YunJae - Alone
Title: Alone
Word count: 1,944 words
Pairing: Yunjae
Rating: PG
Warnings: HIGH angst
Summary: He, too, once believed in forever.
Disclaimer: DBSK do not belong to me. The lyrics to 'Alone' also do not belong to me.
Notes: Based on the lyrics of Outsider's Alone and vaguely inspired by the music video (with subs underneath the cut). Note that I DON'T believe this in anyway reflects reality, this is just my literary attempt to write about my OTP based on this gorgeous song.
In my memories, no matter how much I struggle to erase your existence
every night, in my dreams,
she appears, wiping away my falling tears.
What should I do? Say that everything is okay?
Lie to myself? I can't take this anymore!
Tick tock. Tick tock. The hands of the clock signal the passage of time as he lies awake during yet another sleepless night, its seconds passing through his fingertips like sand. He shifts position on his bed and smiles bitterly when he is still not used to the vast amount of space to his side. It’s too big for one, but he tries to convince himself that finally, he no longer feels squished, no longer needs to untangle his body from another pair of limbs holding him down. He buries his nose in the too-perfectly fluffed pillow beside him, and inhales. He only smells his own cologne and aftershave. How long has it been? Two days? Three weeks? One year? He tells himself he no longer remembers. He tells himself he has already forgotten that the exact time is 1 year, 5 months, and 23 days.
He tells himself he no longer remembers that day when he walked into their shared bedroom, looking for his iPod that Jaejoong had “borrowed” from him again. He rummages through his lover’s bag, and finds the familiar device to only to find something tangled in the earphone cord, dropping to the floor with a “thud.” He bends down to pick it up. It’s card with the name of a too-familiar law firm imprinted on the front and a short message on the back. Please remind Yoochun-sshi and Junsu-sshi that your appointment has been scheduled for June 30th, 2010.
He stands still, frozen in place, unable to move. He feels a slight pain in his hand and realizes that he had crushed the business card in his hand, its sharp corners digging into his skin.
There is the click of a door opening, and the familiar voice of, “I’m home!” He hears the sound of keys being tossed onto the table, and the unmistakable patter of footsteps leading to their room. Seeing Yunho, Jaejoong smiles, its brilliance blinding the younger man since their first meeting eight years ago.
“Yunho-yah, you’re home!” Jaejoong wraps his arms around the other man’s body. He pulls away in concern when the other remains frozen in place.
“What’s wrong Yunho? Are you not feeling well?” He places a hand on the other’s forehead, only to have it roughly pushed aside.
“Wh-what is this? I thought we already said that we’re going to try discussing with them more!” He throws the card on their nightstand table and watches as the other’s eyes become saturated with sadness.
“I know, but we can’t take this anymore. You’ve seen Yoochun and Junsu, you must have noticed how tired they are. Hell, Junsu has to perform a three-hour concert with an injured leg, and Yoochun still has his flu and asthma! And Yunho, I’m tired of this.”
He tells himself he does not see the way their moodmaker’s smile no longer reaches his eyes, buried under fatigue and dark eye circles. He tells himself he does not hear Yoochun’s hacking coughs in the middle of the night. He tells himself he does not see the way Jaejoong falls asleep in deep exhaustion the minute his head hits the pillow, does not hear the other’s quiet complaints of “I’m so tired Yunho-yah” or “Why do we have another recording after 10 hours of dance practice?” because he is too busy checking and confirming their schedule for tomorrow.
“So you guys are intent on suing?” It’s a question he already knows the answer to.
“Yes.” Jaejoong faces him, his eyes searches his, desperately seeking for a sign of understanding or even acknowledgment. He looks away, giving neither.
“You do this knowing what can happen to the group?” To us?
“Yes.” This time Jaejoong looks at the ground, eyes no longer meeting his.
For a moment he cannot breathe as images flood through his mind. He sees five young, immature voices singing ‘O Holy Night’ on their first stage, choked voices and tears of happiness when they win their first award, five hands clasped as one as “DBSK hwaiting!” resonates in the stuffy dressing room. He hears a voice singing for their 800,000 fans yet singing for only him, sees a smile he’ll remember until his last breath, feels fingers intertwined with his.
For almost six years, he lived and breathed the same dream with four others, built his existence with these same four people. For almost six years, he spoke not of empty words to appease fans, but of promises he held close to his heart. For almost six years, he believed in forever.
Red-hot pain crushes his heart, robbing him the ability to breathe, and he clutches his chest with both hands. He doesn’t know whether he’s trying to protect it from more pain or trying to claw his heart out so he will never have to feel pain ever again.
“Yunho-“ the other starts, but instinct tells him to nurse his wounds and he does the only thing he can do - get rid of the source of his pain.
He roughly pushes the other man away, ignoring the other’s cry as the force causes him to slam into the wall. “Go away you selfish bastard! I never want to see you again!”
“Yunho, please understand-“ Jaejoong whispers weakly, voiced laced with helplessness.
“No, I can’t understand! I can’t understand why you want to tear us apart!” He roughly picks up the older man and pushes him out their room and slams the door. “I hate you, go away!”
Finally, he’s alone in the room. Jaejoong can never hurt him anymore, can never abandon him anymore. His body sags in defeat and he bites his hand hard to muffle his sobs, ignoring the blood flowing from his hand and dripping onto the floor.
It doesn’t take long for the three, for him to move out, and soon after even their maknae moves out. Once alone, he burns every picture of the group he can find in his room, burning those memories from his mind. Yet, after a minute, fear consumes him and he rushes to put out the fire dancing on the photos, ignoring the heat scorching his hand. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he managed to save most of the photos, even though some of them were nothing more than charred remains of moments captured in time. Moments that will probably never occur again.
A glint of silver catches his eye and he turns to find a framed photograph of him and Jaejoong taken during their photoshoot in Paris. It was a photo of them hand-in-hand, smiling against the backdrop of the sunny sky and Eiffel Tower. It was their first vacation after they had gotten together, and the two of them had snuck off during a filming break. There were no professional photographers, no assistants to perfect the lighting, no airbrushing, just a selca taken from Jaejoong’s camera. And yet it was already enough capture the love on their happy faces. He remembers that time, a time when securing a number one spot in Japan was a faraway dream, and singing in the Tokyo Dome was a fantasy the two of them chuckled over lazy mornings cuddled in bed. He remembers that time when Jaejoong was still all smiles despite their long hours. He remembers a time when forever was as solid as another’s beating heart against his hands. Funny, how fantasy became a reality but he was so utterly alone.
A spark of anger and frustration spikes inside him, and he throws the photoframe against the floor, hearing the crash of glass against wood. Tears blur his vision as he sinks to the floor. The broken glass cuts his feet, its million pieces catching the light and shining back at him, mocking him. Without Jaejoong, he blindly scrambles to pick up pieces of the photoframe, to pick up pieces of his heart.
Ever since then, he clutches the photograph to sleep everynight.
It’s another sleepless night. He grabs two sleeping pills and swallows it without water. The silence of these white walls is too loud for him. He tells himself he no longer remembers the drip drip of coffee in the kitchen, the potent caffeine a necessary ingredient to wake him up in the mornings when the affects of his allergies and asthma were the most severe. He tells himself he no longer remembers the repeated mashing of fingers against videogame controllers as two loud voices fill the living room in their latest videogame competition. He tells him he no longer remembers a laugh when he whines “Sing me to sleep Jaejongieee” in his best aegyo voice, followed by the first notes of Forgotten Season sung by him.
He scrambles out of bed and frantically runs around in the empty apartment, trying to run away from the noise that wouldn’t leave him alone. His feet take him to the music room, now devoid of equipment except for a keyboard. He sees himself sitting side-by-side with another, their hands dancing over the keys, playing a familiar melody. It’s Love in the Ice, and they start to sing, their voices meshing together in perfect harmony as they play the piano. Black, white, black white. Black is separated by white, just like white is separated by black. The same colors could have almost touched, but now they are always separated.
He covers his ears, trying to block out the words speaking of protection and tenderness. It’s all false, false, nothing but empty words and promises that pierce his heart like the blade of a knife. He screams, drowning out the melody and vocals, and smashes his hands against the keys, the sound meshing with his screams in a cacophonous, almost perfect harmony.
His upper body bolts upwards. He looks around his surroundings to realize he is back in his bed. He doesn’t know how he got back here. He bows his head, only to realize his photograph with Jaejoong is nowhere in sight. He frantically searches through the comforter, the bed sheets, the floor, but it's nowhere to be found. Now, even the single piece of evidence of their relationship is gone. He doesn’t even bother to stifle the painful sobs rising from his throat.
Until he feels it. Familiar hands caress his face, fingers wiping his tears away as a weight settles on his lap. He closes his eyes, afraid that if he opens them, he would see nothing but thin air.
“Pabo, open your eyes it’s me.” A familiar chuckle.
Slowly, he opens his eyes to find the other clad in sweatpants and tank top, the same outfit he wore that day, as if he never left. Fingers don’t stop caressing his face, and gradually he feels the raw pain in his heart begin to subside, the other’s touch a cool, soothing balm. He sees the other tilting his head down, and he closes his eyes and meets him halfway in a kiss. He feels the other’s plump lips move against his as he gently caresses the other’s back with his long fingers, tracing out the letters on the tattoo. The center of TVXQ, the owner of his soul.
They break apart and the other cradles his head with his muscular arms. “Please, don’t ever leave me again, Jaejoong-ah.”
The harsh bang on the keyboard causes him to jerk sharply awake. He is in the music room, and his face feels tight with tearstains. He makes his way unsteadily back to his room. His photograph is on the bed, right where he had left it. As he looks up, he thought he sees a figure walking in the hallway, but with a blink, the figure is gone. The room is silent except for the ticking of a clock. He is alone.
Word count: 1,944 words
Pairing: Yunjae
Rating: PG
Warnings: HIGH angst
Summary: He, too, once believed in forever.
Disclaimer: DBSK do not belong to me. The lyrics to 'Alone' also do not belong to me.
Notes: Based on the lyrics of Outsider's Alone and vaguely inspired by the music video (with subs underneath the cut). Note that I DON'T believe this in anyway reflects reality, this is just my literary attempt to write about my OTP based on this gorgeous song.
Click to viewIn my memories, no matter how much I struggle to erase your existence
every night, in my dreams,
she appears, wiping away my falling tears.
What should I do? Say that everything is okay?
Lie to myself? I can't take this anymore!
Tick tock. Tick tock. The hands of the clock signal the passage of time as he lies awake during yet another sleepless night, its seconds passing through his fingertips like sand. He shifts position on his bed and smiles bitterly when he is still not used to the vast amount of space to his side. It’s too big for one, but he tries to convince himself that finally, he no longer feels squished, no longer needs to untangle his body from another pair of limbs holding him down. He buries his nose in the too-perfectly fluffed pillow beside him, and inhales. He only smells his own cologne and aftershave. How long has it been? Two days? Three weeks? One year? He tells himself he no longer remembers. He tells himself he has already forgotten that the exact time is 1 year, 5 months, and 23 days.
He tells himself he no longer remembers that day when he walked into their shared bedroom, looking for his iPod that Jaejoong had “borrowed” from him again. He rummages through his lover’s bag, and finds the familiar device to only to find something tangled in the earphone cord, dropping to the floor with a “thud.” He bends down to pick it up. It’s card with the name of a too-familiar law firm imprinted on the front and a short message on the back. Please remind Yoochun-sshi and Junsu-sshi that your appointment has been scheduled for June 30th, 2010.
He stands still, frozen in place, unable to move. He feels a slight pain in his hand and realizes that he had crushed the business card in his hand, its sharp corners digging into his skin.
There is the click of a door opening, and the familiar voice of, “I’m home!” He hears the sound of keys being tossed onto the table, and the unmistakable patter of footsteps leading to their room. Seeing Yunho, Jaejoong smiles, its brilliance blinding the younger man since their first meeting eight years ago.
“Yunho-yah, you’re home!” Jaejoong wraps his arms around the other man’s body. He pulls away in concern when the other remains frozen in place.
“What’s wrong Yunho? Are you not feeling well?” He places a hand on the other’s forehead, only to have it roughly pushed aside.
“Wh-what is this? I thought we already said that we’re going to try discussing with them more!” He throws the card on their nightstand table and watches as the other’s eyes become saturated with sadness.
“I know, but we can’t take this anymore. You’ve seen Yoochun and Junsu, you must have noticed how tired they are. Hell, Junsu has to perform a three-hour concert with an injured leg, and Yoochun still has his flu and asthma! And Yunho, I’m tired of this.”
He tells himself he does not see the way their moodmaker’s smile no longer reaches his eyes, buried under fatigue and dark eye circles. He tells himself he does not hear Yoochun’s hacking coughs in the middle of the night. He tells himself he does not see the way Jaejoong falls asleep in deep exhaustion the minute his head hits the pillow, does not hear the other’s quiet complaints of “I’m so tired Yunho-yah” or “Why do we have another recording after 10 hours of dance practice?” because he is too busy checking and confirming their schedule for tomorrow.
“So you guys are intent on suing?” It’s a question he already knows the answer to.
“Yes.” Jaejoong faces him, his eyes searches his, desperately seeking for a sign of understanding or even acknowledgment. He looks away, giving neither.
“You do this knowing what can happen to the group?” To us?
“Yes.” This time Jaejoong looks at the ground, eyes no longer meeting his.
For a moment he cannot breathe as images flood through his mind. He sees five young, immature voices singing ‘O Holy Night’ on their first stage, choked voices and tears of happiness when they win their first award, five hands clasped as one as “DBSK hwaiting!” resonates in the stuffy dressing room. He hears a voice singing for their 800,000 fans yet singing for only him, sees a smile he’ll remember until his last breath, feels fingers intertwined with his.
For almost six years, he lived and breathed the same dream with four others, built his existence with these same four people. For almost six years, he spoke not of empty words to appease fans, but of promises he held close to his heart. For almost six years, he believed in forever.
Red-hot pain crushes his heart, robbing him the ability to breathe, and he clutches his chest with both hands. He doesn’t know whether he’s trying to protect it from more pain or trying to claw his heart out so he will never have to feel pain ever again.
“Yunho-“ the other starts, but instinct tells him to nurse his wounds and he does the only thing he can do - get rid of the source of his pain.
He roughly pushes the other man away, ignoring the other’s cry as the force causes him to slam into the wall. “Go away you selfish bastard! I never want to see you again!”
“Yunho, please understand-“ Jaejoong whispers weakly, voiced laced with helplessness.
“No, I can’t understand! I can’t understand why you want to tear us apart!” He roughly picks up the older man and pushes him out their room and slams the door. “I hate you, go away!”
Finally, he’s alone in the room. Jaejoong can never hurt him anymore, can never abandon him anymore. His body sags in defeat and he bites his hand hard to muffle his sobs, ignoring the blood flowing from his hand and dripping onto the floor.
It doesn’t take long for the three, for him to move out, and soon after even their maknae moves out. Once alone, he burns every picture of the group he can find in his room, burning those memories from his mind. Yet, after a minute, fear consumes him and he rushes to put out the fire dancing on the photos, ignoring the heat scorching his hand. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he managed to save most of the photos, even though some of them were nothing more than charred remains of moments captured in time. Moments that will probably never occur again.
A glint of silver catches his eye and he turns to find a framed photograph of him and Jaejoong taken during their photoshoot in Paris. It was a photo of them hand-in-hand, smiling against the backdrop of the sunny sky and Eiffel Tower. It was their first vacation after they had gotten together, and the two of them had snuck off during a filming break. There were no professional photographers, no assistants to perfect the lighting, no airbrushing, just a selca taken from Jaejoong’s camera. And yet it was already enough capture the love on their happy faces. He remembers that time, a time when securing a number one spot in Japan was a faraway dream, and singing in the Tokyo Dome was a fantasy the two of them chuckled over lazy mornings cuddled in bed. He remembers that time when Jaejoong was still all smiles despite their long hours. He remembers a time when forever was as solid as another’s beating heart against his hands. Funny, how fantasy became a reality but he was so utterly alone.
A spark of anger and frustration spikes inside him, and he throws the photoframe against the floor, hearing the crash of glass against wood. Tears blur his vision as he sinks to the floor. The broken glass cuts his feet, its million pieces catching the light and shining back at him, mocking him. Without Jaejoong, he blindly scrambles to pick up pieces of the photoframe, to pick up pieces of his heart.
Ever since then, he clutches the photograph to sleep everynight.
It’s another sleepless night. He grabs two sleeping pills and swallows it without water. The silence of these white walls is too loud for him. He tells himself he no longer remembers the drip drip of coffee in the kitchen, the potent caffeine a necessary ingredient to wake him up in the mornings when the affects of his allergies and asthma were the most severe. He tells himself he no longer remembers the repeated mashing of fingers against videogame controllers as two loud voices fill the living room in their latest videogame competition. He tells him he no longer remembers a laugh when he whines “Sing me to sleep Jaejongieee” in his best aegyo voice, followed by the first notes of Forgotten Season sung by him.
He scrambles out of bed and frantically runs around in the empty apartment, trying to run away from the noise that wouldn’t leave him alone. His feet take him to the music room, now devoid of equipment except for a keyboard. He sees himself sitting side-by-side with another, their hands dancing over the keys, playing a familiar melody. It’s Love in the Ice, and they start to sing, their voices meshing together in perfect harmony as they play the piano. Black, white, black white. Black is separated by white, just like white is separated by black. The same colors could have almost touched, but now they are always separated.
He covers his ears, trying to block out the words speaking of protection and tenderness. It’s all false, false, nothing but empty words and promises that pierce his heart like the blade of a knife. He screams, drowning out the melody and vocals, and smashes his hands against the keys, the sound meshing with his screams in a cacophonous, almost perfect harmony.
His upper body bolts upwards. He looks around his surroundings to realize he is back in his bed. He doesn’t know how he got back here. He bows his head, only to realize his photograph with Jaejoong is nowhere in sight. He frantically searches through the comforter, the bed sheets, the floor, but it's nowhere to be found. Now, even the single piece of evidence of their relationship is gone. He doesn’t even bother to stifle the painful sobs rising from his throat.
Until he feels it. Familiar hands caress his face, fingers wiping his tears away as a weight settles on his lap. He closes his eyes, afraid that if he opens them, he would see nothing but thin air.
“Pabo, open your eyes it’s me.” A familiar chuckle.
Slowly, he opens his eyes to find the other clad in sweatpants and tank top, the same outfit he wore that day, as if he never left. Fingers don’t stop caressing his face, and gradually he feels the raw pain in his heart begin to subside, the other’s touch a cool, soothing balm. He sees the other tilting his head down, and he closes his eyes and meets him halfway in a kiss. He feels the other’s plump lips move against his as he gently caresses the other’s back with his long fingers, tracing out the letters on the tattoo. The center of TVXQ, the owner of his soul.
They break apart and the other cradles his head with his muscular arms. “Please, don’t ever leave me again, Jaejoong-ah.”
The harsh bang on the keyboard causes him to jerk sharply awake. He is in the music room, and his face feels tight with tearstains. He makes his way unsteadily back to his room. His photograph is on the bed, right where he had left it. As he looks up, he thought he sees a figure walking in the hallway, but with a blink, the figure is gone. The room is silent except for the ticking of a clock. He is alone.