SH 2015: The Violent Blues (for bluedreaming)
For: bluedreaming
From: ANONYMOUS until May 22, 2015
Title: The Violent Blues
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s)/Focus: Suho/Sehun, Suho/Lu Han (past!Baekhyun/Kris)
Length: 8,603 words
Summary: Sehun is the love Junmyeon has found in a hopeless place.
Warnings: Depression, death, suicide attempts
Notes: Inspirations drawn from: A Single Man (movie), The Old Man and the Sea (book), and the feeling of drowning which most of us, even who are well-versed in sweet-talking the waves into carrying them home, are familiar with.
Underwater.
Junmyeon feels weightless.
He parts his lips. A scream of air bubbles escapes him. His lungs are on fire as icy cold water tears at his skin, at his flesh, and at his bones. His mind races ahead as memories are played back. The darkness pulls him deeper, and deeper, into the water and he is now fighting back panic, fighting against the instincts that make him human. Every single cell in his body is screaming at him, telling him they don’t want to die.
His vision starts to blur, and so he closes his eyes. For a moment, it seems easier this way. He is almost eager to find out what will be his last thought.
He allows himself to re-experience the scenes flashing past; this is what he meant when he told Baekhyun that his memories have always been very selfish.
“You loved him when he was alive and you loved him after.”
Junmyeon is walking on a gentle path leading to the heart of the city. Snow falls gently and all is silent. The snow is soft and wet, but somehow it feels as though he is walking, barefoot, on broken glass. Quick, elastic memories stretch in his head and the harsh cold, helpful as it always has been, numbs his feet as he approaches the truth.
In the distance, stars slowly blur into view.
“I can’t bring myself to mind the cold when I’m spending it with him.”
“Stop!" Lu Han shouts, laughing, "You're getting dandruff in my hair!"
"It's called snow, silly,” Junmyeon says with a grin tugging on his lips.
"Whatever," Lu Han says after taking two steps back, still laughing. "It's gonna look like dandruff. People are going to think I haven't showered for weeks."
“Or perhaps they’re finally going to land a guess nearer to your actual age.”
Junmyeon already wishes he hasn’t said that, but of course it is too late. The day ends with him tasting utter defeat after getting his face stuffed with handfuls of snow. In an attempt to shake off the cold soaking him right to the bones, he suggests that they walk home, and Lu Han agrees. By the time they reach home, the stubborn cold is still there with them, and yet somehow - hands clasped - they can barely feel it.
As he turns the key, Junmyeon thinks a little too loudly, This really is the best of all possible worlds.
Underwater.
Junmyeon begins tuning in to his body's instinct to search for air. All the air seems to have left his lungs and what remains is a storm of emotions he can no longer contain. They are grappling blindly at signs of life, twisting and fighting with growing strength upon the realisation that Junmyeon has long since given up.
There is violence in us all, Junmyeon thinks.
“The thing is, you think you have time.”
The car has been flipped upside-down. Severe dents bruising its sides, and with windshield crisscrossed with cracks, it is quite the sight.
Junmyeon's face pales as pain explodes behind his eyes, and it takes three waves of nausea for the whole scene to hit him.
Melted, blackened flesh, splitting open like gutted fish. The smell - the stench - pries open his senses. Vomit rises. He swallows hard, two cups of coffee - no longer a good idea - chewing at his stomach. His legs are moving on their own accord.
Almost charred beyond recognition, the skin of the face is shrunken, leathery, and it's gripping the skull. The mouth is wide open in a scream swallowed by flames and a swollen tongue protrudes from between teeth that seem unnaturally white, almost comical. It used to be good at shaping a smile Junmyeon knows all too well.
“It’s the protein. When it burns it sticks to your clothes and the inside of your lungs."
These words repeat themselves in Junmyeon's mind.
“The impact killed him instantaneously. The driver didn’t feel much pain before the car burst into flames.”
Repeat. And repeat.
“The thing is, we thought we had time.”
Junmyeon is looking at the bloody face of the dead driver, who would have been handsome if not for the impact he has suffered from the crash. Against the broken windshield, there is a card.
Happy Anniversary, Junmyeon, my everlasting love. is written in ink and blood.
Turns out 'everlasting' is a word shorter than it sounds.
Something tugs on Junmyeon's coat. Pain, is it? He shakes his head. It is something else. Something more. Something worse. He kneels, unbothered by the cold bleeding into the fabric of his pants, and gentleness comes easily when he reaches out. He leans in to kiss Lu Han on the mouth, tasting copper. He pulls back just as the cold reaches his fingertips.
Somewhere at the back of his mind, there is a faint, repetitive sound, like a drum beat, and it grows increasingly loud. To his left, the buildings shake like dry, shriveled leaves in the wind and the next second, they are down on their knees just as Junmyeon is. Everything is so loud, but Junmyeon hears nothing, for the cold has numbed his senses, deafening him while it does so.
The cold reaches behind his eyes, clenches, and everything cuts to blackness.
“If you love him, it is not a sin to kill him. Or is it more?”
Junmyeon snaps awake.
The drumbeat sound is still loud and constant in his ears. In the distance, there is the white noise hum of waves hugging the shore, again and again, and the faint sounds of seagulls kissing the wind.
Junmyeon sits there, nude, lying on a bed that doesn’t feel like it’s his, cradled by wrinkled white cotton sheets half-stained with the ink in which he almost drowned, sucking in deep breaths greedily, trying to recover from the dream. Or nightmare. He no longer knows which is which.
In a haze of pain and fear, he reaches over to the other side of the bed, stretched thin, as if searching for someone.
Him.
With much difficulty, he manages to gain his bearings, catches his breath, and lifts his fingers to his lips. The ink leaves bitter taste in his mouth. He lies still for a moment, and then for the rest of the night, kept wide awake by unnamed, relentless screams.
“For months, waking up has actually hurt.”
Junmyeon doesn’t particularly enjoy the feeling of drowning. He has tried, many times after the accident, to develop his own personal techniques to keep himself from drowning after the prescribed ones stopped working. Breathing exercises, self-injury, documentaries, baking (he ended up having to call for kitchen repair services twice), throwing parties…none of them lasted him for more than a week, and so he allows himself to get used to the feeling of drowning. He still doesn’t like it, and very far from enjoying it, but he has stopped trying to stay afloat in the midst of violent blues.
A soft sigh escapes him, after which he untangles himself from the sheets and attempts to sit up. He succeeds after two tries, holding onto his head. The beat is starting again, pounding at his skull. His room is dark and in disarray, and it has been this way for months now. He turns around to take a look at the alarm clock. It has stopped walking at 2:47AM. He checks his watch, which is a little too tight around his wrist.
7:12AM.
Still too early.
The taste of saltwater hasn’t quite left the room yet.
“The cold realisation that he’s gone while I’m still here is slowly setting in.”
Junmyeon has never been terribly fond of waking up. Unlike Lu Han, who was always jumping out of bed, eager to greet everyday with a smile bright enough to rival the sun. There were days Junmyeon felt like punching him, simply because he was so happy. Too happy.
“Only fools greet the day with a smile,” Junmyeon used to say to Lu Han.
Lu Han used to laugh at him whenever he said that, and then Junmyeon would somehow - by calling Lu Han a fool - earn himself the reward of a kiss on the cheek, or on days he’s particularly lucky, two kisses. Each time, Junmyeon would fall a little deeper for the way spring clings to Lu Han and wouldn't let go. He could always smell it on Lu Han’s skin and in his hair, faint and sweet, like a good memory of a promise of forever.
And sure enough, what fools we were, Junmyeon thinks. What a fool I am.
Junmyeon hands skip the bottle on the shelf (Aspirin. Now a rather good friend of his.) and land on the first drawer to take out a pair of perfectly folded socks. He stares at them for a while. On certain days, such as this one, it takes time for him to become Kim Junmyeon, time for him to adjust to all that is expected of Kim Junmyeon and how he is to behave, to act and to say.
After the pause, he opens the second drawer and pulls out an immaculately pressed and folded shirt. White, spotless, prepared to be sullied once again. By the time he is dressed, final layer of polish applied, he has re-familiarised himself with the man he is supposed to be.
Before leaving the room, he dabs his wrists and the back of his neck with the scent he remembers Lu Han by. He is just out of the room, ready to take another step, when he is stopped by an intimate pain that knows him just as well as he knows it. It grips his chest, vowing to drag him back underwater, and he has to coax it, forcing himself to relax.
When the pain finally passes, Junmyeon looks down the hallway. All is quiet. He closes his eyes and takes another deep breath before pushing himself forward.
It is unsurprising that there is nothing left in the fridge (yogurt that has expired two weeks ago doesn’t count). Running a hand through his hair, Junmyeon sighs and abandons the idea of breakfast. He turns his back on the fridge and settles on making himself a pot of coffee. A familiar brew. Once he is done, he pours himself a full cup and makes a face.
Too bitter.
Junmyeon stares down at his cup and tilts it gently. Brownish black appears to carry some blue it as light hits the surface of the liquid. The bitter taste in his mouth is becoming too dark for comfort. His phone rings then. He looks at his watch. 7:40. He looks up at the ceiling, in a debate with himself, and as the ringing dies, he arrives at the decision to answer the call.
“But I try not to borrow. First you borrow. Then you beg.”
June is almost at its end when Lu Han moves in. For them, the house - now one person fuller - embodies the general blessedness of their lives, one that they have learned to manifest, and its importance as a milestone in their relationship is indisputable. It hardly matters to them that some parts of the house, extensions, stand on top a particular sorrow - the fact that their happiness is witnessed only by a selected few. They will, soon enough, learn to acknowledge such a sorrow, and turn it into some sort of happiness they can be at home with, and then they shall manifest it too.
Ever since the death of his parents, Junmyeon has grown to speak of the house as if it’s an old friend. In many ways, it is one, what with its beauty - a kind that wouldn’t be apparent to every eye. Very much like the beauty of the pair of plain, black rings pulled snug around their promises of faithfulness, and very much like the beauty of Lu Han, at dawn, standing on the balcony, with sunshine falling into his eyes, looking every bit like that one, elusive dream from Junmyeon’s childhood.
The house Junmyeon has inherited from his parents is a little too tall for the neighbourhood, with a slightly crooked roof and too thick brows over the windows on its face. They have added the porch because Lu Han quite like the look of it, and they don’t care that it appears to the locals as some kind of accommodation in light of the local taste for socialising in the hot summer afternoons. “In a few months’ time”, Lu Han says, with a hint of pride in his voice, “I predict that it will become overgrown with trumpet vines.”
Junmyeon smiles. “It’s a good house,” he says. His eyes can’t seem to move away from the sight of Lu Han, perched on the railing, bathing in the soft bruises of daybreak, “It’s got a good heart.”
His mind darts to a week ago, where Lu Han stood, in front of the house for the first time, eye dazzlingly bright with anticipation. Junmyeon remembers fondly that Lu Han’s excitement was literally keeping him on his toes. Lu Han said “I love it” after five minutes of gushing and then dived right into the idea of adding new things to the house, building them from scratch, marrying the most prominent passions of his with Junmyeon’s. He vowed, there and then, much to Junmyeon’s amusement, that the starkness of white walls and white tiles would soon be a contrast to the house of tomorrow. Their house of tomorrow.
“We will fill it with memories,” Junmyeon is brought back to the balcony by Lu Han’s voice, “Won’t we?”
Junmyeon nods.
They will fill it with memories and so much more. With aspirations, with all that they feel for each other. They will fill it with life. Life spent together.
“Do you like the sound of that?” Lu Han asks.
Junmyeon laughs, “Are you kidding?” The Lu Han who almost cried joyful tears in front of the house a week ago appears to have merged with the one standing beside Junmyeon on the balcony. “I love it,” Junmyeon says, subtly reminding Lu Han of what he had said when he first saw the house.
Lu Han smiles when he realises this. He slips up close to Junmyeon, gravitating in easily for a kiss.
“Wait,” Junmyeon stops Lu Han by placing both hands on his shoulders, “You’re not into exhibitionism, are you? I don’t think I’m quite ready for that.”
Lu Han rolls his eyes and laughs.
“Boring old man.”
“Last night, I met a familiar stranger.”
He doesn’t expect his phone to ring again, but it does. A nagging voice at the back of his head tells him that picking up means change - something different, something new - and that he should answer if he is up for it, and so he does. He picks up the call right on its last breath.
“Hello.”
"I didn't call too early, did I?” Jongdae’s voice is a little too loud, too concerned, and Junmyeon finds himself increasing the distance between his ear and his phone.
“Not really,” he answers, “I woke up before eight.”
“You sound terrible.”
Jongdae has always bluntly observant (a job requisite) so Junmyeon isn’t surprised to hear him say this. He decides to roll with it, ”I have a headache."
"Again?"
Junmyeon nods even though he knows Jongdae can’t see him. ”Yes. Listen, I don't think I can make it - "
"Don't you dare finish that sentence,” Jongdae interrupts, “You’re coming. Don't make me come get you, because you know I will if I have to.”
"Look, I’m really sorry. It’s just that I don't think I’ll be good company even if I go, and besides - ”
“Kim Junmyeon.”
Junmyeon feels a shiver running down his spine.
”I’m going to tear down your front door."
Junmyeon sighs into the conversation, is silent for a while, and relents. "Fine. I'll see you tonight. Don’t tear anything down. I quite like everything as they are now.” And so did he.
“I won’t,” Jongdae promises, “But just so you know, you’re paying for my drinks later.”
“As long as you don’t order anything too crazy.”
Jongdae laughs. “See you then, boring old man."
The laugh dies before it reaches Junmyeon’s lips and the its ashes distort the smile Junmyeon greets Jongdae with when they finally meet. Jongdae’s hair is in disarray, a result of a busy day of investment banking and a particularly strong wind, and his tie is gone. He reaches out to tug on Junmyeon’s, frowning, “Loosen up a little, hyung. Ties are meant to make us look more attractive than we already are, and not to serve as nooses to kill ourselves with.”
The humour in his words chases away the incense smell and this time, Junmyeon’s smile is genuine enough to convince Jongdae that meeting is a good idea after-all.
They opt for the counter seats and after placing his order, Junmyeon lands a swift glance around the room. Something - more accurately speaking, someone - catches his eyes. He has dark brown hair, pale eyes and piercing eyes, and most would find him attractive in a somewhat gangly way.
“I wouldn’t waste my breath,” Jongdae says, following his gaze. “Last week, I offered to buy him a drink and he treated me like I was contagious.”
Junmyeon laughs, “Maybe he’s just sick of being hassled.”
“Or he could be an uppity, better-than-you, super bitch.”
"Or maybe you are indeed the plague. What's his name?"
"He's a waiter slash performer here," Jongdae says after taking a sip from his drink, "He’s called Oh Sehun, if I remember correctly."
None of this is familiar, but Junmyeon still feels a pang of something. Has he met Sehun before? He doesn't know the face, but the look in those eyes nag at him and it doesn't go away. Just then, Sehun looks up and his eyes meet Junmyeon's. Junmyeon freeze, then, seized by some kind of bashfulness, turns to the companion he came where with.
After a beat of careful consideration, he asks, “How’s Baekhyun?”
Jongdae’s smile from observing Junmyeon's silent interaction with Sehun slips off his face easily enough. He looks down at his drink, swirling it as if it will taste difference if he does so, “Not good, I’m afraid. He won’t confide in anyone but you. None of us knows if he’s being honest when he says he’s fine.”
Junmyeon shakes his head, “You do.” His gaze flutter back to the boy seated at the end of the counter. “Everyone knows when he lies,” he says, “It’s just that very few know how to help him when he does.”
“But you do.”
“I used to,” Junmyeon amends. “Not anymore.”
“Hyung - ”
“Never trust a lost sailor to save your day, Jongdae,” Junmyeon advises, “Because he can’t.”
Because I can’t.
“Why did they make birds so delicate and fine as those sea swallows when the ocean can be so cruel?”
Junmyeon finds the spare key, dirty and wet, under the pot with a peeling Power Rangers sticker on it. He shakes his head. It may appear that time has changed everything, but there are moments when one finds a thing, here and there, that has fallen between the cracks.
After making sure that the front door is locked, Junmyeon leaves his things on the dining table and heads upstairs. There is only one set of footsteps - his, and there is no sounds anywhere else in the house, no taps left running, nothing.
The last door down the hallway on the second floor is wide open and this is where Junmyeon finds Baekhyun.
Baekhyun is in bed, smoking a cigarette. His bedside table is cluttered with pill bottles and envelops - letters sent back from the same address. On the edge of the table, the ashtray is filled with cigarette butts. Empty packets and magazines are strewn around him in bed. He has only recently dyed his hair blonde. Strawberry blonde right down to the roots of his hair.
Junmyeon wrinkles his nose at the smell of cancer and narcotic. There is something else; there is that stirring and smouldering of old fires that used to burn furiously elsewhere, but it doesn’t burn the same anymore. Baekhyun’s favourite response has always been “Well, there’s not much we can do about that.” and Junmyeon has always known better. Some days, even Baekhyun has to admit to Junmyeon knows him more than he knows himself. Baekhyun likes acting otherwise, but he has his own hopes, most of which turn out to have been too high. That explains why it has gotten increasingly harder for him to get back up on his feet.
Baekhyun looks alive, but Junmyeon is aware that his closest friend is hanging by a thread. Barely so.
“You don’t look too good,” he says, “Didn’t sleep?”
Baekhyun’s fingers twitch and Junmyeon figures that is the closest to a Hello he is going to get.
“I didn’t sleep well.”
He walks over to sit down at the foot of Baekhyun’s bed. Baekhyun looks ridiculously small - shrivelled, vulnerable - in it, and it is only a queen-sized bed. Junmyeon was there when Baekhyun bought it. Junmyeon was there when Baekhyun invited him to stay the night.
(“We can sleep together,” Baekhyun said, grinning, acting as if he couldn’t see the dirty look Kris threw at Junmyeon.)
Junmyeon was there the night Kris left for Vancouver, turning his back on everything he swore to protect, Baekhyun included.
(“Hyung, he broke all the promises he’s ever made,” Baekhyun whispered, staring blankly ahead, “He broke my heart too.”)
“I weep for my dreams, sir, but mostly I weep for yours.”
“Is it so bad for you, being here?” Baekhyun asks, drawing another breath of his chosen demise.
“Let’s just say it isn’t what I had in mind,” Junmyeon answers. He wants to point out the hypocrisy, the irony, but the look in Baekhyun’s eyes, not unlike the drowning loop he finds himself trapped in, stops him just in time.
Another shot at death. “Well,” Baekhyun says, “poor you.”
What does he know about it? Junmyeon resents the condescension in ‘poor you’. Baekhyun knows it. Baekhyun hates it too. But friends condescend. It isn’t new. It is a sign of affection.
“Yes,” Junmyeon agrees with the polite smile Baekhyun hates just as much as he hates condescension. “Poor me.”
“I won’t apologise.”
Junmyeon drops the smile. “I know. It’s alright.” Then there is a brief quiet between them, a calm that comes from being of one mind. Once it has passed, Junmyeon asks, “If he’s here now, what will you tell him?”
“What should I tell him?” Baekhyun laughs and at last, he drops the cigarette. “Oh, let me think. This is a tough one.” He runs a hand through his hair, a pained smile hanging loose on the ends of his lips, eyes suspiciously wet, “Should I tell him that my life has been reduced to endless pain? Should I tell him that such a pain is no doubt apparent to anyone I pass on the street but will always remain obscure to him?”
“It would be simpler if you move on.”
Another laugh. “No doubt you’re right. And I do know you’re going through something similar. No, something worse.” Baekhyun tilts his head, eyeing Junmyeon with the gentlest sympathy Junmyeon has ever seen, “At least I have someone other than myself to blame.”
“I’ve forgiven you.”
“Thank you,” Baekhyun raises the hand he used to comb his hair, as if trying to collect some of the sunshine seeping into the room, then he says, “I’ll forgive myself too. Maybe I’ve forgiven myself already.”
Junmyeon looks at him and softly saying, “No you haven’t. Not yet.”
Baekhyun shrugs, “Well, there’s not much we can do about that.”
Junmyeon leaves Baekhyun’s place when it is half past noon and without a particular destination in mind, he spends the next few hours roaming the streets aimlessly. Summer heat and an empty stomach aren’t the best combination for a sleep-deprived body. By the time evening rolls along, he is feeling tense and exhausted. His stomach convulses and he feels a wave of acid climb into the back of his throat. He forces himself to swallow it down, turns, and starts walking back to where he started.
The counter is already fully occupied by the time Junmyeon arrives, so he finds himself on the third floor, where human presence is scarce. Sehun manages to find him before his third drink.
“Something different today?”
Junmyeon raises his glass and nods, “Something fancy.”
The champagne goes down weakly so Junmyeon orders another. A pause, then he is bent over, dry-heaving, trying not to dirty his clothes with liquid laugh. What a name for something so disgusting, he thinks. His mind goes to Sehun’s hands, which are on his back, gentle, and for a moment Junmyeon feels like he is the one sitting in a room of empty pill bottles and sent-back love letters, but not as blonde.
“Are you okay?” Sehun asks worriedly.
Another pause, longer this time, and when Junmyeon speaks again, his voice is raw, the back of his throat burnt from all the retching. “I’m often asked how I’ve managed, all these years, to stay within the box society has drawn for me.” He waits for Sehun to ask him the question he wants to answer and sure enough, Sehun doesn’t disappoint. He takes the cue Junmyeon drops.
“How do you do it?” Sehun’s voice has gone soft.
Junmyeon takes a considerable amount of time to settle back into his chair. He peers up at Sehun. “Every morning,” he laments, “I put on the clothes of the kind of people I hate.”
Sehun meets Junmyeon’s gaze, undaunted.
“The trouble is, they seem to be fitting me very well.”
“Now is no time to think of what you do not have.”
Monday. Junmyeon closes his eyes and tells himself to breathe deeply several times. Another day to get by. He stares at his reflection in the rear view mirror, smooths his hair with his hand and pinches his tie to straighten it. He grabs his briefcase, and gets out of his car.
“Looking good,” Minseok, a colleague of his for nearly half a decade, calls out. His car is parked two spaces to the right.
Junmyeon smiles and joins him in walking up the steps leading to the administrative building. On their way there, they are greeted by a handful of students. Two of whom Junmyeon can identify by name.
“Professor Kim!”
Both Minseok and Junmyeon turn around. Minseok looks confused and so Junmyeon settles for a look of surprise, only to be caught off guard for real when he meets the eyes of the student who has called out to him.
Sehun’s eyes light up. His hand shoots up in an enthusiastic wave. He is close to being a stranger again, what with a beanie pulled over his hair (Junmyeon knows it is currently the lightest shade of pink) and a hoodie hanging off his too-broad shoulders, but his openness - the way his smile is bright and the way he looks at Junmyeon like he is the only person within a five-mile radius - is familiar. Junmyeon has seen it many times before. He has seen it in someone else.
A familiar chime interrupts the silence of the moment and with it, the sun beams with a sudden fierce heat that cuts through the campus cleanly like a fresh blade would with butter.
“I’ll go on ahead,” Minseok says, “See you around.”
Junmyeon nods, eyes still on Sehun in subdued disbelief.
“Good morning,” Sehun says as he approaches, the grin on his face full of mischief. “This is Zitao,” he introduces the boy tagging along, “The best friend I told you about.”
Zitao offers nothing but a nod, a grimace and an exhale of cigarette smoke. Junmyeon is reminded of the first time he met Baekhyun back in his college days. His eyes flick back to Sehun, who is staring at him intently. Too intently.
“Sehun,” Junmyeon says, as if seeking confirmation, and Sehun gives him it in the form of a wider grin. “You didn’t tell me you’re a student here.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I didn’t think…” Junmyeon isn’t sure how he should finish his sentence.
“Besides,” Sehun points to Zitao, whose attention seems to be somewhere else - some faraway place, “I’m not a student here. I’m just here to watch over Zitao and make sure that he doesn’t skip his classes.”
“Is this a recent development?”
Sehun laughs, “Maybe.”
Junmyeon is tempted to ask Sehun if this recent development is the result of Sehun finding out about Junmyeon’s occupation, but something along the lines of work ethics and social conditioning stops him. “Well then,” he coughs out, “maybe we should both get to wherever we are supposed to be at.” With that said, he turns and walks away, and until he reached the Arts building, he can feel Sehun's gaze on his back.
“I feel you the most in all the empty spaces.”
When Junmyeon enters the room, laughter dies away. It feels as if he is some sort of fairy godmother who has sprinkled some fairy dust on everyone in the room. He still haven't gotten used to such a feeling.
He scans the room and finds Zitao and Sehun seated right smack in the middle of the crowd. His eyes meet Zitao’s first and Zitao stares straight back at him in an almost aggressive manner. If Junmyeon considers himself a disciplinarian, Zitao will be staying back for detention after this class. Thankfully, Junmyeon has never considered himself as such, and he looks on as Zitao turns to Sehun and begins whispering into Sehun’s ear. Sehun doesn’t seem all that attentive, however, and he can’t seem to keep his eyes off Junmyeon.
Junmyeon takes a moment to slowly regain his composure and he steps back, retrieving his copy of ‘The Old Man and the Sea’ - a favourite of Lu Han’s as well, how rare.
He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor fights, nor contests of strength, nor of his wife. He only dreamed of places now and the lions on the beach. They played like young cats in the dusk and he loved them as he loved the boy. He never dreamed about the boy.
“Sir?”
“Yes,” Junmyeon answers, “Have you got a question for me?”
“I do,” Sehun says. It doesn’t escape the two of them that a few students are looking at the clock on the wall. The students have four minutes less to make their way to get to their next class.
“I’ll answer it later,” Junmyeon promises. Then, he addresses the whole class, “That’s all. Have a good weekend, all of you.”
Junmyeon is out of the door as his students gather their things. Before he is out of the room, he sees Sehun getting up to follow. Junmyeon walks on, one step at a time, waiting for Sehun to catch up.
"May I ask you a personal question? Sir?"
"Go ahead."
They are on the first flight of stairs heading straight for disaster.
"Have you ever lost control?"
“Pain does not matter to a man.”
“Lu Han! Get down!”
From where he is perched, on the thickest branch sprouting from the tree rooted in the middle of road which connects the city and the countryside, Lu Han is shaking with laughter. Junmyeon’s concern appears hilarious to him.
“You’re like a mother hen fussing over her newborn baby chick,” he shouts, and ends up laughing harder when Junmyeon, affronted, responds with a stream of technicolor profanities. “Alright, old man,” he seems to have come to a decision about something, and the glint of playfulness in his eyes is translated into severe dread for Junmyeon, “How about you catch me!”
“What?” Junmyeon feels as if his heart is about to fail him anytime now.
Lu Han simply grins and stands up gracefully, like he has done this many times before. He looks down at Junmyeon and for a moment, he is deep in thought, with the same look that he has on his face whenever he is remembering something from the past. Then, just as Junmyeon is ready to let his guard down, he swings his arms back and jumps.
Everything seems to be trapped in a freeze-frame as Lu Han soars into the air. And then the whole sky is crashing down on Junmyeon as blinding pain lands a punch on his back, somewhere between his stomach and his lungs. He crumbles into an ungraceful heap, Lu Han on top, and almost lands on his right arm, which would’ve broke under the weight of the two of them combined. It could’ve been worse, he thinks. However, he is ninety percent sure his tailbone is going to give him hell for the next week or so. “You’re hereby responsible for massaging my back for as long as I want you to,” he says, groaning as he tries to sit up in spite of the weight of Lu Han on his chest, “Fuck, that really hurt.”
“Oops.”
Junmyeon can’t even bring himself to get mad, not when Lu Han is looking at him like that. Pressing his fingers tentatively against his back, he makes a face when the pain comes when summoned. He turns back to look at Lu Han, face scrunched in discomfort, “Why would you scare me like that?”
Lu Han’s voice is soft as a breeze, “To see if you’d catch me.”
“Have I given you reasons to believe otherwise?”
“You haven’t,” Lu Han assures, “I just wanted to make sure.”
Lu Han’s apprehensiveness always leads to a story, and so for the next few minutes, Junmyeon hears about the disappointments Lu Han has suffered, the wounds he has sustained, and the development of his fear of heights.
At the end of it all, Junmyeon is able to ignore the throbbing pain, for all his attention is on Lu Han.
“And they told me, ‘Pain does not matter to a man’,” Lu Han finishes, “So I had to bear with it. Because I didn’t want appear to them as the weak and inferior piece of scum they think of me as.”
“You’re not any of the things they say you are,” Junmyeon says, arms tightening around Lu Han’s waist.
Lu Han looks up and in that moment, Junmyeon swears there are eyes in his eyes. “I know. You’ve taught me that much.”
“And I feel you the most in all of the places that I was meant to visit with you.
Junmyeon is inside his car, looking for his keys. He touches something cold, metallic, and stops. Wrapping his fingers around the handle of the gun, he ends up deep in thought.
Outside, the sky darkens.
There is a series of loud, jarring knocks on his window. It is Sehun. He is on his bike - or maybe it's Zitao's, Junmyeon isn't sure - and has pulled up next to Junmyeon's car. Junmyeon stares at Sehun for a long while, mildly irritated that his decision making process has been disturbed. Another knock on his window before he closes his briefcase, a heavy sigh rolling off his tongue, and winds down the car window.
"Yes?"
Sehun doesn't seem fazed by the tone Junmyeon is using with him, "Going somewhere? Sir?"
Junmyeon doesn't answer.
"Are you planning on going for vacation?" Sehun asks again.
Junmyeon looks up, jolted, "What?"
"You were cleaning out your office. I saw."
Junmyeon's face goes pale.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing much," Sehun sits back on his ride, "Want to go for a drink?"
"You're asking me?"
"Who else?"
"Why?"
"I don't know. Maybe because you seem as though you could use a friend. Some company."
"I have friends."
Sehun laughs, then, sincerely, he says, "I'd like to be your friend too."
“Don’t. I know he meant the world to you, but don’t do it. Please don’t do it.”
Despite his insecurities and the way Sehun never fails to pick them up, Junmyeon ends up making plans for them to meet. "Maybe tonight," he said, to which Sehun replied with "Tonight it is then".
Junmyeon stops by the bank after he is done with grocery shopping and he lets himself be ushered into the safe deposit box viewing room. There are a few papers he has to sign and he does so without hesitation. The consultant says nothing about the bright yellow eco-friendly grocery bag he is carrying. It is against the rules for her to say anything with regards to her clients' decisions, no matter how minor or major.
"Thank you," Junmyeon says after the papers have been swiftly sighed, and he says it in a form of dismissal.
She nods, collects the signed papers and leaves the room, and he is alone once more.
Carefully, he reaches for the box, opening it and then, after two deep breaths, empties it of its contents. Ignoring the rest of the pile, stares at the two gold wedding bands, one slightly smaller than the other, and then slips the bigger one onto his ring finger. He brings his hand to his lips and kisses the ring. His lips are trembling and so are his hands.
“We don’t always get to pick our poison.”
There are rows of guns on the wall behind the counter. Junmyeon walks up to the counter, takes his gun out from his briefcase and places it down.
When the person behind the counter looks up, Both of them are taken aback by surprise.
Zitao simply glances at Junmyeon's gun, and asks, "May I help you?"
"I need a box of bullet for this gun."
"Alright." Zitao picks up the gun and looks at it, then lets out a derisive laugh. "This is a really old gun. Are you sure you don't want to get a new one instead?"
"No thanks. Just the bullet please." He hands Zitao the money for the bullets.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure." Pleased, sentimentality coils itself around Junmyeon's wrists.
After bustling around for a moment, he returns with what Junmyeon is asking for. "Don't go around shooting people," he says as Junmyeon is leaving the shop.
Junmyeon shakes his head, lips curling into a smile. That should be the least of anyone's worries.
“Maybe one day you'll see it for the idealistic impulse I believe it is.”
Junmyeon is done rearranging the items on his desk again. It's the third time now.
When he is done, the gun is back in his hands once more. He walks over to sit on his bed. (He has placed an old bed sheet over it. Under the bed sheet, he has placed three trash bags so the blood won't ruin the pillows.) He raises the gun to his mouth again.
Just as he does this, the phone in the living room screeches. He freezes for a moment, then crosses the room, out of his room, to answer the call. He places the gun on the coffee table.
"No, Baek, I didn't forget. I'll see you in ten minutes. Or fifteen.”
“Most people were heartless about turtles because a turtle’s heart will beat for hours after it has been cut up and butchered. But I have such a heart too.”
"I'm in a reeeeally good mood tonight," Baekhyun says, already tipsy when he opens the door to let Junmyeon in, "and I'm going to be the best company you've ever kept. I've already made two New Year resolutions - "
"Hate to remind you, Baek, but it's only November."
"Shut up. Okay. One, no more talking about a guy who simply doesn't give a damn about me anymore."
"And the other one?"
"The other one what?" Baekhyun's question is punctured by a hiccup and Junmyeon has to bite back a smile.
"Resolution."
"Oh. Right. Resolution number two! No more crying and giving up on myself and everything I love. And all because of that asshole." He turns around to look at Junmyeon and almost falls over. "Sounds good?"
Junmyeon nods. "Absolutely." Ever the polite gentleman, he doesn't point out to Baekhyun that resolution number one and two are basically the same.
Out of the blue, Baekhyun asks, "What about you?"
"What about me?"
Baekhyun gives him the 'Are you stupid?' stare. "I mean, what are your resolutions?"
Junmyeon is quiet for a while. He looks up, meeting Baekhyun's look of anticipation, and says, "To let go of the past. Completely, entirely, and forever."
Baekhyun clears his throat, then asks, "Let's talk about something else, shall we?"
Junmyeon catches a reflection of himself in the glass of the window and tries smiling at it. He likes having this Baekhyun back. Drunk, happy, as if all the bad things that have happened are now forgotten. There is a quiet, sweet pause between them.
"Don't you wish to go back in time?" he asks suddenly. "To set some things right? To stop yourself from making the stupidest mistakes you've ever made?"
Baekhyun thinks about it for a while, eyes going out of focus before he is able to grab onto the fact that Junmyeon is sitting on the sofa behind and not in front of him, then shakes his head, "Not really...I suppose...There's Kris...and his stupid paintings...Yeah, no thanks."
Junmyeon laughs, "I know I do."
"I used to," Baekhyun admits. "But now I'm just trying to leave it all behind."
"Do you think it will change anything? Going back in time...Do you think it will make your life a better one?"
Baekhyun shrugs. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it will. Maybe it won't. We won't know until we try."
"But we won't be able to try."
"Exactly. That's why it's silly to even talk about it. It's just a fantasy."
Baekhyun reaches over and holds Junmyeon's hand. As he does, he notices the ring.
"What's this? I've never seen you wear it before."
Junmeon pulls his hand away. "Sentimentality. I found it when I was cleaning out my room.”
The smile Baekhyun gives is a complicated one, and softly he says, "Most things don't work out the way you plan for them to. We can't live in the past. We need to think about the future."
Junmyeon laughs. "You see, living in the past is my future."
They both sit there, silent, for a moment. Baekhyun seems to have sobered up.
"When should we meet again?" Baekhyun asks. His eyes are searching Junmyeon's for honesty. His eyes are trying to tell Junmyeon that deep, deep down, Baekhyun knows. Baekhyun always knows.
"Maybe not anytime soon," Junmyeon lies. "It's starting to get busy. Don't worry so much about me. I'm fine."
Baekhyun has the habit of crying as he sobers, and sure enough, he is now blinking back tears.
Sentimentality, Junmyeon reminds himself.
"What are you doing this weekend?"
"I think I might just be very quiet, you know? Some alone time."
One last embrace, during which Baekhyun suddenly grabs Junmyeon's shoulders and kisses him hard on the lips. For a moment, Junmyeon lets himself kiss Baekhyun back until the kiss turns serious and desperate, and that is when Junmyeon calmly backs up. He looks into Baekhyun's eyes and can't recognise the emotions in them.
"Baekhyun, I'm not him," he says, gently, "I'm sorry." A quiet sob escapes Baekhyun. Junmyeon sighs, then, with both hands, he gently cups Baekhyun's face and kisses him again on the mouth but this time, it is a chaste good-bye kiss.
Baekhyun behaves, still crying.
"Sleep soon," Junmyeon says, "I love you."
Baekhyun mouths the word Goodbye and stands there, watching Junmyeon go.
“Love is a thing that comes in many forms and who can recognise her?”
"What are we drinking today?" Sehun asks.
"Scotch."
"Okay."
They each take a sip. Junmyeon ends up fighting a smile as Sehun battles himself to keep his the shot down.
"Where are you going, sir?"
"Am I going somewhere?"
"You're always going somewhere."
"Maybe not this time."
"Then let me come with you," Sehun blurts out.
Underwater.
Junmyeon is tossing and turning with the currents. He turns over and over, trying to find the surface, trying to find where the light is coming from, but as time passes, he continues to drop. A wave of dizziness hits him, and with all the blood rushing through his ears, it all goes quiet.
“If I had to describe myself as anything it would be a raging sea.”
Their little stroll back to Junmyeon's place turns into an attempt to outrun the storm as heavy rain pelts down on them. They are both equally soaked when they arrive at sanctuary.
"First of all, let me get you a towel," Junmyeon says. He disappears for a while, and when he returns, Sehun is lying flat on the bed with his feet touching the ground. He looks too big for the bed that used to fit Lu Han and Junmyeon just fine.
Sehun’s eyes are locked on Junmyeon as an old habit drives Junmyeon to gather Sehun’s hair between two ends of the towel and press. When he is done, he brushes Sehun's wet hair back with his fingers. He lets himself linger just a second too long.
"I think," Junmyeon mutters, "it's time to get out of those wet clothes. The bathroom is down the hall if you want to take a shower."
"Are you going to take one with me?"
Junmyeon stops dead in his track. "I'm fine."
Sehun doesn't speak. He stands up, moves to the corner of the room, and, finally looking away, he kicks off his shoes. He undresses very slowly and leaves his clothes on the floor. Standing nude, he turns towards Junmyeon, who spies a hint of nervousness up Sehun's spine. Junmyeon, still sitting on the edge of the bed, dares himself to keep his eyes on Sehun.
“What I need from you is to be a ship that can keep afloat when the waters are rocky.”
After the storm, Sehun is standing on the balcony, wrapped in just a blanket.
"Aren't you cold?" Junmyeon asks, walking up to stand beside him.
Sehun answers, "I'm fine."
Junmyeon shakes his head but keeps the smile on his face.
"You live here all by yourself?" Sehun asks, "Bit too big for just one person, don't you think?"
Junmyeon smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, "I do now. I used to share this place with a friend. He was a singer. And a writer. And a photographer. And a few other things."
Sehun hums. “That’s nice. It’s...not too far from what I want for myself. A special someone. Pillow fights. Late night escapades. Catching sunsets and chasing dawns…or something that sounds equally romantic.”
"And that's your idea of the perfect life?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Junmyeon hesitates, then asks, "Why are you here?" With me?
Sehun frowns, "Because I want to. It's simple."
"But why?"
"Honestly? Because I'm worried about you."
"Me? What is there to be worried about? I'm fine."
“Most people say that, Junmyeon,” Sehun says, frown turning into a knowing smile, “only because it’s easier that way.”
Underwater.
Arms outstretched, Junmyeon is sinking slowly. He tries moving his legs in a slight struggle but to no avail. He is dropping further and further into the darkness, and it is harder and harder for him to keep his eyes open.
"You think that's possible, Sehun? People saying that they’re fine without actually lying?"
"Yes, sir," Sehun says, smiling. "Anything's possible."
This time, Junmyeon is able to right himself. He begins pushing upward, toward the surface of the after, where the sun shines. He climbs higher, higher, and finally hits the surface with a loud gasp for air.
Day breaks.
"I suppose my life has always been a bit melodramatic."
Junmyeon wakes up in bed with teeth clenched and a sour taste in his mouth. He look around the room for a moment, then realises he has yet to change out his bathrobe. The lights in the room and in the hallway are on. He looks around and finds that Sehun’s clothes are still lying around.
Junmyeon walks into the study. In the faint light, Junmyeon sees Sehun asleep on the sofa underneath the blanket he has nabbed from Junmyeon’s room. He stands over Sehun for a minute, looking at him, fixed on the way the dim light is catching on Sehun’s lashes. Sehun is breathing gently. He looks pure, and very, very young.
Junmyeon is about to walk away when he notices, from the odd posture Sehun has curled into, that Sehun’s hands are holding onto something under the blanket. Carefully, Junmyeon pulls the blanket back to reveal Sehun’s loose grip on a gun. His gun.
Junmyeon reaches down and gently lifts the gun out of Sehun’s grasp and, a pause later, pulls the blanket up and over Sehun’s chest. As he stands there, staring down at Sehun, who is dreaming deeply, soundly, a warm smile creeps across his face.
It’s silly not to hope, Junmyeon recalls, and somehow, these words are said in Sehun’s voice, It’s a sin.
Another beat of silence passes before Junmyeon crosses the room to reach his desk. He stares at the disturbance: his perfect grid of papers is out of order. He opens the desk drawer and puts the gun inside. He lifts the key out of the drawer, toys with it for a bit, and then, in the cool cloud of hope - the better hope that Sehun has offered him, he locks the drawer and slips the key between past and future, where despair used to reside.
"Sometimes awful things have their own kind of beauty."
Sehun looks older in sunlight. Somehow, it is able to bring out a sort of toughened fragility in him. They are standing slightly apart, looking at nothing in particular, there is an understanding between them.
Over the past two months, Junmyeon has experienced tremendous relief to have someone else in the house with him. Sehun has remarked that it's interesting to watch how Junmyeon, despite being the owner of this place, appears to have been gone for so long despite having never left. "You keep noticing one thing and then another," Sehun explains, "And at times you appear to be mildly startled, perhaps even a little affronted, by the utter sameness of your own house."
Sehun isn't wrong.
Junmyeon finds it impossible to keep his hands off the shelves and the walls. He needs confirmation, somehow, as the persistence of half-forgotten objects, all in their old places, by some trick of the mind, seems to have given way to make room for a third person.
"You know," Junmyeon starts, "there is a saying that to understand is to forgive."
"Hm?"
"I don't quite agree with it. It should be reversed: one must forgive in order to understand. We often find ourselves defending ourselves against the possibility of understanding until we forgive."
Sehun's grip on Junmyeon's hand tightens, "Even if you forgive, you may still not understand."
"But you'll be ready to understand."
Sehun bites back a smile, "And you're ready to understand?"
"More than ready."
From: ANONYMOUS until May 22, 2015
Title: The Violent Blues
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s)/Focus: Suho/Sehun, Suho/Lu Han (past!Baekhyun/Kris)
Length: 8,603 words
Summary: Sehun is the love Junmyeon has found in a hopeless place.
Warnings: Depression, death, suicide attempts
Notes: Inspirations drawn from: A Single Man (movie), The Old Man and the Sea (book), and the feeling of drowning which most of us, even who are well-versed in sweet-talking the waves into carrying them home, are familiar with.
Underwater.
Junmyeon feels weightless.
He parts his lips. A scream of air bubbles escapes him. His lungs are on fire as icy cold water tears at his skin, at his flesh, and at his bones. His mind races ahead as memories are played back. The darkness pulls him deeper, and deeper, into the water and he is now fighting back panic, fighting against the instincts that make him human. Every single cell in his body is screaming at him, telling him they don’t want to die.
His vision starts to blur, and so he closes his eyes. For a moment, it seems easier this way. He is almost eager to find out what will be his last thought.
He allows himself to re-experience the scenes flashing past; this is what he meant when he told Baekhyun that his memories have always been very selfish.
“You loved him when he was alive and you loved him after.”
Junmyeon is walking on a gentle path leading to the heart of the city. Snow falls gently and all is silent. The snow is soft and wet, but somehow it feels as though he is walking, barefoot, on broken glass. Quick, elastic memories stretch in his head and the harsh cold, helpful as it always has been, numbs his feet as he approaches the truth.
In the distance, stars slowly blur into view.
“I can’t bring myself to mind the cold when I’m spending it with him.”
“Stop!" Lu Han shouts, laughing, "You're getting dandruff in my hair!"
"It's called snow, silly,” Junmyeon says with a grin tugging on his lips.
"Whatever," Lu Han says after taking two steps back, still laughing. "It's gonna look like dandruff. People are going to think I haven't showered for weeks."
“Or perhaps they’re finally going to land a guess nearer to your actual age.”
Junmyeon already wishes he hasn’t said that, but of course it is too late. The day ends with him tasting utter defeat after getting his face stuffed with handfuls of snow. In an attempt to shake off the cold soaking him right to the bones, he suggests that they walk home, and Lu Han agrees. By the time they reach home, the stubborn cold is still there with them, and yet somehow - hands clasped - they can barely feel it.
As he turns the key, Junmyeon thinks a little too loudly, This really is the best of all possible worlds.
Underwater.
Junmyeon begins tuning in to his body's instinct to search for air. All the air seems to have left his lungs and what remains is a storm of emotions he can no longer contain. They are grappling blindly at signs of life, twisting and fighting with growing strength upon the realisation that Junmyeon has long since given up.
There is violence in us all, Junmyeon thinks.
“The thing is, you think you have time.”
The car has been flipped upside-down. Severe dents bruising its sides, and with windshield crisscrossed with cracks, it is quite the sight.
Junmyeon's face pales as pain explodes behind his eyes, and it takes three waves of nausea for the whole scene to hit him.
Melted, blackened flesh, splitting open like gutted fish. The smell - the stench - pries open his senses. Vomit rises. He swallows hard, two cups of coffee - no longer a good idea - chewing at his stomach. His legs are moving on their own accord.
Almost charred beyond recognition, the skin of the face is shrunken, leathery, and it's gripping the skull. The mouth is wide open in a scream swallowed by flames and a swollen tongue protrudes from between teeth that seem unnaturally white, almost comical. It used to be good at shaping a smile Junmyeon knows all too well.
“It’s the protein. When it burns it sticks to your clothes and the inside of your lungs."
These words repeat themselves in Junmyeon's mind.
“The impact killed him instantaneously. The driver didn’t feel much pain before the car burst into flames.”
Repeat. And repeat.
“The thing is, we thought we had time.”
Junmyeon is looking at the bloody face of the dead driver, who would have been handsome if not for the impact he has suffered from the crash. Against the broken windshield, there is a card.
Happy Anniversary, Junmyeon, my everlasting love. is written in ink and blood.
Turns out 'everlasting' is a word shorter than it sounds.
Something tugs on Junmyeon's coat. Pain, is it? He shakes his head. It is something else. Something more. Something worse. He kneels, unbothered by the cold bleeding into the fabric of his pants, and gentleness comes easily when he reaches out. He leans in to kiss Lu Han on the mouth, tasting copper. He pulls back just as the cold reaches his fingertips.
Somewhere at the back of his mind, there is a faint, repetitive sound, like a drum beat, and it grows increasingly loud. To his left, the buildings shake like dry, shriveled leaves in the wind and the next second, they are down on their knees just as Junmyeon is. Everything is so loud, but Junmyeon hears nothing, for the cold has numbed his senses, deafening him while it does so.
The cold reaches behind his eyes, clenches, and everything cuts to blackness.
“If you love him, it is not a sin to kill him. Or is it more?”
Junmyeon snaps awake.
The drumbeat sound is still loud and constant in his ears. In the distance, there is the white noise hum of waves hugging the shore, again and again, and the faint sounds of seagulls kissing the wind.
Junmyeon sits there, nude, lying on a bed that doesn’t feel like it’s his, cradled by wrinkled white cotton sheets half-stained with the ink in which he almost drowned, sucking in deep breaths greedily, trying to recover from the dream. Or nightmare. He no longer knows which is which.
In a haze of pain and fear, he reaches over to the other side of the bed, stretched thin, as if searching for someone.
Him.
With much difficulty, he manages to gain his bearings, catches his breath, and lifts his fingers to his lips. The ink leaves bitter taste in his mouth. He lies still for a moment, and then for the rest of the night, kept wide awake by unnamed, relentless screams.
“For months, waking up has actually hurt.”
Junmyeon doesn’t particularly enjoy the feeling of drowning. He has tried, many times after the accident, to develop his own personal techniques to keep himself from drowning after the prescribed ones stopped working. Breathing exercises, self-injury, documentaries, baking (he ended up having to call for kitchen repair services twice), throwing parties…none of them lasted him for more than a week, and so he allows himself to get used to the feeling of drowning. He still doesn’t like it, and very far from enjoying it, but he has stopped trying to stay afloat in the midst of violent blues.
A soft sigh escapes him, after which he untangles himself from the sheets and attempts to sit up. He succeeds after two tries, holding onto his head. The beat is starting again, pounding at his skull. His room is dark and in disarray, and it has been this way for months now. He turns around to take a look at the alarm clock. It has stopped walking at 2:47AM. He checks his watch, which is a little too tight around his wrist.
7:12AM.
Still too early.
The taste of saltwater hasn’t quite left the room yet.
“The cold realisation that he’s gone while I’m still here is slowly setting in.”
Junmyeon has never been terribly fond of waking up. Unlike Lu Han, who was always jumping out of bed, eager to greet everyday with a smile bright enough to rival the sun. There were days Junmyeon felt like punching him, simply because he was so happy. Too happy.
“Only fools greet the day with a smile,” Junmyeon used to say to Lu Han.
Lu Han used to laugh at him whenever he said that, and then Junmyeon would somehow - by calling Lu Han a fool - earn himself the reward of a kiss on the cheek, or on days he’s particularly lucky, two kisses. Each time, Junmyeon would fall a little deeper for the way spring clings to Lu Han and wouldn't let go. He could always smell it on Lu Han’s skin and in his hair, faint and sweet, like a good memory of a promise of forever.
And sure enough, what fools we were, Junmyeon thinks. What a fool I am.
Junmyeon hands skip the bottle on the shelf (Aspirin. Now a rather good friend of his.) and land on the first drawer to take out a pair of perfectly folded socks. He stares at them for a while. On certain days, such as this one, it takes time for him to become Kim Junmyeon, time for him to adjust to all that is expected of Kim Junmyeon and how he is to behave, to act and to say.
After the pause, he opens the second drawer and pulls out an immaculately pressed and folded shirt. White, spotless, prepared to be sullied once again. By the time he is dressed, final layer of polish applied, he has re-familiarised himself with the man he is supposed to be.
Before leaving the room, he dabs his wrists and the back of his neck with the scent he remembers Lu Han by. He is just out of the room, ready to take another step, when he is stopped by an intimate pain that knows him just as well as he knows it. It grips his chest, vowing to drag him back underwater, and he has to coax it, forcing himself to relax.
When the pain finally passes, Junmyeon looks down the hallway. All is quiet. He closes his eyes and takes another deep breath before pushing himself forward.
It is unsurprising that there is nothing left in the fridge (yogurt that has expired two weeks ago doesn’t count). Running a hand through his hair, Junmyeon sighs and abandons the idea of breakfast. He turns his back on the fridge and settles on making himself a pot of coffee. A familiar brew. Once he is done, he pours himself a full cup and makes a face.
Too bitter.
Junmyeon stares down at his cup and tilts it gently. Brownish black appears to carry some blue it as light hits the surface of the liquid. The bitter taste in his mouth is becoming too dark for comfort. His phone rings then. He looks at his watch. 7:40. He looks up at the ceiling, in a debate with himself, and as the ringing dies, he arrives at the decision to answer the call.
“But I try not to borrow. First you borrow. Then you beg.”
June is almost at its end when Lu Han moves in. For them, the house - now one person fuller - embodies the general blessedness of their lives, one that they have learned to manifest, and its importance as a milestone in their relationship is indisputable. It hardly matters to them that some parts of the house, extensions, stand on top a particular sorrow - the fact that their happiness is witnessed only by a selected few. They will, soon enough, learn to acknowledge such a sorrow, and turn it into some sort of happiness they can be at home with, and then they shall manifest it too.
Ever since the death of his parents, Junmyeon has grown to speak of the house as if it’s an old friend. In many ways, it is one, what with its beauty - a kind that wouldn’t be apparent to every eye. Very much like the beauty of the pair of plain, black rings pulled snug around their promises of faithfulness, and very much like the beauty of Lu Han, at dawn, standing on the balcony, with sunshine falling into his eyes, looking every bit like that one, elusive dream from Junmyeon’s childhood.
The house Junmyeon has inherited from his parents is a little too tall for the neighbourhood, with a slightly crooked roof and too thick brows over the windows on its face. They have added the porch because Lu Han quite like the look of it, and they don’t care that it appears to the locals as some kind of accommodation in light of the local taste for socialising in the hot summer afternoons. “In a few months’ time”, Lu Han says, with a hint of pride in his voice, “I predict that it will become overgrown with trumpet vines.”
Junmyeon smiles. “It’s a good house,” he says. His eyes can’t seem to move away from the sight of Lu Han, perched on the railing, bathing in the soft bruises of daybreak, “It’s got a good heart.”
His mind darts to a week ago, where Lu Han stood, in front of the house for the first time, eye dazzlingly bright with anticipation. Junmyeon remembers fondly that Lu Han’s excitement was literally keeping him on his toes. Lu Han said “I love it” after five minutes of gushing and then dived right into the idea of adding new things to the house, building them from scratch, marrying the most prominent passions of his with Junmyeon’s. He vowed, there and then, much to Junmyeon’s amusement, that the starkness of white walls and white tiles would soon be a contrast to the house of tomorrow. Their house of tomorrow.
“We will fill it with memories,” Junmyeon is brought back to the balcony by Lu Han’s voice, “Won’t we?”
Junmyeon nods.
They will fill it with memories and so much more. With aspirations, with all that they feel for each other. They will fill it with life. Life spent together.
“Do you like the sound of that?” Lu Han asks.
Junmyeon laughs, “Are you kidding?” The Lu Han who almost cried joyful tears in front of the house a week ago appears to have merged with the one standing beside Junmyeon on the balcony. “I love it,” Junmyeon says, subtly reminding Lu Han of what he had said when he first saw the house.
Lu Han smiles when he realises this. He slips up close to Junmyeon, gravitating in easily for a kiss.
“Wait,” Junmyeon stops Lu Han by placing both hands on his shoulders, “You’re not into exhibitionism, are you? I don’t think I’m quite ready for that.”
Lu Han rolls his eyes and laughs.
“Boring old man.”
“Last night, I met a familiar stranger.”
He doesn’t expect his phone to ring again, but it does. A nagging voice at the back of his head tells him that picking up means change - something different, something new - and that he should answer if he is up for it, and so he does. He picks up the call right on its last breath.
“Hello.”
"I didn't call too early, did I?” Jongdae’s voice is a little too loud, too concerned, and Junmyeon finds himself increasing the distance between his ear and his phone.
“Not really,” he answers, “I woke up before eight.”
“You sound terrible.”
Jongdae has always bluntly observant (a job requisite) so Junmyeon isn’t surprised to hear him say this. He decides to roll with it, ”I have a headache."
"Again?"
Junmyeon nods even though he knows Jongdae can’t see him. ”Yes. Listen, I don't think I can make it - "
"Don't you dare finish that sentence,” Jongdae interrupts, “You’re coming. Don't make me come get you, because you know I will if I have to.”
"Look, I’m really sorry. It’s just that I don't think I’ll be good company even if I go, and besides - ”
“Kim Junmyeon.”
Junmyeon feels a shiver running down his spine.
”I’m going to tear down your front door."
Junmyeon sighs into the conversation, is silent for a while, and relents. "Fine. I'll see you tonight. Don’t tear anything down. I quite like everything as they are now.” And so did he.
“I won’t,” Jongdae promises, “But just so you know, you’re paying for my drinks later.”
“As long as you don’t order anything too crazy.”
Jongdae laughs. “See you then, boring old man."
The laugh dies before it reaches Junmyeon’s lips and the its ashes distort the smile Junmyeon greets Jongdae with when they finally meet. Jongdae’s hair is in disarray, a result of a busy day of investment banking and a particularly strong wind, and his tie is gone. He reaches out to tug on Junmyeon’s, frowning, “Loosen up a little, hyung. Ties are meant to make us look more attractive than we already are, and not to serve as nooses to kill ourselves with.”
The humour in his words chases away the incense smell and this time, Junmyeon’s smile is genuine enough to convince Jongdae that meeting is a good idea after-all.
They opt for the counter seats and after placing his order, Junmyeon lands a swift glance around the room. Something - more accurately speaking, someone - catches his eyes. He has dark brown hair, pale eyes and piercing eyes, and most would find him attractive in a somewhat gangly way.
“I wouldn’t waste my breath,” Jongdae says, following his gaze. “Last week, I offered to buy him a drink and he treated me like I was contagious.”
Junmyeon laughs, “Maybe he’s just sick of being hassled.”
“Or he could be an uppity, better-than-you, super bitch.”
"Or maybe you are indeed the plague. What's his name?"
"He's a waiter slash performer here," Jongdae says after taking a sip from his drink, "He’s called Oh Sehun, if I remember correctly."
None of this is familiar, but Junmyeon still feels a pang of something. Has he met Sehun before? He doesn't know the face, but the look in those eyes nag at him and it doesn't go away. Just then, Sehun looks up and his eyes meet Junmyeon's. Junmyeon freeze, then, seized by some kind of bashfulness, turns to the companion he came where with.
After a beat of careful consideration, he asks, “How’s Baekhyun?”
Jongdae’s smile from observing Junmyeon's silent interaction with Sehun slips off his face easily enough. He looks down at his drink, swirling it as if it will taste difference if he does so, “Not good, I’m afraid. He won’t confide in anyone but you. None of us knows if he’s being honest when he says he’s fine.”
Junmyeon shakes his head, “You do.” His gaze flutter back to the boy seated at the end of the counter. “Everyone knows when he lies,” he says, “It’s just that very few know how to help him when he does.”
“But you do.”
“I used to,” Junmyeon amends. “Not anymore.”
“Hyung - ”
“Never trust a lost sailor to save your day, Jongdae,” Junmyeon advises, “Because he can’t.”
Because I can’t.
“Why did they make birds so delicate and fine as those sea swallows when the ocean can be so cruel?”
Junmyeon finds the spare key, dirty and wet, under the pot with a peeling Power Rangers sticker on it. He shakes his head. It may appear that time has changed everything, but there are moments when one finds a thing, here and there, that has fallen between the cracks.
After making sure that the front door is locked, Junmyeon leaves his things on the dining table and heads upstairs. There is only one set of footsteps - his, and there is no sounds anywhere else in the house, no taps left running, nothing.
The last door down the hallway on the second floor is wide open and this is where Junmyeon finds Baekhyun.
Baekhyun is in bed, smoking a cigarette. His bedside table is cluttered with pill bottles and envelops - letters sent back from the same address. On the edge of the table, the ashtray is filled with cigarette butts. Empty packets and magazines are strewn around him in bed. He has only recently dyed his hair blonde. Strawberry blonde right down to the roots of his hair.
Junmyeon wrinkles his nose at the smell of cancer and narcotic. There is something else; there is that stirring and smouldering of old fires that used to burn furiously elsewhere, but it doesn’t burn the same anymore. Baekhyun’s favourite response has always been “Well, there’s not much we can do about that.” and Junmyeon has always known better. Some days, even Baekhyun has to admit to Junmyeon knows him more than he knows himself. Baekhyun likes acting otherwise, but he has his own hopes, most of which turn out to have been too high. That explains why it has gotten increasingly harder for him to get back up on his feet.
Baekhyun looks alive, but Junmyeon is aware that his closest friend is hanging by a thread. Barely so.
“You don’t look too good,” he says, “Didn’t sleep?”
Baekhyun’s fingers twitch and Junmyeon figures that is the closest to a Hello he is going to get.
“I didn’t sleep well.”
He walks over to sit down at the foot of Baekhyun’s bed. Baekhyun looks ridiculously small - shrivelled, vulnerable - in it, and it is only a queen-sized bed. Junmyeon was there when Baekhyun bought it. Junmyeon was there when Baekhyun invited him to stay the night.
(“We can sleep together,” Baekhyun said, grinning, acting as if he couldn’t see the dirty look Kris threw at Junmyeon.)
Junmyeon was there the night Kris left for Vancouver, turning his back on everything he swore to protect, Baekhyun included.
(“Hyung, he broke all the promises he’s ever made,” Baekhyun whispered, staring blankly ahead, “He broke my heart too.”)
“I weep for my dreams, sir, but mostly I weep for yours.”
“Is it so bad for you, being here?” Baekhyun asks, drawing another breath of his chosen demise.
“Let’s just say it isn’t what I had in mind,” Junmyeon answers. He wants to point out the hypocrisy, the irony, but the look in Baekhyun’s eyes, not unlike the drowning loop he finds himself trapped in, stops him just in time.
Another shot at death. “Well,” Baekhyun says, “poor you.”
What does he know about it? Junmyeon resents the condescension in ‘poor you’. Baekhyun knows it. Baekhyun hates it too. But friends condescend. It isn’t new. It is a sign of affection.
“Yes,” Junmyeon agrees with the polite smile Baekhyun hates just as much as he hates condescension. “Poor me.”
“I won’t apologise.”
Junmyeon drops the smile. “I know. It’s alright.” Then there is a brief quiet between them, a calm that comes from being of one mind. Once it has passed, Junmyeon asks, “If he’s here now, what will you tell him?”
“What should I tell him?” Baekhyun laughs and at last, he drops the cigarette. “Oh, let me think. This is a tough one.” He runs a hand through his hair, a pained smile hanging loose on the ends of his lips, eyes suspiciously wet, “Should I tell him that my life has been reduced to endless pain? Should I tell him that such a pain is no doubt apparent to anyone I pass on the street but will always remain obscure to him?”
“It would be simpler if you move on.”
Another laugh. “No doubt you’re right. And I do know you’re going through something similar. No, something worse.” Baekhyun tilts his head, eyeing Junmyeon with the gentlest sympathy Junmyeon has ever seen, “At least I have someone other than myself to blame.”
“I’ve forgiven you.”
“Thank you,” Baekhyun raises the hand he used to comb his hair, as if trying to collect some of the sunshine seeping into the room, then he says, “I’ll forgive myself too. Maybe I’ve forgiven myself already.”
Junmyeon looks at him and softly saying, “No you haven’t. Not yet.”
Baekhyun shrugs, “Well, there’s not much we can do about that.”
Junmyeon leaves Baekhyun’s place when it is half past noon and without a particular destination in mind, he spends the next few hours roaming the streets aimlessly. Summer heat and an empty stomach aren’t the best combination for a sleep-deprived body. By the time evening rolls along, he is feeling tense and exhausted. His stomach convulses and he feels a wave of acid climb into the back of his throat. He forces himself to swallow it down, turns, and starts walking back to where he started.
The counter is already fully occupied by the time Junmyeon arrives, so he finds himself on the third floor, where human presence is scarce. Sehun manages to find him before his third drink.
“Something different today?”
Junmyeon raises his glass and nods, “Something fancy.”
The champagne goes down weakly so Junmyeon orders another. A pause, then he is bent over, dry-heaving, trying not to dirty his clothes with liquid laugh. What a name for something so disgusting, he thinks. His mind goes to Sehun’s hands, which are on his back, gentle, and for a moment Junmyeon feels like he is the one sitting in a room of empty pill bottles and sent-back love letters, but not as blonde.
“Are you okay?” Sehun asks worriedly.
Another pause, longer this time, and when Junmyeon speaks again, his voice is raw, the back of his throat burnt from all the retching. “I’m often asked how I’ve managed, all these years, to stay within the box society has drawn for me.” He waits for Sehun to ask him the question he wants to answer and sure enough, Sehun doesn’t disappoint. He takes the cue Junmyeon drops.
“How do you do it?” Sehun’s voice has gone soft.
Junmyeon takes a considerable amount of time to settle back into his chair. He peers up at Sehun. “Every morning,” he laments, “I put on the clothes of the kind of people I hate.”
Sehun meets Junmyeon’s gaze, undaunted.
“The trouble is, they seem to be fitting me very well.”
“Now is no time to think of what you do not have.”
Monday. Junmyeon closes his eyes and tells himself to breathe deeply several times. Another day to get by. He stares at his reflection in the rear view mirror, smooths his hair with his hand and pinches his tie to straighten it. He grabs his briefcase, and gets out of his car.
“Looking good,” Minseok, a colleague of his for nearly half a decade, calls out. His car is parked two spaces to the right.
Junmyeon smiles and joins him in walking up the steps leading to the administrative building. On their way there, they are greeted by a handful of students. Two of whom Junmyeon can identify by name.
“Professor Kim!”
Both Minseok and Junmyeon turn around. Minseok looks confused and so Junmyeon settles for a look of surprise, only to be caught off guard for real when he meets the eyes of the student who has called out to him.
Sehun’s eyes light up. His hand shoots up in an enthusiastic wave. He is close to being a stranger again, what with a beanie pulled over his hair (Junmyeon knows it is currently the lightest shade of pink) and a hoodie hanging off his too-broad shoulders, but his openness - the way his smile is bright and the way he looks at Junmyeon like he is the only person within a five-mile radius - is familiar. Junmyeon has seen it many times before. He has seen it in someone else.
A familiar chime interrupts the silence of the moment and with it, the sun beams with a sudden fierce heat that cuts through the campus cleanly like a fresh blade would with butter.
“I’ll go on ahead,” Minseok says, “See you around.”
Junmyeon nods, eyes still on Sehun in subdued disbelief.
“Good morning,” Sehun says as he approaches, the grin on his face full of mischief. “This is Zitao,” he introduces the boy tagging along, “The best friend I told you about.”
Zitao offers nothing but a nod, a grimace and an exhale of cigarette smoke. Junmyeon is reminded of the first time he met Baekhyun back in his college days. His eyes flick back to Sehun, who is staring at him intently. Too intently.
“Sehun,” Junmyeon says, as if seeking confirmation, and Sehun gives him it in the form of a wider grin. “You didn’t tell me you’re a student here.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I didn’t think…” Junmyeon isn’t sure how he should finish his sentence.
“Besides,” Sehun points to Zitao, whose attention seems to be somewhere else - some faraway place, “I’m not a student here. I’m just here to watch over Zitao and make sure that he doesn’t skip his classes.”
“Is this a recent development?”
Sehun laughs, “Maybe.”
Junmyeon is tempted to ask Sehun if this recent development is the result of Sehun finding out about Junmyeon’s occupation, but something along the lines of work ethics and social conditioning stops him. “Well then,” he coughs out, “maybe we should both get to wherever we are supposed to be at.” With that said, he turns and walks away, and until he reached the Arts building, he can feel Sehun's gaze on his back.
“I feel you the most in all the empty spaces.”
When Junmyeon enters the room, laughter dies away. It feels as if he is some sort of fairy godmother who has sprinkled some fairy dust on everyone in the room. He still haven't gotten used to such a feeling.
He scans the room and finds Zitao and Sehun seated right smack in the middle of the crowd. His eyes meet Zitao’s first and Zitao stares straight back at him in an almost aggressive manner. If Junmyeon considers himself a disciplinarian, Zitao will be staying back for detention after this class. Thankfully, Junmyeon has never considered himself as such, and he looks on as Zitao turns to Sehun and begins whispering into Sehun’s ear. Sehun doesn’t seem all that attentive, however, and he can’t seem to keep his eyes off Junmyeon.
Junmyeon takes a moment to slowly regain his composure and he steps back, retrieving his copy of ‘The Old Man and the Sea’ - a favourite of Lu Han’s as well, how rare.
He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor fights, nor contests of strength, nor of his wife. He only dreamed of places now and the lions on the beach. They played like young cats in the dusk and he loved them as he loved the boy. He never dreamed about the boy.
“Sir?”
“Yes,” Junmyeon answers, “Have you got a question for me?”
“I do,” Sehun says. It doesn’t escape the two of them that a few students are looking at the clock on the wall. The students have four minutes less to make their way to get to their next class.
“I’ll answer it later,” Junmyeon promises. Then, he addresses the whole class, “That’s all. Have a good weekend, all of you.”
Junmyeon is out of the door as his students gather their things. Before he is out of the room, he sees Sehun getting up to follow. Junmyeon walks on, one step at a time, waiting for Sehun to catch up.
"May I ask you a personal question? Sir?"
"Go ahead."
They are on the first flight of stairs heading straight for disaster.
"Have you ever lost control?"
“Pain does not matter to a man.”
“Lu Han! Get down!”
From where he is perched, on the thickest branch sprouting from the tree rooted in the middle of road which connects the city and the countryside, Lu Han is shaking with laughter. Junmyeon’s concern appears hilarious to him.
“You’re like a mother hen fussing over her newborn baby chick,” he shouts, and ends up laughing harder when Junmyeon, affronted, responds with a stream of technicolor profanities. “Alright, old man,” he seems to have come to a decision about something, and the glint of playfulness in his eyes is translated into severe dread for Junmyeon, “How about you catch me!”
“What?” Junmyeon feels as if his heart is about to fail him anytime now.
Lu Han simply grins and stands up gracefully, like he has done this many times before. He looks down at Junmyeon and for a moment, he is deep in thought, with the same look that he has on his face whenever he is remembering something from the past. Then, just as Junmyeon is ready to let his guard down, he swings his arms back and jumps.
Everything seems to be trapped in a freeze-frame as Lu Han soars into the air. And then the whole sky is crashing down on Junmyeon as blinding pain lands a punch on his back, somewhere between his stomach and his lungs. He crumbles into an ungraceful heap, Lu Han on top, and almost lands on his right arm, which would’ve broke under the weight of the two of them combined. It could’ve been worse, he thinks. However, he is ninety percent sure his tailbone is going to give him hell for the next week or so. “You’re hereby responsible for massaging my back for as long as I want you to,” he says, groaning as he tries to sit up in spite of the weight of Lu Han on his chest, “Fuck, that really hurt.”
“Oops.”
Junmyeon can’t even bring himself to get mad, not when Lu Han is looking at him like that. Pressing his fingers tentatively against his back, he makes a face when the pain comes when summoned. He turns back to look at Lu Han, face scrunched in discomfort, “Why would you scare me like that?”
Lu Han’s voice is soft as a breeze, “To see if you’d catch me.”
“Have I given you reasons to believe otherwise?”
“You haven’t,” Lu Han assures, “I just wanted to make sure.”
Lu Han’s apprehensiveness always leads to a story, and so for the next few minutes, Junmyeon hears about the disappointments Lu Han has suffered, the wounds he has sustained, and the development of his fear of heights.
At the end of it all, Junmyeon is able to ignore the throbbing pain, for all his attention is on Lu Han.
“And they told me, ‘Pain does not matter to a man’,” Lu Han finishes, “So I had to bear with it. Because I didn’t want appear to them as the weak and inferior piece of scum they think of me as.”
“You’re not any of the things they say you are,” Junmyeon says, arms tightening around Lu Han’s waist.
Lu Han looks up and in that moment, Junmyeon swears there are eyes in his eyes. “I know. You’ve taught me that much.”
“And I feel you the most in all of the places that I was meant to visit with you.
Junmyeon is inside his car, looking for his keys. He touches something cold, metallic, and stops. Wrapping his fingers around the handle of the gun, he ends up deep in thought.
Outside, the sky darkens.
There is a series of loud, jarring knocks on his window. It is Sehun. He is on his bike - or maybe it's Zitao's, Junmyeon isn't sure - and has pulled up next to Junmyeon's car. Junmyeon stares at Sehun for a long while, mildly irritated that his decision making process has been disturbed. Another knock on his window before he closes his briefcase, a heavy sigh rolling off his tongue, and winds down the car window.
"Yes?"
Sehun doesn't seem fazed by the tone Junmyeon is using with him, "Going somewhere? Sir?"
Junmyeon doesn't answer.
"Are you planning on going for vacation?" Sehun asks again.
Junmyeon looks up, jolted, "What?"
"You were cleaning out your office. I saw."
Junmyeon's face goes pale.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing much," Sehun sits back on his ride, "Want to go for a drink?"
"You're asking me?"
"Who else?"
"Why?"
"I don't know. Maybe because you seem as though you could use a friend. Some company."
"I have friends."
Sehun laughs, then, sincerely, he says, "I'd like to be your friend too."
“Don’t. I know he meant the world to you, but don’t do it. Please don’t do it.”
Despite his insecurities and the way Sehun never fails to pick them up, Junmyeon ends up making plans for them to meet. "Maybe tonight," he said, to which Sehun replied with "Tonight it is then".
Junmyeon stops by the bank after he is done with grocery shopping and he lets himself be ushered into the safe deposit box viewing room. There are a few papers he has to sign and he does so without hesitation. The consultant says nothing about the bright yellow eco-friendly grocery bag he is carrying. It is against the rules for her to say anything with regards to her clients' decisions, no matter how minor or major.
"Thank you," Junmyeon says after the papers have been swiftly sighed, and he says it in a form of dismissal.
She nods, collects the signed papers and leaves the room, and he is alone once more.
Carefully, he reaches for the box, opening it and then, after two deep breaths, empties it of its contents. Ignoring the rest of the pile, stares at the two gold wedding bands, one slightly smaller than the other, and then slips the bigger one onto his ring finger. He brings his hand to his lips and kisses the ring. His lips are trembling and so are his hands.
“We don’t always get to pick our poison.”
There are rows of guns on the wall behind the counter. Junmyeon walks up to the counter, takes his gun out from his briefcase and places it down.
When the person behind the counter looks up, Both of them are taken aback by surprise.
Zitao simply glances at Junmyeon's gun, and asks, "May I help you?"
"I need a box of bullet for this gun."
"Alright." Zitao picks up the gun and looks at it, then lets out a derisive laugh. "This is a really old gun. Are you sure you don't want to get a new one instead?"
"No thanks. Just the bullet please." He hands Zitao the money for the bullets.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure." Pleased, sentimentality coils itself around Junmyeon's wrists.
After bustling around for a moment, he returns with what Junmyeon is asking for. "Don't go around shooting people," he says as Junmyeon is leaving the shop.
Junmyeon shakes his head, lips curling into a smile. That should be the least of anyone's worries.
“Maybe one day you'll see it for the idealistic impulse I believe it is.”
Junmyeon is done rearranging the items on his desk again. It's the third time now.
When he is done, the gun is back in his hands once more. He walks over to sit on his bed. (He has placed an old bed sheet over it. Under the bed sheet, he has placed three trash bags so the blood won't ruin the pillows.) He raises the gun to his mouth again.
Just as he does this, the phone in the living room screeches. He freezes for a moment, then crosses the room, out of his room, to answer the call. He places the gun on the coffee table.
"No, Baek, I didn't forget. I'll see you in ten minutes. Or fifteen.”
“Most people were heartless about turtles because a turtle’s heart will beat for hours after it has been cut up and butchered. But I have such a heart too.”
"I'm in a reeeeally good mood tonight," Baekhyun says, already tipsy when he opens the door to let Junmyeon in, "and I'm going to be the best company you've ever kept. I've already made two New Year resolutions - "
"Hate to remind you, Baek, but it's only November."
"Shut up. Okay. One, no more talking about a guy who simply doesn't give a damn about me anymore."
"And the other one?"
"The other one what?" Baekhyun's question is punctured by a hiccup and Junmyeon has to bite back a smile.
"Resolution."
"Oh. Right. Resolution number two! No more crying and giving up on myself and everything I love. And all because of that asshole." He turns around to look at Junmyeon and almost falls over. "Sounds good?"
Junmyeon nods. "Absolutely." Ever the polite gentleman, he doesn't point out to Baekhyun that resolution number one and two are basically the same.
Out of the blue, Baekhyun asks, "What about you?"
"What about me?"
Baekhyun gives him the 'Are you stupid?' stare. "I mean, what are your resolutions?"
Junmyeon is quiet for a while. He looks up, meeting Baekhyun's look of anticipation, and says, "To let go of the past. Completely, entirely, and forever."
Baekhyun clears his throat, then asks, "Let's talk about something else, shall we?"
Junmyeon catches a reflection of himself in the glass of the window and tries smiling at it. He likes having this Baekhyun back. Drunk, happy, as if all the bad things that have happened are now forgotten. There is a quiet, sweet pause between them.
"Don't you wish to go back in time?" he asks suddenly. "To set some things right? To stop yourself from making the stupidest mistakes you've ever made?"
Baekhyun thinks about it for a while, eyes going out of focus before he is able to grab onto the fact that Junmyeon is sitting on the sofa behind and not in front of him, then shakes his head, "Not really...I suppose...There's Kris...and his stupid paintings...Yeah, no thanks."
Junmyeon laughs, "I know I do."
"I used to," Baekhyun admits. "But now I'm just trying to leave it all behind."
"Do you think it will change anything? Going back in time...Do you think it will make your life a better one?"
Baekhyun shrugs. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it will. Maybe it won't. We won't know until we try."
"But we won't be able to try."
"Exactly. That's why it's silly to even talk about it. It's just a fantasy."
Baekhyun reaches over and holds Junmyeon's hand. As he does, he notices the ring.
"What's this? I've never seen you wear it before."
Junmeon pulls his hand away. "Sentimentality. I found it when I was cleaning out my room.”
The smile Baekhyun gives is a complicated one, and softly he says, "Most things don't work out the way you plan for them to. We can't live in the past. We need to think about the future."
Junmyeon laughs. "You see, living in the past is my future."
They both sit there, silent, for a moment. Baekhyun seems to have sobered up.
"When should we meet again?" Baekhyun asks. His eyes are searching Junmyeon's for honesty. His eyes are trying to tell Junmyeon that deep, deep down, Baekhyun knows. Baekhyun always knows.
"Maybe not anytime soon," Junmyeon lies. "It's starting to get busy. Don't worry so much about me. I'm fine."
Baekhyun has the habit of crying as he sobers, and sure enough, he is now blinking back tears.
Sentimentality, Junmyeon reminds himself.
"What are you doing this weekend?"
"I think I might just be very quiet, you know? Some alone time."
One last embrace, during which Baekhyun suddenly grabs Junmyeon's shoulders and kisses him hard on the lips. For a moment, Junmyeon lets himself kiss Baekhyun back until the kiss turns serious and desperate, and that is when Junmyeon calmly backs up. He looks into Baekhyun's eyes and can't recognise the emotions in them.
"Baekhyun, I'm not him," he says, gently, "I'm sorry." A quiet sob escapes Baekhyun. Junmyeon sighs, then, with both hands, he gently cups Baekhyun's face and kisses him again on the mouth but this time, it is a chaste good-bye kiss.
Baekhyun behaves, still crying.
"Sleep soon," Junmyeon says, "I love you."
Baekhyun mouths the word Goodbye and stands there, watching Junmyeon go.
“Love is a thing that comes in many forms and who can recognise her?”
"What are we drinking today?" Sehun asks.
"Scotch."
"Okay."
They each take a sip. Junmyeon ends up fighting a smile as Sehun battles himself to keep his the shot down.
"Where are you going, sir?"
"Am I going somewhere?"
"You're always going somewhere."
"Maybe not this time."
"Then let me come with you," Sehun blurts out.
Underwater.
Junmyeon is tossing and turning with the currents. He turns over and over, trying to find the surface, trying to find where the light is coming from, but as time passes, he continues to drop. A wave of dizziness hits him, and with all the blood rushing through his ears, it all goes quiet.
“If I had to describe myself as anything it would be a raging sea.”
Their little stroll back to Junmyeon's place turns into an attempt to outrun the storm as heavy rain pelts down on them. They are both equally soaked when they arrive at sanctuary.
"First of all, let me get you a towel," Junmyeon says. He disappears for a while, and when he returns, Sehun is lying flat on the bed with his feet touching the ground. He looks too big for the bed that used to fit Lu Han and Junmyeon just fine.
Sehun’s eyes are locked on Junmyeon as an old habit drives Junmyeon to gather Sehun’s hair between two ends of the towel and press. When he is done, he brushes Sehun's wet hair back with his fingers. He lets himself linger just a second too long.
"I think," Junmyeon mutters, "it's time to get out of those wet clothes. The bathroom is down the hall if you want to take a shower."
"Are you going to take one with me?"
Junmyeon stops dead in his track. "I'm fine."
Sehun doesn't speak. He stands up, moves to the corner of the room, and, finally looking away, he kicks off his shoes. He undresses very slowly and leaves his clothes on the floor. Standing nude, he turns towards Junmyeon, who spies a hint of nervousness up Sehun's spine. Junmyeon, still sitting on the edge of the bed, dares himself to keep his eyes on Sehun.
“What I need from you is to be a ship that can keep afloat when the waters are rocky.”
After the storm, Sehun is standing on the balcony, wrapped in just a blanket.
"Aren't you cold?" Junmyeon asks, walking up to stand beside him.
Sehun answers, "I'm fine."
Junmyeon shakes his head but keeps the smile on his face.
"You live here all by yourself?" Sehun asks, "Bit too big for just one person, don't you think?"
Junmyeon smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, "I do now. I used to share this place with a friend. He was a singer. And a writer. And a photographer. And a few other things."
Sehun hums. “That’s nice. It’s...not too far from what I want for myself. A special someone. Pillow fights. Late night escapades. Catching sunsets and chasing dawns…or something that sounds equally romantic.”
"And that's your idea of the perfect life?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Junmyeon hesitates, then asks, "Why are you here?" With me?
Sehun frowns, "Because I want to. It's simple."
"But why?"
"Honestly? Because I'm worried about you."
"Me? What is there to be worried about? I'm fine."
“Most people say that, Junmyeon,” Sehun says, frown turning into a knowing smile, “only because it’s easier that way.”
Underwater.
Arms outstretched, Junmyeon is sinking slowly. He tries moving his legs in a slight struggle but to no avail. He is dropping further and further into the darkness, and it is harder and harder for him to keep his eyes open.
"You think that's possible, Sehun? People saying that they’re fine without actually lying?"
"Yes, sir," Sehun says, smiling. "Anything's possible."
This time, Junmyeon is able to right himself. He begins pushing upward, toward the surface of the after, where the sun shines. He climbs higher, higher, and finally hits the surface with a loud gasp for air.
Day breaks.
"I suppose my life has always been a bit melodramatic."
Junmyeon wakes up in bed with teeth clenched and a sour taste in his mouth. He look around the room for a moment, then realises he has yet to change out his bathrobe. The lights in the room and in the hallway are on. He looks around and finds that Sehun’s clothes are still lying around.
Junmyeon walks into the study. In the faint light, Junmyeon sees Sehun asleep on the sofa underneath the blanket he has nabbed from Junmyeon’s room. He stands over Sehun for a minute, looking at him, fixed on the way the dim light is catching on Sehun’s lashes. Sehun is breathing gently. He looks pure, and very, very young.
Junmyeon is about to walk away when he notices, from the odd posture Sehun has curled into, that Sehun’s hands are holding onto something under the blanket. Carefully, Junmyeon pulls the blanket back to reveal Sehun’s loose grip on a gun. His gun.
Junmyeon reaches down and gently lifts the gun out of Sehun’s grasp and, a pause later, pulls the blanket up and over Sehun’s chest. As he stands there, staring down at Sehun, who is dreaming deeply, soundly, a warm smile creeps across his face.
It’s silly not to hope, Junmyeon recalls, and somehow, these words are said in Sehun’s voice, It’s a sin.
Another beat of silence passes before Junmyeon crosses the room to reach his desk. He stares at the disturbance: his perfect grid of papers is out of order. He opens the desk drawer and puts the gun inside. He lifts the key out of the drawer, toys with it for a bit, and then, in the cool cloud of hope - the better hope that Sehun has offered him, he locks the drawer and slips the key between past and future, where despair used to reside.
"Sometimes awful things have their own kind of beauty."
Sehun looks older in sunlight. Somehow, it is able to bring out a sort of toughened fragility in him. They are standing slightly apart, looking at nothing in particular, there is an understanding between them.
Over the past two months, Junmyeon has experienced tremendous relief to have someone else in the house with him. Sehun has remarked that it's interesting to watch how Junmyeon, despite being the owner of this place, appears to have been gone for so long despite having never left. "You keep noticing one thing and then another," Sehun explains, "And at times you appear to be mildly startled, perhaps even a little affronted, by the utter sameness of your own house."
Sehun isn't wrong.
Junmyeon finds it impossible to keep his hands off the shelves and the walls. He needs confirmation, somehow, as the persistence of half-forgotten objects, all in their old places, by some trick of the mind, seems to have given way to make room for a third person.
"You know," Junmyeon starts, "there is a saying that to understand is to forgive."
"Hm?"
"I don't quite agree with it. It should be reversed: one must forgive in order to understand. We often find ourselves defending ourselves against the possibility of understanding until we forgive."
Sehun's grip on Junmyeon's hand tightens, "Even if you forgive, you may still not understand."
"But you'll be ready to understand."
Sehun bites back a smile, "And you're ready to understand?"
"More than ready."