『14』caekfortaek → jf4c anon
Persistence Of
2PM, Jay/Junsu
"Floor mates. That's it- we're floor mates." Jaebeom tried to keep the stutter out of his voice. He kept his eyes on his hands. Fingers methodically folded shirts, pants, and rolled up socks. He tucked every article of clothing away in a duffel bag.
"Floor mates," Jinyoung repeated, rolling the word off his tongue with skepticism. Jinyoung, the chief campus security officer stood behind him, back against the door. Jinyoung was the face of acceptance; residents often joked that with his face, Jinyoung had no choice but to accept whatever kindness he was offered. For his intimidating features, Jinyoung was a familiar presence on campus.
Jaebeom nodded, but his movements were tense and jerky.
"Funny," Jinyoung said. His words were slow, deliberate. "That's not what your 'floor mate' told us."
Jaebeom turned to him. "What'd he say?"
"He told us everything. The meetings, the letters," Jinyoung said. "Would you like to confirm them for us?"
silent kisses trailing down a heaving chest, Jaebeom closed his eyes and savored every taste
"What?" Jaebeom's voice squeaked, and the air seemed thinner around him.
He couldn't have known. Junsu wouldn't have said anything; no one could have without incriminating himself. Who told on them? Jinyoung reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. Jaebeom's eyes widened as Jinyoung held it out to him.
"He said he was just an accessory. Said you were the one who wrote them up, started this whole campaign."
he threw the first kiss, seductive with his flushed face and hot breath and
The words on the flyer were so simple, its meaning was undeniable:
Reform is not war.
Revolution is not war.
War is war.
"It came with a note that said you and your friends were responsible for posting them all over campus."
"T- that's not true," Jaebeom managed to utter in response. "Where's your proof?"
towels jammed under the door like hands over mouths to cover up the sounds
"Jaebeom. This isn't some kind of criminal investigation." Jinyoung crossed his arms. "We're just concerned for students' safety. A whole lot of people got hurt in Santa Barbara; did you hear? They weren't even protesters. Just innocent bystanders at the wrong place, wrong time."
"I heard about it." Jaebeom shrugged. The motion was tight and jerky.
"We don't want that happening here. You wouldn't want it to happen on such a small campus as this, right?" Jinyoung's voice was suddenly soft. It reminded Jaebeom of his pastor.
"It won't," Jaebeom replied. He kept his voice level, unwavering.
"wouldn't it be nice if everyone had a chance to be happy"
The protests were anti-violent. At least, that was the intention. He read about them in the papers, and even spoke to some of his friends in Santa Barbara. The students did nothing to hurt anyone, except maybe call out the government pigs for what they were. It was the police, the riot teams that had the bats and the hoses.
Wooyoung had wanted to burn the pamphlets, but that would have been a bad idea. Fire and smoke and a pile of anti-government ashes would have been hard to hide. No, Jaebeom remembered suggesting, hide them. They were just a medium for the movement, a matchstick that carried the fire. As long as there were others to support the cause, Jaebeom didn't care about the consequences of organizing such a large scale protest.
"Why, Jaebeom?" He was friendly now, the kind of pleasantness people expressed when they wanted something. "You're a good, wholesome American boy. Why would you get caught up with these kinds of people?"
"we'll read books and write poetry and sing and laugh and it'll be okay to fall in love"
Jaebeom wasn't so much against the war as he was terrified of it. Ever since a vet came and spoke at his church of the terrors he faced in a faraway land, Jaebeom wanted nothing to do with the war. It wasn't like when the World War II vets came to his school and talked about surviving the Bataan Death March. Those vets had never talked about shooting kids.
"He had a gun at me, so I did what I had to. Shot 'im right in the face." Only the one that came to his church pointed right at Jaebeom and said, "Guy looked just like you."
"It's Korea, all over again," his father had muttered between pages of the newspaper. "Goddamn meddlers. Stupid Americans."
Almost all of his classmates had been drafted, scheduled to depart shortly after graduation. He remembered the senior ball. Some guys had shown up in uniforms. Jaebeom had been in their shadows, part of the handful of guys who had been either flat-footed, asthmatic, or going to college. He had expected more tears and streaked mascara, but all he remembered was passing the rows of cars after the dance in the parking lot, rocking with the motions of bodies inside.
hand in hand during class, on the train, all over campus
"I'm not saying you're wrong, or they're wrong," Jinyoung said. "Everyone's entitled to an opinion. It's just - on Homecoming weekend?"
Jaebeom shrugged. The motion was tight and spastic.
"A lot of alumni and potential students will be visiting that weekend. Honestly, do you think it's a good idea to have a protest when so many people will be around?"
"Isn't that the point of a protest?" Jaebeom put down the pair of jeans he was folding. "To be seen? To be heard?"
Jinyoung leaned back in his seat and looked up at the ceiling. "You're entering your last semester here, Jaebeom. You've got a spotless record so far. Why would you risk it by hanging out with these neo-hippie troublemakers?"
"hold me don't ever let go"
He never spoke with anyone about the war. It was a sore topic for his father, a worrisome discussion for his mother. She fretted that if Uncle Sam didn't get Jaebeom, his younger brother would be taken. Jaebeom had more questions than opinions anyway. Why is this happening? What did these people ever do to us? Who asks to be pitted against his own neighbor, his own brother?
The last place he expected to find clarity was with a motley crew at a peace rally. Jaebeom went alone, attracted by advertisements for an open forum on campus. He hoped someone would make sense of this whole mess, tell him right from wrong.
He didn't find his truth. He found clarity.
feeling the warm weight on his chest, a feeling he could no longer sleep without
Their only agenda was harmony and equality as a standard of living. Pride, patriotism, and profit were all products of soldiers, politicians, or businessmen too concerned with their own greed to give two thoughts to the other ninety-nine percent of the world.
There were hippies, the kind who covered their tattoo sleeves with suits and ties during the day, and the ones who were always looking for new members of the latest communes. Mothers who didn't want to see their sons die in a meaningless war. Fathers who had come home and never wanted to go back. Students who dodged the draft by going to college, promising to become teachers, or feigning ineligibility.
he ran across the field with arms so wide like he was trying to hug the sky and the earth
And then there were artists. Jaebeom sat amongst the crowd, slack-jawed. He had never conceived of dancing or singing for peace. It never occurred to him that the shocking photos of torn bodies and forgotten children could be art. He never thought music had anything intelligent to teach him.
This was the moment he understood those guys who tried every single mind-altering substance known to man. 'It just hits you,' was a common description, one that Jaebeom rolled his eyes at. And then it hit him. No amount of fancy vocabulary would have described the epiphany, when time stopped and the planets aligned, the moment his heart started beating.
"Thanks for listening to my song." A quick, awkward bow. "My name is Junsu. Please support our cause."
"i might be more attached to you than i'd like to admit"
"You could risk losing your scholarship. You get a full ride, don't you?"
Jaebeom reached the maximum capacity of his duffel. Jinyoung was still in his room.
"Did you ever consider what you could lose if you support this protest?" Jinyoung sounded like his father now.
their elbows touched and he smiled like he won the lottery, the Nobel Prize, the universe
"Do you think-"
"Yes," Jaebeom said curtly, "I do think."
arm in arm, lying on damp grass, basking in the warmth of the sunlight, of each other. turning face to face, their noses touched.
"wouldn't it be nice if everyone had a chance to be happy? if we could live in a perfect world where we'll read books and write poetry and sing and laugh, and it'll be okay to fall in love?"
jaebeom held junsu's hand. "aren't we already there?"
i... really hope this turned out okay -_-
2PM, Jay/Junsu
"Floor mates. That's it- we're floor mates." Jaebeom tried to keep the stutter out of his voice. He kept his eyes on his hands. Fingers methodically folded shirts, pants, and rolled up socks. He tucked every article of clothing away in a duffel bag.
"Floor mates," Jinyoung repeated, rolling the word off his tongue with skepticism. Jinyoung, the chief campus security officer stood behind him, back against the door. Jinyoung was the face of acceptance; residents often joked that with his face, Jinyoung had no choice but to accept whatever kindness he was offered. For his intimidating features, Jinyoung was a familiar presence on campus.
Jaebeom nodded, but his movements were tense and jerky.
"Funny," Jinyoung said. His words were slow, deliberate. "That's not what your 'floor mate' told us."
Jaebeom turned to him. "What'd he say?"
"He told us everything. The meetings, the letters," Jinyoung said. "Would you like to confirm them for us?"
silent kisses trailing down a heaving chest, Jaebeom closed his eyes and savored every taste
"What?" Jaebeom's voice squeaked, and the air seemed thinner around him.
He couldn't have known. Junsu wouldn't have said anything; no one could have without incriminating himself. Who told on them? Jinyoung reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. Jaebeom's eyes widened as Jinyoung held it out to him.
"He said he was just an accessory. Said you were the one who wrote them up, started this whole campaign."
he threw the first kiss, seductive with his flushed face and hot breath and
The words on the flyer were so simple, its meaning was undeniable:
Reform is not war.
Revolution is not war.
War is war.
"It came with a note that said you and your friends were responsible for posting them all over campus."
"T- that's not true," Jaebeom managed to utter in response. "Where's your proof?"
towels jammed under the door like hands over mouths to cover up the sounds
"Jaebeom. This isn't some kind of criminal investigation." Jinyoung crossed his arms. "We're just concerned for students' safety. A whole lot of people got hurt in Santa Barbara; did you hear? They weren't even protesters. Just innocent bystanders at the wrong place, wrong time."
"I heard about it." Jaebeom shrugged. The motion was tight and jerky.
"We don't want that happening here. You wouldn't want it to happen on such a small campus as this, right?" Jinyoung's voice was suddenly soft. It reminded Jaebeom of his pastor.
"It won't," Jaebeom replied. He kept his voice level, unwavering.
"wouldn't it be nice if everyone had a chance to be happy"
The protests were anti-violent. At least, that was the intention. He read about them in the papers, and even spoke to some of his friends in Santa Barbara. The students did nothing to hurt anyone, except maybe call out the government pigs for what they were. It was the police, the riot teams that had the bats and the hoses.
Wooyoung had wanted to burn the pamphlets, but that would have been a bad idea. Fire and smoke and a pile of anti-government ashes would have been hard to hide. No, Jaebeom remembered suggesting, hide them. They were just a medium for the movement, a matchstick that carried the fire. As long as there were others to support the cause, Jaebeom didn't care about the consequences of organizing such a large scale protest.
"Why, Jaebeom?" He was friendly now, the kind of pleasantness people expressed when they wanted something. "You're a good, wholesome American boy. Why would you get caught up with these kinds of people?"
"we'll read books and write poetry and sing and laugh and it'll be okay to fall in love"
Jaebeom wasn't so much against the war as he was terrified of it. Ever since a vet came and spoke at his church of the terrors he faced in a faraway land, Jaebeom wanted nothing to do with the war. It wasn't like when the World War II vets came to his school and talked about surviving the Bataan Death March. Those vets had never talked about shooting kids.
"He had a gun at me, so I did what I had to. Shot 'im right in the face." Only the one that came to his church pointed right at Jaebeom and said, "Guy looked just like you."
"It's Korea, all over again," his father had muttered between pages of the newspaper. "Goddamn meddlers. Stupid Americans."
Almost all of his classmates had been drafted, scheduled to depart shortly after graduation. He remembered the senior ball. Some guys had shown up in uniforms. Jaebeom had been in their shadows, part of the handful of guys who had been either flat-footed, asthmatic, or going to college. He had expected more tears and streaked mascara, but all he remembered was passing the rows of cars after the dance in the parking lot, rocking with the motions of bodies inside.
hand in hand during class, on the train, all over campus
"I'm not saying you're wrong, or they're wrong," Jinyoung said. "Everyone's entitled to an opinion. It's just - on Homecoming weekend?"
Jaebeom shrugged. The motion was tight and spastic.
"A lot of alumni and potential students will be visiting that weekend. Honestly, do you think it's a good idea to have a protest when so many people will be around?"
"Isn't that the point of a protest?" Jaebeom put down the pair of jeans he was folding. "To be seen? To be heard?"
Jinyoung leaned back in his seat and looked up at the ceiling. "You're entering your last semester here, Jaebeom. You've got a spotless record so far. Why would you risk it by hanging out with these neo-hippie troublemakers?"
"hold me don't ever let go"
He never spoke with anyone about the war. It was a sore topic for his father, a worrisome discussion for his mother. She fretted that if Uncle Sam didn't get Jaebeom, his younger brother would be taken. Jaebeom had more questions than opinions anyway. Why is this happening? What did these people ever do to us? Who asks to be pitted against his own neighbor, his own brother?
The last place he expected to find clarity was with a motley crew at a peace rally. Jaebeom went alone, attracted by advertisements for an open forum on campus. He hoped someone would make sense of this whole mess, tell him right from wrong.
He didn't find his truth. He found clarity.
feeling the warm weight on his chest, a feeling he could no longer sleep without
Their only agenda was harmony and equality as a standard of living. Pride, patriotism, and profit were all products of soldiers, politicians, or businessmen too concerned with their own greed to give two thoughts to the other ninety-nine percent of the world.
There were hippies, the kind who covered their tattoo sleeves with suits and ties during the day, and the ones who were always looking for new members of the latest communes. Mothers who didn't want to see their sons die in a meaningless war. Fathers who had come home and never wanted to go back. Students who dodged the draft by going to college, promising to become teachers, or feigning ineligibility.
he ran across the field with arms so wide like he was trying to hug the sky and the earth
And then there were artists. Jaebeom sat amongst the crowd, slack-jawed. He had never conceived of dancing or singing for peace. It never occurred to him that the shocking photos of torn bodies and forgotten children could be art. He never thought music had anything intelligent to teach him.
This was the moment he understood those guys who tried every single mind-altering substance known to man. 'It just hits you,' was a common description, one that Jaebeom rolled his eyes at. And then it hit him. No amount of fancy vocabulary would have described the epiphany, when time stopped and the planets aligned, the moment his heart started beating.
"Thanks for listening to my song." A quick, awkward bow. "My name is Junsu. Please support our cause."
"i might be more attached to you than i'd like to admit"
"You could risk losing your scholarship. You get a full ride, don't you?"
Jaebeom reached the maximum capacity of his duffel. Jinyoung was still in his room.
"Did you ever consider what you could lose if you support this protest?" Jinyoung sounded like his father now.
their elbows touched and he smiled like he won the lottery, the Nobel Prize, the universe
"Do you think-"
"Yes," Jaebeom said curtly, "I do think."
arm in arm, lying on damp grass, basking in the warmth of the sunlight, of each other. turning face to face, their noses touched.
"wouldn't it be nice if everyone had a chance to be happy? if we could live in a perfect world where we'll read books and write poetry and sing and laugh, and it'll be okay to fall in love?"
jaebeom held junsu's hand. "aren't we already there?"
i... really hope this turned out okay -_-