#taeyes

[taebumemory]

Genie In A Bottle; Ontae; one-shot

Title: Genie In A Bottle Pairing: Ontae Length: 1,500 words Rating: PG-13 Genre: angst, romance

Summary: Taemin only has one wish.

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  Taemin shudders when he feels warm fingers lightly gracing his cold skin, slowly running down his forearm to his wrist before wandering back up to the crook his arm. Jinki's hands are usually warm like this whereas Taemin's are cold and clammy. He doesn't understand why Jinki still entwines their finger every time they're together. Why he doesn't mind the feeling of ice under his fingertips whenever he traces Taemin's skin like he does right now. Why he even looks at him with those tender brown eyes that Taemin thinks he's not deserving of.

And still he would lose himself in Jinki's eyes if he could just stare at them forever. Because looking away means losing the only proof he's ever been loved.

Abhorrence. It shines so clearly in his mother's eyes, this time as well. And yet he will look again, because he sees the way other mother's look at their children and it sparks the hope that perhaps this time he will find that same look in his mother's eyes. A hope that is meant to be crushed. Taemin knows it is, because he has no memory of love. He doesn't know how it feels or what it looks like. And yet he keeps searching for it, trying to mend the hole in his heart.

It hurts, it hurts so much, but he doesn't dare to tell his mother, scared she would yell at him again for annoying her. He really doesn't want to annoy her. So he keeps his mouth shut and reserves his tears for the night, when he's alone with his dreams and unspoken wishes.

In the end even those turn into nightmares.

Lips at his neck, planting soft kisses and leaving red marks. Taemin tips his head to side, check pressing into the pillow, as he willingly exposes himself to the feeling of Jinki's mouth traveling over his skin. When he reaches Taemin's lips he stops for brief moment. ”You're so beautiful,” he whispers before he kisses Taemin breathless.

Taemin loves hearing those words and he loves the fact Jinki is the one to say them. Even though they sound like lies to his ears. But he's grown to prefer lies over the truth anyway for they're like dreams; a way out of the pain of reality. A Reality in which he is lonely. Where a bleak, unfriendly room is what he wakes up to and gray walls stare back at him, mocking him as though to say that this is all his home will ever be. Every morning anew, every day without exception.

His mother's grip is painful as she relentlessly drags him along the stony path. Her steps are too long for his short legs to follow, making him stumble after her. By now, his bony wrist hurts and his weak legs ache, but none of this can compare to the feeling inside his chest when the orphanage comes into sight. Fear, desperation and an odd apprehension of the situation despite his young age. They all mingle, and form the picture of a reality worse than Taemin's scariest nightmares.

It's a daunting, old building with rotten white walls and a high, black fence made to keep intruders out and its residents in. Raising his head, he looks at his mother's eyes for the last time, hoping that maybe he's wrong and it's all just a misunderstanding. Maybe she loves him after all. But the look in her eyes hasn't changed and it's this image of indifference that burns itself into his memory; the last thing he sees before she turns her back at him forever.

When she walks away his heartbroken sobs echo through the empty hallway like a representation of the pain he's never dared to utter.

Taemin loves the story of the genie in a bottle. The Jinn that grants the one who finds his lamp three wishes. He has always dreamed of finding such a special lamp one day, because if he did his life wouldn't be as horrible as it is. He doesn't even need three wishes, only one. He isn't greedy, wouldn't wish for money or a castle or a thousand more wishes. He'd just asks to be someone else.

The orphanage is as unkind as anyone has ever made it to be. People are uncaring and strict, the kids miserable, and Taemin feels more alone than he has thought was possible. With the years passing by, he learns that love is a luxury that isn't meant for his eyes. Meant for him. Instead, he gets to experience the cruelty of the world around him. The caretakers who couldn't care less about him as well as the kids who call him names, scoffing and laughing. The bruises they leave on his body heal, the ones they leave on his soul never do. With a single word they manage to give him a thousand reasons to loathe himself and after some time he starts to believe that what they say is true.

When he lays in bed at night, curled into himself, he wishes he wouldn't have to feel so awful. He wishes people would stop treating him with so much repulsion. He wishes for the pain to stop. Taemin has a lot of wishes, but it's a particular phrase that turns them into no more than a single one.

“You shouldn't have been born.” He cries hearing that. Cries because it's the truth. It sets an end to his constant wondering why, and makes him see what he's been missing all this time: it's not them, it's him. He only has himself to blame for the pain he feels, because if he wasn't Lee Taemin his mother would have loved him, and the kids in the orphanage wouldn't laugh at him for being so skinny, and he wouldn't have to feel like he's worthless.

Ever since all he wishes for at night is to be someone else.

It makes sense, an explanation he understands. But then Jinki came into his life and rendered the only logic Taemin knew void, leaving him confused and vulnerable once again.

There is no reason to the way Jinki's hands move over his body with utmost delicacy, fingers pressing into the spot right above his hip bone as he pulls him closer. There is no logical explanation to the gentleness of his kiss when Taemin trembles underneath him, barely repressed whimpers escaping his lips with every wave of pleasure rolling over him. They soon turn into hitched moans, sounds as foreign as the feeling behind them. It's a sensation unlike anything Taemin has ever known, the warmth that spreads through his body unfreezing the ice in his bones.

This is what Jinki does, making him feel warm and secure. It's what he's been doing from the first moment on that he saw Taemin that faithful day on the bridge.

The pouring rain has drenched the man's trench coat and some wet strands of auburn hair are sticking to his forehead. Taemin thinks that he looks too wealthy and sophisticated to walk around without an umbrella.

Considering he could be a journalist or maybe even a young businessman, it is a strange sight. But at the same time Taemin doesn't want to avert his gaze.

He doesn't want to look at the black abyss of water rushing under his feet, ready to swallow him if he just takes the last step. He doesn't want to think of the pain of drowning as it will solely lead to fear and fear can easily take away that little bit of courage he has right now. It shouldn't be that hard, Taemin thinks. He shouldn't hesitate for so long. But somehow his limbs are frozen, a cold reaching so deep it paralyzes him. He watches the raindrops hit his naked arms, gathering on pale skin before dripping to the ground, and he closes his eyes.

It's in that moment that he is ready to die. It would have taken him no more than a small step to end it all. Because there are no Jinns in magic lamps to fulfill his wish, no miracles he is worthy of experiencing. Or so he thought. When he feels a warm hand gripping his wrist, pulling him back and away from his expected grave, it's like he's dreaming. Jinki had stared at him with horror and disbelief written on his face. Taemin had only seen the kindness in his eyes.

The same kindness that he feels whenever he's together with the man who saved his life. Lee Jinki who sees the things in Taemin others overlook. Who melts away the cold in his heart, and heals the bruises of his soul with a single touch, a simple kiss or three little words.

“I love you,” he breathes when he sees the tears in Taemin's eyes. “Please, don't cry.”

Taemin wants to tell him that those are happy tears, because he's finally found his genie in the bottle and got his true wish fulfilled. But then he thinks Jinki already knows.

[taebumemory]

Companion; Jongho; drabble

Title: Companion Pairing: Jonghyun/Minho Length: 456 words Rating: PG Genre: friendship

Summary: There were nights Jonghyun regretted befriending Choi Minho.

There were nights Jonghyun regretted befriending Choi Minho. Tonight, is one of those nights. They are sitting on Jonghyun's couch - which is already too small even without Minho's too long legs sprawled out on it - and Jonghyun is working on that monster of essay that is due to tomorrow and that he has been procrastinating for as long as possible, while his best friend is abusing his iPod and eating his last food supplies. Jonghyun would have found it cozy if it wasn't for Minho's comments on everything in Jonghyun's household he saw and disapproved of, simply because he was bored. "You know, your taste in music sucks," the taller boy states, shaking his head in what looks like mild disgust out of Jonghyun's peripheral vision. "I honestly don't give a fuck about your opinion," he answers dismissively, not even looking up from the laptop sitting in his lap as Minho hits his arm rather forcefully. He is still worrying about the bruise that would soon join the other already existing ones, when the younger goes on without missing a beat: "Justin Bieber, you listen to Justin Bieber." As if this prove of it all. By now, Jonghyun is seriously questioning their friendship. "Oh my god, can you just shut up? I'm trying to write a 3000 words essay here, and you complaining about Justin Bieber is not helping." Minho huffs, but otherwise stays silent. That's progress at least, Jonghyun thinks, before he goes back to typing the same sentence for the fifth time. During the next few minutes, the only sounds there are the clattering of the keyboard and occasional rustling of the bag of chips. It's almost relaxing, but then again, writing an essay is never relaxing, and it doesn't take long until Jonghyun's eyes hurt and his brain ceases to produce proper sentences. Staying up all night was obviously not one of his best ideas. "I can't do this anymore." He sinks back against the cushions and throws a glance at the boy next to him, hoping to hear some encouraging words from his companion. But all he gets is a sly smirk. "What?" "Since you're done with your essay, let's do something fun." Jonghyun knows he will regret this, because he is still far from finished with his essay and Minho's late night ideas of 'something fun' never end well, but despite his better judgment he asks: "What were you thinking of?" "A bar. You look like you could need a drink." And so they end up drunk, stumbling down the streets at 2AM, laughing hysterically, and maybe it's the alcohol or maybe the deprivation of sleep - probably both - that makes Jonghyun think that yes, he chose the right best friend.

[taebumemory]

Flames; Minkey; drabble

Title: Flames Pairing: Kibum/Minho Length: 338 words Rating: PG Genre: slight angst

Summary: Minho has to burn his past.

He hears the wooden beams creaking and breaking, sees the metal melting and the glas blacken with soot. The fire is devouring every story of the house, every piece of furniture in it, and every little detail that made it a home. It's all burning to ash in front of Minho's eyes. But he can't let himself feel regret, even though it hurts to watch it vanish once and for all, this is the only way they'll be save; not leave any traces behind. The orange flames glow in the dark of the night and banish the cold that came with the winter. It reminds him of the times he and his father would make a camp fire in the back yard and his mother would bring all kinds of foods to roast. They would sit together, eat and tell stories until midnight while the fire provided light and warmth. Minho's gazes wanders up to the first floor where his room used to be, with the car shaped bed that later gave way to a nice double-bed. The toys he used to love so much stored in the basement are now disappearing in a flesh, along with the memories of his child hood. Eyes meeting his reflection in the window of what was once a living room filled with family photographs and the smell of cinnamon, he doesn't recognize the fragile boy with the loving family in himself. He died with them. Kibum steps up behind him and puts his arms around his back, cheak pressing against the leather of Minho's jacket. Even through the thick fabric he can feel the warmth radiating from Kibum's body, and it's comforting him more than words ever could. "We need to go now. They'll be here in a few hours and we have to be gone until then," Kibum reminds him quietly and Minho nods. He casts a last look at the house, his home hidden beneath flames. But when he sees Kibum's reflection next to his, he knows it's not gone.

[taebumemory]

Wind; Taekey; drabble

Title: Wind Pairing: Taemin/Kibum Length: 500 words Rating: PG Genre:...(I really don't know OTL)

Summary: Taemin likes dreaming.

The car is rattling over the asphalt and the wind blows through the open window, making the notebook in his lap fall down. "Can you make sure the flowers don't get squashed, honey," his mother tells him from the front seat. "You know they're from Mrs. Kim. She's always been such a considerate neighbor." "Okay," Taemin says as he picks up the little book from the ground. Then he opens the pages he's been writing on last and pulls out a pencil. The ride is jolty as they have to take the hilly street that leads out of the village to the city. Seoul, that's where his father got the offer for a promotion and that's where they are moving now. Taemin pulls up his legs to sit cross-legged, notebook still in his lap now together with the flowers, before he continues to write. It may be old-fashioned, but he always liked writing by hand better than typing on a keyboard. Maybe because it feels more like painting the characters rather than just writing about them. For him making up characters, imagining their lives and seeing the world through their eyes is like dreaming. Creating new worlds and building storylines that could only exist in dreams, that is what he can do, what he's good at. Unlike his own life, it gives him a chance to express his feelings and control what's going to happen. Taemin always preferred dreaming over reality. The warm summer wind tousles his hair and while his parents chat, he wonders what it would be like to be here with the person he loves, the boy he's been imagining right down to the last detail and who is the protagonist of every of Taemin's stories, Key. If he was here he would complain about the wind ruining his hairstyle, even though the strands of blond hair falling into his feline eyes make him only so much more attractive. He'd sit next to Taemin, one leg crossed, and his fingers would retrace the outline of the landscape on the windowpane. He would look out and say that he'd like to visit the ocean one day. Taemin would promise to take him there. His hand flies over the paper at the thought of Key keeping him company, telling him stories of his world and all the beautiful things he's seen, of adventures he experienced and people he's met. Taemin loses track of time writing like this, lost in his imagination. By now he lies on the backseat, head resting on his jacket that he rolled up as a pillow, one leg propped up. Holding up the notebook with one hand, he uses the other to write. "Taemin, look! The scenery is breath-taking," his mother calls out, excited. When he sits up to look out, he sees the dark blue of the ocean. He leans out of the window and as he closes his eyes, feeling the wind brushing his skin, it's almost as if Key is there with him.