Fic: Sleeping With Ghosts 27/?
Title: Sleeping With Ghosts 27/?
Author: Milena Pandora/milena_1980
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing: JaeChun (main), YooSu, YooMin, JaeHo, HoMin, HyukSu
Genre: AU, Angst, Romance
Warning: Suicidal feelings; suicidal ideation; suicidal actions; references to substance abuse; self-harm
Summary: Soulmates never die
A/N: A series of connected drabbles/ficlets. Not always in chronological order. Title from Sleeping With Ghosts by Placebo.
A/N2: Written in second person point-of-view.
A/N3: TRIGGER WARNING: Please mind the warning tags
Title: Hush
What would you do if I died?
It's cold, freezing, yet you barely register it. Maybe it's your limbs becoming numb, nerves tingling as you dive deeper and deeper beneath the waves. Maybe it's you becoming numb, dead, inside and outside and everywhere. You're so tired of everything, of breathing, of living.
I should die, you think. I want to die.
The dark and the cold envelop you, but you aren't uncomfortable. Many times, you have thought of this, exactly this: being in a state where you hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing; a few more seconds (or minutes?), and you will cease to exist. The small part of you that remains rational laughs at your misery, at your desire to end the pain that has followed you for so long.
You're so pathetic, it says (you quietly agree).
The darkness is lonely, but that isn't new. When haven't you felt lonely in the past, oh, twenty years? You felt abandoned by your family; later, you were abandoned by him. No, even before he left, other people left you. Didn't loneliness lead you to start dating in the first place?
No, that was normal, you think even now.
What was so normal about constantly "falling in love"? How old were you the first time you thought you fell in love? Thirteen? And the girl (you can't recall her name) said yes, because you were kids and stupid. It didn't last two weeks. How many girls did you "fall in love" with after? Three? Four? Until you found her.
You have always been stupidly devoted to the people you love. When she showed up, she was the girl of your supposed dreams: pretty, fun, kind; she liked the same music and dramas you liked. Of course, that ended in a couple of months. The memory still hurts, for some reason.
I won't fall in love ever again, you promised then, because that's what you do: you get your heart broken and make stupid, unrealistic promises.
Don't feel, you tell yourself now. None of it matters. In the absolute darkness, in that lonely space that holds nothing, that's where you want to be.
But I don't want to be at all.
For a moment, it seems as though your mind listens to you. There's nothing, just the roaring noise of the water in your ears. And the dark, a seemingly dark void where nothing exists (not even you).
"Call me Hyung!" the memory of his voice comes unbidden. He made such a demand more than once, many times after the first time he followed you home. If you hadn't been distraught, you may have confronted him, but you didn't. You felt lonely and useless and worthless, and he was there, his dark eyes perpetually focused on you. Friendship didn't even seem like a possibility, but he called out to you; eventually, you needed to answer.
"You're insane!" you would say with painful regularity. He would always laugh and say "eccentric" sounded better.
He is insane, you think now. It has nothing to do with his illness and everything to do with his decisions. (Are they separate or one and the same?)
You didn't fall in love with him immediately. Actually, how did that even happen? Because once you loved him, you did with every fiber of your being. After that first kiss and the ones that followed, you wondered how you were able to breathe-let alone survive-without him. His eccentricities didn't matter. That he was flighty and unpredictable and disappeared for days on end were all part of the package, and you were willing to accept him-you did accept him. Your younger self stopped thinking that any of his shortcomings were deal breakers; you were going to move in with him despite all of it, for heaven's sake. You loved him-you love him now-and that was enough.
When did you start questioning everything he did? When did you start beating yourself up over your "useless" feelings for him? When did Jaejoong's presence and affection become not enough?
What has changed?
Your eyes fly open. Seawater stings your eyes, yet you make no effort to close them again. The darkness is enveloping you. It feels cold. You can't breathe.
What would you do if I died? His voice speaks clearly in your memories.
I'm dying, you think now. Earlier, the thought brought you peace of mind. Now, you panic; your chest hurts; you look up, but the surface seems so far away. You try to claw your way up, but water is filling up your lungs, everything hurts. The darkness is here, you realize, it has come and you can do nothing but succumb to it.
Title: Between
"I'm so sorry, Yoochun."
It's quiet. The dull, painful pressure inside you and around you seems to be gone. Nevertheless, it's still freezing cold (you wonder if you'll ever feel warm again). The roar of the water in your ears has disappeared, you realize. Your eyelids feel heavy; could you open your eyes if you tried? Maybe you have died, and this is your punishment: remaining in the darkness, numb, until the end of time.
"Shit." The word is followed by sniffling. Someone is crying near you. Somehow, you find the strength to open your eyes a sliver.
You're lying on a bed, in a room with white walls. There's something covering your nose and mouth; you feel something (a tube?) going down your throat. You think you hear short, soft beeps. It reminds you of his hospital room after his suicide attempt. Sterile. Empty. Almost immediately, you become aware of a dull pain in your chest, and you realize it: you're alive. How?
Why?
Just as the thought comes, it goes; your eyelids close and you fall asleep.
The pain is still there when you next open your eyes.
I'm still alive, you figure. The (apparent) fact doesn't make you happy. Well, it isn't like you feel anything right now, except for that awful, steady pain in your chest. It reminds you of the asthma attacks back when you were a child, but much, much worse.
"You're awake," a familiar voice speaks to your right. "Are you thirsty?"
Immediately, you feel parched. Your mouth feels like something crawled in there and died, just like when you wake up with those killer hangovers…
The thing covering half your face is removed and a large, strong hand supports the back of your head. You feel something thin and plastic touch your lips…oh, a straw. Drinking comes naturally, automatically, though you choke a bit. Why are you so damn thirsty?
"All right?" Somehow, you find the strength to nod in assent. The straw is taken away. The hand remains for a moment, before letting go. Almost immediately, you feel the oxygen mask back on.
Your eyes barely open, you look to your left. Your father is standing there, looking down at you with sorrow-filled eyes. He smiles sadly, patting the top of your head.
"How are you feeling?"
Empty, you want to tell him, but no words come out. The tiredness remains. Your entire body feels heavy.
"It's okay," he assures you.
You think you nod as your eyes close once again.
The room is still that uncomfortable off-white. You don't like white. White is the absence of life, or is it black? You don't remember anymore. The lighting feels different; you feel warmer-maybe someone gave you an extra blanket? -but the beeping is the same. Your chest still feels as if you'd had a major asthma attack, but much worse (the oxygen mask reminds you of childhood days spent in the hospital getting emergency asthma treatment).
"Yoochun?" the tone is questioning, hesitant. Somehow, you turn your head just enough to look at whoever is sitting on the visitor's chair. Ah.
Changmin is there, his dark gaze focused on you. You expect anger, but there's only deep sorrow. Why? There are dark bags under his eyes, making him look older (not that you would ever tell him). He holds your gaze, studying your face. It doesn't last; after a minute or so, he looks away.
"Hi," he greets you, his voice soft. "Your dad was here earlier. He said you've woken up a few times in the past couple of days, but you go back to sleep almost immediately."
He pauses. Does he expect a reply? Unfortunately, you have none to give, and no strength to offer it, either.
"It's been five days since… since you…" He stops; he wets his lips then presses them together, as though searching for an appropriate way to phrase whatever he wants to say. "Since we found you." Found you? "At the beach. Finding your car wasn't hard, but you… We couldn't find you." His eyes fill with tears. Now that you're looking at him, you see his red-rimmed eyes, the tear tracks on his face. He rubs at his eyes (is he tired?).
"They-We found you by chance," he continues. "You weren't breathing, so Yunho gave you CPR. He saved your life." His voice breaks on that last word. "Somehow, we managed to bring you here. It's kind of a blur, to be honest." He sighs. "Your dad told me they've found no evidence of brain damage. He's really nice, by the way. Your dad."
Someone speaks, but you can't make out the words. Changmin replies, as though answering a question. He sighs, turning his attention back to you.
"Yunho's coming back tomorrow," he says. "He went back to work. He managed to get a couple of days off. He said it was a family emergency. I did, too. It's not a lie, is it?" His lips widen in a wry smile. "Junsu has been beside himself with worry. Hyukjae, too." Changmin pauses, his brow furrowing in thought. "I…" Once again, he looks like he wants to say something, but stops himself. He glances down, his lips becoming a tight line.
"Whatever led you to this, I'm so sorry, Yoochun." Tears slip out and run down his face. You feel nothing, though, no pain or guilt. His voice breaks as he continues.
"I don't know why you disappeared or why you chose not to talk to me or Junsu or Yunho. And I won't ask, either. Just…" He pauses, sniffling. "I'm your friend. That will never change. Whenever you're ready, or whenever you want to talk about anything at all, please call me or text me. Please. I don't know if I'm strong enough to go through this again."
A part of you wants to answer his request right away. The other wants to keep those memories under a tight lid. (Your chest already hurts enough.)
"Shit," Changmin mutters. "I'm rambling." He smiles sadly. "I'm glad you're awake, and I hope you're okay." You think you smile, because he glances at your lips and his own widen in a more genuine smile. Your gazes meet and hold steady, at least until your eyelids feel heavy again. "Rest if you're tired," he says, his voice softening.
As if a switch has been thrown, you close your eyes and fall deeply asleep.
Title: Above
"So, what do you say?"
Days have passed since you were brought to the hospital near death. All kinds of recommendations are offered: exercise, a healthy diet, support groups, even the names and numbers of a few psychologists and psychiatrists, along with a referral. You haven't admitted that you were trying to end your life, why open that can of worms? You're alive, you're getting better; that's all that matters.
Yunho and Changmin have visited as much as they can. They tell you about Junsu and Hyukjae, plus their own lives, their future plans. They try to ask you about your own, but you've yet to make any decisions. Your mind is nowhere and everywhere; thinking isn't really an option.
"He needs to recover before he can think about any of that," your father tells the couple one time.
Today, your friends have gone back to the city. The doctor has finally decided that you can be discharged. Your father, bless his heart, has been taking care of all of the particulars. You're still in bed, connected to the machines monitoring your lungs and heart, when he comes back into your room. He smiles at your sight.
"Everything is signed," he tells you, cheerfully. "You still need to sign a couple of documents and that's it." He sits on the chair and grabs a banana from a bunch Yunho brought you last time. He looks away while eating, clearly choosing his words carefully before saying anything. Just as you will push him, he opens his mouth.
"What will you do?" he asks. "Will you go back to the city?"
To the city… To him. Your employers tried to be supportive over your hospitalization, but they couldn't accept your lack of communication. The apartment is still there, though your friends have been paying the rent in your stead.
"I don't want to go back," you admit. Your father glances at you. "I… I don't want to be there." Near him, near the places that continue to hurt you despite the distance.
"You're welcome to move in with me," he offers after a couple of minutes. "Your room is still there. I know you have savings, and so do I." He finishes the banana and regards you seriously. "You need time to heal, son. That means getting plenty of rest, getting a new specialist. Taking a break from working. I won't have you getting sick unnecessarily." He pauses. "So, what do you say?"
You have to fight to keep a smile off your face. Your father is a serious man, but he truly loves you, you had never realized just how much until the past two weeks.
Yunho and Changmin continue to be amazing friends, bringing your things from your apartment over during the next two weeks.
"That's what friends are for," Yunho told you when you thanked them and apologized for being so useless.
The doctor said you would be feeling weak for a few days; you still do (you aren't sure whether it's your lungs or the intense sadness you feel right now). You can't do much when it comes to carrying boxes and suitcases, but you organize as much as you can (and throw away anything you neither want nor need).
Changmin decides to organize your closet, much like he used to back when you lived together. You were always the neat freak, and you're sure you'll change it up after he leaves, but you're grateful, nonetheless. He takes care with every piece of clothing and places them where you would. Meanwhile, you sit on the bed, filling your dresser with folded underwear and socks, t-shirts, and shorts.
"This closet is bigger than I expected," Changmin remarks after twenty minutes or so of working silently. You had good salaries in your previous two jobs, so you could afford bigger apartments with comfortable closets. Your parents lived on a much tighter budget, and it shows.
"I never had this many clothes back when I lived here," you tell him. He smiles, if only for a moment. He takes a deep breath, his back to you again.
"The apartment is almost empty," he tells you. "Only the large furniture is left. Did you email the building about it, yet?"
"Yeah. If it's in good condition, they'll leave it there and let the new tenants decide if they want to keep it. You and Yunho are welcome to take anything you like."
"Nah, we're fine." His shoulders droop, though. "Do you think you'll ever come back?" His voice is so low you barely hear him.
"I don't know," you admit. "Maybe. Right now, though…"
His back to you, he nods once, before going back to his task.
They make maybe one more trip and then they return home. You feel empty as they drive away.
"Come on," your dad says. "Let's go to the store."
The sense of normalcy you get as you walk into the grocery store and do your shopping is unsettling. You don't mind it, though. There's something real to it all. Yes, you're exhausted; yes, your body hurts (as well as your heart). Discussing the pros and cons of one brand over another is as mundane as it gets, yet you don't think you've felt happier in years.
"Should we buy something for dinner?" your father asks while looking at the fish. You look around.
"Let's eat out somewhere," you suggest. He looks surprised but smiles and nods.
"Let's go, then." You pay for groceries and you walk out, side by side.
Title: Good
"What else do I need?"
It takes you a while to get used to the silence, but you manage. Your hometown is nothing like Seoul: no loud, constant noise from cars, no unbearably crowded streets. In a way, the town seems emptier than when you were younger (you think it's better that way). The older women in your neighborhood recognize you and make conversation. How are you? (Fine.) Are you married, yet? (They smile knowingly when you say no.) Do you have a job?
Every once in a while, you'll run into old classmates. Some of them have families, while others seem to be living fairly relaxed lives in comparison. Everyone looks happy to see you (no one remarks on how thin you are or that you look like death, but that's fine by you).
For now, you're taking a bit of a break. You found a job at a small advertising company. They're mostly web based, and you do anything that's needed, from copywriting to data entry or coffee runs. It's only a few hours a day, but it's fulfilling and enjoyable.
The rest of your day is spent reading books at home or the beach, or just listening to music if you feel like it. You thought your father would criticize you for taking it easy for so long, but he has been incredibly supportive.
"You take as long as you need," he has told you several times after you accepted his offer to come live with him. "Take your time and heal properly."
It has only been a few months, though; you're sure he'll change his mind eventually.
Your friends have been just as supportive.
"Don't be a stranger," Junsu tells you every couple of weeks. "Remember we're here for you."
Yunho texts, as well, mostly asking after your wellbeing. You're still thinking about your next steps, and you tell him so. You tell him about your life now, about how slow and boring it is. Sometimes you confide in him after your visits to the psychiatrist. It has been a few months since you started treatment for clinical depression. The pills make you tired; it's difficult to concentrate sometimes. Even so, you want to get out of bed again.
"Stick to the treatment," Yunho encourages you.
In the evenings, you make dinner for yourself and your father. When he comes home, you eat together. He has been talking about retirement, about taking his savings and moving to a tropical island. You ask him about his plans.
"Beautiful women and drinking all day. What else do I need?" he jokes.
After dinner, he joins you for a while and you watch television together. He laughs at the comedies you enjoy, making you feel, if only for a couple of hours, like you're not utterly alone.
You go to bed around nine o'clock, but you rarely fall asleep immediately. First, you take your sleeping medication. Yet, despite the miraculous effects the brand's website promises, nothing happens for minutes on end. You're tired-exhausted, really-but no amount of sleep is ever enough. (Every morning you wonder if you will ever wake up feeling rested again.)
The next day is usually a repeat of the previous one, almost point by point. Nevertheless, you're fairly happy. You have everything you need: food, a job, tranquility, life (or a good imitation of one).
Title: Vision
"Are you sure you're ready?"
Sunday afternoon catches you sorting laundry while watching a movie on TV. It's nothing interesting, just a sci-fi flick about a zombie apocalypse. You've never loved horror, but you remain seated, your gaze glued to the screen and mesmerized by all the violence and suspense. Every ten minutes or so, you realize your hands have stopped moving. Your attention shifts again halfway through folding another shirt.
"No!" a man shrieks in pain as a chunk of his neck is bitten off, blood spraying everywhere. You automatically reach up as though to check that your neck is still there. This thing is going to give you nightmares, but you don't turn it off or change the channel. It's not like your father is there to remind you about the last time you watched a scary movie.
"You need to sleep," he told you after the second night you were plagued by nightmares and insomnia. The memory makes you chuckle. Ugh, you should really turn it off, but it's so damn entertaining. Just ten more minutes.
Today is the first time you have the house to yourself in weeks. Your father has surprised you by being overprotective since you moved back in, making sure to tell you about his plans and checking up on you. That was never a thing back when you were in high school. He worries, perhaps more than he should, about your mood and eating habits and whether you're enjoying work. You love him, but, sometimes, you hate to admit, it can feel suffocating.
"He loves you," Junsu said one day. You weren't complaining about it-Junsu has a tense relationship with his own father, so it's hardly appropriate-but you couldn't help mentioning it. Unsurprisingly, your best friend thinks it's sweet. Nevertheless, he takes it as another opportunity to try to convince you to move back to the city. "It's been a year," he complained. "Aren't you bored there, yet?"
No, you aren't bored (folding laundry does get tedious after a while and you'd rather focus on the murdering zombies right now, but, well, someone needs to do it). While it's true that you aren't happy, you aren't miserable, either. So, what if there isn't much to be excited about? You don't need excitement right now; you need space to heal, and you tell him so every single time he brings it up.
"It can't be easy, though," Yunho remarked during one of your frequent conversations. You speak once every couple of weeks, sometimes more. He's been keeping an eye on you ever since…that happened. Given your history, you could have never imagined that he would now be one of your closest friends. "You led such a busy life and now you work part time. Surely it must feel strange."
It does. For one, you don't have the energy you used to have back then. Waking up early is a struggle (the sleeping medication probably doesn't help, leaving you groggy for hours on end), which is why you're happy you found a job that allows you to come in after nine in the morning. Eating properly has always been an issue ("You lost weight again!" you remember Changmin telling you the last time he and Yunho came visit.); you don't think you'll ever gain enough weight to make everyone around you happy, including your mother.
"You should stay with me a few days," she invited you the last time you took her out for dinner. Now that you live a town away, you can drive over and see her if you feel like it. "Maybe I'll finally get you to go on a date with that girl I was telling you about."
The idea of dating has absolutely disappeared from your mind. You avoid talking or even thinking about it.
Oh, crap, the protagonist is about to get killed. You don't know if you can bear to watch. And his wife is looking on, her face a mask of horror. Ew. No.
You change the channel and go back to folding.
The sun is going down when your phone goes off with a notification. Upon checking, you see you have a new email. You're lying in bed, resting sleepily, so you try to ignore it. However, you notice the sender is an old coworker you haven't spoken to in years and can't help but be curious.
His opening line is far more formal than your business communications ever were-he's slightly older than you and he was especially friendly whenever you interacted-and, after a short introductory paragraph, he goes straight to the point.
"My company is establishing a branch in California," he explains. He works for a successful social marketing company, and he wants your expertise. He wants to bring you along with other experts in marketing, social media, and technology.
You sit in bed and blink a few times. It has been years since you have spoken to anyone from the job you abandoned back then. All you really remember from that time was a general feeling of exhaustion, constant stress, plus worrying about him… No, you don't want to think about that period in your life; it feels so far away (thank god). You find his contact information and call him before you lose your nerve.
"Hi!" he greets you happily. He sounds just like he did all those years ago, a reliable, jovial colleague who worked in computer systems and website maintenance. Almost immediately, he tells you all about the company and the project. They have rented a whole floor in a building just outside San Francisco and they are now in the process of hiring staff.
"They've already decided on which executives to send," he says. "It's only a few people. They've been looking for a marketing research expert and I immediately thought of you. I told them you're one of the best!" He clearly remembers several of the campaigns you coordinated, your research strategies, and how you worked with the advertising department to bring wildly successful campaigns to life. "We could really use you."
The man knows how to stroke an ego, you think as you listen. Several questions pop up with each word he utters. Where exactly are they establishing the agency? Who else is joining the venture? When are they moving there? How much would you be earning?
"You're fluent in English, plus you have international contacts," he goes on. "The company's ready to make you an offer."
The conversation ends with you promising to give him a call if you have any other questions. That night, you sleep on it, imagining a life on the other side of the world.
The conversation continues along several days. You listen to every detail and read every document he emails you. You also conduct your own research on the agency itself and the probability of success in the geographical area they have chosen. Once you get their initial offer, it becomes increasingly clear this is not an opportunity you want to ignore.
Only months ago, you were at the end of your rope. Even now, after many therapy sessions and antidepressants, you've yet to shake off the negative feelings that threatened to drown you. Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night with cold sweats. Along with your daily, quiet life, they're part of a routine that's getting old quickly.
What have I got to lose?
"I'm going to accept a job abroad," you tell your father one evening after dinner. His brow furrows in worry. The past few months have been filled with general peace. Maybe you aren't the happiest you've ever been, but you've been satisfied, and it shows. Likely because of that, your father looks almost shocked by your sudden decision.
"Abroad?" he asks. You nod. "Where?" He listens quietly as you explain the offer and the commitment the agency has already made after looking at your résumé, a few phone calls, and a Skype interview. Your father drinks from his glass. "That all sounds very good, but…your health… Are you sure you're ready for such a…drastic change?"
You know he's worried, but you also know it's time to move on. That you're thin and look less than healthy, well, that's something you'll need to work on. Your life the past few months feels like a necessary pause. Now you're ready to continue.
He continues to fret, so you ask about work, about his friends and that attractive lady he has been dating the past few weeks. Somehow you manage to distract him enough. Dinner ends up being a pleasant affair.
Afterward, you do the dishes while he drinks and watches some television. Hopefully, you have averted a crisis. There are many reasons why you should work outside the country rather than stay home and close to your loved ones. Your health has improved considerably. More than anything, you need to move on; you don't want to continue feeling stuck in time.
With that in mind, you go to bed. That night, you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.
Author: Milena Pandora/milena_1980
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing: JaeChun (main), YooSu, YooMin, JaeHo, HoMin, HyukSu
Genre: AU, Angst, Romance
Warning: Suicidal feelings; suicidal ideation; suicidal actions; references to substance abuse; self-harm
Summary: Soulmates never die
A/N: A series of connected drabbles/ficlets. Not always in chronological order. Title from Sleeping With Ghosts by Placebo.
A/N2: Written in second person point-of-view.
A/N3: TRIGGER WARNING: Please mind the warning tags
Title: Hush
What would you do if I died?
It's cold, freezing, yet you barely register it. Maybe it's your limbs becoming numb, nerves tingling as you dive deeper and deeper beneath the waves. Maybe it's you becoming numb, dead, inside and outside and everywhere. You're so tired of everything, of breathing, of living.
I should die, you think. I want to die.
The dark and the cold envelop you, but you aren't uncomfortable. Many times, you have thought of this, exactly this: being in a state where you hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing; a few more seconds (or minutes?), and you will cease to exist. The small part of you that remains rational laughs at your misery, at your desire to end the pain that has followed you for so long.
You're so pathetic, it says (you quietly agree).
The darkness is lonely, but that isn't new. When haven't you felt lonely in the past, oh, twenty years? You felt abandoned by your family; later, you were abandoned by him. No, even before he left, other people left you. Didn't loneliness lead you to start dating in the first place?
No, that was normal, you think even now.
What was so normal about constantly "falling in love"? How old were you the first time you thought you fell in love? Thirteen? And the girl (you can't recall her name) said yes, because you were kids and stupid. It didn't last two weeks. How many girls did you "fall in love" with after? Three? Four? Until you found her.
You have always been stupidly devoted to the people you love. When she showed up, she was the girl of your supposed dreams: pretty, fun, kind; she liked the same music and dramas you liked. Of course, that ended in a couple of months. The memory still hurts, for some reason.
I won't fall in love ever again, you promised then, because that's what you do: you get your heart broken and make stupid, unrealistic promises.
Don't feel, you tell yourself now. None of it matters. In the absolute darkness, in that lonely space that holds nothing, that's where you want to be.
But I don't want to be at all.
For a moment, it seems as though your mind listens to you. There's nothing, just the roaring noise of the water in your ears. And the dark, a seemingly dark void where nothing exists (not even you).
"Call me Hyung!" the memory of his voice comes unbidden. He made such a demand more than once, many times after the first time he followed you home. If you hadn't been distraught, you may have confronted him, but you didn't. You felt lonely and useless and worthless, and he was there, his dark eyes perpetually focused on you. Friendship didn't even seem like a possibility, but he called out to you; eventually, you needed to answer.
"You're insane!" you would say with painful regularity. He would always laugh and say "eccentric" sounded better.
He is insane, you think now. It has nothing to do with his illness and everything to do with his decisions. (Are they separate or one and the same?)
You didn't fall in love with him immediately. Actually, how did that even happen? Because once you loved him, you did with every fiber of your being. After that first kiss and the ones that followed, you wondered how you were able to breathe-let alone survive-without him. His eccentricities didn't matter. That he was flighty and unpredictable and disappeared for days on end were all part of the package, and you were willing to accept him-you did accept him. Your younger self stopped thinking that any of his shortcomings were deal breakers; you were going to move in with him despite all of it, for heaven's sake. You loved him-you love him now-and that was enough.
When did you start questioning everything he did? When did you start beating yourself up over your "useless" feelings for him? When did Jaejoong's presence and affection become not enough?
What has changed?
Your eyes fly open. Seawater stings your eyes, yet you make no effort to close them again. The darkness is enveloping you. It feels cold. You can't breathe.
What would you do if I died? His voice speaks clearly in your memories.
I'm dying, you think now. Earlier, the thought brought you peace of mind. Now, you panic; your chest hurts; you look up, but the surface seems so far away. You try to claw your way up, but water is filling up your lungs, everything hurts. The darkness is here, you realize, it has come and you can do nothing but succumb to it.
Title: Between
"I'm so sorry, Yoochun."
It's quiet. The dull, painful pressure inside you and around you seems to be gone. Nevertheless, it's still freezing cold (you wonder if you'll ever feel warm again). The roar of the water in your ears has disappeared, you realize. Your eyelids feel heavy; could you open your eyes if you tried? Maybe you have died, and this is your punishment: remaining in the darkness, numb, until the end of time.
"Shit." The word is followed by sniffling. Someone is crying near you. Somehow, you find the strength to open your eyes a sliver.
You're lying on a bed, in a room with white walls. There's something covering your nose and mouth; you feel something (a tube?) going down your throat. You think you hear short, soft beeps. It reminds you of his hospital room after his suicide attempt. Sterile. Empty. Almost immediately, you become aware of a dull pain in your chest, and you realize it: you're alive. How?
Why?
Just as the thought comes, it goes; your eyelids close and you fall asleep.
The pain is still there when you next open your eyes.
I'm still alive, you figure. The (apparent) fact doesn't make you happy. Well, it isn't like you feel anything right now, except for that awful, steady pain in your chest. It reminds you of the asthma attacks back when you were a child, but much, much worse.
"You're awake," a familiar voice speaks to your right. "Are you thirsty?"
Immediately, you feel parched. Your mouth feels like something crawled in there and died, just like when you wake up with those killer hangovers…
The thing covering half your face is removed and a large, strong hand supports the back of your head. You feel something thin and plastic touch your lips…oh, a straw. Drinking comes naturally, automatically, though you choke a bit. Why are you so damn thirsty?
"All right?" Somehow, you find the strength to nod in assent. The straw is taken away. The hand remains for a moment, before letting go. Almost immediately, you feel the oxygen mask back on.
Your eyes barely open, you look to your left. Your father is standing there, looking down at you with sorrow-filled eyes. He smiles sadly, patting the top of your head.
"How are you feeling?"
Empty, you want to tell him, but no words come out. The tiredness remains. Your entire body feels heavy.
"It's okay," he assures you.
You think you nod as your eyes close once again.
The room is still that uncomfortable off-white. You don't like white. White is the absence of life, or is it black? You don't remember anymore. The lighting feels different; you feel warmer-maybe someone gave you an extra blanket? -but the beeping is the same. Your chest still feels as if you'd had a major asthma attack, but much worse (the oxygen mask reminds you of childhood days spent in the hospital getting emergency asthma treatment).
"Yoochun?" the tone is questioning, hesitant. Somehow, you turn your head just enough to look at whoever is sitting on the visitor's chair. Ah.
Changmin is there, his dark gaze focused on you. You expect anger, but there's only deep sorrow. Why? There are dark bags under his eyes, making him look older (not that you would ever tell him). He holds your gaze, studying your face. It doesn't last; after a minute or so, he looks away.
"Hi," he greets you, his voice soft. "Your dad was here earlier. He said you've woken up a few times in the past couple of days, but you go back to sleep almost immediately."
He pauses. Does he expect a reply? Unfortunately, you have none to give, and no strength to offer it, either.
"It's been five days since… since you…" He stops; he wets his lips then presses them together, as though searching for an appropriate way to phrase whatever he wants to say. "Since we found you." Found you? "At the beach. Finding your car wasn't hard, but you… We couldn't find you." His eyes fill with tears. Now that you're looking at him, you see his red-rimmed eyes, the tear tracks on his face. He rubs at his eyes (is he tired?).
"They-We found you by chance," he continues. "You weren't breathing, so Yunho gave you CPR. He saved your life." His voice breaks on that last word. "Somehow, we managed to bring you here. It's kind of a blur, to be honest." He sighs. "Your dad told me they've found no evidence of brain damage. He's really nice, by the way. Your dad."
Someone speaks, but you can't make out the words. Changmin replies, as though answering a question. He sighs, turning his attention back to you.
"Yunho's coming back tomorrow," he says. "He went back to work. He managed to get a couple of days off. He said it was a family emergency. I did, too. It's not a lie, is it?" His lips widen in a wry smile. "Junsu has been beside himself with worry. Hyukjae, too." Changmin pauses, his brow furrowing in thought. "I…" Once again, he looks like he wants to say something, but stops himself. He glances down, his lips becoming a tight line.
"Whatever led you to this, I'm so sorry, Yoochun." Tears slip out and run down his face. You feel nothing, though, no pain or guilt. His voice breaks as he continues.
"I don't know why you disappeared or why you chose not to talk to me or Junsu or Yunho. And I won't ask, either. Just…" He pauses, sniffling. "I'm your friend. That will never change. Whenever you're ready, or whenever you want to talk about anything at all, please call me or text me. Please. I don't know if I'm strong enough to go through this again."
A part of you wants to answer his request right away. The other wants to keep those memories under a tight lid. (Your chest already hurts enough.)
"Shit," Changmin mutters. "I'm rambling." He smiles sadly. "I'm glad you're awake, and I hope you're okay." You think you smile, because he glances at your lips and his own widen in a more genuine smile. Your gazes meet and hold steady, at least until your eyelids feel heavy again. "Rest if you're tired," he says, his voice softening.
As if a switch has been thrown, you close your eyes and fall deeply asleep.
Title: Above
"So, what do you say?"
Days have passed since you were brought to the hospital near death. All kinds of recommendations are offered: exercise, a healthy diet, support groups, even the names and numbers of a few psychologists and psychiatrists, along with a referral. You haven't admitted that you were trying to end your life, why open that can of worms? You're alive, you're getting better; that's all that matters.
Yunho and Changmin have visited as much as they can. They tell you about Junsu and Hyukjae, plus their own lives, their future plans. They try to ask you about your own, but you've yet to make any decisions. Your mind is nowhere and everywhere; thinking isn't really an option.
"He needs to recover before he can think about any of that," your father tells the couple one time.
Today, your friends have gone back to the city. The doctor has finally decided that you can be discharged. Your father, bless his heart, has been taking care of all of the particulars. You're still in bed, connected to the machines monitoring your lungs and heart, when he comes back into your room. He smiles at your sight.
"Everything is signed," he tells you, cheerfully. "You still need to sign a couple of documents and that's it." He sits on the chair and grabs a banana from a bunch Yunho brought you last time. He looks away while eating, clearly choosing his words carefully before saying anything. Just as you will push him, he opens his mouth.
"What will you do?" he asks. "Will you go back to the city?"
To the city… To him. Your employers tried to be supportive over your hospitalization, but they couldn't accept your lack of communication. The apartment is still there, though your friends have been paying the rent in your stead.
"I don't want to go back," you admit. Your father glances at you. "I… I don't want to be there." Near him, near the places that continue to hurt you despite the distance.
"You're welcome to move in with me," he offers after a couple of minutes. "Your room is still there. I know you have savings, and so do I." He finishes the banana and regards you seriously. "You need time to heal, son. That means getting plenty of rest, getting a new specialist. Taking a break from working. I won't have you getting sick unnecessarily." He pauses. "So, what do you say?"
You have to fight to keep a smile off your face. Your father is a serious man, but he truly loves you, you had never realized just how much until the past two weeks.
Yunho and Changmin continue to be amazing friends, bringing your things from your apartment over during the next two weeks.
"That's what friends are for," Yunho told you when you thanked them and apologized for being so useless.
The doctor said you would be feeling weak for a few days; you still do (you aren't sure whether it's your lungs or the intense sadness you feel right now). You can't do much when it comes to carrying boxes and suitcases, but you organize as much as you can (and throw away anything you neither want nor need).
Changmin decides to organize your closet, much like he used to back when you lived together. You were always the neat freak, and you're sure you'll change it up after he leaves, but you're grateful, nonetheless. He takes care with every piece of clothing and places them where you would. Meanwhile, you sit on the bed, filling your dresser with folded underwear and socks, t-shirts, and shorts.
"This closet is bigger than I expected," Changmin remarks after twenty minutes or so of working silently. You had good salaries in your previous two jobs, so you could afford bigger apartments with comfortable closets. Your parents lived on a much tighter budget, and it shows.
"I never had this many clothes back when I lived here," you tell him. He smiles, if only for a moment. He takes a deep breath, his back to you again.
"The apartment is almost empty," he tells you. "Only the large furniture is left. Did you email the building about it, yet?"
"Yeah. If it's in good condition, they'll leave it there and let the new tenants decide if they want to keep it. You and Yunho are welcome to take anything you like."
"Nah, we're fine." His shoulders droop, though. "Do you think you'll ever come back?" His voice is so low you barely hear him.
"I don't know," you admit. "Maybe. Right now, though…"
His back to you, he nods once, before going back to his task.
They make maybe one more trip and then they return home. You feel empty as they drive away.
"Come on," your dad says. "Let's go to the store."
The sense of normalcy you get as you walk into the grocery store and do your shopping is unsettling. You don't mind it, though. There's something real to it all. Yes, you're exhausted; yes, your body hurts (as well as your heart). Discussing the pros and cons of one brand over another is as mundane as it gets, yet you don't think you've felt happier in years.
"Should we buy something for dinner?" your father asks while looking at the fish. You look around.
"Let's eat out somewhere," you suggest. He looks surprised but smiles and nods.
"Let's go, then." You pay for groceries and you walk out, side by side.
Title: Good
"What else do I need?"
It takes you a while to get used to the silence, but you manage. Your hometown is nothing like Seoul: no loud, constant noise from cars, no unbearably crowded streets. In a way, the town seems emptier than when you were younger (you think it's better that way). The older women in your neighborhood recognize you and make conversation. How are you? (Fine.) Are you married, yet? (They smile knowingly when you say no.) Do you have a job?
Every once in a while, you'll run into old classmates. Some of them have families, while others seem to be living fairly relaxed lives in comparison. Everyone looks happy to see you (no one remarks on how thin you are or that you look like death, but that's fine by you).
For now, you're taking a bit of a break. You found a job at a small advertising company. They're mostly web based, and you do anything that's needed, from copywriting to data entry or coffee runs. It's only a few hours a day, but it's fulfilling and enjoyable.
The rest of your day is spent reading books at home or the beach, or just listening to music if you feel like it. You thought your father would criticize you for taking it easy for so long, but he has been incredibly supportive.
"You take as long as you need," he has told you several times after you accepted his offer to come live with him. "Take your time and heal properly."
It has only been a few months, though; you're sure he'll change his mind eventually.
Your friends have been just as supportive.
"Don't be a stranger," Junsu tells you every couple of weeks. "Remember we're here for you."
Yunho texts, as well, mostly asking after your wellbeing. You're still thinking about your next steps, and you tell him so. You tell him about your life now, about how slow and boring it is. Sometimes you confide in him after your visits to the psychiatrist. It has been a few months since you started treatment for clinical depression. The pills make you tired; it's difficult to concentrate sometimes. Even so, you want to get out of bed again.
"Stick to the treatment," Yunho encourages you.
In the evenings, you make dinner for yourself and your father. When he comes home, you eat together. He has been talking about retirement, about taking his savings and moving to a tropical island. You ask him about his plans.
"Beautiful women and drinking all day. What else do I need?" he jokes.
After dinner, he joins you for a while and you watch television together. He laughs at the comedies you enjoy, making you feel, if only for a couple of hours, like you're not utterly alone.
You go to bed around nine o'clock, but you rarely fall asleep immediately. First, you take your sleeping medication. Yet, despite the miraculous effects the brand's website promises, nothing happens for minutes on end. You're tired-exhausted, really-but no amount of sleep is ever enough. (Every morning you wonder if you will ever wake up feeling rested again.)
The next day is usually a repeat of the previous one, almost point by point. Nevertheless, you're fairly happy. You have everything you need: food, a job, tranquility, life (or a good imitation of one).
Title: Vision
"Are you sure you're ready?"
Sunday afternoon catches you sorting laundry while watching a movie on TV. It's nothing interesting, just a sci-fi flick about a zombie apocalypse. You've never loved horror, but you remain seated, your gaze glued to the screen and mesmerized by all the violence and suspense. Every ten minutes or so, you realize your hands have stopped moving. Your attention shifts again halfway through folding another shirt.
"No!" a man shrieks in pain as a chunk of his neck is bitten off, blood spraying everywhere. You automatically reach up as though to check that your neck is still there. This thing is going to give you nightmares, but you don't turn it off or change the channel. It's not like your father is there to remind you about the last time you watched a scary movie.
"You need to sleep," he told you after the second night you were plagued by nightmares and insomnia. The memory makes you chuckle. Ugh, you should really turn it off, but it's so damn entertaining. Just ten more minutes.
Today is the first time you have the house to yourself in weeks. Your father has surprised you by being overprotective since you moved back in, making sure to tell you about his plans and checking up on you. That was never a thing back when you were in high school. He worries, perhaps more than he should, about your mood and eating habits and whether you're enjoying work. You love him, but, sometimes, you hate to admit, it can feel suffocating.
"He loves you," Junsu said one day. You weren't complaining about it-Junsu has a tense relationship with his own father, so it's hardly appropriate-but you couldn't help mentioning it. Unsurprisingly, your best friend thinks it's sweet. Nevertheless, he takes it as another opportunity to try to convince you to move back to the city. "It's been a year," he complained. "Aren't you bored there, yet?"
No, you aren't bored (folding laundry does get tedious after a while and you'd rather focus on the murdering zombies right now, but, well, someone needs to do it). While it's true that you aren't happy, you aren't miserable, either. So, what if there isn't much to be excited about? You don't need excitement right now; you need space to heal, and you tell him so every single time he brings it up.
"It can't be easy, though," Yunho remarked during one of your frequent conversations. You speak once every couple of weeks, sometimes more. He's been keeping an eye on you ever since…that happened. Given your history, you could have never imagined that he would now be one of your closest friends. "You led such a busy life and now you work part time. Surely it must feel strange."
It does. For one, you don't have the energy you used to have back then. Waking up early is a struggle (the sleeping medication probably doesn't help, leaving you groggy for hours on end), which is why you're happy you found a job that allows you to come in after nine in the morning. Eating properly has always been an issue ("You lost weight again!" you remember Changmin telling you the last time he and Yunho came visit.); you don't think you'll ever gain enough weight to make everyone around you happy, including your mother.
"You should stay with me a few days," she invited you the last time you took her out for dinner. Now that you live a town away, you can drive over and see her if you feel like it. "Maybe I'll finally get you to go on a date with that girl I was telling you about."
The idea of dating has absolutely disappeared from your mind. You avoid talking or even thinking about it.
Oh, crap, the protagonist is about to get killed. You don't know if you can bear to watch. And his wife is looking on, her face a mask of horror. Ew. No.
You change the channel and go back to folding.
The sun is going down when your phone goes off with a notification. Upon checking, you see you have a new email. You're lying in bed, resting sleepily, so you try to ignore it. However, you notice the sender is an old coworker you haven't spoken to in years and can't help but be curious.
His opening line is far more formal than your business communications ever were-he's slightly older than you and he was especially friendly whenever you interacted-and, after a short introductory paragraph, he goes straight to the point.
"My company is establishing a branch in California," he explains. He works for a successful social marketing company, and he wants your expertise. He wants to bring you along with other experts in marketing, social media, and technology.
You sit in bed and blink a few times. It has been years since you have spoken to anyone from the job you abandoned back then. All you really remember from that time was a general feeling of exhaustion, constant stress, plus worrying about him… No, you don't want to think about that period in your life; it feels so far away (thank god). You find his contact information and call him before you lose your nerve.
"Hi!" he greets you happily. He sounds just like he did all those years ago, a reliable, jovial colleague who worked in computer systems and website maintenance. Almost immediately, he tells you all about the company and the project. They have rented a whole floor in a building just outside San Francisco and they are now in the process of hiring staff.
"They've already decided on which executives to send," he says. "It's only a few people. They've been looking for a marketing research expert and I immediately thought of you. I told them you're one of the best!" He clearly remembers several of the campaigns you coordinated, your research strategies, and how you worked with the advertising department to bring wildly successful campaigns to life. "We could really use you."
The man knows how to stroke an ego, you think as you listen. Several questions pop up with each word he utters. Where exactly are they establishing the agency? Who else is joining the venture? When are they moving there? How much would you be earning?
"You're fluent in English, plus you have international contacts," he goes on. "The company's ready to make you an offer."
The conversation ends with you promising to give him a call if you have any other questions. That night, you sleep on it, imagining a life on the other side of the world.
The conversation continues along several days. You listen to every detail and read every document he emails you. You also conduct your own research on the agency itself and the probability of success in the geographical area they have chosen. Once you get their initial offer, it becomes increasingly clear this is not an opportunity you want to ignore.
Only months ago, you were at the end of your rope. Even now, after many therapy sessions and antidepressants, you've yet to shake off the negative feelings that threatened to drown you. Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night with cold sweats. Along with your daily, quiet life, they're part of a routine that's getting old quickly.
What have I got to lose?
"I'm going to accept a job abroad," you tell your father one evening after dinner. His brow furrows in worry. The past few months have been filled with general peace. Maybe you aren't the happiest you've ever been, but you've been satisfied, and it shows. Likely because of that, your father looks almost shocked by your sudden decision.
"Abroad?" he asks. You nod. "Where?" He listens quietly as you explain the offer and the commitment the agency has already made after looking at your résumé, a few phone calls, and a Skype interview. Your father drinks from his glass. "That all sounds very good, but…your health… Are you sure you're ready for such a…drastic change?"
You know he's worried, but you also know it's time to move on. That you're thin and look less than healthy, well, that's something you'll need to work on. Your life the past few months feels like a necessary pause. Now you're ready to continue.
He continues to fret, so you ask about work, about his friends and that attractive lady he has been dating the past few weeks. Somehow you manage to distract him enough. Dinner ends up being a pleasant affair.
Afterward, you do the dishes while he drinks and watches some television. Hopefully, you have averted a crisis. There are many reasons why you should work outside the country rather than stay home and close to your loved ones. Your health has improved considerably. More than anything, you need to move on; you don't want to continue feeling stuck in time.
With that in mind, you go to bed. That night, you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.