17/8/2015 _starcandy:LetNightLay[PG/FANFIC]

ESTADO DE NIMO ACTUAL: accomplished

Bana
vitiates
http://vitiates.livejournal.com/
_starcandy
Let Night Lay [PG/FANFIC] http://community.livejournal.com/_starcandy/
2008-11-16 13:09:00

Title: Let Night Lay

Genre: Angst/Drama/Romance
Rating: PG
Pairing(s): JaeMin
Wordcount: 4,868
Summary: Sometimes it takes more than one liftetime to find the one you truly love. The thread of soulmates
is controlled by a dispassionate Fate.

Let Night Lay

I would find you,

Love you
Though the seas may come
And Hell shall bar the way

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__________

It begins like this

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__________

She leans over the throne upon which she sits to gaze at the two figures glowing brightly from within a
glass sphere. Humanity is trivial, she thinks even as she carelessly tosses a lock of raven black hair over
her shoulders. But theres something about the two blurred figures suspended in time within her pretty little
toy that captivates her. The glow means they are about to die. The fact that they wont leave her vision
means that shes bound to meddle in their affairs.

Her mouth quirks to the side, lush, red lips curving into a bitter smile. Her slender hands reach for the
crimson spool of thread by her side, a glimmering gold needle protruding from the center. The picture
becomes clearer the longer she looks and the image is a sad one, given her knowledge, but the feeling
soon fades. Two young boysmost likely sons from two different Immortals. She focuses on the pale, moon-
white face of the shorter boy. His eyes are alive and when she looks closer still, she can see his heart
overflowing with love.

The taller boy is obviously younger. She can tell by the way his face lights up with excitement at the
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The taller boy is obviously younger. She can tell by the way his face lights up with excitement at the
slightest gesture from the other, tell by the sun that seems to radiate from his form. Truly, they are
magnificently beautiful. She breaks the thread she is weaving and watches their blood wash over the face
of her glass sphere.

She has claimed them and their lives.

Death will be angry with her for meddling in his realm, but she doesnt care for his falsely imposing
presence. Life will be angrier still for stealing away these two wonderful, nave sprits from her realm, but she
doesnt care for that kind of sentimentality and sweetness either.

She is Fate.

And Fate trumps all.

She turns to her thread, mending the previous cut with a second string of life. They will be reborn, again and
again, until they too will know the despair that she stands for everyday of her existence. She breaks the
second thread halfway through and sets about mending the tear again. The string of life is fragile. She isnt
surprised when the third and then the fourth threads give way as well. The fifth howeverthe fifth stays
together, stays sturdy, but she knows the edges are frayed. It wont break though.

She breathes over the intertwined pattern carefully, sealing it permanently in shades of gold and silver.
These two spirits are hers to command, and she has not been merciful.

Son of the Moon and son of the Sun.

How fitting that they should fall in love.

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__________

The First is but a Tragedy

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__________

Kim Jaejoong is born with the first of the rising tides and the last of winters snow. His fathers kingdom is by
the sea, sea gulls flying higher and higher above the majestic palace. He is born pale as a doves feathers
with eyes that are as black as night. The citizens of the Great Court rejoice and sound loud fanfares for the
birth of an heir, especially one as ethereal as an immortal.

Kim Jaejoong is born into a world of rich, silk curtains and adoration bought by power and wealth.

(And all the while, Fate sits placidly on her jeweled throne, a slim finger twisting and twisting a piece of
broken, red thread.)

Three years after the princes birth, another child is born. But this one is born with the first rays of dawn and
the last of summers leaves. His mothers kingdom is only a poor shack, hastily made on the outskirts of the
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the last of summers leaves. His mothers kingdom is only a poor shack, hastily made on the outskirts of the
vast and mighty ocean. His skin is golden tan and his hair the color of crushed hazelnuts and wheat. The
other prostitutes are scandalized that such a childone born out of wedlock, can even exist.

At the tender age of one, Shim Changmin is lovingly wrapped in mismatched pieces of fabric and set out in
the cold.

(Life watches these pieces of red strings with disgust and loathing, yearning to mend them all with her
hands into one smooth entityinto one intertwined soul.)

Years pass. Summer changes to Autumn and then to bitterly cold Winter before kissing the forehead of
Spring. Jaejoong grows to become a perfect prince, well mannered and handsome with followers left and
right. His servants are many, though his friends are few. Loneliness creeps up on him wherever he goes and
he becomes sick. Heartsick for something he has never quite had.

The King sends for the best doctor and hopes for the best. Behind him, a thousand prayers paint the sky a
melancholy blue.

(Death hovers behind a sixteen-year old, dark wings slowly unfurling as a red thread finally begins to
unravel and trail away in his whitewashed hands. He does not find Fates game reasonable in the least, but
he does her bidding. If not just to see the end of this storythe end of something that has only just begun.)

Shim Changmin is awkward and ungainlyunused to his height and slenderness. It is as if he is air, there for
but an instant before vanishing behind a ray of sunlight or a drop of rain. He is underfed and underpaid, but
he is alive and he owes his life to the Healer anyways. His days are spent buried behind collections of herbs,
meticulously researching fanciful cures to at least soothe the ill. The villagers know him as the Helper and do
not refer to him by any other name. Indeed, even the Healer does not call him by his true name.

But he remembers it. He is Shim Changmin. And he longs for a day when someone in this large kingdom will
call for him, will recognize him for all that he is.

The King has summoned me. The Prince has fallen ill and I must see if there is something to be done. You
will come with me. My other aids cannot to be trusted to keep their heads on straight in the presence of
royalty. The Healer says patiently.

He looks up, eyes widening in surprise and concern.

He has heard of Kim Jaejoong and a bit of his heart twinges as if in pain.

And yet, still, he has no idea why.

(She thinks its best this way. She thinks it is beautiful to watch them suffer so and thinks that it because she
is like them too. She is like the breaking of the younger boys heart and the emptiness of the older ones

spirit.)

You must help my son. The King rumbles gravely, aging hands reaching out to brush tenderly against the
soft cheek of youth. He cannot die yet.
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Changmin hears, but does not really hear. He is too focused on the still and barely breathing figure on the
bed. He can tell that the Prince must be beautiful and that surely the Prince must be kind to have his father
worried so. The Healer by his side is fussing over which herbs to use for which symptoms, but he remains
wordless.

He knows the answer somehow, resonating deep in his soul.

This boy will die.

Its a soft voice that whispers in his ear, soothing and kind. He turns and sees only the worn face of the King
though. Shim Changmins eyes are hopeless as the crashing of the waves against an insurmountable cliff, as
sad as the desperate fluttering of sea gulls as they spread their wings towards heaven.

And though he cannot see Kim Jaejoongs eyes (for they are closed, closed)

Inside, he knows that they must be as tragic as the wilting of a rose.

(Death covers the barely open mouth softly and blows out the candle of Life, a silent farewell to the world of
the living where a thirteen-year old boy, awkward and ungainly, waits and waits for a pair of eternally black
eyes to open. It is painless. Just an end. An end to the beginning of a beginning.)

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The Second is but a Lie

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Hes the Renaissance amusement of the year.

Boy of Death! Step right up, step right up! Five pennies for a lookin! Hairs black as night! Wont believe,
true beauty! The announcer guffaws into the curious crowd, wide arms gesturing here and there, the bright
colors are gaudy and ridiculous. Its part of the reason why these people come and flock to the little tent
perched behind him.

Picked him off the streets from some vagabonds out of the way. Youve never seen a face like this one!
The comic character continues, hollering and hollering as more and more coins are shoved into the glass jar
at his feet. He doesnt so much give the admission tickets out as he flings themlike pieces of paper
confettiinto the crowd.

Dont you find it cruel to sell someone shamelessly like that? A soft voice asks, timid and meek. The crowd
simultaneously turns to the slender boy standing in the middle, like a young shoot or sapling. I dont think
hedhed like it much.

The announcer laughsfalsely cheery and flourishes another ticket from underneath his striped coat. Thats
a cute one. Tell ya what, you can have a peep for free. And then the noise comes back again, people
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a cute one. Tell ya what, you can have a peep for free. And then the noise comes back again, people
gibbering in excitement for the so-called Boy of Death and pinching and petting the little, lost boy who
dared to say anything about humanity. The lights dim in preparation and the announcer makes his way
slowly over to the boy with the too-large eyes and the weak frame.

Your name? He asks quietly, smile as large as anything. It feels like itll split his face apart.

Shim Changmin, sir. And I dont think anyone can be a child of Death, dont you, sir?

The announcers smile grows wider.

Youll see.

(Life watches the scene anxiously, white wings fluttering like a heartbeat. Her eyes are hopeful and she
thinks that maybe Fate will have let them have their love in this life. Surelysurely. She lifts her head
slowly and breaks into a wistful expression. The Muse of Loss looks back at her from across the arena,
hands clasped tenderly around the little boys eyes. Its over. And still the game continues.)

In retrospect, its an admittedly humble entrance for such a grandiose affair. The so-called Boy of Death
parts the flap of the tent confidently, striding forward in steps that dont falter. The crowd claps when he
reaches the front, drinking in the foreign features, the slim curve of a visible collarbone, the pale-rose mouth.
His eyes move over the crowd, lowering himself into a modest bow.

He can see another boy, younger than him, look back with pity and curiosity shining in a pair of hazel eyes.
He wonders why anyone as innocent-looking as that is even here, watching him as he sings in captivity
watching him struggle against the invisible bonds of the circus. Because it wasnt fun and games when the
crowds left. It wasnt warm or nice or funny like people always thought circuses would be. It was cold and
hollow. Barren.

His voice soars above the anticipating clouds, far above the dazzling sun, to a place where one dayhe
hopes he will be free.

(And Fate hears him. Even though she shouldnt. Shes got other threads to sew and to snap. Other lives to
ruin or to make. But she loves these two little spirits, loves them as much as she wants to break them. Loves
them even as she kills them.)

You dont look very dead. Changmin comments quietly, long after the crowds have left and the people
have drifted away. He doesnt look up, opting to stare blankly at the calluses of his small palm instead.

Jaejoong laughscrystal clear and haunting. No. Im very much alive. He smiles a bit and chuckles

awkwardly. And you?

I think Im alive too. But mother will be worried if I dont go back soon. He says the last line with regret,
biting his lip. He doesnt want to go back home, even if his mom is nice and makes him dinner and brushes
his hair. He wants to stay here with the strange boy who looks sad even when he smiles and who says hes
alive when he looks dead. Ill come tomorrow, okay? And.

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He coughs, pauses, feels a chill snaking its way up his back and continues.

Maybe mom will let me bring something to share with you.

Jaejoongs smile is real this time, the sadness fading away behind genuine delight. Promise?

Promise.

(The Muse of Loss relinquishes her hold over the younger boys eyes, plants a cold kiss at the base of his
throat and fades into the background. Promises shouldnt be made, she thinks. Theyre only ever meant to
be broken.)

But Changmin doesnt come the next dayor the nextor the day after that. And Jaejoongs left alone at
night with promises of a warm hand to hold onto and a gift that never comes. Finally, the sales begin to drop.
People dont want to see the Child of Death anymore. Its old news. So the circus packs up their little
belongings, scraping together juggling balls and gaudy outfits.

They move onto the next town over.

Two days after that, Changmins fever breaks.

But its too late. Too late now.

(From her throne, She watches the threads become dust and finally trickle away. She hasnt stopped feeling
so empty inside.)

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The Third is but a Dream

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Hes completely lost.

The books stare back at him with unintelligible labels and formidable numbers marching across their
bindings. He cranes his neck trying to get a good look at the subject and pulls back in disgust when he
realizes hes in the mathematics section of the library.

Do you need some help? He turns and sees a friendly face smiling back at him. The stranger has a
comfortable sweater on to block the chill of the rainy London nights and a general look of academic
kindness. A bookworm, he assesses internally and thanks God that the stranger hasnt laughed at him yet.
Lost in a library. How pathetic.

Yeah. Could you help me find the rubbish cooking book section? I dont know how I ended up here. He
scratches his head in embarrassment and looks at his feet.
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Sure. Just follow me. They walk through mazes of bookshelves and countless studying students. Most of
the people in the library are quiet, poring over books upon books to meet the requirements of Oxford
College. The soft pattering of rain hitting the windows is audible even in the far back rooms.

He sighs in relief when he sees a familiar book cover and turns to thank the kind librarianonly to see a
charming, boyish grin directed at him. It makes him blush, which mortifies him, and finally resolves itself by
turning the tips of his ears a faint pink. T-Thanks. He manages to stammer out.

No problem, mate. Im Changmin, feel free to ask me for help if you ever get lost in the library again. He
laughs, warm and inviting. Although I doubt youll ever wander back here again. You dont look much like
the studying type.

Youre right. Jaejoong answers wryly, hugging a cooking book to his chest. Hell try out pie this time. A
cinnamon apple pie. Im Jaejoong. He pauses, clears his throat awkwardly and finally thinks what the
bloody hell, theres no harm in asking. Do you like cinnamon apple pie?

Depends. Are you a good baker?

This is how they become friends.

(Dont, Life wants to scream to them. Dont. But Fate is irreversible and the tides continue to ebb and flow.
She has no controlno power.)

He finds himself getting lost more and more often within the library, even though he knows the place now
inside and out, until each corridor and each bookcase is etched into his mind. But he does it so he can
always walk into Changmin, with the bright smile and the happy laughter. He always brings a piece of his
newest homemade dessert with him too, carefully wrapped in paper towel.

And even though the sign on the front of library clearly says, Do Not Eat, even though Changmins a library
assistant, they still manage to get away with munching on cake or pie or a macadamia-nut cookie.

Well, as long as they dont show up with telltale crumbs on their faces.

Its a perfect friendship, because Jaejoong needs someone to listen to him as he talks about all of lifes
troubles: his mothers cancer, his family still in Korea, and the rent that he doesnt have enough money to
pay for sometimes. Changmin needs someone to help and to listen to: he needs to feel needed, wanted

useful.

But perfect things never last.

On December 13th, 1894, Jaejoong gets the message.

Your mother is dead. Come back.

He feels disgusted at himself for not wanting to leave.

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(The Scales of Justice tip right and then left in her lap, swathed in sheets of the finest heaven-spun silk. With
careful fingers and sad eyes, she smashes the left side, leaving the right swaying and sinkinglonely and
lost.)

Changmin doesnt want it to end this way.

The ship harbor is cold and packed with people from all walks of life leaving Britain for some reason or
other. He carries a promise in his pockets and a heavy heart in his chest. The face looking back at him is
pale with a pink nose from the cold, black eyes unreadable. II He stutters out and then stops. He wants
to say dont go, please dont go, youre my best friend and I need you, I need you have a good trip and stay
safe.

Its okay. Jaejoong responds quietly, tongue licking chapped lips nervously. The ship is going to leave
soon. Fifteen minutes. He still hasnt checked in yet. And he finds it funny that theyve never been lost for
words before, at least not until now, right when hes about to leave. I should go.

Yeah. Changmin replies helplessly. Yeah. But he doesnt want to say that. He wants to scream a million
things that are bottling up his chest like cancer. His hand fumbles in his pockets around the humble gift, all
awkward angles and poorly wrapped corners.

I guessIll see you later than. Jaejoong says after a long, long silence. He knows its a lie. Once in Korea,
he wont be coming back. They both know its a lie.

W-Wait! And he stumbles back at the force of the hug, a part of him just breakingbreakingbreakingdying
inside. The wrapped chocolate is hastily shoved into his pockets somewhere in between the sounding of the
ships horn and the salty taste of tears (his or Changmins?).

On the ship, all he can see through the foggy window is a warm smile (a bit sad now, a bit worn) and hazel
eyes looking back up at him from the midst of a colorless crowd.

He knows hes lost something far too precious for words.

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The Fourth is but a Nightmare

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Graduation is a pain, especially since theres a war going on right now and graduating means theyre all
going to be enlisted sooner or later.

Im joining the army. Jaejoong says the next day, legs swinging over the edge of a wooden bridge. Im
eighteen and I get more glory if I join rather than wait for the recruitment officer to come and drag me out of
my house.

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Theyre still teenagersyoung adults. Glory seems magnificent and fighting as a soldier seems like an
honor. Take up a gun and fight for your country. Thats the ideology of the time and it runs rampant in all the
students old enough to enlist.

Changmin nods, nose buried in his textbook talking about derivatives and integrals. Three years younger, he
hasnt got a shot in hell to enlist yet. Never mind the fact that hes a crappy liar to begin with, or so Jaejoong
adamantly says every time a person asks. Tomorrow? He asks, flipping a page, chewing thoughtfully on
the end of the pencil.

Probably. Jaejoong answers, waiting for a response (the response). He likes the way their reflections
distort and blend together with the ripples of the water. Its like art.

Oh. Changmin responds and lifts his head, closing the book shut with a note of finality. Ill find you.

Find me?

Yeah. Find you. When I graduate, the first Im going to do is enlist. And then Ill find you. And he looks so
serious as he answers, face set in a determined expression. You better not die on me, Kim Jaejoong. You
better not die on me. Well become heroes together, right? Glory for all.

I wouldnt have it any other way. Jaejoong replies and cant resist the urge to break the moment. Its
dangerously private and touchy-feely. He doesnt understand the strange thumpthump of his heart or the
way his hands itch to wrap around the others slender body in an embrace. He doesnt understand it and so
he pushes the moment away. Theyve been friends since fourth grade. Just friends. Nothing more and
nothing less. That is, if you manage to survive school. Three years left! He snickers, gleefully rubbing his
hands together.

Changmin calmly reaches out an arm and shoves him into the water.

Nice try. Im going back to math, loser.

(War is a bloodied youth with too many bruises and cuts to count. His eyes are white and iris-less, blind like
so many of the soldiers who go to fight for some nameless thing like glory. His sword is broken and when
he walks, it is only with the halting, stumbling steps not unlike a soulless being. He reaches for the battered

hilt of the blade and digs it deeper into the ground, drawing fresh blood from corpses. Three years pass.)

Shim Changmin finally makes his mother cry.

It only takes two words before she collapses into a mess at his feet, a thousand pleas and cries echoing
from wall to wall. She doesnt want him to go. Chinas just entered the war on the other side and theres
million upon millions of enemy soldiers on the field now. He wont last. Not her little, sweet, always smiling,
studious Changmin. Hes only eighteen years oldtoo young to die. She doesnt want him to go. She knows
he wont come back.

I have to. He pleads, knowing all too well that she wont understand. I have to. Because he promised
Jaejoong, because the past three years have been bitter and lonely without the other constantly by his side.
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And he knows inside that theyre not really friends anymore. What he feels cant be classified as friendship.
But these strange revelations can be explored later. All he wants is to enlist in the army and find his best
friend againthe one person whos worth the whole world and more to him.

She lets him go in the end, eyes red and swollen. She lets him go and memorizes his last smile before he
boards the train.

After hes gone, she goes back home and drinks herself to sleep.

(Fate doesnt laugh this time. Of all the Immortals, all the Muses, and all the Sprites, shes only afraid of War.
War isnt something trivial or fickle and shes eerily somber as the scene plays before her like an old movie.
This is what shes done to them. And a part of her hates herself for it.)

He joins the army as a medic.

He just isnt built to take lives for any reason whatsoever. It makes him feel better thinking that hes saving
people every single second of everyday by staunching blood flow and cleansing infections. But the war is
taking a toll on his body. Hes losing weight and the shadows are haunting his face, flickering beneath weary
eyes. Two months and still no word about Jaejoong. Hes asked everyone, from the lucid wounded to the
Generals sent to get their yearly shots. Nothing. But he refuses to believe that Jaejoong might be dead.

Its impossible. Impossible.

Its a chilly November day when hes asked to report to the battlefield to help those wounded in action. The
guns are still firing on both sides when he arrives, ducking for cover, a first-aid kit digging into his hip from
its place in his soldier pack. He makes his way from one wounded to another, doing his best to save the
ones who have a chance to survive, and staying by the side of those who are beyond help.

Maybe its the fatigue getting to him. Maybe its the desperation and the thought that maybemaybemaybe
he died.

He sees the back of a head, black hair the exact same shade and the same height and build of body. Hope
drives him half-insane and he runs. Runs like hes never before to the deadly still figure on the ground.

It isnt until its too late that he realizes the soldier isnt Jaejoong but a Chinese scout.

It isnt until its too late that he realizes the Chinese scout isnt wounded, but rather waiting in hiding.

It isnt until its too late that he realizes theres a gun pointed at his head.

Fifty feet away from the scene, Jaejoongs scream dies in his throat as he watches the body crumple
soundlessly into the dirt.

Youve found me. Im aliveIm right here. Youve found me

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__________

The Fifth is but an Ending

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__________

The first time Kim Jaejoong sees Shim Changmin, his heart gives a funny little jump and his chest clenches
in burning pain. For a moment, he thinks they must have met before. If not in this life, than certainly in some
other one. He remembers (more than sees) the bright, sunny smile. He remembers (more than hears) the
warm voice. He remembers (more than feels) the sharp, aching sense of loss.

And he knows that he cannot lose this something again.

Im Jaejoong. The words sound familiar, like hes said the same thing to this complete stranger many,
many times before.

Oh. A quick bow for the sake of politeness, mismatched eyes twinkling with laughter. My names
Changmin.

This is how they meet for the last and final first time.

(Fate watches Loves silhouette take shape in the corridors of the building and buries her head in her arms.
It is done. They will have their soul mate at long last.)

Jaejoong confesses on a sleepless night, hands curled protectively around a mug filled with jasmine tea.
The words are not eloquent and they are not romantic. He stutters and stammers his way through, grasping
for a way to express the emotions fighting for control over him.

Changmin is quiet on his side of the couch the entire time, careful to make sure that the other members of
the band dont hear this. He knows hes been waiting for something like this to happen for a long time. For
ages.

Im sorry, Minnie. I never meant toit just happened and its okayits okay if you say no. But he knows a
rejection will ruin a part of him. Jaejoong is a lot of things, but he isnt an idiot. He knows that somehow, for
some reason, Changmin is his soul mate. The one.

Changmins only answer is to reach over and tenderly intertwine their fingers together.

(But the fifth string, however strong, however sturdy, is still frayed. And that is something even Fate cannot
change. She only writes the beginnings of two lives, never the ends. She wishes the edges would become
smooth again.)

It happens so suddenly that it leaves the world shell-shocked.

Theyre touring China when the public transport bus theyre on bursts into flames. Terrorism, the police say,
marking the accident scene with long strips of yellow tape. A simple homemade bomb by someone who
thought that it wasnt enough to just take away their own lifebut that it was fair game to take fifty-three
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thought that it wasnt enough to just take away their own lifebut that it was fair game to take fifty-three
others.

Seven survive with severe burns. Just seven of the sixty people.

Shim Changmin and Kim Jaejoong arent on the list of survivors.

(Love shakes her head when she sees the scene, making her way past silent Death and forlorn Fate. She
kneels by the two spirits, holding onto one another even after life. They turn to her as one, the taller one
asking if theyre really dead nowif that was really the end of their young lives.

She says yes and asks them if they are afraid.

They shake their heads and look at her, one pale as the moon and his counterpart as bright as the burning
sun.

Come then. You belong in the hall of Immortals, son of the Sun and son of the Moon. She murmurs and
steps back quietly.

Together? The dark-haired one asks, black eyes deep and thoughtful.

Forever. Love promises them.)

________________________________________________________________________________
__________

And this is how it ends

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52 comments

mrsedjack
November 16 2008, 19:39:07 UTC CHECK COLLAPSE

I CLAIM FIRST. <3

mrsedjack
November 16 2008, 20:11:46 UTC CHECK COLLAPSE

;___________________; Guh. You've made me into a puddle of something-I-can't-even-remember-the-

name-of. I can't comment now. Sorry. :(

(If it helps, I'd like to say that this is one of the most beautiful fics I have read in a while. I love rebirths like
these - how Love and a soulmate is not just something you may/may not find in one life and lose when
you die, but something which keeps coming back until it's there to stay. I'm mem'ing this.) <3
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