Turbulence
Turbulence
Yoochun/Junsu; PG; Romance
The plane ride to Prague is just like all the other plane rides they've had before.
For keight_michelle. ♥ Thank you applesu for the prompt!
The plane ride to Prague is just like all the others plane rides they've had before. Jaejoong and Changmin are intently watching a French movie and arguing about what the English subtitles could mean, and Yunho is talking to the manager, eyes tired and red-rimmed. Yoochun is asleep in the seat next to Junsu, headphones tangling around his neck and going down into his shirt. His hair is growing longer, wispy on his neck and eyes, and his eyelashes twitch on his cheeks occasionally.
The pressure of air is heavy in Junsu's ears and there's something about being so high in the air that makes him feel like he's just oxygen and matter here, like a breathe of wind might blow him apart, scatter him to pieces. His scarf is warm, and Yoochun's shaking a little from the air conditioning. Junsu moves to cover him with a blanket, and he pauses for a second, fingers close to Yoochun's cheek. Contact is easier here, miles above the ground where the only watchers are the sky and the stars. Junsu reaches and touches Yoochun's hand, startlingly cool, and he stays like this, watching the clouds blurring in front of his eyes until he falls asleep, too. Jaejoong and Changmin are loud in the background of white noise, rain pattering on the thick glass windows and letting Junsu ease into this, Yoochun's hand in his own, and the familiarity of it seems like it shouldn't feel almost new, but it does.
Prague is cold. Junsu's used to cold, and rain, and sun, but maybe it's the new, foreign beauty of the city that has it feeling so different, smoother and slicker, like it's the kind of cold that chills you right to your bones. It's the day after the flight; cloudy and dreary, and bright despite it all. They're all dressed up in stiff, formal clothes, and Junsu's stylist keeps on fixing his hair, but he's too tired to argue, or maybe he's just grown used to it after all these years - he isn't certain which.
They're outside an old, regal cathedral, and after an hour and a half of getting photographed, it's time to take a break because Jaejoong looks pale and sick and Yunho insists. Yoochun seems strange and handsome in his black suit and tie, but it's nothing that Junsu hasn't seen before and he just smiles when Yoochun comes close and says, "Do you want to see the city, later?"
"It looks like it's going to rain." The first raindrop lands on Junsu's eyelash; he blinks.
"Yeah, but do you really want to sit around in the hotel?" Yoochun frowns, and then brightens. "We can play soccer, later, if you want. I'll do the dishes for you the next two times you have to do them. I'll eat your vegetables for you? Wait, no, you like vegetables. Okay, what do you want me to do?" Yoochun's eyes plead with him, bright, and the shadows creasing the skin underneath them stand out more than usual. Junsu wants to say something stupid, like promise me you'll sleep and eat and stop doing this to yourself, but he's never been the type to let his heart through his throat to say things that might really matter.
"Okay," says Junsu. "Let's go."
They don't change clothes when they leave, and some people stare at them in the streets, with their expensive black car and rich, dark clothes, but Junsu never really feels self-conscious anymore. Well, no, it's not that - more that he's become good at ignoring the stares.
They go to an art museum, a historical museum, St. Vitus Cathedral. Cathedrals here are like the cathedrals everywhere, but Junsu likes their heavy wornness, their matching consistency, their stained-glass windows. Charles Bridge is next, the pavement terse and worn from constant use, scatterings of people every few meters. There's fog in the distance, and it's still raining a little, and Junsu's umbrella handle feels cold in his hand as he squints towards the buildings at the end of the bridge. "Here," Yoochun says, holding out something in his hand. "Listen to this."
Junsu takes it - one of Yoochun's ipod headphones, the ones he only uses for plane trips and the road. Junsu closes his eyes and listens. It's a familiar piano melody, and it takes Junsu a moment to recognize it. One of the songs Yoochun's composed on his own, that Junsu's seen the building of, with all its frustrations and anger and triumph. He's played it to Junsu late at night, before, with insomnia clouding his pupils.
The music is simple, beautiful, untitled, with a certain feeling to it that Junsu can't name. There's the sound of people and quiet rain that Junsu can hear from behind the music, and when he opens his eyes, it's just a little darker, and the glow of streetlamps sets Yoochun off-colour, like an abstract painting, with his eyelashes brushing his cheeks and his mouth soft and tired. The piano keeps on playing, Prague as its backdrop, and Junsu closes his eyes again and focuses on the music and Yoochun next to him, close enough to touch.
Two days later it's easier to get out again, filming slowing down to a near stop. Junsu is near-desperate for the quiet anonymity of Prague's streets, and this time they go out in more casual clothes. There's a café near the hotel that sells the best coffee he's ever tasted, Yoochun claims, and Junsu tries it for the first time there with too much sugar, letting the burn go down his throat, almost scalding his tongue. Jaejoong laughs at him and offers to buy him ice-cream later, with his eyes crinkling at the corners and smile hidden between curled fingers. Changmin has to take a while longer to wake up completely; he has his head laid down on the table and it takes two coffee cakes to get him to rise. Yunho's more refreshed than he's been in days - he's the first to finish breakfast. Yoochun's fingers tap out a new piano song on the table.
They go to little shops where they can't communicate with anyone in a form other than vague hand gestures (there is a point where Jaejoong waves his hand a little too hard and almost smacks someone in the face). Currency is too much for Yoochun and Junsu, so they make Changmin buy things for them, little souvenirs and tin soldiers, toy trains to take back home. Changmin yells at them and they escape to the alley outside, laughing and happy.
"Let's go see something else," says Junsu, smiling wide and contagious. "I'll let Yunho know."
The Vltava River is covered in bridges and surrounded by greenery and pretty lights; the view from it is quiet, understated, and Junsu thinks about how different this looks from home but how it still smells the same. Yoochun's leaning on a rail next to Junsu, and he says, "Korea is far from here."
Junsu gives him a strange look, as though saying can you read minds? Yoochun says, "Your face is easier to read than Changmin when he wants food. Work on it."
Junsu ignore him, leaning on the rail with Yoochun, watching the sky and how the birds all fly together. Korea is only a couple of days away, but Junsu can't stop loneliness from creeping into his thoughts. He thinks of Junho and Hyukjae, his mother and his father. The sky is already beginning to become tinged with dark. Night falls quickly here.
"Junsu," says Yoochun, quiet. "You okay?"
"Yeah," says Junsu, which means no. "I'm cold."
Yoochun holds his coat out for warmth and Junsu takes the excuse, huddling in for contact. Yoochun's hand is catching at the shadow of Junsu's waist. He can hear Yoochun's heart beating through skin and flesh and fabric, the erratic pulse of his own heart in his ears, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath, like he's measuring the amount of air that's filtering in through his lungs and not chances. This is like another plane ride and it's going through turbulence right where Junsu's standing, the need for home and something familiar setting an ache in his stomach like carsickness or jetlag.
"Junsu," says Yoochun. Junsu turns a little, enough so that he can look at Yoochun and still be sharing his coat, and their faces are close. Yoochun's eyes are tired, bright, reflecting cities and worlds, Junsu's own fear back at him. "How many days is it until we go home?"
"A couple," says Junsu. The lights look like fireflies, and it takes a second for Junsu to remember that no one knows them here. Xiah and Micky. No, it's Junsu and Yoochun. They've all seen the movies, lovers getting lost in cities, kissing under the stars at night and having happy endings. Yoochun is here, now, not a centimeter away from Junsu, and Junsu thinks about his quiet piano melodies and cold fingers, all the cities they've seen together and all the cities they will.
"I can try," says Yoochun, trying to sound flippant, and Junsu glances at him, surprised, and then remembering the comment about how readable he is. Yoochun repeats himself, and it's then that the words sink in. "I can try."
Junsu tries to stop his heart from wearing his ribs down from the inside, and Yoochun looks scared and hopeful and almost-ready, eyes bright and young, still only the boy Junsu had met all those years ago. He leans in, hesitant. Junsu closes his eyes.
Yoochun's mouth is warm and open, and he kisses like there's nothing except for Junsu, with his heart trying to beat out of his skin and his body curving almost earnestly. When Yoochun pulls back again, flushed and breathless, Junsu sees the boy who taps out music with his fingers and can't speak English properly and cries a lot and holds his breath when he makes a wish. Junsu holds his breath, just for a second, too, and he's too old now to make wishes, but he still lets himself hope that this will stay.
Yoochun/Junsu; PG; Romance
The plane ride to Prague is just like all the other plane rides they've had before.
For keight_michelle. ♥ Thank you applesu for the prompt!
The plane ride to Prague is just like all the others plane rides they've had before. Jaejoong and Changmin are intently watching a French movie and arguing about what the English subtitles could mean, and Yunho is talking to the manager, eyes tired and red-rimmed. Yoochun is asleep in the seat next to Junsu, headphones tangling around his neck and going down into his shirt. His hair is growing longer, wispy on his neck and eyes, and his eyelashes twitch on his cheeks occasionally.
The pressure of air is heavy in Junsu's ears and there's something about being so high in the air that makes him feel like he's just oxygen and matter here, like a breathe of wind might blow him apart, scatter him to pieces. His scarf is warm, and Yoochun's shaking a little from the air conditioning. Junsu moves to cover him with a blanket, and he pauses for a second, fingers close to Yoochun's cheek. Contact is easier here, miles above the ground where the only watchers are the sky and the stars. Junsu reaches and touches Yoochun's hand, startlingly cool, and he stays like this, watching the clouds blurring in front of his eyes until he falls asleep, too. Jaejoong and Changmin are loud in the background of white noise, rain pattering on the thick glass windows and letting Junsu ease into this, Yoochun's hand in his own, and the familiarity of it seems like it shouldn't feel almost new, but it does.
Prague is cold. Junsu's used to cold, and rain, and sun, but maybe it's the new, foreign beauty of the city that has it feeling so different, smoother and slicker, like it's the kind of cold that chills you right to your bones. It's the day after the flight; cloudy and dreary, and bright despite it all. They're all dressed up in stiff, formal clothes, and Junsu's stylist keeps on fixing his hair, but he's too tired to argue, or maybe he's just grown used to it after all these years - he isn't certain which.
They're outside an old, regal cathedral, and after an hour and a half of getting photographed, it's time to take a break because Jaejoong looks pale and sick and Yunho insists. Yoochun seems strange and handsome in his black suit and tie, but it's nothing that Junsu hasn't seen before and he just smiles when Yoochun comes close and says, "Do you want to see the city, later?"
"It looks like it's going to rain." The first raindrop lands on Junsu's eyelash; he blinks.
"Yeah, but do you really want to sit around in the hotel?" Yoochun frowns, and then brightens. "We can play soccer, later, if you want. I'll do the dishes for you the next two times you have to do them. I'll eat your vegetables for you? Wait, no, you like vegetables. Okay, what do you want me to do?" Yoochun's eyes plead with him, bright, and the shadows creasing the skin underneath them stand out more than usual. Junsu wants to say something stupid, like promise me you'll sleep and eat and stop doing this to yourself, but he's never been the type to let his heart through his throat to say things that might really matter.
"Okay," says Junsu. "Let's go."
They don't change clothes when they leave, and some people stare at them in the streets, with their expensive black car and rich, dark clothes, but Junsu never really feels self-conscious anymore. Well, no, it's not that - more that he's become good at ignoring the stares.
They go to an art museum, a historical museum, St. Vitus Cathedral. Cathedrals here are like the cathedrals everywhere, but Junsu likes their heavy wornness, their matching consistency, their stained-glass windows. Charles Bridge is next, the pavement terse and worn from constant use, scatterings of people every few meters. There's fog in the distance, and it's still raining a little, and Junsu's umbrella handle feels cold in his hand as he squints towards the buildings at the end of the bridge. "Here," Yoochun says, holding out something in his hand. "Listen to this."
Junsu takes it - one of Yoochun's ipod headphones, the ones he only uses for plane trips and the road. Junsu closes his eyes and listens. It's a familiar piano melody, and it takes Junsu a moment to recognize it. One of the songs Yoochun's composed on his own, that Junsu's seen the building of, with all its frustrations and anger and triumph. He's played it to Junsu late at night, before, with insomnia clouding his pupils.
The music is simple, beautiful, untitled, with a certain feeling to it that Junsu can't name. There's the sound of people and quiet rain that Junsu can hear from behind the music, and when he opens his eyes, it's just a little darker, and the glow of streetlamps sets Yoochun off-colour, like an abstract painting, with his eyelashes brushing his cheeks and his mouth soft and tired. The piano keeps on playing, Prague as its backdrop, and Junsu closes his eyes again and focuses on the music and Yoochun next to him, close enough to touch.
Two days later it's easier to get out again, filming slowing down to a near stop. Junsu is near-desperate for the quiet anonymity of Prague's streets, and this time they go out in more casual clothes. There's a café near the hotel that sells the best coffee he's ever tasted, Yoochun claims, and Junsu tries it for the first time there with too much sugar, letting the burn go down his throat, almost scalding his tongue. Jaejoong laughs at him and offers to buy him ice-cream later, with his eyes crinkling at the corners and smile hidden between curled fingers. Changmin has to take a while longer to wake up completely; he has his head laid down on the table and it takes two coffee cakes to get him to rise. Yunho's more refreshed than he's been in days - he's the first to finish breakfast. Yoochun's fingers tap out a new piano song on the table.
They go to little shops where they can't communicate with anyone in a form other than vague hand gestures (there is a point where Jaejoong waves his hand a little too hard and almost smacks someone in the face). Currency is too much for Yoochun and Junsu, so they make Changmin buy things for them, little souvenirs and tin soldiers, toy trains to take back home. Changmin yells at them and they escape to the alley outside, laughing and happy.
"Let's go see something else," says Junsu, smiling wide and contagious. "I'll let Yunho know."
The Vltava River is covered in bridges and surrounded by greenery and pretty lights; the view from it is quiet, understated, and Junsu thinks about how different this looks from home but how it still smells the same. Yoochun's leaning on a rail next to Junsu, and he says, "Korea is far from here."
Junsu gives him a strange look, as though saying can you read minds? Yoochun says, "Your face is easier to read than Changmin when he wants food. Work on it."
Junsu ignore him, leaning on the rail with Yoochun, watching the sky and how the birds all fly together. Korea is only a couple of days away, but Junsu can't stop loneliness from creeping into his thoughts. He thinks of Junho and Hyukjae, his mother and his father. The sky is already beginning to become tinged with dark. Night falls quickly here.
"Junsu," says Yoochun, quiet. "You okay?"
"Yeah," says Junsu, which means no. "I'm cold."
Yoochun holds his coat out for warmth and Junsu takes the excuse, huddling in for contact. Yoochun's hand is catching at the shadow of Junsu's waist. He can hear Yoochun's heart beating through skin and flesh and fabric, the erratic pulse of his own heart in his ears, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath, like he's measuring the amount of air that's filtering in through his lungs and not chances. This is like another plane ride and it's going through turbulence right where Junsu's standing, the need for home and something familiar setting an ache in his stomach like carsickness or jetlag.
"Junsu," says Yoochun. Junsu turns a little, enough so that he can look at Yoochun and still be sharing his coat, and their faces are close. Yoochun's eyes are tired, bright, reflecting cities and worlds, Junsu's own fear back at him. "How many days is it until we go home?"
"A couple," says Junsu. The lights look like fireflies, and it takes a second for Junsu to remember that no one knows them here. Xiah and Micky. No, it's Junsu and Yoochun. They've all seen the movies, lovers getting lost in cities, kissing under the stars at night and having happy endings. Yoochun is here, now, not a centimeter away from Junsu, and Junsu thinks about his quiet piano melodies and cold fingers, all the cities they've seen together and all the cities they will.
"I can try," says Yoochun, trying to sound flippant, and Junsu glances at him, surprised, and then remembering the comment about how readable he is. Yoochun repeats himself, and it's then that the words sink in. "I can try."
Junsu tries to stop his heart from wearing his ribs down from the inside, and Yoochun looks scared and hopeful and almost-ready, eyes bright and young, still only the boy Junsu had met all those years ago. He leans in, hesitant. Junsu closes his eyes.
Yoochun's mouth is warm and open, and he kisses like there's nothing except for Junsu, with his heart trying to beat out of his skin and his body curving almost earnestly. When Yoochun pulls back again, flushed and breathless, Junsu sees the boy who taps out music with his fingers and can't speak English properly and cries a lot and holds his breath when he makes a wish. Junsu holds his breath, just for a second, too, and he's too old now to make wishes, but he still lets himself hope that this will stay.