Oneshot: More Than There Are Words For
Oneshot
Yunho + Yoochun
A/N: Squeezing this in because I saw Yunho's pic where he was wearing eyeliner (!!!).
More Than There Are Words For
Yunho + Yoochun
The first of September Yoochun meets Yunho: new student, white-tangerine-sky blue Nike Dunks, unbuttoned uniform and slim-cut slacks, eyebrows knotted in dark suspicion as their homeroom adviser puts him in the spotlight. Jung Yunho, the stranger says and it sounds like he’s almost angry. He reminds Yoochun of a handful of unlit matchsticks set too close to an unguarded fire. Introductions are pretty much killed two seconds in, after
“Why did you move to Seoul?”
“With all due respect I don’t think it’s any of your business.”
and Yunho wins Most Fucking Awesome Guy in Class by a landslide.
Jaejoong is de facto class president, sometimes responsible, most of the time ringleader. After Yunho’s little show he saunters forward, appearing well-behaved as he says: Welcome to our high school, you’ll have a great time with us, now come take the seat behind Park Yoochun, with a smile Yoochun knows is deliberate.
A clap on the back and Yoochun sees scarred knuckles. He pretends to be reading Beowulf as Yunho passes, but it’s only when Jaejoong taps him that he notices his book is actually upside-down.
“Strange kid, that Jung Yunho,” Jaejoong says, and it’s been three days since the start of school. Yunho is eating by himself in the cafeteria, six tables away from them. Yoochun counted.
“Yeah,” Yoochun agrees, and turns back to his lunch. Thursday’s Meatloaf Surprise doesn’t seem as interesting anymore.
Jaejoong is playing with his lighter. “Kinda cute” click “though” click “isn’t he?”
Yoochun can think of a million more adjectives but doesn’t say. “Uh-hmm,” he says instead, wishing his neck would stop instinctively craning towards the other direction.
Click. “He’s in my Math class. Soccer with you. I checked his schedule.”
“I didn’t ask.” Yoochun says, but isn’t disappointed. “And isn’t that personal information?”
Jaejoong pretends he didn’t hear. “Not my type though.” Click.
Yoochun catches Jaejoong’s eye before he turns again. Yunho is jabbing at his lunch, turning his chopstick into a skewer. Three seconds in, he lifts his head and sees Yoochun. Yoochun’s tray jumps as his knee flies upward and hits the table.
“Shit!” He’s somehow forgotten how to use his chopsticks and they clatter to the floor. "Meatloaf…er…not bad, is it?" he says helplessly. His face is enflamed. Jaejoong rubs the sore spot on his knee most sympathetically.
“Uh-hmm,” Jaejoong says, hiding a grin behind his hand.
Weeks in, Yunho tests his limits and wears eyeliner, baseball caps and skinny jeans to class. Jaejoong tells him, You can’t wear that in school, while their adviser’s looking but winks when she’s not. One week, there’s nail polish and the next Yunho’s drawn thick ‘Cut Here’ signs on the insides of his wrists. He doesn’t speak in homeroom and leaves for first class before everyone else, always looking so fucking serious. It’s only during gym that Yunho appears normal. He plays striker shirtless and yells at anyone doing anything wrong while Yoochun pretends not to notice the small California-shaped birthmark on Yunho’s belly. In the middle of skirmishes, Yoochun wonders whether it’s his asthma kicking in or his own treacherous heart pounding responsible for whenever he can’t breathe.
“Good guys finish last, you know,” Jaejoong warns him, tongue wagging. Yoochun hates how successful Jaejoong always is at making him feel like he’s made out of cling wrap. “Homeroom’s useless but can’t you at least pretend you’re having an asthma attack or something?”
Yoochun makes it look as though he’s more interested on the insides of his locker. “What are you talking about?”
Jaejoong tsks. “Do I always have to wear the pants between the two of us?”
Yoochun scoffs. “You wear the pants but I possess the dick.”
“You’ll thank me.”
“Sure.”
(Yoochun tries once: Homeroom, five minutes before the bell rings. He glances back, sees Yunho drawing crosses on the back of his hands with a red Staedtler. He opens his mouth, stays that way and Yunho says: What, looking annoyed.
Yoochun says: I…ah…wanted to…oops there’s the bell, then wants to commit suicide by stabbing himself with a pencil right after.
Jaejoong laughs in the corridor: No pants and no dick Park Yoochun you disgrace, and Yoochun hits him on the back of his head.)
Jaejoong plays deserter when the time comes. This is how it goes: Study period, Yoochun’s playing Mystery Case Files on silent under the guise of finishing Tonight I Write the Saddest Lines: An Analysis, for Literature. He’s looking for a compass in a train station when the chair in front of him creaks, and suddenly he’s hearing Yunho saying: Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.
He looks up, and Yunho is sitting adjacent to him, hands unblemished for once but uniform still unbuttoned, and it’s the first time Yoochun is actually seeing him.
“The game, I mean,” Yunho says, and motions to Yoochun’s laptop. There’s extra weight in his words that Yoochun doesn’t even bother processing. Fucking artists are always so damn cryptic.
Uh, is the only sound Yoochun is capable of making.
The explanation comes and it’s as digestible as a year-old fruitcake. “I’m failing Math,” Yunho says. He’s got a pack of cigarettes hidden in his breast pocket. “Kim Jaejoong told me to come.” He reaches over and swivels Yoochun’s laptop around. Their wrists meet, bone against bone, and suddenly Yoochun feels like water.
Yoochun’s first thought: Shit.
“Jaejoong’s not here though,” he manages to bleat.
Yunho frowns. “I didn’t come here for Jaejoong.”
His eyebrows are furrowed at the screen and he’s crunching lime-flavored Tic-Tacs between his teeth. Seven cowboys and three fish are missing in a toy shop. “These are my notes, which I don’t fucking understand.” Yunho says and it’s the most Yoochun’s ever heard him say since his first day. A notebook is slapped onto the table. In seconds, Yunho’s cleared the level. “School sucks. I could play this game all day.”
He’s trying to ignore the fact that Yunho has a small mole near his upper lip and that the eyeliner he’s wearing makes him look so fucking hot. He concentrates on formulae in Yunho’s notebook. He’s written everything in with a black Sharpie.
Yoochun’s second thought: Doesn’t this guy have any pencils?
“Kim said you’re aces at Math.”
Yoochun’s third thought: I’m going to kill Jaejoong when he gets back.
“You like Math then,” Yunho says, eyes flitting upwards before going back to focusing on the laptop screen. He sounds slightly amused. “I can see it in your face. I thought Kim was only kidding.”
Yoochun wonders if death by fire ants would be more painful than by cannon-firing, before deciding that Jaejoong would probably suffer more through tickling.
“It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it…” he says meekly, wishing he’d been born with a cooler talent, telekinesis perhaps, or lying terrifically well. “You want to start now…?”
“Save your breath, there are other things I’m more interested in.” There’s a clack as the laptop is shut. Yunho’s loosened his school tie and produces a Sharpie from inside his pocket, green this time. Without warning, he reaches over; his fingers are warm as he plants dots on the back of Yoochun’s hand. “You’re in my homeroom too, aren’t you? And gym.”
Yoochun traces the dots with his eyes, thinks it’s maybe a spade or an arrowhead. Thinks, Holy fucking- as Yunho’s palm burns against his.
“Park Yoochun,” he says, because there’re no other words his mouth is capable of forming.
“I know,” Yunho says, his breath brushing Yoochun’s skin. He looks up, and he’s the prince in the middle of the ballroom floor with his mask in his hands. He repeats, “I know” and it’s like Yoochun is supposed to say something.
“Jaejoong, he’ll…” Yoochun says instead, but Yunho growls, leans forward. The air suddenly smells of lime and cigarettes.
“I told you,” Yunho fists the front of Yoochun’s uniform, and suddenly his lips are against Yoochun’s. Yunho tastes as dangerous as he feels, cyanide laced with sugar. Yoochun feels like he’s going to have an asthma attack but is more open to the idea of kissing back.
A few seconds and Yunho’s face is inches from his. His lips are tugged upward into a small sideways grin. “Thought you were good at Math,” he says, tongue peeping out under teeth. “I told you,”
And then another kiss. Sweeter this time, spiked black coffee while dangling from the balcony.
“I didn’t come here for Jaejoong.”
(Hours later, Jaejoong grabs his hand and tells him, “It’s a heart, for God’s sake, Yoochun, you dense prick” and shows him Yunho’s Math test paper with its big fat A. “You’re hopeless, honest to God. You’re both hopeless.”)
Yoochun is sure to thank Jaejoong after.