Changmin's neck. But then he coughed.
And again.
And again.
And when he pulled his hand back from his mouth, the blood stood out a little too brightly against Jaejoong's pale skin.
viii.
The doctor said, "There's nothing we can do here."
Jaejoong didn't want to go to a big hospital in Seoul. He wouldn't survive there, he said. He needed to see his tree, he said. Then he could live longer.
Jaejoong's lips were chapped, and they cracked and bled when he smiled.
ix.
In Changmin's only picture of him and Jaejoong, they're both smiling. Jaejoong's head is on his shoulder, and he has the other boy pulled against him with a hand around Jaejoong's waist, and Jaejoong's mother had laughed at how cute they were and said that if she had a daughter, she would want a boy just like Changmin for her.
Later, when he looked at that picture, all he could see was how Jaejoong was too pale and too tired, and he wondered how Jaejoong could look so happy when he knew it wouldn't last.
At least, he knows, it wasn't fate that pulled them apart.
x.
Changmin brought blankets and lunch and books and music, but when they got to Jaejoong's tree they just sat, leaning against the trunk and each other, Changmin slowly threading fingers through Jaejoong's hair while Jaejoong's hand curled weakly on his knee. Sometimes he sang softly, the same song as always, but mostly they just sat, talked, together.
"It's really beautiful here," Changmin said, tucking a lock of hair behind Jaejoong's ear. "Let's come back next year, okay?"
"Okay," Jaejoong said softly. And then, more softly: "I love you."
Changmin thought, Jaejoong was more beautiful than all the scenery in the world.
"I love you, too," Changmin whispered. But Jaejoong's eyes were already closed, so he kissed Jaejoong's head, and memorized his scent, and cried.
to review: kaiiser's fault.
not mine.
>> << >>