A Happy Ending and An Ultimate End.
Title: A Happy Ending and An Ultimate End
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Group: Khunyoung (2PM)
Word count: Failed to Count. LOL. (One-shot)
Summary:
There's in nothing more painful than saying "I love you" and recieving nothing back.
Sadly, Nichkhun learns this a heartbeat too late.
Notes: Ahuu, another angsty one. This is really not a Khunyoung, in my opinion, and there is more WooJay than there is the other. But I'm too happy with Nichkhun's characterization, so I am posting this despite the blatant lack of my bias. XDD And this is probably the closest I could get to in writing a Jaebeom departure fic. :|
A Happy Ending and An Ultimate End.
By Nhixxie // Nhijumma
The beginning of this story is Nichkhun’s end.
Nichkhun Horvejkul loves Jang Wooyoung. He loves him to such extents, unconditionally and with no streak of regret painting his heart. He would do anything for him. Absolutely anything-a trip to the moon or the retrieval of a star would be an easy task if the person asking for all these impossibly beautiful things is Wooyoung.
“I love you.” Nichkhun presses his words across the distance spanning between the two of them, hoping against all hope that the other does too, “I’ll do anything for you. I love you.”
But Wooyoung shakes his head no, his eyes helpless and apologizing. “I’m sorry, hyung.”
“Jaebeom.” Wooyoung utters one simple name, but everything that is needed to be said is mirrored in his (truthful, sorry, loving) eyes.
There is no easy way to say it, nor is there any gentler semantics to cushion the stab of pain delivered by the edge of Wooyoung’s words.
The moment he realizes there is a wound on his heart and blood dripping through the white hue of his shirt,
Nichkhun breaks.
When Nichkhun breaks, he tries to preserve what is left from the chaos.
Though he breaks, Nichkhun is strong. He picks up the little, glittering shards of himself and with all the strength that his broken soul could give, he pushes each piece against each other, hoping against all hope that they would fit.
During the tepid moments of his everyday life he watches a love story bloom right before his pained eyes. It is always both of them, Jaebeom and Wooyoung, holding hands, embracing, experiencing a brand of happiness that could never be felt by Nichkhun.
Whenever he is reminded of this impossibility, Nichkhun feels himself crumble desolately, his heart forgetting the effort it had to sacrifice just so he could piece himself back together again.
But what choice does Nichkhun have?
This is the only path to recovery.
A smile could mean anything in this world; it could be happy, content, bashful, unrestrained. But Nichkhun’s smiles are empty, all void of meaning and inspiration.
Nichkhun feels sorry for everybody. For his fellow members, for his managers, for the fans. For when he flashes the smile that most people would clamor to witness, he feels no gratification, no true happiness which supports that grin.
He is smiling not to please others, but to mask the heartbrokenly pained expression that threatens to surface through the warm features of his face.
Sometimes, Nichkhun wishes Wooyoung would see how much he hurts.
It is pathetic, stupid, and weak, but within the sad corners of Nichkhun’s heart he hopes Wooyoung would witness how much he’s dying with every moment the other spends in happiness.
And maybe, just maybe, he’ll love him instead.
(Even if it is out of a heartbeat’s pity.)
When Jaebeom leaves, it is Wooyoung’s turn to break.
His towering pride has completely collapsed into mere rubble, saying words that he never would have said and doing things he would never have done. All that passes through Wooyoung’s lips escapes like a flickering firefly; full of emotion and embraced with blind hope.
But Jaebeom himself has turned himself disabled in the most unembellished sense; blind, deaf, mute. There is no sight to witness the despairing eyes which contains so much more words that could not be delivered through Wooyoung’s lips. There is no sound against his ears to decipher the consistent ache lacing Wooyoung’s voice like poison in a drink. There is no voice to deliver a proper, reassuringly loving goodbye.
Jaebeom leaves with nothing left behind; he brings every memory, every bead of sweat, every dance step, every rise and fall of his voice.
He brings everything with him-except Jang Wooyoung.
Being left behind, Wooyoung feels the sensation of a heartbeat skipping its natural rhythm. He falls to his knees, gasping for breath, his head spinning in different directions.
This is it. Wooyoung is dying.
Nichkhun, again, watches from afar (with one hand gripped firmly against his own dying heart) and finds it ironic.
There is nothing more senseless than two people dying together, when they could save each other instead.
Jaebeom is many things, and when his physical presence disappears in their usual formation, a lot is lost.
Park Jaebeom, or maybe Jay Park now, is a definitive voice. An impeccable dance step. A twinkling laugh. A strong heart. And with him crossing seas and flying over oceans, the remaining members are left to fill in all the blank spaces he left-except for the one that everybody knows could never be replaced. (It is always Leader Park Jaebeom. Leadja Jay. 2PM’s leader Jaebeom.)
It is especially hard for Wooyoung.
For as he is faced with the harsh, blatant truth of Jaebeom’s absence, he is at the same time glaringly reminded of the little bits and pieces of him. Junho with his break dancing. Taecyeon with his rap. Nichkhun with his English. Junsu with his voice.
There is no escape to this, Wooyoung realizes, for no matter how much he shields his eyes at the bright, searing situation of his life, he is boxed up and caged in.
Nichkhun wishes he could do more.
After practice sessions Wooyoung would shuffle towards one of the four walls of the studio, curl himself against it and release strangled sobs, teeth gritted and eyes forced shut. No tears, just a brittle, breaking voice escaping to the open and hanging in the air like mist.
Nichkhun would always be standing by the door frame, back against the wood and his head back leaning helplessly as he sees Wooyoung’s gentle frame quivering weakly, every convulsion reflected intrepidly on the mirrors of the dance room.
For the first time, Nichkhun’s chest rebels unstoppably against his common sense, and he finds himself walking towards the shaking boy with nothing but the sheer strength of his despaired heart. He lets himself crumble on the floor beside Wooyoung, his legs giving away underneath him. Nichkhun holds onto him, arms encircling the other’s shoulders, one palm kissing the side of Wooyoung’s face.
“Jang Wooyoung.” Nichkhun growls under his breath, “Don’t be like this. Be strong.”
“Don’t you know how many breaths are knocked from my lungs whenever I see you like this? How many missed heartbeats, how many inflicted bruises?” Nichkhun, as if in perfect sync, feels a forlorn puff of breath escape his lips. “If you can’t be strong for yourself, then be strong for Jaebeom.”
Nichkhun cries silently, bitterly.
For me. Please be strong for me.
Nichkhun promises to save Wooyoung.
He may be near death, but he decides he will not let the same happen to the other.
And because of this, Nichkhun is now in front of Taecyeon’s laptop, credit card in hand, tapping on keys and fingers clicking endlessly.
Tomorrow morning, he will be on the earliest flight heading for Seattle.
A pair of feet steps soundly on the front porch of a fairly beautiful, two story home. The individual has purposely avoided treading on the welcome mat, finding it too pretty for his dust infested footwear to settle on.
He knocks, waits, shuffles his feet.
After a few minutes there is the sound of one lock popping open and the door allows a small space to be made, a familiar eye peering from it.
“Hey, Jay.” Perfect English is said, the words curling into condensation once it escapes his lips.
“Khun.” Jaebeom manages to mutter in shock, pulling the door open, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to deliver the general message of six 2PM members, four managers and 300,000 Hottests.” Nichkhun smirks, planting his palms deep into his pockets. “Jay Park,”
“Come back.”
Jaebeom laughs despite himself. “No, Nichkun Horvejkul.”
“I spent over half of my over all salary for this trip.” Nichkhun once again smirks confidently, “I’m not giving up that easily.”
“Come back.”
Jaebeom plants his palms together, elbows propped against his knees as he tries to swerve away from the crashing stare of Nichkhun’s persistent eyes.
“It’s not that simple.” He answers, his head dipping a little lower.
“Be strong, pack your bags, come back.” Nichkhun ticks off each finger, “There’s nothing complicated about it.”
“It’s hard to be strong, Khun.” The corner of Jaebeom’s lips upturning into a bitter smile, “I’ve tried.”
“It’s hard to think about going back when the whole country hates me. When the people I sung and danced for are the same ones who want me deported. It.. it sucks that way.” Jaebeom laughs emptily, his voice a hollow sound bouncing off the living room walls.
Nichkhun purses his lips, letting himself sink a little bit more into the couch. He spots an Xbox plugged onto the fairly sized television.
Jaebeom, who feels as if he is about to slip into a stream of thoughts and is never bound to surface again, gets hit on the head by something hard.
He sees the controller of the Xbox plopped on his lap. He looks up questioningly and realizes that Nichkhun has the other one.
“If I beat you,” Nichkhun says firmly, “Come back to us.”
Jaebeom shakes his head, chuckling. “You suck ass in these kinds of stuff. It’s gonna take you a miracle to beat me.”
“Whatever.” Nichkhun shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips. “We need a bigger miracle than this.”
“We need you to come back.”
Jaebeom plops back onto the couch.
Nichkhun tosses the controller at the empty spot right beside leader.
“I’m giving you two months.” He says, as the device bounces off the cushion and clatters on the flooring below. “If you don’t get your ass back by then, I’m coming back here to fetch you.”
Jaebeom stays still as Nichkhun strides towards the door, adjusting his beanie against his head. The latter reaches for the knob, but stops in a split second and turns around.
“Be strong, Jay.” Nichkhun speaks softly, “Because Wooyoung is doing everything he can to be strong for you.”
Nichkhun leaves and as he waits for the bus to his hotel, he realizes he is crying.
Two months later when they receive their first award in the M-Net Asian Music Awards, they descend down the stage and finds him (the person who is many things and is worth much, much more) at the bottom of the steps, hidden behind the stage curtains.
They stumble to a stop, unbelieving, feeling tricked, but there is only one sentence that brushes away all illusionary doubt.
“What time is it now?” he grins.
Wooyoung, who is at the bottom most step, wordlessly rushes forward and throws his arms around Jaebeom.
“2PM.” He whispers, his voice cracking, in the best English his entire self could muster.
This is Nichkhun’s death.
Slow, painful, bitter.
This is how everything is planned out in the skies; he loves, with all his heart, but he is not loved in return. Nichkhun is a martyr, for he gives away his heart’s beat so Wooyoung’s could live.
In every story, there are two endings.
And this is the mistake most stories make. This is the part most fairytales skip and forgo, hidden behind glass slippers and shimmering star dust.
Because yes, in this story, there is a happy ending.
But for Nichkhun, it’s just his ultimate end.
Fin.