milena_1980: (jaejoong)
[personal profile] milena_1980
Title: Sleeping With Ghosts 12/?
Author: Pandora/[ profile] milena_1980
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing: JaeChun (main), YooSu, YooMin, JaeHo, HoMin, HyukSu
Genre: AU, Angst, Romance
Warning: Underage sex (17, but, just to be safe); suicidal feelings; references to substance abuse; self-harm
Summary: Soul mates never die
A/N: Another series of connected drabbles/ficlets, this time JaeChun. No specific number of words this time. Not always in chronological order! Title and lyrics from Sleeping With Ghosts by Placebo
A/N2: Please keep note of the warnings. I've added other pairings, but the story is focused on JaeChun.
A/N3: I apologize for any grammar mistakes, etc. Please let me know if you find anything!! Comments are love and I also appreciate concrit^^
A/N4: I should've probably reread this 5-6 more times, but, well, if I don't post it now I won't stop thinking about it ^^;;

Damn their killing

Title: Away

How can I tell him the truth? If he finds out what really happened . . . I'll be disgraced!

The TV is on, it has been on all day, but you have ignored it. Like you ignore everything else.

Your cell-phone hasn't stopped ringing for the last three days, not since the morning after you found Changmin with . . . You sigh, refusing to glance at the caller ID. You already know who it is, but you don't feel like answering. Selfish bastard, you tell yourself, but not even self-recrimination pushes you to do what you should.

The scene is still so fresh in your mind, the sight of them together in bed. How long have they been sleeping together? Did it just happen? Do they know about you and Jaejoong? When did Changmin stop loving you? You wonder over and over, these and a hundred other questions making you feel smaller and smaller until you just want to curl up into a ball and die.

He hasn't called, yet. Does he know? You wonder if Yunho told him, how Jaejoong took it. Was he angry? Hurt? Did he go into one of his weird rampages? There were a few times, back when you were kids, when he would suddenly lose it . . . No, you don't want to remember. Even if he's acting a lot like he did before he reappeared with Yunho, he's not that person anymore.

The phone starts ringing again. You haven't been home since that night, first busy with work. Once you were finished with important matters, you asked for a few days off. Your boss was—is—beyond happy with your performance, so he didn't deny you the needed time off. However, now you wish you were at work, where you have something to think about, something to do rather than stare listlessly at the wall or at the television screen.

You shouldn't have lied to him! He loved you . . .

No, he loved that I was beautiful and pure, but he didn't love me . . .

You sigh, reaching for the remote and turning the TV off. Once upon a time, you enjoyed dramas very much, but you've seen one too many, plots recycled way too many times. Like this one, where the girl lied to marry a rich guy while still being in love with another man. Utter bullshit, you think to yourself, lying on your back and staring at the ceiling.

Your cell-phone starts ringing again, but this ringer tone, you don't recognize it—it's simple and silly, nothing like the last song Changmin composed for class, which you converted into a ringer, nor Junsu's favorite H.O.T. song. As soon as you look at the small screen, you wish you hadn't.

Why is this guy calling you? Why in the world, after everything that has happened . . . ?

He calls again, you can feel the sense of urgency in each ring (you don't care how absurd that may sound). You should answer, you know.

So you do.

Title: Darkness

I can't wait to finish school.

Jaejoong leans back in the front seat of the car, a smile on his lips. It's Saturday and the sky has finally begun to change colors. Sunrise is imminent (for some reason, you wish the sky would stay dark and the stars to never go away), reminding you that you spent an entire night away from home and your father will probably give you hell for it. You can't really complain, though: here you are, sitting next to the boy you love, watching as the waves reach shore before receding, the water now beginning to shimmer as the sun peeks over the horizon.

Last night Jaejoong appeared at your house, a sweet smile on his lips as soon as you came out to greet him. He has been like this these past couple of weeks, happy, truly happy, his smiles reaching his eyes (beautiful and contagious and absolutely wonderful). You have followed him anywhere and everywhere he asks (his willing slave), skipping school and spending way too much time away from home (thus your father's continued warnings, as if taking away your TV and phone privileges mattered one bit).

The moon shone brightly as you snuck out; it continued to light your path as you drove further away from the world you knew (inside, you wished you could just keep going, Step on it! Jaejoong teased, laughing as you threatened to do just that). Once at your usual spot, the radio on, he kissed you and you truly forgot the rest of the world.

Hours later, both of you happy and sated, the drinks and snacks you brought along nearly gone, he's still smiling, wider than he has all night.

That makes two of us, you tell him, smiling back. Too bad we still have over a year to go.

He shrugs, whining slightly as he stretches.

It's less than a year ago. Besides, I was thinking . . .

Oh, my God! The world is ending!
You laugh when he swats at your arm.

Asshole, is his halfhearted comeback, but you let it go. I was thinking . . . (you can only watch him as his expression changes from happy to thoughtful to unsure) If things go as planned, I have a friend near the university you applied to and, he has an apartment for rent . . .

You refuse to finish his thought—he's so unpredictable, but you can't help but hope for what you think he is implying. Your heart beats faster, time goes slower, his pause so long you almost want to scream . . .

So, maybe, if you want to, we could rent together? I can get a job and I know you'll . . .

you blurt out, and he gazes at you, visibly shocked, but happy and could life be any more wonderful?

You nearly throw yourself at him, hugging him tight; his lips soon find yours, each kiss a promise.

Title: Rubble

We need to talk.

The streets are bustling with people, as per usual, everyone going about their business. You, however, glide through the crowds, invisible (or so you believe) among hundreds of ignorant fools. They laugh or frown, or walk with blank expressions, all unaware that you who strolls by quietly are the loudest of them all (inside, you scream, your heart helplessly cries out in pain).

Where? You were surprised when your voice didn't crack. How many days since the last time you had spoken?

The small restaurant isn't very far from your current location, so you expect to be there early. He surprises you, though: there he is, standing just outside the door, smoking and staring at the floor. Is he nervous? You hope he is—you keep willing your legs to stop shaking with every step forward; you're afraid they'll give out underneath you and the humiliation will be greater still.

Somehow you come up to him, you stop a few feet away and call out his name. He looks up, startled (though he tries to hide it), but soon a mix between anger and indifference replaces the initial surprise. You watch as he drops the cigarette on the pavement—he crushes it under his shoe, perhaps with more force than necessary—before he turns to you.

You're early, he says. It sounds like an accusation; you choose to ignore his tone.

The restaurant is almost empty, and you're seated near the window. He doesn’t waste any time, ordering drinks and something light to eat. Nevertheless, he doesn't seem in a hurry to talk. He doesn't spare you a glance as he takes the first sip, gazing down at the table . . .

You need to call Changmin, the sound of his voice catches you off guard. He speaks softly, but firmly. You can't help but frown; you want to tell him to fuck off and mind his own business . . . He hasn't left the apartment since . . . He doesn't need to finish—you're glad he doesn't.

So, they have kept in contact. It shouldn't surprise you; they're lovers, after all. But then, what about . . . ?

So, how is Jaejoong?

He catches you off guard once again. You can only stare at him, wide-eyed.

What are you talking about? He isn't with me. No matter how much you wish he was.

He finally looks at you, worry obscuring his features.

What do you mean he isn't? He said he would stay with you! Yunho takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he realizes that he has raised his voice. He hasn't called?

You swallow hard, quickly grabbing your cell phone and scanning through the few dozen missed calls registered. No, he hasn't. You told him?

Of course I told him
, Yunho nearly barks.

Why? He didn't need to know! Jaejoong had told you, not too long ago, that he was nothing without Yunho . . .

I didn't want to risk having you tell him . . .

I wasn't going to!

Well, you don't know shit about his condition, so I wasn't taking any chances.
He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and calming down. His words only serve to remind you that he knows Jaejoong much better than you ever could. You want to ask, what condition? What's wrong with Jaejoong?

How is Changmin? you ask instead. Yunho sighs again.

Miserable. Yunho acts as though that is enough of an answer. Call him. He really needs to talk to you. And you need to come clean with him, too.

You nod absentmindedly, briefly wondering whether Yunho has told your partner.

It doesn't matter, though. You'll find out soon enough.

Title: Tainted

Don't forget to call him, he reminds you when you part ways.

You and Yunho agree to keep in touch in case Jaejoong calls. Now you're headed back to the hotel and to the deafening silence of your small room.

The lights stay off, the drapes closed. You only want to lie down, close your eyes and pretend that this is all a nightmare. You know you can't, though, you're not a child, you need to own up to your mistakes.

Once again, you lie down and stare at your cell phone. It's easy to find his number—your number one, ever since you started dating—and you look at the digits, at the send button.

He really needs to talk to you, Yunho told you. However, you just can't bring yourself to hear his voice. You don't want him to tell you that your relationship is over, that he loves Yunho . . . that he knows about you and Jaejoong . . .

You sigh, lying back and staring at the ceiling. Your boss expects you back the day after tomorrow, so it's only logical that you take care of any and all personal issues before then. Just push the damn button, you tell yourself, grabbing the phone again. You take a deep breath, finger poised; however, it rings right then, startling the hell out of you.

Fuck! You have to stop when you recognize the ringer. Your heart beats faster, the anxiety mounts until you can barely breathe. It's now or never, you remind yourself. So you push the send button.

You're only met with silence. It feels as if your throat has closed and you've lost the ability to speak. He's there, however—his breath hitches, as if he starts to speak and then stops a few times. Is this what the two of you are reduced to now? Listening to each other's breathing on the phone, unable to speak if even one word?


You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. Hearing his voice fills you with relief, it even makes you happy, despite the circumstances.

Are you there? His voice is nearly a whisper, but you can tell he has been crying recently. At once, you feel miserable, guilty. If only you hadn't given in to your own desires, maybe none of this would have happened.

I'm here, you reply. You hear him take a deep breath.

How . . . how have you been? He sounds horribly nervous, but you can't blame him (your hands and jaw are shaking).

Could be better. Much, much better.How are you?

He takes a deep breath—or he sighs, you can't really tell—and when he next speaks, you wish you had never asked.

Bad, he says, and now you're sure he's crying. I just . . . I want to fucking die right now.

Your heart beats faster; you close your eyes, searching for something—anything—you can say to make him feel better.

Don't, and it's the most you can do right now. Changmin, whatever happened, I'm responsible, too . . .

No . . .

You knew, didn't you? About Jaejoong and me?

He swallows (it sounds painfully loud through the phone).

I knew you were seeing him. Yunho told me. The admission doesn't surprise you at all. You should have seen it all coming, maybe it was always there for you to see but you had chosen to ignore it. It doesn't make me feel any better about cheating on you.

You sigh (you're sick of staring at the ceiling by now, so you move to lie on your side; the wall isn't any better).

Changmin . . .

I want to see you
, he says suddenly; it's in the way he says so, you know he's honest and you wish you could gather up the courage to tell him you feel the same way. I want to talk face to face. I miss you.

You close your eyes.

I miss you, too.

Title: Alone

What are you writing?

He sits on the ground, furiously writing in a notebook. He has spent most of lunch period like that, barely talking. You're used to it, of course, but it doesn't stop you from asking.

Nothing, he replies, glaring at you. Don't be nosy.

It's just a question.
One of so many that he refuses to answer these days.

The bell signaling the end of lunch break will sound in just a few minutes, so you start picking up your stuff (including the little blue flower he gave you when you met near your house before school this morning). Once you're done, you sigh, looking around. You're rather far away from your school mates, as per usual. Some of them—usually the stupid bullies—watch you from afar, even threaten you with gestures. However, you ignore them, hanging on to Jaejoong.

As soon as the bell rings, you stand up and start toward the main building, until you realize that he isn't walking behind you.

Jaejoong hyung, you call out. Remember what the teacher said last time.

Go on
, he tells you, though, waving dismissively.

You sigh and do as he asks.

Afternoon classes begin, but he doesn't come back. You think he may just have gotten distracted with whatever it is he was writing and hope he'll come to next period.

He never does.

Title: Breathe


The day you finally return to work, you go home afterwards—not the hotel, but home. It feels strange to use your apartment keys after nearly a week; the familiarity of it all—the things you and your partner own, the delicious smells coming from the kitchen—feels even stranger, and you almost want to turn around and run away.

You don't get a chance. Only seconds after you close and lock the front door, he appears, nearly running.

Hi, he says nothing else—his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard—at least until you answer. Somehow, he manages to smile.

Dinner's ready, so we can sit down, he tells you, leading the way. You can feel he wants to act as if nothing had ever happened, but you're both awkward around each other, even as you take your usual seats and start dinner.

He makes small talk (How's work? Did anything interesting happen? . . . Oh, my teachers are giving me an extension. I haven't . . . been feeling up to doing school work), though you wish he wouldn't. You wish you could just sit there in silence, savoring these precious minutes, because you know, as much as it hurts, that this is the last time you will eat together like this.

You help clean up once you've finished. Doing dishes never seemed like a chore when you did it together. It was always fun, your conversations lively; you always ended up soaked when he grabbed the little hose and started a water fight. You always ended up making love after that.

This time, he leans against the counter, barely able to look at you. You stand against the wall, unable to keep your eyes off him. He's so beautiful, has always been, ever since that night at Junsu's birthday party. How could you not fall in love with him? It was inevitable . . .

When do you want me to come pick up my things? you ask, choosing not to wait any longer.

He bites his lower lip, crossing his arms over his chest.

Have you found a new place, yet? he asks.


You're surprised when tears run down his face; he tries to cover them, but you don't let him, crossing over to him and holding him tightly. He cries against your shoulder, each sob so painful you can feel them as well. And you hate yourself for doing this to him, for hurting him. I deserve to hurt as much if not more, you think (your chests are pressed so hard together you can barely breathe, but you refuse to let go).

How long do you stand there? You have no idea. You do know that at some point he kisses you and you kiss back, closing your eyes and pouring your heart into it. You love him, there's no denying it, but you love Jaejoong more, you always will, and fuck, why?

Exhaustion conquers you both soon enough; you end up leading him into the living room and to the couch (the couch on which you made love countless times, where you watched TV together, or just talked until you fell asleep). Once there you see just how tired he really is, his eyes red-rimmed and dark.

I'm so sorry. His voice breaks (as if you weren't to blame). Why? You want to ask, but he speaks right then, voice rough. I love you so much, and this has to happen. And, I never meant to be with him, honest . . .

Changmin . . .
He will just go on and on if you don't stop him. Whatever happened, to us as a couple, I'm just as responsible if not worse.

But he only shakes his head.

I knew about Jaejoong. I could've confronted you about it and I chose not to. I just . . . He lets out a shaky breath. I didn't want to lose you.

When he looks at you, you shiver at how broken he seems. You sit closer to him, holding him, hating the unsaid fact that you were never his to lose.

Title: Pain

He really hasn't called you?

You glare at the wall (for lack of a choice—the person you want to glare at isn't exactly in front of you right now) for a moment, before going back to throwing clothes left and right, searching for your black jacket.

No, he really hasn't. Jesus, Yunho, how many times am I going to have to repeat myself?

You hear him sigh—you also hear the sounds of night traffic in his neighborhood, evidence enough that he's out there, searching.

I'm sorry, he apologizes, a first, you realize, since you caught him with your former lover. Yunho calls you almost daily to ask about Jaejoong; you always give him the same answer. I'm getting desperate. Last time he disappeared this long, I knew he went to you, but now . . .

Last time? When does he mean? The last time you and Jaejoong spent any time together was right around the time you met . . . Bastard.

Somehow you find your jacket and then you're leaving your hotel room.

Never mind, Yunho. I'm going out, see if he's at any of his old haunts.

Yunho sighs again, but this time, you know he's relieved that someone (even if it's you) wants to help him find the elusive man.

You have already hung up before you walk out onto the pavement. The streets are rather crowded, not surprising since it's the weekend, and you lose yourself among hundreds of party goers. You follow them to the bars you used to go to with him back when you were still a student, the places where he drank like there was no tomorrow and there was always a friend ready with a refill for him; you walk over to several inexpensive restaurants he loved to eat at late at night—or early in the morning, it was so easy to lose track of time when with him.

Over three hours later, you have nothing to show for all your trouble.

Where the fuck are you? you ask no one. His cell phone isn't dead, you've left a dozen messages already. Therefore, where? Where else would he go?

Suddenly, you remember the club. Junsu used to take you there frequently; Jaejoong found you there when you least expected it. Is the place still there, you wonder? Would he still go there?

There's a long line outside, just like you remember. Everyone looks younger than you remember being at their age, but you pay it no mind (just like you pay no attention to the female gazes that follow you as you take your place at the end of the line). Five, ten, twenty minutes go by, and only then are you close enough to the door. You almost laugh when the bouncer asks for I.D. (you decide to take it as a compliment), and then you're inside.

The place has changed some since your last trip there. It's still dark, the bass still loud enough to bust your eardrums, but there's something, you can't put your finger on it. There are red accents here and there (they used to be green), the chairs are purple (they used to be blue), the dance floor filled with so many bodies you can't tell one from the other (that hasn't changed).

You don't waste your time trying to buy a drink at the bar (though you really want one right now, if only to take some of the edge off), choosing instead to go looking around the areas he and his friends used to sit at. Maybe an hour later, he's nowhere to be seen; as you sit at the bar and ask for a drink, you know he isn't there.

Nothing, you tell Yunho as you walk back home.

Me, neither, he replies, sounding just as resigned. I guess we'll find him when he wants to be found.

You snort at his words, rolling your eyes at the night sky.

If he wants to be found.

And you hang up.

Title: Mad

The super sexy Kim Jaejoong here. Leave me a message after the beep.

You end the call before the stupid beep can mock you once again. Two weeks ago, you didn't really care that he had left, you didn't think he would be stupid enough to leave Yunho. Right now, though, while you try to focus on work, you feel panic set in.

I should be used to this, you think to yourself. Your secretary comes in and places a bunch of folders on your desk. You thank her absently, pretending that you weren't staring at the little screen on your cell phone. As soon as she's gone, you put the phone inside a drawer and try to get back to work.

However, no matter how hard you try, the words blur, the charts become spots of red and blue and yellow (or whichever colors you chose for this particular project).

Yunho told me, Changmin said when you spoke a few days ago. He seems to be returning to his usual self, but his tone, the confidence he always exuded . . . He's really worried.

Then he doesn't know Jaejoong as well as I thought. It's easy to blame Yunho (easier than blaming even Jaejoong, the reason for this entire mess). Jaejoong hyung comes and goes as he pleases. That's the way he has always been.

Changmin sighed—you could feel his worry through the phone—inevitably showing his own frustration at being unable to help either of you.

Maybe he's different with Yunho.

You wonder if he ever realized just how much he hurt you with those words.

Stupid Jaejoong, you mutter, before you finally manage to focus on the sheets before you.

Somehow, you manage to forget him. Junsu asked you over for dinner tonight and you need to go buy some wine or something (you don't care how long you've been friends, there's no excuse for being a lousy guest).

Why don't you stay with us? he insists every time you speak. There's a spare room and you're welcome here, you know that.

You think he might be starting to feel somewhat insulted at your insistence that you would rather stay at the hotel. He doesn't seem to understand that you need to be alone. Even Changmin told you to come home, at least until you found a new place, but how can you? Although you parted ways amicably, it would feel strange to sleep there, knowing that his new . . . "friend" comes over nearly every day.

Good night, Sir, your secretary tells you hours later. Only then do you realize that you have worked nearly an hour past the time you're supposed to. You don't hurry to leave, though; only an empty hotel waits for you, and then Junsu and Hyukjae. Maybe you should call and cancel? You don't really feel like spending the night trying to smile, or having Junsu gaze at you with pity.

No, definitely not in the mood for that, you decide, grabbing your cell phone and looking up your best friend's number. The phone rings as you walk outside, the night air hitting you pleasantly.


You end the call automatically, turning to the source of the voice. There he is, the asshole, standing mere feet away from you, an unlit cigarette in his hand. He should look thin, sick, destroyed—or at least that's what you imagined, given your past experience. That isn't the case: he looks perfectly fine, wearing nicer clothes than any he has ever owned, a gold chain around his neck and designer sunglasses covering his dark eyes, his hair combed and gelled, and hell, where the fuck has he been?

If you didn't come out in ten, I was going to leave, he continues. He acts as if you had seen each other yesterday instead of a month or so ago; he acts like he always does, like he owns the world (owns you) and everyone must drop everything immediately just because Kim Jaejoong decided to grace them with his presence.

That asshole.

What? No hello?

You walk toward him, ready to tell him off, but you end up hugging him tight instead. It's near impossible to keep your eyes open, you wish you could, just to confirm that yes, he is real, this is really him in your arms. The tears come out before you can stop them, but you don't care, not when his arms come around you to pull you even closer.

You stupid asshole, you think you tell him, you stupid selfish asshole.

Title: Gaze

Maybe we could go away on a trip someday, he says. He keeps his eyes closed, and he doesn't stop stroking your hair. Where would you like to go?

I don't know.
You haven't really thought about leaving Korea, not even for a trip. Where would you go?

He sighs softly, shifting slightly on the bed, his leg twined with yours.

Europe? South America? I don't know. He sounds like it, too. Just somewhere far away.

You smile at the ceiling. He has been like this ever since you came home from school today, sort of lazy and quiet. Normally, he'll be loud and hyperactive (you worry that your neighbors will hear you having sex one of these days), so this is an interesting change. He isn't brooding, either. He's just . . . comfortable?

But first we need to get the money, you remind him, trying to tease but failing. Sometimes you wish you had money just so that your father would stop reminding you that he keeps working so that you can go to university in the near future. And your mother and brother could live close by, it wouldn't take forever to get to their house by bus.

We'll be working by then, he tells you, as though that should be obvious. So, we'll have enough for the two of us. And we'll live happily ever after.

You snort in disbelief. Jaejoong really is crazy.

Do you really believe in happy endings, hyung?

I do
, he says sleepily. They're the only reason life is worth living, right?

Title: Raging

So, where the hell have you been all this time?

He doesn't answer immediately, but you don't expect him to. Right now he's too busy eating and watching some comedy show on TV. You should be eating, too (Junsu was so surprised when you called to cancel, but you couldn't bear the thought of letting him go just yet). Once at the hotel room, he kissed you and now you're hungry and exhausted, but you're afraid to close your eyes.

Try this, he says instead, placing some food on your plate. And eat. You're way too thin. He laughs at some joke. Isn't this guy great?

You sigh, watching him and his every motion. You have missed him so horribly (no matter how hard you pretended that you didn't), you wondered if he was all right, if he was alive! Don't you deserve an answer?


He sighs, rolls his eyes and turns off the TV.

What? Now he sounds annoyed. Is he getting ready to argue?

I just want to know where you've been staying. Yunho and I have been worried sick . . .

He snorts in disbelief. Yunho has been fucking your pretty boy, so I doubt that he cares at all.

You can't help but bristle at the way in which he refers to your former lover. Changmin isn't just some "pretty boy," you want to tell him, Changmin is honest and strong and willing to talk no matter the consequences. Except when it came to Yunho, you remind yourself, but one thing doesn't really change the other.

He does care about you. He calls me all the time to ask if you've called me.

Jaejoong frowns, clearly irritated by your words. He takes a bite—you can only watch as he chews—from his nearly full plate, apparently willing to drag on the conversation.

Well, he says after he swallows, next time you see him, you can tell him to throw all my stuff away and to move on.

You gape at him. Are you hearing what you think he's saying?

What? You're breaking up with him through me?

Jaejoong shrugs, drinking from his glass. He's acting so arrogantly you almost want to hit him. Then, what was all that bullshit about needing Yunho, about not being able to survive without him? Were all those lies?

Suddenly, he pushes his food away and snuggles up to you (you hate how he can make you shut up with just that one action). He sighs, snaking his arm around your waist.

I don't want to talk about him, he says, nearly pouting. I just want to be here, with you. Don't you want that, too?

You exhale, gazing down at his arm.

Why do you ask stupid questions? you reply. He laughs, clearly surprised, before he leans up to kiss you fully on the mouth.

Title: Familiar

I can't believe you canceled on us at the last minute.

You wish you could tell him the same, but, as good as you are at lying to yourself, you know you would never say no to Jaejoong.

I'm sorry, you reply. I wasn't feeling well.

Oh? Not your stomach again.

You have to smile at Junsu's mothering. He will never admit that sometimes he talks to you as if you were a precious son rather than a precious friend. You love him for it, though; now that you're on your own, you know you'll need him.

This morning you woke up to a half empty cold bed. You were late for getting ready to go to work, but you still had to stop and look around the room, searching for clues that he had really been there. Of course he was, you told yourself as you showered hurriedly. The only indication he was there, though, was on your body and your filthy bed sheets (it's still not enough to convince you).

Come over tonight, Junsu insists. Hyukjae and I are really worried about you.

Not even a note, the bastard, he had left and he hadn't left you a note saying he would call or come to see you again. You refuse to call his cell phone again—he didn't seem to be carrying it last night—you have some dignity left, after all (you're almost sure).

You didn't dwell on him for very long. Once you arrived at work, you focused on your current projects (you don't want your boss to yell at you for being too slow). Even your secretary seemed surprised at your sudden boost in productivity.

Just before lunch time, you asked her for the day's newspaper and there you were, reading about recent events, when your phone rang.

I don't know, you say honestly. You love your two friends, you really do, but you want to be alone (you refuse to admit that you hope that he'll come to you again). I'm really tired.

That's because you spend too much time either alone or at work.
Junsu sighs. Come on, man, just tonight. I promise I'll stop badgering if you come over tonight.

You laugh softly. Now, that was an attractive offer.

All right, you say, if you insist.

At eight, okay? And you don't need to bring wine or anything.

Yeah, yeah
, but you know you will, anyway.

Somehow, you find the Classifieds ads. As you look them over, something occurs to you.

Say, Junsu, you say almost absently. Are there any apartments for rent in your building?

tbc . . .

<<Part 11 | Part 13>>

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milena_1980: (Default)

February 2017

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