[infinite] send me a postcard, darling
send me a postcard, darling
infinite, myungsoo/sungjong
pg (stalking), 2380w
sungjong's apartment receives daily visits from a stranger.
--based on local #2: polaroid boyfriend by brian wood and ryan kelly.
--shocking blue, "send me a postcard"
ao3 mirror
"Goodbye," Sungyeol calls to Sungjong as he walks in the direction of his bus stop, waving a long arm, and Sungjong waves back as he locks the door to the souvenir shop where they work. He checks his watch: 7 o'clock. The sky is getting darker earlier and earlier these days.
The metro is crowded, but Sungjong doesn't mind standing, one hand on the bar above the seats and the other thumbing through messages on his phone. There aren't many new ones, mostly just updates from friends back in Gwangju. It's only been a month and we miss you. Sungjong smiles to himself as he looks through their old pictures together, flicking upwards through the zigzagging balloons of their Kakao conversations. He contemplates writing back, Remind me how we met, because I can't remember how to do it again. But the words die somewhere beneath his thumbnail, not quite able to come out.
The door to Sungjong's one room opens with its usual bright sequence of beeps. The lights are off when he enters, but he can tell that someone's been here: the breakfast dishes he left in the sink that morning have been washed and left to dry, and the instant camera selca he had left on the shelf over his desk is gone.
He turns on the light, then stops and stands in the middle of the room, surveying it with his hands on his hips. He inspects the front of the fridge, but there's nothing besides the collection of takeout menu magnets left by the last tenant. There's nothing under the stack of papers on top of the fridge, either, or behind the rice cooker. He rotates on the spot, thinking.
Then he walks over to the bookcase and starts pulling books out from the top shelf, shaking them out and then putting them on the floor when they yield nothing. Finally, he takes out a biography of Andy Warhol on the second shelf and an instant camera photograph slides out with it, then falls to the floor. Book still in one hand, Sungjong stoops to pick it up.
The photograph is of a young man around Sungjong's age with dark bangs and pink lips, both exaggerated by the exposure of the camera. It was taken from above - Sungjong pictures him holding the camera above his head with one hand and trying to angle his neck just right - and in his lap is an empty bowl and a spoon. He's sitting on Sungjong's blue and white striped bedspread. Beneath his face is a note: I ate well today. Almost didn't want to leave. Will write more tomorrow. L.
Sungjong glances over at the stack of dishes drying over the sink and sees that the bowl and spoon in the picture have been washed. He lies down on his bed and looks at the photo again, at L's big eyes and serious expression and the empty bowl in his lap. Then he rolls onto his side and opens one of the drawers next to his bed. The drawer is full of instant camera photos, all of L's face. Sungjong drops the newest one on top of the others and closes the drawer, then rolls onto his back again and smiles at the ceiling, satisfied.
The next morning before he goes to work, he takes his instant camera from the top of his bookcase. He looks around the room briefly, then sits down at his desk chair and turns around so the wall of his closet is behind him. He holds the camera up with both hands, turns his head slightly, and snaps the picture. After the print has dried, he examines the selca and hums, satisfied. A few weeks ago he would have had to take at least two or three more before he found one he wanted, but by now the actions are as routine as brushing his teeth.
He picks up a pen, and on the white space at the bottom of the photograph he writes, Hi, L. Are you having a good day? Write me back. SJ.
"He what?" says Sungyeol a few days later, putting down the box of cell phone charms he'd been carrying. At first Sungjong thinks the shop's music is too loud, but when he reaches over to adjust the volume Sungyeol swats his wrist and says, "No, I heard you. He what?"
Sungjong huffs. "It's nothing serious. I leave him selca polaroids and then he leaves one for me to find at the end of the day. Maybe he hangs out in my apartment, eats some food, watches TV. It's just like picture texting, but old-fashioned style."
"More like creep style. Haven't you ever read a newspaper? You know how this ends. And how," Sungyeol continues before Sungjong can cut in, "does he get into your apartment, anyway? Did you leave the code for him or something?"
Sungjong shrugs. "Maybe he lives in my building."
"You don't even know if he lives in your building?" says Sungyeol. "Oh, that's great. And you're okay with him leaving you these creepy photos, hanging out in your apartment? Touching all your stuff?" He shudders. "Why haven't you asked to get your lock code changed?"
"I meant to the first time it happened, but then I forgot." Sungjong goes to his bag and rifles through his notebook, then pulls out a photograph. "See for yourself."
Sungyeol takes the photo with just the tips of his forefingers, like he's handling a dirty napkin or something that tears easily. He flips it over to see the note on the back. "'You should be more careful with your door code,'" he intones. "'The world is a dangerous place.' What?" he shrieks. "Is he serious? Yeah, great job convincing me you're not a psychopath, guy."
Sungjong giggles. "But doesn't the expression on his face make it kind of funny?"
Sungyeol flips it over and examines it. "Yeah, I guess," he says. "But why does he call himself Nieun?"
"L," Sungjong corrects, "it's the letter L."
"What, like Death Note? Who is this guy?" Sungyeol takes one last look at the photo, then holds it out to Sungjong. "Here, take your creepy boyfriend's picture back. And if you end up in little pieces at the bottom of the river, don't come crying to me."
"Yah, don't joke about things like that," says Sungjong as he takes the photo from him. He pushes the box of cell phone charms across the counter to Sungyeol. "Story time's over. Get back to work."
"We're switching in half an hour, maknae," grumbles Sungyeol, but he picks up the box and takes it over to the rack in one corner of the shop.
Sungjong puts the photo of L back in his notebook, then back into his bag. His gaze lingers on the bag afterward, and there's a dark feeling beginning in his chest. Then the bell over the door rings and he pushes it down, smiling at the woman who wanders in. "Welcome," he calls brightly. His voice feels like it's coming in from outside of him, not the other way around.
The next morning as he's getting ready for work, he looks at the camera on the top of his bookcase. His hands reach for it, but then he pulls back and picks up his bag instead. It's just one day, he reasons; maybe it'll be more exciting if it doesn't happen every day, if there's an element of surprise.
That night he comes back to his apartment and spots L's photograph right away, dropped in the middle of his floor. He's pouting, but his eyes are open, cold, reproachful. No note today? it reads under his face.
Sungjong picks up the photo and puts it in the garbage can face down.
The clock by his bed says 2:15 AM. Sungjong sits up and when he puts his feet down on the floor, something slides under them. He frowns. He stands up carefully and walks over to the light switch, and the sliding sound continues as he makes his way across the room.
When he turns on the light, he sees that the floor is covered with instant camera photos, piles and piles of them, and every photo is of L. L's face stares at him from every three-inch square: smiling, frowning, always staring right into the camera like he can see Sungjong through the low gloss of the paper. Sungjong can hear a man's voice, then a thousand, a chorus rising like the sound of photos shuffling endlessly. Then he realizes that the photographs are coming closer, at first as if blown by an invisible wind, then moving on their own, crawling to him, drawn to him.
He opens his eyes. The clock by his bed says 7:30 AM. Quickly he rolls over and stares at the floor, but there's nothing there, just an expanse of hardwood planks.
He gets out of bed, goes to the bathroom and washes his face with cold water. He examines himself in the mirror, glancing over the specks of stubble under his nose, the capillaries in the whites of his eyes.
When he comes out of the bathroom he picks up his phone from his desk. He leans over the desk and reads the superintendent's number off the wall, and starts to dial.
Sungyeol nods approvingly when Sungjong tells him the news. "That's good. You memorize the new code yet?"
"Why, do you want it now?" replies Sungjong, but he continues staring down at the fashion magazine he's flipping through, a steady stream of faces.
"No." Sungyeol tilts his head, craning it down toward Sungjong's face. "Are you okay? You seem kind of sad. Oh my God, you're not sad about this, are you? Because..."
"I'm fine." Sungjong looks up and pulls his mouth into a smile for Sungyeol. "I just need to get more sleep."
"Okay," says Sungyeol, but his eyebrows are pushed downward, dubious. Sungjong keeps smiling at him, until it feels like he's gone too far for it to be a smile, and he looks back down at the magazine.
When he gets home that evening he's surprised that he remembers the new door code right away. The door seals behind him as he steps out of his shoes. When he turns on the light, the apartment seems quieter than usual, as if all the sounds of the outside world have been muted. Sungjong stands in the centre of the room and looks around, but nothing in the room has moved, as if he'd travelled not to work but out of time and back again.
He sits on his bed and turns on the TV. The click of the screen turning on pings off the walls of his room, and the second before the picture and sound come in is the heaviest silence Sungjong's felt in some time.
"I'm sick," Sungjong says into his phone a week later. A car honks as it passes him in the street and Sungjong rolls his eyes at it - not that Sungyeol would have fallen for his charade anyway.
"You're sick," Sungyeol repeats. "Like, sick-sick? Or, like, heartsick?"
Sungjong scoffs as he pushes open the door to the convenience store. "I can't just be sick? I have to explain?"
"You know, I've been really worried about you all this week," says Sungyeol. "And I know it's about that Death Note guy, so don't even try to pretend that it isn't." Sungjong sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "What's wrong with you? Why are you so upset that there is no longer a creepy guy who sits around your apartment all day and flees out the window when you get home?"
Sungjong goes to the refrigerator in the back of the store and takes a bottle of aloe juice. "Look, hyung..."
"All of your chairs are probably covered in his butt prints."
"Look," says Sungjong tersely, "I'm not feeling well, and that's all you need to know. Okay?" As if to prove his point, he reaches for the top shelf and grabs a small brown glass bottle of vitamin drink, even though Sungyeol can't see it. "I'll come in to work tomorrow. I just need a day. Surely you can handle the store without me."
He pays for his drinks at the front with Sungyeol still blathering on in his ear. "You've only been working here for a month, you think you've earned a sick day yet? That's not right. You know what else isn't right? That while I'm slaving away in here by myself, you're going to spend the entire day crying over some creepy person who leaves you pictures of himself, and who knows what he does with the pictures of you. I thought you grew up in the city? You really should prepare yourself for things like this better. And if you miss him so much, why don't you just change your door code back. In fact, why bother locking it at all? Save everyone the time..."
Sungjong opens the door and promptly walks right into someone with a yell. Both of them go down, Sungjong a bit more gracefully than the other man. Sungjong immediately reaches out to help him up. He's dressed all in black, carrying a camera bag, and Sungjong's heart pumps an extra beat when he sees his face - the round, deep eyes, the pink, slightly lopsided lips. It's softer in person, but possibly even more handsome for it.
From the phone in his hand, Sungyeol is shouting, "Hello? Are you there?" Without looking away, Sungjong hangs up and puts his phone in his pocket.
"You changed your door code," says L. "So I was just...wondering what you might be up to."
Sungjong points to L's camera bag. "Is that an instant camera?"
L takes his camera out of the bag carefully. "No, it's film. It takes at least a day to develop."
Sungjong holds out his hand and after a moment of hesitation, L hands him the camera. Sungjong holds it up to his eye and snaps a picture of L, smiling uncertainly, unposed. Then he hands the camera back to him.
"My name's Sungjong," he says. "What's yours?"
infinite, myungsoo/sungjong
pg (stalking), 2380w
sungjong's apartment receives daily visits from a stranger.
--based on local #2: polaroid boyfriend by brian wood and ryan kelly.
--shocking blue, "send me a postcard"
ao3 mirror
"Goodbye," Sungyeol calls to Sungjong as he walks in the direction of his bus stop, waving a long arm, and Sungjong waves back as he locks the door to the souvenir shop where they work. He checks his watch: 7 o'clock. The sky is getting darker earlier and earlier these days.
The metro is crowded, but Sungjong doesn't mind standing, one hand on the bar above the seats and the other thumbing through messages on his phone. There aren't many new ones, mostly just updates from friends back in Gwangju. It's only been a month and we miss you. Sungjong smiles to himself as he looks through their old pictures together, flicking upwards through the zigzagging balloons of their Kakao conversations. He contemplates writing back, Remind me how we met, because I can't remember how to do it again. But the words die somewhere beneath his thumbnail, not quite able to come out.
The door to Sungjong's one room opens with its usual bright sequence of beeps. The lights are off when he enters, but he can tell that someone's been here: the breakfast dishes he left in the sink that morning have been washed and left to dry, and the instant camera selca he had left on the shelf over his desk is gone.
He turns on the light, then stops and stands in the middle of the room, surveying it with his hands on his hips. He inspects the front of the fridge, but there's nothing besides the collection of takeout menu magnets left by the last tenant. There's nothing under the stack of papers on top of the fridge, either, or behind the rice cooker. He rotates on the spot, thinking.
Then he walks over to the bookcase and starts pulling books out from the top shelf, shaking them out and then putting them on the floor when they yield nothing. Finally, he takes out a biography of Andy Warhol on the second shelf and an instant camera photograph slides out with it, then falls to the floor. Book still in one hand, Sungjong stoops to pick it up.
The photograph is of a young man around Sungjong's age with dark bangs and pink lips, both exaggerated by the exposure of the camera. It was taken from above - Sungjong pictures him holding the camera above his head with one hand and trying to angle his neck just right - and in his lap is an empty bowl and a spoon. He's sitting on Sungjong's blue and white striped bedspread. Beneath his face is a note: I ate well today. Almost didn't want to leave. Will write more tomorrow. L.
Sungjong glances over at the stack of dishes drying over the sink and sees that the bowl and spoon in the picture have been washed. He lies down on his bed and looks at the photo again, at L's big eyes and serious expression and the empty bowl in his lap. Then he rolls onto his side and opens one of the drawers next to his bed. The drawer is full of instant camera photos, all of L's face. Sungjong drops the newest one on top of the others and closes the drawer, then rolls onto his back again and smiles at the ceiling, satisfied.
The next morning before he goes to work, he takes his instant camera from the top of his bookcase. He looks around the room briefly, then sits down at his desk chair and turns around so the wall of his closet is behind him. He holds the camera up with both hands, turns his head slightly, and snaps the picture. After the print has dried, he examines the selca and hums, satisfied. A few weeks ago he would have had to take at least two or three more before he found one he wanted, but by now the actions are as routine as brushing his teeth.
He picks up a pen, and on the white space at the bottom of the photograph he writes, Hi, L. Are you having a good day? Write me back. SJ.
"He what?" says Sungyeol a few days later, putting down the box of cell phone charms he'd been carrying. At first Sungjong thinks the shop's music is too loud, but when he reaches over to adjust the volume Sungyeol swats his wrist and says, "No, I heard you. He what?"
Sungjong huffs. "It's nothing serious. I leave him selca polaroids and then he leaves one for me to find at the end of the day. Maybe he hangs out in my apartment, eats some food, watches TV. It's just like picture texting, but old-fashioned style."
"More like creep style. Haven't you ever read a newspaper? You know how this ends. And how," Sungyeol continues before Sungjong can cut in, "does he get into your apartment, anyway? Did you leave the code for him or something?"
Sungjong shrugs. "Maybe he lives in my building."
"You don't even know if he lives in your building?" says Sungyeol. "Oh, that's great. And you're okay with him leaving you these creepy photos, hanging out in your apartment? Touching all your stuff?" He shudders. "Why haven't you asked to get your lock code changed?"
"I meant to the first time it happened, but then I forgot." Sungjong goes to his bag and rifles through his notebook, then pulls out a photograph. "See for yourself."
Sungyeol takes the photo with just the tips of his forefingers, like he's handling a dirty napkin or something that tears easily. He flips it over to see the note on the back. "'You should be more careful with your door code,'" he intones. "'The world is a dangerous place.' What?" he shrieks. "Is he serious? Yeah, great job convincing me you're not a psychopath, guy."
Sungjong giggles. "But doesn't the expression on his face make it kind of funny?"
Sungyeol flips it over and examines it. "Yeah, I guess," he says. "But why does he call himself Nieun?"
"L," Sungjong corrects, "it's the letter L."
"What, like Death Note? Who is this guy?" Sungyeol takes one last look at the photo, then holds it out to Sungjong. "Here, take your creepy boyfriend's picture back. And if you end up in little pieces at the bottom of the river, don't come crying to me."
"Yah, don't joke about things like that," says Sungjong as he takes the photo from him. He pushes the box of cell phone charms across the counter to Sungyeol. "Story time's over. Get back to work."
"We're switching in half an hour, maknae," grumbles Sungyeol, but he picks up the box and takes it over to the rack in one corner of the shop.
Sungjong puts the photo of L back in his notebook, then back into his bag. His gaze lingers on the bag afterward, and there's a dark feeling beginning in his chest. Then the bell over the door rings and he pushes it down, smiling at the woman who wanders in. "Welcome," he calls brightly. His voice feels like it's coming in from outside of him, not the other way around.
The next morning as he's getting ready for work, he looks at the camera on the top of his bookcase. His hands reach for it, but then he pulls back and picks up his bag instead. It's just one day, he reasons; maybe it'll be more exciting if it doesn't happen every day, if there's an element of surprise.
That night he comes back to his apartment and spots L's photograph right away, dropped in the middle of his floor. He's pouting, but his eyes are open, cold, reproachful. No note today? it reads under his face.
Sungjong picks up the photo and puts it in the garbage can face down.
The clock by his bed says 2:15 AM. Sungjong sits up and when he puts his feet down on the floor, something slides under them. He frowns. He stands up carefully and walks over to the light switch, and the sliding sound continues as he makes his way across the room.
When he turns on the light, he sees that the floor is covered with instant camera photos, piles and piles of them, and every photo is of L. L's face stares at him from every three-inch square: smiling, frowning, always staring right into the camera like he can see Sungjong through the low gloss of the paper. Sungjong can hear a man's voice, then a thousand, a chorus rising like the sound of photos shuffling endlessly. Then he realizes that the photographs are coming closer, at first as if blown by an invisible wind, then moving on their own, crawling to him, drawn to him.
He opens his eyes. The clock by his bed says 7:30 AM. Quickly he rolls over and stares at the floor, but there's nothing there, just an expanse of hardwood planks.
He gets out of bed, goes to the bathroom and washes his face with cold water. He examines himself in the mirror, glancing over the specks of stubble under his nose, the capillaries in the whites of his eyes.
When he comes out of the bathroom he picks up his phone from his desk. He leans over the desk and reads the superintendent's number off the wall, and starts to dial.
Sungyeol nods approvingly when Sungjong tells him the news. "That's good. You memorize the new code yet?"
"Why, do you want it now?" replies Sungjong, but he continues staring down at the fashion magazine he's flipping through, a steady stream of faces.
"No." Sungyeol tilts his head, craning it down toward Sungjong's face. "Are you okay? You seem kind of sad. Oh my God, you're not sad about this, are you? Because..."
"I'm fine." Sungjong looks up and pulls his mouth into a smile for Sungyeol. "I just need to get more sleep."
"Okay," says Sungyeol, but his eyebrows are pushed downward, dubious. Sungjong keeps smiling at him, until it feels like he's gone too far for it to be a smile, and he looks back down at the magazine.
When he gets home that evening he's surprised that he remembers the new door code right away. The door seals behind him as he steps out of his shoes. When he turns on the light, the apartment seems quieter than usual, as if all the sounds of the outside world have been muted. Sungjong stands in the centre of the room and looks around, but nothing in the room has moved, as if he'd travelled not to work but out of time and back again.
He sits on his bed and turns on the TV. The click of the screen turning on pings off the walls of his room, and the second before the picture and sound come in is the heaviest silence Sungjong's felt in some time.
"I'm sick," Sungjong says into his phone a week later. A car honks as it passes him in the street and Sungjong rolls his eyes at it - not that Sungyeol would have fallen for his charade anyway.
"You're sick," Sungyeol repeats. "Like, sick-sick? Or, like, heartsick?"
Sungjong scoffs as he pushes open the door to the convenience store. "I can't just be sick? I have to explain?"
"You know, I've been really worried about you all this week," says Sungyeol. "And I know it's about that Death Note guy, so don't even try to pretend that it isn't." Sungjong sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "What's wrong with you? Why are you so upset that there is no longer a creepy guy who sits around your apartment all day and flees out the window when you get home?"
Sungjong goes to the refrigerator in the back of the store and takes a bottle of aloe juice. "Look, hyung..."
"All of your chairs are probably covered in his butt prints."
"Look," says Sungjong tersely, "I'm not feeling well, and that's all you need to know. Okay?" As if to prove his point, he reaches for the top shelf and grabs a small brown glass bottle of vitamin drink, even though Sungyeol can't see it. "I'll come in to work tomorrow. I just need a day. Surely you can handle the store without me."
He pays for his drinks at the front with Sungyeol still blathering on in his ear. "You've only been working here for a month, you think you've earned a sick day yet? That's not right. You know what else isn't right? That while I'm slaving away in here by myself, you're going to spend the entire day crying over some creepy person who leaves you pictures of himself, and who knows what he does with the pictures of you. I thought you grew up in the city? You really should prepare yourself for things like this better. And if you miss him so much, why don't you just change your door code back. In fact, why bother locking it at all? Save everyone the time..."
Sungjong opens the door and promptly walks right into someone with a yell. Both of them go down, Sungjong a bit more gracefully than the other man. Sungjong immediately reaches out to help him up. He's dressed all in black, carrying a camera bag, and Sungjong's heart pumps an extra beat when he sees his face - the round, deep eyes, the pink, slightly lopsided lips. It's softer in person, but possibly even more handsome for it.
From the phone in his hand, Sungyeol is shouting, "Hello? Are you there?" Without looking away, Sungjong hangs up and puts his phone in his pocket.
"You changed your door code," says L. "So I was just...wondering what you might be up to."
Sungjong points to L's camera bag. "Is that an instant camera?"
L takes his camera out of the bag carefully. "No, it's film. It takes at least a day to develop."
Sungjong holds out his hand and after a moment of hesitation, L hands him the camera. Sungjong holds it up to his eye and snaps a picture of L, smiling uncertainly, unposed. Then he hands the camera back to him.
"My name's Sungjong," he says. "What's yours?"