The Heartbeat of Rain ; Yoochun/Changmin
This is meant to accompany Love in the First Degree, so I'd suggest reading that first, but this one can be read as a stand-alone as well.
Title: The Heartbeat of Rain
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Pairing: Yoochun/Changmin
Disclaimer: The boys do not belong to me. This is also nothing but pure fiction.
Summary: Changmin leaves behind an apartment full of Post-Its.
A/N: Inspired by Umbrella by Epik High.
This is for my best friend, Vivian, whom I have known for four years and counting. Her presence in my life is a giant post-it note that can never be removed. Darling, I love you for just being and this is dedicated to you, even though you may not share my passionate love for these gorgeous Korean boys, I hope you enjoy.
The Heartbeat of Rain
b-side to Love in the First Degree
You were the umbrella over my head
In the night where the cold rain fell above my shoulders
You being by my side was a habit
I can’t be without you, alone in the rain
-- Umbrella, Epik High
Yoochun opens the letterbox and goes through the stack of mail. There are some fliers, two envelopes, and a key - a key to his apartment.
He holds up the key to the light before dropping it into his pocket. He knows it’s officially over now that the key has been returned. He throws the fliers away, and takes the stairs to his apartment slowly but two steps at a time. The key is cold in his pocket (just like the heart that has been returned to him).
He wonders if he made a mistake when he asked for an ending. He shakes the thought away and opens the door. He toes off his shoes, and when he looks up, the two envelopes he was clutching flutter to the floor, his grip going slack.
Someone has wallpapered his house with yellow Post-Its. Shit, he thinks, mouth falling open in shock. And then that thought is followed, almost immediately, with narrowed eyes and a hearty fuck you, Shim Changmin.
The note stuck on the umbrella stand next to him says, Now that we no longer need to share an umbrella, you will never end up with one shoulder wet again.
He doesn’t even need to think to identify the writer. Even before reading the note, he knows this can only be the work of one person. He is even more certain now - this is the handwriting he’s seen for years, this is the handwriting of the person that his favourite poems and lyrics are written by, this is the handwriting that he used to wake up to see printed on his skin, permanent marker on the back of his hand saying Property of Shim Changmin.
He laughs, hollow and dry, because only Changmin can think of something as cruel as this.
“I hate you,” he says to the empty apartment, ripping the Post-It off the umbrella stand, crushing it in his hands, and forbidding himself from reading any others. Changmin makes it difficult for him. The scraps of papers are everywhere, and there is no way he can stop his eyes from drifting over and reading them.
The one on the bathroom mirror reads, Goodbye, remember the way I used to love you.
Yoochun snarls at the note, and storms out of the bathroom. He can’t even look at himself in the mirror in peace. He tries to find a place in the apartment that hasn’t been marked by Changmin, but even before he fails, he knows Changmin could never be so careless.
“Fuck you,” he shouts, swiping an arm across the wall of his bedroom, sending a few Post-Its fluttering miserably onto the ground like autumn leaves. One of them sticks to his sleeve. It says, I hate you too, baby.
Yoochun’s eyes widen, and he can’t help but laugh. Laughing hysterically at the fact that Changmin can read his mind before he even thinks the thought, he proceeds to remove all the Post-Its in his bedroom, pretending that by doing so, he can erase Changmin’s presence from the apartment (his life).
I hated the colour of the walls, one of them reads, and Yoochun recalls the quarrel they had three years back when they were deciding what colour to paint the walls in the apartment. In the end, Yoochun’s preferred colour had been chosen because he had allowed Changmin to decide on which bed to get. But now that I have to go, I don’t hate it so much anymore, another reads.
The Post-Its read like Changmin’s endless rambling train of thought, a long bitter farewell.
It takes Yoochun an entire night to take down all the Post-Its he can find, and when he thinks he’s done, he realises that Changmin is never the sort to go easy on him, especially not when Yoochun just broke his heart.
With the yellow scraps of paper sitting in the waste-paper basket, he lifts the lid of the piano, and finds a yellow Post-It note attached to the underside of the lid. It’s okay if you don’t play for me anymore, it says. Yoochun drops heavily onto the seat, and there is no strength in his fingers to play anything, anything at all.
Yoochun has never hated Changmin so much. There is never rest, never peace, and it is as though Changmin is following him around the apartment, a ghost, a memory, a shadow.
One day, Yoochun drops his keys under the dining table on his way out of the house, and when he crawls under it to retrieve them, he sees a flash of familiar yellow. He pauses, crouching under the table, head ducked cautiously, and carefully plucks the note off the underside of the table.
If you hate me, I understand. Yoochun stares at the note in disbelief, scrambles out from under the table, throws it into the bin and leaves home, trying to fight the tears.
He continues to find those damn Post-Its at unexpected places - he finds them in between pages of books and sheets of lyrics, finds them inside the refrigerator, at the bottom of a vase, inside the pockets of one of his jeans, and even on the fucking ceiling.
There are four days of peace, until Yoochun opens a box of shoes and sees, Surprise, you found me. Incredulously, he picks up the note, written in that handwriting he will never forget, and tears it cleanly into half, as though that would erase the memories in his head.
Yoochun thinks that Changmin must have written more than a hundred notes, because they are everywhere, hidden in every possible place. Even three months after, Yoochun is still finding them.
Unexpectedly, he discovers the one inside the box of the watch Changmin bought him for his last birthday which has nothing written on it, just a small spiky heart at the bottom right-hand corner; the one inside a CD case says Nothing beats your singing; the one stuck to the bottom of his underwear drawer says I’m missing you right now.
Yoochun wakes up one morning to the sound of rain, the gentle rhythmic heartbeat against the glass window. He still sleeps only on one side of the bed, a habit he cannot seem to shake. He gets up, goes through his daily morning routine of washing up and getting dressed.
He takes an umbrella with him before leaving house. He ducks under the umbrella as he makes his way to his car. Just as he is getting into the car, tilting the umbrella sideways to close it, he sees the note. It’s stuck to the bottom of the umbrella, crumpled and slightly damp. He shuts the door of the car, and starts up the car before reading it.
If you find that the umbrella is a little too big and you’re a little too dry, it means you’re missing me (too).
Yoochun stares at the note for a few seconds, listening to the sound of rain falling on the roof of his car, like the rapid beat of the wings of a hummingbird and lost chances.
His hands on the steering wheel are trembling when he slides them down to take his phone out. He has already deleted Changmin’s number, in an attempt to remove Changmin from his life. He dials the number he can never forget, and waits for the familiar voice to pick up.
“Hello?” Changmin says. He sounds unsure and nervous.
“Hey,” Yoochun says.
There is a long pregnant pause. “Which note was it?” Changmin asks at last.
Yoochun looks at the note in his hand, and is reminded of the countless others before it, all the I love you’s, the I hate you’s, the I miss you’s. The ones that made him cry, the ones that made him swear, the ones that made him smile, this one - the one that made him remember.
He smiles, “The one in the umbrella.” It means you’re missing me (too).
Changmin doesn’t answer, and Yoochun listens to his breathing on the other end for a long time, twirling the note around in his fingers before pocketing it. “Changmin,” he says quietly, leaning his head against the cool glass of the window, watching the tear-like droplets trickle down the other side, and he swears he can almost feel the moisture sliding down his skin. “Come home tonight.”
Feedback/comments would be excellent.
MASTERLIST OF FICS HERE
Title: The Heartbeat of Rain
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Pairing: Yoochun/Changmin
Disclaimer: The boys do not belong to me. This is also nothing but pure fiction.
Summary: Changmin leaves behind an apartment full of Post-Its.
A/N: Inspired by Umbrella by Epik High.
This is for my best friend, Vivian, whom I have known for four years and counting. Her presence in my life is a giant post-it note that can never be removed. Darling, I love you for just being and this is dedicated to you, even though you may not share my passionate love for these gorgeous Korean boys, I hope you enjoy.
The Heartbeat of Rain
b-side to Love in the First Degree
You were the umbrella over my head
In the night where the cold rain fell above my shoulders
You being by my side was a habit
I can’t be without you, alone in the rain
-- Umbrella, Epik High
Yoochun opens the letterbox and goes through the stack of mail. There are some fliers, two envelopes, and a key - a key to his apartment.
He holds up the key to the light before dropping it into his pocket. He knows it’s officially over now that the key has been returned. He throws the fliers away, and takes the stairs to his apartment slowly but two steps at a time. The key is cold in his pocket (just like the heart that has been returned to him).
He wonders if he made a mistake when he asked for an ending. He shakes the thought away and opens the door. He toes off his shoes, and when he looks up, the two envelopes he was clutching flutter to the floor, his grip going slack.
Someone has wallpapered his house with yellow Post-Its. Shit, he thinks, mouth falling open in shock. And then that thought is followed, almost immediately, with narrowed eyes and a hearty fuck you, Shim Changmin.
The note stuck on the umbrella stand next to him says, Now that we no longer need to share an umbrella, you will never end up with one shoulder wet again.
He doesn’t even need to think to identify the writer. Even before reading the note, he knows this can only be the work of one person. He is even more certain now - this is the handwriting he’s seen for years, this is the handwriting of the person that his favourite poems and lyrics are written by, this is the handwriting that he used to wake up to see printed on his skin, permanent marker on the back of his hand saying Property of Shim Changmin.
He laughs, hollow and dry, because only Changmin can think of something as cruel as this.
“I hate you,” he says to the empty apartment, ripping the Post-It off the umbrella stand, crushing it in his hands, and forbidding himself from reading any others. Changmin makes it difficult for him. The scraps of papers are everywhere, and there is no way he can stop his eyes from drifting over and reading them.
The one on the bathroom mirror reads, Goodbye, remember the way I used to love you.
Yoochun snarls at the note, and storms out of the bathroom. He can’t even look at himself in the mirror in peace. He tries to find a place in the apartment that hasn’t been marked by Changmin, but even before he fails, he knows Changmin could never be so careless.
“Fuck you,” he shouts, swiping an arm across the wall of his bedroom, sending a few Post-Its fluttering miserably onto the ground like autumn leaves. One of them sticks to his sleeve. It says, I hate you too, baby.
Yoochun’s eyes widen, and he can’t help but laugh. Laughing hysterically at the fact that Changmin can read his mind before he even thinks the thought, he proceeds to remove all the Post-Its in his bedroom, pretending that by doing so, he can erase Changmin’s presence from the apartment (his life).
I hated the colour of the walls, one of them reads, and Yoochun recalls the quarrel they had three years back when they were deciding what colour to paint the walls in the apartment. In the end, Yoochun’s preferred colour had been chosen because he had allowed Changmin to decide on which bed to get. But now that I have to go, I don’t hate it so much anymore, another reads.
The Post-Its read like Changmin’s endless rambling train of thought, a long bitter farewell.
It takes Yoochun an entire night to take down all the Post-Its he can find, and when he thinks he’s done, he realises that Changmin is never the sort to go easy on him, especially not when Yoochun just broke his heart.
With the yellow scraps of paper sitting in the waste-paper basket, he lifts the lid of the piano, and finds a yellow Post-It note attached to the underside of the lid. It’s okay if you don’t play for me anymore, it says. Yoochun drops heavily onto the seat, and there is no strength in his fingers to play anything, anything at all.
Yoochun has never hated Changmin so much. There is never rest, never peace, and it is as though Changmin is following him around the apartment, a ghost, a memory, a shadow.
One day, Yoochun drops his keys under the dining table on his way out of the house, and when he crawls under it to retrieve them, he sees a flash of familiar yellow. He pauses, crouching under the table, head ducked cautiously, and carefully plucks the note off the underside of the table.
If you hate me, I understand. Yoochun stares at the note in disbelief, scrambles out from under the table, throws it into the bin and leaves home, trying to fight the tears.
He continues to find those damn Post-Its at unexpected places - he finds them in between pages of books and sheets of lyrics, finds them inside the refrigerator, at the bottom of a vase, inside the pockets of one of his jeans, and even on the fucking ceiling.
There are four days of peace, until Yoochun opens a box of shoes and sees, Surprise, you found me. Incredulously, he picks up the note, written in that handwriting he will never forget, and tears it cleanly into half, as though that would erase the memories in his head.
Yoochun thinks that Changmin must have written more than a hundred notes, because they are everywhere, hidden in every possible place. Even three months after, Yoochun is still finding them.
Unexpectedly, he discovers the one inside the box of the watch Changmin bought him for his last birthday which has nothing written on it, just a small spiky heart at the bottom right-hand corner; the one inside a CD case says Nothing beats your singing; the one stuck to the bottom of his underwear drawer says I’m missing you right now.
Yoochun wakes up one morning to the sound of rain, the gentle rhythmic heartbeat against the glass window. He still sleeps only on one side of the bed, a habit he cannot seem to shake. He gets up, goes through his daily morning routine of washing up and getting dressed.
He takes an umbrella with him before leaving house. He ducks under the umbrella as he makes his way to his car. Just as he is getting into the car, tilting the umbrella sideways to close it, he sees the note. It’s stuck to the bottom of the umbrella, crumpled and slightly damp. He shuts the door of the car, and starts up the car before reading it.
If you find that the umbrella is a little too big and you’re a little too dry, it means you’re missing me (too).
Yoochun stares at the note for a few seconds, listening to the sound of rain falling on the roof of his car, like the rapid beat of the wings of a hummingbird and lost chances.
His hands on the steering wheel are trembling when he slides them down to take his phone out. He has already deleted Changmin’s number, in an attempt to remove Changmin from his life. He dials the number he can never forget, and waits for the familiar voice to pick up.
“Hello?” Changmin says. He sounds unsure and nervous.
“Hey,” Yoochun says.
There is a long pregnant pause. “Which note was it?” Changmin asks at last.
Yoochun looks at the note in his hand, and is reminded of the countless others before it, all the I love you’s, the I hate you’s, the I miss you’s. The ones that made him cry, the ones that made him swear, the ones that made him smile, this one - the one that made him remember.
He smiles, “The one in the umbrella.” It means you’re missing me (too).
Changmin doesn’t answer, and Yoochun listens to his breathing on the other end for a long time, twirling the note around in his fingers before pocketing it. “Changmin,” he says quietly, leaning his head against the cool glass of the window, watching the tear-like droplets trickle down the other side, and he swears he can almost feel the moisture sliding down his skin. “Come home tonight.”
Feedback/comments would be excellent.
MASTERLIST OF FICS HERE