For: bluedreaming
From: synchronizity

Title: catch me i’m falling
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2424 words
Summary: “I know that you’re still hurting. You’re still grieving. I am, too.”
Warning/s: vague, oblique mentions of depression and its symptoms, and off-screen character death.

Notes: Dear recipient, I tried to do the best I could with your prompt, and I hope that this at least resembles something that you were looking for! I’m sorry that it isn’t as well-developed as I would have liked it to be, RL and not being able to get to a computer much kind of destroys any kind of writing momentum that I had. Thanks to C for helping me out with last minute feedback, and also to the mods for being very accommodating with my schedule TT.

Jihoon likes strawberries. He also likes strawberry cake. The bakery around the corner from the apartment has a 50% discount on cakes on Tuesdays, Jongdae remembers. It’ll be a nice surprise, he thinks, as he checks his wallet to make sure he has the necessary cash to pay for the cake, grabbing his keys and slipping his shoes on. When the girl at the counter rings up his purchase, she puts the strawberry sponge cake in a box. When he says that it’s supposed to be a birthday cake, she looks almost delighted and slips in several candles in the bag, along with a plastic top decoration. “Enjoy your cake,” she chirps politely at him. Jongdae smiles, turns, and leaves the bakery. ------------- Joonmyun comes back home at 8pm sharp, to see an empty living room with the television on, and the lights in the kitchen are on. It’s not a regular occurrence, because Jongdae can cook, but he hasn’t been feeling like doing it recently, so they’ve both been living off delivery meals for the past couple of months. The smell of food from the kitchen is strong with spices and when Joonmyun sets his bag down and pads over to the kitchen, he can feel how warm it is with what looks like a pot of kimchi jjigae bubbling on the stovetop, the rice cooker set and quietly beeping when it’s done. Jongdae turns when the rice cooker beeps, and finds Joonmyun at the kitchen door. There’s several plates of banchan on the countertop that Jongdae’s been working at. “Oh,” Jongdae sounds surprised to see Joonmyun. “You’re home early.” “Yeah,” Joonmyun looks over Jongdae’s shoulder at the food that he’s preparing. “Light day at the office today. What’s the occasion?” You hardly ever cook, is on the tip of Joonmyun’s tongue, but he somehow manages to stop himself from saying it. “You don’t remember? It’s someone’s birthday!” The colour drains from Joonmyun’s face. It’s neither his nor Jongdae’s birthdays. It’s December. There’s only one other person he knows who has a birthday in December. Jongdae notices, and gives Joonmyun a peculiar look. “... Joonmyun. Is something wrong…?” He takes a deep breath, and braces himself for the conversation. “Jongdae. Jongdae, it’s… no one’s birthday. It’s not Jihoon’s birthday. Jihoon’s-- Jihoon’s not here anymore.” There’s a sound of shattering porcelain. There’s kimchi on the floor, the red liquid staining the white cloth of Jongdae’s bedroom slippers. Jongdae’s hands are shaking. “You’re lying.” “He died a year and a half ago, Jongdae. Jongdae-- not again, the medicines were working fine…” “They weren’t really,” Jongdae whispers, and he’s crouched down among the porcelain shards, picking them up piece by piece even though some of the edges have cut into his palms. “We’ll go get another round of medicine,” Joonmyun says, trying to be reassuring, kneeling down so that he can grasp at Jongdae’s hand. “We’ll call the doctor, and--” “NO!” Jongdae screams, and recoils like he’s been physically burned by Joonmyun’s touch. There are tears catching on his cheekbones. Joonmyun moves closer, and Jongdae lashes out. He pushes, hard enough to knock Joonmyun off-balance and down onto the floor before he’s scrambling back to his feet again. “Jongdae!” There’s hurt, and surprise on Joonmyun’s features. “Look, I know this is hard.” “Really?” Jongdae asks, flatly. There’s a part of him that wants to reach out and help Joonmyun up, but there’s also a part of him that wants to be cruel, wants to put Joonmyun through the pain that Joonmyun thinks that he knows. “What exactly do you know?” “I know that you’re still hurting. You’re still grieving. I am, too.” Jongdae’s temper flares again, even though he knows that Joonmyun is trying to just defuse the situation. “Yeah? What exactly do you know? You sure don’t look like you’re hurting. You don’t look like you know how it feels to wake up and feel like you need help to even lift your head.” Joonmyun flinches, and Jongdae takes that as his cue to push past him and lock himself in their room. ------------- “I’m sorry,” Jongdae whispers, and Joonmyun can’t fault him for being angry, can’t fault him for locking Joonmyun out of their bedroom last night, forcing him to sleep on the couch. Jongdae’s arms weave around Joonmyun’s waist, pulling him into the backhug, and Joonmyun is gentle when he pries Jongdae’s arms off, loose enough to turn around and give him a proper hug. “I’m sorry, too.” Joonmyun threads his fingers through Jongdae’s and the silver of their wedding bands brush against each other. All is forgiven. ------------- This clinic is different. It’s a lot more homely than the previous clinic. Jongdae is tense, because he’s never really liked the psychiatrist’s office very much. But Joonmyun is insistent, and he’s managed to wear Jongdae down through sheer force of will and tenacity, and Joonmyun had nearly cried in relief when Jongdae relents to at least giving this new psychiatrist a trial session. He’s waiting for his turn to be called, and Joonmyun’s seated with him. It helps with his nerves while he’s waiting. “It’ll be fine,” Joonmyun says soothingly, brushing his thumb over Jongdae’s knuckle. “This psychiatrist came highly recommended. A couple of people from work gave me his name, so he should be good.” “Kim Jongdae?” Jongdae’s head jerks up. He’s expecting someone really old, and maybe he’s just a little bit disappointed when he sees that the new psychiatrist looks like he could be his peer. Byun Baekhyun, his nametag reads. He has a friendly smile, the kind that probably would let anyone think that he’s on their side, the kind that puts people at ease. Baekhyun has his hand stretched out. Jongdae wordlessly extends his hand and lets Baekhyun shake it firmly, once, twice, before he lets go. “It’s nice to meet you,” Baekhyun says, kindly, and motions towards one of the doors in the back. “Go,” Joonmyun whispers, and presses a kiss to Jongdae’s knuckles before gently nudging him off his seat and towards Baekhyun. “I’ll come pick you up later.” After Jongdae leaves, Joonmyun heads out to the car and rests his arms on the steering wheel, his head cradled in his hands. He prays that he’s done the right thing for Jongdae. ------------- “Can you tell me when was the last time you felt truly happy?” Jongdae gives Baekhyun a look. Baekhyun is sitting behind his desk, and his chair is plain wood. The chair that Jongdae is in, on the other hand, is plush and almost expensive given the fabric and how comfortable it is. If he weren’t kept on edge by the nature of this appointment, he’s pretty sure that he would have nodded off in the chair. “Were you happy when you married Joonmyun?” Baekhyun prompts, gently. “How long have you been married?” Jongdae swallows. “Five years, this coming March. I think-- back then, I was.” When Joonmyun asked him the question, he’d said yes without a second thought. Now he hardly sees Joonmyun. A year and a half ago, Joonmyun started going in to the office earlier, coming back later and later. Jongdae hardly sees Joonmyun anymore. Most of the time, Joonmyun comes home from work after Jongdae’s gone to sleep. “Right now, I’m not so sure.” Baekhyun hums and makes a note in his book. “How about when you adopted your son?” My son. The wound still hurts, even after all this time. It still feels like a fresh cut. “My son?” Jongdae asks, blankly. Why does he want to remember the things that hurt? “Do you want to tell me about him, Jongdae?” ------------- “What are you doing?” Jongdae asks, standing in the doorway. Joonmyun is inside a room that they haven’t opened for the past three months. Jongdae used to clean it once a week, but when Joonmyun came home one day and saw Jongdae sitting on the floor in the middle of Jihoon’s room, crying, he’d made the decision that the room was too triggering for Jongdae, and they wouldn’t open it unless it was absolutely necessary. The contents of Jihoon’s shelves are empty, his storybooks and school books laid out on the floor in large paper bags. Joonmyun’s sleeves are rolled up, and his shelf looks like it’s been recently cleaned. “Clearing Jihoon’s things out,” Joonmyun answers, and he seems either completely unfazed, or completely oblivious to the way that Jongdae’s hands are clenched tightly. “I thought it’d be easier to let go that way.” “Get out.” Joonmyun blinks. “What?” “I said, get out.” Jongdae is furious, and he’s so angry that he might actually step forward and kick Joonmyun out of the room himself. “How dare you-- how dare you, I won’t allow you to--” If Joonmyun throws Jihoon’s things out, there’s nothing left that Jongdae can use to remember him. He doesn’t want that to happen. ------------- Four weeks into the treatment, Baekhyun looks over at Jongdae thoughtfully. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, actually.” “Who?” Jongdae asks. Apparently it’s some kind of cue, because at that point, the door opens, and a face that Jongdae has seared into his memory appears before him. He remembers the face in front of him more vividly than he wants to remember. The person standing in front of him at the door is his son’s murderer. The one person who was careless enough to drive while he was drunk and knock down an innocent five-year-old boy. ------------- “My first psychiatrist told me a long time ago that grief beyond the first four months is pathological. It’s a disease and it must be treated. Four months. For the death of my child.” Jongdae’s eyes are red-rimmed from crying, but he’s calm. Mostly calm. “Who decides these things?” Baekhyun’s expression is carefully neutral. “It’s just a guideline, Jongdae, nothing more.” “You need to be able to deal with the sources of your grief and stress, Jongdae,” Baekhyun offers, and Jongdae knows he’s right. “The medicines aren’t magic, they can only help you so much. Beyond a certain point, they might actually make you feel worse.” Like I am now, he realises. And Jongdae makes his decision. “Goodbye, Baekhyun.” ------------- Joonmyun comes home at 8pm sharp, to see an empty living room with the television off, and a suitcase at the door. “Jongdae?” he asks, dreading the worst. Jongdae gives him a small, sad smile, and opens his arms so that he can pull Joonmyun into a hug. “I… I need to leave, Joonmyun,” he murmurs, like he’s hoping that the hug will cushion the blow somehow. “Take some time off, to just… sort out my feelings. The medicines, me coming to terms with my grief, everything - I can’t drag you down with me, it’s just not fair to you.” “But--” Joonmyun starts, and his cheek is wet. He’s crying, he realises belatedly. “I know I said I couldn’t do this alone. But I can’t always have you catching me when I fall. I’ll never know what it’s like to stand on my own two feet.” Joonmyun can’t say anything - he’s too stunned. In those couple of seconds, it feels like Jongdae’s yanked out the floor of his world, and he’s not sure how to feel. “I won’t be gone for very long. I won’t be very far, either. I’m just going to stay with my parents for a while. But I’ll come back, I promise you.” “I--” Joonmyun swallows, takes a moment to compose himself. “You promise?” he sounds desperate, but he is, just a little bit. He’s already lost a son. He can’t afford, doesn’t want to lose his husband too. “I promise.” And Jongdae pulls back a bit, lifting his ring finger to slide his wedding band off his finger. When he raises Joonmyun’s hand, it’s to slide the ring onto his ring finger, letting it rest just about Joonmyun’s own ring finger. “Keep this safe for me until I come home?” Joonmyun nods. He’s all out crying now, tears streaming down his face. The man he loves is walking out of his life, and he can’t even bring himself to try and stop Jongdae, since Jongdae has that steely look in his eyes that means that he won’t take no for an answer. Jongdae leans in to kiss him one last time, slow and lingering, using his fingertips to brush Joonmyun’s tears away before he picks up his suitcase, stopping at the door. “Goodbye, Joonmyun. I love you.” The door shuts, and Joonmyun is left in an empty house that feels too big for him. There’s a single light on in the corridor, the rest of the house is dark. Joonmyun sinks to his knees, and for the first time he can remember in a while, actually sobs. ------------- “I know you can’t tell me if you’re still treating him,” Joonmyun says, and his eyes are sad, and he’s slumped in the big red armchair that Baekhyun has in his office. it’s the same chair that Joonmyun knows that Jongdae always sits in whenever he has his therapy sessions. It’s been three weeks since Jongdae left. Baekhyun places his pen down and looks over at Joonmyun. He doesn’t give Joonmyun a pitying look, which he’s grateful for. He’s had enough with the sad looks. But Baekhyun’s look is almost thoughtful, like he’s weighing what he can and cannot tell Joonmyun. “I think he’s doing fine.” “Do you--” and Joonmyun looks almost defeated. “Do you think he’ll come home?” “It’s hard to say right now,” Baekhyun says, his tone gentle, soothing. Joonmyun’s so tired. Coming home to an empty house while Jongdae works out his issues is more tiring than it looks, although the weight of Jongdae’s wedding band next to his gives him hope, is pretty much the only thing that’s keeping him going right now. “Joonmyun. Do you want me to recommend someone for you to talk to?” Joonmyun startles. “No,” he blurts out, instinctively. He doesn’t have problems, he’s just tired, and… he stops when he recognises that that’s what Jongdae used to tell him. “I…” For the first time this session, Baekhyun looks sympathetic, and he’s pushing a name card with a name and phone number on it over to Joonmyun. “Sometimes having someone to listen helps,” he offers. “Plus, Jongdae wouldn’t want you to stress out.” Joonmyun leans over the table and reaches for the name card, brushing his finger over the embossed name and phone number in its dark green ink. “Thank you.”