Ten
The Lifetime KidsTaemin supposed it was late, and he also supposed he had no idea in hell what he was doing, but he was doing it, and would see it through, because he really had no other choice now.
Around him, the bus rattled with a vivacious ferocity; his head had been leant gently against the window, but so often would the vehicle shudder that it had deteriorated into a displeasure more-over than a comfort, and he was instead forced to stare straight ahead, posture rigid, eyes firmly sealed on the view outside his window. It wasn’t a particularly interesting view – a miasmic dash of lights that glinted with the attitude of myopia, heavy-set amidst trails of grey buildings, like some sweeping din – but Taemin didn’t mind it. He was barely paying attention, eyes listlessly sliding over the throngs of the nocturnally-minded and the neon storefronts as if an owl, thoughtless in flight, suspended in time.
Beside him, an elderly woman half-dozed, grumbling awake every time the bus came to a stop, eyes wizened in their madness and hair like a copious bouquet of flexing taffeta. Her skin was as creased as the newspaper in her lap, and she would occasionally side-glance at Taemin with curious suspicion. His disguise was good this evening, fitting, a black face-mask that covered the majority of his features and a woollen hat tugged low, hiding his unruly black hair and giving his face a more rounded decorum. Only those closest to him could have picked him out in such a quiet place, and those he knew tended not to ride empty city buses at midnight.
Squinting at a piercing light that almost jolted his eyes awake, Taemin allowed his entire being to become consumed by what he listened to, a voice that tampered out the scent of the elderly woman’s cloying perfume, the distant chatter from the other dreary passengers.
"...Yes, I think we all do get stressed sometimes, whether it be because of work, school, or relationships, but wherever you are, I hope your are well, and that you can find happiness even during dark times. This next song is one I heard a few months ago, but I found it helps comfort me when I feel down, and it's also wonderful for late nights..."
As the voice gently drifted away and a sweet, melancholic song replaced it, Taemin found himself almost disappointed. The song was comforting, no doubt, however the greatest comfort to him had been the presenter’s dulcet voice, lilted in all its beauty, as close to gold as that of the substance itself. Through his earphones, he could have been in another world, where his surroundings didn’t exist, where such a thing as life didn’t matter – yet the song had drawn him back to a reality, firmly and persuasively, despite its saccharine vows.
The bus met another stop as soon as the song ended, the woman beside Taemin vacating her seat and shuffling to leave, slow and precarious, a bird with ruffled feathers. She'd sat beside him when the bus had been busier, but now it was nearing on empty, the rickety journey muted and the sharp lights ahead dimming. Taemin would have fallen asleep had his purpose not been so definite.
As the advertisement ended and the radio host resumed his speech, a tingle lazily slid down Taemin’s spine, like raindrop down pane. It pulled at his attention, stiffening his shoulders, the man speaking so directly into his ear it was as if a private conversation – so close, yet so irrepressibly distant. Taemin figured this was how it felt to be a fan, yet then, he supposed, no fan could ever feel the same connection he held with the presenter, the same ethereal pull, for, unlike them, Taemin actually knew him, inside-out, like he knew the contours of his own face. Taemin was around him weekly, by his side, though miles apart, and that connection made everything much more unbearable, made it more akin to torture than simple appreciation. At times, the maknae wished to be a fan, to be behind the rose-tinted glass peering in – no pressures, no stress, just pure, unlimited love that he could display without shame or regret. Looking out as he was, emotions had to be repressed, thoughts had to be snipped in short string, and aspirations quelled before proliferation. There was no romance for him, no requites, just an obsession he was forced to bury - so what the hell was he even doing?
Tucking his hands into his sleeves, Taemin burrowed his nose into the large, grey scarf he wore, cold in the quivering bus. The only thing to warm him was the voice of the man he listened to, but soon that voice would fade away, too, and Taemin would be left on his travels, a lonesome wreck, heart split right down the seams in ardent confliction.
Jonghyun would be confused to see him. Jonghyun would be too busy to see him. Jonghyun wouldn't want to see him.
The doubts multiplied like a thriving nation.
The bus reached Taemin’s stop just as the radio broadcast ended, as if he'd timed it to absolute perfection. Removing the earphones and jamming his mobile into the pocket of his coat, Taemin exited the bus, with his head down and his posture taut. He didn’t cast the driver a second glance and nor did the driver to him, and as he stepped down into the candid chill of night, the doors shut behind him instantly. The bus shuddered onwards in a dangerous plume of exhaust, realigning itself with the city’s stream of traffic. Like a bewildered butterfly slung free from net, Taemin drank in the sensuous onslaught of the metropolis, antennae probing the curtailing parties of people, the vibrant humdrum of life, laughter and love. The night was so very different from day, the main streets so very different from the side alleyways.
Hurriedly, Taemin began to purposely stride towards the broadcasting building. He wouldn't have long before Jonghyun left the studios to retire to his home, away from the strains of business, from work, and Taemin wanted to meet him before he did. Such impulses didn’t die easily. He needed to know, to confirm, to prove to himself, that, just as last week, Jonghyun was doing okay, was living life well, as he'd wished upon his listeners so recently. He just had to see the strong-willed composer, had to remind himself that someone as entrancingly beautiful was a part of his imposing existence.
Taemin shook his head with a slight grimace. God, he was lost – and not to the city, the phantasmagorical urban sprawl, but to his love, his feelings, for Kim Jonghyun. It was latticed across his skin, imprinted into his eyes, never to leave, never to subside, never to die. Taemin didn’t know if such an attachment was human, but he felt it, and it bit at him rapidly, and it would never let him go.
It was about five minutes later he reached the large broadcasting headquarters, a cosmopolitan building that jutted out from the city’s palm like an opposable thumb. Taemin had been here many times, whether to guest on television programs or radio shows – including Jonghyun’s very own Blue Night – but it had been months since he'd attended, and prowling outside the shadowed entrance he felt somewhat out of place. Taemin ignored the building and continued towards the carpark nearby. He'd meet Jonghyun by the hood of his white car, for there was no need to enter the daunting building itself, and Taemin doubted he'd make it two feet by security before Jonghyun had departed.
The carpark was desolate but for a few dotted vehicles. Taemin knew most workers didn’t park here, rather in the building’s own carpark, but Jonghyun had always opted for one further from the headquarters, for the reasons of accessibility and seclusion. There was a greater chance of being spotted by searching fans the further he left his sleek, white car, but Jonghyun seemed to negate the risk in favour of a peaceful city stroll and the roof above his head, for it was a multi-story carpark, the damp, city type, with radiant lamplights and unmoving litter. Taemin entered it, silhouette oppressive as a weed through tarmac, via the walkway for pedestrians, hands now firmly rooted to his pockets. He saw Jonghyun’s car instantly, parked towards the corner of the large pandemonium, lone and isolated in its aesthetic charm. Taemin wondered how Jonghyun could trust to leave his car here. It was such an ornate, expensive vehicle – anyone with a thief’s eye would pounce within seconds. He just liked to see the good in people, Taemin supposed. Jonghyun was naïve that way. Beautifully naïve.
Reaching the car, Taemin leant against it and waited. For the first time, he considered the carpark’s vast emptiness. Through the large, pillar constructs, there was no life. He may well have been in the gloved hand of an apocalypse rather than the thriving dissonance of a populated city. There was something unearthly about the expansive silence, something almost terrifying. Had he not been waiting on a man so precious, Taemin figured the space would have frightened him. He would hate to be so alone in somewhere so intimidating.
A jolt of nervousness ricocheted in Taemin’s gut, subdued yet growing, forcing him to fidget with his sleeves and occasionally constrict his breath. He was scared - not just for Jonghyun’s reaction, but for placing his own response. Words weren't devices Taemin could control, they never had been – that was why he danced, why he performed, why he shielded his skin in make-up and tried his best to let others speak for him. Even when conversing with Jonghyun, his manner was stunted, and Taemin hated himself for it, as much as the blackening loneliness in his own heart. He almost wished Jonghyun could appear and he could watch him, hidden by the coalescing shadows, never to speak, never to touch, just to simply observe.
A minute later and a slight noise caused Taemin to raise his head.
Distant yet distinct, a small, narrow-framed man approached the car, cocking his head, nothing but a shadow until he came closer, and closer, and Taemin could pick out the bag that was slung over his shoulder, and the thick-rimmed black glasses that sat on his soft nose, and the incredible navy jacket he wore, and the picturesque styling of his highlighted hazel hair. The man was smiling as Taemin pushed himself respectfully from the car and turned to face him, lips dry, mind blank. Jonghyun stopped, a few metres before him, smile on his lips and curiosity in his raised eyebrows. Taemin inhaled.
He looked so irrepressibly divine.
“Well, this is unexpected,” Jonghyun grinned, blatantly tired, yet kind-spirited, familiar, warm. He stood handsomely, recognising the maknae instantly, despite the disguise. Taemin removed the hat and mask, scrunching them into his pocket, and nodded. He had to push himself to reality, had to try.
“I was just in the area,” Taemin shrugged, voice incredibly thick and hesitant as it echoed sullenly around the parking complex. “I wanted to… I wanted to just- say hi."
“Hi,” Jonghyun chuckled, giving a small, concise wave. He blinked with his large, kaleidoscopic eyes, long eyelashes fluttering as he directed his gaze to the ground. Silence overcame and Taemin felt his heart speed up, irrevocably pulsing and calling and clanging in his chest, so much so that a faint blush crept into his cheeks. He had to say something, he had to speak, and so, parting his lips, he began, “How di-“
“Do you-“
Jonghyun chortled and Taemin blushed further, realising they'd both latched onto the chance to speak in tandem.
“You go,” Jonghyun nodded, offering to give Taemin the platform. The composer had been speaking all evening, after all. Taemin nodded sheepishly, hoping Jonghyun couldn't spot the vivid awkwardness in his countenance.
“How did the broadcast go?” Taemin pondered, as if he hadn't spent the hour before just listening to it. His deception was good as he tilted his head, finally managing to sustain eye contact as Jonghyun replied.
“It was okay,” he mused, “the guest was quite… She was quiet, not suited for radios, but interesting, I guess.”
Taemin nodded. She most certainly had been quiet.
“I don't want to be rude or anything,” Jonghyun began cautiously, chewing on his lower lip in concentration as the vapid lateness of night swamped his very vision, “but… Taem’, I know the real reason you're here.”
Taemin stiffened.
“You do?”
“Yeah,” Jonghyun nodded, removing his car keys from his pocket and unlocking the pristine car, “you want a lift home, don't you?” Jonghyun laughed then, stalking to the driver's side, chucking his bag into the backseat on the way past. The doors opened and shut with quiet clicks.
Relieved, Taemin massaged his temples. He had to calm down.
“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, taking the tacit hint and turning to open the passenger door.
“Not at all,” Jonghyun sighed, “it's on my way, anyhow.” With that, he climbed into the driver’s seat and Taemin smiled subtly. An entire car journey, alone, with just Jonghyun.
He clambered inside, inspirited with hope.
•••
Night and Day;
Still is the night
That leaves love in kisses,
Gentle, unspoken,
Held reminiscence.
That leaves love in kisses,
Gentle, unspoken,
Held reminiscence.
Dark is the day
That forgets all it's seen,
Beneath loving moon,
To hold as a dream.
That forgets all it's seen,
Beneath loving moon,
To hold as a dream.
•••
“-I just don’t get why he talks to me like that,” Jonghyun sighed, eyes locked on the road despite his chatter, “as if I haven't been doing my job for years now, as if I don’t know how to conduct myself in front of the public. I mean, my life is literally spent in the public eye, I barely get a break, it's just…”
“Degrading?”
“Yes!” Jonghyun shifted the gear stick as he drove, hands clenching tightly to the steering wheel, the motorway a blitz of traffic that glinted, headlights diamonds against the brooch of night. His face would only be visible sporadically, as they passed the large, stoop-necked streetlamps or the brightened lights of some other rampant night-raver. The motorways were busy for it being so late. Taemin wondered if he was on the moon and looked towards this single patch of earth, would he see it as one would the night sky – speckled like an egg with stars and planets.
“I don't know, Taem’,” Jonghyun debated internally, careful to avoid the small car that merged onto their lane, “I just- I hate it, I hate being patronised like that. Sure, there's things I don’t know, but I might as well be an expert in this by now and he's still lecturing me on my work like I’m a kid all over again, like I don’t know how to spell my own name.” Jonghyun shook his head, aggravated, his lower lip. As his face was momentarily revealed by a passing veranda of orange light, Taemin took the brief opportunity to become lost once again in his strong, handsome features. Everything about the car and its other inhabitant was forcing his heart to beat like the fastest paced metronome; the scent of Jonghyun’s soothing cologne, the warmth of the leather seats, the fact that he was so, so close to the man himself, could reach out and touch him if he so dared. Something about being in the dark was flaring a wanton flame in Taemin’s gut, as he clenched his fists, fighting to keep his thoughts from spiralling.
“New bosses are tough,” Taemin empathised, “Yunkyung was the same.”
“He's not even new and he treats us that way,” Jonghyun mumbled, tone grated by distaste. “He's just-“
“A bastard?” Taemin interjected, mimicking Minho’s harsh words from the previous week.
Surprised at Taemin’s bashfulness, Jonghyun let out a shrift chortle, before agreeing, “Well, yeah.”
They drove a few more minutes in silence. Occasionally, Taemin’s eyes would drift to Jonghyun’s clenched hand as it controlled the gear-shift, the veins that disappeared beneath his sleeve and the tanned skin that matched the rest of his body. He was having a hard time focussing on anything but the composer. Taemin wanted to hold him and kiss him and love him eternally, curl up beside him as if a baby in cot, protected and cherished, from now until forever. But life didn’t work that way. Life was a cruel, cruel maker.
“God,” Jonghyun sighed, as they veered off the motorway into a quiet layby, that would lead them through the suburbs, and eventually to Taemin’s secluded home, “I hate motorways.”
Taemin nodded. He hated them, too.
“I like driving a night,” Jonghyun admitted, as the car travelled smoothly, elegantly, like a dancer performing the most poised of waltzes. “There's something so… Nice about it - the lights, the stars, the quiet.”
“There's a freedom to it,” Taemin replied absently.
“Exactly,” Jonghyun nodded, casting Taemin a glance before returning his gaze to the road. “Taemin,” he continued slowly, words thickening with tiredness, “I want to- I want to ask you a question.”
“Anything,” Taemin nodded, clearing his throat and straightening his posture. Whereas with others the word would have been a lie, with Jonghyun it was honest. The composer could truly ask him whatever he wished, and Taemin would, inevitably, answer.
“It's just…” Jonghyun tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, contemplating. It was darker as they neared the suburbs, streetlights seldom and passing cars less. The maknae couldn't see his expression. “Recently,” Jonghyun started again, “I've been having thoughts. Just- just small thoughts, I suppose, but they… They keep coming back, and I can't help them.”
Taemin nodded, worry festering in his gut, but remained silent. He pressed his nails into his palms and waited.
“When I think of the past,” he continued, “I get sad, I feel regretful, all the things I could have done and didn't, y’know? But part of me used to always say: ‘No, it's okay, don't worry! You have an entire future to do these things in.’”
Jonghyun turned a corner, words growing weaker and more fragile as he spoke, as if the life-force was being hewed out of his very soul.
“But do I?”
Taemin frowned, lips pursed, and replied, “What do you mean, hyung?”
Jonghyun sighed, tilting his head and gazing out of the window forlornly.
“I think Kibum wants to leave the group.”
And then, the fracture.
Taemin felt his heart constrict in his chest and his lungs instantly swell with paralysis, mind coaxing a delirium he could not let through. His nails pierced further into the skin of his palm and doubts echoed numbly in his stomach, as he struggled to comprehend what Jonghyun had just posed.
“W-What?”
Jonghyun shrugged a shoulder casually, as if a hurdle he couldn’t care less about, but his drawn voice spoke the opposite as it cracked with the weight of his words.
“I think he's sick, Taemin, and he- he knows that. He knows he's sick, and he's not telling us, and he's just not happy. He's not. No matter what we say or think or do, don’t you see it in his eyes? When he looks at you, don’t you see it? It's like all the excitement, the energy, is gone. He isn’t Key anymore, he's Kibum – but I think Key broke the real him, I think…” Jonghyun trailed off, well-aware a tangent was forming on his lips. “Taemin, I think he's going to leave.”
“No,” Taemin dismissed instantly, “no. We've been through harder, he can't-“
“Taemin, it doesn't matter what we've been through, this could be the final straw, I mean- just look at him! He's finished, he's exhausted.”
“You're over-reacting, Jjong’, we're all tired, he can't leave now, he just can't."
“Oh, he can,” Jonghyun countered, “and you really think he doesn't have the guts to see it through?”
Taemin shook his head and sank back into his seat, pulse racing, but for reasons almost opposite to earlier. His mind argued in cacophonic lisps as he struggled to grasp all he knew, all he'd seen, all he'd wondered. Kibum was sick, that much was true, and Kibum also sported black bags beneath his eyes and skin the colour of ash and odd, purple marks on his wrists that Taemin still hadn't identified the cause of. He was tired, he was worn, he was confused, he was exhausted – but he wouldn’t leave, he couldn't.
“Stop it,” Taemin replied frailly, as if a bitten dog, “you're scaring me.”
“If he goes, Taem’, we're finished. You know we are.”
“Jonghyun, stop it.”
“We can't continue as four, Jinki wouldn't even let us, and the legal battle would completely-“
“Jonghyun-“
“-destroy us, our reputation, everything we stand for, we'd be-“
"Stop it!"
Instinctively, Jonghyun slammed on the breaks and the car shuddered to a vicious halt, throwing Taemin against his seatbelt just to pull him back towards his seat. The road was empty but for their still car, and as the shout the maknae had just hurled became absorbed into the leather of the seats, Taemin’s mouth hung ajar in shock, eyes glazed on the offspring of tears. He'd just yelled at Jonghyun. He'd just yelled at the man he loved.
Slowly, steadily, Jonghyun leant forward, and began to cry.
At first, Taemin was stunned. The cries were quiet, gentle, like those of a hurt child, hiding from the perpetrator of the crime, but soon they evolved, into raking shudders that consumed his entire body, jarring him back and forth as he hung his head forward, hands limpid on the steering wheel. Jonghyun didn’t seem to care that they were parked in the middle of a road, didn’t seem to care that the only light was from the faint tendrils of moonlight that pirouetted through the trees, that the only noise to break the silence was his own harrowing howls. He didn’t care about anything, as Taemin watched, emotions crumbling to fine dust, expression gaunt and drenched in a comatose of fear.
“What if we're finished?” Jonghyun choked, cheeks streaked in tears. He peered up, an odd desperation embroidering itself, disguised as every item of a haberdashery.
Taemin couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. All he could do was watch as the man he loved so dearly broke to pieces before him – pieces that didn't quite seem to match up.
“We can't lose this,” Jonghyun croaked, the tears only strengthening, “I can't lose you." Taemin felt something claw at his heart, something with ragged nails and jaundiced fingers, a creature that consumed all it could find, including his rationality.
“You'll never lose me,” he tried, words near frantic, “never. I won't leave you, Jonghyun, I won't-“
There was a blinding crack. Around Taemin, the world shifted, though within himself he felt so still. Colours burnt and shadows jolted, and a sickening shriek of metal cut through the night as everything rotated. Then a thwack – heavy, incoherent – and a vibrant rush of pain pulsed into his back, and something span, the darkness convulsed, his head swam, the lights sparked and his entire body burnt. There was a clatter and metal screamed and a great, great groan burst from around him and then-
Still.
Beautiful, silent still.
Taemin blinked, head forward, eyes lidded. Smoke. He caught it, all around him, as his thoughts struggled to catch up with what had happened. He squinted. His arm hurt. His arm really, really, really hurt. Cursing, Taemin twisted his neck, finding that his arm somehow hung out of a broken glass window, and it was warm, and sticky, and he felt something run down his skin, and he tilted his head, coming to. His neck was crooked and it took great effort to raise. Something wasn’t right. The world didn’t work in such flashes. Part of his timeline had vanished within seconds. What the hell was going on?
Taemin coughed slightly, unable to move the dangling arm that reall- , it hurt. His head splayed with lights, intermittent, golden, a false comfort as his back locked. Was he in a car? He was in a car. He had to be in a car, because beside him was the drive-
Taemin let out a low, guttural groan. His throat was too parched to warrant a cry.
Beside him, a man was motionless. His head rested against a steering wheel, and his body was somewhat pressed closer to Taemin than it should have been, for the entire side of the car he sat at was crushed by something - something large, obstructive, unmovable. Taemin couldn’t see the man’s face, but he could see his hand, the veins that disappeared beneath his sleeve and the tanned skin that matched the rest of his body. A slender pathway of blood carved itself between the fingers, and Taemin swallowed thickly, suddenly forgetting about the pain in his own arm, the pain that had only moments before enraptured his thoughts but was now so easily replaced.
“J-Jonghyun?" Taemin whispered, a tear sliding down his cheek. Gingerly, careful not to move his body too much, with the unhindered arm, Taemin prodded the driver's shoulder. He didn't react.
“Jonghyun,” Taemin repeated, louder this time. Another listless tear kissed against his lips, salty, uninspiring. Fear contracted in his chest. Jonghyun wasn’t moving.
Darkness wavered and Taemin frowned.
“Please…” Taemin tried, and then he felt something else slide down his cheek – and, this time, it wasn’t a tear. Blood joined the salt on his lips, and his eyelids flickered. “Please..." His head dropped forward.
Still.
Beautiful, silent still.
i got a sudden burst of inspiration for this story... i really hope it lasts long enough that i can update Dx
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