Drabble Batch 1
Warnings: Suicide theme, evil maknae, general weirdness
Rating: PG-13, at the highest
Genre: Hurt/comfort, humor, psychological-ish
Word Count: Each about 1000~
Next Step Indecision
“You’re afraid to make that next step.”
Jonghyun rolls his eyes in a show of no duh, but because of the angle and their positioning, he knows the other man doesn’t see it. He clears his throat and forces indifference into his words. “Clearly.”
“But I mean something more general than just your current circumstance,” the voice behind him says. He thinks he can almost feel peppermint breath beating against his neck, but the wind is probably just carrying it. “You’re afraid to take the next step throughout your daily life. You are indecisive, which you play off as not caring when in actuality it’s because you put too much value on everything. You can’t bear to lose anything so you just stay absolutely still and let turmoil rain down on you.”
“Very poetic,” he croaks in response. Standing on a building for a few hours does nothing for the vocal pipes. That, and the wind is starting to make him tear up. Blasted wind.
There’s a neutral sound at his nape and then the sound of metal ringing. With an agile movement, a figure jumps over the fence separating safety and suicide. A man in black joins him on the ledge.
Jonghyun, for the second time that day, almost falls from the roof without meaning to. The first time had also been product of this man, he believes. It had been after a half hour or so of arguing down at someone who called himself the “police negotiator, Choi Minho, nice to meet you, why are you jumping?” The man used a megaphone, which was a bit fraying on the nerves after a full hour on the ledge, about to go to your self-purported death. But he also had a slight attitude. (“Do you happen to think you’d look better smashed against the pavement? Newsflash: it’s not like what you see on late-night television!”)
Eventually, the little dot with the loud voice eleven stories down had disappeared. It had been right after a gust so Jonghyun had been focused on not flying away. He hadn’t noticed he was gone until no one called up to him. In that one moment, he decided it was time. An hour and a half of dramatics was enough. He was going to jump.
And then the door behind him, rusty and thick and metal, slammed open, startling the heck out of him. Accompanying that noise was a magnified “Oi!” Needless to say, that was the first time he had almost accidently commited suicide during the whole experience. (And why had Minho even thought it a good idea to continue the megaphone use that close? It’s really quite unnerving!)
“I hate you,” he says in way of introduction. His heart rate has finally settled from the close call so he looks up to see the face of the man terrorizing him for the past however long. And he’s a bit surprised.
Jonghyun had really expected the man to look like how he sounded. His voice was deep, but young, so he expected someone in their 30s, maybe with a gut and body odor. (His opinion of the man had absolutely no effect on how he pictured him. None. At all.) Maybe with a shirt underneath his bulletproof vest that said, ‘I Read People’. Something self-congratulatory and stuck up. The male in front of him, however, was completely different from the mental image Jonghyun had drawn up. He was tall, slim, with a small face and dark hair and eyes. A pretty boy. The model type.
Jonghyun groaned, “Kill me now…”
“You’re not as unattractive as I thought. That’s good; ugly people tend to look worse after they try and merge with concrete.”
Jonghyun gapes; the man smiles innocently. He stutters for an answer and settles on just shooting Minho a bewildered stare. He shrugs unapologetically. And then he loops his arms through the gaps in the metal fence, mimicking Jonghyun, and stares off into the open air. The breeze hits his face and moves his hair like a photo shoot. The gust smacks Jonghyun in the face and he ends up choking and sputtering with teary eyes. Yeah. He’s going to jump.
“Spent an hour being talked down by passerby, when that didn’t work they called me in. I was down there 30 or so minutes… Up here about 20,” Minho mutters to himself. Jonghyun doesn’t know if he’s trying to guilt him or not. He’s pretty sure the other male will get paid regardless of whether he kills himself or not. “What would help you to take the next step?”
The jumper gawks. He really is trying to get me to jump, is the thought to rush through his head. Minho waves his hand in a display of clearing the air.
“Not off this ledge. I’m trying to prevent that, remember? I mean the next step in life. What’s going to help you take the next step in life?”
Despite himself and the burgeoning hatred he has for this guy, Jonghyun thinks about it. While he hates to admit it, the other had been right earlier. He’s irresolute and it’s only been getting worse. He had found himself up on the roof after not even being able to decide what he wanted to eat in the break room at lunch. “Men don’t waver,” his former girlfriend had told him, along with “Let’s break up.” For some reason, the thought of an unsure, amorphous life had driven him to this. He doesn’t want to live when he can’t even decide how.
He admits reluctantly, “I don’t know.”
“Then,” Minho began, turning to face him with a soft smile. Even though his pose only furthers how thin he is, Jonghyun is hit with the desire to call him a cow. “How about this? I’ll give you a choice, but you won’t really have a say in the matter. That way you’ll feel liberated from your uncertainty even though I’ll be the one in control.”
Jonghyun doesn’t think he should be blurting out the plan like this. Element of surprise or something. He slowly nods anyway. His legs are sore and he just wants to be done, one way or another.
“Ok, decision time. Come out to tea with me.”
Jonghyun’s nods - he’s surprised to notice - come a lot quicker than before.
--
Arrived at This Point
Junhyung eyes the knot before reaching up and tightening it just a bit more. He’s not sure what a boy scout would call it - butterfly, square, fisherman’s - but most people would probably recognize it for what it is: a piece of rope tied around a light fixture. He’d go further and call it suicide. And maybe if he was feeling more creative, less drained, he’d call the little opening for his head something like “a portal by which life passes as it passes”. But he’s not feeling it today. Especially not today.
He takes a deep breath, isn’t surprised that his heartbeats stay steady. He’s resolved and his heart knows that. Firmly, his fingers wrap around the noose, dragging himself closer to it, on tiptoes on his bed. His hairs just brush the rope when the door slams open and a blonde boy comes wandering in.
“Whatcha doing?”
Junhyung blinks. And then he blinks some more. Then he slowly lowers himself from the noose, though he remains on his bed, one hand on the cord.
“Um, Yoseob. What’s up?”
Yoseob smiles as he always does when someone says his name. He’s terrified he’s slowly disappearing, that everyone is forgetting him, so it’s always reassuring to hear his name. He checks really quick. Yep, his arm has come back. Seems Junhyung fixed him. He turns big, admiring eyes back on his hyung and his odd contraption.
“What’s that? Are you going to kill yourself?”
Junhyung coughs at the suddenness, fully forgetting for a moment that Yoseob’s personality tends to clash with his appearance. Even though the younger male might act like a mature toddler, he is in his 20s. Of course he would recognize suicide when he sees it. He’s probably seen it enough around this place.
Junhyung glares at the spot where white walls meet white tile, thinking before he responds. “Yeah.”
“Oh,” Yoseob says, nodding slowly, lips pursed into a ‘o’. He keeps nodding, sending a paranoid glance at his hand before turning back to his friend. “Why?”
“I’m not a loser,” Junhyung states, immediately going on the defensive. Earlier, when he told Doojoon his intentions, the man had accused him of just being depressed because Nurse Hara hadn’t given him an extra jello like usual. And while he tried not to take anything a person with an ego the size of Seoul said too seriously, the man always had a knack for getting under his skin. “It’s not some girl or a job pushing me to this.”
Of course it wasn’t a job, silly, Yoseob wanted to say. They didn’t have jobs around here. They had “tasks” and those were just the staff’s way of making them feel like they didn’t spend their whole life wasting away in spongy rooms, drooling and staring at the ceiling. Yoseob noted that he had to stop by the recreation room later to clean up his blocks. Otherwise, the head nurse would never call him, he wouldn’t get a gold star, and he’d fade into obscurity.
He shook his head to clear his head, grinning up at his friend. Junhyung did that weird mix between a scowl and a smirk, fingers relaxing and tightening on the cord. He probably wanted to be left alone soon.
“Then why?”
Ignoring his question, Junhyung seemed to think of something. He cleared his throat, coming down from his perch on the mattress to put his hands on Yoseob’s shoulders and look him in the eye. “Listen: when I’m gone, you need to take care of the others in my stead. Can you do it?” The blonde nodded. “Good. Doojoon needs to be reminded two or three times a day that he’s not the master of our fates or he’ll be a pain to deal with. Make sure Dongwoon comes out of his room. He needs sunlight occasionally, no matter what he says about the bugs. Kikwang is the opposite; you need to locate him as quickly as possible after snack time and get him in his room before AJ comes out.
“Oh, and stop avoiding Hyunseung. He may look like that, but he’s not scary. He’ll tell you stories when his stitches come out. His lips will be sore directly after though. However, ask him a while later and he might incorporate you into his tales. Keep you from fading.”
Junhyung patted Yoseob on his fluffy nest of hair, squeezing the hand that was always first to disappear. He clambered back onto his bed, grasping the rope with both hands again. Yoseob turned to leave, hand on the door.
“But why,” he asked, not turning.
“I-I had gotten too used to it.” Yoseob met his eyes with a hard look. “The pills. The huge fricking pills. I can swallow them down like candy now. I… I don’t want to live like that.”
The younger boy shrugged, grunted noncommittally. He stepped into the hallway, pausing before sliding the door shut. “Good night.”
--
Mercy Killing
“So,” Eunhyuk starts, looking from the object in his hand up to the person who put it there, “You want me to do what exactly?”
“Kill yourself,” Kyuhyun replies, expression blank but for a smile Eunhyuk supposes is meant to be comforting. The younger male seems to remember his manners. “At your soonest convenience.”
Eunhyuk stutters a bit, his vision a rapid saccade between his dongsaeng and the knife in his hand - it’s rather nice, he’ll give him that; all ornate and shiny and sharp and- what exactly does he think he should do!? The blonde dancer flails a bit with his free hand, perhaps hoping that the thoughtless movement will clear out some optical illusion or something. (Genjutsu! What’s to say that’s limited only to fictional ninjas? If anyone could do it, it’d be his wicked, voodoo-ing little dongsaeng!)
“Um, why?”
Kyuhyun shrugs, business smile still in place. Eunhyuk thinks he looks demonic and misses the days when Kibum was the only maknae to worry about. Maybe he can write him and tell him to hurry and wrap up whatever drama he’s working on now…
“You’re bringing down our aesthetic value.” And then Kyuhyun blinks and opens his mouth to explain what ‘aesthetic’ means.
“I know what it means,” Eunhyuk whines, feeling many years younger than Kyuhyun. Or perhaps of a different species entirely. He reckons this might be what a puppy feels like after it’s been stepped on a few times. “I just thought you might be looking for virgin blood for a sacrifice of some sort.”
The younger man’s eyes flicker darkly; Eunhyuk is struck by the overwhelming urge to apologize. Or run. Quite possibly leaning more towards run. But then the smile reappears and he decides he definitely should run. As soon as he gets some strength in his legs. And Kyuhyun releases the death grasp on his wrist.
“Of course not, hyung. I just happened to be glancing over our promotion pictures when I noticed something: your looks aren’t quite in the same categories as the rest of us. Ryeowook, Henry, and I have the cute look. Leeteuk-hyung, Yesung-hyung, Sungmin-hyung, and I have the mature gentleman look. Shindong-hyung, Heechul-hyung, Zhou Mi, and I have a unique charm. And Donghae-hyung, Siwon-hyung, and I are classically handsome.
“You, meanwhile, you just look like a monkey.”
Protests of Kyuhyun’s inflated thoughts on himself are overridden by the injury from insult. The blonde gapes, sputtering and searching his vast mind for something to retort.
“But Siwon’s a horse!”
“Horses are sexy. Monkeys throw poop.” Eunhyuk visibly deflates. Kyuhyun continues, “So if you love the band, and the fans, you’ll do us this one favor. We’ll honor you for it forever.”
There’s a pause of consideration. Then Eunhyuk nods dumbly, head down and feet dragging as he takes the dagger and heads off to the bathroom. Donghae, who had been standing nearby all that time, watched him go before turning to the maknae. He had kept quiet because Kyuhyun had made promises about aliens and a trip to the ocean, but he had to ask.
“Eunhyukkie’s not ugly. Why’s he got to kill himself?”
Kyuhyun turns the professional grin on his hyung. Donghae shudders minutely. “Don’t worry, hyung. I’ll stop him before he dies. I just need a vial's worth for my ritual after all. And then…” A slight cackle. Donghae comes to the conclusion Eunhyuk had earlier: run. “And then Super Junior and I will really be put on the map.”
--
As always, can be considered WIPs or drabbles. Expansion of any of these are possible on request, if sufficient inspiration is provided. There was actually a B1A4 one written for this post, but oh my gosh, depressing.
Rating: PG-13, at the highest
Genre: Hurt/comfort, humor, psychological-ish
Word Count: Each about 1000~
Next Step Indecision
“You’re afraid to make that next step.”
Jonghyun rolls his eyes in a show of no duh, but because of the angle and their positioning, he knows the other man doesn’t see it. He clears his throat and forces indifference into his words. “Clearly.”
“But I mean something more general than just your current circumstance,” the voice behind him says. He thinks he can almost feel peppermint breath beating against his neck, but the wind is probably just carrying it. “You’re afraid to take the next step throughout your daily life. You are indecisive, which you play off as not caring when in actuality it’s because you put too much value on everything. You can’t bear to lose anything so you just stay absolutely still and let turmoil rain down on you.”
“Very poetic,” he croaks in response. Standing on a building for a few hours does nothing for the vocal pipes. That, and the wind is starting to make him tear up. Blasted wind.
There’s a neutral sound at his nape and then the sound of metal ringing. With an agile movement, a figure jumps over the fence separating safety and suicide. A man in black joins him on the ledge.
Jonghyun, for the second time that day, almost falls from the roof without meaning to. The first time had also been product of this man, he believes. It had been after a half hour or so of arguing down at someone who called himself the “police negotiator, Choi Minho, nice to meet you, why are you jumping?” The man used a megaphone, which was a bit fraying on the nerves after a full hour on the ledge, about to go to your self-purported death. But he also had a slight attitude. (“Do you happen to think you’d look better smashed against the pavement? Newsflash: it’s not like what you see on late-night television!”)
Eventually, the little dot with the loud voice eleven stories down had disappeared. It had been right after a gust so Jonghyun had been focused on not flying away. He hadn’t noticed he was gone until no one called up to him. In that one moment, he decided it was time. An hour and a half of dramatics was enough. He was going to jump.
And then the door behind him, rusty and thick and metal, slammed open, startling the heck out of him. Accompanying that noise was a magnified “Oi!” Needless to say, that was the first time he had almost accidently commited suicide during the whole experience. (And why had Minho even thought it a good idea to continue the megaphone use that close? It’s really quite unnerving!)
“I hate you,” he says in way of introduction. His heart rate has finally settled from the close call so he looks up to see the face of the man terrorizing him for the past however long. And he’s a bit surprised.
Jonghyun had really expected the man to look like how he sounded. His voice was deep, but young, so he expected someone in their 30s, maybe with a gut and body odor. (His opinion of the man had absolutely no effect on how he pictured him. None. At all.) Maybe with a shirt underneath his bulletproof vest that said, ‘I Read People’. Something self-congratulatory and stuck up. The male in front of him, however, was completely different from the mental image Jonghyun had drawn up. He was tall, slim, with a small face and dark hair and eyes. A pretty boy. The model type.
Jonghyun groaned, “Kill me now…”
“You’re not as unattractive as I thought. That’s good; ugly people tend to look worse after they try and merge with concrete.”
Jonghyun gapes; the man smiles innocently. He stutters for an answer and settles on just shooting Minho a bewildered stare. He shrugs unapologetically. And then he loops his arms through the gaps in the metal fence, mimicking Jonghyun, and stares off into the open air. The breeze hits his face and moves his hair like a photo shoot. The gust smacks Jonghyun in the face and he ends up choking and sputtering with teary eyes. Yeah. He’s going to jump.
“Spent an hour being talked down by passerby, when that didn’t work they called me in. I was down there 30 or so minutes… Up here about 20,” Minho mutters to himself. Jonghyun doesn’t know if he’s trying to guilt him or not. He’s pretty sure the other male will get paid regardless of whether he kills himself or not. “What would help you to take the next step?”
The jumper gawks. He really is trying to get me to jump, is the thought to rush through his head. Minho waves his hand in a display of clearing the air.
“Not off this ledge. I’m trying to prevent that, remember? I mean the next step in life. What’s going to help you take the next step in life?”
Despite himself and the burgeoning hatred he has for this guy, Jonghyun thinks about it. While he hates to admit it, the other had been right earlier. He’s irresolute and it’s only been getting worse. He had found himself up on the roof after not even being able to decide what he wanted to eat in the break room at lunch. “Men don’t waver,” his former girlfriend had told him, along with “Let’s break up.” For some reason, the thought of an unsure, amorphous life had driven him to this. He doesn’t want to live when he can’t even decide how.
He admits reluctantly, “I don’t know.”
“Then,” Minho began, turning to face him with a soft smile. Even though his pose only furthers how thin he is, Jonghyun is hit with the desire to call him a cow. “How about this? I’ll give you a choice, but you won’t really have a say in the matter. That way you’ll feel liberated from your uncertainty even though I’ll be the one in control.”
Jonghyun doesn’t think he should be blurting out the plan like this. Element of surprise or something. He slowly nods anyway. His legs are sore and he just wants to be done, one way or another.
“Ok, decision time. Come out to tea with me.”
Jonghyun’s nods - he’s surprised to notice - come a lot quicker than before.
--
Arrived at This Point
Junhyung eyes the knot before reaching up and tightening it just a bit more. He’s not sure what a boy scout would call it - butterfly, square, fisherman’s - but most people would probably recognize it for what it is: a piece of rope tied around a light fixture. He’d go further and call it suicide. And maybe if he was feeling more creative, less drained, he’d call the little opening for his head something like “a portal by which life passes as it passes”. But he’s not feeling it today. Especially not today.
He takes a deep breath, isn’t surprised that his heartbeats stay steady. He’s resolved and his heart knows that. Firmly, his fingers wrap around the noose, dragging himself closer to it, on tiptoes on his bed. His hairs just brush the rope when the door slams open and a blonde boy comes wandering in.
“Whatcha doing?”
Junhyung blinks. And then he blinks some more. Then he slowly lowers himself from the noose, though he remains on his bed, one hand on the cord.
“Um, Yoseob. What’s up?”
Yoseob smiles as he always does when someone says his name. He’s terrified he’s slowly disappearing, that everyone is forgetting him, so it’s always reassuring to hear his name. He checks really quick. Yep, his arm has come back. Seems Junhyung fixed him. He turns big, admiring eyes back on his hyung and his odd contraption.
“What’s that? Are you going to kill yourself?”
Junhyung coughs at the suddenness, fully forgetting for a moment that Yoseob’s personality tends to clash with his appearance. Even though the younger male might act like a mature toddler, he is in his 20s. Of course he would recognize suicide when he sees it. He’s probably seen it enough around this place.
Junhyung glares at the spot where white walls meet white tile, thinking before he responds. “Yeah.”
“Oh,” Yoseob says, nodding slowly, lips pursed into a ‘o’. He keeps nodding, sending a paranoid glance at his hand before turning back to his friend. “Why?”
“I’m not a loser,” Junhyung states, immediately going on the defensive. Earlier, when he told Doojoon his intentions, the man had accused him of just being depressed because Nurse Hara hadn’t given him an extra jello like usual. And while he tried not to take anything a person with an ego the size of Seoul said too seriously, the man always had a knack for getting under his skin. “It’s not some girl or a job pushing me to this.”
Of course it wasn’t a job, silly, Yoseob wanted to say. They didn’t have jobs around here. They had “tasks” and those were just the staff’s way of making them feel like they didn’t spend their whole life wasting away in spongy rooms, drooling and staring at the ceiling. Yoseob noted that he had to stop by the recreation room later to clean up his blocks. Otherwise, the head nurse would never call him, he wouldn’t get a gold star, and he’d fade into obscurity.
He shook his head to clear his head, grinning up at his friend. Junhyung did that weird mix between a scowl and a smirk, fingers relaxing and tightening on the cord. He probably wanted to be left alone soon.
“Then why?”
Ignoring his question, Junhyung seemed to think of something. He cleared his throat, coming down from his perch on the mattress to put his hands on Yoseob’s shoulders and look him in the eye. “Listen: when I’m gone, you need to take care of the others in my stead. Can you do it?” The blonde nodded. “Good. Doojoon needs to be reminded two or three times a day that he’s not the master of our fates or he’ll be a pain to deal with. Make sure Dongwoon comes out of his room. He needs sunlight occasionally, no matter what he says about the bugs. Kikwang is the opposite; you need to locate him as quickly as possible after snack time and get him in his room before AJ comes out.
“Oh, and stop avoiding Hyunseung. He may look like that, but he’s not scary. He’ll tell you stories when his stitches come out. His lips will be sore directly after though. However, ask him a while later and he might incorporate you into his tales. Keep you from fading.”
Junhyung patted Yoseob on his fluffy nest of hair, squeezing the hand that was always first to disappear. He clambered back onto his bed, grasping the rope with both hands again. Yoseob turned to leave, hand on the door.
“But why,” he asked, not turning.
“I-I had gotten too used to it.” Yoseob met his eyes with a hard look. “The pills. The huge fricking pills. I can swallow them down like candy now. I… I don’t want to live like that.”
The younger boy shrugged, grunted noncommittally. He stepped into the hallway, pausing before sliding the door shut. “Good night.”
--
Mercy Killing
“So,” Eunhyuk starts, looking from the object in his hand up to the person who put it there, “You want me to do what exactly?”
“Kill yourself,” Kyuhyun replies, expression blank but for a smile Eunhyuk supposes is meant to be comforting. The younger male seems to remember his manners. “At your soonest convenience.”
Eunhyuk stutters a bit, his vision a rapid saccade between his dongsaeng and the knife in his hand - it’s rather nice, he’ll give him that; all ornate and shiny and sharp and- what exactly does he think he should do!? The blonde dancer flails a bit with his free hand, perhaps hoping that the thoughtless movement will clear out some optical illusion or something. (Genjutsu! What’s to say that’s limited only to fictional ninjas? If anyone could do it, it’d be his wicked, voodoo-ing little dongsaeng!)
“Um, why?”
Kyuhyun shrugs, business smile still in place. Eunhyuk thinks he looks demonic and misses the days when Kibum was the only maknae to worry about. Maybe he can write him and tell him to hurry and wrap up whatever drama he’s working on now…
“You’re bringing down our aesthetic value.” And then Kyuhyun blinks and opens his mouth to explain what ‘aesthetic’ means.
“I know what it means,” Eunhyuk whines, feeling many years younger than Kyuhyun. Or perhaps of a different species entirely. He reckons this might be what a puppy feels like after it’s been stepped on a few times. “I just thought you might be looking for virgin blood for a sacrifice of some sort.”
The younger man’s eyes flicker darkly; Eunhyuk is struck by the overwhelming urge to apologize. Or run. Quite possibly leaning more towards run. But then the smile reappears and he decides he definitely should run. As soon as he gets some strength in his legs. And Kyuhyun releases the death grasp on his wrist.
“Of course not, hyung. I just happened to be glancing over our promotion pictures when I noticed something: your looks aren’t quite in the same categories as the rest of us. Ryeowook, Henry, and I have the cute look. Leeteuk-hyung, Yesung-hyung, Sungmin-hyung, and I have the mature gentleman look. Shindong-hyung, Heechul-hyung, Zhou Mi, and I have a unique charm. And Donghae-hyung, Siwon-hyung, and I are classically handsome.
“You, meanwhile, you just look like a monkey.”
Protests of Kyuhyun’s inflated thoughts on himself are overridden by the injury from insult. The blonde gapes, sputtering and searching his vast mind for something to retort.
“But Siwon’s a horse!”
“Horses are sexy. Monkeys throw poop.” Eunhyuk visibly deflates. Kyuhyun continues, “So if you love the band, and the fans, you’ll do us this one favor. We’ll honor you for it forever.”
There’s a pause of consideration. Then Eunhyuk nods dumbly, head down and feet dragging as he takes the dagger and heads off to the bathroom. Donghae, who had been standing nearby all that time, watched him go before turning to the maknae. He had kept quiet because Kyuhyun had made promises about aliens and a trip to the ocean, but he had to ask.
“Eunhyukkie’s not ugly. Why’s he got to kill himself?”
Kyuhyun turns the professional grin on his hyung. Donghae shudders minutely. “Don’t worry, hyung. I’ll stop him before he dies. I just need a vial's worth for my ritual after all. And then…” A slight cackle. Donghae comes to the conclusion Eunhyuk had earlier: run. “And then Super Junior and I will really be put on the map.”
--
As always, can be considered WIPs or drabbles. Expansion of any of these are possible on request, if sufficient inspiration is provided. There was actually a B1A4 one written for this post, but oh my gosh, depressing.