Tomorrow - Oneshot
Title: Tomorrow
Author: kayjayloves
Chapter: 1/1
Pairing: Changmin!centric (hints of Jaemin, dabbles of Shichul)
Band: DBSK/TVXQ/THSK; Super Junior
Genre: drama/action/Anyband!verse
Rating: PG-16
Warning: cussing, heavy themes (violence)
Disclaimer: 'fraid I don't own these loves.
Synopsis: The other side of revolution. Their words: “What’s revolution without fire? We’re the freshly struck match on a pile of dry, waiting sticks - all they have to do is keep burning.”
Comments: Anyband!verse, yet, you'll miss any mention of Anyband members if you blink. I'm honestly not sure what I think of this piece.
Eleven minutes.
For a minute, with the wind crashing and rebounding echoes of white noise, you can close your eyes and picture the sea. You can feel the heat burning down (‘I don’t want to get another sunburn,’ you remember saying, a chubby toddler with precocious words) and the itch of sand against your clothes, under your feet. The whispering ache along with your thoughts is painful; you touch the cold metal at your side and relax.
A shot rings out. Your ten minutes of fame start now.
Four weeks, Five days.
Heechul promises you the means to an end - weapons, tacticians, everything to stop this repression that contains the whole city (the whole world by now, you figure). He’s the only one to promise you in the world of grey - a flash of fiery red from his hair to the spark in his eyes - and have the promise contain any sort of truth.
Freedom; it tastes like passion on your lips and manifests in spilled blood and secrets - for the greater good.
Four weeks, four days.
“I grew up outside the city, by the sea.” You don’t know why you’re talking - except that you’re not supposed to be, (by law, the talking curfew is in effect after 10 P.M.) and because his stare is making you nervous. “I mean, I was really little, but we were in this tiny place where everything stayed unaffected - but I got older and things changed.”
You can still remember it; the house empty and barren, your parents accused of some bullshit debt and the four of you evicted, sent to the city, powerless against the rule of the government. “This whole place is corrupt,” you continue, hands clenched in fists.
“That’s why we’re starting a revolution.” His voice is gentler than you expect, his face breaking into a wide grin. “We’re saving the world from corruption.”
Starting today, he’s your partner. Kim Jaejoong.
Four weeks.
Starting fires isn’t really your thing - but Heechul claims the blaze is perfect semblance of your efforts; he burns the control stations and makes an example out of fires until you think he’s a little too lighter-happy.
“We’re not criminals,” Jaejoong notes, “not really - haven’t you noticed they’ve refused to report this as any kind of crime?”
The new one (he’s shifty and more nervous than useful) adds in, “Maybe we need a new tactic.”
It’s silent when you realize he’s right.
Three weeks, two days.
“Yoochun.” He looks good, you think. A little thin, but satisfied - and there’s still that subtle difference from protocol in his clothes that tells you he isn’t going to judge. He grins, his upturned eyes enough to get you to sit down.
“I heard about you and your friends - the grapevine’s thin, but still there.” He plays with the mug, and when he glances up you don’t see approval in his eyes. “The fighting. The threats. It sounds like the start of a bloody war.”
“We’re running a fucking revolution!” The table shakes under your hands, Heechul’s words running through your mind as you stare at him. (“What’s revolution without fire? We’re the freshly struck match on a pile of dry, waiting sticks - all they have to do is keep burning.”) “We’re doing what we need to do.”
Yoochun looks good, he looks healthy, but he asks you not to come and see him again. You won’t.
Three weeks.
Jaejoong sticks by you even when you’re supposed to be inconspicuous (not that they’re going to rat you out; the guards are too careful with keeping the public calm, keeping the front that they have everything under control) and you don’t say it but you’re glad. The silence of the streets is deafening, his footsteps next to yours are a reminder of why you’re still surviving. Why you're still fighting.
Two weeks.
You meet in a back alley again, on the edge of the town where (as far as you can tell, no one’s knocked on your door and sent you to a figurative hell yet) there’s no surveillance and little other than sewage and the traces of pollution. Siwon (who’s still nervous, but more useful) places the package on the ground with quiet reverence - his eyes spell caution, next to him Heechul’s glint with anticipation.
“You found them.” Jaejoong realizes it first, his hands reaching to unwrap the coarse cloth. Dull metal peaks from under the wrappings, and you pass a hand over a barrel, a trigger.
“Oh.” Your means to an end.
One week.
In between planning and maps and watching the streets every night (you know every night police’s routes by heart now, have their numbers and their habits etched to the inside of your skull) you stretch yourself thin. It’s late, and you should be exhausted, but Jaejoong’s still talking and he’s saying something completely and irreversibly stupid.
You laugh.
You still can laugh.
Two days.
Even Heechul is tense; he toys with the lighter, skimming the flame just above your sketched plans, over and over again. Siwon sits at the corner, tapping his foot quietly - he’s watching Heechul like he’s a time bomb about to go off (you’d laugh at the expression on his face at any other time) and destroy everything the four of you pieced together.
Jaejoong stands behind you, smile slipping from his features as he concentrates. There’s black metal in his hands; his eyes are unreadable.
We’re starting a revolution, you remember. We’re saving the world from corruption.
One day.
You’re dreaming of the sea, laughter and your mother calling for you (“Come back, Changmin! It’s dangerous out there where the undertow is") when Jaejoong nudges you awake. His eyes are hardened and his face solemn, but his voice is as soft as always. “Today.”
“I know.” He clutches your hand (for strength, or something else, you don’t know). You repeat his words back to him, “We’re starting a revolution.”
“I know.” He knows.
One hour.
It’s a crucial moment where you shouldn’t be thinking of anything but the instructions you’ve repeated to yourself time after time, but all you can remember is a passing conversation (“Two cities over, there’s some kind of revolution going on. They’re pacifists, the whole thing is with music - can you imagine?”) and then back to your own goals.
Jaejoong goes in. Jaejoong shoots the controller. You keep watch, you silence any passing guards. The plan, the plan, stick to the plan.
Ten minutes.
The echo of the shot doesn’t last, but it’s ringing in your ears even as you run in after Jaejoong, steel yourself for any blips in the calculations.
Five minutes.
You don’t have any time to think; you just aim.
One minute.
Jaejoong smiles back at you and it’s the brightest smile you’ve seen. Glory. Revolution. Everything you’ve planned to accomplish is shining on his face. You try to ignore the stains on the floor, the gun still clutched in his hand; you focus on his smile.
Five seconds.
The control panel is harder to work than you expect - but Heechul’s broadcast is hooked up and ready; the whole city will hear his words, every screen playing the video in four, three, two…
One second.
“What’s revolution without fire? You’re the wood, the substance and fuel of the blaze - and together, we can purge this place of suppression, we can bring back freedom.”
A means to an end. Revolution for freedom.
“Fight with me.”
----
Author's Notes: Comm/crits are love.
Author: kayjayloves
Chapter: 1/1
Pairing: Changmin!centric (hints of Jaemin, dabbles of Shichul)
Band: DBSK/TVXQ/THSK; Super Junior
Genre: drama/action/Anyband!verse
Rating: PG-16
Warning: cussing, heavy themes (violence)
Disclaimer: 'fraid I don't own these loves.
Synopsis: The other side of revolution. Their words: “What’s revolution without fire? We’re the freshly struck match on a pile of dry, waiting sticks - all they have to do is keep burning.”
Comments: Anyband!verse, yet, you'll miss any mention of Anyband members if you blink. I'm honestly not sure what I think of this piece.
Eleven minutes.
For a minute, with the wind crashing and rebounding echoes of white noise, you can close your eyes and picture the sea. You can feel the heat burning down (‘I don’t want to get another sunburn,’ you remember saying, a chubby toddler with precocious words) and the itch of sand against your clothes, under your feet. The whispering ache along with your thoughts is painful; you touch the cold metal at your side and relax.
A shot rings out. Your ten minutes of fame start now.
Four weeks, Five days.
Heechul promises you the means to an end - weapons, tacticians, everything to stop this repression that contains the whole city (the whole world by now, you figure). He’s the only one to promise you in the world of grey - a flash of fiery red from his hair to the spark in his eyes - and have the promise contain any sort of truth.
Freedom; it tastes like passion on your lips and manifests in spilled blood and secrets - for the greater good.
Four weeks, four days.
“I grew up outside the city, by the sea.” You don’t know why you’re talking - except that you’re not supposed to be, (by law, the talking curfew is in effect after 10 P.M.) and because his stare is making you nervous. “I mean, I was really little, but we were in this tiny place where everything stayed unaffected - but I got older and things changed.”
You can still remember it; the house empty and barren, your parents accused of some bullshit debt and the four of you evicted, sent to the city, powerless against the rule of the government. “This whole place is corrupt,” you continue, hands clenched in fists.
“That’s why we’re starting a revolution.” His voice is gentler than you expect, his face breaking into a wide grin. “We’re saving the world from corruption.”
Starting today, he’s your partner. Kim Jaejoong.
Four weeks.
Starting fires isn’t really your thing - but Heechul claims the blaze is perfect semblance of your efforts; he burns the control stations and makes an example out of fires until you think he’s a little too lighter-happy.
“We’re not criminals,” Jaejoong notes, “not really - haven’t you noticed they’ve refused to report this as any kind of crime?”
The new one (he’s shifty and more nervous than useful) adds in, “Maybe we need a new tactic.”
It’s silent when you realize he’s right.
Three weeks, two days.
“Yoochun.” He looks good, you think. A little thin, but satisfied - and there’s still that subtle difference from protocol in his clothes that tells you he isn’t going to judge. He grins, his upturned eyes enough to get you to sit down.
“I heard about you and your friends - the grapevine’s thin, but still there.” He plays with the mug, and when he glances up you don’t see approval in his eyes. “The fighting. The threats. It sounds like the start of a bloody war.”
“We’re running a fucking revolution!” The table shakes under your hands, Heechul’s words running through your mind as you stare at him. (“What’s revolution without fire? We’re the freshly struck match on a pile of dry, waiting sticks - all they have to do is keep burning.”) “We’re doing what we need to do.”
Yoochun looks good, he looks healthy, but he asks you not to come and see him again. You won’t.
Three weeks.
Jaejoong sticks by you even when you’re supposed to be inconspicuous (not that they’re going to rat you out; the guards are too careful with keeping the public calm, keeping the front that they have everything under control) and you don’t say it but you’re glad. The silence of the streets is deafening, his footsteps next to yours are a reminder of why you’re still surviving. Why you're still fighting.
Two weeks.
You meet in a back alley again, on the edge of the town where (as far as you can tell, no one’s knocked on your door and sent you to a figurative hell yet) there’s no surveillance and little other than sewage and the traces of pollution. Siwon (who’s still nervous, but more useful) places the package on the ground with quiet reverence - his eyes spell caution, next to him Heechul’s glint with anticipation.
“You found them.” Jaejoong realizes it first, his hands reaching to unwrap the coarse cloth. Dull metal peaks from under the wrappings, and you pass a hand over a barrel, a trigger.
“Oh.” Your means to an end.
One week.
In between planning and maps and watching the streets every night (you know every night police’s routes by heart now, have their numbers and their habits etched to the inside of your skull) you stretch yourself thin. It’s late, and you should be exhausted, but Jaejoong’s still talking and he’s saying something completely and irreversibly stupid.
You laugh.
You still can laugh.
Two days.
Even Heechul is tense; he toys with the lighter, skimming the flame just above your sketched plans, over and over again. Siwon sits at the corner, tapping his foot quietly - he’s watching Heechul like he’s a time bomb about to go off (you’d laugh at the expression on his face at any other time) and destroy everything the four of you pieced together.
Jaejoong stands behind you, smile slipping from his features as he concentrates. There’s black metal in his hands; his eyes are unreadable.
We’re starting a revolution, you remember. We’re saving the world from corruption.
One day.
You’re dreaming of the sea, laughter and your mother calling for you (“Come back, Changmin! It’s dangerous out there where the undertow is") when Jaejoong nudges you awake. His eyes are hardened and his face solemn, but his voice is as soft as always. “Today.”
“I know.” He clutches your hand (for strength, or something else, you don’t know). You repeat his words back to him, “We’re starting a revolution.”
“I know.” He knows.
One hour.
It’s a crucial moment where you shouldn’t be thinking of anything but the instructions you’ve repeated to yourself time after time, but all you can remember is a passing conversation (“Two cities over, there’s some kind of revolution going on. They’re pacifists, the whole thing is with music - can you imagine?”) and then back to your own goals.
Jaejoong goes in. Jaejoong shoots the controller. You keep watch, you silence any passing guards. The plan, the plan, stick to the plan.
Ten minutes.
The echo of the shot doesn’t last, but it’s ringing in your ears even as you run in after Jaejoong, steel yourself for any blips in the calculations.
Five minutes.
You don’t have any time to think; you just aim.
One minute.
Jaejoong smiles back at you and it’s the brightest smile you’ve seen. Glory. Revolution. Everything you’ve planned to accomplish is shining on his face. You try to ignore the stains on the floor, the gun still clutched in his hand; you focus on his smile.
Five seconds.
The control panel is harder to work than you expect - but Heechul’s broadcast is hooked up and ready; the whole city will hear his words, every screen playing the video in four, three, two…
One second.
“What’s revolution without fire? You’re the wood, the substance and fuel of the blaze - and together, we can purge this place of suppression, we can bring back freedom.”
A means to an end. Revolution for freedom.
“Fight with me.”
----
Author's Notes: Comm/crits are love.