soda cans as champagne bottles.
take me to paradise | a kaistal collection
maybe she's unbreakable but he's sure as heck that she broke his heart.
soda cans as champagne bottles;
oneshot | angst, romance | pg | 4128 words
She's unbreakable.
She is Krystal, a name that rolls off his tongue - sweet, bitter - Krystal. Her smoky gaze, shadowed with heavy mascara, is enough to make him wonder - she is an enigma, waiting to be solved.
He loves her.
(He doesn't think that will ever change.)
She wasn't always like this. She used to be Soojung, an innocent girl, someone who was always surprised when boys took interest in her (in his opinion, she shouldn't have been). He had admired her from afar, smiled whenever she laughed, held the door open for her when her hands were full - or even when they weren't. He had liked her, dreaming of nothing but the day that she'll smile at him, and for him only. Just a little twinge in his heart, just a thought, just a peek, and he thought he could not take it anymore. (But he held on, he held on for her, he held on.)
"Dude, can you be any more obvious?" Sehun nudged him lightly one day.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Whatever," the younger boy rolled his eyes. "You're pathetic."
(He made a note to himself not to be as obvious - emotions are dangerous, he soon realized.)
If his life was a book, this would be the foreword, the prologue, the part before the story even started. Looking back, he thinks that there should have been a warning printed in bold letters up front - maybe life would have been better.
(But then he thinks he would have had it no other way.)
Somehow, somewhere, sometime, they became closer. He doesn't remember when or under what circumstances. Perhaps it was when their lockers ended up next to each other, or perhaps it was when they both signed up for dance classes at the same studio. Perhaps it was when she asked him for help on homework (this is the part where he thanked God for giving him a talent for calculus).
(It started out innocently enough.)
Her laugh was contagious.
She could light up a whole room with that smile of hers.
(But at home, she cried. At home, she was broken, plugging her ears from the screams in downstairs, making lunch for her little brother, only to find an empty refrigerator, with nothing but spoiled milk.)
("Hey, Soojung, what's the homework?"
He heard sobbing through the phone. The shouting in the background got louder.
"Soojung-ah, are you okay?")
(The day he found out the real story behind that facade of hers - behind all the laughter, the nonchalance, the perfection - he fell more in love.)
"So what's up?" he asked, once again, always, everyday.
"Why do you always ask me that, Jongin-ah?" she chuckled.
His heart constricted for a split second. "I'm just wondering, that's all."
He shrugged.
They walked in silence, in complete comfortable silence.
(Side by side, together.)
"Thanks for keeping me sane," she said one afternoon. "If it weren't for you being around, I would probably be in a perpetual mental breakdown."
He patted her on the shoulder. "Anything for you."
(He wanted to protect her from the world. He wanted to make things better for her, he wanted her to smile genuinely, he wanted her.
So badly.)
The first ten pages, taken up by casual walks in the park, late-night text wars, exchanged smiles, and shared secrets. Each page, more breathtaking than the former, there is something, he thought joyfully, maybe there is hope for us.
(Maybe she likes me too.)
The next ten pages, and he knew he had fallen too far.
("Soojung, I -"
"Shh, I know."
They left it at that.)
It took all his courage, all his strength. He had to close his eyes, block out the voices telling him, no, this won't work, don't even try.
(He tried.
"...Thanks for telling me, I suppose," her eyes fluttered up to his face.
He didn't know how to respond, so he didn't. She smiled at the ground, sneakers kicking the gravel beneath her. Her shoelace was untied. Wordlessly, he bent down to tie it for her. The giggles in his ear, the redness in his face, the light blush in her cheeks - he didn't forget it.)
The rising action, the part where it got exciting, when they actually knew, and perhaps there was a chance that it would happen.
They were teenagers, lost, clueless, running on emotion and nothing else.
(It's dangerous - running solely on emotion.)
(But it was good - so, so good.)
"How exactly does one go on a date?"
"You don't; you go with another person, duh," Soojung rolled her eyes.
"Then will you go with me?" his eyebrows arched up in the most hilarious way and Soojung wanted to barf.
(She said yes, so they headed off to a medium-priced restaurant, shelling out their piggy-bank money - we'll both pay, Soojung insisted stubbornly - Soojung in a simple red dress and Jongin wearing a suit and tie, with soda cans as champagne bottles and the public bus as their private chauffer.)
"Happy one-month anniversary," he said, lightly placing a flower wreath around her head.
She giggled, snatching up a small daisy from the garden and sticking it carefully behind his ear. "Thank you, Jongin-ah. Happy one-month to you, too! You look so sophisticated."
"Why yes, I am."
(The bees buzzed and hummed incessantly, the smell of flowers hanging in the sun-drenched air.)
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you, Soojung."
"I - well, I like dancing, I guess."
"That makes two of us."
And they sprawled out on the hard floor, laying side by side with sweat pouring down their temples, feeling the pulsating beat of the music beneath them.
(He often dreamed of their future together, and he imagined that it would be like this - but even better - everyday. The prospect was exciting. Everything was exciting with Soojung.)
She was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, her hair tangled in a simple braid and she still looked beautiful as ever.
(He kissed her in the rain and all was right in the world.)
The reverie was broken all too soon.
There was seemingly no reason for it. They both felt it slipping out of their fingers, and no matter how hard they tried to save themselves, it was like trying to stop the sun from setting every evening - impossible.
(Their hands tangled together, sweaty, unsure, unnatural. He offered her his jacket, and she complied but even that could not warm up the sullen atmosphere. He whispered sweet-nothings in her ear and they only made her shiver all the more. It was cold, and Soojung and frostbite became almost synonymous and he wished it wasn't so.)
They used to go to the dance studio together and would wait for each other's classes to end.
One day, school obligations called and he forgot to wait.
So she forgot to care.
(And it happened over and over again, in different situations. Accidents, he claimed. I didn't mean to - of course you didn't, but I just want you to come - and he regretted and regretted but that never helped.)
(He ran out of the room; he could taste the bitter tone in her voice. He cried for the first time in ages.
"It's not a big deal," Sehun yelled in his ear when Jongin fell asleep in class - again.
"You have no idea, Sehun, cut it," Jongin spat.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Soojung hurry away - to the library, he supposed.
I'm sorry, Soojung. Things will get better. - At least he hoped so.
He didn't know how to face her anymore. Bloodshot eyes, disheveled hair, mismatched clothes - no, he couldn't.)
It felt like running in circles.
Jongin had never been good at explaining his feelings. Soojung was a little better, but not by much.
("I don't know, Jongin-ah, this is making me tired," she said one night, whispering into the phone.
"Trust me, we can make it through, okay?" his voice was pleading.
"We were so good."
"We can still be good."
"I love you, Jongin, but I don't know if -"
"I love you, too."
He hung up quickly when he heard footsteps in the hallway. He threw the covers on himself and silently cried.)
(It became a routine, an exhausting one.
He noticed that her smiles were more forced. They still lit up his sky, but the stars were fading.)
The , the turning point of the story. It had happened all too quickly, like a dream. (It probably was.)
"We need to stop playing this game and make a concrete choice, Jongin, or I'm gonna explode," Soojung confronted him one day, her eyes fiery and her breathing harsh.
"Soojung-ah, I know that it's hard, but please bear with me. School has -"
"This has nothing to do with school or dance or family or any of that crap," she burst out, on the verge of tears. "I said I would give you a chance, and I did, but then it fell apart. Tell me, should I hold on? Am I being too selfish here?"
He wore a pained look on his face. "I..."
"Meet me tonight at 8pm outside my house. Give me a real answer, Jongin. I'm not taking any of this wishy-washy stuff."
(He had come thirty minutes late. He swore when he realized that his after school nap had gone way over, even with the five alarms that he set. He was never late for things - never.
He came running to her house - wheezing, coughing, heart beating like crazy.
He left her house - wheezing, coughing, heart beating like crazy.
Tears streamed down his face, shock written all over features, a cold hard slap to his cheek.)
They call the part after this - the falling action.
It was true; he was falling. (In love, in hopes and dreams, in pride.)
"Soojung, I miss you. I miss you so much," he left yet another message in her voice mail.
Day after day, night after night. He began to think that he was delirious. (Maybe he was.)
Remember? he told himself. Emotions are dangerous. Why weren't you more careful?
Beep. "Soojung, you stole my heart and never gave it back."
Beep. "Soojung, I don't think I can ever stop loving you."
Beep. "Soojung, how come you switched schools? I never see you anymore."
(A month later, he received a handwritten note, taped to his front door.
Please just stop.
- Soojung
That day, he forced himself to delete her phone number, his fingers trembling and unsure.)
He wondered how it all happened. She was always the stronger one out of the two. She may be unbreakable, but he's sure as heck that she broke his heart.
Yet he couldn't hate her - he could never. But the incessant thoughts - why? how? - overtook his mind, keeping him hostage in their grip.
Do you remember the days when all was right? When you two held hands and hugged and walked around commenting on the everyday scenes that you saw on the streets? When she smiled for you and laughed with you and was just with you? Do you remember?
Yes!, his brain would scream.
Then how did it come apart? Did she love you? Didn't she just throw you away like you were some old rag?
Shouldn't you hate her?
Yes!, his brain would scream.
(But his heart screamed no - dangerous, dangerous emotions, indeed.)
(It hurt him. Nightmares with knives and blood. His first alcohol binge. Sehun handed him a cigarette.)
The denouement. The ending, the resolution.
There is none.
(He had ripped the last page out - I don't want it to end, his heart contorted, almost reveling in the pain, in all the what-ifs and regrets and self-pity.)
Five years later, Jongin, unshaven for the whole month and with beer in his breath, stumbles into a free concert. Some rock show, whatever.
The lights are almost blinding.
And then he sees her - Soojung, adorned in fake blue fur, rings on every finger, hair curled and wispy.
His blurry eyes can barely make out the flashing sign on the side:
Krystal Jung, lead singer.
He squints in disbelief. Isn't she supposed to be a dancer? he thinks bitterly.
The song starts, the first beat, the beginning riff, and he hears a voice, loud and clear.
His vision shifts to her again; his breath gets caught in his throat.
She's unbreakable.
She is Krystal, a name that rolls off his tongue - sweet, bitter - Krystal. Her smoky gaze, shadowed with heavy mascara, is enough to make him wonder - she is an enigma, waiting to be solved.
He loves her.
(He doesn't think that will ever change.)
She is Krystal, a name that rolls off his tongue - sweet, bitter - Krystal. Her smoky gaze, shadowed with heavy mascara, is enough to make him wonder - she is an enigma, waiting to be solved.
He loves her.
(He doesn't think that will ever change.)
She wasn't always like this. She used to be Soojung, an innocent girl, someone who was always surprised when boys took interest in her (in his opinion, she shouldn't have been). He had admired her from afar, smiled whenever she laughed, held the door open for her when her hands were full - or even when they weren't. He had liked her, dreaming of nothing but the day that she'll smile at him, and for him only. Just a little twinge in his heart, just a thought, just a peek, and he thought he could not take it anymore. (But he held on, he held on for her, he held on.)
"Dude, can you be any more obvious?" Sehun nudged him lightly one day.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Whatever," the younger boy rolled his eyes. "You're pathetic."
(He made a note to himself not to be as obvious - emotions are dangerous, he soon realized.)
If his life was a book, this would be the foreword, the prologue, the part before the story even started. Looking back, he thinks that there should have been a warning printed in bold letters up front - maybe life would have been better.
(But then he thinks he would have had it no other way.)
Somehow, somewhere, sometime, they became closer. He doesn't remember when or under what circumstances. Perhaps it was when their lockers ended up next to each other, or perhaps it was when they both signed up for dance classes at the same studio. Perhaps it was when she asked him for help on homework (this is the part where he thanked God for giving him a talent for calculus).
(It started out innocently enough.)
Her laugh was contagious.
She could light up a whole room with that smile of hers.
(But at home, she cried. At home, she was broken, plugging her ears from the screams in downstairs, making lunch for her little brother, only to find an empty refrigerator, with nothing but spoiled milk.)
("Hey, Soojung, what's the homework?"
He heard sobbing through the phone. The shouting in the background got louder.
"Soojung-ah, are you okay?")
(The day he found out the real story behind that facade of hers - behind all the laughter, the nonchalance, the perfection - he fell more in love.)
"So what's up?" he asked, once again, always, everyday.
"Why do you always ask me that, Jongin-ah?" she chuckled.
His heart constricted for a split second. "I'm just wondering, that's all."
He shrugged.
They walked in silence, in complete comfortable silence.
(Side by side, together.)
"Thanks for keeping me sane," she said one afternoon. "If it weren't for you being around, I would probably be in a perpetual mental breakdown."
He patted her on the shoulder. "Anything for you."
(He wanted to protect her from the world. He wanted to make things better for her, he wanted her to smile genuinely, he wanted her.
So badly.)
The first ten pages, taken up by casual walks in the park, late-night text wars, exchanged smiles, and shared secrets. Each page, more breathtaking than the former, there is something, he thought joyfully, maybe there is hope for us.
(Maybe she likes me too.)
The next ten pages, and he knew he had fallen too far.
("Soojung, I -"
"Shh, I know."
They left it at that.)
It took all his courage, all his strength. He had to close his eyes, block out the voices telling him, no, this won't work, don't even try.
(He tried.
"...Thanks for telling me, I suppose," her eyes fluttered up to his face.
He didn't know how to respond, so he didn't. She smiled at the ground, sneakers kicking the gravel beneath her. Her shoelace was untied. Wordlessly, he bent down to tie it for her. The giggles in his ear, the redness in his face, the light blush in her cheeks - he didn't forget it.)
The rising action, the part where it got exciting, when they actually knew, and perhaps there was a chance that it would happen.
They were teenagers, lost, clueless, running on emotion and nothing else.
(It's dangerous - running solely on emotion.)
(But it was good - so, so good.)
"How exactly does one go on a date?"
"You don't; you go with another person, duh," Soojung rolled her eyes.
"Then will you go with me?" his eyebrows arched up in the most hilarious way and Soojung wanted to barf.
(She said yes, so they headed off to a medium-priced restaurant, shelling out their piggy-bank money - we'll both pay, Soojung insisted stubbornly - Soojung in a simple red dress and Jongin wearing a suit and tie, with soda cans as champagne bottles and the public bus as their private chauffer.)
"Happy one-month anniversary," he said, lightly placing a flower wreath around her head.
She giggled, snatching up a small daisy from the garden and sticking it carefully behind his ear. "Thank you, Jongin-ah. Happy one-month to you, too! You look so sophisticated."
"Why yes, I am."
(The bees buzzed and hummed incessantly, the smell of flowers hanging in the sun-drenched air.)
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you, Soojung."
"I - well, I like dancing, I guess."
"That makes two of us."
And they sprawled out on the hard floor, laying side by side with sweat pouring down their temples, feeling the pulsating beat of the music beneath them.
(He often dreamed of their future together, and he imagined that it would be like this - but even better - everyday. The prospect was exciting. Everything was exciting with Soojung.)
She was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, her hair tangled in a simple braid and she still looked beautiful as ever.
(He kissed her in the rain and all was right in the world.)
The reverie was broken all too soon.
There was seemingly no reason for it. They both felt it slipping out of their fingers, and no matter how hard they tried to save themselves, it was like trying to stop the sun from setting every evening - impossible.
(Their hands tangled together, sweaty, unsure, unnatural. He offered her his jacket, and she complied but even that could not warm up the sullen atmosphere. He whispered sweet-nothings in her ear and they only made her shiver all the more. It was cold, and Soojung and frostbite became almost synonymous and he wished it wasn't so.)
They used to go to the dance studio together and would wait for each other's classes to end.
One day, school obligations called and he forgot to wait.
So she forgot to care.
(And it happened over and over again, in different situations. Accidents, he claimed. I didn't mean to - of course you didn't, but I just want you to come - and he regretted and regretted but that never helped.)
(He ran out of the room; he could taste the bitter tone in her voice. He cried for the first time in ages.
"It's not a big deal," Sehun yelled in his ear when Jongin fell asleep in class - again.
"You have no idea, Sehun, cut it," Jongin spat.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Soojung hurry away - to the library, he supposed.
I'm sorry, Soojung. Things will get better. - At least he hoped so.
He didn't know how to face her anymore. Bloodshot eyes, disheveled hair, mismatched clothes - no, he couldn't.)
It felt like running in circles.
Jongin had never been good at explaining his feelings. Soojung was a little better, but not by much.
("I don't know, Jongin-ah, this is making me tired," she said one night, whispering into the phone.
"Trust me, we can make it through, okay?" his voice was pleading.
"We were so good."
"We can still be good."
"I love you, Jongin, but I don't know if -"
"I love you, too."
He hung up quickly when he heard footsteps in the hallway. He threw the covers on himself and silently cried.)
(It became a routine, an exhausting one.
He noticed that her smiles were more forced. They still lit up his sky, but the stars were fading.)
The , the turning point of the story. It had happened all too quickly, like a dream. (It probably was.)
"We need to stop playing this game and make a concrete choice, Jongin, or I'm gonna explode," Soojung confronted him one day, her eyes fiery and her breathing harsh.
"Soojung-ah, I know that it's hard, but please bear with me. School has -"
"This has nothing to do with school or dance or family or any of that crap," she burst out, on the verge of tears. "I said I would give you a chance, and I did, but then it fell apart. Tell me, should I hold on? Am I being too selfish here?"
He wore a pained look on his face. "I..."
"Meet me tonight at 8pm outside my house. Give me a real answer, Jongin. I'm not taking any of this wishy-washy stuff."
(He had come thirty minutes late. He swore when he realized that his after school nap had gone way over, even with the five alarms that he set. He was never late for things - never.
He came running to her house - wheezing, coughing, heart beating like crazy.
He left her house - wheezing, coughing, heart beating like crazy.
Tears streamed down his face, shock written all over features, a cold hard slap to his cheek.)
They call the part after this - the falling action.
It was true; he was falling. (In love, in hopes and dreams, in pride.)
"Soojung, I miss you. I miss you so much," he left yet another message in her voice mail.
Day after day, night after night. He began to think that he was delirious. (Maybe he was.)
Remember? he told himself. Emotions are dangerous. Why weren't you more careful?
Beep. "Soojung, you stole my heart and never gave it back."
Beep. "Soojung, I don't think I can ever stop loving you."
Beep. "Soojung, how come you switched schools? I never see you anymore."
(A month later, he received a handwritten note, taped to his front door.
Please just stop.
- Soojung
That day, he forced himself to delete her phone number, his fingers trembling and unsure.)
He wondered how it all happened. She was always the stronger one out of the two. She may be unbreakable, but he's sure as heck that she broke his heart.
Yet he couldn't hate her - he could never. But the incessant thoughts - why? how? - overtook his mind, keeping him hostage in their grip.
Do you remember the days when all was right? When you two held hands and hugged and walked around commenting on the everyday scenes that you saw on the streets? When she smiled for you and laughed with you and was just with you? Do you remember?
Yes!, his brain would scream.
Then how did it come apart? Did she love you? Didn't she just throw you away like you were some old rag?
Shouldn't you hate her?
Yes!, his brain would scream.
(But his heart screamed no - dangerous, dangerous emotions, indeed.)
(It hurt him. Nightmares with knives and blood. His first alcohol binge. Sehun handed him a cigarette.)
The denouement. The ending, the resolution.
There is none.
(He had ripped the last page out - I don't want it to end, his heart contorted, almost reveling in the pain, in all the what-ifs and regrets and self-pity.)
Five years later, Jongin, unshaven for the whole month and with beer in his breath, stumbles into a free concert. Some rock show, whatever.
The lights are almost blinding.
And then he sees her - Soojung, adorned in fake blue fur, rings on every finger, hair curled and wispy.
His blurry eyes can barely make out the flashing sign on the side:
Krystal Jung, lead singer.
He squints in disbelief. Isn't she supposed to be a dancer? he thinks bitterly.
The song starts, the first beat, the beginning riff, and he hears a voice, loud and clear.
His vision shifts to her again; his breath gets caught in his throat.
She's unbreakable.
She is Krystal, a name that rolls off his tongue - sweet, bitter - Krystal. Her smoky gaze, shadowed with heavy mascara, is enough to make him wonder - she is an enigma, waiting to be solved.
He loves her.
(He doesn't think that will ever change.)
`author's note: woohoo! this was laying around ever since the end of february so i decided to edit it and finally post it today, haha. i hope you enjoyed it!
Comments