#13. skies that fall down;
: skies that fall down
: jaejoong/changmin | pg
: it's never only just the lonely
: for hewasmyking because i want her to think of me /creepy, lol ♥ :3
one
“It took you long enough.”
Changmin stares, eyes dark and hair wild, the stars behind him highlighting the top of his head. He almost looks like an angel, halo of light resting delicately on his light brown hair, but that’s impossible. Nonbelievers don’t go to heaven, and that’s why they’re perfect for each other.
“I’m sorry I took my sweet time dying,” Jaejoong snaps back without bite, takes in the way their bodies feel lighter now. He moves steadily, steps only slightly shaky on higher ground, takes Changmin’s hands between his own, saying, “Hey, at least we’re not lonely anymore.”
And Changmin shakes his head, but holds on tighter.
two
So, heaven is only a staircase away, but Jaejoong’s fine being caught between earth and the pearly gates. He doesn’t have to preen the feathers he will never have, and doesn’t have to act “holier than thou,” but mainly because the latter is Changmin’s area of expertise, and he does a damn good job of showing it.
Jaejoong’s not used to the fact that he can hold his breath for as long as he wants without wheezing, and every time he places his hand near his chest he’s shocked to find that the heart’s still beating.
“Give it some time,” Changmin says with his back against the ground and his face half hidden by flowers that always grow in this place. He looks relaxed, younger than he remembers, but the last time Jaejoong had seen Changmin was before his death. “Your soul’s looking for somewhere to go.”
Jaejoong sits straight, legs folded, and listens to the choir of angel’s sing somewhere in the distance. He pictures Junsu in the front with all the best parts, hitching his voice to notes unimaginable and stealing the spotlight he’s always deserved.
Changmin begins to hum along to the hymnals, trumpets blaring as an onslaught of new angels enter the kingdom above. “Do you wish that you would’ve listened to Yunho’s Christian spiels?”
“No,” and he’s being honest, poking Changmin’s bicep with his index finger, “it’s quieter here and there’s better company.” He pauses long enough to lay beside Changmin. “It’s not so bad here.”
three
The worst part about death is that he remembers living. He can recall every time they left him, one by one without saying goodbye. He mostly remembers how lonely he felt, going to funeral after funeral and seeing their cold bodies stiff. Except Changmin’s body had never been found among the wreckage.
Five minus one might have equaled zero, but five minus four meant Jaejoong.
“You should stop thinking about it.”
Jaejoong rolls his eyes toward the other, annoyed and hating how the sunlight softens out his features; he mostly hates how Changmin always knows what’s on his mind. “That’s easy for you to say. You died first.” His soul is gone now, and there’s an ache in his chest every now and then, but Changmin’s says it will fade just the same.
Changmin stalls in the doorway of the house they were given because apparently someone liked them enough to make the afterlife remotely bearable; there isn’t any running water or television though. “It’s not like I asked for it to happen.”
“I told you not to get on that plane that day.” There’s not resentment to the statement, just a cold distance.
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were psychic beforehand.” He rolls his eyes, makes the journey to Jaejoong in a few intrepid strides. “Besides, it was your birthday.”
His eyes are dark, glinting in an array of brown hues, but his voice is sincere and the edges around his mouth are softer. Jaejoong doesn’t want to stay mad at him, but he thinks he has a right to say everything he’s been meaning to for the past however many years it has been since they last saw each other, alive.
“Yeah, well, it was the shittiest birthday present I ever received.”
They don’t speak for days afterwards; they’re both stubborn in their own right and it takes time to make past mistakes right.
four
Yoochun finds a way to sneak out of heaven and into their little world.
“Aren’t angels supposed to be pure and the epitome of perfection?” Jaejoong questions with a raised brow, Yoochun at his side with the same smile he fell in love with exactly where it’s meant to be. “Sneaking out of heaven doesn’t seem very Christian-like.”
Yoochun laughs, swings his feet over the railing of their little porch. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve done,” and he winks at him, eyes bright and hands warm against Jaejoong’s. “Nice place you have here with Changmin. I never pegged you to be the cookie-cutter type.”
“Waste not, want not.” He says with a wave of his hand; Jaejoong sighs, crosses his arms and watches the stars streak across the sky, visible at every moment. “It’s not exactly perfect here either.”
“No place is,” Yoochun supplies whimsically, slumping his form against Jaejoong, pliant and small. Jaejoong mutters, “deadweight,” under his breath, smiling. “Just think about it. You might have been alone, but Changmin’s been by himself for so much longer than that.”
He glances to the kingdom floating above, rolls his eyes as the choir starts singing again. “I’m sure that everyone up there has a hit-list with Junsu’s name on it, just saying.” He brushes off his holy robes - “dress,” Jaejoong said fondly, tugging at the silken fabrics. - and he stands to hug Jaejoong one more time.
“You better visit again,” Jaejoong murmurs into the skin of Yoochun’s neck, holds him that much tighter before pulling away and punching him in the arm just below the shoulder. “Sneak Yunho and Junsu out while you’re at it.”
Yoochun sends him a mock-salute and then there is nothing but wildflowers left in his wake.
five
“How many stars are in the sky?” Jaejoong asks conversationally a night or two after Yoochun’s visit. He rests his hands behind his head, looks at the sky that serves as their ceiling from the bright lights of the stars to the whitewashed glow of the heavens.
Changmin groans, remains on his side of the bed only an arm’s length away, facing the wall. “Too many.”
“We should count them then,” he says then, rolls to his side and looks at the baby brown hairs brushing over the back of Changmin’s neck.
Changmin stills, turns his head around to see him through starlit eyes. “That would take forever.”
“I’ll start then.” His grin is fox-like, sly; Changmin shakes his head, wavy bangs falling over his forehead and lips curled just so. Jaejoong doesn’t turn back to their ceiling, keeps his eyes on the other, and counts, “one… two… three… four,” until the space between their hands completely vanishes.
six
Jaejoong feels lighter, but he thinks that has nothing to do with being a spirit and more to do with the fact his body is fading in and out. He doesn’t tell Changmin just yet.
“What comes next?”
Changmin shrugs, thoughtful, their hands tangled in weeds and purple flowers. “Reincarnation for me, but not for some time. I have to decide on what to be in the next life first.”
Jaejoong nods, twining together a makeshift crown of dandelions, listens to the chorus of angels fade in and out. He sits the crown on Changmin’s head, sloppy and unraveling, ignoring the way Changmin comments on the aesthetic quality. “A crown says a lot about the man wearing it,” he says wisely, tugging on windswept brown hairs, plucking them out of even browner eyes.
Changmin tilts his head, crown slanting but he doesn’t remove it even when petals kiss the tip of his nose. “What does mine say about me?”
Jaejoong grins, happy. “You’re a shitty king with an even shittier crown.” And he laughs into the flowers, fingers gripping Changmin’s sleeves, tight, fading. He hopes Changmin doesn’t notice; he does, but chooses not to say anything, just see him for what he is now and always will be.
“I forgot to give you your birthday present,” he whispers, boyish and young. He leans in, touches Jaejoong with dirt beneath his fingernails and the dye of petals on his palms; Jaejoong feels the world beneath them settle, and he kisses Changmin, fingers in his hair and forever in mind.
seven
Sometime later Jaejoong rests with his back to Changmin, sitting on the porch step below the other’s with his legs curled to his chest and wearing nothing but loose jeans. The sun shines hotter here, especially this time of year and Jaejoong can only assume they are experiencing summer.
Changmin presses his hands, tan and warm, on the spaces where ink once spread in curled winged music notes. Traces the bumps of his spine and spreads his hands over shoulder blades, saying, “You would’ve made a beautiful angel,” against humid winds.
Jaejoong smiles, nothing that Changmin sees, and twines his fingers together with the misshapen crown between. “I think I’m more beautiful here.” He’s nothing but honest; Changmin believes him. “Nothing ever dies; only the heart.”
Changmin doesn’t cry, but the sun passes through Jaejoong’s increasingly transparent body and it stings his eyes. But only slightly.
eight
Yunho explains it one day to Changmin, slow-paced and steady. It belies the fact that his hands shake against his knees.
“The soul is constantly looking for some place to go,” he murmurs over the dining table, admiring the way the purple flowers change colors with the seasons just outside the window. He won’t look Changmin directly in the eye. “With us it goes to heaven to rest, with you it goes to the next life you’ll live through. Jaejoong’s has nowhere to go.”
“What’s going to happen to him then.” It’s a small voice, a child’s whisper; he rests his hands on the table edge, just to have something to hold onto in case he needs it.
Yunho remains quiet, keeps his eyes trained on the waving flowers below. “He’ll disappear most likely.”
It’s enough to bring a world crashing down, except their world is suspended in air by something unbreakable.
nine
Yoochun stays true to his unspoken promise, bringing Yunho and Junsu with him as he slips through the pearly gates one more time. “I swayed them with my charm,” Yoochun had said with an easy grin, hooking his arm over Changmin’s shoulder, and Junsu had rolled his eyes, saying, “He said it was an emergency, begged on his knees, and finally they gave in just so they wouldn’t have to see his ugly face anymore.”
They lie there together, in the floor, telling stories and ignoring the way Jaejoong comes and goes in static-filled waves. Changmin bites the inside of his cheek, watches him with worried eyes. Junsu laughs, jokes missing every target and never funny, and Yunho rambles on about the mundane work he does every day. Yoochun tells them about being a guardian angel, mainly things that have changed since they were alive, what’s new on the charts and whether their records have been broken.
Jaejoong falls asleep against Yoochun’s shoulder, listening to Changmin’s voice and the way it always seems brighter when he speaks of him.
He doesn’t see them leave later on, needing to report back to “life up there” and Changmin refills the vase of flowers; they’re yellow now, beautiful. Jaejoong writes a song in the dirt-laced paths, but disappears halfway through writing Yunho’s line. He reappears in Changmin’s arms.
ten
Ten is as far they get to counting the stars, always thinking of something else instead. Jaejoong doesn’t say goodbye personally, but he leaves a note and a set of pink flowers on the porch steps. Changmin finds a new reason to count the stars at night, always looking for Jaejoong in the masses, knowing he’s the brightest of them all.
And finally it’s time for him to pass on to another life. Yoochun, Junsu, and Yunho sit at the council table when he tells the authorities of time and space where he wants to go, all three with sullen faces and bloodshot eyes. He wants to tell them that angels don’t cry, but he can’t find the heart to do so; he smiles at them instead, soft.
Junsu’s the one that asks the question, formal and trying not to let his emotions catch in the back of his throat; Yoochun is looking away from him, turned to the wall where cloud particles collect on the window sill like snow. “What is it that you wish to live your next life as? Where is it that you’d like to live?”
“I want to live wherever Jaejoong is.”
a/n: i posed myself with this question while writing: in love, what really dies?, my answer was: "the heart" ♥ inspired by that random moment and my love for jaemin (i blame nivani for that) ;; sorry about the ending; it's a total letdown. i'll probably rewrite this later on someday
sorry if it's nothing you've wanted; written five months ago in an email :) beta'd last night lolol
: jaejoong/changmin | pg
: it's never only just the lonely
: for hewasmyking because i want her to think of me /creepy, lol ♥ :3
one
“It took you long enough.”
Changmin stares, eyes dark and hair wild, the stars behind him highlighting the top of his head. He almost looks like an angel, halo of light resting delicately on his light brown hair, but that’s impossible. Nonbelievers don’t go to heaven, and that’s why they’re perfect for each other.
“I’m sorry I took my sweet time dying,” Jaejoong snaps back without bite, takes in the way their bodies feel lighter now. He moves steadily, steps only slightly shaky on higher ground, takes Changmin’s hands between his own, saying, “Hey, at least we’re not lonely anymore.”
And Changmin shakes his head, but holds on tighter.
two
So, heaven is only a staircase away, but Jaejoong’s fine being caught between earth and the pearly gates. He doesn’t have to preen the feathers he will never have, and doesn’t have to act “holier than thou,” but mainly because the latter is Changmin’s area of expertise, and he does a damn good job of showing it.
Jaejoong’s not used to the fact that he can hold his breath for as long as he wants without wheezing, and every time he places his hand near his chest he’s shocked to find that the heart’s still beating.
“Give it some time,” Changmin says with his back against the ground and his face half hidden by flowers that always grow in this place. He looks relaxed, younger than he remembers, but the last time Jaejoong had seen Changmin was before his death. “Your soul’s looking for somewhere to go.”
Jaejoong sits straight, legs folded, and listens to the choir of angel’s sing somewhere in the distance. He pictures Junsu in the front with all the best parts, hitching his voice to notes unimaginable and stealing the spotlight he’s always deserved.
Changmin begins to hum along to the hymnals, trumpets blaring as an onslaught of new angels enter the kingdom above. “Do you wish that you would’ve listened to Yunho’s Christian spiels?”
“No,” and he’s being honest, poking Changmin’s bicep with his index finger, “it’s quieter here and there’s better company.” He pauses long enough to lay beside Changmin. “It’s not so bad here.”
three
The worst part about death is that he remembers living. He can recall every time they left him, one by one without saying goodbye. He mostly remembers how lonely he felt, going to funeral after funeral and seeing their cold bodies stiff. Except Changmin’s body had never been found among the wreckage.
Five minus one might have equaled zero, but five minus four meant Jaejoong.
“You should stop thinking about it.”
Jaejoong rolls his eyes toward the other, annoyed and hating how the sunlight softens out his features; he mostly hates how Changmin always knows what’s on his mind. “That’s easy for you to say. You died first.” His soul is gone now, and there’s an ache in his chest every now and then, but Changmin’s says it will fade just the same.
Changmin stalls in the doorway of the house they were given because apparently someone liked them enough to make the afterlife remotely bearable; there isn’t any running water or television though. “It’s not like I asked for it to happen.”
“I told you not to get on that plane that day.” There’s not resentment to the statement, just a cold distance.
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were psychic beforehand.” He rolls his eyes, makes the journey to Jaejoong in a few intrepid strides. “Besides, it was your birthday.”
His eyes are dark, glinting in an array of brown hues, but his voice is sincere and the edges around his mouth are softer. Jaejoong doesn’t want to stay mad at him, but he thinks he has a right to say everything he’s been meaning to for the past however many years it has been since they last saw each other, alive.
“Yeah, well, it was the shittiest birthday present I ever received.”
They don’t speak for days afterwards; they’re both stubborn in their own right and it takes time to make past mistakes right.
four
Yoochun finds a way to sneak out of heaven and into their little world.
“Aren’t angels supposed to be pure and the epitome of perfection?” Jaejoong questions with a raised brow, Yoochun at his side with the same smile he fell in love with exactly where it’s meant to be. “Sneaking out of heaven doesn’t seem very Christian-like.”
Yoochun laughs, swings his feet over the railing of their little porch. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve done,” and he winks at him, eyes bright and hands warm against Jaejoong’s. “Nice place you have here with Changmin. I never pegged you to be the cookie-cutter type.”
“Waste not, want not.” He says with a wave of his hand; Jaejoong sighs, crosses his arms and watches the stars streak across the sky, visible at every moment. “It’s not exactly perfect here either.”
“No place is,” Yoochun supplies whimsically, slumping his form against Jaejoong, pliant and small. Jaejoong mutters, “deadweight,” under his breath, smiling. “Just think about it. You might have been alone, but Changmin’s been by himself for so much longer than that.”
He glances to the kingdom floating above, rolls his eyes as the choir starts singing again. “I’m sure that everyone up there has a hit-list with Junsu’s name on it, just saying.” He brushes off his holy robes - “dress,” Jaejoong said fondly, tugging at the silken fabrics. - and he stands to hug Jaejoong one more time.
“You better visit again,” Jaejoong murmurs into the skin of Yoochun’s neck, holds him that much tighter before pulling away and punching him in the arm just below the shoulder. “Sneak Yunho and Junsu out while you’re at it.”
Yoochun sends him a mock-salute and then there is nothing but wildflowers left in his wake.
five
“How many stars are in the sky?” Jaejoong asks conversationally a night or two after Yoochun’s visit. He rests his hands behind his head, looks at the sky that serves as their ceiling from the bright lights of the stars to the whitewashed glow of the heavens.
Changmin groans, remains on his side of the bed only an arm’s length away, facing the wall. “Too many.”
“We should count them then,” he says then, rolls to his side and looks at the baby brown hairs brushing over the back of Changmin’s neck.
Changmin stills, turns his head around to see him through starlit eyes. “That would take forever.”
“I’ll start then.” His grin is fox-like, sly; Changmin shakes his head, wavy bangs falling over his forehead and lips curled just so. Jaejoong doesn’t turn back to their ceiling, keeps his eyes on the other, and counts, “one… two… three… four,” until the space between their hands completely vanishes.
six
Jaejoong feels lighter, but he thinks that has nothing to do with being a spirit and more to do with the fact his body is fading in and out. He doesn’t tell Changmin just yet.
“What comes next?”
Changmin shrugs, thoughtful, their hands tangled in weeds and purple flowers. “Reincarnation for me, but not for some time. I have to decide on what to be in the next life first.”
Jaejoong nods, twining together a makeshift crown of dandelions, listens to the chorus of angels fade in and out. He sits the crown on Changmin’s head, sloppy and unraveling, ignoring the way Changmin comments on the aesthetic quality. “A crown says a lot about the man wearing it,” he says wisely, tugging on windswept brown hairs, plucking them out of even browner eyes.
Changmin tilts his head, crown slanting but he doesn’t remove it even when petals kiss the tip of his nose. “What does mine say about me?”
Jaejoong grins, happy. “You’re a shitty king with an even shittier crown.” And he laughs into the flowers, fingers gripping Changmin’s sleeves, tight, fading. He hopes Changmin doesn’t notice; he does, but chooses not to say anything, just see him for what he is now and always will be.
“I forgot to give you your birthday present,” he whispers, boyish and young. He leans in, touches Jaejoong with dirt beneath his fingernails and the dye of petals on his palms; Jaejoong feels the world beneath them settle, and he kisses Changmin, fingers in his hair and forever in mind.
seven
Sometime later Jaejoong rests with his back to Changmin, sitting on the porch step below the other’s with his legs curled to his chest and wearing nothing but loose jeans. The sun shines hotter here, especially this time of year and Jaejoong can only assume they are experiencing summer.
Changmin presses his hands, tan and warm, on the spaces where ink once spread in curled winged music notes. Traces the bumps of his spine and spreads his hands over shoulder blades, saying, “You would’ve made a beautiful angel,” against humid winds.
Jaejoong smiles, nothing that Changmin sees, and twines his fingers together with the misshapen crown between. “I think I’m more beautiful here.” He’s nothing but honest; Changmin believes him. “Nothing ever dies; only the heart.”
Changmin doesn’t cry, but the sun passes through Jaejoong’s increasingly transparent body and it stings his eyes. But only slightly.
eight
Yunho explains it one day to Changmin, slow-paced and steady. It belies the fact that his hands shake against his knees.
“The soul is constantly looking for some place to go,” he murmurs over the dining table, admiring the way the purple flowers change colors with the seasons just outside the window. He won’t look Changmin directly in the eye. “With us it goes to heaven to rest, with you it goes to the next life you’ll live through. Jaejoong’s has nowhere to go.”
“What’s going to happen to him then.” It’s a small voice, a child’s whisper; he rests his hands on the table edge, just to have something to hold onto in case he needs it.
Yunho remains quiet, keeps his eyes trained on the waving flowers below. “He’ll disappear most likely.”
It’s enough to bring a world crashing down, except their world is suspended in air by something unbreakable.
nine
Yoochun stays true to his unspoken promise, bringing Yunho and Junsu with him as he slips through the pearly gates one more time. “I swayed them with my charm,” Yoochun had said with an easy grin, hooking his arm over Changmin’s shoulder, and Junsu had rolled his eyes, saying, “He said it was an emergency, begged on his knees, and finally they gave in just so they wouldn’t have to see his ugly face anymore.”
They lie there together, in the floor, telling stories and ignoring the way Jaejoong comes and goes in static-filled waves. Changmin bites the inside of his cheek, watches him with worried eyes. Junsu laughs, jokes missing every target and never funny, and Yunho rambles on about the mundane work he does every day. Yoochun tells them about being a guardian angel, mainly things that have changed since they were alive, what’s new on the charts and whether their records have been broken.
Jaejoong falls asleep against Yoochun’s shoulder, listening to Changmin’s voice and the way it always seems brighter when he speaks of him.
He doesn’t see them leave later on, needing to report back to “life up there” and Changmin refills the vase of flowers; they’re yellow now, beautiful. Jaejoong writes a song in the dirt-laced paths, but disappears halfway through writing Yunho’s line. He reappears in Changmin’s arms.
ten
Ten is as far they get to counting the stars, always thinking of something else instead. Jaejoong doesn’t say goodbye personally, but he leaves a note and a set of pink flowers on the porch steps. Changmin finds a new reason to count the stars at night, always looking for Jaejoong in the masses, knowing he’s the brightest of them all.
And finally it’s time for him to pass on to another life. Yoochun, Junsu, and Yunho sit at the council table when he tells the authorities of time and space where he wants to go, all three with sullen faces and bloodshot eyes. He wants to tell them that angels don’t cry, but he can’t find the heart to do so; he smiles at them instead, soft.
Junsu’s the one that asks the question, formal and trying not to let his emotions catch in the back of his throat; Yoochun is looking away from him, turned to the wall where cloud particles collect on the window sill like snow. “What is it that you wish to live your next life as? Where is it that you’d like to live?”
“I want to live wherever Jaejoong is.”
a/n: i posed myself with this question while writing: in love, what really dies?, my answer was: "the heart" ♥ inspired by that random moment and my love for jaemin (i blame nivani for that) ;; sorry about the ending; it's a total letdown. i'll probably rewrite this later on someday
sorry if it's nothing you've wanted; written five months ago in an email :) beta'd last night lolol