[Fan Fiction] The Way You Aren't {Chapter 2}
Title: The Way You Aren't
Pairing: HoMin. 's all I got so far, don't judge.
Rating: PG-13? IDK. No sexy times, guys. Sorry.
Genre: Is angst a genre? It could be romance, I guess? Certainly not comedy.
Notes: This is the first fic I have ever written. Feedback is appreciated, but please be constructive. I don't care if you're a bitch. You won't be one in my journal. And if you see any grammatical/spelling errors, please let me know? *terribly anal about that stuff*
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Wish they were slaves in my sex dungeon, but they are their own men and live their own lives. This is just me making up a possible future for them. If it really happens eventually, you may all call me the Prophet Ameh.
Chapter Two
"Did you find it?" Yunho called nonchalantly, twirling the spoon in Changmin's coffee as he clicked through the tabs open in the browser. Three contained news, long pages of the most recent stories from Korea, Japan, and the United States. The third tab, in all English, was a swift reminder that Changmin would be going back over there soon. Yunho wrinkled his nose, not relishing the idea that his bed was soon to be half-empty. The first few years of this travelling had been difficult to handle; he'd be gone for weeks at a time sometimes, depending on what he was doing, and Yunho's own work had kept him tethered to Seoul, unable to fly out at his leisure to see the man. Changmin taking a part in an American movie had all but been the end of him, as they'd only shared time in each other's physical presence maybe two dozen times in eight months.
"The one place I didn't look," Changmin mumbled, elbow nudging Yunho's ribs as he sauntered up to the island. The coffee mug was quickly released, and he reclaimed it and placed himself instead on the stool next to where he'd been previously. Yunho was now reading through the news tabs, and it was better if he was just left to it. The maknae made quick use of the sugar, sweetening his coffee so much that it probably didn't count as coffee anymore, and quietly watched the screen, reading along.
If either one had thought to compare it, the quiet in this apartment was vastly different from that which had taken hold of the dorms so many years ago. Changmin leaned against the countertop, left hand supporting his head as his quick eyes flickered back and forth across the screen, taking in some story about a young girl that had disappeared somewhere in Seoul. His body leaned to the right without notice, and his bare shoulder brushed against Yunho's sweatshirt and stayed there. They never understood their vast differences in body temperature; Yunho was cold in the mornings lately, while Changmin's slender form seemed to hold twice his regular heat.
Some days, Yunho would come home to find Changmin shuffling through papers in the living room in only his boxer shorts.
The lack of sound between them, the absence of conversation and general noisemaking that people did, was comfortable. It was warm. They'd long passed the point of having to force words at each other to dispel awkwardness. It was a state of relationship that had been hard-earned.
The days had stretched into a week of silence after the fight. Yunho had awoken early the next day to find Changmin still curled up on the floor near the kitchen, his face carrying the obvious signs of a man whose emotions had been spent. He'd stood over the maknae for at least five minutes, staring blankly down at the closed eyes and partially opened dry lips. There had been a moment of early morning delirium, in which he'd panicked and wondered if Changmin had somehow died right there on the kitchen floor, but the slow rise and fall of his chest had dispelled that quickly enough, and Yunho found himself feeling foolish in his slightly more awake state.
He didn't touch him, and made no move to wake him. Instead, the man turned away and slipped into the bathroom, following his morning routine in relative silence. Shower, shave, get dressed. His vocal cords wanted to be used, but he kept his singing to a quiet shadow of what it had been the previous months. It wasn't enough to rouse the man on the floor only a few feet away, but it was enough to satisfy his now ingrained need to have some type of sound at all times.
When he emerged from his bedroom half an hour later, Changmin had disappeared. The shifting in his room was enough to quench Yunho's curiosity, and he moved into the kitchen to fight with the slightly burned remains of what they were meant to have eaten last night. Instead of scrubbing fruitlessly at the bottom of the pan, he filled it with water and left it in the sink, lazily promising himself he'd finish cleaning it tonight, when it was more accommodating. The clock on the wall said he didn't have to leave for another half hour or so, but... the stifling feeling in the dorm was enough to choke him. Grabbing an orange from the fridge, he left, making sure to close the front door loudly enough that Changmin would hear that he was gone.
His back pressed against the bedroom door, a dull ache in all his parts from both having worked his body so hard and having slept in such an odd position on the tiles, Changmin winced at the slam. He had all the symptoms of a hangover, and found himself bitterly thinking that maybe he should have gone out and done some heavy drinking. At least then he'd have a less shameful reason to feel like shit.
But the slam meant that his hyung had left for the day, which meant that Changmin should also get up and go. He was probably going to be late already, and he couldn't forego a shower or anything to make up for time. His hair was sticky and curling from sweat, he smelled as one would expect someone to smell had they not taken a shower after going to the gym, and his eyes were still red and bleary from crying. He could feel his phone in his jeans pocket, battery dangerously close to death; it seemed just as he noticed it there, someone texted him. A short blast of music issued from his pocket, and he winced again at the jab of pain in his head.
The text was from Minho, informing Changmin that he was an asshole for not having texted him back last night, and that he still wanted to know if Changmin wanted to go bowling later that night. The idea of bowling, with the cacophony of noise that came along with it, was wholly unappealing at that moment, but... Yunho would be here later. And Changmin was not quite ready for round two of whatever had happened only hours ago. So texting back a quick 'fuck you' and 'yeah, sure', he crawled across the floor to the bedside table and plugged in the phone before abandoning it for a quick shower.
It was in the bathroom that he discovered the bruise along his hip, a purplish smear that marked where he'd hit the floor the hardest. Letting out a groan, he stared at it in the mirror; at least it was in a spot that was relatively unseen by most people. It wasn't that big, either, but... it was there. A humiliating reminder of the fight that he'd started. He didn't have long to dwell on it; soon enough, his phone was ringing, the producer demanding to know where the hell he was and why he was already half an hour late. Changmin pulled on his clothing rapidly as he lied through his teeth to get the man to shut up, eventually throwing the phone on the bed so he could tie his shoes rather than listen to the prattling.
Phone half-charged, stomach growling, Changmin grabbed a liter of water from the fridge, tucked his keys and wallet into his bag, and hurried out the door. As tired as he was, and as much as he wanted to call into the studio sick, he had work to do. No fight with Yunho could be allowed to get in the way of that.
Their routine for the next week or so turned into something akin to that day. Changmin would wake up earlier than he wanted to, hurriedly shower and prepare himself for the day, and leave the apartment. Yunho would wake sometime during this process, usually, but... upon hearing the shuffling feet going between bedroom and bathroom, he would simply close his eyes and try to convince himself that he was still asleep. It wasn't until the front door closed that he would emerge from his room and follow his own morning rituals.
Their shoes by the door dicatated their behaviour upon arriving at home; the first one in would go into his room and shut the door, and busy himself with whatever they felt like doing. Reading, listening to music... everything was done quietly, so the other person's arrival would be known. Then the avoiding could begin once again.
It was six days before they actually saw each other again. Changmin had been late getting home; he'd forced KyuHyun away from his computer long enough that they could go out, and Minho had joined them. With the unfortunate fact that they all had work to do the next morning, they'd ended up going out to eat instead of drink, and Changmin had been fairly quiet the entire time.
Minho was the first to pick up on this. He had noticed when they'd gone out for bowling that his hyung was more withdrawn than usual. His grins seemed forced, and his snark was not as funny as it usually was. It worried him, but... well he didn't want to just out and out ask him about what was bothering him. Changmin wouldn't tell anyone anything. He never did. When he asked KyuHyun later, he confessed to knowing nothing either. Minho did not like this.
When he gave in to his urges and asked, Changmin had immediately replied that nothing was wrong, and that he was just tired. His eyes and body language told a different story, however, and the concerned silence afterwards was too much for him to handle. He stood suddenly, dropping money on the table for his own part of the bill, and excused himself. His phone rang the entire way home; eventually, he turned it off. He could feel the pressure of a headache building behind his eyes, and the ringtone was making it worse.
Slowly opening the door, Changmin stepped inside, eyes closed as he rubbed at them, as if doing so would relieve the thumping of his head. He removed his shoes, leaving them haphazardly tossed wherever they fell, and looked up as he stepped into the living room.
Yunho was in the kitchen, phone pressed against his ear. Changmin couldn't hear whoever was on the line with him, but he could only assume it was one of the two he'd just abandoned at the restaurant. The leader's lips were pressed into a thin line, and although he'd worked hard against it, the worry was evident in his eyes.
"Yeah. Yeah, no, he just walked in. Sorry he worried you." Oh the guilt. Changmin's stomach turned over just at hearing his hyung's voice, and his tall form seemed to shrink slightly. "He's fine. I'll talk to you later."
Changmin took a step toward the bedrooms as Yunho terminated the call, eyes carefully averted. It was as if merely meeting eyes would keep him from being able to run and hide, and he didn't want to deal with it. However, he would never make it there, because Yunho took quick, long steps out of the kitchen and blocked his way, planting himself in front of the door-lined hall that he'd been headed for.
Fuck.
"That was Minho. He says you were out with him and KyuHyun about an hour ago... and you just up and left them." Yunho's arms crossed over his chest, expression laced with displeasure. "They were worried. You know, it doesn't matter if you don't trust me enough to tell me things, but if you don't trust them either... do you even have friends then, Changmin?"
Changmin's expression was blank, his eyes shuttered. He didn't know how to respond to that, at all. He continued staring at Yunho's arms, wondering why exactly his usually quick brain had essentially abandoned him once more.
"I do trust you, hyung," he whispered, finally. "You took it wrong."
"I took it wrong?" His tone clearly implied that he didn't think he had. "You don't tell me anything. You hate me, Changmin? You hated the way I was acting? You're usually so blunt, and yet you didn't say anything. You didn't tell me it was bothering you. What did you think I would do? Did you think I would leave?"
"I- no. It's..." It's exactly that. He swallowed hard, and flinched visibly when Yunho moved. The older man didn't hit him this time, didn't push him or even touch him. He stepped around him, and paused at his shoulder; Changmin could barely suppress the urge to immediately hurry to his room. "I'm not good at... this. At telling people things."
"Well figure out how to. Because otherwise, you'll only push people away."
The maknae stood rooted to the spot as Yunho brushed past him; apparently he was done hiding in his room. He settled onto the couch in the living room, legs stretched out and feet on the table, and flicked on the television. As the channels changed, sounds jarring as they unevenly met each other, Changmin remained where he was, turning those words over in his mind. He had been this way for more years than he could remember. He'd gone along with others without complaint. He'd let bothersome behaviours go by unchecked. He'd lived in his little bubble of accommodation, letting annoyances and unvoiced opinions pick at him. He'd promised himself that it would stop, that he'd assert himself more, but... he'd slipped back into old habits.
Old habits died hard, but they would indeed die. Glancing over his shoulder at the back of Yunho's head, he promised this to himself before quietly moving to his room, shutting the door behind him.
Questions, comments, etc? You know how people like, outline stuff that they like in other fics sometimes? I would love it if people did that to mine so I like, knew what is good and what I need to work on. ^____^;;;
Pairing: HoMin. 's all I got so far, don't judge.
Rating: PG-13? IDK. No sexy times, guys. Sorry.
Genre: Is angst a genre? It could be romance, I guess? Certainly not comedy.
Notes: This is the first fic I have ever written. Feedback is appreciated, but please be constructive. I don't care if you're a bitch. You won't be one in my journal. And if you see any grammatical/spelling errors, please let me know? *terribly anal about that stuff*
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Wish they were slaves in my sex dungeon, but they are their own men and live their own lives. This is just me making up a possible future for them. If it really happens eventually, you may all call me the Prophet Ameh.
Chapter Two
"Did you find it?" Yunho called nonchalantly, twirling the spoon in Changmin's coffee as he clicked through the tabs open in the browser. Three contained news, long pages of the most recent stories from Korea, Japan, and the United States. The third tab, in all English, was a swift reminder that Changmin would be going back over there soon. Yunho wrinkled his nose, not relishing the idea that his bed was soon to be half-empty. The first few years of this travelling had been difficult to handle; he'd be gone for weeks at a time sometimes, depending on what he was doing, and Yunho's own work had kept him tethered to Seoul, unable to fly out at his leisure to see the man. Changmin taking a part in an American movie had all but been the end of him, as they'd only shared time in each other's physical presence maybe two dozen times in eight months.
"The one place I didn't look," Changmin mumbled, elbow nudging Yunho's ribs as he sauntered up to the island. The coffee mug was quickly released, and he reclaimed it and placed himself instead on the stool next to where he'd been previously. Yunho was now reading through the news tabs, and it was better if he was just left to it. The maknae made quick use of the sugar, sweetening his coffee so much that it probably didn't count as coffee anymore, and quietly watched the screen, reading along.
If either one had thought to compare it, the quiet in this apartment was vastly different from that which had taken hold of the dorms so many years ago. Changmin leaned against the countertop, left hand supporting his head as his quick eyes flickered back and forth across the screen, taking in some story about a young girl that had disappeared somewhere in Seoul. His body leaned to the right without notice, and his bare shoulder brushed against Yunho's sweatshirt and stayed there. They never understood their vast differences in body temperature; Yunho was cold in the mornings lately, while Changmin's slender form seemed to hold twice his regular heat.
Some days, Yunho would come home to find Changmin shuffling through papers in the living room in only his boxer shorts.
The lack of sound between them, the absence of conversation and general noisemaking that people did, was comfortable. It was warm. They'd long passed the point of having to force words at each other to dispel awkwardness. It was a state of relationship that had been hard-earned.
The days had stretched into a week of silence after the fight. Yunho had awoken early the next day to find Changmin still curled up on the floor near the kitchen, his face carrying the obvious signs of a man whose emotions had been spent. He'd stood over the maknae for at least five minutes, staring blankly down at the closed eyes and partially opened dry lips. There had been a moment of early morning delirium, in which he'd panicked and wondered if Changmin had somehow died right there on the kitchen floor, but the slow rise and fall of his chest had dispelled that quickly enough, and Yunho found himself feeling foolish in his slightly more awake state.
He didn't touch him, and made no move to wake him. Instead, the man turned away and slipped into the bathroom, following his morning routine in relative silence. Shower, shave, get dressed. His vocal cords wanted to be used, but he kept his singing to a quiet shadow of what it had been the previous months. It wasn't enough to rouse the man on the floor only a few feet away, but it was enough to satisfy his now ingrained need to have some type of sound at all times.
When he emerged from his bedroom half an hour later, Changmin had disappeared. The shifting in his room was enough to quench Yunho's curiosity, and he moved into the kitchen to fight with the slightly burned remains of what they were meant to have eaten last night. Instead of scrubbing fruitlessly at the bottom of the pan, he filled it with water and left it in the sink, lazily promising himself he'd finish cleaning it tonight, when it was more accommodating. The clock on the wall said he didn't have to leave for another half hour or so, but... the stifling feeling in the dorm was enough to choke him. Grabbing an orange from the fridge, he left, making sure to close the front door loudly enough that Changmin would hear that he was gone.
His back pressed against the bedroom door, a dull ache in all his parts from both having worked his body so hard and having slept in such an odd position on the tiles, Changmin winced at the slam. He had all the symptoms of a hangover, and found himself bitterly thinking that maybe he should have gone out and done some heavy drinking. At least then he'd have a less shameful reason to feel like shit.
But the slam meant that his hyung had left for the day, which meant that Changmin should also get up and go. He was probably going to be late already, and he couldn't forego a shower or anything to make up for time. His hair was sticky and curling from sweat, he smelled as one would expect someone to smell had they not taken a shower after going to the gym, and his eyes were still red and bleary from crying. He could feel his phone in his jeans pocket, battery dangerously close to death; it seemed just as he noticed it there, someone texted him. A short blast of music issued from his pocket, and he winced again at the jab of pain in his head.
The text was from Minho, informing Changmin that he was an asshole for not having texted him back last night, and that he still wanted to know if Changmin wanted to go bowling later that night. The idea of bowling, with the cacophony of noise that came along with it, was wholly unappealing at that moment, but... Yunho would be here later. And Changmin was not quite ready for round two of whatever had happened only hours ago. So texting back a quick 'fuck you' and 'yeah, sure', he crawled across the floor to the bedside table and plugged in the phone before abandoning it for a quick shower.
It was in the bathroom that he discovered the bruise along his hip, a purplish smear that marked where he'd hit the floor the hardest. Letting out a groan, he stared at it in the mirror; at least it was in a spot that was relatively unseen by most people. It wasn't that big, either, but... it was there. A humiliating reminder of the fight that he'd started. He didn't have long to dwell on it; soon enough, his phone was ringing, the producer demanding to know where the hell he was and why he was already half an hour late. Changmin pulled on his clothing rapidly as he lied through his teeth to get the man to shut up, eventually throwing the phone on the bed so he could tie his shoes rather than listen to the prattling.
Phone half-charged, stomach growling, Changmin grabbed a liter of water from the fridge, tucked his keys and wallet into his bag, and hurried out the door. As tired as he was, and as much as he wanted to call into the studio sick, he had work to do. No fight with Yunho could be allowed to get in the way of that.
Their routine for the next week or so turned into something akin to that day. Changmin would wake up earlier than he wanted to, hurriedly shower and prepare himself for the day, and leave the apartment. Yunho would wake sometime during this process, usually, but... upon hearing the shuffling feet going between bedroom and bathroom, he would simply close his eyes and try to convince himself that he was still asleep. It wasn't until the front door closed that he would emerge from his room and follow his own morning rituals.
Their shoes by the door dicatated their behaviour upon arriving at home; the first one in would go into his room and shut the door, and busy himself with whatever they felt like doing. Reading, listening to music... everything was done quietly, so the other person's arrival would be known. Then the avoiding could begin once again.
It was six days before they actually saw each other again. Changmin had been late getting home; he'd forced KyuHyun away from his computer long enough that they could go out, and Minho had joined them. With the unfortunate fact that they all had work to do the next morning, they'd ended up going out to eat instead of drink, and Changmin had been fairly quiet the entire time.
Minho was the first to pick up on this. He had noticed when they'd gone out for bowling that his hyung was more withdrawn than usual. His grins seemed forced, and his snark was not as funny as it usually was. It worried him, but... well he didn't want to just out and out ask him about what was bothering him. Changmin wouldn't tell anyone anything. He never did. When he asked KyuHyun later, he confessed to knowing nothing either. Minho did not like this.
When he gave in to his urges and asked, Changmin had immediately replied that nothing was wrong, and that he was just tired. His eyes and body language told a different story, however, and the concerned silence afterwards was too much for him to handle. He stood suddenly, dropping money on the table for his own part of the bill, and excused himself. His phone rang the entire way home; eventually, he turned it off. He could feel the pressure of a headache building behind his eyes, and the ringtone was making it worse.
Slowly opening the door, Changmin stepped inside, eyes closed as he rubbed at them, as if doing so would relieve the thumping of his head. He removed his shoes, leaving them haphazardly tossed wherever they fell, and looked up as he stepped into the living room.
Yunho was in the kitchen, phone pressed against his ear. Changmin couldn't hear whoever was on the line with him, but he could only assume it was one of the two he'd just abandoned at the restaurant. The leader's lips were pressed into a thin line, and although he'd worked hard against it, the worry was evident in his eyes.
"Yeah. Yeah, no, he just walked in. Sorry he worried you." Oh the guilt. Changmin's stomach turned over just at hearing his hyung's voice, and his tall form seemed to shrink slightly. "He's fine. I'll talk to you later."
Changmin took a step toward the bedrooms as Yunho terminated the call, eyes carefully averted. It was as if merely meeting eyes would keep him from being able to run and hide, and he didn't want to deal with it. However, he would never make it there, because Yunho took quick, long steps out of the kitchen and blocked his way, planting himself in front of the door-lined hall that he'd been headed for.
Fuck.
"That was Minho. He says you were out with him and KyuHyun about an hour ago... and you just up and left them." Yunho's arms crossed over his chest, expression laced with displeasure. "They were worried. You know, it doesn't matter if you don't trust me enough to tell me things, but if you don't trust them either... do you even have friends then, Changmin?"
Changmin's expression was blank, his eyes shuttered. He didn't know how to respond to that, at all. He continued staring at Yunho's arms, wondering why exactly his usually quick brain had essentially abandoned him once more.
"I do trust you, hyung," he whispered, finally. "You took it wrong."
"I took it wrong?" His tone clearly implied that he didn't think he had. "You don't tell me anything. You hate me, Changmin? You hated the way I was acting? You're usually so blunt, and yet you didn't say anything. You didn't tell me it was bothering you. What did you think I would do? Did you think I would leave?"
"I- no. It's..." It's exactly that. He swallowed hard, and flinched visibly when Yunho moved. The older man didn't hit him this time, didn't push him or even touch him. He stepped around him, and paused at his shoulder; Changmin could barely suppress the urge to immediately hurry to his room. "I'm not good at... this. At telling people things."
"Well figure out how to. Because otherwise, you'll only push people away."
The maknae stood rooted to the spot as Yunho brushed past him; apparently he was done hiding in his room. He settled onto the couch in the living room, legs stretched out and feet on the table, and flicked on the television. As the channels changed, sounds jarring as they unevenly met each other, Changmin remained where he was, turning those words over in his mind. He had been this way for more years than he could remember. He'd gone along with others without complaint. He'd let bothersome behaviours go by unchecked. He'd lived in his little bubble of accommodation, letting annoyances and unvoiced opinions pick at him. He'd promised himself that it would stop, that he'd assert himself more, but... he'd slipped back into old habits.
Old habits died hard, but they would indeed die. Glancing over his shoulder at the back of Yunho's head, he promised this to himself before quietly moving to his room, shutting the door behind him.
Questions, comments, etc? You know how people like, outline stuff that they like in other fics sometimes? I would love it if people did that to mine so I like, knew what is good and what I need to work on. ^____^;;;