[EXO] [Fanfiction] Fiction
Title: Fiction
Pairing: One-sided Jongin/Junmyeon; Junmyeon/Jongdae
Rating: G
Length: 817 words
Summary: The truth is this: Jongin writes prose and fiction and all the other things that he can never express otherwise in real life, that he cannot put into words and actions because that would be telling. Written for a Kai/Suho prompt on seoulfulness over here
Nobody knows about the battered notebook Jongin keeps that has seen better days; the cover is tattered and there are a million scribbles all over it that look more like chicken scrawls and if someone was to take a look inside, they would notice that the pages have tiny, tiny lines of words written painstakingly as though they have been printed there, and one would need a magnifying glass to see what was written there.
The truth is this: Jongin writes prose and fiction and all the other things that he can never express otherwise in real life, that he cannot put into words and actions because that would be telling.
(Pain and love and happiness and sadness and bitterness and watching Junmyeon be happy while it breaks his heart and smiley faces drawn angrily which aren’t really smiley faces at all.)
And Jongin, Jongin doesn’t want anyone to know.
This notebook is his private sanctuary for all his thoughts, much like how he secludes himself in the training rooms at 2am to dance, dance, dance everything away because he no longer wants to think at all. Times when it is too late to go to the company after schedules, but when he can’t go to sleep because there are too many things going on in his mind, he creeps out of the room he shares with Kyungsoo, listening for the sounds of anyone else in the living room, then sits himself down in front of the coffee-table and a black ballpoint pen in the dark and just writes.
He would give all those fanfiction writers a run for their money with all his angst and emotion all poured into pages and pages and pages of his notebook; he writes small so that others won’t see it, he writes small so that it will last. There are stories upon stories upon stories of how, in another life, Junmyeon would be his and it would be him in Jongdae’s place, and Junmyeon’s eyes and hugs and handholds and touches would be all his his his his alone.
Jongin writes happy stories that he knows will never come true, not when he sees that secret smile that Junmyeon always has when he’s speaking softly into his phone to Jongdae; not when he sees Jongdae and Junmyeon holding hands, fingers clasped together in Disneyland, where all your dreams are supposed to come true.
(In a way, Jongin supposes that his dream does come true - it is his living nightmare.)
He writes all the happy endings that he knows that he will never have, that will never see the light of day. Jongin writes and writes and writes feverishly until his wrist aches from printing all the words at such a small size; he writes until he can maybe, just maybe, taste a small sliver of happiness of the what-can-never-be and I-wish-this-was-reals. In the dark, at 2am in the morning, he can pretend that the stories he writes are real and are fact, not just fiction.
Here Jongin can pretend that Junmyeon isn’t most likely dreaming of Jongdae as he sleeps, a million miles away where the other boy is, and he is savagely, guiltily glad that Jongdae is all the way in China while he is right here by Junmyeon’s side. Here Jongin can pretend that Junmyeon is dreaming of him instead, of lazy afternoons and walking side-by-side in lush parks as they kiss and giggle like what couples in love do. He writes and writes and writes until he can almost believe it.
His pretend world is shattered when the living room light flicks on above his head and he freezes with the pen nib to the paper.
Reality is a sleepy, squinty-eyed Junmyeon in pajamas who is peering at him and asking, “Jongin, what are you still doing awake here in the dark?”
Reality is his own words, flat and emotionless as he asks Junmyeon back, “What are you doing awake yourself, hyung?”
Reality is the sound of his heart breaking into pieces all over again when the bashful smile on Junmyeon’s face lights up the older boy’s face that is self-explanatory when he says, “I got an impromptu call from Jongdae.”
Reality is Jongin getting up without a word from the floor and inconspicuously stuffing the notebook into the back of his pants and pulling his shirt down to cover it, then walking past Junmyeon with a leaden, “Good night, hyung,” and the older boy’s hand on his forearm, stopping him in his tracks.
Reality is Junmyeon asking him, “Is something wrong, Jongin?”, and the boy in question answers him with “It’s nothing hyung,” before shaking off Junmyeon’s hand and walking back to his room.
Reality is Jongin hiding his notebook where no one can find it, feeling exhausted and heart sore as he crawls into his own bed and thinks that it’s everything hyung, everything’s wrong.
---
A/N: I'm thinking of maybe doing a follow-up to this because Jongin pining makes me sadface :(
Pairing: One-sided Jongin/Junmyeon; Junmyeon/Jongdae
Rating: G
Length: 817 words
Summary: The truth is this: Jongin writes prose and fiction and all the other things that he can never express otherwise in real life, that he cannot put into words and actions because that would be telling. Written for a Kai/Suho prompt on seoulfulness over here
Nobody knows about the battered notebook Jongin keeps that has seen better days; the cover is tattered and there are a million scribbles all over it that look more like chicken scrawls and if someone was to take a look inside, they would notice that the pages have tiny, tiny lines of words written painstakingly as though they have been printed there, and one would need a magnifying glass to see what was written there.
The truth is this: Jongin writes prose and fiction and all the other things that he can never express otherwise in real life, that he cannot put into words and actions because that would be telling.
(Pain and love and happiness and sadness and bitterness and watching Junmyeon be happy while it breaks his heart and smiley faces drawn angrily which aren’t really smiley faces at all.)
And Jongin, Jongin doesn’t want anyone to know.
This notebook is his private sanctuary for all his thoughts, much like how he secludes himself in the training rooms at 2am to dance, dance, dance everything away because he no longer wants to think at all. Times when it is too late to go to the company after schedules, but when he can’t go to sleep because there are too many things going on in his mind, he creeps out of the room he shares with Kyungsoo, listening for the sounds of anyone else in the living room, then sits himself down in front of the coffee-table and a black ballpoint pen in the dark and just writes.
He would give all those fanfiction writers a run for their money with all his angst and emotion all poured into pages and pages and pages of his notebook; he writes small so that others won’t see it, he writes small so that it will last. There are stories upon stories upon stories of how, in another life, Junmyeon would be his and it would be him in Jongdae’s place, and Junmyeon’s eyes and hugs and handholds and touches would be all his his his his alone.
Jongin writes happy stories that he knows will never come true, not when he sees that secret smile that Junmyeon always has when he’s speaking softly into his phone to Jongdae; not when he sees Jongdae and Junmyeon holding hands, fingers clasped together in Disneyland, where all your dreams are supposed to come true.
(In a way, Jongin supposes that his dream does come true - it is his living nightmare.)
He writes all the happy endings that he knows that he will never have, that will never see the light of day. Jongin writes and writes and writes feverishly until his wrist aches from printing all the words at such a small size; he writes until he can maybe, just maybe, taste a small sliver of happiness of the what-can-never-be and I-wish-this-was-reals. In the dark, at 2am in the morning, he can pretend that the stories he writes are real and are fact, not just fiction.
Here Jongin can pretend that Junmyeon isn’t most likely dreaming of Jongdae as he sleeps, a million miles away where the other boy is, and he is savagely, guiltily glad that Jongdae is all the way in China while he is right here by Junmyeon’s side. Here Jongin can pretend that Junmyeon is dreaming of him instead, of lazy afternoons and walking side-by-side in lush parks as they kiss and giggle like what couples in love do. He writes and writes and writes until he can almost believe it.
His pretend world is shattered when the living room light flicks on above his head and he freezes with the pen nib to the paper.
Reality is a sleepy, squinty-eyed Junmyeon in pajamas who is peering at him and asking, “Jongin, what are you still doing awake here in the dark?”
Reality is his own words, flat and emotionless as he asks Junmyeon back, “What are you doing awake yourself, hyung?”
Reality is the sound of his heart breaking into pieces all over again when the bashful smile on Junmyeon’s face lights up the older boy’s face that is self-explanatory when he says, “I got an impromptu call from Jongdae.”
Reality is Jongin getting up without a word from the floor and inconspicuously stuffing the notebook into the back of his pants and pulling his shirt down to cover it, then walking past Junmyeon with a leaden, “Good night, hyung,” and the older boy’s hand on his forearm, stopping him in his tracks.
Reality is Junmyeon asking him, “Is something wrong, Jongin?”, and the boy in question answers him with “It’s nothing hyung,” before shaking off Junmyeon’s hand and walking back to his room.
Reality is Jongin hiding his notebook where no one can find it, feeling exhausted and heart sore as he crawls into his own bed and thinks that it’s everything hyung, everything’s wrong.
---
A/N: I'm thinking of maybe doing a follow-up to this because Jongin pining makes me sadface :(