Inertia (4/8)
Title: Inertia (Full Circle pt. 4)
Pairing: Jongdae/Joonmyun
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: experimental prose, terminal illness, major character death
Disclaimer: I own nothing, written just for fun.
A/N: Thank you to
bluedreaming who helped with a lot of things. (and I'm sorry, Jongdae T.T)
Soundtrack is here. First part originally posted here.
February 14, 2015: 23:49PM
I’m sorry, hyung.
Why are you still
apologizing?
Didn’t I tell you to quit that
weeks ago?
Yeah.
Then why..?
his brows raise as he waves Jongdae
into the entry-
way.
‘Cause I’m still
sorry, Jongdae says,
and leaves it at that.
Yeah… Did you eat? He glances
guiltily
at his countertop, where chicken wings
are the only bits
of his dinner left, drooping in the pool
of oily sauce at the bottom
of the carton.
I’m
good, Jongdae says.
He had a bit of porridge at the hospital,
and it was enough
to roil his stomach for one night. He can
think
about food again
in the morning.
It’s…
Hm?
...a holiday, you know. The clinic
wouldn’t let you reschedule
so you could take your date
out?
Date?
Oh come on,
and the teasing Joonmyun, the one who
had tweaked Jongdae’s cheeks
on the piano bench in the choir room, and the
fine lines outlining his eyes
melt away
into the sunlit haze of the past.
Don’t tell me you
don’t have some
girl
all heartbroken, pining
while you’re stuck here
in this...dingy hole
of an officetel.
It’s not an
officetel, Jongdae says,
you have three rooms and a full
bath.
And it’s not
dingy, this place is barely five years old.
Not really old enough
to get that homey lived in feeling, to accrue
the bone deep age of the ancient
country house like his grandmother’s, and yet
this place is as much
a home
for a few more weeks, if they’re
lucky.
Fingers crossed but
no promises.
Filmy wax paper
packets
of anti-nausea meds or small bottles
wrapped
in gummy adhesive labels and English or Latin
words
that feel as strange in his
mouth
as the pills
they describe.
Jongdae swallows.
Come in.
Joonmyun’s dresser is a jumble of
things
that make him happy and
things
that he should really throw
out but is inexplicably
attached to--expired
fast food coupons and birthday
postcards from his dentist’s office--
things
he leaves out because if he puts them away it’s
always a scramble
when he’s in a hurry to get out the door
in the morning.
Joonmyun’s smile is a jumble of
too perfect teeth and blinding eye lines radiating
worry
filling in the cracks between his teeth.
Jongdae doesn’t understand how they’re
not stained
since
Joonmyun practically lives off coffee but
then again,
Joonmyun is porcelain pure
nothing sticks to him.
Jongdae leaves space,
respects the cracks
where they lie and
lies in the living room and does
not complain
about the spring stabbing his spine
like the first spears of crocus through the
snow.
You have to eat before I let you
go, Joonmyun says,
and his arms fold awkwardly
across his chest like some
crustacean thing
and not
the soft heat radiating
from his bare forearms
he’s in the kitchen.
Jongdae lingers in the hall.
he’s in only an undershirt
but his slacks, cleanly pressed,
are belted
tight
at his waist.
the buckle makes an awful
lump thing
through the thin cotton.
I don’t know if I
can, Jongdae says,
and he smiles as brightly as
his lips still know
how
lets his teeth do most of the brilliance work
because his skin is so dull
and doesn’t really feel
anymore.
he’s poison damaged
and his nerves are
shorted out
the windshield wipers on an old van
that only work when it’s
not raining.
Jongdae-yah, he says, he
calls
and Jongdae’s heart is
weaker
than his stomach and
weaker
than Joonmyun’s concern lodges
like a dull steel blade between them
somebody’s grandmother’s
old butterknife.
cold.
a vestige of some bygone
simple enough
and
lovely enough
to be sentimental
over.
I
can’t, Jongdae protests with
his voice bleeding
through cracked and fracturing lips but
he’s already reaching for the half peeled
tangerine
Joonmyun hands him,
skin ripped away still hanging,
only started for him, because
Jongdae
is not
a kid.
Joonmyun knows
that.
He coddles him any-
way
every
way
and Jongdae
just breathes
in through the guilt
out through his lips.
he takes a translucent strip of
poached kimchi between his teeth and dulls
the sodium sting with a mouthful of rice. Just a clump.
Just enough
to spread under his tongue and savor there
for a moment.
Don’t miss the
train, Joonmyun says,
and don’t miss
me
even though they both know
they’ll both worry
regardless.
See you later
hyung, Jongdae says,
and he doesn’t trace the red
from Joonmyun’s lips
with the tip of his finger he
punches the elevator button and waits
for the red
of the light.
Travel
safe, Joonmyun says,
and he’s still waving as the
steel
doors are closing and
Jongdae descends.
(part three here) (part five here)