Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door
Title: Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door
Pairing: Yoosu, Chunjae, implied Jaesu
Rating: R
Genre: Angst
Length: one-shot
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine except the fictional plot.
Warning: Character(s) death. Substance abuse. Be warned
A/N: Happy Birthday to dear burningleaf ! Originally wanted to write something cute and fluffy but that didn’t work out lol.Anyways, summer is coming and school is ending. Expect to see more of me then but I won’t be posting until the end of May unfortunately with AP exams, EOCT, and Finals coming up.
A shaky, trembling hand inserts a small jagged key into a door lock. The gliding admission of metal on metal produces a mechanical echo in the silent hallway. A pivot in the bolt, a twist of the knob, and the door is swung open. Yoochun stands uncharacteristically behind the unfastened door.
One of his hands grasps the edge of the passageway, and his left foot, striking the floor in a rhythmic kiss, does not move from the ‘Welcome’ mat behind the entrance. He stands alone as he drinks in the sight before him.
The place was trashed. Littered. Dozens of glass bottles lay scattered on the floor, empty and directionless. Several boxes of take outs, cold and untouched, lay on a table that was displaced in the midst of trash and filth. The other furniture, too, were disoriented.
Yoochun took one step inside. Ignoring the crushing of a soda can underfoot, he ventured into the house, making slow progress in the sea of rags flocking the ground. The once vibrant walls stood hazy from neglect and rings of smoke lurked in the vertexes of the room. Muted, the flat screen television is playing an American movie from the 70s, men in black suits and black hats hunting dark mysteries.
His feet come together in a quick halt- almost tumbling on a pale hand outstretched on the ground. Yoochun falls to his knees, eyes wide from shock and astonishment. There lying behind the dark leather couch, in the middle of an artisan’s carpet- obscured from an outsider’s view by long draping tapestries- rests a broken naked body.
With uncertain hands Yoochun impels himself towards the cold body, one hand going beneath the rigid spine, another supporting the backside of the neck. The shifting of motion causes a few nearby plastic bottles to rattle and choke, spitting out little white substances like the many splattered on the floor.
“Wake up,” he lightly pats a hollow cheek. “Wake up...”
I can’t lose you too.
+++
The funeral was arranged in a pretty cathedral with more than a thousand recipients arriving from every corner of the globe. Invitations were reluctantly sent out to all those who have been privileged in engaging in Kim Jaejoong’s life. Despite a wall of imported security, a sea of green and an ocean of red engulfed the sanctuary; encompassing over 5 miles radius of land stood heartbroken fans professing undying love and support for the lead singer and his family. The dogs were there as well, bombarding the scene with blinding spots of flash photography and competing for the front page of tomorrow’s newspaper after inviting themselves for a front row ticket of the tragic ceremony.
Inside, the body of Kim Jaejoong lay listlessly on a casket surrounded in a white flame of flora and fauna. He is as pale as ever. As cold as ever. Only Park Yoochun finds the façade to be a delusional figment of his delirious imagination. Jaejoong was never cold, always warm behind his mask of ice, warmer than anyone he ever knew or has known behind his heart of steel. He clenches his teeth and compresses his hand into an iron fist as he ascends the platform. It was his turn on stage.
He presses stiff fingers on a monotonous keyboard and finds that he has lost control of his limbs. His fingers were too numb to move and nothing felt right under his touch. Keeping his head down and joints locked, Yoochun forcefully crushes the tips of his finger against the dull ivory keys and then hovers them around in search of the right note before crushing his fingers down again.
When he opens his mouth to fill the vast emptiness of the song he has already lost the words to utter croaking and slurring. Salty tears glides slow like sweet honey from behind his dark shades, rolling and tumbling down his cheek and on to his hands. And abruptly he stops playing. Slamming his fist on the grey keys- broken chords to a broken song- Yoochun knocked over the piano bench as he walked off stage, ignoring the whispers and murmurs of the crowd with their pitiful eyes and sympathetic face.
Yoochun returns a little more intact just as Junsu ascends the stage. The other has on dark opaque sunglasses just as he had but unlike Yoochun Junsu’s commemoration was perfect. The tenor had not falter on a single note. It was an odd performance to his ears- sweet as a serenade and soothing like a lullaby.
The recipients applauded gratefully, a few standing ovations, and then sobs could be heard from Jaejoong’s many sisters. Yoochun ignores all of that and focuses on the slight limp in Junsu’s walk as he steps off stage.
+++
He takes a long, deep drag- exhaling slow and heavy clouds of smoke. And then Yoochun is watching Seoul dance under his feet. The city moves on, living day by day in cruel unyielding steps of progress and forgetting the legacy his friend have given in a blink of an eye. The towers of light are reflected in an array of colors on the Han River and Yoochun suddenly misses the late night drives and cold wind whipping against his face.
A rustling of cadenced footsteps made its way to the rooftop. Yoochun does not let it disturb his peace but he is forced to acknowledge the presence when Junsu steals the cigarette from between the webs of his fingers. He wants to protest but the words dies in his throat. Junsu places the cigarette between his lips and takes a slow drag.
He steals it back when Junsu does not look like he will be having fit anytime soon. With a slight quirk of the mouth, Junsu tries to snatch the stick away from him once more. He halfheartedly extends his arm over the shorter singer’s head, not sure if he is slightly annoyed or amused by the childish antics.
“Go get your own,” he finally said.
Junsu sucks in his cheeks and bites the flesh inside. He reaches for something again but this time Yoochun is unprepared as Junsu presses their lips together, inhaling the smoke from his mouth. He breathes lightly into the kiss and Junsu sucks greedily at the smoke.
“No. I like your cigarettes.” Junsu stated.
Yoochun took another drag - in place of the one that was just stolen- and contemplated what the smaller singer just said. He tries to gather his attention on the younger man and this time he really looked at him.
“You changed your hair.” He commented.
Junsu self consciously touched the tips of his locks. It was blond. Platinum blond.
“Yeah... You like it?”
Yoochun doesn’t know what to think and he doesn’t know what to say. And so he remains quiet as he take in his fill of smoke. Junsu fidgets a little with his hair and then smiles bitterly.
“It reminds me of him.”
+++
Slam! And the taxi driver speeds away as quick as lightning, leaving little sandstorms to dance around where the tires once scrapped. Yoochun slowly ascends a plight of steps until he is facing Jaejoong’s tombstone. It was surrounded with flowers and gifts. A large portion of green green grass separates his grave from his neighbor’s. Yoochun is sure that Jaejoong would have preferred a less extravagant land if that meant being closer to the others. He always ached for the proximity of others.
He can feel Jaejoong’s loneliness emitting from beneath the hard soil. It was calling out to him, telling him they were meant to be t- he should be beside Jaejoong right now- and that Jaejoong isn’t really gone and - some bonds just don’t break. Yoochun shivered as he felt the onslaught of winds slicing his exposed skin. And then it was raining hard. Little icicles of rain slashing his pores and piercing his soul. He closes his eyes and brings himself closer in the folds of his arms. When he opens his eyes Junsu is there with an umbrella shielding away the pain.
One look into Junsu’s liquid ember eyes and Yoochun could not find the strength to stop himself from embracing the man before him. Junsu stiffens visibly, dropping the crimson umbrella to the ground, mouth ajar. Slowly, the other man wraps his arms around Yoochun’s waist, clinging onto the wet translucent white button down with reciprocal desperation. Yoochun finds solace in the warmth of Junsu’s skin against his, against the cold and rain and the world.
And then he is kissing him, kissing Junsu hard in the pouring rain.
Yoochun tastes salt on his lips and he isn’t sure if it’s from the blood on his lips or the tears from Junsu’s eyes. They are both soaking wet under the rain, body pressed close and naked skin only threads apart. But Yoochun sees a thousand words in Junsu’s eyes.
“He was your Soulmate, Yoochun-ah.”
+++
With fog clouding his vision, Yoochun does not doubt this is heaven he is seeing- nirvana he is breathing. He giggles a little to himself and rolls up another fat blunt. Yes, this is heaven and in heaven he will be welcomed by warm sunshine and the siren calls of seraphim. He is a little more than high today, today he is an airplane- no a pilot who has crossed the Atlantic or maybe he should be the astronaut who landed on the moon.
Yoochun is on top of the world and nothing fucking hurts up there. Its ecstasy and its fantastic and its wonderful. But as soon as he jumps off cloud nine, out of the sinking titanic, back into earth, he falls gracelessly into Junsu’s arms. His speech is slurred and Junsu cannot make out what he is saying because Junsu’s mind is filled with smog too.
They had a marvelous time together. He doesn’t remember when or why or how exactly it started but all he knew was that Junsu had spoken those magical words.
‘Let’s go get high.’
+++
Exercise did not help. He was not built for the gym and being within that facility had only reminded him of the slender man that had been obsessed with the difficult workout. So Yoochun retreats to a place where no one but his Soulmate could understand. He stands as a sole island in a sea of sky. There is no headphone over his head and no screaming voice to keep them on for. He is quiet in thought and the tranquility of the sky brightens a piece of his pondering.
An airplane bypasses the blue sky, dragging the clouds towards the west with it by a string of a thread. The blanket of cotton is lifted, exposing the bright sun to penetrate past the shadows of his fingers; palm not large enough to obscure the world. The beauty of it all causes trickles of saline to stumbles down his face and into his hair. Yoochun blinks once. Twice. And then he gives up trying.
The composer is silent in his sobs. He places his arm over his forehead and feels the warmth of sunlight playing on his skin. It was a simple submission, grip going lax, pen falling down tiles after tiles, and the winds- the pleasant wind- sweeping sheets after sheets of composition into the horizon. Jae’s song was amongst the pile of music flown into the unknown.
But it was fine, he never completed them anyway.
The song was always stuck in his head, haunting him in his dreams and unforgiving in volumes. In many ways, the wind did the composition more justice than he ever will. Because Jae is like the wind- an unpredictable turbulence stirring his heart at time and then a gentle breeze caressing his soul during another. The wind is all around him, embracing his frame, enveloping his shoulders, wiping his tears.
A spiral of fallen leaves, green as nature, dances before his misty vision and he is surer than ever that Jae is trying to tease him.
+++
It had started off like any regular session, with Junsu initiating the shots and him accepting the calls. It would be a sweet getaway in a world of bitter pain, Junsu had promised. Yoochun believed him and the next thing he knew they were in a dimly lit bar with smooth jazz filling their ears and luscious alcohol filling their bellies.
They arrived at Yoochun’s home a little past midnight, staggering in small steps as they made their way in. Clearheaded as ever Yoochun refused to admit defeat to the tiny consumption of alcohol and scoffed at Junsu’s lack of tolerance. He laid the other singer onto his bed and dared not to look at his face. But he made the mistake anyways.
He suddenly sees Jaejoong whimpering little noises he can’t quite make out- his cheeks are flushed and his body is languidly inviting to the eye. Yoochun widens his eyes in horror and he tries to blink his way out of the hallucination. He swallowed a heavy lump in his throat. This can’t be happening to him. He needed to do something and something fast before he creates another blunder- something a quick fix will be able to provide.
That’s right. That’s exactly what he needs right now. But just as his hand reaches for the cupboard with all of his stored drugs, Junsu’s calls out his name. He freezes at what comes out next.
“Fuck me.” Junsu repeated.
And Yoochun finds it hard not to obey when Junsu is blond and he is hot and needy and there waiting for him to take. The tenor’s voice is a raspy husk in wonton mewls as Yoochun enters his body. Junsu adjusted fast and urged him on.
“Fuck me like how you and Jae used to fuck,” he demanded.
Yoochun grunts in reply but turns the smaller man over on his knees and fucks him slow and hard until Junsu was squirming with sweat from the penetration. Junsu twisted and turn, his head going right and left, silver hair in the moonlight swishing back and forth. Jaejoong, too, had his lips parted, breathing heavy and through his teeth and claws as he neared his peak.
“Do you know why I chose this color?” Junsu uttered in between labored breathing.
“No.” He shook his head and tightened his hold on the bruising grip he had over the smaller man’s hips.
“Mmnhhhgggg…”Junsu had never sounded as musical to Yoochun’s ear as he did now.There was a sacred harmony in Junsu's voice, almost like Jaejoong's melodic voice was harmonizing with the tenor.
“It was the first time he came undone in front of me.” Yoochun nodded, understanding more than enough of what Junsu was saying.
Junsu’s muscles tighten around him as he continued to strangle the tenor's waist, pounding harder and harder and harder because the voices inside his head is telling him that he had always demanded for the best at the brink of their lovemaking. The walls surrounding him coiled and then Junsu convulsed frantically into his arms. What happened next he wasn't too sure. Junsu's perspiration had looked like tears to his eyes and Yoochun isn't sure if Junsu was laughing or crying with his staccato sobs.
“Shit. Yoochun. He was your Soulmate.”
+++
Junsu wakes up to white noises- a crescendo of faded chitter-chatter from the side, the erratic palpitation of the heart, and incessant noises thrumming from within and around his head. The world was shaking like an earthquake and spinning back and forth and right and left. And then the stench of sterilizers and the metallic rust of blood and death attacked his nose. He turned his head to the left and saw machines with long tubes strapped to their backs, their circuits connecting to places in his body he doesn’t want to find out.
His head turns right and there beside his bed is Yoochun slumbering in a chair. Fatefully, the dozing man is startled awake by the weight of his head. Junsu feels his heart dropping below sea level as the quiet sleepiness in Yoochun’s eyes transform into a somber glare. He knew he was in no position to speak.
“You’re awake.” Yoochun stated. Junsu gave a slight nod.
The older man heaved a long sigh- out of relief or from the lack of words he isn’t sure which was it- and it made Junsu want to dig a hole in the ground and hide beneath the earth.
“Jae robbed us all.” Yoochun started but paused for a short intermission “and now you want to rob me too.”
Junsu’s eyes followed Yoochun as he got out of his chair and kneeled against the bed. He didn’t resist when Yoochun gently touched his hand, and didn't resist as his hand was slowly lifted palm faced up to the sharp planes of the other's face. They looked at each other, past the barriers and the masks and the walls they each have built for the world to see; in an instant everything was stripped naked. Brick by brick, the foundation of his defense was unveiling the crumbles and ruins of an ancient city.
War heavy. Losses. Desolation.
And then he his lids got heavy. A blink and the vines and jungles surrounding the ruins of the old city doubled in interwoven security. He shook his head, not fully understanding- denying at whatever the other man was pointing at.
“I can’t lose you too, Junsu-ah.” the baritone whispered. “Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to me. To us?”
Yoochun was begging and pleading him but he doesn’t hear much of anything, mind too preoccupied with explosions and flashes- Jaejoong beautiful and pale and frozen just as Sleeping Beauty had been in that glass box. And then he had serenaded the dead, calling the angels to take him to a safe haven. But the angels had turned out to be sirens- and it was all his fucking fault. Without permission tears trekked down his cheeks. He retracted his fingers from their intertwined web to wipe at those ugly streams.
“He was your Soulmate, Chunnie. He was your Soulmate…and I-”
“I know. He was yours as well.” A sharp intake of breath.
The abrupt inhale pained his lungs and the sting was contaminating his eyes. He held his breathe. And then the lack of breathing manifested into broken sobs. Yoochun decided this was the right moment to lock their hands again, sealing the empty spaces between their fingers and somehow aligning the pieces of their broken hearts.
"Don't leave me."
An unfurling of the palm, and then a soft kiss is placed in the center.
Because we are one.
+++
A/N: Didn’t come out exactly as I had imagined it but I hope you guys like it nonetheless. This is not in chronological order. Theme wise, I wanted to write about about the stages of grief. I hope that was at least apparent lol ><
Pairing: Yoosu, Chunjae, implied Jaesu
Rating: R
Genre: Angst
Length: one-shot
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine except the fictional plot.
Warning: Character(s) death. Substance abuse. Be warned
A/N: Happy Birthday to dear burningleaf ! Originally wanted to write something cute and fluffy but that didn’t work out lol.Anyways, summer is coming and school is ending. Expect to see more of me then but I won’t be posting until the end of May unfortunately with AP exams, EOCT, and Finals coming up.
A shaky, trembling hand inserts a small jagged key into a door lock. The gliding admission of metal on metal produces a mechanical echo in the silent hallway. A pivot in the bolt, a twist of the knob, and the door is swung open. Yoochun stands uncharacteristically behind the unfastened door.
One of his hands grasps the edge of the passageway, and his left foot, striking the floor in a rhythmic kiss, does not move from the ‘Welcome’ mat behind the entrance. He stands alone as he drinks in the sight before him.
The place was trashed. Littered. Dozens of glass bottles lay scattered on the floor, empty and directionless. Several boxes of take outs, cold and untouched, lay on a table that was displaced in the midst of trash and filth. The other furniture, too, were disoriented.
Yoochun took one step inside. Ignoring the crushing of a soda can underfoot, he ventured into the house, making slow progress in the sea of rags flocking the ground. The once vibrant walls stood hazy from neglect and rings of smoke lurked in the vertexes of the room. Muted, the flat screen television is playing an American movie from the 70s, men in black suits and black hats hunting dark mysteries.
His feet come together in a quick halt- almost tumbling on a pale hand outstretched on the ground. Yoochun falls to his knees, eyes wide from shock and astonishment. There lying behind the dark leather couch, in the middle of an artisan’s carpet- obscured from an outsider’s view by long draping tapestries- rests a broken naked body.
With uncertain hands Yoochun impels himself towards the cold body, one hand going beneath the rigid spine, another supporting the backside of the neck. The shifting of motion causes a few nearby plastic bottles to rattle and choke, spitting out little white substances like the many splattered on the floor.
“Wake up,” he lightly pats a hollow cheek. “Wake up...”
I can’t lose you too.
+++
The funeral was arranged in a pretty cathedral with more than a thousand recipients arriving from every corner of the globe. Invitations were reluctantly sent out to all those who have been privileged in engaging in Kim Jaejoong’s life. Despite a wall of imported security, a sea of green and an ocean of red engulfed the sanctuary; encompassing over 5 miles radius of land stood heartbroken fans professing undying love and support for the lead singer and his family. The dogs were there as well, bombarding the scene with blinding spots of flash photography and competing for the front page of tomorrow’s newspaper after inviting themselves for a front row ticket of the tragic ceremony.
Inside, the body of Kim Jaejoong lay listlessly on a casket surrounded in a white flame of flora and fauna. He is as pale as ever. As cold as ever. Only Park Yoochun finds the façade to be a delusional figment of his delirious imagination. Jaejoong was never cold, always warm behind his mask of ice, warmer than anyone he ever knew or has known behind his heart of steel. He clenches his teeth and compresses his hand into an iron fist as he ascends the platform. It was his turn on stage.
He presses stiff fingers on a monotonous keyboard and finds that he has lost control of his limbs. His fingers were too numb to move and nothing felt right under his touch. Keeping his head down and joints locked, Yoochun forcefully crushes the tips of his finger against the dull ivory keys and then hovers them around in search of the right note before crushing his fingers down again.
When he opens his mouth to fill the vast emptiness of the song he has already lost the words to utter croaking and slurring. Salty tears glides slow like sweet honey from behind his dark shades, rolling and tumbling down his cheek and on to his hands. And abruptly he stops playing. Slamming his fist on the grey keys- broken chords to a broken song- Yoochun knocked over the piano bench as he walked off stage, ignoring the whispers and murmurs of the crowd with their pitiful eyes and sympathetic face.
Yoochun returns a little more intact just as Junsu ascends the stage. The other has on dark opaque sunglasses just as he had but unlike Yoochun Junsu’s commemoration was perfect. The tenor had not falter on a single note. It was an odd performance to his ears- sweet as a serenade and soothing like a lullaby.
The recipients applauded gratefully, a few standing ovations, and then sobs could be heard from Jaejoong’s many sisters. Yoochun ignores all of that and focuses on the slight limp in Junsu’s walk as he steps off stage.
+++
He takes a long, deep drag- exhaling slow and heavy clouds of smoke. And then Yoochun is watching Seoul dance under his feet. The city moves on, living day by day in cruel unyielding steps of progress and forgetting the legacy his friend have given in a blink of an eye. The towers of light are reflected in an array of colors on the Han River and Yoochun suddenly misses the late night drives and cold wind whipping against his face.
A rustling of cadenced footsteps made its way to the rooftop. Yoochun does not let it disturb his peace but he is forced to acknowledge the presence when Junsu steals the cigarette from between the webs of his fingers. He wants to protest but the words dies in his throat. Junsu places the cigarette between his lips and takes a slow drag.
He steals it back when Junsu does not look like he will be having fit anytime soon. With a slight quirk of the mouth, Junsu tries to snatch the stick away from him once more. He halfheartedly extends his arm over the shorter singer’s head, not sure if he is slightly annoyed or amused by the childish antics.
“Go get your own,” he finally said.
Junsu sucks in his cheeks and bites the flesh inside. He reaches for something again but this time Yoochun is unprepared as Junsu presses their lips together, inhaling the smoke from his mouth. He breathes lightly into the kiss and Junsu sucks greedily at the smoke.
“No. I like your cigarettes.” Junsu stated.
Yoochun took another drag - in place of the one that was just stolen- and contemplated what the smaller singer just said. He tries to gather his attention on the younger man and this time he really looked at him.
“You changed your hair.” He commented.
Junsu self consciously touched the tips of his locks. It was blond. Platinum blond.
“Yeah... You like it?”
Yoochun doesn’t know what to think and he doesn’t know what to say. And so he remains quiet as he take in his fill of smoke. Junsu fidgets a little with his hair and then smiles bitterly.
“It reminds me of him.”
+++
Slam! And the taxi driver speeds away as quick as lightning, leaving little sandstorms to dance around where the tires once scrapped. Yoochun slowly ascends a plight of steps until he is facing Jaejoong’s tombstone. It was surrounded with flowers and gifts. A large portion of green green grass separates his grave from his neighbor’s. Yoochun is sure that Jaejoong would have preferred a less extravagant land if that meant being closer to the others. He always ached for the proximity of others.
He can feel Jaejoong’s loneliness emitting from beneath the hard soil. It was calling out to him, telling him they were meant to be t- he should be beside Jaejoong right now- and that Jaejoong isn’t really gone and - some bonds just don’t break. Yoochun shivered as he felt the onslaught of winds slicing his exposed skin. And then it was raining hard. Little icicles of rain slashing his pores and piercing his soul. He closes his eyes and brings himself closer in the folds of his arms. When he opens his eyes Junsu is there with an umbrella shielding away the pain.
One look into Junsu’s liquid ember eyes and Yoochun could not find the strength to stop himself from embracing the man before him. Junsu stiffens visibly, dropping the crimson umbrella to the ground, mouth ajar. Slowly, the other man wraps his arms around Yoochun’s waist, clinging onto the wet translucent white button down with reciprocal desperation. Yoochun finds solace in the warmth of Junsu’s skin against his, against the cold and rain and the world.
And then he is kissing him, kissing Junsu hard in the pouring rain.
Yoochun tastes salt on his lips and he isn’t sure if it’s from the blood on his lips or the tears from Junsu’s eyes. They are both soaking wet under the rain, body pressed close and naked skin only threads apart. But Yoochun sees a thousand words in Junsu’s eyes.
“He was your Soulmate, Yoochun-ah.”
+++
With fog clouding his vision, Yoochun does not doubt this is heaven he is seeing- nirvana he is breathing. He giggles a little to himself and rolls up another fat blunt. Yes, this is heaven and in heaven he will be welcomed by warm sunshine and the siren calls of seraphim. He is a little more than high today, today he is an airplane- no a pilot who has crossed the Atlantic or maybe he should be the astronaut who landed on the moon.
Yoochun is on top of the world and nothing fucking hurts up there. Its ecstasy and its fantastic and its wonderful. But as soon as he jumps off cloud nine, out of the sinking titanic, back into earth, he falls gracelessly into Junsu’s arms. His speech is slurred and Junsu cannot make out what he is saying because Junsu’s mind is filled with smog too.
They had a marvelous time together. He doesn’t remember when or why or how exactly it started but all he knew was that Junsu had spoken those magical words.
‘Let’s go get high.’
+++
Exercise did not help. He was not built for the gym and being within that facility had only reminded him of the slender man that had been obsessed with the difficult workout. So Yoochun retreats to a place where no one but his Soulmate could understand. He stands as a sole island in a sea of sky. There is no headphone over his head and no screaming voice to keep them on for. He is quiet in thought and the tranquility of the sky brightens a piece of his pondering.
An airplane bypasses the blue sky, dragging the clouds towards the west with it by a string of a thread. The blanket of cotton is lifted, exposing the bright sun to penetrate past the shadows of his fingers; palm not large enough to obscure the world. The beauty of it all causes trickles of saline to stumbles down his face and into his hair. Yoochun blinks once. Twice. And then he gives up trying.
The composer is silent in his sobs. He places his arm over his forehead and feels the warmth of sunlight playing on his skin. It was a simple submission, grip going lax, pen falling down tiles after tiles, and the winds- the pleasant wind- sweeping sheets after sheets of composition into the horizon. Jae’s song was amongst the pile of music flown into the unknown.
But it was fine, he never completed them anyway.
The song was always stuck in his head, haunting him in his dreams and unforgiving in volumes. In many ways, the wind did the composition more justice than he ever will. Because Jae is like the wind- an unpredictable turbulence stirring his heart at time and then a gentle breeze caressing his soul during another. The wind is all around him, embracing his frame, enveloping his shoulders, wiping his tears.
A spiral of fallen leaves, green as nature, dances before his misty vision and he is surer than ever that Jae is trying to tease him.
+++
It had started off like any regular session, with Junsu initiating the shots and him accepting the calls. It would be a sweet getaway in a world of bitter pain, Junsu had promised. Yoochun believed him and the next thing he knew they were in a dimly lit bar with smooth jazz filling their ears and luscious alcohol filling their bellies.
They arrived at Yoochun’s home a little past midnight, staggering in small steps as they made their way in. Clearheaded as ever Yoochun refused to admit defeat to the tiny consumption of alcohol and scoffed at Junsu’s lack of tolerance. He laid the other singer onto his bed and dared not to look at his face. But he made the mistake anyways.
He suddenly sees Jaejoong whimpering little noises he can’t quite make out- his cheeks are flushed and his body is languidly inviting to the eye. Yoochun widens his eyes in horror and he tries to blink his way out of the hallucination. He swallowed a heavy lump in his throat. This can’t be happening to him. He needed to do something and something fast before he creates another blunder- something a quick fix will be able to provide.
That’s right. That’s exactly what he needs right now. But just as his hand reaches for the cupboard with all of his stored drugs, Junsu’s calls out his name. He freezes at what comes out next.
“Fuck me.” Junsu repeated.
And Yoochun finds it hard not to obey when Junsu is blond and he is hot and needy and there waiting for him to take. The tenor’s voice is a raspy husk in wonton mewls as Yoochun enters his body. Junsu adjusted fast and urged him on.
“Fuck me like how you and Jae used to fuck,” he demanded.
Yoochun grunts in reply but turns the smaller man over on his knees and fucks him slow and hard until Junsu was squirming with sweat from the penetration. Junsu twisted and turn, his head going right and left, silver hair in the moonlight swishing back and forth. Jaejoong, too, had his lips parted, breathing heavy and through his teeth and claws as he neared his peak.
“Do you know why I chose this color?” Junsu uttered in between labored breathing.
“No.” He shook his head and tightened his hold on the bruising grip he had over the smaller man’s hips.
“Mmnhhhgggg…”Junsu had never sounded as musical to Yoochun’s ear as he did now.There was a sacred harmony in Junsu's voice, almost like Jaejoong's melodic voice was harmonizing with the tenor.
“It was the first time he came undone in front of me.” Yoochun nodded, understanding more than enough of what Junsu was saying.
Junsu’s muscles tighten around him as he continued to strangle the tenor's waist, pounding harder and harder and harder because the voices inside his head is telling him that he had always demanded for the best at the brink of their lovemaking. The walls surrounding him coiled and then Junsu convulsed frantically into his arms. What happened next he wasn't too sure. Junsu's perspiration had looked like tears to his eyes and Yoochun isn't sure if Junsu was laughing or crying with his staccato sobs.
“Shit. Yoochun. He was your Soulmate.”
+++
Junsu wakes up to white noises- a crescendo of faded chitter-chatter from the side, the erratic palpitation of the heart, and incessant noises thrumming from within and around his head. The world was shaking like an earthquake and spinning back and forth and right and left. And then the stench of sterilizers and the metallic rust of blood and death attacked his nose. He turned his head to the left and saw machines with long tubes strapped to their backs, their circuits connecting to places in his body he doesn’t want to find out.
His head turns right and there beside his bed is Yoochun slumbering in a chair. Fatefully, the dozing man is startled awake by the weight of his head. Junsu feels his heart dropping below sea level as the quiet sleepiness in Yoochun’s eyes transform into a somber glare. He knew he was in no position to speak.
“You’re awake.” Yoochun stated. Junsu gave a slight nod.
The older man heaved a long sigh- out of relief or from the lack of words he isn’t sure which was it- and it made Junsu want to dig a hole in the ground and hide beneath the earth.
“Jae robbed us all.” Yoochun started but paused for a short intermission “and now you want to rob me too.”
Junsu’s eyes followed Yoochun as he got out of his chair and kneeled against the bed. He didn’t resist when Yoochun gently touched his hand, and didn't resist as his hand was slowly lifted palm faced up to the sharp planes of the other's face. They looked at each other, past the barriers and the masks and the walls they each have built for the world to see; in an instant everything was stripped naked. Brick by brick, the foundation of his defense was unveiling the crumbles and ruins of an ancient city.
War heavy. Losses. Desolation.
And then he his lids got heavy. A blink and the vines and jungles surrounding the ruins of the old city doubled in interwoven security. He shook his head, not fully understanding- denying at whatever the other man was pointing at.
“I can’t lose you too, Junsu-ah.” the baritone whispered. “Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to me. To us?”
Yoochun was begging and pleading him but he doesn’t hear much of anything, mind too preoccupied with explosions and flashes- Jaejoong beautiful and pale and frozen just as Sleeping Beauty had been in that glass box. And then he had serenaded the dead, calling the angels to take him to a safe haven. But the angels had turned out to be sirens- and it was all his fucking fault. Without permission tears trekked down his cheeks. He retracted his fingers from their intertwined web to wipe at those ugly streams.
“He was your Soulmate, Chunnie. He was your Soulmate…and I-”
“I know. He was yours as well.” A sharp intake of breath.
The abrupt inhale pained his lungs and the sting was contaminating his eyes. He held his breathe. And then the lack of breathing manifested into broken sobs. Yoochun decided this was the right moment to lock their hands again, sealing the empty spaces between their fingers and somehow aligning the pieces of their broken hearts.
"Don't leave me."
An unfurling of the palm, and then a soft kiss is placed in the center.
Because we are one.
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A/N: Didn’t come out exactly as I had imagined it but I hope you guys like it nonetheless. This is not in chronological order. Theme wise, I wanted to write about about the stages of grief. I hope that was at least apparent lol ><