Series| Steel Wings Over Ash (IV)
Yoochun brushes his fingers against the abused bits of brick that haven't been reclaimed by nature yet. Each bit of rubble weighs like a memory in his palm and he can almost see them- the last occupants of what might have been an apartment complex, or an office building, or a quaint little house tucked out of the way. It's hard to tell the difference anymore and the ghostly visions that flit before his eyes are the same.
There are six units, college kids are chilling in unit one, while in unit three a single father reads a fairy tale to his little princess and in unit four-
-the boss is fucking his secretary over the edge of his mahogany table. It’s illicit and all sorts of shameful and secret- really, a homosexual affair?- but neither of them can be bothered to care when the boss comes with a moan and under him-
-they're newlyweds, just moved into their first house, celebrating with coy giggles and making sure their marks is left in every room of the house-
It’s with more than a touch of shame that Yoochun realizes that he can see these visions more clearly than the faces of three others he loved- loves- and the thought makes him want to be sick. He promised that he wouldn’t forget, but where has that lead him?
Broken dreams? Desperate wishes? Nightmares of the past steeped in regret?
He doesn’t know how to move on. Hell, maybe he already has and he hasn’t realized it yet, but from where then would the guilt come on so strong?
Yoochun doesn’t know, but it doesn’t matter- he doesn’t want to forget. Still, the idea upsets him so he thinks, instead, of Changmin who’s working on repairs back at ‘home’ that Yoochun is supposed to be scavenging materials for. It’s a poor choice for distraction, but he pours all of his thought into the task, scouring the ruins for the precious materials that have kept them alive.
Sunlight reflects off of plastic and Yoochun knows it by sight, so he immediately makes a beeline for any glint of toxic light on the ground. He’s got a spade for digging when he reaches such spots and he always feels a bit like a child when he does, finding buried treasure that’s no less valuable than gold. Thankfully for them, human kind did an excellent job of leaving its mark in that there’s always plenty of plastic around to keep them going.
He finds a spot half-under a collapsed wall, sheltered slightly from the harsh sun and the brutal storms and he starts digging, throwing himself into the task. It’s a better distraction than the last, thoughts trained on getting out the piece of plastic out without damage. Some time later- numbers have become largely irrelevant in this day and age- Yoochun manages to pry out a flat square, brushing soil off of it and wondering if it might be too small to-
A faint stirring of recognition tugs at him and hastens his cleaning work, fingers working against the grime already on them to see what sort of treasure he’s found and his heart nearly stops in his chest when it’s uncovered.
He never thought he’d see one of their albums again. Not since they left the apartment.
Yoochun leaves his work abandoned in favor of running towards the old sweatshop and flying down into their safe area, hurrying to the stereo that Changmin recovered and fixed up to play. The speakers are shitty and the whole thing looks like it’s halfway to hell, but it works and Yoochun’s heart thuds hard in his chest as he cracks open the old casing to find the precious disk within. It’s dirty, just a bit, but it looks playable and wipes his fingers on his pants before taking it out and cleaning it gently, placing it in the CD tray when he’s done in an almost reverent manner.
The music that plays threatens to break his heart.
Yoochun didn’t realize how he’d started to forget what they all sounded like. The voices sound almost foreign in all of their familiarity and he finds himself misplacing a voice or two at parts where he knows exactly who’s singing. The mind-rending shock drops him into a nearby decrepit armchair. Memories tug at him at a slow ebb and Yoochun sinks into the cushions beneath him, feeling the past swallow him up.
Hoping secretly it never spits him back up.
The sound of breaking glass was followed closely by a shocked yelp and husky cursing. Jaejoong, of course Jaejoong, was the first to come running, summoned by their second youngest’s distress. They all filtered in fairly quickly, though, a slight trill of fear chording through them.
There was blood.
Junsu had moved himself to the far end corner of the room, away from the windows, nursing a cut arm and trying hard not to touch the glass that had caused it, still splitting his skin. The window was broken, ice melting just there on the floor as it drummed in, the size of baseballs.
They hadn’t wanted to believe it when everyone said the storms were getting worse.
Yunho was the first to act, taking Changmin and going with him to find a board or something of the sort to block up the window while Jaejoong did his best to hurry over, avoiding the bits of glass still scattered on the floor and the blood trail that followed to reach Junsu who reacted instantly- as a flower to the sun- to Jaejoong’s care.
Yoochun stood stock still, shocked with dread running through him. Junsu, he knew, had to be sitting in the window sill. It was just a thing that the younger man did when pensive, normal, but the circumstances had changed.
Had a different part of the window given way, would it have simply been Junsu’s arm that suffered? Surely not. Surely, they were risking worse but-
Yunho returned with the board and nails, covering the gape patiently with Changmin, utterly calm.
“We’ll ask the landlord about it tomorrow. We can get all the windows replaced with storm windows, probably. Yoochun, don’t just stand there, go get bandages and water so we can clean up Junsu. Everything will be okay.”
They knew, all of them knew. It wouldn’t be okay. It couldn’t be, not now when the storm had finally touched them. It was ludicrous to expect them to go back to normal, but they played the parts anyways.
Yoochun had sat, staring at nothing in front of his computer for some time after that, unsure of what to think and feeling, as he hated so, lost. He stayed until called, until one of the other came in with a quiet-
“Yoochun. Yoochun-“
“Yoochun.”
Yoochun looks up at Changmin whose gaze is on the little stereo, breath bated. Yoochun can see the muscles in his throat work to swallow hard, trying to hold back his grief.
They’d never quite mourned for that day.
“Where’d you get it?”
“I was scavenging. I didn’t collect anything else. I couldn’t. I had to see if it worked.”
Yoochun’s words come out all at once in a single botched confession. He nearly throws out an apology, but there’s nothing to be sorry for. Changmin understands. He has to.
They’ve missed the other parts of their hearts for far too long.
Changmin walks over to pick up the cracked and sullied case with trembling fingers before turning to finally look at Yoochun, eyes wet with emotion. They’d left their own copies at home al that time ago in the heat of the moment. It had hurt too much to look at them in the days preceding their leave, and it had been so natural to assume that those voices would be with them always.
Hearing them now, Yoochun realizes that they were wrong.
He’s not sure who the first sniffle comes from, or which of them moved first, but soon they’re wrapped up in each other’s arms on the couch, music filling the lonely corners of their safe house as they share the pair, share their longing.
It’s cosmically unfair for Hug to be their requiem, but Yoochun is certain, dead certain, he wouldn’t have expected anything less.
“Everything’ll be fine. Don’t worry so much, Yoochun-ah.”
And at that time, Yoochun let them hug him.
He’d let himself believe.