Where are we Headed?
Where are we Headed? // Taemin-centric, broken!2min, hinted!taekey
Angst // PG
1500 pictures, ten towers, one month, and an interesting stranger who can give Taemin the strength to believe again.
Written for challenge 15 at shawol_haven . Based off this picture and a result of looping the Coraline soundtrack for three days straight.
♥♥♥
Click. Click.
Taemin sighs in content, steps back, and presses the playback button on his DLSR camera. The focus is off. Blurry. Not good enough to be counted as a clear for Tokyo Tower. The blaring orange and soothing white blend together too much. Not artistic. Just trash.
He spends the next hour and a half looking for the perfect shot and sometime in the middle of switching lenses, the sky morphs into a painting with purple, red, and orange hues. That same Tokyo Tower color. Breathtaking. But Taemin isn't there to admire the sky. He's there to photograph the tower. One out of ten that he is supposed to take for someone.
They met two years prior, when Taemin was just graduating from high school. The other was a friend of a family friend and attending the university Taemin was accepted into. 'He can show you around, Min.' his mother had said. 'Being a college freshman is tough.' But Taemin didn't think so at the time. The first year was simple. And it's comical because here he is now, snapping pictures of Eiffel Tower inspired towers during his break and barely passing his courses.
Years have gone by and he still wonders if it's worth it. He once thought college would be easy. He thought his perfect scores on tests and homework were too good for the professors who couldn't control their own students and too good for the students who brushed in with mediocre grades above those with higher credentials. He thought there was no point in higher education if all it was going to do was tell him what he already knew, teach him what he was already taught, and leave him with a flimsy piece of paper that wouldn't survive a stormy wind.
Now, older and understanding of the troubles of growing up and the hardships that come along with age, he thinks university isn't doing anything but kicking his butt with sharpened pencils, shiny textbooks, and disgruntled roommates. It isn't teaching him what he feels like he should know, isn't telling him how to survive in the real world. It isn't making him feel good about himself or his future. And the point is to drain his limited funds just to get a flimsy piece of paper that won't survive a stormy wind.
After a clean two hundred shots Taemin decides it isn't worth it at all.
He bids a goodbye to Tokyo Tower, gives a little wave to FootTown below it and watches his dreams ride away on an invisible train to nowhere.
It was nice knowing them.
Feeling trapped inside a taxi with a business man with no consideration for others gabbing on his cellular phone, Taemin props his arm on the arm rest, leans back in the seat enough to seem like an ungrateful brat, and stares out the window. He doesn't look, admire, scrutinize, or behold. He stares. The buildings are all the same. Sure a window or two is different but it's like being stuck watching a broken movie reel or listening to a broken record. And quite frankly, the repetition is sickening.
Where is the color? The life? There is none. Probably on that same train with his dreams. That damned train is taking everything away from Taemin.
But when he gets back to the small traditional inn he's staying at, he thinks he’ll be better at the next location. He has a flight at the break of dawn.
His next stop is Shenzhen, China. The Window of the World.
There is more life here but not the kind he wants. The locals and tourists flock through the replica park, pointing and smiling at all of the models of famous global landmarks. Taemin watches them as he finds his way to the Eiffel Tower model. It's number two in his list and he hopes to scratch it off quickly enough to catch a flight to the next place before evening.
He thinks about home as his index finger presses the shutter button, thinks about his lover as he contemplates deleting the picture, sighs as he decides to keep it. Putting the camera back up to eye-level to glance at the Eiffel Tower copycat, he reminisces about better times. A confident childhood filled with happiness. Not feeling like he was living for nothing. Loving as if the world couldn’t do anything about it.
He puts his overactive and repetitive mind to rest, letting his memories become small clouds containing little speckles of dust with his life written on them. They're only a nuisance. They rain on him when he wants to be alone to bask in warm sunlight but at some point they'll disappear for a clearer sky and mix with the clouds belonging to other people. They would soon be forgotten.
One hundred and seventy pictures later Taemin has to go out to buy a new memory card. It's just his luck that on his way to the airport it starts to pour, those clouds he tries to wish away opening to release a flood of saddened tears. His memories don't want to be abandoned. But things don't always happen like you want.
Except, he is able to relax as he sits in the window seat on a plane set to depart in fifteen minutes, 6:45 in the evening. To Paris.
When he touches down on French soil he feels like he could pass out any second but somehow is able to get himself to a pretty nice hotel in the heart of the city. He bends the plastic room key in his hands as he waits for the elevator. A person comes up to him but he doesn't notice until the elevator door opens and he steps in and turns around to another in the small space with him. The stranger, definitely not French or European, zeroes in on his small duffle bag that stays glued to his side. It holds six outfits all stuffed in it because a suitcase with unnecessary clothing would only slow him down.
"Are you running away?" The other person asks in deep, smooth French.
"I don't understand." He replies in English it’s a universal language. That's what he was told in school, what he's always believed at least.
The man beside him nods. "Where do you come from?" He shoves his hands into the pockets of his thin spring jacket. His English is flawless. Without an accent.
And Taemin thought he was good with languages.
"Korea."
It seems like the man brightens with his simple response. "You're Korean? I'm Korean." Of course he is.
But he could have fooled Taemin with his bright blond hair and exotic cheekbones. He looked everything but Korean.
"Well, I originally asked if you were running away but it seems like a bit much to run away from Korea to France."
"I'm not running away." And then the elevator dings their arrival to the fourth floor and Taemin's room key says 415 on it. He hums as his goodbye, leaving the man to watch his retreating back.
He's even more tired after he sits on the large bed in the center of the room. But instead of pulling back the sheets and letting sleep overtake him, he unzips his bag and pulls out a beaten black leather wallet. He opens it to reveal his ID and four credit cards tucked into the small slots. Numerous bills of money for different countries fill the pocket. None of it is his money. It's all the money of his love. The love he left behind but he hopes to see again soon. After the Eiffel Tower he has seven more lattice towers to visit. He'll be home in no time.
He sleeps through most of the next day and doesn't get a chance to head out to the Tower until the sky is dark and the Eiffel Tower is blinding with lights. Stopping a few blocks away, he brings the camera hanging from his neck up to his face. The angle is a little off the first time and the second shot he cuts off the tip of the Tower. It doesn't matter. It looks nice. And he has another hundred and forty eight that he's prescribed to take.
At the eightieth picture, he takes a break and finishes walking to the tower. He decides to head up to the second level. He leans over the edge, stares at the cars that speed past, and breathes. His eyes begin to close but they snap open at an arm wrapping around his shoulder.
It's the French-English-Korean guy from the elevator.
"Small world, huh?" He says all smiles and exotic features. Taemin thinks he's too pale against all the lights but he can't be one to judge if he's just as deathly colored.
The photographer shrugs and turns back to the street. The stranger shakes him a little bit. "I'm Kibum. Food connoisseur." Taemin doesn't try to hold back his snort. "Okay. Architect in the making."
"Taemin. Lonely photographer in the making."
"Why are you lonely?" Kibum frowns, squeezes his shoulder in a comforting manner. Taemin doesn't mind it. Doesn't mind telling his story either. It’s not like he’s ashamed, just depressed.
"I've been taking pictures of lattice structures. My boyfriend is getting married. He's bisexual and his parents wanted to tie him to a woman. He said he'd consider calling it off if I can bring him back one hundred and fifty each pictures of ten lattice towers. I think he really loves her no matter what he tells me." He smiles at how pitiful he is. He’s poor, alone, and giving up on life with four hundred fifty useless pictures in his camera.
"What's his name?"
"Minho."
"Well this Minho guy sounds like a douchebag." And Taemin laughs at that. He sort of likes this Kibum person. He's blunt like Taemin isn't. Sensible like Taemin isn't. "Why should you have to do something like this if he really loves you? And something so stupid too."
Taemin shrugs. He really doesn't know. He asked Minho that when he was first given the task but he was willing to do anything for love then. He isn't so sure now. He’s starting to think wishing for Minho is as useless as going to college.
"You know, you should accompany me. You could be my head photographer when I get my own firm." Kibum lifts his shoulder in his own shrug. Uncertain of his own future but anticipating the best.
"I don't think so." He shakes his head. Even if Minho goes through with the wedding, he wants to finish taking the pictures. It’s a pride thing. A remembrance thing.
"Please?"
"You don’t even know me." The photographer frowns and tries to measure the distance to the ground with his eyes, wonders how much it would hurt to accidentally fall over the edge to his death.
And Taemin feels slender fingers grip his chin and soon he's staring into hard eyes, too close to an unknown face. "No, but you have a pretty little light in your eyes that screams for hope. For love and attention. I'd hate to see it go out."
Taemin's brain goes into a nervous and confused overdrive and he freezes, biting into his bottom lip. It's a little frightening. This stranger sees in him what no one back home does. Not Minho. Not even his parents.
And plus, with him failing out of college and having no job, he has nothing to lose but a man who is already forcing Taemin out of his heart. He's sure Minho won't miss his credit cards - he was given a month to get the pictures, his exotic foreign money, or him.
Taemin only has one question: "So where are we headed next?"
♥♥♥
first time writing something like this. hope it's not too bad.
Angst // PG
1500 pictures, ten towers, one month, and an interesting stranger who can give Taemin the strength to believe again.
Written for challenge 15 at shawol_haven . Based off this picture and a result of looping the Coraline soundtrack for three days straight.
♥♥♥
Click. Click.
Taemin sighs in content, steps back, and presses the playback button on his DLSR camera. The focus is off. Blurry. Not good enough to be counted as a clear for Tokyo Tower. The blaring orange and soothing white blend together too much. Not artistic. Just trash.
He spends the next hour and a half looking for the perfect shot and sometime in the middle of switching lenses, the sky morphs into a painting with purple, red, and orange hues. That same Tokyo Tower color. Breathtaking. But Taemin isn't there to admire the sky. He's there to photograph the tower. One out of ten that he is supposed to take for someone.
They met two years prior, when Taemin was just graduating from high school. The other was a friend of a family friend and attending the university Taemin was accepted into. 'He can show you around, Min.' his mother had said. 'Being a college freshman is tough.' But Taemin didn't think so at the time. The first year was simple. And it's comical because here he is now, snapping pictures of Eiffel Tower inspired towers during his break and barely passing his courses.
Years have gone by and he still wonders if it's worth it. He once thought college would be easy. He thought his perfect scores on tests and homework were too good for the professors who couldn't control their own students and too good for the students who brushed in with mediocre grades above those with higher credentials. He thought there was no point in higher education if all it was going to do was tell him what he already knew, teach him what he was already taught, and leave him with a flimsy piece of paper that wouldn't survive a stormy wind.
Now, older and understanding of the troubles of growing up and the hardships that come along with age, he thinks university isn't doing anything but kicking his butt with sharpened pencils, shiny textbooks, and disgruntled roommates. It isn't teaching him what he feels like he should know, isn't telling him how to survive in the real world. It isn't making him feel good about himself or his future. And the point is to drain his limited funds just to get a flimsy piece of paper that won't survive a stormy wind.
After a clean two hundred shots Taemin decides it isn't worth it at all.
He bids a goodbye to Tokyo Tower, gives a little wave to FootTown below it and watches his dreams ride away on an invisible train to nowhere.
It was nice knowing them.
Feeling trapped inside a taxi with a business man with no consideration for others gabbing on his cellular phone, Taemin props his arm on the arm rest, leans back in the seat enough to seem like an ungrateful brat, and stares out the window. He doesn't look, admire, scrutinize, or behold. He stares. The buildings are all the same. Sure a window or two is different but it's like being stuck watching a broken movie reel or listening to a broken record. And quite frankly, the repetition is sickening.
Where is the color? The life? There is none. Probably on that same train with his dreams. That damned train is taking everything away from Taemin.
But when he gets back to the small traditional inn he's staying at, he thinks he’ll be better at the next location. He has a flight at the break of dawn.
His next stop is Shenzhen, China. The Window of the World.
There is more life here but not the kind he wants. The locals and tourists flock through the replica park, pointing and smiling at all of the models of famous global landmarks. Taemin watches them as he finds his way to the Eiffel Tower model. It's number two in his list and he hopes to scratch it off quickly enough to catch a flight to the next place before evening.
He thinks about home as his index finger presses the shutter button, thinks about his lover as he contemplates deleting the picture, sighs as he decides to keep it. Putting the camera back up to eye-level to glance at the Eiffel Tower copycat, he reminisces about better times. A confident childhood filled with happiness. Not feeling like he was living for nothing. Loving as if the world couldn’t do anything about it.
He puts his overactive and repetitive mind to rest, letting his memories become small clouds containing little speckles of dust with his life written on them. They're only a nuisance. They rain on him when he wants to be alone to bask in warm sunlight but at some point they'll disappear for a clearer sky and mix with the clouds belonging to other people. They would soon be forgotten.
One hundred and seventy pictures later Taemin has to go out to buy a new memory card. It's just his luck that on his way to the airport it starts to pour, those clouds he tries to wish away opening to release a flood of saddened tears. His memories don't want to be abandoned. But things don't always happen like you want.
Except, he is able to relax as he sits in the window seat on a plane set to depart in fifteen minutes, 6:45 in the evening. To Paris.
When he touches down on French soil he feels like he could pass out any second but somehow is able to get himself to a pretty nice hotel in the heart of the city. He bends the plastic room key in his hands as he waits for the elevator. A person comes up to him but he doesn't notice until the elevator door opens and he steps in and turns around to another in the small space with him. The stranger, definitely not French or European, zeroes in on his small duffle bag that stays glued to his side. It holds six outfits all stuffed in it because a suitcase with unnecessary clothing would only slow him down.
"Are you running away?" The other person asks in deep, smooth French.
"I don't understand." He replies in English it’s a universal language. That's what he was told in school, what he's always believed at least.
The man beside him nods. "Where do you come from?" He shoves his hands into the pockets of his thin spring jacket. His English is flawless. Without an accent.
And Taemin thought he was good with languages.
"Korea."
It seems like the man brightens with his simple response. "You're Korean? I'm Korean." Of course he is.
But he could have fooled Taemin with his bright blond hair and exotic cheekbones. He looked everything but Korean.
"Well, I originally asked if you were running away but it seems like a bit much to run away from Korea to France."
"I'm not running away." And then the elevator dings their arrival to the fourth floor and Taemin's room key says 415 on it. He hums as his goodbye, leaving the man to watch his retreating back.
He's even more tired after he sits on the large bed in the center of the room. But instead of pulling back the sheets and letting sleep overtake him, he unzips his bag and pulls out a beaten black leather wallet. He opens it to reveal his ID and four credit cards tucked into the small slots. Numerous bills of money for different countries fill the pocket. None of it is his money. It's all the money of his love. The love he left behind but he hopes to see again soon. After the Eiffel Tower he has seven more lattice towers to visit. He'll be home in no time.
He sleeps through most of the next day and doesn't get a chance to head out to the Tower until the sky is dark and the Eiffel Tower is blinding with lights. Stopping a few blocks away, he brings the camera hanging from his neck up to his face. The angle is a little off the first time and the second shot he cuts off the tip of the Tower. It doesn't matter. It looks nice. And he has another hundred and forty eight that he's prescribed to take.
At the eightieth picture, he takes a break and finishes walking to the tower. He decides to head up to the second level. He leans over the edge, stares at the cars that speed past, and breathes. His eyes begin to close but they snap open at an arm wrapping around his shoulder.
It's the French-English-Korean guy from the elevator.
"Small world, huh?" He says all smiles and exotic features. Taemin thinks he's too pale against all the lights but he can't be one to judge if he's just as deathly colored.
The photographer shrugs and turns back to the street. The stranger shakes him a little bit. "I'm Kibum. Food connoisseur." Taemin doesn't try to hold back his snort. "Okay. Architect in the making."
"Taemin. Lonely photographer in the making."
"Why are you lonely?" Kibum frowns, squeezes his shoulder in a comforting manner. Taemin doesn't mind it. Doesn't mind telling his story either. It’s not like he’s ashamed, just depressed.
"I've been taking pictures of lattice structures. My boyfriend is getting married. He's bisexual and his parents wanted to tie him to a woman. He said he'd consider calling it off if I can bring him back one hundred and fifty each pictures of ten lattice towers. I think he really loves her no matter what he tells me." He smiles at how pitiful he is. He’s poor, alone, and giving up on life with four hundred fifty useless pictures in his camera.
"What's his name?"
"Minho."
"Well this Minho guy sounds like a douchebag." And Taemin laughs at that. He sort of likes this Kibum person. He's blunt like Taemin isn't. Sensible like Taemin isn't. "Why should you have to do something like this if he really loves you? And something so stupid too."
Taemin shrugs. He really doesn't know. He asked Minho that when he was first given the task but he was willing to do anything for love then. He isn't so sure now. He’s starting to think wishing for Minho is as useless as going to college.
"You know, you should accompany me. You could be my head photographer when I get my own firm." Kibum lifts his shoulder in his own shrug. Uncertain of his own future but anticipating the best.
"I don't think so." He shakes his head. Even if Minho goes through with the wedding, he wants to finish taking the pictures. It’s a pride thing. A remembrance thing.
"Please?"
"You don’t even know me." The photographer frowns and tries to measure the distance to the ground with his eyes, wonders how much it would hurt to accidentally fall over the edge to his death.
And Taemin feels slender fingers grip his chin and soon he's staring into hard eyes, too close to an unknown face. "No, but you have a pretty little light in your eyes that screams for hope. For love and attention. I'd hate to see it go out."
Taemin's brain goes into a nervous and confused overdrive and he freezes, biting into his bottom lip. It's a little frightening. This stranger sees in him what no one back home does. Not Minho. Not even his parents.
And plus, with him failing out of college and having no job, he has nothing to lose but a man who is already forcing Taemin out of his heart. He's sure Minho won't miss his credit cards - he was given a month to get the pictures, his exotic foreign money, or him.
Taemin only has one question: "So where are we headed next?"
♥♥♥
first time writing something like this. hope it's not too bad.