8 Million Ways - Dongwoon/Key
1/1
Dongwoon/Key
G - 1076w
Standing in polystyrene snow and under painted theatre lights, Kibum is still dreaming.
Daisies, once upon an old daydream, that’s what you gave me out on the corner of Broadway and 48th street on a rainy afternoon.
Kate Voegele - Manhattan from the Sky
Kibum doesn't see Dongwoon when he wakes up, but he's not surprised. The apartment is silent, and Kibum finds Jaejin on the balcony, drinking wine from a paper cup. He has a cowlick that's ruffled by the wind.
"You're not asleep yet?" Kibum asks quietly, and he should have cleared his throat first because Jaejin winces.
"I will soon." He doesn't turn around; they both know what he looks like, anyway. Bloodshot, weathered. From this angle Kibum can see Jaejin's regrowth, a month late to the hair dye section of the supermarket.
"Did you get home before Dongwoon left?"
"Nah." Jaejin ashes a cigarette Kibum hadn't noticed before.
"I need to tell him something," Kibum says, as though his voice would carry through the morning stir of New York and reach Dongwoon's ears at the agency.
Jaejin shrugs, and Kibum takes the hint.
Jaejin had reacted the worst to the accident, even worse than Kibum. The last dredges of the wreckage were still in him, reappearing whenever Jaejin came home from work tired and frustrated. Kibum mostly adopted Dongwoon's optimism and tolerated it.
The door slides shut silently before Kibum pads his way through the apartment, askew with things Kibum couldn't quite put his finger on. A few books, flyers for events that have already passed. Kibum didn't know who the books belonged to, and he could only remember attending a few of the parades printed in bold glossy letters. It irritated him, but none of them were the cleaning types.
At the job Kibum had miraculously managed to keep through the entire ordeal, they situate him at the dough section. He kneads the dough wrongly half the time and his workmate, Chelsea, tells him that it's okay, that's why he was here. There is a sympathetic tone in her voice and Kibum tries not to feel offended when she says "You can always just shape them again," and her fingers are rough but patient on the backs of his hands. Kibum tries to be thankful, but when she leaves he makes a heart out of the soft pretzel dough and hides it amongst the others.
Kibum finds himself looking at his reflection on the scales. His eyes look back at him, contorted, familiar but not. He remembers everything, the slope and taper of his nose and eyes, the bow of his lips, but can't help staring at the scar on his temple. Kibum tries to picture himself being wheeled through the hospital, hand dangling limply off the edge of his stretcher. He wonders which he would have preferred, if he could choose; the others wondering if he was alive or the devastated silence when Kibum woke up, where they treated him as though he were dead. All Kibum can see is the flour under his fingernails.
The thing about the flyers is, sometimes Kibum would watch Dongwoon leave them around the apartment when he thought Kibum wasn't looking, as though they would jog his memory, but they reminded Kibum of nothing but how big the city was. Dongwoon owns a snowglobe of Broadway that stands on his desk, and whenever Kibum was bored he would shake it and think of how that was how he felt here sometimes, in the city he'd only dreamed of when he was young. Standing in polystyrene snow and under painted theatre lights, Kibum is still dreaming.
They let him go when Jaejin is probably breathing into his pillow and the sun is starting to set, with poles of sunlight peeking between buildings. Kibum runs to Dongwoon's workplace through muscle memory and wonders if he used to know any of the faces he passes along the way. Jaejin might have served them at the club on the nights when Kibum visited, or they might have seen Dongwoon on the billboard three blocks down, clad in a pair of Levi's jeans, staring blasély at the world. Kibum brushes hundreds, thousands of shoulders.
Dongwoon is just exiting the agency when Kibum crashes into him, the journey making Kibum more excited. The running had riled him up and Kibum has to stop from blurting his new revelation into Dongwoon's back, sprawled right there on the pavement. He does his best to look sheepish when Dongwoon shifts and takes his hand. Dongwoon picks up his umbrella, and his eyes brighten when he looks up.
"Hey Kibum," he says, smiling as soon as Kibum's name hits the air. It makes Kibum's stomach churn, but it's not the same hopeful happiness as when Jaejin ruffles his hair or when they open the door to the smell of pizza and Jinwoon and Chulyong's screaming faces. Kibum feels the most apologetic to Dongwoon, somehow. Kibum knows enough, remembers enough to know they weren't always like this.
"I have to tell you something." Kibum rarely did this nowadays. He'd learnt to stop after the first two weeks when he thought he remembered something only to hear his flatmates' disappointed 'that never happened, Kibum-ah.' He mostly left hints in their conversations, mentioned something about Dongwoon's family or Jaejin's workmates. Kibum was carefully reconstructing his existence into this place, and they were doing the same for him.
"I dreamt about you last night," Kibum says. They're still standing on the spot where they fell, except the buildings stand taller against the night sky, and the city is even brighter now. Dongwoon raises his eyebrows. "There were daisies. On the corner of Broadway and 48th. You gave them to me." Kibum watches the progress of Dongwoon's understanding, the way his smile fades before setting in again, slowly. "It wasn't a dream, was it?"
Dongwoon is smiling in the wimpy way that confuses Kibum about how he ever got to sign a modelling contract in the first place, and Kibum wonders now if the details he left out from his dream were true. The part where Kibum smacked him with the corny bouquet, calling him all sorts of names before Dongwoon kissed the fuss out of him.
"No, it wasn't."
Kibum nods. He's grateful that Dongwoon doesn't press the subject, instead taking his hand and walking back in the direction of their apartment, where Jaejin will wake up soon and smile at them before swooping over Kibum and apologizing about before.
There are things that Kibum wants to say to Dongwoon, but he's afraid all that will come out is 'please just wait', because he'll remember everything someday. He thinks Dongwoon already knows.
Dongwoon/Key
G - 1076w
Standing in polystyrene snow and under painted theatre lights, Kibum is still dreaming.
Daisies, once upon an old daydream, that’s what you gave me out on the corner of Broadway and 48th street on a rainy afternoon.
Kate Voegele - Manhattan from the Sky
Kibum doesn't see Dongwoon when he wakes up, but he's not surprised. The apartment is silent, and Kibum finds Jaejin on the balcony, drinking wine from a paper cup. He has a cowlick that's ruffled by the wind.
"You're not asleep yet?" Kibum asks quietly, and he should have cleared his throat first because Jaejin winces.
"I will soon." He doesn't turn around; they both know what he looks like, anyway. Bloodshot, weathered. From this angle Kibum can see Jaejin's regrowth, a month late to the hair dye section of the supermarket.
"Did you get home before Dongwoon left?"
"Nah." Jaejin ashes a cigarette Kibum hadn't noticed before.
"I need to tell him something," Kibum says, as though his voice would carry through the morning stir of New York and reach Dongwoon's ears at the agency.
Jaejin shrugs, and Kibum takes the hint.
Jaejin had reacted the worst to the accident, even worse than Kibum. The last dredges of the wreckage were still in him, reappearing whenever Jaejin came home from work tired and frustrated. Kibum mostly adopted Dongwoon's optimism and tolerated it.
The door slides shut silently before Kibum pads his way through the apartment, askew with things Kibum couldn't quite put his finger on. A few books, flyers for events that have already passed. Kibum didn't know who the books belonged to, and he could only remember attending a few of the parades printed in bold glossy letters. It irritated him, but none of them were the cleaning types.
At the job Kibum had miraculously managed to keep through the entire ordeal, they situate him at the dough section. He kneads the dough wrongly half the time and his workmate, Chelsea, tells him that it's okay, that's why he was here. There is a sympathetic tone in her voice and Kibum tries not to feel offended when she says "You can always just shape them again," and her fingers are rough but patient on the backs of his hands. Kibum tries to be thankful, but when she leaves he makes a heart out of the soft pretzel dough and hides it amongst the others.
Kibum finds himself looking at his reflection on the scales. His eyes look back at him, contorted, familiar but not. He remembers everything, the slope and taper of his nose and eyes, the bow of his lips, but can't help staring at the scar on his temple. Kibum tries to picture himself being wheeled through the hospital, hand dangling limply off the edge of his stretcher. He wonders which he would have preferred, if he could choose; the others wondering if he was alive or the devastated silence when Kibum woke up, where they treated him as though he were dead. All Kibum can see is the flour under his fingernails.
The thing about the flyers is, sometimes Kibum would watch Dongwoon leave them around the apartment when he thought Kibum wasn't looking, as though they would jog his memory, but they reminded Kibum of nothing but how big the city was. Dongwoon owns a snowglobe of Broadway that stands on his desk, and whenever Kibum was bored he would shake it and think of how that was how he felt here sometimes, in the city he'd only dreamed of when he was young. Standing in polystyrene snow and under painted theatre lights, Kibum is still dreaming.
They let him go when Jaejin is probably breathing into his pillow and the sun is starting to set, with poles of sunlight peeking between buildings. Kibum runs to Dongwoon's workplace through muscle memory and wonders if he used to know any of the faces he passes along the way. Jaejin might have served them at the club on the nights when Kibum visited, or they might have seen Dongwoon on the billboard three blocks down, clad in a pair of Levi's jeans, staring blasély at the world. Kibum brushes hundreds, thousands of shoulders.
Dongwoon is just exiting the agency when Kibum crashes into him, the journey making Kibum more excited. The running had riled him up and Kibum has to stop from blurting his new revelation into Dongwoon's back, sprawled right there on the pavement. He does his best to look sheepish when Dongwoon shifts and takes his hand. Dongwoon picks up his umbrella, and his eyes brighten when he looks up.
"Hey Kibum," he says, smiling as soon as Kibum's name hits the air. It makes Kibum's stomach churn, but it's not the same hopeful happiness as when Jaejin ruffles his hair or when they open the door to the smell of pizza and Jinwoon and Chulyong's screaming faces. Kibum feels the most apologetic to Dongwoon, somehow. Kibum knows enough, remembers enough to know they weren't always like this.
"I have to tell you something." Kibum rarely did this nowadays. He'd learnt to stop after the first two weeks when he thought he remembered something only to hear his flatmates' disappointed 'that never happened, Kibum-ah.' He mostly left hints in their conversations, mentioned something about Dongwoon's family or Jaejin's workmates. Kibum was carefully reconstructing his existence into this place, and they were doing the same for him.
"I dreamt about you last night," Kibum says. They're still standing on the spot where they fell, except the buildings stand taller against the night sky, and the city is even brighter now. Dongwoon raises his eyebrows. "There were daisies. On the corner of Broadway and 48th. You gave them to me." Kibum watches the progress of Dongwoon's understanding, the way his smile fades before setting in again, slowly. "It wasn't a dream, was it?"
Dongwoon is smiling in the wimpy way that confuses Kibum about how he ever got to sign a modelling contract in the first place, and Kibum wonders now if the details he left out from his dream were true. The part where Kibum smacked him with the corny bouquet, calling him all sorts of names before Dongwoon kissed the fuss out of him.
"No, it wasn't."
Kibum nods. He's grateful that Dongwoon doesn't press the subject, instead taking his hand and walking back in the direction of their apartment, where Jaejin will wake up soon and smile at them before swooping over Kibum and apologizing about before.
There are things that Kibum wants to say to Dongwoon, but he's afraid all that will come out is 'please just wait', because he'll remember everything someday. He thinks Dongwoon already knows.