[fic] of withered dreams; chapter four
Title: of withered dreams
Pairing: Mark/Jinyoung (Slight Mark/Jackson, Jaebum/Jinyoung)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: N/A
Synopsis: When Jinyoung is dead drunk one night, Mark takes it in his kind character to lug the 'stranger' home. For lonely nights and nostalgic mornings, this is a story of forgotten childhoods, surreal neverlands, white lies, black truths and of withered dreams.
A/N: Beta-ed by the ever so wonderful neutralsmile (start writing again omgyouuuuaskdjsd)
//04//
Jinyoung wakes up to find Jaebum by his bed, cardigan hanging loose around his shoulders. The elder is fast asleep, taking deep breaths as his back rises and falls. Jinyoung tries to breathe as well, expanding and collapsing his ribcage, but it hurts. He’s not rising nor falling, simply motionless, stuck in time. He’s removing his blanket off himself when Jaebum stirs, eyes slowly opening to look up at him. Memories flood his head and Jinyoung’s frozen again.
“Jaebum-ah.” Jinyoung starts, throat dry and voice weak.
“Hmm,” the other hums.
“It’s only the first step that hurts.”
Jaebum isn’t sure if he wants to pull Jinyoung onto safe ground or if he wants to jump off with him together. There’s too many storm clouds around his heart and he wants to crack a smile and say, “You jump, I jump, remember?”
But he doesn’t.
Because he remembers that Jinyoung’s been holding onto the edge of this cliff for far too long, hands slipping off the brink. Remembers that if he lets go, they’d be flying without shackles just to break into nothing upon the ground below. And Jinyoung doesn’t need any more breaking. Jinyoung finds comfort in himself, but he’s holding knives at both their throats.
“But you’re walking down the wrong road,” Jaebum whispers, voice soft and sonorous. It’s almost ballad-esque but Jaebum feels horrible. There are demons eating at his heart and he hates himself because he knows that if the other wanted to walk to the ends of the earth, he’d let him. They’d be falling off the edge together, hand in hand. Hates himself because he knows Jackson’s not pushing him off at all-he’s pulling him away.
Jinyoung doesn’t respond and Jaebum pulls him in for an embrace, blanket and all. “Don’t do this,” he mumbles into the other’s ear. “Promise me.” He’s holding Jinyoung too tight, crushing ribs and deflating lungs. Jinyoung never gives him his promise and Jaebum lets him go.
He’s back to writing manuscripts and Jinyoung’s still typing up contracts. Jinyoung makes more sales now, and they finally live off something other than instant noodles. There’s food on the table and they’re finally not three months late on rent. It’s horrible-horrible-and Jaebum feels so fucking useless. Jinyoung doesn’t come home on certain nights and all Jaebum intakes are coffee and sleeping pills. He can’t stay awake; he can’t fall asleep. He’s a fucking mess and the food he cooks ends up in the trash. Everything’s filthy and he’s wants to throw everything in chlorine.
He’s loving in all the wrong ways, accepting for all the wrong things.
Mark finds Jinyoung three and a half weeks later, and it’s almost déjà vu. Tie undone and hair tousled, he fends off the guy who’s been placing his hand on the younger male’s thigh for the fifth time. Grabbing contracts and briefcases, Mark pulls Jinyoung out of the pub. He’s carrying Jinyoung up the same step of stairs, wooden floorboards creaking on the third and seventh step. Jackson opens the door again and Mark throws him the same sheepish smile. “Jia Er,” He says in accented mandarin.
They settle Jinyoung onto Mark’s bed, lamp light flickering its way on the younger’s facial features. The dark circles under his eyes accentuate alongside the hollows of his cheeks. Jackson can’t help but think that the other looks like he’s dying-perishing. Midnight wind howling, Mark pulls Jackson away, settling next door. He’s in Jackson’s bed again, snuggled under thick blankets as air seeped in through the cracks of the windowsill.
“Wang Jia Er.”
“Duan Yi En,” Jackson replies in equally accented Chinese.
“He wasn’t like this back then, you know.” Mark says while burying himself further in the blanket.
“I thought he didn’t know you before.”
“But I said I knew him,” Mark replied, habitual pout forming on his face.
Jackson laughs and pulls on his side of the blankets, “Still a bit too stalkerish.”
Mark rolled his eyes and nudged Jackson on his side, “We talked once.” Jackson hums in turn and Mark continues, “When I was going to give up on everything, I met him.” The sides of his lips upturn and Jackson thinks that his eyes looked too much like stars. “He told me that dreams are butterflies. That you’d have to be the one to catch them even if they fly away. That even after you catch them, it’s your duty to keep them alive.”
Jackson turns into the crook of Mark’s neck and speaks, breath spilling on Mark’s skin. “So is he your knight in shining armour?” Mark smiles and twirls his fingers under the blankets, “Bai ma wang zi? Wo xiang bai xue gong zhu ma?” (Prince Charming? Do I look like Snow White to you?) Jackson nods and cracks a grin, “Just dye your hair back to black.” He lets out a yelp as Mark pinches at his sides.
There are giggles and shouts, muffled screams and hushed whispers; walls too thin to give anyone privacy. And so Jinyoung wakes up to small voices, talking of dreams and butterflies. He remembers now, and it finally clicks why he deems Marks eyes so familiar. The first time he’d seen them, they were so void-so devastated. But now void has settled in his eyes instead, Mark’s eyes simply too bright to look at.
Jinyoung thinks he’s murdered his butterflies.
Tattered wings and broken legs.
A/N: Haven't written for this fic in a while, but hey~ I remembered to pick it up. College has been busy and time management is really not my forte but here's an update~ Thanks everyone for the comments they left and you guys are all so sweet~~~~ You guys make my day. 하트 뽕~~~
Pairing: Mark/Jinyoung (Slight Mark/Jackson, Jaebum/Jinyoung)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: N/A
Synopsis: When Jinyoung is dead drunk one night, Mark takes it in his kind character to lug the 'stranger' home. For lonely nights and nostalgic mornings, this is a story of forgotten childhoods, surreal neverlands, white lies, black truths and of withered dreams.
A/N: Beta-ed by the ever so wonderful neutralsmile (start writing again omgyouuuuaskdjsd)
//04//
Jinyoung wakes up to find Jaebum by his bed, cardigan hanging loose around his shoulders. The elder is fast asleep, taking deep breaths as his back rises and falls. Jinyoung tries to breathe as well, expanding and collapsing his ribcage, but it hurts. He’s not rising nor falling, simply motionless, stuck in time. He’s removing his blanket off himself when Jaebum stirs, eyes slowly opening to look up at him. Memories flood his head and Jinyoung’s frozen again.
“Jaebum-ah.” Jinyoung starts, throat dry and voice weak.
“Hmm,” the other hums.
“It’s only the first step that hurts.”
Jaebum isn’t sure if he wants to pull Jinyoung onto safe ground or if he wants to jump off with him together. There’s too many storm clouds around his heart and he wants to crack a smile and say, “You jump, I jump, remember?”
But he doesn’t.
Because he remembers that Jinyoung’s been holding onto the edge of this cliff for far too long, hands slipping off the brink. Remembers that if he lets go, they’d be flying without shackles just to break into nothing upon the ground below. And Jinyoung doesn’t need any more breaking. Jinyoung finds comfort in himself, but he’s holding knives at both their throats.
“But you’re walking down the wrong road,” Jaebum whispers, voice soft and sonorous. It’s almost ballad-esque but Jaebum feels horrible. There are demons eating at his heart and he hates himself because he knows that if the other wanted to walk to the ends of the earth, he’d let him. They’d be falling off the edge together, hand in hand. Hates himself because he knows Jackson’s not pushing him off at all-he’s pulling him away.
Jinyoung doesn’t respond and Jaebum pulls him in for an embrace, blanket and all. “Don’t do this,” he mumbles into the other’s ear. “Promise me.” He’s holding Jinyoung too tight, crushing ribs and deflating lungs. Jinyoung never gives him his promise and Jaebum lets him go.
He’s back to writing manuscripts and Jinyoung’s still typing up contracts. Jinyoung makes more sales now, and they finally live off something other than instant noodles. There’s food on the table and they’re finally not three months late on rent. It’s horrible-horrible-and Jaebum feels so fucking useless. Jinyoung doesn’t come home on certain nights and all Jaebum intakes are coffee and sleeping pills. He can’t stay awake; he can’t fall asleep. He’s a fucking mess and the food he cooks ends up in the trash. Everything’s filthy and he’s wants to throw everything in chlorine.
He’s loving in all the wrong ways, accepting for all the wrong things.
Mark finds Jinyoung three and a half weeks later, and it’s almost déjà vu. Tie undone and hair tousled, he fends off the guy who’s been placing his hand on the younger male’s thigh for the fifth time. Grabbing contracts and briefcases, Mark pulls Jinyoung out of the pub. He’s carrying Jinyoung up the same step of stairs, wooden floorboards creaking on the third and seventh step. Jackson opens the door again and Mark throws him the same sheepish smile. “Jia Er,” He says in accented mandarin.
They settle Jinyoung onto Mark’s bed, lamp light flickering its way on the younger’s facial features. The dark circles under his eyes accentuate alongside the hollows of his cheeks. Jackson can’t help but think that the other looks like he’s dying-perishing. Midnight wind howling, Mark pulls Jackson away, settling next door. He’s in Jackson’s bed again, snuggled under thick blankets as air seeped in through the cracks of the windowsill.
“Wang Jia Er.”
“Duan Yi En,” Jackson replies in equally accented Chinese.
“He wasn’t like this back then, you know.” Mark says while burying himself further in the blanket.
“I thought he didn’t know you before.”
“But I said I knew him,” Mark replied, habitual pout forming on his face.
Jackson laughs and pulls on his side of the blankets, “Still a bit too stalkerish.”
Mark rolled his eyes and nudged Jackson on his side, “We talked once.” Jackson hums in turn and Mark continues, “When I was going to give up on everything, I met him.” The sides of his lips upturn and Jackson thinks that his eyes looked too much like stars. “He told me that dreams are butterflies. That you’d have to be the one to catch them even if they fly away. That even after you catch them, it’s your duty to keep them alive.”
Jackson turns into the crook of Mark’s neck and speaks, breath spilling on Mark’s skin. “So is he your knight in shining armour?” Mark smiles and twirls his fingers under the blankets, “Bai ma wang zi? Wo xiang bai xue gong zhu ma?” (Prince Charming? Do I look like Snow White to you?) Jackson nods and cracks a grin, “Just dye your hair back to black.” He lets out a yelp as Mark pinches at his sides.
There are giggles and shouts, muffled screams and hushed whispers; walls too thin to give anyone privacy. And so Jinyoung wakes up to small voices, talking of dreams and butterflies. He remembers now, and it finally clicks why he deems Marks eyes so familiar. The first time he’d seen them, they were so void-so devastated. But now void has settled in his eyes instead, Mark’s eyes simply too bright to look at.
Jinyoung thinks he’s murdered his butterflies.
Tattered wings and broken legs.
A/N: Haven't written for this fic in a while, but hey~ I remembered to pick it up. College has been busy and time management is really not my forte but here's an update~ Thanks everyone for the comments they left and you guys are all so sweet~~~~ You guys make my day. 하트 뽕~~~