give us refuge
give us refuge
jaejoong/yoochun
very light R
a/n. end-of-the-world fic, loosely based off "impact". huge thanks to essyllus for looking it over and reassuring my various worries ♥
(someone will give us refuge, circling left or circling right.
little ending - charles wright)
Jaejoong turns twenty-three years old when the world as he knows it ends.
He sees the meteor crash into the side of the moon, sees the debris as it crashes down to Earth in flashes of orange and gray. He wakes up to tidal disturbances and electrical surges that take out the gas station just down the street. He's in his house watching the news when suddenly he's weightless and drifting to his ceiling, halfway there before crashing to his sofa.
It's a week later before the Americans finally make the announcement: the moon is on a collision-course with Earth. It's destroy or be destroyed. Jaejoong laughs. He laughs because scientist or not, he knows if the moon doesn't get them, the shock waves and ecological fuck-ups will.
Jaejoong spends what could be his last day on his roof, watching it all with his smokes, a six pack and a smile caught by a camera phone.
Jaejoong's twenty-three years and two days old when he meets Yoochun.
He looks small amidst the cars and concrete, buildings that came down before their time. Jaejoong takes a picture, thinking of History Channel biographies that have the grotesque, brutal truth painted all over them. He hesitates for a long moment before moving closer.
"You okay?" he asks, pocketing his cell. He pulls out his cigarettes on the return trip. Hopefully the guy wouldn't mind too much; he shouldn't, really.
"Yeah, I guess so," is the reply, as gritty as the air around them, slightly strained. "You mind if I bum one of those?"
Jaejoong tosses the pack. "I'm Jaejoong." He skips formalities. They're long gone by now, anyway.
"Yoochun. You seen anyone else?"
Jaejoong sits down on the rubble next to Yoochun, shaking his head. "You're the first I've seen since the explosion," he replies softly.
Yoochun's silent, a nod his only answer.
"I should be dead, by all rights," Jaejoong says, running the filter across his lips lightly. "I was on my roof when it happened. Should have been killed right then and there. They say to stay low when you're dealing with deadly gases and shit." He pauses for a drag. "Or maybe that's smoke I'm thinking of."
"Smoke," Yoochun agrees calmly, "I think it was the smoke that got everyone. I mean, everyone that hadn't died from the shockwave."
"Yeah," Jaejoong says. "But I was on the roof."
Yoochun looks at him, shrugs. "Luck."
Jaejoong sighs off-white. "My birthday," he murmurs.
"Happy fucking birthday," Yoochun says quietly, his lips curved wryly.
They sit in silence for a while, until the nicotine runs out. "So," Jaejoong says, glancing down at Yoochun's leg. The blood's starting to clot now, but the bone's still showing. "You sure you're okay?"
"You a doctor?" Yoochun asks, eyes flickering downwards briefly. "Because otherwise, I wouldn't really worry about it."
Jaejoong keeps staring. Blood's always been one of those things he could live without seeing, but it seems so small in comparison now. "No, but I can try. Maybe I'll get lucky again."
Yoochun chuckles dryly. "Not your birthday now, though," he says, even as he waves a hand at his leg. "Have at it, I guess."
"Yeah," Jaejoong says, swallowing ash.
"I used to write," Yoochun says breathily. Jaejoong looks up for a moment. Yoochun's eyes are glassy as he stares at the ceiling, like he's dead already.
"Poetry, books?" Jaejoong prompts for distraction, poking the needle through again. He never thought one day he'd be putting his sewing skills to use like this. His oldest sister might be proud.
"Songs," Yoochun says after a moment, "I play the piano."
Jaejoong focuses on Yoochun again and sharp pain in his finger brings his attention back down. "When this is over, you can play me something, okay?" He grabs another glove and begins again.
Yoochun laughs weakly. "Bedside manner already?"
Jaejoong can't help but smile at that. "Never heard of it," he says, resisting the urge to glance up again. He's almost done. "Were you good?"
Yoochun hisses. "Yeah, I was good," he says. "I was damn good."
"I guess now you'll be the best, huh?" Jaejoong finishes the last drag of the needle through Yoochun's skin and ties it up. "Write me a song and we'll become famous."
Yoochun's chuckle is more of a giggle this time and Jaejoong laughs along because it sounds like the real thing.
"You think," Yoochun whispers, slurred, "You think maybe it was aliens?" It took Jaejoong a little longer than he would have liked to find the pain medication, but Yoochun doesn't seem like he cares overly much. His eyes are still glassy, but they're not so dead now.
Jaejoong gives Yoochun a drag of his cigarette, shrugging. "Don't know why they wouldn't just do it themselves, instead of going through all the trouble of a meteor and the moon," he replies, kicking at some rubble by Yoochun's bed. "You hurting anywhere? I can get some more drugs."
Yoochun's eyes droop slightly and he purses his mouth. Jaejoong looks away. On afterthought, he adds, "You allergic to anything, by the way?"
Yoochun shakes his head, doesn't reply until Jaejoong nudges him. "Oh, no to both. 'M good." He frowns, staring up at Jaejoong blearily. "Thought you weren't a doctor?"
Jaejoong grins, cheshire. "I'm not. But they've got a fuckload of books here."
"Smart." Yoochun giggles, wraps fingers around Jaejoong's wrist and brings the cigarette to his lips again. "If I live through this, I may just kiss you, Jaejoong."
Jaejoong laughs, wiggling the cigarette gently between his fingers. "You already have," he says, "And you better live through this, I'm not going to end up like Will Smith in that one movie."
Yoochun nods. His eyes slide shut gracefully. Jaejoong hopes he didn't give Yoochun too much. "Be a shame if we're the only ones left," Yoochun mutters, "Can't re-populate the earth."
Jaejoong snorts. "Never said I'd fuck you," he says, stubbing the cigarette out on the side of the bed. He stands, thinking perhaps now would be a good time to hunt for food. "Never even said I'd let you kiss me."
Yoochun's lips quirk lazily, mischief in the corners. Jaejoong's stomach does a little flip.
"Not gonna have a choice."
Yoochun's wound gets infected within the next few days. Jaejoong spends the entire week Yoochun's out reading the books in doctors' offices, the ones that don't have bodies. He reads them out loud - the sound of his voice has never been more comforting.
Yoochun murmurs in his sleep, delirious things that have no meaning. Jaejoong thinks he picks up some English, rough around the edges. Somewhere between a nap and giving Yoochun some broth, Yoochun smiles. Jaejoong takes out his phone and keeps it to soften the anxiety that's eating away at his bones.
"Jaejoong," Yoochun whispers, waking Jaejoong. Jaejoong blinks once, twice. The room is brighter than he remembers. "You ass, get up, I'm thirsty."
Jaejoong nods jerkily, stumbling for the sink. "How do you feel?" he mumbles, kicking rubble out of the way to avoid tripping.
"Like shit, but not dead shit," Yoochun replies promptly, then after a pause, "You look worse."
Jaejoong gives him a derogatory salute, which he laughs at. Jaejoong finds himself smiling at the sound, thrusting a cup in Yoochun's hand. "Good to have you back."
Yoochun downs the water, sighing. "How long was I out?" Jaejoong tells him, and he whistles. "Guess one of us got lucky."
Jaejoong grins. He allows himself the small satisfaction for as long as he can before he looks down. He sobers immediately. "Pretty sure you're still not going anywhere for a while," he says, "Don't think I could pull off a cast."
Yoochun runs a fingernail down the grooved plastic cup. "Either way, I'm probably not going to walk right again," he says calmly, almost thoughtful.
Jaejoong hums in agreement, chewing on his lip. The splint on Yoochun's leg is mediocre, at best, and the break's a bad one. "We'll be alright," Jaejoong says after a while, smiling up at Yoochun. If it looks anything like the false, deadened hope he's feeling, Yoochun doesn't let on.
"Unless the zoo animals get out. Got any food?" Yoochun says instead.
They spend three weeks, give or take, in that room. Jaejoong leaves only to find food that's not from a vending machine and more cigarettes, taking the less scenic routes. If he doesn't see the bodies, they're not real. The hospital still has electricity and gas, so Jaejoong uses the cafeteria. Yoochun complains about Jaejoong's love of spice, so more often than not Jaejoong's cooking two main courses.
"You think you can walk, yet?" Jaejoong asks over kimchi jjigae and beer. It's not as spicy as he'd like, but there wasn't enough kimchi for two versions.
Yoochun's mouth is full so he shrugs, still doesn't answer after he washes it down.
"Do you want to try?"
"Should I?" Yoochun says quietly, as if the reality is sinking in and down. Yoochun's personality is starting to unravel; Jaejoong's only got little pieces that don't match. But they've got the rest of their lives and nothing else other than to figure each other out.
"If you don't want the zoo animals to get you, yes," Jaejoong says, offering a smile.
"Oh, right." Yoochun manages a half-smile in return, crooked and wet with a dribble of stew. Jaejoong leans over and thumbs it away, unthinking until it's done. Yoochun's gaze flickers, and by now, Jaejoong knows when Yoochun's not saying something. What he doesn't know is how to ask what it is.
"Tomorrow, then?"
"Sure."
Yoochun was right: he limps slightly to and from the bed and sink. "Could be worse," he says after a short exhale. He seems calm again, but his fingers shake when he reaches for his drink. It could just be from exertion.
"Saw some people today," Jaejoong says. "They're staying in the cancer wing, is why we haven't seen them before now."
Yoochun nods and leans back on his hands. His gaze stays on the window for a long while, lips a thin line.
"I wonder what the rest of the world looks like," he says finally, sounding as if he's not speaking to anyone in particular. But he looks up at Jaejoong and there's this quiet sort of insistence in his eyes, like he needs someone to tell him it's all going to be okay, and really mean it.
"I've got a keyboard at my apartment. It's not much, but it's there," Jaejoong says, watches the way Yoochun's fingers dance across his blanket before dropping to his lap.
"Still need to play for you," Yoochun says in agreement. He looks out the window again, smiling this time.
Jaejoong takes another picture.
"Is it close?" Yoochun asks, huffing as he misses a step and stumbles over rubble. He lands on Jaejoong's foot and halfway into his arms and Jaejoong would laugh were it not for the soft, resigned curse Yoochun utters.
"Yeah," Jaejoong says, arm loose around Yoochun's waist. "Maybe three blocks or so."
Yoochun's been tense with restless anticipation of going outside. The limp is easily ignored for the way Yoochun sighs and seems to soften all over as they exit the hospital, eyes shut as the sun hits his face. It's been out for a week now, though the air is still musty and dead. Jaejoong wonders how long it will last.
"They blew up the moon, right?"
Jaejoong shoves his hands into his pockets when Yoochun moves away. His fingers curl around the smooth metal of his phone, instinctive. "Why don't you ask that piece over in Incheon," he says. He laughs, but the sound is pulled from him at the sheer absurdity of the statement, not from humor. He sidesteps a body, the sight only jerking at his stomach once.
Yoochun snorts, knocks his elbow against Jaejoong's. "Did you know an asteroid only fourteen kilometers wide killed the dinosaurs?"
Jaejoong laughs for real this time. "Maybe this one was a really small piece," he retorts, wetting his lips. It feels like the air's getting drier.
They stop by the convenience store on the way, grabbing water, cigarettes and snacks. Jaejoong leaves money on the counter, on a pile that's a month old. On a quick second thought, he grabs a tube of chapstick, too, offering it to Yoochun on the way out.
"You've been leaving him all that?" Yoochun takes the tube, and Jaejoong tries not to watch the way Yoochun's lips shine afterward.
"Yeah. I felt bad."
"You didn't pay for the chapstick." Yoochun licks his lips, smacking obscenely. "Mmm, cherry."
Jaejoong holds up his phone. "Smile," he says, and Yoochun does, bright and cheesy, effortless.
"How many of me do you have?" he asks, tugging the phone from Jaejoong to answer himself. He counts them out loud, laughing by the time he reaches twenty-seven. "You're fucking insane and half of these are my worst angles."
Jaejoong lifts a shoulder. "I liked them," he says nonchalantly, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
"You like me." And just like that, Yoochun shifts: daredevil, flirtatious.
"Do I?" Jaejoong shoots back, grinning to make it casual and maybe to ease the way his stomach tightens.
Yoochun hands the phone back, waving it briefly. "Proof."
"Ass."
"Not really, it's pretty flat," Yoochun says around a smile. He looks up when Jaejoong stops. "This you?"
Jaejoong glances up too, to the roof top and down, slow like a lover. "Third floor," he murmurs, stuck on the dark green curtains he'd put up just before the moon was hit. It almost feels like another lifetime.
When he drops his gaze, Yoochun's watching him intently. "Cheap, okay, or awesome?" he asks, deadpan.
Jaejoong smothers a laugh behind his hand, the other one on Yoochun's elbow to guide him inside.
Jaejoong's apartment is 'okay' and his keyboard even less so. He'd gotten it from a neighbor, well-loved. It's covered in a thin layer of dust that Yoochun parts with fingertips.
"It's nice," he says, fingers trickling across the keys; the sound's still good, but Jaejoong's holding out hope that Yoochun'll make it sound better.
"So sit down and play, already," Jaejoong says, nudging Yoochun lightly.
Yoochun sits, shaking his head as Jaejoong lifts his phone, and cracks his knuckles comically. "Prepare to be amazed." Jaejoong doesn't get a chance to reply, because just as quick as Yoochun is to be lighthearted, he's sliding into reverie, flesh and plastic ivory. Jaejoong wants to capture every tiny movement, but he's too lost in the way Yoochun plays like he feels.
"Cheese."
Jaejoong blinks out of his focus. "What?"
"Cheese," Yoochun repeats, smiling. "It's what they say in America when they pose for pictures."
Yoochun's still playing. It's still fluid, but it's not as heavy, like the new has worn off into something familiar. Jaejoong takes the hint and captures the way Yoochun looks at him, soft and open from playing or something else Jaejoong's so close to figuring out.
"Another bad angle," Yoochun says, making space for Jaejoong.
"Not really," Jaejoong says, because it's his new favorite.
Yoochun hums, running through a chord progression, light and teasing.
"Hey, Yoochun."
Yoochun looks up; he hits the wrong key and the progression falls flat. Jaejoong leans over and kisses Yoochun to pick it up again. The phone drops as Jaejoong curls his fingers around the nape of Yoochun's neck instead, forgotten as Jaejoong catches the slide of Yoochun's lips and tongue instead of angles.
Yoochun smiles into the kiss. "Told you."
"Told me what?"
"That you'd have no choice," Yoochun says, and kisses Jaejoong again.
jaejoong/yoochun
very light R
a/n. end-of-the-world fic, loosely based off "impact". huge thanks to essyllus for looking it over and reassuring my various worries ♥
(someone will give us refuge, circling left or circling right.
little ending - charles wright)
Jaejoong turns twenty-three years old when the world as he knows it ends.
He sees the meteor crash into the side of the moon, sees the debris as it crashes down to Earth in flashes of orange and gray. He wakes up to tidal disturbances and electrical surges that take out the gas station just down the street. He's in his house watching the news when suddenly he's weightless and drifting to his ceiling, halfway there before crashing to his sofa.
It's a week later before the Americans finally make the announcement: the moon is on a collision-course with Earth. It's destroy or be destroyed. Jaejoong laughs. He laughs because scientist or not, he knows if the moon doesn't get them, the shock waves and ecological fuck-ups will.
Jaejoong spends what could be his last day on his roof, watching it all with his smokes, a six pack and a smile caught by a camera phone.
Jaejoong's twenty-three years and two days old when he meets Yoochun.
He looks small amidst the cars and concrete, buildings that came down before their time. Jaejoong takes a picture, thinking of History Channel biographies that have the grotesque, brutal truth painted all over them. He hesitates for a long moment before moving closer.
"You okay?" he asks, pocketing his cell. He pulls out his cigarettes on the return trip. Hopefully the guy wouldn't mind too much; he shouldn't, really.
"Yeah, I guess so," is the reply, as gritty as the air around them, slightly strained. "You mind if I bum one of those?"
Jaejoong tosses the pack. "I'm Jaejoong." He skips formalities. They're long gone by now, anyway.
"Yoochun. You seen anyone else?"
Jaejoong sits down on the rubble next to Yoochun, shaking his head. "You're the first I've seen since the explosion," he replies softly.
Yoochun's silent, a nod his only answer.
"I should be dead, by all rights," Jaejoong says, running the filter across his lips lightly. "I was on my roof when it happened. Should have been killed right then and there. They say to stay low when you're dealing with deadly gases and shit." He pauses for a drag. "Or maybe that's smoke I'm thinking of."
"Smoke," Yoochun agrees calmly, "I think it was the smoke that got everyone. I mean, everyone that hadn't died from the shockwave."
"Yeah," Jaejoong says. "But I was on the roof."
Yoochun looks at him, shrugs. "Luck."
Jaejoong sighs off-white. "My birthday," he murmurs.
"Happy fucking birthday," Yoochun says quietly, his lips curved wryly.
They sit in silence for a while, until the nicotine runs out. "So," Jaejoong says, glancing down at Yoochun's leg. The blood's starting to clot now, but the bone's still showing. "You sure you're okay?"
"You a doctor?" Yoochun asks, eyes flickering downwards briefly. "Because otherwise, I wouldn't really worry about it."
Jaejoong keeps staring. Blood's always been one of those things he could live without seeing, but it seems so small in comparison now. "No, but I can try. Maybe I'll get lucky again."
Yoochun chuckles dryly. "Not your birthday now, though," he says, even as he waves a hand at his leg. "Have at it, I guess."
"Yeah," Jaejoong says, swallowing ash.
"I used to write," Yoochun says breathily. Jaejoong looks up for a moment. Yoochun's eyes are glassy as he stares at the ceiling, like he's dead already.
"Poetry, books?" Jaejoong prompts for distraction, poking the needle through again. He never thought one day he'd be putting his sewing skills to use like this. His oldest sister might be proud.
"Songs," Yoochun says after a moment, "I play the piano."
Jaejoong focuses on Yoochun again and sharp pain in his finger brings his attention back down. "When this is over, you can play me something, okay?" He grabs another glove and begins again.
Yoochun laughs weakly. "Bedside manner already?"
Jaejoong can't help but smile at that. "Never heard of it," he says, resisting the urge to glance up again. He's almost done. "Were you good?"
Yoochun hisses. "Yeah, I was good," he says. "I was damn good."
"I guess now you'll be the best, huh?" Jaejoong finishes the last drag of the needle through Yoochun's skin and ties it up. "Write me a song and we'll become famous."
Yoochun's chuckle is more of a giggle this time and Jaejoong laughs along because it sounds like the real thing.
"You think," Yoochun whispers, slurred, "You think maybe it was aliens?" It took Jaejoong a little longer than he would have liked to find the pain medication, but Yoochun doesn't seem like he cares overly much. His eyes are still glassy, but they're not so dead now.
Jaejoong gives Yoochun a drag of his cigarette, shrugging. "Don't know why they wouldn't just do it themselves, instead of going through all the trouble of a meteor and the moon," he replies, kicking at some rubble by Yoochun's bed. "You hurting anywhere? I can get some more drugs."
Yoochun's eyes droop slightly and he purses his mouth. Jaejoong looks away. On afterthought, he adds, "You allergic to anything, by the way?"
Yoochun shakes his head, doesn't reply until Jaejoong nudges him. "Oh, no to both. 'M good." He frowns, staring up at Jaejoong blearily. "Thought you weren't a doctor?"
Jaejoong grins, cheshire. "I'm not. But they've got a fuckload of books here."
"Smart." Yoochun giggles, wraps fingers around Jaejoong's wrist and brings the cigarette to his lips again. "If I live through this, I may just kiss you, Jaejoong."
Jaejoong laughs, wiggling the cigarette gently between his fingers. "You already have," he says, "And you better live through this, I'm not going to end up like Will Smith in that one movie."
Yoochun nods. His eyes slide shut gracefully. Jaejoong hopes he didn't give Yoochun too much. "Be a shame if we're the only ones left," Yoochun mutters, "Can't re-populate the earth."
Jaejoong snorts. "Never said I'd fuck you," he says, stubbing the cigarette out on the side of the bed. He stands, thinking perhaps now would be a good time to hunt for food. "Never even said I'd let you kiss me."
Yoochun's lips quirk lazily, mischief in the corners. Jaejoong's stomach does a little flip.
"Not gonna have a choice."
Yoochun's wound gets infected within the next few days. Jaejoong spends the entire week Yoochun's out reading the books in doctors' offices, the ones that don't have bodies. He reads them out loud - the sound of his voice has never been more comforting.
Yoochun murmurs in his sleep, delirious things that have no meaning. Jaejoong thinks he picks up some English, rough around the edges. Somewhere between a nap and giving Yoochun some broth, Yoochun smiles. Jaejoong takes out his phone and keeps it to soften the anxiety that's eating away at his bones.
"Jaejoong," Yoochun whispers, waking Jaejoong. Jaejoong blinks once, twice. The room is brighter than he remembers. "You ass, get up, I'm thirsty."
Jaejoong nods jerkily, stumbling for the sink. "How do you feel?" he mumbles, kicking rubble out of the way to avoid tripping.
"Like shit, but not dead shit," Yoochun replies promptly, then after a pause, "You look worse."
Jaejoong gives him a derogatory salute, which he laughs at. Jaejoong finds himself smiling at the sound, thrusting a cup in Yoochun's hand. "Good to have you back."
Yoochun downs the water, sighing. "How long was I out?" Jaejoong tells him, and he whistles. "Guess one of us got lucky."
Jaejoong grins. He allows himself the small satisfaction for as long as he can before he looks down. He sobers immediately. "Pretty sure you're still not going anywhere for a while," he says, "Don't think I could pull off a cast."
Yoochun runs a fingernail down the grooved plastic cup. "Either way, I'm probably not going to walk right again," he says calmly, almost thoughtful.
Jaejoong hums in agreement, chewing on his lip. The splint on Yoochun's leg is mediocre, at best, and the break's a bad one. "We'll be alright," Jaejoong says after a while, smiling up at Yoochun. If it looks anything like the false, deadened hope he's feeling, Yoochun doesn't let on.
"Unless the zoo animals get out. Got any food?" Yoochun says instead.
They spend three weeks, give or take, in that room. Jaejoong leaves only to find food that's not from a vending machine and more cigarettes, taking the less scenic routes. If he doesn't see the bodies, they're not real. The hospital still has electricity and gas, so Jaejoong uses the cafeteria. Yoochun complains about Jaejoong's love of spice, so more often than not Jaejoong's cooking two main courses.
"You think you can walk, yet?" Jaejoong asks over kimchi jjigae and beer. It's not as spicy as he'd like, but there wasn't enough kimchi for two versions.
Yoochun's mouth is full so he shrugs, still doesn't answer after he washes it down.
"Do you want to try?"
"Should I?" Yoochun says quietly, as if the reality is sinking in and down. Yoochun's personality is starting to unravel; Jaejoong's only got little pieces that don't match. But they've got the rest of their lives and nothing else other than to figure each other out.
"If you don't want the zoo animals to get you, yes," Jaejoong says, offering a smile.
"Oh, right." Yoochun manages a half-smile in return, crooked and wet with a dribble of stew. Jaejoong leans over and thumbs it away, unthinking until it's done. Yoochun's gaze flickers, and by now, Jaejoong knows when Yoochun's not saying something. What he doesn't know is how to ask what it is.
"Tomorrow, then?"
"Sure."
Yoochun was right: he limps slightly to and from the bed and sink. "Could be worse," he says after a short exhale. He seems calm again, but his fingers shake when he reaches for his drink. It could just be from exertion.
"Saw some people today," Jaejoong says. "They're staying in the cancer wing, is why we haven't seen them before now."
Yoochun nods and leans back on his hands. His gaze stays on the window for a long while, lips a thin line.
"I wonder what the rest of the world looks like," he says finally, sounding as if he's not speaking to anyone in particular. But he looks up at Jaejoong and there's this quiet sort of insistence in his eyes, like he needs someone to tell him it's all going to be okay, and really mean it.
"I've got a keyboard at my apartment. It's not much, but it's there," Jaejoong says, watches the way Yoochun's fingers dance across his blanket before dropping to his lap.
"Still need to play for you," Yoochun says in agreement. He looks out the window again, smiling this time.
Jaejoong takes another picture.
"Is it close?" Yoochun asks, huffing as he misses a step and stumbles over rubble. He lands on Jaejoong's foot and halfway into his arms and Jaejoong would laugh were it not for the soft, resigned curse Yoochun utters.
"Yeah," Jaejoong says, arm loose around Yoochun's waist. "Maybe three blocks or so."
Yoochun's been tense with restless anticipation of going outside. The limp is easily ignored for the way Yoochun sighs and seems to soften all over as they exit the hospital, eyes shut as the sun hits his face. It's been out for a week now, though the air is still musty and dead. Jaejoong wonders how long it will last.
"They blew up the moon, right?"
Jaejoong shoves his hands into his pockets when Yoochun moves away. His fingers curl around the smooth metal of his phone, instinctive. "Why don't you ask that piece over in Incheon," he says. He laughs, but the sound is pulled from him at the sheer absurdity of the statement, not from humor. He sidesteps a body, the sight only jerking at his stomach once.
Yoochun snorts, knocks his elbow against Jaejoong's. "Did you know an asteroid only fourteen kilometers wide killed the dinosaurs?"
Jaejoong laughs for real this time. "Maybe this one was a really small piece," he retorts, wetting his lips. It feels like the air's getting drier.
They stop by the convenience store on the way, grabbing water, cigarettes and snacks. Jaejoong leaves money on the counter, on a pile that's a month old. On a quick second thought, he grabs a tube of chapstick, too, offering it to Yoochun on the way out.
"You've been leaving him all that?" Yoochun takes the tube, and Jaejoong tries not to watch the way Yoochun's lips shine afterward.
"Yeah. I felt bad."
"You didn't pay for the chapstick." Yoochun licks his lips, smacking obscenely. "Mmm, cherry."
Jaejoong holds up his phone. "Smile," he says, and Yoochun does, bright and cheesy, effortless.
"How many of me do you have?" he asks, tugging the phone from Jaejoong to answer himself. He counts them out loud, laughing by the time he reaches twenty-seven. "You're fucking insane and half of these are my worst angles."
Jaejoong lifts a shoulder. "I liked them," he says nonchalantly, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
"You like me." And just like that, Yoochun shifts: daredevil, flirtatious.
"Do I?" Jaejoong shoots back, grinning to make it casual and maybe to ease the way his stomach tightens.
Yoochun hands the phone back, waving it briefly. "Proof."
"Ass."
"Not really, it's pretty flat," Yoochun says around a smile. He looks up when Jaejoong stops. "This you?"
Jaejoong glances up too, to the roof top and down, slow like a lover. "Third floor," he murmurs, stuck on the dark green curtains he'd put up just before the moon was hit. It almost feels like another lifetime.
When he drops his gaze, Yoochun's watching him intently. "Cheap, okay, or awesome?" he asks, deadpan.
Jaejoong smothers a laugh behind his hand, the other one on Yoochun's elbow to guide him inside.
Jaejoong's apartment is 'okay' and his keyboard even less so. He'd gotten it from a neighbor, well-loved. It's covered in a thin layer of dust that Yoochun parts with fingertips.
"It's nice," he says, fingers trickling across the keys; the sound's still good, but Jaejoong's holding out hope that Yoochun'll make it sound better.
"So sit down and play, already," Jaejoong says, nudging Yoochun lightly.
Yoochun sits, shaking his head as Jaejoong lifts his phone, and cracks his knuckles comically. "Prepare to be amazed." Jaejoong doesn't get a chance to reply, because just as quick as Yoochun is to be lighthearted, he's sliding into reverie, flesh and plastic ivory. Jaejoong wants to capture every tiny movement, but he's too lost in the way Yoochun plays like he feels.
"Cheese."
Jaejoong blinks out of his focus. "What?"
"Cheese," Yoochun repeats, smiling. "It's what they say in America when they pose for pictures."
Yoochun's still playing. It's still fluid, but it's not as heavy, like the new has worn off into something familiar. Jaejoong takes the hint and captures the way Yoochun looks at him, soft and open from playing or something else Jaejoong's so close to figuring out.
"Another bad angle," Yoochun says, making space for Jaejoong.
"Not really," Jaejoong says, because it's his new favorite.
Yoochun hums, running through a chord progression, light and teasing.
"Hey, Yoochun."
Yoochun looks up; he hits the wrong key and the progression falls flat. Jaejoong leans over and kisses Yoochun to pick it up again. The phone drops as Jaejoong curls his fingers around the nape of Yoochun's neck instead, forgotten as Jaejoong catches the slide of Yoochun's lips and tongue instead of angles.
Yoochun smiles into the kiss. "Told you."
"Told me what?"
"That you'd have no choice," Yoochun says, and kisses Jaejoong again.