Where We're Going
Title: Where We're Going
Pairing: Yoosu
Genre: Angst, Romance?
Length: Oneshot
Rating: PG
note: probably contains many errors. i did not reread it to correct them. sorry.
First time
The Bart car rattles now and then, shifting its weight on the rails as it speeds towards the other side of the city. Yoochun sits with his mother, younger brother safely asleep in her arms. He is only slightly fascinated by the speed of the world as it rushes past his window, disappearing into a darkness that frightens him enough to shake his attention when they dip into the first of several tunnels underground. He is only five, his brother younger still, but surprisingly calm for a two year old. As it is, Yoohwan sleeps through nearly all of his first ride on Bart, a ride that both worries and excites Yoochun.
When he is finished cowering into his unresponsive mother, finally having decided that the darkness outside is alright as long as the lights stay on inside, his young eyes scan for something new of interest. There is little on Bart to keep the attention of young children, and as the initial joy recedes Yoochun finds himself more bored then anything else. At length his eyes catch site of another young boy, maybe his own age, maybe younger, but it doesn’t matter to him so much as long as he’s taller, which he is. In fact, the other boy isn’t so much short as he is small, with tiny hands and tiny arms that make him look younger than he is.
It is clear that this is not the other boy’s first ride, as it is Yoochun’s, for he takes a seat that seems familiar to him, his mother letting him choose but seeming already to know which seat he’ll take. This is a routine, even if Yoochun himself doesn’t notice. Other than the obvious difference in experience, Yoochun a first timer, the other boy a repeat Bart system user at just barely 5 years old, there is one other fact that separates the boys. Yoochun is on his way to his first day of school, and the other boy is not. Where he is going, Yoochun can only guess.
For a short while Yoochun is able to keep from moving toward the new stranger, if only because he is nervous, and the other boy seems to be deep in thought, much too subdued for a five year old. As the minutes tick by however, he finds he can’t control himself. When his mother isn’t looking, which she hasn’t been the entire time, but Yoochun hesitates a few seconds just in case, he gets up carefully, and walks down past the two rows of seats that separate them. He shies away from a teenage girl who glares at him via her reflection in the window, and almost trips, but makes it to the space in front of the other boy’s seat.
The other’s mother sees him, and sends him a soft smile, almost encouraging, but somewhat unsure. Yoochun takes this as a good sign and directs his attention to the other boy. This boy has soft hair and soft, brown eyes. Everything about him is soft and fragile even, as if being small has made him weak. Yoochun pays no attention to such things. Instead he pulls on a bright smile.
“Hi. I’m Yoochun.” He waits, but the other doesn’t respond, staring down at his too small hands instead. The mother looks worried but hopeful.
“Say hello to Yoochun, Junsu honey. He’s being very nice to come over and say hello to you.” With his mother’s prodding, Junsu looks up, meeting Yoochun’s smiling eyes. Yoochun’s smile falters, fearful, when he sees the sadness and anger in the smaller boy’s eyes.
“He’s not helping.” Junsu says, pouting and angry, before muttering a soft hello and looking back down at his hands. Yoochun is frozen for a moment, to afraid of the angry boy before him to move, the mother’s eyes full of silent apologies. His own mother’s voice calls out to him.
“Yoochun? We’re leaving now.” When he doesn’t move she grabs his arm firmly and pulls him away, apologizing to Junsu’s mother. “Leave them alone Yoochun. Now come on.” Junsu remains silent and distant as Yoochun is pulled away.
I know you
Yoochun is ten, and he is already taking the Bart on his own. It no longer fascinates him, but some of the passengers make him nervous, and so he is careful about where he sits. The wonders of childhood have faded quickly for him, and he has become a much more silent child, drawing into himself. Now as he sits on his own, looking around at the few other passengers, his eyes happen to catch on one of them. It takes him a minute, for his five year old memories are buried deep, but finally he draws up a picture of a small, frail child with soft hair and a heart full of anger and confusion.
The seat is the same he realizes, but the boy is different. The other is also riding alone this time, a small shoulder bag resting the seat where his worried mother had been the first time. As he stares, taking in the boy who has yet to notice him, and probably won’t, he wonders if the anger is still there. He is only ten, so his thoughts are not so complicated, still more emotion then anything, and curiosity gets the better of him.
Getting up slowly, he looks around just in case a stranger’s eyes might follow him, and then proceeds just as slowly past the few rows till he once again stands before the other boy, who is still small and frail at 10, as he was at 5. This time there is no glaring girl, but Yoochun stumbles regardless, and the other boy looks up. His hair is still soft, but the eyes are harder, if only slightly. The anger is gone, however, and has been replaced with a thoughtful but somewhat determined expression. These hard determined eyes scan Yoochun silently, and the recognition it there, showing unbidden in the other boy’s face.
“I know you.” The statement holds nothing but selfassurance, as if the boy is telling himself that it is so, instead of informing Yoochun. Yoochun does not smile this time, but his expression is open, curious.
“You aren’t angry anymore. Feeling better?” The other boy pauses a second, thinking it over, then nods. He seems to be saying he’s feeling different, not better, but it is apparent that he won’t elaborate. “Oh. That’s good then.” Yoochun waits a little longer, then simply turns and walks back to his seat, curiosity satisfied. Neither boy knows the other’s name, for both have forgotten, but the act of “knowing” one another will be remembered. They are both aware of it, that they will continue to know each other, whether or not they see each other again. As they sit alone, only Junsu is trying to remember the forgotten name. Yoochun himself has already moved on.
Anger
At 14, Yoochun has become a teenager he would probably not have envisioned at 5 or 10. He is the kind that dates the girl who glares at children on Bart, or the kind that wishes he could, for he’s still not quite old enough for that, not quite together enough to see girls that way, and he doesn’t know that he never will yet. When he tosses himself into a seat on Bart, he is no longer nervous, and he no longer pays any attention to the passengers. He has drawn into himself completely in the last four years, and when he hid away his soft hearted emotions, what surfaced was an attitude he wasn’t aware of, and a hatred of the world. His parents were divorced now, his brother struggling, and he was already working for what little money he could bring in to help his mother support them.
This time around, the other boy was not there when Yoochun got on, but entered the Bart car a stop later than usual. When he got to the seat he always took, he was surprised to see Yoochun sitting there. Not surprised because it was Yoochun, for he could not yet recognize the face of the 5 year old who once tried to befriend him, but surprised because the seat had never before been taken by someone else. He was well aware that others sat in it when he was gone, but he had never once met one of those imagined seat-borrowers. For reasons unknown he’d grown attached to the specific seat, and now he was struggling to come up with a logical reason to ask Yoochun to move.
Yoochun, for his part, was listening to music, and did not notice the other boy at first. When the other finally mustered up the courage to tap Yoochun’s shoulder, he still had not figured out who it was he was tapping. Yoochun looked up, pulling one of his head phones out in annoyance, and paused only a second when his angry eyes met the still slightly soft eyes of the other boy, slightly soft eyes that still held some of that determination, but it was worn determination now, as if something had strained it, tired it out. Dismissing the recognition, he glared up at the other boy, defiant and uncaring.
“What?” The other boy faltered. He saw buried beneath the anger a familiar face, and he was surprised to find that it was now Yoochun who seemed upset with the world. It was a turn of events he had not expected, not that he’d thought on it all that often.
“You’re… you’re in my seat. I’m sorry but I always sit there…” Yoochun could see that the other was still fragile, maybe even more so now at 14 because it was suddenly more noticeable, and it almost broke through to that emotional side he’d hidden away. He quickly reinforced the wall he’d built himself, and his gaze hardened.
“So what. Sit somewhere else.” The other boy did not argue, easily defeated, but the sadness the rose in his eyes made Yoochun falter. He watched as the other boy moved to a row further back and curled into himself. Yoochun could tell the boy was crying, because when he finally lifted his head to gaze into the blackness of the tunnel, the streaks of tears down his soft cheeks glittered slightly in his reflection in the window. Although Yoochun did not move until his stop came, he would forever regret not giving up that seat, and he would never forget the feeling of having stolen something from someone who so clearly needed a shoulder to lean on.
Friends?
Yoochun was 17. He’d moved out early, and now his bitterness was gone. He was still quiet, but there was a sense about him that if he only met the right people his personality would bloom like a flower before them, brilliant and beautiful and kind. He viewed the Bart as an old friend now, he was so used to riding it. He did not dedicate special attention to it, but he didn’t throw himself uncaring into a seat as he once had. This time, he had known walking on that the other boy would be there. He’d had a feeling, when he saw the familiar car, that they would meet again. Truthfully, he speculated that the other boy, a young man now, probably rode Bart every day, always sitting in the same seat. Yoochun also rode Bart nearly every day, but he had probably been in almost every seat in every other car at least once. This specific car he’d only ridden in 3 times before. He remembered the number exactly, because each time he’d run into the other boy. Of all the seats he’d sat in, there was only one he ever regretted taking. It was in this car, and as he stepped inside, he saw instantly that it was occupied.
Without bothering to pick a different seat, he made his way straight toward the familiar boy. When he reached the boy, he was sleeping, head resting against the back of his seat, and Yoochun took the moment to look him over again. He was still small, still fragile looking to Yoochun despite the subtle definition of muscles lining his arms. His hair was still soft, but dyed a gentle brown now. He looked tired, and Yoochun wondered what hid under the closed eyelids. Would the sadness still be there? Would there be determination as before? Anger? He slid into the seat across from the boy, and was content to watch him breath. Though his memory was fuzzy, he could still see the confused five year old in the 17 years old’s sleeping form. In each rise and fall of his chest was the smaller shift of a five year old’s shoulders.
With Yoochun’s eyes on him, it did not take long for the other boy to stir, slowly opening his eyes. Yoochun watched, curious once more, and had to fight back a frown at what he saw. The eyes were not soft or hard, but nearly dead, the determination gone completely, like a candle blown out.
“Hey.” Yoochun greeted gently. The recognition flared again between them. The “knowing” they’d both felt at 10 was still strong between them. The other boy nodded, an almost smile forming on his face.
“You’re not angry anymore. Feeling better?” The echo of 10 year old Yoochun’s words struck a chord of memory inside him, and his own eyes softened.
“I’m sorry about that day. I was at war with the world, and you just happened to be in it. I didn’t mean to.” Make you cry… Yoochun looked at the other apologetically, and it did not escape him that this was the most they’d ever said to each other. The other boy paused a second, then simply nodded, accepting the apology. For a few minutes they continued in silence, before a thought suddenly occurred to the other boy.
“Your name… What was it? I remember you introduced yourself once, but now I can’t remember.” Yoochun laughed a little at this.
“You were five, and not very happy with me if I remember. It’s Yoochun.” The other boy smiled a little, but it was a sad smile.
“Oh yeah, I remember. It wasn’t you.” Yoochun’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“It wasn’t me?” The other boy shook his head.
“I wasn’t angry at you. It was… something else. How did you put it? At war with the world? That was me back then.” His smile grew a little brighter. “I didn’t mean to.” Scare you that way… Yoochun nods.
“That’s alright. I was never the bravest kid, and I thought I’d done something wrong. I’d never see a boy my age display an emotion that way.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, trying to bring back another part of that memory. The mother, worried, hopeful… Encouraging her son.
“Junsu.” The other boy, whose gaze had drifted out the window, turned back to him.
“Hmm?” Yoochun smiled, successful.
“So that was your name. I never asked you, but your mother said it once.” The silence that encompassed them then held and air of newly formed friendship in it. The “knowing” had deepened. When Yoochun got up to go this time, he briefly rested his hand on Junsu’s shoulder, his own form of goodbye. But more than a goodbye, it was a promise. I’ll see you again. He even smiled as he stumbled on his way out.
Crying
Only a year had passed when that silent promise was fulfilled. Now 18, Yoochun had remained much the same, unchanged by only one more year of life. Junsu, however, had changed. He was weaker, tired, lifeless as he leaned into the seat looking like he might collapse if he didn’t have it there to support him. Yoochun frowned, worried as he made his way back to the familiar seat. He sat down, and when Junsu raised his eyes, sad, full of defeat and accompanied by a shaky hand that reached out in a way it never had before, Yoochun felt an unfamiliar pull in his heart, something he failed to recognize even as he felt himself moving to the seat next to Junsu rather than the one across from him.
“Junsu?” The boy rocked forward, hiding his face in his hands, and Yoochun recognized the posture. The shock of his memory rendered him motionless for a moment. Junsu was crying again, but this time he knew it wasn’t his fault. When he reached out any hesitation he might have felt was gone. The nervous 5 year old was gone. Yoochun had grown into a strong independent young man, and now he desperately wished to share that strength with the boy who had never seemed to possess an ounce of it.
He pulled Junsu’s body toward him, and was only slightly surprised when the boy moved easily, hiding his face in the crook of Yoochun’s neck as he moved his hands to grasp at the stronger boy’s shirt. Yoochun frowned, confused, hurting inside though he wasn’t sure why. A question weighed heavily on his mind suddenly.
“Jusnu… where… where are you always going? Never to school… where…?” A small piece of paper caught his eye from where it had fallen to the floor. It said only two words, but Yoochun was sure it had dropped from Junsu’s hands. Hospital. Urgent. Yoochun felt his breath catch, suddenly noticing that Junsu didn’t just look fragile, he felt that way in Yoochun’s arms. The words whispered into his skin were almost too soft to hear.
“You came. I was hoping you’d come today, and you came.”
“…Why me?” Yoochun managed to speak the words, though his mind was still busy pushing away the frightening words on the abandoned note.
“Because there is no one else.”
Yoochun wished he did not have to leave that day.
Tomorrow
When Yoochun stepped on the same Bart car the next day, he was unsure of what to expect. What he did not expect was the empty seat. He approached it anyway, stunned as he was, and this time when he stumbled he very nearly fell. He stood the entire ride, just staring at the space that should have held a familiar figure. He did not notice when he missed his stop, but he did remember the only stop close to a hospital, and when the doors of the Bart car opened he sprinted out of them, shoving people out of his way. He had asthma, but he ignored his straining lungs as he sprinted the several blocks it took to reach the hospital, praying that he was heading the right direction, and simultaneously praying that he was wrong.
Several people yelled at him when he burst through the doors, but he couldn’t be bother to stop and apologize. They understood anyway. There is only ever one reason why people run into a hospital if they aren’t injured, and it is not a good one. For a second Yoochun was forced to stop when he realized he had no idea where in the hospital he was going. Fate stepped in then, and as he bent over to rest his hands on his knees, breathing hard, he happened to glance down the hall he’d stopped in front of.
Junsu was practically screaming, but the pain did not come from an illness or injury, it came from his heart. He was fighting with the hospital’s version of security, throwing mindless punches that were easily dodged, growing stronger suddenly in his weakest moment. Yoochun did not understand, because he had never asked, but he did not need to know. Instead he forced his lungs to function and ran again, pushing himself down the hall and wrapping strong arms around Junsu’s struggling form. He pulled the boy away, turning him so that they were facing each other before pulling him close. He held him tightly as the tremors in Junus’s body gradually ceased and his fight slowed into a desperate clinging.
“Shhhh… I’m here Junsu. I’m here.” He whispered it into the boy’s ear, and finally loosened his grip slightly, letting Junsu pull back. He did not expect the boy’s arms to wind around his neck, or that Junsu would pull him close again only to kiss him, deep and needy, searching for anything to hold him up.
Yoochun promised then that he would never let go.
--
Deceased: Kim Junho
Age: 18 years
Cause: Unknown
--
Angry and confused, because at 5 he did not understand
Determined, at 10, to help his brother make it through
Tired, at 14, because all his best efforts were failing
Dying inside, at 16, 17, 18, because there was nothing more he could do
--
That seat you always sat in… why…?
My brother only ever rode Bart once. He was unconscious at that time, but that was his seat.
Pairing: Yoosu
Genre: Angst, Romance?
Length: Oneshot
Rating: PG
note: probably contains many errors. i did not reread it to correct them. sorry.
First time
The Bart car rattles now and then, shifting its weight on the rails as it speeds towards the other side of the city. Yoochun sits with his mother, younger brother safely asleep in her arms. He is only slightly fascinated by the speed of the world as it rushes past his window, disappearing into a darkness that frightens him enough to shake his attention when they dip into the first of several tunnels underground. He is only five, his brother younger still, but surprisingly calm for a two year old. As it is, Yoohwan sleeps through nearly all of his first ride on Bart, a ride that both worries and excites Yoochun.
When he is finished cowering into his unresponsive mother, finally having decided that the darkness outside is alright as long as the lights stay on inside, his young eyes scan for something new of interest. There is little on Bart to keep the attention of young children, and as the initial joy recedes Yoochun finds himself more bored then anything else. At length his eyes catch site of another young boy, maybe his own age, maybe younger, but it doesn’t matter to him so much as long as he’s taller, which he is. In fact, the other boy isn’t so much short as he is small, with tiny hands and tiny arms that make him look younger than he is.
It is clear that this is not the other boy’s first ride, as it is Yoochun’s, for he takes a seat that seems familiar to him, his mother letting him choose but seeming already to know which seat he’ll take. This is a routine, even if Yoochun himself doesn’t notice. Other than the obvious difference in experience, Yoochun a first timer, the other boy a repeat Bart system user at just barely 5 years old, there is one other fact that separates the boys. Yoochun is on his way to his first day of school, and the other boy is not. Where he is going, Yoochun can only guess.
For a short while Yoochun is able to keep from moving toward the new stranger, if only because he is nervous, and the other boy seems to be deep in thought, much too subdued for a five year old. As the minutes tick by however, he finds he can’t control himself. When his mother isn’t looking, which she hasn’t been the entire time, but Yoochun hesitates a few seconds just in case, he gets up carefully, and walks down past the two rows of seats that separate them. He shies away from a teenage girl who glares at him via her reflection in the window, and almost trips, but makes it to the space in front of the other boy’s seat.
The other’s mother sees him, and sends him a soft smile, almost encouraging, but somewhat unsure. Yoochun takes this as a good sign and directs his attention to the other boy. This boy has soft hair and soft, brown eyes. Everything about him is soft and fragile even, as if being small has made him weak. Yoochun pays no attention to such things. Instead he pulls on a bright smile.
“Hi. I’m Yoochun.” He waits, but the other doesn’t respond, staring down at his too small hands instead. The mother looks worried but hopeful.
“Say hello to Yoochun, Junsu honey. He’s being very nice to come over and say hello to you.” With his mother’s prodding, Junsu looks up, meeting Yoochun’s smiling eyes. Yoochun’s smile falters, fearful, when he sees the sadness and anger in the smaller boy’s eyes.
“He’s not helping.” Junsu says, pouting and angry, before muttering a soft hello and looking back down at his hands. Yoochun is frozen for a moment, to afraid of the angry boy before him to move, the mother’s eyes full of silent apologies. His own mother’s voice calls out to him.
“Yoochun? We’re leaving now.” When he doesn’t move she grabs his arm firmly and pulls him away, apologizing to Junsu’s mother. “Leave them alone Yoochun. Now come on.” Junsu remains silent and distant as Yoochun is pulled away.
I know you
Yoochun is ten, and he is already taking the Bart on his own. It no longer fascinates him, but some of the passengers make him nervous, and so he is careful about where he sits. The wonders of childhood have faded quickly for him, and he has become a much more silent child, drawing into himself. Now as he sits on his own, looking around at the few other passengers, his eyes happen to catch on one of them. It takes him a minute, for his five year old memories are buried deep, but finally he draws up a picture of a small, frail child with soft hair and a heart full of anger and confusion.
The seat is the same he realizes, but the boy is different. The other is also riding alone this time, a small shoulder bag resting the seat where his worried mother had been the first time. As he stares, taking in the boy who has yet to notice him, and probably won’t, he wonders if the anger is still there. He is only ten, so his thoughts are not so complicated, still more emotion then anything, and curiosity gets the better of him.
Getting up slowly, he looks around just in case a stranger’s eyes might follow him, and then proceeds just as slowly past the few rows till he once again stands before the other boy, who is still small and frail at 10, as he was at 5. This time there is no glaring girl, but Yoochun stumbles regardless, and the other boy looks up. His hair is still soft, but the eyes are harder, if only slightly. The anger is gone, however, and has been replaced with a thoughtful but somewhat determined expression. These hard determined eyes scan Yoochun silently, and the recognition it there, showing unbidden in the other boy’s face.
“I know you.” The statement holds nothing but selfassurance, as if the boy is telling himself that it is so, instead of informing Yoochun. Yoochun does not smile this time, but his expression is open, curious.
“You aren’t angry anymore. Feeling better?” The other boy pauses a second, thinking it over, then nods. He seems to be saying he’s feeling different, not better, but it is apparent that he won’t elaborate. “Oh. That’s good then.” Yoochun waits a little longer, then simply turns and walks back to his seat, curiosity satisfied. Neither boy knows the other’s name, for both have forgotten, but the act of “knowing” one another will be remembered. They are both aware of it, that they will continue to know each other, whether or not they see each other again. As they sit alone, only Junsu is trying to remember the forgotten name. Yoochun himself has already moved on.
Anger
At 14, Yoochun has become a teenager he would probably not have envisioned at 5 or 10. He is the kind that dates the girl who glares at children on Bart, or the kind that wishes he could, for he’s still not quite old enough for that, not quite together enough to see girls that way, and he doesn’t know that he never will yet. When he tosses himself into a seat on Bart, he is no longer nervous, and he no longer pays any attention to the passengers. He has drawn into himself completely in the last four years, and when he hid away his soft hearted emotions, what surfaced was an attitude he wasn’t aware of, and a hatred of the world. His parents were divorced now, his brother struggling, and he was already working for what little money he could bring in to help his mother support them.
This time around, the other boy was not there when Yoochun got on, but entered the Bart car a stop later than usual. When he got to the seat he always took, he was surprised to see Yoochun sitting there. Not surprised because it was Yoochun, for he could not yet recognize the face of the 5 year old who once tried to befriend him, but surprised because the seat had never before been taken by someone else. He was well aware that others sat in it when he was gone, but he had never once met one of those imagined seat-borrowers. For reasons unknown he’d grown attached to the specific seat, and now he was struggling to come up with a logical reason to ask Yoochun to move.
Yoochun, for his part, was listening to music, and did not notice the other boy at first. When the other finally mustered up the courage to tap Yoochun’s shoulder, he still had not figured out who it was he was tapping. Yoochun looked up, pulling one of his head phones out in annoyance, and paused only a second when his angry eyes met the still slightly soft eyes of the other boy, slightly soft eyes that still held some of that determination, but it was worn determination now, as if something had strained it, tired it out. Dismissing the recognition, he glared up at the other boy, defiant and uncaring.
“What?” The other boy faltered. He saw buried beneath the anger a familiar face, and he was surprised to find that it was now Yoochun who seemed upset with the world. It was a turn of events he had not expected, not that he’d thought on it all that often.
“You’re… you’re in my seat. I’m sorry but I always sit there…” Yoochun could see that the other was still fragile, maybe even more so now at 14 because it was suddenly more noticeable, and it almost broke through to that emotional side he’d hidden away. He quickly reinforced the wall he’d built himself, and his gaze hardened.
“So what. Sit somewhere else.” The other boy did not argue, easily defeated, but the sadness the rose in his eyes made Yoochun falter. He watched as the other boy moved to a row further back and curled into himself. Yoochun could tell the boy was crying, because when he finally lifted his head to gaze into the blackness of the tunnel, the streaks of tears down his soft cheeks glittered slightly in his reflection in the window. Although Yoochun did not move until his stop came, he would forever regret not giving up that seat, and he would never forget the feeling of having stolen something from someone who so clearly needed a shoulder to lean on.
Friends?
Yoochun was 17. He’d moved out early, and now his bitterness was gone. He was still quiet, but there was a sense about him that if he only met the right people his personality would bloom like a flower before them, brilliant and beautiful and kind. He viewed the Bart as an old friend now, he was so used to riding it. He did not dedicate special attention to it, but he didn’t throw himself uncaring into a seat as he once had. This time, he had known walking on that the other boy would be there. He’d had a feeling, when he saw the familiar car, that they would meet again. Truthfully, he speculated that the other boy, a young man now, probably rode Bart every day, always sitting in the same seat. Yoochun also rode Bart nearly every day, but he had probably been in almost every seat in every other car at least once. This specific car he’d only ridden in 3 times before. He remembered the number exactly, because each time he’d run into the other boy. Of all the seats he’d sat in, there was only one he ever regretted taking. It was in this car, and as he stepped inside, he saw instantly that it was occupied.
Without bothering to pick a different seat, he made his way straight toward the familiar boy. When he reached the boy, he was sleeping, head resting against the back of his seat, and Yoochun took the moment to look him over again. He was still small, still fragile looking to Yoochun despite the subtle definition of muscles lining his arms. His hair was still soft, but dyed a gentle brown now. He looked tired, and Yoochun wondered what hid under the closed eyelids. Would the sadness still be there? Would there be determination as before? Anger? He slid into the seat across from the boy, and was content to watch him breath. Though his memory was fuzzy, he could still see the confused five year old in the 17 years old’s sleeping form. In each rise and fall of his chest was the smaller shift of a five year old’s shoulders.
With Yoochun’s eyes on him, it did not take long for the other boy to stir, slowly opening his eyes. Yoochun watched, curious once more, and had to fight back a frown at what he saw. The eyes were not soft or hard, but nearly dead, the determination gone completely, like a candle blown out.
“Hey.” Yoochun greeted gently. The recognition flared again between them. The “knowing” they’d both felt at 10 was still strong between them. The other boy nodded, an almost smile forming on his face.
“You’re not angry anymore. Feeling better?” The echo of 10 year old Yoochun’s words struck a chord of memory inside him, and his own eyes softened.
“I’m sorry about that day. I was at war with the world, and you just happened to be in it. I didn’t mean to.” Make you cry… Yoochun looked at the other apologetically, and it did not escape him that this was the most they’d ever said to each other. The other boy paused a second, then simply nodded, accepting the apology. For a few minutes they continued in silence, before a thought suddenly occurred to the other boy.
“Your name… What was it? I remember you introduced yourself once, but now I can’t remember.” Yoochun laughed a little at this.
“You were five, and not very happy with me if I remember. It’s Yoochun.” The other boy smiled a little, but it was a sad smile.
“Oh yeah, I remember. It wasn’t you.” Yoochun’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“It wasn’t me?” The other boy shook his head.
“I wasn’t angry at you. It was… something else. How did you put it? At war with the world? That was me back then.” His smile grew a little brighter. “I didn’t mean to.” Scare you that way… Yoochun nods.
“That’s alright. I was never the bravest kid, and I thought I’d done something wrong. I’d never see a boy my age display an emotion that way.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, trying to bring back another part of that memory. The mother, worried, hopeful… Encouraging her son.
“Junsu.” The other boy, whose gaze had drifted out the window, turned back to him.
“Hmm?” Yoochun smiled, successful.
“So that was your name. I never asked you, but your mother said it once.” The silence that encompassed them then held and air of newly formed friendship in it. The “knowing” had deepened. When Yoochun got up to go this time, he briefly rested his hand on Junsu’s shoulder, his own form of goodbye. But more than a goodbye, it was a promise. I’ll see you again. He even smiled as he stumbled on his way out.
Crying
Only a year had passed when that silent promise was fulfilled. Now 18, Yoochun had remained much the same, unchanged by only one more year of life. Junsu, however, had changed. He was weaker, tired, lifeless as he leaned into the seat looking like he might collapse if he didn’t have it there to support him. Yoochun frowned, worried as he made his way back to the familiar seat. He sat down, and when Junsu raised his eyes, sad, full of defeat and accompanied by a shaky hand that reached out in a way it never had before, Yoochun felt an unfamiliar pull in his heart, something he failed to recognize even as he felt himself moving to the seat next to Junsu rather than the one across from him.
“Junsu?” The boy rocked forward, hiding his face in his hands, and Yoochun recognized the posture. The shock of his memory rendered him motionless for a moment. Junsu was crying again, but this time he knew it wasn’t his fault. When he reached out any hesitation he might have felt was gone. The nervous 5 year old was gone. Yoochun had grown into a strong independent young man, and now he desperately wished to share that strength with the boy who had never seemed to possess an ounce of it.
He pulled Junsu’s body toward him, and was only slightly surprised when the boy moved easily, hiding his face in the crook of Yoochun’s neck as he moved his hands to grasp at the stronger boy’s shirt. Yoochun frowned, confused, hurting inside though he wasn’t sure why. A question weighed heavily on his mind suddenly.
“Jusnu… where… where are you always going? Never to school… where…?” A small piece of paper caught his eye from where it had fallen to the floor. It said only two words, but Yoochun was sure it had dropped from Junsu’s hands. Hospital. Urgent. Yoochun felt his breath catch, suddenly noticing that Junsu didn’t just look fragile, he felt that way in Yoochun’s arms. The words whispered into his skin were almost too soft to hear.
“You came. I was hoping you’d come today, and you came.”
“…Why me?” Yoochun managed to speak the words, though his mind was still busy pushing away the frightening words on the abandoned note.
“Because there is no one else.”
Yoochun wished he did not have to leave that day.
Tomorrow
When Yoochun stepped on the same Bart car the next day, he was unsure of what to expect. What he did not expect was the empty seat. He approached it anyway, stunned as he was, and this time when he stumbled he very nearly fell. He stood the entire ride, just staring at the space that should have held a familiar figure. He did not notice when he missed his stop, but he did remember the only stop close to a hospital, and when the doors of the Bart car opened he sprinted out of them, shoving people out of his way. He had asthma, but he ignored his straining lungs as he sprinted the several blocks it took to reach the hospital, praying that he was heading the right direction, and simultaneously praying that he was wrong.
Several people yelled at him when he burst through the doors, but he couldn’t be bother to stop and apologize. They understood anyway. There is only ever one reason why people run into a hospital if they aren’t injured, and it is not a good one. For a second Yoochun was forced to stop when he realized he had no idea where in the hospital he was going. Fate stepped in then, and as he bent over to rest his hands on his knees, breathing hard, he happened to glance down the hall he’d stopped in front of.
Junsu was practically screaming, but the pain did not come from an illness or injury, it came from his heart. He was fighting with the hospital’s version of security, throwing mindless punches that were easily dodged, growing stronger suddenly in his weakest moment. Yoochun did not understand, because he had never asked, but he did not need to know. Instead he forced his lungs to function and ran again, pushing himself down the hall and wrapping strong arms around Junsu’s struggling form. He pulled the boy away, turning him so that they were facing each other before pulling him close. He held him tightly as the tremors in Junus’s body gradually ceased and his fight slowed into a desperate clinging.
“Shhhh… I’m here Junsu. I’m here.” He whispered it into the boy’s ear, and finally loosened his grip slightly, letting Junsu pull back. He did not expect the boy’s arms to wind around his neck, or that Junsu would pull him close again only to kiss him, deep and needy, searching for anything to hold him up.
Yoochun promised then that he would never let go.
--
Deceased: Kim Junho
Age: 18 years
Cause: Unknown
--
Angry and confused, because at 5 he did not understand
Determined, at 10, to help his brother make it through
Tired, at 14, because all his best efforts were failing
Dying inside, at 16, 17, 18, because there was nothing more he could do
--
That seat you always sat in… why…?
My brother only ever rode Bart once. He was unconscious at that time, but that was his seat.