[exo] flightless angels and teasing stars
title: flightless angels and teasing stars
pairing: kai/kris (luhan/sehun)
word count: 2,771 words
rating: pg13
summary: Kris smiles and promises better tomorrows for Kim Jongin, but never for himself.
a/n: sCREAMS. what have i done. i tried to squeeze in another plot in this prompt. but no, it’s horrible. kris didn’t even die. ugggghhhh. (please don’t make me read through this again please don’t.) edit: warnings: attempted suicide, mentions of self-harm-ish.
flightless angels and teasing stars
There’s a careful knock on the door, disrupting Sehun’s incessant worried lecturing. Both of them turn their heads to it, Jongin mumbling an exhausted ‘come in’. A nurse in her pallid uniform carrying a posy of lavender bows slightly before she quietly settles it on top of Jongin’s bed table next to the fruit basket Sehun had brought earlier.
“A letter too,” she hands him a small envelope, smartly put together, creases neat. Sehun raises an eyebrow but does nothing more to question or prod at the mysterious endowment. But his skeptical look quickly dissipates as tears stream down Jongin’s face.
Jongin chokes out a cry.
--
Being high up and away from the grimy city has its perks. First and foremost, there's no pollution, the air is as fresh as the water. But the best advantage is that the stars seem closer and within reach. Yes, the city’s buildings and skyscrapers might be taller than where he’s standing on right now, but the light pollution in the city prevents the stars from shining. Who needs stars when modernized people prefer city lights and blaring music over the splendor and serenity of the sky at night, right?
The clouds disperse, exposing the countless shimmering stars. Constellations formed, blinking back at him, as if they’re asking him to point them out one by one, Libra, Orion’s Belt, The Big Dipper…
There’s a screech, breaking the reverie, pulling him back to reality.
The crash is uncannily bland and swift, lacking the theatrical exaggeration as seen in movies, although it left no room for actual and coherent response. Metal to wood; cacophonic screeches of metal against the damp asphalt permeate the chilly spring night. Kris blinks more from shock than confusion on how the car managed to avoid bursting into flames.
The drizzling of rain ended before it all happened.
Kris obligingly walks towards the wreckage balancing caution and urgency at the balls of his feet. He peers at the tinted window, and it cracks.
“Ugh…” The man groans, leg impaled with some sort of debris. Kris pulls the door open, panic finally catching up as the driver’s leg bleeds a dark and haunting scarlet. He looks for other people that might be in there but there’s no one else. Imploring eyes look up at him, eyes glistening from both fear and searing pain. He’s not going to walk again.
Kris’s hands tremble as he dials 911. He impatiently taps his foot, why the hell are they so slow -“Yes, hello. I just witnessed a car crash into a tree. No, I wasn’t involved. There’s a man injured here, he’s bleeding profusely, send an ambulance. Please, hurry.”
Kris is out of breath when he finishes feeding information on their whereabouts. He turns to the man, the latter winces in pain as he sits there in the car, swiftly pulling the impaling object out of his leg. Kris cringes as if he too felt the pain when the man hissed. Sighing, he pushes his sleeves up, creasing his pristine and pressed suit.
“I’m going to get you out of the car, okay?” His voice surprisingly comes out calm despite his inner hysteria. The man nods slightly, eyes on the flowing blood from his gash.
Kris lifts him out of the car, laying him on the gravel. His right leg is bleeding too much; he’s losing too much blood.
Kris takes his suit jacket off and presses it against the bleeding leg. “To lessen the bleeding,” he tries to assure the injured man, also himself.
“I’m not gonna make it,” he weakly laughs as he covers his eyes with his arm. “You can leave me alone to bleed to death, you know?”
“What are you saying? You’re going to make it. Everything’s going to be okay for you. The paramedics will be here any moment.” His eyebrows furrow together.
“Please, it took me at least a couple of hours to get here. The ambulance will be here an hour tops. By then, I’ll be dead. Like a deer crashed against the headlights.” Silence befalls the both of them.
“What’s your name?” He asks Kris but the latter keeps his lips shut together, almost enough to draw blood, but not quite. “I’m Kim Jongin. I’m a dancer; well I guess I’ll have to retire seeing as my leg will probably get cut off. Fuck.” There’s something akin to regret and what ifs flickering in Jongin’s smoldering eyes and Kris can tell he really loves dancing. “You?”
“Kris Wu, stock broker down in Yeouido.”
“Like diCaprio in The Wolf of Wall Street movie?”
“Minus the excessive sex and drugs,” Kris tries to laugh, it’s genuine enough to turn his eyes into crinkling beautiful crescents for a short span of time. He sits a polite distance beside Jongin, not too far but near enough to hold the jacket on his leg. Jongin keeps smiling despite the obvious sadness glistening in his eyes.
Jongin grimaces and grunts pressing his hands on his thigh, in a futile attempt to stop the pain. Kris moves his hands away and wraps the arms of the jacket tightly on the wound, making Jongin growl but he doesn’t grouse. The throbbing and bleeding subsides after a while. Their conversation ensues before Jongin could give in to his lethargy and sleepiness.
“Keep your eyes open.” Kris says evenly. It’s more of an instruction like he's reprimanding a stubborn child who wouldn’t stop whining and pouting.
“My eyes sting if I keep them open for too long.” Jongin jokes, but he doesn’t laugh. None of them do. “When’s your birthday?” He asks, out of conversational topics.
“November 6.” Kris answers finally calm and casual. “I'm a '90 liner. And yours?”
“Early in ‘94, January 14 to be exact.” The conversation dies at that point, but Kris sneaks glances at the other man, making sure he’s still conscious. He notices Jongin’s sun-kissed skin, and his tousled auburn hair matted with sweat on his forehead. Involuntarily, Kris leans in, pushing his bangs away from his face. His hand retracts once he realized what he did, but the deed has already been done. Jongin doesn't even spare him a glance, intent on looking at the stars instead.
The silence becomes suffocating for the both of them, but tongues are held for fear that words might fail and everything might shatter, even the faded promises of ‘everything’s going to be okay’.
“Don’t your feet hurt?” Jongin asks finally sick of the peace that seems to lull him to slumber. Who could blame him when his eyes are drooping with fatigue and the wind is warm enough to be a blanket? “I’m guessing you walked all the way here. If you had a car, you would have driven me to meet the ambulance at least halfway.”
Kris doesn’t answer; instead he fixes his gaze onto the stars above. “Do you want to hear my friend’s story?” Jongin asks warily, Kris nods eyes unmoving.
“His name is Lu Han. He used to dance like me, he’s passionate about it as well, but there’s something he wanted more than dancing. It was beauty.” The sound of light breathing temporarily affronts the atmosphere around them as Jongin thinks, choosing his words sensibly. “He wanted it too much it became an obsession. He said that being beautiful was everything.”
“Week after week, he would wear too much make up that it became unflattering. I never said anything in fear that I might spite him but it was useless. He killed himself anyway.” Jongin is trembling, Kris feels him without the physical contact. “Then I realized, I really should have said something. Lu Han was -is beautiful. He’s the epitome of youth and beauty. He just didn’t see it.”
“Is he really just your friend?”
“Lu Han is my best friend. My other half, if you will.” Jongin waves a hand in dismissal.
“So you loved him.” It’s not a question but a statement, a fact, something that falls out of Kris’s lips so basically and casually it almost tasted bitter. “That’s why you’re here.”
“That’s not it yet.” Jongin’s eyes water and he blinks the dampness away. “He never loved me back. But that’s not it either. I guess I’m just tired, too tired. Aren’t you?”
“I’ve been tired my whole life.” Kris lies down on the dirty cement right next to Kim Jongin, still a gracious distance between them. “I just lost my reason to stop myself from taking a break.”
Laughter bubbles in Jongin’s chest and it’s choking him, but he doesn’t let it show.
--
The time is ticking away, second by second with questions. From the lunch they had earlier to favorite colors; from movies they watched recently to friends, from trivial nonsensical questions to personal ones. Passing away time while slowly unraveling each other’s secrets.
“Do you know what they call this place? That ledge over there at the very top?” He points to the distance, eyes trained on the other’s eyes. When Kris doesn’t answer, Jongin smiles knowingly. “Angel’s Leap. People who think they’re angels jump there, because angels can fly, can’t they?”
This is a suicide mountain.
Jongin is about to ask another question but he stops himself. “You should ask the right question.” Kris says, barely louder than a whisper. Jongin snickers behind the back of his palm and shifts his head to look at Kris.
“How and why?”
Kris sighs again. He tells Jongin his story, the story of how he had worked himself so hard only to fall into a pit called failure and despair. His father had disapproved of him since Kris wanted to paint the city’s skyline, but that wouldn’t bring in money so he ended up as a stock broker. Back in his school days, Kris had never been first in anything despite his assiduous efforts; his skills and knowledge could only do so much. A couple of months ago, his mother, the only source of hope he had, passed away falling victim to his father’s abusive ways. If only Kris were better and more useful, his mother wouldn’t have died by his father’s hand. His father went to jail but never did he repent for what he had done.
For twenty-six years, Kris Wu had never felt happy, a little less miserable on most days, but never truly happy.
“Look, life has never been fair. Once you’re at the top it pulls you right back down without even the chance of feeling the moment, but it allows you to bask in the misery of your pathetic, ebbing life.” There’s something in Jongin’s words, something substantial that felt like a slap in the face. Kris doesn’t realize it though. He doesn’t realize that he’s warming up to Jongin word by word, emotion by emotion.
“My mother said I was an angel. I don’t understand how, but she said I was-“ Kris says, shaking his head, confused at his mother’s last words. He feels Jongin’s hand on top of his, warm and comforting.
“It’s because you’re kind,” Jongin’s eyes are closed but an inkling of a smile is painted on his face. He looks younger like this, more sincere and youthful.
“I’m not,” Kris says sternly. “I couldn’t even save her.”
“You’re kind enough to stop yourself and help me,” a chilly wind hits them both. Jongin’s tears are falling and his voice is fading along with the breeze.
Jongin is losing consciousness and Kris shakes him awake.
“Don’t go to sleep. Stay concious.” Kris reminds him, gentler than his previous reminders.
“I’m too tired,” Jongin croaks, voice small yet loud enough to hear the hoarseness. He leans his forehead on Kris’s shoulder. “I can’t dance anymore.”
“When the medics get you to the hospital, they’re going to stitch you up and-“ Kris repeats the last part more than twice, like a mantra of some sort to convince Jongin. ”You’ll be good as new.”
Jongin laughs tiredly, amusement coated with bitterness, “Look at me, I’m a wreck. Even if my leg gets better, it’ll take a long time.” His hilarity is replaced with sourness as tears stream down his cheeks. “No one wants a broken person.” Their eyes meet and Jongin speaks with finality ringing in his voice. “No one.”
Kris finds himself wanting Jongin to live, to not kill himself, to dance. He glares at the stars, being beautiful above them. Jongin’s life shouldn’t be over yet, he has his friends and family to go back to but Kris, Kris has no one else. His life revolved around his want to please his father and to make his mother smile.
“You have to live, Jongin.” Kris traces the tears on Jongin’s cheeks with his knuckles. “Live the life you want.”
“I should struggle while you have the chance to end your life the way you want to?” Jongin smacks his hand away. “Aren’t you unfair?”
Kris’s words echo in the air, accentuated with Jongin’s uneven breathing.
“Live for me Kim Jongin.” It’s a selfish favor, he knows, both of them do, nonetheless Jongin gives in and nods wearily, eyes closing, both of them too worn-out and exhausted to even wipe the tears.
--
“I wish we’d met each other sooner. You don’t know me, but I’ve known you for a long time.”
--
The sound of the ambulance fast approaching tears the serenity of the night. Kris stands away from anyone’s sight and stares ahead, watching the medics settle Jongin on a stretcher and leading him in the ambulance. Kim Jongin and his unseeing eyes, keeps looking at Kris’s direction, eyes moist and red as if he cried a river. He mouths something but it was too faint to be noticed. If Kris came up to him and asked, he could have known the truth. Jongin helplessly smiles before his eyes close again and Kris turns around, ready to face his postponed, nevertheless impending choice.
He stands on the precarious ridge, breathing in the kind spring air. The view from the edge is breathtaking; one step forward leads to a painful and imminent demise, but above death, the stars shine endlessly blinking and dotting the ivory heaven. The stars glimmer, teasing; as if they want Kris to grab them and make them his while the moon is away.
“Kim Jongin, I wish I’d met you sooner.”
Kris smiles despite his heart thumping loud in his ears. He spreads his arms as if they are his wings, his key to reaching the ever sneering stars. The gentle breeze caresses his face, enticing him to soar high. He’s an angel. He believes angels could fly. So he jumped.
Back.
--
“Who sent these to you?”Sehun gestures to the flowers and the letter in a concerned tone, mentally debating with himself whether to ask or to hand Jongin a tissue. He does the latter and Jongin pulls him into a hug when Sehun leans in.
“I saved him Sehun,” Jongin cries out, hugging the other man tighter with every sob.
“Saved who?” he inquires, not really grasping Jongin’s words. Jongin answers but it comes out indecipherable as it mixes with sobs and sniffs. He calms down after a while when his injured leg throbs in pain. Sehun sits back, relieved.
“I saved Kris Wu.”
The smile on Jongin’s face is ceaselessly adorned with wide smiles and his tears keep trickling down. He’s so happy that Sehun can feel it fill him as well. Last time he saw Jongin happy like this was when Lu Han was still around.
--
A cold, rainy, mundane day in Seoul, where the people all zip by under their monochromatic umbrellas, phones pressed up their ears and frowns embedded and crafted on their faces, Kim Jongin is on the verge of killing himself but a stranger sidles up next to him with his ugly mustard umbrella offering him a smile and a promise of better tomorrows.
That’s when Kris Wu, truly saves Kim Jongin; a young Kim Jongin who had recently lost Lu Han and who had just experienced yet another failed performance for the past month that could very well mean the end of his career and source of income.
But Kris Wu told him to smile and endure another day, promising tomorrow will be better than today if he wills it to. If he didn’t listen, and didn’t endure another day, he wouldn’t have realized that he wasn’t the only one suffering. Oh Sehun, long time best friend, who is also mourning the loss of his lover and the loss of his voice. They found comfort in each other and with time, got better.
pairing: kai/kris (luhan/sehun)
word count: 2,771 words
rating: pg13
summary: Kris smiles and promises better tomorrows for Kim Jongin, but never for himself.
a/n: sCREAMS. what have i done. i tried to squeeze in another plot in this prompt. but no, it’s horrible. kris didn’t even die. ugggghhhh. (please don’t make me read through this again please don’t.) edit: warnings: attempted suicide, mentions of self-harm-ish.
flightless angels and teasing stars
There’s a careful knock on the door, disrupting Sehun’s incessant worried lecturing. Both of them turn their heads to it, Jongin mumbling an exhausted ‘come in’. A nurse in her pallid uniform carrying a posy of lavender bows slightly before she quietly settles it on top of Jongin’s bed table next to the fruit basket Sehun had brought earlier.
“A letter too,” she hands him a small envelope, smartly put together, creases neat. Sehun raises an eyebrow but does nothing more to question or prod at the mysterious endowment. But his skeptical look quickly dissipates as tears stream down Jongin’s face.
Jongin chokes out a cry.
--
Being high up and away from the grimy city has its perks. First and foremost, there's no pollution, the air is as fresh as the water. But the best advantage is that the stars seem closer and within reach. Yes, the city’s buildings and skyscrapers might be taller than where he’s standing on right now, but the light pollution in the city prevents the stars from shining. Who needs stars when modernized people prefer city lights and blaring music over the splendor and serenity of the sky at night, right?
The clouds disperse, exposing the countless shimmering stars. Constellations formed, blinking back at him, as if they’re asking him to point them out one by one, Libra, Orion’s Belt, The Big Dipper…
There’s a screech, breaking the reverie, pulling him back to reality.
The crash is uncannily bland and swift, lacking the theatrical exaggeration as seen in movies, although it left no room for actual and coherent response. Metal to wood; cacophonic screeches of metal against the damp asphalt permeate the chilly spring night. Kris blinks more from shock than confusion on how the car managed to avoid bursting into flames.
The drizzling of rain ended before it all happened.
Kris obligingly walks towards the wreckage balancing caution and urgency at the balls of his feet. He peers at the tinted window, and it cracks.
“Ugh…” The man groans, leg impaled with some sort of debris. Kris pulls the door open, panic finally catching up as the driver’s leg bleeds a dark and haunting scarlet. He looks for other people that might be in there but there’s no one else. Imploring eyes look up at him, eyes glistening from both fear and searing pain. He’s not going to walk again.
Kris’s hands tremble as he dials 911. He impatiently taps his foot, why the hell are they so slow -“Yes, hello. I just witnessed a car crash into a tree. No, I wasn’t involved. There’s a man injured here, he’s bleeding profusely, send an ambulance. Please, hurry.”
Kris is out of breath when he finishes feeding information on their whereabouts. He turns to the man, the latter winces in pain as he sits there in the car, swiftly pulling the impaling object out of his leg. Kris cringes as if he too felt the pain when the man hissed. Sighing, he pushes his sleeves up, creasing his pristine and pressed suit.
“I’m going to get you out of the car, okay?” His voice surprisingly comes out calm despite his inner hysteria. The man nods slightly, eyes on the flowing blood from his gash.
Kris lifts him out of the car, laying him on the gravel. His right leg is bleeding too much; he’s losing too much blood.
Kris takes his suit jacket off and presses it against the bleeding leg. “To lessen the bleeding,” he tries to assure the injured man, also himself.
“I’m not gonna make it,” he weakly laughs as he covers his eyes with his arm. “You can leave me alone to bleed to death, you know?”
“What are you saying? You’re going to make it. Everything’s going to be okay for you. The paramedics will be here any moment.” His eyebrows furrow together.
“Please, it took me at least a couple of hours to get here. The ambulance will be here an hour tops. By then, I’ll be dead. Like a deer crashed against the headlights.” Silence befalls the both of them.
“What’s your name?” He asks Kris but the latter keeps his lips shut together, almost enough to draw blood, but not quite. “I’m Kim Jongin. I’m a dancer; well I guess I’ll have to retire seeing as my leg will probably get cut off. Fuck.” There’s something akin to regret and what ifs flickering in Jongin’s smoldering eyes and Kris can tell he really loves dancing. “You?”
“Kris Wu, stock broker down in Yeouido.”
“Like diCaprio in The Wolf of Wall Street movie?”
“Minus the excessive sex and drugs,” Kris tries to laugh, it’s genuine enough to turn his eyes into crinkling beautiful crescents for a short span of time. He sits a polite distance beside Jongin, not too far but near enough to hold the jacket on his leg. Jongin keeps smiling despite the obvious sadness glistening in his eyes.
Jongin grimaces and grunts pressing his hands on his thigh, in a futile attempt to stop the pain. Kris moves his hands away and wraps the arms of the jacket tightly on the wound, making Jongin growl but he doesn’t grouse. The throbbing and bleeding subsides after a while. Their conversation ensues before Jongin could give in to his lethargy and sleepiness.
“Keep your eyes open.” Kris says evenly. It’s more of an instruction like he's reprimanding a stubborn child who wouldn’t stop whining and pouting.
“My eyes sting if I keep them open for too long.” Jongin jokes, but he doesn’t laugh. None of them do. “When’s your birthday?” He asks, out of conversational topics.
“November 6.” Kris answers finally calm and casual. “I'm a '90 liner. And yours?”
“Early in ‘94, January 14 to be exact.” The conversation dies at that point, but Kris sneaks glances at the other man, making sure he’s still conscious. He notices Jongin’s sun-kissed skin, and his tousled auburn hair matted with sweat on his forehead. Involuntarily, Kris leans in, pushing his bangs away from his face. His hand retracts once he realized what he did, but the deed has already been done. Jongin doesn't even spare him a glance, intent on looking at the stars instead.
The silence becomes suffocating for the both of them, but tongues are held for fear that words might fail and everything might shatter, even the faded promises of ‘everything’s going to be okay’.
“Don’t your feet hurt?” Jongin asks finally sick of the peace that seems to lull him to slumber. Who could blame him when his eyes are drooping with fatigue and the wind is warm enough to be a blanket? “I’m guessing you walked all the way here. If you had a car, you would have driven me to meet the ambulance at least halfway.”
Kris doesn’t answer; instead he fixes his gaze onto the stars above. “Do you want to hear my friend’s story?” Jongin asks warily, Kris nods eyes unmoving.
“His name is Lu Han. He used to dance like me, he’s passionate about it as well, but there’s something he wanted more than dancing. It was beauty.” The sound of light breathing temporarily affronts the atmosphere around them as Jongin thinks, choosing his words sensibly. “He wanted it too much it became an obsession. He said that being beautiful was everything.”
“Week after week, he would wear too much make up that it became unflattering. I never said anything in fear that I might spite him but it was useless. He killed himself anyway.” Jongin is trembling, Kris feels him without the physical contact. “Then I realized, I really should have said something. Lu Han was -is beautiful. He’s the epitome of youth and beauty. He just didn’t see it.”
“Is he really just your friend?”
“Lu Han is my best friend. My other half, if you will.” Jongin waves a hand in dismissal.
“So you loved him.” It’s not a question but a statement, a fact, something that falls out of Kris’s lips so basically and casually it almost tasted bitter. “That’s why you’re here.”
“That’s not it yet.” Jongin’s eyes water and he blinks the dampness away. “He never loved me back. But that’s not it either. I guess I’m just tired, too tired. Aren’t you?”
“I’ve been tired my whole life.” Kris lies down on the dirty cement right next to Kim Jongin, still a gracious distance between them. “I just lost my reason to stop myself from taking a break.”
Laughter bubbles in Jongin’s chest and it’s choking him, but he doesn’t let it show.
--
The time is ticking away, second by second with questions. From the lunch they had earlier to favorite colors; from movies they watched recently to friends, from trivial nonsensical questions to personal ones. Passing away time while slowly unraveling each other’s secrets.
“Do you know what they call this place? That ledge over there at the very top?” He points to the distance, eyes trained on the other’s eyes. When Kris doesn’t answer, Jongin smiles knowingly. “Angel’s Leap. People who think they’re angels jump there, because angels can fly, can’t they?”
This is a suicide mountain.
Jongin is about to ask another question but he stops himself. “You should ask the right question.” Kris says, barely louder than a whisper. Jongin snickers behind the back of his palm and shifts his head to look at Kris.
“How and why?”
Kris sighs again. He tells Jongin his story, the story of how he had worked himself so hard only to fall into a pit called failure and despair. His father had disapproved of him since Kris wanted to paint the city’s skyline, but that wouldn’t bring in money so he ended up as a stock broker. Back in his school days, Kris had never been first in anything despite his assiduous efforts; his skills and knowledge could only do so much. A couple of months ago, his mother, the only source of hope he had, passed away falling victim to his father’s abusive ways. If only Kris were better and more useful, his mother wouldn’t have died by his father’s hand. His father went to jail but never did he repent for what he had done.
For twenty-six years, Kris Wu had never felt happy, a little less miserable on most days, but never truly happy.
“Look, life has never been fair. Once you’re at the top it pulls you right back down without even the chance of feeling the moment, but it allows you to bask in the misery of your pathetic, ebbing life.” There’s something in Jongin’s words, something substantial that felt like a slap in the face. Kris doesn’t realize it though. He doesn’t realize that he’s warming up to Jongin word by word, emotion by emotion.
“My mother said I was an angel. I don’t understand how, but she said I was-“ Kris says, shaking his head, confused at his mother’s last words. He feels Jongin’s hand on top of his, warm and comforting.
“It’s because you’re kind,” Jongin’s eyes are closed but an inkling of a smile is painted on his face. He looks younger like this, more sincere and youthful.
“I’m not,” Kris says sternly. “I couldn’t even save her.”
“You’re kind enough to stop yourself and help me,” a chilly wind hits them both. Jongin’s tears are falling and his voice is fading along with the breeze.
Jongin is losing consciousness and Kris shakes him awake.
“Don’t go to sleep. Stay concious.” Kris reminds him, gentler than his previous reminders.
“I’m too tired,” Jongin croaks, voice small yet loud enough to hear the hoarseness. He leans his forehead on Kris’s shoulder. “I can’t dance anymore.”
“When the medics get you to the hospital, they’re going to stitch you up and-“ Kris repeats the last part more than twice, like a mantra of some sort to convince Jongin. ”You’ll be good as new.”
Jongin laughs tiredly, amusement coated with bitterness, “Look at me, I’m a wreck. Even if my leg gets better, it’ll take a long time.” His hilarity is replaced with sourness as tears stream down his cheeks. “No one wants a broken person.” Their eyes meet and Jongin speaks with finality ringing in his voice. “No one.”
Kris finds himself wanting Jongin to live, to not kill himself, to dance. He glares at the stars, being beautiful above them. Jongin’s life shouldn’t be over yet, he has his friends and family to go back to but Kris, Kris has no one else. His life revolved around his want to please his father and to make his mother smile.
“You have to live, Jongin.” Kris traces the tears on Jongin’s cheeks with his knuckles. “Live the life you want.”
“I should struggle while you have the chance to end your life the way you want to?” Jongin smacks his hand away. “Aren’t you unfair?”
Kris’s words echo in the air, accentuated with Jongin’s uneven breathing.
“Live for me Kim Jongin.” It’s a selfish favor, he knows, both of them do, nonetheless Jongin gives in and nods wearily, eyes closing, both of them too worn-out and exhausted to even wipe the tears.
--
“I wish we’d met each other sooner. You don’t know me, but I’ve known you for a long time.”
--
The sound of the ambulance fast approaching tears the serenity of the night. Kris stands away from anyone’s sight and stares ahead, watching the medics settle Jongin on a stretcher and leading him in the ambulance. Kim Jongin and his unseeing eyes, keeps looking at Kris’s direction, eyes moist and red as if he cried a river. He mouths something but it was too faint to be noticed. If Kris came up to him and asked, he could have known the truth. Jongin helplessly smiles before his eyes close again and Kris turns around, ready to face his postponed, nevertheless impending choice.
He stands on the precarious ridge, breathing in the kind spring air. The view from the edge is breathtaking; one step forward leads to a painful and imminent demise, but above death, the stars shine endlessly blinking and dotting the ivory heaven. The stars glimmer, teasing; as if they want Kris to grab them and make them his while the moon is away.
“Kim Jongin, I wish I’d met you sooner.”
Kris smiles despite his heart thumping loud in his ears. He spreads his arms as if they are his wings, his key to reaching the ever sneering stars. The gentle breeze caresses his face, enticing him to soar high. He’s an angel. He believes angels could fly. So he jumped.
Back.
--
“Who sent these to you?”Sehun gestures to the flowers and the letter in a concerned tone, mentally debating with himself whether to ask or to hand Jongin a tissue. He does the latter and Jongin pulls him into a hug when Sehun leans in.
“I saved him Sehun,” Jongin cries out, hugging the other man tighter with every sob.
“Saved who?” he inquires, not really grasping Jongin’s words. Jongin answers but it comes out indecipherable as it mixes with sobs and sniffs. He calms down after a while when his injured leg throbs in pain. Sehun sits back, relieved.
“I saved Kris Wu.”
The smile on Jongin’s face is ceaselessly adorned with wide smiles and his tears keep trickling down. He’s so happy that Sehun can feel it fill him as well. Last time he saw Jongin happy like this was when Lu Han was still around.
--
A cold, rainy, mundane day in Seoul, where the people all zip by under their monochromatic umbrellas, phones pressed up their ears and frowns embedded and crafted on their faces, Kim Jongin is on the verge of killing himself but a stranger sidles up next to him with his ugly mustard umbrella offering him a smile and a promise of better tomorrows.
That’s when Kris Wu, truly saves Kim Jongin; a young Kim Jongin who had recently lost Lu Han and who had just experienced yet another failed performance for the past month that could very well mean the end of his career and source of income.
But Kris Wu told him to smile and endure another day, promising tomorrow will be better than today if he wills it to. If he didn’t listen, and didn’t endure another day, he wouldn’t have realized that he wasn’t the only one suffering. Oh Sehun, long time best friend, who is also mourning the loss of his lover and the loss of his voice. They found comfort in each other and with time, got better.