Jonghyun/Onew - Paper Planes
Title: Paper Planes
Pairing: Jonghyun/Onew, side Minho/Key
Word Count: 1, 223
Type: One-shot, PG
Notes: For runawaylane. This is my first time ever writing JongYu, and I hope I did, at least, a somewhat amateurish and acceptable job. As always, much thanks for reading and comments are always appreciated!
III
Jonghyun presses the top two edges of the small piece of paper together, slowly bringing their sharp points to a center fold, presses them neatly down and carefully bends in the shape.
He remembers one of his first memories of Jinki, of the two of them lying down on the practice room, horizontal straight, tired to the bone. He thinks of that time they had lunch together at McDonalds, Jinki having to save up a week straight to be able to afford him a birthday treat. He recalls one of his first thoughts about Jinki, how he thought he would never be able to get along with the older boy.
-
“Teach me how to fold paper planes, Jonghyun-ah,” Jinki says one day over scrambled eggs and hot coffee, all too early in the morning with the rays of sunlight barely peeping through the curtains; them in the kitchen, the other three still sleeping. Taemin was alone in the room Jinki shared with Onew and Key, the latter having escaped to Minho’s side in the course of the night.
Jonghyun looks up and thinks that all of them would need more time for this, more time outside of practice and performing and learning the skills of variety, more time for the older boy to be able to learn the subtleties of the folds and the careful maneuvering of smooth white paper - but he says Okay anyhow, the words escaping his lips before he can withdraw them, because just like any promise made, a promise made to Jinki is easy.
The difficult part comes in keeping it.
IV
His hands bring in the outer recesses of white, mind working simultaneously to best gauge its circumference and fold with precise relativity, for every paper plane is different. The mirroring sides look all too sharp and hostile, the smooth sides cutting through space as if an avant-garde design, and already can Jonghyun see the gaping difference amid their symmetricality.
Jinki’s face shape simply appeals to Jonghyun, in all definition of the word. He likes how it isn’t too sharp at the edges, around the cheekbones, how Jinki doesn’t at any point look malnourished or overfed. Jonghyun finds perfection in balance, in the unlikely coming together of people, in how he almost always inexplicably eventually warms up to those he doesn’t categorize under the ‘Like’ list even after a few times of meeting.
-
“Fold in, uh, together, right?” The younger boy nods. “No wait it looks wrong. Jonghyun-ah,” Jinki finishes for what seems like the nth time that day. As for Jinki’s valiant attempt at paper planes, Jonghyun had given the leader, by mouth, a fixed set of instructions to follow according to which should have been relatively easy. Jonghyun sighs and goes look properly, now, and repeats the folding procedure for the umpteenth time.
The five of them are in the van, the place the most time is spent in nowadays, travelling from one place to another promoting yet another new song full of catchy beats and rhythmic movements, tunes pulled and put together all too easily from the automatically varying decibels of the computer, spun like a maze half finished and lacking its crux.
He gives a casual glance to the elongated backseat, the space for three being filled by the shapes of only Minho and Key, Minho snuggling warmly into Key’s neck, asleep, with the other boy typing away at the mini-device carefully positioned on his lap. The clacking of the keyboard stops suddenly, Key aware of Jonghyun’s gaze - to which the younger boy looks up and mouths a slow what. Jonghyun shrugs his head slowly, a gentle smile forming on his lips, turns to face the person folding paper planes across of him.
Jonghyun wonders how long it’d take for him and Jinki to reach their kind of middle.
V
He folds another half. In his hands, the small, folded piece of paper looks incomplete; its wings all too ready for flight but then again seeming to lack something essential in its construction.
-
“God, not again, who’s left all these lying on the floor!” is what Jonghyun comes back to one evening, Key’s shrill voice filling the apartment and subsequently seeing Jinki hurriedly scuffling around tidying up the mess. He bends down and picks up one of the strewn paper planes, fingers its folds, learns its angles, figure and balance, just like how he has familiarized himself with the feel of silent, quiet love, of promises made too easily and dreams dreamt too freely. He sees Jinki pick up the planes one by one, fragile structure by fragile structure, cradling them carefully in his arms, not throwing even a single one of the overpopulated shapes into the nearby rubbish bin. Jonghyun cannot help but ask why not the bin, you’re going to clutter up your room with that and Key will throw another fit, in which they inevitably might end up in the same end place anyway.
“But that’d be different, then, Jonghyun, see, their road leading to the bin. Besides, I can house them in your room, right? Temporarily?” In his mind, an argument - or lack of it - barely begins to form before Jinki smiles at him, the older boy’s previously serious face losing all resoluteness, and he cannot help but nod, slowly and resignedly.
-
Jonghyun looks at the mass of paper planes in front of him, all done by Jinki’s hand, each having a unique fold and special curve that he will never be able to replicate, to reconstruct. It is then that his eyes fall on a small bit of dark, marked lead right at the center of one of the planes, the black marking gaping out amidst a sea of white. When he unfolds the plane, all he sees are three simple words written in neat, tidy Hangeul, his full name; the bit of space after slightly creased by eraser marks. He doesn’t know exactly what to think.
VI
Jonghyun takes up his finished paper plane, opens it carefully and writes the four syllables of love* onto its center, engraving it like a lost love song which has finally found the right lyrics, a lonely cry in the night that, at long last, meets fulfillment. Jonghyun pads softly into Jinki’s room, Taemin and Key sound asleep in their bunks, slips his paper plane into the smooth cushion of the oldest boy’s covers. He lingers for just over a few seconds, just enough to contemplate the way Jinki sleeps, take in Jinki’s scent, have Jinki just a few inches away from him but yet so overwhelmingly close.
Jonghyun understands.
II
Some people believe that endings are merely the start of new things, that when one door closes another opens. Others, instead, choose to trust in the idea of beginnings only being of relation to the end, that a start is simply a means to an ultimate endpoint.
Jonghyun prefers to live in the idea of middles, him liking to finger the concept of possibility and the unknown, indulge in the wide span of forking paths that diverge from a common point, play around with the ability to write and rewrite things without ever having to pause for the eraser. He scribbles these scenarios on little paper planes, watching them take flight into the sky, the background in front of him panned out wide - blue and vast, ever waiting.
* referring to I Love You in Korean, saranghaeyo.
Pairing: Jonghyun/Onew, side Minho/Key
Word Count: 1, 223
Type: One-shot, PG
Notes: For runawaylane. This is my first time ever writing JongYu, and I hope I did, at least, a somewhat amateurish and acceptable job. As always, much thanks for reading and comments are always appreciated!
III
Jonghyun presses the top two edges of the small piece of paper together, slowly bringing their sharp points to a center fold, presses them neatly down and carefully bends in the shape.
He remembers one of his first memories of Jinki, of the two of them lying down on the practice room, horizontal straight, tired to the bone. He thinks of that time they had lunch together at McDonalds, Jinki having to save up a week straight to be able to afford him a birthday treat. He recalls one of his first thoughts about Jinki, how he thought he would never be able to get along with the older boy.
-
“Teach me how to fold paper planes, Jonghyun-ah,” Jinki says one day over scrambled eggs and hot coffee, all too early in the morning with the rays of sunlight barely peeping through the curtains; them in the kitchen, the other three still sleeping. Taemin was alone in the room Jinki shared with Onew and Key, the latter having escaped to Minho’s side in the course of the night.
Jonghyun looks up and thinks that all of them would need more time for this, more time outside of practice and performing and learning the skills of variety, more time for the older boy to be able to learn the subtleties of the folds and the careful maneuvering of smooth white paper - but he says Okay anyhow, the words escaping his lips before he can withdraw them, because just like any promise made, a promise made to Jinki is easy.
The difficult part comes in keeping it.
IV
His hands bring in the outer recesses of white, mind working simultaneously to best gauge its circumference and fold with precise relativity, for every paper plane is different. The mirroring sides look all too sharp and hostile, the smooth sides cutting through space as if an avant-garde design, and already can Jonghyun see the gaping difference amid their symmetricality.
Jinki’s face shape simply appeals to Jonghyun, in all definition of the word. He likes how it isn’t too sharp at the edges, around the cheekbones, how Jinki doesn’t at any point look malnourished or overfed. Jonghyun finds perfection in balance, in the unlikely coming together of people, in how he almost always inexplicably eventually warms up to those he doesn’t categorize under the ‘Like’ list even after a few times of meeting.
-
“Fold in, uh, together, right?” The younger boy nods. “No wait it looks wrong. Jonghyun-ah,” Jinki finishes for what seems like the nth time that day. As for Jinki’s valiant attempt at paper planes, Jonghyun had given the leader, by mouth, a fixed set of instructions to follow according to which should have been relatively easy. Jonghyun sighs and goes look properly, now, and repeats the folding procedure for the umpteenth time.
The five of them are in the van, the place the most time is spent in nowadays, travelling from one place to another promoting yet another new song full of catchy beats and rhythmic movements, tunes pulled and put together all too easily from the automatically varying decibels of the computer, spun like a maze half finished and lacking its crux.
He gives a casual glance to the elongated backseat, the space for three being filled by the shapes of only Minho and Key, Minho snuggling warmly into Key’s neck, asleep, with the other boy typing away at the mini-device carefully positioned on his lap. The clacking of the keyboard stops suddenly, Key aware of Jonghyun’s gaze - to which the younger boy looks up and mouths a slow what. Jonghyun shrugs his head slowly, a gentle smile forming on his lips, turns to face the person folding paper planes across of him.
Jonghyun wonders how long it’d take for him and Jinki to reach their kind of middle.
V
He folds another half. In his hands, the small, folded piece of paper looks incomplete; its wings all too ready for flight but then again seeming to lack something essential in its construction.
-
“God, not again, who’s left all these lying on the floor!” is what Jonghyun comes back to one evening, Key’s shrill voice filling the apartment and subsequently seeing Jinki hurriedly scuffling around tidying up the mess. He bends down and picks up one of the strewn paper planes, fingers its folds, learns its angles, figure and balance, just like how he has familiarized himself with the feel of silent, quiet love, of promises made too easily and dreams dreamt too freely. He sees Jinki pick up the planes one by one, fragile structure by fragile structure, cradling them carefully in his arms, not throwing even a single one of the overpopulated shapes into the nearby rubbish bin. Jonghyun cannot help but ask why not the bin, you’re going to clutter up your room with that and Key will throw another fit, in which they inevitably might end up in the same end place anyway.
“But that’d be different, then, Jonghyun, see, their road leading to the bin. Besides, I can house them in your room, right? Temporarily?” In his mind, an argument - or lack of it - barely begins to form before Jinki smiles at him, the older boy’s previously serious face losing all resoluteness, and he cannot help but nod, slowly and resignedly.
-
Jonghyun looks at the mass of paper planes in front of him, all done by Jinki’s hand, each having a unique fold and special curve that he will never be able to replicate, to reconstruct. It is then that his eyes fall on a small bit of dark, marked lead right at the center of one of the planes, the black marking gaping out amidst a sea of white. When he unfolds the plane, all he sees are three simple words written in neat, tidy Hangeul, his full name; the bit of space after slightly creased by eraser marks. He doesn’t know exactly what to think.
VI
Jonghyun takes up his finished paper plane, opens it carefully and writes the four syllables of love* onto its center, engraving it like a lost love song which has finally found the right lyrics, a lonely cry in the night that, at long last, meets fulfillment. Jonghyun pads softly into Jinki’s room, Taemin and Key sound asleep in their bunks, slips his paper plane into the smooth cushion of the oldest boy’s covers. He lingers for just over a few seconds, just enough to contemplate the way Jinki sleeps, take in Jinki’s scent, have Jinki just a few inches away from him but yet so overwhelmingly close.
Jonghyun understands.
II
Some people believe that endings are merely the start of new things, that when one door closes another opens. Others, instead, choose to trust in the idea of beginnings only being of relation to the end, that a start is simply a means to an ultimate endpoint.
Jonghyun prefers to live in the idea of middles, him liking to finger the concept of possibility and the unknown, indulge in the wide span of forking paths that diverge from a common point, play around with the ability to write and rewrite things without ever having to pause for the eraser. He scribbles these scenarios on little paper planes, watching them take flight into the sky, the background in front of him panned out wide - blue and vast, ever waiting.
* referring to I Love You in Korean, saranghaeyo.