Memories of You
Memories of You
Yunho/Jaejoong.
AU/Drama
R
2,293 words.
All my memories of you are so precious…Please don’t let me forget any of them. Why did life have to turn out this way?
Warning: Implied character death(s), dark social issues.
The air is filled with dust, soot, particles that if entered into the lungs, will cause harm. He coughs, breathless, as he tries to drag in more air, but its quality makes him grimace as it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He grunts, trying to work the machine in front of him faster, lest the person in charge sees him and thinks he’s slacking off.
He ignores the sting in his fingers, the burn in his arms as he pulls and pushes harder, turning the stubborn handle. Drops of sweat drip down the side of his face, damping his tied up hair. He refuses to let go of the handle; if he lets go now, the entire machine will slow down and stop, ruining whatever it is producing.
He suddenly flinches as he hears a whip crack next to him. “Hurry up!” his supervisor yells at the man next to him. He pretends not to hear the suppressed groan of pain and continues to push and pull. He hopes that the supervisor will not notice him; he doesn’t, and he passes by without a single glance. The breath he had been holding unknowingly rushes out of him, and he smiles grimly, acknowledging the terror the factory holds over him.
He walks home slowly, hoping to breathe as much fresh air as he can-that is, as fresh as the air can be in London. The night sky is covered with smoke, hiding all the beautiful stars he knows are there. His mind flashes back to the day he first arrived at London; he remembers that it was a gorgeous sight, cloudless blue skies with the sun shining warmly down, cool breezes blowing softly, air fresh and clean, green trees and grass-a perfect summer day. A nostalgic smile plays on his lips as he suddenly remembers
“Hey! Yunho, wait!”
He starts suddenly at hearing Korean and his name being said correctly. He quickly turns around, searching for the person calling him, and his eyes land on a slightly shorter boy than him with black hair turning brown at the ends, eyes excited, and lips stretched into a wide smile running up to him.
“I’m Jaejoong,” the boy says breathlessly in Korean. “You’re from Korea right? I’m so happy to meet someone else that’s from Korea! I’ve always thought that I would be the only Korean person to ever end up here in England. How do you like England? Do you need help-.” He suddenly breaks off with a blush, realizing that Yunho’s been staring at him with a bemused look.
He couldn’t control it; laughter bubbles out of him, and Jaejoong’s face relaxes into a smile.
He brings a bouquet of daisies with him the next time he gets a day off. It’s the most expensive he could afford, and he places it gently onto the ground in front of his parents’ grave. Tomorrow would be the actual anniversary of his parents’ death, but he wouldn't have time tomorrow to visit. He smiles softly at the memories of his mother’s tender smile, his father’s warm hands.
Their love for him had always been steady, unwavering, but for the first few weeks after arriving at England, they had withdrawn into themselves, stressed and worried about how they would provide a life for their child. He chuckles, remembering exactly what-who-it had been that had pulled them out of their shell. He reaches out to touch their gravestones, but he gets distracted by his own rough and callused fingers, completely changed from their previous state by the hard work factories demand.
"That was the first time in a long time I've seen my parents' eyes light up like that," Yunho says softly, coming to stand next to Jaejoong by the Thames River.
Jaejoong simply glances over at him and smiles, reaching out to touch his hand. "I'm glad you invited me to meet your parents."
He laughs and marvels over how fast time flows; he still remembers the first time he met Jaejoong, six years ago. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell them the truth about us," he apologizes.
Jaejoong shakes his head, gaze focused on the river's flow and ebb. "I already knew that it would be like that," he replies. "After all, our feelings for each other aren’t exactly going to be accepted."
He moves to stand in front of Jaejoong and slightly bends his knees to be on the same level as him. "But thank you all the same," he whispers, fingers running through Jaejoong's hair. He leans in and gently presses his lips against Jaejoong's.
He dreams of better days when he feels exhaustion creep into his bones, days that were filled with sunshine, freedom, and gentle laughter. His mouth twists wistfully as he wishes that he could still go where he wants to go, do what he desires to do… But he knows that wishes are never meant to come true, only tiny figments of dreams that have no business appearing in a cruel world that often doesn’t care how it crushes the people that live within it.
He understands that, and he throws away his wishes and dreams as soon as they appear.
He half carries, half supports Jaejoong up the stairs to his tiny loft; Jaejoong had a little too much to drink, and he’s now giggling incessantly while muttering nonsense under his breath.
“Where are you taking me, Yunho?” Jaejoong asks drunkenly.
“Back to your place, dork,” Yunho replies, partly amused.
“Oh.” Moments later, he stops in his steps and wraps his arms around Yunho. “Can you stay with me tonight?” he requests, eyes looking big and vulnerable and anxious and content at the same time.
Yunho’s rendered speechless for a moment; it’s the first time Jaejoong had asked something like this from him, but he soon smiles. “Maybe,” he teases, “if you’re good.”
Jaejoong’s eyes grow wide and, unconsciously it seems, a seductive smile grows on his face.
As he’s now the one being led up the stairs, Yunho can’t help but wonder if Jaejoong’s truly drunk. But before he’s able to voice his thoughts, he’s pushed against the wall, and his arms are filled with Jaejoong while his mouth is too busy kissing to try to talk.
He always looks forward to when he’s allowed to leave and go home. Once, in his early days of working at the factory, he rushed home, eager to see Jaejoong’s face. He called out Jaejoong’s name as soon as he reached the parlor, but no one had answered, silence his only reply. He soon laughed quietly to himself, murmuring, “That’s right, Jaejoong’s on a trip. He’s not coming back for quite a while.”
He softly closes the door behind him, not wanting to startle Jaejoong. Lightly padding through the small place they’re renting together, he finds him in their bedroom, lying on the bed. A smile appears on his face as he hears a quiet snore, finding Jaejoong’s sleeping face beautiful. He walks over and leans down to tenderly kiss him on the cheek, whispering as Jaejoong stirs, “I’m home.”
A hand creeps up to caress his cheek, and Jaejoong says softly without opening his eyes, “Welcome home, Yunho-yah. Want to go out for dinner?”
He chuckles, understanding that Jaejoong’s too tired from work to cook. “What do you want to eat?”
Jaejoong hums for a bit and replies with a grin, “Fish and chips. I’m craving fish and chips right now. Oh, and can we sit on the steps facing the Thames River? It’s always so pretty there, and we almost never get the chance to enjoy the view.”
“Let’s go then. Fish and chips while admiring the river it is.”
He passes by dark alleyways on his way to work, and there’s always a niggling voice in the back of his mind warning him to never walk through them, even if he’s about to be late. He doesn’t know why; he had practically grown up in the neighborhood, but all the same, he chooses to forego the shortcuts in favor of sunlit, busy streets.
He wonders if he should, one day, walk through the alleyways and show the voice that there’s nothing to fear. A faint memory in his mind whispers of a gang rape back when he wasn’t working at the factory, giving the alleyways an infamous reputation, but for years nothing else had happened.
The world in front of him suddenly turns red, and everything seems to slow down, prolonging his torture. He fights with everything he has against the men holding him, the screams and sobs of pain and terror coming from Jaejoong’s mouth echoing in his mind, breaking his heart. He watches in horror as the men in front of him take turns thrusting into Jaejoong, pinning him down easily no matter how much he writhes underneath them. They keep thrusting, taking pleasure from Jaejoong and his pleas to stop, thrusting until Jaejoong’s ass turns red and bloody, torn almost to shreds.
“I bet you liked that, you faggot,” a man spits, zipping his pants up. “You like men, right? Well, there, you had a taste of real men, not like that sissy over there.” The man jerks his head over to him. “You’re welcome to come back for more anytime,” he laughs crassly.
They leave, and he’s free to crawl over to where Jaejoong laid unmoving, body broken. “Jaejoong,” he whispers, voice trembling, “Jaejoong-ah, answer me.” His entire body has had fists pounded repeatedly into him, but he doesn’t feel anything, concentrating solely on the man in his arms. He slightly shakes Jaejoong, trying to coax a reaction from the deathly silent and pale man.
He slides into bed, joints creaking more and more as the years pass, and stretches, trying to touch the ends of the bed with his toes and fingers. He moves around, wanting to warm up the sheets before completely falling asleep. On the rare nights that he can’t immediately sleep, a problem more of his mind than body, he likes to roll and twist the sheets around himself, indulging in play, before slowly untwisting the sheets from his body, mind more relaxed and able to sleep.
He cautiously approaches the figure wrapped in sheets on the bed, wary. “Jaejoong-ah…” he softly begins to say, “are you sure you don’t want to come out and eat? You haven’t eaten for a while.”
“I’m fine,” Jaejoong replies brusquely without turning to look at him, still choosing to face the wall.
He slowly leans over, hoping to not startle Jaejoong at the sudden placement of his hands on his shoulders. The moment his fingers touch his shoulders, Jaejoong flinches away. “No!” he gasps. “Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!”
The back of his eyes start to burn at the wild look in Jaejoong’s eyes, the fear of being touched being all too present.
He notices a couple standing in a shadowed doorway, the man tenderly holding onto the woman’s shoulders as she cries. He can’t hear what they’re talking about, but he knows by the way the man’s now drawing the woman closer to his body that the man’s comforting her. The way the woman relaxes at the man’s touch makes him wish for a person to call his own; someone that he could comfort, could worry over.
His arms and hands slightly twitch as an imagined warmth and weight fill his mind, making him think that he’s actually holding someone.
He yanks Jaejoong back from the incoming traffic, furious and terrified at the same time. The words he wants to say doesn’t come out of his mouth-the emptiness in Jaejoong’s eyes always robs him of anything he wants to say-while he settles for slightly shaking Jaejoong. “What were you thinking?” he demands in a whisper. “How can you just rush out into traffic like that?”
Jaejoong doesn’t reply, only looking wordlessly up at him, sight not taking anything in and devoid of all emotions.
He gives up on everything he wanted to say to Jaejoong, choosing instead to murmur as he runs his hands down Jaejoong’s arms, “Let’s take you home.”
He pulls Jaejoong into an embrace, and his heart hurts at how stiffly he stands in his arms. “Please don’t do that to me again, Jaejoong-ah,” he pleads. “Don’t run off without telling me. If you want to go somewhere, just tell me; I’ll take you.”
He glances across the street on his way to work, and he sees a person that reminds him of Jaejoong. His name slips out of his mouth effortlessly (“Jaejoong,” he whispers), and he decides to run into the busy street to say hello, ask him how he’s doing, when did he come back, where has he been all these years? Horses neigh, a driver shouts, the man he’s running toward turns at the noise, and Yunho feels a deep sense of disappointment-it’s not Jaejoong. He keeps staring at the man and is surprised at the look of horror morphing onto his face; what’s going on?
Sound finally comes in through the filter in his mind, and before he gets hit he remembers
laughter, stolen kisses, passion, love-
(pain,
fear,
separation-)
death.
“We can’t do this anymore, Yunho-yah,” Jaejoong whispers before he turns to walk into the Thames River, tears sliding down his cheeks. “We knew it was forbidden when we started, but we still forged on, thinking that what we had between us was stronger than what the world could throw at us. You’ve seen how the people around us look at us; even our parents are barely able to make eye contact. No more; I can’t stand it.”
A whisper, a sigh. “Jaejoong-ah.”
If you guys have any questions, feel free to ask XD; I'm not quite sure if I made things clear enough.
Yunho/Jaejoong.
AU/Drama
R
2,293 words.
All my memories of you are so precious…Please don’t let me forget any of them. Why did life have to turn out this way?
Warning: Implied character death(s), dark social issues.
The air is filled with dust, soot, particles that if entered into the lungs, will cause harm. He coughs, breathless, as he tries to drag in more air, but its quality makes him grimace as it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He grunts, trying to work the machine in front of him faster, lest the person in charge sees him and thinks he’s slacking off.
He ignores the sting in his fingers, the burn in his arms as he pulls and pushes harder, turning the stubborn handle. Drops of sweat drip down the side of his face, damping his tied up hair. He refuses to let go of the handle; if he lets go now, the entire machine will slow down and stop, ruining whatever it is producing.
He suddenly flinches as he hears a whip crack next to him. “Hurry up!” his supervisor yells at the man next to him. He pretends not to hear the suppressed groan of pain and continues to push and pull. He hopes that the supervisor will not notice him; he doesn’t, and he passes by without a single glance. The breath he had been holding unknowingly rushes out of him, and he smiles grimly, acknowledging the terror the factory holds over him.
He walks home slowly, hoping to breathe as much fresh air as he can-that is, as fresh as the air can be in London. The night sky is covered with smoke, hiding all the beautiful stars he knows are there. His mind flashes back to the day he first arrived at London; he remembers that it was a gorgeous sight, cloudless blue skies with the sun shining warmly down, cool breezes blowing softly, air fresh and clean, green trees and grass-a perfect summer day. A nostalgic smile plays on his lips as he suddenly remembers
“Hey! Yunho, wait!”
He starts suddenly at hearing Korean and his name being said correctly. He quickly turns around, searching for the person calling him, and his eyes land on a slightly shorter boy than him with black hair turning brown at the ends, eyes excited, and lips stretched into a wide smile running up to him.
“I’m Jaejoong,” the boy says breathlessly in Korean. “You’re from Korea right? I’m so happy to meet someone else that’s from Korea! I’ve always thought that I would be the only Korean person to ever end up here in England. How do you like England? Do you need help-.” He suddenly breaks off with a blush, realizing that Yunho’s been staring at him with a bemused look.
He couldn’t control it; laughter bubbles out of him, and Jaejoong’s face relaxes into a smile.
He brings a bouquet of daisies with him the next time he gets a day off. It’s the most expensive he could afford, and he places it gently onto the ground in front of his parents’ grave. Tomorrow would be the actual anniversary of his parents’ death, but he wouldn't have time tomorrow to visit. He smiles softly at the memories of his mother’s tender smile, his father’s warm hands.
Their love for him had always been steady, unwavering, but for the first few weeks after arriving at England, they had withdrawn into themselves, stressed and worried about how they would provide a life for their child. He chuckles, remembering exactly what-who-it had been that had pulled them out of their shell. He reaches out to touch their gravestones, but he gets distracted by his own rough and callused fingers, completely changed from their previous state by the hard work factories demand.
"That was the first time in a long time I've seen my parents' eyes light up like that," Yunho says softly, coming to stand next to Jaejoong by the Thames River.
Jaejoong simply glances over at him and smiles, reaching out to touch his hand. "I'm glad you invited me to meet your parents."
He laughs and marvels over how fast time flows; he still remembers the first time he met Jaejoong, six years ago. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell them the truth about us," he apologizes.
Jaejoong shakes his head, gaze focused on the river's flow and ebb. "I already knew that it would be like that," he replies. "After all, our feelings for each other aren’t exactly going to be accepted."
He moves to stand in front of Jaejoong and slightly bends his knees to be on the same level as him. "But thank you all the same," he whispers, fingers running through Jaejoong's hair. He leans in and gently presses his lips against Jaejoong's.
He dreams of better days when he feels exhaustion creep into his bones, days that were filled with sunshine, freedom, and gentle laughter. His mouth twists wistfully as he wishes that he could still go where he wants to go, do what he desires to do… But he knows that wishes are never meant to come true, only tiny figments of dreams that have no business appearing in a cruel world that often doesn’t care how it crushes the people that live within it.
He understands that, and he throws away his wishes and dreams as soon as they appear.
He half carries, half supports Jaejoong up the stairs to his tiny loft; Jaejoong had a little too much to drink, and he’s now giggling incessantly while muttering nonsense under his breath.
“Where are you taking me, Yunho?” Jaejoong asks drunkenly.
“Back to your place, dork,” Yunho replies, partly amused.
“Oh.” Moments later, he stops in his steps and wraps his arms around Yunho. “Can you stay with me tonight?” he requests, eyes looking big and vulnerable and anxious and content at the same time.
Yunho’s rendered speechless for a moment; it’s the first time Jaejoong had asked something like this from him, but he soon smiles. “Maybe,” he teases, “if you’re good.”
Jaejoong’s eyes grow wide and, unconsciously it seems, a seductive smile grows on his face.
As he’s now the one being led up the stairs, Yunho can’t help but wonder if Jaejoong’s truly drunk. But before he’s able to voice his thoughts, he’s pushed against the wall, and his arms are filled with Jaejoong while his mouth is too busy kissing to try to talk.
He always looks forward to when he’s allowed to leave and go home. Once, in his early days of working at the factory, he rushed home, eager to see Jaejoong’s face. He called out Jaejoong’s name as soon as he reached the parlor, but no one had answered, silence his only reply. He soon laughed quietly to himself, murmuring, “That’s right, Jaejoong’s on a trip. He’s not coming back for quite a while.”
He softly closes the door behind him, not wanting to startle Jaejoong. Lightly padding through the small place they’re renting together, he finds him in their bedroom, lying on the bed. A smile appears on his face as he hears a quiet snore, finding Jaejoong’s sleeping face beautiful. He walks over and leans down to tenderly kiss him on the cheek, whispering as Jaejoong stirs, “I’m home.”
A hand creeps up to caress his cheek, and Jaejoong says softly without opening his eyes, “Welcome home, Yunho-yah. Want to go out for dinner?”
He chuckles, understanding that Jaejoong’s too tired from work to cook. “What do you want to eat?”
Jaejoong hums for a bit and replies with a grin, “Fish and chips. I’m craving fish and chips right now. Oh, and can we sit on the steps facing the Thames River? It’s always so pretty there, and we almost never get the chance to enjoy the view.”
“Let’s go then. Fish and chips while admiring the river it is.”
He passes by dark alleyways on his way to work, and there’s always a niggling voice in the back of his mind warning him to never walk through them, even if he’s about to be late. He doesn’t know why; he had practically grown up in the neighborhood, but all the same, he chooses to forego the shortcuts in favor of sunlit, busy streets.
He wonders if he should, one day, walk through the alleyways and show the voice that there’s nothing to fear. A faint memory in his mind whispers of a gang rape back when he wasn’t working at the factory, giving the alleyways an infamous reputation, but for years nothing else had happened.
The world in front of him suddenly turns red, and everything seems to slow down, prolonging his torture. He fights with everything he has against the men holding him, the screams and sobs of pain and terror coming from Jaejoong’s mouth echoing in his mind, breaking his heart. He watches in horror as the men in front of him take turns thrusting into Jaejoong, pinning him down easily no matter how much he writhes underneath them. They keep thrusting, taking pleasure from Jaejoong and his pleas to stop, thrusting until Jaejoong’s ass turns red and bloody, torn almost to shreds.
“I bet you liked that, you faggot,” a man spits, zipping his pants up. “You like men, right? Well, there, you had a taste of real men, not like that sissy over there.” The man jerks his head over to him. “You’re welcome to come back for more anytime,” he laughs crassly.
They leave, and he’s free to crawl over to where Jaejoong laid unmoving, body broken. “Jaejoong,” he whispers, voice trembling, “Jaejoong-ah, answer me.” His entire body has had fists pounded repeatedly into him, but he doesn’t feel anything, concentrating solely on the man in his arms. He slightly shakes Jaejoong, trying to coax a reaction from the deathly silent and pale man.
He slides into bed, joints creaking more and more as the years pass, and stretches, trying to touch the ends of the bed with his toes and fingers. He moves around, wanting to warm up the sheets before completely falling asleep. On the rare nights that he can’t immediately sleep, a problem more of his mind than body, he likes to roll and twist the sheets around himself, indulging in play, before slowly untwisting the sheets from his body, mind more relaxed and able to sleep.
He cautiously approaches the figure wrapped in sheets on the bed, wary. “Jaejoong-ah…” he softly begins to say, “are you sure you don’t want to come out and eat? You haven’t eaten for a while.”
“I’m fine,” Jaejoong replies brusquely without turning to look at him, still choosing to face the wall.
He slowly leans over, hoping to not startle Jaejoong at the sudden placement of his hands on his shoulders. The moment his fingers touch his shoulders, Jaejoong flinches away. “No!” he gasps. “Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!”
The back of his eyes start to burn at the wild look in Jaejoong’s eyes, the fear of being touched being all too present.
He notices a couple standing in a shadowed doorway, the man tenderly holding onto the woman’s shoulders as she cries. He can’t hear what they’re talking about, but he knows by the way the man’s now drawing the woman closer to his body that the man’s comforting her. The way the woman relaxes at the man’s touch makes him wish for a person to call his own; someone that he could comfort, could worry over.
His arms and hands slightly twitch as an imagined warmth and weight fill his mind, making him think that he’s actually holding someone.
He yanks Jaejoong back from the incoming traffic, furious and terrified at the same time. The words he wants to say doesn’t come out of his mouth-the emptiness in Jaejoong’s eyes always robs him of anything he wants to say-while he settles for slightly shaking Jaejoong. “What were you thinking?” he demands in a whisper. “How can you just rush out into traffic like that?”
Jaejoong doesn’t reply, only looking wordlessly up at him, sight not taking anything in and devoid of all emotions.
He gives up on everything he wanted to say to Jaejoong, choosing instead to murmur as he runs his hands down Jaejoong’s arms, “Let’s take you home.”
He pulls Jaejoong into an embrace, and his heart hurts at how stiffly he stands in his arms. “Please don’t do that to me again, Jaejoong-ah,” he pleads. “Don’t run off without telling me. If you want to go somewhere, just tell me; I’ll take you.”
He glances across the street on his way to work, and he sees a person that reminds him of Jaejoong. His name slips out of his mouth effortlessly (“Jaejoong,” he whispers), and he decides to run into the busy street to say hello, ask him how he’s doing, when did he come back, where has he been all these years? Horses neigh, a driver shouts, the man he’s running toward turns at the noise, and Yunho feels a deep sense of disappointment-it’s not Jaejoong. He keeps staring at the man and is surprised at the look of horror morphing onto his face; what’s going on?
Sound finally comes in through the filter in his mind, and before he gets hit he remembers
laughter, stolen kisses, passion, love-
(pain,
fear,
separation-)
death.
“We can’t do this anymore, Yunho-yah,” Jaejoong whispers before he turns to walk into the Thames River, tears sliding down his cheeks. “We knew it was forbidden when we started, but we still forged on, thinking that what we had between us was stronger than what the world could throw at us. You’ve seen how the people around us look at us; even our parents are barely able to make eye contact. No more; I can’t stand it.”
A whisper, a sigh. “Jaejoong-ah.”
If you guys have any questions, feel free to ask XD; I'm not quite sure if I made things clear enough.