Lost Boys [11/11] + Epilogue
Title: Lost Boys
Character: Changmin-centric, but everyone's going to appear in it.
Length: 11/11 + Epilogue
Rating/Genre: PG in general; it's AU haha.
Summary: It’s empty of their laughter, their constant bickering, their presence, and it doesn’t take long for him to realize that he’s empty as well.
A/N: ARGH the epilogue didn't turn out so well as I'd expected. :\ MEEHHH. *hits self with nearby encyclopedia* I'm blaming the fact that school is starting again and I'm nervous as heck about it. I didn't really have a proper ending except for Eleven but I figured you guys were going to kill me if I left it as it is. Hence, the not-so-well-written Epi. :\ ARGH. Forgive me.
---
Eleven
Many people say that the winter that just passed was the harshest Seoul ever experienced. There were times that their doors would be forced shut by winds or even frozen into place, and God help you if you even tried to walk around during the evenings when the winds were blowing. In April and four months since, the winds have changed, bringing with it a new scent of beginnings and renewed hope as spring always does, but Changmin still remembers all too clearly.
He made the evening news that day-Shim Chang Wook’s Son Found-and dominated the headlines for two more after. Half-starved and unconscious, the news had reported, rescued from a squalid apartment in the seedy part of the city after a two-and-a-half week long disappearance.
Two-and-a-half-weeks. Somehow Changmin remembers it to be longer than that.
The kidnappers were never caught, was the final press release. He had been in the hospital still then, being force-fed through an intravenous tube, and he had nearly torn the thing off his arm at the news. Out of anger? Out of relief? He didn’t really know, but someone had come in to give him something to calm him down and when he woke it was three days past.
An odd vibrating noise makes Changmin delve into his pockets to fish out his phone. He leans back onto one of the doors of his car, his eyes still locked on the sight of the Han before him.
“Yeoboseyo?”
“Changmin-ah, son, where are you?” His father sounds worried, and Changmin doesn’t blame him.
“I’m at the Han, Appa.” His father sighs, though it’s not one of exasperation. There have been apologies made between the two of them (commendable for both of them, Changmin has always thought) and quite a handful of sessions with a therapist. Though he and his father have not actually perfected a wrinkle-free relationship, they’re bent on trying. “I’ll be home in a bit.”
“Are you okay?” He finds it profound that his father has actually had the patience to accept the fact that Changmin has not-and will never-talk about what happened to him during the period he disappeared; despite a press release of having “let the incident go”, Shim Chang Wook is still struggling to understand why and how his son had come back the way he was: malnourished, dirty and unbelievably adult. But he never pushes, and for that Changmin is grateful.
“Yes, I’m okay,” Changmin replies, though not as quickly as he wanted.
“If you need to talk…about…your mother…or other things, you know I’m all ears, okay?” There’s obvious difficulty on his father’s part. Shim Chang Wook is not a man who relishes heart-to-heart talks, but Changmin knows he tries. These past four months have been filled with nothing but trying for both of them. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten you that car of yours for your birthday, hm? You’re going to drive me into an early grave.”
He manages to smile. “No, it’s okay. It’s not about her. Anyway, I’ll be home in a bit.”
“All right, drive carefully,” and his father is gone.
A sweet-scented breeze blows, and Changmin sighs, feeling the uncomfortable yet familiar twinge in his heart. Hyung, he thinks, and as has happened several times before, tears spring to his eyes, blurring his view of the Han glistening under the calm afternoon sunlight.
He is no longer haunted by dreams and images of his mother (although he surrounds himself with pictures of her lest he forgets how she looks like again), but some nights he wakes up in the dark, his hand painfully empty and the room big and silent, and he feels the familiar ache in his chest that doesn’t seem to subside no matter how hard he tries.
He wonders where they are, what they’re doing. He hopes and prays that they survived the winter (he isn’t sure if what he gave was enough, it was just ticket money so only around 600 dollars at the most), that they found a warm place to stay, that they’re able to always have enough food. He’s tried to go back to the apartment, only to discover that it’s been boarded up, and he’s gone back to the bakery where Junsu worked, only to have DongChul hyung tell him that Junsu hasn’t been back since the day Changmin was taken back to his father. Any word, any sign, anything, Changmin pleads, but DongChul only shrugs. I’m sorry, kid.
His car is a gift he knows his father constantly regrets giving to him (he figures the only reason his father did it is because he was too traumatized from what happened to stifle his freedom), and he constantly drives back to places where he thinks they might be: the station where he first met Jaejoong, the Hangang bridge, the alleyways he used to hang out in with Junsu, the streets he haunted with Yoochun, but they’re all empty of them. It’s empty of their laughter, their constant bickering, their presence, and it doesn’t take long for him to realize that he’s empty as well.
“You promised me,” he says out loud to no one in particular. His voice, shaky and small, is carried off by the wind like a dandelion seed. The image of Jaejoong in the scarlet coat he first saw him in has embedded itself into his memory. So has a giggling Yoochun, a Junsu up performing some stunt on a fire escape, and a Yunho huddled in blankets but still making the best efforts to smile.
“You promised me.”
But as has been the case for some time now-for too long-no one answers, and Changmin is still left alone.
Changmin returns to school in September and his newfound focus on his studies (he attributes it to Yoochun and his “bigger dreams”) leaves little room for anything else. Slowly he reconnects with his father, has his dinners with him, plays golf with him, and discusses politics with him. It isn’t as hard now as it initially was and eventually it becomes a habit. He passes the entrance exam and gets into Seoul National University. He helps his father campaign. He goes to his mother’s grave and places flowers.
Life goes on, but he doesn’t forget.
Epilogue
When Jaejoong sees the random posters on the graying walls of the city, he doesn’t bother to notice it at first. It’s when something inside of him is pricked and a few of the hairs on the back of his neck rise that he retraces his steps and scrutinizes the ones that have been freshly placed, big letters on a clean white background: If anyone knows the whereabouts of a Mr. Kim Jaejoong, please contact ***-****-**. Reward offered.
He smirks. That kid. It’s been nearly two years.
He peels one off the wall and stuffs it into his pocket. Like I was some sort of outlaw, funny little bugger.
Of course he hasn’t forgotten. How could he? Not when it was Changmin’s face that constantly bombarded the media that year, from him being found to him helping his father campaign. Smart move, Jaejoong thinks. Somehow he knew that Changmin knew they would be watching; would always be keeping an eye out for him. He knows he has.
He hugs the package he’s carrying closer to his chest, not because he’s cold (he hasn’t been cold in the longest time) but because there’s an odd sort of happiness spreading towards his fingers. Something he hasn’t felt in a very very long time.
When he gets back home, he’s breathless for some reason and Yunho greets him at the door with a smile a mile wide, looking better than ever. DongChul hyung has been very good to them these past two years.
“Did you get it?” he asks, peering at the package. Jaejoong raises an eyebrow at him.
“O ye of little faith. Of course I did and it’s in fine shape too. So there.” He sticks his tongue out for good measure and Yunho laughs.
“Is it the same model?”
He isn’t entirely sure because technology can get obsolete so quickly. “I may have even gotten him something better.”
DongChul hyung has them line up in front of the bakery, now with its new name. Junsu, puffed up with pride (as he should be being the new owner, Jaejoong agrees), stands in the middle under the sign that proclaims his name. Yunho in the sweater Yoochun bought for him stands at the edge. Yoochun takes his place between Jaejoong and Junsu, his schoolbooks to his chest (no uniform yet but they’re working on that). Jaejoong stands still to his right and offers an actual smile that he somehow can’t wipe off even after DongChul hyung raises a thumbs-up.
“Ah, it looks great,” DongChul hyung admires the picture, his hands trembling from the weight of the camera. “You boys have gone a long way. Glad to see I’m leaving my shop in good hands.”
Junsu gets the brown butcher paper from the storage room (“So it won’t look conspicuous,” he says) and Yoochun tries his best at taping it shut. “It’s a mess!” Yunho declares upon seeing it, and attempts to redo it. When it winds up back in Jaejoong’s hands, he balks at it.
“It looks like something sat on it!” he half-laughs, half-growls, because the camera did cost a lot and he had had to work in the bakery and do odd jobs just to earn enough money for it. It takes a box, more butcher paper and another roll of tape before he can breathe easily again.
“You think he’ll like it?” Yoochun asks, already too excited for words.
“He’d better.” Jaejoong says, and deep inside he knows he’s as excited as Yoochun. He doesn’t know if Changmin will forgive them for hiding from him all this while, but it doesn’t really matter now. We’re even now, he thinks, so you’d better come back. You’d better.
He writes a note, the shortest possible one he can manage without explaining too much, and delivers the package himself to the Shims’ house (he won’t entrust a fucking camera to the goddamn post office), a path he knows after having trailed Changmin back more than once. The scale of the house doesn’t surprise him, but he can’t help let out a low whistle at the sight. He means to leave the package by the doorstep where he’s sure someone is bound to see it, but he freezes in his tracks as the door suddenly opens. Changmin has gotten definitely taller (What in fuck do they feed this kid? Jaejoong wonders in shock and amusement) and bigger (Jaejoong is suddenly nervous), but Jaejoong isn’t surprised that the look in his eyes haven’t changed.
They don’t speak, and the car keys Changmin is holding momentarily drops to the floor. Finally, Jaejoong clears his throat.
“I may be a thief,” he says, his voice clear in the cold crisp night. “But I do keep my promises.”
It takes a minute (a full eternity to Jaejoong), but then Changmin’s eyes finally crinkle into a smile and Jaejoong nearly has his breath knocked out of him as the younger man reaches out for him and wraps him in a tight hug, as though afraid he were going to disappear any second.
“Fucking prince. Fucking crybaby,” he says, feeling the tears that have started wetting his neck. “You’re going to ruin your fucking Christmas present. It’s a camera, you idiot. Stop crushing it.”
And Changmin laughs, allowing him a bit of space to breathe in. “You didn’t steal this from someone else did you, hyung? Where have you…what have you…shit.”
“So what if I did? What’s with you people? Yunho warned me about doing the same thing. Where’s the goddamn trust? Stop hugging me, stupid kid, you’re squeezing my goddamn tears out.” He bites his lip but lets the smile creep across his face. “I’m sorry it took so long. We’ve been at the bakery the entire time. The others…they’re waiting for you now. We made it, you crazy kid. We fucking made it. And what's the big idea putting up goddamn posters with my name on it? Who do you think you are, a sheriff or something...Stop crying. Stop crying.”
He mentally kicks himself as his own tears betray him. Suddenly his face is wet and his throat tight even though he doesn’t know why.
“Fucking crybaby,” Changmin retorts, hiccupping with sobs, but this time Jaejoong only replies with a broken smile. “No more disappearing acts, okay? I don’t think my sanity can handle much more.”
“If we had plans to disappear we’d have done so already. Aish, dongsaeng,” the word rolls around in his mouth comfortably, as though it was just waiting all this time to come out. Changmin laughs again, probably at him. "You were only with us for two-and-a-half weeks anyway, that's what the papers kept saying."
"Felt like forever to me." Changmin breaks away and wipes his eyes. "But a good forever."
"Really? So you did like starving huh? And being dirty and shit? Well we can always 'kidnap' you again you know, live in the slums again..." Jaejoong trails away, smiling.
“Maybe we can start again, huh? Fresh? No more dirty rich boy secrets.” he asks, and laughs as Changmin nods wholeheartedly even before the sentence is finished. “Crazy kid. I can get used to you.”
Always five, never four, he remembers Junsu announcing once, and this time, he can’t help but agree as he slings an arm over one of Changmin's shoulders (with much difficulty) and ruffles the top of his head.
END
Character: Changmin-centric, but everyone's going to appear in it.
Length: 11/11 + Epilogue
Rating/Genre: PG in general; it's AU haha.
Summary: It’s empty of their laughter, their constant bickering, their presence, and it doesn’t take long for him to realize that he’s empty as well.
A/N: ARGH the epilogue didn't turn out so well as I'd expected. :\ MEEHHH. *hits self with nearby encyclopedia* I'm blaming the fact that school is starting again and I'm nervous as heck about it. I didn't really have a proper ending except for Eleven but I figured you guys were going to kill me if I left it as it is. Hence, the not-so-well-written Epi. :\ ARGH. Forgive me.
---
Eleven
Many people say that the winter that just passed was the harshest Seoul ever experienced. There were times that their doors would be forced shut by winds or even frozen into place, and God help you if you even tried to walk around during the evenings when the winds were blowing. In April and four months since, the winds have changed, bringing with it a new scent of beginnings and renewed hope as spring always does, but Changmin still remembers all too clearly.
He made the evening news that day-Shim Chang Wook’s Son Found-and dominated the headlines for two more after. Half-starved and unconscious, the news had reported, rescued from a squalid apartment in the seedy part of the city after a two-and-a-half week long disappearance.
Two-and-a-half-weeks. Somehow Changmin remembers it to be longer than that.
The kidnappers were never caught, was the final press release. He had been in the hospital still then, being force-fed through an intravenous tube, and he had nearly torn the thing off his arm at the news. Out of anger? Out of relief? He didn’t really know, but someone had come in to give him something to calm him down and when he woke it was three days past.
An odd vibrating noise makes Changmin delve into his pockets to fish out his phone. He leans back onto one of the doors of his car, his eyes still locked on the sight of the Han before him.
“Yeoboseyo?”
“Changmin-ah, son, where are you?” His father sounds worried, and Changmin doesn’t blame him.
“I’m at the Han, Appa.” His father sighs, though it’s not one of exasperation. There have been apologies made between the two of them (commendable for both of them, Changmin has always thought) and quite a handful of sessions with a therapist. Though he and his father have not actually perfected a wrinkle-free relationship, they’re bent on trying. “I’ll be home in a bit.”
“Are you okay?” He finds it profound that his father has actually had the patience to accept the fact that Changmin has not-and will never-talk about what happened to him during the period he disappeared; despite a press release of having “let the incident go”, Shim Chang Wook is still struggling to understand why and how his son had come back the way he was: malnourished, dirty and unbelievably adult. But he never pushes, and for that Changmin is grateful.
“Yes, I’m okay,” Changmin replies, though not as quickly as he wanted.
“If you need to talk…about…your mother…or other things, you know I’m all ears, okay?” There’s obvious difficulty on his father’s part. Shim Chang Wook is not a man who relishes heart-to-heart talks, but Changmin knows he tries. These past four months have been filled with nothing but trying for both of them. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten you that car of yours for your birthday, hm? You’re going to drive me into an early grave.”
He manages to smile. “No, it’s okay. It’s not about her. Anyway, I’ll be home in a bit.”
“All right, drive carefully,” and his father is gone.
A sweet-scented breeze blows, and Changmin sighs, feeling the uncomfortable yet familiar twinge in his heart. Hyung, he thinks, and as has happened several times before, tears spring to his eyes, blurring his view of the Han glistening under the calm afternoon sunlight.
He is no longer haunted by dreams and images of his mother (although he surrounds himself with pictures of her lest he forgets how she looks like again), but some nights he wakes up in the dark, his hand painfully empty and the room big and silent, and he feels the familiar ache in his chest that doesn’t seem to subside no matter how hard he tries.
He wonders where they are, what they’re doing. He hopes and prays that they survived the winter (he isn’t sure if what he gave was enough, it was just ticket money so only around 600 dollars at the most), that they found a warm place to stay, that they’re able to always have enough food. He’s tried to go back to the apartment, only to discover that it’s been boarded up, and he’s gone back to the bakery where Junsu worked, only to have DongChul hyung tell him that Junsu hasn’t been back since the day Changmin was taken back to his father. Any word, any sign, anything, Changmin pleads, but DongChul only shrugs. I’m sorry, kid.
His car is a gift he knows his father constantly regrets giving to him (he figures the only reason his father did it is because he was too traumatized from what happened to stifle his freedom), and he constantly drives back to places where he thinks they might be: the station where he first met Jaejoong, the Hangang bridge, the alleyways he used to hang out in with Junsu, the streets he haunted with Yoochun, but they’re all empty of them. It’s empty of their laughter, their constant bickering, their presence, and it doesn’t take long for him to realize that he’s empty as well.
“You promised me,” he says out loud to no one in particular. His voice, shaky and small, is carried off by the wind like a dandelion seed. The image of Jaejoong in the scarlet coat he first saw him in has embedded itself into his memory. So has a giggling Yoochun, a Junsu up performing some stunt on a fire escape, and a Yunho huddled in blankets but still making the best efforts to smile.
“You promised me.”
But as has been the case for some time now-for too long-no one answers, and Changmin is still left alone.
Changmin returns to school in September and his newfound focus on his studies (he attributes it to Yoochun and his “bigger dreams”) leaves little room for anything else. Slowly he reconnects with his father, has his dinners with him, plays golf with him, and discusses politics with him. It isn’t as hard now as it initially was and eventually it becomes a habit. He passes the entrance exam and gets into Seoul National University. He helps his father campaign. He goes to his mother’s grave and places flowers.
Life goes on, but he doesn’t forget.
Epilogue
When Jaejoong sees the random posters on the graying walls of the city, he doesn’t bother to notice it at first. It’s when something inside of him is pricked and a few of the hairs on the back of his neck rise that he retraces his steps and scrutinizes the ones that have been freshly placed, big letters on a clean white background: If anyone knows the whereabouts of a Mr. Kim Jaejoong, please contact ***-****-**. Reward offered.
He smirks. That kid. It’s been nearly two years.
He peels one off the wall and stuffs it into his pocket. Like I was some sort of outlaw, funny little bugger.
Of course he hasn’t forgotten. How could he? Not when it was Changmin’s face that constantly bombarded the media that year, from him being found to him helping his father campaign. Smart move, Jaejoong thinks. Somehow he knew that Changmin knew they would be watching; would always be keeping an eye out for him. He knows he has.
He hugs the package he’s carrying closer to his chest, not because he’s cold (he hasn’t been cold in the longest time) but because there’s an odd sort of happiness spreading towards his fingers. Something he hasn’t felt in a very very long time.
When he gets back home, he’s breathless for some reason and Yunho greets him at the door with a smile a mile wide, looking better than ever. DongChul hyung has been very good to them these past two years.
“Did you get it?” he asks, peering at the package. Jaejoong raises an eyebrow at him.
“O ye of little faith. Of course I did and it’s in fine shape too. So there.” He sticks his tongue out for good measure and Yunho laughs.
“Is it the same model?”
He isn’t entirely sure because technology can get obsolete so quickly. “I may have even gotten him something better.”
DongChul hyung has them line up in front of the bakery, now with its new name. Junsu, puffed up with pride (as he should be being the new owner, Jaejoong agrees), stands in the middle under the sign that proclaims his name. Yunho in the sweater Yoochun bought for him stands at the edge. Yoochun takes his place between Jaejoong and Junsu, his schoolbooks to his chest (no uniform yet but they’re working on that). Jaejoong stands still to his right and offers an actual smile that he somehow can’t wipe off even after DongChul hyung raises a thumbs-up.
“Ah, it looks great,” DongChul hyung admires the picture, his hands trembling from the weight of the camera. “You boys have gone a long way. Glad to see I’m leaving my shop in good hands.”
Junsu gets the brown butcher paper from the storage room (“So it won’t look conspicuous,” he says) and Yoochun tries his best at taping it shut. “It’s a mess!” Yunho declares upon seeing it, and attempts to redo it. When it winds up back in Jaejoong’s hands, he balks at it.
“It looks like something sat on it!” he half-laughs, half-growls, because the camera did cost a lot and he had had to work in the bakery and do odd jobs just to earn enough money for it. It takes a box, more butcher paper and another roll of tape before he can breathe easily again.
“You think he’ll like it?” Yoochun asks, already too excited for words.
“He’d better.” Jaejoong says, and deep inside he knows he’s as excited as Yoochun. He doesn’t know if Changmin will forgive them for hiding from him all this while, but it doesn’t really matter now. We’re even now, he thinks, so you’d better come back. You’d better.
He writes a note, the shortest possible one he can manage without explaining too much, and delivers the package himself to the Shims’ house (he won’t entrust a fucking camera to the goddamn post office), a path he knows after having trailed Changmin back more than once. The scale of the house doesn’t surprise him, but he can’t help let out a low whistle at the sight. He means to leave the package by the doorstep where he’s sure someone is bound to see it, but he freezes in his tracks as the door suddenly opens. Changmin has gotten definitely taller (What in fuck do they feed this kid? Jaejoong wonders in shock and amusement) and bigger (Jaejoong is suddenly nervous), but Jaejoong isn’t surprised that the look in his eyes haven’t changed.
They don’t speak, and the car keys Changmin is holding momentarily drops to the floor. Finally, Jaejoong clears his throat.
“I may be a thief,” he says, his voice clear in the cold crisp night. “But I do keep my promises.”
It takes a minute (a full eternity to Jaejoong), but then Changmin’s eyes finally crinkle into a smile and Jaejoong nearly has his breath knocked out of him as the younger man reaches out for him and wraps him in a tight hug, as though afraid he were going to disappear any second.
“Fucking prince. Fucking crybaby,” he says, feeling the tears that have started wetting his neck. “You’re going to ruin your fucking Christmas present. It’s a camera, you idiot. Stop crushing it.”
And Changmin laughs, allowing him a bit of space to breathe in. “You didn’t steal this from someone else did you, hyung? Where have you…what have you…shit.”
“So what if I did? What’s with you people? Yunho warned me about doing the same thing. Where’s the goddamn trust? Stop hugging me, stupid kid, you’re squeezing my goddamn tears out.” He bites his lip but lets the smile creep across his face. “I’m sorry it took so long. We’ve been at the bakery the entire time. The others…they’re waiting for you now. We made it, you crazy kid. We fucking made it. And what's the big idea putting up goddamn posters with my name on it? Who do you think you are, a sheriff or something...Stop crying. Stop crying.”
He mentally kicks himself as his own tears betray him. Suddenly his face is wet and his throat tight even though he doesn’t know why.
“Fucking crybaby,” Changmin retorts, hiccupping with sobs, but this time Jaejoong only replies with a broken smile. “No more disappearing acts, okay? I don’t think my sanity can handle much more.”
“If we had plans to disappear we’d have done so already. Aish, dongsaeng,” the word rolls around in his mouth comfortably, as though it was just waiting all this time to come out. Changmin laughs again, probably at him. "You were only with us for two-and-a-half weeks anyway, that's what the papers kept saying."
"Felt like forever to me." Changmin breaks away and wipes his eyes. "But a good forever."
"Really? So you did like starving huh? And being dirty and shit? Well we can always 'kidnap' you again you know, live in the slums again..." Jaejoong trails away, smiling.
“Maybe we can start again, huh? Fresh? No more dirty rich boy secrets.” he asks, and laughs as Changmin nods wholeheartedly even before the sentence is finished. “Crazy kid. I can get used to you.”
Always five, never four, he remembers Junsu announcing once, and this time, he can’t help but agree as he slings an arm over one of Changmin's shoulders (with much difficulty) and ruffles the top of his head.
END