[30-day writing challenge] restless
restless
junmyeon-centric, junmyeon/sehun
pg
angst, child soldiers!au
a/n: small part from my still-uncompleted child soldiers!au. also i forgot to post for the last two days someone please sock me in the face
19:05
Junmyeon is perched on the edge of his bunk polishing his M-16, seated carefully so that he doesn't crease the sheets stretched taut over his just made-up bed. The rifle is, in all honesty, a lightweight compared to the MK-8s the older soldiers use. (Has to be, anyway, considering that they're required to use it out on the field and it was the lightest gun the inventory officers were willing to spare.) Now however, it feels like a leaden weight in his hands, heavy with fear and the expectations of phantom bullets. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he slides the empty magazine back in place. It wouldn't do any good if he panics now, would it?
He exhales slowly as he turns the rifle around to polish its barrel for what seems like the hundredth time. The cleaning rag he's using feels soggy and sticky with whatever water-diluted kiwi polish he'd managed to dip it in before Jongdae had snatched the tin away, but right now, it's the only thing keeping Junmyeon's mind off other, more pressing issues.
Another sigh. Junmyeon continues polishing and letting the low hum of the other boys' hushed conversations fill his ear. Zitao and Jongin are discussing about a few newly learnt weapon tactics, sprawled out carelessly on Jongin's bunk. A daring move, Junmyeon thinks with a disapproving shake of his head, considering that the sergeants will be coming in at any minute now, and the second youngest's unmade bed would get them all another twenty extra push-ups. Junmyeon's muscles are still aching from the harsh circuit training they'd been put through earlier in the afternoon, a particular muscle in his arm twitching annoyingly whenever he rubs the polishing cloth too hard.
The soothing hum of voices is only broken by a constant, dull thudthud-thud-thudthud coming from the bed next to Junmyeon's. He looks over to see Sehun drumming his feet on the cement ground, the thick soles of his scratched boots clunking rhythmically, clumsily. The younger boy doesn't seem to be aware of it, though, lips pursed and brows furrowed, a faraway look in his eyes. Junmyeon's nerves are all on edge today, and the constant thudding only serves to agitate him even further, the normally harmless sound now drilling into his head and making his fingers fumble.
"Sehun," he grits out. There is no answer, the younger boy still mulling over whatever thoughts that are going on in his head. Then, louder this time, "Sehun."
Too-large eyes blink rapidly, Sehun snapping his head around to face Junmyeon with a blank look on his face, "Hyung?" His feet are still tapping out that damned rhythm.
"Would you fucking stop that, damn it." his words come out louder, harsher than he'd meant, and Sehun's face crumples immediately.
In that moment, Junmyeon doesn't see Cadet Oh, youngest member in their squad, with quick eyes and even quicker hands, one of the best at long-distance shooting; praised by the harsh instructors for keeping a straight face throughout the toughest parts of training. Instead, he sees Sehun: twelve-year-old, naive Sehun, who cries during his nightly prayers, who still hugs a battered old soft toy to sleep. Sehun, all bright eyes and skinny limbs, looking like he's playing dress-up whenever he's suited up in his FBO, his rifle nearly too big for him.
Guilt rises up bitter and sickening at the back of Junmyeon's throat, and he sets his rifle down, about to apologise and maybe reach over to ruffle Sehun's hair, tell him that he didn't mean it, hyung's just not feeling too well today. But there's a sudden, loud "Stand-by bed!" from Yifan, and Junmyeon's words are lost in the mad rush to assemble by their beds before the sergeants walk in.
Junmyeon pretends not to notice Sehun's red-rimmed eyes as the younger boy snaps to attention, chest out and back straight, hands trembling slightly as he clasps them behind his back.
02:57
It's three hours past lights out, but Junmyeon can't seem to fall asleep. He puts it down to nerves, the niggling fear at the back of his mind that it's tomorrow, that he's been training for three years just for tomorrow, the day that they would finally send him out on the field. (It's not the fear of fighting, he supposes. It's the fear of dying.) Anticipation and fear and nervousness forms a lead weight in his stomach, painful and electrifying all at once, and there's nothing he can do but toss and turn restlessly in his bunk, listening to the gentle snores from the others in an attempt to calm himself down.
"Hyung?" Junmyeon starts at the sudden whisper, squinting to make out Sehun's scrawny frame silhouetted in the dim light. He moves over a little to let the younger boy slide in next to him, even as he murmurs out an "I thought you were asleep."
There's a pause. Sehun wriggles around in an attempt to make himself more comfortable, the sharp juts of his shoulderblades and elbows digging into Junmyeon's chest. Like this, tiny frame curled up in a fetal position, he looks so painfully vulnerable, and Junmyeon has the sudden urge, the want to just protect him, shield him. "Hyung, I'm scared."
Junmyeon laughs softly, lips twisted into a painful grimace. "We've trained so long for this, though. Don't worry, we'll be alright." He hesitates, words on the tip of his tongue. "I'm sorry for shouting at you before the room check."
"It's okay." Another pause, Sehun opening his mouth in a jaw-cracking yawn. Junmyeon shifts a little so that Sehun's hair won't tickle his nose. It's soft and fine, like a baby's, instead of an almost-teen. "I'm still scared." Sehun curls in closer to him. "I miss going to school."
"So do I," Junmyeon sighs, reaching his hand up to stroke Sehun's hair lightly. "Go to sleep, Sehun-ah."
There's no answer, and Junmyeon pulls his hand back to his side when he realises that Sehun has already fallen asleep. He relaxes back into the mattress, adjusting the blanket so that it's properly covering the younger boy. They'll get punished if the sergeants find out about this in the morning, but right now, Junmyeon can't find it in himself to care. He stares up at the ceiling, letting the dancing shadows and the gentle rhythm of Sehun's breathing lull him to sleep.
junmyeon-centric, junmyeon/sehun
pg
angst, child soldiers!au
a/n: small part from my still-uncompleted child soldiers!au. also i forgot to post for the last two days someone please sock me in the face
19:05
Junmyeon is perched on the edge of his bunk polishing his M-16, seated carefully so that he doesn't crease the sheets stretched taut over his just made-up bed. The rifle is, in all honesty, a lightweight compared to the MK-8s the older soldiers use. (Has to be, anyway, considering that they're required to use it out on the field and it was the lightest gun the inventory officers were willing to spare.) Now however, it feels like a leaden weight in his hands, heavy with fear and the expectations of phantom bullets. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he slides the empty magazine back in place. It wouldn't do any good if he panics now, would it?
He exhales slowly as he turns the rifle around to polish its barrel for what seems like the hundredth time. The cleaning rag he's using feels soggy and sticky with whatever water-diluted kiwi polish he'd managed to dip it in before Jongdae had snatched the tin away, but right now, it's the only thing keeping Junmyeon's mind off other, more pressing issues.
Another sigh. Junmyeon continues polishing and letting the low hum of the other boys' hushed conversations fill his ear. Zitao and Jongin are discussing about a few newly learnt weapon tactics, sprawled out carelessly on Jongin's bunk. A daring move, Junmyeon thinks with a disapproving shake of his head, considering that the sergeants will be coming in at any minute now, and the second youngest's unmade bed would get them all another twenty extra push-ups. Junmyeon's muscles are still aching from the harsh circuit training they'd been put through earlier in the afternoon, a particular muscle in his arm twitching annoyingly whenever he rubs the polishing cloth too hard.
The soothing hum of voices is only broken by a constant, dull thudthud-thud-thudthud coming from the bed next to Junmyeon's. He looks over to see Sehun drumming his feet on the cement ground, the thick soles of his scratched boots clunking rhythmically, clumsily. The younger boy doesn't seem to be aware of it, though, lips pursed and brows furrowed, a faraway look in his eyes. Junmyeon's nerves are all on edge today, and the constant thudding only serves to agitate him even further, the normally harmless sound now drilling into his head and making his fingers fumble.
"Sehun," he grits out. There is no answer, the younger boy still mulling over whatever thoughts that are going on in his head. Then, louder this time, "Sehun."
Too-large eyes blink rapidly, Sehun snapping his head around to face Junmyeon with a blank look on his face, "Hyung?" His feet are still tapping out that damned rhythm.
"Would you fucking stop that, damn it." his words come out louder, harsher than he'd meant, and Sehun's face crumples immediately.
In that moment, Junmyeon doesn't see Cadet Oh, youngest member in their squad, with quick eyes and even quicker hands, one of the best at long-distance shooting; praised by the harsh instructors for keeping a straight face throughout the toughest parts of training. Instead, he sees Sehun: twelve-year-old, naive Sehun, who cries during his nightly prayers, who still hugs a battered old soft toy to sleep. Sehun, all bright eyes and skinny limbs, looking like he's playing dress-up whenever he's suited up in his FBO, his rifle nearly too big for him.
Guilt rises up bitter and sickening at the back of Junmyeon's throat, and he sets his rifle down, about to apologise and maybe reach over to ruffle Sehun's hair, tell him that he didn't mean it, hyung's just not feeling too well today. But there's a sudden, loud "Stand-by bed!" from Yifan, and Junmyeon's words are lost in the mad rush to assemble by their beds before the sergeants walk in.
Junmyeon pretends not to notice Sehun's red-rimmed eyes as the younger boy snaps to attention, chest out and back straight, hands trembling slightly as he clasps them behind his back.
02:57
It's three hours past lights out, but Junmyeon can't seem to fall asleep. He puts it down to nerves, the niggling fear at the back of his mind that it's tomorrow, that he's been training for three years just for tomorrow, the day that they would finally send him out on the field. (It's not the fear of fighting, he supposes. It's the fear of dying.) Anticipation and fear and nervousness forms a lead weight in his stomach, painful and electrifying all at once, and there's nothing he can do but toss and turn restlessly in his bunk, listening to the gentle snores from the others in an attempt to calm himself down.
"Hyung?" Junmyeon starts at the sudden whisper, squinting to make out Sehun's scrawny frame silhouetted in the dim light. He moves over a little to let the younger boy slide in next to him, even as he murmurs out an "I thought you were asleep."
There's a pause. Sehun wriggles around in an attempt to make himself more comfortable, the sharp juts of his shoulderblades and elbows digging into Junmyeon's chest. Like this, tiny frame curled up in a fetal position, he looks so painfully vulnerable, and Junmyeon has the sudden urge, the want to just protect him, shield him. "Hyung, I'm scared."
Junmyeon laughs softly, lips twisted into a painful grimace. "We've trained so long for this, though. Don't worry, we'll be alright." He hesitates, words on the tip of his tongue. "I'm sorry for shouting at you before the room check."
"It's okay." Another pause, Sehun opening his mouth in a jaw-cracking yawn. Junmyeon shifts a little so that Sehun's hair won't tickle his nose. It's soft and fine, like a baby's, instead of an almost-teen. "I'm still scared." Sehun curls in closer to him. "I miss going to school."
"So do I," Junmyeon sighs, reaching his hand up to stroke Sehun's hair lightly. "Go to sleep, Sehun-ah."
There's no answer, and Junmyeon pulls his hand back to his side when he realises that Sehun has already fallen asleep. He relaxes back into the mattress, adjusting the blanket so that it's properly covering the younger boy. They'll get punished if the sergeants find out about this in the morning, but right now, Junmyeon can't find it in himself to care. He stares up at the ceiling, letting the dancing shadows and the gentle rhythm of Sehun's breathing lull him to sleep.