zephyr (4/7)
Junsu is lounging on the couch, shading in half-done sketches when they return to an unlocked front door.
“Out frolicking in fields of lavender?” he asks Yunho in a dry voice, barely glancing up from his paper.
“Ask no questions and you’ll receive no lies,” comes the muttered reply, Jaejoong unwrapping his arms from Yunho’s waist to laugh at the dark sounding answer that invokes a raised eyebrow from Junsu’s part.
“Ho-kaaaay. You.” He points a pencil towards Jaejoong’s general direction and there’s a barely audible sigh, air moving a little as wings stretch out.
“Thank you.”
Yunho works around the both of them, steps around Jaejoong holding his wings steady for Junsu to sketch, occasional barks of laughter when Junsu continues with his obscure game of 20 question, things about avian bone structure to maximum speed, all the while sketching until Jaejoong drops obvious hints that he’s tired, folding his wings in stubbornly.
“You’d think after three months you’d be almost finished,”
“I know, but you see, the strangest thing is, I can’t find my original draft. It should be somewhere around, stop looking at me like that.”
--------
Yoochun folds his hands as calmly as he can, heart somewhere in his throat.
“A mistake? You expect me to believe that?”
“Sir, people make-...”
“Bullshit, Park!”
He flinches at the sound of a now empty gun being flung onto the table, the sound loud, jarring. The man across the table exhales slowly, massages his temples long enough for Yoochun to know this isn’t going to end well.
“Tell me, how long have you been on the job. Five, six years, maybe?” He doesn’t look up, head still in his hands and Yoochun is glad.
“Five, sir. Six in November.”
Inhale, exhale, back straightening, eyes skeptical.
“...that’s the fucking point. You can’t make mistakes, you can’t afford them, you see?”
“Yes sir. I’m sorry sir.”
“And you have no idea what you shot.”
“No sir, I couldn’t see.”
The man leans back into his chair now, waves at Yoochun to leave the room, some detached indication that they’re finished here for the moment.
“You just better pray whatever or god forbid, whoever you shot at doesn’t press charges. Lord knows what can of fiasco this can turn into.”
“Yes sir,” Yoochun stands and gathers up his paperwork shakily, back of his knees banging against the metal framework of the hardback chair when he does.
“Thank you,” he mumbles on his way out and there’s a stern Wait, Yoochun mentally cursing himself for forgetting the sir at the back of his sentence. He turns.
“Sir I-...”
Yoochun’s words die abruptly and the man before him is pale, one hand straying to his gun holster, the other holding out a sheet of paper with familiar looking script, detailed drawings on it.
“I’m only going to ask you once, Park, once; think it over before you answer.”
Calculations, messy labels on things that look more suited for science fiction novels, notes about bone weight, feathers. A pair of wings on a human looking back.
“Was this what you shot at?”
--------
It’s unusual but welcome all the same, to come home to Yoochun at 3 in the afternoon.
“Back early?” Junsu twitters and drops his car keys on the table, goes to sidle up to the strangely silent man on his couch. Yoochun touches Junsu’s hair gently, letting the strands play through his fingers as Junsu breathes steady against his neck.
“Something’s wrong,” he says, soft, and Yoochun doesn’t answer, just brushes his fingers over the tips of Junsu’s ears.
“Chun, tell me.”
“No, Junsu, you tell me.” Harsher than any tone of voice he’s ever used with Junsu and the latter shrinks away slightly, eyes confused as Yoochun refuses to look at him, not even when he touches the muscles standing out taunt on the arm closest to him.
“Yoochun what-...?”
“Tell me. Tell me everything.”
A nervous sounding laugh, Junsu feigning ignorance when in reality, the panic rising in his chest is starting to make it hurt something awful.
“Tell you what? What’s there to tell?”
“Where is he? That man...that man with wings.”
Junsu finds himself staring dumbly at the bits and pieces of porcelain mug on the floor, pale blue shards on tiles.
“...Chun what are you saying-...”
“Stop it, Junsu!” The sound of mugs, magazines crashing loud to the floor as Yoochun sweeps them off the tabletop in frustration, standing to pull Junsu up so he can shake him by the shoulders. “Stop acting as if you don’t know a single thing, Su. Don’t you get it? This isn’t some fairytale, some elementary school experiment to be oohed and ahhed at, okay?”
“Yoochun please I-...”
“No, listen to me! Listen! This is bigger than you, me. Bigger than anything we’ll ever comprehend, do you understand me? Maybe to you, it’s just some side project to come home to after work, something like one of those class pets to be looked after but it’s not, Su. No, listen, they’re going to come after you, maybe they’re already coming, I don’t know.”
Yoochun presses a sheet of crumpled paper into Junsu’s hands and Junsu takes it, barely breathing. Words on air currents, things Jaejoong dictated to him swirl into an incomprehensible mess.
“They gave me one week. One week, Su. Cover your tracks, shift the blame, turn him in, I don’t know and honestly I don’t fucking care. One week.”
“You don’t understand.” Curt, hollow and Yoochun reels as if he’s been slapped in the face.
“I don’t understand? I don’t understand?! Junsu, they’re going to kill you. What part of that sentence do you not understand? Do I look like I’m ready to give you up for some flawed science experiment?”
“You don’t understand,” Junsu says again simply and he scrunches the paper up in his fist, formulae and details creasing in his fist.
“He’s like us, Yoochun. Human, Chun; he breathes, eats, lives. Loves. Exactly like us. Do you know what they’ll do when they get him back? No? Let me tell you. They’ll pull him apart, limbs and DNA, like pieces of a puzzle to be rearranged into some other fucking pattern. You said it yourself, he’s flawed.”
“...No.” Yoochun lets his hands fall from their place on Junsu, eyes cold and hard and it makes Junsu’s heart clench.
“No. No, none of it matters.”
He’s rambling now, he’s aware, half shouting half pleading with Junsu who clashes with him, tears running betrayals of things kept hidden far too long down his cheeks as he thinks of empty beds, of lone voices echoing off empty rooms.
Empty empty empty and Junsu holds him, shakes with him, cries.
“I can’t.”
“Please,” Yoochun gasps and his hands shiver for want of Junsu’s, for need of assurance that Junsu will still be here, always be here when he comes home.
“Please.”
“He loves Yunho...he loves oh god he loves...”
“And you think I don’t?”
Paper thin walls hold words in and lives away, Jaejoong lets Yunho trail kisses against his wings.
--------
“What do you know?”
“...you said one week. This wasn’t part of the deal. One week.”
All formalities lost, titles forgotten for a moment. Fingers digging into thighs, half moon imprints on skin that Junsu will probably fuss over later.
“Well deal’s off. Look, Park. Do I look like I want to do this? Do I?”
“No, sir.”
Slipping back into habit, blood through fabric where he’s dug his nails in too deep. He doesn’t let go anyway.
“I don’t know who heard the other day but...but word’s gotten out. I don’t care whose ass you’re trying to cover here but you better do it now.”
“...I don’t know.”
Let go, breathe, soft wood giving way under tensed hands, semi-circular patterns on the underside of the table.
“Then he’s going to die.”
Splinters in his skin, Yoochun tells.
-------
They feel reckless tonight, Jaejoong leaping down the last few ten steps to land perfectly on his feet, Yunho tsk-ing at him as he makes his way down the stairs in the normal human way, or so he proclaims, taking Jaejoong by the wrist to lead him to favorite haunts, places with good food and loud music.
“You’ll like city life,” Yunho says and Jaejoong almost believes him, sipping lager that burns cold down his throat as he steals food off Yunho’s plate. City parks are blissfully empty at midnight, save for sleepy pigeons on park benches that flutter away at their passing, Jaejoong making soft noises at Yunho’s request to bring them back.
“You can’t really talk to them, can you?”
Jaejoong coos softly, grey pigeon perched on one finger.
“It’s just a matter of whether or not they understand me.”
“Stop avoiding the question.”
“Stop asking stupid ones.”
Streetlights mark their way back home and Yunho is drowsy, Jaejoong threading his arm through his as he fumbles for keys.
“Damn things,” he swears and Jaejoong leans against the door to wait, only to have it open inwards under his weight.
“Don’t need keys,” he calls from inside, picking himself up from the floor to switch on the light, starting to laugh but Yunho is strangely silent, standing in the doorway, face pale in the non light.
“Yun-...”
“Don’t. Move.”
chapter 5
“Out frolicking in fields of lavender?” he asks Yunho in a dry voice, barely glancing up from his paper.
“Ask no questions and you’ll receive no lies,” comes the muttered reply, Jaejoong unwrapping his arms from Yunho’s waist to laugh at the dark sounding answer that invokes a raised eyebrow from Junsu’s part.
“Ho-kaaaay. You.” He points a pencil towards Jaejoong’s general direction and there’s a barely audible sigh, air moving a little as wings stretch out.
“Thank you.”
Yunho works around the both of them, steps around Jaejoong holding his wings steady for Junsu to sketch, occasional barks of laughter when Junsu continues with his obscure game of 20 question, things about avian bone structure to maximum speed, all the while sketching until Jaejoong drops obvious hints that he’s tired, folding his wings in stubbornly.
“You’d think after three months you’d be almost finished,”
“I know, but you see, the strangest thing is, I can’t find my original draft. It should be somewhere around, stop looking at me like that.”
--------
Yoochun folds his hands as calmly as he can, heart somewhere in his throat.
“A mistake? You expect me to believe that?”
“Sir, people make-...”
“Bullshit, Park!”
He flinches at the sound of a now empty gun being flung onto the table, the sound loud, jarring. The man across the table exhales slowly, massages his temples long enough for Yoochun to know this isn’t going to end well.
“Tell me, how long have you been on the job. Five, six years, maybe?” He doesn’t look up, head still in his hands and Yoochun is glad.
“Five, sir. Six in November.”
Inhale, exhale, back straightening, eyes skeptical.
“...that’s the fucking point. You can’t make mistakes, you can’t afford them, you see?”
“Yes sir. I’m sorry sir.”
“And you have no idea what you shot.”
“No sir, I couldn’t see.”
The man leans back into his chair now, waves at Yoochun to leave the room, some detached indication that they’re finished here for the moment.
“You just better pray whatever or god forbid, whoever you shot at doesn’t press charges. Lord knows what can of fiasco this can turn into.”
“Yes sir,” Yoochun stands and gathers up his paperwork shakily, back of his knees banging against the metal framework of the hardback chair when he does.
“Thank you,” he mumbles on his way out and there’s a stern Wait, Yoochun mentally cursing himself for forgetting the sir at the back of his sentence. He turns.
“Sir I-...”
Yoochun’s words die abruptly and the man before him is pale, one hand straying to his gun holster, the other holding out a sheet of paper with familiar looking script, detailed drawings on it.
“I’m only going to ask you once, Park, once; think it over before you answer.”
Calculations, messy labels on things that look more suited for science fiction novels, notes about bone weight, feathers. A pair of wings on a human looking back.
“Was this what you shot at?”
--------
It’s unusual but welcome all the same, to come home to Yoochun at 3 in the afternoon.
“Back early?” Junsu twitters and drops his car keys on the table, goes to sidle up to the strangely silent man on his couch. Yoochun touches Junsu’s hair gently, letting the strands play through his fingers as Junsu breathes steady against his neck.
“Something’s wrong,” he says, soft, and Yoochun doesn’t answer, just brushes his fingers over the tips of Junsu’s ears.
“Chun, tell me.”
“No, Junsu, you tell me.” Harsher than any tone of voice he’s ever used with Junsu and the latter shrinks away slightly, eyes confused as Yoochun refuses to look at him, not even when he touches the muscles standing out taunt on the arm closest to him.
“Yoochun what-...?”
“Tell me. Tell me everything.”
A nervous sounding laugh, Junsu feigning ignorance when in reality, the panic rising in his chest is starting to make it hurt something awful.
“Tell you what? What’s there to tell?”
“Where is he? That man...that man with wings.”
Junsu finds himself staring dumbly at the bits and pieces of porcelain mug on the floor, pale blue shards on tiles.
“...Chun what are you saying-...”
“Stop it, Junsu!” The sound of mugs, magazines crashing loud to the floor as Yoochun sweeps them off the tabletop in frustration, standing to pull Junsu up so he can shake him by the shoulders. “Stop acting as if you don’t know a single thing, Su. Don’t you get it? This isn’t some fairytale, some elementary school experiment to be oohed and ahhed at, okay?”
“Yoochun please I-...”
“No, listen to me! Listen! This is bigger than you, me. Bigger than anything we’ll ever comprehend, do you understand me? Maybe to you, it’s just some side project to come home to after work, something like one of those class pets to be looked after but it’s not, Su. No, listen, they’re going to come after you, maybe they’re already coming, I don’t know.”
Yoochun presses a sheet of crumpled paper into Junsu’s hands and Junsu takes it, barely breathing. Words on air currents, things Jaejoong dictated to him swirl into an incomprehensible mess.
“They gave me one week. One week, Su. Cover your tracks, shift the blame, turn him in, I don’t know and honestly I don’t fucking care. One week.”
“You don’t understand.” Curt, hollow and Yoochun reels as if he’s been slapped in the face.
“I don’t understand? I don’t understand?! Junsu, they’re going to kill you. What part of that sentence do you not understand? Do I look like I’m ready to give you up for some flawed science experiment?”
“You don’t understand,” Junsu says again simply and he scrunches the paper up in his fist, formulae and details creasing in his fist.
“He’s like us, Yoochun. Human, Chun; he breathes, eats, lives. Loves. Exactly like us. Do you know what they’ll do when they get him back? No? Let me tell you. They’ll pull him apart, limbs and DNA, like pieces of a puzzle to be rearranged into some other fucking pattern. You said it yourself, he’s flawed.”
“...No.” Yoochun lets his hands fall from their place on Junsu, eyes cold and hard and it makes Junsu’s heart clench.
“No. No, none of it matters.”
He’s rambling now, he’s aware, half shouting half pleading with Junsu who clashes with him, tears running betrayals of things kept hidden far too long down his cheeks as he thinks of empty beds, of lone voices echoing off empty rooms.
Empty empty empty and Junsu holds him, shakes with him, cries.
“I can’t.”
“Please,” Yoochun gasps and his hands shiver for want of Junsu’s, for need of assurance that Junsu will still be here, always be here when he comes home.
“Please.”
“He loves Yunho...he loves oh god he loves...”
“And you think I don’t?”
Paper thin walls hold words in and lives away, Jaejoong lets Yunho trail kisses against his wings.
--------
“What do you know?”
“...you said one week. This wasn’t part of the deal. One week.”
All formalities lost, titles forgotten for a moment. Fingers digging into thighs, half moon imprints on skin that Junsu will probably fuss over later.
“Well deal’s off. Look, Park. Do I look like I want to do this? Do I?”
“No, sir.”
Slipping back into habit, blood through fabric where he’s dug his nails in too deep. He doesn’t let go anyway.
“I don’t know who heard the other day but...but word’s gotten out. I don’t care whose ass you’re trying to cover here but you better do it now.”
“...I don’t know.”
Let go, breathe, soft wood giving way under tensed hands, semi-circular patterns on the underside of the table.
“Then he’s going to die.”
Splinters in his skin, Yoochun tells.
-------
They feel reckless tonight, Jaejoong leaping down the last few ten steps to land perfectly on his feet, Yunho tsk-ing at him as he makes his way down the stairs in the normal human way, or so he proclaims, taking Jaejoong by the wrist to lead him to favorite haunts, places with good food and loud music.
“You’ll like city life,” Yunho says and Jaejoong almost believes him, sipping lager that burns cold down his throat as he steals food off Yunho’s plate. City parks are blissfully empty at midnight, save for sleepy pigeons on park benches that flutter away at their passing, Jaejoong making soft noises at Yunho’s request to bring them back.
“You can’t really talk to them, can you?”
Jaejoong coos softly, grey pigeon perched on one finger.
“It’s just a matter of whether or not they understand me.”
“Stop avoiding the question.”
“Stop asking stupid ones.”
Streetlights mark their way back home and Yunho is drowsy, Jaejoong threading his arm through his as he fumbles for keys.
“Damn things,” he swears and Jaejoong leans against the door to wait, only to have it open inwards under his weight.
“Don’t need keys,” he calls from inside, picking himself up from the floor to switch on the light, starting to laugh but Yunho is strangely silent, standing in the doorway, face pale in the non light.
“Yun-...”
“Don’t. Move.”
chapter 5