a different kind of crazy (2min)
TITLE A Different Kind of Crazy 25/?
SUMMARY Taemin's never been one to care about what's right or wrong. He doesn't think about things like what's accepted and what's not. He wants what he wants, but it's not always a walk in the park.
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS [SHINee] Taemin centric. Minho/Taemin, Jonghyun/Key. (f(x) & 2PM cameos)
RATING/WARNING R.
GENRE Drama/romance/coming-of-age
1 2 3 4 5 6 ♥ 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 minholude 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 mlude 2 21 22 23 24
AN: Shorter chapter, though I thought I'd post something. This chapter is more Taemin-centric, with a dash of Kibum, and yeah. :V
a different kind of crazy;
The question, "Haven't you ever wanted to kill someone before?" is lingering in the echo of outside voices inside a busy room that, despite the winter weather outdoors, is growing rather hot and muggy.
It's not directed at Taemin--it's not directed at anybody in particular--but the statement itself is enough to take into consideration. Taemin's wanted to kill people before, for plenty of ridiculous and trivial reasons, but Taemin's never really wanted to kill someone before. That's a reality he's unfamiliar with.
"Bloodied hands are forever." Eunsook replies stoically, though she is far from sober. Her face is red and she's shed most of her outerwear, down to a lacy tank and her short jean skirt. The others are in similar conditions, coats, shoes, over-shirts--everything's been tossed into a free-for-all pile by the abandoned minibar. The tequila bottle is long empty and several bottles of soju are lining up beside it in rapid tandem. It's the whiskey that did everyone in, however. Taemin blames everything on the whiskey.
"Says the White Palm's daughter." Minho replies, considering his half-empty glass of alcohol.
Krystal is too busy laughing at everything to form a coherent answer, but she manages: "Some people really need to die, though."
"People like Junho." Hyoyeon says it point blank, unprecedented and unforgiving. Everybody takes a moment of silence to stare abrasively at her rather than consider the recent death of one of their own.
Taecyeon breaks the ice by saying, "Nobody liked that rowdy bastard anyway."
"He definitely had some anger issues." Nichkhun notes absently.
"I've shot a few dudes for less." Chansung admits, picking at his teeth with a splintering toothpick. "Who hasn't? It was self-defense, man."
It's nearing 5am, Christmas day, and out of those who hadn't left hours ago, half are sobering up or already feeling the tinge of hangover. The serious topic and the foggy atmosphere can mean only one thing--the party has gone on too long.
Taemin's one of those dozing on the couch, where Minho had left him to take a phone call. Chansung and Taecyeon are walking out the door when Hyoyeon grabs the jacket she had lent Victoria as a blanket and her shoes out of the dwindling pile of unclaimed attire. She stops when she sees Taemin zoning out in her general direction, then approaches him, plopping onto the couch across the littered coffee table.
"Are you going to live?" she asks him, pulling one of her boots on and fleshing the laces. Once again, Taemin sees the slip of gauze wrapped tight around her wrists where they peek out from her sweater.
"What happened?" Taemin asks before he can stop himself. He needs to remember to put a check on his rampant curiosity; he doesn't have nine lives to spare.
Hyoyeon frowns, following Taemin's gaze to her arms. "It was a rite of entrance."
Taemin's yawn is cut off in his surprise. "For what?"
Hyoyeon shrugs. "A street gang."
"What do you do?"
"We dance."
That gives Taemin pause. He realizes that Hyoyeon's probably just yanking his chain. "A dancing street gang?" he repeats slowly.
"Do you think talking about this is going to get you or me anywhere?" Hyoyeon replies offhandedly. "No, exactly. We're nowhere, and we'll be staying right there."
Taemin's a little miffed, but he can't be bothered to argue. Hyoyeon has an intimidating grace about her. She sighs. "What about you, then?" Her tone sounds almost like she feels vexed to ask. "What do you tell people when they ask you about your eating disorder?"
Taemin had never been so blatantly confronted about something he's been in sweet, sweet denial about for since, well, ever. How could she just assume-- "What makes you think--"
Hyoyeon winks at him. "What makes you think I tried to kill myself? Well, I guess my problems are a little less inane and a lot more unpopular." she bumps her heel into the other boot, lacing it with much less gusto than the first. "My point is, don't ask if you're too afraid to tell. As someone with problems talking to someone with problems, you should know that. And Merry Christmas, I guess?" She offers him a trite wave before following after Chansung and Taecyeon, vanishing behind the noisy doorbeads twisted together from so much traffic.
Disorder or not, problem or not, Taemin really didn't see anything wrong with it. It's not like he starves himself. Not really.
Taemin closes his eyes again and tries to clear his mind. Krystal's making it difficult, though, wide awake and busy umpiring her fishtailing of Eunsook's hair, trying to explain to her how exactly it's done.
Minho reappears by the time most everyone has vacated, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips and clouding his face in an embittering haze. "You ready to go? I'll take you home."
Taemin wordlessly follows him out of the belly of Seoul and into the early Christmas sun, exceedingly bright and frigid in the crisp morning sky. Minho stops before the station, right in front of a sleek black vespa, shiny and brand new.
"For real?" says Taemin. "Where did this come from?"
"Junsu-hyung." Minho's very pleased, Taemin can tell. "Hop on, I'll give you a ride."
It takes a considerably less amount of time to make it back to Taemin's apartment without all the bus stops and Minho's daredevil incentive to weave through traffic and all. He puts his foot down before he breaks, sliding the scooter up to the brick entrance of Taemin's complex.
"See you tomorrow, then." Minho's sunglasses make it impossible for Taemin to read his expression so he doesn't try to react, instead raising a hand in farewell and watching Minho zoom down the sidewalk and back onto the street, cutting in front of a car coming out of parallel-park and earning a honk and a few loud curses in return.
Taemin stares into the foggy distance for a good few minutes before he remembers he's home, his mother's at work, and he hasn't slept all night. The first thing he does when he gets inside is fall face first into his unkempt bed.
There's a gap of mere seconds before he's asleep, drifting off into complex dreams about alien warriors and rabid bunnies pissing in his mother's garden. The Cheshire cat wanders in around some point and cheekily says, teeth turning about in all sorts of unrealistic shapes, "But in a dream a dream is real. And in reality a reality is a dream."
It's Christmas, but Taemin's just not feeling the spirit. He sleeps the day away, ignoring his busy phone until finally he rips the battery out of it, flinging it across the room and burying himself under his blankets. Dinner for his mother? He's not too eager about that either. He sleeps through it all, she doesn't even bother to wake him, and rises in a daze on Monday morning at 10am.
The best part is Taemin doesn't even have the energy to give a shit. He rolls over, pulls the covers back over his head, and goes straight back to sleep.
It's the best rest he's ever had, much needed, and really, Taemin doesn't want to get out of bed ever again. His phone is still in two pieces, the battery lost somewhere amidst his pile of dirty clothes, when a knock on the door ruffles him from theta rest. The knocking grows louder and more persistent the longer Taemin ignores it, until finally he hears, "Lee Taemin open this fucking obstruction or God help me I will break into your house and regret nothing."
Kibum, of course, is as chivalrous as ever. It takes Taemin some time to drag his feet downstairs, and he knows he must look like total shit when he unlocks the door and pulls it open to Kibum's pristine self, groomed and well-dressed as usual, one eyebrow raised in curt annoyance.
"What the hell?" is his choice greeting.
Taemin blinks puffy eyes at him. "I've seen better days."
"Are you sick?" Kibum pushes his way inside, guiding Taemin back up the stairs into his room and dropping his bag by the foot of his bed. He locates Taemin's cell battery and picks it up. "No wonder. No seriously, what the hell, Taemin? You never skip school save for the few times school skipped you. I thought you had died or something. I have a reason to think you might die, now, you know. Since Minho is a gangster and all. You know."
"I know." Taemin sighs. "I also don't care."
"What's going on?" Kibum asks him.
Taemin shakes his head. "I don't know."
Kibum squares Taemin with one of his calculating looks, as if he's a robot running simulations on his state-of-being. "Taemin, are you depressed?"
"What?" Taemin looks up from out of the covers he's re-wrapped around himself, eyes squinty from lack of use.
"You're naturally a pessimistic person, so you have the tendency." Kibum sighs, sitting on the bed beside Taemin. "Are you?"
Taemin realizes it's a lot easier to contemplate the past few weeks of his life when the emotional department is lacking. "No, I'm just tired."
"Because you slept too long. Just how long did you sleep?" Kibum doesn't miss a beat. "Because you are so loved, Jonghyun and Eunsook agreed to wait to go out to dinner until tonight. Because you wouldn't pick up your phone. Because you are obviously depressed."
"Stop accusing me of things." Taemin complains, tipping himself over with a soft bounce onto his bed. He glares weakly at Kibum from his sideways position.
"Can the truth be considered an accusation?" Kibum shoots back. "Would you rather me accuse you of being hated?"
Taemin sighs, rolling his face into his pillow. He says, "I can't handle you sometimes." but it's too muffled for Kibum to make out.
"Get up, get showered, and get dressed." Kibum commands him.
Taemin feigns sleep, if only to ignore him. He doesn't have the moxie for any of that right now. He's not sure what it is or when it hit him--though he has a sinking suspicion Hyoyeon had been laughing at him from the tip of the iceberg. It doesn't help that he can still feel the smooth contours of Minho's revolver in his hands, the strong kickback of firing such a dangerous weapon, the reassurance that he had someone to lean onto. It makes Taemin sick to his stomach in a way he can't describe; like maybe everything's finally sinking in and he's realizing this is really real.
Whatever this is.
Kibum will have none of it however, and drags Taemin out of his bed and onto the floor, yanking his duvet and throwing it out of his reach. He turns to Taemin's closet next, rummaging through the discord with gusto and little concern for the worsening state he's leaving Taemin's room in.
Finally, Kibum locates a pair of Taemin's dance sweats and a heavy sweatshirt, sniffs them for cleanliness, and throws them at him. "Well?" he's got that expectant look on his face--the one that denotes he's going to get exactly what he wants.
Begrudgingly, Taemin collects the clothing Kibum had tossed to him and trudges off to the bathroom down the hall, closing the door behind himself with his foot. It's not until after he's run the tap and twisted on the shower-head, undressed and tossed his pajamas onto the floor, that he looks at himself in the mirror.
A little bony, he'll admit, knobby shoulders and visible hipbones. He twists around, and yeah he's always been one of those people who didn't mind the bumps of backbone running down like a hidden ladder.
Taemin takes a good forty minutes to shower, if only to spite Kibum, choosing to ignore his immaturity. He's still a kid, and he'll make good use of that excuse for as long as he can.
Kibum is in the midst of writing a polite note, addressed to Taemin's mother, when he finally wanders down the stairs, blow-dried hair in an uncombed mess about his glum face.
"I figured she might hate me less if I let her know where we are, since you always conveniently forget. All that comes down on me, you know?" Kibum harps, though his jabs are lighthearted.
Taemin gives him a grin that drops off his face mere seconds later, sarcastic and just as playful. He really can't help himself with Kibum--they're best friends for a reason.
He pulls one of the hoodies hanging up on the coat rack over his sweatshirt and it's out into the crisp, day-old snow with them. Taemin has no idea what time it is, and no means to check--without realizing it, he'd left his phone in two pieces on his bedroom floor.
Oh well, he thinks. It's not like he's waiting on anyone to contact him.
Minho certainly never does.
previous | next
note; Lots more Minho and 2min is coming up shortly. :)
SUMMARY Taemin's never been one to care about what's right or wrong. He doesn't think about things like what's accepted and what's not. He wants what he wants, but it's not always a walk in the park.
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS [SHINee] Taemin centric. Minho/Taemin, Jonghyun/Key. (f(x) & 2PM cameos)
RATING/WARNING R.
GENRE Drama/romance/coming-of-age
1 2 3 4 5 6 ♥ 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 minholude 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 mlude 2 21 22 23 24
AN: Shorter chapter, though I thought I'd post something. This chapter is more Taemin-centric, with a dash of Kibum, and yeah. :V
a different kind of crazy;
The question, "Haven't you ever wanted to kill someone before?" is lingering in the echo of outside voices inside a busy room that, despite the winter weather outdoors, is growing rather hot and muggy.
It's not directed at Taemin--it's not directed at anybody in particular--but the statement itself is enough to take into consideration. Taemin's wanted to kill people before, for plenty of ridiculous and trivial reasons, but Taemin's never really wanted to kill someone before. That's a reality he's unfamiliar with.
"Bloodied hands are forever." Eunsook replies stoically, though she is far from sober. Her face is red and she's shed most of her outerwear, down to a lacy tank and her short jean skirt. The others are in similar conditions, coats, shoes, over-shirts--everything's been tossed into a free-for-all pile by the abandoned minibar. The tequila bottle is long empty and several bottles of soju are lining up beside it in rapid tandem. It's the whiskey that did everyone in, however. Taemin blames everything on the whiskey.
"Says the White Palm's daughter." Minho replies, considering his half-empty glass of alcohol.
Krystal is too busy laughing at everything to form a coherent answer, but she manages: "Some people really need to die, though."
"People like Junho." Hyoyeon says it point blank, unprecedented and unforgiving. Everybody takes a moment of silence to stare abrasively at her rather than consider the recent death of one of their own.
Taecyeon breaks the ice by saying, "Nobody liked that rowdy bastard anyway."
"He definitely had some anger issues." Nichkhun notes absently.
"I've shot a few dudes for less." Chansung admits, picking at his teeth with a splintering toothpick. "Who hasn't? It was self-defense, man."
It's nearing 5am, Christmas day, and out of those who hadn't left hours ago, half are sobering up or already feeling the tinge of hangover. The serious topic and the foggy atmosphere can mean only one thing--the party has gone on too long.
Taemin's one of those dozing on the couch, where Minho had left him to take a phone call. Chansung and Taecyeon are walking out the door when Hyoyeon grabs the jacket she had lent Victoria as a blanket and her shoes out of the dwindling pile of unclaimed attire. She stops when she sees Taemin zoning out in her general direction, then approaches him, plopping onto the couch across the littered coffee table.
"Are you going to live?" she asks him, pulling one of her boots on and fleshing the laces. Once again, Taemin sees the slip of gauze wrapped tight around her wrists where they peek out from her sweater.
"What happened?" Taemin asks before he can stop himself. He needs to remember to put a check on his rampant curiosity; he doesn't have nine lives to spare.
Hyoyeon frowns, following Taemin's gaze to her arms. "It was a rite of entrance."
Taemin's yawn is cut off in his surprise. "For what?"
Hyoyeon shrugs. "A street gang."
"What do you do?"
"We dance."
That gives Taemin pause. He realizes that Hyoyeon's probably just yanking his chain. "A dancing street gang?" he repeats slowly.
"Do you think talking about this is going to get you or me anywhere?" Hyoyeon replies offhandedly. "No, exactly. We're nowhere, and we'll be staying right there."
Taemin's a little miffed, but he can't be bothered to argue. Hyoyeon has an intimidating grace about her. She sighs. "What about you, then?" Her tone sounds almost like she feels vexed to ask. "What do you tell people when they ask you about your eating disorder?"
Taemin had never been so blatantly confronted about something he's been in sweet, sweet denial about for since, well, ever. How could she just assume-- "What makes you think--"
Hyoyeon winks at him. "What makes you think I tried to kill myself? Well, I guess my problems are a little less inane and a lot more unpopular." she bumps her heel into the other boot, lacing it with much less gusto than the first. "My point is, don't ask if you're too afraid to tell. As someone with problems talking to someone with problems, you should know that. And Merry Christmas, I guess?" She offers him a trite wave before following after Chansung and Taecyeon, vanishing behind the noisy doorbeads twisted together from so much traffic.
Disorder or not, problem or not, Taemin really didn't see anything wrong with it. It's not like he starves himself. Not really.
Taemin closes his eyes again and tries to clear his mind. Krystal's making it difficult, though, wide awake and busy umpiring her fishtailing of Eunsook's hair, trying to explain to her how exactly it's done.
Minho reappears by the time most everyone has vacated, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips and clouding his face in an embittering haze. "You ready to go? I'll take you home."
Taemin wordlessly follows him out of the belly of Seoul and into the early Christmas sun, exceedingly bright and frigid in the crisp morning sky. Minho stops before the station, right in front of a sleek black vespa, shiny and brand new.
"For real?" says Taemin. "Where did this come from?"
"Junsu-hyung." Minho's very pleased, Taemin can tell. "Hop on, I'll give you a ride."
It takes a considerably less amount of time to make it back to Taemin's apartment without all the bus stops and Minho's daredevil incentive to weave through traffic and all. He puts his foot down before he breaks, sliding the scooter up to the brick entrance of Taemin's complex.
"See you tomorrow, then." Minho's sunglasses make it impossible for Taemin to read his expression so he doesn't try to react, instead raising a hand in farewell and watching Minho zoom down the sidewalk and back onto the street, cutting in front of a car coming out of parallel-park and earning a honk and a few loud curses in return.
Taemin stares into the foggy distance for a good few minutes before he remembers he's home, his mother's at work, and he hasn't slept all night. The first thing he does when he gets inside is fall face first into his unkempt bed.
There's a gap of mere seconds before he's asleep, drifting off into complex dreams about alien warriors and rabid bunnies pissing in his mother's garden. The Cheshire cat wanders in around some point and cheekily says, teeth turning about in all sorts of unrealistic shapes, "But in a dream a dream is real. And in reality a reality is a dream."
It's Christmas, but Taemin's just not feeling the spirit. He sleeps the day away, ignoring his busy phone until finally he rips the battery out of it, flinging it across the room and burying himself under his blankets. Dinner for his mother? He's not too eager about that either. He sleeps through it all, she doesn't even bother to wake him, and rises in a daze on Monday morning at 10am.
The best part is Taemin doesn't even have the energy to give a shit. He rolls over, pulls the covers back over his head, and goes straight back to sleep.
It's the best rest he's ever had, much needed, and really, Taemin doesn't want to get out of bed ever again. His phone is still in two pieces, the battery lost somewhere amidst his pile of dirty clothes, when a knock on the door ruffles him from theta rest. The knocking grows louder and more persistent the longer Taemin ignores it, until finally he hears, "Lee Taemin open this fucking obstruction or God help me I will break into your house and regret nothing."
Kibum, of course, is as chivalrous as ever. It takes Taemin some time to drag his feet downstairs, and he knows he must look like total shit when he unlocks the door and pulls it open to Kibum's pristine self, groomed and well-dressed as usual, one eyebrow raised in curt annoyance.
"What the hell?" is his choice greeting.
Taemin blinks puffy eyes at him. "I've seen better days."
"Are you sick?" Kibum pushes his way inside, guiding Taemin back up the stairs into his room and dropping his bag by the foot of his bed. He locates Taemin's cell battery and picks it up. "No wonder. No seriously, what the hell, Taemin? You never skip school save for the few times school skipped you. I thought you had died or something. I have a reason to think you might die, now, you know. Since Minho is a gangster and all. You know."
"I know." Taemin sighs. "I also don't care."
"What's going on?" Kibum asks him.
Taemin shakes his head. "I don't know."
Kibum squares Taemin with one of his calculating looks, as if he's a robot running simulations on his state-of-being. "Taemin, are you depressed?"
"What?" Taemin looks up from out of the covers he's re-wrapped around himself, eyes squinty from lack of use.
"You're naturally a pessimistic person, so you have the tendency." Kibum sighs, sitting on the bed beside Taemin. "Are you?"
Taemin realizes it's a lot easier to contemplate the past few weeks of his life when the emotional department is lacking. "No, I'm just tired."
"Because you slept too long. Just how long did you sleep?" Kibum doesn't miss a beat. "Because you are so loved, Jonghyun and Eunsook agreed to wait to go out to dinner until tonight. Because you wouldn't pick up your phone. Because you are obviously depressed."
"Stop accusing me of things." Taemin complains, tipping himself over with a soft bounce onto his bed. He glares weakly at Kibum from his sideways position.
"Can the truth be considered an accusation?" Kibum shoots back. "Would you rather me accuse you of being hated?"
Taemin sighs, rolling his face into his pillow. He says, "I can't handle you sometimes." but it's too muffled for Kibum to make out.
"Get up, get showered, and get dressed." Kibum commands him.
Taemin feigns sleep, if only to ignore him. He doesn't have the moxie for any of that right now. He's not sure what it is or when it hit him--though he has a sinking suspicion Hyoyeon had been laughing at him from the tip of the iceberg. It doesn't help that he can still feel the smooth contours of Minho's revolver in his hands, the strong kickback of firing such a dangerous weapon, the reassurance that he had someone to lean onto. It makes Taemin sick to his stomach in a way he can't describe; like maybe everything's finally sinking in and he's realizing this is really real.
Whatever this is.
Kibum will have none of it however, and drags Taemin out of his bed and onto the floor, yanking his duvet and throwing it out of his reach. He turns to Taemin's closet next, rummaging through the discord with gusto and little concern for the worsening state he's leaving Taemin's room in.
Finally, Kibum locates a pair of Taemin's dance sweats and a heavy sweatshirt, sniffs them for cleanliness, and throws them at him. "Well?" he's got that expectant look on his face--the one that denotes he's going to get exactly what he wants.
Begrudgingly, Taemin collects the clothing Kibum had tossed to him and trudges off to the bathroom down the hall, closing the door behind himself with his foot. It's not until after he's run the tap and twisted on the shower-head, undressed and tossed his pajamas onto the floor, that he looks at himself in the mirror.
A little bony, he'll admit, knobby shoulders and visible hipbones. He twists around, and yeah he's always been one of those people who didn't mind the bumps of backbone running down like a hidden ladder.
Taemin takes a good forty minutes to shower, if only to spite Kibum, choosing to ignore his immaturity. He's still a kid, and he'll make good use of that excuse for as long as he can.
Kibum is in the midst of writing a polite note, addressed to Taemin's mother, when he finally wanders down the stairs, blow-dried hair in an uncombed mess about his glum face.
"I figured she might hate me less if I let her know where we are, since you always conveniently forget. All that comes down on me, you know?" Kibum harps, though his jabs are lighthearted.
Taemin gives him a grin that drops off his face mere seconds later, sarcastic and just as playful. He really can't help himself with Kibum--they're best friends for a reason.
He pulls one of the hoodies hanging up on the coat rack over his sweatshirt and it's out into the crisp, day-old snow with them. Taemin has no idea what time it is, and no means to check--without realizing it, he'd left his phone in two pieces on his bedroom floor.
Oh well, he thinks. It's not like he's waiting on anyone to contact him.
Minho certainly never does.
previous | next
note; Lots more Minho and 2min is coming up shortly. :)