The Heart Goes On
Title: The Heart Goes On
Rating: PG
Form: Oneshot in the second. ^^; Sequel to 'Seeing With the Heart'
Words: 1,710
Pairings: Yunjae
Genre: bitersweet fluff/angst meld
Summary: The heart goes on, even when all else fails.
This is the sequel to 'Seeing With the Heart'
How sad am I? I cried while writing this. ^^; Anyway, I don't like it as much as the first one. I hope it's okay though, for those that wanted more.
The day the world disappears for Jaejoong, its windy and raining outside. Ironic perhaps, he thinks. He would have liked his last image to be something horribly romantic and sweet, like Yunho, in the middle of the park in Autumn, or perhaps the view from a cliff at the seaside. The last image he actually sees though is his - their - bed. He’s making it, folding the sheets back and tucking them under the matress, the chore done mostly by touch anyway because the bed is so blurred he can’t see the details. And then he blinks, and when he opens his eyes, the world does not come back.
He freezes, not breathing or moving, and waits. He thinks it will come back, because it’s done this before. But as the seconds tick by, there’s just nothing, nothing, nothing and he knows that’s all there’ll ever be now. His fingers claw at the linen desperately for a moment, reassuring himself that it’s there, that he’s there, and then he collapses onto the bed, and cries.
He hasn’t been able to, before this. He thought at first it was shock, and then maybe denial. Even though he’d been practicing, and he knew it was happening, because everything was slowly sliding away into patches of colour and moving shapes, he didn’t want to accept that it was real. He’s got no time for that now though, and acceptance is the only thing available to him.
The tears are silent but plentiful, and he’s glad at least that he can do this. That his eyes aren’t so broken that he can’t cry. He tastes the salt of them, feels the bed beneath them and hears his sniffing and tells himself to stop it stop it because it’s not going to change anything. He’s still got sound and touch and taste and he can do this, damnit, he can.
He cries until he stops, and then he gets up and finishes making the bed. He picks up the laundry basket and walks down the hall, into the closet that holds their washing machine. He fumbles for the lid, ready to dump them into the machine, and then stops. Did Yunho wear red yesterday? Was that white shirt of his in there too? When did he… the laundry falls in a large lump on the floor as he drops it, clenching his fist and stepping away. It’ll be pink. All PINK. Even if he can’t see it, it’ll still be pink. It’s the one thing he didn’t think of, when he’d come home that first day and thought fuck this and started walking around the house with his eyes closed, just because.
It’d taken him days to get everything right, so he could sort of do it with his eyes closed. But then, he’d unthinkingly move something to a different spot, or Yunho would put the toothpaste back on the shelf in a different place, and it would be all wrong again. The rooms, at least, did not move. He’d stood in front of the stereo, the dishwasher, the dryer, and stared at the buttons, running his fingers over them, burning them into his mind. Then he’d tried to play a CD with his eyes closed and jammed the tray. He’d learnt to listen to the bidle-de-beep noises it made though, and he could at least do that now.
So he leaves the laundry on the floor and goes into the lounge room. He picks a CD, any CD, because he can’t tell anyway, and sets it to play. After the first few notes reassuringly filled the room, he walks to the couch and sits down, numb.
The music is melancholy, and he feels like ripping out his hair because this is the last thing he needs, but he doesn’t want to go through the mess of trying to find something he does want to listen to, so he just lets it go. The mournful female voice croons at him, and he burries his head in his hands.
It’s still windy and rainy outside, he can hear it, but as he pushes his hand against the cold glass, he can’t see the grey clouds or the wet city. It’s just dark.
Two hours, and the front door bangs closed, the shuffling footsteps so familiar across the kitchen floor.
“Why are you sitting here in the dark like this, Boo?” Yunho asks, concerned, and flicks on the light. Jaejoong is just sitting there on the couch, balled up so small and looking lost. He looks up at Yunho’s voice, but with alarm, Yunho realises that his eyes are not looking at him. They’re blank, and they roam aimlessly, like they can’t find anything to rest on. “Jaejoong?!” He says, worriedly, and drops his bag to the floor carelessly. “Jae, baby, what’s wrong?” He demands, striding over to his lover.
“Hi Yunnie.” Jaejoong finally responds, eyes still searching, his voice soft. The smile he offers Yunho is heartbroken. Yunho doesn’t understand, and Jaejoong knows it because he made it that way but now it’s time to face up to his sins. “Sit with me?” He asks.
Yunho nods, sliding onto the couch beside Jaejoong and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Jaejoong leans into him; breaths his scent. He closes his eyes and pretends for a blissful moment that life is as simple as love.
He hasn’t thought this conversation out. He doesn’t know the words, because there really are none. How do you explain something like this, without causing pain? How do you tell your lover your world is a dark place now, and there’s nothing he nor anyone can do about it? How do you tell him that life has to be different now, that he can’t put the toothpaste on the second shelf anymore or put the shampoo bottle next to the mouthwash? How do you explain that you’ll never again look into his eyes and see the love that shines there.
“I haven’t done the laundry.” He starts with, almost absently, because he still can’t find those words. Yunho frowns at him, wondering why Jaejoong is so abstract these days. He keeps saying odd things, keeps looking at Yunho like a thirsty man does water. “The clothes are all over the floor… I…” Jaejoong falters, breathing deep.
“It’s okay. I’ll just throw them in later.” Yunho says, wondering if there’s a point to this.
“You’re… you’re going to have to do it from now on. Everything will be pink otherwise.” Jaejoong says, and suddenly it’s just a fact of life now. The laundry will be pink. Yunho still doesn’t get it.
“Pink?” He repeats, brow furrowing. They’d done that already once. When they’d moved in together, they’d unthinkingly put the whole load in and ended up with 5 pink shirts and a purple sweater. Jaejoong shoves his nose deeper into Yunho’s woollen jumper, feeling the scratchiness of it under his face. It must be that brown one Yunho complained always itched.
“Pink.” He confirms. “I can’t tell what’s red or white anymore.” He wonders how much it will take. He can’t say the words, can’t just blurt it out like that. He feels like crying again, but he bites down on his tongue till he tastes blood and swallows back the knot in his throat.
Yunho’s face scrunches up. He can tell Jaejoong’s trying to say something, but he’s not very good with subtle, and he’s not sure what he’s meant to say. He’s pretty sure he’s not missed a birthday or anniversary, and can’t think of anything pink-related at all. He’s silent for a moment, puzzling on it, and he feels Jaejoong’s back getting increasingly tense. It shudders once, and Yunho knows Jaejoong does not get this upset about pink shirts.
“Jaejoong.” He says firmly, gulping back his own knot that’s rapidly forming in his chest. “Jaejoong, look at me.” He draws Jae away from his chest, turning his face upwards with a hand. His eyes are closed, but after a long moment, Jaejoong opens them. Yunho searches in the large soft orbs, but all he can see is himself, reflected.
“Jaejoong…” It’s a prayer and a whisper and Yunho can’t breathe for the fear. Jaejoong smiles again, bittersweet. Yunho raises a hand to touch Jaejoong’s cheek, gentle like porcelain, and waves a hand over his lover’s eyes. No reaction. Yunho chokes. “Oh Jaejoong…” It’s broken and Yunho can feel the panic and pain welling in him, unstoppable. “You can’t… can’t see me, can you?” He chokes out. He thinks about meeting Jaejoong, the way his big eyes captured Yunho. He thinks about going to the beach with him and pretending to fly out on the cliff, his ears ringing with Jaejoong’s laughter. He thinks of making love, and the joy he always found in Jaejoong’s heart, seen through the open windows of his eyes.
Soft hands come up and cover his face, fingers gentle over his eyes and wiping away the wells of water gathering there, smoothing the fear in him away.
“I always see you.” Jaejoong says, his own eyes shimmering with wetness. They’re earnest, even if they are fixed rigidly on the wall behind Yunho and not on him at all. His fingers trace over every contour of Yunho’s face. “Baby, you know I do. I see your determination, your care and kindness; I see your worry, your optimism and your big heart. I see every part of you.” Fat droplets roll over the valleys between his fingers as he speaks, Yunho’s breath hitching and his face jolting slightly with each intake. Jaejoong cups his face, thumbs by the corners of his mouth, and places a soft, chaste kiss on his lips.
Yunho can’t bear to look at him, and instead pulls Jaejoong into a tight embrace that crushes him, the weight of Yunho’s sorrow and helplessness so very heavy. They’re burdens that Jaejoong wants neither of them to carry, and he thinks of changing their lead to feathers to help them fly again as he wraps his arms around Yunho’s shaking shoulders and shushes him gently. Jaejoong’s heart beats strongly between them, and he sniffs back his own tears, smiling to himself and this time it’s not quite so broken.
“I’ll always see you.”
Rating: PG
Form: Oneshot in the second. ^^; Sequel to 'Seeing With the Heart'
Words: 1,710
Pairings: Yunjae
Genre: bitersweet fluff/angst meld
Summary: The heart goes on, even when all else fails.
This is the sequel to 'Seeing With the Heart'
How sad am I? I cried while writing this. ^^; Anyway, I don't like it as much as the first one. I hope it's okay though, for those that wanted more.
The day the world disappears for Jaejoong, its windy and raining outside. Ironic perhaps, he thinks. He would have liked his last image to be something horribly romantic and sweet, like Yunho, in the middle of the park in Autumn, or perhaps the view from a cliff at the seaside. The last image he actually sees though is his - their - bed. He’s making it, folding the sheets back and tucking them under the matress, the chore done mostly by touch anyway because the bed is so blurred he can’t see the details. And then he blinks, and when he opens his eyes, the world does not come back.
He freezes, not breathing or moving, and waits. He thinks it will come back, because it’s done this before. But as the seconds tick by, there’s just nothing, nothing, nothing and he knows that’s all there’ll ever be now. His fingers claw at the linen desperately for a moment, reassuring himself that it’s there, that he’s there, and then he collapses onto the bed, and cries.
He hasn’t been able to, before this. He thought at first it was shock, and then maybe denial. Even though he’d been practicing, and he knew it was happening, because everything was slowly sliding away into patches of colour and moving shapes, he didn’t want to accept that it was real. He’s got no time for that now though, and acceptance is the only thing available to him.
The tears are silent but plentiful, and he’s glad at least that he can do this. That his eyes aren’t so broken that he can’t cry. He tastes the salt of them, feels the bed beneath them and hears his sniffing and tells himself to stop it stop it because it’s not going to change anything. He’s still got sound and touch and taste and he can do this, damnit, he can.
He cries until he stops, and then he gets up and finishes making the bed. He picks up the laundry basket and walks down the hall, into the closet that holds their washing machine. He fumbles for the lid, ready to dump them into the machine, and then stops. Did Yunho wear red yesterday? Was that white shirt of his in there too? When did he… the laundry falls in a large lump on the floor as he drops it, clenching his fist and stepping away. It’ll be pink. All PINK. Even if he can’t see it, it’ll still be pink. It’s the one thing he didn’t think of, when he’d come home that first day and thought fuck this and started walking around the house with his eyes closed, just because.
It’d taken him days to get everything right, so he could sort of do it with his eyes closed. But then, he’d unthinkingly move something to a different spot, or Yunho would put the toothpaste back on the shelf in a different place, and it would be all wrong again. The rooms, at least, did not move. He’d stood in front of the stereo, the dishwasher, the dryer, and stared at the buttons, running his fingers over them, burning them into his mind. Then he’d tried to play a CD with his eyes closed and jammed the tray. He’d learnt to listen to the bidle-de-beep noises it made though, and he could at least do that now.
So he leaves the laundry on the floor and goes into the lounge room. He picks a CD, any CD, because he can’t tell anyway, and sets it to play. After the first few notes reassuringly filled the room, he walks to the couch and sits down, numb.
The music is melancholy, and he feels like ripping out his hair because this is the last thing he needs, but he doesn’t want to go through the mess of trying to find something he does want to listen to, so he just lets it go. The mournful female voice croons at him, and he burries his head in his hands.
It’s still windy and rainy outside, he can hear it, but as he pushes his hand against the cold glass, he can’t see the grey clouds or the wet city. It’s just dark.
Two hours, and the front door bangs closed, the shuffling footsteps so familiar across the kitchen floor.
“Why are you sitting here in the dark like this, Boo?” Yunho asks, concerned, and flicks on the light. Jaejoong is just sitting there on the couch, balled up so small and looking lost. He looks up at Yunho’s voice, but with alarm, Yunho realises that his eyes are not looking at him. They’re blank, and they roam aimlessly, like they can’t find anything to rest on. “Jaejoong?!” He says, worriedly, and drops his bag to the floor carelessly. “Jae, baby, what’s wrong?” He demands, striding over to his lover.
“Hi Yunnie.” Jaejoong finally responds, eyes still searching, his voice soft. The smile he offers Yunho is heartbroken. Yunho doesn’t understand, and Jaejoong knows it because he made it that way but now it’s time to face up to his sins. “Sit with me?” He asks.
Yunho nods, sliding onto the couch beside Jaejoong and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Jaejoong leans into him; breaths his scent. He closes his eyes and pretends for a blissful moment that life is as simple as love.
He hasn’t thought this conversation out. He doesn’t know the words, because there really are none. How do you explain something like this, without causing pain? How do you tell your lover your world is a dark place now, and there’s nothing he nor anyone can do about it? How do you tell him that life has to be different now, that he can’t put the toothpaste on the second shelf anymore or put the shampoo bottle next to the mouthwash? How do you explain that you’ll never again look into his eyes and see the love that shines there.
“I haven’t done the laundry.” He starts with, almost absently, because he still can’t find those words. Yunho frowns at him, wondering why Jaejoong is so abstract these days. He keeps saying odd things, keeps looking at Yunho like a thirsty man does water. “The clothes are all over the floor… I…” Jaejoong falters, breathing deep.
“It’s okay. I’ll just throw them in later.” Yunho says, wondering if there’s a point to this.
“You’re… you’re going to have to do it from now on. Everything will be pink otherwise.” Jaejoong says, and suddenly it’s just a fact of life now. The laundry will be pink. Yunho still doesn’t get it.
“Pink?” He repeats, brow furrowing. They’d done that already once. When they’d moved in together, they’d unthinkingly put the whole load in and ended up with 5 pink shirts and a purple sweater. Jaejoong shoves his nose deeper into Yunho’s woollen jumper, feeling the scratchiness of it under his face. It must be that brown one Yunho complained always itched.
“Pink.” He confirms. “I can’t tell what’s red or white anymore.” He wonders how much it will take. He can’t say the words, can’t just blurt it out like that. He feels like crying again, but he bites down on his tongue till he tastes blood and swallows back the knot in his throat.
Yunho’s face scrunches up. He can tell Jaejoong’s trying to say something, but he’s not very good with subtle, and he’s not sure what he’s meant to say. He’s pretty sure he’s not missed a birthday or anniversary, and can’t think of anything pink-related at all. He’s silent for a moment, puzzling on it, and he feels Jaejoong’s back getting increasingly tense. It shudders once, and Yunho knows Jaejoong does not get this upset about pink shirts.
“Jaejoong.” He says firmly, gulping back his own knot that’s rapidly forming in his chest. “Jaejoong, look at me.” He draws Jae away from his chest, turning his face upwards with a hand. His eyes are closed, but after a long moment, Jaejoong opens them. Yunho searches in the large soft orbs, but all he can see is himself, reflected.
“Jaejoong…” It’s a prayer and a whisper and Yunho can’t breathe for the fear. Jaejoong smiles again, bittersweet. Yunho raises a hand to touch Jaejoong’s cheek, gentle like porcelain, and waves a hand over his lover’s eyes. No reaction. Yunho chokes. “Oh Jaejoong…” It’s broken and Yunho can feel the panic and pain welling in him, unstoppable. “You can’t… can’t see me, can you?” He chokes out. He thinks about meeting Jaejoong, the way his big eyes captured Yunho. He thinks about going to the beach with him and pretending to fly out on the cliff, his ears ringing with Jaejoong’s laughter. He thinks of making love, and the joy he always found in Jaejoong’s heart, seen through the open windows of his eyes.
Soft hands come up and cover his face, fingers gentle over his eyes and wiping away the wells of water gathering there, smoothing the fear in him away.
“I always see you.” Jaejoong says, his own eyes shimmering with wetness. They’re earnest, even if they are fixed rigidly on the wall behind Yunho and not on him at all. His fingers trace over every contour of Yunho’s face. “Baby, you know I do. I see your determination, your care and kindness; I see your worry, your optimism and your big heart. I see every part of you.” Fat droplets roll over the valleys between his fingers as he speaks, Yunho’s breath hitching and his face jolting slightly with each intake. Jaejoong cups his face, thumbs by the corners of his mouth, and places a soft, chaste kiss on his lips.
Yunho can’t bear to look at him, and instead pulls Jaejoong into a tight embrace that crushes him, the weight of Yunho’s sorrow and helplessness so very heavy. They’re burdens that Jaejoong wants neither of them to carry, and he thinks of changing their lead to feathers to help them fly again as he wraps his arms around Yunho’s shaking shoulders and shushes him gently. Jaejoong’s heart beats strongly between them, and he sniffs back his own tears, smiling to himself and this time it’s not quite so broken.
“I’ll always see you.”