catharsis (or, what winter means) ; Yoochun/Changmin
Written for the contest at seuki (theme: winter). Also, for yuchun, because he deserves some ski for being so awesome ♥ I am quite happy with how this turned out, and this is probably the longest yoochun/changmin one-shot I've written to date.
Title: catharsis (or, what winter means)
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Pairing(s): Yoochun/Changmin
Word count: 5689
Disclaimer: The boys do not belong to me. This is also nothing but pure fiction.
Summary: A love story, interspersed by scenes that are snapshots of Yoochun and Changmin's lives together.
catharsis (or, what winter means)
i. solstice
Rain.
Falling busily. The rain knows its mission - to keep on falling. It does what it is meant to do, with stubborn determination, without any mercy. The temperature is falling quickly, and the cold is so biting that it triggers a pain that hurts all the way to the bones.
The weather is getting colder, says the message Changmin has just received. Dress warmly. Don't fall sick.
Changmin drops his phone back into his pocket and inhales the smell of rain. The cold air is a shock to his system and Changmin shivers. Involuntarily, he imagines the coming winter freezing everything in place, motionless as a photograph.
SCENE 1
A busy street in the evening. Early winter, 2008. Rain is falling. Everyone is carrying umbrellas in a breath-taking variety of colours and patterns. Changmin is standing under a street lamp, sharing a navy blue umbrella with Yoochun.
CHANGMIN: Are you cold?
(Yoochun glances at him, lips curving up in the beginnings of a smile. He shakes his head. Changmin tilts the umbrella towards Yoochun. Rain makes dark spots on the fabric of Changmin's shirt sleeve.)
CHANGMIN: (stares up into the sky, heavy with rain clouds) It's probably not going to stop soon.
YOOCHUN: Where are we going?
CHANGMIN: I don't know.
(The rain falls harder. Puddles are forming around their feet, small irregular-shaped mirrors. They are only people who are standing still, everything else around them is a blur of motion.)
YOOCHUN: (gives Changmin a half-smile) It's okay.
(Yoochun moves his hand onto the handle of the umbrella. Their fingers touch. Changmin smiles.)
Changmin knocks on the door twice, and then waits. The umbrella he has in his hand is dripping, the water making little rivers as it runs across the floor like a network of capillaries.
The door swings open.
"Hi," Yoochun says from the other side.
Changmin walks in, leaning the umbrella against the wall by the door. It stands there, alone in a rapidly forming puddle of rainwater.
Yoochun shuts the door, and slides the lock into place. "I hate hotels," is the first thing he tells Changmin.
"Why?" Changmin shrugs off his coat, dotted with raindrops, and drops it onto a waiting armchair, looking around the hotel room. It looks every bit a five-star hotel room, tastefully furnished and clean; on the other hand, Yoochun must be used to this sort of luxury. "It's great."
"I just don't like hotels," Yoochun says.
"You picked the place," Changmin reminds him, raising an eyebrow as he sits down on the king-sized bed, bouncing a few times to test it.
"Hotels irk me, but you're worth it anyway," Yoochun says, smiling. He backtracks a little, putting some space between the two of them, and smiles wickedly.
"Don't," Changmin warns, holding both his hands up in defence, but he knows Yoochun isn't going to listen to him, so he isn't surprised when he ends up with all the wind knocked out of him. Yoochun pins him onto the bed with his weight, grinning widely.
The clothes come off like layers of pretence, until they are both completely naked and exposed.
The rain striking the glass window has a strange but natural rhythm, just like their love-making. The first time is passionate, nearly violent, and they leave bite-marks and bruises on each other's skin in their haste. When Yoochun comes inside of Changmin, Changmin bites down on the sheets of the hotel bed, so hard it nearly tears between his teeth.
The second time, they take their time, as though the world can wait while they map each other's bodies with their eyes, fingers, tongues. Yoochun lets Changmin reverse their positions, and they match the music of the rain falling outside with their soft gasps and moans. Their voices swell and fill the room, like birds, desperate to be free.
At the end, Yoochun tells Changmin I love you, and Changmin is about to say it back when Yoochun leans over to steal the declaration from his mouth with a fierce kiss.
They know that their time is up when Yoochun's cellphone rings. Yoochun rolls off the bed, reaches into the pocket of his coat, draped over the back of a chair and answers it, sounding professional and cordial; not the Yoochun Changmin knows.
Changmin pads quietly into the bathroom to take a quick shower and by the time he comes out with a towel wrapped around his hips, Yoochun is already dressed.
"I have to go," Yoochun says, apologetic.
"I ought to be on my way too," Changmin says, even though there is nowhere he has to be.
Outside, it is still raining. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.
"Do you have an umbrella?" Changmin asks.
"I'm driving," Yoochun answers.
"Oh," Changmin says, the water from his hair dripping onto his shoulders. "Right."
Yoochun kisses him, brief and fleeting on the mouth. "I'll call you again," he says, and his breath tickles Changmin's skin. It makes him smile.
Yoochun lets himself out of the door. Changmin puts on his clothes back on, layer by layer, and leaves the room key on the front desk before leaving.
He walks out of the front door of the hotel, stares outside at the rain, stubbornly refusing to let up. He has a sudden irrational urge to see the sun. He pushes the urge aside, and opens the umbrella with a swift flick of his hand.
As he walks down the street, he thinks of Yoochun sitting in the warmth of his car, and is once again reminded of how different their lives are.
SCENE 2
Winter, 2009. A crowded Italian restaurant, bustling with noise and activity. Changmin is sitting alone at a table by the window, an empty seat across from him. He is staring out of the window at the snow falling slowly outside, waiting for something - someone - to appear. A waiter refills his glass of water.
Enter Yoochun, brushing the snow out of his hair as he walks in.
YOOCHUN: (taking his seat) I'm sorry for being late. That meeting was a terrible drag.
CHANGMIN: (smiles) It's fine, I know you're a busy man.
YOOCHUN: Have you ordered?
(Changmin shakes his head, looks down at the menu. Yoochun waves the waiter over and orders for the both of them.)
YOOCHUN: How's everything going for you?
CHANGMIN: (reaches into his bag and pulls out a pamphlet) I'm going to be part of an upcoming exhibition. (slides the pamphlet across the table towards Yoochun) It's this Sunday.
YOOCHUN: (takes the pamphlet) I'll try my best to make it.
CHANGMIN: How are you?
YOOCHUN: (shrugs) The same. (a moment of hesitation) Do you remember that girl I told you about the last time we met? The half-Japanese dancer?
CHANGMIN: (pauses) That girl your father introduced you to? You met at a party or something, right?
YOOCHUN: Yes, her. I'm taking her to dinner tomorrow night. She's a year younger than you are, and she is a great dancer. Ballet.
CHANGMIN: (echoes) Ballet.
YOOCHUN: (glances out of the window) We met during winter two years back, didn't we?
CHANGMIN: Painting. I was painting. (rotates his glass of water slowly) The winter just gets colder every year, doesn't it?
(They both remain silent until their orders arrive, their heads bent towards each other, gazes drawn to a distant point outside the window. The snow keeps falling.)
They're beautiful - the moments they share. Breath-taking, even. Still, they are only moments, captured in a frame. Stationary, not dynamic. Like the view through a window - the blue sky, the whisper of clouds, the burning sun. Beautiful, but forever confined in a rectangle.
Changmin knows that the two of them are trapped. They make magic together, the two of them, but they can never be anything more than what they are now.
Nothing more, Changmin thinks, as Yoochun's tongue climbs the steps of his spine.
"I love you," Yoochun says, his mouth pressed against Changmin's shoulder blade. The words fall, hot and real, onto Changmin's skin. They scald him. Will they leave a scar?
Halfway through, Yoochun's phone rings, and Changmin freezes on the bed, his back arched and his mouth hanging slightly open.
Yoochun swears under his breath, and reaches over for his phone. For one horrible second, Changmin thinks that he is going to take the call, even when Changmin is pressed beneath him, naked and wanting. Yoochun turns the phone off, tossing it back carelessly onto the table.
"It could have been important," Changmin says, even as he cants his hips upwards greedily, hungry for friction.
"You're important," Yoochun says. "This - " he says, punctuating the word with a forceful roll of his hips downwards, " - is important."
"Ah," Changmin says incoherently, and lets this man steal his heart again.
SCENE 3
A crowded street in the evening. The beginning of spring 2010 waits like a bud about to blossom. A chill leftover from winter still hangs in the air. Yoochun and Changmin walk side by side.
YOOCHUN: We went to see a movie last night.
CHANGMIN: Oh.
YOOCHUN: The movie was really bad. She liked it though. I will never understand how girls think. I almost fell asleep, the movie was so boring. Don't watch it, it's a waste of time.
CHANGMIN: Okay.
YOOCHUN: My parents are really happy that I'm dating her now. My mother is ecstatic, she won't give it a rest. (grins) But there's an up side to it. I can get time off work to see you just by saying I'm going on a date.
CHANGMIN: Won't she find out?
YOOCHUN: She won't. Don't worry, my parents trust me. They won't suspect a thing. I'm their responsible, capable good son, who's going to inherit the family business, remember?
CHANGMIN: I remember.
YOOCHUN: Anyway, I can't have dinner with you. She has a performance later tonight, and I have to attend it.
CHANGMIN: Oh.
(They reach a traffic light. Yoochun stops.)
YOOCHUN: I need to get my car. (gestures towards the opposite side)
CHANGMIN: Oh.
YOOCHUN: (smiles) Bye.
(Yoochun crosses the road; Changmin watches him until he disappears behind the corner of a building, and then turns around and slowly heads in the opposite direction.)
"I knew it. You are mad at me." Yoochun casts a sidelong glance at Changmin, sitting next to him in the passenger seat. When Changmin does not respond, he turns back to look at the road ahead of him, fingers moving restlessly on the steering wheel.
Changmin presses his lips together, and looks out of the window. "I already said I'm not mad at you. Why do you keep insisting I'm mad at you?"
"If you're not mad at me, why have you been wearing that sullen expression throughout the entire dinner?" Yoochun makes a left turn. The scenery flashes past outside. Everything on fast forward.
Changmin shrugs. "No reason."
Yoochun glances over at him. "Seriously, what did I do wrong?" he asks, as the car slows to a stop in front a red light. He turns around to look expectantly at Changmin.
"Why are you dating her?" Changmin says quietly, after a moment of silence.
"I knew it. I knew that was what you're mad about," Yoochun leans back in his seat, frustration evident in his voice. "I already explained it to you, didn't I? Look, it's been nearly two years since I've been seeing anyone and my parents are being such a pain about it. I told you right from the start and you said you understood. So why are you kicking up such a big fuss - "
"I'm not kicking up a fuss at all! I just want to know how you can bring yourself to get into a serious relationship with someone you don't even like - " Changmin's fingers curl unconsciously into fists.
"I never said I didn't like her!" Yoochun snaps.
Changmin inhales sharply, and his heart goes completely still for a few moments. His blood pounds in his ears and he wonders what Yoochun could have said that could have hurt more. I love her. I love her more than I love you. I don't love you any more. I never loved you.
It is not the seatbelt pressing against his chest that makes it hard to breathe.
The traffic light switches to green, and the cars in front start moving. Yoochun turns back to face the front, and the car moves forward.
"Look," Yoochun begins again, his voice quieter and gentler this time round. "Whether or not I like her is not the point. The point is that my parents like her, and if I date her, they get off my back. I can even get time off work to see you under the pretence of meeting her." He turns to look at Changmin, and tries for a smile.
"Why is whether or not you like her not the point?" Changmin says, staring at his fingers, threaded together tightly. To someone looking in, it probably looks like he's praying.
"It's not the point! It doesn't matter at all. We both know that one day, I'll have to get married. I'll have to take over the company from my father. I'll have to give my parents grandchildren, for God's sake. You can't fucking bear me children, okay? We both know you can't give me - "
"Shut up." Changmin doesn't want to hear it. "Just shut up already."
"It's the truth," Yoochun says, and the car slows to a stop again. Another red light. Yoochun makes a noise of irritation before continuing to speak. "You may not like it, but that's how it is."
Changmin feels as though the silence between the both of them is so thick and heavy that if stretched taut, can go on for miles and miles. He stares at the road in front, and has no idea what can possibly undo the knot sitting in his heart, an impossible weight.
Yoochun slows the car to a stop when Changmin's apartment building looms into view. Changmin wonders if the two of his house mates are home, and slowly unbuckles his seat belt. It doesn't matter anyway, whether or not they are home. He doesn't care.
Yoochun breaks the silence first. "I'll call you again," he says, trying to alleviate the tension between them.
Changmin nods. Yoochun reaches over, takes his hand.
"Yoochun," Changmin says softly, grabbing the chance. "I just want to know," he hesitates, and then continues before he loses his nerve, "Do you love her?" He holds his breath, because he's not sure if the answer will break his heart.
Yoochun stares at him for a few seconds, and then he smiles crookedly. "You're the stupidest person I've ever met, you know?" he says, and his voice is a little hoarse. It makes Changmin's heart flutter and swell with joy.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Changmin whispers.
"You're supposed to be the smart one," Yoochun says, still smiling, still holding Changmin's hand in his. His skin is warm, and Changmin wants to stay like this forever. Why couldn't winter have stayed long enough to keep them frozen like this forever?
"It means, you're the one I love," Yoochun says, and lets go off Changmin's hand. He leans over, braces one hand on the seat behind Changmin and kisses him on the mouth.
Outside, it starts to drizzle. The first raindrops slide down the windscreen like tears, and the shower comes, pattering noisily on the car. Inside, Changmin makes a startled noise when Yoochun's other hand manages to find the catch that reclines the passenger seat.
Yoochun's hand comes to cup the side of his face, gently undoing Changmin all over again. "In case you didn't hear it," Yoochun gasps when he pulls away from the kiss. "You're the one I love."
"Let's just stay in here forever," Changmin whispers, even though he knows Yoochun has work to do, places to be.
Yoochun watches the rain outside for a moment. "I can't," he says. "But I can stay until the rain stops."
Happiness jolts through Changmin like a shock of electricity. "Yoochun," he says, smiling, listening to the rain pouring outside. "It's not going to stop any time soon, you know."
"That's just too bad," Yoochun says, shaking his head half-heartedly and grinning before reaching over to flick open the buttons of Changmin's shirt.
Changmin doesn't know how long this will last; his fingers fist tightly into Yoochun's clothes, trying to hold on to him, hold on to this moment. In case.
Just in case.
SCENE 4
A hotel room. Autumn, 2010. Changmin is sitting on the bed, and his eyes are on Yoochun. Yoochun is in the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips, brushing his teeth at the sink.
CHANGMIN: Yoochun.
YOOCHUN: (toothbrush still in his mouth) What?
CHANGMIN: Yoochun, the two of us, where are we headed?
(Changmin gets up, walks into the bathroom, rests his cheek on Yoochun's back. Yoochun continues brushing his teeth.)
CHANGMIN: (quietly) I want to know what I'm waiting for.
(Moments pass. Yoochun stays hunched over the sink, his mouth full of bubbles, silent. Changmin also stays equally still, hugging Yoochun from behind. There is only the movement of Yoochun's hand as he continues brushing his teeth.)
ii. equinox
Changmin holds the front door open with his hip, keys dangling on the tips of his fingers as he steps gingerly into his apartment, his arms full of new art supplies. A few of his art pieces sold, and almost immediately, Changmin went apartment hunting.
His new apartment isn't much, but it has everything he needs. It is also much better than sharing an apartment with two other people that Changmin didn't know very well, one of whom had terrible hygiene and left messes everywhere he went.
Changmin flicks on the light with his elbow, kicks off his shoes blindly and walks into the bedroom, dumping the supplies onto his bed. He heaves a sigh of relief as he collapses onto the bed, spread-eagled.
Turning his head to the right, he sees the painting leaning on the wall opposite the bed. The one that had won a major art competition. The one that was exhibited late last year. A fellow artist had told Changmin at the exhibition, this is your best to date, definitely.
Changmin sits on the bed, stares at the painting.
Yoochun, frozen in time, painted in muted colours, his face turned away, half consumed by darkness. The sharp lines of his face, defined as he tips his face upwards towards the night sky, littered with stars.
Changmin wonders if there is anyone who saw this painting during the exhibition who could not tell that the painter was head over heels in love with the man in the picture.
The exhibition that Yoochun did not attend. Everyone told Changmin how amazing the painting was, how beautiful it was, everyone except the one person whose opinion Changmin wanted the most.
Longing. The title of the painting. Changmin had titled it in the wee hours of a morning when he had woken up from a dream.
In the dream, Changmin was pulling a thin red thread out from the middle of his chest, pulling and pulling, until it made a small mountain by his feet. Suddenly, out of the blue, the mountain of thread shifted. It was being pulled from the other end. Alarmed, Changmin looked up. The thread, now pulled taut as a clothesline, disappeared into the distance. Changmin let go of the thread, but it continued to spill from his chest, yanked out by some other force.
And the dream changed, shattering like an image reflected on the water surface when a pebble is tossed into the middle of it. When the ripples calmed, it was Yoochun's face Changmin saw.
When Changmin woke up, he had his fist pressed against his chest, where he felt an unfamiliar ache that had a heartbeat of its own that messed with Changmin's. His heart beating out of time, Changmin stared at the painting, still unfinished at that time. He stared and stared until he managed to put a name to this ache, until he scribbled it down in pencil, exhausted and drained.
Looking at the painting always triggers Changmin's memory of that dream. He still remembers it vividly, even though most of his dreams end up as blurry spots in his mind.
Changmin gets up from the bed, gently lifts the painting up and turns it around so he does not have to look at it, and be constantly reminded of the heartache that waits for him.
SCENE 5
Winter, 2010. Changmin's apartment, the television is switched on in the living room, and the anchorwoman is reading the evening news. Changmin sits on the sofa, staring at the television screen. The phone rings, shrill and loud. Changmin ignores it. The call is automatically directed to the answering machine.
YOOCHUN: (his voice through the machine is a little robotic, a little distorted) Changmin, are you there? Can you please get back to me as soon as you can? I need to know whether you can make it for the wedding next weekend. I've been so busy with the preparations that we haven't got to meet recently, I'm really sorry. I miss you, but I don't have a free minute all the way until the wedding is over. And then I only have a couple of days before the honeymoon, but I'll find time somewhere, I promise. Okay, this is getting long, so, um, yeah, just get back to me quickly, okay? Yes.
(pause)
YOOCHUN: Changmin. Changmin, I know you're there. Can you pick up? I just want to hear your voice.
(pause)
YOOCHUN: Changmin. (his voice loses the polite edge, taking on a raw and choked quality) I'm sorry. About everything. Changmin, I lo-
(Changmin, with tears brimming in his eyes, picks up the remote and turns the television volume all the way up, letting the weather forecast drown out Yoochun's voice, and whatever it was that he was about to say.)
"It is entirely inappropriate for you to be here," Changmin says, but lets Yoochun into his house anyway.
"I never wanted to get married in the first place anyway," Yoochun mutters under his breath. He reeks of alcohol, and his face is flushed. When he walks in, he is more than just a little unsteady of his feet. Changmin's hands shoot out automatically to steady him, but he catches himself before he does. Yoochun is someone's husband now.
"It's only been three days," Changmin reminds him, busying his hands by locking the door carefully and fussing with the curtains. "And you are supposed to be going off for your honeymoon in two days. What the hell are you doing here?"
"I want to go on my honeymoon with you," Yoochun says loudly.
"You're drunk," Changmin tells him, slightly amused.
"Only a little," Yoochun says. "It's still the truth. You're the one I love."
Changmin smiles. "That's nice to know." He walks into the kitchen to pour Yoochun some water. Meanwhile, Yoochun wanders around the apartment, singing off-tune and slurring all the words.
Changmin finds Yoochun in the bedroom.
Yoochun is looking at the painting. He hears Changmin come in, and when he looks up, there is an unreadable expression on his face, and the air in the room suddenly becomes thick and heavy.
Silently, Changmin holds out the glass of warm water.
Yoochun looks from the image of himself in the painting to Changmin, and then the painting again. "Did you give it a title?" he asks, at last.
Changmin waits for him to take the water before he answers. "It doesn't need one," he says, his throat dry as sandpaper. "I think it says everything it needs to say without words."
Yoochun nods, drinks all of the water at one go and is about to follow Changmin out of the room when he stops abruptly and walks back towards the painting.
Changmin's heartbeat races without warning when Yoochun tilts the painting sideways, crouching down and running a finger gently across the word written faintly on the back. The title. Everything it needs to say.
Longing, Yoochun mouths.
Before Yoochun leaves, he says, "I want to buy that painting from you."
"It's not for sale," Changmin answers.
"I can pay any price," Yoochun says, pulling his winter coat tight around him. He winds his moss-green scarf around his throat and watches Changmin's face for a reaction.
"I don't want money from you," Changmin says, holding the door open and waiting for Yoochun to leave.
Yoochun looks at him for a long time. Finally, he leans forward and kisses Changmin, long and bittersweet. "You're the one I love," Yoochun says again.
Changmin watches him leave, and when Yoochun vanishes from sight, Changmin rests his forehead against the door frame and thinks, time for hibernation.
SCENE 6
The limbo between winter and spring, 2011. A new house, belonging to Yoochun and his wife, crowded with guests. Changmin stands by the gigantic grandfather clock in the living room, holding a glass of red wine. Yoochun spots him from across the room, and makes his way over, his wife by his side.
YOOCHUN: Changmin, this is my wife, Shiori. Shiori, this is Changmin. He's an amazing painter.
MRS. PARK: Nice to meet you.
CHANGMIN: Nice to meet you too. (a polite smile) The house is lovely.
YOOCHUN: Moving is a pain, but at least everything went smoothly.
CHANGMIN: That's great.
MRS. PARK: Why don't you two talk? (rests a hand on Yoochun's arm, smiles warmly at Changmin) I'll go over there and talk to some other guests.
YOOCHUN: Go ahead. (smiles)
(Mrs. Park leaves.)
CHANGMIN: I wouldn't have come if you didn't force me to.
YOOCHUN: You haven't seen her even once - you didn't want to meet for dinner, you didn't turn up for the wedding - I just wanted you to meet her. I want you to at least know who I married.
CHANGMIN: (drinks what is left of the wine in his glass) I think I'm leaving now.
YOOCHUN: It's still early. Stay - just for a little while.
CHANGMIN: Yoochun. (hands the empty glass to Yoochun) Let me leave.
(Yoochun turns away as Changmin touches him briefly on his shoulder in silent farewell. As Changmin walks out the front door, Mrs. Park turns around and their eyes meet across the room. Changmin ducks his head politely and disappears through the door. Mrs. Park brings her left hand to her mouth, rests her lips against the wedding band glittering on her finger before looking away from the empty doorway.)
Changmin watches the illuminated display of the digital clock by his bed. The numbers change, and the time now reads 12:16. The numbers run into each other like water droplets, until Changmin loses track of how time passes.
For the first time in many, many nights, Changmin wishes that Yoochun is here, lying right beside him, in this bed.
He pulls the blanket tighter around him, and tries to come to terms with the fact that Yoochun belongs to someone else now. Yoochun's absence lies next to him, a ghost that reminds him of what he does not, and can never have.
It takes a long time to fall asleep, and when he wakes up, the sun is shining brightly outside and morning has sneaked up on him while he was unaware.
SCENE 7
Summer, 2011. The Park residence, 9 o'clock at night. The dining table is set for two, the food is untouched. The door opens slowly, and Yoochun walks in. Mrs. Park rises from the sofa. Her eyes are wet.
YOOCHUN: I'm back.
MRS. PARK: I made dinner.
YOOCHUN: (walks over, drops a kiss to his wife's cheek) I already ate, sweetheart.
MRS. PARK: You should have called.
YOOCHUN: I'm sorry. I was caught up with work. You should have gone ahead and eaten without me.
(A few moments of silence. Yoochun loosens the tie around his neck. Mrs. Park turns away from him, thumbs the moisture from her eyes.)
YOOCHUN: You must be starving. Go and have your dinner.
MRS. PARK: I'm not hungry any more.
(Mrs Park exits, leaving Yoochun standing by the table alone. A long moment of silence. The sound of vibration. Yoochun takes his cellphone out of his pocket. He smiles. The name blinking on the screen reads Changmin.)
Changmin doesn't think of it as an affair. He has been with Yoochun even before he got married. It is not an affair. It is not a relationship either, because what's between them cannot see the light of day, cannot be spoken of, cannot be recognized.
I am the Love that dare not speak its name, Changmin thinks. Where did he read that quote before? He never understood what it really meant until Yoochun came along.
"I think my wife knows," Yoochun says.
"What?" Changmin asks, towelling his hair dry.
"That there's someone else," Yoochun says, and he does not meet Changmin's eyes. "You."
Changmin stares at Yoochun. "So, we're going to stop," He says, leaving the end of the sentence hanging. A question, a statement?
Yoochun looks frustrated as he shoves a hand into his pocket, taking out a lighter and a box of cigarettes. He lights up, and the smell fills the apartment almost immediately. Changmin makes an irritated noise.
"Don't smoke in my apartment," he snaps.
Yoochun ignores him. "I don't know what to do either." He inhales deeply, the tip of the cigarette winking bright red. "If she confronts me, she'll want a divorce. It'll be messy, and I'll get hell from my family. And her family."
"What do you want?" Changmin asks.
Yoochun pauses with the cigarette halfway to his mouth. His gaze slides to Changmin. "I don't know what I want," he whispers.
Changmin's chest starts to ache. "I know what I want," he says, a lump lodged in his throat.
Yoochun smiles, and it's a little tired, a little sad. "Lucky you," he says quietly. "Chase after what you want. Do it on my behalf."
He looks exhausted and drained. In that split second, Changmin cannot bring himself to hate this man for what the things he does to Changmin (steal his heart; take his breath away; root himself into Changmin's heart).
He cannot bring himself to hate him for the things he does not do for Changmin (leave his wife; be with Changmin; belong to Changmin like Changmin belongs to him).
Yoochun closes his eyes, cigarette dangling between his fingers, and he looks much older than he is. Still, Changmin thinks he's the most handsome man he has ever seen. This is what love does to you.
That night, after Yoochun goes home, Changmin wraps the painting that is still sitting in his room with brown paper carefully, and address it to Yoochun's house. To Mr. and Mrs. Park Yoochun, he writes in black ink.
Changmin takes the wrapped painting to the post office the next morning, and when he walks out empty-handed, he doesn't let himself wonder if Yoochun will hate him for this.
I'm chasing after what I want, Changmin defends himself mentally. Like you told me to.
Changmin is sick of waiting. He has been waiting for the past four years. He doesn't know if this will make Yoochun his. Yoochun may never want to see him again. Yoochun may hate him and blame him, but Changmin is tired of waiting for a phone call, for one clandestine meeting. He is tired of being lonely.
Changmin wonders if he should have sent a letter along with the painting. Perhaps he should written a letter that said Mrs. Park, your husband is cheating on you with me. Or Yoochun, you're what I want, let's be together. And then he pictures the painting in his mind's eye, pictures the gentle strokes of colour, the delicate lines of Yoochun's silhouette, and realizes that it really says everything it needs to say.
SCENE 8
Winter, 2011. Yoochun's house. The world outside is carpeted with a thick layer of snow, white on white, blinding in its purity. Mrs. Park is writing something when the doorbell rings. She answers the door, and it is a deliveryman. She signs, and the man hands a large and flat rectangular package wrapped in brown paper to her. Mrs. Park shuts the door, and is about to open the package when the phone rings.
MRS. PARK: (answering the call) Yoochun? What was I doing? We just got a package.
(pause)
MRS. PARK: Yes, it's addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Park. I don't know what it is. I'm opening it now. (tears away the brown paper, the torn bits floating down onto the floor) It looks like a photo? Wait, let me look at it properly -
(Her hand holding the phone falls limply to her side as she stares at the painting. She drops the phone onto the floor and starts to laugh.)
MRS. PARK: Oh God. Oh God. (covers her hands with both hands, and her laughter dissolves into heart-wrenching sobs)
(The phone lies forgotten on the floor and Mrs. Park cries for a long time.)
There is a piece of paper on the table. It is what Mrs. Park was writing before the doorbell rang. It is an unfinished letter, written in her neat handwriting. The first line reads: Dear Yoochun, I'm sorry, but I'm leaving you.
Changmin leaves a neat line of footprints behind as he walks through the snow. His breath makes little clouds of mist in the air when he exhales.
Winter. A season of longing.
The trees sway, naked, in the cold wind, looking shocked to find themselves without their usual protection of thick green leaves. Changmin misses the whisper of leaves as the wind weaves through them.
Will spring still bring nothing but longing? Or at last, proverbial new beginnings?
When he reaches the place where they first met, it looks different but there is a sense of familiarity that clings stubbornly to the place that warms Changmin from the inside.
He was supposed to be painting. He had all his painting materials set up, paint brush in hand, hovering over canvas, his eyes taking in the view that lay before him. The bare trees, the white snow on the ground, and the young man standing in the middle of it all, wearing a black suit that is startling against the white background, his black briefcase swinging from his left hand, staring up at the sky.
A painting Changmin never got to finish, because Yoochun had interrupted the process by taking the seat next to Changmin.
"I'm Yoochun," he said, introducing himself.
And somehow, Changmin knew then, even before it all began, that Yoochun was going to change his life. Changmin wonders now if Yoochun felt the same way then. He never asked.
Meeting Yoochun was the pivotal moment of Changmin's life. Their crossing of paths, that handshake, the exchange of smiles - it changed everything.
Changmin is suddenly reminded of the butterfly effect. The flap of a butterfly's wings creating small changes in the atmosphere, causing a chain of events that could possibly lead to something huge. A tornado. Disaster.
The butterfly effect, a phrase often used in chaos theory.
Except Yoochun's appearance in Changmin's life has nothing to do with chaos, and everything to do with love.
A mid-winter day, a fresh coat of blinding-white snow on the ground. Peaceful, calm; a perfect day for beginnings.
Enter Park Yoochun.
Comments will make me happy, as always ♥
MASTERLIST OF FICS HERE
Title: catharsis (or, what winter means)
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Pairing(s): Yoochun/Changmin
Word count: 5689
Disclaimer: The boys do not belong to me. This is also nothing but pure fiction.
Summary: A love story, interspersed by scenes that are snapshots of Yoochun and Changmin's lives together.
catharsis (or, what winter means)
i. solstice
Rain.
Falling busily. The rain knows its mission - to keep on falling. It does what it is meant to do, with stubborn determination, without any mercy. The temperature is falling quickly, and the cold is so biting that it triggers a pain that hurts all the way to the bones.
The weather is getting colder, says the message Changmin has just received. Dress warmly. Don't fall sick.
Changmin drops his phone back into his pocket and inhales the smell of rain. The cold air is a shock to his system and Changmin shivers. Involuntarily, he imagines the coming winter freezing everything in place, motionless as a photograph.
SCENE 1
A busy street in the evening. Early winter, 2008. Rain is falling. Everyone is carrying umbrellas in a breath-taking variety of colours and patterns. Changmin is standing under a street lamp, sharing a navy blue umbrella with Yoochun.
CHANGMIN: Are you cold?
(Yoochun glances at him, lips curving up in the beginnings of a smile. He shakes his head. Changmin tilts the umbrella towards Yoochun. Rain makes dark spots on the fabric of Changmin's shirt sleeve.)
CHANGMIN: (stares up into the sky, heavy with rain clouds) It's probably not going to stop soon.
YOOCHUN: Where are we going?
CHANGMIN: I don't know.
(The rain falls harder. Puddles are forming around their feet, small irregular-shaped mirrors. They are only people who are standing still, everything else around them is a blur of motion.)
YOOCHUN: (gives Changmin a half-smile) It's okay.
(Yoochun moves his hand onto the handle of the umbrella. Their fingers touch. Changmin smiles.)
Changmin knocks on the door twice, and then waits. The umbrella he has in his hand is dripping, the water making little rivers as it runs across the floor like a network of capillaries.
The door swings open.
"Hi," Yoochun says from the other side.
Changmin walks in, leaning the umbrella against the wall by the door. It stands there, alone in a rapidly forming puddle of rainwater.
Yoochun shuts the door, and slides the lock into place. "I hate hotels," is the first thing he tells Changmin.
"Why?" Changmin shrugs off his coat, dotted with raindrops, and drops it onto a waiting armchair, looking around the hotel room. It looks every bit a five-star hotel room, tastefully furnished and clean; on the other hand, Yoochun must be used to this sort of luxury. "It's great."
"I just don't like hotels," Yoochun says.
"You picked the place," Changmin reminds him, raising an eyebrow as he sits down on the king-sized bed, bouncing a few times to test it.
"Hotels irk me, but you're worth it anyway," Yoochun says, smiling. He backtracks a little, putting some space between the two of them, and smiles wickedly.
"Don't," Changmin warns, holding both his hands up in defence, but he knows Yoochun isn't going to listen to him, so he isn't surprised when he ends up with all the wind knocked out of him. Yoochun pins him onto the bed with his weight, grinning widely.
The clothes come off like layers of pretence, until they are both completely naked and exposed.
The rain striking the glass window has a strange but natural rhythm, just like their love-making. The first time is passionate, nearly violent, and they leave bite-marks and bruises on each other's skin in their haste. When Yoochun comes inside of Changmin, Changmin bites down on the sheets of the hotel bed, so hard it nearly tears between his teeth.
The second time, they take their time, as though the world can wait while they map each other's bodies with their eyes, fingers, tongues. Yoochun lets Changmin reverse their positions, and they match the music of the rain falling outside with their soft gasps and moans. Their voices swell and fill the room, like birds, desperate to be free.
At the end, Yoochun tells Changmin I love you, and Changmin is about to say it back when Yoochun leans over to steal the declaration from his mouth with a fierce kiss.
They know that their time is up when Yoochun's cellphone rings. Yoochun rolls off the bed, reaches into the pocket of his coat, draped over the back of a chair and answers it, sounding professional and cordial; not the Yoochun Changmin knows.
Changmin pads quietly into the bathroom to take a quick shower and by the time he comes out with a towel wrapped around his hips, Yoochun is already dressed.
"I have to go," Yoochun says, apologetic.
"I ought to be on my way too," Changmin says, even though there is nowhere he has to be.
Outside, it is still raining. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.
"Do you have an umbrella?" Changmin asks.
"I'm driving," Yoochun answers.
"Oh," Changmin says, the water from his hair dripping onto his shoulders. "Right."
Yoochun kisses him, brief and fleeting on the mouth. "I'll call you again," he says, and his breath tickles Changmin's skin. It makes him smile.
Yoochun lets himself out of the door. Changmin puts on his clothes back on, layer by layer, and leaves the room key on the front desk before leaving.
He walks out of the front door of the hotel, stares outside at the rain, stubbornly refusing to let up. He has a sudden irrational urge to see the sun. He pushes the urge aside, and opens the umbrella with a swift flick of his hand.
As he walks down the street, he thinks of Yoochun sitting in the warmth of his car, and is once again reminded of how different their lives are.
SCENE 2
Winter, 2009. A crowded Italian restaurant, bustling with noise and activity. Changmin is sitting alone at a table by the window, an empty seat across from him. He is staring out of the window at the snow falling slowly outside, waiting for something - someone - to appear. A waiter refills his glass of water.
Enter Yoochun, brushing the snow out of his hair as he walks in.
YOOCHUN: (taking his seat) I'm sorry for being late. That meeting was a terrible drag.
CHANGMIN: (smiles) It's fine, I know you're a busy man.
YOOCHUN: Have you ordered?
(Changmin shakes his head, looks down at the menu. Yoochun waves the waiter over and orders for the both of them.)
YOOCHUN: How's everything going for you?
CHANGMIN: (reaches into his bag and pulls out a pamphlet) I'm going to be part of an upcoming exhibition. (slides the pamphlet across the table towards Yoochun) It's this Sunday.
YOOCHUN: (takes the pamphlet) I'll try my best to make it.
CHANGMIN: How are you?
YOOCHUN: (shrugs) The same. (a moment of hesitation) Do you remember that girl I told you about the last time we met? The half-Japanese dancer?
CHANGMIN: (pauses) That girl your father introduced you to? You met at a party or something, right?
YOOCHUN: Yes, her. I'm taking her to dinner tomorrow night. She's a year younger than you are, and she is a great dancer. Ballet.
CHANGMIN: (echoes) Ballet.
YOOCHUN: (glances out of the window) We met during winter two years back, didn't we?
CHANGMIN: Painting. I was painting. (rotates his glass of water slowly) The winter just gets colder every year, doesn't it?
(They both remain silent until their orders arrive, their heads bent towards each other, gazes drawn to a distant point outside the window. The snow keeps falling.)
They're beautiful - the moments they share. Breath-taking, even. Still, they are only moments, captured in a frame. Stationary, not dynamic. Like the view through a window - the blue sky, the whisper of clouds, the burning sun. Beautiful, but forever confined in a rectangle.
Changmin knows that the two of them are trapped. They make magic together, the two of them, but they can never be anything more than what they are now.
Nothing more, Changmin thinks, as Yoochun's tongue climbs the steps of his spine.
"I love you," Yoochun says, his mouth pressed against Changmin's shoulder blade. The words fall, hot and real, onto Changmin's skin. They scald him. Will they leave a scar?
Halfway through, Yoochun's phone rings, and Changmin freezes on the bed, his back arched and his mouth hanging slightly open.
Yoochun swears under his breath, and reaches over for his phone. For one horrible second, Changmin thinks that he is going to take the call, even when Changmin is pressed beneath him, naked and wanting. Yoochun turns the phone off, tossing it back carelessly onto the table.
"It could have been important," Changmin says, even as he cants his hips upwards greedily, hungry for friction.
"You're important," Yoochun says. "This - " he says, punctuating the word with a forceful roll of his hips downwards, " - is important."
"Ah," Changmin says incoherently, and lets this man steal his heart again.
SCENE 3
A crowded street in the evening. The beginning of spring 2010 waits like a bud about to blossom. A chill leftover from winter still hangs in the air. Yoochun and Changmin walk side by side.
YOOCHUN: We went to see a movie last night.
CHANGMIN: Oh.
YOOCHUN: The movie was really bad. She liked it though. I will never understand how girls think. I almost fell asleep, the movie was so boring. Don't watch it, it's a waste of time.
CHANGMIN: Okay.
YOOCHUN: My parents are really happy that I'm dating her now. My mother is ecstatic, she won't give it a rest. (grins) But there's an up side to it. I can get time off work to see you just by saying I'm going on a date.
CHANGMIN: Won't she find out?
YOOCHUN: She won't. Don't worry, my parents trust me. They won't suspect a thing. I'm their responsible, capable good son, who's going to inherit the family business, remember?
CHANGMIN: I remember.
YOOCHUN: Anyway, I can't have dinner with you. She has a performance later tonight, and I have to attend it.
CHANGMIN: Oh.
(They reach a traffic light. Yoochun stops.)
YOOCHUN: I need to get my car. (gestures towards the opposite side)
CHANGMIN: Oh.
YOOCHUN: (smiles) Bye.
(Yoochun crosses the road; Changmin watches him until he disappears behind the corner of a building, and then turns around and slowly heads in the opposite direction.)
"I knew it. You are mad at me." Yoochun casts a sidelong glance at Changmin, sitting next to him in the passenger seat. When Changmin does not respond, he turns back to look at the road ahead of him, fingers moving restlessly on the steering wheel.
Changmin presses his lips together, and looks out of the window. "I already said I'm not mad at you. Why do you keep insisting I'm mad at you?"
"If you're not mad at me, why have you been wearing that sullen expression throughout the entire dinner?" Yoochun makes a left turn. The scenery flashes past outside. Everything on fast forward.
Changmin shrugs. "No reason."
Yoochun glances over at him. "Seriously, what did I do wrong?" he asks, as the car slows to a stop in front a red light. He turns around to look expectantly at Changmin.
"Why are you dating her?" Changmin says quietly, after a moment of silence.
"I knew it. I knew that was what you're mad about," Yoochun leans back in his seat, frustration evident in his voice. "I already explained it to you, didn't I? Look, it's been nearly two years since I've been seeing anyone and my parents are being such a pain about it. I told you right from the start and you said you understood. So why are you kicking up such a big fuss - "
"I'm not kicking up a fuss at all! I just want to know how you can bring yourself to get into a serious relationship with someone you don't even like - " Changmin's fingers curl unconsciously into fists.
"I never said I didn't like her!" Yoochun snaps.
Changmin inhales sharply, and his heart goes completely still for a few moments. His blood pounds in his ears and he wonders what Yoochun could have said that could have hurt more. I love her. I love her more than I love you. I don't love you any more. I never loved you.
It is not the seatbelt pressing against his chest that makes it hard to breathe.
The traffic light switches to green, and the cars in front start moving. Yoochun turns back to face the front, and the car moves forward.
"Look," Yoochun begins again, his voice quieter and gentler this time round. "Whether or not I like her is not the point. The point is that my parents like her, and if I date her, they get off my back. I can even get time off work to see you under the pretence of meeting her." He turns to look at Changmin, and tries for a smile.
"Why is whether or not you like her not the point?" Changmin says, staring at his fingers, threaded together tightly. To someone looking in, it probably looks like he's praying.
"It's not the point! It doesn't matter at all. We both know that one day, I'll have to get married. I'll have to take over the company from my father. I'll have to give my parents grandchildren, for God's sake. You can't fucking bear me children, okay? We both know you can't give me - "
"Shut up." Changmin doesn't want to hear it. "Just shut up already."
"It's the truth," Yoochun says, and the car slows to a stop again. Another red light. Yoochun makes a noise of irritation before continuing to speak. "You may not like it, but that's how it is."
Changmin feels as though the silence between the both of them is so thick and heavy that if stretched taut, can go on for miles and miles. He stares at the road in front, and has no idea what can possibly undo the knot sitting in his heart, an impossible weight.
Yoochun slows the car to a stop when Changmin's apartment building looms into view. Changmin wonders if the two of his house mates are home, and slowly unbuckles his seat belt. It doesn't matter anyway, whether or not they are home. He doesn't care.
Yoochun breaks the silence first. "I'll call you again," he says, trying to alleviate the tension between them.
Changmin nods. Yoochun reaches over, takes his hand.
"Yoochun," Changmin says softly, grabbing the chance. "I just want to know," he hesitates, and then continues before he loses his nerve, "Do you love her?" He holds his breath, because he's not sure if the answer will break his heart.
Yoochun stares at him for a few seconds, and then he smiles crookedly. "You're the stupidest person I've ever met, you know?" he says, and his voice is a little hoarse. It makes Changmin's heart flutter and swell with joy.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Changmin whispers.
"You're supposed to be the smart one," Yoochun says, still smiling, still holding Changmin's hand in his. His skin is warm, and Changmin wants to stay like this forever. Why couldn't winter have stayed long enough to keep them frozen like this forever?
"It means, you're the one I love," Yoochun says, and lets go off Changmin's hand. He leans over, braces one hand on the seat behind Changmin and kisses him on the mouth.
Outside, it starts to drizzle. The first raindrops slide down the windscreen like tears, and the shower comes, pattering noisily on the car. Inside, Changmin makes a startled noise when Yoochun's other hand manages to find the catch that reclines the passenger seat.
Yoochun's hand comes to cup the side of his face, gently undoing Changmin all over again. "In case you didn't hear it," Yoochun gasps when he pulls away from the kiss. "You're the one I love."
"Let's just stay in here forever," Changmin whispers, even though he knows Yoochun has work to do, places to be.
Yoochun watches the rain outside for a moment. "I can't," he says. "But I can stay until the rain stops."
Happiness jolts through Changmin like a shock of electricity. "Yoochun," he says, smiling, listening to the rain pouring outside. "It's not going to stop any time soon, you know."
"That's just too bad," Yoochun says, shaking his head half-heartedly and grinning before reaching over to flick open the buttons of Changmin's shirt.
Changmin doesn't know how long this will last; his fingers fist tightly into Yoochun's clothes, trying to hold on to him, hold on to this moment. In case.
Just in case.
SCENE 4
A hotel room. Autumn, 2010. Changmin is sitting on the bed, and his eyes are on Yoochun. Yoochun is in the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips, brushing his teeth at the sink.
CHANGMIN: Yoochun.
YOOCHUN: (toothbrush still in his mouth) What?
CHANGMIN: Yoochun, the two of us, where are we headed?
(Changmin gets up, walks into the bathroom, rests his cheek on Yoochun's back. Yoochun continues brushing his teeth.)
CHANGMIN: (quietly) I want to know what I'm waiting for.
(Moments pass. Yoochun stays hunched over the sink, his mouth full of bubbles, silent. Changmin also stays equally still, hugging Yoochun from behind. There is only the movement of Yoochun's hand as he continues brushing his teeth.)
ii. equinox
Changmin holds the front door open with his hip, keys dangling on the tips of his fingers as he steps gingerly into his apartment, his arms full of new art supplies. A few of his art pieces sold, and almost immediately, Changmin went apartment hunting.
His new apartment isn't much, but it has everything he needs. It is also much better than sharing an apartment with two other people that Changmin didn't know very well, one of whom had terrible hygiene and left messes everywhere he went.
Changmin flicks on the light with his elbow, kicks off his shoes blindly and walks into the bedroom, dumping the supplies onto his bed. He heaves a sigh of relief as he collapses onto the bed, spread-eagled.
Turning his head to the right, he sees the painting leaning on the wall opposite the bed. The one that had won a major art competition. The one that was exhibited late last year. A fellow artist had told Changmin at the exhibition, this is your best to date, definitely.
Changmin sits on the bed, stares at the painting.
Yoochun, frozen in time, painted in muted colours, his face turned away, half consumed by darkness. The sharp lines of his face, defined as he tips his face upwards towards the night sky, littered with stars.
Changmin wonders if there is anyone who saw this painting during the exhibition who could not tell that the painter was head over heels in love with the man in the picture.
The exhibition that Yoochun did not attend. Everyone told Changmin how amazing the painting was, how beautiful it was, everyone except the one person whose opinion Changmin wanted the most.
Longing. The title of the painting. Changmin had titled it in the wee hours of a morning when he had woken up from a dream.
In the dream, Changmin was pulling a thin red thread out from the middle of his chest, pulling and pulling, until it made a small mountain by his feet. Suddenly, out of the blue, the mountain of thread shifted. It was being pulled from the other end. Alarmed, Changmin looked up. The thread, now pulled taut as a clothesline, disappeared into the distance. Changmin let go of the thread, but it continued to spill from his chest, yanked out by some other force.
And the dream changed, shattering like an image reflected on the water surface when a pebble is tossed into the middle of it. When the ripples calmed, it was Yoochun's face Changmin saw.
When Changmin woke up, he had his fist pressed against his chest, where he felt an unfamiliar ache that had a heartbeat of its own that messed with Changmin's. His heart beating out of time, Changmin stared at the painting, still unfinished at that time. He stared and stared until he managed to put a name to this ache, until he scribbled it down in pencil, exhausted and drained.
Looking at the painting always triggers Changmin's memory of that dream. He still remembers it vividly, even though most of his dreams end up as blurry spots in his mind.
Changmin gets up from the bed, gently lifts the painting up and turns it around so he does not have to look at it, and be constantly reminded of the heartache that waits for him.
SCENE 5
Winter, 2010. Changmin's apartment, the television is switched on in the living room, and the anchorwoman is reading the evening news. Changmin sits on the sofa, staring at the television screen. The phone rings, shrill and loud. Changmin ignores it. The call is automatically directed to the answering machine.
YOOCHUN: (his voice through the machine is a little robotic, a little distorted) Changmin, are you there? Can you please get back to me as soon as you can? I need to know whether you can make it for the wedding next weekend. I've been so busy with the preparations that we haven't got to meet recently, I'm really sorry. I miss you, but I don't have a free minute all the way until the wedding is over. And then I only have a couple of days before the honeymoon, but I'll find time somewhere, I promise. Okay, this is getting long, so, um, yeah, just get back to me quickly, okay? Yes.
(pause)
YOOCHUN: Changmin. Changmin, I know you're there. Can you pick up? I just want to hear your voice.
(pause)
YOOCHUN: Changmin. (his voice loses the polite edge, taking on a raw and choked quality) I'm sorry. About everything. Changmin, I lo-
(Changmin, with tears brimming in his eyes, picks up the remote and turns the television volume all the way up, letting the weather forecast drown out Yoochun's voice, and whatever it was that he was about to say.)
"It is entirely inappropriate for you to be here," Changmin says, but lets Yoochun into his house anyway.
"I never wanted to get married in the first place anyway," Yoochun mutters under his breath. He reeks of alcohol, and his face is flushed. When he walks in, he is more than just a little unsteady of his feet. Changmin's hands shoot out automatically to steady him, but he catches himself before he does. Yoochun is someone's husband now.
"It's only been three days," Changmin reminds him, busying his hands by locking the door carefully and fussing with the curtains. "And you are supposed to be going off for your honeymoon in two days. What the hell are you doing here?"
"I want to go on my honeymoon with you," Yoochun says loudly.
"You're drunk," Changmin tells him, slightly amused.
"Only a little," Yoochun says. "It's still the truth. You're the one I love."
Changmin smiles. "That's nice to know." He walks into the kitchen to pour Yoochun some water. Meanwhile, Yoochun wanders around the apartment, singing off-tune and slurring all the words.
Changmin finds Yoochun in the bedroom.
Yoochun is looking at the painting. He hears Changmin come in, and when he looks up, there is an unreadable expression on his face, and the air in the room suddenly becomes thick and heavy.
Silently, Changmin holds out the glass of warm water.
Yoochun looks from the image of himself in the painting to Changmin, and then the painting again. "Did you give it a title?" he asks, at last.
Changmin waits for him to take the water before he answers. "It doesn't need one," he says, his throat dry as sandpaper. "I think it says everything it needs to say without words."
Yoochun nods, drinks all of the water at one go and is about to follow Changmin out of the room when he stops abruptly and walks back towards the painting.
Changmin's heartbeat races without warning when Yoochun tilts the painting sideways, crouching down and running a finger gently across the word written faintly on the back. The title. Everything it needs to say.
Longing, Yoochun mouths.
Before Yoochun leaves, he says, "I want to buy that painting from you."
"It's not for sale," Changmin answers.
"I can pay any price," Yoochun says, pulling his winter coat tight around him. He winds his moss-green scarf around his throat and watches Changmin's face for a reaction.
"I don't want money from you," Changmin says, holding the door open and waiting for Yoochun to leave.
Yoochun looks at him for a long time. Finally, he leans forward and kisses Changmin, long and bittersweet. "You're the one I love," Yoochun says again.
Changmin watches him leave, and when Yoochun vanishes from sight, Changmin rests his forehead against the door frame and thinks, time for hibernation.
SCENE 6
The limbo between winter and spring, 2011. A new house, belonging to Yoochun and his wife, crowded with guests. Changmin stands by the gigantic grandfather clock in the living room, holding a glass of red wine. Yoochun spots him from across the room, and makes his way over, his wife by his side.
YOOCHUN: Changmin, this is my wife, Shiori. Shiori, this is Changmin. He's an amazing painter.
MRS. PARK: Nice to meet you.
CHANGMIN: Nice to meet you too. (a polite smile) The house is lovely.
YOOCHUN: Moving is a pain, but at least everything went smoothly.
CHANGMIN: That's great.
MRS. PARK: Why don't you two talk? (rests a hand on Yoochun's arm, smiles warmly at Changmin) I'll go over there and talk to some other guests.
YOOCHUN: Go ahead. (smiles)
(Mrs. Park leaves.)
CHANGMIN: I wouldn't have come if you didn't force me to.
YOOCHUN: You haven't seen her even once - you didn't want to meet for dinner, you didn't turn up for the wedding - I just wanted you to meet her. I want you to at least know who I married.
CHANGMIN: (drinks what is left of the wine in his glass) I think I'm leaving now.
YOOCHUN: It's still early. Stay - just for a little while.
CHANGMIN: Yoochun. (hands the empty glass to Yoochun) Let me leave.
(Yoochun turns away as Changmin touches him briefly on his shoulder in silent farewell. As Changmin walks out the front door, Mrs. Park turns around and their eyes meet across the room. Changmin ducks his head politely and disappears through the door. Mrs. Park brings her left hand to her mouth, rests her lips against the wedding band glittering on her finger before looking away from the empty doorway.)
Changmin watches the illuminated display of the digital clock by his bed. The numbers change, and the time now reads 12:16. The numbers run into each other like water droplets, until Changmin loses track of how time passes.
For the first time in many, many nights, Changmin wishes that Yoochun is here, lying right beside him, in this bed.
He pulls the blanket tighter around him, and tries to come to terms with the fact that Yoochun belongs to someone else now. Yoochun's absence lies next to him, a ghost that reminds him of what he does not, and can never have.
It takes a long time to fall asleep, and when he wakes up, the sun is shining brightly outside and morning has sneaked up on him while he was unaware.
SCENE 7
Summer, 2011. The Park residence, 9 o'clock at night. The dining table is set for two, the food is untouched. The door opens slowly, and Yoochun walks in. Mrs. Park rises from the sofa. Her eyes are wet.
YOOCHUN: I'm back.
MRS. PARK: I made dinner.
YOOCHUN: (walks over, drops a kiss to his wife's cheek) I already ate, sweetheart.
MRS. PARK: You should have called.
YOOCHUN: I'm sorry. I was caught up with work. You should have gone ahead and eaten without me.
(A few moments of silence. Yoochun loosens the tie around his neck. Mrs. Park turns away from him, thumbs the moisture from her eyes.)
YOOCHUN: You must be starving. Go and have your dinner.
MRS. PARK: I'm not hungry any more.
(Mrs Park exits, leaving Yoochun standing by the table alone. A long moment of silence. The sound of vibration. Yoochun takes his cellphone out of his pocket. He smiles. The name blinking on the screen reads Changmin.)
Changmin doesn't think of it as an affair. He has been with Yoochun even before he got married. It is not an affair. It is not a relationship either, because what's between them cannot see the light of day, cannot be spoken of, cannot be recognized.
I am the Love that dare not speak its name, Changmin thinks. Where did he read that quote before? He never understood what it really meant until Yoochun came along.
"I think my wife knows," Yoochun says.
"What?" Changmin asks, towelling his hair dry.
"That there's someone else," Yoochun says, and he does not meet Changmin's eyes. "You."
Changmin stares at Yoochun. "So, we're going to stop," He says, leaving the end of the sentence hanging. A question, a statement?
Yoochun looks frustrated as he shoves a hand into his pocket, taking out a lighter and a box of cigarettes. He lights up, and the smell fills the apartment almost immediately. Changmin makes an irritated noise.
"Don't smoke in my apartment," he snaps.
Yoochun ignores him. "I don't know what to do either." He inhales deeply, the tip of the cigarette winking bright red. "If she confronts me, she'll want a divorce. It'll be messy, and I'll get hell from my family. And her family."
"What do you want?" Changmin asks.
Yoochun pauses with the cigarette halfway to his mouth. His gaze slides to Changmin. "I don't know what I want," he whispers.
Changmin's chest starts to ache. "I know what I want," he says, a lump lodged in his throat.
Yoochun smiles, and it's a little tired, a little sad. "Lucky you," he says quietly. "Chase after what you want. Do it on my behalf."
He looks exhausted and drained. In that split second, Changmin cannot bring himself to hate this man for what the things he does to Changmin (steal his heart; take his breath away; root himself into Changmin's heart).
He cannot bring himself to hate him for the things he does not do for Changmin (leave his wife; be with Changmin; belong to Changmin like Changmin belongs to him).
Yoochun closes his eyes, cigarette dangling between his fingers, and he looks much older than he is. Still, Changmin thinks he's the most handsome man he has ever seen. This is what love does to you.
That night, after Yoochun goes home, Changmin wraps the painting that is still sitting in his room with brown paper carefully, and address it to Yoochun's house. To Mr. and Mrs. Park Yoochun, he writes in black ink.
Changmin takes the wrapped painting to the post office the next morning, and when he walks out empty-handed, he doesn't let himself wonder if Yoochun will hate him for this.
I'm chasing after what I want, Changmin defends himself mentally. Like you told me to.
Changmin is sick of waiting. He has been waiting for the past four years. He doesn't know if this will make Yoochun his. Yoochun may never want to see him again. Yoochun may hate him and blame him, but Changmin is tired of waiting for a phone call, for one clandestine meeting. He is tired of being lonely.
Changmin wonders if he should have sent a letter along with the painting. Perhaps he should written a letter that said Mrs. Park, your husband is cheating on you with me. Or Yoochun, you're what I want, let's be together. And then he pictures the painting in his mind's eye, pictures the gentle strokes of colour, the delicate lines of Yoochun's silhouette, and realizes that it really says everything it needs to say.
SCENE 8
Winter, 2011. Yoochun's house. The world outside is carpeted with a thick layer of snow, white on white, blinding in its purity. Mrs. Park is writing something when the doorbell rings. She answers the door, and it is a deliveryman. She signs, and the man hands a large and flat rectangular package wrapped in brown paper to her. Mrs. Park shuts the door, and is about to open the package when the phone rings.
MRS. PARK: (answering the call) Yoochun? What was I doing? We just got a package.
(pause)
MRS. PARK: Yes, it's addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Park. I don't know what it is. I'm opening it now. (tears away the brown paper, the torn bits floating down onto the floor) It looks like a photo? Wait, let me look at it properly -
(Her hand holding the phone falls limply to her side as she stares at the painting. She drops the phone onto the floor and starts to laugh.)
MRS. PARK: Oh God. Oh God. (covers her hands with both hands, and her laughter dissolves into heart-wrenching sobs)
(The phone lies forgotten on the floor and Mrs. Park cries for a long time.)
There is a piece of paper on the table. It is what Mrs. Park was writing before the doorbell rang. It is an unfinished letter, written in her neat handwriting. The first line reads: Dear Yoochun, I'm sorry, but I'm leaving you.
Changmin leaves a neat line of footprints behind as he walks through the snow. His breath makes little clouds of mist in the air when he exhales.
Winter. A season of longing.
The trees sway, naked, in the cold wind, looking shocked to find themselves without their usual protection of thick green leaves. Changmin misses the whisper of leaves as the wind weaves through them.
Will spring still bring nothing but longing? Or at last, proverbial new beginnings?
When he reaches the place where they first met, it looks different but there is a sense of familiarity that clings stubbornly to the place that warms Changmin from the inside.
He was supposed to be painting. He had all his painting materials set up, paint brush in hand, hovering over canvas, his eyes taking in the view that lay before him. The bare trees, the white snow on the ground, and the young man standing in the middle of it all, wearing a black suit that is startling against the white background, his black briefcase swinging from his left hand, staring up at the sky.
A painting Changmin never got to finish, because Yoochun had interrupted the process by taking the seat next to Changmin.
"I'm Yoochun," he said, introducing himself.
And somehow, Changmin knew then, even before it all began, that Yoochun was going to change his life. Changmin wonders now if Yoochun felt the same way then. He never asked.
Meeting Yoochun was the pivotal moment of Changmin's life. Their crossing of paths, that handshake, the exchange of smiles - it changed everything.
Changmin is suddenly reminded of the butterfly effect. The flap of a butterfly's wings creating small changes in the atmosphere, causing a chain of events that could possibly lead to something huge. A tornado. Disaster.
The butterfly effect, a phrase often used in chaos theory.
Except Yoochun's appearance in Changmin's life has nothing to do with chaos, and everything to do with love.
A mid-winter day, a fresh coat of blinding-white snow on the ground. Peaceful, calm; a perfect day for beginnings.
Enter Park Yoochun.
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