Hold No Bounds
Hold No Bounds
homin; pg
romance/drama
6,983 words
help_japan fic for gyummy ♥
They're stuck in the middle of hiatus when they start daydreaming about what they'd do, if they could never perform again, if they had to leave the industry. It’s just a game, and time keeps passing, and nothing comes of it… but. Who’s to say what’s real?
The chime at the front door sounds, and Changmin peeks up over the edge of his magazine. It’s a young girl, can’t be out of high school, and she looks around with the sort of quiet hesitation that he knows she’s never been in the store before, and she probably isn’t looking for books, either.
He looks back down to the magazine, eyes roaming over the glossy spread: Spring Fashion, Boys in Love. A slender male model holds a bouquet of paper-mache flowers and poses in deliberately faded blue jeans and a tailored ivory vest. He looks at ease, under layers of foundation and white-wash studio lights, but Changmin thinks there’s more to the story.
There’s a clink of porcelain from the break room, a soft whoosh of a fire lighting on the stove.
“Hyung,” he murmurs, almost too soft, but Yunho hears him anyway. “Customer.”
“Mmm,” Yunho answers, fiddling around in the little kitchenette some more. Another clink, louder, followed by a soft curse that makes the corners of Changmin’s lips twitch involuntarily.
The girl is browsing through the shelves, her eyes locked on the rows of books even though her focus is definitely somewhere else. She throws a glance back to Changmin and then looks away just as fast. She has her hands clasped behind her back, and the toe of one shiny-brown loafer digs into the Persian rug that covers the entire floor. Changmin’s own toes flex into the plush carpeting, relishing the weave of silk and cotton. The feel of it is comforting, and he finds looking at the intricate design, gold and scarlet and just a hint of cerulean, soothes his tension like nothing else.
Changmin’s desk is right in front of the door to the break room, and when Yunho finally comes out he has to step around Changmin’s chair- and when he does, as he always does, he lifts his hand and trails his fingers over the line of Changmin’s shoulders. He goes from the top of a shoulder blade to the nape of his neck, just barely brushing along the skin. Changmin rolls his head into the caress and Yunho’s hand keeps going, pressing softly, dipping down, and sliding away altogether.
Then Yunho steps into the shop main and clears his throat, an honest smile at the ready. “Can I help you?”
The girl whirls around and makes a small, squeak of a noise, twin dots of red on her cheeks. She stutters something and Yunho is gracious as ever.
Changmin laughs to himself and turns the page of his magazine.
It starts out so simple. It goes something like this:
Yunho and Changmin, sitting on opposite ends of the couch, meeting somewhere in the middle in a tangle of feet. It’s completely silent. Yunho’s hunched over reading a book and Changmin’s got his head tilted back over the arm of the couch, massive headphones trapping the music inside his head.
Yunho could be out with friends or playing soccer or practicing dance. Changmin could be at the gym or halfway to Japan. But they aren’t. They aren’t doing a lot of things they want to be doing.
Changmin’s eyes are closed; Yunho’s are straining even with his glasses. It’s just after midnight when he throws the book aside and lifts two fingers to his temple. Changmin opens one eye.
“Headache?”
“Nah,” Yunho says, rolling his shoulders. “Just tired of reading. It isn’t even that good,” he admits, and Changmin snorts.
“What’s it about?”
“A librarian who falls in love with a character in a book, and then the character comes to life.”
“Huh,” Changmin says.
“I’m almost done. I’m pretty sure it’s all going to turn out to be a dream. I hate that,” he adds, like the book has personally offended him.
Changmin rolls his eyes. “Maybe you could star in the drama adaption.”
“Shut up,” Yunho laughs, kicking at him. Changmin smirks and kicks back, hard, and Yunho flails right off the couch. “Ow.”
“You never learn, hyung,” he sighs.
Yunho breathes in and stretches out on the floor, enjoying the solid, almost painful feel of wood against the angle of his bones. “Guess I don’t,” he says on the exhale. “I like the part about the library, though.”
“Hm?”
“The library. In the book. It’s not special or anything, but the way they describe it seems… comfortable. Nice.”
Changmin tugs off his headphones and rearranges himself on the couch so he’s on his stomach, head on his hands, looking down on Yunho. “Nice like you’d like to go borrow a book or nice like you’d like to go have a sleepover?”
He shakes his head, starts to say “I meant…” and stops. But then Changmin tilts his head, prompting him to go on, so he adds. “It just seems like it’d be something to do.”
“Really?”
Yunho shrugs. “Dunno. I’ve always liked being active. I can’t imagine being cooped up behind a desk, but… still. I like books. I’m sick of law,” he scowls briefly, but a rueful look from Changmin smoothes his expression. “If I couldn’t perform again, if I left the industry… yeah, it might be something nice to do.”
“U-know Yunho, the librarian?” Changmin asks wryly. “Sorry, can’t see it.”
This time, when Yunho shrugs, it’s defensive. “It was just a thought.”
Changmin bits his lip and thinks it over for a minute. “Not a library. A store, maybe. Books, but also old albums, maybe even records. Vintage stuff. I could see that.”
“Yah?”
“Yah. I could see it.”
When they first buy the space, it looks more condemned than work-in-progress. Tucked away in the corner of the city, surrounded by concrete and grey, neon and steel, it isn’t anything like the bright pristine café-combo symmetry of most city bookstores. Instead the interior is covered by warped wood paneling and the lighting is unreliable at best. It’s not a problem during the day, with huge front windows that lets sunlight creep in like an old friend, but it also means they have to clean every hour to keep the shelves free of dust.
Yunho signs the lease with a flourish but Changmin eyes the water-stained ceiling, the ugly tile floor, and thinks up figures in remodeling costs.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he despairs.
Yunho looks around like he’s king and this is his castle. “I know, right? It’s going to be great.”
They strip the walls and Changmin thinks they should replace the wood; Yunho thinks that’ll destroy the charm. They compromise by filling the shop with towering, cherry wood shelves and filling the gaps with faded, old school movie posters.
“Even though we don’t sell movies?” Changmin asks, shaking his head.
Yunho has swipes of dust on his pants and a spot of paint on his face. Changmin tries to thumb it off and ends up spreading it all over his cheek. Yunho smiles, “Charm, Min-ah. It’s all about the charm.”
Changmin can’t deny him, not even if he tried.
It becomes something of a game; with another day booked with nothing to do, getting shuffled around on ‘business’ that never really amounts to anything, it gives them something to talk about to fill the time. Yunho stares out the window of their van on a drive to somewhere-or-other and sees billboard after billboard flash by.
He turns to Changmin, taps him on the arm. “Should we sell other stuff?”
“Like what?”
“Little things. Cell-phone charms and notebooks and pencils.”
Changmin makes a face. “It’d broaden our market demographic… but I hate that cutesy stuff.”
Yunho laughs, and it lasts him through the day, through the week, all the way to another round of seemingly endless corporate and legal meetings, and it’s all talk talk talk- and when it gets too much Changmin squeezes his hand under the table and whispers, “Carpet or hardwood?”
And Yunho swallows and nods at something one of the lawyers say, mouth set in a somber line, and squeezes back until he can’t hold it in anymore. “You pick,” he says on an exhale.
Changmin nods and waits until they’re back in the apartment, weary to the core. Changmin pulls Yunho to bed and helps him undress, arranges him boneless on the bed. Changmin crawls into next to him, curls around him and says, “A huge rug. Soft enough to sleep on.”
Yunho falls asleep imagining it. Them. Their own world.
They divide the store up; everything has its proper place, and every proper place is thoughtfully planned.
Books are shelved in the middle of the shop; albums can be browsed on the tables in the back. The discount bins are out front for passer-bys, and the stockroom is open for regulars to look around. They build a new wall for that stockroom, and another for their own little space.
The break room will have the kitchenette, and a desk for Changmin to do the bookkeeping. The desk in front will be for Yunho, for customer service- yet, somehow, it ends up that Changmin always sits there and Yunho stays in the back until a customer comes in needing service.
They advertise through fliers in the community (Yunho’s idea) and online (Changmin’s better idea), and get a steady stream of customers. It’s not enough to do well, but they try and be smart with money, and after a year or two, they have enough to buy the room above their shop. They move in and stay and live and are happy.
Yunho remembers when their dreams used to be bigger -when they were young and they hadn’t already seen most of the world, and there were five voices fighting to be heard in their canorous fantasy, overlapping and spilling into each others’ daydreams.
It changed, but not just because of the lawsuit. It changed when Changmin came up behind Yunho in the kitchen in the middle of the night. He wrapped his arms around Yunho’s waist and buried his face in Yunho’s hair and whispered, almost too low for him to hear- Hyung. Now, from here on… We can’t be anything less than this, can we?
It took all of Changmin’s nerve to say it once; he promises he’ll never say it again. Yunho thinks he shouldn’t have to.
And now it’s just the two of them, thinking aloud and from their words comes the story of them, of what could be. They’re here and they’re stuck watching the world pass them by, but imagination holds no bounds.
It’s either that or languish in memories- and Yunho will take the future any day.
Changmin wakes up only after he’s hit the snooze button twice. He’s been getting up early and earlier for most of his life but 5:10 still feels too rude.
Beside him Yunho groans and rolls over, snatching up Changmin’s pillow and burying his face into the groove Changmin left behind.
Changmin watches him a minute, letting his eyes travel down the firm tilt of Yunho’s naked back. The older man never sleeps with a lot of clothes on, let alone when it’s summer and the air conditioning tends to cut out in the middle of the night, when they’re asleep and oblivious.
They’ve been spared this morning; Changmin can hear the vent humming, even if he can’t feel the breeze. Yunho squirms and the muscles shift under his skin- and Changmin knows how tired he is when it only stirs the slightest bit of arousal in him. But he smiles and ruffles Yunho’s hair, ignoring his muffled protest and says, “Sleep. I’ll get breakfast, yah?”
“Hmmkay.”
“The bakery or the place on the corner…?”
“Mmf. Blue sign?”
“Yah.”
“…Bakery.”
Changmin laughs. “Ok.”
The bakery is their favorite local shop. The old woman who owns it is an ex-businesswoman who decided retirement was too boring for her tastes. She opened shop around the same time they moved in, and she’s always experimenting with her recipes and sending over samples for them to judge.
It’s a few minutes’ walk away, but the warm smell of bread is heady and pervasive in the morning air, and Changmin breathes it in the whole way there. The shop has been open for an hour by the time he arrives and customers are lined up in front of the display case. The moment he walks in, though, the old woman bustles out from behind the counter, calling out to him.
“Changmin-ah!” she says, reaching up to cup his cheeks possessively. She has to stand on her toes, and it amuses him so much he doesn’t even care that she’s invading his personal space. “Oh, today must be a good day, getting to see your handsome face this early.”
“Good morning to you too, halmoni.”
A couple of the customers look over; some look away, some stare a bit longer, as if there’s something here to see. Changmin’s tall enough that it seems he’s always attracting attention; it used to bother him when he was younger.
He waits patiently as the woman gets his usual order ready. She’s hired a new attendant, a young girl who serving the other customers with soft-spoken grace- she’ll introduce them later, the woman tells him. You’ll have to come by in the afternoon, when we’re not so busy. I have something for you to try, she says, and he promises her they will. He gives her a kiss on the cheek and she pats his hip. He leaves.
When he gets home, Yunho is already awake and has a pot of tea on the stove. He greets Changmin with a quick kiss and a proper “Good morning, love.”
“Halmoni wants us to come by,” he says, handing over breakfast.
“We can go over at lunch,” Yunho replies. He pulls out his bun, slightly burnt and just how he likes it. “We’ll have to take over something, too. Maybe a little notepad, she always likes those.”
Changmin pours two cups of tea and blows a bit of air over each, watching the surface ripple and the steam puff away. He takes a sip from his own. “Sounds good,” he says, over the rim, and Yunho smiles.
“You’re going to start promotions in January.”
Their manager says it curt, offhanded, without warning. Changmin goes very still and Yunho sits up, flinching like he’s just been shocked with static.
“What?” he asks, disbelieving.
“We’ve talked it over. You’ll be debuting as two; the press release will go out in a few days.”
The words don’t quite sink in; they raise bumps on his skin but leave his flesh unmoved. “Wait. I thought we agreed, we weren’t going to promote, not until-”
“The decision’s been made,” he says firmly. “Acting has kept you current, but the dramas haven’t generated the publicity we’re looking for- not like live performances would. You’re going to be on stage again. I thought you’d be happy,” he adds, like he’s trying to be gentle but doesn’t quite know how.
Yunho doesn’t know how he feels. He looks at Changmin, but the younger man is blank-faced, unreadable even to him.
It’ll be good to be on stage again -it’ll be great, he thinks. He’s missed singing since the day he stopped, in a way he didn’t think he would. He can dance for himself and he can pass time acting, but singing is something he did for Dong Bang Shin Ki; only for the fans, for the group.
“If you’ve got plans, change them,” manger says. “We’re going back on schedule. You know the routine.”
“Yeah,” Yunho says, thinking of friends he’ll have to call; he’ll have to move up his visit home, or cancel it completely. He’ll have to start arrange for voice lessons in his free time, no more late nights reading.
The idleness he’s both loved and hated is over, just like that. He doesn’t get a say in the decision and he doesn’t get a chance to say no, and the little chip on his shoulder says, This is why. This is why they left and you can’t blame them, but you can’t turn your back on it all. You won’t.
Yunho won’t, because even if he did have a choice, he wouldn’t say no.
He looks at Changmin again, trying to catch his eye and failing. It isn’t until their manager leaves that he reaches out, seeking Changmin even if he doesn’t want to give.
“What are you thinking?” he asks; demands. “Tell me, please.”
“Don’t need to think,” Changmin mutters, still not quite meeting his eyes. “It’s done, isn’t it?”
It’s Yunho’s turn to look away, and he does, eyes raised to the ceiling, blinking fast against the sudden pressure there. He swallows thickly. “We could… we could fight it, if you want.”
“You don’t want that,” Changmin answers, shrugging. “I don’t either,” he adds, after a heavy pause, and Yunho breathes out something like in relief.
He states the obvious. “It’s not going to be the same.”
Changmin huffs. “No shit, hyung.”
Yunho knows, then, that they’ll be alright. They’ll be great, and they’ll be Dong Bang Shin Ki - different, but they’ll do it right. They’ll be alright.
Sometimes, when business is slow, or when it’s really good - or when they just feel like it, they hold a special event where they buy back books. They get all sorts of people and all sorts of interesting stuff. There’s so much you can learn about a person through what they own- and what they ‘re willing to give away.
It’s mid-afternoon and the shops crammed full of people who’re browsing the shelves or just waiting to see how much their old belongings are worth.
Changmin and Yunho stand side-by-side behind the desk and sort through the individual piles. There’re things they take because they want and they’re things they take because they don’t deserve to be thrown in the trash, which is where a lot of the books will go otherwise.
“Kang… Daesung-sshi?” Changmin calls out, reading the post-it on the pile he just finished.
A young man with a broad face and nice smile hurries up to the counter, bowing slightly. Changmin nods and tells him his books have been counted. “We can’t take the ‘Cats’ play script, but we can take everything else… We can give you 34000₩, is that okay?”
Daesung hums happily, tucking the manuscript back under his arm and setting down an old CD single. “Thank you. Can I trade for this, too?”
“Sure,” Changmin says, looking the CD over. It’s only a few years old, he’d guess, but it’s one of those first release editions, used but it in good quality. “This and 20000₩, then.”
“That’s great,” Daesung says. “I collect old pop music, you know. I’ve been looking for this one for ages, CD singles are really hard to find.”
“Oh yeah?” Changmin asks. “Doesn’t look too outdated. Then again, I don’t know much about music.” He catches Yunho listening in and raises an eyebrow. Yunho shrugs.
“It’s not, but it’s really rare!” The kid’s smile takes up his whole face, and his enthusiasm is so open and honest that Changmin can’t help but smile back. “This group was really, really big about five, six years ago - really mainstream but they’re acappella stuff was amazing, high quality stuff for that time.”
“Huh.” Changmin says, to be polite. “Are they still around?”
Daesung shrugs. “Naaaah. They split up big time, you know how pop groups go. I don’t remember it, but my older sister was really sad. This is one of their last singles. She’ll be really jealous,” he says, laughing as if he just realized it. “You don’t have another copy, do you? It’d make a great present.”
Changmin looks at Yunho, who reached out to grab the CD, his thumb slipping over the plastic wrap and distorting the image, a group of men over-photoshop’d and posing dramatically.
Yunho shakes his head. “Sorry, we got this from an independent dealer, only one copy. We might have more from these guys, but I’m not sure…”
“Naaaah, it’s alright. This is good enough for me,” Daesung says.
Changmin hands over his money and a receipt. “Want a bag?”
The kid shakes his head and shoves the money in his pocket in a careless gesture. The CD goes under his arm with the manuscript. “Thanks again. Have a nice day!”
He leaves and Changmin maneuvers Daesung’s old books on the rack behind them. He turns and looks at the stack of books Yunho’s still counting, piled in front of him as high as his head, and Changmin eyes it warily. “You need some help with that?”
Yunho slides a smile over at Changmin. “Naaaaah.”
Changmin chuckles, but hopes none of the other customers heard that. “He was a nice kid.”
“He was,” Yunho agrees, still smiling.
Changmin hauls up bag someone else had left by the desk and gets started counting. They work in silence for a while, bumping shoulder every once in a while, just because they can.
“Think we do have another CD of that band?” Changmin finally says. “He actually made me curious. And I like acapella stuff.”
“I really don’t know,” Yunho sighs. “We can check after?”
“Mm,” Changmin says, but doesn’t press the issue. Most likely, before the end of the day, they’ll forget about it entirely.
The change is seamless, and the past year of inactivity seems like it couldn’t have been real. Yunho and Changmin sleep more in a van than they do in their beds, and Yunho still curls up like he’s making room for five men instead of two.
He wakes up with the taste of burnt bread and tea on his tongue, and reaches out and expects his fingers to meet with crumpled jackets turned into pillows and blankets covering up warm skin. Usually he hits empty air, and then he stretches out, feeling claustrophobic.
The van jerks from a bump on the road and from the seat in front of him Changmin sniffles, shifting in place to get more comfortable. He’s wearing a pink eye-mask to block out the light, and Yunho reaches out to touch him, just to touch. He threads his fingers through the short ends of his hair down to the sharp drop of his shoulder, and Changmin, still asleep, arches into the touch.
He glances up and the driver is looking at them in the rearview mirror, his dark eyes too observant.
Yunho draws back his hand and leans back in his seat, his head resting against a hard bend of plastic. The car still jerks around and it gives him a headache and it takes him forever to fall back asleep; he closes his eyes and pictures big, open windows. He counts shelves instead of sheep, pictures frayed edges and cracked spines, he opens his eyes and-
Changmin is standing over him, at his back, but Yunho’s so buried in his book he hasn’t even noticed. He’s sitting at his table in the backroom, and Changmin finds himself bending in half to lean over and look Yunho in the eye.
“Hey,” he says. His ribs press into Yunho’s back and he can feel the tension there, born not of stress but just of sitting in the same position too long. The lights overhead are dim, too, and Changmin clucks his tongue because he knows the type of headaches Yunho gets when he reads in the dark - dull but persistent, the type that keeps him awake at night.
Yunho glances up from the pages only briefly. “Hey,” he says.
“Come to bed?” Changmin asks.
He thinks, for a second, that Yunho will say no. He’s in a mood but Changmin doesn’t know why, can only help the way he knows how-
Yunho sighs, and Changmin feels it more than hears it. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Changmin doesn’t answer him, and he doesn’t need to. He just draws him up and holds him firm even as he switches off the light.
“Changmin,” Yunho chuckles. “What…”
“Shh,” Changmin says, wrapping him up and relishing the feel of him. In the darkness they stand, the only light coming from their rooms above, spilling down the stairs and diffusing in doorway.
Yunho stays quiet and doesn’t question him again. Changmin doesn’t know how long they stand there, only knowing that when he finally lets go, when he takes Yunho’s hand and leads him up and into their bed, words aren’t really necessary.
The camera clicks and Yunho keeps his eyes open as wide as he can, trying not to squint even though the lights are absolutely blinding. It eclipses everything beyond the set; even though Yunho knows Changmin is sitting off just to the side, waiting for him to finish up, Yunho sees nothing but shadows.
The jeans he’s been given have been prewashed until they’re threadbare and they itch like hell, and it’s only years of practice that keep him from squirming. He smiles widely and shifts his pose. The photographer lifts his head from behind the camera and looks him over.
“Good, Yunho-sshi, very good so far. But let’s try something a bit different -try not to look so happy.”
Yunho raises an eyebrow. His smile feels so fake; he can’t imagine how they can’t see it, too. But he nods anyway, to show he understands. One of the girls from the magazine comes to check his outfit and in the meantime he spares a look to the side, searching out Changmin.
It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he sees him, sprawling on one of the studio’s couches. His hands are full of papers, and it confuses Yunho for a moment, until he remembers that morning, dragging himself out of bed as Changmin stuffed one of his correspondence-course assignments into his bag, muttering, ‘Maybe I’ll have time. Maybe, in between…’
Yunho had scoffed tiredly, but said nothing. For the best, he thinks now.
But Changmin isn’t looking at the assignment- his eyes are locked onto Yunho’s, bright with irony. ‘Not too happy?’ he mouths, and Yunho gives him a lopsided smile.
The woman tugs on his vest, frowning as she picks off bits of dried paint that flaked off of his prop. Once she’s satisfied, they begin again.
It takes ten minutes to finish, another twenty for a wardrobe change, though Yunho doesn’t think that outfit will make it into the magazine. When he’s done it’s nearing midnight, and he breathes a relief, knowing that they’re finally done -for today, at least.
He goes over to Changmin, who’s not asleep but doesn’t seem quite all there. His eyes are heavy, glazed. Yunho sits on the edge of the couch and thumbs through the papers now resting on his chest.
“Did you finish?” he asks.
Changmin shakes his head. “Don’t think so,” he murmurs. “There’s some boxes in the back I don’t have a delivery receipt for… they’re all foreign books, annotated classics ‘n stuff… really interesting, might wanna keep some but, I dunno where…” He trails off, and Yunho’s hand clenches into a fist on his knee.
“Changmin,” he says, voice dropped low. “What are you talking about?”
Changmin’s eyes lift up to his, and they’re perfectly clear. “I was… Inventory, remember? The shipment…?” Then he shakes his head, blinking rapidly. He clears his throat. “I… huh. Sorry, hyung, I think I dozed off…”
Yunho breathes out and it’s shaky; one second there’s a pressure in his chest, and the next it’s so loose Yunho feels like he could fit all of the air in the world inside of him.
“It’s okay,” he says, unsure if should do this. But no one’s paying attention to them, now. “What you were… Tell me about it? Then we can go home.”
Everyone else is focused on breaking down the set, or getting out of there as soon as possible. Manager will call them when the van is ready. Until then, they might as well be a painting on the wall. A really life-like painting.
Changmin frowns and opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.
“Tell me about it,” Yunho says again, firmly.
“I was dreaming,” Changmin says.
Yunho says nothing. Changmin tells him everything.
The economy takes a hit four years after they open shop, and business is bad -really bad. They have their savings, nickels and pennies from when they were ridiculously young, but Changmin refuses to invest it in a business that isn’t one-hundred percent sure to succeed.
“We could lose it all, Yunho-yah,” he says, holding onto Yunho as if to soften the blow of his words. “Say we use all our money to keep it alive now - what do we do when the money runs out? If the economy is still bad? Then we have nothing, no bookstore, no savings, nothing. I don’t want that for us.”
“The lease is almost up,” Yunho replies, his voice sounding tight. “They won’t renew if we can’t prove we’re not about to go bankrupt. We’ll need a miracle just to break even-”
“We don’t need anything,” Changmin says, squeezing tight. “We have what we have. It’ll be okay.”
Yunho nods, but doesn’t seem relieved.
So they cut back on personal expenses. They extend their hours. They raise prices marginally. They do everything they can, and more than anything, they fight. They fight so much Changmin loses count of how many times he lays in bed staring at the ceiling, knowing that Yunho’s doing the same thing, right next to him but so, so far away.
And so Changmin goes over the books and does everything he can to scrap by because this is Yunho’s dream. This is what Yunho wanted, this is what has makes Yunho happy. Changmin can move on but he doesn’t think he can bear to see Yunho’s hopes crumble right before their eyes.
So Changmin has a meeting with the building’s owner, and the man’s a good man, who sighs and says, “Changmin-sshi, I’m sorry, I really am-”
“Give me a week,” Changmin pleads, “I have money, I can pay for the lease upfront. If we aren’t making profit by next quarter, we’ll leave. But I have money.”
The man gives him a week. Changmin doesn’t wait; he goes to the bank the next day and empties his personal savings account, the one he’s kept separate from Yunho. He pays for the lease and it isn’t until the matter’s said and done that he tells Yunho what he’s done.
Yunho punches him.
“You idiot!” he screams, cursing like Changmin hasn’t heard him ever curse. “You- What were you thinking-?!”
And Yunho cries- not outright sobs, but those manly tears that gather in the corners of his eyes, the ones that hurt Changmin more than any fist could. He kneels next to Changmin and grabs his face in his hands and he’s crying but still so full of angry intensity.
“What was all that you said, ‘what we have is what we have’? Was it all bullshit?”
“No, Yunho-”
“What makes me happy is you. Us. That’s all I want,” he says fiercely. “I have that, right?”
“Of course, of course-”
“Then don’t make decisions without me. Don’t make ‘us’ mean nothing.”
“I promise, I promise. Yunho, I’m sorry, I just-” He cries, too, can’t even speak for it, but Yunho doesn’t say anything more. He just holds on and on and on, just another storm they have to weather.
The business quarter passes too fast and they only make the smallest of profits - but its profit nonetheless. The owner is a good man and suddenly they’re signed for another four years. Suddenly, without warning, the economy recovers and they’re in the clear. They’re doing fine.
But Yunho doesn’t forget. He’s determined to pay Changmin back, and Changmin doesn’t say anything, because that’s the only way he can make it up to Yunho.
On his next birthday, Changmin wakes up alone but for two plane tickets on the empty pillow next to him. He sits up and doesn’t even have a chance to look at them before Yunho bounds in, too excited to keep his secret any longer. He crawls up behind Changmin and hugs him, whispering in his ear, “Paris.”
Changmin grips the arm around his waist and leans back. He breathes. “Paris.”
The air in the plane tastes stale, heavy with the residue of too many lungs. Yunho does his best to keep his mouth shut but every time he drifts off -only to jerk awake a second later- his jaw aches and his tongue is dry.
“Hyung,” Changmin speaks softly, leaning in close. There are three fans sitting behind them two rows back, who’re giggling not as quietly as they think they are -and there’s bound to be more of them. There always are.
“Yeah?” Yunho whispers back, licking his lips. He reaches out thoughtlessly to grab Changmin’s hand, squeezing tightly, and only realizes a second too late what he’s done. Changmin tenses, and carefully untangles their fingers. “Sorry,” he says.
Changmin shakes his head, dismissing it. “We’re almost there.”
“Great,” Yunho says, not knowing whether he means it or not. The overhead announcement comes on, giving a different version of the same speech he’s heard a thousand times over. But the speaker is right over his head and it’s blown-out and screechy, and both he and Changmin wince. They’ve done three live performances in the past two days, and both their ears are sore. Changmin sounds a little hoarse, too, but Yunho hopes it’ll fade. They’re next stage is only a week away, and anything done overseas always seems to take a greater toll.
“Wanna go over the schedule again?” he asks. Changmin’s head rolls along the seat lazily, but his look is sharp enough to cut diamonds. Yunho chuckles. “Didn’t think so.”
Changmin’s expression smoothes out but he keeps looking at Yunho, long enough to make him uncomfortable. “What?” he finally asks.
Changmin takes a deep breath and leans back into his chair. “Nothing,” he says, and the seconds tick by- then, “Screw it,” and he’s sinking down in his chair, low enough that he can put his head on Yunho’s shoulder. The girls behind them whisper furiously and Yunho almost pulls away- almost.
“I’m too tired to care,” Changmin mumbles. “How long until Paris?”
Yunho looks down, to the cramped angle of his knees and the dirty, ruffled edges of the in-flight magazines resting the seat’s back pocket, and then tilts his head, enough so that his cheek rests again the top of Changmin’s head - just long enough so that the younger man feels it, and then he’s drawing away. The giggling hasn’t stopped. The overhead blares out that they have fifteen minutes till landing.
“Not soon enough,” he says.
They land and shuffle off the plane, shoulders hunched and heads bowed, already preparing themselves for the screaming and jostle-push of security; the inevitable, just the usual. And then they’re in the airport, lost in the crowd, wrapped up in sunlight and jet fuel and foreign tongues, and Changmin feels adrift, so far from home- but they push through. Just the usual.
And it’s straight to a meeting with the reps, followed by an interview and performance rehearsal. Yunho’s mouth moves awkwardly around the wrong syllables and he wonders when he started wondering if this really what he wants to do for the rest of his life.
He’s not so sure of his answer, anymore.
When they finally get to the apartment he collapses on the couch and stares blankly at the ceiling. He hears Changmin banging around in the kitchen, looking for something to eat. Sometimes management stocks the shelves with food before they come.
Changing curses softly- seems like they haven’t.
Yunho turns his head and cracks his neck, and with the movement a flash of light reflects off the glass of the coffee table. It catches in his eyes, for a moment, completely blinding. He turns his head the other way and calls out-
“It’s gorgeous, Changmin-ah!” Yunho steps out to the balcony and speaks into the wind. But Changmin hears him anyway, and has to agree- Yunho, bright smile and laughter, framed by the city skyline. It’s a beautiful sight.
Yunho feels Changmin come up beside him and leans ever further over the railing, looking down at the street-people ants and pill-bug cars. When’s the last time they came out here and just sat down? Enjoyed the view? He doesn’t know, and doubts Changmin would, either.
“Hyung,” says Changmin, after a while. He opens his mouth and closes it again; his head drops, resigned.
Yunho leans close enough for their shoulders to brush. He waits for Changmin. He has no problem with patience, here -he’ll wait as long as he needs.
Eventually Changmin straightens; he casts a glance behind them and then pulls Yunho back from the edge, his hand lingering on his shoulder. They’re off to the side, out of sight of the apartment main. The sun is just rising; they’d been working all night.
Changmin speaks softly, and his words are lost in the air between them. All Yunho hears is- Hyung. Now, from here on…
Yunho’s hand lifts, tracing the sharp line of Changmin’s cheek. Whatever he was saying before, it’s all the same. “Does it bother you?” he asks.
Changmin’s shakes his head. “I don’t know. It’s just…”
“This is amazing. It just doesn’t seem real, does it?”
“It just seems too real.”
Yunho’s hand falls. “I know. But…”
“But?”
And, maybe, it ends something like this:
Changmin slips into his bed just after dawn and presses close, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes.
“We made it up,” he finally says, one last stand, like he’s trying to convince himself.
Yunho doesn’t need to be convinced. He doesn’t want to be. That little voice says They left and you understand now, you really do. You don’t want to leave but can’t you have this, too?
And Changmin keeps going- “It was just a distraction; a stupid… we’ve just gotten it so into our heads-”
Yunho cuts him off with a kiss on his forehead and stays close. He says, “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” whispering the words into Changmin’s skin, “I don’t. But if it were real… if we… Would that be such a bad thing? I feel like…”
He stops there. They’re both half-asleep; Changmin already knows.
Yunho sees him swallow, the slow bob of his Adam’s apple. He sees daylight creep in under the shutters and outline Changmin’s skin in gold, leaving the rest of him in the dark. He sees-
Changmin sees Yunho’s eyes widen, sees hundreds of thousands of city lights reflected within them. He sees the quiet, innocent excitement that Yunho still holds for life, ever after everything they’ve been though. Yunho laughs and when he turns to Changmin, love on his lips and in his eyes-
It’s the future, the one they’ve made together. And it’s worth it.
Yunho takes Changmin’s hand. He has to be sure. He wants to remember these words, long after dreams have ended.
“No regrets?”
“No regrets.”
Paris is gorgeous and perfect and charmed and Changmin feels his chest ache something deep when they leave. They come back two suitcases and four kilos heavier and full of thoughts of how soon can we go back?
And yet, the moment Yunho unlocks the door and holds it open for Changmin; as soon as he lugs their bags up the stairs and Yunho opens all the windows, airing out the place; as soon as he’s home, all he can think about is how much he missed it.
He wakes up the next morning without complaint, and Yunho’s not too far behind. Gone is the ocean-sized hotel bathtub, the spacious balcony, but they make do with breakfast spread out over the bed and sharing their modest shower, kissing, touching wet skin between wide yawns.
Sometimes vacations leave you rested; sometimes they leave you more tired than when you started. Changmin isn’t sure which it is, for them, but he knows that it’s a feeling that reaches down into his bones.
The morning is spent cleaning, organizing, and getting ready to reopen. There’s accounting to be done and bills to pay, but by lunch they’re out on the street, readjusting their feet to smooth pavement instead of cobblestone, familiarizing themselves again with the local streets, cramped modernity instead of quaint city sprawl. Neon instead of gaslight.
“Yunho-sshi! Changmin-sshi!” the old woman calls out, when they pass by her bakery. “Welcome home! How was Paris?”
“It was wonderful, halmoni, thank you,” Yunho smiles. He looks more relaxed than he has in ages, and Changmin doesn’t resist putting his arm around his waist. The old woman raises an eyebrow at the two of them, but doesn’t comment.
“We brought you back a gift,” Changmin says. “Shall we bring it by later?”
She blushes and titters and says she’ll come over, instead. She’s wanted to come over and browse their cookbooks, but hadn’t had a chance before they left. “Two weeks!” she says. “It seems so much longer!”
They say their goodbyes and she hurries back into her shop. They head on down the street, wandering without any direction in mind.
“It really did seem like longer,” Yunho says.
“But I’m glad to be home,” Changmin finishes, looking ahead. He feels more than sees Yunho turn to him, and slips his hand into Yunho’s back pocket. “I’d like to go back, maybe. But… we could stay here, I think. I’d be happy staying here forever.”
Yunho smiles like he can’t help it, and he turns to look forward, too. They turn the corner and they’ve found themselves back on their street, their shop just in sight. “I think that’d be nice.”
“Yah?”
“Yah. I think that’d be perfect.”
started writing: 4/6/11
finished writing: 5/6/10
master list
Can I just say I absolutely adored writing this? I thought it'd take me a while to get back into DBSK-writing mode, but when gyummy gave me a list of things she'd like (shop!au among them), this came to mind immediately and it was love at first type ♥
gyummy, bb, hope you like! And for everyone else, this is also the first of four help_japan fic I'm steadily working on, so be on the lookout for more!
homin; pg
romance/drama
6,983 words
help_japan fic for gyummy ♥
They're stuck in the middle of hiatus when they start daydreaming about what they'd do, if they could never perform again, if they had to leave the industry. It’s just a game, and time keeps passing, and nothing comes of it… but. Who’s to say what’s real?
The chime at the front door sounds, and Changmin peeks up over the edge of his magazine. It’s a young girl, can’t be out of high school, and she looks around with the sort of quiet hesitation that he knows she’s never been in the store before, and she probably isn’t looking for books, either.
He looks back down to the magazine, eyes roaming over the glossy spread: Spring Fashion, Boys in Love. A slender male model holds a bouquet of paper-mache flowers and poses in deliberately faded blue jeans and a tailored ivory vest. He looks at ease, under layers of foundation and white-wash studio lights, but Changmin thinks there’s more to the story.
There’s a clink of porcelain from the break room, a soft whoosh of a fire lighting on the stove.
“Hyung,” he murmurs, almost too soft, but Yunho hears him anyway. “Customer.”
“Mmm,” Yunho answers, fiddling around in the little kitchenette some more. Another clink, louder, followed by a soft curse that makes the corners of Changmin’s lips twitch involuntarily.
The girl is browsing through the shelves, her eyes locked on the rows of books even though her focus is definitely somewhere else. She throws a glance back to Changmin and then looks away just as fast. She has her hands clasped behind her back, and the toe of one shiny-brown loafer digs into the Persian rug that covers the entire floor. Changmin’s own toes flex into the plush carpeting, relishing the weave of silk and cotton. The feel of it is comforting, and he finds looking at the intricate design, gold and scarlet and just a hint of cerulean, soothes his tension like nothing else.
Changmin’s desk is right in front of the door to the break room, and when Yunho finally comes out he has to step around Changmin’s chair- and when he does, as he always does, he lifts his hand and trails his fingers over the line of Changmin’s shoulders. He goes from the top of a shoulder blade to the nape of his neck, just barely brushing along the skin. Changmin rolls his head into the caress and Yunho’s hand keeps going, pressing softly, dipping down, and sliding away altogether.
Then Yunho steps into the shop main and clears his throat, an honest smile at the ready. “Can I help you?”
The girl whirls around and makes a small, squeak of a noise, twin dots of red on her cheeks. She stutters something and Yunho is gracious as ever.
Changmin laughs to himself and turns the page of his magazine.
It starts out so simple. It goes something like this:
Yunho and Changmin, sitting on opposite ends of the couch, meeting somewhere in the middle in a tangle of feet. It’s completely silent. Yunho’s hunched over reading a book and Changmin’s got his head tilted back over the arm of the couch, massive headphones trapping the music inside his head.
Yunho could be out with friends or playing soccer or practicing dance. Changmin could be at the gym or halfway to Japan. But they aren’t. They aren’t doing a lot of things they want to be doing.
Changmin’s eyes are closed; Yunho’s are straining even with his glasses. It’s just after midnight when he throws the book aside and lifts two fingers to his temple. Changmin opens one eye.
“Headache?”
“Nah,” Yunho says, rolling his shoulders. “Just tired of reading. It isn’t even that good,” he admits, and Changmin snorts.
“What’s it about?”
“A librarian who falls in love with a character in a book, and then the character comes to life.”
“Huh,” Changmin says.
“I’m almost done. I’m pretty sure it’s all going to turn out to be a dream. I hate that,” he adds, like the book has personally offended him.
Changmin rolls his eyes. “Maybe you could star in the drama adaption.”
“Shut up,” Yunho laughs, kicking at him. Changmin smirks and kicks back, hard, and Yunho flails right off the couch. “Ow.”
“You never learn, hyung,” he sighs.
Yunho breathes in and stretches out on the floor, enjoying the solid, almost painful feel of wood against the angle of his bones. “Guess I don’t,” he says on the exhale. “I like the part about the library, though.”
“Hm?”
“The library. In the book. It’s not special or anything, but the way they describe it seems… comfortable. Nice.”
Changmin tugs off his headphones and rearranges himself on the couch so he’s on his stomach, head on his hands, looking down on Yunho. “Nice like you’d like to go borrow a book or nice like you’d like to go have a sleepover?”
He shakes his head, starts to say “I meant…” and stops. But then Changmin tilts his head, prompting him to go on, so he adds. “It just seems like it’d be something to do.”
“Really?”
Yunho shrugs. “Dunno. I’ve always liked being active. I can’t imagine being cooped up behind a desk, but… still. I like books. I’m sick of law,” he scowls briefly, but a rueful look from Changmin smoothes his expression. “If I couldn’t perform again, if I left the industry… yeah, it might be something nice to do.”
“U-know Yunho, the librarian?” Changmin asks wryly. “Sorry, can’t see it.”
This time, when Yunho shrugs, it’s defensive. “It was just a thought.”
Changmin bits his lip and thinks it over for a minute. “Not a library. A store, maybe. Books, but also old albums, maybe even records. Vintage stuff. I could see that.”
“Yah?”
“Yah. I could see it.”
When they first buy the space, it looks more condemned than work-in-progress. Tucked away in the corner of the city, surrounded by concrete and grey, neon and steel, it isn’t anything like the bright pristine café-combo symmetry of most city bookstores. Instead the interior is covered by warped wood paneling and the lighting is unreliable at best. It’s not a problem during the day, with huge front windows that lets sunlight creep in like an old friend, but it also means they have to clean every hour to keep the shelves free of dust.
Yunho signs the lease with a flourish but Changmin eyes the water-stained ceiling, the ugly tile floor, and thinks up figures in remodeling costs.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he despairs.
Yunho looks around like he’s king and this is his castle. “I know, right? It’s going to be great.”
They strip the walls and Changmin thinks they should replace the wood; Yunho thinks that’ll destroy the charm. They compromise by filling the shop with towering, cherry wood shelves and filling the gaps with faded, old school movie posters.
“Even though we don’t sell movies?” Changmin asks, shaking his head.
Yunho has swipes of dust on his pants and a spot of paint on his face. Changmin tries to thumb it off and ends up spreading it all over his cheek. Yunho smiles, “Charm, Min-ah. It’s all about the charm.”
Changmin can’t deny him, not even if he tried.
It becomes something of a game; with another day booked with nothing to do, getting shuffled around on ‘business’ that never really amounts to anything, it gives them something to talk about to fill the time. Yunho stares out the window of their van on a drive to somewhere-or-other and sees billboard after billboard flash by.
He turns to Changmin, taps him on the arm. “Should we sell other stuff?”
“Like what?”
“Little things. Cell-phone charms and notebooks and pencils.”
Changmin makes a face. “It’d broaden our market demographic… but I hate that cutesy stuff.”
Yunho laughs, and it lasts him through the day, through the week, all the way to another round of seemingly endless corporate and legal meetings, and it’s all talk talk talk- and when it gets too much Changmin squeezes his hand under the table and whispers, “Carpet or hardwood?”
And Yunho swallows and nods at something one of the lawyers say, mouth set in a somber line, and squeezes back until he can’t hold it in anymore. “You pick,” he says on an exhale.
Changmin nods and waits until they’re back in the apartment, weary to the core. Changmin pulls Yunho to bed and helps him undress, arranges him boneless on the bed. Changmin crawls into next to him, curls around him and says, “A huge rug. Soft enough to sleep on.”
Yunho falls asleep imagining it. Them. Their own world.
They divide the store up; everything has its proper place, and every proper place is thoughtfully planned.
Books are shelved in the middle of the shop; albums can be browsed on the tables in the back. The discount bins are out front for passer-bys, and the stockroom is open for regulars to look around. They build a new wall for that stockroom, and another for their own little space.
The break room will have the kitchenette, and a desk for Changmin to do the bookkeeping. The desk in front will be for Yunho, for customer service- yet, somehow, it ends up that Changmin always sits there and Yunho stays in the back until a customer comes in needing service.
They advertise through fliers in the community (Yunho’s idea) and online (Changmin’s better idea), and get a steady stream of customers. It’s not enough to do well, but they try and be smart with money, and after a year or two, they have enough to buy the room above their shop. They move in and stay and live and are happy.
Yunho remembers when their dreams used to be bigger -when they were young and they hadn’t already seen most of the world, and there were five voices fighting to be heard in their canorous fantasy, overlapping and spilling into each others’ daydreams.
It changed, but not just because of the lawsuit. It changed when Changmin came up behind Yunho in the kitchen in the middle of the night. He wrapped his arms around Yunho’s waist and buried his face in Yunho’s hair and whispered, almost too low for him to hear- Hyung. Now, from here on… We can’t be anything less than this, can we?
It took all of Changmin’s nerve to say it once; he promises he’ll never say it again. Yunho thinks he shouldn’t have to.
And now it’s just the two of them, thinking aloud and from their words comes the story of them, of what could be. They’re here and they’re stuck watching the world pass them by, but imagination holds no bounds.
It’s either that or languish in memories- and Yunho will take the future any day.
Changmin wakes up only after he’s hit the snooze button twice. He’s been getting up early and earlier for most of his life but 5:10 still feels too rude.
Beside him Yunho groans and rolls over, snatching up Changmin’s pillow and burying his face into the groove Changmin left behind.
Changmin watches him a minute, letting his eyes travel down the firm tilt of Yunho’s naked back. The older man never sleeps with a lot of clothes on, let alone when it’s summer and the air conditioning tends to cut out in the middle of the night, when they’re asleep and oblivious.
They’ve been spared this morning; Changmin can hear the vent humming, even if he can’t feel the breeze. Yunho squirms and the muscles shift under his skin- and Changmin knows how tired he is when it only stirs the slightest bit of arousal in him. But he smiles and ruffles Yunho’s hair, ignoring his muffled protest and says, “Sleep. I’ll get breakfast, yah?”
“Hmmkay.”
“The bakery or the place on the corner…?”
“Mmf. Blue sign?”
“Yah.”
“…Bakery.”
Changmin laughs. “Ok.”
The bakery is their favorite local shop. The old woman who owns it is an ex-businesswoman who decided retirement was too boring for her tastes. She opened shop around the same time they moved in, and she’s always experimenting with her recipes and sending over samples for them to judge.
It’s a few minutes’ walk away, but the warm smell of bread is heady and pervasive in the morning air, and Changmin breathes it in the whole way there. The shop has been open for an hour by the time he arrives and customers are lined up in front of the display case. The moment he walks in, though, the old woman bustles out from behind the counter, calling out to him.
“Changmin-ah!” she says, reaching up to cup his cheeks possessively. She has to stand on her toes, and it amuses him so much he doesn’t even care that she’s invading his personal space. “Oh, today must be a good day, getting to see your handsome face this early.”
“Good morning to you too, halmoni.”
A couple of the customers look over; some look away, some stare a bit longer, as if there’s something here to see. Changmin’s tall enough that it seems he’s always attracting attention; it used to bother him when he was younger.
He waits patiently as the woman gets his usual order ready. She’s hired a new attendant, a young girl who serving the other customers with soft-spoken grace- she’ll introduce them later, the woman tells him. You’ll have to come by in the afternoon, when we’re not so busy. I have something for you to try, she says, and he promises her they will. He gives her a kiss on the cheek and she pats his hip. He leaves.
When he gets home, Yunho is already awake and has a pot of tea on the stove. He greets Changmin with a quick kiss and a proper “Good morning, love.”
“Halmoni wants us to come by,” he says, handing over breakfast.
“We can go over at lunch,” Yunho replies. He pulls out his bun, slightly burnt and just how he likes it. “We’ll have to take over something, too. Maybe a little notepad, she always likes those.”
Changmin pours two cups of tea and blows a bit of air over each, watching the surface ripple and the steam puff away. He takes a sip from his own. “Sounds good,” he says, over the rim, and Yunho smiles.
“You’re going to start promotions in January.”
Their manager says it curt, offhanded, without warning. Changmin goes very still and Yunho sits up, flinching like he’s just been shocked with static.
“What?” he asks, disbelieving.
“We’ve talked it over. You’ll be debuting as two; the press release will go out in a few days.”
The words don’t quite sink in; they raise bumps on his skin but leave his flesh unmoved. “Wait. I thought we agreed, we weren’t going to promote, not until-”
“The decision’s been made,” he says firmly. “Acting has kept you current, but the dramas haven’t generated the publicity we’re looking for- not like live performances would. You’re going to be on stage again. I thought you’d be happy,” he adds, like he’s trying to be gentle but doesn’t quite know how.
Yunho doesn’t know how he feels. He looks at Changmin, but the younger man is blank-faced, unreadable even to him.
It’ll be good to be on stage again -it’ll be great, he thinks. He’s missed singing since the day he stopped, in a way he didn’t think he would. He can dance for himself and he can pass time acting, but singing is something he did for Dong Bang Shin Ki; only for the fans, for the group.
“If you’ve got plans, change them,” manger says. “We’re going back on schedule. You know the routine.”
“Yeah,” Yunho says, thinking of friends he’ll have to call; he’ll have to move up his visit home, or cancel it completely. He’ll have to start arrange for voice lessons in his free time, no more late nights reading.
The idleness he’s both loved and hated is over, just like that. He doesn’t get a say in the decision and he doesn’t get a chance to say no, and the little chip on his shoulder says, This is why. This is why they left and you can’t blame them, but you can’t turn your back on it all. You won’t.
Yunho won’t, because even if he did have a choice, he wouldn’t say no.
He looks at Changmin again, trying to catch his eye and failing. It isn’t until their manager leaves that he reaches out, seeking Changmin even if he doesn’t want to give.
“What are you thinking?” he asks; demands. “Tell me, please.”
“Don’t need to think,” Changmin mutters, still not quite meeting his eyes. “It’s done, isn’t it?”
It’s Yunho’s turn to look away, and he does, eyes raised to the ceiling, blinking fast against the sudden pressure there. He swallows thickly. “We could… we could fight it, if you want.”
“You don’t want that,” Changmin answers, shrugging. “I don’t either,” he adds, after a heavy pause, and Yunho breathes out something like in relief.
He states the obvious. “It’s not going to be the same.”
Changmin huffs. “No shit, hyung.”
Yunho knows, then, that they’ll be alright. They’ll be great, and they’ll be Dong Bang Shin Ki - different, but they’ll do it right. They’ll be alright.
Sometimes, when business is slow, or when it’s really good - or when they just feel like it, they hold a special event where they buy back books. They get all sorts of people and all sorts of interesting stuff. There’s so much you can learn about a person through what they own- and what they ‘re willing to give away.
It’s mid-afternoon and the shops crammed full of people who’re browsing the shelves or just waiting to see how much their old belongings are worth.
Changmin and Yunho stand side-by-side behind the desk and sort through the individual piles. There’re things they take because they want and they’re things they take because they don’t deserve to be thrown in the trash, which is where a lot of the books will go otherwise.
“Kang… Daesung-sshi?” Changmin calls out, reading the post-it on the pile he just finished.
A young man with a broad face and nice smile hurries up to the counter, bowing slightly. Changmin nods and tells him his books have been counted. “We can’t take the ‘Cats’ play script, but we can take everything else… We can give you 34000₩, is that okay?”
Daesung hums happily, tucking the manuscript back under his arm and setting down an old CD single. “Thank you. Can I trade for this, too?”
“Sure,” Changmin says, looking the CD over. It’s only a few years old, he’d guess, but it’s one of those first release editions, used but it in good quality. “This and 20000₩, then.”
“That’s great,” Daesung says. “I collect old pop music, you know. I’ve been looking for this one for ages, CD singles are really hard to find.”
“Oh yeah?” Changmin asks. “Doesn’t look too outdated. Then again, I don’t know much about music.” He catches Yunho listening in and raises an eyebrow. Yunho shrugs.
“It’s not, but it’s really rare!” The kid’s smile takes up his whole face, and his enthusiasm is so open and honest that Changmin can’t help but smile back. “This group was really, really big about five, six years ago - really mainstream but they’re acappella stuff was amazing, high quality stuff for that time.”
“Huh.” Changmin says, to be polite. “Are they still around?”
Daesung shrugs. “Naaaah. They split up big time, you know how pop groups go. I don’t remember it, but my older sister was really sad. This is one of their last singles. She’ll be really jealous,” he says, laughing as if he just realized it. “You don’t have another copy, do you? It’d make a great present.”
Changmin looks at Yunho, who reached out to grab the CD, his thumb slipping over the plastic wrap and distorting the image, a group of men over-photoshop’d and posing dramatically.
Yunho shakes his head. “Sorry, we got this from an independent dealer, only one copy. We might have more from these guys, but I’m not sure…”
“Naaaah, it’s alright. This is good enough for me,” Daesung says.
Changmin hands over his money and a receipt. “Want a bag?”
The kid shakes his head and shoves the money in his pocket in a careless gesture. The CD goes under his arm with the manuscript. “Thanks again. Have a nice day!”
He leaves and Changmin maneuvers Daesung’s old books on the rack behind them. He turns and looks at the stack of books Yunho’s still counting, piled in front of him as high as his head, and Changmin eyes it warily. “You need some help with that?”
Yunho slides a smile over at Changmin. “Naaaaah.”
Changmin chuckles, but hopes none of the other customers heard that. “He was a nice kid.”
“He was,” Yunho agrees, still smiling.
Changmin hauls up bag someone else had left by the desk and gets started counting. They work in silence for a while, bumping shoulder every once in a while, just because they can.
“Think we do have another CD of that band?” Changmin finally says. “He actually made me curious. And I like acapella stuff.”
“I really don’t know,” Yunho sighs. “We can check after?”
“Mm,” Changmin says, but doesn’t press the issue. Most likely, before the end of the day, they’ll forget about it entirely.
The change is seamless, and the past year of inactivity seems like it couldn’t have been real. Yunho and Changmin sleep more in a van than they do in their beds, and Yunho still curls up like he’s making room for five men instead of two.
He wakes up with the taste of burnt bread and tea on his tongue, and reaches out and expects his fingers to meet with crumpled jackets turned into pillows and blankets covering up warm skin. Usually he hits empty air, and then he stretches out, feeling claustrophobic.
The van jerks from a bump on the road and from the seat in front of him Changmin sniffles, shifting in place to get more comfortable. He’s wearing a pink eye-mask to block out the light, and Yunho reaches out to touch him, just to touch. He threads his fingers through the short ends of his hair down to the sharp drop of his shoulder, and Changmin, still asleep, arches into the touch.
He glances up and the driver is looking at them in the rearview mirror, his dark eyes too observant.
Yunho draws back his hand and leans back in his seat, his head resting against a hard bend of plastic. The car still jerks around and it gives him a headache and it takes him forever to fall back asleep; he closes his eyes and pictures big, open windows. He counts shelves instead of sheep, pictures frayed edges and cracked spines, he opens his eyes and-
Changmin is standing over him, at his back, but Yunho’s so buried in his book he hasn’t even noticed. He’s sitting at his table in the backroom, and Changmin finds himself bending in half to lean over and look Yunho in the eye.
“Hey,” he says. His ribs press into Yunho’s back and he can feel the tension there, born not of stress but just of sitting in the same position too long. The lights overhead are dim, too, and Changmin clucks his tongue because he knows the type of headaches Yunho gets when he reads in the dark - dull but persistent, the type that keeps him awake at night.
Yunho glances up from the pages only briefly. “Hey,” he says.
“Come to bed?” Changmin asks.
He thinks, for a second, that Yunho will say no. He’s in a mood but Changmin doesn’t know why, can only help the way he knows how-
Yunho sighs, and Changmin feels it more than hears it. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Changmin doesn’t answer him, and he doesn’t need to. He just draws him up and holds him firm even as he switches off the light.
“Changmin,” Yunho chuckles. “What…”
“Shh,” Changmin says, wrapping him up and relishing the feel of him. In the darkness they stand, the only light coming from their rooms above, spilling down the stairs and diffusing in doorway.
Yunho stays quiet and doesn’t question him again. Changmin doesn’t know how long they stand there, only knowing that when he finally lets go, when he takes Yunho’s hand and leads him up and into their bed, words aren’t really necessary.
The camera clicks and Yunho keeps his eyes open as wide as he can, trying not to squint even though the lights are absolutely blinding. It eclipses everything beyond the set; even though Yunho knows Changmin is sitting off just to the side, waiting for him to finish up, Yunho sees nothing but shadows.
The jeans he’s been given have been prewashed until they’re threadbare and they itch like hell, and it’s only years of practice that keep him from squirming. He smiles widely and shifts his pose. The photographer lifts his head from behind the camera and looks him over.
“Good, Yunho-sshi, very good so far. But let’s try something a bit different -try not to look so happy.”
Yunho raises an eyebrow. His smile feels so fake; he can’t imagine how they can’t see it, too. But he nods anyway, to show he understands. One of the girls from the magazine comes to check his outfit and in the meantime he spares a look to the side, searching out Changmin.
It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he sees him, sprawling on one of the studio’s couches. His hands are full of papers, and it confuses Yunho for a moment, until he remembers that morning, dragging himself out of bed as Changmin stuffed one of his correspondence-course assignments into his bag, muttering, ‘Maybe I’ll have time. Maybe, in between…’
Yunho had scoffed tiredly, but said nothing. For the best, he thinks now.
But Changmin isn’t looking at the assignment- his eyes are locked onto Yunho’s, bright with irony. ‘Not too happy?’ he mouths, and Yunho gives him a lopsided smile.
The woman tugs on his vest, frowning as she picks off bits of dried paint that flaked off of his prop. Once she’s satisfied, they begin again.
It takes ten minutes to finish, another twenty for a wardrobe change, though Yunho doesn’t think that outfit will make it into the magazine. When he’s done it’s nearing midnight, and he breathes a relief, knowing that they’re finally done -for today, at least.
He goes over to Changmin, who’s not asleep but doesn’t seem quite all there. His eyes are heavy, glazed. Yunho sits on the edge of the couch and thumbs through the papers now resting on his chest.
“Did you finish?” he asks.
Changmin shakes his head. “Don’t think so,” he murmurs. “There’s some boxes in the back I don’t have a delivery receipt for… they’re all foreign books, annotated classics ‘n stuff… really interesting, might wanna keep some but, I dunno where…” He trails off, and Yunho’s hand clenches into a fist on his knee.
“Changmin,” he says, voice dropped low. “What are you talking about?”
Changmin’s eyes lift up to his, and they’re perfectly clear. “I was… Inventory, remember? The shipment…?” Then he shakes his head, blinking rapidly. He clears his throat. “I… huh. Sorry, hyung, I think I dozed off…”
Yunho breathes out and it’s shaky; one second there’s a pressure in his chest, and the next it’s so loose Yunho feels like he could fit all of the air in the world inside of him.
“It’s okay,” he says, unsure if should do this. But no one’s paying attention to them, now. “What you were… Tell me about it? Then we can go home.”
Everyone else is focused on breaking down the set, or getting out of there as soon as possible. Manager will call them when the van is ready. Until then, they might as well be a painting on the wall. A really life-like painting.
Changmin frowns and opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.
“Tell me about it,” Yunho says again, firmly.
“I was dreaming,” Changmin says.
Yunho says nothing. Changmin tells him everything.
The economy takes a hit four years after they open shop, and business is bad -really bad. They have their savings, nickels and pennies from when they were ridiculously young, but Changmin refuses to invest it in a business that isn’t one-hundred percent sure to succeed.
“We could lose it all, Yunho-yah,” he says, holding onto Yunho as if to soften the blow of his words. “Say we use all our money to keep it alive now - what do we do when the money runs out? If the economy is still bad? Then we have nothing, no bookstore, no savings, nothing. I don’t want that for us.”
“The lease is almost up,” Yunho replies, his voice sounding tight. “They won’t renew if we can’t prove we’re not about to go bankrupt. We’ll need a miracle just to break even-”
“We don’t need anything,” Changmin says, squeezing tight. “We have what we have. It’ll be okay.”
Yunho nods, but doesn’t seem relieved.
So they cut back on personal expenses. They extend their hours. They raise prices marginally. They do everything they can, and more than anything, they fight. They fight so much Changmin loses count of how many times he lays in bed staring at the ceiling, knowing that Yunho’s doing the same thing, right next to him but so, so far away.
And so Changmin goes over the books and does everything he can to scrap by because this is Yunho’s dream. This is what Yunho wanted, this is what has makes Yunho happy. Changmin can move on but he doesn’t think he can bear to see Yunho’s hopes crumble right before their eyes.
So Changmin has a meeting with the building’s owner, and the man’s a good man, who sighs and says, “Changmin-sshi, I’m sorry, I really am-”
“Give me a week,” Changmin pleads, “I have money, I can pay for the lease upfront. If we aren’t making profit by next quarter, we’ll leave. But I have money.”
The man gives him a week. Changmin doesn’t wait; he goes to the bank the next day and empties his personal savings account, the one he’s kept separate from Yunho. He pays for the lease and it isn’t until the matter’s said and done that he tells Yunho what he’s done.
Yunho punches him.
“You idiot!” he screams, cursing like Changmin hasn’t heard him ever curse. “You- What were you thinking-?!”
And Yunho cries- not outright sobs, but those manly tears that gather in the corners of his eyes, the ones that hurt Changmin more than any fist could. He kneels next to Changmin and grabs his face in his hands and he’s crying but still so full of angry intensity.
“What was all that you said, ‘what we have is what we have’? Was it all bullshit?”
“No, Yunho-”
“What makes me happy is you. Us. That’s all I want,” he says fiercely. “I have that, right?”
“Of course, of course-”
“Then don’t make decisions without me. Don’t make ‘us’ mean nothing.”
“I promise, I promise. Yunho, I’m sorry, I just-” He cries, too, can’t even speak for it, but Yunho doesn’t say anything more. He just holds on and on and on, just another storm they have to weather.
The business quarter passes too fast and they only make the smallest of profits - but its profit nonetheless. The owner is a good man and suddenly they’re signed for another four years. Suddenly, without warning, the economy recovers and they’re in the clear. They’re doing fine.
But Yunho doesn’t forget. He’s determined to pay Changmin back, and Changmin doesn’t say anything, because that’s the only way he can make it up to Yunho.
On his next birthday, Changmin wakes up alone but for two plane tickets on the empty pillow next to him. He sits up and doesn’t even have a chance to look at them before Yunho bounds in, too excited to keep his secret any longer. He crawls up behind Changmin and hugs him, whispering in his ear, “Paris.”
Changmin grips the arm around his waist and leans back. He breathes. “Paris.”
The air in the plane tastes stale, heavy with the residue of too many lungs. Yunho does his best to keep his mouth shut but every time he drifts off -only to jerk awake a second later- his jaw aches and his tongue is dry.
“Hyung,” Changmin speaks softly, leaning in close. There are three fans sitting behind them two rows back, who’re giggling not as quietly as they think they are -and there’s bound to be more of them. There always are.
“Yeah?” Yunho whispers back, licking his lips. He reaches out thoughtlessly to grab Changmin’s hand, squeezing tightly, and only realizes a second too late what he’s done. Changmin tenses, and carefully untangles their fingers. “Sorry,” he says.
Changmin shakes his head, dismissing it. “We’re almost there.”
“Great,” Yunho says, not knowing whether he means it or not. The overhead announcement comes on, giving a different version of the same speech he’s heard a thousand times over. But the speaker is right over his head and it’s blown-out and screechy, and both he and Changmin wince. They’ve done three live performances in the past two days, and both their ears are sore. Changmin sounds a little hoarse, too, but Yunho hopes it’ll fade. They’re next stage is only a week away, and anything done overseas always seems to take a greater toll.
“Wanna go over the schedule again?” he asks. Changmin’s head rolls along the seat lazily, but his look is sharp enough to cut diamonds. Yunho chuckles. “Didn’t think so.”
Changmin’s expression smoothes out but he keeps looking at Yunho, long enough to make him uncomfortable. “What?” he finally asks.
Changmin takes a deep breath and leans back into his chair. “Nothing,” he says, and the seconds tick by- then, “Screw it,” and he’s sinking down in his chair, low enough that he can put his head on Yunho’s shoulder. The girls behind them whisper furiously and Yunho almost pulls away- almost.
“I’m too tired to care,” Changmin mumbles. “How long until Paris?”
Yunho looks down, to the cramped angle of his knees and the dirty, ruffled edges of the in-flight magazines resting the seat’s back pocket, and then tilts his head, enough so that his cheek rests again the top of Changmin’s head - just long enough so that the younger man feels it, and then he’s drawing away. The giggling hasn’t stopped. The overhead blares out that they have fifteen minutes till landing.
“Not soon enough,” he says.
They land and shuffle off the plane, shoulders hunched and heads bowed, already preparing themselves for the screaming and jostle-push of security; the inevitable, just the usual. And then they’re in the airport, lost in the crowd, wrapped up in sunlight and jet fuel and foreign tongues, and Changmin feels adrift, so far from home- but they push through. Just the usual.
And it’s straight to a meeting with the reps, followed by an interview and performance rehearsal. Yunho’s mouth moves awkwardly around the wrong syllables and he wonders when he started wondering if this really what he wants to do for the rest of his life.
He’s not so sure of his answer, anymore.
When they finally get to the apartment he collapses on the couch and stares blankly at the ceiling. He hears Changmin banging around in the kitchen, looking for something to eat. Sometimes management stocks the shelves with food before they come.
Changing curses softly- seems like they haven’t.
Yunho turns his head and cracks his neck, and with the movement a flash of light reflects off the glass of the coffee table. It catches in his eyes, for a moment, completely blinding. He turns his head the other way and calls out-
“It’s gorgeous, Changmin-ah!” Yunho steps out to the balcony and speaks into the wind. But Changmin hears him anyway, and has to agree- Yunho, bright smile and laughter, framed by the city skyline. It’s a beautiful sight.
Yunho feels Changmin come up beside him and leans ever further over the railing, looking down at the street-people ants and pill-bug cars. When’s the last time they came out here and just sat down? Enjoyed the view? He doesn’t know, and doubts Changmin would, either.
“Hyung,” says Changmin, after a while. He opens his mouth and closes it again; his head drops, resigned.
Yunho leans close enough for their shoulders to brush. He waits for Changmin. He has no problem with patience, here -he’ll wait as long as he needs.
Eventually Changmin straightens; he casts a glance behind them and then pulls Yunho back from the edge, his hand lingering on his shoulder. They’re off to the side, out of sight of the apartment main. The sun is just rising; they’d been working all night.
Changmin speaks softly, and his words are lost in the air between them. All Yunho hears is- Hyung. Now, from here on…
Yunho’s hand lifts, tracing the sharp line of Changmin’s cheek. Whatever he was saying before, it’s all the same. “Does it bother you?” he asks.
Changmin’s shakes his head. “I don’t know. It’s just…”
“This is amazing. It just doesn’t seem real, does it?”
“It just seems too real.”
Yunho’s hand falls. “I know. But…”
“But?”
And, maybe, it ends something like this:
Changmin slips into his bed just after dawn and presses close, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes.
“We made it up,” he finally says, one last stand, like he’s trying to convince himself.
Yunho doesn’t need to be convinced. He doesn’t want to be. That little voice says They left and you understand now, you really do. You don’t want to leave but can’t you have this, too?
And Changmin keeps going- “It was just a distraction; a stupid… we’ve just gotten it so into our heads-”
Yunho cuts him off with a kiss on his forehead and stays close. He says, “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” whispering the words into Changmin’s skin, “I don’t. But if it were real… if we… Would that be such a bad thing? I feel like…”
He stops there. They’re both half-asleep; Changmin already knows.
Yunho sees him swallow, the slow bob of his Adam’s apple. He sees daylight creep in under the shutters and outline Changmin’s skin in gold, leaving the rest of him in the dark. He sees-
Changmin sees Yunho’s eyes widen, sees hundreds of thousands of city lights reflected within them. He sees the quiet, innocent excitement that Yunho still holds for life, ever after everything they’ve been though. Yunho laughs and when he turns to Changmin, love on his lips and in his eyes-
It’s the future, the one they’ve made together. And it’s worth it.
Yunho takes Changmin’s hand. He has to be sure. He wants to remember these words, long after dreams have ended.
“No regrets?”
“No regrets.”
Paris is gorgeous and perfect and charmed and Changmin feels his chest ache something deep when they leave. They come back two suitcases and four kilos heavier and full of thoughts of how soon can we go back?
And yet, the moment Yunho unlocks the door and holds it open for Changmin; as soon as he lugs their bags up the stairs and Yunho opens all the windows, airing out the place; as soon as he’s home, all he can think about is how much he missed it.
He wakes up the next morning without complaint, and Yunho’s not too far behind. Gone is the ocean-sized hotel bathtub, the spacious balcony, but they make do with breakfast spread out over the bed and sharing their modest shower, kissing, touching wet skin between wide yawns.
Sometimes vacations leave you rested; sometimes they leave you more tired than when you started. Changmin isn’t sure which it is, for them, but he knows that it’s a feeling that reaches down into his bones.
The morning is spent cleaning, organizing, and getting ready to reopen. There’s accounting to be done and bills to pay, but by lunch they’re out on the street, readjusting their feet to smooth pavement instead of cobblestone, familiarizing themselves again with the local streets, cramped modernity instead of quaint city sprawl. Neon instead of gaslight.
“Yunho-sshi! Changmin-sshi!” the old woman calls out, when they pass by her bakery. “Welcome home! How was Paris?”
“It was wonderful, halmoni, thank you,” Yunho smiles. He looks more relaxed than he has in ages, and Changmin doesn’t resist putting his arm around his waist. The old woman raises an eyebrow at the two of them, but doesn’t comment.
“We brought you back a gift,” Changmin says. “Shall we bring it by later?”
She blushes and titters and says she’ll come over, instead. She’s wanted to come over and browse their cookbooks, but hadn’t had a chance before they left. “Two weeks!” she says. “It seems so much longer!”
They say their goodbyes and she hurries back into her shop. They head on down the street, wandering without any direction in mind.
“It really did seem like longer,” Yunho says.
“But I’m glad to be home,” Changmin finishes, looking ahead. He feels more than sees Yunho turn to him, and slips his hand into Yunho’s back pocket. “I’d like to go back, maybe. But… we could stay here, I think. I’d be happy staying here forever.”
Yunho smiles like he can’t help it, and he turns to look forward, too. They turn the corner and they’ve found themselves back on their street, their shop just in sight. “I think that’d be nice.”
“Yah?”
“Yah. I think that’d be perfect.”
started writing: 4/6/11
finished writing: 5/6/10
master list
Can I just say I absolutely adored writing this? I thought it'd take me a while to get back into DBSK-writing mode, but when gyummy gave me a list of things she'd like (shop!au among them), this came to mind immediately and it was love at first type ♥
gyummy, bb, hope you like! And for everyone else, this is also the first of four help_japan fic I'm steadily working on, so be on the lookout for more!