Black & White
Title: Black & White
Pairing: Minho/Taemin
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics of the song, “It’s Getting Boring By The Sea” by Blood Red Shoes. I make no profit from the writing of this story.
Notes: I know it seems a bit like the movie Pleasantville but I didn’t even think of that til after I wrote this lol D;
--
Taemin hated where he lived. He lived by the ocean in a lovely house with his parents and his brother - or at least, with who he was told were his parents and brother. Taemin was slowly starting to realize that this family wasn’t his at all. They weren’t real. Nothing was fun, nothing was loud. Everything was dreary and dull. Black and white.
There was no color for the sky or the grass, or the clothes he wore.
The sun was yellow, but he couldn’t feel the warmth.
This place was fake.
A parcel came to the front door without a delivery man, and Taemin bent to pick it up. It was a plain brown package, no return address, and it didn’t even have Taemin’s house address on it. How did it get here?
He opened the package up, wondering if it was a pair of shoes, going by the size of it. He tossed the brown paper carelessly on the ground and opened up the white box, peering inside.
Nothing.
A message was scribbled on the bottom of the lid, written hastily in permanent marker.
“Consider a change of scenery.”
Taemin dropped the parcel on the front step in alarm and went back inside his house, slamming the door. His parents looked up from the television and what was written on their face was concern, but it didn’t reach their eyes.
He gave an awkward smile, waving a hand, “Nothing. Just a ding-dong-ditch.”
His parents smiled and went back to watching the television. Taemin ran a hand through his black hair and then stared at his fingers, before he grabbed his wallet and left the house.
--
He dyed his hair blond, that night. A beautiful straw color. It was hard to do by himself, his hair had been growing rather long, and he was afraid that the bleach was just going to eat through his hair but it turned out fine as he looked into the steam-fogged mirror, studying his reflection.
How was this for a scenery change?
--
His parents yelled at him the next morning for dying his hair.
“You’re Korean,” his mother said as she flipped the pancakes she was making. “Koreans have black hair, Taeminnie.”
Taemin rested his cheek in his hand, watching his boring mother make another boring breakfast. Even when yelling, his parents were droll.
She gave him a plate of pancakes and eggs, disappointment etched on her features but not reaching her eyes.
--
Another parcel showed up that day, and Taemin picked it up, unwrapping it and peeking under the lid.
“It’s getting boring by the sea.”
He put the lid back on the box and picked up the box from yesterday, taking them both up to his room.
It was getting really boring by the black sea.
--
Taemin woke up in the middle of the night to rocks being thrown at his bedroom window. He put on a sweater and opened his window a crack to peer out, looking down to see a bright-eyed boy looking back up at him.
He didn’t know what made him do it, but Taemin crawled out of his window and into the tree next to the house, sliding down and meeting the boy. He was taller than Taemin, his eyes big and round and showing all sorts of emotions that Taemin had never seen in anyone’s eyes.
The boy had blisters on his hands, it looked like he worked really hard outdoors doing some profession that Taemin had never heard of.
“Come on,” the boy said, taking Taemin’s hand. The calluses rubbed against the blond’s palm and it was perhaps the most real thing he had ever felt in his teen life.
He woke up to see shadows of the tree outside dancing on his ceiling, sighing softly as he rolled over and tried to fall asleep.
--
“Why aren’t you eating?” his father asked, the next morning.
“I had a weird dream,” Taemin said, shrugging and taking a bite of his pancakes.
“Dream?” both of his parents looked confused as they echoed him.
Taemin glanced between them, a bit unsure. “… Yeah.”
His mom laughed outright, “Don’t be silly, Taemin. Dreams don’t exist.”
Taemin frowned, wondering why his mother’s laugh sounded so dry and empty of humor.
--
He spent the afternoon wandering around town, watching old people play board games in the park, watching kids play with dolls and toys dully, watching everyone just have a general disinterest in everything they were doing. It was like these people were just empty shells, put here to exist and not for any other reason.
It was boggling. Everyone seemed to ostracize Taemin for dreaming, for thinking, for feeling. Were they robots? Were they aliens?
Taemin picked up the parcel that day, wondering if it was the boy from his dreams sending them. He read the message on the bottom of the lid out loud, softly to himself.
“Can’t escape anything in this town. Knock yourself out.”
He weighed the words in his head and brought the box up to his room, putting it next to the other two.
This town was too much like a prison for the creative mind, trying to nullify good, positive thoughts and turn them into monotony.
--
Taemin wasn’t into drugs. He wasn’t into alcohol, either. He was a good boy, like his parents taught him to be ever since he was little. Ever since they stopped smiling like they meant it.
What had infected the town the changed all of these people?
Why didn’t Taemin change?
Today’s parcel said “pictures”. It was the simplest message, and Taemin tacked the lid up onto his wall next to the others. He had tried thinking rationally about them, then irrationally, then rationally again, and he couldn’t come up with an explanation.
“Taemin,” his mother called from downstairs. “There’s someone here to see you.” She didn’t sound curious, she didn’t sound much of anything despite the fact that Taemin didn’t have any friends.
It was the boy.
Taemin slowed his gait down the stairs as his mother wandered away to go iron clothes, and the boy gave a small smile and a wave.
“You,” Taemin said, his eyes alight with wonderment as he moved closer to the taller boy.
“Me,” the boy said with amusement that reached his eyes.
“You’re real?” Taemin reached up and touched the boy’s jaw, feeling the softness, the warmth under his skin.
His family’s hands were cold.
“I am,” the boy said, taking Taemin’s hands. “Are you ready?”
Taemin didn’t need to ask, as his fingers ran over the calluses of the hands holding his own. He smiled and nodded.
“Yeah,” Taemin said with a grin. “Knock yourself out.”
The boy held up a camera and took Taemin’s photo.
--
Taemin woke up with the warm sun beating down on his face, a sensation he’d never experienced before even on the brightest summer days. He was lying in the sand on the beach, spread-eagle and wearing only a t-shirt and shorts. Sitting up, he brushed the sand out of his locks and turned to see the other boy walking towards him.
Taemin had never seen so much color. The sand was light, the sky was blue, the sun was warm and yellow, and the ocean was rolling turquoise. Birds were chirping and the wind was breezing and he could hear people laughing in the distance - real laughter.
He stood up once the other boy came to him, and looked up into those big, soulful eyes.
“Who are you?” Taemin asked.
The boy smiled, “Minho.”
Taemin reached up and gently touched Minho’s face again, fingers tracing over the scar under his eye, the tip of his nose, the curve of his lips.
“What are you?” the blond asked.
Minho chuckled, the sound music to Taemin’s ears. “I’m real.”
Pairing: Minho/Taemin
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics of the song, “It’s Getting Boring By The Sea” by Blood Red Shoes. I make no profit from the writing of this story.
Notes: I know it seems a bit like the movie Pleasantville but I didn’t even think of that til after I wrote this lol D;
--
Taemin hated where he lived. He lived by the ocean in a lovely house with his parents and his brother - or at least, with who he was told were his parents and brother. Taemin was slowly starting to realize that this family wasn’t his at all. They weren’t real. Nothing was fun, nothing was loud. Everything was dreary and dull. Black and white.
There was no color for the sky or the grass, or the clothes he wore.
The sun was yellow, but he couldn’t feel the warmth.
This place was fake.
A parcel came to the front door without a delivery man, and Taemin bent to pick it up. It was a plain brown package, no return address, and it didn’t even have Taemin’s house address on it. How did it get here?
He opened the package up, wondering if it was a pair of shoes, going by the size of it. He tossed the brown paper carelessly on the ground and opened up the white box, peering inside.
Nothing.
A message was scribbled on the bottom of the lid, written hastily in permanent marker.
“Consider a change of scenery.”
Taemin dropped the parcel on the front step in alarm and went back inside his house, slamming the door. His parents looked up from the television and what was written on their face was concern, but it didn’t reach their eyes.
He gave an awkward smile, waving a hand, “Nothing. Just a ding-dong-ditch.”
His parents smiled and went back to watching the television. Taemin ran a hand through his black hair and then stared at his fingers, before he grabbed his wallet and left the house.
--
He dyed his hair blond, that night. A beautiful straw color. It was hard to do by himself, his hair had been growing rather long, and he was afraid that the bleach was just going to eat through his hair but it turned out fine as he looked into the steam-fogged mirror, studying his reflection.
How was this for a scenery change?
--
His parents yelled at him the next morning for dying his hair.
“You’re Korean,” his mother said as she flipped the pancakes she was making. “Koreans have black hair, Taeminnie.”
Taemin rested his cheek in his hand, watching his boring mother make another boring breakfast. Even when yelling, his parents were droll.
She gave him a plate of pancakes and eggs, disappointment etched on her features but not reaching her eyes.
--
Another parcel showed up that day, and Taemin picked it up, unwrapping it and peeking under the lid.
“It’s getting boring by the sea.”
He put the lid back on the box and picked up the box from yesterday, taking them both up to his room.
It was getting really boring by the black sea.
--
Taemin woke up in the middle of the night to rocks being thrown at his bedroom window. He put on a sweater and opened his window a crack to peer out, looking down to see a bright-eyed boy looking back up at him.
He didn’t know what made him do it, but Taemin crawled out of his window and into the tree next to the house, sliding down and meeting the boy. He was taller than Taemin, his eyes big and round and showing all sorts of emotions that Taemin had never seen in anyone’s eyes.
The boy had blisters on his hands, it looked like he worked really hard outdoors doing some profession that Taemin had never heard of.
“Come on,” the boy said, taking Taemin’s hand. The calluses rubbed against the blond’s palm and it was perhaps the most real thing he had ever felt in his teen life.
He woke up to see shadows of the tree outside dancing on his ceiling, sighing softly as he rolled over and tried to fall asleep.
--
“Why aren’t you eating?” his father asked, the next morning.
“I had a weird dream,” Taemin said, shrugging and taking a bite of his pancakes.
“Dream?” both of his parents looked confused as they echoed him.
Taemin glanced between them, a bit unsure. “… Yeah.”
His mom laughed outright, “Don’t be silly, Taemin. Dreams don’t exist.”
Taemin frowned, wondering why his mother’s laugh sounded so dry and empty of humor.
--
He spent the afternoon wandering around town, watching old people play board games in the park, watching kids play with dolls and toys dully, watching everyone just have a general disinterest in everything they were doing. It was like these people were just empty shells, put here to exist and not for any other reason.
It was boggling. Everyone seemed to ostracize Taemin for dreaming, for thinking, for feeling. Were they robots? Were they aliens?
Taemin picked up the parcel that day, wondering if it was the boy from his dreams sending them. He read the message on the bottom of the lid out loud, softly to himself.
“Can’t escape anything in this town. Knock yourself out.”
He weighed the words in his head and brought the box up to his room, putting it next to the other two.
This town was too much like a prison for the creative mind, trying to nullify good, positive thoughts and turn them into monotony.
--
Taemin wasn’t into drugs. He wasn’t into alcohol, either. He was a good boy, like his parents taught him to be ever since he was little. Ever since they stopped smiling like they meant it.
What had infected the town the changed all of these people?
Why didn’t Taemin change?
Today’s parcel said “pictures”. It was the simplest message, and Taemin tacked the lid up onto his wall next to the others. He had tried thinking rationally about them, then irrationally, then rationally again, and he couldn’t come up with an explanation.
“Taemin,” his mother called from downstairs. “There’s someone here to see you.” She didn’t sound curious, she didn’t sound much of anything despite the fact that Taemin didn’t have any friends.
It was the boy.
Taemin slowed his gait down the stairs as his mother wandered away to go iron clothes, and the boy gave a small smile and a wave.
“You,” Taemin said, his eyes alight with wonderment as he moved closer to the taller boy.
“Me,” the boy said with amusement that reached his eyes.
“You’re real?” Taemin reached up and touched the boy’s jaw, feeling the softness, the warmth under his skin.
His family’s hands were cold.
“I am,” the boy said, taking Taemin’s hands. “Are you ready?”
Taemin didn’t need to ask, as his fingers ran over the calluses of the hands holding his own. He smiled and nodded.
“Yeah,” Taemin said with a grin. “Knock yourself out.”
The boy held up a camera and took Taemin’s photo.
--
Taemin woke up with the warm sun beating down on his face, a sensation he’d never experienced before even on the brightest summer days. He was lying in the sand on the beach, spread-eagle and wearing only a t-shirt and shorts. Sitting up, he brushed the sand out of his locks and turned to see the other boy walking towards him.
Taemin had never seen so much color. The sand was light, the sky was blue, the sun was warm and yellow, and the ocean was rolling turquoise. Birds were chirping and the wind was breezing and he could hear people laughing in the distance - real laughter.
He stood up once the other boy came to him, and looked up into those big, soulful eyes.
“Who are you?” Taemin asked.
The boy smiled, “Minho.”
Taemin reached up and gently touched Minho’s face again, fingers tracing over the scar under his eye, the tip of his nose, the curve of his lips.
“What are you?” the blond asked.
Minho chuckled, the sound music to Taemin’s ears. “I’m real.”