fetch
jaejoong-centric, yunho/jaejoong
r - death, blood, potentially disturbing content
horror
1046 words

oh yes, i wrote it :| i'm not going to lie to you, this fic is a bit lot disturbing, and deals with death, violence, kind of mental disorders, so if that's not your thing, i wouldn't bother reading. if it is, this one has the lot! :D

the product of being fed up of not having written anything recently (lack of time!) and an attempt to distract myself from ulcer!pain DD:

for r_hr_maniac and miss_skitchiez because i love them and because i can ♥



Your childhood was filled with monsters. The kind that all children fear. Bed bugs and creepers and things that go bump in the night. The kind of things you look back on, years down the line, armed with hours of schooling and a greater knowledge, and laugh about. But you never, not in your wildest nightmares, imagined that one of those monsters, perhaps the most terrifying and dangerous of all, would sink its claws deep into your life, watch you grow, and never truly be shaken free.


-


Your friends had always known you as a bit of a dreamer. You remember well the way a twinkling in the corner of your eye would grab your attention, draw you away, oblivious to the calls and the laughter and the exasperated ‘yah, jaejoong’s away with the fairies again,’ as you stared intently into nothingness. You remember how it alienated you, friends never sticking around for long, tired of seeing your glazed eyes staring over their shoulders when you promised you were listening.

And you didn’t mean to do it. Didn’t even know you were, half of the time, but you just couldn’t help it. Couldn’t brush away that niggling feeling. That quiet paranoia. Couldn’t help but zone out as voices turned to white noise against your ears, eyes glued firmly to the shadows.

You were always a little bit jumpy, restless and unsettled and, thinking about it now, it was probably that, more than anything, which drove them away. Nobody, it seemed, could cope with your constant state of unease. Makes me so damn nervous, you’d hear them whisper to each other, hidden within your secluded toilet stall, always got that strange look in his eyes, like he’s seeing something that’s not really there.


-


It got to them, in the end. Bothered them more than it bothered you, and they forced you to see a doctor. You weren’t a malicious person, never had been, but sometimes (oftentimes) you would find yourself wishing gruesome circumstances to befall the man.

He made you take pills, little white things that rattled noisily in your pocket and messed with your head and made you ill. Oh, so violently ill. But you did what they said, popped your pills for six months. Six months of retching and screaming and crying until your eyes stung and your throat bled.

They never voiced it, but they didn’t have to. You could see it in their eyes.

They thought you were mad.


-


And that’s when you stopped taking the pills.

It was too much. The constant state of false induced euphoria. So you just stopped. Just like that. Stopped taking the drugs, stopped being compliant and stopped being weak. You flushed them away and started to live. You came off the drugs and started to see.


-


And what you saw, what you saw was Yunho.


-


He didn’t know, didn’t know anything. Not about the paranoia or the dreaming, not the doctors or the darkness, so you let him in. And for a while you were happy, safe. You laughed. You loved.

Yunho thought nothing of the brief lapses into silence. Thought the unresponsiveness was endearing, not worrying, so you deigned to keep him close.


-


The two of you moved in together, to a small and overly expensive little place in the heart of Seoul.

This, you thought, had to be right. Had to be proof that you were normal, that the shadows you saw over your shoulder sometimes were just a trick of the light. That the strange, barely there sensation of another’s hands on your waist was nothing more than a misconstrued product of your imagination.

But you had only been there a week, if that, maybe a little more, you can’t quite remember, when you first found them.

The holes.

Tiny, non-descript little things, dotted strategically around your home, hastily made and rough around the edges and – you felt your blood run cold – about the size of a human eye.


-


There was one above the fridge, two hidden behind the soap in the shower. One, slightly larger than the others, on your bedroom wall. An almost perfect vantage point.
You felt your skin prickle with fear.

How many times had Yunho made love to you on that bed? Spread you out across the mattress, calves hooked gently over his shoulders? You could taste the bile as it rose in your throat.

Someone had seen it all. Someone had seen the way your bodies moved together, seen your tentative smile as the two of you lay side by side, completely at peace for once in your life, and you’d never even had a clue.


-


Legs shaking, you crept along the hallway towards your bedroom. The house was dark, silent, Yunho having begged a headache and gone to bed early. You’d stolen a kiss and let him go, for once not overly concerned. You let your hand rest gingerly on the door handle. No, it couldn’t have, not here, not now. Not your Yunho.

Copper hit the back of your throat as you pushed open the door. A sharp and obtrusive taste that had you gagging, streaming eyes pinned to the body on the bed as you fell helplessly to the floor.

Bent over double, sobs bubbling up from your throat, you retched onto the carpet.

There was blood everywhere. Splattered up the walls, painted across the curtains, drip drip dripping soundlessly onto the floor from Yunho’s lifeless fingers.

Movement caught your eye and you looked away from Yunho’s battered body, scream dying in your throat when you finally saw him, saw the shadow that’s been haunting you all these years.

He’s a carbon copy of yourself, right down to the hair and the lips and the faraway look in his eyes. But he’s smiling, shoulders shaking with laughter as he reaches up and slowly, with just a thumb, smears Yunho’s blood against his lips.

You throw yourself at him. At least, you thought you did, but the copy is right by your side, fingers pinching roughly under your chin, tilting your head up so sharply that you almost don’t hear him hiss into your ear.

“Take a peek, precious. I’ll bet you both look beautiful in red.”