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He reminds me of a kitten when he sleeps like this, sprawled on a beach towel. On his stomach, one hand curled near his face and the other gripping the mp3-payer remote, the earphones in his ears. His eyes are tightly closed, his lips are slightly parted. There is a wrinkle between his eyebrows. I wonder what he is dreaming about that makes him frown. I want to reach out to brush his tousled hair, smooth away the crease on his forehead.
His skin, ever so dark, is even darker now, tanned under hot sun. He is wearing only swimming trunks, just like me; the sun has already dried his skin, and the particles of sand glitter like tiny bright dots on his back in the rays of setting sun.
It is the best time of the day to be at the beach: the sun has long left its highest point in the sky and now it is lazily rolling down to the horizon line. The air is warm, and I know that the sea is warm like milk, that Changmin still drinks everyday before going to bed. The breeze lightly caresses my skin, bringing the smell of sea and warm sand. It is not so maddening hot as it was, but it will take hours to fully cool down. So, we still have time to lazy on the beach and enjoy our oh-so rare day-off.
And watch him. I still have time to watch him.
Everybody has always considered him to be the baby of the group, but in fact we all were. And still are. We are changing every day, not only in our looks and outfits but also inside. We are getting older, growing up too quickly, trying to accommodate to adult world, to fit in, to look more sophisticated and experienced than we really are. But instead of getting wiser we are becoming cynical, losing innocence of souls. We are grown-ups in the teenagers’ bodies. We all can feel these changes.
Except for him.
He is the youngest of us all and he is trying, he is trying so damn hard to keep up with us. But to keep up in what? In losing innocence? In learning all about cruelties of this world? In becoming an arrogant self-centered brat? In succumbing to all the temptations celebrity’s life can offer? It is hard and he is trying, but does he realize that there is no turning point, no going back?
Watching him sleep, his face expressionless and stripped of all masks he tries to put on is telling me that he doesn’t fully understand the importance of what is happening with our lives. Sitting on the warm sand, watching the waves rock steadily, it is just a brief moment, a steady point, before our lives go sky-rocket again and we would have no time to stop and think twice about the decisions that are being made.
Sometimes I think that we are just the puppets in the hands of the managers, the company, our fans. I know that others are aware of that, at various degrees, but I am the oldest one and I feel responsible for the rest of them, and I know, I feel that with him this thought hasn’t sunk in yet. He hasn’t realized yet that we don’t belong to ourselves, but to those who pay. I guess this thought doesn’t exist in his world. He is a child in the world full of bright toys, new clothes, pretty looks, expensive cars (and whatever else he can buy with the money that we have), but he doesn’t, can’t possibly understand that money put more restrictions on us, than liberties they give.
Too naïve and not corrupted yet to see this.
Involuntary I reach and touch his hair lightly, he lies still and I assume that he is still deep asleep. My fingers comb his hair gently, petting him, and all I could think of is, God, please, let him stay like this forever, let no evil touch his innocent heart. But I know perfectly well that all my prayers futile and there are things which depend on us only.
Following some sudden urge and the rush of tenderness and a touch of nostalgia, I lean and brush my lips over his cheek.
Never grow up, kid, I whisper in his ear.
And then he stirs and I pull back swiftly, my hands clasped in my lap, but my fingers missing the softness of his dark locks. He moves, mumbles something, still half asleep, finally opening his eyes and looking at me. His hand moves to remove the earpieces, sweeps over his face in a half-hearted attempt to brush away the sleep. Finally he pushes himself up and sits, yawning and looking young and adorable.
He looks at me with his eyes still blurry from sleep and smiles lazily. I smile back, just a little, watching with a fascination as his face expression changes and he becomes more awake, more aware of surroundings, himself, everything. It is like watching the shields being put back in their places. Click, and he is no longer an innocent boy who has captured my heart with a dazzling smile. It is like watching him grow few years older in a quick motion. This Changmin knows what he is worth, what he is capable of.
And then suddenly he is a kid again, the bright smile is back, as he grabs my hand and pulls my to my feet, getting up as well. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s swim.” And before I can contemplate the sudden change in the mood or brood over other existential problems, I am being dragged to the water and he is not letting go of my hand till we both suddenly plunge into the water.
All coherent thoughts escape me, when we are just a mess of limbs and then we are splashing each other and laughing and, oh my God, I feel happy and light-headed and almost ecstatic to see him laugh so freely and be happy. But at the same time there is some grueling thought at the back of my mind, that plagues me, and I think, instead of giving up all troubles and just enjoying the moment, I think that this is not forever, that I can’t preserve this single minute of happiness, that I can’t bottle up our laughter, that I can’t put this smiling and happy kid in a safe bubble and keep there forever.
I can’t.
And I must have spaced out, because it is a total shock, when suddenly two hands encircle my waist and I am pressed to a warm body behind me. And I swear my heart has stopped beating, because all I can hear is the flutter of his heart and his heavy breathing that tickles my ear, when he whispers to me:
“Thank you, Jae, thank you… for everything…”
My damp skin is cooling quickly under the soft breeze, and something is biting into my back, which most probably is Changmin’s small cross, which he never takes off. But that doesn’t matter, because all I can feel is the unexpected strength radiating from the body pressed close to mine, and the warmth of his thigh under my fingers.
I smile.
//
written: June 27, 2005
edited: March 25, 2013