DBSK Fic #2.2: Full Circle (4 to 5)
Title: FULL CIRCLE (4 to 5)
Pairing(s): Yunjae
Rating: PG13
Summary: For Jae Joong, it all started when he found a son. For Yunho, it all started when he lost his. The question is, what the ending will be for both.
A/N: Written for tippingjug in the lovely jaeho_exchange. Because I cannot write MPREG fics but absolutely adore the idea of parent!Jae Joong and parent!Yunho.
Comments are my food. Please feed me? *cookies all around* Pleaaase~ :)
CHAPTER FOUR
“So, Jae Joong-hyung,” Changmin began, opening the lid of the casserole in the stove. The tangy smell of beef stew wafted in the air, of onions and spices, and he sighed appreciatively. “How was he?”
“Look Inhwannie, you can put more cheese here.” Jae Joong pointed to an empty spot in the dough. The little boy hurriedly sprinkled the cheese bottle on it, but the cap suddenly gave way, burying the little pepperoni under a mound of Parmesan cheese. Jae Joong and Inhwan stared at each other in amused horror. “Oops.”
“Hyung!”
“What?” Jae Joong brushed bits of Parmesan off Inhwan’s cheek, and then wiped his hand off his apron as he went to lift the casserole lid.
“I was asking how your new friend was.”
“Well, he’s. . .” Jae Joong bit his lip, pausing his mixing of the beef stew as he tried to find the right word. Then he smiled, “Ah. He’s nice.”
Changmin gaped at him. “O-kay. Please tell me something that you haven’t told me for the past two years about this Jung Yunho guy.”
Jae Joong ignored the sarcasm in Changmin’s voice, and hummed himself a small tune as he replaced the lid and went back to preparing the pizza with Inhwan. Ah, how he loved Sundays. “He’s nice,” he repeated as he absent-mindedly picked an apple slice. He leaned against the kitchen counter. “. . .but I think he’s lonely.”
His dongsaeng raised an eyebrow, munching on a half-eaten chocolate bar that was on the table. “And you think like this because?”
Because he ordered a suite with a child’s room with it. But this was something Jae Joong didn’t want to tell Changmin, knowing how his younger cousin tended to rationalize things. It was a child’s room, Jae Joong couldn’t be mistaken, because he distinctly remembered the size of the bed and the light-blue curtains and bed sheets, decorated all over with yellow boats and sails, when he had peered inside. And well, before Yunho scared the crap out of him.
Jae Joong shook his head, as he realized that Changmin was waiting for his answer. “Nothing. Never mind.”
They had eaten in a restaurant a little far from the Pan Pacific after they dropped off Yunho’s thing, a family-owned restaurant called Sheong-Ah, and Jae Joong liked it there because it was homey and quiet. Their beef stew was also one of the best in Seoul, and the chef was a close friend of Jae Joong who was more than glad to accommodate his cooking requests. Jae Joong couldn’t quite describe the swell in his chest when he saw Yunho’s expression when it arrived - a small tiramisu cake with “Annyeong, Yunho-ah!” written in a flowing script with red syrup.
The conversation had flowed easily in between them; a 3-hour recall of the emails of the past two years, to the tune of two distinct melodies of laughter, and Jae Joong couldn’t help but thought that both sounded so well, so well, and he felt that Yunho must’ve noticed it too. But he couldn’t help but feel that there was a still a wall, almost obscured by the way the conversation had become warm and pleasant and light-hearted, but it was there.
“Okay, so aside from him being nice and nice and . . .” Changmin rolled his eyes, “lonely, what else? Please tell me something that will make me roll my eyes and say, “I told you so!” ”
“Sorry, Minnie, I don’t think me saying “He’s warm and he reminds me of sunshine,” will make you roll your eyes -“
“Excuse me?” Changmin gaped at him. “Warm? How can you describe - Joongie, that’s poetic and shit -“
“Joongie, Changmin-hyung just said SHIT!”
“Inhwan, don’t say that word again -“
“ - but please, hyung! I’m rolling my eyes alright!”
“Yes, warm.” Jae Joong glared back. “In that weird kind of way that I really couldn’t describe, like,” Jae Joong huffed, “like -“
“I get what you mean, I get what you mean! It’s like when I hug you!” Inhwan quipped, and so suddenly he jumped from his place on the table and threw himself on Jae Joong, wrapping his arms around his father’s neck and burrowing on the collar of his shirt. Inhwan yawned. “You smell like beef stew.”
“Yep, like when I hug you too.” Jae Joong smiled, tapping the boy’s nose with one finger. “Warm. Did you learn that word in school?”
“Uh uh,” Inhwan nodded, playing with Jae Joong’s shirt button. “My teacher says we use that for parents and friends and hyungs and milk, and water in the tub when it’s winter, and for cooked rice, and oh oh oh, steamed buns! Steamed buns!” His eyes were shining.
“Five stars for Kim Inhwan, yeah!” They made a high-five.
“And oh, there’s one more! Yesterday, yesterday,” Inhwan said, almost excitedly, “When I was trying to find Changmin-hyung in the grocery store because I got lost -“
“Changmin!”
“Inhwan, that was supposed to be our secret! -“ Changmin deftly dodged the rug that came his way, crumpled into a ball by a glaring Jae Joong.
“ - because I got lost and stuff, I bumped into this hyung and he has very nice eyes like Joongie’s and I think he’s . . . . warm?” For a moment, Inhwan looked confused with the word, but then he smiled as he disentangled himself from Jae Joong and jumped off his spot from the table. “Warm! I think I’ll call him Steamed Bun-Ajusshi!”
“You don’t have to name him, Inhwannie,” Jae Joong said amusedly as he ruffled the boy’s hair. The little boy had picked up the habit of naming his things, but then he also named the neighbor’s car, and the trash can outside their apartment building, and the mailbox. And now, strangers. Jae Joong bit back a laugh. Kids. “You probably won’t see him again.”
“Is that so?” Inhwan looked disappointed, but he smiled anyway. “It’s okay. I want to remember, anyway.” Then he ran out of the kitchen, suddenly muttering something about 10:00 in the morning and TV.
“He’s growing up so fast. Can you believe he knows that word?” ” Jae Joong said softly, then he looked at Changmin, letting out a small gasp. “Wait, that means he was listening to our conversation!”
“Hyung,” Changmin said, the expression on his face a little worried, a little confused. His voice had taken a slower tone, as if he didn’t anyone else to hear. “I know you’re smart and stuff, and this is none of my business, but well . . “ he paused, “All I’m trying to say, is. . . .if you think he’s nice and he’s warm and -“
“It’s not like that, Changmin.”
Silence. “Okay.”
----------------------------
“Wow,” Yunho said as he held a blue-painted pot, his fingers running over the hand-painted design: two bananas in striped pajamas. On the lid were written: Count your blessings, some strokes of the letters longer than the others. “This looks really nice, Jae Joong-ah.”
“Ah, thanks.” Jae Joong said, as he stood by the door of the small cottage, hands on his pockets. “It’s pretty much a work of a newbie, but . . . thank you. I made that last Christmas, remember we were talking about that children’s show with banana twins as the main characters?”
“Bananas in Pajamas,” Yunho laughed, then walked to another side of the small studio, where a huge table was. On one side was a row of plain terra cotta pots and bowls and vases of various sizes, while on the other side were paint cans and brushes. The surface of table was colorful on its own, with random paint patterns, some looking deliberate, some looking like total accidents.
Yunho had been in Seoul for two days, working on an architecture project with the owners of another Seoul hotel for the design of their new executive suites. It was a flexi-time job, output-based, and Yunho could leave whenever he wanted during the day provided that he finishes all his requirements within the week.
The arrangement allowed the both of them to have lunch together for the past two days, or to meet after Jae Joong’s teaching job, at 2:30. And for the next 2 and half hours, Jae Joong plays the Seoul tour guide to an enthusiastic Yunho. And driver. And cuisine expert. And color consultant. And shock absorber. When they met that afternoon, Yunho wouldn’t stop complaining about how teak Japanese-styled furniture would look absolutely ridiculous with 18-century art nouveau wallpaper. And come to think of it, Jae Joong thought, Yunho’s right.
It was unplanned, actually, the visit to Jae Joong’s house. The young designer had been complaining about some of the fixtures in the model unit he was working on, and suddenly he thought of Jae Joong’s pots. Jae Joong had been nervous about the topic; although he took great pride in his work, Jae Joong never really had that much of confidence on them yet. Most of his pots landed inside the house, as bathroom accessories or kitchen vases or Inhwan’s paint holders.
“So you made these, Jae Joong-ah?” Yunho asked, referring to the plain terra cotta pots. He picked one that was shaped as a mug with a gigantic handle.
“Ah, no, not really. Well, just a few of them.” Jae Joong said sheepishly, “I started buying some of the pots, since I just wanted to paint them anyway. Then I thought, maybe I should try making my own. I even got this second-hand wheel.” He pointed to the clay wheel on one corner, looking old and used. “But I haven’t done much really. It’s kind of complicated. After I make the pots I still need to bring them to a potter friend to bake it, and then stuff. I guess I’ll stick to painting for now.”
“I like it. I really do.” Yunho said, smiling. Then he bit his lip. “And apparently, my mother does as well.”
“You can pick anything that you like.”
“Sounds good.” Yunho nodded, then pointed to the clay wheel. “And maybe before I leave, you can show me how to make pots too. I’ve always wondered about those.”
“Aish,” Jae Joong scratched his head. “I don’t know, Yunho-ah. I kinda suck when it comes to pot making. It took me about two weeks to come up with a decent-looking pot. Perhaps I should bring you to my friend instead? He’s an official potter, if there’s such a thing.”
“You have a chef friend,” Yunho said, “And you have a potter friend. Wow. That’s just. . .” he frowned, trying to find the right words to say. “. . . that says a lot about you, Jae Joong-ah.”
“Oh, and you know what? I actually have an architect friend who designed the suites of the Pan Pacific.”
Yesterday, Jae Joong learned that Yunho was the same Jung Yunho that was featured in a daily newspaper a few years back, on a feature article about the world renowned hotel. It was Changmin who showed him the paper; he almost had a heart attack. He smirked playfully at Yunho. “You know how cool that is?”
Yunho raised a brow, but there was a smile playing in his lips. The statement I don’t remember mentioning you that hung in the air, as well as How can you not tell me that? “And are you . . . good friends?”
“Maybe.” Jae Joong shrugged. “I hope we are.”
“And he’s probably hoping for the same thing.” Yunho looked at him, suddenly serious. His eyes were a beautiful shade of brown, Jae Joong noticed, because he was standing near the window and the afternoon light landed quite nicely to illuminate his side profile. He smiled at Jae Joong. “No. . . I’m sure he is.”
----------------------------
Ridiculous.
That’s the only way Jae Joong could describe what he was feeling right now. He was fighting the urge to look at Yunho every five minutes, who was seated silently on the passenger’s seat, fiddling with his PDA. They left the house at around 3:30, and Jae Joong still had an hour to bring Yunho back to the Pan Pacific and drive to Inhwan’s school to fetch him. He had asked if Yunho wanted to see his son, but the other man shook his head no.
Perhaps next time.
“Here you go.” Jae Joong said as he stopped right in front of the lobby of the Pan, “I hope you enjoyed today, Yunho-ah.”
“I did!” Yunho nodded, then smiled brightly. He had gone down the car, and he was leaning on the passenger window. “The restaurant we went today was really good, I really liked it. I’m noting that one down.”
“Great,” Jae Joong said, “I’ll see you . . . the day after tomorrow then?” About two days ago Yunho had asked him about the directions to a shop called Paint Express, saying he had to check some new colors for the hotel units. Almost automatically Jae Joong had offered to drive him there, and his enthusiasm had put out any objections on Yunho’s part.
“Oh. Yeah. .” Yunho took a deep inhale. “Well, about that.”
“Eh?” Did he change his mind?
Yunho turned in his seat, and Jae Joong could see how tightly he was clutching the seatbelt, his fingers tense, almost white. He tried not to laugh, because this was too different from the Jung Yunho he remembered striding into the Pan Pacific for the first time, suave and regale and no-nonsense. Yet his face was an expression of pride, strong and defiant. What an enigma. “I was . . . well . . .wondering, if. . . “
Jae Joong stared at him.
Yunho exhaled nervously, then smiled, “If. . .you’d like to have dinner with me, maybe tomorrow night?” The confused look in Jae Joong’s eyes made Yunho frown a bit, “Well, it’s just that. . .I feel bad dragging you around, so I thought -“
“No,” Jae Joong shook his head, tapping the steering wheel. “You’re not dragging me around, Yunho-ah.”
“So. . .” A small smile curved Yunho’s lips, “So. . . you’ll be joining me for dinner tomorrow night then?”
“Ah, that,” Jae Joong’s voice trailed off. Tuesday nights were always eat-in-the-garden nights. Jae Joong would be making barbecue, and Changmin and Inhwan would be pulling out the wooden table into the garden. There’s ice cream after too. He looked at Yunho, biting his lip. “That sounds great, but Inhwan . . . .”
“Ah, Inhwannie. . .” came the reply, and Jae Joong couldn’t help but feel a little upset at how disappointed that voice sounded. Or maybe he was just imagining things? Then Yunho was getting out of the car, standing on the platform that led to the hotel’s lobby. “It’s alright then. Perhaps some other time?”
“Yes,” Jae Joong said, nodding his head, his voice almost apologetic. “Of course. I’ll see you, Yunho-ah.”
Jae Joong stared at the steering wheel, wondering if he had answered right, because there was a weird feeling in his chest that said he was more than a little upset. This was all wrong, all wrong, because nobody is supposed to make him think twice about spending time with his son. But there was something in Jung Yunho . . .something. . .
. . . .in perhaps the way he tries not to look lonely, when they talk about Inhwan? Or the way he mourns for this child that Jae Joong knew next to nothing about, except that Yunho had lost him? Or the way he tries to keep the memory of his child alive a little bit longer, with that spare bedroom, with sheets and curtains of yellow boats and sails?
The child. It bothered Jae Joong. The thought had robbed him a few hours of sleep each night. Where was he, what happened to him, and why does Yunho keep on suffering this way? Or did he deliberately choose to suffer this way, pretending that his child lives in the next room? Had he done so much wrong in the past? Jae Joong had berated himself for million times already when his brain takes him this way - even when he is at work, even at home while helping Inhwan with his assignments - and that this was wrong. Changmin would call it obsession. He probably would too, if it was happening to someone else. But there was this urge feeling to help Yunho, make him really smile again, make that remaining, almost obscured wall between them crumble to pieces.
But Jae Joong promised himself he wouldn’t ask, wouldn’t prod, wouldn’t push. And it seemed like Yunho wouldn’t begin to spill the details of his child on his own either, and why would he? Perhaps he thought it didn’t matter to their friendship, perhaps he thought Jae Joong doesn’t really care. Or perhaps it was too personal, and there are still walls you build around you. For Jae Joong, it was beginning to become frustrating.
Or perhaps it was his own fault for telling almost his life story to Yunho and expecting that the other man would do the same. It made him feel like a total fool.
The loud horn of the car behind him made Jae Joong almost jump up, and he looked up to see Yunho stop on his way to the lobby. For a moment he just stood there, and then he turned to face Jae Joong. There was a smile in his face, but it wasn’t the same warm smile that Jae Joong found himself growing fond of these past few days.
I know you won’t . . .I mean. . .still . . .if you change your mind. . .
----------------------------
And Jae Joong did change his mind.
Inhwan could only look at him in shock when he said they’ll have the barbecue night on Thursday instead, instead of tomorrow. Changmin had come to the rescue, saying he was going to babysit Kim Moonbin - Inhwan’s school bestfriend - and Inhwan could come along. They’ll be having a top-secret all-boys party with chicken and pasta and steamed buns, just the way Inhwan liked it.
I’m not encouraging you, Hyung. Changmin had said, before they went down in front of the Kims house on Thursday. He waited for Inhwan to be out of earshot before turning back to Jae Joong. The little boy had run to meet Moonbin. But I can see how this . . .this . . . means to you. And I trust you, hyung. I just want you to keep reminding yourself - he’s leaving in 2 days. I just don’t want you to -
It’s not like that, Changmin.
A deep sigh, as if to say why do I even bother to tell this to you? Alright, hyung. Alright.
The elevator was empty when it stopped on the ground floor, the bowl of beef stew and sushi warm in his hands. He picked it up in Sheong-ah, because he remembered Yunho saying that he absolutely liked it. The smell of the stew filled the elevator somewhat, and he was glad that no one else had joined him in the lift, considering that it was still early in the evening. A slender finger pressed 14.
He didn't call Yunho, didn't tell him that it was coming, didn't know if there was indeed someone in Rm. 1458 who'll be receiving the food. A part of him didn't want Yunho to think that he had thought about the dinner offer and changed his mind in the last minute, although that was exactly how it would appear anyway. But still. The worst that could happen was for nobody to be there. Or that, for some reason, they'd just have to exchange his, and then goodbyes. It was always easy to come up with an excuse anyway. I was just around the area, and I thought, why not drop by? So here's the food. Enjoy. Bye.
It was on his third knock when a sleepy-eyed and half-dressed Yunho opened the door, white shirt unbuttoned over white-washed jeans, and barefoot. A pencil was tucked behind his ear, and another was dangling on the side of his mouth, and he was busy looking at some blueprints when he had opened the door with his foot.
The pencil immediately fell on the floor when Yunho saw him, and his face could rival the lush red carpet of his unit. Suddenly he was trying to use the blueprints to cover what wasn't covered by his long-sleeved shirt, and trying to fix the just-out-of-bed state of his hair, all at the same time. "Jae - Jae Joong-ah!"
Jae Joong smiled a little, feeling embarrassed for him. So this is how working-mode Yunho looked like. "Um . . . room service."
"Come on in, Uh sorry, I wasn't expecting . . . you," Yunho said as he fully opened the door and let the other man in. "Please, make yourself feel comfortable."
"Is this . . . a bad time?"
"Uh no, no," Yunho shook his head, and there was a little shocked expression in his face, as if he was still trying to process that Jae Joong was indeed there, and he looked like he was trying his best to hide his smile. Jae Joong realized how narrow the hallway was, because he can practically feel the embarrassed blush radiating off Yunho. "Well . . ."
"Here," Jae Joong extended the bowl to him. "For dinner. If you haven't eaten yet. But if you have, it's okay, I can just put it in the fridge and -"
"I was actually having. . .my dinner at the moment. How did you know?" Yunho laughed, but his voice had taken a very low tone that Jae Joong thought he could feel it vibrating off the walls. "So. . .perfect timing, Jae Joong-ah."
Jae Joong tilted his head with a frown, eyeing the blueprints that Yunho still had plastered atop his upper half. "You don't. . . .look like you're having dinner." A hand shot out to Yunho’s hair, and Jae Joong laughed softly as he withdrew his hand, something white on his fingers. “You’ve got tape on your hair, Yunho-ah.”
“Ah,” Yunho’s hand immediately shot up to his hair in horror, but then he realized that the blueprints would fall, so he stopped fumbling with his hair and he looked at Jae Joong sheepishly instead. “Thanks. I was trying to battle against some boxes this afternoon, trying to make a model unit.”
“You need to take care of yourself better.”
“Sure, Mom.”
“Okay, nice to meet you. Goodbye.” Jae Joong motioned as if he was going to leave.
“Sorry, sorry Jae Joong-ah, I couldn’t help it!” Yunho said with a light laugh, although he looked thoroughly embarrassed. “Do you think you can find your way to the kitchen instead? I feel . . . underdressed. Er. Yeah. I’ll just fix up and. . . let’s have dinner!”
Jae Joong shrugged, “Alright.”
“Be back in a few!” Yunho said, and smiled sheepishly when they reached the living room. It was a huge mess of blue prints and cardboard cut-outs, and wooden panes, pencils and rulers and crumpled papers. “So yeah, this is how I work. But please, ignore the mess.” Then he ran towards the bedroom.
Yunho was indeed having dinner, although Jae Joong wasn’t sure if he was working while having dinner, or having dinner while working. The table was set, the trolley for food service by the table. He shook his head, noticing another set of blue prints spread out in the glass kitchen table. He must be in the middle of eating, Jae Joong thought as he tried to unwrap the bowl from the package, noting the full spoon by the plate.
It was typical Korean cuisine, Jae Joong could tell, as he looked at the beautifully prepared gimbap and something else, and was relieved to see that there was no beef stew and sushi. How fortunate.
But there was another plate. An extra plate. An extra plate, an extra glass and a pair of untouched chopsticks, set on the side across Yunho’s own.
I wasn’t expecting you, Jae Joong-ah.
“That smells nice,” He heard Yunho behind him, and looked up to see him fully-dressed, hair a little wet and combed. He smelled of musk. Yunho’s eyes widened when he saw the beef stew. “Oh, it’s from that restaurant~”
“Yeah,” Jae Joong replied softly. Suddenly he found his own fingers interesting, as he laid out the sushi, in its prettily-designed box. “Yunho-ah?”
“Yes?” His voice was bright, like a child’s, as he ran to his spot. “Please, please sit down, Jae Joong-ah.”
“Ahh,” Jae Joong nodded, and wondered if he could get the extra plate that was there, just like that. He decided against it. Decided against even sitting down on that chair across Yunho’s. “Yunho-ah. . . are you . . .waiting for someone?”
The smile on Yunho’s face faltered for a moment, realizing what the other man meant. But then it was back again. “No,” came the reply, almost indifferent. “I just like the -“
“-extra plate?”
I just like the extra space.
Pause. “Yes.”
Don’t push, Jae Joong. Don’t push.
“Alright.” Jae Joong immediately scanned the trolley, and sighed with relief as he saw a spare plate there. He made a move to get it. The air felt heavy, almost awkward. He didn’t like it. “So, how’s -“
“You can have it.”
He looked up to see Yunho overturning the extra plate, extending it towards him. “If he was here, I think he’d like you too.” Then Yunho frowned, after a moment. “I mean, he’d like you. So,” He smiled at Jae Joong. “Please.”
It was a moment before Jae Joong found his voice, and he knew he was gaping at Yunho but he didn’t care. Their fingers brushed softly as he took the china. “Thank you,” was all that he said, but he didn’t know if it was for the plate, or for the little peek in Yunho’s soul that he had been allowed to do.
CHAPTER FIVE
“How do you find Seoul so far?“
“Busy,” Yunho said with a mouthful of rice. Dinner had been progressing quite nicely; they had started with Jae Joong’s random comment on one of Yunho’s designs and neither had realized that almost two hours had passed. “Things here are a lot faster than Namwon, although I think it’s doing me some kind of good, since I can stop myself from slacking off.”
Jae Joong frowned at the blueprints beside them. “Slacking off. Right.”
“And I have an idea,” Yunho said, his voice taking a low tone as if in a whisper. “I’m trying to finish most of my work today, because I was thinking, maybe you can teach me pottery tomorrow instead?”
“Aren’t you persistent,” Jae Joong muttered under his breath, “I’m not a professional, Yunho-ah. You might end up disappointed, you know.”
“With you? I highly doubt it.” Yunho said, swallowing a gimbap.
“Now I’m pressured.” Jae Joong said, feigning worry. “But then again, sounds like a plan. You might even get to meet Inhwan.”
“Perhaps,” Yunho shrugged, “Although I’m not exactly sure if I want to,” his voice took a lower tone. He felt hopeful, but a little sad. “I might find it harder to leave.”
“Fallen in love with Seoul that fast?” Jae Joong laughed. With a twist of his wrist, his chopsticks made a quick line towards the sushi plate.
His chopsticks made a soft tinkle, colliding with another set of crystal chopsticks that was aiming for the same sushi. Yunho. Jae Joong had a strange feeling that it was deliberate, not an accident. His stomach turned around when brown eyes met black. And he saw that expression in his face again, proud and defiant. “Yes. I guess you could say that.”
Jae Joong forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. With a flicker of his wrist, his own chopsticks went free and he swiftly picked the sushi, depositing it on Yunho’s plate. He smiled casually. “There. You can have it.”
Yunho blinked, picked the piece and transferred it into Jae Joong’s plate. “It’s yours.”
“No, we’ve got five more, Yunho-ah, you can have it.” From Jae Joong’s plate to Yunho’s. “Please.”
“This is silly, but I think you should have it.” From Yunho’s, to Jae Joong’s.
“If we don’t stop this, the sushi will end up falling in the beef stew and I don’t think that’s a good idea!” Jae Joong cried. The phone in the living room started ringing, and Jae Joong took that as a good opportunity. “Now, Yunho-ah, someone’s calling. Go get it.”
“Not until this,” Yunho picked up the sushi that had been deposited in his plate about two seconds ago, “goes to you.”
“We have to stop this. Now.” Jae Joong glared. “What’s wrong with you? And the phone’s on its 6th ring.”
“How about you stop returning what I’m trying to give you instead?” Yunho looked incredulous, but his eyes were shining. And he deposited the poor sushi on Jae Joong’s plate.
“Fine!” Jae Joong said, shaking his head. He was far from angry, though. “Alright. I’m getting it. Now go get the teleph -“
BEEP.
“Yunho-ah,” It was an old female voice, and they fell into a hush. It took Jae Joong a full minute to realize that the answering machine was already turned on. Even Yunho looked surprised, his chopsticks falling to his plate with a soft tinkle.
“I know you don’t want to talk about this on the phone, but . . . . your appa found some of your old mails today, and he’s . . . . furious.” Pause. “Yunho . . . he says you’re not going to get anything if you keep this going. Honey, please. Please listen to Umma.” A sorrowful sigh. “Umma knows what she’s talking about.”
Jae Joong saw how Yunho’s face turned into a pale shade of white, as if he was frozen in the spot. He didn’t know if he should just stand up and pick up the receiver, give it to Yunho, because he felt like this was something he wasn’t supposed to hear.
“Stop trying to find him. You’re not married, Yunho. There is no child. And he’s not even dead, because maybe maybe, there is no kid to begin with. Your search is pointless and. . . .just stop it. You’re wasting money on these investigators who send you mail everyday, most of which are probably lies. You don’t have a son, Yunho. Please, please listen to Umma. Stop doing to yourself.” Another sniffle. “Umma loves you, and Umma hurts for you, Yunnie, please don’t do this anymore.” Pause. “Just. . .don’t do this anymore.”
BEEP.
----------------------------
It was the sound of the drinking glass rolling off the table and crashing into the floor that broke the silence of the apartment. Yunho’s glass. It fell on the marble and crashed into several pieces, but neither of them made a move towards it.
Jae Joong felt dizzy. Aside from that, he felt next to nothing. It was like sensory overload, and in a very bad way. His head felt like it was going to burst, and he felt like he was floating in mid-air, as if he wasn’t real. There were floating yellow boats and yellow sails in his head, and blue curtains and a child’s bed. His gaze fell on his plate. He felt like he wanted to puke.
And Yunho . . . Yunho just sat there, staring at his plate. Unblinking.
“You know,” He began, and Jae Joong frowned because his voice came out too raspy. Suddenly he realized how dry his throat was.
He sipped his soup softly. “I’m starting to . . .wonder which Yunho I prefer knowing. The Yunho I’ve talked to for the past two years, whose stories I enjoy although I can’t enjoy his company,” Pause. “Or this Yunho in front of me now, whose company has got me smiling most of the time, but who doesn’t seem to want to tell me anything.”
Jae Joong laughed, “And it’s weird, because I don’t remember wanting to know something before, this badly.”
Silence.
Jae Joong sighed, pushed his bowl away from him. “Perhaps you should call your Umma now, Yunho-ah. She sounds really worried. It’s getting late anyway, I need to head back.”
Silence.
“Alright,” Jae Joong muttered under his breath, wiping his mouth with the napkin. He stood up, and the chair made a loud scraping noise against the marble floor. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Yunho-ah.”
God, he wanted to break something. Anything. Jae Joong had never felt so . . . disappointed, and frustrated, and so lied to ever in his entire life. And his stomach turned violently as he thought how the past two years had been a lie, how his concern for Jung Yunho had been baseless, how he had been led on, by a fake kind of loneliness? And for what? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He felt like punching Yunho.
He turned around, his strides fast and angry and firm towards the doorway. He didn’t look back, not even once. His fist hit the wall in a loud thud, but that didn’t make Jae Joong feel any better. In fact, he didn’t even feel anything. He was just -
“I. . . . I had this relationship with a girl.” Pause. “A long time ago. Roughly 6, 7 years ago.”
Will I turn to look? Will I turn to look? Jae Joong’s eyes burned in the brass doorknob in front of him. He didn’t have to hear this. He could just turn the knob and leave.
A few minutes of silence.
Jae Joong turned the knob.
“I was a college student, and she was an assistant professor.” The words came out hurried, frantic. “She was about 2 years older than me. Met her in my senior year. She was this beautiful, strong-willed, brave and proud woman.” Pause. “She had very black hair. . . . a lot like yours.”
Jae Joong didn’t turn around, his hand still resting on the doorknob. One flick of his wrist and he’ll be out of there. But Yunho’s voice stopped him, and he could feel Yunho. He couldn’t be that far from him, there in that narrow hallway. “I’d like to think that she fell in love with me as much as I fell in love with her, and well, I’ve had my share of relationships but she. . . . she was . . .just different. She was annoying and sharp-mouthed and everything I hate. But I loved her.“
“She left one day,” Yunho continued, “Just like that. She didn’t have a lot of friends; she was quiet, reserved, a lot of people were intimated by her. She was a free spirit. Maybe that’s what I liked about her. Nobody knew where she went.”
Jae Joong leaned his head on the door. Suddenly he felt tired. “Did something happen?”
Silence. “I found out from her neighbor. She was pregnant when she left. I didn’t know why she had to do that, but when I think about it, it makes me so angry.” Pause. “It took me a year to figure it out. She must’ve thought . . . . she must’ve thought my father won’t. . .would. . -“
“You wouldn’t have left her alone, Yunho.” Jae Joong turned to look at him.
“I wouldn’t have,” Yunho said. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, in the end of the hallway, facing the wall. “But that girl, she never really listened to me anyway. I was always this young naïve boy to her, I guess. Up until now I think I hated her for that.” Pause. “I never heard from her ever since.”
“And I thought, maybe if I could make a name for myself, get out of the shadow of the great Jung Hyukjae, I’ll try to find her. And my son.” Pause. “Looked for them for a year, then found out that she was dead.” Yunho frowned, fiddling with his fingers. “Accident. Somewhere in Guangdo. And I have no idea where my son is. ”
Shit. Jae Joong slid down the floor by the doorway, covering his face with both hands. Shit shit shit. This is so fucked-up. He saw Yunho curled up in his own spot, knees up to his chest. He remembered the child’s room, the yellow boats and sails, and the extra plate, and he wondered if Yunho is going to live his life like this forever.
“Do you . . .” Jae Joong began, “. . . think he’s even alive?”
“I have friends. . . in the detective stuff business.” Yunho said, his face still buried in his arms over his knees. “But sometimes, it just gets. . . ridiculous. One time they even told me they think he’s in Africa. DUH.” Pause. “I don’t know, Jae Joong-ah. I’d like to think he’s not dead.”
Jae Joong stood up from his spot. His knees felt like slabs of cement underneath him. He stopped beside Yunho, slid down the floor next to him and curled his knees up to his chest, mimicking Yunho’s pose. “I’m sorry, but I don’t like your mother very much.”
Yunho stared at him questioningly.
“She can’t go around telling someone that their child doesn’t exist just because there’s no marriage contract, no birth certificate, no wedding rings and matrimonial beds.” Jae Joong said.
“Everyday, I think I live in constant fear that someday, Inhwan’s real dad would come knocking at my door, demanding that I return his son. I might just kill him, or I don’t know.” Jae Joong laughed at his own thoughts. “But who am I to talk? I never really liked my mom much anyway. She and my dad left me here, and went to live their own lives sunbathing in the Carribean.”
“In their 50s?”
“60s actually. Can’t imagine how they look like in swimming gear.”
“I believe my father thinks I’m delusional.”
“I’m sorry, Yunho-ah. But I was a hairsbreadth away from thinking that I’m in a badly done psychological movie after I heard your mom in the answering machine.” Jae Joong hit his forehead with the ball of his palm. “My first thought was, “Please don’t let him dump me in a garbage can after he kills me with the chopsticks.” Sorry, but you just wouldn’t talk.”
“And for a moment I thought my last image of Kim Jae Joong would be him walking out of my door.”
Jae Joong smiled to himself. He played with his shoelaces, untying them, glancing every now and then on Yunho’s bare feet beside his shoes. “I have friends in Guangdo, Yunho-ah. We lived there, before me and Inhwan moved here. It’s just a small city, and my friends have lived their all their lives. Surely, they would’ve heard about this girl and your son -“
“It’s okay, Jae Joong-ah.”
“I have 2 grandfathers there. Well, not really my grandfathers. They were my landlords,” Jae Joong said as he began tying his the lace of his left shoe. “They know everyone there -“
“It’s okay,” Yunho sighed, “You’ll be surprised at the number of people I’ve hired. And after all these years the only thing I’m quite sure of is that, he’s seven years old.“
“I want to help.” Jae Joong voice was firm, and he was frowning. “I want to help.”
“And believe me when I say you have,” Yunho said, as he took the untied laces of Jae Joong’s right shoe. His fingers moved swiftly, quick, and before Jae Joong could blink he had already tied them in a neat ribbon. “You have.”
ON TO:
Chapter 6 & 7
Pairing(s): Yunjae
Rating: PG13
Summary: For Jae Joong, it all started when he found a son. For Yunho, it all started when he lost his. The question is, what the ending will be for both.
A/N: Written for tippingjug in the lovely jaeho_exchange. Because I cannot write MPREG fics but absolutely adore the idea of parent!Jae Joong and parent!Yunho.
Comments are my food. Please feed me? *cookies all around* Pleaaase~ :)
CHAPTER FOUR
“So, Jae Joong-hyung,” Changmin began, opening the lid of the casserole in the stove. The tangy smell of beef stew wafted in the air, of onions and spices, and he sighed appreciatively. “How was he?”
“Look Inhwannie, you can put more cheese here.” Jae Joong pointed to an empty spot in the dough. The little boy hurriedly sprinkled the cheese bottle on it, but the cap suddenly gave way, burying the little pepperoni under a mound of Parmesan cheese. Jae Joong and Inhwan stared at each other in amused horror. “Oops.”
“Hyung!”
“What?” Jae Joong brushed bits of Parmesan off Inhwan’s cheek, and then wiped his hand off his apron as he went to lift the casserole lid.
“I was asking how your new friend was.”
“Well, he’s. . .” Jae Joong bit his lip, pausing his mixing of the beef stew as he tried to find the right word. Then he smiled, “Ah. He’s nice.”
Changmin gaped at him. “O-kay. Please tell me something that you haven’t told me for the past two years about this Jung Yunho guy.”
Jae Joong ignored the sarcasm in Changmin’s voice, and hummed himself a small tune as he replaced the lid and went back to preparing the pizza with Inhwan. Ah, how he loved Sundays. “He’s nice,” he repeated as he absent-mindedly picked an apple slice. He leaned against the kitchen counter. “. . .but I think he’s lonely.”
His dongsaeng raised an eyebrow, munching on a half-eaten chocolate bar that was on the table. “And you think like this because?”
Because he ordered a suite with a child’s room with it. But this was something Jae Joong didn’t want to tell Changmin, knowing how his younger cousin tended to rationalize things. It was a child’s room, Jae Joong couldn’t be mistaken, because he distinctly remembered the size of the bed and the light-blue curtains and bed sheets, decorated all over with yellow boats and sails, when he had peered inside. And well, before Yunho scared the crap out of him.
Jae Joong shook his head, as he realized that Changmin was waiting for his answer. “Nothing. Never mind.”
They had eaten in a restaurant a little far from the Pan Pacific after they dropped off Yunho’s thing, a family-owned restaurant called Sheong-Ah, and Jae Joong liked it there because it was homey and quiet. Their beef stew was also one of the best in Seoul, and the chef was a close friend of Jae Joong who was more than glad to accommodate his cooking requests. Jae Joong couldn’t quite describe the swell in his chest when he saw Yunho’s expression when it arrived - a small tiramisu cake with “Annyeong, Yunho-ah!” written in a flowing script with red syrup.
The conversation had flowed easily in between them; a 3-hour recall of the emails of the past two years, to the tune of two distinct melodies of laughter, and Jae Joong couldn’t help but thought that both sounded so well, so well, and he felt that Yunho must’ve noticed it too. But he couldn’t help but feel that there was a still a wall, almost obscured by the way the conversation had become warm and pleasant and light-hearted, but it was there.
“Okay, so aside from him being nice and nice and . . .” Changmin rolled his eyes, “lonely, what else? Please tell me something that will make me roll my eyes and say, “I told you so!” ”
“Sorry, Minnie, I don’t think me saying “He’s warm and he reminds me of sunshine,” will make you roll your eyes -“
“Excuse me?” Changmin gaped at him. “Warm? How can you describe - Joongie, that’s poetic and shit -“
“Joongie, Changmin-hyung just said SHIT!”
“Inhwan, don’t say that word again -“
“ - but please, hyung! I’m rolling my eyes alright!”
“Yes, warm.” Jae Joong glared back. “In that weird kind of way that I really couldn’t describe, like,” Jae Joong huffed, “like -“
“I get what you mean, I get what you mean! It’s like when I hug you!” Inhwan quipped, and so suddenly he jumped from his place on the table and threw himself on Jae Joong, wrapping his arms around his father’s neck and burrowing on the collar of his shirt. Inhwan yawned. “You smell like beef stew.”
“Yep, like when I hug you too.” Jae Joong smiled, tapping the boy’s nose with one finger. “Warm. Did you learn that word in school?”
“Uh uh,” Inhwan nodded, playing with Jae Joong’s shirt button. “My teacher says we use that for parents and friends and hyungs and milk, and water in the tub when it’s winter, and for cooked rice, and oh oh oh, steamed buns! Steamed buns!” His eyes were shining.
“Five stars for Kim Inhwan, yeah!” They made a high-five.
“And oh, there’s one more! Yesterday, yesterday,” Inhwan said, almost excitedly, “When I was trying to find Changmin-hyung in the grocery store because I got lost -“
“Changmin!”
“Inhwan, that was supposed to be our secret! -“ Changmin deftly dodged the rug that came his way, crumpled into a ball by a glaring Jae Joong.
“ - because I got lost and stuff, I bumped into this hyung and he has very nice eyes like Joongie’s and I think he’s . . . . warm?” For a moment, Inhwan looked confused with the word, but then he smiled as he disentangled himself from Jae Joong and jumped off his spot from the table. “Warm! I think I’ll call him Steamed Bun-Ajusshi!”
“You don’t have to name him, Inhwannie,” Jae Joong said amusedly as he ruffled the boy’s hair. The little boy had picked up the habit of naming his things, but then he also named the neighbor’s car, and the trash can outside their apartment building, and the mailbox. And now, strangers. Jae Joong bit back a laugh. Kids. “You probably won’t see him again.”
“Is that so?” Inhwan looked disappointed, but he smiled anyway. “It’s okay. I want to remember, anyway.” Then he ran out of the kitchen, suddenly muttering something about 10:00 in the morning and TV.
“He’s growing up so fast. Can you believe he knows that word?” ” Jae Joong said softly, then he looked at Changmin, letting out a small gasp. “Wait, that means he was listening to our conversation!”
“Hyung,” Changmin said, the expression on his face a little worried, a little confused. His voice had taken a slower tone, as if he didn’t anyone else to hear. “I know you’re smart and stuff, and this is none of my business, but well . . “ he paused, “All I’m trying to say, is. . . .if you think he’s nice and he’s warm and -“
“It’s not like that, Changmin.”
Silence. “Okay.”
----------------------------
“Wow,” Yunho said as he held a blue-painted pot, his fingers running over the hand-painted design: two bananas in striped pajamas. On the lid were written: Count your blessings, some strokes of the letters longer than the others. “This looks really nice, Jae Joong-ah.”
“Ah, thanks.” Jae Joong said, as he stood by the door of the small cottage, hands on his pockets. “It’s pretty much a work of a newbie, but . . . thank you. I made that last Christmas, remember we were talking about that children’s show with banana twins as the main characters?”
“Bananas in Pajamas,” Yunho laughed, then walked to another side of the small studio, where a huge table was. On one side was a row of plain terra cotta pots and bowls and vases of various sizes, while on the other side were paint cans and brushes. The surface of table was colorful on its own, with random paint patterns, some looking deliberate, some looking like total accidents.
Yunho had been in Seoul for two days, working on an architecture project with the owners of another Seoul hotel for the design of their new executive suites. It was a flexi-time job, output-based, and Yunho could leave whenever he wanted during the day provided that he finishes all his requirements within the week.
The arrangement allowed the both of them to have lunch together for the past two days, or to meet after Jae Joong’s teaching job, at 2:30. And for the next 2 and half hours, Jae Joong plays the Seoul tour guide to an enthusiastic Yunho. And driver. And cuisine expert. And color consultant. And shock absorber. When they met that afternoon, Yunho wouldn’t stop complaining about how teak Japanese-styled furniture would look absolutely ridiculous with 18-century art nouveau wallpaper. And come to think of it, Jae Joong thought, Yunho’s right.
It was unplanned, actually, the visit to Jae Joong’s house. The young designer had been complaining about some of the fixtures in the model unit he was working on, and suddenly he thought of Jae Joong’s pots. Jae Joong had been nervous about the topic; although he took great pride in his work, Jae Joong never really had that much of confidence on them yet. Most of his pots landed inside the house, as bathroom accessories or kitchen vases or Inhwan’s paint holders.
“So you made these, Jae Joong-ah?” Yunho asked, referring to the plain terra cotta pots. He picked one that was shaped as a mug with a gigantic handle.
“Ah, no, not really. Well, just a few of them.” Jae Joong said sheepishly, “I started buying some of the pots, since I just wanted to paint them anyway. Then I thought, maybe I should try making my own. I even got this second-hand wheel.” He pointed to the clay wheel on one corner, looking old and used. “But I haven’t done much really. It’s kind of complicated. After I make the pots I still need to bring them to a potter friend to bake it, and then stuff. I guess I’ll stick to painting for now.”
“I like it. I really do.” Yunho said, smiling. Then he bit his lip. “And apparently, my mother does as well.”
“You can pick anything that you like.”
“Sounds good.” Yunho nodded, then pointed to the clay wheel. “And maybe before I leave, you can show me how to make pots too. I’ve always wondered about those.”
“Aish,” Jae Joong scratched his head. “I don’t know, Yunho-ah. I kinda suck when it comes to pot making. It took me about two weeks to come up with a decent-looking pot. Perhaps I should bring you to my friend instead? He’s an official potter, if there’s such a thing.”
“You have a chef friend,” Yunho said, “And you have a potter friend. Wow. That’s just. . .” he frowned, trying to find the right words to say. “. . . that says a lot about you, Jae Joong-ah.”
“Oh, and you know what? I actually have an architect friend who designed the suites of the Pan Pacific.”
Yesterday, Jae Joong learned that Yunho was the same Jung Yunho that was featured in a daily newspaper a few years back, on a feature article about the world renowned hotel. It was Changmin who showed him the paper; he almost had a heart attack. He smirked playfully at Yunho. “You know how cool that is?”
Yunho raised a brow, but there was a smile playing in his lips. The statement I don’t remember mentioning you that hung in the air, as well as How can you not tell me that? “And are you . . . good friends?”
“Maybe.” Jae Joong shrugged. “I hope we are.”
“And he’s probably hoping for the same thing.” Yunho looked at him, suddenly serious. His eyes were a beautiful shade of brown, Jae Joong noticed, because he was standing near the window and the afternoon light landed quite nicely to illuminate his side profile. He smiled at Jae Joong. “No. . . I’m sure he is.”
----------------------------
Ridiculous.
That’s the only way Jae Joong could describe what he was feeling right now. He was fighting the urge to look at Yunho every five minutes, who was seated silently on the passenger’s seat, fiddling with his PDA. They left the house at around 3:30, and Jae Joong still had an hour to bring Yunho back to the Pan Pacific and drive to Inhwan’s school to fetch him. He had asked if Yunho wanted to see his son, but the other man shook his head no.
Perhaps next time.
“Here you go.” Jae Joong said as he stopped right in front of the lobby of the Pan, “I hope you enjoyed today, Yunho-ah.”
“I did!” Yunho nodded, then smiled brightly. He had gone down the car, and he was leaning on the passenger window. “The restaurant we went today was really good, I really liked it. I’m noting that one down.”
“Great,” Jae Joong said, “I’ll see you . . . the day after tomorrow then?” About two days ago Yunho had asked him about the directions to a shop called Paint Express, saying he had to check some new colors for the hotel units. Almost automatically Jae Joong had offered to drive him there, and his enthusiasm had put out any objections on Yunho’s part.
“Oh. Yeah. .” Yunho took a deep inhale. “Well, about that.”
“Eh?” Did he change his mind?
Yunho turned in his seat, and Jae Joong could see how tightly he was clutching the seatbelt, his fingers tense, almost white. He tried not to laugh, because this was too different from the Jung Yunho he remembered striding into the Pan Pacific for the first time, suave and regale and no-nonsense. Yet his face was an expression of pride, strong and defiant. What an enigma. “I was . . . well . . .wondering, if. . . “
Jae Joong stared at him.
Yunho exhaled nervously, then smiled, “If. . .you’d like to have dinner with me, maybe tomorrow night?” The confused look in Jae Joong’s eyes made Yunho frown a bit, “Well, it’s just that. . .I feel bad dragging you around, so I thought -“
“No,” Jae Joong shook his head, tapping the steering wheel. “You’re not dragging me around, Yunho-ah.”
“So. . .” A small smile curved Yunho’s lips, “So. . . you’ll be joining me for dinner tomorrow night then?”
“Ah, that,” Jae Joong’s voice trailed off. Tuesday nights were always eat-in-the-garden nights. Jae Joong would be making barbecue, and Changmin and Inhwan would be pulling out the wooden table into the garden. There’s ice cream after too. He looked at Yunho, biting his lip. “That sounds great, but Inhwan . . . .”
“Ah, Inhwannie. . .” came the reply, and Jae Joong couldn’t help but feel a little upset at how disappointed that voice sounded. Or maybe he was just imagining things? Then Yunho was getting out of the car, standing on the platform that led to the hotel’s lobby. “It’s alright then. Perhaps some other time?”
“Yes,” Jae Joong said, nodding his head, his voice almost apologetic. “Of course. I’ll see you, Yunho-ah.”
Jae Joong stared at the steering wheel, wondering if he had answered right, because there was a weird feeling in his chest that said he was more than a little upset. This was all wrong, all wrong, because nobody is supposed to make him think twice about spending time with his son. But there was something in Jung Yunho . . .something. . .
. . . .in perhaps the way he tries not to look lonely, when they talk about Inhwan? Or the way he mourns for this child that Jae Joong knew next to nothing about, except that Yunho had lost him? Or the way he tries to keep the memory of his child alive a little bit longer, with that spare bedroom, with sheets and curtains of yellow boats and sails?
The child. It bothered Jae Joong. The thought had robbed him a few hours of sleep each night. Where was he, what happened to him, and why does Yunho keep on suffering this way? Or did he deliberately choose to suffer this way, pretending that his child lives in the next room? Had he done so much wrong in the past? Jae Joong had berated himself for million times already when his brain takes him this way - even when he is at work, even at home while helping Inhwan with his assignments - and that this was wrong. Changmin would call it obsession. He probably would too, if it was happening to someone else. But there was this urge feeling to help Yunho, make him really smile again, make that remaining, almost obscured wall between them crumble to pieces.
But Jae Joong promised himself he wouldn’t ask, wouldn’t prod, wouldn’t push. And it seemed like Yunho wouldn’t begin to spill the details of his child on his own either, and why would he? Perhaps he thought it didn’t matter to their friendship, perhaps he thought Jae Joong doesn’t really care. Or perhaps it was too personal, and there are still walls you build around you. For Jae Joong, it was beginning to become frustrating.
Or perhaps it was his own fault for telling almost his life story to Yunho and expecting that the other man would do the same. It made him feel like a total fool.
The loud horn of the car behind him made Jae Joong almost jump up, and he looked up to see Yunho stop on his way to the lobby. For a moment he just stood there, and then he turned to face Jae Joong. There was a smile in his face, but it wasn’t the same warm smile that Jae Joong found himself growing fond of these past few days.
I know you won’t . . .I mean. . .still . . .if you change your mind. . .
----------------------------
And Jae Joong did change his mind.
Inhwan could only look at him in shock when he said they’ll have the barbecue night on Thursday instead, instead of tomorrow. Changmin had come to the rescue, saying he was going to babysit Kim Moonbin - Inhwan’s school bestfriend - and Inhwan could come along. They’ll be having a top-secret all-boys party with chicken and pasta and steamed buns, just the way Inhwan liked it.
I’m not encouraging you, Hyung. Changmin had said, before they went down in front of the Kims house on Thursday. He waited for Inhwan to be out of earshot before turning back to Jae Joong. The little boy had run to meet Moonbin. But I can see how this . . .this . . . means to you. And I trust you, hyung. I just want you to keep reminding yourself - he’s leaving in 2 days. I just don’t want you to -
It’s not like that, Changmin.
A deep sigh, as if to say why do I even bother to tell this to you? Alright, hyung. Alright.
The elevator was empty when it stopped on the ground floor, the bowl of beef stew and sushi warm in his hands. He picked it up in Sheong-ah, because he remembered Yunho saying that he absolutely liked it. The smell of the stew filled the elevator somewhat, and he was glad that no one else had joined him in the lift, considering that it was still early in the evening. A slender finger pressed 14.
He didn't call Yunho, didn't tell him that it was coming, didn't know if there was indeed someone in Rm. 1458 who'll be receiving the food. A part of him didn't want Yunho to think that he had thought about the dinner offer and changed his mind in the last minute, although that was exactly how it would appear anyway. But still. The worst that could happen was for nobody to be there. Or that, for some reason, they'd just have to exchange his, and then goodbyes. It was always easy to come up with an excuse anyway. I was just around the area, and I thought, why not drop by? So here's the food. Enjoy. Bye.
It was on his third knock when a sleepy-eyed and half-dressed Yunho opened the door, white shirt unbuttoned over white-washed jeans, and barefoot. A pencil was tucked behind his ear, and another was dangling on the side of his mouth, and he was busy looking at some blueprints when he had opened the door with his foot.
The pencil immediately fell on the floor when Yunho saw him, and his face could rival the lush red carpet of his unit. Suddenly he was trying to use the blueprints to cover what wasn't covered by his long-sleeved shirt, and trying to fix the just-out-of-bed state of his hair, all at the same time. "Jae - Jae Joong-ah!"
Jae Joong smiled a little, feeling embarrassed for him. So this is how working-mode Yunho looked like. "Um . . . room service."
"Come on in, Uh sorry, I wasn't expecting . . . you," Yunho said as he fully opened the door and let the other man in. "Please, make yourself feel comfortable."
"Is this . . . a bad time?"
"Uh no, no," Yunho shook his head, and there was a little shocked expression in his face, as if he was still trying to process that Jae Joong was indeed there, and he looked like he was trying his best to hide his smile. Jae Joong realized how narrow the hallway was, because he can practically feel the embarrassed blush radiating off Yunho. "Well . . ."
"Here," Jae Joong extended the bowl to him. "For dinner. If you haven't eaten yet. But if you have, it's okay, I can just put it in the fridge and -"
"I was actually having. . .my dinner at the moment. How did you know?" Yunho laughed, but his voice had taken a very low tone that Jae Joong thought he could feel it vibrating off the walls. "So. . .perfect timing, Jae Joong-ah."
Jae Joong tilted his head with a frown, eyeing the blueprints that Yunho still had plastered atop his upper half. "You don't. . . .look like you're having dinner." A hand shot out to Yunho’s hair, and Jae Joong laughed softly as he withdrew his hand, something white on his fingers. “You’ve got tape on your hair, Yunho-ah.”
“Ah,” Yunho’s hand immediately shot up to his hair in horror, but then he realized that the blueprints would fall, so he stopped fumbling with his hair and he looked at Jae Joong sheepishly instead. “Thanks. I was trying to battle against some boxes this afternoon, trying to make a model unit.”
“You need to take care of yourself better.”
“Sure, Mom.”
“Okay, nice to meet you. Goodbye.” Jae Joong motioned as if he was going to leave.
“Sorry, sorry Jae Joong-ah, I couldn’t help it!” Yunho said with a light laugh, although he looked thoroughly embarrassed. “Do you think you can find your way to the kitchen instead? I feel . . . underdressed. Er. Yeah. I’ll just fix up and. . . let’s have dinner!”
Jae Joong shrugged, “Alright.”
“Be back in a few!” Yunho said, and smiled sheepishly when they reached the living room. It was a huge mess of blue prints and cardboard cut-outs, and wooden panes, pencils and rulers and crumpled papers. “So yeah, this is how I work. But please, ignore the mess.” Then he ran towards the bedroom.
Yunho was indeed having dinner, although Jae Joong wasn’t sure if he was working while having dinner, or having dinner while working. The table was set, the trolley for food service by the table. He shook his head, noticing another set of blue prints spread out in the glass kitchen table. He must be in the middle of eating, Jae Joong thought as he tried to unwrap the bowl from the package, noting the full spoon by the plate.
It was typical Korean cuisine, Jae Joong could tell, as he looked at the beautifully prepared gimbap and something else, and was relieved to see that there was no beef stew and sushi. How fortunate.
But there was another plate. An extra plate. An extra plate, an extra glass and a pair of untouched chopsticks, set on the side across Yunho’s own.
I wasn’t expecting you, Jae Joong-ah.
“That smells nice,” He heard Yunho behind him, and looked up to see him fully-dressed, hair a little wet and combed. He smelled of musk. Yunho’s eyes widened when he saw the beef stew. “Oh, it’s from that restaurant~”
“Yeah,” Jae Joong replied softly. Suddenly he found his own fingers interesting, as he laid out the sushi, in its prettily-designed box. “Yunho-ah?”
“Yes?” His voice was bright, like a child’s, as he ran to his spot. “Please, please sit down, Jae Joong-ah.”
“Ahh,” Jae Joong nodded, and wondered if he could get the extra plate that was there, just like that. He decided against it. Decided against even sitting down on that chair across Yunho’s. “Yunho-ah. . . are you . . .waiting for someone?”
The smile on Yunho’s face faltered for a moment, realizing what the other man meant. But then it was back again. “No,” came the reply, almost indifferent. “I just like the -“
“-extra plate?”
I just like the extra space.
Pause. “Yes.”
Don’t push, Jae Joong. Don’t push.
“Alright.” Jae Joong immediately scanned the trolley, and sighed with relief as he saw a spare plate there. He made a move to get it. The air felt heavy, almost awkward. He didn’t like it. “So, how’s -“
“You can have it.”
He looked up to see Yunho overturning the extra plate, extending it towards him. “If he was here, I think he’d like you too.” Then Yunho frowned, after a moment. “I mean, he’d like you. So,” He smiled at Jae Joong. “Please.”
It was a moment before Jae Joong found his voice, and he knew he was gaping at Yunho but he didn’t care. Their fingers brushed softly as he took the china. “Thank you,” was all that he said, but he didn’t know if it was for the plate, or for the little peek in Yunho’s soul that he had been allowed to do.
CHAPTER FIVE
“How do you find Seoul so far?“
“Busy,” Yunho said with a mouthful of rice. Dinner had been progressing quite nicely; they had started with Jae Joong’s random comment on one of Yunho’s designs and neither had realized that almost two hours had passed. “Things here are a lot faster than Namwon, although I think it’s doing me some kind of good, since I can stop myself from slacking off.”
Jae Joong frowned at the blueprints beside them. “Slacking off. Right.”
“And I have an idea,” Yunho said, his voice taking a low tone as if in a whisper. “I’m trying to finish most of my work today, because I was thinking, maybe you can teach me pottery tomorrow instead?”
“Aren’t you persistent,” Jae Joong muttered under his breath, “I’m not a professional, Yunho-ah. You might end up disappointed, you know.”
“With you? I highly doubt it.” Yunho said, swallowing a gimbap.
“Now I’m pressured.” Jae Joong said, feigning worry. “But then again, sounds like a plan. You might even get to meet Inhwan.”
“Perhaps,” Yunho shrugged, “Although I’m not exactly sure if I want to,” his voice took a lower tone. He felt hopeful, but a little sad. “I might find it harder to leave.”
“Fallen in love with Seoul that fast?” Jae Joong laughed. With a twist of his wrist, his chopsticks made a quick line towards the sushi plate.
His chopsticks made a soft tinkle, colliding with another set of crystal chopsticks that was aiming for the same sushi. Yunho. Jae Joong had a strange feeling that it was deliberate, not an accident. His stomach turned around when brown eyes met black. And he saw that expression in his face again, proud and defiant. “Yes. I guess you could say that.”
Jae Joong forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. With a flicker of his wrist, his own chopsticks went free and he swiftly picked the sushi, depositing it on Yunho’s plate. He smiled casually. “There. You can have it.”
Yunho blinked, picked the piece and transferred it into Jae Joong’s plate. “It’s yours.”
“No, we’ve got five more, Yunho-ah, you can have it.” From Jae Joong’s plate to Yunho’s. “Please.”
“This is silly, but I think you should have it.” From Yunho’s, to Jae Joong’s.
“If we don’t stop this, the sushi will end up falling in the beef stew and I don’t think that’s a good idea!” Jae Joong cried. The phone in the living room started ringing, and Jae Joong took that as a good opportunity. “Now, Yunho-ah, someone’s calling. Go get it.”
“Not until this,” Yunho picked up the sushi that had been deposited in his plate about two seconds ago, “goes to you.”
“We have to stop this. Now.” Jae Joong glared. “What’s wrong with you? And the phone’s on its 6th ring.”
“How about you stop returning what I’m trying to give you instead?” Yunho looked incredulous, but his eyes were shining. And he deposited the poor sushi on Jae Joong’s plate.
“Fine!” Jae Joong said, shaking his head. He was far from angry, though. “Alright. I’m getting it. Now go get the teleph -“
BEEP.
“Yunho-ah,” It was an old female voice, and they fell into a hush. It took Jae Joong a full minute to realize that the answering machine was already turned on. Even Yunho looked surprised, his chopsticks falling to his plate with a soft tinkle.
“I know you don’t want to talk about this on the phone, but . . . . your appa found some of your old mails today, and he’s . . . . furious.” Pause. “Yunho . . . he says you’re not going to get anything if you keep this going. Honey, please. Please listen to Umma.” A sorrowful sigh. “Umma knows what she’s talking about.”
Jae Joong saw how Yunho’s face turned into a pale shade of white, as if he was frozen in the spot. He didn’t know if he should just stand up and pick up the receiver, give it to Yunho, because he felt like this was something he wasn’t supposed to hear.
“Stop trying to find him. You’re not married, Yunho. There is no child. And he’s not even dead, because maybe maybe, there is no kid to begin with. Your search is pointless and. . . .just stop it. You’re wasting money on these investigators who send you mail everyday, most of which are probably lies. You don’t have a son, Yunho. Please, please listen to Umma. Stop doing to yourself.” Another sniffle. “Umma loves you, and Umma hurts for you, Yunnie, please don’t do this anymore.” Pause. “Just. . .don’t do this anymore.”
BEEP.
----------------------------
It was the sound of the drinking glass rolling off the table and crashing into the floor that broke the silence of the apartment. Yunho’s glass. It fell on the marble and crashed into several pieces, but neither of them made a move towards it.
Jae Joong felt dizzy. Aside from that, he felt next to nothing. It was like sensory overload, and in a very bad way. His head felt like it was going to burst, and he felt like he was floating in mid-air, as if he wasn’t real. There were floating yellow boats and yellow sails in his head, and blue curtains and a child’s bed. His gaze fell on his plate. He felt like he wanted to puke.
And Yunho . . . Yunho just sat there, staring at his plate. Unblinking.
“You know,” He began, and Jae Joong frowned because his voice came out too raspy. Suddenly he realized how dry his throat was.
He sipped his soup softly. “I’m starting to . . .wonder which Yunho I prefer knowing. The Yunho I’ve talked to for the past two years, whose stories I enjoy although I can’t enjoy his company,” Pause. “Or this Yunho in front of me now, whose company has got me smiling most of the time, but who doesn’t seem to want to tell me anything.”
Jae Joong laughed, “And it’s weird, because I don’t remember wanting to know something before, this badly.”
Silence.
Jae Joong sighed, pushed his bowl away from him. “Perhaps you should call your Umma now, Yunho-ah. She sounds really worried. It’s getting late anyway, I need to head back.”
Silence.
“Alright,” Jae Joong muttered under his breath, wiping his mouth with the napkin. He stood up, and the chair made a loud scraping noise against the marble floor. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Yunho-ah.”
God, he wanted to break something. Anything. Jae Joong had never felt so . . . disappointed, and frustrated, and so lied to ever in his entire life. And his stomach turned violently as he thought how the past two years had been a lie, how his concern for Jung Yunho had been baseless, how he had been led on, by a fake kind of loneliness? And for what? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He felt like punching Yunho.
He turned around, his strides fast and angry and firm towards the doorway. He didn’t look back, not even once. His fist hit the wall in a loud thud, but that didn’t make Jae Joong feel any better. In fact, he didn’t even feel anything. He was just -
“I. . . . I had this relationship with a girl.” Pause. “A long time ago. Roughly 6, 7 years ago.”
Will I turn to look? Will I turn to look? Jae Joong’s eyes burned in the brass doorknob in front of him. He didn’t have to hear this. He could just turn the knob and leave.
A few minutes of silence.
Jae Joong turned the knob.
“I was a college student, and she was an assistant professor.” The words came out hurried, frantic. “She was about 2 years older than me. Met her in my senior year. She was this beautiful, strong-willed, brave and proud woman.” Pause. “She had very black hair. . . . a lot like yours.”
Jae Joong didn’t turn around, his hand still resting on the doorknob. One flick of his wrist and he’ll be out of there. But Yunho’s voice stopped him, and he could feel Yunho. He couldn’t be that far from him, there in that narrow hallway. “I’d like to think that she fell in love with me as much as I fell in love with her, and well, I’ve had my share of relationships but she. . . . she was . . .just different. She was annoying and sharp-mouthed and everything I hate. But I loved her.“
“She left one day,” Yunho continued, “Just like that. She didn’t have a lot of friends; she was quiet, reserved, a lot of people were intimated by her. She was a free spirit. Maybe that’s what I liked about her. Nobody knew where she went.”
Jae Joong leaned his head on the door. Suddenly he felt tired. “Did something happen?”
Silence. “I found out from her neighbor. She was pregnant when she left. I didn’t know why she had to do that, but when I think about it, it makes me so angry.” Pause. “It took me a year to figure it out. She must’ve thought . . . . she must’ve thought my father won’t. . .would. . -“
“You wouldn’t have left her alone, Yunho.” Jae Joong turned to look at him.
“I wouldn’t have,” Yunho said. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, in the end of the hallway, facing the wall. “But that girl, she never really listened to me anyway. I was always this young naïve boy to her, I guess. Up until now I think I hated her for that.” Pause. “I never heard from her ever since.”
“And I thought, maybe if I could make a name for myself, get out of the shadow of the great Jung Hyukjae, I’ll try to find her. And my son.” Pause. “Looked for them for a year, then found out that she was dead.” Yunho frowned, fiddling with his fingers. “Accident. Somewhere in Guangdo. And I have no idea where my son is. ”
Shit. Jae Joong slid down the floor by the doorway, covering his face with both hands. Shit shit shit. This is so fucked-up. He saw Yunho curled up in his own spot, knees up to his chest. He remembered the child’s room, the yellow boats and sails, and the extra plate, and he wondered if Yunho is going to live his life like this forever.
“Do you . . .” Jae Joong began, “. . . think he’s even alive?”
“I have friends. . . in the detective stuff business.” Yunho said, his face still buried in his arms over his knees. “But sometimes, it just gets. . . ridiculous. One time they even told me they think he’s in Africa. DUH.” Pause. “I don’t know, Jae Joong-ah. I’d like to think he’s not dead.”
Jae Joong stood up from his spot. His knees felt like slabs of cement underneath him. He stopped beside Yunho, slid down the floor next to him and curled his knees up to his chest, mimicking Yunho’s pose. “I’m sorry, but I don’t like your mother very much.”
Yunho stared at him questioningly.
“She can’t go around telling someone that their child doesn’t exist just because there’s no marriage contract, no birth certificate, no wedding rings and matrimonial beds.” Jae Joong said.
“Everyday, I think I live in constant fear that someday, Inhwan’s real dad would come knocking at my door, demanding that I return his son. I might just kill him, or I don’t know.” Jae Joong laughed at his own thoughts. “But who am I to talk? I never really liked my mom much anyway. She and my dad left me here, and went to live their own lives sunbathing in the Carribean.”
“In their 50s?”
“60s actually. Can’t imagine how they look like in swimming gear.”
“I believe my father thinks I’m delusional.”
“I’m sorry, Yunho-ah. But I was a hairsbreadth away from thinking that I’m in a badly done psychological movie after I heard your mom in the answering machine.” Jae Joong hit his forehead with the ball of his palm. “My first thought was, “Please don’t let him dump me in a garbage can after he kills me with the chopsticks.” Sorry, but you just wouldn’t talk.”
“And for a moment I thought my last image of Kim Jae Joong would be him walking out of my door.”
Jae Joong smiled to himself. He played with his shoelaces, untying them, glancing every now and then on Yunho’s bare feet beside his shoes. “I have friends in Guangdo, Yunho-ah. We lived there, before me and Inhwan moved here. It’s just a small city, and my friends have lived their all their lives. Surely, they would’ve heard about this girl and your son -“
“It’s okay, Jae Joong-ah.”
“I have 2 grandfathers there. Well, not really my grandfathers. They were my landlords,” Jae Joong said as he began tying his the lace of his left shoe. “They know everyone there -“
“It’s okay,” Yunho sighed, “You’ll be surprised at the number of people I’ve hired. And after all these years the only thing I’m quite sure of is that, he’s seven years old.“
“I want to help.” Jae Joong voice was firm, and he was frowning. “I want to help.”
“And believe me when I say you have,” Yunho said, as he took the untied laces of Jae Joong’s right shoe. His fingers moved swiftly, quick, and before Jae Joong could blink he had already tied them in a neat ribbon. “You have.”
ON TO:
Chapter 6 & 7