[4] Prompt Drabbles (Jaechun; Jaemin; Yoosu; Hosu)
a fic dump for some drabbles from over the months. not x-posted.
write something useless and beautiful | jaechun | prompted by miyamoto
“hey,” he says, “I caught you down here yesterday morning too, didn’t I?”
“oh, I guess you did.” he’s flicking a lighter, his hands narrowing into clean, short nails and rose blossom fingertips, his smile a faded memory. “haven’t seen you around much.”
“ah.” jaejoong laughs. the weight of his necklace feels like a choke collar around his neck, and he works a finger under it, takes a step forward. “hey -- yoochun.”
yoochun’s eyes flicker: go on. “no.” jaejoong says. “I won’t play this game.”
“baby,” yoochun replies - and the scene goes dark, the emergency lights turning on as the base floor power goes out - there was a storm raging outside, a distant memory in jaejoong’s consciousness. “we’re always playing.”
and “yes,” jaejoong says. “yes, we are.”
he leaves his jacket and his heart and the gold-clasp of his necklace on the first floor of an apartment building that he’ll move out of the next day.
yoochun comes back.
through the looking glass | jaemin | prompted by tvxqluvv
jaejoong watches the camera men and the fans and the four of them; stares out with wide-eye, closed stares, but jaejoong sees nothing. he’s pressed into his little world, full of candid photos and lime lights, with pictures on his phone and in his heart that no one should see except himself, himself and the trusted few.
it’s frustrating. changmin says to him, but can’t you see? (it’s not what we want it to be.)
and jaejoong replies. “i’m not that naïve.” (i’m a little bit perfect and a little bit troubled. a little bit of everything you need.)
but changmin sees him through the looking glass, a little bubble of truth in the light reflecting off jaejoong’s eyes. if he looks too close, he sees himself, misshapen eyes and nose and lips staring back at him from black and brown. changmin, jaejoong is adding, i see what i want to see.
you see me.
tilly and the wall - love song. | yoosu | prompted by miyamoto
“Hey,” Yoochun says. He fingers a brown shirt - dirty, Comet and a tinge of sweat: smells like Junsu. There’s a minefield spread out around them, the havoc of belt buckles and dirty underwear and the innards of a closet shared by three people. Junsu keeps saying, “Mine, mine, mine,” like he’s sorting out his organs from Yoochun’s and Changmin’s. He doesn’t reply.
Yoochun watches.
(at fifteen yoochun’s mother would leave him in the apartment, on the table a ten dollar bill and a note - get yoohwan dinner, do the laundry, clean the dishes. he’d be waiting up for her at ten, tracing the foreign words on the box of laundry detergent, the smell of comet fresh in his nose. eleven fifteen and he’d be asleep, the steady hum of the washing machine an accompaniment to his breath.)
“Hey,” Yoochun tries. “It’s only half an hour away.”
Junsu shoves a shirt in Yoochun’s direction, one with the color fading to a dull-grey from overuse. “This is yours.”
“It’s only,” Yoochun starts again, rolling over on the bed and face first into a pair of sweats. “A little bit away.”
“I don’t want you stealing any of my stuff.” Yoochun can hear the pout in Junsu’s voice, can imagine it on his face. He rolls back over.
“I’ll come visit.”
“Uhuh.”
“A lot.”
“Uhuh.”
“If I steal your thongs will you come visit me more?”
Junsu throws a shoe - Changmin’s, monster-sized - at him.
“Idiot,” he says. And, quieter, “I’d visit you anyways.”
the word ‘best friend’ becomes redefined | hosu | prompted by fairytokyo
junsu writes ‘dong’ in the sand with a stick - yoochun laughs at him but he protests that it’s the first thing that came to mind, and then continues indignantly, hey, idiot, you’re the one finishing it as yoochun adds ‘bang shin’ with his hands. it’s changmin who notices the missing ‘ki.’ junsu’s pretty sure he’s about to make some wise-ass remark about how none of them can spell, so he pushes changmin into the sea and runs up the shore to yunho as a precautionary method.
yunho smiles at him. white, white fake teeth gleaming in the bright sun and junsu still sometimes superimposes messy teeth and messier hair over the persona yunho is now. sometimes he adds in a baggy black shirt and the hall all the trainees used to dance in, and every once in a while he adds in donghae clinging to yunho’s shirt and hyukjae smiling with his gums a little ways off.
junsu only has a few best friends and he thinks hyukjae is the only one who anyone really thinks of - the idiot, he thinks, laughs to himself. but yunho’s always been there, during the years when everything is scratchy hues of black and desperation. he’s always been there, and junsu’s always thought of him, but lately.
lately it’s different, when yunho teases him or doesn’t - keeping up the professionalism only junsu really abides by - and it makes junsu feel a little funny. it feels a little bit too different than the fondness for hyukjae or sungmin or donghae or junho. so when he runs up to yunho with changmin calling out death threats behind him and yoochun’s arms swung around changmin’s bare chest and jaejoong coughing up a lung on the far side of the beach, he grins a little wider and waits for yunho to reach out a hand.
because best friends last forever but he thinks he’s redefining the words.
write something useless and beautiful | jaechun | prompted by miyamoto
“hey,” he says, “I caught you down here yesterday morning too, didn’t I?”
“oh, I guess you did.” he’s flicking a lighter, his hands narrowing into clean, short nails and rose blossom fingertips, his smile a faded memory. “haven’t seen you around much.”
“ah.” jaejoong laughs. the weight of his necklace feels like a choke collar around his neck, and he works a finger under it, takes a step forward. “hey -- yoochun.”
yoochun’s eyes flicker: go on. “no.” jaejoong says. “I won’t play this game.”
“baby,” yoochun replies - and the scene goes dark, the emergency lights turning on as the base floor power goes out - there was a storm raging outside, a distant memory in jaejoong’s consciousness. “we’re always playing.”
and “yes,” jaejoong says. “yes, we are.”
he leaves his jacket and his heart and the gold-clasp of his necklace on the first floor of an apartment building that he’ll move out of the next day.
yoochun comes back.
through the looking glass | jaemin | prompted by tvxqluvv
jaejoong watches the camera men and the fans and the four of them; stares out with wide-eye, closed stares, but jaejoong sees nothing. he’s pressed into his little world, full of candid photos and lime lights, with pictures on his phone and in his heart that no one should see except himself, himself and the trusted few.
it’s frustrating. changmin says to him, but can’t you see? (it’s not what we want it to be.)
and jaejoong replies. “i’m not that naïve.” (i’m a little bit perfect and a little bit troubled. a little bit of everything you need.)
but changmin sees him through the looking glass, a little bubble of truth in the light reflecting off jaejoong’s eyes. if he looks too close, he sees himself, misshapen eyes and nose and lips staring back at him from black and brown. changmin, jaejoong is adding, i see what i want to see.
you see me.
tilly and the wall - love song. | yoosu | prompted by miyamoto
“Hey,” Yoochun says. He fingers a brown shirt - dirty, Comet and a tinge of sweat: smells like Junsu. There’s a minefield spread out around them, the havoc of belt buckles and dirty underwear and the innards of a closet shared by three people. Junsu keeps saying, “Mine, mine, mine,” like he’s sorting out his organs from Yoochun’s and Changmin’s. He doesn’t reply.
Yoochun watches.
(at fifteen yoochun’s mother would leave him in the apartment, on the table a ten dollar bill and a note - get yoohwan dinner, do the laundry, clean the dishes. he’d be waiting up for her at ten, tracing the foreign words on the box of laundry detergent, the smell of comet fresh in his nose. eleven fifteen and he’d be asleep, the steady hum of the washing machine an accompaniment to his breath.)
“Hey,” Yoochun tries. “It’s only half an hour away.”
Junsu shoves a shirt in Yoochun’s direction, one with the color fading to a dull-grey from overuse. “This is yours.”
“It’s only,” Yoochun starts again, rolling over on the bed and face first into a pair of sweats. “A little bit away.”
“I don’t want you stealing any of my stuff.” Yoochun can hear the pout in Junsu’s voice, can imagine it on his face. He rolls back over.
“I’ll come visit.”
“Uhuh.”
“A lot.”
“Uhuh.”
“If I steal your thongs will you come visit me more?”
Junsu throws a shoe - Changmin’s, monster-sized - at him.
“Idiot,” he says. And, quieter, “I’d visit you anyways.”
the word ‘best friend’ becomes redefined | hosu | prompted by fairytokyo
junsu writes ‘dong’ in the sand with a stick - yoochun laughs at him but he protests that it’s the first thing that came to mind, and then continues indignantly, hey, idiot, you’re the one finishing it as yoochun adds ‘bang shin’ with his hands. it’s changmin who notices the missing ‘ki.’ junsu’s pretty sure he’s about to make some wise-ass remark about how none of them can spell, so he pushes changmin into the sea and runs up the shore to yunho as a precautionary method.
yunho smiles at him. white, white fake teeth gleaming in the bright sun and junsu still sometimes superimposes messy teeth and messier hair over the persona yunho is now. sometimes he adds in a baggy black shirt and the hall all the trainees used to dance in, and every once in a while he adds in donghae clinging to yunho’s shirt and hyukjae smiling with his gums a little ways off.
junsu only has a few best friends and he thinks hyukjae is the only one who anyone really thinks of - the idiot, he thinks, laughs to himself. but yunho’s always been there, during the years when everything is scratchy hues of black and desperation. he’s always been there, and junsu’s always thought of him, but lately.
lately it’s different, when yunho teases him or doesn’t - keeping up the professionalism only junsu really abides by - and it makes junsu feel a little funny. it feels a little bit too different than the fondness for hyukjae or sungmin or donghae or junho. so when he runs up to yunho with changmin calling out death threats behind him and yoochun’s arms swung around changmin’s bare chest and jaejoong coughing up a lung on the far side of the beach, he grins a little wider and waits for yunho to reach out a hand.
because best friends last forever but he thinks he’s redefining the words.