[FIClet] The Oxford's Guide to Deciphering Kim Jaejoong
Title: The Oxford's Guide to Deciphering Kim Jaejoong
Rating: PG-13
Universe:TVXQ
Pairing: JaeChun
Chapter: One-shot
Archive: Here, jaechun_ywh and hug______
Genre: Attempted crack
Author's Disclaimer: This fanfic is done solely for entertainment, with no profits derived.
Summary: I'm cold, my tummy hurts, am too lazy to work and une_topaze pointed me to the DBSK Random Pairing Prompt Generator and it gave me Jaejoong x Yoochun / Flowers. I aimed for odd and whimsical. I got plain odd instead. (Yoochun loves Ricky, he swears. And Yunho needs a raise)
Yoochun thinks there ought to be a dictionary somewhere out there, that Holy Grail of all dictionaries except, instead of deciphering the meaning of words, it would demystify only one entry; Kim Jaejoong. In fact, and he warmed to the idea nicely once it stuck in his head - he swatted the annoyance buzzing around him and ignored the screech of pain from one whacked Junsu - in fact, that magical dictionary was probably a single edition volume, bound in leather and stamped with faded gold lettering, stuck behind cheesy paperback novels of the Mills&Boon kind (and it was only just once, but Ricky still liked to bring that story up during Christmas gatherings, the little bastard) and gathering dust in an obscure bookstore. The bookstore itself would be a hole in the wall, stuck between a record shop and a pizza joint in some town with a population of 250, including the cows, and it wouldn't be on any map, anywhere, because that would be convenient. And Jaejoong didn't do 'convenient' like Changmin didn't do 'respect to his band member elders' - it simply wasn't in their genetic makeup.
And, he twirled his pen between fingers ink-and-nicotine-stained, completely oblivious when his rhythm dropped and his pen flew, hitting Yunho at the back of the head (their fearless leader shrieked like a girl and wailed about the unfairness of life and term papers), he'll find that dictionary after months of fruitless searching, of nights spent on park benches and running down dark alleys (crap, he was good at this; he ought to turn it into a story or something). And after paying the shopkeeper an unholy amount because shopkeepers of that kind were either fairies (of the magical type) who liked to drop cryptic hints and demand firstborns, or just plain money-hungry bastards who knew a desperate man when they see one, he'd hold the fabled dictionary in his hands and he'd feel a tingle down his arms and to his toes, goosebumps prickling his skin.
"Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about," Yoochun muttered, rolling around on the sofa and accidentally kicking Junsu again (causing Ronaldinho to slip and fall and England to score the winning goal but that's alright because it was just a video game). "It's all about the tingles. And the prickles."
"Yunho-hyung! Yoochun keeps hitting me! And he's cursing me in English! I know he is! Do something!"
"They don't pay me enough! Do it yourself!"
"I hate you!"
And it would be a magical moment, because the key to finding out what Jaejoong was, what made the man tick and giggle and spout random and completely inappropriate comments at precisely the wrong time and why he, the Micky Yoochun to be so completely besotted with the insane man, was in his hands. Trumpets would blow (and he'd get some blowing action himself too once he had the answer, Yoochun leered and Changmin moaned something about virgin eyes and being too young to die), confetti would be raining and they'd name that day, 'Yoochun Day' and he'd gingerly open the fragile book, breath caught somewhere between throat and chest and---
"Just one page!" he screamed in horror , writhing in agony, and Yunho sobbed into his hands, quiet, pitiful sobs because he was twenty-three years old and bawling like a baby was unmanly. "There's only one, fucking page!"
And it would be bright, neon pink in color, and there would crayon squiggles all over it and none of it made sense and he got ripped off by that bastard of a shopkeeper and all that time and effort wasted when he could have been at home, shagging and getting shagged and-! The injustice! The cruelty! The horror!
"Yoochun, what the hell is wrong with you? And why did you make Yunho cry again?"
Yoochun peered up, head hanging off the edge of the sofa, legs sticking out, arms flopping limply by his side to smile weakly into the face of his beloved.
"Tomorrow's Valentine's Day," he moaned ('whined', Changmin pointed out, but he was ignored), "And I don't know what kind of flowers to get you."
"So you saw fit to give Junsu bruises and spoil his videogame time, traumatise poor, innocent Changmin--" ("Rumors of my innocence are greatly exaggerated hyung, but if it makes me your favourite, please go ahead and believe in that lie.") "--and disrupt Yunho's study time when you know he's aiming for the dean's award?" An eyebrow was raised, arms were crossed and Yoochun moaned again ('whimpered', Changmin clarified helpfully).
"But I love you and want to make you happy but I don't know what flowers are your favourite!"
Jaejoong rolled his eyes and swatted him affably. "I like white lilies you greasy Romeo," he sighed.
Yoochun blinked, felt somewhat cheated that all he had needed to do was just ask - shouldn't love between two men such as they are, Youngwoong Jaejoong and Micky Yoochun, be more...dramatic? Difficult? Of scaling Mt Fuji level difficult? - and repeated ('dumbly', Changmin nodded. 'You look dumb'.), "White lilies? Why white?"
A sorrow-laden sigh heaved Jaejoong's chest, ruffling his dark bangs (and his stylists were waging a war of epic proportions with the Heaven's Postman stylists because a TVXQ member not changing his hairstyle at least once in a month was a sin of biblical magnitude), and he pointed out, matter-of-factly, "Because--
"Yes? Yes? Go on!" Yoochun urged, dribbling down the sofa and pooling adoringly in a puddle of greasy goo around Jaejoong's feet. Here it is! Here was the answer! An answer to a simple question only but it would be meaningful. It would hint at the depths and layers that made up his lover, that would give him at least, the key to understand this bright, mercurial beauty who warmed his cold, bitter heart and fed him late night snacks!
"--because I look good in white. Duh."
The End.
A/N: You do not need to tell me I fail. I know I fail. I fail of epic magnitude OTZ But just for the record, I have that dictionary right at my bedside table and it is pink.
Rating: PG-13
Universe:TVXQ
Pairing: JaeChun
Chapter: One-shot
Archive: Here, jaechun_ywh and hug______
Genre: Attempted crack
Author's Disclaimer: This fanfic is done solely for entertainment, with no profits derived.
Summary: I'm cold, my tummy hurts, am too lazy to work and une_topaze pointed me to the DBSK Random Pairing Prompt Generator and it gave me Jaejoong x Yoochun / Flowers. I aimed for odd and whimsical. I got plain odd instead. (Yoochun loves Ricky, he swears. And Yunho needs a raise)
Yoochun thinks there ought to be a dictionary somewhere out there, that Holy Grail of all dictionaries except, instead of deciphering the meaning of words, it would demystify only one entry; Kim Jaejoong. In fact, and he warmed to the idea nicely once it stuck in his head - he swatted the annoyance buzzing around him and ignored the screech of pain from one whacked Junsu - in fact, that magical dictionary was probably a single edition volume, bound in leather and stamped with faded gold lettering, stuck behind cheesy paperback novels of the Mills&Boon kind (and it was only just once, but Ricky still liked to bring that story up during Christmas gatherings, the little bastard) and gathering dust in an obscure bookstore. The bookstore itself would be a hole in the wall, stuck between a record shop and a pizza joint in some town with a population of 250, including the cows, and it wouldn't be on any map, anywhere, because that would be convenient. And Jaejoong didn't do 'convenient' like Changmin didn't do 'respect to his band member elders' - it simply wasn't in their genetic makeup.
And, he twirled his pen between fingers ink-and-nicotine-stained, completely oblivious when his rhythm dropped and his pen flew, hitting Yunho at the back of the head (their fearless leader shrieked like a girl and wailed about the unfairness of life and term papers), he'll find that dictionary after months of fruitless searching, of nights spent on park benches and running down dark alleys (crap, he was good at this; he ought to turn it into a story or something). And after paying the shopkeeper an unholy amount because shopkeepers of that kind were either fairies (of the magical type) who liked to drop cryptic hints and demand firstborns, or just plain money-hungry bastards who knew a desperate man when they see one, he'd hold the fabled dictionary in his hands and he'd feel a tingle down his arms and to his toes, goosebumps prickling his skin.
"Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about," Yoochun muttered, rolling around on the sofa and accidentally kicking Junsu again (causing Ronaldinho to slip and fall and England to score the winning goal but that's alright because it was just a video game). "It's all about the tingles. And the prickles."
"Yunho-hyung! Yoochun keeps hitting me! And he's cursing me in English! I know he is! Do something!"
"They don't pay me enough! Do it yourself!"
"I hate you!"
And it would be a magical moment, because the key to finding out what Jaejoong was, what made the man tick and giggle and spout random and completely inappropriate comments at precisely the wrong time and why he, the Micky Yoochun to be so completely besotted with the insane man, was in his hands. Trumpets would blow (and he'd get some blowing action himself too once he had the answer, Yoochun leered and Changmin moaned something about virgin eyes and being too young to die), confetti would be raining and they'd name that day, 'Yoochun Day' and he'd gingerly open the fragile book, breath caught somewhere between throat and chest and---
"Just one page!" he screamed in horror , writhing in agony, and Yunho sobbed into his hands, quiet, pitiful sobs because he was twenty-three years old and bawling like a baby was unmanly. "There's only one, fucking page!"
And it would be bright, neon pink in color, and there would crayon squiggles all over it and none of it made sense and he got ripped off by that bastard of a shopkeeper and all that time and effort wasted when he could have been at home, shagging and getting shagged and-! The injustice! The cruelty! The horror!
"Yoochun, what the hell is wrong with you? And why did you make Yunho cry again?"
Yoochun peered up, head hanging off the edge of the sofa, legs sticking out, arms flopping limply by his side to smile weakly into the face of his beloved.
"Tomorrow's Valentine's Day," he moaned ('whined', Changmin pointed out, but he was ignored), "And I don't know what kind of flowers to get you."
"So you saw fit to give Junsu bruises and spoil his videogame time, traumatise poor, innocent Changmin--" ("Rumors of my innocence are greatly exaggerated hyung, but if it makes me your favourite, please go ahead and believe in that lie.") "--and disrupt Yunho's study time when you know he's aiming for the dean's award?" An eyebrow was raised, arms were crossed and Yoochun moaned again ('whimpered', Changmin clarified helpfully).
"But I love you and want to make you happy but I don't know what flowers are your favourite!"
Jaejoong rolled his eyes and swatted him affably. "I like white lilies you greasy Romeo," he sighed.
Yoochun blinked, felt somewhat cheated that all he had needed to do was just ask - shouldn't love between two men such as they are, Youngwoong Jaejoong and Micky Yoochun, be more...dramatic? Difficult? Of scaling Mt Fuji level difficult? - and repeated ('dumbly', Changmin nodded. 'You look dumb'.), "White lilies? Why white?"
A sorrow-laden sigh heaved Jaejoong's chest, ruffling his dark bangs (and his stylists were waging a war of epic proportions with the Heaven's Postman stylists because a TVXQ member not changing his hairstyle at least once in a month was a sin of biblical magnitude), and he pointed out, matter-of-factly, "Because--
"Yes? Yes? Go on!" Yoochun urged, dribbling down the sofa and pooling adoringly in a puddle of greasy goo around Jaejoong's feet. Here it is! Here was the answer! An answer to a simple question only but it would be meaningful. It would hint at the depths and layers that made up his lover, that would give him at least, the key to understand this bright, mercurial beauty who warmed his cold, bitter heart and fed him late night snacks!
"--because I look good in white. Duh."
The End.
A/N: You do not need to tell me I fail. I know I fail. I fail of epic magnitude OTZ But just for the record, I have that dictionary right at my bedside table and it is pink.