[team one] long ride home
Why did I write Christmas cancer fic. I'm sorry, Jongdae. (This is Part 2.)
The morning after, Jongdae is on a train. He has two packages, a cardboard box tied with nylon strings and two boxed cakes tied up in pretty purple silk, and a backache. He always has a backache the morning after sleeping on Joonmyun’s pullout sofa with the broken springs.
Honestly, he’d prefer a blanket and the floor, but Joonmyun would make him sleep in his own bed if he said anything, and that Jongdae is not prepared for. Even if he let Joonmyun trade with him, slept alone in his hyung’s room while Joonmyun curled up on the couch, Jongdae couldn’t stand to be wrapped in the soft cotton sheets that smell like Joonmyun. Surrounded by the scent of Joonmyun’s lavender fabric rinse and Joonmyun’s spicy sachet things he packs between his pajamas in the bureau drawers and Joonmyun’s fruity shampoo--it would be too much to bear while Joonmyun himself was absent from the room.
So Jongdae takes the broken sofa that was a nice sofa before Joonmyun’s nieces ruined it playing “three little monkeys”, and puts up with the kinks in his back the next morning because Joonmyun always puts up with him. Jongdae crashes at his hyung’s place at least once a month, whenever he misses the last train out of Seoul. It’s hard to predict how long he’ll have to wait at the clinic, and Joonmyun lives only a twenty minute walk or a five minute cab ride from the hospital campus.
A convenient coincidence, Joonmyun had smiled over the phone the first time Jongdae missed his train and dialed in a panic, of course you can stay with me.
Jongdae brings his appreciation with him in boxes: peaches in the summer, berries or tangerines in winter. Joonmyun always manages to send him back with more than he brought, though, kilos of fruit studded ddeok or expensive cheesecake, New York style. Bottles of imported wine, or like today, cake.
Jongdae’s grandmother likes the ddeok best, especially the green kind bitter with wormwood. The wine she doesn’t drink, but can serve to residents. The cake they share, which means Baekhyun (who lives by the post office but often drops by the hasukjib for dinner) eats most of it. Jongdae doesn’t mind though, he doesn’t like sweets much. He just likes Joonmyun.
Joonmyun likes peaches which match his soft pink skin and round cheeked smile, but he loves tangerines. He can eat through a box in five days. If Jongdae tried that he’d end up with heartburn and mouth sores, but if he fusses about it Joonmyun just laughs and tells him not to worry. That he’s been around the block and knows himself, how to take care of himself. He tells Jongdae not to worry and pats the thick cuff of his beanie pulled low on his forehead til Jongdae smiles back.
Jongdae worries a lot, though, about his hyung who scorches rice and lives off fruit and coffee when he forgets to pick up banchan from the market. Who showers before bed and goes to sleep with sopping hair, staining his pillow slips with the scent of his tangerine shampoo.
Joonmyun worries, too. He sends Jongdae bitter health teas in the mail even though they meet almost every weekend. He sends umbrella reminder texts whenever it’s raining in Seoul, although it’s rarely raining in Jeonnam on the same day. He sends links to research articles on new trial drugs, peppered with statistics and vocabulary neither of them can understand, even though it’s been three years and Jongdae’s not really hoping anymore.
Joonmyun fusses over him, the way his old scarf and new coat don’t match, and how his lips stay chapped no matter the season or brand of chapstick he’s using. Joonmyun goes out of his way to take care of Jongdae, even though Jongdae has a grandmother and a cat and a best friend/annoying asshole Baekhyun. Joonmyun is just a sunbae from boarding school who shouldn’t care so much but does anyway, because he’s too generous.
Everyone says so. Jongdae’s grandmother will say it again when he slides the box of ddeok and the wrapped up cakes onto the kitchen counter when he arrives. She’ll sigh and tug at her wilted perm, then fold up the pretty purple silk and tuck it into the silverware drawer until next weekend.
Jongdae tries to take care. He rinses away the coffee grounds spackling Joonmyun’s kitchen sink and pulls out the hair matting the shower drain. Little things. Whatever Joonmyun forgets to take care of that Jongdae can do without disturbing the neighbors or the IV port taped to the inside of his wrist.
Jongdae wants to do more, but all he does is sleep on Joonmyun’s broken springed sofa from 1:00 AM to 5:00 AM on Sundays. It’s a useless time of day, but Jongdae won’t stay longer. He always leaves in time to catch the first train back. He already imposes too much, he’s afraid. More than tangerines and a clean sink can make up for, even though Joonmyun always smiles and insists that Jongdae is delightful company, that he’s always welcome.
He said it again this morning as he tugged Jongdae’s muffler into place on the doorstep. They said their goodbyes in the doorway, but Joonmyun trailed him to the end of the hall. He waited for the elevator with Jongdae, casually scratching at the neckline of his undershirt like he didn’t notice Jongdae’s eyes tracing the outline of his chest through the thin white cotton.
Joonmyun has a hard time saying goodbye because Joonmyun is lonely, maybe. Jongdae realized that over the first few months of renewed contact with his high school hyung. That Joonmyun works late on Fridays. That he spends Saturdays at the laundromat and browsing the market. That he goes into the office after a quick breakfast, maybe no breakfast, even on Sundays.
Joonmyun is lonely in his shiny high rise building, one of dozens other career driven, elite graduates slotted into fifteen stories of single units, and Jongdae wants to take care of him, but that wouldn’t be fair.
Jongdae draws the curtain over the train window and ignores the snow on the mountains drifting by. He clasps his hands over the bulge in his coat pocket, which wouldn’t fit in his backpack after he dumped his overnight stuff back in. He bought the journal for Joonmyun on Tuesday, a leather bound too-expensive one with “2015 Daily” stamped on the spine. Jongdae spent the three hour train ride up to Seoul writing an embarrassing thank you/admiration/confession note across the first three days of January. Each letter was painstaking, perfect except for a few bumpy spots. The letters were too neat and his words were too honest, which is why in the end he couldn’t leave the slim volume between the empty ramen cups and empty tangerine peels on Joonmyun’s coffee table.
Jongdae ripped out the first two pages, the first three days of January. He crumpled the “Dear Hyung” and “Merry Christmas” around the dried peelings and buried them in the dumpster at the edge of the parking lot. He’ll give the remaining 362 days to Baekhyun and keep his feelings to himself, because being honest wouldn’t be fair. Jongdae can’t take care of his hyung forever, for too much longer.
Jongdae snaps a picture of the top cake, of the Merry Christmas stamped across the box in dark gold that’s visible through the thin purple silk. He texts it to his grandmother, be home soon, three more hours at most.
A new message pops up as his photo is sending, Go home safely! And tell me when you get to Jangseong, don’t make your hyung worry!
I will! Jongdae dutifully types back, even though they both know he’ll worry regardless. Because Kim Joonmyun cares too much. And so does Jongdae, if it’s Joonmyun.
Next is goodbyelover, I believe.
The morning after, Jongdae is on a train. He has two packages, a cardboard box tied with nylon strings and two boxed cakes tied up in pretty purple silk, and a backache. He always has a backache the morning after sleeping on Joonmyun’s pullout sofa with the broken springs.
Honestly, he’d prefer a blanket and the floor, but Joonmyun would make him sleep in his own bed if he said anything, and that Jongdae is not prepared for. Even if he let Joonmyun trade with him, slept alone in his hyung’s room while Joonmyun curled up on the couch, Jongdae couldn’t stand to be wrapped in the soft cotton sheets that smell like Joonmyun. Surrounded by the scent of Joonmyun’s lavender fabric rinse and Joonmyun’s spicy sachet things he packs between his pajamas in the bureau drawers and Joonmyun’s fruity shampoo--it would be too much to bear while Joonmyun himself was absent from the room.
So Jongdae takes the broken sofa that was a nice sofa before Joonmyun’s nieces ruined it playing “three little monkeys”, and puts up with the kinks in his back the next morning because Joonmyun always puts up with him. Jongdae crashes at his hyung’s place at least once a month, whenever he misses the last train out of Seoul. It’s hard to predict how long he’ll have to wait at the clinic, and Joonmyun lives only a twenty minute walk or a five minute cab ride from the hospital campus.
A convenient coincidence, Joonmyun had smiled over the phone the first time Jongdae missed his train and dialed in a panic, of course you can stay with me.
Jongdae brings his appreciation with him in boxes: peaches in the summer, berries or tangerines in winter. Joonmyun always manages to send him back with more than he brought, though, kilos of fruit studded ddeok or expensive cheesecake, New York style. Bottles of imported wine, or like today, cake.
Jongdae’s grandmother likes the ddeok best, especially the green kind bitter with wormwood. The wine she doesn’t drink, but can serve to residents. The cake they share, which means Baekhyun (who lives by the post office but often drops by the hasukjib for dinner) eats most of it. Jongdae doesn’t mind though, he doesn’t like sweets much. He just likes Joonmyun.
Joonmyun likes peaches which match his soft pink skin and round cheeked smile, but he loves tangerines. He can eat through a box in five days. If Jongdae tried that he’d end up with heartburn and mouth sores, but if he fusses about it Joonmyun just laughs and tells him not to worry. That he’s been around the block and knows himself, how to take care of himself. He tells Jongdae not to worry and pats the thick cuff of his beanie pulled low on his forehead til Jongdae smiles back.
Jongdae worries a lot, though, about his hyung who scorches rice and lives off fruit and coffee when he forgets to pick up banchan from the market. Who showers before bed and goes to sleep with sopping hair, staining his pillow slips with the scent of his tangerine shampoo.
Joonmyun worries, too. He sends Jongdae bitter health teas in the mail even though they meet almost every weekend. He sends umbrella reminder texts whenever it’s raining in Seoul, although it’s rarely raining in Jeonnam on the same day. He sends links to research articles on new trial drugs, peppered with statistics and vocabulary neither of them can understand, even though it’s been three years and Jongdae’s not really hoping anymore.
Joonmyun fusses over him, the way his old scarf and new coat don’t match, and how his lips stay chapped no matter the season or brand of chapstick he’s using. Joonmyun goes out of his way to take care of Jongdae, even though Jongdae has a grandmother and a cat and a best friend/annoying asshole Baekhyun. Joonmyun is just a sunbae from boarding school who shouldn’t care so much but does anyway, because he’s too generous.
Everyone says so. Jongdae’s grandmother will say it again when he slides the box of ddeok and the wrapped up cakes onto the kitchen counter when he arrives. She’ll sigh and tug at her wilted perm, then fold up the pretty purple silk and tuck it into the silverware drawer until next weekend.
Jongdae tries to take care. He rinses away the coffee grounds spackling Joonmyun’s kitchen sink and pulls out the hair matting the shower drain. Little things. Whatever Joonmyun forgets to take care of that Jongdae can do without disturbing the neighbors or the IV port taped to the inside of his wrist.
Jongdae wants to do more, but all he does is sleep on Joonmyun’s broken springed sofa from 1:00 AM to 5:00 AM on Sundays. It’s a useless time of day, but Jongdae won’t stay longer. He always leaves in time to catch the first train back. He already imposes too much, he’s afraid. More than tangerines and a clean sink can make up for, even though Joonmyun always smiles and insists that Jongdae is delightful company, that he’s always welcome.
He said it again this morning as he tugged Jongdae’s muffler into place on the doorstep. They said their goodbyes in the doorway, but Joonmyun trailed him to the end of the hall. He waited for the elevator with Jongdae, casually scratching at the neckline of his undershirt like he didn’t notice Jongdae’s eyes tracing the outline of his chest through the thin white cotton.
Joonmyun has a hard time saying goodbye because Joonmyun is lonely, maybe. Jongdae realized that over the first few months of renewed contact with his high school hyung. That Joonmyun works late on Fridays. That he spends Saturdays at the laundromat and browsing the market. That he goes into the office after a quick breakfast, maybe no breakfast, even on Sundays.
Joonmyun is lonely in his shiny high rise building, one of dozens other career driven, elite graduates slotted into fifteen stories of single units, and Jongdae wants to take care of him, but that wouldn’t be fair.
Jongdae draws the curtain over the train window and ignores the snow on the mountains drifting by. He clasps his hands over the bulge in his coat pocket, which wouldn’t fit in his backpack after he dumped his overnight stuff back in. He bought the journal for Joonmyun on Tuesday, a leather bound too-expensive one with “2015 Daily” stamped on the spine. Jongdae spent the three hour train ride up to Seoul writing an embarrassing thank you/admiration/confession note across the first three days of January. Each letter was painstaking, perfect except for a few bumpy spots. The letters were too neat and his words were too honest, which is why in the end he couldn’t leave the slim volume between the empty ramen cups and empty tangerine peels on Joonmyun’s coffee table.
Jongdae ripped out the first two pages, the first three days of January. He crumpled the “Dear Hyung” and “Merry Christmas” around the dried peelings and buried them in the dumpster at the edge of the parking lot. He’ll give the remaining 362 days to Baekhyun and keep his feelings to himself, because being honest wouldn’t be fair. Jongdae can’t take care of his hyung forever, for too much longer.
Jongdae snaps a picture of the top cake, of the Merry Christmas stamped across the box in dark gold that’s visible through the thin purple silk. He texts it to his grandmother, be home soon, three more hours at most.
A new message pops up as his photo is sending, Go home safely! And tell me when you get to Jangseong, don’t make your hyung worry!
I will! Jongdae dutifully types back, even though they both know he’ll worry regardless. Because Kim Joonmyun cares too much. And so does Jongdae, if it’s Joonmyun.
Next is goodbyelover, I believe.