shinee; jongyu; prompt 4 (PART 1)
anonymous
October 2 2011, 17:34:45 UTC
The way Jinki laughs when he breaks his plate after his first dinner alone is a little disconcerting. He finds the blood dripping down his fingers hilarious (and he knows it shouldn’t be), his hands shaking as he tries to pick up the pieces. He falls to his knees, the porcelain shards scattered across the floorboards tickling his skin, and he retches horribly, his stomach aching and tears rolling from his eyes.
When he wakes up three hours later, slumped against a table leg, the smell of cold soup and vomit nearly overwhelming, he looks at his skin, slashed and gory, and gulps.
He thinks he might be going a little bit crazy.
--
Kibum stares at him hard the next day, his eyes fixed on the numerous bandages cross-crossing over Jinki’s arms. He’d run out of the normal brown ones and had resorted to using the My Little Pony bandages his niece had left at his after her last visit.
Jinki glances at his handiwork, hysterical giggles bubbling up in his throat once again. He coughs, turns away. Picks up another stack of books and starts down the Autobiography aisle, away from Kibum’s prying eyes. They make him itch.
“Do you have Michael Jackson’s biography?”
Jinki spins quickly on his heel, surprised, books clattering to the floor. The noise echoes throughout the dusty library.
The first thing he notices is his eyes.
They’re big (really, truly wide) and manic, black eyeliner smudged. His clothes are ridiculously out of place in a public library, ripped jeans and a low cut shirt that loudly proclaims he’s a “HOT BITCH”. Jinki feels that maybe this guy got lost in the women’s section.
Strangely, it works.
“Um, no, sorry,” he says. “It’s out on loan.” As it has been for the past three months. Taemin is notoriously bad at returning his books.
The man frowns, pushing an irritated hand through his hair, his blond bangs skewed. Jinki notices his nails are bitten and bloody, rings adorning nearly all his fingers.
“But,” Jinki adds quickly, “If you come back next week, I could order another copy for you?” He’s hopeful. Maybe this stranger won’t notice.
A small smirk, a wink. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
He doesn’t say goodbye, just strides away, pulling out his phone as he goes, bangles clanging loudly.
When Jinki bends down to pick up his books, he realises.
The man hadn’t stared at his arms once.
--
Jinki finds him sat at one of the tables near the windows, hidden from view by the old wooden shelves that house the travel guides.
He’s on his break, and he’s supposed to be meeting Taemin for lunch. Jinki thinks that Taemin has been talking to Kibum. They’ve both been giving him wary looks. Perhaps punching his mirror had been a bit much.
“You’re not supposed to be smoking in here,” he says, pulling out the chair opposite and sitting down.
This time, the guy’s wearing the uniform for the clothes shop down the road, his name tag bright pink. Jonghyun.
Jonghyun takes his time plucking the roll-up from his lips, blowing smoke into Jinki’s face. “So?”
Jinki shrugs. “Nothing,” he replies with a coy smile. He pulls the biography from his lap and slides in across the table, his knuckles on show, red and bloody and bruised.
Jonghyun barely glances at them, his eyes on the book. “Cool. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Jinki waits. For what? He isn’t sure.
Jonghyun stuffs the book in his bag. He turns his head to the window, squinting into the afternoon sun. The road is deserted.
Jinki follows his gaze. Maybe it’s this small fucking town that’s making him feel so trapped, desperately gasping for breath. “Wanna get a drink?” Jonghyun asks. Jinki’s in unfamiliar territory. This has never happened before. It’s exhilarating. It leaves him breathless.
shinee; jongyu; prompt 4 (PART 2)
anonymous
October 2 2011, 17:35:12 UTC
“Who’s this guy you’ve been hanging out with?” Taemin asks him, months down the line, and Jinki’s so wrecked he barely hears it.
“No one,” he mumbles, grinning, his eyelids drooping because, fuck, Jonghyun kept him out drinking all last night. “Jesus, you sound like my mother.”
“We’re just fucking concerned, is all,” Kibum butts in, his voice venomous. Jinki lifts his head from his kitchen table, wincing in the light. It’s too early for this.
Kibum takes a deep breath. “Is this about Minho?”
Jinki glares at him. “Fuck Minho. I got over Minho months ago, thank you very much.” Sure, things had started falling apart the night after Minho had broken up with him but Jinki figures, if that’s all it took to push him over the edge, then his trip on the crazy train had probably been a long time coming. He giggles at the thought.
When he wakes up three hours later, slumped against a table leg, the smell of cold soup and vomit nearly overwhelming, he looks at his skin, slashed and gory, and gulps.
He thinks he might be going a little bit crazy.
--
Kibum stares at him hard the next day, his eyes fixed on the numerous bandages cross-crossing over Jinki’s arms. He’d run out of the normal brown ones and had resorted to using the My Little Pony bandages his niece had left at his after her last visit.
Jinki glances at his handiwork, hysterical giggles bubbling up in his throat once again. He coughs, turns away. Picks up another stack of books and starts down the Autobiography aisle, away from Kibum’s prying eyes. They make him itch.
“Do you have Michael Jackson’s biography?”
Jinki spins quickly on his heel, surprised, books clattering to the floor. The noise echoes throughout the dusty library.
The first thing he notices is his eyes.
They’re big (really, truly wide) and manic, black eyeliner smudged. His clothes are ridiculously out of place in a public library, ripped jeans and a low cut shirt that loudly proclaims he’s a “HOT BITCH”. Jinki feels that maybe this guy got lost in the women’s section.
Strangely, it works.
“Um, no, sorry,” he says. “It’s out on loan.” As it has been for the past three months. Taemin is notoriously bad at returning his books.
The man frowns, pushing an irritated hand through his hair, his blond bangs skewed. Jinki notices his nails are bitten and bloody, rings adorning nearly all his fingers.
“But,” Jinki adds quickly, “If you come back next week, I could order another copy for you?” He’s hopeful. Maybe this stranger won’t notice.
A small smirk, a wink. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
He doesn’t say goodbye, just strides away, pulling out his phone as he goes, bangles clanging loudly.
When Jinki bends down to pick up his books, he realises.
The man hadn’t stared at his arms once.
--
Jinki finds him sat at one of the tables near the windows, hidden from view by the old wooden shelves that house the travel guides.
He’s on his break, and he’s supposed to be meeting Taemin for lunch. Jinki thinks that Taemin has been talking to Kibum. They’ve both been giving him wary looks. Perhaps punching his mirror had been a bit much.
“You’re not supposed to be smoking in here,” he says, pulling out the chair opposite and sitting down.
This time, the guy’s wearing the uniform for the clothes shop down the road, his name tag bright pink. Jonghyun.
Jonghyun takes his time plucking the roll-up from his lips, blowing smoke into Jinki’s face. “So?”
Jinki shrugs. “Nothing,” he replies with a coy smile. He pulls the biography from his lap and slides in across the table, his knuckles on show, red and bloody and bruised.
Jonghyun barely glances at them, his eyes on the book. “Cool. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Jinki waits. For what? He isn’t sure.
Jonghyun stuffs the book in his bag. He turns his head to the window, squinting into the afternoon sun. The road is deserted.
Jinki follows his gaze. Maybe it’s this small fucking town that’s making him feel so trapped, desperately gasping for breath. “Wanna get a drink?” Jonghyun asks. Jinki’s in unfamiliar territory. This has never happened before. It’s exhilarating. It leaves him breathless.
“It’s three in the afternoon.”
Jonghyun raises an eyebrow. “So?”
Jinki grins. “Let me get my jacket.”
--
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“No one,” he mumbles, grinning, his eyelids drooping because, fuck, Jonghyun kept him out drinking all last night. “Jesus, you sound like my mother.”
“We’re just fucking concerned, is all,” Kibum butts in, his voice venomous. Jinki lifts his head from his kitchen table, wincing in the light. It’s too early for this.
Kibum takes a deep breath. “Is this about Minho?”
Jinki glares at him. “Fuck Minho. I got over Minho months ago, thank you very much.” Sure, things had started falling apart the night after Minho had broken up with him but Jinki figures, if that’s all it took to push him over the edge, then his trip on the crazy train had probably been a long time coming. He giggles at the thought.
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