Update 3/4 for tonight.  This one is definitely not a drabble.  It’s almost 10 pages long in MS Word and I’m really proud of this one.  It’s one that I’ve had written for a long time and have kept going back and tweaking it.  When I first wrote it, it ended at 4 pages…now it has gained 6 more…and none of it was writing for the sake of writing, I really think that all of it helps the story along. 

Warning, though the title should give you a hint, this is not a cheery one-shot, it’s heavy on the angst. 

Enjoy!

#71 – Morgue

Taemin was glad that he had been the one to answer the phone and not Kibum. 

The police called their apartment asking for someone to identify a body that had been found beaten in what was apparently a hate crime. 

It wasn’t like they weren’t aware of the violence that could occur – Taemin knew more than most the fate that could befall you just for being gay– they were acutely aware.  And in the wake of public discussion on the topic of homouality the numbers of crimes against those who were gay, or were perceived as being gay, hadactually grown dramatically, even though public opinion on the issue was beginning to shift.  As the number of friends the men had in the gay community grew, so did the number of people they knew who had been adversely affected by homophobia.  Like Taemin, many of their friends were members of a club that no one asks admittance to: the victims of hate crimes.    

But that had been so long ago and the country’s attitude had changed so much, or it had seemed to Taemin at least, that he had thought that they were passed these days.  The days when gay-bashings were common… 

But he had headed off to the morgue anyway, not telling Kibum where he was going, and hoping that the body he was being asked to identify wasn’t their friend.  That he didn’t need to tell Kibum about another funeral.  Whether by violence or suicide, too many people they knew had found their lives brought to an end.  He’d seen too much death already because of so petty an issue, one nearly his own. 

As Taemin walked into the room he saw a white sheet covering a vaguely human form on a metal slab.  There was a chill in the air that had absolutely nothing to do with the low temperature of the room.  Taemin shivered, looking at the outline of a life that once was and he removed his hat despite the chill out of respect for the dead, all the while praying that there had been a mistake, that this wasn’t his friend.  How sick is that?  Actually wishing that someone else is dead, just so it won’t be someone that you know?  But he was only human, and he couldn’t stop the gut reaction from coming.  Still praying to whatever deity would listen, Taemin took one step forward.

A morgue attendant walked briskly into the room and ushered Taemin the rest of the way up to the slab, they pulled down the sheet and asked if the man lying there was Song Junghee. 

Taemin closed his eyes and nodded slowly, biting his lip to still his tears. 

He saw the bruises that littered the man’s face and body, and the words that had been gouged into his chest – a lingering reminder that he was differentand that that was why he had been killed. 

“Sir, I’m sorry, but we need a verbal acknowledgment.” A soft voice carried from the side of the room, where a young female attendant waited with a pen posed above the paper.

Taemin coughed to clear his throat.  “Yes, this man is Song Junghee.” 

The first attendant pulled the sheet back up and asked Taemin to step over to the woman; he had to sign his statement. 

The woman offered her condolences in a rote manner, clearly having done this before and having learned to not let the emotions of others affect her work. 

Taemin merely nodded and left the room.  He started to walk towards the front door and his memories of his friend played before his eyes.  The man’s laugh was sounding in his ears, a laugh that turned into a yell and a plea for mercy, a hoarse yelp and begging cries for them to just leave him alone.    

In his mind, Taemin heard his friend’s voice contort with terror.  And somehow the voice then morphed into his own.  He heard his own voice, in as much as he actually remembered it, from the day that he suffered his own attackall those years ago.  Once again he was a seventeen-year-old struggling against a man who was much bigger and stronger than himself.  Once again his voice called out for help, or gagged around a clenching hand.  Once again he was the victim struggling to break free.    

His body began to ache where he had been stuck on that dayall those years ago, as though he was merging with his seventeen year old self and taking it all on again and the blows were fresh.

Taemin was unknowingly running down the streets of Seoul now, racing from the morgue to his own home over a mile away, confusing passersby on the street as this well dressed man bolted down the sidewalk like the devil himself was at his heelsas the demons of his past reared up again.

He could feel the terror clawing at his heart once more.  His hands shook as they sought out the correct button on the elevatorwhich he jabbed a dozen times once finally located after steadying his one hand within the other.  He stumbled into the elevator, bracing himself in the corner, is eyes glued to the changing numbers and cursing the fact that their apartment was so high up in the building.  It felt like the walls were closing in on him and breathing became more labored and difficult.

When the elevator finally dinged and the doors opened, Taemin practically fell out of the enclosed space.  He fumbled his way down the hallway to his apartment door, but he couldn’tseem to calm his fingers enough to manage the code on the keypadnow.  The small rectangles mocked him as they glowed their cheery florescent green, as though they knew that he would not be able to use them.    

“Kibum!” He called and pounded on the door, his vision blurringat the edges and his knees growing weak.  “Kibum!  Kibum!” Screaming hysterically now, his hands slapped open palmed against the door in desperation.  “Kibum…please…” his voice was growing smaller as his throat seemed to be contracting in on itself, the sound struggling to force its way out as sheer terror won out over his last grasp of reason. 

He could feel his mind tipping.  That was the only way he could explain it.  It was like someone had picked up his brain and had tilted it on its side and was shaking it now to see what would fall out.

In a moment the door was wrenched open and there stood Kibum.  In some slightly baggy jeans with a blue sweater pulled over a white undershirt and a scared and concerned expression gracing his face– Kibum was utterly confused.  Without any words he engulfed the distraught man in his arms and pulled him into the apartment, closing the door behind him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he chanted, tightening his long arms around his lover, wondering what had set Taemin off, what had upset the usually even-keeled man so much to have him so beside himself now.  He carded his fingers through the younger man’s hair, a gesture that he knew that other man loved and could even have him falling asleep in minutes if they were in bed.  He had intended for it to help calm the former dancer down, but it didn’t appear to be working.

“No it’s not,” Taemin gasped, clutched even tighter at Kibum, trying desperately to ground himself back in some semblance of reality and all the while knowing that he was loosing that battle.  It was an odd feeling, Taemin thought idly as his mind seemed to detach from his body, to feel yourself loosing it.  To know that you were going to breakdown and also knowing, beyond any shred of doubt, that there was absolutely nothing that you could do about it.  It was like being tied to the train tracks and seeing that long light barreling forward in the distance.  There was nothing to do now but await the inevitable. 

“Tae-baby,” Kibum whispered, “Tae, what’s wrong?”  He petted the writer’s hair, trying to sooth the man and was genuinely bewildered.  What could have happened?

“I…I…” Taemin couldn’t catch his breath.  It seemed that no matter how much air came into his lungs, no matter how hard he tried, it just wasn’t connecting right with his body.  His head was spinningas the demons of his past circled around in his head, cackling with fiendish glee and jabbing at his mind with their pointed weapons.

He knew what was happening. 

He had seen therapists in the wake of the attack years ago (some of which tried to convince him that he wasn’t really gay – which was a whole other story).  He really wasn’t the type to go to a therapist, what could they possibly learn from you in a couple of hours a week that is going to help you or change your life?  He had Kibum for that.  The man knew him better than he even knew himself and would listen to anything that Taemin needed to get off of his chest.  But SM had ordered it; they had threatened to release him from his contract if he didn’t see someone to ‘make sure that you get everything straightened out.’  And Taemin didn’t want to leave SHINee behind. 

So Taemin had gone and sat on couches and talked about the event and his childhood and what he had for lunch or whatever other mindless question that the doc came up with.  And he had listened to them drone on and on, knowing all the while that Kibum was already doing a better job of helping him by simply being there and not letting Taemin get away with whining; supporting him when he needed the extra boost, or nagging him when he was too lazy or tired or disheartened to want to continue.  Kibum should get a degree in psychology; he had remembered thinking at the time.  But out of all the things that the therapists droned on about that he had sometimes listened to, Taemin did remember this.  They had warned of something like this happening, out-of-the-blue, as a result of a traumatic incident, something that reminded him of what had happened to him.    

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. PTSD.

He’d heard of it, they had warned him about it, but he had thought that he was fine, that he had been able to work through it.  With Kibum and his family and the rest of SHINee he had been able to come to terms with the fiends that haunted him as vestiges of the vicious attack on him by his former manager, he had been able to most past them and create this wonderful life that he had with Kibum.  It was his past, and it should stay there Dammit! 

But seeing his friend, beat up and lying there, blue and cold on a slab when he had been so vibrant and alive a few days ago, when he had been right here in this very apartmentjoking with them and joining Taemin in screaming at the TV screen at whatever sport they had been watching which he couldn’t remember now, it had triggered something within his mind and memory.  He very easily could have been just like that.  He so easily could have been killed by the deranged actions of his former manager, so easily could have been whipped from this world entirely, leaving his family and Kibum and his friends to mourn his passing, consoled only by the knowledge that he had indeed fought back against his attacker.  But he had been lucky and despite his stupidity in trying to hide what had been done, the foolishness of his sheer youth, the doctors had still managed to save his silly life. 

Junghee wasn’t so lucky.  He had died scared and in pain and probably alone and wondering why this had to happen to him.  He was probably holding out hope right up until the end for a miracle of mercy or for some good Samaritan to stumble down the alley where he had been found and get him some help.

What were his last thoughts?  Taemin wondered.  Did he think of his friends?  Of his family that had cast him aside?  Did he curse his assailants?  Did he have a moment of clarity?  Did he know that it was the end?  That he would never laugh or smile again?  That he would never cheer at another soccer game, never have that next chance at love?  That he wouldn’t be able to call back the cute man who had slipped him a phone number at a club the night before?

Was he in pain?  Or had the shock set in and taken it away?  Had he been granted release from his suffering before the end?  Or had he felt every broken bone and bruised muscle right up to his last breath?  Had it grown worse before the end, the pain building on itself, so that he was willing to die for it to just be over?

Had he called out for help?

Had anyone heard him?

Or was he utterly alone for his last few moments on this earth?

Suddenly the coat and scarf and gloves were constricting.  He pulled abruptly away from Kibum, actually pushing his lover away, and started to tear his clothing from his body.  Not stopping at his outerwear, he also stripped off the shirt that Kibum had picked out for him this morning and flung it at the floor.  His hands clenched into his white undershirt for a moment before he tugged them down as his muscles tensed beyond his ability to control them anymore.

He stood in their entryway, surrounded by his blue pea coat, hand-knitted red scarf and gloves (a gift from Kibum’s grandmother) and yellow dress shirt with its white buttons now scattered and thrown about, his eyes wild and hair askew from his mild rampage, chest heavingas he still struggled in vain to catch his breath.

If he had been a cartoon, there would have been little jagged lines surrounding his body, Taemin was trembling so much with fear and anger and emotional building up. 

And before him stood Kibum.

Kibum, whose eyes were trained on Taemin, and whose own hands shook at his side, chest clenching and knees feeling weak at the sight of his boyfriend of these many years.  The older man’s breath came in quick bursts and adrenaline coursed through his system, making him was to do something, just to make things better for Taemin.  He wanted to go out and hit someone or scream at something, just to show Taemin that he wasn’t being idle, that he wanted to help.

But he didn’t know what was wrong.  He didn’t know what had sent the writer into his tailspin in the first place.  How could he do anything to make it better if he didn’t know what he was trying to fix?  He didn’t know who to blame and so instead he stood there, watching, a little afraid both for and of Taemin as he watched the color drain completely from the other man’s face. 

“T-Taemin?” He whisperedwith the air of someone in a strict library, actually afraid of speaking any louder than that, in case he should spook the poor man who stood before him.  “What’s wrong baby?  You’re s-scaring me…”

But Taemin couldn’t really hear the man.  His blood pounded in his ears and it sounded like the drums of war, growing in speed and intensity announcing the approaching of the enemy troops.  He just wanted quiet!  He needed to think, he needed to calm down.  He clasped his hand over his ears and fell back against the wall behind him.  He slid down the wall, sitting on top of the scarf and fell completely into loud sobbing tears, crying as he truly hadn’t ever in his life, causing his chest to ache and his throat to burn as they tore their way out of his body.

Kibum was terrified.  He wanted to cry out himself out of frustration and pain and sympathy, but that wouldn’t do anyone any good.  Right now Taemin needed him, and he needed Kibum to hold himself together.  He shunted his own emotions about the situation to the back of his mind for now – he’d deal with them later, when Taemin didn’t need him so desperately.  His entire being right now was focused on his lover.      

He crouched down next to Taemin’s huddled form and slowly reached out a hand, afraid of frightening the man.  Taemin flinched as Kibum made contact and he flinched away while his head whipped to the side to lock eyes with Kibum looking for all the world like a wounded animal caught in a hunter’s trap.  There was no recognition there.  Taemin had no idea who he was looking at, Kibum realized.  His eyes, so expressive and usually lively, were instead filled with desperate fear.  An instinctual reaction with no humanity to temper it. 

But then recognition crept back into his eyes, as Taemin slowly detected who is was who crouched before him. 

“Hyung?” He asked in a small voice, a child’s voice really, as his hands began to creep down from over his ears.

Kibum froze.  He was shocked.  Taemin hadn’t called him hyung in years.  They had decided that the word was just kind of wrong to use for someone who you were romantically involved with, to call them an older brother.  It had given them the heebie-jeebies when they really allowed that connotation to sink in.  However he went with it this time, whatever it took to get Taemin to talk to him, to calm down.

“Yeah Tae, it’s me, it’s Kibum-hyung.” Kibum tried to smile and reassure Taemin, but it was almost like his muscles had forgotten how to shape themselves into that expressionin his shock over this entire situation.  “What’s going on?  What’s got you so spooked?”    

Taemin just shook his head, and buried his face into Kibum’s shoulder and pulled the older man out of his crouch and onto his knees as he tore what comfort he could from Kibum, desperate for the pain to just go away.

The designer felt the tears soaking through his shirt and tried to sooth the younger man but he was at a loss.  He had absolutely no idea what was going on.  Maybe if he had some idea of what had set the other man off…but he didn’t, so he didn’t know how to make everything right again.  

He was going to develop a crick in his neck very quickly from the angle that Taemin was holding him at and he was just as terrified as Taemin seemed to be right now.  What could get this response out of Taemin?  What could freak him out to the point where he was calling Kibum “hyung?” 

Taemin clung to Kibum, inhaling the familiar scent of mild lavender that hadn’t changed any over the years.  As his breathing calmed, his rational mind started to creep back in, finding weak points in the dam that had been so quickly and shoddily thrown up by terror and desperation.  He slowly realized that he was sobbing into his lover’s chest.  He slowly realized that he had been thanking his “hyung” in his head.  As he began to right himself mentally, he gently pushed the scared seventeen year old back into the recesses of his mindfor now. 

“Bummie…” he whispered, more of a croak really, but he could swear that he felt Kibum relax just the smallest bit at the term of endearment, though his soothing hands never stopped even for a moment.

“Taemin.” He said simply, clearly not knowing what to expect next.

“I think…I think I might be alright now…”

“You sure…” and Kibum’s soft voice cracked with uncertainty. 

“No…no, I’m not…but I want to think so…” Taemin’s voice was small, and Kibum could tell that he was just as afraid right now as he had been before, and Kibum stillwas, but he was trying to move beyond that and calm himself down.

Slowly, Kibum pulled back and looked deeply into Taemin’s eyes.  He was truly shocked to see the fear there, barely contained, to see the struggle that Taemin was clearly going through to try and at least appear to be alright. 

He ran his hand gently down Taemin’s face, ignoring the slight flinch that spasmed across his beloved’s face and kissing him gently on the forehead.

“Come here; let’s get you up off of the floor.” 

Slowly, Taemin rose to his feet, looking surprised at being on the floor in their entryway in the first place.  Kibum led him in to their living room and settled the man on the couch, pulling the horrible afghan lying over the back of the couch that Taemin had insisted on buying to cover the trembling man’s shoulders. 

“Taemin, start at the beginning,” he said smoothly, leading the younger man with his words, and gently grabbing hold of the man’s hand, running reassuring circles over the skin with his thumb.  “Does this have anything to do with where you went after you got that call this afternoon?”

Taemin sighed harshly, his eyes focused solely on that finger as it traced its way across his skin.

But Kibum was happy, because it seemed that the man he now knew and loved was fully taking his place within Taemin’s mind now.  Taemin was coming back to him.

“Yeah,” Taemin rubbed his face with his hands, “Yeah it does.  That was the p…” Taemin trailed off for a minute not knowing how to tell Kibum this.  He bit his lip and glanced up at Kibum’s concerned eyes before dropping his gaze to their clasped hands once more.  He cleared his throat and continued.  “That was the police…”

A cold pit formed in Kibum’s stomach.  His mind was working in overdrive trying to piece things together to figure out what had happened to result in Taemin being this way.

“They wanted me to identify a body…”

“Oh no…” Kibum whispered, too softly for Taemin to hear. 

“It was him,” Taemin gasped, trying to hold back yet more tears, “It was Junghee…”

“Junghee!” Kibum was shocked, “But…but who would hurt him…?” 

“It was a bashing.  They probably didn’t even know him.  But since…” Taemin took a shuddering breath, “since his family had disowned him, he made us his power of attorney and I guess the police took that as us being like his next of kin.”

Taemin stared off into space while it was Kibum’s turn to cry, with Taemin patting him on the arm and alternatively rubbing his shoulders.

“It was bad…” He gasped out.

“And…” Kibum shuddered as his throat contracted at the thought of Taemin being there in the morgue with the body of their dead friend.  He swallowed hard and tried again, “It made you remember didn’t it…?”  Kibum turned to look at Taemin, “You remembered what happened to you, and you flashed back or something…?”

“Maybe…a little…I’m not entirely sure.  But that’s not far off.  It was like I was there again.  I could have sworn that I was even feeling him kicking my ribs again, and each hit…”  Taemin trailed off.  “They warned us of this remember…”

Kibum winced, “Kind of…but not really…”  He gently shook his hands free of Taemin and wrapped his arms around the other man’s shoulders, pulling him close against his side, a staunch buffer against the outside world.  “We’ll figure this out though, together.  It’s alright.  It’ll be alright…”  He trailed off, wanting nothing more than to just whisk Taemin away to some far away place where no one knew them and no one cared about their orientation, to cut off everything and just start anew.  Knowing all the while that they would never be able to do that, for such a place simply did not exist. 

“I think…I’m going to have to call the therapist again…”Taemin whispered after several moments of tense silence. 

Kibum knew right there just how scared all of this had made the former dancer if he was suggesting on his own to call a therapist.  Taemin hated having to see the therapist; it made him feel weak and vulnerable more than anything else.  And needing to talk to someone else, a doctor of any kind, just reminded Taemin even more of what had happened, and wouldn’t let him think of it as something solely of the past.  Just like when the weather changed suddenly and his joints would be too sore for a man of his young age, or his rib cage would not expand enough to allow him a full breath and would make him feel like he was an elderly man trapped inside of a young lifefar sooner than someone his age should be feeling. 

But most of all, Taemin hated not being able to leave it all in the past.  He didn’t like reminders of that horrible time in his life, not that Kibum could blame him.  Who wants to think about something that horrible happening to you?

“Alright, if that’s what you want to do…”  Kibum said calmly, leaning over and kissing his fiancé chastely on the cheek.  “Now though, you can go take a warm bath, and calm down, get in your comfiest clothes and curl up in bed.”  He smiled gently, “And I’ll be right with you.”

Kibum stood up, intending to call Junghee’s family and let them know what had happened.  Disowned or not, he was their son and they should know, maybe they’ll finally see reason.  They should at least have the decency to lay their son to rest properly.    

But Taemin’s voice stopped him, “Do you know how lucky I am Bummie…?” He said distractedly. 

Kibum turned around and faced him.  “What do you mean?”

“It easily could have been me.  I could have died that day, so easily…” 

“You’re not lucky.” Kibum denied with a level of finality that caused Taemin to jerk up and pay attention.  “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.  You’re a fighter and you wouldn’t leave me like that.  If anything, I’m the lucky one.”

Kibum settled his hand against Taemin’s cheek and allowed his gaze to delve deeply into Taemin’s eyes.  Every ounce of love and care and devotion was evident right then as he let it pour itself into the deep wells of Taemin’s eyes.

 “I’m the lucky one,” he whispered, “because I get you.” 

Taemin looked for a moment like he might cry again, but he managed to hold it in.  He held out his hands wordless and Kibum helped him up from the couch without comment. 

Taemin slowly moved down the hallway towards the bathroom to do as Kibum had suggested and Kibum shuffled off momentarily to the kitchen. 

It was just as he was reaching for the phone that the adrenaline quit coursing through his system.  The situation was over, at least the initial blow and now his body was canceling that chemical rush that had kept Kibum moving forward over the last few minutes.  The reality hit home a second later.  Kibum’s trembling hand moved from hovering over the phone to clasping over his mouth to hide a gasp as his other arm circled his midsection.  Kibum stumbled back into the wall, stifling his gasps with increased pressure so as to not alarm Taemin.

Oh poor Junghee…Kibum lamented within his mind.  Memories of the cheery man flashing before his eyes.  The man had always reminded them of Jinki – a generally good soul who just wants to help others.  Admittedly though, he was more graceful than Jinki.

Poor Taemin…he followed up with a moment later.  Having to relive everything and deal with all of that turmoil all over again.

Kibum took deep breaths, focusing on calming himself down.  Taemin needed him to be strong right now.  Lord knows that he leaned on Taemin enough, but now the writer needed to lean on him.  And he would be damned if he would let his knees buckled now.

Resolve strengthening him, Kibum lurched to his feet and finally made the call to Junghee’s family, who took the news with a sense of shock that their son was gone.

By the time he got off of the phone with them he felt drained and exhausted.

He stumbled his way down to their bedroom and smiled as he saw Taemin pulling back the sheets, clad in a worn pair of sweatpants and an overlarge t-shirt that actually belonged to Kibum if he really wanted to think about it.

Kibum quickly shed his own jeans and slipped on a pair of cotton pajama pants before sliding into bed with his lover.  He pulled Taemin close, settling the writer’s head against his chest and wrapping his arms around the other man.

“I love you,” he whispered, laying a gentle kiss to the top of Taemin’s head. 

“I love you too Bummie,” Taemin mumbled, not wanting to move from his current position – finding that he liked it very much actually. 

Kibum once against started carding his fingers carefully through Taemin’s hair, smiling as Taemin let out a contented sigh.  For a moment the bad news of the day was gone.  There was no death hanging over them.  It was just the two of them, cuddling in their bed with no thought to anything but each other.

And that was alright too. 

The name Junghee means enjoyment and morally upright.  I like to think of someone with this name as being one of those basically good people.  They are fun to hang out with and always try to do the right thing.  With that image in mind, it makes the thought of something horrible happening to this person even worse.   

So – I have absolutely NO IDEA where the PTSD thing came from.  I had intended for them to be all sobby with each other when I started writing this, but it just started to flow that way as I was working on it and I decided to go with it.  So much of my writing ends up going awry from where I originally intended.  The Showdown was actually different in that it had a distinct plan and I really stuck to it.  But they don’t usually go quite this far off base.  Anyway, I’m not sure how this one will be received so just let me know what you all think.

And PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE – if you never comment on anything of mine again; please tell me what you think of this one.  I really want to know how you guys received this one in particular.