what it is
what it is
yunjae; pg
romance
12,151 words
An entry for the dbsk_secretgame 2009 Partner Challenge, which won third place for Best Jaejoong :D
This is meant to follow Yunho's POV, and this is, so I would suggest reading that first to get the full effect. fibres did an amazing job, and also won third place for Best Yunho ♥
Our prompt was 'come home', and the original entries can be found here.
The glow of the alarm clock casts shadows of green across the room. It’s five-thirty in the morning, but Jaejoong is already awake - has been awake, and has been counting down the minutes. And now it’s five-thirty.
It’s time to get up.
Jaejoong doesn’t want to.
Five-thirtyone, now. He rolls over and sighs, staring at the ceiling. Changmin will be by to pick him up at six, so he needs to get ready. He might have been up for hours, but he’s tired, feels the weight of it resting on the edge of his eyelids. It feels as if it’s hard to breathe - but, it’s not like that’s unusual.
He sits up, accidently waking Yunho. His boyfriend groans softly, and murmurs without opening his eyes.
“Jae…?”
Jaejoong leans over, placing a kiss on a bare shoulder, “Go back to sleep.”
Yunho nods and buries his face back into the pillow. Within seconds he’s snoring softly. Jaejoong smiles and watches him for a few minutes - just because. Then he checks the clock. Five-thirtyeight. He needs to go.
He put clothes in the guest bathroom down the hall so he could change there without disturbing Yunho. He gets ready, splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth. He wears a beanie so he won’t have to do his hair.
He has a small suitcase, put up and out of the way in the closet by the foyer. He pulls it out right before he leaves, lifting it over the polished wood so the wheels won’t scuff the floor.
Jaejoong closes the door behind him softly. Once out he heads towards the stairs; he’s never been one to take the elevator, the easy way. By the time he gets to the ground floor, Changmin’s already there, car pulled tight to the curb and engine growling softly. White steam puffs out from the exhaust pipe, mixing with the hazy morning air. Winter has almost ended, but it’s early enough in the year that the sun is just slow to rise and the morning cold chills deep in the bones.
He hurries to the car, tapping once on the window so Changmin will pop the trunk. It’s a small sports car and the suitcase barely fits, but with a little shoving he manages to fit it in. Closing the lid he rushes around the passenger side and slings himself into the front seat.
“If you damaged something back there I will be forced to hurt you, you know that, right?” Changmin says.
“Good morning to you too,” Jaejoong replies with a roll of his eyes. He sticks his hands over the vent, willing his hands to warm, “Aish it’s cold. It must be below freezing, you think?”
Changmin nods absently, pulling back onto the street. “Heard on the news a cold front is coming back in. Looks like we’ll have snow in a few days. Too bad you’re leaving now, you’ll probably miss the good stuff and be stuck with the slush. How long are you gonna be gone for, anyway?”
Jaejoong bit his lip, thinking. “I don’t know. The gallery said they wanted me to come and check the exhibition before they opened, but they didn’t say how long they wanted me to stay. They’re paying for the tickets out there, so…” he trails off, not knowing how to go on without outright lying. He doesn’t want to lie to Changmin.
“Hn. That’s nice and vague. Sure those artsy Europeans aren’t trying to steal you away from us?”
It’s a joke, but Jaejoong isn’t up to smiling. Korea is home, will always be his home, but sometimes, sometimes… He stares out the window, watching the tall buildings blur by. They stop at a light, and Jaejoong watches a group of men unloading a truck of boxes and carrying them into a store. The boxes are obviously heavy, the men straining and breathing in cold air, exhaling pale mist.
The silence must have dragged on too long for Changmin. “Hey, are you okay?”
Jaejoong turns to him, blinking. “Ah? I’m fine.”
Changmin gives him a once-over out of the corner of his eye. “You sure? You seem a little out of it… You know, we’re all really proud of you, hyung, for getting this exhibition. London is no small feat.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jaejoong says with a smile, more at Changmin’s hesitant compliment than the thought of the gallery. The gallery showing is huge for his career, but it isn’t the reason Jaejoong had accepted the invitation to come out to London. He’s going because he has to get away for a while, and this was the opportunity he had needed.
No, that they both needed. Yunho might not see it now, might not anytime soon, but he will, Jaejoong knows, but he will. They are falling apart, and there is nothing Jaejoong can do about it - except this.
So the gallery is paying for his ticket out there… but after. After.
There is no return ticket. Jaejoong isn’t sure there will ever be.
“Hyung…?”
They are at the airport, parked right beside an ‘Unloading Only’ sign, a crowd of cars weaving by and around them. “Gonna walk me in?” Jaejoong asks.
“No,” the other man shakes his head regretfully, “I’ve got to be back at the studio. A client is coming in at 8:30 and I’ve still got to develop the roll. Sorry, maybe-”
Jaejoong swallows his words as he leans in, lips connecting once, twice; softly, firmly. He closes his eyes and when he opens them it’s to Changmin’s shocked face, eyes wide and cheeks flushed.
Jaejoong smiles, “Don’t ever be sorry, okay?”
****
He expects the calls.
Yunho - “Hey, I missed you this morning. Call me back and let me know when you’re going to come home, I’ll try to get som-”
Delete.
Yoochun - “I’m at the café. We are meeting for lunch today, right? See you so-”
Delete.
Yunho - “Hey, where are you? I’m starting to wo-”
Delete.
Changmin - “Yunho just called me asking where the hell you are. Did you not tell him you-”
Delete.
Yunho - “So I talked to Changmin. London, huh…? Jae… I. I don’t… Call me, please?”
Delete.
Junsu - “Jaejoong-hyung, what’s going on? We’re all really worried. You’re okay, aren-”
Delete.
Yunho - “Jaejoong, pleas-”
Delete.
Changmin - “What the fuck is going on!? Call us or I will hunt you dow-”
Delete.
Yoochun - “So evidently you flew the coop. Is this about-? Heh, guess that’s a dumb question. I don’t know what you’re thinking, or why you’re doing this, you goddamn idiot. But let us know you’re okay? Yunho… Yunho’s not doing so good, yah? We miss you.”
Saved.
****
London lasts a month. Jaejoong finds the city cold, unforgiving. It’s grey skies that never change, except for the steady, twisting roll of clouds that occasionally break and let fall a sheet of grey rain. It’s an endless surge of people walking to a brisk pulse of a stifled heart, so wrapped up in layers of coats and scarves they have forgotten how to see the warmth in others.
The gallery show comes and goes, and he does his best to play the part of foreign artist. He attends the exhibition opening and they give him a translator, but even on another’s tongue Jaejoong thinks his words feel brittle and fake. He’s saved more messages from home and listens to them more often than he would like. Jaejoong is as fragile as the crystal they use to serve him, his smile as pale as the champagne they sip.
The one thing he likes is the Underground. He rides around and around and around the Circle Line, sitting in the corner of the compartment and watching the stations pass by- St. James’s to Liverpool Street to Baker Street to South Kensington and back again. He imagines that he is out of time, caught in the darkness of the tunnels, and that the whole world that walks above him has stopped, too. That way he can stay here forever and never have to feel the guilt of what he has done.
Jaejoong doesn’t know how long he has been riding when the two men sit across from him. They are young, probably a few years younger than himself. Right about the age he met Yunho, perhaps. One has pale blonde hair, the other wisps of brown sticking out from under his hat. They sit side-to-side, pressing together to look over a daily newspaper.
Jaejoong wonders if they are a couple, the way they sit. He imagines they are like this all the time, never caring what other people think. In a little while the blonde one might reach out and put his arm around the other’s shoulder, or kiss him on the forehead. They are in love.
Or, maybe, they’d be disgusted that Jaejoong is thinking about them like that - that someone would misinterpret their friendship as something so perverted, so wrong. Maybe they would hate him for it. Maybe they would hate each other.
That’s when Jaejoong decides it is time to move on.
****
Jaejoong jumps the English Channel and arrives, weary but hopeful, in Paris. He goes straight to his hotel, drops off his bag, and spends the next two days wandering the streets of the heart of Paris.
He sits at a café and drinks his coffee bitter. He visits the Louvre and the Notre Dame Cathedral and the Eiffel Tower and the Arch de Triomphe. He strolls up Montmartre and watches the artists paint scenes of lovers and landscapes. Jaejoong thinks, someday, he’d like to paint on a sidewalk too.
He waits for the streetlights to turn on, for the night to come and cast the city in starlight and reverie.
The city is as romantic as he always thought it would be.
He checks out of his hotel the next day and takes a train out of the country. He doesn’t even know where it’s going - it was the first train leaving the station, and he’ll just take it as far as it goes. He left his suitcase in his hotel room, taking only his sketchbook and enough clothes to fill his satchel.
His compartment is empty and Jaejoong stretches out on the seat, watching the countryside roll by. The French countryside is still under a thin blanket of snow and it’s still beautiful, still heartbreaking.
Jaejoong and Yunho always talked about coming to Paris. For their honeymoon, Jaejoong had joked, even if they both knew they would never get married. Not if they stayed in Korea, anyway, and neither of them wanted to leave; Yunho didn’t want to leave Korea, and Jaejoong didn’t want to leave Yunho.
How things change.
He falls asleep to the soft rocking of the train. He wakes every once in a while, when the train slows to a stop in front of wood-platform stations to drop off or take on a lonely traveler. No one ever comes into Jaejoong’s compartment, though, and when the sun dips below the horizon he’s fast asleep, hoping that when he wakes he’ll be somewhere new and inviting.
His train reaches Venice sometime deep in the night, and Jaejoong holds his breathe as the train crosses over the long bridge that leads to the Venezia Santa Lucia railway station. The city lights are reflected in the still ocean of the Mediterranean, and the dark shapes of boats float gently along.
He’s traded the one city of lights and love for another, and Jaejoong can only laugh at the irony.
****
It’s not tourist season so he finds a hotel easily enough, but it’s well past midnight when he finally gets a room, slipping around the old wood door with a soft creak and slumping onto his bed bonelessly.
It’s just after six in the morning in Seoul. He wonders what the others are doing. Sleeping, probably. Changmin might be up, getting his studio ready. Yoochun, too - he likes to compose early in the morning. Junsu would be sleeping, of course. Yunho would be just getting up, and he would leave a note for Jaejoong before he left for work, just Jaejoong would do if he left early. But he won’t be leaving a note, because Jaejoong isn’t there. Jaejoong is in Venice. Jaejoong is halfway around the world, and hasn’t spoken to his lover in over a month.
He picks up the phone, and dials.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end is rough, sleep heavy.
“Yoochun,” Jaejoong greets softly.
“Jaejoong…? Jae?” Yoochun says, sounding shocked. Then he sounds angry, “Finally decided to call, did you?”
“It’s been awhile,” he replies, avoiding the question.
“‘A while’?” Yoochun scorns “It’s been a goddamn month Jaejoong. ‘A while’ doesn’t fucking cut it.”
Jaejoong’s heart clenches, hearing the hurt behind the bitterness. “I left a message.”
“Yeah, just long enough to tell us you were alive, and to basically to fuck off and stop calling-”
“ -It wasn’t like that,” Jaejoong says fiercely.
“Then how were we supposed to take it? How?”
Yoochun sounds teary and, god Jaejoong hopes he doesn’t cry, because Jaejoong would be quick to follow and he doesn’t want to cry. Not anymore, not for this, not when he was doing the right thing.
“Can I… Can I explain?” He asks hesitantly.
There’s a long silence, and Jaejoong thinks he might cry anyway. He can feel his eyes water and his throat close up when he finally hears a noise on the other end of the line.
It’s a low sigh, and Jaejoong can just picture Yoochun’s face, sad and frustrated as he runs a hand through disheveled hair.
“Of course you can,” is the answer, soft and sad, “just… no bullshit, okay? I want to know everything. I deserve to know everything.”
And Jaejoong nods even if he knows Yoochun can’t see him. He tells Yoochun the whole thing, of he’d needed to do this, needed to. It was the right thing to do and when his agent had told him that the London gallery had wanted to come in person he’d said yes but not told anyone except Changmin, who wouldn’t say or suspect anything otherwise. And he’d known he was leaving for weeks and it had been so damn hard but he’d done it, he’d left and it was liberating and devastating and he’d listened to every one of their messages over and over but he could never respond because he knew if he did he’d just give in and come back. And he couldn’t do that, he just couldn’t-
“Where are you now, Jae?” Yoochun interrupts.
“…Venice.”
Yoochun curses low. “Jesus, Jae.”
“I’ve only been here a few hours. I was in Paris for a few days, too. It was beautiful and I couldn’t stand it.”
“Jaejoong…”
“You know why I left, don’t you, Chun? I know you’re mad now, but you know, don’t you?” And he knows he’s begging but he can’t help it, the emotion rising up his throat and choking his words. “I had to, I had to, I had to, and god I’m so sorry because I didn’t want - I didn’t, I…”
Yoochun makes a noise but Jaejoong can’t stop. He has trouble breathing around his tears, around the harsh sobs building in his throat. “Yoochun, I left because I had to, because it was right and if I didn’t…”
“I know, Jaejoong, I know.”
“It was suffocating, Yoochun. And if I stayed I think it would have killed us both. I didn’t want to leave him but I love him so much and I just….”
“Jaejoong, listen to me-”
“-I just didn’t know what to do, because I needed to get out but I didn’t want to and I’m sorry I hurt you, and god he must be so hurt, so confused, and I didn’t…”
“Hey, I know, I know, okay?” Yoochun says, in a soothing tone that makes Jaejoong feel small and helpless. He knows Yoochun’s trying to calm him down but it isn’t necessary; he’s saying everything he’s been feeling for the first time and now he’s just so drained.
“Hyung, I understand. I really do. I mean, I can’t say I didn’t expect it. You told me what was going on with you two… but I didn’t figure you’d run without saying anything. You could have called me. You could have come to me Jaejoong, not done this and scared the crap out of all of us.”
“I’m sorry,” Jaejoong whispers, and his voice feels hoarse, “I should have called.”
“Damn right you should have.”
There’s a long pause, in which they just listen to each other breathe. It’s the moment that they past is forgiven and forgotten because it’s the past and Yoochun doesn’t hold grudges - and they’re soulmates like that. Jaejoong doesn’t realize until then just how much he missed Yoochun.
“…How’s he doing?” He finally asks.
Yoochun sighs, “Okay. Still hurt, still upset, but you know him. He doesn’t show how bad it’s affecting him… but, at the same time… he knows why you left.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. The man knows you, hyung, and not because you’ve been together so long but because he loves you. That was never the problem.”
“I know.”
“Do you? ‘Cause you might try showing it. Just because he knows doesn’t mean it gets it. You should talk to him.”
He bites his lip. “I can’t, Chun. Not yet. And don’t - don’t tell him about this, okay?”
“No.” Yoochun says - and continues, before Jaejoong can protest - “I won’t tell him why you ran and why you’re upset, because that’s something he needs to hear from you. But I am going to tell him where you are, and that you’re okay, and that you’re an idiot but you are doing what you need to do. That’s what he deserves, too.”
“Okay. Okay,” Jaejoong says, because he knows Yoochun is right. “I’m sorry.”
“I know, you dumbass,” the younger man replies, but fondly, and it makes Jaejoong smile just to hear it. “I’m going to go back to sleep now, and so should you, because what the fuck time is it there anyway?”
“Late.”
“Exactly. Now, sleep and enjoy Venice and call me. How long are you going to be there?”
“Don’t know,” Jaejoong says. “But I’ll call before I leave.”
“Good. And, although I doubt you’ll listen, call Yunho. And even if you don’t call him, please call Junsu. The other day I found him sleeping on the shelf of my dry bar. Boy’s slowly driving himself into the ground from worry, and he’ll need to hear from you before he’ll believe everything’s alright.”
“…Should I call Changmin too?”
Yoochun pauses, thinking, “Probably best to just get it over with. He’s going to give you hell, but better now when you’re a world away and he can’t actually reach you. He’s been spending a lot more time at the gym lately.”
Jaejoong winces. That’s not good - Changmin only holds grudges with the people he cares about the most, and for his hyung the young photographer never pulls his punches. Quite literally.
“Exactly,” Yoochun replies to Jaejoong’s silence. “I swear, aren’t artists supposed to be sensitive and delicate? The two of you are just weird.”
“Not everyone can be a recluse like you,” Jaejoong quips. It’s an old joke between the three of them, and they share a short laugh.
“Bye, Chun.”
“Talk to you later, Jae.”
Jaejoong hangs up and falls back on his bed. He sinks into asleep with his clothes still on and when he wakes his body feels lighter, rested, like he’s gotten his first real sleep since the night one month ago, when he hadn’t been sleeping alone.
****
Jaejoong refuses to let himself fold under his own maudlin; he needs to be stronger than that. He’ll enjoy Venice for what it is, find inspiration and inner peace and identity - he’ll find himself again.
He buys a cheap Venice guidebook and takes his time exploring the city. He gets turned around and incredibly lost at least twice a day but it’s worth it to wander, aimlessly, through the rustic beauty of the city, smelling the scents of flowers on the water-born breeze. He finds himself drawn to Piazza San Marco, where he sits at Caffé Florian and watches the flow of the crowd and memorizes the patterns of pigeons fluttering over the ground, against the blue sky.
Even more, though, he loves the little isle of Murano. There’s a little glass-blowing shop around the corner from the water-bus port and he stands just outside the entryway, catching glimpses. Only tour groups are allowed in but he sneaks in once or twice.
After a week of hanging around one of the workers, a young man with a wide smile and the edges of his face lined with soot, finally comes and invites him in to watch in full. He does so, silently, as the men go about their craft, working with white-hot flame and molten glass. They make vases and cups and dishes, jewelry and delicate sculptures.
The men indulge him as he doesn’t get in the way, and seem to delight in the awe Jaejoong shows for each new creation. On the third day Jaejoong brings his sketchbook and starts taking studies of the glass-blowers.
The glass-blowers love them and pin them up on the wall and Jaejoong feels like he’s found a little piece of home. He misses the art scene in Seoul; going to shows and galleries with Changmin, concerts with Junsu and Yoochun. Yunho would never say it but Jaejoong knew Yunho got tired of it; the lawyer being too practical, traditional to appreciate some of the more abstract, outré works. It was one of the bigger issues they’d had, really, although neither of them had ever actually brought it up. The only saving grace was the ballet. They went to every performance by the KNBC and Jaejoong thought the awe and appreciation on Yunho’s face was more beautiful than any of the dancers themselves.
He wonders if he’ll ever be able to see that look again. He wonders if Yunho would ever look at him like that again.
The young Italian man who’d first invited him starts sitting with him when he’s not working, waiting for the glass to cool, and always makes remarks about Jaejoong’s work. It’s all in Italian and Jaejoong doesn’t understand any word other than ‘bella’, but it does nothing to make Jaejoong blush any less. The young man is cute, and knows how to charm. He trades Jaejoong a little glass horse for a portrait.
There’s a lot of broken phrases and even more arm gestures, but they work out a way of communicating. The man’s name is Stefano, and his family owns this little shop. They import glass all over the world, and have been for centuries. Stefano likes Jaejoong’s drawings. Stefano likes Jaejoong.
He kisses Jaejoong one night, when the shop is closing and Jaejoong is getting ready to leave. No one else is around and Stefano looks around before ducking his head, pressing his lips to Jaejoong’s.
Jaejoong kisses him back.
Ten minutes later Jaejoong leaves, walking towards the dock as Stefano stands at the door and watches him go with dark eyes.
****
Jaejoong keeps the glass horse in his pocket as he boards the boat headed for Greece. It’s a long and rough journey and Jaejoong has never been happier to have his feet on dry land.
He catches a bus and finds himself in a little fishing village on the Iola coast. He stays in a pension and watches the sun rise and set from his balcony window. He calls Yoochun and spends hours talking to him, catches up on the latest news from home and filling in Yoochun about his travels. He doesn’t tell Yoochun about Stefano.
He calls Junsu again. Their first conversation had been short, Junsu not being able to talk long and just satisfied to hear from his hyung. This time they actually have a real conversation. Jaejoong apologizes to Junsu. Junsu tells him he was hurt, but that he understands. Jaejoong talks about what food he’s been eating abroad. Junsu whines about how annoying Yoochun is, because without Jaejoong around to act as a go-between he’s being stupid and stubborn. They don’t talk about Yunho.
Jaejoong sits on the beach and digs his toes in the sand. It’s almost spring, and the air is warm. The water is not, lapping against his ankles as the tide rises. Jaejoong goes back inside.
He calls Changmin, for the first time. It’s a hard call to make, and he hangs up twice before he can finish dialing the number. It’s even harder when he actually does. Changmin alternates between yelling and long, cold silences. Jaejoong’s halfway through trying to explain himself when Changmin hangs up on him. Jaejoong doesn’t try to call back.
His phone bill is monstrous.
****
Istanbul is a beautiful city and is different from any place he has ever been, a clash of culture and history and religion. He wanders into a mosque and listens to the sound of the minaret singers resonating across the courtyard. Men sit in lines and pray, bend to the ground in steady rhythm and Jaejoong wonders what it would be like to have that sort of devotion, that solid faith.
Istanbul has beautiful gardens, too, and when he finds a seat amongst delicately designed flower beds it gives him the feel of peace - in that he is alone, and not-alone. The air is smells like flowers and it draws him into dreams of the past. In the gardens he finally starts to think.
They never really fought, he thinks. They never really had hard times or a rough relationship. They fell into it with the ease that they fell in love. He still remembers when they first moved in together, and how perfect everyday had seemed to be. Jaejoong had just been so happy to find love, and someone that would accept him, in conservative Korea where he had half-consigned himself to a life as an outcast. He had come out to his family at a young age and they had, eventually, come to accept it; the rest of society would not be so forgiving.
But here Yunho was, the perfect model of a man, as upright and distinguished and filial as they came. He was respectful and respected, and he wanted a normal life - and Jaejoong. That he was willing to risk it all just to be with Jaejoong seemed to good to be true.
And it was, in a way. They never came out with their relationship, of course, but that was to be expected. Yunho couldn’t if he wanted to keep his job, and Jaejoong wanted to keep it a secret, too. He wanted to protect their relationship from the cruelty that would follow them otherwise. Yunho had never come out like Jaejoong had, and didn’t know what it meant. Jaejoong didn’t want him to know.
Yoochun, Junsu and Changmin were the only ones that knew, but that was because they knew couldn’t have hid it from the other three even if they wanted to. And, just the same, they knew the other three wouldn’t reject them. They were too close for that. Jaejoong often joked he was really dating four men, not just one; Yunho would counter that one gay relationship was enough for him, thankyouverymuch.
And then Seunghyun found out.
Jaejoong still doesn’t know how it happened. Seunghyun and Yunho had been good friends - best friends. They’d gone out one night for drinks and Jaejoong doesn’t know if Seunghyun had already known, if it slipped out or if Yunho had actually confessed, but all he knew was he woke up the next morning and Yunho was under the shower, still in clothes and trying to muffle his sobs.
Seunghyun had called once. He left a message saying that he wouldn’t tell anyone. But he didn’t want to see or talk to Yunho again.
It was strained for a long time, after that, Yunho was in shock and for the first time getting a sense of what would happen if he kept living this way. He told Jaejoong that it was okay, that he would get over it. But for a long time after that Yunho didn’t so much as look at him when they were in public. Even in private he flinched from his touch, and Jaejoong couldn’t help but wonder if, in some way, Yunho was blaming Jaejoong for what had happened.
And it was only the beginning. The distance grew and so did the silence. Being in the apartment made Jaejoong feel stifled; he worked at his studio more and more, where before he had preferred to work at home, where he could talk to Yunho even as he painted. By then Yunho had firmly wrapped himself in his work and was rarely home, anyway.
The differences between them became more obvious. Where they once made their personalities work, fit together in lovely dissonance, now it seemed as if every little quirk was something to be worked around. Jaejoong felt too odd, too eccentric in his own home, whereas Yunho fell into the role of perfect man, fake man, and in comparison Jaejoong felt his self-esteem withering. He didn’t want to make it worse, but there was only so long he could keep up a one-sided relationship, seemingly unwanted affection.
They ate their meals together. They still went to the art shows and the ballet. They stopped have sex. They still watched movies late at night and sat with their feet tangled together. They slept side-by-side.
They never talked about it, and they never fought.
Maybe that had been their biggest mistake.
****
He takes a flight from Turkey to America. The tickets are expensive and he gets Yoochun to wire him some cash. He’s reached the limit on his credit card and wouldn’t dare take money from their joint account.
He arrives in New York and the city is in full bloom. He heads straight to Central Park, bags and all, and claims a bench. He pulls out his sketch pad and charcoals, not caring how dirty his fingers will get, and begins to work. He works his heart out and invites everyone else in - the jogger on his cell phone, the woman and her two young children lying on the grass, the old man bent over playing slowly with an overeager puppy.
He makes a study of a couple, sitting on the bench behind him. They each have a coffee but share a bagel and kisses between bites. When he’s done gives them the picture for free.
The next day he comes and does the same thing. Graphite, this time. There’s a new jogger and new mother and new old man feeding pigeons. He makes a sketch of a couple and when he gives it to them, they want to pay him. He doesn’t want their money. They give it to him anyway.
He buys new clothes and doesn’t realize how shabby the earlier ones have become; he’s been wearing the same three outfits for a month, after all, and seeing the new and old side-by-side his inner fashionista cries in shame.
He contacts his agent and asks if there are any buyers in New York. For his larger paintings he usually has two or three in the wings, and New York is as likely a place for one as possible.
It seems that luck is with him - not New York, but there is a buyer for a painting that showed in gallery in Los Angeles, and the same buyer would like to request a portrait commission. His agent almost refuses to give him the details - in retribution for going a-wall for nearly three months. He might not be required to keep in touch with her, but they’d been working together for nearly five years and she had a mind to just drop him completely. But he explains his financial situation and she caves - just as he knew BoA would. She is just too good a person to let him becoming another ‘desperate starving artist trying to make it in America’ - in her words, of course.
He gets in contact with the gallery, the buyer, and within a week is on his way to L.A. The weather is already hot in California, and Jaejoong is tired of the cold.
He calls Yoochun to let him know where he’s going.
But it’s not Yoochun who picks up the phone.
“Hello?” The voice is low and tired. “Yoochun’s phone, Yunho speaking.”
Jaejoong is shocked, and the name slips right off his tongue. “…Yunho?”
“…Jaejoong? Is this Jaejoong!?”
“Oh no- Yunho, I shouldn’t, this isn’t-” He doesn’t know what to say, his words stumbling over themselves in his panic. He doesn’t know what to say. “I should go-”
“N-no, don’t hang up! …j-just, how’ve you been? You-”
Yunho cuts himself off, and Jaejoong wonders if he’s just as shaken as Jaejoong is. He ducks his head, “…I’m, I’m okay, yah? Listen, Yunho, maybe this isn’t such a good idea…”
Yunho laughs softly and Jaejoong’s heart leaps into his throat. “Yeah, maybe this isn’t. But it’s… really good to hear your voice again.”
“Yeah… I mis- I mean, I…um,” He can’t go there; it’s too much. He can feel himself tearing already, and wants to curse at himself, how weak he is… but god, it is good to hear his voice. “You sound good. You’re doing good, aren’t you?”
“I…I guess so. Are you…happy?”
“I went to Paris,” Jaejoong answers.
Yunho understands, and his laugh is slightly bitter this time. “Yeah, I heard from Yoochun. But, Paris, Jaejoong-ah. It… must’ve been beautiful.”
“It was. But everywhere’s been beautiful…” He takes a deep breath, “there’s a lot to see, yah?”
There’s a slight pause before Yunho responds, a simple “…I know.”
Jaejoong forges on. “I’m going to Los Angeles next. I’m doing a portrait for this rich family. I’m really excited about it. I’ve been doing lots of sketching, too…”
But that thought leads down sticky trails to other thoughts - like Stefano, and for the first time he feels truly, awfully guilty. He swallows down his tears in the following silence - but finally breaks down, speak softly, “…but it doesn’t mean I don’t miss home.”
Yunho murmurs something that Jaejoong thinks is his name, and then clears his throat. “Everyone misses you, you know. It took them a while to get used to you gone.”
“Probably just me taking care of them,” he laughs humorlessly, “but they aren’t kids anymore. They don’t need me.”
“Y-yeah, I guess they don’t,” he says, and takes a deep breath. “But you know… I…I really miss you.”
Jaejoong squeezes his eyes shut, presses a hand against them until he sees stars. He can’t do this anymore. “Yunho… I miss you too,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, “…I love you, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know, Jaejoong-ah. I love you too. I always will.” It’s said with a strangled sob and hot tears slips out from under Jaejoong’s fingers.
“I-I should probably go-”
“N-no, don’t!” Yunho interrupts, desperately, “just stay on the phone with me. You don’t have to say anything, just… let me hear you for a while.”
“No, no, no,” Jaejoong chants, “don’t make it harder. I’m going to go, but I’ll talk to you lat-”
“-Alright,” the other man interrupts once more, but some strength has gone back into his voice. “But remember this, Jaejoong-ah. Yoochun, Junsu, Changmin and I are waiting for you. We’ll still be here whenever you decide to come back. And…” his voice trailed off, “I’m still going to be where you left me. In our apartment, in our bed. No matter what.”
That’s the last thing Jaejoong wants to hear. “Damnit, Yunho, that’s not what I want,” he says, gritting his teeth against the tremble in his voice, “I’m not just going to come back and have everything be the same. I just can’t do that. I just can’t.”
“Then what do you want changed, Jae? I can’t change anything if you don’t tell me!”
“I want…” God, does he even know what he wants? The leaving, being gone part has just been so hard, he hasn’t ever thought of what it meant to go back. “What I want is for you to consider, really consider this - us. I left because… because I needed to do it for me, and I want you to do something for you. Be honest, if you really - if you really want me to come back,” he ends softly.
And that is the truth, he realizes. He had left not because he it was right for them, but because it was right for Jaejoong. The question is whether or not it is right for Jaejoong to come back to Yunho. Jaejoong has needed time apart, and has needed it so that he would know, truly, if Yunho wants him. And if not… at least Jaejoong will the rest of the world in which to bury his pain.
“And don’t give me an answer now,” he continues, “because I really mean it. I don’t want you to change for me, I don’t… Jesus, I’m rambling. I’m sorry-” he cut himself off. His heart is done with this conversation.
On the other end Yunho sighs. “We’ve been together for years, Jaejoong-ah. Even if I hadn’t wanted to, I’ve still changed. That’s how people grow. And being separated for so long… Jaejoong, you’ve no idea how many times I hated you for leaving me without a single not, anything. But still… I always missed you. I missed you even when I was drunk and crazy. And since you don’t want me to say anything now, I won’t, but don’t be sorry. Please don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I-I shouldn’t, I mean-” Every word of Yunho’s speech stabs at Jaejoong, and he finds it hard to breathe. Words tumble out of him - “this wasn’t a good idea, I’ve got to go, I’m sorry, I need to-”
And then he hangs up, just to stop himself from saying anymore.
****
He is shaken and can’t stop shaking, not even a day later when walks out of LAX, into the warmth of early spring and concrete sprawl of Southern California. He waits on the curb, sitting on his luggage and bouncing one foot on the concrete. His client is supposed to be pick him up, but they have not yet arrived.
He waits another thirty minutes before they come.
“Sorry, sorry, traffic bad!” The man says in broken Korean. He ushers Jaejoong into the back of his limousine while the driver takes his luggage to the trunk. “Flight okay?”
Jaejoong nods, “Yes, thank you so much for paying for me. It’s a pleasure to be able to meet the person purchasing my work.”
His name is Jin-sshi, and he smiles but doesn’t seem to fully understand what Jaejoong says. He’s a second-generation immigrant from Korea, and barely speaks the language but it’s enough for them to make basic conversation. They go straight to the gallery where the painting is being stored, and Jaejoong sees the first time which painting of his is being sold.
It’s ‘River Reeds and Swallow.’ It’s a painting of a river in the grey light of morning. A young girl stands on the banks and skips rocks over the water as birds fly up around the edges of the canvas.
He did the sketches for it on the banks of the Han, when he had first started dating Yunho. His lover had been studying for the bar exam, and they’d take picnics just to get out of house. Yunho would lie out and read his massive textbooks while Jaejoong would look out over the landscape, memorizing shapes and colors.
He’d started painting on canvas when Yunho passed the bar - the night the celebrated they managed to knock it off of the easel in their haste to get to bed. The paint smeared on their floor and when he went to clean it up the next morning, it had already formed a nice faint stain of green-brown on the wood floor. Jaejoong had almost thrown the painting away. Yunho convinced him not to; he’d finished it within the week.
Jaejoong smiles softly when he sees the painting now, and the sale goes without problem.
There is also the matter of the commission. Jin-sshi wants a family portrait, of his beautiful wide and three adorable children. And, as a wealthy businessman with more money than he knows what to do with, offers to provide both housing as well as any and all art supplies. Jin-sshi is as generous as he is insistent; not that Jaejoong would have considered turning it down.
Because it is not just studies - it is not graphite pencils and broken sticks of charcoal and spiral-bound acid-free sketchbooks. It is a linen canvas pulled tight over the stretcher, oil paints squeezed from thick new tubes, the heady smell of pigment and primer. It is the flat, wide expanse of the pallet covered with touches of color, feathered and blurred together in a vivid array.
He has missed these things. He wonders if this is what it feels like, to meet an old friend after such a long absence. He paints with all the feeling in his heart, and tries to put all his love into his portrait of a happy family.
****
He borrows one of Jin-sshi’s many cars - just one day, one day of sight-seeing. He starts at Beverly Hills, winds through the twists of Mulholland Drive and trying to catch a peek down the longer, twistier driveways that lead to the hidden homes of the stars. Jaejoong wanted to be famous once - he wanted to sing, even though he is tone deaf and always has been. Changmin teased that it was because he was an attention whore and wanted to be on stage; that he wanted to be the art, not just the one creating it.
But Yunho had told him that he had once wanted to be famous, too. He had danced as a child and had dreams of doing it forever. They hadn’t lasted, of course, and he was satisfied with being a lawyer - but it was why, he confessed, he took the position at the talent agency.
‘Like I’m living two dreams at once,’ Yunho said.
‘What’s the second one?’ Jaejoong said.
‘Living with you, of course.’ He’d said. Jaejoong had laughed and hit him for being so cheesy, but that night had shown just how much he’d appreciated the sentiment.
Jaejoong blinks hard at the memory. He wonders if it’s getting easier and easier to remember, to think about it - because he can’t quite tell. Talking to Yunho had been hard, had made him cry and feel awful for days, but… but, it given Jaejoong direction, in a way. He is on the standing on the very edge of understanding, looking out over the landscape of the mixed tumble of his own emotions and trying to make sense of it all.
He goes to Hollywood Boulevard and takes a picture of the stars of Yoochun’s favorite musicians. He puts his hand in the cast of Junsu’s favorite singer and Changmin’s favorite actress - who happens to be Yunho’s favorite, too. Afterwards he puts all the pictures on a little flash drive from a Kodak Kiosk, and then puts the drive in the inner pocket of his coat. He deletes the pictures from his camera.
He goes to Santa Monica next, and in the half-hour he spends on the freeway he thinks he loses ten years of his life. He’s not the best driver to begin with but dealing with angry, honking rush-hour California commuters is enough to send anyone into a fit of panic. He ends up driving in the slow lane at 50 miles an hour and cringing every time a car swerved around him.
When he finally parks he stumbles out of his car, following the crowd to reach the famous 3rd Street Promenade, with its trees wrapped in blue lights and fountains and dinosaur-shaped tree-sculptures. He watches the buskers; the dancers, the acrobats, the musicians. He plays a game of pool in the basement of the Yankee Doodle sports bar and cheers with the crowd for the football game even though he has no clue who’s playing - or what’s going on at all. He goes to Starbucks and makes the longest order he can think of, a grande non-fat sugar-free double-pump vanilla upside-down iced caramel macchiato. He has to say it three times before the barista understands him. He drinks it on a bench outside and watches two little girls dance to the music of an acoustic guitarist.
This city is full of life. He wishes he could understand it.
****
The portrait he finishes within a couple of weeks; Jaejoong works fast when he has no other projects on his plate. And as each new layer of paint dries he feels that old melancholy creeping over him. But not it is not guilt, or grief, or even pure sadness that suffocates him, like in the beginning.
For the first time, he feels lonely.
Watching Jin-sshi and his family is no help; he aches for some feel of familiarity. He wants to speak to someone who understands him, to not have to clarify his words with gestures and simple phrases. He misses speaking Korean and eating real Korean food.
More than that he misses the companionship he had with Yunho. Being with each for years, they’d become comfortable together - they’d had an awareness of each other, the ease of knowing someone who knew you just as well, inside and out.
He had shared his hopes and dreams with Yunho, and he had made new ones for the both of them.
But at the same time, it had been complacency. They hadn’t been moving forward for a while - they hadn’t been moving towards those dreams Jaejoong had so carefully crafted. They’d been stuck, suffocating together, hovering between hope and reality.
And Jaejoong had forgotten what it was like to be alone, to strike his own path of independence. Travelling like he is, without direction or plans or baggage - it’s been freedom. That’s what he tells himself, and he has loved every minute of it.
He wants to love every minute of it, and yet here he is - struggling still with guilt-grief-sadness, and now he has to add loneliness to the list? He doesn’t want this.
He’s been trying for change. He’s been trying to breathe free. He’s been trying to move forward, to let go of the past. He’s been trying-
He’s been trying to let go of Yunho.
And the thought makes him sick. Because he thinks back to the phone conversation, and the way just the sound of Yunho’s voice had made Jaejoong shiver; when his voice trembled it made Jaejoong ache, when his voice pleaded Jaejoong had wanted nothing more than to comfort him.
Yet, all this time he’s been trying to let go of Yunho.
But if these months have taught him nothing, it’s that no matter how hard he tries, he doesn’t think his heart will ever, ever let him.
****
Jaejoong sits on the plane that will take him away from Los Angeles, away from America. He watches the sun sizzle on the tarmac, and - after they’ve taken off - shimmer off the ocean thousands of feet below.
He is going, for the first time, towards home. He does not know if he will actually go back to Korea. Even after months it feels as if it might be too soon. The compulsion to skip right over and keep going is strong.
He’d told Yoochun as much, when he’d said where he was going.
“Tokyo? Jae, that’s really close.”
“So?” Jaejoong had said defensively. “It was either that or Puerto Rico, and I’m worse at Spanish than I am at English. At least I’m going somewhere I can speak.”
“You took one semester of Japanese freshman year, Jaejoongie.”
“It’s better than nothing,” he muttered.
“But this is close…” Yoochun had sighed, and after a pause, “…are you coming home, Jae?”
Jaejoong hadn’t answered for a while. “I don’t know.”
“When will you know?”
“I don’t know. When I know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just - after talking with Yunho…”
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared. I’m damned scared. Every time I think about going home all I think is of running in the opposite direction. But I miss it. I really hadn’t thought I would miss Korea… I was just so pissed, so fed up with it all. But… I really do miss it. I miss all of you.”
‘I miss you too,” he’d replied softly, “My compositions have been absolutely bland without you to here to be my muse.”
“Send me some and I’ll decide on that,” he teased.
“Maybe I will,” Yoochun shot back, and there was a speculative tone in his voice that Jaejoong hadn’t quite understood.
“I better go, Chun. My cab is here.”
“Alright, but think about it - seriously. You’re the one who booked the ticket. Even if it seems scary… maybe you’re more ready than you know.”
****
He spends his first night in Tokyo in a capsule hotel, just for kicks. He finds it creepy, and immediately switches to a hotel he’s knows well.
He wanders around and tries to refresh his mind of the hiragana and that damned katakana, as well as remember the few kanji he’d once learned. He eats nothing but spicy tonkotsu ramen for a week.
Japan, however, is not as familiar as he’d thought it be. He’s been to Tokyo several times on business trips and was looking forward to visiting some old sights. But it is not enough for his yearning heart; the language is still to foreign, the fashion and manners and landscape too different to cheat his mind into imagining it as home.
He stays no longer than a week before he’s ready to leave, but to where he can’t possible think. He goes to a travel agency and grabs a dozen random brochures and keeps them in the inside pocket of his jacket. It’s another two days before he takes them out again.
He’s sitting at the café on the ground floor of his hotel (a real one, this time - the capsule hotel was cool, but one night was definitely more than enough), and spreads the brochures out on the table. He’s reading the merits of Hokkaido, comparing it to the sights of Bangkok-
And then the brochure is gone, ripped straight from his hand. He looks up and is ready to yell at the jerk that was so rude to…
Changmin.
The jerk is Changmin.
[part two]
yunjae; pg
romance
12,151 words
An entry for the dbsk_secretgame 2009 Partner Challenge, which won third place for Best Jaejoong :D
This is meant to follow Yunho's POV, and this is, so I would suggest reading that first to get the full effect. fibres did an amazing job, and also won third place for Best Yunho ♥
Our prompt was 'come home', and the original entries can be found here.
The glow of the alarm clock casts shadows of green across the room. It’s five-thirty in the morning, but Jaejoong is already awake - has been awake, and has been counting down the minutes. And now it’s five-thirty.
It’s time to get up.
Jaejoong doesn’t want to.
Five-thirtyone, now. He rolls over and sighs, staring at the ceiling. Changmin will be by to pick him up at six, so he needs to get ready. He might have been up for hours, but he’s tired, feels the weight of it resting on the edge of his eyelids. It feels as if it’s hard to breathe - but, it’s not like that’s unusual.
He sits up, accidently waking Yunho. His boyfriend groans softly, and murmurs without opening his eyes.
“Jae…?”
Jaejoong leans over, placing a kiss on a bare shoulder, “Go back to sleep.”
Yunho nods and buries his face back into the pillow. Within seconds he’s snoring softly. Jaejoong smiles and watches him for a few minutes - just because. Then he checks the clock. Five-thirtyeight. He needs to go.
He put clothes in the guest bathroom down the hall so he could change there without disturbing Yunho. He gets ready, splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth. He wears a beanie so he won’t have to do his hair.
He has a small suitcase, put up and out of the way in the closet by the foyer. He pulls it out right before he leaves, lifting it over the polished wood so the wheels won’t scuff the floor.
Jaejoong closes the door behind him softly. Once out he heads towards the stairs; he’s never been one to take the elevator, the easy way. By the time he gets to the ground floor, Changmin’s already there, car pulled tight to the curb and engine growling softly. White steam puffs out from the exhaust pipe, mixing with the hazy morning air. Winter has almost ended, but it’s early enough in the year that the sun is just slow to rise and the morning cold chills deep in the bones.
He hurries to the car, tapping once on the window so Changmin will pop the trunk. It’s a small sports car and the suitcase barely fits, but with a little shoving he manages to fit it in. Closing the lid he rushes around the passenger side and slings himself into the front seat.
“If you damaged something back there I will be forced to hurt you, you know that, right?” Changmin says.
“Good morning to you too,” Jaejoong replies with a roll of his eyes. He sticks his hands over the vent, willing his hands to warm, “Aish it’s cold. It must be below freezing, you think?”
Changmin nods absently, pulling back onto the street. “Heard on the news a cold front is coming back in. Looks like we’ll have snow in a few days. Too bad you’re leaving now, you’ll probably miss the good stuff and be stuck with the slush. How long are you gonna be gone for, anyway?”
Jaejoong bit his lip, thinking. “I don’t know. The gallery said they wanted me to come and check the exhibition before they opened, but they didn’t say how long they wanted me to stay. They’re paying for the tickets out there, so…” he trails off, not knowing how to go on without outright lying. He doesn’t want to lie to Changmin.
“Hn. That’s nice and vague. Sure those artsy Europeans aren’t trying to steal you away from us?”
It’s a joke, but Jaejoong isn’t up to smiling. Korea is home, will always be his home, but sometimes, sometimes… He stares out the window, watching the tall buildings blur by. They stop at a light, and Jaejoong watches a group of men unloading a truck of boxes and carrying them into a store. The boxes are obviously heavy, the men straining and breathing in cold air, exhaling pale mist.
The silence must have dragged on too long for Changmin. “Hey, are you okay?”
Jaejoong turns to him, blinking. “Ah? I’m fine.”
Changmin gives him a once-over out of the corner of his eye. “You sure? You seem a little out of it… You know, we’re all really proud of you, hyung, for getting this exhibition. London is no small feat.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jaejoong says with a smile, more at Changmin’s hesitant compliment than the thought of the gallery. The gallery showing is huge for his career, but it isn’t the reason Jaejoong had accepted the invitation to come out to London. He’s going because he has to get away for a while, and this was the opportunity he had needed.
No, that they both needed. Yunho might not see it now, might not anytime soon, but he will, Jaejoong knows, but he will. They are falling apart, and there is nothing Jaejoong can do about it - except this.
So the gallery is paying for his ticket out there… but after. After.
There is no return ticket. Jaejoong isn’t sure there will ever be.
“Hyung…?”
They are at the airport, parked right beside an ‘Unloading Only’ sign, a crowd of cars weaving by and around them. “Gonna walk me in?” Jaejoong asks.
“No,” the other man shakes his head regretfully, “I’ve got to be back at the studio. A client is coming in at 8:30 and I’ve still got to develop the roll. Sorry, maybe-”
Jaejoong swallows his words as he leans in, lips connecting once, twice; softly, firmly. He closes his eyes and when he opens them it’s to Changmin’s shocked face, eyes wide and cheeks flushed.
Jaejoong smiles, “Don’t ever be sorry, okay?”
****
He expects the calls.
Yunho - “Hey, I missed you this morning. Call me back and let me know when you’re going to come home, I’ll try to get som-”
Delete.
Yoochun - “I’m at the café. We are meeting for lunch today, right? See you so-”
Delete.
Yunho - “Hey, where are you? I’m starting to wo-”
Delete.
Changmin - “Yunho just called me asking where the hell you are. Did you not tell him you-”
Delete.
Yunho - “So I talked to Changmin. London, huh…? Jae… I. I don’t… Call me, please?”
Delete.
Junsu - “Jaejoong-hyung, what’s going on? We’re all really worried. You’re okay, aren-”
Delete.
Yunho - “Jaejoong, pleas-”
Delete.
Changmin - “What the fuck is going on!? Call us or I will hunt you dow-”
Delete.
Yoochun - “So evidently you flew the coop. Is this about-? Heh, guess that’s a dumb question. I don’t know what you’re thinking, or why you’re doing this, you goddamn idiot. But let us know you’re okay? Yunho… Yunho’s not doing so good, yah? We miss you.”
Saved.
****
London lasts a month. Jaejoong finds the city cold, unforgiving. It’s grey skies that never change, except for the steady, twisting roll of clouds that occasionally break and let fall a sheet of grey rain. It’s an endless surge of people walking to a brisk pulse of a stifled heart, so wrapped up in layers of coats and scarves they have forgotten how to see the warmth in others.
The gallery show comes and goes, and he does his best to play the part of foreign artist. He attends the exhibition opening and they give him a translator, but even on another’s tongue Jaejoong thinks his words feel brittle and fake. He’s saved more messages from home and listens to them more often than he would like. Jaejoong is as fragile as the crystal they use to serve him, his smile as pale as the champagne they sip.
The one thing he likes is the Underground. He rides around and around and around the Circle Line, sitting in the corner of the compartment and watching the stations pass by- St. James’s to Liverpool Street to Baker Street to South Kensington and back again. He imagines that he is out of time, caught in the darkness of the tunnels, and that the whole world that walks above him has stopped, too. That way he can stay here forever and never have to feel the guilt of what he has done.
Jaejoong doesn’t know how long he has been riding when the two men sit across from him. They are young, probably a few years younger than himself. Right about the age he met Yunho, perhaps. One has pale blonde hair, the other wisps of brown sticking out from under his hat. They sit side-to-side, pressing together to look over a daily newspaper.
Jaejoong wonders if they are a couple, the way they sit. He imagines they are like this all the time, never caring what other people think. In a little while the blonde one might reach out and put his arm around the other’s shoulder, or kiss him on the forehead. They are in love.
Or, maybe, they’d be disgusted that Jaejoong is thinking about them like that - that someone would misinterpret their friendship as something so perverted, so wrong. Maybe they would hate him for it. Maybe they would hate each other.
That’s when Jaejoong decides it is time to move on.
****
Jaejoong jumps the English Channel and arrives, weary but hopeful, in Paris. He goes straight to his hotel, drops off his bag, and spends the next two days wandering the streets of the heart of Paris.
He sits at a café and drinks his coffee bitter. He visits the Louvre and the Notre Dame Cathedral and the Eiffel Tower and the Arch de Triomphe. He strolls up Montmartre and watches the artists paint scenes of lovers and landscapes. Jaejoong thinks, someday, he’d like to paint on a sidewalk too.
He waits for the streetlights to turn on, for the night to come and cast the city in starlight and reverie.
The city is as romantic as he always thought it would be.
He checks out of his hotel the next day and takes a train out of the country. He doesn’t even know where it’s going - it was the first train leaving the station, and he’ll just take it as far as it goes. He left his suitcase in his hotel room, taking only his sketchbook and enough clothes to fill his satchel.
His compartment is empty and Jaejoong stretches out on the seat, watching the countryside roll by. The French countryside is still under a thin blanket of snow and it’s still beautiful, still heartbreaking.
Jaejoong and Yunho always talked about coming to Paris. For their honeymoon, Jaejoong had joked, even if they both knew they would never get married. Not if they stayed in Korea, anyway, and neither of them wanted to leave; Yunho didn’t want to leave Korea, and Jaejoong didn’t want to leave Yunho.
How things change.
He falls asleep to the soft rocking of the train. He wakes every once in a while, when the train slows to a stop in front of wood-platform stations to drop off or take on a lonely traveler. No one ever comes into Jaejoong’s compartment, though, and when the sun dips below the horizon he’s fast asleep, hoping that when he wakes he’ll be somewhere new and inviting.
His train reaches Venice sometime deep in the night, and Jaejoong holds his breathe as the train crosses over the long bridge that leads to the Venezia Santa Lucia railway station. The city lights are reflected in the still ocean of the Mediterranean, and the dark shapes of boats float gently along.
He’s traded the one city of lights and love for another, and Jaejoong can only laugh at the irony.
****
It’s not tourist season so he finds a hotel easily enough, but it’s well past midnight when he finally gets a room, slipping around the old wood door with a soft creak and slumping onto his bed bonelessly.
It’s just after six in the morning in Seoul. He wonders what the others are doing. Sleeping, probably. Changmin might be up, getting his studio ready. Yoochun, too - he likes to compose early in the morning. Junsu would be sleeping, of course. Yunho would be just getting up, and he would leave a note for Jaejoong before he left for work, just Jaejoong would do if he left early. But he won’t be leaving a note, because Jaejoong isn’t there. Jaejoong is in Venice. Jaejoong is halfway around the world, and hasn’t spoken to his lover in over a month.
He picks up the phone, and dials.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end is rough, sleep heavy.
“Yoochun,” Jaejoong greets softly.
“Jaejoong…? Jae?” Yoochun says, sounding shocked. Then he sounds angry, “Finally decided to call, did you?”
“It’s been awhile,” he replies, avoiding the question.
“‘A while’?” Yoochun scorns “It’s been a goddamn month Jaejoong. ‘A while’ doesn’t fucking cut it.”
Jaejoong’s heart clenches, hearing the hurt behind the bitterness. “I left a message.”
“Yeah, just long enough to tell us you were alive, and to basically to fuck off and stop calling-”
“ -It wasn’t like that,” Jaejoong says fiercely.
“Then how were we supposed to take it? How?”
Yoochun sounds teary and, god Jaejoong hopes he doesn’t cry, because Jaejoong would be quick to follow and he doesn’t want to cry. Not anymore, not for this, not when he was doing the right thing.
“Can I… Can I explain?” He asks hesitantly.
There’s a long silence, and Jaejoong thinks he might cry anyway. He can feel his eyes water and his throat close up when he finally hears a noise on the other end of the line.
It’s a low sigh, and Jaejoong can just picture Yoochun’s face, sad and frustrated as he runs a hand through disheveled hair.
“Of course you can,” is the answer, soft and sad, “just… no bullshit, okay? I want to know everything. I deserve to know everything.”
And Jaejoong nods even if he knows Yoochun can’t see him. He tells Yoochun the whole thing, of he’d needed to do this, needed to. It was the right thing to do and when his agent had told him that the London gallery had wanted to come in person he’d said yes but not told anyone except Changmin, who wouldn’t say or suspect anything otherwise. And he’d known he was leaving for weeks and it had been so damn hard but he’d done it, he’d left and it was liberating and devastating and he’d listened to every one of their messages over and over but he could never respond because he knew if he did he’d just give in and come back. And he couldn’t do that, he just couldn’t-
“Where are you now, Jae?” Yoochun interrupts.
“…Venice.”
Yoochun curses low. “Jesus, Jae.”
“I’ve only been here a few hours. I was in Paris for a few days, too. It was beautiful and I couldn’t stand it.”
“Jaejoong…”
“You know why I left, don’t you, Chun? I know you’re mad now, but you know, don’t you?” And he knows he’s begging but he can’t help it, the emotion rising up his throat and choking his words. “I had to, I had to, I had to, and god I’m so sorry because I didn’t want - I didn’t, I…”
Yoochun makes a noise but Jaejoong can’t stop. He has trouble breathing around his tears, around the harsh sobs building in his throat. “Yoochun, I left because I had to, because it was right and if I didn’t…”
“I know, Jaejoong, I know.”
“It was suffocating, Yoochun. And if I stayed I think it would have killed us both. I didn’t want to leave him but I love him so much and I just….”
“Jaejoong, listen to me-”
“-I just didn’t know what to do, because I needed to get out but I didn’t want to and I’m sorry I hurt you, and god he must be so hurt, so confused, and I didn’t…”
“Hey, I know, I know, okay?” Yoochun says, in a soothing tone that makes Jaejoong feel small and helpless. He knows Yoochun’s trying to calm him down but it isn’t necessary; he’s saying everything he’s been feeling for the first time and now he’s just so drained.
“Hyung, I understand. I really do. I mean, I can’t say I didn’t expect it. You told me what was going on with you two… but I didn’t figure you’d run without saying anything. You could have called me. You could have come to me Jaejoong, not done this and scared the crap out of all of us.”
“I’m sorry,” Jaejoong whispers, and his voice feels hoarse, “I should have called.”
“Damn right you should have.”
There’s a long pause, in which they just listen to each other breathe. It’s the moment that they past is forgiven and forgotten because it’s the past and Yoochun doesn’t hold grudges - and they’re soulmates like that. Jaejoong doesn’t realize until then just how much he missed Yoochun.
“…How’s he doing?” He finally asks.
Yoochun sighs, “Okay. Still hurt, still upset, but you know him. He doesn’t show how bad it’s affecting him… but, at the same time… he knows why you left.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. The man knows you, hyung, and not because you’ve been together so long but because he loves you. That was never the problem.”
“I know.”
“Do you? ‘Cause you might try showing it. Just because he knows doesn’t mean it gets it. You should talk to him.”
He bites his lip. “I can’t, Chun. Not yet. And don’t - don’t tell him about this, okay?”
“No.” Yoochun says - and continues, before Jaejoong can protest - “I won’t tell him why you ran and why you’re upset, because that’s something he needs to hear from you. But I am going to tell him where you are, and that you’re okay, and that you’re an idiot but you are doing what you need to do. That’s what he deserves, too.”
“Okay. Okay,” Jaejoong says, because he knows Yoochun is right. “I’m sorry.”
“I know, you dumbass,” the younger man replies, but fondly, and it makes Jaejoong smile just to hear it. “I’m going to go back to sleep now, and so should you, because what the fuck time is it there anyway?”
“Late.”
“Exactly. Now, sleep and enjoy Venice and call me. How long are you going to be there?”
“Don’t know,” Jaejoong says. “But I’ll call before I leave.”
“Good. And, although I doubt you’ll listen, call Yunho. And even if you don’t call him, please call Junsu. The other day I found him sleeping on the shelf of my dry bar. Boy’s slowly driving himself into the ground from worry, and he’ll need to hear from you before he’ll believe everything’s alright.”
“…Should I call Changmin too?”
Yoochun pauses, thinking, “Probably best to just get it over with. He’s going to give you hell, but better now when you’re a world away and he can’t actually reach you. He’s been spending a lot more time at the gym lately.”
Jaejoong winces. That’s not good - Changmin only holds grudges with the people he cares about the most, and for his hyung the young photographer never pulls his punches. Quite literally.
“Exactly,” Yoochun replies to Jaejoong’s silence. “I swear, aren’t artists supposed to be sensitive and delicate? The two of you are just weird.”
“Not everyone can be a recluse like you,” Jaejoong quips. It’s an old joke between the three of them, and they share a short laugh.
“Bye, Chun.”
“Talk to you later, Jae.”
Jaejoong hangs up and falls back on his bed. He sinks into asleep with his clothes still on and when he wakes his body feels lighter, rested, like he’s gotten his first real sleep since the night one month ago, when he hadn’t been sleeping alone.
****
Jaejoong refuses to let himself fold under his own maudlin; he needs to be stronger than that. He’ll enjoy Venice for what it is, find inspiration and inner peace and identity - he’ll find himself again.
He buys a cheap Venice guidebook and takes his time exploring the city. He gets turned around and incredibly lost at least twice a day but it’s worth it to wander, aimlessly, through the rustic beauty of the city, smelling the scents of flowers on the water-born breeze. He finds himself drawn to Piazza San Marco, where he sits at Caffé Florian and watches the flow of the crowd and memorizes the patterns of pigeons fluttering over the ground, against the blue sky.
Even more, though, he loves the little isle of Murano. There’s a little glass-blowing shop around the corner from the water-bus port and he stands just outside the entryway, catching glimpses. Only tour groups are allowed in but he sneaks in once or twice.
After a week of hanging around one of the workers, a young man with a wide smile and the edges of his face lined with soot, finally comes and invites him in to watch in full. He does so, silently, as the men go about their craft, working with white-hot flame and molten glass. They make vases and cups and dishes, jewelry and delicate sculptures.
The men indulge him as he doesn’t get in the way, and seem to delight in the awe Jaejoong shows for each new creation. On the third day Jaejoong brings his sketchbook and starts taking studies of the glass-blowers.
The glass-blowers love them and pin them up on the wall and Jaejoong feels like he’s found a little piece of home. He misses the art scene in Seoul; going to shows and galleries with Changmin, concerts with Junsu and Yoochun. Yunho would never say it but Jaejoong knew Yunho got tired of it; the lawyer being too practical, traditional to appreciate some of the more abstract, outré works. It was one of the bigger issues they’d had, really, although neither of them had ever actually brought it up. The only saving grace was the ballet. They went to every performance by the KNBC and Jaejoong thought the awe and appreciation on Yunho’s face was more beautiful than any of the dancers themselves.
He wonders if he’ll ever be able to see that look again. He wonders if Yunho would ever look at him like that again.
The young Italian man who’d first invited him starts sitting with him when he’s not working, waiting for the glass to cool, and always makes remarks about Jaejoong’s work. It’s all in Italian and Jaejoong doesn’t understand any word other than ‘bella’, but it does nothing to make Jaejoong blush any less. The young man is cute, and knows how to charm. He trades Jaejoong a little glass horse for a portrait.
There’s a lot of broken phrases and even more arm gestures, but they work out a way of communicating. The man’s name is Stefano, and his family owns this little shop. They import glass all over the world, and have been for centuries. Stefano likes Jaejoong’s drawings. Stefano likes Jaejoong.
He kisses Jaejoong one night, when the shop is closing and Jaejoong is getting ready to leave. No one else is around and Stefano looks around before ducking his head, pressing his lips to Jaejoong’s.
Jaejoong kisses him back.
Ten minutes later Jaejoong leaves, walking towards the dock as Stefano stands at the door and watches him go with dark eyes.
****
Jaejoong keeps the glass horse in his pocket as he boards the boat headed for Greece. It’s a long and rough journey and Jaejoong has never been happier to have his feet on dry land.
He catches a bus and finds himself in a little fishing village on the Iola coast. He stays in a pension and watches the sun rise and set from his balcony window. He calls Yoochun and spends hours talking to him, catches up on the latest news from home and filling in Yoochun about his travels. He doesn’t tell Yoochun about Stefano.
He calls Junsu again. Their first conversation had been short, Junsu not being able to talk long and just satisfied to hear from his hyung. This time they actually have a real conversation. Jaejoong apologizes to Junsu. Junsu tells him he was hurt, but that he understands. Jaejoong talks about what food he’s been eating abroad. Junsu whines about how annoying Yoochun is, because without Jaejoong around to act as a go-between he’s being stupid and stubborn. They don’t talk about Yunho.
Jaejoong sits on the beach and digs his toes in the sand. It’s almost spring, and the air is warm. The water is not, lapping against his ankles as the tide rises. Jaejoong goes back inside.
He calls Changmin, for the first time. It’s a hard call to make, and he hangs up twice before he can finish dialing the number. It’s even harder when he actually does. Changmin alternates between yelling and long, cold silences. Jaejoong’s halfway through trying to explain himself when Changmin hangs up on him. Jaejoong doesn’t try to call back.
His phone bill is monstrous.
****
Istanbul is a beautiful city and is different from any place he has ever been, a clash of culture and history and religion. He wanders into a mosque and listens to the sound of the minaret singers resonating across the courtyard. Men sit in lines and pray, bend to the ground in steady rhythm and Jaejoong wonders what it would be like to have that sort of devotion, that solid faith.
Istanbul has beautiful gardens, too, and when he finds a seat amongst delicately designed flower beds it gives him the feel of peace - in that he is alone, and not-alone. The air is smells like flowers and it draws him into dreams of the past. In the gardens he finally starts to think.
They never really fought, he thinks. They never really had hard times or a rough relationship. They fell into it with the ease that they fell in love. He still remembers when they first moved in together, and how perfect everyday had seemed to be. Jaejoong had just been so happy to find love, and someone that would accept him, in conservative Korea where he had half-consigned himself to a life as an outcast. He had come out to his family at a young age and they had, eventually, come to accept it; the rest of society would not be so forgiving.
But here Yunho was, the perfect model of a man, as upright and distinguished and filial as they came. He was respectful and respected, and he wanted a normal life - and Jaejoong. That he was willing to risk it all just to be with Jaejoong seemed to good to be true.
And it was, in a way. They never came out with their relationship, of course, but that was to be expected. Yunho couldn’t if he wanted to keep his job, and Jaejoong wanted to keep it a secret, too. He wanted to protect their relationship from the cruelty that would follow them otherwise. Yunho had never come out like Jaejoong had, and didn’t know what it meant. Jaejoong didn’t want him to know.
Yoochun, Junsu and Changmin were the only ones that knew, but that was because they knew couldn’t have hid it from the other three even if they wanted to. And, just the same, they knew the other three wouldn’t reject them. They were too close for that. Jaejoong often joked he was really dating four men, not just one; Yunho would counter that one gay relationship was enough for him, thankyouverymuch.
And then Seunghyun found out.
Jaejoong still doesn’t know how it happened. Seunghyun and Yunho had been good friends - best friends. They’d gone out one night for drinks and Jaejoong doesn’t know if Seunghyun had already known, if it slipped out or if Yunho had actually confessed, but all he knew was he woke up the next morning and Yunho was under the shower, still in clothes and trying to muffle his sobs.
Seunghyun had called once. He left a message saying that he wouldn’t tell anyone. But he didn’t want to see or talk to Yunho again.
It was strained for a long time, after that, Yunho was in shock and for the first time getting a sense of what would happen if he kept living this way. He told Jaejoong that it was okay, that he would get over it. But for a long time after that Yunho didn’t so much as look at him when they were in public. Even in private he flinched from his touch, and Jaejoong couldn’t help but wonder if, in some way, Yunho was blaming Jaejoong for what had happened.
And it was only the beginning. The distance grew and so did the silence. Being in the apartment made Jaejoong feel stifled; he worked at his studio more and more, where before he had preferred to work at home, where he could talk to Yunho even as he painted. By then Yunho had firmly wrapped himself in his work and was rarely home, anyway.
The differences between them became more obvious. Where they once made their personalities work, fit together in lovely dissonance, now it seemed as if every little quirk was something to be worked around. Jaejoong felt too odd, too eccentric in his own home, whereas Yunho fell into the role of perfect man, fake man, and in comparison Jaejoong felt his self-esteem withering. He didn’t want to make it worse, but there was only so long he could keep up a one-sided relationship, seemingly unwanted affection.
They ate their meals together. They still went to the art shows and the ballet. They stopped have sex. They still watched movies late at night and sat with their feet tangled together. They slept side-by-side.
They never talked about it, and they never fought.
Maybe that had been their biggest mistake.
****
He takes a flight from Turkey to America. The tickets are expensive and he gets Yoochun to wire him some cash. He’s reached the limit on his credit card and wouldn’t dare take money from their joint account.
He arrives in New York and the city is in full bloom. He heads straight to Central Park, bags and all, and claims a bench. He pulls out his sketch pad and charcoals, not caring how dirty his fingers will get, and begins to work. He works his heart out and invites everyone else in - the jogger on his cell phone, the woman and her two young children lying on the grass, the old man bent over playing slowly with an overeager puppy.
He makes a study of a couple, sitting on the bench behind him. They each have a coffee but share a bagel and kisses between bites. When he’s done gives them the picture for free.
The next day he comes and does the same thing. Graphite, this time. There’s a new jogger and new mother and new old man feeding pigeons. He makes a sketch of a couple and when he gives it to them, they want to pay him. He doesn’t want their money. They give it to him anyway.
He buys new clothes and doesn’t realize how shabby the earlier ones have become; he’s been wearing the same three outfits for a month, after all, and seeing the new and old side-by-side his inner fashionista cries in shame.
He contacts his agent and asks if there are any buyers in New York. For his larger paintings he usually has two or three in the wings, and New York is as likely a place for one as possible.
It seems that luck is with him - not New York, but there is a buyer for a painting that showed in gallery in Los Angeles, and the same buyer would like to request a portrait commission. His agent almost refuses to give him the details - in retribution for going a-wall for nearly three months. He might not be required to keep in touch with her, but they’d been working together for nearly five years and she had a mind to just drop him completely. But he explains his financial situation and she caves - just as he knew BoA would. She is just too good a person to let him becoming another ‘desperate starving artist trying to make it in America’ - in her words, of course.
He gets in contact with the gallery, the buyer, and within a week is on his way to L.A. The weather is already hot in California, and Jaejoong is tired of the cold.
He calls Yoochun to let him know where he’s going.
But it’s not Yoochun who picks up the phone.
“Hello?” The voice is low and tired. “Yoochun’s phone, Yunho speaking.”
Jaejoong is shocked, and the name slips right off his tongue. “…Yunho?”
“…Jaejoong? Is this Jaejoong!?”
“Oh no- Yunho, I shouldn’t, this isn’t-” He doesn’t know what to say, his words stumbling over themselves in his panic. He doesn’t know what to say. “I should go-”
“N-no, don’t hang up! …j-just, how’ve you been? You-”
Yunho cuts himself off, and Jaejoong wonders if he’s just as shaken as Jaejoong is. He ducks his head, “…I’m, I’m okay, yah? Listen, Yunho, maybe this isn’t such a good idea…”
Yunho laughs softly and Jaejoong’s heart leaps into his throat. “Yeah, maybe this isn’t. But it’s… really good to hear your voice again.”
“Yeah… I mis- I mean, I…um,” He can’t go there; it’s too much. He can feel himself tearing already, and wants to curse at himself, how weak he is… but god, it is good to hear his voice. “You sound good. You’re doing good, aren’t you?”
“I…I guess so. Are you…happy?”
“I went to Paris,” Jaejoong answers.
Yunho understands, and his laugh is slightly bitter this time. “Yeah, I heard from Yoochun. But, Paris, Jaejoong-ah. It… must’ve been beautiful.”
“It was. But everywhere’s been beautiful…” He takes a deep breath, “there’s a lot to see, yah?”
There’s a slight pause before Yunho responds, a simple “…I know.”
Jaejoong forges on. “I’m going to Los Angeles next. I’m doing a portrait for this rich family. I’m really excited about it. I’ve been doing lots of sketching, too…”
But that thought leads down sticky trails to other thoughts - like Stefano, and for the first time he feels truly, awfully guilty. He swallows down his tears in the following silence - but finally breaks down, speak softly, “…but it doesn’t mean I don’t miss home.”
Yunho murmurs something that Jaejoong thinks is his name, and then clears his throat. “Everyone misses you, you know. It took them a while to get used to you gone.”
“Probably just me taking care of them,” he laughs humorlessly, “but they aren’t kids anymore. They don’t need me.”
“Y-yeah, I guess they don’t,” he says, and takes a deep breath. “But you know… I…I really miss you.”
Jaejoong squeezes his eyes shut, presses a hand against them until he sees stars. He can’t do this anymore. “Yunho… I miss you too,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, “…I love you, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know, Jaejoong-ah. I love you too. I always will.” It’s said with a strangled sob and hot tears slips out from under Jaejoong’s fingers.
“I-I should probably go-”
“N-no, don’t!” Yunho interrupts, desperately, “just stay on the phone with me. You don’t have to say anything, just… let me hear you for a while.”
“No, no, no,” Jaejoong chants, “don’t make it harder. I’m going to go, but I’ll talk to you lat-”
“-Alright,” the other man interrupts once more, but some strength has gone back into his voice. “But remember this, Jaejoong-ah. Yoochun, Junsu, Changmin and I are waiting for you. We’ll still be here whenever you decide to come back. And…” his voice trailed off, “I’m still going to be where you left me. In our apartment, in our bed. No matter what.”
That’s the last thing Jaejoong wants to hear. “Damnit, Yunho, that’s not what I want,” he says, gritting his teeth against the tremble in his voice, “I’m not just going to come back and have everything be the same. I just can’t do that. I just can’t.”
“Then what do you want changed, Jae? I can’t change anything if you don’t tell me!”
“I want…” God, does he even know what he wants? The leaving, being gone part has just been so hard, he hasn’t ever thought of what it meant to go back. “What I want is for you to consider, really consider this - us. I left because… because I needed to do it for me, and I want you to do something for you. Be honest, if you really - if you really want me to come back,” he ends softly.
And that is the truth, he realizes. He had left not because he it was right for them, but because it was right for Jaejoong. The question is whether or not it is right for Jaejoong to come back to Yunho. Jaejoong has needed time apart, and has needed it so that he would know, truly, if Yunho wants him. And if not… at least Jaejoong will the rest of the world in which to bury his pain.
“And don’t give me an answer now,” he continues, “because I really mean it. I don’t want you to change for me, I don’t… Jesus, I’m rambling. I’m sorry-” he cut himself off. His heart is done with this conversation.
On the other end Yunho sighs. “We’ve been together for years, Jaejoong-ah. Even if I hadn’t wanted to, I’ve still changed. That’s how people grow. And being separated for so long… Jaejoong, you’ve no idea how many times I hated you for leaving me without a single not, anything. But still… I always missed you. I missed you even when I was drunk and crazy. And since you don’t want me to say anything now, I won’t, but don’t be sorry. Please don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I-I shouldn’t, I mean-” Every word of Yunho’s speech stabs at Jaejoong, and he finds it hard to breathe. Words tumble out of him - “this wasn’t a good idea, I’ve got to go, I’m sorry, I need to-”
And then he hangs up, just to stop himself from saying anymore.
****
He is shaken and can’t stop shaking, not even a day later when walks out of LAX, into the warmth of early spring and concrete sprawl of Southern California. He waits on the curb, sitting on his luggage and bouncing one foot on the concrete. His client is supposed to be pick him up, but they have not yet arrived.
He waits another thirty minutes before they come.
“Sorry, sorry, traffic bad!” The man says in broken Korean. He ushers Jaejoong into the back of his limousine while the driver takes his luggage to the trunk. “Flight okay?”
Jaejoong nods, “Yes, thank you so much for paying for me. It’s a pleasure to be able to meet the person purchasing my work.”
His name is Jin-sshi, and he smiles but doesn’t seem to fully understand what Jaejoong says. He’s a second-generation immigrant from Korea, and barely speaks the language but it’s enough for them to make basic conversation. They go straight to the gallery where the painting is being stored, and Jaejoong sees the first time which painting of his is being sold.
It’s ‘River Reeds and Swallow.’ It’s a painting of a river in the grey light of morning. A young girl stands on the banks and skips rocks over the water as birds fly up around the edges of the canvas.
He did the sketches for it on the banks of the Han, when he had first started dating Yunho. His lover had been studying for the bar exam, and they’d take picnics just to get out of house. Yunho would lie out and read his massive textbooks while Jaejoong would look out over the landscape, memorizing shapes and colors.
He’d started painting on canvas when Yunho passed the bar - the night the celebrated they managed to knock it off of the easel in their haste to get to bed. The paint smeared on their floor and when he went to clean it up the next morning, it had already formed a nice faint stain of green-brown on the wood floor. Jaejoong had almost thrown the painting away. Yunho convinced him not to; he’d finished it within the week.
Jaejoong smiles softly when he sees the painting now, and the sale goes without problem.
There is also the matter of the commission. Jin-sshi wants a family portrait, of his beautiful wide and three adorable children. And, as a wealthy businessman with more money than he knows what to do with, offers to provide both housing as well as any and all art supplies. Jin-sshi is as generous as he is insistent; not that Jaejoong would have considered turning it down.
Because it is not just studies - it is not graphite pencils and broken sticks of charcoal and spiral-bound acid-free sketchbooks. It is a linen canvas pulled tight over the stretcher, oil paints squeezed from thick new tubes, the heady smell of pigment and primer. It is the flat, wide expanse of the pallet covered with touches of color, feathered and blurred together in a vivid array.
He has missed these things. He wonders if this is what it feels like, to meet an old friend after such a long absence. He paints with all the feeling in his heart, and tries to put all his love into his portrait of a happy family.
****
He borrows one of Jin-sshi’s many cars - just one day, one day of sight-seeing. He starts at Beverly Hills, winds through the twists of Mulholland Drive and trying to catch a peek down the longer, twistier driveways that lead to the hidden homes of the stars. Jaejoong wanted to be famous once - he wanted to sing, even though he is tone deaf and always has been. Changmin teased that it was because he was an attention whore and wanted to be on stage; that he wanted to be the art, not just the one creating it.
But Yunho had told him that he had once wanted to be famous, too. He had danced as a child and had dreams of doing it forever. They hadn’t lasted, of course, and he was satisfied with being a lawyer - but it was why, he confessed, he took the position at the talent agency.
‘Like I’m living two dreams at once,’ Yunho said.
‘What’s the second one?’ Jaejoong said.
‘Living with you, of course.’ He’d said. Jaejoong had laughed and hit him for being so cheesy, but that night had shown just how much he’d appreciated the sentiment.
Jaejoong blinks hard at the memory. He wonders if it’s getting easier and easier to remember, to think about it - because he can’t quite tell. Talking to Yunho had been hard, had made him cry and feel awful for days, but… but, it given Jaejoong direction, in a way. He is on the standing on the very edge of understanding, looking out over the landscape of the mixed tumble of his own emotions and trying to make sense of it all.
He goes to Hollywood Boulevard and takes a picture of the stars of Yoochun’s favorite musicians. He puts his hand in the cast of Junsu’s favorite singer and Changmin’s favorite actress - who happens to be Yunho’s favorite, too. Afterwards he puts all the pictures on a little flash drive from a Kodak Kiosk, and then puts the drive in the inner pocket of his coat. He deletes the pictures from his camera.
He goes to Santa Monica next, and in the half-hour he spends on the freeway he thinks he loses ten years of his life. He’s not the best driver to begin with but dealing with angry, honking rush-hour California commuters is enough to send anyone into a fit of panic. He ends up driving in the slow lane at 50 miles an hour and cringing every time a car swerved around him.
When he finally parks he stumbles out of his car, following the crowd to reach the famous 3rd Street Promenade, with its trees wrapped in blue lights and fountains and dinosaur-shaped tree-sculptures. He watches the buskers; the dancers, the acrobats, the musicians. He plays a game of pool in the basement of the Yankee Doodle sports bar and cheers with the crowd for the football game even though he has no clue who’s playing - or what’s going on at all. He goes to Starbucks and makes the longest order he can think of, a grande non-fat sugar-free double-pump vanilla upside-down iced caramel macchiato. He has to say it three times before the barista understands him. He drinks it on a bench outside and watches two little girls dance to the music of an acoustic guitarist.
This city is full of life. He wishes he could understand it.
****
The portrait he finishes within a couple of weeks; Jaejoong works fast when he has no other projects on his plate. And as each new layer of paint dries he feels that old melancholy creeping over him. But not it is not guilt, or grief, or even pure sadness that suffocates him, like in the beginning.
For the first time, he feels lonely.
Watching Jin-sshi and his family is no help; he aches for some feel of familiarity. He wants to speak to someone who understands him, to not have to clarify his words with gestures and simple phrases. He misses speaking Korean and eating real Korean food.
More than that he misses the companionship he had with Yunho. Being with each for years, they’d become comfortable together - they’d had an awareness of each other, the ease of knowing someone who knew you just as well, inside and out.
He had shared his hopes and dreams with Yunho, and he had made new ones for the both of them.
But at the same time, it had been complacency. They hadn’t been moving forward for a while - they hadn’t been moving towards those dreams Jaejoong had so carefully crafted. They’d been stuck, suffocating together, hovering between hope and reality.
And Jaejoong had forgotten what it was like to be alone, to strike his own path of independence. Travelling like he is, without direction or plans or baggage - it’s been freedom. That’s what he tells himself, and he has loved every minute of it.
He wants to love every minute of it, and yet here he is - struggling still with guilt-grief-sadness, and now he has to add loneliness to the list? He doesn’t want this.
He’s been trying for change. He’s been trying to breathe free. He’s been trying to move forward, to let go of the past. He’s been trying-
He’s been trying to let go of Yunho.
And the thought makes him sick. Because he thinks back to the phone conversation, and the way just the sound of Yunho’s voice had made Jaejoong shiver; when his voice trembled it made Jaejoong ache, when his voice pleaded Jaejoong had wanted nothing more than to comfort him.
Yet, all this time he’s been trying to let go of Yunho.
But if these months have taught him nothing, it’s that no matter how hard he tries, he doesn’t think his heart will ever, ever let him.
****
Jaejoong sits on the plane that will take him away from Los Angeles, away from America. He watches the sun sizzle on the tarmac, and - after they’ve taken off - shimmer off the ocean thousands of feet below.
He is going, for the first time, towards home. He does not know if he will actually go back to Korea. Even after months it feels as if it might be too soon. The compulsion to skip right over and keep going is strong.
He’d told Yoochun as much, when he’d said where he was going.
“Tokyo? Jae, that’s really close.”
“So?” Jaejoong had said defensively. “It was either that or Puerto Rico, and I’m worse at Spanish than I am at English. At least I’m going somewhere I can speak.”
“You took one semester of Japanese freshman year, Jaejoongie.”
“It’s better than nothing,” he muttered.
“But this is close…” Yoochun had sighed, and after a pause, “…are you coming home, Jae?”
Jaejoong hadn’t answered for a while. “I don’t know.”
“When will you know?”
“I don’t know. When I know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just - after talking with Yunho…”
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared. I’m damned scared. Every time I think about going home all I think is of running in the opposite direction. But I miss it. I really hadn’t thought I would miss Korea… I was just so pissed, so fed up with it all. But… I really do miss it. I miss all of you.”
‘I miss you too,” he’d replied softly, “My compositions have been absolutely bland without you to here to be my muse.”
“Send me some and I’ll decide on that,” he teased.
“Maybe I will,” Yoochun shot back, and there was a speculative tone in his voice that Jaejoong hadn’t quite understood.
“I better go, Chun. My cab is here.”
“Alright, but think about it - seriously. You’re the one who booked the ticket. Even if it seems scary… maybe you’re more ready than you know.”
****
He spends his first night in Tokyo in a capsule hotel, just for kicks. He finds it creepy, and immediately switches to a hotel he’s knows well.
He wanders around and tries to refresh his mind of the hiragana and that damned katakana, as well as remember the few kanji he’d once learned. He eats nothing but spicy tonkotsu ramen for a week.
Japan, however, is not as familiar as he’d thought it be. He’s been to Tokyo several times on business trips and was looking forward to visiting some old sights. But it is not enough for his yearning heart; the language is still to foreign, the fashion and manners and landscape too different to cheat his mind into imagining it as home.
He stays no longer than a week before he’s ready to leave, but to where he can’t possible think. He goes to a travel agency and grabs a dozen random brochures and keeps them in the inside pocket of his jacket. It’s another two days before he takes them out again.
He’s sitting at the café on the ground floor of his hotel (a real one, this time - the capsule hotel was cool, but one night was definitely more than enough), and spreads the brochures out on the table. He’s reading the merits of Hokkaido, comparing it to the sights of Bangkok-
And then the brochure is gone, ripped straight from his hand. He looks up and is ready to yell at the jerk that was so rude to…
Changmin.
The jerk is Changmin.
[part two]