[CONTENTID2]Indian Blue[/CONTENTID2]

[CONTENTID1]

Author's Note: I suggest playing the song, it fits the mood...well you don't have to but still...

“Kim Jaejoong?”

“Jung Yunho?” he asked.

“How do you know where I live?” I asked, arching a brow. “I didn’t even text you the address.”

“I have my ways,” he says.

Aish. This boy sure had a lot of surprises for me.

Due to my chaotic life, I haven’t met or obtained contact with this Kim Jaejoong for a duration of two weeks, leading me to forget his existence and my wrongdoings towards him.

“How?” I asked.

“Why do you keep asking me questions? Shouldn’t you be opening the door? My leg is killing me and I’ve been sitting in this porch for an hour.”

He angled his head, lifting his arm to block the sunlight beaming upon him.

“You know how much I hate the…I mean you should’ve been here earlier!”

“Why didn’t you call me then? You should’ve let me known in advance that you were coming here.”

“Oops! Seems that I forgot!” he exclaimed. From the tone of his voice, I sensed a hint of sarcasm in his words.

That rascal. How dare he talk to me like that?

“Hey, what date were you born? Why are you speaking to me informally?” I asked.

T/N: Korean language can change depending on the person you’re talking to or the formality of the situation. If the person is older than you, or at a higher position, (such as school, work) you are expected to speak to them formally. Or if you’re not that close with them. In this case, Yunho believes that his relationship with Jaejoong is not developed enough to drop honorifics/formal speech.

“January 26,” Jaejoong replied, returning his arm to his side. He repositioned his stance, shifting his crouches.

“What year?” I asked.

“1986.”

“We’re born the same year. What date were you born?”

“February 6,” I replied. I’m surprised I still remember my birthday. But it wasn’t questionable, due to the fact that I had five years’ worth of memories that consisted of my sad, solitary birthdays which involved ice cream and classical music.

“Now can I speak to you informally?” he cocked his head, raising a brow.

“No! I don’t care if your older than me. We’re not even close enough to speak informally!” I protested.

“That’s what you think,” he insisted.

Every word coming out of this Jaejoong’s mouth sounded like the slithering of snakes, peeving me to no end. Does he take me for a fool or something?

 “How long are you going to be staying here?” I asked.

“Five months. Here’s the rent. I have enough to last for my whole stay,” he said, handing an envelope to me.

I took the envelope within my grasp, immediately tearing it open.

To my surprise, 10 million won was inside. 

“Why are you paying me? I’m the one who’s indebted to you.”

“I’ll pay for the trouble I’ll be making.”

“What kind of trouble?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” he smirked. It was that same smirk he gave me at the courtyard two weeks ago.

“…”

“Can’t you open the door already? I’ve been standing on one leg for too long! My leg is still broken you know?”

“Oh, right!” I said, blinking rapidly as I snapped back to my senses. I shoved the envelope into my pockets, planning to return it to Jaejoong later on.

I couldn’t accept his money. Even if this guy was a bit psychotic and a little sly, I still had a conscience.

“What did you buy?” Jaejoong asked as I bent over to pick up the bags that collapsed prior to our confrontation.

“Just art supplies,” I replied, escalating up the steps.

“Are you an artist?”

“Yeah,” I replied. Heat swarmed up my cheeks from the shame of saying so.

I jabbed the key within the lock, hearing a click as I twisted the metal object.

The peculiar scent of wood contacted my nose as I stepped into the comfort of my home.

“Wow Yunho-ah, your house is damn nice!”

“Yunho-ah?”

“Sorry, I meant Yunho-ssi.”

A deafening thud made contact with the ground, causing the floorboards to tremble. Turning around, a helpless looking Jaejoong was on the ground, along with his backpack and crutches,

“Kim Jaejoong!” I burst, dropping the plastic bag to the floor.

“Yunnie…I mean, Yunho-ssi…help me…” he whimpered. His eyebrows were scrunched in a tight, deep line. As he drowned the house with his desperate cries, his cherry tinted lips quivered, resembling the expression of a sad child.  Somehow, I couldn’t help but feel pity towards him.

“What did you just call me?” I asked, levelling myself to the ground.

“Nothing. Just help me,” he said.

I placed his limp, fragile arms around my neck, soon raising his body as I put my weight onto the ground.

“My crutches!” he cried.

“Don’t worry,” I said, leading him to the white leather couch. “Just sit here,” I said, settling him down on the cushion.

Pulling myself away from Jaejoong, a tight, firm force wrapped its way around my wrist, preventing me from moving further. Hoping not to fall, I balanced my knee on the cushion, using it as a substitute for my broken arm.

I overheard the rhythm of his soft, slow breaths, which hinted my violation of Jaejoong’s personal distance. But for some reason, he didn’t seem bothered by it as he kept his composure. 

“What the hell Jaejoong?!” I asked, eyeing his pale, veiny hands. He held my wrist tight as if his life depended on it. His grip tightened as he dug his nails into my flesh.

This guy looked like a puppy. Not just any puppy, but a sad, stray puppy that lived a hard, pitiful life.

“Thank you for letting me live with you.”

“Um…your welcome…”

Why is this guy thanking me? Shouldn’t he be hating me? The scar slightly hidden behind his choppy bangs caused my guilt to resurface.

Ugh. This Kim Jaejoong was like an unexplainable math question that was too complex to answer. Every word, every action he did left me bewildered.

“Can you…uh, let me go?” I asked. “Do you think we’re in a drama or something?”

His fingers unclasped around my wrist. I rose from the couch, distancing myself away from Jaejoong. If anyone walked in the room thirty seconds earlier, assumptions of me trying to Jaejoong would arise due to my position on the couch.

“Life is like a drama; don’t you know?” And in this drama, we’re the leads.”

“What kind of bull crap are you saying?” I asked, backing away from the couch.

“If anybody bothered to watch my drama,” he said, not answering my question. “I think people would cry.”

“…”

“Can I just say my life is makjang?”

T/N: Makjang is a term used for Korean dramas that uses extreme tropes to spice up stories such as , teen pregnancy, affairs…

“How so?”

“I got hit by a car, I’ve experienced many betrayals…aish, if I tell you it would take us the whole night. Anyways…it’s hot in here. Can you turn on the air conditioner?”

“Well…I don’t really use the air conditioner,” I said, scratching the back of my head.

“Why?”

“It costs too much money…”

“Too much money? Your fath-I mean…don’t you live a modernized life?”

“Just use the electric fan,” I said. A refreshing breeze circulated throughout the air, fighting off the heat as I switched the fan on.

“How frugal,” he said, crossing his arms.

“An artist like me needs to save money.”

“But your house, it doesn’t look like it belongs to a starving artist.”

“This house isn't actually mine...it belongs to my Hyung...he doesn't stay in it anymore since he has an officetel across from his job.”

“Really? He must be wealthy then if he owns multiple places... What’s his job?”

“Um…a lawyer,” I replied. This was getting too personal.