As We Came To Be
Pairing: Changmin x Yoochun
Genre: Romance, Drama, Angst
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Changmin whispers at him like a lover, touches him like a lover, holds him like a lover but never tells him he is.
*my love letter togompi
Changmin only really takes him from behind, spread out on all fours. Strong fingers gripping on his hips, nails clawed on flesh and with each movement, each thrust sending him closer to the edge; to euphoria. And even Changmin switches them with Yoochun on top he has the older man turned away, and when he’s near he reaches out- vice grip on his neck and his other hand fisting his flesh until he comes.
When they’re spent Changmin will sweep away the hair from his forehead and give tender kisses with eyes closed. Yoochun will hold his face to look but only sees eyes shut as he quickly nozzles his neck.
Yoochun’s too scared to ask and voice out his why he never looks at him because all he wishes is to see this man he loves see him.
He never does.
=
Yoochun dies in a car crash; vehicle crushed under a pile of metal, his head whiplashing knocking him unconscious and killing him subsequently. His mother identifies his body draped in a white sheet. She barely manages the trembling of her hands as she dials for Changmin’s number. When he answers she can’t find it in herself to connect words together, her sobs tries to tell him but anguish overcomes her.
But how do you say it anyway? There will be no words to soften this.
Changmin comes to the morgue disheveled, his wild eyes dying as he’s being cradled into her embrace. His scream echoes throughout the quiet hallway, his pain reverberating through the walls as she clutches him tightly as he crumples to the ground. She holds him as he breaks into shards in her arms.
Happiness will cease to exist from now.
=
Changmin likes to watch Yoochun from behind, gazing at his broad shoulders as he cleans up the kitchen, eyes always following his movements. He looks at him when the other is too engrossed with a book, his eyebrows furrowed together in concentration as he turns the page. He finds himself smiling too when the older man smiles at text even if he doesn’t know what he’s reading about.
He finds himself always one step behind the older man, likes seeing him in front of him so he can keep a watchful eye. He’s memorized the cues already; how he straightens up when he means business, how his shoulders sag a bit when he gets shy, how he likes to put his hands at the back when he’s daydreaming, how he’ll start rubbing his lower back when he gets tired.
He remains a step behind to catch him when he falls, an observer to keep an eye on him and a shadow to Yoochun’s light.
Changmin only sees him.
=
Yoochun plays incomplete love songs when it rains, plays the last note as the rain stops. He doesn’t pick up on unfinished ones, only plays a new set when another storm comes in. His pieces seem disjointed and broken but to a real listener this is a symphony.
Changmin writes stories filled with cliffhangers, no real ending in sight nor plot. He picks up his notebook once he hears the piano bench screech, stops midsentence when the last note is played. His characters never have names though he knows exactly who they are.
All they had were incompleteness: stories with gaps and music with static. For every arrangement Yoochun has done Changmin has written for them and this was a metaphor of who they were but they were unknowing.
They were blind.
Genre: Romance, Drama, Angst
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Changmin whispers at him like a lover, touches him like a lover, holds him like a lover but never tells him he is.
*my love letter togompi
Changmin only really takes him from behind, spread out on all fours. Strong fingers gripping on his hips, nails clawed on flesh and with each movement, each thrust sending him closer to the edge; to euphoria. And even Changmin switches them with Yoochun on top he has the older man turned away, and when he’s near he reaches out- vice grip on his neck and his other hand fisting his flesh until he comes.
When they’re spent Changmin will sweep away the hair from his forehead and give tender kisses with eyes closed. Yoochun will hold his face to look but only sees eyes shut as he quickly nozzles his neck.
Yoochun’s too scared to ask and voice out his why he never looks at him because all he wishes is to see this man he loves see him.
He never does.
=
Yoochun dies in a car crash; vehicle crushed under a pile of metal, his head whiplashing knocking him unconscious and killing him subsequently. His mother identifies his body draped in a white sheet. She barely manages the trembling of her hands as she dials for Changmin’s number. When he answers she can’t find it in herself to connect words together, her sobs tries to tell him but anguish overcomes her.
But how do you say it anyway? There will be no words to soften this.
Changmin comes to the morgue disheveled, his wild eyes dying as he’s being cradled into her embrace. His scream echoes throughout the quiet hallway, his pain reverberating through the walls as she clutches him tightly as he crumples to the ground. She holds him as he breaks into shards in her arms.
Happiness will cease to exist from now.
=
Changmin likes to watch Yoochun from behind, gazing at his broad shoulders as he cleans up the kitchen, eyes always following his movements. He looks at him when the other is too engrossed with a book, his eyebrows furrowed together in concentration as he turns the page. He finds himself smiling too when the older man smiles at text even if he doesn’t know what he’s reading about.
He finds himself always one step behind the older man, likes seeing him in front of him so he can keep a watchful eye. He’s memorized the cues already; how he straightens up when he means business, how his shoulders sag a bit when he gets shy, how he likes to put his hands at the back when he’s daydreaming, how he’ll start rubbing his lower back when he gets tired.
He remains a step behind to catch him when he falls, an observer to keep an eye on him and a shadow to Yoochun’s light.
Changmin only sees him.
=
Yoochun plays incomplete love songs when it rains, plays the last note as the rain stops. He doesn’t pick up on unfinished ones, only plays a new set when another storm comes in. His pieces seem disjointed and broken but to a real listener this is a symphony.
Changmin writes stories filled with cliffhangers, no real ending in sight nor plot. He picks up his notebook once he hears the piano bench screech, stops midsentence when the last note is played. His characters never have names though he knows exactly who they are.
All they had were incompleteness: stories with gaps and music with static. For every arrangement Yoochun has done Changmin has written for them and this was a metaphor of who they were but they were unknowing.
They were blind.