Two Way Monologue [1/3]
Title: Two Way Monologue
Author: Anonymous until 1/30/14
For: illegiblesigns
Pairing: Baekhyun/Kai
Word Count: 17,653
Summary: Baekhyun is a prisoner sentenced to death and Jongin happens to be in the right place at the right time. He finds himself slipping into Baekhyun's words, just as much as Baekhyun is slipping into his.
Warnings: character death, suicidal themes, mentions of prostitution, slight gore, (a lot of cheesy lines)
Rating: PG-13
One
Something about the rain that day casts the afternoon as an odd one, its torrential downpour an anomaly between its bright and windy counterparts. Hunched shoulders run around under umbrellas, and they spare no glances at the occasional odd souls giving their eyes to the storm.
Baekhyun stands still, oblivious to the upturned sky and the rattling of tracks, weighed down by the weight of a passing train. When he looks down and sees his own artwork, he wonders how two perfectly normal-looking hands, used to black and white keys and pulling out perfect notes can create such a fatal mess.
Baekhyun lets the umbrella hang in his grip, dripping red raindrops onto the scarlet tarmac.
He hears the sirens. And they sound just like the piano melodies from his past.
÷
“Is Mr Kim still asleep?”
“Probably. It’s best not to disturb him. I heard he had another tantrum last night.”
“The poor soul. If only he would step out of his room and see everything he has in this world, he surely wouldn’t be in this position.”
Jongin lifts a hand to his eyes because the sunlight hurts, then he laughs because however much he tries, he can still hear voices. He resists the urge to grab something long and thin and stab his ears out, just so he can stop listening to people's bullshit.
Just a little longer, Jongin assures himself. This time it’ll work - the cleanest, least painful way of all. He’d done his research. When he lifts his head up, it feels a little heavy, the sunrise three shades of orange too bright. His mornings, afternoons and evenings have been slipping past him in a lidded daze, where the ability to think in an unidentifiable way disappears and where every moment is eternity.
His head starts to spin and he has to clutch the sides of the window frame to stop himself from tumbling over. His throat is scratching itself inside out, but Jongin can barely register the coughs the neighbours can probably hear from miles away.
Jongin’s almost there. He can almost taste death.
÷
The sun pries his eyes open in a way that has him flinching.
“#3987, Byun Baekhyun. Are you awake?”
His eyes droop back down at the sound of another voice. “No.”
“A visitor is here to see you, and -“
“I don’t have relatives. I don’t have anyone.”
“It’s not a relative.” The guard says sternly, and Baekhyun imagines the way his straight back is dying to slouch over, restless in the way he can’t wait to get out of this hellhole and spend his break with a friend. “He’s the man from the Psychology Institute we talked about, and -“
“Him again?” Baekhyun shields his eyes with his arm, ignoring the pinpricks of pain from his distorted sleeping position. “Tell him I don’t care and I don’t want to, and that he’s just wasting his time here.”
“Please, just see him once. He’s been coming here every day since last week.” When Baekhyun snarls, the guard sighs. “At least tell him you don’t want to see him in person.”
÷
Baekhyun trods over with leaden feet out of his cell and into the long, narrow hallway covered in pale sheets of dust and grime, to the dimly-lit room they label the visiting area. Truthfully, he thinks it’s just an over-glorified cage in which he’s the prey. By now, the handcuffs feel just as much as a part of his skin that he itches for the feeling of cold metal back on his wrist the instant the guards take them off. Baekhyun sighs in relief when they reach the door, and his wrists are shackled once more.
Rays of light even more piercing than the sun impale him as soon as they throw the door open, and Baekhyun staggers back from the intensity of it. They say that after being deprived of something for so long, it takes a while to remember - but to him, it’s like experiencing everything new again. Baekhyun avoids looking straight up, afraid of what he’s going to see and averts his eyes to the corner of the room. It’s then that Baekhyun sees him - back leaning against the wall, eyes cast downwards with his dark hair failing to cover the frown on his face. The boy doesn’t look like he wants to be here, and Baekhyun can’t blame him.
“Baekhyun?” A tall, lanky man in a too-bright sweater bounds up to him with eyes that brighten with excitement, yet to Baekhyun they seem dull and shallow. His obnoxious name tag says Park Chanyeol. The name tastes like poison in Baekhyun’s mouth. “Hi! Hello! I can finally see you.”
He has to look away at the sight of the man’s lopsided smile, almost blinding in the way that it flashes far too many teeth. Baekhyun doesn’t respond.
“I’m extremely pleased to meet you. Have you thought about what I said in my last letter? When I asked you to give life another chance?”
“Are you asking me whether I’ve given up on suicide or not?” Baekhyun deadpans, and he sees the dark-haired boy in the corner look up.
“W-well, yes, yes I am.”
Letting his mind run back to his damp cell and the pills and razors and ropes stashed under his bed - the ones the guards haven’t taken away - Baekhyun holds back his anger. “I’ve given up.”
“Oh, really? I’m so thankful, you’re finally seeing what good this world offers -“
“I realised it was a waste of my own energy anyway,” he interrupts. “When all I have to do is sit and wait until I get killed.”
“Byun Baekhyun!”
“It’s…it’s alright warden Junmyeon. It must’ve been ages since he’s able to say things freely…”
“Trust me, the prison cell is much less locked out than the world out there -“
“How about we sit down?”
Baekhyun senses the man getting uncomfortable, and he makes the mistake of stealing another glance at the boy in the corner. His eyes seem to analyse every micro-movement Baekhyun makes and dissect his every thought.
“I’ve tried to get across to you so many times.” Chanyeol says, still grinning. “I’ve done a lot of research on you, and recently we’ve discovered a new theory in our psychology department. I mean, I’m not trying to sound like -“
“Please stop.”
Chanyeol looks confused. “I’m sorry?”
“I hope you haven’t mistaken my willingness to see you for anything else but a request for you to stop visiting.” Baekhyun says sternly despite his faltering gaze. “This attention…it’s unnecessary.”
“Well, you haven’t given counseling a shot, have you?” The smile Chanyeol gives him is too kind, too soft as if he’s offering Baekhyun a piece of candy and leading him into a trap. “It might really help. Especially if we start earlier.”
“I don’t need any sort of help. I am not a test subject for you to experiment your theories on, so it would be in both our interests if you walk out.” Baekhyun grits his teeth. “Right. Now.”
“Baekhyun -”
At Chanyeol’s pleading tone, Baekhyun brings both hands up to his ears and squeezes his eyes shut, making it obvious that he wants to block all noises away. Silence consumes him, and when he opens his eyes Chanyeol is nowhere to be seen.
His relief is short-lived, however, because the next thing he knows the dark-haired boy is towering in front of him, looking like he wants to strangle the living hell out of Baekhyun.
“You know, it would’ve been great if you had at least respected half the things he said,” the boy snaps, throwing Baekhyun a disgusted look. Baekhyun’s face remains passive. “My friend’s not the best person out there, but at least he tries. You and I both know we’re far from being anything even remotely close to good, so a bit sort of effort would’ve at least earned you some respect.”
“Then why didn’t you speak?”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you say all this earlier?”
The expression the boy’s face is unreadable. “I wanted to check. Whether you had any empathy left in you or not.”
Baekhyun never gets to ask for his verdict, because the boy simply walks out without a second glance.
He can probably guess, anyway.
÷
The boy’s name is Kim Jongin; he overhears one of the guards say. He comes from a wealthy family, had been handed everything he needed on a silver platter topped off with golden dressing. But apparently money can never defeat depression. He’d just been released from the hospital after his latest stunt, which nearly got him killed. He must be blessed, to have another chance to live in this world again. That's what the guards keep saying over and over.
That night, Baekhyun can’t sleep, tossing and turning in his narrow bed. He realises that both of them, Baekhyun and Jongin, are so different, yet so alike in many ways - and it scares him, the fact that someone so fortunate to be born with everything can end up in the same position he is.
Baekhyun thinks it might be some glitch in his brain, but he wishes he had found out about all of this not by eavesdropping the prison guards, but from Kim Jongin himself.
÷
There was a time when Baekhyun found solace in mundane things - when Baekhyun felt normal, as if he belonged in the world.
Once upon a time the piano was his world.
From the very first touch, he knew this instrument was going to dictate his whole life. The turning point, which his life will inevitably come across, won’t be caused by a girl, or some natural disaster nor will it be due to a life-changing trip abroad. It’ll be because of the combination of black and white, the melodies he’ll coax out of these keys. The more he played, the deeper he was pulled into the world of music, the faster time went, the more oblivious of the world he became.
Baekhyun never noticed the pair of small, sad eyes across the street, studying him intently and ears reserved only for his pieces. Even the boy’s undivided attention was never enough to pull Baekhyun out of his reverie; broken only whenever the piano teacher crashed through the door and his shouts jolting Baekhyun out of his bench.
By then, the boy would have been long gone.
And at the time, Baekhyun thought all changes should happen for good reasons, and surely the changes the piano will bring him will make him happier somehow.
How naïve he was.
÷
The fucking sunlight is in his face again. They need some fucking curtains in this place.
“Baekhyun?” He hears a soft voice from the hallway. He looks up.
“Warden Junmyeon?”
“Please, just call me Junmyeon.”
The simple statement surprises Baekhyun, but he doesn’t give it a second thought. Junmyeon’s glasses are nearly slipping off from the way he’s grinning so widely, and Baekhyun notices the casual clothes he’s wearing - a jacket over a white dress shirt, and a pair of slacks. Since his time here, he had discovered that Junmyeon is different from the other uptight guard. He doesn’t act like one half the time, and is willing to sit outside anyone’s cell to talk for hours on end.
“I found something you might be interested in.”
Baekhyun frowns.
“You remember the person who came with the Psychology Man? The one who was sitting in the corner?”
He recalls the dark hair and the equally dark eyes. “Yeah.”
“Well, I thought he looked rather familiar, and I realised where I’ve seen him before. Here!” Junmyeon hands him a DVD, titled ‘Kim Jongin - the Debut Era’. “Have you heard of him?”
“Yeah,” Baekhyun admits. “Heard he was huge in the entertainment world.”
“I came across one of his interviews, and he said he was inspired by the works of many pianists. One of them was Byun Baekhyun.” Junmyeon raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you used to play the piano.”
Baekhyun hunches his shoulder a little. “It was a long time ago. And it was short-lived.”
Junmyeon waits for Baekhyun to continue, but when he makes no sign of doing so, he stands up. “I’ll head to my office. Call me if you need anything, okay?”
Just as Junmyeon is walking away, Baekhyun calls him back. “I…can you play it for me? The DVD?”
Junmyeon seems taken aback, but he’s smiling when he nods a confirmation.
÷
As Baekhyun watches Kim Jongin dance, watches the way his body looks so frail but so resolute at the same time, he wonders if what Junmyeon says might be true. He remembers clearly the forlorn tunes he’d always play on his piano, the happier pieces saved only for himself - and he sees bits and pieces of it in the way Jongin twists and turns, his moves sharp and precise as if they hurt him. It's exactly like seeing into the mirror.
When he’s finished, Baekhyun sits back, thinking how unfortunate it must be for Kim Jongin to find someone so sad as his source of inspiration.
÷
“You shouldn’t get too close to him.”
Junmyeon turns around from where he’s rummaging the boxes, looking for more DVDs. He only half-heard what the guard had said.
“What do you mean?”
“The people here…they’re still criminals. Especially that convict you keep talking to - he’ll die soon. It’s better to stay detached and watch them go, rather than to hurt yourself when he leaves.”
Junmyeon shrugs his jacket off. He never wears the guard uniform - he feels like it’s a barrier between him and the inmates, as if he had been granted superior authority he never accepted.
“I told myself that, too. That I shouldn’t have any compassion for them.” He finds another Kim Jongin performance, and wipes the dust off the cover. “The crimes that some of these criminals did - they disgust me. Makes me want to run out the door and never look back.”
“That’s true, and -“
“But then most, if not all,” Junmyeon smiles sadly. “Have no choice but to live the way they’re living, and to do the things they’ve done. And who are we, as society, to blame them, when we’re the ones who create the world they live in?”
The guard stays quiet.
“Have you read up on Byun Baekhyun’s life?”
“No.” The guard admits.
Junmyeon gestures to the chair beside him, indicating that it’s going to be one hell of a story.
“He used to be a piano prodigy when he was very young, probably when he was seven or eight. Everything seemed to be going well for him until his parents died. His piano teacher took him into care - his family wasn’t very well off, and the will they left had granted custody of Baekhyun to his teacher. The world thought it was a blessing - pianist Baekhyun! Getting the best guidance he’ll ever need! He’ll surely see the path to success.”
The slow hums of midnight drives outside seep into the room. “Then…what happened?”
Unknown to Junmyeon, Baekhyun tries to focus on his own breathing in his cell, desperately attempting to block out the conversation happening at such a close proximity to him. But even when he can no longer hear the voices, he can see it, that day. And everything is so vivid, so tangible, that he feels like it was only yesterday that he -
It all feels too real.
He’s stumbling through the dark with the screams tailing him like laps of fire streaking across the hardwood floor. Baekhyun sees the crack of light ahead, and uses up what little energy he has left to break through it, yanking the curtains to the stage apart.
He hears the gasps before he sees the audience’s horrified expressions, hands to their mouths and eyes wide. For a while, Baekhyun can only hear silence in the auditorium.
Until he stretched his arms out, and sees them covered in blood.
A woman’s shrill cry, followed by profuse sobbing, breaks the silence first. Then there was a flurry of panicked shouting. His face is bloody! Oh my god, can you see that cut on his forehead? Is he dying? Someone call the damn police!
Baekhyun turns, and sees the perpetrator behind the curtains. And in that instant, he knows he has to leave.
“He ran away, after the concert that never happened.” Junmyeon’s voice turns quiet, so quiet Baekhyun can barely hear him through his own uneven breathing. “And it was like he disappeared into thin air. Within a couple of days, the story of the missing pianist prodigy no longer sold the newspapers as headlines. His story was soon replaced by other stories, more dramatic and overly exaggerated.”
“What happened to the...the…”
“The abuser? The person who hit a child until he’s bleeding, just because he said he was too tired for a concert, was his teacher.”
The guard gasped. “No!"
“Unfortunately so. Even worse, he ran away just as quick as Baekhyun did, and people paid even less attention to him. It took me hours to dig up anything relevant to this story; everything about it is so obscure.”
Junmyeon grabs the last of the DVDs from the box and closes it shut, still oblivious to Baekhyun lying on his side almost painfully trying to keep his sobs in.
“No one chooses to be broken, yet we treat them as if they had a choice.”
÷
The train station is as busy as usual when Jongin gets off from work. It’s been a pain trying to fit back into the same shitty set of people, and every turn of the day doesn’t make anything better. At least it’s a normal job, he reassures himself. Thanks to his prestigious status (his family’s, at least), he’s been able to land a job at a publishing company as a co-editor. Nothing too demanding, nothing too relaxed that’d encourage slacking off, either. He’s thankful for the job, because normal people have jobs. And for a few hours a day, he gets to pretend he’s ‘normal’.
“Move!” Jongin is shoved aside roughly, and before he can protest to the man running ahead, he hears, “Some guy just got into a fight!”
Frowning, Jongin follows the man, jogging lightly to some platform he’s not headed to. Immediately, he’s greeted with a crowd of people huddling near the rails.
“You want me to forgive the damn murderer? Are you crazy?”
Jongin pushes through the crowd, and his eyes widen.
“If he weren’t in prison, I’d kill him myself right now! Everyone is always like this - you don’t know how it feels like, but you act like know-it-alls - like fucking saints!”
His eyes meet Chanyeol’s, and he’s about to step out to help him up when Chanyeol shakes his head no. Chanyeol’s arms that are holding himself up tremble slightly, but his face is calm in the midst of all the chaos. Must be some psychology thing, Jongin thinks.
“Go away!” The woman who had pushed Chanyeol sobs into her hand. “Just - get out of here!”
Jongin sees Chanyeol’s own glassy eyes, and he sighs. However precious Chanyeol might be, he gives Jongin too much of a headache sometimes.
÷
“You’re so stupid.”
“What’s the point of living life without a little risk?”
Jongin rolls his eyes, and glances at his watch. “I think I’ll have to go now.”
“Already?”
Jongin stands up to stretch, his muscles aching from the lengthy hours he’d sat with his friend. Chanyeol seems to be oblivious to the fact that Jongin had spent half the day with him in the hospital room.
He smiles. “You might try and make me do things again, like go with you to the jail a second time. Or would it be my third?”
Chanyeol’s expression turns forlorn. “Do you really hate him? The prisoner?”
“It’s a little hard not to, after reading all the things people say about him.” Jongin pauses, hesitating a little before continuing; “I…did a little research on him last night.”
Chanyeol a little straighter in his bed, and Jongin takes it as a sign to continue.
“I wanted to know what crime he did that made him, you know. End up with a death sentence, so I searched him up.”
“And?”
Jongin looks away. “He pushed a woman and her child onto the train tracks and they were run over, then he used her umbrella to stab a passerby to death.” Jongin shudders at his own words, but Chanyeol stays unflinching. “He killed three people in that instant. Three souls were ripped out of bodies in less than ten minutes, and those souls were most likely innocent. Why he’d kill a woman and her little child that he had no relations to is beyond me."
“Did you read about his past?”
Jongin nods. “It was included in the article, there were horrible details. But he’s only one out of millions who are in the same predicament, the same unfortunate circumstances. I thought that, if we forgave him for his crimes - what about the victims? What will happen to one who loved the people he killed? They would never get compensation for what happened. It’s irreversible, and the best compensation they’ll get is to know they’ll never see him again.”
“But…Jongin…he’s got no one in this world.”
“That doesn’t justify whatever he’s done,” Jongin clenches his fists. “While I was growing up, I had nearly no one either. Whoever was around me, they were just placeholders - just figureheads with the labels ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’. They’re only titles, because in reality they’re even more distant than strangers I meet on the streets.”
Just as Jongin’s walking out the door, Chanyeol says; “But what you did was worse than what he’s ever done.”
Jongin turns around, frowning, and the blood in his body turns cold. “What?”
“Because you ruined your own life, gave up the opportunities given to you. You had choices, but you took the wrong one. At least he didn’t have a choice but to do what he did.”
Baekhyun. Just hearing the name makes Jongin sick.
“Abandoning him like that just makes you the same as the people you hate most.”
The fact that Chanyeol is saying these words to him, however much of a ‘good friend’ he’s trying to be, makes Jongin feel like he has been stabbed in the back.
“I’m leaving.” He swings the door open. “And I don’t want to see him again.”
÷
Truthfully, the only reason Jongin didn’t pick better ways to kill himself was Chanyeol. Thinking of how Chanyeol would hold up without Jongin in the world makes him think twice, and is the only reason why he took sleeping pills instead of throwing himself off a building, why he slit his wrists instead of aiming a gun to his head. They’ve been friends since childhood, and Chanyeol had been the only one who had stuck by him through every daring plunge Jongin takes. Somewhere along the line, Jongin figured he should do the same.
Then he thinks of Baekhyun, and how many people who’ll miss him when he’s gone.
When all his thinking results in nothing, Jongin has to stop in his tracks to sit down. He ponders far too long on the prisoner he hates, but is hated by the rest of the world already.
÷
Jongin’s not sure of what made his feet take a different route on the junction, until he ends up right there in front of the glass barrier, staring into Baekhyun’s unreadable face again. His hair is still long, covering his forehead and falling into his eyes, and Jongin has to catch himself from drowning into them.
“Um. I didn’t expect you to actually come since…our last meeting wasn’t very successful.”
Jongin lets his gaze fall, unable to maintain the eye contact. He’s remotely surprised that Baekhyun had initiated the conversation first.
“That’s okay.”
An awkward silence falls between them, making Jongin shift uncomfortably in his seat. Unconsciously studying Baekhyun’s figure, he can sense he’s got something to say in the way he drums his fingers against his thighs, the way his eyes dart from left to right with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
A soft click of the door has Jongin turning in his seat, looking up to see Junmyeon’s default smiling face. “Oh! Jongin, I didn’t realise you were here. Thank you so much for coming in the place of Chanyeol. I hope he’s fine?”
“It’s…He’s fine,” Jongin breathes out. Kindness is stifling.
When neither of the two attempts to say anything else, Junmyeon clears his throat.
“That reminds me, Jongin, you used to dance, right?”
The words hit him like a truck at full-speed, blaring headlights sending his vision into momentary blackout. He shifts in his seat, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he feels, because right now he really wants to run out of the damn place. “Y-yes.”
“I used to be such a big fan of yours. I’d watch your performances every week and record them.”
Jongin closes his eyes, wishing the sky would knock the living hell out of him. “Thank you.”
“It’s such a shame, how suddenly you stopped. And so soon, too! We were expecting great things from you…why did you stop -“
He slams the desk, the sound bouncing off the walls in the room, shutting up Junmyeon effectively, and Jongin’s palms tingle from the collision. The room is deadly silent.
“I’m never dancing again.” Jongin’s head hurts, the memories rushing into his mind at a far too quick a rate. “If it weren’t for Chanyeol, I wouldn’t even think of coming to this place full of -“
Jongin realises what he had said far too late. He casts a horrified glance at Baekhyun, who has finally looked up with a look of utter disgust on his face.
“Huh. That’s right. You’re just like one of them, then.” Baekhyun laughs bitterly.
“B-Baekhyun, don’t say that -“
“No, Junmyeon. Why can’t I? It’s true. All they want to do is learn a lesson from people like me - people who ‘suffer’, so that they can bask in their superiority and go home feeling good about themselves.” Baekhyun stands up, with a gaze that seems to cut through Jongin more painfully than any of his blades could. “It’s been a pleasure, sire. Was this what you wanted? For me to thank you for visiting or something?”
Baekhyun mocks a bow, his eyes never leaving Jongin’s, and kicks his chair over as he walks out of the room.
“Wait, Baekhyun -“
“Chanyeol got injured in the train station, while he was trying to talk to a relative of the victim of your murder.” Baekhyun stops in his tracks.
“Jongin, don’t -“
“He wanted them to understand why you did what you did, even just a little -“
“Jongin, please don’t discuss his crimes in here.”
“What?”
Just then, Jongin notices Baekhyun’s heavy breathing and the tremors wrecking through his body, before he collapses onto the floor screaming.
“Baekhyun! Quick, Jongin, call the security guards outside.”
“What? What’s happening -“
Then Jongin stops, because he hears the words Baekhyun is repeating over and over that turns his blood ice-cold.
”I’m sorry.”
÷
Jongin feels like he had just woken up, although the dark rims of his eyes are telltales of lost sleep. It’s been a few days since he’d visited the prison, and Jongin only has one method of drowning out the guilt he feels for rekindling Baekhyun’s traumatic experiences.
(Since when did he start caring?)
He reaches out for the bottle of vodka he’d thrown somewhere - was it vodka? - and upon finding it empty, he rummages his pockets for a cigarette instead. Little tools of death, eating away at the frays of his life are the things he keeps closest to him. Most people keep themselves as far away from them as possible, but he feels more at home with poison than he has ever felt walking around in his own skin and bones.
He swings a leg over the bed, only to wince at the feeling of broken glass jabbing at his feet. But instead of picking them out, he steps on the broken pieces with his other foot; tapping his feet lightly at first, and then beginning to stomp harder until blood is dripping onto the floor beneath him.
The pain feels all too familiar, and he reaches out for his sleeping pills while the drones of past agonies haunt him again. His vision momentarily blacks out while he’s shuddering, trying to open his bottle of pills, and then he hears music. He hears fucking music. He screams, trying to block out the noise and punches the floor impulsively.
The floor feels clammy under his hands, and far too wet than what it should be. His heart drops when he realises it’s blood, dripping from his wrists and painting a sick picture on his palms. For a moment, he stays curled up on the floor, hoping the pain and mental torture will go away with every shout he pulls out of his throat. But they never do.
So he staggers up, ignoring the sharp pains that shoot up his legs, and starts running to wherever his mind is taking him.
÷
“Baekhyun!”
Junmyeon pants. The winter air in the hallways pierces his chest with every intake of breath.
“Baekhyun!”
He thanks the deities when he turns the corner and sees a familiar cell, still pitch-dark even though the sun has long since set. Baekhyun never bothers to turn the light on, and it has always been Junmyeon who dispels the darkness - it’d feel too lonely otherwise.
“Byun…Baekhyun…” He sees the said man turn his head around, eyes heavy with sleep.
“What is it?”
“Mr…Mr Kim Jongin,” he wipes his forehead. “He’s here, and he says he wants to see you.”
“Why me?”
The gates of his cell scrapes open, and Junmyeon beckons him to go outside with his hands. “He didn’t say. Come on, now.”
“Wait,” Baekhyun grabs Junmyeon’s sleeve. “Aren’t you going to handcuff me?”
Junmyeon shakes his head. “How would you feel if I sent someone to comfort you in chains?”
÷
It feels strange, not having the glass barriers and metal handcuffs restricting him, Baekhyun being left to his own devices. He steps into the room, he closes the door after himself and gingerly touches the walls. He doesn’t like the momentary freedom, longing for the damp walls of his cell back. When he hears noises in the room and finds the source, his heart instantly drops.
It’s the boy from yesterday - Jongin, crouching on the floor and curled up. It’s like the air is pointing daggers at him, and he’s cowering away from the sharp tips. Baekhyun’s eyes widen when he sees the blood on his arms and hands, making smears across the floor that look like he had dragged himself into the room.
“I - I don’t know why someone like me, who wants to kill so badly,” Jongin chokes out. “Is it still here, outside and pretending to be normal. But you - apologising for everything, and is traumatised by your wrongs is locked away…sentenced to death, I -”
Jongin cries out then, and all Baekhyun wants to do is reach out and touch him, because he’s so tangible and so real that with every cry, Baekhyun feels the pain in his heart, even though he’s got nothing to do with Jongin’s life.
Instead, Baekhyun slides into place beside Jongin, keeping a safe distance from him despite the urge to hold him close - because Jongin seems so fragile, reminding Baekhyun of himself years ago. “Who…who did you want to kill?”
“Do. Who do I want to kill? Myself.” Jongin laughs sarcastically. “It was the first time in weeks that I tried to kill myself. After meeting you, I had a lot to think about, but I was thinking of all the wrong things.”
Every time Jongin stops to catch his breath, Baekhyun waits patiently for him to continue.
“People forget, what it’s like to be in the entertainment industry. All they see is the lights, the money and the glamour of it - but it’s really just a thin veil covering all the shit that happens underneath.” Jongin curls up on himself even more. “I’m not a prodigy. I was trained all my life to be a dancer, attending multiple classes by world-class choreographers and all that bullshit. My parents were obsessed with the thought of raising a child who would achieve everything no other child can. They wanted to leave their mark on the world through me.”
Baekhyun hears a door slam outside, then a series of shushing afterwards.
“Once I gained popularity, it meant freedom. It meant doing stupid shit that would probably end up getting me killed, but I was happy doing them, and all I saw was the fun in it; never the dangers. But the pressure was still there, and instead of it getting less as I get more successful; I had my time, my life and everything that made me happy stripped away from me. I was losing pieces of myself every day, forced to dance hours on end, never stopping even when I injured my back.”
Baekhyun’s eyes widen.
“I had a lot of problems with my body, and I was constantly getting injured. But every time I complain, my parents would dismiss it as excuses, telling me to practice even harder. And one day, my back was hurting so much that I collapsed, crying out to my mum that I needed a goddamn break. You know what she did? She kicked me. She kicked me until I felt like I was going to fucking die, right there on the dance floor. And by then, I couldn’t feel anything, and I was sure I was dead.”
“I’m -“
“I couldn’t dance anymore afterwards. I never liked it, but it was the only thing that I knew how to do. Everything came tumbling down after that, and I only saw. No. I only see suicide as an option. I - I might seem bitter and what I say can sometimes be outright rude and senseless, so I’m sorry…”
“It’s fine. You were being pushed too far.”
“I don’t like you,” Jongin suddenly says. “But I realise that I don’t hate you either. Because all I had to go on about you were exaggerated details that were written to entertain. I don’t have room in me to empathise with other people, but if everyone I encounter is going to be polite on the outside and just say pretty words, then I don’t need it.”
When Jongin doesn’t say anything more, Baekhyun asks, “what are you saying?”
“I… I want us to talk. I’m sick of hearing lies, and I want us to talk without trying to avoid anything. I’m tired of going around in circles.” Jongin says the last sentence in a whisper, barely audible from where Baekhyun is sitting even in the quiet room. “Can we do that?”
Just then Baekhyun feels the urge to laugh, so he lets out a chuckle; much to the surprise of Jongin. “Someone once told me backstage: ‘don’t worry, everyone here is equally bad off.’ He didn’t realise that the moment you say you’re bad off, equality no longer applies.” Baekhyun cocks his head. “You’re strange. To pick a prisoner on death row to talk to you…without bias.”
“Strange. Weird. Odd. I’ve been called those names before behind my back.”
Jongin sees Baekhyun’s lips almost curving into what might resemble a smile upon looking up.
“Me too.”
The room is still silent as the conversation trails off, Jongin continuing to weep. It’s a strong shaking, wrecking weeping that comes from a wound that will never heal. Baekhyun lets him, leaving him be with his memories and his pain. Baekhyun wants to offer him comfort, but it wouldn’t matter. The wounds that never heal can only be mourned alone. He knows that much.
One | Two
Author: Anonymous until 1/30/14
For: illegiblesigns
Pairing: Baekhyun/Kai
Word Count: 17,653
Summary: Baekhyun is a prisoner sentenced to death and Jongin happens to be in the right place at the right time. He finds himself slipping into Baekhyun's words, just as much as Baekhyun is slipping into his.
Warnings: character death, suicidal themes, mentions of prostitution, slight gore, (a lot of cheesy lines)
Rating: PG-13
One
Something about the rain that day casts the afternoon as an odd one, its torrential downpour an anomaly between its bright and windy counterparts. Hunched shoulders run around under umbrellas, and they spare no glances at the occasional odd souls giving their eyes to the storm.
Baekhyun stands still, oblivious to the upturned sky and the rattling of tracks, weighed down by the weight of a passing train. When he looks down and sees his own artwork, he wonders how two perfectly normal-looking hands, used to black and white keys and pulling out perfect notes can create such a fatal mess.
Baekhyun lets the umbrella hang in his grip, dripping red raindrops onto the scarlet tarmac.
He hears the sirens. And they sound just like the piano melodies from his past.
÷
“Is Mr Kim still asleep?”
“Probably. It’s best not to disturb him. I heard he had another tantrum last night.”
“The poor soul. If only he would step out of his room and see everything he has in this world, he surely wouldn’t be in this position.”
Jongin lifts a hand to his eyes because the sunlight hurts, then he laughs because however much he tries, he can still hear voices. He resists the urge to grab something long and thin and stab his ears out, just so he can stop listening to people's bullshit.
Just a little longer, Jongin assures himself. This time it’ll work - the cleanest, least painful way of all. He’d done his research. When he lifts his head up, it feels a little heavy, the sunrise three shades of orange too bright. His mornings, afternoons and evenings have been slipping past him in a lidded daze, where the ability to think in an unidentifiable way disappears and where every moment is eternity.
His head starts to spin and he has to clutch the sides of the window frame to stop himself from tumbling over. His throat is scratching itself inside out, but Jongin can barely register the coughs the neighbours can probably hear from miles away.
Jongin’s almost there. He can almost taste death.
÷
The sun pries his eyes open in a way that has him flinching.
“#3987, Byun Baekhyun. Are you awake?”
His eyes droop back down at the sound of another voice. “No.”
“A visitor is here to see you, and -“
“I don’t have relatives. I don’t have anyone.”
“It’s not a relative.” The guard says sternly, and Baekhyun imagines the way his straight back is dying to slouch over, restless in the way he can’t wait to get out of this hellhole and spend his break with a friend. “He’s the man from the Psychology Institute we talked about, and -“
“Him again?” Baekhyun shields his eyes with his arm, ignoring the pinpricks of pain from his distorted sleeping position. “Tell him I don’t care and I don’t want to, and that he’s just wasting his time here.”
“Please, just see him once. He’s been coming here every day since last week.” When Baekhyun snarls, the guard sighs. “At least tell him you don’t want to see him in person.”
÷
Baekhyun trods over with leaden feet out of his cell and into the long, narrow hallway covered in pale sheets of dust and grime, to the dimly-lit room they label the visiting area. Truthfully, he thinks it’s just an over-glorified cage in which he’s the prey. By now, the handcuffs feel just as much as a part of his skin that he itches for the feeling of cold metal back on his wrist the instant the guards take them off. Baekhyun sighs in relief when they reach the door, and his wrists are shackled once more.
Rays of light even more piercing than the sun impale him as soon as they throw the door open, and Baekhyun staggers back from the intensity of it. They say that after being deprived of something for so long, it takes a while to remember - but to him, it’s like experiencing everything new again. Baekhyun avoids looking straight up, afraid of what he’s going to see and averts his eyes to the corner of the room. It’s then that Baekhyun sees him - back leaning against the wall, eyes cast downwards with his dark hair failing to cover the frown on his face. The boy doesn’t look like he wants to be here, and Baekhyun can’t blame him.
“Baekhyun?” A tall, lanky man in a too-bright sweater bounds up to him with eyes that brighten with excitement, yet to Baekhyun they seem dull and shallow. His obnoxious name tag says Park Chanyeol. The name tastes like poison in Baekhyun’s mouth. “Hi! Hello! I can finally see you.”
He has to look away at the sight of the man’s lopsided smile, almost blinding in the way that it flashes far too many teeth. Baekhyun doesn’t respond.
“I’m extremely pleased to meet you. Have you thought about what I said in my last letter? When I asked you to give life another chance?”
“Are you asking me whether I’ve given up on suicide or not?” Baekhyun deadpans, and he sees the dark-haired boy in the corner look up.
“W-well, yes, yes I am.”
Letting his mind run back to his damp cell and the pills and razors and ropes stashed under his bed - the ones the guards haven’t taken away - Baekhyun holds back his anger. “I’ve given up.”
“Oh, really? I’m so thankful, you’re finally seeing what good this world offers -“
“I realised it was a waste of my own energy anyway,” he interrupts. “When all I have to do is sit and wait until I get killed.”
“Byun Baekhyun!”
“It’s…it’s alright warden Junmyeon. It must’ve been ages since he’s able to say things freely…”
“Trust me, the prison cell is much less locked out than the world out there -“
“How about we sit down?”
Baekhyun senses the man getting uncomfortable, and he makes the mistake of stealing another glance at the boy in the corner. His eyes seem to analyse every micro-movement Baekhyun makes and dissect his every thought.
“I’ve tried to get across to you so many times.” Chanyeol says, still grinning. “I’ve done a lot of research on you, and recently we’ve discovered a new theory in our psychology department. I mean, I’m not trying to sound like -“
“Please stop.”
Chanyeol looks confused. “I’m sorry?”
“I hope you haven’t mistaken my willingness to see you for anything else but a request for you to stop visiting.” Baekhyun says sternly despite his faltering gaze. “This attention…it’s unnecessary.”
“Well, you haven’t given counseling a shot, have you?” The smile Chanyeol gives him is too kind, too soft as if he’s offering Baekhyun a piece of candy and leading him into a trap. “It might really help. Especially if we start earlier.”
“I don’t need any sort of help. I am not a test subject for you to experiment your theories on, so it would be in both our interests if you walk out.” Baekhyun grits his teeth. “Right. Now.”
“Baekhyun -”
At Chanyeol’s pleading tone, Baekhyun brings both hands up to his ears and squeezes his eyes shut, making it obvious that he wants to block all noises away. Silence consumes him, and when he opens his eyes Chanyeol is nowhere to be seen.
His relief is short-lived, however, because the next thing he knows the dark-haired boy is towering in front of him, looking like he wants to strangle the living hell out of Baekhyun.
“You know, it would’ve been great if you had at least respected half the things he said,” the boy snaps, throwing Baekhyun a disgusted look. Baekhyun’s face remains passive. “My friend’s not the best person out there, but at least he tries. You and I both know we’re far from being anything even remotely close to good, so a bit sort of effort would’ve at least earned you some respect.”
“Then why didn’t you speak?”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you say all this earlier?”
The expression the boy’s face is unreadable. “I wanted to check. Whether you had any empathy left in you or not.”
Baekhyun never gets to ask for his verdict, because the boy simply walks out without a second glance.
He can probably guess, anyway.
÷
The boy’s name is Kim Jongin; he overhears one of the guards say. He comes from a wealthy family, had been handed everything he needed on a silver platter topped off with golden dressing. But apparently money can never defeat depression. He’d just been released from the hospital after his latest stunt, which nearly got him killed. He must be blessed, to have another chance to live in this world again. That's what the guards keep saying over and over.
That night, Baekhyun can’t sleep, tossing and turning in his narrow bed. He realises that both of them, Baekhyun and Jongin, are so different, yet so alike in many ways - and it scares him, the fact that someone so fortunate to be born with everything can end up in the same position he is.
Baekhyun thinks it might be some glitch in his brain, but he wishes he had found out about all of this not by eavesdropping the prison guards, but from Kim Jongin himself.
÷
There was a time when Baekhyun found solace in mundane things - when Baekhyun felt normal, as if he belonged in the world.
Once upon a time the piano was his world.
From the very first touch, he knew this instrument was going to dictate his whole life. The turning point, which his life will inevitably come across, won’t be caused by a girl, or some natural disaster nor will it be due to a life-changing trip abroad. It’ll be because of the combination of black and white, the melodies he’ll coax out of these keys. The more he played, the deeper he was pulled into the world of music, the faster time went, the more oblivious of the world he became.
Baekhyun never noticed the pair of small, sad eyes across the street, studying him intently and ears reserved only for his pieces. Even the boy’s undivided attention was never enough to pull Baekhyun out of his reverie; broken only whenever the piano teacher crashed through the door and his shouts jolting Baekhyun out of his bench.
By then, the boy would have been long gone.
And at the time, Baekhyun thought all changes should happen for good reasons, and surely the changes the piano will bring him will make him happier somehow.
How naïve he was.
÷
The fucking sunlight is in his face again. They need some fucking curtains in this place.
“Baekhyun?” He hears a soft voice from the hallway. He looks up.
“Warden Junmyeon?”
“Please, just call me Junmyeon.”
The simple statement surprises Baekhyun, but he doesn’t give it a second thought. Junmyeon’s glasses are nearly slipping off from the way he’s grinning so widely, and Baekhyun notices the casual clothes he’s wearing - a jacket over a white dress shirt, and a pair of slacks. Since his time here, he had discovered that Junmyeon is different from the other uptight guard. He doesn’t act like one half the time, and is willing to sit outside anyone’s cell to talk for hours on end.
“I found something you might be interested in.”
Baekhyun frowns.
“You remember the person who came with the Psychology Man? The one who was sitting in the corner?”
He recalls the dark hair and the equally dark eyes. “Yeah.”
“Well, I thought he looked rather familiar, and I realised where I’ve seen him before. Here!” Junmyeon hands him a DVD, titled ‘Kim Jongin - the Debut Era’. “Have you heard of him?”
“Yeah,” Baekhyun admits. “Heard he was huge in the entertainment world.”
“I came across one of his interviews, and he said he was inspired by the works of many pianists. One of them was Byun Baekhyun.” Junmyeon raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you used to play the piano.”
Baekhyun hunches his shoulder a little. “It was a long time ago. And it was short-lived.”
Junmyeon waits for Baekhyun to continue, but when he makes no sign of doing so, he stands up. “I’ll head to my office. Call me if you need anything, okay?”
Just as Junmyeon is walking away, Baekhyun calls him back. “I…can you play it for me? The DVD?”
Junmyeon seems taken aback, but he’s smiling when he nods a confirmation.
÷
As Baekhyun watches Kim Jongin dance, watches the way his body looks so frail but so resolute at the same time, he wonders if what Junmyeon says might be true. He remembers clearly the forlorn tunes he’d always play on his piano, the happier pieces saved only for himself - and he sees bits and pieces of it in the way Jongin twists and turns, his moves sharp and precise as if they hurt him. It's exactly like seeing into the mirror.
When he’s finished, Baekhyun sits back, thinking how unfortunate it must be for Kim Jongin to find someone so sad as his source of inspiration.
÷
“You shouldn’t get too close to him.”
Junmyeon turns around from where he’s rummaging the boxes, looking for more DVDs. He only half-heard what the guard had said.
“What do you mean?”
“The people here…they’re still criminals. Especially that convict you keep talking to - he’ll die soon. It’s better to stay detached and watch them go, rather than to hurt yourself when he leaves.”
Junmyeon shrugs his jacket off. He never wears the guard uniform - he feels like it’s a barrier between him and the inmates, as if he had been granted superior authority he never accepted.
“I told myself that, too. That I shouldn’t have any compassion for them.” He finds another Kim Jongin performance, and wipes the dust off the cover. “The crimes that some of these criminals did - they disgust me. Makes me want to run out the door and never look back.”
“That’s true, and -“
“But then most, if not all,” Junmyeon smiles sadly. “Have no choice but to live the way they’re living, and to do the things they’ve done. And who are we, as society, to blame them, when we’re the ones who create the world they live in?”
The guard stays quiet.
“Have you read up on Byun Baekhyun’s life?”
“No.” The guard admits.
Junmyeon gestures to the chair beside him, indicating that it’s going to be one hell of a story.
“He used to be a piano prodigy when he was very young, probably when he was seven or eight. Everything seemed to be going well for him until his parents died. His piano teacher took him into care - his family wasn’t very well off, and the will they left had granted custody of Baekhyun to his teacher. The world thought it was a blessing - pianist Baekhyun! Getting the best guidance he’ll ever need! He’ll surely see the path to success.”
The slow hums of midnight drives outside seep into the room. “Then…what happened?”
Unknown to Junmyeon, Baekhyun tries to focus on his own breathing in his cell, desperately attempting to block out the conversation happening at such a close proximity to him. But even when he can no longer hear the voices, he can see it, that day. And everything is so vivid, so tangible, that he feels like it was only yesterday that he -
It all feels too real.
He’s stumbling through the dark with the screams tailing him like laps of fire streaking across the hardwood floor. Baekhyun sees the crack of light ahead, and uses up what little energy he has left to break through it, yanking the curtains to the stage apart.
He hears the gasps before he sees the audience’s horrified expressions, hands to their mouths and eyes wide. For a while, Baekhyun can only hear silence in the auditorium.
Until he stretched his arms out, and sees them covered in blood.
A woman’s shrill cry, followed by profuse sobbing, breaks the silence first. Then there was a flurry of panicked shouting. His face is bloody! Oh my god, can you see that cut on his forehead? Is he dying? Someone call the damn police!
Baekhyun turns, and sees the perpetrator behind the curtains. And in that instant, he knows he has to leave.
“He ran away, after the concert that never happened.” Junmyeon’s voice turns quiet, so quiet Baekhyun can barely hear him through his own uneven breathing. “And it was like he disappeared into thin air. Within a couple of days, the story of the missing pianist prodigy no longer sold the newspapers as headlines. His story was soon replaced by other stories, more dramatic and overly exaggerated.”
“What happened to the...the…”
“The abuser? The person who hit a child until he’s bleeding, just because he said he was too tired for a concert, was his teacher.”
The guard gasped. “No!"
“Unfortunately so. Even worse, he ran away just as quick as Baekhyun did, and people paid even less attention to him. It took me hours to dig up anything relevant to this story; everything about it is so obscure.”
Junmyeon grabs the last of the DVDs from the box and closes it shut, still oblivious to Baekhyun lying on his side almost painfully trying to keep his sobs in.
“No one chooses to be broken, yet we treat them as if they had a choice.”
÷
The train station is as busy as usual when Jongin gets off from work. It’s been a pain trying to fit back into the same shitty set of people, and every turn of the day doesn’t make anything better. At least it’s a normal job, he reassures himself. Thanks to his prestigious status (his family’s, at least), he’s been able to land a job at a publishing company as a co-editor. Nothing too demanding, nothing too relaxed that’d encourage slacking off, either. He’s thankful for the job, because normal people have jobs. And for a few hours a day, he gets to pretend he’s ‘normal’.
“Move!” Jongin is shoved aside roughly, and before he can protest to the man running ahead, he hears, “Some guy just got into a fight!”
Frowning, Jongin follows the man, jogging lightly to some platform he’s not headed to. Immediately, he’s greeted with a crowd of people huddling near the rails.
“You want me to forgive the damn murderer? Are you crazy?”
Jongin pushes through the crowd, and his eyes widen.
“If he weren’t in prison, I’d kill him myself right now! Everyone is always like this - you don’t know how it feels like, but you act like know-it-alls - like fucking saints!”
His eyes meet Chanyeol’s, and he’s about to step out to help him up when Chanyeol shakes his head no. Chanyeol’s arms that are holding himself up tremble slightly, but his face is calm in the midst of all the chaos. Must be some psychology thing, Jongin thinks.
“Go away!” The woman who had pushed Chanyeol sobs into her hand. “Just - get out of here!”
Jongin sees Chanyeol’s own glassy eyes, and he sighs. However precious Chanyeol might be, he gives Jongin too much of a headache sometimes.
÷
“You’re so stupid.”
“What’s the point of living life without a little risk?”
Jongin rolls his eyes, and glances at his watch. “I think I’ll have to go now.”
“Already?”
Jongin stands up to stretch, his muscles aching from the lengthy hours he’d sat with his friend. Chanyeol seems to be oblivious to the fact that Jongin had spent half the day with him in the hospital room.
He smiles. “You might try and make me do things again, like go with you to the jail a second time. Or would it be my third?”
Chanyeol’s expression turns forlorn. “Do you really hate him? The prisoner?”
“It’s a little hard not to, after reading all the things people say about him.” Jongin pauses, hesitating a little before continuing; “I…did a little research on him last night.”
Chanyeol a little straighter in his bed, and Jongin takes it as a sign to continue.
“I wanted to know what crime he did that made him, you know. End up with a death sentence, so I searched him up.”
“And?”
Jongin looks away. “He pushed a woman and her child onto the train tracks and they were run over, then he used her umbrella to stab a passerby to death.” Jongin shudders at his own words, but Chanyeol stays unflinching. “He killed three people in that instant. Three souls were ripped out of bodies in less than ten minutes, and those souls were most likely innocent. Why he’d kill a woman and her little child that he had no relations to is beyond me."
“Did you read about his past?”
Jongin nods. “It was included in the article, there were horrible details. But he’s only one out of millions who are in the same predicament, the same unfortunate circumstances. I thought that, if we forgave him for his crimes - what about the victims? What will happen to one who loved the people he killed? They would never get compensation for what happened. It’s irreversible, and the best compensation they’ll get is to know they’ll never see him again.”
“But…Jongin…he’s got no one in this world.”
“That doesn’t justify whatever he’s done,” Jongin clenches his fists. “While I was growing up, I had nearly no one either. Whoever was around me, they were just placeholders - just figureheads with the labels ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’. They’re only titles, because in reality they’re even more distant than strangers I meet on the streets.”
Just as Jongin’s walking out the door, Chanyeol says; “But what you did was worse than what he’s ever done.”
Jongin turns around, frowning, and the blood in his body turns cold. “What?”
“Because you ruined your own life, gave up the opportunities given to you. You had choices, but you took the wrong one. At least he didn’t have a choice but to do what he did.”
Baekhyun. Just hearing the name makes Jongin sick.
“Abandoning him like that just makes you the same as the people you hate most.”
The fact that Chanyeol is saying these words to him, however much of a ‘good friend’ he’s trying to be, makes Jongin feel like he has been stabbed in the back.
“I’m leaving.” He swings the door open. “And I don’t want to see him again.”
÷
Truthfully, the only reason Jongin didn’t pick better ways to kill himself was Chanyeol. Thinking of how Chanyeol would hold up without Jongin in the world makes him think twice, and is the only reason why he took sleeping pills instead of throwing himself off a building, why he slit his wrists instead of aiming a gun to his head. They’ve been friends since childhood, and Chanyeol had been the only one who had stuck by him through every daring plunge Jongin takes. Somewhere along the line, Jongin figured he should do the same.
Then he thinks of Baekhyun, and how many people who’ll miss him when he’s gone.
When all his thinking results in nothing, Jongin has to stop in his tracks to sit down. He ponders far too long on the prisoner he hates, but is hated by the rest of the world already.
÷
Jongin’s not sure of what made his feet take a different route on the junction, until he ends up right there in front of the glass barrier, staring into Baekhyun’s unreadable face again. His hair is still long, covering his forehead and falling into his eyes, and Jongin has to catch himself from drowning into them.
“Um. I didn’t expect you to actually come since…our last meeting wasn’t very successful.”
Jongin lets his gaze fall, unable to maintain the eye contact. He’s remotely surprised that Baekhyun had initiated the conversation first.
“That’s okay.”
An awkward silence falls between them, making Jongin shift uncomfortably in his seat. Unconsciously studying Baekhyun’s figure, he can sense he’s got something to say in the way he drums his fingers against his thighs, the way his eyes dart from left to right with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
A soft click of the door has Jongin turning in his seat, looking up to see Junmyeon’s default smiling face. “Oh! Jongin, I didn’t realise you were here. Thank you so much for coming in the place of Chanyeol. I hope he’s fine?”
“It’s…He’s fine,” Jongin breathes out. Kindness is stifling.
When neither of the two attempts to say anything else, Junmyeon clears his throat.
“That reminds me, Jongin, you used to dance, right?”
The words hit him like a truck at full-speed, blaring headlights sending his vision into momentary blackout. He shifts in his seat, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he feels, because right now he really wants to run out of the damn place. “Y-yes.”
“I used to be such a big fan of yours. I’d watch your performances every week and record them.”
Jongin closes his eyes, wishing the sky would knock the living hell out of him. “Thank you.”
“It’s such a shame, how suddenly you stopped. And so soon, too! We were expecting great things from you…why did you stop -“
He slams the desk, the sound bouncing off the walls in the room, shutting up Junmyeon effectively, and Jongin’s palms tingle from the collision. The room is deadly silent.
“I’m never dancing again.” Jongin’s head hurts, the memories rushing into his mind at a far too quick a rate. “If it weren’t for Chanyeol, I wouldn’t even think of coming to this place full of -“
Jongin realises what he had said far too late. He casts a horrified glance at Baekhyun, who has finally looked up with a look of utter disgust on his face.
“Huh. That’s right. You’re just like one of them, then.” Baekhyun laughs bitterly.
“B-Baekhyun, don’t say that -“
“No, Junmyeon. Why can’t I? It’s true. All they want to do is learn a lesson from people like me - people who ‘suffer’, so that they can bask in their superiority and go home feeling good about themselves.” Baekhyun stands up, with a gaze that seems to cut through Jongin more painfully than any of his blades could. “It’s been a pleasure, sire. Was this what you wanted? For me to thank you for visiting or something?”
Baekhyun mocks a bow, his eyes never leaving Jongin’s, and kicks his chair over as he walks out of the room.
“Wait, Baekhyun -“
“Chanyeol got injured in the train station, while he was trying to talk to a relative of the victim of your murder.” Baekhyun stops in his tracks.
“Jongin, don’t -“
“He wanted them to understand why you did what you did, even just a little -“
“Jongin, please don’t discuss his crimes in here.”
“What?”
Just then, Jongin notices Baekhyun’s heavy breathing and the tremors wrecking through his body, before he collapses onto the floor screaming.
“Baekhyun! Quick, Jongin, call the security guards outside.”
“What? What’s happening -“
Then Jongin stops, because he hears the words Baekhyun is repeating over and over that turns his blood ice-cold.
”I’m sorry.”
÷
Jongin feels like he had just woken up, although the dark rims of his eyes are telltales of lost sleep. It’s been a few days since he’d visited the prison, and Jongin only has one method of drowning out the guilt he feels for rekindling Baekhyun’s traumatic experiences.
(Since when did he start caring?)
He reaches out for the bottle of vodka he’d thrown somewhere - was it vodka? - and upon finding it empty, he rummages his pockets for a cigarette instead. Little tools of death, eating away at the frays of his life are the things he keeps closest to him. Most people keep themselves as far away from them as possible, but he feels more at home with poison than he has ever felt walking around in his own skin and bones.
He swings a leg over the bed, only to wince at the feeling of broken glass jabbing at his feet. But instead of picking them out, he steps on the broken pieces with his other foot; tapping his feet lightly at first, and then beginning to stomp harder until blood is dripping onto the floor beneath him.
The pain feels all too familiar, and he reaches out for his sleeping pills while the drones of past agonies haunt him again. His vision momentarily blacks out while he’s shuddering, trying to open his bottle of pills, and then he hears music. He hears fucking music. He screams, trying to block out the noise and punches the floor impulsively.
The floor feels clammy under his hands, and far too wet than what it should be. His heart drops when he realises it’s blood, dripping from his wrists and painting a sick picture on his palms. For a moment, he stays curled up on the floor, hoping the pain and mental torture will go away with every shout he pulls out of his throat. But they never do.
So he staggers up, ignoring the sharp pains that shoot up his legs, and starts running to wherever his mind is taking him.
÷
“Baekhyun!”
Junmyeon pants. The winter air in the hallways pierces his chest with every intake of breath.
“Baekhyun!”
He thanks the deities when he turns the corner and sees a familiar cell, still pitch-dark even though the sun has long since set. Baekhyun never bothers to turn the light on, and it has always been Junmyeon who dispels the darkness - it’d feel too lonely otherwise.
“Byun…Baekhyun…” He sees the said man turn his head around, eyes heavy with sleep.
“What is it?”
“Mr…Mr Kim Jongin,” he wipes his forehead. “He’s here, and he says he wants to see you.”
“Why me?”
The gates of his cell scrapes open, and Junmyeon beckons him to go outside with his hands. “He didn’t say. Come on, now.”
“Wait,” Baekhyun grabs Junmyeon’s sleeve. “Aren’t you going to handcuff me?”
Junmyeon shakes his head. “How would you feel if I sent someone to comfort you in chains?”
÷
It feels strange, not having the glass barriers and metal handcuffs restricting him, Baekhyun being left to his own devices. He steps into the room, he closes the door after himself and gingerly touches the walls. He doesn’t like the momentary freedom, longing for the damp walls of his cell back. When he hears noises in the room and finds the source, his heart instantly drops.
It’s the boy from yesterday - Jongin, crouching on the floor and curled up. It’s like the air is pointing daggers at him, and he’s cowering away from the sharp tips. Baekhyun’s eyes widen when he sees the blood on his arms and hands, making smears across the floor that look like he had dragged himself into the room.
“I - I don’t know why someone like me, who wants to kill so badly,” Jongin chokes out. “Is it still here, outside and pretending to be normal. But you - apologising for everything, and is traumatised by your wrongs is locked away…sentenced to death, I -”
Jongin cries out then, and all Baekhyun wants to do is reach out and touch him, because he’s so tangible and so real that with every cry, Baekhyun feels the pain in his heart, even though he’s got nothing to do with Jongin’s life.
Instead, Baekhyun slides into place beside Jongin, keeping a safe distance from him despite the urge to hold him close - because Jongin seems so fragile, reminding Baekhyun of himself years ago. “Who…who did you want to kill?”
“Do. Who do I want to kill? Myself.” Jongin laughs sarcastically. “It was the first time in weeks that I tried to kill myself. After meeting you, I had a lot to think about, but I was thinking of all the wrong things.”
Every time Jongin stops to catch his breath, Baekhyun waits patiently for him to continue.
“People forget, what it’s like to be in the entertainment industry. All they see is the lights, the money and the glamour of it - but it’s really just a thin veil covering all the shit that happens underneath.” Jongin curls up on himself even more. “I’m not a prodigy. I was trained all my life to be a dancer, attending multiple classes by world-class choreographers and all that bullshit. My parents were obsessed with the thought of raising a child who would achieve everything no other child can. They wanted to leave their mark on the world through me.”
Baekhyun hears a door slam outside, then a series of shushing afterwards.
“Once I gained popularity, it meant freedom. It meant doing stupid shit that would probably end up getting me killed, but I was happy doing them, and all I saw was the fun in it; never the dangers. But the pressure was still there, and instead of it getting less as I get more successful; I had my time, my life and everything that made me happy stripped away from me. I was losing pieces of myself every day, forced to dance hours on end, never stopping even when I injured my back.”
Baekhyun’s eyes widen.
“I had a lot of problems with my body, and I was constantly getting injured. But every time I complain, my parents would dismiss it as excuses, telling me to practice even harder. And one day, my back was hurting so much that I collapsed, crying out to my mum that I needed a goddamn break. You know what she did? She kicked me. She kicked me until I felt like I was going to fucking die, right there on the dance floor. And by then, I couldn’t feel anything, and I was sure I was dead.”
“I’m -“
“I couldn’t dance anymore afterwards. I never liked it, but it was the only thing that I knew how to do. Everything came tumbling down after that, and I only saw. No. I only see suicide as an option. I - I might seem bitter and what I say can sometimes be outright rude and senseless, so I’m sorry…”
“It’s fine. You were being pushed too far.”
“I don’t like you,” Jongin suddenly says. “But I realise that I don’t hate you either. Because all I had to go on about you were exaggerated details that were written to entertain. I don’t have room in me to empathise with other people, but if everyone I encounter is going to be polite on the outside and just say pretty words, then I don’t need it.”
When Jongin doesn’t say anything more, Baekhyun asks, “what are you saying?”
“I… I want us to talk. I’m sick of hearing lies, and I want us to talk without trying to avoid anything. I’m tired of going around in circles.” Jongin says the last sentence in a whisper, barely audible from where Baekhyun is sitting even in the quiet room. “Can we do that?”
Just then Baekhyun feels the urge to laugh, so he lets out a chuckle; much to the surprise of Jongin. “Someone once told me backstage: ‘don’t worry, everyone here is equally bad off.’ He didn’t realise that the moment you say you’re bad off, equality no longer applies.” Baekhyun cocks his head. “You’re strange. To pick a prisoner on death row to talk to you…without bias.”
“Strange. Weird. Odd. I’ve been called those names before behind my back.”
Jongin sees Baekhyun’s lips almost curving into what might resemble a smile upon looking up.
“Me too.”
The room is still silent as the conversation trails off, Jongin continuing to weep. It’s a strong shaking, wrecking weeping that comes from a wound that will never heal. Baekhyun lets him, leaving him be with his memories and his pain. Baekhyun wants to offer him comfort, but it wouldn’t matter. The wounds that never heal can only be mourned alone. He knows that much.
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