Pink
Title: Pink
Pairing: Jaechun/Jaemin
Rating: PG 13 for references to drugs and death
Length: One-shot
Genre: Drama, Angst
Summary: Pink is the combination of red and white; the color of roses, a white elephant when wet, and Victoria Secret's lounge wear line. It is stereotypically innocent, like little girls in pink flowery dresses and candy floss.
It was all a big masquerade ball where we were the only ones capable of screwing up because they were always the good and we were always the bad.
His name was Max. He dressed in normal but smart attire, walked with his shoulders straight and head held up, his perfectly timed smile well-liked. It was on the second day when he noticed me, as he was chatting with his newly made friends at the end of the hallway. I watched his observant eyes scan from my torn jeans and hooded jumper to my unshaven face with blood-shot eyes. I was expecting him to smirk at me in disgust like so many did. But with a furtive glance of curiousity, he returned to the nonchalant conversation he’d so subtly left.
The English classroom had the same cheaply painted yellow walls as last year, the year before that, and all those years before that. There were the same little cracks that had escaped from repair, only to be repeatedly filled in with pink bubblegum by students. We were still the same: puerile and rebellious, the perfect match for our classroom.
Upon arrival, Max threw his rucksack onto the desk beside me, the loud thud startling me, but easily fading into the mindless chatter of others. He’d taken Jaejoong’s desk: Jaejoong, my friend for so long; Jaejoong, who had always been beside me. I leaned on the two back legs of my creaking plastic chair and glared at him. But his eyes had already strayed to Jaejoong, watching as he strode across the room, his newly dyed blonde locks swaying with his languorous walk. I watched him take in Max’s clean cut appearance, admiring his symmetrical face and upright posture.
He introduced himself with his laid-back boyish voice, eyes not shifting from Jaejoong’s. He looked down, repressing a smile, a slight blush tinted on his pale cheeks. He slyly took my seat, shoving me to the far back corner. Unwillingly, I watched them from class after class, knowing that I’ve lost the only friendship I’ve ever had.
Jaejoong and I, we never needed anyone else, just money to get by and I was unlucky enough to meet the wrong people. I was forced onto this rollercoaster ride of drugs; distorted uphill, adrenaline rush falling, and the sudden stop that ended it. I’ve always dragged Jaejoong to the club with me ever since a Thursday five years ago, and the pattern continued. He calmed me, with his staring eyes and attention seeking shirts. Except that I had forgotten how attached he and Max have become in the past month; his face had a lively glow I haven’t seen since we were young, his hands covering his pouted lips to suppress the laugh reserved for his jokes, and always, a light flirting punch on his arm.
The black sky was starless with the strong wind blowing against Jaejoong’s thin shirt, revealing his smooth collarbone and nipple ring. I kept an insensate face, drawing away from Jaejoong and I saw Max do the same.
I led them down the familiar, narrow pathway, the rough surface of the bricks on both sides scraping against my bare skin. Distantly, I could hear the sound of water trickling through metal pipes, our conversation silent as we approached the hidden nightclub.
U-know, like always, was guarding the entrance with the letters of the club’s name hanging askew, the paint peeled off on the first letter, spelling “ASQUERADE”. U-know’s left elbow was propped onto the rusted gate, supporting the weight of his slanted body. Cigarette in hand, his diluted eyes leered at Max and he inquired warily,
“Who’s the friend, Mickey?” He glared at Max, a tired but malicious stare. I was about to reply, but casually, Max introduced himself. U-know didn’t move except routinely puffing out smoke. I felt Jaejoong’s thin fingers prod into my thick coat, nudging me to say something.
“It’s fine. He’s with us.” I gave U-know a reassuring nod and then asked, “Where’s Xiah?”
“He’s down in the basement.” Jaejoong thanked him quickly and pulled onto Max’s sleeve, urging him to move inside.
“Be careful, Mick.” U-know added, giving me a warning I’d already considered.
The place was dark, the dim disco lights flashing pink and white in the cramped space. The bartenders covered their faces with fancy Venetian masks, moving gracefully as if dancing at a masquerade ball.
But it wasn’t, not at the very least, pretty. It was normal to see a well-dressed man, taking a little plastic bag of cocaine from an indigent teenager barely out of childhood. No one cared about the trace of baby fat on his cheeks or his lanky, half grown height. We had become too accustomed to this lifestyle.
I was ashamed of our ‘domino effect’ society, where we were so weak-minded and easily influenced, where morals didn’t matter and drugs played too big a part. But it was all a matter of survival, an analogy to a food chain: we supplied them in order to live, and they took it in order to live a ‘better’ life. We were all merely doing our job to survive.
“Jae,” I raised my voice to be heard over the blaring music, “I’m meeting Xiah. Stay here.” I signaled Max over to the bar, and I saw his lips part as if to question where I was going, but I had already walked towards the stairs leading to the basement.
“Why are you hiding it from him?” Jaejoong demanded in hushed whispers, yanking my arm towards him. He followed me down the stairs.
I halted at his blunt question and replied harshly, “I, unlike you, don’t trust him yet.”
“Please, Mick, stop being paranoid.” He said accusingly, rolling his bottomless blue eyes, the color strikingly contrasting with the pink wig he was wearing.
“I’m not.” I stated. He knew as well as I did that we had to be meticulous. “You never know what’s behind his pretty face and funny jokes. Should I go over to him and say, ‘I’m a drug dealer, would you like some?’” He looked at me sharply, but I continued, emphasising each word, “We’ll end up locked behind bars.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say that. He’s not one of them.”
Abruptly, he dropped his grasp on my arm, slightly pushing me towards the door that was left ajar. I didn’t hold him back to apologise for my ruthless words or turn to gaze at his departing back. I simply didn’t have the choice to look back anymore, but only to walk forward.
“Close the door.” Xiah reminded me as I slowly shut myself into the windowless room. I didn’t really dare to look at him straight in the eye, even after so many years of working for him. He held himself with authority and pride, although he wasn’t too tall or too wide, it was difficult to look past him.
There was a worn out baseball cap covering his small, intimidating eyes, his unshaped lips curled up into a wry smile. He was wearing a half buttoned pink shirt.
“Real men wear pink.” His single, eukyangkyang laugh echoed in the room, the sound too adorable for such a dangerous man. Uncomfortable, I shoved my hands into my jeans pockets, nodding in agreement.
“How’s business, Mickey?”
“Good.” I replied laconically.
“Well, that is good. I just got some new stock. Here.” He handed me the cocaine.
I opened the plastic bag and sniffed. It was good quality, which meant more money and better customers. Eager to exit from Xiah’s pretentious affectation, I slid it into my pocket and turned to leave.
“Wait. I overheard your conversation with Jaejoong. Who’s the new friend you made?”
“Jaejoong’s friend.” I corrected him. “His name is Max. Don’t worry about it, Xiah.”
“No, no.” Xiah shook his head, rubbing his plump fingers around his stubby chin, and guaranteed, “I’ll get someone to test him.”
I nodded again, unable to protest, and walked out, closing the door behind me. I didn’t want Xiah to be involved. He feared the utmost about his own safety and identity. With even the slightest suspicion, he would get rid of an outsider. I knew what would happen: it was an old trap Xiah often used, instructing his people to check up on new guys by saying, “I’ve just got told that there’s a change in your operation. Detective Clark sent me.” Max’s reply was a determination of life or death because they would tell him fake instructions, leading him into the mouth of a Venus flytrap. Yet I could only wait and watch or I would be the one in danger.
From the near distance, I could see Max and Jaejoong at the bar, sitting close with their elbows touching each other’s. Jaejoong threw his head back and laughed wholeheartedly at something Max said. It was hard to approach them without feeling like the outsider.
“Where did you go?” Max asked when I sat down. He took a sip out of his drink, feigning disinterest. I ignored him, almost used to his curiousity which brought many questions. But swiftly, Jaejoong reached into my pocket and pulled out the plastic bag, showing him.
I remember watching his face, catching the little twinkle in his eye that screamed, “Bingo!” but he had regained his composure so fast that it would have been unnoticeable if I had not been watching closely. He gave a slight nod as I snatched the plastic bag out of Jaejoong’s hands and glared at him for his recklessness.
“Yoochun,” Jaejoong addressed me. I winced at the sound of my real name, making me feel even more exposed than I already did. “I understand that you feel guilty doing this, as if you are harming these willing people by supplying drugs. But even if it wasn’t you, there’s always someone else who would be eager to take your place.”
I swallowed the alcohol, feeling it burn my throat, digesting it as I digested Jaejoong’s words, knowing that this business was easy to enter but much harder to quit.
“There are times,” Max quietly muttered as we stood to leave, “when you don’t have a choice, because this is your job and no matter how wrong it is, or how unwilling you are, you need to endure it.”
It was the following Thursday night when Xiah changed the location of our meeting to a private clubhouse. That had never happened before. He reminded me to bring Max.
The garden seemed abnormally green and spacious when we arrived. Max was confident, stepping forward. Xiah flashed him a friendly smile, gave me a sly wink before turning around, and then threw his arms over Max’s shoulder as they whispered into each other’s ears, coming to a nonexistent agreement.
I stared at the silhouette of the two men huddling together in front of the pool. It was dark, and I could only make out Max’s heroic figure, bending down to talk to Xiah, whose rounder shape reflected an evil character. They stood, side by side like good and bad, but I knew this was not a children’s story where the good always win.
I could feel Jaejoong shuddering next to me in the cold but I couldn’t bring myself to look into his confused, inquiring eyes.
My vision blurred as Xiah pulled the trigger. The gunshot was echoing; deafening. Xiah hurled Max’s motionless body into the clear swimming pool, a smirk on his face as he watched the pink colour deepening into an angry crimson as it gradually spread around the floating corpse.
Jaejoong turned around, a sudden drop as he fell to his knees, gasping in disbelief as betrayal marked on his suddenly flawed face. He didn't even know if Max was his real name, or where he lived, or how he liked his beef at dinner.
There was a constant flicker of red and blue lights, the frightening but familiar sound of the police, leading to the repetitive footsteps of panic tattering across the garden to escape. The uniformed men rushed in, but it was too late to save their undercover.
I looked beside me, seeing the sobbing body of Jaejoong; my only friend, my soul mate. I could feel our matching tattoos seeping through our shirts, as if to remind us.
I met him when we were five or six, too young to care about anything but companionship. I still remember how he’d run to school with his natural black hair, toothpaste on the corners of his silly grin, and always dressed in something pink. I’ve seen him cry when a classmate teased his color preference, and even back then I was cowardly and careful, selfishly thinking only of my own consequences and never protected him. I’ve watched him lose the handsome boy he’d fallen for when I could have saved him. As I held onto his shaking hands, waiting for condign punishment, I started to understand what he was grinning about back then.
There is a part of the world where truth exists and nothing is camouflaged by the false innocence of pink.
Pairing: Jaechun/Jaemin
Rating: PG 13 for references to drugs and death
Length: One-shot
Genre: Drama, Angst
Summary: Pink is the combination of red and white; the color of roses, a white elephant when wet, and Victoria Secret's lounge wear line. It is stereotypically innocent, like little girls in pink flowery dresses and candy floss.
It was all a big masquerade ball where we were the only ones capable of screwing up because they were always the good and we were always the bad.
His name was Max. He dressed in normal but smart attire, walked with his shoulders straight and head held up, his perfectly timed smile well-liked. It was on the second day when he noticed me, as he was chatting with his newly made friends at the end of the hallway. I watched his observant eyes scan from my torn jeans and hooded jumper to my unshaven face with blood-shot eyes. I was expecting him to smirk at me in disgust like so many did. But with a furtive glance of curiousity, he returned to the nonchalant conversation he’d so subtly left.
The English classroom had the same cheaply painted yellow walls as last year, the year before that, and all those years before that. There were the same little cracks that had escaped from repair, only to be repeatedly filled in with pink bubblegum by students. We were still the same: puerile and rebellious, the perfect match for our classroom.
Upon arrival, Max threw his rucksack onto the desk beside me, the loud thud startling me, but easily fading into the mindless chatter of others. He’d taken Jaejoong’s desk: Jaejoong, my friend for so long; Jaejoong, who had always been beside me. I leaned on the two back legs of my creaking plastic chair and glared at him. But his eyes had already strayed to Jaejoong, watching as he strode across the room, his newly dyed blonde locks swaying with his languorous walk. I watched him take in Max’s clean cut appearance, admiring his symmetrical face and upright posture.
He introduced himself with his laid-back boyish voice, eyes not shifting from Jaejoong’s. He looked down, repressing a smile, a slight blush tinted on his pale cheeks. He slyly took my seat, shoving me to the far back corner. Unwillingly, I watched them from class after class, knowing that I’ve lost the only friendship I’ve ever had.
Jaejoong and I, we never needed anyone else, just money to get by and I was unlucky enough to meet the wrong people. I was forced onto this rollercoaster ride of drugs; distorted uphill, adrenaline rush falling, and the sudden stop that ended it. I’ve always dragged Jaejoong to the club with me ever since a Thursday five years ago, and the pattern continued. He calmed me, with his staring eyes and attention seeking shirts. Except that I had forgotten how attached he and Max have become in the past month; his face had a lively glow I haven’t seen since we were young, his hands covering his pouted lips to suppress the laugh reserved for his jokes, and always, a light flirting punch on his arm.
The black sky was starless with the strong wind blowing against Jaejoong’s thin shirt, revealing his smooth collarbone and nipple ring. I kept an insensate face, drawing away from Jaejoong and I saw Max do the same.
I led them down the familiar, narrow pathway, the rough surface of the bricks on both sides scraping against my bare skin. Distantly, I could hear the sound of water trickling through metal pipes, our conversation silent as we approached the hidden nightclub.
U-know, like always, was guarding the entrance with the letters of the club’s name hanging askew, the paint peeled off on the first letter, spelling “ASQUERADE”. U-know’s left elbow was propped onto the rusted gate, supporting the weight of his slanted body. Cigarette in hand, his diluted eyes leered at Max and he inquired warily,
“Who’s the friend, Mickey?” He glared at Max, a tired but malicious stare. I was about to reply, but casually, Max introduced himself. U-know didn’t move except routinely puffing out smoke. I felt Jaejoong’s thin fingers prod into my thick coat, nudging me to say something.
“It’s fine. He’s with us.” I gave U-know a reassuring nod and then asked, “Where’s Xiah?”
“He’s down in the basement.” Jaejoong thanked him quickly and pulled onto Max’s sleeve, urging him to move inside.
“Be careful, Mick.” U-know added, giving me a warning I’d already considered.
The place was dark, the dim disco lights flashing pink and white in the cramped space. The bartenders covered their faces with fancy Venetian masks, moving gracefully as if dancing at a masquerade ball.
But it wasn’t, not at the very least, pretty. It was normal to see a well-dressed man, taking a little plastic bag of cocaine from an indigent teenager barely out of childhood. No one cared about the trace of baby fat on his cheeks or his lanky, half grown height. We had become too accustomed to this lifestyle.
I was ashamed of our ‘domino effect’ society, where we were so weak-minded and easily influenced, where morals didn’t matter and drugs played too big a part. But it was all a matter of survival, an analogy to a food chain: we supplied them in order to live, and they took it in order to live a ‘better’ life. We were all merely doing our job to survive.
“Jae,” I raised my voice to be heard over the blaring music, “I’m meeting Xiah. Stay here.” I signaled Max over to the bar, and I saw his lips part as if to question where I was going, but I had already walked towards the stairs leading to the basement.
“Why are you hiding it from him?” Jaejoong demanded in hushed whispers, yanking my arm towards him. He followed me down the stairs.
I halted at his blunt question and replied harshly, “I, unlike you, don’t trust him yet.”
“Please, Mick, stop being paranoid.” He said accusingly, rolling his bottomless blue eyes, the color strikingly contrasting with the pink wig he was wearing.
“I’m not.” I stated. He knew as well as I did that we had to be meticulous. “You never know what’s behind his pretty face and funny jokes. Should I go over to him and say, ‘I’m a drug dealer, would you like some?’” He looked at me sharply, but I continued, emphasising each word, “We’ll end up locked behind bars.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say that. He’s not one of them.”
Abruptly, he dropped his grasp on my arm, slightly pushing me towards the door that was left ajar. I didn’t hold him back to apologise for my ruthless words or turn to gaze at his departing back. I simply didn’t have the choice to look back anymore, but only to walk forward.
“Close the door.” Xiah reminded me as I slowly shut myself into the windowless room. I didn’t really dare to look at him straight in the eye, even after so many years of working for him. He held himself with authority and pride, although he wasn’t too tall or too wide, it was difficult to look past him.
There was a worn out baseball cap covering his small, intimidating eyes, his unshaped lips curled up into a wry smile. He was wearing a half buttoned pink shirt.
“Real men wear pink.” His single, eukyangkyang laugh echoed in the room, the sound too adorable for such a dangerous man. Uncomfortable, I shoved my hands into my jeans pockets, nodding in agreement.
“How’s business, Mickey?”
“Good.” I replied laconically.
“Well, that is good. I just got some new stock. Here.” He handed me the cocaine.
I opened the plastic bag and sniffed. It was good quality, which meant more money and better customers. Eager to exit from Xiah’s pretentious affectation, I slid it into my pocket and turned to leave.
“Wait. I overheard your conversation with Jaejoong. Who’s the new friend you made?”
“Jaejoong’s friend.” I corrected him. “His name is Max. Don’t worry about it, Xiah.”
“No, no.” Xiah shook his head, rubbing his plump fingers around his stubby chin, and guaranteed, “I’ll get someone to test him.”
I nodded again, unable to protest, and walked out, closing the door behind me. I didn’t want Xiah to be involved. He feared the utmost about his own safety and identity. With even the slightest suspicion, he would get rid of an outsider. I knew what would happen: it was an old trap Xiah often used, instructing his people to check up on new guys by saying, “I’ve just got told that there’s a change in your operation. Detective Clark sent me.” Max’s reply was a determination of life or death because they would tell him fake instructions, leading him into the mouth of a Venus flytrap. Yet I could only wait and watch or I would be the one in danger.
From the near distance, I could see Max and Jaejoong at the bar, sitting close with their elbows touching each other’s. Jaejoong threw his head back and laughed wholeheartedly at something Max said. It was hard to approach them without feeling like the outsider.
“Where did you go?” Max asked when I sat down. He took a sip out of his drink, feigning disinterest. I ignored him, almost used to his curiousity which brought many questions. But swiftly, Jaejoong reached into my pocket and pulled out the plastic bag, showing him.
I remember watching his face, catching the little twinkle in his eye that screamed, “Bingo!” but he had regained his composure so fast that it would have been unnoticeable if I had not been watching closely. He gave a slight nod as I snatched the plastic bag out of Jaejoong’s hands and glared at him for his recklessness.
“Yoochun,” Jaejoong addressed me. I winced at the sound of my real name, making me feel even more exposed than I already did. “I understand that you feel guilty doing this, as if you are harming these willing people by supplying drugs. But even if it wasn’t you, there’s always someone else who would be eager to take your place.”
I swallowed the alcohol, feeling it burn my throat, digesting it as I digested Jaejoong’s words, knowing that this business was easy to enter but much harder to quit.
“There are times,” Max quietly muttered as we stood to leave, “when you don’t have a choice, because this is your job and no matter how wrong it is, or how unwilling you are, you need to endure it.”
It was the following Thursday night when Xiah changed the location of our meeting to a private clubhouse. That had never happened before. He reminded me to bring Max.
The garden seemed abnormally green and spacious when we arrived. Max was confident, stepping forward. Xiah flashed him a friendly smile, gave me a sly wink before turning around, and then threw his arms over Max’s shoulder as they whispered into each other’s ears, coming to a nonexistent agreement.
I stared at the silhouette of the two men huddling together in front of the pool. It was dark, and I could only make out Max’s heroic figure, bending down to talk to Xiah, whose rounder shape reflected an evil character. They stood, side by side like good and bad, but I knew this was not a children’s story where the good always win.
I could feel Jaejoong shuddering next to me in the cold but I couldn’t bring myself to look into his confused, inquiring eyes.
My vision blurred as Xiah pulled the trigger. The gunshot was echoing; deafening. Xiah hurled Max’s motionless body into the clear swimming pool, a smirk on his face as he watched the pink colour deepening into an angry crimson as it gradually spread around the floating corpse.
Jaejoong turned around, a sudden drop as he fell to his knees, gasping in disbelief as betrayal marked on his suddenly flawed face. He didn't even know if Max was his real name, or where he lived, or how he liked his beef at dinner.
There was a constant flicker of red and blue lights, the frightening but familiar sound of the police, leading to the repetitive footsteps of panic tattering across the garden to escape. The uniformed men rushed in, but it was too late to save their undercover.
I looked beside me, seeing the sobbing body of Jaejoong; my only friend, my soul mate. I could feel our matching tattoos seeping through our shirts, as if to remind us.
I met him when we were five or six, too young to care about anything but companionship. I still remember how he’d run to school with his natural black hair, toothpaste on the corners of his silly grin, and always dressed in something pink. I’ve seen him cry when a classmate teased his color preference, and even back then I was cowardly and careful, selfishly thinking only of my own consequences and never protected him. I’ve watched him lose the handsome boy he’d fallen for when I could have saved him. As I held onto his shaking hands, waiting for condign punishment, I started to understand what he was grinning about back then.
There is a part of the world where truth exists and nothing is camouflaged by the false innocence of pink.