Free Flight
Inspired by
eleawin's comment, I wrote this.
Companion to 'A Clear Midnight'. It's better if you read that first because this is directly related to it.
Title: Free Flight
Character: All of them
Length: Oneshot
Rating/Genre: NC-17 to be safe; MONDO angst
Summary: Yoochun didn’t think he would ever get used to it, to the fact that it was just him and Changmin now, but he tried, even though his parents said he wasn’t.
A/N: Mentions suicide attempts, assault. Please don't read if you're bothered by these kinds of things.
Title and other stuff still from Walt Whitman's poem, "A Clear Midnight".
---
Free Flight
Night,
Yunho’s last memories were of a slow summer day, swollen with the scent of freshly-cut grass under his feet, and streaked with the black-and-white blur that was Junsu’s soccer ball across a backdrop of a clear cornflower blue sky. Nearby, Yoochun’s radio and was playing a song about being young and living crazy, and he bopped his head to the beat, mouthing the lyrics as he did. (Some completely wrong of course because it had only been his second time to hear the song, but he figured he liked it too much to care) Jaejoong hadn’t been there, even though Yunho wished he was. According to Changmin (and common knowledge), his brother was currently enjoying too much the airconditioning his bedroom provided and had no plans of rousing until the late afternoon, in time for a cigarette break on the roof while watching the sun as it sank and melted into the horizon.
“Lazy bum,” he’d muttered with a smile. He turned his head at Junsu’s “Yunho hyung!” and caught the ball with his chest with a slight smack as it sailed towards him. He spun around and gave the ball a clean kick aimed for the makeshift goalpost (a garbage can and Changmin’s backpack). Everyone laughed as the lid on the garbage can sailed towards the edge of the park with a loud clanging and Yoochun was still clutching his sides as he told Yunho to “get the ball, hyung, before it falls into the lake!”
Yunho had grinned at Yoochun in response, had apologized to Junsu just in case the ball would fall into the lake, and had thrown a glance at Changmin who was retreating quickly to the shade of an oak to nurse a can of ice-cold soda, his face red with exertion and his hair plastered to his head with sweat. His last thoughts were of Jaejoong and how he would have probably done a worse kick had he been there, because everyone knew just how unhealthy and not athletic his best friend was. When his heart suddenly stopped a minute and a half later Yunho was still thinking of Jaejoong (“Jae would have loved this-”), but it ended as the vision of endless blue skies and Yoochun’s faraway laughter faded, and Yunho landed nearly soundlessly onto the grass, his palms still warm with sweat and his eyes half-open, as Death slyly and unexpectedly stole him away.
Sleep,
Changmin had not slept for days since it happened. Whenever he closed his eyes there was always Yunho laughing, smiling, running, before wilting onto the ground like a dying flower would, into the embrace of the lush green grass, never to move, to laugh, to smile again. With his eyes open, there was Jaejoong, pale as milk on the bed, unmoving and non-respondent as he’d been since their father had found him as a heap surrounded by his own vomit on his bedroom floor. The sirens and screams still rang in his head and Changmin had been crying for so long now just to make them stop. His mother had begged him to quit his vigil by his brother’s bedside, to take pity on himself for once, but Changmin couldn’t do it.
“He might die if I leave,” he’d told her, his tears choking his voice. “He might die and it would be my fault.” His father had said nothing then. He had only pulled him close and had held him tight, his usually firm grip softened as he rubbed gentle circles on his back.
“I shouldn’t have told him,” Changmin had said, his head pressed onto his father’s broad chest. He had suddenly felt so very small then. “This is my fault.”
He remembered how he had to run after his brother. How he had to push him down to the ground with every single ounce of strength he had, just so he would know what had happened to Yunho. His heart tore apart every time he remembered just how loud Jaejoong had screamed.
“Chang-min….” His name was the first word that Jaejoong uttered after he finally woke up, his eyelids still heavy from the drugs and his hands still cold as ice. Tears clear as crystal gathered at the ends of his older brother’s eyes and his gaze shifted downward, as though he were ashamed. “I’m sorry…I’m so…fucking sorry.”
Changmin only nodded then reached over to gather Jaejoong’s hands in a warm grip. His heart was about to burst, from relief, from anger, from happiness. “Don’t ever do that again, Jaejoong hyung.” His own tears had smattered the sheets. “Please.”
“I swear…I swear…” Jaejoong replied, his face crumpled in an expression of guilt and immense misery. “I’m sorry…Changmin…please God, believe me.” Jaejoong’s eyes were bright with regret and fear (perhaps?), and Changmin felt as his brother’s thin fingers scratched at his shirt desperately, pleading with him to come closer. In the few tense seconds that followed, Changmin allowed himself to be held, wrapped in Jaejoong’s weak embrace (“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” Jaejoong kept whispering, tears in his voice), fighting the heavy feeling that was settling in his chest and wishing with all the willpower he had left that he could believe his hyung.
Death,
Junsu’s parents had been blunt about it, had even been harsh as they spoke of Jaejoong and what had happened to poor Yunho. It had made his blood boil the way his mother had cringed at the neighborhood gossip (which he had vehemently denied but which his mother had still believed anyway), at how his father had kept on referring to Jaejoong as “a fucking nutcase”.
“One of our best friends just fucking died!” Junsu had yelled at his father, tears still staining his cheeks but fury now evident in his voice. Anger at his parents’ hypocrisy and stupidity raged at his chest, clawing at his lungs like a starving animal. It had been five days since Yunho’s death, and three since Jaejoong’s admittance to the hospital after he had tried to kill himself with sleeping pills. He had been crying for them constantly since then, but sorrow had immediately turned into rage the moment his parents had crossed the line. “Have some goddamned fucking respect!”
His mother looked as though she’d been slapped while the color in his father’s face had slowly changed from scarlet to a deep purple. He had seen the hit coming and it felled him to the ground, but he did not utter even a cry. He glared up at his father as he stood there, his fist still raised, his knuckles already reddening from the impact with Junsu’s cheek. Junsu had quickly gotten up and had just been about to strike back (because goddamn it, he was seventeen and was big enough to fight), but Junho had stopped him, had grabbed a hold of his shoulders so he couldn’t move. He squirmed in his brother’s grip, had yelled and kicked, his tears flowing as he yelled various curses at his father, at the whole fucking world.
“You have no right,” he told his father, his head bowed and his chest heaving, too exhausted by his own efforts to raise his voice or fight. The anger in his voice, however still rang clear and true. “No right at all.”
It was Junho who woke him up the next day and coaxed him to board the car ‘for a quick drive’. He had not noticed the stuffed suitcases at the back, nor the car that belonged to their parents following theirs as Junho drove easily down the empty village streets. They had been only half an hour to the airport when Junsu finally understood that Junho had no intention of turning the car around and bringing them back. He fought his brother physically, attempted to wrestle Junho’s grip from the steering wheel, and when that failed (Junho had always been bigger and stronger), Junsu threatened to jump. He was half-crazed by then, the realization of never seeing his friends, his home, of never even having said goodbye to the other three people he’d loved, driving him to near-breaking point. Junho pulled the car over with a loud screech and grabbed his shoulders to shake him.
“Shut up. Shut up!” Junho roared. “Goddamn it, Su! Can’t you see? This is for our own good. Your own good. I love you, you’re my brother. I don’t want to lose you. If we stay I know you’ll disappear completely. Mom and Dad are doing what’s best y getting you away from there. They’re trying to save you. Please God, Su, for me. Please try to understand.”
Junsu wanted to shout at him, wanted to tell him he was fucking crazy and he could just spend the rest of his fucking life with their parents. “Why don’t you just go and-”
“Su, if you go back, Dad is going to destroy Jaejoong. He’s going to make sure the poor guy’s going to stay fucked up if you stay. You don’t want that for him, Junsu. Trust me, please God.” Junsu’s blood ran cold at his brother’s words and he wanted to shut him up, but Junho was relentless. “I heard him. He’s going to talk to every goddamn school and turn them against the poor bastard. You know he can do that. You know he can get away with it.”
And that was when Junsu decided it was no use to fight.
“At least…at least let me say goodbye.” He felt as though he were dying. A heavy heavy feeling weighed down on his shoulders as he did a last attempt to plead with his brother.
“I’m sorry, Su,” was the last thing Junho said as he shook his head, and it was then that Junsu realized that his one-sided goodbye was meant to be for forever.
and Stars.
It had been nearly half a year, but Yoochun still blamed himself. His parents had pulled him out of school for that year and had sent him to various therapists in all the well-known cities, just so they could prod him and ask him over and over and over what he felt, who his friends were, were they nice, did he miss them. Yoochun had given up on them, tired of their common answer that he just needed some time to grieve and accept, when he already had grieved and accepted whatever he fucking had to. He came back from each city and country he was sent to thinner and wearier, with more sadness in his heart and tiredness in his limbs. When occasionally his therapists would actually hit on his problem, they would dismiss it almost with relief, as though they were glad that they were finally earning the money his father was paying them.
“I know it’s hard,” they would say with fake concern, “but you have to know that Yunho still would have died even if you hadn’t told him to fetch Junsu’s ball. His death had nothing to do with what you said or did, Yoochun. You told me yourself you heard what the doctor had said. He had been sick even though no one had known it and his heart could have gone anytime. It wasn’t your fault.”
They just couldn’t get it. He needed someone to blame, someone he could beat up to make his hurt more tangible, for him to fucking understand why everything had to happen. He used to be prolific with words. Stories, poems and songs used to gush from him like a river and that would make everything better. Since Yunho’s death, though, and Junsu’s disappearance and Jaejoong’s departure, he’d grown mute. There was nothing else he wanted to say, nothing he wanted to write or sing about. He felt as though a spring inside of him from which his words had used to flow from had dried up. Cocooned in his own world of death and loss, Yoochun became silent, choosing only Changmin to be the sole recipient of the remains of words he could say.
“I miss them…so so much,” he had told Changmin once as they stood on Yoochun’s bedroom’s balcony. In the distance they could see Yunho’s window, now dark where a light used to always shine. It was only the two of them now, him and Changmin. He’d built up no resentment against the others for leaving them, but his sadness grew each day he stared at the hole they had left.
“I know,” Changmin had said and left it at that. The baby had always been a smart one, had always known his place, when to talk and when to stay silent, when a strike or a hug was needed. His hand had gripped Changmin’s shoulder as he cried, and Changmin had held him, easily trading his place as dongsaeng for hyung. Yoochun didn’t think he would ever get used to it, to the fact that it was just him and Changmin now, but he tried, even though his parents said he wasn’t.
Junsu had written him once. In the age of e-mail and mobile technology Yoochun had received a weary postcard in the mail showcasing a church in Spain. We’re always on the move, Junsu had written. Kim (that’s what he called his father now) has this bright fucking idea to be nomads just so I would lose touch with you guys. I’m alive and well, don’t worry. I’ll find a way to get home. That had been in December. No other postcards had come since.
Jaejoong also seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth. After he’d upped and left on his father’s orders, Yoochun only heard of him through Changmin, whenever Jae would send a scanty e-mail about his well-being. I feel dead in this goddamned school, the e-mail had said. You guys keep me alive. Write more, please. He had no idea where Jaejoong was since his father had forbidden anyone of knowing (even Changmin) but was satisfied that at least Jae was still writing, a clue that he was still alive and fighting. Changmin would often ask Yoochun if there was something he’d like for him to tell Jae, but Yoochun always refused. Somewhere deep inside of him he always wished that Jaejoong would tire of his silence and return, would suddenly appear and start life over again with what remained of them. Maybe then Junsu would return too.
“Yeoboseyo?”
He had been sleeping before the phone call came in and had groaned at its invasion of the only time where he could feel the tiniest bit of peace. He was annoyed at first at the silence that greeted his ears and therefore forced a growl to rise from his throat.
“Yeoboseyo?” A breath on the other line, and somehow, the hairs on the back of Yoochun’s neck rose, as though his senses had caught onto something his mind still had not acknowledged.
“Yoochun.”
He knew that voice. He would know it anywhere. He sat up in bed and his body instinctively hunched over, as though the phone call was something-a secret, or a long-forgotten but still cherished memory-he was suddenly desperate to hold on to for as long as he could lest it vanished.
“Jaejae.” Yoochun didn’t know why that nickname was the first thing he’d said. Jaejoong had hated that name. He tried again, his mind already much clearer, his heart beating faster. For the first time he wanted to say so many things, wanted to crow so many sounds, but the only thing his mouth was successful in forming was “Jaejoong”, a single word that he knew by itself embodied so many questions, thoughts, and emotions coming from him. He sat in the dark silence of his room, waiting for Jaejoong to respond. Somehow he could feel his friend, could feel that he was actually near. The thought excited him and he couldn’t find the strength to dismiss it.
You bastard. Where are you? Fuck you for leaving. Please tell me you’re here. I’ve missed you. I’ll go wherever you are. I swear.
The sound of sobbing came through from the other line, making Jaejoong sound so much younger and smaller than he actually was. Tears rolled down Yoochun’s own cheeks as he listened to just how fucking broken and lost (one of) his (best) friend(s) was.
“I’m sorry,” Jaejoong finally spoke, his voice fragile like glass. “I’m home. I’m home. I’m home. Please don’t let me fade away.”
And, for the first time in so long, Yoochun found it in him to smile.
Maybe everything’s going to be all right, after all.
END.
eleawin's comment, I wrote this.
Companion to 'A Clear Midnight'. It's better if you read that first because this is directly related to it.
Title: Free Flight
Character: All of them
Length: Oneshot
Rating/Genre: NC-17 to be safe; MONDO angst
Summary: Yoochun didn’t think he would ever get used to it, to the fact that it was just him and Changmin now, but he tried, even though his parents said he wasn’t.
A/N: Mentions suicide attempts, assault. Please don't read if you're bothered by these kinds of things.
Title and other stuff still from Walt Whitman's poem, "A Clear Midnight".
---
Free Flight
Night,
Yunho’s last memories were of a slow summer day, swollen with the scent of freshly-cut grass under his feet, and streaked with the black-and-white blur that was Junsu’s soccer ball across a backdrop of a clear cornflower blue sky. Nearby, Yoochun’s radio and was playing a song about being young and living crazy, and he bopped his head to the beat, mouthing the lyrics as he did. (Some completely wrong of course because it had only been his second time to hear the song, but he figured he liked it too much to care) Jaejoong hadn’t been there, even though Yunho wished he was. According to Changmin (and common knowledge), his brother was currently enjoying too much the airconditioning his bedroom provided and had no plans of rousing until the late afternoon, in time for a cigarette break on the roof while watching the sun as it sank and melted into the horizon.
“Lazy bum,” he’d muttered with a smile. He turned his head at Junsu’s “Yunho hyung!” and caught the ball with his chest with a slight smack as it sailed towards him. He spun around and gave the ball a clean kick aimed for the makeshift goalpost (a garbage can and Changmin’s backpack). Everyone laughed as the lid on the garbage can sailed towards the edge of the park with a loud clanging and Yoochun was still clutching his sides as he told Yunho to “get the ball, hyung, before it falls into the lake!”
Yunho had grinned at Yoochun in response, had apologized to Junsu just in case the ball would fall into the lake, and had thrown a glance at Changmin who was retreating quickly to the shade of an oak to nurse a can of ice-cold soda, his face red with exertion and his hair plastered to his head with sweat. His last thoughts were of Jaejoong and how he would have probably done a worse kick had he been there, because everyone knew just how unhealthy and not athletic his best friend was. When his heart suddenly stopped a minute and a half later Yunho was still thinking of Jaejoong (“Jae would have loved this-”), but it ended as the vision of endless blue skies and Yoochun’s faraway laughter faded, and Yunho landed nearly soundlessly onto the grass, his palms still warm with sweat and his eyes half-open, as Death slyly and unexpectedly stole him away.
Sleep,
Changmin had not slept for days since it happened. Whenever he closed his eyes there was always Yunho laughing, smiling, running, before wilting onto the ground like a dying flower would, into the embrace of the lush green grass, never to move, to laugh, to smile again. With his eyes open, there was Jaejoong, pale as milk on the bed, unmoving and non-respondent as he’d been since their father had found him as a heap surrounded by his own vomit on his bedroom floor. The sirens and screams still rang in his head and Changmin had been crying for so long now just to make them stop. His mother had begged him to quit his vigil by his brother’s bedside, to take pity on himself for once, but Changmin couldn’t do it.
“He might die if I leave,” he’d told her, his tears choking his voice. “He might die and it would be my fault.” His father had said nothing then. He had only pulled him close and had held him tight, his usually firm grip softened as he rubbed gentle circles on his back.
“I shouldn’t have told him,” Changmin had said, his head pressed onto his father’s broad chest. He had suddenly felt so very small then. “This is my fault.”
He remembered how he had to run after his brother. How he had to push him down to the ground with every single ounce of strength he had, just so he would know what had happened to Yunho. His heart tore apart every time he remembered just how loud Jaejoong had screamed.
“Chang-min….” His name was the first word that Jaejoong uttered after he finally woke up, his eyelids still heavy from the drugs and his hands still cold as ice. Tears clear as crystal gathered at the ends of his older brother’s eyes and his gaze shifted downward, as though he were ashamed. “I’m sorry…I’m so…fucking sorry.”
Changmin only nodded then reached over to gather Jaejoong’s hands in a warm grip. His heart was about to burst, from relief, from anger, from happiness. “Don’t ever do that again, Jaejoong hyung.” His own tears had smattered the sheets. “Please.”
“I swear…I swear…” Jaejoong replied, his face crumpled in an expression of guilt and immense misery. “I’m sorry…Changmin…please God, believe me.” Jaejoong’s eyes were bright with regret and fear (perhaps?), and Changmin felt as his brother’s thin fingers scratched at his shirt desperately, pleading with him to come closer. In the few tense seconds that followed, Changmin allowed himself to be held, wrapped in Jaejoong’s weak embrace (“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” Jaejoong kept whispering, tears in his voice), fighting the heavy feeling that was settling in his chest and wishing with all the willpower he had left that he could believe his hyung.
Death,
Junsu’s parents had been blunt about it, had even been harsh as they spoke of Jaejoong and what had happened to poor Yunho. It had made his blood boil the way his mother had cringed at the neighborhood gossip (which he had vehemently denied but which his mother had still believed anyway), at how his father had kept on referring to Jaejoong as “a fucking nutcase”.
“One of our best friends just fucking died!” Junsu had yelled at his father, tears still staining his cheeks but fury now evident in his voice. Anger at his parents’ hypocrisy and stupidity raged at his chest, clawing at his lungs like a starving animal. It had been five days since Yunho’s death, and three since Jaejoong’s admittance to the hospital after he had tried to kill himself with sleeping pills. He had been crying for them constantly since then, but sorrow had immediately turned into rage the moment his parents had crossed the line. “Have some goddamned fucking respect!”
His mother looked as though she’d been slapped while the color in his father’s face had slowly changed from scarlet to a deep purple. He had seen the hit coming and it felled him to the ground, but he did not utter even a cry. He glared up at his father as he stood there, his fist still raised, his knuckles already reddening from the impact with Junsu’s cheek. Junsu had quickly gotten up and had just been about to strike back (because goddamn it, he was seventeen and was big enough to fight), but Junho had stopped him, had grabbed a hold of his shoulders so he couldn’t move. He squirmed in his brother’s grip, had yelled and kicked, his tears flowing as he yelled various curses at his father, at the whole fucking world.
“You have no right,” he told his father, his head bowed and his chest heaving, too exhausted by his own efforts to raise his voice or fight. The anger in his voice, however still rang clear and true. “No right at all.”
It was Junho who woke him up the next day and coaxed him to board the car ‘for a quick drive’. He had not noticed the stuffed suitcases at the back, nor the car that belonged to their parents following theirs as Junho drove easily down the empty village streets. They had been only half an hour to the airport when Junsu finally understood that Junho had no intention of turning the car around and bringing them back. He fought his brother physically, attempted to wrestle Junho’s grip from the steering wheel, and when that failed (Junho had always been bigger and stronger), Junsu threatened to jump. He was half-crazed by then, the realization of never seeing his friends, his home, of never even having said goodbye to the other three people he’d loved, driving him to near-breaking point. Junho pulled the car over with a loud screech and grabbed his shoulders to shake him.
“Shut up. Shut up!” Junho roared. “Goddamn it, Su! Can’t you see? This is for our own good. Your own good. I love you, you’re my brother. I don’t want to lose you. If we stay I know you’ll disappear completely. Mom and Dad are doing what’s best y getting you away from there. They’re trying to save you. Please God, Su, for me. Please try to understand.”
Junsu wanted to shout at him, wanted to tell him he was fucking crazy and he could just spend the rest of his fucking life with their parents. “Why don’t you just go and-”
“Su, if you go back, Dad is going to destroy Jaejoong. He’s going to make sure the poor guy’s going to stay fucked up if you stay. You don’t want that for him, Junsu. Trust me, please God.” Junsu’s blood ran cold at his brother’s words and he wanted to shut him up, but Junho was relentless. “I heard him. He’s going to talk to every goddamn school and turn them against the poor bastard. You know he can do that. You know he can get away with it.”
And that was when Junsu decided it was no use to fight.
“At least…at least let me say goodbye.” He felt as though he were dying. A heavy heavy feeling weighed down on his shoulders as he did a last attempt to plead with his brother.
“I’m sorry, Su,” was the last thing Junho said as he shook his head, and it was then that Junsu realized that his one-sided goodbye was meant to be for forever.
and Stars.
It had been nearly half a year, but Yoochun still blamed himself. His parents had pulled him out of school for that year and had sent him to various therapists in all the well-known cities, just so they could prod him and ask him over and over and over what he felt, who his friends were, were they nice, did he miss them. Yoochun had given up on them, tired of their common answer that he just needed some time to grieve and accept, when he already had grieved and accepted whatever he fucking had to. He came back from each city and country he was sent to thinner and wearier, with more sadness in his heart and tiredness in his limbs. When occasionally his therapists would actually hit on his problem, they would dismiss it almost with relief, as though they were glad that they were finally earning the money his father was paying them.
“I know it’s hard,” they would say with fake concern, “but you have to know that Yunho still would have died even if you hadn’t told him to fetch Junsu’s ball. His death had nothing to do with what you said or did, Yoochun. You told me yourself you heard what the doctor had said. He had been sick even though no one had known it and his heart could have gone anytime. It wasn’t your fault.”
They just couldn’t get it. He needed someone to blame, someone he could beat up to make his hurt more tangible, for him to fucking understand why everything had to happen. He used to be prolific with words. Stories, poems and songs used to gush from him like a river and that would make everything better. Since Yunho’s death, though, and Junsu’s disappearance and Jaejoong’s departure, he’d grown mute. There was nothing else he wanted to say, nothing he wanted to write or sing about. He felt as though a spring inside of him from which his words had used to flow from had dried up. Cocooned in his own world of death and loss, Yoochun became silent, choosing only Changmin to be the sole recipient of the remains of words he could say.
“I miss them…so so much,” he had told Changmin once as they stood on Yoochun’s bedroom’s balcony. In the distance they could see Yunho’s window, now dark where a light used to always shine. It was only the two of them now, him and Changmin. He’d built up no resentment against the others for leaving them, but his sadness grew each day he stared at the hole they had left.
“I know,” Changmin had said and left it at that. The baby had always been a smart one, had always known his place, when to talk and when to stay silent, when a strike or a hug was needed. His hand had gripped Changmin’s shoulder as he cried, and Changmin had held him, easily trading his place as dongsaeng for hyung. Yoochun didn’t think he would ever get used to it, to the fact that it was just him and Changmin now, but he tried, even though his parents said he wasn’t.
Junsu had written him once. In the age of e-mail and mobile technology Yoochun had received a weary postcard in the mail showcasing a church in Spain. We’re always on the move, Junsu had written. Kim (that’s what he called his father now) has this bright fucking idea to be nomads just so I would lose touch with you guys. I’m alive and well, don’t worry. I’ll find a way to get home. That had been in December. No other postcards had come since.
Jaejoong also seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth. After he’d upped and left on his father’s orders, Yoochun only heard of him through Changmin, whenever Jae would send a scanty e-mail about his well-being. I feel dead in this goddamned school, the e-mail had said. You guys keep me alive. Write more, please. He had no idea where Jaejoong was since his father had forbidden anyone of knowing (even Changmin) but was satisfied that at least Jae was still writing, a clue that he was still alive and fighting. Changmin would often ask Yoochun if there was something he’d like for him to tell Jae, but Yoochun always refused. Somewhere deep inside of him he always wished that Jaejoong would tire of his silence and return, would suddenly appear and start life over again with what remained of them. Maybe then Junsu would return too.
“Yeoboseyo?”
He had been sleeping before the phone call came in and had groaned at its invasion of the only time where he could feel the tiniest bit of peace. He was annoyed at first at the silence that greeted his ears and therefore forced a growl to rise from his throat.
“Yeoboseyo?” A breath on the other line, and somehow, the hairs on the back of Yoochun’s neck rose, as though his senses had caught onto something his mind still had not acknowledged.
“Yoochun.”
He knew that voice. He would know it anywhere. He sat up in bed and his body instinctively hunched over, as though the phone call was something-a secret, or a long-forgotten but still cherished memory-he was suddenly desperate to hold on to for as long as he could lest it vanished.
“Jaejae.” Yoochun didn’t know why that nickname was the first thing he’d said. Jaejoong had hated that name. He tried again, his mind already much clearer, his heart beating faster. For the first time he wanted to say so many things, wanted to crow so many sounds, but the only thing his mouth was successful in forming was “Jaejoong”, a single word that he knew by itself embodied so many questions, thoughts, and emotions coming from him. He sat in the dark silence of his room, waiting for Jaejoong to respond. Somehow he could feel his friend, could feel that he was actually near. The thought excited him and he couldn’t find the strength to dismiss it.
You bastard. Where are you? Fuck you for leaving. Please tell me you’re here. I’ve missed you. I’ll go wherever you are. I swear.
The sound of sobbing came through from the other line, making Jaejoong sound so much younger and smaller than he actually was. Tears rolled down Yoochun’s own cheeks as he listened to just how fucking broken and lost (one of) his (best) friend(s) was.
“I’m sorry,” Jaejoong finally spoke, his voice fragile like glass. “I’m home. I’m home. I’m home. Please don’t let me fade away.”
And, for the first time in so long, Yoochun found it in him to smile.
Maybe everything’s going to be all right, after all.
END.