Call Me Oppa (2/?)
Title: Call Me Oppa (2/?)
Pairing: Onew/Taemin
Length: 2,007w (5,477 total)
Summary: "Some people are just unlucky."
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1
C H A P T E R 2
Jinki wasn't very competitive - what was the point in losing friends over a game? - but he liked people to depend on him. Even at an exhibition game, early in the season with nothing to gain by winning, Jinki played like it meant something. It was tied with no points until the last few minutes of the game, and then a rapid-fire play turned the tides: Jinki caught the ball against his chest, blocking the goal, and kicked it to Minho on the other side of the field. Minho passed to the new transfer student, and everyone held their breath as the new guy lined up the kick.
He was clumsy on the delivery, but the other school's goalie wasn't quick enough and the ball sailed into the net. The crowd erupted into cheers. When Jinki scanned the bleachers he saw a familiar face that he didn't expect: Taemin, jumping up and down with his hands cupped around his mouth in an attempt to be heard over the roar of clapping and shouting. For a moment, Jinki couldn't help grinning wide - Taemin was cheering for him! He must have seen that spectacular save, and maybe he would mention it in class on Monday...
But then Jinki looked over his shoulder and saw Taesun grinning and waving. It clicked into place; Lee Taesun, the new transfer student, was Lee Taemin's older brother. Taemin was with his parents, cheering for his hyung's last minute goal, and not for Jinki's save (however spectacular it may have been). The realization made the butterflies in Jinki's stomach abruptly drop dead.
In the change room, Taesun held up his hand and Jinki slapped it. "Teamwork, man!" Taesun said, grinning. He looked a lot like his younger brother, the same round face and flat nose, but his lips were thinner, and his smile a lot less guarded.
"No problem." Jinki wiped the sweat from his forehead and sat down to shuck off his shoes. "Hey, Taesun."
Taesun turned around, shirt pulled halfway over his head. His face popped through the collar. "Yeah?"
"Lee Taemin is your little brother, right?"
Taesun stopped smiling. He twisted his shirt around to sit evenly across his chest and crossed his arms. "Yeah, what about him?" There was a challenge in his voice, inexplicably defensive.
Jinki put his hands up. What the hell? "He's in my calculus class," Jinki said. "I was just wondering."
"Oh." Taesun stared Jinki down for a moment, trying to glean some ulterior motive from his expression. He must have decided that Jinki was safe, because he physically shook off the hostility and said, "Sorry. Yeah, he's my little brother."
"He's smart," Jinki said.
Taesun shrugged.
"Seems shy. Kinda cute." Jinki realized what he said a few seconds too late - shit shit shit! - and whirled around to see Taesun's horrified expression. "I mean, cute like a little kid," he backpedaled, "not like a girl."
"Don't call my brother a girl," Taesun said, peevish.
"I wasn't."
"Yeah, okay." Taesun exhaled heavily through his mouth. He finished getting dressed in silence, and when they left the change room, he pointedly separated from Jinki to greet his family alone.
Jinki hung back, ignoring the coach calling him over, and watched as Taesun hugged both of his parents - stern-looking father, sweet-faced mother - and gave his little brother an affectionate pop to the shoulder. Taemin looked starry, far-away, an absent smile on his face. He looked over Taesun's shoulders, and his smile grew a little bit wider. Jinki must have been imagining it - he's not, he can't be - but he swore that Taemin was smiling at him.
Jinki turned his rapidly flushing face away, finally answering to the coach's shouting. "Yes, coach!"
Coach Yongyeom threw an arm around Jinki's shoulder and ruffled his hair. "Are you going deaf, Lee Jinki? Been screaming at you for ten minutes! How am I supposed to review the game without my goalie?"
"Sorry, coach," Jinki mumbled. He turned to look over his shoulder, but Taemin and his family had already left.
Jinki went to the hospital every Saturday. He tried to get there in the morning, before lunch was served, but every so often his bus would be late or he'd oversleep (and feel awful for it - how can you oversleep on visiting your own father?) and he would get there just as the nurses were doing their rounds.
The nurses were polite. They bowed at Jinki when he came in, and were quick to offer facts that they thought would comfort him: your appa smiled a little today when I made a joke; your appa turned his head when I came into the room. These things were supposed to reassure Jinki, remind him that his father was recovering - a few weeks ago he hadn't been responding to anything at all - but for some reason it made Jinki feel worse. Jinki's father was an active man, with exaggerated expressions and gestures; turning his head wasn't something that he should be struggling to do.
The part that freaked Jinki out the most about visiting his father wasn't the stillness. It was that it didn't look like his appa on that bed, not really. Appa was joyful, tall, long-legged. He had the kind of face that looked stern when he wasn't smiling, a default frown that people found intimidating at first. But when he talked, or laughed, his whole face became animated and his eyes bugged out of their sockets.
In the hospital bed, barely breathing under the cotton sheets, it was a man who looked nothing like Jinki's appa. He had no expression at all. His skin was waxy, like melted tallow. He had a perpetual five o'clock shadow, and the bristly hairs made his usually business-clean face look haggard, overtired. Like for all the sleeping that he was doing - it is like sleeping, right? - he wasn't getting a moment of rest.
The nurse was just leaving when Jinki came in. She was the same one there every Saturday, a woman in her mid thirties with beautiful eyes and a slight overbite. She wore her hair in a tight bun at the back of her head, not a hair out of place, and every week there was a different clip. Today it was turquoise, shaped like a butterfly.
"Good afternoon, Jinki," she said. She put her hand on Jinki's forearm and squeezed. "Your appa is doing well. He's been responding a little bit today, so tell him something nice, okay?"
Jinki nodded and thanked her. With a slight bow, the nurse left, pulling the door closed behind her. The sound of her shoes quickly faded. She probably had a hundred other patients on the floor. How could she notice if Jinki's father was doing better from one day to the next? Why should she care? Jinki shook his head. The hospital surrounded him with a cloud of negativity. He felt bad for doubting her - she was good at her job; he shouldn't be hard on her.
Jinki sat down in his usual seat next to the bed, staring at his father's waxy, thinning face. "They should really give you a shave," he said, in lieu of a proper greeting. "Looks really untidy. Like you lost your job or something. I mean, you kind of did - Kim Hojung-sshi is teaching your classes now, but that's just temporary until... y'know, until you wake up. Maybe next term."
There was no movement from the bed, hardly the rise-and-fall of breath. Jinki felt a little stupid rambling, but it was good to keep talking; it stimulated the brain. Apparently.
"Uncle Kyeochul keeps calling about you. Don't be upset that he hasn't come to see you. He has that new job - remember? At that new law firm in Seoul? - and he can't take time off yet. He's doing really well." Jinki sighed and crossed his legs. "Eomma misses you a lot. She's just afraid to come and see you, I think. She'll come eventually. And I'm..."
I'm tired. I want you to come home and tell me that I'm making you proud.
"I'm doing okay, appa."
On the bed, his father's eyelids flickered, but there was nothing else, no indication that he was hearing anything that Jinki said. Jinki always ran out of things to talk after about five minutes; he had never given much thought to the necessity of two people to have a conversation. It got boring being the only one talking.
"I ran into someone from class at the bus stop the other day," Jinki said, for lack of a better topic. "I sit next to him, but we've never actually talked. Lee Taemin. I don't know why I'm telling you his name; he's new this year, not like you'd know him." Jinki paused, as though listening to his father's response. "He didn't ask about you. I mean, why would he, right? It's just that most people do. They think they're being polite by asking how you're doing. But you aren't doing. You're just... there."
Jinki stopped talking. The doctors had said that Jinki's father was probably aware, could listen to what was being said, and it was important to keep positive. To talk about good things. Happy things. Jinki found it hard to keep the topic light when his father was just lying there; if it weren't for the fact that he was breathing, he looked already dead, face sunken, eyes closed.
"Okay, appa," Jinki said. "I'm going to go."
Stiffly, Jinki stood up. The chair scraped over the rubber flooring, too loud in the dead quiet of the hosptal room.
"See you next week."
"Yobosaeyo."
"Jinki-yah, how are you?"
"I'm fine, jageunabeoji."
"Did you see your appa today? How is he?"
"He's fine. The same. The nurse said that he turned his head when she came into the room earlier today."
"Oh? That's... that's good."
"Yeah. I told him your messages. He appreciated them, I think."
"How do you know?"
"I don't know," Jinki said, frowning at the phone.
A pause. "Jinki, is your eomma around?"
Jinki cradled the phone against his shoulder and turned around. He could see his mother in the living room, watching television with her bare feet propped on the ottoman, clipping her toenails into a pile on the edge of the couch. There was no light on except for the flickering television strobing around her silhouette.
"Don't get her all upset again," Jinki said carefully. A few times now he had come downstairs late at night and saw his mother crying on the couch. It was always after a phone call with his uncle.
"I won't. I just want to talk to her."
Jinki covered the mouthpiece. "Eomma, it's Uncle Kyeochul."
The sound from the television cut out. Jinki's mother turned and held out her hand for the phone. She kissed Jinki on the forehead before slipping the phone from his hand. "Kyeochul," she cooed, familiar, informal. "You're eating well?"
Jinki lingered in the doorway for a moment, listening in ("have you gotten time off yet, Kyeochullie? You should come and visit soon"). He went upstairs to his room before the conversation could turn to darker subjects, and his uncle inevitably made his mother cry.
It wasn't the worst sound in the world, not by a long shot. When Jinki was a child he heard a dog get hit by a car, and the squealing sound that the dog made when it died was ear-splitting, unbearable. That sound was worse.
But hearing his mother cry made Jinki uncomfortable. She cried like a little girl, frustrated wails that she muffled into the couch cushions. It was mostly pathetic, a little hopeless. No one should have to hear their mother sob like that.
Jinki stared hard at the numbers and letters in his calculus textbook and thought to himself that the next time his uncle called, he would say that eomma already went to bed.
back | next
wynnetimate's master list.
Pairing: Onew/Taemin
Length: 2,007w (5,477 total)
Summary: "Some people are just unlucky."
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1
C H A P T E R 2
Jinki wasn't very competitive - what was the point in losing friends over a game? - but he liked people to depend on him. Even at an exhibition game, early in the season with nothing to gain by winning, Jinki played like it meant something. It was tied with no points until the last few minutes of the game, and then a rapid-fire play turned the tides: Jinki caught the ball against his chest, blocking the goal, and kicked it to Minho on the other side of the field. Minho passed to the new transfer student, and everyone held their breath as the new guy lined up the kick.
He was clumsy on the delivery, but the other school's goalie wasn't quick enough and the ball sailed into the net. The crowd erupted into cheers. When Jinki scanned the bleachers he saw a familiar face that he didn't expect: Taemin, jumping up and down with his hands cupped around his mouth in an attempt to be heard over the roar of clapping and shouting. For a moment, Jinki couldn't help grinning wide - Taemin was cheering for him! He must have seen that spectacular save, and maybe he would mention it in class on Monday...
But then Jinki looked over his shoulder and saw Taesun grinning and waving. It clicked into place; Lee Taesun, the new transfer student, was Lee Taemin's older brother. Taemin was with his parents, cheering for his hyung's last minute goal, and not for Jinki's save (however spectacular it may have been). The realization made the butterflies in Jinki's stomach abruptly drop dead.
In the change room, Taesun held up his hand and Jinki slapped it. "Teamwork, man!" Taesun said, grinning. He looked a lot like his younger brother, the same round face and flat nose, but his lips were thinner, and his smile a lot less guarded.
"No problem." Jinki wiped the sweat from his forehead and sat down to shuck off his shoes. "Hey, Taesun."
Taesun turned around, shirt pulled halfway over his head. His face popped through the collar. "Yeah?"
"Lee Taemin is your little brother, right?"
Taesun stopped smiling. He twisted his shirt around to sit evenly across his chest and crossed his arms. "Yeah, what about him?" There was a challenge in his voice, inexplicably defensive.
Jinki put his hands up. What the hell? "He's in my calculus class," Jinki said. "I was just wondering."
"Oh." Taesun stared Jinki down for a moment, trying to glean some ulterior motive from his expression. He must have decided that Jinki was safe, because he physically shook off the hostility and said, "Sorry. Yeah, he's my little brother."
"He's smart," Jinki said.
Taesun shrugged.
"Seems shy. Kinda cute." Jinki realized what he said a few seconds too late - shit shit shit! - and whirled around to see Taesun's horrified expression. "I mean, cute like a little kid," he backpedaled, "not like a girl."
"Don't call my brother a girl," Taesun said, peevish.
"I wasn't."
"Yeah, okay." Taesun exhaled heavily through his mouth. He finished getting dressed in silence, and when they left the change room, he pointedly separated from Jinki to greet his family alone.
Jinki hung back, ignoring the coach calling him over, and watched as Taesun hugged both of his parents - stern-looking father, sweet-faced mother - and gave his little brother an affectionate pop to the shoulder. Taemin looked starry, far-away, an absent smile on his face. He looked over Taesun's shoulders, and his smile grew a little bit wider. Jinki must have been imagining it - he's not, he can't be - but he swore that Taemin was smiling at him.
Jinki turned his rapidly flushing face away, finally answering to the coach's shouting. "Yes, coach!"
Coach Yongyeom threw an arm around Jinki's shoulder and ruffled his hair. "Are you going deaf, Lee Jinki? Been screaming at you for ten minutes! How am I supposed to review the game without my goalie?"
"Sorry, coach," Jinki mumbled. He turned to look over his shoulder, but Taemin and his family had already left.
Jinki went to the hospital every Saturday. He tried to get there in the morning, before lunch was served, but every so often his bus would be late or he'd oversleep (and feel awful for it - how can you oversleep on visiting your own father?) and he would get there just as the nurses were doing their rounds.
The nurses were polite. They bowed at Jinki when he came in, and were quick to offer facts that they thought would comfort him: your appa smiled a little today when I made a joke; your appa turned his head when I came into the room. These things were supposed to reassure Jinki, remind him that his father was recovering - a few weeks ago he hadn't been responding to anything at all - but for some reason it made Jinki feel worse. Jinki's father was an active man, with exaggerated expressions and gestures; turning his head wasn't something that he should be struggling to do.
The part that freaked Jinki out the most about visiting his father wasn't the stillness. It was that it didn't look like his appa on that bed, not really. Appa was joyful, tall, long-legged. He had the kind of face that looked stern when he wasn't smiling, a default frown that people found intimidating at first. But when he talked, or laughed, his whole face became animated and his eyes bugged out of their sockets.
In the hospital bed, barely breathing under the cotton sheets, it was a man who looked nothing like Jinki's appa. He had no expression at all. His skin was waxy, like melted tallow. He had a perpetual five o'clock shadow, and the bristly hairs made his usually business-clean face look haggard, overtired. Like for all the sleeping that he was doing - it is like sleeping, right? - he wasn't getting a moment of rest.
The nurse was just leaving when Jinki came in. She was the same one there every Saturday, a woman in her mid thirties with beautiful eyes and a slight overbite. She wore her hair in a tight bun at the back of her head, not a hair out of place, and every week there was a different clip. Today it was turquoise, shaped like a butterfly.
"Good afternoon, Jinki," she said. She put her hand on Jinki's forearm and squeezed. "Your appa is doing well. He's been responding a little bit today, so tell him something nice, okay?"
Jinki nodded and thanked her. With a slight bow, the nurse left, pulling the door closed behind her. The sound of her shoes quickly faded. She probably had a hundred other patients on the floor. How could she notice if Jinki's father was doing better from one day to the next? Why should she care? Jinki shook his head. The hospital surrounded him with a cloud of negativity. He felt bad for doubting her - she was good at her job; he shouldn't be hard on her.
Jinki sat down in his usual seat next to the bed, staring at his father's waxy, thinning face. "They should really give you a shave," he said, in lieu of a proper greeting. "Looks really untidy. Like you lost your job or something. I mean, you kind of did - Kim Hojung-sshi is teaching your classes now, but that's just temporary until... y'know, until you wake up. Maybe next term."
There was no movement from the bed, hardly the rise-and-fall of breath. Jinki felt a little stupid rambling, but it was good to keep talking; it stimulated the brain. Apparently.
"Uncle Kyeochul keeps calling about you. Don't be upset that he hasn't come to see you. He has that new job - remember? At that new law firm in Seoul? - and he can't take time off yet. He's doing really well." Jinki sighed and crossed his legs. "Eomma misses you a lot. She's just afraid to come and see you, I think. She'll come eventually. And I'm..."
I'm tired. I want you to come home and tell me that I'm making you proud.
"I'm doing okay, appa."
On the bed, his father's eyelids flickered, but there was nothing else, no indication that he was hearing anything that Jinki said. Jinki always ran out of things to talk after about five minutes; he had never given much thought to the necessity of two people to have a conversation. It got boring being the only one talking.
"I ran into someone from class at the bus stop the other day," Jinki said, for lack of a better topic. "I sit next to him, but we've never actually talked. Lee Taemin. I don't know why I'm telling you his name; he's new this year, not like you'd know him." Jinki paused, as though listening to his father's response. "He didn't ask about you. I mean, why would he, right? It's just that most people do. They think they're being polite by asking how you're doing. But you aren't doing. You're just... there."
Jinki stopped talking. The doctors had said that Jinki's father was probably aware, could listen to what was being said, and it was important to keep positive. To talk about good things. Happy things. Jinki found it hard to keep the topic light when his father was just lying there; if it weren't for the fact that he was breathing, he looked already dead, face sunken, eyes closed.
"Okay, appa," Jinki said. "I'm going to go."
Stiffly, Jinki stood up. The chair scraped over the rubber flooring, too loud in the dead quiet of the hosptal room.
"See you next week."
"Yobosaeyo."
"Jinki-yah, how are you?"
"I'm fine, jageunabeoji."
"Did you see your appa today? How is he?"
"He's fine. The same. The nurse said that he turned his head when she came into the room earlier today."
"Oh? That's... that's good."
"Yeah. I told him your messages. He appreciated them, I think."
"How do you know?"
"I don't know," Jinki said, frowning at the phone.
A pause. "Jinki, is your eomma around?"
Jinki cradled the phone against his shoulder and turned around. He could see his mother in the living room, watching television with her bare feet propped on the ottoman, clipping her toenails into a pile on the edge of the couch. There was no light on except for the flickering television strobing around her silhouette.
"Don't get her all upset again," Jinki said carefully. A few times now he had come downstairs late at night and saw his mother crying on the couch. It was always after a phone call with his uncle.
"I won't. I just want to talk to her."
Jinki covered the mouthpiece. "Eomma, it's Uncle Kyeochul."
The sound from the television cut out. Jinki's mother turned and held out her hand for the phone. She kissed Jinki on the forehead before slipping the phone from his hand. "Kyeochul," she cooed, familiar, informal. "You're eating well?"
Jinki lingered in the doorway for a moment, listening in ("have you gotten time off yet, Kyeochullie? You should come and visit soon"). He went upstairs to his room before the conversation could turn to darker subjects, and his uncle inevitably made his mother cry.
It wasn't the worst sound in the world, not by a long shot. When Jinki was a child he heard a dog get hit by a car, and the squealing sound that the dog made when it died was ear-splitting, unbearable. That sound was worse.
But hearing his mother cry made Jinki uncomfortable. She cried like a little girl, frustrated wails that she muffled into the couch cushions. It was mostly pathetic, a little hopeless. No one should have to hear their mother sob like that.
Jinki stared hard at the numbers and letters in his calculus textbook and thought to himself that the next time his uncle called, he would say that eomma already went to bed.
back | next
wynnetimate's master list.