milena_1980: (jaejoong)
[personal profile] milena_1980
Title: Sleeping With Ghosts 23/27
Author: Milena/[ 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: A series of connected drabbles/ficlets. Not always in chronological order! Title and lyrics from Sleeping With Ghosts by Placebo
A/N2: This chapter may be revised later on. Posted it despite not being too happy with it, otherwise I never would lol Anyone still reading, sorry for taking so long to update.

A/N3: I'm sharing a compilation of songs I've listened to while writing this fic: SWG Playlist 1

Title: Burden

It was a beautiful ceremony, wasn't it?

Saemi looks beautiful in her white Western-style wedding gown, happy, radiant. Next to her, Yoohwan can barely suppress his own happiness and excitement. They look happy as they stand at the altar—they're getting married in the same church they met—hands joined as they vow to love and cherish one another for the rest of their lives. It should make you happy, as well, to see your beloved brother's life falling into place. However, as you look on from the sidelines, you can't push down nearly unbearable bitterness as you watch the day's events unfold.

Yoochun! Your mother calls out after the ceremony is over with, reaching out toward you. You're outside the church, having a cigarette, when she comes looking for you. A smile brightens her face as soon as she finds you. Come, we're taking a family picture.

, you think sarcastically, even as you take her hand and follow her over to where the newly married couple and your father stand waiting.

Your foul mood lessens considerably, though, when Yoohwan smiles at you, reaching out to hold your hand, squeezing softly. Thanksthank you for being here on the happiest day of my life. His action makes you feel guilty at once. You've been hating him all day, mentally taking out your frustration on him when he has done nothing wrong.

Right then and there, you promise yourself you won't rain on anyone's parade, even if you have to grit your teeth through what promises to be a long night.

Once at the wedding reception, you join your parents (your father doesn't leave your side throughout most of it, except to greet this and that friend or family member), and, later on, you suffer through your mother introducing you to single women, all the while insisting that it's time you get married. You play along until you can't stand it anymore.

I'll marry when I find someone I love, you insist after she chides you for ignoring her chosen candidates. To your surprise, your father comes out in your defense.

Leave him be, he tells your mother. I think he's old enough to make his own decisions, don't you?

Neither you nor your mother expect his response. She huffs impatiently, but leaves, allowing you to breathe, finally. You're about to thank your father, when he pats your arm and gestures to the door.

He lights up a cigarette almost as soon as you leave the room. You notice the way his shoulders relax with each puff, eyes closing briefly. Could it be that he feels just as stressed and stifled as you do inside that room? He has never been all that expressive, but you thought that he looked genuinely happy throughout the wedding and afterward.

Don't listen to your mother. Once again, his words catch you by surprise. The last time you went back home, you thought there had been an unspoken agreement never to talk about your love life again. In all honesty, you would prefer it stay that way.

I don't, you assure him, somehow trying to convey just how uncomfortable you are with the subject. You want to come up with something else, anything, but you're unable to.

Your father offers you a cigarette—which you accept without hesitation—then leads you further away from the door and away from people. There's a quiet space nearby, and you stand there together, smoking in complete silence. Somehow, you can tell he's restless, at least where his thoughts are concerned. Nevertheless, you choose to wait—he will speak when he does.

It was a beautiful ceremony, wasn't it?

You nod in agreement, choosing to ignore the vibe he's still giving off.

It was, you say. They look really happy.

Your father nods, exhaling more smoke, gray tendrils dancing around him before finally taking flight. The sight takes you to years past, when there was no one more important than the man standing in front of you. He was strong, and cool, and he would sit on the sofa every night and smoke in the near darkness.

Did you ever bring that boy back home with you? he asks, suddenly. You're glad you have just exhaled, else you would have probably choked on cigarette smoke.

I did, you decide to answer honestly. He's living with me now.

He hums softly, bringing the white cylinder to his lips. Of all the things to bring up, why did it have to be this?

And your job? Your mother said you changed jobs some time ago.

Oh, right. You had quit your previous job right before going back to your hometown, but you had never told your father. Calling him regularly stopped being a part of your routine some time ago, there are so many important things to do or worry about. His questions makes you feel just a tad guilty, though.

Yeah, you reply. I moved to a better company. Better pay and working conditions.

That's good
, he says, glancing at you. I'm glad. You look better than the last time I saw you.

You're unable to suppress a smile at that. The last time you had seen each other, you had looked like hell. Not only had your job been sucking you dry, Jaejoong's suicide attempt and subsequent events had drained you emotionally. It was a wonder you hadn't collapsed (desperate concern over your lover's welfare had probably prevented it).

How about you? you ask, feeling . . . well, obligated. You look well.

A smile graced his father's lips briefly.

As well as always. His usual answer. What else did you expect?

He offers you another cigarette. You take it, acknowledging his silent request to stay out there together.

Title: Wired

He said we can move in as soon as we want, he says, his voice a strange mixture of exhilaration and desperation. His dark gaze is filled with confusion and even sorrow these days, but you think nothing of it, why should you? Jaejoong is usually such a mess of emotions, it's really nothing new.

Tonight is the first time you've seen him all week. He was gone three whole days, a frequent occurrence, lately (last time it was four days; you worried endlessly, but then he came back, acting as if no time had gone by). When he came over only minutes after midnight, you received him like you always do, your heart beating painfully at his sight (while you thanked God that he was all right). You weren't surprised by his request to go somewhere—anywhere—and hopped into his car, already predicting where you would end up.

The beach was as dark and beautiful as ever, and so was he, you noted, as he pulled you into the backseat and took what he wanted (while giving you what you needed). You'll never get tired of his kisses, nor the feel of his skin, nor the sounds he makes when you're together. Three days seemed like forever, you deserved everything he was giving you now. You didn't let go, not until he did.

Not a minute had gone by when he started on his favorite subject: planning your future life together. He already has everything figured out, from the apartment a friend (some guy you don't know) has promised to rent them, to the store where he'll get a decent, if low paying, job. It's all he talks about lately, all he cares about, never mind you still have months to go before you can even hope to leave home, not if you want to take advantage of the college education your parents have promised you. After all, one of you should have a proper job, how else will you survive in a big city like Seoul?

He knows your parents have secured an apartment for you near your preferred university. However, he chooses to ignore it.

Then they will come over whenever they please! he reasoned, sounding incredulous at your suggestion that you take advantage of that. Besides, your father hates my guts. There was nothing you could say to counter that. It's easier to give in to him, anyway. Who knows, maybe you'll convince him to move into your relative's apartment later on.

Truth be told, you wish you could grab your belongings and run away with him right now. It's terribly tempting, and it makes more sense the more often he disappears for days at a time. You're sick of being worried out of your mind over him; you're sick of his stubborn refusal to tell you where he goes. He gets so angry, you've stopped asking. If anything, he always comes back to you, and he reminds you that you're the only thing that matters to him. That reassurance works like magic—it ends (if briefly) what seems like a lifetime of insecurity.

Right now, he's looking straight into your eyes, and you feel as though he's trying to send you a message, or just make you understand something. But, what? You want to ask, you nearly do, except it'll probably be something stupid, as per usual (Liar, you tell yourself; you're just afraid, you always are).

There's still months to go until then, though, you say. The apartment can't be empty, right?

But that's what's so perfect!
he says, perking up. The contract for the current tenants ends just weeks before we'll get there. Isn't it perfect?

No, it isn't. At least, you don't think so. You refuse to shatter his fantasy, however. Let him be happy, let him dream. There will be a time for rational thinking and real decision making. For now, you try not to think of the difficulties that will doubtlessly arise. Living with someone as loopy and irresponsible as Jaejoong won't be easy, and, yet . . . the mere thought should terrify you, but it doesn't; it worries you, but that's it.

I must be crazy to even consider this, you think to yourself. Ah, what the hell. You are crazy. The boy currently lying in your arms dreaming of your future together is proof enough.

Title: Trivial

He refused to eat today, she says in a whisper, dark eyes filled with concern.

It occupied your thoughts all day, the image of Jaejoong lying in bed sleeping. He seems so weak, getting up only to go to the bathroom, maybe watch TV if he's in the mood. Otherwise, he just lies there, oblivious to the word (or trying to be?).

When you get home after a difficult day at work (you couldn't focus on anything at all), Heeyoung rushes to keep you near the front door. She's worried, she says, Jaejoong seems to be wasting away. Except, it makes no sense.

I thought his medication was supposed to deal with that. It happens again and again, but, why? You can't bring yourself to accept Yunho's logic.

She shrugs, shaking her head.

He has been getting better, she replies. And then he has these periods. But he needs to eat. She turns pleading eyes on you. Please, try and make him. A snack, at the very least.

She goes home only minutes later, and you're left there, wondering what to do. Her observation is old news to you. How long has he been like this? How many days? You haven't kept count—you don't intend to start now—waiting, just waiting.

I haven't heard from him in a while, Junsu told you only a couple of days ago. Yunho had recently remarked on how Jaejoong refuses to speak on the phone, always busy or tired. Your lover never ever ignores Yunho, not if he can help it. So, what's going on? And, what can you do about it?

You sigh, walking deeper inside the apartment. A shower is in order, as is dinner, and maybe some TV afterward. Yeah, just . . . do what you need to do; you can worry about anything else once you've finished.

He seems to be asleep when you go into the bedroom. You choose to leave him alone, heading to the bathroom and taking a quick shower—you're sure you'll fall asleep if you take a bath, what if you drown? (An attractive idea . . . No, kill that train of thought. You didn't do it before, and you will not do it now.) Instant ramyun becomes dinner. Once you're done, you stand right outside your bedroom and wonder what the heck you're supposed to do. With a sigh, you step inside the dark room.

Hey, hyung, want to eat? A look at him and you can tell he is awake. I'll make you anything you want. No answer, no freaking answer. It's exhausting, this horrible cycle.

You lie next to him, disappointed.

. . . Anything? he asks, after what seems like forever. You sigh in relief, lips widening in a smile.


Title: Bones

No, no, no. Like this. He plays the piano slowly, enough so that you can clearly see what he is doing. You watch his small hands as they move over the keys, fluidly, gracefully. Once he's done, he looks at you expectantly. Do it again. A resigned sigh later, you comply.

You didn't think he was serious when he offered to teach you to play the piano. Days after your short conversation, he appeared at your apartment, and demanded, in no uncertain terms, that you come up to his apartment to begin your lessons.

No excuses, he said just as you were opening your mouth to protest. Damn it, why did he have to know you so well?

He loved you, you remind yourself (loved? Loves?). A year and two months, maybe more, maybe less, you loved him, as well. Junsu might have thought otherwise, probably still did, especially after he came back into your life and reopened still healing wounds. Nevertheless, your feelings for the man you now call your best friend were real, up until the night he declared he wanted to end your relationship—no, you loved him far longer than that.

I want to break up, you can still hear the words as if he had uttered them right now. He had felt so warm next to you, so perfect and safe, and then, those words. Yes, you had expected it, ever since Jaejoong had disappeared. It had still caught you off guard.

Oh, my god, Yoochun! he cries in dismay when you fuck up on the piano once again. He's not as frustrated as he sounds—it's easy to tell after so many years—though it has to grate on his nerves that, while he can make any child play within days, it's taking forever to teach you. Again!

What would life be like now if your first love had never come back? You have wondered so many times along the years. What crappy timing, you think sometimes. Life hadn't been perfect, but you had been happy, happier than you had been since he had abandoned you. Okay, you know the reasons now, but, despite all your efforts, sometimes you think you will never be able to forgive him.

Sometimes you almost ask Junsu for his opinion. Thankfully, you stop yourself before you can go and be an even bigger jerk than you already are. He may be your friend, you may be close, but . . . well, you haven't really liked it the few times he has brought it up, have you?

Jaejoong was up and about when you woke up in the morning. It caused you no small amount of joy to see him out of bed, fresh from the shower, looking tired, still, but awake, damn it! This freaking roller coaster that is Kim Jaejoong will end up killing you, you're almost sure.

If I don't kill myself first, you think bitterly.

Ah, much better, Junsu says, smiling at you. You smile back, watching as he goes back to the piano and to trying to teach you. He's so patient, so special. That horrible, selfish part of you wishes things had turned out differently, sometimes. Guilt washes over you almost immediately, and you kick yourself for it. Yet, you think about it again, next time your lover has one of those quiet episodes. Like now . . .

Ugh, what the hell are you doing? You love Jaejoong, you have made countless sacrifices for him. How can you even think about throwing it all away? Be happy with what you have, damn it! You need to repeat this to yourself over and over, until it finally sinks in, and remind yourself of all those other times he talks to you, like this morning.

Hey, are you two done? Speak of the devil. He insisted on coming along with you, thankfully; otherwise, you were dreading having to leave him alone. (Though, thinking on it, maybe that was Junsu's intention all along? To force Jaejoong to leave the apartment?) Hyukjae was watching a movie, so Jaejoong had joined him (all the while watching you from the corner of his eye). Your patient teacher took you away for a good hour of torture.

Junsu smiles at his sight.

Yeah, he answers right away. Oh, thank God! You don't have the patience you used to, nor the desire, really. (Somehow, you suspect Junsu realizes this, but, for some mysterious reason, he refuses to let go.) This guy is so slow, it's almost impossible to teach him.

you protest. And I was just about to praise my wonderful teacher.

Junsu rolls his eyes, but laughs. On the other hand, Jaejoong watches you, looking from Junsu to you and back. You want to ask what he's thinking, but now is not the time. No, you know what he will say before he says it.

Can we go home? I'm tired, he says. You nod. He smiles, and leaves the room.

He seems better, Junsu remarks. You can feel his gaze on you, dark eyes filled with questions and maybe even compassion.

Yeah. And it's all you will say about it. For now.

Title: Chase

Your dick will freeze and fall off! He laughs out loud and flips you off, before completely ignoring your warning and diving into the freezing sea. He does that often: going skinny dipping, until he's tired and his teeth are chattering, the cold night wind enveloping his bare body. He keeps trying to get you to join him, but while he never gets sick, you, with your now controlled asthma, can't take the chance of ending up in the hospital (not to mention that while you're a lot of things, a masochist is not one of them).

Instead, you sit somewhat comfortably against the windshield of Jaejoong's old car and watch him. He looks natural in the sea, even as that liquid darkness swallows him whole for seconds at a time. Jaejoong loves it, that volatile and unpredictable body that is so like him. The waves reach the shore, then recede, over and over, the motion repeats itself, and still, there he is, wading through the only place where he seems to find peace. (Sometimes you envy the sea, it's ridiculous, you know, but he gives himself so freely while swimming, becoming a part of it mind and body. Why can't he do that with you?)

He acts less like a lunatic on nights like these. Once he comes out, skin so pale he almost looks like a ghost, it feels as though a load has been taken off his shoulders. Does he feel free? Does it make him happy enough that he's able to forget everything that makes him miserable? Either way, you welcome him back, secure in the knowledge that not even the sea can steal him away.

I guess you would miss it if it did fall off, he teases you maybe an hour later, after you have effectively warmed him up. You roll your eyes; he laughs at your reaction.

Yeah, I would be devastated, you reply sarcastically (while trying to suppress the urge to reply that hell, yeah, you would!). Not that you care.

Oh, I care.
He lowers his voice, embedding it with a sensuality that is inherently his. It makes you shiver—he grins, loving your reaction. Jaejoong leans down and kisses you deeply, taking your breath away. The second round is more intense, more intimate, somehow. Even as you hold on to him, you marvel at how easily you fall into him; you think it must be the same for him, if his complete and utter abandon is any indication.

Soon, he whispers only seconds after you both reach climax. It won't be in this beat up car. And it'll be just you and me, no one else in the way.

He moves away to turn on the radio, and sings along with the ballad playing. He then comes back to you, laughing as you struggle to find a comfortable position without having to let go of each other. Soon enough, you settle down together, the music filling the air. You decide to ignore the words he keeps repeating over and over lately. He's right, and you can't wait for the day when you can have him all for yourself. However, now is now; with him, now is everything.


<<Part 22 | Part 24>>

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