the era of (between) me and you
the era of (between) me and you
yunjae, pg
romance/angst
4,906 words
Yunho became the leader, and he had to be loyal to five, not just one; who cared if you were the oldest (the first).
So, cut to a few weeks ago - schools starting and I'm stressed and I really really need to work on some original stuff, so I open up a project i'd been working on last spring, scrolling down to the bottom of my notes to see where I'd left off... and lo and behold, I find 2000+ words of a yunjae fic i don't even remember writing lolololol
But, I liked what I saw, so I took it and reworked it, expanded it greatly and now it's done! I'm not sure if it's coherent as I want it (or makes any sense, really), because I don't remember my original plan for it, but here it is anyway. Enjoy!
It’s the little things that get you. A word here, a touch, a glance - little things, insignificant things, but each one catches your attention; stays with you. Like a grain of sand grinding against your skin and though it doesn’t hurt it’s there and you just can’t stop thinking about it (so it hurts a little bit anyway). The little things are like grains of sand, burrowing into your mind.
Your heart beats faster, too, but you don’t (not) think about that.
It’s distracting, sometimes. You know you tend to drift off, to get lost in your own thoughts - you’ve done it ever since you were a child, surrounded by so many girls and just wanting an escape from the giggling, doting pressure. You know you do it, when you were still in that awkward half-grown stage but people still eyed you and embarrassed you with their whispers. You know you do it, even now when you’re DongBangShinKi and at the center of attention and should pay attention to that; even now when you know shouldn’t ever lose focus.
But you do, you can’t help it, so maybe it’s at rehearsal, in-between performances, or during an interview, but you find yourself following a train of thought in and away, your gaze down, unfocused, biting your lip, absently playing with your hair.
And then he touches you, fingers light on your elbow, behind the maknae’s back - or maybe a pat on your knee, laughing, a (thinly) disguised attempt to bring you back to the present. Or maybe just a whisper, or a pointed look, or maybe anything, really. So many maybes - because there are so many possibilities, so many ways he can (might) reach out to you.
And then all you can think about is that little something, spinning it through your brain and analyzing everything. The tilt of his smile, the frequency of his looks, the lingering of his touch. Of what’s real, what’s fanservice - it’s ironic, that the fangirls analyze your every move for some sign, when you’re doing just the same and you’re all alike, looking (hoping) for confirmation.
And this is what you think about; you can’t stop thinking about the little things and you can’t pay attention and so he keeps pulling you back - an endless cycle, push and pull, never quite where both of you need to be.
-----
It’s nearly three in the morning, and Jaejoong can’t sleep. He wanders around the house, trying to find things to do but just feeling out of place. He tidies up the living room, but puts everything back in the wrong spot; he tries to work on music, but every note he writes is a dissonance. All out of tune.
He feels an itch in his throat, a burn for smoke and ash - but he promised he would quit. He doesn’t know how long it’ll last, but he really wants to try this time. He wants to make promises and keep them; he wants his promises to be kept. He wants a lot of things.
He wants to sleep.
They have another busy (normal) day come six, with an interview, radio show - and rehearsals, of course. Can’t forget rehearsals. He knows he’s not learning the choreography as fast as he should, and what he has learned isn’t smooth or even all that coordinated. It’s frustrating, for all of them - especially Yunho, and he hates it. He doesn’t want to be a burden. He’s not that great a dancer, and they all know that, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to get better. He wants to get better.
He just wants to sing.
He thinks, maybe, he wants too much. He wants to be less selfish.
He drifts into the kitchen; nothing better to do. Maybe some food will put him to sleep, even if it’s not in their strict diet. If not, he can always make a big breakfast for when the others wake. Changmin would like that - the others, too, but the maknae needed it, with his latest growth spurt. He’d seen the way the younger singer had been wincing at the pull of his joints in dance practice today (yesterday). Someone had to pay attention to that sort of thing, the little things. Jaejoong couldn’t help but notice those things.
It takes him a few minutes to pull out the ingredients, all the supplies. He still hasn’t decided what to make, though, so he simply pulls out things that look good. Sometimes recipes from scratch make the best dishes.
So he stares at the ingredients, waiting for inspiration to strike. He looks at what’s before him, but of all the things he has, he can’t decide what he wants. He thinks; he wants, he wants, (-
Arms wrap around him, hard muscle threading their way around his chest. A chin digs into his shoulder, uncomfortable but there. He leans back, immediately familiar with the body pressed to (against) his.
“What’re you doing?” It’s a sleepy murmur, mumbled into the stray hair along the line of his chin.
“Cooking.”
“You shouldn’t be up.”
“I know.”
“Mm.”
They stand in silence for a while. Yunho is a comforting presence, even if Jaejoong still feels tired, out of sorts; and he still doesn’t know what he wants (but he does, and that’s kind of the problem).
Come to bed? Yunho finally asks, but he really doesn’t. It’s in the way he leans back a bit, digs in for a second with his chin; the way one hand drifts down to touch his own, his fingers tracing the back of his hand, pulling at Jaejoong in silent invitation. He’s asking without really asking, and Jaejoong knows this, because he knows Yunho.
“I can’t sleep,” he says (aloud, because he’s never sure if Yunho watches Jaejoong as much as he watches Yunho).
“I know,” Yunho replies (aloud, and Jaejoong can’t help but wonder if he does, really. Maybe he’ll never know. But-).
Yunho leads him by the hand back to his room, where Yoochun’s snoring softly in the bed beside his own. After a moment of hesitation, Jaejoong tugs him through the door, ignoring the sleeping boy who’s got one arm dangling off the bed. In the dark they sit on his bed and talk in whispers until Yunho’s eyes start drooping. Jaejoong laughs lightly and, bumping shoulders, tells the other man to go to bed.
He still isn’t ready to sleep, but he promises he’ll try.
Yunho looks at him suspiciously, but eventually just nods - too tired to argue. They have to be up in two hours, and as their leader manager-hyung always wakes him up first. After a soft goodnight, Yunho leaves, going to his own bed in his own room. Jaejoong watches him go, and then stares at the ceiling until dawn slips in past the curtains, spreading fingers across the room and wiping at his tired (dry) eyes.
It isn’t until he goes back into the kitchen that morning that he remembers that they had left out all the food he had planned on making. Half the ingredients have spoiled, and he feels horrible as he throws them out. But looking over what’s left, his eyes pick out a few things and he thinks there’s still enough left to make a decent breakfast - and when Changmin comes in and practically glows at the sight of homemade food, Jaejoong can’t help but smile.
-----
In the beginning, you remember, it was all grand gestures. You were only trainees, little nothings but with hope in your eyes and songs in your heart and dreams of being Everything - to the industry, to Korea, the world - no place too small, or off limits (-to each other).
You’d known him a while before you were grouped together for any project-band, back when you still had that awful haircut and he had one - plus a bad tooth - to match. Back when, then, you would sneak out of the dorms together: every other day the two of you would climb to the roof and smoke, sharing cigarettes like you shared everything else. And he’d hold your hand and talk and smile at you - a bright smile that reminded you of moonlight, and small eyes collecting laugh lines - and oh, you wondered what he would look like when those lines stuck, wrinkles on his face, old, and if you would both still look as good together, side-by-side.
Except, you kind of hated the thought of growing old.
Except - you were there (now) then, and that’s why you liked it, on the gritty concrete-dust, backs leaned against the roof-access door, staring up at the sky. Every other night: simple, steady, always there. You think it would surprise most people, now, to know how consistent you are, how predictable, now that you’ve been given (accepted) the title of the mysterious one, the impulsive one, the strange one. But back then you loved those every-other-nights, a comfort, then, and it was him following you, and it wasn’t even really sneaking out anyway when you didn’t even leave the building.
When it was really sneaking out though - that was all him. Wild, reckless, spur-of-the-moment. Always a grand gesture - and it’s back to the beginning again, your original point; how easy it is for you to stray.
‘Cause it was in the beginning, when he was the spontaneous one and you were the plain one, that he would take you off in a grand adventure. Training would end for the day and he would grab your hand, pull you forward, and you’d be running, running - laughing, ignoring the stares and the signs for curfew.
He’d been in the city longer than you, and even though you were both from the country he seemed like he knew everything, confident and swaggering as he took you to all the popular spots. You recognized some places, from when you’d first moved to the city, but you had never had the chance to really see anything, what with your situation.
You told him the first week you met him, overcoming your shyness to give him a soft confession of what all the hardships you faced when you first came to the city. You justified dropping your guard around him because you were just so happy to have a friend, but you were surrounded by other boys all the time then, and he was the only one you even thought about wanting to tell. And when you did, you thought it was all worth it when he understood; for the arm he dropped around your shoulder, hugging you close, and his promise to take you out.
And out you went - to shops and restaurants and arcades and parks and museums and everywhere he had possibly thought to take you; whatever had struck him like the place to go, at the moment.
And you didn’t think anything of it, when he would grab your hand and pull you along - he wouldn’t let go, not even when you were out of the dorms and far away from that world. And he would buy you things: food that he’d feed to you with his own chopsticks, hats that’d you’d tried on but couldn’t afford. Not that he could afford them, either - but he’d smile, moonlight and false bravado, and say he liked surprising you. And whenever you’d cover up your pleased smile, he’d pull your fingers down and hold them again (and take you far, far away).
You’d buy extra hours at noraebang to pay him back, and Yunho would dedicate all his songs to you. He’d play DDR and Pump it Up! and show off his dance moves so he would (did) impress you, so you’d cheer for him when he’d get an AA on the hardest level.
Sometimes the two of you would drink soju and beer and whatever cheap alcohol you could get your hands on, and wander the streets into the early hours. Sometimes you’d shout and sing, pretending you were on stage, already famous, and the dark alleys your concert halls (empty but for the two of you - no fans, no pressure, not yet).
Giggling and stumbling, by the time you’d sneak back into the dorms you’d be completely halfway gone, and it’s take the last of your energy to fall into bed, drowsy murmurs and fumbling hands fading away into sleep.
You never questioned what it meant. Not when he bought you a dozen balloons on your birthday and put a strand of lights on your ceiling so you could see the stars while you slept and screamed that he loved you in the middle of a busy (too-loud) street and kissed you all the time-
Because it was the beginning, and you were young, you were just trainees (free). But then there came being DongBangShinKi - the members, the concepts, the fans. Yunho became the leader, and he had to be loyal to five, not just one; who cared if you were the oldest (the first).
And all those grand gestures were worn away by schedules and restrictions and rules. You became grateful for the fanservice, little reminders of what had once been, before he became the sensible leader-sshi and you became the odd one (out) - when you weren’t at the top of the world, but what you were had still been enough.
-----
In Japan, everything is different. They have anonymity that they don’t have in Korea, but it’s not like they can blend in anyway. Some divides are just impossible to cross. Jaejoong wants to be able to say he’s happy in Japan, and some of the time he actually is.
But when they first arrived in the country he had thought that (maybe) things might have gone back to how they were to that distant before. But that’s not what happens - in Japan they aren’t established as yunjae (anything), and they’re so isolated, so lonely, that they seem to drift even further apart.
All of them do, and it isn’t something they expect. It feels like something they can’t help, like something inevitable, and Jaejoong hates that. Yoochun locks himself away for hours and Junsu racks up an unbelievable phone bill with calls to just one number. It’s when Changmin starts talking into his shoe that Jaejoong thinks enough is enough.
Yunho is on the balcony staring at birds and murmuring to them in Korean when Jaejoong walks out and pulls him inside - “This is pathetic. We’re being pathetic,” he says. “I’m sick of sitting and waiting around to see what weird thing I’ll end up doing too.”
“Jaejoongie-”
“No. I’m sick of being like this, Yunho.”
“…How else are we supposed to be?”
And Jaejoong wonders if Yunho knows how he hears that sentence, the double meanings of ‘we’ that Jaejoong had been (half-)referring to anyway. But Yunho’s become so careful, and he hates that it makes him second-guess Yunho so much.
He hesitates before continuing, and when he does he pretends like he doesn’t understand the words, “I don’t know. But we’re all miserable, and we shouldn’t be. This is our chance, Yunho, and I want to make it here, but I don’t want to do it if it tears us apart before we’ve even gotten anywhere.”
“It’s not that simple. You can’t just say we all should be fine and poof, it’ll happen. We’re in a completely different country, and it’s going to take some getting used to.”
Jaejoong isn’t sure what to say. “Then what does it mean?”
“It means that it’s not going to be easy. But… we’re going to get through it. You should know that, Jaejoongie, better than anyone.”
Yunho looks at him and Jaejoong has no idea what he is seeing (saying); it hurts his heart. Jaejoong wants to have more faith in them, but no matter what it’s all what-ifs and maybes. “And if I don’t? We work and we work but we don’t know if we’ll get through it. I’d rather us be happy than successful. You should know that, Yunho.”
“Hey, don’t be like that…” Yunho looks hurt, and Jaejoong wants to take his words back.
“I’m sorry. I just… I feel so helpless. I hate it.”
Yunho hugs him without hesitation, a hug of comfort and (maybe) a little bit more. They end up on the couch and talk like they haven’t in what feels like forever, eventually dragging Yoochun and Junsu and Changmin in too, until they’re five together and it feels like something (right) normal. They call it ‘group bonding time’, and Jaejoong cooks and they watch a horror movie that only Junsu likes, and end up doing it every week, a tradition just for the five of them.
(He still regrets not making Yunho define ‘we’).
-----
What you come to realize is that somewhere between open devotion and subtle affection there is a line. To what you were, and what you are - it’s hard to tell. Sometimes you think maybe nothing has really changed, except for Yunho’s sense of discretion. Sometimes you think maybe he’s (not) just keeping it up because management wants it. You have both grown up, and so have your feelings for each other. But you’ve always thought that you (both) understood each other too well to need words to define it.
It’s what you’ve been depending on, all the little things that are scattered around you, leftovers from a time when you were a lot more certain about your place in (his) life. And you’ve never been one to delegate your words, so half the time you’re reciprocating when you don’t know if you should, don’t know if it’s right or proper or what he even wants.
And what you wish more than anything is that he would say something. Because you’re waiting for him to show he was the same as always, the same boy that touched you more often than not and whose grand gestures were just as sweet as the smallest intention. You want more than just a little thing, the ones that are like sand against your skin and make you spin into a different world (from his). And even though you’re off in your head and dreaming of all the maybe (nots), what you do have, his smiles and words and touches, is still something too precious to ruin. So no matter how much you reciprocate his affection and speak out of turn and play up the fanservice, when the cameras are off, the (your) little things go away. You hold back even when you know it’s okay, that this is private and you’re safe - your own inconsistency makes your head spin. But you’re afraid you might (not) be wrong. More than anything, you don’t want to be wrong.
-----
Jaejoong loves it when they travel. Bora Bora was breath-taking, Prague was enchanted - Paris is everything he ever dreamed it would be. He’s a complete romantic at heart and everyone knows it, so they all indulge him when he expresses it loud and clear - in random exclamations and outbursts of laughter, bad French and rapid-fire Korean. He sings his way through their first day in the city of love, and feels lighter than he has in years.
They all break, eventually, hitting or teasing or plainly saying shut the hell up, hyung. Yunho is the only who never says a word, because Jaejoong knows the other man is just as happy as he is. When the cameras are off of them they grab hands and swing them like they’re little school girls, but he doesn’t care, and the matching smile on Yunho’s face tells him he feels the same.
They take a break for the staff to get lunch, and in the meantime Junsu and Yoochun go off in their own little world while Changmin takes tips from a photographer on how to use his new camera. Jaejoong and Yunho find a café a few blocks away and order bread, cheese, and a glass of red wine, stereotypes be-damned. Their little table is outside and they have an amazing view. It’s really just a quiet little side-street, but to Jaejoong it’s amazing nonetheless. He says so.
“Yeah, it really is,” Yunho responds. He’s staring at the building across the road, its Neo-Classical façade off-white and gleaming. He points to a balcony about four stories up, “Wouldn’t you love to live there?”
There’s a woman leaning out against the railing, looking at somewhere out in the distance. Jaejoong can just make her out, the dark color of her hair and the ease in her posture, but he thinks she looks beautiful.
“Yeah…” As he speaks a man comes onto the balcony, leaning against the balcony in mirror of her posture. They look at each other and then back off into the distance, and then back at each other. It’s a private kind of a moment, so Jaejoong coughs lightly and looks away - only to find Yunho staring right at him.
He blushes, for reasons he can’t (won’t) explain. “What?” he mumbles, taking a sip of wine to hide his smile.
Yunho shakes his head, “Nothing, I guess. I really wish we had more time to stay here, you know. We’ve been filming pretty much the whole time… it’d be nice to come back, just us.”
Jaejoong smiles, “Yeah, I’d like that. The others really like it, too, I think… it’s been so much fun. Yoochun was talking about this being a great place for songwriting, and I think he’s right. Maybe if we have time, in a couple years…” he drifts off, because Yunho’s smiling at him but it’s a little off (sad), and he wonders if he said something wrong.
(He knows, they both know, but it’s not something either of them will admit).
So Yunho just keeps on smiling, and the discomfort is undermined by the understanding they share, the quiet looks and conversation that continues until they’re interrupted by the other members, cameras (always) in tow, and they exaggerate themselves until they’ve worked themselves to the level of excitement and ease that they’d started with.
It’s only when it’s night and the cameras are (finally) turned away, and they stand in the middle of a (too-loud) busy street that Yunho turns to him, wrapping an arm around his waist so he can’t move away. He leans in close and you find yourself leaning back, not really thinking. It’s why you’re surprised when he’s whispering in your ear-
“I meant us.”
“Yunho-”
“I’d like to bring you back. It might be more than a couple of years, it might be after all this is over, but I’d like to do that for us. Like old times.”
Like what it could be.
-----
And you think -oh.
(maybe).
Another fanmeet, and some little thing has got the fangirls going crazy, shouting Yunjae! Yunjae! loud enough to echo off the stadium ceiling. You throw your gaze across the audience, your eyes picking out faces, focusing, seeing their joy and moving on. You love all your fans, and can rarely deny them anything, up here on stage with the screams and music and love pulsing through your chest. You reach out your hand to Yunho, to indulge yourself and give them something to gossip over - maybe a hand-hold, maybe even a hug.
But then your eyes find new faces, scowling, disapproving of the coupling, and you find yourself caught - awkward, stuck in between.
You settle on a pat on the back, a laugh; a semi-forced smile that you don’t cover up. He meets your eyes, though, leans back into your touch and smiles for real. You know he understands, maybe even better than you.
On the way home, you sit together in the back of the van, your legs thrown over his and your head curled onto his shoulder, while he wraps an arm around your waist and drops kisses on the top of your head as you drift off to sleep.
(The next day, back to schedule, and nothing ever happened).
-----
You know he loves you.
He loves you like friend, brother, member, more. You know he loves you-
but.
-----
It’s the new couple talk, and they go about the filming as normally as they can. Yoochun and Junsu take it in stride like they always do and Changmin decides to throw a wrench into the fanservice machine by affirming his heterosexuality a little too avidly. Jaejoong can’t figure out if he’s being a brat or a genius.
Then it’s Yunho and Jaejoong, Yunjae, the ‘canon’ couple. It’s been a while for them to be so focused on each other when the cameras are directly on them. Yunjae promotions have ended years ago; they are expected simply to maintain the status quo, nothing more, nothing less (important).
They sit and wait expectantly for the PD to ask the next question; wait for the cue to act thoughtful even if they’ve all read the script already and know exactly what and when and how it’s going to happen.
They are supposed to be comfortable and close, with Yunho as the expected masculine presence and Jaejoong as the unexpected (everything). Yunho is supposed to be bit fond; Jaejoong is supposed a bit comic. It’s the same old routine.
But Yunho is not in the mood for it, and as they sit side-by-side, not quite touching Jaejoong can feel the tension running through him, knows that Yunho is stressed and awkward and, most of all, mad at the stern talking-to he’d been given before the shoot. Jaejoong had seen their manager pull him aside earlier, and could easily guess what their conversation had been about
(Natural, but not really; not forced, but act this way. Be yourself, but-)
Jaejoong, they’d given up talking to. It was accepted that he would stray from the script, and it was simply Yunho’s job to make sure he didn’t say anything (too) troublesome. Jaejoong wished that he didn’t have to be (just another) burden on Yunho’s shoulder.
But now Yunho was wound up, his mind only half-there, and Jaejoong was trying to desperately to pay attention because if he wasn’t, who was? Yunho’s laugh was so stilted it might as well be pre-recorded, and Jaejoong felt himself slipping into the same camera-talk and painted-smile that they have practically perfected. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t them, but there wasn’t much he (they) could do.
Afterwards he wasn’t sure what he was most upset about. Their couple talk was awkward, even after the careful cuts of the PD, and in the end it wasn’t the way he wanted yunjae to be seen. He felt guilty, for not (being) performing better. At not being able to bring Yunho out of his bad mood. He felt angry, for not acting like a true (coup-)professional. At Yunho for being in a bad mood in the first place.
He strode away from the set, ignoring the looks of the PD and the faint trace of Yunho’s hand, reaching out but just (always) missing him.
-----
Sometimes, you feel like a question without an answer. You ask and wonder and hope and everything in between, but in the end it is just you, just you, your words hanging in the air, suspended, toeing the edge of a deep, endless silence that you don’t know to be meaningful or just plain empty.
You’re sliding into character and out of focus. You dream of hotel ceilings and seeing the moon smile down at you. You wake to a bed under the stars and a hand on your face. Maybe you’re confusing dreams and reality, but maybe it’s a good thing. Wouldn’t it be grand, if it were a good thing?
Just a little, little good thing.
-----
It’s to the side of the lounge backstage before the beginning of a concert at the end of the middle of the reign of DongBangShinKi. They’re anxious like they always are, strumming with energy and excitement and nerves. The cameras are on, catching the moments that’ll be used for the DVD extras, but right now they’re aimed at the younger members.
Jaejoong stands in front of Yunho and looks straight at him; he sees the deep brown of his eyes and the traces of the scar that can’t be covered by make-up when you’re this close. He squeezes Yunho’s hand, slightly larger and rougher than Jaejoong’s own, and says, “Promise?”
Yunho swallows and his eyes search Jaejoong’s face, and then he smiles softly and squeezes back. “Until the end,” he says, before pulling back and walking away without looking back.
Jaejoong turns too and the cameraman is already on the lookout for him, manager-hyung giving him a sharp look when he moves back into the center of (attention) the room. He comes in with a hit to Changmin’s shoulder and starts goofing off to set the mood, a hype that will carry them through to the stage, on and on and on. And the moments are already fading into the memory of a million others like it.
-----
Years later, when it’s the end and DongBangShinKi is nothing but classics and reunion concerts, and you’ve learned that five minus four equals nothing at all, you wonder why you put all your faith in maybes when you could (can) have forever.
started writing: ? lol
finished writing: 10/4/09
master list
Also, a bit of self-promotion, but I've decided to create a writing journal - dystopialights - separate from my personal one, so if you want to follow that's where I'll be posting from now on. I've got a lot more in the works that'll hopefully be up soon :D (if i can get it up before nanowrimo eats my soul, anyway)
yunjae, pg
romance/angst
4,906 words
Yunho became the leader, and he had to be loyal to five, not just one; who cared if you were the oldest (the first).
So, cut to a few weeks ago - schools starting and I'm stressed and I really really need to work on some original stuff, so I open up a project i'd been working on last spring, scrolling down to the bottom of my notes to see where I'd left off... and lo and behold, I find 2000+ words of a yunjae fic i don't even remember writing lolololol
But, I liked what I saw, so I took it and reworked it, expanded it greatly and now it's done! I'm not sure if it's coherent as I want it (or makes any sense, really), because I don't remember my original plan for it, but here it is anyway. Enjoy!
It’s the little things that get you. A word here, a touch, a glance - little things, insignificant things, but each one catches your attention; stays with you. Like a grain of sand grinding against your skin and though it doesn’t hurt it’s there and you just can’t stop thinking about it (so it hurts a little bit anyway). The little things are like grains of sand, burrowing into your mind.
Your heart beats faster, too, but you don’t (not) think about that.
It’s distracting, sometimes. You know you tend to drift off, to get lost in your own thoughts - you’ve done it ever since you were a child, surrounded by so many girls and just wanting an escape from the giggling, doting pressure. You know you do it, when you were still in that awkward half-grown stage but people still eyed you and embarrassed you with their whispers. You know you do it, even now when you’re DongBangShinKi and at the center of attention and should pay attention to that; even now when you know shouldn’t ever lose focus.
But you do, you can’t help it, so maybe it’s at rehearsal, in-between performances, or during an interview, but you find yourself following a train of thought in and away, your gaze down, unfocused, biting your lip, absently playing with your hair.
And then he touches you, fingers light on your elbow, behind the maknae’s back - or maybe a pat on your knee, laughing, a (thinly) disguised attempt to bring you back to the present. Or maybe just a whisper, or a pointed look, or maybe anything, really. So many maybes - because there are so many possibilities, so many ways he can (might) reach out to you.
And then all you can think about is that little something, spinning it through your brain and analyzing everything. The tilt of his smile, the frequency of his looks, the lingering of his touch. Of what’s real, what’s fanservice - it’s ironic, that the fangirls analyze your every move for some sign, when you’re doing just the same and you’re all alike, looking (hoping) for confirmation.
And this is what you think about; you can’t stop thinking about the little things and you can’t pay attention and so he keeps pulling you back - an endless cycle, push and pull, never quite where both of you need to be.
-----
It’s nearly three in the morning, and Jaejoong can’t sleep. He wanders around the house, trying to find things to do but just feeling out of place. He tidies up the living room, but puts everything back in the wrong spot; he tries to work on music, but every note he writes is a dissonance. All out of tune.
He feels an itch in his throat, a burn for smoke and ash - but he promised he would quit. He doesn’t know how long it’ll last, but he really wants to try this time. He wants to make promises and keep them; he wants his promises to be kept. He wants a lot of things.
He wants to sleep.
They have another busy (normal) day come six, with an interview, radio show - and rehearsals, of course. Can’t forget rehearsals. He knows he’s not learning the choreography as fast as he should, and what he has learned isn’t smooth or even all that coordinated. It’s frustrating, for all of them - especially Yunho, and he hates it. He doesn’t want to be a burden. He’s not that great a dancer, and they all know that, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to get better. He wants to get better.
He just wants to sing.
He thinks, maybe, he wants too much. He wants to be less selfish.
He drifts into the kitchen; nothing better to do. Maybe some food will put him to sleep, even if it’s not in their strict diet. If not, he can always make a big breakfast for when the others wake. Changmin would like that - the others, too, but the maknae needed it, with his latest growth spurt. He’d seen the way the younger singer had been wincing at the pull of his joints in dance practice today (yesterday). Someone had to pay attention to that sort of thing, the little things. Jaejoong couldn’t help but notice those things.
It takes him a few minutes to pull out the ingredients, all the supplies. He still hasn’t decided what to make, though, so he simply pulls out things that look good. Sometimes recipes from scratch make the best dishes.
So he stares at the ingredients, waiting for inspiration to strike. He looks at what’s before him, but of all the things he has, he can’t decide what he wants. He thinks; he wants, he wants, (-
Arms wrap around him, hard muscle threading their way around his chest. A chin digs into his shoulder, uncomfortable but there. He leans back, immediately familiar with the body pressed to (against) his.
“What’re you doing?” It’s a sleepy murmur, mumbled into the stray hair along the line of his chin.
“Cooking.”
“You shouldn’t be up.”
“I know.”
“Mm.”
They stand in silence for a while. Yunho is a comforting presence, even if Jaejoong still feels tired, out of sorts; and he still doesn’t know what he wants (but he does, and that’s kind of the problem).
Come to bed? Yunho finally asks, but he really doesn’t. It’s in the way he leans back a bit, digs in for a second with his chin; the way one hand drifts down to touch his own, his fingers tracing the back of his hand, pulling at Jaejoong in silent invitation. He’s asking without really asking, and Jaejoong knows this, because he knows Yunho.
“I can’t sleep,” he says (aloud, because he’s never sure if Yunho watches Jaejoong as much as he watches Yunho).
“I know,” Yunho replies (aloud, and Jaejoong can’t help but wonder if he does, really. Maybe he’ll never know. But-).
Yunho leads him by the hand back to his room, where Yoochun’s snoring softly in the bed beside his own. After a moment of hesitation, Jaejoong tugs him through the door, ignoring the sleeping boy who’s got one arm dangling off the bed. In the dark they sit on his bed and talk in whispers until Yunho’s eyes start drooping. Jaejoong laughs lightly and, bumping shoulders, tells the other man to go to bed.
He still isn’t ready to sleep, but he promises he’ll try.
Yunho looks at him suspiciously, but eventually just nods - too tired to argue. They have to be up in two hours, and as their leader manager-hyung always wakes him up first. After a soft goodnight, Yunho leaves, going to his own bed in his own room. Jaejoong watches him go, and then stares at the ceiling until dawn slips in past the curtains, spreading fingers across the room and wiping at his tired (dry) eyes.
It isn’t until he goes back into the kitchen that morning that he remembers that they had left out all the food he had planned on making. Half the ingredients have spoiled, and he feels horrible as he throws them out. But looking over what’s left, his eyes pick out a few things and he thinks there’s still enough left to make a decent breakfast - and when Changmin comes in and practically glows at the sight of homemade food, Jaejoong can’t help but smile.
-----
In the beginning, you remember, it was all grand gestures. You were only trainees, little nothings but with hope in your eyes and songs in your heart and dreams of being Everything - to the industry, to Korea, the world - no place too small, or off limits (-to each other).
You’d known him a while before you were grouped together for any project-band, back when you still had that awful haircut and he had one - plus a bad tooth - to match. Back when, then, you would sneak out of the dorms together: every other day the two of you would climb to the roof and smoke, sharing cigarettes like you shared everything else. And he’d hold your hand and talk and smile at you - a bright smile that reminded you of moonlight, and small eyes collecting laugh lines - and oh, you wondered what he would look like when those lines stuck, wrinkles on his face, old, and if you would both still look as good together, side-by-side.
Except, you kind of hated the thought of growing old.
Except - you were there (now) then, and that’s why you liked it, on the gritty concrete-dust, backs leaned against the roof-access door, staring up at the sky. Every other night: simple, steady, always there. You think it would surprise most people, now, to know how consistent you are, how predictable, now that you’ve been given (accepted) the title of the mysterious one, the impulsive one, the strange one. But back then you loved those every-other-nights, a comfort, then, and it was him following you, and it wasn’t even really sneaking out anyway when you didn’t even leave the building.
When it was really sneaking out though - that was all him. Wild, reckless, spur-of-the-moment. Always a grand gesture - and it’s back to the beginning again, your original point; how easy it is for you to stray.
‘Cause it was in the beginning, when he was the spontaneous one and you were the plain one, that he would take you off in a grand adventure. Training would end for the day and he would grab your hand, pull you forward, and you’d be running, running - laughing, ignoring the stares and the signs for curfew.
He’d been in the city longer than you, and even though you were both from the country he seemed like he knew everything, confident and swaggering as he took you to all the popular spots. You recognized some places, from when you’d first moved to the city, but you had never had the chance to really see anything, what with your situation.
You told him the first week you met him, overcoming your shyness to give him a soft confession of what all the hardships you faced when you first came to the city. You justified dropping your guard around him because you were just so happy to have a friend, but you were surrounded by other boys all the time then, and he was the only one you even thought about wanting to tell. And when you did, you thought it was all worth it when he understood; for the arm he dropped around your shoulder, hugging you close, and his promise to take you out.
And out you went - to shops and restaurants and arcades and parks and museums and everywhere he had possibly thought to take you; whatever had struck him like the place to go, at the moment.
And you didn’t think anything of it, when he would grab your hand and pull you along - he wouldn’t let go, not even when you were out of the dorms and far away from that world. And he would buy you things: food that he’d feed to you with his own chopsticks, hats that’d you’d tried on but couldn’t afford. Not that he could afford them, either - but he’d smile, moonlight and false bravado, and say he liked surprising you. And whenever you’d cover up your pleased smile, he’d pull your fingers down and hold them again (and take you far, far away).
You’d buy extra hours at noraebang to pay him back, and Yunho would dedicate all his songs to you. He’d play DDR and Pump it Up! and show off his dance moves so he would (did) impress you, so you’d cheer for him when he’d get an AA on the hardest level.
Sometimes the two of you would drink soju and beer and whatever cheap alcohol you could get your hands on, and wander the streets into the early hours. Sometimes you’d shout and sing, pretending you were on stage, already famous, and the dark alleys your concert halls (empty but for the two of you - no fans, no pressure, not yet).
Giggling and stumbling, by the time you’d sneak back into the dorms you’d be completely halfway gone, and it’s take the last of your energy to fall into bed, drowsy murmurs and fumbling hands fading away into sleep.
You never questioned what it meant. Not when he bought you a dozen balloons on your birthday and put a strand of lights on your ceiling so you could see the stars while you slept and screamed that he loved you in the middle of a busy (too-loud) street and kissed you all the time-
Because it was the beginning, and you were young, you were just trainees (free). But then there came being DongBangShinKi - the members, the concepts, the fans. Yunho became the leader, and he had to be loyal to five, not just one; who cared if you were the oldest (the first).
And all those grand gestures were worn away by schedules and restrictions and rules. You became grateful for the fanservice, little reminders of what had once been, before he became the sensible leader-sshi and you became the odd one (out) - when you weren’t at the top of the world, but what you were had still been enough.
-----
In Japan, everything is different. They have anonymity that they don’t have in Korea, but it’s not like they can blend in anyway. Some divides are just impossible to cross. Jaejoong wants to be able to say he’s happy in Japan, and some of the time he actually is.
But when they first arrived in the country he had thought that (maybe) things might have gone back to how they were to that distant before. But that’s not what happens - in Japan they aren’t established as yunjae (anything), and they’re so isolated, so lonely, that they seem to drift even further apart.
All of them do, and it isn’t something they expect. It feels like something they can’t help, like something inevitable, and Jaejoong hates that. Yoochun locks himself away for hours and Junsu racks up an unbelievable phone bill with calls to just one number. It’s when Changmin starts talking into his shoe that Jaejoong thinks enough is enough.
Yunho is on the balcony staring at birds and murmuring to them in Korean when Jaejoong walks out and pulls him inside - “This is pathetic. We’re being pathetic,” he says. “I’m sick of sitting and waiting around to see what weird thing I’ll end up doing too.”
“Jaejoongie-”
“No. I’m sick of being like this, Yunho.”
“…How else are we supposed to be?”
And Jaejoong wonders if Yunho knows how he hears that sentence, the double meanings of ‘we’ that Jaejoong had been (half-)referring to anyway. But Yunho’s become so careful, and he hates that it makes him second-guess Yunho so much.
He hesitates before continuing, and when he does he pretends like he doesn’t understand the words, “I don’t know. But we’re all miserable, and we shouldn’t be. This is our chance, Yunho, and I want to make it here, but I don’t want to do it if it tears us apart before we’ve even gotten anywhere.”
“It’s not that simple. You can’t just say we all should be fine and poof, it’ll happen. We’re in a completely different country, and it’s going to take some getting used to.”
Jaejoong isn’t sure what to say. “Then what does it mean?”
“It means that it’s not going to be easy. But… we’re going to get through it. You should know that, Jaejoongie, better than anyone.”
Yunho looks at him and Jaejoong has no idea what he is seeing (saying); it hurts his heart. Jaejoong wants to have more faith in them, but no matter what it’s all what-ifs and maybes. “And if I don’t? We work and we work but we don’t know if we’ll get through it. I’d rather us be happy than successful. You should know that, Yunho.”
“Hey, don’t be like that…” Yunho looks hurt, and Jaejoong wants to take his words back.
“I’m sorry. I just… I feel so helpless. I hate it.”
Yunho hugs him without hesitation, a hug of comfort and (maybe) a little bit more. They end up on the couch and talk like they haven’t in what feels like forever, eventually dragging Yoochun and Junsu and Changmin in too, until they’re five together and it feels like something (right) normal. They call it ‘group bonding time’, and Jaejoong cooks and they watch a horror movie that only Junsu likes, and end up doing it every week, a tradition just for the five of them.
(He still regrets not making Yunho define ‘we’).
-----
What you come to realize is that somewhere between open devotion and subtle affection there is a line. To what you were, and what you are - it’s hard to tell. Sometimes you think maybe nothing has really changed, except for Yunho’s sense of discretion. Sometimes you think maybe he’s (not) just keeping it up because management wants it. You have both grown up, and so have your feelings for each other. But you’ve always thought that you (both) understood each other too well to need words to define it.
It’s what you’ve been depending on, all the little things that are scattered around you, leftovers from a time when you were a lot more certain about your place in (his) life. And you’ve never been one to delegate your words, so half the time you’re reciprocating when you don’t know if you should, don’t know if it’s right or proper or what he even wants.
And what you wish more than anything is that he would say something. Because you’re waiting for him to show he was the same as always, the same boy that touched you more often than not and whose grand gestures were just as sweet as the smallest intention. You want more than just a little thing, the ones that are like sand against your skin and make you spin into a different world (from his). And even though you’re off in your head and dreaming of all the maybe (nots), what you do have, his smiles and words and touches, is still something too precious to ruin. So no matter how much you reciprocate his affection and speak out of turn and play up the fanservice, when the cameras are off, the (your) little things go away. You hold back even when you know it’s okay, that this is private and you’re safe - your own inconsistency makes your head spin. But you’re afraid you might (not) be wrong. More than anything, you don’t want to be wrong.
-----
Jaejoong loves it when they travel. Bora Bora was breath-taking, Prague was enchanted - Paris is everything he ever dreamed it would be. He’s a complete romantic at heart and everyone knows it, so they all indulge him when he expresses it loud and clear - in random exclamations and outbursts of laughter, bad French and rapid-fire Korean. He sings his way through their first day in the city of love, and feels lighter than he has in years.
They all break, eventually, hitting or teasing or plainly saying shut the hell up, hyung. Yunho is the only who never says a word, because Jaejoong knows the other man is just as happy as he is. When the cameras are off of them they grab hands and swing them like they’re little school girls, but he doesn’t care, and the matching smile on Yunho’s face tells him he feels the same.
They take a break for the staff to get lunch, and in the meantime Junsu and Yoochun go off in their own little world while Changmin takes tips from a photographer on how to use his new camera. Jaejoong and Yunho find a café a few blocks away and order bread, cheese, and a glass of red wine, stereotypes be-damned. Their little table is outside and they have an amazing view. It’s really just a quiet little side-street, but to Jaejoong it’s amazing nonetheless. He says so.
“Yeah, it really is,” Yunho responds. He’s staring at the building across the road, its Neo-Classical façade off-white and gleaming. He points to a balcony about four stories up, “Wouldn’t you love to live there?”
There’s a woman leaning out against the railing, looking at somewhere out in the distance. Jaejoong can just make her out, the dark color of her hair and the ease in her posture, but he thinks she looks beautiful.
“Yeah…” As he speaks a man comes onto the balcony, leaning against the balcony in mirror of her posture. They look at each other and then back off into the distance, and then back at each other. It’s a private kind of a moment, so Jaejoong coughs lightly and looks away - only to find Yunho staring right at him.
He blushes, for reasons he can’t (won’t) explain. “What?” he mumbles, taking a sip of wine to hide his smile.
Yunho shakes his head, “Nothing, I guess. I really wish we had more time to stay here, you know. We’ve been filming pretty much the whole time… it’d be nice to come back, just us.”
Jaejoong smiles, “Yeah, I’d like that. The others really like it, too, I think… it’s been so much fun. Yoochun was talking about this being a great place for songwriting, and I think he’s right. Maybe if we have time, in a couple years…” he drifts off, because Yunho’s smiling at him but it’s a little off (sad), and he wonders if he said something wrong.
(He knows, they both know, but it’s not something either of them will admit).
So Yunho just keeps on smiling, and the discomfort is undermined by the understanding they share, the quiet looks and conversation that continues until they’re interrupted by the other members, cameras (always) in tow, and they exaggerate themselves until they’ve worked themselves to the level of excitement and ease that they’d started with.
It’s only when it’s night and the cameras are (finally) turned away, and they stand in the middle of a (too-loud) busy street that Yunho turns to him, wrapping an arm around his waist so he can’t move away. He leans in close and you find yourself leaning back, not really thinking. It’s why you’re surprised when he’s whispering in your ear-
“I meant us.”
“Yunho-”
“I’d like to bring you back. It might be more than a couple of years, it might be after all this is over, but I’d like to do that for us. Like old times.”
Like what it could be.
-----
And you think -oh.
(maybe).
Another fanmeet, and some little thing has got the fangirls going crazy, shouting Yunjae! Yunjae! loud enough to echo off the stadium ceiling. You throw your gaze across the audience, your eyes picking out faces, focusing, seeing their joy and moving on. You love all your fans, and can rarely deny them anything, up here on stage with the screams and music and love pulsing through your chest. You reach out your hand to Yunho, to indulge yourself and give them something to gossip over - maybe a hand-hold, maybe even a hug.
But then your eyes find new faces, scowling, disapproving of the coupling, and you find yourself caught - awkward, stuck in between.
You settle on a pat on the back, a laugh; a semi-forced smile that you don’t cover up. He meets your eyes, though, leans back into your touch and smiles for real. You know he understands, maybe even better than you.
On the way home, you sit together in the back of the van, your legs thrown over his and your head curled onto his shoulder, while he wraps an arm around your waist and drops kisses on the top of your head as you drift off to sleep.
(The next day, back to schedule, and nothing ever happened).
-----
You know he loves you.
He loves you like friend, brother, member, more. You know he loves you-
but.
-----
It’s the new couple talk, and they go about the filming as normally as they can. Yoochun and Junsu take it in stride like they always do and Changmin decides to throw a wrench into the fanservice machine by affirming his heterosexuality a little too avidly. Jaejoong can’t figure out if he’s being a brat or a genius.
Then it’s Yunho and Jaejoong, Yunjae, the ‘canon’ couple. It’s been a while for them to be so focused on each other when the cameras are directly on them. Yunjae promotions have ended years ago; they are expected simply to maintain the status quo, nothing more, nothing less (important).
They sit and wait expectantly for the PD to ask the next question; wait for the cue to act thoughtful even if they’ve all read the script already and know exactly what and when and how it’s going to happen.
They are supposed to be comfortable and close, with Yunho as the expected masculine presence and Jaejoong as the unexpected (everything). Yunho is supposed to be bit fond; Jaejoong is supposed a bit comic. It’s the same old routine.
But Yunho is not in the mood for it, and as they sit side-by-side, not quite touching Jaejoong can feel the tension running through him, knows that Yunho is stressed and awkward and, most of all, mad at the stern talking-to he’d been given before the shoot. Jaejoong had seen their manager pull him aside earlier, and could easily guess what their conversation had been about
(Natural, but not really; not forced, but act this way. Be yourself, but-)
Jaejoong, they’d given up talking to. It was accepted that he would stray from the script, and it was simply Yunho’s job to make sure he didn’t say anything (too) troublesome. Jaejoong wished that he didn’t have to be (just another) burden on Yunho’s shoulder.
But now Yunho was wound up, his mind only half-there, and Jaejoong was trying to desperately to pay attention because if he wasn’t, who was? Yunho’s laugh was so stilted it might as well be pre-recorded, and Jaejoong felt himself slipping into the same camera-talk and painted-smile that they have practically perfected. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t them, but there wasn’t much he (they) could do.
Afterwards he wasn’t sure what he was most upset about. Their couple talk was awkward, even after the careful cuts of the PD, and in the end it wasn’t the way he wanted yunjae to be seen. He felt guilty, for not (being) performing better. At not being able to bring Yunho out of his bad mood. He felt angry, for not acting like a true (coup-)professional. At Yunho for being in a bad mood in the first place.
He strode away from the set, ignoring the looks of the PD and the faint trace of Yunho’s hand, reaching out but just (always) missing him.
-----
Sometimes, you feel like a question without an answer. You ask and wonder and hope and everything in between, but in the end it is just you, just you, your words hanging in the air, suspended, toeing the edge of a deep, endless silence that you don’t know to be meaningful or just plain empty.
You’re sliding into character and out of focus. You dream of hotel ceilings and seeing the moon smile down at you. You wake to a bed under the stars and a hand on your face. Maybe you’re confusing dreams and reality, but maybe it’s a good thing. Wouldn’t it be grand, if it were a good thing?
Just a little, little good thing.
-----
It’s to the side of the lounge backstage before the beginning of a concert at the end of the middle of the reign of DongBangShinKi. They’re anxious like they always are, strumming with energy and excitement and nerves. The cameras are on, catching the moments that’ll be used for the DVD extras, but right now they’re aimed at the younger members.
Jaejoong stands in front of Yunho and looks straight at him; he sees the deep brown of his eyes and the traces of the scar that can’t be covered by make-up when you’re this close. He squeezes Yunho’s hand, slightly larger and rougher than Jaejoong’s own, and says, “Promise?”
Yunho swallows and his eyes search Jaejoong’s face, and then he smiles softly and squeezes back. “Until the end,” he says, before pulling back and walking away without looking back.
Jaejoong turns too and the cameraman is already on the lookout for him, manager-hyung giving him a sharp look when he moves back into the center of (attention) the room. He comes in with a hit to Changmin’s shoulder and starts goofing off to set the mood, a hype that will carry them through to the stage, on and on and on. And the moments are already fading into the memory of a million others like it.
-----
Years later, when it’s the end and DongBangShinKi is nothing but classics and reunion concerts, and you’ve learned that five minus four equals nothing at all, you wonder why you put all your faith in maybes when you could (can) have forever.
started writing: ? lol
finished writing: 10/4/09
master list
Also, a bit of self-promotion, but I've decided to create a writing journal - dystopialights - separate from my personal one, so if you want to follow that's where I'll be posting from now on. I've got a lot more in the works that'll hopefully be up soon :D (if i can get it up before nanowrimo eats my soul, anyway)