round 04, challenge three: drabble seven
Title: if icarus had lived to see
Fandom and Pairing: DBSK, Jaejoong/Changmin
Rating: pg
Word Count: 200
Summary: Stories have to come from somewhere, right?
Warnings: character death
Changmin loved to study the classics. He read tattered, yellow-edged books by lithium light, his fingers tracing along the alpha and omegas of mythology. Books were rare but he liked them better than plasma-screens. Through them he soaked up discarded memories of times when this city was free, and dreamed of a world where the clouds were pierced by mountaintops instead of skyscrapers.
Only Jaejoong had understood. With distant, thoughtful eyes he’d listen and say, “We could get out. See the world. Stories have to come from somewhere, right?”
But Changmin always shook his head. Myths told of imaginary beasts and impossible feats- he was an engineer, not a magician. He built jetpacks, not wings of wax. “Besides- the heroes always die.”
Jaejoong died anyway. He tried to fly and got halfway across the border before the government downloaded a virus into his heart. Changmin saw him fall from the sunset, a downward-dance of black smoke and hope and hubris.
And Changmin knew they’d be after him next. So he waited, pouring over his books with shaky fingers, wishing he’d flown, wishing Jaejoong hadn’t, whispering to himself the stories of heroes who died but lived forever, painted in the star-
Fandom and Pairing: DBSK, Jaejoong/Changmin
Rating: pg
Word Count: 200
Summary: Stories have to come from somewhere, right?
Warnings: character death
Changmin loved to study the classics. He read tattered, yellow-edged books by lithium light, his fingers tracing along the alpha and omegas of mythology. Books were rare but he liked them better than plasma-screens. Through them he soaked up discarded memories of times when this city was free, and dreamed of a world where the clouds were pierced by mountaintops instead of skyscrapers.
Only Jaejoong had understood. With distant, thoughtful eyes he’d listen and say, “We could get out. See the world. Stories have to come from somewhere, right?”
But Changmin always shook his head. Myths told of imaginary beasts and impossible feats- he was an engineer, not a magician. He built jetpacks, not wings of wax. “Besides- the heroes always die.”
Jaejoong died anyway. He tried to fly and got halfway across the border before the government downloaded a virus into his heart. Changmin saw him fall from the sunset, a downward-dance of black smoke and hope and hubris.
And Changmin knew they’d be after him next. So he waited, pouring over his books with shaky fingers, wishing he’d flown, wishing Jaejoong hadn’t, whispering to himself the stories of heroes who died but lived forever, painted in the star-