Flashing seasons under brigth lights
Title: Flashing seasons under bright lights
Pairing: Donghae/Hyukjae
Rating: R
Summary: Eunhyuk is everything everyone wants a piece of, beautiful and at the top of his fame. But Hyukjae is a nobody, dazed under the bright lights and lost in a game he could loose any second. But then there’s Donghae who might just be the shelter Hyukjae doesn’t know he’s been looking for and the reality Eunhyuk needs.
Notes: model au. Thanks to daisychains555 , tees2mai and xoxo_nat_xx
a/n: started writing this back in June, proceeded to ignore it for 2 months and after some nagging and pushing, this is the end result. Inspired by the fact that since i was saw Eunhyuk I thought he belonged on a runway(sans a few inches), the 5 am movie i woke up to catch my dad watching the day i wrote this and listening to a lot of Joshua Radin.
Flashing seasons under bright lights
Quick shutters, flashing lights. They almost blind him, leave his eyes a little fuzzy and make him feel light headed. It’s a blow to the head and a high to the blood that rushes through his veins, thick and rapid. They want him, Hyukjae acknowledges. They crave for his smile and pout, his smirk and his frown. It’s pure luck. He knows this. Reminds himself constantly, as they clamor for him, his face, his body. It’s a rapid rise, they warn him. And he’s just about to reach the point of no return.
So, Hyukjae thinks, while being partially numbed by white light and holding back a sneeze at the cloud of powder around his head, it’s time to decide if he’s staying on the ride or wants to get off. With a face like his it’d be a waste to get off. “There’s nothing else you can do with your life; this is what you were meant for” he’s reminded harshly. He shrugs and gives a blank stare. He can always shout and get off later.
*
Identical fake smiles plastered on pretty faces. One delicate and sharply soft. The other strong and almost exotic, it’s so unique. False words said under forced pretences like a perfectly planned play. The actors so convincing, the audience believes the characters they play are themselves.
They are the modern era’s royalty and Hyukjae has adapted quickly to his role.
He crosses then un crosses his legs. Twists his fingers, lacing them on his lap. “It’s not proper to fidget” Heechul says, taking a sip from his sparkling water, one lemon wedge, ice crushed. Hyukjae raises his eyebrows, sharp and surprised. He knows the other dislikes him to the point it’s almost hatred. The elder smirks knowingly “Just because I want to see you fall on your face doesn’t mean I want you embarrassing me.”
All part of the façade. No real concern. It’s rather perfect Hyukjae reflects as the photographer returns. The new favorite and the legend. He wonders if he’ll last long enough to one day take Heechul’s place.
*
He’s young, beautiful and foolish. Naïve and stupid. They lead him to think he’s invincible, nothing can stop him or stand in his way. It’s almost like having super powers. Except Hyukjae saves no one. Helps no one or thing, except feed the ego they have created.
It’s all color and excitement and he’s high on life and has himself half convinced he’s genuinely happy. Until the critics come out, people he trusted turn their backs on him and he realizes how truly alone he is. He has no one but himself. Has no one to blame except himself.
*
“Why are you calling?” Her voice is strained and thick, and it brings Hyukjae back. Back to a time where everything was pure and innocence. Where dreams were to be hoped for, fairytales were meant to be believed in.
“I” he pauses. Folds his legs, tucking them underneath his thin body covered by nothing except an oversized t-shirt he bought for over triple what it cost to make. He stills his nerves by grabbing his wine glass with shaky hands, the red liquid swooshes in his mouth, down his throat until it’s warm in his stomach. An illusion of warmth, so he serves himself more.
“I needed to hear your voice” he knows it’s pathetic. It’s too late.
“Hyukjae” she says and that’s all it takes. For him to wish again. To be in between caring arms shielding him from the world. To smell sun and spice on warm wrinkled skin. To play games and catch butterflies in the wind.
He drowns himself in silence and the dial tone after she’s gone. A bitter smile on envied lips.
*
Stumbled steps. Dizzy vision. The moon looks exceptionally high, Hyukjae mumbles incoherently. His heart rate is rapid, it beats harshly in his ears. Today had been one of those days. Long and tedious. Six am wake up call, non stop, barely surviving on caffeine. He deserves to relax. They all do, or so they think.
The room is full of smoke and laughter. Poignant smells linger in the air. He takes in the view of these people. People not icons or simply faces. People he doesn’t know, who don’t know him. Not really. They’re together for a reason. Thrown together because someone had it for them to be considered beautiful in the shallowest way possible.
He falls backwards on the leather couch, slumping into its confines till he almost feels himself seeping in through the fabric. But he doesn’t. Still visible to the world and especially to those like him. “You look like you could use something to relax” a pretty face says. Hyukjae has a hard time giving a name to said face, but he knows they’ve worked together.
He eyes what’s offered to him. Surprising enough, he’s stuck to just alcohol and he’s not sure he wants to go down that road. The eyes looking in to his are coaxing, a bit of malice in them, a touch of sympathy. Before he can even blink, Hyukjae’s hand is reaching out and he’s in a different world entirely.
The rush is back like never before. That exhilarating, intoxicating feeling from when it all started. And he welcomes it back with eager, open arms.
*
Tokyo’s bright lights are tantalizing. The Eiffel tower is as magnificent as it’s said to be and Paris really is the city of love-or at least Pierre has him thinking so the time he spends there-. Big Ben still manages to tell time despite the years it’s been ticking. The land of Prada really is all it’s cracked up to be. And there really are that many people in New York City.
Another airport. Another language he doesn’t understand except when he’s told to stand like this or look like that.
It’s any person’s dream to see what he’s seen. Been where he’s been.
Hyukjae wants to run. Leave this world and what’s expected of him. But he’s too far in for that. He wanted this. Reminds himself while walking down the endless runway, expression expressionless, legs graceful. He wants this, he tells himself. The quick flash almost blinds him, but he manages to hold his balance as he’s shouted a hundred things in Italian.
He’s praised and adored for his achievement. Who knew people considered being able to walk a talent.
It’s a dream. The dream. What they don’t know, don’t perceive behind the façade, is the absence of light in the eyes they adore, the shadow that lurks behind his silhouette.
*
Time passes for Eunhyuk, Hyukjae left somewhere behind. He gets older but doesn’t grow up.
*
Winter is dry and cold, harsh to the skin, heavy on the heart. Hyukjae walks weighed down by a thick coat and watches the naked branches sway in the breeze.
He’s home, or at least, what has become his home. A city just like all the others. At least here, he understands the language.
Hands digging further into pockets seeking warmth and yet, he’s comforted by the cold. He thinks it should always be cold. The world is a cold place. People with cold hands and colder hearts. It would make sense if it the weather were always cold.
He approaches a park, sits on a snow dusted bench, watches the people pass by, the frozen lake in clear view. His surroundings are frozen, as is his train of thought. Like time is not passing by, simply stoic and calm. The calm is short lived, broken by the faint chords of a guitar. Soft, not pretentious at all, as if they’re scared to be heard.
He turns his head towards the sound, scarlet hair falling over honey eyes, and everything freezes again.
Glove covered hands strum wires delicately, notes carried by the wind. Long arms clad in faded black leather, the cuff tucked around a mahogany scarf wrapped around an elegant neck leading up to a strong jaw and straight nose. All topped off by brown hair peeking out of a cap. So enthralled in his own world, he doesn’t notice Hyukjae’s stare, piercing and unwavering. Hyukjae can’t pinpoint what he’s feeling, but can what he sees and for the first time that rush to the head is back on it’s own, no stimulation needed. The boy continues his playing and Hyukjae doesn’t leave until long after his song finished.
*
Hyukjae comes to the park everyday the rest of the week. Watches the boy, listens to his wordless song in silence, whishing he would sing to see if it matches the one Hyukjae imagines in his head.
Until one day, the silence is broken and he’s approached by the musician, smile tugging at thin lips and says “Any requests?” Amusement in his eyes and Hyukjae knows he knows he’s been here everyday. He fights back a blush, annoyed with the shyness that overcomes him. Wonders if the other recognizes him.
The brunette doesn’t seem to, sits by his side and starts playing a familiar tune to Hyukjae’s ears. Singing voice laced with a heavy accent, breath forming puffs of air in December air. He finishes with a lopsided smile, bright and almost child like. Startling Hyukjae, he offers a “Donghae”.
“Hyukjae” Using his real name sounds odd to him, Eunhyuk much more glamorous than Hyukjae could ever be. But Donghae seems to like it, smile growing just that bit, and repeats his name slowly, and his name, his actual name, sounds nice to Hyukjae from Donghae’s lips.
*
Donghae sings folksongs, traditions spun in beautifully rhythmic sounds. Tells Hyukjae stories of a life Hyukjae never experienced. Mundane things. Normal things, letting Hyukjae imagine that he lived those moments as well. He paints him pictures of scenes that to anyone else are boring, to Hyukjae are fascinating.
Winter grows colder and Donghae laughs a little louder. Talks a little faster. Paints more vigorously. Mixes fact with fiction, reality with dreams, and in that small park with a frozen lake and leafless trees, Hyukjae finds the escape he doesn’t know he’s been looking for.
*
“I know who you are, by the way” he lets it drop casually, like the last of the leaves clinging desperately to thin branches. Hyukjae looks up, eyebrows raised, defenses he’s been forced to build but has let drop with Donghae rising again. “Took me a while to figure it out, but it’s hard to mistake a face like yours” he explains, hair brushed by the wind like a lover’s fingers weaving through locks. “You’re different than what I expected” he answers to the question in Hyukjae’s eyes, and Hyukjae doesn’t know if that’s the answer he wanted.
“Different good or different bad?”
A smile spreads across Donghae’s lips “Good different”. His hand rises to Hyukjae’s face. He carefully tucks a stray hair behind Hyukjae’s ear, caressing the shell of his ear and Hyukjae straightens, light eyes caught in Donghae’s darker ones, and for a moment something passes between them, time freezes.
But then Donghae pulls away, small smile at the corner of his lips and Hyukjae inhales and exhales, snatches the bag of chips Donghae had been eating. Donghae laughs in merriment in a way Hyukjae hasn’t in years so he lets go the smile he’s repressing.
*
“I wrote a song” Donghae says a week before Christmas, dropping down next to him. He takes out a chocolate from his backpack and hands Hyukjae half, who takes a bite not giving a damn about the calorie count. He figures they can just up him a size-at this point he doesn’t care-, and Donghae takes out his guitar, a little damaged and old, from its case. He smiles, adding “It’s about you. Do you want to hear it?”
Hyukjae barely registers his nod, and soon he’s immersed in soft melodies and an even softer voice. Barely audible to those a few feet away, if it were any louder to Hyukjae he’d probably go deaf.
The final chords play, the melody dying softly seeping into every one of Hyukjae’s pores.
Donghae taps the guitar once, hand resting on the neck, waiting. Hyukjae opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Seconds pass by and just when Donghae’s about to say something, it starts to snow. Snowflakes fall on them, dusting Donghae’s dark hair, meddling Hyukjae’s red with white. Donghae smiles and sticks his tongue out to catch the flakes like raindrops and Hyukjae stares at him, his thoughts lingering between how unsanitary and how he’s never seen a more carefree sight.
Curious and crinkled eyes turn to him “Aren’t you going to taste the snow, Hyukjae?”
He shakes his head thinking his agent would kill him if he got sick. Donghae tilts his head, reminding Hyukjae just how much younger he feels Donghae is than him when in reality they’re the same age. He watches as Donghae gets up and bends down, unsure of just what he’s doing exactly. When he turns around, Hyukjae doesn’t even see the snow ball before it makes contact with his skin. He sputters, his expression shocked. Donghae simply smiles smugly and runs off, Hyukjae following without being conscious of it.
They both end up drenched in melted snow, but Hyukjae hasn’t laughed like this in what feels like forever, reminded of that fact when Donghae says “You should laugh more. You have a really nice laugh. I like hearing it.” Hyukjae sits up from the snow angel imprint his body created, tugs on his mittens “I don’t have much to laugh at”.
“Let’s fix that” Donghae says after a pregnant silence, pressing a heap of snow on Hyukjae’s head, sprinting off afterwards.
The almost joyful laughter of children fills the park until they leave.
*
Champagne glass in hand, impeccable suit, perfectly styled hair. Millions of flashes before his eyes, respectful bows, formal hand shakes, stiff embraces and kisses given to the air. That’s how Hyukjae spends his holidays. He takes a long sip staring out the floor to ceiling window on the top floor that over looks the city, dazzlingly bright lights blaring his sight, he squints slightly.
They’d seen each other once. Hyukjae had managed to not get drunk or high on Christmas Eve, in fact it’s been a while since he has, so he was able to meet Donghae at the park early like they’d said. With Donghae’s smile and early Christmas morning chatter, he’d unknowingly made this Hyukjae’s best Christmas in years and for once he has no desire to drown his sorrows. Which is why he takes but doesn’t drink the glass Heechul offers him.
Heechul says nothing, watching the cityscape as Hyukjae has been doing. Hyukjae hadn’t fallen on his face so Heechul has slowly accepted him over the years. He gazes at the older, still beautiful, yet something in his eyes turned tragic. After a while, Hyukjae turns back to the window and they both stand there, identical postures, calmly tensed expression.
Neither notices when the ball drops, both lost in something someone faraway, gleeful celebration a few feet away. The New Year is not a prospect to either of them. They guess it’ll be only a slight variation from the one that just passed.
*
It’s not until it’s almost February when Hyukjae sees Donghae again. The same place they met, same bench they shared.
Hyukjae fears he’s forgotten his face. Maybe he won’t recognize Donghae, he thinks, wrapped in a long scarf, fingers pulling at its loose strings.
He hasn’t.
It’s the same smile that’s been in his mind all through January. The same fingers that once touched his skin still playing a melody only he could hear wherever he was the same way he remembered.
*
Spring melts away winter. March brings flowers and green with it, breathes life into the dry cold land. Hyukjae’s schedule is at his busiest, but he always finds the time to sit on the grass, twisting short green stalks between his fingers and listen.
Donghae sings lively songs, but the birds chirping so loud almost drown out his voice. Hyukjae chuckles until it turns into giggles and Donghae’s playing stops abruptly. “Why do you always sing so low?” Hyukjae asks, laughter in his voice. His smile slowly disappears at the look on Donghae’s face, always bright, now intense and serious.
The what he was about to ask dies on his lips when Donghae picks a flower from the bush next to them, placing it behind Hyukjae’s ear. His hand grazes down his ear to his jaw and Hyukjae’s heart rate speeds up.
“I know I shouldn’t and you’ll probably hate me but I’ll keep kicking myself if I don’t”. Hyukjae frowns, confused. He understands when Donghae’s soft lips meet his.
Hyukjae has been kissed one and a thousand different ways, but nothing like this. It’s not demanding or arousing, it’s soft and slow, shy almost, and doesn’t last nearly as long as he’d like it to.
Hyukjae’s eyelids flutter open, no idea when they closed, lips still pursed together. Donghae watches him carefully from behind long lashes, nervously and Hyukjae is positive his heart skips a beat. The left corner of his mouth upturns, the right joining it after. Donghae exhales softly, grin on his lips, smile in his eyes, and he reaches over to brush the hair off Hyukjae’s forehead, adjust the yellow flower in his hair.
The birds sing louder now, so Donghae doesn’t and they sit there and listen to their song.
*
Spring season work is done and while preparations for the summer and fall seasons are commencing, Hyukjae plays pretend in his hideout.
Donghae’s apartment is small, a beat up couch against a wall, drum set that Donghae doesn’t play very often wedged in between a book case and a piano he plays only at night. They don’t do much. Talk for hours or eat something they manage to not burn on the kitchen’s old fashioned burners.
Hyukjae spruces up on his piano playing, he hasn’t touched a keyboard since he was thirteen and it’s, at first, a hazard to Donghae’s ears. But Hyukjae feels this determination he hasn’t felt since his career began, so he plays. He could play in his own apartment, the white grand piano cluttered with dust from its solely decorative purpose since he bought it. But there’s something about playing in Donghae’s apartment that motivates him, this place where Donghae himself has created so many melodies.
Sometimes, they kiss. Slowly, and it leaves them both dazed and wanting more. But it’s how much more they want what keeps them from trying to reach out and grab it.
*
“My music is for me” Donghae says over containers of Chinese take-out. Hyukjae is no music expert but he knows talent when he sees, hears it. Donghae’s voice is soft and deep, his lyrics honest and real, melodies simple and quiet. “I play cause I like it. I sing when I want to.” He smiles and shrugs. “Do I think about the money I could make off it? Sure I do.” Chopsticks dig into noodles, soy sauce spills onto the coffee table. “But then I think about what could change and I don’t think it’s worth it. I know it’s not.”
Hyukjae says nothing, wondering what it would be like to have something he felt so passionate about, so in love with, the way Donghae seemed to for his music.
“That’s why I sing so low. So only the people, who are really listening, not just hearing, know my songs.”
When they sit on the couch, and Donghae plays, Hyukjae’s voice singing Donghae’s words, Hyukjae considers himself one of the lucky few.
*
“Where the hell have you been?” Leeteuk barks, furious, when Hyukjae steps in to the studio. He’s cleared of all imperfections immediately while his agent goes off on a rant, yelling and yanking at his hair. “If you want to get high or shit faced you wait until after your schedule”.
Hyukjae arches a brow as he’s stripped of his clothes “do I look shit faced?”
Leeteuk eyes him and shakes his head “No. So were the fuck were you?” Eyes narrowed dangerously.
Hyukjae reminds himself that’s he’s successful. People work for him. He doesn’t have to take this. “I’m an adult, Leeteuk. I have my own life.” Voice firm and confident.
Leeteuk looks taken a back, then raises both brows “Like fucking with some penniless musician?” Hyukjae stiffens, trying to hide his emotions, the stylist dressing him failing at looking uninterested. Leeteuk shakes his head biting his lip “Watch yourself, Eunhyuk. You’re here today, gone tomorrow.”
The thing is, as Leeteuk stalks off to yell into his phone and Hyukjae is brought under the lights, camera focused and on him, he doesn’t know if he wants to be here anymore.
*
Leeteuk’s words ring in his head as Hyukjae takes the stairs to the third floor where Donghae lives. His feet carry him quickly; his hands knock on the door with impatience. Door opened and Donghae stands there, eyes smiling and his hands smudged in pen ink from writing. And the words sink in.
Here today, gone tomorrow without a trace. Hyukjae has plenty of dreams he’s left unfulfilled. Donghae is a reality he won’t let fear stop him from living. He leans forward and kisses Donghae, feeling that insistent pull in the pit of his stomach grow.
Donghae is caught in static for a moment before falling into Hyukjae’s mouth. Smudged hands push off his coat, streaking Hyukjae’s arms in blue. Hyukjae runs his hands underneath Donghae’s shirt, pulling it over his head. They stop, breathe and give in.
*
The lie is Hyukjae is just the boy in Donghae’s next song; that Donghae is just Hyukjae’s dose of reality, keeping him somehow attached to Earth.
The truth is Hyukjae is the last thing Donghae thought he would want in the world, now meaning just that to him; Donghae is Hyukjae’s sanctuary, the last sign of hope in his otherwise hopeless world.
*
The calluses on Donghae’s fingers are rough, abrasive on his skin, but move gently and Hyukjae welcomes his touch, craves for it.
Donghae presses his lips to the hollow of Hyukjae’s throat, the dip between his collar bones. His fingers create patterns over his skin, following the trail down Hyukjae’s chest with his lips, the indents between his ribs. Traces his navel with his tongue, Hyukjae sucking in his abdomen at the movement, does it again when Donghae’s tongue dips in. Hyukjae’s fingers twist in Donghae’s hair when he reaches his hips, lips making steady pressure at the sensitive spot in Hyukjae’s right hip, his body jerking forward. Donghae looks up at him, half smile on his lip, and licks slowly at Hyukjae’s pelvic bone, sending shudders through his body.
Hyukjae wants him now, but he also doesn’t want him to stop. Not used to having his body explored so fully, accustomed to quick meaningless fucks, being semi unconscious during some encounters.
He’s not used to this sort of treatment, this experience and he’s glad it’s with Donghae, he realizes, as Donghae travels further down his body not leaving a place on his legs untouched all the way to his toes. Hyukjae laughs at the tickling sensation when Donghae bites his right sole, teasingly kicks him. Donghae grabs his foot, as Hyukjae sits up and they slowly stop laughing.
Lips connecting. Hands grabbing skin. Bodies pressed together fully.
Tongues tangled when Donghae pushes in. They fall into rhythm after a few moments of waiting, of freezing. But Hyukjae’s tired of waiting, wanting and more waiting. Of time always freezing. So he moves his hips against Donghae’s, Donghae finding his way to what feels like the very core of Hyukjae’s body and he moves.
It’s not complicated or ostentatious, it’s just them. It’s a blow to Hyukjae’s mind, a rush through his veins in a clean way with the simple act of Donghae inside his body.
The rush traveling through his brain, he comes down from his high slowly, clinging onto it more than he ever has.
Sticky hair plastered to even stickier skin. The crinkled bed sheets latch onto their hot bodies. The bed so narrow obliges them to be touching everywhere but it’s still not close enough. Eyes reflecting the same sentiment, fingers pushed between the spaces of fingers, hands clasped firmly together. Smile tugging at his lips, Donghae knocks their feet together, settling to throw his calf over Hyukjae’s to inch his body closer until Hyukjae cuts the distance between them and they’re forehead against forehead.
And Hyukjae is certain that despite what anyone else might say, Donghae at this moment is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
Hyukjae sleeps between warm arms that night, thinking he hasn’t slept this well in forever, obviating white satin sheets on a king sized bed in his apartment half way across town.
*
“It’s how I take out my aggressions.”
Hyukjae jumps at Donghae’s voice, hand smacking into the cymbal and knocking over some of the books on the shelf. Laughing, he dismisses Hyukjae’s hurried apologies, a few steps taking him to where Hyukjae is. Hyukjae picks up the small mess he made, placing books back in their place. His heart speeds up when Donghae grabs his hand and takes the books himself. Donghae smiles at him, and it’s soft and it makes Hyukjae shake slightly. Which should be ridiculous, but it doesn’t matter how intimate they’ve become, the smallest gesture from Donghae makes Hyukjae’s stomach flutter.
“I like how you look in my clothes” Donghae tugs at the simple white t-shirt, bringing him against his body and kisses him. The feel of Donghae’s clothes against his skin feels better than any designer outfit Hyukjae has worn before. Never has an article of clothing made him feel more warm or protected. More beautiful.
Donghae pulls away, drawing it out, smiling against Hyukjae’s lips. “Sit” he directs Hyukjae to the swivel chair in front of the drums, who half protests but lets him. “I’m too old to learn.”
Donghae hands him the sticks and stands behind him, hands holding onto Hyukjae’s wrists. “You’re never too old to start something new. I just want you to hit it.” Hyukjae looks up at him like he’s crazy, and to some he is. Donghae just smiles. “It’s what I do. When I’m frustrated or worried or anything, instead of drinking or punching someone, I take it all out on this” he taps on the toms and looks at him reassuringly.
Hyukjae stares at the drumsticks in his hands; all of what Donghae has just said so strange to his ears, because until now he’s thought that Donghae didn’t have those types of feelings. And also, because he and Donghae aren’t as different as he thinks.
As his hand start to move he decides he wants to know Donghae like he’s never wanted to know anyone. And Hyukjae wants Donghae to know him just as well.
*
Heechul’s stare is piercing and doesn’t flinch and Hyukjae feels like he did when he was seventeen. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“That” he exclaims exasperated, startling the make up and hair assistants.
Heechul raises an eyebrow and with a wave of his hand, dismisses both young women working on them. “You’re different.”
Hyukjae frowns and stares at his own reflection, uncomfortable by the elder’s sudden interest. “I’m not” voice flat, he tells himself he’s a liar. He’s changed and in a way he never thought he would.
“You are” Heechul insists, sipping from his coffee. A smirk on his lips when he puts the cup down. “What’s his name?” he asks and Hyukjae turns to him, the glint in Heechul’s eyes knowing. “Don’t deny it. It’s obvious. To me at least.”
“How would you know?” Hyukjae snaps, griping at the hand rests on the make up chair.
“What? That you’re in love?” Heechul stops smiling, the protest on Hyukjae’s lips dying at the honestly raw look in Heechul’s eyes. “Been there, done that.”
*
Well into the night, flowing breeze coming in through the windows, dancing curtains creating playing shadows on the walls, Donghae sings. The latest pop hit on the radio, an old trot tune Hyukjae’s never even heard of, some song he’s working on. A melody he hums, created as he goes. Sometimes he makes beats on Hyukjae’s skin, fingers traveling everywhere. Other times, he sits up and smacks his palms against the head board. At first Hyukjae laughs at him, but eventually, he ends up clapping his hands to the beat as well.
“So” Donghae climbs into bed next to Hyukjae, their skin brushing and clinging “any requests this evening?”
Hyukjae smiles against his shoulder. Brushing his nose against it, he inhales Donghae’s clean scent. “Sing me that song you sang to me in the park.”
Donghae laughs, kissing the center of Hyukjae’s chest. “I sang you a lot of songs at the park.”
“Sing the one you wrote about me.”
"Ah" Donghae dips his head and makes a trail all the way down to his stomach, lips pressed gently to the skin of Hyukjae’s abdomen. “But, see, I’ve written quite a few about you, so you’ll have to be more specific.”
Hyukjae’s hands stops running through Donghae’s hair. He wonders how many of those songs he’s heard are about him and they sound completely different to his ears now. “Uhmm” he mutters when Donghae digs his teeth into the edge of his hip “The first one.”
Donghae lifts his head and smiles. “My favorite.” He lies next to Hyukjae, fingers laced together and he sings in his ear. His lips brush Hyukjae’s ear, his voice so low it’s achingly intimate, Hyukjae hears faint guitar chords coming from somewhere and swears a guitar is actually being played.
“Wrote that the first day we met” Donghae confesses later on, limbs tangled with Hyukjae’s like a maze, Hyukjae thinks that if he were to bleed the blood would seep out from Donghae’s skin. “I couldn’t get you out of my head on the subway and the song started playing in my head” a small chuckle “I asked a man for a page from his newspaper so I could write it down.”
The moon pours into the room, but Donghae’s words and face and eyes shine as bright as the sun to Hyukjae. He can’t write songs about Donghae. Can’t put in words how he feels about him. So he cups Donghae’s jaw and he kisses him, and wishes that he could draw out from his own mouth how he feels about him and push it into Donghae’s. Into his body. Into his mind. Into his heart.
*
The camera shows up and Donghae is puzzled. “I thought you hated cameras.”
“And I do. When they’re directed at me” Hyukjae swings his feet, sitting on Donghae’s kitchen counter, the smell bubbling from the pan Donghae stirs making his stomach rumble. “But at you it’s actually nice. The camera adores you.”
Donghae laughs, not fully used to Hyukjae sneaking up on him and snapping his picture at sporadic moments. First thing in the morning, out in the park, while he plays, his mouth half open when he sings, countless shots of his profile which Hyukjae seems to have a peculiar obsession with.
“Pictures are for memories.” Hyukjae’s voice is quiet. The pasta is overcooked, but the sauce is good, so Hyukjae has seconds and stains his designer shirt and simply doesn’t care. “Pictures of me are empty. They don’t remind me of anything worth remembering.” Donghae smiles sadly, and wipes the sauce from the corner of Hyukjae’s mouth, finger gentle and oddly comforting.
*
The kisses leave him dizzy and breathless, but kissing Donghae might be reason enough to loose his breath for a while.
Donghae lingers over his lips, brushing one last time, and pulls away. Before Hyukjae can ask, Donghae is reaching over to the night stand, grabbed his camera and snapped his picture.
“The face you make after I kiss you” he kisses Hyukjae again before showing him the picture. “That’s something worth remembering.”
Hyukjae stares at himself, and he doesn’t recognize his photographed self for a second or two before deciding he’s never seen a more real or honest reflection of himself.
He erupts in laughter when Donghae starts tickling his sides. Kicking and swatting, he laughs so hard his stomach hurts. And again Donghae snaps his picture.
“Your smile. You’re beautiful when you smile.” He sets the camera aside, rolls on his side, hand pushing away Hyukjae’s hair that falls on his face. “Those are some of the memories I want to always remember.”
It’s funny, because those are some of the things Hyukjae would like to remember as well. Pictures that may actually mean something. Hyukjae didn’t have them before. He looks into Donghae’s smiling eyes thinking now he has quite a few pictures worth keeping. Memories worth remembering.
*
“Why don’t you quit?” It’s at some point of summer, the end maybe, the sun warms the days and without air conditioning in Donghae’s apartment. Windows pushed open, fans on maximum speed. Sweat drops form on Hyukjae’s temples, they create pathways down the side of his face, and Donghae’s body heat only increases the scalding heat. But he likes running his hand through Donghae’s soft hair, likes placing whispers against his neck and chest with his lips. He feels comforted by the fingers caressing his back, aimless swirls drawn on his skin.
Hyukjae looks up at him questioningly and Donghae adds “If you don’t like it anymore, you shouldn’t do it”. They’ve had this talk before, at some point when Hyukjae decided to trust Donghae with much more than his body. But he doesn’t understand, Hyukjae knows, looking into dark eyes that see the world and take in the good, leaving behind the bad. Hyukjae thinks him better for it, but Hyukjae has taken mostly the bad, doesn’t expect or want Donghae to understand.
“It’s not that simple.” He goes on to give his prefabricated excuse, binding contract, his carrier will only last a few more years, why not ride it out?
And Donghae doesn’t understand. Bites his tongue from saying the dreams he has for Hyukjae that Hyukjae himself won’t dream.
Instead, he draws them onto his skin with his hands, carves them into his body with his heart.
*
The hallways are pure and white. Beautiful shots hang from the walls. Beautiful people walk from here to there. Hyukjae sees it all as a blur. What he once saw with eyes wide open in wonder, now he sees like a fast playing film he doesn’t get the point to.
Leeteuk’s voice is sharp in his ear. Magazine and designer names, he drops. Fall/ winter campaign. The opening to a new night club.
And it becomes too much. Enough.
“No” his voice is strangely assertive.
Leeteuk stops, nods in agreement. “You’re right. That’s not nearly enough for a exclusive.”
“No” Hyukjae repeats, head shaking. “To all of it. No.”
Puzzlement paints Leeteuk’s face, he looks at Hyukjae strangely. “No? What do you mean no?”
Leeteuk tries to speak, but Hyukjae refuses to not be heard. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m not happy. This doesn’t make me happy anymore. I don’t think it ever did.” He thought it had. All masked under glitter and lights, the shine of it tricked him into believing it. Without anything to disturb his conscious, he sees the illusion for what it was.
“Hyukjae” his name sounds so weird from Leeteuk’s voice, Hyukjae doesn’t realize he’s speaking to him until he leads him away from prying ears and watching eyes. “I know” and the small hint of compassion in his eyes makes Hyukjae believe him. “But you’ve come so far. You were no one and now you’re someone. It won’t last much longer and trying to get out will only bring you more pain than it’s worth. And at your age, what else can you do?”
It’s like a bucket of cold water waking him up from an illusive dream. Hyukjae could keep fighting, argue and eventually it’d be over. But he feels that tinge of hope sink. That bravado disappears. And he’s left with just himself and finds he’s not brave enough to stand on his own. Too scared to find out he isn’t strong enough.
What can he do, really? Hyukjae’s not sure. Doesn’t know if he wants to find out. So he half nods to Leeteuk when he says they’ll just do one spread and refuse everything else.
He misses the rest of what he says wondering who that no one would be today and if he’d be happier than this someone.
*
A rainy night in August. The park is quiet, empty except for Hyukjae and lamp posts. And the bottle next to him. It burns his throat, waters his eyes. But he drinks the last drop, listening to the rain drops bouncing off his raincoat. He thinks he’d like to be a raindrop. If the first fall doesn’t go as planned, he could always evaporate and come back as another one.
*
Donghae answers on the second knock. “It’s late. Where were you? I tried calling but- why are you wet?”
Hyukjae pushes past him, peeling his jacket off, throws it carelessly on the floor. “It rained. My phone? I think I left it in the cab or somewhere.”
“What’s wrong?”Donghae asks from behind him, worried and confused.
Walking around the room, Hyukjae drags his hand across the furniture, knocking over knick knacks and books. “Wrong? Everything is right. Everything is exactly as it should be. Do you have any alcohol in this house?” he asks before walking towards the kitchen.
“You’re drunk. And you want more.” He watches Hyukjae rummage through his cupboards, frowning. “What happened today?”
“No damn alcohol. What kind of kitchen is this?” Hyukjae mumbles.
Donghae comes towards him, but doesn’t touch him. “Hyukjae, what’s wrong with you?”
“With me?” Hyukjae steadies himself on the counter, using it to turn around slowly. He looks at Donghae and sees everything the world doesn’t want him to have. And he wants to hate him for it. “What’s wrong with you? Do you have any idea how crazy you sound sometimes?” he laughs, shoulders shaking, an ugly sound from his lips. “I mean really, you’re ridiculous.”
“Hyukjae” Donghae says soft, but firmly warning.
“It’s Eunhyuk!” he spits out, shoulders still shaking. “Hyukjae doesn’t exist. He never existed. It’s Eunhyuk.”
Pushing past Donghae again, he goes out to the living room, stands between the drums and the book case. “This is where I waste my time” he looks around with disdain, spitting out venom.
Knowing he’s the last person who deserves it, Hyukjae feels even more compelled to let it out on Donghae. Jaw tight, Donghae just stands there and takes it. “At least I tried to be someone. You hide with your small voice and your small apartment. I’m not scared. It’s you who’s afraid.” Breathing heavily, Hyukjae stares at him wondering if Donghae understands, wanting him to, needing him to. “You’re a coward.” he says to Donghae, but he knows he’s saying it to himself.
“And this” he grabs the drumsticks, staggering and knocks down a cymbal. “This doesn’t help. Nothing helps” and he bashes the sticks against the drums. Out of control arms, he hits harder and harder until the apartment becomes a mess of beats and pounds and cries.
When Donghae comes behind him trying to get him to stop, Hyukjae fights back. Donghae only holds on tighter. And he doesn’t let go. Not even when Hyukjae stops, becoming a mess of limbs and water in his arms.
“I’m sorry” Hyukjae says over and over again, hiding his face in Donghae’s neck. Donghae is warm, so Hyukjae pushes into him trying to draw some of that warmth into himself. He doesn’t know if the apology is for Donghae only or for himself as well.
On the floor, wedged in between the drums and the bookcase, Donghae holds him, telling him “it’s okay” quietly. Hyukjae falls asleep, heart twisting at the sound of Donghae’s soft voice singing to him, thinking it’s not okay. But maybe someday, it will be.
*
Hard beats making the room vibrate, head pounds and nerves jitter. Sounds he’s heard for years but he never seems to get used to. A sigh exhaled. A silent plea for the noise to stop.
A particularly hard tug at his hair makes him look up from his hands, eyes coming in contact with his reflection. He takes in the vision of himself. Flawless. Perfection in human flesh they call it, time not even touching him and it disgusts him. His throat closes up, vision blurred. He wants to wash his face, a face that isn’t even his. Wash it of this perfection and see if there really is an actual human being under all that make up.
He ignores the calls, the outraged yells, the shocked gasps as he’s met by the rain outside.
Eunhyuk isn’t really his name anyways.
*
Hyukjae barely walks through the door and he’s suffocated. Soaked to his bones, slightly dizzy from the high in his veins, his coat lands on the carpet with a thump. Chest heaving, breathing irregular, hands lunge for the nearest thing within arms reach.
But the sound of the crystal against the wall barely satisfies him. He grabs the nearest thing, possibly that ash tray from the 18th century, and flings it against the same wall. A piercing scream, followed by a string of yells and crashes. He crumbles somewhere between the couch and the stairs, drained of strength, falls into a heap on the floor.
Unaware of how, he makes it to the bedroom. Not a light on, he lays on the bed, clothes still wet, stares blankly at the ceiling. Thinks about swallowing something, but eyes darker than his and the feel of arms around him in the back of his mind stop him. Besides, he’s too tired to move.
Sleep eludes Hyukjae like it hasn’t in months and when the sun rises, his eyes are open and unblinking taking in how the sunlight seeps in through blinds and crawls across the ceiling.
*
He’s awoken by a loud noise and harsh light. Almost jumps out of his skin when he sees Heechul looming over him. Wonders if he’s dead, that seems to be the only explanation for the other’s presence. Hyukjae’s arrival to hell.
A roll of the eyes and a snort. “You’re not dead.” A glass is thrust into Hyukjae’s shaky hand. “That was a pretty ballsy move you pulled yesterday. I think Leeteuk finally popped a vein.” Amused smirk, he passes Hyukjae a small pill. He stares at it unsurely, memories of last night. Another snort “I’m not trying to drug you. It’s aspirin.” Hyukjae downs it the last of his apprehension disappearing when he makes out Advil faintly on the tablet.
“Love what you’ve done with the place” Heechul adds after a few seconds of silence.
“Why are you here?” Hyukjae asks, tired. He’s tired and doesn’t need this.
Heechul raises his eyebrows, proud and dignified in all his glory. “Thought you might need someone to pick up the pieces after you fell on your face.”
Hyukjae sighs and sits up slowly waiting to see what else the elder might say. But he doesn’t, his body making the bed dip when he sits on it. “It’s not too late”
Heechul’s words linger long after the door has clicked softly behind him and Hyukjae wonders if he meant it’s not too late to go back or to turn around and never look behind.
*
Leeteuk makes a deal between him and the management company. Hyukjae stays until his contract is up for renewal and he doesn’t get his ass sued. It’s fair he guesses. Accepts that the whirlwind won’t stop now, but will slowly loose speed and one day it will.
*
Donghae says there’s nothing to forgive, that he understands. Hyukjae can’t look into those eyes, but forces himself to. They’re soft and still sweet, and in them Hyukjae sees himself and the world like he’ll never know it.
Summer has ended. Autumn just around the corner. It’s visible in the changing leaves. The colder wind. The longer nights. The park grass is slowly being covered by green leaves. Few now, but by the end of the season the ground will be covered in red, yellow and orange.
It seems appropriate for it to end where it began. Hyukjae needs a change. He wishes to keep Donghae. Wishes they could change together. That’s what Eunhyuk thinks, he says it’s okay to be selfish at times. Hyukjae, his heart, tell him he needs to change by himself. Needs to find who he is. And that’s something Donghae can’t do with him.
The feel of Donghae on and in his skin one last time is imprinted in his memory, no amount of rain or washing can take it out.
“Come find me” Donghae whispers into Hyukjae’s ear, lips brushing against his skin when they hold each other like it’s the last time “Once you’ve found yourself, whoever he is, come find me.” He steps back slightly, lopsided grin, eyes crinkled “I’d really like to meet him.”
Donghae’s taste, rain and sweetness and warmth still linger on Hyukjae’s tongue as he exits the small apartment building, as he crosses the small park with the soon to be frozen lake.
*
White back drop. Burning lights. Harsh flash. The shutter snaps at rapid speed.
His role is different, but Hyukjae knows the scene well, his lines practiced and memorized.
Barely seventeen, long limbs on a tall frame, and high, prominent cheekbones he’s a designer’s dream. He has the look, the posture. Slightly lacks the confidence, but time will fix that quickly. He gets to keep his real name, or so Hyukjae thinks since there’s really nothing special about the name Kyuhyun. So young. Impressionable and vulnerable just like Hyukjae was once. Like he still is at times.
While the photographer changes cameras, Hyukjae says what he wished Heechul would have once said to him.
Kyuhyun furrows his brows, catching something about rides and shouting to get off but before he’s able to ask, the actors are called to fill their roles, and the momentary interest he has in Hyukjae’s words is lost.
He can figure it out for himself, Hyukjae decides. His ride’s almost over, wanting to get off once was futile. Kyuhyun will just have to learn to shout on his own.
*
It ends and Hyukjae begins.
*
He gets blinded by the lights in Tokyo but he keeps staring anyways. The Eiffel Tower has 1710 steps and Hyukjae climbs every single one of them. He falls in love again in Paris. On a bench in front of a sky blue pond, in the quietness of it all, Hyukjae realizes it’s okay to love himself. Big Ben gives him the correct time as he travels off to the country side. Italy is beautiful in the summer, and while Rome is nice, it’s got nothing on the calmness of Tuscany. He gets lost in New York and never feels so big in such a large group of people.
Hyukjae allows himself to dream. Carves stars out from the sky and stores them in his pocket next to a picture he never takes out, only glances a peek or two at when he needs it.
*
When he comes home, the language throws Hyukjae off. But his heart feels at peace and he decides this is where he belonged all along.
His apartment is less than half the size of his old one but it feels right. An old keyboard he buys in a thrift shop fills the place with music and it transforms the apartment into an actual home. He finds a job playing at a small restaurant in the city. The pay is measly, his boss is grumpy but Hyukjae goes to work with an actual smile on his face and feels content. Giving his try at composing himself, with no idea how to at first and without enough money for a class, it’s a mess of messy notes and balled up pentagrams. But he keeps doing it until his fingers and the piano keys are covered in ink and charcoal.
Hyukjae walks the streets; face exposed and no one recognizes him. The sun on his face, without the obstruction of huge sunglasses or scarves, is warm. He goes as fast or slow as he wants, no actual destination, just to get to know his city and its people and hideouts.
*
It’s on a day while grocery shopping, he’s learned to not just grab everything but makes lists, he sees a familiar face. On the supermarket’s small t.v. screen. Looking annoyed but still beautiful, he dismisses questions the reporters throw at him and says whatever he wants. Hyukjae smiles thinking maybe the ride wasn’t meant for him but it definitely was for Heechul. Heechul didn’t let it ride him; he jumped into the driver’s seat and directed the car himself.
Pushing the cart along, Hyukjae grabs a bag of chips and tosses them in along with some chocolate.
*
He relishes in the novelty of being a nobody who’s actually a somebody. Maybe not to many, but it’s who you matter to not the how many. Hyukjae wonders if the one who matters still cares.
The park is exactly like he remembers. This winter is colder, but Hyukjae feels warmer than he did that one winter. The world isn’t such a terribly cold place anymore. It was here he was taught that.
He’s still there, as amazing or unrealistic as it seems. But Hyukjae remembers what Donghae said about his songs being for him. Donghae liked where he was. Felt at place here. It makes sense that he stayed even if Hyukjae left.
That same bench, that same jacket, same guitar. Hyukjae holds back, apprehensive. He can’t see clearly, but his hands seem larger than he remembers. Watching him, Hyukjae tells himself he doesn’t doubt anymore, doesn’t hold back. He breaths in cold air, and he walks.
“Do you take requests?”
Donghae freezes, shoulders tensed, he turns. His hair is impossibly long; it reaches his shoulders almost from underneath his hat. He looks like he doesn’t recognize Hyukjae’s face, brows furrowed.
“What would you like to hear?” he asks after a moment.
Hyukjae swallows, his breath forming clouds when he exhales. “Play something no one’s ever heard before.”
Donghae’s face relaxes, and he plays. Voice as low and deep as Hyukjae remembers and it makes his hands shake, that old pull in his stomach and heart ever present. The melody dies out slowly creating a long pause in the cold winter air. Like it’s waiting for the next song to be played.
Nervous, Hyukjae licks his lips. He’s found his someone. Donghae had said he wanted to meet whoever that someone was. So Hyukjae is here, knowing he’s a nobody worth knowing. “I’m Hyukjae” he extends his hand between them ”you may know me by Eunhyuk though.”
“I’m sorry” Donghae says, smile in his eyes and Hyukjae feels his breath catch. “I never knew Eunhyuk.” He takes Hyukjae’s hand, and the smile reaches Donghae’s lips. “I’ve always only known Hyukjae.”
~~~
Pairing: Donghae/Hyukjae
Rating: R
Summary: Eunhyuk is everything everyone wants a piece of, beautiful and at the top of his fame. But Hyukjae is a nobody, dazed under the bright lights and lost in a game he could loose any second. But then there’s Donghae who might just be the shelter Hyukjae doesn’t know he’s been looking for and the reality Eunhyuk needs.
Notes: model au. Thanks to daisychains555 , tees2mai and xoxo_nat_xx
a/n: started writing this back in June, proceeded to ignore it for 2 months and after some nagging and pushing, this is the end result. Inspired by the fact that since i was saw Eunhyuk I thought he belonged on a runway(sans a few inches), the 5 am movie i woke up to catch my dad watching the day i wrote this and listening to a lot of Joshua Radin.
Flashing seasons under bright lights
Quick shutters, flashing lights. They almost blind him, leave his eyes a little fuzzy and make him feel light headed. It’s a blow to the head and a high to the blood that rushes through his veins, thick and rapid. They want him, Hyukjae acknowledges. They crave for his smile and pout, his smirk and his frown. It’s pure luck. He knows this. Reminds himself constantly, as they clamor for him, his face, his body. It’s a rapid rise, they warn him. And he’s just about to reach the point of no return.
So, Hyukjae thinks, while being partially numbed by white light and holding back a sneeze at the cloud of powder around his head, it’s time to decide if he’s staying on the ride or wants to get off. With a face like his it’d be a waste to get off. “There’s nothing else you can do with your life; this is what you were meant for” he’s reminded harshly. He shrugs and gives a blank stare. He can always shout and get off later.
*
Identical fake smiles plastered on pretty faces. One delicate and sharply soft. The other strong and almost exotic, it’s so unique. False words said under forced pretences like a perfectly planned play. The actors so convincing, the audience believes the characters they play are themselves.
They are the modern era’s royalty and Hyukjae has adapted quickly to his role.
He crosses then un crosses his legs. Twists his fingers, lacing them on his lap. “It’s not proper to fidget” Heechul says, taking a sip from his sparkling water, one lemon wedge, ice crushed. Hyukjae raises his eyebrows, sharp and surprised. He knows the other dislikes him to the point it’s almost hatred. The elder smirks knowingly “Just because I want to see you fall on your face doesn’t mean I want you embarrassing me.”
All part of the façade. No real concern. It’s rather perfect Hyukjae reflects as the photographer returns. The new favorite and the legend. He wonders if he’ll last long enough to one day take Heechul’s place.
*
He’s young, beautiful and foolish. Naïve and stupid. They lead him to think he’s invincible, nothing can stop him or stand in his way. It’s almost like having super powers. Except Hyukjae saves no one. Helps no one or thing, except feed the ego they have created.
It’s all color and excitement and he’s high on life and has himself half convinced he’s genuinely happy. Until the critics come out, people he trusted turn their backs on him and he realizes how truly alone he is. He has no one but himself. Has no one to blame except himself.
*
“Why are you calling?” Her voice is strained and thick, and it brings Hyukjae back. Back to a time where everything was pure and innocence. Where dreams were to be hoped for, fairytales were meant to be believed in.
“I” he pauses. Folds his legs, tucking them underneath his thin body covered by nothing except an oversized t-shirt he bought for over triple what it cost to make. He stills his nerves by grabbing his wine glass with shaky hands, the red liquid swooshes in his mouth, down his throat until it’s warm in his stomach. An illusion of warmth, so he serves himself more.
“I needed to hear your voice” he knows it’s pathetic. It’s too late.
“Hyukjae” she says and that’s all it takes. For him to wish again. To be in between caring arms shielding him from the world. To smell sun and spice on warm wrinkled skin. To play games and catch butterflies in the wind.
He drowns himself in silence and the dial tone after she’s gone. A bitter smile on envied lips.
*
Stumbled steps. Dizzy vision. The moon looks exceptionally high, Hyukjae mumbles incoherently. His heart rate is rapid, it beats harshly in his ears. Today had been one of those days. Long and tedious. Six am wake up call, non stop, barely surviving on caffeine. He deserves to relax. They all do, or so they think.
The room is full of smoke and laughter. Poignant smells linger in the air. He takes in the view of these people. People not icons or simply faces. People he doesn’t know, who don’t know him. Not really. They’re together for a reason. Thrown together because someone had it for them to be considered beautiful in the shallowest way possible.
He falls backwards on the leather couch, slumping into its confines till he almost feels himself seeping in through the fabric. But he doesn’t. Still visible to the world and especially to those like him. “You look like you could use something to relax” a pretty face says. Hyukjae has a hard time giving a name to said face, but he knows they’ve worked together.
He eyes what’s offered to him. Surprising enough, he’s stuck to just alcohol and he’s not sure he wants to go down that road. The eyes looking in to his are coaxing, a bit of malice in them, a touch of sympathy. Before he can even blink, Hyukjae’s hand is reaching out and he’s in a different world entirely.
The rush is back like never before. That exhilarating, intoxicating feeling from when it all started. And he welcomes it back with eager, open arms.
*
Tokyo’s bright lights are tantalizing. The Eiffel tower is as magnificent as it’s said to be and Paris really is the city of love-or at least Pierre has him thinking so the time he spends there-. Big Ben still manages to tell time despite the years it’s been ticking. The land of Prada really is all it’s cracked up to be. And there really are that many people in New York City.
Another airport. Another language he doesn’t understand except when he’s told to stand like this or look like that.
It’s any person’s dream to see what he’s seen. Been where he’s been.
Hyukjae wants to run. Leave this world and what’s expected of him. But he’s too far in for that. He wanted this. Reminds himself while walking down the endless runway, expression expressionless, legs graceful. He wants this, he tells himself. The quick flash almost blinds him, but he manages to hold his balance as he’s shouted a hundred things in Italian.
He’s praised and adored for his achievement. Who knew people considered being able to walk a talent.
It’s a dream. The dream. What they don’t know, don’t perceive behind the façade, is the absence of light in the eyes they adore, the shadow that lurks behind his silhouette.
*
Time passes for Eunhyuk, Hyukjae left somewhere behind. He gets older but doesn’t grow up.
*
Winter is dry and cold, harsh to the skin, heavy on the heart. Hyukjae walks weighed down by a thick coat and watches the naked branches sway in the breeze.
He’s home, or at least, what has become his home. A city just like all the others. At least here, he understands the language.
Hands digging further into pockets seeking warmth and yet, he’s comforted by the cold. He thinks it should always be cold. The world is a cold place. People with cold hands and colder hearts. It would make sense if it the weather were always cold.
He approaches a park, sits on a snow dusted bench, watches the people pass by, the frozen lake in clear view. His surroundings are frozen, as is his train of thought. Like time is not passing by, simply stoic and calm. The calm is short lived, broken by the faint chords of a guitar. Soft, not pretentious at all, as if they’re scared to be heard.
He turns his head towards the sound, scarlet hair falling over honey eyes, and everything freezes again.
Glove covered hands strum wires delicately, notes carried by the wind. Long arms clad in faded black leather, the cuff tucked around a mahogany scarf wrapped around an elegant neck leading up to a strong jaw and straight nose. All topped off by brown hair peeking out of a cap. So enthralled in his own world, he doesn’t notice Hyukjae’s stare, piercing and unwavering. Hyukjae can’t pinpoint what he’s feeling, but can what he sees and for the first time that rush to the head is back on it’s own, no stimulation needed. The boy continues his playing and Hyukjae doesn’t leave until long after his song finished.
*
Hyukjae comes to the park everyday the rest of the week. Watches the boy, listens to his wordless song in silence, whishing he would sing to see if it matches the one Hyukjae imagines in his head.
Until one day, the silence is broken and he’s approached by the musician, smile tugging at thin lips and says “Any requests?” Amusement in his eyes and Hyukjae knows he knows he’s been here everyday. He fights back a blush, annoyed with the shyness that overcomes him. Wonders if the other recognizes him.
The brunette doesn’t seem to, sits by his side and starts playing a familiar tune to Hyukjae’s ears. Singing voice laced with a heavy accent, breath forming puffs of air in December air. He finishes with a lopsided smile, bright and almost child like. Startling Hyukjae, he offers a “Donghae”.
“Hyukjae” Using his real name sounds odd to him, Eunhyuk much more glamorous than Hyukjae could ever be. But Donghae seems to like it, smile growing just that bit, and repeats his name slowly, and his name, his actual name, sounds nice to Hyukjae from Donghae’s lips.
*
Donghae sings folksongs, traditions spun in beautifully rhythmic sounds. Tells Hyukjae stories of a life Hyukjae never experienced. Mundane things. Normal things, letting Hyukjae imagine that he lived those moments as well. He paints him pictures of scenes that to anyone else are boring, to Hyukjae are fascinating.
Winter grows colder and Donghae laughs a little louder. Talks a little faster. Paints more vigorously. Mixes fact with fiction, reality with dreams, and in that small park with a frozen lake and leafless trees, Hyukjae finds the escape he doesn’t know he’s been looking for.
*
“I know who you are, by the way” he lets it drop casually, like the last of the leaves clinging desperately to thin branches. Hyukjae looks up, eyebrows raised, defenses he’s been forced to build but has let drop with Donghae rising again. “Took me a while to figure it out, but it’s hard to mistake a face like yours” he explains, hair brushed by the wind like a lover’s fingers weaving through locks. “You’re different than what I expected” he answers to the question in Hyukjae’s eyes, and Hyukjae doesn’t know if that’s the answer he wanted.
“Different good or different bad?”
A smile spreads across Donghae’s lips “Good different”. His hand rises to Hyukjae’s face. He carefully tucks a stray hair behind Hyukjae’s ear, caressing the shell of his ear and Hyukjae straightens, light eyes caught in Donghae’s darker ones, and for a moment something passes between them, time freezes.
But then Donghae pulls away, small smile at the corner of his lips and Hyukjae inhales and exhales, snatches the bag of chips Donghae had been eating. Donghae laughs in merriment in a way Hyukjae hasn’t in years so he lets go the smile he’s repressing.
*
“I wrote a song” Donghae says a week before Christmas, dropping down next to him. He takes out a chocolate from his backpack and hands Hyukjae half, who takes a bite not giving a damn about the calorie count. He figures they can just up him a size-at this point he doesn’t care-, and Donghae takes out his guitar, a little damaged and old, from its case. He smiles, adding “It’s about you. Do you want to hear it?”
Hyukjae barely registers his nod, and soon he’s immersed in soft melodies and an even softer voice. Barely audible to those a few feet away, if it were any louder to Hyukjae he’d probably go deaf.
The final chords play, the melody dying softly seeping into every one of Hyukjae’s pores.
Donghae taps the guitar once, hand resting on the neck, waiting. Hyukjae opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Seconds pass by and just when Donghae’s about to say something, it starts to snow. Snowflakes fall on them, dusting Donghae’s dark hair, meddling Hyukjae’s red with white. Donghae smiles and sticks his tongue out to catch the flakes like raindrops and Hyukjae stares at him, his thoughts lingering between how unsanitary and how he’s never seen a more carefree sight.
Curious and crinkled eyes turn to him “Aren’t you going to taste the snow, Hyukjae?”
He shakes his head thinking his agent would kill him if he got sick. Donghae tilts his head, reminding Hyukjae just how much younger he feels Donghae is than him when in reality they’re the same age. He watches as Donghae gets up and bends down, unsure of just what he’s doing exactly. When he turns around, Hyukjae doesn’t even see the snow ball before it makes contact with his skin. He sputters, his expression shocked. Donghae simply smiles smugly and runs off, Hyukjae following without being conscious of it.
They both end up drenched in melted snow, but Hyukjae hasn’t laughed like this in what feels like forever, reminded of that fact when Donghae says “You should laugh more. You have a really nice laugh. I like hearing it.” Hyukjae sits up from the snow angel imprint his body created, tugs on his mittens “I don’t have much to laugh at”.
“Let’s fix that” Donghae says after a pregnant silence, pressing a heap of snow on Hyukjae’s head, sprinting off afterwards.
The almost joyful laughter of children fills the park until they leave.
*
Champagne glass in hand, impeccable suit, perfectly styled hair. Millions of flashes before his eyes, respectful bows, formal hand shakes, stiff embraces and kisses given to the air. That’s how Hyukjae spends his holidays. He takes a long sip staring out the floor to ceiling window on the top floor that over looks the city, dazzlingly bright lights blaring his sight, he squints slightly.
They’d seen each other once. Hyukjae had managed to not get drunk or high on Christmas Eve, in fact it’s been a while since he has, so he was able to meet Donghae at the park early like they’d said. With Donghae’s smile and early Christmas morning chatter, he’d unknowingly made this Hyukjae’s best Christmas in years and for once he has no desire to drown his sorrows. Which is why he takes but doesn’t drink the glass Heechul offers him.
Heechul says nothing, watching the cityscape as Hyukjae has been doing. Hyukjae hadn’t fallen on his face so Heechul has slowly accepted him over the years. He gazes at the older, still beautiful, yet something in his eyes turned tragic. After a while, Hyukjae turns back to the window and they both stand there, identical postures, calmly tensed expression.
Neither notices when the ball drops, both lost in something someone faraway, gleeful celebration a few feet away. The New Year is not a prospect to either of them. They guess it’ll be only a slight variation from the one that just passed.
*
It’s not until it’s almost February when Hyukjae sees Donghae again. The same place they met, same bench they shared.
Hyukjae fears he’s forgotten his face. Maybe he won’t recognize Donghae, he thinks, wrapped in a long scarf, fingers pulling at its loose strings.
He hasn’t.
It’s the same smile that’s been in his mind all through January. The same fingers that once touched his skin still playing a melody only he could hear wherever he was the same way he remembered.
*
Spring melts away winter. March brings flowers and green with it, breathes life into the dry cold land. Hyukjae’s schedule is at his busiest, but he always finds the time to sit on the grass, twisting short green stalks between his fingers and listen.
Donghae sings lively songs, but the birds chirping so loud almost drown out his voice. Hyukjae chuckles until it turns into giggles and Donghae’s playing stops abruptly. “Why do you always sing so low?” Hyukjae asks, laughter in his voice. His smile slowly disappears at the look on Donghae’s face, always bright, now intense and serious.
The what he was about to ask dies on his lips when Donghae picks a flower from the bush next to them, placing it behind Hyukjae’s ear. His hand grazes down his ear to his jaw and Hyukjae’s heart rate speeds up.
“I know I shouldn’t and you’ll probably hate me but I’ll keep kicking myself if I don’t”. Hyukjae frowns, confused. He understands when Donghae’s soft lips meet his.
Hyukjae has been kissed one and a thousand different ways, but nothing like this. It’s not demanding or arousing, it’s soft and slow, shy almost, and doesn’t last nearly as long as he’d like it to.
Hyukjae’s eyelids flutter open, no idea when they closed, lips still pursed together. Donghae watches him carefully from behind long lashes, nervously and Hyukjae is positive his heart skips a beat. The left corner of his mouth upturns, the right joining it after. Donghae exhales softly, grin on his lips, smile in his eyes, and he reaches over to brush the hair off Hyukjae’s forehead, adjust the yellow flower in his hair.
The birds sing louder now, so Donghae doesn’t and they sit there and listen to their song.
*
Spring season work is done and while preparations for the summer and fall seasons are commencing, Hyukjae plays pretend in his hideout.
Donghae’s apartment is small, a beat up couch against a wall, drum set that Donghae doesn’t play very often wedged in between a book case and a piano he plays only at night. They don’t do much. Talk for hours or eat something they manage to not burn on the kitchen’s old fashioned burners.
Hyukjae spruces up on his piano playing, he hasn’t touched a keyboard since he was thirteen and it’s, at first, a hazard to Donghae’s ears. But Hyukjae feels this determination he hasn’t felt since his career began, so he plays. He could play in his own apartment, the white grand piano cluttered with dust from its solely decorative purpose since he bought it. But there’s something about playing in Donghae’s apartment that motivates him, this place where Donghae himself has created so many melodies.
Sometimes, they kiss. Slowly, and it leaves them both dazed and wanting more. But it’s how much more they want what keeps them from trying to reach out and grab it.
*
“My music is for me” Donghae says over containers of Chinese take-out. Hyukjae is no music expert but he knows talent when he sees, hears it. Donghae’s voice is soft and deep, his lyrics honest and real, melodies simple and quiet. “I play cause I like it. I sing when I want to.” He smiles and shrugs. “Do I think about the money I could make off it? Sure I do.” Chopsticks dig into noodles, soy sauce spills onto the coffee table. “But then I think about what could change and I don’t think it’s worth it. I know it’s not.”
Hyukjae says nothing, wondering what it would be like to have something he felt so passionate about, so in love with, the way Donghae seemed to for his music.
“That’s why I sing so low. So only the people, who are really listening, not just hearing, know my songs.”
When they sit on the couch, and Donghae plays, Hyukjae’s voice singing Donghae’s words, Hyukjae considers himself one of the lucky few.
*
“Where the hell have you been?” Leeteuk barks, furious, when Hyukjae steps in to the studio. He’s cleared of all imperfections immediately while his agent goes off on a rant, yelling and yanking at his hair. “If you want to get high or shit faced you wait until after your schedule”.
Hyukjae arches a brow as he’s stripped of his clothes “do I look shit faced?”
Leeteuk eyes him and shakes his head “No. So were the fuck were you?” Eyes narrowed dangerously.
Hyukjae reminds himself that’s he’s successful. People work for him. He doesn’t have to take this. “I’m an adult, Leeteuk. I have my own life.” Voice firm and confident.
Leeteuk looks taken a back, then raises both brows “Like fucking with some penniless musician?” Hyukjae stiffens, trying to hide his emotions, the stylist dressing him failing at looking uninterested. Leeteuk shakes his head biting his lip “Watch yourself, Eunhyuk. You’re here today, gone tomorrow.”
The thing is, as Leeteuk stalks off to yell into his phone and Hyukjae is brought under the lights, camera focused and on him, he doesn’t know if he wants to be here anymore.
*
Leeteuk’s words ring in his head as Hyukjae takes the stairs to the third floor where Donghae lives. His feet carry him quickly; his hands knock on the door with impatience. Door opened and Donghae stands there, eyes smiling and his hands smudged in pen ink from writing. And the words sink in.
Here today, gone tomorrow without a trace. Hyukjae has plenty of dreams he’s left unfulfilled. Donghae is a reality he won’t let fear stop him from living. He leans forward and kisses Donghae, feeling that insistent pull in the pit of his stomach grow.
Donghae is caught in static for a moment before falling into Hyukjae’s mouth. Smudged hands push off his coat, streaking Hyukjae’s arms in blue. Hyukjae runs his hands underneath Donghae’s shirt, pulling it over his head. They stop, breathe and give in.
*
The lie is Hyukjae is just the boy in Donghae’s next song; that Donghae is just Hyukjae’s dose of reality, keeping him somehow attached to Earth.
The truth is Hyukjae is the last thing Donghae thought he would want in the world, now meaning just that to him; Donghae is Hyukjae’s sanctuary, the last sign of hope in his otherwise hopeless world.
*
The calluses on Donghae’s fingers are rough, abrasive on his skin, but move gently and Hyukjae welcomes his touch, craves for it.
Donghae presses his lips to the hollow of Hyukjae’s throat, the dip between his collar bones. His fingers create patterns over his skin, following the trail down Hyukjae’s chest with his lips, the indents between his ribs. Traces his navel with his tongue, Hyukjae sucking in his abdomen at the movement, does it again when Donghae’s tongue dips in. Hyukjae’s fingers twist in Donghae’s hair when he reaches his hips, lips making steady pressure at the sensitive spot in Hyukjae’s right hip, his body jerking forward. Donghae looks up at him, half smile on his lip, and licks slowly at Hyukjae’s pelvic bone, sending shudders through his body.
Hyukjae wants him now, but he also doesn’t want him to stop. Not used to having his body explored so fully, accustomed to quick meaningless fucks, being semi unconscious during some encounters.
He’s not used to this sort of treatment, this experience and he’s glad it’s with Donghae, he realizes, as Donghae travels further down his body not leaving a place on his legs untouched all the way to his toes. Hyukjae laughs at the tickling sensation when Donghae bites his right sole, teasingly kicks him. Donghae grabs his foot, as Hyukjae sits up and they slowly stop laughing.
Lips connecting. Hands grabbing skin. Bodies pressed together fully.
Tongues tangled when Donghae pushes in. They fall into rhythm after a few moments of waiting, of freezing. But Hyukjae’s tired of waiting, wanting and more waiting. Of time always freezing. So he moves his hips against Donghae’s, Donghae finding his way to what feels like the very core of Hyukjae’s body and he moves.
It’s not complicated or ostentatious, it’s just them. It’s a blow to Hyukjae’s mind, a rush through his veins in a clean way with the simple act of Donghae inside his body.
The rush traveling through his brain, he comes down from his high slowly, clinging onto it more than he ever has.
Sticky hair plastered to even stickier skin. The crinkled bed sheets latch onto their hot bodies. The bed so narrow obliges them to be touching everywhere but it’s still not close enough. Eyes reflecting the same sentiment, fingers pushed between the spaces of fingers, hands clasped firmly together. Smile tugging at his lips, Donghae knocks their feet together, settling to throw his calf over Hyukjae’s to inch his body closer until Hyukjae cuts the distance between them and they’re forehead against forehead.
And Hyukjae is certain that despite what anyone else might say, Donghae at this moment is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
Hyukjae sleeps between warm arms that night, thinking he hasn’t slept this well in forever, obviating white satin sheets on a king sized bed in his apartment half way across town.
*
“It’s how I take out my aggressions.”
Hyukjae jumps at Donghae’s voice, hand smacking into the cymbal and knocking over some of the books on the shelf. Laughing, he dismisses Hyukjae’s hurried apologies, a few steps taking him to where Hyukjae is. Hyukjae picks up the small mess he made, placing books back in their place. His heart speeds up when Donghae grabs his hand and takes the books himself. Donghae smiles at him, and it’s soft and it makes Hyukjae shake slightly. Which should be ridiculous, but it doesn’t matter how intimate they’ve become, the smallest gesture from Donghae makes Hyukjae’s stomach flutter.
“I like how you look in my clothes” Donghae tugs at the simple white t-shirt, bringing him against his body and kisses him. The feel of Donghae’s clothes against his skin feels better than any designer outfit Hyukjae has worn before. Never has an article of clothing made him feel more warm or protected. More beautiful.
Donghae pulls away, drawing it out, smiling against Hyukjae’s lips. “Sit” he directs Hyukjae to the swivel chair in front of the drums, who half protests but lets him. “I’m too old to learn.”
Donghae hands him the sticks and stands behind him, hands holding onto Hyukjae’s wrists. “You’re never too old to start something new. I just want you to hit it.” Hyukjae looks up at him like he’s crazy, and to some he is. Donghae just smiles. “It’s what I do. When I’m frustrated or worried or anything, instead of drinking or punching someone, I take it all out on this” he taps on the toms and looks at him reassuringly.
Hyukjae stares at the drumsticks in his hands; all of what Donghae has just said so strange to his ears, because until now he’s thought that Donghae didn’t have those types of feelings. And also, because he and Donghae aren’t as different as he thinks.
As his hand start to move he decides he wants to know Donghae like he’s never wanted to know anyone. And Hyukjae wants Donghae to know him just as well.
*
Heechul’s stare is piercing and doesn’t flinch and Hyukjae feels like he did when he was seventeen. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“That” he exclaims exasperated, startling the make up and hair assistants.
Heechul raises an eyebrow and with a wave of his hand, dismisses both young women working on them. “You’re different.”
Hyukjae frowns and stares at his own reflection, uncomfortable by the elder’s sudden interest. “I’m not” voice flat, he tells himself he’s a liar. He’s changed and in a way he never thought he would.
“You are” Heechul insists, sipping from his coffee. A smirk on his lips when he puts the cup down. “What’s his name?” he asks and Hyukjae turns to him, the glint in Heechul’s eyes knowing. “Don’t deny it. It’s obvious. To me at least.”
“How would you know?” Hyukjae snaps, griping at the hand rests on the make up chair.
“What? That you’re in love?” Heechul stops smiling, the protest on Hyukjae’s lips dying at the honestly raw look in Heechul’s eyes. “Been there, done that.”
*
Well into the night, flowing breeze coming in through the windows, dancing curtains creating playing shadows on the walls, Donghae sings. The latest pop hit on the radio, an old trot tune Hyukjae’s never even heard of, some song he’s working on. A melody he hums, created as he goes. Sometimes he makes beats on Hyukjae’s skin, fingers traveling everywhere. Other times, he sits up and smacks his palms against the head board. At first Hyukjae laughs at him, but eventually, he ends up clapping his hands to the beat as well.
“So” Donghae climbs into bed next to Hyukjae, their skin brushing and clinging “any requests this evening?”
Hyukjae smiles against his shoulder. Brushing his nose against it, he inhales Donghae’s clean scent. “Sing me that song you sang to me in the park.”
Donghae laughs, kissing the center of Hyukjae’s chest. “I sang you a lot of songs at the park.”
“Sing the one you wrote about me.”
"Ah" Donghae dips his head and makes a trail all the way down to his stomach, lips pressed gently to the skin of Hyukjae’s abdomen. “But, see, I’ve written quite a few about you, so you’ll have to be more specific.”
Hyukjae’s hands stops running through Donghae’s hair. He wonders how many of those songs he’s heard are about him and they sound completely different to his ears now. “Uhmm” he mutters when Donghae digs his teeth into the edge of his hip “The first one.”
Donghae lifts his head and smiles. “My favorite.” He lies next to Hyukjae, fingers laced together and he sings in his ear. His lips brush Hyukjae’s ear, his voice so low it’s achingly intimate, Hyukjae hears faint guitar chords coming from somewhere and swears a guitar is actually being played.
“Wrote that the first day we met” Donghae confesses later on, limbs tangled with Hyukjae’s like a maze, Hyukjae thinks that if he were to bleed the blood would seep out from Donghae’s skin. “I couldn’t get you out of my head on the subway and the song started playing in my head” a small chuckle “I asked a man for a page from his newspaper so I could write it down.”
The moon pours into the room, but Donghae’s words and face and eyes shine as bright as the sun to Hyukjae. He can’t write songs about Donghae. Can’t put in words how he feels about him. So he cups Donghae’s jaw and he kisses him, and wishes that he could draw out from his own mouth how he feels about him and push it into Donghae’s. Into his body. Into his mind. Into his heart.
*
The camera shows up and Donghae is puzzled. “I thought you hated cameras.”
“And I do. When they’re directed at me” Hyukjae swings his feet, sitting on Donghae’s kitchen counter, the smell bubbling from the pan Donghae stirs making his stomach rumble. “But at you it’s actually nice. The camera adores you.”
Donghae laughs, not fully used to Hyukjae sneaking up on him and snapping his picture at sporadic moments. First thing in the morning, out in the park, while he plays, his mouth half open when he sings, countless shots of his profile which Hyukjae seems to have a peculiar obsession with.
“Pictures are for memories.” Hyukjae’s voice is quiet. The pasta is overcooked, but the sauce is good, so Hyukjae has seconds and stains his designer shirt and simply doesn’t care. “Pictures of me are empty. They don’t remind me of anything worth remembering.” Donghae smiles sadly, and wipes the sauce from the corner of Hyukjae’s mouth, finger gentle and oddly comforting.
*
The kisses leave him dizzy and breathless, but kissing Donghae might be reason enough to loose his breath for a while.
Donghae lingers over his lips, brushing one last time, and pulls away. Before Hyukjae can ask, Donghae is reaching over to the night stand, grabbed his camera and snapped his picture.
“The face you make after I kiss you” he kisses Hyukjae again before showing him the picture. “That’s something worth remembering.”
Hyukjae stares at himself, and he doesn’t recognize his photographed self for a second or two before deciding he’s never seen a more real or honest reflection of himself.
He erupts in laughter when Donghae starts tickling his sides. Kicking and swatting, he laughs so hard his stomach hurts. And again Donghae snaps his picture.
“Your smile. You’re beautiful when you smile.” He sets the camera aside, rolls on his side, hand pushing away Hyukjae’s hair that falls on his face. “Those are some of the memories I want to always remember.”
It’s funny, because those are some of the things Hyukjae would like to remember as well. Pictures that may actually mean something. Hyukjae didn’t have them before. He looks into Donghae’s smiling eyes thinking now he has quite a few pictures worth keeping. Memories worth remembering.
*
“Why don’t you quit?” It’s at some point of summer, the end maybe, the sun warms the days and without air conditioning in Donghae’s apartment. Windows pushed open, fans on maximum speed. Sweat drops form on Hyukjae’s temples, they create pathways down the side of his face, and Donghae’s body heat only increases the scalding heat. But he likes running his hand through Donghae’s soft hair, likes placing whispers against his neck and chest with his lips. He feels comforted by the fingers caressing his back, aimless swirls drawn on his skin.
Hyukjae looks up at him questioningly and Donghae adds “If you don’t like it anymore, you shouldn’t do it”. They’ve had this talk before, at some point when Hyukjae decided to trust Donghae with much more than his body. But he doesn’t understand, Hyukjae knows, looking into dark eyes that see the world and take in the good, leaving behind the bad. Hyukjae thinks him better for it, but Hyukjae has taken mostly the bad, doesn’t expect or want Donghae to understand.
“It’s not that simple.” He goes on to give his prefabricated excuse, binding contract, his carrier will only last a few more years, why not ride it out?
And Donghae doesn’t understand. Bites his tongue from saying the dreams he has for Hyukjae that Hyukjae himself won’t dream.
Instead, he draws them onto his skin with his hands, carves them into his body with his heart.
*
The hallways are pure and white. Beautiful shots hang from the walls. Beautiful people walk from here to there. Hyukjae sees it all as a blur. What he once saw with eyes wide open in wonder, now he sees like a fast playing film he doesn’t get the point to.
Leeteuk’s voice is sharp in his ear. Magazine and designer names, he drops. Fall/ winter campaign. The opening to a new night club.
And it becomes too much. Enough.
“No” his voice is strangely assertive.
Leeteuk stops, nods in agreement. “You’re right. That’s not nearly enough for a exclusive.”
“No” Hyukjae repeats, head shaking. “To all of it. No.”
Puzzlement paints Leeteuk’s face, he looks at Hyukjae strangely. “No? What do you mean no?”
Leeteuk tries to speak, but Hyukjae refuses to not be heard. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m not happy. This doesn’t make me happy anymore. I don’t think it ever did.” He thought it had. All masked under glitter and lights, the shine of it tricked him into believing it. Without anything to disturb his conscious, he sees the illusion for what it was.
“Hyukjae” his name sounds so weird from Leeteuk’s voice, Hyukjae doesn’t realize he’s speaking to him until he leads him away from prying ears and watching eyes. “I know” and the small hint of compassion in his eyes makes Hyukjae believe him. “But you’ve come so far. You were no one and now you’re someone. It won’t last much longer and trying to get out will only bring you more pain than it’s worth. And at your age, what else can you do?”
It’s like a bucket of cold water waking him up from an illusive dream. Hyukjae could keep fighting, argue and eventually it’d be over. But he feels that tinge of hope sink. That bravado disappears. And he’s left with just himself and finds he’s not brave enough to stand on his own. Too scared to find out he isn’t strong enough.
What can he do, really? Hyukjae’s not sure. Doesn’t know if he wants to find out. So he half nods to Leeteuk when he says they’ll just do one spread and refuse everything else.
He misses the rest of what he says wondering who that no one would be today and if he’d be happier than this someone.
*
A rainy night in August. The park is quiet, empty except for Hyukjae and lamp posts. And the bottle next to him. It burns his throat, waters his eyes. But he drinks the last drop, listening to the rain drops bouncing off his raincoat. He thinks he’d like to be a raindrop. If the first fall doesn’t go as planned, he could always evaporate and come back as another one.
*
Donghae answers on the second knock. “It’s late. Where were you? I tried calling but- why are you wet?”
Hyukjae pushes past him, peeling his jacket off, throws it carelessly on the floor. “It rained. My phone? I think I left it in the cab or somewhere.”
“What’s wrong?”Donghae asks from behind him, worried and confused.
Walking around the room, Hyukjae drags his hand across the furniture, knocking over knick knacks and books. “Wrong? Everything is right. Everything is exactly as it should be. Do you have any alcohol in this house?” he asks before walking towards the kitchen.
“You’re drunk. And you want more.” He watches Hyukjae rummage through his cupboards, frowning. “What happened today?”
“No damn alcohol. What kind of kitchen is this?” Hyukjae mumbles.
Donghae comes towards him, but doesn’t touch him. “Hyukjae, what’s wrong with you?”
“With me?” Hyukjae steadies himself on the counter, using it to turn around slowly. He looks at Donghae and sees everything the world doesn’t want him to have. And he wants to hate him for it. “What’s wrong with you? Do you have any idea how crazy you sound sometimes?” he laughs, shoulders shaking, an ugly sound from his lips. “I mean really, you’re ridiculous.”
“Hyukjae” Donghae says soft, but firmly warning.
“It’s Eunhyuk!” he spits out, shoulders still shaking. “Hyukjae doesn’t exist. He never existed. It’s Eunhyuk.”
Pushing past Donghae again, he goes out to the living room, stands between the drums and the book case. “This is where I waste my time” he looks around with disdain, spitting out venom.
Knowing he’s the last person who deserves it, Hyukjae feels even more compelled to let it out on Donghae. Jaw tight, Donghae just stands there and takes it. “At least I tried to be someone. You hide with your small voice and your small apartment. I’m not scared. It’s you who’s afraid.” Breathing heavily, Hyukjae stares at him wondering if Donghae understands, wanting him to, needing him to. “You’re a coward.” he says to Donghae, but he knows he’s saying it to himself.
“And this” he grabs the drumsticks, staggering and knocks down a cymbal. “This doesn’t help. Nothing helps” and he bashes the sticks against the drums. Out of control arms, he hits harder and harder until the apartment becomes a mess of beats and pounds and cries.
When Donghae comes behind him trying to get him to stop, Hyukjae fights back. Donghae only holds on tighter. And he doesn’t let go. Not even when Hyukjae stops, becoming a mess of limbs and water in his arms.
“I’m sorry” Hyukjae says over and over again, hiding his face in Donghae’s neck. Donghae is warm, so Hyukjae pushes into him trying to draw some of that warmth into himself. He doesn’t know if the apology is for Donghae only or for himself as well.
On the floor, wedged in between the drums and the bookcase, Donghae holds him, telling him “it’s okay” quietly. Hyukjae falls asleep, heart twisting at the sound of Donghae’s soft voice singing to him, thinking it’s not okay. But maybe someday, it will be.
*
Hard beats making the room vibrate, head pounds and nerves jitter. Sounds he’s heard for years but he never seems to get used to. A sigh exhaled. A silent plea for the noise to stop.
A particularly hard tug at his hair makes him look up from his hands, eyes coming in contact with his reflection. He takes in the vision of himself. Flawless. Perfection in human flesh they call it, time not even touching him and it disgusts him. His throat closes up, vision blurred. He wants to wash his face, a face that isn’t even his. Wash it of this perfection and see if there really is an actual human being under all that make up.
He ignores the calls, the outraged yells, the shocked gasps as he’s met by the rain outside.
Eunhyuk isn’t really his name anyways.
*
Hyukjae barely walks through the door and he’s suffocated. Soaked to his bones, slightly dizzy from the high in his veins, his coat lands on the carpet with a thump. Chest heaving, breathing irregular, hands lunge for the nearest thing within arms reach.
But the sound of the crystal against the wall barely satisfies him. He grabs the nearest thing, possibly that ash tray from the 18th century, and flings it against the same wall. A piercing scream, followed by a string of yells and crashes. He crumbles somewhere between the couch and the stairs, drained of strength, falls into a heap on the floor.
Unaware of how, he makes it to the bedroom. Not a light on, he lays on the bed, clothes still wet, stares blankly at the ceiling. Thinks about swallowing something, but eyes darker than his and the feel of arms around him in the back of his mind stop him. Besides, he’s too tired to move.
Sleep eludes Hyukjae like it hasn’t in months and when the sun rises, his eyes are open and unblinking taking in how the sunlight seeps in through blinds and crawls across the ceiling.
*
He’s awoken by a loud noise and harsh light. Almost jumps out of his skin when he sees Heechul looming over him. Wonders if he’s dead, that seems to be the only explanation for the other’s presence. Hyukjae’s arrival to hell.
A roll of the eyes and a snort. “You’re not dead.” A glass is thrust into Hyukjae’s shaky hand. “That was a pretty ballsy move you pulled yesterday. I think Leeteuk finally popped a vein.” Amused smirk, he passes Hyukjae a small pill. He stares at it unsurely, memories of last night. Another snort “I’m not trying to drug you. It’s aspirin.” Hyukjae downs it the last of his apprehension disappearing when he makes out Advil faintly on the tablet.
“Love what you’ve done with the place” Heechul adds after a few seconds of silence.
“Why are you here?” Hyukjae asks, tired. He’s tired and doesn’t need this.
Heechul raises his eyebrows, proud and dignified in all his glory. “Thought you might need someone to pick up the pieces after you fell on your face.”
Hyukjae sighs and sits up slowly waiting to see what else the elder might say. But he doesn’t, his body making the bed dip when he sits on it. “It’s not too late”
Heechul’s words linger long after the door has clicked softly behind him and Hyukjae wonders if he meant it’s not too late to go back or to turn around and never look behind.
*
Leeteuk makes a deal between him and the management company. Hyukjae stays until his contract is up for renewal and he doesn’t get his ass sued. It’s fair he guesses. Accepts that the whirlwind won’t stop now, but will slowly loose speed and one day it will.
*
Donghae says there’s nothing to forgive, that he understands. Hyukjae can’t look into those eyes, but forces himself to. They’re soft and still sweet, and in them Hyukjae sees himself and the world like he’ll never know it.
Summer has ended. Autumn just around the corner. It’s visible in the changing leaves. The colder wind. The longer nights. The park grass is slowly being covered by green leaves. Few now, but by the end of the season the ground will be covered in red, yellow and orange.
It seems appropriate for it to end where it began. Hyukjae needs a change. He wishes to keep Donghae. Wishes they could change together. That’s what Eunhyuk thinks, he says it’s okay to be selfish at times. Hyukjae, his heart, tell him he needs to change by himself. Needs to find who he is. And that’s something Donghae can’t do with him.
The feel of Donghae on and in his skin one last time is imprinted in his memory, no amount of rain or washing can take it out.
“Come find me” Donghae whispers into Hyukjae’s ear, lips brushing against his skin when they hold each other like it’s the last time “Once you’ve found yourself, whoever he is, come find me.” He steps back slightly, lopsided grin, eyes crinkled “I’d really like to meet him.”
Donghae’s taste, rain and sweetness and warmth still linger on Hyukjae’s tongue as he exits the small apartment building, as he crosses the small park with the soon to be frozen lake.
*
White back drop. Burning lights. Harsh flash. The shutter snaps at rapid speed.
His role is different, but Hyukjae knows the scene well, his lines practiced and memorized.
Barely seventeen, long limbs on a tall frame, and high, prominent cheekbones he’s a designer’s dream. He has the look, the posture. Slightly lacks the confidence, but time will fix that quickly. He gets to keep his real name, or so Hyukjae thinks since there’s really nothing special about the name Kyuhyun. So young. Impressionable and vulnerable just like Hyukjae was once. Like he still is at times.
While the photographer changes cameras, Hyukjae says what he wished Heechul would have once said to him.
Kyuhyun furrows his brows, catching something about rides and shouting to get off but before he’s able to ask, the actors are called to fill their roles, and the momentary interest he has in Hyukjae’s words is lost.
He can figure it out for himself, Hyukjae decides. His ride’s almost over, wanting to get off once was futile. Kyuhyun will just have to learn to shout on his own.
*
It ends and Hyukjae begins.
*
He gets blinded by the lights in Tokyo but he keeps staring anyways. The Eiffel Tower has 1710 steps and Hyukjae climbs every single one of them. He falls in love again in Paris. On a bench in front of a sky blue pond, in the quietness of it all, Hyukjae realizes it’s okay to love himself. Big Ben gives him the correct time as he travels off to the country side. Italy is beautiful in the summer, and while Rome is nice, it’s got nothing on the calmness of Tuscany. He gets lost in New York and never feels so big in such a large group of people.
Hyukjae allows himself to dream. Carves stars out from the sky and stores them in his pocket next to a picture he never takes out, only glances a peek or two at when he needs it.
*
When he comes home, the language throws Hyukjae off. But his heart feels at peace and he decides this is where he belonged all along.
His apartment is less than half the size of his old one but it feels right. An old keyboard he buys in a thrift shop fills the place with music and it transforms the apartment into an actual home. He finds a job playing at a small restaurant in the city. The pay is measly, his boss is grumpy but Hyukjae goes to work with an actual smile on his face and feels content. Giving his try at composing himself, with no idea how to at first and without enough money for a class, it’s a mess of messy notes and balled up pentagrams. But he keeps doing it until his fingers and the piano keys are covered in ink and charcoal.
Hyukjae walks the streets; face exposed and no one recognizes him. The sun on his face, without the obstruction of huge sunglasses or scarves, is warm. He goes as fast or slow as he wants, no actual destination, just to get to know his city and its people and hideouts.
*
It’s on a day while grocery shopping, he’s learned to not just grab everything but makes lists, he sees a familiar face. On the supermarket’s small t.v. screen. Looking annoyed but still beautiful, he dismisses questions the reporters throw at him and says whatever he wants. Hyukjae smiles thinking maybe the ride wasn’t meant for him but it definitely was for Heechul. Heechul didn’t let it ride him; he jumped into the driver’s seat and directed the car himself.
Pushing the cart along, Hyukjae grabs a bag of chips and tosses them in along with some chocolate.
*
He relishes in the novelty of being a nobody who’s actually a somebody. Maybe not to many, but it’s who you matter to not the how many. Hyukjae wonders if the one who matters still cares.
The park is exactly like he remembers. This winter is colder, but Hyukjae feels warmer than he did that one winter. The world isn’t such a terribly cold place anymore. It was here he was taught that.
He’s still there, as amazing or unrealistic as it seems. But Hyukjae remembers what Donghae said about his songs being for him. Donghae liked where he was. Felt at place here. It makes sense that he stayed even if Hyukjae left.
That same bench, that same jacket, same guitar. Hyukjae holds back, apprehensive. He can’t see clearly, but his hands seem larger than he remembers. Watching him, Hyukjae tells himself he doesn’t doubt anymore, doesn’t hold back. He breaths in cold air, and he walks.
“Do you take requests?”
Donghae freezes, shoulders tensed, he turns. His hair is impossibly long; it reaches his shoulders almost from underneath his hat. He looks like he doesn’t recognize Hyukjae’s face, brows furrowed.
“What would you like to hear?” he asks after a moment.
Hyukjae swallows, his breath forming clouds when he exhales. “Play something no one’s ever heard before.”
Donghae’s face relaxes, and he plays. Voice as low and deep as Hyukjae remembers and it makes his hands shake, that old pull in his stomach and heart ever present. The melody dies out slowly creating a long pause in the cold winter air. Like it’s waiting for the next song to be played.
Nervous, Hyukjae licks his lips. He’s found his someone. Donghae had said he wanted to meet whoever that someone was. So Hyukjae is here, knowing he’s a nobody worth knowing. “I’m Hyukjae” he extends his hand between them ”you may know me by Eunhyuk though.”
“I’m sorry” Donghae says, smile in his eyes and Hyukjae feels his breath catch. “I never knew Eunhyuk.” He takes Hyukjae’s hand, and the smile reaches Donghae’s lips. “I’ve always only known Hyukjae.”
~~~