#54 [Super Junior, Donghae-centred]
Fandom: Super Junior
Title: Remagination
Rating: G
Pairing(s)/Focus: Donghae-centred (Donghae/Kibum friendship)
Length: 1,489 words
Summary: Donghae’s first memory had been about Kibum -- everything Donghae knew was tied with Kibum.
Remixee author: yeonah
Title of work you remixed: Imagination
Link to work you remixed: http://yeonah.livejournal.com/14052.html
Donghae’s first memory had been about Kibum -- everything Donghae knew was tied with Kibum. If Kibum was the Earth, then Donghae was his moon.
He remembers the first time he’d met Kibum, a seemingly normal night with the moon glowing and the wind rustling the leaves, nothing out of the ordinary. That one day that changed when he’d turned over and seen someone else lying right next to him, smiling brightly.
“Hi, I’m Kibum.”
“Hi,” Donghae had said, licked his lips, and smiled tentatively back. “I’m Donghae.”
“Nice to meet you,” Kibum had said, and the way the moonlight touched on his bright smile, Donghae had to agree.
“You too.”
Donghae knew that, logically, his life shouldn’t be as tied in with Kibum’s as it was, that he should exist outside of Kibum - but he didn’t want to. Kibum was his best friend, forever and ever - it didn’t matter to him if no one else could see him, as long as Kibum could.
There wasn’t nothing that made him happier than playing in that field with Kibum, tumbling around mock fighting, traipsing through the long grass to catch some insects, and running around chasing foxes and birds, always trying to catch them though each time they would slip out of their grasp. Kibum’s frustrated pout was adorable and Donghae couldn’t help the giggle fit that caught him each time that happened.
Sometimes, Donghae made daisy chains that managed to fall to pieces as soon as they touched Kibum’s head, but Donghae thought Kibum looked extra pretty with flowers raining down around him. Donghae told him this once, and Kibum blushed before throwing flowers back at him, cheeks bright red.
Most times, they just lay down in the middle of the field, watching the bright, twinkling stars together, hands held tight and the universe above them. Every night, Donghae wished that he could freeze time, each moment perfect.
Each time they faced Kibum’s parents, Donghae had to fight himself from bursting into tears. It was hard to hear their words -- “He’s not real, grow up, Kibum, there’s no one there.” -- but even harder to see Kibum fight back tears, clutching Donghae’s hands tightly.
“Why won’t you believe me?!” Kibum would always shout back.
“Because he doesn’t exist,” his father would say patiently, as if he was right and knew everything.
“Imaginary friends don’t exist, Kibum,” his mother would say in the same voice, but Donghae could see the furrowed eyebrow, the worried tick in her cheek.
“Just because you can’t see him doesn’t make him imaginary!” Kibum would shout before dragging Donghae out the door, almost tripping over the threshold of the house before running to the centre of the field, Donghae collapsed by his side.
“I hate it,” Kibum said thickly, tears running down his cheeks. “I hate this.” “I don’t mind,” Donghae said quietly as he stood up and hugged his best friend. “As long as you can see and believe in me, that’s enough.” Kibum hugged him back immediately, tears soaking Donghae’s shirt. “Always.”
A week later, they were on a plane to America.
Donghae hated the absence of a solid ground under his feet. The coarse carpet and the plastic chairs, the tiny seats and the artificial air all felt suffocating. Claustrophobic. People were born to walk under the clear, bright skies on their own two feet, feeling the sunlight on their skin and the breeze through their hair.
Being stuck in a steel prison for twelve hours was hell, and the only thing that kept him grounded was Kibum’s hand clutching his own, both palms sweaty but reassuringly familiar. Donghae hated being away from what he knew as home, but his home had always been Kibum anyway, so he held on tight.
America was different.
Kibum’s parents had moved to a giant city, full of cars and tall buildings, the only greenery being blades of grass that shot up through gaps in the sidewalk. It was so far away from home, both geographically and physically, that Donghae didn’t even try stopping the tears that fell every time he thought about it. They were never ending.
Kibum tried to make it as easy as he could, but Donghae knew that Kibum’s world stretched beyond the confines of a fence, beyond a single pair of eyes and a single pair of hands. Kibum was part of the greater world, but Kibum was Donghae’s world.
There was a lady that Kibum’s parents took him to every week who had a kind voice but unforgiving eyes, and she and Kibum would sit for an hour, talking about how he was, how he felt, before finally moving onto the topic of Donghae. She was always careful in how she talked, making sure she wasn’t hurting Kibum’s feelings, but as time wore on, she grew blunter.
“He doesn’t exist,” she finally said, but Kibum was already used to his parents’ words, and Donghae trusted Kibum.
“Just because you can’t see him doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist,” Kibum said calmly back, clutching Donghae’s hand tight.
Not once during that hour did Kibum ever let go of Donghae’s hand, but several times, Donghae felt it falter, just a little.
Donghae knew that if he wanted to, he could have started counting the times Kibum turned away from him in favour of someone else, how Kibum would stop reaching over to hold Donghae's hand, and how Kibum only ever looked at him in the eye when Donghae forced him to.
But that meant confronting the truth (whatever that was, Donghae didn't want to think about it) and Donghae was too scared to do that. If Kibum turned away, it just meant that he was giving his full attention to someone else; if Kibum stopped reaching over to hold his hand, it just meant that he was beyond the age of hand holding, and if Kibum only ever looked him in the eye when Donghae forced him to, it was because Kibum barely ever looked anyone in the eye. It was just who Kibum was, and Donghae accepted him, no matter what.
It was a few weeks later that the lady with the cold eyes asked Kibum to hold Donghae's hand, and Donghae was grateful for that because he had started forgetting the warmth of Kibum's hands, and he missed it.
But their passed right through each other, and a chill went down Donghae's spine when he looked at Kibum's face. There was distress written all over it, but there was also a hardened look in his eyes. Kibum had long accepted it -- maybe not on the surface, maybe not in front of Donghae, but somewhere, deep inside, Kibum had known this would happen one day. And that broke Donghae more than anything else.
"Donghae," Kibum had said, and Donghae couldn't stop the tears from spilling over, even as he knew he was superficially smiling.
"It's okay," Donghae had said, and Kibum looked more heartbroken than Donghae had ever seen.
The next morning, as had been the routine every morning, Kibum woke up and turned over to look at Donghae, maybe shake him awake before getting ready, but Donghae knew this morning would be different. He hadn't been able to sleep at all, the noisy city seeming louder than usual with the incessant beeping of cars, the sounds of the traffic lights walkers going on and off and the sirens in the distance every few hours.
So instead, he had watched Kibum sleep, how he would start out lying on his back before curling into a small ball, eyes fluttering every so often in his sleep, hands clenched into light fists. Kibum was a peaceful sleeper, hardly ever moving, and Donghae knew this, like he knew everything else about Kibum, but Kibum seemed even more fragile that night.
When morning came and Kibum turned over, his eyes swept across Donghae's perch by the window, doing a general cursory look around the room while still half asleep, then again, more awake when he saw something amiss. Or rather, didn't see anything amiss.
"Donghae?" Kibum said softly, even though Donghae was in front of him, watching Kibum, not moving.
"I'm here," Donghae said, and moved to stand in front of him.
"Donghae?" Kibum said again, louder, starting to panic and walking around his room, walking through Donghae.
Donghae couldn't feel any lingering warmth except for the tears on his cheeks.
"I'm here, Kibum," Donghae said again, but by then Kibum had already run out of his room, down the hallway, checking in the bathroom, living room, dining room, outside - everywhere.
"Donghae," Kibum shouted from downstairs, alarming his parents, but Donghae couldn't stand the anguish in his voice, and left.
If Kibum was Donghae's sun, then Donghae was now a lone asteroid. He had no purpose, no directed, and he went to the only place he knew without Kibum - home.
Title: Remagination
Rating: G
Pairing(s)/Focus: Donghae-centred (Donghae/Kibum friendship)
Length: 1,489 words
Summary: Donghae’s first memory had been about Kibum -- everything Donghae knew was tied with Kibum.
Remixee author: yeonah
Title of work you remixed: Imagination
Link to work you remixed: http://yeonah.livejournal.com/14052.html
Donghae’s first memory had been about Kibum -- everything Donghae knew was tied with Kibum. If Kibum was the Earth, then Donghae was his moon.
He remembers the first time he’d met Kibum, a seemingly normal night with the moon glowing and the wind rustling the leaves, nothing out of the ordinary. That one day that changed when he’d turned over and seen someone else lying right next to him, smiling brightly.
“Hi, I’m Kibum.”
“Hi,” Donghae had said, licked his lips, and smiled tentatively back. “I’m Donghae.”
“Nice to meet you,” Kibum had said, and the way the moonlight touched on his bright smile, Donghae had to agree.
“You too.”
Donghae knew that, logically, his life shouldn’t be as tied in with Kibum’s as it was, that he should exist outside of Kibum - but he didn’t want to. Kibum was his best friend, forever and ever - it didn’t matter to him if no one else could see him, as long as Kibum could.
There wasn’t nothing that made him happier than playing in that field with Kibum, tumbling around mock fighting, traipsing through the long grass to catch some insects, and running around chasing foxes and birds, always trying to catch them though each time they would slip out of their grasp. Kibum’s frustrated pout was adorable and Donghae couldn’t help the giggle fit that caught him each time that happened.
Sometimes, Donghae made daisy chains that managed to fall to pieces as soon as they touched Kibum’s head, but Donghae thought Kibum looked extra pretty with flowers raining down around him. Donghae told him this once, and Kibum blushed before throwing flowers back at him, cheeks bright red.
Most times, they just lay down in the middle of the field, watching the bright, twinkling stars together, hands held tight and the universe above them. Every night, Donghae wished that he could freeze time, each moment perfect.
Each time they faced Kibum’s parents, Donghae had to fight himself from bursting into tears. It was hard to hear their words -- “He’s not real, grow up, Kibum, there’s no one there.” -- but even harder to see Kibum fight back tears, clutching Donghae’s hands tightly.
“Why won’t you believe me?!” Kibum would always shout back.
“Because he doesn’t exist,” his father would say patiently, as if he was right and knew everything.
“Imaginary friends don’t exist, Kibum,” his mother would say in the same voice, but Donghae could see the furrowed eyebrow, the worried tick in her cheek.
“Just because you can’t see him doesn’t make him imaginary!” Kibum would shout before dragging Donghae out the door, almost tripping over the threshold of the house before running to the centre of the field, Donghae collapsed by his side.
“I hate it,” Kibum said thickly, tears running down his cheeks. “I hate this.” “I don’t mind,” Donghae said quietly as he stood up and hugged his best friend. “As long as you can see and believe in me, that’s enough.” Kibum hugged him back immediately, tears soaking Donghae’s shirt. “Always.”
A week later, they were on a plane to America.
Donghae hated the absence of a solid ground under his feet. The coarse carpet and the plastic chairs, the tiny seats and the artificial air all felt suffocating. Claustrophobic. People were born to walk under the clear, bright skies on their own two feet, feeling the sunlight on their skin and the breeze through their hair.
Being stuck in a steel prison for twelve hours was hell, and the only thing that kept him grounded was Kibum’s hand clutching his own, both palms sweaty but reassuringly familiar. Donghae hated being away from what he knew as home, but his home had always been Kibum anyway, so he held on tight.
America was different.
Kibum’s parents had moved to a giant city, full of cars and tall buildings, the only greenery being blades of grass that shot up through gaps in the sidewalk. It was so far away from home, both geographically and physically, that Donghae didn’t even try stopping the tears that fell every time he thought about it. They were never ending.
Kibum tried to make it as easy as he could, but Donghae knew that Kibum’s world stretched beyond the confines of a fence, beyond a single pair of eyes and a single pair of hands. Kibum was part of the greater world, but Kibum was Donghae’s world.
There was a lady that Kibum’s parents took him to every week who had a kind voice but unforgiving eyes, and she and Kibum would sit for an hour, talking about how he was, how he felt, before finally moving onto the topic of Donghae. She was always careful in how she talked, making sure she wasn’t hurting Kibum’s feelings, but as time wore on, she grew blunter.
“He doesn’t exist,” she finally said, but Kibum was already used to his parents’ words, and Donghae trusted Kibum.
“Just because you can’t see him doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist,” Kibum said calmly back, clutching Donghae’s hand tight.
Not once during that hour did Kibum ever let go of Donghae’s hand, but several times, Donghae felt it falter, just a little.
Donghae knew that if he wanted to, he could have started counting the times Kibum turned away from him in favour of someone else, how Kibum would stop reaching over to hold Donghae's hand, and how Kibum only ever looked at him in the eye when Donghae forced him to.
But that meant confronting the truth (whatever that was, Donghae didn't want to think about it) and Donghae was too scared to do that. If Kibum turned away, it just meant that he was giving his full attention to someone else; if Kibum stopped reaching over to hold his hand, it just meant that he was beyond the age of hand holding, and if Kibum only ever looked him in the eye when Donghae forced him to, it was because Kibum barely ever looked anyone in the eye. It was just who Kibum was, and Donghae accepted him, no matter what.
It was a few weeks later that the lady with the cold eyes asked Kibum to hold Donghae's hand, and Donghae was grateful for that because he had started forgetting the warmth of Kibum's hands, and he missed it.
But their passed right through each other, and a chill went down Donghae's spine when he looked at Kibum's face. There was distress written all over it, but there was also a hardened look in his eyes. Kibum had long accepted it -- maybe not on the surface, maybe not in front of Donghae, but somewhere, deep inside, Kibum had known this would happen one day. And that broke Donghae more than anything else.
"Donghae," Kibum had said, and Donghae couldn't stop the tears from spilling over, even as he knew he was superficially smiling.
"It's okay," Donghae had said, and Kibum looked more heartbroken than Donghae had ever seen.
The next morning, as had been the routine every morning, Kibum woke up and turned over to look at Donghae, maybe shake him awake before getting ready, but Donghae knew this morning would be different. He hadn't been able to sleep at all, the noisy city seeming louder than usual with the incessant beeping of cars, the sounds of the traffic lights walkers going on and off and the sirens in the distance every few hours.
So instead, he had watched Kibum sleep, how he would start out lying on his back before curling into a small ball, eyes fluttering every so often in his sleep, hands clenched into light fists. Kibum was a peaceful sleeper, hardly ever moving, and Donghae knew this, like he knew everything else about Kibum, but Kibum seemed even more fragile that night.
When morning came and Kibum turned over, his eyes swept across Donghae's perch by the window, doing a general cursory look around the room while still half asleep, then again, more awake when he saw something amiss. Or rather, didn't see anything amiss.
"Donghae?" Kibum said softly, even though Donghae was in front of him, watching Kibum, not moving.
"I'm here," Donghae said, and moved to stand in front of him.
"Donghae?" Kibum said again, louder, starting to panic and walking around his room, walking through Donghae.
Donghae couldn't feel any lingering warmth except for the tears on his cheeks.
"I'm here, Kibum," Donghae said again, but by then Kibum had already run out of his room, down the hallway, checking in the bathroom, living room, dining room, outside - everywhere.
"Donghae," Kibum shouted from downstairs, alarming his parents, but Donghae couldn't stand the anguish in his voice, and left.
If Kibum was Donghae's sun, then Donghae was now a lone asteroid. He had no purpose, no directed, and he went to the only place he knew without Kibum - home.