#05. with you, without me;
: with you, without me
: yoochun-centric; yoochun/everyone | pg 13
: yoochun leaves a piece of his life wherever he goes, just in case they hope to look
: for perfectstart and thelovelight; thanks for inspiring and loving me ♥
i.
It's Wednesday when Yoochun wakes up with his body in Paris and his heart in Seoul.
His phone is off and his memories are stored away in a box under his bed, buried beneath borrowed clothes and stolen kisses that he took from them when he left. He's twenty-something, he's not sure because all the years are becoming one in the same, and the sun shines a bit paler here than it did there but the air isn't as constricting and no one knows who he is. No one to remember him anymore.
Even then, though, the Eiffel Tower is just not big enough to hold his heartache and their stolen hearts.
That was a month ago and now he's flying over the city with a note left on the hotel’s dresser for anybody that cares to find him next.
ii.
Summer finds him in the heart of Italy, the wind taking him into Rome and leaving him with ruffled hair and flustered cheeks.
His ears are filled with brilliance found only in foreign tongue and his chest is pressed down by the history that wraps him in a warm embrace. Beautiful people dance around him and he wants to find their rhythm, tap his toes to this mysterious beat, and if he tries hard enough he can feel a piece of the music fill his veins. Then it’s carried away by the words of natives and he’s left standing in the middle of the street with his heart on his sleeve and his hands in his pockets.
Rome is known for the empire it once was and the men that ruled this vast land, so Yoochun isn’t that surprised when he finds Yunho staring down the sun, back stiff and mouth set into a slight smile.
Love Bye Love is caught somewhere in his throat, a faltered note skittering to the frantic beat of the organ housed inside his rib cage, and he can barely register the fact that Yunho is waving at him, real and alive and breathing before him.
“Yoochun,” he calls out and it’s been so long since someone has said his name that he has somehow forgotten what it sounds like on another’s tongue. He’s smiling again, wide, so wide, and repeats the name again, “Yoochun.”
Yunho’s hand reaches out, fingers brushing the skin of the other male’s palm, and suddenly Yoochun can hear that secret music ringing loud and clear in his ears. He finds that the music is just made up by Yunho’s laughter thrumming in time with his own heartbeat.
Yunho leads him to a quaint little café on the corner of one of the streets, settling themselves down at a table meant for two and Yoochun feels like he’s taking up space even though there are hardly any customers at this time. When the waiter comes by, menus in hand and pleasant smile on his face, Yoochun watches in shocked astonishment as Yunho rattles off in Italian as if he’s been speaking it for his whole life.
He briefly reflects on the broken pieces that make up his own language (Korean, English, Japanese, French phrases, Italian words). He hasn’t spoken much since he’s left and he hasn’t taken the time to try to learn anything new without his surrogate family near by. So when the waiter turns to him he can only mutter, “water,” as his answer and wave the male off.
“How have you been? More importantly, where have you been?”
Yoochun shrugs halfheartedly as answer to the first question, mumbling, “Anywhere, everywhere, nowhere.”
Yunho seems to think about his answer, pausing to take in the fact that they no longer know each other like they had once before and he misses the mellow pianist that liked to drink with Jaejoong, eat with Changmin, and smile with Junsu. “Where are you going next?”
“I don’t know.” And he’s being honest, he really doesn’t know where to go. He never has.
He offers a wry smile to Yunho when the other says, “why don’t you come back with me,” because they both know he just can’t come home.
A few minutes later, Yunho excuses himself as his cell phone rings and, while he’s away from the table, Yoochun borrows a pen from the waiter and writes Yunho a goodbye on the fancily embroidered tablecloth.
The next thing he knows is he’s paying for a plane ticket to another country and he’s leaving Rome with a goodbye stitched in bright blue ink against an expensive fabric.
Rome takes back its music and Yoochun can no longer even begin to tell someone how it sounded anymore.
iii.
His plane crashes down somewhere in the United Kingdom, scattering his thoughts and feelings like the autumn leaves.
Yoochun walks along cobblestone paths trying to find all the pieces, but sometimes is sidetracked by the colors of this particular season and stands for hours against the pale orange glow of the sunset just watching the way shadows fall across European faces. He smiles at children with lilting voices, joyous laughter echo in his ears and fill his lungs with sunshine.
The autumn road leads him into an emerald country, hillsides expanding for kilometers and stretching over cliffs until they pan into blue seas and even bluer skies. He settles himself on a patch of wet earth, feels tender blades of grass tickle his ankles and palms and he’s in the middle of Kiss the Baby Sky when another voice joins him. Their tones slide easily together, blend against the breathy air, and Yoochun closes his eyes before blinking them back up at the towering structure beside him.
“I didn’t think I’d find you here,” Changmin says with a tiny grin etched onto his handsome face, eyes crinkling at the corners until they are nothing more than crescent moons.
Yoochun looks back at his lap, feels his insides sway, and replies, “Life’s full of surprises.”
Changmin sits on the ground beside him and lets his eyelids slide over his beautiful brown eyes. Yoochun’s fingers twitch against the dirt, ache to pull back the wispy locks that kiss the tan skin of the other’s nape and maybe rest against the pulse residing there.
October fits Changmin well, molds itself around his lean frame and tucks love into his jacket pockets. Yoochun wonders if he could make himself small enough, could he fit into the pocket that covers Changmin’s heartbeat, would Changmin remember to take him away - anywhere, everywhere, nowhere at all.
Changmin spies his little tour group in the distance, eyes squinted against the sunset hitting the crashing waves against the horizon, and says, “I’m going to tell them I’m hanging with you for the rest of the trip. Do you want to come?”
“No, I’ll just sit here,” Yoochun answers with a shake of his head and he blinks away the disappointment in Changmin’s eyes, as if the other knows that when he comes back Yoochun will have only been a figment of his imagination. Maybe he really is. “Hey, Changmin! Scream the name of the person you love most.”
Changmin smiles mischievously, cups his mouth as he starts to walk backwards away from his lost band mate, “Changmin!” and the other Korean rolls his eyes from where he sits. “Yoochun, who do you love most?”
He only waves, doesn’t reply until Changmin’s back is turned toward him and it’s easier to walk away. He takes the camera Changmin had earlier, records his farewell, and whispers, “I love Tong Vfang the most,” before he fades out of Ireland and leaves for another destination.
iv.
Winter smells a lot like loneliness and Yoochun finds that he might fit this season’s description well, blue jacket his only source of warmth and a tiny memory replaying in his head of when he would sit up late with his surrogate family, fall asleep in each others’ arms, and wake up the next morning one large mass of tangled limbs and smiling faces. Thinking of them makes the icy touch of the season lessen until he can’t feel it anymore, but maybe it’s just numbing his barely beating heart.
He’s standing in New York City, in a crowd of thousands of anxious faces, staring up at the sky that still shines baby blue even if it’s close to midnight and the sun has been away for such a long time now. He’s pushed around, shoved by tipsy partygoers, and he might have fallen and cut up his pants on the pavement once or twice already. Christmas was a whir of brilliant bright reds and greens but now those flickering colors have dimmed in comparison to the glowing ball of gold and silver and magnificence that threatens to fall on this mob of happy people.
Evergreen burns the tip of his tongue, the New Year bites the ends of his fingers, and he’s thinking that this will be the first year of starting over without his friends and family when another body sidles up alongside his and places their hand in his.
“Hey you,” a gorgeous voice murmurs in his sensitive ear, familiarity pumping through his bloodstream as someone shrieks that there is a minute left until a brand new year envelops this city.
Yoochun feels his heart flutter against his rib cage, wanting to break free, and he sees Jaejoong just the same as always (but maybe more beautiful, more lovable, more there) grinning back at him. “Hi yourself.”
Jaejoong grins, pulls himself closer, and people are starting to count down till January 1st, “Happy New Year, Yoochun.” And then the gleaming sphere ahead drops and people break out into a drunken rendition of Auld Lang Syne as Jaejoong presses a ghost of a kiss to Yoochun’s mouth, deepening it only when Yoochun whispers for more.
Jaejoong breathes life back into Yoochun’s lungs, leaves his heart in Yoochun’s fisted palms, and says, “Stop looking so sad. We’re starting the new year together.”
The younger’s laugh falters into hiccups which in turn reduce to sobs, until he’s clinging to Jaejoong as if the other will leave him if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. He kisses him slow, fast, rough, soft, always always desperate. Jaejoong’s hands cup his chilled red cheeks, thumbs wiping away tears he didn’t know he’d cried, and their hearts rumble and knock against one another until they hum as one.
He tugs at bed sheets, winds himself around Jaejoong, and there are fingers on his thighs, delicate and playful, and lips on his neck, urgent and tapping air back into his lungs only for him to gasp the oxygen back out again. Jaejoong holds him well into the morning, his watch beeping at two a.m. before he tosses it in the chaotic mess of clothes littering the floorboards.
Yoochun never finds himself drifting off to sleep because he’s afraid to close his eyes, afraid that he might miss Jaejoong, that this won’t be real anymore. He sits by the bed side, traces the lines and dips and curves of Jaejoong’s body with his eyes, making metal pictures and then creating new memories for his heart to hold. Yoochun smiles at the sleeping beauty, holds the hand that dangles off the edge, and wishes for time to stop. But it won’t and he has to leave now.
He kisses a farewell into Jaejoong’s chest, right above the tattoo that Yoochun shares with him, and breaks down when he’s on the plane to a new city.
When he leaves he takes all New York’s lights with him.
v.
Virginia greets him in the spring, bursting with life and flowers and happiness. Yoochun has to narrow his eyes to avoid being blinded by the beaming sunlight that scatters leaves without trees against his white skin.
He goes to the place where he once fed a stray cat a piece of his breakfast, sees the vines that still twist around iron fences, and he leads himself to the park near his old home where his mother said his turtle ran away to. Fairfax is bustling with people even in the April shower and he finds it fitting to imagine Junsu singing Rainy Night by his side.
Except it’s not his imagination and Junsu is really standing before him, umbrella in hand and other hand in the air, singing to him so softly that he has to strain against the downpour to hear the sound. But he’s really there and a smile blossoms on his lips faster than his heart is beating.
“Long time no see,” Junsu mumbles into Yoochun’s damp jacket, umbrella lying unimportant on the sidewalk behind Junsu.
Yoochun chuckles through his tears, clutches tighter on the back of Junsu’s hooded raincoat, and chokes out, “Long time cannot see.”
Junsu smells like apples, tastes like sunshine, and feels like spring underneath his fingertips (against his chest, inside his heart). Yoochun is just the embittered shell of winter seeking shelter in the shades of trees and he breaks against Junsu’s touch. It’s been a long year and he’s afraid of disappearing again.
“Hold me tighter,” he begs breathlessly, shaking, and he grasps at something tangible because he’s sure he’s melting through every layer of life there is and he’s not ready to go.
Junsu is all too happy to acquiesce, tugging tighter until Yoochun’s sure he’s practically becoming one with the boy that holds him so securely, and he says, “you’re leaving me soon, aren’t you,” as he buries his face in the elder’s neck, his lips quivering against Yoochun’s clavicle.
“I don’t want to,” he replies trying to stay steady and it’s a bit too much to ask for. This is his last stop, the only place to go from here is up and he’s not ready for that just yet. So he holds Junsu just a bit longer and feels his insides shift again. “But I have to.”
Junsu pulls back until their eyes are lined up with one another, only a centimeter away from each other, and he says, “don’t turn away until you can’t see me anymore,” before kissing an “I love you” into his cheek, more delicate than a butterfly’s wings.
Yoochun keeps to Junsu’s words, walking backwards with tiny steps that grow larger with every heartbeat until Junsu’s form is no longer visible through the haze of the rain and his glossy eyes. Then he feels like he’s flying, falling, crashing down all around. Then there’s nothing.
Virginia takes away his life but gives him its heart. It’s a fair trade in the end.
vi.
Suddenly it’s Wednesday again and he’s waking up to realize his trips around the world are nothing but dreams and hopes and wishes he might have had at one point.
Korean skies and sunlight are the only things in sight and he lets his body relax against the soil beneath his form. He feels lighter than ever, almost as if he’s floating, and his heart is no longer heavy, filled with regret and longing. His fingers trail along the paths the clouds make and if he reaches just so he thinks he can maybe touch them. Soon, he might even be one.
There’s something sad about going to your own funeral, hearing people mourn for you and wondering just how you possibly died. Yoochun lets his hands graze over the tops of church pews, makes his way down an aisle (he thinks, i never got married. settled down. had children.), and observes the four grown men that look much older and worn than they did in his memories.
Junsu is screaming for him to come back, clutching at the side of his casket and on his knees, and Yoochun feels the area where his heart had once beat hurt. He kneels beside the other, lets his right hand linger over Junsu’s left one, and murmurs three words that he should have said sooner to the ex-baritenor.
Changmin is broken and sobbing into Yunho’s chest, both strong men that only cried when no one else was looking, holding each other up, keeping themselves from falling down. He lets his ghostly arms attempt to enfold them, hushing them because everything will be alright.
Jaejoong sits in the pew, in a corner with his face in his hands and his heart beneath his feet. Yoochun picks up the organ, feels it beat lively in his hand, and lets his own eyes water before he places his soul mate’s heart back into the other’s chest with a broken smile on his lips.
“I’ll be okay. You’ll be fine.”
He watches with dark, shining eyes as various balloons flitter overhead while they lower his casket into the ground. He names each balloon after someone he loves, the people he’ll never forget, the ones that he wants to see again. He closes his eyes and thinks of everyone he never wanted to say goodbye to.
He hears their words and the music that he’s written fade into the background, the sunlight tickling his back and shooting streaks through his body. The edges of his body glow a shocking white, body fading away into nothing, as he sings along to Kiss Shita Mama Sayonara.
He’ll wait for them to come find him. In Heaven. Italy. Ireland. New York. Virginia. Anywhere. Everywhere.
Forever.
: yoochun-centric; yoochun/everyone | pg 13
: yoochun leaves a piece of his life wherever he goes, just in case they hope to look
: for perfectstart and thelovelight; thanks for inspiring and loving me ♥
i.
It's Wednesday when Yoochun wakes up with his body in Paris and his heart in Seoul.
His phone is off and his memories are stored away in a box under his bed, buried beneath borrowed clothes and stolen kisses that he took from them when he left. He's twenty-something, he's not sure because all the years are becoming one in the same, and the sun shines a bit paler here than it did there but the air isn't as constricting and no one knows who he is. No one to remember him anymore.
Even then, though, the Eiffel Tower is just not big enough to hold his heartache and their stolen hearts.
That was a month ago and now he's flying over the city with a note left on the hotel’s dresser for anybody that cares to find him next.
ii.
Summer finds him in the heart of Italy, the wind taking him into Rome and leaving him with ruffled hair and flustered cheeks.
His ears are filled with brilliance found only in foreign tongue and his chest is pressed down by the history that wraps him in a warm embrace. Beautiful people dance around him and he wants to find their rhythm, tap his toes to this mysterious beat, and if he tries hard enough he can feel a piece of the music fill his veins. Then it’s carried away by the words of natives and he’s left standing in the middle of the street with his heart on his sleeve and his hands in his pockets.
Rome is known for the empire it once was and the men that ruled this vast land, so Yoochun isn’t that surprised when he finds Yunho staring down the sun, back stiff and mouth set into a slight smile.
Love Bye Love is caught somewhere in his throat, a faltered note skittering to the frantic beat of the organ housed inside his rib cage, and he can barely register the fact that Yunho is waving at him, real and alive and breathing before him.
“Yoochun,” he calls out and it’s been so long since someone has said his name that he has somehow forgotten what it sounds like on another’s tongue. He’s smiling again, wide, so wide, and repeats the name again, “Yoochun.”
Yunho’s hand reaches out, fingers brushing the skin of the other male’s palm, and suddenly Yoochun can hear that secret music ringing loud and clear in his ears. He finds that the music is just made up by Yunho’s laughter thrumming in time with his own heartbeat.
Yunho leads him to a quaint little café on the corner of one of the streets, settling themselves down at a table meant for two and Yoochun feels like he’s taking up space even though there are hardly any customers at this time. When the waiter comes by, menus in hand and pleasant smile on his face, Yoochun watches in shocked astonishment as Yunho rattles off in Italian as if he’s been speaking it for his whole life.
He briefly reflects on the broken pieces that make up his own language (Korean, English, Japanese, French phrases, Italian words). He hasn’t spoken much since he’s left and he hasn’t taken the time to try to learn anything new without his surrogate family near by. So when the waiter turns to him he can only mutter, “water,” as his answer and wave the male off.
“How have you been? More importantly, where have you been?”
Yoochun shrugs halfheartedly as answer to the first question, mumbling, “Anywhere, everywhere, nowhere.”
Yunho seems to think about his answer, pausing to take in the fact that they no longer know each other like they had once before and he misses the mellow pianist that liked to drink with Jaejoong, eat with Changmin, and smile with Junsu. “Where are you going next?”
“I don’t know.” And he’s being honest, he really doesn’t know where to go. He never has.
He offers a wry smile to Yunho when the other says, “why don’t you come back with me,” because they both know he just can’t come home.
A few minutes later, Yunho excuses himself as his cell phone rings and, while he’s away from the table, Yoochun borrows a pen from the waiter and writes Yunho a goodbye on the fancily embroidered tablecloth.
The next thing he knows is he’s paying for a plane ticket to another country and he’s leaving Rome with a goodbye stitched in bright blue ink against an expensive fabric.
Rome takes back its music and Yoochun can no longer even begin to tell someone how it sounded anymore.
iii.
His plane crashes down somewhere in the United Kingdom, scattering his thoughts and feelings like the autumn leaves.
Yoochun walks along cobblestone paths trying to find all the pieces, but sometimes is sidetracked by the colors of this particular season and stands for hours against the pale orange glow of the sunset just watching the way shadows fall across European faces. He smiles at children with lilting voices, joyous laughter echo in his ears and fill his lungs with sunshine.
The autumn road leads him into an emerald country, hillsides expanding for kilometers and stretching over cliffs until they pan into blue seas and even bluer skies. He settles himself on a patch of wet earth, feels tender blades of grass tickle his ankles and palms and he’s in the middle of Kiss the Baby Sky when another voice joins him. Their tones slide easily together, blend against the breathy air, and Yoochun closes his eyes before blinking them back up at the towering structure beside him.
“I didn’t think I’d find you here,” Changmin says with a tiny grin etched onto his handsome face, eyes crinkling at the corners until they are nothing more than crescent moons.
Yoochun looks back at his lap, feels his insides sway, and replies, “Life’s full of surprises.”
Changmin sits on the ground beside him and lets his eyelids slide over his beautiful brown eyes. Yoochun’s fingers twitch against the dirt, ache to pull back the wispy locks that kiss the tan skin of the other’s nape and maybe rest against the pulse residing there.
October fits Changmin well, molds itself around his lean frame and tucks love into his jacket pockets. Yoochun wonders if he could make himself small enough, could he fit into the pocket that covers Changmin’s heartbeat, would Changmin remember to take him away - anywhere, everywhere, nowhere at all.
Changmin spies his little tour group in the distance, eyes squinted against the sunset hitting the crashing waves against the horizon, and says, “I’m going to tell them I’m hanging with you for the rest of the trip. Do you want to come?”
“No, I’ll just sit here,” Yoochun answers with a shake of his head and he blinks away the disappointment in Changmin’s eyes, as if the other knows that when he comes back Yoochun will have only been a figment of his imagination. Maybe he really is. “Hey, Changmin! Scream the name of the person you love most.”
Changmin smiles mischievously, cups his mouth as he starts to walk backwards away from his lost band mate, “Changmin!” and the other Korean rolls his eyes from where he sits. “Yoochun, who do you love most?”
He only waves, doesn’t reply until Changmin’s back is turned toward him and it’s easier to walk away. He takes the camera Changmin had earlier, records his farewell, and whispers, “I love Tong Vfang the most,” before he fades out of Ireland and leaves for another destination.
iv.
Winter smells a lot like loneliness and Yoochun finds that he might fit this season’s description well, blue jacket his only source of warmth and a tiny memory replaying in his head of when he would sit up late with his surrogate family, fall asleep in each others’ arms, and wake up the next morning one large mass of tangled limbs and smiling faces. Thinking of them makes the icy touch of the season lessen until he can’t feel it anymore, but maybe it’s just numbing his barely beating heart.
He’s standing in New York City, in a crowd of thousands of anxious faces, staring up at the sky that still shines baby blue even if it’s close to midnight and the sun has been away for such a long time now. He’s pushed around, shoved by tipsy partygoers, and he might have fallen and cut up his pants on the pavement once or twice already. Christmas was a whir of brilliant bright reds and greens but now those flickering colors have dimmed in comparison to the glowing ball of gold and silver and magnificence that threatens to fall on this mob of happy people.
Evergreen burns the tip of his tongue, the New Year bites the ends of his fingers, and he’s thinking that this will be the first year of starting over without his friends and family when another body sidles up alongside his and places their hand in his.
“Hey you,” a gorgeous voice murmurs in his sensitive ear, familiarity pumping through his bloodstream as someone shrieks that there is a minute left until a brand new year envelops this city.
Yoochun feels his heart flutter against his rib cage, wanting to break free, and he sees Jaejoong just the same as always (but maybe more beautiful, more lovable, more there) grinning back at him. “Hi yourself.”
Jaejoong grins, pulls himself closer, and people are starting to count down till January 1st, “Happy New Year, Yoochun.” And then the gleaming sphere ahead drops and people break out into a drunken rendition of Auld Lang Syne as Jaejoong presses a ghost of a kiss to Yoochun’s mouth, deepening it only when Yoochun whispers for more.
Jaejoong breathes life back into Yoochun’s lungs, leaves his heart in Yoochun’s fisted palms, and says, “Stop looking so sad. We’re starting the new year together.”
The younger’s laugh falters into hiccups which in turn reduce to sobs, until he’s clinging to Jaejoong as if the other will leave him if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. He kisses him slow, fast, rough, soft, always always desperate. Jaejoong’s hands cup his chilled red cheeks, thumbs wiping away tears he didn’t know he’d cried, and their hearts rumble and knock against one another until they hum as one.
He tugs at bed sheets, winds himself around Jaejoong, and there are fingers on his thighs, delicate and playful, and lips on his neck, urgent and tapping air back into his lungs only for him to gasp the oxygen back out again. Jaejoong holds him well into the morning, his watch beeping at two a.m. before he tosses it in the chaotic mess of clothes littering the floorboards.
Yoochun never finds himself drifting off to sleep because he’s afraid to close his eyes, afraid that he might miss Jaejoong, that this won’t be real anymore. He sits by the bed side, traces the lines and dips and curves of Jaejoong’s body with his eyes, making metal pictures and then creating new memories for his heart to hold. Yoochun smiles at the sleeping beauty, holds the hand that dangles off the edge, and wishes for time to stop. But it won’t and he has to leave now.
He kisses a farewell into Jaejoong’s chest, right above the tattoo that Yoochun shares with him, and breaks down when he’s on the plane to a new city.
When he leaves he takes all New York’s lights with him.
v.
Virginia greets him in the spring, bursting with life and flowers and happiness. Yoochun has to narrow his eyes to avoid being blinded by the beaming sunlight that scatters leaves without trees against his white skin.
He goes to the place where he once fed a stray cat a piece of his breakfast, sees the vines that still twist around iron fences, and he leads himself to the park near his old home where his mother said his turtle ran away to. Fairfax is bustling with people even in the April shower and he finds it fitting to imagine Junsu singing Rainy Night by his side.
Except it’s not his imagination and Junsu is really standing before him, umbrella in hand and other hand in the air, singing to him so softly that he has to strain against the downpour to hear the sound. But he’s really there and a smile blossoms on his lips faster than his heart is beating.
“Long time no see,” Junsu mumbles into Yoochun’s damp jacket, umbrella lying unimportant on the sidewalk behind Junsu.
Yoochun chuckles through his tears, clutches tighter on the back of Junsu’s hooded raincoat, and chokes out, “Long time cannot see.”
Junsu smells like apples, tastes like sunshine, and feels like spring underneath his fingertips (against his chest, inside his heart). Yoochun is just the embittered shell of winter seeking shelter in the shades of trees and he breaks against Junsu’s touch. It’s been a long year and he’s afraid of disappearing again.
“Hold me tighter,” he begs breathlessly, shaking, and he grasps at something tangible because he’s sure he’s melting through every layer of life there is and he’s not ready to go.
Junsu is all too happy to acquiesce, tugging tighter until Yoochun’s sure he’s practically becoming one with the boy that holds him so securely, and he says, “you’re leaving me soon, aren’t you,” as he buries his face in the elder’s neck, his lips quivering against Yoochun’s clavicle.
“I don’t want to,” he replies trying to stay steady and it’s a bit too much to ask for. This is his last stop, the only place to go from here is up and he’s not ready for that just yet. So he holds Junsu just a bit longer and feels his insides shift again. “But I have to.”
Junsu pulls back until their eyes are lined up with one another, only a centimeter away from each other, and he says, “don’t turn away until you can’t see me anymore,” before kissing an “I love you” into his cheek, more delicate than a butterfly’s wings.
Yoochun keeps to Junsu’s words, walking backwards with tiny steps that grow larger with every heartbeat until Junsu’s form is no longer visible through the haze of the rain and his glossy eyes. Then he feels like he’s flying, falling, crashing down all around. Then there’s nothing.
Virginia takes away his life but gives him its heart. It’s a fair trade in the end.
vi.
Suddenly it’s Wednesday again and he’s waking up to realize his trips around the world are nothing but dreams and hopes and wishes he might have had at one point.
Korean skies and sunlight are the only things in sight and he lets his body relax against the soil beneath his form. He feels lighter than ever, almost as if he’s floating, and his heart is no longer heavy, filled with regret and longing. His fingers trail along the paths the clouds make and if he reaches just so he thinks he can maybe touch them. Soon, he might even be one.
There’s something sad about going to your own funeral, hearing people mourn for you and wondering just how you possibly died. Yoochun lets his hands graze over the tops of church pews, makes his way down an aisle (he thinks, i never got married. settled down. had children.), and observes the four grown men that look much older and worn than they did in his memories.
Junsu is screaming for him to come back, clutching at the side of his casket and on his knees, and Yoochun feels the area where his heart had once beat hurt. He kneels beside the other, lets his right hand linger over Junsu’s left one, and murmurs three words that he should have said sooner to the ex-baritenor.
Changmin is broken and sobbing into Yunho’s chest, both strong men that only cried when no one else was looking, holding each other up, keeping themselves from falling down. He lets his ghostly arms attempt to enfold them, hushing them because everything will be alright.
Jaejoong sits in the pew, in a corner with his face in his hands and his heart beneath his feet. Yoochun picks up the organ, feels it beat lively in his hand, and lets his own eyes water before he places his soul mate’s heart back into the other’s chest with a broken smile on his lips.
“I’ll be okay. You’ll be fine.”
He watches with dark, shining eyes as various balloons flitter overhead while they lower his casket into the ground. He names each balloon after someone he loves, the people he’ll never forget, the ones that he wants to see again. He closes his eyes and thinks of everyone he never wanted to say goodbye to.
He hears their words and the music that he’s written fade into the background, the sunlight tickling his back and shooting streaks through his body. The edges of his body glow a shocking white, body fading away into nothing, as he sings along to Kiss Shita Mama Sayonara.
He’ll wait for them to come find him. In Heaven. Italy. Ireland. New York. Virginia. Anywhere. Everywhere.
Forever.