[eunhyuk/donghae] ghost stories underneath the covers

[catskilt.livejournal.com]

ghost stories underneath the covers by catskilt
eunhyuk/donghae
g; 754 words
every day he loses a little more.
for girlearthless and her pretty prompts.



ghost stories underneath the covers

Donghae comes every Saturday, crawling under the covers and wrapping arms around Hyukjae. Sometimes the days are too cold and he's happy to have Donghae's warmth in the bed with him, but sometimes it's too hot and he wishes he could move away, or maybe lift the blanket and let some air in. But he likes to have Donghae there beside him. It's a reprieve from the sounds outside his ward; the rustling of gowns and quick footsteps and lowered voices fading away to the sound of Donghae's voice beside his ear instead, low and almost monotone, as Donghae's voice always is now.

Is it Saturday again?

I don't feel the days anymore, Donghae says. I just feel the Saturdays.

Donghae usually talks about what the rest are doing. Sungmin left show business after his discharge from the army and is now working for his father. Heechul has won a couple of acting awards for his latest drama role. Jungsu is becoming a fixture in most variety shows, working alongside some of the best MCs in South Korea. Kyuhyun and Yesung are releasing solo hits, and Ryeowook is becoming an acclaimed composer. He says things about the others too, but Hyukjae loses attention then, because it's all vague and dreamy and ghost-like to him and he doesn't comprehend. He loses meaning in the words and listens to the rhythm of them instead, to the ups and downs and rounded syllables. To the stories they tell. To the glimpses of a life he has forgotten, mostly.

I try to remember, but remembering is too hard. Everything feels like ghosts.

I'll help you remember, Donghae says. I won't let you forget.

When Donghae is quiet, the ward is quiet too, and he hears the rustling outside again, the footsteps, the lowered voices. The world surrounding him and Donghae, wrapped around each other, too warm under the covers. Donghae breathes softly against his chest and he loses himself in the blankness and whiteness of the day by day, the blurred memories and flickering images and muted sounds. Their laughter echoing down the many years they've spent together, the tears, the whispered confidences, the exchanged smiles. His memories always stop at the day they enlisted in the army. He's not quite sure why.

What happened in the army, Donghae?

The court case is still ongoing, Donghae says. I've never understood why these things take years.

Sometimes Donghae doesn't get into bed with him. Hyukjae feels his nails getting clipped instead, or his hair being snipped, or his arms and legs massaged, or his blankets thrown aside and his clothes pulled up for a soft damp cloth to be wiped over his skin. Donghae might talk during those times, of how long his hair is getting or how he needs to try and get up to walk before his muscles turn to water entirely. Hyukjae lies and dreams of replying, of muscle training and water and how good it tastes when you're thirsty, of hot milk and chocolate cookies that Ryeowook and Sungmin used to bake, oh, Donghae, do you remember? And then he recalls that Donghae remembers, and he's the one who forgets.

I forget a little more every day.

Don't forget me, Donghae says, please, please, Hyukjae, don't forget me. Please don't forget me.

Sometimes Donghae cries, so quietly that nobody hears, so quietly that Hyukjae himself doesn't perceive it until the tears soak through his thin clothing, dampen his skin. He's no stranger to the sensation of tears. He has felt his mother's tears on his hands, his sister's, Junsu's, Sungmin's, Kyuhyun's, Jungsu's, other people he can't identify; he's familiar with the heat and the creeping wetness and the thicker mucus that accompanies. He himself can't cry. He wishes he could, just so he could show them that he's in them with this, he feels them; but his body has forgotten how to cry.

Every day I lose a little more. He doesn't add, one day I might lose you.

Hyukjae-yah, wake up, Donghae says, oh Hyukjae, please wake up.

Donghae's voice is dry and raspy and monotone and Hyukjae does remember, he remembers this, that Donghae's voice never used to sound like that before.

How many more Saturdays are there in the years? How many more tears are left? He doesn't wonder for long, because his mind blanks and whitens out and he's dreaming again.

On the days that Donghae isn't here, he lies and dreams of the ghost stories.

The ghosts, all the ghosts.


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The gloominess is partly due to the song that Hyukjae put up on his cyworld, Jo Won Sun's 'Nobody, Nothing', which everyone should listen to because it is beautiful and very saddening.