fight until you're strong
Title: fight until you're strong
Pairing: yewook
Rating: pg
Summary: Ryeowook smokes, and Jongwoon yells at him. Jongwoon smokes, and Ryeowook yells at him. Only one of them quits.
Ryeowook finds the packs in Jongwoon’s dresser one day when he’s out. There are ten of them, and Ryeowook wonders how many he can take before Jongwoon gets annoyed. He decides to play it safe and just takes one. Next he has to find a lighter. It’s not with the packs like he’d hoped. Instead he finds one after looking through Jongwoon’s little cabinet with his accessories. It’s shiny and silver, pretty, very much Jongwoon’s style. He stuffs the two borrowed items into his pockets and ducks out of the room, making his way to the patio.
There’s an ashtray where Jongwoon's cigarette butts are. He glances inside the dorm: it looks like everyone’s in their rooms. Just his luck. He flicks the lighter a few times before he gets it going, stumbles with the pack and drops a few cigarettes on the ground. His hands are shaking badly, even though he’s been planning this for some time. He finally manages to get one lit, swallows his fear, and takes a drag.
He coughs immediately, hacking and spitting out the taste. It’s awful, he doesn’t like it at all, and he thinks he understands Jongwoon even less than he thought. The cigarette burns in his hand, and he stares at it, debating between trying again and throwing it away, when the patio door slides open.
“Ryeowook!”
Small hands turn him around and take the cigarette from him. With teeth clenched and eyes burning, Jongwoon looks livid.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He lifts the cigarette up between their faces, and Ryeowook glances at it before looking away. “Where did you get this?”
Ryeowook takes the time to glare at him, waiting for him to back off a bit before answering, “In our room. I thought you wouldn't mind, hyung.”
“This is mine?” Jongwoon looks at it again, eyes wide as if just seeing it for the first time. He looks confusedly at Ryeowook. “Why?”
Because Ryeowook doesn’t like his voice. Because nobody likes Ryeowook’s voice, no matter how high or how clearly he sings. Because it’s already been years and he’s still the least popular member. Because Jongwoon smokes and everyone likes his voice.
He listens to his thoughts and realizes how stupid this is.
Ryeowook shrugs. “I just wanted to try it, and yours were the easiest to get to. Sorry, hyung, I should have asked,” he says, though for some reason, he doesn’t feel all that sorry, because at least now he knows. Jongwoon looks different to him now though, maybe it’s the guilt and conflict playing over his face, and Ryeowook doesn’t know what else to do but leave.
Jongwoon catches him on the arm. His gaze has lost his heat, and he looks a little lost. “Ryeowookie. Don’t-don’t take my cigarettes again, ok?”
There’s something else he’s trying to say, something like an apology. His eyes are wide and earnest, as if he wants Ryeowook to forgive him. It’s a weird feeling, to have control over his hyung, and Ryeowook finds he doesn’t like it when Jongwoon is vulnerable like this. Ryeowook takes his hand off his arm and squeezes it.
“Ok, hyung. I won’t.”
After that day, Ryeowook watches Jongwoon more closely and notices that a few things have changed.
One: Sunday through Tuesday, the number of packs in the dresser stays at about nine or ten.
Those days, Jongwoon spends a lot of his time exercising, watching movies on his laptop in their room, and taking longs showers, during which he sings so loud Ryeowook can hear him from the kitchen. Ryeowook sneaks him snacks at night, and they sit on Ryeowook’s bed to share them. Ryeowook leans his head against Jongwoon’s shoulder, savoring his clean smell, the older man’s arm slung over him. They talk about songs they’d like to sing for a concert solo. Jongwoon has a lot of ideas, and so does Ryeowook, and before they know it, it's tomorrow. Ryeowook has a list of duets he’d like to do, too, but they should sleep, so he doesn’t mention any of those.
Two: Wednesday is Jongwoon’s moody day.
It’s the day when he’s twitching and irritable, when he doesn’t have any of his usual goofiness and can’t tolerate any of Ryeowook’s. Jongwoon snaps at him and tells him to go outside or something, and Ryeowook tells him no, this is his room, too, and he can stay in it if he wants. They sit together in tense silence, Ryeowook in a chair right next to Jongwoon’s drawer, reading the same page over and over. Finally, Jongwoon gets up and takes out a pack. Ryeowook asks him where he’s going, tone purposefully accusing because he knows it annoys Jongwoon like hell. Jongwoon doesn’t answer and closes the door behind him, and Ryeowook throws the book across the room.
Three: Thursday through Saturday, the number of packs drops to two, sometimes one.
Those days, the members know to keep a good radius from Jongwoon and Ryeowook’s room, because the two are likely to be fighting or not talking to each other, and the members don’t know which is worse. No matter how far they stay away from the room, though, they can smell the smoke. Jongwoon is sullen and mutters that Ryeowook is trying to run his life and what does he know about it, anyway, while Ryeowook cries and cooks compulsively, because he’s just trying to help but maybe he should just leave and find a new roommate because he can’t stand the smell of smoke anymore, and Jongwoon won’t miss him anyway.
By Saturday night, Jongwoon apologizes to Ryeowook, who apologizes back. They make up, laugh a little, and go to sleep. Overnight the drawer’s cigarette supply replenishes, and they start all over.
It’s time to record their third album. Jongwoon has been staying out late to work out, and the number of packs has stays at ten for the last two weeks. It's paying off, and Ryeowook makes sure to compliment Jongwoon on how good he looks lately, feeling something in his chest that he's scared to name when Jongwoon smiles shyly back at him. They sound good, too, the first four days of recording, but now it’s Wednesday, and Jongwoon has been unusually quiet today. Ryeowook has never been more scared in his life. He’s worried that Jongwoon will smoke and not hit the notes tomorrow, or, even worse, that he will smoke and hit the notes anyway, because it’s not about just singing anymore. Ryeowook knows Jongwoon wants to quit, but he keeps giving himself excuses not to.
They’re eating a late dinner. Jongwoon is talking amicably with Donghae about something, and on the surface he’s fine, but Ryeowook can see him tapping his fingers on his knee under the table. He steals a look at the patio once in a while. Ryeowook bores holes into the side of his face, but Jongwoon refuses to look at him. Ryeowook’s heart pounds and his stomach turns too much for him to eat.
Kyuhyun nudges him and asks what’s wrong, softly, but Jongwoon hears anyway and turns his head to Ryeowook quickly, just slightly, as if on instinct, before turning back to Donghae. Ryeowook knows that Jongwoon knows that he knows, and it’s a dizzying circle of knowing and not doing, and Ryeowook is tired of it. He tells Kyuhyun he’s not hungry and excuses himself from the table.
He’s in their bedroom now, pulling out that drawer again. He sees nine packs and scoops up all of them in his arms, runs to the bathroom, and dumps them in the tub. He turns the water on and watches them float to the top of the water, drenched and harmless. He fishes them out and dumps them in the trash. Then he turns on the faucet and brushes his teeth.
He returns to their room, expecting to see Jongwoon, but he’s alone. He goes back to the table, and most everyone has cleared out. He asks Sungmin and Hyukjae, who have cleaning duty, where Jongwoon is, and they point to the patio.
Ryeowook stalks over, cursing himself for being so slow, realizing Jongwoon must have snuck a pack out before dinner when he wasn’t looking. He opens the sliding door so hard it wobbles in its hinges. Donghee and Kibum are watching TV in the living room, but the whole world could watch them fight, and Ryeowook wouldn’t care.
Jongwoon barely acknowledges him, leaning over the railing, a lit cigarette between his fingers.
“Hyung! Hyung!” Ryeowook calls him over and over, but he could have been shouting at a wall. Ryeowook turns him around, about to yell when he sees Jongwoon’s face, completely blank.
It only makes Ryeowook angrier to know that Jongwoon isn’t acknowledging how serious the situation is, how dead serious Ryeowook is. So he punches him, as hard as he can, which, granted, isn’t very hard. Jongwoon’s head drops back, but to Ryeowook’s frustration, that cigarette is still between his fingers.
“What’s wrong with you?” he shouts.
“Nothing. What’s wrong with you?” Jongwoon returns, recovered but head lifted in derision.
Ryeowook clenches his fists, wishing they were bigger, stronger, both of them. He tries to argue, “I can’t believe you would do this, how could you, we’ve been trying so hard, and now more than ever, it’s so important, I, I, how dare you,” but he’s never been much with words, especially when it comes to Jongwoon, and he trails off into nonsense.
He thinks he’s crying now, and he can see his pathetic reflection in Jongwoon’s eyes. Jongwoon could never stand it when Ryeowook cried, and even now, he looks down in shame. But that damn cigarette is still there.
Small hands take the cigarette from him, and Ryeowook takes a long drag. He’s coughing and rejecting it right away, even after Jongwoon’s taken the cigarette back like they’re in a game of grotesque tug-of-war, but Ryeowook’s too busy hacking to keep playing.
Ryeowook feels one hand rubbing his back, the other wiping tears from his cheeks, and he wonders which hand is holding the cigarette. He sees it crushed in the ash tray and looks up at Jongwoon. He's crying, too.
Ryeowook hugs him, tight to dry his tears on Jongwoon's shirt, hating how the smell of smoke is so familiar. He feels for the pack and finds it in Jongwoon's back pocket. Jongwoon hangs his arms limply as Ryeowook walks to the railing and turns the pack upside down, letting the cigarettes fall to the street. He throws the carton after them, watching it until it disappears.
He turns back to face Jongwoon and sees they’ve gathered an audience, watching behind the glass door. Jongwoon looks remorseful and deflated. Ryeowook takes his hand, and Jongwoon squeezes back hard, and maybe he isn’t as weak as he looks. Maybe Ryeowook isn’t as weak as he looks, either, and he kisses Jongwoon on the side of his mouth.
“Let’s go to bed,” he says, and Jongwoon kisses back.
They sleep with each other that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, breathing together until the smoke clears.
AN: Yesung-smoking fics have been done a lot, but I wanted to put in my two cents. Inspired by Ryeowook saying in an interview that he thought about smoking to change his voice. Thanks for reading!
Pairing: yewook
Rating: pg
Summary: Ryeowook smokes, and Jongwoon yells at him. Jongwoon smokes, and Ryeowook yells at him. Only one of them quits.
Ryeowook finds the packs in Jongwoon’s dresser one day when he’s out. There are ten of them, and Ryeowook wonders how many he can take before Jongwoon gets annoyed. He decides to play it safe and just takes one. Next he has to find a lighter. It’s not with the packs like he’d hoped. Instead he finds one after looking through Jongwoon’s little cabinet with his accessories. It’s shiny and silver, pretty, very much Jongwoon’s style. He stuffs the two borrowed items into his pockets and ducks out of the room, making his way to the patio.
There’s an ashtray where Jongwoon's cigarette butts are. He glances inside the dorm: it looks like everyone’s in their rooms. Just his luck. He flicks the lighter a few times before he gets it going, stumbles with the pack and drops a few cigarettes on the ground. His hands are shaking badly, even though he’s been planning this for some time. He finally manages to get one lit, swallows his fear, and takes a drag.
He coughs immediately, hacking and spitting out the taste. It’s awful, he doesn’t like it at all, and he thinks he understands Jongwoon even less than he thought. The cigarette burns in his hand, and he stares at it, debating between trying again and throwing it away, when the patio door slides open.
“Ryeowook!”
Small hands turn him around and take the cigarette from him. With teeth clenched and eyes burning, Jongwoon looks livid.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He lifts the cigarette up between their faces, and Ryeowook glances at it before looking away. “Where did you get this?”
Ryeowook takes the time to glare at him, waiting for him to back off a bit before answering, “In our room. I thought you wouldn't mind, hyung.”
“This is mine?” Jongwoon looks at it again, eyes wide as if just seeing it for the first time. He looks confusedly at Ryeowook. “Why?”
Because Ryeowook doesn’t like his voice. Because nobody likes Ryeowook’s voice, no matter how high or how clearly he sings. Because it’s already been years and he’s still the least popular member. Because Jongwoon smokes and everyone likes his voice.
He listens to his thoughts and realizes how stupid this is.
Ryeowook shrugs. “I just wanted to try it, and yours were the easiest to get to. Sorry, hyung, I should have asked,” he says, though for some reason, he doesn’t feel all that sorry, because at least now he knows. Jongwoon looks different to him now though, maybe it’s the guilt and conflict playing over his face, and Ryeowook doesn’t know what else to do but leave.
Jongwoon catches him on the arm. His gaze has lost his heat, and he looks a little lost. “Ryeowookie. Don’t-don’t take my cigarettes again, ok?”
There’s something else he’s trying to say, something like an apology. His eyes are wide and earnest, as if he wants Ryeowook to forgive him. It’s a weird feeling, to have control over his hyung, and Ryeowook finds he doesn’t like it when Jongwoon is vulnerable like this. Ryeowook takes his hand off his arm and squeezes it.
“Ok, hyung. I won’t.”
After that day, Ryeowook watches Jongwoon more closely and notices that a few things have changed.
One: Sunday through Tuesday, the number of packs in the dresser stays at about nine or ten.
Those days, Jongwoon spends a lot of his time exercising, watching movies on his laptop in their room, and taking longs showers, during which he sings so loud Ryeowook can hear him from the kitchen. Ryeowook sneaks him snacks at night, and they sit on Ryeowook’s bed to share them. Ryeowook leans his head against Jongwoon’s shoulder, savoring his clean smell, the older man’s arm slung over him. They talk about songs they’d like to sing for a concert solo. Jongwoon has a lot of ideas, and so does Ryeowook, and before they know it, it's tomorrow. Ryeowook has a list of duets he’d like to do, too, but they should sleep, so he doesn’t mention any of those.
Two: Wednesday is Jongwoon’s moody day.
It’s the day when he’s twitching and irritable, when he doesn’t have any of his usual goofiness and can’t tolerate any of Ryeowook’s. Jongwoon snaps at him and tells him to go outside or something, and Ryeowook tells him no, this is his room, too, and he can stay in it if he wants. They sit together in tense silence, Ryeowook in a chair right next to Jongwoon’s drawer, reading the same page over and over. Finally, Jongwoon gets up and takes out a pack. Ryeowook asks him where he’s going, tone purposefully accusing because he knows it annoys Jongwoon like hell. Jongwoon doesn’t answer and closes the door behind him, and Ryeowook throws the book across the room.
Three: Thursday through Saturday, the number of packs drops to two, sometimes one.
Those days, the members know to keep a good radius from Jongwoon and Ryeowook’s room, because the two are likely to be fighting or not talking to each other, and the members don’t know which is worse. No matter how far they stay away from the room, though, they can smell the smoke. Jongwoon is sullen and mutters that Ryeowook is trying to run his life and what does he know about it, anyway, while Ryeowook cries and cooks compulsively, because he’s just trying to help but maybe he should just leave and find a new roommate because he can’t stand the smell of smoke anymore, and Jongwoon won’t miss him anyway.
By Saturday night, Jongwoon apologizes to Ryeowook, who apologizes back. They make up, laugh a little, and go to sleep. Overnight the drawer’s cigarette supply replenishes, and they start all over.
It’s time to record their third album. Jongwoon has been staying out late to work out, and the number of packs has stays at ten for the last two weeks. It's paying off, and Ryeowook makes sure to compliment Jongwoon on how good he looks lately, feeling something in his chest that he's scared to name when Jongwoon smiles shyly back at him. They sound good, too, the first four days of recording, but now it’s Wednesday, and Jongwoon has been unusually quiet today. Ryeowook has never been more scared in his life. He’s worried that Jongwoon will smoke and not hit the notes tomorrow, or, even worse, that he will smoke and hit the notes anyway, because it’s not about just singing anymore. Ryeowook knows Jongwoon wants to quit, but he keeps giving himself excuses not to.
They’re eating a late dinner. Jongwoon is talking amicably with Donghae about something, and on the surface he’s fine, but Ryeowook can see him tapping his fingers on his knee under the table. He steals a look at the patio once in a while. Ryeowook bores holes into the side of his face, but Jongwoon refuses to look at him. Ryeowook’s heart pounds and his stomach turns too much for him to eat.
Kyuhyun nudges him and asks what’s wrong, softly, but Jongwoon hears anyway and turns his head to Ryeowook quickly, just slightly, as if on instinct, before turning back to Donghae. Ryeowook knows that Jongwoon knows that he knows, and it’s a dizzying circle of knowing and not doing, and Ryeowook is tired of it. He tells Kyuhyun he’s not hungry and excuses himself from the table.
He’s in their bedroom now, pulling out that drawer again. He sees nine packs and scoops up all of them in his arms, runs to the bathroom, and dumps them in the tub. He turns the water on and watches them float to the top of the water, drenched and harmless. He fishes them out and dumps them in the trash. Then he turns on the faucet and brushes his teeth.
He returns to their room, expecting to see Jongwoon, but he’s alone. He goes back to the table, and most everyone has cleared out. He asks Sungmin and Hyukjae, who have cleaning duty, where Jongwoon is, and they point to the patio.
Ryeowook stalks over, cursing himself for being so slow, realizing Jongwoon must have snuck a pack out before dinner when he wasn’t looking. He opens the sliding door so hard it wobbles in its hinges. Donghee and Kibum are watching TV in the living room, but the whole world could watch them fight, and Ryeowook wouldn’t care.
Jongwoon barely acknowledges him, leaning over the railing, a lit cigarette between his fingers.
“Hyung! Hyung!” Ryeowook calls him over and over, but he could have been shouting at a wall. Ryeowook turns him around, about to yell when he sees Jongwoon’s face, completely blank.
It only makes Ryeowook angrier to know that Jongwoon isn’t acknowledging how serious the situation is, how dead serious Ryeowook is. So he punches him, as hard as he can, which, granted, isn’t very hard. Jongwoon’s head drops back, but to Ryeowook’s frustration, that cigarette is still between his fingers.
“What’s wrong with you?” he shouts.
“Nothing. What’s wrong with you?” Jongwoon returns, recovered but head lifted in derision.
Ryeowook clenches his fists, wishing they were bigger, stronger, both of them. He tries to argue, “I can’t believe you would do this, how could you, we’ve been trying so hard, and now more than ever, it’s so important, I, I, how dare you,” but he’s never been much with words, especially when it comes to Jongwoon, and he trails off into nonsense.
He thinks he’s crying now, and he can see his pathetic reflection in Jongwoon’s eyes. Jongwoon could never stand it when Ryeowook cried, and even now, he looks down in shame. But that damn cigarette is still there.
Small hands take the cigarette from him, and Ryeowook takes a long drag. He’s coughing and rejecting it right away, even after Jongwoon’s taken the cigarette back like they’re in a game of grotesque tug-of-war, but Ryeowook’s too busy hacking to keep playing.
Ryeowook feels one hand rubbing his back, the other wiping tears from his cheeks, and he wonders which hand is holding the cigarette. He sees it crushed in the ash tray and looks up at Jongwoon. He's crying, too.
Ryeowook hugs him, tight to dry his tears on Jongwoon's shirt, hating how the smell of smoke is so familiar. He feels for the pack and finds it in Jongwoon's back pocket. Jongwoon hangs his arms limply as Ryeowook walks to the railing and turns the pack upside down, letting the cigarettes fall to the street. He throws the carton after them, watching it until it disappears.
He turns back to face Jongwoon and sees they’ve gathered an audience, watching behind the glass door. Jongwoon looks remorseful and deflated. Ryeowook takes his hand, and Jongwoon squeezes back hard, and maybe he isn’t as weak as he looks. Maybe Ryeowook isn’t as weak as he looks, either, and he kisses Jongwoon on the side of his mouth.
“Let’s go to bed,” he says, and Jongwoon kisses back.
They sleep with each other that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, breathing together until the smoke clears.
AN: Yesung-smoking fics have been done a lot, but I wanted to put in my two cents. Inspired by Ryeowook saying in an interview that he thought about smoking to change his voice. Thanks for reading!