Fic: Slowed Down (Tragic Waste of Skin 3)
Title: Slowed Down (Tragic Waste of Skin 3)
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing: JaeChun (main)
Genre: AU, Angst, Romance
Warning: Trigger warning!!! Please mind the tags. Suicidal feelings; suicidal ideation; suicidal actions; substance abuse; self-harm
Summary: A short scene told from Jaejoong's point of view. It takes place around SWG Chapter 20.
N/A: Short one-shots from Jaejoong's point of view that take place in the Sleeping with Ghosts timeline.
N/A2: Title from Slowed Down by Visuals.
N/A3: Spoilers for Sleeping with Ghosts. It should be read before the one-shots.
You hate late night hours. Unlike afternoons and early evenings, they are slow and quiet. Dead. Most of all, they're lonely. You aren't alone-you could be in bed right now, next to the one person in the world who actually wants you there (or at least he believes that he does). Instead, you're as far away from him as is physically possible inside his apartment. Why?
That's a perfectly good question, you think, placing your cigarette between your lips and taking a slow drag. Not a second after, you frown and glare at the white cylinder. The damn thing tastes like shit. Nevertheless, you don't throw it away. Just thinking about doing so reminds you of someone you'd rather not think about. You remember him talking about cigarettes and cancer and how he would hate it if his life partner died thanks to such a "filthy" habit. So, what if you could get cancer? We all gotta die of something.
Dying… The idea of it has never been foreign to you. You remember being ten years old and thinking it would be better if you didn't exist. Your family never made you feel otherwise. Only one person ever cared, ever asked… Not that you ever told him anything. Save for a few times, that you remember, you never really told him how you felt.
Now, him dying of cancer, or anything else, really, that would be unacceptable. He works too hard, worries too much. Every day that goes by, he looks thinner. Most of it is your fault, you know that. Taking care of you takes a toll on him, it always has.
I should just kill myself. The thought comes unbidden. It's always there, that idea, that certainty that you shouldn't be alive. Still, you force yourself, to breathe, to get out of bed, to eat. After all, he does it; he forced himself to move when he thought you were lost to him. He wasn't weak enough to collapse after your suicide attempt and subsequent hospitalization. No, he worked harder. He still does.
"You should take better care of yourself," Junsu will tell him sometimes. The guy is kind of annoying, but at least he cares. He tells you that, too, a lot, usually whenever he comes over to keep you company. You wonder why he tries so hard. It's not like he likes you. In his mind (and in everyone else's) you're the reason for any and all of Yoochun's problems, depressions, and general misery. You are a horrible villain who comes in and disrupts his life. Yes, you know that's what they think.
(It's what you think, too.)
"Let him choose if he wants to stay with you," Yunho has said many times. He knows how you feel, how angry and miserable and helpless, especially when it comes to Yoochun. So, you're supposed to let him choose if he wants to continue this stupid, dysfunctional relationship. Yes, why not? Let the same man who, as a boy, befriended a crazy guy who followed him home, after the third time it happened. No, your beloved is not a good judge of character, just look at his choice in boyfriends (you refuse to admit that either of them were ever good enough for him; no, Yoochun deserves so much better).
These days, you don't talk much. It's difficult to keep your thoughts organized when your mind is a jumbled mess.
"It's just the meds," Yunho reminded you a couple of days ago. "You'll start feeling normal again soon."
Normal. Does such a thing really exist? What does normal even feel like? You sigh, leaning against the balcony railing and taking another drag.
Most days, you feel like you're just sitting there while the world goes past you in fast forward. Your motions seem to lag, like you're in a slow-motion movie scene. You hate it so much you could die. Sometimes you write on the notebook Yoochun bought you. Anything that comes to mind, you write it down. The other day, you recalled a story you had thought about writing once (back when you had been an idiotic and naïve teenager), but the words wouldn't come; you just sat there, the notebook on your lap, the pen in your hand, and nothing came.
Is my brain even there anymore? You wonder, stupidly. Of course, it's there, you wouldn't be alive otherwise. However, the part of your psyche that makes you you, that made you interesting and fun (despite the unbearable anxiety and desperation that plagued you all the time), does that still exist? If it doesn't…
Then I want to die. This… This isn't living. You're just… existing.
How long has it been since the last time you had sex? The meds suppress all of you, not just your personality and your emotions (save for the negative ones, go figure), but your body, as well. Lately, you don't want to talk; the thought of being touched makes you want to throw up. Having sex… It makes you feel guilty. He works so hard for you, he's giving you a home and so much more, the least you could do is sleep with him. But, no, whatever is controlling who you are feels disgust at the thought of being intimate with the man you love.
It's fucking ridiculous! You will never forget the first time you kissed him, nor the first time he allowed you to touch him intimately. To your younger self, those moments had been nothing short of a victory. Getting him to want you, to love you, you will forever consider that an accomplishment. Part of you knew you were just a convenient escape, at least at the beginning, and you were happy to give him that; not long after, you gave him your body and your heart.
Now, however, what can you give him?
Nothing. Well, he has your heart, or what you think is your heart. After all the things you have done to him, all the ways you have hurt him, can you really say you love him?
"What are you doing?" You look behind you at the slightly slurred question. Yoochun is standing there in his pajamas. His dark hair is mussed, and he seems to be having trouble keeping his eyes open. He waits, but you say nothing. Though you want to (why can't you?).
You put out the cigarette and lean slightly over the railing, looking down the length of the building and at the sidewalk. You could do it right now, jump, get it all over with, die. Your pain and suffering would end-his pain and suffering would eventually end, too.
"Hyung," he calls out, sleepily. You sigh, pushing away from the railing.
Maybe another day, you think.
"Come to bed," he says. "It's cold outside." It is, a bit.
You nod and walk inside. He closes the sliding door, then follows you to your shared room. You lie on your side of the bed, pulling up the covers. He gets in, as well, smiling sleepily at you.
"Good night, Hyung." He closes his eyes and is asleep almost immediately.
You watch him, noticing how his face relaxes in sleep. The poor idiot. He's always worrying so much, when he should just leave you alone; he should stop thinking of you as the center of his world and just let you die.
(You think you really would, if he ever did.)
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing: JaeChun (main)
Genre: AU, Angst, Romance
Warning: Trigger warning!!! Please mind the tags. Suicidal feelings; suicidal ideation; suicidal actions; substance abuse; self-harm
Summary: A short scene told from Jaejoong's point of view. It takes place around SWG Chapter 20.
N/A: Short one-shots from Jaejoong's point of view that take place in the Sleeping with Ghosts timeline.
N/A2: Title from Slowed Down by Visuals.
N/A3: Spoilers for Sleeping with Ghosts. It should be read before the one-shots.
You hate late night hours. Unlike afternoons and early evenings, they are slow and quiet. Dead. Most of all, they're lonely. You aren't alone-you could be in bed right now, next to the one person in the world who actually wants you there (or at least he believes that he does). Instead, you're as far away from him as is physically possible inside his apartment. Why?
That's a perfectly good question, you think, placing your cigarette between your lips and taking a slow drag. Not a second after, you frown and glare at the white cylinder. The damn thing tastes like shit. Nevertheless, you don't throw it away. Just thinking about doing so reminds you of someone you'd rather not think about. You remember him talking about cigarettes and cancer and how he would hate it if his life partner died thanks to such a "filthy" habit. So, what if you could get cancer? We all gotta die of something.
Dying… The idea of it has never been foreign to you. You remember being ten years old and thinking it would be better if you didn't exist. Your family never made you feel otherwise. Only one person ever cared, ever asked… Not that you ever told him anything. Save for a few times, that you remember, you never really told him how you felt.
Now, him dying of cancer, or anything else, really, that would be unacceptable. He works too hard, worries too much. Every day that goes by, he looks thinner. Most of it is your fault, you know that. Taking care of you takes a toll on him, it always has.
I should just kill myself. The thought comes unbidden. It's always there, that idea, that certainty that you shouldn't be alive. Still, you force yourself, to breathe, to get out of bed, to eat. After all, he does it; he forced himself to move when he thought you were lost to him. He wasn't weak enough to collapse after your suicide attempt and subsequent hospitalization. No, he worked harder. He still does.
"You should take better care of yourself," Junsu will tell him sometimes. The guy is kind of annoying, but at least he cares. He tells you that, too, a lot, usually whenever he comes over to keep you company. You wonder why he tries so hard. It's not like he likes you. In his mind (and in everyone else's) you're the reason for any and all of Yoochun's problems, depressions, and general misery. You are a horrible villain who comes in and disrupts his life. Yes, you know that's what they think.
(It's what you think, too.)
"Let him choose if he wants to stay with you," Yunho has said many times. He knows how you feel, how angry and miserable and helpless, especially when it comes to Yoochun. So, you're supposed to let him choose if he wants to continue this stupid, dysfunctional relationship. Yes, why not? Let the same man who, as a boy, befriended a crazy guy who followed him home, after the third time it happened. No, your beloved is not a good judge of character, just look at his choice in boyfriends (you refuse to admit that either of them were ever good enough for him; no, Yoochun deserves so much better).
These days, you don't talk much. It's difficult to keep your thoughts organized when your mind is a jumbled mess.
"It's just the meds," Yunho reminded you a couple of days ago. "You'll start feeling normal again soon."
Normal. Does such a thing really exist? What does normal even feel like? You sigh, leaning against the balcony railing and taking another drag.
Most days, you feel like you're just sitting there while the world goes past you in fast forward. Your motions seem to lag, like you're in a slow-motion movie scene. You hate it so much you could die. Sometimes you write on the notebook Yoochun bought you. Anything that comes to mind, you write it down. The other day, you recalled a story you had thought about writing once (back when you had been an idiotic and naïve teenager), but the words wouldn't come; you just sat there, the notebook on your lap, the pen in your hand, and nothing came.
Is my brain even there anymore? You wonder, stupidly. Of course, it's there, you wouldn't be alive otherwise. However, the part of your psyche that makes you you, that made you interesting and fun (despite the unbearable anxiety and desperation that plagued you all the time), does that still exist? If it doesn't…
Then I want to die. This… This isn't living. You're just… existing.
How long has it been since the last time you had sex? The meds suppress all of you, not just your personality and your emotions (save for the negative ones, go figure), but your body, as well. Lately, you don't want to talk; the thought of being touched makes you want to throw up. Having sex… It makes you feel guilty. He works so hard for you, he's giving you a home and so much more, the least you could do is sleep with him. But, no, whatever is controlling who you are feels disgust at the thought of being intimate with the man you love.
It's fucking ridiculous! You will never forget the first time you kissed him, nor the first time he allowed you to touch him intimately. To your younger self, those moments had been nothing short of a victory. Getting him to want you, to love you, you will forever consider that an accomplishment. Part of you knew you were just a convenient escape, at least at the beginning, and you were happy to give him that; not long after, you gave him your body and your heart.
Now, however, what can you give him?
Nothing. Well, he has your heart, or what you think is your heart. After all the things you have done to him, all the ways you have hurt him, can you really say you love him?
"What are you doing?" You look behind you at the slightly slurred question. Yoochun is standing there in his pajamas. His dark hair is mussed, and he seems to be having trouble keeping his eyes open. He waits, but you say nothing. Though you want to (why can't you?).
You put out the cigarette and lean slightly over the railing, looking down the length of the building and at the sidewalk. You could do it right now, jump, get it all over with, die. Your pain and suffering would end-his pain and suffering would eventually end, too.
"Hyung," he calls out, sleepily. You sigh, pushing away from the railing.
Maybe another day, you think.
"Come to bed," he says. "It's cold outside." It is, a bit.
You nod and walk inside. He closes the sliding door, then follows you to your shared room. You lie on your side of the bed, pulling up the covers. He gets in, as well, smiling sleepily at you.
"Good night, Hyung." He closes his eyes and is asleep almost immediately.
You watch him, noticing how his face relaxes in sleep. The poor idiot. He's always worrying so much, when he should just leave you alone; he should stop thinking of you as the center of his world and just let you die.
(You think you really would, if he ever did.)