[yunho/jaejoong] the agony and the ecstasy
with a beginning so turbulent and desperate
the muscles in his arms quiver, urging him to rest, but the image in his mind won't stop its ghostly rounds, and laughter that is too familiar (and consequently heartbreaking) flashes like summer lightning across his soul, as if etched onto his eardrums. he raises his chisel and hammer again.
a tiny chip, and the eyes are complete, big and not quite luminous enough, but perfect in its image. he looks into them, sees the coldness of marble in the pupils, and shudders, index finger uncurling from the handle of a worn chisel to stroke a yet unsmoothed cheek.
"just a little longer," he tells it, "and then you'll be mine."
another three hours later and the statue is a completed modern masterpiece, the fingers delicate and legs slender and face a benevolent devil. if (when) it is displayed people from all over the world will come to marvel over the details, the way the statue seems to glow with a human warmth. they will discuss the techniques of the sculptor, will ask meaningless questions like how long did the carving process take, how much did it cost him in marble and polish and broken tools, what is the name of the model?
and yunho will answer, "years. thousands. kim jaejoong," but it will be useless, because no one will ask him why he looks so sad every time he looks at the statue. no one will ask him how he met the model, five years ago in an art studio abandoned by students and littered with discarded pieces of art, captured life strewn across its walls. people will wonder how such an exquisite expression was carved into stone with only chisels and a hammer, but no one will wonder how the expression was inspired onto the model beyond the carving by soft kisses and rainy nights. the money behind the materials everyone will want to know, but no one will want to know the price he paid in anger and hurt and so much love his heart threatened to burst.
but these questions are as far from his mind as they are from being asked (three and a half months, while the papers and display schedules are finalized), and now he is alone in the drafty studio, staring the statue in the eyes.
"jaejoongah," yunho whispers, "tell me it was love."
he leans forward and kisses the statue, his lips as cold as the stone beneath them.
you still could have told me it was the end
the muscles in his arms quiver, urging him to rest, but the image in his mind won't stop its ghostly rounds, and laughter that is too familiar (and consequently heartbreaking) flashes like summer lightning across his soul, as if etched onto his eardrums. he raises his chisel and hammer again.
a tiny chip, and the eyes are complete, big and not quite luminous enough, but perfect in its image. he looks into them, sees the coldness of marble in the pupils, and shudders, index finger uncurling from the handle of a worn chisel to stroke a yet unsmoothed cheek.
"just a little longer," he tells it, "and then you'll be mine."
another three hours later and the statue is a completed modern masterpiece, the fingers delicate and legs slender and face a benevolent devil. if (when) it is displayed people from all over the world will come to marvel over the details, the way the statue seems to glow with a human warmth. they will discuss the techniques of the sculptor, will ask meaningless questions like how long did the carving process take, how much did it cost him in marble and polish and broken tools, what is the name of the model?
and yunho will answer, "years. thousands. kim jaejoong," but it will be useless, because no one will ask him why he looks so sad every time he looks at the statue. no one will ask him how he met the model, five years ago in an art studio abandoned by students and littered with discarded pieces of art, captured life strewn across its walls. people will wonder how such an exquisite expression was carved into stone with only chisels and a hammer, but no one will wonder how the expression was inspired onto the model beyond the carving by soft kisses and rainy nights. the money behind the materials everyone will want to know, but no one will want to know the price he paid in anger and hurt and so much love his heart threatened to burst.
but these questions are as far from his mind as they are from being asked (three and a half months, while the papers and display schedules are finalized), and now he is alone in the drafty studio, staring the statue in the eyes.
"jaejoongah," yunho whispers, "tell me it was love."
he leans forward and kisses the statue, his lips as cold as the stone beneath them.
you still could have told me it was the end