Like in the fairytales
Title: Like in the fairytales
Prompt: #99
For: Blingmilk @ twitter
Pairing: JongKey
Author: >anonymous until reveals<
Word count: 15 187 words
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: brief mentions of blood, war and violence, mentions of sex and sexual situations, brief mentions of forced pregnancy and abortion, future!au-ish (also spoilers of the fairytale sleeping beauty)
Summary: Jonghyun is living in a world where what was once known as The Epidemic - the governments radical response to years of riot and opposition amongst the population - has robbed people of the ability to experience emotions. He had always been forced to hide that he was different, The Epidemic never having taken its full effect on him, but when he is taken in by a foster family after years of being shoved from one orphanage to the next, he meets Kibum, his new brother and against all reason, falls for a boy who can never love him back.
>><<
Jonghyun has always know the feeling of love.
The love for his mother, coming in waves, calm like the sea on a windless day, but holding an unshakable power all the same.
The love for his sister, gentle like the quietly falling cherry blossoms he has adored ever since he was a little kid, but just as strong and unconditional.
And the love for Kibum. Red hot and blazing in nature, forming a large contrast to any other kind of love he has experienced in his life, but ultimately being no less genuine.
If anything, it might as well be the most genuine of it all. Because it is futile and foolish, but even knowing he will never be loved in return, he isn't willing to ever let go of it.
(Or maybe, he just really enjoys torturing himself.)
* * *
The sky is dark. An inky black blanket hanging above his head, adorned with faint clouds and the occasional glimmer of a lone star.
It shouldn't be much longer until the first scanners will make their round, but Jonghyun will be gone by then. He doesn't ever stay outside to watch them trail their complex routes across the sky. It's unlikely, but he still hasn't been able to let go of the fear of being detected by them one day.
Shifting a bit in his cold spot on the roof, his eyes roam along the skyline of the city. The menacing towers and skyscrapers are lining up next to each other like Seoul's most talented soldiers - armed to the bone and ready to fight under the command of the biggest ruler in the world.
The scene always seems strangely peaceful at night, though; pretty even.
He never gets sick of it, regardless of whether it is just a few minutes after sunset and the sky is still filled with the large, dragon shaped trains winding their way from one district to the next as they carry home the many people returning from work or school, or whether it's more like this. Late enough for the sight to be clear, the buildings illuminated by colourful lights and the noises of the day muted by the deep sleep most of the population has slipped into.
Jonghyun knows it's nothing but a carefully constructed facade, though.
A facade whose sole purpose it is to mask the trails of blood smeared onto every wall and the violence even the heaviest steel doors can't conceal. And although Jonghyun has seen too much to be fooled by any of it, he appreciates the sight either way.
Because it makes it seem like everything is okay, at least.
And sometimes, that's actually enough.
The sharp edges of gravel are digging into his palms as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, but he doesn't even wince at the pain.
It is one of those days again.
The kind that he is able to make it through only by hiding from the many blank eyes of his fellow orphans and caretakers. Because sometimes, it's all just getting too much. Becomes such an unbearable sight, he needs nothing more than to escape from it all. Not least because he fears that he will end up completely losing himself if he doesn't. Be taken over by the same, infinite emptiness everyone around him has been consumed by.
People never come looking for him, and although he is tired and hungry from skipping three meals in a row, he is glad he retreated to the roof, because it's quiet up here.
And he feels numb, anyway, so the grumbling of his stomach is welcome, almost. It's bordering painful, but it's something, at least. A slight improvement from the unbearable void tugging and spreading in his chest he has been plagued by for days now.
*
He gets up only when the cold has crept all the way beneath his thick clothes and his whole body is aching to go back inside and curl into his fluffy sheets. It has been over a week since he last managed to catch a full eight hours of sleep, though - nightmare-ridden, sleepless nights still taking a toll on him, even after all those years - and he doubts this time will be any different. Not when his mind has been stuck in a tangle of racing thoughts the whole of the previous day.
He is hoping still, however.
If he goes to sleep now, then maybe he will get a bit of rest, at least. Four or five hours is all he is asking for, really.
He is used to running on much less, after all, so even just a few hours of unconsciousness are a luxury to him.
Throwing one last look over his shoulder, gaze falling onto the colourful skyline extending into the distance, he finally pulls himself onto the fire ladder to climb back into his room.
There are only a few more hours left before the sun will take over once again.
He should really go to sleep.
*
The boy is woken up by the metallic creaking of his blinds being pulled up, the rays of the rising sun squeezing their way in the second they're presented with the first crack. The light reveals to the eye what has previously been hidden in the dark: The bare white walls of a room no bigger and no more personal than a prison cell, with a round window, offering a dull view onto the skeleton of an apartment building that has been unfinished since Jonghyun first arrived here three years ago, and two beds, one of them completely untouched and the other still occupied by his small figure.
There is a strong reluctance inside of him to get up and ready, the familiar rush of the same anxiety that has been plaguing him for days coming over him at the thought of the impending encounter. It really shouldn't be a problem anymore, not after the many times he has had to endure this before, but it's still frightening either way. Maybe this time will go well, though, and he won't actually be back here by the second week.
Even better, maybe he will finally find a place to stay - a home - where he won't be discarded like an old piece of clothing the moment he says something slightly unusual or smiles a little too sincerely.
It's that hope only that makes him agree to trying over and over again.
The hope that perhaps, this time will be it.
He takes the stairs down to the orphanage's lobby two at a time. His eyes are trained on his white sneakers as he rounds the corner to one of the hallways guiding him closer to his destination.
He wants another moment for himself. Another second of silence before he has to slip into the role he hates so much and put on the mask that feels like a second personality besides his own at this point. But he is already a few minutes late and he doesn't want them to wait any longer. Every bit of tardiness will probably further shrink his already slim chance of making a good first impression and he can't risk that. So he casts away every thought of lingering and quickens his paces just a little, all the while hoping that everything will work out fine.
*
The woman is small, with a round face and long black hair that reaches all the way down to the curve of her hips. She is wearing a traditional dress, tight fitting and buttoned up all the way to her neck, the red fabric forming a striking contrast to her pale skin.
The man on the other hand is tall and bulky. Intimidating, almost, but not enough for Jonghyun to feel truly threatened. He'd been faced plenty of times with much worse after all.
They introduce themselves as Mister and Misses Kim, residing in Daegu, one of the few cities besides Seoul that hasn't been levelled to the ground by the many wars having shaken the country mere decades ago.
An average couple, empty shells with eyes void of emotion and faces lined with traces of fight and struggle - most probably belonging to the first generation falling victim to The Epidemic.
They both look like they are well into their forties and Jonghyun knows without asking just why they are here today.
He has seen it so many times. Witnessed couples being dragged out of their homes like rag dolls - bloodied and lifeless - and had to watch women being openly slaughtered on the streets. A clear warning to follow the rules, no compromises and no exceptions.
Because a family unable to produce at least two male offspring has failed to complete their duty. Failed to contribute to the important and, according to the government, ineffably honourable task of ensuring the continuation of mankind.
And it is the pure instinct to survive, that makes people conform. Not love or fear or the wish for a child they weren't yet able to have, but survival. Plain and simple.
They are smiling at him anyway, the corners of their lips pulled up with visible difficulty. Ugly grimaces that would have made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up if he wasn't so used to it. As if their features have completely unlearned the task of displaying emotions.
(Jonghyun knows it isn't that far from the truth.)
"It's a pleasure to meet you," He flashes a smile of his own, one that doesn't reach his eyes and looks just as mechanical, then bows deeply in respect, hoping that the trembling of his hands isn't too visible.
There are years and years of practice lying behind his monotonous voice and expressionless gaze, but he hasn't managed to perfect the small details quite yet. He isn't sure if he ever will, but it takes a recently turned shell to notice such minute things anyway. And there are hardly any of those left at this point, so he won't really have to worry about that. He does anyway, but it is always a relief, realising that he passes without ever actually standing out.
They ask him a few routine questions - the typical stuff he has answered a million times before.
How he ended up in a place like this, whether he had ever received any education, what he is looking for in a potential foster family. Most of it is for show; mere formalities meant to do nothing more than create the illusion of a humanity that has long been taken from their world.
And as much as he hates to think about it, he knows the real test is yet to come.
*
They referred to it as The Epidemic. It spread through the population of the Asian Empire like the plague, slowly sucking the emotions out of people until nothing but soulless shells were left.
They feared it was something in the water, first. A disease contracted through sex, the side effects of a drug, a virus implanted by foreigners. But it was way too late that they realised the danger could strike anywhere, at any time. Because it was much more simple and much more unexpected, a cunning method that had everything to do with the small identification chip, implanted beneath the skin of each and every citizens right after birth.
It wasn't new.
Not in a culture that has tried everything to destroy its people's sense of individuality and independent thinking for longer than anyone could imagine. But it was cruel nonetheless. Downright immoral even, to tamper with the human mind to such a large extent.
The stages were the same for everyone. Strong headaches, followed by uncontrollable spells of nausea and faint. Days and weeks of dissociation - losing even the last bit of touch with reality - (technology had advanced greatly over the decades and many of the stages are far less intense and difficult than they used to be, at least) and finally, loss of all ability to experience emotion.
But the eventual result could vastly differ from one person to the next.
Some were left with not even a hint of their previous humanity intact, walking through life almost like the zombies did a few centuries earlier.
Useless. Alive but not living, existing but having nothing to contribute to the community, incapable even of practicing the most simple tasks. Prime examples of just how much damage The Epidemic was really capable of causing.
They were considered failed experiments.
Tragic cases no one could have foreseen.
A flaw in the otherwise impeccable plan that was the government's response to years and years of riots against their ruler and his inhumane decisions.
It doesn't happen often anymore, but disposing of them has become one of the most common measures at this point.
Most others - just like his new foster parents - were a bit better off, capable of acting, at least, as if they were normal people. But very few actually made the effort. The perfect result, really. Working and partaking in society, just like any other functioning human being would, but lacking the will to stand up for themselves. To riot against cruelties and violated human rights and ruthless exploitation.
And then, there are the ones that are almost indistinguishable from what used to be considered 'normal' only a few centuries before.
Personality intact and facial expressions adjusting to emotions in a way that is perfect down to the very last detail, the only trace of The Epidemicthe empty blackness in their eyes.
They are divided into types, with Type I being the most fortunate result, and everything past that coming with further damage to the initial, well functioning humanness every individual is blessed with at birth.
But the disability to feel emotions is the same for all of them. That had been the whole purpose of The Epidemic, after all. To destroy the very core of indiscipline, objection, and resistance in every single person.
Sure, the existence of friendships and relationships has been continued all throughout, but none of it actually has to do with attachment or love or anything of the like. It is learned behaviour, mostly, the social interactions and the desire for interpersonal relationships. Something that is so ingrained into the human mind that it is sought after more or less unconsciously.
It isn't secret knowledge. None of it is. But the other parts of the world have their own problems. They have no time trying to help with fighting the injustice and cruelty in a country that isn't their own.
Centuries of poverty have weighted down heavily on the American Empire, leaving the destructive gap between poor and rich bigger than ever. Multiple wars have shaken the once solid foundation of the European Empire so badly, it is further crumbling with every passing month. And unbearable droughts wiped out entire countries on the continent of Africa, the previous flourishing culture and economy being destroyed in a matter of mere years.
So it is no surprise at all, really, how no one cares all that much about what's going on outside their own borders. They all need to ensure survival in their own countries, first and foremost.
Jonghyun himself has never been influenced by The Epidemic. He knows he too has been given the chip straight after birth, can even feel it under his skin if he makes an effort to search for it - a small, round plate right in the spot where his right shoulder and arm are coming together. But it never took its full effect.
It does influence him from time to time. Messes with his head more on some days than others and makes him slide into a state of painful emptiness he can barely escape from whenever it's particularly bad, yet he has never completely lost his ability to feel. Even if his emotions aren't always pleasant ones.
He often wondered what Type he'd fall under, but he doubts there even is a name or a category or anything for it. Has no idea if there is anyone else like him out there, even.
The boy assumed it must be something in his genes, that makes him immune to The Epidemic. It has to be, because both his mother and his sister had been just as unaffected by it as him, but he doesn't know for sure. It would equal straight out suicidality to try and find out after all, so he never dared doing so.
Always kept his curiousity at bay, never mentioned it to anyone and accepted that it's just how it is and there is no way to change it. (At least he supposes there isn't. Fortunately.)
*
He meets his new brother later that day, after a draining train ride that left his whole body aching with fatigue and his temples pounding so bad, the pain stirred nausea inside of him.
It makes him feel grumpy, but even though it's difficult, he tries his best not to show it, never having been the type to take his bad moods out on others.
Every thought he has had about making a good first impression is gone the moment he is actually faced by the boy, however, his mind instantly wiped blank at the sight.
The boy is gorgeous and Jonghyun finds himself momentarily awestruck, unable to decide where to look first, because he is pretty sure he has never seen someone quite as beautiful.
He appears to be quite a bit younger than Jonghyun himself - two or three years maybe - his face still a little chubby and his features graced with the last hints of gradually fading childhood. But his eyes are sharp and striking and his lips curved in the most pretty way and Jonghyun is intrigued from the very first moment.
He is right. After his initial, embarrassingly dumbfounded state, he learns that the boy's name is Kibum and that he is a few weeks short of fifteen. Roughly two years younger than him.
It doesn't surprise him much. Most parents decide on a new addition to their family only a few years or sometimes even months before their male child has hit sixteen, so there is nothing strange about it.
The age of sixteen is like a deadline, after all. The last chance to try adoption as a mean to provide a home to two male children before the government will step in and punish whoever hasn't reached the goal. Jonghyun often thought of it as a sick game, almost.
"You'll be sharing a room with me," Kibum informs as they enter their small bedroom at last, noticing Jonghyun's gaze falling onto the bunk bed next to the large window. The older boy gives a small nod in response, shifting awkwardly in his spot as he listens to Kibum pointing out different items and furniture in the room - a dark red leather couch, the only disruption of colour in the otherwise white room, a large shelf filled with books and all sorts of gadgets Jonghyun recognise only half of, a desk that looks so neatly arranged, Jonghyun briefly wonders whether it is ever being used at all - and offering small explanations for them all.
"The wardrobe is quite big, but I've got a ton of clothes, so I hope you won't mind taking the smaller part," He informs, then "The computer is yours though if you want, I recently got a laptop," and finally, after having received nothing but curt nods and quiet hums from Jonghyun in response, the other boy remarks, "You're awfully quiet."
Jonghyun thinks Kibum's way of speaking is truly strange. His voice is quiet deep and not at all unpleasant to listen to, but it has got a rather pronounced drawl to it, almost as if everything he says is in some way of major importance. Jonghyun can't say he is too fond of it. It makes him feel like he is the younger one, despite Kibum's speech being nowhere near disrespectful, topped off with honorifics and all.
Eyeing Jonghyun somewhat warily when he just keeps staring at him, Kibum insists, "Do you always talk so little?" and it effectively tears him out of his distracted state.
"Umm…yes?" Jonghyun offers uncertainly, confusion rising in his chest at the words.
"Do you not?" He wonders, trying but failing to look Kibum in the eye. The younger boy appears to be kind of annoyed and Jonghyun wonders if he has already lost his chance to get on his good side.
"No," Kibum responds curtly, "I don't."
*
He wasn't lying. Jonghyun quickly learns that most of the time, Kibum really does talk a lot. In fact, Jonghyun can often barely get him to shut up, even. He is quite the social butterfly, always out and about, seeing friends and classmates and Jonghyun doesn't even know who else.
And despite his initial uncertainty - having rooted mostly from the aura of superiority surrounding the younger boy - he soon finds Kibum to be rather nice to have around.
A bright splash of colour in the monochrome world Jonghyun has become so painfully used to.
He is truly intrigued.
In all his years of being shoved from one orphanage to the next, meeting more boys than he can even remember the names of, he has never come across a character quite like Kibum.
Someone who, despite the very visible, pitch black emptiness in his eyes, is so kind and caring and cheerful, Jonghyun almost can't believe he really has been robbed of his ability to feel.
He also learned, however, that sometimes, Kibum prefers staying quiet and much rather spends his day at home, reading strange historical fairytales of Princesses still living in stone castles and Princes riding on horseback.
Jonghyun doesn't really understand the appeal, if he is honest.
He has always been much more fascinated by the now than dreamy stories about magical creatures and happy endings. Or maybe, not fascinated per se, but rather, he has simply been too scarred by the now to even believe in the existence of all those happy endings anymore.
When Kibum offers him one of his books one day while they're lazing in their room - a heavy hard cover with golden flourishes and complex writing decorating the front - he takes it anyway, promising to read it as soon as he'll feel like it.
He doesn't tell Kibum that he probably never will. Because to him, no pretty fairytale can erase the injustice and hurt he has experienced in his life.
It used to be easier for him, to immerse into fantasy worlds existing only on the yellowed pages of old books or let his own imagination run free and disappear into daydreams hardly anything had the power to pull him out of.
But it's an ability that has faded further and further along the way, slipping from his fingers right when he needed to escape reality most and never finding its way back to him.
He still wishes it did, sometimes, because life was so much easier to bear when he could shut off like that. But he has gradually resigned to the fact that no amount of trying will be enough. It is obviously lost for good at this point.
*
They had lived a dangerous life.
Jonghyun knew they did.
He was aware of it ever since he could think, never having a place to call his home or people to call his friends or any of that. It piled the heavy feeling of loneliness and isolation onto his chest until on some days, he could barely breathe. But he had his sister at least, and his mother, both of them making every second of hiding away or moving from district to district more than worth it. And things were going good for them.
They never really ran into any problems. Never were at risk of being discovered - despite the fear hanging over their heads pretty much every second of their lives - but it was on one pretty day in summer that everything fell apart.
Jonghyun barely remembers how it happened, the memories all flowing together into one massive blur of panic and sadness and pain. But by the end of it, he was crowded into the back of their tiny home, separated from his mother and sister as they were both being roughly shoved towards the door.
Jonghyun doesn't know how they found out. Heard about the unmarried woman and her two children hiding in the old trailer at the far end of the district's junkyard.
But if he is honest, he doesn't actually want to.
He couldn't bear knowing which of the many familiar faces chose to betray them.
His mother had been young when she was taken. She still was of use and therefore able to escape the deadly fate that so many other women are falling victim to every single day.
She was lucky, they had said - expressions stone-faced and unmoving - as they lead both his mother and his sister out of their home with their arms twisted behind their backs.
Jonghyun often finds himself wishing that they'd been killed instead - just like all the others. It would have been much easier of a fate than what they were most certainly subjected to after being caught like that. Violating just about every single rule the Asian Empire has ever laid down.
He really hates thinking about it.
Still regrets it sometimes, not stepping in when he had the chance to. Regrets how all he did was stand there and watch, the warnings his mother had drilled into him since he was old enough to understand pounding in his head with the force of a hammer. Repeatedly slammed into his skull until he was ready to pass out from the unbearable pain.
*
"Hey," Kibum tugs at his arm, the abruptness of it almost making Jonghyun fall off the bed, "You don't like fairy tales, do you?"
"What are you talking about?" Jonghyun lifts one of his eyebrows in question and Kibum doesn't grant him an answer, but if Jonghyun is honest, he doesn't really need one anyway.
It's been two months since Kibum gave him the large, colourful book filled with fairy tales.
He still hasn't read a single one of them.
* * *
>PART2<