Chapter 1
I'm Not Moving
The fans had started to clamor.
Key thought it was about time, too, because how many more public appearances could they have made like this? He wiped his forehead in stress and the co-ordi noona immediately ran to his side, tools ready to repair the damaged make-up. He let her make him immaculate, make him clean and spotless, because he didn’t want anyone to see how irreparable he’d become.
“Alright boys, you look great, as usual,” manager hyung lied to them. “Now, I want you to go out there and do your best. Keep your answers short, but witty, alright?” he handed out his usual instructions to four worn-out idols, all standing slumped against each other backstage. Even when their condition was far from usual, far from normal.
“Avoid personal questions. Be strong, alright?” he added. The management was trying to sweep the issue under the rug, but the gash only festered further at times like this.
“How can we be strong when our strength is gone?” Minho mumbled and Key fought the urge to glare at the tall boy.
Manager hyung acted like he didn't hear, obviously, and walked off a distance to speak with some crew members. "Go on, then," he pushed them off towards the set one-by-one and they went pliantly.
The announcer informed them there were two minutes left to prepare before the cameras started rolling. “Don’t you dare say that again,” the diva growled lowly to the rapper, walking right behind him.
But quickly getting over his momentary zeal, he swallowed thickly, not wanting to be in front of all those cameras and microphones again. Running out to the bright lights and loud speakers with all the fake cheer he could muster, the fans shocked his feet to a sudden halt when they came into view. Their long white banners glowered over him with one name printed in the same stark black ink— the name that wasn’t here to see this, to react to it. The name whose chair had been left empty, the name whose mic had been left unconnected to the sound system. All the hoards of fan-mail piling up at their door-step, all the calls being made and attended all through the day; this is how it all blew up in his face. He closed his eyes to rid himself of the sight and bit his tongue in trying to divert his mind. It enraged him, the display of selfishness from all these dumb fans. Why couldn’t they just back off? Surrepetitiously rubbing at his temples as the PD's voice asked them to take their positions, Key yearned for some peace and quiet.
Even so, back at the dorm, he found himself deliberately making matters worse. Checking out Onew’s Twitter page— a habit he’d picked up ever since he’d acquired Jonghyun’s password, a habit he should honestly break— he scrolled through a list of tweets directed at the leader and his sudden disappearance.
It was a natural reaction, and he couldn’t contest that. But it felt like the whole world was wondering the same thing: “Where is Lee Jinki?” while only a handful of people knew the truth, and he was one of them.
He wished he wasn’t, though.
“May I take your order, gents?” the waiter asked.
It had been a beautiful evening, so far. The plan had been to sit down in peace and discuss their new schedule. But for some reason, manager-nim had been in a very good mood, and they’d ended up just joking their time away... Key felt his cheeks fill with color, that’s simply how happy he was. If this had been somewhere on the outskirts of Seoul, the stars would be out tonight. They were drinking, and their eyes glittered with that special mirth brought on by intoxication. Even so, Key sighed thankfully, they weren’t buzzed enough to subject the rest of the place (and themselves) to anything embarrassing.
… Not yet, at least.
“Hehe… gents,” Jonghyun giggled like a child. “He called us gents, yeobo,” he breathed at Key, pointing a finger at the poor restaurant employee. The younger covered his face with a hand, as if in embarrassment, but he was secretly smiling. Taking a quick glance at the lead singer’s glass he determined that Jonghyun had gotten inebriated on exactly half a mug of beer. Typical.
“Ah… Indian food…” Minho started his practiced rant, for the fifth time today. “Hyung, you know it troubles my stomach, right?” he inquired of their manager. The tall boy was usually the epitome of gluttony, but his diet had no tolerance for spicy food.
“Then don’t eat, fatto,” Taemin responded. “It’ll do you a lot of good, to be honest,” they all chuckled good-naturedly and Minho faked a few boxing moves at the maknae, sound effects and all, in added humor.
Key looked at the waiter, and saw him adjusting his collar. He sensed impatience in the way the man looked at them. “Arasseo, arasseo… Let’s order, please,” he said.
“Ooh, let’s order that thing that Kibum was talking about last week,” Onew bubbled in excitement, clapping his hands loudly. “The Sheikh Nawab!!” he declared loudly.
Key let out an obnoxious snort. “What are you talking about?!”
“I think he means the Chic Scarab,” Minho corrected, stuffing his mouth with the raw onions and jackfruit pickle on the table. “Oof!!” he blew out suddenly. “Everything here is hot!!” he waved a hand in front of his mouth and stuck his tongue out in a move to cool it.
“Haaaah?? Ugh, you guys know nothing!! It’s the Sneak-and-Rob,” Taemin slurred, exuding strangely large amounts of confidence and slapping the table to prove his point.
“It’s the Sheikh Nawab, I tell you!!” Onew insisted. “Quick! Bring use the Sheikh Nawab, my man!!” he ordered in his booming voice.
“S-sheekh Kebab, p-puh- please!!” Kibum choked at the waiter, almost falling off his chair.
“What am I supposed to do with you boys…” manager-nim wondered out loud, rubbing his forehead but chuckling just the same.
SHINee were lucky Indians didn’t listen to K-POP.
They took turns on visits.
It was an unspoken rule: they wouldn’t go together. Ever. Key thought he understood the reason, too. Who’d want to be seen at their weakest? Who’d want to be seen while they were at their most vulnerable? Not him, at least. He’d never liked being considered feeble, especially not by any of the other members, and that wasn’t going to change now.
So when it was his turn the first time, he stepped into the room meekly, shivering despite the bearable temperature of air conditioning. When the door shut behind him, he felt like he wanted to run back outside. Because the air was too quiet, too austere to belong to some one like Onew. The machines around his bed beeped incessantly and his shoes scuffing along the linolium flooring made an obscene, disrespectful sound.
When he approached the bed, and his eyes fell to his leader's face, he didn't recognize the man. Unmoving, silent, and completely unnatural.
"Looking good there, sheikh," he tried to lighten the mood for himself, remembering happier times and happier memories he shared with the other. It didn't work, though. He couldn't help but stare at the motionless hand and the pale, expressionless face.
When manager hyung had informed him that the leader, even in his unconscious state, could hear them, Key had felt a little more confident, immediately setting about rehearsing his “meeting”. He'd gotten up early that day and grabbed a pen and paper off of Taemin’s desk, setting about planning his actions and words— writing each letter and gesture down with the hope that something… anything, really, would prove to be a motivation for Onew to just… just open his eyes.
He'd prided in the fact that he didn’t have to think too long over a conversation point.
The Onew he saw every day, at the dorm or at work, was always spouting information generally useless to them, and at the oddest of times. Right before they went onstage, he’d tell them why a person sweats, or explain the physics involved in a moving car when they were driving to far-away shooting locations. Key often wondered if the eldest wrote these things down so he’d remember them later. Maybe he had a giant box of general knowledge fixed in the centre of his head that would never fill up to the brim, never overflow, and always needed additions to it.
So Key, sallow-faced and saggy-eyed from lack of sleep, decided to do some homework. And in that unwelcome hospital room, it all began to come out of his mouth in a strange narration.
“There’s this snake, right? It’s called the Yamakagashi. It’s… it’s pretty scary,” he said, starting off nervously, all his earlier confidence evaporated. It was the room— it’s aura of sickness and the oddly strong need to be careful that it projected was slightly intimidating. The temperature control of the air con seemed to be working fine, but even under his thick sweatshirt, Key sat on the beige chair, lightly shivering and bouncing his foot, impatient to get out and get warm.
“W-what it does is…” he went on, the edge of his phone cover. It was starting to wear off from his habit, the rubber stretching and wilting off the edge of the phone’s metal sides— and he really should’ve stopped, like Onew always reminded him to when he caught him doing it, but he just…
… he just looked at the other’s blank face, sunken into the softness of the pillow. Why wasn’t he correcting Key now? Why did he look so peaceful? The younger boy gritted his teeth and tried to overlook that fact. Tried to close his eyes to how Onew seemed like he was just sleeping there, breathing calmly and not moving at all. So uncharacteristically still, so abnormally silent.
He looked down to his own lap, avoided the elder’s unresponsiveness and spoke on.
“What it does is,” a gulp to keep his voice clear. “It gives off poison from its skin, too, you see? A-and… and when it gets caught by the farmer— cause, you know, it’s found in paddy fields— it can easily kill without using it’s fangs,” Key rattled on, pretending he was being paid heed to, taking no notice of that there was no returned neh, majayos in the background to pepper his own banter.
“I really don’t like this snake,” was all he could manage till all those tubes sticking out of the leader, his leader, got too much to handle. Roughly sliding his chair back and walking to the door, he muttered a half-hearted “... next time” and simply walked back to the waiting car.
When left the room, and left the building, he wanted to leave this world altogether so he could be in the world Onew was in. So he could see his band-mate and friend laughing and clowning around again like that night they’d been to the Indian restaurant. He wanted those crazy shenanigans and terribly worded jokes to come back and trouble him again. They were far better than the silence.
It was a particularly quiet night. The moon was hiding somewhere, cars were suddenly off the roads, no alarms were ringing and all the infants had fallen asleep. Maybe because they were all tired after the big concert and another one was coming up tomorrow, the rest of his band-mates were snoring in their rooms. Maybe it was the joy of being back home after so long, and the hearty welcome they received for it, it didn’t let Key sleep and he went out to the balcony like always, a packet of cigarettes in hand.
“That’s a filthy habit,” Onew said in a soft voice, creeping up behind him.
“That’s a cliché statement,” Key responded without a pause.
The leader chuckled, walking up to the other and leaning next to him on the metal railing. Holding a hand out and being rewarded with a smoke for himself, he lit it, and puffed out the first lungful before repeating his words. “This is a filthy, filthy habit.”
“So stop, why don’t you?” Key groused, a little annoyed that Onew was ruining the moment.
“Because then I’d have to give this up,” the elder answered, waving a hand between them. “We hardly get time alone like this, don’t we, Kibum ah?”
“When you say it so creepily, I start to wonder why.”
Onew laughed lightly. “Ah,” he patted Key’s shoulder and looked out across the street at all the buildings with their dark windows. “Talk more with me, Kibum ah. I like your voice,” he complimented in a sincere-sounding way.
“Oh, Hades... Have you been reading Jonghyun’s Flirting 101 guides by any chance?” Key inquired, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.
The elder man blinked, clueless. “Such books exist?”
Key slapped his forehead but laughed anyway. Because the night was still quiet. And sleep was still far away.
Jonghyun went on Wednesdays, lugging his guitar on his back. As a result, every Tuesday night Key caught him sitting deep into the late hours, under the weak light of his night lamp; scribbling what he guessed were new lyrics that he only shared with Onew and otherwise hid in a wooden box that sat locked at all times. It was heartwarming to see the generally lazy lead singer put so much effort into something. So Key did his best to encourage his hyung, too. Even if it was from a distance.
He’d wake up extra early to make Jonghyun breakfast before he went off on his long visits. Sometimes, he’d go to the extent of ironing a nice outfit for the elder to wear to the hospital— maybe even polish his shoes for him. He understood that Onew wouldn’t be able to see any of it, that everything was futile, but it gave him purpose. It gave his thoughts a break. It was something to do.
Jonghyun would be grateful for this, true. But when he returned to the dorm he’d simply head for his room, and lock himself up till their next schedule. When Key got him to talk once, though, he saw the tears hanging at the edge of Jonghyun’s eyes, the faked smile playing on his lips to fool the rest of the dorm. “You know, he’s gotten kind of rude,” the elder said in a low voice. “He doesn’t thank me for singing to him anymore. Do you think it’s me?” Jonghyun joked, when his head was ready to quake with the pressure of restrained tears.
For the times Jonghyun had cried before— times when they won big awards, when he missed his family or felt moved by fans’ gestures— the band would readily comfort him. They’d try to cheer him up with lame jokes they’d heard somewhere or just leave him be till he calmed down.
After those hospital visits, though, Key could do nothing but cry with him.
The diva’s mind chastised him. He felt like he’d given Jonghyun some hope in those clean clothes, only to have it taken away when he went to see Onew, unresponsiveness seeming uncaring. It was hard for him to swallow the fact that he was powerless aganist the man's condition, that he was rendered incapable of fighting his circumstances, incapable of protecting the ones around him just as badly disaster-hit.
Because what was Key doing but trying to distract himself and everyone else around him?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here it is, chapter one.
I'm not quite sure, yet, how long this fic will be. But you can be sure it won't be too long. I hate chaptered fics with a passion. I do.
Hope this thing is at least in the same league as the feet of the other fics in the competition. (it's terribly doubtful, though... -___-;;)
Enjoy and leave comments <3
~IQ
Comments