TVXQ | Even Under the Sky | Yunho/Jaejoong | 01
→ Warnings: Rooftop Prince AU. Fusion. Crack. Humor. Romance.
→ In which four time travelers from the distant past drop in on Kim Jaejoong's life and turn it upside-down because the universe was out to get him or something.
Even Under the Sky
[Part I]
No one ever bothers to ask him anything, but if they did, Jaejoong would swear up and down until his dying breath that he had absolutely nothing to do with anything, now go away.
//
Jaejoong was a hard-working guy. Most of the time. Okay, he wasn’t that hard-working, but he could sing and people liked his face, so even if he didn’t have to work as hard as the average salary man to earn his rent, it didn’t make him any less of a person, did it? Anyway, the point was, he didn’t live like a rock star (yet), but he didn’t exactly expect to come home one night and find four strangers sitting cross-legged on his living room floor like some weird cult gathering.
They were all dressed in historical garbs of vibrantly different colors: red, blue, green and yellow. His inner ten-year old girl (shut up, no one escapes having nine older sisters without developing some kind of coping mechanism, okay?) nearly squealed herself silly at the details in the costuming but his rational side (that totally existed despite evidence to the contrary) reminded himself that there were four grown men in his house and that now was not the time to be wanting to rip their clothes off.
(Well. Maybe under more favorable circumstances, but four at once was probably a bit much, even for him. What? Don’t judge. He had nine older sisters.)
The ensuing chaos (and the high-pitched scream that did not originate from him, thank you very much) ends at a standstill on his rooftop porch, with a very threatening frying pan in his hand and a very shiny sword in the hand of the man dressed in blue. Jaejoong was contemplating the actual sharpness of the blade when suddenly the four lost all interest in him as they gawked at...nothing at all.
“W-what are those lights?” The man in red (whom Jaejoong assumed was the leader of the band) whirled around and addressed Jaejoong as though he were some fancy courtier straight out of history--like, there was some seriously intense method-acting happening on his rooftop. “You, sir, tell us our location, this instant!”
The fuck.
Jaejoong shouldered his frying pan and took a step forward in Red’s direction. Immediately, Blue, Green, and Yellow surround jumped in front of him, and Blue went as far to unsheathe his sword again.
“This delightful shithole,” Jaejoong said, gesturing grandly to their dilapidated surroundings, “is my home, which you are trespassing in, sir. I could ask you kindly to get the fuck out, but that would probably be too easy, wouldn’t it?”
“You!” Blue sprang forward furiously. “This is the Crown Prince that you are addressing! How dare you speak to him in such an insolent manner?!”
Jaejoong let out a snort and Blue’s eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. Of course shit like this would only happen to him. “Look,” Jaejoong says, making what he hoped was a placating gesture. “You guys are cute. Seriously, those costumes are absolutely adorable, and I’m sure whatever crazy-house you crawled out of will be happy to have you back. But this is my house and however shitty it is, my house is my kingdom. Now get the fuck off my roof or I will introduce your face to my little friend here.”
“Your highness, your honor has been sullied!” Blue cried out. “Allow me to punish this foolish man!”
“Halt!” Red threw out his hand and Blue’s sword came to a stop mere centimeters from where Jaejoong cowered behind what was suddenly his favorite frying pan in the whole world. “Despite his lack of manners and his strange attire and the unfortunate length of his hair, this man is correct in that we have trespassed on his home. We beg your forgiveness, good sir.”
He smiled winningly in Jaejoong’s direction, momentarily blinding him. Crown Prince or not, Red had surprisingly fantastic dental hygiene.
“Right,” Jaejoong said, still suspicious.
“If we could beg a favor from you,” Red continued, “it appears we have separated from our horses. Would you kindly lend us a few of your steeds so that we may return to the palace? Your kindness will be handsomely rewarded.”
The fuck.
“Certainly,” Jaejoong said, plastering a wide smile across his face. “Just let me get right on that.”
With any luck, he could end his night alone and safe in his own bed, far away from these four crazies.
//
Let it be known than Jaejoong has no luck. Not even a little bit, not even at all.
The phone call came at four in the morning, and the very irate voice on the other end of the line told him that he was to come to the police station in the adjacent district to pick up his four...whatever the hell they were, and they hang up before Jaejoong can deny having any friends at all (patently untrue, but this was his beauty sleep they were interrupting).
He started the next morning with the four seated, again, in his living room, blinking up at him like the innocent puppy dogs they were not.
“You people said you’d leave me alone if I dropped you off at the palace,” he said lowly as he waved his spatula at them. Blue looked as though he wanted to protest but he lowered his eyes again when Jaejoong thrust the spatula straight at him with an expression that dared him to argue. “What am I supposed to do with you four crazy people?” he bellowed. “Who dresses the way you people do? Who talks the way you people do? Who gets arrested at the ass-crack of dawn and then calls the guy they broke into the house of to bail them out of jail?! WHO--”
He might’ve continued, but suddenly, Yellow let out a pitiful moan and collapsed (dramatically, Jaejoong suspected) onto Green’s shoulder. “Oh--oy! Junsu! What has happened to you?!” Green cried out (piteously, Jaejoong also suspected) as he fanned Yellow’s (Junsu?) face with his hand. “Is it because we have not had sustenance since two days ago when we left the palace? Oh my dear friend, are we done for?”
“Stop.” Jaejoong said, palming his face before Green’s wailing can grow any louder. “I-I’ll make you losers something to eat. Just. Stop. Talking.”
He ended up making jjigae, because he always had ingredients for that laying around the house, and the four sit as still as statues even while their hands fidget and their noses twitch with anticipation. Jaejoong raised his eyebrows when Blue, Green, and Yellow shuffled their bowls off the low table to eat with their heads to the floor like farm animals, but he strongly suspected it had something to do with whatever strange delusion they were afflicted with.
Green let out a cry of pain whenever he paused long enough to breath and Yellow had tears in his eyes even as he wolfed down his bowl, but Blue and Red inhaled their food without pause, and Jaejoong couldn’t help but be impressed. Finally, there were people who could tolerate spice as well as he could.
(After the meal, Blue gazed upon him with something akin to adoration, with actual sparkles in his eyes, and Jaejoong hoped fervently that whatever era they came from didn’t endorse forced servitude of any form.)
If they weren’t crazy, Primary Colors & Green could probably pull off being very good-looking men.
At least, he thought as much until they nearly set his apartment on fire.
//
“I left you alone for five minutes!” he bellowed. “How do you even do that much damage in FIVE MINUTES? NO!” He whipped his broom in Red’s direction so fast the other three nearly hurt themselves leaping to his defense. “THAT was my limited edition Hello Kitty body pillow. THAT was my friend’s television I still have to return to him. THAT...was just a curtain, actually, but now I have to buy a new one!”
“We are truly regretful for the, ah, mishap--”
“Destruction,” Jaejoong interrupted, pointing a finger at Red and taking a vicious pleasure in how utterly scandalized their expressions became. “You destroyed my living room. Y’know, I was just going to let you guys go whenever, wasn’t even going to make you pay me back for making you dinner,” he said menacingly (or as menacing as one could be in their pink pajama pants). “But now? You bitches owe me.”
//
Their costumes, as it turned out, were some of the most elaborate and detailed he’d ever seen--never mind that they were worn by crazy people. Upon closer inspection, the embroidery was top notch and every stitch was sewn by hand--Jaejoong was impressed despite himself. He dropped them all off for storage with the nice old man who ran a Laundromat down the street, and then he went home and passed out to each of them one of the four tracksuits he had obtained three summers ago during a phase he would later claim as temporary insanity.
The color-coordination, of course, was a happy coincidence.
After a brief incident involving Red--his royal highness, whatever--and his difficulty grasping the concept of drawstring pants, Jaejoong drags them all to the produce mart so they can load up his fruit-stand. The fruit of the day, much to his glee, was watermelons.
“Drop a single one, and I’ll add it to your bill,” he tells the four of them brightly. Somehow predictably, Yellow--or Junsu--dropped at least three and was nearly in tears by the time they started rolling the cart toward his usual spot in the market. Green--or Yoochun--had laughed cruelly until he dropped one on his own foot, and after that, he was blessedly silent. Blue--or Changmin--hadn’t dropped a single one, much to Jaejoong’s surprise, and Red sat on his ass watching them all work, shouting occasional grandpa-like encouragement that miraculously managed to motivate the other three to work harder.
Again, Jaejoong was impressed (and possibly a little freaked out), not that he’d ever admit it.
“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Jaejoong tells the four of them. “You two--” he pointed at Junsu and Yoochun--”are going to make sure no one’s stealing anything. They’re watermelons, but there are some clever thieves out there, and if those clever thieves are strong too...then god help us all. You--” he pointed at Changmin, who stared at his finger with distaste, “are going to guard my money. Pull out your sword if you have to. Actually, that’s a bad idea, put the sword away and do not touch it or else I’m keeping it as collateral. And you...” he glanced at the Crown Prince, who was staring back at him expectantly. “You are going to dance for me.”
//
The day began horribly. Junsu and Yoochun stood like sentinels, which had the positive effect of warding off the thieves and the negative effect of warding off all the customers too--not that Changmin’s stormy face was any more helpful to business. The Crown Prince at least managed to put on a friendly smile as he swayed back and forth on his feet like an old geezer, but Jaejoong was quickly beginning to think that all this was a horrible idea. He would have to pull out all the stops this day.
The next young housewife who walked by with her wire shopping cart, he dropped to one knee in front of her and began serenading her with the slow song the clubs liked to mix up. “Just for a day, I want to be the bed in your room,” he sang, taking her by the hand and winking at her. “Oh baby.”
She blushed deeply and bought two more watermelons than her cart could hold. Word spread quickly and his stand sold out within two hours.
“That’s indecent,” Changmin hissed, blushing furiously whenever the crowd of ahjummas finally cleared. “You were touching their hands.”
“Oh yes I was,” Jaejoong sniggered as he rolled the stand back toward its usual resting spot. “And what nice hands they were too. What, you’ve never touched a girl’s hand, little baby?”
Changmin drew himself up as though he didn’t even know which part of Jaejoong’s statement he should be offended by. “Of course not!” he said huffily. “I have not yet taken a bride.”
Jaejoong stared at him lazily, and then reached out and laced their fingers together.
“You cannot do this!” Changmin wailed. “It is not allowed, I will be shamed for this!”
“You say that,” Jaejoong shrugged agreeably, “but you’re the one still holding onto my hand.”
Changmin paused his blubbering long enough to realize that what Jaejoong said was indeed the truth, and then he dropped Jaejoong’s hand as though it was a hot potato, shooting metaphorical daggers and Junsu and Yoochun who were holding their sides from laughter. Throughout the entire exchange, the Crown Prince stood some distance away, looking as though he wasn’t quite sure if he should be disapproving or humored.
“Yes, you can laugh at that,” Jaejoong said, swiveling around to address him. Their delusion must be contagious if he was also addressing Red as though he was royalty, but whatever long and hard to pronounce ailment they were suffering, they sure were committed to it. The stiff posture, the gait, and the way they talked--Jaejoong seriously doubted there were many actors in existence that could pull off what these four were doing effortlessly.
Red glanced up, surprised. Then, the briefest hint of a smile passed across his face, and the sight of it was so unexpected that Jaejoong nearly forgot to breath.
“You have a nice smile,” he says because his brain always chose the worst possible moment to turn off the filter between what he was thinking and what he should not be saying. Oh well, when you were going through hell, plow forth. “You should do that more often.”
The look of unadulterated surprise that passed over the Crown Prince’s face was so sudden and endearing that Jaejoong burst into laughter. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, the surprise faded and the Crown Prince smiled again, wider this time, and--well, Jaejoong wasn’t lying before--it really was a nice smile.
“I will take that into consideration,” the Crown Prince said, tilting his head ever so. “I thank you.”
Suddenly, it wasn’t as funny as much as it was something else, and Jaejoong looked away before his thoughts became more confusing. “You’re welcome,” he called over his shoulder, and dashed forward to keep the other three from running his goddamn cart into a wall.
//
Jaejoong begged off his shift for the night citing that he had an unexpected babysitting emergency. It wasn’t a complete lie, he thought, bemoaning his almost assured headache when he caught Yoochun with his pants down in the flowerbed, which led to the traumatizing experience of having to explain what a toilet was.
“But where does the water go?” Junsu had asked with wide eyes.
“It’s magic,” Jaejoong replied, wiggling his fingers, remembering too late that sarcasm was a language popularized in the modern times. Junsu and Yoochun spend the next three hours begging to see other feats before the food coma kicks in and they toppled against each other, snoring loudly.
By then, Jaejoong had taken refuge on the rooftop with a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of soju. In less than twenty-four hours, his life had changed significantly and, well, sometimes a little bit (okay, a lot) of alcohol was all you needed to adjust to a new problem. Well, problem was probably too strong a word. He rather liked the four of them--Junsu, Yoochun, Changmin, and even the Crown Prince who had yet to provide his name.
“Are you not chilled?”
Speaking of the Crown Prince.
“Dude,” Jaejoong said, as he took a long drag off his cigarette. “It’s August.”
The Crown Prince pursed his lips and tapped his toes, clearly flustered. “I was merely--”
“Stop.” Jaejoong said, massaging his forehead with one hand and holding up the other in a ‘stop’ motion. “Please stop. My mother does the same thing. Just. Come sit.”
The Crown Prince hesitated for only a second before sitting down beside him, as far away as the bench would allow--which was not very far at all, actually. Jaejoong always knew his tendency to speak before thinking would come back and bite him in the ass. For a while, they stay that way, Jaejoong lounging with a bottle of soju in his hand and the Crown Prince sitting beside him with perfect posture. What a pair they made.
“Why is your hair such a curious color?” the Crown Prince finally asked. It almost sounded like small-talk, but he seemed genuinely curious.
“Oh this?” Jaejoong ran his fingers absent-mindedly through his ice-blond strands. His current style was the result of a bad break-up, poor impulse control, and him placing far too much trust in his overly-trendy stylist. Right now, the only thing that kept him from running for the bottle of black hair-dye was pride and maybe an overabundance of laziness. He shrugged. “I dyed it, is all.”
“I have never before seen such a shade of hair among men,” the Crown Prince declared. “It is as though you have been kissed by sunlight.”
Jaejoong burst out laughing, grateful that there was nothing in his air passage for him to choke on.
“I’m so happy my hair pleases you, your majesty,” he replied jokingly. “You can touch it if you want, I don’t mind.”
“Could I?” the Crown Prince looked so sincerely enthused that Jaejoong suddenly felt bad for-well, being a jackass. Whether he was an escaped patient at a mental hospital or a member of the royal family misplaced in time, he hadn’t actually done anything to deserve all the ribbing.
“Yeah, you can touch it,” Jaejoong replied, half out of reflex, half out of guilt. The Crown Prince’s touch was firm, but gentle; unobtrusive, but thorough. He didn’t just pat the surface, his fingers traveled underneath the layers and the tips of them brushed against his scalp, careful and slow. It was perfectly innocent, of course, but somehow it was one of the most intimate encounters Jaejoong had ever experienced in his entire life.
The Crown Prince had nice hands.
“It’s very soft,” he said at last when he drew back, looking as though he were taken aback by his own boldness. “Thank you for…for…”
“You’re welcome,” Jaejoong interrupted, taking pity on him. It was like watching a floundering fish out of water. He couldn’t help but touch his own hair again, wondering what the Crown Prince had felt that had filled him with such awe. They lapse into an electrically-charged silence before suddenly, the Crown Prince spoke again.
“Yunho.”
“Sorry, what?”
“That is my name,” the Crown Prince said, ducking his head. “I am not supposed to…well, only select few are privy to the Crown Prince’s birth-name, you understand. What I’m trying to say, rather, is…that I would prefer for you to address me with my name.”
Jaejoong cocked his head. “So no more ‘your majesty’s?” he asked.
His lips tightened ever so. “Whichever you prefer.”
Jaejoong grinned and bumped their shoulders together.
“Yunho.”
The Crown Prince-Yunho-relaxed visibly just as Jaejoong nudged him with his soju bottle. “Drink!” he said brightly to Yunho’s inquiring expression. “To commemorate the occasion and all that jazz.”
“If we must,” Yunho replied bravely, and touched his lips to the mouth of the bottle.
//
“No person has ever commanded me to the extent you have,” Yunho admitted, cradling the third bottle in his hand. They were both on the floor, with their back against the front leg of the bench, and Jaejoong took a strange comfort in the fact that his alcoholism meant there was never a shortage of the heavy stuff in his refrigerator.
“Is that so?” Jaejoong downed another shot and smirked. “Did you like it? Are you that kind of person?”
Yunho blinked. “What kind of person am I?”
Jaejoong blanched. “Never mind.”
//
Both of them ended up with their backs against the ground, legs propped up against the seat of the bench. The alcohol was forgotten and the moon had long since passed the highest point in the sky. His words weren’t slurred enough to the point where he could claim drunkenness as an excuse later on, but there was a question in his mind that was burning him to ask.
“Were you really born three-hundred years ago?”
“I was.”
“Ah, okay,” Jaejoong said, reaching out to pat the area where Yunho’s hand should be. (He missed and his hand landed on Yunho’s thigh and it should have been mortifying but he was really drunk and really tired at this point and if Jung Yunho didn’t bring it up, then he was just going to let himself off the hook then, alright.) “I won’t tell anyone, I promise. ”
Sleep stole him away before he could hear Yunho’s reply.
[ tbc ]
Notes:
+ For leprixx, for goading encouraging me and cheerleading.
+ This story won't extend beyond two parts, I just want to know the conclusion of RTP before I write my own.
+ Questions, comments, send them my way. :)
→ In which four time travelers from the distant past drop in on Kim Jaejoong's life and turn it upside-down because the universe was out to get him or something.
Even Under the Sky
[Part I]
No one ever bothers to ask him anything, but if they did, Jaejoong would swear up and down until his dying breath that he had absolutely nothing to do with anything, now go away.
//
Jaejoong was a hard-working guy. Most of the time. Okay, he wasn’t that hard-working, but he could sing and people liked his face, so even if he didn’t have to work as hard as the average salary man to earn his rent, it didn’t make him any less of a person, did it? Anyway, the point was, he didn’t live like a rock star (yet), but he didn’t exactly expect to come home one night and find four strangers sitting cross-legged on his living room floor like some weird cult gathering.
They were all dressed in historical garbs of vibrantly different colors: red, blue, green and yellow. His inner ten-year old girl (shut up, no one escapes having nine older sisters without developing some kind of coping mechanism, okay?) nearly squealed herself silly at the details in the costuming but his rational side (that totally existed despite evidence to the contrary) reminded himself that there were four grown men in his house and that now was not the time to be wanting to rip their clothes off.
(Well. Maybe under more favorable circumstances, but four at once was probably a bit much, even for him. What? Don’t judge. He had nine older sisters.)
The ensuing chaos (and the high-pitched scream that did not originate from him, thank you very much) ends at a standstill on his rooftop porch, with a very threatening frying pan in his hand and a very shiny sword in the hand of the man dressed in blue. Jaejoong was contemplating the actual sharpness of the blade when suddenly the four lost all interest in him as they gawked at...nothing at all.
“W-what are those lights?” The man in red (whom Jaejoong assumed was the leader of the band) whirled around and addressed Jaejoong as though he were some fancy courtier straight out of history--like, there was some seriously intense method-acting happening on his rooftop. “You, sir, tell us our location, this instant!”
The fuck.
Jaejoong shouldered his frying pan and took a step forward in Red’s direction. Immediately, Blue, Green, and Yellow surround jumped in front of him, and Blue went as far to unsheathe his sword again.
“This delightful shithole,” Jaejoong said, gesturing grandly to their dilapidated surroundings, “is my home, which you are trespassing in, sir. I could ask you kindly to get the fuck out, but that would probably be too easy, wouldn’t it?”
“You!” Blue sprang forward furiously. “This is the Crown Prince that you are addressing! How dare you speak to him in such an insolent manner?!”
Jaejoong let out a snort and Blue’s eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. Of course shit like this would only happen to him. “Look,” Jaejoong says, making what he hoped was a placating gesture. “You guys are cute. Seriously, those costumes are absolutely adorable, and I’m sure whatever crazy-house you crawled out of will be happy to have you back. But this is my house and however shitty it is, my house is my kingdom. Now get the fuck off my roof or I will introduce your face to my little friend here.”
“Your highness, your honor has been sullied!” Blue cried out. “Allow me to punish this foolish man!”
“Halt!” Red threw out his hand and Blue’s sword came to a stop mere centimeters from where Jaejoong cowered behind what was suddenly his favorite frying pan in the whole world. “Despite his lack of manners and his strange attire and the unfortunate length of his hair, this man is correct in that we have trespassed on his home. We beg your forgiveness, good sir.”
He smiled winningly in Jaejoong’s direction, momentarily blinding him. Crown Prince or not, Red had surprisingly fantastic dental hygiene.
“Right,” Jaejoong said, still suspicious.
“If we could beg a favor from you,” Red continued, “it appears we have separated from our horses. Would you kindly lend us a few of your steeds so that we may return to the palace? Your kindness will be handsomely rewarded.”
The fuck.
“Certainly,” Jaejoong said, plastering a wide smile across his face. “Just let me get right on that.”
With any luck, he could end his night alone and safe in his own bed, far away from these four crazies.
//
Let it be known than Jaejoong has no luck. Not even a little bit, not even at all.
The phone call came at four in the morning, and the very irate voice on the other end of the line told him that he was to come to the police station in the adjacent district to pick up his four...whatever the hell they were, and they hang up before Jaejoong can deny having any friends at all (patently untrue, but this was his beauty sleep they were interrupting).
He started the next morning with the four seated, again, in his living room, blinking up at him like the innocent puppy dogs they were not.
“You people said you’d leave me alone if I dropped you off at the palace,” he said lowly as he waved his spatula at them. Blue looked as though he wanted to protest but he lowered his eyes again when Jaejoong thrust the spatula straight at him with an expression that dared him to argue. “What am I supposed to do with you four crazy people?” he bellowed. “Who dresses the way you people do? Who talks the way you people do? Who gets arrested at the ass-crack of dawn and then calls the guy they broke into the house of to bail them out of jail?! WHO--”
He might’ve continued, but suddenly, Yellow let out a pitiful moan and collapsed (dramatically, Jaejoong suspected) onto Green’s shoulder. “Oh--oy! Junsu! What has happened to you?!” Green cried out (piteously, Jaejoong also suspected) as he fanned Yellow’s (Junsu?) face with his hand. “Is it because we have not had sustenance since two days ago when we left the palace? Oh my dear friend, are we done for?”
“Stop.” Jaejoong said, palming his face before Green’s wailing can grow any louder. “I-I’ll make you losers something to eat. Just. Stop. Talking.”
He ended up making jjigae, because he always had ingredients for that laying around the house, and the four sit as still as statues even while their hands fidget and their noses twitch with anticipation. Jaejoong raised his eyebrows when Blue, Green, and Yellow shuffled their bowls off the low table to eat with their heads to the floor like farm animals, but he strongly suspected it had something to do with whatever strange delusion they were afflicted with.
Green let out a cry of pain whenever he paused long enough to breath and Yellow had tears in his eyes even as he wolfed down his bowl, but Blue and Red inhaled their food without pause, and Jaejoong couldn’t help but be impressed. Finally, there were people who could tolerate spice as well as he could.
(After the meal, Blue gazed upon him with something akin to adoration, with actual sparkles in his eyes, and Jaejoong hoped fervently that whatever era they came from didn’t endorse forced servitude of any form.)
If they weren’t crazy, Primary Colors & Green could probably pull off being very good-looking men.
At least, he thought as much until they nearly set his apartment on fire.
//
“I left you alone for five minutes!” he bellowed. “How do you even do that much damage in FIVE MINUTES? NO!” He whipped his broom in Red’s direction so fast the other three nearly hurt themselves leaping to his defense. “THAT was my limited edition Hello Kitty body pillow. THAT was my friend’s television I still have to return to him. THAT...was just a curtain, actually, but now I have to buy a new one!”
“We are truly regretful for the, ah, mishap--”
“Destruction,” Jaejoong interrupted, pointing a finger at Red and taking a vicious pleasure in how utterly scandalized their expressions became. “You destroyed my living room. Y’know, I was just going to let you guys go whenever, wasn’t even going to make you pay me back for making you dinner,” he said menacingly (or as menacing as one could be in their pink pajama pants). “But now? You bitches owe me.”
//
Their costumes, as it turned out, were some of the most elaborate and detailed he’d ever seen--never mind that they were worn by crazy people. Upon closer inspection, the embroidery was top notch and every stitch was sewn by hand--Jaejoong was impressed despite himself. He dropped them all off for storage with the nice old man who ran a Laundromat down the street, and then he went home and passed out to each of them one of the four tracksuits he had obtained three summers ago during a phase he would later claim as temporary insanity.
The color-coordination, of course, was a happy coincidence.
After a brief incident involving Red--his royal highness, whatever--and his difficulty grasping the concept of drawstring pants, Jaejoong drags them all to the produce mart so they can load up his fruit-stand. The fruit of the day, much to his glee, was watermelons.
“Drop a single one, and I’ll add it to your bill,” he tells the four of them brightly. Somehow predictably, Yellow--or Junsu--dropped at least three and was nearly in tears by the time they started rolling the cart toward his usual spot in the market. Green--or Yoochun--had laughed cruelly until he dropped one on his own foot, and after that, he was blessedly silent. Blue--or Changmin--hadn’t dropped a single one, much to Jaejoong’s surprise, and Red sat on his ass watching them all work, shouting occasional grandpa-like encouragement that miraculously managed to motivate the other three to work harder.
Again, Jaejoong was impressed (and possibly a little freaked out), not that he’d ever admit it.
“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Jaejoong tells the four of them. “You two--” he pointed at Junsu and Yoochun--”are going to make sure no one’s stealing anything. They’re watermelons, but there are some clever thieves out there, and if those clever thieves are strong too...then god help us all. You--” he pointed at Changmin, who stared at his finger with distaste, “are going to guard my money. Pull out your sword if you have to. Actually, that’s a bad idea, put the sword away and do not touch it or else I’m keeping it as collateral. And you...” he glanced at the Crown Prince, who was staring back at him expectantly. “You are going to dance for me.”
//
The day began horribly. Junsu and Yoochun stood like sentinels, which had the positive effect of warding off the thieves and the negative effect of warding off all the customers too--not that Changmin’s stormy face was any more helpful to business. The Crown Prince at least managed to put on a friendly smile as he swayed back and forth on his feet like an old geezer, but Jaejoong was quickly beginning to think that all this was a horrible idea. He would have to pull out all the stops this day.
The next young housewife who walked by with her wire shopping cart, he dropped to one knee in front of her and began serenading her with the slow song the clubs liked to mix up. “Just for a day, I want to be the bed in your room,” he sang, taking her by the hand and winking at her. “Oh baby.”
She blushed deeply and bought two more watermelons than her cart could hold. Word spread quickly and his stand sold out within two hours.
“That’s indecent,” Changmin hissed, blushing furiously whenever the crowd of ahjummas finally cleared. “You were touching their hands.”
“Oh yes I was,” Jaejoong sniggered as he rolled the stand back toward its usual resting spot. “And what nice hands they were too. What, you’ve never touched a girl’s hand, little baby?”
Changmin drew himself up as though he didn’t even know which part of Jaejoong’s statement he should be offended by. “Of course not!” he said huffily. “I have not yet taken a bride.”
Jaejoong stared at him lazily, and then reached out and laced their fingers together.
“You cannot do this!” Changmin wailed. “It is not allowed, I will be shamed for this!”
“You say that,” Jaejoong shrugged agreeably, “but you’re the one still holding onto my hand.”
Changmin paused his blubbering long enough to realize that what Jaejoong said was indeed the truth, and then he dropped Jaejoong’s hand as though it was a hot potato, shooting metaphorical daggers and Junsu and Yoochun who were holding their sides from laughter. Throughout the entire exchange, the Crown Prince stood some distance away, looking as though he wasn’t quite sure if he should be disapproving or humored.
“Yes, you can laugh at that,” Jaejoong said, swiveling around to address him. Their delusion must be contagious if he was also addressing Red as though he was royalty, but whatever long and hard to pronounce ailment they were suffering, they sure were committed to it. The stiff posture, the gait, and the way they talked--Jaejoong seriously doubted there were many actors in existence that could pull off what these four were doing effortlessly.
Red glanced up, surprised. Then, the briefest hint of a smile passed across his face, and the sight of it was so unexpected that Jaejoong nearly forgot to breath.
“You have a nice smile,” he says because his brain always chose the worst possible moment to turn off the filter between what he was thinking and what he should not be saying. Oh well, when you were going through hell, plow forth. “You should do that more often.”
The look of unadulterated surprise that passed over the Crown Prince’s face was so sudden and endearing that Jaejoong burst into laughter. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, the surprise faded and the Crown Prince smiled again, wider this time, and--well, Jaejoong wasn’t lying before--it really was a nice smile.
“I will take that into consideration,” the Crown Prince said, tilting his head ever so. “I thank you.”
Suddenly, it wasn’t as funny as much as it was something else, and Jaejoong looked away before his thoughts became more confusing. “You’re welcome,” he called over his shoulder, and dashed forward to keep the other three from running his goddamn cart into a wall.
//
Jaejoong begged off his shift for the night citing that he had an unexpected babysitting emergency. It wasn’t a complete lie, he thought, bemoaning his almost assured headache when he caught Yoochun with his pants down in the flowerbed, which led to the traumatizing experience of having to explain what a toilet was.
“But where does the water go?” Junsu had asked with wide eyes.
“It’s magic,” Jaejoong replied, wiggling his fingers, remembering too late that sarcasm was a language popularized in the modern times. Junsu and Yoochun spend the next three hours begging to see other feats before the food coma kicks in and they toppled against each other, snoring loudly.
By then, Jaejoong had taken refuge on the rooftop with a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of soju. In less than twenty-four hours, his life had changed significantly and, well, sometimes a little bit (okay, a lot) of alcohol was all you needed to adjust to a new problem. Well, problem was probably too strong a word. He rather liked the four of them--Junsu, Yoochun, Changmin, and even the Crown Prince who had yet to provide his name.
“Are you not chilled?”
Speaking of the Crown Prince.
“Dude,” Jaejoong said, as he took a long drag off his cigarette. “It’s August.”
The Crown Prince pursed his lips and tapped his toes, clearly flustered. “I was merely--”
“Stop.” Jaejoong said, massaging his forehead with one hand and holding up the other in a ‘stop’ motion. “Please stop. My mother does the same thing. Just. Come sit.”
The Crown Prince hesitated for only a second before sitting down beside him, as far away as the bench would allow--which was not very far at all, actually. Jaejoong always knew his tendency to speak before thinking would come back and bite him in the ass. For a while, they stay that way, Jaejoong lounging with a bottle of soju in his hand and the Crown Prince sitting beside him with perfect posture. What a pair they made.
“Why is your hair such a curious color?” the Crown Prince finally asked. It almost sounded like small-talk, but he seemed genuinely curious.
“Oh this?” Jaejoong ran his fingers absent-mindedly through his ice-blond strands. His current style was the result of a bad break-up, poor impulse control, and him placing far too much trust in his overly-trendy stylist. Right now, the only thing that kept him from running for the bottle of black hair-dye was pride and maybe an overabundance of laziness. He shrugged. “I dyed it, is all.”
“I have never before seen such a shade of hair among men,” the Crown Prince declared. “It is as though you have been kissed by sunlight.”
Jaejoong burst out laughing, grateful that there was nothing in his air passage for him to choke on.
“I’m so happy my hair pleases you, your majesty,” he replied jokingly. “You can touch it if you want, I don’t mind.”
“Could I?” the Crown Prince looked so sincerely enthused that Jaejoong suddenly felt bad for-well, being a jackass. Whether he was an escaped patient at a mental hospital or a member of the royal family misplaced in time, he hadn’t actually done anything to deserve all the ribbing.
“Yeah, you can touch it,” Jaejoong replied, half out of reflex, half out of guilt. The Crown Prince’s touch was firm, but gentle; unobtrusive, but thorough. He didn’t just pat the surface, his fingers traveled underneath the layers and the tips of them brushed against his scalp, careful and slow. It was perfectly innocent, of course, but somehow it was one of the most intimate encounters Jaejoong had ever experienced in his entire life.
The Crown Prince had nice hands.
“It’s very soft,” he said at last when he drew back, looking as though he were taken aback by his own boldness. “Thank you for…for…”
“You’re welcome,” Jaejoong interrupted, taking pity on him. It was like watching a floundering fish out of water. He couldn’t help but touch his own hair again, wondering what the Crown Prince had felt that had filled him with such awe. They lapse into an electrically-charged silence before suddenly, the Crown Prince spoke again.
“Yunho.”
“Sorry, what?”
“That is my name,” the Crown Prince said, ducking his head. “I am not supposed to…well, only select few are privy to the Crown Prince’s birth-name, you understand. What I’m trying to say, rather, is…that I would prefer for you to address me with my name.”
Jaejoong cocked his head. “So no more ‘your majesty’s?” he asked.
His lips tightened ever so. “Whichever you prefer.”
Jaejoong grinned and bumped their shoulders together.
“Yunho.”
The Crown Prince-Yunho-relaxed visibly just as Jaejoong nudged him with his soju bottle. “Drink!” he said brightly to Yunho’s inquiring expression. “To commemorate the occasion and all that jazz.”
“If we must,” Yunho replied bravely, and touched his lips to the mouth of the bottle.
//
“No person has ever commanded me to the extent you have,” Yunho admitted, cradling the third bottle in his hand. They were both on the floor, with their back against the front leg of the bench, and Jaejoong took a strange comfort in the fact that his alcoholism meant there was never a shortage of the heavy stuff in his refrigerator.
“Is that so?” Jaejoong downed another shot and smirked. “Did you like it? Are you that kind of person?”
Yunho blinked. “What kind of person am I?”
Jaejoong blanched. “Never mind.”
//
Both of them ended up with their backs against the ground, legs propped up against the seat of the bench. The alcohol was forgotten and the moon had long since passed the highest point in the sky. His words weren’t slurred enough to the point where he could claim drunkenness as an excuse later on, but there was a question in his mind that was burning him to ask.
“Were you really born three-hundred years ago?”
“I was.”
“Ah, okay,” Jaejoong said, reaching out to pat the area where Yunho’s hand should be. (He missed and his hand landed on Yunho’s thigh and it should have been mortifying but he was really drunk and really tired at this point and if Jung Yunho didn’t bring it up, then he was just going to let himself off the hook then, alright.) “I won’t tell anyone, I promise. ”
Sleep stole him away before he could hear Yunho’s reply.
[ tbc ]
Notes:
+ For leprixx, for goading encouraging me and cheerleading.
+ This story won't extend beyond two parts, I just want to know the conclusion of RTP before I write my own.
+ Questions, comments, send them my way. :)