Lay me Down

When he opened his eyes, all he could see were images. Pictures and people and things. He could see the world around him, the colors and the shapes, but he couldn't understand it. He couldn't put each picture together so that the entire scene made any sense.

There was a CT image of a brain. There was a television in front of him, displaying the image of two boys dancing together. There was a gun in his hand, but it didn't kill him. There was a boy beside him weeping desperately, clutching the arm of the couch under his fingers as he screamed. There were white walls and white floors and the whir of machines. There was a sense of hope, but also the burden of brain damage. And there's a grey statue smiling in the sun. A smile that's somber yet sweet. It reminds him of the boy that helps him eat. That helps him bathe and walk and get out of bed. Everyday that boy brings a spoon to his mouth patiently and with a reverence in his sparkling brown eyes. Even as some of the food spills out of his mouth and down his chin, he looks at him with a reverence that feels a lot like love.

That day at Taemin's house will forever play out in Jongin's mind. Like watching a car crash in slow motion, he'll remember some things, but not everything. Only as he saw it, as he felt it and really, it's the aftermath that's the most important anyway. The steps taken after the pieces have all fallen to the floor . . . are what really shapes who we are. So like a list that needed checking off, Jongin starts his process of putting everything back together. Putting himself back together . . . one piece and one person at a time because he needed to be strong.

He needed to be strong for Taemin.

"Are you really sure?" Sehun asks quietly, his eyes not looking at his roommate for fear Jongin would be able to see his true feelings.

The boy with the raven hair and fleshy protrusion on his upper lip places the last of his clothes into his suitcase; a black leotard, a grey hoodie and a pair of jeans. He looks up at his friend. "Yeah. I'm sure," he says, his eyes deep and without a need to hide. Without a need to hold back his feelings in fear that he would be judged for them. It's been too long and he's come too far to hide from anything anymore. So if he feels like his heart is tearing into pieces then he'll look Sehun straight in the eye and not cower from the tears that threaten to spill out of them. Because that's what he's become. Jongin's no longer that silent, stoic, lost boy that he used to be. Now he's cracking over the littlest of things . . . and his heart is exploding out of his chest, hanging low on his sleeves for everyone to see.

It's almost too much.

Sehun can only look into Jongin's eyes briefly, wondering who this boy is that's packing his things and leaving him behind. He sighs and looks away, an irritated scowl on his face. With his arms crossed and his hip jutted against the dresser. You'd think he'd be pissed that Jongin was leaving, after all the time they had spent together. Throwing illegal late night parties in their dorm room, eating fish bread until they were sick, those long chats at the coffee shop over a cup of terrible barley tea. He would think of Suho's face when he and Jongin would break the rules or just simply ignore the elder's many lectures about decorum and decency. He thought of always counting on Jongin to have done his homework or catching a late night movie when there was nothing else to do. Yeah, he should be mad, but in reality, Sehun was quite sad. He felt like he was losing another friend.

People tend to come and go quicker than Sehun can keep track of nowadays. But Jongin? Jongin was the last person he ever thought he would see drop out of school. The last person he ever thought would stop dancing. "Guess that's it then?" He'll say it lightly, but his words are bitter.

Jongin lifts the suitcase off the bed and sets it on the floor. He extends the handle and wheels it behind him as he moves towards the door, suitcase in one hand and gym bag swung over his other shoulder. He pauses beside Sehun and gives the boy a smile. One that's long overdue. "You understand though, right?"

Sehun nods quickly as Jongin pats his shoulder comfortingly. He'll miss the bastard, but . . . he always knew that Jongin was lost. Constantly searching for something he could never find.

Jongin says goodbye and rolls his suitcase down the long corridor of the school he's called home for the past few years. White tiles under his feet and trophy cases lining the walls. He stops outside the practice room, admiring the dancers moving behind the giant pane glass windows. He hopes they're happy.

"Yo, Jongin."

His head snaps towards the boy with the baritone voice. Chanyeol's jogging over, his lanky legs not taking him very long, as he waves a CD in his hand. "Hey, here. I thought you might want this," he says, handing the CD over to the other boy.

Jongin frowns, his brow dipping. "What's this?"

Chanyeol runs a bashful hand through his hair. "Ah, well. You . . . it was left it in the camera. I didn't mean to watch it at first but," Chanyeol shrugs, his gaze leveling Jongin. "I put it on a CD. Just, watch it."

Jongin takes the case in his hands, trying to figure out what could possibly be on the CD. He figured it was footage from his workshop performance. Certainly not something he wanted relive, but he took it anyway, putting it in the outside pocket of his gym bag. And with a wistful smile on his face he looks up at the man he thought he wanted to be. The principal dancer for the Korean Ballet Company, ah how things have changed. "Thanks." Jongin says though, and he means it, really. With a wistful smile, he leaves the Performing Arts School behind.

Check one.

The days are growing colder and the Holidays have just passed. Jongin's birthday is coming up soon and he thinks of maybe taking a trip somewhere. Somewhere warm. Somewhere without the smell of roasted coffee beans and sugary baked goods. You would think he'd be immune to the smell, but no matter how many times he comes