But I'm not scared of strangers and neither should you.
Say hi. It always work.
Links to my fanfic master list and download are on top of this page.
losing my faith in everything.
The further I fly, the farther away I am from you.
The further I fly, the farther away I am from you.
The Porcelain Guy
The back alley of the arts department is all bricks, turpentine and paint. Dull.
But this shortcut gets my ass to class on time. I walk straight, head set down because it feels – no, it is, safer that way.
It rains porcelain again that morning. He’s here.
Same place, same timing. That guy, he just smashes any ceramic that he has in hand.
And, he caught me looking. A cigarette is stuck in between his bony fingers. He’s waiting, thinking, waiting. Yet, not planning to smile.
Say something, Yunho. Say that you’re fucking sorry to have interrupted his smashing-things-fun and butt off. Finish it. Go away.
But no, Kangin and his playmates won’t give you a break this early in the morning, don’t they?
The third year seniors come out of nowhere, as usual.
“ Hey, celebrity. Follow us.”
Shindong and Donghae, Kangin’s monkeys or best friends – as they pressed it to my face a couple of times before, don’t even wait for my No. They drag me by the collar like I’m their pet dog on a leash.
That guy is still looking.
He doesn’t even flinch.
I give him a name.
The Porcelain Guy.
The personal studio that I’m supposed to have this semester is locked. Oh great.
I try another door. This time, it gives away.
Everything that I had in my bag is either ruined or dysfunctional or both. Those three idiots did bash me good. They even took my carving knife.
The red paint Kangin smeared across my face, it’s like dry blood peeling off. Wait, it is dry blood. He hit my nose hard enough, it bled.
I stain of cowardice.
Every studio has a sink by the door. I wash my hands and face. My shirt dampens in the metal basin. I hate being like this. Getting picked on like I’m an elementary school kid.
A white tee lands on my shoulder.
“You fell on your face?”
A tall guy, about my height, a senior, snickers. If I am in his studio, then I have to pack up and leave. Fast.
Instead of brushing me off (like everyone else would upon privacy breaching), this guy lets me in.
What gentle smile he has. He reminds me of my father.
“I’m Jaewook. And you?”
Half dressed and his jeans hung low. His bones are jutting out in places that I can see. My face warms that instant.
“ Yunho. Ju- Jung Yunho.”
Did I just stutter?
He gives a coy grin. Damn.
Jaewook’s shirt fits on me well. My fingers are already on a sculpture. A wing made of clay and broken ceramics.
“I see that you’ve taken a liking to it. You do sculpture?”
I give a quick nod to Jaewook’s words. My glasses bob up and down following my move.
The carving is different from what I’ve seen or ever produced. My works are no match to this. This figure – it’s like something that my father would be able to carve. “My father studied ancient art in Spain. I’m geared towards that too.”
Jaewook mumbles, “I see”. His eyes are not meeting mine yet he walks closer. I can smell his cologne. At this rate, my whole body goes numb. He’s showing too much skin, provocative.
“Is this something you did?” I ask. Leaning against the table, his eyes meet mine, he nods.
He’s beautiful. Godly.
Just like my father.
A rather warm Sunday afternoon and I’m out to buy something to eat. Maybe some rice rolls or beef udon or anything. Schoolwork is keeping me too busy. I find myself too lazy to even cook some ramen.
Or maybe I just need some fresh air.
Walking down this small road, I wonder why I use back alleys so often. Avoiding people?
I guess so.
I hear something. Some guys shouting. I can them running this way. Their faces get clearer as they approach. It’s Kangin and his pet friends.
And they are chasing after the guy - who smashes sculptures - the Porcelain Guy.
Is he okay?
I did nothing heroic though. I hid instead. They can’t see me. They shouldn’t see me.
They lost him at a corner and he’s bleeding.
That weird guy is pressing a wound just above his hips. His blood seeps through.
“ What’s with them?” I approach the guy. His breath is haggard. Choppy as he stills by the dirty wall.
He shuts in.
Back off, back off. His eyes warn. I think he meant Save me.
He’s a lost puppy.
“ You’re hurt.” A habit that I can never quit, touching things that caught my interest, my fingers reaches for that patch of red that he’s pressing.
Those idiots hurt him. Was it done with my knife? He grabs my hand, noticing that his blood stains my fingers. He looks guilty.
I want to know if he’s okay. I want to make the pain go away. I don’t know why he’s such a mystery. I want to know everything.
He starts to run, dragging me along. I stop him after a few steps. “Wait, stop.”
He pauses only to say “Forget it, let’s go.”
The weird Porcelain Guy ( whose real name I don't even know up till now? ) lives alone in an apartment not far from mine.
Quite close, really. This is after all, the nearest building to the university.
It seems like he doesn’t want to release my hand, even after we reach his home and later, his bedroom.
I lost count the number of times I try to release myself from his grip. Whenever I succeed, he pulled it back.
“ Let go.”
At last, he gives up. My wrist is getting sore from all the tugging.
He turns around when he lost contact with my skin. His expression is hard to read, demanding me to obey; staring at my face.
We stay like that for quite some time. I just don’t know what to do. His eyes are threatening me, swallowing me whole.
I feel nervous somehow. It reminds me the first time we met. He’s no longer the lost puppy I was trying to save.
He’s still staring, advancing towards me.
What does he want from me?
I can feel the heat from his breath. I can see how awfully pale this guy is, up-close.
At one point, he turns away, heading for the bed. He sits on the mattress, cursing the pain that his broken skin gives.
His muffled cry echoes in my head.
“Are you okay?” This is one of the stupidest things to say, I know. He does it again, staring at me like I did owe him something.
“Let me check.”
“Forget it.” His guard is up. He doesn’t bother to accept my offer of kindness.
“Let go.” I decide to just ignore him and his big ego. I pop open the buttons of his shirt, one after another, avoiding that daunting gaze.
“The cut is deep.”
From where I sit, his well proportioned body peeks out, revealing part of his chest. He has a tattoo there; I catch a glimpse of the first few letters while others are a blur.
His abs is firm; a skinny guy with a spread of lean muscles.
A deep red line taints the white of his skin. The cut is above his pelvic bones.
That’s one big lesion. The clash of colors is amusing but this is not something I that I should enjoy.
Kangin and his gang, those bastards; just what they were thinking? Someone could’ve got seriously injured.
“There’s no big deal about it.”
I take out my handkerchief. Carefully, I dab the wound. “Don’t talk like that.”
It is a big deal to me. Someone’s life is a big deal. No matter how useless that person might be. No matter how insignificant his existence might be.
It is a big deal to me.
He’s quiet throughout the whole process. That’s weird. I look up to his face and he set me in a battle of gaze.
What made him into who he is today?
He’s different from anyone I know. Not that I have a long list of friends here in Seoul. Others are ignorant while a few of them were trying too hard to be my friends. This guy is in a different category all together.
He gives off a rather intriguing picture. Like I should know him before he goes poof, vanishing from my sight.
Our stare battle turns awkward somehow. He gives away first.
“Moron, that hurts.” His voice is thick as he thrashes my hand away.
“ I’m sorry.”
I know that I should probably leave. Before I could do anything, I find myself being pushed down the bed, hands shackled by his grip.
I am bigger than him. I can push him from hovering me anytime. But I didn’t. I wait for his advances. Why?
He gets closer and closer and it’s getting warmer and warmer. He’s right above me, looking like he can find some answers to the world’s problems on my face.
The pendant on his necklace dangles above my chest, a pair of wings. He leans down, offering his lips to mine. No, I can’t do this.
When I push him off, he’s startled but expecting it. I run as fast as I could, as far away as my legs can take.
I arrive at my own apartment later with an empty stomach and a massive headache.
The cold water did nothing to soothe the man. It numbs him, yes, but the wound is a bitch, he just had to bite down the throbbing pain.
He digs out a cigarette stick from his jeans. The running water from the shower head dances on his skin, prickling cold.
He puts that nicotine stick in between his lips, trying to light an end with his lighter.
Funny, that damn thing just won’t light.
He snickers at the irony. He wants the impossible.
What kind of an idiot tries to smoke a soggy cig?
He walks out of the shower, already draped in his dark purple robe.
His hair is wet; his face is paler than the usual. The handkerchief from previous encounter stills on his bed.
If he has a journal, well, probably, he’ll jot down every single details of what happened today.
The sound of doorbell caught his attention.
He opens the door to see a box of First Aid lying on the floor.
info 1 : Yunho wears glasses in this. Black frames, the way I like it ( and Jae too).
info 2 : Jaewook is hot. ( the kind that melts my icecream in no time, oh yeah)
info 3 : Kim Jaewook who? : the actor who plays a Japanese dude that makes waffle in Coffee Prince. :D
a shirtless him ?
random thing first.
JYJ in Malaysia was epic.
I had fun screaming Yunho-yah while the interview was on. / Harhar
Jaejoong is so good looking, I didn't mind that I almost faint in the line just to see him live. :D
oh, hi. I'm back. Hopefully, with a productive attitude this time.
You know that I love comments, don't you?
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