Dropping The Bunny (1/?)
Dropping The Bunny (1/?)
Yoosu
PG-13
Drama, Fluff, AU
Junsu gets saddled with the guardianship of a boy fourteen years his junior no thanks to his big mouth. Plenty of growing up ensues, but not only for his charge; since Junsu himself has some lessons in life to learn of.
A/N: This fic is loosely based on Usagi Drop, but some changes will be made, especially since Rin's girl character is changed with Yoochun's boy character. I will be updating once a week, and comments is very much welcomed because I'm pretty inconsistent with my plots, plus I'm pretty insecure with my writing, if I am to be completely honest.
A/N2: Junsu is a 20-year old student, Yoochun a 6-year old, and Junho is 26-years old. This will not be a lover!Yoosu fic fornow, be warned of these facts.
ONE
The atmosphere is somber.
A deep frown mars Kim Junsu’s face as he stops in front of the door of the funeral room. He exhales deeply once, and regrets it when the grim, sterile smell of hospital, of death seeps past his nostrils and infiltrates his every pore. He shakes his head once, tries to clear out the assaulting start of a headache; he has always hated hospitals with intense passion.
He glances downwards at his black pressed suit, the black tie that encircles his neck, and his black polished dress shoes. He first wore the same outfit when he was admitted to university two years ago; he has never been much of a suit guy, he likes his jeans very much, thankyouverymuch. The apparent polar difference of the occasions makes him snort derisively, and he shoots apologetic looks at the scandalous glares he attracts.
He contemplates whether to do the right thing, or just turn around on his heels and get the hell away from the place.
Stop being an asshole, Kim. Move your feet and go inside. He’s your brother, for god’s sake, a hazy silhouette in white whispers into his ears- but then another wispy black shadow pushes past his barriers and hisses angrily, but he left! The fucker left the family years ago! Don’t listen to sentimentalism and stupid romantic notions, because he sure doesn’t deserve it!
He walks in anyway.
The first thing- no, person that catches his eyes is a small figure, hunched into the walls. Junsu’s eyes widen a little, taken aback to see a child in funeral rooms; usually the kids are brought over one time to pay their respects as quickly as they can before being ushered out of sight, not that the small tots understand anything in the first place. He doesn’t dwell on it though, wanting to stay out of any drama, but something within him breaks when he meets the brown eyes of the little boy straight.
There’s something disconcerting within the scrutiny, Junsu thinks. The eyes are wide and unsuspecting, but he can see how the little frame trembles, in fear maybe, as throngs of people goes in and out in front of him. His lips are set in a thin line; the shoulders are straight, and his tiny fists are clenched tightly around something. What it is, Junsu doesn’t know.
He’d rather not know anyhow.
He tears his gaze away and marches mechanically towards the walls where his mother is sitting at. Poor woman is crying silently, and he has never been any good with comforting sobbing women. He ignores the looks he gets from everyone in the room as he walks across the room- he thinks bitterly that yes, I look like hyung a lot, stop staring at me please god how shameless are you to be staring at me, and tries not to grimace or glower too obviously. He sits, arranges his socked feet neatly and gingerly places one warm arm around the small shaking form. On instinct, the elderly woman folds herself into his chest almost pitifully and sobs harder within his embrace, and he panics a little.
“Umma-“ he whispers urgently, “don’t be like this please-“
The sobbing doesn’t cease, but it doesn’t worsen so Junsu exhales a little easily. His forehead knots questioningly when Mrs Kim looks at him beseechingly-
“Your hyung… go and see him… he was such a fine young man…”
Junsu pulls his mother tighter into his arms as she dissolves into a fresh wave of tears. He can remember the last time his mother cried this hard; it was six years ago.
This fine young man, namely Kim Junho, his older brother, six years older than him, is the one who’d caused it. It’s funny how easily the tap overflows whenever he triggers it, but he never gets reprimanded for doing so. One day, the older of the two brothers had come home and announces casually over dinner that he’s moving to Japan. An emergency transfer, he declares before going on, saying that, I’d be leaving the next morning, and no, I don't know when I'm coming back. He drops the bomb and departs from the table immediately, leaving the other three members of the family gaping in shock.
You went away and never came back, hyung.
Junsu bites back a retort and resorts to fisting his mother’s clothes within his fingers instead. He couldn’t be callous, he shouldn’t be this heartless and getting agitated over an issue that has stewed and rotted over the years; after all, Kim Junho has come home, eventhough he had come back pale and unmoving, blue and serene in his coffinbox.
You broke our hearts, and here we are, mourning for you, hyung. Are you even grateful for us? What a joke this is...
As he pats his mother’s back softly and rhythmically, Junsu cannot help but to lament over the lost times. His brother had left when he was only fourteen. Gone were the days he could kick a ball in the fields with the older boy, the days when they laid sprawling on the floor with their game consoles in hands, the days when they conspire miss maybe the last period of school and hit the arcade, the days when he whispers behind red cheeks about how sooyoung is so pretty, hyung, do you think I should ask her out?-
The days when he missed his brother the most.
You could’ve at least called every now and then, hyung. But no, you go and you disappear, and you make us worried; are you living well? Are you eating well? Are you working well? Did you find a nice girl? Are you going to introduce her to us?
“Umma-“ Junsu whispers, he needs to get away from his black-and-blue thoughts and a wailing lady on his shoulders is not helping him any, “I’ll stay here for the wake. You go and have some rest.”
He doesn’t want to admit that he wants, no, needs to keep the few good memories of his brother intact.
He sighs thankfully when she wipes watery eyes and nods meekly. She leaves, and bows here and there; wiping her wet eyes everytime someone places a sorrowful touch on her. He follows her movements until she is out of his sight altogether, and then his gaze falls on that young boy, still hunched small, still silent and almost melding into the walls. He note how the colour steadily drains out of the boy and for the first time notices the small round cheeks that rests awkwardly on a thin face. Sighing to himself, Junsu gets up and crouches in front of the boy.
“Hey-“ Junsu feels a little awkward as he tips the small chin higher, to look at him square in the eyes, “you don’t look so good. Go and have some food, okay?”
A defiant face meets him back, not nodding or responding to him. The eyes are impassive, but it enlarges as Junsu feels them probing into his own orbs. The sunlight from the windows catches the brown flecks prettily, and he doesn’t have any problem admitting that wow, you have really pretty eyes, and that wait, it reminds me of-
“Appa?” the boy murmurs low, hands suspended in mid-air, just near Junsu’s nose.
---
Junsu chances a few peeks at the small boy nodding off next to him. The way the boy huddles up against his own small frame is a deplorable sight to be seen, if Junsu is to be completely honest. He sighs. He’s never been good with kids either, come to think of it. The only contact he has with the younger generation is only when he drops by the soccer field and has a few rounds with the local instructor.
He reaches out, but his fingers stop just before he touches the downy head.
What am I doing?
Junsu retracts his fingers away just as the boy nods halfway forward, and he scrambles drowsily to sit properly again.
Poor kid. Who are you actually?
He remembers jerking backwards when the boy has called him Appa. His mind is woefully blank and all he registers is the hurt flashing across the brown eyes at his apparent rejection. A small apology slips past the pink lips and the boy is back hiding within his shells, and Junsu is left gaping wide. He even forgets that he initially has come over to make the boy eat.
Then he realizes why the boy calls him so, because Kim Junsu is a spitting image, albeit a little shorter and leaner, of his brother Kim Junho.
Oh, fuck. Hyung, what did you do?
He pulls at the boy and makes him sit next to Junsu, as he keeps his vigil. He shakes his head whenever a relative looks pointedly at the boy sleeping against the wall, and burns whenever the older generation makes clucking noise and looks utterly disapproving.
The nodding becomes worse, the small head thudding against wall every few minutes. Junsu groans low, and halfheartedly shakes the boy awake. He takes one look at the drowsy surprised eyes, and gestures at his thigh.
“Sleep here. Stop hitting the walls, your head’s going to bruise.” He says gruffly. He pats his thigh again to drive his point across, and when the boy doesn’t move an inch, he tugs at the bony arms and makes the body rest prone on the floor. “Don’t drool.”
He doesn’t expect for a reply but-
“Thank you.” The boy whispers.
---
When Mrs Kim comes back, she is a picture of dismay to see Junsu straight-backed, muttering thankyous and I’msorrys at the stream of relatives giving their last respects while supporting a sleeping boy on his arm now.
Junsu notices the appalled look the boy gets from her, but he mouths a small it’s okay, umma at his mother, and she smiles at him, a wobbly watery one. His heart clenches.
It’s not even your fault, kid.
---
When it is all over, he wakes the boy up and makes him follow them to the family house. The boy has a petrified look throughout the whole drive, and Junsu squeezes the small hand comfortingly, without any second thoughts. He makes sure the boy is not visible within his father’s vision line though; the older man has practically swelled in anger when he steps into the funeral room to see the boy sticking with Junsu.
They trail behind Mr and Mrs Kim, but he stops the boy before entering the house.
“I’m sorry, but don’t come in yet.” He speaks calmly, eyes softly trying to appease the hurt that may arise out of the statement. “There’s a bench over there-“ he points to the said bench, “go sit over there, or play with my old bike over there, but just- just stay out here for now.”
The boy reaches out for him and Junsu doesn’t even know why he’s feeling such an immense amount of guilt when he hasn’t done anything wrong.
“I’m sorry. Just- I’ll come and get you when I’m done, okay?” he ruffles the black tuft of messy hair and pushes the boy in the direction of the bench.
---
His parents are having a full-blown argument when he steps inside.
“That is the son you loved so much-“
“I’m sure there’s a mistake somewhere-“
“What mistake? He comes home dead, and expects us to raise his kid for him-“
“It’s not his kid! If the boy is, he would’ve told me first that-“
“That ungrateful boy went away for years without any contact and you’re telling me that he’ll tell you if he gets some girl pregnant?”
The shouting gets louder and louder, and Junsu suddenly feels like the boy can hear every single hurtful word behind thin walls.
“Appa-“
Both his mother and father stop arguing to look at him, fire ablaze in their eyes, anger and disappointment and crushed hopes and sadness too obvious.
“Who is he?” Junsu asks slowly. He needs to be the calm one if his parents cannot hold their anger in.
Mr Kim snorts angrily; he grabs a cup and fills it with water from the countertop, and sits on the sofa, lips zipped shut.
“His name is Yoochun.” Mrs Kim sobs. “When the coffin arrived, he was there too. They say he’s your hyung’s son. The boy doesn’t speak at all when I asked him anything, so I don’t know if it’s true.”
Junsu finds the nearest chair and slides faintly. Thoughts run haywire within his convoluted head-
Son? Hyung had a son? I have a nephew? Hyung got married? Who’s going to-
“Who’s going to take care of him then?” Junsu glances at his mother once it’s clear that his father is not going to answer his questions. He pales when Mrs Kim merely gives a shaky shrug of her shoulders. “Umma, you-“
“No.” The small woman swells. “I won’t tolerate this. I can’t keep on cleaning up everytime the men in this household does a mistake. Your uncle says he’ll ask whether his wife’s office can help find a place for him to stay at-“
“Orphanage?” Junsu bristles in suppressed anger. “Umma, maybe he’s your grandson!”
“Who says so? My Junho would never do this to me!”
Junsu stares at the woman crying in front of him, alternates with a look to a defiant man sipping drinks silently on the sofa-
He stalks outside and there he is, the boy is, right behind the doors, fingers entwined and eyes closed. He pats the head softly and smiles small when the boy opens his eyes. He drops to the boy’s height-
“Do you want to come home with me?”
-tbc
Yoosu
PG-13
Drama, Fluff, AU
Junsu gets saddled with the guardianship of a boy fourteen years his junior no thanks to his big mouth. Plenty of growing up ensues, but not only for his charge; since Junsu himself has some lessons in life to learn of.
A/N: This fic is loosely based on Usagi Drop, but some changes will be made, especially since Rin's girl character is changed with Yoochun's boy character. I will be updating once a week, and comments is very much welcomed because I'm pretty inconsistent with my plots, plus I'm pretty insecure with my writing, if I am to be completely honest.
A/N2: Junsu is a 20-year old student, Yoochun a 6-year old, and Junho is 26-years old. This will not be a lover!Yoosu fic fornow, be warned of these facts.
ONE
The atmosphere is somber.
A deep frown mars Kim Junsu’s face as he stops in front of the door of the funeral room. He exhales deeply once, and regrets it when the grim, sterile smell of hospital, of death seeps past his nostrils and infiltrates his every pore. He shakes his head once, tries to clear out the assaulting start of a headache; he has always hated hospitals with intense passion.
He glances downwards at his black pressed suit, the black tie that encircles his neck, and his black polished dress shoes. He first wore the same outfit when he was admitted to university two years ago; he has never been much of a suit guy, he likes his jeans very much, thankyouverymuch. The apparent polar difference of the occasions makes him snort derisively, and he shoots apologetic looks at the scandalous glares he attracts.
He contemplates whether to do the right thing, or just turn around on his heels and get the hell away from the place.
Stop being an asshole, Kim. Move your feet and go inside. He’s your brother, for god’s sake, a hazy silhouette in white whispers into his ears- but then another wispy black shadow pushes past his barriers and hisses angrily, but he left! The fucker left the family years ago! Don’t listen to sentimentalism and stupid romantic notions, because he sure doesn’t deserve it!
He walks in anyway.
The first thing- no, person that catches his eyes is a small figure, hunched into the walls. Junsu’s eyes widen a little, taken aback to see a child in funeral rooms; usually the kids are brought over one time to pay their respects as quickly as they can before being ushered out of sight, not that the small tots understand anything in the first place. He doesn’t dwell on it though, wanting to stay out of any drama, but something within him breaks when he meets the brown eyes of the little boy straight.
There’s something disconcerting within the scrutiny, Junsu thinks. The eyes are wide and unsuspecting, but he can see how the little frame trembles, in fear maybe, as throngs of people goes in and out in front of him. His lips are set in a thin line; the shoulders are straight, and his tiny fists are clenched tightly around something. What it is, Junsu doesn’t know.
He’d rather not know anyhow.
He tears his gaze away and marches mechanically towards the walls where his mother is sitting at. Poor woman is crying silently, and he has never been any good with comforting sobbing women. He ignores the looks he gets from everyone in the room as he walks across the room- he thinks bitterly that yes, I look like hyung a lot, stop staring at me please god how shameless are you to be staring at me, and tries not to grimace or glower too obviously. He sits, arranges his socked feet neatly and gingerly places one warm arm around the small shaking form. On instinct, the elderly woman folds herself into his chest almost pitifully and sobs harder within his embrace, and he panics a little.
“Umma-“ he whispers urgently, “don’t be like this please-“
The sobbing doesn’t cease, but it doesn’t worsen so Junsu exhales a little easily. His forehead knots questioningly when Mrs Kim looks at him beseechingly-
“Your hyung… go and see him… he was such a fine young man…”
Junsu pulls his mother tighter into his arms as she dissolves into a fresh wave of tears. He can remember the last time his mother cried this hard; it was six years ago.
This fine young man, namely Kim Junho, his older brother, six years older than him, is the one who’d caused it. It’s funny how easily the tap overflows whenever he triggers it, but he never gets reprimanded for doing so. One day, the older of the two brothers had come home and announces casually over dinner that he’s moving to Japan. An emergency transfer, he declares before going on, saying that, I’d be leaving the next morning, and no, I don't know when I'm coming back. He drops the bomb and departs from the table immediately, leaving the other three members of the family gaping in shock.
You went away and never came back, hyung.
Junsu bites back a retort and resorts to fisting his mother’s clothes within his fingers instead. He couldn’t be callous, he shouldn’t be this heartless and getting agitated over an issue that has stewed and rotted over the years; after all, Kim Junho has come home, eventhough he had come back pale and unmoving, blue and serene in his coffinbox.
You broke our hearts, and here we are, mourning for you, hyung. Are you even grateful for us? What a joke this is...
As he pats his mother’s back softly and rhythmically, Junsu cannot help but to lament over the lost times. His brother had left when he was only fourteen. Gone were the days he could kick a ball in the fields with the older boy, the days when they laid sprawling on the floor with their game consoles in hands, the days when they conspire miss maybe the last period of school and hit the arcade, the days when he whispers behind red cheeks about how sooyoung is so pretty, hyung, do you think I should ask her out?-
The days when he missed his brother the most.
You could’ve at least called every now and then, hyung. But no, you go and you disappear, and you make us worried; are you living well? Are you eating well? Are you working well? Did you find a nice girl? Are you going to introduce her to us?
“Umma-“ Junsu whispers, he needs to get away from his black-and-blue thoughts and a wailing lady on his shoulders is not helping him any, “I’ll stay here for the wake. You go and have some rest.”
He doesn’t want to admit that he wants, no, needs to keep the few good memories of his brother intact.
He sighs thankfully when she wipes watery eyes and nods meekly. She leaves, and bows here and there; wiping her wet eyes everytime someone places a sorrowful touch on her. He follows her movements until she is out of his sight altogether, and then his gaze falls on that young boy, still hunched small, still silent and almost melding into the walls. He note how the colour steadily drains out of the boy and for the first time notices the small round cheeks that rests awkwardly on a thin face. Sighing to himself, Junsu gets up and crouches in front of the boy.
“Hey-“ Junsu feels a little awkward as he tips the small chin higher, to look at him square in the eyes, “you don’t look so good. Go and have some food, okay?”
A defiant face meets him back, not nodding or responding to him. The eyes are impassive, but it enlarges as Junsu feels them probing into his own orbs. The sunlight from the windows catches the brown flecks prettily, and he doesn’t have any problem admitting that wow, you have really pretty eyes, and that wait, it reminds me of-
“Appa?” the boy murmurs low, hands suspended in mid-air, just near Junsu’s nose.
---
Junsu chances a few peeks at the small boy nodding off next to him. The way the boy huddles up against his own small frame is a deplorable sight to be seen, if Junsu is to be completely honest. He sighs. He’s never been good with kids either, come to think of it. The only contact he has with the younger generation is only when he drops by the soccer field and has a few rounds with the local instructor.
He reaches out, but his fingers stop just before he touches the downy head.
What am I doing?
Junsu retracts his fingers away just as the boy nods halfway forward, and he scrambles drowsily to sit properly again.
Poor kid. Who are you actually?
He remembers jerking backwards when the boy has called him Appa. His mind is woefully blank and all he registers is the hurt flashing across the brown eyes at his apparent rejection. A small apology slips past the pink lips and the boy is back hiding within his shells, and Junsu is left gaping wide. He even forgets that he initially has come over to make the boy eat.
Then he realizes why the boy calls him so, because Kim Junsu is a spitting image, albeit a little shorter and leaner, of his brother Kim Junho.
Oh, fuck. Hyung, what did you do?
He pulls at the boy and makes him sit next to Junsu, as he keeps his vigil. He shakes his head whenever a relative looks pointedly at the boy sleeping against the wall, and burns whenever the older generation makes clucking noise and looks utterly disapproving.
The nodding becomes worse, the small head thudding against wall every few minutes. Junsu groans low, and halfheartedly shakes the boy awake. He takes one look at the drowsy surprised eyes, and gestures at his thigh.
“Sleep here. Stop hitting the walls, your head’s going to bruise.” He says gruffly. He pats his thigh again to drive his point across, and when the boy doesn’t move an inch, he tugs at the bony arms and makes the body rest prone on the floor. “Don’t drool.”
He doesn’t expect for a reply but-
“Thank you.” The boy whispers.
---
When Mrs Kim comes back, she is a picture of dismay to see Junsu straight-backed, muttering thankyous and I’msorrys at the stream of relatives giving their last respects while supporting a sleeping boy on his arm now.
Junsu notices the appalled look the boy gets from her, but he mouths a small it’s okay, umma at his mother, and she smiles at him, a wobbly watery one. His heart clenches.
It’s not even your fault, kid.
---
When it is all over, he wakes the boy up and makes him follow them to the family house. The boy has a petrified look throughout the whole drive, and Junsu squeezes the small hand comfortingly, without any second thoughts. He makes sure the boy is not visible within his father’s vision line though; the older man has practically swelled in anger when he steps into the funeral room to see the boy sticking with Junsu.
They trail behind Mr and Mrs Kim, but he stops the boy before entering the house.
“I’m sorry, but don’t come in yet.” He speaks calmly, eyes softly trying to appease the hurt that may arise out of the statement. “There’s a bench over there-“ he points to the said bench, “go sit over there, or play with my old bike over there, but just- just stay out here for now.”
The boy reaches out for him and Junsu doesn’t even know why he’s feeling such an immense amount of guilt when he hasn’t done anything wrong.
“I’m sorry. Just- I’ll come and get you when I’m done, okay?” he ruffles the black tuft of messy hair and pushes the boy in the direction of the bench.
---
His parents are having a full-blown argument when he steps inside.
“That is the son you loved so much-“
“I’m sure there’s a mistake somewhere-“
“What mistake? He comes home dead, and expects us to raise his kid for him-“
“It’s not his kid! If the boy is, he would’ve told me first that-“
“That ungrateful boy went away for years without any contact and you’re telling me that he’ll tell you if he gets some girl pregnant?”
The shouting gets louder and louder, and Junsu suddenly feels like the boy can hear every single hurtful word behind thin walls.
“Appa-“
Both his mother and father stop arguing to look at him, fire ablaze in their eyes, anger and disappointment and crushed hopes and sadness too obvious.
“Who is he?” Junsu asks slowly. He needs to be the calm one if his parents cannot hold their anger in.
Mr Kim snorts angrily; he grabs a cup and fills it with water from the countertop, and sits on the sofa, lips zipped shut.
“His name is Yoochun.” Mrs Kim sobs. “When the coffin arrived, he was there too. They say he’s your hyung’s son. The boy doesn’t speak at all when I asked him anything, so I don’t know if it’s true.”
Junsu finds the nearest chair and slides faintly. Thoughts run haywire within his convoluted head-
Son? Hyung had a son? I have a nephew? Hyung got married? Who’s going to-
“Who’s going to take care of him then?” Junsu glances at his mother once it’s clear that his father is not going to answer his questions. He pales when Mrs Kim merely gives a shaky shrug of her shoulders. “Umma, you-“
“No.” The small woman swells. “I won’t tolerate this. I can’t keep on cleaning up everytime the men in this household does a mistake. Your uncle says he’ll ask whether his wife’s office can help find a place for him to stay at-“
“Orphanage?” Junsu bristles in suppressed anger. “Umma, maybe he’s your grandson!”
“Who says so? My Junho would never do this to me!”
Junsu stares at the woman crying in front of him, alternates with a look to a defiant man sipping drinks silently on the sofa-
He stalks outside and there he is, the boy is, right behind the doors, fingers entwined and eyes closed. He pats the head softly and smiles small when the boy opens his eyes. He drops to the boy’s height-
“Do you want to come home with me?”
-tbc