043. when you're dead
Title: When You're Dead [1117 words]
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Fandom: MBLAQ
Pairing: Joon/Mir
Summary: In which Chulyong is kind of dead, but not really.
A/N: Unedited. First ever MBLAQ fic.
when 8:00 comes and goes without a single sound from the room next to his, changsun knows something is wrong. he knocks on the wall separating his room from chulyong and asks
"are you okay?" but there's no reply.
"chulyong?"
"shut up and come in."
--- --- ---
"hyung, i think i'm dead." chulyong's voice is muffled by the blankets he's huddled beneath.
"dead?"
"yeah."
--- --- ---
as it turns out, chulyong is kinda dead. he's not breathing, his heart's not beating, but for some reason, he's still here walking and talking and being prettier than changsun could ever hope to be.
-- -- --
changsun makes a few calls and soon, byunghee, sanghyun, and seungho are all seated on the living room floor looking two parts confused, ten parts annoyed. changsun decides to dive in headfirst (not that he ever does otherwise).
"so, chulyong? he's dead, but alive. well not alive, but he exists." the trio look up at changsun like he's four sorts of crazy.
"he looks fine to me." seungho remarks.
"he has no heartbeat." changsun retorts as he pushes chulyong forward. seungho searches for a pulse. he presses his fingers against chulyong's arm, neck, chest, but there's nothing.
"he's not breathing and he’s cold, freezing." seungho announces, voice shaky, face pale.
"what happened?" he whispers, looking up at their youngest.
"i don't know."
--- --- ---
they take turns, fluttering about chulyong, attempting to comfort him. seungho bundles him up in layers and layers of blanket while byunghee does his best impressions of professor kang, and changsun heats some water up for tea.
sanghyun's last. he doesn't say anything though, he just places a hand on chulyong's shoulder and traces we'll get through this together into the fabric of chulyong's pajamas, into the lifeless skin of his arm.
--- --- ---
when they finally leave and the dorm is finally quiet again, changsun is sitting on the sofa while chulyong lays on the floor. his limbs are splayed out in directions they both didn’t know were possible and changsun idly wonders whether it’s possible for the undead to feel pain.
“hyung?”
“yeah?”
“what are we going to do?”
“there’s nothing we can do,”
--- --- ---
chulyong’s funeral is a private affair, only family and close friends are invited. after tears are shed and words are spoken, the coffin is lowered into the ground. everybody leaves. wilted roses lay on the trodden dirt, the faint tinkle of jingle bells can be heard from afar.
the night finds a group of four boys huddled around a hole in the ground. byunghee has a crowbar in his hands and seungho steadies him while he pries the lid of the coffin open. when they finally do get it off, chulyong is lying inside. he looks up at the dirt-smudged faces of his best friends and tries to smile.
“hey” he says.
i’m scared he doesn’t say (he doesn’t really need to, they’re all thinking the same thing).
“how was your day?”
--- --- ---
they all crash at changsun’s place for the night. chulyong offers his bed to seungho
since he doesn’t really need to sleep anymore. byunghee and sanghyun pull out the wrinkled old sleeping bags changsun keeps in the hallway closet and changsun moves three chairs into chulyong’s room. when everybody is settled and comfortable, seungho mumbles a good night before flicking the lights off.
sometime in the middle of a dream about dancing and rapping and cheers of a word changsun can’t really catch, a finger pokes his face. when he opens his eyes, chulyong’s face is inches from his own. his eyes are wide, pleading and changsun knows exactly what he wants.
“no.” he whispers quietly. he’s tired, sore, confused, and he just wants his sleep goddamnit.
“please? i’m lonely.”
“no.” changsun says.
“meanie.” chulyong hangs his head dejectedly before shuffling out of changsun’s view.
the next morning, changsun’s blue blanket lays forgotten on the ground beside his makeshift bed (three hard chairs lined up next to one another). chulyong is clutching changsun and they’re squeezed so close together, it’s hard to tell where chulyong ends and changsun begins.
--- --- ---
the weeks following chulyong’s death are nothing out of the ordinary. chulyong still throws pillows at changsun to wake him up, changsun still practices at the studio until seven at night, chulyong still makes stupid jokes and laughs his retarded laugh.
there’s still something different though, something heavy hanging in the air between them. fear?
changsun doesn’t know
(chulyong doesn’t either).
--- --- ---
one day, changsun comes home with two boxes of chinese takeout in his hands. when he opens the door, he sees chulyong sitting at the kitchen table talking to a small black bird.
“i understand.” his voice is serious, faltering. changsun closes the door behind him, the small click alerts chulyong of his presence. the younger man turns towards him.
“i need to go.”
changsun know what he means, chulyong’s supposed to be dead, not undead. he’s supposed to be in heaven or hell or hades or wherever people go after they die. he’s not supposed to be stuck on earth in this constant state of limbo. the bird is a raven, it’s death, it’s taking chulyong back to somewhere (but not here).
“no.” he doesn’t want chulyong to go, there’s still so much he has to do, has to say (things like you’re sort of disgusting and you have a stupid face and you’re my bestest friend, never leave me, please?).
changsun has always been a selfish person, chulyong knows it, seungho knows it, the landlord knows it, he himself knows it. that’s the reason why he’s unwilling to give chulyong up.
“i’m sorry hyung.”
“no.”
don’t go, please please please, take me with you runs like a mantra through changsun’s head.
“i have to.” chulyong places a piece of pink notepaper on the counter and when changsun blinks, he’s gone.
--- --- ---
there’s a pile of garbage in the walkway outside of changsun’s apartment complex. he’s thrown out everything chulyong and tells seungho to move in with him.
but it’s just not the same. it never will be the same.
--- --- ---
there’s a worn piece of pink staved paper tucked beneath changsun’s pillow. seungho finds it when he’s cleaning out changsun’s room, packing everything into neat little boxes to give to his parents after his funeral. see you soon is all that’s written and seungho shrugs before throwing it into the wastebasket beside changsun’s desk.
--- --- ---
changsun is buried two months after chulyong. tears are shed, words are spoken, but he rests in peace.
they rest in peace.
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Fandom: MBLAQ
Pairing: Joon/Mir
Summary: In which Chulyong is kind of dead, but not really.
A/N: Unedited. First ever MBLAQ fic.
when 8:00 comes and goes without a single sound from the room next to his, changsun knows something is wrong. he knocks on the wall separating his room from chulyong and asks
"are you okay?" but there's no reply.
"chulyong?"
"shut up and come in."
--- --- ---
"hyung, i think i'm dead." chulyong's voice is muffled by the blankets he's huddled beneath.
"dead?"
"yeah."
--- --- ---
as it turns out, chulyong is kinda dead. he's not breathing, his heart's not beating, but for some reason, he's still here walking and talking and being prettier than changsun could ever hope to be.
-- -- --
changsun makes a few calls and soon, byunghee, sanghyun, and seungho are all seated on the living room floor looking two parts confused, ten parts annoyed. changsun decides to dive in headfirst (not that he ever does otherwise).
"so, chulyong? he's dead, but alive. well not alive, but he exists." the trio look up at changsun like he's four sorts of crazy.
"he looks fine to me." seungho remarks.
"he has no heartbeat." changsun retorts as he pushes chulyong forward. seungho searches for a pulse. he presses his fingers against chulyong's arm, neck, chest, but there's nothing.
"he's not breathing and he’s cold, freezing." seungho announces, voice shaky, face pale.
"what happened?" he whispers, looking up at their youngest.
"i don't know."
--- --- ---
they take turns, fluttering about chulyong, attempting to comfort him. seungho bundles him up in layers and layers of blanket while byunghee does his best impressions of professor kang, and changsun heats some water up for tea.
sanghyun's last. he doesn't say anything though, he just places a hand on chulyong's shoulder and traces we'll get through this together into the fabric of chulyong's pajamas, into the lifeless skin of his arm.
--- --- ---
when they finally leave and the dorm is finally quiet again, changsun is sitting on the sofa while chulyong lays on the floor. his limbs are splayed out in directions they both didn’t know were possible and changsun idly wonders whether it’s possible for the undead to feel pain.
“hyung?”
“yeah?”
“what are we going to do?”
“there’s nothing we can do,”
--- --- ---
chulyong’s funeral is a private affair, only family and close friends are invited. after tears are shed and words are spoken, the coffin is lowered into the ground. everybody leaves. wilted roses lay on the trodden dirt, the faint tinkle of jingle bells can be heard from afar.
the night finds a group of four boys huddled around a hole in the ground. byunghee has a crowbar in his hands and seungho steadies him while he pries the lid of the coffin open. when they finally do get it off, chulyong is lying inside. he looks up at the dirt-smudged faces of his best friends and tries to smile.
“hey” he says.
i’m scared he doesn’t say (he doesn’t really need to, they’re all thinking the same thing).
“how was your day?”
--- --- ---
they all crash at changsun’s place for the night. chulyong offers his bed to seungho
since he doesn’t really need to sleep anymore. byunghee and sanghyun pull out the wrinkled old sleeping bags changsun keeps in the hallway closet and changsun moves three chairs into chulyong’s room. when everybody is settled and comfortable, seungho mumbles a good night before flicking the lights off.
sometime in the middle of a dream about dancing and rapping and cheers of a word changsun can’t really catch, a finger pokes his face. when he opens his eyes, chulyong’s face is inches from his own. his eyes are wide, pleading and changsun knows exactly what he wants.
“no.” he whispers quietly. he’s tired, sore, confused, and he just wants his sleep goddamnit.
“please? i’m lonely.”
“no.” changsun says.
“meanie.” chulyong hangs his head dejectedly before shuffling out of changsun’s view.
the next morning, changsun’s blue blanket lays forgotten on the ground beside his makeshift bed (three hard chairs lined up next to one another). chulyong is clutching changsun and they’re squeezed so close together, it’s hard to tell where chulyong ends and changsun begins.
--- --- ---
the weeks following chulyong’s death are nothing out of the ordinary. chulyong still throws pillows at changsun to wake him up, changsun still practices at the studio until seven at night, chulyong still makes stupid jokes and laughs his retarded laugh.
there’s still something different though, something heavy hanging in the air between them. fear?
changsun doesn’t know
(chulyong doesn’t either).
--- --- ---
one day, changsun comes home with two boxes of chinese takeout in his hands. when he opens the door, he sees chulyong sitting at the kitchen table talking to a small black bird.
“i understand.” his voice is serious, faltering. changsun closes the door behind him, the small click alerts chulyong of his presence. the younger man turns towards him.
“i need to go.”
changsun know what he means, chulyong’s supposed to be dead, not undead. he’s supposed to be in heaven or hell or hades or wherever people go after they die. he’s not supposed to be stuck on earth in this constant state of limbo. the bird is a raven, it’s death, it’s taking chulyong back to somewhere (but not here).
“no.” he doesn’t want chulyong to go, there’s still so much he has to do, has to say (things like you’re sort of disgusting and you have a stupid face and you’re my bestest friend, never leave me, please?).
changsun has always been a selfish person, chulyong knows it, seungho knows it, the landlord knows it, he himself knows it. that’s the reason why he’s unwilling to give chulyong up.
“i’m sorry hyung.”
“no.”
don’t go, please please please, take me with you runs like a mantra through changsun’s head.
“i have to.” chulyong places a piece of pink notepaper on the counter and when changsun blinks, he’s gone.
--- --- ---
there’s a pile of garbage in the walkway outside of changsun’s apartment complex. he’s thrown out everything chulyong and tells seungho to move in with him.
but it’s just not the same. it never will be the same.
--- --- ---
there’s a worn piece of pink staved paper tucked beneath changsun’s pillow. seungho finds it when he’s cleaning out changsun’s room, packing everything into neat little boxes to give to his parents after his funeral. see you soon is all that’s written and seungho shrugs before throwing it into the wastebasket beside changsun’s desk.
--- --- ---
changsun is buried two months after chulyong. tears are shed, words are spoken, but he rests in peace.
they rest in peace.