For: transsherlock
From: fairyminseok

Title: I Will Remember Your Face
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2283 words
Summary: Jongdae comes home from the battlefield a blind man, but he has his childhood friend to help him rediscover himself and the world around him.
Warnings: brief mentions of violence, mentions of background ableism, blind character

Notes: I wanted to make this a lot longer. Please accept my apology in the form of my bad plot summarization.

Joonmyun is the only one that meets Jongdae at the airport, helps him off the ship and chatters excitedly in his ear, welcomes him back to Seoul, back to his home. Jongdae doesn't speak much, just nods and hopes that Joonmyun sees him nod, hopes that he doesn't take offense to Jongdae's silence, to his lack of a response. But of course Joonmyun will notice. He has the gift of eyesight, can see the world in bright colours and warm hues, can make out the figures clearly that are just black blots on white vision for Jongdae. Jongdae isn't bitter. He isn't angry at the world and he isn't going to push Joonmyun away; not physically at least. He's just a little numb, a little cold, a little unsure. Maybe a lot unsure. Completely unaware of his world around him now, senses dulled by the one missing one. Jongdae feels broken in a way, being blind. And it's not that he's completely blind; there's still dots in his vision, still blurry things that come too close too fast. Walls, those he can see when he's about to hit them, people not so much, animals, no. He thinks about this in the car ride to his home, staring into the white silence that he hopes is the window, feeling around the car door for the sill, hands planted on the glass and nose touching it. It might look childish to anyone looking in, but it's the only way for Jongdae to pretend he's still slightly normal. The war hadn't even been that bad, mostly stake outs and training, battlements sent out on ships far too old to be used in any actual battles, in need of too many repairs. But that's how it was these days, the state of Seoul deteriorating with age, with the rest of the world catching up too quickly with Asia in terms of technology, in terms of weaponry, artificial intelligence. All it had taken was one plasma blast, a radiation filled capsule exploding near his face, cutting his hearing temporarily but his vision permanently. For someone with wealth, it wouldn't necessarily have been a terrible thing, just a simple surgery for transplant eyes, replicas of the real ones at any colour of his choosing. But Jongdae isn't rich -- has never been rich, -- chosen from the randomized government draft system, forced into war, forced to leave behind his little apartment, his comfortable job as a mindweb technician. He can't do that job now. It involves too much coordination, too much of what Jongdae no longer has. Disability services aren't really a thing in this day and age, aren't needed, the minority of those that can't afford upgrades left to rot, unemployed and down the levels of the cities. Tossed away into the slums with the vampires and the sirens that can't sing. Unemployment, blindness, it would force Jongdae to leave his apartment on the sky level, to leave the sunlight and be forced down the walls. Joonmyun, he's offered -- offered to let Jongdae stay with him indefinitely -- but Jongdae has too much dignity too much pride. He's known Joonmyun for years, childhood friends growing up together, one a rich business man and one a respectable technician. That rift that often happens when friends become too far away from each other personality wise, when friends go to different careers, different levels of wealth, of lifestyle, it hadn't really happened with them. But Jongdae won't stay with Joonmyun. He'll live out the few months he probably has left in his apartment -- the rent payments he'd made to cover him during his enlistment should last a while yet -- and then he'll deal with the consequences of the world, let himself be degraded to someone less than he is, something less than he deserves. Jongdae may be blind, may have lost everything due to one tiny thing, due to surgeries being more than a years worth of rent, but he's stubborn, independent, dignified. He says goodbye to Joonmyun with a fumbling hug, denies the offer of help up to his floor, fumbling his way through the elevator and down his hall, dropping his keycard twice as he attempts to scan it the right way. It's a struggle, it's tough. A week of burned food, of missed toilet bowls and injury filled showers, but Jongdae survives, mentally calculates how long he has left, how long until he gives up. -- Joonmyun shows up after a week, probably having purposely stayed away as long as he could. He's a worrier, a good friend, takes Jongdae's hand even though he tries to pull away, takes him out to the shopping district to help him get supplies. He even offers to wash him, offers to come and cook for him, once again offers Jongdae a home, money security, safety, and once again Jongdae says no. Joonmyun tries though, Jongdae will give him that. He comes over often, narrates movies in a way that he thinks is funny but is really lame. Jongdae doesn't mind though, likes the company, likes a shoulder he can rest his head on. "You know, there's a certain wall you hit with dignity," Joonmyun says one night, voice travelling down to where Jongdae is lounging -- dozing really -- in his lap, something they'd always done, from teenagers, to young adults, to real adults. "And eventually you have to give in or you'll just be miserable." "I'm already miserable," Jongdae mutters, raises his head to where Joonmyun's voice is coming from. His hearing is improving, or rather his hearing perception. He can pick out sounds, voices, tell where they're coming from, provide his conversation partner with the illusion that he can pay attention, make eye contact. "You don't have to be," Joonmyun says quietly, hand coming to rest in Jongdae's hair, still soft where his heart grows dull. "You can't see, Dae." There's a pause, before Joonmyun adds, "They have stuff for that now you know. Surgeries, devices." "You know i can't afford that hyung," Jongdae sighs, tensing slightly, but not moving, comfortable where he is. "I can-" "I wont let you," Jongdae says firmly, ends the conversation, buries his face in Joonmyun's stomach and pretends to doze. "At least let me give you something," Jongdae hears Joonmyun mutter, a frustrated string of words, said to himself. "Fine," Jongdae mumbles into the material of Joonmyun's shirt. "Fine. I'll stay with you. I'll let you hold my hand and teach me how the world works again. But I can handle it, I don't need you to pay half your wealth for me to have eyes again." Joonmyun is gleeful. Jongdae doesn't need to see to know this, can feel the hold Joonmyun has on him tighten -- physically, mentally. And it really was -- is -- a matter of time before Jongdae fully gives in. He never has been able to say no to his best friend. -- When Joonmyun has a plan he executes it seriously. By the next morning -- 8am sharp -- he arrives with moving androids, has Jongdae's entire apartment cleared out minus the bed. Jongdae's still sleeping in it, out like the dead and curled around himself and snoring softly, unaware of what's happening around him. He wakes up to a soft voice, a hand gently touching his shoulder, and for a second -- just for a second -- Jongdae forgets. He opens his eyes and expects to see Joonmyun's face, expects for his large eyes, honest and gentle to come into focus. But nothing does, just a darker spot on a white canvas that can never be painted again. The ill feelings fades to be replaced by a dull thud of happiness in Jongdae's chest soon enough, spirits lifting as he stumbles into his clothes, not quite good at doing up buttons without a mirror in front of him. But Joonmyun's happiness is contagious, his laughter, his bad jokes, his honest, sincere compliments. There's a moment in which Jongdae stops to think, analyses the possibility of feelings, of some kind of emotion that he's not sure of; one that he remembers, briefly in high school, briefly in college, briefly when Joonmyun had seen him off at the airport, had smiled his gentle smile, smoothing down the collar of Jongdae's uniform. It's only a moment though, gone in a second, when they step out into the morning. The sun is bright today, visible through the industrial haze of the city, and this is something even Jongdae can tell, white becoming more blinding, vision getting worse as the air gets better. He doesn't voice this out loud, doesn't tell Joonmyun how he feels, how his head hurts and his limbs ache, heart pounding in his chest as they take the elevator up 17 floors. It's bright up here too, but Jongdae asks for the curtains to be closed, sinks into the cushions of a couch he recognizes by it's soft material. He's slept on this couch before, tail end of drunk and too stubborn to share Joonmyun's bed -- always too stubborn to do anything Joonmyun tells him -- and he's sat here before too. Watched games of fleight football, hover crafts supporting something like soccer, intricate and interesting. He's sat here with their friends too; with Minseok before he'd gone below, down the levels to the slums to hunt a vampire. With Sehun before he'd flown to Canada to be with his mother's family. And he's sat here with Joonmyun -- is sitting here with Joonmyun -- in comfortable silences, quiet conversations. Right now there's something not being said, something missing, and Jongdae realizes it a second too late. "We didn't bring my bed?" He says, trailing off into a question, glaring in whatever direction he hopes Joonmyun is in. "You'll be using mine," Joonmyun says simply, voice carrying from the kitchen, -- a counter that separates the living room from dining area, really -- gleeful but gentle. "What if I don't want to?" Jongdae mutters, burying his face in his hands so he can pretend he's twenty again, hiding himself in shame, blocking out the room so he wouldn't be able to see the sight of Joonmyun in just his underwear. Now he wouldn't be able to see that sight even if he tried, wouldn't be able to get embarrassed by his reaction from it, by his sure attraction to his best friend. And he's still attracted, has those moments, the brief ones, but he can't see, not anymore. Jongdae can hear Joonmyun settle down beside him, can feel the couch dip and the cushions sag slightly with their weight. "You need a new couch," He comments, fingertips reaching out to run across the worn material, an outdated model, bought long before his enlistment. "How do you know that?" Joonmyun says, and his voice is teasing, light. "I don't need to see to know this is a shitty couch," Jongdae snorts, and this helps. Joking, that is. Makes him feel as if the world is just a bit lighter. He wonders if his smile looks okay, if his eyes are bright enough for Joonmyun to be satisfied, for Joonmyun to be captivated. And maybe they are, because Joonmyun sighs, curls fingers around Jongdae's own to drag him back downstairs, back outside. "I'll be your eyes," Joonmyun insists, not letting go of Jongdae's hand, even while they weave through people he can't see, turn down quiet streets he can navigate on his own. "Think of me as your atlas, an extension of yourself." "Sounds kinky," Jongdae teases, but he's grinning, spirits lifted by the sounds, the smells, the feel of brick on his fingers as he runs them along the walls. And this is when he realizes. That the rest of his senses, they're still there. And the world, that's still there too. And Joonmyun is, Joonmyun always is. It's a good day, hands clasped together and laughter echoing, and Jongdae really is twenty again, walking the streets with his best friend. It's just this time, instead of watching Joonmyun out of the corner of his eye and wishing -- wishing for the brief moment to be a moment -- Jongdae is feeling, warmth seeping through his skin, laughter reaching his ears, cologne, simple, reassuring, calming. -- They are not without conflict. Jongdae is still stubborn, still fights back and still insists on helping himself. There are arguments, tears -- usually from Joonmyun -- threats, Jongdae stumbling his way, feeling along walls to sleep on the couch. But it's alright really, because Joonmyun kisses him after, breaks the ice, the brief moments over the years that aren't really moments. And Jongdae is insecure, chokes out a confession, a hurried rush of words. "I'm not good enough," His insecurities voice out loud, speaking for him even when his brain tries to tug them back, tries to swallow them down. "I can't see, I can't tell you how beautiful you are because the memories are fading." "But I can see you," Joonmyun's rationality tells him, pouring from Joonmyun's lips in a calm, steady manner, like everything he does. "And there's more to you than just your ability to see. You're still you." Jongdae cries. He feels, and he feels, and it's nearly too much, nearly consuming, and he's still stubborn, always stubborn. He never does get the surgery, decides after a few years of being stubborn that he really doesn't need it. He can handle not being able to see because Joonmyun really is his atlas, taking Joonmyun's sight into his hands and taking him around the world of their life, one step at a time.