Verse - Prologue (DBSK; various pairings)
Title: Verse
Author: kayjayloves
Chapter: Prologue
Pairing: Homin, Yoosu
Band: DBSK/THSK/TVXQ
Genre: AU/action/drama
Rating: PG this chapter
Warning: cussing
Disclaimer: Don't own these boys, just my interpretations of them.
Synopsis: Destiny: n., pl. -nies.
Life’s like a star, following an undying circle.
Yoochun used to have dealings like this daily, with business men in crisp attire and blank faces.
"Continue." The man’s tone is clear - cut to the chase or get the fuck out of my office. Yoochun tenses. He tugs at his collar - this isn’t something he enjoys, the tight tie and the pressed suit he’ll have to return to his friend. It reminds him too much of the past, an eon ago that reads in the books as only a year. The past where Yoochun felt like a slave to society, broken in and bound to an eternity of submission.
"My friend-" His throat goes dry. Start over, Yoochun, he thinks. "My client needs this extra compensation in order to continue doing transactions with this company."
"Well," the man says, and launches into bargaining.
Three hours later and Yoochun is breathing in fresh air, the bridge’s railing supporting his weight. It’s here he survives best, out in the open air and serenity of nature. Here, where life takes on the rawest form and the corruption of society’s ideals is barely noticeable.
Here, where a storm is brewing in the distance, visible on the horizon and stirring warning gusts of wind. He clutches at the railing, looks for signs of this being an unnatural storm.
It isn’t long before he can smell the sulfur.
"Gonna win," Yunho brushes the side of his mouth, rubbing away blood and sweat. He’s been training for hours now; he can barely feel the burn of the reopened split lip from his last match, the sting on his knuckles. "Gotta win."
Street fights, the epitome of glory for this rank of the city. He earns his worth there, in the passion and the pain and the strict code of honor - knock ‘em til they’re down, pay dues to the winner, no killing and no intentional crippling (or an eye for an eye, as they say).
Yunho earns his worth there, but he’s lost the last five matches and he’s falling behind - like some sort of old hero losing his edge. He hears them talking, he knows they’ve all noticed. "Gotta," he clenches his teeth, lashes out at the punching sack, "win."
You go looking for problems and solutions
Jaejoong never told his mother about the visions, not after the first dream had her tightening her mouth and narrowing her eyes, sending her seven year old son to his room with a harsh never speak of this again. If the nightly dreams angered her, the waking visions would’ve been blasphemy.
So when he left the house at seventeen, she was blissfully unaware of the reason - writing him off as another idiot runaway like the first of her children, a sister he’d hardly known. She’d never know he’d seen the city burning in his mind’s eye, a blaze of glory and fear all at once, and above the roar of the flames had been the pulsing beat of a drum - beckoning him.
Jaejoong had had to go.
He pushes coarse strands of hair away from his face, concentrating on the pages before him. Junsu left to get water, and the room feels too silent, too empty, without him. It’s moments like these that Jaejoong gets lost in thought - chances visions and revelations he doesn’t intend to have.
Junsu breaks the silence, footsteps loud on the marble floor. "Jaejoong," he says, and Jaejoong catches the lilt of worry in his voice.
"Are you sure you need to get involved in that side of humanity?"
"Yeah." He draws his fingers over the letters on the ground. "Street fights, ‘Su. I can blend in."
Junsu pauses, lip drawn between his teeth. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
Jaejoong traces the sun in the center of the tile. The city’s pulse beats beneath it, even with Junsu’s drum quiet and still.
Changmin gets the call from his father’s company in the afternoon, informing him that his budget has been increased and thank you, sir, for continuing to work with us. What would they do, he wonders, if they knew just exactly who they were working with. Their own CEO’s son making deals and false accounts behind poor old Daddy’s back.
He makes a mental note to thank Yoochun for the favor later.
There’s been nothing but boredom lately, holed up in this place with only his under-the-counter deals and a few visitors to keep him entertained. He tosses a pen across the room, watches it bounce off the corner of the unmade bed. These days, he can practically feel his body wilting - his hands going soft and his muscles uncoiling. It’s been months since he’s had any need for physical strength.
The computer beeps and Changmin swivels back around, pulling up his email and the new alert. The proof of the latest transaction going through expands across his screen. The weapon business, he thinks, is booming these days.
There’s enough fortune in the trade that he barely even feels the twinges of guilt, but the itching speculations of why keep occupying his thoughts. Why such mass production of various killing machines lately? Why such a sudden boom in even the simpler methods of destruction - hand guns that can be easily concealed, tiny bombs with small explosion radiuses.
"Why..." And he’s back at the keyboard, typing in searches he sworn he’d stay away from from the start. Curiosity might’ve killed the cat - but, Changmin reasons, he’s decidedly human.
Two days later, the five of them collide.
You know why?
----
Author: kayjayloves
Chapter: Prologue
Pairing: Homin, Yoosu
Band: DBSK/THSK/TVXQ
Genre: AU/action/drama
Rating: PG this chapter
Warning: cussing
Disclaimer: Don't own these boys, just my interpretations of them.
Synopsis: Destiny: n., pl. -nies.
- The inevitable or necessary fate to which a particular person or thing is destined; one's lot.
- A predetermined course of events considered as something beyond human power or control
Life’s like a star, following an undying circle.
Yoochun used to have dealings like this daily, with business men in crisp attire and blank faces.
"Continue." The man’s tone is clear - cut to the chase or get the fuck out of my office. Yoochun tenses. He tugs at his collar - this isn’t something he enjoys, the tight tie and the pressed suit he’ll have to return to his friend. It reminds him too much of the past, an eon ago that reads in the books as only a year. The past where Yoochun felt like a slave to society, broken in and bound to an eternity of submission.
"My friend-" His throat goes dry. Start over, Yoochun, he thinks. "My client needs this extra compensation in order to continue doing transactions with this company."
"Well," the man says, and launches into bargaining.
Three hours later and Yoochun is breathing in fresh air, the bridge’s railing supporting his weight. It’s here he survives best, out in the open air and serenity of nature. Here, where life takes on the rawest form and the corruption of society’s ideals is barely noticeable.
Here, where a storm is brewing in the distance, visible on the horizon and stirring warning gusts of wind. He clutches at the railing, looks for signs of this being an unnatural storm.
It isn’t long before he can smell the sulfur.
"Gonna win," Yunho brushes the side of his mouth, rubbing away blood and sweat. He’s been training for hours now; he can barely feel the burn of the reopened split lip from his last match, the sting on his knuckles. "Gotta win."
Street fights, the epitome of glory for this rank of the city. He earns his worth there, in the passion and the pain and the strict code of honor - knock ‘em til they’re down, pay dues to the winner, no killing and no intentional crippling (or an eye for an eye, as they say).
Yunho earns his worth there, but he’s lost the last five matches and he’s falling behind - like some sort of old hero losing his edge. He hears them talking, he knows they’ve all noticed. "Gotta," he clenches his teeth, lashes out at the punching sack, "win."
You go looking for problems and solutions
Jaejoong never told his mother about the visions, not after the first dream had her tightening her mouth and narrowing her eyes, sending her seven year old son to his room with a harsh never speak of this again. If the nightly dreams angered her, the waking visions would’ve been blasphemy.
So when he left the house at seventeen, she was blissfully unaware of the reason - writing him off as another idiot runaway like the first of her children, a sister he’d hardly known. She’d never know he’d seen the city burning in his mind’s eye, a blaze of glory and fear all at once, and above the roar of the flames had been the pulsing beat of a drum - beckoning him.
Jaejoong had had to go.
He pushes coarse strands of hair away from his face, concentrating on the pages before him. Junsu left to get water, and the room feels too silent, too empty, without him. It’s moments like these that Jaejoong gets lost in thought - chances visions and revelations he doesn’t intend to have.
Junsu breaks the silence, footsteps loud on the marble floor. "Jaejoong," he says, and Jaejoong catches the lilt of worry in his voice.
"Are you sure you need to get involved in that side of humanity?"
"Yeah." He draws his fingers over the letters on the ground. "Street fights, ‘Su. I can blend in."
Junsu pauses, lip drawn between his teeth. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
Jaejoong traces the sun in the center of the tile. The city’s pulse beats beneath it, even with Junsu’s drum quiet and still.
Changmin gets the call from his father’s company in the afternoon, informing him that his budget has been increased and thank you, sir, for continuing to work with us. What would they do, he wonders, if they knew just exactly who they were working with. Their own CEO’s son making deals and false accounts behind poor old Daddy’s back.
He makes a mental note to thank Yoochun for the favor later.
There’s been nothing but boredom lately, holed up in this place with only his under-the-counter deals and a few visitors to keep him entertained. He tosses a pen across the room, watches it bounce off the corner of the unmade bed. These days, he can practically feel his body wilting - his hands going soft and his muscles uncoiling. It’s been months since he’s had any need for physical strength.
The computer beeps and Changmin swivels back around, pulling up his email and the new alert. The proof of the latest transaction going through expands across his screen. The weapon business, he thinks, is booming these days.
There’s enough fortune in the trade that he barely even feels the twinges of guilt, but the itching speculations of why keep occupying his thoughts. Why such mass production of various killing machines lately? Why such a sudden boom in even the simpler methods of destruction - hand guns that can be easily concealed, tiny bombs with small explosion radiuses.
"Why..." And he’s back at the keyboard, typing in searches he sworn he’d stay away from from the start. Curiosity might’ve killed the cat - but, Changmin reasons, he’s decidedly human.
Two days later, the five of them collide.
You know why?
----