it's the system in love (jaejoong/yoochun)
it's the system in love
yoochun centric. jaejoong/yoochun. 745w.
yoochun never believed in true love.
to a young boy of six, love and girls were the same. they are suppose to be icky and infested with cooties yet happy, bubbly and secretly enjoys linking arms all day long, sharing their favourite set of crayons and catching giggles in between a game of tag.
but no. at six, yoochun had to experience that tormenting feeling of having your deepest darkest fear crawl for you as his parents' squabbling grew louder than his choo-choo train.
as he clung tighter to mr.teddy, he heard a loud slam of the door and all was silent. that night, neither his mommy nor daddy came to tuck him into bed. the days that followed were a blur in his memories-- he remembers them vaguely as being filled with emotional instability and fear of the unknown as his father hugged him tightly one afternoon, unbeknown to him that it would be the last of his hugs.
growing up knowing nothing to being a man, yoochun never knew it was wrong to like another boy. as in, like like another boy. that is, until society tells him right in the face with a bucket of cold water. his first love at the time didn't think it was worthwhile to stick by his side through thick and thin but somehow felt it was worth shattering yoochun's heart.
another person gone.
another piece of him torn.
at twenty-two when the only soul left to love has left the world, yoochun begins to question his existence.
after a prolonged sense of grief, his brother didn't help much other than a pat on his back and whispers of consolations, it's okays he says, she's in a better place, mom wouldn't want you to be this badly blown. yoochun ground his cigarettes unto the flat concrete of a sidewalk, and with tired steps, walks away with a clouded mind in sought of freedom.
maybe new york.
standing by the bank of the east river overlooking the brooklyn bridge, yoochun sets down his luggage for a moment and thinks, there goes all thoughts of suicide, as he watches the bridge shimmer under the setting sun, twinkling away every ounce of injustice in this world.
slotting in his key and turning the locks, yoochun took his first step into his new abode down 10th avenue, overlooking a large field abundant with greenery. this wasn't a bad idea after all, he smiles his first smile of freedom in months.
as he went back to and fro his doorsteps for his bags, another man (a very pretty man with ash blonde hair) had wheeled into the unit next door with luggages too big to fit the doorframe. yoochun watches him put up a fight with the inanimate objects (the large tag says 'property of kim jaejoong: hands off bitches') and caught him cussing hushedly in korean, unaware of yoochun's presence.
he went back in with a small smile. yep, not a bad idea after all.
in this world, there are people who share your fate-- jaejoong wasn't one of them.
jaejoong did however, share yoochun's desire in looking for something that isn't there but isn't sure what that something is, as he himself had put it.
after two years since they moved in, neither have found that something that is missing but yoochun can't seem to remember looking for anything anymore since the day jaejoong comes over to say hi. and unsurprisingly, neither does jaejoong.
maybe it's the way their friendship escalated into something more special and meaningful with every passing day. maybe it's how jaejoong goes home to yoochun's apartment instead of his own after work or how their entire week is spent together save for actually paying their dues.
or maybe, it's how new york gives them that feeling that it's okay to walk down the street hand in hand with smiles speaking of a forbidden love if they were back in korea.
but yoochun believes it must be the way his bed is never cold anymore ever since jaejoong made a grand entrance in his life. the way jaejoong curls up on his bed at night when yoochun comes home, awaiting him with an open arm and the way jaejoong snuggles up when yoochun spoons him with techniques only known from experience.
shifting, yoochun buries his face in those tousled locks. maybe true love might just exist, he decides. a tiny whimper and a tightened clutch at his shirt and he decides to fuck it all. this is as true as love can get.
yoochun centric. jaejoong/yoochun. 745w.
yoochun never believed in true love.
to a young boy of six, love and girls were the same. they are suppose to be icky and infested with cooties yet happy, bubbly and secretly enjoys linking arms all day long, sharing their favourite set of crayons and catching giggles in between a game of tag.
but no. at six, yoochun had to experience that tormenting feeling of having your deepest darkest fear crawl for you as his parents' squabbling grew louder than his choo-choo train.
as he clung tighter to mr.teddy, he heard a loud slam of the door and all was silent. that night, neither his mommy nor daddy came to tuck him into bed. the days that followed were a blur in his memories-- he remembers them vaguely as being filled with emotional instability and fear of the unknown as his father hugged him tightly one afternoon, unbeknown to him that it would be the last of his hugs.
growing up knowing nothing to being a man, yoochun never knew it was wrong to like another boy. as in, like like another boy. that is, until society tells him right in the face with a bucket of cold water. his first love at the time didn't think it was worthwhile to stick by his side through thick and thin but somehow felt it was worth shattering yoochun's heart.
another person gone.
another piece of him torn.
at twenty-two when the only soul left to love has left the world, yoochun begins to question his existence.
after a prolonged sense of grief, his brother didn't help much other than a pat on his back and whispers of consolations, it's okays he says, she's in a better place, mom wouldn't want you to be this badly blown. yoochun ground his cigarettes unto the flat concrete of a sidewalk, and with tired steps, walks away with a clouded mind in sought of freedom.
maybe new york.
standing by the bank of the east river overlooking the brooklyn bridge, yoochun sets down his luggage for a moment and thinks, there goes all thoughts of suicide, as he watches the bridge shimmer under the setting sun, twinkling away every ounce of injustice in this world.
slotting in his key and turning the locks, yoochun took his first step into his new abode down 10th avenue, overlooking a large field abundant with greenery. this wasn't a bad idea after all, he smiles his first smile of freedom in months.
as he went back to and fro his doorsteps for his bags, another man (a very pretty man with ash blonde hair) had wheeled into the unit next door with luggages too big to fit the doorframe. yoochun watches him put up a fight with the inanimate objects (the large tag says 'property of kim jaejoong: hands off bitches') and caught him cussing hushedly in korean, unaware of yoochun's presence.
he went back in with a small smile. yep, not a bad idea after all.
in this world, there are people who share your fate-- jaejoong wasn't one of them.
jaejoong did however, share yoochun's desire in looking for something that isn't there but isn't sure what that something is, as he himself had put it.
after two years since they moved in, neither have found that something that is missing but yoochun can't seem to remember looking for anything anymore since the day jaejoong comes over to say hi. and unsurprisingly, neither does jaejoong.
maybe it's the way their friendship escalated into something more special and meaningful with every passing day. maybe it's how jaejoong goes home to yoochun's apartment instead of his own after work or how their entire week is spent together save for actually paying their dues.
or maybe, it's how new york gives them that feeling that it's okay to walk down the street hand in hand with smiles speaking of a forbidden love if they were back in korea.
but yoochun believes it must be the way his bed is never cold anymore ever since jaejoong made a grand entrance in his life. the way jaejoong curls up on his bed at night when yoochun comes home, awaiting him with an open arm and the way jaejoong snuggles up when yoochun spoons him with techniques only known from experience.
shifting, yoochun buries his face in those tousled locks. maybe true love might just exist, he decides. a tiny whimper and a tightened clutch at his shirt and he decides to fuck it all. this is as true as love can get.