This time tomorrow where will we be/ On a spaceship somewhere sailing across any empty sea
Leave the sun behind me
and watch the clouds as they sadly pass me by,
And I'm in perpetual motion,
and the world below doesn't matter much to me.
This time tomorrow where will we be;
On a spaceship somewhere sailing across any empty sea.
'hey,' jaejoong says to yoochun sometimes, clear out of the blue. 'let's go somewhere far away.'
'where?' yoochun had wanted to know the first time, amusement and cautious excitement lingering at his lips, the dangerous taste of conspiracy. now he answers absently, deep-rooted routine and reflexes on automatic. these are old plans, occasionally dusted off but otherwise shelved in the back vaults where nobody ever goes. words should have weight, but theirs is a routine like shaking a snow globe and pretending every day is a white christmas.
each time, jaejoong always shrugs, hair in his eyes and shoulders carrying inconsequentiality. venice, prague, sydney, paris, london. they're the names of his old dreams, discoloured postcard worlds that are pinned to his wall with promises of exotic wonder paling at the edges. yoochun has spent nights searching jaejoong's skin, finding each letter arranged into the layout of his veins, secrets hidden away in the daytime under thick-sleeved sweaters.
'you forgot new zealand,' yoochun reminds him today. it's a thursday, a fuck-why-isn't-it-the-weekend-yet day, and the skies are heavy with clouds and a 60% chance of rain. jaejoong's always restless on these sorts of days, dark-eyed and sharp like a picture with the contrast turned up too high. yoochun leans in a little bit and imagines that he can hear the flutter of claustrophobia beating frantic bird wings in the cage in jaejoong's chest. his fingers itch to push in and steal it out.
'you really want to see sheep that badly?' jaejoong's picking at a loose thread on yoochun's duvet, leaving a path of empty needle holes in his wake. today, his regret over faded possibilities are hidden from the world under a layer of blue and white spotted fleece, pajamas that he'd bought yoochun as a half-joke last june.
[happy birthday gorgeous, jaejoong had said, mischief curled at the corner of his lips, and yoochun pretends his thank you hadn't accidentally come out sounding more like sorry but i love you.]
'baa,' yoochun tells him solemnly. jaejoong rolls over to hide his laughter in the folds of yoochun's cotton t-shirt. his toes press cold against yoochun's ankle and yoochun sneaks his own over to wiggle hello. their fingers lace together in the space right over yoochun's heart.
[jaejoong had said i love you too, but he's fleeting and casual like march breezes and he's forever forgetting how to measure sincerity into his words.]
outside, it starts to rain, plink plink plink like cat's footsteps trotting to the beat of piano keys across tin rooftops. it's two forty five. 'shit, i've got to go,' yoochun mutters. 'job at the convenience store starts at three.'
'skip today. you can say the apartment flooded.' jaejoong's only half-listening now, ear pressed against yoochun's sternum and gaze tracking light across the ceiling. yoochun knows that he's hearing each raindrop's echo in his head, counting time and rhythm and searching for an underlying melody that will fit in his throat and pass through his vocal chords.
'yunho will kill me,' yoochun says, thinking about revolutions and the chance to change. the rain's coming down in buckets, and the sound of the waterfalls it creates against yoochun's windowpanes makes him think of grey.
'just remind him that he still hasn't returned my dvds.'
yoochun knows exactly how the ending of this particular story goes. the rain always brings out jaejoong's insubstantiality, turns all his gazes distant and inward, his bones bird-hollow and light as air, as though he's gone away soul-searching and forgotten to come home.
he knows that in half an hour, jaejoong will be dancing alone on the veranda, t-shirted and barefoot, all perpetual motion and pretending he knows how it feels to fly. yoochun will come home at ten after nine and they'll eat dinner out of 7-11 take-out boxes, jaejoong sitting under the living room window and yoochun sitting across the room, watching him say goodbye to each wing feather involved in these flights of fancy. then the next day will click around and maybe the sunshine will make jaejoong smile, like the sunflowers by the old daycare that somehow find the strength to lift their heavy heads drenched with rain. and yoochun will smile back but he will never not notice the missing pieces.
'hey,' he says. it's ten minutes to three and the clock is still counting down. jaejoong tilts his head slightly in question. the air in the room has gotten stale. 'wanna go for a ride?'
it's ridiculous, but yoochun thinks he can hear the passing of time slow and shrink into a concentric circle swirling in the middle of the room. he can feel uncertainty dragging its reluctant footsteps right across the bedsheets.
'now?' jaejoong's blinking confusion in spiderweb shadows off his lashes.
'yea. we can go down to the river, if you want.' we can go anywhere, yoochun wants to tell him, as long as you never have to say another goodbye.
'it's raining cats and dogs outside.'
'like that's ever stopped you.'
'and you have work at three.'
'the apartment's flooding, remember?'
jaejoong curls into his side and yoochun just catches the quirk of a kittenish smile at the corner of his lips. he presses his palm to jaejoong's chest and pretends to close his fingers around the fluttering, trying to leave a little something of himself there.
later, they will stand on the gangdong bridge and watch the rain bring pieces of the sky down to the swirling waters. jaejoong will probably refuse a jacket in favour of dancing along the pedestrian railings and eventually yoochun will be persuaded into accompanying him in a couple's waltz right there on the sidewalk.
all afternoon, he will find all sorts of words on his tongue, but he won't say any of them. instead, the hours will be made up of hands sneaking into pockets and slips of kisses stolen inside lamppost shadows; all of it will taste of rain, and somehow, yoochun will find that synonymous with the concept of clean slates and endless possibilities.
after all, he's a hopeless romantic and he will always believe in second chances and new beginnings. in the days to come, he'll dream of plane tickets to tokyo, beijing, moscow, all the different city lights that can be reflected in jaejoong's eyes; but the truth is, if he listens carefully enough through the static of the rain, yoochun just might hear exactly what jaejoong has been saying all along.