Fic: Never mind it
Everyone knows the Park family is no good. That’s the reputation they’ve got and it stretches back for generations. They’re disruptive, they question the system, they may not be active threats but they’re still dangerous because they discuss the past.
*
“It wasn’t always like this, Yoochun,” his mother tells him, when he is a small boy and they are walking down the street. She’s looking at the signs again, at the Guards who monitor their every move. “There was once free will and individuality, choices to be made.”
Yoochun thinks about it. He doesn't know what all those words mean and it’s hard to imagine a world different from what they're living in right now, but he asks, “Was there always that man on the buildings? The one who says ‘no talk, no play, no love’?”
He feels his mother tighten her grip on his shoulder, but she says to him, “No, Yoochun. He never existed back then.”
“Good,” Yoochun says gravely, because that man scares him. Sometimes he has nightmares and wakes up his parents and brother with his crying.
*
Yoochun is 15. His parents are cooking dinner, something spicy and hot, and they’re singing together as they cook. An old record player is crackling in the background. Yoochun smiles as he watches them dance around, but his brother, age 10, has a scowl on his face.
As the music screeches to a halt, Yoohwan abruptly says, “A boy at my school says music is illegal.”
His parents exchange looks. “Darling,” his mother says, kneeling to look him in the eye. “Music is a wonderful thing. We are lucky to have it.”
Yoohwan keeps shaking his head. “No we’re not,” he says stubbornly. “It’s stupid. Music is useless. All this stuff you’re cramming in our heads, it’s junk! And it’s illegal! It is!” He’s practically shouting now. “You’re going to die if you keep this up,” he threatens, and Yoochun watches his mother recoil as if she’s been slapped.
“That’s enough, Yoohwan,” his father cuts in, voice sharp. “Go to your room, now. I don’t want to hear another word out of you, do I make myself clear?”
Yoohwan glares at him, eyes filled with tears, before running to his room. The door slams shut, the sound loud and jarring in the quiet.
Yoochun gives his father a worried look and turns to his mother, who is still frozen on the floor. “Mom,” he says, gently, resting a hand on her shoulder. She looks at him, face still pale and shaken. “Mom. Are you okay?”
“Oh,” she says, and shakes her head. The color floods back into her cheeks. “Oh, Yoochun. Of course.” She tries to smile. “Dear. Did I ever tell you how a cassette tape works? I was just reminded by the music we were listening to.”
“No,” he says, relieved. “What’s a cassette tape?”
She starts talking, until her face slowly becomes more animated, until they pretend to forget what just happened. Occasionally his father chimes in, and Yoochun listens to them until dinner finishes cooking and they sit down to eat. Yoohwan slinks in as well, looking guilty and puffy-eyed, and for a moment they are just like any other ordinary family.
*
One day his father is planning what to say at tomorrow's government meeting and the next day he’s gone. His mother disappears shortly after, and only he and his brother are left. But Yoochun still has their memories, what they taught him, all recorded on sheets of paper and in his mind. Most of all he thinks about music.
He practices playing the instruments to himself, experimenting with the sounds they make. He knows the name of each one, even if his parents never had time to teach him to play all of them. Piano. Guitar. Drums. He’s at the piano when his brother comes in, and doesn’t look up until Yoohwan sets his bag down with a thump.
“I’m leaving,” he says, and Yoochun glances up, confused.
“What are you talking about?”
Yoohwan is trembling, but when Yoochun tries to walk towards him he says, “No,” forcefully. “You’re going to get me killed,” he says, voice shaking. “You’re just like Mom and Dad. I’m not. I don’t want to change anything!” He gestures at his bags. “I’m leaving,” he repeats. “I don’t want to be taken.”
Yoochun doesn’t try to stop him. He watches as his baby brother, the only family he's got left, who he’s spent years looking after, walks right out the door and out of his life.
*
Being a miscreant by oneself is boring, Yoochun decides. Music may be beautiful to listen to, but it’s no fun if he can’t discuss it with anyone. He needs a companion, a partner-in-crime, and so he sets off to find one.
And find one he does in an unlikely source, a stickler for the rules who goes by the name Junsu.
The second meeting is the clearest, because that is when he finally gets the chance to talk to him. He comes across Junsu in a dark alley, being beaten up for reasons unknown.
Among all the things his parents had taught him, self defense was one of the first. “In this kind of lifestyle we live in,” his father had told him, “You need to be able to defend yourself.” Dealing with two drunken Guards is a snap, and it provides the grounds for a beautiful budding relationship.
He’s not sure the exact moment he falls in love with Junsu. Maybe he fell in love with him the first time he saw him, at the Museum, standing in front of some picture with his face solemn and tilted upwards.
It doesn’t matter that much. He doesn’t think of being with Junsu as dates and numbers. They’re instances in time, memories of what they’ve done together- holding hands when they think no one’s watching, singing at the top of their lungs as they clean, Yoochun poring over books while Junsu reads over his shoulder.
This is the moment he remembers best-
Junsu pinned beneath him, laughing and squirming, it’s just a game at first, but then he stops moving and looks at Yoochun and Yoochun looks back and thinks my god, this is it and he wonders if he’s ready but they kiss, slow and deep, and he knows he is, has been for a long time.
*
Yoochun walks into their apartment and there is a man sitting in his chair.
“Mr. Park,” he says pleasantly. “We have been waiting for you.”
Yoochun tenses immediately. This is bad. “You’re here to take me away, aren’t you.” He’s ready to fight, he can take on the man and get out of there scot-free. “What makes you think I’ll come quietly?”
The man smiles, a cruel and knowing smile that makes Yoochun shudder. “We have thought of that, Mr. Park.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Do you know why we waited so long to come find you? We’ve known about your tendencies ever since you were a boy. Surely you didn’t expect to get away with such nonsense for so long?”
There is a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Junsu . . . ”
The man looks immensely pleased. “Exactly right, Mr. Park. Before, if we had attempted to bring you in, it’s quite possible you would have eluded us and caused even more trouble.” He sniffs. “But now,” he pauses. “If you come quietly, we won’t bother bringing in Mr. Kim. He’s not so much of a troublemaker. You’re the one we worried about. We expect, with you out of the way, Mr. Kim will return to being a normal, functioning member of society.”
Yoochun flinches. “Do I really have a choice, then?” he asks dryly. “I’ll go with you. But first, I need to change,” he adds quickly.
“Go ahead,” the man says dismissively. “But don’t think of trying to smuggle anything in.” He laughs. “It wouldn’t do you any good.”
Yoochun makes his way quickly to the bedroom. He has to be quick- he can’t afford to have Junsu come back and get caught in this situation as well. He throws on some clean clothes and tries to think of some way to get a message to Junsu. A letter is his first idea, but there’s no time; he hears the man coming slowly down the hallway to fetch him.
He rummages through his dresser, trying to find something, anything, and catches sight of himself in the mirror. Of course. His lucky earrings. They’re not going to do him any good where he’s going, anyway. He takes them out and stuffs them in the drawer, walks out to meet the man.
“I’m ready,” he says.
In the car he watches the house get smaller and smaller. Junsu, he thinks. I’m sorry. I love you, I love you, I didn’t have a choice. He touches his bare ears. Don’t forget me.
*
Prison is more like a concentration camp, like those of Hitler and Stalin, famous dictators his parents had told him about. When he arrives he’s stripped of any possessions he has and assigned to living quarters. He snorts when he hears the name. Living quarters. How ironic, considering what he's there for.
His bunkmate is a man who never talks, who looks as if his very life has been bleached from his skin. The other people there tell Yoochun his name is Jaejoong.
He used to be like them, they say, but he wanted to live and to do that he had to give up his soul.
Yoochun understands what they’re talking about when he goes to stand on trial. The room is pitch black except for the spotlight trained on him, and voices come from beyond the darkness.
“You, Yoochun Park, are on trial for . . . ” they begin. They list all the crimes he’s committed against the government. Knowledge of forbidden information. Illegal playing of instruments. Singing and speaking in excess. Disruption of orderly procedures. Living with another person who was not family. The sin of loving that person with all his heart.
When they finish there is a pause. “But we are of a forgiving nature, Mr. Park. If you repent, denounce your wrongdoings, we will spare you. What is your decision?”
Yoochun thinks of poor Jaejoong, still breathing but not living. He thinks of Junsu.
“No,” he says firmly. “I have nothing to say.”
“Very well,” the voice intones grimly. “Let the sentence stand, then. Death at sunrise.”
*
He tells Jaejoong this, before he goes to sleep, and even if Jaejoong pretends not to hear him, Yoochun knows he’s listening.
The world won’t always be like this, he says. Eventually it will change. And when that time comes, this is what will happen.
You will talk until your throat aches, until your voice becomes raspy, until you cough up blood and it is no longer possible to utter another word. You will play and run and dance until you collapse from exhaustion, until your muscles burn and you can’t move another step. You will love and love and love and until you find someone worth it, until you love everything in this world.
The last part he whispers.
Just because you can.
*
The guard shakes him awake rudely, abruptly. He staggers out of bed and gets dressed. Then breakfast. His last meal. Funny how it doesn’t feel like it.
He’s led outside with four other people. Three of them are scared, but the last one is not, and he can’t take his eyes off of her. She’s young, years younger than he is, and he wonders how she got herself in this situation. She’s not afraid, though. Her head is thrown back; she’s defiant to the end.
He feels detached from his body. In the back of his mind he thinks, Yoohwan was right. And then: goodbye, Junsu.
It’s a good day to die.
*
“It wasn’t always like this, Yoochun,” his mother tells him, when he is a small boy and they are walking down the street. She’s looking at the signs again, at the Guards who monitor their every move. “There was once free will and individuality, choices to be made.”
Yoochun thinks about it. He doesn't know what all those words mean and it’s hard to imagine a world different from what they're living in right now, but he asks, “Was there always that man on the buildings? The one who says ‘no talk, no play, no love’?”
He feels his mother tighten her grip on his shoulder, but she says to him, “No, Yoochun. He never existed back then.”
“Good,” Yoochun says gravely, because that man scares him. Sometimes he has nightmares and wakes up his parents and brother with his crying.
*
Yoochun is 15. His parents are cooking dinner, something spicy and hot, and they’re singing together as they cook. An old record player is crackling in the background. Yoochun smiles as he watches them dance around, but his brother, age 10, has a scowl on his face.
As the music screeches to a halt, Yoohwan abruptly says, “A boy at my school says music is illegal.”
His parents exchange looks. “Darling,” his mother says, kneeling to look him in the eye. “Music is a wonderful thing. We are lucky to have it.”
Yoohwan keeps shaking his head. “No we’re not,” he says stubbornly. “It’s stupid. Music is useless. All this stuff you’re cramming in our heads, it’s junk! And it’s illegal! It is!” He’s practically shouting now. “You’re going to die if you keep this up,” he threatens, and Yoochun watches his mother recoil as if she’s been slapped.
“That’s enough, Yoohwan,” his father cuts in, voice sharp. “Go to your room, now. I don’t want to hear another word out of you, do I make myself clear?”
Yoohwan glares at him, eyes filled with tears, before running to his room. The door slams shut, the sound loud and jarring in the quiet.
Yoochun gives his father a worried look and turns to his mother, who is still frozen on the floor. “Mom,” he says, gently, resting a hand on her shoulder. She looks at him, face still pale and shaken. “Mom. Are you okay?”
“Oh,” she says, and shakes her head. The color floods back into her cheeks. “Oh, Yoochun. Of course.” She tries to smile. “Dear. Did I ever tell you how a cassette tape works? I was just reminded by the music we were listening to.”
“No,” he says, relieved. “What’s a cassette tape?”
She starts talking, until her face slowly becomes more animated, until they pretend to forget what just happened. Occasionally his father chimes in, and Yoochun listens to them until dinner finishes cooking and they sit down to eat. Yoohwan slinks in as well, looking guilty and puffy-eyed, and for a moment they are just like any other ordinary family.
*
One day his father is planning what to say at tomorrow's government meeting and the next day he’s gone. His mother disappears shortly after, and only he and his brother are left. But Yoochun still has their memories, what they taught him, all recorded on sheets of paper and in his mind. Most of all he thinks about music.
He practices playing the instruments to himself, experimenting with the sounds they make. He knows the name of each one, even if his parents never had time to teach him to play all of them. Piano. Guitar. Drums. He’s at the piano when his brother comes in, and doesn’t look up until Yoohwan sets his bag down with a thump.
“I’m leaving,” he says, and Yoochun glances up, confused.
“What are you talking about?”
Yoohwan is trembling, but when Yoochun tries to walk towards him he says, “No,” forcefully. “You’re going to get me killed,” he says, voice shaking. “You’re just like Mom and Dad. I’m not. I don’t want to change anything!” He gestures at his bags. “I’m leaving,” he repeats. “I don’t want to be taken.”
Yoochun doesn’t try to stop him. He watches as his baby brother, the only family he's got left, who he’s spent years looking after, walks right out the door and out of his life.
*
Being a miscreant by oneself is boring, Yoochun decides. Music may be beautiful to listen to, but it’s no fun if he can’t discuss it with anyone. He needs a companion, a partner-in-crime, and so he sets off to find one.
And find one he does in an unlikely source, a stickler for the rules who goes by the name Junsu.
The second meeting is the clearest, because that is when he finally gets the chance to talk to him. He comes across Junsu in a dark alley, being beaten up for reasons unknown.
Among all the things his parents had taught him, self defense was one of the first. “In this kind of lifestyle we live in,” his father had told him, “You need to be able to defend yourself.” Dealing with two drunken Guards is a snap, and it provides the grounds for a beautiful budding relationship.
He’s not sure the exact moment he falls in love with Junsu. Maybe he fell in love with him the first time he saw him, at the Museum, standing in front of some picture with his face solemn and tilted upwards.
It doesn’t matter that much. He doesn’t think of being with Junsu as dates and numbers. They’re instances in time, memories of what they’ve done together- holding hands when they think no one’s watching, singing at the top of their lungs as they clean, Yoochun poring over books while Junsu reads over his shoulder.
This is the moment he remembers best-
Junsu pinned beneath him, laughing and squirming, it’s just a game at first, but then he stops moving and looks at Yoochun and Yoochun looks back and thinks my god, this is it and he wonders if he’s ready but they kiss, slow and deep, and he knows he is, has been for a long time.
*
Yoochun walks into their apartment and there is a man sitting in his chair.
“Mr. Park,” he says pleasantly. “We have been waiting for you.”
Yoochun tenses immediately. This is bad. “You’re here to take me away, aren’t you.” He’s ready to fight, he can take on the man and get out of there scot-free. “What makes you think I’ll come quietly?”
The man smiles, a cruel and knowing smile that makes Yoochun shudder. “We have thought of that, Mr. Park.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Do you know why we waited so long to come find you? We’ve known about your tendencies ever since you were a boy. Surely you didn’t expect to get away with such nonsense for so long?”
There is a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Junsu . . . ”
The man looks immensely pleased. “Exactly right, Mr. Park. Before, if we had attempted to bring you in, it’s quite possible you would have eluded us and caused even more trouble.” He sniffs. “But now,” he pauses. “If you come quietly, we won’t bother bringing in Mr. Kim. He’s not so much of a troublemaker. You’re the one we worried about. We expect, with you out of the way, Mr. Kim will return to being a normal, functioning member of society.”
Yoochun flinches. “Do I really have a choice, then?” he asks dryly. “I’ll go with you. But first, I need to change,” he adds quickly.
“Go ahead,” the man says dismissively. “But don’t think of trying to smuggle anything in.” He laughs. “It wouldn’t do you any good.”
Yoochun makes his way quickly to the bedroom. He has to be quick- he can’t afford to have Junsu come back and get caught in this situation as well. He throws on some clean clothes and tries to think of some way to get a message to Junsu. A letter is his first idea, but there’s no time; he hears the man coming slowly down the hallway to fetch him.
He rummages through his dresser, trying to find something, anything, and catches sight of himself in the mirror. Of course. His lucky earrings. They’re not going to do him any good where he’s going, anyway. He takes them out and stuffs them in the drawer, walks out to meet the man.
“I’m ready,” he says.
In the car he watches the house get smaller and smaller. Junsu, he thinks. I’m sorry. I love you, I love you, I didn’t have a choice. He touches his bare ears. Don’t forget me.
*
Prison is more like a concentration camp, like those of Hitler and Stalin, famous dictators his parents had told him about. When he arrives he’s stripped of any possessions he has and assigned to living quarters. He snorts when he hears the name. Living quarters. How ironic, considering what he's there for.
His bunkmate is a man who never talks, who looks as if his very life has been bleached from his skin. The other people there tell Yoochun his name is Jaejoong.
He used to be like them, they say, but he wanted to live and to do that he had to give up his soul.
Yoochun understands what they’re talking about when he goes to stand on trial. The room is pitch black except for the spotlight trained on him, and voices come from beyond the darkness.
“You, Yoochun Park, are on trial for . . . ” they begin. They list all the crimes he’s committed against the government. Knowledge of forbidden information. Illegal playing of instruments. Singing and speaking in excess. Disruption of orderly procedures. Living with another person who was not family. The sin of loving that person with all his heart.
When they finish there is a pause. “But we are of a forgiving nature, Mr. Park. If you repent, denounce your wrongdoings, we will spare you. What is your decision?”
Yoochun thinks of poor Jaejoong, still breathing but not living. He thinks of Junsu.
“No,” he says firmly. “I have nothing to say.”
“Very well,” the voice intones grimly. “Let the sentence stand, then. Death at sunrise.”
*
He tells Jaejoong this, before he goes to sleep, and even if Jaejoong pretends not to hear him, Yoochun knows he’s listening.
The world won’t always be like this, he says. Eventually it will change. And when that time comes, this is what will happen.
You will talk until your throat aches, until your voice becomes raspy, until you cough up blood and it is no longer possible to utter another word. You will play and run and dance until you collapse from exhaustion, until your muscles burn and you can’t move another step. You will love and love and love and until you find someone worth it, until you love everything in this world.
The last part he whispers.
Just because you can.
*
The guard shakes him awake rudely, abruptly. He staggers out of bed and gets dressed. Then breakfast. His last meal. Funny how it doesn’t feel like it.
He’s led outside with four other people. Three of them are scared, but the last one is not, and he can’t take his eyes off of her. She’s young, years younger than he is, and he wonders how she got herself in this situation. She’s not afraid, though. Her head is thrown back; she’s defiant to the end.
He feels detached from his body. In the back of his mind he thinks, Yoohwan was right. And then: goodbye, Junsu.
It’s a good day to die.