part seventy four

[exomeme]

  

EXO COMEBACK EUREUREONG

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Comments

Re: [hg] yet another taochen fic (team chen)

[(Anonymous)]

collapse!

Re: [hg] yet another taochen fic (team chen)

[(Anonymous)]

there’s a face with pillow creases on the cheek, unkempt hair and unfocused, distant eyes on the front page of the thick, leather book on the bedside table.

he blinks, and the glassy eyes blink as well.

your name is kim Jongdae, it reads in stocky handwriting. you were born on the 21st of september 1992. you are a barista at the japanese café down the street and your shift starts at 10am on mondays, wednesdays and saturdays. you have a roommate named huang zitao and you spend your days off with him. your cash is kept in the black envelope under your mattress. the milk boy comes round at 9 am and the newspaper boy at 9:15. remember to pay them.

it all falls into place then, like as though bits of himself had fit snugly into the gaps in his thoughts.

his name is kim jongdae, he is 22 and a barista at the japanese café down the street. he killed his best friend in cold blood two years ago.

and has never regretted it since.

there’s a shrill ring of a doorbell three doors down, and jongdae slides into his slippers and pulls a sweater over his head. the black envelope’s tucked under the mattress as expected, filled with notes, so he pulls out a bill and a handful of coins and stuffs it back in.

he opens the door to find the milk boy with a hand raised to press the doorbell. he’s tanned with a headful of gray hair, a different boy from yesterday.

milk boys change regularly, though, so no questions are asked. money and milk is a wordless exchange, and jongdae closes the door on the boy as he keeps the coins in a pouch around his neck.

placing the milk on the worn-out table by the window, jongdae pads into the kitchen and pulls out the tray in the bread bin – a half-eaten loaf of bread, an almost empty bottle of jam and a knife nestled nicely on it. grabbing a plate and a clean glass, he places the items by the bottle of milk and takes a seat.

a boy with long, dark hair and heavy eyebags passes him, then backtracks and surveys his face. he opens his mouth to ask a question, but jongdae beats him to it.

“zitao,” jongdae greets. “i’m your roommate, jongdae.”

the blank eyes blink to life, and zitao runs a hand through his hair, sheepish. “right. god, i wish i could remember on my own.”

“you would if you kept a diary,” jongdae says. it’s the same exchange everyday that he can feel his tongue curving into the syllables out of habit before his mind can even string the words together.

zitao hums in reply as always, pulling out the other chair and sitting down. jongdae pours himself a glass of milk, then slides the rest of the bottle over to the other boy.

“kevin disappeared yesterday. yixing woke up with one of kevin’s pajama sleeves around his waist,” jongdae begins, remembering his colleague’s horribly broken expression.

there is a heavy silence.

“i can’t imagine the pain he’d felt when he found that kevin wasn’t there anymore,” zitao says softly. “i’ll never have a lover; losing is entirely too painful.”

jongdae sips his milk, mulling over zitao’s words. “they had four years together, though. that’s something he’ll never regret.”

“you talk as though he’s still alive, ge. didn’t he shoot himself shortly after he got home?”

an image of a body with fresh tear tracks down its cheeks and a blossoming wound on its chest flashes in jongdae’s mind.

“…oh. well, i guess he’ll never be alone then. since they’re both dead. together.”

zitao sighs in accordance and nibbles at the mouth of the milk bottle. “that’s good, i guess. what was his boyfriend’s name again?”

jongdae frowns, trying to remember, but the name has escaped him. “i don’t know. i forgot.”