APTF [6/?]
Title: A Prayer Time Forgot
Length: Chaptered [6/?]
Rating: NC17 now, to be safe.
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: The room is cold despite the living room being flooded with white morning light coming in through the French doors.
Prologue + Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
---
Chapter Six
It’s Jaejoong Yoochun first runs to when the door is forced open, Jaejoong whom he begs forgiveness from. Yunho is livid and has no time or patience for stories, so Jaejoong volunteers himself and Junsu to be alone with Yoochun in a room to tell them what happened, why his and Siwon’s only remaining pictures are nothing but cut-up remains, while he waits on the balcony, fuming still over a can of cold beer. He doesn’t even turn once when Junsu bids goodbye for the night, merely concentrates on the low-hanging clouds over Seoul.
He couldn’t stop talking about some boy, Junsu had said, flabbergasted, before they had succeeded in wrenching Yoochun’s bedroom door open. He kept on telling me that there was some boy who gave him scissors and told him to cut up the pictures. There was no boy, hyung, I can assure you; it was just me and him the entire night.
The familiar smell of cigarette smoke pervades his nostrils; Jaejoong is standing beside him looking unruffled, a cigarette sitting prettily in his mouth.
“He’s not a bad kid, really.”
Yunho doesn’t look at him, unsure of what he’s supposed to feel. He keeps a steady eye on the view, takes his time before he answers.
“I never said he was.”
“He’s scared to death of you.” Jaejoong blows smoke through his nostrils before turning to him. “He thinks you’re likely to kill him. I wouldn’t blame him though since you’re pretty goddamn scary when you’re angry.”
“Did he say why he did it?”
“Something about another boy. He pretty much stuck to that story.”
Yunho shakes his head in disbelief. “That kid.”
“Hey, don’t be too hard on him. These things happen. He’s sorry for the most part. He’s just a kid, Yunho.” Jaejoong sidles closer to nudge him. “Kids do stupid things.”
His words strike him in a way Yunho doesn’t expect but he doesn’t flinch, choosing instead to focus on his stone that makes up the balcony ledge.
“…I love Yoochun…I really do. It’s just that I don’t know what to fucking do with him sometimes.” His anger is slowly dissipating. “He’s only six but he fights and talks back…a real hell raiser.” He can remember quieter, more peaceful times; sunnier days of bubble-blowing and playing cowboys and Indians in the living room, hoisting Yoochun up on his shoulders on a muggy summer night during the Fourth of July. “…He was never like this before.”
“Some people would call that spunk.”
“I don’t even want to imagine what he’ll be like as a teenager.”
“Crazy and stupid like his uncle I surmise.” Jaejoong supplies. He laughs when Yunho doesn’t seem to get the joke. “Oh come on, don’t go melodramatic on me. Cheer up. You’ll be fine. Yoochun will be fine. Just give it time, huh? Sheesh, you’re worse than a girl. Some New Yorker you are, big sissy…”
“Shut up,” Yunho says, and this time a smile cracks its way through. He takes the cigarette hanging off from Jaejoong’s lips and brings it to his own. He finishes it up with one long drag then flicks the remaining piece into the darkness of the night.
“What were those photos anyway?”
Yunho sighs, runs a hand through his hair. His shoulders drop as he remembers. Suddenly, he’s exhausted, wants nothing more than to just curl up in bed and wait until morning, wait until the arrival of a better day. “Pictures of my brother and I from childhood…when we were still living here, in Seoul.”
“Ah.”
“…I’m taking him to a shrink tomorrow.”
He already feels a headache coming on, dreads the all-too familiar routine of Yoochun’s crying fits; the child had never liked psychologists. The beer can he’s holding crumples slightly in his fist.
“Those quacks?” Jaejoong snorts. “Don’t bother. They all say the same things anyway. What the kid needs is a little venting. I can show you how.”
To his surprise, Jaejoong turns to leave and instinctively Yunho reaches out to grasp his wrist, suddenly hungry for Jaejoong’s presence.
“Where are you going? Stay. Please.” He realizes that he perhaps sounds too needy, too desperate, but he doesn’t care. Jaejoong laughs, hiding his mouth behind a pale hand.
“I’m only going inside, you baby. It’s fucking freezing.” He returns Yunho’s gesture by reaching out and holding onto Yunho’s hand to pull him. “Come on.”
---
They kiss in the darkness, although not as hungrily as they had done at the playground. Yunho has his arms around Jaejoong’s thin shoulders and closes his eyes, their tongues thrumming together in a slow sensual rhythm. He feels as Jaejoong holds his face in his hands, his touch light and soothing, feels as Jaejoong lips move from his mouth and butterfly onto his jaw line, his neck. When the tears spring from Yunho’s eyes, Jaejoong’s lips land on them too, kissing them softly, his breath making Yunho’s eyelashes shudder.
“Silly boy.” Jaejoong says with a smile, wipes Yunho’s tears with a careful stroke of his finger, but asks for no explanation. Yunho shakes his head, means it as some sort of apology, but all that comes out is a wet sniffle following more tears, which makes Jaejoong laugh as he holds him close, pulls him into a hug he doesn’t quite expect. Yunho collapses into his embrace, relishes the feeling of being held for once.
“Please stay.” He says softly, wishes he could be somewhere else, wishes he could just live. “Don’t leave.”
Like Siwon hyung did, he wants to add. The only person who had been constant in his life, the only one who could have held him, the only one who could have helped.
“Please.”
Jaejoong’s answer comes in the form of kissing his tears away.
---
Despite everything, Yunho wakes on the sofa the next morning to an unnatural quiet that can only take place in a space long abandoned. He shivers slightly, feeling a dull ache resonating from the back of his eyeballs. The room is cold despite the living room being flooded with white morning light coming in through the French doors. He sits up slowly, glances around the room, before getting up to do a quick check around the apartment. Dining room, bedroom, balcony, bathrooms.
“Jaejoong?” he calls, distinctly remembering the presence of the other man last night. Hadn’t he asked him to stay?
There’s something about the shadows in the apartment that even daylight can’t seem to ease, and Yunho tenses, half-expects Jaejoong to leap out from behind some appliance just to scare the living fuck out of him.
“Jaejoong-ah?”
He finds the note on the coffee table, a torn page from a sketchbook wedged underneath one of his photography books, the characters written in smudging pencil. Yunho, it says, I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the sofa. Somehow you fell asleep while crying and you were too heavy to bring to the bedroom. Don’t get your panties in a knot; I promise I’ll be back. Jaejoong. P.S. Don’t forget to apologize to Yoochun for bellowing like an ogre last night-
There’s a noise nearby that makes him turn around. Yunho is fast enough to see the top of Yoochun’s head whip out of sight from a hiding place near the wall. He sighs, knowing Jaejoong’s point.
“Micky,” he calls in a tone he approves as normal. “Micky.”
No child appears and Yunho advances towards the direction of Yoochun’s room where he knows Yoochun ran off to. “Yoochun-ah. Come out, we’ll have a talk-” He swings the bedroom door open and stops at the sight of the empty space, save for a very messy bed and a couple of toys strewn on the floor.
Wasn’t he just there? “Yoochun? Come out. Don’t hide now. Uncle isn’t in the mood for games…”
Yunho peers underneath the bed, sneezes as several weeks’ worth of dust assails him, peeks into the large toy box, behind the chest of drawers, looks into Yoochun’s bathroom. No Yoochun.
“Yoochun? Yoochun? This isn’t funny.” His heart rate is rising dangerously. “Jung Yoochun?”
Quicker now, Yunho strides from one room to the next: his bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, the bathrooms, the balcony, only to be greeted by empty sunlight and still air. He rakes through his hair, his mind attempting to make sense of the situation. But he was just there! a stubborn voice inside of him insists, I saw him! Logic tells him, however, that empty rooms don’t lie.
He already has his coat on, his cell phone in hand, fingers already dialing the police, while another hand busies itself by shoving his shoes onto his feet, when there’s a scratching at the front door, and when it swings open seconds later, Changmin appears, a very safe, very whole cereal-munching Yoochun in his arms.
The phone almost drops from Yunho’s hand. “Yoochun!”
Yoochun yelps when Yunho throws himself onto the both of them (Changmin looking very surprised in the process), lifts him from the younger boy’s hold and holds him up, inspecting him for any possible scratches or injuries. “I was just about to call the police! I thought you had been kidnapped! God, where did you go? Are you all right? Jesus Christ…!”
He doesn’t mean to yell but it comes out nearly the same. In his hold, Yoochun stiffens, and under his glare, Changmin suddenly turns an unnatural shade of red. The younger boy bows apologetically, keeps his head low as he speaks.
“I apologize, hyung. It’s my fault you were worried. Yoochun and I just went out to buy some milk for breakfast. It’s run out and…you were sleeping so we didn’t bother to wake you since we were only going to be gone for a bit…I’m sorry hyung. I’m really very sorry. It’s my fault. I didn’t realize…”
“I’m okay, uncle,” Yoochun mutters, looking uncomfortable at all the attention. “Really. Changmin hyung didn’t do anything. We just went out to the convenience store down the street. You don’t have to yell at him. I’m okay.”
“It will never happen again, Yunho hyung. I swear. I’m sorry.”
Changmin is still keeping his head low, looks as though he wants to disappear, and at the sight, Yunho softens, regretting immediately his sudden outburst in a way that he wants to kick himself. He sets Yoochun down on the ground, inspects him one last time before straightening, takes a deep calming breath before turning to face Changmin.
“Please forgive me hyung.”
“No, no, Changmin, it’s okay. I’m…I’m sorry for yelling. I got a little carried away.”
“I really didn’t mean…” But Yunho ends the conversation with the raising of his hand. He throws an offhand smile at Changmin to assure him, then turns back to Yoochun, breathing deeply.
“Next time you go away, tell me, all right?” he says, gently now, keeping his hands on Yoochun’s shoulders. Yoochun looks sheepish and tries hard to avert his gaze.
“Uncle…”
“What’s with the ‘uncle’ business now?”
“…because you’re mad at me.”
“I like ‘hyung’ better.”
“…I’m sorry about last night. About…your pictures. I…I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me anymore.”
There is no added mention of the boy that Junsu and Jaejoong had said Yoochun had insisted on, and Yunho is glad (No boy. No boy at all, he thinks, wondering if he’s trying to convince himself of the same thing). Remembering the ruined photos (the very remains of which now lie at the very bottom of his dresser drawer) however still tugs at Yunho’s heart, but he pushes the feelings aside, contents himself with the thought that nothing will ever bring them back anyway.
“…I’m not mad anymore, Micky. Just don’t do stuff like that again, okay? Don’t touch any of my stuff unless I gave you permission, okay? And remember, don’t leave without telling me, understand?”
At Yoochun’s smile, Yunho can’t possibly imagine why in the world he was able to find it in himself to get angry at such a child.
“Okay, hyung.”
---
It’s Changmin who reminds him that school starts the next week, and Yunho balks at the cartload of school supplies that have to be purchased for the upcoming school year (“But they’re only six-year-olds!” he attempts to reason, eyes widening at the long list of books, uniforms and coloring materials Yoochun’s school has ordered; Changmin merely shrugs, unfazed). Reluctantly, the apartment is locked and Yunho follows Changmin and Yoochun down crowded sidewalks and through random stores, picking out bag, lunchbox, uniform, books after careful deliberation among the three of them. (“What the HECK is a Shinkansen, hyung?”; “A bullet train.”; “It has a FACE…That’s not cool.”; “All right, put it back then.”)
Yoochun doesn’t even take a second to answer when Yunho asks him where he wants to go for a late lunch (“Outbacksteakhousepleasepleaseohpleasehyung!”) but Changmin surprises him even more when he manages to polish off three rib plates. He takes pictures of both boys as Changmin swings Yoochun by his arms, teaches him random Korean from the things they read from the streets, and coaxes him to try Korean street food (with much effort, although in the end it’s him and Changmin who end up finishing off the spicy rice cake, with Yoochun now stating that he will never ever eat any red-colored Korean food again). Changmin has an easy smile and is a good conversationalist, flawlessly switching between English and Korean, and has the patience of a god. Yoochun obviously adores him, constantly tugs on his coat to show him random things, asks his opinion on everything; Yunho would definitely have to change his mind about thanking Junsu for him.
“Changmin-ah.”
It’s the late afternoon and already Yunho is tired, his camera now a dead weight around his neck. Yoochun, however, is still ricocheting around the area like a bullet, pretending to play Detective by shadowing dodging behind bushes and benches. Changmin looks up at him, his and Yoochun’s ice creams already melting slightly in his hands.
“Mm, hyung?”
“You didn’t…see anyone leave the apartment before you came in, did you? I mean, the door was closed?”
Changmin pauses to think. “Yeah…the door was closed. I had to key in the code several times to reopen it because Yoochun was too heavy. Why do you ask?”
Yunho doesn’t know if he’s asking the whereabouts of the child he had seen that morning or Jaejoong’s.
“…Nothing. Just curious.”
“Mmm. Okay, hyung.”
---
In the evening, Yunho uploads photos, makes a mental note to himself to edit some of them (there’s odd lighting on some of them, with Yoochun’s face overly bright), before snapping his laptop shut to leave that work for another day. Changmin has already left and Yoochun is already asleep, leaving the apartment silent except for the stray noise from the TV in Yunho’s bedroom that he bothers with if only to break the monotony. He stretches out on his bed, his glasses still on. His team is playing the Lakers.
He doesn’t know when he falls asleep but he does, and he wakes slightly at the sound of his door opening followed by a soft shuffling of footsteps. Yoochun, most probably.
“Mmmfff, go back to sleep, Micky,” he mumbles, not bothering to open his eyes. He rolls over with a slight grunt and burrows into a nearby pillow. Yoochun is approaching the bed. “Did you have a nightmare?”
A small hand touches his, startling Yunho. It isn’t so much that he’s been touched but it’s that it’s cold.
“Yoochun, what-” He’s about to start on a lecture about leaving the windows open again when, as he opens his eyes, a different boy, a boy not Yoochun, a boy he thought he would never see again, greets him at his bedside. The familiar pale, pointed face and dark dark eyes make any words that were supposed to come out die in his throat as fear grips him, takes a hold of him in a way that makes his heart hurt.
Instinctively, he bolts upright, attempts to gasp Yoochun’s name, but is unsuccessful; the boy holds his hand in an iron grip, wrenches him back down on the bed. Yunho feels the loud crack that sounds as a hand comes into contact with his face. He’s seeing dots of light when he forces himself to face the boy again.
“You…You’re not…You can’t be…” he’s gasping, wrenching words up his esophagus in a vain attempt to seize logic by the neck and keeping it there.
The boy smiles at him, a smile so black and wretched that it makes fear crawl up from Yunho’s gut and spider up his throat, strangling him, cornering him in a space that makes it impossible for him to breathe.
Remember me?
Yunho screams.
TBC
A/N: I'm not sure yet, but another update may take a while. :/ SCHOOOL. TT_TT
Length: Chaptered [6/?]
Rating: NC17 now, to be safe.
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: The room is cold despite the living room being flooded with white morning light coming in through the French doors.
Prologue + Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
---
Chapter Six
It’s Jaejoong Yoochun first runs to when the door is forced open, Jaejoong whom he begs forgiveness from. Yunho is livid and has no time or patience for stories, so Jaejoong volunteers himself and Junsu to be alone with Yoochun in a room to tell them what happened, why his and Siwon’s only remaining pictures are nothing but cut-up remains, while he waits on the balcony, fuming still over a can of cold beer. He doesn’t even turn once when Junsu bids goodbye for the night, merely concentrates on the low-hanging clouds over Seoul.
He couldn’t stop talking about some boy, Junsu had said, flabbergasted, before they had succeeded in wrenching Yoochun’s bedroom door open. He kept on telling me that there was some boy who gave him scissors and told him to cut up the pictures. There was no boy, hyung, I can assure you; it was just me and him the entire night.
The familiar smell of cigarette smoke pervades his nostrils; Jaejoong is standing beside him looking unruffled, a cigarette sitting prettily in his mouth.
“He’s not a bad kid, really.”
Yunho doesn’t look at him, unsure of what he’s supposed to feel. He keeps a steady eye on the view, takes his time before he answers.
“I never said he was.”
“He’s scared to death of you.” Jaejoong blows smoke through his nostrils before turning to him. “He thinks you’re likely to kill him. I wouldn’t blame him though since you’re pretty goddamn scary when you’re angry.”
“Did he say why he did it?”
“Something about another boy. He pretty much stuck to that story.”
Yunho shakes his head in disbelief. “That kid.”
“Hey, don’t be too hard on him. These things happen. He’s sorry for the most part. He’s just a kid, Yunho.” Jaejoong sidles closer to nudge him. “Kids do stupid things.”
His words strike him in a way Yunho doesn’t expect but he doesn’t flinch, choosing instead to focus on his stone that makes up the balcony ledge.
“…I love Yoochun…I really do. It’s just that I don’t know what to fucking do with him sometimes.” His anger is slowly dissipating. “He’s only six but he fights and talks back…a real hell raiser.” He can remember quieter, more peaceful times; sunnier days of bubble-blowing and playing cowboys and Indians in the living room, hoisting Yoochun up on his shoulders on a muggy summer night during the Fourth of July. “…He was never like this before.”
“Some people would call that spunk.”
“I don’t even want to imagine what he’ll be like as a teenager.”
“Crazy and stupid like his uncle I surmise.” Jaejoong supplies. He laughs when Yunho doesn’t seem to get the joke. “Oh come on, don’t go melodramatic on me. Cheer up. You’ll be fine. Yoochun will be fine. Just give it time, huh? Sheesh, you’re worse than a girl. Some New Yorker you are, big sissy…”
“Shut up,” Yunho says, and this time a smile cracks its way through. He takes the cigarette hanging off from Jaejoong’s lips and brings it to his own. He finishes it up with one long drag then flicks the remaining piece into the darkness of the night.
“What were those photos anyway?”
Yunho sighs, runs a hand through his hair. His shoulders drop as he remembers. Suddenly, he’s exhausted, wants nothing more than to just curl up in bed and wait until morning, wait until the arrival of a better day. “Pictures of my brother and I from childhood…when we were still living here, in Seoul.”
“Ah.”
“…I’m taking him to a shrink tomorrow.”
He already feels a headache coming on, dreads the all-too familiar routine of Yoochun’s crying fits; the child had never liked psychologists. The beer can he’s holding crumples slightly in his fist.
“Those quacks?” Jaejoong snorts. “Don’t bother. They all say the same things anyway. What the kid needs is a little venting. I can show you how.”
To his surprise, Jaejoong turns to leave and instinctively Yunho reaches out to grasp his wrist, suddenly hungry for Jaejoong’s presence.
“Where are you going? Stay. Please.” He realizes that he perhaps sounds too needy, too desperate, but he doesn’t care. Jaejoong laughs, hiding his mouth behind a pale hand.
“I’m only going inside, you baby. It’s fucking freezing.” He returns Yunho’s gesture by reaching out and holding onto Yunho’s hand to pull him. “Come on.”
---
They kiss in the darkness, although not as hungrily as they had done at the playground. Yunho has his arms around Jaejoong’s thin shoulders and closes his eyes, their tongues thrumming together in a slow sensual rhythm. He feels as Jaejoong holds his face in his hands, his touch light and soothing, feels as Jaejoong lips move from his mouth and butterfly onto his jaw line, his neck. When the tears spring from Yunho’s eyes, Jaejoong’s lips land on them too, kissing them softly, his breath making Yunho’s eyelashes shudder.
“Silly boy.” Jaejoong says with a smile, wipes Yunho’s tears with a careful stroke of his finger, but asks for no explanation. Yunho shakes his head, means it as some sort of apology, but all that comes out is a wet sniffle following more tears, which makes Jaejoong laugh as he holds him close, pulls him into a hug he doesn’t quite expect. Yunho collapses into his embrace, relishes the feeling of being held for once.
“Please stay.” He says softly, wishes he could be somewhere else, wishes he could just live. “Don’t leave.”
Like Siwon hyung did, he wants to add. The only person who had been constant in his life, the only one who could have held him, the only one who could have helped.
“Please.”
Jaejoong’s answer comes in the form of kissing his tears away.
---
Despite everything, Yunho wakes on the sofa the next morning to an unnatural quiet that can only take place in a space long abandoned. He shivers slightly, feeling a dull ache resonating from the back of his eyeballs. The room is cold despite the living room being flooded with white morning light coming in through the French doors. He sits up slowly, glances around the room, before getting up to do a quick check around the apartment. Dining room, bedroom, balcony, bathrooms.
“Jaejoong?” he calls, distinctly remembering the presence of the other man last night. Hadn’t he asked him to stay?
There’s something about the shadows in the apartment that even daylight can’t seem to ease, and Yunho tenses, half-expects Jaejoong to leap out from behind some appliance just to scare the living fuck out of him.
“Jaejoong-ah?”
He finds the note on the coffee table, a torn page from a sketchbook wedged underneath one of his photography books, the characters written in smudging pencil. Yunho, it says, I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the sofa. Somehow you fell asleep while crying and you were too heavy to bring to the bedroom. Don’t get your panties in a knot; I promise I’ll be back. Jaejoong. P.S. Don’t forget to apologize to Yoochun for bellowing like an ogre last night-
There’s a noise nearby that makes him turn around. Yunho is fast enough to see the top of Yoochun’s head whip out of sight from a hiding place near the wall. He sighs, knowing Jaejoong’s point.
“Micky,” he calls in a tone he approves as normal. “Micky.”
No child appears and Yunho advances towards the direction of Yoochun’s room where he knows Yoochun ran off to. “Yoochun-ah. Come out, we’ll have a talk-” He swings the bedroom door open and stops at the sight of the empty space, save for a very messy bed and a couple of toys strewn on the floor.
Wasn’t he just there? “Yoochun? Come out. Don’t hide now. Uncle isn’t in the mood for games…”
Yunho peers underneath the bed, sneezes as several weeks’ worth of dust assails him, peeks into the large toy box, behind the chest of drawers, looks into Yoochun’s bathroom. No Yoochun.
“Yoochun? Yoochun? This isn’t funny.” His heart rate is rising dangerously. “Jung Yoochun?”
Quicker now, Yunho strides from one room to the next: his bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, the bathrooms, the balcony, only to be greeted by empty sunlight and still air. He rakes through his hair, his mind attempting to make sense of the situation. But he was just there! a stubborn voice inside of him insists, I saw him! Logic tells him, however, that empty rooms don’t lie.
He already has his coat on, his cell phone in hand, fingers already dialing the police, while another hand busies itself by shoving his shoes onto his feet, when there’s a scratching at the front door, and when it swings open seconds later, Changmin appears, a very safe, very whole cereal-munching Yoochun in his arms.
The phone almost drops from Yunho’s hand. “Yoochun!”
Yoochun yelps when Yunho throws himself onto the both of them (Changmin looking very surprised in the process), lifts him from the younger boy’s hold and holds him up, inspecting him for any possible scratches or injuries. “I was just about to call the police! I thought you had been kidnapped! God, where did you go? Are you all right? Jesus Christ…!”
He doesn’t mean to yell but it comes out nearly the same. In his hold, Yoochun stiffens, and under his glare, Changmin suddenly turns an unnatural shade of red. The younger boy bows apologetically, keeps his head low as he speaks.
“I apologize, hyung. It’s my fault you were worried. Yoochun and I just went out to buy some milk for breakfast. It’s run out and…you were sleeping so we didn’t bother to wake you since we were only going to be gone for a bit…I’m sorry hyung. I’m really very sorry. It’s my fault. I didn’t realize…”
“I’m okay, uncle,” Yoochun mutters, looking uncomfortable at all the attention. “Really. Changmin hyung didn’t do anything. We just went out to the convenience store down the street. You don’t have to yell at him. I’m okay.”
“It will never happen again, Yunho hyung. I swear. I’m sorry.”
Changmin is still keeping his head low, looks as though he wants to disappear, and at the sight, Yunho softens, regretting immediately his sudden outburst in a way that he wants to kick himself. He sets Yoochun down on the ground, inspects him one last time before straightening, takes a deep calming breath before turning to face Changmin.
“Please forgive me hyung.”
“No, no, Changmin, it’s okay. I’m…I’m sorry for yelling. I got a little carried away.”
“I really didn’t mean…” But Yunho ends the conversation with the raising of his hand. He throws an offhand smile at Changmin to assure him, then turns back to Yoochun, breathing deeply.
“Next time you go away, tell me, all right?” he says, gently now, keeping his hands on Yoochun’s shoulders. Yoochun looks sheepish and tries hard to avert his gaze.
“Uncle…”
“What’s with the ‘uncle’ business now?”
“…because you’re mad at me.”
“I like ‘hyung’ better.”
“…I’m sorry about last night. About…your pictures. I…I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me anymore.”
There is no added mention of the boy that Junsu and Jaejoong had said Yoochun had insisted on, and Yunho is glad (No boy. No boy at all, he thinks, wondering if he’s trying to convince himself of the same thing). Remembering the ruined photos (the very remains of which now lie at the very bottom of his dresser drawer) however still tugs at Yunho’s heart, but he pushes the feelings aside, contents himself with the thought that nothing will ever bring them back anyway.
“…I’m not mad anymore, Micky. Just don’t do stuff like that again, okay? Don’t touch any of my stuff unless I gave you permission, okay? And remember, don’t leave without telling me, understand?”
At Yoochun’s smile, Yunho can’t possibly imagine why in the world he was able to find it in himself to get angry at such a child.
“Okay, hyung.”
---
It’s Changmin who reminds him that school starts the next week, and Yunho balks at the cartload of school supplies that have to be purchased for the upcoming school year (“But they’re only six-year-olds!” he attempts to reason, eyes widening at the long list of books, uniforms and coloring materials Yoochun’s school has ordered; Changmin merely shrugs, unfazed). Reluctantly, the apartment is locked and Yunho follows Changmin and Yoochun down crowded sidewalks and through random stores, picking out bag, lunchbox, uniform, books after careful deliberation among the three of them. (“What the HECK is a Shinkansen, hyung?”; “A bullet train.”; “It has a FACE…That’s not cool.”; “All right, put it back then.”)
Yoochun doesn’t even take a second to answer when Yunho asks him where he wants to go for a late lunch (“Outbacksteakhousepleasepleaseohpleasehyung!”) but Changmin surprises him even more when he manages to polish off three rib plates. He takes pictures of both boys as Changmin swings Yoochun by his arms, teaches him random Korean from the things they read from the streets, and coaxes him to try Korean street food (with much effort, although in the end it’s him and Changmin who end up finishing off the spicy rice cake, with Yoochun now stating that he will never ever eat any red-colored Korean food again). Changmin has an easy smile and is a good conversationalist, flawlessly switching between English and Korean, and has the patience of a god. Yoochun obviously adores him, constantly tugs on his coat to show him random things, asks his opinion on everything; Yunho would definitely have to change his mind about thanking Junsu for him.
“Changmin-ah.”
It’s the late afternoon and already Yunho is tired, his camera now a dead weight around his neck. Yoochun, however, is still ricocheting around the area like a bullet, pretending to play Detective by shadowing dodging behind bushes and benches. Changmin looks up at him, his and Yoochun’s ice creams already melting slightly in his hands.
“Mm, hyung?”
“You didn’t…see anyone leave the apartment before you came in, did you? I mean, the door was closed?”
Changmin pauses to think. “Yeah…the door was closed. I had to key in the code several times to reopen it because Yoochun was too heavy. Why do you ask?”
Yunho doesn’t know if he’s asking the whereabouts of the child he had seen that morning or Jaejoong’s.
“…Nothing. Just curious.”
“Mmm. Okay, hyung.”
---
In the evening, Yunho uploads photos, makes a mental note to himself to edit some of them (there’s odd lighting on some of them, with Yoochun’s face overly bright), before snapping his laptop shut to leave that work for another day. Changmin has already left and Yoochun is already asleep, leaving the apartment silent except for the stray noise from the TV in Yunho’s bedroom that he bothers with if only to break the monotony. He stretches out on his bed, his glasses still on. His team is playing the Lakers.
He doesn’t know when he falls asleep but he does, and he wakes slightly at the sound of his door opening followed by a soft shuffling of footsteps. Yoochun, most probably.
“Mmmfff, go back to sleep, Micky,” he mumbles, not bothering to open his eyes. He rolls over with a slight grunt and burrows into a nearby pillow. Yoochun is approaching the bed. “Did you have a nightmare?”
A small hand touches his, startling Yunho. It isn’t so much that he’s been touched but it’s that it’s cold.
“Yoochun, what-” He’s about to start on a lecture about leaving the windows open again when, as he opens his eyes, a different boy, a boy not Yoochun, a boy he thought he would never see again, greets him at his bedside. The familiar pale, pointed face and dark dark eyes make any words that were supposed to come out die in his throat as fear grips him, takes a hold of him in a way that makes his heart hurt.
Instinctively, he bolts upright, attempts to gasp Yoochun’s name, but is unsuccessful; the boy holds his hand in an iron grip, wrenches him back down on the bed. Yunho feels the loud crack that sounds as a hand comes into contact with his face. He’s seeing dots of light when he forces himself to face the boy again.
“You…You’re not…You can’t be…” he’s gasping, wrenching words up his esophagus in a vain attempt to seize logic by the neck and keeping it there.
The boy smiles at him, a smile so black and wretched that it makes fear crawl up from Yunho’s gut and spider up his throat, strangling him, cornering him in a space that makes it impossible for him to breathe.
Remember me?
Yunho screams.
TBC
A/N: I'm not sure yet, but another update may take a while. :/ SCHOOOL. TT_TT