Umbrella



Umbrella

“When the sun shines
We’ll shine together
Told you I'll be here forever
That I'll always be your friend
Took an oath Imma stick it out 'till the end
Now that it's raining more than ever
Know that we still have each other
You can stand under my Umbrella
You can stand under my Umbrella”

Rihanna “Umbrella”


//

The room was dark and silent, when Yoochun entered the house. Blindly he fumbled with his coat and toed off his sneakers, almost falling in the process. His head was swimming with the amount of alcohol he had consumed. His breath sounded loud to his own ears and reeked of stale cigarette smoke.

Forgetting never came easy to him.

There was a movement in the darkness, and then a lampshade was lit bathing the room in soft colours. Both the sudden light and Jaejoong’s sudden appearance sitting on the sofa made him wince.

“I hope you didn’t drive in such state.” Controlled anger – that was something he was familiar with. It was much better than pity or disgust.

“I took… a cab,” his lips were suddenly dry. A half of Jaejoong’s face was in the shadow, the other half in the light. Purple bruises marred his face making a shocking contrast to his usually pale skin. The one-sided source of light made it look as if his face was made of light and shadows.

Yoochun stumbled forward, unable to stay away from another for long. He dropped in ungraceful heap at Jaejoong’s feet, burrowing his face in another’s lap. And only when he felt the hands brush through his hair petting him he was able to let go and cry.

“What am I going to do with you?”

//

He was screaming. Screaming out all his frustration and anger, as his hands kept hitting the punching bag. He didn’t feel any pain, felt nothing in fact except for that deepest pain that threatened to consume him.

“Stop it, dammit!”

Suddenly he became aware that he wasn’t alone in the gym as he had thought. That there was somebody standing beside him, shouting at him. Turning his head, his chest heaving and blood still singing with the sweet feel of adrenaline, Yoochun saw a vaguely familiar face. A young man shorter than him, dressed nothing but a towel around his narrow hips and another one around his neck was staring at him in alarm.

“God, I thought you’d never stop,” he said, brushing his damp hair out of his face. “I was just out of shower when I heard someone screaming, so I came back and here you were punching the hell out of this bag.” He paused and then said, “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I am fine,” his voice was hoarse and with the adrenaline rush lessening he was beginning to acutely feel every muscle in his body aching. He moved to leave and couldn’t conceal a wince as a pain shot through his hand.

“Your hand is bleeding,” too soon his bruised hand was cradled in a pair of warm hands.

“I can’t see how it is any of your business,” Yoochun tried to sound rude, but it was hard to do that when somebody was touching him so gently and with so much care.

A smile so beautiful that it almost hurt to look at, “It is not. But I remember somebody telling me ‘I simply can’t stand seeing you hurt’.”

“Wet,” he licked his lips, suddenly anxious, “I said ‘wet’, not ‘hurt’.”

“Does it matter?” The lips were brushed over his bruised knuckles in the gentlest of kisses.

“No. Not really.”

“I hoped you’d say that.”

//

They knew each other from school days, knew each other because they lived in the same neighborhood. They saw each other a lot, because they walked the same streets and shopped for groceries in the same store at the corner. They exchanged ‘hellos’ and brief comments on the weather. They knew of each other but had never known each other.

Until before a funeral.

The sky was heavily overcast with grey clouds. The air was thick with both grief and upcoming rain. He stood there looking alone and too old for his twenty-something in the black suit. He was the only one standing at the side reserved for the relatives, looking numbly as two identical coffins were being lowered in the graves.

He was too dazed to know what was going on. But suddenly everything was over and everyone who had come to witness the funeral was gone. Except for one.

Yoochun looked at Jaejoong standing beside him, pale and beautiful in his black clothes. An umbrella was hanging off the crook of his arm. A distant sound of the thunder rang above them. Through the haze of his grief and pain Yoochun was trying to understand what was happening and why the other was using his hands to wipe the tears off his face. And why it felt so nice.

“I took an umbrella in case it rains,” Jaejoong said, his dark eyes full of something he couldn’t really understand.

“It’s already raining,” Yoochun whispered fighting back the tears, “in here.” His hand touched his chest.

“I know, that is why I came.”

//

He was hiding. Hiding from everyone and everything, feeling lonely and seeking solitude at the same time. He didn’t think that somebody would be able to understand him, understand his pain. That was why he ran and hid in the playground.

Sitting on a swing he felt as an overgrown child angry with the whole world. The rain had long soaked down all his clothes, no doubt ruining his shoes in the process, and chilling him to the bone.

He was staring down on ground under his feet morosely, when suddenly the rain stopped. At least over him anyway.

Jaejoong looked up in surprise to see a young man with a too familiar face smiling down at him and holding his umbrella over his head.

“What are you doing here?” He asked sounding vaguely amused.

“Nothing,” The brown eyes had a twinkle in them which made Jaejoong think that the other found his answer funny.

“Really? It looks like you are sulking here.”

“I am not!” Jaejoong tried to sound angry, but failing. “I can’t see how it is any business of yours anyway.”

“Oh, it is not,” said the other smiling brightly. “I can’t really stand seeing you getting all wet. Come on,” he said holding out his hand, “we can both use my umbrella.”

Soon Jaejoong was being pulled onto his feet and led away through the rain.

//

June 11, 2007