(2010)
all WIPs from 2010.
SYMPOSIUM
dbsk; jaejoong/yoochun
Jaejoong’s ninth job is at the biggest department store in town, doing stints at the men’s cosmetics counter and straightening up clothes racks. If it’s a slow day, he’ll let Changmin from the Shiseido booth take over for anything up to an hour, and hide out on the fire escape to chain smoke. On night shifts, his favourite landing is stained darkroom red from the ten foot high store sign, the colour thick and making every shadow denser than it was before. Every once in a while Jaejoong trades a shift with someone and comes out to the fire escape to wait for 6.00pm, when all of the store lights switch on.
It’s a slow day today. Junsu, the wannabe musician that Jaejoong is partnered with for three days out of the five that he works, had to go off early, and Jaejoong’s taken over the last of his shift. He deals with a couple of girls from Busan buying presents for their boyfriends and closes shop five minutes before nine. On the way out he takes a shortcut past the homewares and through the book department. There’s a new face at the counter, turning off lights and shutting down the register. He doesn’t see Jaejoong until his hand’s on the last switch, and by then the overheads have stammered and the store is dark.
Jaejoong keeps walking.
The next time he’s in store, it’s six thirty in the morning and he’s hungover. Changmin takes one look at him and says, ‘geez. Which cat dragged you in?’
He’s nice enough to make coffee for Jaejoong in the staffroom. Whilst Changmin’s getting milk, Jaejoong plays with the mugs on the shelf by the water cooler. At the end of the row, he finds an unfamiliar one in china blue with a white rim. Turning it over, he only has time to cup the name beneath it for a moment before returning it to the shelf as Changmin walks back in and they share a coffee with milk in the early hours of a still Saturday morning.
Jaejoong works a few days a week, a few hours at a time. Fifty percent of the time, he’ll meet Yoochun- passing through a half-lit store, footsteps on a stairway, still-burning cigarettes left on the fire escape. Once he catches Yoochun leaving, drenched in the familiar signage red, but then the door swings shut and Jaejoong doesn’t follow.
When it comes down to it though, Yoochun is easy to make friends with, easy to talk to. Junsu’s twin brother owns a bar in an okay part of town, and Jaejoong visits at least once a week. After work on Friday afternoon he’s backing out of the parking lot when he spots Yoochun going past a payphone, fishing car keys from a back pocket. Jaejoong winds down the window. ‘Hey, Park?’
Yoochun pauses. ‘Yeah?’
‘I’m going to a drinking party right now. Want to come with?’
-
Junho tells them to piss off after the others customers at the bar start getting leaving on account of the noise. Junsu digs up a soccer ball from one of the back rooms and they kick it around in the middle of the street outside, screaming about yellow cards and dodging incoming cars. Yoochun gets clipped by the wing mirror of a blue 80s sedan, and the middle-aged woman driving it shrieks, ‘watch it, assholes,’ out of the window.
UNTITLED
dbsk; jaejoong/yoochun
1. Considering the two factors of how much Yoochun loves Jaejoong today, and how well the day is running so far, the feeling that goes between them ranges between too many things to count and nothing at all. The first time they went overseas, Jaejoong was almost too close for comfort, all of them cramped into the one apartment and using up what little air we had within minutes of moving in. For the four weeks, they alternated between fighting and kissing indoors, and fighting and kissing outdoors, where the only difference was the level of surrounding noise. It wasn’t really that different from Seoul in that respect.
2. ‘Welcome to Shinagawa Station,’ says Jaejoong, accented.
The train is congested, even this early. Yoochun’s shoulder is pressed up against the door, cold even when the rest of him isn’t, and when the doors open he has to get off to let out a flurry of passengers. He’d lost his hand warmer in the last hotel, in Nagoya, and he feels its absence most at times like these. By the time he gets back onto the train, Jaejoong’d somehow managed to find them two seats, and it’s started to snow. Yoochun’s got no idea where they’re headed, and between them Jaejoong’s the one that knows more Japanese. He can’t read half the station names, but from the ones he can figure out on the map taped beside the window, they’re going south. They’re due at the recording studio at ten thirty, and if they turn back now there’s enough time for them to make it. But they’re still on this train, and it’s taking them further away by the minute, every gap in the tracks a heartbeat longer from a future where they both know they’ve reached the end of the line and the end of them.
3. Navigation in young Japan was something that Yoochun never got the hang of, even now. They got lost more times he could count, but he only remembers the once.
UNTITLED
dbsk; jaejoong/yoochun
It takes over two hours of untangling line and hooks and crappy casts before Jaejoong catches his first fish of the day. Yoochun punches in the shoulder in congratulations, then adds: ‘Bet you got lucky.’
Jaejoong punches him back, a little harder. He juggles the thrashing fish with his other hand before Yoochun reaches over and neatly unhooks it. ‘Too small,’ he says. ‘Throw it back.’
Jaejoong holds the fish for a moment longer, already feeling the water on his hands drying, leaving salt, before leaning forwards and letting the fish run down his fingers and into the ocean again. He’s tempted to jump in and swim after it, just to show off how he can hold his breath longer than Yoochun and maybe freak him out a bit by pretending he’s drowning. Instead he kicks his feet, making waves. ‘I’m a tsunami!’ he says.
Yoochun takes the fishing rod out of Jaejoong hands and sets it down carefully before grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him into the water. Jaejoong screams and goes under, thrashing. ‘Well fuck you,’ he shouts at Yoochun. Jaejoong’s not the greatest swimmer, but he’s okay at treading water and the current isn’t strong around here anyway, or Yoochun would have thought twice about throwing his new best friend in the ocean.
He leans back, feeling his shirt stretch, gritty with salt. The sea-warped planks of the boardwalk are hard against his shoulder blades. ‘Boo hoo,’ he says.
‘I’m a shark,’ says Jaejoong, kissing Yoochun’s knee. ‘I’m Jaejoong, the friendly shark. How do you do?’
‘I’m fine, thanks-’ Jaejoong yanks at him, dragging him into the water. In a way it’s like being upside-down- heady, everything slowed down like a video with dirty tape. Yoochun opens his mouth and tastes salt, strong enough to sting his eyes if he keeps them open for any longer. He keeps them open, swallows water, reaches the surface.
Jaejoong comes up just after him, sucking in oxygen and laughing it all out. Yoochun says, ‘By way of karma, I hope you get a shirt tan.’
Jaejoong throws water in his face. ‘Jackass,’ he says.
Yoochun had been sent down to the river mouth to help his aunt and uncle renovate their new house. They were the kind of people that liked to keep to themselves, so they bought an old house that used to belong to a miller. It was miles from the nearest village, but that was how they wanted it. Yoochun’d only been there for a week before Jaejoong walked in, worn out and dirty from the road. His car had broken down, he said.
The fence still had inviting gaps in it at the time, and Jaejoong had walked to one of them, watching Yoochun trim the pomegranate tree back. It was one of those windy days, and he had to fight to get the branches still enough to clip. He hadn’t noticed Jaejoong coming up the drive, until he heard the sound of gravel and looked over. ‘Hey,’ he said, surprised. They only occasionally got traffic, beat-up trucks headed for the ocean or the river, farmers turned fishermen, and none of them stopped.
Jaejoong ran a hand over his face. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean to intrude.’
Yoochun shrugged, dropping the clippers into the grass and stretching. ‘That’s okay. Are you lost?’
‘Kind of,’ said Jaejoong, nodding towards the west. ‘My car stopped working a few miles back and I’ve been wandering around for hours trying to find someone.’
Jaejoong was exactly the kind of company that Yoochun’d been craving ever since he got here. He let him in through the back door because the front was nailed shut years ago and they still hadn’t gotten around to fixing it, and fetched him a glass of water. ‘Are you okay?’ Yoochun asked, watching Jaejoong swallow the water. ‘How long were you out there?’
‘Too long,’ he said.
Yoochun got ice from the refrigerator, letting it stand open and humming. He refilled Jaejoong’s glass and added the ice. ‘Do you want an aspirin?’
The water goes down too fast and Jaejoong coughed, hiding his mouth behind his wrist. ‘Please.’
It wasn’t the last time that Jaejoong is sick, but it was the first time that Yoochun thought: if we ever needed help, it’d take too long to get here. Jaejoong was dizzy and out of it for the first couple of hours, but he was fine by the time Yoochun’s aunt and uncle call to check up on him. They were down the coast for a friend’s wedding and were staying for the next three weeks, and Yoochun hadn’t wanted to go. His aunt liked to call to make sure that the house hadn’t fallen over and that Yoochun was eating okay. They’d only been gone a day and half but already the house felt empty, tools lying under drop cloths and windows with broken latches.
Yoochun didn’t mention Jaejoong, just that he’s running low on milk. Jaejoong, listening to his side of the conversation, asked: ‘Is this your parent’s house?’
Yoochun put the phone on its cradle. ‘My aunt and uncle’s. They’ve gone south for a wedding, so they won’t be back for a few weeks.’
‘Funny place to live,’ said Jaejoong, slumping back into the couch. It was meant to go in the living room, but the doorway hadn’t been wide enough so Yoochun and his uncle had just dumped it in the hallway joining the kitchen to the rest of the world.
‘Tell me about it,’ Yoochun agreed.
It was around six pm, the sun just beginning to set. From the nearest window they could see the sea, too bright to look at. There was a bank of clouds over it, settled low over the water. Jaejoong said reluctantly, ‘I guess I should get back to my car.’
Yoochun cranked open the refrigerator. ‘Are you kidding? If it’s broken, you won’t get anyone out there until tomorrow at the earliest. We’ve got plenty of rooms, you can stay the night.’
It was meant to only be for a night, but when they went looking for the car the next day, they couldn’t find it. Jaejoong had no idea where he’d left it, and when Yoochun asked if he wanted to be dropped off home, he shook his head, winding down the window. ‘To be honest,’ he said finally, voice filtered through the rushing air, ‘you’re the only one that knows I’m out here.’
The road was coming to an end just ahead, at an old lookout. Yoochun changed gears, glancing at Jaejoong. ‘You mean to say I’m housing a fugitive?’
Jaejoong shrugged, seatbelt straining. It bites into his chest and shoulders. ‘I guess.’
The cliff wasn’t much, just a jumble of rocks without even a safety rail. The wind was colder here, even though the sun was burning the back of Yoochun’s neck. Jaejoong’s shoulders had been burned the day before, angry and red, and Yoochun’d had to dig up some salve from a box they hadn’t cleared out yet and help him apply it.
Jaejoong treaded the edge of the cliff face, peering at the waves below. ‘Can we get down? I’ve always wanted to swim in the ocean.’
‘Haven’t you?’ Yoochun picked up a stone and turned it over in his fingers, weighing it up.
‘Bet I could throw further than you can. And no.’
‘In your dreams.’ Yoochun tossed the rock over the cliff edge. It only barely made a splash in the water. ‘I’ll take you swimming if it gets warmer,’ he says.
They were silent for minutes, time meaning less to them out here. Finally, it was Yoochun who said, ‘Come on. It’s getting cold. Let’s go home.’
It was warmer the next day, if not entirely ideal for swimming. Yoochun kept his promise though, and drove them down to the coast. Jaejoong acted like a kid, building sandcastles and dropping sea shells into the holes of the abandoned boardwalk. Jaejoong hooks seaweed for a good part of the day, before snagging a small cherry trout. He messes around with Yoochun by the shoreline, where the water is clear and shallow enough to touch the sandy bottom, silver finfish skimming around their toes. For two hours, shivering from the wind and water but not wanting to get out either, wanting to save what they have now, Yoochun feels like there’s horizons all around. Jaejoong’s lips are cold, sea salt rimming his eyelashes. ‘I can’t take this for much longer,’ he says. Yoochun doesn’t try figuring out what he means, before their mouths clash, full of two hours, two days of waiting. They fight for air afterwards, laughing, kissing again, tasting the floods of the found.
Yoochun’s aunt calls again. ‘Everything okay?’ she asks.
Yoochun shrugs, ‘Yeah.’ Jaejoong comes up to steal the last of his toaster strudel, licking at the icing and sugar. ‘We’re completely out of milk though.’
‘“We’re”?’
‘Me, I mean. I’ll get more tomorrow.’
‘Take care,’ she says, and Yoochun answers, ‘You too.’
Jaejoong sucks the last of the icing off his finger. ‘Your aunt again?’
‘Yeah,’ Yoochun says. Jaejoong slips off his lap to retreat back to the living room and the hot warmth of wood smoke, but Yoochun lingers by the window. The sun is setting outside, dull white streaking the grey sky. The weather has been shit ever since they got home a couple of hours ago, shivering from the water. Typically, they’d forgotten to take a towel with them and nearly frozen on the way back. The heater in the car had worked, at least. Jaejoong had used it to try and blow dry his hair. On top of that, they were starving by the time they got back. In the kitchen Yoochun went through all the cupboards, scrounging up the last of the groceries whilst Jaejoong built up a pile of wood in the ancient fireplace. Yoochun’s breath fogs up the window glass. Already the wind has picked up again, rushing through the uncut grass outside like it’s got somewhere better to be.
‘Don’t we all,’ Yoochun mutters, before joining Jaejoong in front of the fire.
They run out of milk, then butter, then bread. They share the last bowl of instant noodles between them at dawn two days later, huddled against the cold in Yoochun’s car. The windows are wound up tightly, but the freezing air still manages to get in. Jaejoong doesn’t have a coat, but he’s wearing one of Yoochun’s. It’s too big for him, fabric gripping too much empty space underneath the shoulders. Zipped up it’s only a little better, but there’s not much they can do about it.
Yoochun drives. They had to set out early to get to the village before noon. Jaejoong gives him the last of the noodles, then slurps up the soup noisily. Neither of them talk much, but their thoughts are laid bare and stark between them. Yoochun’s aunt and uncle will be back in another two weeks and a bit, and it’s not like Jaejoong can stay with them forever. He slouches in his seat, in Yoochun’s jacket, shoulders hunched. Yoochun doesn’t say: I don’t want you to go. But it’s there, somewhere between their cold fingers and mouths, too far apart.
By the time they get to the village, the weekly markets are already closing. Yoochun manages to get some fresh fruit and vegetables from a wizened farmer, whilst Jaejoong inspects some potted seedlings. ‘This one please,’ he says, pulling out a wallet Yoochun hadn’t seen before, ‘keep the change.’
He hands over a few thousand won. Yoochun pretends he doesn’t see the wads of cash inside, but the unease follows him all the way to the convenience store where he buys chewing gum and a newspaper, to the car, and back to the house. Rain pounds against the windscreen, a few drops a time, then more than anyone could count in a lifetime. The heater struggles to keep working, and Yoochun slows to a crawl as he tries to stay on the road. Back country trails like the one from the village to the house are treacherous on the best of days, and he hates driving in rain. ‘Say something,’ he says, when the silence draws too long.
Jaejoong sinks further down in his seat, folding himself. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘For you know, all this.’
The car lurches, almost sending them into a ditch. Yoochun hisses, carefully reversing. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he says. When the car is safely back on the road, he pauses, drumming fingers on the steering wheel. The sound echoes the rain outside, hammering against the roof of the car. ‘It’s okay, really,’ he says.
It’s a long time before Jaejoong says quietly, ‘thanks.’ Yoochun crooks a smile at him in the rearview mirror, then starts the car again. Ten miles left to go.
SYMPOSIUM
dbsk; jaejoong/yoochun
Jaejoong’s ninth job is at the biggest department store in town, doing stints at the men’s cosmetics counter and straightening up clothes racks. If it’s a slow day, he’ll let Changmin from the Shiseido booth take over for anything up to an hour, and hide out on the fire escape to chain smoke. On night shifts, his favourite landing is stained darkroom red from the ten foot high store sign, the colour thick and making every shadow denser than it was before. Every once in a while Jaejoong trades a shift with someone and comes out to the fire escape to wait for 6.00pm, when all of the store lights switch on.
It’s a slow day today. Junsu, the wannabe musician that Jaejoong is partnered with for three days out of the five that he works, had to go off early, and Jaejoong’s taken over the last of his shift. He deals with a couple of girls from Busan buying presents for their boyfriends and closes shop five minutes before nine. On the way out he takes a shortcut past the homewares and through the book department. There’s a new face at the counter, turning off lights and shutting down the register. He doesn’t see Jaejoong until his hand’s on the last switch, and by then the overheads have stammered and the store is dark.
Jaejoong keeps walking.
The next time he’s in store, it’s six thirty in the morning and he’s hungover. Changmin takes one look at him and says, ‘geez. Which cat dragged you in?’
He’s nice enough to make coffee for Jaejoong in the staffroom. Whilst Changmin’s getting milk, Jaejoong plays with the mugs on the shelf by the water cooler. At the end of the row, he finds an unfamiliar one in china blue with a white rim. Turning it over, he only has time to cup the name beneath it for a moment before returning it to the shelf as Changmin walks back in and they share a coffee with milk in the early hours of a still Saturday morning.
Jaejoong works a few days a week, a few hours at a time. Fifty percent of the time, he’ll meet Yoochun- passing through a half-lit store, footsteps on a stairway, still-burning cigarettes left on the fire escape. Once he catches Yoochun leaving, drenched in the familiar signage red, but then the door swings shut and Jaejoong doesn’t follow.
When it comes down to it though, Yoochun is easy to make friends with, easy to talk to. Junsu’s twin brother owns a bar in an okay part of town, and Jaejoong visits at least once a week. After work on Friday afternoon he’s backing out of the parking lot when he spots Yoochun going past a payphone, fishing car keys from a back pocket. Jaejoong winds down the window. ‘Hey, Park?’
Yoochun pauses. ‘Yeah?’
‘I’m going to a drinking party right now. Want to come with?’
-
Junho tells them to piss off after the others customers at the bar start getting leaving on account of the noise. Junsu digs up a soccer ball from one of the back rooms and they kick it around in the middle of the street outside, screaming about yellow cards and dodging incoming cars. Yoochun gets clipped by the wing mirror of a blue 80s sedan, and the middle-aged woman driving it shrieks, ‘watch it, assholes,’ out of the window.
UNTITLED
dbsk; jaejoong/yoochun
1. Considering the two factors of how much Yoochun loves Jaejoong today, and how well the day is running so far, the feeling that goes between them ranges between too many things to count and nothing at all. The first time they went overseas, Jaejoong was almost too close for comfort, all of them cramped into the one apartment and using up what little air we had within minutes of moving in. For the four weeks, they alternated between fighting and kissing indoors, and fighting and kissing outdoors, where the only difference was the level of surrounding noise. It wasn’t really that different from Seoul in that respect.
2. ‘Welcome to Shinagawa Station,’ says Jaejoong, accented.
The train is congested, even this early. Yoochun’s shoulder is pressed up against the door, cold even when the rest of him isn’t, and when the doors open he has to get off to let out a flurry of passengers. He’d lost his hand warmer in the last hotel, in Nagoya, and he feels its absence most at times like these. By the time he gets back onto the train, Jaejoong’d somehow managed to find them two seats, and it’s started to snow. Yoochun’s got no idea where they’re headed, and between them Jaejoong’s the one that knows more Japanese. He can’t read half the station names, but from the ones he can figure out on the map taped beside the window, they’re going south. They’re due at the recording studio at ten thirty, and if they turn back now there’s enough time for them to make it. But they’re still on this train, and it’s taking them further away by the minute, every gap in the tracks a heartbeat longer from a future where they both know they’ve reached the end of the line and the end of them.
3. Navigation in young Japan was something that Yoochun never got the hang of, even now. They got lost more times he could count, but he only remembers the once.
UNTITLED
dbsk; jaejoong/yoochun
It takes over two hours of untangling line and hooks and crappy casts before Jaejoong catches his first fish of the day. Yoochun punches in the shoulder in congratulations, then adds: ‘Bet you got lucky.’
Jaejoong punches him back, a little harder. He juggles the thrashing fish with his other hand before Yoochun reaches over and neatly unhooks it. ‘Too small,’ he says. ‘Throw it back.’
Jaejoong holds the fish for a moment longer, already feeling the water on his hands drying, leaving salt, before leaning forwards and letting the fish run down his fingers and into the ocean again. He’s tempted to jump in and swim after it, just to show off how he can hold his breath longer than Yoochun and maybe freak him out a bit by pretending he’s drowning. Instead he kicks his feet, making waves. ‘I’m a tsunami!’ he says.
Yoochun takes the fishing rod out of Jaejoong hands and sets it down carefully before grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him into the water. Jaejoong screams and goes under, thrashing. ‘Well fuck you,’ he shouts at Yoochun. Jaejoong’s not the greatest swimmer, but he’s okay at treading water and the current isn’t strong around here anyway, or Yoochun would have thought twice about throwing his new best friend in the ocean.
He leans back, feeling his shirt stretch, gritty with salt. The sea-warped planks of the boardwalk are hard against his shoulder blades. ‘Boo hoo,’ he says.
‘I’m a shark,’ says Jaejoong, kissing Yoochun’s knee. ‘I’m Jaejoong, the friendly shark. How do you do?’
‘I’m fine, thanks-’ Jaejoong yanks at him, dragging him into the water. In a way it’s like being upside-down- heady, everything slowed down like a video with dirty tape. Yoochun opens his mouth and tastes salt, strong enough to sting his eyes if he keeps them open for any longer. He keeps them open, swallows water, reaches the surface.
Jaejoong comes up just after him, sucking in oxygen and laughing it all out. Yoochun says, ‘By way of karma, I hope you get a shirt tan.’
Jaejoong throws water in his face. ‘Jackass,’ he says.
Yoochun had been sent down to the river mouth to help his aunt and uncle renovate their new house. They were the kind of people that liked to keep to themselves, so they bought an old house that used to belong to a miller. It was miles from the nearest village, but that was how they wanted it. Yoochun’d only been there for a week before Jaejoong walked in, worn out and dirty from the road. His car had broken down, he said.
The fence still had inviting gaps in it at the time, and Jaejoong had walked to one of them, watching Yoochun trim the pomegranate tree back. It was one of those windy days, and he had to fight to get the branches still enough to clip. He hadn’t noticed Jaejoong coming up the drive, until he heard the sound of gravel and looked over. ‘Hey,’ he said, surprised. They only occasionally got traffic, beat-up trucks headed for the ocean or the river, farmers turned fishermen, and none of them stopped.
Jaejoong ran a hand over his face. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean to intrude.’
Yoochun shrugged, dropping the clippers into the grass and stretching. ‘That’s okay. Are you lost?’
‘Kind of,’ said Jaejoong, nodding towards the west. ‘My car stopped working a few miles back and I’ve been wandering around for hours trying to find someone.’
Jaejoong was exactly the kind of company that Yoochun’d been craving ever since he got here. He let him in through the back door because the front was nailed shut years ago and they still hadn’t gotten around to fixing it, and fetched him a glass of water. ‘Are you okay?’ Yoochun asked, watching Jaejoong swallow the water. ‘How long were you out there?’
‘Too long,’ he said.
Yoochun got ice from the refrigerator, letting it stand open and humming. He refilled Jaejoong’s glass and added the ice. ‘Do you want an aspirin?’
The water goes down too fast and Jaejoong coughed, hiding his mouth behind his wrist. ‘Please.’
It wasn’t the last time that Jaejoong is sick, but it was the first time that Yoochun thought: if we ever needed help, it’d take too long to get here. Jaejoong was dizzy and out of it for the first couple of hours, but he was fine by the time Yoochun’s aunt and uncle call to check up on him. They were down the coast for a friend’s wedding and were staying for the next three weeks, and Yoochun hadn’t wanted to go. His aunt liked to call to make sure that the house hadn’t fallen over and that Yoochun was eating okay. They’d only been gone a day and half but already the house felt empty, tools lying under drop cloths and windows with broken latches.
Yoochun didn’t mention Jaejoong, just that he’s running low on milk. Jaejoong, listening to his side of the conversation, asked: ‘Is this your parent’s house?’
Yoochun put the phone on its cradle. ‘My aunt and uncle’s. They’ve gone south for a wedding, so they won’t be back for a few weeks.’
‘Funny place to live,’ said Jaejoong, slumping back into the couch. It was meant to go in the living room, but the doorway hadn’t been wide enough so Yoochun and his uncle had just dumped it in the hallway joining the kitchen to the rest of the world.
‘Tell me about it,’ Yoochun agreed.
It was around six pm, the sun just beginning to set. From the nearest window they could see the sea, too bright to look at. There was a bank of clouds over it, settled low over the water. Jaejoong said reluctantly, ‘I guess I should get back to my car.’
Yoochun cranked open the refrigerator. ‘Are you kidding? If it’s broken, you won’t get anyone out there until tomorrow at the earliest. We’ve got plenty of rooms, you can stay the night.’
It was meant to only be for a night, but when they went looking for the car the next day, they couldn’t find it. Jaejoong had no idea where he’d left it, and when Yoochun asked if he wanted to be dropped off home, he shook his head, winding down the window. ‘To be honest,’ he said finally, voice filtered through the rushing air, ‘you’re the only one that knows I’m out here.’
The road was coming to an end just ahead, at an old lookout. Yoochun changed gears, glancing at Jaejoong. ‘You mean to say I’m housing a fugitive?’
Jaejoong shrugged, seatbelt straining. It bites into his chest and shoulders. ‘I guess.’
The cliff wasn’t much, just a jumble of rocks without even a safety rail. The wind was colder here, even though the sun was burning the back of Yoochun’s neck. Jaejoong’s shoulders had been burned the day before, angry and red, and Yoochun’d had to dig up some salve from a box they hadn’t cleared out yet and help him apply it.
Jaejoong treaded the edge of the cliff face, peering at the waves below. ‘Can we get down? I’ve always wanted to swim in the ocean.’
‘Haven’t you?’ Yoochun picked up a stone and turned it over in his fingers, weighing it up.
‘Bet I could throw further than you can. And no.’
‘In your dreams.’ Yoochun tossed the rock over the cliff edge. It only barely made a splash in the water. ‘I’ll take you swimming if it gets warmer,’ he says.
They were silent for minutes, time meaning less to them out here. Finally, it was Yoochun who said, ‘Come on. It’s getting cold. Let’s go home.’
It was warmer the next day, if not entirely ideal for swimming. Yoochun kept his promise though, and drove them down to the coast. Jaejoong acted like a kid, building sandcastles and dropping sea shells into the holes of the abandoned boardwalk. Jaejoong hooks seaweed for a good part of the day, before snagging a small cherry trout. He messes around with Yoochun by the shoreline, where the water is clear and shallow enough to touch the sandy bottom, silver finfish skimming around their toes. For two hours, shivering from the wind and water but not wanting to get out either, wanting to save what they have now, Yoochun feels like there’s horizons all around. Jaejoong’s lips are cold, sea salt rimming his eyelashes. ‘I can’t take this for much longer,’ he says. Yoochun doesn’t try figuring out what he means, before their mouths clash, full of two hours, two days of waiting. They fight for air afterwards, laughing, kissing again, tasting the floods of the found.
Yoochun’s aunt calls again. ‘Everything okay?’ she asks.
Yoochun shrugs, ‘Yeah.’ Jaejoong comes up to steal the last of his toaster strudel, licking at the icing and sugar. ‘We’re completely out of milk though.’
‘“We’re”?’
‘Me, I mean. I’ll get more tomorrow.’
‘Take care,’ she says, and Yoochun answers, ‘You too.’
Jaejoong sucks the last of the icing off his finger. ‘Your aunt again?’
‘Yeah,’ Yoochun says. Jaejoong slips off his lap to retreat back to the living room and the hot warmth of wood smoke, but Yoochun lingers by the window. The sun is setting outside, dull white streaking the grey sky. The weather has been shit ever since they got home a couple of hours ago, shivering from the water. Typically, they’d forgotten to take a towel with them and nearly frozen on the way back. The heater in the car had worked, at least. Jaejoong had used it to try and blow dry his hair. On top of that, they were starving by the time they got back. In the kitchen Yoochun went through all the cupboards, scrounging up the last of the groceries whilst Jaejoong built up a pile of wood in the ancient fireplace. Yoochun’s breath fogs up the window glass. Already the wind has picked up again, rushing through the uncut grass outside like it’s got somewhere better to be.
‘Don’t we all,’ Yoochun mutters, before joining Jaejoong in front of the fire.
They run out of milk, then butter, then bread. They share the last bowl of instant noodles between them at dawn two days later, huddled against the cold in Yoochun’s car. The windows are wound up tightly, but the freezing air still manages to get in. Jaejoong doesn’t have a coat, but he’s wearing one of Yoochun’s. It’s too big for him, fabric gripping too much empty space underneath the shoulders. Zipped up it’s only a little better, but there’s not much they can do about it.
Yoochun drives. They had to set out early to get to the village before noon. Jaejoong gives him the last of the noodles, then slurps up the soup noisily. Neither of them talk much, but their thoughts are laid bare and stark between them. Yoochun’s aunt and uncle will be back in another two weeks and a bit, and it’s not like Jaejoong can stay with them forever. He slouches in his seat, in Yoochun’s jacket, shoulders hunched. Yoochun doesn’t say: I don’t want you to go. But it’s there, somewhere between their cold fingers and mouths, too far apart.
By the time they get to the village, the weekly markets are already closing. Yoochun manages to get some fresh fruit and vegetables from a wizened farmer, whilst Jaejoong inspects some potted seedlings. ‘This one please,’ he says, pulling out a wallet Yoochun hadn’t seen before, ‘keep the change.’
He hands over a few thousand won. Yoochun pretends he doesn’t see the wads of cash inside, but the unease follows him all the way to the convenience store where he buys chewing gum and a newspaper, to the car, and back to the house. Rain pounds against the windscreen, a few drops a time, then more than anyone could count in a lifetime. The heater struggles to keep working, and Yoochun slows to a crawl as he tries to stay on the road. Back country trails like the one from the village to the house are treacherous on the best of days, and he hates driving in rain. ‘Say something,’ he says, when the silence draws too long.
Jaejoong sinks further down in his seat, folding himself. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘For you know, all this.’
The car lurches, almost sending them into a ditch. Yoochun hisses, carefully reversing. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he says. When the car is safely back on the road, he pauses, drumming fingers on the steering wheel. The sound echoes the rain outside, hammering against the roof of the car. ‘It’s okay, really,’ he says.
It’s a long time before Jaejoong says quietly, ‘thanks.’ Yoochun crooks a smile at him in the rearview mirror, then starts the car again. Ten miles left to go.