[fanfiction] It's Only the Beginning
Title: It's Only the Beginning
FANFICTION: TVfXQ
ONE SHOT
Rating: PG-13
Comments: Written for the Yunchun Music Video Exchange over at yunchun_ywh. Inspired by the jdrama LIFE, which is recommended for anyone who enjoys this piece of writing. Although there were so many other facets I wanted to explore, please enjoy.
[ Round 1 entries] [Round 2 entries pending]
At Seomak High School, the teachers either didn't notice or didn't care. The students were sly if it was the former, and the teachers uncaring if it was the latter. Either way, brutality surrounded the school, and no one did anything about it. In fact, everybody seemed to thrive on it. Everybody but the victims.
The lunch break is about to end soon, and the classroom is rowdy in the absence of supervision. Right before the bell rings, he watches a male student enter the classroom, shoulders noticeably hunched. In an instant, the student is instantly pelted with wrappers and half-eaten sandwiches. Raucous laughter ensues.
He watches the nose twitch from his seat near the back. Sardines from one of the sandwiches are clinging to the uniform, enveloping it in a fishy scent. The Adam's apple bobs with a hard swallow as classmates brush past, holding their noses and mock-retching in disgust.
"Oh my gosh, what reeks?"
"I always knew Yunho had bad hygiene, but I didn't know it was this bad."
"Eww, stay away from me!"
Knowing that the bell was bound to ring at any moment, Yoochun continues to watch, wondering what Yunho will do next. Despite his treatment in class, Yunho still manages to be one of the top students of their grade.
Ah, so Yunho wasn't stubborn enough to stay, Yoochun observes. It is understandable, and probably the better option. Their supposedly ignorant homeroom teacher might've kicked him out to get rid of the smell.
Yunho doesn't come back for the rest of the day.
The smell of sardines still lingers.
"Mom, I'm home! Oh hey, Yoohwan, how'd your English test go today?" he asks, ruffling his brother's hair as he idly makes conversation. It is a habit of his that he picked up from when he was in America.
Talk, smile, and make it seem like everything is all right.
Yoohwan shrugs. "It was OK. Could've done better."
"Of course you could've. What was all that time in America spent for?" their mother comments, her back turned as she chops potatoes. A clang sounds out as her elbow accidentally knocks over the ladle.
"I don't know about Yoohwan, but my time in America was spent missing Korea," Yoochun says, wandering over to his mother. He rinses the ladle and pauses to observe the soup-in-the-making start to boil. The little bubbles gradually become larger, before the surface of the water churns.
He has locked himself in a washroom cubicle for a while, needing to get away from the oppression of the classroom. There are aspects of Korean schooling that are different from American schooling, but some things just never change. It's just like he still hasn't quite grown up yet.
Loud voices distract him from his musings. He is annoyed. Then a name catches his ears.
They are at it again. It is no doubt something that involves getting wet and beat up.
A barking laughter sounds out as a body is slammed heavily into the cubicle beside Yoochun, the sharp noise triggering a switch in his mind. Other sickening noises rivet him to the spot, and he is suddenly immobile. His thoughts swirl to provide his own interpretation of the unseen cruelty happening right beside him.
He struggles to understand the harsh voices. He can hear their anger, but he doesn't know why they are angry. What did he do wrong?
What they are doing to him hurts. It hurts a lot. He doesn't know where to soothe himself because there are too many parts of him that hurt.
Stop, he gasps.
Please stop.
He is lucky they didn't bother with his cubicle. On the other hand, the occupant next door is not so lucky. Then again, what does this have to do with luck?
The minute sounds of helpless frustration drift over to his sensitive ears. He stands up. The sound of the lock cuts through the near-silence, but the other's gasp doesn't go unnoticed.
He hesitates in front of the half-open door, before pushing it all the way open. The first thing that confronts him are wary eyes. They are eyes that seem strong, but the light isn't bright enough to be certain.
He takes in Yunho's defensive position, shivering with cold and yet still just a little bit defiant. Defiance is good, but from what Yoochun has seen so far, he can only conclude that Yunho is almost broken. It's not a good state to be in.
He extends a hand, trying to make his movements quiet, smooth. He's not a threat, and he doesn't want to be. Nevertheless, Yunho flinches. It's no surprise, considering how long this has been going on for.
It's no surprise, considering the number of people who don't even try to help. So he waits, wondering why he's even bothering to do this. It's not like doing this will change anything about a problem that has persisted and even grown viciously throughout the ages.
Eventually Yunho tries to stand up, but he slips on the pinkish waters tinting the tiles. Limbs are suddenly everywhere before Yoochun reacts reflexively. Their hands are now grasping each other’s.
They stare, not knowing what to say, until, "Your grip is too strong."
Yunho instantly releases their hands. Almost immediately afterwards he releases the breath he has been holding. There is yet another silence as Yoochun nurses his squeezed hand.
Then Yunho limps away first.
While Yoochun still watches everything happening from his corner of the classroom, they don't interact again. Not until Yoochun is wandering outside during a break. His head is suddenly subjected to a torrent of vandalized textbooks.
A voice from above yells, "Ah, Park, sorry about that~" It's the innocent voice of the mastermind, the person behind all of this. He nods in automatic acknowledgement even though he knows that the words aren't sincere.
He's bending down to examine the books when Yunho stumbles down the stairs, glasses askew. It's not quite like him, Yoochun thinks, but then he notices that the lenses are badly cracked.
Aware of his potential audience he beckons Yunho to a more covered area, somehow managing to make it look threatening and yet not. He's personally not that eager to openly display his concern.
When they are away from prying eyes, he whips the glasses off a surprised Yunho. "Idiot!" he hisses. "You don't fucking wear broken glasses! Who knows when the hell they'll shatter and gauge your eyes out?!"
He waits as Yunho's head droops. That is the only reaction he gets. Disgusted, although he’s not too sure at whom, he stalks out, tossing the crushed glasses out by the textbooks.
Bits of glass and blood stick to his hand.
He doesn't quite recall how things turned out this way.
Yunho's sitting in his kitchen, sipping at some tea with bandaged hands. There is also gauze covering up a particularly nasty forehead gash and various band-aids sprinkled here and there. Thank goodness his mother is out with Yoohwan for the week.
He sits down across from Yunho, watching silently again. He tries to ignore the dried blood.
Yunho notices. "It doesn't really hurt." That's not why Yoochun eyes are avoiding the wounds. He swallows hesitantly.
"Here." Yoochun taps his head. "This is where it hurts, right? And here," this time pointing to his heart.
A fighter's eyes answer him. He sees the pain, and in turn it triggers a pain of mixed emotions inside him. He looks away. It was his fault in the first place for bringing up such a sensitive subject.
Eventually, Yunho confesses that he can't go home looking the way he does, so Yoochun lets him sleep on the couch, not caring why. Dark sheets are carefully used to cover up any possible blood stains.
He watches as Yunho's face falls into a waxed calmness before he goes to his own room. There, he falls into his own finicky sleep. Too many memories have revived.
The time in between he barely remembers.
It is the time of now that stands out in his mind. Mocking voices laugh at him. He struggles, discovering that he is bound. He can taste the sickly remnants of chemicals lingering on him. A dry retch overtakes him before he turns bleary eyes to his captors. He doesn't recognize them but a drifting name makes him stiffen. This is the mastermind's work.
He can guess what's happening now. He's the bait for the mastermind's prey.
Behind a haze he sees one of his captors hefting a jug of liquid. The smell of gasoline invades his nose. He coughs at the sickly smell, and this time they notice that he's awake.
They swagger over, loud and brash. Instinct takes over and he withdraws into his mental shell.
Come and don't come, Yunho.
Please come.
Please don't come.
His captors are long gone now, pissed that Yunho didn't show up. In a way, Yoochun is relieved.
The flames dance light across his bruised face as he's nodding off in the intense warmth, mentally and physically exhausted.
Then Yunho's suddenly there trying to untie him.
He only has enough energy to rasp out, "No, fuck, go!" before he is pulled upright by a strong hand. Then they stumble though flaming rubble, coughing at the smoke. Somehow they find themselves running, adrenaline pulsing through their bodies.
They stumble outside into cleaner air, collapsing only after they are far enough away. With heaving chests they cough and gulp for air.
Then he becomes a stupid idiot. In between breaths he asks, "Why'd the fuck you come? You know they wanted you."
Yunho shrugs. "I," he hesitates. "It's because they wanted me. You were there because of me. I couldn't just leave you there."
Yoochun scowls before wincing when his facial muscles scream bloody murder. "Then what took you so long?"
"My father, he was admitted to the hospital when they called me about you."
"Oh." Yoochun instantly mellows. "What was he admitted for?"
"Overwork, stress, that sort of thing." Funny, Yoochun thinks, it's like father, like son. Then Yunho gives him a playful hit on the shoulder, which hurts like hell. Yunho either doesn't notice or blissfully ignores it, giving a hopeful smile instead. "To be truthful, I really only wanted to get you because I wanted to stay at your place for the time being."
Yoochun scowls again, ignoring the pain this time. "Cheapskate."
"Thanks for the offer."
"I wasn't offering. Now carry me home," Yoochun groans. "My body's not made to be beat up and fried."
Yunho snorts in amusement. "I don't think anyone's bodies are made to stand that." Yoochun doesn't really laugh though as his mind finally comprehends the severity of what has happened.
"Goddamnit, those bastards want to kill you or something. This is getting serious, you know. Fuck, have to stop them," he babbles out, trailing off as the adrenaline leaves his system.
Yunho turns a steely gaze on him before hoisting him up. "I've been trying."
He knows that. He knows that all too well. The events at school had spiralled back and forth as Yunho tried so many ways to reveal the truth, but it seemed that nobody wanted to see the truth and nobody wanted to take responsibility. It all had escalated to this frightening extreme.
Dangling his limbs, Yoochun sighs. He feels strangely safe against Yunho's back. It has a strength that he doesn't quite expect. He definitely hadn't seen it there before.
Or perhaps, he muses, perhaps he hadn't noticed and it had always been there.
Wasn't he supposed to be the one helping Yunho up from the abyss of school terror? Now it seems not quite the opposite as Yunho is the one carrying him home.
Nevertheless, they're soon at his house, fumbling for keys to unlock and open the door.
With Yunho dressing his wounds, he thinks that maybe his door will always be open for Yunho.
That is, as long as they survive high school.
FANFICTION: TVfXQ
ONE SHOT
Rating: PG-13
Comments: Written for the Yunchun Music Video Exchange over at yunchun_ywh. Inspired by the jdrama LIFE, which is recommended for anyone who enjoys this piece of writing. Although there were so many other facets I wanted to explore, please enjoy.
[ Round 1 entries] [Round 2 entries pending]
At Seomak High School, the teachers either didn't notice or didn't care. The students were sly if it was the former, and the teachers uncaring if it was the latter. Either way, brutality surrounded the school, and no one did anything about it. In fact, everybody seemed to thrive on it. Everybody but the victims.
The lunch break is about to end soon, and the classroom is rowdy in the absence of supervision. Right before the bell rings, he watches a male student enter the classroom, shoulders noticeably hunched. In an instant, the student is instantly pelted with wrappers and half-eaten sandwiches. Raucous laughter ensues.
He watches the nose twitch from his seat near the back. Sardines from one of the sandwiches are clinging to the uniform, enveloping it in a fishy scent. The Adam's apple bobs with a hard swallow as classmates brush past, holding their noses and mock-retching in disgust.
"Oh my gosh, what reeks?"
"I always knew Yunho had bad hygiene, but I didn't know it was this bad."
"Eww, stay away from me!"
Knowing that the bell was bound to ring at any moment, Yoochun continues to watch, wondering what Yunho will do next. Despite his treatment in class, Yunho still manages to be one of the top students of their grade.
Ah, so Yunho wasn't stubborn enough to stay, Yoochun observes. It is understandable, and probably the better option. Their supposedly ignorant homeroom teacher might've kicked him out to get rid of the smell.
Yunho doesn't come back for the rest of the day.
The smell of sardines still lingers.
"Mom, I'm home! Oh hey, Yoohwan, how'd your English test go today?" he asks, ruffling his brother's hair as he idly makes conversation. It is a habit of his that he picked up from when he was in America.
Talk, smile, and make it seem like everything is all right.
Yoohwan shrugs. "It was OK. Could've done better."
"Of course you could've. What was all that time in America spent for?" their mother comments, her back turned as she chops potatoes. A clang sounds out as her elbow accidentally knocks over the ladle.
"I don't know about Yoohwan, but my time in America was spent missing Korea," Yoochun says, wandering over to his mother. He rinses the ladle and pauses to observe the soup-in-the-making start to boil. The little bubbles gradually become larger, before the surface of the water churns.
He has locked himself in a washroom cubicle for a while, needing to get away from the oppression of the classroom. There are aspects of Korean schooling that are different from American schooling, but some things just never change. It's just like he still hasn't quite grown up yet.
Loud voices distract him from his musings. He is annoyed. Then a name catches his ears.
They are at it again. It is no doubt something that involves getting wet and beat up.
A barking laughter sounds out as a body is slammed heavily into the cubicle beside Yoochun, the sharp noise triggering a switch in his mind. Other sickening noises rivet him to the spot, and he is suddenly immobile. His thoughts swirl to provide his own interpretation of the unseen cruelty happening right beside him.
He struggles to understand the harsh voices. He can hear their anger, but he doesn't know why they are angry. What did he do wrong?
What they are doing to him hurts. It hurts a lot. He doesn't know where to soothe himself because there are too many parts of him that hurt.
Stop, he gasps.
Please stop.
He is lucky they didn't bother with his cubicle. On the other hand, the occupant next door is not so lucky. Then again, what does this have to do with luck?
The minute sounds of helpless frustration drift over to his sensitive ears. He stands up. The sound of the lock cuts through the near-silence, but the other's gasp doesn't go unnoticed.
He hesitates in front of the half-open door, before pushing it all the way open. The first thing that confronts him are wary eyes. They are eyes that seem strong, but the light isn't bright enough to be certain.
He takes in Yunho's defensive position, shivering with cold and yet still just a little bit defiant. Defiance is good, but from what Yoochun has seen so far, he can only conclude that Yunho is almost broken. It's not a good state to be in.
He extends a hand, trying to make his movements quiet, smooth. He's not a threat, and he doesn't want to be. Nevertheless, Yunho flinches. It's no surprise, considering how long this has been going on for.
It's no surprise, considering the number of people who don't even try to help. So he waits, wondering why he's even bothering to do this. It's not like doing this will change anything about a problem that has persisted and even grown viciously throughout the ages.
Eventually Yunho tries to stand up, but he slips on the pinkish waters tinting the tiles. Limbs are suddenly everywhere before Yoochun reacts reflexively. Their hands are now grasping each other’s.
They stare, not knowing what to say, until, "Your grip is too strong."
Yunho instantly releases their hands. Almost immediately afterwards he releases the breath he has been holding. There is yet another silence as Yoochun nurses his squeezed hand.
Then Yunho limps away first.
While Yoochun still watches everything happening from his corner of the classroom, they don't interact again. Not until Yoochun is wandering outside during a break. His head is suddenly subjected to a torrent of vandalized textbooks.
A voice from above yells, "Ah, Park, sorry about that~" It's the innocent voice of the mastermind, the person behind all of this. He nods in automatic acknowledgement even though he knows that the words aren't sincere.
He's bending down to examine the books when Yunho stumbles down the stairs, glasses askew. It's not quite like him, Yoochun thinks, but then he notices that the lenses are badly cracked.
Aware of his potential audience he beckons Yunho to a more covered area, somehow managing to make it look threatening and yet not. He's personally not that eager to openly display his concern.
When they are away from prying eyes, he whips the glasses off a surprised Yunho. "Idiot!" he hisses. "You don't fucking wear broken glasses! Who knows when the hell they'll shatter and gauge your eyes out?!"
He waits as Yunho's head droops. That is the only reaction he gets. Disgusted, although he’s not too sure at whom, he stalks out, tossing the crushed glasses out by the textbooks.
Bits of glass and blood stick to his hand.
He doesn't quite recall how things turned out this way.
Yunho's sitting in his kitchen, sipping at some tea with bandaged hands. There is also gauze covering up a particularly nasty forehead gash and various band-aids sprinkled here and there. Thank goodness his mother is out with Yoohwan for the week.
He sits down across from Yunho, watching silently again. He tries to ignore the dried blood.
Yunho notices. "It doesn't really hurt." That's not why Yoochun eyes are avoiding the wounds. He swallows hesitantly.
"Here." Yoochun taps his head. "This is where it hurts, right? And here," this time pointing to his heart.
A fighter's eyes answer him. He sees the pain, and in turn it triggers a pain of mixed emotions inside him. He looks away. It was his fault in the first place for bringing up such a sensitive subject.
Eventually, Yunho confesses that he can't go home looking the way he does, so Yoochun lets him sleep on the couch, not caring why. Dark sheets are carefully used to cover up any possible blood stains.
He watches as Yunho's face falls into a waxed calmness before he goes to his own room. There, he falls into his own finicky sleep. Too many memories have revived.
The time in between he barely remembers.
It is the time of now that stands out in his mind. Mocking voices laugh at him. He struggles, discovering that he is bound. He can taste the sickly remnants of chemicals lingering on him. A dry retch overtakes him before he turns bleary eyes to his captors. He doesn't recognize them but a drifting name makes him stiffen. This is the mastermind's work.
He can guess what's happening now. He's the bait for the mastermind's prey.
Behind a haze he sees one of his captors hefting a jug of liquid. The smell of gasoline invades his nose. He coughs at the sickly smell, and this time they notice that he's awake.
They swagger over, loud and brash. Instinct takes over and he withdraws into his mental shell.
Come and don't come, Yunho.
Please come.
Please don't come.
His captors are long gone now, pissed that Yunho didn't show up. In a way, Yoochun is relieved.
The flames dance light across his bruised face as he's nodding off in the intense warmth, mentally and physically exhausted.
Then Yunho's suddenly there trying to untie him.
He only has enough energy to rasp out, "No, fuck, go!" before he is pulled upright by a strong hand. Then they stumble though flaming rubble, coughing at the smoke. Somehow they find themselves running, adrenaline pulsing through their bodies.
They stumble outside into cleaner air, collapsing only after they are far enough away. With heaving chests they cough and gulp for air.
Then he becomes a stupid idiot. In between breaths he asks, "Why'd the fuck you come? You know they wanted you."
Yunho shrugs. "I," he hesitates. "It's because they wanted me. You were there because of me. I couldn't just leave you there."
Yoochun scowls before wincing when his facial muscles scream bloody murder. "Then what took you so long?"
"My father, he was admitted to the hospital when they called me about you."
"Oh." Yoochun instantly mellows. "What was he admitted for?"
"Overwork, stress, that sort of thing." Funny, Yoochun thinks, it's like father, like son. Then Yunho gives him a playful hit on the shoulder, which hurts like hell. Yunho either doesn't notice or blissfully ignores it, giving a hopeful smile instead. "To be truthful, I really only wanted to get you because I wanted to stay at your place for the time being."
Yoochun scowls again, ignoring the pain this time. "Cheapskate."
"Thanks for the offer."
"I wasn't offering. Now carry me home," Yoochun groans. "My body's not made to be beat up and fried."
Yunho snorts in amusement. "I don't think anyone's bodies are made to stand that." Yoochun doesn't really laugh though as his mind finally comprehends the severity of what has happened.
"Goddamnit, those bastards want to kill you or something. This is getting serious, you know. Fuck, have to stop them," he babbles out, trailing off as the adrenaline leaves his system.
Yunho turns a steely gaze on him before hoisting him up. "I've been trying."
He knows that. He knows that all too well. The events at school had spiralled back and forth as Yunho tried so many ways to reveal the truth, but it seemed that nobody wanted to see the truth and nobody wanted to take responsibility. It all had escalated to this frightening extreme.
Dangling his limbs, Yoochun sighs. He feels strangely safe against Yunho's back. It has a strength that he doesn't quite expect. He definitely hadn't seen it there before.
Or perhaps, he muses, perhaps he hadn't noticed and it had always been there.
Wasn't he supposed to be the one helping Yunho up from the abyss of school terror? Now it seems not quite the opposite as Yunho is the one carrying him home.
Nevertheless, they're soon at his house, fumbling for keys to unlock and open the door.
With Yunho dressing his wounds, he thinks that maybe his door will always be open for Yunho.
That is, as long as they survive high school.