virginangelic

virginangelic

Kindred Spirits

The cold midnight chill creeps into the bare walled room; its unsettling musty stench remains a constant reminder of where we were. Empty cans of cheap lukewarm beer lie in a corner, amidst hastily thrown articles of clothing on the floor. Cigarette butts dot the ancient carpeted floor, unknown stains adding to the mystery of its original color.

Lazing around on the thin lumpy mattress, sticky with sweat and the messy remnants of another session, I watch as the ashen cigarette smoke start to purl gradually into oblivion though its presence was deeply ingrained into the four walls of the newly purchased apartment.

I know he won’t bother to respond to anything I have to say, deep in his despondency. I know him too well. He’ll just lay there, his back turned towards me, as though he still needs to hide those useless nightly tears from me. I know he still pines for Junsu as I wallow in my unrequited love for him.

Jung Yunho. 

I might as well enjoy the solitude Chunnie grants me after all those years of rowdy boisterous laughter and noises. But...those were the voices of the past, of happier times, when DBSK was one instead of five. I tried to relax and enjoy the moment but the silence is glaring, deafening even. I wanted him to scream, I wanted him to laugh, I wanted him to just do something to fill this void engulfing us.

The thick silence just remains, undisturbed except for the barely audible hum of the thermostat and the monotonous yet incessant ticking of the kitchen clock.

I stare at the ceiling, wondering where they were now, whether they were doing fine. I wonder if they still think of me and Chunnie, now that it’s been some three or was it five years down the road. But did it even matter?

Time just seemed to flow endlessly from one day to another, without us noticing it. Sometimes, I admit I am a little disturbed that I don’t even know what day it is but all too often, I would just have to look at the free daily paper and then I’ll forget all about it. What use was knowing the time? I didn't need another reminder of how long it's been since we've parted ways, for the better.

Sometimes I wish this was just a dream, that  I'll wake up next to him, to the whines of Umma from Junsu and Changmin.

And I start wondering if I should mail the youngest, busy studying for his Masters. Email would be better, if only I hadn't deleted his. The other two...it’s tough to face them - it would be too awkward.

What do I say? What can I say?

I don't need to disrupt their world, I couldn’t. Their happiness is far more important. Chunnie…no, I mentally chastised myself, it’s Micky now. Micky...he would do the same too. Afterall, the matching soul mate tattoos we inked so long ago was more than just body art. It was a statement to the world of how close we were. But not the kind of intimate closeness we yearned for.

If you love someone, let them go. If they come back to you, they’re yours forever. If they never return, they were never yours to begin with.

At times, I do find myself picking up the telephone receiver, my finger ghosting the number ingrained deep within my consciousness. Once…once I had succeeded.

"Yeobeoseyoh?" his voice, groggy with sleep.

And I had quickly placed the receiver back onto its cradle.

I've never tried it again. Yunho’s voice…if just one word from those lips could make my heart pound violently, make my stomach queasy like a million butterflies brought out of dormancy, I wasn't sure if I could act normally if we had exchanged more words.

It was best to leave them alone with their other halves; perfect little womanly beings with nary a fault – soft, sweet and becoming, warm and charismatic, tasteful and tactful, well-mannered and articulate, intelligent beauties with curves in all the right places.

Nothing like Micky and I.

I hear his voice hitch and I glanced over at the curled up body beside me. He crawls over and I allow him to slide into my arms and lend him my shoulder to cry on. Our bodies never fit completely; there were always spaces where the coldness would creep in, reminding the both of us. But we try. It’s the only thing we can do.

He looks up at me, his bloodshot eyes revealing hints of the inner turmoil both he and I shared together.

Hero,

Those dulled brown eyes, glazed over with tears, gazed into mine.

Why?

Why is it that we still feel empty?

There was no fucking way I was going to…

One lone drop quickly falls down, wetting my cheeks.

Shit.

I laughed.

He laughed at his rhetoric question, as the absurdity of our situation came into light.  Here we were, in the Land of the Free and yet we weren't. And neither one of us could be deemed heroes in this game of love.

We’re just shattered incomplete beings, losers struggling to glue the other and ourselves back into place. Perhaps one day we would succeed but today was not the day.  Or maybe that day will never come...

Our harsh fake laughter rang out loud and clear throughout the room and into the night; the terrible sharp sounds stinging. Like the pain that sears through our flesh and bones and into our broken hearts.

We were kindred spirits, Park Yoochun Micky and I, Kim Jaejoong Hero; we share the same fate.

Two jaded hopeless fags trying, struggling to find another purpose to live.

Because the ones we love, the other half of our fragmented souls, are not able to love us the way we want them to…

And all those times we had together had been empty, meaningless fun for them. 

After all, it was just fan service.

End.

*************
Now I'll just go and hide myself.