Images into words

[FIC] - Untitled

Sun, 28 Dec 2008 19:30:40 GMT

Word count: 566
Pairing: Hyunjoong/Hyungjoon (SS501)
Warning: very short. LOL.
Disclaimer: my holiday is shit.

He stood hesitantly in front of his door; white fingers absently reaching out to touch the pale, laminated surface of pre-fab wooden door as if his digits were stroking his skin. It had been too long—seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks—he really didn’t know how long it had been since they last saw each other, but it felt like forever. It had been too busy for casual coffee meetings, late dinners, or even hushed conversations over the phone.

He’d become too attached to him—his attentions, his heavy-lidded eyes, his voice, his large, rough hands at the small of his back, the flesh of his lips—that he thought he’d go crazy if he’d let another moment pass by without seeing him. Or touching him.

And now he stood outside his door in a too-thin coat and a dark scarf knotted carelessly at his pale throat; shivering partly because of the chill that permeated the dark corridors and partly because of anxiety—was it excitement? at the thought of him. He shuffled his feet nervously; the soles of his expensive shoes scratching the smooth surface of tile, the sound magnified by the emptiness of the hall.

Should he knock? Maybe there’s no one home; maybe he was out drinking with people he worked with in that new project. It was Christmas, after all. Maybe he was on the other side of the door; tossing fitfully in his pale-sheeted bed, longing for him, too, in that way that he longed for him. He gathered his slender fingers in a fist and knocked softly. There was a doorbell-intercom contraption, he knew, but touching this door is like touching the soft planes of his cheeks, the hard ridge of muscle, his warm back as they lay together.

There was no answer and his shoulders fell in disappointment. He turned on his heel to leave—already imagining the cold bed he was going to lay on tonight, his dreams flooded with images of him and memories of his touch and hearing his voice out of nowhere—when the door noisily creaked open. He knew he was there; in the flesh, his heavy-lidded eyes heavier because of the lateness of the hour, his cupid-bow mouth expressionless.

“I just stopped by to say—” he stopped. What did he want to say? I miss you? No, I long for you? “Merry Christmas.”

“Hyungjoon.” He whispered; his mouth probably dry that the name came out as a scratchy exhale of breath.

Large, rough hands gripped his arms, pulling him closer. He didn’t object; this was what he wanted, what he went here for. He was pushed against the cold concrete of foyer wall, but he didn’t object. This was what he wanted.

Lips traveled carelessly on his face; kissing eyes, nose, lids, cheeks, lips, jaw. He mewled and if possible, clung tighter to him. The cupid-bow mouth went lower; fingers tore his scarf away to reveal that hollow beneath his throat—a part that he loved. He felt a playful bite on his throat, followed by a tongue laving the spot as if apologetic for the sharp nip of teeth.

“Hyunjoong,” he whispered softly; his breath forming little clouds. His dimming vision registered the fancy light fixture on the ceiling as he looked up; not wanting to look at him as he made a request. “Mark me.”

So I can remember tonight.

***

A/N:

Okay. So nice_nes basically coerced me into writing this. LOL. Inspired by this picture xkayex posted in her LJ. AGH! A hickey. >_>

And I’m kinda busy at the moment so I just did this as a post-Christmas gift to Nes and Kaye. Will prolly resume writing the other stuff next year.

Happy Holidays!

Random crack for Kim Hyunjoong's birthday!

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 16:32:43 GMT

Word count: 1,416

Pairing: One-sided Hyunjoong/Hyungjoon

Warning: Crack

Disclaimer: I can’t think of anything witty at the moment, just that, I don’t own them. They probably can’t read English so it won’t hurt. Ha.

Hyungjoon, however naïve and dense he may seem, noticed that peculiar way that Hyunjoong had been looking at him lately. Of course at first Hyungjoon had felt uncomfortable and unnerved under those intense gazes that seem to want to drill holes through his flesh. Not that he knew what those gazes meant, but with Hyunjoong, one will probably never know—ever.

Apparently, Hyunjoong had been far from discreet as Jungmin (usually self-absorbed) had begun to notice, too. “Baby, what’s the deal with you and the Sloth?”

Hyungjoon looked up from the magazine he had been reading. “Who?”

“You know,” Jungmin looked around warily, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Hyunjoong the Sloth.”

“Oh,” his eyes went round as realization dawned on him. “What deal?”

“Exactly what I’m asking!” Irritation swiftly crept to Jungmin’s voice; the sudden edge on it made Hyungjoon inch away a bit. His friend always had a very volatile temper and he did not like to be in the midst of an unpleasant outburst. “What are you, an idiot?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m not an idiot!” He cried defensively.

Jungmin snorted disbelievingly, unconvinced. “The Sloth looks like he’s going to eat you with rice and kimchi every time his eyes fall on you. You don’t seem to mind, so I was like, ‘maybe Baby wants him to stop gawking and do just that,’ and I thought you guys are together like that. And now you’re denying it? Did the Sloth make you turn against me, the bestest friend you have in this whole wide universe?”

“Where do you get such,” Hyungjoon winced, “perverted ideas?”

“Well, that’s what I see! So is the sex making you a traitor to our pure and sacred friendship? Come on, I even told you I thought I heard Kyujong jerking off in the shower, and if he finds out I did, you know he’ll probably kill me in my sleep!”

“Ew,” Hyungjoon tried to make a very disgusted face. “One, you are perverted. Two, I’m not having sex with the ‘Sloth,’” he gestured for quotation with curved fingers, “three, what people do in the bathroom should remain private or otherwise should be discussed in scientific-whatever terms. And finally, you are not my bestest friend.”

Jungmin was probably feeling extra-mean at that moment. “Yeah, yeah, your bestest friend was this ugly obese girl from fourth grade who went off to China and she was probably buried in a coal mine or something because she hasn’t written back ever. Boohoo, enough with the drama, but who's your best friend after that forgetful or decaying bitch? Me!”

“You’re absolutely heartless!” Hyungjoon cried, appalled. He quickly jumped to his feet in an attempt to slap, poke, or do any kind of physical harm. “How can you speak like that about her?”

“Ugh, please! The issue here is you sleeping with Hyunjoong and not telling me—”

“Just shut up,” he hissed angrily and stalked off.

***

He and Jungmin barely spoke that week; the younger boy still offended with Jungmin’s nasty words. However, a part of Hyungjoon had wanted to forgive his friend because Jungmin was like that—shooting off spiteful words but not really meaning it. He knew Jungmin was really nice and kind once you get past that vicious and sarcastic façade. But since the older boy had not been the first one to say sorry, there would be no friendly exchanges between them for the moment.

He was lolling idly in his bed, watching random video clips on his laptop to pass the time, when the unmistakable form of Hyunjoong lazily sidled up to the doorframe. Hyungjoon could feel those eyes on him but he pretended not to notice, waiting for the other boy to announce his presence first before acknowledging him.

“Hey,” Hyunjoong drawled casually. “Whatcha doin’?”

Feigning surprise, he answered, “nothing much,” and added a smile (which may have looked better as a grimace).

“You know, from this angle,” Hyunjoong began, eyes squinting to imply concentration. “You look really bad in fluorescent light, your nose is oily, and you show too much gums when you smile.” With that, he turned to go somewhere else, leaving Hyungjoon with his mouth open in an unfinished protest.

***

“He said I was ugly,” Hyungjoon sulked, absently picking on Jungmin’s blanket.

“I don’t get it! I was totally sure that he had this humungous crush on you, and now he calls you ugly…” Jungmin rolled on his bed, perplexity written on his face. “Well, you do show a lot of gums when you smile and sometimes you don’t photograph nicely—”

“Okay,” he cut in before he could get really insulted, “it’s not like he’s perfect and I do think that many people will disagree with him—about my considerable looks, I mean.”

“So why is he looking at you like that?”

Hyungjoon was not sure if he was expected to answer or not.

***

Jungmin and Kyujong had been out on a scheduled activity, and it was Hyunjoong, Youngsaeng, and Hyungjoon eating dinner together (those instant meals that Hyunjoong had insisted on trying). Hyungjoon pushed around the soggy noodles in his bowl, uninterested in the tasteless food that Hyunjoong deemed edible.

“You have to stop staring at Hyungjoon,” Youngsaeng said in that peculiar deadpan manner of his, eyes still trained on the food before him. “A second longer and he’ll turn into stone.”

Hyungjoon looked up, surprised at that sudden remark and looked at Hyunjoong for any signs that the older man had, indeed, been staring at him long enough to, quoting Youngsaeng “turn him into stone.”

“Wha—” Hyunjoong turned beet red (actually the first time that Hyungjoon had seen him blush), his mouth closing and opening again to spew some out-of-this-world retort that had been his trademark. “I hate you, Youngsaeng!” He said finally, the emotion stated in his words not reflected in his actions as he stood up to leave the table.

It was an awkward moment and Hyungjoon decided to play dumb. “Turn me into stone? What’s that about?”

Youngsaeng snorted and shot Hyungjoon a stern look. “And you, you have to stop acting like you don’t know a thing. It’s so irritating.”

“I hate you too, Youngsaeng!” He wanted to stand up and walk away too, but then Youngsaeng would probably accuse him of being a copycat. And then that would never die down; Youngsaeng would tease him forever.

“Liar.”

***

Hyungjoon was surprised (okay, maybe a part of him had expected this to happen, just that he did not think it would actually happen) when Hyunjoong cornered him in the veranda one night, while the rest of the group was fighting over what movie to watch (Jungmin indignantly protesting his hyung’s choice of a gory cannibal film). The stars were visible with the half moon despite the glare of the city lights, the slight breeze ruffling their hair and clothes.

“Listen, you can think about it, I’m not rushing you to answer or anything,” Hyunjoong stumbled with the words; inexperienced with discussing such serious matters. “I just… freakin’ like you, okay?”

“I—” Hyungjoon began; unsure about his feelings about the older man’s confession. Was he attracted to Hyunjoong’s striking features and lean body all along? Or was he disgusted with the idea that another man, his friend even, liked him?

“You’d be heartbroken,” Jungmin cried, suddenly squeezing himself between the two of them. “He doesn’t have a brain to think with!” Then he was gone as swiftly as he appeared, leaving Hyungjoon fuming at the insult of his intellectual capacity.

“As if horses are smart,” he murmured under his breath.

“I’d push him off the balcony if he ever does that again.” Hyunjoong declared seriously.

Hyungjoon felt his chest swell with gratitude and fondness towards the older man at those words; maybe it was not too disgusting or impossible to like Hyunjoong—after all, he was very good-looking, generous (he remembered all those free meals he got from the older man; he thought he was just glad at not spending his money but now he was touched beyond words, now that he knew there was some affection involved in buying them), and protective. Maybe he did not need to think about it—

“I’ll really kill him if he steps on my foot again!” Hyunjoong hissed and bent to massage his foot. “He has feet like a horse’s hooves!”

Or maybe this one needs a little more consideration.

***

Happy birthday Hyunjoong, you adorable fourth dimension dork, you. ♥

Two more, eee. ♥

Very random, very short KiHae

Sun, 01 Jun 2008 17:32:54 GMT

Word count: 301
Pairings: One-sided Kibum/Donghae
Disclaimers: My bank says I can't use my money to buy people.
Warning: AU

There was a boy named Lee Donghae and he was on the school’s soccer team. Meanwhile, another boy, Kim Kibum hated soccer but loved Donghae’s bright eyes and impish smile so he joined the soccer team, even if he had the agility and stamina of an overcooked dduk, all in the name of love.

On the first practice day, Kibum ran five laps around the soccer field for warm-up and had kicked a ball unsuccessfully around plastic cones (he was exhausted as hell) when he and the other newbies were called in to join their seniors in a “friendly” game. Kibum highly suspected that it was some form of sadistic initiation ritual that the older boys cooked up. Lee Donghae stood with the menacing sunbae team, looking heavenly despite the sweat on his face and the tendrils of hair that stuck to forehead and cheeks.

That day, Kibum realized that heaven and hell was a single place as Lee Donghae ran beside him, set on kicking the ball away, the wind on their faces and Kibum felt his thighs burning as much as that unnamed emotion in his chest.

Lee Donghae lagged behind and Kibum felt a sharp pain in his calves, the ball flying far away, his cross-trainered feet not feeling the damp carpet of grass, his back and rear landing with a hard thud—he’s down and it hurts and he doesn’t want to get up as the pain shoots up—

Then there was a familiar set of slightly bowed legs and black-and-red cleats; Donghae’s shining face framed by the orange of the setting sun, a soft smile on his lips and his eyes were bright as the moon on a cloudless night; his hand extended to Kibum as an offer to help and Kibum thought:

I love soccer.

it's an effin' oven out

Mon, 31 Mar 2008 11:49:02 GMT

AGH. You think cold is bad? It isn't. Cold is good for writing. Here, where it's basically summer the whole year, it gets SO hot around March to, uh, November. Ew.

Will be back for more fics. I need to stop talking to Nes so we won't think up of new fics.

KIHAE_LOVE ANNIVERSARY DRABBLES PART 2

Fri, 15 Feb 2008 18:02:57 GMT

#04; 284 words; aftermath 1

Donghae did not know what he wanted more: the blinding orgasms he shares with Kibum or the younger boy on top of him, his only movement the weary rise and fall of his body as he panted, not pulling out and rolling off just yet. He craved both—the satisfying completion after the almost frustrating arousal Kibum had coaxed him to; the delicious weight of the other boy’s bronzed body on his—but what he needed right now was the assurance that this was not just sex; that he meant more to Kibum than a warm body to demand comfort from when he gets horny.

Kibum was not the cuddle-bug or the pillow-talker type; he never failed to just roll off Donghae, clean himself up with the disposable wipes he kept near during their trysts (or a shower, if he was not too tired), and fall asleep. Donghae often laid awake after, propped on his side, watching the supine form beside him. On those nights he wished that Kibum held him and whispered a certain three-syllable phrase (the wonderful sound muffled by Donghae’s hair, where Kibum would kiss him before going to sleep); that he would fall sleep with his head on the crook of Kibum’s arm and his nose buried in the hollow of the other boy’s throat; that he would wake up to the stunning vision of Kibum’s handsome face come morning.

Tonight, Donghae steeled his nerves and asked as Kibum was closing his eyes, ready for sleep. “Will you hold me?”

He waited expectantly and nervously for the reply or the responding gesture, but after long torturous seconds, none came. Donghae felt his throat constrict and his eyes leaked bitter tears.

#05; 376 words; seduction

Donghae shifted uncomfortably in the couch as Kibum inched closer (a millimeter closer and they would probably be permanently connected by the thighs). Things even got more awkward as Kibum casually draped his arm around his hyung’s shoulder.

“You seem tense,” Kibum observed with a low purr, “just relax and watch this movie.”

Donghae tried to concentrate on the screen before him. It was a non-descript movie; two boys cleaning a tiny apartment; no interesting dialogue. He cocked his head a bit, looking for subtle things in the movie that made Kibum choose this over the 495th time they would watch Titanic.

He almost jumped when Kibum’s hand (palm cupping the rounded end of shoulder) slid lower to stroke the smooth skin of his upper arm. He just ignored the “affectionate” gesture of the younger boy, and turned his attention back to the movie. The characters now moved into the kitchen, glancing warily at each other. Donghae yawned a bit. Maybe this is one of those artsy-fartsy films from an international film festival. He expected Kibum to like that kind of movies; but Donghae did not. Call him cheap and shallow, Donghae did not care—he liked his movies commercial and silly.

Kibum’s hand was apparently not satisfied with rubbing Donghae’s arm; it left its post and grabbed the curve of Donghae’s waist. Donghae squeaked in surprise and looked questioningly (with a wee bit of indignation) at Kibum, whose eyes were still trained on the TV.

“Wha—” Donghae began, but he could not find the words to tell Kibum off or ask him just what the hell he was doing.

“Watch. It gets more interesting now,” there was an unfamiliar grin on Kibum’s lips, and Donghae was almost scared to look.

The two boys on the screen were kissing (how they got to be like that, Donghae did not know) passionately, their eager hands roaming suggestively.

Kibum suddenly turned to face him, and Donghae knew he must have looked like a scared rabbit on the vet’s table. “Do you want us to do that, hyung?” Their lips were almost touching and Donghae was afraid to answer lest their lips would connect for real. He just closed his eyes and let things take their own course.

Two more to go! (or not? Shall I write more? :D)

2HJ Drabbles~

Fri, 15 Feb 2008 16:30:47 GMT

Eee. 2HJ FTW!!

#01; 132 words; twilight

Hyunjoong thought that Hyungjoon looked beautiful under any light; hard light made the chiseled planes on his face more interesting, and when the lighting is softer his skin was soft clouds on a bright day. He never thought that Hyungjoon would look extraordinarily stunning in twilight, in the veranda, the wind ruffling his hair gently as an enamored lover. His dyed hair was highlighted with the gold of the setting sun and his skin was translucent like fine china. His lashes cast spiky shadows on his cheeks every time he blinked, and Hyunjoong found himself watching that minute movement of those eyes and the pale wafer lids, pupils really dark now because of the low light. Hyungjoon was perfect and Hyunjoong wanted him.

“What are you looking at?” Hyungjoon asked teasingly.

“You.”

#02; 184 words; pact (au)

Hyungjoon awaited the reply nervously. He never should have gone to that website, no matter how empty and lonely he felt. But a part of him was glad that there were other people who felt like him; who felt that there was something lacking in their lives and there was no other way than this.

It had begun simply enough; Hyungjoon admits that it was a burning curiosity at first—he wondered how people can bear to do that to themselves. Then he realized that the physical pain just might be overwhelmed by another stronger feeling; like really wanting to sleep but really hungry at the same time.

Hyungjoon’s fingers were poised—shaking—over the computer keyboard; not knowing what to say next to his online buddy “Hyunjoong” (if that was his real name; Hyungjoon had told him his real name trustingly).

The chime of the instant messenger ringing in the emptiness of his bedroom almost made Hyungjoon jump, almost made him doubt the sanity of this decision.

Hyunjoong typed: Let’s commit suicide together.

Hyungjoon sighed in defeat as he entered his reply. Yes.

[keke, sorry! I was just inspired by the thought of internet suicide pacts. Will continue this as a full-length fic sometime in the future]

#03; 205 words; bathroom

Hyunjoong was awakened by incessant whining from the bathroom; and he would not have voluntarily rolled off the bed if he had not heard the slight hoarseness lacing the desperate voice from down the hall.

“All right, I’m coming,” he groaned weakly and stood on wobbly knees.

The bathroom door was unlocked and Hyunjoong unceremoniously pushed at it. Hyungjoon, wet and naked as a drowned rat, was huddled on one end of the tub—shaking slightly at the cold air his hyung had let in.

“What the hell is it?” He asked brusquely.

“I forgot my towel,” Hyungjoon answered sheepishly. “I think I left it in the kitchen.”

Can’t he just dash there or dry himself with toilet paper, Hyunjoong thought to himself. And when he came back to the bathroom with the towel, he found Baby bent over the sink, brushing his teeth.

“You really are shameless, aren’t you?” Hyunjoong said; the rough manner in which he said it barely disguising the sudden tension in his voice.

“Eh, we all have the same thing down there, why should I be embarrassed?”

Hyunjoong turned away and adjusted himself in his shorts (now unexpectedly tight) and fervently wished that Hyungjoon would hurry out of the bathroom.

#04; 176 words; dongsaeng (au, implied sex)

Hyungjoon struggled weakly against Hyunjoong; a futile move, he realized later, as he was scrawny and Hyunjoong had a bulkier build.

“What are you doing?” Hyungjoon hissed; his palms against the other boy’s chest, pushing.

“Warming you up for sex,” Hyunjoong answered bluntly, lacing lazy wet kisses on the line of Hyungjoon’s jaw.

“But we can’t,” he protested. “My brother is sleeping on the other bed!”

“If we’re really quiet,” Hyungjoon felt a slow grin stretch Hyunjoong’s delectable lips on one cheek, “I don’t think he’ll wake up.” Hyungjoon’s pajama top has been unbuttoned and it lay open, defeated; pale moonlight from the latticed window on his bare torso. Hyunjoong had proceeded to licking his way down the proffered skin to the flannel waistband, and looking up at Hyungjoon there was a wicked, wicked grin on his face.

Hyungjoon just surrendered to the onset of lust and need; a rather loud moan spilling from his slack mouth.

Come morning at the breakfast table, Hyungjoon noticed guiltily that his dongsaeng would not meet his eyes or Hyunjoong’s.

[I’m so sorry Kibum! XD]

#05; 216 words; innuendo

Nobody was sure why Hyunjoong began to snicker loudly when Jungmin declared that he liked cucumbers.

“What? Cucumbers are nice and delicious!” Jungmin cried; defending his favorite vegetable.

Now their leader was laughing like a hyena. “Oh, I’m sure you like cucumbers.”

“Especially fresh ones!”

“And how do you know when a cucumber is fresh?” Hyunjoong sprawled himself at the table; his challenging gaze directed at Jungmin who was sitting right across him.

Jungmin asked Youngsaeng (who was busy putting away the groceries) to throw him one of those cucumbers they just bought. “First you have to feel if it’s firm.” He demonstrated with the cucumber, poking at it and holding it in a circle of his thumb and fingers. “If it’s a bit soft it might be overripe or something and they’re soggy!”

“Do you believe that, Baby?” Hyunjoong turned to their youngest, who was sitting beside him, watching amusedly.

“Sure,” Hyungjoon shrugged.

“Do you like cucumbers, Baby?” Hyunjoong asked, his mouth dangerously close to the younger boy’s ear; the lips nearly touching the lobe.

“Sure,” there was hesitation in his answer. Hyungjoon was not sure where this was leading.

Hyunjoong took one of Hyungjoon’s hands under the table and pressed it forcefully to his crotch. “Baby, would you check if this cucumber is fresh?”

[I know. I just ruined cucumbers for you guys. Since I read that Jungmin liked cucumbers that kinda ruined it for me too ;__; *perv mind*]

More to come? :p

FIRST ANNIVERSARY DRABBLES PART 1

Thu, 07 Feb 2008 21:31:47 GMT

Eeee.

kihae_love is turning one this February 14! When Nes and I started it we thought we're gonna be happy with 50 members or so, but who knew the movie's gonna convert fans? Anyway, I planned to write 14 drabbles to celebrate the comm's first year anniversary. However, we've created a comm for our other OTP, 2HJ, and had planned to launch that with drabbles too. The thing is, I can't write 28 drabbles in one week ;__; so. SEVEN KIHAE DRABBLES!

(but just three this am~ btw 新年快乐 and 恭喜发财 to all!)

#01; 151 words ; angst

Kibum thought that his whole world revolved around Donghae. At night it was illuminated by the moonlight of Donghae’s brown eyes; its tides moved to the whims of his lips of moon rock; winter was thawed by the warmth of his cheeks; spring bloomed under his fingertips; his touch was both heaven and hell; and now hearing his voice, Kibum thought it was the death and eventual rebirth of something.

“Kibummie,” the lilt in that beloved voice was unmistakably flirtatious and Kibum remembered the times when it moaned for him in passion. “If you really love me…”

Kibum waited for the answer with trepidation; his fingernails digging into his palm but he was numb to the slight pain it caused. He was ready to do everything Donghae would ask him. Donghae meant everything.

“Then you’d stop hounding me like some crazy stalker,” Donghae smiled sweetly. “After all, we’re not together anymore.”

#02; 154 words; jealousy

Donghae does not understand why he becomes upset at the sight of Kibum being with other people; Kibum’s bare arm brushing against someone else; Kibum’s perfect lips near another’s ears. When Donghae sees those things he imagines Kibum being with him; the tanned skin brushing, rubbing against his; the perfect lips nipping at his ear, kissing him on places where even Donghae was not aware of their existence.

And now, Kibum was leaning against Heechul too closely, whispering something that they might have found amusing because they were giggling quietly in a corner of the dressing room.

“Damn,” Kangin exclaimed when he saw Donghae looking intently at Kibum and Heechul. “Am I really seeing this? Little Hae jealous of his precious hyung? Is it because our Cinderella is moving in on Fishy’s Prince Charming?”

“I am not jealous,” Donghae denied and looked up at the other man. I just crave having Kibum to myself.

#03; 100 words; confession

Kibum held Donghae’s hand in his; a slight comfort in the flurry of movement around them. Time must have stopped when he had looked into the older boy’s eyes. He found himself lost in those chocolate depths; thinking of the possibilities that the one thing he wanted to say to his hyung might entail. His forefinger traced lazy circles over the faint veins of Donghae’s hands and on impulse, traced “I love you” slowly, deliberately.

Donghae carefully laid his head on Kibum’s shoulder and gave him a warm smile. “I love you too, Kibummie,” he whispered gently on Kibum’s cheek.

Sneak peeks, anyone?

Fri, 01 Feb 2008 20:35:17 GMT

I thought I’d give you guys a preview of what I’ve been working on the past few days, keke. Just because nice_nesrequested.

Kibum/Donghae

He could remember vividly the first time he saw the face of his dreams; it was on a discarded DVD inlay lying on a grimy floor and he had nearly stepped on it before it caught his eye. It was on one of his monthly pirated-PS2-games-hunting day, and the guy who sold those things for 2,000 won a disc leered when he saw Kibum looking intently at that face on the glossy paper (there were other boys, too, but their faces were not that memorable).

Right about time you graduate from those games, kid, the man said and thrust a plastic bag with Kibum’s selection in them. Since you’re such a good customer, I included something that you might like. He winked at Kibum lasciviously.

Hyunjoong/Hyungjoon

“I haven’t been to Korea,” Hyungjoon confessed. “There’s the bookstore that I have to look after, Kibum’s education being so expensive…”

“I’d take you, one day. I know in TV you just see that Jeju is nothing but rocks and the places your grandparents told you about are probably high-rise condominium buildings by now,” Hyunjoong paused; probably remembering his homeland vividly and proudly, “but it’s good to know where your roots are. To breathe in the same air that my ancestors breathed in during their time—it sounds corny but it makes me feel secure.”

Hyungjoon was amazed with the sudden profundity of his neighbor’s thoughts; he honestly thought of Japan as his home, but Hyunjoong was making him long for the motherland that he had never seen firsthand.

Yesung/Donghae

Huge eyes looked up at him and for a moment he almost felt a twinge of guilt; but Yesung had been doing this for far too long to actually feel remorse over his actions. “But if you leave me, I don’t know how I’ll take it…” Donghae sounded so vulnerable; his voice so soft and had Yesung been serious with him it would have broken his heart.

“You’ll live,” Yesung said coldly, placing his credit card back to his wallet as the waiter returned it. “After all, you were fine without me for 17 years, right?”

“But… don’t you love me?”

Yesung laughed, his rich baritone too cold, too cruel. “I do, honey. But the sex is starting to get boring.”

Jaejin/Jungmin

Jaejin’s round eyes glared daggers at him; maybe he should not have commented about the younger boy’s bass skills.

“And what about you, hyung?” The voice was sweet yet mocking. “Going around telling people that a teeny-tiny scar ruins your sexy charisma? Please. Your so-called sexy charisma ruins everything.”

Jungmin felt his cheeks grow hot. How dare this scrawny kid say those things about him? They barely know each other, and the last time he checked, a four-year age difference is a rather significant age difference.

Jaejin gave him a syrupy smile with his eyes all crinkled and his pretty mouth curved upwards. Though the kid is mean as hell, he is definitely attractive.

Kyuhyun/Heechul

There was that smile again, and Heechul thought that he would not mind if the younger boy could smile at him that way for the rest of his life. He inwardly chastised himself for liking the mental image.

"Anyway, about Shiwon-hyung..."

"Yes, what about him?" Heechul tried to resume eating, but he could feel Kyuhyun's intense gaze on him even if he has bowed his head down pretending to be very interested with his rice bowl.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

I SHOULD STOP. REALLY.

I’m sorry I can’t help it, I’ve been writing stuff down as soon as I think of them *sob* Believe me, I want to finish the series first.

[FIC] Diary - 2/?

Thu, 24 Jan 2008 18:01:06 GMT

Title: Diary

Disclaimers: I do not own anything remotely related to the person of the characters depicted.

Warning: AU, OOC

Word count: 1,967

Summary: As Lee Donghae moves into a very strict Catholic school, he finds a diary in an otherwise empty drawer. Is he better off not knowing what is written on it?

Chapter 1

May 2

Kibum won the district tennis championships today. Overachiever. The guy he played against was kinda cute and I was this close to getting his number but Kibum dragged me to his team’s victory party. I’m sure I’ll see more of that cute guy if I join the tennis team. But Kibum says I’m a hack and my serve sucks.

Donghae read HC Kim’s diary at every chance he got (when his roommate is out somewhere, which is not enough time to read multiple entries in one sitting) and kept it underneath his mattress. Kim Kibum did not seem to be the type who snoops under people’s beds so Donghae thought his roommate would not find out that the diary is in his possession. If Kim Kibum and HC Kim had been together (or are still together to this very minute), he was not sure if his surly roommate would be happy to know that Donghae had been prying around.

Being around for two weeks, Donghae noticed a lot of things about this place. The students are extraordinarily quiet during class hours; not talking unless called on by the teachers or excusing themselves to go to the john. Talking was allowed in the mess hall, but almost everyone spoke in nearly inaudible tones that it almost sounded like pleasant humming rather than noise. The free time on Saturdays and Sundays were spent wisely—playing sports (tennis and football being the favorites), studying, brushing up on their musical skills (Donghae had heard students practicing diligently in the music room), or doing other “productive” activities that seem unnatural for normal teenage boys. The boys Donghae hung out with in his old school spent the weekends loafing or loitering around the local mall, and for him, that was normal. Donghae thought this school was anything but normal and he suddenly felt scared for himself. In the middle of her mourning, his mother might have been crazy with grief to have sent him to a place where everyone is either a robot or an alien.

His anxiety had been calmed when he met his first friend; the boy who sat next to Donghae in class had introduced himself (quite cheerfully) and they had been stuck together since. He was tall with the most perfect white skin (looking into his own face later at night Donghae became aware of the largeness of his pores compared to his friend’s) and an infectious laugh and smiling eyes. His name was Kim Hyungjoon and he did not belong in any club but took up guitar lessons earlier this year (when asked why, his plump cheeks would be bright, bright red and Donghae had stopped asking after the third day they met). Hyungjoon had become his unofficial “tour guide” in this school—he had been here since middle school (one of the rare places where one can enroll from the start of middle school and stay until he graduates from high school)—and Donghae found himself amazed at how Hyungjoon described everything: part amazement, part disgust; at times full of disdain and at times brimming with pride.

From Hyungjoon Donghae found out that the priests running the school are from some ancient Catholic order from Europe (that would half-explain the architecture and the European faces sneering down on them from oil paintings hanging on the corridor walls), one that has exerted some power over several parts of Asia a few hundred years ago. These priests are more of scholars than missionaries (Donghae thought it was obvious with the massive size of the library and for crying out loud, a Latin club!) and Hyungjoon had warned him to expect a stern lecture in theological dogma or proper decorum rather than spiritual warmth that priests in movies seem to exude.

Hyungjoon also oriented Donghae on the student body; who was popular (Donghae found out that his roommate belonged in a “cool” clique), who was caught with liquor and cigarettes in his room, who hooked up with who, who made out with the PE instructor last term (and got away with it), who got the highest grades. Donghae thought his friend had a lot of time in his hands to observe all those things, but he found it strange that even if Hyungjoon seemed to know everybody and was friendly, he never really hung out with anyone else.

Like today. The black blazers came off and Hyungjoon had rolled up the sleeves of his crisp, white mandarin-collared shirt and cradled his acoustic guitar in his lap, strumming a few stray chords as Donghae looked out in the window, watching the other students play football with the setting sun on their backs. Donghae developed an intense interest on HC Kim—who he was, what he was like, what he did—and since he did not really know anyone else to get the answers from, he decided to try and ask Hyungjoon.

“Do you know who Kim Kibum’s roommate was before me?” Donghae asked casually, pretending to be interested in the iron grills before him. He tried to mask the keenness to know in his voice.

“No,” Hyungjoon went on to strumming some song that Donghae did not recognize. “Why are you asking?”

“Just curious,” Donghae shrugged and turned to face his friend. “You seem to know a lot about this place; the thought just crossed my mind, you know. One of the priests told my mother that the boy who left was a real pain in the ass; not exact words, though. I doubt if priests can say “ass” without crossing themselves and asking for forgiveness.”

“Why don’t you ask your roommate?”

“I’ve been here for two weeks and the only thing he has ever said to me since is “don’t touch my things.” Do you think he’ll be all friendly and tell me stories?”

Hyungjoon remained quiet and switched to a new tune—a more complicated one—the long, delicate fingers of his right hand dancing along the strings in some hypnotic pattern.

“Do you at least know what he looks like?” Donghae pressed.

The fingers stopped and the melody ceased. “I’m not supposed to tell.” Hyungjoon then stood up, holding his guitar by its neck and walking towards the door. “It won’t do you good to know, so don’t bother asking.”

Donghae frowned. His friend’s cryptic answer served to fuel his curiosity until he burned with the need to know. “Come on, Hyungjoon. I’m not gonna tell anyone that you told me.” He gave him an easy smile; one that he hoped would inspire some sort of trust in Hyungjoon’s part.

The other boy gave a defeated sigh. “Well, his name is Kim Heechul and please don’t ask me about him again.”

The supper bell rang shrilly from the marble-floored corridor and Donghae had no choice but to follow Hyungjoon to the mess hall.

***

Donghae had hoped that Kibum would be engrossed in something else after supper so he can read the diary’s next entries. The dormitory was still fairly deserted—most of the other students were still dining at the mess hall—as Donghae rushed up the stairs to his room; the sound of his footfall echoing in the emptiness of the corridors.

His door was slightly ajar when he stood in front of it; he was a bit surprised as neither he nor Kibum would have left it open, and he did not know anyone else who would have a key to their room (except for that really old priest with the shiny bald pate—Father Vincent, Donghae met him last week—who took care of the dormitory). He pushed the door carefully, wanting to be unobtrusive. Maybe he could read the diary in the bathroom if Kibum was engaged in homework or some game in his computer.

The little lamp on his roommate’s desk had been switched on, but the light coming from it was not strong enough to illuminate the whole room. Donghae slid quietly in; his movement exaggerated in his desire to be inconspicuous, but he found out that a relative stranger was the room’s sole occupant—HC Kim, red-haired and fair-skinned—and was sitting on his bed (Donghae’s now) and looking up at him with his big brown eyes.

“Uh, hi,” Donghae greeted breathlessly. “I didn’t know… I, uh, I’m going now—” he bolted for the door. He did not know that Kibum invited his former roommate (possibly boyfriend) tonight, or probably the redhead thought that Kibum would still be alone in this room. Donghae cursed himself inwardly for having a dirty mind, but he was pretty sure he is not welcome to tonight’s reunion.

He walked briskly back to the mess hall and saw Kibum, smiling to himself (and Donghae could have sworn that there was a giddy bounce to his steps), walking towards him. Donghae kept his head down, so he would not look into the other boy’s eyes. No greetings or acknowledgement passed between them; Donghae was almost sure that Kim Kibum did not even know what his name was.

He wondered briefly what he would do with the situation at hand and saw Hyungjoon chatting cheerfully with an upperclassman (with slanted eyes and a trendy haircut and otter cheeks) and producing a small gift-wrapped box (stylishly so, Donghae thought; in glossy black paper topped with a wide, wired ribbon of silver mesh) from his pockets.

“Hyung, please don’t forget to give that to him,” Hyungjoon reminded as the older boy gestured to leave. His too-red (maybe because of the paleness of his skin; Donghae concluded that Hyungjoon was paler than HC Kim) lips smiled widely in ill-concealed glee and broadened more as he saw Donghae approach.

“Who was that?” Donghae asked, eyebrow raised in question.

“Oh, one of my upperclassman friends, Heo Youngsaeng-hyung,” Hyungjoon said in a cheerful, sing-song voice that reeked of sugar and rainbows.

“Hyungjoon, do you think I can sleep in your room?”

***

It was a bad idea to stay at Hyungjoon’s room, Donghae realized once they got there. Hyungjoon’s roommate was already in bed when they got to the room, and they apparently woke him up with the gentle closing of the door. He began cursing vehemently at Hyungjoon (who was giggling like crazy; his euphoric behavior from the mess hall still flowing through his system) and Donghae (who just stared meekly).

“Don’t mind him,” Hyungjoon assured him, “he’s barely human when he’s sleepy.”

Donghae had borrowed a pair of Hyungjoon’s pajamas and they squeezed together in the single bed as Hyungjoon declared the concrete floor unsafe for sleeping, even with a blanket laid over it. Though Donghae was used to tossing around before sleeping, he just laid still on his side; his face almost snuggled against Hyungjoon’s back, eyes trained on the little cows on the pajama top.

The unbidden images of what his roommate and HC Kim could be doing ran through his mind, however unwanted they may be. Donghae is not a homophobe (though he cannot think of any homosexual experience of his own, he was sure of that one fact) and had even been serious with a girl last year (unfortunately, that brief romance turned to be a tragedy—Donghae was serious while the girl just played him), but he sometimes found himself thinking about what boys did with other boys and admiring the handsome features of another boy (he admitted to himself that he did not admire Hyungjoon’s flawless complexion; he envied the other boy for it).

Were Kibum and HC Kim snuggled like he and Hyungjoon was? Or were their bodies nearly lined up, knees bumping into each other, looking into one another’s eyes, lips almost touching?

The steady rise and fall of Hyungjoon’s supine form eventually lulled Donghae to the void of slumber.

***

TBC

A/N: Whew! A lot more dialogue than I’d like, but… there :3 So can anyone guess the Catholic order I’ve been writing about?

By the way, I noticed I used the term “football” here rather than the more familiar one, soccer. It’s just that where I went to school that was the way we usually call it. Just explaining in case you get images of men tackling each other when you come across that term reading this or any chapters in the future.

It may be a while since I post chapter 3 of this… as well as chapter 10 of the other fic. I’ve been meaning to join the contest in miracle______and I admit that I probably bit off more than I can chew with the concept I wanted to write about. There are far too many words and scenarios in my mind and I’m having trouble writing them. Plus, I think I promised someone a one-shot fic with Kibum, Donghae, and the porn industry… something like that :D

[FIC] Drowning

Thu, 17 Jan 2008 04:41:43 GMT

Title: Drowning
Disclaimers: I do not own anything at the moment except two red envelopes of McMoney.
Warning: OOC
Word count: 683

Kangin did not expect it to happen; but it did, and he knew it had to stop. Had he been drunk the night it started, he could have easily brushed it off as an honest mistake. However, he had been very sober; and that had to say something about his will. Not that he had not tried to resist—he did—but the temptation to give in was too great, and in the end, fighting against it was futile. He caved in.

Maybe the eyes were his undoing. Kangin thought those eyes were beautiful; they were innocent most of the time, but once they fixed their gaze on Kangin they were playful, even impish. Then there the smooth, soft skin under Kangin’s callused fingertips. It was like his digits were gliding on expensive silk or the shiny silver hood of his dream car at the dealer’s. Kangin felt like he was drowning each time he looked into those eyes or touched that skin, and in this case drowning was not a good thing. It was as if the water is closing in around him, and he did not have the strength to propel himself to the surface.

In the heat of passion, Kangin forgot all about his metaphors; the intensity of their hunger for each other was mind-blowing. After that abated and they lay satiated, Kangin would remember their situation and feel guilty all over again. But then the slender arms would wrap around him to coax him for another round. It was a cycle that he was aware of but powerless to break. He disliked not being in control; but he had to admit to himself that he enjoyed giving up to his desires.

Kangin remembered the first time he lit up a cigarette—he was young then; about 14 or 15—this was like taking up that habit. He knew it was wrong, yet he did it anyway. Every time he would light up, he would briefly wonder what his mother would say, but when he would see the other guys doing it, he felt that his actions were justified. Does this apply to their current situation?

A slender, softly-muscled arm draped over Kangin’s bare middle, the slim fingers skimming underneath the sheets like a big scuttling spider on his damp skin. His lover was eager for another round, but Kangin simply pulled the sheets higher; an act of boldness in his part. Kangin had not been able to resist before, but he would like to start now.

“What’s the problem?” That mouth mumbled against the bare skin of Kangin’s back, and he could feel them stretching into a slow, knowing smile.

“This isn’t right,” Kangin choked out. The fingers now made light circles around his navel, and he almost groaned with the unexpected pleasure that simple action brought.

“What isn’t right?” There was poorly guised mirth behind that question, “this?” The fingers made a complete circle before dipping lower and curling around something more sensitive, “because you want this?”

“Kibum is madly in love with you, Donghae.” As much as he hated to admit to it, he knew that the younger boy was utterly and hopelessly in love with Donghae. Not that he was not—Kangin sometimes felt overwhelming tenderness towards Donghae; warm, fuzzy feelings in his chest when he would watch him sleep; jealousy when Donghae would openly show his affections for Kibum—but really, his feelings are not in consideration here.

“And I with him,” Donghae said cheerfully. “I thought we’re over that.”

As Donghae placed lazy kisses on his broad shoulders, Kangin remembered the anguished look on Kibum’s handsome face earlier this day; his brows furrowed, his eyes confused, perfect mouth drawn in a thin, severe line.

Hyung, I know Donghae has been cheating on me. I don’t know with whom or when he does it, but I’m scared he might leave me. I love him, hyung.

Kangin reassured his dongsaeng that he was just being paranoid; that Donghae loved him back; that he was sure Donghae would not leave Kibum for anyone else.

Even for him.

***

END

A/N: Happy birthday, Kangin~♥

Work in Progress

Wed, 16 Jan 2008 17:46:58 GMT

>> Untitled school fic
>> Diary (dark school fic)
~~>> Birthday fic for Kangin (almost there yay)~~ DONE
>> Birthday fic for Kyujong (~~no idea for this one yet~~ THE IDEA HAS LANDED)
>> Photographer!Kibum fic
>> Goat/Horse fic (Jaejin/Jungmin)
>> Evil-shrink!Yesung fic
>> College!2HJ fic

D: SO MUCH STUFF TO WRITE!

[FIC] - Unrequited

Wed, 16 Jan 2008 17:23:04 GMT

Title: Unrequited
Disclaimer: Owning these boys would be the greatest thing that could happen to me. In short, not gonna happen.
Pairing: Jaejin/Wonbin, Wonbin/Honggi
Word count: 300
Warning: emo!Jaejin

Jaejin turned his back to his friend, turned away from those beautiful eyes and the scent that his mind had on permanent file now. The sunny skies outside mocked him; it was a storm inside him, a dark storm that drowned his heart in pain.

"Why are you sad?" Wonbin asked; his husky voice laced with concern.

I don't need your concern, Jaejin wanted to scream at him. He was tired of being pitied, tired of not being Wonbin's only one, of endlessly hoping, and being led on.

Jaejin shook his head vehemently, trying to erase the depressing train of thoughts that was running through his head.

"Are you sure? Because if you have a problem, you know Honggi and I are always here for you." Wonbin sounded so kind and loving; and Jaejin wanted to believe that he did not really care for him. It would be easier not to love Wonbin anymore.

Jaejin smiled bitterly, not the usual cheerful curling of his delicate lips, and Wonbin's brow furrowed as he gathered the slender body in his arms. Jaejin was shaking as he rubbed his cheek against his friend’s shoulder, and absently wondered how it would feel if Wonbin’s arms are wound around him in passion.

"Please don't hesitate to tell me or Honggi what's going on in that pretty little head of yours," Wonbin whispered against his hair.

The mention of that name was enough to make Jaejin's insides clench with jealousy and guilt. He knew he should not feel this way, should not covet what was Honggi's. Tears flowed freely from his eyes as he shut them tight, a futile attempt to suppress the sudden tide of emotions.

Jaejin fervently hoped Wonbin would not feel the dampness of his tears through the thick fabric of his coat.

[FIC] Diary - 1/?

Wed, 16 Jan 2008 16:39:20 GMT

Title: Diary

Disclaimers: I do not own anything remotely related to the person of the characters depicted.

Warning: AU, OOC

Word count: 2,367

Summary: As Lee Donghae moves into a very strict Catholic school, he finds a diary in an otherwise empty drawer. Is he better off not knowing what is written on it?

Donghae held the gaily-colored pamphlet in his hands, occasionally flipping the glossy pages and nodding to the droning voice of his mother and a tall priest in a flowing white habit. He followed them quietly, eyes trained on the cheerful pictures on the pamphlet. He did not understand the jolliness of the school brochure; loud combinations of blues and yellows and blacks, happy-looking clean-cut boys in somber but professional black uniforms, foreign letters that spelled joy. Maybe all the happiness in this place had been focused in one letter-sized booklet and did not leave did not leave a single drop for those who would not hold this material in their hands to experience.

He was initially excited when his mother handed him the pamphlet; he combed through it enthusiastically, mind rapt, eyes wide, because he was amazed. He could not believe that his mother would send him to such a beautiful place; the pamphlet said (and shown in professionally-taken photographs) that there were clean, first-class rooms, shiny tennis courts, an Olympic-sized pool, state-of-the-art auditoriums. Everything seemed attractive, including the annual week-long festival (Donghae loved festivals), music lessons before suppertime, and film-showing every Sundays—not those old movies on perpetual rerun on TV, but blockbusters.

But now, being here personally, he was dismayed. The buildings, which would have looked charming in a European hillside, looked out of place—Donghae felt they should not exist in this moment, in this very spot. Ornate in the art deco style of almost a century ago, fenced with filigree-like wrought iron grills with suns and curlicues. The tall, frosted glass windows were framed with the same complicated grills, set on thick gray walls of stone. Neat little shrubs with the occasional speckles of red and yellow blooms lined the path towards the entrance, where a huge fountain stood. The fountain had a saint (Donghae speculated from the halo sculpted on his head)—a mean-looking knife wedged in his skull; two of the fingers in his left hand held up in peace; the right holding a little book with weird Latin inscriptions on it—standing in the middle, pupil-less concrete eyes watching the gentle jets of water benevolently.

“We are, Mrs. Lee, extremely glad that you brought your son to study with us,” the priest said softly to his mother, who gave a disarming, friendly smile.

“Donghae’s father died a month ago,” his mother confided. “I decided to send him to an institution such as your school because you know boys his age; they need constant guidance from their fathers to grow into proper men.”

Donghae’s father had been an architect, a good one. He was Donghae’s hero—the man was the best father, the best husband, one of the best people one can meet. It was a heart attack that wrought his untimely demise, and Donghae had wept bitterly for days no matter how his mother consoled him that his father had gone to a “better place.” It was hard seeing his father in the blinding whiteness of a hospital room, lying lifeless in that bed. How can someone so strong, someone you have depended on your whole life, someone you looked up to, be dead?

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lee,” the priest bowed his dark head—Donghae estimated him to be about fifty years old and still his head was full of black wiry locks—as an extension of his condolences. “I will make sure that the next mass I say is for him.”

“Thank you, Father Thomas,” she murmured in gratitude.

The priest then led them to the dormitory-priory—more ornate mouldings, soft yellow lighting from faux antique chandeliers, oil paintings of European scenes, shiny marble floors. There was no one in the lobby at that moment; Donghae presumed that classes were going on.

“This is where the students stay outside the classroom, Mrs. Lee. Six floors and thirty two-bed cells for the students, pardon me for saying that; that’s just how we refer to their sleeping quarters,” Father Thomas’ voice resonated pleasantly in the empty lobby. “The mess hall and administrative offices are here in the first floor, and our priory—where the priests are quartered—is on the seventh.”

His mother took everything in, nodding slightly in approval. Donghae knew his mother went to a girls’ school ran by strict French nuns, and she probably thought that he would do fine in such a controlled environment. “I wonder, Father, whose slot has been vacated for my son to be accepted at this time of the year?”

“There’s this, uh, problem child who left,” the priest said casually, but Donghae noticed the several beads of sweat that began to dot the man’s forehead despite the slight chill of this September morning in the mountains. “He was really wild; he even dyed his hair red, just to spite us.”

His mother made a dainty little sound of shock, her fine white hand fluttering to her chest. “I’m glad that such a person left this school. He could be a very negative influence to the other boys. Aren’t you glad about that, Donghae?”

“Yes, mother,” Donghae replied automatically.

“Anyway, Donghae, may I call you that?” The priest asked jovially, and at Donghae’s nod he continued, “we have several rules here, and they must be followed at all times. The minor ones you can just check out in the student handbook. But we’re really strict about the uniforms, schedules, grades, the dogma we preach… things like that.”

Donghae nodded slowly. He was tempted to ask Father Thomas if he knew a school that is not particular about those things, but instead he bit the inside of his cheek as to not spill that sarcastic comment. “I understand, Father.”

“Oh, and the roof deck on the other building—the one with the classrooms—is strictly off-limits to students,” the priest added as an afterthought. “There’s been an accident a few weeks ago. Please don’t worry, Mrs. Lee; it was nothing serious. We’re just being cautious.”

“That’s very unfortunate,” his mother commented, but Donghae knew she most probably did not care.

“Indeed. Let’s go have some tea?”

***

His mother inspected his new room carefully, appraising the rather large space, her expensive shoes clicking on the polished concrete floor. “Your roommate seems to be neat,” she observed the neatly-made bed, her clear dark eyes sweeping to the tidy desk where a slim black laptop stood guard. “I hope you learn from him. I won’t be around to pick up after you.”

“Yes, mother,” he replied quietly, “I can take care of myself.”

“Donghae,” her voice softened to almost a whisper, “don’t think that I’m abandoning you here, honey. It’s just that… losing your father was very hard for me and I’m scared that I might not be a good mother to you.” Her cool, composed voice was cracking, and Donghae wanted her to know he understood, but he just dropped his meager body on the empty bed, eyes downcast.

“I should be going; I don’t want to miss my train.” Donghae heard her expensive heels click to the door. “Please call me every week.” The door lock slid home.

Donghae did not know how long he sat in the unfamiliar room; mind completely devoid of thought. The sun was already low on the west when the door opened. He looked up and tried to smile, but the dryness in his mouth seemed to freeze his facial muscles.

The other guy looked at him intently, dark, thick-lashed eyes swept from Donghae’s head to his sneaker-clad feet, as if mentally picking out every miniscule flaw of Donghae’s physical appearance.

Donghae read the three characters on the metal nameplate on the guy’s left breast; Kim Kibum, it said; the shiny surface of the plate against the black knitted vest looking something out of an over-saturated photograph.

“Just stay away from my stuff and we’d be cool,” Kim Kibum said coldly, and Donghae thought that such a cold voice did not suit the otherwise warm-looking face. He always believed that such heavy-lidded eyes, the full mouth, the perfect slope of nose would belong to a kind person. The phrase “appearances are deceiving” proves itself yet again.

Kim Kibum dumped his black messenger bag on his bed and immediately left; Donghae still sitting on his bed, unmoving except his eyes, which followed the tall slender form out of the door. The other boy was probably going to those music classes before dinner, and after the door closed for the second time this afternoon, Donghae decided to put his things away.

He carefully inspected his space; a closet, a desk, and the bed covered in a startling white, heavily-starched sheets. Donghae started taking out his things from his suitcases (which arrived before him) and neatly stacked and hung his clothes in the dark wooden closet, arranged a few books on the desk (mostly of architecture, several hardbound volumes he took from his father’s shelf), and propped up a picture frame in front of the books. It was of his father, his mother (looking pretty in a wide-brimmed straw hat) and Donghae in a black baseball cap with an ancient Chinese temple in the background (he and his mother tagging along Architect Lee’s research trip). It was his favorite picture of his family—they looked so happy and Donghae wanted everything to go back to the way it was and he would not be stuck with a kind-looking but dour-mannered roommate in some Catholic school up in the hills.

He pulled out several empty drawers in the desk, thinking of what to put in each of them (there were four drawers, and Donghae thought that he cannot possibly fill them all with the few items he brought with him) and half-expecting to find something that belonged to the previous owner of this side of the room—a forgotten letter, an unwanted snapshot, unimportant trinkets—but so far, all he found was a dust bunny and a receipt for a bottle of shampoo.

He pulled at the last drawer but it seemed to be stuck. He pulled harder and grunted at the effort it took him to get it open; the sole content of the drawer bouncing around with every jerk of Donghae’s arm. Inside was a bright red notebook, probably one that had formulas or grammar lessons the owner had forgotten to pack. Donghae took it—the bright red cover just average cardboard, one of those notebooks you can easily buy at any corner store. The words “Don’t touch—too personal for you” was carefully written in black marker on the front. He smiled as he thought it was somehow witty.

“I sure don’t mind if it’s personal,” Donghae whispered to himself; curiosity peaked. He proceeded to “uncovering” the personal contents of the notebook.

A thick envelope was taped to the first page and Donghae did not waste a moment wondering what might be inside it; his fingers moved automatically to pull out several photographs and took some time studying each of them. The pictures are pretty vivid and the paper they were printed on was almost in perfect condition—Donghae concluded that they were either taken or printed in the recent past.

The first one had Kim Kibum (grumpy roommate) smiling at the camera, his arm slung around the shoulders of an equally smiling redhead, posed in front of an endless blue ocean framed by dark mountains. Taken from a field trip to the beach, Donghae surmised. The redhead was attractive—big, luminous brown eyes, creamy skin, and perfect lips curved in an impish smile.

The second picture was of Kim Kibum and the redhead again—the redhead clutching a stuffed bear, the pale hand on the plush belly almost fading in the color of the fake fur. Donghae thought they looked happy and though his former schools were not exclusive for boys as this one, he is quite aware that romantic relationships occur between boys.

The third was still of his roommate and the beautiful redhead and Donghae had little doubt that they were romantically affiliated; Kim Kibum in a zip-up jacket in the school colors of blue and yellow and black, a gold medal held by a black ribbon proud on his bosom, the redhead’s smile matching the triumphant one of Kibum’s handsome face, and Donghae knew he had to be stupid as hell to not know that his roommate won a competition of some sort.

The next few pictures were of who Donghae presumed was the redhead’s family and he merely skimmed them like he would an uninteresting portion of a book. So the redhead had a sister—whether she was older or younger he did not know—with almost identical features but with long black hair that curled slightly at the ends and distinguished-looking parents.

Then there was a smaller photograph in between the standard-sized ones; the face in the picture scratched off violently with a sharp instrument of some kind, with a furious intensity to it that had ripped the paper in some places. There were also some sheets of plastic stickers from those print-club booths; the redhead sidled up to another boy whose face was angrily written over with a black ballpoint pen.

Donghae carefully placed them back in the envelope and began flipping through the lined pages; the neat, almost microscopic handwritten words making his vision slightly blur. There were a lot of pages that were filled and the dates written on top of each indicated that it was updated almost every day. He leafed back to the first page, dated April 19 of last year.

…the joke that everyone calls Rector has banned access to anything fun in the Internet. Sure, we can still write emails from our brand-new, boring-as-hell school-assigned addresses. We can’t even choose something that defines our personality like i_am_so_hot or you_know_you_like_it. I have hckim.2703@dmnet.com. I’M NOT HAPPY WITH IT! Of course Kibum isn’t reacting about it. I bet he secretly liked being called kbkim.2985.

I miss my online journal. This is why I’m starting this… uh, paper journal? Diary? I don’t know. But I must write down what I feel, or I’ll go crazy in this demented convent prison…

***

TBC

A/N: YEAH I KNOW. I STARTED A NEW ONE. I’M SO SORRY. *sobs*

[FIC] Untitled - 9/?

Tue, 15 Jan 2008 11:00:21 GMT

Title: Untitled [as of now]
Pairings: Kibum/Donghae, Shiwon/Heechul, lots more if you stay tuned
Disclaimers: If I own the boys, someone would not be walking properly in the morning.
Warning: AU, OOC, foul language
Word count: 1,415
Summary: When his life is turned completely around by a sudden decision, how can Kibum cope with everything at once?

Character Reference

Kibum barely slept after he left Donghae’s room, he returned to his own room with a big grin on his face that made his cheeks hurt. He tried to suppress the giddy laughter that was bubbling in his throat—letting it out would wake the whole floor. Donghae liked him. He wanted to run happily in an open field and do cartwheels (not that he could), but instead, he laid on his bed fully clothed, pretending that he was staying up to wait for his roommate. Instead of pacing around and checking his mobile often, he was staring dreamily at the white ceiling; the blank brightness disturbed by thin black lines where the wood met and the memory of Donghae’s confession. Kibum kept imagining him and Donghae together; shyly exchanging small smiles, Kibum’s shaking hand hesitantly reaching for Donghae’s…

The orange sun peeked carefully over the horizon and Kibum realized that he had not slept a wink and would not be able to do so as classes would start in a few hours. Kangin was not back yet, did not even bother to call or send a message saying that he would be spending the night somewhere else. Kibum was slightly worried about his friend; he and Heechul and Sungmin could be sitting in some badly-lit cell and would be brought to school in a police car, escorted by a grim-looking cop. He thought of calling one of them up, but acting on impulse, he dialed Donghae’s number instead.

Kibum did not recognize the pop tune on the other end of the line, but he was tapping his fingers absently against his thigh to the beat. He imagined Donghae in his pyjamas, wrapped in his bright yellow comforter, languidly reaching for his cell phone.

“Hey,” Kibum grinned even if the other boy could not see him.

“Hey,” he could almost hear Donghae’s lips curling into a slow smile. “Good morning.”

It certainly was a good morning. “Good morning. Did I wake you up?”

“No, Heechul did five minutes ago,” a sleepy giggle. “He’s still with Kangin and Sungmin.”

“Really? Where are they?” Kibum’s brow furrowed a bit; the police station scenario playing in his head—Kangin totally cool about it (prior slammer experience added to his composure), Heechul refusing to be touched by anyone and spitting venom at gentle questioning, Sungmin calling his father and tearfully demanding that Daddy take him away from here at once.

“They went drinking and got really smashed,” Donghae recounted. “Sungmin’s family has a permanent suite in a nearby hotel; they stayed there.”

“Good.” Kibum let out a relieved sigh. “I was worried that they’d end up arrested or something.”

Donghae giggled again. “Let’s have breakfast together?”

***

Kibum did not feel the sluggishness that came with not sleeping; instead, he felt light and refreshed and happy. There were only a few students in the dining hall this early, none of them sporting a smile as wide as Kibum’s as he spotted Lee Donghae carefully buttering a piece of toast. Kibum slid into the empty seat beside Donghae, who gave him a sweet smile.

“Toast?” Donghae offered. He would have offered poison and Kibum would have taken it gratefully because his smile was just beautiful.

“Thanks,” Kibum took the toast and bit into it. “Are they coming to school today?”

Donghae picked another slice of toast from his plate and began spreading soft yellow butter with a silver knife on its surface, and Kibum knew it was absurd to think that the other boy looked beautiful while buttering toast, but he did. He watched avidly as a fine-boned hand delicately held the bread, the other gently moving the knife around in circles. His still damp hair fell about his eyes, and there was this look of concentration on his face that made Kibum think he was not just completing a simple task as toast-buttering.

“Well, Heechul can’t miss first period, they’ve got a test. Kangin and Sungmin, I don’t know,” Donghae set the toast back on his plate and took another, “our classmate Jinsoo said Mrs. Jung is sick. We might be free for the whole first period.”

“Okay.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Donghae asked in mock indignation.

Kibum grinned sheepishly. “Because you’re so cute.”

Donghae snorted loudly. “Shut up. Eat your toast. You’re the first person I buttered toast for, feel special.” He smiled as Kibum took another bite. “Juice?”

Kibum stared at the lone glass on the table. “I’ll get some for myself. Anything else you want?”

“Nothing in particular,” that sweet smile again. Kibum felt so overwhelmed about his luck; maybe after you have gone through the nasty things in life, you get the unbelievably good ones.

He saw Eeteuk getting his breakfast, bacon and eggs and coffee.

“Good morning,” Kibum greeted cheerfully, glass of cold orange juice in one hand.

“Good morning, Kibum,” Eeteuk replied, his voice as bright as the early morning sunshine. “Up early today?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Mrs. Jung is out sick, and there’s no substitute teacher. We don’t have first period for today.”

Kibum nodded. “Jinsoo told Donghae.”

Eeteuk’s eyebrow twitched a little. “I guess news like that travel fast.”

He shrugged, not entirely sure how to respond to Eeteuk’s comment. “I guess,” he gestured toward Donghae’s table. “I’m, uh, having breakfast with your cousin, do you want to join us?”

“No, thank you. My club is having a breakfast meeting,” he nodded toward a group of people in one table with sketch pads and pencils out.

“Art club?”

Eeteuk nodded. “Yes, we’re having a show this fall; do you want to join us?”

“I’ll think about it,” Kibum was sincere about what he said. Eeteuk smiled and made his way to his club’s table in a fair corner of the room, and Kibum went back to Donghae, who was finishing up the last piece of toast.

“Donghae, are you and Eeteuk close?” Kibum tried to ask casually.

Donghae appeared to think before answering, his brows furrowed slightly. “We used to be really close, when we were kids,” he paused to take a sip of juice, “but I guess when we reached high school we pursued our own interests, which were very different.”

“I see. I never thought you were cousins before because you don’t seem close.”

“Well, we used to hang out together, but he and Heechul can’t stand each other. And when Eeteuk got into the art club, he found new friends. So I guess he doesn’t really need me to follow him around.”

“Aish, you really shouldn’t talk about Eeteuk this early in the morning,” someone dropped a breakfast tray on their table, and the two boys looked up to see Heechul, looking very immaculate for someone who was wasted the night before. “No offense, Hae.”

Choi Shiwon was standing behind Heechul, in his tray only a tea cup.

“Shiwon!” Donghae brightened at the sight of the tall boy. “Sit, sit!”

Choi Shiwon took the seat opposite Kibum, whom he gave a dimpled smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he extended a hand over the table for Kibum to shake. “Choi Shiwon.”

“Kim Kibum,” he introduced himself and briefly shook Choi Shiwon’s hand.

“Hi,” Choi Shiwon said amiably. “You’re new?”

Kibum nodded. “Yes. I’m from America.”

“Shiwonnie, you and Chullie made up?” Donghae chirped; chin cupped in his hands.

“Yes,” Heechul answered as he settled beside Shiwon. “He couldn’t survive without me.”

“That’s right,” Shiwon agreed, laughing slightly. “Someone called me last night; he said my princess was seen in this really wild party. I went there and drove them to the hotel.”

“Too modest,” Heechul pouted. “He took care of me; I was so drunk, I could have passed out somewhere and I could have been kidnapped.” He laid his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I love you, Shiwonnie.”

Donghae giggled happily, and Kibum smiled because the other boy seemed so happy.

Shiwon and Heechul ate and left quickly; the tall boy had been worried about his “princess” not being prepared for the test and wanted to go over his notes with him. Kibum and Donghae went to sit outside; underneath a huge ancient tree with the smell of spring all around them—Kibum inexplicably happy having the other boy beside him, backs flat against the textured tree trunk, the grass soft under their legs.

This is what dreams are made of, Kibum thought smugly as he held Donghae’s hand in his, their fingers interlaced.

***

TBC

A/N: OMG. I finally finished. In case you’ve noticed, I already have my own writing journal! Yay! :3

I’m sorry that this chapter has taken so long. As you can see, this has to be the one with the most dialogue. I suck at dialogues. I often pause, stumped, fingers poised over the keyboard or my notebook thinking if the words exchanged between the characters seem natural enough. Maybe I have to practice my own social skills? :3

Comments are always welcome and appreciated. Thank you for waiting.

[FIC] Untitled - 8/?

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 13:47:23 GMT

Title: Untitled [as of now]
Pairings: Kibum/Donghae, Shiwon/Heechul, lots more if you stay tuned
Disclaimers: If I own the boys, someone would not be walking properly in the morning.
Warning: AU, OOC, foul language
Word count: 1,809
Summary: When his life is turned completely around by a sudden decision, how can Kibum cope with everything at once?

Character Reference

Kibum went about the weekend in a fantastic mood; he smiled to himself most of the time and it just reflected how happy he was feeling at the moment. He even woke up early that Saturday to walk Donghae-sshi to a waiting car; the brown-haired boy’s short goodbye over the purring engine barely audible but still vivid in Kibum’s mind. Later he found himself repeating inwardly, Donghae-sshi and Eeteuk are cousins.

“Why are you smiling?” Kangin asked. “You’re starting to scare me.”

“Donghae-sshi and Eeteuk are cousins,” Kibum voiced out his thoughts.

“So? They’ve been cousins since they were born.”

“You knew?” He cannot believe that Kangin withheld such a vital piece of information from him. He threw a pillow at his friend for retaliation, which was—unfortunately—easily dodged.

“My father and their grandfather are friends,” Kangin said, tossing the pillow back, “I’ve lunched with them once; the last time I went home, I think.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” And you could have spared me from agonizing over it!

“I didn’t think it’s that important to you,” his roommate shrugged. “Unless you really like Donghae.”

Kibum felt his cheeks grow hot. Had he been that obvious? “I do not!”

“You can tell me you’re an alien and I’ll believe you,” Kangin snorted. “But denying that you like Donghae is useless.”

“I don’t,” he protested weakly, “he’s just a friend.”

“Kibum and Donghae sitting on a tree…” Kangin sang cheerfully.

“Continue and I swear I’ll kill you.”

“Aish, you get upset easily. So, you like him?”

“Kangin!”

“You like him?”

“If I say no,” Kibum said warily. “You won’t shut up.”

“True,” Kangin grinned impishly. “And if you say yes, I won’t shut up, either.”

“So that leaves me with what?”

“Say you like Donghae.”

“Why would I?”

“So you can finally admit to yourself that you like him,” Kibum was surprised at the sudden seriousness of Kangin’s gruff voice. “When you look at him your face softens like this,” he made an exaggerated puppy-dog face. “And you usually look like you’re devoid of emotions or something. I bet you won’t even bat an eyelash if this whole place blows up.”

Kibum felt a bit embarrassed even if he considers Kangin as a close friend. It was a bit unsettling to have someone perceive specific things about him by just observing his unconscious actions. “You make me sound like I’m a robot.”

“Not really, you’re just often unruffled,” Kangin said, fondness for his friend obvious in the smile he had on his face. “Except with Donghae, of course.”

Kibum took all of his roommate’s works in, carefully considering if he should “admit” to himself that he did indeed like Donghae-sshi. What’s not to like? he thought gingerly. The brown-haired boy is cute; maybe not as pretty as Kim Heechul or as fetching as Lee Sungmin, but his charm is attractive in its own right. The kind, cheerful demeanor he often exhibited around Kibum was as appealing as his physical attributes. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Bad thing? What’s bad? You being Mr. Stoic for most of the time or you having a crush on Donghae?”

“The latter.”

“God, Kibum, did you just came out of a nunnery or something? Of course it’s okay! You’re a teenaged boy with raging hormones, not some chaste little girl who thinks it’s sinful to lust after someone.”

Reassured, Kibum leaned back to his bed, turning away from Kangin and smiling into his pillow.

***

The following night, Kibum and Kangin ate dinner with Donghae-sshi, Kim Heechul, and Lee Sungmin. Choi Shiwon was still absent, and Kibum had been careful not to mention anything remotely related to him as not to drive away the redhead again.

It was a pleasant affair; everyone seemed to be in amiable mood—Kangin and Heechul exchanging friendly banters occasionally peppered with laughter from Donghae-sshi and Sungmin, and Kibum felt he was the happiest of the lot. He liked Donghae-sshi, and he is going to do something about it.

Donghae-sshi asked shyly if Kibum could help him study tonight, and Kangin was giving Kibum a very strange look—an odd cross between urging his friend to seize this chance and a too-happy smile.

“Sure, I don’t have anything important to do tonight,” Kibum was inwardly rejoicing.

“I have another great idea,” Kangin said to Heechul and Sungmin, “why don’t we sneak out of school later? There’s no homework due tomorrow, we can watch a movie or something.”

“But I have to study tonight,” Donghae-sshi pouted. “I can’t go.”

“You stay here with Kibum, then.” Kangin shot Kibum a meaningful look. “He agreed to help you, right?”

“It’s okay, Donghae,” Sungmin cajoled. “We’ll get you something when we get back.”

“Yes,” Heechul agreed. “Study hard and we’ll get you whatever you want.”

As the others made their plans, Kibum and Donghae-sshi took their leave.

“Donghae-sshi, where do you want to study?”

“Is it okay if we just hole up in my room?”

“Your roommate won’t mind?”

“My roommate is Heechul,” Donghae-sshi smiled, “And he’s going out tonight so of course he won’t mind.”

Kangin had just elevated his status to an angel (as in celestial being of the skies) in Kibum’s eyes. Who else would have thought of such a wonderful idea of getting Heechul and Sungmin out of the way so he and Donghae-sshi could be alone?

“Kibum,” Donghae-sshi had dropped the honorific, and that pleased Kibum greatly. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me with my English.”

“It’s okay,” difficult as it is, Kibum tried to sound casual.

“Why is your English so good, anyway?”

“I’m from America, remember?”

Donghae-sshi laughed, and Kibum presumed that it was to cover his embarrassment. “I’m sorry, your Korean is near perfect I constantly forget you’re from America.”

Kibum just smiled; the brown-haired boy was very adorable and such a faux pas was forgivable. “It’s okay.”

“Which part are you from?”

“California,” he answered, “have you been there?”

“No, but my brother sometimes go there for business.”

“I see,” there was no other way to answer but that bland, lukewarm reply. Kibum watched the brown-haired boy as he pulled out his room keys and opened the door to 313.

“Here we are,” Donghae-sshi announced. “Sorry if it’s a bit messy.”

Kibum’s eyes wondered around the room; there were two beds, one with a bright pink-and-white quilt, and the other covered by a yellow quilt emblazoned with multi-colored shapes. Bright bedclothes aside, the room is not much different from his; it was also furnished with the same closets, desks, and computer terminals. However, Heechul and Donghae-sshi’s personal effects littered the room, and Kangin, surprisingly, was finicky about their room’s neatness.

“Sit here,” Donghae-sshi gestured to the yellow-covered bed. “That’s mine. I’m just going to look for my book.”

Kibum carefully sat on Donghae-sshi’s bed, smoothing the rumpled fabric around him reverently. This was where the brown-haired boy laid his nubile body every night, and he resisted the urge to lie down and breathe in the wonderful scent he knew would be there. Then he would have Donghae-sshi’s scent on his memory and never forget again, and imagine they curl up together in the same bed at night, the steady rise of the other boy’s chest in slumber would lull him to sleep.

Donghae-sshi was not a difficult student, and Kibum enjoyed correcting the little lilts of his Korean tongue, the slight accent in the new words he learned the most adorable Kibum had heard. The way he laughed at his small mistakes, the way his shoulders rubbed against Kibum’s, the way he would look at his tutor admiringly—Kibum hoped this little study session would last forever.

It was nearly midnight when they finally finished (or when Donghae-sshi whined about the time) and Kibum took it that their friends were still out, and of course he would not forget to thank Kangin profusely when he gets back.

“Are you sleepy, Kibum?” Donghae-sshi asked.

“Not yet.”

“Then tell me something about you.”

Kibum laughed uneasily. “What do you want to know about me? How about you ask and I answer?”

“Why did you come to Korea?” Donghae-sshi was smiling beatifically, seemingly unaware that he had touched a raw spot.

Kibum pretended to be hurt, “do you want me to go back to America?”

“No!” The brown-haired boy looked worried. “Of course not. Just that some people I know, when they go to America, they don’t come back. Or if they do, it’s usually that they have someone to come back to, like a girlfriend or something.”

“I’ve heard from some people that when they go to Korea they don’t want to come back to whatever place they’re from,” Kibum grinned. “Maybe it works that way for me.”

“Korea is such a beautiful place, isn’t it?” Donghae-sshi said. “I don’t want to live in another country, ever. Anyway, do you have a girlfriend?”

“Right now? No.”

“Had a girlfriend?”

“A couple,” there was slight panic rising in Kibum. Maybe Donghae-sshi has a girlfriend?

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” the brown-haired boy stated with a little pout. “I’ve never had a girlfriend. How’s it like?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Oh,” Donghae-sshi appeared to consider that for a while. “It’s not like I prefer girls, anyway.”

Kibum’s eyes widened at that statement. Donghae-sshi does not like girls? How can the gods be so kind to him?

“How about you, Kibum,” there was a naughty smile on those pink lips that Kibum had often dreamed of kissing. “Do you like boys?”

So Lee Donghae wants to play a game, huh? “I don’t like boys,” at that Donghae-sshi’s face fell a bit. Kibum grinned impishly and added, “I like a boy, though.”

“Well,” the brown-haired boy purred, “I’d be terribly disappointed if that boy wasn’t me.”

“If it was you, what would you do about it?”

Donghae-sshi drew his face nearer Kibum’s. “I’d be really glad because I like you too.”

Kibum felt like jumping and dancing because of his good fortune, but instead, he reached for the brown-haired boy’s hand, which was surprisingly cold under his palm. “Your hand’s cold,” it was a concerned remark, and Donghae-sshi blushed.

“You don’t know how nervous I am,” he laughed, “Heechul was threatening me that he’d tell you himself if I didn’t work up the courage to tell you that I like you.”

“What does this make us then?” Kibum wondered aloud, “I mean, you like me and I like you.”

“Whatever you want us to be,” Donghae-sshi answered shyly. “But I’d rather have it exclusive.”

Kibum was ready to agree with anything the brown-haired boy—his Donghae—wanted. He felt like he was brimming with happiness, and made a mental note to call his mother soon. Going to Korea was not such a bad thing, after all.

***

TBC

[FIC] Untitled - 7/?

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 13:43:25 GMT

Title: Untitled [as of now]
Pairings: Kibum/Donghae, Shiwon/Heechul, lots more if you stay tuned
Disclaimers: If I own the boys, someone would not be walking properly in the morning.
Warning: AU, OOC, foul language
Word count: 2,634
Summary: When his life is turned completely around by a sudden decision, how can Kibum cope with everything at once?

Character Reference

It took him almost another week before Kibum finally had the chance to talk to Donghae-sshi. He found the perfect moment during chemistry lab, where they always sat together. As the weather was slightly warming, the brown-haired boy came to class without his navy blue coat (Kibum absently praying for a hint of bare skin to be visible through the crisp white shirt, but heaven was not on his side as Donghae-sshi was wearing a cotton undershirt) and Kibum wondered if it was just his eyes playing tricks on him or his lab partner had a radiant glow to him that was not there before.

Though this week’s activity was a bit harder, he and his partner had managed to finish ahead of time. They were stacking the equipment back to the red plastic tray they came in for return to the dispensing area when Kibum decided to steer their conversation to what happened on that weekend they were supposed to study together.

The question had been nagging Kibum endlessly for days, and though Kangin had noticed that he had been a bit irritable, he kept mum about what was bothering him. Eeteuk, on the other hand, was not treating him any differently, as doing otherwise would have confirmed Kibum’s worst suspicion. He was torn—part of him was feeling guilty that he might be coveting his friend’s boyfriend, and the other was still hoping that his assumptions were unfounded.

“Donghae-sshi,” he began, voice slightly betraying his uncertainty. “About last Saturday…” Eeteuk was sitting behind them, concentrating on salvaging what was left of their botched experiment (Kibum was sure it was Kangin’s fault) and he worried that the other boy would overhear his query.

“Oh, yes, about that,” the brown-haired boy’s face lit up, “I haven’t thanked you properly for agreeing to help me with my English. By the way, when do we start?”

“We could start this weekend,” he replied, momentarily distracted from the question he intended to ask.

“I couldn’t make plans on weekends anymore, Kibum-sshi,” his lab partner sighed.

Kibum panicked inwardly. Was Eeteuk demanding quality time from Donghae-sshi? If so, Kibum’s hopes of getting closer to the object of his affections through weekend study sessions have just been crushed. “Oh,” was all he managed to say; the single syllable full of disappointment.

“Grandpa asked me to spend more time with him,” Kibum had been somehow relieved that the reason why Donghae-sshi was not available on weekends was family. “He’s even passed some of his responsibilities at the office to appa so we can go to beautiful places together.” The smile playing on the brown-haired boy’s lips was probably the most beautiful one yet; it was soft, hopeful, loving. He wished that he and his own grandfather had been that close.

“That’s nice.”

The brown-haired boy nodded in agreement. “Tomorrow we’d probably fly to Jejudo; have you been there?”

“Not yet, I haven’t been around much for sightseeing.”

Donghae-sshi appeared to be thoughtful for a moment. “Why don’t you spend a week in Jeju with me this summer?”

Kibum was taken aback. He was not expecting such a generous offer from the other boy, and he smiled to indicate that he would like that.

The brown-haired boy clapped his hands excitedly. “Great! Sungmin and Heechul and Shiwon are going to be there too! You’ll have fun in Jejudo, I promise.”

“I’m sure I will,” Kibum felt a slight tinge of excitement course through him as he imagined himself spending a week with Donghae-sshi. However, a trip to Jeju was not exactly what he had in mind today, and he steeled his resolve to pop the million-dollar question. “Uhm, Donghae-sshi, are you and…”

“One moment,” his lab partner fished from his pockets an urgently vibrating cellphone—a stylish thin silver model—and flipped it open to reveal Kim Heechul’s picture with his name flashing below it. “I have to take this, he’s been upset lately. We’ll talk later, okay?”

Then he went to ask permission from to teacher to go to the washroom, leaving Kibum alone. The lab equipment he was gathering offered no answer to the important question he has been meaning to ask Donghae-sshi.

***

Kibum believed, as the day passed, that he lost the chance to inquire about the nature of Eeteuk and Donghae’s relationship. He was quiet throughout the rest of the day, even when Kangin was tormenting him with falsetto versions of Donghae-sshi’s invitation to Jeju. When they got in line for dinner, his roommate was still making jokes about Kibum’s earlier conversation with the brown-haired boy.

“How about going to Jeju with me, Kibum-sshi?” Kangin playfully batted his eyelashes at Kibum, which earned him a sharp look from his friend.

“You have to stop that; you’re annoying me,” Kibum mumbled.

Kangin grinned. He liked teasing Kibum about his infatuation with Lee Donghae, but when asked to stop, the banter ceased. “Someone’s in a foul mood.”

A familiar voice piped up from behind Kangin. “You’re spending summer at Jeju too, Kangin?”

Kibum spun round to see Donghae-sshi with his friend Sungmin in line behind them. He bowed his head slightly to acknowledge the two.

“Most likely,” Kangin answered casually.

The brown-haired boy smiled. “Did Kibum-sshi tell you he’s going there with me?”

“So I heard,” Kangin shot a meaningful look at his roommate. “I’m sure he’ll have a swell time with you.”

“Sit with us for dinner,” Sungmin offered. “Heechul’s in such a rotten mood we don’t actually want to be near him.”

“Sure,” his roommate agreed, “Kibum’s tetchy today, too; I want to sit with other jolly souls.”

Kibum frowned darkly as he followed the others to a corner table where a distinct red-haired head was visible. Kim Heechul seemed to be staring into space, meal untouched before him, his cell phone in hand. Kibum immediately noticed that there was one thing missing in the picture; Kim Heechul’s beau Choi Shiwon.

The redhead did not seem to be aware of four other guys crowding around his table; only at the mention of his name did he break out of his reverie.

“Heechul,” Donghae-sshi said gently. “These are our classmates Kim Kibum and Kim Kangin, they just moved in this term…”

Kim Heechul gave them a long, languid look and smiled slightly. “I’m Kim Heechul,” he said softly.

They were just settling on their chairs when a surprised look came across the redhead’s face. “Tell me, Kim Kangin, do you remember Kang Ae-ra?”

Kangin frowned a little, forming little creases between his eyebrows. “It’s been so long ago, but I think that’s the name of my third-grade homeroom teacher. Why do you ask?”

“I knew it!” Kim Heechul cried. “We went to the same elementary school, that’s why you’re so familiar!”

“You’re that Kim Heechul? You’ve dyed your hair red; if not for that I would have recognized you from a mile away!”

How quaint, Kibum thought. Kangin and Kim Heechul are childhood friends. Maybe this would mean that he and Donghae-sshi would be spending a bit more time together since their respective friends are, well, friends too.

“You’re the guy who planted chewed-up gum in my gym shorts!” Kangin exclaimed.

“Because you cut off a chunk of my hair,” Kim Heechul snorted.

“Which I wouldn’t do if you didn’t break my crayons!”

“You started it, you called me a pansy!”

“I didn’t call you a pansy; I said you’re a whining little nancy boy!”

The redhead looked ready to lunge at Kangin with his fork, but Donghae-sshi worriedly held him back. “Heechul, is this the way to treat an old school chum?”

“If a certain someone put spiders in your schoolbag and sand in your lunchbox, I don’t think that person qualifies as an old school chum, Donghae.” Kim Heechul said menacingly.

“Still,” the brown-haired boy reasoned. “It’s been ages ago; surely you’ve patched things up?”

“Yes,” Sungmin agreed, popping a bite into his mouth. “Children fight over the pettiest reasons.”

“You’re the bane of my ten-year-old life,” Kangin declared, glaring daggers at Heechul. “You’d better not be a whining little 18-year-old nancy boy or that’d be a shame.”

“Well, you’d better not be that snotty overweight bully anymore or that’d be a shame,” Heechul retorted.

Kibum smiled absently at the absurdity of the moment. He found it funny to have two almost-grown men recollect childhood distress fiercely. He noticed that Donghae-sshi caught his smile, and returned it with a sweet one.

“Knowing you, Heechul, you probably ran to your teacher wailing that Kangin violated your person,” Sungmin grinned teasingly.

“More like I wanted to cut him up for meat,” Kangin grunted. “He cried as though an entire horde of cannibals were after him.”

“I did not,” Heechul pouted. “I just told her that you were a mean fat boy who cut my hair off!”

“And I told her you’re a scheming little sissy who put gum in my gym shorts!”

Sungmin laughed, obviously amused. “And what did she do?”

“We were both suspended,” Kangin replied. “And then my parents took me off that school because they knew that if Princess Heechul provoked me again I’d have crushed his windpipe against the swing set.”

“My parents transferred me too,” the redhead added wistfully. “It was really embarrassing for my mother to have me act like a brute.”

“And for us to meet again in this school is—I dunno—really weird?” Kangin shrugged.

“Look, Kangin, I don’t want to be running around playing pranks with you,” Heechul eyed Kangin’s sinewy form, its strength obvious even underneath the uniform. “Purple is not my color.”

“I don’t want to beat you up,” Kangin acquiesced. “You probably have that pretty face of yours insured; I’m not sure my current savings can cover legal fees in case you decide to haul me into court.”

The hostility between the two seemed to ease gradually, and they ate their dinner in silence, the tinkling of silverware against the china occasionally breaking the dead air. Kim Heechul had taken to just pushing his food back and forth in his plate.

“Anyway, where’s the tall guy?” Kibum asked suddenly, just to start another conversation.

“What tall guy?” Donghae-sshi seemed not to know which one Kibum was referring to.

“I don’t really know him, but he seems to be always hanging out with you,” he pretended to have difficulty at remembering the name. “Choi Shiwon, is that his name?”

A fork dropped noisily, the metal clanking of it against the table startling. “You have to excuse me,” Kim Heechul said almost inaudibly. “I have to attend to some urgent business.” He pushed his plate away from him, and quickly ran to the door of the dining hall.

“I’m sorry,” Kibum apologized. “I didn’t know…”

“It’s okay,” Sungmin said. “They’re going through a rough patch right now.”

Donghae-sshi pursed his lips. “You really are the new guys, you haven’t heard from the school grapevine.” At Kibum and Kangin’s questioning looks he continued. “Somebody saw Shiwon flirting with a girl from the other school and went to Heechul with evidence. Heechul was very upset and he confronted Shiwon about it. They fought right in the middle of gym class, and the teacher had to restrain Heechul, he was screaming at Shiwon’s face hysterically.”

“Even I feel embarrassed of the scene they made,” Sungmin winced. “Heechul acted like a jealous wife on horse stimulants.”

“Shiwon doesn’t stay at the dorms and he went home right after class,” the brown-haired boy explained. “Which came in handy for this situation. Heechul could have done something rash if he was nearby.”

“Like put gum in the crotch of Shiwon’s gym shorts?” Kangin sniggered.

“That’s really childish,” Sungmin observed dryly. “He could have slapped Shiwon or clawed at him, which in this school also means physical harassment.”

Donghae-sshi nodded. “That’s a grave offense; it could get Heechul into tons of trouble. I mean, if the headmaster asked why Shiwon got hurt, you can’t just tell him that it was a little lovers’ spat. They could get expelled for committing two serious misdemeanors.”

“Wait a minute,” Kangin stopped chewing long enough for him to ask a question. “You mean Heechul’s romantically involved with Shiwon?”

Kibum, Sungmin, and Donghae-sshi nodded in unison.

“I knew it,” Kangin mumbled, shaking his head sadly. “He must have had a huge crush on me when we were kids…”

Kibum ignored his roommate’s incoherent mumblings and concentrated on his food. He must not be distracted from what he wanted to know from Donghae-sshi. He must get him alone to ask such a personal question.

***

Right after dinner, when Donghae-sshi stood up to retire to his dorm room, Kibum thought that it was his chance to inquire about what has been bothering him for the week. Kangin broke away from them for presumably a smoke and Sungmin was caught up in a lively conversation with an upperclassman.

Kibum offered to walk with the brown-haired boy to his room (convenient because it was on the third floor, and Kibum’s is on the fifth). As they were in the third-floor landing, the question came out without warning.

“Donghae-sshi, are you dating Park Eeteuk?” His voice sounded surprisingly calm, unlike the emotions roiling inside him.

Donghae-sshi appeared to be shocked with the question. Had he been hiding it and not expecting Kibum to find out? Is he going to ask Kibum to keep it quiet for the truth not to reach the school’s rumor mill?

They walked in what Kibum felt was unnerving silence, and when they reached room 313, Donghae-sshi faced him, smiling at some reason unknown to Kibum. “Please wait here, I have something to show you.”

Kibum stood there as asked, rather stiffly, his hands cold. He did not have a very good feeling about this. Is Donghae-sshi going to show him some undeniable proof that he and Park Eeteuk really are a couple?

After a few agonizing moments, the brown-haired boy appeared again at the door, clutching a silver picture frame against his chest.

“Kibum,” Donghae-sshi said, a bit breathlessly. Kibum noticed that the honorific was not there anymore. “Look,” he thrust the picture frame to Kibum.

It was a family picture, probably taken recently, judging from the length of Donghae-sshi’s hair in the picture and in person.

“This is my grandpa,” he pointed to the old man in a well-cut suit. “This is grandma, pretty woman, isn’t she,” his finger moved to an old pleasant-looking woman in a light blue silk dress and a string of pearls on her throat. “This is appa and umma,” the man looked distinguished in his charcoal suit and brick red power tie, while the woman was fetching in a red dress with puffed sleeves. “This is my Aunt Han-na, she’s appa’s younger sister.” Kibum thought that she could have been an actress; she was very beautiful and her ruffled fuchsia blouse played up every attractive feature of her face. “This is my hyung,” he looked a bit more masculine than Donghae-sshi, but the resemblance was undeniable; they were easily brothers. “And this is Eeteuk,” his friend had been wearing a somber black suit with a white tie that blended in the stark whiteness of his shirt.

Donghae-sshi’s family had even accepted Eeteuk as one of their own, he thought sadly. But he needed to hear it from Donghae-sshi himself. “How does Eeteuk fit into this?”

The brown-haired boy laughed amusedly, one hand coming up to cover his mouth as he did. “Eeteuk is Aunt Han-na’s son.”

“You’re…?” Kibum’s eyes widened, his voice wavering unbelievingly.

Donghae-sshi nodded. “I don’t know what made you think that we’re going out,” he paused to collect himself. “But yes, we’re cousins.”

That had to be the best news Kibum received since coming to Korea.

***

TBC

[FIC] Untitled - 6/?

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 13:38:27 GMT

Title: Untitled [as of now]
Pairings: Kibum/Donghae, Shiwon/Heechul, lots more if you stay tuned
Disclaimers: If I own the boys, someone would not be walking properly in the morning.
Warning: AU, OOC, foul language
Word count: 1,696
Summary: When his life is turned completely around by a sudden decision, how can Kibum cope with everything at once?

Character Reference

April rushed in without warning, and Kibum would not have noticed the departure of March if not for the slight warming of the air. Spring was at its peak; and his growing attraction to his lab partner seemed to accentuate the promise of summer. Kibum was optimistic in the increase of rapport between them, for over the past weeks, Lee Donghae often smiled at him and initiated conversation. However, their interaction did not extend outside the classroom and Kibum had been too shy to do anything about it.

Kangin must have noticed that he was attracted to the brown-haired boy, and often acted upon his mischievous impulses to torment his friend. Once, he asked for Lee Donghae’s mobile number and tried to use it to blackmail Kibum into admitting that he likes his lab partner. Kibum denied vehemently, blushing furiously at the same time. Kangin’s tactics would not work, because Lee Donghae himself had already given Kibum his number before he had managed to obtain it.

It was a bright Saturday morning, the birds happily chirping as the spring breeze lazily brought in the scents of the school garden through the open window of Kibum’s room. He deliberately woke up early, much to Kangin’s chagrin at his alarm clock ringing by 8 AM.

“What’s wrong? It’s a Saturday, why are you up early?” Kangin yawned, sleepy eyes watching Kibum pull on a black sweatshirt.

“Donghae-sshi and I are meeting up today,” he answered, trying hard to disguise the mirth in his voice.

“What for?” His roommate snorted.

“We’re going to work on our Chemistry homework.”

“You can do that by yourself!” Kangin seemed irritated. Maybe he was annoyed that Kibum was not going to help him solve those difficult equations, but he was going to “work on” it with Lee Donghae.

“But Donghae-sshi said we should work together,” he could not stop himself from sounding smug. He was just glad that there just might be a chance for him and his lab partner to be friends.

Kangin made a dour face. “That applies in the lab, idiot.”

“Whatever,” he went on to grab his notebook, pen case, and scientific calculator. “Why don’t you just call on your own lab partner?”

“I don’t want to deal with him more than what’s necessary.”

Kibum does not understand Kangin’s antagonism towards Eeteuk. He is nice and often helps Kibum out with schoolwork, among other things. “You’re hopeless,” he shook his head sadly.

“I just don’t like him!”

“He hasn’t done anything to upset you,” Kibum reminded his friend. “He even gave you those wonderful cookies and he lets you copy his answers in chem lab.”

“For your information, I did not eat those cookies; you did.”

“What’s your problem, Kangin?”

“Nothing! I just don’t like him because all he does is ask about you!”

“What?” Kibum was genuinely surprised. If Eeteuk wanted to know something, why would he ask Kangin instead of asking him directly?

“He often asks me what Lee Donghae has to do with you. He’s noticed that you’re showing peculiar interest in him.”

“I do not,” Kibum said defensively. “Why would he ask you that?”

“I don’t know, maybe he’s protective of Lee Donghae or something.” Kangin shrugged and left Kibum to reflect on his answer as he went to their shared bathroom.

Protective? Why would Eeteuk feel protective over Lee Donghae? The class president seemed to be often indifferent of the brown-haired boy, but never had Kibum seen him act like he cared for Donghae-sshi. The question lingered in Kibum's mind as he made his way towards the library.

The library, housed in the administration building, was not far from the dormitory; the two structures connected by a wide covered corridor lined with stone benches. Students often hang out in there, but this early in a Saturday morning, only two people were sitting in the benches. As Kibum came closer, he recognized them as Lee Sungmin and Lee Donghae.

Lee Sungmin, in a bright pink hoodie, was quietly reading a book resting on his lap. Beside him, Donghae-sshi looked adorable in a gray-and-black striped sweater, his longish hair pulled into a little ponytail. Kibum instantly smiled at the sight of his lab partner, who seemed to be reciting something.

“Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest,” Donghae-sshi recalled aloud in clear, almost unaccented English.

Kibum was impressed. He never thought that the brown-haired boy was proficient in that foreign language, because he is often quiet during English class (which was unfortunately taught in Korean). Smiling delightedly, he hurried over to the two boys.

Hearing the sounds of his footfall, Lee Sungmin looked up from his book and noticed Kibum first. “Good morning, Kibum-sshi,” he greeted, relief evident on his face.

Kibum smiled in return of the greeting and quickly turned to Donghae-sshi. “You didn’t tell me your English is good,” he said excitedly. It felt so good to use that language again.

His lab partner looked at him confusedly.

“Were you raised in another country too?” Kibum would have been happy if there was a thing that he and Donghae-sshi had in common.

“He can’t understand you,” Sungmin answered; his English accented but still understandable. “His English comprehension is very poor.”

“What?” That could not have been correct; Donghae-sshi’s English seemed to be fine.

“He has a special English test he’s studying for,” Sungmin waved the book for Kibum to see. “If he can’t read the first chapter of The Little Prince properly for the teacher, he’ll fail for this term.”

Kibum’s smile fell. “He seems to be reading fine.” He reverted back to Korean. It was not polite for him and Sungmin to continue conversing in English if the brown-haired boy cannot understand them.

“He can only get the first sentence correct,” Sungmin said teasingly. “After that he’s totally lost.”

Donghae-sshi pouted. “But it’s so hard!”

“It’s easy once you put your mind to it.”

Kibum sat on the empty space beside Donghae-sshi. “I agree. English is easier than Korean.”

“No, it’s not,” the brown-haired boy whined. “I wish Shiwon’s here. He’s more patient than Sungmin!”

“But he’s not and you have to bear with me if you don’t want to fail.” Sungmin said sternly, opening the book again. “What’s after that sentence?”

“I forgot everything you taught me!”

“Why are you having him memorize it? It would be easier if he’ll read from the book,” Kibum suggested.

“I can’t read English that well, I’m better off mimicking the pronunciations,” Donghae-sshi answered.

“You’re from America, aren’t you, Kibum-sshi?” Sungmin asked. “Why don’t you help him?"

"We shouldn't be asking such favors from him," his lab partner demurred.

Kibum hesitated to agree to Sungmin's suggestion. He was not entirely sure if he could indeed help Donghae-sshi with his English, but the desire to be closer to the brown-haired boy was easily overpowering rational thoughts.

"Yeah, sure, it's okay," Kibum tried to feign nonchalance. He bit his lower lip to keep himself from smiling too widely.

"I don't want to impose," Donghae-sshi was reluctant.

"I won't mind," he wondered if he sounded too eager. "I'd like to help you."

"Come on, Donghae," Sungmin chided. "He's offering his help and I don't want to put up with you anymore."

"Okay," the brown-haired boy agreed, "but please tell me if I'm imposing on you too much, Kibum-sshi."

"I like helping people out," he was glad that Kangin was not around to expose him as a liar.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise," and then there was that beautiful smile again, and Kibum could have assured Donghae-sshi that a smile was enough.

A shadow loomed over them and Kibum had to look up to see who was standing over them. Eeteuk was there, hands deep in his back pockets, his expression cold. "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere else?"

"Good morning, Eeteuk," he greeted warily. Kibum was half-expecting his friend to return the greeting warmly as he usually does, but all he received was a curt nod.

"Kibum-sshi and I are going to do homework," Donghae-sshi said softly, but with a subtle hint of assertion, "in the library."

Eeteuk rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue. "The car's here, Donghae," it was as if he was losing every ounce of his patience and was not afraid to show his displeasure. “And I think you can do homework by yourself as you have done for, like, the last ten years.”

“The car can pick me up later,” Donghae-sshi was seemingly bent on annoying the spectacled boy.

Eeteuk appeared to consider for a moment. “No,” he answered with decisive finality. “You come with me now or take the bus later.”

“But Kibum-sshi and I…”

The tension between the two boys was very palpable and Kibum decided to mediate. “It’s okay, Donghae-sshi. You go where you need to be.” He could have managed his homework alone, but the prospect of being near to Donghae-sshi was too tempting.

Eeteuk pushed his plastic-rimmed glasses up his nose, gave Kibum a long look, and walked off to the direction of the main lobby. Donghae-sshi reluctantly followed him after flashing Kibum and Sungmin an apologetic smile.

Kibum and Sungmin sat together quietly for a long moment—the little episode made them uneasily so—before one of them broke the silence with: “What was that about?”

“I don’t know the specific reason this time, but you’d better hear it from them.” Sungmin’s answer was useless; it did not explain anything except the fact that he did not want to divulge what could be considered as significant information to Kibum.

However, the tone of his voice had made it obvious that this was not the first time that Eeteuk and Donghae-sshi had a disagreement, and Kibum wondered about the true nature of their relationship. From his observations, his friend had been neutral enough to the brown-haired boy to suggest a less than friendly rapport between them.

But the look that Eeteuk gave him just before walking off told him another story. Was he moving in on another man’s territory?

***
TBC

[FIC] Untitled - 5/?

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 13:34:18 GMT

Title: Untitled [as of now]
Pairings: Kibum/Donghae, Shiwon/Heechul, lots more if you stay tuned
Disclaimers: If I own the boys, someone would not be walking properly in the morning.
Warning: AU, OOC, foul language
Word count: 1,155
Summary: When his life is turned completely around by a sudden decision, how can Kibum cope with everything at once?

Character Reference

Friday was Chemistry double period right after lunch at the fourth floor laboratory. The lab was a good fifteen-minute dash away from Kangin’s secret smoking spot near the tennis courts, and after Kibum went with him to smoke a stick they were naturally late for Chemistry. Kibum thought he should scold his friend for smoking right after he was discharged from the infirmary, but he missed the mellow mood that seemed to emanate from Kangin whenever they smoked together.

Their classmates were already paired off in two’s when they arrived, and the teacher was in the middle of discussing their first laboratory exercise. Ms. Oh, the Chemistry teacher, was an attractive woman in her late twenties, sharply dressed, and very strict. She glared at the latecomers as they appeared on her door.

“Fashionably late? I’m sorry, but that doesn’t apply in my class,” she said icily, well-manicured hands on her hips. “Go take your seats before I decide that the two of you are absent for today.”

Kangin scratched at the back of his head, smiling uncomfortably and Kibum presumed that he had the same thoughts. This is their first day at the lab; do they follow lecture room arrangement?

“You don’t know where you’ll sit, do you?” She flipped her curly dark hair over one shoulder. “That’s what you get for showing up late.”

“Sorry,” Kibum and Kangin mumbled in unison.

Ms. Oh scoffed at the muttered apology and went back to her table to check on her class list. “Kim Kibum, sit with Lee Donghae, your lab partner for this year.”

Kibum’s eyes widened slightly and purposely lowered his head to mask his surprise. Lee Donghae as in the cute brown-haired boy from BS?

The teacher turned to Kangin. “Kim Kangin, your partner is Park Eeteuk.” She reached inside the pocket of her tailored cream blazer and tossed a stick of a popular mint gum at Kangin, who was dumbly rooted at the spot. “Chew that. Your breath reeks of cigarettes,” her nose was wrinkled in disgust. “But the next time you come here smelling like that it’s the headmaster’s office for you.”

Kibum bit his lip. As a friend, he should have stopped Kangin for that second stick, or advised him to do something about his breath.

“Kim Kibum, have I not told you to sit down? Lee Donghae is that guy,” she pointed at the brown-haired boy, who looked up at the mention of his name. “Do I have to escort you to your seat?”

He followed, wordlessly making his way to Lee Donghae’s table near the back. Eeteuk, seated behind Kibum’s assigned table, gave him a small reassuring smile.

“Hi,” Lee Donghae whispered as Kibum bent down to pull out a stool from under the table. “I’m Lee Donghae.”

He looked a lot better up close, Kibum thought as he sat down. He resisted the urge to stare openly as he said, “Kim Kibum.”

“Here’s your workbook,” his partner pushed a letter-sized, stitch-bound book to him. “She distributed them earlier.”

“Thanks,” Kibum’s fingers traced the slight bump of the school logo in the smooth green surface. Emblazoned in front was ‘Chemistry Workbook 1’ in bold Roman letters.

“No problem,” Lee Donghae smiled sweetly, and he was ecstatic to finally have that smile directed at him. “Today’s activity is on page four.”

Kangin was allowed to take his seat after Ms. Oh gave him a lecture about smoking on campus. As his friend passed by his table, he made a small grimace for Kibum to see before settling beside Eeteuk.

“What do we do?” Kibum asked, hoping he does not sound too stupid to his cute lab partner.

“Draw and label as much chemistry lab equipment we can think of,” Lee Donghae replied as he took out a mechanical pencil from his orange Tigger pen case. “We have to come up with the answers together,” he added.

“Oh,” that was relatively easy; he was not a bad artist after all. “And after that?”

“Tear off page four to six and pass it to her.” He tore off a sheet from his notebook and set it between them. “I think we should write what we could think of here first before drawing them.”

“That’s a good idea,” Kibum agreed. He was ready to agree to anything Lee Donghae would suggest. “Of course there’s the beaker, Florence flask, graduated cylinder, test tubes and the tube rack, mortar and pestle…”

His partner wrote all of it down, and Kibum admired his neat handwriting. After listing their answers, they went on to draw them on the workbook, Lee Donghae often asking him on how to draw certain pieces.

“Kibum-sshi, is my Bunsen burner okay?” The brown-haired boy asked as he showed his simple pencil version of the burner.

“It’s fine, you just have to draw a connecting rubber hose for connection to this valve,” Kibum lightly tapped the red LPG valve set in front of them.

Lee Donghae looked confused, and Kibum realized he said ‘rubber hose’ in English. He could not readily translate it into Korean, so he pulled his partner’s workbook closer to him. “Here, I’ll draw it for you.”

His partner reluctantly handed over his workbook, but Kibum failed to get hold of the offered pencil, which rolled under the table. He moved his chair in a gesture to pick it up, but Lee Donghae stopped him. “I’ll get it,” the brown-haired boy stood and bent from his waist, giving Kibum a good look of his behind. A nice and shapely behind, if he should add.

Kibum did not realize he was ogling until he felt a rubber eraser hit his cheek. He turned around, and Kangin was grinning at him knowingly (a sure sign he was the culprit) and Eeteuk was looking at him with an unreadable expression behind those plastic-rimmed glasses.

He frowned at Kangin and went back to his workbook. His partner seemed to have found his pencil and gave him a quick smile, probably prodding him to continue with their work. Kibum has just returned Donghae-sshi’s book when a balled-up piece of paper landed on their table.

He quickly grabbed it before his partner could, certain that it was from Kangin.

I thought your eyes would fall out when he bent over.

Kibum gave his friend the meanest glare he could master, and mouthed an expletive to quash Kangin’s mocking snigger.

“Kim Kangin, do you really intend to piss me off today?” Ms. Oh demanded angrily. “What are you laughing at?”

Serves him right for that note, Kibum thought smugly.

“Kibum-sshi, I’m sorry for asking again, but how do I draw a Petri dish?” His partner asked; an apologetic look on his face.

“Let me do it for you, Donghae-sshi,” Kibum smiled inwardly as the brown-haired boy inched closer, his shoulder brushing against Kibum’s. He had a nagging feeling that Chemistry would be his favorite subject this year.

***

TBC

[FIC] Untitled - 4/?

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 13:30:04 GMT

Title: Untitled [as of now]
Pairings: Kibum/Donghae, Shiwon/Heechul, lots more if you stay tuned
Disclaimers: If I own the boys, someone would not be walking properly in the morning.
Warning: AU, OOC, foul language
Word count: 1,868
Summary: When his life is turned completely around by a sudden decision, how can Kibum cope with everything at once?

Character Reference

Wednesday night, Kibum was poring over his history homework. It was relatively easy; he just had to copy the answers off his textbook. His roommate was in the shower, saying that he felt so hot and cold water may take some of the heat from his body. Kangin had been coughing since early today, and they both dismissed it as nothing serious.

The lock of the bathroom door clicked open and Kibum looked up to see Kangin already in his pajamas, the citrus scent of his soap wafting around him. His face was flushed; he might have a fever.

“Go to sleep, I’ll finish your homework for you,” Kibum volunteered.

It was near midnight (Kibum deep in sleep, dreaming of flying pencils) when someone roughly shook him awake. He wanted to punch the living daylights out of the culprit for rousing him from slumber. Warm palms were pressed against Kibum’s bare arm and a raspy voice was calling out his name.

“What?” Kibum growled as he burrowed deeper into his comforter. “For chrissakes, let me sleep!”

“Kibum,” more insistent shaking, and he responded by swatting the offending hands away.

“What’s your problem?” Kibum cracked an eye open to see Kangin standing over his bed, blue light from the window giving him an otherworldly look.

“I think I have a fever.”

“Gee-zus, do I look like a nurse to you?”

“Kibum—“ Kangin whined.

“Just lay in bed and if it’s not over in the morning I’ll take you to the infirmary,” he snapped and ducked back into the warmth of his bedcovers, sleep overcoming him again.

***

Unfortunately, Kangin went down with a 40-degree fever come morning. His face was flushed, and even through his illness he mustered all the sarcasm left in his body to remind Kibum of last night’s episode. In mild panic, Kibum searched frantically for his copy of the school map for a good ten minutes as he cannot remember where exactly the infirmary was.

The nurse, a chubby and middle-aged no-nonsense woman, told him that there was nothing to worry about other than Kangin missing the rest of the week’s classes. The patient was to stay in the clinic, she added sternly, until she deems it okay for his friend to take him back to his dorm room.

Kangin gave him a last I-told-you-so look before Kibum rushed to catch the 8 AM class.

***

Kibum went to lunch alone and he knew he made a sorry picture. It was not a problem for him at his old school; he used to belong in that popular clique everyone envies. He always thought of those who eat alone as friendless losers, and now, sitting by himself in a sea of unknown Asian faces, he acquired a new perspective on things.

“Hi,” Eeteuk, the class president, chirped. Kibum looked at him; the sugary smile seemed screwed on his friendly face. “Where’s Kangin?”

“He’s sick.”

The dimpled smile fell. “Oh, how is he?” The boy still stood before him, lunch tray in hand.

“He’ll live,” he said as he gave Eeteuk a reassuring smile.

“I was hoping I could eat lunch with the two of you today,” he sat down on the empty chair beside Kibum. “I guess it’s not my day, huh?”

“It’s more of not Kangin’s day, he’s got no one to talk to except for the nurse.”

“I remember the last time I went to the infirmary,” Eeteuk broke off his wooden chopsticks and rubbed them together to remove splinters. “It was so boring I swear I could have strangled myself to pass the time.”

Kibum laughed as he picked up a small herb dumpling near the corner of his plate. Today’s menu included dimsum, a welcome break from the past days’ Western dishes.

He was thinking of something to say to Eeteuk when the group of four boys from the other day entered the hall, late again and scouting for an empty table.

Eeteuk must have caught him staring at the brown-haired boy, the look on his eyes questioning. Kibum dropped his gaze back to his lunch.

“Have you met them already?”

“What?” Kibum was not sure who Eeteuk was referring to. The brown-haired boy caught him watching and smiled in that beautiful innocent way that he found cute. He resisted the urge to smile back.

“Them,” Eeteuk gestured towards the direction of the four boys. “You know, them—the BS?”

“BS?”

Eeteuk placed his chopsticks beside his plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin, seemingly finished with his meal. “Bitch Squad,” the foreign words fell easily from his lips.

“Isn’t that a little cruel?” Kibum asked, his gaze straying once again to the brown-haired boy and his friends. The redhead seemed to be impatiently demanding a group of freshmen to vacate the table they were occupying.

“That’s how they have been called since middle school,” Eeteuk explained. “And not without reason.” The look on his face was that of a person who was merely reciting a formula, or a small fact of life. Maybe that was how this group is seen.

“See the one with the red hair?” The one Eeteuk meant was about to sit down in a chair pulled out for him by his broad-shouldered friend. “His name is Kim Heechul, but everyone calls him Princess. His mother was Miss South Korea once, and his father’s family owns the largest cosmetics company in the country.” He paused, and Kibum supposed that it was for effect. “He’s really spoiled and conceited; thinks everyone’s beneath him.”

The redhead looked at their direction, his dark eyes flashing. He motioned for Mr. Broad Shoulders to come closer and whispered something in his ear.

“The one he’s whispering to, that’s Choi Shiwon of, you know, the Choi mall chain. He’s new to BS, been with them for about a year.” Eeteuk cupped his chin with a hand, looking every bit like an enamored spectator, but there was something—a certain look on his face, perhaps—that made Kibum think otherwise.

“I thought the four of them were called BS since junior high?”

“The three of them were, but not Choi Shiwon. He was not BS before he started going out with Kim Heechul.”

“Going out?” He was not sure if he had heard correctly. Kibum was almost sure that homosexuality is a taboo in Korea, unlike in America. “As in dating?”

Eeteuk nodded slowly. “Choi Shiwon has been pining for the Princess since ninth grade. He hasn’t been given a chance until last year.”

“That’s pretty persistent,” Kibum remarked.

“Yes, it was pretty gifts everyday for almost two years. Even Kim Heechul can’t help but give in.”

He understood perfectly why Choi Shiwon was smitten with the redhead. He himself found Kim Heechul beautiful, but there was something about him that indicated he was meant to be admired from afar. He seemed to be the kind to be too good for anybody to have.

“And that one,” Eeteuk pointed to the dark-haired boy Kangin was flirting with the other day. “He’s Lee Sungmin. Rumors have it that the school director is on his father’s payroll, so when a math teacher humiliated him in class—served him right; he wasn’t paying attention—the teacher was immediately sent packing after a tearful call to Daddy. Poor Mr. Yoon was banned from every school where Sungmin’s father has administrative friends.”

Kibum was not surprised with how much influence a parent can exert to indulge his child’s impulsive requests. He had seen worse in California, where most of his classmates use their parents’ clout to get away with mischief.

His eyes found the brown-haired boy again, the wavy locks from the other day hung straight to frame his face. He was laughing merrily at something his friend must have said, flicking his bangs away from his brow. Kibum found his appeal to be very different from that of Kim Heechul’s; the Princess was unreachably beautiful, while the other was attractive in a warm, endearing way that even his usual eloquence cannot describe.

“Do you know that guy?” The sudden inquiry made Kibum look away as if the very sight of the boy burned his eyes.

“No,” he answered, half-wishing that the next time the question is asked, he can nod and say that he does. “I’ve seen him around, he seems familiar.”

“Leedonghae.”

“Huh?” Was that Korean slang like uljjang or handeo-phone?

“His name is Lee Donghae,” Eeteuk’s voice took on a serious tone.

“What about him?” Kibum hoped that he did not sound too interested.

“Why do you want to know?”

The sharpness of Eeteuk’s query surprised him. “Well, you told me about the other guys.”

“I… know him from way back. His parents are both professional musicians—the father is a pianist and conductor, the mother a cellist,” the dimpled smile that was on Eeteuk’s face moments ago was gone. “That may seem less impressive compared to the others, but the real deal is his grandfather.”

“As influential as Lee Sungmin’s family?” Really, one expelled teacher did not impress Kibum, but having the director of a reputable school accept bribes deserved some credit.

“Old Lee Young-hoon would have made Lee Sungmin’s father look like a nursery gangleader. He plays real games; doesn’t go around bribing school directors for his children. Aside from running his own telecoms and TV network, he’s reputed to be Korea’s kingmaker—anyone backed up by his millions wins a seat to the National Assembly or even win the coveted presidency. You should ask Kangin, his father and Lee Young-hoon are gonna be pals this election.”

The information Eeteuk provided him did not give Kibum much clue on Lee Donghae’s personality. It did, however, reveal that in this place, one’s person is judged through his family’s wealth and connection, not by his intelligence, character, or even his athletic prowess.

His mind drifted to the group of boys—or BS, as Eeteuk called them—Kim Heechul, beautiful yet spoiled and conceited; Choi Shiwon, persistent and single-minded in the pursuit of what he wanted; Lee Sungmin who got a teacher fired because of his whims; and Lee Donghae with the big-shot grandpa.

“What about you?” Kibum was sincere in asking. Eeteuk seemed nice and he could see them being good friends in the future.

Eeteuk grinned at him, the pair of dimples in the corners of his mouth deepening. “Me?”

“Wait, I’ll take a guess,” he smiled back, amused. “Your father is a multi-millionaire who owns a chaebol, and your mother is both a socialite and an active member of an advocacy group.”

“Wrong,” Eeteuk laughed. “My parents are divorced; my father is an artist and my mother is CEO of an online shopping company. I have no siblings, Umma and I live with her family, and my father is tucked away in a quiet Japanese island.”

“I was half-expecting you to come with stellar family connections like the other guys.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

Kibum was not disappointed at all; Eeteuk seemed nice and normal. He gave the other boy another smile, and at the appearance of its dimpled counterpart, he felt glad that, somehow, it looked like he was finally fitting in.

***
TBC

[FIC] Untitled - 3/?

Thu, 27 Dec 2007 05:44:33 GMT

Title: Untitled [as of now]
Pairings: Kibum/Donghae, Shiwon/Heechul, lots more if you stay tuned
Disclaimers: If I own the boys, someone would not be walking properly in the morning.
Warning: AU, OOC, foul language
Word count: 1,350
Summary: When his life is turned completely around by a sudden decision, how can Kibum cope with everything at once?

Character Reference

As transfer students, Kangin and Kibum were required to sit through the one-week freshman orientation. It bored them out of their wits (Kangin busy doodling little pandas in his copy of the student handbook), but it excused them from regular second year classes and meant that they were free for most of the afternoons, right after lunch. On their second day (they were oriented on the proper use of library and computer facilities that day) Kangin found them a secluded spot near the tennis courts where they could smoke cigarettes and chat. They went there everyday for the whole week; sitting on the lush grass, flicking ashes from the slender sticks of menthol-flavored nicotine, basking in the golden rays dappled by the leaves above their heads as they told each other of their lives. Kibum felt at ease with his new friend, and maybe if he was to have a brother, he would have wished hard for God to give him Kangin.

However, their idyllic afternoons saw the inevitable end come Monday, when Ms. Cho escorted them to the east wing where the classrooms are located. Ms. Cho’s black pumps clicked noisily in the veined marble floor, the only sound audible in the long corridor.

“There are two sections per year level—you both belong to 2B,” she explained as they stopped before one of the oak doors that lined the second floor corridor. “Your first class is World Literature with Mrs. Jung.”

They were ushered into the front of the class—twenty or so other boys in navy blue coats and black silk ties—the teacher looking at them expectantly with her old beady eyes. Mrs. Jung, grandmotherly in her bottle green dress and silver-framed bifocals, gently asked Kangin and Kibum to introduce themselves, and after stating what their favorite books are (at the teacher’s prodding, Kibum answered A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess while Kangin went with The Godfather by Mario Puzo), they were instructed to occupy the empty seats in the middle rows, right next to each other. At Kibum’s left was a row of bay windows, and he stared out to see a small tree-lined park with a scattering of gray stone benches as the teacher went on to discuss the poetry of Lord Byron.

There were four more classes before lunch came. Kibum found it hard to follow some of the lessons the teachers discussed (the Trigonometry teacher talked way too fast). Jotting down his notes in Hangul was new to Kibum; instead, he wrote down what he understood in English. He made a mental note to ask his teachers if he could submit written work in English. He would surely fail if he even tried writing in a system he was not used to.

As the 12:00 bell rang, his classmates excitedly filed out of the room, he and Kangin following their lead. The rubber soles of their school shoes squeaked as they walked in the marble-floored corridor, accompanied by Kangin’s loud musings on today’s lunch.

“Hi,” voice, in normal circumstances soft, said and was magnified by the emptiness of the hall. The two boys stopped, both of them thinking that the greeting was meant for the other.

It was one of their classmates, Kibum knew; that boy sat a few seats from him. His hair was stylishly cut—not even the dandiest Hollywood actor had his hair like that—dyed in a comely shade of red brown. The face was open and trusting, dark eyes hidden behind plastic-framed glasses (in America, Kibum thought they were called “emo” glasses), and deep dimples in the corner of his mouth showed as he smiled sweetly.

“Hi,” he repeated. “You’re the new kids, right?”

“Yes, we are,” Kangin replied as he rolled his eyes. “Is it obvious with the scarlet letter on our foreheads?”

The boy’s smile did not falter a bit. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to state the obvious. I’m Eeteuk, by the way.” He extended his hand for Kibum to shake, but not for Kangin. “I’m in your class… actually, I’m the class president.”

“Nice to meet you,” Kibum returned the smile, though he doubted that it was half as sweet as Eeteuk’s. “I’m…”

“You’re Kibum and he’s Kangin, I know. I actually listened to that part of Mrs. Jung’s class.” There was that sugary smile again and Kangin seemed to be uneasy at the sight of it.

“We’re, uhm, off to lunch,” Kibum gestured to the end of the hall. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell us?”

“No, sorry for keeping you,” Eeteuk apologized. “But if there’s anything you need, I’m in room 413.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.” Kibum was sincere about keeping Eeteuk’s room number in mind. Another friend in this blasted place would not hurt, right?

As Eeteuk walked off, Kangin was grumbling under his breath: “He’s annoyingly friendly.”

***

The dining hall was at the ground floor of the dormitory, well-lit and all clean, structured lines. This has to be one of the best school cafeterias Kibum has seen. There were quite a number of students already eating when they arrived, but picking a table in one end of the room was relatively easy.

On today’s menu were mixed-greens salad, chicken lasagna (with two slices of garlic bread), and rhubarb pie. Kibum sat opposite Kangin, his back to the door; the occasional tinkling of silver against white ceramic peppered their quiet conversation.

Kibum was halfway through his lasagna when Kangin winked saucily at him. “What are you winking at me for, man?” He asked, obviously surprised at his friend’s weird behavior.

“Why would I wink at you?” Kangin snorted. He nodded at the direction of the door. “That one, the smiling black-haired guy. He winked at me, so I winked back.”

Kibum twisted around his chair to see a group of four boys entering the hall. There was something different about them—maybe the way they carried themselves—that made it impossible not to notice them. The tallest of them, broad-shouldered and lean, had one arm slung around the shoulders of a redheaded boy with one of the finest facial structures Kibum has ever seen. Trailing behind them were the guy Kangin winked at (shorter than the first two and smiling widely at his friend) and a brown-haired boy (wavy hair framing the face, looking away from him).

He turned back to Kangin. “He seems like he’s really flirty.”

Kangin gave a little wave and smiled smugly. “Would I flirt with him if he doesn’t?”

He looked back at the group, and locked eyes with the brown-haired boy. Kibum’s breath caught at his breath. That face seemed familiar, like the first rain of May or the view of the hills outside the window of his old room. It was strange that it should evoke such pleasant memories when Kibum was so sure it was the first time he had seen that face. Round eyes, straight nose, thin pink lips—Kibum knew that those features were not beautiful individually, but put together they certainly are attractive set in his pale oval face. The boy gave him a small smile, his teeth a prominent contrast to the cerise of his lips. He had these little sharp canines, and somehow, Kibum found it cute, so he smiled back. He winced as a thought crossed his mind: that’s the way girls should be made. What provoked his mind to say that was beyond him.

“Kangin,” he said without looking at his friend, “the brown-haired one’s cute.”

The one Kangin has been flirting with caught Kibum’s smile, and was teasing the cute boy about it. Then the redhead spun round to say something, and that attractive face seemed to concentrate on what was being said; eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly parted.

“Looks stupid,” Kangin resumed eating his pie.

Kibum returned to finishing his lunch, but it was more of toying around with the remaining pasta on his plate. His mind wandered to a now distant memory of May raindrops, the glass panes of his window seemingly melting with the trickle of water.

***

TBC

[FIC] Untitled - 2/?

Thu, 27 Dec 2007 05:18:40 GMT

[originally posted at kihae_love, 21 February 2007]

Title: Untitled [as of now]
Pairings: Kibum/Donghae, Shiwon/Heechul, lots more if you stay tuned
Disclaimers: If I own the boys, someone would not be walking properly in the morning.
Warning: AU, OOC, foul language
Word count: 1,824
Summary: When his life is turned completely around by a sudden decision, how can Kibum cope with everything at once?

Character Reference

Kibum was led into an office in the second floor. Ms Cho opened the door for him, and motioned him to sit across another boy, in civilian clothes, obviously a new student like him. He had this tough-boy smug look on his face, short black hair, and the body of a judoka. He gave Kibum a small smile as the other boy settled on the hard-backed office chair.

“Hi,” tough boy greeted Kibum.

“Hi.”

“So, you’re new too?”

Kibum smiled. Tough boy seemed friendly. “Yes.”

“First year?”

“No, I roughly finished tenth grade.”

“We’re on the same year, then. I’m Kangin, by the way.”

“Kibum.”

The principal, with graying hair and thick glasses, chose that moment to enter the office and greet them. He went on to explain the school rules (wear the uniform properly at all times; visitors on Sundays only; lights out at 11 pm; no “handphones” in class, at this Kibum briefly wondered what a handphone was; do not set the beds on fire; no food fights in the dining hall; no bodyguards in school premises except for emergency reasons; etc.) and Kangin yawned loudly.

“Is there a problem? Do you find the rules boring?” The principal asked sharply.

“No, sir, just that I didn’t get enough sleep last night.” Kangin answered; his smile sheepish.

“Well, I suppose you can rest now, especially Kim Kibum.” The principal said as he rummaged in his desk. “How was your trip?”

I nearly missed my flight because I was hoping something could change my parents’ minds, the airline they picked for me served the worst lobster pâté, and it took me almost forever to claim my bags. “Good.” Kibum lied. He was not about to whine about how he hated everything about being sent here; about his life. Surely what he had done did not warrant for this kind of punishment.

“I’m glad to hear that,” the principal smiled at him, all little white teeth with prominent gums. “I’m sure you’ll like it here, Kim Kibum.”

Kibum bit the inside of his cheek. Like it here? “I hope so.”

“Anyway, the two of you will be sharing a room because all the room assignments were given at the end of the year. Unless you know someone you’d rather share a room with?”

Kibum and Kangin exchanged looks. “It’s okay, isn’t it, Kibum?” Kangin asked.

Kibum shrugged.

“Good, then. Your bags will be taken to your room; and Ms. Cho will tour you around the school by this afternoon.” The principal dismissed them and went on about what Kibum presumed to be work.

***

Kangin plopped down in his assigned bed, rolled around a few times, and watched earnestly as Kibum unpacked his bags.

“Do you really have to do that yourself?” Kangin asked; the sulking in the complaint lost in his husky voice. “I mean, can’t they have someone come in and unpack for us?”

Kibum laughed. His roommate reminded him much of his spoiled friends back in California, but Kangin being whiny was somehow amusing. “The lady said no 24-hour maid service, remember?” It was a half-hearted effort to console the other boy. It sure was nice to have someone do things for you.

“No maid service at all, to be exact,” Kangin snorted. “I’ve been here less than half a day and I already hate this place!”

“Like it or not, we’ll be stuck here for at least a year,” Kibum went on to stack a pile of his shirts in one of the closets.

“For you probably,” there was a hint of anger, barely noticeable, but it hung in the air. “My father’s gonna tuck me away in remote boarding schools for the rest of my life.”

Kibum did not look up from taking out pajama bottoms from his suitcase. “Why? What did you do?” He suddenly felt curious about Kangin; he had a feeling that he could relate to the other boy’s plight.

“Having fun,” Kangin replied with such nonchalance that he could be talking about the weather. “Underage drinking binges, hard partying, fooling around… you know.”

“Yeah,” Kibum grinned. He had his share of those, but his “having fun” was not the main reason why he was sent away.

“There was this one night last week; I was out partying because there’s no school yet. As my darn luck would have it, the cops found it a good night to bust the party.” Kangin frowned, his thick eyebrows drawn together. “I was arrested for underage drinking. I left my fake ID in my car, which I don’t have a license to drive. Fucking cops found about those, too. Then came these media idiots to catch that moment when I was handcuffed. Funny how bad luck come in streaks, huh?”

Kibum nodded silently, imagining what his father would do to him if he got arrested for anything. First he would get cut out of his father’s will and live the rest of his life under a new surname. What happens after that, he did not want to think about.

“I personally think spending a night at the slammer is part of growing up,” the tone was confident, even cocky, like it was some universal truth Kangin believed in. “But you see, my father’s an assemblyman—he’s going to bid for the presidency next year. I was the perfect smear campaign material.

“Can you imagine that? A presidential candidate who can’t even control his son, how can he control a whole bunch of squabbling politicians in the National Assembly? I have to stay out of trouble for at least five years, which also means I have to disappear from my father’s life for five years. So they send me here.”

Kibum winced. “Sorry,” he murmured under his breath.

“Hey, that’s part of growing up, nothing to be sorry about,” Kangin said artlessly. “But you should have seen the footage. It was on almost every newscast for three days straight.”

“No, I just arrived today,” at his roommate’s raised eyebrow, he continued, “from California.”

“I’ve been there two summers ago,” the other boy smiled, probably of pleasant memories of his visit. “I told you my story, let’s hear yours.”

Kibum hesitated. He was about to tell a relative stranger the reason why he was shipped to Korea against his will. He was ashamed of that mistake, and now that he thought of it, maybe his parents were right to get him out of sight.

“I, uh… got a girl pregnant.”

It was Kangin’s turn to wince. “Girlfriend?”

“No,” Kibum did not want to remember; it was months behind him. “It was… a one night thing.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. It was a weekend party at his friend’s house, and no one wasted an opportunity to drink from other parents’ booze cabinet, trash a classmate’s living room, or ruin a nice Persian rug without your own mother talking your ear off for it. Kibum has fairly high alcohol tolerance—he has been stealing sips from his father’s alcohol stash since he was in third grade—and he usually did not get wasted at such parties, but that night he did. Maybe it was the fancy-flavored vodka or the Jim Beam, but definitely not the beer. He woke up sprawled in the cool porcelain of a bathtub with a girl draped over him. She was not even his type; blond, too much make-up on, haughty face, a tattoo on the small of her back. Had he been sober, he would not have given the girl a second glance. He promised himself not to get drunk again—ever—as he slipped out and went home. He thought it was over then.

Two months and there was this girl who waited outside his school, not in the horrid plaid skirt that his female schoolmates had to wear, and he immediately recognized her from the party. He panicked inwardly, how did she find me? Questions were racing through his head. He feared for the worst; at that moment the thought that he knocked her up crossed his mind like a heavy freight train.

She was pregnant, she sobbed. She came to ask him for some money for the baby. Kibum took her down the nearest ATM, took five grand out of his account and pulled a few bills from his wallet to have the baby aborted. Is this enough? Kibum remembered asking the girl, whose name was something common like Jane or Jessica or Jenny. She nodded; for now.

Just have it aborted. He thought he said that firmly. He did not need a complication of that magnitude in his life—he was just about to turn 17, for crying out loud—it was a drunken mistake. You want the name of my mom’s OB-Gyn?

Things just kept on going wrong for Kibum since that afternoon. A couple of weeks later and his father was shoving him against the front door, his mother’s beautiful face drawn into a disappointed frown. The girl marched into his father’s office and told him that if he did not give her twenty thousand dollars, she will expose him as an irresponsible promiscuous bastard who wanted to kill her—their—innocent, unborn baby.

The older Kim believed that their business was founded on three basic things: good client relations, honest transactions, and a pristine family reputation. Kibum imagined his father to have smiled at the girl, asked her to sit down and wait for Mrs. Kim, then went inside an empty room and seethed privately.

Was it good luck that his mother was a gifted negotiator? She convinced the girl to take five thousand, abort the baby, and shut up. Kibum was sure his mother used some intimidating herself, masked in that accented saccharine voice. In his head he saw her in an expensive tailored suit, worn in her delicate ears the pair of pearls she got on her wedding anniversary, her coral lips curved into a dazzling smile as she warned her son’s would-be blackmailer: You take the money I give you, but no more. You stay away from my son, he’s a nice boy. Come back and I’ll tell the police you are trying to con us or maybe I’ll have someone plant something incriminating in your house, I can find your house easily. Tell me, how would you like to spend your time in prison?

“That’s life, man; shit happens,” the husky reassurance jolted him out of his reverie. Kangin gave him a half-smile, but the look of understanding in his dark eyes comforted Kibum the most.

He found it ironic that halfway around the world he met someone who understood and did not judge him for that mistake which threw his life completely around. It was an unlikely friendship—the politician’s son with a less-than-immaculate rap sheet and the California boy who managed to impregnate a stranger—but for Kibum, this new friend certainly makes Korea seem better.

***

TBC

[FIC] Untitled - 1/?

Thu, 27 Dec 2007 04:45:46 GMT

[originally posted at kihae_love, 17 February 2007]

Title: Untitled [as of now]
Pairings: Kibum/Donghae, Shiwon/Heechul, lots more if you stay tuned
Disclaimers: If I own the boys, someone would not be walking properly in the morning.
Warning: AU, OOC, foul language
Word count: 857
Summary: When his life is turned completely around by a sudden decision, how can Kibum cope with everything at once?

Character Reference

Kim Kibum sat quietly in the backseat of the car his parents hired to take him from the airport to his new school. He had never been to South Korea before; his grandparents are immigrants who settled in America. He was born and raised in California, and until three months before there had been no plans to send him to Korea and worse, to a boarding school. He had fiercely argued with his parents’ decision; who heard of switching schools in junior year of high school? It was not as if he was merely changing school districts, but he was going to another school in another country halfway around the globe.

Kibum was extremely anxious about his first day of school in Korea. He has not even finished tenth grade properly because it would end in June, and here the school year starts on March. He had to leave basically his whole life behind. Normally when he was going to be away for a long time, he would miss his family, but right now he was too angry at his parents to even think of them.

What would his new school be like? He imagined it to be no different than the private school he attended back home—no, California was not home anymore, Kibum figured he was going to be stuck in Korea forever—where there are uniforms and stupid rules. He wondered if the students can speak English; he heard from an American classmate who had been to Korea for the holidays that people there cannot speak English properly. His mother told him not to worry much about language barrier for he was proficient in Hangul. Kibum was not worried of not being understood, he was concerned about not understanding. Surely there were words and terms that his parents did not know and all the kids were using them, and he would look stupid for not knowing what they were talking about.

The car pulled up in front of a huge red brick building. A heavy black door was slid open, and Kibum can see a nice marble-floored lobby, where several students were lounging on the receiving area. They wore navy blue coats over crisp white shirts, black slacks, and some of them sported a black silk tie. So he was right about the uniforms.

“Mr. Kim, we are here,” the driver said in halting English.

Kibum smiled at him. “It’s okay, I can speak Korean.”

“I thought otherwise,” the driver laughed as he scratched his head. “Because you came from America and all.”

“My parents taught me the language.”

“Oh. Your parents must be really rich to send you to this school.” The driver said as he opened his door and moved to open Kibum’s.

“Why?” True, his parents were rich, mostly because of old money. His father runs the family corporation (manufacturing a variety of products from cosmetics to computer chips) and his mother is from a reputable family (one that can send her to the best European universities). He never really thought of the state of his family’s finances and never bragged about it, because it was his parents’ money, not his. All that he could say he completely owns are his iPod, his laptop, and his cellphone, which he bought with the salary he earned from working in his father’s office as a receptionist.

The driver just smiled as he unloaded Kibum’s luggage (two big suitcases and a duffel bag) from the compartment. He helped Kibum get his things to the front desk and said his goodbyes.

A middle-aged woman in a stylish peach pantsuit greeted Kibum. “Good morning, what can I do for you?”

“I’m a new student.” He replied.

“Name please,” she droned as she sat in front of a computer.

“Kim Kibum.”

“A moment,” she typed something, his name most probably. She reached for her phone and dialed a four-digit number. “The principal, please, this is Ms. Cho.”

Kibum looked around him. There were chrome letters above Ms. Cho’s reception desk, “East Asian International School,” it said. He was relieved that the school seemed relatively Western; no culture shock for him. A logo—the school’s, he presumed—was placed above the chrome letters, heraldic in style with the school’s name in a white circle around it.

There was loud laughter from the couches in the receiving area, and Kibum turned to look at them. The usual unruly group of boys that came with every school, he was familiar of them. He used to be in one back in California.

He looked around for the female students, but found none. Maybe the girls are in a separate building? He has heard of those schools where the girls and boys are separated, but he was sure all of them existed in the last century.

“Mr. Kim? The principal wants to see you in his office.” Ms. Cho said.

“Where are the girls?” Kibum asked. “Are they on the other building?”

Ms. Cho looked at him quizzically. “Girls?”

Kibum nodded.

“This is an exclusive school for boys, Mr. Kim.” The woman replied in a patient voice. “Didn’t your parents tell you?”

***

TBC

[FIC] Happy Birthday

Thu, 27 Dec 2007 04:07:48 GMT

[originally posted at kihae_love, 21 August 2007]

Title: Happy Birthday
Pairings: Slightly there Kibum/Donghae (Super Junior)
Disclaimers: I consulted my country's constitution and it said I can't legally own people.
Warnings: AU, OOC, angst
Word count: 3,072

He stared longingly at the now empty seat by the broken window. There was this boy who formerly occupied it; his thick black hair golden brown in the afternoon sunlight from the cracked panes, his supple skin almost translucent porcelain. Kibum knew it was foolish to dwell on the memory, to remember something he still mourned for, and his chest tightened at the emotions he had held at bay since the fateful summer.

***

Kibum made his way to the garbage disposal shed behind the school building, black garbage bag in one hand. Nobody seemed to like getting disposal assignments, but Kibum did not care. It was not like he was handling radioactive material, he was sure it was mostly crumpled paper and candy wrappers.

Nearing the blue-painted tin and concrete shed he saw five upperclassmen gathered around it. He knew they were up to no good, but he just wanted to get his task over with. He walked briskly toward the shed, the beat of his footsteps loud against the concrete, and then he saw what the other boys were gathering around; one of his classmates. That boy sat in the row behind him, really diligent but not one of the brightest. They have never talked much, but then again, Kibum never really talked to anybody.

He never would have bothered with the commotion until he saw the beginnings of an ugly bruise on his classmate’s jaw, lip split and bleeding, held at the collar by a tall burly third year. The others were just sneering and laughing mockingly, and Kibum could catch obscene words directed at his classmate.

“Hey,” he yelled. “You guys better stop that, the principal’s coming over to piss!”

The boy who had been holding his classmate easily dropped the limp form in the hard concrete, and Kibum could imagine how it had hurt his backside to be carelessly tossed like one would a dirty sock. The bullies dispersed quickly, shooting Kibum sharp glares, which he returned.

He quickly went in the shed to segregate the trash, and checked on his classmate, slumped against the wall, eyes covered with choppy bangs.

“You okay?” Kibum asked, and knew it was wrong of him to, as the other boy was wiping at his bleeding mouth with the back of his hand. The khaki school pants were soiled with the mixture of dirt and blood, torn at several places. Maybe those seniors were ganging up on him long before Kibum arrived, and his classmate had to endure several meetings with the concrete and his face.

“Yes,” the other boy answered. “Just a little messed up.”

Kibum offered one hand, “well, if you don’t think my hand’s too dirty,” he said casually, and his classmate held on to it, giving him a grateful half-smile.

“I’ll take you to the infirmary,” Kibum said, and the other boy just nodded.

***

“You know,” Kibum whispered softly, “there’s someone who sits in your place now. Not too bright. The English teacher asked a simple question; couldn’t answer it. Even you could answer that little bit on pronouns.”

He could see the beginnings of that sheepish smile on his friend’s lips, and he grinned despite himself. “I really miss you. I just wish we’re still together.”

***

The infirmary was locked by the time they reached it, but they just stood there for a long moment, the two of them contemplating what to do next. Maybe the nurse came home early, and Kibum felt like cursing that darn woman—he had something to do other than chaperone a classmate to the infirmary. He wanted to bolt and leave his classmate in this pristine corridor, rumpled and dejected. But there was something about the other boy that tugged at his heart, and Kibum was not so sure if it was the blood or the bruises.

“I, uh, don’t live far from here,” Kibum scratched at the back of his head, not wanting to offer further help, but words were formed despite internal protests. “My grandma can, you know, patch up those...” he pointed at the other boy’s face.

“Thank you, Kibum,” that was the first time he heard his classmate address him directly.

“Why were they beating you up?”

“… I don’t know.”

***

“Aish, Kibum, did you beat him up?” His grandmother’s shrill voice scolded him. “Come here, boy, did my grandson hurt you bad?”

“I didn’t,” Kibum protested as he kicked off his shoes. His classmate bent down with a wince to remove his shoes, and then meekly walked to the old woman, who was busy rummaging around for the medicine kit.

“Then who did this to this poor thing?” His grandmother surveyed the damage and clucked her tongue at the sight of the split lip. “What’s your name?”

“Lee Donghae, ma’am.”

“It’s Granny to you,” she smiled, soft brown eyes crinkling. “Did Kibum beat you up? A naughty boy, he is. I’m apologizing for him.”

“No… he saved me.”

***

Kibum took out a thick leather-bound book from his bag, all empty pages inside, and reverently glided his fingers on the smooth surface. “I’ve been meaning to write some stuff in here and let you read them, but I can’t bring myself to tell you all those feelings you said I can’t seem to talk about. How about you write your thoughts on it first? Maybe you could explain to me why you left.”

The silence his inquiry was met with somehow made Kibum feel that his friend was displeased.

***

Kibum and Donghae had been “sort of friends” after that incident, they were talking—mostly about shallow things—but there had been some sort of connection between them on those seemingly mundane conversations. Donghae was a friendly person who smiles easily and laughs at the simplest things, and Kibum found his company refreshing.

“Can Donghae drop by later?” His grandmother asked suddenly as she was clearing the breakfast dishes. “It’s really good to see that you’re finally making friends, Kibum.”

“I have friends,” he rolled his eyes. “What am I, some loner who’s gonna turn into a psycho serial killer later in life?”

“Donghae seems to be a nice boy. And those people you call friends you haven’t even met.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Kibum mumbled as he slid his earphones in his ears.

***

Donghae had cleaning duty that afternoon; and Kibum waited outside as the other students filed out and there were only a handful left to straighten the chairs on clean the board.

“Donghae, do you want to come over?” He asked gingerly. “Just to hang out, I guess… and my grandma wants to see if you’re okay and all that…”

Donghae smiled—a really nice one, if Kibum should add. “Sure.”

***

After tea, Kibum’s grandmother dropped an unexpected question. Donghae looked surprised, but a pleased look swiftly covered his initial reaction.

“Kibum has no siblings, poor child. And he’s such a loner, always playing with computers instead of hanging out with other kids. Donghae, is it such a bother to ask you to stay here for a week or two during summer vacation? I’ll call your parents; I’ll tell them I’d take good care of you.” His grandmother seemed to be excited with the prospect of having another “grandchild” around, and Kibum himself wanted someone to spend lazy summer days with other than his computer.

“Don’t worry, Granny,” Donghae answered cheerfully, “I’ll tell them myself. I’m sure they’d let me stay.”

***

Kibum knew that even if he tried really hard, he would never forget that day when he and Donghae went to the beach, just the two of them, with grandma’s delicious sandwiches safely nestled in Kibum’s bag.

They rode the train, a slight sprinkling of passengers, and they marveled at the gorgeous sight the countryside offered. The sun was blinding gold set in the clear blue sky, clouds like fat balls of cotton. Kibum had one of Donghae’s delicate hands in his own, and he felt that there was nothing more that could make him happier that day.

Kibum had wanted to bathe in the sea but Donghae declined, said he did not know how to swim.

“I’ll teach you,” Kibum offered, but Donghae shook his head, no.

Come on, Kibum had wheedled, and the other boy shook his head vehemently. Just for a little dip? You needn’t put your head under.

They had walked towards the water, Donghae cautiously so, hand grasping Kibum’s tightly, the cool water slapping gently against their feet. Kibum guided him to waist-deep water, playfully grabbing at the other’s torso in a bluff to take him deeper, and Donghae had squealed, clawing desperately at Kibum’s arm. Kibum thought that Donghae understood that he was just horsing around, but when they waded back to shore, Kibum knew that Donghae was upset.

The other boy had perched himself on a low, flat rock, seemingly tired, and Kibum just stared at Donghae, looking every bit of a wet, bedraggled puppy.

“I almost drowned as a child.” The wind blew hard against Kibum’s ear, almost making that small, almost scared confession inaudible. It was the first time he heard Donghae talk about himself, his past, and before that Kibum thought Donghae did not have a past; like he was living for the moment and forgetting everything else. “It was so scary, I kept on screaming for my mommy but the water was just closing in.”

“Sorry,” Kibum had mumbled. “I didn’t know.”

“Let’s go home.”

Then they started gathering their things, Kibum slipping on a fresh shirt he had brought with him, and he noticed that Donghae was shivering in his wet tank top, the thin black material clinging to his skin.

“How about you change into a dry shirt first?” He had asked.

“I didn’t bring one with me.”

“There’s an extra one here,” he assured and grasped at the hem of Donghae’s tank top in an effort to help him pull off his wet clothing. The other boy almost jumped; made a fuss about Kibum helping him dress, but Kibum would hear none of it, despite Donghae’s whimpered protests. There, in the enveloping golden light, in the salty breeze, Kibum saw numerous round scars on Donghae’s back, some of them freshly healed, the others like a forgotten memory—barely visible, but there.

He felt a surge of intense anger towards those bullies who were ganging up on Donghae months ago; thought that they did it when he was not looking after this delicate, kind boy. Then Donghae just choked back a sob, the sound so heartbreaking that Kibum just gathered Donghae’s bare torso against his.

“He said he won’t do it again, Kibum,” Donghae had whispered against Kibum’s shoulder. “He’s a good man, he loves me; dad said he won’t do it again.” It was as if Donghae was desperate for Kibum to believe him, but Kibum did not know whether to trust those words or not.

***

The last time they talked like that was before Kibum’s birthday, and Donghae was to finally go home that day. Kibum had been moping around the whole afternoon, sad that someone he had spent two glorious summer weeks was finally leaving.

“Don’t be sad, Kibummie,” Donghae had chirped. “Just think of those days when we were so happy.”

“You talk like we’re not going to see each other again.” Kibum had grumbled sulkingly, and he got a sunny smile for it.

Donghae produced a nicely wrapped package from his bags, presenting it to Kibum with a soft smile on his lips. “Happy birthday.”

“My birthday’s not until tomorrow. And I’ll see you by then, right?”

“I like giving presents in advance. Come on; let me see you open it.”

Kibum tore the shiny silver paper, and inside was a thick book—a diary, perhaps, judging from the blank white pages when he leafed through it—in fine black leather.

“You can write everything we can’t talk about in there,” Donghae whispered. “Ask me questions, ask me to tell everything. Then write something about yourself, like why you like to be all alone. We’ll read everything together, Kibum. Everything.”

***

Kibum wanted to spend his birthday with Donghae, and he looked up his address in his copy of the class directory. Donghae lived in an apartment complex, a bit far from Kibum’s house, and he set out early so they can spend more of the day together.

He knocked gingerly on the cream-painted door, the number 308 in rusting chrome. There was no answer, and Kibum had gently twisted the knob, finding that it was open.

“Donghae?” He called softly, but was not met with an answer. His heart suddenly raced at this nagging feeling in his gut that something bad must have happened to Donghae—there seemed to be no one in the apartment and he checked the living room, the kitchen, two small bedrooms, but his friend was not there.

Then he stood in front of a door—the bathroom, he presumed—the last one, and he pushed it open carefully, praying hard that Donghae was just there lying in the bathtub, preparing for the long day that Kibum had planned.

The cloying metallic scent of blood assaulted his nostrils, and Donghae was there, indeed, in the tub, cooking in the warm broth of his own blood mixed with bath water, Kibum panicking, thought someone murdered Donghae. But as he roamed his eyes around the tiny white-tiled room, he saw evidence of Donghae’s self-mutilation—a discarded razor on the floor, thin ribbons of blood swirling around it as they blended with the puddle of water spilled from the tub.

He grabbed at Donghae’s still warm body, not caring if his crisp white shirt was soiled with pale blood, taking him out of the water. Donghae had almost drowned as a child, and Kibum would not let him drown again, not in the mixture of his own blood and warm water.

“Donghae?” He whispered, gently shaking the limp form in his arms. But Donghae’s eyes remained shut; his eyelashes never fluttering to reveal his dark eyes. “Donghae?”

There was a slight pulse on his neck as Kibum placed his fingers there, and suddenly there was warm tingling hope coursing through Kibum’s body and he frantically searched for the phone, calling for ambulance, police—whoever could help them.

***

He remembered standing outside, on the open street, arms around himself in an attempt to warm his strangely cold body. Donghae lay peacefully in a stretcher, a thick blanket thrown over his slight frame, the birds chirping cheerfully from a nearby tree.

There was this man, a paramedic, as he had introduced himself, telling Kibum that Donghae had expired, too much blood lost from his body.

“How?” He had asked.

Donghae had slit his wrists, and being right-handed the left one was almost severed with the force of his slashing. Then he had probably climbed in the tub, the warm water helping the blood flow more easily, killing him faster.

Kibum felt like crying but he did not. He was told to go home; he would just be called for further updates. What a sight he must have been then; shirt all bloody, face devoid of emotions.

***

Kibum pressed his palm reverently against the cold marble, tracing out the three characters spelling out Donghae’s name. “That was my worst birthday, you know.”

He then took out a pen, carefully uncapped it, flipped Donghae’s gift and wrote on the first page.

Donghae,

You said that I just write whatever question I want to ask you here and you’ll answer. I made inquiries, you know. I can’t stand not knowing why you left me. And on my birthday! We were supposed to watch a movie and I’ll buy you ice cream and cakes.

They said that your father was beating you up, and when he was really drunk he’d take a cigarette to your back and burn your skin with it until you cried hard. Was that true?

They said that the reason your father was cruel to you was because your mother left him for another man, and she had wanted to gain custody of you but couldn’t because your father kept taking you away. Was that true? Did your face remind him of your mother so he was taking out his anger on you? When he said he’d stop abusing you, did he stay true to his word? Or did you just make that up so I won’t tell people that your own father was using your bare back as his ashtray?

They said that the bullies picked on you because they wanted you to do something disgusting on them, in the bathrooms after school. Was that true? I heard it from our classmates who only started talking about you when you died. Please tell me it’s not true. I can’t stand the thought of those boys sullying you—kind, gentle, loving, pure Donghae.

The police found evidence that you had planned to kill yourself early on, that there was this mark on your school planner on that day, August 21, that you’d kill yourself. Why? Was that the same day your mother left you?

Please answer me soon. Then you can ask me about why I like being alone. But heck, I’d write it here for your “reference.” Getting attached to people hurt you, Donghae. I loved this little white puppy when I was a boy but she got ran over by a speeding car. I loved my father but he died from cancer. I loved my mother too but she had to work far from me so she can send me to school. I loved you but you decided there’s nothing more this world could have offered you aside from pain and sadness so you killed yourself.

On those summer days when we were together, weren’t you happy with me? I could have given you the comfort you needed, should you have asked me for it. You could have told me everything instead of giving me this stupid book to write my feelings and questions on. You could have just hesitated at killing yourself and I would have been there on time to stop you, and then we’d be happy together, you could live with Granny and me, we could have sent your father to jail.

I’ll always remember, Donghae. Please feel guilty.

Kibum

***

End

[FIC] - Spoken Words

Sun, 02 Dec 2007 17:04:03 GMT

Title: Spoken Words
Pairing(s): Youngsaeng (SS501)/Yesung (Super Junior)
Disclaimers: I forgot, but I do own a pair of pink chopsticks.
Word count: 450
Author's notes: Written as a birthday gift for a good friend

Youngsaeng has an inherent distrust of spoken words. They were, to him, unnecessary and dishonest and meaningless and nothing more than a bunch of syllables as a futile attempt to communicate the unexplainable. So most of the time, he would use them with utmost care. He did not dare drop stupid, careless, impulsive words. He just keeps them all in the back of his head, dancing around in circles and occasionally conjuring images that he may or may not want to see.

Attending his very first dance lesson (which was so long ago that the memory is starting to fade, like an old photograph with the edges slightly nibbled by white spots of age), Youngsaeng learned that he can communicate with his body. The teacher went on with a dramatic lecture on how to speak volumes without opening your mouth and working your vocal chords. Youngsaeng began to use his body, hands, and eyes to communicate what he wanted to say, but that physical voice was probably as soft as the slightest whisper. Everyone else is big on words and his effort to stop using those meaningless and insincere syllables had been drowned with the noise. Nobody seemed to understand why he took pains to be quiet.

The people Youngsaeng knew liked to talk; probably loved the sound of their own voices bleating out paradoxical groups of sounds they thought were amusing or grand or disconcerting. He, in a sea of spoken words, tried to stay afloat with the honesty of the happy gleam in his eyes, his consoling touch, a dissatisfied pursing of his lips, his eyes turning coldly, arms across his chest. The others may not understand completely but Youngsaeng knew clearly what he wanted to say. And for a while that was enough for him.

But along came Yesung. He knew that it was not the other boy’s real name, but if Youngsaeng says that name aloud, he noticed that it sounded significantly closer to his own. In his mind the name Yesung often dances to attract his undivided attention, the words that poetically describes what Youngsaeng feels following closely behind. To him the intensity of Yesung’s gaze, the slight curling of his moist lips, the dainty shape of his delicate hands, his powerful voice perfectly hitting those notes, were heaven. He wanted to say every word frolicking in his mind in his own quavering voice, but he was scared that like him, Yesung would find words too saccharine and pretentious.

So Youngsaeng sang. What he really wanted to say was buried under different words and complicated melodies and thumping bass lines but he hoped that Yesung would understand because Youngsaeng cannot be honest with spoken words.

***

Happy birthday again, nice_nes!

[FIC] - Averted Vision

Thu, 29 Nov 2007 13:03:24 GMT

Title: Averted Vision
Pairing(s): Hyunjoong/Hyungjoon [SS501]
Disclaimers: I own nothing but myself, period.
Word count: 538
Author's notes: Written as a birthday gift for a good friend

Hyunjoong liked the term “averted vision.” Of course, he could not pronounce it properly and would be content to scrawl it in a piece of paper and hold it up, smiling goofily, I like this word. To him it meant looking out from the corner of his eye, pretending that he was not looking at a specific thing, that he did not care what a specific someone did. It sounded scientific (scientific enough for sneaking glances at someone discreetly) and he had no doubt that it made him sound smart.

He also thought that Jungmin had to be absolutely crazy to think of this game—well, the younger boy is crazy on any given day—but this is crazy and torture and Jungmin had been giggling too much that made Hyunjoong desperately want to shove him out a window.

The green bottle in front of them stopped spinning and Jungmin screeched. Screeched, as if some psycho wanted to cut him up in cubes. They had been playing this game for the last thirty minutes, drunkenly spinning a green bottle and whoever was the unfortunate boy it pointed to had to strip. Hyunjoong had heard of strip poker before, but never a strip version of spin-the-bottle. He had been lucky enough not to strip down to his underwear, unlike Jungmin who is down to his boxers (relatively conservative ones—Hyunjoong expected him to wear a thong or lace panties, not that he would enjoy the sight) and Hyungjoon, shirtless and blushing all over (probably because of the amount of alcohol he consumed). Hyunjoong was cheating by removing small items like his ring and necklace and socks, but the younger boys were too inebriated for shrewdness.

“But it’s pointing at the couch. The couch should strip,” Hyungjoon whined.

“The couch doesn’t have underwear on, idiot. So you should remove your pants.” Jungmin probably thought he was being rational—but when was he, really?

The youngest boy gave a defeated sigh and a pout before standing up and sliding the dark sweatpants off his slim hips. Not that Hyunjoong is staring; he turned his head away, but at the corner of his eyes he watched his dongsaeng shaking his legs in an effort to remove his pants, cheeks too red to just be plain drunk. Averted vision. Hyunjoong liked that term.

From stolen glances he had learned to admire the chiseled features of Hyungjoon’s face—the liquid chocolate of his eyes, the perfect slope of nose (with a triangular shadow on one cheek), high cheekbones, an expressive mouth. Of course there are other parts of Hyungjoon that he notices; the elegant pale column of his neck, the moist white clay of his skin, his feminine shoulders. With those furtive glimpses at Hyungjoon’s beauty he imagined that it was his fingers running along that dip of clavicle, that smooth cheek, the small of that back just above the swell of buttocks.

“Being a prude now, hyung?” Jungmin asked in that annoying voice of his, unaware of Hyunjoong’s exploration of their dongsaeng’s body in his mind.

“Shut up.”

With a last, fleeting look, his eyes raked over the smooth unblemished expanse of Hyungjoon’s thighs as he wished his fingertips would.

***

Happy birthday, nice_nes ! May you have sweet double HJ dreams every night! ;p