a heart full of fire, a head full of pride (for bespokenboy)

[criticalcapture]

For: bespokenboy
From: Anonymous until reveals

Title: a heart full of fire, a head full of pride
Rating: PG-13
Length: 13196 words
Summary: Jongdae is everywhere, and Junmyeon burns as the consequence of letting him into his heart.

Notes: i fear that this isn't good enough, but i'm honoured to have you as my recipient so i hope it's okay! i apologise for this mess ;A; all my love to you and suchen! ♥♥

Raw lights burn Junmyeon’s skin as he steps onto the stage, a microphone in one hand. It’s too bright to see anyone beyond the black platform, but he feels every single pair of eyes of the audience on him and they scorch him, burn him more than the three spotlights focused on him. They’re blinding, almost dizzying, but Junmyeon doesn’t give up. He moves to the centre of the stage, keeping his head up and his chin pointed with pride as he greets his viewers. He lifts his mic up to his lips, flashes a smile to no one in particular but the wall at the very back of the room, and – He doesn’t sing. He opens his mouth and wills a note, a lyric, a word – anything – but nothing comes out. His throat closes up, his feet anchor themselves onto the floor, his arms go rigid. The mic in his hand slips away, rolls down into the audience, and is lost. He doesn’t sing. He can’t sing. He loses face. He starts to shake and tremble and pant and sweat, lost in the throng of nerves and fear. The audience is silent before him but now his ears are ringing and he can’t help but think they’re booing, even if he can’t hear them. They’re jeering at him, yelling at him to go off the stage – he’s sure of it, he can just imagine it. One by one, the spotlights die until he is left with the light above the stage, turning their backs on him. He’s left alone with a tiny glimmer of hope that is far out of reach of his own hand. But then – then, there is Jongdae. Jongdae, who walks out onto the stage with barely audible footsteps but Junmyeon can feel his presence, just like he can feel it even more when Jongdae moves to stand in front of him. And Junmyeon closes his eyes, grits his teeth, and holds his breath. His heart is heavy in its cage, lazy and unmoving in the corner. “I want to be just like you, hyung,” Jongdae whispers, in a voice all too familiar and nostalgic in Junmyeon’s throbbing ears. It burns, burns all over again and again, and even more when he tells him, “But I’m going to be so much better.” His breath latches onto Junmyeon’s skin and sinks its claws into the corners of his mouth, holding him hostage. Junmyeon doesn’t respond. He can’t respond. The light above him is dying out, like a burning star that’s run its flame down to ash, and it’s almost cruel how much it reminds him of himself. He opens his eyes, wills himself to look at Jongdae in the darkness, and he takes a deep breath in. Jongdae stares at him with menacing eyes, a look that haunts only Junmyeon’s dreams and not reality. On his exhale, Junmyeon watches Jongdae’s lips turn up into a wicked smile, and then he stops breathing entirely. The spotlight finally dies. Jongdae turns away from him to face the stage. Sound and white noise exit and enter Junmyeon’s ears but the only thing that stands out with clarity is the roaring of the audience’s cheers and Jongdae’s name, chanted again and again and again. This is no longer Junmyeon’s stage. It has never entirely been his stage. He is the opening act, the music forgotten by many ears twenty minutes into the first set of the concert they paid to get into, the flickering flame before a magnificent fire. And even in his dreams, Junmyeon burns. He burns, burns for the stage, burns always, all for something that has slipped from between his fingers and fallen into the palm of Jongdae’s hand. /// A typical Monday morning reads like an equilibrium. Junmyeon gets up, goes to the studio, sits around fiddling with controls and volumes until he’s called into the recording room, he records and feels satisfied with it until he’s told to record some more, and then he retreats into a booth with his notepad and a pen. Sometimes, Yixing will come in and tell him, “I have the perfect song for you to sing!” and Junmyeon will smile at him and say, “I’ll have the perfect lyrics for it soon,” even though he knows that soon will never come and Yixing’s perfect song will never make it onto the tracklist. Today, Yixing isn’t the one to visit him, but Minseok is. “You wanna grab lunch with me and Jongdae?” He asks. Junmyeon struggles to keep himself steady at the mention of Jongdae’s name – it’s all he has, in this tiny booth of his, not to be disturbed by the man. He shakes his head, tapping the end of his pen on his notepad. “No, I have to do this. Yixing needs me and all.” Minseok bites his lip, a sign that he doesn’t quite buy the half-lie. “You sure? Jongdae keeps asking for you.” Clenching his hand into a fist, away from Minseok’s eyes, Junmyeon rigidly looks up at the latter and forces a smile. “Tell Jongdae that I’ll catch him next time. So it’s a ‘no, thank you’ from me.” “Alright, Junmyeon, this kind of thing may work with Jongdae but it isn’t working for me,” Minseok mutters. He lets out a heavy sigh, leaning on the doorway. “Be civil. You’ve been avoiding him for years.” “I’m not avoiding him.” Junmyeon almost winces at how fast his answer comes, too much a symbol of his denial. “I’m too busy to hang out with stars like him,” he says, feeling the bitter taste of his words like a weight on his tongue. There is more to his words and Minseok knows it. The look in his eyes tell Junmyeon that he wants to say something about the matter, probably comfort him and reassure him of things he doesn’t want to hear, but he doesn’t do anything. He nods, leaves, and Junmyeon is left alone again. On the dog-eared notepad in front of him are two words: burned out. He can’t remember ever writing it, but it’s true enough that he doesn’t cross it out. He sighs, ducks his head down and wills himself not to think, just to write. When Yixing finally comes around hours later, Junmyeon’s page is filled with doodles and those same two words again and again. Yixing leans on the edge of the table, a look in his eyes that seem distant, but Junmyeon knows better than anyone else that it’s the look of the composer’s creative juices flowing than otherwise. Junmyeon smiles. He taps Yixing’s wrist with his pen and asks, “What are you thinking of?” “I’m visualising…a new thing,” Yixing responds. “I’m seeing angst and farewells – oh, and a little bit of heartbreak. Can you even see heartbreak?” Junmyeon thinks back to high school and the university life he is still dreaming of, and all the things he’s lost on the way to get where he is right now – an empire of dreams that had led to a tiny soundproof booth. Heartbreak along the way had never been part of the plan, but it was a price and a prize anyway. Shaking his head, he nudges Yixing off of the table and stands up. “I don’t do heartbreak, Yixing. But you know who does? Jongin down at the dance studio. His mom broke his heart when she told him he couldn’t bring his dogs to the city with him.” They both try and hold in their snickers, but Yixing fails and Junmyeon almost bursts out into a snort. “Angst, farewell and heartbreak all in one, Jongin in your man.” Yixing claps him on the back while he shoves his notepad and pen into one of the drawers. Leaving things like composition books and lyrics lying around just anywhere in a place like SM Entertainment is dangerous; one of the first things Junmyeon was taught when he signed his contract. But with a blank notebook and a rusty pen, dangerous no longer applies to him. “Do you have any practice sessions with Jongin or anything today?” Junmyeon shakes his head at Yixing’s question. “How about vocal lessons? Or a meeting about your tracklist?” Two more shakes of the head. Yixing is clearly trying not to frown, judging by the way his lips keep twitching. Junmyeon tries not to think too hard about that in particular. He smiles at his friend, holding his head high. “I might be a busy man later so I’m using all my free time now just for you, Yixing. Let’s go grab a drink?” Yixing hesitates, looking at him for a few seconds longer than needed. Junmyeon gulps, keeps his smile on his face, and hopes hopes hopes Yixing doesn’t question any of it. “Sure,” he says. His voice is slightly forced with a hint of a desire to pry, but he doesn’t, and Junmyeon is grateful. “As long as the drink is a Coke because it’s lunchtime and getting drunk at this time doesn’t seem like such a great idea.” Inwardly breathing a sigh of relief, Junmyeon beams at him. He ushers them both out of the door, not even bothering to lock up, and he leads them far away from the suffocating booth. Truth is, Junmyeon has a lot of free time on his hands. His time is strictly spent on bettering himself because he doesn’t have anyone else. They flocked over to the latest star hit when his ship landed. It’s not exactly something he wants or likes to admit, but Junmyeon is no longer in their orbit. Junmyeon is no longer their star. /// Jongdae met Junmyeon in the summer of his sixteenth year while on a tour of his new high school, the day before he was set to officially move. The School of Performing Arts in Seoul? Exceptional. A dream one can only achieve with the strongest mindset and talent. Possibly impossible. You had to try and be tried before you could go anywhere in your life. To Jongdae? The beginning of everything. He’d had his heart set on SOPA from the first day he watched handfuls and dozens of idols on television, the ones his mother loved to watch. It was the smile on her face, the tapping of her foot and the way she’d hum song after song in the car, to him when he couldn’t sleep at night, while they were shopping – it was all of those that planted the dream in his head, nurtured it, and he loved it. He was going to live the dream, now. He was going to graduate from this school, audition for a company, and be his mother’s brightest star. He was going to go places. He was going to make it big. Kim Junmyeon was the student council president leading their tour, showing them the building’s grounds, rooms, and examples of alumni achievement. He even comfortably chatted with Jongdae and his mother on the way, about on-the-surface things that made for friendly conversation while on the move. He was handsome, Jongdae had to admit. In his buttoned-up blazer, neat tie and ironed trousers. He had a handsome face and hair styled just as tidy as his uniform. There wasn’t a speck of imperfection on the student, none at all. Jongdae thought he looked like a singer, with his gentle voice and kind tones whenever he spoke. It was something to admire, definitely. And admire, Jongdae did. “So, what are you hoping to do in the future?” Junmyeon asked him. They had stopped at one of the music rooms along their tour. There was a hallway of closed doors, each with some kind of music flowing from inside to the outside. Piano melodies, guitar chords, flute pieces all drifted like harmonious smoke under the doors and into Jongdae’s ears. It was beautiful to hear, to see, to feel. Jongdae turned to him and gave a smile. “I want to be an idol,” he replied. Junmyeon let out a laugh, the corners of his mouth moving into a grin. “So does many of our students. Myself, included.” Wide-eyed, Jongdae gasped. “You too, sunbae?” “Call me hyung, Jongdae. It’ll help you feel more welcome, and I’d also like to be your friend, if that’s alright.” Wordlessly, Jongdae gaped and nodded. Junmyeon continued, “I would like to be an idol one day.” And then, he paused. He leaned into Jongdae, away from the eyes of his mother while she floated down the hallway with her eyes on the endless tapestry of achievements, and his grin never left his face. He adds, “Can I trust you with a secret?” Jongdae’s heart throbbed in his chest, like a tribal drumbeat knocking on his ribcage. Junmyeon was suddenly too close and Jongdae was suddenly too aware of so many things at once. It was thrilling – a secret, from an upperclassman, just for him.  He nodded, still unable to say anything. Junmyeon’s eyes gleamed with something dream-like, like a haze of clouds. “I’m a trainee,” he whispered. “I’ve been a trainee at SM for a year now. I’m going to debut one day.” And if all his admiration for Junmyeon came from his prim and proper uniform, the angled styling of his hair and his studious appearance, Jongdae was wrong. This was the beginning; a secret, a yearning, a dream. /// A typical Tuesday afternoon reads no different from a Monday morning, except all of yesterday’s effort put into his voice is set to go towards his body today. It’s a dance practice with Jongin and his fellow dancers, the very same ones Junmyeon worked with on his first breakout single. It’s been almost four years since then – four years of hopes, never-ending track lists and the eternal sufferings of lost sleep and distorted appetites. The first song had been about new beginnings, with a bright concept to match. Now, Junmyeon can hardly recall how the first felt, how he still feels years after it. Jongin burns him through an entirely new routine, which Junmyeon throws his entire heart and body into for the point of exercise rather than for anything else. Sehun, Jongin’s right-hand dancer, goes through step after step of footwork when he trips up and doesn’t get it, while Jongin himself takes him through every step again and again whenever a new move is added. It’s routine, one he’s very familiar with, and even the other dancers are too comfortable with him after all these years to even complain about it. When Jongin calls for a break, however, Junmyeon realises how much they’ve all been needing one, with some dropping to the floor in relief and others rushing over to the side for water and a snack. Jongin corners him while he’s drinking an entire bottle. The young choreographer is terribly red in the cheeks and his chest heaves with exhaustion, but Junmyeon knows Jongin isn’t really feeling how tired he is when the adrenaline is still rushing through him, the thrill of the thing he loves most still in his veins. “I’m really, really, really sorry but I don’t think I can do a session with you tomorrow, hyung!” Jongin sheepishly cries, taking Junmyeon by surprise. Jongin usually sounds like this when he feels guilty about something, and he hasn’t been like this in a while so Junmyeon can only wonder why. “It’s alright, Jongin,” he reassures him. “What’s happening tomorrow?” Jongin’s cheeks flush even more red. “Minseok hyung told me that Jongdae hyung’s coming in to start on his comeback.” Junmyeon gapes. His eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. He thinks of the year he’s spent sitting in his booth writing empty lyrics, and of the year Jongdae’s spent on the charts for weeks and weeks three times in the space for simple months. It turns his brain into overdrive, the same bitter thoughts surfacing in his mind all over again. “Comeback? Again?” Junmyeon hisses. Jongin flinches slightly, his eyes darting around the room. Junmyeon takes a moment to steady himself, to feel the moment and remind him not to take it out on the boy. He clears his throat and shakes his head. “He’s only been on a break for a month. Why is he releasing something new again?” “I don’t know, hyung,” Jongin replies quietly. “Minseok hyung said a repackage of Uprising has been high in demand lately. The company’s just giving what the fans want and Jongdae hyung agreed to go with it.” Junmyeon almost barks out a laugh. He doesn’t, however, after remembering that Jongin has no fault in this. No one has a fault in this – maybe not even Jongdae. Junmyeon is just incredibly angry for all the things he could never properly explain. That this is his dream in the first place, his spot in the company as the star, the idol of the generation. Instead, he quietly responds, “Uprising is still doing well on the charts. Jongdae is still doing well with his fans. Are they ever going to give him a break? They’ll overwork him and throw him away when he’s wrung out.” Like me, he thinks bitterly. Except I burned too bright too fast. Jongin shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. Junmyeon can tell he’s desperate to start dancing again. “Jongdae is the prized star, hyung. He’ll shine for a long time, given how big he is now. And even when he’s done, years and years later, he’ll still shine.” Even though it’s the truth, and even though Junmyeon knows it’s the truth, it’s the one thing Junmyeon cannot stand hearing. The insinuation that Jongdae is the only star, the one the company favours and nurtures the most, the possibility that there is no room for anything or anyone else, the fact that it is true his name will never be forgotten. The one thing Junmyeon cannot stand isn’t Jongdae himself, though it’s almost the same, but it’s that it’s his name that’s supposed to be up there with KIM JONGDAE on the charts. Not buried beneath broken records and faded dreams, but in the sky and the stars and right next to Jongdae’s. /// Jongdae dedicated himself to his studies on days when he felt like it, but those days were numbered and tiring when all he wanted to do was reach out for his notebook and write melodies and lyrics. He wanted to sing, to dance, to perform with a band and with backup dancers and with multi-coloured spotlights. Junmyeon was the person he looked for whenever he needed help for his studies, but sessions spent in the music room they used for tutoring were ones distracted by Junmyeon’s fingers on piano keys and Jongdae’s laughter-turned-song. Even the school’s golden student was distracted by music, and looking at him from where he sat on the bench next to him, Jongdae knew Junmyeon belonged on a stage in front of a world of viewers. “I have this friend,” Junmyeon started, his voice breezy and bright whenever he told Jongdae his stories, “and she trains me by going through what I should and shouldn’t wear.” Jongdae giggled, imagining Junmyeon being dressed down from his clean-cut uniform and dressed up in silver, golds and glamour. It was too perfect, too beautiful. “They have that, too?” Junmyeon grinned at him. “Well, not exactly – Soojung is a trainee with me, but she takes it upon herself to be my stylist whenever we don’t have actual classes to do. She goes to Hanlim, by the way.” “Is she pretty?” Jongdae nudged him with his elbow, wriggling a brow at him for effect. Shrugging his shoulders, Junmyeon fiddles with the keys on the piano. “Yeah, I guess. Soojung’s nice. I don’t have many friends as a trainee, and not even here do I have anyone close enough to call my friend, but Soojung helps me a lot when we’re at the company and in turn, I help her too.” Awed and amazed, Jongdae gazed at the other and shook his head in disbelief. “How does a person like you – perfect in every single way – have no friends? You have so many people who look up to you, including me. Are you lonely, hyung?” For a moment, Junmyeon was so silent that Jongdae started to think he had crossed some sort of line – but then a soft smile made its way onto Junmyeon’s lips and he thought otherwise. “When you live this kind of life, it gets a little lonely. They takes things from you, but it’s to help you. I can’t tell other students about it because I’m not allowed, and also because you can’t trust just anyone around here. When you’re a trainee, it’s a make it or break it life. You can all look up to me, but I’m only a model in academic performance and appearance – if you knew what it’s like, I don’t think you’d be looking up to me at all.” Jongdae considered this and he considered leaning his head on Junmyeon’s shoulder as an act of comforting. Junmyeon sounded so nimble and somewhat broken that it pained Jongdae just to hear him – but he needed to hear him, needed to hear of the life he wanted to live from the person he wanted to know it from. He needed to know so he could prepare himself, but at the same time, he wanted to know so he could understand Junmyeon better. And he did, he understood. He played with a key, heard it chime and watched as a small smile quirked Junmyeon’s lips. He asked, “So why did you tell me your secret, hyung?” “Because I can see my own dream in your eyes, Jongdae,” Junmyeon replied. “You can taste the dream on your tongue, just like I did. You want it as much as I do – that’s why you’re here, aren’t you? You’re going to live your dream and you’re not going to stop until you get there.” He paused to look into Jongdae’s eyes, flashing him a knowing grin. “And you’re going to get there.” Jongdae had never wanted to believe in anything as much as he wanted to believe in Junmyeon’s words. He had never wanted to so badly be someone else, for the simple thought of Junmyeon being closer to his dream than he currently was, but he believed in himself because Junmyeon believed in him. Junmyeon cleared his throat, placed his hands on the piano keys once again, and smiled kindly. “Now, are you going to sing with me or what?" /// A typical Wednesday is, once again, no different from a Monday, or a Tuesday. He sings, he practices, he writes, he stays in Yixing’s room to compose, he has lunch, he does everything he normally does except for dance. Jongdae has complete use of the practice rooms; one for himself with Jongin, one with the backup dancers and their choreographer, and then one bigger room for when the two pieces tie together to become one. Junmyeon sighs as he sits in on the recording room couch, watching Soojung attempt to control her breathing with every note she tries to reach. Yixing is sitting next to him, his Macbook on his lap and headphones around his head, deep in whatever he’s currently composing. Chanyeol, in charge of the sound engineering for f(x)’s future album, swivels around in his chair to face him. “You heard about Jongdae?” The hand Junmyeon has rested on the arm of the couch clenches. His lips purse into a line of distaste, but he forces an eye roll just to make himself look less villainous. “Yes. Unfortunately.” “Unfortunately,” Chanyeol snorts mockingly. “You mean you absolutely hate the kid and wish it was you right?” “I meant unfortunately as in they’re going to work him like a pack mule and he’s going to suffer. Unfortunately,” Junmyeon grits through tight teeth. Chanyeol’s been his friend and colleague from day one and he was ruthless in the way he told the truth and in the way he knew Junmyeon. It’s nothing entirely new to be on the receiving end of Chanyeol's comments, but it is, however, still new and slightly sore to be on the spot when he doesn’t exactly want to admit to anything. Chanyeol causally shrugs. “The kid has talent,” he says. Junmyeon rolls his eyes. “As if I didn’t know that. You think three years of continuous chart toppers says otherwise?” “I’m just saying –“ Chanyeol swivels back to face Soojung, turning up one of the nobs on the soundboard, momentarily abandoning his conversation with Junmyeon. Into the mic connected to the recording booth, Chanyeol says, “Soojung, hey, that was a really good note. Go through it again so I can check it and also so I can fall in love with you.” Soojung gives him the finger and mouths insincere curses at Chanyeol, which makes Junmyeon laugh. To him, she throws him a smile and a wave before going back to her music. Chanyeol turns up the volume of her mic for their spectator booth to hear, and he’s right – the note she hit, soft yet powerful and not too rugged like the notes she attempted before, is a really good one. Junmyeon notes that it’s not perfect, it has a little bit of work to do, but it’s good and it’s getting there. He gives Soojung two thumbs up, and then he nudges Yixing in the side, jolting him out of his composing bubble. “Can’t I just duet with Soojung for my next song?” he asks, half-joking but also half-hoping. Yixing inches one ear of his headphones away just to listen to him, and then he shakes his head. “I wish you could, buddy, but –“ “No,” Chanyeol interrupts, “Boss says no can do, these girls are untouchable.” He points to Soojung. “This one in particular is untouchable. I think she’s, like, insured for some kind of million. Junmyeon sighs and slumps back into his seat. “Just looking for an opportunity, but sure, go ahead and shoot me down.” Yixing awkwardly thumps him on the back before turning his attention back to his Macbook. Chanyeol turns around to him again. “You will get your break, Junmyeon. Shut up and feel the music, for now. Or even better – why don’t you go down and see Jongdae, check on him and wish him good luck and all?” Junmyeon purses his lips. He would rather stay in here and listen to Chanyeol mock him for the rest of his life than see Jongdae. To see Jongdae would be to give into the anger, into the harsh truth. To see Jongdae at work would be to relive the bitter end all over again. To see Jongdae would be to wave the white flag at himself. It would be defeat. /// Jongdae tried to keep up with Junmyeon as the older boy sped ahead of him through the park and into one of the small gardens behind the gates. The weekend run had been incorporated into their strange friendship out of their desire to be friends outside a shared dream, and it was easy to become a part of each other’s life when they walked along the same path in general. He felt so at ease with Junmyeon. Everything about him was admirable, and Jongdae was reminded every time he stole glances at the student. Junmyeon could run miles and miles without stopping or even looking tired – he was perfect even in motion. It made Jongdae want to be better. It always made Jongdae want to be better. “I hear this kind of thing is good for your lungs,” he said once they stopped by a park bench. Junmyeon sat down, chest heaving but not looking a second out of breath. “Anything to get those lungs working,” he said with a smile. “How’re you holding up?” Jongdae sagged onto the bench next to him, his arms and legs feeling slightly numb from all the prolonged movement. “I’m good, all good. If we had good roads and paths like this back in my hometown, I would’ve gone running every day.” Junmyeon nodded. “Do you miss it? Home?” “Nah,” Jongdae admitted. “I moved here for a reason and I knew what it would cost me. The stage will be my home one day.” A laugh escaped from Junmyeon and Jongdae smiled at himself. The older boy inched closer to him on the bench and their thighs touched. “You’re always thinking of the stage.” “Aren’t you?” “Not really,” Junmyeon replied. “Not so much anymore. It’s still my dream but when you’re so wrapped up in this world, you think of it less and focus more on how to get there. You’ll be like that too, Jongdae. But never lose your dream.” Jongdae sighed. “I wish I could audition now. I wish I could be a trainee right now.” “No, you really don’t,” Junmyeon mumbles. “You’re doing it right now. I don’t know how you do it, but you’re almost there and you’re juggling this life and the other in both hands – I want that, too. Maybe if I auditioned now, you wouldn’t be going through it alone. I’d understand better.” Junmyeon nudged their knees together. The warmth of skin stuck to Jongdae’s so easily. “Not yet. I’m doing this because I rushed headfirst into my dream and, believe it or not, I’m struggling to hold both of my lives together. Do this properly, Jongdae, that’s the most important advice I could give you.” Now their elbows touched. Their skin on skin lit a flame in Jongdae’s chest, one warmer than the heat he felt in his cheeks after their run. Jongdae swallowed, steadied his breathing, and asked, “Then can I give you some advice?” Curiously, Junmyeon looked at him with a gleam in his eyes. He nodded. “Don't overwork yourself. As a trainee or when you debut, or whenever and at all,” Jongdae whispered, locking their gazes together. “I think you’re doing a good job, hyung. Please don’t work yourself too hard.” With a laugh, Junmyeon grinned at him and bumped his knee and elbow with Jongdae’s, this time keeping them together so that their skin remained stuck to each other. Jongdae could not even begin to explain or think about the heat he felt in his cheeks, in his chest, in Junmyeon’s eyes. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to handle what would be made of them afterwards. “Yes,” Junmyeon promises. “I always take care of myself.” Jongdae knew he could. He could take care of himself and entire country. He could probably take care of the entire world because Junmyeon was that capable. Jongdae wanted Junmyeon to take care of him, too. /// The Thursday that comes around reads like a single line in the disruption of Junmyeon’s equilibrium: he’s on his way to his car, on his way home for the day, when he bumps into Jongdae. One is leaving before the sun even sets and the other is returning to his post for hours on end until sunrise. Two had shared a dream, but only one is living it. “Junmyeon hyung!” Jongdae calls out as he locks his car. Junmyeon stills, his hand on the handle of his own car, and he feels it all too quickly: Jongdae’s voice in his head, in his veins, in his chest. One has hasn’t heard in a while, the one he hasn’t let himself hear in so long. It’s awful, like poison in his bloodstream – weakening, which is to say it’s even more terrible for him when Jongdae sings. He refuses to turn around, knowing he’s forcing a hand when Jongdae approaches him with his usual friendly demeanour. He shuts his eyes tight and clenches his fists only to unclench them and bury them in his jacket pocket. Jongdae walks around so they face each other, and now Junmyeon knows avoidance is futile. So he lifts his head up high, always high for the pride he still has left, and he greets Jongdae with a smile that’s jagged around the edges and blunt at the hilt. “Hey, Jongdae,” he says. It feels as if high school never happened, as if the two years they knew each other back then – an intimate two years before his rough ones after graduation and after Jongdae – never happened. Like a ghost of a memory and a hint of a former smile, they faded then and they’re fading now. Junmyeon can’t stop himself from thinking that things will never be the same, not when he feels sick to his stomach at the sight of Jongdae’s albums on the shelves, or his tracks at the top of the chart, or Jongdae himself when he greets their colleagues at the company with the sweetest smile. He’s the only one who feels this way, which is what he can tell from Jongdae’s everlastingly brilliant grin. Jongdae doesn’t know, has never known, about how his rise to fame dragged Junmyeon down in the shadows by the ankles, like shackles and chains that make him fallen. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” Jongdae says, and it makes Junmyeon’s heart lurch. “How have you been?” The stirring of conversation doesn’t sit well with Junmyeon, not when he wants to go home and call his mother and cry about his shattered dream, but here is the man who broke them with his own shard of glass standing right in front of him. He doesn’t know what else to do or say except for, “I’ve been alright,” and even that is far from the truth. “I miss you,” Jongdae tells him. So bright, so chirpy, so happy – like always, because this is Jongdae and it always has been, even if Junmyeon wants to take back everything he ever knew about him. “I’ve been hoping to catch you around the company but you’re hardly anywhere.” Junmyeon nods and maintains his civil smile. “Yeah, I’ve been a bit busy. I’ve been writing for Yixing and Yixing’s been composing for me.” “Chanyeol tells me you guys have been working on something for a while now! How’s it coming along?” If only Jongdae’s grin wasn’t so naturally blinding. If only he wasn’t so naturally bright himself. Junmyeon swears that if he wasn’t so naturally everything, he wouldn’t be hating himself so much right now. Shrugging ever so casually, Junmyeon replies, “It’s just another thing, really. It’s alright so far.” Here, even check my stupid notepad just to see how alright it is. Pages and pages of nothing. “Good! I’m always looking forward to hear you, hyung. I still play your music on repeat. I’m pretty much sick of mine already.” Jongdae takes it, oblivious as always. Junmyeon has to will himself not to roll his eyes. “Are you releasing anything soon?” he asks; the dreaded question. Junmyeon shakes his head all too quickly, desperate to avoid talking about his music with Jongdae. “Not anytime soon, no.” Jongdae looks as if he’s about to say something, but Junmyeon pushes another smile and waves his keys in his hands. “Hey, I’d love to catch up and all but I have to get home.” Jongdae’s shoulders slightly slump, but his smile never falters. He nods, but just as Junmyeon opens his car door, he reaches out to grab him by the elbow. Junmyeon goes rigid under his hold. He hopes Jongdae doesn’t notice. “Hey,” the younger man whispers. His smile is blinding. Junmyeon wishes he could look at anything else other than Jongdae. Their eyes meet. “I mean it when I say I miss you. It’s been too long and I wish I could see you more often, hyung.” Let go of me, Junmyeon wants to tell him. Let go. Jongdae’s hand on his arm falls only when he nods and looks away. He swallows the stubborn rock stuck in his throat. “See you tomorrow, Jongdae,” he says. And then Jongdae is walking away, already moving forward like he always is while Junmyeon watches him, left behind. No longer the one ahead of the run, or beyond the dream. He’s being left behind, and he’s too stubborn to do anything about it. He wants to call out to Jongdae, stop him in his tracks and tells him, “I miss you, too”, but he doesn’t. He gets into his car, starts it up, backs out of the parking lot and drives home. His chest feels jittery and his hands are half-trembling on the wheel. Jongdae’s effect on everyone is enormous. His breath is shaking too, a stutter between each inhale and exhale. He can still feel Jongdae’s hand on him. Like an anchor, like the same old chains. Jongdae is on the shelves, in the charts, in the recording booths and dance studios of the company’s building, on Junmyeon’s bookcase hidden between old textbooks and magazines, on billboards lined up along the streets, in endless print and video and audio. Jongdae is in between the crevices of Junmyeon’s life, the past and the present and the future, in his head and his chest and his dreams. Jongdae is everywhere, and Junmyeon burns as the consequence of letting him into his heart. /// On the last day of Junmyeon’s high school senior year, Jongdae bought flowers and a box of bakery cakes for them to share. He caught the older student in one of the music rooms, as usual, with his hands on the piano and his eyes closed in concentration and passion, and his heart flowing inside the room in steady beats and exploding melody. Jongdae felt guilty for disturbing Junmyeon at work like this, but one creak of the door opening sent Junmyeon’s head towards the door, his hands never leaving the piano. All feeling except for adoration escaped Jongdae when Junmyeon beckoned him forward with a crooked smile. “Congratulations on surviving four years of hell,” Jongdae proudly commented. “And for making two of mine more bearable.” Junmyeon’s piece paused as he moved over to make room for Jongdae, who then sat comfortably, setting his gifts on top of the piano. “It isn’t over yet. Are those for me?” “The flowers, yes, but the chocolates, no.” Jongdae laughed, squirming in his seat when Junmyeon pinched him for the joke. Then he leaned his head on the other’s shoulder and he sighed, the laughter leaving him like a snuffed out flame. “Hyung,” he began, though he had no reason to continue for he had nothing else to say. “Hey, will you promise me something?” Junmyeon said quickly. No music flowed from him, replaced by silent and an air of anticipation between them. Jongdae nodded. He could never really refuse anything Junmyeon requested. Even now, on his last day and possibly the last time he’d see Junmyeon for a long while, he knew he could never refuse him anything at all. “It depends on what it is…kidding! Anything. What is it?” Junmyeon looked into his eyes in that moment, and Jongdae knew he never wanted to be next to anyone else as much as he wanted to be beside Junmyeon. Not just now, but tomorrow and the next day, and the next, and every day until the day the stage is graced with his presence – and beyond even then. Silence came, stayed, and left just as Junmyeon reached over the keys for Jongdae’s hand. He took it in his, entwined their fingers together, and left Jongdae’s heart to fend for itself in its cage. One second, Junmyeon was looking at him with eyes more focused than usual and the next, he was looking away, at anything but him. Jongdae had no idea what to do – no idea how to feel except for the touch of Junmyeon’s skin on his, and how his heart stuttered when their fingers locked in place, and how it made his blood boil to want someone so much all of a sudden that it went completely over his head. Junmyeon took a deep breath in. “Promise me we’ll keep in touch. No matter what?” Who was Jongdae to refuse the very person he looked up to the most, who chased the same dream as him and made it worth spending all their time in the confines of a room surrounded by and containing music? This was his heart, and Junmyeon’s heart, and the dream that hung in the air above them was theirs for the taking. He squeezed their fingers together. He nodded. He smiled. “Of course, hyung. I’ll always want to keep in touch with you.” It was the end, and it felt like the end – but Jongdae wanted to believe it was more. He wanted to believe it was the beginning. /// Thursday is usually nothing special, except this particular Thursday, Yixing comes to him with surprising news and a finished track. Junmyeon’s in his special booth, pen in hand but a blank page in front of him. “I got it!” Yixing cheerfully yells, waving his CD in Junmyeon’s face. “I’ve got your track and your comeback!” Junmyeon practically leaps out of his chair and hurls himself at his friend, wrapping every one of his limbs around Yixing’s small frame. Yixing holds him up, attempting to hug him back, but Junmyeon has his arms around him so tight that he can’t quite move as freely. “Are you kidding me?” Junmyeon asks, voice muffled as he buries his face into Yixing. “Yixing, are you kidding me?” Yixing, possibly struggling to breathe and maintain his own personal space, nods and laughs at Junmyeon. “No, I’m not kidding you! I have your track and some good news!” “What is it?” Junmyeon asks, not wanting to let go just yet. “You’re going to be starting comeback preparations in a few days!” Yixing shrieks with joy. “And who better to do a single with than the country’s hottest star right now? That’s right, you are the winner of a comeback collaboration with the one and only Kim Jongdae!” And just like that, Junmyeon’s dream shatters all over again. /// On Jongdae’s last day of high school, he came home to a neatly-wrapped square shaped package that could’ve come from one person only. Junmyeon’s handwriting greeted him as soon as he ripped open the package and opened the CD, written in black Sharpie in typical Junmyeon scrawl, which was to say very neat and evenly spaced. To my dreamer, the first line of the inside cover read. I can’t wait to stand on stage with you. It was his demo, his very first demo. Junmyeon’s hard work and bled-out years of moving towards showcasing his talent to the world on stage, all of it tapped into one song on one CD in one case that was meant for only one person. He ran upstairs, pulled out his CD player and shoved it in, intense excitement flowing through him. It was silent for a moment, silent for the first few beats that he counted in his head as he waited for Junmyeon’s voice to come in. And then there it was – a soft, low note before any backing track came in, like a trickle of rain before a storm, a breeze of a whisper before a yell. Junmyeon’s opening note, the first few words in his lyrics, all a gentle crooning in Jongdae’s ears as it echoed in his room. It was as perfect as his being, as controlled and tidy as his old uniform appearance and presidential demeanour. As the song continued into its first verse, Jongdae listened to every word and every note and pitch and melody, and it almost felt as if Junmyeon stood in his room singing his song to him. Junmyeon wanted to show him, wanted him to hear it before anyone else. Jongdae was honoured, more than anything. He wanted to be a part of Junmyeon’s life – the trainee and the student part of him – in a way he couldn’t explain. But it was a way he could never really explain, not when Junmyeon was out of contact during his training period. The only way they would meet was backstage, or on the stage, or in one of the practice rooms they promised to meet in. Jongdae was going to be just as headstrong as Junmyeon, he was sure of it. He wanted to be. Right before Junmyeon’s song ended, Jongdae slumped down into his bed and buried his face into his pillow. He wanted to see Junmyeon now more than words could say. He wanted to see him, wanted to talk about how he was going to spend his summer working towards every audition that would take him, he wanted to hear Junmyeon in person and see him perform everything he’d learnt so far. He wanted everything, but a little more wanting went into the desire to be with him. /// “Can you believe we’re going to be working together?” Jongdae asks him as he perches himself on the end of the recording room couch. Junmyeon, nodding, hums in a short reply. Chanyeol is on the chair in front of them, fiddling with controls and tuning sounds while they waited. Minseok, as Jongdae’s manager, had stepped out minutes before to fetch water for the both of them, a warm up for the warm up before the first practice. It had been both a surprise and a disappointment upon hearing the announcement that idol-slash-actor-slash-variety-king-slash-face-of-Korea Kim Jongdae is officially working with another one of SM Entertainment’s idols, Kim Junmyeon – but the disappointment had mainly come from him. He had also read the comments that came in with the written articles, some in support of the project but others in confusion as to who Kim Junmyeon was and how impossible it is to pair Jongdae up with anyone without them seeming more like a backup performer for the top star. Junmyeon spent an entire night meditating and telling himself that no, he wasn’t a washed up idol, not after just a few years in the industry. He was shadowed – he is shadowed. That’s all there is to him. “It’s like high school all over again,” Jongdae comments, voice wistful and already drifting into a memory. Junmyeon’s skin prickled at the thought of high school, of Jongdae beside him in the music room, of Jongdae’s crooked tie and dishevelled uniform next to his perfectly ironed set. He stares at shoes from where his legs are crossed on the couch. “Yeah, kind of,” he replies. “High school.” High school, except you’re the one everyone looks up to now, not me. High school, except it feels like nothing’s changed with you, except how much I want to hate you for getting this far. High school, except I am the one left dreaming and you are a dream. “Yixing’s track is also pretty bomb. I’m glad he gave it to the both of us – I think it suits us well, you know?” Junmyeon just nods in response, unsure of what to say. He knows that if he were to say anything at all it’ll come out cold and uninviting, so he doesn’t say anything at all, out of fear, out of spite of himself. “I’m really glad you’re coming back with me. Let me tell you,” Jongdae snorts, “I’ve been preparing so hard for the solo comeback we had planned that I drained myself and lost all feeling. But when I found out we’d be collaborating, I woke up. I woke up, dropped my solo, and worked hard and told myself to be good enough for when we start working together.” “You are good enough,” Junmyeon tells him. He half-heartedly blushes, his teeth catching onto his bottom lip out of embarrassment for letting himself speak at all. The plan had been to record with Jongdae, practice with Jongdae, learn the tools and tricks of being in front of a camera all over again with Jongdae, and keep it strictly professional. It hasn’t been working so far. “You really think so?” Jongdae asks, hopeful. Junmyeon curses himself, nods and says, “Even on your own, you’re pretty amazing, Jongdae.” Jongdae beams, like a young child being praised for a good deed; he brightens up so fast that Junmyeon has to stop himself from looking in his direction. “Well, now I can be even more amazing with you, hyung.” Junmyeon swallows and shakes his head. “No,” he whispers. “You’ve always been amazing without me.” And if Jongdae hears him say it at all, he doesn’t show it. Chanyeol turns around in his chair to give him a stern, knowing look. Junmyeon turns his eyes back onto his shoes, feeling the burn of his memories deep in his gut. It’s silent then, silent even when Minseok comes back and demands them to go into the recording booth ready to start, even when Chanyeol tells them to do this and that with their pitches and their lyrics, even when he catches Jongdae staring at him across the soundproof room. Even when Jongdae smiles at him and lights up the entire room around Junmyeon, it is silent. /// The first time Jongdae walked into his very first trainee session at SM, the first thing he did was this: he looked for a man named Kim Junmyeon. He asked around the workers who would listen to him when he asked in passing, asked around the trainees who had been there longer than he had been, asked whoever was around at any time. They all responded with either “Junmyeon hyung is so cool!” or “Junmyeon oppa is so handsome!” and even “Junmyeon hyung is going to be the best idol out there, ever!” and Jongdae knew he had come to the right place. He had aced the audition a month before he began training, received a call back from the company he had auditioned for first. When they made him an offer, he thought of Junmyeon and he couldn’t refuse. But he never saw Junmyeon on his first day, or in his first week, or his first month – yet he never gave up asking around and looking. He found Junmyeon once, in the lobby by the company’s entrance. He looked like a matured version of his high school self, if that was even possible. His hair had been dyed a dark shade of brown, his uniform replaced with tracksuit bottoms and a grey hoodie, his face slightly thinner than before but more defined. Even the circles under his eyes looked like art on Junmyeon’s face. When Junmyeon saw him, Jongdae forgot any kind of boundary there was between them now that they were no longer in high school, and he ran up to him for the embrace he’d spent years dreaming of. “You made it,” was the first thing Junmyeon said to him. He had a hand on Jongdae’s nape, where his print burned into his skin, and an arm around his middle, where Jongdae wished he’d never let go. “You’re here,” he added, and he sounded almost breathless. Jongdae let out a laugh, closed his eyes to savour the moment and buried his face into Junmyeon’s chest. “I found you.” Junmyeon took him to one of the recording rooms upstairs and showed him his current living space – a tiny soundproof room next to the recording booth, with just a table and a chair pushed up against the wall and a sleeping bag rolled up underneath it. Junmyeon sat on the table and he pulled Jongdae’s chair closer to him with his feet. “I heard there was a new trainee around with the name Kim Jongdae, but I didn’t want to believe it until I saw you with my own eyes.” Junmyeon smiled. Jongdae, who could no longer breathe from the new proximity between them, and also from the sound of Junmyeon’s hoarse voice, grinned up at his friend and said, “I looked for you everywhere as soon as I got here. You’re really popular, hyung. If you’re already this popular with the trainees and the company, what is it going to be like when you finally debut?” Junmyeon shook his head. “Nothing new, I’m still the same humble little mama’s boy on the inside.” They laughed and Jongdae wondered if it would be taking things too far if he reached out and held Junmyeon’s hand. Maybe he wouldn’t even mind – maybe Junmyeon would even hold his hand back. Jongdae’s hand remained where they were, clasped on his lap with his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten me,” he said. “As soon as you saw me, you recognised me. I can’t even begin to explain how that felt.” Then he stared- Junmyeon, with his star-like eyes and tired lines, stared at him with a missing smile and a rose blush on his cheeks. He looked so young yet so old at the same time, like the teenager he once was but aged with hard work and strict rules. But he didn’t look terrible, nor did he look like the shadows beneath his eyes – they were a part of him, sure, but he wore them rather than the other way around. Junmyeon looked breathtaking with his eyes on his. Jongdae was sure he could get lost in the man and never return, never look for a way out. Junmyeon leaned closer. He leaned and leaned and leaned in until they were a breath apart, until Jongdae’s breath hitched and his body stilled. Junmyeon was searching his eyes, he could feel it from the scorching sensation of such lovely eyes on his. He didn’t deserve it, he wasn’t worthy – Junmyeon shouldn’t be looking at him like that, he shouldn’t be so close. But he wanted it, all of it. “Jongdae,” Junmyeon whispered. “I want to kiss you.” They were so, so close that Jongdae swore he could taste his name on Junmyeon’s lips. His heart throbbed like violent thunder in his chest, like lightning coming closer and closer to home with every destructive strike. He yearned, like the days they spent in music rooms surrounded by piano sheets and gentle chords, he yearned to be closer and closer to Junmyeon, until their hearts beat out of their chest and leapt at each other. He asked, “Why don’t you?” in a shaky breath, nerves entwining with excitement in his blood. A new ache bricked itself around his heart. Junmyeon smiled weakly at him, never breaking their eye contact, never moving away. They were so close. Junmyeon’s hands had moved closer to where Jongdae’s were on the chest, and their fingers, electric, barely brushed each other’s. He was so close. Jongdae knew why without Junmyeon having to voice his answer. He knew it because Junmyeon knew it, and if he knew it then Jongdae had to have the same piece of information for himself. It wasn’t personal, it was a rule. It was a line that could never be crossed, a border that would always be guarded; taboo of the highest sort. Later, while he was being drilled into a dance routine with a dozen other hopefuls just like him, Jongdae let Junmyeon’s words flow into his body, like adrenaline in his bloodstream. It made him so much more, it fuelled him. It made him want to be better, because he always wanted to be better with Junmyeon. In his head, Junmyeon whispered again, “I want to kiss you.” Jongdae asked him, asked himself, again, “Why don’t you?” And the answer was so simple to think of but so difficult to say out loud. The answer was easy, but only if you knew Junmyeon as well as he did. In his head, Junmyeon closed his eyes and answered, “Because the dream comes first.” /// Junmyeon’s arms and legs ache from Jongin’s constant build-up of moves, the intensity of each and every one bleeding into his bones. He’s sweating from head to toe, some of it beading from the tips of his hair and dripping onto his neck. He’s so out of breath, panting here and there, that if it were possible he would steal all of the oxygen in the dance studio just to keep him going. Jongdae, on the other hand, looks just as worse for wear as he does, except the smile on his face makes him look a thousand times more radiant than usual. He makes the hard work look painless, but Junmyeon knows it’s because he enjoys it. The look in Jongdae’s eyes during practice had told him one thing, and it was that Jongdae could light up in flames from the heavy determination that honed fire in his chest and he wouldn’t even notice. Junmyeon is familiar with that feeling. He used to see it in his own eyes whenever he so much as glanced at his reflection – way before Jongdae’s fire sparked. “Want to go grab a bite to eat?” Jongdae asks him. They’re in the middle of packing their stuff away, Junmyeon half-desperate to linger, half-desperate to leave, and Jongdae’s eyes on him are hopeful. They remind him a little of a foot caught in a door; relentless. Junmyeon curtly shakes his head. “Maybe next time.” “You say that all the time,” Jongdae comments. “Even when I get Minseok to invite you, you use the same phrase.” “I’m busy, Jongdae,” Junmyeon lies. “Too busy to hang out with an old friend?” Jongdae cheerfully nudges him with his elbows playfully. He forces a smile, zips up his bag and steps backwards, towards the door. “I’m sorry.” But Jongdae is the one shaking his head this time. He shoulders his bag, his eyes never leaving Junmyeon. That’s when Junmyeon realises that Jongdae is disappointed, of all things. “No, you’re not,” he tells him. “You’re not sorry, otherwise you’d be scrunching your eyebrows together the way you do when you’re really sorry. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, hyung.” Junmyeon loses face for a moment, scowling at the other when he asks, “And what am I doing? Don’t you have something better to do with your time than to analyse me?” “No,” Jongdae sternly repeats. “Because this collaboration with you is my something better to do.” He steps forward; Junmyeon can’t bring himself to step back. He keeps his head high, his chin poised, do not cross the line. “You’ve been avoiding me for a while now,” Jongdae whispers. “I haven’t –“ Jongdae frowns, the glow on his face dimming. “You used to look at me, hyung. Now you avoid it unless I look at you first.” Junmyeon’s breath leaves him in a shudder, leaves him feeling cold and hollow. He shifts his lips into an unyielding line, too afraid to let himself say anything. He closes his eyes, drowns the feel of Jongdae’s presence near him out, and he takes a deep breath in. Jongdae steps closer to him, he can hear it from the scuffle of his shoes on the wood. He can’t do it, can’t block Jongdae out. He’s spent so much time blocking him out that it’s impossible. It shouldn’t be like this. Junmyeon’s backed into a corner and he can’t escape, not with Jongdae towering over him. It’s a weight on his entire body, the chains around his ankles pulling him down. They scratch at his skin and become even heavier when Jongdae says, “Look at me, hyung.” But he can’t do it. /// Jongdae was praised for months on end for his vocal talent and his ability to improve on his dancing. He chose to venture into working on his variety skills rather than acting, pushing himself to work and work for exposure until he came out on top. He was friends with the other trainees – or, rather, he knew them and they knew him and they loved him. He kept no one as close to him as he did Junmyeon. He didn’t let anyone else in. He busied himself to no end, from sunrise to sundown and even when his mother called to complain time and time again that he needed to sleep, eat and come home. Jongdae cheerfully refused, telling her he was going to make her proud first. In the back of his head, a voice would always tell him, I’ll make Junmyeon proud, and the guilty he felt for lying to his mother about it was nothing compared to how much desire he had for the dream. One of Junmyeon’s friends, Chanyeol, who Jongdae had seen time and time again in the recording studio for weekly assessments, was the one to give him the CD. Kim Junmyeon’s pop-slash-ballad debut mini-album, BEAUTIFUL, signed by the artist himself. “He wanted you to have it,” Chanyeol told him. Jongdae opened the CD. He was torn between frowning and smiling and wished he could do both. If he could explain how it felt to ache over Junmyeon’s signature on the booklet and to feel the overwhelming joy over seeing that Junmyeon had made it, it would be the in-between. If that was true, he would’ve signed my name, too. That’s Junmyeon, is what he didn’t reply Chanyeol. Instead he said, “He’s going to be amazing,” and flourished it with a smile. When he listened to the CD in his dorm room, it was everything he expected from Junmyeon and more. He sounded incredible, from the first track to the last and to the hidden track somewhere beneath it all. He was soft to the ears in all the right places and powerful in the most surprising sense, and it worked. It was Junmyeon’s voice, his dream, all on a CD that he worked his past off in order to make his future. It was no longer a demo track, it was the real thing. It was Junmyeon. It made sense for Junmyeon to cut the string between them before he debuted. It was easier not to be tied as a friend to a trainee, or something more than just that, and Junmyeon didn’t need anything or anyone to distract him now that he was in the eyes of the media. It was the right thing to do. Jongdae supposed that if they had continued talking, it would tarnish Junmyeon’s reputation. He needed both of their slates to be clean, for both of their sakes. It didn’t stop Jongdae from feeling. So he turned to his music, to his dance, to bettering his stage presence, and he worked for himself, for Junmyeon. He was going to make sure he was next, so he could finally join Junmyeon in the sky. /// Junmyeon’s apartment is almost nothing like his usual self. Where he puts all his effort into keeping himself in control outside the comforts of his home, the small living space that he had opted for after moving out of dorms is far from any effort at all. It’s messy, with balls of paper scattered along his floors and tables, overflowing the bin he kept by his desk, and his furniture hardly looks lived in. He seldom uses the kitchen and his fridge is empty. His bedroom is the warmest place in the apartment. It’s quiet and comfortable and Junmyeon wouldn’t have it any other way. Then Jongdae comes in, knocking on his door, muttering his name against the door to let him in, and Junmyeon is sitting on his couch, unsure of what he should do. He thinks of how hurt he still is over his career, of how he yearns for Jongdae’s career, and he asks himself, is it worth it? To take it all out on a friend who shared everything with you way back when, to avoid the eyes of everyone you work with – Junmyeon asks and asks, and his answer is just as blank as he feels. He walks over to the door ten minutes after Jongdae came knocking, hoping that he had left, but when he opens the door the hope is extinguished. Jongdae is leaning on the wall next to his door, his head on his arm, his breathing steady. And all Junmyeon can do is watch as his body moves with every breath, as his mouth twitched into things he wanted to say. “Jongdae,” he whispers, slight surprise laced in his voice. He asks the impossible, “Do you want to come in?” And Jongdae replies the impossible, “Yes.” He doesn’t look up, keeps his head on his arm. His lips are pulled into a tight, nervous smile. Junmyeon nods, walks back into his apartment and tries not to fidget with the hem of his shirt. Jongdae comes in seconds later, closing the door behind him. He keeps his head ducked down, as if he’s unable to show Junmyeon his face. They stand metres apart from each other in a suffocating silence, Junmyeon unaware of what he should do, unaware if Jongdae is here to scream and shout or cry and scold him. He swallows. “Jongdae?” Jongdae doesn’t look up. His hands are balled into fists by his sides. “I wanted to come by and talk to you,” he says, voice hoarse and barely in the moment. “I finally have your attention, don’t I?” “Believe it or not, you always have my attention,” Junmyeon miserably mutters. “You’re everywhere.” “Then how come you’re not everywhere? Where you’re meant to be?” Jongdae is finally looking at him now, head no longer tucked in and protective. Though his eyes are hidden beneath his hair, Junmyeon can see just how vulnerable Jongdae feels. The hurt resides in the corners of his lips. Junmyeon’s stomach falls at the thought of Jongdae’s lips, lovely and charming, losing itself to Junmyeon’s bitterness. Jongdae is supposed to be bright all around – he’s not meant to dim, not in front of Junmyeon, he’ s not allowed to dim at all. Truthfully, he says, “Because you’re around.” Jongdae’s throat bobs. “Nobody wants me around when you’re there.” Jongdae scowls. His face suddenly looks so scarred and wicked that Junmyeon feels more unsure of what to do, how to react. Jongdae’s never looked like this before, least of all never looked at him like this before. “Is that what this is about? You’re angry about our careers locking antlers?” “No,” Junmyeon hurriedly denies. He sighs, running his hand down his rugged face. “Yes. Everything has been about that. I don’t have much of a voice when you’re storming up the charts. Nobody wants to hear me anymore.” Stepping closer, Jongdae pulls his mouth down back into a firm line. “I want to hear you. It’s not my fault that I’m doing so well –“ he curls his lip when Junmyeon opens his mouth to interrupt, “- and no, I don’t mean it like that – but don’t take it out on me. It's never been what I want - they want me, so I give them whatever I have. But I came here for you, even if my dream took me anywhere.” “That was your mistake, then. You should’ve gone to university, should’ve gone somewhere else so it wouldn’t be like this.” Junmyeon shifts his gaze away from Jongdae, unable to take any more of the fire. Jongdae lets out a small, tired laugh. “How could I when you’re here, hyung? I watched you give up a normal high school life, then watched you commit yourself to becoming an idol, and I looked up to you. I wanted to be you – I wanted to be with you.” “Jongdae, stop it.” Junmyeon bares his teeth. A growl rumbled in his chest but he doesn’t want to let it go.  “Just stop it.” “Listen to me, hyung,” Jongdae whispers, parts of his voice pitched where Junmyeon can tell he wants to break out in hysterics. He steps closer and closer and closer, and Junmyeon wants to drown in the irony of the moment. Jongdae, telling him that he wanted to be like him, not even realising that he is like him, but better. Jongdae, ruling over him with a profound air of confidence that was once Junmyeon’s. Jongdae, the bright and loyal person he’s always been, too far for Junmyeon to reach. He continues, eyes level with Junmyeon’s. There is no escape now. “I worked my ass off just so I could see you more. Rather than stumbling across you awkwardly in the hallways or practice rooms while you fled in and out of the company for your debut, I worked with the distance and pushed myself to your level. Just so I could be with you beyond that goddamn building. The stage, hyung, I wanted the stage as much as much as I wanted-“ He breaks off, almost choking on his words. Junmyeon gapes, glaring at him to go on. Jongdae shakes his head, freeing himself of whatever it is he was going to say. “I’m here because of you, is all I’m trying to say.” Junmyeon lowers his head. He can’t face Jongdae anymore. The truth is rising inside him, begging to be released. The bitterness of the past few days keeps pushing it down, and his insides are burning from the battle. “I can’t even look at you without wanting more than just to do that.” But this is Jongdae, and he knows that it is Jongdae who deserves the truth the most. “I can’t look at you without feeling shameful for hating you for being better than me as an idol. I can’t look at you without wanting those years in high school back, without wanting to go back and do it all over so I could do it properly, like you.” He doesn’t realise he’s crying until his shoulders begin to shake and his voice begins to catch on stuttering breaths. There’s a welling ache in his chest that refuses to go away, and it’s taking him hostage. The chains, the rattle so hard against his skin that they bruise it; the tell-tale signs of resentment. There is so much more he wants to say. He leaves Jongdae with, “I can’t even look at you because I miss you, because I want to be with you, too,” and he crumples to the floor. His heart shatters around him, shards of glass prickling his skin until he bleeds. He’s crying for so much more, now. For his dreams that turned his life into a nightmare. For his music, his lyrics, his song, his dance, all dusty on untouched shelves that he’s too afraid to venture into again. For Jongdae, who he failed, who deserves more than this. For his parents, his family, his friends, his fans and everyone else, who he disappointed by losing his heart. Jongdae wordlessly kneels down beside him, encasing him in his arms. He holds Junmyeon tight, tight, tight, so tight that Junmyeon struggles to breathe, but he doesn’t mind. Without a word, he pulls Junmyeon’s head into the crook of his shoulder. Junmyeon sobs his heart out, breathes in Jongdae, and exhales the built-up pain inside of him. When Jongdae speaks, his voice is sore as if he’s been crying, too. “You’re my star, Junmyeon. Even when you think you’ve stopped shining for everyone else, you always shine to me.” Junmyeon feels the resentment claw at his insides, screeching at him to be let out. But he doesn’t. He allows himself to be held by Jongdae, to be kept safe from his own demons in arms that he’s been longing to be held by for years and years, and then everything is quiet. The resentment disappears, the bitterness dissolves. Jongdae is here, and it is the beginning. /// Jongdae flew to the top with his debut album BEST LUCK the moment it was released. There were months and months spent on perfecting his vocals, his dance moves, his stage presence and television personality, that there was no room for anything else. He spent all his time working for his spot as an idol that he wasn’t just going to stop because he already earned it. He was going to be more. Junmyeon had always taught him to be more. In his first year as a rookie, every day he had spent as a trainee paled in comparison to every day he spent as an idol. Everything was bigger, better, brighter. His name was on shelves next to other idols from other companies, but his name was the one fans desired the most for his music disappeared from them one second only to be restocked the next. He graced the stage of countless music shows to sing and dance and for interviews, where he talked about who inspired him to be an idol and his ideal type and what his music was about. He made the audience laugh on endless variety shows and showed the country, and the world, that he was more than just a voice and well-coordinated feet. He won awards and broke records, gave back to his fans when they demanded more from him, as a thank you for their support. He loved his music, and his music loved him, and it was enough to numb the missing piece of him. He did everything he could to get his name and face known across South Korea, but he never cared if they noticed him because to Jongdae, there was always going to be only one person who matters. One person who he wanted to notice him, who he cared for. He wanted to be recognised by Junmyeon, for his face to be on posters and magazine covers and on television next to his. Junmyeon stopped showing his face at all, especially to him, but Jongdae never gave up. He wanted Junmyeon to see him. /// “I used to open the door to one your practices and watch you dance,” Jongdae tells him. They’re in the recording studio for the last time for their collaboration. Junmyeon is seated on the couch, Jongdae beside him. Their knees touch, like their elbows and their shoulders. Junmyeon is smiling. “To make fun of me?” he asks. Jongdae laughs. “No, to just stand there and watch you. I looked for faults and found none. You’re incredible when you sing, but you’re even more breathtaking when you dance. When you put the two together, you’re beyond the galaxy.” Junmyeon smiles, leaning his forehead on the nest of Jongdae’s shoulder. “I can say the same for you.” A hand outstretched on his thigh, Jongdae wiggles his fingers and Junmyeon slides his between them. Their hands clasp together, and Junmyeon feels so warm on the inside. “I have a question,” he says. “About your promise to keep in touch with me back then. Why didn’t you?” Jongdae hums thoughtfully. “I tried. I know I promised, but it was hard. You told me to focus on school first, and I did – but then you left and I had no idea how to contact you because I didn’t want to bother you or anything while you were hard at work. And I also knew the rules the company used to tack onto its trainees, and there was no way to contact you at all.” Junmyeon pulls his head back to watch Jongdae smile at him. “I wrote you a letter once. That was it.” “You didn’t send it?” He shakes his head. “Not when I didn’t know your address. I’ll give it to you someday. Soon.” Junmyeon sighs and stares ahead, past the recording booth window where Chanyeol is currently inside untangling mics from headphones and music stands. “We’ve been in the same place for so many years and it feels like we know each other but at the same time it feels like we don’t. Did it really go this far?” “Time will do that, hyung.” Jongdae squeezes their hands together. “But don’t worry about that. We’re moving forward. That’s the only way to go from here.” Junmyeon glances back to Jongdae. He’s so much wiser, so much more mature than before. He thinks back to the glimmering eyes Jongdae used to look at him with, back in high school, back in their numbered days. Things are so different now. The tables have turned. Jongdae is a better man than he will ever be. “Jongdae?” The younger turns his head, eyebrow raised in attention. Junmyeon smiles at him, hoping it’s as bright as Jongdae is used to. “Thank you,” he tells him, and he means it. “Thank you for being you.” Jongdae leans in and beams at him. His smile is contagious, a dangerous weapon, and Junmyeon feels so disarmed. It’s when Jongdae’s breath tickles his neck, when Jongdae whispers, “I love you, Junmyeon,” does the gun go off, and Junmyeon is seeing colours. He takes a deep breath in. He grins at Jongdae. Their eyes meet, their gazes hold. Now, he sees more than just Jongdae – he sees himself, he sees them, he sees the future they’ve always dreamed of. Junmyeon is letting go just to let Jongdae in all over again. This is it, this is the start. /// JUNMYEON & JONGDAE’s 1st Duet Album ‘WHAT IS LOVE’ Title Track: My Answer Composed by: Zhang Yixing / Produced by: Park Chanyeol / Lyrics by: Suho, Chen THANKS TO: To Junmyeon hyung, I want you to know how much I adore you. From your nerdy high school self to your super ninja trainee self, to your exhilarating smile and kind hands. From your headstrong determination to your unyielding motivation and stubbornness. From one point to another and back again, I adore you. You’re probably up there training yourself to death, like always, but I hope you know that you don’t have to work so hard because you’re amazing even when you don’t do anything. I don’t think you have to do much to impress anyone. You can stand there, sing and maybe move a little, and everyone will fall in love with you, just like that. You have such an incredible effect on the people around you, but you don’t even know, do you? You’re so focused on your dream. That’s one of the most admirable things about you. You don’t let anyone or anything get in the way. I look up to you so much, hyung. I want to be just like you. You’re going to be the best idol out there, sell millions and have makeup brands want to blow up your face on posters to showcase your beauty, then sing on stages to showcase the colours of your voice. You’re going to be up on top, and I’m going to be at the bottom but wait for me! I’ll join you in no time. My dream was once to be an idol because I wanted people to hear and see me, but my dream changed along the way. Now it is to be with you, on a stage or in a song or on an entire album or even in the same studio. I want this dream with you, hyung. I’m going to do all of it properly, just like you said, so I can be with you. Wait for me! Go and be amazing out there while you do so, but wait for me. I’ll be there soon! With love, Jongdae. ☆★☆ Please leave your comments on our LIVEJOURNAL mirror!☆★☆