ONESHOT; Scatter, crash, crash
Scatter, crash, crash ; JaeMin, slight Changmin-centric OT5
roselit @ paperside
angst, slight romance
PG-13 ; 1598w.
This is what happens at the end of the world.
A/N: Warning for disbandment fic. ;; Dedicated to azurehook. ♥ This is insanely depressing, though; I'm so sorry! ;____;
Unbeta'd, so please excuse. ;;
____________________
Two hours past midnight, and Changmin’s still wide awake, still running on an inexplicable source of energy. He has his guesses, but he thinks it has something to do with how he’s curled into the couch, legs dangling awkwardly off the armrest and head resting comfortably in Jaejoong’s lap.
The older man’s fingers are buried into his hair, massaging against his scalp in light circular motions. It’s soothing, so incredibly relaxing that Changmin loses himself for a second, turns his head slightly and breathes in fresh meadows and lilac in the cotton of Jaejoong’s shirt.
It feels so much like home, like drifting on clouds and never coming down. He doesn’t realize his eyes are closed until he’s opening them, slow and lazy, almost; Jaejoong’s face is above him, honeyed locks of hair hanging low and a soft smile across his lips.
Changmin wonders how Jaejoong can be so infectious, but it’s a thought left wandering as he smiles back, presses closer into the older man’s warmth. He considers surrendering to sleep, to the hypnotic caress of Jaejoong’s fingers when the latter suddenly speaks, his voice quiet.
“What are you going to do when the world ends?”
Changmin knows better than to be surprised; Jaejoong is unpredictable, spontaneous at times he shouldn’t be. He can never tell what the older man is thinking, no matter how many times the couch has been witness to their late-night musings and laughter tucked away in midnight secrecy.
He doesn’t know whether it’s a serious question; he looks up into Jaejoong’s face, but the older man’s expression is guarded. Perhaps it’s real curiosity after all. Changmin thinks for a moment, and as if he’s had an answer all along, the words roll off his tongue, natural and brief.
“I’m going to sleep through it.”
A smile blooms onto Jaejoong’s face, and then the older man’s bringing his hand up; Changmin is treated to the glimpse of his laugh before it’s shielded, and even then, he can hear the laughter, shaking against the erratic rise and fall of Jaejoong’s stomach.
Changmin grins in spite of himself, and when Jaejoong recovers and looks down, the younger man finds that he’s feeling more sentimental than he’ll ever admit.
“You know,” Changmin starts, suddenly a little shy and wishing for boldness, “I like it best when you do that.”
It’s uncharacteristic of him, really, but it’s always Jaejoong who smoothes out the sharp edges around him, always Jaejoong who eventually coaxes him into a melting mess, free for him to shape and mold behind closed doors. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know how, but he knows that Jaejoong just does, and (with a reminiscent smile) he thinks it’s not so bad being a mess sometimes.
Jaejoong reaches a hand over and cups Changmin’s cheek, presses his palm against the stain of a blush born of embarrassment. He pauses for a moment before he leans down and brushes his lips over Changmin’s; it’s a fleeting kiss, leaving the younger man holding his breath when they separate.
There’s a flutter in his chest, a spark of warmth that permeates the space between every beat, and Changmin lets it fill him up as he closes his eyes.
Dong Bang Shin Ki go out with a bang, with explosions and camera flashes, rivers of tears and fuel for the press. It’s unexpected and yet expected all the same, a fear that’s been disguised as hope and truth and belief.
The first days are torturous, almost as unbearable as the evenings; but it’s when the sun sets that things become painful.
The apartment is the aftermath of a hurricane, disheveled and unorganized as the broken members try, one by one, to listen to orders. They try to remember that there’s a thing called coping, but they’re blinded all the same; it’s difficult when they still see one another, still pretend that things are fine.
Junsu is the first to walk out, two luggage cases in tow. There’s more, but he’ll be back to get his boxes, or he’ll send someone-he’s not sure he can take it if he steps in here again. He pauses in the door and turns to the others, sees his own face reflected in theirs, sunken and gaunt and devoid of rest.
Changmin remembers the talk from just hours earlier, how Yunho held his composure best, chin trembling as he calmly told Junsu-“Take it; you’d be stupid not to.” It somehow feels right that Junsu continues; he’s fit for the spotlight, meant to be there, even if he has to stand alone. The other members have known all along, have wished for it.
But even so, when the door closes behind Junsu, the apartment suddenly feels that much emptier.
Yoochun leaves next. He’s almost unrecognizable by this point, thinner than two weeks prior and a wreck of insomnia, dried tears, and depression.
Changmin is standing by the bedroom door when Yoochun’s packing, only he’s reached a break, and Jaejoong’s beside him, hand clasped in hand as they lean against each other. Changmin can’t see their faces, but the older man is whispering into the other’s ear, a light lullaby that Yoochun intentionally ignores. He realizes Yoochun doesn’t want to close his eyes, doesn’t want to blink and miss what he has left.
The image of the soulmates in the bedroom stays ingrained in Changmin’s mind as he stands with the others and bids Yoochun goodbye. They’re all determined not to break, but Yoochun slips first, and they fall shortly after; it’s tearful, shreds and rips at something deep inside.
“This isn’t goodbye; I’ll still be close,” Changmin remembers Yoochun saying. But he knows Yoochun needs his mother and brother, needs them to mend his wings in ways the rest of them can’t. And so they urge him on.
Changmin thinks the silence that descends over the apartment afterward is borderline deafening, and he retreats to his room, drowns in the absurdity and ‘All in Vain’ on loop.
It’s only at Jaejoong’s insistence that Yunho packs his bags for home in the country. Changmin doesn’t understand the complexities the two eldest share, but it’s something he carefully avoids, even now.
The leader always puts on a strong façade, digs for strength when he’s left with none, and Jaejoong is the one who sees everything, the only one that Yunho allows to come close to him. The two of them have a lengthy talk in the bathroom, and for the longest time, Changmin fights off the urge to press his ear to the door. He opts instead for his collection of CDs, which he plays on Junsu’s leftover stereo as he lies on the bare mattress and stares at bare walls, at a bare ceiling.
When Yunho finally emerges, Jaejoong following, his eyes are red-rimmed and exhausted. The lack of shaving the past few days has left an unsightly mess of hair on the leader’s face, leaving him haggard, battered-looking.
Changmin trails after the two, watches as Jaejoong stops short of the door. Yunho looks at them one last time, and when their eyes meet, Changmin thinks he sees a small spark of determination.
“Wait for me. Didn’t I say I’d gather us together again, as the leader?”
Yunho doesn’t wait for an answer-he knows it, they all know it-and turns, stepping over the threshold. The door closes behind him, and when Changmin glances at Jaejoong, it’s like watching the strings loosen and unwind, suddenly and abruptly.
He finds himself stepping closer, pulling the older man against him, and as wet cheeks brush against his own, he wonders why he isn’t crying, too.
Nearly a full week after, and the apartment is nearly dead. The lights don’t turn on the same way, and the rooms hear more silence than they have in a long while. There’s too much empty space, too little color, and they know there’s no way to fix it.
The living room is the tidiest area of the apartment, but only because the two of them spend the majority of their time there. Daytime is spent breathing on the balcony, cleaning half-heartedly and giving up partway through, but at night-at night, their favorite place is the couch.
They huddle against each other, wrapped in a comfortable array of limbs and body heat. Changmin finds himself curling into Jaejoong, reveling in a small sense of security when the older man drapes an arm around him and pulls him impossibly closer.
He wants to ask, wants to know what happens from here, but he’s more than afraid to question it. It’s as if this remaining piece of reality is the only thing keeping him alive and remotely sane. He doesn’t know anymore, really, but as he buries his face into Jaejoong’s chest and fists the fabric of his shirt, breathes every inch of the older man beside him, he thinks the only thing he does know is how real this is-here, with Jaejoong.
After a moment, he relaxes and releases Jaejoong’s shirt, inhales and clenches his eyes shut against the other’s neck. Jaejoong doesn’t speak and just holds on, reaches a hand up to bury into Changmin’s hair, gentle and soothing.
Another few seconds pass before Changmin lets out a deep breath, eyes still closed and face still resting by Jaejoong’s collarbone.
“Is this it?” he asks, little more than a whisper. “The end of the world?”
Changmin feels Jaejoong tighten his embrace, and when the older man answers, he hears his voice reverberate through his chest.
“We’ll sleep through it together.”
____________________
A/N: God, I can't believe I'm still awake at this hour, lmao. ;;
But my muse has been uncooperative & dead lately (as you can sorta tell :|), so I let it run this time.
(even though it's evil, evil, evil of me to write something like this at this time; feel free to beat me to pieces :||||)
I don't know what's gotten into me. *sigh* ;;
Comments are appreciated, as always. ♥
roselit @ paperside
angst, slight romance
PG-13 ; 1598w.
This is what happens at the end of the world.
A/N: Warning for disbandment fic. ;; Dedicated to azurehook. ♥ This is insanely depressing, though; I'm so sorry! ;____;
Unbeta'd, so please excuse. ;;
____________________
Two hours past midnight, and Changmin’s still wide awake, still running on an inexplicable source of energy. He has his guesses, but he thinks it has something to do with how he’s curled into the couch, legs dangling awkwardly off the armrest and head resting comfortably in Jaejoong’s lap.
The older man’s fingers are buried into his hair, massaging against his scalp in light circular motions. It’s soothing, so incredibly relaxing that Changmin loses himself for a second, turns his head slightly and breathes in fresh meadows and lilac in the cotton of Jaejoong’s shirt.
It feels so much like home, like drifting on clouds and never coming down. He doesn’t realize his eyes are closed until he’s opening them, slow and lazy, almost; Jaejoong’s face is above him, honeyed locks of hair hanging low and a soft smile across his lips.
Changmin wonders how Jaejoong can be so infectious, but it’s a thought left wandering as he smiles back, presses closer into the older man’s warmth. He considers surrendering to sleep, to the hypnotic caress of Jaejoong’s fingers when the latter suddenly speaks, his voice quiet.
“What are you going to do when the world ends?”
Changmin knows better than to be surprised; Jaejoong is unpredictable, spontaneous at times he shouldn’t be. He can never tell what the older man is thinking, no matter how many times the couch has been witness to their late-night musings and laughter tucked away in midnight secrecy.
He doesn’t know whether it’s a serious question; he looks up into Jaejoong’s face, but the older man’s expression is guarded. Perhaps it’s real curiosity after all. Changmin thinks for a moment, and as if he’s had an answer all along, the words roll off his tongue, natural and brief.
“I’m going to sleep through it.”
A smile blooms onto Jaejoong’s face, and then the older man’s bringing his hand up; Changmin is treated to the glimpse of his laugh before it’s shielded, and even then, he can hear the laughter, shaking against the erratic rise and fall of Jaejoong’s stomach.
Changmin grins in spite of himself, and when Jaejoong recovers and looks down, the younger man finds that he’s feeling more sentimental than he’ll ever admit.
“You know,” Changmin starts, suddenly a little shy and wishing for boldness, “I like it best when you do that.”
It’s uncharacteristic of him, really, but it’s always Jaejoong who smoothes out the sharp edges around him, always Jaejoong who eventually coaxes him into a melting mess, free for him to shape and mold behind closed doors. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know how, but he knows that Jaejoong just does, and (with a reminiscent smile) he thinks it’s not so bad being a mess sometimes.
Jaejoong reaches a hand over and cups Changmin’s cheek, presses his palm against the stain of a blush born of embarrassment. He pauses for a moment before he leans down and brushes his lips over Changmin’s; it’s a fleeting kiss, leaving the younger man holding his breath when they separate.
There’s a flutter in his chest, a spark of warmth that permeates the space between every beat, and Changmin lets it fill him up as he closes his eyes.
Dong Bang Shin Ki go out with a bang, with explosions and camera flashes, rivers of tears and fuel for the press. It’s unexpected and yet expected all the same, a fear that’s been disguised as hope and truth and belief.
The first days are torturous, almost as unbearable as the evenings; but it’s when the sun sets that things become painful.
The apartment is the aftermath of a hurricane, disheveled and unorganized as the broken members try, one by one, to listen to orders. They try to remember that there’s a thing called coping, but they’re blinded all the same; it’s difficult when they still see one another, still pretend that things are fine.
Junsu is the first to walk out, two luggage cases in tow. There’s more, but he’ll be back to get his boxes, or he’ll send someone-he’s not sure he can take it if he steps in here again. He pauses in the door and turns to the others, sees his own face reflected in theirs, sunken and gaunt and devoid of rest.
Changmin remembers the talk from just hours earlier, how Yunho held his composure best, chin trembling as he calmly told Junsu-“Take it; you’d be stupid not to.” It somehow feels right that Junsu continues; he’s fit for the spotlight, meant to be there, even if he has to stand alone. The other members have known all along, have wished for it.
But even so, when the door closes behind Junsu, the apartment suddenly feels that much emptier.
Yoochun leaves next. He’s almost unrecognizable by this point, thinner than two weeks prior and a wreck of insomnia, dried tears, and depression.
Changmin is standing by the bedroom door when Yoochun’s packing, only he’s reached a break, and Jaejoong’s beside him, hand clasped in hand as they lean against each other. Changmin can’t see their faces, but the older man is whispering into the other’s ear, a light lullaby that Yoochun intentionally ignores. He realizes Yoochun doesn’t want to close his eyes, doesn’t want to blink and miss what he has left.
The image of the soulmates in the bedroom stays ingrained in Changmin’s mind as he stands with the others and bids Yoochun goodbye. They’re all determined not to break, but Yoochun slips first, and they fall shortly after; it’s tearful, shreds and rips at something deep inside.
“This isn’t goodbye; I’ll still be close,” Changmin remembers Yoochun saying. But he knows Yoochun needs his mother and brother, needs them to mend his wings in ways the rest of them can’t. And so they urge him on.
Changmin thinks the silence that descends over the apartment afterward is borderline deafening, and he retreats to his room, drowns in the absurdity and ‘All in Vain’ on loop.
It’s only at Jaejoong’s insistence that Yunho packs his bags for home in the country. Changmin doesn’t understand the complexities the two eldest share, but it’s something he carefully avoids, even now.
The leader always puts on a strong façade, digs for strength when he’s left with none, and Jaejoong is the one who sees everything, the only one that Yunho allows to come close to him. The two of them have a lengthy talk in the bathroom, and for the longest time, Changmin fights off the urge to press his ear to the door. He opts instead for his collection of CDs, which he plays on Junsu’s leftover stereo as he lies on the bare mattress and stares at bare walls, at a bare ceiling.
When Yunho finally emerges, Jaejoong following, his eyes are red-rimmed and exhausted. The lack of shaving the past few days has left an unsightly mess of hair on the leader’s face, leaving him haggard, battered-looking.
Changmin trails after the two, watches as Jaejoong stops short of the door. Yunho looks at them one last time, and when their eyes meet, Changmin thinks he sees a small spark of determination.
“Wait for me. Didn’t I say I’d gather us together again, as the leader?”
Yunho doesn’t wait for an answer-he knows it, they all know it-and turns, stepping over the threshold. The door closes behind him, and when Changmin glances at Jaejoong, it’s like watching the strings loosen and unwind, suddenly and abruptly.
He finds himself stepping closer, pulling the older man against him, and as wet cheeks brush against his own, he wonders why he isn’t crying, too.
Nearly a full week after, and the apartment is nearly dead. The lights don’t turn on the same way, and the rooms hear more silence than they have in a long while. There’s too much empty space, too little color, and they know there’s no way to fix it.
The living room is the tidiest area of the apartment, but only because the two of them spend the majority of their time there. Daytime is spent breathing on the balcony, cleaning half-heartedly and giving up partway through, but at night-at night, their favorite place is the couch.
They huddle against each other, wrapped in a comfortable array of limbs and body heat. Changmin finds himself curling into Jaejoong, reveling in a small sense of security when the older man drapes an arm around him and pulls him impossibly closer.
He wants to ask, wants to know what happens from here, but he’s more than afraid to question it. It’s as if this remaining piece of reality is the only thing keeping him alive and remotely sane. He doesn’t know anymore, really, but as he buries his face into Jaejoong’s chest and fists the fabric of his shirt, breathes every inch of the older man beside him, he thinks the only thing he does know is how real this is-here, with Jaejoong.
After a moment, he relaxes and releases Jaejoong’s shirt, inhales and clenches his eyes shut against the other’s neck. Jaejoong doesn’t speak and just holds on, reaches a hand up to bury into Changmin’s hair, gentle and soothing.
Another few seconds pass before Changmin lets out a deep breath, eyes still closed and face still resting by Jaejoong’s collarbone.
“Is this it?” he asks, little more than a whisper. “The end of the world?”
Changmin feels Jaejoong tighten his embrace, and when the older man answers, he hears his voice reverberate through his chest.
“We’ll sleep through it together.”
____________________
A/N: God, I can't believe I'm still awake at this hour, lmao. ;;
But my muse has been uncooperative & dead lately (as you can sorta tell :|), so I let it run this time.
(even though it's evil, evil, evil of me to write something like this at this time; feel free to beat me to pieces :||||)
I don't know what's gotten into me. *sigh* ;;
Comments are appreciated, as always. ♥