Close To Me, 758 w
“Why now, of all times?” Jonghyun growls.
He wants to punch him. God, he wants to punch his jaw and make him feel the pain. He also wants to ask him why and perhaps he wants to do other things too, but he mustn't think of anything else right now. He’s on duty, after all.
Kibum shoots him a sympathetic smile and closes his eyes. It only irks Jonghyun, just a little more and he will kiss sanity goodbye and make things he will regret later. Jonghyun’s grips tightens on Kibum's collar as he hisses,
“Answer me!”
Darkness surrounds them, darkness and deathly silence--quite literally. They are on the fifth floor of Plaza Hotel, in the bathroom of Presidential suite and the President is lying in his own blood on the other side of the door.
Jonghyun reaches for the gun and points it under Kibum’s jaw. Kibum, however, replies with another half-attempted smile and closes his eyes.
“Jjong-ah.” Jonghyun winces at the nickname. Kibum guides Jonghyun’s hand down his chest and aims at the heart.
“You’re aiming at the wrong place.”
“Fuck you,” Jonghyun’s forehead hits Kibum’s shoulder and his grip loosens.
Kibum can’t help but add, “Done that.”
He hears Jonghyun’s snort and this time his smile is a little brighter. His fingers reach for Jonghyun’s hair and Kibum is almost hurt, because his body acts as if nothing had happened. It’s as if it was only yesterday when Jonghyun was lying on his chest, napping after a stressful day. But that was then, and back then Jonghyun’s hair was platinum blond, his ears and eyebrow pierced, his tattoo proudly grazing his neck, shoulder and back. At the moment, a black turtle-neck sweater is covering the tattoo. Kibum closes his eyes and whispers in Jonghyun’s hair,
“Shoot. ’ll give you five seconds, this is your only chance,”
He feels Jonghyun’s body stiffen. A quiet chuckle follows.
“I only have one bullet left.”
“I’ll take this as a no then.” Kibum concludes. His fingers are still combing through Jonghyun’s hair and it seems like they have a mind of their own because they are slowly descending, travelling down his neck and then they follow the jawline, up the temples, down touching Jonghyun’s trembling lips.
“You’re not crying, are you?” Kibum asks. He cups Jonghyun’s face but it is dark, there is no light except the emergency sign above their heads. The electricity is out. It’s Kibum’s doing, he did it half an hour before, five minutes before he shot a bullet through the president skull, fifteen minutes before he was pushed into bathroom (that has, mind you, automatic door, that locks when you step inside and opens only by a voice command).
“Why?” Jonghyun asks. His voice is calm, calm before the storm.
“Why what Jonghyun? You gotta be more specific. There’s a lot of why-s when--”
“Why did you take all the photos, all your clothes, even fucking porcelain from Paris? The fucking letters we wrote to each other in high school? Fuck Kibum. Even my wedding ring? How did you even manage to do that?”
Jonghyun’s breathing is uneven and he knows this turned from professional to personal the moment he entered the apartment and saw Kibum shocked eyes. But what the fuck. He is a human, after two years he feels like a human again. Angry, torn apart, alive. Bags under his eyes are so big but he is more awake than ever.
“Jjong-ah--”
“Don’t use that on me! Don’t call me like that. Just don’t.”
Jonghyun lets the gun fall on the ground and clutches at Kibum’s leather jacket. His head hits Kibum’s chest repeatedly until Kibum grabs his cheeks and smiles. That smile he had when Jonghyun crossed out another day on their calendar, turned around and grinned: ‘Two more weeks and we’ll get a puppy.’
“Stop hurting yourself.” Kibum says. His voice is soft, as if lecturing a little kid, explaining him the thing he is doing will do him no good.
“You are the one who is hurting me.”
“I know.”
Jonghyun chokes and slowly falls on his knees. His hands are clutching at Kibum’s sides, as if making sure he’s not going anywhere.
“Hold me, please?” he murmurs and when he feels Kibum sit down next to him, he starts crying. His sobs are loud and messy but he really doesn’t care about the world outside. Being in Kibum’s embrace makes it so easy to forget there is a corpse outside, a gun next to his knee, the assassin of the president whispering soothing thoughts in his ear.
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A/N: Um. Let's pretend I'm actually studying for my last exam ok (BUT I plan to actually come back in a week? This came to me when I was applying shampoo to my hair.
He wants to punch him. God, he wants to punch his jaw and make him feel the pain. He also wants to ask him why and perhaps he wants to do other things too, but he mustn't think of anything else right now. He’s on duty, after all.
Kibum shoots him a sympathetic smile and closes his eyes. It only irks Jonghyun, just a little more and he will kiss sanity goodbye and make things he will regret later. Jonghyun’s grips tightens on Kibum's collar as he hisses,
“Answer me!”
Darkness surrounds them, darkness and deathly silence--quite literally. They are on the fifth floor of Plaza Hotel, in the bathroom of Presidential suite and the President is lying in his own blood on the other side of the door.
Jonghyun reaches for the gun and points it under Kibum’s jaw. Kibum, however, replies with another half-attempted smile and closes his eyes.
“Jjong-ah.” Jonghyun winces at the nickname. Kibum guides Jonghyun’s hand down his chest and aims at the heart.
“You’re aiming at the wrong place.”
“Fuck you,” Jonghyun’s forehead hits Kibum’s shoulder and his grip loosens.
Kibum can’t help but add, “Done that.”
He hears Jonghyun’s snort and this time his smile is a little brighter. His fingers reach for Jonghyun’s hair and Kibum is almost hurt, because his body acts as if nothing had happened. It’s as if it was only yesterday when Jonghyun was lying on his chest, napping after a stressful day. But that was then, and back then Jonghyun’s hair was platinum blond, his ears and eyebrow pierced, his tattoo proudly grazing his neck, shoulder and back. At the moment, a black turtle-neck sweater is covering the tattoo. Kibum closes his eyes and whispers in Jonghyun’s hair,
“Shoot. ’ll give you five seconds, this is your only chance,”
He feels Jonghyun’s body stiffen. A quiet chuckle follows.
“I only have one bullet left.”
“I’ll take this as a no then.” Kibum concludes. His fingers are still combing through Jonghyun’s hair and it seems like they have a mind of their own because they are slowly descending, travelling down his neck and then they follow the jawline, up the temples, down touching Jonghyun’s trembling lips.
“You’re not crying, are you?” Kibum asks. He cups Jonghyun’s face but it is dark, there is no light except the emergency sign above their heads. The electricity is out. It’s Kibum’s doing, he did it half an hour before, five minutes before he shot a bullet through the president skull, fifteen minutes before he was pushed into bathroom (that has, mind you, automatic door, that locks when you step inside and opens only by a voice command).
“Why?” Jonghyun asks. His voice is calm, calm before the storm.
“Why what Jonghyun? You gotta be more specific. There’s a lot of why-s when--”
“Why did you take all the photos, all your clothes, even fucking porcelain from Paris? The fucking letters we wrote to each other in high school? Fuck Kibum. Even my wedding ring? How did you even manage to do that?”
Jonghyun’s breathing is uneven and he knows this turned from professional to personal the moment he entered the apartment and saw Kibum shocked eyes. But what the fuck. He is a human, after two years he feels like a human again. Angry, torn apart, alive. Bags under his eyes are so big but he is more awake than ever.
“Jjong-ah--”
“Don’t use that on me! Don’t call me like that. Just don’t.”
Jonghyun lets the gun fall on the ground and clutches at Kibum’s leather jacket. His head hits Kibum’s chest repeatedly until Kibum grabs his cheeks and smiles. That smile he had when Jonghyun crossed out another day on their calendar, turned around and grinned: ‘Two more weeks and we’ll get a puppy.’
“Stop hurting yourself.” Kibum says. His voice is soft, as if lecturing a little kid, explaining him the thing he is doing will do him no good.
“You are the one who is hurting me.”
“I know.”
Jonghyun chokes and slowly falls on his knees. His hands are clutching at Kibum’s sides, as if making sure he’s not going anywhere.
“Hold me, please?” he murmurs and when he feels Kibum sit down next to him, he starts crying. His sobs are loud and messy but he really doesn’t care about the world outside. Being in Kibum’s embrace makes it so easy to forget there is a corpse outside, a gun next to his knee, the assassin of the president whispering soothing thoughts in his ear.
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A/N: Um. Let's pretend I'm actually studying for my last exam ok (BUT I plan to actually come back in a week? This came to me when I was applying shampoo to my hair.