Lost Boys [6/?]
Title: Lost Boys
Character: Changmin-centric, but everyone's going to appear in it.
Length: 6/?
Rating/Genre: PG in general; it's AU haha.
Summary: Two more days pass, and in Seoul, snow has started to fall. Only two days (making it slightly more than a week since he went ‘missing’), but for Changmin, it feels as though it’s been slightly less than forever.
A/N: This is LONG. T.T
SIX
Two more days pass, and in Seoul, snow has started to fall. Only two days (making it slightly more than a week since he went ‘missing’), but for Changmin, it feels as though it’s been slightly less than forever. Adjusting to his new way of living has certainly not been easy or pleasant; he wakes every morning with his head spinning and his stomach grumbling, but the other boys do their part in distracting themselves (him included) in order for them not to feel it.
Right after his encounter with Jaejoong, he goes out for the first time again with Yoochun (after much persistence), and the fresh air has never felt so good on Changmin’s face. He’s hiding underneath a beanie to hide his hair, and an old army jacket (nearly stain-free, but smelling slightly stale) he’s borrowed off Yunho. They’re in a part of Seoul Changmin has never been to before (had he been his old self he probably would have been startled, but nothing startles him much anymore), where apartments are lined up like breadboxes, children with smeared faces run about, and worn holey clothes are being hung out to dry on thin steel wires. Yoochun runs up and down like a child, bumping people on occasion, and when Changmin catches up to him, his hands and pockets are already full.
“Here,” Yoochun hands him a small handful of peanuts, still warm. “Take some. You must be starving.”
“Yoochun hyung-” Changmin’s eyes grow wide, but the peanuts find their way into his palm anyway. Yoochun’s eyes twinkle.
“More where that came from,” he assures him, and he starts to lead the way again with a cock of his head. “C’mon, I’ll teach you.”
Yoochun leads him to where the crowds are and Changmin recoils, his eyes darting from left to right in case the police are keeping watch, but his wrist is gripped and he finds himself being dragged down the sidewalk. Sometimes, Yoochun says, sidling through the crowd, you gotta do what you gotta do, and when they get through, Yoochun slides something into Changmin’s pocket (a gold wristwatch, a wallet, a Staedtler pen) and gives him a crooked smile.
“I’m the most useless among the four of us. The only thing I’m good at is this. Never learned how to read or write much, and I’m totally pathetic with numbers.” Changmin notes a slight tone of self-pity in his voice, and for once, Yoochun’s smile falters. “I try to help as much as I can through this. Yunho hyung and Junsu don’t like it, but sometimes we have to eat you know?”
Changmin learned to read at three with his mother’s help, was able to add, subtract and multiply perfectly at six and never encountered a day in his life before running away being hungry. He remembers days when he used to just point whenever he wanted something (ice cream, or a balloon, or a new toy) and he would get it right away. These days, however, he has to run on hopes and prayers in order for him to get what he needs (he hasn’t had rice since he ran away and once, upon catching his reflection in the mirror he can barely recognize himself anymore). Despite his dislike for Yoochun’s sticky fingers, he merely nods. Who is he to judge now what’s right and wrong?
“I learned as a child. My family was poor and I had no other way to help feed my baby brother.” Yoochun refuses to meet his gaze, choosing instead to focus on a withered tree nearby. “I taught Jaejoong hyung when we first met; I’m not proud of it. He’s gotten so much better than me though. I guess it’s because I try to not do it anymore. I don’t want to get caught and go to jail. I may be poor but I have dreams.” He raises his arms, exposing the holes that his plaid coat bears and the tatty shirt underneath it, his fingers (Changmin recognizes the gloves Jaejoong stole) stretching up to the cotton sky. “Bigger dreams.”
His former world of Windsor-knotted ties, starched private school uniforms and warm dinners had created little space for big dreams. Everything was planned out and jotted down and heaven help the soul who would dare meddle with his father’s grand plans; it was a world his mother never touched, more so because his father never welcomed her to. A life as a scholar, perhaps? Or an official as well? The government’s public servant? Nothing less for my darling boy. Then a marriage to the daughter from a chaebol family from where I’ll be expecting a lovely grandson. You’d have everything at your feet! What do you say, Changmin-ah? What do you say, son?
“I don’t know why you ran away,” Yoochun says with a brotherly smile, his gloved hand landing lightly on his shoulder, shaking him free from memories, “but I hope to God you resolve whatever it is that’s bothering you and find a better life than this,” and Changmin winces, his father’s voice fading as he remembers Jaejoong’s words.
Jaejoong brings home a treat that night: red bean fish pastries, warm in their hands and wrapped in clean wax paper. It’s exactly three, and he hands them only to Yoochun, Yunho and Junsu, whose smiles disappear as Changmin bows his head, pretending to not notice that he has been left out. Before the meal is over, however, he finds three halves of the pastries hiding behind him, and he attempts to give them back to their rightful owners (because God knows they’re all hungry), but they merely ignore him or look away, leaving him to mutter thanks, his throat suddenly feeling a little too tight.
It’s Junsu the following day who assures him that Jaejoong doesn’t hate him, not as much as he thinks anyway, but Changmin says that he doesn’t really care. He took my camera and I doubt it’s still with him, he says. They’re out on the streets again, but thankfully ducking through alleys and fire exits. (Changmin discovers that Junsu has a tendency of looking at the world as one big playground: he swings off poles, clambers onto fences, jumps from ledges and leaps, skips and runs as much as he pleases. Changmin earns more than enough bruises for his liking and the clothes he’s wearing get torn in several places after just one afternoon spent with him. Damn stupid, he tells himself for the millionth time after he nearly falls on his face from another jump). I’m the one who’s supposed to hate him and not the other way around.
“You do care that he likes you,” Junsu is as energetic as Yoochun, if not more so. Changmin is relieved however at finding Junsu’s hands empty of anything after they bump more than several people as they make their way across the busy street. “Whether you believe it or not. Jaejoong hyung has that effect on people.”
Changmin scoffs. “This isn’t grade school. I don’t care who likes me and who doesn’t like me. I have plenty of other friends,” which is a lie. He has never had any real friends his age. Grown-ups have always been the ones who were more interested in what he has to say. He remembers with a pang that it was his mother who used to listen to him the most, who used to let him sit on her lap for hours until he fell asleep. Always Changmin-ah, tell Mummy one of your stories? and never the other way around. He liked it that way.
“Jaejoong hyung doesn’t hate. He dislikes people, sometimes intensely, but he never hates. It’s too strong an emotion and he isn’t like that.” Junsu says. “We never really know what’s going on in his mind but one thing’s for sure, he doesn’t hate you,” and leaves it at that.
Changmin is pleased to discover that Junsu actually has a job. He works in a small bakery as the baker’s assistant where he kneads dough, rolls them out, carries things and mops the floor. I earn enough to get us through, like food for Yunho hyung and stuff, which is okay, he says, a bright grin on his face. Changmin waits for him inside the bakery where it’s warm, but hides his face behind a newspaper. When Junsu emerges once his shift is over, his cheeks are apple-red from the heat and in his hands he’s holding not three, not four, but five éclairs.
“DongChul hyung gave them to me as a treat,” he says, looking immensely pleased. He hands the biggest one to Changmin. “Here, dongsaeng. So you won’t feel as bad about Jaejoong hyung’s behavior anymore.” And Changmin takes it with trembling fingers, vowing to himself that when the time comes that he gets a job and has enough money again, he’s going to look for them, wherever they are going to be, and treat them to the biggest meal in their lives.
Things could have been fine (his standards have been lowered now: ‘fine’ is being able to eat even a bit of bread three times a day, waking up in the morning and not feeling frozen, him and Jaejoong actually saying at the most two civil words to each other during the day) with him now if not for the nighttime. In that shoebox of an apartment, it’s nighttime that Changmin hates the most. More than once since his arrival they’ve had to go to bed early as a means to not feel their hunger pangs. He sleeps on the rightmost part, between Yoochun and the wall, and more than once he’s woken up, his stomach demanding for him to get more food in, his body shivering at the presence of another draft in the room, his back and limbs screaming sore from sleeping on the cold hard floor, his mind tangled in yet another memory that keeps his heart racing and his mouth dry. Those moments he fights to control his emotions, to not remember and miss what he once had, but sometimes he can’t help but to do just that, until his eyes finally get tired of holding it all in.
There’s a creak as someone sits on the chair right next to him, and Changmin stifles his sobs as he feels a hand rest on the back of his head, stroking it gently. Changmin-ah.
“It’s n-nothing, don’t mi-mind me, hyung.” Yunho has been ill again lately from their lack of food. Jaejoong brings home noodles, oranges, and Junsu their staple bread. Yoochun has even managed to bring home a bit of rice once which they succeeded in cooking, and Changmin has tried to help by scrounging through his backpack (thoughtfully and thankfully hidden by Junsu) for whatever food he has left. Yunho, however, refuses to eat unless they all do, which doesn’t really solve anything. Changmin can’t find it in him to lift his head and show his face; compared to what Yunho (and the rest) is going through, his problems seem to not be as big and as controlling as before, even though he used to believe (or tried to convince himself) that they were.
“I hear you crying in the night; sometimes in the bedroom and sometimes out here. I hear you when you call out for your mother in the darkness too.” Changmin bites his lip so hard he almost fears it’s going to bleed, and feels as Yunho’s hand rests on his nape. The tops of their heads touch. “I…I don’t want to tell you that everything is going to be okay, because sometimes they don’t turn out to be. We all have problems, and I know we still don’t really know you but Changmin, you don’t have to be alone in this; you’re not, actually.”
Another sob. This time it’s because he sees her face more clearly in his mind now, and for once it overpowers the feeling of hunger that seems permanently settled in his stomach. The image however lasts only for a fleeting second before vanishing once again, and this time his cries come out as a gasp, the familiar angry desperation ravaging at his chest.
“I can’t remember how she looks like…I can only clearly see her now in my dreams. I used to remember…I used to feel her, but now it feels like she’s fading away.” In his waking hours, he tries to recall her face, her touch, but she doesn’t come as easily as she used to. He’s always too weak, too hungry, too tired. “I don’t want her to fade away. What kind of son am I? I’m going to be as useless as my f-father…”
He finds the strength to look up as his lungs burn for air (his arms are too wet and his nose is congested already) and the moment he sees Yunho there, his head also on the table resting on his free arm, looking overwhelmingly patient and concerned, a wall inside of him crumbles.
“He never l-loved her, even after she died. It was a fixed marriage, he said, and he only agreed so he could have a son. But even when I came he wouldn’t even look at her, and she still loved him even though it was hopeless…she loved him until the cancer took her.”
He remembers his mother on the bed, pale as the sheets but beautiful than ever. He used to hate her for being so apathetic to the symptoms and eventually being lax about the treatments, but he knows it’s because he loved her immensely. Changmin, darling, take care of daddy for me, okay? You know he loves you very much. He said yes that day, after many tears, but he hasn’t kept his promise. Finally, his father said, a tight grip on his shoulder, the woman has moved on. Changmin had run away right after the funeral, not able to stand the sight of his father any longer.
Yunho moves closer and Changmin cries onto his shoulder. I’m sorry about her, he hears Yunho whisper into his neck and he nods, acknowledging it.
“Hyung, I’m sorry. I know you have bigger problems…that mine pale in comparison…” Changmin keeps his head low after they part, tears still slick on his cheeks. “I mean, you’re sick all the time…there’s barely enough food for all of us…I shouldn’t even be here…”
“Don’t say that,” Yunho frowns. “If there’s anyone who should be apologizing, it should be us for treating you so poorly. I mean, Jae’s bullying you all the time, I heard Yoochun’s tried to teach you to pickpocket and God knows what else goes on under my nose…”
Changmin gives a strangled little laugh. He’s learning to ignore Jaejoong’s childish behavior; it after all is nothing compared to his anguish over his loss of the memory of his mother. Besides that, teaching his body how to cope with the lack of food takes up too much time. Yunho manages a smile as well, wrapping his arms around himself to keep him warm.
“I’m a runaway myself. I know what it’s like. My parents died when I was a child and left me in the care of my aunt and uncle. I ran away when I was fourteen or so.” Changmin notices that his eyes are over bright, and for a brief moment he gets a glimpse of Yunho, the child: searching, helpless and uncertain even after all these years. “My uncle used to beat me almost habitually. He was all right when he wasn’t drunk but when he was….” Yunho trails off then continues with a shrug. “My aunt never did anything of course; he would beat her as well. So I ran away. If it weren’t for Junsu and his family I probably would have died on the streets.”
His words drive through Changmin like a stake. “Junsu hyung…where is his family?”
“We don’t know. His father lost his job and couldn’t support them anymore, and his family split up. His brother went to an orphanage I heard. I don’t know where his parents are. I don’t think he does either. But they were very kind to me. Somehow they managed to fit me in before everything truly went bad, and I’m entirely indebted to him for it. I promised him we’d find his family-don’t look so sad, dongsaeng.” Yunho cracks a smile and reaches out to squeeze his hand. “We’re all right; we get by.”
The world suddenly seems so big to Changmin now, big and frightening. Everything he used to hold in the palm of his hand his fingers can now barely grasp, and everything he used to hold dear is now questioned. This is isn’t fair, he thinks bitterly, unsure if he feels more pity for himself or for the others, this kind of life isn’t fair to any of us.
“I’m sorry,” is the only thing he can say because for the first time in his life he feels bad for who he is and the family he’s born to, for everything he stands (or used to stand) for.
“Don’t be.” Yunho’s voice is soft and assuring. “Sometimes you have it, sometimes you don’t. It’s the way it’s supposed to be…you just have to learn how to deal with things like this, you know-”
Someone clears his throat from the doorway of the bedroom. It’s Jaejoong, his hair tousled and his voice thick with sleep. A shaft of moonlight illuminates him and shadows of the snowfall outside dance on his face.
“Yunho-yah. Changmin-ah.” Changmin is surprised that Jaejoong actually says his name. He adheres it (as well as the lack of hostility in his tone) to the fact that Jaejoong’s probably still half-asleep. “What are you two doing? You’ll freeze. Yunho-yah come back to bed, it’s too cold without you there. Junsu can only give off so much heat.”
He sounds almost reprimanding and Yunho winks at Changmin before tugging him to his feet.
“That’s our Jaejoong, always bossy, half-asleep or not,” Yunho laughs, the sound making the corner of Changmin’s lips tug into a smile, and an arm is slung loosely over Changmin’s shoulder. “Changmin-ah, if you need to talk you can always come to me, all right? You’re one of us now; you don’t have to do anything alone.”
A draft passes again and Yunho holds him closer almost instinctively, Jaejoong clucks at them angrily, muttering about stupid half-brained ideas that will end up killing them, and for a moment (yes, even with Jaejoong there), Changmin doesn’t feel as hungry or as cold or as weak, or certainly not as alone as before.
Character: Changmin-centric, but everyone's going to appear in it.
Length: 6/?
Rating/Genre: PG in general; it's AU haha.
Summary: Two more days pass, and in Seoul, snow has started to fall. Only two days (making it slightly more than a week since he went ‘missing’), but for Changmin, it feels as though it’s been slightly less than forever.
A/N: This is LONG. T.T
SIX
Two more days pass, and in Seoul, snow has started to fall. Only two days (making it slightly more than a week since he went ‘missing’), but for Changmin, it feels as though it’s been slightly less than forever. Adjusting to his new way of living has certainly not been easy or pleasant; he wakes every morning with his head spinning and his stomach grumbling, but the other boys do their part in distracting themselves (him included) in order for them not to feel it.
Right after his encounter with Jaejoong, he goes out for the first time again with Yoochun (after much persistence), and the fresh air has never felt so good on Changmin’s face. He’s hiding underneath a beanie to hide his hair, and an old army jacket (nearly stain-free, but smelling slightly stale) he’s borrowed off Yunho. They’re in a part of Seoul Changmin has never been to before (had he been his old self he probably would have been startled, but nothing startles him much anymore), where apartments are lined up like breadboxes, children with smeared faces run about, and worn holey clothes are being hung out to dry on thin steel wires. Yoochun runs up and down like a child, bumping people on occasion, and when Changmin catches up to him, his hands and pockets are already full.
“Here,” Yoochun hands him a small handful of peanuts, still warm. “Take some. You must be starving.”
“Yoochun hyung-” Changmin’s eyes grow wide, but the peanuts find their way into his palm anyway. Yoochun’s eyes twinkle.
“More where that came from,” he assures him, and he starts to lead the way again with a cock of his head. “C’mon, I’ll teach you.”
Yoochun leads him to where the crowds are and Changmin recoils, his eyes darting from left to right in case the police are keeping watch, but his wrist is gripped and he finds himself being dragged down the sidewalk. Sometimes, Yoochun says, sidling through the crowd, you gotta do what you gotta do, and when they get through, Yoochun slides something into Changmin’s pocket (a gold wristwatch, a wallet, a Staedtler pen) and gives him a crooked smile.
“I’m the most useless among the four of us. The only thing I’m good at is this. Never learned how to read or write much, and I’m totally pathetic with numbers.” Changmin notes a slight tone of self-pity in his voice, and for once, Yoochun’s smile falters. “I try to help as much as I can through this. Yunho hyung and Junsu don’t like it, but sometimes we have to eat you know?”
Changmin learned to read at three with his mother’s help, was able to add, subtract and multiply perfectly at six and never encountered a day in his life before running away being hungry. He remembers days when he used to just point whenever he wanted something (ice cream, or a balloon, or a new toy) and he would get it right away. These days, however, he has to run on hopes and prayers in order for him to get what he needs (he hasn’t had rice since he ran away and once, upon catching his reflection in the mirror he can barely recognize himself anymore). Despite his dislike for Yoochun’s sticky fingers, he merely nods. Who is he to judge now what’s right and wrong?
“I learned as a child. My family was poor and I had no other way to help feed my baby brother.” Yoochun refuses to meet his gaze, choosing instead to focus on a withered tree nearby. “I taught Jaejoong hyung when we first met; I’m not proud of it. He’s gotten so much better than me though. I guess it’s because I try to not do it anymore. I don’t want to get caught and go to jail. I may be poor but I have dreams.” He raises his arms, exposing the holes that his plaid coat bears and the tatty shirt underneath it, his fingers (Changmin recognizes the gloves Jaejoong stole) stretching up to the cotton sky. “Bigger dreams.”
His former world of Windsor-knotted ties, starched private school uniforms and warm dinners had created little space for big dreams. Everything was planned out and jotted down and heaven help the soul who would dare meddle with his father’s grand plans; it was a world his mother never touched, more so because his father never welcomed her to. A life as a scholar, perhaps? Or an official as well? The government’s public servant? Nothing less for my darling boy. Then a marriage to the daughter from a chaebol family from where I’ll be expecting a lovely grandson. You’d have everything at your feet! What do you say, Changmin-ah? What do you say, son?
“I don’t know why you ran away,” Yoochun says with a brotherly smile, his gloved hand landing lightly on his shoulder, shaking him free from memories, “but I hope to God you resolve whatever it is that’s bothering you and find a better life than this,” and Changmin winces, his father’s voice fading as he remembers Jaejoong’s words.
Jaejoong brings home a treat that night: red bean fish pastries, warm in their hands and wrapped in clean wax paper. It’s exactly three, and he hands them only to Yoochun, Yunho and Junsu, whose smiles disappear as Changmin bows his head, pretending to not notice that he has been left out. Before the meal is over, however, he finds three halves of the pastries hiding behind him, and he attempts to give them back to their rightful owners (because God knows they’re all hungry), but they merely ignore him or look away, leaving him to mutter thanks, his throat suddenly feeling a little too tight.
It’s Junsu the following day who assures him that Jaejoong doesn’t hate him, not as much as he thinks anyway, but Changmin says that he doesn’t really care. He took my camera and I doubt it’s still with him, he says. They’re out on the streets again, but thankfully ducking through alleys and fire exits. (Changmin discovers that Junsu has a tendency of looking at the world as one big playground: he swings off poles, clambers onto fences, jumps from ledges and leaps, skips and runs as much as he pleases. Changmin earns more than enough bruises for his liking and the clothes he’s wearing get torn in several places after just one afternoon spent with him. Damn stupid, he tells himself for the millionth time after he nearly falls on his face from another jump). I’m the one who’s supposed to hate him and not the other way around.
“You do care that he likes you,” Junsu is as energetic as Yoochun, if not more so. Changmin is relieved however at finding Junsu’s hands empty of anything after they bump more than several people as they make their way across the busy street. “Whether you believe it or not. Jaejoong hyung has that effect on people.”
Changmin scoffs. “This isn’t grade school. I don’t care who likes me and who doesn’t like me. I have plenty of other friends,” which is a lie. He has never had any real friends his age. Grown-ups have always been the ones who were more interested in what he has to say. He remembers with a pang that it was his mother who used to listen to him the most, who used to let him sit on her lap for hours until he fell asleep. Always Changmin-ah, tell Mummy one of your stories? and never the other way around. He liked it that way.
“Jaejoong hyung doesn’t hate. He dislikes people, sometimes intensely, but he never hates. It’s too strong an emotion and he isn’t like that.” Junsu says. “We never really know what’s going on in his mind but one thing’s for sure, he doesn’t hate you,” and leaves it at that.
Changmin is pleased to discover that Junsu actually has a job. He works in a small bakery as the baker’s assistant where he kneads dough, rolls them out, carries things and mops the floor. I earn enough to get us through, like food for Yunho hyung and stuff, which is okay, he says, a bright grin on his face. Changmin waits for him inside the bakery where it’s warm, but hides his face behind a newspaper. When Junsu emerges once his shift is over, his cheeks are apple-red from the heat and in his hands he’s holding not three, not four, but five éclairs.
“DongChul hyung gave them to me as a treat,” he says, looking immensely pleased. He hands the biggest one to Changmin. “Here, dongsaeng. So you won’t feel as bad about Jaejoong hyung’s behavior anymore.” And Changmin takes it with trembling fingers, vowing to himself that when the time comes that he gets a job and has enough money again, he’s going to look for them, wherever they are going to be, and treat them to the biggest meal in their lives.
Things could have been fine (his standards have been lowered now: ‘fine’ is being able to eat even a bit of bread three times a day, waking up in the morning and not feeling frozen, him and Jaejoong actually saying at the most two civil words to each other during the day) with him now if not for the nighttime. In that shoebox of an apartment, it’s nighttime that Changmin hates the most. More than once since his arrival they’ve had to go to bed early as a means to not feel their hunger pangs. He sleeps on the rightmost part, between Yoochun and the wall, and more than once he’s woken up, his stomach demanding for him to get more food in, his body shivering at the presence of another draft in the room, his back and limbs screaming sore from sleeping on the cold hard floor, his mind tangled in yet another memory that keeps his heart racing and his mouth dry. Those moments he fights to control his emotions, to not remember and miss what he once had, but sometimes he can’t help but to do just that, until his eyes finally get tired of holding it all in.
There’s a creak as someone sits on the chair right next to him, and Changmin stifles his sobs as he feels a hand rest on the back of his head, stroking it gently. Changmin-ah.
“It’s n-nothing, don’t mi-mind me, hyung.” Yunho has been ill again lately from their lack of food. Jaejoong brings home noodles, oranges, and Junsu their staple bread. Yoochun has even managed to bring home a bit of rice once which they succeeded in cooking, and Changmin has tried to help by scrounging through his backpack (thoughtfully and thankfully hidden by Junsu) for whatever food he has left. Yunho, however, refuses to eat unless they all do, which doesn’t really solve anything. Changmin can’t find it in him to lift his head and show his face; compared to what Yunho (and the rest) is going through, his problems seem to not be as big and as controlling as before, even though he used to believe (or tried to convince himself) that they were.
“I hear you crying in the night; sometimes in the bedroom and sometimes out here. I hear you when you call out for your mother in the darkness too.” Changmin bites his lip so hard he almost fears it’s going to bleed, and feels as Yunho’s hand rests on his nape. The tops of their heads touch. “I…I don’t want to tell you that everything is going to be okay, because sometimes they don’t turn out to be. We all have problems, and I know we still don’t really know you but Changmin, you don’t have to be alone in this; you’re not, actually.”
Another sob. This time it’s because he sees her face more clearly in his mind now, and for once it overpowers the feeling of hunger that seems permanently settled in his stomach. The image however lasts only for a fleeting second before vanishing once again, and this time his cries come out as a gasp, the familiar angry desperation ravaging at his chest.
“I can’t remember how she looks like…I can only clearly see her now in my dreams. I used to remember…I used to feel her, but now it feels like she’s fading away.” In his waking hours, he tries to recall her face, her touch, but she doesn’t come as easily as she used to. He’s always too weak, too hungry, too tired. “I don’t want her to fade away. What kind of son am I? I’m going to be as useless as my f-father…”
He finds the strength to look up as his lungs burn for air (his arms are too wet and his nose is congested already) and the moment he sees Yunho there, his head also on the table resting on his free arm, looking overwhelmingly patient and concerned, a wall inside of him crumbles.
“He never l-loved her, even after she died. It was a fixed marriage, he said, and he only agreed so he could have a son. But even when I came he wouldn’t even look at her, and she still loved him even though it was hopeless…she loved him until the cancer took her.”
He remembers his mother on the bed, pale as the sheets but beautiful than ever. He used to hate her for being so apathetic to the symptoms and eventually being lax about the treatments, but he knows it’s because he loved her immensely. Changmin, darling, take care of daddy for me, okay? You know he loves you very much. He said yes that day, after many tears, but he hasn’t kept his promise. Finally, his father said, a tight grip on his shoulder, the woman has moved on. Changmin had run away right after the funeral, not able to stand the sight of his father any longer.
Yunho moves closer and Changmin cries onto his shoulder. I’m sorry about her, he hears Yunho whisper into his neck and he nods, acknowledging it.
“Hyung, I’m sorry. I know you have bigger problems…that mine pale in comparison…” Changmin keeps his head low after they part, tears still slick on his cheeks. “I mean, you’re sick all the time…there’s barely enough food for all of us…I shouldn’t even be here…”
“Don’t say that,” Yunho frowns. “If there’s anyone who should be apologizing, it should be us for treating you so poorly. I mean, Jae’s bullying you all the time, I heard Yoochun’s tried to teach you to pickpocket and God knows what else goes on under my nose…”
Changmin gives a strangled little laugh. He’s learning to ignore Jaejoong’s childish behavior; it after all is nothing compared to his anguish over his loss of the memory of his mother. Besides that, teaching his body how to cope with the lack of food takes up too much time. Yunho manages a smile as well, wrapping his arms around himself to keep him warm.
“I’m a runaway myself. I know what it’s like. My parents died when I was a child and left me in the care of my aunt and uncle. I ran away when I was fourteen or so.” Changmin notices that his eyes are over bright, and for a brief moment he gets a glimpse of Yunho, the child: searching, helpless and uncertain even after all these years. “My uncle used to beat me almost habitually. He was all right when he wasn’t drunk but when he was….” Yunho trails off then continues with a shrug. “My aunt never did anything of course; he would beat her as well. So I ran away. If it weren’t for Junsu and his family I probably would have died on the streets.”
His words drive through Changmin like a stake. “Junsu hyung…where is his family?”
“We don’t know. His father lost his job and couldn’t support them anymore, and his family split up. His brother went to an orphanage I heard. I don’t know where his parents are. I don’t think he does either. But they were very kind to me. Somehow they managed to fit me in before everything truly went bad, and I’m entirely indebted to him for it. I promised him we’d find his family-don’t look so sad, dongsaeng.” Yunho cracks a smile and reaches out to squeeze his hand. “We’re all right; we get by.”
The world suddenly seems so big to Changmin now, big and frightening. Everything he used to hold in the palm of his hand his fingers can now barely grasp, and everything he used to hold dear is now questioned. This is isn’t fair, he thinks bitterly, unsure if he feels more pity for himself or for the others, this kind of life isn’t fair to any of us.
“I’m sorry,” is the only thing he can say because for the first time in his life he feels bad for who he is and the family he’s born to, for everything he stands (or used to stand) for.
“Don’t be.” Yunho’s voice is soft and assuring. “Sometimes you have it, sometimes you don’t. It’s the way it’s supposed to be…you just have to learn how to deal with things like this, you know-”
Someone clears his throat from the doorway of the bedroom. It’s Jaejoong, his hair tousled and his voice thick with sleep. A shaft of moonlight illuminates him and shadows of the snowfall outside dance on his face.
“Yunho-yah. Changmin-ah.” Changmin is surprised that Jaejoong actually says his name. He adheres it (as well as the lack of hostility in his tone) to the fact that Jaejoong’s probably still half-asleep. “What are you two doing? You’ll freeze. Yunho-yah come back to bed, it’s too cold without you there. Junsu can only give off so much heat.”
He sounds almost reprimanding and Yunho winks at Changmin before tugging him to his feet.
“That’s our Jaejoong, always bossy, half-asleep or not,” Yunho laughs, the sound making the corner of Changmin’s lips tug into a smile, and an arm is slung loosely over Changmin’s shoulder. “Changmin-ah, if you need to talk you can always come to me, all right? You’re one of us now; you don’t have to do anything alone.”
A draft passes again and Yunho holds him closer almost instinctively, Jaejoong clucks at them angrily, muttering about stupid half-brained ideas that will end up killing them, and for a moment (yes, even with Jaejoong there), Changmin doesn’t feel as hungry or as cold or as weak, or certainly not as alone as before.