tvxq: 2003
2003
jaejoong/changmin. 665w.
for sushi.
Five days and a few hours after they debut, Jaejoong still isn't old enough to buy cigarettes and alcohol on his own. He thinks about trying anyway. The hostel's too small and it's where all the last three hundred and sixty-five days have been packed into. Jaejoong just needs these last thirty minutes somewhere in the open.
The lighter is red and cheap, one of Youngwoon's that Jaejoong never gave back. He stole Yoochun's cigarettes too, one to smoke and one to tuck behind his ear for later as he sits in front of the building entrance, making up stories about the people who walk by. He's in the middle of deciding if the young woman across the street is going home to a fiancé or a cupboard of instant dinners when Changmin comes out, rubbing his hands up and down his arms.
Jaejoong catches his attention and says, "You should be celebrating."
Changmin isn't wearing enough for this kind of weather, and Jaejoong can see him shivering in the artificial light. He's tall but he hasn't grown into it all the way. Jaejoong guesses that's how everything goes. "They told me to come get you," Changmin says.
"Almost done," Jaejoong says, holding up his burning cigarette.
Changmin comes over to stand with him on the steps. "You missed Heechul's drunk speech."
Jaejoong grins up at him. "He'll make a drunker one later."
New Year's Eve means it's busy everywhere and no one cares about two kids who haven't made it big yet. Jaejoong keeps his hood up anyway, pulled down low enough to hide his eyes. He finishes smoking and crushes his cigarette into the ground, brushes the powdered snow from his jeans.
"C'mon," he says. "I'll buy us something to eat."
He only has enough money for one bungeoppang from the nearby street vendor, and they argue over who gets the head and who gets the tail. Jaejoong thinks, not for the first time: Changmin's very young to be doing this, waiting for the beginning of the rest of his life, asking, "Will we feel different?"
Jaejoong bites into the tail (he lost). He kicks wide shapes into the sidewalk snow. "What?"
"When we're successful," says Changmin.
The sweetness stuck on Jaejoong's tongue makes him swallow a couple times, and he takes the saved cigarette from behind his ear so he has something to overcome the taste. "You want the rest of this?" he says, trying to light up with just one hand as he holds out his end of the pastry. "I can't finish it."
They loiter until it's five minutes to January first and Changmin's done eating. It's snowing harder. Jaejoong's jeans are old and torn and now they're wet, ice collected on the fraying hem. He takes Changmin's hand to lead them back to the hostel.
Changmin pulls back until Jaejoong slows down. He says, "You didn't answer." Jaejoong turns to him again, and he has this cloudy outline that's stretching his body older minute by minute. A truck that drives by sends dirty snow flying through the air, into the sky. Jaejoong has been standing on his toes to look his tallest for tomorrow.
"I don't know," he says. "I just wanna sing."
Five years later, Jaejoong's alone on the balcony when Changmin finds him again. Jaejoong's just getting over another cold, another scheduled week. Changmin watches the city with him, playing with the glass of expensive alcohol in his hand, and says, "I haven't heard you sing in a while."
Jaejoong pushes Changmin's shoulder. Changmin pushes back. "We just rehearsed yesterday, old man."
"I haven't heard you sing," Changmin repeats.
Jaejoong feels it in his numbed fingers, sore throat: the thick pining for something greater that he knew best when he was eighteen. The company party goes on behind them. Jaejoong checks his cellphone and it's 11:57. He entertains the idea of kissing Changmin at midnight, but there's enough time for a song to finish the year first.
jaejoong/changmin. 665w.
for sushi.
Five days and a few hours after they debut, Jaejoong still isn't old enough to buy cigarettes and alcohol on his own. He thinks about trying anyway. The hostel's too small and it's where all the last three hundred and sixty-five days have been packed into. Jaejoong just needs these last thirty minutes somewhere in the open.
The lighter is red and cheap, one of Youngwoon's that Jaejoong never gave back. He stole Yoochun's cigarettes too, one to smoke and one to tuck behind his ear for later as he sits in front of the building entrance, making up stories about the people who walk by. He's in the middle of deciding if the young woman across the street is going home to a fiancé or a cupboard of instant dinners when Changmin comes out, rubbing his hands up and down his arms.
Jaejoong catches his attention and says, "You should be celebrating."
Changmin isn't wearing enough for this kind of weather, and Jaejoong can see him shivering in the artificial light. He's tall but he hasn't grown into it all the way. Jaejoong guesses that's how everything goes. "They told me to come get you," Changmin says.
"Almost done," Jaejoong says, holding up his burning cigarette.
Changmin comes over to stand with him on the steps. "You missed Heechul's drunk speech."
Jaejoong grins up at him. "He'll make a drunker one later."
New Year's Eve means it's busy everywhere and no one cares about two kids who haven't made it big yet. Jaejoong keeps his hood up anyway, pulled down low enough to hide his eyes. He finishes smoking and crushes his cigarette into the ground, brushes the powdered snow from his jeans.
"C'mon," he says. "I'll buy us something to eat."
He only has enough money for one bungeoppang from the nearby street vendor, and they argue over who gets the head and who gets the tail. Jaejoong thinks, not for the first time: Changmin's very young to be doing this, waiting for the beginning of the rest of his life, asking, "Will we feel different?"
Jaejoong bites into the tail (he lost). He kicks wide shapes into the sidewalk snow. "What?"
"When we're successful," says Changmin.
The sweetness stuck on Jaejoong's tongue makes him swallow a couple times, and he takes the saved cigarette from behind his ear so he has something to overcome the taste. "You want the rest of this?" he says, trying to light up with just one hand as he holds out his end of the pastry. "I can't finish it."
They loiter until it's five minutes to January first and Changmin's done eating. It's snowing harder. Jaejoong's jeans are old and torn and now they're wet, ice collected on the fraying hem. He takes Changmin's hand to lead them back to the hostel.
Changmin pulls back until Jaejoong slows down. He says, "You didn't answer." Jaejoong turns to him again, and he has this cloudy outline that's stretching his body older minute by minute. A truck that drives by sends dirty snow flying through the air, into the sky. Jaejoong has been standing on his toes to look his tallest for tomorrow.
"I don't know," he says. "I just wanna sing."
Five years later, Jaejoong's alone on the balcony when Changmin finds him again. Jaejoong's just getting over another cold, another scheduled week. Changmin watches the city with him, playing with the glass of expensive alcohol in his hand, and says, "I haven't heard you sing in a while."
Jaejoong pushes Changmin's shoulder. Changmin pushes back. "We just rehearsed yesterday, old man."
"I haven't heard you sing," Changmin repeats.
Jaejoong feels it in his numbed fingers, sore throat: the thick pining for something greater that he knew best when he was eighteen. The company party goes on behind them. Jaejoong checks his cellphone and it's 11:57. He entertains the idea of kissing Changmin at midnight, but there's enough time for a song to finish the year first.