Contest Entry 4: Wings And Sunshine
Title: Wings and Sunshine
Author: itsplashes
Word count: 3752 words.
Concrit?: Yes.
Pairing: Jaejoong/Junsu
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jaejoong hates his wings. Junsu shows him how to love them.
Challenge: Let Dai ( 1), (Becoming) Real ( 2)
Wings and Sunshine
Not everything that soars is a bird
Oh, and not all that soars is joy and ecstasy
- Let Dai
Jaejoong is twelve when he first meets Junsu.
He is sitting on a bench, eyes wide and vacant, skinny knees drawn to his chest. He glances at the skin on his thin, thin arm and, in the half-darkness, he thinks he can see the outline of his bones peeking through.
It’s like he’s fading, fading away into oblivion. But he can’t fade, Jaejoong thinks, because only real people do and Jaejoong isn’t real. He can’t be real.
(Because of the wings.)
He looks at the sky. It is shadowy and filled with grey clouds. It looks like it’s going to rain, he thinks, and he stares at the sky, unmoving, waiting for the rain to fall.
(Waiting for the - his - fall.)
His wings, white and feathery and heavy (real, too real) are folded on his back.
A slight movement beside him makes Jaejoong turn his head. There is a boy sitting there, his legs dangling over the edge of the bench. Jaejoong curls deeper into himself on instinct, trying to numb his fear by rubbing his cold arms. His wings quiver involuntarily and he wills them to stay folded. And even as his mind protests the impossibility, his heart wishes that the wings can disappear forever.
He observes the boy quietly despite his panic, his eyes hungry for the sight of another human after a long, long time. The boy is slightly smaller than him with tousled brown hair and laughing brown eyes that probably don’t miss much. There is a smudge of dirt on his cheek and his shirt is torn at the sleeve but the warmth in his wide smile makes Jaejoong think of sunshine.
Jaejoong feels an unfamiliar burning in his stomach and it makes him want to reach out, reach out with a pale arm and touch the boy. He wants to touch the sunshine with the tip of his finger and feel the heat seeping into his cold skin.
(Maybe then he’ll know what being real feels like.)
The boy smiles at him and Jaejoong feels like his skin is on fire. “Your wings are beautiful,” the boy says, his tone awed and wistful.
Jaejoong looks at him and says nothing.
The boy places his small hands on the edges of Jaejoong’s folded wings. His touch is delicate, careful. And warm, so warm that Jaejoong inhales sharply in surprise, his whole body trembling under the simple touch.
“They’re beautiful,” the boy repeats, his eyes turning into half-moons as he smiles. He puts his hands in the pockets of his faded pants. Jaejoong tries not to miss their warmth.
“They’re a burden,” Jaejoong says, his voice barely above a whisper.
“They’re freedom,” says the boy, eyes darkening slightly. He smiles crookedly. “I’ve always wanted to have wings, you know. I want to fly away so badly.”
“You can have them.” The words come out sounding bitter and Jaejoong realizes he’s not as numb as he wants to think he is. “I don’t want them, at all.”
The boy looks at him with amusement in his eyes. “They look better on you,” he says and the affectionate tone of his voice makes Jaejoong think maybe, maybe he’s not lying.
They sit in silence for a while and Jaejoong thinks something is wrong with him because he feels warm, too warm.
“Where are your parents?” the boy suddenly asks, his tone light. And then Jaejoong feels cold again.
“They’re gone,” he says in a flat tone, not looking at him.
“Mine, too,” the boy says cheerfully.
Jaejoong stares at him and what he sees is the truth in his bittersweet smile.
“I’m Junsu,” says the boy, offering him his hand.
Even his name feels like sunshine, thinks Jaejoong, as he shakes Junsu’s small, warm hand. “Jaejoong.”
Jaejoong looks at the sky. It’s still grey but he thinks he sees the clouds starting to clear up.
§
Jaejoong is fourteen when Junsu teaches him how to fly.
It is nighttime and they are alone in an abandoned park. Jaejoong likes it when it’s dark, so dark that he can hardly see the paleness of his own skin in the tiny sliver of light the moon provides. He likes it when it’s quiet, when all he can hear is the sound of his own ragged breathing (and Junsu’s even breathing beside him) and his slow, slow heartbeat. This is when he feels the safest.
Yet he still keeps his wings folded tightly against his back, closing them almost painfully, even though it’s Junsu (Junsu) who is with him, holding his slightly bigger hand in his.
“You shouldn’t hide your wings,” says Junsu, looking at him through wide eyes.
Jaejoong wonders, not for the first time, why Junsu seems to be glowing under the sparse moonlight, his skin lighting up like a lantern, the angle of his jawline clearly outlined in the semi-darkness. It’s because he’s warm, Jaejoong concludes, unconsciously squeezing Junsu’s hand, hungry for his heat.
“Jaejoong?”
Jaejoong looks at him blankly.
Junsu laughs a husky but high-pitched laugh and Jaejoong captures the sound to replay in his mind for later. “I said,” says Junsu, eyes dancing, “you should fly.”
“I can’t fly,” says Jaejoong. He doesn’t want to.
“You should,” says Junsu, “because it’s you.” He pokes Jaejoong’s chest with his other hand and Jaejoong feels warmth spreading there. “You shouldn’t hide your wings because they’re part of who you are.”
Jaejoong says nothing. He can feel Junsu gazing at him and he feels a now familiar burning in his stomach. He keeps his eyes on the ground.
“Look,” says Junsu and Jaejoong hears the determination in his voice. “I’ll show you.”
Jaejoong looks up at him, startled. “You can’t fly.”
Junsu smiles a small, secret smile that he hardly ever uses. “I can.”
He lets go of Jaejoong’s hand gently and Jaejoong feels it flap down to his side uselessly. Jaejoong watches, anxiety wrapping his heart, as Junsu starts running. He’s running faster and faster, farther and farther away from Jaejoong, his steps agile and graceful. It’s like watching a ray of sunlight dancing in front of him, Jaejoong thinks.
(Or a bird flying freely in the sky.)
Jaejoong takes a few tentative steps forward, not wanting to lose Junsu in his line of sight. “You’re not flying, at all!” he yells hoarsely, his voice not used to being used loudly. And his heart screams, Stop that and come back to me.
Junsu turns back to look at him, still running. “Not yet,” he says, smile blinding. He starts spinning and spinning around and Jaejoong watches helplessly in the background, mesmerized by Junsu’s glow.
And then Junsu starts falling and Jaejoong is running, his clumsy arms ready to catch him. But he’s too late and Junsu falls, his body hitting the ground. Jaejoong’s scream gets frozen in his throat.
Junsu lays still, lays still. Jaejoong reaches out a shaking hand to touch him.
And then Junsu opens his eyes and smiles. Jaejoong withdraws his hand. His wings, still folded tightly, quiver on his back.
“Not yet,” says Junsu, eyes shining like stars. “I’m not yet flying.” He tugs at Jaejoong’s arms until Jaejoong is sitting down beside him. He holds Jaejoong’s hand in his and smiles his warmest smile. Then he sings.
Jaejoong watches Junsu’s face lighting up as the most beautiful voice he’s ever heard comes out of Junsu’s mouth. It’s low and high, controlled yet unbridled, and he marvels at the contradiction in the sweet, rich tones.
Jaejoong feels a tightening in his chest. It’s too much. It’s like he’s dying, like he’s about to die and he prepares himself for the surrender. But then Junsu opens his eyes and looks at him, still singing, and his heart becomes so full that for a moment, it feels like he’s real.
(Is this what being real feels like?)
It feels like maybe, maybe he’s flying.
(He’s flying.)
§
Jaejoong is sixteen when Junsu stops singing.
Junsu comes home one evening, his back hunched, his eyes dead. Jaejoong watches him slip quietly into their tiny apartment room, the smile gone from his face.
(And his warmth.)
Jaejoong lays a hand on his shoulder, unsure and slightly afraid. Junsu looks up at him and Jaejoong sees his worried face reflected in Junsu’s lifeless eyes.
Junsu smiles.
But it’s empty.
“Junsu.” His name comes easily to Jaejoong’s lips. He tries not to sound anxious but it comes out in his tone, anyway. He sits beside Junsu and waits for him to speak.
Junsu isn’t moving. So Jaejoong slips his hand into Junsu’s (Junsu’s hand is still warm) and lets it stay there to make sure he knows, he knows Jaejoong is beside him.
They sit in silence and Jaejoong listens, listens for the sound of Junsu’s breathing. He hears it, ragged and uneven, so unlike the Junsu he knows. Junsu’s hand in his is starting to sweat. He holds on to it tightly and keeps waiting.
“I didn’t get the job.” Flat tone. “I didn’t get the job.” Rapid breaths. “Jaejoong, I didn’t get the job.” Panic. Pain.
Jaejoong squeezes his hand. “There’ll be other jobs.”
Silence.
“You know this isn’t the first time,” Junsu says, tilting his head at Jaejoong. There is a tired sadness in his eyes. “This isn’t the first time I got rejected.”
“Your voice is too good for bars,” Jaejoong says, surprising himself by the vehemence in his tone. “And, you’re underage,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.
Junsu finally cracks a smile. The flash of warmth makes Jaejoong smile back. “They didn’t reject my voice, they rejected me.” He laughs bitterly. “I’m a failure.”
“How can you say that? I’ve heard your voice. It’s beautiful.” You’re beautiful. He finds himself arguing hotly, anxious for Junsu to understand that it’s the truth.
Junsu looks him straight in the eye. “I couldn’t sing,” he says matter-of-factly.
Jaejoong’s forehead knits. “What do you mean? You sing to me all the time.”
Junsu’s cheeks turn five shades of red and Jaejoong wonders what it means. “It’s different when I sing for you,” Junsu says, his voice small. He stares off into space and his tone turns serious. “When I sing for them, it’s like I’m singing to a wall. A wall doesn’t feel any emotions. I can’t sing to someone who refuses to understand how I feel, how I want them to feel with my singing. So I stop. I suddenly just stop singing when I’m in front of them.” He exhales. “I start singing and then I just trail off. I stop.”
He turns his brown eyes to Jaejoong. “You’re different.” He pauses and Jaejoong tries not to shake under his dark, steady gaze. “When I sing to them,” he continues, looking at the ceiling, “it’s like I’m losing my voice. It’s like I’m losing a part of me. It scares me.”
Jaejoong shakes his head again and again. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he says, hoping he sounds confident enough. “You won’t lose your voice.” I won’t let you lose it.
Junsu looks at him, eyes widening slightly. “Haven’t you ever been afraid of losing your wings?”
Jaejoong says nothing, just gazes at Junsu for a long moment, trying to memorize the warmth that is slowly coming back to his face. Then he spreads his wings widely, boldly for the first time, the feathers making a blanket of white behind them both. He pulls his wings slightly closer, wrapping them around him and Junsu until all he can see is Junsu and white. He feels the warmth of Junsu’s skin against his wings.
“No,” he finally tells Junsu. “Never.”
But I’m afraid of losing you.
§
Jaejoong is eighteen when his wings fall.
It doesn’t happen all at once but it might as well have. Jaejoong wakes up one morning with a pool of white feathers on the bed, another on the floor, and he sweeps them all up before Junsu can see. He takes a shower, rests his head on the wall feeling the coldness of the tiles against his skin, and watches a trail of feathers go down the drain.
He is sitting on the worn sofa after making dinner, waiting for Junsu to come home, when he feels a sharp pain on his back and his heart starts hurting because he knows what’s going to come next.
He prays that he’s wrong, prays that his heart’s innermost wish as a child won’t decide to come true now. Not now when what his heart wishes for is something else.
Junsu bursts into the room, a happy smile on his face.
Jaejoong folds his wings tightly to hide that they’re thinning, ignoring the pain in his back. He smiles at Junsu. “Dinner is ready.”
Junsu nods and approaches him, eyes bright. He touches the edges of Jaejoong’s wings, his familiar touch sending waves of warmth into Jaejoong’s gut. It takes away Jaejoong’s pain.
“Jaejoong,” Junsu says. “I…I got a night job. I got a job as a singer at Begin.”
The quiet pride and wonder in his voice makes Jaejoong want to cry. “I knew you could do it,” he whispers, instead.
Junsu wraps his arms around him, wings and all, and Jaejoong feels he’s going to drown in Junsu’s scent, Junsu’s softness, Junsu’s warmth. It’s intoxicating. He closes his eyes and inhales all of him. He puts his arms around Junsu and hugs him like he’s never letting go.
I don’t want to lose you.
(But he is.)
“Thank you, Jaejoong,” Junsu says, his voice muffled by Jaejoong’s shoulder. “It’s because of you.”
“Because of me?” Jaejoong repeats, his heart thudding in his chest.
“Because of you,” Junsu says firmly. He eases out of the embrace and smiles. Jaejoong’s arms ache to hold him again. “Let’s eat.”
The next day, after Junsu leaves for his morning job, Jaejoong runs away. He runs for hours, tears blurring his vision, he runs until he thinks he can’t run anymore. His back hurts and with each step, feathers continue to fall. It’s not long, Jaejoong thinks, it’s not going to be long before it’s all over.
He stumbles into the abandoned park and then he falls. He feels his wings breaking. The pain in his back intensifies but he only half-feels it. It doesn’t matter, not anymore. The pain in his heart is much, much greater and it’s already broken him into pieces.
(Why now? Why now when he’s started believing in wings? Why now when he thinks he’s finally realized what’s real and what’s not?)
He feels the wings on his back, what’s left of them, and he feels them fading, fading away into oblivion. The feathers on the ground are already crumbling into dust.
His wings are gone.
(Why does it hurt so much when he didn’t even want them in the first place?)
Junsu’s face enters Jaejoong’s mind and he curls into a ball on the ground, hiding his face in his hands, the coolness on his back a harsh reminder of what was once there. Junsu loves his wings, Jaejoong thinks in a rush. He recalls Junsu’s wistful smile as he gazes at Jaejoong’s wings, recalls Junsu’s warm, fond touch against them.
He thinks they’re beautiful.
And now they’re gone.
Like they were never there.
Just like he’d always wanted as a child.
He should feel real now.
So, why, why does he feel broken?
Like he’s lost a part of him.
(He has.)
He cries and cries until all his energy is spent and all he can do is stare at the darkening sky, his eyes unseeing. He can’t go back to Junsu, not anymore, not when he’s not whole.
“Jaejoong.”
It is Junsu’s voice, sad and upset and angry.
“Jaejoong.”
Jaejoong keeps lying on the floor, hoping it’s all just a dream.
“Jaejoong.”
A warm touch against his arm.
Jaejoong flinches. “Don’t touch me,” he hisses, not looking at him. “Go away.”
“Jaejoong, why did you leave?” Junsu asks softly.
Jaejoong hears the hurt in his voice and he can’t help it. He turns to look at Junsu, his eyes still emotionless. “Can’t you see for yourself?” Jaejoong whispers. “Can’t you see that I’m broken?”
Junsu is looking at him through dark eyes, his lips set in a grim line. He says nothing.
“My wings,” says Jaejoong coldly, his voice rising. “They’re gone.”
Junsu keeps looking at him, his hand not leaving Jaejoong’s arm. Jaejoong thinks his skin is going to scald at any moment.
“They’re gone,” says Jaejoong, as if he’s telling himself. “They’re gone.” A single tear rolls down his cheek. “I’m broken,” he whispers. “I’m ugly.”
Junsu says nothing. He leans closer. He moves his hand to Jaejoong’s bare shoulder blades, touching them carefully even as Jaejoong flinches. He traces a line from there to the edge of Jaejoong’s slender neck, lets his fingers linger for a second too long. Jaejoong feels Junsu’s warmth soaking into his cold, tired body and he leans toward him unconsciously.
Junsu traces the worry lines on Jaejoong’s forehead, runs his hand down the bridge of his nose, traces circles on his slightly damp cheeks. And then his fingers land on Jaejoong’s chapped lips. “You’re not,” he says softly, dark eyes on Jaejoong. “You’re beautiful. You always have been.”
Junsu’s face is so close Jaejoong can feel his breath warming his cheeks. And Jaejoong forgets his wings, forgets everything except Junsu. There in front of him. Real. His eyes dart to Junsu’s curved lips and he takes them just like that. Before he can think (before he can tell himself it’s wrong, it’s wrong to do it).
Jaejoong is tentative, afraid, but he can’t help it. How can he? Junsu’s lips are soft and warm and slightly moist, Jaejoong thinks, as he presses his dry lips lightly against his. His heart pounds madly when he feels Junsu kissing him back, pushing him against the ground and deepening the kiss, until Jaejoong think he’s going to pass out from Junsu’s heat.
When Junsu finally pulls back, his face is flushed and there’s a small smile tugging at his now swollen lips. Jaejoong feels dazed and embarrassed. He knows his face is probably even more flushed - he can feel the warmth in his cheeks - and his mouth is hanging open slightly.
Junsu is saying something but Jaejoong can’t hear anything, can’t see anything but Junsu’s lips, Junsu’s lips in front of him, and he wants to take them again.
So he does.
As their lips meld a second time and Jaejoong melts into Junsu’s warmth, he thinks belatedly, that this must be what sunshine tastes like. Warm and sweet and tinged with danger. Junsu pulls back abruptly and Jaejoong’s heart stops.
Junsu smiles at him and shakes his head. “You’re not listening.” He leans closer, his lips brushing Jaejoong’s ear. “I said,” he says and Jaejoong can feel him smiling, “you can make yourself whole again because it’s you.”
No, Jaejoong thinks, no. You’re wrong. It’s not me.
It’s you.
You’re making me whole again.
Because it’s you.
(It's always been you.)
§
Jaejoong is still eighteen when he starts flying again.
He is sitting somewhere in the audience, his eyes trained on the stage before him, waiting. He tastes his drink occasionally, bowing his head slightly to take a tentative sip, only to snap it up quickly and look back at the stage hoping he hasn’t missed anything. He relaxes when he sees it is still empty but he feels anticipation building in his chest, anyway. What’s taking so long?
There are excited murmurs among the people around him and Jaejoong can’t help smiling. This is all Junsu’s doing, he thinks proudly, his heart expanding. They’re all here because of Junsu.
A single spotlight opens on stage and then he’s there. Junsu. He is wearing a tailored black suit, his short hair meticulously styled. Jaejoong thinks Junsu looks beautiful but not as beautiful as he looks in his normal, threadbare clothes, his brown hair sticking up messily. He thinks of the softness of Junsu’s hair under his hands and he smiles contentedly knowing he’ll be able to touch it again after this.
(Always.)
Junsu’s eyes are closed, his slender hands grasping the mike stand tenderly. There is a small smile on his lips and Jaejoong feels the crowd hush. And then Junsu opens his eyes, running his gaze around the room until he meets Jaejoong’s eyes.
His eyes light up, light up like tiny suns. Junsu smiles widely and his smile burns a path directly into Jaejoong’s heart. He smiles back. I’m here. I’m here for you, too.
The music starts playing and Junsu opens his lips and starts singing. Jaejoong doesn’t need to hear the words, doesn’t need to understand them. He just listens, really listens, and he hears it.
I love you.
Junsu looks at him as he sings, his dark eyes never leaving Jaejoong’s face, his hips swaying slightly to the music.
I love you.
Junsu’s voice soars and he extends his arm in front of him, as if he’s offering it to someone. He’s giving it to Jaejoong.
I love you.
Jaejoong’s heart soars with him.
And he knows, he finally knows, that he doesn’t need wings to fly again.
Author: itsplashes
Word count: 3752 words.
Concrit?: Yes.
Pairing: Jaejoong/Junsu
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jaejoong hates his wings. Junsu shows him how to love them.
Challenge: Let Dai ( 1), (Becoming) Real ( 2)
Wings and Sunshine
Not everything that soars is a bird
Oh, and not all that soars is joy and ecstasy
- Let Dai
Jaejoong is twelve when he first meets Junsu.
He is sitting on a bench, eyes wide and vacant, skinny knees drawn to his chest. He glances at the skin on his thin, thin arm and, in the half-darkness, he thinks he can see the outline of his bones peeking through.
It’s like he’s fading, fading away into oblivion. But he can’t fade, Jaejoong thinks, because only real people do and Jaejoong isn’t real. He can’t be real.
(Because of the wings.)
He looks at the sky. It is shadowy and filled with grey clouds. It looks like it’s going to rain, he thinks, and he stares at the sky, unmoving, waiting for the rain to fall.
(Waiting for the - his - fall.)
His wings, white and feathery and heavy (real, too real) are folded on his back.
A slight movement beside him makes Jaejoong turn his head. There is a boy sitting there, his legs dangling over the edge of the bench. Jaejoong curls deeper into himself on instinct, trying to numb his fear by rubbing his cold arms. His wings quiver involuntarily and he wills them to stay folded. And even as his mind protests the impossibility, his heart wishes that the wings can disappear forever.
He observes the boy quietly despite his panic, his eyes hungry for the sight of another human after a long, long time. The boy is slightly smaller than him with tousled brown hair and laughing brown eyes that probably don’t miss much. There is a smudge of dirt on his cheek and his shirt is torn at the sleeve but the warmth in his wide smile makes Jaejoong think of sunshine.
Jaejoong feels an unfamiliar burning in his stomach and it makes him want to reach out, reach out with a pale arm and touch the boy. He wants to touch the sunshine with the tip of his finger and feel the heat seeping into his cold skin.
(Maybe then he’ll know what being real feels like.)
The boy smiles at him and Jaejoong feels like his skin is on fire. “Your wings are beautiful,” the boy says, his tone awed and wistful.
Jaejoong looks at him and says nothing.
The boy places his small hands on the edges of Jaejoong’s folded wings. His touch is delicate, careful. And warm, so warm that Jaejoong inhales sharply in surprise, his whole body trembling under the simple touch.
“They’re beautiful,” the boy repeats, his eyes turning into half-moons as he smiles. He puts his hands in the pockets of his faded pants. Jaejoong tries not to miss their warmth.
“They’re a burden,” Jaejoong says, his voice barely above a whisper.
“They’re freedom,” says the boy, eyes darkening slightly. He smiles crookedly. “I’ve always wanted to have wings, you know. I want to fly away so badly.”
“You can have them.” The words come out sounding bitter and Jaejoong realizes he’s not as numb as he wants to think he is. “I don’t want them, at all.”
The boy looks at him with amusement in his eyes. “They look better on you,” he says and the affectionate tone of his voice makes Jaejoong think maybe, maybe he’s not lying.
They sit in silence for a while and Jaejoong thinks something is wrong with him because he feels warm, too warm.
“Where are your parents?” the boy suddenly asks, his tone light. And then Jaejoong feels cold again.
“They’re gone,” he says in a flat tone, not looking at him.
“Mine, too,” the boy says cheerfully.
Jaejoong stares at him and what he sees is the truth in his bittersweet smile.
“I’m Junsu,” says the boy, offering him his hand.
Even his name feels like sunshine, thinks Jaejoong, as he shakes Junsu’s small, warm hand. “Jaejoong.”
Jaejoong looks at the sky. It’s still grey but he thinks he sees the clouds starting to clear up.
§
Jaejoong is fourteen when Junsu teaches him how to fly.
It is nighttime and they are alone in an abandoned park. Jaejoong likes it when it’s dark, so dark that he can hardly see the paleness of his own skin in the tiny sliver of light the moon provides. He likes it when it’s quiet, when all he can hear is the sound of his own ragged breathing (and Junsu’s even breathing beside him) and his slow, slow heartbeat. This is when he feels the safest.
Yet he still keeps his wings folded tightly against his back, closing them almost painfully, even though it’s Junsu (Junsu) who is with him, holding his slightly bigger hand in his.
“You shouldn’t hide your wings,” says Junsu, looking at him through wide eyes.
Jaejoong wonders, not for the first time, why Junsu seems to be glowing under the sparse moonlight, his skin lighting up like a lantern, the angle of his jawline clearly outlined in the semi-darkness. It’s because he’s warm, Jaejoong concludes, unconsciously squeezing Junsu’s hand, hungry for his heat.
“Jaejoong?”
Jaejoong looks at him blankly.
Junsu laughs a husky but high-pitched laugh and Jaejoong captures the sound to replay in his mind for later. “I said,” says Junsu, eyes dancing, “you should fly.”
“I can’t fly,” says Jaejoong. He doesn’t want to.
“You should,” says Junsu, “because it’s you.” He pokes Jaejoong’s chest with his other hand and Jaejoong feels warmth spreading there. “You shouldn’t hide your wings because they’re part of who you are.”
Jaejoong says nothing. He can feel Junsu gazing at him and he feels a now familiar burning in his stomach. He keeps his eyes on the ground.
“Look,” says Junsu and Jaejoong hears the determination in his voice. “I’ll show you.”
Jaejoong looks up at him, startled. “You can’t fly.”
Junsu smiles a small, secret smile that he hardly ever uses. “I can.”
He lets go of Jaejoong’s hand gently and Jaejoong feels it flap down to his side uselessly. Jaejoong watches, anxiety wrapping his heart, as Junsu starts running. He’s running faster and faster, farther and farther away from Jaejoong, his steps agile and graceful. It’s like watching a ray of sunlight dancing in front of him, Jaejoong thinks.
(Or a bird flying freely in the sky.)
Jaejoong takes a few tentative steps forward, not wanting to lose Junsu in his line of sight. “You’re not flying, at all!” he yells hoarsely, his voice not used to being used loudly. And his heart screams, Stop that and come back to me.
Junsu turns back to look at him, still running. “Not yet,” he says, smile blinding. He starts spinning and spinning around and Jaejoong watches helplessly in the background, mesmerized by Junsu’s glow.
And then Junsu starts falling and Jaejoong is running, his clumsy arms ready to catch him. But he’s too late and Junsu falls, his body hitting the ground. Jaejoong’s scream gets frozen in his throat.
Junsu lays still, lays still. Jaejoong reaches out a shaking hand to touch him.
And then Junsu opens his eyes and smiles. Jaejoong withdraws his hand. His wings, still folded tightly, quiver on his back.
“Not yet,” says Junsu, eyes shining like stars. “I’m not yet flying.” He tugs at Jaejoong’s arms until Jaejoong is sitting down beside him. He holds Jaejoong’s hand in his and smiles his warmest smile. Then he sings.
Jaejoong watches Junsu’s face lighting up as the most beautiful voice he’s ever heard comes out of Junsu’s mouth. It’s low and high, controlled yet unbridled, and he marvels at the contradiction in the sweet, rich tones.
Jaejoong feels a tightening in his chest. It’s too much. It’s like he’s dying, like he’s about to die and he prepares himself for the surrender. But then Junsu opens his eyes and looks at him, still singing, and his heart becomes so full that for a moment, it feels like he’s real.
(Is this what being real feels like?)
It feels like maybe, maybe he’s flying.
(He’s flying.)
§
Jaejoong is sixteen when Junsu stops singing.
Junsu comes home one evening, his back hunched, his eyes dead. Jaejoong watches him slip quietly into their tiny apartment room, the smile gone from his face.
(And his warmth.)
Jaejoong lays a hand on his shoulder, unsure and slightly afraid. Junsu looks up at him and Jaejoong sees his worried face reflected in Junsu’s lifeless eyes.
Junsu smiles.
But it’s empty.
“Junsu.” His name comes easily to Jaejoong’s lips. He tries not to sound anxious but it comes out in his tone, anyway. He sits beside Junsu and waits for him to speak.
Junsu isn’t moving. So Jaejoong slips his hand into Junsu’s (Junsu’s hand is still warm) and lets it stay there to make sure he knows, he knows Jaejoong is beside him.
They sit in silence and Jaejoong listens, listens for the sound of Junsu’s breathing. He hears it, ragged and uneven, so unlike the Junsu he knows. Junsu’s hand in his is starting to sweat. He holds on to it tightly and keeps waiting.
“I didn’t get the job.” Flat tone. “I didn’t get the job.” Rapid breaths. “Jaejoong, I didn’t get the job.” Panic. Pain.
Jaejoong squeezes his hand. “There’ll be other jobs.”
Silence.
“You know this isn’t the first time,” Junsu says, tilting his head at Jaejoong. There is a tired sadness in his eyes. “This isn’t the first time I got rejected.”
“Your voice is too good for bars,” Jaejoong says, surprising himself by the vehemence in his tone. “And, you’re underage,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.
Junsu finally cracks a smile. The flash of warmth makes Jaejoong smile back. “They didn’t reject my voice, they rejected me.” He laughs bitterly. “I’m a failure.”
“How can you say that? I’ve heard your voice. It’s beautiful.” You’re beautiful. He finds himself arguing hotly, anxious for Junsu to understand that it’s the truth.
Junsu looks him straight in the eye. “I couldn’t sing,” he says matter-of-factly.
Jaejoong’s forehead knits. “What do you mean? You sing to me all the time.”
Junsu’s cheeks turn five shades of red and Jaejoong wonders what it means. “It’s different when I sing for you,” Junsu says, his voice small. He stares off into space and his tone turns serious. “When I sing for them, it’s like I’m singing to a wall. A wall doesn’t feel any emotions. I can’t sing to someone who refuses to understand how I feel, how I want them to feel with my singing. So I stop. I suddenly just stop singing when I’m in front of them.” He exhales. “I start singing and then I just trail off. I stop.”
He turns his brown eyes to Jaejoong. “You’re different.” He pauses and Jaejoong tries not to shake under his dark, steady gaze. “When I sing to them,” he continues, looking at the ceiling, “it’s like I’m losing my voice. It’s like I’m losing a part of me. It scares me.”
Jaejoong shakes his head again and again. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he says, hoping he sounds confident enough. “You won’t lose your voice.” I won’t let you lose it.
Junsu looks at him, eyes widening slightly. “Haven’t you ever been afraid of losing your wings?”
Jaejoong says nothing, just gazes at Junsu for a long moment, trying to memorize the warmth that is slowly coming back to his face. Then he spreads his wings widely, boldly for the first time, the feathers making a blanket of white behind them both. He pulls his wings slightly closer, wrapping them around him and Junsu until all he can see is Junsu and white. He feels the warmth of Junsu’s skin against his wings.
“No,” he finally tells Junsu. “Never.”
But I’m afraid of losing you.
§
Jaejoong is eighteen when his wings fall.
It doesn’t happen all at once but it might as well have. Jaejoong wakes up one morning with a pool of white feathers on the bed, another on the floor, and he sweeps them all up before Junsu can see. He takes a shower, rests his head on the wall feeling the coldness of the tiles against his skin, and watches a trail of feathers go down the drain.
He is sitting on the worn sofa after making dinner, waiting for Junsu to come home, when he feels a sharp pain on his back and his heart starts hurting because he knows what’s going to come next.
He prays that he’s wrong, prays that his heart’s innermost wish as a child won’t decide to come true now. Not now when what his heart wishes for is something else.
Junsu bursts into the room, a happy smile on his face.
Jaejoong folds his wings tightly to hide that they’re thinning, ignoring the pain in his back. He smiles at Junsu. “Dinner is ready.”
Junsu nods and approaches him, eyes bright. He touches the edges of Jaejoong’s wings, his familiar touch sending waves of warmth into Jaejoong’s gut. It takes away Jaejoong’s pain.
“Jaejoong,” Junsu says. “I…I got a night job. I got a job as a singer at Begin.”
The quiet pride and wonder in his voice makes Jaejoong want to cry. “I knew you could do it,” he whispers, instead.
Junsu wraps his arms around him, wings and all, and Jaejoong feels he’s going to drown in Junsu’s scent, Junsu’s softness, Junsu’s warmth. It’s intoxicating. He closes his eyes and inhales all of him. He puts his arms around Junsu and hugs him like he’s never letting go.
I don’t want to lose you.
(But he is.)
“Thank you, Jaejoong,” Junsu says, his voice muffled by Jaejoong’s shoulder. “It’s because of you.”
“Because of me?” Jaejoong repeats, his heart thudding in his chest.
“Because of you,” Junsu says firmly. He eases out of the embrace and smiles. Jaejoong’s arms ache to hold him again. “Let’s eat.”
The next day, after Junsu leaves for his morning job, Jaejoong runs away. He runs for hours, tears blurring his vision, he runs until he thinks he can’t run anymore. His back hurts and with each step, feathers continue to fall. It’s not long, Jaejoong thinks, it’s not going to be long before it’s all over.
He stumbles into the abandoned park and then he falls. He feels his wings breaking. The pain in his back intensifies but he only half-feels it. It doesn’t matter, not anymore. The pain in his heart is much, much greater and it’s already broken him into pieces.
(Why now? Why now when he’s started believing in wings? Why now when he thinks he’s finally realized what’s real and what’s not?)
He feels the wings on his back, what’s left of them, and he feels them fading, fading away into oblivion. The feathers on the ground are already crumbling into dust.
His wings are gone.
(Why does it hurt so much when he didn’t even want them in the first place?)
Junsu’s face enters Jaejoong’s mind and he curls into a ball on the ground, hiding his face in his hands, the coolness on his back a harsh reminder of what was once there. Junsu loves his wings, Jaejoong thinks in a rush. He recalls Junsu’s wistful smile as he gazes at Jaejoong’s wings, recalls Junsu’s warm, fond touch against them.
He thinks they’re beautiful.
And now they’re gone.
Like they were never there.
Just like he’d always wanted as a child.
He should feel real now.
So, why, why does he feel broken?
Like he’s lost a part of him.
(He has.)
He cries and cries until all his energy is spent and all he can do is stare at the darkening sky, his eyes unseeing. He can’t go back to Junsu, not anymore, not when he’s not whole.
“Jaejoong.”
It is Junsu’s voice, sad and upset and angry.
“Jaejoong.”
Jaejoong keeps lying on the floor, hoping it’s all just a dream.
“Jaejoong.”
A warm touch against his arm.
Jaejoong flinches. “Don’t touch me,” he hisses, not looking at him. “Go away.”
“Jaejoong, why did you leave?” Junsu asks softly.
Jaejoong hears the hurt in his voice and he can’t help it. He turns to look at Junsu, his eyes still emotionless. “Can’t you see for yourself?” Jaejoong whispers. “Can’t you see that I’m broken?”
Junsu is looking at him through dark eyes, his lips set in a grim line. He says nothing.
“My wings,” says Jaejoong coldly, his voice rising. “They’re gone.”
Junsu keeps looking at him, his hand not leaving Jaejoong’s arm. Jaejoong thinks his skin is going to scald at any moment.
“They’re gone,” says Jaejoong, as if he’s telling himself. “They’re gone.” A single tear rolls down his cheek. “I’m broken,” he whispers. “I’m ugly.”
Junsu says nothing. He leans closer. He moves his hand to Jaejoong’s bare shoulder blades, touching them carefully even as Jaejoong flinches. He traces a line from there to the edge of Jaejoong’s slender neck, lets his fingers linger for a second too long. Jaejoong feels Junsu’s warmth soaking into his cold, tired body and he leans toward him unconsciously.
Junsu traces the worry lines on Jaejoong’s forehead, runs his hand down the bridge of his nose, traces circles on his slightly damp cheeks. And then his fingers land on Jaejoong’s chapped lips. “You’re not,” he says softly, dark eyes on Jaejoong. “You’re beautiful. You always have been.”
Junsu’s face is so close Jaejoong can feel his breath warming his cheeks. And Jaejoong forgets his wings, forgets everything except Junsu. There in front of him. Real. His eyes dart to Junsu’s curved lips and he takes them just like that. Before he can think (before he can tell himself it’s wrong, it’s wrong to do it).
Jaejoong is tentative, afraid, but he can’t help it. How can he? Junsu’s lips are soft and warm and slightly moist, Jaejoong thinks, as he presses his dry lips lightly against his. His heart pounds madly when he feels Junsu kissing him back, pushing him against the ground and deepening the kiss, until Jaejoong think he’s going to pass out from Junsu’s heat.
When Junsu finally pulls back, his face is flushed and there’s a small smile tugging at his now swollen lips. Jaejoong feels dazed and embarrassed. He knows his face is probably even more flushed - he can feel the warmth in his cheeks - and his mouth is hanging open slightly.
Junsu is saying something but Jaejoong can’t hear anything, can’t see anything but Junsu’s lips, Junsu’s lips in front of him, and he wants to take them again.
So he does.
As their lips meld a second time and Jaejoong melts into Junsu’s warmth, he thinks belatedly, that this must be what sunshine tastes like. Warm and sweet and tinged with danger. Junsu pulls back abruptly and Jaejoong’s heart stops.
Junsu smiles at him and shakes his head. “You’re not listening.” He leans closer, his lips brushing Jaejoong’s ear. “I said,” he says and Jaejoong can feel him smiling, “you can make yourself whole again because it’s you.”
No, Jaejoong thinks, no. You’re wrong. It’s not me.
It’s you.
You’re making me whole again.
Because it’s you.
(It's always been you.)
§
Jaejoong is still eighteen when he starts flying again.
He is sitting somewhere in the audience, his eyes trained on the stage before him, waiting. He tastes his drink occasionally, bowing his head slightly to take a tentative sip, only to snap it up quickly and look back at the stage hoping he hasn’t missed anything. He relaxes when he sees it is still empty but he feels anticipation building in his chest, anyway. What’s taking so long?
There are excited murmurs among the people around him and Jaejoong can’t help smiling. This is all Junsu’s doing, he thinks proudly, his heart expanding. They’re all here because of Junsu.
A single spotlight opens on stage and then he’s there. Junsu. He is wearing a tailored black suit, his short hair meticulously styled. Jaejoong thinks Junsu looks beautiful but not as beautiful as he looks in his normal, threadbare clothes, his brown hair sticking up messily. He thinks of the softness of Junsu’s hair under his hands and he smiles contentedly knowing he’ll be able to touch it again after this.
(Always.)
Junsu’s eyes are closed, his slender hands grasping the mike stand tenderly. There is a small smile on his lips and Jaejoong feels the crowd hush. And then Junsu opens his eyes, running his gaze around the room until he meets Jaejoong’s eyes.
His eyes light up, light up like tiny suns. Junsu smiles widely and his smile burns a path directly into Jaejoong’s heart. He smiles back. I’m here. I’m here for you, too.
The music starts playing and Junsu opens his lips and starts singing. Jaejoong doesn’t need to hear the words, doesn’t need to understand them. He just listens, really listens, and he hears it.
I love you.
Junsu looks at him as he sings, his dark eyes never leaving Jaejoong’s face, his hips swaying slightly to the music.
I love you.
Junsu’s voice soars and he extends his arm in front of him, as if he’s offering it to someone. He’s giving it to Jaejoong.
I love you.
Jaejoong’s heart soars with him.
And he knows, he finally knows, that he doesn’t need wings to fly again.