for 30_kisses : part I
Title: Means to Reconcile [AU]
Author:
nis_chan
Pairing: Kim Jaejoong / Shim Changmin
Fandom: TVXQ (Dong Bang Shin Ki)
Theme: #20 - the road home
POV: Changmin
Disclaimer: Real people, fictional events.
Summary: I knew it from the beginning.
Notes: I'm failing a lot in this fandom since I also have the chapter fic I abandoned (I still have the original plot in mind, I just don't feel like writing it at the moment) and I'm so behind on fanfiction that I don't know where to start. X_X Also some actual names will be used in part II. -method to madness-
It was in my last year of college when I first had an encounter with him. Although I've never asked him, I'm sure we both moved to this place at the same time, within the frame that captured the end of winter. It was cold, March rained hard enough to drown out sound, save for all the water that was overflowing the river and ruining the spring crops. For an agricultural city it was bad news.
I was running home, my sneakers squishing with every stride, and that day there was a harsh wind blowing north. It took my umbrella with it. In the time it took to breathe in, my clothes were completely drenched and stuck to my skin. I stopped running by then, choosing to lean against a tall wooden fence with peeling white paint. The moment I rested my back upon it, it cracked and I fell backwards onto somebody's backyard.
Recovering from momentary shock, I thought to check my body for injuries and was glad to find that I had not been stabbed in any places with pieces of wood. However my back was definitely in pain. Groaning, I rolled over to my side and struggled to get up. When I did, there was a guy standing in front of me.
"Have you had a chance to read that sign?" He inquired.
"Sign?" I examined the fallen plywood that had a sign attached to it. A warning in red lettering, "No trespassing allowed." Gulping, I thought about what to say. "Ar..are you going to contact the police?"
His dark eyes focused on me, concentrating, but it was a strange look that made me feel uncomfortable. I must have had a frightened expression on my face, because then he laughed. It was a nice laugh, not at all obnoxious like the guys at my school, not like my own laugh. He told me, "Don't worry, I'm not supposed to be here, either." He said it in such a casual way that I almost felt annoyed.. almost, because then he helped me up and brought me to the house. It was messy and I shuddered at the cluttered mess upon every table we passed by. He seemed to know the house very well and I began to wonder..
"Yeah, I've been living here...without permission," he said like he was entrusting me a secret, and I fell onto a bed without any covers, just a mattress that made unpleasant noises when I moved. I looked at my surroundings, estimated the amount of dust on the floor, and failed to see outside of the grime-filled window. He was sitting on a chair opposite from the bed, with his legs crossed professionally and staring at me like a painting. He was waiting for me to ask him a question, but I never did, and eventually he got bored and left the room without a word. I thought he might've left the house, but I heard him fumbling around in what was probably the kitchen. A while later I heard the whistle of a teapot and some profanity was issued. Although I didn't ask, he later explained that he had tripped and a cup of the scalding hot tea spilled on his foot. Then he had to pour another one before returning back to the room.
So there we were, sipping tea for what seemed like ages. After I realized that my wristwatch had broken, I found there wasn't a single clock in the room. I found it distressing since I'm always worried about the time. And I'm not sure what we talked about, or if we talked at all, but after the rain stopped, I did thank him as he walked me to the door. Standing upon his porch like statues, I said goodbye, and his eyes followed me until I left the property.
--
The following day, heading to the college for my afternoon classes, I passed by the same area and stopped. He had already boarded up the missing plank from the fence and that sign was still in place. I wondered if he did it immediately after I left. I dropped my shoulder bag to the floor, and pushing against the fence, discovered another weak plank and broke in. I saw him squatting on the ground a few meters away. He got up after noticing my intrusion and walked over, wiping his hands on his pants.
"What are you doing?" I asked, and that was what he should have asked me.
"I'm weeding the garden."
Then he went back to the place he was squatting earlier, resuming the weeding from where he left off. I watched him work; it was unfitting for his character. I haven't described his appearance: he is the type of person who fits the rain better than he fits the sun. His features are sharp and his skin is so pale. When he had handed me the tea cup, his fingers curled too delicately. This wasn't his kind of work.
And before I knew what I was doing, I sat down in one spot and assisted him in weeding the yard. It was the first time I ever cut school, the first time I stopped worrying about cementing my future.
--
The next day, although the plank from yesterday was repaired again, I searched for another one that was loose and pushing against it, fell into the backyard. The cycle kept continuing until there was only one remaining.
"Unexpectedly you've forced me to fix the whole fence," he had said. "I would have kept putting it off, so thank you."
"You're welcome," I replied, and it was a little embarrassing.
--
When there was no longer the excuse of the weak fence, I had no way of seeing him without actually forcing myself to lie about my motive. I'm not sure when it started, but I knew it this one time when we brushed shoulders in the narrowest hallway of his house. Even though he had already left the hallway, I was still there, motionless against the wall, clutching my shoulder and breathing hard.
--
It had been a whole week that I hadn't visited him. Or rather, helped renovate his house; technically I was a volunteer worker. I wondered why he never asked me what I was doing, all those days I fell onto his yard looking surprised as if it was the first time. I wondered if he got tired making tea.
It was on a Sunday that I gathered what little amount of courage I had to enter through the front gate. He didn't have a doorbell so I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I waited there until the sun kissed the horizontal horizon. The sky dimmed and he never came home.
--
Later that week, I went to the mini-mart I had just discovered (it was a few blocks from the campus) at eleven in the morning to buy a gallon of milk. When I was at the frozen aisle section, I found him there pushing around a still-empty shopping cart. He looked different, in the way that setting can change someone's atmosphere.
"Hi," I said.
"Will you be helping me today?" He asked. I said maybe and wanted to ask him where he was on Sunday but that is the type of thing that people would say Mind your own business to. I followed him around like a little kid as he shopped, even though I already had the carton of milk in my hand. It was because I knew he would let me walk him home. Although he didn't ask, I carried the plastic bags for him the whole way.
end of part one