"Mismatched" [1/2]
Title: Mismatched [1/2]
Pairing: Jaejoong/Changmin
Genre: AU, romance
Warnings: much one-sided affection
Summary: Changmin's life takes an unexpected turn when he falls in love. Beta-ed by milollita
Notes: Loosely based on a yaoi manga called "Kouun no Rihatsushi"
There was a quiet boy who always sat at the back of the classroom. During class, he would concentrate on what the teachers were saying, unmindful of the murmurs that roamed around the room, from one student's mouth to another. During breaks he would be hunched over a book, glasses dangling precariously at the tip of his nose. His wide eyes rarely skimmed above the pages, but if ever they did, he would probably see his fellow classmate sending sideway glances his way; glances that labelled him as the outcast, the one nobody wanted to associate with.
When he walked the halls, people cleared a path. It was as if a mere touch - a brush of fingers, a small bump of shoulders - would make his social status contractable; a contagious disease others tried to avoid.
His name was Shim Changmin.
Hair hung past his shoulders and dipped around his chin, curling at his shoulders. His features were hidden by the two long strips of bangs that draped over either side of his face and as he always looked down, all people could usually see were black frames peeking out from the bridge of his nose. He was tall, at a height of 186cm, noticeably taller than even most of the boys on the basketball team, but it was easy to look down on him. He walked with hunched shoulders, as if he was trying to disappear into himself.
Nobody knew what went on behind those glasses. Nobody cared that Changmin loved his parents and his two little sisters very much. He was working a part time job at a small bookstore near his home to help them pay off the mortgage of their newly purchased house after moving from the apartment they'd been living in for the past sixteen years of his life.
They didn't know he liked studying (but didn't consider it his life) and one of his hobbies was singing (but didn't consider himself very good). It would never occur to them he enjoyed acting out scenes from popular dramas to make his family laugh when they were sad, or that when he smiled freely it made his eyes look crooked. School was not a nice place to him and likewise, he was never particularly friendly to anybody in school - or anyone outside of his home, for that matter.
That all changed when he fell in love.
There was a girl in another class. They were in different grades so they rarely ever saw each other. But it had happened one day, when he was searching through the shelves in the library in the language instruction section. He had gotten bored of reading fiction novels (Harry Potter was one of his favourites) and the few choices of history books that he found interesting, and decided to try something new. He'd been sliding his finger across the spines when he noticed someone standing next to and slightly behind him, as if she was trying to look at what he was looking at but was too polite to ask him to move.
He'd stepped back a little too quickly and stumbled. A small hand had reached out to steady him, keeping a firm grip on his arm even as he regained his balance, murmuring a small apology for blocking the view. The girl, a kind smile on her face with eyes like half moons, had shook her head and asked if he was alright. Surprised, he had stammered an affirmative and she had nodded before walking off to the side to gaze up at the other books.
He had kept an eye on her until she made her selections and left at the other end, turning right. Out of curiosity, he'd walked over to where she had been standing and saw that she had chosen two beginner books on Mandarin. Without thinking, he did the same.
From then on, he made small efforts to look up whenever she passed him in the halls, or to smile when she seemed to look his way. He didn't even know her name, but her kind smile made a strong impression on him. When he heard a friend of hers, a girl with bleached dark blonde hair, shout her name from the door to her classroom, he repeated it in his mind once.
'Tiffany.'
He was in his senior year and most of his time was spent running from home to school to the bookstore after school, then back home to study. This schedule didn't allow for dating - never mind that he'd never dated before. He didn't know how to ask a girl out, what to do on dates; worst of all, he had no idea how to confess.
Confessing to someone, especially during high school, adhered to a specific set of strict social values. The popular and the beautiful never confessed to the unpopular and the ugly, and vice versa. To the student body, Changmin was the latter and Tiffany was the former. That had never been as obvious to him as it was now.
Still, there were only three months left of the school year. After graduation, he would have to devote all his time to studying for the college entrance exams. Then he'd be off to college, studying whatever his parents wanted him to study (he didn't have many complaints about that) and trying to establish himself in an even bigger student body than his local high school.
He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he wanted to do something about this...admiration he had for this girl. Little hopeful fantasies of holding hands with her down the street or taking her to a movie and walking her to her door were useless things if he didn't try. He'd always been assertive towards the plans he had for his life (getting a job, paying his parents back for their love and kindness towards him, getting into college). Though he was shy, he was determined to confess to this girl, even if the whole world was against them. Sometimes, he imagined their relationship being forbidden, hated and persecuted by everyone, yet their feelings, as hopeless as it might seem, would prevail.
So he waited for his chance. Every day, as he passed Tiffany on his way to the library, he never failed to notice that because of her bright and personable demeanour, she had a wide variety of friends. The majority of them were some of the more popular girls from the school across the grades.
He recognized Kim Taeyeon, who was a year younger than him but was in his homeroom, who was the star in the school choir, along with Jung Sooyeon whom everyone called Jessica, the other star vocal. The blonde he'd eventually identified as Kim Hyoyeon was one of the few female members in their school's champion dance team, and Im Yoona was known simply for her beauty even though she had transferred to the school at the beginning of this school year. Within a few days of catching small glimpses of her in the hall, cafeteria, or library, he'd counted at least eight girls that she was always with. Tiffany herself was no lightweight in terms of popularity either; many boys were vying for her attention and she was one of those well-rounded students, who was in the choir, the student council as a class rep, and a member of the English Society as a tutor.
He figured he needed a plan of action, but time simply did not allow him that.
One day, in his third week of sending furtive glances Tiffany's way to simply watch her laugh at a joke or smile, he descended down a staircase leading from the roof to the third floor (he'd been up there practicing his Mandarin pronounciation in private and doing a terrible job of it) to find Tiffany coming up the steps, alone and clutching papers in her hand.
Without knowing quite what he was doing and only coming to the conclusion that this was probably the only time he would ever find her alone and in such a deserted area, he stopped in midstep. Seeing him, she stopped as well, blinking up at his taller form curiously.
"Um."
She waited, relaxing her hold her papers.
"Are you okay?" It was with some surprise that he suddenly noticed how red the corner of her eyes were and the almost upset look on her face. It was a surprise because he'd always thought it was impossible for her to look unhappy. She looked takenback by the question, and his mouth hurried to catch up with his brain. "I mean, you look...sad. Do...you want to talk about it?"
"Oh!" She rubbed at her cheek with the bottom of her palm, as if trying to wipe away unshed tears. "No, I'm okay. Thanks," she flashed one of her famous smiles and made to move past him and in a panic, he caught her hand in his in a loose grip.
It took him all of two seconds to realize what had just happened and he dropped her hand immediately, backing away a little. She watched him with wide eyes, holding her hand closer to herself in surprise.
"I don't mind listening," he said quietly, trying his hardest not to stammer.
"Oh," she responded just as quietly and sighed a little, plopping down on the steps and motioning for him to sit as she smoothed down her skirt.
Surprised at her boldness, he took a seat next to her and stretched out his long legs. Then he waited quietly for her to speak.
"It's really something very small," she began, flashing him a reassuring smile. "I just got back a paper I did in Korean history and I got a really bad mark. Here," she fished it out of her pocket, a crumpled package of papers, and handed it to him.
He unfolded it delicately and blinked at the angry red mark at the top of the page. He didn't want to read it, as he considered it an invasion of privacy (he'd always hated it whenever anyone read his work, even his parents) but he couldn't help scanning a few lines. He didn't find anything particularly wrong with it.
"Ms. Yoo said my grammar is bad, my vocabulary is abysmal, and she wants a full annotated bibliography by next class because she wants to know where I got my information," she mumbled, staring at her shoes.
On a closer look, he began to notice circles and underlines where Tiffany had made almost elementary level errors. They were sparse and were scattered throughout the page, as if she had made attempts to correct them but had managed to miss some of the more minor mistakes. Still, it was enough to lower the quality of the paper as a whole. But the mistakes did not warrant the mark she had received. "How long have you been in Korea, Tiffany?"
She glanced at him in surprise. "Three years. How did you know?"
He handed the paper back to her. "It seems more like you can't really get your ideas across properly because you aren't familiar with the language than simply because you're bad at writing. You made some simple mistakes but there are times you use some good vocabulary."
Tiffany brighted, nodding eagerly. "That's exactly it."
"What's wrong with your sources though?"
She deflated almost instantly, pouting a little. His heart seemed to jump a little at how cute she looked, but he shook it off in favour of concentrtating on what she was saying. "I can't understand the books in the library on this topic, so I asked my sister - she's studying at Berkeley - to help me, so she found some English articles on her university library website and I translated the information to Korean...Ms. Yoo said it's all totally inaccurate."
He had to suppress a smile at that, though he could see the logic behind what she did. "She's notorious for being really strict on your sources of information, and she hates academia outside of Korea. If you need help finding information next time, I can help you...I mean, if you want," he added, wondering if that was too bold of him.
He was rewarded with a happy smile. "Really? That would be great! Thanks so much, oppa! I'm Hwang Miyoung, by the way. You can call me Tiffany." She extended a hand.
He took it, a small blush covering his cheeks. "I'm Shim Changmin."
"Changmin oppa! Thanks for listening to me. You're really kind," she chirped. "Can I have your email? Maybe we can exchange numbers so I can contact you."
"I...don't have a cell phone. But I have an email," he said, hardly believing his luck. Tiffany was beautiful and friendly and everything he'd dreamed. She recorded his email on her cell phone after berating him for not having such an essential piece of technology and he had hers tucked into his back pocket, mentally swearing he was going to guard it with his life.
She was turning to leave before he realized his real purpose of stopping her to begin with. "Tiffany!"
"Yes?"
"I...I. Will you go out with me?" She stared at him, eyes wide in shock. "I've - I like you alot. Will you - "
"I'm sorry, oppa!" She clapped her hands together in front of her, looking embarrassed and confused. "I...like someone else. It's a person really dear to me, and even if they don't like me back, I still care about them a lot. So..."
He nodded, letting his bangs fall over his expression. "It's okay."
Looking unsure, she turned to go. "I really appreciate this, oppa. I hope we can become friends."
He tried to smile, she grinned back at his efforts, and bounced down the stairs and was soon out of sight. He sat down heavily and sighed, ignoring the way his heart ached just a little. It would soon pass anyway, as did any kind of emotion he felt during his time in school. It was no use clinging onto these feelings, because he didn't want his parents to see him sad. He would soon forget this and finish school, but at least it satisfied him a little that he'd taken the initiative. And he'd made a friend, which was nice.
He never foresaw the consequences.
News of his confession to Tiffany spread like wildfire, messages flashing from one cell phone to the next, words passed in secret from one ear to the other. Soon it was all over the school and rather than quietly ignoring him, his classmates were forthright with their comments. Exclamations that he was too tall, too ugly, too nerdy, and simply unfit for Tiffany came at him from every direction in his homeroom. It was the fact that every boy that had ever confessed to Tiffany had been struck down, and they were enraged at the fact that a loser like him had even tried when none of them had had the chance. They were the ones who tried their hardest to break him.
With two months left of school, he threw himself further into studying, nose buried in pages at all times. Tiffany, to her credit, had ignored the teasing he openly received and had taken him up on his offer to help her with Korean history; she even visited him in his classroom once but seeing the treatment he'd gotten afterwards (she had watched quietly by the window), she had stopped, opting instead to email him about meeting at the library where the popular kids were less inclined to go to or going to public libraries or community centers if she needed extra help after school.
Their time together was bittersweet for him. His heart still jumped a little at every smile she aimed at him (which was a lot, given the fact he was keeping her from failing History) but his slow mental therapy of repeating that she was way out of his league seemed to help little by little. She acted like her normal, bright self but he could tell she worried desperately about her grades. Having no qualms about revealing things about herself to a near stranger, she told him that her father was spending a lot of money to fund her education in Korea after she had begged him to allow her to study here.
She had actually been born in America but never lost her roots, always insisting that her father speak to her in Korean while her siblings got the English treatment. She also worried about the bullying that was happening to him, but he never talked about it and neither did she. He still had some pride after all and it wouldn't do to complain to a girl two years younger than him about his social problems, of all things.
(He DID find out that the day he'd seen her borrowing Mandarin books in the library the first time had caused a bit of a misunderstanding - she reassured him that she had only been borrowing them for her younger friend, Seo Juhyun, who had been too busy to take them out herself. He nearly returned his books, before he shrugged to himself and decided there was no harm in trying to learn a new language.)
He didn't know what her friends thought about her association with him and he didn't ask, so she didn't talk about it. But they continued to meet over the course of the next two weeks after their initial meeting and he found that he liked having a friend like her. She was instrumental in cheering him up or getting him to stop studying (even if it was to do her studying for her) when it got too much.
However, things came to a head in the third week of the second last month of school.
His parents never knew something was wrong and his sisters continued to brag about their smart and handsome big brother at their all girls school. In fact, his sisters were subjects of much envy because many of their friends didn't have such an older brother who would take them to different places, tutor them whenever they needed help in school, or basically do whatever they asked him to (which he gladly did).
But when he found his science lab report, the last assignment of the year and one he had worked on for nearly a month, in the sink in the men's room on the second floor (granted, it had already been marked) floating in water and smeared with an unidentifiable black material, he was blinded with rage. He could withstand taunts and jeers, but his physical property was off-limits. The people he cared about were also off-limits but he didn't think anyone in the school had the capacity to go after his family, and given the fact he'd only become friends with Tiffany in the last two weeks, he didn't think anything would happen to her, especially since he was graduating soon anyway. Her popularity and kindness protected her well. 'But obviously something of mine must suffer,' he thought bitterly, fishing it out of the sink in disgust.
He checked his watch - it was after school hours, when clubs would be holding their meetings but the majority of the school should've left by now. He made his way warily to the art rooms, the clump of paper dripping all the way to the third floor. When he entered, he was met with curious stares (he figured none of the people who went at him were interested in art) but no one tried to stop him as he took a plastic bag, dumped his assignment into it, stuffed it into his bag, and walked out.
On his way home, his mind raced with ideas of revenge. Shoving someone's head in the toilet (he'd heard from Tiffany that was a popular bullying tactic she always saw in movies in America), accusing one of them of cheating by looking at his paper, destroying their assignments (see how they liked it), beating the hell out of them (not that he stood a chance), and other numerous thoughts ran through his mind.
By the time he arrived at the bookstore, he had exhausted all options. Instead, as he was sent to do clean up in the backrooms, he began to think about leaving high school, never having to see his classmates again (except for Tiffany) and starting anew. It wouldn't be as bad, he tried to convince himself, and he'd know not to confess to popular girls anymore.
These thoughts continued to linger as he made his way home. He'd been let off work early so he hurried, wanting nothing else but to have dinner with his happy family and stay in bed for the rest of the weekend, reading or listening to music or singing at the top of his lungs in the shower.
However, it seemed as if his plans were destined to be thwarted today when his mom appeared at the door, shoved a wad of money in his fist, and insisted he go get himself a haircut. He complained weakly, hating what professional hairdressers usually did to his hair (then again his mom had brought him to hers every time she insisted he needed a cut so that was probably why). It had taken him a long time to grow his hair long enough to be tied up and out of his face (he had a phobia with short hair at that point his life) and if he had to get another ridiculously short cut, he figured that was probably the end of his high school social life forever. Not that it could get any worse, but at this point he was careful not to jinx himself.
"Minnie ah, if you don't want to go to Eunhee then you find one of those places you young people like to go to. I don't want to see you back until I can see your ears, got it?"
Since he had never developed the habit of arguing against his parents (it didn't mean he could instantaneously conjure up a good mood though) , he sullenly handed her his school bag while taking his wallet and keys and stuffing them to the back of his pants and asked her to dry his assignment in any way she could. With a sigh he turned around and walking down their driveway, missing the way her mother stared after him with sad eyes before shutting the door behind her.
He slowly made his way to the busier streets of Seoul, where people his age still milled about with their cell phones with dangly strings, designer shoes and bags and clothes, stylish haircuts - everything he wasn't. He dragged his eyes to the ground and tried to hide by slouching a little so he wouldn't appear so tall as he shifted through the crowds.
The sky was dimming and store lights were flashing, the busy city night life of Seoul awakening all around him. He didn't stop to admire it though - it didn't look particularly attractive up close and his stomache was starting to growl loudly, causing looks to be shot in his direction. He just wanted this stupid errand over and done with.
Approaching a small shop with the words "Hero Hair Salon" emblazoned boldly in gold on the door and stylishly in black in pop-up English characters on a bigger sign on the second floor, he opened the small door that led to a long flight of stairs. He climbed them quickly and was met with another glass door that jingled as it opened.
A quick glance around revealed that it was a small but cozy business, with only six chairs and mirrors, with a couch lining the wall, a cash register counter in the corner, and a two large sinks in front of two smaller couches that one could lay on. The decor followed the black, white, and gold of the signs outside, classy but homey. A woman in her thirties with her head wrapped in a clear wrap, a little ten year old girl along with her father, and a much older man in is sixties occupied the chairs. The hairdresser was no where in sight.
He stepped awkwardly into the room, the four people looking in his direction all at once at the sound of his footsteps. He turned red and coughed. "Ah, hello...Would any of you happen to know where..."
"Jaejoong oppa!" the little girl suddenly screamed and a door he hadn't noticed before flew open, a thin body falling out of it, eyes wide.
"What what?!"
"You have a customer, Jaejoong. A new one," the woman emphasized, a kind smirk (if there was such a thing) on her face.
The man brightened, before turning to Changmin with a smile.
Changmin's breath caught in his throat. Wide eyes under white blonde hair that couldn't possibly be natural but looked incredibly good on him crinkled as the man's smile grew wider, coming towards him with quick paces.
"Hi, I'm Kim Jaejoong. I'm afraid we're a bit busy at the moment but if you don't mind waiting, I can get to you in thirty minutes."
Changmin nodded dumbly. He took a seat after Jaejoong, satisfied that he'd decided to stay, grabbed a razor and a brush from his apron of supplies and promptly attacked the older man's head, murmuring things that made the other patrons laugh loudly.
He chose to observe the interactions. Jaejoong finished the older man in less than five minutes, flinging the sheet off of the man as he nodded in approval, patting Jaejoong on the shoulder. Changmin clearly heard a "Don't worry about it, I'll put it on your tab" from Jaejoong before the man left and Jaejoong whisked himself to the little girl who grinned brightly and chattered about anything and everything.
Even for someone as inexperienced as him in proper hairdressing, he could see the way Jaejoong flicked the scissors and snipped away at the little girl's head was precise and skillful. By the time he was done, it had barely been ten minutes and the girl had adorably cropped bangs and her longer locks had been done up into two french braids by the sides of her head, tied off with a ribbon. This time he accepted the pay from the father and the pair left happily, before he turned to the woman. The two exchanged low murmurs that Changmin could not catch and when they went off to get her hair washed off from what was presumably hair dye, he was pretty uncomfortable at the quietness that surrounded him. He could not hear what they were talking about at all at the other end of the room.
Jaejoong seemed like a nice person, but he knew people who looked, well, as good looking as he did often came at a price. Associating with them meant a death warrant for his head and hadn't becoming Tiffany's friend proven that, though he didn't really regret it and wouldn't blame her even if someone tried to force him to?
Then again he was only here for Jaejoong to provide a service for and the man was good, no doubt about it. It would be rude to leave all of a sudden, but he checked his watch and it read six forty-five, he was late for dinner, his parents had no way of contacting him, he was hungry, but his mother did say not to come back until his hair had been - maybe it wouldn't do too much damage if he just snipped it a bit at the sides himself. After all, all his mother wanted to see were his ears right? That was easily done.
The sound of a blowdryer pervaded the air and he looked up, seeing Jaejoong flip the woman's hair and run a comb through it to dry it properly. The woman's hair was now a rich chocolate brown that looked lovely against her pale skin. When Jaejoong was done, she had ringlets coming down to her waist and an immensely satisfied look on her face. She stood up and kissed him on the cheek. "Fantastic work as always, Jaejoong ssi."
He smiled, walking her to cash register. "Anything for you," he said with a wink and rang up the cash register. When she had forked over a large sum of money (which Changmin eyed with shock), she blew him a kiss, winked at a confused Changmin, and walked out the door.
He was suddenly struck with nervousness when Jaejoong's bright eyes turned to him, a slight narrowing of them making it seem as if the older man was zeroing in on him.
"So, what kind of cut are you looking for? I'm assuming you're just here for a quick one," he said, gesturing for him to take a seat in the chair closest to the door. He barely had time to make a sound before Jaejoong had whipped a covering over him so that only his head was revealed.
Changmin stared at him before making to stand up. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," he muttered, gripping the handrests tightly.
"Hey, wait!" Hands, surprisingly strong, pushed his shoulders down and he sat back down with a thump, blinking up at him in the mirror. "You're already here and waited so long, I can't possibly let you leave without a cut. If you can't decide, why don't you try something new and see if you like it. If you don't, you don't have to come back ever again?" The man smiled at him, looking ridiculously hopeful, and Changmin nodded. Refusing would've, quite honestly, been like refusing a puppy its bone.
Hands that were surprisingly gentle weaved themselves into his hair, lithe fingers kneading the back of his head. Almost unconsciously he leaned back before snapping upright, staring at Jaejoong in surprise. '
"What are you doing?" he asked, confused.
Jaejoong sighed though he did not stop his hands, "Just from looking at you I can tell you're too tense. I can't cut your hair like this. It'll make me tense up too."
"It will?"
"Of course! It's my job to make sure you're relaxed and that you look good. Take off your glasses, will you?" this he emphasized with a sweet smile and Changmin did as he was told, averting his eyes. The world became blurry around him and he could barely even see his hairdresser's face but he could tell he was still smiling at him.
"How come..." he made a small noise of surprise as Jaejoong's hands slid from his head down to his shoulders and began kneading the muscles there, "...you didn't do...ouch...this for the others?" He gestured at the door.
There was a slight pause, before he saw a blurry shrug. "They looked pretty relaxed and happy to me."
He had no response to that, so he stayed silent.
After he finally insisted that all the kinks had been worked out from his shoulders and that he was perfectly relaxed (he was hungry and his stomache was making weird noises that made Jaejoong giggle at him, he could feel it), the other man finally started on his hair.
"We're going to go with something shorter and it won't go past your neck, but I won't be coming anywhere near you with a razor so don't worry, okay?" A soft voice whispered into his right ear and he shivered on instinct. All he could manage was a nod. It had escaped his mind before then, but he realized now that Jaejoong had a distinct voice. Distinct, and beautiful. He wondered if this man could sing.
Then Jaejoong sprayed cold water on him to wet his hair and he shivered for an entirely different reason. Soon his hands were once again buried in his hair, fingers deftly parting the thick strips as he snipped his way through. Changmin prayed to whatever god still had pity on him for it to turn out moderately well, at least good enough for him to survive the next few weeks of school.
But slowly thoughts of his impending doom at school left his mind, as Jaejoong's hands lulled him into a haze that his massage hadn't been able to do earlier. One reason why Changmin hated having such short hair was because nobody could run their hands through it - Changmin loved the feeling of people brushing his hair with a brush or with their hands - for some odd reason it sent tingles throughout his body in a wonderfully comforting manner and he loved it when his mom or his sisters felt like helping him untangle the mess he'd had before he'd come here tonight.
But having a stranger go at it was a completely different sensation. Usually Eunhee, his mom's hairdresser, picked at pieces of hair randomly (at least he believed it was random, given how it usually came out) and chopped it off, leaving behind a cut he could barely manage to gel probably and soon he never even tried.
This time, he couldn't predict which ways Jaejoong's hands would go, which direction he would gently pull his hair to next. The tingles felt different, and when he couldn't stop the moan that slipped out, he completely froze in shock, hoping against all hopes that Jaejoong did not hear. Unfortunately, he could feel the hands still for a second before quickly resuming their work. Changmin kept silent and so did Jaejoong as the moment ended, not to be brought up again until much, much later. For the next half hour, Changmin kept alert but with his eyes closed, forcing himself to ignore the way his body randomly trembled slightly whenever Jaejoong raked a hand through his hair to see his progress so far, and he prayed that Jaejoong did not notice. Or at least, that he would pretend not to.
He was nearly asleep by the time Jaejoong fininshed and a hand shook him awake. He opened his eyes blearily, seeing a beautiful face stare down at him surrounded by a halo of light. He refused to reach the stupid conclusion that an angel had come down from earth to rescue him from his sorry existence at school, and forced himself to recall the memories of the last hour or two. The face smiled down at him and he completely, utterly ignored the way his heart skipped a beat. He stretched with his arms over his head as the covering was pulled off him, hair falling unceremoniously to the ground. He was putting his glasses on while Jaejoong went to hang up the cloth and flip the OPEN sign at the door around.
By the time Jaejoong took a spot behind him, Changmin was staring at his reflection, touching the hair that fell in front of his ears. His hair had been cropped short on all sides but still framed his face nicely, making it impossible for him to hide behind his bangs. Heck, he didn't even have bangs long enough to reach his eyes, it was swept to the side, revealing a gaping forehead. The nape of his neck was bare - essentially, his entire face could be seen. But in a good way, which was a change he really wasn't used to.
"Hey, you alright? Um...do you like it?"
Changmin's eyes swivelled towards him in the mirror and their eyes met. "...My mom said she wanted to see my ears." He resisted the urge to smack his head in the mirror. That was the first thing he could think of?
Jaejoong smiled at that, bending down so that he was eye level with the image of Changmin in the mirror. Using his left hand, he reached around him and touched the hair by his face. "This accentuates your cheekbones. Trust me, your mother will thank me once she sees what I've done to her handsome son."
He stared, blood rushing to his face faster than it had when Tiffany had first smiled at him. He knew he was in trouble.
Seeing that, however, Jaejoong straightened up and walked non-chalantly over to the counter. "Because it's your first time here, I'll give you a discount and I'll even throw in a bottle of gel, which you'll need to get your hair to look like that again." He named a price. "How does that sound?"
"Really?" he stood up and took out his wallet, surprise written on his face. He fished out the bills and handed it to him as the cash register snapped open for the third time since he was here.
"Well, only because you're so cute," he grinned, and laughed behind a hand as Changmin looked away hastily, staring at the floor. "Come on, it's such a waste of that face if you always look at the floor. Chin up, okay? You have nothing to be afraid of."
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Those words struck him harder than anything Tiffany had ever said or done. Horrified, he could almost feel a lump at his throat as memories of the past few weeks rushed at him.
"Can I expect you back?" Jaejoong leaned against the counter, balancing his elbows on the counter with his chin perched on his fists. He smiled his sweetly at the younger man again.
"Yeah," he nodded, "I like my cut. A lot," he smiled back without restraint, and blinked as the other man jerked back, Jaejoong's grin growing nervous and flustered. He fumbled with the register as he handed change back to him, which Changmin accepted. Their fingers brushed and they pretended not to notice.
"Well, I'm closing now so I'll see you back here when your hair grows too long to be managed," he said with a wink and walked around the counter to usher Changmin out the door.
"Wait!" Jaejoong turned to him in surprise. "Do you have a business card?"
He laughed and plucked one from the small stand by the register. "Here you go. Don't hesitate to call, but you usually don't need to book an appointment, seeing as I don't get many new customers. You're the only one this month," he patted his shoulder, pleased. "Do come back, will you? I'd like to see your face around here more often."
"I will," he said quietly, and it felt like a promise.
On his way home, he was in a bit of a daze. Perhaps it was just as well, as he hardly noticed the stares he attracted. He stood straight and kept his eyes trained upwards towards the direction he was heading in. His height made him tower over the majority of those still out on the streets.
When he got home way after dinner time, the protest that his mother and two sisters had prepared to launch at him (most of all, it was out of worry) died in their throats as soon as they saw him approach. After he had received their smiles and flattery with good graces, apologized to them and his father for making them wait, had dinner, showered, and discovered his assignment crinkled but dry on his desk (with an A+ no less), he finally found the time to curl up on his bed and attempt to forget about the pounding of his heart.
That was how Shim Changmin fell in love with Kim Jaejoong.
Next
Pairing: Jaejoong/Changmin
Genre: AU, romance
Warnings: much one-sided affection
Summary: Changmin's life takes an unexpected turn when he falls in love. Beta-ed by milollita
Notes: Loosely based on a yaoi manga called "Kouun no Rihatsushi"
There was a quiet boy who always sat at the back of the classroom. During class, he would concentrate on what the teachers were saying, unmindful of the murmurs that roamed around the room, from one student's mouth to another. During breaks he would be hunched over a book, glasses dangling precariously at the tip of his nose. His wide eyes rarely skimmed above the pages, but if ever they did, he would probably see his fellow classmate sending sideway glances his way; glances that labelled him as the outcast, the one nobody wanted to associate with.
When he walked the halls, people cleared a path. It was as if a mere touch - a brush of fingers, a small bump of shoulders - would make his social status contractable; a contagious disease others tried to avoid.
His name was Shim Changmin.
Hair hung past his shoulders and dipped around his chin, curling at his shoulders. His features were hidden by the two long strips of bangs that draped over either side of his face and as he always looked down, all people could usually see were black frames peeking out from the bridge of his nose. He was tall, at a height of 186cm, noticeably taller than even most of the boys on the basketball team, but it was easy to look down on him. He walked with hunched shoulders, as if he was trying to disappear into himself.
Nobody knew what went on behind those glasses. Nobody cared that Changmin loved his parents and his two little sisters very much. He was working a part time job at a small bookstore near his home to help them pay off the mortgage of their newly purchased house after moving from the apartment they'd been living in for the past sixteen years of his life.
They didn't know he liked studying (but didn't consider it his life) and one of his hobbies was singing (but didn't consider himself very good). It would never occur to them he enjoyed acting out scenes from popular dramas to make his family laugh when they were sad, or that when he smiled freely it made his eyes look crooked. School was not a nice place to him and likewise, he was never particularly friendly to anybody in school - or anyone outside of his home, for that matter.
That all changed when he fell in love.
There was a girl in another class. They were in different grades so they rarely ever saw each other. But it had happened one day, when he was searching through the shelves in the library in the language instruction section. He had gotten bored of reading fiction novels (Harry Potter was one of his favourites) and the few choices of history books that he found interesting, and decided to try something new. He'd been sliding his finger across the spines when he noticed someone standing next to and slightly behind him, as if she was trying to look at what he was looking at but was too polite to ask him to move.
He'd stepped back a little too quickly and stumbled. A small hand had reached out to steady him, keeping a firm grip on his arm even as he regained his balance, murmuring a small apology for blocking the view. The girl, a kind smile on her face with eyes like half moons, had shook her head and asked if he was alright. Surprised, he had stammered an affirmative and she had nodded before walking off to the side to gaze up at the other books.
He had kept an eye on her until she made her selections and left at the other end, turning right. Out of curiosity, he'd walked over to where she had been standing and saw that she had chosen two beginner books on Mandarin. Without thinking, he did the same.
From then on, he made small efforts to look up whenever she passed him in the halls, or to smile when she seemed to look his way. He didn't even know her name, but her kind smile made a strong impression on him. When he heard a friend of hers, a girl with bleached dark blonde hair, shout her name from the door to her classroom, he repeated it in his mind once.
'Tiffany.'
He was in his senior year and most of his time was spent running from home to school to the bookstore after school, then back home to study. This schedule didn't allow for dating - never mind that he'd never dated before. He didn't know how to ask a girl out, what to do on dates; worst of all, he had no idea how to confess.
Confessing to someone, especially during high school, adhered to a specific set of strict social values. The popular and the beautiful never confessed to the unpopular and the ugly, and vice versa. To the student body, Changmin was the latter and Tiffany was the former. That had never been as obvious to him as it was now.
Still, there were only three months left of the school year. After graduation, he would have to devote all his time to studying for the college entrance exams. Then he'd be off to college, studying whatever his parents wanted him to study (he didn't have many complaints about that) and trying to establish himself in an even bigger student body than his local high school.
He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he wanted to do something about this...admiration he had for this girl. Little hopeful fantasies of holding hands with her down the street or taking her to a movie and walking her to her door were useless things if he didn't try. He'd always been assertive towards the plans he had for his life (getting a job, paying his parents back for their love and kindness towards him, getting into college). Though he was shy, he was determined to confess to this girl, even if the whole world was against them. Sometimes, he imagined their relationship being forbidden, hated and persecuted by everyone, yet their feelings, as hopeless as it might seem, would prevail.
So he waited for his chance. Every day, as he passed Tiffany on his way to the library, he never failed to notice that because of her bright and personable demeanour, she had a wide variety of friends. The majority of them were some of the more popular girls from the school across the grades.
He recognized Kim Taeyeon, who was a year younger than him but was in his homeroom, who was the star in the school choir, along with Jung Sooyeon whom everyone called Jessica, the other star vocal. The blonde he'd eventually identified as Kim Hyoyeon was one of the few female members in their school's champion dance team, and Im Yoona was known simply for her beauty even though she had transferred to the school at the beginning of this school year. Within a few days of catching small glimpses of her in the hall, cafeteria, or library, he'd counted at least eight girls that she was always with. Tiffany herself was no lightweight in terms of popularity either; many boys were vying for her attention and she was one of those well-rounded students, who was in the choir, the student council as a class rep, and a member of the English Society as a tutor.
He figured he needed a plan of action, but time simply did not allow him that.
One day, in his third week of sending furtive glances Tiffany's way to simply watch her laugh at a joke or smile, he descended down a staircase leading from the roof to the third floor (he'd been up there practicing his Mandarin pronounciation in private and doing a terrible job of it) to find Tiffany coming up the steps, alone and clutching papers in her hand.
Without knowing quite what he was doing and only coming to the conclusion that this was probably the only time he would ever find her alone and in such a deserted area, he stopped in midstep. Seeing him, she stopped as well, blinking up at his taller form curiously.
"Um."
She waited, relaxing her hold her papers.
"Are you okay?" It was with some surprise that he suddenly noticed how red the corner of her eyes were and the almost upset look on her face. It was a surprise because he'd always thought it was impossible for her to look unhappy. She looked takenback by the question, and his mouth hurried to catch up with his brain. "I mean, you look...sad. Do...you want to talk about it?"
"Oh!" She rubbed at her cheek with the bottom of her palm, as if trying to wipe away unshed tears. "No, I'm okay. Thanks," she flashed one of her famous smiles and made to move past him and in a panic, he caught her hand in his in a loose grip.
It took him all of two seconds to realize what had just happened and he dropped her hand immediately, backing away a little. She watched him with wide eyes, holding her hand closer to herself in surprise.
"I don't mind listening," he said quietly, trying his hardest not to stammer.
"Oh," she responded just as quietly and sighed a little, plopping down on the steps and motioning for him to sit as she smoothed down her skirt.
Surprised at her boldness, he took a seat next to her and stretched out his long legs. Then he waited quietly for her to speak.
"It's really something very small," she began, flashing him a reassuring smile. "I just got back a paper I did in Korean history and I got a really bad mark. Here," she fished it out of her pocket, a crumpled package of papers, and handed it to him.
He unfolded it delicately and blinked at the angry red mark at the top of the page. He didn't want to read it, as he considered it an invasion of privacy (he'd always hated it whenever anyone read his work, even his parents) but he couldn't help scanning a few lines. He didn't find anything particularly wrong with it.
"Ms. Yoo said my grammar is bad, my vocabulary is abysmal, and she wants a full annotated bibliography by next class because she wants to know where I got my information," she mumbled, staring at her shoes.
On a closer look, he began to notice circles and underlines where Tiffany had made almost elementary level errors. They were sparse and were scattered throughout the page, as if she had made attempts to correct them but had managed to miss some of the more minor mistakes. Still, it was enough to lower the quality of the paper as a whole. But the mistakes did not warrant the mark she had received. "How long have you been in Korea, Tiffany?"
She glanced at him in surprise. "Three years. How did you know?"
He handed the paper back to her. "It seems more like you can't really get your ideas across properly because you aren't familiar with the language than simply because you're bad at writing. You made some simple mistakes but there are times you use some good vocabulary."
Tiffany brighted, nodding eagerly. "That's exactly it."
"What's wrong with your sources though?"
She deflated almost instantly, pouting a little. His heart seemed to jump a little at how cute she looked, but he shook it off in favour of concentrtating on what she was saying. "I can't understand the books in the library on this topic, so I asked my sister - she's studying at Berkeley - to help me, so she found some English articles on her university library website and I translated the information to Korean...Ms. Yoo said it's all totally inaccurate."
He had to suppress a smile at that, though he could see the logic behind what she did. "She's notorious for being really strict on your sources of information, and she hates academia outside of Korea. If you need help finding information next time, I can help you...I mean, if you want," he added, wondering if that was too bold of him.
He was rewarded with a happy smile. "Really? That would be great! Thanks so much, oppa! I'm Hwang Miyoung, by the way. You can call me Tiffany." She extended a hand.
He took it, a small blush covering his cheeks. "I'm Shim Changmin."
"Changmin oppa! Thanks for listening to me. You're really kind," she chirped. "Can I have your email? Maybe we can exchange numbers so I can contact you."
"I...don't have a cell phone. But I have an email," he said, hardly believing his luck. Tiffany was beautiful and friendly and everything he'd dreamed. She recorded his email on her cell phone after berating him for not having such an essential piece of technology and he had hers tucked into his back pocket, mentally swearing he was going to guard it with his life.
She was turning to leave before he realized his real purpose of stopping her to begin with. "Tiffany!"
"Yes?"
"I...I. Will you go out with me?" She stared at him, eyes wide in shock. "I've - I like you alot. Will you - "
"I'm sorry, oppa!" She clapped her hands together in front of her, looking embarrassed and confused. "I...like someone else. It's a person really dear to me, and even if they don't like me back, I still care about them a lot. So..."
He nodded, letting his bangs fall over his expression. "It's okay."
Looking unsure, she turned to go. "I really appreciate this, oppa. I hope we can become friends."
He tried to smile, she grinned back at his efforts, and bounced down the stairs and was soon out of sight. He sat down heavily and sighed, ignoring the way his heart ached just a little. It would soon pass anyway, as did any kind of emotion he felt during his time in school. It was no use clinging onto these feelings, because he didn't want his parents to see him sad. He would soon forget this and finish school, but at least it satisfied him a little that he'd taken the initiative. And he'd made a friend, which was nice.
He never foresaw the consequences.
News of his confession to Tiffany spread like wildfire, messages flashing from one cell phone to the next, words passed in secret from one ear to the other. Soon it was all over the school and rather than quietly ignoring him, his classmates were forthright with their comments. Exclamations that he was too tall, too ugly, too nerdy, and simply unfit for Tiffany came at him from every direction in his homeroom. It was the fact that every boy that had ever confessed to Tiffany had been struck down, and they were enraged at the fact that a loser like him had even tried when none of them had had the chance. They were the ones who tried their hardest to break him.
With two months left of school, he threw himself further into studying, nose buried in pages at all times. Tiffany, to her credit, had ignored the teasing he openly received and had taken him up on his offer to help her with Korean history; she even visited him in his classroom once but seeing the treatment he'd gotten afterwards (she had watched quietly by the window), she had stopped, opting instead to email him about meeting at the library where the popular kids were less inclined to go to or going to public libraries or community centers if she needed extra help after school.
Their time together was bittersweet for him. His heart still jumped a little at every smile she aimed at him (which was a lot, given the fact he was keeping her from failing History) but his slow mental therapy of repeating that she was way out of his league seemed to help little by little. She acted like her normal, bright self but he could tell she worried desperately about her grades. Having no qualms about revealing things about herself to a near stranger, she told him that her father was spending a lot of money to fund her education in Korea after she had begged him to allow her to study here.
She had actually been born in America but never lost her roots, always insisting that her father speak to her in Korean while her siblings got the English treatment. She also worried about the bullying that was happening to him, but he never talked about it and neither did she. He still had some pride after all and it wouldn't do to complain to a girl two years younger than him about his social problems, of all things.
(He DID find out that the day he'd seen her borrowing Mandarin books in the library the first time had caused a bit of a misunderstanding - she reassured him that she had only been borrowing them for her younger friend, Seo Juhyun, who had been too busy to take them out herself. He nearly returned his books, before he shrugged to himself and decided there was no harm in trying to learn a new language.)
He didn't know what her friends thought about her association with him and he didn't ask, so she didn't talk about it. But they continued to meet over the course of the next two weeks after their initial meeting and he found that he liked having a friend like her. She was instrumental in cheering him up or getting him to stop studying (even if it was to do her studying for her) when it got too much.
However, things came to a head in the third week of the second last month of school.
His parents never knew something was wrong and his sisters continued to brag about their smart and handsome big brother at their all girls school. In fact, his sisters were subjects of much envy because many of their friends didn't have such an older brother who would take them to different places, tutor them whenever they needed help in school, or basically do whatever they asked him to (which he gladly did).
But when he found his science lab report, the last assignment of the year and one he had worked on for nearly a month, in the sink in the men's room on the second floor (granted, it had already been marked) floating in water and smeared with an unidentifiable black material, he was blinded with rage. He could withstand taunts and jeers, but his physical property was off-limits. The people he cared about were also off-limits but he didn't think anyone in the school had the capacity to go after his family, and given the fact he'd only become friends with Tiffany in the last two weeks, he didn't think anything would happen to her, especially since he was graduating soon anyway. Her popularity and kindness protected her well. 'But obviously something of mine must suffer,' he thought bitterly, fishing it out of the sink in disgust.
He checked his watch - it was after school hours, when clubs would be holding their meetings but the majority of the school should've left by now. He made his way warily to the art rooms, the clump of paper dripping all the way to the third floor. When he entered, he was met with curious stares (he figured none of the people who went at him were interested in art) but no one tried to stop him as he took a plastic bag, dumped his assignment into it, stuffed it into his bag, and walked out.
On his way home, his mind raced with ideas of revenge. Shoving someone's head in the toilet (he'd heard from Tiffany that was a popular bullying tactic she always saw in movies in America), accusing one of them of cheating by looking at his paper, destroying their assignments (see how they liked it), beating the hell out of them (not that he stood a chance), and other numerous thoughts ran through his mind.
By the time he arrived at the bookstore, he had exhausted all options. Instead, as he was sent to do clean up in the backrooms, he began to think about leaving high school, never having to see his classmates again (except for Tiffany) and starting anew. It wouldn't be as bad, he tried to convince himself, and he'd know not to confess to popular girls anymore.
These thoughts continued to linger as he made his way home. He'd been let off work early so he hurried, wanting nothing else but to have dinner with his happy family and stay in bed for the rest of the weekend, reading or listening to music or singing at the top of his lungs in the shower.
However, it seemed as if his plans were destined to be thwarted today when his mom appeared at the door, shoved a wad of money in his fist, and insisted he go get himself a haircut. He complained weakly, hating what professional hairdressers usually did to his hair (then again his mom had brought him to hers every time she insisted he needed a cut so that was probably why). It had taken him a long time to grow his hair long enough to be tied up and out of his face (he had a phobia with short hair at that point his life) and if he had to get another ridiculously short cut, he figured that was probably the end of his high school social life forever. Not that it could get any worse, but at this point he was careful not to jinx himself.
"Minnie ah, if you don't want to go to Eunhee then you find one of those places you young people like to go to. I don't want to see you back until I can see your ears, got it?"
Since he had never developed the habit of arguing against his parents (it didn't mean he could instantaneously conjure up a good mood though) , he sullenly handed her his school bag while taking his wallet and keys and stuffing them to the back of his pants and asked her to dry his assignment in any way she could. With a sigh he turned around and walking down their driveway, missing the way her mother stared after him with sad eyes before shutting the door behind her.
He slowly made his way to the busier streets of Seoul, where people his age still milled about with their cell phones with dangly strings, designer shoes and bags and clothes, stylish haircuts - everything he wasn't. He dragged his eyes to the ground and tried to hide by slouching a little so he wouldn't appear so tall as he shifted through the crowds.
The sky was dimming and store lights were flashing, the busy city night life of Seoul awakening all around him. He didn't stop to admire it though - it didn't look particularly attractive up close and his stomache was starting to growl loudly, causing looks to be shot in his direction. He just wanted this stupid errand over and done with.
Approaching a small shop with the words "Hero Hair Salon" emblazoned boldly in gold on the door and stylishly in black in pop-up English characters on a bigger sign on the second floor, he opened the small door that led to a long flight of stairs. He climbed them quickly and was met with another glass door that jingled as it opened.
A quick glance around revealed that it was a small but cozy business, with only six chairs and mirrors, with a couch lining the wall, a cash register counter in the corner, and a two large sinks in front of two smaller couches that one could lay on. The decor followed the black, white, and gold of the signs outside, classy but homey. A woman in her thirties with her head wrapped in a clear wrap, a little ten year old girl along with her father, and a much older man in is sixties occupied the chairs. The hairdresser was no where in sight.
He stepped awkwardly into the room, the four people looking in his direction all at once at the sound of his footsteps. He turned red and coughed. "Ah, hello...Would any of you happen to know where..."
"Jaejoong oppa!" the little girl suddenly screamed and a door he hadn't noticed before flew open, a thin body falling out of it, eyes wide.
"What what?!"
"You have a customer, Jaejoong. A new one," the woman emphasized, a kind smirk (if there was such a thing) on her face.
The man brightened, before turning to Changmin with a smile.
Changmin's breath caught in his throat. Wide eyes under white blonde hair that couldn't possibly be natural but looked incredibly good on him crinkled as the man's smile grew wider, coming towards him with quick paces.
"Hi, I'm Kim Jaejoong. I'm afraid we're a bit busy at the moment but if you don't mind waiting, I can get to you in thirty minutes."
Changmin nodded dumbly. He took a seat after Jaejoong, satisfied that he'd decided to stay, grabbed a razor and a brush from his apron of supplies and promptly attacked the older man's head, murmuring things that made the other patrons laugh loudly.
He chose to observe the interactions. Jaejoong finished the older man in less than five minutes, flinging the sheet off of the man as he nodded in approval, patting Jaejoong on the shoulder. Changmin clearly heard a "Don't worry about it, I'll put it on your tab" from Jaejoong before the man left and Jaejoong whisked himself to the little girl who grinned brightly and chattered about anything and everything.
Even for someone as inexperienced as him in proper hairdressing, he could see the way Jaejoong flicked the scissors and snipped away at the little girl's head was precise and skillful. By the time he was done, it had barely been ten minutes and the girl had adorably cropped bangs and her longer locks had been done up into two french braids by the sides of her head, tied off with a ribbon. This time he accepted the pay from the father and the pair left happily, before he turned to the woman. The two exchanged low murmurs that Changmin could not catch and when they went off to get her hair washed off from what was presumably hair dye, he was pretty uncomfortable at the quietness that surrounded him. He could not hear what they were talking about at all at the other end of the room.
Jaejoong seemed like a nice person, but he knew people who looked, well, as good looking as he did often came at a price. Associating with them meant a death warrant for his head and hadn't becoming Tiffany's friend proven that, though he didn't really regret it and wouldn't blame her even if someone tried to force him to?
Then again he was only here for Jaejoong to provide a service for and the man was good, no doubt about it. It would be rude to leave all of a sudden, but he checked his watch and it read six forty-five, he was late for dinner, his parents had no way of contacting him, he was hungry, but his mother did say not to come back until his hair had been - maybe it wouldn't do too much damage if he just snipped it a bit at the sides himself. After all, all his mother wanted to see were his ears right? That was easily done.
The sound of a blowdryer pervaded the air and he looked up, seeing Jaejoong flip the woman's hair and run a comb through it to dry it properly. The woman's hair was now a rich chocolate brown that looked lovely against her pale skin. When Jaejoong was done, she had ringlets coming down to her waist and an immensely satisfied look on her face. She stood up and kissed him on the cheek. "Fantastic work as always, Jaejoong ssi."
He smiled, walking her to cash register. "Anything for you," he said with a wink and rang up the cash register. When she had forked over a large sum of money (which Changmin eyed with shock), she blew him a kiss, winked at a confused Changmin, and walked out the door.
He was suddenly struck with nervousness when Jaejoong's bright eyes turned to him, a slight narrowing of them making it seem as if the older man was zeroing in on him.
"So, what kind of cut are you looking for? I'm assuming you're just here for a quick one," he said, gesturing for him to take a seat in the chair closest to the door. He barely had time to make a sound before Jaejoong had whipped a covering over him so that only his head was revealed.
Changmin stared at him before making to stand up. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," he muttered, gripping the handrests tightly.
"Hey, wait!" Hands, surprisingly strong, pushed his shoulders down and he sat back down with a thump, blinking up at him in the mirror. "You're already here and waited so long, I can't possibly let you leave without a cut. If you can't decide, why don't you try something new and see if you like it. If you don't, you don't have to come back ever again?" The man smiled at him, looking ridiculously hopeful, and Changmin nodded. Refusing would've, quite honestly, been like refusing a puppy its bone.
Hands that were surprisingly gentle weaved themselves into his hair, lithe fingers kneading the back of his head. Almost unconsciously he leaned back before snapping upright, staring at Jaejoong in surprise. '
"What are you doing?" he asked, confused.
Jaejoong sighed though he did not stop his hands, "Just from looking at you I can tell you're too tense. I can't cut your hair like this. It'll make me tense up too."
"It will?"
"Of course! It's my job to make sure you're relaxed and that you look good. Take off your glasses, will you?" this he emphasized with a sweet smile and Changmin did as he was told, averting his eyes. The world became blurry around him and he could barely even see his hairdresser's face but he could tell he was still smiling at him.
"How come..." he made a small noise of surprise as Jaejoong's hands slid from his head down to his shoulders and began kneading the muscles there, "...you didn't do...ouch...this for the others?" He gestured at the door.
There was a slight pause, before he saw a blurry shrug. "They looked pretty relaxed and happy to me."
He had no response to that, so he stayed silent.
After he finally insisted that all the kinks had been worked out from his shoulders and that he was perfectly relaxed (he was hungry and his stomache was making weird noises that made Jaejoong giggle at him, he could feel it), the other man finally started on his hair.
"We're going to go with something shorter and it won't go past your neck, but I won't be coming anywhere near you with a razor so don't worry, okay?" A soft voice whispered into his right ear and he shivered on instinct. All he could manage was a nod. It had escaped his mind before then, but he realized now that Jaejoong had a distinct voice. Distinct, and beautiful. He wondered if this man could sing.
Then Jaejoong sprayed cold water on him to wet his hair and he shivered for an entirely different reason. Soon his hands were once again buried in his hair, fingers deftly parting the thick strips as he snipped his way through. Changmin prayed to whatever god still had pity on him for it to turn out moderately well, at least good enough for him to survive the next few weeks of school.
But slowly thoughts of his impending doom at school left his mind, as Jaejoong's hands lulled him into a haze that his massage hadn't been able to do earlier. One reason why Changmin hated having such short hair was because nobody could run their hands through it - Changmin loved the feeling of people brushing his hair with a brush or with their hands - for some odd reason it sent tingles throughout his body in a wonderfully comforting manner and he loved it when his mom or his sisters felt like helping him untangle the mess he'd had before he'd come here tonight.
But having a stranger go at it was a completely different sensation. Usually Eunhee, his mom's hairdresser, picked at pieces of hair randomly (at least he believed it was random, given how it usually came out) and chopped it off, leaving behind a cut he could barely manage to gel probably and soon he never even tried.
This time, he couldn't predict which ways Jaejoong's hands would go, which direction he would gently pull his hair to next. The tingles felt different, and when he couldn't stop the moan that slipped out, he completely froze in shock, hoping against all hopes that Jaejoong did not hear. Unfortunately, he could feel the hands still for a second before quickly resuming their work. Changmin kept silent and so did Jaejoong as the moment ended, not to be brought up again until much, much later. For the next half hour, Changmin kept alert but with his eyes closed, forcing himself to ignore the way his body randomly trembled slightly whenever Jaejoong raked a hand through his hair to see his progress so far, and he prayed that Jaejoong did not notice. Or at least, that he would pretend not to.
He was nearly asleep by the time Jaejoong fininshed and a hand shook him awake. He opened his eyes blearily, seeing a beautiful face stare down at him surrounded by a halo of light. He refused to reach the stupid conclusion that an angel had come down from earth to rescue him from his sorry existence at school, and forced himself to recall the memories of the last hour or two. The face smiled down at him and he completely, utterly ignored the way his heart skipped a beat. He stretched with his arms over his head as the covering was pulled off him, hair falling unceremoniously to the ground. He was putting his glasses on while Jaejoong went to hang up the cloth and flip the OPEN sign at the door around.
By the time Jaejoong took a spot behind him, Changmin was staring at his reflection, touching the hair that fell in front of his ears. His hair had been cropped short on all sides but still framed his face nicely, making it impossible for him to hide behind his bangs. Heck, he didn't even have bangs long enough to reach his eyes, it was swept to the side, revealing a gaping forehead. The nape of his neck was bare - essentially, his entire face could be seen. But in a good way, which was a change he really wasn't used to.
"Hey, you alright? Um...do you like it?"
Changmin's eyes swivelled towards him in the mirror and their eyes met. "...My mom said she wanted to see my ears." He resisted the urge to smack his head in the mirror. That was the first thing he could think of?
Jaejoong smiled at that, bending down so that he was eye level with the image of Changmin in the mirror. Using his left hand, he reached around him and touched the hair by his face. "This accentuates your cheekbones. Trust me, your mother will thank me once she sees what I've done to her handsome son."
He stared, blood rushing to his face faster than it had when Tiffany had first smiled at him. He knew he was in trouble.
Seeing that, however, Jaejoong straightened up and walked non-chalantly over to the counter. "Because it's your first time here, I'll give you a discount and I'll even throw in a bottle of gel, which you'll need to get your hair to look like that again." He named a price. "How does that sound?"
"Really?" he stood up and took out his wallet, surprise written on his face. He fished out the bills and handed it to him as the cash register snapped open for the third time since he was here.
"Well, only because you're so cute," he grinned, and laughed behind a hand as Changmin looked away hastily, staring at the floor. "Come on, it's such a waste of that face if you always look at the floor. Chin up, okay? You have nothing to be afraid of."
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Those words struck him harder than anything Tiffany had ever said or done. Horrified, he could almost feel a lump at his throat as memories of the past few weeks rushed at him.
"Can I expect you back?" Jaejoong leaned against the counter, balancing his elbows on the counter with his chin perched on his fists. He smiled his sweetly at the younger man again.
"Yeah," he nodded, "I like my cut. A lot," he smiled back without restraint, and blinked as the other man jerked back, Jaejoong's grin growing nervous and flustered. He fumbled with the register as he handed change back to him, which Changmin accepted. Their fingers brushed and they pretended not to notice.
"Well, I'm closing now so I'll see you back here when your hair grows too long to be managed," he said with a wink and walked around the counter to usher Changmin out the door.
"Wait!" Jaejoong turned to him in surprise. "Do you have a business card?"
He laughed and plucked one from the small stand by the register. "Here you go. Don't hesitate to call, but you usually don't need to book an appointment, seeing as I don't get many new customers. You're the only one this month," he patted his shoulder, pleased. "Do come back, will you? I'd like to see your face around here more often."
"I will," he said quietly, and it felt like a promise.
On his way home, he was in a bit of a daze. Perhaps it was just as well, as he hardly noticed the stares he attracted. He stood straight and kept his eyes trained upwards towards the direction he was heading in. His height made him tower over the majority of those still out on the streets.
When he got home way after dinner time, the protest that his mother and two sisters had prepared to launch at him (most of all, it was out of worry) died in their throats as soon as they saw him approach. After he had received their smiles and flattery with good graces, apologized to them and his father for making them wait, had dinner, showered, and discovered his assignment crinkled but dry on his desk (with an A+ no less), he finally found the time to curl up on his bed and attempt to forget about the pounding of his heart.
That was how Shim Changmin fell in love with Kim Jaejoong.
Next