The Intermission
Title: The Intermission [Part 2 of the Stage it Out Loud series; Part 1: No More Secrets]
Warning(s): Mentions of suicide, sexuality, and smut
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Seriously?
Summary: A breather separating No More Secrets and Forward and Counting. Short, little snippets of the lives that brought Yunho and Changmin to be who they have become.
1997
By the time Changmin makes it to the elementary school that first day, the late bell is already ringing. Changmin looks pleadingly at his mother, but she only writes him a late note and shoos him out of the car.
“Can't you come in with me?” Changmin asks through the rolled down window.
“You're a big boy,” his mother says. “You can give that to them by yourself.”
“But what if they don't believe me?” Changmin asks.
“They will,” she assures him.
They don't believe him.
“How do we know that you didn't write this yourself?” the clerk asks.
Changmin sighs, exasperated. “Because a nine year old wouldn't use the phrase `I apologize tremendously for our tardiness?'” he suggests.
“There should be a side note apologizing for your smart mouth,” the clerk says with a glare.
Changmin matches her dark look. “It must have slipped her mind.”
The clerk slaps the note flat on her desk. “Unexcused tardy.” She reaches below the desk and pulls out a pad of pink slips. “And you're well on your way to a write-up, young man.”
Changmin crosses his arms. “I'm shaking.”
“Whoa, okay!”
Changmin yelps when he's yanked out of his chair. There's a flurry of movement, and Changmin tries to shove himself free, but his face is pressed tight to someone's chest.
“I'm sure that we can just call his mom,” says Changmin's captor. The chest vibrates beneath Changmin's cheek. “He's just not a morning person.”
“Kevin,” the clerk greets monotonously.
Changmin grunts when the arms around him tighten. “Come on, seonsaengnim,” this Kevin says. “It's the first day of school. He's probably just scared.”
The last thing Changmin is is scared. He tries again to dislodge the boy's hold, but his ear is pinched, and he relents with a wince.
So his mother is called, and he's left off with a warning. His savior drags him from the room before Changmin can grumble his indignation. It allows Changmin an opportunity to get a better look at him.
Not bad, is his first thought, though he doesn't immediately understand why. Kevin is about as tall as he is, with spiky hair and a cheeky smile, and his lips alone are enough to draw Changmin's fingers to his own.
“Don't you know that we get smacked around at this school?” Kevin asks, smile unwavering.
Changmin tears his eyes away from Kevin's mouth. “I don't care,” he says. He glares at Kevin's chest. “They can try, but I won't let them touch me.”
Kevin's smile widens. “You mean, like in a spiritual way? Wow, tough talk for a fourth grader.”
Changmin's nose wrinkles at that. “And how old are you?” he asks.
“I'm eleven,” Kevin says. His chest puffs out the slightest bit. “Sixth grade.”
Wow. A sixth grader. Changmin is a little awed. “I'm sorry, hyung,” he says, respectful. “I didn't mean to be out of line.”
“No!” Kevin says, and he laughs. “You're feisty. That's really cool!”
Changmin blushes. “Really?”
“Yeah!” Kevin beams at him. “My mom says that the feistiest people are the ones with the biggest hearts. She'd love you, I think.”
“My mom hates it,” Changmin says.
“I think it's great,” Kevin says. “Your eyes totally sell it.”
Changmin lifts his gaze, his little eyebrows furrowing.
Kevin's head tilts to the side. “Is that weird to say?” he asks.
Changmin shrugs. He twirls a strand of hair around his finger. “I just don't like my eyes.”
“They're pretty,” Kevin assures him, nodding. “Like my mom's. She has eyes like yours.”
“My mom says I have my great grandma's eyes,” Changmin says. He's been shown pictures, but he doesn't see the resemblance. His great grandmother died of lupus several years after his mother's birth. Maybe if she were still alive, Changmin could see it.
“My mom calls them `old eyes,'” Kevin says. “I don't really get it, but I think it has to do with past lives or something.”
Changmin cannot believe he is having a conversation with an eleven year old about his eyes. He blushes beet red and fumbles for another topic, something that will make him sound hip or cool. “Um,” he manages, “what electives are you taking?” Yes, perfect, Changmin-ah, let him see how much of a nerd you are, he scolds himself.
Kevin doesn't seem to mind. “P.E. and choir,” he says. “Too bad the grades only learn together. You're such a cool guy. I wanna hang out with you!”
Changmin plucks at the strings of his backpack. “You think so?” he asks, uncertain.
Kevin nods. “Maybe we could hang out after school!” he says, brightening, but then he deflates. “Wait, that's choir practice. Oh! Can you sing?”
As if there is any way Changmin is going to admit to that embarrassing hobby. “Um...” he replies intelligently.
Kevin ruffles Changmin's hair. “Come by, anyway,” he says. “I'm sure the teacher could give you some pointers.”
“Um,” Changmin repeats. His hand is on his head, fingers weaving into his hair. His blush spreads down his neck. “Um.”
Kevin seems to remember himself. “Crap!” He glances around, then returns his attention to Changmin. “We're really late-Do you know where your class is? I can walk you.”
“Um.” Changmin licks his lips and squares his shoulders, trying to regain some of his awareness. Words escape him, though. He can't think straight, either. “I...” Finally, he simply shakes his head.
Kevin frowns. “Are you sure?” he asks. “It's the first day, I can be late.”
Changmin's fingers clutch tighter at his hair. He shakes his head again, steps back.
Kevin hesitates, but he moves toward the stairwell. “Okay, then,” he says. He smiles. “Come to choir practice! Be careful!”
Changmin can't even watch him go, because he's almost in tears. What is this feeling clenching in his gut? Is he sick?
*
2001
“You can do it, if you still want to.”
Yunho is studying Seokjin's wall of action figurines, and he glances away, distracted. “Huh?”
Seokjin isn't looking at him. He kicks his legs a little from where they're hanging off the edge of his mattress. “If you still want to kiss me,” he says, face bright red, “you can.”
Yunho turns away from the wall. “Seokjin-ah, don't you think it's gross?” he asks.
Seokjin smooths out his comforter. “No.” He shrugs. “You're amazing, Yunho. If it was you, it'd probably be okay.”
Yunho frowns. “I don't think you...” He sighs and moves to the foot of Seokjin's bed. “You're sure about this?” he asks.
Seokjin chances a glance up at him. “Should I stand up?”
Yunho shrugs.
Seokjin climbs off the mattress.
“It'll probably be bad,” Yunho warns him. He studies Seokjin's face, and he notes the nervous twitch in Seokjin's hands. “I haven't had my first kiss, so I probably suck really bad.”
Seokjin lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “I haven't had mine, either, so I don't think I'll notice.”
“You're sure you're sure, right?” Yunho asks anyway. “No second thoughts at all?”
Seokjin shakes his head. He steps forward, closing their gap, but doesn't do much else. He just stands there, hands wringing and face reddening; Yunho swallows when he realizes that he'll have to take the lead.
He's so nervous, Yunho says to himself. It's just a kiss. Yunho's hand shakes as he reaches out to touch Seokjin's cheek.
Seokjin freezes at the contact, then relaxes, flicking his eyes up to meet Yunho's. He nuzzles his cheek into Yunho's palm.
The answering feeling that pulls at Yunho's groin is alarming. He spooks and takes a few steps back, putting some distance between them. “This isn't a good idea,” he whispers, voice unusually deep. “You can't really be okay with giving your first kiss to a guy-”
Seokjin wraps a hand around the back of Yunho's neck and pulls him down.
The contact can't really be described as a kiss, per say. Their noses bump and Yunho's sure he just bit Seokjin in the collision, but their lips are touching.
Seokjin lowers his heels to the floor. “That... That counted, right?” he asks, searching Yunho's face. “That was a kiss, right?”
Yunho licks his lips. His gaze fastens to Seokjin's mouth. “No,” he murmurs. He cups Seokjin's cheek again, thumb brushing at the hotness of Seokjin's skin. “Our tongues didn't touch.”
Seokjin's eyes widen. “Oh.” He looks away. “Um, if you want to-”
Yunho turns Seokjin's head back and reclaims his lips. Seokjin gives in, surrenders all control, and Yunho is unsettled with how quickly his body reacts to the subservience. His tongue slips into Seokjin's mouth. His hips jump forward into Seokjin's.
Seokjin whimpers. “Y-Yunho,” he whispers, breathless with heat. “I think that counted.”
Yunho shakes his head. “No.” He drops his lips to Seokjin's throat. “No, it didn't.”
“Okay,” Seokjin says. Yunho's teeth nibble at the junction between his neck and shoulder.
Whether Seokjin believes him or not, Yunho doesn't really care, because he has the shoulder of Seokjin's sweater halfway down Seokjin's arm, and his mouth is kissing a trail down Seokjin's chest.
He wonders what he's doing. He decides that that doesn't matter, either.
“You weren't kidding,” Seokjin says from above him. “You do want me.”
Yunho replies by kissing him again. Seokjin tries to say something, but it's swallowed between them, and Seokjin's arms curl around Yunho's neck.
Yunho almost comes to his senses, then. He pulls away. “That counted,” he says, voice hoarse. “That definitely counted.”
“Okay,” is Seokjin's quick reply. He doesn't let go, though, still hanging from Yunho's shoulders like he belongs there. “Should we stop, then?”
We should. But Seokjin's eyes are glazed and his lips are bruised and his clothing is disheveled and his shoulder is bare and there are at lest three hickeys forming on his neck, and Yunho's crotch wins the argument.
Seokjin yelps when Yunho pushes him onto the bed. He pauses. “Boys can't do that, can they?” he asks. “Th-They can't really do that, can they?”
Yunho's answer probably isn't the best. “Then that's not what we're doing.”
It gets him what he wants. Seokjin relaxes, welcomes another of Yunho's kisses. Yunho settles between Seokjin's legs and grinds down, long and hard.
Seokjin breaks their kiss. The sound he makes only has Yunho rocking harder.
“Wait,” Seokjin says, voice shaking. “Wait, I don't-I don't-”
Yunho's mouth is on his neck, then his chest, and Yunho groans when Seokjin arches, presses his skin more firmly to Yunho's lips. Yunho's mouth closes on a nipple.
Seokjin squeaks. “What?” he asks, staring down at Yunho. “What is that?”
Yunho blushes, because he isn't entirely sure, either. “Your nipple,” he says. “Is it bad?”
Seokjin drops his gaze. “It's not bad, but-”
“Do you want me to stop?” Yunho asks.
Seokjin's eyes lock again with his. “What? No!” He blushes. “I think you should keep going.”
“You do?” Yunho asks, and it's low this time, a challenge.
By now, Seokjin has to know what Yunho wants. It's in his eyes. At least, Yunho thinks he sees it there. “Keep going,” Seokjin says.
Yunho bites at the nipple, and Seokjin trembles beneath him.
In the moments following, Yunho isn't quite sure who's in control. He's the one touching everything, kissing everywhere, but Seokjin is the one leading Yunho's hand to its destination once Seokjin is completely naked. He lifts his hips, gazes into Yunho's eyes. “Here,” he whispers. “Touch me here.”
Yunho is curious of how Seokjin would know of such a thing. When he enters a finger, slick with Seokjin's saliva, however, and Seokjin pulls him in, spreads for him, Yunho forgets everything else.
He finds the prostate. Seokjin cries out with every push and rub, and he's a hot mess, opening and spreading and pushing-fucking himself back onto the two fingers Yunho has inside of him. Yunho can't look away. He has never seen such a side of the boy.
“Yunho,” Seokjin begs. He pops the button of Yunho's jeans. “Do you want to?”
Of course Yunho wants to. He strips himself of his shirt, then his jeans.
Seokjin doesn't wait for Yunho to shed his boxers. His hand is unsure, but he wraps it around Yunho's cock, and he blushes at its girth. “It's so...” He climbs onto his knees. He licks the tip.
Yunho forces him back onto his back. “Let me,” he breathes.
“Please,” Seokjin says. “Please, please.”
Yunho touches the head of his cock to Seokjin's entrance. He waits. “I don't want to hurt you,” he says.
Seokjin touches his cheek. “It's okay. It's really okay.”
So Yunho pushes in. He holds Seokjin's legs, keeping them spread as he slides inside of Seokjin inch by inch.
Seokjin whimpers. He clutches at his pillow. “You're filling me,” he says. “God, I feel so full.”
Yunho's self-control snaps; he digs his fingers into Seokjin's thighs and forces his last few inches inside.
Seokjin winces. “Yunho,” he whispers. “Yunho, I'm full.”
Yunho groans. “You're tight,” he says. He locks his shoulders and wills himself still. “You're so tight and hot and good God.”
Seokjin only shudders. “This is how boys do it,” he whispers. “I saw it.”
“You wanted me like this?” Yunho asks. He drops his head to Seokjin's chest. Still, he tells himself. Stay still.
“I didn't know I did,” Seokjin says. “God, you're amazing, Yunho. Did I want you all this time?”
A growl rips from Yunho's throat. He pumps his hips forward, and Seokjin cries out. Yunho clamps back down on his self-control.
“Move,” Seokjin pleads.
“I might hurt you,” Yunho says.
Seokjin lifts Yunho's head from his chest. He smiles. “Move, Yunho,” he says. “This is how you make love to me, right?”
Yunho kisses him. He pumps forward, starting slow but gaining speed, and Seokjin wraps himself around him, his heels digging into Yunho's back, his nails marking down the blades of Yunho's shoulders.
“Yunho,” he cries between kisses. “Yunho, please, Yunho-”
Yunho's hands move underneath Seokjin's bottom, and he lifts him, so that Seokjin is clinging to every part of him, held completely off the sheets by their desire to be one.
They come together, just like that, conjoined and held tight to one another.
Yunho holds him until they sleep, and in the morning, Yunho leaves before Seokjin has even opened his eyes.
Yunho is on a train to Seoul within the hour.
*
Changmin sips his cappuccino as he flips through the file his mother tossed him an hour earlier. He grimaces at its bulk.
A ding, and Kevin is pushing into the café. “Changmin-ah!” he says.
Changmin doesn't spare him a glance. “Hey.”
“Why so cold?” Kevin slides into the seat across from him. “Did something happen?”
Besides you getting a girlfriend? Changmin grumbles internally. No, nothing. “No, it's just-” Changmin motions at the papers spread out in front of him. “My mom wants me to audition at SM.”
“S.M. Entertainment?” Kevin asks, eyes widening. “Oh my god, that's perfect!”
Changmin blows his bangs from his face. “Of course you'd think so,” he says.
“You're an awesome singer,” Kevin reasons. “Way better than me.”
“I don't like people looking at me,” Changmin mutters. He tries to shuffle the papers into some form of organization. “She just wants me to join so BoA could maybe fall in love with me, anyway.”
Kevin shrugs. “BoA's cute.”
Changmin rolls his eyes.
Kevin frowns. “Don't you agree?”
“You're just so-” Straight. Changmin huffs. “She's fine. I just don't want to be an idol.”
Kevin reaches for one of the pages Changmin set aside. “I think it would be awesome,” he says. “All those girls, all that money.”
“SM only gives its idols about ten percent, I think,” Changmin mumbles, face in his hands.
“That's still a lot,” Kevin points out.
Changmin groans and drags his hands down his face. “Your habit of finding the good in everything is so annoying sometimes, hyung,” he says.
Kevin drops his eyes.
Changmin grimaces. “That was mean, wasn't it?”
Kevin shrugs, not looking at him. “You're frustrated,” he says. “My mom said-”
Changmin raises an eyebrow.
“.... to get her some coffee,” Kevin finishes lamely. He flushes a bright pink and points at the counter at the café's front. “I'll go get that.”
Changmin nods, and Kevin stands up. Even at fifteen years old, Kevin's mother complex is burning strong, though he's taking steps to curb it, given that it's no longer considered cute. Changmin finds it cute, of course, but Changmin's opinion doesn't mean as much to Kevin as it used to.
Changmin returns to his paperwork, now frustrated for another reason.
Another ding. “Hey!”
Changmin drops his face onto the tabletop. As if he doesn't have enough to deal with already. He peeks up in time to see Kevin run from the retail half of the café.
“Micheon!” Kevin shouts, scooping the girl into his arms.
Ew, Changmin thinks. What is this, the opening to a drama?
“Hi, sweetie!” Micheon replies.
Changmin gags.
As if to appease the Gods of Amusement, the couple zeroes in on his table; Changmin moves his cappuccino before it can be knocked over by their mutual enthusiasm.
“Hey, Changminnie,” Micheon greets with that sickly sweet smile of hers, and Changmin doesn't bother to mask his distaste; he hasn't from the beginning, but Kevin has somehow convinced her that this is the way Changmin shows his affection.
It's with girls like her that Changmin is actually grateful that he's homosexual. He can't imagine how she and Kevin even converse.
“What are you doing?” Micheon asks. She scans the spread of brochures and documents. “Looks official.”
Changmin sighs with a glare at Kevin. Kevin's smile wavers. “My mother wants me to be an idol,” Changmin says. “And I don't want to be.”
Micheon's eyes brighten, much like her boyfriend's did. “Why not? You're the best singer in the choir!”
Changmin rubs his temple. “I just don't think it's practical.”
“There are lots of girls there,” Micheon says. She winks. “Really pretty ones, too.”
Kevin shakes his head before Changmin can scoff at the comment. “I've already tried that argument.”
“I don't care about girls,” Changmin says. Like, at all. “And even if I did, SM discourages fraternizing between its male and female idols. Can't really dance difficult choreography when you're pregnant.”
Out of all of that, only one thing hits its target: “S.M. Entertainment?” Micheon asks. Her gasp is so long, Changmin is actually waiting for her head to explode. Man, this is why he hates her. “That's great! You'd get to meet Dana and Shinhwa and-What are you doing?”
Changmin is re-stacking the papers, no longer caring about their order, and he throws them back into the manilla folder in which they came. “The first audition is today,” he says, grabbing his bag. “I just realized that I'd rather be there than here.”
*
“You aren't the bottoming type, are you?”
Yunho grimaces as he lifts the joint to his lips.
Mike smiles and pats Yunho's knee. “Yeah, me neither.”
“It's not that it wasn't enjoyable,” Yunho says, tapping the excess off the joint. They're sitting thigh to thigh on a curb near S.M. Entertainment, waiting on a job. The van will be there within the next few hours, but in the meantime, they're doing what they do best: talking sex and getting high. “It just wasn't my kind of enjoyable,” Yunho says.
Mike laughs. “Well, hell, I'll try it. Maybe I'll end up with some kinky chick.”
Yunho's brow wrinkles. “That happens?” he asks.
“Girls topping their men?” Mike asks. “Yeah.” He leans back and rests his elbows on the pavement. “Some even have whips, order their boys around. Teach them who is the master and who is the slave.”
Yunho sighs out a lungful of smoke. “Sounds hot.”
“Thought it wasn't your thing,” Mike says.
“No,” Yunho says. “The master part.” He hands over the joint. “Might get into that.”
“Wait for the girl,” Mike says, smirking. He takes a hit. “I'm not nobody's slave.”
Yunho glances at him, then out at the street. “Why all this talk of girls, Mike?” he asks. “We're fifteen, dude.”
Mike sighs, smoke blowing from his mouth. “My parents want me to get married, take over the business.”
Yunho frowns. “You're fifteen.”
“You're from a small town,” Mike says. “You know how it is.”
“Wait.” Yunho turns onto his side. “You aren't going back, are you?”
Mike looks away. “The schedule's been a little unforgiving lately.”
“Mike,” Yunho says.
“Dude, it's just not turning out how I thought it would.” Mike sits up and pushes Yunho out of his personal space. “I'm tired, and my family wants something different for me.”
“So does mine,” Yunho says. “But-”
“There are no buts,” Mike says. He stubs out the joint on the pavement in between them. “I have a blind date this Wednesday. It's done.”
Yunho watches the last sparks of light sputter and die in the ash. So it is.
*
2002
“If you're not serious about this, you might as well leave.”
Jung Yunho, sixteen years old. Changmin is too startled by the words to notice how hot he is, even with that gap between his teeth.
“What?” Changmin asks, unsure if he's hearing this correctly.
Yunho runs a hand through his hair and fixes him with hardened, exhausted eyes. “If you're not willing to put up with the work, don't call this your dream.”
The trainee that introduced them grows apprehensive when Changmin hides behind him. The effort is laughable, given Changmin's height. “Yunho,” says the boy. “He's been here two weeks.”
Yunho merely sighs. He looks Changmin up and down, eyes lingering in a way that Changmin is all too familiar with, before mumbling an apology and turning away. He's called over by a female idol, and he's gone without so much as a bye.
Changmin stares after him. Then he turns on his escort. “What the hell was that?”
The trainee looks more confused than Changmin feels. “He's usually nicer than that. He's a background dancer, but I think a bunch of his friends called it quits all at once a few days ago.” He smiles at Changmin, reassuring. “He's probably just tired. Come on, let's go meet Junsu. He's one of the best singers coming in this year.”
Changmin nods, hesitant as Yunho's words reverberate in the back of his mind; he's suddenly unsure of how `easy' he was promised this would be. He glances over his shoulder, eyeing Yunho one last time.
Well, at least he's no longer alone where sexual preference is concerned.
*
Pull. Snap. Pull. Snap. Pull.
Yunho opens the cooler and pulls down a chocolate milk.
Snap.
“Seriously, I forgot my wallet in my car.”
Yunho glances around the corner of his aisle. At the counter, the cashier is arguing with a boy more beautiful than Yunho is prepared to handle, and it's instinct that pulls him forward; a compulsion to be the knight in shining armor.
“What's going on here?” he asks, and the pair silences.
The cashier frowns at Yunho. The boy snaps his mouth closed.
The cashier stabs a finger at the boy. “He wants to buy these things without money.”
Yunho looks at the counter and the few sandwiches and Yoohoos that sit there. He looks at the boy.
The boy averts his eyes. “I forgot my wallet in my car,” he says quietly.
Yunho doesn't take his word for it. He sighs and pulls out his wallet.
The boy holds up a hand. “Wait-You don't have to-”
Yunho hands the cashier a few bills. “And this, too, please,” he says, setting his chocolate milk beside the boy's things.
When everything is bagged and said and done, Yunho holds the door open, and the boy brushes past him. Yunho watches him with hardly disguised interest.
“You shouldn't steal,” he says when they pause outside of the entrance.
The boy sighs. “No, I really wasn't stealing. My wallet's in my car, it's just not here right now.”
“Where is it?” Yunho asks.
“Not here,” the boy replies.
Yunho shakes his head.
The boy smiles. “Thank you, though,” he says. “You really saved me.”
Yunho shrugs. “Doing what I can.” He chuckles. “Rescuing damsels in distress is a past-time of mine.”
“Hey,” the boy says, frowning, “I'm a boy.”
Yunho laughs. “I'm aware.”
“Just making sure.” The boy turns to watch a car pull up alongside a gas pump. He tuts and turns back to Yunho. “Some guys can be real douches about anyone with natural beauty.”
Yunho's eyebrows raise at that.
The boy doesn't pause in his seriousness. “It's not conceited to know that I'm pretty,” he says. Another tut. “It's more of a curse than a blessing, to be honest.”
“I'd consider it a blessing,” Yunho says. He raises his chocolate milk to his lips. “You're fucking gorgeous.”
The boy's eyes drop to Yunho's mouth before the words can register. When they do, Yunho can see it. The boy's blush is instant. “Thank you.” The boy coughs and looks around, irritation flaring. “Where the hell is my car?”
Yunho snorts. “Not carried off by fairy dust?” he asks.
The boy frowns at him again. “I really do have a car,” he says. “And a wallet. They're kinda... all I have right now.”
Yunho's curiosity piques. “Why?”
The boy tsks. “Price for living my dream?”
Yunho can understand that perhaps a little too well. “At least you have a car,” he says.
The boy blinks at him. “Where are you staying?”
“Wherever I happen to be,” Yunho says. He looks into his bottle. “Usually, it's the curb outside of S.M. Entertainment.”
“Wait.” The boy stares at him. “S.M. Entertainment? That's where I'm at!”
Yunho pauses.
The boy grins. “I mostly do vocal training.”
“You're not a backup dancer?” Yunho asks.
The boy laughs. “Oh, no, I have two left feet.” He chuckles. “It's already been decided that I'll be an idol, they just don't know where to put me yet.”
How lucky. Yunho wants to laugh, but the boy wouldn't understand if he did. “Cool,” he says, settling with a smile. “I don't ever think I'll get to that point. I used to be able to sing, but ever since my throat surgery...”
The boy's smile fades. “Oh, I'm sorry,” he says.
Yunho shrugs, but the wound is still deep. “It's fine.”
“You can try, can't you?” the boy asks. “To sing?”
Yunho isn't sure what he's getting at. “They instructed me not to push myself.”
The boy looks frustrated. “But you could try,” he says. “Then we could be band mates.”
Yunho smiles. Cute. “That would be fun,” he says.
The boy looks at his shoes, then at Yunho again. “You should get off the streets, though.”
Yunho throws his empty milk bottle in the garbage bin by the door.
“Talk with management,” the boy says. “They can put you up somewhere.”
“I don't really have any extra money,” Yunho tells him. “Or any money, really.”
“You just bought me food for the week,” the boy argues.
“With my money for the week,” Yunho replies.
The boy's face falls. He steps forward. “Ah, no, dude, I didn't mean to-”
“It's fine,” Yunho says, scratching his neck. “I'm fine. I wanted to.”
“But, dude-”
“I wanted to,” Yunho repeats. He nods at the bag hanging from the boy's wrist. “You're not going to starve.”
“But you don't even know me,” the boy says. “You thought I was stealing.”
Yunho shrugs. “I've stolen. Not proud of it, but it happens.”
The boy turns to reenter the convenience store.
Yunho pulls him back. “Don't return your food,” he says. “It's my money.”
The boy bites his lip, and Yunho can read the guilt written across his forehead in capital letters. “Then stay with me,” is his solution, apparently.
Yunho laughs. “In your car?”
The boy meets his eyes. “I have a backseat.”
Yunho takes that in. That's a come on if he's ever heard one. He decides to test it, just to be sure. “Sharing a backseat with you sounds even more fun than being your band mate.”
The boy doesn't look like he understands.
Yunho tries to be more direct. “I'd have to take you to dinner first, though,” he offers.
There it is. A blush crawls across the boy's cheeks and down his neck, and Yunho smiles. The boy chews at his lip.
“Oppa!”
Yunho sees a car pull into the driveway over the boy's shoulder.
The boy glances back. “Oh!” He beams at Yunho, flirtations forgotten. “There it is. She must have taken it around.”
“I see,” Yunho says. The woman in the car isn't a sister, judging by her clothing.
“Told you I had a car,” the boy says. He stills a moment, thinking, before reaching into his bag. “Look, I know it isn't much-”
Yunho sighs. “I don't need-”
“Please.” The boy pushes the sandwich to Yunho's chest. “Let me take care of you this time.” He smiles and begins moving backwards, eyes too fond for their short encounter. “Get off the street!” he shouts. “Talk to management about your situation! What's your name?”
“Jung Yunho!” Yunho calls back.
“Jaejoong!” the boy replies. “Kim Jaejoong! I'll ask around for you!” He slides into the car that his girlfriend is driving, and he waves as she shifts into gear.
Yunho catches the dark look the girlfriend gives him before they roll out of sight, and he knows it's deserved.
He pulls at the rubber band around his wrist. Kim Jaejoong. He lets it snap back against his skin.
*
The debut of some band, though Changmin can't remember their name; they all run together after a while. The party is unusually anonymous and unusually late at night and unusually alcohol driven. Changmin is forced against a wall within the first half-hour.
“We debut tomorrow,” the boy says.
Changmin isn't really sure who he is. Moonbin? No, Minwoo. No, that's someone else. “Congratulations,” he says.
The boy's mouth lands on his neck. Changmin grimaces at the suction. This isn't about sexuality, more about convenience. There's a lot of teeth. Changmin is half-certain that the boy is as inexperienced as Changmin is.
They don't even kiss. This isn't about feelings, either, and neither of them make that mistake. Changmin is forced to his knees. He chokes on it when it's shoved into his mouth.
The boy shows no mercy. He's done in three minutes flat, and then he's gone.
Changmin doesn't mind. The experience was hardly enjoyable enough for him to get an erection at all.
But he does swallow what's left, unaware of any repercussions, and forgets about it ten seconds later.
*
2003
“Are you coming home for Christmas?”
Yunho presses the phone tighter against his ear. “I'm gonna try,” he says over the practice room's constant hubbub. “They're planning on having me debut close to that time, so I don't know.”
“Oh, really?” his mother asks. She sounds excited. “They're placing you in a band even after your surgery?”
“Yeah,” Yunho says. “Pretty cool.”
“I'm so happy for you, sweetie,” she says, and she's genuine.
Yunho smiles. He hesitates. “Umma?” he says.
“Hm?”
“There's... There's going to be other news, too,” he says, voice lowering as he lets himself out of the room. “Soon.”
“What news?” she asks.
His mouth twists. “Just news.”
“Oh, I see,” she says, giggling. “Being mysterious on me. Well, I knew that rebellious stage wouldn't end anytime soon.”
Yunho laughs.
“Oh, one more thing,” she says, and Yunho quietens. “All these CDs. You couldn't take them for your training period, but now that you're debuting, should your father box them up for when you get an apartment?”
Yunho swallows. H.O.T., NSYNC, Prince-“Sell them,” he says. “I won't be needing them anymore.”
There's a hitch of breath on the other line. “But you love your collection,” she says.
Yunho clears his throat. “It's okay, Umma,” he tells her. “Soon, they won't do me much good.”
“Don't sound so cryptic,” she dismisses. “I'll keep them in the attic for now. Don't want you moping around when you change your mind.”
Yunho grimaces. “But, Umma-”
“Sorry, sweetie, I have to go,” she cuts in when a bell goes off somewhere in her background. “That's dinner. Love you!”
“I love you, too,” he murmurs, and the line goes dead. He stays there, unmoving, dial tone buzzing in his ear.
She'll be okay, he assures himself. She has Jihye.
*
Changmin's first impression of his new family is that they're all shorter than him. His second is that Yoochun looks high, Jaejoong is too pretty, Junsu is as vibrant as ever, and Yunho looks like hell.
Changmin is the first to enter Lee Sooman's office, and Yunho isn't far after. Changmin can hardly believe it when he sees him.
Yunho meets Changmin's gaze, but he doesn't appear to remember him. Changmin supposes that Yunho tells off everybody he's introduced to.
Then Jaejoong walks in, and Yunho lights up, and Changmin frowns.
“Hey,” Yunho says, as if surprised.
“Hi!” Jaejoong says. He sits on Yunho's right. “So, we're going to be band mates?”
“Guess so,” Yunho says. He nods at Changmin. “Shim Changmin, right?”
Changmin blushes, because Yunho does remember him. He smiles and nods, then looks at Jaejoong and does the same.
Jaejoong, for whatever reason, finds that amusing. “Aw, he's shy!” He nudges Yunho. “Cute, right?”
“He should be,” Lee Sooman says, sliding past them and taking a seat behind his desk. “He'll be your maknae.”
Changmin is fifteen, so he isn't at all surprised by the role. He takes it in, accepts it.
Junsu bounces into the room, then, practically glowing as always, and he's followed closely by a taller boy with ugly hair. Junsu smiles at Changmin. “Thanks, Changmin-ah,” he says, plopping down into the seat between him and Yunho. “I was afraid I'd be the youngest.”
All of this attention is suffocating. Changmin merely nods again.
“Okay,” Sooman says, and all five of them look at him. Sooman pulls out the appropriate paperwork. “You're here. I want to apologize for the confusion, first of all. All five of you were supposed to debut in separate bands, but we reevaluated your skills and personality profiles, and we've decided to throw you together, so say hi. These are your band mates for the next thirteen years.”
Changmin looks at Junsu, who looks at Jaejoong, who looks at Yoochun, who looks at Yunho, and so on. They mumble a few greetings before Sooman cuts them short.
“Good, you're acquainted,” he says. “Moving on.” He flips a page. “In order of age: Kim Jaejoong, Jung Yunho, Park Yoochun, Kim Junsu, and Shim Changmin. Kim Jaejoong, as the eldest, will be the leader-”
“That's cool and all,” Jaejoong says, glancing at Yunho. “But I think Yunho would probably be a little more responsible.”
“-Jung Yunho, as the second oldest, will be the leader,” Sooman amends, crossing something out.
Yunho drops him eyes.
“Now, band name,” Sooman says. “We couldn't decide, so: The Legend that Eats Whales, The Five Vital Organs, or The Rising Gods of the East?”
Changmin gapes. What the hell kind of options-
“Rising Gods, obviously,” Yoochun mutters with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. Changmin glances back at him, and their gazes hold for several moments. “I'm not a whale,” Yoochun continues when Changmin looks away.
“Well, we don't eat them,” Junsu says. “But that organ idea seems a little ridiculous.”
The light topic stirs Changmin's intellect. He sits up in his seat. “What would our fanclub be called?” he asks quietly. “`Diabetes?'”
That brings back the attention he hates so much, but Jaejoong, Yoochun, and Junsu burst into loud fits of laughter, and Changmin is able to stomach it. Even Yunho's lips twitch upward into a small, almost translucent smile; for the first time, Changmin feels like he might actually belong here.
“Rising Gods of the East, then,” Sooman says, moving right along. “Your images will be discussed when you have a better feel for how you get along, and contracts will be negotiated and signed next week. You're required to have your parents present.” He doesn't look up from his writing, but he waves a hand. “Go, get out of my office.”
So they do. In the hall, Yoochun turns to the others. “Hey, I'm Yoochun.”
Jaejoong reaches for his hand. “Jaejoong.”
They exchange slight bows, then Jaejoong moves on to Changmin. “Changmin, right?” he asks.
Changmin nods and bows. “Nice to meet you, Jaejoong-hyung,” he says.
Jaejoong smiles. “No need to bow so low,” he says, taking Changmin's hand. His fingers are cold, Changmin notes. “You really are cute. We'll take care of you from now on.”
They've only just met, so Changmin excuses the promise; Jaejoong isn't prepared for the `maknae's' bitch-please sentimentality, he's sure. And while he's on the subject of sentimentality-
Changmin looks around. There's Junsu, who already knows him, though not well, and Yoochun, who Changmin has never seen before, but more importantly--Yunho is nowhere to be found.
*
Same Day, 2003
“That'll be 2,000.”
Yunho nods, thumbing through the last of his money.
The cashier, a grizzly character of muscles and too much facial hair, watches him a little too closely. He eyes the rubber band around Yunho's wrist and studies the skin rubbed raw below it.
He slides the knife out of reach when Yunho holds out the money. The cashier looks uncomfortable, reluctant. “Hey, I know you don't need a license,” is all the effort he'll put into it, just enough for him to sleep tonight.
“Then what's the problem?” Yunho asks. He feels nothing when their eyes meet.
The cashier flinches and bags the purchase.
That night, the knife is stuck fast in the crack between the concrete slabs that make up Yunho's curb. He studies it, taking swigs from the bottle of bourbon he bought two weeks ago for this exact occasion. The knife isn't anything special, just a swiss army. Red. Appropriate.
He wanted a gun.
I should've picked one up in Gwangju, he thinks to himself. Too late now, he supposes.
He screws the cap back on the liquor and sets it beside him. Might as well get started. He adjusts his shirt-his very best-and begins rolling up his sleeves.
There are precisely two arteries and three veins in the human arm, disregarding the dozen branch-offs. The radial artery is more superficial, with the ulnar not far below it. Death by slitting of the wrists can take hours unless done correctly. Severed arteries, however, can bleed a life away within minutes.
Yunho tucks in his shirt, just for the hell of it. His father always tells him that appearances mean everything. He looks at the knife.
At the wrists, the arteries and veins alike are small, and the arteries can be difficult to get to unless one is willing to risk cutting off the entire hand. Messy and unappealing-not what Yunho would like his mother to see in tomorrow's entertainment section at all.
The forearm is what he's after. Both arteries are just breaking off of the main brachial artery in the upper arm, and they're fairly large near the elbow. They're still deep, of course. Luckily, Yunho has done his homework.
He yanks the knife out of the sidewalk.
If the cut is made down the arm and not across it, there's a better chance of bypassing the muscles and sparing any excessive bleeding. Even with no surgical ability, it is possible to have a clean suicide. Yunho just has to believe in himself.
He sits on the curb beside the bourbon, elbows on his knees. He turns his palm upward and looks at his arm. His veins, flowing blue beneath his skin, look particularly interesting to him tonight.
He takes one more swig of bourbon, then sets it aside. In his distraction, he knocks it over, and it spills across the pavement, the bottle rolling out of reach. He ignores it.
He shifts, lifts the knife, positions it, rests the point on the inside of his elbow. Drags it, gentle, two inches towards his wrist. Stops. He takes a deep breath.
He presses down. He winces, gasps, but he perseveres.
A chime of sorts. It takes several moments for Yunho to identify the sound as his phone. He pauses momentarily, placing the knife beside his shoe, and pulls the mobile from his bag.
The text is from a number he doesn't recognize: Hey, it's Jaejoong. Got your number from the manager.
Yunho sighs and places the phone on the ground in front of him. He picks up the knife, resumes his task.
Chime. Another unknown number. The text flashes across his home screen: This is Yoochun. Add me.
Yunho puts force behind the handle. The tip of the blade sinks deeper into his flesh.
Chime. And another: Yunho-hyung! Junsu here. Just remembered you from Gwangju! Why didn't you tell me?
Yunho stills. Right, Gwangju. He remembers Junsu now.
Chime, and: Changmin. Sleep well, hyung. See you tomorrow.
Yunho isn't paying attention, and the knife slices through whatever has been resisting it. Yunho screams as it cuts right into muscle. He retches the blade from his body, flings it away from him.
“Fuck,” he gasps.
He looks at his phone, but the screen has gone black, and he rips a sweat towel from his bag and throws it across his arm. He applies pressure.
This has got to be a sign from God, he's sure of it. And even if it isn't, he reasons on his staggered walk to the hospital two blocks away, it's a sign from somewhere.
He adds all four of them to his contact list while the doctor stitches up his left arm. He takes a moment for each name to make a silent promise to be theirs from this day on.
The next day, when deciding the fandom color, Yunho votes for red.
*
2004
“What are you watching?” Junsu asks the day after they all move in together.
Changmin's mouth is faster than his brain. “Porn.” It's actually an episode of Fringe, but he just had to.
Junsu looks halfway between concerned and horrified; Changmin considers telling him the truth, but before he can, Junsu shifts uncomfortably in his seat and says, “You're a little young for that.”
Changmin is too amused to stop now. “Could be gay porn,” he says, just for the reaction.
Junsu literally stops breathing.
Changmin's smirk dies, and he tears out his earbuds. He's the uncomfortable one now. “I'm kidding, hyung,” he says quietly.
Junsu nods, trying to pull himself back together. “Good,” he says before leaving the room.
Changmin is left with a special brand of heartbreak he didn't know existed.
That afternoon, his act begins.
*
Yunho struggles at first, but it's becoming more natural by the day. He's in the bathroom, splashing water on his face, and he breaths in, long and deep.
Changmin can see the difference. The maknae is awfully observant for a fifteen year old who's supposed to be more interested in video games and raiding the fridge than the mental states and personality grays of his older band mates. He hasn't said anything yet, but Yunho can tell that he wants to.
A part of Yunho actually wants Changmin to ask, funnily enough. Or if not him, Jaejoong.
Jaejoong sees it, too, but in a different way. Where Changmin gives Yunho odd looks, Jaejoong is... trying. Maybe it's how they met, maybe it's Yunho's silent rejection, but Jaejoong is almost pushing to recreate the atmosphere that was between them outside of that convenience store, and Yunho isn't entirely sure Jaejoong is aware of it.
That, Yunho decides to ignore, though. He's reinventing himself, and the more that changes, the better.
“Hyung.”
Yunho spots Changmin in the mirror's reflection. “Changmin-ah,” he greets. “Need to use it?”
Changmin steps further into the bathroom. “No,” he says. “It's Junsu-hyung. He's singing, and Yoochun-hyung can't write.”
Yunho hums. “Okay.” He shuts off the water and reaches for a hand towel. “I'll deal with it.”
Changmin lingers, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear.
Yunho smiles as he passes him.
“Hyung,” Changmin calls out again, stopping Yunho in the hallway.
Yunho tenses but waits. He's patient now, so he can wait.
“I...” Changmin licks his lips. “I just want you to know that I'm here. In case you need to talk to someone.”
Yunho cocks his head to the side.
Changmin blushes. “You'll probably only talk to Jaejoong-hyung,” he says. “I know I'm the maknae, but... I'm good at listening.”
“No, Changmin-ah,” Yunho says. “I just thought you looked really cute there.”
Changmin's lips part.
Yunho curses inwardly; he hoped that part of him died with the Attempt.
“I'll consider it,” he says, trampling past his slip. “When something comes up, I'll most likely talk to Jaejoong, but I won't keep you in the dark. We're not going to be one of those groups that ignore the youngest.”
Changmin nods, looking a little awestruck. “Thank you,” he says.
Yunho smiles and turns, following Junsu's singing down the hallway. He pretends to not feel Changmin's pensive gaze raking up and down his back as he goes.
*
2005
Changmin is quite aware that statistically speaking, he's met several gay boys. Knowing that they're gay is another story, though, so his interest in Yunho is nothing more than anthropological observation.
He's in no way interested by the romantic sense of the word. No, it would be too easy for him to like Yunho. Yunho is his leader and the only gay male Changmin has been aware of interacting with. If Changmin does have feelings for Yunho-unlikely though it is-it would be a crush of convenience.
And maybe because Yunho reminds him a little of Kevin.
“You have nice eyes,” Yunho tells him one day.
Changmin feels as though he's having deja vu. “You think so?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Yunho says.
“I don't like them,” Changmin says.
Yunho shrugs. “Looks like you have an old soul.” He opens the fridge. “I'm not Buddhist, though.”
Changmin tries not to laugh. “My mother says they're my great grandmother's,” he says, smiling.
Yunho pauses. “Oh, I'm sorry.”
Changmin looks at him.
Yunho hands him a coke. “She was gone before you were born, wasn't she?” he asks. “A Buddhist family doesn't say things like that lightly.”
Changmin glances at the table. “... Yes,” he says. “Yes, she was.”
Yunho nods, popping open his can. “With your eyes, she was beautiful,” he says.
The certainty throws Changmin for a loop. “Um.” He sits forward in his seat. “Yeah, she was. Her pictures are all old and blurry, but she died young. She was really pretty.” He pops open his can. “My mother looks like her.”
“And you look like your mother,” Yunho says. At Changmin's frown, he explains, “The picture you have of her beside your bed.”
“Oh,” Changmin says. He takes a nervous sip of his coke. “Do you have any family that's passed away, hyung?”
Yunho shakes his head. “None that I was really close to, no,” he replies.
“You're Christian, right?” Changmin asks.
Yunho nods.
“Is your family really religious?” Changmin asks. “I mean, my family is Buddhist, but we're not really Buddhist, I guess.”
“I guess you'd say that we're pretty devout,” Yunho says. “Went to church every Sunday, but that was before I joined SM.” He grimaces. “About what I said to you when we met-”
Changmin leans forward. “No!” he says. “It's fine. It gave me the push to stick with it.”
Yunho smiles.
“But for the record,” Changmin says, grinning, “this isn't my dream.”
Yunho stares at him. “What?”
“This isn't my dream,” Changmin repeats. “My mom's the one who wanted me to be an idol. She wants me to marry BoA.”
Yunho laughs. “Do you like BoA?”
Changmin shakes his head.
“Of course you don't,” Yunho says. He sets down his coke. “She's cool, but she's not really my cup of tea, either.”
Yeah, you're gay, Changmin wants to say, but something holds it back in his throat. He coughs. “I guess this is good, though,” he says. “I don't think I've worked so hard for something before.”
Yunho nods. “Then good.”
And Changmin is officially stumped. Yunho isn't like Kevin at all.
*
Please comment on Part 2: Here
Warning(s): Mentions of suicide, sexuality, and smut
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Seriously?
Summary: A breather separating No More Secrets and Forward and Counting. Short, little snippets of the lives that brought Yunho and Changmin to be who they have become.
1997
By the time Changmin makes it to the elementary school that first day, the late bell is already ringing. Changmin looks pleadingly at his mother, but she only writes him a late note and shoos him out of the car.
“Can't you come in with me?” Changmin asks through the rolled down window.
“You're a big boy,” his mother says. “You can give that to them by yourself.”
“But what if they don't believe me?” Changmin asks.
“They will,” she assures him.
They don't believe him.
“How do we know that you didn't write this yourself?” the clerk asks.
Changmin sighs, exasperated. “Because a nine year old wouldn't use the phrase `I apologize tremendously for our tardiness?'” he suggests.
“There should be a side note apologizing for your smart mouth,” the clerk says with a glare.
Changmin matches her dark look. “It must have slipped her mind.”
The clerk slaps the note flat on her desk. “Unexcused tardy.” She reaches below the desk and pulls out a pad of pink slips. “And you're well on your way to a write-up, young man.”
Changmin crosses his arms. “I'm shaking.”
“Whoa, okay!”
Changmin yelps when he's yanked out of his chair. There's a flurry of movement, and Changmin tries to shove himself free, but his face is pressed tight to someone's chest.
“I'm sure that we can just call his mom,” says Changmin's captor. The chest vibrates beneath Changmin's cheek. “He's just not a morning person.”
“Kevin,” the clerk greets monotonously.
Changmin grunts when the arms around him tighten. “Come on, seonsaengnim,” this Kevin says. “It's the first day of school. He's probably just scared.”
The last thing Changmin is is scared. He tries again to dislodge the boy's hold, but his ear is pinched, and he relents with a wince.
So his mother is called, and he's left off with a warning. His savior drags him from the room before Changmin can grumble his indignation. It allows Changmin an opportunity to get a better look at him.
Not bad, is his first thought, though he doesn't immediately understand why. Kevin is about as tall as he is, with spiky hair and a cheeky smile, and his lips alone are enough to draw Changmin's fingers to his own.
“Don't you know that we get smacked around at this school?” Kevin asks, smile unwavering.
Changmin tears his eyes away from Kevin's mouth. “I don't care,” he says. He glares at Kevin's chest. “They can try, but I won't let them touch me.”
Kevin's smile widens. “You mean, like in a spiritual way? Wow, tough talk for a fourth grader.”
Changmin's nose wrinkles at that. “And how old are you?” he asks.
“I'm eleven,” Kevin says. His chest puffs out the slightest bit. “Sixth grade.”
Wow. A sixth grader. Changmin is a little awed. “I'm sorry, hyung,” he says, respectful. “I didn't mean to be out of line.”
“No!” Kevin says, and he laughs. “You're feisty. That's really cool!”
Changmin blushes. “Really?”
“Yeah!” Kevin beams at him. “My mom says that the feistiest people are the ones with the biggest hearts. She'd love you, I think.”
“My mom hates it,” Changmin says.
“I think it's great,” Kevin says. “Your eyes totally sell it.”
Changmin lifts his gaze, his little eyebrows furrowing.
Kevin's head tilts to the side. “Is that weird to say?” he asks.
Changmin shrugs. He twirls a strand of hair around his finger. “I just don't like my eyes.”
“They're pretty,” Kevin assures him, nodding. “Like my mom's. She has eyes like yours.”
“My mom says I have my great grandma's eyes,” Changmin says. He's been shown pictures, but he doesn't see the resemblance. His great grandmother died of lupus several years after his mother's birth. Maybe if she were still alive, Changmin could see it.
“My mom calls them `old eyes,'” Kevin says. “I don't really get it, but I think it has to do with past lives or something.”
Changmin cannot believe he is having a conversation with an eleven year old about his eyes. He blushes beet red and fumbles for another topic, something that will make him sound hip or cool. “Um,” he manages, “what electives are you taking?” Yes, perfect, Changmin-ah, let him see how much of a nerd you are, he scolds himself.
Kevin doesn't seem to mind. “P.E. and choir,” he says. “Too bad the grades only learn together. You're such a cool guy. I wanna hang out with you!”
Changmin plucks at the strings of his backpack. “You think so?” he asks, uncertain.
Kevin nods. “Maybe we could hang out after school!” he says, brightening, but then he deflates. “Wait, that's choir practice. Oh! Can you sing?”
As if there is any way Changmin is going to admit to that embarrassing hobby. “Um...” he replies intelligently.
Kevin ruffles Changmin's hair. “Come by, anyway,” he says. “I'm sure the teacher could give you some pointers.”
“Um,” Changmin repeats. His hand is on his head, fingers weaving into his hair. His blush spreads down his neck. “Um.”
Kevin seems to remember himself. “Crap!” He glances around, then returns his attention to Changmin. “We're really late-Do you know where your class is? I can walk you.”
“Um.” Changmin licks his lips and squares his shoulders, trying to regain some of his awareness. Words escape him, though. He can't think straight, either. “I...” Finally, he simply shakes his head.
Kevin frowns. “Are you sure?” he asks. “It's the first day, I can be late.”
Changmin's fingers clutch tighter at his hair. He shakes his head again, steps back.
Kevin hesitates, but he moves toward the stairwell. “Okay, then,” he says. He smiles. “Come to choir practice! Be careful!”
Changmin can't even watch him go, because he's almost in tears. What is this feeling clenching in his gut? Is he sick?
*
2001
“You can do it, if you still want to.”
Yunho is studying Seokjin's wall of action figurines, and he glances away, distracted. “Huh?”
Seokjin isn't looking at him. He kicks his legs a little from where they're hanging off the edge of his mattress. “If you still want to kiss me,” he says, face bright red, “you can.”
Yunho turns away from the wall. “Seokjin-ah, don't you think it's gross?” he asks.
Seokjin smooths out his comforter. “No.” He shrugs. “You're amazing, Yunho. If it was you, it'd probably be okay.”
Yunho frowns. “I don't think you...” He sighs and moves to the foot of Seokjin's bed. “You're sure about this?” he asks.
Seokjin chances a glance up at him. “Should I stand up?”
Yunho shrugs.
Seokjin climbs off the mattress.
“It'll probably be bad,” Yunho warns him. He studies Seokjin's face, and he notes the nervous twitch in Seokjin's hands. “I haven't had my first kiss, so I probably suck really bad.”
Seokjin lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “I haven't had mine, either, so I don't think I'll notice.”
“You're sure you're sure, right?” Yunho asks anyway. “No second thoughts at all?”
Seokjin shakes his head. He steps forward, closing their gap, but doesn't do much else. He just stands there, hands wringing and face reddening; Yunho swallows when he realizes that he'll have to take the lead.
He's so nervous, Yunho says to himself. It's just a kiss. Yunho's hand shakes as he reaches out to touch Seokjin's cheek.
Seokjin freezes at the contact, then relaxes, flicking his eyes up to meet Yunho's. He nuzzles his cheek into Yunho's palm.
The answering feeling that pulls at Yunho's groin is alarming. He spooks and takes a few steps back, putting some distance between them. “This isn't a good idea,” he whispers, voice unusually deep. “You can't really be okay with giving your first kiss to a guy-”
Seokjin wraps a hand around the back of Yunho's neck and pulls him down.
The contact can't really be described as a kiss, per say. Their noses bump and Yunho's sure he just bit Seokjin in the collision, but their lips are touching.
Seokjin lowers his heels to the floor. “That... That counted, right?” he asks, searching Yunho's face. “That was a kiss, right?”
Yunho licks his lips. His gaze fastens to Seokjin's mouth. “No,” he murmurs. He cups Seokjin's cheek again, thumb brushing at the hotness of Seokjin's skin. “Our tongues didn't touch.”
Seokjin's eyes widen. “Oh.” He looks away. “Um, if you want to-”
Yunho turns Seokjin's head back and reclaims his lips. Seokjin gives in, surrenders all control, and Yunho is unsettled with how quickly his body reacts to the subservience. His tongue slips into Seokjin's mouth. His hips jump forward into Seokjin's.
Seokjin whimpers. “Y-Yunho,” he whispers, breathless with heat. “I think that counted.”
Yunho shakes his head. “No.” He drops his lips to Seokjin's throat. “No, it didn't.”
“Okay,” Seokjin says. Yunho's teeth nibble at the junction between his neck and shoulder.
Whether Seokjin believes him or not, Yunho doesn't really care, because he has the shoulder of Seokjin's sweater halfway down Seokjin's arm, and his mouth is kissing a trail down Seokjin's chest.
He wonders what he's doing. He decides that that doesn't matter, either.
“You weren't kidding,” Seokjin says from above him. “You do want me.”
Yunho replies by kissing him again. Seokjin tries to say something, but it's swallowed between them, and Seokjin's arms curl around Yunho's neck.
Yunho almost comes to his senses, then. He pulls away. “That counted,” he says, voice hoarse. “That definitely counted.”
“Okay,” is Seokjin's quick reply. He doesn't let go, though, still hanging from Yunho's shoulders like he belongs there. “Should we stop, then?”
We should. But Seokjin's eyes are glazed and his lips are bruised and his clothing is disheveled and his shoulder is bare and there are at lest three hickeys forming on his neck, and Yunho's crotch wins the argument.
Seokjin yelps when Yunho pushes him onto the bed. He pauses. “Boys can't do that, can they?” he asks. “Th-They can't really do that, can they?”
Yunho's answer probably isn't the best. “Then that's not what we're doing.”
It gets him what he wants. Seokjin relaxes, welcomes another of Yunho's kisses. Yunho settles between Seokjin's legs and grinds down, long and hard.
Seokjin breaks their kiss. The sound he makes only has Yunho rocking harder.
“Wait,” Seokjin says, voice shaking. “Wait, I don't-I don't-”
Yunho's mouth is on his neck, then his chest, and Yunho groans when Seokjin arches, presses his skin more firmly to Yunho's lips. Yunho's mouth closes on a nipple.
Seokjin squeaks. “What?” he asks, staring down at Yunho. “What is that?”
Yunho blushes, because he isn't entirely sure, either. “Your nipple,” he says. “Is it bad?”
Seokjin drops his gaze. “It's not bad, but-”
“Do you want me to stop?” Yunho asks.
Seokjin's eyes lock again with his. “What? No!” He blushes. “I think you should keep going.”
“You do?” Yunho asks, and it's low this time, a challenge.
By now, Seokjin has to know what Yunho wants. It's in his eyes. At least, Yunho thinks he sees it there. “Keep going,” Seokjin says.
Yunho bites at the nipple, and Seokjin trembles beneath him.
In the moments following, Yunho isn't quite sure who's in control. He's the one touching everything, kissing everywhere, but Seokjin is the one leading Yunho's hand to its destination once Seokjin is completely naked. He lifts his hips, gazes into Yunho's eyes. “Here,” he whispers. “Touch me here.”
Yunho is curious of how Seokjin would know of such a thing. When he enters a finger, slick with Seokjin's saliva, however, and Seokjin pulls him in, spreads for him, Yunho forgets everything else.
He finds the prostate. Seokjin cries out with every push and rub, and he's a hot mess, opening and spreading and pushing-fucking himself back onto the two fingers Yunho has inside of him. Yunho can't look away. He has never seen such a side of the boy.
“Yunho,” Seokjin begs. He pops the button of Yunho's jeans. “Do you want to?”
Of course Yunho wants to. He strips himself of his shirt, then his jeans.
Seokjin doesn't wait for Yunho to shed his boxers. His hand is unsure, but he wraps it around Yunho's cock, and he blushes at its girth. “It's so...” He climbs onto his knees. He licks the tip.
Yunho forces him back onto his back. “Let me,” he breathes.
“Please,” Seokjin says. “Please, please.”
Yunho touches the head of his cock to Seokjin's entrance. He waits. “I don't want to hurt you,” he says.
Seokjin touches his cheek. “It's okay. It's really okay.”
So Yunho pushes in. He holds Seokjin's legs, keeping them spread as he slides inside of Seokjin inch by inch.
Seokjin whimpers. He clutches at his pillow. “You're filling me,” he says. “God, I feel so full.”
Yunho's self-control snaps; he digs his fingers into Seokjin's thighs and forces his last few inches inside.
Seokjin winces. “Yunho,” he whispers. “Yunho, I'm full.”
Yunho groans. “You're tight,” he says. He locks his shoulders and wills himself still. “You're so tight and hot and good God.”
Seokjin only shudders. “This is how boys do it,” he whispers. “I saw it.”
“You wanted me like this?” Yunho asks. He drops his head to Seokjin's chest. Still, he tells himself. Stay still.
“I didn't know I did,” Seokjin says. “God, you're amazing, Yunho. Did I want you all this time?”
A growl rips from Yunho's throat. He pumps his hips forward, and Seokjin cries out. Yunho clamps back down on his self-control.
“Move,” Seokjin pleads.
“I might hurt you,” Yunho says.
Seokjin lifts Yunho's head from his chest. He smiles. “Move, Yunho,” he says. “This is how you make love to me, right?”
Yunho kisses him. He pumps forward, starting slow but gaining speed, and Seokjin wraps himself around him, his heels digging into Yunho's back, his nails marking down the blades of Yunho's shoulders.
“Yunho,” he cries between kisses. “Yunho, please, Yunho-”
Yunho's hands move underneath Seokjin's bottom, and he lifts him, so that Seokjin is clinging to every part of him, held completely off the sheets by their desire to be one.
They come together, just like that, conjoined and held tight to one another.
Yunho holds him until they sleep, and in the morning, Yunho leaves before Seokjin has even opened his eyes.
Yunho is on a train to Seoul within the hour.
*
Changmin sips his cappuccino as he flips through the file his mother tossed him an hour earlier. He grimaces at its bulk.
A ding, and Kevin is pushing into the café. “Changmin-ah!” he says.
Changmin doesn't spare him a glance. “Hey.”
“Why so cold?” Kevin slides into the seat across from him. “Did something happen?”
Besides you getting a girlfriend? Changmin grumbles internally. No, nothing. “No, it's just-” Changmin motions at the papers spread out in front of him. “My mom wants me to audition at SM.”
“S.M. Entertainment?” Kevin asks, eyes widening. “Oh my god, that's perfect!”
Changmin blows his bangs from his face. “Of course you'd think so,” he says.
“You're an awesome singer,” Kevin reasons. “Way better than me.”
“I don't like people looking at me,” Changmin mutters. He tries to shuffle the papers into some form of organization. “She just wants me to join so BoA could maybe fall in love with me, anyway.”
Kevin shrugs. “BoA's cute.”
Changmin rolls his eyes.
Kevin frowns. “Don't you agree?”
“You're just so-” Straight. Changmin huffs. “She's fine. I just don't want to be an idol.”
Kevin reaches for one of the pages Changmin set aside. “I think it would be awesome,” he says. “All those girls, all that money.”
“SM only gives its idols about ten percent, I think,” Changmin mumbles, face in his hands.
“That's still a lot,” Kevin points out.
Changmin groans and drags his hands down his face. “Your habit of finding the good in everything is so annoying sometimes, hyung,” he says.
Kevin drops his eyes.
Changmin grimaces. “That was mean, wasn't it?”
Kevin shrugs, not looking at him. “You're frustrated,” he says. “My mom said-”
Changmin raises an eyebrow.
“.... to get her some coffee,” Kevin finishes lamely. He flushes a bright pink and points at the counter at the café's front. “I'll go get that.”
Changmin nods, and Kevin stands up. Even at fifteen years old, Kevin's mother complex is burning strong, though he's taking steps to curb it, given that it's no longer considered cute. Changmin finds it cute, of course, but Changmin's opinion doesn't mean as much to Kevin as it used to.
Changmin returns to his paperwork, now frustrated for another reason.
Another ding. “Hey!”
Changmin drops his face onto the tabletop. As if he doesn't have enough to deal with already. He peeks up in time to see Kevin run from the retail half of the café.
“Micheon!” Kevin shouts, scooping the girl into his arms.
Ew, Changmin thinks. What is this, the opening to a drama?
“Hi, sweetie!” Micheon replies.
Changmin gags.
As if to appease the Gods of Amusement, the couple zeroes in on his table; Changmin moves his cappuccino before it can be knocked over by their mutual enthusiasm.
“Hey, Changminnie,” Micheon greets with that sickly sweet smile of hers, and Changmin doesn't bother to mask his distaste; he hasn't from the beginning, but Kevin has somehow convinced her that this is the way Changmin shows his affection.
It's with girls like her that Changmin is actually grateful that he's homosexual. He can't imagine how she and Kevin even converse.
“What are you doing?” Micheon asks. She scans the spread of brochures and documents. “Looks official.”
Changmin sighs with a glare at Kevin. Kevin's smile wavers. “My mother wants me to be an idol,” Changmin says. “And I don't want to be.”
Micheon's eyes brighten, much like her boyfriend's did. “Why not? You're the best singer in the choir!”
Changmin rubs his temple. “I just don't think it's practical.”
“There are lots of girls there,” Micheon says. She winks. “Really pretty ones, too.”
Kevin shakes his head before Changmin can scoff at the comment. “I've already tried that argument.”
“I don't care about girls,” Changmin says. Like, at all. “And even if I did, SM discourages fraternizing between its male and female idols. Can't really dance difficult choreography when you're pregnant.”
Out of all of that, only one thing hits its target: “S.M. Entertainment?” Micheon asks. Her gasp is so long, Changmin is actually waiting for her head to explode. Man, this is why he hates her. “That's great! You'd get to meet Dana and Shinhwa and-What are you doing?”
Changmin is re-stacking the papers, no longer caring about their order, and he throws them back into the manilla folder in which they came. “The first audition is today,” he says, grabbing his bag. “I just realized that I'd rather be there than here.”
*
“You aren't the bottoming type, are you?”
Yunho grimaces as he lifts the joint to his lips.
Mike smiles and pats Yunho's knee. “Yeah, me neither.”
“It's not that it wasn't enjoyable,” Yunho says, tapping the excess off the joint. They're sitting thigh to thigh on a curb near S.M. Entertainment, waiting on a job. The van will be there within the next few hours, but in the meantime, they're doing what they do best: talking sex and getting high. “It just wasn't my kind of enjoyable,” Yunho says.
Mike laughs. “Well, hell, I'll try it. Maybe I'll end up with some kinky chick.”
Yunho's brow wrinkles. “That happens?” he asks.
“Girls topping their men?” Mike asks. “Yeah.” He leans back and rests his elbows on the pavement. “Some even have whips, order their boys around. Teach them who is the master and who is the slave.”
Yunho sighs out a lungful of smoke. “Sounds hot.”
“Thought it wasn't your thing,” Mike says.
“No,” Yunho says. “The master part.” He hands over the joint. “Might get into that.”
“Wait for the girl,” Mike says, smirking. He takes a hit. “I'm not nobody's slave.”
Yunho glances at him, then out at the street. “Why all this talk of girls, Mike?” he asks. “We're fifteen, dude.”
Mike sighs, smoke blowing from his mouth. “My parents want me to get married, take over the business.”
Yunho frowns. “You're fifteen.”
“You're from a small town,” Mike says. “You know how it is.”
“Wait.” Yunho turns onto his side. “You aren't going back, are you?”
Mike looks away. “The schedule's been a little unforgiving lately.”
“Mike,” Yunho says.
“Dude, it's just not turning out how I thought it would.” Mike sits up and pushes Yunho out of his personal space. “I'm tired, and my family wants something different for me.”
“So does mine,” Yunho says. “But-”
“There are no buts,” Mike says. He stubs out the joint on the pavement in between them. “I have a blind date this Wednesday. It's done.”
Yunho watches the last sparks of light sputter and die in the ash. So it is.
*
2002
“If you're not serious about this, you might as well leave.”
Jung Yunho, sixteen years old. Changmin is too startled by the words to notice how hot he is, even with that gap between his teeth.
“What?” Changmin asks, unsure if he's hearing this correctly.
Yunho runs a hand through his hair and fixes him with hardened, exhausted eyes. “If you're not willing to put up with the work, don't call this your dream.”
The trainee that introduced them grows apprehensive when Changmin hides behind him. The effort is laughable, given Changmin's height. “Yunho,” says the boy. “He's been here two weeks.”
Yunho merely sighs. He looks Changmin up and down, eyes lingering in a way that Changmin is all too familiar with, before mumbling an apology and turning away. He's called over by a female idol, and he's gone without so much as a bye.
Changmin stares after him. Then he turns on his escort. “What the hell was that?”
The trainee looks more confused than Changmin feels. “He's usually nicer than that. He's a background dancer, but I think a bunch of his friends called it quits all at once a few days ago.” He smiles at Changmin, reassuring. “He's probably just tired. Come on, let's go meet Junsu. He's one of the best singers coming in this year.”
Changmin nods, hesitant as Yunho's words reverberate in the back of his mind; he's suddenly unsure of how `easy' he was promised this would be. He glances over his shoulder, eyeing Yunho one last time.
Well, at least he's no longer alone where sexual preference is concerned.
*
Pull. Snap. Pull. Snap. Pull.
Yunho opens the cooler and pulls down a chocolate milk.
Snap.
“Seriously, I forgot my wallet in my car.”
Yunho glances around the corner of his aisle. At the counter, the cashier is arguing with a boy more beautiful than Yunho is prepared to handle, and it's instinct that pulls him forward; a compulsion to be the knight in shining armor.
“What's going on here?” he asks, and the pair silences.
The cashier frowns at Yunho. The boy snaps his mouth closed.
The cashier stabs a finger at the boy. “He wants to buy these things without money.”
Yunho looks at the counter and the few sandwiches and Yoohoos that sit there. He looks at the boy.
The boy averts his eyes. “I forgot my wallet in my car,” he says quietly.
Yunho doesn't take his word for it. He sighs and pulls out his wallet.
The boy holds up a hand. “Wait-You don't have to-”
Yunho hands the cashier a few bills. “And this, too, please,” he says, setting his chocolate milk beside the boy's things.
When everything is bagged and said and done, Yunho holds the door open, and the boy brushes past him. Yunho watches him with hardly disguised interest.
“You shouldn't steal,” he says when they pause outside of the entrance.
The boy sighs. “No, I really wasn't stealing. My wallet's in my car, it's just not here right now.”
“Where is it?” Yunho asks.
“Not here,” the boy replies.
Yunho shakes his head.
The boy smiles. “Thank you, though,” he says. “You really saved me.”
Yunho shrugs. “Doing what I can.” He chuckles. “Rescuing damsels in distress is a past-time of mine.”
“Hey,” the boy says, frowning, “I'm a boy.”
Yunho laughs. “I'm aware.”
“Just making sure.” The boy turns to watch a car pull up alongside a gas pump. He tuts and turns back to Yunho. “Some guys can be real douches about anyone with natural beauty.”
Yunho's eyebrows raise at that.
The boy doesn't pause in his seriousness. “It's not conceited to know that I'm pretty,” he says. Another tut. “It's more of a curse than a blessing, to be honest.”
“I'd consider it a blessing,” Yunho says. He raises his chocolate milk to his lips. “You're fucking gorgeous.”
The boy's eyes drop to Yunho's mouth before the words can register. When they do, Yunho can see it. The boy's blush is instant. “Thank you.” The boy coughs and looks around, irritation flaring. “Where the hell is my car?”
Yunho snorts. “Not carried off by fairy dust?” he asks.
The boy frowns at him again. “I really do have a car,” he says. “And a wallet. They're kinda... all I have right now.”
Yunho's curiosity piques. “Why?”
The boy tsks. “Price for living my dream?”
Yunho can understand that perhaps a little too well. “At least you have a car,” he says.
The boy blinks at him. “Where are you staying?”
“Wherever I happen to be,” Yunho says. He looks into his bottle. “Usually, it's the curb outside of S.M. Entertainment.”
“Wait.” The boy stares at him. “S.M. Entertainment? That's where I'm at!”
Yunho pauses.
The boy grins. “I mostly do vocal training.”
“You're not a backup dancer?” Yunho asks.
The boy laughs. “Oh, no, I have two left feet.” He chuckles. “It's already been decided that I'll be an idol, they just don't know where to put me yet.”
How lucky. Yunho wants to laugh, but the boy wouldn't understand if he did. “Cool,” he says, settling with a smile. “I don't ever think I'll get to that point. I used to be able to sing, but ever since my throat surgery...”
The boy's smile fades. “Oh, I'm sorry,” he says.
Yunho shrugs, but the wound is still deep. “It's fine.”
“You can try, can't you?” the boy asks. “To sing?”
Yunho isn't sure what he's getting at. “They instructed me not to push myself.”
The boy looks frustrated. “But you could try,” he says. “Then we could be band mates.”
Yunho smiles. Cute. “That would be fun,” he says.
The boy looks at his shoes, then at Yunho again. “You should get off the streets, though.”
Yunho throws his empty milk bottle in the garbage bin by the door.
“Talk with management,” the boy says. “They can put you up somewhere.”
“I don't really have any extra money,” Yunho tells him. “Or any money, really.”
“You just bought me food for the week,” the boy argues.
“With my money for the week,” Yunho replies.
The boy's face falls. He steps forward. “Ah, no, dude, I didn't mean to-”
“It's fine,” Yunho says, scratching his neck. “I'm fine. I wanted to.”
“But, dude-”
“I wanted to,” Yunho repeats. He nods at the bag hanging from the boy's wrist. “You're not going to starve.”
“But you don't even know me,” the boy says. “You thought I was stealing.”
Yunho shrugs. “I've stolen. Not proud of it, but it happens.”
The boy turns to reenter the convenience store.
Yunho pulls him back. “Don't return your food,” he says. “It's my money.”
The boy bites his lip, and Yunho can read the guilt written across his forehead in capital letters. “Then stay with me,” is his solution, apparently.
Yunho laughs. “In your car?”
The boy meets his eyes. “I have a backseat.”
Yunho takes that in. That's a come on if he's ever heard one. He decides to test it, just to be sure. “Sharing a backseat with you sounds even more fun than being your band mate.”
The boy doesn't look like he understands.
Yunho tries to be more direct. “I'd have to take you to dinner first, though,” he offers.
There it is. A blush crawls across the boy's cheeks and down his neck, and Yunho smiles. The boy chews at his lip.
“Oppa!”
Yunho sees a car pull into the driveway over the boy's shoulder.
The boy glances back. “Oh!” He beams at Yunho, flirtations forgotten. “There it is. She must have taken it around.”
“I see,” Yunho says. The woman in the car isn't a sister, judging by her clothing.
“Told you I had a car,” the boy says. He stills a moment, thinking, before reaching into his bag. “Look, I know it isn't much-”
Yunho sighs. “I don't need-”
“Please.” The boy pushes the sandwich to Yunho's chest. “Let me take care of you this time.” He smiles and begins moving backwards, eyes too fond for their short encounter. “Get off the street!” he shouts. “Talk to management about your situation! What's your name?”
“Jung Yunho!” Yunho calls back.
“Jaejoong!” the boy replies. “Kim Jaejoong! I'll ask around for you!” He slides into the car that his girlfriend is driving, and he waves as she shifts into gear.
Yunho catches the dark look the girlfriend gives him before they roll out of sight, and he knows it's deserved.
He pulls at the rubber band around his wrist. Kim Jaejoong. He lets it snap back against his skin.
*
The debut of some band, though Changmin can't remember their name; they all run together after a while. The party is unusually anonymous and unusually late at night and unusually alcohol driven. Changmin is forced against a wall within the first half-hour.
“We debut tomorrow,” the boy says.
Changmin isn't really sure who he is. Moonbin? No, Minwoo. No, that's someone else. “Congratulations,” he says.
The boy's mouth lands on his neck. Changmin grimaces at the suction. This isn't about sexuality, more about convenience. There's a lot of teeth. Changmin is half-certain that the boy is as inexperienced as Changmin is.
They don't even kiss. This isn't about feelings, either, and neither of them make that mistake. Changmin is forced to his knees. He chokes on it when it's shoved into his mouth.
The boy shows no mercy. He's done in three minutes flat, and then he's gone.
Changmin doesn't mind. The experience was hardly enjoyable enough for him to get an erection at all.
But he does swallow what's left, unaware of any repercussions, and forgets about it ten seconds later.
*
2003
“Are you coming home for Christmas?”
Yunho presses the phone tighter against his ear. “I'm gonna try,” he says over the practice room's constant hubbub. “They're planning on having me debut close to that time, so I don't know.”
“Oh, really?” his mother asks. She sounds excited. “They're placing you in a band even after your surgery?”
“Yeah,” Yunho says. “Pretty cool.”
“I'm so happy for you, sweetie,” she says, and she's genuine.
Yunho smiles. He hesitates. “Umma?” he says.
“Hm?”
“There's... There's going to be other news, too,” he says, voice lowering as he lets himself out of the room. “Soon.”
“What news?” she asks.
His mouth twists. “Just news.”
“Oh, I see,” she says, giggling. “Being mysterious on me. Well, I knew that rebellious stage wouldn't end anytime soon.”
Yunho laughs.
“Oh, one more thing,” she says, and Yunho quietens. “All these CDs. You couldn't take them for your training period, but now that you're debuting, should your father box them up for when you get an apartment?”
Yunho swallows. H.O.T., NSYNC, Prince-“Sell them,” he says. “I won't be needing them anymore.”
There's a hitch of breath on the other line. “But you love your collection,” she says.
Yunho clears his throat. “It's okay, Umma,” he tells her. “Soon, they won't do me much good.”
“Don't sound so cryptic,” she dismisses. “I'll keep them in the attic for now. Don't want you moping around when you change your mind.”
Yunho grimaces. “But, Umma-”
“Sorry, sweetie, I have to go,” she cuts in when a bell goes off somewhere in her background. “That's dinner. Love you!”
“I love you, too,” he murmurs, and the line goes dead. He stays there, unmoving, dial tone buzzing in his ear.
She'll be okay, he assures himself. She has Jihye.
*
Changmin's first impression of his new family is that they're all shorter than him. His second is that Yoochun looks high, Jaejoong is too pretty, Junsu is as vibrant as ever, and Yunho looks like hell.
Changmin is the first to enter Lee Sooman's office, and Yunho isn't far after. Changmin can hardly believe it when he sees him.
Yunho meets Changmin's gaze, but he doesn't appear to remember him. Changmin supposes that Yunho tells off everybody he's introduced to.
Then Jaejoong walks in, and Yunho lights up, and Changmin frowns.
“Hey,” Yunho says, as if surprised.
“Hi!” Jaejoong says. He sits on Yunho's right. “So, we're going to be band mates?”
“Guess so,” Yunho says. He nods at Changmin. “Shim Changmin, right?”
Changmin blushes, because Yunho does remember him. He smiles and nods, then looks at Jaejoong and does the same.
Jaejoong, for whatever reason, finds that amusing. “Aw, he's shy!” He nudges Yunho. “Cute, right?”
“He should be,” Lee Sooman says, sliding past them and taking a seat behind his desk. “He'll be your maknae.”
Changmin is fifteen, so he isn't at all surprised by the role. He takes it in, accepts it.
Junsu bounces into the room, then, practically glowing as always, and he's followed closely by a taller boy with ugly hair. Junsu smiles at Changmin. “Thanks, Changmin-ah,” he says, plopping down into the seat between him and Yunho. “I was afraid I'd be the youngest.”
All of this attention is suffocating. Changmin merely nods again.
“Okay,” Sooman says, and all five of them look at him. Sooman pulls out the appropriate paperwork. “You're here. I want to apologize for the confusion, first of all. All five of you were supposed to debut in separate bands, but we reevaluated your skills and personality profiles, and we've decided to throw you together, so say hi. These are your band mates for the next thirteen years.”
Changmin looks at Junsu, who looks at Jaejoong, who looks at Yoochun, who looks at Yunho, and so on. They mumble a few greetings before Sooman cuts them short.
“Good, you're acquainted,” he says. “Moving on.” He flips a page. “In order of age: Kim Jaejoong, Jung Yunho, Park Yoochun, Kim Junsu, and Shim Changmin. Kim Jaejoong, as the eldest, will be the leader-”
“That's cool and all,” Jaejoong says, glancing at Yunho. “But I think Yunho would probably be a little more responsible.”
“-Jung Yunho, as the second oldest, will be the leader,” Sooman amends, crossing something out.
Yunho drops him eyes.
“Now, band name,” Sooman says. “We couldn't decide, so: The Legend that Eats Whales, The Five Vital Organs, or The Rising Gods of the East?”
Changmin gapes. What the hell kind of options-
“Rising Gods, obviously,” Yoochun mutters with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. Changmin glances back at him, and their gazes hold for several moments. “I'm not a whale,” Yoochun continues when Changmin looks away.
“Well, we don't eat them,” Junsu says. “But that organ idea seems a little ridiculous.”
The light topic stirs Changmin's intellect. He sits up in his seat. “What would our fanclub be called?” he asks quietly. “`Diabetes?'”
That brings back the attention he hates so much, but Jaejoong, Yoochun, and Junsu burst into loud fits of laughter, and Changmin is able to stomach it. Even Yunho's lips twitch upward into a small, almost translucent smile; for the first time, Changmin feels like he might actually belong here.
“Rising Gods of the East, then,” Sooman says, moving right along. “Your images will be discussed when you have a better feel for how you get along, and contracts will be negotiated and signed next week. You're required to have your parents present.” He doesn't look up from his writing, but he waves a hand. “Go, get out of my office.”
So they do. In the hall, Yoochun turns to the others. “Hey, I'm Yoochun.”
Jaejoong reaches for his hand. “Jaejoong.”
They exchange slight bows, then Jaejoong moves on to Changmin. “Changmin, right?” he asks.
Changmin nods and bows. “Nice to meet you, Jaejoong-hyung,” he says.
Jaejoong smiles. “No need to bow so low,” he says, taking Changmin's hand. His fingers are cold, Changmin notes. “You really are cute. We'll take care of you from now on.”
They've only just met, so Changmin excuses the promise; Jaejoong isn't prepared for the `maknae's' bitch-please sentimentality, he's sure. And while he's on the subject of sentimentality-
Changmin looks around. There's Junsu, who already knows him, though not well, and Yoochun, who Changmin has never seen before, but more importantly--Yunho is nowhere to be found.
*
Same Day, 2003
“That'll be 2,000.”
Yunho nods, thumbing through the last of his money.
The cashier, a grizzly character of muscles and too much facial hair, watches him a little too closely. He eyes the rubber band around Yunho's wrist and studies the skin rubbed raw below it.
He slides the knife out of reach when Yunho holds out the money. The cashier looks uncomfortable, reluctant. “Hey, I know you don't need a license,” is all the effort he'll put into it, just enough for him to sleep tonight.
“Then what's the problem?” Yunho asks. He feels nothing when their eyes meet.
The cashier flinches and bags the purchase.
That night, the knife is stuck fast in the crack between the concrete slabs that make up Yunho's curb. He studies it, taking swigs from the bottle of bourbon he bought two weeks ago for this exact occasion. The knife isn't anything special, just a swiss army. Red. Appropriate.
He wanted a gun.
I should've picked one up in Gwangju, he thinks to himself. Too late now, he supposes.
He screws the cap back on the liquor and sets it beside him. Might as well get started. He adjusts his shirt-his very best-and begins rolling up his sleeves.
There are precisely two arteries and three veins in the human arm, disregarding the dozen branch-offs. The radial artery is more superficial, with the ulnar not far below it. Death by slitting of the wrists can take hours unless done correctly. Severed arteries, however, can bleed a life away within minutes.
Yunho tucks in his shirt, just for the hell of it. His father always tells him that appearances mean everything. He looks at the knife.
At the wrists, the arteries and veins alike are small, and the arteries can be difficult to get to unless one is willing to risk cutting off the entire hand. Messy and unappealing-not what Yunho would like his mother to see in tomorrow's entertainment section at all.
The forearm is what he's after. Both arteries are just breaking off of the main brachial artery in the upper arm, and they're fairly large near the elbow. They're still deep, of course. Luckily, Yunho has done his homework.
He yanks the knife out of the sidewalk.
If the cut is made down the arm and not across it, there's a better chance of bypassing the muscles and sparing any excessive bleeding. Even with no surgical ability, it is possible to have a clean suicide. Yunho just has to believe in himself.
He sits on the curb beside the bourbon, elbows on his knees. He turns his palm upward and looks at his arm. His veins, flowing blue beneath his skin, look particularly interesting to him tonight.
He takes one more swig of bourbon, then sets it aside. In his distraction, he knocks it over, and it spills across the pavement, the bottle rolling out of reach. He ignores it.
He shifts, lifts the knife, positions it, rests the point on the inside of his elbow. Drags it, gentle, two inches towards his wrist. Stops. He takes a deep breath.
He presses down. He winces, gasps, but he perseveres.
A chime of sorts. It takes several moments for Yunho to identify the sound as his phone. He pauses momentarily, placing the knife beside his shoe, and pulls the mobile from his bag.
The text is from a number he doesn't recognize: Hey, it's Jaejoong. Got your number from the manager.
Yunho sighs and places the phone on the ground in front of him. He picks up the knife, resumes his task.
Chime. Another unknown number. The text flashes across his home screen: This is Yoochun. Add me.
Yunho puts force behind the handle. The tip of the blade sinks deeper into his flesh.
Chime. And another: Yunho-hyung! Junsu here. Just remembered you from Gwangju! Why didn't you tell me?
Yunho stills. Right, Gwangju. He remembers Junsu now.
Chime, and: Changmin. Sleep well, hyung. See you tomorrow.
Yunho isn't paying attention, and the knife slices through whatever has been resisting it. Yunho screams as it cuts right into muscle. He retches the blade from his body, flings it away from him.
“Fuck,” he gasps.
He looks at his phone, but the screen has gone black, and he rips a sweat towel from his bag and throws it across his arm. He applies pressure.
This has got to be a sign from God, he's sure of it. And even if it isn't, he reasons on his staggered walk to the hospital two blocks away, it's a sign from somewhere.
He adds all four of them to his contact list while the doctor stitches up his left arm. He takes a moment for each name to make a silent promise to be theirs from this day on.
The next day, when deciding the fandom color, Yunho votes for red.
*
2004
“What are you watching?” Junsu asks the day after they all move in together.
Changmin's mouth is faster than his brain. “Porn.” It's actually an episode of Fringe, but he just had to.
Junsu looks halfway between concerned and horrified; Changmin considers telling him the truth, but before he can, Junsu shifts uncomfortably in his seat and says, “You're a little young for that.”
Changmin is too amused to stop now. “Could be gay porn,” he says, just for the reaction.
Junsu literally stops breathing.
Changmin's smirk dies, and he tears out his earbuds. He's the uncomfortable one now. “I'm kidding, hyung,” he says quietly.
Junsu nods, trying to pull himself back together. “Good,” he says before leaving the room.
Changmin is left with a special brand of heartbreak he didn't know existed.
That afternoon, his act begins.
*
Yunho struggles at first, but it's becoming more natural by the day. He's in the bathroom, splashing water on his face, and he breaths in, long and deep.
Changmin can see the difference. The maknae is awfully observant for a fifteen year old who's supposed to be more interested in video games and raiding the fridge than the mental states and personality grays of his older band mates. He hasn't said anything yet, but Yunho can tell that he wants to.
A part of Yunho actually wants Changmin to ask, funnily enough. Or if not him, Jaejoong.
Jaejoong sees it, too, but in a different way. Where Changmin gives Yunho odd looks, Jaejoong is... trying. Maybe it's how they met, maybe it's Yunho's silent rejection, but Jaejoong is almost pushing to recreate the atmosphere that was between them outside of that convenience store, and Yunho isn't entirely sure Jaejoong is aware of it.
That, Yunho decides to ignore, though. He's reinventing himself, and the more that changes, the better.
“Hyung.”
Yunho spots Changmin in the mirror's reflection. “Changmin-ah,” he greets. “Need to use it?”
Changmin steps further into the bathroom. “No,” he says. “It's Junsu-hyung. He's singing, and Yoochun-hyung can't write.”
Yunho hums. “Okay.” He shuts off the water and reaches for a hand towel. “I'll deal with it.”
Changmin lingers, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear.
Yunho smiles as he passes him.
“Hyung,” Changmin calls out again, stopping Yunho in the hallway.
Yunho tenses but waits. He's patient now, so he can wait.
“I...” Changmin licks his lips. “I just want you to know that I'm here. In case you need to talk to someone.”
Yunho cocks his head to the side.
Changmin blushes. “You'll probably only talk to Jaejoong-hyung,” he says. “I know I'm the maknae, but... I'm good at listening.”
“No, Changmin-ah,” Yunho says. “I just thought you looked really cute there.”
Changmin's lips part.
Yunho curses inwardly; he hoped that part of him died with the Attempt.
“I'll consider it,” he says, trampling past his slip. “When something comes up, I'll most likely talk to Jaejoong, but I won't keep you in the dark. We're not going to be one of those groups that ignore the youngest.”
Changmin nods, looking a little awestruck. “Thank you,” he says.
Yunho smiles and turns, following Junsu's singing down the hallway. He pretends to not feel Changmin's pensive gaze raking up and down his back as he goes.
*
2005
Changmin is quite aware that statistically speaking, he's met several gay boys. Knowing that they're gay is another story, though, so his interest in Yunho is nothing more than anthropological observation.
He's in no way interested by the romantic sense of the word. No, it would be too easy for him to like Yunho. Yunho is his leader and the only gay male Changmin has been aware of interacting with. If Changmin does have feelings for Yunho-unlikely though it is-it would be a crush of convenience.
And maybe because Yunho reminds him a little of Kevin.
“You have nice eyes,” Yunho tells him one day.
Changmin feels as though he's having deja vu. “You think so?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Yunho says.
“I don't like them,” Changmin says.
Yunho shrugs. “Looks like you have an old soul.” He opens the fridge. “I'm not Buddhist, though.”
Changmin tries not to laugh. “My mother says they're my great grandmother's,” he says, smiling.
Yunho pauses. “Oh, I'm sorry.”
Changmin looks at him.
Yunho hands him a coke. “She was gone before you were born, wasn't she?” he asks. “A Buddhist family doesn't say things like that lightly.”
Changmin glances at the table. “... Yes,” he says. “Yes, she was.”
Yunho nods, popping open his can. “With your eyes, she was beautiful,” he says.
The certainty throws Changmin for a loop. “Um.” He sits forward in his seat. “Yeah, she was. Her pictures are all old and blurry, but she died young. She was really pretty.” He pops open his can. “My mother looks like her.”
“And you look like your mother,” Yunho says. At Changmin's frown, he explains, “The picture you have of her beside your bed.”
“Oh,” Changmin says. He takes a nervous sip of his coke. “Do you have any family that's passed away, hyung?”
Yunho shakes his head. “None that I was really close to, no,” he replies.
“You're Christian, right?” Changmin asks.
Yunho nods.
“Is your family really religious?” Changmin asks. “I mean, my family is Buddhist, but we're not really Buddhist, I guess.”
“I guess you'd say that we're pretty devout,” Yunho says. “Went to church every Sunday, but that was before I joined SM.” He grimaces. “About what I said to you when we met-”
Changmin leans forward. “No!” he says. “It's fine. It gave me the push to stick with it.”
Yunho smiles.
“But for the record,” Changmin says, grinning, “this isn't my dream.”
Yunho stares at him. “What?”
“This isn't my dream,” Changmin repeats. “My mom's the one who wanted me to be an idol. She wants me to marry BoA.”
Yunho laughs. “Do you like BoA?”
Changmin shakes his head.
“Of course you don't,” Yunho says. He sets down his coke. “She's cool, but she's not really my cup of tea, either.”
Yeah, you're gay, Changmin wants to say, but something holds it back in his throat. He coughs. “I guess this is good, though,” he says. “I don't think I've worked so hard for something before.”
Yunho nods. “Then good.”
And Changmin is officially stumped. Yunho isn't like Kevin at all.
*
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