third time's a charm ; jongtae

[squishyguns]

jongtae ; r
angst / character death.
wc ; 2972

I might have mixed up my tenses orz


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Taemin didn't want to go back inside into the warmth of his blanket, to where the fireplace was cackling with life and heat. He stood outside on the rooftop balcony and wondered why his parents liked living so high up in the sky, only choosing to buy lots that were on the top floors of skyscraper designer suites. It was especially cold whenever he stood outside. Extra cold now because it was winter, but Taemin didn't really care, whether the season was spring or autumn or summer it would still be cold and right now it had already seeped into his bones.

“I want to die,” Taemin had said one day, out of the blue, and Jonghyun only raised his eyebrows in a silent question. He broke into a smile and he chuckled. “Don't you want to know what's in the after life? What it's like after death?”

Jonghyun smiled back, picking up a carrot stick and crunching on it. “I think we'd just see black. And then we'll probably be incarnated, or maybe get shipped off to another planet.”

“That would be something, wouldn't it? I want to die,” Taemin repeated and his eyes shone with something along the lines of desire, and Jonghyun noted that he might be pretty serious about it.

Jonghyun swallowed slowly and twirled his finger around Taemin's. “No, you don't. You're just saying that.” And then he goes back to munching on his lunch, eyes fixed back onto the television.

“I really want to die, Jonghyun.” He had whispered it, too soft, and Jonghyun couldn't hear.

Taemin was flat on the cushioned lounge chair, eyes fixed onto the sky. It was a pretty night and through the clouds and bright lights of the tall buildings, he could make out a few stars. There were so little that he managed to count them but lost track of the numbers as his mind drifted in and out of dreaming.

Jonghyun liked to joke around a lot. Like he-never-shuts-up kind of a lot-and Taemin was okay with it because at least he knew when he should stop.

Unlike people who saw through the mask on his face and continued to slide cheeky comments about him, Jonghyun was different. He saw when he was hurting, when he was dying to get away from the crowd, when he just needed someone to talk to. Jonghyun saw it all from how much Taemin's eye shone-they usually were bright and clear on good days.

And on the bad ones, there would be this thin layer that coated it. Making it blank. Emotionless. Vacant.

And Jonghyun would know then, that he should be extra comforting to Taemin. He would snuggle up closer to him as they walked down the cold streets and he would order his coffee for him and open the door for him so he could enter first. Jonghyun did small things for Taemin but to the latter, it felt like he was saving his life.

Taemin's parents fought a lot, though they hardly saw each other. It was something normal in the household-either one coming home a little later than expected and the other would be irascible and then they would start bickering, soft at first before someone raises their voice just a little and the both of them are off in a war of who can scream the loudest because from what Taemin hears, the topic they argue about is irrelevant. They don't fight to prove points, they fight to get rid of their stress.

So Taemin just lies in his oversized bed, always staring at the ceiling, trying to listen to what Jonghyun was saying while his parents wrecked the house.

It really wasn't meant to be like that, Taemin knew.

He knew that he wasn't supposed to be feeling queasy and sick; they told him he would feel light and fantastic, not like he suddenly had hell residing in the pits of his stomach. Taemin needed to throw up and finally he did, all over the carpet floor. No one seemed to mind, they had a laughing fit because of it, and eventually Taemin felt better and he snatched the joint from the person beside him.

“Your stomach's made of steel if you're actually going for another,” the guy whispered with a grin.

“I'm in training.”

For what, Taemin did not exactly know, but his new friend just smiled wider and draped an arm around the back of the couch.

The only time Taemin was at home was when he went back to sleep or he was too tired to join Jonghyun for a round of drinks and some studying if they felt up to it. Usually, it would just be him and their maids in the huge suite and the echoes that bounded across the walls always sent shivers down his spine. Though they were scurrying about, trying to clean the already clean things in the house, he still felt like he was alone.

Taemin always felt alone. Except when he was with Jonghyun.

Sometimes Jonghyun could get annoying though, just sometimes, when Taemin's patience has ran its course because of the tiring day.

One night in particular, Jonghyun had gone off in some lecture about how smoking and drugs and alcohol were a bad combination and that he should never even have thought about taking that first cigarette or gulping down that drink. They were in his studio apartment, Taemin sprawled lazily across the tiny couch, Jonghyun's words flowing in through one ear and exiting out the other.

He nodded, he hummed, he said yes and okay and I won't do it again.

And Jonghyun stopped half way through, his emotions over taking his mind and he kneels down in front of Taemin, begging with his eyes. Taemin stared back-he thought he would continue to be indifferent to this talk but by the way Jonghyun was looking at him, from the way his face shifted into everything words couldn't say, he knew he had no chance against it.

Taemin reached out and touched Jonghyun's nose lightly.

“Don't worry, Jonghyun,” he mumbled.

The stars were getting boring to look at. Only a few of them twinkled and the sound of the city was buzzing in his ears, drawing him to get up from his seated position on the chair, calling for him to come over and take a look. And so Taemin does; he stood up and stretched and lazily walked towards the low cement fence. He loved the city at night-especially from this view.

Taemin was still cold.

Jonghyun was in shock, his pupils blown wide. He had grabbed onto Taemin's hand in a fierce grip and tugged him away so hard he felt his neck ache. When he pulled away, blood had stained his fingers, and the both of them stared at it before looking at each other.

“Taemin?” he asked shakily, eyes shifting from the blood stains on his hands and the wounds on Taemin's.

“It doesn't hurt.”

“I... I don't care if it hurts like hell or not. I'm just wondering why you want it to hurt.”

And then Jonghyun's eyebrows furrowed and he started to breathe heavily, trying to process the scene he walked in on.

“Taemin, why... why would you do that to yourself?”

Said boy bit his lip and looked down at the ground, shaking his head slowly.

Taemin didn't really like school-he attended a top notch, private academy with snobs and kids whose parents probably sneeze out money. It was full of people with fake smiles and fake laughs and fake faces, all wearing masks to cover up the demons that resided deep in their hearts. He only went because he had to, because if he didn't, he would have nothing to use to get out of this place.

Jonghyun went to a local college, taking a course in music. They had met at some library, when they were in middle school, where Taemin was hiding until cram school was up so he could go home.

Typical day for the both of them. Meeting up after their classes are over, getting something small to eat, strolling endlessly through the streets. It was a typical day but with a slight twist.

As usual, Jonghyun would see Taemin home first, his eyes always wide and his mouth always shut because he felt like he wasn't worthy enough to walk through this part of town-especially as he entered the extremely grand setting of Taemin's skyscraper apartment lobby. Taemin would tease him a little because it's unusual for him to be this quiet.

“I don't see why you look down on yourself, Jonghyun. I think you're better than anyone that lives in this place.”

Jonghyun's appreciative for Taemin's kind words and followed him up to the penthouse, thumbs fiddling with each other.

“I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Wish me luck on my way back down.”

“I hope you don't bump into my neighbours. They usually kidnap people like you and eat them.”

“Your humour is dry. I'm going.”

But before the elevator can close, Taemin rushed back inside, heart pounding from the sudden emotions that controlled his body.

“What? Are you following me down today well?”

Taemin's reply was a tight hug. And then he did, in fact, follow the demure Jonghyun down.

He took off his coat and pulled on one of Jonghyun's hoodies that he absently left here one day. He never returned it, not even when Jonghyun asked if he saw it. It still smelled of him-a homely smell, something that Taemin could sniff every minute or so and feel warmth and a sort of calmness spread through him.

It was cold. But he felt warm on the inside.

More scars, more of them, but Jonghyun had actually lost count because Taemin refused to expose his slim body.

Not even during hot days where Jonghyun needed to be in a wife beater and three quarter shorts.

Not even when they crashed at his house where Jonghyun thought sleeping attire should be short and comfortable.

Not even when Jonghyun asked.

“Taemin, look at me.”

“What?”

“You're not looking.”

Those expressionless eyes flicked upwards.

“What, Jonghyun?

And Jonghyun saw, as always, in his eyes that he was in pain. And Jonghyun, helpless Jonghyun, didn't know what to do.

The wind spoke to him now. It was a rough speech, demanding and he couldn't do anything but follow. Taemin pulled himself up onto the ledge and sat, legs dangling. And the wind was calmer now, it felt lighter, happier that Taemin obeyed so easily. He closed his eyes, still seeing pictures flash behind his lids.

Taemin was angry that he was disturbed and at first he screamed back at Jonghyun asking him why he came and why he had to interrupt and why did he have to care. And Jonghyun ignores the acidic looks and the aggressive clawing and only walked towards him, arms stretched and eyes pleading.

Taemin was screaming because of the burning pain that was in his wrist. And he was screaming at Jonghyun. Don't come closer, Jonghyun, stay away and just leave. Let me die.

Blood was splattering everywhere as they struggled with each other. Jonghyun had tears welling in his eyes as he pinned the boy down and took off his shirt to put pressure on the dreadful wound.

“Why, Taemin? Why would you do that...”

And the tears fall and Jonghyun's choking on sobs. Taemin looked up at him, drops of his tears the only thing moving on the pale face. He wondered how long his heart could hold itself together; he really didn't like to see Jonghyun cry.

A ripple of emotion suddenly tugs at Taemin's heart.

It happened a lot. When his heart took over his mind.

When Jonghyun saw him the following week, after he had been missing in action, it was an uncontrollable burst of excitement that he couldn't resist the urge not to hug him for a little too long. Taemin acted as if nothing happened, and continued to smile and be happy while they sat around and studied and did the normal things they did.

It was evening when Jonghyun finally closed his files full of empty score sheets for him to fill up. Taemin had ended up near the window. He was looking at his wrapped arm when Jonghyun approached. It made the both of them recall that night.

Jonghyun took a deep breathe and gently gripped at the bandaged wrist.

“As long as I'm here, Taemin, you won't ever do this okay?”

The words registered in his brain. As long as Jonghyun was there, he wouldn't. And he promised it out loud, feeling a vague sense of evil lurk in him.

“And I'll always be here. Remember that.”

As long as Jonghyun was here...

The knife was placed on the lounge chair and Taemin, saying sorry to the wind, hopped down and went to retrieve it. He twirled it in his hands casually as he went back to his position on the ledge. The blood was dried up now, turning brown already and he scraped it off with his nail.

Taemin took a while to feel the tears on his cheek.

Jonghyun was kind. Jonghyun was gentle. Jonghyun was smart and funny and Jonghyun always saved him.

Always after a rough night, when the pills and cutting didn't suffice the burning in him, Jonghyun would be there. With light touches and whispering, it made Taemin feel better. He wished he could stay with Jonghyun forever so he wouldn't have to wait until the night disappeared and the sun came up for them to meet.

Then the touches turned into holds.

And the whispers turned into kisses.

And Taemin wasn't just being saved; he was being fixed.

Taemin felt his fingertips absorb the cool chill of the metal and he raised his eyebrows.

The underground subway was his favourite place to be.

There were so many people around, too busy to have a single care about anything that was surrounding them that Taemin could observe and make up stories to suit their faces. He would laugh about it with Jonghyun and sometimes Jonghyun would try to retaliate and come up with a better story-one with more drama and angst and trouble.

Today Taemin was silent and he softly replied Jonghyun's questions. Suddenly, his feet have a mind of its own. With his back straight and his head tilted high, he stepped away from the pillar and stood at the edge of the platform. It was so busy, there were so many people.

Then the train was coming, and someone was screaming but Taemin knew it wasn't him and he tried to step forward because he knew he could do it but instead of going forward, he felt himself going back. And he crashed into something between soft and hard instead of something painfully fast and bone crushing.

And Jonghyun was crying again. Taemin really hated it when Jonghyun cried.

“Taemin, I'm here. Why would you do that again while I'm here.”

Maybe Taemin didn't want to be saved any more.

Taemin recalled the times when he and Jonghyun laughed until their stomachs hurt, the blade still being stroked by his shivering fingers. It was nice-to feel light and easy without need of substances. Only by looking at Jonghyun, by holding his hand and running through the dried leaves during autumn like children, he could actually feel some sort of joy. And only Jonghyun made him feel that way.

The wind tugged at his hair.

“Don't do it, please, don't, stop it...”

“I'm sorry.”

“Please stop, please don't.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You're hurting me.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Promise me you won't do it any more.”

“... I'm sorry.”

He flung the bloody knife and watched it spiral downwards onto the street and he wondered vaguely if it would hit anyone-maybe even kill. He lost sight of it after a while and decided it didn't really matter. Then Taemin stood up steadily on the ledge and teased the probing voice in his head by dangling one foot over it.

“I'm sorry,” Taemin whispered as he tucked a strand of Jonghyun's lengthy hair behind his ear.

The other was deep asleep from the pill that Taemin crushed into his drink that evening. He was not even reacting to the soft brushes of Taemin's fingers, the only indication that he was actually alive was the way his chest heaved upwards only to relax again lightly.

He had one of Jonghyun's hands to his sturdy bed post and also over his mouth, to muffle any noise that he might emit if the drug wasn't powerful enough to keep him asleep through it.

There was a flash of silver in the darkening bedroom. And then there was red.

Taemin really was sorry.

But Taemin really wanted to die too.

Heights gave Taemin no such fear, and he loved to feel so free. The only doubt he had about this night was the possibility of him actually being able to fly and defy gravity because he felt that God hated him that much.

Because Jonghyun was gone, that doubt made it the only flaw in the perfect night.

So he got rid of it and stepped out into the air. Taemin thought about Jonghyun who was definitely in heaven now, watching him as he fell down to hell.

“I'm sorry,” he said in his head.

Right before his fragile body crashed into the concrete street with unimaginable force, he heard a whisper.

“But Taemin, I've always been here."