love on a string
love on a string
yoosu; pg-13
romance
6,608 words
My second entry for the dbsk_secretgame Challenge, which snagged second place for Best Junsu ♥
Our prompt was the quote 'they don't love you like i love you' from the song 'maps' by the yeah yeah yeahs. Though not really necessary, it is an awesome song, so I'd say it's worth the listen. I actually used a bunch of songs for inspiration, including 'Shelter' and a couple songs by Phoenix - if anyone is interested in the playlist (for some good music if nothing else) I'd be happy to send you the link ;)
(Original entry found here.)
“Hey,” Junsu said softly, his words echoing around the inside of the paper cup. He lifted his head and peered out the window to see Yoochun’s response.
The other boy shook his head ‘no.’ Junsu frowned, forehead creasing, and tried again, speaking a little louder. “Hellooo?”
He looked up. Another no.
He huffed. Across the way, Yoochun shrugged.
“WHY ISN’T WORKING?” He shouted at the other boy, waving his hand so that the string between their cups bounced up and down in the air. Somewhere in Junsu’s backyard Xiahki started barking. Yoochun laughed and Junsu could just hear the sound over the distance. The other boy made a motion for him to be quiet, but Junsu braced his chin in his hands, leaning hard against the window frame, and stuck out his tongue at Yoochun.
Yoochun shook his head. “You’re such a baby!” he called.
“AM NOT!”
The other boy laughed again. Yoochun was opening his mouth to say something when the door opened in his room - a sharp BANG that Junsu could hear all the way next door.
Junsu sat up, trying to see, but all he could hear was what sounded like Yoochun’s dad, yelling pretty loud. Yoochun was facing him and looked scared. Junsu thought maybe he had been too loud. He was never allowed to be too loud the few times he’d gone over to Yoochun’s house.
Yoochun was standing and still talking to his dad, so Junsu pulled his end of the string, watching as Yoochun’s cup fell off his windowsill. He reeled it in, dragging it over Yoochun’s roof, the lawn, the fence, and up the side of his house - he smiled when it came back mostly unharmed, just a little dirty. Last time they’d done it Xiahki had gotten it halfway across the yard, and they’d spent an hour trying to get the dog to spit it out.
He looked back at the window, but Yoochun was still facing away - his dad had grabbed him by the arm and was saying something that looked not-good. Yoochun must be in a lot of trouble, he thought.
Junsu watched as Yoochun was pushed back towards the window, but the other boy didn’t even look up. Junsu couldn’t help but pout at being ignored. At the last minute, though, right before Yoochun covered the window with his curtains, he looked straight at Junsu and winked, mouthing ‘see you later’ into the air.
It was enough to leave a smile on Junsu’s face, even after his mother had tucked him in and he started to drift off into sweet dreams.
****
It had been Junsu’s idea to try out the cups, of course, because all good ideas were Junsu’s ideas. Their teacher had read a book about it to their class and they’d tried an experiment after. Junsu and Yoochun had paired up like always, because they were best best friends like that, and worked hard to make the perfect telephone-cups. They put a whole in the bottom of each cup and thread a string between each, and then tried to whisper to each other from across the classroom.
It was stupid, though, because there were twenty other third-graders trying to do the exact same thing, and none of them had quite yet figured out the way to whisper - especially Junsu, Yoochun said, but Junsu thought he was just teasing him to be funny (which he kinda was, not that Junsu’d ever admit it).
So Junsu had the idea to do it at home, across the space between their houses. Yoochun lived just next door and his bedroom window was right across from Junsu’s. All they needed was a long enough string - which they got, a long, soft piece of red yarn that Yoochun sneaked out from the classroom craft-box, because he was good at that sort of thing, and if he got caught he was a better liar than Junsu, who couldn’t really lie at all.
They’d been working at it for a while, trying to get it just right. They’d tried small cups and big cups, one string and two strings, but it hadn’t worked so far.
“Maybe we should just give it up,” Yoochun said, the next day at lunch. Junsu was sharing his lunch with him because Yoochun forgot his at home.
“You only say that ‘cause you got in trouble,” Junsu said. “You’d still want to do it if it were me that got in trouble.”
“No,” Yoochun replied, his feet kicking in the air because his legs weren’t long enough to reach the ground, “I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”
Junsu thought Yoochun looked a little sad, staring down at his scuffed shoes. Junsu had a brand new pair his mom bought him for soccer, but Yoochun hadn’t tried out, so he hadn’t gotten new shoes. So he said, “Yeah, well, you’re a good friend, Yoochunie.”
Yoochun looked up at Junsu and smiled. “Better than you, duckbutt.”
Junsu pushed Yoochun off the bench.
Five minutes later the teacher was reprimanding both of them, sitting them in time-out because ‘fighting was not for proper boys, fighting was not allowed in school.’ Junsu had a scrapped knee and Yoochun was wincing at the goose-egg forming on the back of his head, but when the teacher left them alone they both were laughing.
****
Even when the cups didn’t work, they still tried talking out their window. During the day they played outside on the street, running up and down with the other neighborhood boys and generally making noise. Sometimes they’d go into one of the boy’s house and his would fix them lunch. They never to Yoochun’s house. His mom didn’t like boys in her house. It was okay, though, ‘cause it meant they went to Junsu’s house more and Junsu thought his mom made the best sandwiches in the whole neighborhood.
But when Junsu was supposed to be stay inside, or late at night when everyone had been called in and Junsu was sent to his room to study or read - that was when he would talk to Yoochun, just the two of them. Yoochun would always be waiting for him when he got to the window.
They’d been neighbors since they were five months old and best best friends since longer, as Junsu’s mom always said. Junsu couldn’t remember a day he’d not seen Yoochun.
So when they talked from their windows Junsu didn’t yell anymore, because he really didn’t want to get Yoochun in trouble. But there were other ways. They tried writing notes and then making paper airplanes to throw across, but Yoochun’s aim was horrible and Xiahki kept catching the runaway planes - and then Junsu got in trouble with his mom, who took away his dessert that night. They didn’t try the paper planes again.
The next idea was Yoochun’s, and it involved trying sending messages with their mind. They’d stare at each other and concentrate really really really hard on a thought. Yoochun said if they were best best friends, which they were, they should be able to get the message.
“I DON’T HEAR YOU,” Junsu cried after ten very difficult minutes. Then he clapped his hands over his mouth, knowing that he’d been too loud again. Sometimes he couldn’t help it.
Yoochun was looking at him with wide eyes, his hands white on the windowsill. Junsu felt really bad. After a few more minutes, though, no one had come and both of them relaxed. They didn’t try that method again, either.
Finally they just started mouthing to each other. They spent the whole summer becoming master lip-readers, and by the end Junsu would know what Yoochun was saying without him even making a sound. It was cool, even moreso because when school started again they realized they could use it to talk in class, too.
Junsu called himself a genius, because it had been all his idea. Yoochun rolled his eyes and pinched Junsu’s arm. Junsu retaliated by hitting him on the shoulder, but instantly frowned when Yoochun winced. He would have pulled at Yoochun’s shirt to look at his skin, but his best friend had taken to wearing long-sleeved sweaters, even though it was still September and pretty warm.
“Yah,” he said instead, “You fighting with someone other than me?”
A look passed over Yoochun’s face that Junsu couldn’t recognize, which was weird because Junsu knew every look of Yoochun’s, just like he knew every word his mouth could shape. But then it passed and it was the same old Yoochunie, smiling at him with those squinty eyes of his.
“Uh-huh, I was messing around with Jaejoong-hyung in choir. Don’t know why everyone calls him girly - he’s small but he hits like a motherfucker.”
Junsu didn’t know what shocked him more, that Yoochun was friends with a sixth-grader, or that he had cursed. Junsu had never heard anyone their age curse like that; his parents would wash his mouth out with soap if he did. He wondered if Yoochun had learned it from Jaejoong.
“When did you become friends with Kim Jaejoong?”
Yoochun gave him a sideways glance, “I told you, choir. He’s got a really good voice. You would know him too, if you’d joined instead of playing soccer.”
Junsu sniffed, “I sing in the church choir. I bet Jaejoong can’t play soccer.”
Yoochun laughed, “Probably not… but it’d be funny to see him try.”
“I could kick his-” Junsu paused, biting his lip, “I could kick his ass, I bet.” He blushed, the swear word feeling strange on his tongue.
“Junsu…” the other boy was staring, “You cursed.”
“So did you!” Junsu squawked, outraged.
“Yeah…but I’m me. You’re… you’re Junsu. You can’t curse,” Yoochun said. Then, after a moment, started laughing - “You suck at cursing.”
“Well, you… you suck at life!”
Fifteen minutes later their new teacher was separating them, Junsu with his ears ringing and Yoochun with his sweater covered in mud and neither of them particularly upset about it. They sniggered as the teacher lectured them, saying the same old thing and ‘I’ve heard about you boys, no more fighting or I’ll call your parents’ - and that stopped them both real quick.
After that, they decided no more fighting. They even made a pact. Yoochun spit in his hand and stuck it out to Junsu - a man’s handshake, like they’d seen in one of those old American Western movies. Junsu spit too, and they shook on it.
That didn’t mean that, later that night, when they pulled out the cups just for fun and Yoochun started teasing him, Junsu didn’t try and chuck his cup at Yoochun’s head. It missed, and Junsu spent the rest of the night embarrassed, because, really, how could he have missed a forehead that wide?
****
If all the good ideas were Junsu’s ideas, then all the bad ideas were Yoochun’s. Junsu knew this already, of course, but it was confirmed when they entered junior high.
“I can’t wait to get out of here,” he mouthed across to Junsu one night, completely out of the blue.
Junsu was confused, and wondered if he had misunderstood the older boy. But he hadn’t misunderstood Yoochun in years.
“Meet me out front,” Junsu mouthed back.
It was late enough that he could slip out easily. His parents were watching television, so he tip-toed down the stairs and out the front door. When he got Yoochun was already waiting for him on the curb, drawing on the asphalt with a piece of chalk left out by the little girl down the street.
Junsu sat next down to him and shivered. He was only wearing a tee and sweatpants, and the night air was cold. Yoochun was wearing his sweater like usual, however, and seemed unaffected. They were silent for a while, and Junsu watched as Yoochun’s drawing grew from scratchy lines to a map of the whole world.
“Here, and here, and here,” Yoochun finally said, tapping places all over the map. “I want to go everywhere.”
“I want to travel, too,” Junsu said.
Yoochun shook his head, “Not travel. I want to go, and never ever ever ever come back.”
Junsu was silent. He didn’t know what to say. He knew Yoochun wasn’t lying, he could tell because no matter how good a liar Yoochun was, Junsu could tell when he wasn’t. But he also knew they were just in junior high, so Yoochun wouldn’t be going anywhere soon.
He hoped.
So he stayed silent.
They sat for a long time. Yoochun kept scratching at the road, his drawing becoming more and more elaborate. Junsu shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the stars, which were just faint enough to spot through the haze of streetlights.
It was probably close to midnight when the Yoochun’s porch light turned on. Before Junsu could even turn around Yoochun was already scrambling up, heading inside.
“Yoochun!” he called, but the boy just gave him a quick, pleading look over his shoulder, and hurried on. Junsu still didn’t know what to say. He looked to the Yoochun’s house, where Yoochun’s father waited ominously at the front door.
Yoochun ducked inside and Junsu could have sworn he saw Yoochun flinch. He frowned, but right then his father looked out at Junsu. It was just for a second, and then the door slammed shut, like a gunshot across the silent street. He could just hear the faint sounds of yelling.
He gulped, trying to control his shivers. The cold must be getting to him, he thought, so he went back inside his own house. He still had some homework to do, but he didn’t feel like doing much of anything. He climbed in bed and shoved his face in his pillow, and tried not to cry.
****
In elementary school it had been all about sleepovers. They were old enough to spend the night at a friends’ house but not too old to think it stupid. Junsu spent every weekend at someone else’s house, be at a friend from school or a friend from the neighborhood.
They were in junior high now, though, and most boys thought sleepovers were the stuff for little kids. Yoochun didn’t think so, and neither did Junsu, so Junsu didn’t think anything about it when Yoochun kept coming over to spend the night. They lived right next door, so it was easy and fun and, yet another of Junsu’s good ideas, Yoochun could come over even on weekdays. By mid-year Yoochun was spending almost every other night at his house.
They would take the bus home together and Yoochun would run over to his house for a little while, and then come knocking on Junsu’s back door. They would study at the kitchen table with Junsu’s mom looking over them. Then Junsu’s dad would come home and they’d eat dinner and Yoochun would always get a bigger portion than Junsu. ‘He’s too skinny,’ his mother would always say softly.
A lot of times Yoochun would play on their piano, because he didn’t have one at home, and Junsu would sit next to him on the bench and add a note here or there. They’d watch music programs on TV and dance and sing along.
Then they’d go to Junsu’s room, and lay with their backs on their floor and their feet up on Junsu’s bed. They’d stare at the ceiling, at the little glow-in-the-dark stars that they’d put there when they were six, and talk about something and everything and nothing.
When they went to bed, they would bury under the blankets and pile of stuffed animals on Junsu’s bed. They’d turn on a flash light so they could see each other’s faces. Sometimes they’d whisper, or sometimes they’d just look at each other, trying to read other’s minds like Yoochun was still sure they could, until their eyes grew too heavy to stay open.
But one day was different. Yoochun was late in coming over to Junsu’s house, and when he did he wasn’t smiling. He didn’t want to eat and didn’t want to play the piano, or dance and sing with Junsu. His mother took Yoochun aside to talk with him, and when she brought Yoochun back his mother looked upset and Yoochun looked like he was going to cry.
“Can we go upstairs?” Yoochun asked, already tugging Junsu by the hand.
Junsu followed like he always did, and when they got to his room they didn’t talk or do anything at all. Yoochun tugged him into bed and they lay there.
“You’re already tired?” Junsu said. “What a baby,” he teased, but didn’t really mean it. He poked Yoochun in the stomach to show he didn’t really mean it.
“I’m sorry,” Yoochun said, but didn’t react otherwise.
“Do you… wanna get changed?” Junsu asked. They were still in their day clothes and Junsu wanted to change into his pajamas. Yoochun hadn’t brought over his change of clothes like usual.
“No,” Yoochun whispered. Junsu waited for him to say more, but after a while realized there wouldn’t be anything else. Junsu started to get out of bed so he could change, but Yoochun stopped him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back.
“No,” Yoochun repeated.
Junsu didn’t understand what was going on. He didn’t understand why Yoochun was sad, and why he seemed to be getting skinnier no matter how much his mom fed him. He didn’t understand why Yoochun never wanted to go home, or why his mother always seemed upset about it.
Junsu was only a kid, and he didn’t understand. But he lay back down beside Yoochun and held his best best friends hand, and didn’t let go, even after his mother came in the morning to wake them up to get ready for school.
Yoochun didn’t spend the night anymore - not as often, anyway. They were growing up, Yoochun said, and it was time to start thinking that sleepovers were the stuff for little kids. Junsu still didn’t think so, but Yoochun was only next door. If anything happened, Yoochun would still only be a red string away.
****
Junior high changed a lot of other things, too, and most of them ended up being more of Yoochun’s bad ideas. Yoochun cursed a lot more, and started hanging out with the older kids more, Jaejoong-hyung and all his friends. Junsu came to the window one night and found Yoochun waiting for him, cigarette caught between two fingers.
“What are you doing!” he cried, too surprised to remember to be quiet. “Where did you get those?”
Yoochun stared at him for a little while, then back at the cigarettes. ‘I didn’t light it,’ he mouthed back.
“Don’t!” he called back.
Yoochun looked back at him, and twirled the cigarette a bit.
‘DON’T make me come over there!’ Junsu said.
Yoochun hushed him, looking over his shoulder sharply. He shoved the cigarette back into his pack angrily, which had been sitting on the windowsill, and then walked away from the window.
Junsu was frowning, upset more than anything, and waited for Yoochun to come back. He didn’t, and Junsu was starting to get angry when he heard Yoochun’s back door slam. He leaned out the window just in time to see Yoochun hopping over the fence and into his backyard, absently patting Xiahki as he walked.
Junsu rushed down the stairs, feet pounding and startling his mom as he rounded a corner in front of her. He made it to the backdoor just as Yoochun was knocking, pulling the door open and yanking Yoochun inside. He marched the slightly-taller boy upstairs and into his room, waiting until they were there to start talking.
“What’d you think you’re doing!?” He cried, “Your dad would kill you if he found you with those!”
“He wouldn’t notice,” Yoochun said dully. “I took them from him two weeks ago and he hasn’t noticed yet.”
Junsu paused at that, “Have you smoked any before?”
Yoochun sat down heavily on Junsu’s bed. “No,” he said, after a long pause.
“Well, don’t,” Junsu said again. “If you want to stay in the choir you shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for your voice, don’t you know?”
Yoochun huffed. “Is that the only reason? Then I should just quit choir.”
Junsu reeled back. Yoochun loved choir. “All right, Park Yoochun. What’s gotten into you!?”
Yoochun looked up and stared at him with a look that he didn’t - no, a look Junsu did recognize. It was the same look that he had when his dog Harang had ‘gotten sick’ and Yoochun’s parents had sent him away to be fixed. Even though Harang had seemed fine to Junsu, the dog had had never come back. That had been when they were eight and Yoochun had spent a whole day crying. Junsu had never felt more helpless.
“What’s going on, Yoochunie?” he said again, softly.
“I…” Yoochun started, then faltered. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry.”
“You’re my best best friend, you know that, right?” Junsu said, “You’re supposed to tell me everything. Just because we’re in junior high now doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell me everything.”
Yoochun was still looking at him with those sad eyes, but he smiled slightly. “You’re my best friend, too. Even if you are ugly.”
Junsu knew he was trying to change the subject, and let him. He pounced on Yoochun and tickled him until he was nearly crying, and all thoughts of smoking and secrets were far away.
****
For some reason Yoochun’s mom decided he should be home more often.
“You spend too much time with that Junsu boy,” Yoochun mimicked at school disdainfully.
“She doesn’t like me?” Junsu asked hesitantly. He never knew what to think of Yoochun’s mom, but he didn’t like that she didn’t like him.
“She doesn’t like anyone,” Yoochun replied sourly.
He complained about it all day, and yet, when they went home Yoochun always left Junsu at his doorstep and dutifully returned home.
Fortunately, though, that reason for being kept at home didn’t keep Yoochun away from his bedroom window. So one afternoon they rigged a line between their windows, the idea and parts borrowed from their physics class this time. They snuck the pulley and wire from the classroom, and strung it up with nails and clothespins taken from Junsu’s garage. It was simple but it did the job - they could attach things with the pins and wind them across, back, and forth.
They did it for days before Junsu’s mom found out and freaked out over the damage to her windowsill. She ground Junsu for a week, in which he had to spend all his time after school in the kitchen and away from his room. After two days of seeing her son’s sad face, though, she caved and let him go back upstairs.
He ran up to his room, opening the latch on the window. And there Yoochun was, waiting like usual.
“Hey,” he said. It was almost winter, and the sound of his words were stolen by the cold wind. Junsu understood anyway.
“Hi,” he said.
“Mom let you off early?”
“Yep! I convinced her with my excellent powers of persuasion, all sad faces and longing.”
“Longing?” Yoochun said quizzically, teasing smile lingering about his face.
Junsu wouldn’t let him goad him that easily. So he replied blithely- “Yah. I missed you, of course!”
-But he didn’t quite understand why Yoochun blushed so hard after that.
****
Junsu sent over letters and homework, and Yoochun sent them back, corrected and written all over. He would always draw funny little pictures in the margins that made Junsu laugh. Yoochun in return would send music sheets and maps. Junsu would pour over the notes and lyrics of Yoochun’ latest composition, and send it back with all his comments and critique.
He never sent back the maps.
There was a shoebox of them that he kept hidden under his bed - map after map; folded up posters and travel guide books and magazine cut-outs; Paris, Japan, Greece, Jeju Island, Italy, Delhi, Los Angeles, Montana, Fiji, China, New Zealand, New York City, Pusan, Morocco - all places that Yoochun wanted to go. All place that Yoochun wanted to leave for.
“One day I’m gonna get out of here,” the other boy said, over and over.
No matter how many times Yoochun said the words, Junsu couldn’t wrap his head around them, couldn’t memories the shape of the words on his lips or the sounds on his tongue - couldn’t stop the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“One day I’m gonna leave-”
Don’t, Junsu wanted to say. No.
“ -and never, ever come back.”
****
In tenth grade Yoochun broke his arm. Junsu didn’t know how Yoochun broke it, because Yoochun wouldn’t tell him. Actually, Yoochun did tell him.
“I fell down the stairs. Dumb, I know,” he said, flippantly, trying to laugh it off even though his arm still hurt. He even let Junsu sign his cast first.
But Junsu knew, when he said the words and tried to distract Junsu with the chance to tease him, that Yoochun was lying. And that was as bad as not telling him in the first place. Maybe even worse. Because Yoochun wasn’t supposed to lie to Junsu. They may not be little kids anymore, but they were best best friends forever, and Yoochun was supposed to tell him everything.
The reason Junsu knew Yoochun was lying is because you could break your arm falling down stairs, but you didn’t get black eyes like that. You didn’t get cuts like that. You didn’t get bruises weeks before falling, or new ones the day after.
Yoochun missed two days of school when it happened. The first morning Junsu’s mom had driven him to school early for soccer practice, so Junsu had left a note on the line, pressed close to Yoochun’s closed window, saying that he couldn’t take the bus with Yoochun.
But Yoochun hadn’t come to school that day, and when Junsu came home and stood on his front yard, looking up at Yoochun’s window, the note was still there, fluttering in the wind. He’d mustered up his courage and knocked on Yoochun’s door. He hadn’t been in Yoochun’s house in years, and he didn’t particularly want to be in it, either - but he was worried about Yoochun, and that overrode anything else.
Yoochun’s mom answered the door, her face lined with exhaustion and heavy circles under her eyes. She looked a lot like Yoochun, but not close enough that Junsu could figure out what she was thinking about. She told Junsu that Yoochun had hurt his arm and was sleeping, so Junsu couldn’t see him now. And then she shut the door in his face.
Junsu left feeling all sorts of horrible, and raced up to his bedroom.
Yoochun wasn’t waiting for him at the window. Junsu decided to wait instead. He waited all night, but Yoochun never came to the window.
He wasn’t there the next day, and Junsu had to field off the questions everyone asked him with a queasy, ‘I don’t know, I don’t know.’
Yoochun was back the day after, and Junsu was about to give him a mouthful when he saw the arm. Yoochun apologized and that was when he told Junsu the lie. He told Junsu it had happened the first day and the painkillers made him sleep two days straight. Yoochun should have known Junsu wouldn’t believe it.
Junsu might not have been the most subtle of boys, or the most patient, but he somehow managed to last a week before he exploded.
They were in his room, studying like usual. Junsu’s mother had let them have dinner up there. She said it was because she didn’t want them to stop studying, but Junsu thought she was trying to give them her privacy. Since Yoochun broke his arm he’d been avoiding Junsu’s parents, who they all knew wouldn’t hesitate to ask Yoochun the questions they all wanted to.
But Junsu couldn’t take it anymore, either. He threw down his book and pinned a surprised Yoochun to the bed. He straddled him to keep him in place, pushed one hand back against the bed to keep Yoochun from pushing him off. He made sure to be careful of the broken arm, which he knew still hurt no matter how many painkillers Yoochun took.
Yoochun seemed to shock to say anything, and Junsu was almost as surprised; he tried to gather his thoughts together but he had too many - questions and accusations and doubts - to think of getting it all straight.
“Su…” Yoochun started
“You didn’t fall down the stairs,” Junsu said - a statement, not a question. But it kind of really was a question.
Yoochun didn’t say anything and that was answer enough. It was the confirmation Junsu needed, and all the suspicions that had been swirling in his mind, never really recognized, clicked into place.
“Did your dad do it?” Junsu asked - a question, not a statement. But it really was a statement.
Yoochun remained quiet, but Junsu heard him swallow; saw the way his eyes were turning glassy. The silence dragged on and a tear slipped from Yoochun’s eye; the moment he did he turned his head away, away from Junsu. It was answer enough. More than enough.
Junsu curled in so that his head rested on Yoochun’s chest, and he was fighting to keep back tears himself. He let go of Yoochun’s good arm so that he could hit Yoochun, but in the end all he managed was to fist his fingers around his shirt. Yoochun was shaking.
“Why didn’t you tell me…?” Junsu said, “You’re supposed to tell me everything. You’re supposed to tell me-” He cut himself off, a sob caught in his throat.
Junsu waited for Yoochun to say something but there was nothing but silence. He wanted to yell and scream at the other boy, but even Junsu knew that would be a stupid idea. Finally he lifted his head.
Yoochun was still, except for the shaking. His eyes were squeezed shut against more tears and his lips were moving wordlessly.
sorrysorrysorry-Junsu read, but he didn’t want to anymore.
Yoochun’s lips tasted like salt and sadness. Junsu pulled away half a second later and buried his face back into Yoochun’s chest.
Slowly, hesitantly, the other boy’s arm came around Junsu. He stopped shaking, but Junsu knew he was still crying. “You can still tell me, I promise to listen,” he whispered.
And so his best best friend told him - everything.
Yoochun had tried to run away. His dad had been drunk and had roughed him up the night before, and Yoochun was just sick of it. He’d pretended to go to the bus but had taken the wrong one. Instead he’d gone to bus station and bought a ticket to Seoul.
Before the bus could come though, Yoochun’s dad had shown up. The school had called about his absence and his dad had figured it out. His dad had dragged him back home and broken his arm.
“I really did fall down the stairs,” Yoochun laughed humorlessly, “It’s just that he threw me down them.”
Junsu was horrified by what Yoochun told him, the word abuse unspoken but circling over and over in his head. He was horrified to know it had been going on so long; horrified to know he had never realized it.
And he was scared - most of all he was scared. For Yoochun, his best best friend who was hurting and scared, too, and they were just kids and Junsu didn’t know what to do.
****
They never talked about it again, that night and Yoochun’s confession. But things were different, now that Junsu knew. If Yoochun wasn’t where he was supposed to be Junsu worried. If he wasn’t at the window Junsu freaked out. Junsu bought Yoochun a cell phone for Christmas, just so he could call in case anything happened.
Yoochun just smiled at Junsu’s worry, strained and weary but Junsu knew he didn’t mind the attention. Yoochun spent more time than ever attached to Junsu’s hip.
“Are you guys dating yet?” Jaejoong finally asked. He had graduated the year before but sometimes came around to hang out with them. Junsu didn’t mind Yoochun hanging out with him anymore, especially once he found out Jaejoong really did have an amazing voice, and really was horrible at soccer.
Junsu had stammered and babbled out some response. Yoochun had wrapped his arm around Junsu’s waist to calm him down. “You’re such a freak,” he said, poking Junsu in the cheek.
“You’re the freak,” Junsu muttered in response.
Jaejoong had just huffed and rolled his eyes.
By the time senior rolled around, they were renowned at school - best best friends, Kim Junsu and Park Yoochun. Junsu was captain of the varsity soccer team and rumor had it he was being scouted by a national teams; Yoochun was assistant choir director, despite still being a student, and rumor had it he was selling his songs to celebrities.
Neither rumors were true, but Junsu and Yoochun liked to joke and pretend they were. They’d laud their own achievements, trying to out-do each other in prospective greatness. In the end it was decided Junsu would play soccer, and in-between world championships would perform with Yoochun, who would be a famous singer and would compose all the anthems for Junsu’s team.
In reality they were both just two tired students, bogged down by school work and their respective clubs. They were constantly stressed, and they spent more time at school than they did at home.
But - both of them kind of preferred that. Yoochun’s dad had been drinking more lately.
That was why, Junsu told himself, that was why Yoochun still talked about leaving. He thought, maybe when they graduated things would be different. Life and family wouldn’t be so hard on Yoochun, and he wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t go and follow the dream that took him far and away.
Because Junsu’s real dream, not the big-talking dreams they joked about, was much simpler. His dream was for a normal life: he would go to the local university, play soccer and graduate; he would get a respectable job and settle down in a nice neighborhood, with a nice girl. And Yoochun would be his neighbor, with his own family. They would have windows that they could talk from and their sons would be best best friends, too. They would be happy together.
That was his dream. That was all he wanted.
****
Yoochun never stopped believing in his dream. Junsu never did, either.
But, in the end, it wasn’t about dreams.
It was a Wednesday night and Junsu was at home studying for one of their last tests. Yoochun had gone home to get some of his books, and had said he would be right back.
Half an hour passed, and Yoochun still hadn’t come back.
Junsu checked the window but it was closed. He called Yoochun’s cell, but there was no answer. He was just starting to freak out when he heard a loud crash - the sound of Yoochun’s window slamming open.
There Yoochun was, pale-faced and panting hard, bruise already blossoming on his cheekbone.
“Junsu-!” he cried, but then whirled at the sound of banging. Someone was banging on Yoochun’s door loud enough to rattle the windowpane. An unsteady BANGBANGBANG, and Junsu could feel his heart drop down to his feet.
Yoochun was babbling, so much so that Junsu was having a hard time reading his lips.
“He’s drunk, he’s pissed and he was hitting my mom when I came in and I just couldn’t - oh fuck oh fuck he’s pissed, he said he’s going to kill me. Junsu, I think he’s going to kill me Junsu, fuck I-”
“Stop!” Junsu yelled across. The banging was getting louder, gaining power and matching the rhythm of Junsu’s pounding heart. “Can you climb down?”
Yoochun’s window didn’t have a ledge or anything beneath it, but maybe he could use the first-story windows as a handhold. There was a drain-pipe, too.
Yoochun shook his head, obviously panicking, “I can’t run, he’ll find me again, he told me he’d find me if I ran, and he’ll kill me either way, oh fuck, what am I going to-”
“Just, try!” Junsu said, not knowing what else to do. “Just get down and I’ll be waiting, okay?”
And then he scrambled about his room. He grabbed his wallet and his phone and his car keys. He grabbed a backpack and shoved it full of clothes. He was running out of the room when he doubled back, lunging towards his bed and pulling out the shoebox beneath it.
He hurried down the stairs.
“Hey, where’re you going so fast?” his father called as he ran past the living room. Junsu had just enough time to pause, looking over at his mother and father, sitting on the couch and watching T.V. It was one look to memorize their faces, and then he turned and kept going. He called a quick, “Love you, sorry!” over his shoulder, and hoped they would understand.
His car was parked in the driveway and he was through his stuff into the backseat, turning it on. The engine purred to life under him. He backed up his car so that it was on the street, ready to go.
He waited.
A minute passed, and Junsu’s hands bounced on the steering wheel.
“Come on, come on,” he whispered.
He was just about to stop the car and go in himself when he saw the side-gate swing open. Yoochun slipped out, limping slightly, but he looked okay and was running at full speed.
Junsu leaned over to open the door so Yoochun could slide in. The other boy was halfway across the lawn when his front door slammed open, making him jump and stumble.
Yoochun’s father was lumbering across the lawn towards them, swearing and cursing loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood. He had a broken bottle in one hand and looked fit for murder.
But it didn’t matter. Yoochun was already in the car, and Junsu had already sped away.
They didn’t speak for miles, Junsu’s hands tense on the wheel and not taking his eyes off the road. Yoochun was still pale, and seemed to be having trouble catching his breath.
They had left the city limits and were pulling onto the highway when Yoochun finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse.
“Where’re we going?”
Junsu bit his lip and then turned slightly, reaching blindly around the backseat. His hand landed on what he was looking for, and he pulled it forward.
He dropped the battered shoebox into Yoochun’s lap.
His best best friend opened the lid, and shuffled around through the box’s contents.
Junsu finally looked away from the road, and saw Yoochun staring in surprise at all the maps that he had ever sent to Junsu-
As well as two old, broken plastic cups with holes in the bottom, and a long faded red string.
“Take your pick,” he said, and Yoochun looked up to meet his gaze. Junsu held it for as long as could, only flicking his eyes up to keep them in the right lane. Yoochun finally looked down at the box, a small smile on his face.
He closed his eyes, and grabbed at a map.
“Here,” Yoochun said.
“Okay,” Junsu said, and kept on driving.
Free Counter
This is followed up by Yoochun's POV runaway dreams, by the sweet dongbangsuju20. Her side of the story also placed at third for Best Yoochun.
Again, thanks to everyone over at dbsk_secretgame. I'm really happy with the work both fics I entered, and without the comm they wouldn't exist at all! This particualy one was interesting to write simply because it's been a long time since I've worked with a child's POV. I really tried to keep Junsu's voice consistent with his age - to have it mature as time went on. Hopefully that came across.
Also, to anyone who might be waiting... the next 'we could have been' is almost done, I swear! Very late, I know, but let's just say it's a beast of a finale ;D
yoosu; pg-13
romance
6,608 words
My second entry for the dbsk_secretgame Challenge, which snagged second place for Best Junsu ♥
Our prompt was the quote 'they don't love you like i love you' from the song 'maps' by the yeah yeah yeahs. Though not really necessary, it is an awesome song, so I'd say it's worth the listen. I actually used a bunch of songs for inspiration, including 'Shelter' and a couple songs by Phoenix - if anyone is interested in the playlist (for some good music if nothing else) I'd be happy to send you the link ;)
(Original entry found here.)
“Hey,” Junsu said softly, his words echoing around the inside of the paper cup. He lifted his head and peered out the window to see Yoochun’s response.
The other boy shook his head ‘no.’ Junsu frowned, forehead creasing, and tried again, speaking a little louder. “Hellooo?”
He looked up. Another no.
He huffed. Across the way, Yoochun shrugged.
“WHY ISN’T WORKING?” He shouted at the other boy, waving his hand so that the string between their cups bounced up and down in the air. Somewhere in Junsu’s backyard Xiahki started barking. Yoochun laughed and Junsu could just hear the sound over the distance. The other boy made a motion for him to be quiet, but Junsu braced his chin in his hands, leaning hard against the window frame, and stuck out his tongue at Yoochun.
Yoochun shook his head. “You’re such a baby!” he called.
“AM NOT!”
The other boy laughed again. Yoochun was opening his mouth to say something when the door opened in his room - a sharp BANG that Junsu could hear all the way next door.
Junsu sat up, trying to see, but all he could hear was what sounded like Yoochun’s dad, yelling pretty loud. Yoochun was facing him and looked scared. Junsu thought maybe he had been too loud. He was never allowed to be too loud the few times he’d gone over to Yoochun’s house.
Yoochun was standing and still talking to his dad, so Junsu pulled his end of the string, watching as Yoochun’s cup fell off his windowsill. He reeled it in, dragging it over Yoochun’s roof, the lawn, the fence, and up the side of his house - he smiled when it came back mostly unharmed, just a little dirty. Last time they’d done it Xiahki had gotten it halfway across the yard, and they’d spent an hour trying to get the dog to spit it out.
He looked back at the window, but Yoochun was still facing away - his dad had grabbed him by the arm and was saying something that looked not-good. Yoochun must be in a lot of trouble, he thought.
Junsu watched as Yoochun was pushed back towards the window, but the other boy didn’t even look up. Junsu couldn’t help but pout at being ignored. At the last minute, though, right before Yoochun covered the window with his curtains, he looked straight at Junsu and winked, mouthing ‘see you later’ into the air.
It was enough to leave a smile on Junsu’s face, even after his mother had tucked him in and he started to drift off into sweet dreams.
****
It had been Junsu’s idea to try out the cups, of course, because all good ideas were Junsu’s ideas. Their teacher had read a book about it to their class and they’d tried an experiment after. Junsu and Yoochun had paired up like always, because they were best best friends like that, and worked hard to make the perfect telephone-cups. They put a whole in the bottom of each cup and thread a string between each, and then tried to whisper to each other from across the classroom.
It was stupid, though, because there were twenty other third-graders trying to do the exact same thing, and none of them had quite yet figured out the way to whisper - especially Junsu, Yoochun said, but Junsu thought he was just teasing him to be funny (which he kinda was, not that Junsu’d ever admit it).
So Junsu had the idea to do it at home, across the space between their houses. Yoochun lived just next door and his bedroom window was right across from Junsu’s. All they needed was a long enough string - which they got, a long, soft piece of red yarn that Yoochun sneaked out from the classroom craft-box, because he was good at that sort of thing, and if he got caught he was a better liar than Junsu, who couldn’t really lie at all.
They’d been working at it for a while, trying to get it just right. They’d tried small cups and big cups, one string and two strings, but it hadn’t worked so far.
“Maybe we should just give it up,” Yoochun said, the next day at lunch. Junsu was sharing his lunch with him because Yoochun forgot his at home.
“You only say that ‘cause you got in trouble,” Junsu said. “You’d still want to do it if it were me that got in trouble.”
“No,” Yoochun replied, his feet kicking in the air because his legs weren’t long enough to reach the ground, “I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”
Junsu thought Yoochun looked a little sad, staring down at his scuffed shoes. Junsu had a brand new pair his mom bought him for soccer, but Yoochun hadn’t tried out, so he hadn’t gotten new shoes. So he said, “Yeah, well, you’re a good friend, Yoochunie.”
Yoochun looked up at Junsu and smiled. “Better than you, duckbutt.”
Junsu pushed Yoochun off the bench.
Five minutes later the teacher was reprimanding both of them, sitting them in time-out because ‘fighting was not for proper boys, fighting was not allowed in school.’ Junsu had a scrapped knee and Yoochun was wincing at the goose-egg forming on the back of his head, but when the teacher left them alone they both were laughing.
****
Even when the cups didn’t work, they still tried talking out their window. During the day they played outside on the street, running up and down with the other neighborhood boys and generally making noise. Sometimes they’d go into one of the boy’s house and his would fix them lunch. They never to Yoochun’s house. His mom didn’t like boys in her house. It was okay, though, ‘cause it meant they went to Junsu’s house more and Junsu thought his mom made the best sandwiches in the whole neighborhood.
But when Junsu was supposed to be stay inside, or late at night when everyone had been called in and Junsu was sent to his room to study or read - that was when he would talk to Yoochun, just the two of them. Yoochun would always be waiting for him when he got to the window.
They’d been neighbors since they were five months old and best best friends since longer, as Junsu’s mom always said. Junsu couldn’t remember a day he’d not seen Yoochun.
So when they talked from their windows Junsu didn’t yell anymore, because he really didn’t want to get Yoochun in trouble. But there were other ways. They tried writing notes and then making paper airplanes to throw across, but Yoochun’s aim was horrible and Xiahki kept catching the runaway planes - and then Junsu got in trouble with his mom, who took away his dessert that night. They didn’t try the paper planes again.
The next idea was Yoochun’s, and it involved trying sending messages with their mind. They’d stare at each other and concentrate really really really hard on a thought. Yoochun said if they were best best friends, which they were, they should be able to get the message.
“I DON’T HEAR YOU,” Junsu cried after ten very difficult minutes. Then he clapped his hands over his mouth, knowing that he’d been too loud again. Sometimes he couldn’t help it.
Yoochun was looking at him with wide eyes, his hands white on the windowsill. Junsu felt really bad. After a few more minutes, though, no one had come and both of them relaxed. They didn’t try that method again, either.
Finally they just started mouthing to each other. They spent the whole summer becoming master lip-readers, and by the end Junsu would know what Yoochun was saying without him even making a sound. It was cool, even moreso because when school started again they realized they could use it to talk in class, too.
Junsu called himself a genius, because it had been all his idea. Yoochun rolled his eyes and pinched Junsu’s arm. Junsu retaliated by hitting him on the shoulder, but instantly frowned when Yoochun winced. He would have pulled at Yoochun’s shirt to look at his skin, but his best friend had taken to wearing long-sleeved sweaters, even though it was still September and pretty warm.
“Yah,” he said instead, “You fighting with someone other than me?”
A look passed over Yoochun’s face that Junsu couldn’t recognize, which was weird because Junsu knew every look of Yoochun’s, just like he knew every word his mouth could shape. But then it passed and it was the same old Yoochunie, smiling at him with those squinty eyes of his.
“Uh-huh, I was messing around with Jaejoong-hyung in choir. Don’t know why everyone calls him girly - he’s small but he hits like a motherfucker.”
Junsu didn’t know what shocked him more, that Yoochun was friends with a sixth-grader, or that he had cursed. Junsu had never heard anyone their age curse like that; his parents would wash his mouth out with soap if he did. He wondered if Yoochun had learned it from Jaejoong.
“When did you become friends with Kim Jaejoong?”
Yoochun gave him a sideways glance, “I told you, choir. He’s got a really good voice. You would know him too, if you’d joined instead of playing soccer.”
Junsu sniffed, “I sing in the church choir. I bet Jaejoong can’t play soccer.”
Yoochun laughed, “Probably not… but it’d be funny to see him try.”
“I could kick his-” Junsu paused, biting his lip, “I could kick his ass, I bet.” He blushed, the swear word feeling strange on his tongue.
“Junsu…” the other boy was staring, “You cursed.”
“So did you!” Junsu squawked, outraged.
“Yeah…but I’m me. You’re… you’re Junsu. You can’t curse,” Yoochun said. Then, after a moment, started laughing - “You suck at cursing.”
“Well, you… you suck at life!”
Fifteen minutes later their new teacher was separating them, Junsu with his ears ringing and Yoochun with his sweater covered in mud and neither of them particularly upset about it. They sniggered as the teacher lectured them, saying the same old thing and ‘I’ve heard about you boys, no more fighting or I’ll call your parents’ - and that stopped them both real quick.
After that, they decided no more fighting. They even made a pact. Yoochun spit in his hand and stuck it out to Junsu - a man’s handshake, like they’d seen in one of those old American Western movies. Junsu spit too, and they shook on it.
That didn’t mean that, later that night, when they pulled out the cups just for fun and Yoochun started teasing him, Junsu didn’t try and chuck his cup at Yoochun’s head. It missed, and Junsu spent the rest of the night embarrassed, because, really, how could he have missed a forehead that wide?
****
If all the good ideas were Junsu’s ideas, then all the bad ideas were Yoochun’s. Junsu knew this already, of course, but it was confirmed when they entered junior high.
“I can’t wait to get out of here,” he mouthed across to Junsu one night, completely out of the blue.
Junsu was confused, and wondered if he had misunderstood the older boy. But he hadn’t misunderstood Yoochun in years.
“Meet me out front,” Junsu mouthed back.
It was late enough that he could slip out easily. His parents were watching television, so he tip-toed down the stairs and out the front door. When he got Yoochun was already waiting for him on the curb, drawing on the asphalt with a piece of chalk left out by the little girl down the street.
Junsu sat next down to him and shivered. He was only wearing a tee and sweatpants, and the night air was cold. Yoochun was wearing his sweater like usual, however, and seemed unaffected. They were silent for a while, and Junsu watched as Yoochun’s drawing grew from scratchy lines to a map of the whole world.
“Here, and here, and here,” Yoochun finally said, tapping places all over the map. “I want to go everywhere.”
“I want to travel, too,” Junsu said.
Yoochun shook his head, “Not travel. I want to go, and never ever ever ever come back.”
Junsu was silent. He didn’t know what to say. He knew Yoochun wasn’t lying, he could tell because no matter how good a liar Yoochun was, Junsu could tell when he wasn’t. But he also knew they were just in junior high, so Yoochun wouldn’t be going anywhere soon.
He hoped.
So he stayed silent.
They sat for a long time. Yoochun kept scratching at the road, his drawing becoming more and more elaborate. Junsu shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the stars, which were just faint enough to spot through the haze of streetlights.
It was probably close to midnight when the Yoochun’s porch light turned on. Before Junsu could even turn around Yoochun was already scrambling up, heading inside.
“Yoochun!” he called, but the boy just gave him a quick, pleading look over his shoulder, and hurried on. Junsu still didn’t know what to say. He looked to the Yoochun’s house, where Yoochun’s father waited ominously at the front door.
Yoochun ducked inside and Junsu could have sworn he saw Yoochun flinch. He frowned, but right then his father looked out at Junsu. It was just for a second, and then the door slammed shut, like a gunshot across the silent street. He could just hear the faint sounds of yelling.
He gulped, trying to control his shivers. The cold must be getting to him, he thought, so he went back inside his own house. He still had some homework to do, but he didn’t feel like doing much of anything. He climbed in bed and shoved his face in his pillow, and tried not to cry.
****
In elementary school it had been all about sleepovers. They were old enough to spend the night at a friends’ house but not too old to think it stupid. Junsu spent every weekend at someone else’s house, be at a friend from school or a friend from the neighborhood.
They were in junior high now, though, and most boys thought sleepovers were the stuff for little kids. Yoochun didn’t think so, and neither did Junsu, so Junsu didn’t think anything about it when Yoochun kept coming over to spend the night. They lived right next door, so it was easy and fun and, yet another of Junsu’s good ideas, Yoochun could come over even on weekdays. By mid-year Yoochun was spending almost every other night at his house.
They would take the bus home together and Yoochun would run over to his house for a little while, and then come knocking on Junsu’s back door. They would study at the kitchen table with Junsu’s mom looking over them. Then Junsu’s dad would come home and they’d eat dinner and Yoochun would always get a bigger portion than Junsu. ‘He’s too skinny,’ his mother would always say softly.
A lot of times Yoochun would play on their piano, because he didn’t have one at home, and Junsu would sit next to him on the bench and add a note here or there. They’d watch music programs on TV and dance and sing along.
Then they’d go to Junsu’s room, and lay with their backs on their floor and their feet up on Junsu’s bed. They’d stare at the ceiling, at the little glow-in-the-dark stars that they’d put there when they were six, and talk about something and everything and nothing.
When they went to bed, they would bury under the blankets and pile of stuffed animals on Junsu’s bed. They’d turn on a flash light so they could see each other’s faces. Sometimes they’d whisper, or sometimes they’d just look at each other, trying to read other’s minds like Yoochun was still sure they could, until their eyes grew too heavy to stay open.
But one day was different. Yoochun was late in coming over to Junsu’s house, and when he did he wasn’t smiling. He didn’t want to eat and didn’t want to play the piano, or dance and sing with Junsu. His mother took Yoochun aside to talk with him, and when she brought Yoochun back his mother looked upset and Yoochun looked like he was going to cry.
“Can we go upstairs?” Yoochun asked, already tugging Junsu by the hand.
Junsu followed like he always did, and when they got to his room they didn’t talk or do anything at all. Yoochun tugged him into bed and they lay there.
“You’re already tired?” Junsu said. “What a baby,” he teased, but didn’t really mean it. He poked Yoochun in the stomach to show he didn’t really mean it.
“I’m sorry,” Yoochun said, but didn’t react otherwise.
“Do you… wanna get changed?” Junsu asked. They were still in their day clothes and Junsu wanted to change into his pajamas. Yoochun hadn’t brought over his change of clothes like usual.
“No,” Yoochun whispered. Junsu waited for him to say more, but after a while realized there wouldn’t be anything else. Junsu started to get out of bed so he could change, but Yoochun stopped him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back.
“No,” Yoochun repeated.
Junsu didn’t understand what was going on. He didn’t understand why Yoochun was sad, and why he seemed to be getting skinnier no matter how much his mom fed him. He didn’t understand why Yoochun never wanted to go home, or why his mother always seemed upset about it.
Junsu was only a kid, and he didn’t understand. But he lay back down beside Yoochun and held his best best friends hand, and didn’t let go, even after his mother came in the morning to wake them up to get ready for school.
Yoochun didn’t spend the night anymore - not as often, anyway. They were growing up, Yoochun said, and it was time to start thinking that sleepovers were the stuff for little kids. Junsu still didn’t think so, but Yoochun was only next door. If anything happened, Yoochun would still only be a red string away.
****
Junior high changed a lot of other things, too, and most of them ended up being more of Yoochun’s bad ideas. Yoochun cursed a lot more, and started hanging out with the older kids more, Jaejoong-hyung and all his friends. Junsu came to the window one night and found Yoochun waiting for him, cigarette caught between two fingers.
“What are you doing!” he cried, too surprised to remember to be quiet. “Where did you get those?”
Yoochun stared at him for a little while, then back at the cigarettes. ‘I didn’t light it,’ he mouthed back.
“Don’t!” he called back.
Yoochun looked back at him, and twirled the cigarette a bit.
‘DON’T make me come over there!’ Junsu said.
Yoochun hushed him, looking over his shoulder sharply. He shoved the cigarette back into his pack angrily, which had been sitting on the windowsill, and then walked away from the window.
Junsu was frowning, upset more than anything, and waited for Yoochun to come back. He didn’t, and Junsu was starting to get angry when he heard Yoochun’s back door slam. He leaned out the window just in time to see Yoochun hopping over the fence and into his backyard, absently patting Xiahki as he walked.
Junsu rushed down the stairs, feet pounding and startling his mom as he rounded a corner in front of her. He made it to the backdoor just as Yoochun was knocking, pulling the door open and yanking Yoochun inside. He marched the slightly-taller boy upstairs and into his room, waiting until they were there to start talking.
“What’d you think you’re doing!?” He cried, “Your dad would kill you if he found you with those!”
“He wouldn’t notice,” Yoochun said dully. “I took them from him two weeks ago and he hasn’t noticed yet.”
Junsu paused at that, “Have you smoked any before?”
Yoochun sat down heavily on Junsu’s bed. “No,” he said, after a long pause.
“Well, don’t,” Junsu said again. “If you want to stay in the choir you shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for your voice, don’t you know?”
Yoochun huffed. “Is that the only reason? Then I should just quit choir.”
Junsu reeled back. Yoochun loved choir. “All right, Park Yoochun. What’s gotten into you!?”
Yoochun looked up and stared at him with a look that he didn’t - no, a look Junsu did recognize. It was the same look that he had when his dog Harang had ‘gotten sick’ and Yoochun’s parents had sent him away to be fixed. Even though Harang had seemed fine to Junsu, the dog had had never come back. That had been when they were eight and Yoochun had spent a whole day crying. Junsu had never felt more helpless.
“What’s going on, Yoochunie?” he said again, softly.
“I…” Yoochun started, then faltered. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry.”
“You’re my best best friend, you know that, right?” Junsu said, “You’re supposed to tell me everything. Just because we’re in junior high now doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell me everything.”
Yoochun was still looking at him with those sad eyes, but he smiled slightly. “You’re my best friend, too. Even if you are ugly.”
Junsu knew he was trying to change the subject, and let him. He pounced on Yoochun and tickled him until he was nearly crying, and all thoughts of smoking and secrets were far away.
****
For some reason Yoochun’s mom decided he should be home more often.
“You spend too much time with that Junsu boy,” Yoochun mimicked at school disdainfully.
“She doesn’t like me?” Junsu asked hesitantly. He never knew what to think of Yoochun’s mom, but he didn’t like that she didn’t like him.
“She doesn’t like anyone,” Yoochun replied sourly.
He complained about it all day, and yet, when they went home Yoochun always left Junsu at his doorstep and dutifully returned home.
Fortunately, though, that reason for being kept at home didn’t keep Yoochun away from his bedroom window. So one afternoon they rigged a line between their windows, the idea and parts borrowed from their physics class this time. They snuck the pulley and wire from the classroom, and strung it up with nails and clothespins taken from Junsu’s garage. It was simple but it did the job - they could attach things with the pins and wind them across, back, and forth.
They did it for days before Junsu’s mom found out and freaked out over the damage to her windowsill. She ground Junsu for a week, in which he had to spend all his time after school in the kitchen and away from his room. After two days of seeing her son’s sad face, though, she caved and let him go back upstairs.
He ran up to his room, opening the latch on the window. And there Yoochun was, waiting like usual.
“Hey,” he said. It was almost winter, and the sound of his words were stolen by the cold wind. Junsu understood anyway.
“Hi,” he said.
“Mom let you off early?”
“Yep! I convinced her with my excellent powers of persuasion, all sad faces and longing.”
“Longing?” Yoochun said quizzically, teasing smile lingering about his face.
Junsu wouldn’t let him goad him that easily. So he replied blithely- “Yah. I missed you, of course!”
-But he didn’t quite understand why Yoochun blushed so hard after that.
****
Junsu sent over letters and homework, and Yoochun sent them back, corrected and written all over. He would always draw funny little pictures in the margins that made Junsu laugh. Yoochun in return would send music sheets and maps. Junsu would pour over the notes and lyrics of Yoochun’ latest composition, and send it back with all his comments and critique.
He never sent back the maps.
There was a shoebox of them that he kept hidden under his bed - map after map; folded up posters and travel guide books and magazine cut-outs; Paris, Japan, Greece, Jeju Island, Italy, Delhi, Los Angeles, Montana, Fiji, China, New Zealand, New York City, Pusan, Morocco - all places that Yoochun wanted to go. All place that Yoochun wanted to leave for.
“One day I’m gonna get out of here,” the other boy said, over and over.
No matter how many times Yoochun said the words, Junsu couldn’t wrap his head around them, couldn’t memories the shape of the words on his lips or the sounds on his tongue - couldn’t stop the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“One day I’m gonna leave-”
Don’t, Junsu wanted to say. No.
“ -and never, ever come back.”
****
In tenth grade Yoochun broke his arm. Junsu didn’t know how Yoochun broke it, because Yoochun wouldn’t tell him. Actually, Yoochun did tell him.
“I fell down the stairs. Dumb, I know,” he said, flippantly, trying to laugh it off even though his arm still hurt. He even let Junsu sign his cast first.
But Junsu knew, when he said the words and tried to distract Junsu with the chance to tease him, that Yoochun was lying. And that was as bad as not telling him in the first place. Maybe even worse. Because Yoochun wasn’t supposed to lie to Junsu. They may not be little kids anymore, but they were best best friends forever, and Yoochun was supposed to tell him everything.
The reason Junsu knew Yoochun was lying is because you could break your arm falling down stairs, but you didn’t get black eyes like that. You didn’t get cuts like that. You didn’t get bruises weeks before falling, or new ones the day after.
Yoochun missed two days of school when it happened. The first morning Junsu’s mom had driven him to school early for soccer practice, so Junsu had left a note on the line, pressed close to Yoochun’s closed window, saying that he couldn’t take the bus with Yoochun.
But Yoochun hadn’t come to school that day, and when Junsu came home and stood on his front yard, looking up at Yoochun’s window, the note was still there, fluttering in the wind. He’d mustered up his courage and knocked on Yoochun’s door. He hadn’t been in Yoochun’s house in years, and he didn’t particularly want to be in it, either - but he was worried about Yoochun, and that overrode anything else.
Yoochun’s mom answered the door, her face lined with exhaustion and heavy circles under her eyes. She looked a lot like Yoochun, but not close enough that Junsu could figure out what she was thinking about. She told Junsu that Yoochun had hurt his arm and was sleeping, so Junsu couldn’t see him now. And then she shut the door in his face.
Junsu left feeling all sorts of horrible, and raced up to his bedroom.
Yoochun wasn’t waiting for him at the window. Junsu decided to wait instead. He waited all night, but Yoochun never came to the window.
He wasn’t there the next day, and Junsu had to field off the questions everyone asked him with a queasy, ‘I don’t know, I don’t know.’
Yoochun was back the day after, and Junsu was about to give him a mouthful when he saw the arm. Yoochun apologized and that was when he told Junsu the lie. He told Junsu it had happened the first day and the painkillers made him sleep two days straight. Yoochun should have known Junsu wouldn’t believe it.
Junsu might not have been the most subtle of boys, or the most patient, but he somehow managed to last a week before he exploded.
They were in his room, studying like usual. Junsu’s mother had let them have dinner up there. She said it was because she didn’t want them to stop studying, but Junsu thought she was trying to give them her privacy. Since Yoochun broke his arm he’d been avoiding Junsu’s parents, who they all knew wouldn’t hesitate to ask Yoochun the questions they all wanted to.
But Junsu couldn’t take it anymore, either. He threw down his book and pinned a surprised Yoochun to the bed. He straddled him to keep him in place, pushed one hand back against the bed to keep Yoochun from pushing him off. He made sure to be careful of the broken arm, which he knew still hurt no matter how many painkillers Yoochun took.
Yoochun seemed to shock to say anything, and Junsu was almost as surprised; he tried to gather his thoughts together but he had too many - questions and accusations and doubts - to think of getting it all straight.
“Su…” Yoochun started
“You didn’t fall down the stairs,” Junsu said - a statement, not a question. But it kind of really was a question.
Yoochun didn’t say anything and that was answer enough. It was the confirmation Junsu needed, and all the suspicions that had been swirling in his mind, never really recognized, clicked into place.
“Did your dad do it?” Junsu asked - a question, not a statement. But it really was a statement.
Yoochun remained quiet, but Junsu heard him swallow; saw the way his eyes were turning glassy. The silence dragged on and a tear slipped from Yoochun’s eye; the moment he did he turned his head away, away from Junsu. It was answer enough. More than enough.
Junsu curled in so that his head rested on Yoochun’s chest, and he was fighting to keep back tears himself. He let go of Yoochun’s good arm so that he could hit Yoochun, but in the end all he managed was to fist his fingers around his shirt. Yoochun was shaking.
“Why didn’t you tell me…?” Junsu said, “You’re supposed to tell me everything. You’re supposed to tell me-” He cut himself off, a sob caught in his throat.
Junsu waited for Yoochun to say something but there was nothing but silence. He wanted to yell and scream at the other boy, but even Junsu knew that would be a stupid idea. Finally he lifted his head.
Yoochun was still, except for the shaking. His eyes were squeezed shut against more tears and his lips were moving wordlessly.
sorrysorrysorry-Junsu read, but he didn’t want to anymore.
Yoochun’s lips tasted like salt and sadness. Junsu pulled away half a second later and buried his face back into Yoochun’s chest.
Slowly, hesitantly, the other boy’s arm came around Junsu. He stopped shaking, but Junsu knew he was still crying. “You can still tell me, I promise to listen,” he whispered.
And so his best best friend told him - everything.
Yoochun had tried to run away. His dad had been drunk and had roughed him up the night before, and Yoochun was just sick of it. He’d pretended to go to the bus but had taken the wrong one. Instead he’d gone to bus station and bought a ticket to Seoul.
Before the bus could come though, Yoochun’s dad had shown up. The school had called about his absence and his dad had figured it out. His dad had dragged him back home and broken his arm.
“I really did fall down the stairs,” Yoochun laughed humorlessly, “It’s just that he threw me down them.”
Junsu was horrified by what Yoochun told him, the word abuse unspoken but circling over and over in his head. He was horrified to know it had been going on so long; horrified to know he had never realized it.
And he was scared - most of all he was scared. For Yoochun, his best best friend who was hurting and scared, too, and they were just kids and Junsu didn’t know what to do.
****
They never talked about it again, that night and Yoochun’s confession. But things were different, now that Junsu knew. If Yoochun wasn’t where he was supposed to be Junsu worried. If he wasn’t at the window Junsu freaked out. Junsu bought Yoochun a cell phone for Christmas, just so he could call in case anything happened.
Yoochun just smiled at Junsu’s worry, strained and weary but Junsu knew he didn’t mind the attention. Yoochun spent more time than ever attached to Junsu’s hip.
“Are you guys dating yet?” Jaejoong finally asked. He had graduated the year before but sometimes came around to hang out with them. Junsu didn’t mind Yoochun hanging out with him anymore, especially once he found out Jaejoong really did have an amazing voice, and really was horrible at soccer.
Junsu had stammered and babbled out some response. Yoochun had wrapped his arm around Junsu’s waist to calm him down. “You’re such a freak,” he said, poking Junsu in the cheek.
“You’re the freak,” Junsu muttered in response.
Jaejoong had just huffed and rolled his eyes.
By the time senior rolled around, they were renowned at school - best best friends, Kim Junsu and Park Yoochun. Junsu was captain of the varsity soccer team and rumor had it he was being scouted by a national teams; Yoochun was assistant choir director, despite still being a student, and rumor had it he was selling his songs to celebrities.
Neither rumors were true, but Junsu and Yoochun liked to joke and pretend they were. They’d laud their own achievements, trying to out-do each other in prospective greatness. In the end it was decided Junsu would play soccer, and in-between world championships would perform with Yoochun, who would be a famous singer and would compose all the anthems for Junsu’s team.
In reality they were both just two tired students, bogged down by school work and their respective clubs. They were constantly stressed, and they spent more time at school than they did at home.
But - both of them kind of preferred that. Yoochun’s dad had been drinking more lately.
That was why, Junsu told himself, that was why Yoochun still talked about leaving. He thought, maybe when they graduated things would be different. Life and family wouldn’t be so hard on Yoochun, and he wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t go and follow the dream that took him far and away.
Because Junsu’s real dream, not the big-talking dreams they joked about, was much simpler. His dream was for a normal life: he would go to the local university, play soccer and graduate; he would get a respectable job and settle down in a nice neighborhood, with a nice girl. And Yoochun would be his neighbor, with his own family. They would have windows that they could talk from and their sons would be best best friends, too. They would be happy together.
That was his dream. That was all he wanted.
****
Yoochun never stopped believing in his dream. Junsu never did, either.
But, in the end, it wasn’t about dreams.
It was a Wednesday night and Junsu was at home studying for one of their last tests. Yoochun had gone home to get some of his books, and had said he would be right back.
Half an hour passed, and Yoochun still hadn’t come back.
Junsu checked the window but it was closed. He called Yoochun’s cell, but there was no answer. He was just starting to freak out when he heard a loud crash - the sound of Yoochun’s window slamming open.
There Yoochun was, pale-faced and panting hard, bruise already blossoming on his cheekbone.
“Junsu-!” he cried, but then whirled at the sound of banging. Someone was banging on Yoochun’s door loud enough to rattle the windowpane. An unsteady BANGBANGBANG, and Junsu could feel his heart drop down to his feet.
Yoochun was babbling, so much so that Junsu was having a hard time reading his lips.
“He’s drunk, he’s pissed and he was hitting my mom when I came in and I just couldn’t - oh fuck oh fuck he’s pissed, he said he’s going to kill me. Junsu, I think he’s going to kill me Junsu, fuck I-”
“Stop!” Junsu yelled across. The banging was getting louder, gaining power and matching the rhythm of Junsu’s pounding heart. “Can you climb down?”
Yoochun’s window didn’t have a ledge or anything beneath it, but maybe he could use the first-story windows as a handhold. There was a drain-pipe, too.
Yoochun shook his head, obviously panicking, “I can’t run, he’ll find me again, he told me he’d find me if I ran, and he’ll kill me either way, oh fuck, what am I going to-”
“Just, try!” Junsu said, not knowing what else to do. “Just get down and I’ll be waiting, okay?”
And then he scrambled about his room. He grabbed his wallet and his phone and his car keys. He grabbed a backpack and shoved it full of clothes. He was running out of the room when he doubled back, lunging towards his bed and pulling out the shoebox beneath it.
He hurried down the stairs.
“Hey, where’re you going so fast?” his father called as he ran past the living room. Junsu had just enough time to pause, looking over at his mother and father, sitting on the couch and watching T.V. It was one look to memorize their faces, and then he turned and kept going. He called a quick, “Love you, sorry!” over his shoulder, and hoped they would understand.
His car was parked in the driveway and he was through his stuff into the backseat, turning it on. The engine purred to life under him. He backed up his car so that it was on the street, ready to go.
He waited.
A minute passed, and Junsu’s hands bounced on the steering wheel.
“Come on, come on,” he whispered.
He was just about to stop the car and go in himself when he saw the side-gate swing open. Yoochun slipped out, limping slightly, but he looked okay and was running at full speed.
Junsu leaned over to open the door so Yoochun could slide in. The other boy was halfway across the lawn when his front door slammed open, making him jump and stumble.
Yoochun’s father was lumbering across the lawn towards them, swearing and cursing loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood. He had a broken bottle in one hand and looked fit for murder.
But it didn’t matter. Yoochun was already in the car, and Junsu had already sped away.
They didn’t speak for miles, Junsu’s hands tense on the wheel and not taking his eyes off the road. Yoochun was still pale, and seemed to be having trouble catching his breath.
They had left the city limits and were pulling onto the highway when Yoochun finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse.
“Where’re we going?”
Junsu bit his lip and then turned slightly, reaching blindly around the backseat. His hand landed on what he was looking for, and he pulled it forward.
He dropped the battered shoebox into Yoochun’s lap.
His best best friend opened the lid, and shuffled around through the box’s contents.
Junsu finally looked away from the road, and saw Yoochun staring in surprise at all the maps that he had ever sent to Junsu-
As well as two old, broken plastic cups with holes in the bottom, and a long faded red string.
“Take your pick,” he said, and Yoochun looked up to meet his gaze. Junsu held it for as long as could, only flicking his eyes up to keep them in the right lane. Yoochun finally looked down at the box, a small smile on his face.
He closed his eyes, and grabbed at a map.
“Here,” Yoochun said.
“Okay,” Junsu said, and kept on driving.
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This is followed up by Yoochun's POV runaway dreams, by the sweet dongbangsuju20. Her side of the story also placed at third for Best Yoochun.
Again, thanks to everyone over at dbsk_secretgame. I'm really happy with the work both fics I entered, and without the comm they wouldn't exist at all! This particualy one was interesting to write simply because it's been a long time since I've worked with a child's POV. I really tried to keep Junsu's voice consistent with his age - to have it mature as time went on. Hopefully that came across.
Also, to anyone who might be waiting... the next 'we could have been' is almost done, I swear! Very late, I know, but let's just say it's a beast of a finale ;D