Seeking a Friend for the End of the World [1/2]
Title: Seeking a Friend for the End of the World [1/2]
Author: clubotaku
Pairing: LuhanxSehun
Characters: Luhan-centric with DBSK
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance, Supernatural, Apocalypse Au!
Summary: As the world ends, Luhan searches for somewhere to call home.
A/N: This is in a world where EXO doesn't exist and based on the whole 2012 apocalypse scenario
The end of the world starts with a whisper and ends with a bang. Nobody takes notice of the hurricanes that hit the East coast of America, passing it off as another unexpected natural disaster. The locusts that hit the cornfields of the U.S are passed off as an annoyance. The sudden drought in Australia is viewed as a byproduct of increasing temperatures, the usual water shortage faced as summer approached, and the government reacts by rationing the water more than usual. Luhan notices the swell that seems to rise and fall like heartbeats, the wings of a million butterflies beating a steady pulse as they fly from the fields into the sky like a mass of golden eyes, watching. As he lands in Seoul, the sound of ‘Rising Sun’ blaring through his headphones he realizes that it isn’t evening, not yet, that the pre-mature darkness is caused by the same mass of butterflies. As he hops into the subway, the weight of his bag feeling heavier than before, the news shows images of the Forbidden City breaking, torn apart as rocks burst out through walls and the palace splits, sinking as the earth shakes and cracks. The last image he sees as the doors close is that of a ruined Beijing, of bodies wrapped in white and a country in chaos, struggling before this new natural disaster, and somehow he knows it is the end.
Yoochun watches the images flicker on the screen, takes a long drag of his cigarette; lets the smoke linger for a while before exhaling. In the kitchen Junsu is singing bits of his upcoming solo, the smell of kimchi jjigae entering the living room. Yoochun inhales, takes another drag. Jaejoong is singing too, a mixture of Korean and what could be French, maybe ‘Champs Elysees’. He’s been singing that lately when he thinks he’s alone or in the ever increasing moments when he gets lost in his own little world. Yoochun’s been in that world before, still finds himself drifting into it unconsciously even though it hurts to enter, to remember. Inhale, exhale.
“What’s going on?” Jaejoong is staring at the TV, disbelieving. He cradles the jjigae in his arms, wearing a pink ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron Yoochun and Junsu bought him for his birthday.
“Massive earthquake in Beijing earlier today… Heavy casualties. They’re having trouble organizing rescue services because the damage is so great and communication has been broken… Worse than the one that hit Sichuan back in 2008.”
“2008…” Jaejoong’s in another world again.
“Dinner’s ready!” Junsu squeals as the rice almost tips out of his bowl, skids to a stop next to the table, taps his spoon impatiently as he notices the two transfixed at the TV. Jaejoong seems to wake up, blinks himself into consciousness.
“You’re supposed to be cutting down.” Junsu’s tone is disapproving, disappointed. He looks accusingly at Jaejoong who feigns innocence, spooning more rice into his bowl, “Both of you.”
Yoochun holds his hands up in defence, throws away the remains of the cigarette and sits down.
“I need it to de-stress.”
“Your voice,” says Junsu, “Will get worse if you continue. You promised you’d stop.”
“I promised I’d try.”
Junsu huffs, “There’s no point calling ourselves JYJ if two of us can’t sing. I should just be the main act and you two could be my backup dancers… No wait, both of you suck at dancing. Yoochunnie looks like a retarded octopus and Jaejoong-hyung just looks drunk.”
Jaejoong throws a spoon at him and he ducks, laughing gleefully as Yoochun tries to flick kimchi at his face.
“That’s why we’re Soulmates!” replies Yoochun, he and Jaejoong making a love heart above their heads. Junsu pretends to gag.
“It’s so dark for 6pm,” Jaejoong is pointing outside, brandishing his chopsticks like a weapon, “Seriously, what the hell is up with the weather these days. So many natural disasters and now, it’s dark at 6pm and we’re not even in winter.”
“Maybe the vampires have come to reclaim you as their Prince of Darkness,” quips Yoochun, yelps as the elder man whacks his arm. Jaejoong may have lost a lot of his muscle in the past three years but his strength hadn’t quite diminished as much.
“Hyung,” Junsu’s voice is shaky as he stares outside, hands gripping the windowsill tight, “It’s not dark.”
Jaejoong’s beautiful face is scrunched up in confusion, not understanding. He and Yoochun walk over to join their youngest member-no, their brother, their best friend-and perhaps Jaejoong gets it from the characteristic widening of his eyes and gaping mouth. Even in a weird situation like this Yoochun still smiles at the eldest, still finds him amusing.
“Butterflies,” whispers Jaejoong, one hand gripping Junsu’s. Both continue to stare outside.
Down below Yoochun can see and hear the sasaeng fans-mentally he swears at their obsession-but he tears his eyes away to look at the growing dark. The constant flapping of the black and gold, a million different eyes opening and closing above them; he hates the feeling of constant surveillance, the unease growing in his gut as each moment passes. He reaches for the pack tucked in his back pocket and without looking Junsu slaps his hand away.
“No,” he murmurs, “Don’t.”
Dinner is forgotten that night.
Two weeks later Luhan finds himself flicking through images of Florence, submerged in water as the wrecks of gondolas float aimlessly. Another click and the medieval forest that has taken over half of England fills his screen. Next to him two high school girls are browsing old DBSK pictures, back when they were five and Luhan’s heart skips a beat, eyes turning to watch them perform ‘Mirotic’ on their Inkigayo Comeback stage.
‘Neon nareul wonhae,” he sings unconsciously, ‘Neon naegae ppajyeo, neon naegae michyeo.”
“I got you~, under my skin,” the three of them sing, the two girls turning to look incredulously at him.
“Oh my God, a DBSK fanboy?” one whispers to her friend, “Do you think he ships Yunjae?”
Actually Luhan ships himself and Jaejoong but this changes depending on his mood and whatever comeback song they promoted, but he does support Yunjae and Yoosu, and sometimes Jaemin (Yixing would always say it’s because Luhan has sadistic tendencies and is waiting for someone to ‘one touch’).
“Your voice is nice,” the other says shyly, not facing him, “Maybe you should try for S.M. You have that look they may like, even with this blond hair colour you pull it off like Jaejoong circa 2007-8…” She trails off, her friend hitting her arm lightly.
“Thanks,” says Luhan out of politeness and because he’s not really sure what to say, “I guess meeting two is better than none at all.”
The girls nod solemnly, sighing at the memory of a band now broken. The news page he was reading refreshes itself, breaking news of a tsunami hitting the already battered coasts of Japan and a freak snowstorm that has isolated the northernmost island of Hokkaido taking precedent over flooded Florence. The air feels heavy. One of the girls looks outside and swears under her breath.
“Damned butterflies, making the sky seem darker than it is. Better go home now before my Mum pitches a fit about not studying.”
“Crap, I need to go to cram school!”
They leave in a flurry of paper and weak perfume, give Luhan the briefest of waves as the door swings shut behind him. He clicks, switches to his other tab, holds his breath as he checks his inbox.
Automated response: Message delivery failed
In the space on his left, his other neighbor snores loudly, a finished cup ramyun and soda on the desk. Luhan switches to Google maps, types in the address and tries to make sense of the map which is all in Korean. Even though he’s fine in conversation, reading the Hangul takes him a bit more time though he’s sure with more practice he’s get better… If there is time at all. To him it seems as if the world is losing all sense of logic, reason slowly following. It seems unfair, so unfair, so unreasonable that the day he arrives in Seoul, he loses his place to go home to. Yixing… He hopes Yixing is ok. Changsha hasn’t come up on the news; he’s been scrolling through numerous news portals and nothing has come up. Yet. Beijing, the capital, totally destroyed. Luhan has given up trying to call home; there’s no point in deluding himself after the first time, driving himself crazy listening to the dial tone beep endlessly. He’s seen it, seen some other man on the street trying to phone someone, somewhere out there, losing it when he hears nothing apart from the phone disconnecting. Maybe I’ll need to find a new home, new friends. It’s so lonely being alone.
Yoochun doesn’t know whether to be thankful or scared of the supposed ‘end of the world’ that seems to be happening. For one the sasaeng fans (the majority at least) have left and two, his drama schedule has been paused temporarily after the director got fed up with dead butterflies falling from the sky into his shots, giving Yoochun more time to spend with his friends and family. Junsu is away at his family home and Jaejoong is around somewhere, his schedule also freed due to his Vietnam fanmeet being cancelled. Without a doubt Junsu is the most worried, praying whenever he gets the chance and getting irritated at the Soulmate duo’s lax reactions to the disasters that pop up daily on news sites. To Yoochun-and he’s sure this applies to Jaejoong as well-the constant stream of death and disaster becomes the norm, an everyday occurrence that would be abnormal if they suddenly stopped. At first when it became apparent this was not normal and that people everywhere were being wiped out Yoochun had fallen into one of his ‘emo black holes’ as Jaejoong and… No, it was better to say just Jaejoong, would call it and ended up writing song after song in his room until Junsu ambushed him with a tickle attack. Jaejoong’s shock didn’t last long, the detachment of looking at these things through a screen, miles away from the actual place evident. After another earthquake had hit India, triggering yet another devasting tsunami, Jaejoong had made cupcakes. Junsu looked like he wanted to strangle someone, but Jaejoong gave one of his charming, fan pleasing-false-smiles and hummed Coldplay’s ‘Paradise’ as he stirred the batter, wiping a bit on the other’s face which led to a food fight after which the other’s anger had subsided. Junsu in his heart had seen this reaction before, had been forced to eat numerous baked goods and stews (“Think of the starving children in Africa Junsu!” Yoochun had said and then, “Oh, but I can’t eat them, I’m on a diet for this drama”) the eldest had made back at that point of time. Cooking was Jaejoong’s defense mechanism to shut out the evil of the world, the pain. Three years ago Junsu thought he may die of eating, or cholesterol. Or maybe food poisoning (when Yoochun joined in for a Soulmate emo cooking session).
“How long until it hits us?” wonders Yoochun. His hand floats towards his back pocket but he stops, puts it back down, “How much longer?”
Luhan’s completely lost. He thought he’d gotten off at the right stop on Orange Line 3 at the Express Bus Terminal Station but it seems he got off at Nambu Bus Terminal Station instead, though he only realized this after he ended up walking to Seoul National University. It would be a waste to take the subway again and use up what’s left of his money-he makes a mental note to transfer all his funds into a South Korean account when he gets the time-so he decides to walk and enjoy the autumn scenery. He digs around in his beloved MCM backpack, pulls out his purple Beats headphones and sighs as Junsu croons into his ears. He ignores the pangs that hit him, of a matching backpack and matching headphones.
If you ignored the televisions and news, it would seem like any other autumn day in Seoul. University students rushed around, some nursing hangovers, others on their way to class. One year ago Luhan was one of them, an eager exchange student at Yonsei, trying to learn Korean (or in his mind, the language of the Gods). He laughs as he watches one particularly hungover boy crash into another, turning to throw up into a bush whilst his friends gag and apologize. He remembers crashing into many people, walking in the wrong direction, or getting distracted by small things.
“One day you’re going to crash into someone if you don’t look,” said Kris, the handsome Canadian-Chinese exchange (Luhan both loved and hated him for his height, and his perfect skin).
“He already has,” said another Chinese exchange student (also of a superior height but with large eyebags that Luhan suspected could be from watching too many adult videos), “He spilt bubble tea all over him!”
Kris had raised one well groomed eyebrow in question, his bleached hair slicked back and shining in the sunlight. His language homework lay open on the grass, his alpaca ‘son’ nestled in his lap. Luhan smiled sheepishly,
“I did buy him a new drink to say sorry.”
“If the world was fixed by people saying sorry then we wouldn’t need the law,” said Kris with his favourite facial expression-the bitchface-but Luhan knew he was teasing.
“Luhan got a date out of it though,” said Xiumin aka Minseok aka the Korean exchange student who was born in China, but was taught in English, but whose Chinese was still better than his Korean and so was sent to Yonsei to learn Korean.
Luhan shoved him sideways… Into the drain. He supposed puppy dog eyes wouldn’t work this time and instead chose the gentlemanly way of saying sorry… Then running away.
“Give us the details later Ge!” Tao had called after him, “Use protection ok!”
Kris scoffed, “Maybe next time.”
Now Luhan sits on a bench, watches as life goes by normally. It’s not yet evening and so the butterflies haven’t emerged for their pre-sunset blackout. Around him he catches bits of conversation, girls talking about some new brand, a bunch of guys stuck over coursework, a couple fighting about their dog and-
“Wait!”
That stature, could it be? Luhan runs after the figure, calling out but the other doesn’t seem to hear. He pushes past students, teachers, mumbling apologies as he keeps the other in his sight, eyes fixed on a thin body and light brown hair.
“Wait!”
He weaves, in and out through people and buildings, breath short and legs tiring. Finally he catches up, grabs the other’s shoulder breathlessly, his other hand coming up to turn them around so he can hug them. A stranger’s face stares blankly at him and Luhan releases them as if they were on fire, backs away, apologizes for his mistake and runs. When he gets back to the bench he started off at he sees his backpack sitting there, forgotten and alone but thankfully intact and untouched. Luhan grabs it, holds it to his chest, breathes in and out, and inhales the familiar scent. His hands clutch the sides, as if it too would disappear from him, biting back the tears, mentally berating himself for hoping. Around him the world and time moves on.
Temperatures drop as December starts, Christmas cheer popping up on sidewalks, homes and shopping centres. There’s been a lull in natural disasters in the past two weeks and the sasaeng fans have started creeping back to their usual 24 hour surveillance of their home. Sometimes Yoochun finds himself contemplating a move to Beijing. Nobody would come look for them there. Of all the countries in the world, most of South America, some parts of Europe and Korea remain mostly unaffected and refugees from other countries have been pouring in ever since. In Korea’s case they’ve been receiving a lot of Chinese and Japanese immigrants to the ire of nationalists who should really just grow up and get used to it. They’ve been trying to sell our music and dramas in those countries since forever, organize ‘Hallyu’ tours here and yet they don’t want them to come and stay. Selfish close-minded bastards. Yoochun’s dying for a smoke, he doesn’t know why but he is. It’s been nearly a month since his last one but perhaps the stress of the unknown and the return of the sasaengs is taking its toll on his nerves. Jaejoong is watching television-his movie shooting has also been temporarily halted-and humming alone to Super Junior. The song changes, a duo clad in metallic gold and silver holding timepieces before a structure of cogs and clocks; Jaejoong’s face changes and he freezes. Yoochun’s heart clenches and he strides over, flicks the channel over and the tenseness disappears from the other’s face.
“Yoochun-ah.” Jaejoong’s voice is like a deflating balloon, the sound leaking out.
Yoochun grabs his hand, squeezes. It relieves him when the other squeezes back, a wan smile on a pale face.
“Let me cook some-”
“No, you and I, we’re going out for a drive.” His tone leaves no room for argument, not that Jaejoong has enough fight in him now. He throws a coat at Jaejoong and buttons his own up, pulling his beanie down low over his hair. A scarf drapes itself around his neck, long white fingers nimbly wrapping it neatly around him as Jaejoong fusses over his hair. He smells like tomato-Yoochun glances at the kitchen-and sure enough there’s a mountain of spaghetti wrapped up in foil. Jaejoong is smiling as he re-arranges Yoochun’s beanie, brushing his bangs to one side carefully and the other swallows, trying to keep his voice from trembling because he knows that if he breaks, Jaejoong will too. Part of the pretense of being strong is to keep those around him strong; he and Jaejoong are similar enough though that the pretense can meld into reality quickly and break just as easily if one of them cracks.
“Junsu said he’d be back later so I made food for him to heat up in case,” Jaejoong says defensively.
“Worry about yourself hyung,” Yoochun replies, “Now wrap up, its’ cold as balls outside.”
Yoochun cruises along, watching his breath form in the air, the cold wind tearing at his face through the open window. Beside him Jaejoong leans out of his window, one hand outstretched, feeling the air slip through, ignoring the chill. In his white sweater and scarf he looks like a fallen angel, the light reflecting off his blond hair and dying in his dark eyes. The Han river is a half-frozen stream of brown beside them, solemn and empty of boats or people. They turn past the Olympic Stadium where Yoochun remembers entering to the sound of fireworks and screams, feeling as alive as he’d ever been, before it disappears behind them. A quick look at Jaejoong shows he was reliving the same moment and wordlessly he links their free hands together. He watches the usual crowds of holiday shoppers around Lotte World and CoEX, the steering wheel warm beneath his hand. White dots float from the sky and Jaejoong makes an appreciative noise, palm facing the sky.
“It’s snowing early,” he says, “We’re going to have a white Christmas. I’ll make soju eggnog.”
“Hyung that’s disgusting. I’m puking in my mind thinking about it.”
Yoochun gags for emphasis and Jaejoong punches his shoulder lightly, smearing it with flecks of white. He switches on the windscreen wiper as the snow thickens, turns up the heater. The main vocal has started singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’ along with the radio in Engrish-Yoochun gave up teaching the other two-as they cruise down the straight road. The song changes into ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ and he finds himself joining in, before screaming to Aerosmith’s ‘Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing’. As Yoochun strains to imitate Steven Tyler’s high note, one hand clutched to his chest for added intensity, Jaejoong lets out a very real scream and jerks the steering wheel before Yoochun hits the brakes. When the car comes to a stop and Yoochun checks neither of them are injured, he turns back to glare at the figure standing in the middle of the road.
“Oh my God,” says Jaejoong, pressed back in his seat, “I think I lost twenty years of my life.”
Well you have all of eternity anyway, Yoochun wants to say, but his anger takes precedence at the idiot still standing there. A few people have stopped to watch, some pointing at the people, others at the car. Yoochun pulls the beanie down even further, slams the door with Jaejoong still in shock inside.
“What the hell are you doing? That’s dangerous, we could have hit you!” he says, trying his best to control his voice.
The boy doesn’t move, large eyes fixated on the house before him. Oh my God, thinks Yoochun, is he a sasaeng fan too? Does some celebrity live in this neighbourhood? The sound of the car door lets him know Jaejoong is coming over too. Up close he can smell ramyun, can see the dirt smeared on the boy’s cheeks and the circles beneath his wide eyes. Yoochun wants to yell at him but the glint in his eyes, the resolute expression and shaking hands that he’s tried to hide in his pockets stop him.
“What were you thinking? Seriously, come on, let’s move off the road.”
He hears a passerby whisper his name, the crunch of Jaejoong’s boots on the road as he nears.
“Yoochun-ah.”
“Come on, let’s move. How long have you been standing here? Also, no offence, you need a bath.”
“Yoochun-ah.”
Jaejoong is trying his best to keep his voice down, the weight of so many stares and potential fancams keeping him aware. Yoochun takes a hold of the boy’s shoulder, tries to pull him away and off the road. He flinches when the other focuses wide, painfully child-like eyes on him, a faraway look that seems to disappear and reappear in seconds. Dirty blond hair is tucked under a brown cap, framing a small face. With a good wash he’d easily be considered cute, thinks Yoochun before he gives himself a mental slap, no, focus! Road safety first!
“Yoochun-ah!” Jaejoong’s voice is more urgent now.
The boy doesn’t appear to see either of them.
“I liked surprises,” he says in slightly accented Korean. Yoochun guesses he must be one of the migrants, maybe looking for family here.
“Yoochun-ah! This isn’t snow!” In his periphery he sees Jaejoong gesturing at the snow in his hand, but the boy starts to speak again.
“I like surprising people.”
“Ok,” says Yoochun, unsure of where this is going but happy that the boy is slowly moving off the tarmac.
“I flew over here to surprise him,” the other continues dreamily, “From Beijing. I wanted to surprise him you see.”
“Yes, I got that,” says Yoochun, trying to get Jaejoong to help him move the boy. Jaejoong shakes his head and points at the snow, repeating his words how it isn’t snow but Yoochun turns back to the boy, pulls him off the road with a satisfied grunt.
“However it seems he wanted to surprise me instead.” There’s an unmistakable tremble in the dream, a fissure in the glow. “So while I flew over here, he flew over to surprise me instead.”
“Oh.” Oh.
The boy gives a long, drawn out shudder before leaning against Yoochun, trying to hold back his tears. The murmurs around him grow and Yoochun groans, knowing full well how the situation could be misconstrued.
“Park Yoochun!” Jaejoong has reached them, “This isn’t snow!”
“A little busy here hyung, help me get him in the car?” he gestures at the shape slumped on his shoulder and Jaejoong recoils from the smell, gingerly picking up his other arm to tug at. They both drag him towards their car, Jaejoong entering mother-hen mode as he makes noises of comfort, occasionally shooting Yoochun anxious looks. Yoochun’s never been one to think of the future, choosing to live in the present without real consideration for repercussions, and so he leads the boy into the backseat, Jaejoong on the other side fastening his seat belt, digging out an old blanket from the trunk to drape over him.
“Sehun-ah.” The boy clutches the blanket to his chest, buries his face inside, a mixture of Korean and Mandarin pouring out .
Jaejoong turns up the radio and Yoochun hits the gas, tears off and away from the gathering crowd and cameras. Alone (well, almost), Jaejoong tries again.
“It’s not snow,” he says, brushing the white off Yoochun’s shoulder, “I just realized it’s not snow.”
“What? Then what is it?”
“Butterflies,” says Jaejoong, his tone belying no humour. Yoochun’s heart sinks a little more. In the backseat the boy is shaking silently.
“Its’ dead butterflies see?” He holds up a white clump and now Yoochun sees it, a powdery white body. The draft comes in and breaks it apart, scattering white all over the inside of the car and them. Yoochun barely resists the urge to grimace, Jaejoong hurriedly scraping all traces of white off them, winding up the windows.
“Sehun-ah.” Hardly a whisper, but in the silence of the car the name seems to echo with untold sorrow.
“I’m making cupcakes,” says Jaejoong, faint, and Yoochun doesn’t bother arguing.
A/N: First part was longer than expected! A big what if the world ended scenario... Since I wrote one crack! fic Chen-centric the next thing that popped into my mind was Luhan getting to meet his idols (all 5) and somehow the end of the world found its way into the story. Comments are love :)
Author: clubotaku
Pairing: LuhanxSehun
Characters: Luhan-centric with DBSK
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance, Supernatural, Apocalypse Au!
Summary: As the world ends, Luhan searches for somewhere to call home.
A/N: This is in a world where EXO doesn't exist and based on the whole 2012 apocalypse scenario
The end of the world starts with a whisper and ends with a bang. Nobody takes notice of the hurricanes that hit the East coast of America, passing it off as another unexpected natural disaster. The locusts that hit the cornfields of the U.S are passed off as an annoyance. The sudden drought in Australia is viewed as a byproduct of increasing temperatures, the usual water shortage faced as summer approached, and the government reacts by rationing the water more than usual. Luhan notices the swell that seems to rise and fall like heartbeats, the wings of a million butterflies beating a steady pulse as they fly from the fields into the sky like a mass of golden eyes, watching. As he lands in Seoul, the sound of ‘Rising Sun’ blaring through his headphones he realizes that it isn’t evening, not yet, that the pre-mature darkness is caused by the same mass of butterflies. As he hops into the subway, the weight of his bag feeling heavier than before, the news shows images of the Forbidden City breaking, torn apart as rocks burst out through walls and the palace splits, sinking as the earth shakes and cracks. The last image he sees as the doors close is that of a ruined Beijing, of bodies wrapped in white and a country in chaos, struggling before this new natural disaster, and somehow he knows it is the end.
Yoochun watches the images flicker on the screen, takes a long drag of his cigarette; lets the smoke linger for a while before exhaling. In the kitchen Junsu is singing bits of his upcoming solo, the smell of kimchi jjigae entering the living room. Yoochun inhales, takes another drag. Jaejoong is singing too, a mixture of Korean and what could be French, maybe ‘Champs Elysees’. He’s been singing that lately when he thinks he’s alone or in the ever increasing moments when he gets lost in his own little world. Yoochun’s been in that world before, still finds himself drifting into it unconsciously even though it hurts to enter, to remember. Inhale, exhale.
“What’s going on?” Jaejoong is staring at the TV, disbelieving. He cradles the jjigae in his arms, wearing a pink ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron Yoochun and Junsu bought him for his birthday.
“Massive earthquake in Beijing earlier today… Heavy casualties. They’re having trouble organizing rescue services because the damage is so great and communication has been broken… Worse than the one that hit Sichuan back in 2008.”
“2008…” Jaejoong’s in another world again.
“Dinner’s ready!” Junsu squeals as the rice almost tips out of his bowl, skids to a stop next to the table, taps his spoon impatiently as he notices the two transfixed at the TV. Jaejoong seems to wake up, blinks himself into consciousness.
“You’re supposed to be cutting down.” Junsu’s tone is disapproving, disappointed. He looks accusingly at Jaejoong who feigns innocence, spooning more rice into his bowl, “Both of you.”
Yoochun holds his hands up in defence, throws away the remains of the cigarette and sits down.
“I need it to de-stress.”
“Your voice,” says Junsu, “Will get worse if you continue. You promised you’d stop.”
“I promised I’d try.”
Junsu huffs, “There’s no point calling ourselves JYJ if two of us can’t sing. I should just be the main act and you two could be my backup dancers… No wait, both of you suck at dancing. Yoochunnie looks like a retarded octopus and Jaejoong-hyung just looks drunk.”
Jaejoong throws a spoon at him and he ducks, laughing gleefully as Yoochun tries to flick kimchi at his face.
“That’s why we’re Soulmates!” replies Yoochun, he and Jaejoong making a love heart above their heads. Junsu pretends to gag.
“It’s so dark for 6pm,” Jaejoong is pointing outside, brandishing his chopsticks like a weapon, “Seriously, what the hell is up with the weather these days. So many natural disasters and now, it’s dark at 6pm and we’re not even in winter.”
“Maybe the vampires have come to reclaim you as their Prince of Darkness,” quips Yoochun, yelps as the elder man whacks his arm. Jaejoong may have lost a lot of his muscle in the past three years but his strength hadn’t quite diminished as much.
“Hyung,” Junsu’s voice is shaky as he stares outside, hands gripping the windowsill tight, “It’s not dark.”
Jaejoong’s beautiful face is scrunched up in confusion, not understanding. He and Yoochun walk over to join their youngest member-no, their brother, their best friend-and perhaps Jaejoong gets it from the characteristic widening of his eyes and gaping mouth. Even in a weird situation like this Yoochun still smiles at the eldest, still finds him amusing.
“Butterflies,” whispers Jaejoong, one hand gripping Junsu’s. Both continue to stare outside.
Down below Yoochun can see and hear the sasaeng fans-mentally he swears at their obsession-but he tears his eyes away to look at the growing dark. The constant flapping of the black and gold, a million different eyes opening and closing above them; he hates the feeling of constant surveillance, the unease growing in his gut as each moment passes. He reaches for the pack tucked in his back pocket and without looking Junsu slaps his hand away.
“No,” he murmurs, “Don’t.”
Dinner is forgotten that night.
Two weeks later Luhan finds himself flicking through images of Florence, submerged in water as the wrecks of gondolas float aimlessly. Another click and the medieval forest that has taken over half of England fills his screen. Next to him two high school girls are browsing old DBSK pictures, back when they were five and Luhan’s heart skips a beat, eyes turning to watch them perform ‘Mirotic’ on their Inkigayo Comeback stage.
‘Neon nareul wonhae,” he sings unconsciously, ‘Neon naegae ppajyeo, neon naegae michyeo.”
“I got you~, under my skin,” the three of them sing, the two girls turning to look incredulously at him.
“Oh my God, a DBSK fanboy?” one whispers to her friend, “Do you think he ships Yunjae?”
Actually Luhan ships himself and Jaejoong but this changes depending on his mood and whatever comeback song they promoted, but he does support Yunjae and Yoosu, and sometimes Jaemin (Yixing would always say it’s because Luhan has sadistic tendencies and is waiting for someone to ‘one touch’).
“Your voice is nice,” the other says shyly, not facing him, “Maybe you should try for S.M. You have that look they may like, even with this blond hair colour you pull it off like Jaejoong circa 2007-8…” She trails off, her friend hitting her arm lightly.
“Thanks,” says Luhan out of politeness and because he’s not really sure what to say, “I guess meeting two is better than none at all.”
The girls nod solemnly, sighing at the memory of a band now broken. The news page he was reading refreshes itself, breaking news of a tsunami hitting the already battered coasts of Japan and a freak snowstorm that has isolated the northernmost island of Hokkaido taking precedent over flooded Florence. The air feels heavy. One of the girls looks outside and swears under her breath.
“Damned butterflies, making the sky seem darker than it is. Better go home now before my Mum pitches a fit about not studying.”
“Crap, I need to go to cram school!”
They leave in a flurry of paper and weak perfume, give Luhan the briefest of waves as the door swings shut behind him. He clicks, switches to his other tab, holds his breath as he checks his inbox.
Automated response: Message delivery failed
In the space on his left, his other neighbor snores loudly, a finished cup ramyun and soda on the desk. Luhan switches to Google maps, types in the address and tries to make sense of the map which is all in Korean. Even though he’s fine in conversation, reading the Hangul takes him a bit more time though he’s sure with more practice he’s get better… If there is time at all. To him it seems as if the world is losing all sense of logic, reason slowly following. It seems unfair, so unfair, so unreasonable that the day he arrives in Seoul, he loses his place to go home to. Yixing… He hopes Yixing is ok. Changsha hasn’t come up on the news; he’s been scrolling through numerous news portals and nothing has come up. Yet. Beijing, the capital, totally destroyed. Luhan has given up trying to call home; there’s no point in deluding himself after the first time, driving himself crazy listening to the dial tone beep endlessly. He’s seen it, seen some other man on the street trying to phone someone, somewhere out there, losing it when he hears nothing apart from the phone disconnecting. Maybe I’ll need to find a new home, new friends. It’s so lonely being alone.
Yoochun doesn’t know whether to be thankful or scared of the supposed ‘end of the world’ that seems to be happening. For one the sasaeng fans (the majority at least) have left and two, his drama schedule has been paused temporarily after the director got fed up with dead butterflies falling from the sky into his shots, giving Yoochun more time to spend with his friends and family. Junsu is away at his family home and Jaejoong is around somewhere, his schedule also freed due to his Vietnam fanmeet being cancelled. Without a doubt Junsu is the most worried, praying whenever he gets the chance and getting irritated at the Soulmate duo’s lax reactions to the disasters that pop up daily on news sites. To Yoochun-and he’s sure this applies to Jaejoong as well-the constant stream of death and disaster becomes the norm, an everyday occurrence that would be abnormal if they suddenly stopped. At first when it became apparent this was not normal and that people everywhere were being wiped out Yoochun had fallen into one of his ‘emo black holes’ as Jaejoong and… No, it was better to say just Jaejoong, would call it and ended up writing song after song in his room until Junsu ambushed him with a tickle attack. Jaejoong’s shock didn’t last long, the detachment of looking at these things through a screen, miles away from the actual place evident. After another earthquake had hit India, triggering yet another devasting tsunami, Jaejoong had made cupcakes. Junsu looked like he wanted to strangle someone, but Jaejoong gave one of his charming, fan pleasing-false-smiles and hummed Coldplay’s ‘Paradise’ as he stirred the batter, wiping a bit on the other’s face which led to a food fight after which the other’s anger had subsided. Junsu in his heart had seen this reaction before, had been forced to eat numerous baked goods and stews (“Think of the starving children in Africa Junsu!” Yoochun had said and then, “Oh, but I can’t eat them, I’m on a diet for this drama”) the eldest had made back at that point of time. Cooking was Jaejoong’s defense mechanism to shut out the evil of the world, the pain. Three years ago Junsu thought he may die of eating, or cholesterol. Or maybe food poisoning (when Yoochun joined in for a Soulmate emo cooking session).
“How long until it hits us?” wonders Yoochun. His hand floats towards his back pocket but he stops, puts it back down, “How much longer?”
Luhan’s completely lost. He thought he’d gotten off at the right stop on Orange Line 3 at the Express Bus Terminal Station but it seems he got off at Nambu Bus Terminal Station instead, though he only realized this after he ended up walking to Seoul National University. It would be a waste to take the subway again and use up what’s left of his money-he makes a mental note to transfer all his funds into a South Korean account when he gets the time-so he decides to walk and enjoy the autumn scenery. He digs around in his beloved MCM backpack, pulls out his purple Beats headphones and sighs as Junsu croons into his ears. He ignores the pangs that hit him, of a matching backpack and matching headphones.
If you ignored the televisions and news, it would seem like any other autumn day in Seoul. University students rushed around, some nursing hangovers, others on their way to class. One year ago Luhan was one of them, an eager exchange student at Yonsei, trying to learn Korean (or in his mind, the language of the Gods). He laughs as he watches one particularly hungover boy crash into another, turning to throw up into a bush whilst his friends gag and apologize. He remembers crashing into many people, walking in the wrong direction, or getting distracted by small things.
“One day you’re going to crash into someone if you don’t look,” said Kris, the handsome Canadian-Chinese exchange (Luhan both loved and hated him for his height, and his perfect skin).
“He already has,” said another Chinese exchange student (also of a superior height but with large eyebags that Luhan suspected could be from watching too many adult videos), “He spilt bubble tea all over him!”
Kris had raised one well groomed eyebrow in question, his bleached hair slicked back and shining in the sunlight. His language homework lay open on the grass, his alpaca ‘son’ nestled in his lap. Luhan smiled sheepishly,
“I did buy him a new drink to say sorry.”
“If the world was fixed by people saying sorry then we wouldn’t need the law,” said Kris with his favourite facial expression-the bitchface-but Luhan knew he was teasing.
“Luhan got a date out of it though,” said Xiumin aka Minseok aka the Korean exchange student who was born in China, but was taught in English, but whose Chinese was still better than his Korean and so was sent to Yonsei to learn Korean.
Luhan shoved him sideways… Into the drain. He supposed puppy dog eyes wouldn’t work this time and instead chose the gentlemanly way of saying sorry… Then running away.
“Give us the details later Ge!” Tao had called after him, “Use protection ok!”
Kris scoffed, “Maybe next time.”
Now Luhan sits on a bench, watches as life goes by normally. It’s not yet evening and so the butterflies haven’t emerged for their pre-sunset blackout. Around him he catches bits of conversation, girls talking about some new brand, a bunch of guys stuck over coursework, a couple fighting about their dog and-
“Wait!”
That stature, could it be? Luhan runs after the figure, calling out but the other doesn’t seem to hear. He pushes past students, teachers, mumbling apologies as he keeps the other in his sight, eyes fixed on a thin body and light brown hair.
“Wait!”
He weaves, in and out through people and buildings, breath short and legs tiring. Finally he catches up, grabs the other’s shoulder breathlessly, his other hand coming up to turn them around so he can hug them. A stranger’s face stares blankly at him and Luhan releases them as if they were on fire, backs away, apologizes for his mistake and runs. When he gets back to the bench he started off at he sees his backpack sitting there, forgotten and alone but thankfully intact and untouched. Luhan grabs it, holds it to his chest, breathes in and out, and inhales the familiar scent. His hands clutch the sides, as if it too would disappear from him, biting back the tears, mentally berating himself for hoping. Around him the world and time moves on.
Temperatures drop as December starts, Christmas cheer popping up on sidewalks, homes and shopping centres. There’s been a lull in natural disasters in the past two weeks and the sasaeng fans have started creeping back to their usual 24 hour surveillance of their home. Sometimes Yoochun finds himself contemplating a move to Beijing. Nobody would come look for them there. Of all the countries in the world, most of South America, some parts of Europe and Korea remain mostly unaffected and refugees from other countries have been pouring in ever since. In Korea’s case they’ve been receiving a lot of Chinese and Japanese immigrants to the ire of nationalists who should really just grow up and get used to it. They’ve been trying to sell our music and dramas in those countries since forever, organize ‘Hallyu’ tours here and yet they don’t want them to come and stay. Selfish close-minded bastards. Yoochun’s dying for a smoke, he doesn’t know why but he is. It’s been nearly a month since his last one but perhaps the stress of the unknown and the return of the sasaengs is taking its toll on his nerves. Jaejoong is watching television-his movie shooting has also been temporarily halted-and humming alone to Super Junior. The song changes, a duo clad in metallic gold and silver holding timepieces before a structure of cogs and clocks; Jaejoong’s face changes and he freezes. Yoochun’s heart clenches and he strides over, flicks the channel over and the tenseness disappears from the other’s face.
“Yoochun-ah.” Jaejoong’s voice is like a deflating balloon, the sound leaking out.
Yoochun grabs his hand, squeezes. It relieves him when the other squeezes back, a wan smile on a pale face.
“Let me cook some-”
“No, you and I, we’re going out for a drive.” His tone leaves no room for argument, not that Jaejoong has enough fight in him now. He throws a coat at Jaejoong and buttons his own up, pulling his beanie down low over his hair. A scarf drapes itself around his neck, long white fingers nimbly wrapping it neatly around him as Jaejoong fusses over his hair. He smells like tomato-Yoochun glances at the kitchen-and sure enough there’s a mountain of spaghetti wrapped up in foil. Jaejoong is smiling as he re-arranges Yoochun’s beanie, brushing his bangs to one side carefully and the other swallows, trying to keep his voice from trembling because he knows that if he breaks, Jaejoong will too. Part of the pretense of being strong is to keep those around him strong; he and Jaejoong are similar enough though that the pretense can meld into reality quickly and break just as easily if one of them cracks.
“Junsu said he’d be back later so I made food for him to heat up in case,” Jaejoong says defensively.
“Worry about yourself hyung,” Yoochun replies, “Now wrap up, its’ cold as balls outside.”
Yoochun cruises along, watching his breath form in the air, the cold wind tearing at his face through the open window. Beside him Jaejoong leans out of his window, one hand outstretched, feeling the air slip through, ignoring the chill. In his white sweater and scarf he looks like a fallen angel, the light reflecting off his blond hair and dying in his dark eyes. The Han river is a half-frozen stream of brown beside them, solemn and empty of boats or people. They turn past the Olympic Stadium where Yoochun remembers entering to the sound of fireworks and screams, feeling as alive as he’d ever been, before it disappears behind them. A quick look at Jaejoong shows he was reliving the same moment and wordlessly he links their free hands together. He watches the usual crowds of holiday shoppers around Lotte World and CoEX, the steering wheel warm beneath his hand. White dots float from the sky and Jaejoong makes an appreciative noise, palm facing the sky.
“It’s snowing early,” he says, “We’re going to have a white Christmas. I’ll make soju eggnog.”
“Hyung that’s disgusting. I’m puking in my mind thinking about it.”
Yoochun gags for emphasis and Jaejoong punches his shoulder lightly, smearing it with flecks of white. He switches on the windscreen wiper as the snow thickens, turns up the heater. The main vocal has started singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’ along with the radio in Engrish-Yoochun gave up teaching the other two-as they cruise down the straight road. The song changes into ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ and he finds himself joining in, before screaming to Aerosmith’s ‘Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing’. As Yoochun strains to imitate Steven Tyler’s high note, one hand clutched to his chest for added intensity, Jaejoong lets out a very real scream and jerks the steering wheel before Yoochun hits the brakes. When the car comes to a stop and Yoochun checks neither of them are injured, he turns back to glare at the figure standing in the middle of the road.
“Oh my God,” says Jaejoong, pressed back in his seat, “I think I lost twenty years of my life.”
Well you have all of eternity anyway, Yoochun wants to say, but his anger takes precedence at the idiot still standing there. A few people have stopped to watch, some pointing at the people, others at the car. Yoochun pulls the beanie down even further, slams the door with Jaejoong still in shock inside.
“What the hell are you doing? That’s dangerous, we could have hit you!” he says, trying his best to control his voice.
The boy doesn’t move, large eyes fixated on the house before him. Oh my God, thinks Yoochun, is he a sasaeng fan too? Does some celebrity live in this neighbourhood? The sound of the car door lets him know Jaejoong is coming over too. Up close he can smell ramyun, can see the dirt smeared on the boy’s cheeks and the circles beneath his wide eyes. Yoochun wants to yell at him but the glint in his eyes, the resolute expression and shaking hands that he’s tried to hide in his pockets stop him.
“What were you thinking? Seriously, come on, let’s move off the road.”
He hears a passerby whisper his name, the crunch of Jaejoong’s boots on the road as he nears.
“Yoochun-ah.”
“Come on, let’s move. How long have you been standing here? Also, no offence, you need a bath.”
“Yoochun-ah.”
Jaejoong is trying his best to keep his voice down, the weight of so many stares and potential fancams keeping him aware. Yoochun takes a hold of the boy’s shoulder, tries to pull him away and off the road. He flinches when the other focuses wide, painfully child-like eyes on him, a faraway look that seems to disappear and reappear in seconds. Dirty blond hair is tucked under a brown cap, framing a small face. With a good wash he’d easily be considered cute, thinks Yoochun before he gives himself a mental slap, no, focus! Road safety first!
“Yoochun-ah!” Jaejoong’s voice is more urgent now.
The boy doesn’t appear to see either of them.
“I liked surprises,” he says in slightly accented Korean. Yoochun guesses he must be one of the migrants, maybe looking for family here.
“Yoochun-ah! This isn’t snow!” In his periphery he sees Jaejoong gesturing at the snow in his hand, but the boy starts to speak again.
“I like surprising people.”
“Ok,” says Yoochun, unsure of where this is going but happy that the boy is slowly moving off the tarmac.
“I flew over here to surprise him,” the other continues dreamily, “From Beijing. I wanted to surprise him you see.”
“Yes, I got that,” says Yoochun, trying to get Jaejoong to help him move the boy. Jaejoong shakes his head and points at the snow, repeating his words how it isn’t snow but Yoochun turns back to the boy, pulls him off the road with a satisfied grunt.
“However it seems he wanted to surprise me instead.” There’s an unmistakable tremble in the dream, a fissure in the glow. “So while I flew over here, he flew over to surprise me instead.”
“Oh.” Oh.
The boy gives a long, drawn out shudder before leaning against Yoochun, trying to hold back his tears. The murmurs around him grow and Yoochun groans, knowing full well how the situation could be misconstrued.
“Park Yoochun!” Jaejoong has reached them, “This isn’t snow!”
“A little busy here hyung, help me get him in the car?” he gestures at the shape slumped on his shoulder and Jaejoong recoils from the smell, gingerly picking up his other arm to tug at. They both drag him towards their car, Jaejoong entering mother-hen mode as he makes noises of comfort, occasionally shooting Yoochun anxious looks. Yoochun’s never been one to think of the future, choosing to live in the present without real consideration for repercussions, and so he leads the boy into the backseat, Jaejoong on the other side fastening his seat belt, digging out an old blanket from the trunk to drape over him.
“Sehun-ah.” The boy clutches the blanket to his chest, buries his face inside, a mixture of Korean and Mandarin pouring out .
Jaejoong turns up the radio and Yoochun hits the gas, tears off and away from the gathering crowd and cameras. Alone (well, almost), Jaejoong tries again.
“It’s not snow,” he says, brushing the white off Yoochun’s shoulder, “I just realized it’s not snow.”
“What? Then what is it?”
“Butterflies,” says Jaejoong, his tone belying no humour. Yoochun’s heart sinks a little more. In the backseat the boy is shaking silently.
“Its’ dead butterflies see?” He holds up a white clump and now Yoochun sees it, a powdery white body. The draft comes in and breaks it apart, scattering white all over the inside of the car and them. Yoochun barely resists the urge to grimace, Jaejoong hurriedly scraping all traces of white off them, winding up the windows.
“Sehun-ah.” Hardly a whisper, but in the silence of the car the name seems to echo with untold sorrow.
“I’m making cupcakes,” says Jaejoong, faint, and Yoochun doesn’t bother arguing.
A/N: First part was longer than expected! A big what if the world ended scenario... Since I wrote one crack! fic Chen-centric the next thing that popped into my mind was Luhan getting to meet his idols (all 5) and somehow the end of the world found its way into the story. Comments are love :)