Fic: Sleeping With Ghosts 28/?
Title: Sleeping With Ghosts 28/?
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: There's been a change in point of view and Jaejoong has decided to take over the main story for now.
Title: Sentence
I can't sleep.
The streets are nearly empty in the early morning. You shouldn't be surprised by that. Every day, every night, it's the same: get up, go to work, go home for a quick rest, go to your second job, come home at around three in the morning to silence and darkness. Your therapist says your schedule would be awful for anyone, but more for you, with your…disorders.
Mental illness. No one's best friend.
You take a left turn and see it, Junsu's apartment building. Not too long ago, it was your home, as well.
"Please stay with us," you remember Junsu saying while holding you close. That compassionate moron. Until then, you had thought you were utterly alone in the world, except you weren't. Just because he was gone didn't mean you had to lose everything you'd gained while in his life.
His old apartment window is dark. You imagine he's inside, deeply asleep, his dark hair on his pillow. Dead to the world. (More realistically, though, he'd be awake, tossing and turning. He rarely ever slept well.)
Your lips curve in a wry smile.
But, no, you think as you drive away, he isn't there. He isn't even in this city or this country.
You move on.
Your apartment is dark and silent when you step through the door. It's small, with a living room and a tiny kitchen. Your bedroom isn't much larger, big enough for a full bed and a narrow dresser. (It can't compare to his room, with the queen bed he'd gotten more for your benefit than his, and the wide closet all his clothes, as well as yours, fit in comfortably.)
A glance into the kitchen tells you your roommate left his dirty dishes on the counter again. Fucking slob. You'd like to kick his door down, pull him into the kitchen and force him to clean his own damn mess. But you don't. You're too tired to get into an argument now.
Instead, you take a quick shower and get ready to go to bed. You’re ready to slide under the covers and give in to exhaustion. But then, you see it on the dresser, the little basket where you keep your meds, judging you from its high perch.
Fucking bastard.
With a tired sigh, you reach over and grab your night medication, all four pills (there used to be more) and down them with the bottle of water you left on your dresser this afternoon.
There, you happy? The basket doesn’t reply. (Thank heavens. You'd start thinking you're losing your mind again.)
You lie down and close your eyes, but sleep doesn't come despite how heavy and tired you feel. It does that sometimes: your friend Sleep plays hide and seek with you for hours. And then Anxiety invites itself in; not long after, Depression comes over, and they have a little party in your head. Sometimes Self-worth decides to go for a walk and leaves you alone with them and their buddy, Pessimism.
How long have you been lying here, staring at nothing? This is bad. Sleepless nights make you unstable.
"You need a routine," Yunho reminded you last time you saw each other. You'd skipped going home for a nap and a shower and met him for lunch instead. "If you want, I can help you-"
"No," you cut him off before he could finish and changed the subject, too, for good measure. He knows you hate charity, yet he still offers financial help, no matter how many times you turn him down. He and your friends may not trust that you can make it on your own, but they're wrong. How long has it been since your life fell apart? (Three years, three months, one week, and four days, but who's counting?) And yet here you still are, working hard to stay healthy, successfully holding down two jobs.
…
This is exhausting. Why is your sleeping pill not working tonight?
…
…
Damn it.
You grab your cellphone and start typing,
"I can't sleep. Are you awake?"
The phone screen is a bit too bright, but you can't bring yourself to care.
"Yeah," the reply comes in less than a minute. "Want me to call?"
Shit, you hate this so much.
"Yes."
Title: Enough
You settle next to him on the dirty windshield and point out every single constellation your eye can spy, every star you've learned about. You may not be the brightest thing on earth, but even you know things he doesn't. And isn't that just wonderful! Then you'll be the first one to tell him! No books, no TV, no stupid science teacher.
And that makes you happy, so happy, far more than he'll ever, ever know. Because you love him, oh, you love him, and your feelings are so much more real than any of the fake affection and tears those stupid, ridiculous characters on Yoochun's favorite dramas profess. Stupid dramas, with their pretty actresses Yoochun ogles at, because he does, you've seen him! But, you won't say anything, 'cause that would make you a hypocrite, and why risk hurting Yoochun?
What you don't know can't hurt you, you've heard that before. You've adopted it as a philosophy of sorts. You don't want Yoochun to find out about the things you do; you don't want him to know that you think of him whenever you see your other friends, the ones you sleep with; you think of him when they enter you or kiss you or do anything wonderful to your body. Although you fantasize more than you should, you love Yoochun, he's your friend, your buddy who has finally come along to your very own private refuge and is now feeling the night air like you are, and listening to your favorite music, just like you, and listening to you go on and on, not matter how stupid you may sound.
"You're not stupid," he has said more than once. You smile every time he does. He thinks you're teasing him or flirting, but he doesn't know that your heart warms up and you even sigh dreamily while sitting at the library, watching him struggle over some stupid Math exercise. Not that he struggles much, no. The boy you love is brilliant with numbers. Someday, he'll be a businessman or an accountant or a scientist or working in one of those professions that demand you be smart, like him. Unlike you.
"You really love this stuff," he remarks. "Even though you suck at physics." He's teasing, but you still stick your tongue out in retaliation. "You could work at a planetarium or something."
That's for smart people, you think. Nah, that stuff isn't for you. You'll be dead soon, anyway.
"They don't allow crazy people in those places." He can't refute that (you wish he would). "I'm hungry."
"Again?"
You get off the car. You know just where to go for a late-night snack.
Title: Adoration
"I love these!" a teenage girl says, smiling widely at a cute pair of earrings. Not two seconds later, she turns to the boy next to her and cutely requests, "Buy them for me?"
"I already got you earrings last time," he protests. His eyes are warm, though.
You ring up a customer and call the next one over, but you can't stop watching the pair. They're young, no older than sixteen or seventeen, attractive, and so full of life you can't help but envy them. You were never like them, not at their age (or ever), living without a care in the world.
No, you shouldn't be so quick to judge. Who knows what goes on behind those bright eyes and happy smiles? Depression, anxiety, abuse, bullying…
It's hour three of your shift and customers keep trickling into the clothing and apparel shop you've been working at for the past couple of years. Teenagers and twenty-somethings make up the bulk of the customer base, a fact that has never surprised you. Most of the merchandise is well made yet affordable (the rest is pretty cheap, but extremely popular with school kids, so, whatever). The owner also sells her custom-made jewelry (you like it enough to wear some of her earrings on a daily basis).
You ring up yet another customer with a smile. Your face hurts, but that's customer service. Were it up to you, you'd be at home, sleeping (were it up to your self-appointed protector and sort of mother figure even though he's a guy, you probably would be, except then you'd have too much time to think, and no, you really don't want that). Instead, you're here, earning a living and doing your best to be independent, which no one around you really thought you'd be able to do.
Never mind. The teenage couple.
As you see them walk around, the girl pointing at cute stuff and her boyfriend following while rolling his eyes, you're reminded of when you used to go shopping with him back in high school. He had hated it, or at least pretended to, while you gushed over anything and everything that caught your eye. You'd both been broke, you because your family had forbidden you to work on account of your mental health and fear of having the entire town find out just how unstable you really were; him because his family wanted him to focus on academics. They had high hopes for him.
He'd certainly delivered.
Now that you think about it, just how often did the two of you go shopping when you lived together? Not a lot. He was always working; you were out of it most of the time. Usually, you would go out with Junsu (who doesn't love shopping as much as you do, either) whenever he'd convince you to get out of the apartment. More than once, you'd gotten gifts for him, a shirt, a tie, something he could use that would remind him of you. (Does he still have them? Did he throw them away?)
You finish with yet another customer and get busy folding clothing and returning items to their rightful place. Yes, focus on work instead of inconsequential thoughts.
Work, work, work.
"Can you take care of the register?" your coworker asks you. She's busy fixing a jewelry display.
When you turn to the register, you notice the young couple is standing there. The earrings the girl asked for are on the counter, along with a matching bracelet. The girl has her arm locked with her boyfriend's, smiling from ear to ear. On the other hand, the boy looks at his money mournfully as he hands it over.
"Please come again," you say automatically. The girl pays you no attention, but the boy gives you a tired smile before they leave.
The things people do for love.
Title: Hollow
"You need to snap out of it!" You almost expect Yunho to slap you or something, but he's too nice for that. "Do you have any idea where he would go?"
Your friends-his friends-heave frustrated sighs, or, in Changmin's case, a tearful nearly stifled gasp. Everyone is worried, but he, Changmin feels the worst.
"It's been three days!" Hyukjae explodes, shocking everyone. He isn't the quiet type, but he's always been "Junsu's boyfriend," but you know that isn't true. If Yoochun is to be trusted, the man is probably his closest friend. "His phone is off, he fucked up the car's GPS. What are we supposed to do?"
Three days. He's been gone three days and you've been here, sitting, doing nothing. Why isn't he back by now? Yoochun would never leave you, not for this long.
"Why don't we get you a bath?" Junsu suggests. His voice is harder than usual. Why? What did you do? What did you not do?
"Yes, please." Changmin wrinkles his nose. "You haven't even changed since the night of the party." There was a party?
The water is warm. Junsu helps out, washing your hair. He has helped you bathe so many times now there's nothing to be ashamed of anymore, not even the numerous scars marring your skin. The scars on your arms and wrists never seem to heal.
"What happened?" Junsu asks, softly. You stare. His eyes are brown and so warm, even though you hate each other's guts. "The meds…"
"He wasn't supposed to find them." Your throat hurts. How long since you last drank water. Quietly, he gets your glass and fills it with water.
"But he did," he prompts. You nod.
"I just wanted to make him happy." The tears should make you feel pathetic, but you feel relief instead. Junsu pulls you close for a hug. "I just wanted…"
"We'll find him," he promises (he doesn't believe his own words, but you will, for both your sakes.
Junsu lets go and continues the bath. At least Changmin can stop complaining of how much you stink.
Title: Reach
I wish I had a cigarette.
It's four in the morning and you can't sleep. Again. This apartment doesn't have a balcony, so you're sitting in the living room armchair, looking out the window and trying to imagine a breeze caressing your face.
A drink would be awesome, too, except you can't have one; you don't really want one. Back when you'd been looking for a new place to live, you'd searched for roommates of the nondrinking and nonsmoking variety. Your roommate may be unsociable and a slob, but at least you can trust him not to put temptation in your reach.
You're kind of regretting that right now.
"You need to snap out of it!" The nightmares-the memories-come and go. It can't be helped. You forgot so many things about your childhood and early adulthood, but everything about him is clear as day.
Fuck.
"Come stay with us this weekend," Junsu texted you earlier today. You stared at the message, already marked as read, and considered ignoring it. Hours later, in the early morning, you reread it.
"Okay." He will insist if you said no. Besides, you don't really want to be alone right now. Would he and Hyukjae mind if you asked to stay a week or so? You hate imposing on them-and they're too nice to tell you when you've overstayed your welcome-but…
I want a drink, you think. Just one. A few years ago, you would've gotten in your car or caught a ride with a friend and danced your troubles away. That's not an option now, not if you want to stay on this path. You don't want to be an asshole and disappoint your friends, not after all they've done for you. Even though you resent the hell out of them sometimes. Especially Yunho, especially him.
You sigh and grab your cell phone. Should you text him? Again? Ugh, you hate depending on him like this. That arrogant asshole.
"Call me or I'll go out and get drunk and it'll be all your fault."
In seconds, your phone is ringing. Your body melting with relief, you pick up.
Title: Affection
"Did you call your doctor?" your best friend asks. Fuck. He's your best friend now. After hating his guts for years, here you are, sitting together at his favorite fancy coffee shop, having coffee and sandwiches.
Instead of replying, you sip your iced coffee (hot drinks make your dry mouth worse) and look out the window. Oh, wow, look, so many people…
A quick glance at him and you realize he's sitting there, gazing at you with an attitude that says, 'I can wait all day.'
"…Not yet," you admit, looking down.
Changmin exhales in frustration. He spent two hours on the phone with you last night and he looks like shit. Regardless, he looks good in the fancy suit he wears to teach music at his fancy university. He still composes and performs, but teaching has turned out to be one of his passions (despite all that talk about never ending up like Junsu and his "those that can't do, teach" mentality). Mostly, it allows him the time to work on his music and be with Yunho. That's probably the main draw.
"How will you ever sleep properly if you don't do anything about it?" he asks, glaring. He takes away your coffee. "No caffeine for you."
You scoff.
"How do you expect me to get through today?" You have a shift at the store after this. He shrugs.
"Through sheer will."
You groan, letting your head fall back.
"I'm serious," Changmin insists. "I don't mind you texting me at three in the morning, I never have." Aww, that's so nice of him to say. "But you know the risks." Yes, you do know them, painfully. His expression softens. "And I don't think I could bear it if anything happened to you."
Shit, now you're racked with guilt.
"Fine!" Damn that satisfied smirk. "I promise I'll call him. There, you happy?"
Without a word, he picks up your phone and hands it to you. You stare at the device. What the hell.
"Now?" His raised brow is the only answer you need. Seriously, who the fuck does he think he is?
You scoff and grab your phone with a bit more force than necessary. He continues to watch you while you find your doctor's contact entry and tap 'call.' He doesn't even bother to suppress a smile.
Damn cheeky bastard.
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: There's been a change in point of view and Jaejoong has decided to take over the main story for now.
Title: Sentence
I can't sleep.
The streets are nearly empty in the early morning. You shouldn't be surprised by that. Every day, every night, it's the same: get up, go to work, go home for a quick rest, go to your second job, come home at around three in the morning to silence and darkness. Your therapist says your schedule would be awful for anyone, but more for you, with your…disorders.
Mental illness. No one's best friend.
You take a left turn and see it, Junsu's apartment building. Not too long ago, it was your home, as well.
"Please stay with us," you remember Junsu saying while holding you close. That compassionate moron. Until then, you had thought you were utterly alone in the world, except you weren't. Just because he was gone didn't mean you had to lose everything you'd gained while in his life.
His old apartment window is dark. You imagine he's inside, deeply asleep, his dark hair on his pillow. Dead to the world. (More realistically, though, he'd be awake, tossing and turning. He rarely ever slept well.)
Your lips curve in a wry smile.
But, no, you think as you drive away, he isn't there. He isn't even in this city or this country.
You move on.
Your apartment is dark and silent when you step through the door. It's small, with a living room and a tiny kitchen. Your bedroom isn't much larger, big enough for a full bed and a narrow dresser. (It can't compare to his room, with the queen bed he'd gotten more for your benefit than his, and the wide closet all his clothes, as well as yours, fit in comfortably.)
A glance into the kitchen tells you your roommate left his dirty dishes on the counter again. Fucking slob. You'd like to kick his door down, pull him into the kitchen and force him to clean his own damn mess. But you don't. You're too tired to get into an argument now.
Instead, you take a quick shower and get ready to go to bed. You’re ready to slide under the covers and give in to exhaustion. But then, you see it on the dresser, the little basket where you keep your meds, judging you from its high perch.
Fucking bastard.
With a tired sigh, you reach over and grab your night medication, all four pills (there used to be more) and down them with the bottle of water you left on your dresser this afternoon.
There, you happy? The basket doesn’t reply. (Thank heavens. You'd start thinking you're losing your mind again.)
You lie down and close your eyes, but sleep doesn't come despite how heavy and tired you feel. It does that sometimes: your friend Sleep plays hide and seek with you for hours. And then Anxiety invites itself in; not long after, Depression comes over, and they have a little party in your head. Sometimes Self-worth decides to go for a walk and leaves you alone with them and their buddy, Pessimism.
How long have you been lying here, staring at nothing? This is bad. Sleepless nights make you unstable.
"You need a routine," Yunho reminded you last time you saw each other. You'd skipped going home for a nap and a shower and met him for lunch instead. "If you want, I can help you-"
"No," you cut him off before he could finish and changed the subject, too, for good measure. He knows you hate charity, yet he still offers financial help, no matter how many times you turn him down. He and your friends may not trust that you can make it on your own, but they're wrong. How long has it been since your life fell apart? (Three years, three months, one week, and four days, but who's counting?) And yet here you still are, working hard to stay healthy, successfully holding down two jobs.
…
This is exhausting. Why is your sleeping pill not working tonight?
…
…
Damn it.
You grab your cellphone and start typing,
"I can't sleep. Are you awake?"
The phone screen is a bit too bright, but you can't bring yourself to care.
"Yeah," the reply comes in less than a minute. "Want me to call?"
Shit, you hate this so much.
"Yes."
Title: Enough
You settle next to him on the dirty windshield and point out every single constellation your eye can spy, every star you've learned about. You may not be the brightest thing on earth, but even you know things he doesn't. And isn't that just wonderful! Then you'll be the first one to tell him! No books, no TV, no stupid science teacher.
And that makes you happy, so happy, far more than he'll ever, ever know. Because you love him, oh, you love him, and your feelings are so much more real than any of the fake affection and tears those stupid, ridiculous characters on Yoochun's favorite dramas profess. Stupid dramas, with their pretty actresses Yoochun ogles at, because he does, you've seen him! But, you won't say anything, 'cause that would make you a hypocrite, and why risk hurting Yoochun?
What you don't know can't hurt you, you've heard that before. You've adopted it as a philosophy of sorts. You don't want Yoochun to find out about the things you do; you don't want him to know that you think of him whenever you see your other friends, the ones you sleep with; you think of him when they enter you or kiss you or do anything wonderful to your body. Although you fantasize more than you should, you love Yoochun, he's your friend, your buddy who has finally come along to your very own private refuge and is now feeling the night air like you are, and listening to your favorite music, just like you, and listening to you go on and on, not matter how stupid you may sound.
"You're not stupid," he has said more than once. You smile every time he does. He thinks you're teasing him or flirting, but he doesn't know that your heart warms up and you even sigh dreamily while sitting at the library, watching him struggle over some stupid Math exercise. Not that he struggles much, no. The boy you love is brilliant with numbers. Someday, he'll be a businessman or an accountant or a scientist or working in one of those professions that demand you be smart, like him. Unlike you.
"You really love this stuff," he remarks. "Even though you suck at physics." He's teasing, but you still stick your tongue out in retaliation. "You could work at a planetarium or something."
That's for smart people, you think. Nah, that stuff isn't for you. You'll be dead soon, anyway.
"They don't allow crazy people in those places." He can't refute that (you wish he would). "I'm hungry."
"Again?"
You get off the car. You know just where to go for a late-night snack.
Title: Adoration
"I love these!" a teenage girl says, smiling widely at a cute pair of earrings. Not two seconds later, she turns to the boy next to her and cutely requests, "Buy them for me?"
"I already got you earrings last time," he protests. His eyes are warm, though.
You ring up a customer and call the next one over, but you can't stop watching the pair. They're young, no older than sixteen or seventeen, attractive, and so full of life you can't help but envy them. You were never like them, not at their age (or ever), living without a care in the world.
No, you shouldn't be so quick to judge. Who knows what goes on behind those bright eyes and happy smiles? Depression, anxiety, abuse, bullying…
It's hour three of your shift and customers keep trickling into the clothing and apparel shop you've been working at for the past couple of years. Teenagers and twenty-somethings make up the bulk of the customer base, a fact that has never surprised you. Most of the merchandise is well made yet affordable (the rest is pretty cheap, but extremely popular with school kids, so, whatever). The owner also sells her custom-made jewelry (you like it enough to wear some of her earrings on a daily basis).
You ring up yet another customer with a smile. Your face hurts, but that's customer service. Were it up to you, you'd be at home, sleeping (were it up to your self-appointed protector and sort of mother figure even though he's a guy, you probably would be, except then you'd have too much time to think, and no, you really don't want that). Instead, you're here, earning a living and doing your best to be independent, which no one around you really thought you'd be able to do.
Never mind. The teenage couple.
As you see them walk around, the girl pointing at cute stuff and her boyfriend following while rolling his eyes, you're reminded of when you used to go shopping with him back in high school. He had hated it, or at least pretended to, while you gushed over anything and everything that caught your eye. You'd both been broke, you because your family had forbidden you to work on account of your mental health and fear of having the entire town find out just how unstable you really were; him because his family wanted him to focus on academics. They had high hopes for him.
He'd certainly delivered.
Now that you think about it, just how often did the two of you go shopping when you lived together? Not a lot. He was always working; you were out of it most of the time. Usually, you would go out with Junsu (who doesn't love shopping as much as you do, either) whenever he'd convince you to get out of the apartment. More than once, you'd gotten gifts for him, a shirt, a tie, something he could use that would remind him of you. (Does he still have them? Did he throw them away?)
You finish with yet another customer and get busy folding clothing and returning items to their rightful place. Yes, focus on work instead of inconsequential thoughts.
Work, work, work.
"Can you take care of the register?" your coworker asks you. She's busy fixing a jewelry display.
When you turn to the register, you notice the young couple is standing there. The earrings the girl asked for are on the counter, along with a matching bracelet. The girl has her arm locked with her boyfriend's, smiling from ear to ear. On the other hand, the boy looks at his money mournfully as he hands it over.
"Please come again," you say automatically. The girl pays you no attention, but the boy gives you a tired smile before they leave.
The things people do for love.
Title: Hollow
"You need to snap out of it!" You almost expect Yunho to slap you or something, but he's too nice for that. "Do you have any idea where he would go?"
Your friends-his friends-heave frustrated sighs, or, in Changmin's case, a tearful nearly stifled gasp. Everyone is worried, but he, Changmin feels the worst.
"It's been three days!" Hyukjae explodes, shocking everyone. He isn't the quiet type, but he's always been "Junsu's boyfriend," but you know that isn't true. If Yoochun is to be trusted, the man is probably his closest friend. "His phone is off, he fucked up the car's GPS. What are we supposed to do?"
Three days. He's been gone three days and you've been here, sitting, doing nothing. Why isn't he back by now? Yoochun would never leave you, not for this long.
"Why don't we get you a bath?" Junsu suggests. His voice is harder than usual. Why? What did you do? What did you not do?
"Yes, please." Changmin wrinkles his nose. "You haven't even changed since the night of the party." There was a party?
The water is warm. Junsu helps out, washing your hair. He has helped you bathe so many times now there's nothing to be ashamed of anymore, not even the numerous scars marring your skin. The scars on your arms and wrists never seem to heal.
"What happened?" Junsu asks, softly. You stare. His eyes are brown and so warm, even though you hate each other's guts. "The meds…"
"He wasn't supposed to find them." Your throat hurts. How long since you last drank water. Quietly, he gets your glass and fills it with water.
"But he did," he prompts. You nod.
"I just wanted to make him happy." The tears should make you feel pathetic, but you feel relief instead. Junsu pulls you close for a hug. "I just wanted…"
"We'll find him," he promises (he doesn't believe his own words, but you will, for both your sakes.
Junsu lets go and continues the bath. At least Changmin can stop complaining of how much you stink.
Title: Reach
I wish I had a cigarette.
It's four in the morning and you can't sleep. Again. This apartment doesn't have a balcony, so you're sitting in the living room armchair, looking out the window and trying to imagine a breeze caressing your face.
A drink would be awesome, too, except you can't have one; you don't really want one. Back when you'd been looking for a new place to live, you'd searched for roommates of the nondrinking and nonsmoking variety. Your roommate may be unsociable and a slob, but at least you can trust him not to put temptation in your reach.
You're kind of regretting that right now.
"You need to snap out of it!" The nightmares-the memories-come and go. It can't be helped. You forgot so many things about your childhood and early adulthood, but everything about him is clear as day.
Fuck.
"Come stay with us this weekend," Junsu texted you earlier today. You stared at the message, already marked as read, and considered ignoring it. Hours later, in the early morning, you reread it.
"Okay." He will insist if you said no. Besides, you don't really want to be alone right now. Would he and Hyukjae mind if you asked to stay a week or so? You hate imposing on them-and they're too nice to tell you when you've overstayed your welcome-but…
I want a drink, you think. Just one. A few years ago, you would've gotten in your car or caught a ride with a friend and danced your troubles away. That's not an option now, not if you want to stay on this path. You don't want to be an asshole and disappoint your friends, not after all they've done for you. Even though you resent the hell out of them sometimes. Especially Yunho, especially him.
You sigh and grab your cell phone. Should you text him? Again? Ugh, you hate depending on him like this. That arrogant asshole.
"Call me or I'll go out and get drunk and it'll be all your fault."
In seconds, your phone is ringing. Your body melting with relief, you pick up.
Title: Affection
"Did you call your doctor?" your best friend asks. Fuck. He's your best friend now. After hating his guts for years, here you are, sitting together at his favorite fancy coffee shop, having coffee and sandwiches.
Instead of replying, you sip your iced coffee (hot drinks make your dry mouth worse) and look out the window. Oh, wow, look, so many people…
A quick glance at him and you realize he's sitting there, gazing at you with an attitude that says, 'I can wait all day.'
"…Not yet," you admit, looking down.
Changmin exhales in frustration. He spent two hours on the phone with you last night and he looks like shit. Regardless, he looks good in the fancy suit he wears to teach music at his fancy university. He still composes and performs, but teaching has turned out to be one of his passions (despite all that talk about never ending up like Junsu and his "those that can't do, teach" mentality). Mostly, it allows him the time to work on his music and be with Yunho. That's probably the main draw.
"How will you ever sleep properly if you don't do anything about it?" he asks, glaring. He takes away your coffee. "No caffeine for you."
You scoff.
"How do you expect me to get through today?" You have a shift at the store after this. He shrugs.
"Through sheer will."
You groan, letting your head fall back.
"I'm serious," Changmin insists. "I don't mind you texting me at three in the morning, I never have." Aww, that's so nice of him to say. "But you know the risks." Yes, you do know them, painfully. His expression softens. "And I don't think I could bear it if anything happened to you."
Shit, now you're racked with guilt.
"Fine!" Damn that satisfied smirk. "I promise I'll call him. There, you happy?"
Without a word, he picks up your phone and hands it to you. You stare at the device. What the hell.
"Now?" His raised brow is the only answer you need. Seriously, who the fuck does he think he is?
You scoff and grab your phone with a bit more force than necessary. He continues to watch you while you find your doctor's contact entry and tap 'call.' He doesn't even bother to suppress a smile.
Damn cheeky bastard.