Plane at Infinity
Plane at Infinity.
homin, pg-13
drama
2,588 words
Relationships are hard enough without being stuck in each other's space every hour of the day. Fights are inescapable. But Changmin isn’t fighting on Yunho’s terms, not this time.
Based on the “I AM” movie, the part in which homin talk about arguing with each other, and how Changmin seems annoyed just recalling how much he sometimes hates Yunho, lol. But as much as it amuses me, I felt it was really honest. I’ve been wanting to do something purely homin, and current, focusing on their relationship -romantic or otherwise, you can take it either way- and so here it is: a slice of the unhappy life.
They’re flying someplace. Changmin doesn’t know where, except that he does, and he’d rather just pretend that he didn’t. He doesn’t care, and that’s the truth. He’s angry and it’s the sort of anger that simmers low, not enough to burn but enough to sap the strength right out of him, of every muscle, bone and skin.
Right now he’d liked to pretend to not know a lot of things. Changmin can forget, now. The plane is like limbo suspended over the earth, a nothing space, but he’ll be back to earth soon enough. No flight ever lasts long enough. There’ll be someone waiting at the gate, he’s sure, to remind him- to tell him where to go, what to say, how to move; what you’ll eat for breakfast lunch dinner what you fought about why you have to stay with this man why you have to make up even if you don’t want to. There’s always someone at the end, the come down.
The plane seats are always too small. They haven’t even reached maximum altitude and Changmin’s calves are cramping, his toes curling in his worn-out shoes. He’s stuck in the window seat, too. He’d taken it without thinking, so determined to be on the plane and have something to look at other than Yunho’s stupid face that he’d rushed right in and taken the most uncomfortable seat possible.
He has the view, of course. He hasn’t moved his eyes off the distant, changing scenery since take-off.
Beside him he can feel Yunho shift uncomfortably. Good, he thinks. He knows it bothers Yunho when they argue and Changmin stops talking.
Because Yunho’s all about talking. He’s not afraid to say what annoys him, not afraid to pick away at someone small, pick at it until it’s a fight, an all-out brawl. But Yunho does it like that because he wants to fight on his terms. Big, loud, and quickly done.
Yunho picked the fight this time, and Yunho wanted to yell and hit where it hurt and he wanted to do it all with time to spare, for making-up, before they even left for the airport.
Changmin’s sick of Yunho’s terms. Yunho picked the fight this time, but he didn’t get what he wanted. He got what he was asking for, and that was Changmin’s anger, Changmin’s hurt. Changmin is done talking, now.
A sharp ding sounds overhead, the seatbelt light goes off. There’s the rustle of passengers stretching and settling in for the long flight. Changmin doesn’t move a muscle. The plane is still going up, just a little more, passing through a thin layer of transient clouds.
A few minutes later he hears the sound of movement and a muffled laugh. A woman that’s old enough to be his mother has come up to their row, bowing nervously with a quivering smile.
“Excuse-excuse me,” she asks. “My daughter and-and I are fans. Could I please…?” She has a camera in hand.
‘Fuck off,’ he wants to say. But he won’t say it. ‘Of course,’ he’ll say, he plans to say, but Yunho beats him to it, smiling that indulgent smile of his. “Sure,” he says.
They lean in close for their picture. Yunho raises a ‘v’ with his fingers and loops his arm around Changmin’s shoulder. Changmin smiles so tight his teeth grind together, and thinks fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou.
After the photo’s been snapped Changmin wastes no time moving back, Yunho’s arm slipping off his shoulder. He even turns his head, not enough to be rude, but firmly disengaged from the moment. He hears Yunho gently dismiss the woman, hears her mumble profuse thanks and how much she loves them; my daughter will be so happy, you have no idea how much it will mean thank you so much you have no idea.
Yunho is still angled towards him, and as soon as the woman’s gone he leans that much closer. “Play nice,” he says it like a command, but means it like a request. “Changmin-”
“I hate you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yunho’s hands curl into fists on the arm rest, the blossom of white underneath the skin of his knuckles. His only other reaction is to nod once, sharply, and lean back into his own seat, away.
They’re the only words he says to Yunho the whole flight. That doesn’t mean, however, that things go completely unspoken.
When the stewardess comes around asking for drink orders, Yunho asks for water. Changmin waves her on, not wanting anything. Changmin feels more than sees Yunho react - his instinctive reaction to urge Changmin to get a drink, to keep himself hydrated and prevent jetlag. That’s just the sort of thing Yunho would do, because he’s an instinctively concerned kind of guy.
But Changmin feels, too, that Yunho hesitates. Yunho stops, redirecting his forward momentum into crossing his legs, one knee over the other. It’s not quite smooth, almost awkward, having to shift down in his seat so he can move; his legs are also too long for these seats. He mutters a complaint under his breath. He says it like he’s saying it just to speak, but means it just for Changmin.
“Next flight will be first class,” he says. “I’ll convince someone. Definitely next time.”
Changmin snorts. He’s been saying that for years. Sometimes it works, he can get a word to the right person at the company and for a week or two they’ll be flying in comfortable style. Most of the time, though, it’s business class and overcrowded terminals. But it’s been years, and Changmin’s used to both. Not much use hoping one way or the other.
Yunho dares a glance over. “I mean it. I’ll talk to someone.”
You do that, Changmin thinks viciously. You do whatever the hell you want, I don’t care.
When Changmin refuses to respond further, Yunho shakes his head angrily. “Whatever, Changmin,” he says. He pulls his headphones up from around his neck, shoving them onto his ears and turning up the volume loud enough to drown out anything Changmin would -but won’t- say.
A long time later but shortly after the pilot comes over the loudspeaker, announcing they’re halfway to their destination and we hope you’ve enjoyed the ride so far if you look to your right you’ll see blah blah blah- shortly after that, Yunho falls asleep.
He’s had his eyes shut for most of the ride but his mouth was shut too and Changmin couldn’t be sure if he was sleeping. Changmin can’t sleep at all. He’s angry still, and weary, and not really thinking much of anything, but it’s enough to prevent him from falling away into something better than this: stifling air, dry eyes and a mind-numbing engine hum.
When Changmin realizes Yunho has fallen asleep it’s the moment that Yunho’s twitches and his head moves just enough to lose balance on the headrest. His head bobs once, twice, before coming to a rest on Changmin’s stiff shoulder.
Changmin wants to push Yunho off. He wants to punch Yunho in the face, actually. He’d do it, if it wouldn’t cause a scene, or show up online as soon as they hit tarmac. The plastic of Yunho’s headphones digs into Changmin’s collarbone while his hair brushes against the sensitive skin of Changmin’s neck, making him shiver and flinch.
Changmin rolls his shoulder, trying shrugging Yunho off, but the movement only serves to set Yunho more firmly in place. Yunho twitches but otherwise doesn’t stir.
Yunho is a light sleeper. A single shove will bring him to full consciousness, ready to take on a dozen MCs and PDs and CEOs. The fact that Changmin’s jostling doesn’t so much as make his eyelids flutter worries him.
He tries to push that worry away. He’s angry, damnit but he guesses that protective instinct goes both ways -his first reaction is to look down, to check the deep bruising under Yunho’s eyes, the blue circles they both have and have to cover with sunglasses every time they go outside without make-up.
‘Fuck you’, he wants to say, and he doesn’t know to whom. Except he does, and it’s everyone. It’s Yunho and management and his friends, fans, and his family, and everyone he has ever met or will meet for the rest of his life. But Changmin doesn’t have enough time or energy to get that message across as clearly as he wants to. Not now, and not ever, because by the time they land he’ll have to squash that want down until it disappears entirely. Maybe that’ll actually work, this time.
Resolute, he turns back to the window. They’re just skimming the clouds and above them the sky is a harsh blue. Changmin looks at the horizon line, into the distant vanishing point.
The longer he stares, though, the further away that point seems. The sky goes on forever, never touching the clouds, but you can only see so far: after a certain point, the view smoothes out into a single plane, a painted backdrop just out of reach.
Yet for a moment, for staring too hard, Changmin sees beyond that. The clouds seem all too real and he can skim his eyes along their endless stretch, on and on, and he’s struck with just how far-away the horizon actually is, untouchable and impossible. It’s one of those moments when he feels small in the universe, grounded in himself while at the same time outside his own body.
But Changmin’s not in the mood to be philosophical, so he closes his eyes against the feeling and let’s his head thunk down against the scratched, double-plated plexiglas.
It shouldn’t -doesn’t- surprise him that this is the movement which wakes Yunho up. Changmin doesn’t move as Yunho sighs, and shifts around, getting more comfortable. Either Yunho hasn’t realized where he is, or he’s playing dumb. Probably the latter. And he’s not playing, Changmin thinks sourly.
He knows for sure that Yunho knows when the other man reaches up and tugs his headphones back around his neck, so that his ear nestles comfortably into the folds of Changmin’s hoodie.
Changmin has to bite the inside of his cheek from speaking, saying something nasty that he’ll regret. He’s always doing that, mouthing off and pissing Yunho off, pushing buttons that shouldn’t be pushed. Yunho’s not the only one that picks fights.
But right now Yunho’s not fighting- he’s upset Changmin isn’t talking, but he’s calmed down enough that they can get over this, soon, probably. Changmin would rather not set Yunho off again -he won’t react here and now, but as soon as they get to where they’re going, Yunho won’t hesitate to lay into him.
And right now… Changmin’s angry. He’s angry and he wants to stay angry, but he doesn’t want to fight. He’s done with that, right now.
So he keeps his eyes his closed, his forehead pressed tight to the glass, and let’s Yunho keep leaning against him.
It seems like seconds later when the stewardess is back at their row, asking for trash. They’ll be descending soon. Yunho sits up slowly and blinks like he’s been asleep the whole time. He looks at the stewardess and then Changmin, pretending to be embarrassed that he’d fallen asleep on his friend. The stewardess doesn’t seem to care, collecting their trash quickly and moving on.
Changmin doesn’t begrudge him the act, but he sits up, forcing Yunho back into his seat, out of his personal space. Yunho eyes him warily, and Changmin gives him a dull look.
“Sorry,” Yunho says.
When Changmin doesn’t answer, he doesn’t get mad. He sighs, and rolls his head on his neck, working out the kinks. He uncrosses his legs and stretches, what little he can in the small space. His shirt rides up and Changmin rolls his eyes, looking away.
But Yunho notices and nudges him, gently enough to be ignored, if Changmin wanted. Changmin bites the inside of his cheek and counts to five. They’re back under the clouds, and it’s darker, the horizon a broken line on the shifting landscape.
Yunho meets his eyes the moment he turns back, and Changmin waits for him to speak, knowing he will.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I shouldn’t have said… y’know. Not the way I did, anyway.”
No shit, he thinks. It must have shown on his face, because Yunho grimaces. “Don’t give me that,” he says, and grabs his arm when Changmin glares. “I know you’re mad, whatever. You get to be mad. But that’s fine. It’s fine… right?”
Yunho hadn’t even bothered to disguise the question. It speaks louder than any words could, for someone who’s usually so self-assured, so quick to take control and so uncomfortable with losing it. Changmin knows this, just like he knows about all of Yunho’s habits and quirks, his likes dislikes fears dreams everything you’ve ever and never wanted to know about him and then some.
Just thinking about it makes him sigh, makes him feel like he’s a hundred and two, body and soul.
The seatbelt light’s on again. Tray tables up, seat backs in the full upright position. Changmin reaches over and carefully removes Yunho’s hand from where it still grasps his arm. Yunho’s hand, once freed, hangs in the air between them before lowering down to his lap. He’s got his lower jaw pushed forward, tongue at the corner of his lips like he’s either stressed or concentrating hard.
“…Okay,” he says after a moment or two. “Okay.”
‘Okay.’ Because it’s not fine, not really. Forgetting only lasts so long, this flight only goes so far and when they hit land again they’ll have to pretend that everything’s all good regardless of how they feel about it.
It’s an inescapable fact of their existence. But Changmin can’t complain now. He got swept in this life once but chose it the second time around. He’s actually coming to like it despite the all the crap that comes with it, the pressure and exhaustion and pretending. Only took him ten fucking years. But he knows it would have taken him forever, otherwise -he might never have learned to love it, or discovered he didn’t regret his choices, if it weren’t for Yunho. That’s also inescapable, about as unforgettable as Yunho himself.
“When we get off the plane,” Yunho says. He’s leaned back in his seat, not looking at Changmin. His voice is soft and painstakingly even-tempered. “They’re taking us through a backroom to the van. Evidently the crowd’s really bad today. We’ll go to the hotel first, but we can pick up food on the way, if you want.”
Changmin nods, his hands clenching over his knees. He finally wants to say something but he’s gone too long now and the words are stuck in his throat. So he keeps on nodding, and doesn’t mind when Yunho looks at him with eyes that are too understanding -he’s even grateful when Yunho lifts his hand again and pats Changmin companionably on the arm. Because Yunho knows him, too, every little bit of him, even if he’s an asshole about it sometimes.
Changmin relaxes his hands, and let’s go. The plane is landing. The hard jolt of tons of metal hitting the earth at the speed of miles and miles.
There’s always someone at the end. There’s always someone to make him remember; someone waiting to bring him down, to ground him. Sometimes, Changmin is grateful that someone is Yunho.
started writing: 6/4/12
finished writing: 6/14/12
master list
homin, pg-13
drama
2,588 words
Relationships are hard enough without being stuck in each other's space every hour of the day. Fights are inescapable. But Changmin isn’t fighting on Yunho’s terms, not this time.
Based on the “I AM” movie, the part in which homin talk about arguing with each other, and how Changmin seems annoyed just recalling how much he sometimes hates Yunho, lol. But as much as it amuses me, I felt it was really honest. I’ve been wanting to do something purely homin, and current, focusing on their relationship -romantic or otherwise, you can take it either way- and so here it is: a slice of the unhappy life.
They’re flying someplace. Changmin doesn’t know where, except that he does, and he’d rather just pretend that he didn’t. He doesn’t care, and that’s the truth. He’s angry and it’s the sort of anger that simmers low, not enough to burn but enough to sap the strength right out of him, of every muscle, bone and skin.
Right now he’d liked to pretend to not know a lot of things. Changmin can forget, now. The plane is like limbo suspended over the earth, a nothing space, but he’ll be back to earth soon enough. No flight ever lasts long enough. There’ll be someone waiting at the gate, he’s sure, to remind him- to tell him where to go, what to say, how to move; what you’ll eat for breakfast lunch dinner what you fought about why you have to stay with this man why you have to make up even if you don’t want to. There’s always someone at the end, the come down.
The plane seats are always too small. They haven’t even reached maximum altitude and Changmin’s calves are cramping, his toes curling in his worn-out shoes. He’s stuck in the window seat, too. He’d taken it without thinking, so determined to be on the plane and have something to look at other than Yunho’s stupid face that he’d rushed right in and taken the most uncomfortable seat possible.
He has the view, of course. He hasn’t moved his eyes off the distant, changing scenery since take-off.
Beside him he can feel Yunho shift uncomfortably. Good, he thinks. He knows it bothers Yunho when they argue and Changmin stops talking.
Because Yunho’s all about talking. He’s not afraid to say what annoys him, not afraid to pick away at someone small, pick at it until it’s a fight, an all-out brawl. But Yunho does it like that because he wants to fight on his terms. Big, loud, and quickly done.
Yunho picked the fight this time, and Yunho wanted to yell and hit where it hurt and he wanted to do it all with time to spare, for making-up, before they even left for the airport.
Changmin’s sick of Yunho’s terms. Yunho picked the fight this time, but he didn’t get what he wanted. He got what he was asking for, and that was Changmin’s anger, Changmin’s hurt. Changmin is done talking, now.
A sharp ding sounds overhead, the seatbelt light goes off. There’s the rustle of passengers stretching and settling in for the long flight. Changmin doesn’t move a muscle. The plane is still going up, just a little more, passing through a thin layer of transient clouds.
A few minutes later he hears the sound of movement and a muffled laugh. A woman that’s old enough to be his mother has come up to their row, bowing nervously with a quivering smile.
“Excuse-excuse me,” she asks. “My daughter and-and I are fans. Could I please…?” She has a camera in hand.
‘Fuck off,’ he wants to say. But he won’t say it. ‘Of course,’ he’ll say, he plans to say, but Yunho beats him to it, smiling that indulgent smile of his. “Sure,” he says.
They lean in close for their picture. Yunho raises a ‘v’ with his fingers and loops his arm around Changmin’s shoulder. Changmin smiles so tight his teeth grind together, and thinks fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou.
After the photo’s been snapped Changmin wastes no time moving back, Yunho’s arm slipping off his shoulder. He even turns his head, not enough to be rude, but firmly disengaged from the moment. He hears Yunho gently dismiss the woman, hears her mumble profuse thanks and how much she loves them; my daughter will be so happy, you have no idea how much it will mean thank you so much you have no idea.
Yunho is still angled towards him, and as soon as the woman’s gone he leans that much closer. “Play nice,” he says it like a command, but means it like a request. “Changmin-”
“I hate you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yunho’s hands curl into fists on the arm rest, the blossom of white underneath the skin of his knuckles. His only other reaction is to nod once, sharply, and lean back into his own seat, away.
They’re the only words he says to Yunho the whole flight. That doesn’t mean, however, that things go completely unspoken.
When the stewardess comes around asking for drink orders, Yunho asks for water. Changmin waves her on, not wanting anything. Changmin feels more than sees Yunho react - his instinctive reaction to urge Changmin to get a drink, to keep himself hydrated and prevent jetlag. That’s just the sort of thing Yunho would do, because he’s an instinctively concerned kind of guy.
But Changmin feels, too, that Yunho hesitates. Yunho stops, redirecting his forward momentum into crossing his legs, one knee over the other. It’s not quite smooth, almost awkward, having to shift down in his seat so he can move; his legs are also too long for these seats. He mutters a complaint under his breath. He says it like he’s saying it just to speak, but means it just for Changmin.
“Next flight will be first class,” he says. “I’ll convince someone. Definitely next time.”
Changmin snorts. He’s been saying that for years. Sometimes it works, he can get a word to the right person at the company and for a week or two they’ll be flying in comfortable style. Most of the time, though, it’s business class and overcrowded terminals. But it’s been years, and Changmin’s used to both. Not much use hoping one way or the other.
Yunho dares a glance over. “I mean it. I’ll talk to someone.”
You do that, Changmin thinks viciously. You do whatever the hell you want, I don’t care.
When Changmin refuses to respond further, Yunho shakes his head angrily. “Whatever, Changmin,” he says. He pulls his headphones up from around his neck, shoving them onto his ears and turning up the volume loud enough to drown out anything Changmin would -but won’t- say.
A long time later but shortly after the pilot comes over the loudspeaker, announcing they’re halfway to their destination and we hope you’ve enjoyed the ride so far if you look to your right you’ll see blah blah blah- shortly after that, Yunho falls asleep.
He’s had his eyes shut for most of the ride but his mouth was shut too and Changmin couldn’t be sure if he was sleeping. Changmin can’t sleep at all. He’s angry still, and weary, and not really thinking much of anything, but it’s enough to prevent him from falling away into something better than this: stifling air, dry eyes and a mind-numbing engine hum.
When Changmin realizes Yunho has fallen asleep it’s the moment that Yunho’s twitches and his head moves just enough to lose balance on the headrest. His head bobs once, twice, before coming to a rest on Changmin’s stiff shoulder.
Changmin wants to push Yunho off. He wants to punch Yunho in the face, actually. He’d do it, if it wouldn’t cause a scene, or show up online as soon as they hit tarmac. The plastic of Yunho’s headphones digs into Changmin’s collarbone while his hair brushes against the sensitive skin of Changmin’s neck, making him shiver and flinch.
Changmin rolls his shoulder, trying shrugging Yunho off, but the movement only serves to set Yunho more firmly in place. Yunho twitches but otherwise doesn’t stir.
Yunho is a light sleeper. A single shove will bring him to full consciousness, ready to take on a dozen MCs and PDs and CEOs. The fact that Changmin’s jostling doesn’t so much as make his eyelids flutter worries him.
He tries to push that worry away. He’s angry, damnit but he guesses that protective instinct goes both ways -his first reaction is to look down, to check the deep bruising under Yunho’s eyes, the blue circles they both have and have to cover with sunglasses every time they go outside without make-up.
‘Fuck you’, he wants to say, and he doesn’t know to whom. Except he does, and it’s everyone. It’s Yunho and management and his friends, fans, and his family, and everyone he has ever met or will meet for the rest of his life. But Changmin doesn’t have enough time or energy to get that message across as clearly as he wants to. Not now, and not ever, because by the time they land he’ll have to squash that want down until it disappears entirely. Maybe that’ll actually work, this time.
Resolute, he turns back to the window. They’re just skimming the clouds and above them the sky is a harsh blue. Changmin looks at the horizon line, into the distant vanishing point.
The longer he stares, though, the further away that point seems. The sky goes on forever, never touching the clouds, but you can only see so far: after a certain point, the view smoothes out into a single plane, a painted backdrop just out of reach.
Yet for a moment, for staring too hard, Changmin sees beyond that. The clouds seem all too real and he can skim his eyes along their endless stretch, on and on, and he’s struck with just how far-away the horizon actually is, untouchable and impossible. It’s one of those moments when he feels small in the universe, grounded in himself while at the same time outside his own body.
But Changmin’s not in the mood to be philosophical, so he closes his eyes against the feeling and let’s his head thunk down against the scratched, double-plated plexiglas.
It shouldn’t -doesn’t- surprise him that this is the movement which wakes Yunho up. Changmin doesn’t move as Yunho sighs, and shifts around, getting more comfortable. Either Yunho hasn’t realized where he is, or he’s playing dumb. Probably the latter. And he’s not playing, Changmin thinks sourly.
He knows for sure that Yunho knows when the other man reaches up and tugs his headphones back around his neck, so that his ear nestles comfortably into the folds of Changmin’s hoodie.
Changmin has to bite the inside of his cheek from speaking, saying something nasty that he’ll regret. He’s always doing that, mouthing off and pissing Yunho off, pushing buttons that shouldn’t be pushed. Yunho’s not the only one that picks fights.
But right now Yunho’s not fighting- he’s upset Changmin isn’t talking, but he’s calmed down enough that they can get over this, soon, probably. Changmin would rather not set Yunho off again -he won’t react here and now, but as soon as they get to where they’re going, Yunho won’t hesitate to lay into him.
And right now… Changmin’s angry. He’s angry and he wants to stay angry, but he doesn’t want to fight. He’s done with that, right now.
So he keeps his eyes his closed, his forehead pressed tight to the glass, and let’s Yunho keep leaning against him.
It seems like seconds later when the stewardess is back at their row, asking for trash. They’ll be descending soon. Yunho sits up slowly and blinks like he’s been asleep the whole time. He looks at the stewardess and then Changmin, pretending to be embarrassed that he’d fallen asleep on his friend. The stewardess doesn’t seem to care, collecting their trash quickly and moving on.
Changmin doesn’t begrudge him the act, but he sits up, forcing Yunho back into his seat, out of his personal space. Yunho eyes him warily, and Changmin gives him a dull look.
“Sorry,” Yunho says.
When Changmin doesn’t answer, he doesn’t get mad. He sighs, and rolls his head on his neck, working out the kinks. He uncrosses his legs and stretches, what little he can in the small space. His shirt rides up and Changmin rolls his eyes, looking away.
But Yunho notices and nudges him, gently enough to be ignored, if Changmin wanted. Changmin bites the inside of his cheek and counts to five. They’re back under the clouds, and it’s darker, the horizon a broken line on the shifting landscape.
Yunho meets his eyes the moment he turns back, and Changmin waits for him to speak, knowing he will.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I shouldn’t have said… y’know. Not the way I did, anyway.”
No shit, he thinks. It must have shown on his face, because Yunho grimaces. “Don’t give me that,” he says, and grabs his arm when Changmin glares. “I know you’re mad, whatever. You get to be mad. But that’s fine. It’s fine… right?”
Yunho hadn’t even bothered to disguise the question. It speaks louder than any words could, for someone who’s usually so self-assured, so quick to take control and so uncomfortable with losing it. Changmin knows this, just like he knows about all of Yunho’s habits and quirks, his likes dislikes fears dreams everything you’ve ever and never wanted to know about him and then some.
Just thinking about it makes him sigh, makes him feel like he’s a hundred and two, body and soul.
The seatbelt light’s on again. Tray tables up, seat backs in the full upright position. Changmin reaches over and carefully removes Yunho’s hand from where it still grasps his arm. Yunho’s hand, once freed, hangs in the air between them before lowering down to his lap. He’s got his lower jaw pushed forward, tongue at the corner of his lips like he’s either stressed or concentrating hard.
“…Okay,” he says after a moment or two. “Okay.”
‘Okay.’ Because it’s not fine, not really. Forgetting only lasts so long, this flight only goes so far and when they hit land again they’ll have to pretend that everything’s all good regardless of how they feel about it.
It’s an inescapable fact of their existence. But Changmin can’t complain now. He got swept in this life once but chose it the second time around. He’s actually coming to like it despite the all the crap that comes with it, the pressure and exhaustion and pretending. Only took him ten fucking years. But he knows it would have taken him forever, otherwise -he might never have learned to love it, or discovered he didn’t regret his choices, if it weren’t for Yunho. That’s also inescapable, about as unforgettable as Yunho himself.
“When we get off the plane,” Yunho says. He’s leaned back in his seat, not looking at Changmin. His voice is soft and painstakingly even-tempered. “They’re taking us through a backroom to the van. Evidently the crowd’s really bad today. We’ll go to the hotel first, but we can pick up food on the way, if you want.”
Changmin nods, his hands clenching over his knees. He finally wants to say something but he’s gone too long now and the words are stuck in his throat. So he keeps on nodding, and doesn’t mind when Yunho looks at him with eyes that are too understanding -he’s even grateful when Yunho lifts his hand again and pats Changmin companionably on the arm. Because Yunho knows him, too, every little bit of him, even if he’s an asshole about it sometimes.
Changmin relaxes his hands, and let’s go. The plane is landing. The hard jolt of tons of metal hitting the earth at the speed of miles and miles.
There’s always someone at the end. There’s always someone to make him remember; someone waiting to bring him down, to ground him. Sometimes, Changmin is grateful that someone is Yunho.
started writing: 6/4/12
finished writing: 6/14/12
master list