[Oneshot] you are the canvas of my heart
Title: you’re the canvas of my heart
Pairing(s): Jaebum/Jinyoung
Rating: PG-13
Synopsis: “I love you I love you I love you I love you,” Jinyoung writes, etching each stroke of the characters onto Jaebum’s back.
A/N: Remix of lahdeedah000's Inked, which was based on a twitter convo between me and my friend. So I say we are the two part perspectives on how Jaebum and Jinyoung become each other's canvas. Unbeta-ed.
It’s snowing when Jaebum steps out from the studio, harsh winds cutting flakes of ice into his skin. The cold envelopes him, seeping through the crevices of his clothes to grasp onto him. On other days he would probably care a bit more--but, not today. And against the onslaught of snow, Jaebum makes his way home. White covers him by the time he does make it home, small particles floating off with every subtle movement he makes. Turning the key, he pushes open the door.
“I’m home,” he says quietly.
Home--is a stark difference from outside, warmer and there are no harsh winds to cut into his skin, no ice to pierce into his venules. “Rough day?” Jinyoung says as he gets up from the couch, setting his book to the side. Jaebum shrugs, more snow falling upon their wooden floors. He wonders if his frustrations were really that apparent--or whether it was just that he’s always an open book to Jinyoung. He looks up at the younger male as the other walks closer, arms opening for an embrace that Jaebum willingly walks into.
Jinyoung doesn’t question him, only giving him silent comfort in the way that he needs the most. Sighing, Jaebum buries his face into the crook of the younger’s neck--inhaling the soft smell of Jinyoung’s cologne. It takes a while before they let go, allowing Jaebum to release the tensions clouding his brain; allowing Jinyoung to give his warmth to the older male.
Jaebum isn’t like Jinyoung--he doesn’t need to endless coaxing and reassurance. He doesn't let his thoughts consume him the way Jinyoung allows his insecurities to gnaw away at his heart from within. No, he isn't like that--Jaebum falls into anxieties and worries as if it were a maze while Jinyoung falls into an empty pit too deep for him to crawl out of. He wears an armor above his scars and wounds--refusing to showcase his vulnerabilities. Jinyoung needs someone to pull him out, Jaebum just needs to walk his way out. The most Jaebum needs is someone to be by his side, walking in synchronized steps through the labyrinth.
Dinner is accompanied with a buzzing silence, a subtle ringing in their ears as the walls rebound the small sounds of cutlery on porcelain dishes. It’s Jaebum who breaks this silence first, speaking just as Jinyoung stands up to ladle the soup into their bowls.
“You’re a keeper, you know that?”
“Of course I do.” A small smile tugging at his lips as he resumes his task, pouring another ladle of soup into his own bowl. The steam from the liquid fogs up his reading glasses--and he’s thankful that the condensation upon the glass lenses help to cover the tears welling in his eyes. It’s ridiculous he thinks, tearing up and smiling at the same time--Jaebum laughs and his smile only gets brighter.
“So,” he starts when he sits back down, dipping his spoon into the soup.
“It’s...nothing really, The usual.” A pause as Jaebum turns to look down, “You know how it goes.” But in all honestly, Jinyoung really doesn’t. He doesn’t voice it though.
When Jinyoung steps into the bedroom, Jaebum isn’t there--a frown forming on his face as he steps closer to the open balcony. Jaebum is there, dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweats, thin fabric letting in the cold winter air. He’s fumbling with his lighter, fingers frozen stiff as the cold settles in his joints. For a mere moment, Jinyoung thinks of the times when they first moved in together--waking up at midnight to see Jaebum’s backside on the patio, wisps of smoke escaping the other’s lips with every exhale. The times where he would stay up waiting for Jaebum to come home drunk at three in the morning--when they were still breaking barriers and fences to each other’s hearts.
He pulls the patio door open, the smell of nicotine invading his senses, “Yah, Im Jaebum!” He yells. “What are you doing? Are you trying to get frostbite?!” He continues, pulling the other male into the room.
“I don’t like to smoke inside,” is his answer after a round of lecturing. Jinyoung pauses, clenching his fist. That’s right, he remembers--Jaebum never smokes inside the house when he’s here.
“I’d rather you not smoke at all, but if you have to, I prefer you died from lung cancer later, not hypothermia now.” There’s worry in his voice, and Jaebum turns to pull them closer to each other. “I won’t leave you,” the older male replies--because he knows that the only one that deserves to be abandoned is himself--never Jinyoung.
“We’ve been over this, you’re stuck with me forever. If you tried to leave I’d drag you back anyways,” Jinyoung says with a smile, as Jaebum closes his eyes to rest his chin on the younger’s shoulder. ‘Forever’, he’s more than content with that. And as the night falls, stars adorning the obsidian sky, Jinyoung hums a soft tune--the same notes that Jaebum has wrote on his skin two days before. They’re faded now, as are the poems he wrote on Jaebum’s thigh.
“You’re bumping into me!” Jinyoung says, frowning at the ablong stroke of his “e” on Jaebum’s inner thigh. “I’m left handed!” Jaebum retorts, continuing to draw melodies on Jinyoung’s arm. The radio is turned on, playing softly in the background as they both compose on each other’s skin.
Jinyoung doesn’t exactly remember when being canvases for each other’s thoughts became a habitual part of their relationship. But it was more than once that Jaebum woke up to the soft strokes of Jinyoung’s brush upon his chest. “What are you doing?” He had asked the first time, voice rough with sleep. “Painting,” Jinyoung responded.
“Painting what?”
“Flowers.” He had said before planting another rose on the love bites he left the night before, an array of floral adorning red and purple.
Jaebum writes music notes on him one night, whilst drunk and it takes a long time for Jinyoung to decode the messy lines and shaky notes. But he scribes it down after he does figure it out, slipping the piece of paper within the novel he was reading. He forgets about it for a while until one night he sits alone in the living room--Jaebum is in their bedroom, sitting in the aftermath of his temper, glass shards strewn across the carpeted floor. Jinyoung pulls the small piece of paper from the book, reaching over to the guitar beside him. He doesn’t play, but he recognizes chords and notes that Jaebum has taught him before. Inhaling, he places his fingers on the metal strings, making his way through the melody--notes stumbling in broken rhythm. He finally stops when he hears the sound of Jaebum crying, and he too, lets the tears fall from his eyes.
“They said it didn’t fit the album’s concept.” Jaebum says, tightening his hold on Jinyoung so the younger couldn’t look back. And Jinyoung doesn’t, as much as he wants to, because he knows that this is the only way Jaebum wants it to be. He knows that the other is taking it upon himself for things that they can’t control. “I’m sorry,” Jaebum says softly and something in Jinyoung’s chest aches--there’s nothing to be sorry for. He wants to tell Jaebum that a family is two--and the responsibilities of everyday life should be held by both of them. It’s hard to let your dreams become your work, but it’s even harder to let work undermine your passions. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he says back.
“I love you I love you I love you I love you,”Jinyoung writes, etching each stroke of the characters onto Jaebum’s back. He continues to repeat the same words across his shoulders and arm, the character for love (愛 ) getting bolder and bolder as he writes on. Jaebum smiles as he traces the freshly dried ink. “How eloquent,” he teases, smile growing bigger. Jinyoung continues to write, characters trailing onto his palm.
“Shut up, don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you, poetic use of repetition, right?” Jaebum jokes, but deep inside he knows that Jinyoung is reciprocating the very words that Jaebum writes into his journal.
They keep clashing, rough edges breaking one another. This time it’s Jinyoung who slams the door behind him, leaving Jaebum behind in the empty apartment. Jaebum sighs, rubbing at his face harshly, trying to hold the tears that threaten to fall. The stinging in his eyes burn his vision, regret settling into his veins. “I didn’t mean it,” he mutters, softly tears blurring the world in front of him. He never means it, but words always seem to come out of him in harsh ways--where raw emotion covers all logic.
He looks at the closed door, as if the empty walls were mocking him--caving in to suffocate him, reminding him that Jinyoung is gone. And whether he’ll come back is unknown to Jaebum--because he can’t imagine anyone ever coming back for someone like himself--selfish and implosive. He knows that he doesn’t deserve Jinyoung--doesn’t deserve anything good when all he’s done is never good enough--but there’s a part of him that wants. He wants to--desires so badly--to keep Jinyoung to himself.
Jaebum wonders if this is the end of their road together, where Jinyoung finally sees it through and realizes that Jaebum isn’t worth it--not worth it for all the heartbreaks and turmoils that leaves them with scarred hearts and fragmented love. That there’s no use in putting together broken shards just to have it thrown onto the floor again. Lighting a cigarette in the dim room, Jaebum inhales the toxins--smoke warming his throat and drowning into his lungs. He exhales, trying to grasp the waves of grey that roll out. The vapors dissipating in his grip--and Jaebum thinks about Jinyoung. (But when is he not?) He thinks about how the harder he tries to hold on, the farther Jinyoung seems to walk away. You can’t confine the heart that wishes to be free.
Jaebum doesn’t exactly know whether it’s the smoke or the tears that cause the burn in his eyes--maybe it’s both, maybe it’s neither--and he reclines back onto the couch, closing his bloodshot eyes as the cigarette continues to burn in his hand, ashes falling onto the floor. “Am I really not worth someone’s love?” He whispers shakily to no one in the empty apartment. He chuckles, soft laughter turning into cries as the tears finally fall--scalding as they run down his cheek. He doesn’t need to hear the answer in his heart.
“I love you. I love you. I love you,” Jaebum reads aloud, pausing after each sentence to place a small kiss on a different part of Jinyoung’s face--from his forehead, to eyelids, to cheeks, to lips. He looks into the dark embers in Jinyoung’s eyes, pulling them closer to rest his forehead on the other’s. “I’ll never tire of reading it, or saying it.”
“Then you should know I’ll never tire of you, either.”
Jinyoung comes home two days later to the scent that Jaebum surrounds himself in--alcohol and nicotine. It’s two forty-six in the morning and the broken glasses and vase are still on the floor, harsh words echoing in his ears. Stepping aside the mess on the floor, he makes his way to the bedroom, pushing open the unlocked door--
--It’s a mess.
The sight lodges the air in Jinyoung’s throat, slowly suffocating him--he can’t breathe. The moonlight from the window illuminates the strewn of photos around the room, the broken guitar beside the dresser, the empty beer cans thrown precariously across the floor. Jaebum is asleep on the bed, curled up in a huddle--looking so desolate and vulnerable in ways that Jinyoung has never seen him before.
It seems like an eternity--time frozen over in ice--before Jinyoung reaches Jaebum, crouching down to his eye level. Hands trembling (from what?Jinyoung isn’t even sure himself) he reaches out to caress Jaebum’s face. The moonlight casts lonely shadows upon the older male, and even in the dim room, Jinyoung can see the dried tears lingering on Jaebum’s cheeks--sees the way that even in his sleep, Jaebum is frowning. And when the raven haired male lets out a small “don’t go,” a muddled feeling overtakes Jinyoung’s chest--as if an invisible hand is clasped around his heart, asphyxiating his soul.
There’s an opened notebook by Jaebum’s hand, messy handwriting scrawled across the pages. The night wind flutters the pages, and the kohl words seem to burn into Jinyoung’s soul. “I miss him, I miss him, I miss him,” it reads over and over. A warm sting falling over his eyes, as he picks up the book, flipping through the pages.
“I think I’m in love. He seems so utterly perfect, in ways that I’ll never be able to reach up to. I know I’m not up to par--no where close--but I want to try. I want to pursue what my heart desires.”
“He said ‘yes’. Maybe I’m dreaming--but if it is, I don’t think I want to awaken.”
Jinyoung traces the words with his fingers, feeling the subtle engravings and indentations in place where Jaebum pressed the pen too hard--lingering at the places where the ink gathered, where Jaebum placed the pen on the paper and didn’t know how to continue.
It’s when he flips to the entry two days ago that he can no longer hold in his tears, ink running as they hit the paper. “He left today. I don’t think he’s going to come back. I guess I don’t deserve love after all.” Shoulders trembling, the pain in his chest is too much to bear and Jinyoung loses control over his breathing, oxygen escaping his lungs, throat sore from trying to contain in his sobs.
“Don’t cry,” a small voice whispers and Jinyoung looks up to see Jaebum looking back at him--noir eyes reflecting the pallid light of the moon. Jinyoung thinks they’re akin to the stars that light up the night sky. “I’m back,” Jinyoung announces, voice breaking when he sees the shock that flashes through Jaebum’s face--as if he really thought Jinyoung would’ve left forever, that Jaebum truly wasn’t good enough for him to come back.
This time it’s Jaebum who’s crying, frame trembling as Jinyoung pulls him into an embrace, softly patting the older male’s back. “It’s okay,” Jinyoung says with a content sigh--air finally making its way back to his chest cavity--”I’m here to stay.” And all that Jaebum does is tighten his arms around the younger, as if trying to mould himself into Jinyoung--letting their hearts resonate through skin and bones.
Sometimes it hits Jinyoung with surprise--at the strangest times of the day-when he looks around at their apartment and remembers the turmoils of trial and error when they had just moved in together. He thinks about Jaebum who now comes home in time everyday for dinner, who went from smoking half a pack of cigarettes a day to an occasional one or two a week, thinks about all the groceries in their fridge that used to only hold alcohol. As he sits by himself in the living room sofa, he can still pick out the scars--the crack in the flower vase, the scrapes on the floor, the torn photos that they had spent time taping everything back together. But it’s okay, he thinks, they’re all mended. The walls are filled with their memories, countless photos of them together--all captioned with dates and messages. There’s an occasional post-it memo of messages they’ve been meaning to tell each other. “ I’m happy you’re here with me,” one of them reads (in Jaebum’s messy handwriting) and written underneath in a lilac marker is Jinyoung’s reply of “ You’re worth it.” His poems are scattered all across the apartment, Jaebum writes each and every one of them down so that he can remember them even after the ink on his skin fades. Jinyoung thinks, this is the feeling of a home.
Picking up the guitar beside the couch, he glances at the freshly written compositions on his inner arm before playing the chords and notes. The apartment, drenched in golden sunlight, is filled with the soft songs of their love. And when Jaebum steps into the apartment, freshly fallen snow glistening in his obsidian hair, he hums along to the melody. Home. As they say, is truly where the heart is.