[Fic] Mortal Soul
[Fic] Mortal Soul
[Fandom] DBSK
[Pairing] Yunho/Changmin
[Rating] PG
[Genre] Angst, Romance.
[Summary] It’s times like these that Yunho is forced to feel his own morality.
Mortal Soul
It’s times like these that Yunho is forced to feel his own morality.
He’s at his house in the early morning, sitting at the kitchen table with one foot extended and wrapped with his melancholy. The sun’s barely risen, orange-reds mixing with blue outside his window at the horizon, but he feels as though so much of the day has already gone by.
The morning is quiet. In his ears he hears the faint roar of a crowd cheering.
He rubs his injured leg unconsciously, kneading at the muscles out of habit. He’s used to long days of practice comprised of hours of dancing with quick breaks collapsed on the floor. The easing of stiff muscles as he crawls into bed at night has grown to be a comfort, a reward for a job well done, and he finds himself missing the sensation.
Yunho feels his bones settling as he sits and waits. Time will heal him, but eventually it will force him to atrophy as well. After more than a quarter century alive and a few precious years of his career interrupted, he’s learned to hate stopping.
He needs to get up and run. He needs to dance across a stage. He needs to help troubled children while maybe having a few of his own. Waiting doesn’t suit him.
"I told you not to get up on your own," a voice complains from down the hall, causing Yunho to turn his head. Changmin is standing where the hallway opens into the living room, arms crossed and looking cross.
Yunho sighs. “Sorry, I got up early. Thought I would let you sleep.”
Changmin takes the seat across from Yunho. He’s in nothing but a pair of boxer-briefs, but he walks around comfortably in his state of undress.
"You should rest," Changmin tells him insistently. He takes Yunho’s hand in his, fingertips brushing gently over the bandages there. It’s insult to injury how the crutches have rubbed his hands raw.
Yunho shrugs. “I am.”
Changmin scoffs at that. “Bullshit. You didn’t even get a full night’s sleep did you?” Another shrug.
Sensing his complaints are falling on deaf ears, Changmin gets up to make tea, leaving Yunho to wallow in his frustration and self-pity alone. Yunho stares down stubbornly at the table but listens to the sound of rushing water from the faucet and then the tinny ring of the metal against metal.
Changmin comes back to try again once the stove is on.
“You’re such a busybody,” Changmin murmurs quietly. “Do you ever stop to think about how much you’ve accomplished?”
Yunho looks up at him. “Of course I do,” he fires back. “A dome tour? A world tour? 10 years and a handful of albums? None of that happened by being stuck here injured.”
Changmin nods and takes his hand again. “I know. But remember all the setbacks you had? Remember how you ran away from home to follow your dream? Or how we had to fight with the company to release an album with just the two of us? Remember how you were hospitalized and couldn’t even eat, much less perform?” Changmin shuts his eyes tight, as though it hurt to even recall that time.
Yunho’s restlessness grows quiet.
Changmin opens his doe eyes once more to gaze straight at him. “Yunho, this is nothing.”
Yunho is silent for a moment. It’s true, he recalls. There’s been much worse than this, times that took weeks, months even, to right himself. He’s felt closer to death than some ever will, and he’s been trapped in cycles of drinking and self-hatred, but he has always recovered.
After all, it was Changmin who stayed at his bedside when he was sick, and it was Changmin who stayed with him, the two of them relearning choreography with nothing but faith to propel them forward. After everything they’ve been through together, Changmin would never let him mope over such inconsequential things for long.
His dreams are still within reach.
Yunho nods his head slowly. “You’re right,” he replies. A grin makes its way to his face.
“Of course I am,” Changmin chirps, his expression turned smug. “Now enjoy your day off. Management told me I could skip dance practice today too, just to be fair.” He leans back in his chair and stretches while letting out something between a yawn and a satisfied groan.
Yunho eyes roam over Changmin’s bare torso. “Oh?” he remarks coolly, barely concealing the arousal starting to churn. “Had any plans in mind?”
Changmin smiles back lasciviously. “Probably the same as yours.”
The kettle screeches forgotten on the stove.
[Fandom] DBSK
[Pairing] Yunho/Changmin
[Rating] PG
[Genre] Angst, Romance.
[Summary] It’s times like these that Yunho is forced to feel his own morality.
Mortal Soul
It’s times like these that Yunho is forced to feel his own morality.
He’s at his house in the early morning, sitting at the kitchen table with one foot extended and wrapped with his melancholy. The sun’s barely risen, orange-reds mixing with blue outside his window at the horizon, but he feels as though so much of the day has already gone by.
The morning is quiet. In his ears he hears the faint roar of a crowd cheering.
He rubs his injured leg unconsciously, kneading at the muscles out of habit. He’s used to long days of practice comprised of hours of dancing with quick breaks collapsed on the floor. The easing of stiff muscles as he crawls into bed at night has grown to be a comfort, a reward for a job well done, and he finds himself missing the sensation.
Yunho feels his bones settling as he sits and waits. Time will heal him, but eventually it will force him to atrophy as well. After more than a quarter century alive and a few precious years of his career interrupted, he’s learned to hate stopping.
He needs to get up and run. He needs to dance across a stage. He needs to help troubled children while maybe having a few of his own. Waiting doesn’t suit him.
"I told you not to get up on your own," a voice complains from down the hall, causing Yunho to turn his head. Changmin is standing where the hallway opens into the living room, arms crossed and looking cross.
Yunho sighs. “Sorry, I got up early. Thought I would let you sleep.”
Changmin takes the seat across from Yunho. He’s in nothing but a pair of boxer-briefs, but he walks around comfortably in his state of undress.
"You should rest," Changmin tells him insistently. He takes Yunho’s hand in his, fingertips brushing gently over the bandages there. It’s insult to injury how the crutches have rubbed his hands raw.
Yunho shrugs. “I am.”
Changmin scoffs at that. “Bullshit. You didn’t even get a full night’s sleep did you?” Another shrug.
Sensing his complaints are falling on deaf ears, Changmin gets up to make tea, leaving Yunho to wallow in his frustration and self-pity alone. Yunho stares down stubbornly at the table but listens to the sound of rushing water from the faucet and then the tinny ring of the metal against metal.
Changmin comes back to try again once the stove is on.
“You’re such a busybody,” Changmin murmurs quietly. “Do you ever stop to think about how much you’ve accomplished?”
Yunho looks up at him. “Of course I do,” he fires back. “A dome tour? A world tour? 10 years and a handful of albums? None of that happened by being stuck here injured.”
Changmin nods and takes his hand again. “I know. But remember all the setbacks you had? Remember how you ran away from home to follow your dream? Or how we had to fight with the company to release an album with just the two of us? Remember how you were hospitalized and couldn’t even eat, much less perform?” Changmin shuts his eyes tight, as though it hurt to even recall that time.
Yunho’s restlessness grows quiet.
Changmin opens his doe eyes once more to gaze straight at him. “Yunho, this is nothing.”
Yunho is silent for a moment. It’s true, he recalls. There’s been much worse than this, times that took weeks, months even, to right himself. He’s felt closer to death than some ever will, and he’s been trapped in cycles of drinking and self-hatred, but he has always recovered.
After all, it was Changmin who stayed at his bedside when he was sick, and it was Changmin who stayed with him, the two of them relearning choreography with nothing but faith to propel them forward. After everything they’ve been through together, Changmin would never let him mope over such inconsequential things for long.
His dreams are still within reach.
Yunho nods his head slowly. “You’re right,” he replies. A grin makes its way to his face.
“Of course I am,” Changmin chirps, his expression turned smug. “Now enjoy your day off. Management told me I could skip dance practice today too, just to be fair.” He leans back in his chair and stretches while letting out something between a yawn and a satisfied groan.
Yunho eyes roam over Changmin’s bare torso. “Oh?” he remarks coolly, barely concealing the arousal starting to churn. “Had any plans in mind?”
Changmin smiles back lasciviously. “Probably the same as yours.”
The kettle screeches forgotten on the stove.