Title: A Prayer Time Forgot
Length: Chaptered [4/?]
Rating: PG13, for a bit of cussing. I'm pretty sure it'll go up though.
Genre: Umm. Unsure. Angst, supernatural, generally. Weirdness. We'll see.
Pairing: Yes, there are pairings. (Gasp! A first!) I'm guessing it's YunJae.
Summary:
Yunho inches closer to the edge and waits until the soles of his shoes are half suspended in empty air before he stops. Bits of gravel fall from the sidewalk and onto the ice, lie ever-so-innocently on the translucent sheet that lies between him and the river. Somewhere inside of him logic is screaming.
Prologue + Chapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3 ---
Chapter Four
The first time the phone rings, it’s the boy that answers. Shim Changmin, Yunho remembers his name being, one of Junsu’s mogul father’s many godchildren, or something to that effect; a scheme he knows Junsu’s conjured on his own to get him to stop fretting over Yoochun by himself and start living his life again. (“You very well know that I see right through your little plan, don’t you?”; “I really have no idea what you’re implying, hyung. I told you, Changmin here just needs a little money, is all. And we all know Yoochun’s probably pretty bored with just being with you and me all day…oh and I called up a few companies. You have interviews and portfolio viewing starting Monday.”)
He crosses from his office to the living room, glasses and photographs in hand and his heart beating one time too fast. He doesn’t believe in ghost stories (not anymore, at least), but it cannot be helped that his mouth has suddenly gone dry and that his palms have suddenly gone cold.
“Who is it?” he asks Changmin, unsure if he actually wants to know. The teenager (tall, tanned, well-bred and good-looking, doubtfully someone in need of money as Junsu had pointed out) turns to face him, looking surprised that he’s actually sprung from his lair after being cooped up for so long just to get his portfolios in working order. Past him, Yoochun sits in front of the television, hypnotized by the cartoon channel, behaving for the moment.
“Yunho hyung,” Changmin extends the phone. “It’s Junsu hyung. Would you like to talk to him?”
The sound of Junsu’s name makes his shoulders slump with relief, eases the prickling he’s starting to feel at the ends of his nerves. “No. No. Not in that case.” He says as he puts his glasses back on, his work mood returning. “Just tell him to bug off. Tell him too that he’s a bastard for setting me up so soon.” He places a hand on his chest and gives a teasing sneer before turning to go.
“Are you waiting for a call, hyung? I can take messages if you’d like.” Changmin, he’s learned even after only a day or so of his services, is a real pleaser. Quite the opposite of Junsu who Yunho knows tries so hard to actually annoy him. (Yoochun likes him for it, but Yunho has never said that he and his nephew have the same taste in people).
“If it’s for me from people aside from Junsu, please make sure to tell me.”
He hesitates, debates with himself on whether Jaejoong fits under the category.
“…that’s all.”
“All right hyung.”
He does a spot check, glances at Yoochun again. “You and Yoochun…getting along well?”
Changmin beams, phone still in hand. “Yes. I’m trying to teach him Korean at the moment. He’s going to need it when he goes to school in March. He’s a fast learner.”
Yunho actually smiles. “That’s good. Give me a call if you guys need anything all right?”
“Yes, hyung.”
---
(In the evening Changmin leaves at the appointed time, and Yunho vacates his office to check on Yoochun in his room. He’s fast asleep as expected, his window open and letting in cold air despite Yunho’s many warnings not to. He closes it, feels the goosebumps rise on his neck and arms as he does. In the corner of his eye he sees a shadow scurrying past, but when he looks, nothing is there. Nothing ever was, he tells himself and rubs his eyes, convinced that it was only a trick of the light.)
---
No phone calls come (at least none from Jaejoong), and Yunho finds himself back to his almost-normal state. He leaves Yoochun in Changmin’s care and goes to draining interviews, dragging his extensive portfolio with him, more than once smoking as he stalks down one street and another. All are impressed and willing to take him in, some naming over-the-top prices that Yunho is unsure he’s even really worth: You must come and shoot for our magazine. We’ll double-no even triple-our offer. Surely you must be in need of a steady income, with your nephew (so sorry about your brother and his wife, it’s tragic, tragic, but life goes on, doesn’t it?) and school starting soon…
But Yunho is still unsure, still uneasy of the idea of having his attention divided as well as…something else. He excuses himself from the interviews one by one, muttering apologies as he gathers his portfolio, thanking the company owners for accommodating him. He bows respectfully before letting himself out, not able to stand being inside of the office a single minute more. (He had told Junsu he wasn’t ready, hadn’t he?).
He finds himself by the Han, smoking his millionth (probable) cigarette. By the edges of the bank, the water has frozen and ice clings to the stones that make up what he’s standing on. He peers down at it, sees his grim-faced reflection staring back at him, and smirks. He remembers his wish of dancing, weightless, in darkness, to not be able to feel anything.
What would it be like…to sleep in those depths…to not care a fuck what goes on in this miserable blood-stained world…
Yunho inches closer to the edge and waits until the soles of his shoes are half suspended in empty air before he stops. Bits of gravel fall from the sidewalk and onto the ice, lie ever-so-innocently on the translucent sheet that lies between him and the river. Somewhere inside of him logic is screaming.
I just want to feel it once, he says in defense of himself. He draws one last from his cigarette before throwing it to the ground, before he extends his arms and closes his eyes. A wind blows past, adds to the illusion of a long fall. He leans forward, calculates it to be around 4 seconds before he hits the frozen river, feels his body slowly being pulled down by gravity…
Something yanks his collar hard enough for it to rip and he is pulled backward, his back making contact with concrete rather than ice, but his breath getting knocked out in the process just the same. Yunho is surprised and his eyes snap open, ready to berate whoever it was that dared intrude on his affairs, but a hard slap stuns him, makes whatever words that were about to come out melt and come together in one big cry of pain.
“OW! What the FUCK is your PROBLEM!” Yunho roars, wincing as several waves of stinging pain overcome him.
“What the fuck are you DOING?” a voice yells back at him. He opens his eyes, opens his mouth to yell once more, but stops as he sees Jaejoong’s face hovering above his, wearing an expression that he can’t quite read. “Do you want to die? What the fuck are you doing throwing yourself from the riverbank for like this is some kind of goddamn movie?”
Yunho is near speechless as several emotions flood into him. “How did you-”
“Get up. C’mon…” Jaejoong pulls him to his feet, still looking a cross between livid and amused. Yunho’s head is spinning. “Are you all right? Well of course you are, seeing as you didn’t quite succeed with your attempt…”
There’s a note of sarcasm in his voice and Yunho almost forgets his fear. He’s real. He touched me. He fucking SLAPPED me.
“I’d better get going,” he says, keeping his gaze down. He’s not sure how to react or what to say and he turns with the intention of leaving, but Jaejoong grabs his arm, his grasp firm.
“Mr. Jung. I don’t know what the hell is bothering you, but I don’t really feel comfortable in letting you go off in this state, after this…episode of yours.”
Yunho looks at him. He’s unsure why, but a wall inside of him crumbles, a stronghold collapses.
“It’s Yunho.”
“I know. I just thought of…keeping it formal.”
“…you can call me Yunho.”
“All right. Whatever you say.”
---
Jaejoong leads him to a nearby (well, it isn’t really) café, ushers him into a booth smelling of stale coffee and orders tea for both of them, offering the waitress more than a generous amount of sugary smiles and winks. Yunho sits adjacent to him in a stupor, realizing only now the gravity of what he had been about to do.
How could I…with Yoochun…fuck, I’m going crazy.
“I’m sorry for slapping you.” Jaejoong says, and Yunho blinks, sees as Jaejoong doesn’t actually look even the minutest bit apologetic despite his words. An old song he knew from childhood is playing, floats on thick air smelling of waffle batter and chocolate cream.
“I’m sorry for scaring you.” Yunho says, keeping his gaze on Jaejoong before lowering it to the cracked table that sits in between them. “I…honestly don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Are things all right with you? Is your nephew…Yoochun…okay?”
“Yoochun is okay…as far as I can tell.” He sighs, looks up at Jaejoong once more. His features are stark under the light, his cheeks slightly tinged from being out in the cold. “…I’m sorry but I don’t think I can talk about…what just happened…right now.”
“It’s all right. I wasn’t really expecting you to be.” He produces his sketchbook from beside him, flips open to a page where a half finished watercolor drawing of the bridge and river is. “I was doing this when I saw you. That’s three of my drawings that you’ve had something to do with. Maybe I should really start charging you, eh?” At his silence, Jaejoong quickly declares, “It’s a joke, don’t worry.”
Yunho studies the drawing, sees the soft colors of sunset playing on the paper. His forehead scrunches.
“Jaejoong.”
“Hm?”
“The sun wasn’t out this afternoon.” He looks at the other man, remembers distinctly the gray and smog that had embraced the city during the sunset. “It was nowhere near as beautiful as this.”
“You flatter me,” Jaejoong says. Their tea arrives and is set down before them. Jaejoong takes one, wraps his fingers around the warm porcelain. “I never said that I copied what was really there.”
It takes a moment before Yunho can grasp what he means. He looks at the drawing once more, nearly finding it in him to smile as he fingers the warm pinks and deep purples that swirl over the light pencil marks, no trace of the cold, somber reality that had been present hours earlier.
“You’re right,” he breathes. “No sunset is this beautiful.”
“I try my best,” and Jaejoong smiles, and passes him his tea with a cock of his head. “Drink up now and mind you don’t go spilling it on my drawing. If you do you’re going to wish I hadn’t held you back from falling into the Han.”
They finish their tea in silence, Yunho feeling warmer than he’s been in a long time.
---
He calls Junsu and tells him he’s going to be late so could he please look after Yoochun until he gets back?
I heard you turned down every single offer, Junsu doesn’t sound happy. Seriously, hyung. Those were the BEST ones you could…
Not now please, Yunho tells him, rubs the knot in his forehead where a headache is starting to form. We’ll talk about it when I get home, okay?
He hangs up before Junsu can retort once more. Instinctively, he brings a cigarette to his mouth and lights it, closes his eyes as he lets the effects of nicotine gloss over his threadbare nerves. From somewhere, he hears someone approach him; Jaejoong had been skipping stones or doing some other nonsense when he made the call.
“I don’t think I can go home yet,” he finds himself saying. How is he going to explain this behavior? This constant yo-yoing of emotions he himself can’t even diagnose? The paranoia that haunts him both in daylight and in darkness? What’s wrong with him? “I think I’m going crazy.”
Yunho opens his eyes, looks at Jaejoong and for a moment forgets his fear, his uncertainty. Jaejoong stares back at him, eyes glinting under the moonlight, then Yunho feels a hand in his, warm and comforting against his own.
“You’re not crazy. Just lost.”
A squeeze is added in for good measure.
“Come.”
TBC
A/N: Oh the Jaeho is starting. Trust me. ^^