Decided to post for fun. I don't care if anyone reads it or not; it's the thought that counts.
Cross-posted at WingLin.net under the pen name Diese Stifte
Title: You Are What You Love
Author: Desultory Speech/Cillisian Thatcher
Genre: Angst, Prose, Romance
Rating: Teen - Mature
Pairing: JaeJoongxYunho, Jaeho, Yunjae, One-sided
Synopsis: It's the best sort of fun when your lifetime infatuation happens to be your best friends brother; even better when he happens to be gay. Even better more so when this said lifetime infatuation begins to depend solely on no one else but you.
Comments: I am in no way affiliated with DBSK, Super Junior or SM Entertainment, nor do I know or associate with any of the members or people in question. I'm not even Korean. This is a work of pure fiction; any similarities drawn between people, places and events are purely by coincidence. This is not meant to offend. The views and opinions in this story are not necessarily the views and opinions of the author. Directed to an older youth audience. Not for anyone under eighteen. Swearing, mature themes, sexual content and suggestive material. Nothing graphic, but close enough.
Story © Cillisian Thatcher/Diese Stifte/DesultorySpeech, October 27th 2007
I’m going to hell in a hand basket.
Why, you might ask?
I just am.
Well, that’s a bit inaccurate, but the real reason is a bit conflicting…
You see, I have this friend – her names JiHye, and she’s an awesome friend. I go to school with her and we are constantly at each other’s houses. In fact, we’re closer than sisters, and we can tell each other pretty much anything. That, and we have an incredibly long history together.
When we were three, we were both in the same day care. Our parents became friends through that, so we ended up seeing each other almost daily. Then, when school, we ended up being in the same one. We immediately gravitated to each other, and were suddenly closer friends than anything. By the time we hit high school, we were closer than close, and did absolutely everything together. I spent copious amounts of time at her house, as mine held my annoying little sister who liked to intrude upon our conversations and tell my mom we were being mean to her. And so, I slept over at her house more often than she did mine.
Enter her older brother by two years, amazing heartthrob and vocalist of a punk-rock band that played every Tuesday and Friday in her garage. I always harbored a bit of a crush for him, and it was hard to suppress it. With his gorgeous chocolate eyes, disheveled blonde hair, perfectly shaped nose, full lips and tall, lean body. He was like sex on legs, and his feminine looks were so damned alluring. His voice was always mid-deep with a husky overtone, and his laugh was adorable. He was great fun, sincere and honest, which was hard to find in guys, especially pretty ones. Also, he was modest, and I had learned from the days that JiHye’s parents were off on business trips that he was an astounding cook. After spending almost thirteen years of my life at her house, I had grown to be far past infatuated with him.
But, needless to say, since she was my friend, and dating her brother would be simply awkward, I ignore the welling feelings inside me and pretended to dislike him. That was easier said than done – as almost nightly I’d fantasize about him confessing his love to me and us living happily ever after, reproducing like seahorses – but I managed to do it. How? It was actually quite simple; I convinced myself he was gay. It was oddly easy; he spent a lot of time with his friend-slash-severe-smex-bassist-in-his-b
He was like the top supporter of meat fests.
So imagine my amazement when I was sitting alone with him one evening, waiting for JiHye.
“Hey JaeJoong?” I had asked nervously. I had never been nervous when talking to him before – that, believe me, I did frequently – but I was now.
“Yah?” He had responded, not looking away from the television as he did.
“Are you gay?”
He had frozen in place, before turning to me and giving me a shocked look.
“Can you keep a secret?”
And that was when all my hopes of having a one-nigh affair with him fell flat against the ground. Turns out, Kim JaeJoong, heartthrob and older brother of Kim JiHye, was gay for his friend ‘You Know’. In effect, it turned that out his friend ‘You Know’ was not clear about his sexual preferences, and so JaeJoong was stuck in a rather difficult situation.
To confess or not to confess, that is the question.
I was the first and only person to know about his secret, and, though I had no idea why I was, I kept deadbolt to the conviction to keep it just that; a secret.
To think my first real crush was a gay man – it was so embarrassing, that I swore off liking guys until I was sure they were straight. And since that was pretty much impossible, and most guys had too much of an ego to just come out and say, ‘Yes, yes I am gay’, I didn’t end up liking other guys.
‘Why aren’t you dating him? He likes you!’ would ask some girls.
‘He’s probably gay’ I would respond.
Not the most accurate of rejections, but I couldn’t exactly help it.
I kept that secret inside, becoming JaeJoong’s confidant when he was to be too frustrated with ‘You Know’. He spilled out his intestines to me in cheap complaints and deep digressions, and sooner than later, I knew more about him than his own sister.
Of course, his own sister did not know this, and, as to not arouse suspicion – as JaeJoong was very clear on the fact that he did not want his family to know about his shaky sexual preferences – most of our conversations were on the phone or on MSN around three in the morning. Occasionally, if the situation called for it, we would meet at a nearby coffee shop to discuss his problems over pricey cappuccino.
Really pricey cappuccino, but oh-so-good and frothy.
It wasn’t until almost a year after I had discovered his secret when he invited his sister to his bands first official live. He said I could come along too, if I wanted, but I could tell from the look in his eyes he was itching to talk something over and was counting on it.
So I went to check it out, sat and listened to the other crap-bands as I waited for his to come on. When they did, JaeJoong and his band were decked out in punk attire, JaeJoong himself sporting some delightfully tight jeans that showed off his well bottom, a red plaid shirt and a black vest with multiple pins and wear marks. He jumped and screamed and sang his heart out, vocally impressing respect that could only have been gained further in such a crowd if his worn converse had been brand new and authentic.
He sang about confused love, and the lack of ability to express oneself to someone one loved. His sister complained that he shouldn’t write lyrics about something he has no idea about; I remained silent.
The band played with spirit and effort, and by the end of the night, my crushed dreams of infatuation had soared to a record high.
Cue beginning of the end.
Both he and the band thanked us for coming afterwards, and I met ‘You Know’ face to face for the first time. I had seen him, yes, but never actually exchanged words with him. I knew instantly why JaeJoong was so smitten – the man carried an air of respect around him, and was humble and cocky all at once. He was polite and respectful, and, I’m going to lie, rather good to look at.
We all decided to go to get a bite to eat together, packing into the back of the oldest, YeSung’s, truck and putting our way to Pizza Hut. After feverous discussion, several greasy pizzas and numerous attempts from the Guitarist, Junsu’s attempt to get my phone number, we were at JiHye’s home. She went off to take a shower, and told me I could wait in her room.
I didn’t, instead sitting on the kitchen counter with a glass of water clasped in my hands, sorting through my messy thoughts in attempt to break down the emotions I felt, and the voice that he had sang in that won me over so effortlessly.
Tiredly, in a pain of loose PJ pants and a tight fitting black T, he had came into the kitchen to sit opposite of me on the counter, watching me carefully as I drank my water. Curiously, I had asked him what was up, to which he responded in a disheartened tone.
“‘You Know’ has a girlfriend.” He muttered, glaring down at the floor. My instant response, verbally – as my mental was a leap for joy and song of praise – was a sympathetic look.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he replied sharply, bitterly. He looked downright miffed, and I was sure I’d be hearing this account poetically decrypted in a song come the next live. “She was with him in the bathroom fucking before we went on.”
I sighed, shaking my head at him. “She could just be a one-night sort of thing… cheap girls at lives like those just want to sleep with the band.” Which was true – I noted the plethora of girls who had rubbed provocatively against him as he had been walking over to us. Poor girls – they didn’t realize they were preaching to the devil.
He rolled his eyes at me, “I doubt it… he’s not that type of guy.”
“Maybe you don’t know what type of guy his is.” He had glared at me then, and so I had apologized, explaining that a man his age was promiscuous by nature.
We both heard the shower turn off, and the door click open. I listened as I heard JiHye’s damn feet rush across the hall to her room, where she had no doubt forgotten her change of clothes. Sighing, JaeJoong slid off the counter and walked over to me. He stood in front of me for a good minute, before embracing my tightly. I choked on air, completely caught off guard. He smelt amazing, his natural masculine smell complimented so perfectly with cologne and aftershave. I was lost in his touch, his smell, completely overwhelmed.
“You’re a fucking sharp friend,” he commented innocently, pulling back and smiling meaningfully at me. I assumed that what he had said was a good thing, but to be honest, had never really heard the words ‘fucking’ and ‘sharp’ put together in a compliment. Perhaps it was a makeshift original of his.
With that, he left, and I was left to scowl at the cheap linoleum. Tricked, I had been, by the affectionate nature of a gay man, who called me ‘fucking sharp’ as a compliment. I couldn’t help but curse him mentally; jerk. ‘Fucking sharp’ jerk.
But I was proud of myself for letting him believe I was just his friend; that that was why I was comforting him. I disguised my intentions, which, I’m afraid were terribly untrue. Because I wanted to comfort him so much that he fell for me like I did him.
But it never happened.
A week later, we were invited to another one of his lives, and, surprise surprise, the lyrics of this ‘new song’ very much reflected that of his current situation. Once more, we went out for a round of pizza afterwards, only this time minus one member. JiHye was tired, and her ears rang from overbearing amount of half-assed deathcore that had been played, so she bid me goodnight and headed home to bed.
JaeJoong drove me home that night; we sat in his car for a good two hours discussing ‘You Know’ and his ‘fucking cheap ass whore of a girlfriend’, his words, not mine. He really resented her, telling me numerous times that she was two-timing ‘You Know’ with the drummer from some other punk band in the area – he had said his name, I just didn’t care enough to remember it. He had apparently seen them ‘going at it like rabbits’ in the park bathrooms – and by ‘seen’ I mean he heard them and since her name was the same, it had to have been her.
I learnt that gay punks were very possessive over their long time reveres.
Afterwards he had apologized for complaining so much, and bid me a good night. I waddled on home, and, not even an hour later, I received a phone call from him.
I guess he just couldn’t help but vent more.
A day or two later, in the pure name of irony, who was I to be paired up with for a class assignment but the very girl JaeJoong detested so. I was clueless at first, until she had showed me a picture on her phone of her and her boyfriend ‘You Know’. It was easy to put the rest together.
She was a pretty girl, full of attitude and absolutely no fashion since. However, what she lacked in clothing she made up for in personality, and was a very charming person. She also liked to play matchmaker, and told me the singer in ‘You Know’s band was a good catch.
Needless to say I rejected the offer, for, had she know my situation with that very band, she would not have offered in the first place. She invited me to go to a movie with her, and, at the pushing of a very curious JaeJoong – who wanted to be sure if it was really her or not – I agreed.
We went to a good ol’ slasher-flick, and I was more than eager for a nice round of carnage and gore. She disappeared half way through for a good thirty minutes, and returned with messed up hair, smudged make-up, and the one and only ‘You Know’ in tow. I had therefore confirmed that she was the ‘fucking cheap as whore of a girlfriend’ that JaeJoong had mentioned.
And suddenly, I found JaeJoong coming over to my house when I was not at his, to sit in my room and vent, painting his nails neon colours and reading through my magazines. Even when I was at his house with JiHye, he intruded randomly into our conversations, and would frequently sit in her room with us.
I paled when JiHye made the suggestion that he liked me, and denied it vigorously. She had laughed it off, but soon after I found her prodding me to ask him out. It was my misconception that she would not like me dating her brother – she was thrilled at the idea, and said it would make us actual sisters. No sooner than she plagued my mind with such ideas, she had discussed it with her mother, and she too pushed for it.
And it was suddenly all too difficult to keep my feeling at bay.
JaeJoong laughed when I told him, and when the first time his mother mentioned it in his presence, he had wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at me. That would have been all fine and dandy, if not for the overwhelming want for him that lingered inside me.
Oh, woe was me and my remarkable ability to fall for a gay man.
Weeks passed and his mothers fixation on us finally died down, causing the both of us to breath a sigh of relief, for different reasons. But JaeJoong continued to phone me at ungodly hours in the morning, seeking comfort for his sorry soul. I listened, I was a good friend, and not once did I complain when I was awoken early in the morning to my phones high-pitched ringing. Never did I once complain when his voice met my ears, strained and thick with sorrow. He would occasionally read his lyrics to me over the phone, ask my input, but I really had none to give. He was gifted with an ability I would never master, as my way with words was weak in comparison to him. Still, he asked just the same and I would always say, ‘It sounds great.’
Then came the sixth live I attended with JiHye. We managed to get into the back room with them, which wasn’t much past a cooler, ragged couch and bathroom. The walls were absolutely covered with flyer after flyer, band posters and merchandise sprawled about the room like a teenagers bedroom. It was a few moments before they had to go on, and I was looking for ‘You Know’. I walked cautiously into the backroom, finding absolutely no one. At seeing this as a chance to use the washroom – which I had refused to use when people were in the other room, as the idea of people hearing me unnerved me to no end – I had opened the door.
And was immediately greeted with Yunho and his girlfriend, sitting pant-less on the toilet. I immediately apologized and closed the door, mortified with my discovery, and rushed off to tell the band that he was in the bathroom.
JaeJoong knew as soon as he looked at me what Yunho was doing, and the small amount of anger and distress that came with knowing that added so much to his performance. He sang again about unrequited love; a song that hit home to many in the audience, not excluding me. He began to cry at the end of the song, the lyrics he was singing so true to him that they burned in his heart and mine.
He didn’t know it, but the confession he sang was a confession I yearned to admit to him.
I needed to be alone that night, rejecting the offer for pizza the first time and going straight home to cry myself to sleep. But JaeJoong would not allow that; he phoned me as soon as I had started to release my emotional stress. I don’t know why I even picked up the phone, sobbing as hard as I was. Perhaps it was because I had never ignored his calls before; I didn’t want him to feel that I wasn’t there.
I could hear the guilt in his tone when he asked me what was wrong; he had never done that, ever. No matter how much we talked, he had never asked about me – how I was, how I was feeling, what I was thinking – past the advice he needed. And when I gave him that advice, he took it and left, thankful.
But I hated it.
I realized then that I hated it.
Because a person can’t just give and give and give without running out of things to give.
But I didn’t want him to feel bad, so I bullshitted a lie about my cat running away – saying so as she sat, purring on my lap – and told him it was nothing to worry about. Overreacting, I told him I was, and that it was fine. I rejected his offers to come over, only because I knew that if I saw him face to face, I’d only break down further.
When JiHye asked me at school if my cat was okay, I smiled at her and told her she had come back in the morning; again, that I had overreacted. I felt bad for lying, but felt worse for the truth that I kept locked in my chest. It was a stinging thing that never was relieved from me, until I couldn’t breath under it. And when JaeJoong talked about his issues with his infatuation, I understood far better than he thought.
But I said nothing.
Grad that year was a long time coming, and I celebrated with JiHye and the band over 2 for 1 appetizers at a bistro down the block. But I was depressed as we did, overly sensitive to he subtle touches JaeJoong gave ‘You Know’ and the way he masked his flirting to make it look as if he wasn’t. JiHye noticed the difference in my mood, and asked me in the bathroom. I was eighteen, naïve, and in love with a gay man two years my senior; of course I was depressed. I did not tell her that, much as I wanted to.
I started to resent JaeJoong for the friendship we shared. I wanted more, God, I wanted so much more, but I knew I would never have it. It took me no more than one discussion with him to know that I wouldn’t. No more, no less.
Once more I suppressed my feelings, trying to convince myself to hate him in order to no longer love him, but it proved impossible. The fucking gay charm was too thick to break, and I was left to bitterly contemplate outlandish escapes, such as suicide or running away. But, in the end, I couldn’t follow through with them, because I didn’t want to hurt him.
It was a vicious cycle of patching up hurt that couldn’t be rightly fixed, but I still tried.
Summer brought all sorts of things – beach adventures, late nights watching JaeJoong’s band, rendezvous with him over cappuccino, nights with JiHye, days shopping and never working. The precarious life of a youth that I could exhaust and re-exhaust until I grew bored of it, and then do some more. I enjoyed it and loathed it, all at once.
But with summer came a startling discovery – this oblivious ‘You Know’ character proposed to his ‘skanky 5 cent whore’ – again, JaeJoong’s words, not mine – and she accepted enthusiastically.
JaeJoong was sent into a spiral of despair, one that no one but good ‘ol American beer could help him out of, because no one knew the reason of his sudden depression.
No one but me.
I comforted him to the best of my ability, but that proved to be as fruitless as cutting down all the apple trees in Michigan. He retorted to all my comforting words with snide remarks, often pushing away my comforting hand and cursing at me like I was the bearer of his problems in the flesh. It stung to suddenly be so shut out, so I could do nothing but fade back into the shadows of my own remorse. Of course, I masked it far better than JaeJoong did, often poking fun at him with his sister when he wasn’t around. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.
Damn gays and their damned allure.
Damned, well-dressed, nice haired allure.
And that fucking charm.
Damn, I hated that charm.
What was a lovely yet painful friendship ended then and there, and I didn’t hear from him for weeks afterwards.
Until, that is, a particular Monday afternoon I had set aside to veg out and watch old horror movies. It was little past midnight when I received a loud knock on my front door. Curious, I hobbled over to it, opening to see a very, very smashed JaeJoong.
He reeked of alcohol and his eyes were half shut, and an aura of grogginess hung thickly around him. He slurred a greeting, stumbling into me as he attempted to enter the house on his own. I ended up carrying him to my bed and tucking him in, curling up in a chair to watch him sleep. I couldn’t help but frown and feel pity for him – he was grieving the loss of the man he loved and could never attain, and taking it far harder than I had loosing mine. Then again, I hadn’t yet accepted that I had lost him, so I hadn’t yet begun to grieve. Him being there rekindled the ashes that were my hope, and, as absolutely sadistic as it was, I was happy.
He snored quietly in his sleep, readjusting himself occasionally and muttering curses the five-cent whore that stole his man. I traced his face with my fingers, using his drunken slumber as a key opportunity to touch him. He was as much of a heartthrob as the first day I saw him, and though dark bags tired his face, he was still prettier than any girl.
I ended up leaving him alone in my room, venturing back into the living room to watch my movies. I watched three before I heard my door open, and heard him stumble out into the hall down to the bathroom, where, soon after, I heard heaving. Hurriedly I rushed to the bathroom to hold back his longish hair and stroke his back as he gagged, thanking God and my genetic makeup for my high gore-tolerance. Afterwards he slumped half-consciously against the toilet, muttering something about the cool marble being the only thing that understood him. I found myself heaving him back to my room and tucking him in once more, deciding to go to sleep myself.
I slept on the couch.
I didn’t trust myself in my room, alone with him.
And, the next morning, I dared not enter my room, for the same fear lingered inside me. The fear that I’d come to the realization that there was nothing between us and never would be.
He slept the entire next day, or, at least, I thought he did. I never entered my room, so I couldn’t be sure. I told myself that if he didn’t come out by that night, I’d go in and make sure he was okay, and busied myself with finishing re-watching my entire collection of horror movies. I was terrified that he might have done something to himself – cutting, abuse, and death – but had no courage to check. Perhaps what scared me beyond that was the fact that if he were to hurt himself, that was very likely how I would handle the grief when I finally gave into the logic of my mind.
Because you are what you love.
I found I didn’t have to check on him, though, because he hobbled out of my room tiredly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. He crashed next to me on the couch, his head falling to a rest on my shoulder as he watched the images on the TV. Though his eyes were watching the screen, I knew better than to think he was absorbing any of it. He was stuck in his head, and, coincidentally, so was I.
Because you are what you love, and not what loves you back.
We sat like that for a good hour and a half, until the movie credit drew an end. I was too distracted in my thoughts to get up and change it, so I sat, feeling numb.
“I told him…” he mumbled; I could feel his body tremble as he spoke, and as he said those words, I felt a stinging guilt in my throat. “He rejected me, but I saw that coming.”
“At least you can still be friends,” I tried to sound optimistic, but I just couldn’t. What do you tell a man who was rejected like he was?
“We can’t,” he denied, “He was disgusted… he said, we can’t be friends; he can’t stand homosexuals… He left the band…” I frowned, patting his head, attempting to be as comforting as I could. “And uninvited me to the wedding…”
“Maybe that’s best…” I thought aloud, sighing tiredly.
“I knew it was going to happen, but I was hoping… that maybe… it’d be different. But he doesn’t like guys.” He sighed. “Fuck, I ruined everything… my band, my friendship. I’m such a fucking jerk, it’s not even funny.”
Silence met us again, and the emotion that was eating his up inside slowly began to engulf me as well. I realized then that we were two in the same; both in love with someone we could have. Realizing that, it finally dawned on me that I’d never be able to be with JaeJoong.
Not now, not ever.
“What’s eating you?” He asked suddenly, lifting his head from my shoulder to look at me.
I frowned, looking up at the ceiling. “I was rejected as well.” By you, I added mentally, unbeknownst to you.
He smirked, eyes looking back at the fussing television screen. “We’re in the same boat then.”
And I’m only in this boat because you’re in it.
“I hate this boat,” I complained, tossing my head to the side.
“Yah, it’s a fucking pain in the ass.”
And it’s your entire fault, Kim JaeJoong. Your entire fault. You and your angsty woe-is-me attitude; you and your nice hair and pretty face; you and your charming personality and well clad body; you and your fucking poetic, lovable self that has lead me to such a horrible fate.
That’s the only reason why; I would be free and happy, had I not met you. Had I not fallen so quickly for you. I huffed, and was about to get up when he advanced on me.
And suddenly, his lips were tracing my jaw line, dragging along the surface of my skin. His arms looped easily around my waist, his left hand pushing under my shirt as his other held the side of my face. I completely blacked out, concentrating solely on his burning kiss, until I slowly regained my senses and realized what he was doing.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, pushing him off of me. He stared for a moment, before chuckling quietly.
“Oh come on,” he teased, lifting his hand further up my shirt and fiddling with my bra. “You’re grieving, I’m grieving; a round or two will do the both of us some good.”
I stared at him in disbelief, not sure what to equate his words to.
And, all to soon, he was kissing me again; hungrily pushing against my lips until I couldn’t breath. I couldn’t help but accept his passion open armed, running my fingers through his hair and meeting his lustful kiss with my own. He was serving himself to me on a silver tray, no strings attached, and I couldn’t help but take the offer. He moaned against my lips, pressing himself against me roughly, stroking my back. Clothes were needless and only got in the way, and we discarded of them just like we did our morals and standards. My entire body burned for him, as did his for someone else, but I didn’t mind.
The one-night-stand I had imagined was given to me hassle free, and I didn’t mind at all that there was no emotion in it.
We ended up fumbling off the couch and onto the floor, but that didn’t stop us at all. Pressing against each other, feeding of one another’s desire; we advanced quickly and never looked back. I expected him to call for his beloved in the pleasure he felt, but instead, he moaned my name in a breathless voice, and, in turn, I did his.
His mouth had traveled over every inch of my skin by the time I managed to get a glimpse of the clock, and at midnight, we stopped, exhausted and panting into each other’s lips. He groaned, opening his eyes lazily at me, his lips half smiling, before he began again to push and tease against me. He was so warm; I was so warm; the air in the living room was thick, and I thanked God my parents were away.
One night of passion was all I needed.
One night of passion was all I wanted.
One night of passion was all I received.
And so now I lay, JaeJoong’s body half on top of mine, his head nestled into the sensitive skin at my collarbone, reliving the events of the night laid out before me in my mind. I trail my fingers through his hair, wondering what, exactly, went through his mind as we were fucking shamelessly on my living room carpet. He was probably thinking of ‘You Know’, and thought I was thinking of my own unrequited love, not knowing that it was him.
He mumbled in his sleep, cuddling closer to me. The action alone triggers my tears, and I lay, silently crying.
My best friends brother; my one and only love; my greatest want and desire; my biggest regret. Had he known how I felt about him, he would have never dared touch me, and that was enough to make it hurt more than I could have possibly fathomed. If I knew it would have stung this badly, I wouldn’t have accepted his offer of careless sex.
I look down at him, his face perfectly highlighted by the small amount of light that seeped through the kitchen doorway…
Because I can’t tell him how I feel…
I’m going to hell in a hand basket.
© Cillisian Thatcher/Diese Stifte/DesultorySpeech, October 27th 2007.