Tomorrow
Title: Tomorrow
Pairing: Jonghyun/Kibum (main), past Jinki/Kibum
Rating: R
Warnings: the story is not narrated in chronological order; character death, cw: attempt of suicide (not main characters); cw: car accident (mention);
Final Word Count: 10573
A/N: SBB2014's entry
“Will he know it’s us?” Kibum’s words are a weak whisper and he is still not ready to let go of Minho’s hand. Opening pale green door and walking into the room will make everything painfully real; it will tear Kibum alive.
The intensity in Minho’s eyes startles him, but Minho’s voice is as weak as his: “They said he might hear us.”
Kibum inhales. He squeezes Minho’s equally sweating but reassuring hand and enters the room 207.
---
Jonghyun looks around the airport. He sees countless stories, caught up in last hugs, so many hugs and desperate hands, clutching at precious sides. Wet eyes, screaming the last farewells and ‘Please call me when you arrive.’, lovers’ kisses, twinkly eyes and fear. But there is more. There is almost sweet scent of expectation, of tomorrow that can’t be predicted. The change lingers in the air, tickling Jonghyun’s senses, reminding him of his own fragile future.
Jonghyun’s teeth drag over his lower lip as he closes his eyes. He grabs Minho’s wrist and before Minho can say anything, Jonghyun nuzzles into his warm chest.
“I am scared.”
Thanks to Minho’s big coat and arms that embrace his tiny waist, Jonghyun is well hidden from the world. Like so many times before, Minho’s arms are the safe and warm haven. They protect Jonghyun from his worst enemy--himself; they hold him as long as it is needed and imprint the soothing thoughts onto his skin.
Big, red digits on the clock above their heads are mercilessly ticking the precious minutes away; three turns into four and four turns into five. Even if it’s a little late (too late) it doesn’t stop Jonghyun from digging nails into Minho’s nape. No matter how shaky Jonghyun’s fingers are, they are strong and they are starving for assurance.
The big gloving numbers turn from nineteen to twenty and the monotone male voice announces the latest arrival and departure time and the number of flights. Jonghyun’s is third in line and there isn’t much time left.
“Will you…can you help noona if she needs anything?”
Jonghyun lifts his desperate eyes. His chest will burst anytime now and he doesn’t really want Minho to say anything. For once, Minho is silent, he hesitates. His head is heavy and it refuses to nod. Saying yes equals to letting Jonghyun go.
Jonghyun knows the time is precious and the longer he stays in Minho’s embrace, the harder it will be to walk away. His arms slowly let go of Minho’s dark blue shirt and just as he wants to take one step back, Minho takes another one forward and his fingers almost painfully clutch at Jonghyun’s blond hair.
“Please stay,” says Minho.
His eyes are stubbornly closed and tears will fall any second now. Jonghyun feels his own threatening to join the show, but he is a master of denial. So he inhales sharply and the air pierces through his lungs and his chest. He stands up on his toes and desperately presses lips against Minho’s. It is kind of new--nothing like all drunken kisses they shared here and there. He knows that Minho wants him to stay but does he know Jonghyun wants that too?
It is just the cruel reality, Jonghyun has made up his mind and this is what he needs to do, this is the last thing he needs to do. He pulls away. His eyes are still closed, so he doesn’t know whether Minho is watching or bawling his eyes out. Jonghyun knows this is his only chance to walk away, so he picks up the navy blue bag and and starts walking to the boarding gate.
Tears flow freely now. He tells himself it is only his body’s reaction. He lets it be, he doesn’t want to see Minho’s face, full of promises and wishes and tears, he doesn’t want Minho’s safe embrace to make him stop and stay. So he doesn’t turn around at all. He simply carries the bittersweet taste of strawberry chocolate and the blunt marks of nails at the back of his neck.
---
“You can’t be serious,”
Minho’s eyes scream puzzlement and he is waiting for Jonghyun to crack up and say ‘Gotcha’ . Jonghyun’s face grazes an empty smile, it is as if the roles are reversed and Minho should be the pitied one.
Minho sighs and closes eyes. He can’t really speak, his lips tremble too much.
Jonghyun has a few weeks left. He tells that to Minho at 3:29AM, on the day of his departure.
---
Truth be told, Jonghyun’s life is not a novel-material. His job is average, his salary is not high but not low either and his flat is identical to thousand others in his city. He lives in a two-room apartment he shares with Minho, his university friend. His hobbies include staying up late, sleeping until noon if possible, reading books and trying to write one. He used to visit gym twice a week. But that was long ago. Honestly, he isn’t much of a sporty type, not anymore. Back in the university days, he and Minho went to the gym together but now he simply lost interest in keeping muscles. He actually lost interest in a lot of things.
This is his breaking point. He is running low on time and he only wants to do that so that he won’t see people around him break when he does. Instead of waiting the dreary end he concentrates on other things. Like what countries and cities to visit. What to experience one last time before he dies.
He has no intention to tell his family or anyone else. Naturally, Minho is exception and it’s not like he can make Jonghyun change his mind. The flight is already booked and Jonghyun is currently sitting in a taxi. The traffic is high but they are quite close to the airport so there is no possibility of missing the plane.
He actually never planned to tell Minho about it; it was a silly accident.
---
The night before his departure they went out drinking, just like so many Sundays before. One thing led to another and when they were too drunk to decide where to go next they somehow managed to return back to apartment. Of course, only after Minho had emptied his stomach on the pavement in front of the post office. The real deal was unlocking the door and taking off jacket and shoes. The bedroom was too far and their old black leather sofa was all too inviting. Minho lay down first and Jonghyun whined about using up all the space. However he didn’t complain when Minho pulled him into an embrace. He didn’t say anything about bad breath or uncomfortable Minho’s shoulder (too bony). He simply nuzzled into offered embrace and before he could stop the words slipped out of his mouth.
“I am going to die.”
“Isn’t everybody?” Minho slurred.
Jonghyun choked and tears followed in a second and the dam broke. After months of all too wide smiles and keeping everything to himself--in naive belief his last days would be better without anyone knowing--he felt relieved. He didn’t want Minho to say anything and even when he started talking Jonghyun simply shut him up by kissing him. They were both too drunk and exhausted to actually talk it through.
The morning after Jonghyun puts on a kettle, makes them tea and cooks soup. He already packed up clothes and took Minho’s universal electric charger and razor. He purposely leaves plane ticket on a club table in the living room and when he hears Minho wake up he knows it is only a matter of seconds until Minho puts one and one together. He hears a silent ‘fuck’ when Minho hits the table with his toe and in two minutes he sees him walk into the kitchen.
“I will go with you to the airport.”
It is not what Minho’s eyes are saying though. They are so loud and Jonghyun knows they won’t shut up until he hugs him goodbye and checks in but he can’t bring himself up to oppose. He is glad Minho is not trying to stop him. At least not with words. He is not sure what will happen when they reach the airport terminal though.
The soup is cold when they eat it and the bags under their eyes are everything but small. He tries to conceal them but he can’t conceal the uneasiness in his stomach nor the guilt in his chest. In a minute he is bent over the toilet and he is not sure if it is due to hangover or as a result of everything piled up.
He has two hours and his bags are ready, he is dressed up. He already said goodbye to his family. Of course they have no idea about it. It is only Jonghyun who got to say his farewell as he muttered Goodbye and I love you in their hair or necks.
He knows two hours are more than enough for Minho to call Sodam or his mother and tell them about his absurd plans. He is aware Minho has time and possibility to stop him from whatever he is trying to do. He can’t do much but to trust him.
---
Kibum almost jumps and drops his designer bag when someone taps his shoulder. His throat is dry and he wishes he accepted the wine, offered by a brunet steward a few hours ago (in the middle of the night, somewhere 10k feet above Russia).
When he reluctantly turns around, he sighs. He immediately tries to stutter an apology but is interrupted right away.
“You’re Kibum, right?”
“Yes. I’m Key. Kim Kibum.” Kibum is surprised how calm his own voice sounds. he doesn’t know why he added Key because the guy he is talking to must be Minho and he probably knows everything about Kibum. Well at least as much as Jonghyun knows. The second time Kibum speaks is a little more difficult. His voice cracks twice. The second time he sighs again and smiles helplessly.
For a second Minho’s hands hesitate, but then he murmurs fuck it and pulls Kibum into a hug. He feels Kibum’s body stiffen and relax a moment after. When Kibum’s hands embrace his waist in an awkward manner Minho nods.
“Will you take me to him?”
Kibum is falling apart, but at the same time he recalls Jonghyun’s sleepy voice and messy hair, his fingers playing with his own and his tiny smile. He recalls lemon and half-empty packets of strawberries and Jonghyun’s bittersweet voice. The memories hit him hard and there is one particularly strong, involving pleasant dizziness, Jonghyun’s back up against his chest and Jonghyun telling him all secrets about Minho’s hugs.
Kibum can’t decide if he loves or hates Minho’s hug. Loves because being in his arms is keeping his falling figure together and hates because eventually even Minho’s arms won’t be able to stop Kibum from breakdown.
---
Kibum is falling but with Jonghyun it always felt like flying.
The ground is right beneath him and Kibum wants to close his eyes; he wants to wake up to another day, another life.
He takes a step, opens his eyes and he is surrounded by sharp and clean smell of the hospital.
He lands.
---
The traffic light turns green. Someone bumps into Kibum. They mumble an apology but all he sees is the strange look they give him. He inhales. He is alive. The rain on his skin reminds him of soft beige bed sheets and cold nights. Open balcony doors and dinner leftovers. It reminds him of white sweater on the floor (next to the bathroom door) and black jeans, lazily thrown over the auburn armchair. The memory of vanilla scent and shy smiles play tricks on him; the light turns red again.
---
His fingers dance in the cold air. His head is up in the clouds and his feet have no desire to stand on the solid ground. All he sees is pitch black darkness but his senses are on fire. If he were to to put it into words, it would be something close to standing in the crowd and feel overwhelmed by the surroundings. Your mind is focused on all little details within the reach; bright red (scarlet) lipstick, torn black sweater, bruised hands, crossed arms, exaggerated laughter, chapped lips, love-sick eyes, jeans that don’t fit, longing stares.
His mind is greedy too. For the tiniest details on Kibum’s skin, thirsty for his quivering voice and spilled words, hungry for Kibum’s loving touches and warm lips. Jonghyun’s fingers crawl up Kibum’s sides and it’s as if Kibum were a magnet. Jonghyun’s eyes seek hesitation or regret but there is none. In fact, Kibum may be even greedier than he is.
---
His cheek is warm against Jonghyun’s cold temple. His eyes are closed but instead of pitch black darkness Kibum sees the the world.
His fingers caress Jonghyun’s jaw and travel up soft cheeks. They want, no, have to cup Jonghyun’s face. Jonghyun’s skin eventually turns hot and his heart will burst anytime now. His eyebrows are scrunched and his chest hurts from nervousness. It is the coldest night of the month but his soul is on delicious fire.
---
The world is spinning around. Or maybe it is spiralling upwards. Jonghyun can’t really tell. He is safely wrapped in Kibum’s arms and the club is a dizzy mixture of blurry lights and faceless silhouettes. The music is energetic and bodies are hot and wild but he feels at ease. He tries to hide a smile and buries face in the curve of Kibum’s neck.
“Do you want to go home?”
Home.
Kibum’s eyes are big and sincere and they hold silent promises about warm bed and fruit tea. In reality, they sit in a bar and are surrounded by the bitter smell of alcohol and sweat, blasting music and hot desires. It’s funny because Jonghyun’s mind is all about shy kisses and sleepy caresses, soft sheets and slightly cold bodies, pressed together, trying to keep warm (because they are too lazy to close the balcony door).
---
“Are you lost?”
He’s smirking at Jonghyun. The hot guy. Jonghyun’s mind is kind of blur and dizzy but the man’s voice is enough for Jonghyun to know he’s talking to someone attractive. Jonghyun quickly shakes his head.
“Just waiting for someone. A friend.”
Was he friends with Kibum? Kibum’s eyes are always warm and attentive, his laughter is loud and vivid and it reminds Jonghyun of better times, of times when he too was able to laugh. And Kibum’s hugs. Kibum’s hugs feel like home, which is ridiculous, because Jonghyun is thousands of miles away from home.
Jonghyun nods (mostly to himself) again. “Just a friend.”
---
Jonghyun leans back on the bed and gasps. He slightly regrets the lack of shame, because in this moment he has none. He grips Kibum’s elbows and closes his eyes. When he feels Kibum’s tongue on his jaw he grins.
Kibum’s fingers are greedy and impatient. They don’t have time for romance; Jonghyun whines when Kibum tugs at his hair and his eyes open involuntarily when their noses and foreheads bump. Kibum’s heavy gaze pins him down and all that Jonghyun wants is eternity. He wants forever when he has nothing.
He sighs and pulls away. He doesn’t say sorry, nor does he give Kibum an explanation. He stands up, takes Kibum’s half empty glass of vodka and walks to the balcony. In all honesty, outside is the last place he wants to be right now; he wears no shirt and the temperature is ridiculously low (compared to Korea).
His insides burn when he downs the rest of the remaining beverage. He leans on the fence and watches the world below. There is not much to see; it is late and the streetlights shine for no one in particular. Kibum’s apartment is remote just enough to be away from the centre. It might not be the safest, but it is not the dangerous district either. Jonghyun’s attention catch two stray cats, staring at each other, their backs and tails arched.
He absentmindedly brings glass to his mouth. He scoffs when he sees there is nothing left. Just when he’s about to turn back to cats, a red blanket lands on his shoulders. His insides twist (not from the alcohol) and he turns around.
Kibum’s eyes are focused on the sky though. He brings unlit cigarette to his mouth and with no particular interest stares at the grey clouds.
“Too much goddamn rain and clouds,” Kibum murmurs, “you wouldn’t believe how much it affects people here.”
He steps back into the apartment, just so that he can bring out another blanket (this time is leopard print). He sits down and looks up at Jonghyun. His eyes might hold expectations, but not promises. Jonghyun won’t tell him, but he appreciates that. He carefully sits next to him and takes the cigarette out of his mouth. He takes a lighter out of his pocket and lights it up.
After two long drags (and a content sigh that follows afterwards) he hands it back to Kibum.
“I don’t want to talk about my problems,” Jonghyun says. His soft voice makes it look so simple, as if saying, ’What a pretty night’. They both know it’s far from that and besides, the clouds are completely covering the sky.
“Okay.”
“You don’t think it’s okay, do you?”
“No. Do you?”
“No.”
Kibum returns the cigarette and leans back. He closes his eyes and lets his hand wander to Jonghyun’s. His tiny smile grows a little when Jonghyun doesn’t shy away.
“Let’s do it like this,” Kibum suggests. “I will tell you my secret if you tell yours.”
“And if I don’t agree to this?” Jonghyun’s eyes are wide and questioning but Kibum doesn’t see the fear they are trying so hard to hide. What Kibum does feel is Jonghyun’s grip and body stiffen.
“You just say no.”
But Jonghyun doesn’t say no. He nods and his tone is almost challenging, “You start.”
“Okay. Alright. One day, as I was late for my job, I ran down the street, sweating like a pig and cursing and all. I was almost hit by a car--twice! Just when I was two corners away from the workplace a stupid tourist walks right into me. I had a mind to throw the worst possible insults at him when he looked at me with his big stupid pretty eyes and I forgot everything that was on my mind. The last person that managed to make my insides twist and cheeks burn was my--”
Kibum stops. He smiles but he has a lump in his throat. He is squeezing Jonghyun’s hand and he is suddenly at the wits end. It’s like he miscalculated everything; underestimated the power of the buried past hitting you. He feels Jonghyun’s hand squeezing back and when Jonghyun leans closer to offer him a shoulder Kibum shakes head.
“No, wait. I haven’t finished yet. The last person that made me feel that way was my fiancé. He intended to quit the job and took up photography. For the goodbye party he and his co-workers went to the seaside. The day he left I...we had a silly quarrel over something stupid. I hated how he never put leftovers into the fridge. When I told him about it he only laughed it off and said ’Key, when I come back, I’ll be a changed, serious man so that you’ll be proud of your future husband.
But of course I still acted pissed. Even when he called me a few hours later I didn’t bother to pick up the phone. About twenty minutes after a drunk driver hit their car and sent them over the edge. He and his friend, sitting next to him died. The one who was driving ended up with a broken spine.
If it were any other place, Jonghyun, I’d probably hit you or curse you. But you see, you just had to run into me in front of that stupid restaurant I and Jinki went to on our first date. I used to avoid that street so diligently. I always took an extra route, just to not see it. But you had to be there, had to make us both fall right there, two steps away where he first kissed me.”
Kibum closes his eyes and tries to smile. The wider his smile is, the more it stings.
“I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Kibum snorts. “You aren’t; not really. Besides, I’m not either.”
Kibum lifts their intertwined hands and stares at them with strange interest. He lies down and puts head on Jonghyun’s thigh. He looks up and smiles tiredly.
“Go on. It’s your turn.”
---
The world around is soaked in pretty colours. Sweet shades of brown and green almost knock Jonghyun out as he tries not to take out his notebook (or anything else he could write on) and write everything down. To make it last forever, this is his goal. He is not immortal, therefore the only way to make the moment eternal is to pen it down, wrap it in pretty adjectives and magnificent descriptions, sprinkle it with the tiniest lies that make it look like a non-existent fairytale.
Oh how he tries not to take out a notepad and a pen but of course he yields. He smiles as he pays more attention to the insides of his bag than what is ahead of him.
---
Kibum is desperately zipping up the rest of his coat as he is trying not to drop a bag and an ipad he holds. It is difficult though, he is so late it is ridiculous because he is never late. At least when it comes to job. Other things may be arguable, but right now it is morning, ten minutes to the beginning of his shift and he has no time to think of anything else but possible short-cuts that can still save his tardy butt.
He only briefly measures the distance between upcoming car and the pavement across the streets; it’ll probably be a close cut but he is already halfway across the street and a few other people walk with him too, completely ignoring the traffic light. Because that’s what his life has came down to. Hurrying from here to there. To go to job and going out at Friday nights and returning back home. Rushing and forgetting keys, papers, sometimes his name and hopefully all the pretty memories that sting.
---
There is a cute tiny little house across the street and all these lovely old-themed walls, covered in ivy waterfalls and Jonghyun tries so hard to keep excitement inside him, because it’s so painfully obvious he is a tourist and he doesn’t try to conceal it, yet he still hopes he will be able to blend with the crowd in the following days. That would make all the journey worth it, worth of everything he left behind. That would make him a part of the whole, a tiny non-existent part of the mass that is trying to catch all lost, precious minutes.
He may seem like he came here to do just the opposite. To forget about the minutes, days and hours, to ignore the fact that the giant clock above his head is ticking the future away. He could do that, he could forget. He wants to but he intends to do it in the old-fashioned, pretentious way; sitting in a posh cafe, when the weather is just about right (sunny after the drizzle); lazily sipping a cooled-out tea from a delicate pink-gold teacup and munching heart-shaped biscuits. Jonghyun could snort at the thought if he weren’t so excited for all that to experience it as soon as possible.
---
Kibum sighs and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to admit defeat but it’s whether taking that route or missing the job. Since the latter is completely out of option he frowns and tries not to groan out loud. When he inhales, it should be encouraging, fresh stark air filling his lungs but what he smells is gas and morning bread. A girl he passes is taking her time to savour the tasty breakfast--croissant--and Kibum almost whines.
He is short on breath now but all he cares about is to be on time for his shift and to get out of this street. He is so out of shape his tummy starts to hurt but he can take that, he can take all but memories.
He is only a few steps away from the next corner, right next to the place he wants to pass the quickest and his eyes are so concentrated on the end of the street he completely dismisses the figure approaching him, paying no mind to surroundings either.
They hit against each other and the only thing Kibum can think about when he’s losing his balance is Fuck if I drop Taemin’s ipad he’s gonna force me to pay for dinner every Friday for another three months and I’ll have to wear uggs the next winter.
---
Jonghyun isn’t sure what has happened but when he opens his eyes the world is blurry and someone is lying on top of him. He is ready for the avalanche of insults but all that he gets out from the words muffled into his chest is ’Fuck yeah god is real’. When a person finally sits up (or more precisely, sits back on his knees and starts chuckling), Jonghyun stares in awe. It’s so absurd, he is on the floor and someone is sitting on his knees but he can’t see anything because he managed to lose his glasses when he fell.
Kibum gets serious and stands up then. He is only mildly embarrassed about the situation because hell, all this had to happen on a day when he will be late for job (probably) right in front of that cursed place but for once he is surprised how little he cares. The eyes that stare at him are gorgeous and Kibum can’t stop smiling. It is all the wrong situation, he tries to remind himself that he was supposed to be apologizing, not feeling excited.
“Sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah yeah,” Jonghyun mumbles, “I’m...do you see my glasses?”
“Um, yes they’re--” Kibum looks around. He sees them a few feet away and he stands up to get them. He crouches to pick them up when a really quick (and crazy) bicycle whooshes past him and runs over them. “--Oh.”
“What?”
Kibum chuckles and immediately apologizes again and he’s really sorry but it looks like that day just won’t go right and he knows that he should feel guilty about it but he just can’t.
“Looks like you just got struck by my bad luck.”
Kibum helps Jonghyun to stand up and he is hit by his own behaviour and he is just a little embarrassed (that’s how he explains his cheeks and chest heating up).
“Listen, I’ll pay for your new glasses. There is a store just a few buildings away from my working place and I know a lady that works there so why don’t you come with me?”
Kibum knows he has promised Taemin to take him out to a meat fest or something later that week but he can’t just walk away, as if it is not his business. Besides, the guy looks pretty much lost and a little miserable (and cute and gorgeous) and he will need to come up with a pretty good excuse if it happens the boss will be earlier than Kibum, so he simply extends his arm and blurts out,
“I’m Kibum.”
“Um. Thank you?” Jonghyun smiles. It takes Kibum’s questioning eyes for him to remember he hasn’t properly introduced himself, “I mean, my name is Jonghyun.”
“Jonghyun.” Kibum tastes his name and its sweet taste reminds him of silly grins and bad jokes you kind of crave. It reminds him of honeyed, acoustic version of all love-themed songs and he wonders if Jonghyun can sing. If given a chance, he will confront him about it later. Right now, Kibum’s priority is to convince Jonghyun he’s not a creepy stranger and take him to his workplace. Actually, to the glasses store across but supposing it opens an hour later he needs to come up with a plan. Maybe americano latte or earl grey and a little chat.
“Ah, don’t apologize. It’s mostly my fault you can’t see anything and I’d like to make up for it. Besides, two minutes away is glasses store and it just happens to be close to my workplace, so how about you come with me and wait for the shop to open?”
Jonghyun wants to shake his head and smile politely, because honestly, he can think of a solution by himself. He intends to solve everything by himself but in the end his curiosity wins over his rational side and he nods and adds,
“I’d be really thankful if I could.”
---
Jonghyun opens his mouth and closes it again. He has to look away, find a distraction in old, rusty fence. Kibum’s eyes are too alluring for him. If he stares at them for too long, he will spill everything.
For a while, silence speaks instead of him. He wants to do it the right way, at least this one time.
“I wasn’t always like that.”
Kibum waits. He wants to say many things, but his mouth remain shut.
“Whenever I felt the summer breeze I used to see bright and carefree days. I could practically taste the late nights, soaked in beer and cheap barbecue, I could hear the laughter and pointless chatter, mixed with deep political debates. In early mornings, I used to wake up and smile at the thought of sunny tomorrow and frown at the fact I would have to go to work. I loved the idea of having a family one day. Creating a new life. Be the creator. Wow. I still think it’s fascinating.”
Jonghyun’s fingers draw lines on Kibum’s wrist. His face grazes that hopeless smile; a smile, filled with what was and what will never be. Kibum’s free hand squeezes Jonghyun’s waist; his mind is unable to create a single comforting sentence.
“Except now when I hover over the bridge I see the possibility. I see the life and I see the end. I wonder what is the distance between me and the ground, I envision the things that should remain unfortunate possibilities. I wonder if the mind ever stops measuring and calculating. My mind is so loud, Kibum.”
Jonghyun’s voice cracks. He doesn’t shed a tear, he simply clutches at Kibum’s shirt, his knuckles turn white. He sniffs and his head is heavy. Kibum sighs and sits up. He leans chin on the top of Jonghyun’s head. He wants to cover Jonghyun with the blanket that fell off his shoulders but Jonghyun is so fragile and Kibum is afraid to let go of his shivering figure.
“It’s okay. You’re okay,” Kibum murmurs.
“It’s not. It will never be okay.”
“Yes, it will never be okay. But that’s fine too. Things change and they don’t turn back just the way they were. You lose something and gain another.”
“Then what did you gain with Jinki’s death?”
Kibum winces. He closes his eyes and nods, “I’m sorry. Did my words hurt you?”
Jonghyun shrugs, “No you’re right. Nothing will be the same again.”
“I got two years of grief and emptiness, so many mornings where I just wanted to sleep and forget everything. Countless nights, where I woke up in cold sweat and tears but couldn’t remember dreams. When you lose all you’ve got, all that it’s worth living for, you simply want to stop existing. But that’s okay. You have time to figure it out. You should give yourself a chance.”
Jonghyun stares at him funnily, “Can you say that to your reflection in the mirror?”
Kibum smiles, but he shakes his head. He closes his eyes when Jonghyun’s hands cup his face. Suddenly, Kibum thinks of bigger, warmer hands. He thinks of wide, goofy smile and crescent-shaped eyes. All he wants is to cry himself to sleep; he is still tipsy and tired and it’s been so long since the memory of Jinki was so vivid.
“I forgot his voice. It’s not clear anymore. It’s as if it was coming from another room,” Kibum says, “of course I can’t believe that everything will be okay. But I need to keep repeating that, day after day. He would want me to smile and keep on going.”
“He’ll scold you for good once he sees you again.”
Kibum chuckles between tears, “Yeah.”
---
To Jonghyun, the world always felt nicer when wrapped in unknown colours and blurry gazes. His smile is only a pale reflection of Kibum’s bright one. It is a moment they live for, only this moment, only this one time; there is no tomorrow, no future for them to hold onto and this is what keeps their smiles alive and their worries at bay.
If today was your last day, what would you do?
Jonghyun doesn’t dwell on that thought. He spent too many lonely nights, with swollen eyes and puffy cheeks, thinking about the last day. It is like all cards are revealed; the one that ends the game has no colour, it is empty and sans white flowers, comforting words of condolences and brand new suits.
Jonghyun’s last day is today and if he is lucky enough it won’t last 24 hours but 168. He doesn’t hope for another extra shot, but up to this moment he was lucky. Lucky for a lifetime or two. His back is pressed up against Kibum’s chest and Kibum’s lips whisper bad poetry attempts on his neck.
This is not life, not really. Because life is about tomorrow, it is always about tomorrow; deadlines and appointments, family dinners and friends’ birthdays; taking daughters to prom next month and picking up sons from the military.
Jonghyun has no tomorrow but he has everything else. Touch, impression; soaked in blissful vividness, the slow dance of bodies and catching the fire. His breathing is erratic and Kibum is stealing the last of oxygen from him. His fingers in Jonghyun’s hair make bitter thoughts disappear--if only for a moment or two. It doesn’t matter. A moment is enough. It is everything in Jonghyun’s state of void.
A moment of bumping against the wall and silent giggles. Kibum’s sharp yet wet eyes murmur a sweet lie of ’We’re not really affected by anything, we know the game, we won’t lose this time.’ They are greedy and they want to fly. However here’s the thing that they ignore: Icarus too wanted to fly high. His wings were strong and they took him up into the sky, to see the Sun and to taste the warmth. Indeed, he was flying, got the taste of warmth creeping up his cheeks and skin and then wings; the warmth is what made him fall in the end.
---
If Jonghyun has any second thoughts, they are well hidden; kept in chains and locked in darkest chambers. For now. There is only enough place for Kibum on his mind. His trembling and pleas. His warm hands, clutching at Jonghyun’s clammy hips and the--almost--poetic arch of his back. Jonghyun’s head is dizzy and he needs to lean on Kibum’s chest to make sure he’s still on solid ground. He sighs contently when he feels shaky arms embrace him.
It’s like a ritual. A haste press of lips against skin (a little left from the heart) and a smile he hides in-between Kibum’s collarbones. It’s a sweet paradox; the black planner in Jonghyun’s bag was never used, it’s as if the next week doesn’t exist for him. Yet still, in all this state of timelessness his lips are lazy, his fingers slow, his eyes are closed (his smile lives off stolen minutes).
Suddenly, his back is pressed against soft sheets. He is dangerously close to the edge of the bed but it’s only more exciting, his hands are grabby and he wants Kibum to come closer, to hear Kibum’s cut-off chuckles and see his shining eyes.
That’s Jonghyun’s secret. He has no Fridays, no weekdays, no birthdays to worry about. No vacation to look forward to, no anniversaries to celebrate. They were taken away but he can’t complain. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself.
---
Jonghyun fiddles with a crumpled tissue in his hand. The tuna toast he had for breakfast wasn’t his top choice but it is one of rare things he can afford. He may not have perfectly planned his journey out but he doesn’t want to end it in two days.
He spots a trash bin across the street and sighs gratefully. Just when he’s about to dispose of tissue and empty water bottle, a young woman catches his attention. The traffic light is red but it seems she has no intention to stop. Her head is lowered and her arms crossed.
When she sets foot on the road, a car honks angrily and barely avoids her. In that moment a woman that is closest to her grabs her arm and pulls her back. She doesn’t fight. Her figure is like a doll, yanked back, into hands of the stranger.
Jonghyun doesn’t stay to see what happens afterwards. His steps are already quickening and his hand is rummaging through his bag, to find something to write with. When he spots a bar, he almost runs to it. He sits down, on a wet chair (it rained the night before) and his hand starts writing down words in an insanely exciting manner. He has nothing to write on it, save for the tissue.
He doesn’t have much choice, nor extra time. The thoughts and impressions in his head are eager and loud and he can’t write quickly enough to release them all. Some get lost forever. Like the colour of the woman’s dress and her shoes. Jonghyun can’t recall tears, but the whole story sounds better with a sprinkle of sentimentality.
---
The cold air got under his new grey coat. Kibum sighs and rubs his hands when he turns the knob and closes the door behind. The empty room greets him. So do white walls and blue sheets, unplugged television and his travelling bag in blue armchair. He falls lifelessly on the bed. Shower, dinner and the rest of the world can wait, like always.
---
He is both extremes. He is playing god, watching by-passers, listening to strangers’ stories, smiles at seeing children play, sighs upon seeing friends fight. He is divine, he doesn’t let things get to him, not anymore. He simply writes them down on any available surface. On a paper, used tissue, a public bench.
Until the stormy night.
He opens a bottle of champagne. He is actually a teetotaler but on this chosen night he drinks to his own existence. It’s not good or bad, it’s simply his existence, craving something indefinite, wishing for something that’s not his to have. He drinks until tears come and his thoughts dance him into a restless sleep. He wakes up to empty mind, to messy surroundings and bruised skin. He never fancied the light at late hours anyway.
Right now, he is neither. He is a mash-up of things he avoided for so long, so carefully, so desperately. He followed a careful plan for so long, he smiled when a happy face was required, he talked when answer was needed; he worked hard and went out with friends, visited his parents and skype-talked to his sister every Sunday.
Right now, his family is a few thousand miles away, he resigned his job and practically cut ties with everyone he knew. All he has is a navy blue bag and clothes inside. He also has a place to return to, in fact, he has about three places that carry a tiny piece of the whole. Of his home.
He simply doesn’t want to return home, to the safe haven. Like the rebel he is. Rather than that, he lives off Kibum’s hugs and smiles and he feels himself turning into something he doesn’t exactly like. Nevertheless, he is too far to stop.
Besides, it’s not that he didn’t let Kibum know he’s in ruins. He merely let out the fact that he is beyond help.
---
Jonghyun’s hands are clammy and the nervousness is coiling in his stomach. He has to smile at the feeling. The feeling. It’s more like a needle, or a tiny thorn; not a serious problem, just an itchy feeling.
They were supposed to meet seven minutes and thirty nine seconds ago. Jonghyun isn’t really counting, but his gaze constantly flicks between wrist watch and the street across.
He tells himself Kibum is simply fashionably late; he also recites all poems he learnt in elementary school, just to prevent his mind from being preoccupied.
---
He spent just enough time in the city to not get lost and to know where the cheap but decent food can be found. He walked past shops like these too many times. They are not all that different from what Jonghyun passed by when he was strolling down the different, more familiar street. Back then, when he was still wearing too big dark green school uniform and too expensive suit afterwards (a generous gift by his grandmother). One might assume these gift shops would be more glamorous. In reality, the word ‘kitsch’ was like a burnt neon light, flickering above the entrance.
Jonghyun turns around, to continue his way to nowhere in particular. Just when he’s about to scoff and completely move on, a pretty collection of postcards catches his attention. He doesn’t bother to think twice and in two minutes his wallet is emptier for a few coins and he holds two pretty pictures of the river and rosy sky. His stomach is empty too, however it seems like he will need to skip lunch today.
His mind is torn between throwing them away and actually writing a peculiar address and all the greetings he was supposed to write. In the end, he ends up putting them in a bag. There will be enough time to come up with a decent text and there will also be enough opportunities to throw them in a trash-can. He will decide on the spur of the moment.
---
The second time Kibum invites him to his place Jonghyun doesn’t decline with a polite smile. Instead of immediate reply, he nervously plays with a grey cup. He tries to find at least one good excuse to not accept the offer.
He sees twenty different scenarios of what could go wrong and he is convinced one of them will certainly happen. But Jonghyun is also greedy and Kibum seems to be his newest inspiration, his newest addiction, a medicine that makes him want to try to feel the breeze on cold skin and gentle sun and take a sip of posh drinks and taste everything between junk food and meals that have a name he can’t pronounce.
It’s the third time this week that ‘Only one more glass’ wins over ‘I should go’ .
It’s the first time it turns into red cheeks, glittery eyes and wandering limbs.
It takes a few laughing and tickling sessions, sprinkled with another glass of champagne for them to realise that sofa is uncomfortable and too small. The bed, however, is too big and also too far away.
They opt for the balcony, red blanket and the stars.
---
This time, there is no new notebook, or paper. There is also no crumpled tissue. all he has is soft skin under his fingers and his mind will burst any time now. He will write all over the pale surface, he will make him eternal; his smile will turn into messy letters and tiny dots (Jonghyun knows it’s impossible to describe the curve of Kibum’s lips and glittery eyes, his tiny dimples and the sound of a muffled laughter). He will write over and over again, he will ignore the fact his actions are in vain.
Unfortunately, the canvas he has is not big enough for Jonghyun to write everything down, so he needs to be careful with the space he has. He starts on Kibum’s shoulder, slowly dragging curvy lines across his shoulder-blades and he only stops when he reaches the other side. Kibum shudders under his touch and Jonghyun’s fingers immediately graze the sides, count the ribs and stop at his hips.
Jonghyun tries hard not to smile and close eyes and dip into the feeling. However, Kibum’s breathing and his awkward fingers, clutching at the pillow make him fail every single time.
I must smile like a madman, Jonghyun muses. He plays with the thought of being the destroyer and inventor. He is more the first one than the latter. He might live but the rhythm is too quick, too reckless. The end is near and it threatens to break them both.
---
“I don’t have an umbrella,”
“Me neither,”
Kibum intertwines their fingers and puts them into his pocket. His gentle smile and bright, bright eyes make Jonghyun forget about pretty much everything. They recklessly cross the still-busy street, ignoring the angry screeches and beeps and Jonghyun yelps when his back hits the concrete wall. He looks up and shivers. Kibum’s eyes are dark and intense but so incredibly warm. They remind him of some other times, long time ago. His hands sneak under Kibum’s dark green coat and pull him closer. The sky is grey and the streets empty but being close to Kibum makes it easy to forget about the rest of the world. Kibum’s forehead hits Jonghyun’s shoulder. His wet hair tickles Jonghyun’s neck, but Jonghyun’s mind is too overwhelmed to worry about that.
---
“Did you know that third, fourth, eighth, seventh, and twelfth stair creaks?”
Kibum stares dumbfounded for a moment or two and then he erupts into loud laughter. His hand clutches at Jonghyun’s shoulder and he leans head onto it. He is so close that Jonghyun can smell his coconut shampoo and see a tiny mole under his ear.
“Um. Okay?” Kibum’s eyes are bright and they are challenging Jonghyun.
“I just noticed by chance, you know.” Jonghyun’s face scrunches but he doesn’t really get the opportunity to mope around.
Kibum snickers and pulls him playfully into a room that seems to be a mash-up of living room and a bedroom; a single mattress lies behind a colourful string curtain. They stop in front of a door to a tiny bathroom.
“I don’t have a tumble dryer, you know.” Kibum scratches his neck and smiles in apology. His apologetic face doesn’t last long though. He urges Jonghyun to enter the bathroom and adds, “You take the shower and I’ll find you something comfortable to put on.”
The moment after, Jonghyun’s hand is on a doorknob. He wants to tell Kibum that it’s okay, that he can return to the hostel and shower and dry clothes there. Kibum is once again faster. He knocks on door and without waiting for answer or permission joins Jonghyun. He puts clothes on the edge of the sink and when he looks up, his eyes are unreadable. What a master at hiding flustered cheeks and sweaty hands he is!
“These are my high school sweatpants.” In order to avoid awkwardness, Kibum sends him a quick smile, turns around and with a little too much force closes the door behind.
The silly feeling is coiling in Kibum’s stomach and despite not feeling hungry, he opens the fridge and takes out leftovers from the day before. He puts pasta with tomato sauce in microwave and presses the start button.
Kibum stares holes into red digits on the microwave, for the sound of shower is anything but soothing. He is sitting behind the table, two blue plates in front of him when Jonghyun joins him. He is dressed in grey sweatpants and plain white shirt and he still manages to make Kibum’s hands sweaty.
---
Jonghyun’s eyes widen but he makes no attempt to shy away. His dizzy mind paints soft red petals instead of sheets and Kibum’s short breaths make Jonghyun’s fingers impatient. They are daring and they travel up Kibum’s back. Jonghyun’s nose and the tip of his ears are still cold but he’s really burning inside.
“We’re skipping breakfast.” Kibum’s smiling lips brush Jonghyun’s cold earlobe.
“Just leaving it for later,” Jonghyun whispers weakly.
He tugs at Kibum’s sides and starts walking backwards. He hits the wardrobe and the chair with clothes before they actually reach the bed.
He is falling but his eyes are serene and his lips are tugged upwards. He is falling but so is Kibum.
---
Jonghyun opens eyes to sweet darkness. His head needs a moment or two to process he is not in a hostel’s bed. In fact he is pretty far from the hostel and the uncomfortable mattress there. He’s facing a wall, full of photos (he can’t see them clearly though) and his back is safely pressed against another warm body.
His mind is still in delicious state of sleepiness; devoid of needless worries and full of warmth and contentment. Kibum is snoring, but the way he snores is lulling Jonghyun back to sleep. He takes Kibum’s hand and presses it to his stomach. The feeling is ephemeral, he is aware, so he wants to savour it. He would love to write it down, but there are only sheets, soft dark blue sheets, an ocean of warmth and coziness and rare times when Jonghyun feels at ease and forgets he was supposed to be counting off his own days.
---
Sometimes it’s like he forgets they are real humans, breathing air and expected to live life. The moments when the thoughts about time slip out of his mind are getting more and more frequent. They are not the only thing that slips out of his mind though. Days too.
Jonghyun knows he is fading away, slowly but surely he will become a crumpled canvas, words won’t be clear anymore and the corners will be torn, used. He may forget minutes, days and even months, but that won’t save him from the end. Nothing will save him, not even Kibum’s bright smiles or warm hands.
However, it looks like only Kibum is aware of that. It seems like only Kibum bites his nails, only his lip is chapped and eyebrows furrowed.
Sometimes Jonghyun loses balance but he laughs it off, saying he is too drunk on Kibum’s smiles. Kibum smiles back, though joy doesn’t reach his eyes.
It’s like Jonghyun gave Kibum his worries and in return Kibum gave him his warmth.
But it’s all a lie, a sweet dangerous lie and it can break tomorrow, or maybe next week. Perhaps they have a month left.
The thing is, Kibum’s insides twist at the thought. His nights are shorter than ever and he can’t hug Jonghyun wholeheartedly anymore. He wants everything they don’t have and the only thing they could have--the bitter end--is something Kibum was never good at.
The day Kibum decides to confront Jonghyun is the day when Jonghyun steals a red rose from a garden down the street. He has to stand on his toes, in order to be able to lean over the fence and pick it up. His leather jacket and white shirt roll up and Kibum wants to pinch the skin. Partly because Jonghyun’s actions are plain silly and partly because he wants to feel skin under his fingers. In the end, Jonghyun is quicker, his eyes crinkle and there is his goofy smile when he hands Kibum the rose. Kibum wants to lecture him, but of all words he prepared only ‘Thanks’ leave his mouth.
Halfway home Kibum realises he doesn’t own a vase so he decides to put the rose in old wine bottle (1999). He puts it on the floor, next to the mattress. He turns around, ready to say ‘Jonghyun we need to talk because this can’t go on. You’re dying and you can’t die here when you have your family waiting for you at home.’
Instead, Kibum wonders if he has this special gift, turning mute whenever Jonghyun walks to him and nuzzles his head in the crook of his neck.
Tomorrow. He won’t forget his words tomorrow.
---
When someone knocks on his door for the third time that day, Kibum groans and picks up the grey cardigan from the chair. He stumbles over his feet twice and hits the edge of the table with his hip. He swiftly walks past the mirror and opens the door.
“Can I come in?” Taemin says, walking past Kibum. He takes the surroundings in and hums.
“Your flat reflects you perfectly.”
Kibum rolls eyes and closes the door. He sits down, on the mattress and forces himself not to simply fall back and hide under the sheets. He groans when Taemin rolls up the blinds and opens the balcony door.
“Do you know what day it is?”
Kibum shrugs. Of course he knows what day it is. “Sure I know. It’s Wednesday.”
This whole interrogation thing is kind of annoying and Kibum doesn’t want Taemin to be here like the good friend he is. Hell, he doesn’t really know what he wants but the thing he does not want is someone telling him what to do.
“I didn’t come to tell you what to do, you know.”
“Yes.”
“I was just worried about you.”
“Yes.”
“Jonghyun wanted me to check on you.”
Kibum grits his teeth. It hurts, but it’s nothing compared to the fury the words awake inside. He hates it. Hates how Taemin knows which button to press, hates how they both know Jonghyun never said that, hates how he will burst anytime now. He hates how Taemin is there for him, cradling him when he cries and tugs at Taemin’s ripped jeans, screams curses and lulls himself to sleep with sniffs and hiccups. He hates how Taemin is there for him three hours later, not to judge him but to convince him to get a shower, shave, pack his bag and buy a plane ticket.
---
It must be really late or extremely early. Sleep is still lingering on Jonghyun’s mind, but his body is awake. His skin is electric. It reacts to every little slide of Kibum’s fingers down his ribs. His hands are impatient, they are grabby and they don’t care much about the awkward angle as they reach backwards, for Kibum’s body.
His fingers always loved to drag over the back of the books; to feel the countless stories, waiting to be unveiled, all the words and emotions, caught in ink. Yet all the poetry and love-stories can hide in shame; they never conducted the rhythm of Jonghyun’s heart as perfectly as Kibum’s smile or lips do. The slow dragging over Kibum’s ribs always leave him craving more, again and again. Books rarely possess the very same ability.
Jonghyun’s hands reach for Kibum’s waist and thighs; they live off short gasps and vivid eyes. His lips smile against Kibum’s jaw and when they are just barely touching Kibum’s lips, they spread into a wide grin. The teasing dance doesn’t end until Kibum groans and tugs at Jonghyun’s hair, forcing him to yield.
“Asshole.” Kibum hisses.
---
Kibum is one of those stories that sound so perfect in your head, they make the perfect sense and create the sweetest harmony. The problem occurs when you try to pen these thoughts down. They twirl and twiddle, mix and knot. There is no coherency and they make completely no sense. To Jonghyun, Kibum is one of stories he’ll never be able to convert into words, nor his hugs or eyes or strong hands, gripping at his sides or shoulder.
So he never really tries and destroys all drafts he created.
---
Here’s the thing Jonghyun doesn’t know. Kibum saw it all. He saw him lose balance and fall. He heard him curse and stand up, act as if nothing had happened and walk to the kitchen and drink the bottle of water.
It’s not that Kibum is heartless. He wanted to help, he wanted to reach for him, ask if he was okay, tell him to sit the fuck down and wait until Kibum brings him a glass of water. It’s just that his whole body froze. It’s as if his limbs stopped working because something essential clicked and his mind finally realised that there is no time to delay the talk anymore.
Kibum has a lump in his throat and his chest hurts because this is it. La fin. His head is heavy when he leans in Jonghyun’s caring touch. Which is funny, because his existence feels small and insignificant. He needs to say the words, the oh-so carefully planned words but of course they won’t go off his tongue.
“Jonghyun…”
Jonghyun’s eyes are wide and it still fascinates Kibum how much power they hold over him. They can paint Kibum’s world into unnamed colours and make him forget his own name, they can make him smile unconsciously and they can make his cheek flush and his fingers desperately clutch at the sheets. They are the ocean he had an honour to dive into and of course he will forever cherish that. It feels like forever always ruins Kibum’s life.
For once, Jonghyun’s smile makes him want to cry and scream. Break and burn everything.
“Please don’t,” Jonghyun says.
He is smiling but his hands, clutching at Kibum’s thighs tell a different story. Kibum hisses in pain and he closes his eyes as he gently takes Jonghyun’s hands in his.
“We don’t have a choice.”
Jonghyun nods. He doesn’t stop until his head hits Kibum’s chest.
“Your family awaits you. They deserve that. You deserve that. You deserve to die in the arms of people who love you,” Kibum whispers.
His voice sounds so foreign, so strained, so full of selfish wishes he doesn’t say (stay). He feels Jonghyun nodding against his chest, he feels tears sliding down his stomach; he hears Jonghyun’s sobs. Kibum lifts his head but he doesn’t open his eyes. He wants to say so many things but all words left him. All he can do is to convey them into touches, kisses, tugs.
---
Jonghyun is even tinier than the last time Kibum saw him. His face seems different, not troubled anymore. His beautiful face. Minho ushers him to move closer, to sit on a white plastic chair and then what? Kibum’s hands are shaking and he already misses Minho’s warm, assuring hand. He knows Minho is no better than him but with Minho it feels like he can actually stay in the room and acknowledge that yes, he really bought the ticket two days ago and now he’s here.
“Jonghyun…”
Kibum smiles. He feels tears but he also feels like he has done the right thing.
“It’s us.” Minho says. “It’s Kibum. Jonghyun, he came to see you,” Minho smiles as he continues, “that idiot actually bought ridiculously expensive plane ticket just for you.”
Kibum chokes on tears. He wants to protest but he supposes he has other things to tell Jonghyun. He looks at Minho, asking him if it’s okay to hold Jonghyun’s hand and when Minho nods, Kibum stands up. He caresses Jonghyun’s eyelids and temple, like so many times before.
“You’re still so beautiful.” Kibum murmurs, “so gorgeous.”
His fingers grazes Jonghyun’s pale cheeks and stops when they reach his lips. He reluctantly holds Jonghyun’s hand and smiles between tears, “Except your grip is not as strong as it used to be.”
Kibum sits back slowly and adds, “When I was packing, I found a crumpled paper of yours. That one you wrote in the club, leaning on Taemin’s back. I will keep it you know?”
Gradually, it gets too overwhelming and Kibum needs some fresh air. He murmurs a distressed ’I’ll be right back’ and heads out. He wants to run, run until his lungs and body give up and he falls.
In the end, he doesn’t go back. Tomorrow, he decides. He will see Jonghyun again tomorrow.
---
He is sitting in a park next to the hospital. His arms are crossed, in a vain attempt to keep the warmth; the Sun will disappear any moment now, leave him shivering on the bench. The sky above doesn’t look any different from the one back home. It is vast and blue, cold and so far away.
Kibum has been through this before. Standing in the middle of ruins and trying to rebuild everything again. He has to believe that everything is under control. Tomorrow. He will start thinking tomorrow. Right now, he feels small and helpless. He clutches at the cardigan and grits his teeth. His eyes close when he whispers:
“What do we do, Jinki? What do I do?”
He sighs and leans back. When he hears footsteps he turns around to see who’s approaching him. It’s Minho. He’s holding Kibum’s jacket and when he hands it to him, Kibum nods appreciatively.
“May I join you?” Minho asks.
Kibum nods again. He expects Minho to start talking but what he doesn’t expect is Minho’s hand on his shoulder and his concerned eyes, making him feel more split than ever.
“How long does he have left?” Kibum is surprised his voice doesn’t break. His eyes, however, tell the different story. Even if he doesn’t want to know he needs to call his boss, plan his own life, continue where he left a few weeks ago.
Minho doesn’t answer immediately. He grimaces and looks up. As if the strength will come from the sky.
“A week tops. But they also said that before...before he left,” he hurriedly adds, “you can stay as long as you want. Even when all this will be over.”
Kibum can’t find words or his voice. He nods again. He leans in the offered hug and he is suddenly overwhelmed. He scrunches his face and lets tear fall. What he feels, however, is that for the first time in a while he can get through this. He is not alone.
---
On the first Summer morning it hits Kibum; slowly, gently. At one point night turns into day and Friday into Saturday. He has to breathe as deeply as possible--to make sure he is not dreaming. He stands up and lazily stretches his limbs. He picks up his black shirt and shorts from the edge of the bed and walks up to the navy blue bag in the corner (to take out fresh briefs). Instead, his hand takes out a wrinkled paper. He wants to ignore it, but his fingers are quicker than his mind. He sits down, clothes forgotten in his lap and he wishes he were still asleep.
---
If today was your last day, what would you do?
I would throw all the clocks I own out of the window, watch the time turn into crystals and land with a thud.
Everything I would do, I would do it slowly; I threw time out of the window, so I don’t have to worry about anything but finding your face in the crowd. I would grab your hand and yank you around, maybe kiss you (to make you stop talking) and caress your face. People would be like confused ants, running around, desperately trying to reach their homes.
This is the secret we don’t share. We’re standing in the middle, stealing their time. It is slipping out of their bags, sleeves, pockets. There is so much of it--it is reaching our ankles. We should move, but I can’t. I only want to feel your smile against my neck. This is my home. Even when the streets would get empty, and we’d have trouble keeping our heads above the flood of stolen time I’d still hold the memory of you and tell myself it’s you.
Because the real you never stopped. We only shared a chaste moment, followed by apologetic smile and then it was time for you to walk away. Your clocks were too precious to throw them away.
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A/N: So I'm not sure if you read this year's shineebigbang entries but I recommend you to do so, because they are really wonderful and gorgeous and like half of them hurt and are total mindfuck. And it's been such an honour to be a part of it. Especially because I learned two things: a)never forget writing a decent summary (I went through everything twice but summary)
b)rather than put yourself down you should learn from others and improve
(Naturally I've no idea who voted for me but I am so thankful?)
PLUS. I am really happy I participated because it seems I can only write if given a deadline (should work on that too) and I am really happy with what I created this time. The only thing that I'm not sure about is time incoherency. To me, it makes perfect sense but if it doesn't make sense to a reader then it kind of needs some improvement. Feedback'd be really appreciative. ^^