Lost Boys [3/?]
HAPPY HOLIDAYS, everyone!
Title: Lost Boys
Character: Changmin-centric, but everyone's going to appear in it.
Length: 3/?
Rating/Genre: PG in general; it's AU haha.
Summary: He has never been a fast runner (he has never actually run before, except when he was forced to do so for gym class), but the sounds of whistles and shouts behind him push him to not think but goddamn it just GO!
Three
By the fifth day he’s figured out where the buses going to Incheon Airport are and he stands in line between a withered old man and a lovestruck couple, hunched over in the cold, the backpack he’s carrying enhancing the image of him as some overgrown tortoise with sticks for limbs. He misses his camera, misses it as though he’s lost one of his own limbs, but he fights the urge to keep hopelessly wishing for it back. He has only enough money left now to buy himself a one-way ticket to somewhere near, but he figures anywhere will do. He hopes and dreams that he’ll end up somewhere warm.
No one has recognized him, at least not yet. Several times he’s nearly crossed paths with police officers who hold out pictures of him (horrible ones, at that; it’s his most recent school photo) to passers-by, but he always finds enough time to duck away unnoticed.
Phlegm gurgles up his throat and he coughs, his hand automatically flying to his mouth to cover it. He hears her voice again, as he’s been akin to doing these past few days (he blames the pathetic amount and quality of food he’s been ingesting), almost feels her gentle touch on the sides of his face: That’s a bad cough, Changmin, darling. Have you taken medicine for it? Do cover your mouth, darling, it’s rude to just cough in public…
A great wheeze and a squeal sounds and Changmin opens his eyes again. The bus has arrived.
“We’re under special orders by the police to check the passengers who come onboard. They’re looking for that Shim boy, I believe…” The conductor surveys their line, his eyes flitting from one cold-reddened face to the next.
“You-Hey you!”
Changmin runs.
He has never been a fast runner (he has never actually run before, except when he was forced to do so for gym class), but the sounds of whistles and shouts behind him push him to not think but goddamn it just GO! He turns an alley, nearly falling over onto his face in the process. His lungs and sides are burning and he wants to vomit, but he doesn’t stop.
“Hey!”
He turns another alley, hearing as the footsteps behind him come closer. Cold sweat trickles down his forehead. No, no, you won’t get me, his mind is spinning deliriously, the world around him precariously teetering on the brink of light and dark, I won’t let you.
“Hey! Stop!”
A chain link fence blocks his path. Without thinking (he’s never dared to climb up even a tree for God’s sakes), he throws himself onto it, fingers grabbing tightly onto the cold metal, his sneakers slipping and sliding several times before he makes it to the top. His arms and knees weak, he lands on the other side with an ungraceful thump, ripping his jacket in the process.
No no no no…
The world crumbles around him and Changmin falls, knees first, onto the frozen pavement. He can feel as half of his body burns with pain and fatigue and as the other half quickly becomes numb, acclimatizing itself onto the ground he’s lying on. His breaths come out in sharp wheezes, the phlegm in his throat threatening to choke him.
“Oh Jesus…oh jeez…” he hears someone say, and then everything is gone.
The next thing Changmin knows, he’s still on his back, but somewhere, someone is humming a soft tune, the notes a gentle and comforting thrumming on the walls of the room (he’s in a room, yes? Though it’s still cold, there are no ill winter winds blowing past his knees). Everything is dark and heavy, and he yelps without meaning to, his fists forming at his sides.
“Have I gone blind? Where am I?” His voice is higher than normal and his heart is racing. A cool hand presses down on his forehead and he wriggles under the touch. “Who are you? Don’t touch me!”
“Easy, easy,” the voice is deep and resembles the low rumbling of a river, the words rolling easily off the speakers’ tongue. “And keep your voice down, you’ll wake Yunho up. Open your eyes, but gently, otherwise it’s going to hurt.”
Yunho? He’s heard that name before. He lifts his eyelids with more effort than usual and winces as amber sunlight enters his eyes. A silhouette moves over him, to block the rays. “I told you to do it gently. Sorry I can’t do anything about the sunlight. It keeps the place warm for now so we don’t bother covering up the window.”
Changmin squints. The silhouette moves closer, peers at him, and the face of a man comes into view. Unlike him, this man looks more world weary and his face is pale and tired, small under a bushel of raven colored hair that reaches and rests against his nape. His eyes, however, seem to hold the full extent of his youth, as they stare back at Changmin bright with mischief and curiosity. “Glad to see you’re awake. Your fever broke a while ago so you’re probably on the road to recovery.”
A surge of fright courses through Changmin’s veins. This is definitely no hospital. He bolts upright, startling the man, and skitters backward with the help of his elbows until his back hits a wall. He presses against it, his mind alert now, his body readying itself to make a run for it should he need to.
“Who are you? Where am I? Why am I here?” His head throbs as he quickly attempts to soak up his surroundings. He’s in a small dingy room (small as a box) that’s furnished with nothing but a thin sheet on the floor that (he surmises) serves as a bed. The sunlight is streaming through a filthy window, bathing the room golden and illuminating the man he’s talking to, and another who’s lying on the floor on the opposite side of the sheet where he had been just moments ago (he unconsciously inwardly cringes at the thought), a lump under a pile of coats and a graying blanket. From where he is, Changmin can make out the back of a head of tousled hair.
His mind jumps to a conclusion. “I have no money to give you! N-Nobody knows where I am, I’ll do anything you say, please don’t kill me…”
The man gawks at him as though he’s just sprouted horns. “What-? Who’s killing who? Do I look like a freaking murderer to you? And I told you, keep your voice down.” He motions towards the sleeping figure and moves towards Changmin.
“If it’s money you want-” but Changmin is silenced with a sharp hiss.
“You think you’ve been kidnapped?” The man gives a derisive snort, his eyes vanishing into small slits as he smiles. Laugh lines decorate his face. “Don’t be ridiculous, none of us are that stupid. Besides, who do you think you are? Special or something?” He turns around and heads towards the doorway. “Sit tight and shut up; I’ll get you some ramen. You’ve been knocked out for nearly a day now.”
When he returns, Changmin hasn’t budged even an inch where he is. He’s still wearing the clothes he remembered he had on and the things in his pockets are intact. He decides to delay asking about his backpack, remembering his passport and citizen card is there, evidences of his identity.
“You seem starved,” the man comments, looking amused. He’s handed Changmin a bowl of steaming ramen and a pair of chopsticks he fishes out from his pockets (who cares if it’s sterile or not) and Changmin is in the process of devouring it, ravenous from being deprived of proper food for so long. “My name is Yoochun by the way. My friend Junsu was the one who brought you here. He says he saw as you collapsed in an alleyway. Also said you were the one who helped pay for the food he bought.”
Junsu. The name clicks in Changmin’s mind and he looks up, his cheeks full. Yoochun. Yunho. He remembers the boy at the train station. So this was Yoochun, this thin frail-looking person seated in front of him, looking nearly lost in an oversized sweater that Changmin notices has more than a few stains decorating the sleeves. If he had been ill Changmin surmises that he must be better now, seeing that he’s the one taking care of him.
“We don’t have much money, but it’s the least we could do. Eye for an eye and all that. Sorry if you were frightened.” Yoochun’s words are slow, careful and measured, soothing Changmin. He senses nothing negative about this man, if not for an air of mischief. He relaxes a bit more. “You’re still in Seoul though. This godforsaken place here is just what we call home.” There’s a twinkle in his eye. “What’s your name?”
“Changmin.” He’s careful to leave out his last name. One can never be too trusting. Yoochun nods and takes his empty bowl. “Th-Thank you for the food. I’m sorry if I was…rude earlier.”
He sees the curious look in Yoochun’s gaze, but the man questions no further. “Junsu will be home in a little while. Yunho hyung…he’s feeling a little under the weather. You’ll probably meet him when he’s more lucid; he’s such a pain when he’s sick. We have another hyung. He’s been out since yesterday, dunno where he is. But he’s bound to return. He always does…”
Changmin feels he’s forgotten something, one crucial detail that he knows he should remember. He’s intent on remembering it when the peace inside the apartment is disturbed. Somewhere a door bangs open and feels as the paper-thin walls making up the entire apartment tremble under his skin. A clumping of boots sounds.
“Yoochun!” The tone is high and gleeful, but edged with more than a trace of impishness. Changmin sees as Yoochun opens his mouth to reply but is stopped in doing so when a shadow blocks the doorway, and Changmin is greeted by the sight of Jaejoong-Youngwoong Jaejoong-pulling out various scarves from the inner pockets of that hideously scarlet coat, a delighted smile stretched across his face.
“I got blue for you, Chun, and green for Yunho…Su won’t mind gray will he? The ajumma selling these was totally clueless, I was practically…” His dark eyes land on Changmin, and his mouth flaps shut. His eyes grow wide (possibly the same time as Changmin’s own) and a Cheshire cat grin replaces whatever expression was there before.
“Well well well. If it isn’t the little runaway prince.”
TBC
Title: Lost Boys
Character: Changmin-centric, but everyone's going to appear in it.
Length: 3/?
Rating/Genre: PG in general; it's AU haha.
Summary: He has never been a fast runner (he has never actually run before, except when he was forced to do so for gym class), but the sounds of whistles and shouts behind him push him to not think but goddamn it just GO!
Three
By the fifth day he’s figured out where the buses going to Incheon Airport are and he stands in line between a withered old man and a lovestruck couple, hunched over in the cold, the backpack he’s carrying enhancing the image of him as some overgrown tortoise with sticks for limbs. He misses his camera, misses it as though he’s lost one of his own limbs, but he fights the urge to keep hopelessly wishing for it back. He has only enough money left now to buy himself a one-way ticket to somewhere near, but he figures anywhere will do. He hopes and dreams that he’ll end up somewhere warm.
No one has recognized him, at least not yet. Several times he’s nearly crossed paths with police officers who hold out pictures of him (horrible ones, at that; it’s his most recent school photo) to passers-by, but he always finds enough time to duck away unnoticed.
Phlegm gurgles up his throat and he coughs, his hand automatically flying to his mouth to cover it. He hears her voice again, as he’s been akin to doing these past few days (he blames the pathetic amount and quality of food he’s been ingesting), almost feels her gentle touch on the sides of his face: That’s a bad cough, Changmin, darling. Have you taken medicine for it? Do cover your mouth, darling, it’s rude to just cough in public…
A great wheeze and a squeal sounds and Changmin opens his eyes again. The bus has arrived.
“We’re under special orders by the police to check the passengers who come onboard. They’re looking for that Shim boy, I believe…” The conductor surveys their line, his eyes flitting from one cold-reddened face to the next.
“You-Hey you!”
Changmin runs.
He has never been a fast runner (he has never actually run before, except when he was forced to do so for gym class), but the sounds of whistles and shouts behind him push him to not think but goddamn it just GO! He turns an alley, nearly falling over onto his face in the process. His lungs and sides are burning and he wants to vomit, but he doesn’t stop.
“Hey!”
He turns another alley, hearing as the footsteps behind him come closer. Cold sweat trickles down his forehead. No, no, you won’t get me, his mind is spinning deliriously, the world around him precariously teetering on the brink of light and dark, I won’t let you.
“Hey! Stop!”
A chain link fence blocks his path. Without thinking (he’s never dared to climb up even a tree for God’s sakes), he throws himself onto it, fingers grabbing tightly onto the cold metal, his sneakers slipping and sliding several times before he makes it to the top. His arms and knees weak, he lands on the other side with an ungraceful thump, ripping his jacket in the process.
No no no no…
The world crumbles around him and Changmin falls, knees first, onto the frozen pavement. He can feel as half of his body burns with pain and fatigue and as the other half quickly becomes numb, acclimatizing itself onto the ground he’s lying on. His breaths come out in sharp wheezes, the phlegm in his throat threatening to choke him.
“Oh Jesus…oh jeez…” he hears someone say, and then everything is gone.
The next thing Changmin knows, he’s still on his back, but somewhere, someone is humming a soft tune, the notes a gentle and comforting thrumming on the walls of the room (he’s in a room, yes? Though it’s still cold, there are no ill winter winds blowing past his knees). Everything is dark and heavy, and he yelps without meaning to, his fists forming at his sides.
“Have I gone blind? Where am I?” His voice is higher than normal and his heart is racing. A cool hand presses down on his forehead and he wriggles under the touch. “Who are you? Don’t touch me!”
“Easy, easy,” the voice is deep and resembles the low rumbling of a river, the words rolling easily off the speakers’ tongue. “And keep your voice down, you’ll wake Yunho up. Open your eyes, but gently, otherwise it’s going to hurt.”
Yunho? He’s heard that name before. He lifts his eyelids with more effort than usual and winces as amber sunlight enters his eyes. A silhouette moves over him, to block the rays. “I told you to do it gently. Sorry I can’t do anything about the sunlight. It keeps the place warm for now so we don’t bother covering up the window.”
Changmin squints. The silhouette moves closer, peers at him, and the face of a man comes into view. Unlike him, this man looks more world weary and his face is pale and tired, small under a bushel of raven colored hair that reaches and rests against his nape. His eyes, however, seem to hold the full extent of his youth, as they stare back at Changmin bright with mischief and curiosity. “Glad to see you’re awake. Your fever broke a while ago so you’re probably on the road to recovery.”
A surge of fright courses through Changmin’s veins. This is definitely no hospital. He bolts upright, startling the man, and skitters backward with the help of his elbows until his back hits a wall. He presses against it, his mind alert now, his body readying itself to make a run for it should he need to.
“Who are you? Where am I? Why am I here?” His head throbs as he quickly attempts to soak up his surroundings. He’s in a small dingy room (small as a box) that’s furnished with nothing but a thin sheet on the floor that (he surmises) serves as a bed. The sunlight is streaming through a filthy window, bathing the room golden and illuminating the man he’s talking to, and another who’s lying on the floor on the opposite side of the sheet where he had been just moments ago (he unconsciously inwardly cringes at the thought), a lump under a pile of coats and a graying blanket. From where he is, Changmin can make out the back of a head of tousled hair.
His mind jumps to a conclusion. “I have no money to give you! N-Nobody knows where I am, I’ll do anything you say, please don’t kill me…”
The man gawks at him as though he’s just sprouted horns. “What-? Who’s killing who? Do I look like a freaking murderer to you? And I told you, keep your voice down.” He motions towards the sleeping figure and moves towards Changmin.
“If it’s money you want-” but Changmin is silenced with a sharp hiss.
“You think you’ve been kidnapped?” The man gives a derisive snort, his eyes vanishing into small slits as he smiles. Laugh lines decorate his face. “Don’t be ridiculous, none of us are that stupid. Besides, who do you think you are? Special or something?” He turns around and heads towards the doorway. “Sit tight and shut up; I’ll get you some ramen. You’ve been knocked out for nearly a day now.”
When he returns, Changmin hasn’t budged even an inch where he is. He’s still wearing the clothes he remembered he had on and the things in his pockets are intact. He decides to delay asking about his backpack, remembering his passport and citizen card is there, evidences of his identity.
“You seem starved,” the man comments, looking amused. He’s handed Changmin a bowl of steaming ramen and a pair of chopsticks he fishes out from his pockets (who cares if it’s sterile or not) and Changmin is in the process of devouring it, ravenous from being deprived of proper food for so long. “My name is Yoochun by the way. My friend Junsu was the one who brought you here. He says he saw as you collapsed in an alleyway. Also said you were the one who helped pay for the food he bought.”
Junsu. The name clicks in Changmin’s mind and he looks up, his cheeks full. Yoochun. Yunho. He remembers the boy at the train station. So this was Yoochun, this thin frail-looking person seated in front of him, looking nearly lost in an oversized sweater that Changmin notices has more than a few stains decorating the sleeves. If he had been ill Changmin surmises that he must be better now, seeing that he’s the one taking care of him.
“We don’t have much money, but it’s the least we could do. Eye for an eye and all that. Sorry if you were frightened.” Yoochun’s words are slow, careful and measured, soothing Changmin. He senses nothing negative about this man, if not for an air of mischief. He relaxes a bit more. “You’re still in Seoul though. This godforsaken place here is just what we call home.” There’s a twinkle in his eye. “What’s your name?”
“Changmin.” He’s careful to leave out his last name. One can never be too trusting. Yoochun nods and takes his empty bowl. “Th-Thank you for the food. I’m sorry if I was…rude earlier.”
He sees the curious look in Yoochun’s gaze, but the man questions no further. “Junsu will be home in a little while. Yunho hyung…he’s feeling a little under the weather. You’ll probably meet him when he’s more lucid; he’s such a pain when he’s sick. We have another hyung. He’s been out since yesterday, dunno where he is. But he’s bound to return. He always does…”
Changmin feels he’s forgotten something, one crucial detail that he knows he should remember. He’s intent on remembering it when the peace inside the apartment is disturbed. Somewhere a door bangs open and feels as the paper-thin walls making up the entire apartment tremble under his skin. A clumping of boots sounds.
“Yoochun!” The tone is high and gleeful, but edged with more than a trace of impishness. Changmin sees as Yoochun opens his mouth to reply but is stopped in doing so when a shadow blocks the doorway, and Changmin is greeted by the sight of Jaejoong-Youngwoong Jaejoong-pulling out various scarves from the inner pockets of that hideously scarlet coat, a delighted smile stretched across his face.
“I got blue for you, Chun, and green for Yunho…Su won’t mind gray will he? The ajumma selling these was totally clueless, I was practically…” His dark eyes land on Changmin, and his mouth flaps shut. His eyes grow wide (possibly the same time as Changmin’s own) and a Cheshire cat grin replaces whatever expression was there before.
“Well well well. If it isn’t the little runaway prince.”
TBC