The Story of Us [2/?]
Title: The Story of Us
Author: i_feel_electric & gdontop
Genre: AU Romance
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: GTOP
Disclaimer: They will never be ours (sigh)
Warnings: Language, fluff, sexual situations
Summary: "There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only the passion of life." - Federico Fellini.
They say not all who wander are lost, and that no man is an island. This is the story of Jiyong and Seunghyun. Two men brought together by chance. Two men who will change each other's lives forever.
This is the story of us.
Snow had begun to drift lazily to the ground, the clouds heralding its arrival coloring the early morning sky a dull, lifeless grey. I couldn’t even make out the sun through the thick layer of nimbostratus clouds that seemed to cover every visible inch of sky. It was unusual for the weather to have taken this turn so early in the season, but sometimes you had to expect the unexpected when you lived in Alaska. Well, you had to be prepared, anyway.
My preparedness for the early onset of what was sure to be another long, subarctic winter consisted largely of the contents of the shack behind my cabin: firewood. I’d built the 12x16 shack last summer, after most of my pile had been soaked in a freak flash flood. It was little more than four hastily-constructed walls and a roof, but its lifted floor kept the source of my warmth safe and dry. I was pretty sure the cords I had would be more than enough to heat my place for at least a few months, but with the weather so cold and blustery this early, I might have to think about keeping the snowmobile ready for action.
Contemplating a trip into town, even out of necessity, set my teeth on edge. It wasn’t that I hated people, but I didn’t choose to spend my days in a cabin in the middle of nowhere for nothing. People complicate things. They need things, want things from you. And if they don’t get what they’re after… I took a deep breath, sucking frigid air into my lungs. There was no point in thinking about this now. I’d solved all of those problems when I’d moved from Anchorage to this cabin I’d had built in the mountains outside of North Pole.
The sound of my footsteps compressing the fine, powdery snow was loud against the silent stillness of the woods. It was so quiet I could hear the snow falling around me; pit-pat-pit-pat like a very gentle rain. The beauty of it all was almost enough to make me forget the nightmare that had so cruelly ripped me from the first bit of restful sleep I’d gotten in months. Almost, but not quite. Even now, the memory of the dream was eating at the edges of my mind like acid. Just as I reached the doorway of the shack, one of those big, beautiful flakes hit me right in the eye. I doubled over, hissing and cursing like I’d been suckerpunched. Normally a bit of snow to the eye wouldn’t hurt so badly, but if it smacks into your cornea when the air is a chilly 10 degrees…
“Damnit!” I bellowed, blinking furiously. “Shit.” I rolled my eye around to rid it of the frozen ache, and that’s when I spotted it: a brightly-colored lump against the stark brown-and-white background of the mountainside. Whatever it was was lying less than a hundred feet from my shack, and it hadn’t been there when I’d gone out last night to grab a few logs for the fire. The only thing I’d seen in that same shade of blue was the tarp I’d used to throw over my firewood, but I’d put that in storage after I’d built the shack. Suddenly, a puff of what looked like smoke rose from the thing, and I finally realized what I was seeing.
A person, lying face-down in the snow.
Without another thought, I ran as fast as I could up the rough terrain of the hill. A root caught the toe of one of my Sorels, sending me to my knees. I hadn’t thought to wear layers, seeing as I was only intending to make a quick trip out to the shack, and I was paying the price for it. The heat of my skin melted the snow beneath my kneecap, soaking the thick cotton sleep pants I wore. You don’t wear cotton in North Pole, Alaska; not if you’re going outside for any extended period of time, and especially not in the winter. Apparently the person lying on the ground wasn’t aware of that. I stared at her for a second, shaking my head at the tight jeans clinging to her small frame, before snapping my attention to her face.
One cheek was pressed into the cold, wet ground, and a pair of thick, black plastic glasses sat askew on the bridge of her tiny, windchapped nose. The earpiece disappeared under the fur-lined hood of her bright blue coat, and a shiny lock of unnaturally red hair peeked out from underneath it. She was, for lack of a better word, cute. And she was obviously hypothermic, and here I was, staring at her like I hadn’t seen another human being in months.
Well, technically…
“Hey,” I whispered, reaching out to grab her shoulder, and shook her gently.
No response, and no surprise. She shivered, though, another cloud pluming from her purple lips. She had obviously been here for a while, rapidly losing body heat as it leeched into the ground around her. The sight of those lips is what finally sprang me into action. I grabbed her under her arms, and dragged both of us upright. She was light as a feather, thank God. The only way I could think to carry her was over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, so I slung her onto my back, and walked very carefully down the hill to my cabin.
By the time I stepped through the door and got her laid out on the couch, her wet clothes had soaked the front of my own sweater. She must have been outside, wandering aimlessly, for hours and hours. There was no way she could have known what she was getting into. Probably a tourist who’d wanted to experience ‘real’ Alaska without the hindrance of guides or friends. But people who did that often got lost, as she surely must have. Sometimes they died. Sometimes they were never found. This girl was lucky she’d made her way to my place, and luckier that I’d been here.
Her pulse was weak and irregular under the goose-pimpled skin on her throat, and I could feel a fever burning behind the mask of that cold, quaking flesh. I set about gathering the things I might need to care for her until I could rouse her and get her to the hospital in town. A small pile of rags, hot water bottles, aspirin, blankets, and some clean, dry, and most importantly warm pajamas from my closet ended up on the floor of the main room of the cabin. I crouched down beside the girl, pressing a hand to her forehead. She was burning, but at least her lips were now a rosy red instead of that deathly violet shade they’d been just a few minutes ago.
“Hey, sweetheart. Can you open your eyes for me?” I asked as I pulled off her glasses.
The lenses were thin, and I could still see clearly when I peered through them. At least she wouldn’t be blind when she awoke. The girl didn’t blink, didn’t say a word in response. I sighed wearily and glanced at the grey flannel pajamas on the floor. Belatedly, I realized I’d have to undress and redress her if I wanted her to get out of those wet jeans and into something dry. I silently thanked God yet again for the fact that the girl was small and maneuverable, and then I pulled back the hood of her blue jacket.
And froze.
She.
She was a he.
It hadn’t been apparent, not with the tight jeans she- he wore, the way the hood of his jacket obscured his short hair and the fur lining complimented his feminine features. How could I have known? But now that I did, the thought of undressing him gave me a moment’s pause. Only a moment, though. He was pretty, to be sure, but he was also shaking like a leaf and burning like a flame, and he was in my care.
You’re an adult, Seunghyun, I told myself as I unbuttoned his jacket with nervous hands. Act like it. The jacket gave way to a thick but fashionable sweater and scarf; the jeans to a set of silk long johns. By the time I’d removed gloves and socks to check his hands and feet for signs of frostbite, and gotten the boy down to his designer underwear, I noticed the sheen of sweat clinging to him. His eyes were still closed; not even a flutter from those long, black lashes. With the steeliest of resolve, I wiped him down, dried him off, then redressed him in my pajamas and slapped a cool, damp cloth on his forehead. If he couldn’t swallow aspirin, that was the most I could do for his discomfort. I tucked one of my thick, fleece blankets up under his trembling chin, then turned to the clothes I’d peeled off of him.
I patted down the pockets of his jeans and jacket for any items he might have been carrying with him, and my fingers came down on solid objects on the arm and inside the lining of his bright blue Canada Goose parka. It was an expensive jacket -a woman’s jacket, I realized after checking the tag- and one that should have kept him warm, even in this weather. He must have been wandering the mountainside far longer than I’d originally thought.
The pocket on the inside of the coat unzipped to reveal a leather wallet with an intricate Dia de los Muertos skull worked into the thick material. I looked over my shoulder at the boy’s sleeping face before somewhat guiltily flipping the billfold open. A few credit cards were jammed into the slits on each side, and a Washington state driver’s license sat underneath a clear plastic protective sleeve. Jiyong Kwon, born August 18, 1988. A fellow Korean-American, then. From Seattle. 5’8”, 130 pounds. That gave me a bit of a chuckle. There was no way the kid was 5’8”.
Further snooping revealed a student ID for Cornish College of the Arts, several pictures inside more clear plastic sleeves, a few hundred dollars in cash, and four condoms in a neat line, wedged into the bottom of the billfold. I felt my face begin to burn with embarrassment, and quickly shoved the perforated pack back down into the wallet. My eyes searched for some distraction, and found it in one of the pictures that sat behind the boy’s license. Two men, one clearly Jiyong, and the other… the other some scruffy, blonde hipster in a yellow beanie, arms and hands and throat covered in tattoos that would have looked at home on a World War II veteran sailor. And he was kissing Jiyong’s cheek. The boy’s face was scrunched up into an expression of distaste, but it was obvious he was enjoying the situation, and even more obvious it wasn’t some joke between bros. They looked like they were in love.
My breath hitched, my heart began to pound like a kettle drum, and before I knew what was happening, the past swept in to claim me.
“That’s three times you’ve cut yourself in the last hour,” Michael sighed, watching me suck at the hair-thin line of blood that had seeped to the surface of my thumb. “You should be more careful. I need those fingers.” He waggled his eyebrows and batted his eyes at me. It was supposed to be suggestive, but came off looking more like he was having a seizure. Still completely adorable, though. I sat down the whittling knife and the mahogany block that was slowly taking the shape of a rook, but didn’t take his bait. A Cheshire cat grin split my lips at the scowl that crossed his handsome face when I refused to budge from my work station. It was fun to play this game with him, even if I’d lost every time in the last five years.
“You’re just mad I’m not paying attention to you,” I teased, turning back to my figurine. My goal was to carve and lacquer an entire chess set by the end of the month. It was already nine days into February, and I was on my fourth piece. With my company’s annual ‘motivational’ trip to San Francisco looming just two week away, things weren’t looking good. Suddenly, warm arms encircled me from behind. The sweet smell of Michael’s cologne wrapped around my senses like gentle fingers.
“I’m not mad,” he whispered into my ear, “but let me make use of these before you go and cut them off.” He slid his palms down my arms, soft digits twining with my own callused ones. I grinned at the pitiful, half-finished tower on my carving station.
Seunghyun: 0, Michael: ∞.
We made love like we hadn’t in a long time: slowly, sweetly, unhurried. Michael kissed each of my fingers before guiding them between his legs. When he came, he buried his face into the crook of my neck and wept as I laced a hand through his wavy, chestnut locks.
“I love you. You’re the only thing I’ll ever want,” he breathed, tears still falling from his bright brown eyes even as he smiled up at me. “Nothing’s going to change that.”
The sharp crack of the fire popping drew me from the bittersweet memory. That night had been special. Michael had been so very special to me.
And he’d been a liar.
I snapped the sleeping boy’s wallet shut, and scratched a harsh hand through the hair on my chin. Maybe Jiyong and his hipster boyfriend were happy, and good on them if they were. All I’d learned from my last relationship was that love is absolutely conditional; the pull of greed can corrupt even the most earnest of men. The promise of forever could be forgotten in the blink of an eye if the price was right. Learning those lessons had hurt more than anything else ever had; it had nearly destroyed me in more ways than one.
Behind me, my invalid guest groaned. I watched him shift on the couch, the first sign of purposeful movement he’d shown. His teeth began chattering violently, which, in this situation, was actually a positive sign. I piled another blanket on top of his slight figure, and gently wiped his windburnt face with the damp cloth that was sitting on his forehead. Eventually his teeth stopped clicking together, but his chin still wobbled with involuntary spasms. When I was satisfied he was as comfortable as I could make him, I turned back to the contents of his clothing.
Not only had I found a wallet, I’d also found a trail map for the Chena Lakes Recreational Area in that same pocket, as well as an iPhone that wouldn’t get a signal out here if it’d had a three foot antenna. So I was right about the tourist part. At least the boy had been smart enough to bring the map with him. Too bad he hadn’t brought a compass as well in order to be able to make use of it once he’d wandered off the beaten paths. The pocket on the arm of his jacket contained a slightly crumpled pack of Natural American Spirit cigarettes, a tiny Bic lighter, and a tube of Burt’s Bees peppermint lip balm. Smoking was another bad idea when hiking through the wilds of Alaska; it robbed your body of precious oxygen.
Some of our state’s more hardened natives might call the boy brash and stupid for what he’d done, but all I felt was sympathy. From the pictures of friends I’d seen in his wallet, I gathered he wasn’t some loner who’d come here by himself and just happened to get lost while hiking one of the clearly marked trails at Chena Lakes. He’d probably traveled with some of the people in those pictures, but something had pushed him to leave the safety of his friends and venture out on his own. I tucked his belongings back into his jacket, and turned to face him.
It was possible I was wrong. Hell, it was more than possible, seeing as my naiveté and faith in other human beings is what drove me here in the first place. The more I thought about it, the more I realized what an idiot I was being. What had I just been considering? Attempting to get to know this kid once he woke up? What would be the point? Even if he was good will incarnate, he would be gone once he was able to sit on the back of the snowmobile. And I couldn’t afford to let someone even peek through the cracks in the protective wall I’d finally managed to build up around me. I wasn’t sure my heart or my sanity could take another hit, even a minor one, before they crumbled like ashes.
No, I wasn’t going to befriend the kid, but it wasn’t in my nature to be a dick, either. When he woke up, I’d give him some appropriate clothing, make him a bite to eat, and then take him to the hospital in town as fast as the Ski-Doo would carry us. Completely exhausted, I changed into a dry pair of pajamas, laid out the remaining blankets on my floor in a palette, and stoked the fire in the hearth before settling down for what I knew would be a restless nap.
As soon as I closed my eyes, the dreams stole the peace of unconsciousness from me like a thief in the night -quietly, insidiously. They always started with whispers, contained only flickers of disjointed images and the ghosts of memories, and they all ended with me gasping for air as I clawed my way to the surface of reality.
“… lucky to be alive…”
“…only thing that saved him…”
A flash of light, a young nurse’s face lit up in shock; the shadows of figures hovering over me, hands and needles poking and prodding every inch of my prone body.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the evidence we present to you throughout this trial will prove, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the defendant-”
Michael’s eyes across the courtroom, dark and hard and devoid of the tenderness they’d always contained. His hands, hands that had once touched me with love, curled into claws as I stared at him from the witness stand.
A sip of whisky, another too-sweet cocktail raised high in celebration of our sixth anniversary. The sharp ridges of Michael’s teeth as he pressed his mouth to my ear and whispered, “How long will you love me?” The sting of tears in my eyes as I swallowed the drink he’d made me, and whispered back, “Until the day I die.”
The endless depths of those amber eyes. White teeth. Pink lips.
“I know.”
Just like every night I had these dreams, I bolted upright, choking on air that wasn’t coming fast enough and then pushing it back out of my lungs in a strangled scream. But unlike every other night, this time someone screamed back.
"Holy fucking shit!"
Startled didn’t begin to describe the way I felt hearing someone shout obscenities at me when I hadn’t spoken to another living being in over a month. I whipped my head to the side, and came face to face with a pair of clear brown eyes, opened wide in alarm.
Jiyong was awake.
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