Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep (1/2)
Title: Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep (part 1)
Lenght: one-shot
Characters: Kai, Sehun, Chen, Suho, Kris, Kyungsoo, mentions of Xiumin (EXO); Taemin (SHINee)
Pairings: Kai/Taemin
AU: dreamweavers
Rating: pg
Word count: 7.445
Genre: supernatural, fluff, slight angst?
Warnings/notes: for estivaate in the context of the Pretty Boys fic exchange at kaitaem. Original post can be found here.
Summary: Jongin is good at what he does, he’s in control -but all it takes is the smile of a stranger to put his world upside down. He hadn’t expected love to be just one dream away.
“If it is of any help, it’s not a bad place to be stuck. Here, with you.”
__________________________________________
This is what I brought you, this, you can keep;
This is what I brought, you may forget me.
I promised you my heart, just promise to sing,
Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep.
-AFI
In all his years of Weaving -and he would be lying if he said he can count them, because, certainly, he couldn’t even if he tried-, Jongin has seen some pretty interesting Spheres. In fact, he has seen every single kind of Sphere there is. The calm ones, the murky ones, the creepy ones. Peaceful oceans and rabid whirlpools, vast expanses of nothing and crowded rooms, and one never resembles the previous one. They are all different, carved by factors Jongin has never experienced and, he knows, he will never get to experience.
It’s a wicked world, Dreamscape.
But even though he has seen a lot of things, a Sphere that was already occupied by the time he got there was something he had never witnessed. For a fact, it was something he didn’t even believe possible.
But there he is, standing right on the edge, and before him, an empty dance studio. The music is loud, but it doesn’t reach him. He can hear it from afar, even though he can’t be more than five feet away from the stereo, and when he tries to will the volume to rise, nothing happens. He tries again, hand going to point at it for intent, but he gets no response from the device.
This is his Sphere for the night, he is completely sure. But apparently, he has no control over it.
Indecisive of what to do, he looks around, trying to find the source of the Sphere’s current appearance. He doesn’t see anything out of place -a perfectly weaved dream, except empty. Static.
That’s when the door opens, and someone comes in. Jongin is half hidden from his view, in the shadows, and the boy doesn’t notice him when he scans the room, a tiny frown wrinkling the smoothness of his forehead. He looks like he’s trying to find what’s off, but seemingly, he doesn’t come to any conclusion, as he shrugs and walks to the row of red lockers that cover the wall on his right, quickly getting rid of his sweatshirt, crumpling it into a ball and pushing it into one of the cabinets.
He turns around and his eyes fix on the stereo, and Jongin instinctively steps backwards, lurking further into the shadows. He shouldn’t be able to see him at all, but then again, he should be the one making all of this happen. And, most definitely, he isn’t the creator of this dream.
The boy decides there’s nothing wrong with the sound equipment, and he strides to the center of the room, taking a deep breath before raising his arms above his head, back straightening and feet steadying on the floor.
When he starts dancing, Jongin finds himself staring in awe, because another thing he had never seen is a grace like this. The boy floats more than slides on the wooden floor, sharp and smooth, swift and slow. It seems like it doesn’t take him any effort, his eyes closed peacefully, head tilted slightly backwards. He doesn’t seem to be following the music -he looks like he’s part of it. One moment he was a boy like any other, and the next he was the music, and the music was him. And Jongin doesn’t know what to do.
Something like this has no precedents, but he is a spectator of a play he should be directing. He should be waving the baton; not clapping on the first row. And he should probably go back to Dreamscape, inform of the situation, but his eyes are fixed on the boy’s lithe body, flexing at just the right angle with impossible precision. It sure can wait until this song ends, can’t it? That is, if it ever ends. In the Spheres, one can never know.
A string of tight jerks and shifts rips a quiet gasp from his lips, one that should not have been heard under any circumstances. Yet, the rules of Earth and Dreamscape rarely ever extend to the Spheres, and the boy stops mid-turn, eyes fixed on Jongin’s. And he suddenly realizes he’s been staring like a creeper, in the shadows.
The boy straightens, going back from flowing rhythm to human being, and his eyes narrow just slightly. “I didn’t see you there,” he says, voice almost -almost- as smooth as his moves. Jongin is tempted to reply with a that was the plan, but he doesn’t think his own voice will work properly, so he just gives a little shrug. “Were you here to use the room?” the boy continues, even though they both look at Jongin’s dress pants and button-down shirt, much too formal to fit in a dance studio. Jongin shakes his head. “Can you speak?”
Jongin blinks, and he realizes that, yeah, he probably looks like a retard, shoulders crouched down and hands fidgeting with the beaded bracelet on his left wrist, using gestures to communicate when he could be speaking perfectly correct Korean. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice sounds a little hoarse, but it doesn’t falter. “Yeah, I’m- uh.”
He can’t find a valid reason as of why would he be watching a stranger dance in a studio he had never been at, but the boy easies it for him: “Did you forget something?” His thumb points at the lockers behind him.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he agrees. “I forgot my bag. Earlier.” He wishes he had at least some control over the Sphere, so that he could materialize a duffel bag in one of the lockers and get it, the perfect excuse to run the heck out of there and back to a safe place. A place where strikingly good-looking human dancers aren’t looking at him with a funny expression, torn between bewildered and entertained.
Jongin walks out of the shadows, because now that he’s been discovered, it would be odd for him to just stay there for no reason. The boy meets him halfway, hand stretched out before him expectantly, Jongin’s meeting with his in a boyish handshake. “I’m Lee Taemin,” he says, a polite smile spreading on full lips.
“Kim Jongin,” replies Jongin with a matching grin. As opposed to expected, he feels relaxed.
“Are you a dancer, too?” The boy’s -Taemin’s- hands go to the pockets of his grey sweatpants. He looks relaxed, too.
“Something like that,” Jongin replies. At least, now he isn’t lying. “It’s kind of my hobby.”
Taemin nods. “Ah,” he responds. “I see.”
“You’re a good dancer,” Jongin lets out before he can stop himself, and he has to refrain from wincing.
The other boy’s grin widens, and Jongin decides it was worth it. His smile is really pretty, and it makes his eyes surround with tiny wrinkles. It’s rather cute. “Thank you,” he says. Jongin can tell that he really means it. “I’d like to comment on your skills, but I haven’t had the privilege to see them. I would invite you to share the studio, but your clothes are telling me you probably have to go?”
Jongin is at a crossroads, because saying he does have to go would imply getting a non-existing bag from a locker he doesn’t know the combination to, but he shouldn’t even be talking to this boy, much less should he dance with him.
In the end, he decides that when Taemin wakes up, he probably won’t remember any of this, so he jumps head first into this insanity.
“I’m free,” he says, and he doesn’t feel one bit of regret.
As they dance the night away, an everlasting sunset tints the studio orange, and, although Taemin doesn’t notice, Jongin knows that the beat that entices their bodies into oblivion is the exact same that fused with Taemin’s soul when Jongin thought he was invisible. It was an endless song, after all.
***
Sehun looks displeased.
“What?” Jongin questions, because really, he didn’t break that many rules.
“You can’t interact with the human, Jongin.” Sehun’s arms fold over his chest, and that constant wrinkle right in between his eyebrows enhances with his grimace.
“But what was I supposed to do?” Jongin’s butt lands on the white leather couch with the soft puff of the cushioned seat deflating, arms waving up into the air. “He saw me, what was I gonna do?”
The look on Sehun’s face goes from vexed to incredulous, and even a little annoyed. Not like he ever looks any different. “Um, inform it to the Wardens? It was a dream, Jongin. He would have woken up and thought ‘huh, that was strange’, and that would have been it. And it’s not like he’s going to ever see you again anyway.”
Jongin has to admit, that doesn’t sound all very happy; but he lets that thought go. “I guess you’re right,” he concedes. “It just didn’t seem right, because I didn’t know what was going on. I still don’t.”
“Maybe you could,” says Sehun, sitting down next to Jongin, feet up on the matching coffee table, white shoes fading out into the background. “If you told the Wardens now.”
“I’d get suspended!”
“I know. That’s why you’ll never find out.” Sehun shrugs, and Jongin could hit him with that flowerpot. It’s close to him -he’d only have to stretch his arm. He kind of wants to, in all honesty.
“You are a terrible friend,” states Jongin.
Sehun shrugs again, not bothered in the slightest. “I’m the best one you have.”
What angers Jongin the most, is the fact that Sehun is right.
***
If anyone ever asks, Jongin will say that the reason he came back to Taemin’s Sphere the next night was to try to find out what had happened when he first got there; and no one will ever know that, actually, he hadn’t been able to get the human out of his mind all day.
This time, seeing the place set up already doesn’t shock him. He does, however, look around, because this is not his shift and if the Sphere is open at all, then that means someone should be weaving this dream. Just not Jongin. Under general circumstances, he should be able to tell if there is another Weaver in the Sphere, and the lack of one -Jongin isn’t proud to admit ̶ is to him more calming than unnerving.
This time, he’s looking at a stage, and when he steps into the Sphere, he lands in the middle of a pre-concert riot. Ladies with sparkly costumes hanging from pegs on their hands; others with handfuls of brushes and cosmetic products Jongin could never learn the name to; a dude with a clipboard, big eyes and a severe expression, pointing at people with his index and yelling when someone doesn’t react quickly enough.
Jongin hasn’t stood there for sixty seconds when a number of stylists approach him, swiftly ridding him from his plain white shirt and replacing it with one with ruffles on the front and -why on earth does he need a bowtie? He’s grabbing the waist of his black dress pants when he realizes those are luckily staying on (not like he would willingly let that change), and someone is padding a beige powder onto his face and smearing black kohl around his eyes, and he is sure all of this has happened in less than two minutes and he is starting to regret coming here, because last night, when all there was were a stereo and a dance partner, not being in control didn’t seem that bad.
But then Taemin appears in the middle of the crowd, trotting to him, and that glittery turquoise jacket is hideous but his smile is blinding, and his bleached hair is bouncing behind him and Jongin forgets the stylists and the lack of control, and the bristles of the brush poke his eyeball. He blinks and his hand goes to cover the stinging eye as the lady apologizes, but he doesn’t hear it because Taemin is chuckling and that’s the most alluring thing Jongin has ever heard.
“You’re here!” greets Taemin, voice two octaves higher than usual because he’s so excited it’s almost visible, like a twinkling aura around him. “I couldn’t find you, I should have guessed they were all up on you.” Jongin blinks again, and the lady leaves them with the final poke of a sponge on his nose. “We’re going on the stage in two minutes,” he informs, fingers forming a ‘v’ before hugging him tightly -Jongin manages to pat his back; the jacket feels as weird as it looks- and sprinting back in the direction he came from.
At some point, the guy he had seen holding the clipboard pushes Jongin out of the safeness of the backstage, and he’s facing a cheering crowd that’s holding signs with both Taemin’s name and his own.
Taemin goes past behind him, nudging him on the waist, and the music starts blasting and Jongin is sure he didn’t know these lyrics before, but he’s rapping to them by heart. ‘Cause I do it, I do it, I do it for you, I won’t pretend to be innocent like a puppet. And, even if he didn’t remember these dance steps from the previous night, he is convinced he would know them anyway as well.
Dreamscape is a wicked world indeed.
Jongin stays a little behind, he doesn’t try to catch the spotlight; because this is Taemin dream, and seeing him so absorbed in it is enough for Jongin. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here -he was only planning to watch-, but whatever the reason, he’s thankful Taemin lets him share it with him.
***
Jongin has always been a good Weaver. And, what’s more important here, a quick one. Some have to watch over the dream until it’s over, making sure everything goes as planned. Jongin usually stays just because he has nothing better to do, but it’s not really a necessity: once the Threads have been entwined, he could exit the Sphere and let the dream unwind by itself, if he wanted to. He has just never had a reason.
Until now.
He has gotten used to taking only the first fraction of his shift to Weave, and then he leaves and goes back to his newfound happy place.
What he likes about being in Taemin’s Sphere is that it’s something completely new for him. He can’t know what he’s going to find, how things are going to develop. He can’t do anything about it. He figures this is how humans feel on a daily basis, and he can’t help to find it exciting when he’s spent so many years doing the exact same thing over and over.
He recognizes it’s dangerous. He knows he’s doing the opposite of what he should do -which is leaving Taemin’s Sphere until he gets it assigned again, which may not happen at all. There are so many humans to work with…
Out of all the things he shouldn’t have done, talking to Taemin is the first one, but revealing his nature to him is a close second. The problem is Jongin can’t lie. It’s not just that he doesn’t want to; he’s also very bad at it. He tried once, and Sehun found out as soon as the words left his mouth, and he never attempted again. Therefore, it’s only natural that, when Taemin gets curious about why he’s been a constant in his dreams lately, Jongin can’t do anything but spill the truth.
His reaction isn’t quite what Jongin had expected, but a lot more calm, good-natured. He doesn’t find it strange or laughs at Jongin, and he tries not to think that this might only make sense here and now, and when he wakes up, Taemin might think differently. He hopes it doesn’t affect him, but at the same time, it would hurt his pride if it didn’t.
“Doesn’t it get boring? Doing the same thing every night?” Taemin’s feet dangle from the edge of the treehouse, hands set quietly on his lap. He stares before them at the boundless expanse of grass sprinkled with dandelions, a view that’s both appeasing and unnerving. The wooden construction is over ten meters high, between the branches of the biggest oak Jongin has ever seen. It’s the only tree around, and there’s no ladder connecting them to the floor. Jongin is tempted to push Taemin a little further inside the treehouse -he doesn’t like the way he’s leaning out, fingers gripping the wooden floor.
“I mean… you dance everyday when the night falls. Don’t you get tired of that?”
Taemin frowns. “No, I could never get tired of that.”
Jongin follows Taemin’s gaze, fixed on a random spot in the horizon. “It’s the same for me. Weaving is my reason to be, the same way dancing is yours.”
“But I chose to dance,” the blonde points out, and that little wrinkle forms on his forehead again. Jongin wants to smooth it away with his fingertip.
“I chose to dance, too. I didn’t choose Weaving, but it’s still what I do. What I’m best at.” His voice fades into a whisper. “My center.”
Taemin’s lips curve into a lopsided smile. “You Weave better than you dance? I would like to see that.”
“You were supposed to,” says Jongin, gaze dropping to his lap. “I don’t know why I can’t interfere with your dreams. I can be there -I can be here, but I can’t change anything. I’m just as stuck as you are.”
“If it is of any help,” tries Taemin, “it’s not a bad place to be stuck. Here, with you.” His knee nudges Jongin’s, and when he looks up, Taemin’s grin is big and sincere, the one he saw the first night, at the studio. If any, this one is even warmer. It must be, because that’s the only explanation for the rush of adrenaline that spirals in his stomach.
Jongin is aware that this is the point in which he should leave and never come back, but he’s far too caught up in it. What Taemin has added to his life is something he isn’t ready to give up.
They sit on the treehouse, thirty feet above the ground, where nothing and no one can reach them, until they hear a loud ringing in the distance and Taemin fades away, taking the treehouse and the warmth with him.
***
“Wait. Who? Who is Taemin?” Oops. “The fucking human? You know his name?” Sehun hisses at Jongin, face centimeters away from his, eyes wandering around the room, making sure no one else but him can hear. “Jongin, that is -that is insane! Not to mention so very, very against the rules. You know that you can’t-” He looks at Jongin and stops his speech halfway. Jongin’s leg bounces on the couch rapidly, the only movement of his otherwise still body. “…Jongin, please, for the love of Dreams, tell me that he doesn’t know. Tell me that he doesn’t know your name, or what you do, please just…” Jongin doesn’t have to say a word, because Sehun sees the answer in Jongin’s eyes. The boy’s head hits the table with a thump, and Jongin watches him silently. He hasn’t yet said a word in the matter, and Sehun is already about to flip off. “You are going to be the death of me, Kim Jongin. The death. You’ve gone back to his Sphere, haven’t you? You’ve been there more than once and you-”
“You don’t understand!” cuts him Jongin when he can’t stand it anymore. It’s not fair for Sehun to be judging him when he doesn’t know how things really go. “Sehun! He is… he’s everything, okay? I just-” Jongin doesn’t have words to explain it, but he has to try. “I knew it the second I stepped into his Sphere, okay? He’s different from other humans. He doesn’t care about the powers I have, he just likes me.”
Sehun is skeptical, and, of course, Jongin can’t blame him. He would be, too. The boy sighs, then stands up, fixes the lapels of his black suit, and turns away from him. “Just don’t expect me to cover for you again.” Sehun looks serious and determinate, but Jongin knows better. Ever since Jongin and him have been friends -meaning always-, Sehun has never let him down. “And please, Jongin, be careful.”
“Of course,” he concedes. “And Sehun?” He turns around to look at him, eyebrow raised. “Thanks.”
Jongin hadn’t seen the faint hit on the back of his head coming, but he does, however, hear the breathy idiot that Sehun mutters under his breath.
***
“You aren’t always there,” Jongin informs Taemin one night over the table.
The blonde takes his time to reply, chewing thoroughly on a bite of steak, fabric napkin folded neatly across his lap. He looks funny in a tuxedo, with his off-white hair side-parted and combed back. Not bad funny (in fact, he looks quite handsome, and Jongin has to make an effort not to choke on a baked potato), but it’s so different from his usual jeans and sweatpants and disheveled hair that it takes Jongin a while to get used to it.
When he’s done, he nods. “I know,” he says. A glass of wine goes to his lips in a hand with a ring on his index finger. He takes a sip and sets it back down. “I can’t sleep sometimes.”
Jongin frowns, confused. “What do you mean you can’t sleep? At all?” Taemin nods again. “Then how can I find your Sphere?”
Taemin shrugs, as if saying If you don’t know that, how could I? “Maybe because you know the route?”
“What do you mean?”
“You aren’t supposed to willingly go back to any… Sphere you’ve been in, right?”
“Yeah,” answers Jongin, and he pretends he didn’t blush the littlest bit. If he doesn’t acknowledge it, maybe Taemin won’t, either.
“And you had never broken the rules before?” Taemin’s question is polite, but Jongin thinks he sees a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
Jongin looks away. “I hadn’t.”
“So maybe you can find the route to any Sphere you’ve worked with, and you just don’t know it because you’d never tried before. Besides,” he continues, wine glass in his hand; he looks like some kind of past-century gentleman, “if you weren’t able to contact those Spheres, why would it even be forbidden in the first place?”
Jongin’s fork stops midair, inches away from his waiting mouth. He puts it back down. “That’s an impressively smart point.”
“I know,” smiles Taemin. Jongin smiles back.
“So why don’t you sleep every night?” questions Jongin, forgetting to swallow the bite before speaking, but Taemin doesn’t seem to mind.
“Insomnia,” answers Taemin with a sneer. “I was given sleeping pills, but they make me groggy for the day. I trip when dancing, lose my rhythm. I can’t have that.”
“You aren’t taking them?”
Taemin smirks. “I flushed them down the toilet.”
Jongin knows close to nothing about psychopharmacological drugs, but it doesn’t sound like Taemin should just disregard them. “Can’t you take a smaller dose or something like that?”
“A smaller dose doesn’t affect me,” he shrugs. “But I don’t mind the insomnia.” His fingers crush a piece of bread into crumbs. “You’re always there anyway.”
Jongin looks up. “What do you mean?” Taemin doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at Jongin. “Look,” he starts. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“What isn’t?” Taemin’s eyes meet his, and Jongin has to look away, or else he doesn’t think he’ll be able to say what he knows he has to say.
“I can’t -I shouldn’t come back. Anymore.”
Taemin frowns at him, confused and worried. Jongin only sees it on the side of his vision. “You don’t like me?”
“What?” As if. “No, of course I do. That’s why I think it’d be best if we didn’t-“
“Do you know what it is like?” Taemin cuts him. “The real world is fucked up. There’s bad people and bad things happen, and this is the only place where I can be fully myself.”
“I wouldn’t get your Sphere from you. Only I would disappear… other Weavers would still come and give you-“
“You don’t get it, Jongin.” Taemin laughs without humor. “It’s only with you. Before you, all I had was nightmares. I don’t know what you have done, but they disappeared the day you stepped into my Sphere.”
Jongin almost spills his wine on the white tablecloth. “Nightmares, you said?”
“Nightmares, I said,” confirms Taemin. Jongin looks around, but he sees nothing out of place. “What?” asks the blonde.
“Nothing,” replies Jongin. It’s technically not a lie, because he really can’t find anything.
“So, that’s what we’ve got,” continues Taemin, unknowing of the fact that only half of Jongin’s mind is with him. “I don’t want you to leave, so you only have to if you don’t want this anymore,” he says, small hands gesturing at the space between them. The rest of the restaurant is empty; the waiter, long gone.
“I want it,” says Jongin. Sometimes, he wishes he could lie; that would probably be best for Taemin.
The boy stands up, placing his napkin on the table, and Jongin mimics him. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says resolutely. His hand goes up to Jongin’s cheek in a faint caress that makes Jongin’s eyelids flutter, and as soon as it starts it’s over. Taemin fixes his bowtie, turns around and walks out of the restaurant, and as the door closes behind him, the lights fade into absolute darkness.
__________________________________________
a/n: post too large again blargh. proper a/n on part 2 :)
Lenght: one-shot
Characters: Kai, Sehun, Chen, Suho, Kris, Kyungsoo, mentions of Xiumin (EXO); Taemin (SHINee)
Pairings: Kai/Taemin
AU: dreamweavers
Rating: pg
Word count: 7.445
Genre: supernatural, fluff, slight angst?
Warnings/notes: for estivaate in the context of the Pretty Boys fic exchange at kaitaem. Original post can be found here.
Summary: Jongin is good at what he does, he’s in control -but all it takes is the smile of a stranger to put his world upside down. He hadn’t expected love to be just one dream away.
“If it is of any help, it’s not a bad place to be stuck. Here, with you.”
__________________________________________
This is what I brought you, this, you can keep;
This is what I brought, you may forget me.
I promised you my heart, just promise to sing,
Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep.
-AFI
In all his years of Weaving -and he would be lying if he said he can count them, because, certainly, he couldn’t even if he tried-, Jongin has seen some pretty interesting Spheres. In fact, he has seen every single kind of Sphere there is. The calm ones, the murky ones, the creepy ones. Peaceful oceans and rabid whirlpools, vast expanses of nothing and crowded rooms, and one never resembles the previous one. They are all different, carved by factors Jongin has never experienced and, he knows, he will never get to experience.
It’s a wicked world, Dreamscape.
But even though he has seen a lot of things, a Sphere that was already occupied by the time he got there was something he had never witnessed. For a fact, it was something he didn’t even believe possible.
But there he is, standing right on the edge, and before him, an empty dance studio. The music is loud, but it doesn’t reach him. He can hear it from afar, even though he can’t be more than five feet away from the stereo, and when he tries to will the volume to rise, nothing happens. He tries again, hand going to point at it for intent, but he gets no response from the device.
This is his Sphere for the night, he is completely sure. But apparently, he has no control over it.
Indecisive of what to do, he looks around, trying to find the source of the Sphere’s current appearance. He doesn’t see anything out of place -a perfectly weaved dream, except empty. Static.
That’s when the door opens, and someone comes in. Jongin is half hidden from his view, in the shadows, and the boy doesn’t notice him when he scans the room, a tiny frown wrinkling the smoothness of his forehead. He looks like he’s trying to find what’s off, but seemingly, he doesn’t come to any conclusion, as he shrugs and walks to the row of red lockers that cover the wall on his right, quickly getting rid of his sweatshirt, crumpling it into a ball and pushing it into one of the cabinets.
He turns around and his eyes fix on the stereo, and Jongin instinctively steps backwards, lurking further into the shadows. He shouldn’t be able to see him at all, but then again, he should be the one making all of this happen. And, most definitely, he isn’t the creator of this dream.
The boy decides there’s nothing wrong with the sound equipment, and he strides to the center of the room, taking a deep breath before raising his arms above his head, back straightening and feet steadying on the floor.
When he starts dancing, Jongin finds himself staring in awe, because another thing he had never seen is a grace like this. The boy floats more than slides on the wooden floor, sharp and smooth, swift and slow. It seems like it doesn’t take him any effort, his eyes closed peacefully, head tilted slightly backwards. He doesn’t seem to be following the music -he looks like he’s part of it. One moment he was a boy like any other, and the next he was the music, and the music was him. And Jongin doesn’t know what to do.
Something like this has no precedents, but he is a spectator of a play he should be directing. He should be waving the baton; not clapping on the first row. And he should probably go back to Dreamscape, inform of the situation, but his eyes are fixed on the boy’s lithe body, flexing at just the right angle with impossible precision. It sure can wait until this song ends, can’t it? That is, if it ever ends. In the Spheres, one can never know.
A string of tight jerks and shifts rips a quiet gasp from his lips, one that should not have been heard under any circumstances. Yet, the rules of Earth and Dreamscape rarely ever extend to the Spheres, and the boy stops mid-turn, eyes fixed on Jongin’s. And he suddenly realizes he’s been staring like a creeper, in the shadows.
The boy straightens, going back from flowing rhythm to human being, and his eyes narrow just slightly. “I didn’t see you there,” he says, voice almost -almost- as smooth as his moves. Jongin is tempted to reply with a that was the plan, but he doesn’t think his own voice will work properly, so he just gives a little shrug. “Were you here to use the room?” the boy continues, even though they both look at Jongin’s dress pants and button-down shirt, much too formal to fit in a dance studio. Jongin shakes his head. “Can you speak?”
Jongin blinks, and he realizes that, yeah, he probably looks like a retard, shoulders crouched down and hands fidgeting with the beaded bracelet on his left wrist, using gestures to communicate when he could be speaking perfectly correct Korean. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice sounds a little hoarse, but it doesn’t falter. “Yeah, I’m- uh.”
He can’t find a valid reason as of why would he be watching a stranger dance in a studio he had never been at, but the boy easies it for him: “Did you forget something?” His thumb points at the lockers behind him.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he agrees. “I forgot my bag. Earlier.” He wishes he had at least some control over the Sphere, so that he could materialize a duffel bag in one of the lockers and get it, the perfect excuse to run the heck out of there and back to a safe place. A place where strikingly good-looking human dancers aren’t looking at him with a funny expression, torn between bewildered and entertained.
Jongin walks out of the shadows, because now that he’s been discovered, it would be odd for him to just stay there for no reason. The boy meets him halfway, hand stretched out before him expectantly, Jongin’s meeting with his in a boyish handshake. “I’m Lee Taemin,” he says, a polite smile spreading on full lips.
“Kim Jongin,” replies Jongin with a matching grin. As opposed to expected, he feels relaxed.
“Are you a dancer, too?” The boy’s -Taemin’s- hands go to the pockets of his grey sweatpants. He looks relaxed, too.
“Something like that,” Jongin replies. At least, now he isn’t lying. “It’s kind of my hobby.”
Taemin nods. “Ah,” he responds. “I see.”
“You’re a good dancer,” Jongin lets out before he can stop himself, and he has to refrain from wincing.
The other boy’s grin widens, and Jongin decides it was worth it. His smile is really pretty, and it makes his eyes surround with tiny wrinkles. It’s rather cute. “Thank you,” he says. Jongin can tell that he really means it. “I’d like to comment on your skills, but I haven’t had the privilege to see them. I would invite you to share the studio, but your clothes are telling me you probably have to go?”
Jongin is at a crossroads, because saying he does have to go would imply getting a non-existing bag from a locker he doesn’t know the combination to, but he shouldn’t even be talking to this boy, much less should he dance with him.
In the end, he decides that when Taemin wakes up, he probably won’t remember any of this, so he jumps head first into this insanity.
“I’m free,” he says, and he doesn’t feel one bit of regret.
As they dance the night away, an everlasting sunset tints the studio orange, and, although Taemin doesn’t notice, Jongin knows that the beat that entices their bodies into oblivion is the exact same that fused with Taemin’s soul when Jongin thought he was invisible. It was an endless song, after all.
***
Sehun looks displeased.
“What?” Jongin questions, because really, he didn’t break that many rules.
“You can’t interact with the human, Jongin.” Sehun’s arms fold over his chest, and that constant wrinkle right in between his eyebrows enhances with his grimace.
“But what was I supposed to do?” Jongin’s butt lands on the white leather couch with the soft puff of the cushioned seat deflating, arms waving up into the air. “He saw me, what was I gonna do?”
The look on Sehun’s face goes from vexed to incredulous, and even a little annoyed. Not like he ever looks any different. “Um, inform it to the Wardens? It was a dream, Jongin. He would have woken up and thought ‘huh, that was strange’, and that would have been it. And it’s not like he’s going to ever see you again anyway.”
Jongin has to admit, that doesn’t sound all very happy; but he lets that thought go. “I guess you’re right,” he concedes. “It just didn’t seem right, because I didn’t know what was going on. I still don’t.”
“Maybe you could,” says Sehun, sitting down next to Jongin, feet up on the matching coffee table, white shoes fading out into the background. “If you told the Wardens now.”
“I’d get suspended!”
“I know. That’s why you’ll never find out.” Sehun shrugs, and Jongin could hit him with that flowerpot. It’s close to him -he’d only have to stretch his arm. He kind of wants to, in all honesty.
“You are a terrible friend,” states Jongin.
Sehun shrugs again, not bothered in the slightest. “I’m the best one you have.”
What angers Jongin the most, is the fact that Sehun is right.
***
If anyone ever asks, Jongin will say that the reason he came back to Taemin’s Sphere the next night was to try to find out what had happened when he first got there; and no one will ever know that, actually, he hadn’t been able to get the human out of his mind all day.
This time, seeing the place set up already doesn’t shock him. He does, however, look around, because this is not his shift and if the Sphere is open at all, then that means someone should be weaving this dream. Just not Jongin. Under general circumstances, he should be able to tell if there is another Weaver in the Sphere, and the lack of one -Jongin isn’t proud to admit ̶ is to him more calming than unnerving.
This time, he’s looking at a stage, and when he steps into the Sphere, he lands in the middle of a pre-concert riot. Ladies with sparkly costumes hanging from pegs on their hands; others with handfuls of brushes and cosmetic products Jongin could never learn the name to; a dude with a clipboard, big eyes and a severe expression, pointing at people with his index and yelling when someone doesn’t react quickly enough.
Jongin hasn’t stood there for sixty seconds when a number of stylists approach him, swiftly ridding him from his plain white shirt and replacing it with one with ruffles on the front and -why on earth does he need a bowtie? He’s grabbing the waist of his black dress pants when he realizes those are luckily staying on (not like he would willingly let that change), and someone is padding a beige powder onto his face and smearing black kohl around his eyes, and he is sure all of this has happened in less than two minutes and he is starting to regret coming here, because last night, when all there was were a stereo and a dance partner, not being in control didn’t seem that bad.
But then Taemin appears in the middle of the crowd, trotting to him, and that glittery turquoise jacket is hideous but his smile is blinding, and his bleached hair is bouncing behind him and Jongin forgets the stylists and the lack of control, and the bristles of the brush poke his eyeball. He blinks and his hand goes to cover the stinging eye as the lady apologizes, but he doesn’t hear it because Taemin is chuckling and that’s the most alluring thing Jongin has ever heard.
“You’re here!” greets Taemin, voice two octaves higher than usual because he’s so excited it’s almost visible, like a twinkling aura around him. “I couldn’t find you, I should have guessed they were all up on you.” Jongin blinks again, and the lady leaves them with the final poke of a sponge on his nose. “We’re going on the stage in two minutes,” he informs, fingers forming a ‘v’ before hugging him tightly -Jongin manages to pat his back; the jacket feels as weird as it looks- and sprinting back in the direction he came from.
At some point, the guy he had seen holding the clipboard pushes Jongin out of the safeness of the backstage, and he’s facing a cheering crowd that’s holding signs with both Taemin’s name and his own.
Taemin goes past behind him, nudging him on the waist, and the music starts blasting and Jongin is sure he didn’t know these lyrics before, but he’s rapping to them by heart. ‘Cause I do it, I do it, I do it for you, I won’t pretend to be innocent like a puppet. And, even if he didn’t remember these dance steps from the previous night, he is convinced he would know them anyway as well.
Dreamscape is a wicked world indeed.
Jongin stays a little behind, he doesn’t try to catch the spotlight; because this is Taemin dream, and seeing him so absorbed in it is enough for Jongin. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here -he was only planning to watch-, but whatever the reason, he’s thankful Taemin lets him share it with him.
***
Jongin has always been a good Weaver. And, what’s more important here, a quick one. Some have to watch over the dream until it’s over, making sure everything goes as planned. Jongin usually stays just because he has nothing better to do, but it’s not really a necessity: once the Threads have been entwined, he could exit the Sphere and let the dream unwind by itself, if he wanted to. He has just never had a reason.
Until now.
He has gotten used to taking only the first fraction of his shift to Weave, and then he leaves and goes back to his newfound happy place.
What he likes about being in Taemin’s Sphere is that it’s something completely new for him. He can’t know what he’s going to find, how things are going to develop. He can’t do anything about it. He figures this is how humans feel on a daily basis, and he can’t help to find it exciting when he’s spent so many years doing the exact same thing over and over.
He recognizes it’s dangerous. He knows he’s doing the opposite of what he should do -which is leaving Taemin’s Sphere until he gets it assigned again, which may not happen at all. There are so many humans to work with…
Out of all the things he shouldn’t have done, talking to Taemin is the first one, but revealing his nature to him is a close second. The problem is Jongin can’t lie. It’s not just that he doesn’t want to; he’s also very bad at it. He tried once, and Sehun found out as soon as the words left his mouth, and he never attempted again. Therefore, it’s only natural that, when Taemin gets curious about why he’s been a constant in his dreams lately, Jongin can’t do anything but spill the truth.
His reaction isn’t quite what Jongin had expected, but a lot more calm, good-natured. He doesn’t find it strange or laughs at Jongin, and he tries not to think that this might only make sense here and now, and when he wakes up, Taemin might think differently. He hopes it doesn’t affect him, but at the same time, it would hurt his pride if it didn’t.
“Doesn’t it get boring? Doing the same thing every night?” Taemin’s feet dangle from the edge of the treehouse, hands set quietly on his lap. He stares before them at the boundless expanse of grass sprinkled with dandelions, a view that’s both appeasing and unnerving. The wooden construction is over ten meters high, between the branches of the biggest oak Jongin has ever seen. It’s the only tree around, and there’s no ladder connecting them to the floor. Jongin is tempted to push Taemin a little further inside the treehouse -he doesn’t like the way he’s leaning out, fingers gripping the wooden floor.
“I mean… you dance everyday when the night falls. Don’t you get tired of that?”
Taemin frowns. “No, I could never get tired of that.”
Jongin follows Taemin’s gaze, fixed on a random spot in the horizon. “It’s the same for me. Weaving is my reason to be, the same way dancing is yours.”
“But I chose to dance,” the blonde points out, and that little wrinkle forms on his forehead again. Jongin wants to smooth it away with his fingertip.
“I chose to dance, too. I didn’t choose Weaving, but it’s still what I do. What I’m best at.” His voice fades into a whisper. “My center.”
Taemin’s lips curve into a lopsided smile. “You Weave better than you dance? I would like to see that.”
“You were supposed to,” says Jongin, gaze dropping to his lap. “I don’t know why I can’t interfere with your dreams. I can be there -I can be here, but I can’t change anything. I’m just as stuck as you are.”
“If it is of any help,” tries Taemin, “it’s not a bad place to be stuck. Here, with you.” His knee nudges Jongin’s, and when he looks up, Taemin’s grin is big and sincere, the one he saw the first night, at the studio. If any, this one is even warmer. It must be, because that’s the only explanation for the rush of adrenaline that spirals in his stomach.
Jongin is aware that this is the point in which he should leave and never come back, but he’s far too caught up in it. What Taemin has added to his life is something he isn’t ready to give up.
They sit on the treehouse, thirty feet above the ground, where nothing and no one can reach them, until they hear a loud ringing in the distance and Taemin fades away, taking the treehouse and the warmth with him.
***
“Wait. Who? Who is Taemin?” Oops. “The fucking human? You know his name?” Sehun hisses at Jongin, face centimeters away from his, eyes wandering around the room, making sure no one else but him can hear. “Jongin, that is -that is insane! Not to mention so very, very against the rules. You know that you can’t-” He looks at Jongin and stops his speech halfway. Jongin’s leg bounces on the couch rapidly, the only movement of his otherwise still body. “…Jongin, please, for the love of Dreams, tell me that he doesn’t know. Tell me that he doesn’t know your name, or what you do, please just…” Jongin doesn’t have to say a word, because Sehun sees the answer in Jongin’s eyes. The boy’s head hits the table with a thump, and Jongin watches him silently. He hasn’t yet said a word in the matter, and Sehun is already about to flip off. “You are going to be the death of me, Kim Jongin. The death. You’ve gone back to his Sphere, haven’t you? You’ve been there more than once and you-”
“You don’t understand!” cuts him Jongin when he can’t stand it anymore. It’s not fair for Sehun to be judging him when he doesn’t know how things really go. “Sehun! He is… he’s everything, okay? I just-” Jongin doesn’t have words to explain it, but he has to try. “I knew it the second I stepped into his Sphere, okay? He’s different from other humans. He doesn’t care about the powers I have, he just likes me.”
Sehun is skeptical, and, of course, Jongin can’t blame him. He would be, too. The boy sighs, then stands up, fixes the lapels of his black suit, and turns away from him. “Just don’t expect me to cover for you again.” Sehun looks serious and determinate, but Jongin knows better. Ever since Jongin and him have been friends -meaning always-, Sehun has never let him down. “And please, Jongin, be careful.”
“Of course,” he concedes. “And Sehun?” He turns around to look at him, eyebrow raised. “Thanks.”
Jongin hadn’t seen the faint hit on the back of his head coming, but he does, however, hear the breathy idiot that Sehun mutters under his breath.
***
“You aren’t always there,” Jongin informs Taemin one night over the table.
The blonde takes his time to reply, chewing thoroughly on a bite of steak, fabric napkin folded neatly across his lap. He looks funny in a tuxedo, with his off-white hair side-parted and combed back. Not bad funny (in fact, he looks quite handsome, and Jongin has to make an effort not to choke on a baked potato), but it’s so different from his usual jeans and sweatpants and disheveled hair that it takes Jongin a while to get used to it.
When he’s done, he nods. “I know,” he says. A glass of wine goes to his lips in a hand with a ring on his index finger. He takes a sip and sets it back down. “I can’t sleep sometimes.”
Jongin frowns, confused. “What do you mean you can’t sleep? At all?” Taemin nods again. “Then how can I find your Sphere?”
Taemin shrugs, as if saying If you don’t know that, how could I? “Maybe because you know the route?”
“What do you mean?”
“You aren’t supposed to willingly go back to any… Sphere you’ve been in, right?”
“Yeah,” answers Jongin, and he pretends he didn’t blush the littlest bit. If he doesn’t acknowledge it, maybe Taemin won’t, either.
“And you had never broken the rules before?” Taemin’s question is polite, but Jongin thinks he sees a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
Jongin looks away. “I hadn’t.”
“So maybe you can find the route to any Sphere you’ve worked with, and you just don’t know it because you’d never tried before. Besides,” he continues, wine glass in his hand; he looks like some kind of past-century gentleman, “if you weren’t able to contact those Spheres, why would it even be forbidden in the first place?”
Jongin’s fork stops midair, inches away from his waiting mouth. He puts it back down. “That’s an impressively smart point.”
“I know,” smiles Taemin. Jongin smiles back.
“So why don’t you sleep every night?” questions Jongin, forgetting to swallow the bite before speaking, but Taemin doesn’t seem to mind.
“Insomnia,” answers Taemin with a sneer. “I was given sleeping pills, but they make me groggy for the day. I trip when dancing, lose my rhythm. I can’t have that.”
“You aren’t taking them?”
Taemin smirks. “I flushed them down the toilet.”
Jongin knows close to nothing about psychopharmacological drugs, but it doesn’t sound like Taemin should just disregard them. “Can’t you take a smaller dose or something like that?”
“A smaller dose doesn’t affect me,” he shrugs. “But I don’t mind the insomnia.” His fingers crush a piece of bread into crumbs. “You’re always there anyway.”
Jongin looks up. “What do you mean?” Taemin doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at Jongin. “Look,” he starts. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“What isn’t?” Taemin’s eyes meet his, and Jongin has to look away, or else he doesn’t think he’ll be able to say what he knows he has to say.
“I can’t -I shouldn’t come back. Anymore.”
Taemin frowns at him, confused and worried. Jongin only sees it on the side of his vision. “You don’t like me?”
“What?” As if. “No, of course I do. That’s why I think it’d be best if we didn’t-“
“Do you know what it is like?” Taemin cuts him. “The real world is fucked up. There’s bad people and bad things happen, and this is the only place where I can be fully myself.”
“I wouldn’t get your Sphere from you. Only I would disappear… other Weavers would still come and give you-“
“You don’t get it, Jongin.” Taemin laughs without humor. “It’s only with you. Before you, all I had was nightmares. I don’t know what you have done, but they disappeared the day you stepped into my Sphere.”
Jongin almost spills his wine on the white tablecloth. “Nightmares, you said?”
“Nightmares, I said,” confirms Taemin. Jongin looks around, but he sees nothing out of place. “What?” asks the blonde.
“Nothing,” replies Jongin. It’s technically not a lie, because he really can’t find anything.
“So, that’s what we’ve got,” continues Taemin, unknowing of the fact that only half of Jongin’s mind is with him. “I don’t want you to leave, so you only have to if you don’t want this anymore,” he says, small hands gesturing at the space between them. The rest of the restaurant is empty; the waiter, long gone.
“I want it,” says Jongin. Sometimes, he wishes he could lie; that would probably be best for Taemin.
The boy stands up, placing his napkin on the table, and Jongin mimics him. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says resolutely. His hand goes up to Jongin’s cheek in a faint caress that makes Jongin’s eyelids flutter, and as soon as it starts it’s over. Taemin fixes his bowtie, turns around and walks out of the restaurant, and as the door closes behind him, the lights fade into absolute darkness.
__________________________________________
a/n: post too large again blargh. proper a/n on part 2 :)