Fic: If there be none
Once, Jaejoong’s world was full of colors. He had dirty blonde hair and wore loud, stylish clothes, to hell with the consequences. He lived life with a devil-may-care attitude, ignored the rules and government. He thought he was above the law, but he was wrong. They watched him from the sidelines, and waited.
*
He remembers it perfectly.
Jaejoong is making his way back home, carefree and relaxed. Even the Guard standing across the road does little to dampen his high spirits. There’s a second Guard posted on the corner; Jaejoong passes by without looking up or acknowledging him. When he sees yet another Guard, however, staring at him from a block away, he begins to feel the slightest prick of unease, quickening his pace. And then he realizes- he’s surrounded. Panic claws at his chest for a second and he shoves it down, turns into a shady looking street. More Guards- and he runs blindly, fear clouding his mind, into the only clear path.
He gets only a few feet before he comes face to face with an impossibly tall wall. It’s a trap, and he’s cornered.
He doesn’t try to run, doesn’t try to fight, just stands there and looks, up and up into the sky. The sun shines brilliantly for a second, before a sack is forced over his head and the darkness envelops him.
*
In prison, Jaejoong has a lot of these nightmares. The wall, looming above him and blocking his way to freedom and safety, the feeling of being so close and yet so far, the sour sickness of disappointment curling in his stomach.
But when he wakes up, he thinks only one thing, the unspoken question on everyone’s mind: Who will die today?
Jaejoong’s there for a week before the council decides to try him for his misdemeanors, a week of watching people come and go, never knowing who would be next. The council talks amongst themselves for a moment before coming to a decision, and he’s afraid, so fucking afraid, of dying and being one of those people that he’s shaking.
“Your actions are worthy of death, Mr. Kim,” a voice says quietly, and he feels faint, thinks of all the things he hasn’t done-
“However.” There is a brisk quality to the voice now, a business-like tone. “We will pardon you, if you give up your evil practices. Admit you were wrong,” the voice urges. “What do you say?”
And he answers, “Yes.”
*
The next morning he’s awakened by the faintest touch to his shoulder. He blinks and looks up, sees a girl watching him. He remembers her name is JiHye. Not that it really matters.
“What did you say?” she whispers.
He doesn’t quite process what she says at first; it feels like he’s dreaming, and he’ll soon wake up and find himself back at home, back in his old life. “I said-” he starts, dazed, “I said I wanted to live.”
She stares at him, lips curled contemptuously.
“Don’t you want to live?” he asks defensively, but before she can respond the Guard outside barks, “No talking!” and they fall silent.
*
He only manages to sleep for another thirty minutes before he’s woken up again, this time by a Guard. “You’re wanted outside,” he says gruffly, and hoists Jaejoong up, shoves him towards the door, towards the others doomed to die that day.
“Wait,” Jaejoong stammers, words jumbled up. “Wait, wait, I said I wanted to live, I said I wouldn’t do these things anymore, please-”
The Guard ignores him and pushes him outside. “You’re wanted,” he repeats.
Behind the house is an expanse of empty land, where all the executions take place, where they are heading. There are Guards already positioned there, as well as two men in black suits. All the other prisoners are forced to their knees, all except Jaejoong.
“It is time to prove your loyalty to the government,” one man says.
“What-?” he starts, and a gun is placed in his hands.
“Shoot them.”
He backs away automatically, feeling the cold cruel metal of the weapon, a refusal on the tip of his tongue. No, no, how can I kill these people, it’s unthinkable impossible I won’t do it!
“Take a moment to think before you answer,” the man says smoothly, persuasively. “Did you not say you had converted? Do you not despise such scum as this?” He nudges the nearest prisoner with the toe of his boot. “We merely wish to test to see how truthful you were.”
Jaejoong looks down at the prisoners fearfully. Their eyes are averted but he can tell they are listening to every word, tense with apprehension.
The man says flatly, “They are going to die no matter what you do. It is only your life hanging in the balance now, whether you will join them or walk free.”
He still hesitates, and so the man sighs and turns to his companion. “Do you know, I don’t believe he was telling us the truth. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Perhaps you are right. If we were to let him go, he would most certainly revert to his old ways. It’s best if we kill him as well.”
“No,” he cries, a desperate shriek. Anything but death. He points the gun, hand shaking, at the nearest person.
Bang.
The boy falls, so slowly, until he’s lying still on the ground. Blood blossoms from the wound in an obscene sort of flower, and Jaejoong feels sick. No.
“Very well,” the man says, face impassive. “You may go inside, then.”
He has to stop and throw up before he makes it back to the room, but it doesn’t quell the nausea churning in his stomach.
*
He realizes that even though there are people who protest their innocence, all too eager to kill and be saved, sometimes the Guards kill them anyway.
They like it best when they break someone.
He tries to tell himself that the victims would have died either way, he didn’t change their fates, there was nothing he could do, but it doesn’t matter. Every day Jaejoong begs for his life, begs to be allowed to kill them, and each time he does it he dies a little inside. He’s a coward, he knows, but it’s this or true, cold, permanent death for him.
He dreams of people, slaughtered like animals. He sees the red, red blood spill to the ground, and when he wakes up and can no longer see color he’s grateful.
*
They stop forcing him to kill when they’re satisfied it no longer has an effect. They’ve succeeded; he’s nothing but an empty shell now, and they inform him that he’s to be released the next day.
Before he goes though, he witnesses one more execution, of the only two people who have acknowledged him, and feels nothing. JiHye, who tried to warn him so long ago, and Yoochun, who slept on the bed below him, who whispered strange things to him that made him feel unsettled, and which Jaejoong did his best to ignore.
JiHye throws him a look of pity as she walks out. She’s about to die and she’s pitying him.
He hears the shots, sees each person crumple up and blood spew from their bodies, but it’s not so bad in black and white.
*
Later, he and the rest of the ‘survivors’ are blindfolded and crammed into a big truck, which drops them off at different parts of the city. The speaker says it’s so they can experience a new type of environment that’s more respectable, one that suits their new selves.
“If we find you are continuing your treasonous practices, we will not be so merciful,” the voice warns.
Jaejoong’s the last to get off, in some remote corner of the city he’s never heard of.
“This is your apartment,” the Guard says. “All the necessary provisions should be present, but if you have any questions or concerns, feel free to contact the council.”
He nods mutely and starts up the steps, but a hand on his arm stops him.
“Wait,” the Guard says quickly, throwing a quick look over his shoulder. “You were at the camps, weren’t you? Do you know anything about a girl named JiHye?”
JiHye, Jaejoong thinks. Of course he knows who JiHye is; he watched her die, didn’t he? He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at the coarse black stitching in the Guard's uniform that spells his name. Yunho.
“She’s dead,” he says, emotionless, and walks inside, pretending not to notice the look on the Guard’s white face, the black shadows under his eyes. If he had the energy Jaejoong would have added that it was easier this way, to no longer have to care about anyone or anything.
*
Freedom, he soon realizes, is not really freedom, but another kind of prison. People dressed in the same black and white uniforms marching around tall black and white buildings, always afraid. The government keeps an eye on everyone, but Jaejoong finds that if he keeps his head down and keeps to himself, no one will bother him.
Today he’s returning home from another one of the government meetings, more exhausted than usual. It had been a tiring day; ever since he'd woken up there’d been a consistent, nagging sense that he’d forgotten something important.
One of his neighbors is standing outside- probably on his way out- but he stops when he sees Jaejoong.
“Hi there,” he says. “My name’s Changmin. Welcome to the building.”
Jaejoong just stares at him. He’s sure he looks a fright, skin pasty and white, eyes empty and blank and dead, but Changmin keeps talking.
“I haven’t seen you around before,” he comments, and offers a slight but still genuine smile. “So I figured you must be new to this area, and if you need any help, please let me know.”
Jaejoong wants to scream, tell him to shut up before he gets caught and taken away for talking unnecessarily, but then he stops because there’s something strange about the boy, his hair and his eyes.
They’re brown.
Instinctively, disbelievingly, he reaches out to touch the curly locks, but common sense takes over and he pulls away, mumbling a quick apology and fleeing into his home.
Safely inside, he crouches down, head between his legs. Breathe in, breathe out, but it doesn’t help because oh god he remembers what he’d forgotten- a life of color.
*
He avoids Changmin but he can’t avoid noticing brown everywhere, now that he can see it again. The chair in his kitchen, the handle of his pot, the tree trunk in the front yard, all glowing different shades of brown. Everything else is still black and white but these things, and it frightens him.
It feels like the beginning of something big, something he’s not ready for.
*
What happens next only strengthens this belief. Ordinarily, Jaejoong would have never noticed the girl; she’s just one of the crowd, and any other day he would have passed her by without a second glance. To his eyes all clothes and people look the same (black and white, white and black). The only difference about her is that she’s got on a hat and scarf, and that both aforementioned items are bright yellow.
Once Jaejoong sees it, he can’t look away. Shock roots him to where he stands.
Yellow, the color of the daisies that grow in patches through the concrete sidewalks, the color of the lemons placed outside his door by persons unknown, the color of sunlight.
He looks up and he can see the sun again.
*
Despite everything Jaejoong does to try and avoid Changmin, the boy is always perfectly pleasant and greets him with a ‘hello’ or even a ‘how are you?’ He’s polite and courteous and respectful and so strange.
Against his better judgment he becomes accustomed to the hurried, one-sided conversations and even looks forward to them. Jaejoong finds himself stopping and listening to what Changmin tells him, about the new measures the government is enforcing or the times of day where there are less Guards on duty and walking alone on the streets is safer.
Jaejoong takes it all in silently, but at the same time he watches Changmin, sees his ashy white skin slowly begin to glow with soft golds and bronzes. Changmin is watching him as well, trying to see if Jaejoong will ever respond or not. Every time he’s disappointed and walks away with the faintest of frowns creasing his brow, and every time Jaejoong feels a pang of guilt and wonders why.
This is the turning point: Jaejoong steps outside and sees Changmin sitting on the steps already; Changmin turns, surprised, but manages a quick wave and a cheerful greeting. Jaejoong inclines his head slightly, and is ready to go inside when Changmin speaks.
“I never caught your name,” Changmin says offhandedly, eyes downcast, but Jaejoong knows he’s really asking whether Jaejoong is beyond hope, beyond repair. Is there hope for him, or is he truly dead inside? Two weeks ago, maybe less, Jaejoong would have said he was, but things have changed- he’s changed.
He clears his throat, lets go of the doorknob. “My name is Jaejoong,” he says carefully, and watches as a patch of pink appears on Changmin’s cheeks.
*
Jaejoong still maintains the perfect façade of an upstanding citizen. In essence, he has not changed so much since he was released from the camp, except for the fact that he is no longer broken.
He’s still obedient (because he will never go back to the prisons never have to suffer through that torment again) and does what the government tells him. Today, he goes to the Museum and looks at all the relics of the past, the only ones of their kind. All their brethren have long been destroyed.
While he is studying a particularly detailed exhibit labeled ‘sports,’ an ugly noise resounds through the room, and Jaejoong’s vision is filled with red.
For a split second he panics because red is blood and death and reminds him of all the horrors he had committed- but then he sees that this is a red of triumph.
A broken display, splintered fragments of glass scattered along the floor, and there for all to see, the red sign that says ‘no talk’ toppled over, the red light of the alarm that warns of an intruder.
*
Ever since the theft there has been a tenseness in the city, a ripple of discontent fermenting underneath the calm exterior. Everyone can feel it, the storm heading this way, ready to tear apart the foundations of their society.
Jaejoong keeps an eye on Changmin, who is so liable to get caught up in the action and get hurt. When he sees Changmin walk home with a faint smear of green paint on his cheek and a dazed look in his eyes, Jaejoong knows (with a pang in his heart) that Changmin is a part of it already, and that it is his job to protect him.
As night falls he can hear Changmin’s door open and shut; Jaejoong stands watch at his window to make sure there are no Guards around who will stop him and take him away.
“Be safe,” he would call if he could. “Come back alive.”
There had been one instant where Changmin had come so close to being discovered, where he had almost crossed paths with a Guard and faced jail or even death.
Changmin slips out stealthily and the sound of the door closing is almost inaudible. He walks quietly down the streets towards the open roads and paths that lead away from the city. Obviously, he is distracted today, taking risky shortcuts and nearly running into Guards on every intersection. Jaejoong watches anxiously from afar; there is only so much he can do. He sees Changmin make a wrong turn into one of their neighboring streets, straight into the path of a Guard.
Jaejoong’s blood freezes- he can’t let this happen but how can he possibly hope to stop it? Without pausing to think he rushes out of his room and out of the building, praying that he’ll make it in time but not even sure what he’ll do.
He catches sight of the Guard just as he is about to turn onto the street Changmin’s in and before he can stop to think blurts out, “Wait!”
The Guard swivels around to look at him, flashlight in his hand. “What are you doing out here?” he asks, voice gravelly and faintly menacing.
Oh, fuck it, Jaejoong thinks grimly. He’s still got one advantage. Though he’s been to hell and back, he’s still got his looks. He opens his eyes as wide as he can, makes his voice as tremulous as possible.
“Oh my god, thank goodness I found you,” he gasps, improvising wildly. “I heard a disturbance in my backyard, I wasn’t sure what to do, what if there were rebels congregating there?”
There is a moment of silence and Jaejoong holds his breath, wondering whether the Guard will believe him.
He shouldn’t have worried. The Guard relaxes visibly and even commends him for doing his duty to the government. Jaejoong leads him to his backyard, hovering over the Guard as he makes a careful search.
“I don’t see anything,” the Guard says, getting up to leave.
“I’m so sorry to have bothered you,” Jaejoong says demurely, but once the Guard is out of sight he sinks into the grass and breathes, shallow quick breaths, until he calms down.
Each night he waits until he sees Changmin come back safe and sound, when the sky is light with purple and blues.
*
It comes as no surprise when Changmin lets slip to him that something has been planned; Jaejoong’s been expecting it all along.
“There’s going to be a revolt of sorts, soon,” Changmin says excitedly. For once he has come up to Jaejoong’s apartment to deliver the news and is sitting on his couch. “My friend, he recommended that I go outside, to see it better. Come with me?” He looks lighthearted and free, worries temporarily absent.
“I’ll wait here,” Jaejoong says wryly. “But go, you should be out there.”
Changmin gives him a questioningly look but chooses not to push the matter, instead offering a rueful smile. He pauses at the door. “Thank you,” he whispers, so soft Jaejoong can barely hear him, and then he is gone.
Jaejoong smiles a bit to himself. A thank you, when he was the one being saved.
He lies down on the floor, waiting for what will inevitably come.
From his room he can hear the strident sounds of music and laughter and noise. The sun hits the glass of his window, and in the reflection shines a rainbow of colors.