metanoia
metanoia
suho/kai
5004 words; nc-17
warning: many characters deaths (of the same characters)
hi everyone! this fic was inspired by the comic 25 lives by tongari. this is for my bb jaejoongin! i don't actually know if you have an lj, so i hope you don't mind me linking your twitter account. a special thanks to dream_of_orange for accusing me of bestiality (spoiler: there is no bestiality). this is first thing i've managed to finish in five months =_____= but happy returning to writing! enjoy!
metanoia
(n.) the journey of changing one’s mind, heart, self, or way of life
Jongin is blonde the first time.
“It looks awful,” Sehun tells him, and Jongin very nicely flips him off and turns back to his work.
“I think it looks okay,” Joonmyun says, and Jongin gives him a weak thanks.
Joonmyun corners him after school, asks if they want to get coffee together, and Jongin turns him down, almost ruefully, leaving Joonmyun by his locker.
He gets hit by a car on the way home.
The next time, Jongin has brown hair, and Joonmyun tells him that he’s so glad he chose brown rather than something weird like blonde. Jongin wonders why he would ever choose blonde.
They lie together in Jongin’s backyard, surrounded by daisies and tulips, and Joonmyun comments about how much they resemble a romantic couple. Jongin laughs, says, “Aren’t we, though?”, and something bubbles up in Joonmyun’s chest, remembering, vaguely, a heartless rejection and blood, and rolls over to kiss Jongin full on the lips.
They break up two years later, over misconceptions, and Joonmyun will always remember the smile on Jongin’s face as he walks down the aisle with some lovely girl named Kyuyeon, someone who is nothing like Joonmyun.
Joonmyun is a lonely painter in the streets of Florence, and paints smooth skin and auburn eyes. His flat is covered in pictures of his mysterious captivator, the one who’s taken up the space in Joonmyun’s heart despite never existing. He names him Kai, keeper of keys, and so Joonmyun’s heart is forever locked away, pining over his masterpiece.
Three years after Joonmyun creates Kai, his small flat burns down. Joonmyun burns along with it, and he wonders if, somewhere in the rubble, the lock is finally broken.
Joonmyun likes these moments best. Lifetimes where Joonmyun feels like he knows Jongin more than he knows himself.
Jongin is so intricate, so beautiful, Joonmyun doesn’t think there are enough lifetimes to get to know Jongin completely. There will always be a part of Jongin that Joonmyun’s yet to discover, a new part of Jongin to love.
“Jongin-ah!” his mother shouts, banging on his door. “Joonmyun is here! It’s time for you to get up and go to school!”
There’s a noise from the other side of the door, and Joonmyun laughs before saying, “I’ll try to wake him up, if that’s okay?”
Jongin’s mother more than ushers him into Jongin’s room, and there, under a pile of blankets, is Jongin, throwing a pillow onto his head. “Go away,” he groans. “I don’t want to go to school.”
“You don’t mean that,” Joonmyun says, sitting on the edge of Jongin’s bed. “I’m at school.”
“You’re here, too; that says nothing.”
“What if I leave?” Joonmyun asks, and Jongin groans.
“I’ll see you in my dreams or something. You’re always in my dreams; it’s really annoying.”
Joonmyun laughs, loudly, and Jongin whines and presses down on his ears. “See? That says something, you can’t escape me, Jongin-ah. So get up and get ready, or I’ll drag you out of bed myself. I’ll even let you drive.”
Silence. A mop of hair and bleary eyes looks up from the pile of pillows and blankets. “Really? You’ll let me drive?”
“That’s right,” Joonmyun says, smiling. “How about it, Jonginnie?”
Jongin most certainly Does Not leap out of bed and hug Joonmyun. He also most certainly Does Not kiss Joonmyun on the cheek in his excitement and rush to the bathroom.
Joonmyun sits on the edge of Jongin’s bed, a little caught off guard, and presses his hand to his cheek and grins.
“Are you here again?” Joonmyun asks cautiously, arms resting on the windowsill.
“Yeah,” Jongin mumbles, as he looks down at the ground, legs swaying back and forth.
The ground is a long way down, Joonmyun thinks awfully, and has to bite on his tongue to not call Jongin inside.
There’s a tree outside Joonmyun’s bedroom window, and a few years back, Jongin had mastered the art of climbing it to get into Joonmyun’s room when he was sad and needed somewhere to run away to. It scares Joonmyun every time he hears the creak of the branches, fearing one day, Jongin won't be the small eight-year-old with small hands and short legs, but an eighteen year old boy with long limbs, and Joonmyun won't be there to catch him.
“What happened?” Joonmyun asks. It's a stupid question since it's the same thing, every time.
“Parents fought,” Jongin says quietly, and sighs loudly. “I hate it when they do that.”
“I’m sorry,” Joonmyun replies, and he feels stupid, because that’s all he can say, every time. “Please come inside. We can talk about it, if you want. Or I could distract you. Anything you want, Jongin. I’ll take you out if you’d like.”
“Hyung,” Jongin says, very carefully, “Come out here with me.”
“I--” Joonmyun tries, but Jongin looks absolutely helpless, and Joonmyun would like nothing more than to crawl out of the window and sit next to him, press Jongin’s head into his chest and whisper sweet nothings into his ear.
But the wind blows and the leaves on the tree rattles, and Joonmyun pales. “Please come inside, Jongin.”
“Don’t wanna,” Jongin states and crosses his arms. The wind blows threateningly one more time, and Joonmyun can see Jongin shaking slightly.
“I’ll sit with you inside, Jongin, come in,” Joonmyun pleads, and extends an arm out for Jongin to take. “It’s not going to take my weight.”
Jongin gives him a look and bites his lower lip. There are tears in his eyes and Joonmyun wants to kiss them away, but he has to get him safely inside before he can do that.
“Come on,” he urges, and Jongin gives him one final look before shifting himself so he’s on his hands and knees and crawls towards Joonmyun slowly.
“I’m not going to fall, right?” Jongin asks, and Joonmyun shakes his head.
“No,” he breathes out. “You’re doing great.”
The wind blows again, and there’s a sickening crack, and Jongin screams and jumps. Joonmyun feels the air rush out of his lungs as he reaches his arms out and hopes it isn’t too late.
Joonmyun’s got Jongin by his forearms, and he groans as he pulls Jongin up and back into the window. They collapse onto the floor together, breathing hard.
“You--” Joonmyun snaps, “You could have died. You were going to die, and I was going to watch it happen and--”
He stops midway when he sees Jongin crying, and feels like the ground has been pulled out from underneath him, in a completely different way. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Joonmyun promptly sits up, pulling Jongin with him.
“Jongin-ah, don’t feel bad,” he says pathetically, drawing Jongin in for a hug. “Jongin, you know I’m not mad at you, I could never be mad at you.”
Jongin’s fingers dig into his back, and the front of his shirt is messy with tears and mucus, but Joonmyun wraps his arms protectively around Jongin and brushes his bangs away from his face. “Don’t cry Jongin, please don’t cry, I love you Jongin, please.”
Jongin stays there, in Joonmyun’s arms, and Joonmyun lets him, for hours, until they fall asleep on the floor like that, and Joonmyun kisses his forehead sometime after midnight and tells Jongin’s about all the times they’ve met before in hushed whispers, they places they’ve been, the times they’ve been together, the times they haven’t, the times Jongin was nothing but a prayer upon his lips, and Joonmyun laughs, says Jongin is a drug to him, but drugs are supposed to be bad, right? But Joonmyun will never give Jongin up, even if it kills him. After all, Joonmyun has nothing but bad ideas.
“This is a bad idea,” Jongin says, and Joonmyun agrees, but Jongin makes no move to stop Joonmyun from cornering him up against the wall-length mirror in the dance studio and kissing him, hands splayed across his hips and mussed hair from long hours of practice.
“I only have bad ideas,” Joonmyun says, and nips on Jongin’s lip. “You usually go along with them all.”
Jongin laughs and presses a kiss to the tip of Joonmyun’s nose. “You’re going to be the worst leader. No one will listen to you.”
“You’ll listen to me,” Joonmyun says, grinning, and Jongin rolls his eyes.
“What if I don’t? I’m going to stay as far away from you as possible.”
“That hurts, Jongin-ah,” Joonmyun says pouting, and Jongin brushes Joonmyun’s bangs to the side absentmindedly. The image of Jongin crying flashes behind Joonmyun’s eyes, and he cups Jongin’s face with his hands and kisses him deeply. “I need you as close to me as possible.”
Joonmyun's not quite sure how time progresses. He not sure if he’s many years in the future or in the past, but what he does know is that he is now a prince, and Jongin his faithful knight.
“I can’t do this,” Jongin says, after they kiss. “I have to protect you. It’s my job to-- I can’t defile you. You’re the prince.”
“I don’t want anyone else to defile me,” Joonmyun whispers, and Jongin flinches when the first piece of armor falls onto the floor. “Please, Jongin, my most faithful warrior. I’m not skilled in jousting or combat, but I would die for you,” he says as another piece of metal falls off of his body. I have already, so many times, he thinks, but Jongin wouldn’t understand.
“Please don’t say things like that, Your Highness,” Jongin pleads and closes his eyes when Joonmyun removes the final piece of armor. “It’s so hard to hold back.”
“Don’t hold back,” Joonmyun orders. “Please, don’t hold back.”
Jongin gives him one final wounded look before he’s tugging at Joonmyun’s clothes, pushing him down onto the mattress, and Joonmyun moans Jongin’s names in soft sighs and gasps when Jongin presses one, two, three fingers into him, until Joonmyun’s begging for Jongin and only Jongin.
Jongin fulfills his every whim, presses butterfly kisses all along Joonmyun’s jaw to calm him down, and Joonmyun cries as he tells him over how many lifetimes he’s wished for this, how many could nots and would-have-beens, how many eons he’s dreamed of burning under Jongin’s skin.
Jongin rocks into Joonmyun’s body and laughs, calls him crazy, but there are tears in his eyes, and when Jongin goes faster, voice cracking on Joonmyun's name, Joomyun thinks he might remember, too.
Jongin dies in battle three months later, but not before telling Joonmyun he sometimes dreams about trees and mirrors and blonde hair.
Joonmyun has long, dark brown hair, and a short pleated skirt the next time. Jongin is the younger, but infinitely more charming underclassmen, surrounded by admiring classmates and Joonmyun can feel the jealousy ebbing in her stomach each time she hears about how someone has confessed to Jongin again.
She encounters him for the first time in person when she’s organizing the notification flyers for the school trip in the student council room.
She accidentally bumps into him on the way out and drops a box of papers on his feet, leading to her having to help him walk to the nurses office.
“I’m so sorry,” she squeaks, and he gives her a pained smile and waves his hand.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, and gives her a peculiar look. “Have we met before?”
She blinks at him, legs trembling, before she utters, “I am president of the student council.”
“No,” he says, frowning. “Outside of school, maybe?”
“Um,” she mumbles. “I don’t think so?”
Jongin stares at her and leaves it at that.
Joonmyun graduates later in the year, and the last time she sees Jongin, he kisses her on the cheek and tells her he’ll always remember her. Joonmyun laughs and says she will, too.
Joonmyun hates the lives where Jongin doesn’t exist.
Joonmyun spends millions of heartbeats, millions of footsteps and millions of inhales and exhales, millions of smiles, frowns, dreams dayslifetimesstarsheartsraindrops--
Only Jongin’s match his own.
Jongin is twenty-five, has a job in an office and wears pressed, white-collared shirts and solid color ties to work everyday.
Joonmyun watches from the secretary desk and sighs every time Jongin comes into work with the same muted expression and dark brown briefcase.
Joonmyun has rarely ever seen Jongin smile, and thinks that maybe this is worse than when Jongin doesn’t exist.
“He’s the reincarnation of Snape from Harry Potter,” Jongdae says during their coffee break one day, and Joonmyun accidently laughs too loudly and receives a glare from Jongin.
“Snape was grumpy because he still loved Lily, though,” Joonmyun says, and downs the rest of his mug to get rid of the bitter feeling in his stomach.
Jongdae grins at him and says, “Who knows? Maybe he has a Lily.”
“I doubt it,” Joonmyun replies easily, too easily, even, and watches as Jongin loiters around in the background, picking up a few pieces of paper here and there.
Joonmyun stays overtime that day, and when he finally leaves at a quarter to eight, he goes to shut off the lights in the main office and jumps when someone calls, “Joonmyun?”
He flips the lights back on and gasps when he sees Jongin. “Mr. Kim, I’m so sorry. I thought you’d left already.”
Jongin sits up his chair, groaning slightly as he shifts. “What are you doing here so late?”
“I, um,” Joonmyun mumbles. “I was just finishing some things up,” he states awkwardly when Jongin raises an eyebrow at him.
“Well, have you finished those things up? It’s pretty late now.”
“Just about. It’s enough for me to be able to finish tomorrow. Besides, I don’t want to rush now. What about you? Is there a reason for you being here so late?”
Jongin looks taken aback, blinks a few times, and then lets out a small laugh. “I was doing a few calculations. It shouldn’t take very long.”
“A few calculations shouldn’t have you here until eight, should it?” Joonmyun asks, and Jongin laughs sheepishly. It’s the first time he’s heard Jongin laugh, and his chest swells up in pride at the thought that he’s probably the first in the office to have heard it.
“You’re right,” Jongin admits. “I’m not very gifted in math. But it should be fine, there’s only a few more things to do.”
Joonmyun purses his lips and raises his eyebrows. “Mr. Kim,” he says, teasing, “It’s math, and you didn’t even try to ask your secretary to help you out? See, now that just makes me feel incompetent.”
“No, of course not, Joonmyun, you’re a great sec--”
It’s probably a little out of line what he’s doing, but, Joonmyun rationalizes, it’s for work, so it can’t be that bad. And he really is good at math. He strides over to Jongin and pulls out a chair next to him and sits down. “What are you having trouble with, Mr. Kim?”
“Oh, I, um,” Jongin is fumbling now, and Joonmyun takes a moment to appreciate the sight of a flustered Jongin, red tinting his ears, and small nervous smile playing on his lips. “Well, I guess these few things...”
It’s nearly half an hour later, and everything has been finished. Jongin tugs at his tie a bit and smiles at Joonmyun. “Wow, I didn’t know you were so talented in math.”
“Well,” Joonmyun says, shrugging, “There isn’t really an appropriate time to say it. Hello, I’m Joonmyun, I’m your secretary. Do you want coffee? I have your next three meetings booked, Mr. Kim. By the way, I’m great at math.”
“Jongin,” Jongin says, and Joonmyun blinks.
“I’m sorry?”
“Call me Jongin.”
“Jongin,” Joonmyun says, and smiles at the familiarity. “Jongin. Okay.”
Jongin gets promoted and sent away to America, and Joonmyun doesn’t see him again for the next three years. He gets married in that time, to a sweet girl named Minyeon. She’s beautiful, smart, and everything Joonmyun could have asked for. But she’s clumsy on her feet, always up in the morning with a cup of coffee and a laugh. Her smile is gorgeous, infectious even, with white pearly teeth and pink gums. She’s absolutely nothing like Jongin, so Joonmyun simply smiles back and kisses her on the cheek.
How to get out of this cycle, Joonmyun muses, when he’s a farmer boy, lying on the roof of his father’s stable.
The trick, he thinks he’s learned, is to make Jongin remember. The more Jongin remembers, the more at ease Joonmyun feels. Well. Ease being subjective. Jongin has never remembered outright, but two lives ago, when Joonmyun was the captain of the navy and Jongin a pirate, Jongin told him once he was afraid of heights, and when asked why, Jongin mumbled “this sounds stupid, but I think it has something to do with you.” Joonmyun told him he was the worst pirate, aren’t you supposed to be cruel and reckless?
A pirate falling in love with the captain of the navy is pretty reckless, Jongin said, and Joonmyun agreed.
A high pitched meow brings him out of his thoughts, and he looks over to see a small cat nudging his side. “Hey, Jonginnie,” Joonmyun coos, picking Jongin up to rest him on his chest.
Jongin settles down and stretches out, paw smacking into cheek. He doesn’t move it, and Joonmyun groans. Typical Jongin, human or not.
Jongin the cat looks exactly like Jongin the human - a mix match of all different colored fur, splotches of brown, black, white, and ginger. He has slightly downturned ears and droopy eyes, and constantly changes between running around in a frenzy after small mice and opting to curl up on Joonmyun’s chest and softly purr himself to sleep.
“You’re going to keep me from doing my work,” Joonmyun says, but Jongin isn’t listening, as usual, so Joonmyun sighs and scratches lightly behind his ear.
Joonmyun thinks he knows how this is going to end.
Jongin has always been the center of Joonmyun’s world, but now that he’s the center of everyone’s, he wants nothing more to do than lock him away for himself. It’s selfish, and Joonmyun knows that.
This life might just be the worst, Joonmyun thinks. A tournament made out of prisoners with super powers. He’s read a book like this before, except it used delinquent school kids instead of criminals.
He’s not sure he would classify this crowd as criminals though. Playing the role of Robin Hood puts Joonmyun in a gray area, he knows, but things like unforced prostitution and self defense don’t deserve a spot on death row.
His original plan had been to avoid Jongin all of this life, because he had someone else already - Oh Sehun - except there’s not much room for escaping when they have mutual friends and Jongin looks so fragile that Joonmyun tells himself he will only do as much as he needs to this time.
He runs around helping everyone, and tries not to notice when Jongin starts to watch him more, talk to him more. He’s not the only one that notices.
“I’m breaking him,” Joonmyun says one day, when he’s sitting with Soojung, one of Jongin’s closest friends.
“No,” she says, “you’re not. You’re just doing what you have to.”
He smiles. “I’m sorry you think that.”
He thinks Soojung might have an idea of what Joonmyun’s been through when she suddenly grabs him one day, fingers digging into his shoulders painfully and says, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Joonmyun thinks it’s a bit rude that she read his mind without asking, but it’s too late to change that now. “Now you do,” he replies as calmly as he can, “and it’d be very nice if we kept this a secret.”
Soojung fixes him with a hard stare before she caves. “Let’s go watch Wu Fan’s match,” she mutters.
Wu Fan had won, but hadn’t spoken to anyone since he last heard, so he asks Jongin about it in the hallway. “How’s Wu Fan?”
“Good,” Jongin says, shrugging. “Mentally scarred, probably. Chanyeol's good with the whole talking thing." Joonmyun nods in understanding until Jongin blurts, “Not as good as you, though.”
The alarm bells should be going off in Joonmyun’s head, he knows that logically, but he chooses to ignore it for now and laughs. “I’m not good at all. I just say whatever's on my mind, really. It's not my most complementing trait."
“I think it’s rather complementing.”
Now the sirens are sounding. "I - thanks, I guess." Joonmyun laughs nervously.
Jongin has Sehun. Jongin has Sehun in the life. Without Sehun, there is no possibly way Jongin could survive this, and Joonmyun has no right to intrude on that.
Joonmyun’s brain goes into overdrive when Jongin leans in, and he freezes, torn between what he wants and what he should do.
“Jongin!” someone calls from behind them. Soojung. “Weren’t you supposed to be with Wu Fan?”
“No?”
"Oh," she says casually, still staring at Jongin. "Maybe it was you, then, Joonmyun."
Relief floods his entire system, and it takes him a moment to steel himself. “Oh!” He practically shouts. “You're right! I was supposed to meet him in the cafeteria. Thank you so much for reminding me. See you guys later!”
Joonmyun almost forgets what he’s here for, until he finds himself walking down an unfamiliar hallway with Jongin.
He’s not going to survive, he knows that. Jongin knows it too.
"You'll win," Jongin said, trying his best to be as comforting as possible. "You'll do it. I believe in you."
Joonmyun beamed at him, ignoring the feeling of his fingertips going cold and his face going hot. "Okay.”
"Fighter #5, Suho, please enter the deck."
Joonmyun's face fell, and he looked at Jongin for support. This should be okay, he thinks. He’s died mulitple times before. He’ll met Jongin again.
Jongin looks just as much as a wreck as Joonmyun does. His hand, clammy and shaking, rests on Joonmyun's shoulder. Something about the way Jongin is trying so, so hard makes him want to cry. "Jongin, I-" he starts, but stops midway. "Nevermind."
"You can tell me after you win, okay?" Jongin says, and Joonmyun wonders when he became so big.
"Yeah,” Joonmyun says, voice closing up. “I’ll do that.”
He doesn’t turn around, and that’s the last time he sees Jongin.
“Have we ever met before?” Jongin asks as he tries to sell Joonmyun a vase one day, in the blistering desert.
Joonmyun looks over the vase, sees a painting of two boys sitting on a tree branch together, and thinks he might give it a try. “Hm, maybe. You do look rather familiar.”
“Do I?” Jongin asks, then grins and nudges Joonmyun. “Not for my charmingly good looks, right?”
Joonmyun laughs. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself.”
“It’s hard to,” Jongin replies easily, “the weather is so harsh, and I came so late, there might not be any place for me to stay.”
The wind blows then, picking up sand and dust and grain along with it, nearly stinging Joonmyun’s eyes, and that, he thinks, may as well also be a sign. Maybe he should start making signs, instead of waiting for them. “If you can’t find a place to stay, you’re always welcome to stay here with me. I have no one else living with me, and I think I’d actually love to have a guest.”
“Would you really?” Jongin asks. Joonmyun watches with mild amusement as he shifts from foot to foot and tries to supress smile. “I mean - that would be very kind of you.”
Joonmyun laughs at the fact that poor weather probably means more places to stay, but he pushes that thought to the back of his mind and says, “Of course - but at the price of this vase.”
Jongin purses his lips and gives Joonmyun a playful glare. “Fine, but only because it’s you. I knew you’d like it the moment I saw you - did you know it’s the last remaining relic from the famous painter Suho, whose studio burned down? That was in France.”
Joonmyun’s mouth goes dry, and the tip of his ears go pink as he thinks about himself, many eons ago. More importantly of how Jongin knows, because he definitely didn’t exist back then. Only in his art.
“Have you heard of him?” Jongin asks.
“I think I’ve heard of him somewhere before,” Joonmyun lies easily, and doesn’t like the glint in Jongin’s eye.
“Good, because I made him up.”
“I want to remember you,” Jongin says in between harsh breathes. “Please, make me remember.”
“Okay,” Joonmyun says as he pushes in an oil-slicked finger. “I - okay. I can do that.”
Jongin’s back arches and he wraps his arms around Joonmyun’s neck, keening low in his throat when Joonmyun starts to thrust his fingers. “Do you remember that time you were my knight? Do you remember all that heavy armor you used to wear?”
“No,” Jongin gasps when Joonmyun presses against the bundle of nerves inside him. “Tell me.”
“You promised your life to me,” Joonmyun says, chest heaving, “and I made you swear it with your heart and body. Do you remember? It was exactly like this, except I was the one beneath you.”
“I don’t,” Jongin whines when Joonmyun pulls his fingers out. “I want to remember.”
“I’ll help,” Joonmyun replies as he pushes in slowly; Jongin lets out a long, strangled moan and digs his fingers into Joonmyun’s back.
The same way Jongin appears in this lifetime, he disappears just as quickly, slipping through Joonmyun’s fingers like sand.
And it hurts so much more, and Joonmyun hates himself for thinking he ever had a chance.
Maybe this is punishment. Maybe Joonmyun is stuck in hell, two floors down, blowing across the rocky winds of time forever.
In four different lifetimes, Joonmyun is accepted into a mental asylum. He wonders if he should just give up looking for someone as he paces across white tile and looks at white walls and white ceiling and white clothes and white--
Maybe he is going crazy.
Not as crazy as his next door neighbor, though, who scratches at the walls at night and sometimes screams during the day and throws things and hits people and cries very loudly.
His name is Kim Jongin, and he thinks they’ve met before, but he’s not sure. His eyes are a ebony brown color, and he has a nice smile, when he smiles. The nurses make him sleep a lot, though.
They meet anyway, when Jongin barges into his room one day and jumps onto his bed.
“Um, excuse me--”
“Shh, just hide behind the door or something. Let them think I’m you.”
Joonmyun doesn’t know why he listens. The nurses come in and prod at the figure in his bed, but they don’t look behind the door, or lift the covers.
When the door closes, Joonmyun’s left with a boy he’s never met, only seen and heard, in his bed.
“Um.” He clears his throat. “They’re gone. I think.”
The white covers raise a bit, and then fluffy brown hair peeks out from underneath, and Joonmyun can make out familiar dark colored eyes. “Thanks,” he says, and sits up properly.
“Why do they want you?” Joonmyun asks, nudging the door shut and edging a bit closer to the bed.
“They want me to eat my medicine, and then go see the counselor,” Jongin says. He looks around the room. “Your room is very neat.”
“I don’t usually have the urge to break things,” Joonmyun says.
“Probably not,” Jongin replies, and then there is silence.
Three days later, Jongin is still in Joonmyun’s bed. The only difference is, Joonmyun is also in Joonmyun’s bed. “So why are you here?” Jongin asks.
“I can’t remember someone,” Joonmyun says solemnly. “But there is someone to remember.”
“I remember too many someones,” Jongin sighs. “But I remembered them too late, and now I can’t apologize.”
“Why not?”
Jongin shrugs. “They wouldn’t forgive me. Would you?”
Joonmyun stretches his left arm only, since Jongin’s head is resting on his right. “Maybe if you asked nicely.”
Jongin laughs. “Help me?”
“Only if you help me.”
Sehun bursts into laughter the moment Jongin walks into the dorm living room.
“What,” Jongin snaps, which makes Joonmyun and Chanyeol look up, because while Sehun laughs a lot, Jongin doesn’t snap a lot.
“Dude, that’s worse than your cornrows,” Sehun chokes out.
“My cornrows were awesome!” Jongin shouts, and looks over at the others.
“You dyed your hair blonde,” Chanyeol states, just to make sure it’s true, then says again, to confirm it, “You dyed your hair blonde.”
“I did,” Jongin says, “it was Saejin noona’s idea.”
“It looks fucking awful.”
“Your face looks fucking awful,” Jongin retorts as he climbs over the side of the sofa and falls half on top of Joonmyun.
By the time he reorients himself, Joonmyun is looking at him inquisitively and Jongin raises an eyebrow in question.
“Oh no, they’re eyefucking again,” Chanyeol groans. “Where’s Benben when I need him.”
“Avoiding you just because you told the whole world you call him Benben,” Baekhyun calls from the kitchen.
“I didn’t know they’d actually publish it!” Chanyeol yells.
“I think it looks nice,” Joonmyun says amidst the argument, and Jongin laughs. “No, really. I think it doesn’t look all that bad. But was it really Saejin noona’s idea?”
Jongin rolls his eyes. “You would. And sort of. It was her idea.”
“You’re awful,” Joonmyun laughs, and Jongin leans over to kiss him.
“Could be worse,” Jongin says. “I could be a cat.”
“GROSS,” Chanyeol nearly shrieks, “Where’s my phone, why the fuck is Benben in China there are more important things--”
Started: February 18, 2013
Finished: June 11, 2013
suho/kai
5004 words; nc-17
warning: many characters deaths (of the same characters)
hi everyone! this fic was inspired by the comic 25 lives by tongari. this is for my bb jaejoongin! i don't actually know if you have an lj, so i hope you don't mind me linking your twitter account. a special thanks to dream_of_orange for accusing me of bestiality (spoiler: there is no bestiality). this is first thing i've managed to finish in five months =_____= but happy returning to writing! enjoy!
metanoia
(n.) the journey of changing one’s mind, heart, self, or way of life
Jongin is blonde the first time.
“It looks awful,” Sehun tells him, and Jongin very nicely flips him off and turns back to his work.
“I think it looks okay,” Joonmyun says, and Jongin gives him a weak thanks.
Joonmyun corners him after school, asks if they want to get coffee together, and Jongin turns him down, almost ruefully, leaving Joonmyun by his locker.
He gets hit by a car on the way home.
The next time, Jongin has brown hair, and Joonmyun tells him that he’s so glad he chose brown rather than something weird like blonde. Jongin wonders why he would ever choose blonde.
They lie together in Jongin’s backyard, surrounded by daisies and tulips, and Joonmyun comments about how much they resemble a romantic couple. Jongin laughs, says, “Aren’t we, though?”, and something bubbles up in Joonmyun’s chest, remembering, vaguely, a heartless rejection and blood, and rolls over to kiss Jongin full on the lips.
They break up two years later, over misconceptions, and Joonmyun will always remember the smile on Jongin’s face as he walks down the aisle with some lovely girl named Kyuyeon, someone who is nothing like Joonmyun.
Joonmyun is a lonely painter in the streets of Florence, and paints smooth skin and auburn eyes. His flat is covered in pictures of his mysterious captivator, the one who’s taken up the space in Joonmyun’s heart despite never existing. He names him Kai, keeper of keys, and so Joonmyun’s heart is forever locked away, pining over his masterpiece.
Three years after Joonmyun creates Kai, his small flat burns down. Joonmyun burns along with it, and he wonders if, somewhere in the rubble, the lock is finally broken.
Joonmyun likes these moments best. Lifetimes where Joonmyun feels like he knows Jongin more than he knows himself.
Jongin is so intricate, so beautiful, Joonmyun doesn’t think there are enough lifetimes to get to know Jongin completely. There will always be a part of Jongin that Joonmyun’s yet to discover, a new part of Jongin to love.
“Jongin-ah!” his mother shouts, banging on his door. “Joonmyun is here! It’s time for you to get up and go to school!”
There’s a noise from the other side of the door, and Joonmyun laughs before saying, “I’ll try to wake him up, if that’s okay?”
Jongin’s mother more than ushers him into Jongin’s room, and there, under a pile of blankets, is Jongin, throwing a pillow onto his head. “Go away,” he groans. “I don’t want to go to school.”
“You don’t mean that,” Joonmyun says, sitting on the edge of Jongin’s bed. “I’m at school.”
“You’re here, too; that says nothing.”
“What if I leave?” Joonmyun asks, and Jongin groans.
“I’ll see you in my dreams or something. You’re always in my dreams; it’s really annoying.”
Joonmyun laughs, loudly, and Jongin whines and presses down on his ears. “See? That says something, you can’t escape me, Jongin-ah. So get up and get ready, or I’ll drag you out of bed myself. I’ll even let you drive.”
Silence. A mop of hair and bleary eyes looks up from the pile of pillows and blankets. “Really? You’ll let me drive?”
“That’s right,” Joonmyun says, smiling. “How about it, Jonginnie?”
Jongin most certainly Does Not leap out of bed and hug Joonmyun. He also most certainly Does Not kiss Joonmyun on the cheek in his excitement and rush to the bathroom.
Joonmyun sits on the edge of Jongin’s bed, a little caught off guard, and presses his hand to his cheek and grins.
“Are you here again?” Joonmyun asks cautiously, arms resting on the windowsill.
“Yeah,” Jongin mumbles, as he looks down at the ground, legs swaying back and forth.
The ground is a long way down, Joonmyun thinks awfully, and has to bite on his tongue to not call Jongin inside.
There’s a tree outside Joonmyun’s bedroom window, and a few years back, Jongin had mastered the art of climbing it to get into Joonmyun’s room when he was sad and needed somewhere to run away to. It scares Joonmyun every time he hears the creak of the branches, fearing one day, Jongin won't be the small eight-year-old with small hands and short legs, but an eighteen year old boy with long limbs, and Joonmyun won't be there to catch him.
“What happened?” Joonmyun asks. It's a stupid question since it's the same thing, every time.
“Parents fought,” Jongin says quietly, and sighs loudly. “I hate it when they do that.”
“I’m sorry,” Joonmyun replies, and he feels stupid, because that’s all he can say, every time. “Please come inside. We can talk about it, if you want. Or I could distract you. Anything you want, Jongin. I’ll take you out if you’d like.”
“Hyung,” Jongin says, very carefully, “Come out here with me.”
“I--” Joonmyun tries, but Jongin looks absolutely helpless, and Joonmyun would like nothing more than to crawl out of the window and sit next to him, press Jongin’s head into his chest and whisper sweet nothings into his ear.
But the wind blows and the leaves on the tree rattles, and Joonmyun pales. “Please come inside, Jongin.”
“Don’t wanna,” Jongin states and crosses his arms. The wind blows threateningly one more time, and Joonmyun can see Jongin shaking slightly.
“I’ll sit with you inside, Jongin, come in,” Joonmyun pleads, and extends an arm out for Jongin to take. “It’s not going to take my weight.”
Jongin gives him a look and bites his lower lip. There are tears in his eyes and Joonmyun wants to kiss them away, but he has to get him safely inside before he can do that.
“Come on,” he urges, and Jongin gives him one final look before shifting himself so he’s on his hands and knees and crawls towards Joonmyun slowly.
“I’m not going to fall, right?” Jongin asks, and Joonmyun shakes his head.
“No,” he breathes out. “You’re doing great.”
The wind blows again, and there’s a sickening crack, and Jongin screams and jumps. Joonmyun feels the air rush out of his lungs as he reaches his arms out and hopes it isn’t too late.
Joonmyun’s got Jongin by his forearms, and he groans as he pulls Jongin up and back into the window. They collapse onto the floor together, breathing hard.
“You--” Joonmyun snaps, “You could have died. You were going to die, and I was going to watch it happen and--”
He stops midway when he sees Jongin crying, and feels like the ground has been pulled out from underneath him, in a completely different way. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Joonmyun promptly sits up, pulling Jongin with him.
“Jongin-ah, don’t feel bad,” he says pathetically, drawing Jongin in for a hug. “Jongin, you know I’m not mad at you, I could never be mad at you.”
Jongin’s fingers dig into his back, and the front of his shirt is messy with tears and mucus, but Joonmyun wraps his arms protectively around Jongin and brushes his bangs away from his face. “Don’t cry Jongin, please don’t cry, I love you Jongin, please.”
Jongin stays there, in Joonmyun’s arms, and Joonmyun lets him, for hours, until they fall asleep on the floor like that, and Joonmyun kisses his forehead sometime after midnight and tells Jongin’s about all the times they’ve met before in hushed whispers, they places they’ve been, the times they’ve been together, the times they haven’t, the times Jongin was nothing but a prayer upon his lips, and Joonmyun laughs, says Jongin is a drug to him, but drugs are supposed to be bad, right? But Joonmyun will never give Jongin up, even if it kills him. After all, Joonmyun has nothing but bad ideas.
“This is a bad idea,” Jongin says, and Joonmyun agrees, but Jongin makes no move to stop Joonmyun from cornering him up against the wall-length mirror in the dance studio and kissing him, hands splayed across his hips and mussed hair from long hours of practice.
“I only have bad ideas,” Joonmyun says, and nips on Jongin’s lip. “You usually go along with them all.”
Jongin laughs and presses a kiss to the tip of Joonmyun’s nose. “You’re going to be the worst leader. No one will listen to you.”
“You’ll listen to me,” Joonmyun says, grinning, and Jongin rolls his eyes.
“What if I don’t? I’m going to stay as far away from you as possible.”
“That hurts, Jongin-ah,” Joonmyun says pouting, and Jongin brushes Joonmyun’s bangs to the side absentmindedly. The image of Jongin crying flashes behind Joonmyun’s eyes, and he cups Jongin’s face with his hands and kisses him deeply. “I need you as close to me as possible.”
Joonmyun's not quite sure how time progresses. He not sure if he’s many years in the future or in the past, but what he does know is that he is now a prince, and Jongin his faithful knight.
“I can’t do this,” Jongin says, after they kiss. “I have to protect you. It’s my job to-- I can’t defile you. You’re the prince.”
“I don’t want anyone else to defile me,” Joonmyun whispers, and Jongin flinches when the first piece of armor falls onto the floor. “Please, Jongin, my most faithful warrior. I’m not skilled in jousting or combat, but I would die for you,” he says as another piece of metal falls off of his body. I have already, so many times, he thinks, but Jongin wouldn’t understand.
“Please don’t say things like that, Your Highness,” Jongin pleads and closes his eyes when Joonmyun removes the final piece of armor. “It’s so hard to hold back.”
“Don’t hold back,” Joonmyun orders. “Please, don’t hold back.”
Jongin gives him one final wounded look before he’s tugging at Joonmyun’s clothes, pushing him down onto the mattress, and Joonmyun moans Jongin’s names in soft sighs and gasps when Jongin presses one, two, three fingers into him, until Joonmyun’s begging for Jongin and only Jongin.
Jongin fulfills his every whim, presses butterfly kisses all along Joonmyun’s jaw to calm him down, and Joonmyun cries as he tells him over how many lifetimes he’s wished for this, how many could nots and would-have-beens, how many eons he’s dreamed of burning under Jongin’s skin.
Jongin rocks into Joonmyun’s body and laughs, calls him crazy, but there are tears in his eyes, and when Jongin goes faster, voice cracking on Joonmyun's name, Joomyun thinks he might remember, too.
Jongin dies in battle three months later, but not before telling Joonmyun he sometimes dreams about trees and mirrors and blonde hair.
Joonmyun has long, dark brown hair, and a short pleated skirt the next time. Jongin is the younger, but infinitely more charming underclassmen, surrounded by admiring classmates and Joonmyun can feel the jealousy ebbing in her stomach each time she hears about how someone has confessed to Jongin again.
She encounters him for the first time in person when she’s organizing the notification flyers for the school trip in the student council room.
She accidentally bumps into him on the way out and drops a box of papers on his feet, leading to her having to help him walk to the nurses office.
“I’m so sorry,” she squeaks, and he gives her a pained smile and waves his hand.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, and gives her a peculiar look. “Have we met before?”
She blinks at him, legs trembling, before she utters, “I am president of the student council.”
“No,” he says, frowning. “Outside of school, maybe?”
“Um,” she mumbles. “I don’t think so?”
Jongin stares at her and leaves it at that.
Joonmyun graduates later in the year, and the last time she sees Jongin, he kisses her on the cheek and tells her he’ll always remember her. Joonmyun laughs and says she will, too.
Joonmyun hates the lives where Jongin doesn’t exist.
Joonmyun spends millions of heartbeats, millions of footsteps and millions of inhales and exhales, millions of smiles, frowns, dreams dayslifetimesstarsheartsraindrops--
Only Jongin’s match his own.
Jongin is twenty-five, has a job in an office and wears pressed, white-collared shirts and solid color ties to work everyday.
Joonmyun watches from the secretary desk and sighs every time Jongin comes into work with the same muted expression and dark brown briefcase.
Joonmyun has rarely ever seen Jongin smile, and thinks that maybe this is worse than when Jongin doesn’t exist.
“He’s the reincarnation of Snape from Harry Potter,” Jongdae says during their coffee break one day, and Joonmyun accidently laughs too loudly and receives a glare from Jongin.
“Snape was grumpy because he still loved Lily, though,” Joonmyun says, and downs the rest of his mug to get rid of the bitter feeling in his stomach.
Jongdae grins at him and says, “Who knows? Maybe he has a Lily.”
“I doubt it,” Joonmyun replies easily, too easily, even, and watches as Jongin loiters around in the background, picking up a few pieces of paper here and there.
Joonmyun stays overtime that day, and when he finally leaves at a quarter to eight, he goes to shut off the lights in the main office and jumps when someone calls, “Joonmyun?”
He flips the lights back on and gasps when he sees Jongin. “Mr. Kim, I’m so sorry. I thought you’d left already.”
Jongin sits up his chair, groaning slightly as he shifts. “What are you doing here so late?”
“I, um,” Joonmyun mumbles. “I was just finishing some things up,” he states awkwardly when Jongin raises an eyebrow at him.
“Well, have you finished those things up? It’s pretty late now.”
“Just about. It’s enough for me to be able to finish tomorrow. Besides, I don’t want to rush now. What about you? Is there a reason for you being here so late?”
Jongin looks taken aback, blinks a few times, and then lets out a small laugh. “I was doing a few calculations. It shouldn’t take very long.”
“A few calculations shouldn’t have you here until eight, should it?” Joonmyun asks, and Jongin laughs sheepishly. It’s the first time he’s heard Jongin laugh, and his chest swells up in pride at the thought that he’s probably the first in the office to have heard it.
“You’re right,” Jongin admits. “I’m not very gifted in math. But it should be fine, there’s only a few more things to do.”
Joonmyun purses his lips and raises his eyebrows. “Mr. Kim,” he says, teasing, “It’s math, and you didn’t even try to ask your secretary to help you out? See, now that just makes me feel incompetent.”
“No, of course not, Joonmyun, you’re a great sec--”
It’s probably a little out of line what he’s doing, but, Joonmyun rationalizes, it’s for work, so it can’t be that bad. And he really is good at math. He strides over to Jongin and pulls out a chair next to him and sits down. “What are you having trouble with, Mr. Kim?”
“Oh, I, um,” Jongin is fumbling now, and Joonmyun takes a moment to appreciate the sight of a flustered Jongin, red tinting his ears, and small nervous smile playing on his lips. “Well, I guess these few things...”
It’s nearly half an hour later, and everything has been finished. Jongin tugs at his tie a bit and smiles at Joonmyun. “Wow, I didn’t know you were so talented in math.”
“Well,” Joonmyun says, shrugging, “There isn’t really an appropriate time to say it. Hello, I’m Joonmyun, I’m your secretary. Do you want coffee? I have your next three meetings booked, Mr. Kim. By the way, I’m great at math.”
“Jongin,” Jongin says, and Joonmyun blinks.
“I’m sorry?”
“Call me Jongin.”
“Jongin,” Joonmyun says, and smiles at the familiarity. “Jongin. Okay.”
Jongin gets promoted and sent away to America, and Joonmyun doesn’t see him again for the next three years. He gets married in that time, to a sweet girl named Minyeon. She’s beautiful, smart, and everything Joonmyun could have asked for. But she’s clumsy on her feet, always up in the morning with a cup of coffee and a laugh. Her smile is gorgeous, infectious even, with white pearly teeth and pink gums. She’s absolutely nothing like Jongin, so Joonmyun simply smiles back and kisses her on the cheek.
How to get out of this cycle, Joonmyun muses, when he’s a farmer boy, lying on the roof of his father’s stable.
The trick, he thinks he’s learned, is to make Jongin remember. The more Jongin remembers, the more at ease Joonmyun feels. Well. Ease being subjective. Jongin has never remembered outright, but two lives ago, when Joonmyun was the captain of the navy and Jongin a pirate, Jongin told him once he was afraid of heights, and when asked why, Jongin mumbled “this sounds stupid, but I think it has something to do with you.” Joonmyun told him he was the worst pirate, aren’t you supposed to be cruel and reckless?
A pirate falling in love with the captain of the navy is pretty reckless, Jongin said, and Joonmyun agreed.
A high pitched meow brings him out of his thoughts, and he looks over to see a small cat nudging his side. “Hey, Jonginnie,” Joonmyun coos, picking Jongin up to rest him on his chest.
Jongin settles down and stretches out, paw smacking into cheek. He doesn’t move it, and Joonmyun groans. Typical Jongin, human or not.
Jongin the cat looks exactly like Jongin the human - a mix match of all different colored fur, splotches of brown, black, white, and ginger. He has slightly downturned ears and droopy eyes, and constantly changes between running around in a frenzy after small mice and opting to curl up on Joonmyun’s chest and softly purr himself to sleep.
“You’re going to keep me from doing my work,” Joonmyun says, but Jongin isn’t listening, as usual, so Joonmyun sighs and scratches lightly behind his ear.
Joonmyun thinks he knows how this is going to end.
Jongin has always been the center of Joonmyun’s world, but now that he’s the center of everyone’s, he wants nothing more to do than lock him away for himself. It’s selfish, and Joonmyun knows that.
This life might just be the worst, Joonmyun thinks. A tournament made out of prisoners with super powers. He’s read a book like this before, except it used delinquent school kids instead of criminals.
He’s not sure he would classify this crowd as criminals though. Playing the role of Robin Hood puts Joonmyun in a gray area, he knows, but things like unforced prostitution and self defense don’t deserve a spot on death row.
His original plan had been to avoid Jongin all of this life, because he had someone else already - Oh Sehun - except there’s not much room for escaping when they have mutual friends and Jongin looks so fragile that Joonmyun tells himself he will only do as much as he needs to this time.
He runs around helping everyone, and tries not to notice when Jongin starts to watch him more, talk to him more. He’s not the only one that notices.
“I’m breaking him,” Joonmyun says one day, when he’s sitting with Soojung, one of Jongin’s closest friends.
“No,” she says, “you’re not. You’re just doing what you have to.”
He smiles. “I’m sorry you think that.”
He thinks Soojung might have an idea of what Joonmyun’s been through when she suddenly grabs him one day, fingers digging into his shoulders painfully and says, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Joonmyun thinks it’s a bit rude that she read his mind without asking, but it’s too late to change that now. “Now you do,” he replies as calmly as he can, “and it’d be very nice if we kept this a secret.”
Soojung fixes him with a hard stare before she caves. “Let’s go watch Wu Fan’s match,” she mutters.
Wu Fan had won, but hadn’t spoken to anyone since he last heard, so he asks Jongin about it in the hallway. “How’s Wu Fan?”
“Good,” Jongin says, shrugging. “Mentally scarred, probably. Chanyeol's good with the whole talking thing." Joonmyun nods in understanding until Jongin blurts, “Not as good as you, though.”
The alarm bells should be going off in Joonmyun’s head, he knows that logically, but he chooses to ignore it for now and laughs. “I’m not good at all. I just say whatever's on my mind, really. It's not my most complementing trait."
“I think it’s rather complementing.”
Now the sirens are sounding. "I - thanks, I guess." Joonmyun laughs nervously.
Jongin has Sehun. Jongin has Sehun in the life. Without Sehun, there is no possibly way Jongin could survive this, and Joonmyun has no right to intrude on that.
Joonmyun’s brain goes into overdrive when Jongin leans in, and he freezes, torn between what he wants and what he should do.
“Jongin!” someone calls from behind them. Soojung. “Weren’t you supposed to be with Wu Fan?”
“No?”
"Oh," she says casually, still staring at Jongin. "Maybe it was you, then, Joonmyun."
Relief floods his entire system, and it takes him a moment to steel himself. “Oh!” He practically shouts. “You're right! I was supposed to meet him in the cafeteria. Thank you so much for reminding me. See you guys later!”
Joonmyun almost forgets what he’s here for, until he finds himself walking down an unfamiliar hallway with Jongin.
He’s not going to survive, he knows that. Jongin knows it too.
"You'll win," Jongin said, trying his best to be as comforting as possible. "You'll do it. I believe in you."
Joonmyun beamed at him, ignoring the feeling of his fingertips going cold and his face going hot. "Okay.”
"Fighter #5, Suho, please enter the deck."
Joonmyun's face fell, and he looked at Jongin for support. This should be okay, he thinks. He’s died mulitple times before. He’ll met Jongin again.
Jongin looks just as much as a wreck as Joonmyun does. His hand, clammy and shaking, rests on Joonmyun's shoulder. Something about the way Jongin is trying so, so hard makes him want to cry. "Jongin, I-" he starts, but stops midway. "Nevermind."
"You can tell me after you win, okay?" Jongin says, and Joonmyun wonders when he became so big.
"Yeah,” Joonmyun says, voice closing up. “I’ll do that.”
He doesn’t turn around, and that’s the last time he sees Jongin.
“Have we ever met before?” Jongin asks as he tries to sell Joonmyun a vase one day, in the blistering desert.
Joonmyun looks over the vase, sees a painting of two boys sitting on a tree branch together, and thinks he might give it a try. “Hm, maybe. You do look rather familiar.”
“Do I?” Jongin asks, then grins and nudges Joonmyun. “Not for my charmingly good looks, right?”
Joonmyun laughs. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself.”
“It’s hard to,” Jongin replies easily, “the weather is so harsh, and I came so late, there might not be any place for me to stay.”
The wind blows then, picking up sand and dust and grain along with it, nearly stinging Joonmyun’s eyes, and that, he thinks, may as well also be a sign. Maybe he should start making signs, instead of waiting for them. “If you can’t find a place to stay, you’re always welcome to stay here with me. I have no one else living with me, and I think I’d actually love to have a guest.”
“Would you really?” Jongin asks. Joonmyun watches with mild amusement as he shifts from foot to foot and tries to supress smile. “I mean - that would be very kind of you.”
Joonmyun laughs at the fact that poor weather probably means more places to stay, but he pushes that thought to the back of his mind and says, “Of course - but at the price of this vase.”
Jongin purses his lips and gives Joonmyun a playful glare. “Fine, but only because it’s you. I knew you’d like it the moment I saw you - did you know it’s the last remaining relic from the famous painter Suho, whose studio burned down? That was in France.”
Joonmyun’s mouth goes dry, and the tip of his ears go pink as he thinks about himself, many eons ago. More importantly of how Jongin knows, because he definitely didn’t exist back then. Only in his art.
“Have you heard of him?” Jongin asks.
“I think I’ve heard of him somewhere before,” Joonmyun lies easily, and doesn’t like the glint in Jongin’s eye.
“Good, because I made him up.”
“I want to remember you,” Jongin says in between harsh breathes. “Please, make me remember.”
“Okay,” Joonmyun says as he pushes in an oil-slicked finger. “I - okay. I can do that.”
Jongin’s back arches and he wraps his arms around Joonmyun’s neck, keening low in his throat when Joonmyun starts to thrust his fingers. “Do you remember that time you were my knight? Do you remember all that heavy armor you used to wear?”
“No,” Jongin gasps when Joonmyun presses against the bundle of nerves inside him. “Tell me.”
“You promised your life to me,” Joonmyun says, chest heaving, “and I made you swear it with your heart and body. Do you remember? It was exactly like this, except I was the one beneath you.”
“I don’t,” Jongin whines when Joonmyun pulls his fingers out. “I want to remember.”
“I’ll help,” Joonmyun replies as he pushes in slowly; Jongin lets out a long, strangled moan and digs his fingers into Joonmyun’s back.
The same way Jongin appears in this lifetime, he disappears just as quickly, slipping through Joonmyun’s fingers like sand.
And it hurts so much more, and Joonmyun hates himself for thinking he ever had a chance.
Maybe this is punishment. Maybe Joonmyun is stuck in hell, two floors down, blowing across the rocky winds of time forever.
In four different lifetimes, Joonmyun is accepted into a mental asylum. He wonders if he should just give up looking for someone as he paces across white tile and looks at white walls and white ceiling and white clothes and white--
Maybe he is going crazy.
Not as crazy as his next door neighbor, though, who scratches at the walls at night and sometimes screams during the day and throws things and hits people and cries very loudly.
His name is Kim Jongin, and he thinks they’ve met before, but he’s not sure. His eyes are a ebony brown color, and he has a nice smile, when he smiles. The nurses make him sleep a lot, though.
They meet anyway, when Jongin barges into his room one day and jumps onto his bed.
“Um, excuse me--”
“Shh, just hide behind the door or something. Let them think I’m you.”
Joonmyun doesn’t know why he listens. The nurses come in and prod at the figure in his bed, but they don’t look behind the door, or lift the covers.
When the door closes, Joonmyun’s left with a boy he’s never met, only seen and heard, in his bed.
“Um.” He clears his throat. “They’re gone. I think.”
The white covers raise a bit, and then fluffy brown hair peeks out from underneath, and Joonmyun can make out familiar dark colored eyes. “Thanks,” he says, and sits up properly.
“Why do they want you?” Joonmyun asks, nudging the door shut and edging a bit closer to the bed.
“They want me to eat my medicine, and then go see the counselor,” Jongin says. He looks around the room. “Your room is very neat.”
“I don’t usually have the urge to break things,” Joonmyun says.
“Probably not,” Jongin replies, and then there is silence.
Three days later, Jongin is still in Joonmyun’s bed. The only difference is, Joonmyun is also in Joonmyun’s bed. “So why are you here?” Jongin asks.
“I can’t remember someone,” Joonmyun says solemnly. “But there is someone to remember.”
“I remember too many someones,” Jongin sighs. “But I remembered them too late, and now I can’t apologize.”
“Why not?”
Jongin shrugs. “They wouldn’t forgive me. Would you?”
Joonmyun stretches his left arm only, since Jongin’s head is resting on his right. “Maybe if you asked nicely.”
Jongin laughs. “Help me?”
“Only if you help me.”
Sehun bursts into laughter the moment Jongin walks into the dorm living room.
“What,” Jongin snaps, which makes Joonmyun and Chanyeol look up, because while Sehun laughs a lot, Jongin doesn’t snap a lot.
“Dude, that’s worse than your cornrows,” Sehun chokes out.
“My cornrows were awesome!” Jongin shouts, and looks over at the others.
“You dyed your hair blonde,” Chanyeol states, just to make sure it’s true, then says again, to confirm it, “You dyed your hair blonde.”
“I did,” Jongin says, “it was Saejin noona’s idea.”
“It looks fucking awful.”
“Your face looks fucking awful,” Jongin retorts as he climbs over the side of the sofa and falls half on top of Joonmyun.
By the time he reorients himself, Joonmyun is looking at him inquisitively and Jongin raises an eyebrow in question.
“Oh no, they’re eyefucking again,” Chanyeol groans. “Where’s Benben when I need him.”
“Avoiding you just because you told the whole world you call him Benben,” Baekhyun calls from the kitchen.
“I didn’t know they’d actually publish it!” Chanyeol yells.
“I think it looks nice,” Joonmyun says amidst the argument, and Jongin laughs. “No, really. I think it doesn’t look all that bad. But was it really Saejin noona’s idea?”
Jongin rolls his eyes. “You would. And sort of. It was her idea.”
“You’re awful,” Joonmyun laughs, and Jongin leans over to kiss him.
“Could be worse,” Jongin says. “I could be a cat.”
“GROSS,” Chanyeol nearly shrieks, “Where’s my phone, why the fuck is Benben in China there are more important things--”
Started: February 18, 2013
Finished: June 11, 2013