The first thing he changed is his own life. 

At barely fifteen, he left his home for Seoul with such naive amount of cash in his pocket. He did menial jobs, laboring himself to exhaustion and even sold his own blood for a small pack of biscuit. He’d felt miserable and pathetic, but sought self-reassurance in the fact that he at least didn’t sell his body. Though, to be honest, wasn’t his dream job was practically selling his body? And his soul. Except, at that time, the poor, ambitious young man didn’t have a single clue. Too bad. If he did, maybe he could have changed some things.

The second thing he changed is Kim Junsu’s life. 

Jaejoong had seen the guy a few times but hadn’t actually heard his voice, let alone spoke with him. Junsu was like the legend back then. The Golden Boy, they all said. Apparently Junsu was known to be the possessor of the voice of an Angel. And rumor had it he owned a heart of one, too. 

But from the way Junsu was boring a hole through Jaejoong’s forehead from across the parking lot, Jaejoong doubted it. There was no way someone with an Angel’s heart could spike such fiery fire from their eyes like that. Jaejoong froze, his hand with a cheap cigarrette between his fingers was halted awkwardly halfway to his mouth. Junsu maintained his glare at Jaejoong as he made his way into the building.

Once Junsu’d disappeared behind the glass door, Jaejoong scowled. “What the hell?”

Jung Yunho looked up from his school textbook. “What happened?”

“Kim Junsu just challenged me into a glaring contest, again. The heck is his problem?”

Yunho tapped his pencil against his book thoughtfully. “You know, he’s actually very nice and sweet to everyone. Maybe you should ask him, he definitely has something personal against you.”

Jaejoong on his cigarrette and blew out the smoke ungraciously. “No .”

Jaejoong cornered Kim Junsu when he just stepped out of the practice room. Junsu looked up for the briefest time before rolling his eyes. “Oh, not you. Get out of my way.”

“What’s your problem?” Jaejoong snapped. 

Junsu crossed his arms against his chest. “Nothing. What’s yours?”

“My problem is that you obviously have a problem against me but you don’t have the balls to admit it.”

“Oh, wow,” Junsu breathed out. Good thing he was supposed to be some kind of angel, because Jaejoong swore he could’ve spit out fire. “You really never disappoint me, Kim Jaejoong. As expected from an airhead like you.”

The ?

“Hey, listen,” Jaejoong tried again. He thought he should’ve just punched the lights out of this delusional guy but he knew better than that. Unlike in his rural hometown, he’d learnt that he was supposed to use his mouth rather than his fists in cities like Seoul. “Look, I didn’t come here to fight with you. I want an explanation, okay? I think you have something personal against me, dude, and I want to know what it is. I don’t mind to apologize, but I won’t do it unless I know what it is exactly that I did. Or, if I ever did it at all.”

Junsu then at least looked a bit guilty. “Listen, you really wouldn’t understand—”

“Hey, look, I might come from the countryside, but I did go to school, you know. M’not that stupid.”

Shooting another glare of his, Junsu uncrossed his arms and sighed. “I just... oh this. Alright, I do hate you. You are an arrogant, ungrateful .” At Jaejoong’s blank expression, Junsu groaned as if he was in great pain. “Do you even know what the mentors say about you? A natural, they said.A rare gem, an effortless talent. As if I haven’t heard of that for, like, I don’t know, a gazillion times before? But there you are, wasting it all away by smoking your lungs rotten!”

Jaejoong blinked owlishly at the slightly breathless Junsu. “Er, that’s it? You hate me because I... smoke?”

“Well, yes! That’s enough reason. Do you even know what I’ve been through to get my voice back after puberty? All the sufferings and restraints I put myself into? I even almost killed myself. But you! You’re ing gifted and you don’t even treasure it. You ruin it instead. Do you know how that looked like? You’re rubbing it on my face.”

“W-what?” Jaejoong spluttered. “I... but I didn’t mean to. I don’t even know anything about—”

“—forget it,” Junsu sighed as he sat down on the nearest bench in the empty hallway. The way Junsu’s shoulders slumped in defeat told Jaejoong that all the fight had left him. Feeling a bit safer, Jaejoong cautiously settled down beside him. Junsu was just staring at his lap before he started talking again, “I guess it’s not your fault. When it happened, you weren’t here yet. I can’t blame you for smoking as much as you can’t blame me for hitting puberty and my voice changed. You see, my voice is the only thing I trust, the only thing I know I’m good at. I lay all my life on my voice. And now I’m not so sure. I feel like my life has no meaning anymore.” A slight pause. “, sorry you have to listen to all this nonsense."

Jaejoong nodded dumbly. He was never good at consoling people. But he never had a problem with stating the facts. “But I heard you sing earlier from out here. Your voice is really good.”

The smile on Junsu’s face was bitter. “Yeah? It’s really different from before, y’know.”

“But it’s really good, though,” Jaejoong insisted.  “Well, it’s true that I don’t know how your voice was before, but what’s wrong with a little change? It’s how things always go. Just, if anything, you’re the real . So you hit puberty. Your voice changed, yet it still sounds good. What a bastard, don’t you think?”

Junsu just stared at Jaejoong. His almond-shaped eyes were unreadable. Finally, he laughed a squeaky laugh and nudged Jaejoong gently with his shoulder. They grinned at each other, and were engulfed in a comfortable silence. Until Junsu broke it. “You know what, there’s this rumor going around that I’ll be put into a group of five. And mark my words, I’m gonna be the lead vocalist.”

Jaejoong nodded. “Yeah, yeah of course you should. And you will.”

“I’ll never give that position up, you know,” Junsu said again, a bit breathless. He looked at Jaejoong point blank in the eyes. “Unless it’s for you.”


And just like that, Kim Junsu’s life was changed. He no longer held such hatred toward his own voice. He felt confident and proud instead; feelings he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He was ready now, he knew it. Ready to show his voice to the world. Because Kim Jaejoong, who was a natural, rare, effortless talent, liked his voice. He said it was really good. And of course Kim Junsu would be stupid if he didn’t believe it. You just believed everything Kim Jaejoong said. It was the rule. You just didn’t question him. It was the way it worked.

The third thing he changed is Park Yoochun’s life. 

Freshly arrived from America, the land of dreams, Yoochun was the talk of the town, or rather, the company building, among fellow trainees. ‘He must be a wimpy, arrogant little prick, being the American that he is.’ was mostly what they talked about. When the guy passed by, Jaejoong’s friends and not-friends alike would scowl and obviously glare at him, challenging the American and his blond hair and his baggy clothes. 

Not the one who ever missed out challenges, Jaejoong went to see the guy by himself. When Jaejoong found him, Park Yoochun was sitting with hunched back in the corner of the practice room. The white cap he wore covered his eyes, and he looked so alone.

“Hey,” Jaejoong slid easily to the floor beside him. The new guy widened his eyes as he realized who just spoke to him. He bowed his head immediately. Jaejoong smirked. “Why did you bow to me? You don’t even know if I’m older than you.”

“Does it matter? Aren’t you like... the ringleader here?” Yoochun said, his low and heavy voice disguised the slight tremble in his words.

Jaejoong laughed. “Oh God, they’re right! You are so American.” 

Yoochun blushed furiously under his cap. 

“Hey, I’m sorry, just kidding.” Hadn’t been amused for quite a while, Jaejoong couldn’t stop smiling. “Anyway, I’m not the ringleader or anything. Everyone just kind of follows me around.”

Yoochun raised an eyebrow. “And it’s different from a ringleader, how?”

Jaejoong kicked Yoochun’s calf gently, and Yoochun growled in pain. Jaejoong was taken aback, he didn’t think he kicked that hard. Yoochun rolled up his baggy pants in reflex and revealed a white bandage just above his ankle. Jaejoong gasped. “Holy , dude, did you just get a tattoo?”

“H-how did you know?”

“C’mon, I can tell bandage for tattoos and wounds apart. Don’t insult me,” Jaejoong sounded offended, but he was grinning like a kid having finished up his first snowman. 

“Yeah.” Yoochun bit his lower lip, seeming conflicted. “Look, I know you have no reason to do me a favor but it’s supposed to be a secret, so...”

Jaejoong nodded. “I won’t tell anyone.”

When Yoochun looked at him in doubt, Jaejoong sighed and wordlessly pulled up his t-shirt and displayed his upper body. Yoochun was staring in confusion for a few seconds and then, “Holy .”

Jaejoong chuckled as he rolled down his t-shirt. “Exactly.”

“You got piercings on your belly button,” Yoochun gaped. “And your .”

“Excellent observation,” Jaejoong deadpanned. “And it’s supposed to be a secret, too. Oh, and you should totally tell me where you got your tat done. I’ve always wanted one. Or two.”

Yoochun was just staring and staring at him.

“What?”

“Ehm, no. Nothing.” Yoochun shook his head. “I just thought you’re kind of awesome. No wonder everyone always follows you around,” said Yoochun as he fixed the bandage around his leg. “And tell you what, if we end up debuting in the same team, we should get a matching tattoo. Or two.” 

Jaejoong just stared back for a good five seconds before he smiled, warmly. “Sounds like a plan.” He stood up and offered his hand for Yoochun to grab. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”


Just like that, Kim Jaejoong changed another’s life. Park Yoochun went from a wimpy, arrogant little American prick to the cool kid from America.Because you just couldn’t even slightly dislike somebody whom Kim Jaejoong approved of. You just couldn’t. That was the rule. The law of the nature.

After that, Kim Jaejoong continued to provoke changes. Seeing how successful he was, his sisters got the courage to step out of the countryside they always thought they’d forever be confined in, and tried to make it in the big cities. Jaejoong never said anything, but they felt a bit safer that they got him as a backup. If things failed, he would be there to patch things up. After all, he had the means and the power to do so. Just like years ago, when he decided to gamble with his life and went to audition, he knew his sisters would always be there to back him up. But it was not a justification to slack off, instead it purposed as a drive to give it his best, because he had nothing to lose. And his sisters did just that; gave it their best. And now, they were able to gather twice a month, and went on a drive together to see their parents during special occasions. Or when they simply wanted to.

Meanwhile, Jaejoong continued to live his life. He received hundreds of letters everyday. They all contained different messages. Some were of sonnets about how gorgeous he was, about how his voice must’ve been sent from the heavens. Some others were just the usual love letters, the passionate love letters, the ty love letters, and the creepy love letters. 

Some were even letters of terror. Letters that told him that he’d better die, that he didn’t deserve to take another breath in this world, that he shouldn’t dare to step out and see the sun again, or else. And so on. 

But those letters, all of them, every single one of them, from the hateful to the sappy ones, would have this one sentence: you changed my life.

One day in scorching Summer, Jaejoong slumped down on the couch in their living room. He was exhausted, mentally more than physically. “We can’t go on like this,” he announced to no one in particular.

“What do you mean, hyung?”

Looking up at Junsu, Jaejoong noticed the grey-ish hue that tinged his skin and the purplish circles under his eyes. In dread, his eyes sought out Yoochun next. He didn’t look much different. And from the way Yoochun stared back at his face, Jaejoong knew he must not look any better.

Yoochun held his gaze. “You know we’ll follow you everywhere.”

“But...” Jaejoong hesitated. “But it’s risky.”

Junsu and Yoochun just kept staring at him without relenting the slightest bit. They both looked wary, but determined. Jaejoong tried to swallow his nerves down. “We—we need to leave this place.”

At that, Junsu and Yoochun finally widened their eyes. Junsu furrowed his brows and Yoochun frantically chewed on his lower lip. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Jaejoong continued hurriedly, sounding desperate. “I don’t know about the two of you, but I can’t. I can’t even face myself in the mirror anymore. I want to live again, you see?”

So, they left.

As expected, it was anything but easy. If before, the people they trusted were stabbing them from behind, now they did it from the front. It was at least easier to foresee, and thus, they could prepare themselves for the blows that were to come, but it didn’t exactly make it any less painful. 

And so for years, they lived that way; fighting for something that wasn’t even supposed to be fought over to begin with. It was like struggling to get some fresh air, when it was supposed to be everywhere, free and available for everyone to take in. Unfair, yes. But when they succeeded to breathe it once in a while, they felt the kind of pride they hadn’t known before. Worth it. Everything was worth it. The novelty of living for the sake of themselves, the joy of literally reaping what they sowed... it was all worth it.
But was it, really?

Jaejoong believed it was. But he couldn’t deny that it was taking a great toll on all of them. Witnessing in daily basis everyone around them breathe in ease, when they had to fight with all their might for it, was seriously damaging their self-esteem.

After four years, in one bleaky evening, Jaejoong looked at the two people whom he vowed his loyalty to. Those two people whose names were embedded forever on his skin. Junsu and Yoochun. 

He had been together with them for a decade and more. He’d grown familiar with every twitch, every nook, every curve of their emotions. But he realized that now even mere strangers could see that the two of them were suffering, even more so than before. And for the thousandth time, the ugly thoughts echoed through his head. It’s all my fault. If only I it up and never said anything... they wouldn’t suffer along with me like this. 

But Jaejoong swallowed down whatever it was he meant to say. He knew better. Two years ago, he’d asked both of them if they regretted it, and it had led to Junsu punching him straight on the jaw and Yoochun had cried silent tears for the first time in the last three years. 

He remembered vividly. He was rubbing his throbbing jaw in a trance, while Junsu’d yelled at him from the top of his lungs. “, hyung, damn you! How could you ask me that?! What the hell had gotten into you???”  His usually squeaky voice sounded sonorous that night, thundering through Jaejoong’s ringing ears. “You know what, I made a promise with Hyukjae when we were so little, we promised never to drink alcohol and smoke cigs for the rest of our lives. But that day, that day when your real dad came back and made a mess of things, you asked me to be your drinking buddy because nobody else was home, and that ing promise I’d held onto for more than fifteen years flew out the window just like that! For you! And I didn’t regret it, not even once, because I also had promised myself! That day, after we talked for the first time, I decided that I will, I will trust this guy—you!—at all cost, whatever it takes. You ing saved my life, and it’s my choice! Who do you think I am, some starry eyed boy who will blindly follow his savior? Even when said savior is an alcoholic, ungrateful bastard like you??” He panted heavily. When he next spoke, his voice was slightly softer, like all the anger had disappeared, and disappointment had taken over. “Kim Jaejoong, you really never disappoint me, huh? ing airhead.” 

And with that, he’d left the room, not forgetting to slam the door in his wake. Jaejoong had winced visibly, tasting salt water in the corner of his lips. Had he been crying all this while? The revelation didn’t make him buck up, but rather had served as a cue, a trigger to let every resolve and composure he’d hold all these years to crumble down. He’d sobbed openly, his whole body was jerked with every heave he took. He didn’t remember the last time he’d cried like that. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever cried like that.

For a moment, the room was engulfed in eerie silence except for the sound of his sobs. He’d lost track of his surroundings, concentrating only in the anguish that suddenly overtook him. 

There was a sudden iciness pressed against his sore jaw, and Jaejoong jolted in alarm. Yoochun was suddenly materialised in front of him, kneeling while holding an ice bag. Suddenly feeling tired, Jaejoong had lied his head on Yoochun’s shoulder as he rode out his despair.

Yoochun didn’t say anything. He’d stayed silent until Jaejoong didn’t have any energy left, and merely slumped there like a ragdoll. He’d swallowed thickly, and croaked out, “Yoochunah.”

“Yes, hyung.”

“Do you regret it?”

He was prepared for the second punch he’d receive that day, but it never came. Instead, Yoochun had leaned his head on top of Jaejoong’s. And when his voice came, it’d sounded like it was from so far, far away. Yet it was there, soothing and reassuring all the same. “It’s been hard. But I’m used to it. And if given the choice, I’d go exile myself to the countryside and plant some veggies rather than go back to that place.”

Jaejoong had breathed a laugh at that. “Well, it can be arranged,” he’d said, voice muffled by Yoochun’s sweater. “I’ve got a house in the countryside, see. Really isolated and nobody would know us. And it has this really, really wide backyard.”

Yoochun had laughed back, and suddenly Jaejoong felt his lower back, where their names were carved, burned. And then he’d realized his nose was pressed against where his name and Junsu’s were on Yoochun’s skin. 

Jaejoong wondered if it felt burning, too.

He never found out, but either way, he’d learned his lesson. He never asked again. And right now, as he continued to take in the lines of constant grief on their faces, he swore to himself that everything would look up soon. He didn’t know when, or how, but it would. It just would.

As if on cue, the both of them met Jaejoong’s eyes. And despite the sunken cheeks, the grey-tinged skin, the receding hairlines, the dark circles under their eyes, and Jaejoong didn’t know what else, they smiled. And though things were rough, Jaejoong didn’t remember the time when they smiled quite like this back then. Serene. Peaceful. Though exhausted. He shakily smiled back, and promptly looked away with a new surge of determination so strong he felt his stomach churn. He’d be better. He’d fight harder. He had no time to ponder about the pain, about the agonies. He would stop this. 

Yes, he thought, everything will look up soon.

It must.

I’ll make sure of it myself.

For once and for all,

I’ll take responsibility.

She looked out to the view beyond the bus’ windows. The sky was bright and clear. The stranger sitting beside her was engrossed in the book he read, with a pair of earphones plugged neatly in his ears. She looked away and smiled to herself. What a beautiful, ordinary day, she thought. Years before, she would’ve considered a day like that to be another hassle she had to go through, another time she had no idea how to pass by. A day like that would be perfect for her to kill herself. In fact, back then she would consider any day perfect to do the deed.

She’d come a long way. It worked just like magic. Wasn’t it funny, how one thing you always took for granted could be the only thing that held you up in one particular moment? It was like when you desperately wished for rain and, at that exact second, a downpour happened. And you cried for joy while relentlessly chanting, “hope is not lost.” When usually, a heavy rain was just a condition of the sky. A condition which you would just shrug off. But at that time, you needed it. You really needed it. You didn’t know what it was, but when it came, you just realized that this is it. 

Before, Kim Jaejoong was just another human being who lived while she lived, who breathed when she also breathed. He was just slightly more exposed to the whole world. But at that exact moment, that exact second, when she was staring blearily at the ceiling like she always did all day everyday, she heard his voice. Though she rarely went outside, she wasn’t exactly a hermit. She had access to know what had been happening in this Earth, and Kim Jaejoong happened. She’d heard that voice countless times before. It was everywhere in television and radio. But at one point, suddenly it stopped. She never heard it again. She didn’t really notice it, because she just couldn’t notice anything, apparently too busy mimicking a breathing empty shell, until she heard it again.

It was the kind of voice that ripped through your guts, the kind of voice that would hurt you, tear you, trampling your heart into the ground only to mend it back again. It was the kind of voice that would break you and make you, the kind of voice that was so hauntingly beautiful.

She cried. 

And she cried more over the fact that she could cry. Finally. An emotion. A reaction. This empty shell was probably wasn’t that empty anymore. She didn’t know what was exactly happening, but that voice stirred something inside her. She was too amazed that there was still something to be stirred. 

Since then, she held onto that voice like it was her lifeline. Hope is not lost. Apparently she could live. Live while being aware that she was alive. And it meant the world for her. It meant everything. That day, as determined as a soldier in a battlefield, she said to herself, Kim Jaejoong, I owe you my life.

Have you ever pined for something so much that it hurt you? That the mere idea of that something to come true was really, really dreadful? Like, you were worried that you would have nothing to pine for after that. Because, though painful, the sense of looking forward for something was to be grateful of. And every time you had the time to doze of, you couldn’t help playing as many scenarios as you could come up with; of that fateful encounter in which dreams would meet the reality. How’d that go? Would you cry? Would you faint? Would you be so excited that you hyperventilate? What if you couldn’t breathe and die? What if something went wrong? What if it went wrong and you would be too traumatized to pine for it again? Afraid that the same scenario would happen when the chance somehow reappeared. If it reappeared at all.

Today, that dreadful day finally came. Despite the beautiful weather, she was caught up with the chaotic turmoils currenly brewing in her inward world. She didn’t know what to expect, or if she should expect anything at all. 

The stage lights dimmed, and she could feel her heart thundering. Please, not yet, please, I’m not ready. 

But the world couldn’t stop to wait for her to buck up and it. 

And so, he appeared.

And in the midst of deafening screams, she felt her whole world crashing down.

Despite her introverted trait and disinterest to socialize, she loved people. She loved hearing their stories and worries, all their dreams and fears. She listened to and observed people. She watched and read about them, both the dead and alive ones.

And she’d heard about these people, these men behind the revolutions. About those people who were burning, who was on fire and radiated heat for people to consume. About those people whose role was like the Sun: providing lights for you to live your life, to give you a sign that the night had gone, to chase away the darkness and bask it in its warmth. 

And just like the Sun, it won’t last forever. Soon, it would fade away. Not because it was tired, but because it had no more light to give. Too many people had depended on it, but at the same time, they also suffered from its scorching heat.

Those people who were a walking muse, an oasis, a person who carried thousands of people’s voice... would they face the same fate?

“I feel so suffocated,” one of them had said someday, she remembered. And then, he killed himself. She wondered why. Maybe he did it so he could extinguish his own fire. Anyway, it was bound to dim and dim even more as time went by. It was like the people had absorbed all the energy and spirit he had. Those people were so high that they couldn’t even see they let their lives went astray. They were too blinded by the sheer force of such untamed charm that he possessed.

And when things didn’t go well, when they realized they had left everything behind, it was inevitable that he was the only anchor they had left. He had to make everything right for them. Somehow he had to have all the answers, the reassurance that ‘everything will be alright. You did the right thing.’

Even though no one ever said so.

But every person in the end was only a human. A human who who had limits, who might feel overwhelmed by the trust so many people had placed in his shoulders. A human who was capable of insecurities that he might disappoint them all.

And one by one, the men behind the revolutions killed themselves, wheter literally or figuratively. 

There had been this young mucisian who burned himself out and decided to seek reassurance by embracing Death. And once, there was a young student who was like a sweet vision to a bunch of people. He ended up killing someone. And for him, it was as good as killing himself. There was also this young poet who went to a complete self-recluse, until everyone thought he’d been dead when he was still very much alive, hiding, never wanting to be found again, afraid that somebody would catch his fire. 

But in short, they all were as dead as they could be.

Maybe Kim Jaejoong knew that.

Maybe he knew about those people who were just like him, and he was afraid of ending up the same fate as theirs: dead.

 

She stared and stared and stared at him, at the very being of him. She took in every part of him that she could. His blond hair, so bright, shaping a halo around his head, just like a full moon in the pitch-black night sky. His eyes; black-rimmed, black-shadowed, and she didn’t think any human could possess such sharp, piercing gaze as his. His sunken cheeks and his red, red lips, resembling the vampires they described in thrashy romance novels.

She lowered her eyes and took in his bony yet wide shoulders, his skinny yet toned arms, inexplicably looking so broad and sturdy as if he could lift up brick walls just like superheroes in movies did. She also noticed his black-dyed fingernails. His dark costumes, contrasting undeniably against his alabaster skin.

He doesn’t look like a human.

He looked just like an angel. Or a demon. 

Or an angelic demon. A demonic angel.

And she thought about the men behind the revolutions. Because Kim Jaejoong was one of them. He changed her, for one. She swiped her gaze around her, looking at the thousands of people who stared at him with the same wonder and adoration she had. What kind of stories did all these people have? What kind of change did they go through? What kind of revolutions did Kim Jaejoong cause for them?

Though she didn’t know any of them personally, she felt this kind of strange yet strong kinship with every single one of them. It was kind of amazing how you could be around many people you knew, yet you still felt so alone, and then one day, you went to some place where you were surrounded with a bunch of strangers, yet you suddenly felt whole.

And then she heard that voice. She snapped her attention back to him, and was immediately overwhelmed with many kinds of emotion. She felt happy, obviously, but it wasn’t that simple. She was also washed over in fear. What if I’d never hear this voice again. What if this is my one and only chance.And she also worried. She couldn’t help to think that Jaejoong possibly tried to convince himself that he wasn’t a human. That he was different from those men behind the revolutions. To convince himself that he could still burn, that he was okay, that he was not going to give in and die. And while he was at it, maybe he could also convince people that he was not the same with them all. That we mere humans shouldn’t relate with him, that we shouldn’t follow his path, so he didn’t have to take more responsibilities. 

Well, maybe.

If it was what he was trying to do, then what should she do? Should she leave him? Should she stop defrost herself using his heat? So at least she would rid him one burden, one responsibility he assumed he must take. 

But then, his eyes met hers for one brief moment.

And the magic lent its work once again.

It was one moment, but it was the exact moment. It couldn’t be more than a fraction of a second, but it would last forever, she knew at least that much. 

She saw it. He was looking at her like she was his lifeline. Now he was looking somewhere else, and then somewhere else, his gaze never stayed in one place for so long. Because there were just so many people here. So many people he needed to see. If he didn’t make it quick, he wouldn’t be able to look at them all.

And while he was sweeping his gaze here and there, she watched him. She noticed his eyes. And yes, she could notice things, because she was no longer an empty shell. She could now recognize emotions, because she was familiar with them by now. She’d seen the look in Jaejoong’s eyes in her mirror everyday. The gratefulness of feeling alive. And she could pinpoint what those gleams in Jaejoong’s eyes meant. She just saw it in earlier in the people’s eyes surrounding her, watching him. 

Wonder. Adoration. Love.

He looked at everyone just like how he looked at her a moment ago; like they’re all his lifeline. 

And she knew Kim Jaejoong would be just fine.

Though millions of people needed to feed on his heat, his fire would never cease. Because every single one of those people were his source of warmth, too. She could see it now. Everyone who loved him was his walking muse, his oasis, his voice. He won’t die. He just won’t.

We also won’t die, Jaejoong, don’t worry, we feed on each other, she said inwardly, wishing her words would be carried on and reach him, because she believed everybody else here were thinking exactly the same. 

Right then, she felt sorry for those men behind the revolutions. Those who gave up too early. Those who didn’t get the chance to believe that they didn’t need to die, that hope would never be lost. That every single person had that spark of flame you could always feel the heat of, if only you held on long enough to realize it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the end, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, Kim Jaejoong was still a human. He was just a man. A man who was on fire. 

A man behind the revolutions.

But he would be okay.

Because he didn’t give up to make changes.

And we are

the men behind his revolutions.