(fic)
深い深い胸の傷を,一つ一つ背負わないで
(you do not have to bear the deep, deep wounds in your heart)
changmin/junsu | pg-13
four years from now junsu and changmin will meet in an airport in taipei, taiwan, and junsu will wonder that changmin has it in him to still be all sass and straight lines. they’ll meet at the gate for a flight back to seoul, and the small talk will be awkward, but junsu’s voice will crack embarrassingly (it still does that after so many years, how can it still do that) and changmin will laugh and some of the years-long tension between them will ease, just a little. “how have you been, though, really,” changmin will ask, and junsu will remember this too: how changmin had always cared deeply and fiercely even when he was doing his best to act like he didn’t. how junsu had always wished that he could be that good. how junsu had walked away from him.
“i’ve been okay,” junsu will say, because it’ll be true, by then. he will be okay.
“good,” changmin will say, and he’ll mean it. “that’s good.”
later that night, in seoul, they’ll both be a little drunk and changmin will kiss him, soft and slow like he used to, and junsu won’t say no. when changmin hails a cab and wraps an arm around junsu’s waist and pulls him in, he won’t say no to that, either. he won’t say no to any of it-the kisses, the fingertips against his skin, the slow easy haze of lovemaking until dawn stains seoul pink-until the sun is up and changmin says, “i have to go.”
“don’t,” junsu will say, but changmin will already be out of bed, already half-dressed, and junsu will still be naked in the crisp white cotton hotel sheets. “pretend you’re sick.”
“play hooky?” changmin will laugh. it’s not malicious. “i can’t. hyung, i’ll call you.”
junsu will sit up, sheets pulled around his waist, and look at changmin for a long time. there’s a lot about him that’s changed. there’s a lot about all of them that’s changed, but junsu thinks he knows changmin well enough, still. “you’ll call.”
“i will.” changmin will pull his jacket on, will lean down to kiss junsu again. it will taste like nostalgia and something else, something hopeful. “i promise.”
but that’s neither here nor there.
four years ago, changmin leaned over and pressed a sake-flavored kiss into junsu’s mouth, right at the corner, like a secret he was meant to keep. he didn’t ask if it was okay-he didn’t have to, or maybe he didn’t mind one way or another, a little drunk, a little dizzy. but changmin had always been heartstrong, hadn’t he? always fighting.
“changmin-ah,” junsu said, one hand at the curve where changmin’s neck met his shoulder, the other against his chest. “this isn’t a good idea.”
there were reasons. junsu could have soliloquized. but changmin took his wrist and held his palm where it rested, fingertips against his collarbone, and said “why not?” and when junsu looked up and met his gaze, changmin’s eyes were the clearest junsu had ever seen. “hyung, please,” he’d said, like he knew every one of junsu’s secrets.
maybe he did. junsu never did have a very good poker face.
there were reasons, though, reasons like changmin had been drinking, like junsu wasn’t ready, like things between them had been butterfly fragile ever since that time three weeks ago in fukuoka when changmin had told him that he didn’t think there was any place in the world he would rather be than standing at junsu’s side on stage, and when junsu had looked at him there had been novels of things unsaid behind his eyes. reasons like that junsu was older, like that junsu was responsible. as though he hadn’t been half in love with changmin since rising sun. there were reasons.
but all those reasons became dust when changmin leaned in with the care of the very drunk and kissed him again. not the corner of his mouth this time, but soft against the curve of his lower lip.
“this is still a bad idea,” he told changmin later, when changmin was half-naked and on his knees, junsu’s back pressed against the wall of their shared hotel room.
“i don’t think you really mind,” changmin said, his nose pressed against the cotton of junsu’s underwear.
“no,” junsu said, his voice a little strangled. “i don’t think i do.”
but that’s neither here nor there, either.
now, right now, junsu is asleep in a hospital bed in los angeles, six thousand miles away from everything he knows as familiar, as comforting, and jaejoong is outside on his cell phone, smoking a cigarette (nasty habit; he should give it up) and dialing number after number in hopes of getting someone alive.
it’s four in the morning in seoul, but the people he’s calling don’t really sleep, anyway.
yunho doesn’t answer, but changmin does, his voice rough with sleep and harsh with worry. jaejoong doesn’t blame him. none of them have called in a very long time. “what’s wrong?” he says, no preamble, no greeting.
“junsu’s sick,” jaejoong says. his words are blunt, but he thinks changmin will understand. “i just wanted to let you know.”
“why?” changmin asks.
it’s a double-edged question. why? because jaejoong is worried. because they’re six thousand miles away from home and jaejoong doesn’t know what to do. why else? because two years ago changmin had loved junsu so fiercely it felt like being burned to look at them. because jaejoong thought he would want to know. can he say all that to changmin? no. “fine,” jaejoong says, frustration making his voice like ice. “i won’t bother you anymore.”
“wait,” changmin says, and then again, “wait,” so softly jaejoong almost can’t hear it. “will he be okay?”
“does it matter?”
jaejoong isn’t being cruel. he’s being truthful. if junsu wasn’t going to be okay, would it change the years of harsh words and extended silence and thinly-veiled bitter words thrown from behind the protection of lawyers? “it matters,” changmin says, after a pause, his words piercing even across a staticky phone line. “of course it matters.”
“you should call him. when he wakes up.” jaejoong is no matchmaker, but he might owe junsu this much.
changmin is silent for a long time. “i will,” he says. jaejoong thinks he can believe him. there’s a law of physics about that, isn’t there? that for every action there is an equal but opposite reaction. if the force with which junsu and changmin had parted was the action, jaejoong can only imagine what the reaction will be.
“don’t waste time,” he advises changmin, taking the last drag of his cigarette and dropping it to the ground.
“i won’t.”
later, when junsu is awake and jaejoong is nicotine-fixed, junsu’s phone rings and the ringtone is one they haven’t heard in a long time. jaejoong pats junsu’s knee and says he’s going to get coffee, but outside the room he pauses and listens:
“...hi,” junsu says. “it’s been a long time. -i’m okay, how did you know?”
jaejoong thinks it’ll probably be okay.
(you do not have to bear the deep, deep wounds in your heart)
changmin/junsu | pg-13
four years from now junsu and changmin will meet in an airport in taipei, taiwan, and junsu will wonder that changmin has it in him to still be all sass and straight lines. they’ll meet at the gate for a flight back to seoul, and the small talk will be awkward, but junsu’s voice will crack embarrassingly (it still does that after so many years, how can it still do that) and changmin will laugh and some of the years-long tension between them will ease, just a little. “how have you been, though, really,” changmin will ask, and junsu will remember this too: how changmin had always cared deeply and fiercely even when he was doing his best to act like he didn’t. how junsu had always wished that he could be that good. how junsu had walked away from him.
“i’ve been okay,” junsu will say, because it’ll be true, by then. he will be okay.
“good,” changmin will say, and he’ll mean it. “that’s good.”
later that night, in seoul, they’ll both be a little drunk and changmin will kiss him, soft and slow like he used to, and junsu won’t say no. when changmin hails a cab and wraps an arm around junsu’s waist and pulls him in, he won’t say no to that, either. he won’t say no to any of it-the kisses, the fingertips against his skin, the slow easy haze of lovemaking until dawn stains seoul pink-until the sun is up and changmin says, “i have to go.”
“don’t,” junsu will say, but changmin will already be out of bed, already half-dressed, and junsu will still be naked in the crisp white cotton hotel sheets. “pretend you’re sick.”
“play hooky?” changmin will laugh. it’s not malicious. “i can’t. hyung, i’ll call you.”
junsu will sit up, sheets pulled around his waist, and look at changmin for a long time. there’s a lot about him that’s changed. there’s a lot about all of them that’s changed, but junsu thinks he knows changmin well enough, still. “you’ll call.”
“i will.” changmin will pull his jacket on, will lean down to kiss junsu again. it will taste like nostalgia and something else, something hopeful. “i promise.”
but that’s neither here nor there.
four years ago, changmin leaned over and pressed a sake-flavored kiss into junsu’s mouth, right at the corner, like a secret he was meant to keep. he didn’t ask if it was okay-he didn’t have to, or maybe he didn’t mind one way or another, a little drunk, a little dizzy. but changmin had always been heartstrong, hadn’t he? always fighting.
“changmin-ah,” junsu said, one hand at the curve where changmin’s neck met his shoulder, the other against his chest. “this isn’t a good idea.”
there were reasons. junsu could have soliloquized. but changmin took his wrist and held his palm where it rested, fingertips against his collarbone, and said “why not?” and when junsu looked up and met his gaze, changmin’s eyes were the clearest junsu had ever seen. “hyung, please,” he’d said, like he knew every one of junsu’s secrets.
maybe he did. junsu never did have a very good poker face.
there were reasons, though, reasons like changmin had been drinking, like junsu wasn’t ready, like things between them had been butterfly fragile ever since that time three weeks ago in fukuoka when changmin had told him that he didn’t think there was any place in the world he would rather be than standing at junsu’s side on stage, and when junsu had looked at him there had been novels of things unsaid behind his eyes. reasons like that junsu was older, like that junsu was responsible. as though he hadn’t been half in love with changmin since rising sun. there were reasons.
but all those reasons became dust when changmin leaned in with the care of the very drunk and kissed him again. not the corner of his mouth this time, but soft against the curve of his lower lip.
“this is still a bad idea,” he told changmin later, when changmin was half-naked and on his knees, junsu’s back pressed against the wall of their shared hotel room.
“i don’t think you really mind,” changmin said, his nose pressed against the cotton of junsu’s underwear.
“no,” junsu said, his voice a little strangled. “i don’t think i do.”
but that’s neither here nor there, either.
now, right now, junsu is asleep in a hospital bed in los angeles, six thousand miles away from everything he knows as familiar, as comforting, and jaejoong is outside on his cell phone, smoking a cigarette (nasty habit; he should give it up) and dialing number after number in hopes of getting someone alive.
it’s four in the morning in seoul, but the people he’s calling don’t really sleep, anyway.
yunho doesn’t answer, but changmin does, his voice rough with sleep and harsh with worry. jaejoong doesn’t blame him. none of them have called in a very long time. “what’s wrong?” he says, no preamble, no greeting.
“junsu’s sick,” jaejoong says. his words are blunt, but he thinks changmin will understand. “i just wanted to let you know.”
“why?” changmin asks.
it’s a double-edged question. why? because jaejoong is worried. because they’re six thousand miles away from home and jaejoong doesn’t know what to do. why else? because two years ago changmin had loved junsu so fiercely it felt like being burned to look at them. because jaejoong thought he would want to know. can he say all that to changmin? no. “fine,” jaejoong says, frustration making his voice like ice. “i won’t bother you anymore.”
“wait,” changmin says, and then again, “wait,” so softly jaejoong almost can’t hear it. “will he be okay?”
“does it matter?”
jaejoong isn’t being cruel. he’s being truthful. if junsu wasn’t going to be okay, would it change the years of harsh words and extended silence and thinly-veiled bitter words thrown from behind the protection of lawyers? “it matters,” changmin says, after a pause, his words piercing even across a staticky phone line. “of course it matters.”
“you should call him. when he wakes up.” jaejoong is no matchmaker, but he might owe junsu this much.
changmin is silent for a long time. “i will,” he says. jaejoong thinks he can believe him. there’s a law of physics about that, isn’t there? that for every action there is an equal but opposite reaction. if the force with which junsu and changmin had parted was the action, jaejoong can only imagine what the reaction will be.
“don’t waste time,” he advises changmin, taking the last drag of his cigarette and dropping it to the ground.
“i won’t.”
later, when junsu is awake and jaejoong is nicotine-fixed, junsu’s phone rings and the ringtone is one they haven’t heard in a long time. jaejoong pats junsu’s knee and says he’s going to get coffee, but outside the room he pauses and listens:
“...hi,” junsu says. “it’s been a long time. -i’m okay, how did you know?”
jaejoong thinks it’ll probably be okay.