fic: the years after
Title: The Years After
Rating: PG
Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong, Yoochun/Junsu
Notes: This is probably not canonically possible. Merry...Christmas..!
Summary: A breakup, a trip to New York, and a few late-night phone calls. They are lucky to find love where and when they do.
Jaejoong still calls Yunho every night. When Yunho wants to talk, when Yunho loves Jaejoong more than he hates him that night, he picks up. When Yunho doesn’t want to talk, when Yunho still loves Jaejoong more than he hates him (though Yunho could never really hate Jaejoong, Yoochun thinks, YunJae fighting forever) but is worried Jaejoong doesn’t love Yunho more than Jaejoong loves Jaejoong, he doesn’t.
Yoochun feels like a voyeur the first time he overhears Jaejoong’s side of a phone call, Jaejoong’s voice low and sweet, managing to make even all the technical, lawyerly terms sound like a song - but it is his reassurances that sound the most beautiful.
“It’ll be okay,” Jaejoong whispers, barely audible, and Yoochun wishes Jaejoong could only display this much conviction when performing. “Have a good day tomorrow, okay?” And then so soft Yoochun wants to press himself into the wall to hear it, wants to sift out and bottle the sincerity in Jaejoong’s voice for later - “I love you.” A pause, and Yoochun can just imagine their proud leader bowing his head, embarrassed, almost, by just how much Jaejoong means it before whispering the words back, hand cupping the phone receiver like it is Jaejoong’s face. “Tell Changmin-ah I love him too, okay?”
Jaejoong comes out of his room, eyes hollowed and tired. He rubs a hand over his chin, yawning, and Yoochun sees the worry lines around his eyes. Jaejoong always looks surprised to see Yoochun and Junsu - though sometimes only Yoochun, sometimes only Junsu - in his apartment, as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t the only one who felt like he’d lost something.
*
The first few weeks are terrible, if only because there are so many legal terms, so many disapproving looks, so many things to sign. Sometimes Changmin looks at him reproachfully, or one of the Sonyuhshidae girls or one of the SHINee boys and Yoochun feels guilty for about two seconds until he remembers that he has not belonged to himself for years and that he deserves to be selfish, if only this once.
Jaejoong has always understood him best, forgiven him even for his pettiest confessions. This time, Jaejoong pats his hand and passes him cigarettes, flicking the lighter almost mechanically. This time, Jaejoong doesn’t say any comforting nonsense about how it’ll all be better, how it’ll all definitely work out, how Good will once again triumph over Evil, because there are no guarantees, not here. Jaejoong pulls out a cigarette for himself and answers what’s the point? when Yoochun quietly points out that it’s bad for his voice.
They move out, buy their own apartments or go home, and Junsu calls him after he’s settled back home. “I haven’t been home in so long I forgot what my own bedroom looked like,” he marvels, then pauses. “Do you want to come over for a movie tonight? Since we have all this free time and all. Jaejoong already said yes.”
They watch a lot of movies together, him and Junsu and Jaejoong. They’re not picky. They watch Disney movies, horror movies, romances, comedies, good movies, and really, really terrible movies. Once they’d watched Little Miss Sunshine and the moment Jaejoong made an offhanded comparison of a character to Yunho, Junsu dropped the cup he was holding. They watched the water run into the cracks between Junsu’s floorboards until Yoochun reached down to pick up what remained of the glass.
*
When the break finally comes, they have all been waiting for it so long that no one is surprised. Yoochun is richer than he has ever been, even after all the legal fees he let his mother and accountant handle. The first thing he does is buy his mother a Tiffany necklace and bracelet set. The second thing he does is buy tickets to Yunho and Changmin’s concert, the first musical endeavor DBSK, whole or otherwise, has taken in two years, has taken since they’d first started deliberating.
I hope you all continue to support Yunho and Changmin in their careers, he posts on a fancafé. Dongbangshinki will always continue to shine, no matter how many members there are. Boycotts and protests would not do anything at this point and only serve to defeat the purpose of what we have done. This was what we chose - what I chose. I hope you can respect that.
Thank you all for being an amazing audience; thank you all for being the best fans. Goodbye, and maybe one day, we can meet again; hopefully on my own terms then.
The third thing he does is buy plane tickets.
*
Yunho and Changmin’s concert is perfect in how well they complement each other.
Jaejoong dyes his hair black again, cuts it short. Yoochun has been letting his hair grow long, gets glasses. Junsu goes as himself. There are whispers, there are screams, and more than just a few paparazzi snap pictures that Yoochun knows will be plastered all over the magazines and websites tomorrow.
Jaejoong watches Yunho perform with his mouth slightly open, as if he has discovered him for the first time, and Junsu sings along with the songs that might’ve once been theirs. Yoochun lets his eyes fall shut when Yunho and Changmin harmonize their way through a ballad that was meant for Yoochun and Junsu.
“This song was dedicated to three very important people,” Yunho says afterward, still smiling the half-shy, half-proud smile he has worn since they were very, very young. “I know you guys are here. Thank you for your support and love these past ten years.” Jaejoong blinks furiously on Yoochun’s left, and twists the ring on his finger whose twin lies on a chain around Yunho’s neck.
“You mean the world to us,” Changmin continues, eyes bright. “We love you. I love you.” He wipes his face with his shirt and Yoochun wants to run onstage, wants to tell everyone they were kidding, this was all a publicity stunt, DBSK will never break up - but he also knows he will regret it so much tomorrow if he did. He curls his fingers into a fist and hates, not for the first time, the industry and the company that put them together, that gave him something so tangible to love, and then made it into something he no longer recognized. Thank you, he shouts at the stage, lost among all the screams and cries from the fangirls behind him, but Changmin smiles like he heard him anyway.
They bow, hands linked, and walk offstage.
*
“You never used to get this airsick before,” Yoochun comments, passing Jaejoong Junsu’s vomit bag. Junsu looks vaguely green himself and looks away, wincing, when Jaejoong retches.
“I’m just nervous, I guess,” Jaejoong finally says, panting and wiping his face. “I mean, when was the last time we went somewhere just for fun? And, I mean, it’s New York.” He leans back, taking a drink of water and swishing it around his mouth. “Hold on, I’m going to go brush my teeth.” He picks up his little travel bag and stumbles to the bathroom.
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Junsu asks, frowning.
“It’s Jaejoong,” Yoochun replies by way of an answer, and shrugs.
They sit in companionable, comfortable silence born of years of camaraderie and friendship. Junsu looks down at the guidebook in his lap, and clears his throat.
“Do you think it’s too soon? Will they think we’re just running away?”
Yoochun looks out the window next to the seat Jaejoong just vacated and shrugs. “Doesn’t matter what they think,” he says slowly. “What’s the worst they can do now?”
Junsu laughs a little hollowly. “Good point.”
Jaejoong comes back from the bathroom, not looking much better but at least with better breath. “I’m going to try to get some sleep,” he mutters hoarsely. “Don’t leave me here, okay?”
“No worries, Jaejoong-ah,” Yoochun says softly. “Go to sleep.”
They fall into silence after that again, Junsu placing his headphones over his head to watch America’s latest attempt at a comic book reboot and Yoochun flipping aimlessly through the guidebook Junsu brought, pausing every so often to admire the Statue of Liberty, Chinatown, Ground Zero.
*
“These subways are so dirty,” Junsu says, nose wrinkling. “Were they this dirty when we visited last time?”
“No,” Yoochun replies calmly. “We got driven around last time, remember?”
“Oh, right.” Junsu falls silent, eyes cast downwards as his feet skirt lightly around the dust and suspicious stains.
Jaejoong hums next to Yoochun, spirits higher than they’ve been for months. They’ve gotten a few sideways glances - mostly from Asian New Yorkers - but it’s been refreshing to walk around, heads held high and no paparazzi tailing them. They are so anonymous it’s actually almost painful, the way busy eyes slide over them as if they were just any faceless Korean males in their late twenties whom they’ll never meet again. And in a way, they are. It’s not until they’re in New York that Yoochun realizes just how small he really is, just how insignificant DBSK really are, despite the fan club and the world records.
Yoochun hears Jaejoong’s quiet exclaim of “oh, wow,” before he hears the actual singers, but once he does, he spins around. A trio of raggedy-looking middle-aged men stands off to the side, next to the sign indicating the downtown 1 train, completely ordinary but for their voices. They belt out an acapella version of a Beatles song and shuffle around awkwardly, grinning whenever anyone tosses anything into the hat they have in front of them. A stack of amateurish CDs sits in a rack next to them, with obviously self-printed covers.
Junsu drifts towards the men, head bobbing along to the finger-snapping tune and mouthing the words. Jaejoong and Yoochun are close behind, drawn to the music like bees to flowers. “How come no one notices them?” Jaejoong mutters furiously, hand digging around frantically in the bag he refuses to call a man-purse for change, fingers fumbling the quarters and pennies before pulling out a handful and shoving it all into the men’s hat.
“They have jobs, Jaejoong-hyung,” Junsu says, tapping his foot and offering a tentative smile in exchange when the most ragged-looking man, complete with hair that looks as if it hasn’t been washed for days and a missing tooth, smiles at him. “They’re busy. It’s New York.”
Jaejoong rolls his eyes. “It is a sad day when even good music cannot be appreciated properly,” he declares. “Yoochun-ah, what are you doing?”
Yoochun hands a five-dollar bill to one of the men and picks up a CD, smiling his thanks. “Buying a souvenir,” he says, shrugging.
“Imagine if we’d started out like this,” Junsu says as they walk away, running his hands over the plastic cover. “Sometimes I wish we had. Maybe we’d be happier now.”
“And poorer,” Jaejoong points out, zipping up the man-purse Yoochun knows contains at least twenty postcards with Yunho’s address on the back of them. “And less well-known, and skinner, and probably dirtier, too, and - ”
“I get the point,” Junsu says crossly. “You can stop now.”
“ - but, yes, happier,” Jaejoong finishes.
*
Yoochun plays the CD that night when they are back in the hotel, all of them piled in Jaejoong’s room. “We should’ve just gotten a triple,” Jaejoong complains when Yoochun and Junsu show up at his door, but lets them in anyway. “This is such a waste of money, guys,” he continues, but offers them each a beer anyway. Yoochun had seen the two extra cans set out, and he knows Jaejoong had been waiting for them. In the end, it’s all the same. No one wants to be alone.
“You love us,” Junsu says, batting his eyelashes at Jaejoong, and Jaejoong holds his stern face for about two seconds before it crumples.
Yoochun pops in the CD, and wanders out onto Jaejoong’s balcony, letting the hum of Jaejoong and Junsu’s conversation and the quiet crooning voice lull him almost to sleep as he lazes on the chair. There are no stars in New York, only lights, and suddenly Yoochun misses how the Han River looks like at night.
Junsu steps through the sliding door, closing it behind him. “Jaejoong-hyung’s complaining about bugs,” he offers by way of explanation, and sits down next to Yoochun. After a second’s hesitation, he takes Yoochun’s hand.
Yoochun stares at the hand curled around his, and then looks up at the owner of said hand. Junsu’s cheeks are tinged red, short stubble running across his cheeks, and Yoochun has wanted to smooth his hands over that stubble since they were twenty-three. “I love you,” he tries.
“I know,” Junsu says, not meeting his eyes.
Yoochun sits up. “I have for a long time,” he says, softer this time. Junsu’s palm is a little clammy, and from more than just the summer air.
Junsu doesn’t speak for a long time, and for a while all Yoochun can hear are Jaejoong’s helpless giggles as he talks to Yunho on Skype and normally he’d be running in to demand to talk to Yunho as well, but Yoochun also wants something to call his own, and he has been waiting for this for a long, long time. Junsu finally looks up, meeting Yoochun’s eyes in an almost defiant look. “Me too,” he says.
*
“I am not asking you to choose,” Jaejoong says, finger twisting the phone cord nervously. “I mean, technically, it doesn’t have anything to do with you. I already made my decision, I know, and you already made yours. But even so, Yunho, one day…” Jaejoong trails off, but Yoochun, listening in, knows the words Jaejoong won’t say. But even so, Yunho, reassure me. But even so, Yunho, tell me what I want to hear. But even so, Yunho, tell me about the future. The one with the two of us. You know. My favorite one.
Yoochun watches the light filtering through the crack of the bathroom door as Jaejoong paces about. He pulls the covers up to his chin, curling into a ball on his sofa, while Junsu snores on the armchair across the room. Affection threatens to get the better of him when he thinks about Junsu’s sleep-soft hair, the arm curled under his head, the leather bracelet-imprint he will no doubt have on his face the next morning.
“Okay,” Jaejoong says in the bathroom, and Yoochun doesn’t know if it’s a good okay or a bad one. “Have a good day today.” Again, the sincerity - Yoochun squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep it beneath his eyelids as well as he can. “I love you.” The same familiar pause. Yoochun counts out the beats in his head, one. Two. Three. Love you too, Jaejoong. “Changmin too. Good night.”
Yoochun makes his decision then, crawls out from under his blankets to hide under Jaejoong’s covers that smell like Yunho’s shampoo. When Jaejoong comes out from the bathroom and pads softly to his bed, he stares down at Yoochun for two seconds before slipping under the covers himself.
“I have never told him I love him in person,” Jaejoong says, suddenly, and Yoochun turns to face Jaejoong. “Only on the phone. The first time was after - after, you know. And I haven’t really seen him since.”
Yoochun twines his and Jaejoong’s fingers together under the covers as Jaejoong reaches up with his free hand to push away the tears. “I’m sorry,” Yoochun says softly, knowing that that is not what Jaejoong wants to hear, but at a loss of words otherwise.
“I’ll tell him when we go back,” Jaejoong whispers fiercely, turning away to hide his tears. “I’ll go see him and I’ll tell him.”
“You will,” Yoochun agrees, giving Jaejoong’s hand one last squeeze before letting go. They are twenty-seven, twenty-eight years old and finally growing up.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong, Yoochun/Junsu
Notes: This is probably not canonically possible. Merry...Christmas..!
Summary: A breakup, a trip to New York, and a few late-night phone calls. They are lucky to find love where and when they do.
Jaejoong still calls Yunho every night. When Yunho wants to talk, when Yunho loves Jaejoong more than he hates him that night, he picks up. When Yunho doesn’t want to talk, when Yunho still loves Jaejoong more than he hates him (though Yunho could never really hate Jaejoong, Yoochun thinks, YunJae fighting forever) but is worried Jaejoong doesn’t love Yunho more than Jaejoong loves Jaejoong, he doesn’t.
Yoochun feels like a voyeur the first time he overhears Jaejoong’s side of a phone call, Jaejoong’s voice low and sweet, managing to make even all the technical, lawyerly terms sound like a song - but it is his reassurances that sound the most beautiful.
“It’ll be okay,” Jaejoong whispers, barely audible, and Yoochun wishes Jaejoong could only display this much conviction when performing. “Have a good day tomorrow, okay?” And then so soft Yoochun wants to press himself into the wall to hear it, wants to sift out and bottle the sincerity in Jaejoong’s voice for later - “I love you.” A pause, and Yoochun can just imagine their proud leader bowing his head, embarrassed, almost, by just how much Jaejoong means it before whispering the words back, hand cupping the phone receiver like it is Jaejoong’s face. “Tell Changmin-ah I love him too, okay?”
Jaejoong comes out of his room, eyes hollowed and tired. He rubs a hand over his chin, yawning, and Yoochun sees the worry lines around his eyes. Jaejoong always looks surprised to see Yoochun and Junsu - though sometimes only Yoochun, sometimes only Junsu - in his apartment, as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t the only one who felt like he’d lost something.
*
The first few weeks are terrible, if only because there are so many legal terms, so many disapproving looks, so many things to sign. Sometimes Changmin looks at him reproachfully, or one of the Sonyuhshidae girls or one of the SHINee boys and Yoochun feels guilty for about two seconds until he remembers that he has not belonged to himself for years and that he deserves to be selfish, if only this once.
Jaejoong has always understood him best, forgiven him even for his pettiest confessions. This time, Jaejoong pats his hand and passes him cigarettes, flicking the lighter almost mechanically. This time, Jaejoong doesn’t say any comforting nonsense about how it’ll all be better, how it’ll all definitely work out, how Good will once again triumph over Evil, because there are no guarantees, not here. Jaejoong pulls out a cigarette for himself and answers what’s the point? when Yoochun quietly points out that it’s bad for his voice.
They move out, buy their own apartments or go home, and Junsu calls him after he’s settled back home. “I haven’t been home in so long I forgot what my own bedroom looked like,” he marvels, then pauses. “Do you want to come over for a movie tonight? Since we have all this free time and all. Jaejoong already said yes.”
They watch a lot of movies together, him and Junsu and Jaejoong. They’re not picky. They watch Disney movies, horror movies, romances, comedies, good movies, and really, really terrible movies. Once they’d watched Little Miss Sunshine and the moment Jaejoong made an offhanded comparison of a character to Yunho, Junsu dropped the cup he was holding. They watched the water run into the cracks between Junsu’s floorboards until Yoochun reached down to pick up what remained of the glass.
*
When the break finally comes, they have all been waiting for it so long that no one is surprised. Yoochun is richer than he has ever been, even after all the legal fees he let his mother and accountant handle. The first thing he does is buy his mother a Tiffany necklace and bracelet set. The second thing he does is buy tickets to Yunho and Changmin’s concert, the first musical endeavor DBSK, whole or otherwise, has taken in two years, has taken since they’d first started deliberating.
I hope you all continue to support Yunho and Changmin in their careers, he posts on a fancafé. Dongbangshinki will always continue to shine, no matter how many members there are. Boycotts and protests would not do anything at this point and only serve to defeat the purpose of what we have done. This was what we chose - what I chose. I hope you can respect that.
Thank you all for being an amazing audience; thank you all for being the best fans. Goodbye, and maybe one day, we can meet again; hopefully on my own terms then.
The third thing he does is buy plane tickets.
*
Yunho and Changmin’s concert is perfect in how well they complement each other.
Jaejoong dyes his hair black again, cuts it short. Yoochun has been letting his hair grow long, gets glasses. Junsu goes as himself. There are whispers, there are screams, and more than just a few paparazzi snap pictures that Yoochun knows will be plastered all over the magazines and websites tomorrow.
Jaejoong watches Yunho perform with his mouth slightly open, as if he has discovered him for the first time, and Junsu sings along with the songs that might’ve once been theirs. Yoochun lets his eyes fall shut when Yunho and Changmin harmonize their way through a ballad that was meant for Yoochun and Junsu.
“This song was dedicated to three very important people,” Yunho says afterward, still smiling the half-shy, half-proud smile he has worn since they were very, very young. “I know you guys are here. Thank you for your support and love these past ten years.” Jaejoong blinks furiously on Yoochun’s left, and twists the ring on his finger whose twin lies on a chain around Yunho’s neck.
“You mean the world to us,” Changmin continues, eyes bright. “We love you. I love you.” He wipes his face with his shirt and Yoochun wants to run onstage, wants to tell everyone they were kidding, this was all a publicity stunt, DBSK will never break up - but he also knows he will regret it so much tomorrow if he did. He curls his fingers into a fist and hates, not for the first time, the industry and the company that put them together, that gave him something so tangible to love, and then made it into something he no longer recognized. Thank you, he shouts at the stage, lost among all the screams and cries from the fangirls behind him, but Changmin smiles like he heard him anyway.
They bow, hands linked, and walk offstage.
*
“You never used to get this airsick before,” Yoochun comments, passing Jaejoong Junsu’s vomit bag. Junsu looks vaguely green himself and looks away, wincing, when Jaejoong retches.
“I’m just nervous, I guess,” Jaejoong finally says, panting and wiping his face. “I mean, when was the last time we went somewhere just for fun? And, I mean, it’s New York.” He leans back, taking a drink of water and swishing it around his mouth. “Hold on, I’m going to go brush my teeth.” He picks up his little travel bag and stumbles to the bathroom.
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Junsu asks, frowning.
“It’s Jaejoong,” Yoochun replies by way of an answer, and shrugs.
They sit in companionable, comfortable silence born of years of camaraderie and friendship. Junsu looks down at the guidebook in his lap, and clears his throat.
“Do you think it’s too soon? Will they think we’re just running away?”
Yoochun looks out the window next to the seat Jaejoong just vacated and shrugs. “Doesn’t matter what they think,” he says slowly. “What’s the worst they can do now?”
Junsu laughs a little hollowly. “Good point.”
Jaejoong comes back from the bathroom, not looking much better but at least with better breath. “I’m going to try to get some sleep,” he mutters hoarsely. “Don’t leave me here, okay?”
“No worries, Jaejoong-ah,” Yoochun says softly. “Go to sleep.”
They fall into silence after that again, Junsu placing his headphones over his head to watch America’s latest attempt at a comic book reboot and Yoochun flipping aimlessly through the guidebook Junsu brought, pausing every so often to admire the Statue of Liberty, Chinatown, Ground Zero.
*
“These subways are so dirty,” Junsu says, nose wrinkling. “Were they this dirty when we visited last time?”
“No,” Yoochun replies calmly. “We got driven around last time, remember?”
“Oh, right.” Junsu falls silent, eyes cast downwards as his feet skirt lightly around the dust and suspicious stains.
Jaejoong hums next to Yoochun, spirits higher than they’ve been for months. They’ve gotten a few sideways glances - mostly from Asian New Yorkers - but it’s been refreshing to walk around, heads held high and no paparazzi tailing them. They are so anonymous it’s actually almost painful, the way busy eyes slide over them as if they were just any faceless Korean males in their late twenties whom they’ll never meet again. And in a way, they are. It’s not until they’re in New York that Yoochun realizes just how small he really is, just how insignificant DBSK really are, despite the fan club and the world records.
Yoochun hears Jaejoong’s quiet exclaim of “oh, wow,” before he hears the actual singers, but once he does, he spins around. A trio of raggedy-looking middle-aged men stands off to the side, next to the sign indicating the downtown 1 train, completely ordinary but for their voices. They belt out an acapella version of a Beatles song and shuffle around awkwardly, grinning whenever anyone tosses anything into the hat they have in front of them. A stack of amateurish CDs sits in a rack next to them, with obviously self-printed covers.
Junsu drifts towards the men, head bobbing along to the finger-snapping tune and mouthing the words. Jaejoong and Yoochun are close behind, drawn to the music like bees to flowers. “How come no one notices them?” Jaejoong mutters furiously, hand digging around frantically in the bag he refuses to call a man-purse for change, fingers fumbling the quarters and pennies before pulling out a handful and shoving it all into the men’s hat.
“They have jobs, Jaejoong-hyung,” Junsu says, tapping his foot and offering a tentative smile in exchange when the most ragged-looking man, complete with hair that looks as if it hasn’t been washed for days and a missing tooth, smiles at him. “They’re busy. It’s New York.”
Jaejoong rolls his eyes. “It is a sad day when even good music cannot be appreciated properly,” he declares. “Yoochun-ah, what are you doing?”
Yoochun hands a five-dollar bill to one of the men and picks up a CD, smiling his thanks. “Buying a souvenir,” he says, shrugging.
“Imagine if we’d started out like this,” Junsu says as they walk away, running his hands over the plastic cover. “Sometimes I wish we had. Maybe we’d be happier now.”
“And poorer,” Jaejoong points out, zipping up the man-purse Yoochun knows contains at least twenty postcards with Yunho’s address on the back of them. “And less well-known, and skinner, and probably dirtier, too, and - ”
“I get the point,” Junsu says crossly. “You can stop now.”
“ - but, yes, happier,” Jaejoong finishes.
*
Yoochun plays the CD that night when they are back in the hotel, all of them piled in Jaejoong’s room. “We should’ve just gotten a triple,” Jaejoong complains when Yoochun and Junsu show up at his door, but lets them in anyway. “This is such a waste of money, guys,” he continues, but offers them each a beer anyway. Yoochun had seen the two extra cans set out, and he knows Jaejoong had been waiting for them. In the end, it’s all the same. No one wants to be alone.
“You love us,” Junsu says, batting his eyelashes at Jaejoong, and Jaejoong holds his stern face for about two seconds before it crumples.
Yoochun pops in the CD, and wanders out onto Jaejoong’s balcony, letting the hum of Jaejoong and Junsu’s conversation and the quiet crooning voice lull him almost to sleep as he lazes on the chair. There are no stars in New York, only lights, and suddenly Yoochun misses how the Han River looks like at night.
Junsu steps through the sliding door, closing it behind him. “Jaejoong-hyung’s complaining about bugs,” he offers by way of explanation, and sits down next to Yoochun. After a second’s hesitation, he takes Yoochun’s hand.
Yoochun stares at the hand curled around his, and then looks up at the owner of said hand. Junsu’s cheeks are tinged red, short stubble running across his cheeks, and Yoochun has wanted to smooth his hands over that stubble since they were twenty-three. “I love you,” he tries.
“I know,” Junsu says, not meeting his eyes.
Yoochun sits up. “I have for a long time,” he says, softer this time. Junsu’s palm is a little clammy, and from more than just the summer air.
Junsu doesn’t speak for a long time, and for a while all Yoochun can hear are Jaejoong’s helpless giggles as he talks to Yunho on Skype and normally he’d be running in to demand to talk to Yunho as well, but Yoochun also wants something to call his own, and he has been waiting for this for a long, long time. Junsu finally looks up, meeting Yoochun’s eyes in an almost defiant look. “Me too,” he says.
*
“I am not asking you to choose,” Jaejoong says, finger twisting the phone cord nervously. “I mean, technically, it doesn’t have anything to do with you. I already made my decision, I know, and you already made yours. But even so, Yunho, one day…” Jaejoong trails off, but Yoochun, listening in, knows the words Jaejoong won’t say. But even so, Yunho, reassure me. But even so, Yunho, tell me what I want to hear. But even so, Yunho, tell me about the future. The one with the two of us. You know. My favorite one.
Yoochun watches the light filtering through the crack of the bathroom door as Jaejoong paces about. He pulls the covers up to his chin, curling into a ball on his sofa, while Junsu snores on the armchair across the room. Affection threatens to get the better of him when he thinks about Junsu’s sleep-soft hair, the arm curled under his head, the leather bracelet-imprint he will no doubt have on his face the next morning.
“Okay,” Jaejoong says in the bathroom, and Yoochun doesn’t know if it’s a good okay or a bad one. “Have a good day today.” Again, the sincerity - Yoochun squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep it beneath his eyelids as well as he can. “I love you.” The same familiar pause. Yoochun counts out the beats in his head, one. Two. Three. Love you too, Jaejoong. “Changmin too. Good night.”
Yoochun makes his decision then, crawls out from under his blankets to hide under Jaejoong’s covers that smell like Yunho’s shampoo. When Jaejoong comes out from the bathroom and pads softly to his bed, he stares down at Yoochun for two seconds before slipping under the covers himself.
“I have never told him I love him in person,” Jaejoong says, suddenly, and Yoochun turns to face Jaejoong. “Only on the phone. The first time was after - after, you know. And I haven’t really seen him since.”
Yoochun twines his and Jaejoong’s fingers together under the covers as Jaejoong reaches up with his free hand to push away the tears. “I’m sorry,” Yoochun says softly, knowing that that is not what Jaejoong wants to hear, but at a loss of words otherwise.
“I’ll tell him when we go back,” Jaejoong whispers fiercely, turning away to hide his tears. “I’ll go see him and I’ll tell him.”
“You will,” Yoochun agrees, giving Jaejoong’s hand one last squeeze before letting go. They are twenty-seven, twenty-eight years old and finally growing up.