zephyr (5/7)
Junsu knows something is wrong when Yoochun comes home late, cigarette smoke and stale sweat clinging to his collar, tasting like alcohol when they kiss in the doorway but he leaves it for the moment, lets Yoochun press, hard, against him as he straddles the broken man, head dipped in the hollow where neck meets shoulders.
“They’re probably watching,” Yoochun tells him, fucking him hard up against the wall and Junsu has the strangest urge to laugh, never knew Yoochun had a kink for sex with an audience.
“So let them. You told, didn’t you?”
Hard thrusts, furious, needy and Junsu groans, thinks he’s bleeding on the inside but that could be just another stupid metaphor.
“They’re still outside. Three of them, the black car across the street.”
“A precaution.” Back arching, warmth sealing them together for a split second. “But you told.”
Yoochun sets him onto the ground as gently as he can, Junsu folding in on himself, knees drawn up and Yoochun feels his heart wrench.
“You told, oh god you told.”
-------
“Don’t move and I won’t hurt either of you,” comes the warning again and Jaejoong feels nausea rising like bile at the back of his throat, déjà vu making the room spin but staring down the gun barrel into an unknown face, it clicks that he’s between the bullet, Yunho and that’s all it takes for one split second decision to be made.
Some fucking lie, he thinks and backs into Yunho, bringing the both of them falling to the floor just as bullets aimed at things not there anymore slam into walls, Jaejoong dragging Yunho out through the doorway to the window in the hall, a clenched fist making glass crack and a dodged bullet shattering it and spread wings taking the brunt of falling glass for the human in his arms.
“Don’t let go, whatever happens.”
He leaps off the ledge, Yunho’s arms around his neck, legs wrapped round his waist and they fall together, tumbling into the night air.
-------
“Does it hurt?”
Jaejoong shakes his head, soundless despite the fact Yunho can’t seem him from behind outstretched wings but Yunho continues anyway, getting more glass into his own hands than out of Jaejoong’s wings on the account of still shaking hands. Glass pieces glitter pink in the moon light and the tips of Jaejoong’s wings curl slightly from the pain.
“Jaejoong.”
He’s pulling at the grass, fistfuls that stain his palms green, the sound of blades snapping far too loud in the night air.
“Jaejoong say something.”
“You’re hurt,” comes the hollow reply and Yunho works at a particularly stubborn shard, wedged between swollen flesh, tries to sound cheerful.
“It’s just a graze, nothing that serious. There. Out. It’s going to be bleeding for a-...”
“That’s not the point.”
Another fistful, he pulls the roots out as well and Yunho hates the empty ring to Jaejoong’s words.
“Jae...”
“The point is you’re hurt. A graze? Not everyone gets grazes from bullets, Yunho, and you know why? Because their lives are not in danger, because they don’t know any fucking bird hybrids, that’s why.”
He’s rambling now, shaking from his own sentences and Yunho strokes his wings silently, waits for that awful trembling to stop, for the right words to surface. They don’t.
“They didn’t kill me, barely even managed to hurt me, Jaejoong.”
“They tried. Do you think they’re going to stop here? What makes you think they’re not coming back, what if I’m not there when they do? Do you honestly think I’ll be able to live with myself if they hurt you because of me?”
“They won’t hurt-...”
Jaejoong twists round suddenly, catching hold of Yunho’s bloodied hands.
“Listen to yourself. Just listen! What kind of delusion are you in, Yunho? Won’t hurt anyone? Won’t hurt you? Me? Look me in the eye and tell me, do you honestly think Withwood will care if one misplaced human is disposed of.”
“Withwood,” Yunho echoes and Jaejoong drops his hands, eyes suddenly dancing in the dark.
“Withwood, of course it’s Withwood. It’s always been them, who else do you think has the balls to pull things like me off? Money? Too many shares in too many places to count. People? Only the brightest, the cream of the crop are offered places. Resources? All Withwood. Withwood Withwood Withwood.” Jaejoong laughs now, hollow and bitter sound that makes Yunho want to clamp his hands over his ears to stop the sound.
“There’s not hiding from them. Not anymore.”
“We leave.” It’s a foolish sounding whisper, yes, Yunho stuttering the words out amidst the wild look in Jaejoong’s eyes that scares him more than he’d like to admit.
“And then what? Keep running? Where? How? They’re not going to stop, Yunho. Not until they get me, not until they’ve dragged me back in there and taken me apart.”
That horrid sounding laugh again and Jaejoong reaches up to brush his fingers against Yunho’s cheek, skin cold, unsteady touch that sends chills up Yunho’s spine because he can’t imagine losing that. He tells Jaejoong and the hand is drawn away quickly, pained, haunted look in his eyes.
“They’re going to kill me, probably you in the process and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Jaejoong is a wonderful, wonderful liar.
---------
The front door is wide open, Yoochun pushing Junsu behind him so he won’t get the soles of his feet cut on the scattered glass pieces but Junsu’s not moving, fists clenching the sides of Yoochun’s shirt as he buries his head in the fabric, breathes in uneven heaves that tear Yoochun’s heart apart.
“They’re gone. They’re gone and it’s all our fault.”
“We should leave. The neighbors...Su...police...”
Junsu cuts his hands on glass, slipping to his knees, palms splayed on the floor.
“We did this.”
--------
Yunho sleeps lightly but Jajeoong steals away just fine anyway, takes off in a rustle of feathers and cracking twigs that make Yunho twitch in his sleep. He’ll be safe enough; Jaejoong thinks without much belief for his own words and whirls towards civilization, staying in the air longer than usual, committing the feel of wind beneath his wings to memory.
An hour to dawn and he touches the ground with unsteady feet, not daring to push time because the best ideas always wither in sunlight.
It’s a grimy public phone, the kind with numbers scrawled across the sides in fading ink, peeling paint with abstract doodles he picks at as he dials a familiar number, loose change from Yunho’s pocket clanging loud. His wings droop by his sides, half wrapping himself from a cold that gnaws at him from the inside out.
Across the city, Junsu picks up, a hoarse hello that breaks on the last syllable.
“We’re okay. Alive, yeah. No, don’t say anything, listen. Tell...tell me how good are you with surgery?”
chapter 6
“They’re probably watching,” Yoochun tells him, fucking him hard up against the wall and Junsu has the strangest urge to laugh, never knew Yoochun had a kink for sex with an audience.
“So let them. You told, didn’t you?”
Hard thrusts, furious, needy and Junsu groans, thinks he’s bleeding on the inside but that could be just another stupid metaphor.
“They’re still outside. Three of them, the black car across the street.”
“A precaution.” Back arching, warmth sealing them together for a split second. “But you told.”
Yoochun sets him onto the ground as gently as he can, Junsu folding in on himself, knees drawn up and Yoochun feels his heart wrench.
“You told, oh god you told.”
-------
“Don’t move and I won’t hurt either of you,” comes the warning again and Jaejoong feels nausea rising like bile at the back of his throat, déjà vu making the room spin but staring down the gun barrel into an unknown face, it clicks that he’s between the bullet, Yunho and that’s all it takes for one split second decision to be made.
Some fucking lie, he thinks and backs into Yunho, bringing the both of them falling to the floor just as bullets aimed at things not there anymore slam into walls, Jaejoong dragging Yunho out through the doorway to the window in the hall, a clenched fist making glass crack and a dodged bullet shattering it and spread wings taking the brunt of falling glass for the human in his arms.
“Don’t let go, whatever happens.”
He leaps off the ledge, Yunho’s arms around his neck, legs wrapped round his waist and they fall together, tumbling into the night air.
-------
“Does it hurt?”
Jaejoong shakes his head, soundless despite the fact Yunho can’t seem him from behind outstretched wings but Yunho continues anyway, getting more glass into his own hands than out of Jaejoong’s wings on the account of still shaking hands. Glass pieces glitter pink in the moon light and the tips of Jaejoong’s wings curl slightly from the pain.
“Jaejoong.”
He’s pulling at the grass, fistfuls that stain his palms green, the sound of blades snapping far too loud in the night air.
“Jaejoong say something.”
“You’re hurt,” comes the hollow reply and Yunho works at a particularly stubborn shard, wedged between swollen flesh, tries to sound cheerful.
“It’s just a graze, nothing that serious. There. Out. It’s going to be bleeding for a-...”
“That’s not the point.”
Another fistful, he pulls the roots out as well and Yunho hates the empty ring to Jaejoong’s words.
“Jae...”
“The point is you’re hurt. A graze? Not everyone gets grazes from bullets, Yunho, and you know why? Because their lives are not in danger, because they don’t know any fucking bird hybrids, that’s why.”
He’s rambling now, shaking from his own sentences and Yunho strokes his wings silently, waits for that awful trembling to stop, for the right words to surface. They don’t.
“They didn’t kill me, barely even managed to hurt me, Jaejoong.”
“They tried. Do you think they’re going to stop here? What makes you think they’re not coming back, what if I’m not there when they do? Do you honestly think I’ll be able to live with myself if they hurt you because of me?”
“They won’t hurt-...”
Jaejoong twists round suddenly, catching hold of Yunho’s bloodied hands.
“Listen to yourself. Just listen! What kind of delusion are you in, Yunho? Won’t hurt anyone? Won’t hurt you? Me? Look me in the eye and tell me, do you honestly think Withwood will care if one misplaced human is disposed of.”
“Withwood,” Yunho echoes and Jaejoong drops his hands, eyes suddenly dancing in the dark.
“Withwood, of course it’s Withwood. It’s always been them, who else do you think has the balls to pull things like me off? Money? Too many shares in too many places to count. People? Only the brightest, the cream of the crop are offered places. Resources? All Withwood. Withwood Withwood Withwood.” Jaejoong laughs now, hollow and bitter sound that makes Yunho want to clamp his hands over his ears to stop the sound.
“There’s not hiding from them. Not anymore.”
“We leave.” It’s a foolish sounding whisper, yes, Yunho stuttering the words out amidst the wild look in Jaejoong’s eyes that scares him more than he’d like to admit.
“And then what? Keep running? Where? How? They’re not going to stop, Yunho. Not until they get me, not until they’ve dragged me back in there and taken me apart.”
That horrid sounding laugh again and Jaejoong reaches up to brush his fingers against Yunho’s cheek, skin cold, unsteady touch that sends chills up Yunho’s spine because he can’t imagine losing that. He tells Jaejoong and the hand is drawn away quickly, pained, haunted look in his eyes.
“They’re going to kill me, probably you in the process and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Jaejoong is a wonderful, wonderful liar.
---------
The front door is wide open, Yoochun pushing Junsu behind him so he won’t get the soles of his feet cut on the scattered glass pieces but Junsu’s not moving, fists clenching the sides of Yoochun’s shirt as he buries his head in the fabric, breathes in uneven heaves that tear Yoochun’s heart apart.
“They’re gone. They’re gone and it’s all our fault.”
“We should leave. The neighbors...Su...police...”
Junsu cuts his hands on glass, slipping to his knees, palms splayed on the floor.
“We did this.”
--------
Yunho sleeps lightly but Jajeoong steals away just fine anyway, takes off in a rustle of feathers and cracking twigs that make Yunho twitch in his sleep. He’ll be safe enough; Jaejoong thinks without much belief for his own words and whirls towards civilization, staying in the air longer than usual, committing the feel of wind beneath his wings to memory.
An hour to dawn and he touches the ground with unsteady feet, not daring to push time because the best ideas always wither in sunlight.
It’s a grimy public phone, the kind with numbers scrawled across the sides in fading ink, peeling paint with abstract doodles he picks at as he dials a familiar number, loose change from Yunho’s pocket clanging loud. His wings droop by his sides, half wrapping himself from a cold that gnaws at him from the inside out.
Across the city, Junsu picks up, a hoarse hello that breaks on the last syllable.
“We’re okay. Alive, yeah. No, don’t say anything, listen. Tell...tell me how good are you with surgery?”
chapter 6