(no subject)
FIC DUMP; some of these things are really old. some are less so. some are done, some aren't. some will be continued, most won’t. a lot of this stuff is rough and icky, but it's what I've been writing for the past, what, 8 to 11 months -- so deal with it! :DDD
and they're almost chronological but actually not really put in any specific order, so, yeah. you can still tell which things were written later on than others because the writing style has changed i.e. improved(?). and of course there are brief summaries/explanations/author's notes preluding each clump of fic.
enjoy.
-
I was going to experiment with first person because I don't do first person fics well. I didn’t have any sort of idea where I was going with it and it shows. there was going to be kihae. I did not make it that far.
I’m wet. The weather changes too quickly in the summer and it’s started raining all of a sudden and I’m wet.
“Stupid.” Kibum says, throwing me a towel and rifling through his drawers for extra clothes, “I should have left you out there, you could have walked home, it’s just down the street.”
“I’m wet.” I tell him, sitting down on his bed, “I’m really wet, Kibum.”
“Get off my bed.” His voice is muffled from his head being halfway in the drawer and Kibum knows me really too well.
-
The sky stretches on forever and ever in the dry spells. Just going on and on and on and the sun is blaring down on my face, my neck, my skin and it leaves it’s mark, making me all dark and sun kissed.
***
inspired by ‘night of the hunter’ which is an old movie that has nothing to do with cars but everything to do with running away from crazy, women-hating, zealous preachers who killed your mother. once again, I didn’t make it far enough to show where the plot was going LOL.
When Changmin wakes up, they are still in the car, going to - where, nowhere? - his breath fogging up the glass window as his cheek is pressed, sticky, against it. The road is flat and long and there’s no one or thing in sight other than open fields of grass and weeds to the left and right and front and back and every direction imaginable of them.
“Hyung.” Changmin rasps, throat dry with dust; the older has all the other windows down.
Jaejoong just keeps driving, eyes locked ahead of him. Changmin shifts, groans a little at the stiffness in his limbs, and reaches for the sleeve of Jaejoong’s shirt.
“Hyung,” he whispers, “Hyung, are we there yet?”
Jaejoong yawns and his eyes droop for a second, but then he catches himself and his back goes ramrod straight. “No. Just be quiet and enjoy the ride, Min.”
Well this ride has been going on for too many consecutive days for him to enjoy it and he is tired and hungry and his back hurts from sleeping curled up in the corner on the car, longs arms and legs pressed awkwardly against the door’s armrest. “Jae, where are we going?”
His lips press together in a grim straight line and he rolls down Changmin’s window now that it is no longer in use as a makeshift pillow. “Nowhere. Well. Just. We had to go, don’t get mad at me, please.”
Changmin sighs at the non-answer and knows that he won’t get anything more coherent than that, so settles his head against the door just so and watches the clouds float lazily past in the sky. “Are we ever going to get to wherever there is?”
“…Just enjoy the ride, Min.”
***
the ss501 fanworks comm proposed a school boy theme contest or - or something - and I started writing one going all ‘:DDD OH OH I AM SO AWESOME.’ I think I got distracted by food and didn’t feel like picking it back up after returning from stuffing my face. I think it’s funny, I don’t know about you.
Hyungjoon is not ready to be saddled with trying to mentor an upperclassmen who’s waited his senior year to realize that oh shit, I don’t have all my credits yet and uh, oops, I failed that standardized writing test last year and this is all very much pertinent for my graduating and whatnot. No really, he’s not and apparently that doesn’t matter because here he is, with a lapful of slutty senior who is discreetly (but really totally not) playing with his uniform tie and trying to seduce him.
“Babyyyyy~~~” He trills and Hyungjoon has to work really hard to remember the basics - that this senior’s name is Jungmin (not to be confused with Gooey Sex On Legs, mind you), that he is here for strictly educational reasons, and also how that tricky concept of breathing works.
***
HA HA, PRIME EXAMPLE THAT I DON’T NEED TO WRITE AFTER READING ‘KITE RUNNER’, MY VAGUE!FICS ARE NOT GOOD, NOT AT ALL. ALSO, THERE IS SEX, CAN’T YOU TELL?
He’s taking so much time, Changmin thinks, face pressed to the curve of his neck. So so so much time. Too much time. Stop. (stop and go, keep going, don’t stop.)
And in, and out, and yours, and mine. “I.” He tries to say, “I, I, I.”
“No, shut up, just,” Changmin intercepts the hidden feelings in midair, “We don’t have - they’ll be here any day now. Any second now.” It’s all seizing, seizing and ripping to shreds, tough love they call it, but really it’s taking and hurting and stabs straight to the heart, slowly killing and slowly dying.
There’s a grunt, out of exertion, and Changmin feels it, quivers, tightens down there, pushes back and just barely manages to catch the moan in his throat.
The other doesn’t even try to quiet himself. “Uh,” is all he says, “uhn, umh - ”
It’s irking, didn’t always use to be to Changmin, but it really truly is now; “Shut up.”
***
I do not know why I started writing this. I was having an affinity for car settings at the time.
Yehsung is stuck in a traffic jam one particular evening, another day of work and papers and computer screens flying by and another day of life he’ll never get back is gone just like that - what is he doing with himself? he wanted to sing and to do everything under the sun - when he first meets Kyuhyun.
Yehsung remembers it exactly. Because no one is moving and the cars are all lined up in compact little rows of flashing lights and would other people please stop honking like it’s going to accomplish any damn thing? Yehsung is having one of those days, where nothing feels like it’s going right but nothing has actually gone horribly terribly wrong so it’s not like he can complain and he’s just tired, wonders if he’ll waste away with nothing left for anyone to remember him by, with no one left to even remember or forget or plain old not-remember him. (stop trying to be a fucking poet, you’re getting on my nerves, Heechul would say, but he’s too busy off in some foreign country doing whatever the fuck he wants with Yunho and Yehsung hates that.)
Well, one moment there’s just the glimmer of sunlight reflecting off of side panels as far as the eye can see and then the next Yehsung sees Kyuhyun (except he doesn’t know that yet, doesn’t know a thing about Kyuhyun, not his name not his story not anything,) weaving his way between cars and running like his life depends on it.
Yehsung feels like it’s a pitying sight to see - frantic movement amidst standstill traffic. (and who says he’s not a poet? his lyrics are works of art, he thinks.)
Maybe Yehsung is the only one who makes eye contact with him, because Kyuhyun’s eyes lock onto Yehsung and he makes for the passenger door. Before Yehsung can say a word or comprehend what’s happening, Kyuhyun slams the door shut behind him and curls up in the seat, eyes squeezed closed and panting against the door handle, fogging up the metal.
Yehsung just blinks and is very very confused. “…Um. Excuse me.”
Yehsung almost withers under the sharp look he gets in return. But he’s used to much much worse, so he stays steady and, in the firmest voice he can muster, asks, “Can I help you?”
Kyuhyun studies Yehsung with piercing dark eyes, his back stiff and as straight as it can be and every fiber of his being is strung so tight that the quivering of anxiousness can be felt across the car.
“…Just drive.”
So that’s what Yehsung does. Why shouldn’t he, after all?
***
I think guns are bad, let me show you by shooting jaejoong and junsu in a fic. (OH AND 888 WORDS, IS THAT AWESOME OR WHAT?)
It’s what they do every year, twice a year. Nothing surprising, nothing new, everyone knows beforehand when and where and why they’re meeting so - is that why?
bang.
The day starts off normally, everyone’s not even awake enough to not function on an autopilot mode and the camera is just catalyst enough to spur comments and the usual media personas from the loud few. Some of those with busy busy schedules can’t even manage that - Heechul, for one, retreats to a dark rec room and curls up on the couch for a power nap until he can string together words with enough coherency.
But even through the pounding of a headache, a migraine from not enough sleep and not enough food and too much caffeine, Junsu is excited because they’re back home long enough to do SM Town, long enough to eat Korean food made in Korea, long enough to visit homes and families and old friends who’ve steadily been growing distant.
Though, he is disappointed to find that Hyukjae isn’t around yet, as Super Junior is only ten twenty-sixths complete right now because it is too early to have gathered all of the members in one place yet. (and the lack sleep is affecting his math, quite obviously, because only six out of thirteen of Super Junior isn’t here and is that actually ten twenty-sixths? Six minus thirteen is seven, so seven over thirteen, multiply by two over two…)
He forgets about all that as Changmin leans on him and Yoochun leans on him and Jaejoong on him and Yunho has to go talk to PR for some reason none of them care enough about to really hear and remember, so he doesn’t get to lean on anyone.
By late morning, Junsu finds Hyukjae and they are supposed to hug, joke, catch up and all sorts of things. But Hyukjae is whisked away for hair and makeup and Junsu is whisked away for an interview and that is that.
MV shooting is over with, it’s the afternoon, so it’s time for photoshoots, everything clockwork and a familiar pattern. This is when Junsu sees her first.
He thinks nothing of her; she blends in and looks like she belongs, like she knows what’s going on and where she’s going. In fact, the only thought going through his head as he glances past her is, It’s so hot today.
It just goes to show that these kinds of things aren’t always blatant and expected beforehand, not if it doesn’t have to be, not if there are no signs.
bang.
It’s DBSK’s turn to take pictures with The Grace and with Super Junior, so they all file onto the assigned set and listen for instruction.
It’s all waiting and sweating and squinting in the relentless sun, rambling to the drifting camera like they’re supposed to and Junsu sshi, stand here next to Eunhyuk sshi and Sunday sshi, Changmin sshi, smile at Kibum sshi, Can the Leaders stand together, Yoochun sshi huddle closer to Kangin sshi, Stephanie sshi smile at Hankyung sshi alright thank you, Jaejoong sshi drape your arm around Yunho sshi please. so on, so forth, they are just products waiting for instruction right now.
And Junsu sees the girl again, walking past nonchalantly yet looking at them like they are the centers of the universe, and he frowns, head tilting and tongue running over the bottom row of his teeth, because it is odd in the way it is so ordinary.
Hyukjae notices his discomfort, bumping hips with his playfully and teasing. (What’s wrong? Can’t handle being next to such a great and superior person like me in the picture? I know it sucks for you, but…)
Junsu opens his mouth to retort, to tease and joke around as well, but then he sees the flashing (so unlike cameras they are all accustomed to, so unlike anything he’s ever seen in real life) and hears the click and his voice catches in his throat and without thinking he breaks away from Hyukjae and runs as fast he can to -
bang.
There are screams and yells as Junsu pushes Jaejoong out the way and he thinks he’ll be safe -
bang.
He falls to the ground, a burning sensation ripping through his skin, through his side, blood a hot thick thing, right? He can’t even feel it right now, not the wetness dripping out and over and down his skin.
And he sees Jaejoong’s feet falter right in front of his face and then he too is on the ground, far too still, shirt bloody tatters on his remnants of a chest.
Junsu tries to reach out and touch him and ask if he’s okay, (he pushed Jaejoong out the way, he should be okay, right?) but everything is moving in a stop-go flow of double time and slow motion in a deadly mixture and even his fingers are too heavy to move.
(He can’t feel them either.)
There are now hands on him, voices around him, Junsu, hey, can you hear me? You’ll both be okay, don’t worry, hold on, we’ve got you.
And later, in the hospital, Junsu will be okay and he will find out that Jaejoong will be very much not okay and the ringing in his ears from the gunshot will not go away.
bang.
***
because where are all the pregnancies and miscarriages and abortions in this fandom, people? (annnnd, this fic sucks. gratuitous! angst! wtf!) also, 2222 words! how swell.
A small hand gripped tightly in his, slick with sweat -
“You’re going to make it, he whispers, voice a barely there or believed thing, almost silent and just to himself. “You’re going to be fine and it’s all going to be fine.” -
But (and the air is thick with, with something, panic is it? and anxiousness and dread and it’s not all going to be okay.) what’s a dream isn’t reality and with her screams fading into whimpers and then into a pained and weary silence and the doctors murmuring among themselves, he knows that isn’t quite true.
*
He comes home late that night and goes straight to bed and wraps himself up in his sheets, life all surreal and too gleaming for the moment, he wants to mourn with someone -
But it’s a secret, remember? He remembers.
“You okay?” Hankyung peeks his head in the darkened doorway, remnants of laughter and a not so long ago smile on his face and traces in his voice.
He nods and keeps his back to the door and the other boy. “I’m…just tired today, hyung.” He whispers and tries to curl into himself.
He can hear the stretching return of Hankyung’s smile, relieved and happy, from all the way across the room. “Okay, I’ll tell everyone else to keep it down - not that they’ll listen, really.”
The sounds of Hankyung’s socked footsteps growing distance -
Oppa, you’re so silly -
And he grinned as they made their way down the hallway, his arms wrapped stubbornly around her, the clumsy uneven ‘thump thump thump’s of their tangled feet, today was a rare off day and he was going to act as silly as he wanted because of it, because he was spending it right where he wanted to -
He can taste copper at the back of his throat.
*
Days (of little sleep, of little substance, of little thinking and talking and being) pass, and now he sips halfheartedly at a cup of orange juice before remembering that the sourness in his mouth that’s already there doesn’t need any assistance from the tang of refrigerated citrus. He scarcely doesn’t gag as he pushes the glass away from him and watches his bandmates scuffle hastily, energetically, around him to get ready for their day of busy schedules.
All he really can do lately is hope that the wilt to his demeanor isn’t obvious. He’s trying his best to not be blatant about it, but the weight on his soul isn’t easy to pretend doesn’t exist.
He does notice that Eeteuk eyes him oddly as they board into different cars, on their merry way to the studio for an ‘as many of the group as they can manage to assemble today’ studio practice. He gives their leader a smile as he slips into car number three, and sits, apprehensive for no reason, on the edge of the upholstery, and shudders at the coldness passing through him.
He convinces himself that he must be coming down with something, a chill maybe.
*
The little bit of orange juice rolling in his stomach is his downfall once he finally checks his most recent texts -
its official, death certificate and everything, funeral next week, im okay, how bout u?
Simple, straightforward, and.
And he rushes to the bathroom, past a chatting Ryeowook, Hyukjae, and Shindong in the hallway who have arrived a good twenty minutes in the first car before those of them filing in just now, and manages to vomit in the toilet.
He can feel the cold sweat on his face, on the back of his neck, rolling down the bumpy line of his spine, as he hears the echo of knocks on the door and are you alright in there? hyukjae went to get a manager, just in case. in the odd mix of the light and deep voices of Ryeowook and Shindong respectively, it’s as though it’s so so far away, and remembers the feel of the small trembling hand in his, deserving and hoping for something more than what was offered.
*
i cant afford to go, he texts back later that afternoon, tucked snugly in his bed with a stomach full of warm broth and Pepto Bismal, busy schedule, someone would notice and if fans follow me or media finds out or there are pictures your family would be ruined.
He wipes away traces of the tears that had been rolling up and over and down his cheeks, leaving dried trails of evidence of their presence, and swallows thickly, heart a lump in his throat burning away at its lining until it flops out onto his chest, beating and bloody and telltale.
You have a vivid imagination sometimes, she told him, antis wouldn’t really try to kill me if they knew.
He shook his head solemnly, They would. Besides, I’m supposed to be on a vow of chastity before marriage, I promised my parents.
She trailed pale limber fingers over the front of her pretty little dress, flattening the wrinkles out, lips pursuing into a frown. I’d really like to be married already, she admitted somberly, but you…
Can’t, he said apologetically, I really can’t marry you yet, but I promise, I love you, I will when the time is right and everyone can handle it.
How are promises for the future going to make the present okay? She questioned in a small, frightened voice, I’m scared, this isn’t what I had planned for my life.
I’m sorry. He told her, nothing of any amount at the time, nothing that would amount to much in the future, either.
He wheezes as an invisible hand - no wait, that’s his own hand, ice cold flesh with a mind of its own - ghosts over his throat and squeezes so tightly he can’t breathe.
ill send flowers. He messages, feeling so horrible because this is all. his. fault. lots and lots of them and your favorite okay?
*
I think, if this is how it’s going to be, she whispered to him, leaning heavily onto his chest and face buried in the crook of his neck, then I should just get rid of it.
No, he said, determined and, No, you can’t do that, I want it.
But I’m paying for it. She whimpered. I’m the only one paying for all of it and it’s not fair.
*
Heechul walks in on him shivering fiercely under the covers, eyes glazed (only with unshed tears, really, they just don’t know that he can’t bear to let himself cry but the tears are still there, waiting) and face slack. In a rare moment of maternal instincts, Heechul brushes a hand over his forehead to feel and he leans in to the touch, breath a shallow fast rhythm on Heechul’s wrist -
“Jungsu,” the older calls out, fingers casually threading themselves into his bangs and massaging his scalp, “The kid’s even sicker.”
He shivers again, pulls away from the gentle skimming of tips of fingers, (too soft, too affectionate, he can imagine too much in it) and buries himself in his cocoon of blankets, seeking something not there and willing himself to fall asleep.
And they leave him alone for a while.
When he wakes up, he can pick up the soft voices from somewhere above his bed.
“He can’t sleep this off, whatever it is.” Heechul mumbles.
“Maybe he can, it could be just a twenty four or forty eight hour bug or something.” Kangin offers hopefully. “We can wait to see if he gets better or worse?”
He’d maybe snort at Kangin’s tone, that is, if he didn’t feel so clammy and dizzy and there’s something building up inside his body that won’t let him move right now.
Eeteuk fusses and the creaks of the floor through the rug signals that he’s pacing. “What if he gets worse? This seems really nasty and if he’s got it, then everyone else…”
“Ew.” Heechul wastes no time in saying, “Let’s quarantine him, then. Ew. I don’t want this. Ew.”
He parts his lips, dry and sandpapery, and lets out a wispy sigh. The voices and movement stop, as if waiting for him to do something. But the only part of him that’s doing anything is his mind. It’s doing that thing it’s been doing lately, replaying things he really doesn’t need to see, absorbing the wrong words and grasping for whatever’s in it’s reach.
Ew, he said, mind frozen with a million emotions, eyes stuck, watching the liquid pooling onto the floor. Ew.
What are you waiting for? she gasped out, hand on her stomach, knuckles white as she clutched at the fabric of her shirt. What are you waiting for? We need to - I have to - it hurts -
And with a groan she crumpled to the floor.
He feels all the muscles in his body tense up and the building feeling overcomes him.
He rolls over with a moan and leans over the side of the bed, dry heaving violently. Over the roaring in his ears, he can distinctly hear the other three scramble into action, and all he really is aware of is someone dragging a trashcan over by the bedside and rubbing him on the back.
“Hey, hey, don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” Heechul murmurs, panic making his voice shriller, words cramming together messily.
He only sucks in gulps of air, not hearing and stomach still convulsing up the nothing it contains.
*
He’s ready to leave the hospital the next morning, after being hooked up to an IV and being pumped full of fluids and a sedative or two to help him get some dreamless sleep. Bodily wise, he feels refreshed, better, good to go.
“Maybe you should stay another day to make sure you’re okay?” Yehsung insists with a subdued expression. “Anyway, I just stopped by, I’ve got to go, but I’ll call Jungsu and Ryeowook and tell them you’re okay, okay?”
This is basically the gist of four more visits; Heechul, Hyukjae, Sungmin, and Hankyung.
Despite his bandmates’ worries, he gets official permission for release off the premises anyway and uses his unexpected morning off to go shopping for flowers at nearby delivery places.
He buys and buys and buys, flower after flower after bouquet after flower bouquet, until his wallet is empty and his feet hurt from walking to each and every store.
*
The day of the funeral comes pretty quickly. He’s not ready for it, but that’s not even important, truthfully, because on The Day Of he only finds himself squashed in a van full of managers and between a hair stylist or two rather than where he really should be.
As they reach their destination and he stumbles out the door, he’s already wildly grabbing for his cell phone and running off to find a place where he can get a little bit of privacy.
details? he texts, crouching under a stairwell.
it’s beautiful and sad. he gets in return.
im so so sorry. he sends back, metal of the guard railing’s bars freezing and steely on his cheek. But honestly, he’s been sending her that message hundreds and hundreds of times every day and he’s afraid it’s starting to lose its meaning on a little LCD screen and not in the spoken words he can’t get to her.
i know. is what his simple response is. but it’s okay, I understand.
The smile to himself is bitter and sharp and disbelieving. did you get the flowers?
i did.
But he feels that is still not enough.
*
im so so sorry. He texts during a water break and it aggravates him that they can’t even talk and hear each other’s voice because their lives are going in two different directions now.
“I’m so so sorry.” he whispers to himself as he feels as though he is being broken by an unseen force. It’s one of those days that feel too unreal and like he’s going to lose his mind if he trips and loses his balance.
Because buried not-so-deep inside of him are tangles of unrest and something waiting to get out.
*
When he gets the chance, and he doesn’t know when it is by exact date or how long it’s been, because he never was counting in the first place, (but truthfully he’d guess a month. He’s still not allowed to see or talk to her because her family is upset over it all and his family still doesn’t know a thing about it and he isn’t sure if he’ll ever tell them and maybe the two of them won’t get married after all and maybe that’s okay. Maybe, he thinks, maybe this is one of those things that maturity would be able to bring them closer together but, in their youth, it just drives them apart. And maybe that’s okay.) he buys a little bunch of flowers and visits the graveyard.
And, finally, there’s a semblance of peace (momentary or not, he doesn’t know and how long does peace last in everyday life anyway?) when he places that little bouquet, all the soft yellows and oranges and pinks on tiny fluttering petals, all for promises (if you had lived, I’d have given you everything, I would have loved you more than anything.) he can’t make, down on the tombstone.
***
oh yeah, so mars_elegies asked me for shi/shi a million years ago when the sujum u mv first came out and I agreed to do it then proceeded to take forever to write. SHE DOESN'T EVEN REMEMBER I OWE HER FIC. I don't know if I’ll keep at it because the second half of it involves siwon and mirrors and it’s supposed to get really sexy but I’m being lazy. the first half isn't even that good. *whines*
Siwon counts his blessings and prays to God every morning, every night, and before mealtimes, like a good little boy.
So he isn’t sure if finding himself, Siwon, (but he’s Siwon, he’s him) by way of flopping onto his bed and the other being under the covers is a good thing. Maybe the fact that he is alone and has time enough to draw a blank before reaction kicks in as a sharp metallic shock in the back of his throat is the only god sent miracle in this situation.
He, him, himself? Well, this intruder in his bed, smiles up at him (devilish and wicked, like he knows something he shouldn’t, like he’s not supposed to be here and chose to come along to where he ought not go in spite of that) and reaches up to stroke the curve of Siwon’s jaw and right on down his chin - enticingly. Sexy. Like an invitation for. Something.
He barely has time to get over his astonishment, register the sound of footsteps coming down the hall and towards the room, and pullup-shove Other Siwon out the bed and into the closet all as one flowing panicky motion, before Hankyung comes in to collapse on his own bed and mumble out a tired, garbled Chinese-Korean mix of, “Goodnight and sleep tight, Shi Yuan. Schedule at six tomorrow.”
Siwon flashes Hankyung a smile, wasted, maybe, as Hankyung’s eyes are closed (and he is breathing steady steady slow in out in out calm calm calm in attempt to lull himself to sleep already) and presses his back to the closet door. It shudders with the force of someone wanting to get out, someone needing to get out, but Siwon knows he doesn’t have the strength to break down a door, so the him in the closet must not either.
-
“You absolutely cannot come out of the closet.” Siwon tells him.
Other Siwon blinks at him and his fingers trace over the buttons on his shirt. “I have needs. I don’t want to stay in a closet all day every day for the rest of your life.”
Siwon’s mouth forms an ‘o’ in surprise and then feels bad for a moment. He’s right, it’s cruel to force someone to live in that cramped of a space, even - or is it especially? - if it is himself in a way.
“Well…” Siwon slowly concedes to Other Siwon’s will, “I guess as long as no one’s here and no one sees you…but you can’t go outside the apartment. Ever.”
The edges of Siwon’s eyes crinkle as he smiles almost too wide for his face, sparkling teeth with just the right combination of cute cute charm, and Siwon speculates if that’s really how he looks when he’s too happy for words. (it’s no wonder he can slay fangirls with a single look, if that’s how it is, and then his thoughts stop and he rewinds, looks back, and pretends it didn’t happen.)
“I have…needs - ” Other Siwon trails off and stops abruptly at the same time, hand flat and warm against Siwon’s chest.
Siwon’s heart does a funny jolt flip, beats double time, and -
He pulls away. “You must absolutely stay in the closet while anyone is in the apartment.”
-
When Siwon comes in later than the other members one night, bag of complimentary makeup samples in his hand (he’s planning on distributing them amongst the others - Ryeowook seems particularly fond of them lately and maybe Hankyung will want some too) he sees;
Hankyung watching television in silence with a rigid back and set shoulders and painful concentration, Donghae staring absently mindedly at a spot on the wall with a limp arm flung over their new leader’s shoulders, Henry curled up at the end of the couch with his laptop and typing away diligently, and Zhou Mi and Ryeowook wrapped around each other on the floor by Donghae’s feet, not talking (and Zhou Mi’s not smiling and he always is).
And Kyuhyun isn’t in the living room or the adjacent kitchen.
And none of them spare a glance in his direction, the ignoring steely and cold and very deliberate.
Siwon knows what this means - already he knows exactly what this means and is that sad? No, it is him but not him, so of course he’d know. Of course.
He drops his bag (thunk it all goes as it clatters across the floor) and strides boldly to his room, noting that the light in the bathroom is on, but that there is an excessive stillness looming behind the door. (Kyuhyun.)
“What did you do?” Siwon demands as he closes the door behind him and sees Other Siwon lounging on the bed. “Didn’t I say you had to stay hidden?”
Other Siwon looks over the cover of the magazine he is reading. It’s Zhou Mi’s. (‘He understands Chinese?’ Siwon thinks wildly.) “They were home and you weren’t.” He soothingly explains, like it’s okay, “I just thought Kyuhyunnie could handle my advice, since it seems he’s much better off here than I thought. But…he’s a bit of a crybaby, you know?”
Siwon stomps over to where he is sitting, hands shaking fists by his sides. Somewhere in his subconscious he feels that ‘advice’ is a sort of sick euphemism for ‘harshly picking apart at flaws that we don’t have, right?’ And it’s scary because there is a we in between the lines and we means you and me, like some sort of alliance that he’s unknowingly made. “Don’t call him Kyuhyunnie like you know him.”
Other Siwon slides off the bed in fluidity that should be illegal and practically melts onto Siwon and it is a conundrum of too many repeating variables -
“But I do know Kyuhyunnie.” Siwon purrs, thighs bumping with thighs and palms fitting perfectly on the lines of waists and juts of hips just the way Siwon likes it. “Just. Like. You.”
It is hours before anyone dares to break the awkward silence and approach him. Henry knocks tentatively at the door and when Siwon answers he asks, “I know the dorm is a war zone right now because you were being an ass to Kyuhyun gege for no good reason, but I don’t remember you leaving? For you to, you know, come back with makeup.”
Ryeowook appears behind the younger (for support, probably, Siwon thinks) and brings up his own point, “And I heard you, um, well, it sounded like you were having a conversation. Who were you talking to? What’s up?”
Siwon looks down at his fingers with far too much intrigue and doesn’t say anything until Henry and Ryeowook eventually give up and go away, shaking their heads and whispering to each other.
-
“I think how my life is in comparison to yours,” he says, hands gesturing loosely through the air and Siwon wants to grab his wrists and pin them by his sides, erase all connections and similarities between him and the real him, “Is that where all the good things happened, the bad things happened, and where all the bad things happened the good things happened. Though that’s not entirely right, because the accident was definitely bad and it happened here too, except maybe it was the aftermath that counted instead. Yeah, that’d make sense, sort of.”
“…You aren’t making any sense.”
Siwon’s eyebrows rise theatrically, (he is doing it on purpose to grate on Siwon’s nerves and it’s working too well) “Really? Oh well, that part doesn’t matter as much as the fact that we had the same basis in the beginning, right?”
And Siwon doesn’t get it, doesn’t get it, (does, maybe, yeah, that would be just like - ) doesn’t want to get it.
-
Maybe, Siwon realizes in something that isn’t quite retrospect but definitely isn’t foretelling prediction, he should try a little harder to keep Siwon under control.
“Why are you here?” He, while pushing and awkwardly fitting the two of them into a toilet stall and hoping no one comes in to check on him (them), hisses in a demand barely concealed as a polite question - he is, after all, polite, has always been brought up to be a good, polite son.
Siwon grins back at him and he would never actually make that genuine of a sneaky expression in real life because it just doesn’t look right on his face. “Why can’t I be here?”
Siwon glances jerkily around at the bathroom, hoping the dull white tiled walls will get his too important point across, a point that shouldn’t have to be made.
(I want you to make the point and realize for yourself that you’re in over your head, is silently wafting around in the air.)
“We’re here for filming.” Siwon finally says when the point isn’t made on its own, “Don’t you get it? You just can’t be here, if you’re caught on camera or if someone finds you and there’s a mix up - it all could be way too messy.”
Siwon is leaning into and onto Siwon and is following all the right curves flawlessly, and his breath is soft as it brushes over the tip of Siwon’s nose.
“Messy,” he whispers, accenting a word that shouldn’t mean anything out of context, shouldn’t send shivers down his spine, shouldn’t make his brain stop mid-thought in the frenzy of working a pleasant way out of this whole situation (Siwon thinks that Siwon won’t let pleasantries exist unless he gets what he wants and what is that?), “Instead, why don’t we. just. be.”
(Siwon won’t admit that he already knows what it is Siwon wants.)
Siwon is on his knees, mouth moist and impossibly pink and alluring and burning hot on the front of Siwon’s pants, mouthing the outline of his erection with precision and perfection that isn’t natural, when Zhou Mi knocks politely on the door.
“Gege, are you alright? The MCs want us on set in five minutes.”
Siwon swallows thickly, hands scrabbling their way up the back of Siwon’s neck and through his hair, and he struggles to clear his throat and answer without any evident strain in his voice -
“I’ll be out in two.” Siwon calls easily, smiling up at Siwon like a cat on the prowl, and Siwon clamps his mouth shut and does not, absolutely does not, focus on how easy it is for Siwon to fool everybody and make them think it’s him.
“…Okay gege.” Zhou Mi answers, vaguely reluctant and defeated, (like he knows something is wrong) but makes his way out the bathroom nonetheless.
Siwon immediately goes back to the job at hand, unfazed. “I can get you off in one.”
Siwon groans and presses his back harder still against the stall door.
-
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hankyung asks him, frown evident and the aura of unhappiness surrounding him and his words. “You’ve been acting too weird and pissing Kyuhyun off all the time for no reason and what? What?”
Siwon blinks slowly, nibbling on the edge of his lip, because there is no straight answer. “I’m…very sorry. I’m resolving the problem, tell Kyuhyun I’m sorry.”
Hankyung looks completely unimpressed and Siwon flinches because he knows it’s not enough, so he adds, “I really am sorry. It’s not entirely under my control, I’m sorry.”
The leader scoffs and turns heel. “Apologize to Kyuhyun yourself.”
Siwon slides over his body like silk and satin that night and purrs in his ear. Siwon just pushes him off because he can’t think straight otherwise and pays no mind to the disgruntled noise he gets in return.
“What’s with you and Kyuhyun?” He asks, because that is something he just does not understand, wishes Siwon would stop picking at Kyuhyun when he just isn’t supposed to be here, tempting and sins waiting to be made, isn’t supposed to come out of the closet or talk to anyone and pretend he’s him or follow them to work like a bad dog that doesn’t learn and just, “Can’t you leave him alone?”
Siwon stares at Siwon staring at Siwon staring at Siwon.
Then, in the seemingly abrupt stretch of mere minutes, there are the endless planes of skin and aches being satisfied and relieved.
(“Your Kyuhyun is so lucky.” Siwon whispers to him, barely heard over harsh breathing and muffled gasps and moans, “He still can do what he loves. He is so so lucky. I hate that I - ”)
-
Donghae is the one who discovers the fact that there are two Siwons.
“Oh my. What. I. Wo bu. You - ni - er.” Donghae’s concludes his confusion in a regrettably very appropriate inconclusive mix of stutters of Korean and Chinese.
Siwon gulps and abandons his task of rushing Siwon out of the practice room. He’s annoyed with the whole thing by now, (annoyed probably isn’t the right word - anxious, tired of worrying about being caught, wanting and not wanting something that is very very wrong to have at the same time - yes, those are much more accurate terms to use.) gives up.
Meanwhile, Siwon stakes his claim, marks what is his, what is him, and threads his fingers with Siwon’s and stands too close on purpose. (he never really got it, the whole wrongness of it all, or at least it never seemed to bother him enough to care.) So Siwon shoves him away and feels the pang in his chest, purposely looking away to avoid seeing the look of betrayal.
Henry happens to be strolling his way into the room at a pace that Donghae deems too slow. “HENLI, COME HERE QUICK.” Donghae practically shouts and clings to him while whining when the youngest blinks wide-eyed and bewildered at the two Siwons.
“…Gege?” Henry asks in his quiet voice, made even quieter by freakish awe, and Ryeowook trails in, eyes trained on his phone as he types a text message.
“Yeah?” Ryeowook answers out of habit, not knowing who Henry is addressing, though Henry apparently doesn’t know who he is addressing either by the way he glances around helplessly at this, before looking up and dropping his phone and shrieking in surprise.
The three of them stare at Siwon and Siwon glares back at them and Siwon looks down at his feet and tries to stay uninvolved regardless of his evident involvement in the circumstances.
“…This would explain a lot.” Ryeowook whimpers faintly in Korean at the same time Donghae exclaims in haphazard Chinese, “Oh my god!” and Henry says in rapid frantic English, “I’m going to go get. Somebody. Han Geng? Yeah, Han Geng gege. Or. No, yeah.”
Siwon sighs as Siwon huffs and they share a look.
-
Kyuhyun is more than offended upon their discovery; his eyes narrow into little dark slits and his Adam’s apple is quivering as he speaks. “So why is it that he hates me, then?”
“I don’t hate you!” Siwon rebuts immediately, paling too fast and fingers gripping too tightly at the fabric of his pants for it to be a lie, and Siwon really is inclined to believe that that’s the truth, despite the obvious contradicting evidence.
“I pretty much hate you…” Kyuhyun mutters under his breath as Zhou Mi elbows him in the side.
Siwon shrinks into Siwon’s side with his mouth is a grim line and eyes pleading for forgiveness. (Siwon knows that hurts, knows Siwon didn’t expect this, even knows that, as much as Siwon has played for risks and almost exposed himself, he never actually wanted to meet them face to face like this and Siwon can see him drawing concept maps and Venn diagrams in the air, comparing his members to the ones in front of him.)
Hankyung is very lost for words. “What in the world - why didn’t you tell us? We could have helped!”
Siwon could laugh, but that would be rude. He could tell the truth, but that’s not really a choice he’s willing to make, never was in the first place. He settles for crossing his arms and smiling softly and feeding them all a half lie. “It was all very weird, so I just couldn’t.”
(because then there would be no touching, no inappropriate attraction, too much watching and fascination to get away with what they’ve been doing.)
Henry just watches, wondering and contemplating, and Donghae gives Siwon’s knee a comforting squeeze.
(and later Siwon will throw himself into Siwon’s lap in the limited privacy of their shared room and will lay there without saying a word or moving a muscle and Siwon will feel the completely raw need of too many things and will rub his back softly without offering obtrusive meaningless words that mean nothing to anyone, just the way he likes it when he’s upset, and eventually they’ll curl up together and fall asleep and the next morning -
Siwon will be gone.)
*** (unfinished part 2! commence!)
Siwon notices a certain glint in Han Geng’s eyes after they shoot the U music video. It’s that, coupled with the sudden comfort and confidence he’s been having ever since they got into China, that has Siwon nervous. A change in scenery and prominent language and security levels haven’t changed the basic personality of anyone, they really never could, Siwon would hate to think that simple things like that could have those sorts of grand effects. It’s just. (it’s just, are they really that simple of things? they seem to matter and effect after all.)
Well, Siwon doesn’t entirely know how to deal with this Han Geng when he’s fallen in love and learned how to deal with Hankyung. He’s willing to learn and love around the little differences, but it’s difficult. He doesn’t know what his point is or if he’s seeing them as two different people - two different names and two different labels to make up two different human beings - when he shouldn’t. If he starts with one person that he might as well continue it with them all (and that would make Super Junior have eighteen and-slash-or twenty members instead of thirteen and-slash-or fifteen).
All in all, Siwon doesn’t want to fall out of love for a stupid reason.
-
That glint Siwon’s noticed translates into Han Geng wanting them to try out something different; in front of a mirror and Siwon’s not entirely comfortable with it.
“Um.” He says eyes screwing shut. “Um um um.”
He feels Han Geng’s hand light on the small of his back and Han Geng’s mouth press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Open your eyes, silly. It’s stupid otherwise.”
Siwon peeks through one eye and Han Geng grins, guides him in (gasps quietly as Siwon groans softly at the feel of being encased by warm warm tightness) and then Han Geng leans forward with a moan, hands grabbing onto the mirror edges and breathe fogging up the glass a bit.
“Uhn.” Han Geng grunts, pushing back on Siwon, and Siwon peeks a little more, tilts his head, and - oh.
Despite his earlier reprimanding, Han Geng’s eyes slide shut as Siwon presses him against the mirror and thrusts, too concentrated on breathing and hanging on as his grinds himself against the slick surface of the mirror to care about his own set rules. Siwon is entranced, wide eyed and staring, cock sliding easily in and out and in and out, erection growing as his gaze is locked on himself fucking Han Geng, him him him - fucking Han Geng.
Han Geng sighs as he shudders and comes and Siwon is right behind him (except it’s more to the reflection of him bringing someone to an orgasm than anything else and this is so wrong…)
“See?” Han Geng smiles and says, patting Siwon on the hip, “See, that wasn’t so bad.”
Siwon gulps and weakly smiles back at him and he can tell that something’s just been released, some sort of addiction has started right now, and. “Yeah, it wasn’t so bad.”
-
“You want to…” Han Geng trails off and wiggles his eyebrows insinuatingly. Just in case Siwon’s too sleepy to make connections, he pats the bed to enforce his point.
“Ah,” Siwon starts a bit, surprised, and glances between the letter he’s writing to his parents and Han Geng. “Ah…sure.”
But there’s a problem.
“Siwon.” Han Geng mumbles, frowning, “Siwon, really.”
Siwon can’t stop glancing over to where his barely started letter is and thinking that he needs to finish it up and postmark it by tomorrow afternoon and he hopes that Han Geng thinks that this preoccupied fixation is the reason he’s still soft.
(and not because he’s just not feeling it right now, that the mood’s all wrong and.)
Siwon tries, really does, lines them up all right and everything, but Han Geng squirms a bit and his flaccid cock slides right back out and this is frustrating.
“Never mind.” Han Geng sighs, “Just, forget it, geez.”
***
I call it ‘yoochun is a creepy pedo at your kids’ school so you’d better watch out!’.
He is standing on the edge looking down down down -
“Do you know,” Yoochun whispers, fingers light over his thighs, “Do you know how far I’m going for you? There are serious consequences for these kinds of things.”
“Yeah.” Changmin murmurs right back, pulling Yoochun down on top of him, not caring how the papers that Yoochun had been grading mere seconds before are now crinkling underneath them. “But don’t you know we’ll work something out, somehow?”
“You are such a child.” Yoochun says, voice deep and dark and guilty.
But they press onward, as always, because the sinful temptation and addiction is a naughty pleasure they can’t deny (not yet).
- Changmin thinks he understands now. Of course, he agrees, he is such a child, terribly upset and furious parents and law suits and Yoochun getting fired and a messy school transfer being what it took to show him just how wrong it all really was.
Well, he thinks, uniform tie fluttering in the icy wind, Alright then. If this is how it’ll be, then fine.
And really, he’s about to jump off the edge of the bridge, (because - because - because he wants to prove a point - because he wants to do everything his way - because he wants to believe that there is no life without Yoochun - because he is a child - because he acknowledges that he is a child) when suddenly, there is Yoochun, out of breath, sweating, winter coat crooked on his shoulders and eyes burning with anger and worry and -
There is the smack as Yoochun slaps him across the cheek and pulls him over the guardrail.
“You idiot.” He hisses, pulling Changmin into a hug and shaking him against his chest. “You little brat.”
Changmin shudders in his embrace and grabs, needy, at Yoochun. “No good?” He questions, voice trembling and small and scared.
Yoochun laughs, a hollow sound rattling through the frigid air. “No, no good at all. I wouldn’t want that. And your parents would kill me.”
“Oh.”
Changmin buries his face in Yoochun’s coat and breathes in the scent of cigarettes and cologne mingling together. “…It’ll all work out, right?”
Yoochun sighs. “Maybe. Probably not - no use lying to you or anything by now. More than likely not, really.”
It will work out perfectly with a happy ending. Changmin doesn’t want to believe anything other than that. “…I’m still such a child, aren’t I?”
“Yes.”
And they huddle in the cold together for just a few minutes more.
***
so there was this fic called time limit and in it ryeowook died. I thought it was awesome and then wanted more drama and started writing my own version to fulfill my needs. then mikkyboom wrote everything I ever wanted in a death!fic, so I was appeased and stopped writing it at the pace of a snail. that's what this is.
“Are you sure, doctor?”
The short man behind the desk doesn’t say a word except nod his head once in confirmation. Ryeowook sighs, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. This is going to be hard.
“There is a way we can make your life span last a year instead of three months, Ryeowook-sshi,” the doctor mumbles but Ryeowook shakes his head no.
“I’ll take the three months.”
-
Sitting at the dinner table and trying to figure out when to break the news is pretty much the hardest thing Ryeowook has ever had to do in his whole entire life. (Ha, he thinks to laugh, ha ha is this what one calls bitter bitter, painful, irony?)
His fingers and toes are becoming freezing cold, as they always do when he’s too nervous to get jittery or feel his heart thump traitorously painful in his rib cage, when he sets down his utensils with utmost finality and clears his throat. “Um. I have something to say.” And as everyone looks at him, expressions ranging from perplexed to innocently curious, Ryeowook searches for the right words and realizes that, even after the long car ride home of fogging up the backseat window with his breath and thoughts, he has nothing.
Eeteuk makes things a little more something - harder, easier, the two meanings are warped and twisted and opposite and yet the same in this situation - by letting out a little gasp of ‘oh’ and smiling away and saying, “Oh that’s right, you finally went to the doctor today. How’d that go?”
Ryeowook finds it in him to smile like nothing’s wrong. Maybe he’ll have a cruel sense of humor by the end of it all. “Oh. Fine. They told me I’m going to die in three months.”
The real silence is immediate and sharp.
“…What?” Someone manages out, he doesn’t really know who, and Ryeowook feels his shoulders slump (and no, he’s trying to be a little bit stronger than this).
“Dead. I’m going to be dead in three months.” He repeats, eyes locked on his plate because he doesn’t want to see their faces. “The doctor told me that I’m dying. In. Three. Months.” He always used to always hate it when people would slow down their words deliberately, all puncturing and insulting, like it would help him understand the meaning of the statement. But now he understands that it is mostly always to make the speaker feel better and like they did all they could to make it easier.
Please make this so much easier, he prays silently as he counts seconds ticking past.
The silence drones on before Eunhyuk hiccups in an attempt to keep his cool. “…This is a hidden camera, right?”
Ryeowook sucks in a gulp of air and presses his fingers hard against his lips, trying to kiss warmth and feeling back into them, trying to kiss life back into the tips of his veins and work it backwards like clockwork up through his arms and into his heart.
“No,” he finally whispers, hunching over and wilting into himself, “No it’s really not.”
The eerie silence is back and no one knows what to say or what to do. It’s very surreal, Ryeowook thinks.
Heechul suddenly and abruptly stands, hands gripping on the edges of the table. “Bullshit. Total bullshit. Who helped you with this? It isn’t funny.”
Kangin makes a funny roaring sound in the back of his throat and slams his hands down on the tabletop. “Shut the fuck up, he’s serious!”
“Calm down, everybody calm the fuck down!” Sungmin shouts, like it’s doing anything for anybody, and Kyuhyun fixes him with a glare. “You’re not helping.” He says, and Heechul throws a slice of bread across the table at him. “Shut up! All of you, shut up, this isn’t - ”
“Oh my god.” Yehsung kind of whispers, except it’s very loud, “Oh my god.”
Everyone kind of just starts slipping at this point (“Shut up!” Heechul screeches, “Shut up shut up shut up!” “Hyung,” Kibum hisses, “Hyung stop it.” “What do you know? You don’t get it, you - ”) and the disarray is contagious, even with Eeteuk, frazzled and tears threatening to slip down his cheeks, standing on a chair and waving his arms to try and get a grip on the situation.
Ryeowook, in the midst of all the yelling, all the strung tight nerves and denial, faints, crumples to the floor and fading into the background in that quiet way of his.
and they're almost chronological but actually not really put in any specific order, so, yeah. you can still tell which things were written later on than others because the writing style has changed i.e. improved(?). and of course there are brief summaries/explanations/author's notes preluding each clump of fic.
enjoy.
-
I was going to experiment with first person because I don't do first person fics well. I didn’t have any sort of idea where I was going with it and it shows. there was going to be kihae. I did not make it that far.
I’m wet. The weather changes too quickly in the summer and it’s started raining all of a sudden and I’m wet.
“Stupid.” Kibum says, throwing me a towel and rifling through his drawers for extra clothes, “I should have left you out there, you could have walked home, it’s just down the street.”
“I’m wet.” I tell him, sitting down on his bed, “I’m really wet, Kibum.”
“Get off my bed.” His voice is muffled from his head being halfway in the drawer and Kibum knows me really too well.
-
The sky stretches on forever and ever in the dry spells. Just going on and on and on and the sun is blaring down on my face, my neck, my skin and it leaves it’s mark, making me all dark and sun kissed.
***
inspired by ‘night of the hunter’ which is an old movie that has nothing to do with cars but everything to do with running away from crazy, women-hating, zealous preachers who killed your mother. once again, I didn’t make it far enough to show where the plot was going LOL.
When Changmin wakes up, they are still in the car, going to - where, nowhere? - his breath fogging up the glass window as his cheek is pressed, sticky, against it. The road is flat and long and there’s no one or thing in sight other than open fields of grass and weeds to the left and right and front and back and every direction imaginable of them.
“Hyung.” Changmin rasps, throat dry with dust; the older has all the other windows down.
Jaejoong just keeps driving, eyes locked ahead of him. Changmin shifts, groans a little at the stiffness in his limbs, and reaches for the sleeve of Jaejoong’s shirt.
“Hyung,” he whispers, “Hyung, are we there yet?”
Jaejoong yawns and his eyes droop for a second, but then he catches himself and his back goes ramrod straight. “No. Just be quiet and enjoy the ride, Min.”
Well this ride has been going on for too many consecutive days for him to enjoy it and he is tired and hungry and his back hurts from sleeping curled up in the corner on the car, longs arms and legs pressed awkwardly against the door’s armrest. “Jae, where are we going?”
His lips press together in a grim straight line and he rolls down Changmin’s window now that it is no longer in use as a makeshift pillow. “Nowhere. Well. Just. We had to go, don’t get mad at me, please.”
Changmin sighs at the non-answer and knows that he won’t get anything more coherent than that, so settles his head against the door just so and watches the clouds float lazily past in the sky. “Are we ever going to get to wherever there is?”
“…Just enjoy the ride, Min.”
***
the ss501 fanworks comm proposed a school boy theme contest or - or something - and I started writing one going all ‘:DDD OH OH I AM SO AWESOME.’ I think I got distracted by food and didn’t feel like picking it back up after returning from stuffing my face. I think it’s funny, I don’t know about you.
Hyungjoon is not ready to be saddled with trying to mentor an upperclassmen who’s waited his senior year to realize that oh shit, I don’t have all my credits yet and uh, oops, I failed that standardized writing test last year and this is all very much pertinent for my graduating and whatnot. No really, he’s not and apparently that doesn’t matter because here he is, with a lapful of slutty senior who is discreetly (but really totally not) playing with his uniform tie and trying to seduce him.
“Babyyyyy~~~” He trills and Hyungjoon has to work really hard to remember the basics - that this senior’s name is Jungmin (not to be confused with Gooey Sex On Legs, mind you), that he is here for strictly educational reasons, and also how that tricky concept of breathing works.
***
HA HA, PRIME EXAMPLE THAT I DON’T NEED TO WRITE AFTER READING ‘KITE RUNNER’, MY VAGUE!FICS ARE NOT GOOD, NOT AT ALL. ALSO, THERE IS SEX, CAN’T YOU TELL?
He’s taking so much time, Changmin thinks, face pressed to the curve of his neck. So so so much time. Too much time. Stop. (stop and go, keep going, don’t stop.)
And in, and out, and yours, and mine. “I.” He tries to say, “I, I, I.”
“No, shut up, just,” Changmin intercepts the hidden feelings in midair, “We don’t have - they’ll be here any day now. Any second now.” It’s all seizing, seizing and ripping to shreds, tough love they call it, but really it’s taking and hurting and stabs straight to the heart, slowly killing and slowly dying.
There’s a grunt, out of exertion, and Changmin feels it, quivers, tightens down there, pushes back and just barely manages to catch the moan in his throat.
The other doesn’t even try to quiet himself. “Uh,” is all he says, “uhn, umh - ”
It’s irking, didn’t always use to be to Changmin, but it really truly is now; “Shut up.”
***
I do not know why I started writing this. I was having an affinity for car settings at the time.
Yehsung is stuck in a traffic jam one particular evening, another day of work and papers and computer screens flying by and another day of life he’ll never get back is gone just like that - what is he doing with himself? he wanted to sing and to do everything under the sun - when he first meets Kyuhyun.
Yehsung remembers it exactly. Because no one is moving and the cars are all lined up in compact little rows of flashing lights and would other people please stop honking like it’s going to accomplish any damn thing? Yehsung is having one of those days, where nothing feels like it’s going right but nothing has actually gone horribly terribly wrong so it’s not like he can complain and he’s just tired, wonders if he’ll waste away with nothing left for anyone to remember him by, with no one left to even remember or forget or plain old not-remember him. (stop trying to be a fucking poet, you’re getting on my nerves, Heechul would say, but he’s too busy off in some foreign country doing whatever the fuck he wants with Yunho and Yehsung hates that.)
Well, one moment there’s just the glimmer of sunlight reflecting off of side panels as far as the eye can see and then the next Yehsung sees Kyuhyun (except he doesn’t know that yet, doesn’t know a thing about Kyuhyun, not his name not his story not anything,) weaving his way between cars and running like his life depends on it.
Yehsung feels like it’s a pitying sight to see - frantic movement amidst standstill traffic. (and who says he’s not a poet? his lyrics are works of art, he thinks.)
Maybe Yehsung is the only one who makes eye contact with him, because Kyuhyun’s eyes lock onto Yehsung and he makes for the passenger door. Before Yehsung can say a word or comprehend what’s happening, Kyuhyun slams the door shut behind him and curls up in the seat, eyes squeezed closed and panting against the door handle, fogging up the metal.
Yehsung just blinks and is very very confused. “…Um. Excuse me.”
Yehsung almost withers under the sharp look he gets in return. But he’s used to much much worse, so he stays steady and, in the firmest voice he can muster, asks, “Can I help you?”
Kyuhyun studies Yehsung with piercing dark eyes, his back stiff and as straight as it can be and every fiber of his being is strung so tight that the quivering of anxiousness can be felt across the car.
“…Just drive.”
So that’s what Yehsung does. Why shouldn’t he, after all?
***
I think guns are bad, let me show you by shooting jaejoong and junsu in a fic. (OH AND 888 WORDS, IS THAT AWESOME OR WHAT?)
It’s what they do every year, twice a year. Nothing surprising, nothing new, everyone knows beforehand when and where and why they’re meeting so - is that why?
bang.
The day starts off normally, everyone’s not even awake enough to not function on an autopilot mode and the camera is just catalyst enough to spur comments and the usual media personas from the loud few. Some of those with busy busy schedules can’t even manage that - Heechul, for one, retreats to a dark rec room and curls up on the couch for a power nap until he can string together words with enough coherency.
But even through the pounding of a headache, a migraine from not enough sleep and not enough food and too much caffeine, Junsu is excited because they’re back home long enough to do SM Town, long enough to eat Korean food made in Korea, long enough to visit homes and families and old friends who’ve steadily been growing distant.
Though, he is disappointed to find that Hyukjae isn’t around yet, as Super Junior is only ten twenty-sixths complete right now because it is too early to have gathered all of the members in one place yet. (and the lack sleep is affecting his math, quite obviously, because only six out of thirteen of Super Junior isn’t here and is that actually ten twenty-sixths? Six minus thirteen is seven, so seven over thirteen, multiply by two over two…)
He forgets about all that as Changmin leans on him and Yoochun leans on him and Jaejoong on him and Yunho has to go talk to PR for some reason none of them care enough about to really hear and remember, so he doesn’t get to lean on anyone.
By late morning, Junsu finds Hyukjae and they are supposed to hug, joke, catch up and all sorts of things. But Hyukjae is whisked away for hair and makeup and Junsu is whisked away for an interview and that is that.
MV shooting is over with, it’s the afternoon, so it’s time for photoshoots, everything clockwork and a familiar pattern. This is when Junsu sees her first.
He thinks nothing of her; she blends in and looks like she belongs, like she knows what’s going on and where she’s going. In fact, the only thought going through his head as he glances past her is, It’s so hot today.
It just goes to show that these kinds of things aren’t always blatant and expected beforehand, not if it doesn’t have to be, not if there are no signs.
bang.
It’s DBSK’s turn to take pictures with The Grace and with Super Junior, so they all file onto the assigned set and listen for instruction.
It’s all waiting and sweating and squinting in the relentless sun, rambling to the drifting camera like they’re supposed to and Junsu sshi, stand here next to Eunhyuk sshi and Sunday sshi, Changmin sshi, smile at Kibum sshi, Can the Leaders stand together, Yoochun sshi huddle closer to Kangin sshi, Stephanie sshi smile at Hankyung sshi alright thank you, Jaejoong sshi drape your arm around Yunho sshi please. so on, so forth, they are just products waiting for instruction right now.
And Junsu sees the girl again, walking past nonchalantly yet looking at them like they are the centers of the universe, and he frowns, head tilting and tongue running over the bottom row of his teeth, because it is odd in the way it is so ordinary.
Hyukjae notices his discomfort, bumping hips with his playfully and teasing. (What’s wrong? Can’t handle being next to such a great and superior person like me in the picture? I know it sucks for you, but…)
Junsu opens his mouth to retort, to tease and joke around as well, but then he sees the flashing (so unlike cameras they are all accustomed to, so unlike anything he’s ever seen in real life) and hears the click and his voice catches in his throat and without thinking he breaks away from Hyukjae and runs as fast he can to -
bang.
There are screams and yells as Junsu pushes Jaejoong out the way and he thinks he’ll be safe -
bang.
He falls to the ground, a burning sensation ripping through his skin, through his side, blood a hot thick thing, right? He can’t even feel it right now, not the wetness dripping out and over and down his skin.
And he sees Jaejoong’s feet falter right in front of his face and then he too is on the ground, far too still, shirt bloody tatters on his remnants of a chest.
Junsu tries to reach out and touch him and ask if he’s okay, (he pushed Jaejoong out the way, he should be okay, right?) but everything is moving in a stop-go flow of double time and slow motion in a deadly mixture and even his fingers are too heavy to move.
(He can’t feel them either.)
There are now hands on him, voices around him, Junsu, hey, can you hear me? You’ll both be okay, don’t worry, hold on, we’ve got you.
And later, in the hospital, Junsu will be okay and he will find out that Jaejoong will be very much not okay and the ringing in his ears from the gunshot will not go away.
bang.
***
because where are all the pregnancies and miscarriages and abortions in this fandom, people? (annnnd, this fic sucks. gratuitous! angst! wtf!) also, 2222 words! how swell.
A small hand gripped tightly in his, slick with sweat -
“You’re going to make it, he whispers, voice a barely there or believed thing, almost silent and just to himself. “You’re going to be fine and it’s all going to be fine.” -
But (and the air is thick with, with something, panic is it? and anxiousness and dread and it’s not all going to be okay.) what’s a dream isn’t reality and with her screams fading into whimpers and then into a pained and weary silence and the doctors murmuring among themselves, he knows that isn’t quite true.
*
He comes home late that night and goes straight to bed and wraps himself up in his sheets, life all surreal and too gleaming for the moment, he wants to mourn with someone -
But it’s a secret, remember? He remembers.
“You okay?” Hankyung peeks his head in the darkened doorway, remnants of laughter and a not so long ago smile on his face and traces in his voice.
He nods and keeps his back to the door and the other boy. “I’m…just tired today, hyung.” He whispers and tries to curl into himself.
He can hear the stretching return of Hankyung’s smile, relieved and happy, from all the way across the room. “Okay, I’ll tell everyone else to keep it down - not that they’ll listen, really.”
The sounds of Hankyung’s socked footsteps growing distance -
Oppa, you’re so silly -
And he grinned as they made their way down the hallway, his arms wrapped stubbornly around her, the clumsy uneven ‘thump thump thump’s of their tangled feet, today was a rare off day and he was going to act as silly as he wanted because of it, because he was spending it right where he wanted to -
He can taste copper at the back of his throat.
*
Days (of little sleep, of little substance, of little thinking and talking and being) pass, and now he sips halfheartedly at a cup of orange juice before remembering that the sourness in his mouth that’s already there doesn’t need any assistance from the tang of refrigerated citrus. He scarcely doesn’t gag as he pushes the glass away from him and watches his bandmates scuffle hastily, energetically, around him to get ready for their day of busy schedules.
All he really can do lately is hope that the wilt to his demeanor isn’t obvious. He’s trying his best to not be blatant about it, but the weight on his soul isn’t easy to pretend doesn’t exist.
He does notice that Eeteuk eyes him oddly as they board into different cars, on their merry way to the studio for an ‘as many of the group as they can manage to assemble today’ studio practice. He gives their leader a smile as he slips into car number three, and sits, apprehensive for no reason, on the edge of the upholstery, and shudders at the coldness passing through him.
He convinces himself that he must be coming down with something, a chill maybe.
*
The little bit of orange juice rolling in his stomach is his downfall once he finally checks his most recent texts -
its official, death certificate and everything, funeral next week, im okay, how bout u?
Simple, straightforward, and.
And he rushes to the bathroom, past a chatting Ryeowook, Hyukjae, and Shindong in the hallway who have arrived a good twenty minutes in the first car before those of them filing in just now, and manages to vomit in the toilet.
He can feel the cold sweat on his face, on the back of his neck, rolling down the bumpy line of his spine, as he hears the echo of knocks on the door and are you alright in there? hyukjae went to get a manager, just in case. in the odd mix of the light and deep voices of Ryeowook and Shindong respectively, it’s as though it’s so so far away, and remembers the feel of the small trembling hand in his, deserving and hoping for something more than what was offered.
*
i cant afford to go, he texts back later that afternoon, tucked snugly in his bed with a stomach full of warm broth and Pepto Bismal, busy schedule, someone would notice and if fans follow me or media finds out or there are pictures your family would be ruined.
He wipes away traces of the tears that had been rolling up and over and down his cheeks, leaving dried trails of evidence of their presence, and swallows thickly, heart a lump in his throat burning away at its lining until it flops out onto his chest, beating and bloody and telltale.
You have a vivid imagination sometimes, she told him, antis wouldn’t really try to kill me if they knew.
He shook his head solemnly, They would. Besides, I’m supposed to be on a vow of chastity before marriage, I promised my parents.
She trailed pale limber fingers over the front of her pretty little dress, flattening the wrinkles out, lips pursuing into a frown. I’d really like to be married already, she admitted somberly, but you…
Can’t, he said apologetically, I really can’t marry you yet, but I promise, I love you, I will when the time is right and everyone can handle it.
How are promises for the future going to make the present okay? She questioned in a small, frightened voice, I’m scared, this isn’t what I had planned for my life.
I’m sorry. He told her, nothing of any amount at the time, nothing that would amount to much in the future, either.
He wheezes as an invisible hand - no wait, that’s his own hand, ice cold flesh with a mind of its own - ghosts over his throat and squeezes so tightly he can’t breathe.
ill send flowers. He messages, feeling so horrible because this is all. his. fault. lots and lots of them and your favorite okay?
*
I think, if this is how it’s going to be, she whispered to him, leaning heavily onto his chest and face buried in the crook of his neck, then I should just get rid of it.
No, he said, determined and, No, you can’t do that, I want it.
But I’m paying for it. She whimpered. I’m the only one paying for all of it and it’s not fair.
*
Heechul walks in on him shivering fiercely under the covers, eyes glazed (only with unshed tears, really, they just don’t know that he can’t bear to let himself cry but the tears are still there, waiting) and face slack. In a rare moment of maternal instincts, Heechul brushes a hand over his forehead to feel and he leans in to the touch, breath a shallow fast rhythm on Heechul’s wrist -
“Jungsu,” the older calls out, fingers casually threading themselves into his bangs and massaging his scalp, “The kid’s even sicker.”
He shivers again, pulls away from the gentle skimming of tips of fingers, (too soft, too affectionate, he can imagine too much in it) and buries himself in his cocoon of blankets, seeking something not there and willing himself to fall asleep.
And they leave him alone for a while.
When he wakes up, he can pick up the soft voices from somewhere above his bed.
“He can’t sleep this off, whatever it is.” Heechul mumbles.
“Maybe he can, it could be just a twenty four or forty eight hour bug or something.” Kangin offers hopefully. “We can wait to see if he gets better or worse?”
He’d maybe snort at Kangin’s tone, that is, if he didn’t feel so clammy and dizzy and there’s something building up inside his body that won’t let him move right now.
Eeteuk fusses and the creaks of the floor through the rug signals that he’s pacing. “What if he gets worse? This seems really nasty and if he’s got it, then everyone else…”
“Ew.” Heechul wastes no time in saying, “Let’s quarantine him, then. Ew. I don’t want this. Ew.”
He parts his lips, dry and sandpapery, and lets out a wispy sigh. The voices and movement stop, as if waiting for him to do something. But the only part of him that’s doing anything is his mind. It’s doing that thing it’s been doing lately, replaying things he really doesn’t need to see, absorbing the wrong words and grasping for whatever’s in it’s reach.
Ew, he said, mind frozen with a million emotions, eyes stuck, watching the liquid pooling onto the floor. Ew.
What are you waiting for? she gasped out, hand on her stomach, knuckles white as she clutched at the fabric of her shirt. What are you waiting for? We need to - I have to - it hurts -
And with a groan she crumpled to the floor.
He feels all the muscles in his body tense up and the building feeling overcomes him.
He rolls over with a moan and leans over the side of the bed, dry heaving violently. Over the roaring in his ears, he can distinctly hear the other three scramble into action, and all he really is aware of is someone dragging a trashcan over by the bedside and rubbing him on the back.
“Hey, hey, don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” Heechul murmurs, panic making his voice shriller, words cramming together messily.
He only sucks in gulps of air, not hearing and stomach still convulsing up the nothing it contains.
*
He’s ready to leave the hospital the next morning, after being hooked up to an IV and being pumped full of fluids and a sedative or two to help him get some dreamless sleep. Bodily wise, he feels refreshed, better, good to go.
“Maybe you should stay another day to make sure you’re okay?” Yehsung insists with a subdued expression. “Anyway, I just stopped by, I’ve got to go, but I’ll call Jungsu and Ryeowook and tell them you’re okay, okay?”
This is basically the gist of four more visits; Heechul, Hyukjae, Sungmin, and Hankyung.
Despite his bandmates’ worries, he gets official permission for release off the premises anyway and uses his unexpected morning off to go shopping for flowers at nearby delivery places.
He buys and buys and buys, flower after flower after bouquet after flower bouquet, until his wallet is empty and his feet hurt from walking to each and every store.
*
The day of the funeral comes pretty quickly. He’s not ready for it, but that’s not even important, truthfully, because on The Day Of he only finds himself squashed in a van full of managers and between a hair stylist or two rather than where he really should be.
As they reach their destination and he stumbles out the door, he’s already wildly grabbing for his cell phone and running off to find a place where he can get a little bit of privacy.
details? he texts, crouching under a stairwell.
it’s beautiful and sad. he gets in return.
im so so sorry. he sends back, metal of the guard railing’s bars freezing and steely on his cheek. But honestly, he’s been sending her that message hundreds and hundreds of times every day and he’s afraid it’s starting to lose its meaning on a little LCD screen and not in the spoken words he can’t get to her.
i know. is what his simple response is. but it’s okay, I understand.
The smile to himself is bitter and sharp and disbelieving. did you get the flowers?
i did.
But he feels that is still not enough.
*
im so so sorry. He texts during a water break and it aggravates him that they can’t even talk and hear each other’s voice because their lives are going in two different directions now.
“I’m so so sorry.” he whispers to himself as he feels as though he is being broken by an unseen force. It’s one of those days that feel too unreal and like he’s going to lose his mind if he trips and loses his balance.
Because buried not-so-deep inside of him are tangles of unrest and something waiting to get out.
*
When he gets the chance, and he doesn’t know when it is by exact date or how long it’s been, because he never was counting in the first place, (but truthfully he’d guess a month. He’s still not allowed to see or talk to her because her family is upset over it all and his family still doesn’t know a thing about it and he isn’t sure if he’ll ever tell them and maybe the two of them won’t get married after all and maybe that’s okay. Maybe, he thinks, maybe this is one of those things that maturity would be able to bring them closer together but, in their youth, it just drives them apart. And maybe that’s okay.) he buys a little bunch of flowers and visits the graveyard.
And, finally, there’s a semblance of peace (momentary or not, he doesn’t know and how long does peace last in everyday life anyway?) when he places that little bouquet, all the soft yellows and oranges and pinks on tiny fluttering petals, all for promises (if you had lived, I’d have given you everything, I would have loved you more than anything.) he can’t make, down on the tombstone.
***
oh yeah, so mars_elegies asked me for shi/shi a million years ago when the sujum u mv first came out and I agreed to do it then proceeded to take forever to write. SHE DOESN'T EVEN REMEMBER I OWE HER FIC. I don't know if I’ll keep at it because the second half of it involves siwon and mirrors and it’s supposed to get really sexy but I’m being lazy. the first half isn't even that good. *whines*
Siwon counts his blessings and prays to God every morning, every night, and before mealtimes, like a good little boy.
So he isn’t sure if finding himself, Siwon, (but he’s Siwon, he’s him) by way of flopping onto his bed and the other being under the covers is a good thing. Maybe the fact that he is alone and has time enough to draw a blank before reaction kicks in as a sharp metallic shock in the back of his throat is the only god sent miracle in this situation.
He, him, himself? Well, this intruder in his bed, smiles up at him (devilish and wicked, like he knows something he shouldn’t, like he’s not supposed to be here and chose to come along to where he ought not go in spite of that) and reaches up to stroke the curve of Siwon’s jaw and right on down his chin - enticingly. Sexy. Like an invitation for. Something.
He barely has time to get over his astonishment, register the sound of footsteps coming down the hall and towards the room, and pullup-shove Other Siwon out the bed and into the closet all as one flowing panicky motion, before Hankyung comes in to collapse on his own bed and mumble out a tired, garbled Chinese-Korean mix of, “Goodnight and sleep tight, Shi Yuan. Schedule at six tomorrow.”
Siwon flashes Hankyung a smile, wasted, maybe, as Hankyung’s eyes are closed (and he is breathing steady steady slow in out in out calm calm calm in attempt to lull himself to sleep already) and presses his back to the closet door. It shudders with the force of someone wanting to get out, someone needing to get out, but Siwon knows he doesn’t have the strength to break down a door, so the him in the closet must not either.
-
“You absolutely cannot come out of the closet.” Siwon tells him.
Other Siwon blinks at him and his fingers trace over the buttons on his shirt. “I have needs. I don’t want to stay in a closet all day every day for the rest of your life.”
Siwon’s mouth forms an ‘o’ in surprise and then feels bad for a moment. He’s right, it’s cruel to force someone to live in that cramped of a space, even - or is it especially? - if it is himself in a way.
“Well…” Siwon slowly concedes to Other Siwon’s will, “I guess as long as no one’s here and no one sees you…but you can’t go outside the apartment. Ever.”
The edges of Siwon’s eyes crinkle as he smiles almost too wide for his face, sparkling teeth with just the right combination of cute cute charm, and Siwon speculates if that’s really how he looks when he’s too happy for words. (it’s no wonder he can slay fangirls with a single look, if that’s how it is, and then his thoughts stop and he rewinds, looks back, and pretends it didn’t happen.)
“I have…needs - ” Other Siwon trails off and stops abruptly at the same time, hand flat and warm against Siwon’s chest.
Siwon’s heart does a funny jolt flip, beats double time, and -
He pulls away. “You must absolutely stay in the closet while anyone is in the apartment.”
-
When Siwon comes in later than the other members one night, bag of complimentary makeup samples in his hand (he’s planning on distributing them amongst the others - Ryeowook seems particularly fond of them lately and maybe Hankyung will want some too) he sees;
Hankyung watching television in silence with a rigid back and set shoulders and painful concentration, Donghae staring absently mindedly at a spot on the wall with a limp arm flung over their new leader’s shoulders, Henry curled up at the end of the couch with his laptop and typing away diligently, and Zhou Mi and Ryeowook wrapped around each other on the floor by Donghae’s feet, not talking (and Zhou Mi’s not smiling and he always is).
And Kyuhyun isn’t in the living room or the adjacent kitchen.
And none of them spare a glance in his direction, the ignoring steely and cold and very deliberate.
Siwon knows what this means - already he knows exactly what this means and is that sad? No, it is him but not him, so of course he’d know. Of course.
He drops his bag (thunk it all goes as it clatters across the floor) and strides boldly to his room, noting that the light in the bathroom is on, but that there is an excessive stillness looming behind the door. (Kyuhyun.)
“What did you do?” Siwon demands as he closes the door behind him and sees Other Siwon lounging on the bed. “Didn’t I say you had to stay hidden?”
Other Siwon looks over the cover of the magazine he is reading. It’s Zhou Mi’s. (‘He understands Chinese?’ Siwon thinks wildly.) “They were home and you weren’t.” He soothingly explains, like it’s okay, “I just thought Kyuhyunnie could handle my advice, since it seems he’s much better off here than I thought. But…he’s a bit of a crybaby, you know?”
Siwon stomps over to where he is sitting, hands shaking fists by his sides. Somewhere in his subconscious he feels that ‘advice’ is a sort of sick euphemism for ‘harshly picking apart at flaws that we don’t have, right?’ And it’s scary because there is a we in between the lines and we means you and me, like some sort of alliance that he’s unknowingly made. “Don’t call him Kyuhyunnie like you know him.”
Other Siwon slides off the bed in fluidity that should be illegal and practically melts onto Siwon and it is a conundrum of too many repeating variables -
“But I do know Kyuhyunnie.” Siwon purrs, thighs bumping with thighs and palms fitting perfectly on the lines of waists and juts of hips just the way Siwon likes it. “Just. Like. You.”
It is hours before anyone dares to break the awkward silence and approach him. Henry knocks tentatively at the door and when Siwon answers he asks, “I know the dorm is a war zone right now because you were being an ass to Kyuhyun gege for no good reason, but I don’t remember you leaving? For you to, you know, come back with makeup.”
Ryeowook appears behind the younger (for support, probably, Siwon thinks) and brings up his own point, “And I heard you, um, well, it sounded like you were having a conversation. Who were you talking to? What’s up?”
Siwon looks down at his fingers with far too much intrigue and doesn’t say anything until Henry and Ryeowook eventually give up and go away, shaking their heads and whispering to each other.
-
“I think how my life is in comparison to yours,” he says, hands gesturing loosely through the air and Siwon wants to grab his wrists and pin them by his sides, erase all connections and similarities between him and the real him, “Is that where all the good things happened, the bad things happened, and where all the bad things happened the good things happened. Though that’s not entirely right, because the accident was definitely bad and it happened here too, except maybe it was the aftermath that counted instead. Yeah, that’d make sense, sort of.”
“…You aren’t making any sense.”
Siwon’s eyebrows rise theatrically, (he is doing it on purpose to grate on Siwon’s nerves and it’s working too well) “Really? Oh well, that part doesn’t matter as much as the fact that we had the same basis in the beginning, right?”
And Siwon doesn’t get it, doesn’t get it, (does, maybe, yeah, that would be just like - ) doesn’t want to get it.
-
Maybe, Siwon realizes in something that isn’t quite retrospect but definitely isn’t foretelling prediction, he should try a little harder to keep Siwon under control.
“Why are you here?” He, while pushing and awkwardly fitting the two of them into a toilet stall and hoping no one comes in to check on him (them), hisses in a demand barely concealed as a polite question - he is, after all, polite, has always been brought up to be a good, polite son.
Siwon grins back at him and he would never actually make that genuine of a sneaky expression in real life because it just doesn’t look right on his face. “Why can’t I be here?”
Siwon glances jerkily around at the bathroom, hoping the dull white tiled walls will get his too important point across, a point that shouldn’t have to be made.
(I want you to make the point and realize for yourself that you’re in over your head, is silently wafting around in the air.)
“We’re here for filming.” Siwon finally says when the point isn’t made on its own, “Don’t you get it? You just can’t be here, if you’re caught on camera or if someone finds you and there’s a mix up - it all could be way too messy.”
Siwon is leaning into and onto Siwon and is following all the right curves flawlessly, and his breath is soft as it brushes over the tip of Siwon’s nose.
“Messy,” he whispers, accenting a word that shouldn’t mean anything out of context, shouldn’t send shivers down his spine, shouldn’t make his brain stop mid-thought in the frenzy of working a pleasant way out of this whole situation (Siwon thinks that Siwon won’t let pleasantries exist unless he gets what he wants and what is that?), “Instead, why don’t we. just. be.”
(Siwon won’t admit that he already knows what it is Siwon wants.)
Siwon is on his knees, mouth moist and impossibly pink and alluring and burning hot on the front of Siwon’s pants, mouthing the outline of his erection with precision and perfection that isn’t natural, when Zhou Mi knocks politely on the door.
“Gege, are you alright? The MCs want us on set in five minutes.”
Siwon swallows thickly, hands scrabbling their way up the back of Siwon’s neck and through his hair, and he struggles to clear his throat and answer without any evident strain in his voice -
“I’ll be out in two.” Siwon calls easily, smiling up at Siwon like a cat on the prowl, and Siwon clamps his mouth shut and does not, absolutely does not, focus on how easy it is for Siwon to fool everybody and make them think it’s him.
“…Okay gege.” Zhou Mi answers, vaguely reluctant and defeated, (like he knows something is wrong) but makes his way out the bathroom nonetheless.
Siwon immediately goes back to the job at hand, unfazed. “I can get you off in one.”
Siwon groans and presses his back harder still against the stall door.
-
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hankyung asks him, frown evident and the aura of unhappiness surrounding him and his words. “You’ve been acting too weird and pissing Kyuhyun off all the time for no reason and what? What?”
Siwon blinks slowly, nibbling on the edge of his lip, because there is no straight answer. “I’m…very sorry. I’m resolving the problem, tell Kyuhyun I’m sorry.”
Hankyung looks completely unimpressed and Siwon flinches because he knows it’s not enough, so he adds, “I really am sorry. It’s not entirely under my control, I’m sorry.”
The leader scoffs and turns heel. “Apologize to Kyuhyun yourself.”
Siwon slides over his body like silk and satin that night and purrs in his ear. Siwon just pushes him off because he can’t think straight otherwise and pays no mind to the disgruntled noise he gets in return.
“What’s with you and Kyuhyun?” He asks, because that is something he just does not understand, wishes Siwon would stop picking at Kyuhyun when he just isn’t supposed to be here, tempting and sins waiting to be made, isn’t supposed to come out of the closet or talk to anyone and pretend he’s him or follow them to work like a bad dog that doesn’t learn and just, “Can’t you leave him alone?”
Siwon stares at Siwon staring at Siwon staring at Siwon.
Then, in the seemingly abrupt stretch of mere minutes, there are the endless planes of skin and aches being satisfied and relieved.
(“Your Kyuhyun is so lucky.” Siwon whispers to him, barely heard over harsh breathing and muffled gasps and moans, “He still can do what he loves. He is so so lucky. I hate that I - ”)
-
Donghae is the one who discovers the fact that there are two Siwons.
“Oh my. What. I. Wo bu. You - ni - er.” Donghae’s concludes his confusion in a regrettably very appropriate inconclusive mix of stutters of Korean and Chinese.
Siwon gulps and abandons his task of rushing Siwon out of the practice room. He’s annoyed with the whole thing by now, (annoyed probably isn’t the right word - anxious, tired of worrying about being caught, wanting and not wanting something that is very very wrong to have at the same time - yes, those are much more accurate terms to use.) gives up.
Meanwhile, Siwon stakes his claim, marks what is his, what is him, and threads his fingers with Siwon’s and stands too close on purpose. (he never really got it, the whole wrongness of it all, or at least it never seemed to bother him enough to care.) So Siwon shoves him away and feels the pang in his chest, purposely looking away to avoid seeing the look of betrayal.
Henry happens to be strolling his way into the room at a pace that Donghae deems too slow. “HENLI, COME HERE QUICK.” Donghae practically shouts and clings to him while whining when the youngest blinks wide-eyed and bewildered at the two Siwons.
“…Gege?” Henry asks in his quiet voice, made even quieter by freakish awe, and Ryeowook trails in, eyes trained on his phone as he types a text message.
“Yeah?” Ryeowook answers out of habit, not knowing who Henry is addressing, though Henry apparently doesn’t know who he is addressing either by the way he glances around helplessly at this, before looking up and dropping his phone and shrieking in surprise.
The three of them stare at Siwon and Siwon glares back at them and Siwon looks down at his feet and tries to stay uninvolved regardless of his evident involvement in the circumstances.
“…This would explain a lot.” Ryeowook whimpers faintly in Korean at the same time Donghae exclaims in haphazard Chinese, “Oh my god!” and Henry says in rapid frantic English, “I’m going to go get. Somebody. Han Geng? Yeah, Han Geng gege. Or. No, yeah.”
Siwon sighs as Siwon huffs and they share a look.
-
Kyuhyun is more than offended upon their discovery; his eyes narrow into little dark slits and his Adam’s apple is quivering as he speaks. “So why is it that he hates me, then?”
“I don’t hate you!” Siwon rebuts immediately, paling too fast and fingers gripping too tightly at the fabric of his pants for it to be a lie, and Siwon really is inclined to believe that that’s the truth, despite the obvious contradicting evidence.
“I pretty much hate you…” Kyuhyun mutters under his breath as Zhou Mi elbows him in the side.
Siwon shrinks into Siwon’s side with his mouth is a grim line and eyes pleading for forgiveness. (Siwon knows that hurts, knows Siwon didn’t expect this, even knows that, as much as Siwon has played for risks and almost exposed himself, he never actually wanted to meet them face to face like this and Siwon can see him drawing concept maps and Venn diagrams in the air, comparing his members to the ones in front of him.)
Hankyung is very lost for words. “What in the world - why didn’t you tell us? We could have helped!”
Siwon could laugh, but that would be rude. He could tell the truth, but that’s not really a choice he’s willing to make, never was in the first place. He settles for crossing his arms and smiling softly and feeding them all a half lie. “It was all very weird, so I just couldn’t.”
(because then there would be no touching, no inappropriate attraction, too much watching and fascination to get away with what they’ve been doing.)
Henry just watches, wondering and contemplating, and Donghae gives Siwon’s knee a comforting squeeze.
(and later Siwon will throw himself into Siwon’s lap in the limited privacy of their shared room and will lay there without saying a word or moving a muscle and Siwon will feel the completely raw need of too many things and will rub his back softly without offering obtrusive meaningless words that mean nothing to anyone, just the way he likes it when he’s upset, and eventually they’ll curl up together and fall asleep and the next morning -
Siwon will be gone.)
*** (unfinished part 2! commence!)
Siwon notices a certain glint in Han Geng’s eyes after they shoot the U music video. It’s that, coupled with the sudden comfort and confidence he’s been having ever since they got into China, that has Siwon nervous. A change in scenery and prominent language and security levels haven’t changed the basic personality of anyone, they really never could, Siwon would hate to think that simple things like that could have those sorts of grand effects. It’s just. (it’s just, are they really that simple of things? they seem to matter and effect after all.)
Well, Siwon doesn’t entirely know how to deal with this Han Geng when he’s fallen in love and learned how to deal with Hankyung. He’s willing to learn and love around the little differences, but it’s difficult. He doesn’t know what his point is or if he’s seeing them as two different people - two different names and two different labels to make up two different human beings - when he shouldn’t. If he starts with one person that he might as well continue it with them all (and that would make Super Junior have eighteen and-slash-or twenty members instead of thirteen and-slash-or fifteen).
All in all, Siwon doesn’t want to fall out of love for a stupid reason.
-
That glint Siwon’s noticed translates into Han Geng wanting them to try out something different; in front of a mirror and Siwon’s not entirely comfortable with it.
“Um.” He says eyes screwing shut. “Um um um.”
He feels Han Geng’s hand light on the small of his back and Han Geng’s mouth press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Open your eyes, silly. It’s stupid otherwise.”
Siwon peeks through one eye and Han Geng grins, guides him in (gasps quietly as Siwon groans softly at the feel of being encased by warm warm tightness) and then Han Geng leans forward with a moan, hands grabbing onto the mirror edges and breathe fogging up the glass a bit.
“Uhn.” Han Geng grunts, pushing back on Siwon, and Siwon peeks a little more, tilts his head, and - oh.
Despite his earlier reprimanding, Han Geng’s eyes slide shut as Siwon presses him against the mirror and thrusts, too concentrated on breathing and hanging on as his grinds himself against the slick surface of the mirror to care about his own set rules. Siwon is entranced, wide eyed and staring, cock sliding easily in and out and in and out, erection growing as his gaze is locked on himself fucking Han Geng, him him him - fucking Han Geng.
Han Geng sighs as he shudders and comes and Siwon is right behind him (except it’s more to the reflection of him bringing someone to an orgasm than anything else and this is so wrong…)
“See?” Han Geng smiles and says, patting Siwon on the hip, “See, that wasn’t so bad.”
Siwon gulps and weakly smiles back at him and he can tell that something’s just been released, some sort of addiction has started right now, and. “Yeah, it wasn’t so bad.”
-
“You want to…” Han Geng trails off and wiggles his eyebrows insinuatingly. Just in case Siwon’s too sleepy to make connections, he pats the bed to enforce his point.
“Ah,” Siwon starts a bit, surprised, and glances between the letter he’s writing to his parents and Han Geng. “Ah…sure.”
But there’s a problem.
“Siwon.” Han Geng mumbles, frowning, “Siwon, really.”
Siwon can’t stop glancing over to where his barely started letter is and thinking that he needs to finish it up and postmark it by tomorrow afternoon and he hopes that Han Geng thinks that this preoccupied fixation is the reason he’s still soft.
(and not because he’s just not feeling it right now, that the mood’s all wrong and.)
Siwon tries, really does, lines them up all right and everything, but Han Geng squirms a bit and his flaccid cock slides right back out and this is frustrating.
“Never mind.” Han Geng sighs, “Just, forget it, geez.”
***
I call it ‘yoochun is a creepy pedo at your kids’ school so you’d better watch out!’.
He is standing on the edge looking down down down -
“Do you know,” Yoochun whispers, fingers light over his thighs, “Do you know how far I’m going for you? There are serious consequences for these kinds of things.”
“Yeah.” Changmin murmurs right back, pulling Yoochun down on top of him, not caring how the papers that Yoochun had been grading mere seconds before are now crinkling underneath them. “But don’t you know we’ll work something out, somehow?”
“You are such a child.” Yoochun says, voice deep and dark and guilty.
But they press onward, as always, because the sinful temptation and addiction is a naughty pleasure they can’t deny (not yet).
- Changmin thinks he understands now. Of course, he agrees, he is such a child, terribly upset and furious parents and law suits and Yoochun getting fired and a messy school transfer being what it took to show him just how wrong it all really was.
Well, he thinks, uniform tie fluttering in the icy wind, Alright then. If this is how it’ll be, then fine.
And really, he’s about to jump off the edge of the bridge, (because - because - because he wants to prove a point - because he wants to do everything his way - because he wants to believe that there is no life without Yoochun - because he is a child - because he acknowledges that he is a child) when suddenly, there is Yoochun, out of breath, sweating, winter coat crooked on his shoulders and eyes burning with anger and worry and -
There is the smack as Yoochun slaps him across the cheek and pulls him over the guardrail.
“You idiot.” He hisses, pulling Changmin into a hug and shaking him against his chest. “You little brat.”
Changmin shudders in his embrace and grabs, needy, at Yoochun. “No good?” He questions, voice trembling and small and scared.
Yoochun laughs, a hollow sound rattling through the frigid air. “No, no good at all. I wouldn’t want that. And your parents would kill me.”
“Oh.”
Changmin buries his face in Yoochun’s coat and breathes in the scent of cigarettes and cologne mingling together. “…It’ll all work out, right?”
Yoochun sighs. “Maybe. Probably not - no use lying to you or anything by now. More than likely not, really.”
It will work out perfectly with a happy ending. Changmin doesn’t want to believe anything other than that. “…I’m still such a child, aren’t I?”
“Yes.”
And they huddle in the cold together for just a few minutes more.
***
so there was this fic called time limit and in it ryeowook died. I thought it was awesome and then wanted more drama and started writing my own version to fulfill my needs. then mikkyboom wrote everything I ever wanted in a death!fic, so I was appeased and stopped writing it at the pace of a snail. that's what this is.
“Are you sure, doctor?”
The short man behind the desk doesn’t say a word except nod his head once in confirmation. Ryeowook sighs, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. This is going to be hard.
“There is a way we can make your life span last a year instead of three months, Ryeowook-sshi,” the doctor mumbles but Ryeowook shakes his head no.
“I’ll take the three months.”
-
Sitting at the dinner table and trying to figure out when to break the news is pretty much the hardest thing Ryeowook has ever had to do in his whole entire life. (Ha, he thinks to laugh, ha ha is this what one calls bitter bitter, painful, irony?)
His fingers and toes are becoming freezing cold, as they always do when he’s too nervous to get jittery or feel his heart thump traitorously painful in his rib cage, when he sets down his utensils with utmost finality and clears his throat. “Um. I have something to say.” And as everyone looks at him, expressions ranging from perplexed to innocently curious, Ryeowook searches for the right words and realizes that, even after the long car ride home of fogging up the backseat window with his breath and thoughts, he has nothing.
Eeteuk makes things a little more something - harder, easier, the two meanings are warped and twisted and opposite and yet the same in this situation - by letting out a little gasp of ‘oh’ and smiling away and saying, “Oh that’s right, you finally went to the doctor today. How’d that go?”
Ryeowook finds it in him to smile like nothing’s wrong. Maybe he’ll have a cruel sense of humor by the end of it all. “Oh. Fine. They told me I’m going to die in three months.”
The real silence is immediate and sharp.
“…What?” Someone manages out, he doesn’t really know who, and Ryeowook feels his shoulders slump (and no, he’s trying to be a little bit stronger than this).
“Dead. I’m going to be dead in three months.” He repeats, eyes locked on his plate because he doesn’t want to see their faces. “The doctor told me that I’m dying. In. Three. Months.” He always used to always hate it when people would slow down their words deliberately, all puncturing and insulting, like it would help him understand the meaning of the statement. But now he understands that it is mostly always to make the speaker feel better and like they did all they could to make it easier.
Please make this so much easier, he prays silently as he counts seconds ticking past.
The silence drones on before Eunhyuk hiccups in an attempt to keep his cool. “…This is a hidden camera, right?”
Ryeowook sucks in a gulp of air and presses his fingers hard against his lips, trying to kiss warmth and feeling back into them, trying to kiss life back into the tips of his veins and work it backwards like clockwork up through his arms and into his heart.
“No,” he finally whispers, hunching over and wilting into himself, “No it’s really not.”
The eerie silence is back and no one knows what to say or what to do. It’s very surreal, Ryeowook thinks.
Heechul suddenly and abruptly stands, hands gripping on the edges of the table. “Bullshit. Total bullshit. Who helped you with this? It isn’t funny.”
Kangin makes a funny roaring sound in the back of his throat and slams his hands down on the tabletop. “Shut the fuck up, he’s serious!”
“Calm down, everybody calm the fuck down!” Sungmin shouts, like it’s doing anything for anybody, and Kyuhyun fixes him with a glare. “You’re not helping.” He says, and Heechul throws a slice of bread across the table at him. “Shut up! All of you, shut up, this isn’t - ”
“Oh my god.” Yehsung kind of whispers, except it’s very loud, “Oh my god.”
Everyone kind of just starts slipping at this point (“Shut up!” Heechul screeches, “Shut up shut up shut up!” “Hyung,” Kibum hisses, “Hyung stop it.” “What do you know? You don’t get it, you - ”) and the disarray is contagious, even with Eeteuk, frazzled and tears threatening to slip down his cheeks, standing on a chair and waving his arms to try and get a grip on the situation.
Ryeowook, in the midst of all the yelling, all the strung tight nerves and denial, faints, crumples to the floor and fading into the background in that quiet way of his.