Golden Boy
Title: Golden Boy
Pairing: Lee Taemin//Akanishi Jin
Rating: PG
Warning: minor character death implied
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, written just for fun.
Summary: There is danger in his eyes but Jin looks past all of his steel edged angles. (alt canon, where Tae is promoting in Japan and Jin just...exists)
A/N: for bluedreaming , because nostalgia is beautiful in the rain
Jin and his motorbike are harsh rubber spikes on the tires and feathered, overgrown hair wisping against the steel spikes of his necklace in the rain. Today is rain, soggy sky and squishing socks between Jin’s toes on the curb at the streetcorner.
A boy trudges by while Jin’s waiting for the light to change. It’s the same boy who always crosses here on Thursdays, sometime after 4:03 PM and before 4:12. He’s the boy with spikes on his boots and today spikes bristle from the clear plastic of the cheap umbrella twisting in his hands, spines flinging rain spirals against the damp air.
Some days his soft blonde waves brush the collar of his faded denim jacket but today his hair is pulled into a messy topknot spilling into his eyes like platinum rain.
“Hey.”
The boy turns, head shifting on taut shoulders in a slow snap. Jin takes in the steel lines of his machine gun mouth, teeth clicking into place. His eyes are as quiet and warm as the summer spill of rain and Jin realizes in a misty breath that the boy is not a boy. He’s younger than the creases lining Jin’s palms like a treasure map to nowhere. His eyes drip wary attention like drops of black ink and Jin feels the secrets etched on his tobacco stained palms soaked up in the umbrella man’s gaze.
Crooked heart line, stubborn life line that extends all the way onto the soft sides of his hands--Jin has nothing to hide from this man. Jin’s face tells it all, besides--the jaded stare, the stubborn jut of his jaw. Jin’s stone mouth sets like granite when he’s determined to have something, have someone. It crumbles like sheet slate or grainy limestone worn away by whiskey’s acid rain.
Today Jin doesn’t want anything in particular but for the light to change, time to move forward, the rain to cease. Jin doesn’t want anyone. His apartment is empty and smells of mildew and the bleach spray that only removes a layer of the stain on his heart. He doesn’t have the heart to pull the pins clipping the cotton diapers to the drying rack on his damp balcony. The pale yellow and white quilted cloths are speckled with a lacy rash of red.
Even the tatami mats on the floorboards have taken on the slimy stench of soured rain and Jin can’t scrub it from his skin in the shower anymore. No wonder she left him and the ghost of their faded plum blossom to rot in the rain.
The light changes, a soft algae blue glow that extends in the mist like a beacon. The one with the umbrella makes no move to cross. Perhaps he’s realized there’s no reason to gamble that the other side of the road is any safer, the neighbors’ lawns any fresher over there. Or maybe, now that he’s stopped, crossing is a scattering of energy and purpose saved up like seeds in an empty baby food jar.
The umbrella man always moves with careful steps, his heels barely skimming the sidewalk. His efficient gait flows as neat and as pointless as the polished apple pips Jin hoarded all winter. He kept them in a thick round jar until she told him they were sterile. Too perfect. No growth for something that exquisite and flawless, there’s nothing left to fix. It won’t sustain anything more than a lovely Sunday in September with it’s beauty.
Jin dumped out the jar into the drain cover in the hospital parking lot on the day he kissed the forehead of his plum blossom and watched the petals drift to heaven in the rain. She had had clods of earth clinging to the spikes of her heels, cemetery soil dulling the stilettos’ with a muddy mortality that came home with them in the car.
He turned his back on her and the dirty streaks plastered to her forehead like long strands of seaweed washed to shore. There was only a mud puddle in the doorway when Jin emerged from the shower. His skin gleamed pink like spring blossoms, still steaming in the cool hall as he wiped up the autumn loam with careful fingers.
Careful fingers extend the twirling handle of a cheap plastic umbrella and Jin eyes the spikes edging the see through awning. They flash, silver chrome dull against the momentary brilliance of the drips quivering diamond fresh on the cables overhead and the deep waters of the eyes before him.
“I’ve...seen you before.” Jin speaks the words without a hint of lilt but he’s asking. Sometimes his mind runs in rivulets and all the chalked in colors charting his existence and how things are supposed wash in a pastel smear past his eyes.
“Maybe so.” The umbrella man’s smirk is liquid curiosity and his gaze burns against Jin’s like he’s hinting in shades of pastel meaning and inky understanding.
Jin’s memory bleeds monochrome under the weight of his stare.
“Why are you in Tokyo?” Her face used to muddy with a frown when Jin asked too much in too few words. But the one with the umbrella doesn’t blink at the point of Jin’s directness.
“To work,” he says, “same as you.” His belt buckle is glassy rhinestones and hard facets. His jaw is set like a jewel, carbonized edges in cluster of soft gold petals.
“You’ve seen me too, then.” Jin’s words leak from his mouth like rain through a moss riddled gutter. He squints like the sagging eaves of an ancient house, his wooden limbs softening under the drizzle of the man’s slow smile. Jin swells with inevitability and green glow. He wonders if he fit his thumb to the hinge of the exquisitely joined jaw if the petals would melt like liquid gold to let him claim his diamond.
“Of course.”
Fingers stroke across the ruined leather seams at Jin’s shoulders and he sheds the dark husk to let the rain in Taemin’s fingertips dance across his collarbones.
“Not here,” Jin murmurs, his voice crushed to bullion dust under the stroking nails along the hollows and knot holes of his throat. There’s no one else on the street but all the windows are hooded eyes in the mist.
“Let’s go.” Taemin’s umbrella clashes in chrome clatter on the porous cement. He lets Jin guide him by the wrist til they’re straddling the black leather seat. Taemin’s leather pants seal against the clinging denim at the backs of Jin’s thighs as the facets of his elbows greet the prison bars of Jin’s ribcage.
The forehead warm against Jin’s bare shoulder is the kiss of a petal on a rain blackened branch. The green glow lights their path forward in streaks of gaining momentum. The wood door slams on their wet footsteps at the top of the stairs and the puddle they leave in the entry is clear like the sphere of plastic protection Taemin abandoned on the pavement. His pink mouth finds the ink at the seams of Jin’s eyes. Jin peels back the sepals of bedsheets from the damp mattress and lets in his shine.
Pairing: Lee Taemin//Akanishi Jin
Rating: PG
Warning: minor character death implied
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, written just for fun.
Summary: There is danger in his eyes but Jin looks past all of his steel edged angles. (alt canon, where Tae is promoting in Japan and Jin just...exists)
A/N: for bluedreaming , because nostalgia is beautiful in the rain
Jin and his motorbike are harsh rubber spikes on the tires and feathered, overgrown hair wisping against the steel spikes of his necklace in the rain. Today is rain, soggy sky and squishing socks between Jin’s toes on the curb at the streetcorner.
A boy trudges by while Jin’s waiting for the light to change. It’s the same boy who always crosses here on Thursdays, sometime after 4:03 PM and before 4:12. He’s the boy with spikes on his boots and today spikes bristle from the clear plastic of the cheap umbrella twisting in his hands, spines flinging rain spirals against the damp air.
Some days his soft blonde waves brush the collar of his faded denim jacket but today his hair is pulled into a messy topknot spilling into his eyes like platinum rain.
“Hey.”
The boy turns, head shifting on taut shoulders in a slow snap. Jin takes in the steel lines of his machine gun mouth, teeth clicking into place. His eyes are as quiet and warm as the summer spill of rain and Jin realizes in a misty breath that the boy is not a boy. He’s younger than the creases lining Jin’s palms like a treasure map to nowhere. His eyes drip wary attention like drops of black ink and Jin feels the secrets etched on his tobacco stained palms soaked up in the umbrella man’s gaze.
Crooked heart line, stubborn life line that extends all the way onto the soft sides of his hands--Jin has nothing to hide from this man. Jin’s face tells it all, besides--the jaded stare, the stubborn jut of his jaw. Jin’s stone mouth sets like granite when he’s determined to have something, have someone. It crumbles like sheet slate or grainy limestone worn away by whiskey’s acid rain.
Today Jin doesn’t want anything in particular but for the light to change, time to move forward, the rain to cease. Jin doesn’t want anyone. His apartment is empty and smells of mildew and the bleach spray that only removes a layer of the stain on his heart. He doesn’t have the heart to pull the pins clipping the cotton diapers to the drying rack on his damp balcony. The pale yellow and white quilted cloths are speckled with a lacy rash of red.
Even the tatami mats on the floorboards have taken on the slimy stench of soured rain and Jin can’t scrub it from his skin in the shower anymore. No wonder she left him and the ghost of their faded plum blossom to rot in the rain.
The light changes, a soft algae blue glow that extends in the mist like a beacon. The one with the umbrella makes no move to cross. Perhaps he’s realized there’s no reason to gamble that the other side of the road is any safer, the neighbors’ lawns any fresher over there. Or maybe, now that he’s stopped, crossing is a scattering of energy and purpose saved up like seeds in an empty baby food jar.
The umbrella man always moves with careful steps, his heels barely skimming the sidewalk. His efficient gait flows as neat and as pointless as the polished apple pips Jin hoarded all winter. He kept them in a thick round jar until she told him they were sterile. Too perfect. No growth for something that exquisite and flawless, there’s nothing left to fix. It won’t sustain anything more than a lovely Sunday in September with it’s beauty.
Jin dumped out the jar into the drain cover in the hospital parking lot on the day he kissed the forehead of his plum blossom and watched the petals drift to heaven in the rain. She had had clods of earth clinging to the spikes of her heels, cemetery soil dulling the stilettos’ with a muddy mortality that came home with them in the car.
He turned his back on her and the dirty streaks plastered to her forehead like long strands of seaweed washed to shore. There was only a mud puddle in the doorway when Jin emerged from the shower. His skin gleamed pink like spring blossoms, still steaming in the cool hall as he wiped up the autumn loam with careful fingers.
Careful fingers extend the twirling handle of a cheap plastic umbrella and Jin eyes the spikes edging the see through awning. They flash, silver chrome dull against the momentary brilliance of the drips quivering diamond fresh on the cables overhead and the deep waters of the eyes before him.
“I’ve...seen you before.” Jin speaks the words without a hint of lilt but he’s asking. Sometimes his mind runs in rivulets and all the chalked in colors charting his existence and how things are supposed wash in a pastel smear past his eyes.
“Maybe so.” The umbrella man’s smirk is liquid curiosity and his gaze burns against Jin’s like he’s hinting in shades of pastel meaning and inky understanding.
Jin’s memory bleeds monochrome under the weight of his stare.
“Why are you in Tokyo?” Her face used to muddy with a frown when Jin asked too much in too few words. But the one with the umbrella doesn’t blink at the point of Jin’s directness.
“To work,” he says, “same as you.” His belt buckle is glassy rhinestones and hard facets. His jaw is set like a jewel, carbonized edges in cluster of soft gold petals.
“You’ve seen me too, then.” Jin’s words leak from his mouth like rain through a moss riddled gutter. He squints like the sagging eaves of an ancient house, his wooden limbs softening under the drizzle of the man’s slow smile. Jin swells with inevitability and green glow. He wonders if he fit his thumb to the hinge of the exquisitely joined jaw if the petals would melt like liquid gold to let him claim his diamond.
“Of course.”
Fingers stroke across the ruined leather seams at Jin’s shoulders and he sheds the dark husk to let the rain in Taemin’s fingertips dance across his collarbones.
“Not here,” Jin murmurs, his voice crushed to bullion dust under the stroking nails along the hollows and knot holes of his throat. There’s no one else on the street but all the windows are hooded eyes in the mist.
“Let’s go.” Taemin’s umbrella clashes in chrome clatter on the porous cement. He lets Jin guide him by the wrist til they’re straddling the black leather seat. Taemin’s leather pants seal against the clinging denim at the backs of Jin’s thighs as the facets of his elbows greet the prison bars of Jin’s ribcage.
The forehead warm against Jin’s bare shoulder is the kiss of a petal on a rain blackened branch. The green glow lights their path forward in streaks of gaining momentum. The wood door slams on their wet footsteps at the top of the stairs and the puddle they leave in the entry is clear like the sphere of plastic protection Taemin abandoned on the pavement. His pink mouth finds the ink at the seams of Jin’s eyes. Jin peels back the sepals of bedsheets from the damp mattress and lets in his shine.