Fic: For every evil
Up until the age of 18, Junsu had been a law-abiding citizen; he wore plain, colorless clothes, seldom talked, and didn’t think about the what ifs and the maybes. He was like everyone else, until he fell in love.
*
Everyone is required by law to visit the Museum weekly. Today is his birthday but he decides to go anyway; holidays and celebrations are meaningless, and every day is very much like the next. He stands by himself, eyes drawn to a blown up picture of two people next to each other, arms linked and smiles on their faces. It’s far from an inspirational picture, however; it’s a sequence of photos, each one grimmer than the last. The next one shows them standing apart, eyes cold and mouths set in hard, thin lines. The next, mouths open wide, screaming silently at each other, arms raised threateningly. The very last picture is this: there is a girl, lying on the floor (she’s dead) and the boy stands over her, face turned away. This is the price of love, it says. Of happiness.
But he can’t stop looking at the first picture, of the sky vivid and blue behind them, of the faint smiles that touch their lips and reach their eyes, of the way they look at each other and it means something. He’s still studying it when someone comes to stand next to him, so close Junsu can feel their clothes brush. The faintest hint of irritation surfaces, and he makes to move away.
As Junsu turns there’s a glint of light that catches his eye and makes him stop, caught.
It’s a boy, an ordinary boy, but he’s wearing earrings, shining and silvery and shaped like upside-down u’s. Junsu gapes at them for a second- it’s not illegal, but it’s just not done. Not to mention he’s got unkempt, black hair and a rumpled uniform, all marks of nonconformity. Their eyes meet and Junsu flushes; the guy is smiling at him and he doesn’t understand why because who smiles anymore? What’s there to smile about?
He doesn’t move, doesn’t smile back, and the boy moves away to other exhibits.
That night he dreams of the picture again, but the couple’s faces blur and shift until he realizes he’s looking at himself, standing next to the earring boy. They’re both smiling and happy, and he thinks, somewhere in the back of his mind, this feels natural.
*
Junsu avoids conflict. He minds his own business and keeps to himself, because that is what everyone does.
But when he’s walking along and sees a girl being harassed by two Guards, he can’t pretend he doesn’t see them. It’s too late anyway; they’ve already seen him and they’re looking at him, silent, waiting to see what he’ll do. The thing is- the girl is so young it makes him want to cry, she looks like she’s 13, too young for what he thinks is going to happen to her. She’s not even that pretty but Junsu guesses she was an easy target; she’s not struggling or fighting, just crying and whimpering in fear.
There’s no way he can leave her like that, in their clutches, so he steps forward and says as forcefully as he can, “Let her go.”
The Guards are amused, and they should be. They’re older than he is, stronger, tougher, and they know he’s no match for them. The only thing on his side is that they’re both drunk, and he hopes it's enough.
One of them moves forward and takes a swing at him; he dodges it and jabs at the man’s gut. To his surprise he connects; the Guard stumbles for a second, clumsy with beer and alcohol.
The one holding the girl lets her go and lunges for Junsu. He’s the more sober one, and his first punch lands on Junsu’s side.
Junsu chokes. Ow. Fuck, fuck, fuck that hurt. He can’t breathe but at least he’s got the Guards’ attention. Eyes watering, he manages to lift his head and mouths to the girl, “Run.”
She nods with her hands over her eyes and then she’s gone, running as fast as she can, never looking back.
He’s left with two very pissed off Guards who would probably like nothing better than to have his head on a stick. He tries to get up, but a well placed kick to his legs forces him the ground.
“Oh, well,” he thinks dimly, vaguely. “At least this is an honorable way to go.” He braces himself for more kicks and beatings, but other noises and yelps of pain come from above him and he opens his eyes.
There, standing over him, is the earring boy, who looks down at him and offers Junsu his hand. Dazed, Junsu lets himself be pulled to his feet. One Guard is lying on the ground, unconscious, and the other is limping away quickly.
“What-,” Junsu tries to say, and then stops. “Thank you,” he says instead, still stunned from what just happened.
The boy doesn’t even look tired; he just grins at Junsu widely. “Now,” he says cheerfully. “You owe me something since I saved your butt.”
Junsu stares at him blankly. “I’m sorry,” he says warily. “I don’t have anything to give you.”
A laugh. “I want your name,” he says, teasingly.
“Oh,” Junsu says, cheeks turning pink. He’s not sure why he feels so flustered and why he’s stumbling over his words. “Um, Junsu.”
The boy extends his hand but Junsu’s looking behind him because the Guard is getting up, moving towards the boy, going to hurt him-
“No,” he cries, panicked, and lunges forward instinctively. He extends his hand and jabs the Guard in the eyes, hard.
Junsu recoils as he feels his fingers sink in (had he been in his right mind, he never would have done it), flinches when the Guard lets out a ghastly scream and crumples to the ground.
He looks back at the boy and suddenly notices how exactly he’s positioned. In his attempt to reach the Guard he had moved forward until he was chest to chest with the boy, eye to eye. He quickly moves back, blushing.
“Now you owe me something,” he says hurriedly, covering up his embarrassment.
The boy looks startled as well but recovers and even smiles at the irony of the situation.
“What’s your name?” he asks, but they’re interrupted by a sudden, loud groan from behind them that reminds Junsu of their situation. “We’d better get out of here.” He grabs the boy’s arm, dragging both of them out of the alley.
They get to Junsu’s house and he stops, panting. “This is where I live,” he says, somewhat awkwardly. “It was nice- I mean- thank you.”
He makes to move away, but the boy suddenly leans forward, blocking him. “My name,” he says quietly, mouth next to Junsu’s ear, breath on his cheek, “is Yoochun.”
*
Somehow, they end up sitting together at the government meetings. Junsu walks in and the first thing he sees is Yoochun, lying down with his feet perched on the chair next to him. Their eyes meet; Yoochun sits up and waves him over.
“I saved you a seat,” Yoochun whispers when Junsu comes over.
“Thanks,” he whispers back. How odd. They’re like friends, almost.
The meeting is boring (it always is, but Junsu’s never really noticed it before) and Yoochun spends most of his time making low comments in Junsu’s ear.
Junsu refrains from laughing, hides his smiles. At the same time he’s mildly horrified by how flippant Yoochun is, but he’s so refreshingly alive and he makes Junsu feel alive as well.
As the meeting comes to an end and people are getting ready to leave, Yoochun yawns and mutters, “I wonder what would happen if I suddenly took off all my clothes and started running around in here? Do you think they’d all drop dead from shock?”
The mental image is so funny Junsu can’t help laughing. It’s not very loud but it echoes throughout the room, and everyone stops talking. They crane their heads to see where that unfamiliar sound came from, to see who would do something as strange as laugh.
Junsu gets out of there as fast as he can, bowing apologetically to the Guards he sees. Yoochun follows after him, snickering to himself. When they exit the building Junsu hits Yoochun on the arm.
“What if we had gotten in trouble?” Junsu demands.
Yoochun drapes his arm around Junsu’s shoulders. “Junsu,” he says seriously. “What if, what if. What if we had only 10 minutes to live? What do you think you would do?”
“Moron,” Junsu says, pushing him off. “What does that even have to do with just happened?”
Yoochun shrugs and tugs Junsu’s hand. “Come on, I’ll race you back to your apartment.”
He pulls Junsu along, ignoring his protests. “Just enjoy the moment,” he laughs, so Junsu closes his eyes and imagines he’s flying.
*
Junsu’s laying down on Yoochun’s couch, not sure how he managed to get himself in this situation.
“You know what,” Yoochun says, out of the blue. “I really think you should pierce your ears.”
There’s an ice cube behind his ear and he sees Yoochun hold a match to the needle, sterilizing it.
“Don’t worry,” Yoochun says, soothing. “This won’t hurt.”
“Promise?” Junsu winces, keeping his eyes on Yoochun.
“I promise.”
*
Junsu stops by Yoochun’s apartment more and more until it’s a daily part of their lives. They sit together on the floor while Yoochun teaches him how to play the guitar, or lets him listen to some music. When Junsu asks him how he learned so much, Yoochun just says his parents taught him, long ago.
“You’re better at playing than I am,” he says, amused. “You picked it up really fast.”
Junsu plucks absently at the guitar, listening to the sounds it makes. “This is fun,” he says in some surprise. “Why would anyone give this up?”
“I don’t know,” Yoochun says, quietly. He seems distracted, playing with the hem of his shirt and not looking at Junsu.
Junsu sets down the guitar and turns to him. “Yoochun, what’s the matter?”
Yoochun traces patterns in the carpet. “My parents had a motto,” he says with a sigh. “Secrecy is the beginning of tyranny.” He runs a hand through his hair, uncomfortable. “Listen. I don’t want to have any secrets with you. I’ve been- I want to tell you something.” He looks up, looks straight at Junsu, who can feel his heart skip.
“I love you,” Yoochun says, embarrassed, and looks down again. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I just- I couldn’t stay silent about it anymore, I wanted you to know, at least, and see . . . ” He trails off.
Maybe Junsu should have be frightened (notalknoplaynolove), but the words feel familiar, like they’ve been saying it to each other for a lifetime. “Yoochun,” he says, inching forward until their faces are so close to each other and he can make out every detail on Yoochun’s face. They kiss, softly, tentatively, and Junsu feels like this is the moment he’s been waiting for every second of his life, this feeling of discovery and completion and love.
I love you too.
*
They live together, sort of, and they are both reckless and foolish and don’t care about rules anymore.
Junsu’s making his way back to their apartment when he sees a Guard, just around the corner. He makes sure to keep his face neutral and his eyes focused on the door; this is bad but they’re not caught yet. He opens the door smoothly and walks in, sees Yoochun sleeping on the couch, papers with scrawled lyrics and words in his hand.
“Yoochun,” he says, urgently. “Come on, wake up. It’s time.” Time to go. Time to run away, once and for all.
Yoochun opens his eyes like he was never sleeping in the first place, and Junsu can make out the faintest trace of fear in his eyes. He understands what Junsu is saying perfectly. “Okay, ’Su. I’ll get ready.”
They go into their bedroom, and Junsu takes the few things that mean something to him: photographs of his family and Yoochun, all the papers Yoochun’s used for writing songs and lyrics. As soon as they can they make their way out of the house, heading for a safe place, destination unknown.
Junsu thinks about this a lot. He thinks that maybe if he had been there, he could’ve saved Yoochun. Because-
He walks through the door, tired after a long day of doing nothing, and goes to find Yoochun. As he walks through the darkened hallways, a coldness begins to trickle down his spine, and he can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. Nothing’s out of place- if anything, the place looks neater, even, but he’s afraid.
“Yoochun,” he calls, but there is no response. “Yoochun!”
No one answers him.
He realizes almost immediately what must have happened. The government came, and they took Yoochun. He knows enough to see that he has to get out of there. His practical side takes over, not letting him break down or cry. It’s self preservation.
He goes to their bedroom and takes a few items that mean something to him, photographs and sheaves of lined paper. He rummages through drawers to see what else there is, feels something small and pointy, pulls it out.
Oh god, he thinks- there's a glint of light- it’s the earrings, the ones he had seen Yoochun wear when they first met, his favorite earrings.
Even though his heart aches he still can’t cry. He just puts them on and looks at himself in the mirror, watching them catch the moonlight and glow in the dim light, and then he leaves.
*
Two nights he walks aimlessly, his only goal to get away from everything. The third day he collapses from exhaustion and doesn’t care. He’s lost his will to live. Right before sleep and oblivion takes him he imagines a figure, far away, bright clothes against a blue sky, smiling.
He wakes up in an unfamiliar room, sweaty and sticky and with the word Yoochun on his lips.
“Where am I?” he mumbles, sitting up and looking around. The room’s big and airy; sunlight streams in from the many windows on the walls.
A girl walks in almost immediately, as if she heard his question. She’s got layers of clothes and wild, curly hair, and Junsu recognizes her as the figure he had seen.
“You were in pretty bad shape,” she comments, setting down a bowl of soup. “How are you feeling?”
He ignores her question. Obviously, he feels like crap. “Who are you?” he rasps.
She pauses and studies him. “We’re rebels,” she says quietly, gestures at her clothing. “We work against the government.”
“We?”
“Myself and two others." Her voice is calm.
“I want to join you,” he says hoarsely, before he can stop and reconsider.
Her eyes flick to his face. “You want to join us?” she asks, mildly surprised. “Why? What can you do?”
There are tears in his eyes and his voice is cracking, but he says, “I- I lost someone. I want to- to avenge them.” He's practically pleading right now. “I can sing. I can play the guitar. I can do all those things, just please. Let me help you.”
A sigh, a nod. They need all the help they can get if they’re going to succeed, but her eyes are still on his. Are you sure? they ask. Aloud, she says, “We’ll contact you later,” and turns away. “You can stay here,” she adds over her shoulder. “It’s safe.”
He lays back down on the bed, stares at the ceiling. Yoochun, this is for you, he thinks.
*
Junsu dyes his hair red, gets new clothes that change every day (the only things that never change are his earrings). He learns how to sing so that his voice can carry for miles and how to play a guitar so the sounds match the tempo of a song. He doesn’t think about anything but being the best he can possibly be so that when the time comes, he’ll be prepared. He’ll be ready.
Eventually, he has to go back to the city. It’s all part of the plan, to spread their message and give people something to think about right before they attack.
It’s as dismal and bleak as he remembers, and Junsu waits until night to walk along the streets. In the darkness he sees a figure walking in the moonlight and for a second his heart stops- he wonders if it’s Yoochun and if he’s gone crazy. It’s not, of course, and so he stays hidden and waits, watching.
The boy is tall but he has curly hair that sticks up haphazardly. It’s so like Yoochun it makes Junsu smile a bit to himself. Other than that, the boy looks nothing like him, but there’s something about him, a sense of familiarity. The way he’s looking at the sky, as if he’s wondering what else the world has to offer. The way he’s smiling but it’s faint, as if he knows this moment is fleeting.
When they talk he will think I know you but he will say don’t waste your life, kid because he doesn’t want what happened to him to happen to the boy, to love and lose and have the light extinguished from his eyes.
*
Everyone is required by law to visit the Museum weekly. Today is his birthday but he decides to go anyway; holidays and celebrations are meaningless, and every day is very much like the next. He stands by himself, eyes drawn to a blown up picture of two people next to each other, arms linked and smiles on their faces. It’s far from an inspirational picture, however; it’s a sequence of photos, each one grimmer than the last. The next one shows them standing apart, eyes cold and mouths set in hard, thin lines. The next, mouths open wide, screaming silently at each other, arms raised threateningly. The very last picture is this: there is a girl, lying on the floor (she’s dead) and the boy stands over her, face turned away. This is the price of love, it says. Of happiness.
But he can’t stop looking at the first picture, of the sky vivid and blue behind them, of the faint smiles that touch their lips and reach their eyes, of the way they look at each other and it means something. He’s still studying it when someone comes to stand next to him, so close Junsu can feel their clothes brush. The faintest hint of irritation surfaces, and he makes to move away.
As Junsu turns there’s a glint of light that catches his eye and makes him stop, caught.
It’s a boy, an ordinary boy, but he’s wearing earrings, shining and silvery and shaped like upside-down u’s. Junsu gapes at them for a second- it’s not illegal, but it’s just not done. Not to mention he’s got unkempt, black hair and a rumpled uniform, all marks of nonconformity. Their eyes meet and Junsu flushes; the guy is smiling at him and he doesn’t understand why because who smiles anymore? What’s there to smile about?
He doesn’t move, doesn’t smile back, and the boy moves away to other exhibits.
That night he dreams of the picture again, but the couple’s faces blur and shift until he realizes he’s looking at himself, standing next to the earring boy. They’re both smiling and happy, and he thinks, somewhere in the back of his mind, this feels natural.
*
Junsu avoids conflict. He minds his own business and keeps to himself, because that is what everyone does.
But when he’s walking along and sees a girl being harassed by two Guards, he can’t pretend he doesn’t see them. It’s too late anyway; they’ve already seen him and they’re looking at him, silent, waiting to see what he’ll do. The thing is- the girl is so young it makes him want to cry, she looks like she’s 13, too young for what he thinks is going to happen to her. She’s not even that pretty but Junsu guesses she was an easy target; she’s not struggling or fighting, just crying and whimpering in fear.
There’s no way he can leave her like that, in their clutches, so he steps forward and says as forcefully as he can, “Let her go.”
The Guards are amused, and they should be. They’re older than he is, stronger, tougher, and they know he’s no match for them. The only thing on his side is that they’re both drunk, and he hopes it's enough.
One of them moves forward and takes a swing at him; he dodges it and jabs at the man’s gut. To his surprise he connects; the Guard stumbles for a second, clumsy with beer and alcohol.
The one holding the girl lets her go and lunges for Junsu. He’s the more sober one, and his first punch lands on Junsu’s side.
Junsu chokes. Ow. Fuck, fuck, fuck that hurt. He can’t breathe but at least he’s got the Guards’ attention. Eyes watering, he manages to lift his head and mouths to the girl, “Run.”
She nods with her hands over her eyes and then she’s gone, running as fast as she can, never looking back.
He’s left with two very pissed off Guards who would probably like nothing better than to have his head on a stick. He tries to get up, but a well placed kick to his legs forces him the ground.
“Oh, well,” he thinks dimly, vaguely. “At least this is an honorable way to go.” He braces himself for more kicks and beatings, but other noises and yelps of pain come from above him and he opens his eyes.
There, standing over him, is the earring boy, who looks down at him and offers Junsu his hand. Dazed, Junsu lets himself be pulled to his feet. One Guard is lying on the ground, unconscious, and the other is limping away quickly.
“What-,” Junsu tries to say, and then stops. “Thank you,” he says instead, still stunned from what just happened.
The boy doesn’t even look tired; he just grins at Junsu widely. “Now,” he says cheerfully. “You owe me something since I saved your butt.”
Junsu stares at him blankly. “I’m sorry,” he says warily. “I don’t have anything to give you.”
A laugh. “I want your name,” he says, teasingly.
“Oh,” Junsu says, cheeks turning pink. He’s not sure why he feels so flustered and why he’s stumbling over his words. “Um, Junsu.”
The boy extends his hand but Junsu’s looking behind him because the Guard is getting up, moving towards the boy, going to hurt him-
“No,” he cries, panicked, and lunges forward instinctively. He extends his hand and jabs the Guard in the eyes, hard.
Junsu recoils as he feels his fingers sink in (had he been in his right mind, he never would have done it), flinches when the Guard lets out a ghastly scream and crumples to the ground.
He looks back at the boy and suddenly notices how exactly he’s positioned. In his attempt to reach the Guard he had moved forward until he was chest to chest with the boy, eye to eye. He quickly moves back, blushing.
“Now you owe me something,” he says hurriedly, covering up his embarrassment.
The boy looks startled as well but recovers and even smiles at the irony of the situation.
“What’s your name?” he asks, but they’re interrupted by a sudden, loud groan from behind them that reminds Junsu of their situation. “We’d better get out of here.” He grabs the boy’s arm, dragging both of them out of the alley.
They get to Junsu’s house and he stops, panting. “This is where I live,” he says, somewhat awkwardly. “It was nice- I mean- thank you.”
He makes to move away, but the boy suddenly leans forward, blocking him. “My name,” he says quietly, mouth next to Junsu’s ear, breath on his cheek, “is Yoochun.”
*
Somehow, they end up sitting together at the government meetings. Junsu walks in and the first thing he sees is Yoochun, lying down with his feet perched on the chair next to him. Their eyes meet; Yoochun sits up and waves him over.
“I saved you a seat,” Yoochun whispers when Junsu comes over.
“Thanks,” he whispers back. How odd. They’re like friends, almost.
The meeting is boring (it always is, but Junsu’s never really noticed it before) and Yoochun spends most of his time making low comments in Junsu’s ear.
Junsu refrains from laughing, hides his smiles. At the same time he’s mildly horrified by how flippant Yoochun is, but he’s so refreshingly alive and he makes Junsu feel alive as well.
As the meeting comes to an end and people are getting ready to leave, Yoochun yawns and mutters, “I wonder what would happen if I suddenly took off all my clothes and started running around in here? Do you think they’d all drop dead from shock?”
The mental image is so funny Junsu can’t help laughing. It’s not very loud but it echoes throughout the room, and everyone stops talking. They crane their heads to see where that unfamiliar sound came from, to see who would do something as strange as laugh.
Junsu gets out of there as fast as he can, bowing apologetically to the Guards he sees. Yoochun follows after him, snickering to himself. When they exit the building Junsu hits Yoochun on the arm.
“What if we had gotten in trouble?” Junsu demands.
Yoochun drapes his arm around Junsu’s shoulders. “Junsu,” he says seriously. “What if, what if. What if we had only 10 minutes to live? What do you think you would do?”
“Moron,” Junsu says, pushing him off. “What does that even have to do with just happened?”
Yoochun shrugs and tugs Junsu’s hand. “Come on, I’ll race you back to your apartment.”
He pulls Junsu along, ignoring his protests. “Just enjoy the moment,” he laughs, so Junsu closes his eyes and imagines he’s flying.
*
Junsu’s laying down on Yoochun’s couch, not sure how he managed to get himself in this situation.
“You know what,” Yoochun says, out of the blue. “I really think you should pierce your ears.”
There’s an ice cube behind his ear and he sees Yoochun hold a match to the needle, sterilizing it.
“Don’t worry,” Yoochun says, soothing. “This won’t hurt.”
“Promise?” Junsu winces, keeping his eyes on Yoochun.
“I promise.”
*
Junsu stops by Yoochun’s apartment more and more until it’s a daily part of their lives. They sit together on the floor while Yoochun teaches him how to play the guitar, or lets him listen to some music. When Junsu asks him how he learned so much, Yoochun just says his parents taught him, long ago.
“You’re better at playing than I am,” he says, amused. “You picked it up really fast.”
Junsu plucks absently at the guitar, listening to the sounds it makes. “This is fun,” he says in some surprise. “Why would anyone give this up?”
“I don’t know,” Yoochun says, quietly. He seems distracted, playing with the hem of his shirt and not looking at Junsu.
Junsu sets down the guitar and turns to him. “Yoochun, what’s the matter?”
Yoochun traces patterns in the carpet. “My parents had a motto,” he says with a sigh. “Secrecy is the beginning of tyranny.” He runs a hand through his hair, uncomfortable. “Listen. I don’t want to have any secrets with you. I’ve been- I want to tell you something.” He looks up, looks straight at Junsu, who can feel his heart skip.
“I love you,” Yoochun says, embarrassed, and looks down again. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I just- I couldn’t stay silent about it anymore, I wanted you to know, at least, and see . . . ” He trails off.
Maybe Junsu should have be frightened (notalknoplaynolove), but the words feel familiar, like they’ve been saying it to each other for a lifetime. “Yoochun,” he says, inching forward until their faces are so close to each other and he can make out every detail on Yoochun’s face. They kiss, softly, tentatively, and Junsu feels like this is the moment he’s been waiting for every second of his life, this feeling of discovery and completion and love.
I love you too.
*
They live together, sort of, and they are both reckless and foolish and don’t care about rules anymore.
Junsu’s making his way back to their apartment when he sees a Guard, just around the corner. He makes sure to keep his face neutral and his eyes focused on the door; this is bad but they’re not caught yet. He opens the door smoothly and walks in, sees Yoochun sleeping on the couch, papers with scrawled lyrics and words in his hand.
“Yoochun,” he says, urgently. “Come on, wake up. It’s time.” Time to go. Time to run away, once and for all.
Yoochun opens his eyes like he was never sleeping in the first place, and Junsu can make out the faintest trace of fear in his eyes. He understands what Junsu is saying perfectly. “Okay, ’Su. I’ll get ready.”
They go into their bedroom, and Junsu takes the few things that mean something to him: photographs of his family and Yoochun, all the papers Yoochun’s used for writing songs and lyrics. As soon as they can they make their way out of the house, heading for a safe place, destination unknown.
Junsu thinks about this a lot. He thinks that maybe if he had been there, he could’ve saved Yoochun. Because-
He walks through the door, tired after a long day of doing nothing, and goes to find Yoochun. As he walks through the darkened hallways, a coldness begins to trickle down his spine, and he can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. Nothing’s out of place- if anything, the place looks neater, even, but he’s afraid.
“Yoochun,” he calls, but there is no response. “Yoochun!”
No one answers him.
He realizes almost immediately what must have happened. The government came, and they took Yoochun. He knows enough to see that he has to get out of there. His practical side takes over, not letting him break down or cry. It’s self preservation.
He goes to their bedroom and takes a few items that mean something to him, photographs and sheaves of lined paper. He rummages through drawers to see what else there is, feels something small and pointy, pulls it out.
Oh god, he thinks- there's a glint of light- it’s the earrings, the ones he had seen Yoochun wear when they first met, his favorite earrings.
Even though his heart aches he still can’t cry. He just puts them on and looks at himself in the mirror, watching them catch the moonlight and glow in the dim light, and then he leaves.
*
Two nights he walks aimlessly, his only goal to get away from everything. The third day he collapses from exhaustion and doesn’t care. He’s lost his will to live. Right before sleep and oblivion takes him he imagines a figure, far away, bright clothes against a blue sky, smiling.
He wakes up in an unfamiliar room, sweaty and sticky and with the word Yoochun on his lips.
“Where am I?” he mumbles, sitting up and looking around. The room’s big and airy; sunlight streams in from the many windows on the walls.
A girl walks in almost immediately, as if she heard his question. She’s got layers of clothes and wild, curly hair, and Junsu recognizes her as the figure he had seen.
“You were in pretty bad shape,” she comments, setting down a bowl of soup. “How are you feeling?”
He ignores her question. Obviously, he feels like crap. “Who are you?” he rasps.
She pauses and studies him. “We’re rebels,” she says quietly, gestures at her clothing. “We work against the government.”
“We?”
“Myself and two others." Her voice is calm.
“I want to join you,” he says hoarsely, before he can stop and reconsider.
Her eyes flick to his face. “You want to join us?” she asks, mildly surprised. “Why? What can you do?”
There are tears in his eyes and his voice is cracking, but he says, “I- I lost someone. I want to- to avenge them.” He's practically pleading right now. “I can sing. I can play the guitar. I can do all those things, just please. Let me help you.”
A sigh, a nod. They need all the help they can get if they’re going to succeed, but her eyes are still on his. Are you sure? they ask. Aloud, she says, “We’ll contact you later,” and turns away. “You can stay here,” she adds over her shoulder. “It’s safe.”
He lays back down on the bed, stares at the ceiling. Yoochun, this is for you, he thinks.
*
Junsu dyes his hair red, gets new clothes that change every day (the only things that never change are his earrings). He learns how to sing so that his voice can carry for miles and how to play a guitar so the sounds match the tempo of a song. He doesn’t think about anything but being the best he can possibly be so that when the time comes, he’ll be prepared. He’ll be ready.
Eventually, he has to go back to the city. It’s all part of the plan, to spread their message and give people something to think about right before they attack.
It’s as dismal and bleak as he remembers, and Junsu waits until night to walk along the streets. In the darkness he sees a figure walking in the moonlight and for a second his heart stops- he wonders if it’s Yoochun and if he’s gone crazy. It’s not, of course, and so he stays hidden and waits, watching.
The boy is tall but he has curly hair that sticks up haphazardly. It’s so like Yoochun it makes Junsu smile a bit to himself. Other than that, the boy looks nothing like him, but there’s something about him, a sense of familiarity. The way he’s looking at the sky, as if he’s wondering what else the world has to offer. The way he’s smiling but it’s faint, as if he knows this moment is fleeting.
When they talk he will think I know you but he will say don’t waste your life, kid because he doesn’t want what happened to him to happen to the boy, to love and lose and have the light extinguished from his eyes.