hc_bingo fic: loss of possessions
Title: If You're Gone
Fandom: DBSK
Pairing: none, really, but everything I write practically oozes OT5
Prompt: Loss of Possessions
Rating: G
Word Count: 855
Summary: Whoever said you can never go home again was right. Set near the beginning of the lawsuit.
AN: Written, as the subject and tag say, for hc_bingo. First of many. Masterpost with game card is here. (And yes, the title is from the Matchbox Twenty song. It just fits. Lyrics here if you don't know the song. Honestly, if I'd thought of them before, this might have turned into a songfic.
Jaejoong dropped the last of his suitcases in the middle of his new living room. His. At least they’d been kind enough to give him time to find a place of his own instead of kicking him to the curb for the fangirls to tear apart.
He stood and stared at the meager pile of bags. He’d made trips to Japan with more luggage than this, but once he actually took the time to separate ‘his’ things from Yoochun’s from Changmin’s from Junsu’s from Yunho’s... He didn’t actually have all that much left over to pack. None of the furniture he’d lived with or the decor he’d helped pick out or even the cookware he’d been unable to find time for lately, because it was all theirs not his. He wasn’t a them anymore.
He grabbed his wallet and turned on his heel. He needed to go shopping.
~
One shopping trip and two angry phone calls to Yoochun (held not-so-discretely in Japanese in the men’s restroom of the ground floor of a giant department store he hadn’t bothered to notice the name of and in the back of a taxi, respectively) later, he was back in his apartment, waiting for the various delivery men that he’d paid extra to rush.
This time he managed a full ten minutes in his apartment before he felt like jumping off the balcony. The next two hours were spent distracting himself from that very urge. Or trying to, at least, something that neither going through his contacts and deleting half the numbers from SM before regretting it half an hour later and trying to put them all back on from memory or starting to unpack really helped much with.
The unpacking would have been more useful had he not kept coming across all the things that hadn’t entirely been his to take.
When the first of the furniture finally arrived to save him from himself, he couldn’t have been more enthusiastic. Only a call from Junsu saved the poor delivery men from an untimely death due to no, maybe the couch on that side, no, that’s not right, it’s too close to the balcony, maybe-
The speed of their escape was not lost on him.
He flopped onto his new black leather couch that was entirely too pristine and unscuffed and unblemished and maybe he could just stab it a few times with one of his new kitchen knives, just to give it that extra lived-in feel and-
Right. Junsu. At least he was kind enough not to point out Jaejoong completely spacing off anything resembling a conversation. He invited Jaejoong for dinner, seeing as Jaejoong was all but homeless, even though he didn’t quite say that part and just insisted that, hyung, we all know you’re probably pining by now without anyone there. Except he didn’t say that part, either, but Jaejoong knew it was heavily implied in there somewhere.
And then the phone call was over and he stared up at his ceiling and decided that, okay, maybe he was pining. Just a little bit. Not even pining, really, just... missing their old couch. Yes. And his bed, because his new one hadn’t been delivered yet, and probably wouldn’t be until tomorrow now and the couch just wasn’t as comfortable and he didn’t have a futon yet or anything and...
All right. Fine. He was pining.
He tossed his phone down on the couch, heading out to his balcony and grabbing a bottle of soju on the way. Definitely a better view from this apartment, if nothing else. Even if the pots and pans wouldn’t be seasoned right and the bed wouldn’t be crushed in that one corner where he and Yoochun jumped on it too much after Yunho claimed they were acting like children and they decided to show him exactly how much they could act like children and the... Well. All of it. It was his, every last bit of it bought with his own money, but it wasn’t right. He’d give anything to make it right again.
It wasn’t fair.
He dropped into a crouch, turning to put his back to the balcony wall. Maybe he should have taken Yoochun’s offer and just moved in with them. But then it wouldn’t even be his things, just their things, and not even the right their things. This was hopeless.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but eventually something like resignation came over him. He pushed himself to his feet, heading back inside. Maybe it was all his and not theirs, but maybe it was sort of symbolic, right? Maybe... maybe it was just a temporary arrangement so he could remember how to be him and not just a them, too. He could handle that.
Or maybe he’d just keep telling himself that. However long it took.
Fandom: DBSK
Pairing: none, really, but everything I write practically oozes OT5
Prompt: Loss of Possessions
Rating: G
Word Count: 855
Summary: Whoever said you can never go home again was right. Set near the beginning of the lawsuit.
AN: Written, as the subject and tag say, for hc_bingo. First of many. Masterpost with game card is here. (And yes, the title is from the Matchbox Twenty song. It just fits. Lyrics here if you don't know the song. Honestly, if I'd thought of them before, this might have turned into a songfic.
Jaejoong dropped the last of his suitcases in the middle of his new living room. His. At least they’d been kind enough to give him time to find a place of his own instead of kicking him to the curb for the fangirls to tear apart.
He stood and stared at the meager pile of bags. He’d made trips to Japan with more luggage than this, but once he actually took the time to separate ‘his’ things from Yoochun’s from Changmin’s from Junsu’s from Yunho’s... He didn’t actually have all that much left over to pack. None of the furniture he’d lived with or the decor he’d helped pick out or even the cookware he’d been unable to find time for lately, because it was all theirs not his. He wasn’t a them anymore.
He grabbed his wallet and turned on his heel. He needed to go shopping.
~
One shopping trip and two angry phone calls to Yoochun (held not-so-discretely in Japanese in the men’s restroom of the ground floor of a giant department store he hadn’t bothered to notice the name of and in the back of a taxi, respectively) later, he was back in his apartment, waiting for the various delivery men that he’d paid extra to rush.
This time he managed a full ten minutes in his apartment before he felt like jumping off the balcony. The next two hours were spent distracting himself from that very urge. Or trying to, at least, something that neither going through his contacts and deleting half the numbers from SM before regretting it half an hour later and trying to put them all back on from memory or starting to unpack really helped much with.
The unpacking would have been more useful had he not kept coming across all the things that hadn’t entirely been his to take.
When the first of the furniture finally arrived to save him from himself, he couldn’t have been more enthusiastic. Only a call from Junsu saved the poor delivery men from an untimely death due to no, maybe the couch on that side, no, that’s not right, it’s too close to the balcony, maybe-
The speed of their escape was not lost on him.
He flopped onto his new black leather couch that was entirely too pristine and unscuffed and unblemished and maybe he could just stab it a few times with one of his new kitchen knives, just to give it that extra lived-in feel and-
Right. Junsu. At least he was kind enough not to point out Jaejoong completely spacing off anything resembling a conversation. He invited Jaejoong for dinner, seeing as Jaejoong was all but homeless, even though he didn’t quite say that part and just insisted that, hyung, we all know you’re probably pining by now without anyone there. Except he didn’t say that part, either, but Jaejoong knew it was heavily implied in there somewhere.
And then the phone call was over and he stared up at his ceiling and decided that, okay, maybe he was pining. Just a little bit. Not even pining, really, just... missing their old couch. Yes. And his bed, because his new one hadn’t been delivered yet, and probably wouldn’t be until tomorrow now and the couch just wasn’t as comfortable and he didn’t have a futon yet or anything and...
All right. Fine. He was pining.
He tossed his phone down on the couch, heading out to his balcony and grabbing a bottle of soju on the way. Definitely a better view from this apartment, if nothing else. Even if the pots and pans wouldn’t be seasoned right and the bed wouldn’t be crushed in that one corner where he and Yoochun jumped on it too much after Yunho claimed they were acting like children and they decided to show him exactly how much they could act like children and the... Well. All of it. It was his, every last bit of it bought with his own money, but it wasn’t right. He’d give anything to make it right again.
It wasn’t fair.
He dropped into a crouch, turning to put his back to the balcony wall. Maybe he should have taken Yoochun’s offer and just moved in with them. But then it wouldn’t even be his things, just their things, and not even the right their things. This was hopeless.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but eventually something like resignation came over him. He pushed himself to his feet, heading back inside. Maybe it was all his and not theirs, but maybe it was sort of symbolic, right? Maybe... maybe it was just a temporary arrangement so he could remember how to be him and not just a them, too. He could handle that.
Or maybe he’d just keep telling himself that. However long it took.