IMB 2011: Infinity (2/2)
Title: Infinity
Pairing/Focus: Sungjong-centric OT7 + Myungsoo/Sungjong
Rating: PG-13
Current Word Count: 12,323 w.
Summary: They were infinite, they were timeless; and also, Sungjong thinks, their love was too.
friday.
悲しみよ 泣かないで 温もりは去っても
sadness, please do not weep, even though the warmth has gone
Sungjong's rudely awakened by a phone call, and he's tempted to ignore it and slide under the covers and maybe pull out the battery later, but he ultimately picks it up. Their manager's on the other end of the line, sounding equally exhausted and worn out as Sungjong felt, and he's told that Woollim's boss has 'politely requested' that he vacate the dorm by Tuesday morning. They're going to move the new girl group the company's been planning to debut in instead, since it's nearer to the dance studios then their original dorm (since they actually have a future together). He says okay and hangs up, then frantically counts if everyone would be here by Monday. They will.
He wants to go back to sleep but he can't, so instead he gets out of bed and washes up. He decides he should get packing after breakfast, maybe even clean the rooms out a bit (but he thinks he should wait because he might not be strong enough). Sungjong's eating breakfast when he gets another call, this time from Jiae. He hasn't actually spoken to her in months; sometimes he sees her at the company building and ruffles her hair and calls her an elephant and waves, but he hasn't really spoken to her in a while. She asks if he's okay (and of course, he lies). She doesn't seem satisfied, but she hangs up anyway because she knows there's nothing more she can do. "Oppa, I might not be of much help, but call me… if you need someone to talk to, okay? I'll come by Tuesday morning." He takes it that she's heard the news.
Sungjong decides to pack his things first; he doesn't want to leave it till the last moment (or rather, he doesn't want to forget something later and come back to this well of memories). He's surprised how little things he's bought since moving into the dorm; almost everything fit into the bags he brought with him when he first arrived as a trainee. Sungjong finds it in the front zip of the huge bag he keeps under his bed, the piece of paper still neatly folded, albeit a little yellow. He's sitting on his bed and reading it, brushing his fingers against the faded ink, completely forgetting about packing.
He arranges Sungyeol's stuffed dolls (really, only the puppy was that out of place, from the day Woohyun visited), fluffing the pillows and folding the blanket the right way. His eyes fall on the picture of Howon's family on the dresser and he remembers the message he once read on the back; Sungjong hurriedly averts his gaze and unplugs the headphones from Howon's iPod. He puts that, his headphones and his glasses one on top of the other on the bed.
He moves to the room nearest to the kitchen - Myungsoo and Dongwoo's. He's hurting again, the moment he steps through the doorway; there's Myungsoo's scent in the air and the sight of his shirts is bubbling tears out of his eyes. He doesn't do much other than folding the mattresses and arranging Myungsoo's shirts, before it gets to be too much.
Sungjong's running to Woohyun and Sunggyu's room before he knows it, closing the door behind him and almost panting (and clamping a hand over his heart, but he doesn't realize that). He takes one look around the room and knows there's too much in here to even bother cleaning, and he cracks a small smile when he remembers that one time where Hoya and Dongwoo launched a rebellion of sorts against Woohyun and Sunggyu for nagging the younger members yet not cleaning their own rooms (although that didn't last very long).
He thinks he's got Woohyun busted because there are A Pink and SNSD CDs on the dresser, and he allows a tiny smile at Sunggyu's slightly-open bottom drawer, vitamin bottle caps only slightly visible.
The pattern on the huge unkempt comforter often shared between Woohyun and Sunggyu become nothing more than coloured blobs as Sungjong sinks to the floor, his body trembling with sobs. It's as if the tears falling onto his cheeks are racing to see which hits his sleeves first.
Sungjong cries until his eyes have no more tears to give him. He's always thought it was ridiculous, how someone could cry until they stopped and there really isn't any more coming out, but he supposes he should take that back now. He might've been crying for hours, he doesn't know, but the hem of his sleeve and the knees of his jeans are soaked with salty tears.
He doesn't realize the door opening until, "Yah, Lee Sungjong! That's where you were!" Sungjong stares upwards, at the figure leaning past the doorframe, at Sunggyu, wisps of disheveled hair framing his face as if he's been looking for something. Sunggyu's running towards him, drops down to the ground, sweeps him up in a big hug. His voice is quieter now, "I thought they'd already told you to move out, but your stuff was still here so I guessed not… The other members saw you the instant they came and I had to go looking for you," he sighs.
Sunggyu's burying his face in Sungjong's shoulders, arms tightening around him, and Sungjong hugs back, neither of them wanting to be the first to let go. "Why, hyung? Why am I the only one left?" Sungjong knows he sounds like a child, but really, he doesn't care - he really does want to know why. Why he's been left behind like this, why he can't go with them, as terrible as it sounds.
Sunggyu doesn't answer him, only rubs comforting circles into his back and hums his favourite Nell song into his ears. They stay like that until the leader cautiously tugs at his wrist, urging him to stand up, telling him he can't stay like this forever. Sungjong excuses himself to wash up, and when he comes back, Sunggyu's sitting on his bed with his legs splayed all over Woohyun's, two large photo albums in hand. Sungjong's reluctant to go over (reluctant to let his heart break again because it's just been taped back, however temporary that is), but his feet have always had larger tendencies of obeying Sunggyu's "Yah, come here, look at this!" than his heart.
Sungjong's snuggled under the warm comforters next to Sunggyu, laughing at a hilarious picture of Hoya's hair with numerous ponytails (which was the result of losing a bet with Sungyeol). It's less of a photo album than it is chronicled imagery of his life - his life after he'd met the other members, at least. There are photos from silly pre-debut parties and their secret escapades to streets in the middle of nowhere late at night as trainees. There are photos from their debut preparations, from when they were slaving over Japanese lessons to daily vocal training to simply walking together on the way home.
The number of photos start to decrease after that, when they begin getting busy as idol stars. There are only one or two shots in their stage clothing, and even then, dorky backstage shots. There are lots of photos during the breaks they took between promotional periods though, and Sungjong thinks he likes this photo album a lot because there are pictures of Kim Sunggyu, Nam Woohyun, Lee Howon, Jang Dongwoo, Lee Sungyeol, Kim Myungsoo and Lee Sungjong, not pictures of Infinite.
Sunggyu's answer comes hours later, when they're halfway through the second photo album. "You weren't left behind. You were chosen to stay. I can't answer you why, but I can hazard a guess - you still have so much to live for. Live it for us," his voice is a whisper now and he's blinking harder than ever, "We're connected, Jong. We all are. So if you feel happy and you live the life we never got to live for us… I think we'd be really happy too."
Sunggyu tells him not to cry into the comforter because it's Woohyun's favourite, and pushes him towards the bathroom instead. "Look in the mirror, Lee Sungjong. Come back the Lee Sungjong we know, the Lee Sungjong who would throw a fit every time we made him do the dishes, the Lee Sungjong who turned the entire house upside down for a hairpin, the Lee Sungjong who was infinite because he loved himself and the people around him and life."
When Sungjong comes back from the bathroom, the photo album is open on the bed, not to a picture of them during their debut stage, not to a picture of their first win on M!Countdown, but simply a to a page split into half. The top half was a picture of them laughing and running around by the shoreline; he presumes it's during the music video filming for She's Back, because that's really the last time he went to the beach. The bottom half is a picture of all the members looking up at the sky, holding hands (and making promises of love and forever and infinity).
There are fresh tear stains on this picture.
Sungjong loses Kim Sunggyu on a Friday.
saturday.
あの笑顔 無理に引き裂く雨 いつまで続く
how long are the rainy days, that tear apart our smiles?
When Sungjong wakes up, there's a loud racket ringing in his ears, and he realizes it's raining when he sits up in bed and hears the water pelting against the rooftop. He seems to have fallen asleep with the photo albums tucked under his arm too, one with a hard red cover and the other soft regal purple velvet. There's a silver cut-out of the infinite symbol on both of them though, on the bottom right corner, and Sungjong vaguely remembers Sungyeol and Woohyun arguing over whether it should be gold or silver.
He's determined to pack today and he does, stuffing all the clothes he has no intention of wearing until he goes home into his bags, arranging them in the most space-saving way possible so he can fit everything inside the least number of bags it takes. He ends up with more luggage than he expects though, because he takes things he wants to keep from the dorms; he takes one item from each of the members, one to keep and remember 20 years down the road.
(Sunggyu told him to live life and enjoy and remember and create new memories for them, didn't he?) Sungjong takes the photo albums for Sunggyu, broad at the bottom of the bag. He chooses Woohyun's favourite book (and he can tell because some of the pages are folded and the cover edges look like they've been scraped against sandpaper and the spine is loose), Howon's reading glasses, Sungyeol's stuffed puppy, one of Myungsoo's cameras and an album of his photographs.
He slides the album into the bag quickly enough that his tears don't make it out in time before he blinks them back. He's wondering what to take for Dongwoo - his banana pillow? Or maybe that Doraemon mirror? (Or maybe his piggy boxers, but Sungjong doesn't really want to think about that right now.) He's poking around the mess near Dongwoo's bed, all his belongings chucked together and there are packets of biscuits, a subway schedule, a pamphlet. Sungjong notices a book sticking out from Dongwoo's bags though, and he picks it up, opens it. It's not his diary, it's just a normal notebook; on the front page, there's all their names scribbled on it with an infinite symbol after it.
He flips the page and there's a long verse written out; at first Sungjong thinks it's haiku, but he looks closer and reads deeper into it and he realizes it's rap lyrics that Dongwoo's written out himself. There are pages upon pages of them, hashed out with pencils or crossed out in pen, and there are footnotes and annotations about the feel of a song or a rap's pace. The paper is worn and thin; he figures Dongwoo must've used this pretty often, turning the pages all the time for reference or maybe even for reading. He spies one page with Howon's writing too, and figures this one must've been a collaboration between the two of them.
Sungjong remembers when Sunggyu dug around Dongwoo's belongings and found his diary, expecting it to be filled with poetic rap, but instead found his daily schedule and notes on the day, just like any other boy's. So this is where it's been hiding, Sungjong thinks. He's about to read one in detail, when he gets tackled and crashes onto the floor, and the notebook is violently snatched away from him.
"Yah! Who said you could look through that?" Sungjong flips over onto his side to see Dongwoo somewhat cuddling the notebook, petting it. "Well, I have to admit I didn't hide it too well yesterday, so it's really no surprise. Since you've probably seen most of it, here," Dongwoo admits, helping Sungjong up into a sitting position and handing him the notebook. Sungjong turns it over and sees a marker drawing of a little Tyrannosaurus-Rex (that really doesn't even look intimidating), and he recalls a time during a fanmeet where he'd caught Dongwoo doodling on a tiny notebook with the marker he was supposed to be using to autograph posters.
Dongwoo merely watches him as he brushes past a few pages, reading his compositions. Then, "Jongie-ah, want to write with me?"
Sungjong's never been the best of writers, and he's never gotten anything higher than a B+ for his essays on the days he does attend school, neither has he ever shown much interest in creative writing in any form at all, but he finds writing lyrics (and rap, no less) with Dongwoo an enjoyable experience. Dongwoo's teaching him how to string his words together just right, without sounding too slow or having all the words come out in a sudden rush of breath. He learns how to make them rhyme nicely, how to breathe in between all the fast verses.
(Truth be told, Sungjong doesn't need to know this, because he's not a rapper, and he's leaving the entertainment industry anyway. He knows Dongwoo knows; he sees it in his eyes. But Sungjong knows they both need some noise, some companionship, so he lets him continue.)
"You've got to breathe in between here and here," Dongwoo uses a red felt-tip pen to underline the words lightly, "It always has to be a part where the syllables of the world lets you breathe and pronounce at the same time, so it doesn't look like you're breathing, y'know?" he finishes. Sungjong nods, and it's silent for a while as Dongwoo lies down on his banana pillow, pulling it over his face. Dongwoo's voice is muffled when he next speaks (and Sungjong doesn't think it's because of the pillow). "D-Did you think about us, while we… we were gone?" he asks.
Sungjong's spinning the pen in his hands, doing something, anything, to not look at Dongwoo and lose it. "Yeah. Every day, hyung," he whispers. He's lying down now too, rolls off the bed so he's next to Dongwoo and throws and arm around his waist, the way he always does when they lie on the floor after dance practice or when they're resting. "What about you guys?" he asks, and he's afraid to hear the answer.
"Woohyun makes so much fuss about you, even Sunggyu has a hard time controlling him sometimes," Dongwoo says, and Sungjong can tell he's trying to say something happy so he'd smile. So Sungjong does, and since they're on this topic anyway, "Hyung… h-how's Myungsoo-hyung?" This question comes out more like a murmur to the wind than anything. It's soft, but it carries throughout the room, and Sungjong can see that Dongwoo's stiffened.
Dongwoo reaches out to pull Sungjong into his arms, and they stay encased in each other's warmth for many moments. Sungjong feels fingers ruffling his hair. "He misses you. He loves you, more than you really could ever imagine. He doesn't seem like he shows he cares, but up… there, we can see auras, and his is yellow. He's thinking of you; it's your favourite colour, right?" Dongwoo glances at him for confirmation.
It's still pouring outside, rainwater heavy against the roof, and it's like an invincible wall separating this world and the other.
Sungjong doesn't say anything, instead, "Let's write, hyung."
They end up writing a lot more than expected; there are two full pages, front and back, of their penmanship, sketchy lines and annotations in different colours and font sizes. The floor is littered with eraser crumbs from their pencil notes too, and it looks like a huge stationery fair. They reach a dead end ("Ah, what's that word? Gosh, I really should pick up a book or something soon," Dongwoo sighs) and Sungjong offers to bring in the dictionary from his room because it's more comprehensive than the mini-index Dongwoo's scribbled for himself on the back.
"Hyung! Can't you help me with this?" Sungjong is balancing three dictionaries on his knees and struggling to look over the pile, when he realizes Dongwoo isn't there anymore, pens left uncapped and banana pillow squished and half-folded. The notebook is open to fresh new page, with Dongwoo's familiar handwriting and a new verse.
That one man whispered to me,
words tinkling;
"Just how much longer
do I have to gaze at him alone?
This love that came like the wind,
it's beautiful
and I'm holding him in my arms.
Then it blows again
and I'm no longer there.
Will he think I left him?
Will he love me?"
And then a footnote,
When he comes tomorrow, answer him.
Sungjong loses Jang Dongwoo on a Saturday.
sunday.
大切なものひとつだけ 守れる力がほしい
i want the strength to protect my only one jewel
Sungjong tosses over onto his side, staring at the alarm clock with bright green digits almost bouncing off the display. He's been in bed since 9.00pm; it's 11.30pm now and he still can't sleep. He pulls the comforters tighter around him, burrowing into the bed. (He's still thinking about Dongwoo, about what he's wrote and about him in general, another person he didn't get to say goodbye for real to.) He plugs in his iPod, listening to the quieter songs that he saves for nights like this, soft, tinkling piano melodies and some lilting ballads. The haunting last note of 4men's Reason swirls in his ears, and he tightens his grip on the teddy bear in his arms.
He expects another ballad to play, or maybe that New Age album he bought last week, but then a familiar voice reaches him. He jumps a little, almost as if electrocuted; he recognizes this voice, it's only much too familiar, whispered too many times into his ear, down his neck, against his hair. Sungjong remembers this - Myungsoo had recorded this one day when they were taking vocal lessons together, the two of them. Their instructor had stepped out for a short break, and Myungsoo had picked up Sungjong's phone without a word. He'd switched on the recording function, singing that song from - oh, what was that drama - Iris. I Love You, he thinks it was called, and he remembers giggling at Myungsoo because his voice was so much deeper than Taeyeon's had been in the original song.
He's crying into the fur of the stuffed doll, letting Myungsoo's voice wrap around him (like his arms always did). He holds the bear the way he's always been held, hands clamped together around its waist. Sungjong tells himself to stop, because his choked crying sounds are blocking out Myungsoo's song, but he doesn't have the strength to do that (nor to pause the song until he isn't wailing into the darkness).
He stares up at the ceiling, letting his tears fall onto the sides of his face, onto his pillow, seep into the runaway strands of his hair. The brick surface is cream and warm; he's turned on the lamp because he can't bear to sleep alone in the dark. It's always been okay, he's always had Sungyeol's light snoring and the faint beat of Howon's R&B music coming from his iPod. There were always sounds at night, but those were pleasant, familiar sounds and they're comforting, he thinks. But these sounds now scared him - his sobs, the occasional droplet of rainwater from the storm earlier, the silence.
He's talking (to himself more than anything, because he really just needs to get rid of the silence, and get this out), "You idiot. I did love you. Did you think I wouldn't, because of this? Did you think I'd blame you for any of this? Aren't you supposed to be the one with the extraordinary mind?" He realizes how loud his voice is (and also how much it's cracked).
"I'm glad, then," someone says, and Sungjong sits up so abruptly in bed his head spins for a short moment. That line certainly wasn't in the song; he yanks out his earphones, peers over the edge of his bed with such force that he almost throws himself off it, and he sees that familiar half-awkward smile and sparkling eyes. "Dongwoo-hyung told you that, though, didn't he? Aish, I knew he would, and I decided to ignore my roommate instincts anyway…" Myungsoo trails off, then seems to suddenly remember why he's here.
Sungjong's climbed down before Myungsoo tells him to, and their gazes meet for the longest of moments before Myungsoo brushes his fingers against Sungjong's eyelids. "You've been crying," he whispers, hand curling around Sungjong's neck to pull him into a tight embrace. Myungsoo's grip is strong (because it's so full of need and want and just everything), "Extraordinary minds aren't used often when weak hearts are swayed, when weak hearts love," Myungsoo says, lips lightly touching Sungjong's forehead.
Myungsoo caves in and they both cry, clutching at each other because it's the only thing they know how to do now.
Sungjong decides he doesn't want to go anywhere (and it's not like he can, so late at night, anyway), instead he drags Myungsoo onto his bed. It's many - maybe hundreds, maybe thousands, Sungjong could never quite think straight whenever Myungsoo's lips were on his, whenever Myungsoo's fingers press against his back, whenever Myungsoo whispers his name like it's the finest china vase around - kisses before Sungjong settles into the other's arms.
Myungsoo's propped up on one elbow, looking down at Sungjong with occasional smiles, playing with Sungjong's hair and humming in acknowledgement wherever needed. It's still cold, still very cold and Sungjong's cocooned in his blankets. (Sungjong's always wondered how he and Myungsoo got along; he was water, and the other was fire. It isn't a case of opposites attract, he doesn't think, but how do fire and water get along at all? He thinks it's at times like this that he finds an answer, when it's freezing out but Myungsoo still manages to be so, so warm.)
They've spent the past two hours or so, Sungjong reckons, talking about the past - about how they first met, about how their relationship unwittingly blossomed into new love, about the little things in life that they never bother talking about ("Do you remember that day on the beach? Where we found that shell? Hyoan-hyung told us to put it back because it was poisonous, but you could hear waves crashing when you put it near your ear, even inside!"). It's conversation like they've always had, peppered with kisses and gentle touches.
But Sungjong knows they're both turning a blind eye to the blood all around them, red and fresh from the gashes on their hearts, sliced open and exposed to the air, exposed to judgment from the people around them.
"I love you," Myungsoo whispers, and this time, his voice cracks first, tears pool in his eyes first. This kiss he gives Sungjong is urgent, needy, like he doesn't plan on staying. Like he needs to go somewhere, and soon; the kind of kiss a husband gives a wife when he leaves the house and he's late for work. "I love you," he whispers again, and Sungjong's fingers find Myungsoo's. He thinks if they were holding each other like this, they'd both disappear together because it'd be impossible to separate one from the other.
"Y'know how I said if it was the last day I'd be spending on Earth, I'd ask the person I loved to marry me?" Myungsoo asks, and Sungjong's startled by the question. He only nods. "I-I don't have anything to prove we loved each other, to prove any of this," Myungsoo pauses for a moment, "only memories. Rings, flowers, nothing of that - come find me with memories."
Myungsoo sweeps Sungjong into his arms, lips pressed against lips, then cheek, then eyes, then forehead. "I know Sunggyu's told you this, but… live the life I never got to live for me. Take pictures, see the world. Be the strong Lee Sungjong we know," he says, and then stops, like he has so much more to say but doesn't know how to phrase any of them. Sungjong hits him on the chest and he means it to be harder, but it comes across as a soft swipe instead. "S-Stop trying t-t-to be eloquent," he cries.
"I love you," Myungsoo says simply, and it comes out in a rush, like he's been holding it in with his breath. It's many 'I love you's' later that Myungsoo tells him to sleep. "Will you be here when I wake up in the morning?" Sungjong asks, one hand in Myungsoo's and the other clinging at the shirt he's wearing.
Myungsoo nods, kisses him (with finality, Sungjong feels). "Sleep."
When Sungjong wakes up, he's clutching at air. He sits up, gets off the bed. He can still taste Myungsoo in his mouth, still feel the trail his fingers took on his face. "You promise breaker," he whispers, a soft smile crossing paths with tears staining his cheeks yet again. "I'll hold this against you!" he screams at no one in particular.
(He figures if he keeps this promise, it'd cancel out the one Myungsoo's broken.)
Sungjong loses Kim Myungsoo on a Sunday.
monday.
僕らを隔ててる傷は癒える 今は叶わない
our wounds will heal, though it will not be granted for now
("Oh god, he's wearing that old shirt again! I told him to throw it out just the other day, and he didn't even listen!" Woohyun stomps his foot down on the floor, glaring up at Sungjong who's sound asleep, bunched up underneath the covers. The wood of the bunk bed is gleaming slightly from the tiny crack of morning sun slipping in through the windows.
"Yah, would you keep it down a bit? What if he wakes up?" Sunggyu's next to him with his signature disapproving look, but he can't keep himself from smiling at Woohyun and his typical motherly instincts.
"It's not that he can hear you anyway!" Sungyeol's screaming at the top of his lungs, singing a rock song in a pitch that's entirely off the original, bouncing up and down on his bed.
"Yeah, but I can hear you, so shut up!" Howon throws a punch at Sungyeol, but the latter dodges it with a cheeky grin and a loud laugh.
"Here, you guys write!" Dongwoo thrusts a piece of paper and a pen into Myungsoo's hands first.)
Sungjong's going around the dorm making sure he's got nothing left behind. He checks under his bed, in the drawers, on the dresser-
There's a piece of paper slid in between the magazines they've hoarded and the wall (where paint is peeling off because there used to be a lamp that scraped against the wall every time Sungyeol knocked into the dresser in his half-asleep stupor). Sungjong picks it up, opens the clean, fresh fold, runs his fingers along the crease.
It's a letter in familiar handwriting, six different styles, yet all of them seem like one to him. He drops his sling bag, sits on Howon's bed to read it. There are lots of crosses and cuts, but then there's a passage that everyone seems to have written together:
Yah, Lee Sungjong! Whatever you're going to do, do it well. Put your entire being into it, okay? (Oh, everything except maybe a stewardess or a drag queen because Woohyun says he'll disown you if you do.) Study hard, and become the shining Lee Sungjong we know. Do as you like, see as you please, love as you wish. If you have moments to spare some thought for us, think of us, and we'll think of you as well.
This doesn't change anything though, does it? We promised each other we'd be together forever! If there's anyone bullying you or there's something you're not happy with, talk to us. (Okay, so maybe not us, our graves? We'll still be there, so same thing.) We'll use divine powers or something. Fine, jokes aside - we'll miss you, we'll miss you so much. But this isn't the end though; we're still connected. We can sort of feel you, so we're sure you feel us too. We'll reserve a special spot for you up here, okay? We'll give you a window seat and you can see all things pretty! But this seat… we won't be giving it to you for another 90 years or something like that!
Sungjong-ah, live well.
We love you.
We really do love you.
We're Infinite the group, but we're also infinite the adjective. Wouldn't that mean we're forever?
Until the next time we meet,
Kim Sunggyu, Nam Woohyun, Lee Howon, Jang Dongwoo, Kim Myungsoo, Lee Sungyeol.
Sungjong's hands fall onto his lap, and he's choking back a sob. He lifts the piece of paper to his chest, letting it linger there for a while, as if the words might fuse into his heart if the letter was kept there long enough. He's clutching at it now, taking deep breaths.
(The letter smells like watermelons and notebook paper and sweat and ramen and photo film, with a faint whiff of medicine.)
Previous
Pairing/Focus: Sungjong-centric OT7 + Myungsoo/Sungjong
Rating: PG-13
Current Word Count: 12,323 w.
Summary: They were infinite, they were timeless; and also, Sungjong thinks, their love was too.
friday.
悲しみよ 泣かないで 温もりは去っても
sadness, please do not weep, even though the warmth has gone
Sungjong's rudely awakened by a phone call, and he's tempted to ignore it and slide under the covers and maybe pull out the battery later, but he ultimately picks it up. Their manager's on the other end of the line, sounding equally exhausted and worn out as Sungjong felt, and he's told that Woollim's boss has 'politely requested' that he vacate the dorm by Tuesday morning. They're going to move the new girl group the company's been planning to debut in instead, since it's nearer to the dance studios then their original dorm (since they actually have a future together). He says okay and hangs up, then frantically counts if everyone would be here by Monday. They will.
He wants to go back to sleep but he can't, so instead he gets out of bed and washes up. He decides he should get packing after breakfast, maybe even clean the rooms out a bit (but he thinks he should wait because he might not be strong enough). Sungjong's eating breakfast when he gets another call, this time from Jiae. He hasn't actually spoken to her in months; sometimes he sees her at the company building and ruffles her hair and calls her an elephant and waves, but he hasn't really spoken to her in a while. She asks if he's okay (and of course, he lies). She doesn't seem satisfied, but she hangs up anyway because she knows there's nothing more she can do. "Oppa, I might not be of much help, but call me… if you need someone to talk to, okay? I'll come by Tuesday morning." He takes it that she's heard the news.
Sungjong decides to pack his things first; he doesn't want to leave it till the last moment (or rather, he doesn't want to forget something later and come back to this well of memories). He's surprised how little things he's bought since moving into the dorm; almost everything fit into the bags he brought with him when he first arrived as a trainee. Sungjong finds it in the front zip of the huge bag he keeps under his bed, the piece of paper still neatly folded, albeit a little yellow. He's sitting on his bed and reading it, brushing his fingers against the faded ink, completely forgetting about packing.
He arranges Sungyeol's stuffed dolls (really, only the puppy was that out of place, from the day Woohyun visited), fluffing the pillows and folding the blanket the right way. His eyes fall on the picture of Howon's family on the dresser and he remembers the message he once read on the back; Sungjong hurriedly averts his gaze and unplugs the headphones from Howon's iPod. He puts that, his headphones and his glasses one on top of the other on the bed.
He moves to the room nearest to the kitchen - Myungsoo and Dongwoo's. He's hurting again, the moment he steps through the doorway; there's Myungsoo's scent in the air and the sight of his shirts is bubbling tears out of his eyes. He doesn't do much other than folding the mattresses and arranging Myungsoo's shirts, before it gets to be too much.
Sungjong's running to Woohyun and Sunggyu's room before he knows it, closing the door behind him and almost panting (and clamping a hand over his heart, but he doesn't realize that). He takes one look around the room and knows there's too much in here to even bother cleaning, and he cracks a small smile when he remembers that one time where Hoya and Dongwoo launched a rebellion of sorts against Woohyun and Sunggyu for nagging the younger members yet not cleaning their own rooms (although that didn't last very long).
He thinks he's got Woohyun busted because there are A Pink and SNSD CDs on the dresser, and he allows a tiny smile at Sunggyu's slightly-open bottom drawer, vitamin bottle caps only slightly visible.
The pattern on the huge unkempt comforter often shared between Woohyun and Sunggyu become nothing more than coloured blobs as Sungjong sinks to the floor, his body trembling with sobs. It's as if the tears falling onto his cheeks are racing to see which hits his sleeves first.
Sungjong cries until his eyes have no more tears to give him. He's always thought it was ridiculous, how someone could cry until they stopped and there really isn't any more coming out, but he supposes he should take that back now. He might've been crying for hours, he doesn't know, but the hem of his sleeve and the knees of his jeans are soaked with salty tears.
He doesn't realize the door opening until, "Yah, Lee Sungjong! That's where you were!" Sungjong stares upwards, at the figure leaning past the doorframe, at Sunggyu, wisps of disheveled hair framing his face as if he's been looking for something. Sunggyu's running towards him, drops down to the ground, sweeps him up in a big hug. His voice is quieter now, "I thought they'd already told you to move out, but your stuff was still here so I guessed not… The other members saw you the instant they came and I had to go looking for you," he sighs.
Sunggyu's burying his face in Sungjong's shoulders, arms tightening around him, and Sungjong hugs back, neither of them wanting to be the first to let go. "Why, hyung? Why am I the only one left?" Sungjong knows he sounds like a child, but really, he doesn't care - he really does want to know why. Why he's been left behind like this, why he can't go with them, as terrible as it sounds.
Sunggyu doesn't answer him, only rubs comforting circles into his back and hums his favourite Nell song into his ears. They stay like that until the leader cautiously tugs at his wrist, urging him to stand up, telling him he can't stay like this forever. Sungjong excuses himself to wash up, and when he comes back, Sunggyu's sitting on his bed with his legs splayed all over Woohyun's, two large photo albums in hand. Sungjong's reluctant to go over (reluctant to let his heart break again because it's just been taped back, however temporary that is), but his feet have always had larger tendencies of obeying Sunggyu's "Yah, come here, look at this!" than his heart.
Sungjong's snuggled under the warm comforters next to Sunggyu, laughing at a hilarious picture of Hoya's hair with numerous ponytails (which was the result of losing a bet with Sungyeol). It's less of a photo album than it is chronicled imagery of his life - his life after he'd met the other members, at least. There are photos from silly pre-debut parties and their secret escapades to streets in the middle of nowhere late at night as trainees. There are photos from their debut preparations, from when they were slaving over Japanese lessons to daily vocal training to simply walking together on the way home.
The number of photos start to decrease after that, when they begin getting busy as idol stars. There are only one or two shots in their stage clothing, and even then, dorky backstage shots. There are lots of photos during the breaks they took between promotional periods though, and Sungjong thinks he likes this photo album a lot because there are pictures of Kim Sunggyu, Nam Woohyun, Lee Howon, Jang Dongwoo, Lee Sungyeol, Kim Myungsoo and Lee Sungjong, not pictures of Infinite.
Sunggyu's answer comes hours later, when they're halfway through the second photo album. "You weren't left behind. You were chosen to stay. I can't answer you why, but I can hazard a guess - you still have so much to live for. Live it for us," his voice is a whisper now and he's blinking harder than ever, "We're connected, Jong. We all are. So if you feel happy and you live the life we never got to live for us… I think we'd be really happy too."
Sunggyu tells him not to cry into the comforter because it's Woohyun's favourite, and pushes him towards the bathroom instead. "Look in the mirror, Lee Sungjong. Come back the Lee Sungjong we know, the Lee Sungjong who would throw a fit every time we made him do the dishes, the Lee Sungjong who turned the entire house upside down for a hairpin, the Lee Sungjong who was infinite because he loved himself and the people around him and life."
When Sungjong comes back from the bathroom, the photo album is open on the bed, not to a picture of them during their debut stage, not to a picture of their first win on M!Countdown, but simply a to a page split into half. The top half was a picture of them laughing and running around by the shoreline; he presumes it's during the music video filming for She's Back, because that's really the last time he went to the beach. The bottom half is a picture of all the members looking up at the sky, holding hands (and making promises of love and forever and infinity).
There are fresh tear stains on this picture.
Sungjong loses Kim Sunggyu on a Friday.
saturday.
あの笑顔 無理に引き裂く雨 いつまで続く
how long are the rainy days, that tear apart our smiles?
When Sungjong wakes up, there's a loud racket ringing in his ears, and he realizes it's raining when he sits up in bed and hears the water pelting against the rooftop. He seems to have fallen asleep with the photo albums tucked under his arm too, one with a hard red cover and the other soft regal purple velvet. There's a silver cut-out of the infinite symbol on both of them though, on the bottom right corner, and Sungjong vaguely remembers Sungyeol and Woohyun arguing over whether it should be gold or silver.
He's determined to pack today and he does, stuffing all the clothes he has no intention of wearing until he goes home into his bags, arranging them in the most space-saving way possible so he can fit everything inside the least number of bags it takes. He ends up with more luggage than he expects though, because he takes things he wants to keep from the dorms; he takes one item from each of the members, one to keep and remember 20 years down the road.
(Sunggyu told him to live life and enjoy and remember and create new memories for them, didn't he?) Sungjong takes the photo albums for Sunggyu, broad at the bottom of the bag. He chooses Woohyun's favourite book (and he can tell because some of the pages are folded and the cover edges look like they've been scraped against sandpaper and the spine is loose), Howon's reading glasses, Sungyeol's stuffed puppy, one of Myungsoo's cameras and an album of his photographs.
He slides the album into the bag quickly enough that his tears don't make it out in time before he blinks them back. He's wondering what to take for Dongwoo - his banana pillow? Or maybe that Doraemon mirror? (Or maybe his piggy boxers, but Sungjong doesn't really want to think about that right now.) He's poking around the mess near Dongwoo's bed, all his belongings chucked together and there are packets of biscuits, a subway schedule, a pamphlet. Sungjong notices a book sticking out from Dongwoo's bags though, and he picks it up, opens it. It's not his diary, it's just a normal notebook; on the front page, there's all their names scribbled on it with an infinite symbol after it.
He flips the page and there's a long verse written out; at first Sungjong thinks it's haiku, but he looks closer and reads deeper into it and he realizes it's rap lyrics that Dongwoo's written out himself. There are pages upon pages of them, hashed out with pencils or crossed out in pen, and there are footnotes and annotations about the feel of a song or a rap's pace. The paper is worn and thin; he figures Dongwoo must've used this pretty often, turning the pages all the time for reference or maybe even for reading. He spies one page with Howon's writing too, and figures this one must've been a collaboration between the two of them.
Sungjong remembers when Sunggyu dug around Dongwoo's belongings and found his diary, expecting it to be filled with poetic rap, but instead found his daily schedule and notes on the day, just like any other boy's. So this is where it's been hiding, Sungjong thinks. He's about to read one in detail, when he gets tackled and crashes onto the floor, and the notebook is violently snatched away from him.
"Yah! Who said you could look through that?" Sungjong flips over onto his side to see Dongwoo somewhat cuddling the notebook, petting it. "Well, I have to admit I didn't hide it too well yesterday, so it's really no surprise. Since you've probably seen most of it, here," Dongwoo admits, helping Sungjong up into a sitting position and handing him the notebook. Sungjong turns it over and sees a marker drawing of a little Tyrannosaurus-Rex (that really doesn't even look intimidating), and he recalls a time during a fanmeet where he'd caught Dongwoo doodling on a tiny notebook with the marker he was supposed to be using to autograph posters.
Dongwoo merely watches him as he brushes past a few pages, reading his compositions. Then, "Jongie-ah, want to write with me?"
Sungjong's never been the best of writers, and he's never gotten anything higher than a B+ for his essays on the days he does attend school, neither has he ever shown much interest in creative writing in any form at all, but he finds writing lyrics (and rap, no less) with Dongwoo an enjoyable experience. Dongwoo's teaching him how to string his words together just right, without sounding too slow or having all the words come out in a sudden rush of breath. He learns how to make them rhyme nicely, how to breathe in between all the fast verses.
(Truth be told, Sungjong doesn't need to know this, because he's not a rapper, and he's leaving the entertainment industry anyway. He knows Dongwoo knows; he sees it in his eyes. But Sungjong knows they both need some noise, some companionship, so he lets him continue.)
"You've got to breathe in between here and here," Dongwoo uses a red felt-tip pen to underline the words lightly, "It always has to be a part where the syllables of the world lets you breathe and pronounce at the same time, so it doesn't look like you're breathing, y'know?" he finishes. Sungjong nods, and it's silent for a while as Dongwoo lies down on his banana pillow, pulling it over his face. Dongwoo's voice is muffled when he next speaks (and Sungjong doesn't think it's because of the pillow). "D-Did you think about us, while we… we were gone?" he asks.
Sungjong's spinning the pen in his hands, doing something, anything, to not look at Dongwoo and lose it. "Yeah. Every day, hyung," he whispers. He's lying down now too, rolls off the bed so he's next to Dongwoo and throws and arm around his waist, the way he always does when they lie on the floor after dance practice or when they're resting. "What about you guys?" he asks, and he's afraid to hear the answer.
"Woohyun makes so much fuss about you, even Sunggyu has a hard time controlling him sometimes," Dongwoo says, and Sungjong can tell he's trying to say something happy so he'd smile. So Sungjong does, and since they're on this topic anyway, "Hyung… h-how's Myungsoo-hyung?" This question comes out more like a murmur to the wind than anything. It's soft, but it carries throughout the room, and Sungjong can see that Dongwoo's stiffened.
Dongwoo reaches out to pull Sungjong into his arms, and they stay encased in each other's warmth for many moments. Sungjong feels fingers ruffling his hair. "He misses you. He loves you, more than you really could ever imagine. He doesn't seem like he shows he cares, but up… there, we can see auras, and his is yellow. He's thinking of you; it's your favourite colour, right?" Dongwoo glances at him for confirmation.
It's still pouring outside, rainwater heavy against the roof, and it's like an invincible wall separating this world and the other.
Sungjong doesn't say anything, instead, "Let's write, hyung."
They end up writing a lot more than expected; there are two full pages, front and back, of their penmanship, sketchy lines and annotations in different colours and font sizes. The floor is littered with eraser crumbs from their pencil notes too, and it looks like a huge stationery fair. They reach a dead end ("Ah, what's that word? Gosh, I really should pick up a book or something soon," Dongwoo sighs) and Sungjong offers to bring in the dictionary from his room because it's more comprehensive than the mini-index Dongwoo's scribbled for himself on the back.
"Hyung! Can't you help me with this?" Sungjong is balancing three dictionaries on his knees and struggling to look over the pile, when he realizes Dongwoo isn't there anymore, pens left uncapped and banana pillow squished and half-folded. The notebook is open to fresh new page, with Dongwoo's familiar handwriting and a new verse.
That one man whispered to me,
words tinkling;
"Just how much longer
do I have to gaze at him alone?
This love that came like the wind,
it's beautiful
and I'm holding him in my arms.
Then it blows again
and I'm no longer there.
Will he think I left him?
Will he love me?"
And then a footnote,
When he comes tomorrow, answer him.
Sungjong loses Jang Dongwoo on a Saturday.
sunday.
大切なものひとつだけ 守れる力がほしい
i want the strength to protect my only one jewel
Sungjong tosses over onto his side, staring at the alarm clock with bright green digits almost bouncing off the display. He's been in bed since 9.00pm; it's 11.30pm now and he still can't sleep. He pulls the comforters tighter around him, burrowing into the bed. (He's still thinking about Dongwoo, about what he's wrote and about him in general, another person he didn't get to say goodbye for real to.) He plugs in his iPod, listening to the quieter songs that he saves for nights like this, soft, tinkling piano melodies and some lilting ballads. The haunting last note of 4men's Reason swirls in his ears, and he tightens his grip on the teddy bear in his arms.
He expects another ballad to play, or maybe that New Age album he bought last week, but then a familiar voice reaches him. He jumps a little, almost as if electrocuted; he recognizes this voice, it's only much too familiar, whispered too many times into his ear, down his neck, against his hair. Sungjong remembers this - Myungsoo had recorded this one day when they were taking vocal lessons together, the two of them. Their instructor had stepped out for a short break, and Myungsoo had picked up Sungjong's phone without a word. He'd switched on the recording function, singing that song from - oh, what was that drama - Iris. I Love You, he thinks it was called, and he remembers giggling at Myungsoo because his voice was so much deeper than Taeyeon's had been in the original song.
He's crying into the fur of the stuffed doll, letting Myungsoo's voice wrap around him (like his arms always did). He holds the bear the way he's always been held, hands clamped together around its waist. Sungjong tells himself to stop, because his choked crying sounds are blocking out Myungsoo's song, but he doesn't have the strength to do that (nor to pause the song until he isn't wailing into the darkness).
He stares up at the ceiling, letting his tears fall onto the sides of his face, onto his pillow, seep into the runaway strands of his hair. The brick surface is cream and warm; he's turned on the lamp because he can't bear to sleep alone in the dark. It's always been okay, he's always had Sungyeol's light snoring and the faint beat of Howon's R&B music coming from his iPod. There were always sounds at night, but those were pleasant, familiar sounds and they're comforting, he thinks. But these sounds now scared him - his sobs, the occasional droplet of rainwater from the storm earlier, the silence.
He's talking (to himself more than anything, because he really just needs to get rid of the silence, and get this out), "You idiot. I did love you. Did you think I wouldn't, because of this? Did you think I'd blame you for any of this? Aren't you supposed to be the one with the extraordinary mind?" He realizes how loud his voice is (and also how much it's cracked).
"I'm glad, then," someone says, and Sungjong sits up so abruptly in bed his head spins for a short moment. That line certainly wasn't in the song; he yanks out his earphones, peers over the edge of his bed with such force that he almost throws himself off it, and he sees that familiar half-awkward smile and sparkling eyes. "Dongwoo-hyung told you that, though, didn't he? Aish, I knew he would, and I decided to ignore my roommate instincts anyway…" Myungsoo trails off, then seems to suddenly remember why he's here.
Sungjong's climbed down before Myungsoo tells him to, and their gazes meet for the longest of moments before Myungsoo brushes his fingers against Sungjong's eyelids. "You've been crying," he whispers, hand curling around Sungjong's neck to pull him into a tight embrace. Myungsoo's grip is strong (because it's so full of need and want and just everything), "Extraordinary minds aren't used often when weak hearts are swayed, when weak hearts love," Myungsoo says, lips lightly touching Sungjong's forehead.
Myungsoo caves in and they both cry, clutching at each other because it's the only thing they know how to do now.
Sungjong decides he doesn't want to go anywhere (and it's not like he can, so late at night, anyway), instead he drags Myungsoo onto his bed. It's many - maybe hundreds, maybe thousands, Sungjong could never quite think straight whenever Myungsoo's lips were on his, whenever Myungsoo's fingers press against his back, whenever Myungsoo whispers his name like it's the finest china vase around - kisses before Sungjong settles into the other's arms.
Myungsoo's propped up on one elbow, looking down at Sungjong with occasional smiles, playing with Sungjong's hair and humming in acknowledgement wherever needed. It's still cold, still very cold and Sungjong's cocooned in his blankets. (Sungjong's always wondered how he and Myungsoo got along; he was water, and the other was fire. It isn't a case of opposites attract, he doesn't think, but how do fire and water get along at all? He thinks it's at times like this that he finds an answer, when it's freezing out but Myungsoo still manages to be so, so warm.)
They've spent the past two hours or so, Sungjong reckons, talking about the past - about how they first met, about how their relationship unwittingly blossomed into new love, about the little things in life that they never bother talking about ("Do you remember that day on the beach? Where we found that shell? Hyoan-hyung told us to put it back because it was poisonous, but you could hear waves crashing when you put it near your ear, even inside!"). It's conversation like they've always had, peppered with kisses and gentle touches.
But Sungjong knows they're both turning a blind eye to the blood all around them, red and fresh from the gashes on their hearts, sliced open and exposed to the air, exposed to judgment from the people around them.
"I love you," Myungsoo whispers, and this time, his voice cracks first, tears pool in his eyes first. This kiss he gives Sungjong is urgent, needy, like he doesn't plan on staying. Like he needs to go somewhere, and soon; the kind of kiss a husband gives a wife when he leaves the house and he's late for work. "I love you," he whispers again, and Sungjong's fingers find Myungsoo's. He thinks if they were holding each other like this, they'd both disappear together because it'd be impossible to separate one from the other.
"Y'know how I said if it was the last day I'd be spending on Earth, I'd ask the person I loved to marry me?" Myungsoo asks, and Sungjong's startled by the question. He only nods. "I-I don't have anything to prove we loved each other, to prove any of this," Myungsoo pauses for a moment, "only memories. Rings, flowers, nothing of that - come find me with memories."
Myungsoo sweeps Sungjong into his arms, lips pressed against lips, then cheek, then eyes, then forehead. "I know Sunggyu's told you this, but… live the life I never got to live for me. Take pictures, see the world. Be the strong Lee Sungjong we know," he says, and then stops, like he has so much more to say but doesn't know how to phrase any of them. Sungjong hits him on the chest and he means it to be harder, but it comes across as a soft swipe instead. "S-Stop trying t-t-to be eloquent," he cries.
"I love you," Myungsoo says simply, and it comes out in a rush, like he's been holding it in with his breath. It's many 'I love you's' later that Myungsoo tells him to sleep. "Will you be here when I wake up in the morning?" Sungjong asks, one hand in Myungsoo's and the other clinging at the shirt he's wearing.
Myungsoo nods, kisses him (with finality, Sungjong feels). "Sleep."
When Sungjong wakes up, he's clutching at air. He sits up, gets off the bed. He can still taste Myungsoo in his mouth, still feel the trail his fingers took on his face. "You promise breaker," he whispers, a soft smile crossing paths with tears staining his cheeks yet again. "I'll hold this against you!" he screams at no one in particular.
(He figures if he keeps this promise, it'd cancel out the one Myungsoo's broken.)
Sungjong loses Kim Myungsoo on a Sunday.
monday.
僕らを隔ててる傷は癒える 今は叶わない
our wounds will heal, though it will not be granted for now
("Oh god, he's wearing that old shirt again! I told him to throw it out just the other day, and he didn't even listen!" Woohyun stomps his foot down on the floor, glaring up at Sungjong who's sound asleep, bunched up underneath the covers. The wood of the bunk bed is gleaming slightly from the tiny crack of morning sun slipping in through the windows.
"Yah, would you keep it down a bit? What if he wakes up?" Sunggyu's next to him with his signature disapproving look, but he can't keep himself from smiling at Woohyun and his typical motherly instincts.
"It's not that he can hear you anyway!" Sungyeol's screaming at the top of his lungs, singing a rock song in a pitch that's entirely off the original, bouncing up and down on his bed.
"Yeah, but I can hear you, so shut up!" Howon throws a punch at Sungyeol, but the latter dodges it with a cheeky grin and a loud laugh.
"Here, you guys write!" Dongwoo thrusts a piece of paper and a pen into Myungsoo's hands first.)
Sungjong's going around the dorm making sure he's got nothing left behind. He checks under his bed, in the drawers, on the dresser-
There's a piece of paper slid in between the magazines they've hoarded and the wall (where paint is peeling off because there used to be a lamp that scraped against the wall every time Sungyeol knocked into the dresser in his half-asleep stupor). Sungjong picks it up, opens the clean, fresh fold, runs his fingers along the crease.
It's a letter in familiar handwriting, six different styles, yet all of them seem like one to him. He drops his sling bag, sits on Howon's bed to read it. There are lots of crosses and cuts, but then there's a passage that everyone seems to have written together:
Yah, Lee Sungjong! Whatever you're going to do, do it well. Put your entire being into it, okay? (Oh, everything except maybe a stewardess or a drag queen because Woohyun says he'll disown you if you do.) Study hard, and become the shining Lee Sungjong we know. Do as you like, see as you please, love as you wish. If you have moments to spare some thought for us, think of us, and we'll think of you as well.
This doesn't change anything though, does it? We promised each other we'd be together forever! If there's anyone bullying you or there's something you're not happy with, talk to us. (Okay, so maybe not us, our graves? We'll still be there, so same thing.) We'll use divine powers or something. Fine, jokes aside - we'll miss you, we'll miss you so much. But this isn't the end though; we're still connected. We can sort of feel you, so we're sure you feel us too. We'll reserve a special spot for you up here, okay? We'll give you a window seat and you can see all things pretty! But this seat… we won't be giving it to you for another 90 years or something like that!
Sungjong-ah, live well.
We love you.
We really do love you.
We're Infinite the group, but we're also infinite the adjective. Wouldn't that mean we're forever?
Until the next time we meet,
Kim Sunggyu, Nam Woohyun, Lee Howon, Jang Dongwoo, Kim Myungsoo, Lee Sungyeol.
Sungjong's hands fall onto his lap, and he's choking back a sob. He lifts the piece of paper to his chest, letting it linger there for a while, as if the words might fuse into his heart if the letter was kept there long enough. He's clutching at it now, taking deep breaths.
(The letter smells like watermelons and notebook paper and sweat and ramen and photo film, with a faint whiff of medicine.)
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