Challenge #1 -- Entry 10
Title: White
Pairing: Minho/Taemin (SHINee)
Rating: PG
Summary: Dreams are a means of self-discovery for Taemin.
Song(s) used for inspiration: Tablo & Pe2ny - "White"
white.
The night before their comeback,
Taemin dreams of climbing a mountain.
It’s impossibly huge, snowcapped, and it looks like something out of a scene from a high-budget Hollywood movie. The dream makes no sense, but he finds himself believing in it while he’s asleep.
It’s hard to trust what logic tells you behind closed eyelids.
He climbs for what seems like eternity, reaching for the craggy rocks above to hold onto, the weight of his gear in his rucksack feeling less like the burden of physical necessity and more like unwanted emotional baggage.
His chest feels heavy, fear and anxiousness settling into his pounding heart. The violent snowstorm whirls around him, clinging to his thick jacket, obscuring his vision in white and making the charcoal gray skies high above him seem so far away.
Of course it’s illogical.
He knows the sky is too high for him to reach.
But even so, he feels like he has to try. He has to. He reaches his hand out to it, holds his hand out, whispers something soft, something unintelligible into the howling wind. A wish, he thinks. He hopes someone will hear it.
The wind swallows him whole, rips him from the rock face and sending him flying, flying, flying away.
And he should feel scared.
Of course he should feel scared.
Of course he should be calling out for help right now.
Logically so.
But instead of fear gripping his senses, all Taemin can think of is how wonderful it is.
Because he’s flying, free-falling, spinning through the air without wings (but what need did he have for such things, anyway) and plummeting,
face-first,
down,
down,
down
into endless white-
Instantly, Taemin’s eyes snapped open.
Temporary disorientation and the sound of snoring and light breathing greeted him upon awakening. Taemin sighed, brushing sweat-soaked bangs away from his eyes, trying to still his pounding heart.
A cursory glance at the nearby clock read in glaring bright red numbers 3:41 A.M. They still had three more hours before they had to wake up and head down to the SBS studio for their debut performance. Taemin sighed again, rolling over onto his side.
That was when he saw the bed directly across from him - Minho’s - was empty. At once, Taemin untangled the covers from around his legs, got up and slowly tiptoed to the door.
Jonghyun gave a slight hum, then intoned a short melody (like he always did while he was sleeping) and flopped onto his stomach.
Kibum (whose sleeping form was tilted in Jonghyun’s top bunk’s direction, as always) nuzzled into his pillow and pulled his blanket more snugly around him.
Jinki, scrunched up between all of them in his single bed, was curled into a fetal position (for once not covered up to his head by his blanket; it was much too hot for that) and shifted slightly when Taemin walked past him to check the bathroom for Minho, but he didn’t wake up. Taemin was grateful for that.
He didn’t want to disturb the rest of his hyung-deul over his childish fears.
He found Minho sitting on the bathroom floor, pen scratching furiously in his sketchbook with only moonlight to serve as a meager light source. Brow furrowed, dark eyes trained on the open page with such concentration, Minho didn’t even look up at Taemin when the younger boy entered.
But Taemin was glad for that, in a way.
Minho was observant, and - even in the dark - he would be able to tell what Taemin was feeling. The two of them could read each other’s emotional state like a fortune-teller could read a person’s open palm.
The two of them knew each other all too well.
“Hyung.” Taemin’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and Minho’s head snapped up. “What are you doing up?”
“I had an idea.” Hoarse from sleep, Minho’s husky cadence was almost too rough for Taemin to hear, but he didn’t miss the implication. “It was all nice and neat in my head,” Minho scrubbed at the side of his neck, working out the kinks from his muscles, “but I just…can’t seem to get it out now.”
Taemin turned back to shut the door as quietly as he could, turning on the lights with a flick of the switch. He tried to bite back his grin as Minho made a slighted groan of protest.
“Maybe,” Taemin chirped as he plopped down next to Minho, “you need a little light shed on the situation.”
“That was lame,” the older boy said - but he laughed, anyway, so Taemin knew he didn’t really mean it. “How about you, though? What are you doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” He decided it was better to be honest when he was with Minho, (especially when he was with Minho). “I had a crazy dream, too.” Taemin laughed, but he knew it sounded hollow. Minho’s gaze flickered with concern. “It’s okay, really. I’ll just go back-”
“Tell me about it.” This admission surprised Taemin; he hadn’t expected Minho to be so receiving this early in the morning when they were probably both tired and stressed and the closest things to nervous wrecks. The maknae stared at Minho, who laid the back of his head against the wall. “Tell me about your crazy dream, then. I won’t be going back to sleep any time soon, and I know you won’t be, either.” With a slight incline of his head, Minho beckoned Taemin closer. “C’mere, you.”
Taemin nodded, at once shuffling over to rest his head against Minho’s shoulder. It wasn’t long before he could curl up into the taller boy’s arms, burrowing into his chest briefly and relishing in the warmth.
Against the crown of his hair, Taemin could actually feel Minho smiling.
“You know, you do that a lot,” Minho chuckled, ruffling Taemin’s hair a bit. “Trying to get under my skin or something?”
“You’re bigger than me,” Taemin said - as if that explained everything. “You’re more comfy than Jonghyun-hyung or Jinki-hyung are to hug.”
“Damn right I am,” Minho interjected, making Taemin giggle. “What? You don’t think I am?”
“Anyway,” Taemin huffed, mock-indignant, (and of course he thought Minho was the best to hug, but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing it), “Key-umma’s always the one that does all the hugging when it’s just us, so that’s why you’re the best one to hug.”
“Anyway,” Minho imitated Taemin’s earlier tone, “weren’t you going to tell me about that ‘crazy dream’ you had?”
Taemin fell silent for about three seconds before he cleared his throat, letting Minho stroke the top of his head, and at last spoke.
“I dreamed I was climbing a mountain in the middle of a snowstorm.” He had to swallow and, remembering how frightening it was toward the end of it, struggled to find the rest of his words. “I was climbing to get to the top and it was really scary. I kept looking up and wondering if I would - if I could make it.”
“You think there’s a big obstacle in front of you.” Minho took it upon himself to offer dream interpretation. “And you want to get past it badly.”
“I looked up at the sky and I started wondering why it seemed so far away.” Taemin shook his head briefly. “Philosophical meaning, I guess?”
“Well, the sky’s big and wide, isn’t it?” Minho took the younger boy’s hand in his, entwining their fingers. “Lots of opportunities. You’re figuring out what’s possible and what’s not. But you feel like it’s too far away to reach.”
Taemin’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, that’s right…I kept thinking about reaching for it! I kept going, ‘Ah, it’s no good,’ ‘it’s too far for me to reach’…that kind of thing.” Gesturing and becoming much more animated, Taemin almost hit Minho in the face. “And I kept seeing white, too! Lots of white and…a-and then I fell off the mountainside and I started falling…and then I woke up…” Sensing Minho’s consideration, Taemin trailed off. “Wait, what’s wrong?”
“Well…you told me about your dream now.” Minho drew Taemin closer, patting the youngest’s shoulders. “And I think I might’ve been wrong about the sky being important in your dream. The fact that you saw white was probably the most important part.”
“Why?” Taemin asked, picking off a stray thread from Minho’s sleeve.
“Think about it.” Minho tweaked the maknae’s nose, eliciting a squeak from him. “What does the color white mean to you?”
“Hmmmm.” Taemin sat up straight, pondering this, arms crossed and one finger pressed thoughtfully to his chin. “I guess it represents light and purity, right…?” When Minho reached over Taemin’s lap to pick up his sketchbook, Taemin frowned. “You’re not gonna play picture charades with me, are you?”
“Here.” Without replying, Minho thrust the open sketchbook at him. “Look at this page and tell me what you see.”
Taemin stared at the page he had been instructed to look at for about ten seconds before realizing something.
“Hyung,” he whined, “It’s a blank page!”
“Exactly.” Minho smiled, throwing his arm over Taemin’s shoulders. “And what color is the blank page?”
It took fifteen seconds this time around for Taemin to understand.
“Oh. Ohhhh.” Taemin suddenly laughed, a sheepish grin flitting across his countenance. “Wow, so…it wasn’t a nightmare, after all?”
“Sometimes,” Minho grinned, taking the sketchbook from him, “it’s not about the obvious meaning. You’ve got to look past the obvious to get to the truth. That’s how dreams and life works.”
“I think you should’ve been a psychologist, hyung,” Taemin tittered, settling into Minho’s lap, “not an idol. You’re really smart, you know.”
“You’re the one that’s smart.” Minho adjusted Taemin’s weight on his knees more comfortably, pressing their foreheads together. “You were the one who had the dream, not me.”
They spent a good minute like that, faces millimeters apart and indulging in the intimate silence. It wasn’t until Minho spoke that Taemin realized his eyes had been closed the entire time, colors fading behind heavy lids.
“Taemin-ah.” Hearing his name, the maknae blinked owlishly at Minho. “If you had to pick a color for me, which one would you pick?”
“Is that Minho the Psychologist asking me that,” Taemin quipped, tongue tucked in the side of his cheek, “or Minho the Idol?”
“Just Minho asking. As your hyung.” The older boy’s arms steadied him by the waist, fingers dancing lightly on the exposed skin of his stomach. Taemin shivered, though it was hardly cold. “As the hyung you like to hug the most, right?”
You’re my favorite hyung, Taemin almost said - but he decided it didn’t really need to be said and, instead, ran his fingers through the older boy’s now darker tresses.
Instead, Taemin smiled.
“You’re a white canvas, hyung.” Taemin beamed, pressing a quick kiss to Minho’s forehead. “All the chances in the world - they’re always closer than I think.” Then, a small kiss to the bridge of Minho’s nose. “I just have to look past the obvious with you, and then I’ll find it.”
“So what’s the truth,” Minho grinned, teeth hiding beneath full lips as he looked up at Taemin through half-lidded eyes aglow with amusement, “behind the obvious?”
When they finally kiss, Taemin saw the answer to his question in the color (like flying, free-falling, spinning through the air without wings), blurry but constant and growing ever clearer with every gentle brush of Minho’s lips against his flooding his vision behind closed eyes.
Because this blank canvas
Is yours to use as you will.
(And so is my heart.)
Pairing: Minho/Taemin (SHINee)
Rating: PG
Summary: Dreams are a means of self-discovery for Taemin.
Song(s) used for inspiration: Tablo & Pe2ny - "White"
white.
The night before their comeback,
Taemin dreams of climbing a mountain.
It’s impossibly huge, snowcapped, and it looks like something out of a scene from a high-budget Hollywood movie. The dream makes no sense, but he finds himself believing in it while he’s asleep.
It’s hard to trust what logic tells you behind closed eyelids.
He climbs for what seems like eternity, reaching for the craggy rocks above to hold onto, the weight of his gear in his rucksack feeling less like the burden of physical necessity and more like unwanted emotional baggage.
His chest feels heavy, fear and anxiousness settling into his pounding heart. The violent snowstorm whirls around him, clinging to his thick jacket, obscuring his vision in white and making the charcoal gray skies high above him seem so far away.
Of course it’s illogical.
He knows the sky is too high for him to reach.
But even so, he feels like he has to try. He has to. He reaches his hand out to it, holds his hand out, whispers something soft, something unintelligible into the howling wind. A wish, he thinks. He hopes someone will hear it.
The wind swallows him whole, rips him from the rock face and sending him flying, flying, flying away.
And he should feel scared.
Of course he should feel scared.
Of course he should be calling out for help right now.
Logically so.
But instead of fear gripping his senses, all Taemin can think of is how wonderful it is.
Because he’s flying, free-falling, spinning through the air without wings (but what need did he have for such things, anyway) and plummeting,
face-first,
down,
down,
down
into endless white-
Instantly, Taemin’s eyes snapped open.
Temporary disorientation and the sound of snoring and light breathing greeted him upon awakening. Taemin sighed, brushing sweat-soaked bangs away from his eyes, trying to still his pounding heart.
A cursory glance at the nearby clock read in glaring bright red numbers 3:41 A.M. They still had three more hours before they had to wake up and head down to the SBS studio for their debut performance. Taemin sighed again, rolling over onto his side.
That was when he saw the bed directly across from him - Minho’s - was empty. At once, Taemin untangled the covers from around his legs, got up and slowly tiptoed to the door.
Jonghyun gave a slight hum, then intoned a short melody (like he always did while he was sleeping) and flopped onto his stomach.
Kibum (whose sleeping form was tilted in Jonghyun’s top bunk’s direction, as always) nuzzled into his pillow and pulled his blanket more snugly around him.
Jinki, scrunched up between all of them in his single bed, was curled into a fetal position (for once not covered up to his head by his blanket; it was much too hot for that) and shifted slightly when Taemin walked past him to check the bathroom for Minho, but he didn’t wake up. Taemin was grateful for that.
He didn’t want to disturb the rest of his hyung-deul over his childish fears.
He found Minho sitting on the bathroom floor, pen scratching furiously in his sketchbook with only moonlight to serve as a meager light source. Brow furrowed, dark eyes trained on the open page with such concentration, Minho didn’t even look up at Taemin when the younger boy entered.
But Taemin was glad for that, in a way.
Minho was observant, and - even in the dark - he would be able to tell what Taemin was feeling. The two of them could read each other’s emotional state like a fortune-teller could read a person’s open palm.
The two of them knew each other all too well.
“Hyung.” Taemin’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and Minho’s head snapped up. “What are you doing up?”
“I had an idea.” Hoarse from sleep, Minho’s husky cadence was almost too rough for Taemin to hear, but he didn’t miss the implication. “It was all nice and neat in my head,” Minho scrubbed at the side of his neck, working out the kinks from his muscles, “but I just…can’t seem to get it out now.”
Taemin turned back to shut the door as quietly as he could, turning on the lights with a flick of the switch. He tried to bite back his grin as Minho made a slighted groan of protest.
“Maybe,” Taemin chirped as he plopped down next to Minho, “you need a little light shed on the situation.”
“That was lame,” the older boy said - but he laughed, anyway, so Taemin knew he didn’t really mean it. “How about you, though? What are you doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” He decided it was better to be honest when he was with Minho, (especially when he was with Minho). “I had a crazy dream, too.” Taemin laughed, but he knew it sounded hollow. Minho’s gaze flickered with concern. “It’s okay, really. I’ll just go back-”
“Tell me about it.” This admission surprised Taemin; he hadn’t expected Minho to be so receiving this early in the morning when they were probably both tired and stressed and the closest things to nervous wrecks. The maknae stared at Minho, who laid the back of his head against the wall. “Tell me about your crazy dream, then. I won’t be going back to sleep any time soon, and I know you won’t be, either.” With a slight incline of his head, Minho beckoned Taemin closer. “C’mere, you.”
Taemin nodded, at once shuffling over to rest his head against Minho’s shoulder. It wasn’t long before he could curl up into the taller boy’s arms, burrowing into his chest briefly and relishing in the warmth.
Against the crown of his hair, Taemin could actually feel Minho smiling.
“You know, you do that a lot,” Minho chuckled, ruffling Taemin’s hair a bit. “Trying to get under my skin or something?”
“You’re bigger than me,” Taemin said - as if that explained everything. “You’re more comfy than Jonghyun-hyung or Jinki-hyung are to hug.”
“Damn right I am,” Minho interjected, making Taemin giggle. “What? You don’t think I am?”
“Anyway,” Taemin huffed, mock-indignant, (and of course he thought Minho was the best to hug, but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing it), “Key-umma’s always the one that does all the hugging when it’s just us, so that’s why you’re the best one to hug.”
“Anyway,” Minho imitated Taemin’s earlier tone, “weren’t you going to tell me about that ‘crazy dream’ you had?”
Taemin fell silent for about three seconds before he cleared his throat, letting Minho stroke the top of his head, and at last spoke.
“I dreamed I was climbing a mountain in the middle of a snowstorm.” He had to swallow and, remembering how frightening it was toward the end of it, struggled to find the rest of his words. “I was climbing to get to the top and it was really scary. I kept looking up and wondering if I would - if I could make it.”
“You think there’s a big obstacle in front of you.” Minho took it upon himself to offer dream interpretation. “And you want to get past it badly.”
“I looked up at the sky and I started wondering why it seemed so far away.” Taemin shook his head briefly. “Philosophical meaning, I guess?”
“Well, the sky’s big and wide, isn’t it?” Minho took the younger boy’s hand in his, entwining their fingers. “Lots of opportunities. You’re figuring out what’s possible and what’s not. But you feel like it’s too far away to reach.”
Taemin’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, that’s right…I kept thinking about reaching for it! I kept going, ‘Ah, it’s no good,’ ‘it’s too far for me to reach’…that kind of thing.” Gesturing and becoming much more animated, Taemin almost hit Minho in the face. “And I kept seeing white, too! Lots of white and…a-and then I fell off the mountainside and I started falling…and then I woke up…” Sensing Minho’s consideration, Taemin trailed off. “Wait, what’s wrong?”
“Well…you told me about your dream now.” Minho drew Taemin closer, patting the youngest’s shoulders. “And I think I might’ve been wrong about the sky being important in your dream. The fact that you saw white was probably the most important part.”
“Why?” Taemin asked, picking off a stray thread from Minho’s sleeve.
“Think about it.” Minho tweaked the maknae’s nose, eliciting a squeak from him. “What does the color white mean to you?”
“Hmmmm.” Taemin sat up straight, pondering this, arms crossed and one finger pressed thoughtfully to his chin. “I guess it represents light and purity, right…?” When Minho reached over Taemin’s lap to pick up his sketchbook, Taemin frowned. “You’re not gonna play picture charades with me, are you?”
“Here.” Without replying, Minho thrust the open sketchbook at him. “Look at this page and tell me what you see.”
Taemin stared at the page he had been instructed to look at for about ten seconds before realizing something.
“Hyung,” he whined, “It’s a blank page!”
“Exactly.” Minho smiled, throwing his arm over Taemin’s shoulders. “And what color is the blank page?”
It took fifteen seconds this time around for Taemin to understand.
“Oh. Ohhhh.” Taemin suddenly laughed, a sheepish grin flitting across his countenance. “Wow, so…it wasn’t a nightmare, after all?”
“Sometimes,” Minho grinned, taking the sketchbook from him, “it’s not about the obvious meaning. You’ve got to look past the obvious to get to the truth. That’s how dreams and life works.”
“I think you should’ve been a psychologist, hyung,” Taemin tittered, settling into Minho’s lap, “not an idol. You’re really smart, you know.”
“You’re the one that’s smart.” Minho adjusted Taemin’s weight on his knees more comfortably, pressing their foreheads together. “You were the one who had the dream, not me.”
They spent a good minute like that, faces millimeters apart and indulging in the intimate silence. It wasn’t until Minho spoke that Taemin realized his eyes had been closed the entire time, colors fading behind heavy lids.
“Taemin-ah.” Hearing his name, the maknae blinked owlishly at Minho. “If you had to pick a color for me, which one would you pick?”
“Is that Minho the Psychologist asking me that,” Taemin quipped, tongue tucked in the side of his cheek, “or Minho the Idol?”
“Just Minho asking. As your hyung.” The older boy’s arms steadied him by the waist, fingers dancing lightly on the exposed skin of his stomach. Taemin shivered, though it was hardly cold. “As the hyung you like to hug the most, right?”
You’re my favorite hyung, Taemin almost said - but he decided it didn’t really need to be said and, instead, ran his fingers through the older boy’s now darker tresses.
Instead, Taemin smiled.
“You’re a white canvas, hyung.” Taemin beamed, pressing a quick kiss to Minho’s forehead. “All the chances in the world - they’re always closer than I think.” Then, a small kiss to the bridge of Minho’s nose. “I just have to look past the obvious with you, and then I’ll find it.”
“So what’s the truth,” Minho grinned, teeth hiding beneath full lips as he looked up at Taemin through half-lidded eyes aglow with amusement, “behind the obvious?”
When they finally kiss, Taemin saw the answer to his question in the color (like flying, free-falling, spinning through the air without wings), blurry but constant and growing ever clearer with every gentle brush of Minho’s lips against his flooding his vision behind closed eyes.
Because this blank canvas
Is yours to use as you will.
(And so is my heart.)