gridlock, baby (1.75)
My heart's stuck in gridlock... baby, will you be my key?
/'cause hey, someone might remember this!
A Yoosu romcom (help_japan) fic for oldwillow_brook :D♥
In which Yoochun learns to be patient and Junsu learns to concentrate, and they’ve only just started down this long road and Junsu might drive Yoochun crazy before they reach the end, but Yoochun thinks his life would suck without him.
Soooo... It's been a while. And it's not even the end! Technically, anyway - this's Part Un-point-seven-five, and it's the beginning of the end. The real finale, that long-sought-after Part Deux, will be posted next week! Consider this a refresher course (Yoosu 102? :'D), for all of you who forgot this thing existed because it took so long to update. Whoops D: Dust off your memory banks at Part o1.5, because it's full steam ahead from there ;)
The doorbell rings and Yoochun has a miniature seizure.
He’s alone in the apartment because he can’t be seen with Jaejoong, obviously. His not-roommate and Changmin met somewhere to cackle and plot his demise and possibly get sushi, Yoochun doesn’t know or care (though he does know Jaejoong’ll put it all on his credit card, because he’s a parasite).
But here and now, the doorbell chimes again and Yoochun pulls himself together, checking his reflection one more time- stone-washed designer jeans, white button-up and an artfully draped baby-blue scarf. Jaejoong picked the outfit. Yoochun hasn’t been this dressed-down in a decade.
When he opens the door he smiles down at Junsu charmingly. “Hello, Junsu,” he says, and is gratified by the way Junsu maybe-might-be-blushing. Definitely a good start.
“Hope you didn’t have trouble finding the place,” he adds, ushering the kid in.
“No not really, I’m not used to the area but it wasn’t too-” He grunts as he hops about, toeing off his shoes. Ratty sneakers drop to the floor and look pathetic and incongruous next to one of Jaejoong’s looming shoe racks. Junsu looks out of place, his usual bright colors clashing even more violently in the pristine white apartment. “This is way outta my…”
And then Junsu looks up, getting his first good look at the apartment, mouth falling open. “Woah.”
A second later he’s plastering himself to the floor-to-ceiling window, as if the glass weren’t there he could reach out and touch the city skyline.
“Wow! This is wow,” he says. Yoochun can see his reflection in the glass, awe-struck, and wishes he could step up beside him, see that expression first-hand. He gets two steps away from the glass before his head swims with vertigo and he has to stop.
Instead he sits against the arm of the couch and admires the view from behind -yeah, he can settle for this just fine.
Junsu’s still babbling, “The view is incredible! When you said what floor you lived on I figured it’d be high up, but I didn’t realize it’d be so- But then again, this building has a doorman and an elevator man- or, uh, whatever they’re called, but I really shoulda guessed. This place is super classy. Um. Wow-”
Yoochun chuckles and Junsu glances back at him.
“You’re really rich, huh? Uh, I mean- that is, you must be really successful, in music. You’re like, super classy, too.”
Yoochun lips quirk. “Really?”
Junsu’s definitely blushing, now, but he soldiers on. “Uh, yeah. I mean, your car and your place and the way you dress and talk and know things... Like I said, outta my-”
He stops but it’s not his natural pause-stop of conversation. When he shrugs the motion is too stiff, his body tense in way that if Yoochun weren’t watching so closely he wouldn’t have noticed. When he tries to catch the kid’s reflection, again, all he can see is the blue sky beyond.
Yoochun clucks his tongue, thinking If only you knew, Junsu, and is very careful not to smile too wide when the younger man is still ill at ease, fidgeting uncomfortably at the window.
Instead he claps his hands onto his thighs, pushing himself up with a loud, “Well!” Junsu jumps, and Yoochun offers him a gentle smile. “Success isn’t had by sitting idly by. Let’s get started?”
*
In the studio, Yoochun is once again gifted with Junsu’s rapt expression as he takes in the overflowing collection of albums and old stereo parts. The piano is in the corner, draped in cloth, so the black bulge of recording equipment takes up the central focus of the room.
Junsu runs his fingers along the rippled top of a box of vinyl’s, over the multi-colored faders of the stereo mixer. His touch is reverent and if that doesn’t cement this in Yoochun’s mind as damn well worth it, nothing else will.
“So how are we going to do this?” Junsu says, breaking the moment first. He turns to Yoochun. “I’ve never done anything like this before so it’s all new, and I’m not sure- what does this do?”
Yoochun laughs and tells him, pointing to the ins and outs of the digital mixer, the pan knobs and buses and all the other parts. Junsu brow creases in concentration and he seems to understand, up into a point. Yoochun knows some lingo can only be learned from exposure, so he doesn’t linger on it long.
He steps forward and rolls up his sleeves, taking stock of the time. “Alright, enough of that for now. I doubt we’ll be working with that equipment anytime soon, anyway.”
There’s a flash of disappointment on Junsu’s face. “Why not?”
Yoochun raises an eyebrow. “You need to learn the basics first. I went to school for years to learn-”
“But you don’t use it,” he says, plainly, as if hasn’t punched the wind right out of Yoochun. He’s either ignorant of his words or there’s a cruelty in him Yoochun could never have imagined. “Can’t we just, y’know, sing and record? My voice is good, you said and it’s not like learning fancy techniques and stuff is going to-”
Fingernails bite painfully into the flesh of his palm- his hands have clenched before he even realized it. He takes a deep breath and counts to five, and in the silence Junsu stops and shrugs and rubs at his forehead, and Yoochun realizes something.
“You think so?” he asks carefully. “You really think learning isn’t worth it? Is that why you’ve never gone to school?”
Junsu’s mouth twist. “I went once, when I was a kid. But it was so, y’know, pointless. I could have learned everything they told me and it wouldn’t have made any- And, uh, besides, you said the voice isn’t everything.”
His words are flippant, petulant, but Yoochun watched the kid carefully. He can’t tell if it something went wrong back then, left Junsu jaded -or maybe the kid honestly doesn’t care. There’re plenty of layabouts in the world that never amount to anything and never try to, but Yoochun doubts any of them have an ounce of talent this kid does.
“Just because it isn’t everything,” he answers finally, “doesn’t mean you should just squander yours away.”
Junsu doesn’t answer, and he sighs. “If you really don’t care, why are you even here?”
“I care,” Junsu says, almost defensively.
Yoochun can’t help but snort. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
Junsu has the good graces to look sheepish. “I told you, I wanna try, but I just. Um. It’s hard for me to, uh, focus. I was never good at school, and I don’t want to, y’know, disappoint, or anything.”
Yoochun has to smile at that. “Let’s get you singing, and then we’ll see.”
He pulls the cover off his baby grand and sits down with a flourish. Junsu stands at the foot of the piano, leaning into the curve of the frame, and Yoochun smiles at him, but only absently -for the moment he relishes the feel of smooth porcelain keys under his calloused fingertips. He plays a scale out of pure muscle memory, his fingers dancing across melodies he’d written 5, 10, 15 years ago.
He gets lost in it, the music slipping in as easily as breathing, and when Junsu’s voice joins in -a light murmur of a song, accompanying a more well-known tune, his fingers don’t stumble once.
Junsu hums along and adds a phrase here or there, soft like it’s some nursery rhyme. When Yoochun reaches the end, Da Capo al fine, he draws himself out his trance and plays softer, looser, as he looks up at Junsu.
“You know the song?” he asks, needlessly.
Junsu nods and leans a little more heavily against the lacquered wood. Yoochun doesn’t even reprimand him. “Yah, a little.”
“Do you know any scales?” he asks, and runs up though A minor. He gets a shake of the head but it doesn’t ruffle him, he expected as much.
“You’re really good,” Junsu says.
“Thanks,” Yoochun says, and keeps the music going. “I haven’t kept it up as much as I should, but whenever I get a chance, it just feels…”
“Like Heaven,” Junsu finishes. Yoochun glances up and the kid blushes, ducking his head. “I mean, it’s, um, peaceful. Whenever I’m really into the music, or dancing- Like you’re in this perfect space and everything’s… just, great. I think that’s what Heaven would be like,” he finishes softly.
“You’re absolutely right,” Yoochun assures him. “Not many people get it, that feeling. You’re lucky.”
“So’re you,” Junsu replies, biting his lip.
Yoochun blinks. His surprise must be obvious, but a second later Junsu is grinning widely and bouncing around the baby grand, sliding onto the bench beside Yoochun. “So, what’re the scales?” he asks, a change of topic that Yoochun accepts with a smile of his own.
He starts with C, teaching Junsu each note on the scale, showing him how to twist his fingers under-over on each. Junsu absorbs it like a sponge; he’s got some familiarity from his childhood lessons, and he picks the notes up quick.
Once Junsu has a basic understanding they move from keys to voice, Yoochun coaching Junsu as best he can. Junsu sings wildly, carelessly, unfettered by years of training or technique. In some part it’s marvelous to hear, his voice following a natural rhythm and so easily filling up the room, echoing up to the vaulted ceiling.
But it’s far (far, far, farfarfar) from perfect. The kid’s vibrato is out of control and his voice cracks repeatedly. Every time it happens Junsu tries again, louder, until it ends up like some warbling ululation of tribeswomen of the Serengeti. With lack of discipline like that, no company will have him -not even National Geographic.
And, every time Yoochun points it out, Junsu dodges and hedges and um-uhs until Yoochun wants to tear his hair out, wants to physically wrangle with Junsu’s voice so he could out the middle man, because whatever’s going on in that kid’s brain, it’s going to drive Yoochun batshit.
“Okay, see the little hash there? That means the note’s supposed to be sharp, and this part-” he says, pointing to the sheet music, “-isn’t sharp. So don’t be sharp.”
“I know- ha, I know that one,” Junsu says, already giggling before he’s made his joke- “Don’t B-sharp. Don’t B-flat. Just B-natural!” He bursts out laughing so hard he falls against the keys, a discordant accompaniment, and even Yoochun’s tension migraine can’t withstand it. He cracks a smile and ends up chuckling, too.
And suddenly, without his knowing it, 3 hours have flown by and Yoochun realizes Jaejoong will be home soon.
“Crap,” he says under his breath, and Junsu looks at him out of the corner of his.
“Huh?”
“Nothing,” Yoochun sighs. “I just realized -I think we’ll have to stop here today, Junsu. I have some things I need to attend to…”
“Oh,” Junsu says, and looks thoroughly disappointed. That inner thirteen-year-old girl of his squees in delight. “O-okay, I guess.”
“We’ll arrange another time,” Yoochun says quickly. “We can make it a regular appointment, what do you think?”
Junsu nods brightly. “Sure!” But then he slumps. “Oh, um.”
“Something wrong?” Yoochun frowns.
Junsu shrugs. “Well, uh. I really want to do this, I think. It’s been a lot of fun and I liked working with you and-”
Yoochun’s heart might just have skipped a beat. “And…?”
“I’m just, um, bad at doing regular things, y’know?” Junsu clarifies. “Except for my job, but I’ve been doing it forever and it’s like I can’t not do it, and I’m usually good about time and stuff but when it comes to actual things, y;know, I’m not so-”
Yoochun takes a moment to think, turning the idea over in his head. Junsu’s talent is second-nature, his passion natural, but his dedication is less than ideal. He’s a new bike on Christmas that comes in pretty, shiny pieces, and all the instructions are written in Urdu. Or maybe there’re no instructions whatsoever.
But Yoochun’s always liked a challenge.
He smiles. “Then maybe it’s time we change that, too.”
Sixth Months Later.
“JUNSU!”
His fist hurts from banging on the door, the outer curl of his palm red and stinging from where it keeps meeting cheap wood and cheap, peeling paint.
“JUNSU, COME TO THE DOOR.”
A woman down the hall opens her door and peaks her head out, her graying hair wrapped in a muddled heap of rollers. Her moo-moo is covered with ducks and Yoochun wonders if it’s maybe it’s the location that has this affect on people’s sense of style. He hasn’t stuck around long enough to notice a trend, but makes a mental note to never linger in Junsu’s apartment building longer than necessary, for fear of his common fashion decency.
“JUNSU, CAN YOU HEAR ME? I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE, OPEN THE DOOR NOW PLEASE,” he screams again.
He’s not mad, really. Well, he’s a little mad that Junsu missed another appointment, but that’s something that happens often enough that he can’t let it bother him anymore.
The first time it’d happened, they were supposed to meet at Yoochun’s on a Tuesday. When Junsu didn’t show, Yoochun had moped around the apartment until Jaejoong stabbed him with a pair of chopsticks.
“You’re an idiot,” he said. It’s his new favorite phrase.
“You’re a horrible human being,” Yoochun shot back. “No heart at all.”
“I have a heart,” Jaejoong replied. “But I also have balls. Grow some, why don’t you.”
Yoochun went to bed early (and did not cry into his pillow, contrary to popular belief), and by the next morning had summoned enough courage to give Junsu a call.
“Oh,” Junsu had said, “Oops.”
Oops.
And so started a pattern, in which Junsu would come to Yoochun’s for a few meetings and everything would seem perfectly normal, and then suddenly he’d stop coming, because he forgot or got distracted, or maybe didn’t even feel like it that day.
And every time he didn’t make it, Yoochun would track him down and haul him in, like a good coach/manager/person ought to, anyway.
Today he knows for a fact Junsu is in his apartment, and he’s going to stand here and bang on the door until Junsu comes out. He’s only yelling because, as he’s learned through trial and error, Junsu tends to wear his headphones at home. In fact, he wears them everywhere, Yoochun has yet to see him without them. It’s an acceptable, even endearing keepsake…
Except at moments like this.
“JUNSU!! LISTEN. TO. ME- OPEN. THE-”
The door opens. Junsu blinks and Yoochun can hear the muted music still playing in the headphones round his ears. The Flower Girls, again.
“Oh, hi, Yoochun.”
Yoochun sighs, long-suffering. “Hello, Junsu.”
“Did I miss an appointment again?”
“You did.”
“Um, sorry? Really. But now I kinda gotta go, there’s this guy down at the store who’s going to give me a great deal on the new Holocrux game, and it’s not even on the market yet, he knows someone who knows someone who has a cousin who got a hold of the soft release and-”
“No.”
Junsu tilts his head, echoing, “No?”
“No.” And then Yoochun grabs Junsu by his paisley-shirt collar and hauls him out of the room.
*
“We’ll make a deal,” he says, an hour and a half later, when they’ve made it back to his penthouse but Junsu’s made practice impossible by how hard he’s pouting. Yoochun used to think this was cute. He knows better, now -he knows Junsu, and that’s bound to change everything.
“What sort of deal?” Junsu mutters, looking at his feet. His toes wiggle under his socks, which are purple and orange (and ok, so that’s still adorable. And for all Yoochun has learned, he’s still oh-so hopelessly infatuated; love so sweet he thinks one day his teeth are going to all fall out).
“You get this song down, and I’ll drive you wherever you need to go to get that Holocaust game.”
“Holocrux,” Junsu corrects immediately, looking scandalized that Yoochun doesn’t know it. It never fails to make Yoochun feel ancient. “It’s about space-aliens, not World War II.”
“Sure, fine, that’s great,” Yoochun sighs. “Does the deal sound good?”
“You need to learn more about video games,” Junsu goes on. “Really. They’re cool and easy to play -well, sometimes, depending on the game- but a lot of them are really fun and you need more fun in your life, because all you do is work, and that’s really just not-”
“Hey, I have plenty of fun. Our ideas of fun are just… different.”
Junsu wrinkles his nose. “Reading Thebigcity Times is not fun. Reading stock-tickers is not fun-” and Yoochun opens his mouth to protest, or maybe compliment Junsu on even knowing what a stock-ticker is, but then Junsu’s face smoothes out, and his eyes go wide and he says “Oh. I know!”
That doesn’t bode well. “Know what?”
Junsu smirks, and it’s a strange look on him. “I practice now and I get this song down, like a good student, and you get me the game and then let me teach you how to play.”
Yoochun blinks once, twice. “Really?”
Junsu nods happily. “Yah! We can pick up the game and my console at home, and it’ll be a really fair trade then, because you’re teaching me to sing and I can teach you how to have fun like a real person again.”
And it’s a funny sentiment, just Junsu trying to be cute, but all of a sudden there’s a lump in Yoochun’s throat and he thinks he might actually give in to that little girl of his and bawl his eyes out. “Junsu-” he chokes out, and Junsu’s beaming up at him, and-
“HeLLLOOOO! I’m HOME!”
-and shit. Jaejoong.
He sighs.
“JAEJOONG-HYUNG WE’RE IN HERE.” Junsu screams, with all of his very considerable lung capacity, as Yoochun’s eardrums curl into the fetal position.
“WHERE?!” Jaejoong screams back. Ever since Junsu came into their lives, Jaejoong seems to have forgotten the definition of ‘inside voice’.
Junsu takes a deep breath to reply, but Yoochun claps a hand over his face. “He’ll figure it out.”
Junsu frowns- or Yoochun thinks he does, he can’t see his mouth, but his forehead wrinkles in a definite frowny-face fashion.
“WHERE AREEEE YOU?!?”
Junsu’s eyes say Told you so, but Yoochun ignores them. Instead he steps back and waits for the inevitable arrival of Jaejoong in 5… 4… 3-
“OH HERE YOU ARE,” and now that’s just plain excessive.
“Jeez, Jaejoong, shut up.”
“Jaejoong-hyung! Welcome home!”
Jaejoong swoops in and gives Junsu a ridiculously loud smack of a kiss on the cheek. “Now that is how you greet someone like a proper, civil person. Can I keep you?” he says, pointedly not looking at Yoochun.
Junsu laughs, basking in the attention. Yoochun rolls his eyes.
“I’d be more civil if you didn’t keep interrupting our lessons like this, Jaejoong.”
“Interrupting shminterrupting,” Jaejoong says, and starts babbling to Junsu mile a minute.
Okay, sure, he’s glad Junsu and his best friend get along. It had been difficult at first, trying to schedule every meeting so the two would never cross paths and reveal Jaejoong’s scheming -but it was bound to happen, eventually. Two months ago Jaejoong had come home in the middle a session and Junsu had recognized him right away, Hey, you’re that guy that- ! and Yoochun had thought all hope was lost.
But Jaejoong, for once in his life, managed to pull off something like smooth. He’d gone as wide-eyed as Junsu- Ohmygosh, and you’re that kid! YOU are the one Yoochun’s been teaching? WHAT an UNBELIEVABLE coincidence…! and somehow, Junsu bought it.
Unfortunately, Junsu also bought the whole Jaejoong package, which meant they’re now besties or something or whatever.
Yoochun isn’t jealous. Not at all.
“-which video game? Of course you’ll get it today! We can go pick it up, bring it back here -hey, do you like Indian food? Spicy stuff? Yoochun can go pick up food-”
Right, that's it.
He’s not jealous. But he’s not a doormat, either.
Besties shmesties. Yoochun’s making an executive decision; it’s time to change the status quo.
[NEXT]
started writing: 3/17/11
finished writing: 9/15/11
master list
Til next week! :D♥
/'cause hey, someone might remember this!
A Yoosu romcom (help_japan) fic for oldwillow_brook :D♥
In which Yoochun learns to be patient and Junsu learns to concentrate, and they’ve only just started down this long road and Junsu might drive Yoochun crazy before they reach the end, but Yoochun thinks his life would suck without him.
Soooo... It's been a while. And it's not even the end! Technically, anyway - this's Part Un-point-seven-five, and it's the beginning of the end. The real finale, that long-sought-after Part Deux, will be posted next week! Consider this a refresher course (Yoosu 102? :'D), for all of you who forgot this thing existed because it took so long to update. Whoops D: Dust off your memory banks at Part o1.5, because it's full steam ahead from there ;)
The doorbell rings and Yoochun has a miniature seizure.
He’s alone in the apartment because he can’t be seen with Jaejoong, obviously. His not-roommate and Changmin met somewhere to cackle and plot his demise and possibly get sushi, Yoochun doesn’t know or care (though he does know Jaejoong’ll put it all on his credit card, because he’s a parasite).
But here and now, the doorbell chimes again and Yoochun pulls himself together, checking his reflection one more time- stone-washed designer jeans, white button-up and an artfully draped baby-blue scarf. Jaejoong picked the outfit. Yoochun hasn’t been this dressed-down in a decade.
When he opens the door he smiles down at Junsu charmingly. “Hello, Junsu,” he says, and is gratified by the way Junsu maybe-might-be-blushing. Definitely a good start.
“Hope you didn’t have trouble finding the place,” he adds, ushering the kid in.
“No not really, I’m not used to the area but it wasn’t too-” He grunts as he hops about, toeing off his shoes. Ratty sneakers drop to the floor and look pathetic and incongruous next to one of Jaejoong’s looming shoe racks. Junsu looks out of place, his usual bright colors clashing even more violently in the pristine white apartment. “This is way outta my…”
And then Junsu looks up, getting his first good look at the apartment, mouth falling open. “Woah.”
A second later he’s plastering himself to the floor-to-ceiling window, as if the glass weren’t there he could reach out and touch the city skyline.
“Wow! This is wow,” he says. Yoochun can see his reflection in the glass, awe-struck, and wishes he could step up beside him, see that expression first-hand. He gets two steps away from the glass before his head swims with vertigo and he has to stop.
Instead he sits against the arm of the couch and admires the view from behind -yeah, he can settle for this just fine.
Junsu’s still babbling, “The view is incredible! When you said what floor you lived on I figured it’d be high up, but I didn’t realize it’d be so- But then again, this building has a doorman and an elevator man- or, uh, whatever they’re called, but I really shoulda guessed. This place is super classy. Um. Wow-”
Yoochun chuckles and Junsu glances back at him.
“You’re really rich, huh? Uh, I mean- that is, you must be really successful, in music. You’re like, super classy, too.”
Yoochun lips quirk. “Really?”
Junsu’s definitely blushing, now, but he soldiers on. “Uh, yeah. I mean, your car and your place and the way you dress and talk and know things... Like I said, outta my-”
He stops but it’s not his natural pause-stop of conversation. When he shrugs the motion is too stiff, his body tense in way that if Yoochun weren’t watching so closely he wouldn’t have noticed. When he tries to catch the kid’s reflection, again, all he can see is the blue sky beyond.
Yoochun clucks his tongue, thinking If only you knew, Junsu, and is very careful not to smile too wide when the younger man is still ill at ease, fidgeting uncomfortably at the window.
Instead he claps his hands onto his thighs, pushing himself up with a loud, “Well!” Junsu jumps, and Yoochun offers him a gentle smile. “Success isn’t had by sitting idly by. Let’s get started?”
*
In the studio, Yoochun is once again gifted with Junsu’s rapt expression as he takes in the overflowing collection of albums and old stereo parts. The piano is in the corner, draped in cloth, so the black bulge of recording equipment takes up the central focus of the room.
Junsu runs his fingers along the rippled top of a box of vinyl’s, over the multi-colored faders of the stereo mixer. His touch is reverent and if that doesn’t cement this in Yoochun’s mind as damn well worth it, nothing else will.
“So how are we going to do this?” Junsu says, breaking the moment first. He turns to Yoochun. “I’ve never done anything like this before so it’s all new, and I’m not sure- what does this do?”
Yoochun laughs and tells him, pointing to the ins and outs of the digital mixer, the pan knobs and buses and all the other parts. Junsu brow creases in concentration and he seems to understand, up into a point. Yoochun knows some lingo can only be learned from exposure, so he doesn’t linger on it long.
He steps forward and rolls up his sleeves, taking stock of the time. “Alright, enough of that for now. I doubt we’ll be working with that equipment anytime soon, anyway.”
There’s a flash of disappointment on Junsu’s face. “Why not?”
Yoochun raises an eyebrow. “You need to learn the basics first. I went to school for years to learn-”
“But you don’t use it,” he says, plainly, as if hasn’t punched the wind right out of Yoochun. He’s either ignorant of his words or there’s a cruelty in him Yoochun could never have imagined. “Can’t we just, y’know, sing and record? My voice is good, you said and it’s not like learning fancy techniques and stuff is going to-”
Fingernails bite painfully into the flesh of his palm- his hands have clenched before he even realized it. He takes a deep breath and counts to five, and in the silence Junsu stops and shrugs and rubs at his forehead, and Yoochun realizes something.
“You think so?” he asks carefully. “You really think learning isn’t worth it? Is that why you’ve never gone to school?”
Junsu’s mouth twist. “I went once, when I was a kid. But it was so, y’know, pointless. I could have learned everything they told me and it wouldn’t have made any- And, uh, besides, you said the voice isn’t everything.”
His words are flippant, petulant, but Yoochun watched the kid carefully. He can’t tell if it something went wrong back then, left Junsu jaded -or maybe the kid honestly doesn’t care. There’re plenty of layabouts in the world that never amount to anything and never try to, but Yoochun doubts any of them have an ounce of talent this kid does.
“Just because it isn’t everything,” he answers finally, “doesn’t mean you should just squander yours away.”
Junsu doesn’t answer, and he sighs. “If you really don’t care, why are you even here?”
“I care,” Junsu says, almost defensively.
Yoochun can’t help but snort. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
Junsu has the good graces to look sheepish. “I told you, I wanna try, but I just. Um. It’s hard for me to, uh, focus. I was never good at school, and I don’t want to, y’know, disappoint, or anything.”
Yoochun has to smile at that. “Let’s get you singing, and then we’ll see.”
He pulls the cover off his baby grand and sits down with a flourish. Junsu stands at the foot of the piano, leaning into the curve of the frame, and Yoochun smiles at him, but only absently -for the moment he relishes the feel of smooth porcelain keys under his calloused fingertips. He plays a scale out of pure muscle memory, his fingers dancing across melodies he’d written 5, 10, 15 years ago.
He gets lost in it, the music slipping in as easily as breathing, and when Junsu’s voice joins in -a light murmur of a song, accompanying a more well-known tune, his fingers don’t stumble once.
Junsu hums along and adds a phrase here or there, soft like it’s some nursery rhyme. When Yoochun reaches the end, Da Capo al fine, he draws himself out his trance and plays softer, looser, as he looks up at Junsu.
“You know the song?” he asks, needlessly.
Junsu nods and leans a little more heavily against the lacquered wood. Yoochun doesn’t even reprimand him. “Yah, a little.”
“Do you know any scales?” he asks, and runs up though A minor. He gets a shake of the head but it doesn’t ruffle him, he expected as much.
“You’re really good,” Junsu says.
“Thanks,” Yoochun says, and keeps the music going. “I haven’t kept it up as much as I should, but whenever I get a chance, it just feels…”
“Like Heaven,” Junsu finishes. Yoochun glances up and the kid blushes, ducking his head. “I mean, it’s, um, peaceful. Whenever I’m really into the music, or dancing- Like you’re in this perfect space and everything’s… just, great. I think that’s what Heaven would be like,” he finishes softly.
“You’re absolutely right,” Yoochun assures him. “Not many people get it, that feeling. You’re lucky.”
“So’re you,” Junsu replies, biting his lip.
Yoochun blinks. His surprise must be obvious, but a second later Junsu is grinning widely and bouncing around the baby grand, sliding onto the bench beside Yoochun. “So, what’re the scales?” he asks, a change of topic that Yoochun accepts with a smile of his own.
He starts with C, teaching Junsu each note on the scale, showing him how to twist his fingers under-over on each. Junsu absorbs it like a sponge; he’s got some familiarity from his childhood lessons, and he picks the notes up quick.
Once Junsu has a basic understanding they move from keys to voice, Yoochun coaching Junsu as best he can. Junsu sings wildly, carelessly, unfettered by years of training or technique. In some part it’s marvelous to hear, his voice following a natural rhythm and so easily filling up the room, echoing up to the vaulted ceiling.
But it’s far (far, far, farfarfar) from perfect. The kid’s vibrato is out of control and his voice cracks repeatedly. Every time it happens Junsu tries again, louder, until it ends up like some warbling ululation of tribeswomen of the Serengeti. With lack of discipline like that, no company will have him -not even National Geographic.
And, every time Yoochun points it out, Junsu dodges and hedges and um-uhs until Yoochun wants to tear his hair out, wants to physically wrangle with Junsu’s voice so he could out the middle man, because whatever’s going on in that kid’s brain, it’s going to drive Yoochun batshit.
“Okay, see the little hash there? That means the note’s supposed to be sharp, and this part-” he says, pointing to the sheet music, “-isn’t sharp. So don’t be sharp.”
“I know- ha, I know that one,” Junsu says, already giggling before he’s made his joke- “Don’t B-sharp. Don’t B-flat. Just B-natural!” He bursts out laughing so hard he falls against the keys, a discordant accompaniment, and even Yoochun’s tension migraine can’t withstand it. He cracks a smile and ends up chuckling, too.
And suddenly, without his knowing it, 3 hours have flown by and Yoochun realizes Jaejoong will be home soon.
“Crap,” he says under his breath, and Junsu looks at him out of the corner of his.
“Huh?”
“Nothing,” Yoochun sighs. “I just realized -I think we’ll have to stop here today, Junsu. I have some things I need to attend to…”
“Oh,” Junsu says, and looks thoroughly disappointed. That inner thirteen-year-old girl of his squees in delight. “O-okay, I guess.”
“We’ll arrange another time,” Yoochun says quickly. “We can make it a regular appointment, what do you think?”
Junsu nods brightly. “Sure!” But then he slumps. “Oh, um.”
“Something wrong?” Yoochun frowns.
Junsu shrugs. “Well, uh. I really want to do this, I think. It’s been a lot of fun and I liked working with you and-”
Yoochun’s heart might just have skipped a beat. “And…?”
“I’m just, um, bad at doing regular things, y’know?” Junsu clarifies. “Except for my job, but I’ve been doing it forever and it’s like I can’t not do it, and I’m usually good about time and stuff but when it comes to actual things, y;know, I’m not so-”
Yoochun takes a moment to think, turning the idea over in his head. Junsu’s talent is second-nature, his passion natural, but his dedication is less than ideal. He’s a new bike on Christmas that comes in pretty, shiny pieces, and all the instructions are written in Urdu. Or maybe there’re no instructions whatsoever.
But Yoochun’s always liked a challenge.
He smiles. “Then maybe it’s time we change that, too.”
Sixth Months Later.
“JUNSU!”
His fist hurts from banging on the door, the outer curl of his palm red and stinging from where it keeps meeting cheap wood and cheap, peeling paint.
“JUNSU, COME TO THE DOOR.”
A woman down the hall opens her door and peaks her head out, her graying hair wrapped in a muddled heap of rollers. Her moo-moo is covered with ducks and Yoochun wonders if it’s maybe it’s the location that has this affect on people’s sense of style. He hasn’t stuck around long enough to notice a trend, but makes a mental note to never linger in Junsu’s apartment building longer than necessary, for fear of his common fashion decency.
“JUNSU, CAN YOU HEAR ME? I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE, OPEN THE DOOR NOW PLEASE,” he screams again.
He’s not mad, really. Well, he’s a little mad that Junsu missed another appointment, but that’s something that happens often enough that he can’t let it bother him anymore.
The first time it’d happened, they were supposed to meet at Yoochun’s on a Tuesday. When Junsu didn’t show, Yoochun had moped around the apartment until Jaejoong stabbed him with a pair of chopsticks.
“You’re an idiot,” he said. It’s his new favorite phrase.
“You’re a horrible human being,” Yoochun shot back. “No heart at all.”
“I have a heart,” Jaejoong replied. “But I also have balls. Grow some, why don’t you.”
Yoochun went to bed early (and did not cry into his pillow, contrary to popular belief), and by the next morning had summoned enough courage to give Junsu a call.
“Oh,” Junsu had said, “Oops.”
Oops.
And so started a pattern, in which Junsu would come to Yoochun’s for a few meetings and everything would seem perfectly normal, and then suddenly he’d stop coming, because he forgot or got distracted, or maybe didn’t even feel like it that day.
And every time he didn’t make it, Yoochun would track him down and haul him in, like a good coach/manager/person ought to, anyway.
Today he knows for a fact Junsu is in his apartment, and he’s going to stand here and bang on the door until Junsu comes out. He’s only yelling because, as he’s learned through trial and error, Junsu tends to wear his headphones at home. In fact, he wears them everywhere, Yoochun has yet to see him without them. It’s an acceptable, even endearing keepsake…
Except at moments like this.
“JUNSU!! LISTEN. TO. ME- OPEN. THE-”
The door opens. Junsu blinks and Yoochun can hear the muted music still playing in the headphones round his ears. The Flower Girls, again.
“Oh, hi, Yoochun.”
Yoochun sighs, long-suffering. “Hello, Junsu.”
“Did I miss an appointment again?”
“You did.”
“Um, sorry? Really. But now I kinda gotta go, there’s this guy down at the store who’s going to give me a great deal on the new Holocrux game, and it’s not even on the market yet, he knows someone who knows someone who has a cousin who got a hold of the soft release and-”
“No.”
Junsu tilts his head, echoing, “No?”
“No.” And then Yoochun grabs Junsu by his paisley-shirt collar and hauls him out of the room.
*
“We’ll make a deal,” he says, an hour and a half later, when they’ve made it back to his penthouse but Junsu’s made practice impossible by how hard he’s pouting. Yoochun used to think this was cute. He knows better, now -he knows Junsu, and that’s bound to change everything.
“What sort of deal?” Junsu mutters, looking at his feet. His toes wiggle under his socks, which are purple and orange (and ok, so that’s still adorable. And for all Yoochun has learned, he’s still oh-so hopelessly infatuated; love so sweet he thinks one day his teeth are going to all fall out).
“You get this song down, and I’ll drive you wherever you need to go to get that Holocaust game.”
“Holocrux,” Junsu corrects immediately, looking scandalized that Yoochun doesn’t know it. It never fails to make Yoochun feel ancient. “It’s about space-aliens, not World War II.”
“Sure, fine, that’s great,” Yoochun sighs. “Does the deal sound good?”
“You need to learn more about video games,” Junsu goes on. “Really. They’re cool and easy to play -well, sometimes, depending on the game- but a lot of them are really fun and you need more fun in your life, because all you do is work, and that’s really just not-”
“Hey, I have plenty of fun. Our ideas of fun are just… different.”
Junsu wrinkles his nose. “Reading Thebigcity Times is not fun. Reading stock-tickers is not fun-” and Yoochun opens his mouth to protest, or maybe compliment Junsu on even knowing what a stock-ticker is, but then Junsu’s face smoothes out, and his eyes go wide and he says “Oh. I know!”
That doesn’t bode well. “Know what?”
Junsu smirks, and it’s a strange look on him. “I practice now and I get this song down, like a good student, and you get me the game and then let me teach you how to play.”
Yoochun blinks once, twice. “Really?”
Junsu nods happily. “Yah! We can pick up the game and my console at home, and it’ll be a really fair trade then, because you’re teaching me to sing and I can teach you how to have fun like a real person again.”
And it’s a funny sentiment, just Junsu trying to be cute, but all of a sudden there’s a lump in Yoochun’s throat and he thinks he might actually give in to that little girl of his and bawl his eyes out. “Junsu-” he chokes out, and Junsu’s beaming up at him, and-
“HeLLLOOOO! I’m HOME!”
-and shit. Jaejoong.
He sighs.
“JAEJOONG-HYUNG WE’RE IN HERE.” Junsu screams, with all of his very considerable lung capacity, as Yoochun’s eardrums curl into the fetal position.
“WHERE?!” Jaejoong screams back. Ever since Junsu came into their lives, Jaejoong seems to have forgotten the definition of ‘inside voice’.
Junsu takes a deep breath to reply, but Yoochun claps a hand over his face. “He’ll figure it out.”
Junsu frowns- or Yoochun thinks he does, he can’t see his mouth, but his forehead wrinkles in a definite frowny-face fashion.
“WHERE AREEEE YOU?!?”
Junsu’s eyes say Told you so, but Yoochun ignores them. Instead he steps back and waits for the inevitable arrival of Jaejoong in 5… 4… 3-
“OH HERE YOU ARE,” and now that’s just plain excessive.
“Jeez, Jaejoong, shut up.”
“Jaejoong-hyung! Welcome home!”
Jaejoong swoops in and gives Junsu a ridiculously loud smack of a kiss on the cheek. “Now that is how you greet someone like a proper, civil person. Can I keep you?” he says, pointedly not looking at Yoochun.
Junsu laughs, basking in the attention. Yoochun rolls his eyes.
“I’d be more civil if you didn’t keep interrupting our lessons like this, Jaejoong.”
“Interrupting shminterrupting,” Jaejoong says, and starts babbling to Junsu mile a minute.
Okay, sure, he’s glad Junsu and his best friend get along. It had been difficult at first, trying to schedule every meeting so the two would never cross paths and reveal Jaejoong’s scheming -but it was bound to happen, eventually. Two months ago Jaejoong had come home in the middle a session and Junsu had recognized him right away, Hey, you’re that guy that- ! and Yoochun had thought all hope was lost.
But Jaejoong, for once in his life, managed to pull off something like smooth. He’d gone as wide-eyed as Junsu- Ohmygosh, and you’re that kid! YOU are the one Yoochun’s been teaching? WHAT an UNBELIEVABLE coincidence…! and somehow, Junsu bought it.
Unfortunately, Junsu also bought the whole Jaejoong package, which meant they’re now besties or something or whatever.
Yoochun isn’t jealous. Not at all.
“-which video game? Of course you’ll get it today! We can go pick it up, bring it back here -hey, do you like Indian food? Spicy stuff? Yoochun can go pick up food-”
Right, that's it.
He’s not jealous. But he’s not a doormat, either.
Besties shmesties. Yoochun’s making an executive decision; it’s time to change the status quo.
[NEXT]
started writing: 3/17/11
finished writing: 9/15/11
master list
Til next week! :D♥