commotions
title: commotions
pairings: yoosu ♥, yunjae, hint of OT5
rating: PG-13
4432 words.
ten random words and phrases given to me by irisu_chan and kj201 to which I've written rather lengthy drabbles. this is what I do when I'm studying for exams D:! normal fics coming when I actually have time to write o.o
fairytale yoosu
the white walls are empty, missing portraits and randomly written yellow post-its. junsu recalls some of the messages in their old apartment, the ones that never got old; hey shim changmin your feet smell and hereby I declare junsu has officially beaten my fifa high score (signed by jung yunho). he takes some double-sided tape and presses a polaroid picture with the five of them near the eiffel tower to one of the bothersome empty spots.
the house breathes like an ocean wind; there are large open windows in the living area that remind of open air concerts and afternoon naps. there is enough space, but no room to curl up yet. brand new houses make junsu feel like some insignificant small speck of dust hanging around aimlessly in the big bad universe. he spends some time sitting on a plastic red stool, something jaejoong picked.
if he lets his thoughts play, he will be building thrones out of boxes and cds, maybe held together by all the text messages and memorable awards. he would be the king of their pile of rubble; their excuses for fame, happiness and all that jazz. it is not as if he feels superior to the others, rather they want him to be, because you really are the best and without you, where would we be?
junsu can imagine where they would be far better than he can imagine where he would be.
“oh my god, all this time you’ve been sitting here on that fat ass of yours?” yoochun comes in with a bang, dumping two bags and a suitcase on top of the daydream junsu was living. “that thing is hideous,” he points at the plastic stool.
as if to counter Yoochun’s comment, he gets up and brushes the wrinkles out of his jeans. he decides to let it slip in favor of the second and his own curiosity; “jaejoong is a heathen. what’s in the bags?”
“treasure,” Yoochun answers, picking one of the plastic bags up and emptying its contents all over the floor, unbecoming himself.
“food,” junsu translates, grinning appreciatively at the sight of enough instant ramen to get them through the week. yoochun would look better on his makeshift fantasy chair, but his head is too big to fit a crown. junsu bursts out in laughter randomly, avoiding the other man’s questioning eyes.
blue door yoosu
ajar is the door of the cleverly hidden backstage entrance, on the other side of a grey building that towers over dirty sidewalks and a busy intersection. on the stone steps leading up to the opening, yoochun sits with his legs slightly bent and a cigarette between his fingers.
he feels like he should be thinking about something important, something unfinished and forgotten… time passes and he pulls out his lighter once more, setting aflame yet another 5 minutes off his life. the skies are dull and soft, smoke filling up the airspace.
“hey you, someone might see you,” junsu leans against the doorframe, staring down at the other singer. music is playing somewhere in the room behind him, but walls filter the words and dim the beats. the sound of cicadas makes everything seem so summer and alive.
“I know,” yoochun answers, not bothering to look up. he can feel the other’s presence and he knows that Junsu dislikes his cigarettes, dislikes the mood he is in. In times like these, junsu is more unhelpful than anything else, prying his fingers open until his hand fits there instead of the cancer stick. He sighs when the other singer sits down next to him, pressing a damp shoulder against his own.
“you hang out with joongie too often,” Junsu says in that voice of his that sounds like lukewarm water, never the temperature he is looking for. It can only go several ways from here and yoochun has every possible scenario ready in his head, answers lined up and varying in strength. Junsu stresses the subject by tightening his grip on his hand a little.
“I miss the times when you…” he begins, but he stops so he can press his chin onto yoochun’s shoulder, brushing his lashes against the shell of the other’s ear when he closes his eyes. “how come you’ve become so far away?” is what his words turn out like.
truthfully speaking, yoochun does know. he remembers the moment exactly, back when his heart skipped a beat too many watching junsu do nothing at all on a sunday afternoon. he remembers thinking, you can’t be the one and humorless laughter, shredding his soul into pieces of clouded feelings and forbidden words.
if the time comes, then yoochun kisses junsu against the blue door for all the world to see when no one is looking.
perfect group
“oh man, my throat feels like sandpaper today,” jaejoong says, spreading his legs out in front of him. The van is spacious, luckily.
“ don’t sing too much today, save up for the concert,” yunho reminds him helpfully, as if they are not on their way to a recording session at all. In response, he groans.
“junsu seems to have enough of the happy gene today to make you feel better,” yoochun suggests, elbowing the other singer next to him. Junsu is completely focused on his mario kart game and does not feel a thing.
jaejoong laughs, covering his mouth (but only because he does not want to make them sick, too). “yeah that works,” he admits.
“ junsu in any situation is laughable,” changmin adds, smugly watching the scene unfold before his eyes. yunho twists his mouth, but drinks his miso instead.
“shut up, don’t make me lose my game,” with fingers flying rapidly over the controls, junsu does not bother to look up at the other for even a split second.
some time passes; the van shakes from side to side as a strong wind outside tries to interfere with their time schedule. they sometimes journey in silence, but it is never eventless.
perhaps the day-to-day ritual eventually works somewhat like harmonizing; know when to back another up, know when to tone yourself down. even when no one is paying attention, it still happens naturally. yunho has always believed only women align their biological rhythms, but when both he and junsu call for a bathroom stop at the same time, it is getting rather ridiculous.
maybe there is something like ‘too perfect’.
even when jaejoong sings off-key and coughs through half of their recording, even when yoochun decides to call one of their stylist noonas; it fits in their pattern of days like the piece of a puzzle, ever-expanding. one day they might finally reach the corner pieces, until there is nothing left to solve.
“stop thinking,” someone says. perhaps that is a good idea.
mystery yunjae
for those lovers who need no words, for those who cannot say them; for those lovers who fall in love so rapidly over time, dragging out the hours until they become hasty seconds; for those lovers, nothing really counts. sure, the world is spinning and perhaps it will rain tomorrow; time tells nothing.
hold on to me jaejoong says without using his mouth. his eyes betray him.
time has forgotten the lovers who live faster than the real; it skips them every now and then, making memories seem like distant pasts and futures appear frighteningly close.
I will, tomorrow - yet he never does it right.
reality does not allow any excuse when time catches up. yunho's hand slips around jaejoong’s and tries to fit their fingers together.
never was anything ever said between them, not anything other than hey you and wake up or hang in there. encouraging the deaf, the only sound that of the time passing until it stops.
I’m so in love with you and maybe cross his mind, sometimes. yunho does not know how to say that.
he cannot even remember how he has ended up with his mouth pressed against jaejoong’s, breathing in a room too small. they move fast, for nothing lasts as short as forevers.
“someone might hear-“ jaejoong is always right.
underneath him, the man tries to hold on but never sees the mystery clouds bringing another day spent wondering. even as their bodies press together time shows no mercy and pours down, eating away at the supposed thing between them that should have shielded them.
don’t ruin it. don’t ruin it. don’t ruin-
yet for those lovers who use no words, for those who cannot muster up the courage; who fall in love so slowly over time, wasting the days until they are years of long ago; for those lovers, nothing really counts.
shadow changmin-centric
The lights, as upon the walls they play their shadow games and tease the curtains by slipping in through tiny openings are far too bright on days spent in alien hotel rooms, alienating from the blue skies seen summers ago on the beaches of Okinawa. He does not lament in the treacherous promise of comfort and sleep, though the sheets beckon him relentlessly. Pulling back the curtains, Changmin starts another day at 7 o’clock.
Perhaps they did not mean to always make him feel, but with each and every breath they took they left him searching and categorizing, sorting out the right emotions to portray. Yet he feels, though years have passed with them near and far, like something about it is off. He does not hesitate, but his eyes cannot always focus on things ahead.
Surely there is something more to life than just this; up till now it sometimes appears like a joke or another unwise decision. Perhaps he should have been more careful in determining the exact path to his eventual goal in life; yet beginnings come at random where ends always carry a meaning.
He texts them sometimes. He writes things like hey how are you doing and I went bowling the other day :D but it does not exactly mean anything. What means something is I miss you, which gets stuck somewhere in the back of his throat when he is on the phone with Jaejoong, or gaming an online battle against Junsu, or listening to the new song Yoochun has composed.
Yunho is somewhere on his side sometimes; the man’s amazing ability to ease all his uttermost troublesome thoughts comes at a high price. As he watches the other three ablaze on stages painfully familiar with memories, he sits shoulder-to-shoulder with the man who once lead him through the myriad of intimidating red lights that illuminated the path so clearly. Though the lights remain the same red these days, somehow his shadow has changed.
' to finally see you again' yunjae
jaejoong is unsuspecting a lot of things. he suspects this has to do with his short attention span, or his unwillingness to live by a proper schedule these days. luckily, he has a phone which tells him exactly when to go where and who to bring.
the apartment he resides in together with hyunjoong suits him best; he likes the wide open spaces, the weird glass doors and the expensive sofas. he spends time alone looking at ceilings and tv, but when the doorbell rings he suddenly feels far too busy to answer it. the continuous buzzing eventually gets to him, like nails scratching over a chalkboard.
things get complicated.
yunho does not look tired or stressed at all, with his familiar eyes and tall, tall legs. “jaejoong,” he says, not looking simple either. somehow it feels like finally and not now coming together, standing there in his doorway with the yellow lights of the hallway drawing around its figure.
“yunho.” he sighs, holds back the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. gnaw gnaw gnaw he will pick up another nervous habit after this. suddenly out of place in his own territory, jaejoong nods at nothing really, before the other is in his living area.
he has never even been here before.
there is no alarm clock to tell him when to say something. he does not know where to take the other man, or what to think. they share a dinner and some stories, but they do not make it through the night. jaejoong watches the other man uselessly from the middle of the room, watching as yunho puts his coat on again. he has to think real hard to come up with something to say to one of his best friends; jaejoong wants to complain and have the other say something stupid. he used to smile so goddamn much.
yunho goes first. “it’s good,” he decides, eyes meeting and expression calm - jaejoong does not notice the slight twitch in the other’s fingers, finding nothing to hold on to. outside, a car honks. maybe yunho came by cab, jaejoong did not ask - he did not ask a lot of things that evening.
“good,” jaejoong repeats, running a hand through his hair. he is not sure what is good about this, exactly.
“to finally see you again,” yunho finishes somewhat lamely, already out of words.
it should not end like that, but it does a little when yunho turns around and leaves it at that. in the hallway, a clock with a photo of the five of them has stopped working, but watches over the scene. its hands both point to yunho’s face, frozen until the time he can muster up the will to buy new batteries for it. he keeps on forgetting - he almost closes the door.
no. not this time. they have other things to not do - not talking is not one of them.
“to finally see you again,” jaejoong says around the door, head turned to catch yunho’s back, slowly becoming more distant. “to finally see you again, after all this time that I missed you,” he tries, not sure if it will reach the other.
lights flicker; a moth has ended up inside the building, taking off from lamp to lamp. yunho halts and turns around, looking like no more words and no more complications. jaejoong catches his eyes and, though it has been a while since he has heard the other say it, makes out the traces of ‘I miss you too’ somewhere in the other’s gaze.
lighthouse yoosu
the salt of the sea hangs in the air and brushes against the sails of old boats lined up in the water. it is as though it leaves grey smudges in its wake. the movements happen in ripples and cause the harbor to sing a lonely odd song, existing of low bells ringing and hollow wood colliding. the rusty stairway up to where the lighthouse stands abandoned is weak and cries with every motion.
sounds echo over the space, stretching and wandering in the landscape; laughter chimes softly; two men hold hands as they begin climbing up the steps.
“trust me, it’s amazing once you’re up there,” junsu promises, tugging on yoochun’s hand softly. the other man’s fingers are slippery and his grip weakens and strengthens from time to time; yoochun does not like heights and thinks the stairs are unreliable, but junsu is oh so persuasive and has the most beautiful smile in the world.
a little later, they’re standing on the edge of the cliff with the lighthouse right next to them. the water seems endless from there, touching the horizon where it is slightly turning to grey and revealing the first stars to adorn the sky for the upcoming night. the wind still sweeps the plains and runs over the surface to bite at waves and junsu’s rosy cheeks.
yoochun presses both his palms to his jeans and then rubs them against junsu’s face, laughing soundly as the other man seems surprised by the sudden warmth. “your hands are warm,” he says. yoochun slips his fingers to the other’s nape and tones down his mood a little.
they both know love is fickle, but the lonely lighthouse that once beckoned sailors to a safe haven now lies forgotten on top of the world, never before so beautiful. time has given the place character and life, no longer watching people come and go. yoochun presses his forehead against junsu’s and closes his eyes, holding the other’s head in his hands.
not all days are like this one, with the traces of stage make-up in the very wrinkles around junsu’s eyes. the bleak light of fading day draws no shadows and dyes the memory in a blurry haze of salt and marine blue. a kiss in the open air tastes like salt and oxygen, clenching thirst with familiar waters. yoochun thinks of tears and how they have no ship to sail. his fingers curl into junsu’s hair when the man sighs against his jaw.
ode yunjae
he tries not to look him in the eyes too much, because jaejoong stares too often and too long and far, far too well. whenever he does meet the man’s eyes, the corners of his mouth curl up in recognition of whatever is written on the other’s face; jaejoong is all for the world to see like some exquisite art exhibition, the kind where people misinterpret the symbolism all the time.
he gives no clues; he just laughs or finds things fascinating. jaejoong is not a very complicated person, for as far as people can be, but he makes everybody look anyway. some people look too often and too far - like any good work of art, he seems to get more intriguing.
yet he is so simple. yunho can never fight the grin for very long.
“don’t stop dancing,” jaejoong said the other day, “I want to watch.” it is as simple as that every single time and yunho falls for it nevertheless, knowing better. his feet dance the steps right into the other man’s heart, searching for a tangible reaction, but what follows are more eyes, watching him at all costs.
maybe jaejoong is just scared of something, deep down inside. he has too many sisters and goes out clubbing every other saturday. yeah, maybe he does not want this at all.
years pass by, but yunho still trips over jaejoong’s eyes. no other man blushes when he touches the inside of their arm; even changmin just high-fives him without laughing like a crazy mess. jaejoong just looks chaotic, with some sort of embarrassed laughter whenever near to him. yunho knows in what way the other man sees him and the way men are not supposed to want to see each other; the type of thing they have because they are equal and mysteriously easy with their affection.
when in rome…
he gives jaejoong everything, including no sympathy when it comes to rehearsals and worried eyes when yoochun is looking down again. he gives him his time, the entertainment pages of his morning newspaper and his patience, reassurances and advice. his passions in life become an ode of telling the other man what is on his mind. maybe it is just that - it is still so much fun.
perhaps that is why he is so keen on doing it. the most beautiful thing about it is the impossibility of something with such a strange level of simplicity.
summer memories group
all the temples and mystery occult of kyoto do not really exist at all. it gets tedious to pay thousand yen to enter another shrine for a god whose name, had they been able to read such ancient characters at all, would not be easy enough to remember in the first place. the path where the river flows and the fishermen throw out their nets, that is where the old traditions are kept the best.
rather than spending days inside, watching people from behind windows and yourself debuting on a show, they buy candy at a store where the people recognize them but do not yet know and sit in the small strip of grass next to the river bank.
junsu flicks a stone over the water, getting it to skip five times before it disappears under. “we won’t be sitting here,” he thinks out loud, “in five years, not like this.”
to his side, yoochun laughs once, thinking he is being delusional again. yoochun does not know him well enough, yet. the others did not hear him - maybe changmin did, or yunho, with the way his eyes peek over the rims of his glasses.
“it would be highly doubtful, yes,” changmin makes him sound like an idiot, all the time.
“I’m serious!” he protests, but he forgets to say anything else because there is a fisherman and he just reeled in his net. a bunch of fish waggle their tales from in between the ropes when the man pulls it out of the water.
“wow. that is a lot of fish,” jaejoong says, lately kind of caption obvious. jaejoong makes himself sound like an idiot. changmin tends to get aggressive about it, these days.
“ I want to catch a fish,” yoochun says, by all means finding it necessary to draw a picture for them. “a big one.”
changmin seems amused, but hides it well. “what for? so you can take a picture and throw it back.?”
yoochun looks at him weirdly. “no man. I’d eat it.”
surprisingly enough, it is yunho who starts laughing, shaking his head. jaejoong catches on quickly; “you suck at cooking. you’d totally freak out the moment you’d see blood. the insides of a fish.” he laughs soundly. “fish-dip!”
“ew that’s disgusting,” junsu pulls a face and then helps himself to some tea. without asking and a little out of respect, not counting yoochun or changmin because they are the idiots, he pours them all a cup.
the sun is burning low in the sky, reminding them once more of their whereabouts; japan’s extreme humidity is like a blanket of warm and wet cotton balls pressing against your skin. it gets uncomfortable more often than not, especially now when the rays of light catch in the blades of glass and line out parts of their faces.
“why would we need to come here again in 5 years anyway,” jaejoong says later, when the sky is orangey pink and golden beams over their heads. “we’re supposed to make memories. if we come here again then what’s the point? It’s just going to be another habit.”
junsu remains silent, wondering why that sounds hopefully idyllic , that they would be so free to have that room to never have to be able to relive memories and always just create a new one. he wonders how many memories he can make in all the summers.
dancefloor yoosu
behind the stages and out of sight, where paparazzi cannot pay the price and guest lists always get checked twice; that is where the drinks get poured and the acts get dropped. over the years it has shifted from being part of a scene to getting comfortable with the loose act. significantly memorable games have been played, right there.
the parties are like a club, the dance floor an open stage for entertainers and so be it that most of them are. it has become a game of guts, of showing what you can do and how perfect, so perfect you are. you need to lure the spotlight to your feet rather than taking it; the spotlight can be the gaze of another man, just one that notices the effort.
it might be strange at first; it is. it is foreign and different, unbecoming in these surroundings. the strange thing is that it is familiarity, not curiosity that watches junsu’s clever steps. the man in question, yoochun, has forgotten about his drink.
“oppa, you should dance,” a girl with a small face and a strong grip on his wrist suggests and puts him to the test by taking him to the dance floor. he does not know the song, but he can find the rhythm; he is not a terrific dancer, but dancing is not the real game.
what the game is, at first glance; the girl, yet behind her is the other man with his loose hips and exotic eyes, the one that sings songs everywhere they go all the time and who calls him hey man when he is trying to be funny. how arrogant.
what he imagines junsu like is oddly innocent compared to the girl’s hands sliding down his chest - hoping to look at him in the back of a cab, back his his head across his lap - these thoughts keep coming. he wants to give away to all the imitations, keeps on playing the game although it is time he is wasting.
junsu just looks at him with a thing about him that says all the things he is wondering about, a map, a guide; freedom, secrecy, the list is endless. it makes his nails curl and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
he has to hold back a deep breath to maintain control.
the beat pulsates and the drinks overflow; jaejoong is drunk and it is time to go. junsu has never looked so tired before, when he moves into the cab and ducks to not bump his head. no game can be played when even the parties are gone away; no more semi-real-personalities that are not at all real; not like the way they wake up in the morning with their hair and eye sights a mess.
yoochun cannot find his pants. he would bother to get up from the bed if it was not for the hand on his thigh; junsu’s breath on his neck and dreams still clinging to his motions. he wonders if the others know, about them sharing a bed or what has happened before - he wonders how obvious they are and what they have to act out this time to pretend nothing is going on at all.
“hey are we still dancing,” junsu mumbles, half-asleep. yes he thinks, because it is time to once more put on a simple face, making the lie the biggest dance floor for them in to reside. what other choice could there possibly be If it was always just going to be about what rhythm to fall in next. like falling in love.
pairings: yoosu ♥, yunjae, hint of OT5
rating: PG-13
4432 words.
ten random words and phrases given to me by irisu_chan and kj201 to which I've written rather lengthy drabbles. this is what I do when I'm studying for exams D:! normal fics coming when I actually have time to write o.o
fairytale yoosu
the white walls are empty, missing portraits and randomly written yellow post-its. junsu recalls some of the messages in their old apartment, the ones that never got old; hey shim changmin your feet smell and hereby I declare junsu has officially beaten my fifa high score (signed by jung yunho). he takes some double-sided tape and presses a polaroid picture with the five of them near the eiffel tower to one of the bothersome empty spots.
the house breathes like an ocean wind; there are large open windows in the living area that remind of open air concerts and afternoon naps. there is enough space, but no room to curl up yet. brand new houses make junsu feel like some insignificant small speck of dust hanging around aimlessly in the big bad universe. he spends some time sitting on a plastic red stool, something jaejoong picked.
if he lets his thoughts play, he will be building thrones out of boxes and cds, maybe held together by all the text messages and memorable awards. he would be the king of their pile of rubble; their excuses for fame, happiness and all that jazz. it is not as if he feels superior to the others, rather they want him to be, because you really are the best and without you, where would we be?
junsu can imagine where they would be far better than he can imagine where he would be.
“oh my god, all this time you’ve been sitting here on that fat ass of yours?” yoochun comes in with a bang, dumping two bags and a suitcase on top of the daydream junsu was living. “that thing is hideous,” he points at the plastic stool.
as if to counter Yoochun’s comment, he gets up and brushes the wrinkles out of his jeans. he decides to let it slip in favor of the second and his own curiosity; “jaejoong is a heathen. what’s in the bags?”
“treasure,” Yoochun answers, picking one of the plastic bags up and emptying its contents all over the floor, unbecoming himself.
“food,” junsu translates, grinning appreciatively at the sight of enough instant ramen to get them through the week. yoochun would look better on his makeshift fantasy chair, but his head is too big to fit a crown. junsu bursts out in laughter randomly, avoiding the other man’s questioning eyes.
blue door yoosu
ajar is the door of the cleverly hidden backstage entrance, on the other side of a grey building that towers over dirty sidewalks and a busy intersection. on the stone steps leading up to the opening, yoochun sits with his legs slightly bent and a cigarette between his fingers.
he feels like he should be thinking about something important, something unfinished and forgotten… time passes and he pulls out his lighter once more, setting aflame yet another 5 minutes off his life. the skies are dull and soft, smoke filling up the airspace.
“hey you, someone might see you,” junsu leans against the doorframe, staring down at the other singer. music is playing somewhere in the room behind him, but walls filter the words and dim the beats. the sound of cicadas makes everything seem so summer and alive.
“I know,” yoochun answers, not bothering to look up. he can feel the other’s presence and he knows that Junsu dislikes his cigarettes, dislikes the mood he is in. In times like these, junsu is more unhelpful than anything else, prying his fingers open until his hand fits there instead of the cancer stick. He sighs when the other singer sits down next to him, pressing a damp shoulder against his own.
“you hang out with joongie too often,” Junsu says in that voice of his that sounds like lukewarm water, never the temperature he is looking for. It can only go several ways from here and yoochun has every possible scenario ready in his head, answers lined up and varying in strength. Junsu stresses the subject by tightening his grip on his hand a little.
“I miss the times when you…” he begins, but he stops so he can press his chin onto yoochun’s shoulder, brushing his lashes against the shell of the other’s ear when he closes his eyes. “how come you’ve become so far away?” is what his words turn out like.
truthfully speaking, yoochun does know. he remembers the moment exactly, back when his heart skipped a beat too many watching junsu do nothing at all on a sunday afternoon. he remembers thinking, you can’t be the one and humorless laughter, shredding his soul into pieces of clouded feelings and forbidden words.
if the time comes, then yoochun kisses junsu against the blue door for all the world to see when no one is looking.
perfect group
“oh man, my throat feels like sandpaper today,” jaejoong says, spreading his legs out in front of him. The van is spacious, luckily.
“ don’t sing too much today, save up for the concert,” yunho reminds him helpfully, as if they are not on their way to a recording session at all. In response, he groans.
“junsu seems to have enough of the happy gene today to make you feel better,” yoochun suggests, elbowing the other singer next to him. Junsu is completely focused on his mario kart game and does not feel a thing.
jaejoong laughs, covering his mouth (but only because he does not want to make them sick, too). “yeah that works,” he admits.
“ junsu in any situation is laughable,” changmin adds, smugly watching the scene unfold before his eyes. yunho twists his mouth, but drinks his miso instead.
“shut up, don’t make me lose my game,” with fingers flying rapidly over the controls, junsu does not bother to look up at the other for even a split second.
some time passes; the van shakes from side to side as a strong wind outside tries to interfere with their time schedule. they sometimes journey in silence, but it is never eventless.
perhaps the day-to-day ritual eventually works somewhat like harmonizing; know when to back another up, know when to tone yourself down. even when no one is paying attention, it still happens naturally. yunho has always believed only women align their biological rhythms, but when both he and junsu call for a bathroom stop at the same time, it is getting rather ridiculous.
maybe there is something like ‘too perfect’.
even when jaejoong sings off-key and coughs through half of their recording, even when yoochun decides to call one of their stylist noonas; it fits in their pattern of days like the piece of a puzzle, ever-expanding. one day they might finally reach the corner pieces, until there is nothing left to solve.
“stop thinking,” someone says. perhaps that is a good idea.
mystery yunjae
for those lovers who need no words, for those who cannot say them; for those lovers who fall in love so rapidly over time, dragging out the hours until they become hasty seconds; for those lovers, nothing really counts. sure, the world is spinning and perhaps it will rain tomorrow; time tells nothing.
hold on to me jaejoong says without using his mouth. his eyes betray him.
time has forgotten the lovers who live faster than the real; it skips them every now and then, making memories seem like distant pasts and futures appear frighteningly close.
I will, tomorrow - yet he never does it right.
reality does not allow any excuse when time catches up. yunho's hand slips around jaejoong’s and tries to fit their fingers together.
never was anything ever said between them, not anything other than hey you and wake up or hang in there. encouraging the deaf, the only sound that of the time passing until it stops.
I’m so in love with you and maybe cross his mind, sometimes. yunho does not know how to say that.
he cannot even remember how he has ended up with his mouth pressed against jaejoong’s, breathing in a room too small. they move fast, for nothing lasts as short as forevers.
“someone might hear-“ jaejoong is always right.
underneath him, the man tries to hold on but never sees the mystery clouds bringing another day spent wondering. even as their bodies press together time shows no mercy and pours down, eating away at the supposed thing between them that should have shielded them.
don’t ruin it. don’t ruin it. don’t ruin-
yet for those lovers who use no words, for those who cannot muster up the courage; who fall in love so slowly over time, wasting the days until they are years of long ago; for those lovers, nothing really counts.
shadow changmin-centric
The lights, as upon the walls they play their shadow games and tease the curtains by slipping in through tiny openings are far too bright on days spent in alien hotel rooms, alienating from the blue skies seen summers ago on the beaches of Okinawa. He does not lament in the treacherous promise of comfort and sleep, though the sheets beckon him relentlessly. Pulling back the curtains, Changmin starts another day at 7 o’clock.
Perhaps they did not mean to always make him feel, but with each and every breath they took they left him searching and categorizing, sorting out the right emotions to portray. Yet he feels, though years have passed with them near and far, like something about it is off. He does not hesitate, but his eyes cannot always focus on things ahead.
Surely there is something more to life than just this; up till now it sometimes appears like a joke or another unwise decision. Perhaps he should have been more careful in determining the exact path to his eventual goal in life; yet beginnings come at random where ends always carry a meaning.
He texts them sometimes. He writes things like hey how are you doing and I went bowling the other day :D but it does not exactly mean anything. What means something is I miss you, which gets stuck somewhere in the back of his throat when he is on the phone with Jaejoong, or gaming an online battle against Junsu, or listening to the new song Yoochun has composed.
Yunho is somewhere on his side sometimes; the man’s amazing ability to ease all his uttermost troublesome thoughts comes at a high price. As he watches the other three ablaze on stages painfully familiar with memories, he sits shoulder-to-shoulder with the man who once lead him through the myriad of intimidating red lights that illuminated the path so clearly. Though the lights remain the same red these days, somehow his shadow has changed.
' to finally see you again' yunjae
jaejoong is unsuspecting a lot of things. he suspects this has to do with his short attention span, or his unwillingness to live by a proper schedule these days. luckily, he has a phone which tells him exactly when to go where and who to bring.
the apartment he resides in together with hyunjoong suits him best; he likes the wide open spaces, the weird glass doors and the expensive sofas. he spends time alone looking at ceilings and tv, but when the doorbell rings he suddenly feels far too busy to answer it. the continuous buzzing eventually gets to him, like nails scratching over a chalkboard.
things get complicated.
yunho does not look tired or stressed at all, with his familiar eyes and tall, tall legs. “jaejoong,” he says, not looking simple either. somehow it feels like finally and not now coming together, standing there in his doorway with the yellow lights of the hallway drawing around its figure.
“yunho.” he sighs, holds back the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. gnaw gnaw gnaw he will pick up another nervous habit after this. suddenly out of place in his own territory, jaejoong nods at nothing really, before the other is in his living area.
he has never even been here before.
there is no alarm clock to tell him when to say something. he does not know where to take the other man, or what to think. they share a dinner and some stories, but they do not make it through the night. jaejoong watches the other man uselessly from the middle of the room, watching as yunho puts his coat on again. he has to think real hard to come up with something to say to one of his best friends; jaejoong wants to complain and have the other say something stupid. he used to smile so goddamn much.
yunho goes first. “it’s good,” he decides, eyes meeting and expression calm - jaejoong does not notice the slight twitch in the other’s fingers, finding nothing to hold on to. outside, a car honks. maybe yunho came by cab, jaejoong did not ask - he did not ask a lot of things that evening.
“good,” jaejoong repeats, running a hand through his hair. he is not sure what is good about this, exactly.
“to finally see you again,” yunho finishes somewhat lamely, already out of words.
it should not end like that, but it does a little when yunho turns around and leaves it at that. in the hallway, a clock with a photo of the five of them has stopped working, but watches over the scene. its hands both point to yunho’s face, frozen until the time he can muster up the will to buy new batteries for it. he keeps on forgetting - he almost closes the door.
no. not this time. they have other things to not do - not talking is not one of them.
“to finally see you again,” jaejoong says around the door, head turned to catch yunho’s back, slowly becoming more distant. “to finally see you again, after all this time that I missed you,” he tries, not sure if it will reach the other.
lights flicker; a moth has ended up inside the building, taking off from lamp to lamp. yunho halts and turns around, looking like no more words and no more complications. jaejoong catches his eyes and, though it has been a while since he has heard the other say it, makes out the traces of ‘I miss you too’ somewhere in the other’s gaze.
lighthouse yoosu
the salt of the sea hangs in the air and brushes against the sails of old boats lined up in the water. it is as though it leaves grey smudges in its wake. the movements happen in ripples and cause the harbor to sing a lonely odd song, existing of low bells ringing and hollow wood colliding. the rusty stairway up to where the lighthouse stands abandoned is weak and cries with every motion.
sounds echo over the space, stretching and wandering in the landscape; laughter chimes softly; two men hold hands as they begin climbing up the steps.
“trust me, it’s amazing once you’re up there,” junsu promises, tugging on yoochun’s hand softly. the other man’s fingers are slippery and his grip weakens and strengthens from time to time; yoochun does not like heights and thinks the stairs are unreliable, but junsu is oh so persuasive and has the most beautiful smile in the world.
a little later, they’re standing on the edge of the cliff with the lighthouse right next to them. the water seems endless from there, touching the horizon where it is slightly turning to grey and revealing the first stars to adorn the sky for the upcoming night. the wind still sweeps the plains and runs over the surface to bite at waves and junsu’s rosy cheeks.
yoochun presses both his palms to his jeans and then rubs them against junsu’s face, laughing soundly as the other man seems surprised by the sudden warmth. “your hands are warm,” he says. yoochun slips his fingers to the other’s nape and tones down his mood a little.
they both know love is fickle, but the lonely lighthouse that once beckoned sailors to a safe haven now lies forgotten on top of the world, never before so beautiful. time has given the place character and life, no longer watching people come and go. yoochun presses his forehead against junsu’s and closes his eyes, holding the other’s head in his hands.
not all days are like this one, with the traces of stage make-up in the very wrinkles around junsu’s eyes. the bleak light of fading day draws no shadows and dyes the memory in a blurry haze of salt and marine blue. a kiss in the open air tastes like salt and oxygen, clenching thirst with familiar waters. yoochun thinks of tears and how they have no ship to sail. his fingers curl into junsu’s hair when the man sighs against his jaw.
ode yunjae
he tries not to look him in the eyes too much, because jaejoong stares too often and too long and far, far too well. whenever he does meet the man’s eyes, the corners of his mouth curl up in recognition of whatever is written on the other’s face; jaejoong is all for the world to see like some exquisite art exhibition, the kind where people misinterpret the symbolism all the time.
he gives no clues; he just laughs or finds things fascinating. jaejoong is not a very complicated person, for as far as people can be, but he makes everybody look anyway. some people look too often and too far - like any good work of art, he seems to get more intriguing.
yet he is so simple. yunho can never fight the grin for very long.
“don’t stop dancing,” jaejoong said the other day, “I want to watch.” it is as simple as that every single time and yunho falls for it nevertheless, knowing better. his feet dance the steps right into the other man’s heart, searching for a tangible reaction, but what follows are more eyes, watching him at all costs.
maybe jaejoong is just scared of something, deep down inside. he has too many sisters and goes out clubbing every other saturday. yeah, maybe he does not want this at all.
years pass by, but yunho still trips over jaejoong’s eyes. no other man blushes when he touches the inside of their arm; even changmin just high-fives him without laughing like a crazy mess. jaejoong just looks chaotic, with some sort of embarrassed laughter whenever near to him. yunho knows in what way the other man sees him and the way men are not supposed to want to see each other; the type of thing they have because they are equal and mysteriously easy with their affection.
when in rome…
he gives jaejoong everything, including no sympathy when it comes to rehearsals and worried eyes when yoochun is looking down again. he gives him his time, the entertainment pages of his morning newspaper and his patience, reassurances and advice. his passions in life become an ode of telling the other man what is on his mind. maybe it is just that - it is still so much fun.
perhaps that is why he is so keen on doing it. the most beautiful thing about it is the impossibility of something with such a strange level of simplicity.
summer memories group
all the temples and mystery occult of kyoto do not really exist at all. it gets tedious to pay thousand yen to enter another shrine for a god whose name, had they been able to read such ancient characters at all, would not be easy enough to remember in the first place. the path where the river flows and the fishermen throw out their nets, that is where the old traditions are kept the best.
rather than spending days inside, watching people from behind windows and yourself debuting on a show, they buy candy at a store where the people recognize them but do not yet know and sit in the small strip of grass next to the river bank.
junsu flicks a stone over the water, getting it to skip five times before it disappears under. “we won’t be sitting here,” he thinks out loud, “in five years, not like this.”
to his side, yoochun laughs once, thinking he is being delusional again. yoochun does not know him well enough, yet. the others did not hear him - maybe changmin did, or yunho, with the way his eyes peek over the rims of his glasses.
“it would be highly doubtful, yes,” changmin makes him sound like an idiot, all the time.
“I’m serious!” he protests, but he forgets to say anything else because there is a fisherman and he just reeled in his net. a bunch of fish waggle their tales from in between the ropes when the man pulls it out of the water.
“wow. that is a lot of fish,” jaejoong says, lately kind of caption obvious. jaejoong makes himself sound like an idiot. changmin tends to get aggressive about it, these days.
“ I want to catch a fish,” yoochun says, by all means finding it necessary to draw a picture for them. “a big one.”
changmin seems amused, but hides it well. “what for? so you can take a picture and throw it back.?”
yoochun looks at him weirdly. “no man. I’d eat it.”
surprisingly enough, it is yunho who starts laughing, shaking his head. jaejoong catches on quickly; “you suck at cooking. you’d totally freak out the moment you’d see blood. the insides of a fish.” he laughs soundly. “fish-dip!”
“ew that’s disgusting,” junsu pulls a face and then helps himself to some tea. without asking and a little out of respect, not counting yoochun or changmin because they are the idiots, he pours them all a cup.
the sun is burning low in the sky, reminding them once more of their whereabouts; japan’s extreme humidity is like a blanket of warm and wet cotton balls pressing against your skin. it gets uncomfortable more often than not, especially now when the rays of light catch in the blades of glass and line out parts of their faces.
“why would we need to come here again in 5 years anyway,” jaejoong says later, when the sky is orangey pink and golden beams over their heads. “we’re supposed to make memories. if we come here again then what’s the point? It’s just going to be another habit.”
junsu remains silent, wondering why that sounds hopefully idyllic , that they would be so free to have that room to never have to be able to relive memories and always just create a new one. he wonders how many memories he can make in all the summers.
dancefloor yoosu
behind the stages and out of sight, where paparazzi cannot pay the price and guest lists always get checked twice; that is where the drinks get poured and the acts get dropped. over the years it has shifted from being part of a scene to getting comfortable with the loose act. significantly memorable games have been played, right there.
the parties are like a club, the dance floor an open stage for entertainers and so be it that most of them are. it has become a game of guts, of showing what you can do and how perfect, so perfect you are. you need to lure the spotlight to your feet rather than taking it; the spotlight can be the gaze of another man, just one that notices the effort.
it might be strange at first; it is. it is foreign and different, unbecoming in these surroundings. the strange thing is that it is familiarity, not curiosity that watches junsu’s clever steps. the man in question, yoochun, has forgotten about his drink.
“oppa, you should dance,” a girl with a small face and a strong grip on his wrist suggests and puts him to the test by taking him to the dance floor. he does not know the song, but he can find the rhythm; he is not a terrific dancer, but dancing is not the real game.
what the game is, at first glance; the girl, yet behind her is the other man with his loose hips and exotic eyes, the one that sings songs everywhere they go all the time and who calls him hey man when he is trying to be funny. how arrogant.
what he imagines junsu like is oddly innocent compared to the girl’s hands sliding down his chest - hoping to look at him in the back of a cab, back his his head across his lap - these thoughts keep coming. he wants to give away to all the imitations, keeps on playing the game although it is time he is wasting.
junsu just looks at him with a thing about him that says all the things he is wondering about, a map, a guide; freedom, secrecy, the list is endless. it makes his nails curl and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
he has to hold back a deep breath to maintain control.
the beat pulsates and the drinks overflow; jaejoong is drunk and it is time to go. junsu has never looked so tired before, when he moves into the cab and ducks to not bump his head. no game can be played when even the parties are gone away; no more semi-real-personalities that are not at all real; not like the way they wake up in the morning with their hair and eye sights a mess.
yoochun cannot find his pants. he would bother to get up from the bed if it was not for the hand on his thigh; junsu’s breath on his neck and dreams still clinging to his motions. he wonders if the others know, about them sharing a bed or what has happened before - he wonders how obvious they are and what they have to act out this time to pretend nothing is going on at all.
“hey are we still dancing,” junsu mumbles, half-asleep. yes he thinks, because it is time to once more put on a simple face, making the lie the biggest dance floor for them in to reside. what other choice could there possibly be If it was always just going to be about what rhythm to fall in next. like falling in love.