Fic: Deals

Sep 07, 2008 21:15

Title: Deals
Pairing: Jaejoong/Changmin
Rating: PG-13
Length: 5685 words (zomg it is epic)
AN: AU. Slightly horror. Inspired by reading too much King/Barker. Written for _starcandy's Awesome!1000+ contest for the prompt no pain, no gain

Jaejoong is a mess when Changmin first meets him - cut lip, bruised cheek, shirt bloodied, still beautiful. Changmin almost trips over the prone form in the middle of the sidewalk and drops his books in the process of attempting not to fall. The light is dim here at best, the feeble orange glow of the streetlamps barely enough to see by. The first thing Changmin does is to check that it’s a body, and not a corpse, that he’s just stumbled on. The second thing he does is to bring the boy home.

The boy looks even worse under the harsh glare of the fluorescents, bruised and bleeding from at least a dozen shallow cuts on his upper body. Changmin does the best he can with the first aid kit from the cabinet over the sink. He’s debating calling someone for help when he notices that the boy’s awake, and watching him with a strange intensity that puts him immediately on edge.

He grins up all Changmin then, all white teeth and gums, forced, humourless. “So.” His voice is cracked, dry, and he swallows with visible effort. “You’re the one.”

It’s too cryptic a remark for even Changmin to dwell upon right now, though he files it away carefully for later. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No need.” The boy sighs then, his entire form sagging into the mattress. “Thank you,” he says, the smile appearing to be genuine this time.

“You’re welcome”, Changmin manages after a moment, unsure what he’s being thanked for - for getting him off the street? for dressing his wounds? - before realizing the boy’s already asleep.

---

Changmin wakes up to the smell of scrambled eggs and the sound of the kitchen table being set.

“Breakfast?” The boy asks, appearing at the entrance to the small kitchen off the living room. Changmin stretches slowly, his limbs screaming protest at an uncomfortable night spent curled up on the too-small couch.

“That’d be great, thanks.”

---

His name is Jaejoong, he’s a couple of years older than Changmin, he has no family, and he’s alone in the city. Jaejoong doesn’t offer anything beyond the bare bones of his history, or how he came to be bleeding and unconscious on the pavement, and Changmin doesn’t ask. It’s enough for him that Jaejoong appears to know his way around a kitchen. Jaejoong gestures as he speaks, laughs infectiously, and picks at a bandage on his wrist. Changmin catches him wincing when he stands to clear the dishes, and finds himself offering Jaejoong a place to stay before his train of thought manages to catch up with the words tumbling almost without volition out of his mouth.

Jaejoong hesitates. “Are you sure?”

It’s crazy, of course. The apartment is cramped enough and there really is only one bed. All the same, it’s not like he can just put Jaejoong back out on the street where he found him.

“Do you have someplace else to go?”

“I really don’t want to-”

“Well, that’s settled, then. Just until your injuries heal,” Changmin adds quickly, when Jaejoong looks set to protest. “As long as you clean up after yourself. And, um,” he waves a hand vaguely, “help out around the place.”

Jaejoong turns from his position by the sink, grin wide on his face. “Deal.”

---

A week, and the bruise on Jaejoong’s cheek has faded, his cuts have scabbed over, and Changmin has had his apartment remodeled. “This place is a dump”, Jaejoong declares on the second day. He comes home with curtains, a beanbag chair that takes up almost a fifth of the living room, wooden figurines that he places on top of the TV. They alternate sleeping in the single bed, and Jaejoong suggests that Changmin should consider getting a new couch.

Two weeks, and Jaejoong is as spry as he’ll ever be. He organizes the mess on Changmin’s desk while he’s at class, much to his horror, and proofreads Changmin’s thesis, scrawling almost illegibly in bright red ink, Changmin’s reading glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose.

“Not bad for a kid like you,” Jaejoong says, loudly enough for Changmin to look up from his textbook. He makes another triumphant cancellation with his pen and hums in satisfaction.

“Give me that.” Changmin reaches over to grab the papers from Jaejoong’s grasp. “And that, too.” Jaejoong makes a sound of outrage as the glasses are snatched unceremoniously from his face. “You don’t need glasses.”

“They make me look smart,” Jaejoong informs Changmin with as much dignity as he can muster, and punches him in the arm when Changmin snorts. “Well?”

Hm. Maybe that sentence really was redundant, after all, and - Changmin scowls when Jaejoong hovers over him expectantly. “Go away, Jaejoong.”

“Huh! Surely a little gratitude isn’t too much to ask for.”

“Gratitude! I’ll show you gratitude -”

“Stay right there! One more step and your textbook gets it!”

Three weeks, and neither of them even thinks to bring up the issue of Jaejoong leaving.

---

“There’s something I should probably tell you.”

The wind is gusting hard enough tonight to rattle the windows in their cheap frames. They’re both sitting on the bed, backs against the headboard. Changmin has his notes in his lap, the television on mute, and Jaejoong next to him. Jaejoong’s feet are icy cold under the covers. His gaze is fixed on the screen, tone so conversational that Changmin doesn’t even glance up from his work.

“What’s that?”

“I’m…I’m not completely on my own here.”

“Well, no, not with me here.”

“Besides you. I meant that I have other…people I know. Here. In the city.”

“That’s good.” Changmin replies distractedly, eyes skimming over the sentences before him.

Jaejoong barks out a laugh, short, sharp, mirthless, and this time Changmin does look up. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Changmin frowns. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

For a moment he thinks Jaejoong’s about to say something else -something secret, monumental, life altering - and he can feel his shoulders tense in anticipation, in wariness.

“Yes,” Jaejoong says finally, and smiles at him briefly. “That’s all.”

---

He’s almost home when he hears the voices.

It’s not like Changmin to concern himself with things that aren’t any of his business. The rational part of his brain tells him to keep walking, while his feet choose that very moment to stage a mutiny. He finds himself slowing, slowing…and stop.

It’s Jaejoong, back flush against the dank alley wall, eyes flashing defiance. “I don’t know why you’re even here, Yunho. I haven’t lost yet.”

The man cornering him laughs softly. “Maybe not. You always were a challenge, Jaejoong.” Changmin watches as he bends to brush his lips against Jaejoong’s jaw, as Jaejoong stiffens, as his hands clench.

“Don’t you touch me -”

“Oh, look.” The man steps back smoothly, out of the range of Jaejoong’s hands. “Your little champion.”

Changmin scowls. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but -”

“We’re leaving,” Jaejoong announces, firm grip on Changmin’s forearm a clear indication of his intentions. Changmin lets himself be led away. They’re halfway down the path and across the road before Jaejoong releases him.

“Who -”

“An old friend.” Jaejoong’s shoulders sag, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. “It’s not important.”

Changmin isn’t so sure about that. For once, though, he decides to keep his own counsel.

---

Jaejoong comes home with soju the night before Changmin’s graduation.

“A toast,” the effect of his grand proclamation marred by his drunken weaving between the articles of furniture, “to our kid, all grown up now.”

“You’re drunk,” Changmin giggles, before realizing he isn’t the only one. He catches Jaejoong clumsily before Jaejoong can fall over backwards. Jaejoong falls heavily into his lap instead. Changmin grunts when Jaejoong’s soju spills on his shirt, and Jaejoong laughs alcohol laced fumes into his face.

Jaejoong kisses the way Changmin’s always imagined being kissed. Jaejoong is heat and intoxication, is strange and dangerous and exhilarating. He intrigues Changmin, upsets his equilibrium, disrupts his life (hell, refurnishes his house) and leaves him wanting more, more, always more.

“I was right,” Jaejoong says, musing, thoughtful.

“About what?” Changmin asks, still breathless, and suddenly Jaejoong doesn’t look the slightest bit drunk at all.

“About you.”

---

Jaejoong is gone the next morning.

The figurines are still there, collecting dust and just generally being an eyesore, and so is the ridiculous beanbag. What isn’t, though, and most conspicuous in its absence, is their owner.

Changmin tries telling himself that Jaejoong’s gone out for a walk, that he’s just gone to the store, that he’ll be back soon enough.

There’s a folded piece of paper with his name on it in Jaejoong’s recognizable scrawl on the kitchen table.

Changmin doesn’t open it.

Graduation is a lively affair, one that Changmin feels oddly removed from. He follows the crowd to a club that night, even though celebrating is the furthest thing from his mind. The questions dog him, circling round and round and round his mind, ceaseless, frustrating. He’s nursing a drink alone in one corner when Junsu bounds up and slings an arm around his shoulders.

“Why the glum face? The end of all this should be something worth at least a smile.”

Changmin shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired.”

“You’re too uptight. You should -”

Changmin is only half listening to Junsu when he notices the familiar face in the crowd, the dark eyes fixed on his face. When the man catches Changmin’s gaze, he turns and vanishes into the crowd. Changmin stands up so fast he almost upsets his stool.

“I’m sorry, Junsu, I have to go -”

“Hey, where are you -”

Changmin’s almost halfway out of the club before he catches up with him near the queue to the restrooms.

“Jaejoong’s gone.”

“Oh, is he?” The man’s smile is thin, sardonic, and Changmin resists the urge to wipe it off his face.

“You know where he is.”

The man shrugs. “He came of his own free will.”

Changmin can feel the fight ebbing out of him, a strange apathy replacing the previous maelstrom of emotions. The man catches the look on his face, and the faux sympathy that replaces his smile makes Changmin feel sick to his stomach. “Poor, poor boy. Did you expect Jaejoong to stay? Did he say he would? Because he lies, you know.”

There’s something about his eyes that throws Changmin off. They’re dark pools, depthless, fascinating. Changmin imagines he can see flecks of colour at their heart; green, gold, burnished copper, ever changing. Beguiling. Changmin tears his gaze away with an effort.

“No.” Changmin swallows. “No, he didn’t say - I just thought -”

“There you go, then.” The man presses a card into Changmin’s hands, his numb fingers closing without thought over the white paper. “You seem like a promising young man. Call me.”

Changmin barely has time to nod before the man’s turned on his heel and disappeared once again into the crowd. He shakes his head to clear it, feeling vague, drugged; how much has he drunk, anyway? Way past time to leave, in any case.

Jung Yunho, he reads when he gets home, and a number below that. “Yunho”, he says out loud to himself, and places the card on his desk.

Jaejoong’s letter is still on the table. Changmin ignores it.

---

He’s knows it’s a dream, is positive it can’t be anything but, even as the splinters embed themselves in his flesh, as the boards creak under his feet. Changmin brushes the hanging cobwebs away irritably and coughs at the dust that he raises.

There’s an urgency that moves him, that pushes him forward, forward, onward. His movements are anxious, hurried, even though he can’t find a reason why he should be in such a rush. Changmin feels trapped in his own head, some force within propelling his body onwards without his approval. There’s a door looming ahead, a stout mahogany thing, and he’s surprised when the knob turns easily in his hand.

Is it any wonder that his overwrought subconscious should conjure the image of Jaejoong and place him in his own macabre version of a nightmare? What he isn’t prepared for, however, is the shackles around Jaejoong’s ankles, the bleeding welts on his chest, the chains that bind his arms behind him. Jaejoong is on his knees, and he looks up when Changmin enters.

“He got to you, too.” Jaejoong’s mouth is twisted in a rueful smile, even as he grimaces at the effort it takes to raise his head. “It wouldn’t do any good if I told you to stay away, would it?”

For some reason Changmin seems to have regained control over his mouth. “No,” he replies. “No, it wouldn’t.”

The room is starting to tilt around him, curves and angles beginning to slip and slide out of alignment in defiance of all the laws of physics. He hears Jaejoong bark out a laugh, even as everything begins to fade to grey.

“I thought so.”

---

Changmin calls the next day.

He’s surprised to say the least when a crisp female voice answers. “Jung Corporation. How may I be of assistance?”

“I’m…I’m looking for Jung Yunho. He said I should call.”

“Would you hold on a moment please, sir?”

A series of clicks, some strains of Tchaikovsky, and then Yunho’s deep baritone.

“Ah. It’s you. I’m glad you called.”

---

A week and two meetings over coffee later, and Yunho offers Changmin a job. Changmin accepts.

He’s happy enough in his position meeting clients and drafting proposals. Jung Corp seems to have investments in just about every sector. Yunho isn’t a particularly harsh taskmaster, and he seems satisfied enough with Changmin’s work. Changmin supposes he should be glad to have found such a cushy position so soon after finishing school.

“Mr. Jung?”

Changmin waits. The office is dim and silent around him, and he’s the only one from the department left. When nobody answers, Changmin lets himself in, folder clutched in one hand.

Yunho’s office is large and dark in the gloom, and clearly empty. He must have left without Changmin noticing. Changmin crosses over to turn on the lamp on the desk. He’s just about the leave the folder and go when he catches a reflection of light from the side of the room.

It’s a small, circular mirror, no bigger than his palm, mounted on its own stand, placed in a corner of the third shelf of the bookstand. The frame is a dark wood, intricately carved, with leaves, vines, decorative curlicues. There’s a sharp, jagged line down its center, and Changmin frowns at it. It’s flawed, cracked, exquisite.

“I - oh, damn-”

He’d only meant to touch it, and it’d slipped right out of his fingers. Even as he bends hurriedly to pick it up he notices there’s another crack in the surface.

He swears silently to himself. Maybe he can get someone to fix it, replace it before Yunho notices. It’s just an ornament, after all, but even damaging your boss’s ornaments must be pushing it.

So deciding, Changmin takes it.

---

Jaejoong again, only this time his wrists are no longer bound. He’s flexing his arms and sighing in contentment as he stretches.

“You did good,” he tells Changmin when he sees him. “I think I underestimated you.”

Changmin scowls at him. “You think too little of me.”

Jaejoong’s fingers on his cheek are a surprise, his touch belying the amusement in his eyes.

“Never.”

---

He’s prepared for the worst when Yunho summons him to his office the next morning. Changmin wonders what the punishment is for stealing from your employer. Immediate dismissal is a given. He wonders if it’s a serious enough offence for Yunho to warrant calling the police.

“Sit down,” Yunho says, amiably enough, and Changmin does. He steels himself.

“I’d like to make you an offer.”

“Mr. Jung, I can ex - what?”

Yunho grins at his perplexed expression. “An offer, Changmin. You’ve been doing good work here. It’s rare that we find a person of your caliber.”

“Um. Thank you. I guess.”

“I have a proposal here.” Yunho indicates the papers in front of Changmin. “Sign the contract, and we have a deal.”

Changmin wonders if this means he’s getting promoted. He’s only halfway through the first page before he wonders if there’s been some sort of mistake.

“I don’t understand. Is this…is this some sort of joke?”

Yunho crosses his arms and leans back. “Now why would you think that?”

“This -” Changmin flips to the second page, eyes roving over the clauses. The third presents even more bizarre terms. “This is a contract binding me to…to you.”

“That’s right.”

“And it promises,” Changmin looks up with incredulity, “anything I want.”

He searches for the hidden cameras, the film crews, even as he watches Yunho’s face. Yunho’s expression doesn’t change, his smile assured, no-nonsense, terrifying. “Anything.”

“This can’t be right. This is crazy.” Changmin laughs, aware of how brittle and forced the sound is in that large, quiet room. “You can’t own people.”

Yunho actually looks amused. “Can’t I?”

“Mr. Jung, I’m not sure -”

“Changmin.” Yunho leans forward, and Changmin is caught. For a crazy instant he feels like backing up and away, even with the large desk separating the two of them. The flecks in Yunho’s eyes are back, he notes with interest, deep green this time. As he watches, they shift, catching the weak sunlight, perhaps, turn bronze-gold. Too distracted, it takes a moment for him to realize Yunho is still speaking.

“Anything,” he’s saying. “Anything you’ve ever dreamt of. What is it you want, Changmin? Money? Fame? Recognition? …no, no, I underestimate you. Your sister, is that it? You blame yourself for letting her get on that bike. You should have known her no-good boyfriend was drunk. You never liked him, did you? But she wouldn’t listen. And you let her go, because you loved her. You let her die. And, oh dear, she was only eighteen. Tsk, tsk. How very…tragic.”

Changmin jerks as if slapped, dragged out of the fog his mind seems to have been lost in, filled with swirling, flashing hues of colour. “How do you -” His throat seems to have closed, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “How do you know about that?”

A flicker of - what? Anger? Irritation? - flickers across Yunho’s features, there and then gone again, before the smile is back. “I know everything, Changmin,” he says, voice silky smooth, and for a moment Changmin believes him, thinks Yunho can see right into his soul, hear every dark, lying, cowardly thought. He feels naked, exposed, vulnerable. Afraid.

“I can bring her back”, Yunho’s voice barely above a whisper, and Changmin finds that he believes this, too, believes against his will, against all rationality, all sense. Suddenly Yunho surges forward, leans so far across the desk that he’s almost face

(mask it’s a mask)

to face with Changmin, fingers

(claws)

a tight brand about his wrist. There’s a look in his eyes that Changmin can only name as maniacal

(depraved malevolent dark dark dark)

lips drawn back in a snarl, grin a terrifying rictus composed of teeth, white, white,

(sharp).

”Sign it.”

(wouldn’t do any good)

(if I told you to)

(if I told you to)

(stay away)

“No,” and Changmin barely registers the chair falling over in his haste to back away. “I think we’re done here.”

“Pity.” It’s Yunho again, composed as ever, immaculate in his suit and tie and polished shoes. “You showed such promise.”

The outer office is empty when Changmin backs out of Yunho’s room. There’s a strange chill in the air, an ominous silence that makes the hair stand on his arms. It’s too much for him, the absence of talk and muted laughter and the sound of typing in the middle of the day. Even the sun through the plate glass windows does nothing to warm him. He would wonder where everyone is, except he has more pressing concerns on his mind, such as the fact that he might be going crazy. The other alternative, unfortunately, doesn’t even bear thinking about.

Changmin packs up his scant belongings, goes home, and gets utterly wasted.

---

He wakes up with a hangover and no recollection of any dreams whatsoever.

There are no calls from the company, for which Changmin is immensely grateful. He takes this to mean he’s been officially dismissed.

He’s getting a drink of water from the tap when he noticed Jaejoong’s letter, still in its original position in the middle of the table, weighed down by a fork.

Changmin, the front reads.

For the first time, Changmin opens it, and frowns.

An address.

---

It’s an old house on the edge of the city, the yard so overgrown it’s almost become a miniature jungle. The place itself is in similar disrepair, crumbling and decrepit. Changmin scales the rusty padlocked gate easily, and then feels foolish for even being here. It would be just like Jaejoong to lead him here on a wild goose chase as a prank and find it utterly hilarious when he trudged home weary, cranky and sweaty. Changmin’s never put much faith in intuition, but he’s willing to risk it this once.

He feels foolish again standing outside the front door, and wonders if the NO TRESPASSING signs indicate some sort of current ownership. Changmin takes a deep breath, and turns the doorknob before his resolve can falter.

The door opens, and Changmin enters.

---

The hall is dim, the boarded up windows only letting in weak streams of light. The dust on the floor is thick, undisturbed. There’s a palpable sense of waiting about the place, as if the gears of some vast, great machine had ground to a halt the moment he’d stepped on the premises uninvited. A pause in frenzied activity, watchfulness coupled with bated breath. Hold, hold. Wait,, he imagines he hears, the voices sibilant, wary. Intruder, with venom, with infinite malice. Intruder-

Changmin shakes his head irritably to quell these ridiculous fancies. Voices, indeed. “Hello?” His voice reverberates about the place, echoes, fades into nothing. “Jaejoong? Are you here?”

He thinks he hears movement upstairs -a shift of feet across the floor, maybe? - when there’s breath - cold, so cold - by his ear. “Looking for someone?”

He turns around fast enough to lose his footing. Changmin cries out in pain as he uses his palms to cushion his fall. The boy above him is young, about Jaejoong’s age. “Don’t look so scared”, he offers, as Changmin makes to back away. “I’m sorry I startled you. I would offer you a hand, except…” He shrugs, and sighs.

“Where…” Changmin gets up slowly once he’s sure the boy poses no threat, dusting himself off. “Where did you come from? I didn’t hear you.”

The boy shrugs again. “I said I’m sorry. And I’ve always been here. Since…” He frowns, brow creasing. “Since…a long time ago. I forget. My memory’s not what it used to be. Time gets sketchy here. I’m Yoochun.”

“Changmin.” Changmin hesitates, then takes the plunge. “I’m looking for someone. His name is Jaejoong. I…I think he’s here.”

“Here? You don’t mean here. No one comes here.” Yoochun laughs, then catches the look on Changmin’s face. “You mean it, don’t you? He’s here.”

Changmin nods. “He left me an address, I-”

“Go.” The change in Yoochun is startling, his eyes growing cold, lips a tight line. “Go now.”

“I’m not leaving without-”

Yoochun makes a sound of exasperation. “You don’t understand, do you? If he’s here, that means he’s not leaving.”

“I’m sure he’ll come if I ask-”

Yoochun laughs, and the sound infuriates Changmin. “Listen,” he snarls, reaching out to catch hold of the boy’s sleeve, “I said-”

“No,” Yoochun says, alarmed, as he takes a hasty step back, “don’t-”

Too late, even as Changmin watches his hand pass right through Yoochun’s arm, as Yoochun backs up into a shaft of sunlight, and he sees the way the light passes right through him, his form a thin, ephemeral outline. Too late, even as the images burst in vivid colour before his pupils, so it seems like years, instead of seconds:

(I won’t let you die)

(I’m sorry I’m sorry I love you)

(anything I’ll do anything)

He’s watching, from the sidelines; from out of Yoochun’s eyes. He’s Changmin, here for Jaejoong; he’s Yoochun, desperate for a miracle. He watches as Yoochun, white faced, agrees; watches as his own hand clasps Yunho’s to seal it. He is Changmin, drunk and flush as Jaejoong kisses him; he’s Yoochun, pulling her out of the street seconds before the truck roars past, holding her close and crying into her hair. Thank God, he says, thank God, except they both know God has nothing to do with it. Changmin falls again, and this time he doesn’t get up.

“You made a deal,” he says, and he’s cold, so cold. Yoochun’s smile is sad, sad, rueful, and he thinks he knows why.

“Anything”, Yoochun says, and sighs. “I would have done anything for her.”

Suddenly Changmin realizes just why he’s so cold. It’s impossible, in this closed space, but there’s a wind brewing, a howling that echoes off the walls, that brings to him the stench of despair, of hopelessness, of insatiable hunger. He thinks he hears voices again -intruder intruder intruder- and he jumps hastily to his feet.

“What the hell is that?”

“Hell.” Yoochun replies without inflection. “Go.” He points towards the staircase leading up to the second floor. “I can buy you some time, but then you’re on your own.”

“Thank you-”

“Go!”

He’s halfway up the stairs when the ectoplasmic mass descends upon Yoochun.

Changmin turns back and starts running.

---

Changmin is a third of the way down the corridor when he hears the groan.

“Changmin-”

He skids to a halt. “Junsu- oh god. What are you doing here?”

Junsu is curled up on the floor, arm wrapped around himself. “Some guy grabbed me and hit me over the head. I blacked out and woke up here.”

Changmin grits his teeth. “Let’s get you out of here.” He reaches to hoist Junsu to his feet, and only a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye and quick reflexes saves him from a gutting. Even so, stumbling backwards out of the way allows Junsu to lunge forward and carve a stripe up his arm.

“Son of a-” Changmin falls back against the wall.

“Gotcha,” Junsu grins, and Changmin realizes it isn’t Junsu anymore, not really. The flesh of his face ripples disturbingly, but the eyes are a constant - gold, amber-flecked. Hypnotic. Changmin dives out of the way again as the thing in Junsu’s skin pushes forward. He falls on his wound and cries out.

“Changmin?” Changmin looks up, confused, and it’s Junsu this time, his eyes dark and confused. He glances from the knife in his hand to Changmin on the floor. “What the hell-”

A ripple, and the thing is back, lips drawn back in a snarl. “Shut up,” the thing growls, and it takes a minute for Changmin to realize it isn’t addressing him.

“Junsu,” he tries desperately. “Junsu, I know you’re in there.”

A shift, and Junsu again. “Changmin?” He sounds absolutely terrified, and Changmin feels for him. “What the hell’s going on here?”

Ripple. “I said, get back in there!” The thing surges forward, and Changmin feels a searing pain by his shoulder. He falls, and rolls, and that’s when he hears something roll out of his pocket and clatter against the hard floor.

The mirror. He hadn’t even been aware he’d put it in his coat before leaving the place.

The creature’s staring at it with unmasked loathing, a mixture of fear and revulsion on its features. They lunge for it at the same time. Changmin lashes out with his fists, kicks with as much strength as he can muster. The thing’s breath is foul, rotten, rank, and Changmin struggles as it gnashes its teeth, as it snarls, as it spits imprecations his way.

“Get back,” Changmin pants as his fingers close around the object, as he brandishes it like a weapon. The mirror is hot in his fist, and the thing makes a terrible sound at the sight of its own reflection in the glass -half shriek, half moan of agony- features writhing, twisting. Suddenly Junsu stiffens, and falls forward. Changmin catches him; places him carefully on the ground.

Still breathing. Junsu groans, and jerks, limbs spasming as if in remembrance of some recent pain. Changmin whispers soothing, nonsensical words, barely aware of what he’s doing, and smooths the hair on his friend’s brow.

“I’ll be back, Su. Just wait here, okay?”

The hallway is as empty as he found it, though he imagines he can hear the howling drawing closer.

Changmin continues on his way.

---

One more floor, and then the door from his dreams.

It’s surreal, terrifying, inevitable. The strongest sense of vertigo begins to assail him the closer he gets to the room, the place tilting about him, the place losing all depth and focus, the walls seeming to melt and ooze about him. He can feel his feet getting heavier with every step, almost seeming to sink into the wooden floorboards. Ten feet away it’s like wading through mud. Five feet and the very air seems to offer up resistance, the sense of dread and hopelessness settling on him like a second skin. Turn around, Changmin thinks he hears. Save yourself.

“Shut up,” he says out loud, to calm his own frazzled nerves, and imagines he hears a mocking titter fading away.

For a moment he’s afraid the door will be locked, but the knob turns easily under his hand.

It’s empty.

Empty.

“No,” he breathes, and his voice returns to his own ears. “No!”

Changmin runs about the room, pounding on the walls, the floor, hoping to spring some sort of trapdoor, come across some secret entrance. Empty, and the laughter in his ears is getting louder, unbearable.

Empty, empty, empty.

He screams his frustration to the bare walls.

“Tch. Such histronics.”

Changmin whirls around. “Where’s Jaejoong?”

Yunho seems untouched by the dank and dust of the place. “Somewhere you can’t get to him.”

It’s fear, he’s sure, that lends fuel to his bravado. “You can’t have him.”

“Oh?” Yunho laughs, then, exposing sharp, sharp teeth. “You didn’t want him.”

“I-” Changmin struggles for the words. “That’s not true.”

“Not true? Not true? Oh, your naivete amuses me.” Yunho unearths a cigarette; snaps his fingers to produce a minute flame. “You could have saved him. And you didn’t.”

(you’re the one)

“Give him back,” Changmin says, pleasantly surprised at how steady his voice is. “Let him go and you can have me.”

Yunho laughs again, but his heart - if he even has one - doesn’t appear to be in it. He looks intrigued now. Interested. “Keep talking.”

They’re circling each other now like wary animals, Yunho exhaling clouds of dark smoke, Changmin’s eyes fixed firmly on Yunho’s face. “Let him go, I said. And you can have me in exchange.”

“I’ll make you a better deal.” Yunho’s eyes glint, whorls of colour surfacing in their depths, as he stops by the door to take a deep drag on his cigarette. “I’ll give you both time together.”

Changmin stills. “What?”

“Ten years. I’m a generous man. Reasonable.” Yunho drawls, pushes hair out of his eyes. “Ten years together, and then you both come back to me.”

“Fifteen.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Twelve.”

“Fourteen or no deal.”

“You’re testing my patience, boy.”

“You have all eternity. What’s one year to you?”

Yunho moves before Changmin even has a chance to blink, his arm up against Changmin’s windpipe, trapping Changmin up against the wall, voice like honey. “Are you playing with me here, boy?”

“You bet I am, you old bastard”, Changmin spits, relishing the way Yunho’s face changes, flickering for a moment to reveal the scarred monstrosity beneath, relishing the lick of almost paralysing fear that curls up his spine.

“Game over,” Yunho breathes, and it’s now or never.

“Damn right,” Changmin says, and drops the mirror.

It makes a satisfyingly loud sound as it shatters, and Yunho stumbles away from him, a cry of inhuman pain wrenched from his lips. “Where did you get that?”

“Game over”, Changmin whispers, watching dispassionately as the dark flames spring up around him, melting away the skin and threads of his human disguise. The heat is almost unbearable, and Changmin moves away. The monster beneath is old, as decrepit and crumbling as its haven, and it flings obscenities at Changmin as it burns.

“I will hunt you down. I will kill you, and drag you screaming to the Pits-”

A final, agonized note, a sound incapable of being produced by a human throat and then -

Nothing.

There’s a charred circle on the floor where the thing once was, and Changmin sags to the ground, his injuries starting to clamour for attention now that the adrenaline’s worn off. There is blessed silence about the place -no more voices, thank god - and Changmin closes his eyes. A brief respite, and then -

“You’re a mess, you know.”

Changmin’s eyes fly open. “Not as much as you are,” and it’s true. Jaejoong’s hair is in disarray, his jeans ripped, and his shirt little more than shreds.

Jaejoong grins at him, and kneels with a wince. “You’re an idiot.”

“You’d think a little gratitude-”

Jaejoong is heat, intoxication, exhilaration. Jaejoong kisses the way Changmin’s always wanted to be kissed, always wants to be kissed, and a little pain, he thinks, is well worth something of this value.

Well. Perhaps more than a little pain. He grimaces as he stands, slings an arm about Jaejoong’s waist.

“Let’s go home.”

dbsk, jaejoong/changmin

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