Moved (7/8)
Title: Moved (Full Circle pt. 7)
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.
March 28, 2015: 11:33AM
“Is that all of the boxes then?” Joonmyun lays a pair of work gloves, the leather new and stiff, in the bowl of tangerines and curling peels on his counter. Baekhyun nods, and Joonmyun blows on the red skin of his knuckles. The gloves are good for gripping boxes but not much else.
It’s cold today, but not terrible. The moons of his fingernails rise pink and not violet from the stubs of his fingertips. You could call it spring now, if not by the calendar then at least by the foliage waking up between the concrete edges of the city.
He’s glad Jongdae got to see spring beginning, at the end. The pussy willows, but not the tulips. The first crocus they glimpsed on their way to the hospital the last time.
“You didn’t bring much,” Joonmyun says, and tries not to frown at the mess of too much littered over his counter and his floor and spilling into and out of the fruit bowl.
“Nah, I don’t need much for now.” Baekhyun drops two red mittens on top of Joonmyun’s new leather. “I’ll bring some more clothes and stuff next time, when I go home for the weekend.”
“Ah,” Joonmyun nods, and thinks of Baekhyun’s boxes of caps and beanies and jeans and sneakers, and how his own closet is the same cut of shirt and slacks in a monochrome progression of professional, muted colors.
“I work for the post office,” Baekhyun says, “uniform,” and his smile frames his teeth like the dark rims of Jongdae’s glasses that are folded away in a corner of Joonmyun’s dresser drawer.
“Have a seat.” Joonmyun waves at the chairs opposite his table. Baekhyun takes the nearest seat and Joonmyun hands him a glass from the dish drain.
They don’t have to wait long for their food. Joonmyun flattens a wad of bills to hand to the delivery man and Baekhyun takes the bag, plastic rustling as he bounces on his heels. Joonmyun doesn’t count the change, just dumps it in the fruit bowl.
“Do you like noodles best?” Baekhyun asks. He yanks back the saran wrap from his paper bowl. Joonmyun hands him a napkin from the dispenser next to the vase of wilted peonies. The pink blossoms still smell sweet despite their curling edges. Joonmyun can’t bear to throw out flowers while there’s still a bit of life in them, as shabby as it may seem.
“I don’t know.” Joonmyun hasn’t been quizzed on his favorite food or his musical tastes in a long, long time. “I guess I got in the habit of ordering them. Because Jongdae…”
"He loved you, you know." Baekhyun has sauce smeared, rimming his lips. "In a perfect kind of way."
"I know," Joonmyun says, and breaks his chopsticks apart. "He told me, at the end of February. The last weekend he spent here."
"Good," Baekhyun sighs, and his eyes mist with a warm relief that gives Joonmyun the sudden urge to touch with his fingertips.
"Thanks for telling me."
"He wanted to tell you for a long, long time, you know." Baekhyun rests his chopsticks on the edge of his bowl and reaches for his water glass but does not drink. "It wasn't just the drugs talking, or some fear of leaving without anyone to remember him."
"He didn't tell me that part." Joonmyun pauses, the thick noodles chewy between his teeth. He never asked Jongdae to explain what he said in the dark but his heart knew. Knew enough.
Baekhyun rearranges his his legs on the seat. He's sitting cross legged in the chair like they're on the ondol at a meat restaurant, one patched knee propped against the edge of the table.
"But I think I kind of knew. For a long time, but maybe not as long as he--"
"Yeah," Baekhyun sighs, and offers a small smile before sucking a glob of sauce staining the bleached wood of his chopsticks.
“I’m glad you called me.” Joonmyun watches the condensation sliding down the plastic water pitcher set between them, to one side. “I told Jongdae to give you my number, but I didn’t know if you would.”
"You didn't come to the funeral," Baekhyun says, and it's not an accusation, more of a question. He’s staring at Joonmyun with steady eyes while his sock foot hanging off the edge of the seat shakes out a rapid pulse. He’s taller than Joonmyun expected, short dark hair. No glasses.
"Work," Joonmyun says, and chases a translucent bit of onion across the black sea congealing in his bowl. "How...did it go? How is his grandmother?"
"Right now? Not very good, of course.” Baekhyun scrunches up his nose when he scratches it with the end of his chopstick. “But she'll be ok. She's a tough lady."
Joonmyun nods, remembering the family picture Jongdae showed him. The two mounded graves on the ancient hill above the house, where now there are three. "When you go home this weekend," he says, "would you mind taking some ddeok for her? From me."
Baekhyun stares at him a moment before grinning. "Sure," he says, "Byun's Special Delivery, at your service. I charge an hourly rate, payable by cash or cake."
"Deal!" Joonmyun laughs, and tries to remember which flavor of cake Jongdae said Baekhyun liked the best.
"Or you could, you know, come to visit." Baekhyun twirls a third of his noodles onto his chopsticks and starts slurping.
Joonmyun reaches for the napkins, the whole box this time. "I'll think on it." He hasn't taken the train south in a long, long time.
“Take your time,” Baekhyun says, and licks his lips clean instead. “The altar will still be there. His grandmother used a hideous picture though.” He giggles and his teeth are edged in black.
“Picture?” Joonmyun hums, his mind already trailing down the tangling paths of his noodles to somewhere he can’t see.
“You know, one of those big blown up ones framed in black. Too much ribbon and too many flowers.” Baekhyun outlines the frame with his hands in the air and Joonmyun thinks of Jongdae’s smile framed in white chrysanthemums.
“Jongdae liked flowers,” Joonmyun says, not really in protest, and wonders if it was Jongdae who liked flowers or Jongdae who liked what Joonmyun liked. He swallows another bite and lets the greasy slide down his throat melt into the pit of his stomach.
“She used her favorite picture of him, a old school portrait he hated,” Baekhyun grins.
Joonmyun laughs and the echo, strangely enough, does not sound false. He lets the sound settle in the air between them, curling like peony petals as it falls.
“It’s so quiet in here,” Baekhyun says, and Joonmyun’s lips close around his spoon in surprise. “I thought it would be different in the city.”
"You're always welcome here," Joonmyun says, "if you ever need to get away." He lives in the city but his neighborhood is tucked away where the trees still grow.
"Thanks," Baekhyun says, "but I'm tough too."
"Perfect." Joonmyun’s chopsticks scrape against paper. His bowl is almost empty already, but he’s nearly full. "This place could use some toughening up." Something bright around the corners.
"You know what this place needs," Baekhyun’s elbow slides along the back of the kitchen chair he's folded into. "It could use a dog."
"A dog," Joonmyun hums, stirring the dregs of his noodles, "like a puppy?"
"If you don't want a puppy then you could always adopt one."
“Maybe...when I move.” Joonmyun’s not even sure if his lease allows animals. A dog could be nice, though.
“Anyway, I should get going.” Baekhyun twists in his chair, eyeing the clock above the sofa with the broken springs.
Joonmyun stacks their empty bowls and watches the wistful extension of Baekhyun’s elbows, his long fingers as they flex and stretch.
“Thank you,” Baekhyun says when his boots are tied at his ankles and he’s tucking his red mittens into his coat pocket. “Really. I’ll come get my stuff as soon as the lease goes through.”
Joonmyun smiles and pats the heavy cardboard stacked to the low ceiling of his entryway. He trails Baekhyun into the hall and props the front door behind them. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to the hostel?”
“Nah,” Baekhyun says, shaking his head while they wait for the elevator. The rough utility carpet is harsh through the pads of Joonmyun’s slippers. Familiar. “I gotta get used to the subway anyway.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” Joonmyun says, and the steel doors are closing.
He laughs, a flash of white teeth and dull chrome. “You’ll be seeing me,” Baekhyun says, “hyung.”
(part six here) (part eight here)