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Vie Sit
24 December 2012 @ 10:43 pm

Title: Dollhouse
Pairing: Onkey, Onho, Jongkey, Taekey
Rating: R 
Summary: They had always been more than just dolls to Kibum. 
Warnings: So, umm, this would be a pretty messed up fic...

Part 1 of 3
Part 2 of 3
Part 3 of 3


Jonghyun wasn’t one for deep contemplation, but once in while, he found his mind wandering off to a place that was familiar, remembering but not quite at point of total recall.

His life now just seemed so surreal, those he called friends he really didn’t know, and he never found a deep connection with them… Even as he tried to let people into his heart, something else always, always seemed to be occupying it already.

He didn’t remember, but sometimes he felt like who he was now was just a shell. He would wake up and do just as his doctors told him to, but when he looked in the mirror, he could see how there was something missing. An arm around his waist, a kiss upon his brow, a person that he could not quite remember.

His past seemed like a dream: one that started too abruptly and ended too quickly. Maybe he was awake now, and that’s why he couldn’t remember anything.

Would anything ever be fixed though? Would a ripple be forgotten once the sea returned to its peaceful rush?

A part of him was missing, but that was all he knew. He felt it deep in his gut, his heart, and sometimes, he became so frustrated with trying to remember that even bashing his head against the wall didn’t help cease the intense headache.

The memories were so close. All he needed was that, that right key, the key that would unlock his memories and make him remember everything.

Apparently a ripple is never forgotten, not when it means the world to you.

As Jonghyun walks down the street towards his friend's house, small fragments of memories has him clutching his sides and breathing heavily. A voice in the distance calls out to him.

“Come here. Come here. Come here.”

The voice was so loving, so caring... And yet so scarily devious.

"Y-yes" he mutters, turning to the cat eyes glowing in the dark. “Kibum.”

He looked over to a pair of softer ones, and the name left his lips even before his eyes adjusted to the dark. "Onew."


Minho was drunk again.

He grinned cheekily as he relived his victory today to his fellow teammates, recounting the fear and uncertainty he had felt as he managed to score the last, winning goal all on his own.

"They totally didn't see that coming!!" his friend, Donghae, yelled, holding yet another mug full of beer to toast the young soccer player.

Minho wasn't talking though, only silently smiling at the sight of his girlfriend curled up in his lap, lips attached to his neck.

"Onew," he purred in that low voice of his, staring only at the sweet full lips of his girlfriend, the creamy expanse of pale skin revealed with her low cut halter top, and the soft brown hair she has curled around her neck.

"What, baby?" she asks, a little too drunk to hear what he had called her.

That voice wasn't right though. It was too high, too groggy, and not gentle enough to be the voice.

Come to think of it, he flinched as he took note of the narrow waist, the layers of make up caked on her face and the too obvious bulges pressing against his chest.

"Your waist is too bony. Why is your eye green and purple? Stop pressing against me." he mutters, arm falling to his side as she looks up at him with a drunk smile.

She thinks it's funny. Nobody has denied her before. She was beautiful, after all.

He takes one look at her smiling face and shoves her off. “The smile is all wrong,” he yells bitterly. The smile was not wide enough, not bright enough, not cute enough.

It’s not Onew, so of course it isn’t enough.

She falls flat on her ass just as a strong grip on her right arm has her swinging to the other side of the table, and she looks up into a pair of glowing cat eyes. She wonders if she's too drunk.

Then her gaze shifts and she looks into a pretty smiling face, lips drawn tightly over bunny teeth and cute eye smile shining even in the dimmed lighting of the club.

"Goodbye." says a loud voice, and she finally turns to see a shock of blond hair, before she's shoved into a mass of sweaty, dancing clubbers.

She disappears in the crowd within seconds, too caught up in the excitement.

Minho was gawking now, at the perfect eye smile, at the perfect smile, at the perfect curvy waist of the boy before him.

His tall, drunken body rushes forward and envelops the other boy in a tight hug, refusing to let go even when the pair of cat eyes narrow at him and he feels a kick on his shin.

It didn't matter though, because ONEW, goddamnit, ONEW, was giggling and hugging him back.

"Minho-ssi!" his voice is as sweet as ever as the boy breaks out into hysterical laughter as Minho's hands travel all along his body, just to make sure that this really was happening. Onew remembers Minho now. Pictures, he recalls, and giggles. Perhaps the conditioning done after his initial training were only temporary, like the time he had spent apart from Kibum these last few years.

"That tickles!!" Minho hears, but his hands don't stop, and he growls when he feels hands tugging him away from Onew.

He could hear the jealousy in Kibum's voice as the man grips Onew around the waist and holds out a hand, palm flat, to Minho's face, and downright tells him to stop.

He doesn't give a second doubt as he follows the trio to the door of the club, disappearing with his family quickly in the darkness.

Choi Minho, new soccer extraordinaire, had disappeared that night along with 3 beautiful people nobody had remembered ever entering the club.


"Hyung!" Taemin called out into the darkness, hugging a huge pillow that his new foster family had given him as a birthday present when they noticed he tended to have very intense nightmares.

"Umma..." he cried, not quite remembering who he was calling out to. It couldn't be his foster mother because he still felt awkward in this family, and had never quite gotten close to any of them in the last 2 years.

He hugged the pillow tighter and tried to imagine firm, warm arms around him. He knew what that warmth felt like, but nothing worked. A girlfriend didn't help, his foster mother didn't help, even a boyfriend hadn't done anything to ease his heart.

He needed something else, someone else.

That someone came the next morning, walking into his high school with a wide-eyed, smiling boy next to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw fire blond hair and a tall frame guarding the school gates as he walked around school grounds, not being able to focus in class.

It seemed like the man before him knew exactly what he wanted, and wrapped long slender arms around his thin frame, muttering "Taeminnie" in a soft voice before smoothing his overgrown hair with long fingers.

"Umma." he whispered blissfully, arms lanky but not awkward around the man before him.

"My baby, you're so thin." he could feel Kibum frowning against his neck and he shivered as warm breaths ghosted over his nape.

"Let's go home." Kibum smiled, and Taemin did nothing but follow blindly as the other four guided him along.


Kibum looked around the small room in a village of a remote area in Korea.

It was dark, and on the small bed, Onew was squeezed in between him and Minho, with Minho always curling a possessive arm around the curve of his waist. Kibum looked down at Onew's hand enveloped in his own and smiled at the cute smile on the other's face.

He himself had Jonghyun hugging his chest, head nuzzled to his back. Taemin was sprawled out next to Minho, hogging the pile of blankets like a child.

He didn't think he needed anything else. He had his dollhouse and his dolls.

Eyes glistening with tears, he muttered rather childishly into the pillow. "This is my dollhouse, and nobody can take it away from me.”

And so nothing changes.


Ta-dah~ Hehe, a bit later than predicted because I got carried away with youtubing :P A HUGE thanks to everybody that read and commented :) I hope you liked this...umm, story (?) that I randomly started writing :P I was hoping that it came out kind of like when you look at a collage and certain pictures were linked to certain memories... This story was supposed to be something like snapshots of parts of Kibum's memories :)
Thanks :)

-sikily (

Merry Christmas :)

Current Mood: happyhappy
Current Music: You Got That Something I need- Lunafly
Vie Sit
23 December 2012 @ 11:49 am
Title: Dollhouse
Pairing: Onkey, Onho, Jongkey, Taekey
Rating: R 
Summary: They had always been more than just dolls to Kibum. 
Warnings: So, umm, this would be a pretty messed up fic...

Part 1

Part 2


Jinki was different. He wasn’t a patient admitted to Kibum’s ward. He was a young volunteer that had admired Kibum very, very much. He was shy though, and couldn’t speak to Kibum without stuttering.

It hadn't taken long for it to be obvious that Jinki totally had a school girl crush on the young psychologist.

Although it had taken far longer for Jinki to confess, the clueless psychologist had sensed nothing at all.

Kibum had generously accepted when Jinki bought him a bouquet of flowers, and had rather embarrassingly sang a love song to Kibum at a Christmas party. Jinki had been blushing the entire night, wondering why someone so perfect would love someone as clumsy and childish as himself.

Turns out Kibum didn't.

It had gone on for far too long now, for what had started as an unhealthy experiment had become a sickening obsession. But he was still missing one member... The member that he had loved for so many years.

And there was something special about Jinki, something about the way that he devoted himself to Kibum. There was something so very pure inside of Jinki that reminded Kibum of Onew.


As he dated Jinki for the year, he had also been slipping little pills into the waterbottles handed to the kind volunteer. There still were things in Jinki that were so unlike Onew. For one, it didn’t take Kibum long to realize that Jinki was far from silent and reserved; the boy was friendly enough to smile at complete strangers.

Another thing was that Onew should not be that childish and cheerful. He was not supposed to be smiley for anybody else other than Kibum.

It took longer for Jinki, and Kibum spent a lot of time repeating information to Jinki.

“Your name is Onew; you were born December 14th; you’re an orphan so you have no parents. You fell in love with Kibum at first sight. Kibum makes you feel happy. Your favourite colour is Green. You don’t like watermelons. You are very quiet and you don’t like to talk to people. You don’t trust anybody but Kibum. You live with Kibum, and you always had. Your name is Onew. You were born December 14th. You’re an orphan so you have no parents. You fell in love with Kibum at first sight. Kibum makes you feel happy….”

Kibum stroked Onew’s warm cheek as the familiar CD track played in the background, Jinki smiling sweetly into Kibum’s touch as his breaths evened out.

“Soon, Jinki. Soon, I’ll make Onew alive and he’ll live in you.” Kibum’s voice was soft, little tears sliding down his cheek as he realized that would mean his doll would be discarded soon. He refused to sob aloud, because he wasn’t sad. He would have a live version, and that would be millions times better. He wasn’t sad at all.

He didn’t think much about the way that Jinki would be disappearing forever. He pushed the thoughts of the cheerful boy to the back of his head. No person could be more perfect that the Onew he had created; nobody was more perfect for him.


“Jinki.” Key called softly, hand sliding along Jinki’s arm till it reached the latter’s elbow. “This way, Jinki. We have to use the elevator.”

Jinki blinked confusedly, his newly styled hair a bit too long as his eyes were partly covered by the bangs. He swung his head around to see nothing but the darkened waiting room of the ward. He never had wondered as to why the ward would be closed all the time, and at the moment, he was distracted because Kibum said there was a surprise in store for him. “But I’m Onew, Kibummie! Did you forget my name?”

Kibum’s eyes travelled to Jinki, to the way the boy was gazing so innocently up at him.

“I’m sorry, Onew.” He sighed, tired smile on his face as Jinki pulled him into a hug. “Don’t forget me please, Kibummie.”

How could I ever? Kibum wondered, eyes travelling to the backpack strewn across the front desk. “I have to go get something, Onew. Be a good boy and go to the fourteenth floor by yourself. I’ll be there soon.”

However, not ten minutes later, as Kibum was grabbing his doll out of his backpack, Jinki’s roommate, Joon, showed up at the ward to pick the boy up, Kibum did nothing but smile and apologize. Because Jinki had not shown up that day for his shift.

“But Jinki never misses a shift! And I saw him leave our apartment this morning!” Joon had said, taking out his cellphone and giving Jinki another call.

Kibum did nothing but offer the distressed elder a shrug. Not saying a word even as he knew Jinki was sitting on a chair in the operation room, his legs swinging as he waited for his love, his Kibum to come back and give him the surprise Kibum had promised.

The operation only acted as the icing, the finishing touches. When Onew was introduced to the group on the 6th floor, not an ounce of Jinki was left in his system.


Maybe it’s because Jinki had more to lose in the first place, because Onew changed.

Kibum had wanted him to be completely perfect, so Onew was the one that had the most procedures done on him. This resulted in him constantly suffering from post-operation pains, and he needed at least three doses of morphine a day in order to not go crazy from the pain.

Kibum was especially guilty when he saw the boy toss and turn, writhe in pain because he simply could not shake such immense agony away.

But Kibum didn’t feel guilty enough to push the boy away when he curled into his chest, begged for a small kiss on his brow, or a simple pat of his head.

Kibum thinks that he truly loves Onew.

But Onew wasn’t like the rest of them. He wasn’t as obedient as Jonghyun and Taemin, and certainly not as nonchalant as Minho. He didn’t simply accept everything Kibum told him. He chose to grow out of it.

Like any normal child, he started to grow up and change.

He wasn’t silent and reserved anymore.

Instead, he decided to be cheerful and kind, cute and childish, He wasn’t at all like how Kibum wanted his Onew doll to be. Jinki was showing, and Kibum was horrified.

He also started to stick to Minho way too much.

The first meeting of the two had been rather uninteresting, with Minho ignoring the elder as he huddled in the corner drawing pictures.

In time though, Onew became interested, and followed the younger boy around inquiring about this and that; why Minho drew only in black and white or why Minho didn’t draw food, but always drew pictures of things Onew had never seen before. Minho didn’t want to tell Onew that he had never seen these things either, but somehow, his hand would guide him into forming shapes and figures he doesn’t remember at all. He didn’t want to tell Onew anything, and Minho was quite annoyed at first, as his precious sketching time was intruded upon by such a nosy, clueless boy.

When one day, he found himself sketching a wide arc across the sky, and a large circular object in the far distance, he found the elder boy smiling dreamily at the picture. He took a moment to admire the cute, crescent shaped eyes pulled into an eye-smile, before requesting, without the slightest hint of embarrassment, if Onew could stay still for a moment.

When Onew realized he was being sketched, he giggled and peered over Minho’s hand to look at the drawing.

Neither noticed Kibum shaking his head with an upset pout on his face.

Onew wasn’t supposed to be friendly and popular; he wasn’t supposed to be social and well-liked.

He was supposed to only have Kibum, much like how Kibum only had Onew.

Now though, there were far too many incidences in which Kibum found Onew curled up on Minho’s lap, or hugging Taemin to sleep. Kibum was growing sick of seeing the way Minho smiled at Onew.

So then he started feeding Onew those pills again, and isolated the boy in a small room located on an isolated floor of the psych ward.

He only let his heavy heart relax when Onew told him he didn’t know who Minho was, and that Taemin sounded oddly familiar though he’s never met such a person before.

He only knew Kibum, and only smiled when Kibum went to visit him.

Kibum liked it that way.


Onew was changing again, but this time, Kibum realized that he didn’t want to turn him back. It seemed like a whole different story when Kibum was the sole recipient of the sweetness that was Onew now.

There was something oddly beautiful about the way Onew’s eyes sparkled when he told a joke, something about the way that Kibum could only fall into peaceful sleep when Onew went about rambling about random topics.

This wasn’t the Onew he had created, but this was starting to feel more right.

This Onew wasn’t shy and reserved, but he latched onto Kibum and pulled him into the warmest hugs. In these moments, Kibum felt grateful that Onew was nothing like he was originally meant to be.

Sometimes though, with his face buried in Kibum’s chest, Onew would wonder about why he was alone in the room, and why there was nobody else but Kibum. The times when Kibum was working, he would be alone in a room that had barred walls.

He didn’t realize that it was a prison that his lover made him stay in.

Kibum would always look a little scared and vulnerable when he asked questions like these, and would respond in the smallest voice he’d ever heard Kibum use.

“But aren’t I enough?”

“Of course!” Onew would always rush to reassure Kibum, cutely flashing his megawatt smile as he pecked Kibum on the cheek.

But it still hurt. Kibum didn’t let the insecurity show, but as soon as he left the ball of warmness that was Onew, he would be enveloped in a cold, merciless cocoon called the world, nicknamed Reality.

He had tried so hard to make Onew reality, but it was a reality nobody could really know.

Reality, he considered, was meant to be shared.

Kibum sometimes woke up in cold sweat, his eyes furrowed and his lips pressed into a firm frown. He never remembered what those dreams were about, but if Onew being sad brought on that strong sense of déjà vu, then it must be nightmares of Onew leaving him.

It was when the nightmares became all too frequent that he decided he should start taking those pills too, just so that he himself could forget. If it worked for everybody else, it should work for him too, right?

He wrote himself a small diary, one that left out any information regarding his nightmares.

In his diary, he was a doll too, and he loved Onew. That was all he included: beautiful memories he and Onew shared.


Everything had been almost peaceful, until almost a year later, a newly promoted sergeant decided he wanted to reopen Lee Jinki’s case. The case struck him as odd, considering the fact that Jinki was last spotted entering a mental ward, but had never exited the building.

When the police had barged into the fourteenth floor, several of them hesitated for a moment more as they caught sight of the barred walls. Kibum had had his hand in Onew’s hair, attempting to pull out the tangles so that he could style Onew’s hair just the way he liked it.

It wasn’t the first time in Kibum’s life that he felt like everything was a blur, but he may have seen it coming. He just hadn’t expected them to tear Onew apart from him.

But that’s just what happens as the police officers, seemingly over-dressed in their bullet proof vests and sporting heavy protective gear, hauled Onew to one corner of the room and Kibum to the opposite.

“Control the boy.” Kibum hears a voice nearby, calm and not the least bit flustered.

Onew was sobbing, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he tries to run back to Kibum.

The officer wasn’t talking about Onew.

It took Kibum another minute to realize that the officer was referring to him, and that if he were to take a step back, he may even describe himself as ferocious beast like. His hands were clawing at anything in his immediate surrounding, eyes frantic and actions jerky, disoriented.

He felt the complete opposite though. He was thinking clearly and was calmly thinking about whether he remembered to lock the door to the floor with the rest of his dolls.

Maybe because this was so alike to what he had to deal with when he was a child, because he found that right now, he felt like the entire situation was rehearsed. It was like his sister barging into his room with their parents, taking all his dolls except for the ones he kept especially well hidden.

Today though, his best dolls weren’t hidden well enough.


They had found them. The trio, Jonghyun, Minho and Taemin, had been sitting around a large room, occupying specific seats that were labeled with their names, and staring at one another.

The police had never found it so difficult to convince weaponless, defenseless suspects out of a room. Nothing they said seemed to make it through the boys’ heads.

“Yes, we found them.” Jonghyun heard a man say, “But we don’t know who they are.”

“I’m Kim Jonghyun. My favourite colour is blue. I have a good voice. I have golden hair. I’m very short. Kibummie loves me. My birthday is April 8th. I love Kibummie. I don’t have parents; I only have Kibummie. I’m Kim Jonghyun. My favourite colour is blue…” Jonghyun responded good naturedly, though he wondered why Kibum hadn’t come to visit him yet. Kibum always came around this time everyday, when the sun was just starting to set and Jonghyun could see a pretty pink glow in the sky from the window.

Minho hadn’t been the same after Onew had left. Like a conditioned puppy, he seems to think that drawing will bring Onew back. After all, Onew used to always trail after him when he was drawing anyways. Yet every time he looked over his soldier, all he saw were a bunch of men in similar outfits, glaring at him. They had been taken out of that barred room and put into another one, but he doesn’t see anybody now. Not Jonghyun. Not Taemin. Not Kibum. Not Onew.

When those men in black outfits asked him who he was, he always responded before he even needed to think over the answer. “I’m Choi Minho. I am 185cm tall. I have big eyes. I like the colour black. My parents died. I have Kibum. I don’t talk a lot. My birthday is December 9th. I draw. I’m Choi Minho. I am 185cm tall…”

He never quite understood the expressions those men had on their faces. All he knew was that those faces looked nothing like the expressions he saw on Onew’s face. Those crescent eyes and full cheeks. He never mentioned Onew, but Onew felt like a secret, one that he wanted to keep only to himself.

Taemin was the only one that cried. Something deep inside of him, probably a more childish, subconscious part of him, realized that who he had been calling umma all along was not coming back. But he was a good boy. When those men asked him who he was, he responded like how Kibum-umma told him to respond.

“I’m Lee Taemin. My birthday is July 18th. My umma loves me. I love my umma. I eat a lot. I’m awkward. My favourite colour is yellow. I smile a lot. I’m a good boy. I’m Lee Taemin. My birthday is…”

When it was night and Taemin closed his eyes, the bed in the cell felt too cold, and he really missed his umma. He would cry as loudly as he could when he was feeling particularly lonely, because sometimes, when he did that, Kibum would hear him and visit him. That didn’t happen in this cell though.


“Jinki-ah., I hope whoever hurt you gets what they deserve.” Joon was huddled in a corner of the courtroom, overlooking the entire hall. There was Kim Kibum, splayed casually over the hard plastic chair he was provided, lazy, distant smile on his face.

“Kim Kibum has been housing stray fugitives, and the mental ward seems to be merely a cover up. In his possession was also an excessive amount of marijuana, morphine, and several other drugs. It seems that there were never any patients admitted to the ward, considering the fact that no files could be found at all. After a month long investigation, no families have come forward to identify either the unidentified subjects, or to claim that they have family admitted to the ward. It also seems that Kim Kibum is mentally unstable, and is determined to be suffering from schizophrenia and multiple personality disorder. From the evidence provided, there is a sentence of 4 years for fraud and drug possession. However, due to doubt of mental illness, further examinations will be arranged, and if medical reports do show such, an equivalent 5 years in the mental ward will take the place of the original sentence. The unidentified subjects, including ‘Kim Jonghyun’, ‘Choi Minho’, “Lee Taemin’ and ‘Onew’ are to be admitted to an actual mental ward and given temporary resident IDs.”

“As for Lee Jinki, who had disappeared approximately two years ago, is still missing. Although there is evidence of him entering the ward, no valid predictions can be made from this evidence alone.”

Joon couldn’t listen to anymore, he clambered to his feet and pulled his scarf tighter around his neck, tears choking him more than the squeeze of the scratchy woolen material winding around his neck.

As he reached the doors, he cast one more dark look in the direction of Kim Kibum, and was unpleasantly surprised when he found cat like eyes peering in his direction too.

For a second, he swore he saw those eyes soften, but then it was back to a deluded glare, so he left before it made him think too much.

In later nights, Joon would dream of those cat like eyes, and those pretty lips parting to whisper an apology. It came to no surprise that he never saw Lee Jinki again, despite his persistent efforts in looking for the boy.


Jonghyun, Taemin, Minho and Onew had been released from their respective mental wards a year later, each seemingly very, very normal.

There were still parts of them nobody knew though. Parts of them that never changed.

For one, Onew’s bright smile was in place as he visited Kibum in his cell not much later after his release. Neither had said anything for nearly half an hour, but Onew’s smile wasn’t fading. On the contrary, his eyes were bright with an emotion Kibum was quite wary of.

“Do you hate me?” Kibum had asked, his voice raw and vulnerable, and contrasting oh so sharply with the gray and  black décor of the meeting area. Kibum brought up a handcuffed hand to brush aside strands of hair that were too long and hung in disarray around Onew’s sweet face.

His hand paused until Onew leaned in to his touch.  

“Never.” Onew replied. There was an air confusion in his tone that Kibum really, really missed.

“Who are you, really?” Key asked, eyes narrowing as he said the key words.

Onew’s eyes glazed over even as the smile on his face persisted. “I’m Onew. I was born December 14th. I’m an orphan so I have no parents. I fell in love with Kibum at first sight. Kibum makes me feel happy. My favourite colour is Green. I don’t like watermelons. I am very quiet and I don’t like to talk to people. I don’t trust anybody but Kibum. I live with Kibum, and I always had.”

“Good.” Somethings will never change, and others never can be changed. Kibum acknowledged this with a grin and a nod of his head. “Who do you love?”

“I love Kibummie. Kibummie and I have been childhood friends. Kibummie used to hug me to sleep. Kibummie makes me perfect.” Kibum thought the answer was perfect. It was just as they had rehearsed.

“I love you too, baby.” Kibum said, a satisfied glint in his eyes. So Onew never forgot. He should’ve never doubted Onew’s love for him.

A small voice in the back of his head still bugged Kibum though. And oddly enough, it seemed like it was his own voice.

No, he doesn’t love you, you sick, sick person. And you don’t love him either. You’re just too afraid to admit that your dollhouse was never real. You are alone, with your sick mind.

“I love Kibummie.” Onew repeated.

Out of habit.


Boo. Hi! Thanks for reading! This is the ending, but I'll probably be posting up the epilogue tomorrow :P I actually wrote the epilogue before most of the actual story, so tell me what you think, okay? :) If anybody is confused, or if you have feedback, please comment! :)

- sikily

P.S. Do comment if you find any problems... I'm writing it quite late, so who knows :P

Btw, sorry for any mistakes in regards to legal processes and such...


Current Mood: dorkydorky
Current Music: A Person Like That- Se7en
Vie Sit
05 December 2012 @ 07:06 pm
( You are about to view content that may only be appropriate for adults. )
Tags: ,
Current Mood: weirdweird
Current Music: Superhero- Lunafly
Vie Sit
01 December 2012 @ 07:46 am

Title: Dollhouse
Pairing: Onkey, Onho, Jongkey, Taekey
Rating: R 
Summary: They had always been more than just dolls to Kibum. 
Warnings: So, umm, this would be a pretty messed up fic..

Part 1


“Perfect, perfect Kibum.” They would say. “Handsome and smart, and so, so clever.”

“He’s going to become a plastic surgeon!”

“Only 20 years old! A genius, they say!”

Kibum heard the words echoing in his head as he slept the words of strangers, relatives and loved ones.

Of those that loved him, and those that feared him.

It wasn’t easy, of course, to not feel jealous of a man that has it all.

Kibum had it all.

At 20 years of age, he was known for his skilled hands and genius concentration, one that that left him the title of being the best plastic surgeon Seoul had to offer.

But he didn’t sleep well at night.

So apparently, he didn’t have it all.

His room felt cold and lonely and completely barren. He would roll around his sheets, whimpering and crying as he relived every compliment the public offered him.

It was torture, really, because none of this was real. He didn’t like what he did, and he didn’t like who he became. He didn’t like the man that had left his dolls behind in his parents’ house. He didn’t like the man that got up every morning ritualistically, the man that appeared on talk shows and smiled for the public.

He knew something was wrong with him. Somewhere in the textbooks he’s memorized for his psychology specialist degree, he’s found that he may as well be the craziest of them all.

But he thought it would all be okay; it would be okay once he went back to his parents’ house and found his dolls.

It didn’t turn out that way at all, not when he saw what they could become.

Okay would mean normal, and Kibum had never been normal. He graduated top of his class, became both a plastic surgeon and a doctor by the time he was twenty. Not only was he smart, he was spectacular. His parents were proud and his family's honour was kept, but he was also the owner of a private psychotic ward that was open only to the underprivileged. He was god's gift to men.

He, of course, was so incredibly gifted that he cried himself to sleep every night. He smiled to every patient, and helped anyone in need, but when it came down to him facing himself, he was a broken person that found comfort in dolls.

That was until the dolls weren't enough, and he searched for something greater and better in the pile or plastic figures.

He had found the answer when he found Jonghyun, or rather, Jonghyun found him.


Jonghyun’s name wasn’t really Jonghyun.

Jonghyun had been admitted to the ward when he was just 18, a year younger than Kibum himself. Kibum had tried really hard to make the sad, solemn boy feel at ease. He was a caring psychologist after all.

It wasn’t until a year later that he received Jonghyun’s complete file from another mental hospital, indicating that the other had been admitted due to depression.

Suicidal attempts, it had stated in cold little black print. Parents and sister slaughtered by a gang when the family didn’t have enough money to repay debts, it continued, with Kibum straining his eyes to read the distant scratchy letters a police officer had had hastily copied onto the file.

So sixteen year old Jonghyun had been locked in the closet by his parents, and it wasn’t until two later, when the police pried the doors open that the sobbing, hysterical teen stumbled out, screaming and screaming… and screaming.

And if it weren’t for the neighbors complaining about grotesque odors coming from the Kim household, the police may have never made it in time to find what they had: Three corpses and one starving young man.

It was at this point that Kibum realized there was nothing working for the younger boy, and that nothing hurt him more than his own memories.

So he figured another approach would be better, and he tried not to remind himself about how selfish he was. Nobody would be coming to get Jonghyun after all. He had nobody, just like Kibum.

Kibum decided right there and then that his decision would make the both of them equally happy, although he ignored the small guilty tug on his heart when the other man sobbed into his dinner.

It really wasn’t that hard; just the addiction of a simple pill to Jonghyun’s already full vial.

In the following one year, Jonghyun had been steadily forgetting things, only to have Kibum fill him in on new information. Then came the day when Kibum told Jonghyun his jawbone was supposed to be sharp, only to have the other look in the mirror and realize that they were sharper than they should be.

That night, Kibum had taken him into the operation room. Beside the unconscious Jonghyun laid a doll, hair a fiery blond and jawbones so sharp they looked like they could cut glass. Kibum had worked throughout the night that day, and had left work feeling quite accomplished.

In a hospital bed in the sixteenth floor was a young boy just shy of 19, with bandages covering his entire body and golden blond hair.

Kibum had thrown the doll in a dumpster near the ward.

He didn’t need this doll anymore, because he had a better version.

A living, breathing version.

He had constructed, all on his own, an entirely new person. His doll was truly alive.


Jonghyun never questioned him. The boy only clung to Kibum whenever he could, smiling like a child and whining whenever Kibum pushed him away. It was quite embarrassing, Kibum must admit, having a 21 year old man cling to your arms as you grocery shop. Kibum still liked to think that Jonghyun grew up well though, and that the experiment was not a failure.

Kibum liked how obedient Jonghyun was, how he was like blank paper. He was Jonghyun. Was the doll he had loved dressing up when he was child. And Jonghyun listened well; he absorbed all the information Kibum fed him like a sponge. When Kibum told him his favourite colour was orange, he didn’t hesitate once before committing that to memory and repeating it like a mantra.

That’s what Kibum found himself doing: spending hours molding Jonghyun into the Jonghyun he loved.

But Jonghyun wasn’t enough.


Minho was someone you didn't miss. Standing at over 185 cm tall, and sporting lean muscles as well as a handsome face, he was the perfect example of tall, dark and handsome. But Kibum didn't think his face was right. And when he sat down with the boy, he finally realized the extent of the other's illness. Minho had been calm for one moment and highly aggressive the next, he had been smiling at Kibum just a moment before he was grabbing his collar and screaming in his face. Kibum decided that Minho was hurting too much to fully recover. Or maybe it was just an excuse, because a second later, when Minho was sedated, he slipped the boy his first dose of Venelin It was half a year later that Minho was no longer schizophrenic, nor was he himself. His height stayed the same, but his eyes were double its original size, while his face was smaller, his frown wider.

He was quiet and thoughtful, careful and very suspicious. He was a doll named Minho that Kibum used to love playing dress up with.

Minho wasn’t like Jonghyun. He didn’t stick to Kibum, and preferred to stay by himself. Kibum understood, because this was how Minho was supposed to be like. It still made his clench when hid dolls were becoming better friends than they were with him.

He had always been careful about Minho. The boy’s eyes looked too clear, too intelligent, too scrutinizing. Kibum had once considered giving up on the boy, but had decided to persist at the last moment. Minho was only picky if given choice and room, so Kibum gave him neither. He locked the boy alone and fed him information until he repeated his entire biography and personality from mind.

Minho was harder than Jonghyun, he noted. But Minho was worth it, because whatever person the process created had stuck. Minho the doll was now standing before him.

Kibum realized he hadn’t smiled in a long time. However, when he raised his head from his laptop and saw his two dolls (now humans) sitting patiently on the side of the room and doing nothing but pay uttermost attention to him, he smiled.

It didn’t take long for Kibum to forget about them though, because they were just the process. They were supposed to be insignificant. They were practice.


Taemin hadn't known a time when he wasn't like this. His earliest memory consisted of his parents dropping him off in front of an orphanage before patting him on the head and telling him to eat well.

Ah, the irony.

He hadn't eaten well since, on the contrary.

It was when he was fourteen that the sister in the orphanage had reported to the social help people that Taemin wasn't normal, that there was something wrong with how he behaved.

Normal fourteen year olds didn't starve themselves for days, didn't throw up when he forced food down.

Eat well. Taemin used to scoff at that when adults would pinch his cheeks.

It was when he was fifteen, when he was first admitted to the hospital, due to lack of nutrients, and it was soon after that he joined the rest of the group at the mental ward.

He hadn't been happy with the setup at first, grumbling and complaining like any other teen before his eyes fell on Kibum, who was babying Jonghyun at that moment, attempting to nag him into eating his medication despite the bitterness.

Taemin didn't know why, but he started off his time in the ward being a difficult brat, always complaining and only doing things when Kibum would nag and bribe him.

Unknown to him and not a secret to Kibum, Taemin just needed someone to devote him some attention. He needed to feel loved.

Kibum had really wanted Taemin to join his family, and it was getting quote annoying with both Jonghyun and Minho being the rather obedient two they were.

So he brought out his doll collection again, debating hours and hours with himself before settling on the pretty looking long haired-teen Ken doll.

Personality: sweet, childish, huge appetite.


It was Kibum that got Taemin to start eating regularly.

"Umma makes Taemin happy." the boy had chanted like a child as he snuggled into Kibum's embrace.

"Does umma love taemin?"

Taemin fell asleep before he got a reply.

Kibum had only slipped Taemin half a year of pills before the boy was completely retransformed into the lee Taemin he wanted.

When Kibum had introduced Taemin to the other two, he didn't notice the way Jonghyun's grin got a little tighter.


BTW. The drug name is made up :P I was too lazy to go search up the real ones haha :P 
I hope I'm not confusing anybody :) And Onew has yet to appear... :P 
I still have to edit this :P


Current Mood: happyhappy
Current Music: Going Crazy- Song Jieun ft. Bang Yongguk
Vie Sit
29 November 2012 @ 09:54 pm
Title: Dollhouse
Pairing: Onkey, Onho, Jongkey, Taekey
Rating: R 
Summary: They had always been more than just dolls to Kibum. 
Warnings: So, umm, this would be a pretty messed up fic..

He thoroughly enjoyed it. He enjoyed the feeling of having the power to create, to mold, to invent. And although he would never be able to outright state it, he enjoyed playing with his older sister’s dolls.

Every night, before he went to sleep, he would clean up the dolls his sister had left in a messy pile on the ground after she had finished with it. This gave him the perfect excuse to hang around her dolls, giving them his own made up names and his own characteristics. He made sure each Barbie doll was unique to another, and made up scenarios in his head, stories where the dolls would meet each other and become friends. The clothes his sister had dressed them in would be gently rolled off their plastic figures and replaced with pieces of clothing that he found fitting for the occasion, the scenario. He reveled in the belief that no person knew his sister’s dolls as well as he knew them.

He was not ashamed, and certainly not embarrassed of his favourite hobby, but he kept quiet on his interests because his parents were traditional Korean folks that found anything out of the norm absolutely shunning.

Every night, he found himself falling more and more in love with a fabricated world, a world where princesses were real and princes were dashing, not the perverted, overconfident boys in his middle school.

As he laid the last doll, a ken doll he had named ‘Onew’ on a chair beside his bed after he realized that the scene he had included all the other dolls in (in which he had left in his sister’s room in a beautiful, silent scene of a marriage ceremony), Onew could not be included into the scene. Onew’s character, Kibum imagined, was silent, shy and reserved, hardly outgoing enough to join such a loud and mischievous gathering.

Hopefully, his sister wouldn’t notice one doll missing from her collection for tonight.

Kibum let out an audible sigh as he kneeled on the floor to try and look the doll in the eye. Onew had always been his favourite doll, being the one who’s character he had spent the most time creating. He always left the nicest clothes for Onew and always remembered to celebrate the doll’s factory birthdate with a small slice of cake that he bought with money he saved from New Year’s Day.

His sister however, didn’t seem to take a liking to Onew, and always threw him in a corner when she played with her dolls. Onew had warm chestnut brown hair that fell right below his ears, bangs almost completely covering his small, smiley eyes. Kibum had instinctively brushed the bangs to the side, as tenderly as he could because he didn’t want Onew to think that Kibum didn’t like his hair.

Onew was stockier than the other dolls, his features a little less perfectly proportional, with his waist a little too slim and his thighs a little too thick, while a puddle of dried skin-coloured plastic glued to his ankle looked much like a birthmark, when actually, the doll-maker had probably just let the machine slip and a little accident had occurred.

His smile always seemed a little too wide, teeth flashing brightly between the thinned out red lips, as his cheeks seemed to flush a pale pink. His smile was always in place, so Kibum enjoyed looking at the doll’s face, imagining that the bright smile was meant for him.

All these irregularities and small flaws made Kibum’s sister despise the doll, thinking that she had been ripped off and that the entire doll had to be an accident, while Kibum, Kibum loved the doll to no end.

Because whenever Kibum cried, he could look at the smiling doll’s face and wonder how it would be like to hear the doll’s laughter, see the crinkling eyes smile at him. Kibum was your typical Asian boy, his family pressuring him into fields of work he had no interest in, but whenever he sat in his sister’s room and played out his fantasies, he always has a spark in his eyes.

The little Onew doll always laid on the spot beside him so that Kibum could turn to the doll and ask for opinions (answering them himself), and so that the little boy could clutch at the doll as silent tears fell down his cheeks every time he was reminded of how none of his family seemed to know him at all.

It didn’t matter, because Onew was always smiling at him, and Onew understood him.

On Christmas day, when his sister would be getting piles upon piles of new dolls, Kibum snuck into her room and took Onew, hiding the doll under a pile of dirty clothes until he was sure that his sister wouldn’t be looking for the doll anymore. The following nights, with the doll tucked safely under his arm, and layers upon layers of blankets, Kibum fell asleep with a smile for the first time in his life.

Sometimes, Kibum would wonder why nobody else seemed too pleased with his interest in dolls (especially his sister, who laughed and teased him to no end), and he never knew the reason till he reached high school, where a bunch of seniors had thrown his bag to the ground, laughing hysterically at the brunet doll that cascaded onto the ground along with pretty much everything else in the bag.

It was the first time he had been beaten up for his interest in dolls. It had also been the first time he was called a faggot.

But it was okay, because once he got home and curled up onto his bed with Onew under his arm, the bruises didn’t hurt anymore and the names didn’t matter. He liked to do just that; close his eyes as his fingers traced over the small, plastic cheek of the doll. Kibum liked to believe that when his eyes were closed, and night fell, the dolls would come alive.

He liked to think that sometimes, Onew’s small plastic fingers would be stroking his wrist, and that the doll smiled into his touch.


Sorry; short Chappie is short! Kind of like a prologue though...

NEXT -->

Current Mood: awakeawake
Current Music: In Your Eyes- Onew
Vie Sit
22 October 2012 @ 01:09 pm

Chapter 1 (Prologue): Pitied Survival

The shuddering moonlight, slightly hidden behind the angry clouds, cast a dark shadow as it tried desperately to shed light on the lone figure walking down the streets of Seoul at 5:45 AM. This lone figure was trembling slightly at the cold winds brushing past his thinly layered clothing and froze his skin. Unconsciously, he rubbed at the reddened skin, and tried to warm himself up despite the bitter cold.

“Aiiishh… what a miserable way to begin the New Years…” He muttered, blinking up at the twinkling moon. How odd that the moon resembled more of a star today than the moon. It didn’t seem much like the beginning of a good day, regardless. Flutters of snowflakes drifted to the ground lazily from above the rooftops, but Taemin only paused long enough to catch one on the tip of his tongue.

“If only you could come in large buckets, then I wouldn’t be so thirsty right now,” he chuckled darkly, continuing on his way down to the dumpsters.

The truth was, as he had grown up here, he knew the best places to find food. And sadly, the best place was the dumpster. It was remarkable how people with money can waste their food as if it was nothing. His steps were slow though, and he knew that by the time he got to the dumpster, those that slept by it would have gotten their fair share before he could even advance. He was no newcomer to this; he knew order. Those stronger and more aggressive got first priority, and so followed by those strongest to weakest. It was harsh, but reality. The elderly and the young were left with nothing.

Pulling the thinly threaded hat over his ears, and desperately trying to cover his neck as well, he spotted an elderly woman taking out her garbage. The scent wasn’t strong, but his hungry stomach growled at the faint scent of a loaf of bread.

“Hello,” He called pleasantly, trying to smile, but his legs shook from underneath him and he finally understood how badly the cold air was biting at him. His stomach, which hadn’t had much more than chewed down chicken bones for the last few days, was telling him to just grab the bag. Luckily, his conscience reminded him of his manners.

“It is cold out, maybe I could take your trash to the dumpster truck for you?” Taemin asked, already imagining the sweet taste of solid food in his mouth. He wished he could have had the decency to inquire about something other than her trash, but his jaws weren’t working properly. He hoped that he hadn’t forgotten how to chew. Food was so foreign now.

“Happy new year, too!” He said suddenly, smiling though it was hard work for him to tug at the muscles on his face.

The elderly woman smiled back, bowing her head slightly. How Taemin loved it when people smiled at him, despite his lowly status.

“Of course; thank you dear,” The woman smiled again, but her clever eyes brightened with understanding. Even she, nearly blind, could tell his position in society.

A beggar.

That was what he was.

“Happy new year,” He repeated, more to himself than the woman now. It was amazing; he would have an actual dinner on New Year’s Day.

He shifted away noisily, hurrying his steps so that he would be able to hide his dinner before an older, stronger beggar would have a chance at stealing it. This was the food chain here; if you can't protect what you earn, you don’t deserve to have it.

But an older, stronger beggar was no comparison for the little boy looking at him from behind the old lady. Taemin tried to duck his head in his collar, and ignore the bright spark in the little boy’s eyes. This was him not many years ago. Looking at the little boy was much like looking into a mirror, and he was brought back into his memories of first being out on the streets. After his mother’s death when he was 4, he was brought in by an illegal orphanage that sold children for money. Luckily, he got kicked out a year later for being so scrawny that he could hardly bring in any money.

The boy needn’t speak, as the craving in his eyes betrayed his hunger. Taemin scanned the boy’s body, thin as a rail, weaker than his own by a lot.

Taemin shook his head though; he couldn’t give the food away. Without food in his system, he didn’t think he would survive a lot longer. Besides, as he felt the bread piece in the garbage bag, amongst many other different types of garbage, he realized that it was barely a few bites. It would last him at least 3 days though, if he separated it into small shreds.  He would have to hold himself back from gobbling it all up in one bite. It would be hard to control the desire once the piece of bread was in his hands… warm, tasty, and so, so rare.

Taemin didn’t speak either, as he made sense of the situation at hand. The little boy seemed to be caught up in his own delusional world, staring at the shape of the piece of bread in the bag, eyes alight in amazement.

‘How long had you been out here?’ Taemin wondered, shaking his head so that he would forget about this boy and leave. Unfortunately, his legs refused to move, and he dropped his gaze to look at the bare foot of the little boy. He didn’t even have shoes on, and was running around looking for food despite the snow covering the cold ground. A little boy like him had his feet as bare as Taemin's. 

Sad. Desperate. Lonely.

That was how all of them were… those that littered the streets, not ashamed of themselves, but the world was ashamed of them.

Motherless. Parentless. Family less.

Without actually intending to do so, Taemin held out the garbage bag at the little boy.

“What’s your name?”

The boy shook his head.

“You have no name?”

The boy shook his head again.

It wasn’t until a second later when the boy gasped that he realized the boy was holding his breath. He was trying not to smell the bread. Taemin vaguely remembered doing the same when he was young, trying to walk by restaurants and food stalls without catching the scent of food he could never afford.

“Here,” Taemin suggested again, pushing the bag into the boy’s thin arms. The boy hesitated slightly, but in a second’s time, pulled aggressively at the plastic of the bag, so that the contents fell clumsily onto the ground, scattering pieces of junk over the gentle layer of snow. How could he pity this boy, when he himself used to be in the exact same place?

This was not out of habit though, Taemin acknowledged. If he had something to give, he always ended up sharing, even after living so many years in desperate poverty. He couldn’t bear seeing another child as hungry as himself, although he knew that feeding them was a useless cause. Even if they survived another day, they would be too weak to compete with the others. Not everybody was as…stupid as himself. People smartly, though selfishly, cared only for themselves.

The boy didn’t seem to mind the dirtied bread, and fell lazily onto the ground, tearing the bread into pieces so quickly that Taemin wondered how long he hadn’t eaten.

Come to think of it, a few days’ lack of food had taken a toll on him too, and he shuffled away, not wanting to give in to the pain, but feeling himself slip away from consciousness.

He was so, so tired.

It wouldn’t be the first time he fainted that week, but he fell heavily onto the ground, just steps away from the alleyway he usually hid in at night.

From the dark alleyway though, a pair of eyes glistened dangerously, almost seeming as if it were flashing when the moon shifted positions in the sky. Someone was watching.

Starring: Lee Taemin (SHINee); Sora (OC)


Young Taemin has been alone since he was 5, and as much as he would like to challenge the man in him, there was no strength to carry out his dreams. His frail body has come to know nothing but pain and starvation. He… has come to know nothing but survival. From deep in his heart though, he seems to see more than just cold reality, as from the fire in his eyes, one could see more life in this poor beggar than in the richest man. However hungry Taemin was, he never seemed to bow down to the pain a world so cruel has thrown at him, rather, to even a young boy as himself, there was still tomorrow.

But when tomorrow ends up being a torturous death, he quickly awakens and seeks for escape. However, escape doesn’t come easy, especially when he realizes escape was suddenly last on his list of priorities. As, when he meets a girl, so murderous in intentions, yet so reluctant to share her story, he realizes that there are those worse off than him, and that in a desperate attempt to save himself, he was just aiding her… in killing herself.

In the most inconvenient of times, love sprouts on the brink of death and takes homage on the thread of life. Do they fall in love through life or through death? Well, it’s a decision she has the power to make.

This is no ordinary love story. This is no fairytale. Take a minute and look out your window, for you may spot the remains of this abnormal love story. In this society, you must first seek, or you may never see. In this world, too many are hidden, and too many stories buried.

Promise me you’ll attempt to see more than deceiving appearances, because even poison has a sweet side, and society has a cruel one.

Current Mood: depresseddepressed
Vie Sit
22 August 2012 @ 11:35 am

Nothing short of error. As amazing as the spontaneous element of surprise is, he hadn’t been much of a favourable outcome. It was much like a science experiment that really shouldn’t have exploded, but had regardless.

It wasn’t a secret either; that his parents had conceived him on one dreadful night where two college students just had a few too many drinks. It wasn’t uncommon, but how could anybody predict that the class nerd would fall trap to the clichéd jock?

The nerd should have turned right around and fled as soon as such stereotypical bullies showed up at her door and invited her to a party.

As unnecessary as it sounds, one must be assured that she had refused at first, until the promise of fame and popularity momentarily clogged her good judgment, and she chose to trail behind those she once feared so darn much.

A few drinks later (plus numerous chokes and coughs from the still newbie drinker), and an inconspicuous drop of a pill down her drink, the nerd had found herself dragging her legs down a long hallway towards a darkened room, with the so-called jock by her side, his tongue down her throat.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what follows, but sometimes, one does wonder the outcome. Taemin likes to wonder this outcome all the time.

He especially enjoys the part where he finds out his father dropped out of college to run away from the girl that was his mom, but ended up having the child dropped on his doorstep. Re-enrollment in any College was no longer possible, too, when Taemin’s mother pushed charges and his father was convicted of rape.

Who knew that she wasn’t the stereotypical nerd? The ones that are smart, but poor, ugly, but only when they have glasses on?

The woman was not a nerd for no reason, for such a title was earned with hard work. Not only was she top of the class (though reasonably envious of the more popular crowd), she was also the daughter of a millionaire.

One that could squash Taemin’s dad under his pinky toe like a bug. And that he did.

That’s partly the reason why Taemin finds himself living below standards in a trailer that only has one bathroom and one kitchen, with a debatable living room that could also double as a hole in the wall. His room was a corner blocked off by a curtain. It’s also why he’s wearing hand-me-downs from the nearby church, which Taemin likes to avoid, since he majorly lies when he claims he’s Christian just to receive such donations.

Sometimes, when times are good (like Christmas and New Years), some people are generous enough to donate cans upon cans of instant soup or beans, in which Taemin works extra hard to smile pitifully up at the adults, willing them to give this little boy a meal.

His father’s constantly in and out of the trailer, probably pimping around any women he can find around the street, so that he can make bare minimum to buy himself a few cans of alcohol, and pay the water and electricity fees.

Other times, when money was running low, Taemin would run and live under the roof of the Church, until the property owner could beat the crap out of his father and make him scoff out of the few extra bucks he always has hidden in his shoe.

‘For emergencies,’ he would usually smirk at Taemin.

Emergencies like when he himself needed a lay.

Taemin never called his father selfish though, and liked to remind himself that even though he shouldn’t have lived, he has, and that’s all that matters. Besides, how could he call everybody in the world selfish? And who really did care?

Another skinny boy on the streets. But they turn their heads and gaze instead at things more pleasurable to the eye. The new ipad or the new headset. They weren’t selfish though, because who were they to mind Taemin’s business anyways?

At this point, people probably wonder what happened to the billionaire mother. That question would be easily answered by one simple word: Shame.

What rich person would admit to their mistakes just to accept the accusations from an oh-so-judgmental public?

She had ditched Taemin the moment he was born, abandoning him on the doorsteps of Taemin’s father along with a court appointment letter.

In many ways, one might say that Taemin’s father may be more human than Taemin’s mother, but perhaps, it had never been about Taemin, just the father.

That’s probably why Taemin’s second role, other than son, is punchbag.

That’s probably why every night, before he goes to sleep, he finds himself rubbing over patches and patches of reddened, burning bruises. That’s probably why he finds scars covering every inch of his body, the pain it inflicted so stark and cold that he still shivers at the expression on his father’s face.

Alcohol created Taemin, so does that mean that alcohol should destroy him too? He doesn’t know, and he can do nothing but reel over in pain when his father kicks him in the stomach, slaps him across the face, pulls his hair and whips his body with a metal studded belt.

All he can do is smell the alcohol in his father’s breath and know what to expect. Alcohol urges his father to destroy what it has created.

He didn’t like people, with not much but his father and mother as an example. He didn’t like to talk, didn’t like to smile. He didn’t like to like.

Nonchalance makes life so much easier to bear. Numbing always seemed like a better solution.

So he never had anybody, and when his fingers itched to curl around someone else’s hand to find warmth, he would curl it around his own thighs, grimacing when pain seared through his thigh and straight to his head.

This, he would remind himself, would be the consequence of such desires. He punished himself for what he craved.

Perhaps it was coincidence, or possibly, like Onew likes to put it, fate.

Taemin had been playing with himself when he was 5, skipping across the sand and trying desperately not to remember how all the other children had their parents to push their swings and he could do nothing but hang in the air, short legs barely brushing the sanded ground.

He had opted instead to run to the sandbox, where golden shimmers and pretty rocks would momentarily bring his mind away from such beautiful things in life. Oh, the irony.

It had been the first time he had seen Onew, the older boy rabbit like crouched over his sandcastle as he smiled up at the sun, blinking quickly like Taemin had a habit of doing.

A feeling of warmth surged through his veins, making him freeze for a couple of seconds before sliding shyly over to the other boy in the sandbox, silently inquiring what the sandcastle was. Innocence was so beautiful, Taemin mused as he wondered what it would be like to be just another child.

“Why, it’s a sandcastle!! You’ve never seen one?” The voice that spilled from the small, pouty lips was warm and dripping honey, exactly how Taemin liked to dream his hyung to be. He liked to avoid his desires in real life, when he was conscious, but when he was unconscious, he couldn’t help but dream of what he really wanted.

  Bravely, and so unlike himself, he reached out to pat the sandcastle, jaw dropping into a gasp as he saw the beautiful structure tumble to the ground, multicoloured flags buried under piles of golden sand.

That was when the older boy’s bottom lip started trembling, a sob breaking out from his lips as he dug into the pile of sand to find his flags.

“I’m sorry!” Taemin whispered, sticking a small, sticky hand into the sand to help the other boy.

“You hadn’t even gotten to put the draft down yet!” The flustered boy cried, still digging for flags and pushing Taemin’s helping hand away.


“I made the castle for you, so that you won’t be so sad that nobody can push you on the swings!”

“…I’m not sad over that.”

“I’m not having any of those lies!” Onew cried, tears gently caressing the dirtied flags lying on his lap.

“Why don’t you push me then, and quit crying like a baby?”

A six year old Onew smiled, jumping up and pushing the taller toddler over to the swings.

Unfortunately, Onew was way too short to reach the swing, and although Taemin climbed onto the swing with the help of Onew, there was no way for Onew to push Taemin, nor for Taemin to push himself.

Onew’s significant pout was visible from the other side of the playground as he stomped the ground in frustration.

“Don’t be sad, Taeminnie! I promise I’ll push you when I get a little taller!”

“Promise.” Taemin repeated, too distracted by the implications brought on by this small vow to notice that Onew had known his name even before he introduced himself.

Instead, he folded his hands behind his back, not forgetting to add a little pinch to each side of his waist, just to be sure.

Please let Onew not be a dream.

Three years later, both Onew and Taemin were well beyond the height needed for the swings, and they both sat in the sandbox, fingers threading through the loose speckles.

Clambering over to the swings, Onew patted a seat, smiling as Taemin settled into it.

Scruffy looking shoes scraped the sanded ground as Onew contemplated the plans for the day.

“So, your room again?”

It wasn’t like they had anywhere else, since Taemin liked to avoid other people, and Onew preferred to be alone with Taemin only. Taemin never questioned why, proud to be the sole recipient of Onew’s attention.

“I drew a new picture, Onew.” Taemin smiled, small hands grabbing onto the metal swing tightly as his excitement grew. He was usually shy of what he drew, but he always enjoyed the look of pure astonishment on Onew’s face as he shared them.

His expressions always differed, depending on the meaning conveyed in the drawing, but his smile afterwards, as bright as the sun if not brighter, always lit up his face, showcasing two rows of pearly white teeth and an eye smile to die for.

Taemin really did believe that he would die for that smile. His world before Onew showed up had been a shadow of events, of pain, hurt and loneliness, but now he wonders how he had lived without his sun.

Onew was everything he was not. Onew was outgoing, cheerful and always smiling or giggling, while Taemin found all this terribly endearing, he couldn’t bring himself to voice it out loud, only allowing himself subtle touches and the occasional hugs.

Unlike Taemin, Onew liked body contact, choosing to express himself through hugs and shoulder pats rather than words, because according to him, he wasn’t as skilled in his words as Taemin was, though Taemin spoke far less. But it was true, because in time, Taemin had grown so accustomed to his own little world that anybody that interrupts this peace was rewarded with a sarcastic comment and usually an eye roll.

But Onew always believed that Taemin put up such a mean front because in truth, he was shy and scared, not being able to trust strangers when his own parents have treated him as they had.

Nobody but Onew knew that he was hurting on the inside, and that as much as he wanted to fit into this world, he didn’t feel like he could. But Onew was from his world. Onew was from Taemin’s private little world, and could therefore, know exactly what made Taemin laugh.

He didn’t, of course, know that above all, Onew was the one that made him smile the most. Something about the bunny overbite, or the lame jokes, or the random moments of innocence made him feel like he couldn’t stop thinking of the other.

He liked to call it love, but what could he do when the other boy called him his best friend?

“Hello? Taeminnie?” Onew’s soft voice rang in his ears, and he suddenly became alert, always ready to come to Onew’s rescue, though it seemed like Onew saved him more. Sometimes his savior rescued him in such figurative ways that he wondered if it was possibly to really sew a broken heart back together.

He wondered if souls parched and wasted could really be patched up, cleansed and purified. He wondered if Onew was an angel that could do exactly that.

“Yes, Onew?” This was something Taemin always felt necessary in their relationship: formality. As much as he loved Onew and saw the other as his own flesh and blood, he couldn’t help but feel like he must always be polite to the other, Honorifics had been dropped long ago because Taemin liked the intimacy of getting to call the other Onew and only Onew, but Onew was too dear to him for him to stop treating the other like a fragile treasure.

“Are you bored of me already?” Onew giggled, though his eyes held a hint of his worry. He couldn’t imagine a day where he wouldn’t be able to talk to Taemin, to feel the accomplishment rushing through his veins and making him dizzy every time Taemin smiled at him.

Taemin didn’t answer. Of all the things he hated, he hated Onew’s lack of confidence. He hated it when Onew doubted himself, because he didn’t understand how something so perfect could be unconfident next to his imperfections.

Feeling dejected, the older boy only let his head drop as the conversation grew awkward, with Onew feeling all guilty but not understanding why, and with Taemin silently fuming over something even he himself didn’t understand.

“I’m sorry, Taeminnie!!!” Onew sobbed out of nowhere, his eyes red and splotchy because of his continuous rubbing at it. “I’m sorry! Sorry! I don’t know why but I’m sorry!”

And with that, the smoke coming out of Taemin’s ear evaporated quickly as he just had to stop and squeal inwardly at Onew’s adorableness. The boy had his nose scrunched up and his lips were quivering as he had two hands clad in a prayer like position before him, eyes pleading.

Without a word, Taemin gathered Onew in his arms and tried to look subtle as he gave the other boy’s neck a deep whiff, taking in the scent of baby powder. That’s how Onew always smelt: pure, untainted, innocent.

Unlike himself.


Onew was too perfect to be true, even Taemin knew that.

But he never thought that there would be a time when he would have to face the consequences of such a truth.

The two hadn’t gone out during the day in a long time, preferring to roam the night streets and alleyways rather than go out to into a crowd and have people stare at Taemin’s dirtied clothes, or the scars running down his cheeks and never ending.

But Taemin remembered seeing Onew’s eyes light up every time they passed by the closed amusement park, the childish innocence radiating from every pore of the other. It was night when they usually walked by said park, but it was there that a local festival was taking place that night and so people set out earlier in the evening and enjoyed themselves till later that night.

Taemin figured it wouldn’t hurt too much for him to bring Onew out earlier than usual as well. So that afternoon, around six, he promised Onew a surprise with a more than excited glint in his eyes, and followed suit by tying an old piece of cloth (maybe a dishrag, but whatever), around Onew’s eyes, and led the boy out of the trailer.

Onew stumbled, as always, and kept a strong hold on the back of Taemin’s shirt, laughing as Taemin suggested that “he could just carry him.”

It didn’t take long, probably a good ten minutes, before Onew was met with loud laughter and too much chitter chatter. Screams were heard off a distance, but mostly childish giggles and baby cries were made apparent to him. As he listened closer, he could differentiate mechanic voices introducing acts on stage, machine rides and rules to the game stalls. For a moment, as Taemin was standing behind him and removing the blindfold, he was frozen in spot, lips parted in a silent ‘o.’

He was hit with sudden nausea, partly from the crowd and partly from pure astonishment. Everything seemed so perfect and exciting. And there was Taemin standing there, with anticipation in his eyes, and a nervous lopsided grin on his face.

So he did what he never should have. He let down his guard and smiled the widest smile he could muster, tears collecting in his eyes as he ran forward to bury his crying face in Taemin’s chest. His mumbled apologies (for being overemotional), combined with his sincere string of thanks made Taemin feel proud and smile like an idiot.

The first stop was a small photo booth, where they were allowed 8 small photos for 2, 297. 78 won (2 dollars Canadian). Taemin and Onew made funny faces, but before looking at the photos, Taemin just shoved it in his pocket and prepared for their next stop.

“Come on!” Taemin laughed, pulling Onew over to the nearest ride, wondering if the rides would be scary enough for Onew to bury his face in his shoulder again.

It proved no, because Onew was the one holding tightly onto his hand and smiling as Taemin felt his stomach lurch and take a turn for the worst. Onew tried to tell him that screaming was supposed to help his upset stomach feel a bit better, and will stop him from throwing up, but it seemed that cool guy Taemin didn’t like to scream, and preferred spending a good ten minutes bent over a garbage can dry heaving as Onew pat his back gently.

“I’m fine,” He said, just before he heaved again, and realized that he absolutely had no food to throw up. “We’ll go get cotton candy as soon as I’m done, okay?” He tried to smile, but talking only brought him an entire new round of dry heaving.

He didn’t see the weird glances other people were sending his way.

Luckily, fifteen minutes later, with Onew sitting crossed legged next to him on the bench, he munched on cotton candy, reveling in the sweetness that exploded in his mouth. Onew shook his head when Taemin offered him the cone, so Taemin figured that it was because Onew didn’t like sweets.

By the time they were finished talking, and Taemin was done his cotton candy (bought by the couple of bucks he stole from his father when the latter was drunk), the stars already hung high above them, and the clock just struck eleven.

“How about one last ride?” Taemin gulped, eyes a little nervous but brave. It wasn’t like they’ve went on many rides, after all, since Taemin had gotten extremely sick from just two rides, and those two had been unpopular rides that really, nobody wanted to ride.

“I want that one,” Onew cooed, lacing his arm into the loop Taemin’s arm made with his body as he stuck a hand into his pocket.

“The Ferris wheel?” Taemin asked, taking his hand out of his pocket so that he could wrap his arm around Onew’s shoulder. Onew shrugged away and ran forward to the Ferris wheel.

Taemin brushed off the shrug as Onew being not a fan of public displays of affection, but it was oh so much more.

Luckily, Taemin believed that the only thing he didn’t like were the roller coasters and that the Ferris wheel, albeit going far higher than the roller coasters, also went a lot slower, so he wouldn’t be too sick during the ride. They waited in line as Onew hopped excitedly beside him, a grin on his face and eyes small crescents.

The Ferris wheel came to an abrupt stop before them and Taemin climbed in gingerly, quite unsure of the safety of the ride, due to the rusted seats and the creaking chains. He was just about to close the door when the ride attendant stuck a foot into the ride.

“What?” Taemin hissed, looking back at Onew, who was looking extremely aggravated, nibbling on the end of his thumb as he cowered in the seat.

“Sir, the plaque says that there is a maximum of two passengers per compartment.” Sure enough, as Taemin turned left just briefly, he saw the plaque hanging just above Onew’s head.

“Yeah, idiot. There’s two people in here already.”

“Sir,” The attendant, a tired looking young man who was probably only working part time sighed, exasperated.

“Now, how would we go about doing business when selfish people like you prefer to hog two seats for yourself rather than share so that the line wouldn’t be held up?” The rude tone in his voice was accompanied by an eye roll, before he shoved another girl through the door, and she tripped a little before sitting down on the seat beside Taemin.

Taemin looked up to see Onew standing next to the window, an embarrassed smile on his face. He was trying too hard to look reassuring, and it wasn’t helping.

“So it’s only the two of us.” The girl smiled, obviously a little smitten by the handsome boy sitting beside her. Too bad for her though, because this handsome boy was currently fuming, as angry as he was confused.

Only the two of us.


After the ride, which had been much too slow for Taemin’s liking, the two had strolled over to the nearby park, and Taemin had sat himself as far away as possible from Onew. Onew hadn’t failed to notice that. The night was almost completely over before Onew finally worked up the courage to explain himself.

“I’m concrete to you, but nobody else.” Silence hung heavy in the air as Taemin continued staring at his shoes, fingers twiddling as the photo bunched up in his back pocket. The small, slow crunches indicated tattered edges and rough rips. It didn’t matter, he figured, because Onew would never show up in the photos anyways.

Onew bit his lip, biting back words and wondering if telling the truth would damage his relationship with Taemin further. Instead he watched as Taemin hiked his shoes up onto the railing next to the slide and curled up into a ball, catapulting his body down the slide and onto the sharp wooden chips layering the play ground.

He didn’t register the sharp edges digging into his skin as he looked up at Onew, his personal angel’s face highlighted by the sun shining bright behind him. The sun was rising behind Onew, and the faint orange-red cast a sweet halo around him, captivating sunlight hardly more beautiful than the captivating natural glow Onew emitted.

 “You’re beautiful. But you’re only a dream.” Taemin smiled bitterly, hand reaching out to clasp Onew’s wrist. “But if you disappear, so must I.” I would rather die than wake up from this dream.

Onew gaped, mouth opening and closing quickly as he registered what Taemin was saying. Taemin had his eyes shut now, tears tracing the edges of his jaw, the side of his face as he sobbed silently to himself. He was used to this; he used to say, before Onew had appeared in his life. He was used to crying on his own, hiding his sobs and shivers because any noise would’ve woken his father, earning him yet another storm of abuse.

But Onew’s shoulder was here now, even though he had to remind himself that this was all his mind playing with him. All those drawings he sketched of this perfect being were exactly what it seemed to be, a drawing- a product of his imagination.

His sobs broke out, raw and uncontrolled as soon as he found himself being embraced in Onew’s strong arms. Not only was Onew warm, but he always became exactly what Taemin needed at times. Onew was weak, when Taemin needed to feel strong. He would protect Onew then.

Onew was strong when he himself couldn’t stand any longer. Onew was a wall, a shield, a teddy bear. It all seemed so true now, so unbelievably, undeniably real. Onew was only so perfect because he wasn’t at all real.

It felt better regardless, to be in Onew’s embrace. And for the first time, Taemin wondered if he was crazy, and if the feeling of having concrete arms around him made him a delusional schizophrenic.

“Don’t cry,” Onew’s voice was breaking, trembling as it always did when Taemin was hurting.

“Don’t leave.” Taemin demanded, voice hoarse compared to that of the always gentle Onew. “Don’t leave me. Let me be crazy.”

“You’re not crazy, Taemin. Like I said… I’m concrete to you.”

“You’re not making any sense! I imagined another person, and lived with them for twelve years!” He didn’t like the feeling. This feeling was much worse than when he was being beaten by his father, when he was laughed at by his mother, when he had to beg for clothes and food. He felt lonely before he met Onew, but thinking about how Onew would leave him, he felt empty. Suddenly, his heart seemed to stop beating, and everything he ever felt seemed surreal and forced, fake and cowardly.

“Just listen to me, okay?” Onew raised his voice, and would be his first time ever seeming even slightly agitated.

With watery eyes, Taemin rubbed at his eyes and looked up from Onew’s chest, smiling the smile he always had when he told himself everything was going to be fine. It never was.

“Imaginary friends aren’t what you think they are! Not everybody has one, you know.”

“I can’t believe my imaginary best friend of twelve years is trying to teach me a lesson.” Taemin said spitefully, more to himself than Onew.

“Do you trust me, Taemin?” Taemin nodded before he could stop himself, and silenced himself. Heck. Let his imagination run wild. If only Onew could stay.

“Then believe me when I say imaginary friends aren’t at all imaginary. Only children can see these imaginary friends because only children believe in them. Only children have this pure and completely untainted belief. That’s why only children see something as pure as Angels.”


“Imaginary friend is just another name for Angels that come here to watch over children that are broken and lonely.”

Everything seemed rather unbelievable right now, but Taemin didn’t have to heart to admit otherwise. If all this meant that he wasn’t crazy, and that Onew was actually real-to him at least, he couldn’t possibly mind that much.

“You see… Angels can sin too, and when they commit a mistake, they are sent to Earth to cleanse themselves of that sin by aiding something as pure as children. Many children don’t seem like it, but are broken and alone, and with the help of these fallen angels, they are supposed to heal and become better.”

“Why are you still here then?” Taemin said quietly, his voice small and defenseless. “I’m basically an adult now.”

“That’s not the point. You still believe. Besides, Imaginary friends don’t disappear until they’re forgotten. Many children are healed and learn to make new friends before they grow up, usually forgetting their imaginary friend in the process.”

“Disappear?” Taemin’s eyes grew wide, and started to tear up again. “You can’t disappear!” He lunged forward and grasped Onew into a bone-breaking hug, suddenly realizing that he didn’t care about any of this. He didn’t even care if Onew was a figment of his imagination. Let the world think of him as crazy; it didn’t matter anymore. If all it took was his sanity in trade for Onew, then insanity was fine with him.

“I’ll always be here for you, Taemin.” Onew smiled. “Until forgotten.”


“This is too much like a fairytale,” Taemin smiled, still basking in Onew’s warmness, with the other tucked under his blanket next to him. “Angels exist. Imaginary friends aren’t so imaginary, and suddenly it seems like happily ever afters do exist after all.”

Onew smiled back at Taemin, but in the night, any worries were masked by the gentle rays of a shy moon, and storm clouds were hidden high above their heads, camouflaged by the darkened sky. “Sometimes, it’s no wonder that you haven’t forgotten me. You act just like a kid!”

Taemin giggled at Onew’s teasing, and pinched Onew’s nose as he sat himself higher in the bed and snatched his sketchbook from under his pillow, flipping through the pages till a drawing sketched onto toilet paper fell out.

“Just for your information, I’ve always seen you like this.” He pointed down at the small patches of toilet paper, where he had sketched a picture of Onew with Angel wings. It had been five years ago, when he was twelve that he drew that picture, suddenly inspired when he woke up one morning to Onew’s smiling face.

He had been too embarrassed to sketch that picture in front of Onew at the time though, knowing that Onew always peered over his shoulder when he drew, so he chose instead to duck into the washroom and sketch it out there. The picture had been a tad bit rushed, so Onew’s smile was a bit too wide, and his hair was messy like it usually was in the morning, but the air of elegance surrounding the figure in his drawing was exactly what he wanted to capture. The Angel wings suited Onew too well, he figured, but now, he finally understood exactly why.

“You see me on toilet paper all the time.” Onew stated flatly, but his cheeks were tinted pink and he was already fighting a smile.

“I see you everywhere.” Taemin grinned, feeling himself fluster at the romantic tinge to the words. And the confession.

“Really?” Onew was flat out blushing now, biting his lip as he twiddled his thumbs in his lap.

“Yes. And I wish you would stop doubting how beautiful you are.” With sudden bravery, and curiosity too, Taemin leaned forward and placed a short, small kiss on Onew’s cheek.

Seeing Onew’s eyes flutter closed as he scrunched up his nose cutely, Taemin laughed and leaned forward to capture Onew’s sweet lips this time.

Taemin, clad only in his worn wife beater and boxers had been thinking about a little more than kissing, but what could he do when the innocent Onew only swung his arms around his neck and shyly kissed him back?

Maybe it was too soon. They had forever, after all. Onew had promised to stay. Until forgotten.

That day, two confessions were made, one shocking, and the other... Well, only Onew was too thick in the head to not have noticed sooner.

“I love you,” Taemin murmured, heart pounding in his head as he heard the same three words repeated against his lips.


Onew never slept longer than Taemin. It was always Taemin who woke up to Onew’s smile, not the other way around. That morning though, Taemin’s foggy morning eyes were greeted with a still deeply asleep Onew, who had his lips curved into a small smile and his body shifted every ten minutes, as if he were whining like a child in his sleep.

For several minutes, he couldn’t force himself to move, so he sat there stupidly, frozen, as he stared at the boy before him. Beauty was an understatement, after all, he decided.

But then his father was storming into the room, reeking of alcohol and screaming at the top of his lungs.

Taemin wasn’t scared anymore though, not like when he was a child, so he slipped out of his bed to grab his father’s hand and drag the drunkard out of his room. It was a moment later that he realized his father wouldn’t be able to see Onew.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” He hissed, eyes large and glaring, menace dripping from coffee brown orbs.  

The poor drunkard was old now 17 years older and not without a pot belly. He was no match for Taemin, who stood at 5 foot ten and had lean muscles rippling under pale, scarred skin.

His father obviously didn’t understand that Taemin was no longer the little boy he used to beat the crap out of. He raised his hand in a loose fist but was quickly overtaken by Taemin, who threw him on the couch and promptly made his exit.

“Bastard, I didn’t even get to kiss Onew goodbye because of you.” With the mention of Onew’s name however, he was again overcome with this warm, mushy feeling that made him smile giddily on his way to school. He spent the next eight hours paying exactly no attention to his teachers as he instead, dreamed about his first date with Onew that night.

He, of course, wouldn’t know that Onew had slept the entire day away, only opening his eyes mere minutes before Taemin arrived back at the trailer that night with a cheesy, but fresh, bouquet of flowers and a single cupcake.


It had taken Taemin another two years before he started to realize that something was horribly wrong with Onew.

Gradually, not only was Onew starting to seem tired more often, but he now cuddled into Taemin for warmth, rather than the other way around.

Taemin had found himself a job as a waiter, and moved out of his father’s place as soon as possible. Now, he owned a small apartment on the outskirts of Seoul, and was attending a small community college near his home. He came home to a smiling Onew every day, exactly as he had always wanted to, but he couldn’t help but feel something stirring behind all this peace.

Then it happened one day. Onew had collapsed in the middle of a mini-wrestling session, one where Taemin would always eventually win and have Onew balled up tightly in a hug. It ended wrongly that day.

Taemin had Onew tightly grasped to his chest, arms protectively wound around the other, and Onew had been giggling moments before, fingers tugging at Taemin’s long blond hair and making a mess out of the otherwise neatly put ponytail.

But then his giggles grew scattered, and his breathing was labored as Taemin turned him around to look at him. Onew was red faced, and he looked like he was in immense pain, hands leaving Taemin’s hair to clutch at his chest.

And Taemin panicked. There was no word that could accurately describe the fright that Taemin felt. He wouldn’t be able to take Onew to a hospital, and he momentarily wondered if there would be some kind of Angel hospital that he could bring Onew to.

But Taemin could do nothing as Onew’s eyes closed and his body grew limp. He could do nothing but cry.

A sudden gust of wind, odd and out of place startled Taemin and he turned around just to get a face full of feathers.

“Hand him over.” Taemin felt himself tremble with the deep baritone voice echoing back at him from the empty walls.

“No.” He shook his head childishly and made eye contact with possibly the most majestic being he’s ever seen. White light lined the body of the tall figure and large white feathered wings were folded neatly behind his back. He was as intimidating as he was beautiful.

The Angel bent down to look Taemin full in the eyes, large doe eyes peering into scared, wide ones. “Don’t fear me.”

Taemin felt the words settle like a blanket over him, but he fought the calmness spreading from his ears to his heart, and struggled to keep his eyes open.

“Don’t fight it.” Still, Taemin fought, until the Angel let out a sigh, and shook his head. “You’re not helping Onew.”

“You can save him?” Taemin was suddenly alert, picking Onew up bridal style, taking note of how light Onew weighed, and placing the body on a nearby couch.

“He’s not supposed to be here, you know? At least not for this long.”


“Onew’s an Angel, Taemin. Have you ever asked him why he doesn’t have his wings?”

“He told me that when Angels make a mistake, they’re sent here to help children.” Taemin muttered, hand fluttering down to brush Onew’s hair and trace his lips.

“When Angels make a mistake, they have two choices: to commit to a child and help them or to live a life that will correct their mistake. In either option, they are not intended to stay on earth long. They are meant to either help a child, or live as a child, and leave before they reach maturity. Angels are stripped of their wings if they were to be either. They gain their wings back when they return to the Heavens.”

 “Onew’s made his decision to stay here with you, so he’s never going to go back to the Heavens. Not only has he given up immortality and his wings but also all magic in his veins. He’s become much like a ghost. And he’s hurting on the inside. He’s not like you, Taemin, he can’t be sustained by food and sleep. He needs the heavens. He needs his wings. There is no choice here, but he’s created one himself.”

“I-Is he going to die?”

“Angels can’t die. But do you know how it feels like when you can’t breathe? When there seems to be not enough oxygen in your lungs? You’re suffocating. That’s how Onew will always be feeling.” For once, the Angel’s eyes weren’t calm, and he smiled tightly even as his eyes grew dark with worry. “He’ll wake up, Taemin, but tell him that his best friend misses him, and make sure he’s happy, okay? Because he chose you.”

“So he can choose to leave me?” Taemin had never felt so vulnerable in his life, but neither had he ever felt so relieved. So this can all be changed.

“He had that choice five years ago, when you were already stronger than your father, and when you were no longer a child.”

“But he didn’t leave.” Taemin muttered. “Why?” If he knew this was going to happen…

“Do you really think that he loves you any less than you love him?”

“Stay!” Taemin muttered after a moment, just as the Angel turned to leave. “I can convince him to leave!” It would be too selfish for him to keep Onew by his side, regardless of how much it would hurt to have him gone.

“He won’t be able to leave now. He’s too weak. If he decides to leave by himself, he’ll have to reach the Heavens on his own and journeying to the heavens without wings is almost impossible, even if he were strong and healthy. It’s too late. Just love him as much as he loves you, okay?” The Angel was rushing now, glancing only once back at his best friend before trying to take flight.

“Until forgotten, right?” Taemin whispered, words stuck at his throat as Minho stopped to turn around and look him right in the eyes. In those eyes, once so calm and assured, was brimmed by fear and possibly, just a tiny bit of hope.

“I wasn’t supposed to say so much, but I couldn’t stand letting him suffer by himself. He needs you to understand that he might not be as lively as he was before, not as cheerful and not as energetic. I need you to know that he’s not getting bored of you; merely that he has no energy to open his eyes anymore. I want him back, but he wants you.”

“What happens if I forget him?”  

“Don’t think about stuff like that. It’s not worth prodding in.”

“Tell me.” Taemin was no longer scared, and he stood tall in front of the Angel. Shoulder’s squared and determined frown etched onto his face, he vowed to interrogate until his questions were answered. “You don’t know what it’s like to think that the person you love is going to waste away before your very own eyes.”

Minho was startled, and Taemin quickly latched onto that momentary surprise, stepping in and clenching each fist by his side. It wasn’t until Minho answered with a awkward stutter that he backed away to once again focus on Onew.

“H-he’ll forget you. Angels will come to retrieve him, and his wings will be given back to him. He’ll resume his guardian angel duties.”

“Do you think he’ll be happier?”

Minho smiled, a more genuine, but still strained smile. “I don’t think he can ever be happier than when he is with you.” With that, the beautiful being spread his wings and disappeared before Taemin’s eyes. Bright light exploded from the spot the Angel was standing, and Taemin was once again blinded.

Mere seconds later, Taemin found himself once again sitting in darkness, his head on Onew’s chest as he contemplated his choices. He blinked away a few more spots in his eyes before placing one last kiss on Onew’s lips. There was no choice to be made.


Onew had it all figured out. He knew exactly what he was going to say to Taemin so that the latter wouldn’t be too worried about him. Taemin had always been extremely protective anyways. He still remembered the time when Taemin didn’t know other people couldn’t see him, and had decided to stand in front of Onew and shield him as they walked through a particularly bad part of town at 3 AM at night.

He knew Taemin would always worry, but he had prepared a very, very convincing argument. At least that’s what he was telling himself as he took a few extra minutes just to practice his lines a little more. He kept his eyes closed and listened. He listened for Taemin’s voice, listened for the mingling of Taemin’s slow breaths next to his own. But he heard nothing.

He waited to feel Taemin’s touches, waited to feel fingers in his hair, or arms shuffling him closer to a strong chest.

But nothing happened.

His eyes opened to nothing but darkness. He was alone on Taemin’s bed. The room was lonely and cold, the mattress too hard without someone sharing it with him.

He later discovered Taemin on the couch outside, head buried in his arms as he slept. He sneaked up on the boy, intending to surprise Taemin with a bear hug, only to be pushed away.

“What the hell? I was sleeping.” Taemin’s voice was cold, so cold that Onew flinched and backed away before he himself made sense of what was happening.

“What’s wrong, Taemin?” Onew squeaked, a small whimper leaving his lips before he could stop it. “D-Did I do something wrong?” He thought back to everything that had happened… and could remember nothing but the blackout. Was Taemin angry because he was worried?

No, Taemin was not like that. Whenever Taemin was worried about Onew, his voice would grow softer, not harsher and crueler. Onew bit his lip, knowing too well that his fears and doubts would leave him in the form of tears and sobs.

Taemin knew what this meant. He knew that these were indicators of water works. His Onew, his Angel, someone he promised to never make upset, was going to cry because of him.

“Just get away from me.” And that Onew did.


Days passed, with Onew following Taemin’s each and every step. Taemin’s hand itched to hold Onew’s and he knew that he was missing Onew even though the other was a mere step behind him.

Taemin never let the cold act drop, but Onew wouldn’t let go.

And as much as Taemin wanted to, forgetting wasn’t as easy as television dramas made it seem. He would never be able to forget Onew.

The only times he even let himself even remotely close to Onew was when the other had another episode and passed out onto the ground. It was those times that he let his hand trail against lips that were getting paler and paler; let his lips graze upon skin that seemed chalky and cold.

But he persisted. And Onew didn’t give up.

At some point, he had to admit that it wasn’t working. Even if he flat ignored Onew, he found the other’s voice echoing in his head. He held back from touches, and kept his day so busy that he never even looked back at Onew. Still, every night before he slept, regardless of how tired he was, snippets of him and Onew would run through his head.

He couldn’t forget.

And Onew was blacking out more and more. He didn’t have time.

But he did have some cash.

So he did the last thing he would ever do. He picked up a pill, and gulped it down with his back to Onew.

In the few hours that the drugs ran through his body, he found himself numb and devoid of feeling anything. All he did was float, and fly, and not have to think of anything.

It was in those moments that he found himself not having to remember. It was times when he didn’t have to think that he didn’t remember.

The pills became all too frequent. It accompanied him in the morning, at breakfast, at the library, at night. He saw them more than he did food. But it didn’t hurt anymore.

It took less effort to ignore his lover. It took less effort to numb himself.

It was addicting… and he knew it was helping.

At least that’s what he liked to tell himself.

But he was passing out now too.

He didn’t exactly know what these pills were, but he knew the effects. All he knew was that a short man with dirty blond hair sold them in the alleyway a few blocks away from his apartment, so he purchased them.

He didn’t remember Onew anymore, but he still vaguely felt those soft touches, those insanely sweet lips.

So he purchased more, taking it more frequent and in larger amounts. Pretty soon, no memories were left except those that made him feel all weightless and happy.

Absurdly happy, when truthfully, nothing hurt more. But he didn’t really feel the hurt, because it was masked by a numbness that liked to tell him otherwise.

He didn’t know who was the man that was shaking his shoulders, telling him to drop the pills. He didn’t recognize the man that laid his head on his lap, crying and sobbing for him to stop.

He did however, remember that the day those bright lights filled his eyes, and a loud siren was screaming in his ears, that he was writhing on the ground, trying to remember what he had fought so hard to forget.

His house was empty that day, empty to others as empty as it was to him.


He reasoned that a hospital should be white. Minho had told him what hospitals were. They were places where humans went to heal themselves, so he figured it had to be white, since it should be clean.

He felt different. Something was weighing down on him, and making him feel slightly uncomfortable. Was it his wings?

He wondered.

It couldn’t be, after all, he’s had these wings since forever! But come to think of it, Minho had been acting weird the last time he’s seen him. He had awoken from a nap that seemed very, very long, and woke up to Minho lightly sobbing in his shoulder, claiming that he just wasn’t feeling too well.

The taller Angel was never so touchy-feely, so Onew wasn’t too well practiced in comforting the other, only patting Minho’s back tenderly as he smiled.

Minho had reached over to his wings and ruffled the feathers slightly, mumbling into his hair as he hugged tighter.

“The price of these…” He spoke spitefully, marveling at the pure snow white of the feathers clashing with his own eggshell white.

Onew figured that Minho was just frustrated with his guardian angel duties, so left the other to go claim his own assignment. The parchment was laid on his counter, and he read it quickly before jumping for joy. His first assignment!

As he left his room though, his wings spread uneasily behind him, and tickled his backside. Odd. It had never happened before.

Said wings fluttered and folded neatly behind him as he entered the hospital room, and he traced his fingers over the many appliances in the room, smiling at the many new devices that humans had.

The human world sure felt weird.

Since it was his first assignment, and his first time on Earth, he figured a little exploring wouldn’t hurt. He picked up some fruits, smiling at them before letting his gaze fall on the other things in the room. He had entered the room without much thought, smiling softly as he saw the vase of sunflowers placed on the windowsill.

“How pretty,” He mused, enjoying the sunlight basking the room in warmth.

Just as his eyes scanned the room, he let out an uncharacteristic gasp. On the bed was the most beautiful human he’s ever seen, dressed in pure white with his long blond hair fanned out beneath his head.

“Nice to meet you,” He whispered, voice gentle and sweet. “I’m Onew, your guardian angel.”

His eyes trailed down to the clipboard hooked onto the foot of the bed.

Name: Lee Tae Min

Age: 19


“It’s okay. I’ll be here for you. Until, well, forever.”

Onew liked to think that a few fingers twitched in response. 

Current Mood: blankblank
Current Music: Story- Hedley
Vie Sit
29 April 2012 @ 03:52 pm
What really defines a beast? What sets humans and animals apart? What makes one better and latter, less? Few wonder about these questions, as it is not a concept that involves their physical well-being. Why waste our time thinking about something so different from ourselves?
But if, by our judgment, love is not discriminating against gender, race, or age, then why should it be confined by appearance? Why should it set rules against what acts are right, and what actions are unworthy? If two beings love each other, should either be told that dangerous circumstances created by other humans disallow the development of their feelings?
If one were to die, and the other to kill, does it make their love unworthy…unclean?
Maybe the snow isn’t pure based on the white glow of its tragic fall to an earth where its beauty is wasted. No, it’s pure based on the life it lived… short… and uneventful.
Minho believed that maybe a snowflake’s life was much like his.
Accidental. Random. Lost.
Not only that, but it never seemed to be significant, even with its abnormalities compared to the perfected shapes of the other snowflakes. If one snowflake looked ugly, would one discover its presence amongst other beautiful snowflakes? Would anybody realize its absence?
Perhaps, even, snow itself comes unnoticed, and leaves without a trace.
Snowflakes touch upon the ground as lightly as a feather, and leaves as hastily as running water. This was Minho.
Or rather, this was Minho without Taemin. 

Choi Minho 

Lee Taemin 

   ~ PART 1/1~

There was a thirst, a thirst in so inhuman, so out of habit that he stood shocked for a second, confused between who he was and what he was. But there was no time for hesitation, because the lump in his throat was urging him to move forward, to satisfy the craving. He needed blood. Or rather, he needed bloodshed. All that mattered were the thoughts of the warm stench of blood drifting up his nostrils, the feeling of raw flesh slip down his throat, and the ultimate need for dominancy. The mental processes of an animal. 
Slowly, and undeniably instinctively, his hands formed a claw like stance. As graceful as a cat, as sly as a snake, he pounced.
Startled, Taemin didn’t react, but only stared wide eyed at the man he loved. As the two bodies collided, Minho’s weight made a pronounced effect on Taemin’s stable stance. He fell backward instantly, with Minho on top of him. As if in slow motion, the pair fell heavily onto the snow covered ground.
Taemin didn’t try to react, mostly because he knew that somewhere deep in his heart, the man attacking him was not the Minho he knew. Taemin could feel the confusion building up inside him, but it didn’t take long for him to realize that if he were to die, and it were in the arms of Minho, then possibly, he didn’t need to know why he was dying.
Just as Minho bared his teeth and hastily pushed aside layers and layers of clothing to reveal milky pale skin and a throbbing pulse, he heard a voice whisper into his ear.  
“An animal can be tamed.”
It was Taemin. 
And suddenly, Minho was confused. How had Taemin known? Behind the voices screaming for him to tear at Taemin’s flesh, and act upon his first instincts, a faded image of a little boy that had accompanied him his entire life made its way to his mind’s eye.
The little boy that had grown up with tigers and beasts surrounding him should’ve been able to fight him off easily, so why hadn’t Taemin retaliated when he attacked? Above all, who was this he was attacking?
Taemin? The named sounded oddly familiar, and as he heard the sounds roll off the tip of his tongue, a familiar sense of warmth spread from the pit of his stomach to where his cold hands were positioned, still cat like. Taemin, it was the same name that a little boy had introduced himself as 14 years ago.
Their first meeting had been purely coincidental, and Minho was feeling especially tired that day. He hated it when the doctors came.
Taemin had been hungry for several days, as once his mother was gone, he knew not how to get food. Overflowing with sadness, once he had found his mother’s photography equipment near the side of a cliff, he knew that she had been involved in an accident. Chances were, she wasn’t coming back. Sure, he knew he could sulk for several days, but it didn’t help his situation. After a day of careful contemplation, he decided that his mother wouldn’t have appreciated him giving up on life so easily, and thus, he finally got up from the corner where he was crying to look for food.
It was difficult though, as his mother was an Ecologist that reported her findings to a famous nature magazine, and she brought him into the natural habitat of animals so that she could study them further. Of course, when she fell off the cliff, she didn’t remember that her son was only five years old. He didn’t know how to use her computer, nor her phone.
And there she was, creating the new generation of Tarzan.
However hungryTaemin was though, he refused to eat meat, so hunting was already not an option. It was at that moment that he noticed a small tree hidden by shrubs and weeds. He grinned happily when he remembered seeing the same plant on his mother’s nature magazines. He didn’t quite remember the name, as it was a long name that a little 6 year old like him wouldn’t be able to pronounce. It didn’t matter of course, as the most important thing was that the fruits on the tree were edible.
He cautiously approached the tree, but just as he was within arm’s length of the fruits, something jumped onto him.
It was a baby hyena. Even though it was a baby, Taemin found himself small and fragile against the muscled body of a hyena. He had always been a small boy, but who knew that his last moments on this earth was to be spent on someone’s dinner plate? Heck, he hadn’t even lived long enough to have eaten many dinners himself!
He could do nothing but panic. Young as he was, he hadn’t been nearly as experienced as his mother.
In the moment he closed his eyes, hoping that the bite would be fast and painless, he heard a series of loud ‘booms’ that sounded much like the guns his mother had hidden in the house, except that these sounds seemed muted…controlled.
The hyena, too, jumped from the sound, and when the sounds got even louder, more terrifying, the hyena abandoned Taemin altogether, so that it could scurry off in haste. After all, when it came to dinner or your life, one should choose the latter.
It was from these sounds that Taemiin realized the shrubs hid more than the little tree, for behind the tree was a wide, glass window.
And behind the window was a boy.
Surprised, but interested, Taemin stood for several minutes just staring at the boy. Maybe it just Taemin, but he seemed to think that the boy behind the window seemed rather odd. He was slouched lazily across the ground before the window, and being clad in white, he largely resembled pictures of angels he saw on his mother’s bible. On second thought, Taemin took in the air of loneliness engulfing the little boy, and couldn’t help but think it’s a fallen angel before him. It was far too dark in the room for him to see anything else though, but his eyes lingered on the nametag the boy sported.
Minho. The fallen angel’s name was Minho. Had his mother sent this boy in her place? Taemin didn’t know, but he was already fascinated by the mysteriousness of this boy. In this wild forest, how had a young boy suddenly appeared? Most importantly, Taemin felt a sense of pity for the boy. Yes, Taemin himself was without a father, a mother, but he didn’t feel alone in the forest, where many other animals were.
Minho on the other hand, looked completely and utterly alone in the darkness.
Minho lowered his gaze from making eye contact with Taemin, and instead, focused his attention on Taemin’s  torn t-shirt, and thread-bare pants. How odd, he thought, that this boy looked so different from the doctors. Were they not all humans? How come something as simple as clothing varied so much?
As much as Minho had wanted to see Taemin’s face, he instead, forced himself to look anywhere but in Taemin’s eyes.
Still taken possession by fascination, Taemin made his way to the window. At first, he didn’t know what to do, as he didn’t want to scare Minho, because it would probably be the only friend he ever made in this forest. With newfound courage though, through knowledge of a possible new friend, he knocked quietly on the window.
Minho was annoyed. What did this boy expect? For him to put on a show, and entertain him? Hardly possible! Minho peered angrily up at the smiling boy, and bared his teeth. It had been a silent growl, but Taemin didn’t back away. Instead, his smile grew brighter than ever.
Anger flashed in Minho’s eyes, and he tried desperately to scare Taemin, but failed every time he tried to look big and scary.
It didn’t occur to him that Taemin was laughing.
At his wits end, Minho finally got tired and gave up. Nothing he did seemed to scare Taemin off.
Taemin knocked on the window again, and Minho contemplated ignoring him, but something about the way Taemin was smiling lured him in. Taemin was waving, and pointing to sky.
Confused, Minho approached the window and peered outside. From the heavens, he saw flutters of white make its way to the ground. It wasn’t the first time he saw it, but he had always wondered what it was, and why it was there. He didn’t make a sound though, because he was still confused about Taemin. Why did it seem that a stranger like the little boy could make him feel so carefree? Ah, yes, because Taemin was smiling. It was the first time someone had smiled at him.
He didn’t have time to ponder the meaning of Taemin’s smile though, as Taemin was drawing on his window. From his individual studies, he recognized the letters, the forms, the sentence structure, but he didn’t really know why the boy was introducing himself.
In ten minutes, he realized that his window was covered with little letters that faded almost as soon as he read them.
“I’m Taemin. Do you want to be friends?”
Minho looked at him, and pointed to his own eyes. Even as he did so, he was overcome with shame. Why were his eyes so different, so abnormal?
Taemin looked into his eye, but didn’t flinch. It wasn’t too shocking, he considered. So his pupils were slit, and?
Taemin pointed once again at the words “do you want to be friends?”
Minho considered it a second, and nodded his head.
What happened next shocked Minho completely, but he found himself smiling along to Taemin’s happy dance. Even to him, who knew nothing about this world, Taemin’s dance was cute and random. Finally, Minho thought, God had sent him an angel.
Taemin was dancing out of pure joy, for to him, if angels did exist, it must have slit eyes and a smile like the boy before him.
At first, Minho had been cautious near the boy, and always sat a distance from the window when Taemin appeared to talk to him. It didn’t take long for Taemin to get into the habit of going to see Minho every day. To Taemin, it didn’t matter if Minho didn’t want to open up to him yet, because all he really wanted was someone he could open up to. He admired Minho too; Minho was the shy, reserved boy that looked up at him expectedly every single day, expecting yet another story about his adventures in the forest, or the stories he read from the library his mother had in the house they lived in.
One of the first times Minho had started talking to Taemin was when he inquired about the snow. It had been the 8th year the two knew each other, and still, Minho rarely talked. But when Minho saw the snow again, he couldn’t help but ask about what it was.
“How does that feel like?” Minho asked, pointing to the blanket of white behind Taemin, but he didn’t need to speak loudly, for in the time they’ve talked, the two have learned how to read each other’s lips.
Taemin laughed, and stuck his hand into the pile of snow to grab a handful and show Minho.
“It feels like how you would feel if you stick your cheek onto the glass. Except it’s ten times as intense.”
Minho followed Taemin’s words, and felt the difference in temperature of the cold glass against his warm skin. He shuddered unexpectedly, and concluded he liked nothing about the snow. As pretty as it was, the uncertainty of snow also scared him. Besides, in the years he’s lived there, he always thought that he was like the snow. The snow came and left, but nobody ever realizes the difference… you can never tell that snow has once been there.
To Minho, his existence was much the same. He was here, but nobody cared. He would leave, and nobody would notice.
For once, Minho whispered what he thought to Taemin, and closed his eyes, feeling his warmth spread to the window and his cheeks gradually becoming cold.
He didn’t know if Taemin saw him say the words, but after opening his eyes again, he jumped back in shock. Taemin had plastered his cheek to the window, making it that between the two, there was only one thin layer of glass.
“I think I heard your heart beat very, very fast.” Taemin grinned, making Minho blush at the suggested closeness of the two.
“I-you-it was-” Minho’s sputtering did little to ease the smile on Taemin’s face, but rather, he got closer to the window and smiled as brightly as he could. Minho tried not to look, and instead, focused on straightening his shirt, which was never wrinkled in the first place.
Yes, this was the kind of effect Taemin had on Minho, even if he refused it at first.
Even then, Minho had blushed at close contact with Taemin, as even then he knew that he wanted it. He wanted desperately to be hugged by Taemin, to be loved by Taemin. But loving him was something Taemin never denied, and had always expressed openly; rather, it had been Minho that feared he wasn’t enough.
But what was he doing now? He lay on top of Taemin, but could think about nothing but Taemin’s death. What had he become?
“Remember when I told you to hold your hand up to the window?” Taemin whispered, his voice still shaking from the impact of the fall.
Minho shook his head, desperately trying to forget everything about Taemin, so that he could just do what his instincts were telling him to do.
“You wouldn’t tell me what was wrong,” Taemin said sadly, raising his hand to brush at Minho’s hair.
Minho shook his head again, this time more forcibly. How could he not remember?
It had been very recently that the doctors took him into the examination room for several weeks, and he couldn’t see Taemin for a very long time. It was so long that he feared Taemin would forget about him by the time he got back.
Of course, that was not the Taemin he knew, and just as Taemin promised, he would always be there. That night, when he got back to the room, Taemin was asleep near the window, shivering in the snow.
Minho knew he should’ve woken Taemin up with a tap on the glass, but he couldn’t do it. He sat there, as silent as he could, and watched Taemin sleep. It had been so long since he’s seen Taemin.
Unexpectedly, he started crying, and by the time Taemin woke up, he was sobbing so hard that his entire body rocked at the violent cries. Taemin tried desperately to calm Minho down, but everything he did only made Minho cry harder.
It had taken a long, long time for him to finally figure out that Minho was afraid of losing him. It had been the first time that Minho directly expressed his feelings, and it made Taemin oddly sad. He didn’t like seeing Minho weak, for it made him want to hug Minho, although that was something Minho made clear wasn’t going to happen. Minho was always in that building, and never did Taemin ever see him leave.
Gently, Taemin brought his hand to the window, placing it palm first onto the cold glass. He urged Minho to do the same.
“We can’t hold hands, Minho, but please tell me that you know I love you.” Taemin said, unable to break his gaze from Minho.
“You can’t.” Minho had stated flatly, but he couldn’t force himself to take his hand down. “No matter how much I want you to. I shouldn’t have let you stay so long.”
“I’m not leaving.” Taemin had whispered, unable to stop tears from rolling down his cheeks. “Why can’t I stay?”
“Can’t you see? You can’t be happy here. You can’t be happy with me.”
“They won’t let you go, right? Why can’t you leave?” Taemin asked, suddenly shocked at the revelation. Why hadn't 'they' told him?
“Because I don’t belong anywhere else.”
“Not even in my arms? Not even if I love you?”
“I don’t think it’s enough.” Minho said, “They don’t care.”
“Why should they be a part of this?”Taemin asked angrily, wiping his tears roughly with the back of his sleeve.
“They own me. They own what I am.”
“What are you then?” Taemin asked, pronouncing every word as clearly as he could, as it felt very odd for him to ask such a question.
Minho didn’t answer for several minutes, but then he finally did open his mouth, and closed it again.
He gritted his teeth as he muttered. “A monster. A beast.” Quickly, he took down his hand, and screamed for Taemin to leave. “We would never be together.” He said.
Taemin left, and for weeks, he didn’t come to see Minho. It wasn't until that morning, when Taemin came again, and dragged with him, a large, heavy wooden chair.
He didn’t say much; he didn’t warn Minho of anything. Instead, he hauled the chair over his head and attacked the glass window over, and over again.
The shattering of glass, paired with the screams and tears of Taemin made Minho scared, and for a second, he stood still, not knowing what was happening.
“If the glass wall they built is all that’s keeping us apart, then I’ll break it for you. Don’t tell me to leave again.” Taemin cried, unable to keep his emotions in control.
But neither knew the impact having direct contact with a human being could make on Minho, and once Minho was free from the room, he couldn’t help but pounce on Taemin. Who knew it would bring them into this state of life or death?
Upon remembering what had happened just minutes ago, Minho tried to tell himself to calm down, and to stop hurting Taemin. He looked down at the hand Taemin had wanted to hold his with, and he wondered; is this really the hand he wanted to tear off and make his dinner?
His slit eyes made its way back to Taemin, and he realized that Taemin was still beneath him, watching him.
He had expected himself to growl, but only a slight whimper escaped his lips, and he understood that the beast part of him was subsiding. On the snow, flecks of blood made him realize what he had just done.
He looked at the man he loved, and felt his heart crack at the scars and bruises covering Taemin.
With the beast side gone, he fell to the ground and cried. How could he have let himself lose control like that? Taemin tried to hug him, but he flinched away under Taemin’s touch. Who knew when his inner beast would be unleashed again?
“What did they do to you?” Taemin asked, trying to comfort Minho.
“You should know,” A cold voice said from behind Minho.
Minho stopped crying, and looked up at the sudden intruder.
It was his doctor.
“You had been a part of this after all.”
Taemin looked wide eyed at Minho, who was shaking his head in disbelief.
“You were part of them?” Minho cried, every word cracking when he said it. Taemin himself felt the words tear at his heart, and he tried hard to stop the doctor from saying any more.
“You were part of the people that scientifically combined genes of a tiger and human being’s to create me? You were part of the people that took me to tests where they starved me, where they hit me, where they didn’t let me sleep?” Minho asked. “Why did you lie to me?”
“It didn’t start that way!!!!” Taemin cried, desperately clinging to the Minho that was pushing himself away from the two. “They told me I was helping you!! I didn’t know they were hurting you!”
“I was nothing to you too. I was only an experiment, wasn’t I?”
“No! I ran away when I found out they were hurting you! I tried to get you away from them..." Taemin cried, suddenly made clear to the idea that Minho had been a genetic experiment all along. When he released Minho, he didn't know that upon having contact with a human being, Minho's beast instincts would surface. An animal's instincts stopped only at attack and kill, but Minho had controlled it, as Minho had said that he loved Taemin. Taemin shook his head in shame, how could he have promised the doctors to allow them to monitor Minho's interaction with him, when he himself did not know what they were doing to Minho? How could he have been so ignorant? How had he believed them so easily? 
“Yes you were Minho, and still are. We did every physical test possible, but we needed a psychological one… one to see if a hybrid like you was capable of loving, of having human characteristics. You performed well on the test; you didn’t hurt Taemin after all.”
“This was all a test?” Minho asked, suddenly disgusted with himself. This was all he would ever be, wasn’t it? A test subject.
“But we can’t risk your presence anymore. The government is starting to find out. Hybrids are illegal; genetic mutations like this are illegal.” The doctor said, not a hint of remorse in his voice.
“Then why do it?”
“I don’t have to answer you, Minho. All you have know is that you can’t stay here.”
“You’re going to kill me.” Minho said, closing his eyes and awaiting his death. “Come like a snowflake, leave like one. I never existed anyways, right?” He asked, directing his question at Taemin.
Taemin was still shaking his head, crying. He tried desperately to grab the gun that the doctor was holding, but the doctor held on to it stubbornly.
“You disobeyed us, Taemin.” The doctor said suddenly, turning his gun on Taemin. “You weren’t supposed to fall in love with him. You weren’t supposed to try and set him free. Why did you break the window? We can't trust you with these secrets.”
“It started out a test, but it won’t end that way.” Taemin said, allowing the bullet to penetrate his skull before falling over silently.
The spurt of Taemin’s blood made Minho nauseous, and he knew that he still loved Taemin, regardless of whether it was a test or not. He charged for the man that shot Taemin, and felt, at the same moment, other guns being fired from inside the room. It didn’t matter. He ran, and he killed as many as he could. In no time, he felt warm blood wash over his hands, and dozens of guns were pointed at him.
He only snickered as he allowed the beast instincts of a tiger take over him, and another growl left his lips. With his strength and agility, he had gotten most of the men down even with bullets being shot into him
Minho fell heavily onto the snow, and from the distance, he saw the lump of clothes that should’ve been Taemin.
Taemin may have lied about the tests, but he sincerely believed that none of the other things Taemin had said were lies. Taemin did love him, he concluded, as it was what he wanted to believe.
As the sun rose steadily across the sky, Minho blinked at the light. As silently as the snow had come, the snow would leave. As silently as he had made his way into the world, he would not leave without grasping onto something that would hold meaning, something that reminded him of the fact that his existence was real. He would hold in his hands, the feelings of loving and being loved. He was not just an experimental beast.
His only regret was Taemin’s death, but he bitterly acknowledged how pleased he was that when the sun melted the snow, it would carry his blood to mix with Taemin’s. It was like kissing a billion snowflakes, and have one of them reach Taemin. Even in their death, the two would not part.
Love has tightly wound up these two lives, one a beast and the other human, with its powerful iron grip, but pulls the two apart with a force even more powerful, making it that the two would be alone at death.
Minho didn’t know if he should be pleased at love’s cruelty, for he definitely would not be able to stand seeing Taemin’s lifeless body, bullet punctured.
He wondered again, if Taemin too, was thinking of him as they spent their last minutes alone. "I'm more than snow. I have Taemin." He whispered.
From the sun’s loving glare, a drip of water slithered into a puddle of Minho’s blood and trickled downhill to where Taemin lay.
Taemin closed his eyes as the iron salted water slid over his bloodied hand, mixing the two people’s blood together.
END :)
Current Location: Somewhere
Current Mood: blahblah
Vie Sit
14 March 2012 @ 07:36 pm


Kim Jaejoong, Fictional/OC


     The extent of our ignorance, the extent of our selfishness makes us forget a world that has been put into exile by our modern day society. We don’t see these people clearly; we don’t pay attention to those cast away from us; we forget those that don’t affect us. But one day, we turn on the television after our regular meal and sink further into our seat, shocked from the bloody mess greeting us. Many find this gruesome state disgusting and flip the channel to watch a soap opera that makes us feel good inside. Others linger on this news report, barely glimpsing at the screen as they settle in for dessert. The bloody mess is a girl named Lee Jin, but the audience hadn’t paid enough attention to realize this, as her name was mentioned only once, and never again. The attention of the audience is given to the pretty reporter as she explains the situation. 
     There had been a fight in a mental institute located near the country sides, somewhere where nobody would ever go. And this fight would bring out, from the shadows, a truth that was to hit the general public right smack in the face, and from the darkness where nobody would even try to explore, was none other than a twisted love. 
Date: September 3rd, 2011 
Situation: Unstable; interview with murderer
Motivation/conflict: Unknown
Death: 1, a man by the name Kim Jaejoong. 
Witness account: 1, guard, from the window.
"I don't know anything! I'm just a guard! But... well, he hit her... and she hit him. Blood was on the windows, but the weird thing is, neither threw curses at each other. It was a fight, but it was a silent fight. No grunts, no groans; it even seemed graceful for a while, until you noticed the blood." 

~Character introduction~

Lee Jin; 21; female 
“I’ve seen them… I’ve seen them die, and still, nobody remembers them. The carved names on the graves are people with a wandering soul, a soul rejected by even their loved ones. They leave no memory; they leave no trace, for they are seen as unworthy to leave a footstep. Nobody listens to the words of the mentally unstable.” 
“I hear voices, but those voices don’t tell me to kill. Your ‘normal’ people are starting wars, killing millions on billions at a time… and you call us insane.” 
Kim Jaejoong; 25; male 
“Nothing hurts more than knowing that that sun is out of reach. I can withstand that pain though. What tears me down, is the fact that you can’t reach it either.” 
“You love me too, right? Then, please, make this end quicker… I want to see that sun. I want to feel that warmth. I want you to be with me…away from these bars.”

“She… doesn’t seem at all crazy,” Said the female police officer, barely audible as she was whispering.

“Shut up and listen to her story already, but you don’t need to take down anything… her words are not accountable, after all, she iscoming from a mental institute.”

“But wouldn’t it be better to take record of it?”

“Record my ass. The real record will be what we get from the camera. This, this is just entertainment for the public. Watch her make a fool of herself.” 

Current Mood: coldcold
Current Music: Going Crazy Kan Mi Youn