He couldn’t return to the apartment because there were the hints of Jaejoong’s existence, hints of his nonexistence too. The company gave him a month off, but they expected him back by then. More idols to train, to take care of, let the process repeat. This time he had to make sure they lived. Yoochun knew it was only Jaejoong who wasn’t strong enough, any other artist would have laughed at their new harsh reality, accept it, built off it, become strong and thrive anyway.

Yoochun still couldn’t return to the place where a tired but happy Jaejoong would not greet him. Even if he left the flat to make a call or buy some dinner, when he returned his client greeted him with warm smiles and complete understanding.

The world is cruel; he could not control that like he thought he could.

No matter how he tried to convince others he was fine, he had a hard time returning. Because Jaejoong wouldn’t be there, even if Yoochun felt like he was driving the artist home from the day’s schedule, even if took the company van in hopes of making the lies a reality. Jaejoong never scrambled out of the back, running out of the van and into the apartment lobby, waiting for his manager by the elevator. He didn’t even when Yoochun stalled the vehicle by the entrance for several minutes, waiting for the sound of the door slamming shut and a slight giggle following.

For so long he didn’t understand why it never happened.

It took several attempts for the clientless manager to finally buck up the courage to actually stop the engine and climb out on his own, no Jaejoong whining for his delay to encourage him. The ride up the elevator shaft was long, quiet, suffocating.

“Hurry up and get out the keys,” and Yoochun fumbled with his key ring, never getting the right one on the first try. The apartment door parted slightly, and as always, Yoochun peeked in to make sure it was actually safe for the singer to enter, then flipped the light on and entered quickly, keeping the singer hidden from the neighbors.

The manager walked into the kitchen, setting his dinner on the table and pulling out a large platter for them to share, and filling a glass with water, the singer needing to ease his throat. “I’m tired, just going to go to sleep,” then Yoochun was left standing in the kitchen to eat the dinner for two alone. He should sleep; it was already three in the morning. Late meals weren’t good for the body, and he needed to be ready early in the morning. Go to sleep? Yoochun frowned and entered the bedroom, clothes stripped off with each footstep.

He crawled into the only bed in the only bedroom, hands searching for the familiar heat he always craved at night. “Night, sleeping beauty,” a sudden pressure pressed onto his abdomen, felt like a head, and the feeling sank into his stomach. Yoochun embraced the presence, never one to deny the one he loves.

But Jaejoong wasn’t there in the morning. Not in the shower, not in the kitchen heating up the cold dinner, not in his studio, not on the balcony taking a needed smoke, not in the living room resting on the couch. His best friend wasn’t anywhere, and a sharp panic spiked in him again, the pressure in his stomach filling him up, he almost threw up his breakfast from the day before.

Jaejoong had never been there in the first place.

He had been so sure that the voices before had been real, they were really Jaejoong’s and not his mind wishing for the impossible again. If he turned off his mind, shut away all the empty images, ventured back to the warm blankets of his alternate reality, there Jaejoong would greet him groggily for the day to start, apologize for making Yoochun wake before him as always, then smile brightly. The comforter smelled like a mix of musty male sweat, fruity hair products, top of the line makeup, and the after-rain cologne Yoochun had bought for the artist after his old evergreen grass ran out. Nose buried, no light shining in, he waited for Jaejoong to climb in too, complaining that he really wasn’t ready to get up and didn’t mind skipping breakfast for a little more sleep.

If he asked, Yoochun would comply. For no one else would he go out and buy a to-go breakfast for, letting his selfish charge take advantage of his kindness, his love and affection. For Jaejoong only.

He expected a hug and a peck on the cheek when he returned. If he didn’t get one, he would completely break. Jaejoong was his glue, holding him together, keeping him going, giving him a reason to be there. Just a little fondness and Yoochun suddenly felt like the world was right and their problems would disappear.

* * *

Twenty-two singles and seven albums are lined on the office wall with his name stamped on the covers. Yoochun never cared about the other albums there; never finding them significant with Jaejoong’s being the most important. His boss tried to look oppressive like he really was the one in charge and no one could take his power away, radiating a command for respect and fear strong. The new artist is afraid, but Yoochun can’t feel anything, his insides numb already, frozen over from the first and last times he faced this man. Threats of cut pay and extended hours meant nothing to him, his body only nodded, eyes only looking at his new bundle of trouble.

Junsu signed the contract a little unwillingly. “I don’t think Yoochun hyung likes me,” and he really didn’t. Last time Yoochun went through the process of signing papers and condemning himself to strained managing, he actually wanted the artist to succeed, actually wanted Jaejoong to feel like he could do something.

“We’ll move you into my dorm tomorrow,” were his only words before curtly bowing and exiting the room, letting the big boss man discuss future tactics for debut and a new training program for things like speech and basic skills for variety shows. If he showed promise, some acting as well. He’d need to know how to act if he ever wanted Yoochun to look at him like he was a real person and not a ghost of his past responsibilities.

No matter how hard he tried, Yoochun still saw faint glimpses of history playing in Junsu. Their pre-debut program was basically the same, except the young artist worked twice as hard at dancing just to prove he could. Yoochun couldn’t remember Jaejoong ever being the most brilliant dancer. In fact, if he recalled correctly, Jaejoong often stumbled through his steps and ended up finishing his scheduled block in a restroom singing. A little comparison and pride swells in Yoochun, for he was able to make a clumsy failure debut when he didn’t have nearly enough skills at the time.

When he needs to, he pays enough attention to Junsu to actually forget momentarily that he has never been the best critique. With Jaejoong, they knew dancing wasn’t his strongest forte and didn’t put too much on emphasis his need to be able to. Yoochun never bothered to properly tell him what was wrong, but he definitely never told him he was doing fine. The subject of dancing blew over, neither ever caring for it. Junsu begs Yoochun to tell him what is wrong, and smiles brightly when he is told he is doing well. If Yoochun brings out his old habits of silence, he panics, feeling like he has done absolutely terrible, failure, mistakes, destroyed future.

Yoochun learned quickly how to handle Junsu, forcing his bad practices inside of him.

He didn’t mean to accidently call the young boy by his best friend’s name, but they are so similar on the tongue, so adorable in the same ways. A big spirit and strong wish to achieve his dreams, just as his friend had. Junsu challenges Jaejoong’s record of the least number of takes for recording a demo. He loses, obviously.

Each attempt Junsu makes shines a new light. He finished much the same as Jaejoong had, better in many areas, lacking in the others. Junsu would always lack simply because he is not Jaejoong and Yoochun did not care for anyone but Jaejoong. He tells his heart that, but each success settles and his mind unwillingly accepts that Junsu is perfect for this world. The perfection of the young man darkens all of Jaejoong’s hard work. All the happiness they shared seemed pointless, like they were ignorant and didn’t know they had only accomplished the basics. Every feat of Jaejoong’s less and less of anything and more and more of nothing. He didn’t want to admit it, but somehow even the memories of all their struggles dimmed and ebbed away as he was filled with only Junsu, only his thriving for his future.

They were only memories. Now he faced Junsu doing the same, replacing everything the soulmates shared.

* * *

It was the first day since they had started their journey together that Yoochun disappointed Junsu so much. Yoochun stumbled out of their dorm, slightly drunk, and didn’t look back. His voice a whisper, “Call someone else to take you.”

Yoochun takes the bus to the recording studio, enters with his spare keys. Nobody is there, the place closed in honor of him. Quietly, like he was afraid of waking the dead or of the past running away when they heard him, he found the door, he clung to it, tears shedding like crazy. All lights off, Yoochun begged, hand turning the knob against the strong lock in a short frenzy, other hand pounding the barrier, the floor, his head, heart. “Don’t go, don’t leave me. Can’t you stay by my side?”

Nobody replies, and even if there was anyone there, he wouldn’t be able to.

Dead.

“Lies, all lies, everything, I can’t hear.” He couldn’t hear the tape winding and unwinding, rewinding, stopping, playing a last melody. The tape had been removed, locked away as evidence. A dead man makes no sound, nothing to hear. The silence waited there, greeting him. He couldn’t hear it, the silence, he ignored it’s very existence. No, inside was Jaejoong, laughing at his prank, soft prideful footsteps growing closer to unlock the door and ease his manager’s mind.

“I love you, you, I love. Can’t you show me just one word?” Jaejoong could not reply, he was dead and already cremated and put in a temple. His voice might linger here, the various recording never trashed, but the reassurance of health and sanity never reached out to gently cradle the sobbing man.

He knows, Yoochun knows why he did it. Yoochun knows he is partially at fault, that he was accounted for the lost life in many ways. Contract said no dating until the third album; both were too busy to have a social life either way. They only had the embrace of the other for comfort. Just as he protected Jaejoong from crazy obsessed fans overwork, sickness, abuse, Jaejoong saved his sanity. Yoochun had been relying on Jaejoong to keep his motivated since their junior high days, back when Yoochun cried over a rejected confession and failing a math test. “Chunnie, who really needs math in life? A singer doesn’t need to know geometry or the area of a yard minus the garden and swimming pool. A singer needs a manager who can dial the phone and kick their stalker’s . You don’t need math.” His Jaejoongie was so good at everything he did because he tried even when things towered over him in a challenging threat.

That trait of Jaejoong’s never went away. Trying his hardest in the toughest situation, against all odds, overcoming his obstacles and passing his opponents, but afraid of failure and criticism, compliment driven, negative feedback fatal to self-esteem.

Fans are merciless creatures. Debut stage, one trip, cracked note, sheepish grin, and fans stormed forums with hate and bashing. ‘Looks like a woman. Cheap song. Stiff dancing. Boring song. er, not another one. Goodbye, Kim Jaejoong, your fifteen minutes of fame are over. What are they producing? His fall was ridiculous.’ One time, he swore he would never let Jaejoong see the hateful bullying the netizens left again. Each word crushed his spirit, leaving him with a broken shell. Yoochun kept the hate hidden from Jaejoong and only reported the positive comments to improve his confidence.

His sheltering left Jaejoong vulnerable. Any and all remarks not praising him hurt. Three bottles of kickass alcohol and absolutely nothing worth a final touch composed if he knew. A soulless practice in front of a room of mirrors, each one capturing his collapsing efforts when he felt hopeless.

Yoochun protected him except the last time.

“I love you, you, I love. Will you love me once more?”

* * *

He overhears Junsu on his phone a few weeks later, talking to a trainee he had befriended before his debut. The words he says are true but they awaken wounds he was desperately trying to heal. “He doesn’t help me to help. Yoochun hyung is –yeah he is broken. Not a past love, the idol he took care of before. They had been really close.” Yoochun doesn’t have any problem admitting it; he hasn’t been trying his hardest with Junsu.

Among all the mistakes he has made, oversleeping before a scheduled event happened the most. Since his first night back in the apartment, he wasn’t able to sleep without the aid of dream robbing medication. Without the sedative, he lay awake and counted all the memories of Jaejoong he actually pictured clearly in his head.

There was that one year during Monsoon season when he spent two weeks at Jaejoong’s home because the sidewalks had puddles turning into small streams half a foot deep. The first day they got the balls to skip class and hung out behind the stairwell, Yoochun feeling like a slime ball and Jaejoong needing to be just a little greasy for some reason. When Yoochun shoved Jaejoong into the building the auditions were held as he ran out to take his final exams. Promises wrapped in bundles of ‘I need you to do this, I want to do this. Where are you? I am here.’

The pills plunged him into a sleepy pool of drowsy waters. All dreams he had swimming around were on the surface and he was drowning under two meters of unconsciousness. They left him in a struggle to even reach the edge of his slumber and pull himself out to wake. Each time he popped one of the narcotics into his mouth and downed a glass of water, he was useless for a minimum of six hours. Some nights they couldn’t even afford an hour to sleep before they had to get up again. Junsu could sleep on the ride to their locations, but Yoochun drove, forced awake. A minimum of six hours.

They missed a lot of things because of his need to sleep without the fading scent of Jaejoong in his pillows keeping him awake for hours. Honestly, if he wanted to feel the other half of his soul again he needed to see him in a dream, the thing muddied by useless meds. Yoochun took his entire bottle of pills, refilled just the week before, and shook it all the way to the bathroom. Forty-three hard pink tablets sunk to the bottom of the bowl then were flushed away with a load of ; a desperate man would try to get them back otherwise.

The haggard manager doesn’t sleep immediately. Hoping it’s because he isn’t used to the warmth of their bed without some sort of aid to distract him but because he anticipates finally seeing his love again. If he didn’t appear, if Junsu showed up instead, a load of unfinished papers to file or a bad review? Yoochun kept his thoughts of his soul mate, forget the bad emotions and included worries, only Jaejoong and his smile. Wonderful, wonderful smile.

* * *

After a year, the death of famous idol Kim Jaejoong has lost its effect. When asked, normal citizens comment, “Who? Suicide last year? I might have heard about that.” Yoochun held in his scoff, unbelieving. Kim Jaejoong topped the charts with his consecutive releases for the last three years of his career. Sure, he started off rocky and his reputation hung shredded thanks to rotten netizens and their unforgiving words, but he had finally reached his peak, and only because he died could that be considered his peak. Instead, Yoochun uses the rest of the train ride to inform his elder of all the amazing things his precious friend accomplished.

Sold out concerts, merchandise mass produced, each album bought by half a million ready listeners each. Magazine spreads, television appearances, an acting role in a famous drama, sound tracks, compositions of pure elegance and beauty.

He left out the fact that concerts sold out, but no one came, the merchandise sold well to young tweens and older women. His albums sold well because he was overrated, listened to only to be bashed and for that sole purpose. The magazines with his face on the cover dropped in sales for that issue, the ratings for the variety shows also plummeted. The drama was successful because of Hyunbin, and Hyunbin’s soundtrack garnered more popularity. And the only person to recognize Jaejoong’s musical genius was his sole companion, Yoochun, the friend who originally convinced him to be a singer and composer.

The elder thanks him for the fun stories when he reaches his stop, and Yoochun’s heart swells, tears already forming. Jaejoong’s entire being brushed off like nothing more than an urban legend, something only children believed.

Yoochun checked into the hotel with plans of changing into his formal suit and meeting the family, but being near their past weakened him and a bed without Jaejoong’s markings called for him instead.

“I love you, you, I love. Will you love me once more?” When Jaejoong heard the rumor from the radio host, Heechul, and actually looked up the reaction himself instead of waiting for Yoochun to sugarcoat reality, he crumbled. Thousands of people saying he still sounded looked like a woman even after he gained all his muscles for the last album, others saying he was spiraling further downhill. Fans pulling membership, demanding refunds when the company gave those out from his paycheck. Illegal downloading of his song only to be altered and mocked. Gruesome pictures, death threats, ual ploys, snarky bashing, stalkers, brutally honest lies faced him.

The world Yoochun had tried so hard to protect Jaejoong from attacked him in one tsunami wave and crushed his spirit in so many ways, Jaejoong broke. “Lies, all lies, everything, I can’t hear,” but the wretched opinion spreading through websites, forums, and social networks reflected the public’s thoughts. The opinion of the public misunderstood as the god awful truth.

The world is cruel; Yoochun failed to protect him from it.

Utterly lost, Jaejoong’s chinking form affecting his work with compositions on hold, Yoochun took responsibility. Their boss didn’t really mind, he sort of welcomed the idea considering how ed up Jaejoong turned out to be. He assigned a temporary manager to fill in Yoochun’s now empty spot until a permanent one was willing (would be forced if needed) to take the position. He left Jaejoong without telling him why clearly, sorry, but he needed to go. “I love you, you I love. Can’t you allow me just one word?” He broke both their hearts by packing the few possessions he dared called ‘his’ and not ‘theirs’ into a box, shoved into his personal car. The pack of cigarettes they shared left on the bedside table, the laptop, even though it was Jaejoong’s, password locked, most of the wardrobe left untouched.

“Don’t go, don’t leave. Can’t you stay by my side?” Yoochun locked the door and left, only returning months later, the apartment empty, and his touch fading.

Jaejoong’s touch was nowhere in the hotel room but all over the house he grew up in, they grew up in. Family and friends gathered there, many casting him shady glances, but all there to love and remember the one they lost. The service was long, each person with their own story to tell, their own impression of him, defying his made up stereotype.

“He was a strong boy growing up, always protecting his older sisters even as a child.” Don’t go, don’t go, can’t you stay? “He was strong even when he died; the world was only a little stronger.” His aunt cried, just barely starting her speech, the mother sobbing too hard to speak, father comforting her, sisters in the same state, all managing to live on. Lies, lies, I can’t hear.

Among all these people, Yoochun is frozen from the insides. They had no right to say he wasn’t strong, not enough for the world! Jaejoong faced the world as his equal; the world faced him as their plaything with emotions as real as a doll. I love you, I love you. Can’t you show me? An idol needs attention and admiration from the public in order to have a successful career, without it they faded into the background and forgotten. Jaejoong got the attention, but not the right admiration at all. I love you, I love you. Won’t you love me?

A slideshow of his youth years played on repeat to the side during dinner, most of them featuring Yoochun as well. The last one, actually taken in their hometown, is of Jaejoong standing next a graduated Chun, college diploma in hand, train about to take off, luggage ready to be loaded. Don’t go, don’t go. Can’t you stay? The next is a few years later at Jaejoong’s debut stage, him on the ground after his infamous fall. Lies, lies, I can’t hear. Another of Jaejoong during a training session, the photo courtesy paparazzi Chun. I love you, I love you. Can’t you show me? The whole neighborhood holding up a ‘Jaejoong-gun, we are rooting for you!’ in the following. Jaejoong’s first sold out concert, one when fans actually attended a few slides after. I love you, I love you. Won’t you love me? The audience held red glow sticks and donned bunny ears, the red ocean supporting only him.

“How is your new artist doing?” Because they don’t know that Yoochun willingly left Jaejoong, he wasn’t randomly changed. “Are you protecting him?” And Yoochun was by no means filtering what the fans wrote to him. When Junsu searched for himself he found all the opinions stacked against him, and held himself firm on those stacked for him. Junsu was stronger than the world, something Jaejoong had trouble with. Don’t go, don’t go. Can’t you stay?

When he read the foul words, “Lies, lies, I can’t hear.” Yoochun wished that Jaejoong could have been that strong, that confident. His new responsibilities laughed at the fiction, took note of the ones that pointed out his real faults, fortified his already growing fanbase. He never had major slip ups like Jaejoong, he never fell asleep on a variety show, the editors finding it ‘cute’ and not cutting it out. The manager was unwilling to accept that Junsu was doing better than Jaejoong in all ways considering his limited experience, which was one thing he lost out on. I love you, I love you. Can’t you show me? Junsu would not overshadow Jaejoong, the one he loved. I love you, I love you. Won’t you love me?

“If my sub is doing his job right, Junsu is in the recording studio right now. He’s been working on the touch ups for his second mini album being released later this year.” He other sub allowed Jaejoong to lock himself in the recording studio, get drunk, and try to strangle himself with a cassette tape. If his neck broke he would not live. If his vocal cords broke he could not sing. If his lungs collapsed he wouldn’t breathe another note. If he succeeded he would never have to face any more pain.

The substitute called Yoochun within the hour, the news harder to break to him than the company president. Three nights, Yoochun went without sleeping; only hoping. Lies, lies, I can’t hear. Don’t go, don’t go. Can’t you stay?

“Please come back to me!” Finally he fainted right before the funeral, sleep deprivation actually taking its toll for once. ‘Don’t go, don’t leave me. Can’t you stay by my side?’ He was left at the funeral; he took it the worst out everyone that knew Jaejoong.

The public reaction switched immediately. ‘He actually died, you guys are monsters. He did nothing wrong! Haters were wrong. Trolls! Condolences to the family and friends. Lies, all lies, everything. I can’t hear. R.I.P.’ Those three impersonal letters, like they didn’t care enough to type out the full phrase, they didn’t care. Yoochun had no right to think those things though; he hadn’t come in physical contact with Jaejoong since he stormed out of the apartment. It was one of his greatest regrets among all his other sufferings. He never said goodbye to Jaejoong, he never told him how much he loved the other.  He always assumed Jaejoong knew, he assumed Jaejoong felt the same, and he thought they didn’t need to speak the obvious.

Can’t you allow my just one word? I love you, you, I love. 
I love you, you, I love. Won’t you love me once more?

And his heart still ached because Jaejoong was still dead no matter how many times he spouted they were lies. The truth was there.

The world is cruel; he could not win against the world.