i offer you my all.

There’s a way Jungkook’s speaking to him beyond his words, behind the conversation. He follows his eyes and takes a second look at the painting, watching him brush at the final bits. Even on the second look, he’s not noticing the fine details Jungkook desires him to find. There’s a blue sky ready to be filled, a tree soon to be surrounded by a child’s laughter and sunlight, as well as the river in tears of pure bliss about the incoming tomorrow. 

He’s still gazing at the whole, distracted by all the colors on the canvas to understand how what is absent in the picture paints much more than what is blatantly there. Whether he’s refusing to find what is lacking or actually blind to it, is a different kind of painting of it’s own. 

“응.” He’s smiling again, whether he knows the consequences of it or not. “너무 쉬운 질문 아니야? 전정국이잖아.” He stares right into his eyes as he says it, looking down at him. Jungkook’s name rolls off too easy on his tongue, whether he knows the consequences of it or not.

“전정국.” 

His name fills the entire space of the art room; for once, it is said without the bite, and without the intention of violence to follow.

“수학 싫어하고, 밥은 꼬박꼬박 챙겨오고. 매일 수업중 뭔가라도 하늘에 소중히 놔둔것 처럼 창밖으로 쳐다보는, 전정국.” He stops himself from saying too much, even a little taken back at how much he had already spilled. “우리가 같은 반인데 당연히 알지.” He overshadows his hesitation with another smile. This one doesn’t sit on him right, just like the bleeding sun in Jungkook’s painting. “모를리가 있나.”

Jungkook knows too little of this world but he knows the children well. There’s an obvious indication of mistrust in the way he jolts whenever Mikoto moves, but he tries not to show by keeping a forced smile on his face. He doesn’t know that his smile falters into a grimace as he continues to paint, his muscles tired and all too wary.

“가난하고, 우리 반에 유일한 조선인이 아니라?” This is who is he now. Nothing more than a dirt poor Korean, pressed down beneath the feet of the Japanese. It hurts to admit it, and the resentment can be heard in his voice. He tries not to aim it towards Mikoto. 

He pauses, making no effort to hide his surprise. Jungkook laughs a little, before he puts his paint brush down. It feels strange to have his name called without malice, his heart almost warms at the sound.  

“수학 싫어하는거까지 알다니. 너무 많이 아는데? 너 궁금증이 많은 아이구나? 난 너에 대해 별로 아는게 없는데, 어떡하지.”

1) NAME: lemon 2) NICKNAMES: citrus  3) HEIGHT: 167 4) ORIENTATION: hetero 5) NATIONALITY: korean 6) FAVOURITE FRUIT: strawberries 7) FAVOURITE SEASON: spring 8) FAVOURITE FLOWER: baby breath and lilies 9) FAVOURITE SCENT: tomato vines and wet soil 10) FAVOURITE COLOUR: beige  11) FAVOURITE ANIMAL: dogs 12) FAVOURITE LOCATION: anywhere in the mountains  13) COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: i love coffee so much to the extent that i took a course on it 14) AVERAGE SLEEP HOURS: 6  15) DOG OR CAT PERSON: dog but i dont mind cats 16) FAVOURITE FICTIONAL CHARACTER: haku from spirited away. but i don’t really get invested in fictional characters unless they’re mine.  17) NUMBER OF BLANKETS YOU SLEEP WITH: 1 18) DREAM TRIP: turkey OR america ( i want to try ihop and all your fast foods and aMERICAN SEPHORA!!! ULTA !!!! i’m sure the underground art scene is very fun there too. ) 19) BLOGS CREATED: it’s a secret  20) NUMBER OF FOLLOWERS: on this blog it’s 28 c:  21) RANDOM FACT: i....... cried while watching frozen 

tagged by: @rarenight

@cepid​

bgm

march was half gone and seoul has been caught between winter and spring, and jungkook has spent his days in the vague weather that made him feel both anxious and at ease. jungkook feels too awake in his tired body, as if he’s been woken up right between dawn and morning. if he was a color, he’d be the pale blue sky at five in the morning, a moment so fleeting and rarely seen.

running helps some times. jungkook decides to run until it becomes applicable to today. he’d lost count how many times he passed the maple tree, and by the time each breath feels heavy as lifting a boulder, he sees her standing at the end of the road. jungkook slows down to a stop, until they stand face to face, out of breath and out of words to say.  

he greets her despite she an unwanted guest. jungkook lowers his head at her, refusing to meet her eyes because he often feels that the weight of her gaze is too much. overwhelming, perhaps. xihe’s presence has always been so emptying and filling, just like her absence. “뛰고 나서 이렇게 힘든거 기분 좋아요.” jungkook finally speaks once he sits down, his palms pressed against grass and dirt.

“ 숨쉬기 어렵고, 몸이 타오르는 듯이 아프고. 죽을만큼 힘들거든요. 근데 몸이 가벼워져요. 이걸 해방감이라고 하나?” 

he closes his eyes. 

“이 느낌이 죽음과 제일 비슷하다고 생각해서, 좋아요.” 

the four hundred year old grudge refuses to leave him, and he resents how it makes him sound so bitter. jungkook quickly tries to make up for it, tugging at the hem of her dress. 

It’s the way he carries himself, that distinguishes him from the rest. He’s Korean, but he’s not, and he’s never once given a thought to the idea. Not because his nationality ever has meant anything but another label for identification, but because of the privilege that comes with not having to think about who you are – in a label ruled society like this one.

Life is as simple as never thinking twice about his name not matching his all too Korean features, as easy as no one ever questioning him about his effortless handle on kanji, hiragana and katakana.

He sits always near the front, because he’s never one to turn – not one to ever have to. Again, it’s not a notion that comes to him, simply because this is how life is: to sit up and front, away from whatever massacre happens behind his very frame. He never hears of the bloodbath of mere words and name calling that takes place by the corners of the classroom and unattended hallways of the school, because he doesn’t look for them: and never has had to.

He doesn’t mean to be cruel, but that does not mean his ignorance is any bit of kind: just as wicked and just as ill as any of the rest.

“미코, 오늘은 점심 나가서 먹을까? 날씨도 풀렸으니.”

He immediately looks for his bento box, ducking to look below his desk then around himself. “응, 그래…” He sits up straight to face his classmates, retracing his steps of his day schedule on where it could’ve possibly left it. “아… 밖에서 만나자. 바보처럼 미술교실에 점심 나뛌어.” They exchange smiles and he watches as them walk out, as he gathers his things to head to the art room.

“실례합니다…” The door pushes open as he enters, seeing a familiar face sitting alone. He can’t remember the boy’s name, but he remembers his features: blatantly and unapologetically Korean. Across his cheek are a couple of color streaks, which then shifts his gaze to the canvas besides, where possibly the most beautiful painted landscape comes into his gaze. He doesn’t think twice as he forgets about the bento or what’s happening just outside their windows, stepping towards the student and his art. “와… 너무 이쁘다.” His eyes linger on the piece for almost three or so minutes, the silence what bothers him to turn his attention back to the boy. He leans down, getting a little to close as he smiles to ask. “너 정말 잘 그리는구나? 부럽다.”  

jungkook stiffens when he closes the distance between them, the sudden rush of adrenaline starting to form as he prepares to run or defend himself if mikoto turns out to be just like his class mates. the silence that mikoto had created causes jungkook to hold his breath, afraid that one wrong breath might make mikoto tear the canvass in two. there’s a visible shift from tense to relieved when he comments on his art, and junkook finally smiles.

“...예뻐? 뭐가? 그림이, 아니면 내가?”

it’s mean to be a joke, but how his smile disappears isn’t so appropriately timed. he wonders if that’s all mikoto sees, pretty flowers and the blue stream that houses several golden koi fishes. jungkook’s gaze on mikoto’s face grows heavier, as if he’s silently telling him to look harder. look harder and you’ll find how there’s no wind for the trees to swing to, how there are no birds in the sky, how the river trickles down like it’s weeping. 

“야,”

mikoto is tall, with large, round eyes that seems to glisten more than it usually does whenever something catches his interest. he’s always stood out from the rest, but blended in well when he needed to, effortlessly. he was just korean enough, and he was just japanese enough. had his name been something else, closer to his roots, perhaps he’d have sat with jungkook in the art room from the very beginning. his eyes may have never shined like how it does now. jungkook briefly wonders if he represents mikoto’s alternate life, his own eyes lacking the enthusiasm that mikoto has. 

“토끼 그릴까, 아니면 호랑이를 그릴까?” 

he gives mikoto another glance, and dips his brush into brown paint. “토끼가 낫겠지? 너랑 좀 닮았다.” jungkook draws a small rabbit by the river, careful with each strand of fur until he’s satisfied. he doesn’t speak even after he’s done, leaning away to look at it better. when he decides that it’s turned out just as he hoped, jungkook looks up at mikoto, head tilting slightly to one side.

Junsu casts his gaze elsewhere when Jungkook pins him down with quiet uncertainty; perhaps, if it means finding fragments of memories they shared. Waiting. Staying. He wonders if he should’ve long grown out of such warmth. But he finds Jungkook’s eyes again eventually. 

“Ah—” Junsu’s hand slips off the table in defeat. Tonight Jungkook shows Junsu what it means to forget. His fingers twitch in his lap. He fails to find an answer to Jungkook’s question; about whether he’s ever felt the loss of loving someone forgotten, or the loss of being loved by someone forgotten.

Except there are many ways of forgetting. And Junsu’s anguish lies in the dying memories he has of his mother—a woman he loves but can’t quite remember. Every thought of her dissolves. Even her loud, hot-headed voice is only a haunting echo in the back of his head. She must be older now, waiting for him back in Busan. She must be washing cabbage both rough and gentle at the same time, caressing each leaf in ways only a mother knows. She must be bargaining in the market with their neighbours for fresh fruit, one hand lifting her long skirt in the slightest to keep it safe from dirt as she walks. Junsu laughs fondly. But it’s silent. A slight pain seizes his chest. His mother must be dead now, waiting for him back in Busan.

“No,” Junsu says, “I wouldn’t say we were friends.” He’s caught on a one-way street; in which all the memories are in Jungkook’s eyes, reflecting, yet Junsu is the only one who can see. “We were classmates.”

Memories have expiry dates, it seems.

“I don’t think you knew I existed.” Junsu smiles, “Except, I was involved in your world as much as you weren’t involved in mine. I guess it made sense, since you were always quiet, usually alone, I think.” His tea waits. Junsu finds himself lost in the timeline inside his head. He frowns, scratching the side of his neck as if it’ll draw out his words. “Let me know if I’m not making sense.”

“Where do you live? Let me take you home. I promise—” Junsu swallowed, one hand trembling against Jungkook’s shoulders. “It’ll be alright. I promise.” His nerves broke him down in strained laughter. “Haven’t you heard? I don’t break my promises. I’ll never—” Thunder tore the sky with a loud, terrifying snap. It took hours for Junsu to make them both feel safe again. It was their beginning and their end.

“Maybe this…”

Junsu pulls up his sleeve, struggling to fold it. He stares at his palm for a moment, hesitating, before he leans into the table and pushes his hand out for Jungkook to see. A short, clean gash runs up from the end of Junsu’s palm to his thumb. He tilts his head, inspecting it himself. His lips quirk, almost bitter. “I never found out why you were in such a mess. No one ever bothered you.”

It was an unforgiving afternoon.

“I can’t remember…” Junsu swallows. He finally takes a sip of his tea. “I can’t remember how I found you. I just did. And they only pulled a knife when I came around. I guess they knew it was over.” Junsu draws himself away again. “It was just a pocket-knife, and we were all just kids. I’ll spare you the details. But that’s when you’re the most vicious, you know? When you’re a kid. The world is yours. I’ll never forgive them, though. I’ll never forget them either.”

He laughs, light-hearted. “And then you disappeared.”

the wide beams from the setting sun has started to thin to threads. night comes early during winter, but it’s unable to completely drown the city due to its lights; the city lights are just as restless and ambitious just like its inhabitants.  

“classmates...” jungkook echoes quietly. it must have been about 10 years ago, then. 

jungkook doesn’t move save for his gaze as it travels from junsu’s face to his hand. the softness in his face fade into something unreadable as he slips into quiet, allowing the sound of the rain outside to fill his silence like pouring water into a cup. “...you were hurt because you tried to help me.” he sounds sad rather than thankful, his eyes dropping down to his lap almost as if he’s ashamed of himself. he recalls the fight, he had a smaller frame back then, unable to defend himself. junsu was almost a ghost, a sudden shift of direction of the wind. 

being quiet and shy towards attention made him an easy target. he hasn’t spoken to anyone enough to show any quirks that his classmates to pick on, perhaps those boys knew by instinct that he wouldn’t fight back, like how lion cubs know which animal to prey on. being alive could have been the only reason to be cornered in an empty alley. 

“i never found out either.”

jungkook smiles. 

junsu either likes to remember, or hates to forget. jungkook doesn’t hold any grudges towards those boys. “was the world yours too, when you were younger?”

because it’s never been his own. time and the sky above him included. 

“i don’t say goodbyes, i just tend to fade out of people’s lives naturally.” he’s never thought about it before, and jungkook feels the weight of remorse growing inside him. yet it doesn’t bother him too much, he must have accepted it a long time ago. dawn will pass and the sun will rise, yet no day will be the same and retrievable. “you could ask why, but i don’t have any particular answer for it either. i love to love and i’m no stranger to farewells.” jungkook thinks he’s not destined to last in anyone’s life in exchange for his immortality. it’s only fair, he supposes. it balances everything out, whether he likes it or not. 

jungkook refills junsu’s cup despite that it’s not yet empty. “i remember your name now. lee junsu, right?” he remembers reading the name badge on his uniform as junsu held him by his arms. he remembers noticing how one arm felt warmer than the other, now he knows that it was the blood. jungkook grimaces.

“one day after the incident i left for japan to visit old friends. i didn’t stay for too long, but when i came back, everyone had already graduated and had left the city.” he didn’t try looking for anyone, however. especially not junsu. he’s not so sorry about it as he should be, as he’s sitting in front of him now. “it took about 10 years to bring us back together, and you helped me the second time. isn’t it funny how things work? three times a coincidence means it’s fate, so i wonder if there’ll be a third time.”

“so,”

@cepid

bgm

1938 5月 3日

“우리 반에 가난뱅이 조센진이 있다.”

it almost sounds like bragging by the way the japanese school boys speak excitedly over their lunch box. it’s the same satisfied, adventurous tone that they’d use whenever they saw a body of a dead cat on the street, crushed under the weight of german imported cars used by high ranking japanese officials.

boys could be cruel out of curiosity, but jungkook had never seen anyone worse than the students in his school.  

the school population is largely made up by the japanese, the minority being direct joseon descendants who had managed to scrap enough money to afford education. if they’re lucky they’d be able to enrol into 京城帝國大學, the imperial university set up in seoul. the freedom fighters raising jungkook thought that’d be unnecessary, however.  

 jungkook wears a second hand gakuran, the cap held anxiously in his hands as he tries to ignore the snide looks thrown his way. he stares down at the table, then his lap, until he decides to leave the classroom. 

he decides to spend the rest of lunch time in the art room, fiddling with the water colour brushes and hesitating around the empty canvass before he sits in front of it, deciding to paint a stream that was only a few minutes away from his house a long time ago. it’d bring him comfort, at least for now. 

the door opens when jungkook thinks about adding a couple of rabbits by the stream, and he doesn’t turn around immediately out of fear. surely those terrible classmates wouldn’t have searched for him- he wasn’t responsive enough to taunt anyway. 

“...”

he says nothing as he watches the boy by the door, eyes scanning through every detail, from the fine lines of mikoto’s freshly ironed shirt, and the way how his large, round eyes bore into his own.

“저기, 문 좀 닫아 줄래?”

jungkook’s soft spoken demand remains awkwardly in the air, and he blinks, dropping his gaze to the floor before he turns back to his canvass.

Junsu’s lips quirk at the familiarity of Jungkook’s voice. Still soft-spoken. He tucks the bills into his back pocket and keeps his silence, disregarding the books. Instead, he pulls out a chair, tugs up his sleeves, and settles into the warmth of the shop.

There’s only the rain left now as company. 

He flattens his disheveled bangs and glances out the window. A few couples rush past, umbrellas snapping. Yet this late-night rain doesn’t compare to the afternoon thunder that caught them when Junsu ripped a few seniors away from Jungkook. He sighs, sinking his fingers against his temple in effort to calm his headache. His memories blur for a moment — possibly a result of having torn apart too many fights to count — but none of them left such vivid impact. The sting in his bruising knuckles is too reminiscent of his fists pounding into his senior’s face. He can’t recall the name of that senior who sputtered on his own blood — who cursed each time Junsu managed to choke him, who yanked Junsu down by the collar of his uniform and twisted them around on the concrete. 

He only remembers the aftermath; in which he swallowed back his own shaky voice in effort to comfort Jungkook. What came after? Junsu cools his palms against the smooth, polished surface of the wooden table. He doesn’t bother searching for the memory.

Someone told me, a very long time ago…

His hand jolts on the table, withdrawing upon Jungkook’s sudden appearance. It takes effort to sit straight at full attention; something he hasn’t done for anyone in a while. And though Jungkook articulates his thoughts calm and clear, Junsu leans in with an idle hum, attentive to every murmured word.

“Memories…” Junsu realizes the rasp of his own voice. “Well,” He swallows and reaches for the cup of tea. Jungkook spills thoughts like it’s easy; natural, maybe, but it’s not what Junsu remembers of him from high-school. 

“Maybe the memories you’ve lost are carried by the others who shared them with you.” Junsu shrugs. It stings for a moment — being forgotten. “I can’t say the same for the rest, though. Anger’s lost for the better, yeah? First love…” He frowns, gesturing vaguely, unaccustomed to speaking his thoughts. “You tell me. Have you forgotten your first love? Don’t know ‘bout you, but it seems kinda impossible.”

He hopes, if only for a moment, that the unrelated question coaxes more out of Jungkook. Maybe stirs a lodged memory of some sort.

“Hey,” Junsu tries to catch Jungkook’s gaze. “It’s fine if you can’t remember certain things or certain people. Kinda feels like that’s what you’re getting at.” He sips his tea. Winces at the burn. “It was s’ fuckin’ long ago anyway. I forgive you.” It takes him a moment to regain his composure; his throbbing head refuses to give in, remaining as relentless as it was upon its arrival. “Anyway,” Junsu nudges the opposite chair out underneath the table with his shoe and nods in its direction, offering a weak smile. “You’re making me feel bad standing like that, staring at your pot and all.”  

“And yes,” Junsu sighs. “Whoever created the universe must’ve been damn lonely.”

the way jungkook looks at junsu is the way how an artisan in training would do with a porcelain vase. observant, careful, and just a little burdened. junsu knocks lightly against the mental door in his head and jungkook can only look back at him, puzzled. as the lights flicker and dim at the distant sound of thunder, jungkook sighs quietly. 

junsu is right. jungkook’s lips form a small smile. “no one really forgets about their first love.” he only remembers parts of it, pieces of memories that felt like something he dreamt years ago. maybe it didn’t happen at all and it was indeed, a dream. “you could forget about the person but you can never forget how it felt to love her.” jungkook watches junsu from where he stands, hands clasped together as they’re now free from the responsibility of pouring tea. “ever wondered what it’d feel like to love someone you can’t remember? or the other way around; being loved by someone you’ve forgotten about.” 

because it happens. it happens more often than you think. the short pauses in their dialogue don’t give jungkook the luxury to reminisce. he stops himself from dwelling in unrelated thoughts, but he wonders if that’s where memories of junsu belong in. jungkook’s forehead crease at the thought. 

junsu has already forgiven jungkook before he could apologise. there’s no order in this interaction. jungkook notes, amused. 

if he doesn’t remember junsu and pain is the only reminder of him, jungkook isn’t sure what to do. maybe he’ll have him leave soon. unconsciously, his body leans away from the table by a fraction. “...were we friends?” jungkook asks after a while, smoothing out his shirt that’s crumpled under his weight when he sat down across him. “i didn’t mean to beat around the bush, i’m sorry. i wasn’t sure if we met before. i see a lot of people and i have a bad memory. and it’s not like i don’t remember you at all- the problem is that what you remind me of is unpleasant. it might not have been caused by you, but...”

there’s no excuse. jungkook’s guilt takes form of a slight blush creeping up his neck. “a lot of things happened over the few recent years, you see.” he adds belatedly, eyes slightly unfocused as he thinks back. time here works slower than his body, and jungkook wonder what may have been years for junsu may only feel like a few seconds to him. how long has it been since they last saw each other, and how old should jungkook be now? 

and how much can he tell without telling too much?